Cat Flap

by Ian Jarvis

  ‘Why would anyone follow us?’ quizzed Watson. ‘Could it be anything to do with these murders?’

  ‘There,’ said Lestrade. ‘Your BMW’s from Lancashire.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Quist. ‘Owned by a Doctor Jordan Zucco, of Sunnyvale Hospital in Birchley, Ashton-Under-Lyne.’

  ‘And that’s your Maserati,’ said Lestrade.

  ‘As I expected.’ Quist nodded. ‘Carl Dreyer. The Old Forge, Bardsey.’

  ‘Expected?’ echoed Watson. ‘Do we know him?’

  ‘I met him the other evening. He was the Leeds manager of Brightshield Glazing.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘This Maserati was on the news today,’ pointed out Lestrade.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Quist. ‘It was abandoned in Acomb last night.’

  ‘The code at the top of the screen means the cops have a special file.’

  ‘Really?’ Quist beamed. ‘Could you find it for me?’

  Watson regarded him inquisitively. He’d smiled more over the last forty-eight hours than the past three weeks. Complicated puzzles obviously agreed with old Cyrano.

  ‘There.’ Lestrade finished typing. ‘But there’s nothing new here. All this was reported on TV - the Maserati owner being missing and his clothes on the bonnet.’

  Quist scrolled the text.

  ‘Ah, that wasn’t released,’ said Lestrade. ‘There was no mention of red powder being found at the scene.’ He read the footnote. ‘Substance currently undergoing analysis by Jay Mortimer M.D.’

  ‘Well that rather confirms it,’ whispered Quist. ‘Ubasteri.’

  ‘Confirms what?’ asked Watson. ‘Who bastard what? What’s going on here? The Brightshield manager’s been tailing us and he’s vanished?’

  ‘They won’t find him either,’ said Quist. ‘Gazza, could you find me the number of Brightshield Glazing in Leeds and let me use your phone for a moment, please?’

  ‘No problem.’ Lestrade shrugged and busied himself with his mobile. ‘That forty quid should cover it.’

  ‘Red powder?’ repeated Watson. ‘Is this a drug thing? Raspberry-flavoured cocaine or something. Why was he tailing us?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said the detective, quietly. ‘I need to check something.’

  Lestrade passed Quist the phone. ‘Press that to dial,’ he said.

  Like most sales offices, the phone was snatched on the first ring. ‘Brightshield Windows,’ chimed a syrupy voice. ‘Luke here.’

  ‘Lance Robson at the Yorkshire Post,’ said Quist. ‘We’re preparing an article on the disappearance of your manager and...’

  ‘Yeah, it’s worrying,’ admitted Luke. ‘Have you heard about our Christmas offers, Lance? We pay your VAT if you purchase...’

  ‘I understand Mister Dreyer is something of a recluse?’

  ‘You could say that. I’ve seen him less than a dozen times.’

  ‘So how does he run the business?’

  ‘Phone, fax and video conferencing. He visits the office occasionally and attends evening branch meetings.’

  ‘Does he do any selling himself?’

  ‘He handles the bigger sales and visits clients personally if a rep experiences problems. Talking of sales, for a limited period, if you buy four windows you get a free door...’

  ‘Does he have green eyes?’

  ‘What?’ Luke was taken aback. ‘Er, yeah, as a matter of fact, he has quite noticeable green...’

  Quist thumbed off the mobile. ‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘Ubasteri. I remember the green eyes now. He failed to persuade me to buy that night. It didn’t work and that’s why he looked so shocked.’

  ‘What was all that?’ demanded Watson. ‘Why would you ask about his eyes, and how did you know Dreyer was a recluse?’

  ‘Educated guesswork.’ Quist consulted a scrap of paper and entered another phone number. ‘Hello there,’ he said. ‘Is it possible to speak to Doctor Clarkson? Mmmh, I see. Thank you.’

  ‘Amy’s not at the lab?’ Watson watched as he checked the paper again and hastily rang her home. ‘She told us she was leaving early.’

  ‘Yes, they say she left a while ago.’ Quist sighed at the constant ringing. ‘But she hasn’t arrived home yet.’

