Brian reinforced this. ‘Seemingly oblivious was my phrase. We give the impression that we are entirely remote from the gallery but of course we do take a quick measure of who is in the court. And people like Horrie and this other fellow I mentioned who are regulars become like furniture. You see them and the eye glides past, but the brain makes a mental note somewhere. Put it this way: we’d notice if they weren’t there. You recall that big bearded fellow, don’t you, Shirley?’
She grinned. ‘The one we nicknamed Mr Bear?’
‘That’s the one,’ Brian said, smiling back at the police team. ‘He was a big man.’
‘Big as in broad,’ Shirley added. ‘Not especially tall, as I recall.’
‘Big as in overweight?’ Sarah pressed.
They both shook their heads. ‘Brawny,’ Brian explained. ‘I don’t think I ever saw him smile. He was quite an intimidating presence in my court, but he didn’t really bother anyone. He was mostly silent.’
‘No name?’ Sarah asked.
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘Well, thank you both for your thoughts, and I agree, that bacon sandwich deserves pride of place,’ Jack said, smiling at them both. ‘Mr Jarvis, perhaps you won’t mind if Sarah takes a description from you of this bear fellow you mentioned.’
‘Do you mean now?’
‘At a time that suits you,’ Sarah assured him.
‘Righto!’ Jarvis smiled.
Jack stood and shook hands with the clerks. ‘Sarah will leave her card, and here’s mine. Please feel free to call either of us with anything that might strike you later. Sometimes it’s the smallest, most inconsequential fact that can open a door.’
‘I’ve witnessed countless cases where even a casual remark has led to someone’s downfall or indeed proof of innocence,’ Shirley agreed.
‘Quite right.’ Jarvis nodded, then glanced at his watch. ‘Well, it’s been a pleasure, thank you. DS Jones, if you would like to follow me, we can set up a time now.’
Sarah nodded at Jack. ‘See you back at the office, sir.’
At the Yard, Jack and Kate were chewing over progress. Their earlier spat had been relegated to unimportant, given the gravity of Kate’s finding.
‘Well, we have to find this Bernard Beaton,’ Jack said. ‘He’s now a priority.’
‘I’m on it,’ Kate said. ‘I’m waiting for a phone call from the Whittington. There’s a nurse from the drug dependency ward who seems to be in the know.’
‘How could they overlook this?’ he said, sounding frustrated.
She sighed. ‘Easy. I don’t think Hornsey’s a lot different from most other stations. It wasn’t an oversight or even laziness, so much as a considered opinion. Mr Beaton’s track record would certainly suggest he was delusional . . . and he still could be, Jack, let’s not ignore that.’
His instincts screamed the opposite, that this might be a glimmer on the horizon for them. ‘No. You said his statement mentioned a syringe that was left in the right side of her neck?’
Kate nodded.
‘I don’t believe that detail was mentioned in the media, do you?’
She frowned. ‘Hmm, you’re right.’
‘No, Kate, this Beaton fellow was there. I reckon he’s telling the truth.’
‘Well, if he was there, then how he wasn’t seen is going to be very interesting to learn. I visited the spot today and it’s all open. He’d have to have been hiding in plain sight – the killer too intent on what he was doing to notice, which is hard to believe, right?’
Jack had no choice but to agree.
‘So that’s where I think those officers could be forgiven for perhaps not taking him seriously enough . . . although, to her credit, DC Farrow made good notes.’
‘I want to talk with Bernard Beaton.’
Kate’s mobile rang and she glanced at it. ‘This could be her now,’ she said, eyes lighting up. ‘Kate Carter,’ she answered and listened, finally nodding at Jack. ‘Ah, DC Farrow, thank you for contacting me.’ She stood and walked over to the window.
Joan buzzed him and Jack picked up his phone to answer.
‘There’s a Nurse Jenny Hampton on line one . . . from the Whittington.’
‘Ah, great,’ Jack said. ‘Thanks.’
Kate’s conversation with Farrow dimmed to the background when he heard the connection open. ‘Is this Jenny?’