  ‘Don’t look so worried. She’ll be okay with the cops guarding her.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ murmured Quist. ‘Personally, I wouldn’t be inclined to bet upon it.’

  Chapter 38

  Quist knocked on the front door of Amy’s house a third time before returning to the Beetle. ‘She left work early,’ he said. ‘So where is she?’

  ‘Hiding, if she’s any sense.’ Watson jumped back into the car. ‘If it was me, I’d have left the country.’

  ‘She only gave me her home number. I don’t have her mobile.’ The detective tugged off his leather overcoat and tossed it on the back seat. Climbing behind the wheel, he stared pensively at the youth.

  ‘What’s up?’ Watson shuffled uncomfortably. ‘What’re you looking at?’

  ‘As things are becoming clearer, I was debating whether to drop you at home before proceeding further. The thing is, I’ll almost certainly require assistance and I fully believe you’ll be okay with this.’

  ‘Er, with what?’

  ‘The situation ahead. You have a fast, open mind and you’re stronger and much more resilient than you realise.’

  ‘Er, right, Guv.’ Watson gave a puzzled frown. ‘Thanks for that... I think.’

  ‘I need to warn Amy, and I was hoping she could tell us about Doctor Stapleton too. He owns the company and he should have all the answers I need.’ Quist started the Beetle. ‘We’ll pay Will Gillette a visit and call back here later.’

  ‘What do you want to see him for?’

  ‘He’s the director of research and he runs the lab for Stapleton.’ The detective drove up Appleton Street and onto Micklegate. ‘From what Amy told us about his secretive work routines, he’ll know what’s going on.’

  ‘What is going on? Warn Amy? Warn her about what?’ Watson shook his head. ‘The situation ahead, you said? Things are becoming clearer? What’s going on, Guv?’

  ‘I’m certain now that the three murders are connected with the secretive products that Gillette erased from the computer.’

  ‘Three murders?’

  ‘Diane was no suicide. Four counting Selden.’

  ‘But he was killed by a bunch of nutters. It had to happen. A skinhead walking through Milverton alone dressed as a Nazi is like...’

  ‘Like putting your head on a railway?’

  ‘But how can suicide be murder?’

  ‘Believe me, in certain circumstances it can.’

  Watson pondered. ‘When I asked earlier if Selden’s death was connected with the murders, you never answered. But now you’re sure?’

  ‘Now I’m sure. Then there’s Dreyer, the dead Brightshield manager.’

  ‘Yeah, what’s all that about? Why would he follow us, and what makes you think he’s dead?’

  ‘They found his clothes on the car bonnet with a quantity of red powder.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘I’ll explain shortly. Let me speak to Gillette first.’

  ‘What about the biker, Creeper? Did he kill the girls? He admitted they were his badges.’

  Quist shook his head. ‘I don’t know where he fits into this, but no, he isn’t the killer.’

  ‘How can you be sure? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to yet, but you will soon.’

  ‘Where does Gillette live?’

  ‘Bell Lane in Fulford; it isn’t far. I asked Amy for the address this morning in case we should need it.’

  ‘Clever, aren’t you?’ Watson grinne
d. ‘How come you gave me the job?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The assistant advert? Like I say, you’re a clever bloke and I’m not exactly Einstein. There must’ve been other applicants, so why me?’

  ‘Why?’ Quist pondered for a moment. ‘I liked you.’

  ‘A shit-hot brain and excellent taste.’ The teenager laughed. ‘Personal question, Guv, but you don’t have many mates, do you?’

  ‘Personal and rather odd. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know - curiosity. I’ve worked with you for three weeks, but I don’t know you, or anything about you.’

  ‘There isn’t much to know. I don’t have any family and I live alone. If you want the sad truth, at the moment, my only friend is Larry Reynolds. We go back a long, long way.’

  ‘Why did he leave York? Mum says the Reynolds Antiques shop has been there since she was a kid. I can’t see why an old bloke would want to uproot himself and start again in another city at that age.’

  ‘He must have reasons,’ murmured Quist.

  ‘Speaking of mum, she was quite taken with you. I reckon that’s why she gave you the gnome.’

  Quist glanced at the obscenity with the jutting penis in the rear seat. He’d been hoping some biker might have stolen it earlier in Clifton.

  ‘She wondered if you ever went along to the seventies dance nights on Mondays at the Black Bull in Acomb?’

  Quist shot him a cynical look before turning into Fulford.

  ‘Er, no, dancing in a wig and kipper tie isn’t exactly you, is it? So where do you go at night? She said I should ask.’

  ‘Strange, actually,’ said Quist. ‘I can’t imagine why, but she was surprised that I was called Bernard. For some reason she thought my name was Cyrano.’

  ‘There’s Bell Lane,’ blurted the teenager.

  ‘Ah, saved by the proverbial bell.’

  The Volkswagen rolled to a halt outside number fourteen. Gillette’s house stood silhouetted against the late afternoon sky.

  ‘Nice place.’ Watson whistled. ‘Big, isn’t it?’

  Nodding slowly, Quist reached in the dash and pulled on a pair of thin leather gloves before setting off up the drive. ‘I have a bad feeling about this. Stay behind me and don’t touch anything.’

  ‘A bad feeling?’ Watson zipped up his jacket and tagged on behind, a warning tingle prickling his spine. He reached the kitchen door and frowned uneasily at the hole in the glazed panel. ‘Oh boy! That doesn’t look like a letter box.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’ Quist fingered the jagged edge and examined the red powder on his glove.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘An indication that it’s too late to ask Gillette anything.’ He pushed the broken door, sighed as it collapsed inwards from the frame, and stepped over the mess. ‘Far too late. Remember what I said. Don’t touch anything.’

  ‘Oh, shit! We shouldn’t be doing this, Guv.’ Watson looked around nervously and followed him through the kitchen passage into the lounge. ‘Fuck!’ he whimpered. ‘He’s... he’s...’

  ‘Yes, he is,’ agreed Quist.

  Will Gillette lay dead on the rug. His body had taken on the lifeless appearance, with pale blue face and glassy eyes, that even to untrained observers like Watson, denotes the difference between unconsciousness and a corpse. The head facing backwards clinched it.

  Quist examined the twisted neck. ‘The spine is severed at the skull base,’ he murmured. ‘From the finger-marks, it looks as if someone wrenched his head around from behind.’

  ‘Fingers made those deep punctures? It looks like claws have been dug in.’

  ‘Yes, to get a good grip, and whoever did this had great strength.’

  ‘Fair enough. I’ll be seeing you.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Wales.’

  ‘Come here and don’t be silly.’

  ‘Silly? That’s a fuckin’ dead guy you’re messing around with. A murdered guy and you’re telling me not to be silly? Oh hell, Guv, you must see that we can’t get involved any deeper. For God’s sake, leave it to the cops.’

  ‘I wish I could.’

  ‘What the fuck do you mean?’ Watson laughed frantically. ‘Make an anonymous call and then walk away from this. Tell them about those badges you found and this murder. Tell them they’re looking for some twat with a gym membership and fingernails like Wolverine...’

  ‘Calm down,’ snapped Quist. ‘Take some deep breaths. I can’t leave this to the police. These murders aren’t exactly routine police business. I may be the only one who can help.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ wailed the youth.

  ‘Deep breaths! You’ll understand shortly. I don’t know why yet, but someone wants us involved in this. Selden was told what to say to interest me and get me to that railway line. I need to know who put him up to it, who planted those badges, and why?’

  Watson shook his head jerkily. ‘Why did they want us to go to the biker house?’

  ‘Again, I’m not sure.’ He looked around the room. ‘Gillette was extremely worried. That bottle on the bureau is almost empty and the top has been left off. He was filling his glass so often, he didn’t bother to replace it. Only one glass too. People who drink large amounts of whisky alone have serious problems.’

  ‘You don’t say. Watson gulped and tried the deep breathing.

  ‘The curtains are drawn and the phone is unplugged. There are two ashtrays and both are full of cigar butts. He’s been pacing the room too. Look closely and you’ll see he dropped ash as he walked back and forth, especially by the windows where he stood watching around the curtains. Smokers who are stressed and deep in worried thought can flick ash without thinking.’

  ‘Okay, he was worried. Now can we please get out of here?’

  ‘I want to see if I can find Stapleton’s address here first.’ Quist checked his watch. ‘Then we have to visit the hospital. It’s five days since Lisa Mirren died.’

  ***

  The Mercedes van stood in the central car park on Tower Street. Strand sat in the rear, gazing quietly at the striking remains of York Castle which topped a vast conical hill. Clifford’s Tower reminded him of a huge white pork pie.

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ said Sangster, finally voicing the worried thoughts of the other three bodyguards. ‘Why are we just sitting here?’

  ‘We’re waiting for the right moment. Ah, speaking of which...’ Strand snatched the buzzing mobile from his pocket and read the text message. ‘Well, it’s about time,’ he muttered to himself. He leant forward and nudged Fisher’s back. ‘The hospital.’

  The driver frowned. ‘What about it?’

  ‘It’s time to go there.’

  Fisher nodded and the van skidded out of the car park.

  Squirming uncomfortably, Sangster looked up at the darkening sky. ‘How far is it?’

  ‘Oh, not too far,’ said Strand. ‘We’ll be there in five minutes.’

  ‘I really think we should have gone there sooner, Sir.’

  ‘Do you know something?’ Strand lit a cigarette and leered. ‘For once, you’re almost certainly right.’

  ***

  Creeper sprawled in a beer-soaked chair rolling a marijuana joint. It wasn’t easy. He was drunk, this was his tenth spliff, and his chisel-like fingers were better suited to forming fists than manufacturing cigarettes.

  ‘Hey, you lot.’ The biker focused on the spinning room and raised his voice above the heavy-metal din. ‘How about some help here?’

  It was a waste of time. The party was ending, less than a dozen remained, and everyone here in the lounge was in the same condition. Three lay comatose, one knelt vomiting over the hi-fi and, despite mild alcohol poisoning, two were attempting to copulate on the couch. />
  Creeper belched and turned back to the spliff as screams and brawling sounds came from the passage. Fighting was nothing new here; after the sixth scrap, he’d given up counting. The door crashed open and a biker’s severed head landed in his lap. He blinked twice, peering at the blood through a swirling mist of intoxication. Creeper was used to having heads between his legs, but they were normally female and attached to a body.

  ‘I hope your dental records are up-to-date,’ said a voice from the doorway. ‘Forensics are going to need them.’

  Chapter 39

  ‘Bloody hell, Guv...’ Watson followed Quist to York Hospital’s main entrance on Wiggington Road. ‘Do you really think this is a good idea?’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Quist glanced up as nasal screaming filled the air and starlings billowed over on their way to roost. A twilight chill had descended to freeze the city. ‘Just act natural and stay close.’

  ‘I’ll rephrase that; is this a sane idea?’ The teenager hung back at the doors. ‘I’ll wait outside and...’

  ‘I’ve known slugs with more backbone. Come on.’

  ‘Guv,’ laughed Watson. ‘First you find a murdered guy and you don’t tell the cops. You search his house, trying to find Doctor Stapleton’s address, and now you want to stroll into a morgue and look at a body. You can’t do stuff like that.’

  ‘Yes you can.’ Quist took his arm. ‘Now hurry up.’

  He led the teenager through the hospital lobby and down a corridor to the right. The third door was marked Mortuary and No Admittance.

  ‘Damn!’ He tried the handle. ‘It’s locked.’

  ‘Damn!’ echoed Watson, with relief normally only provided by enemas. ‘Ah, well, so much for that.’

  ‘Check down there.’ Quist pointed back to the lobby and pulled on his gloves. ‘Make sure no one’s coming.’

  The youth set off, freezing as a metallic snap rang out. ‘Jesus!’ he hissed, running back to the open door. ‘Are you crazy?’

  ‘It was only a cheap lock.’

  ‘How did you do that?’ The steel tenon was broken inside the mortise. ‘What did you use?’

  Quist dragged him inside. It was an office, fortunately deserted, with filing cabinets and a desk covered in papers and books.