‘Yes, oh hello, I thought I had to speak with Detective Inspector Kate Carter.’
‘Apologies, DI Carter is just on the phone. This is Detective Superintendent Jack Hawksworth and we’re grateful for you returning our call. Are you happy to speak with me?’
‘Yes, of course. This is about Bernie, right?’
‘Yes. We’re trying to track him down.’
‘About the lady he saw die, I’m guessing.’
Jack blinked. ‘It’s in connection with that case, yes. We would appreciate any help, but also your discretion . . .’
He heard her sigh. ‘I’ve got no one to talk to about this anyway, but I liked Bernie a lot; he was always so very polite to us nurses, and one of those people you felt especially sorry for. Few believed his story, but I always did.’
‘I gather you helped to get him a permanent home?’
‘I helped him to apply and I put in a good word for him through my contacts. He’s in Hastings now, as far as I know. I can’t tell you if he fell off the wagon again, but he seemed pretty determined to make a go of it on the south coast.’
‘And I don’t suppose you have an address, do you?’
‘Well, I don’t, but I know who might. Do you have a pen handy?’
‘Fire away,’ Jack said, feeling a creep of excitement straighten his shoulders as he wrote down Cassiobury Court.
‘He went to drug rehab there and I think their team helped him to find permanent housing in Hastings. I’m sorry that I don’t know where,’ Jenny was saying.
‘No, that’s okay. You’ve been very helpful, thank you.’
‘Oh, you’re welcome. Let’s hope he’s one who got away and beat the drug habit.’
‘Bye, Jenny.’ He rang off and looked up expectantly as Kate returned.
‘Have we got him?’ she asked.
‘Nearly. I have to make a phone call.’ She nodded and motioned that she’d be back shortly.
It took Jack ten minutes of being passed around to various people before he finally got through to someone who was prepared to look up Beaton.
‘Okay, Detective Superintendent, it looks as though Mr Beaton found sheltered housing at St Leonard’s-on-Sea near Hastings at a place called Beaufort House; it’s run by a group called Orbit South. That’s the best I can do this evening.’
‘That’s great, thanks so much.’ He put the receiver down and, as Kate arrived, he said, ‘I think we have him.’ Kate formed a fist of triumph. ‘Now, let me ask Joan to hunt down the flat he’s in.’
He stepped out and set Joan the task, returning to his desk. ‘We have to hope Beaton is still at the same place. Fancy a trip down to Hastings with me?’
‘Oh gosh, Jack, you show a girl the very best time.’ She grinned and he returned it; this felt more like the Kate he enjoyed having around him.
He buzzed through to Joan to organise train tickets and listened to what she had to say before looking back at Kate. ‘Joan reckons the train all the way and a taxi at the other end. Meet you at six-thirty at Charing Cross?’
She groaned. ‘That’s hideously early.’
‘It will take us a couple of hours direct, and I don’t want to miss him if he’s there.’
‘Why don’t we ring ahead? I’m sure we can track him down. And it might save us the hassle if he’s no longer there.’
‘I don’t want to spook him. Bernie sounds fragile, and if he’s used to the police treating him with disdain, he may just want to give us the flick by not being available, or worse – taking off. Right now, he’s our single bright light, isn’t he?’
‘Okay, right. Tomorrow
at nasty six-thirty, it is . . . I’ll be at the Marks & Spencer buying goodies for the journey.’
He frowned at her in question.
‘Never fully grown out of the childhood palaver of a day trip,’ she said self-deprecatingly. ‘Moving on, I just spoke with DC Lisa Farrow and she remembers that interview very well, which is fortunate. According to her, Beaton was sleeping rough, smelled awful, but had excellent manners. He was treated with condescension by her fellow officers and they specifically asked her to do the interview because it amused them to see if she could stand the smell of him in the interview room long enough to take a statement.’ Jack gave a look of embarrassment as Kate continued. ‘Anyway, she thumbed her nose at them by offering to make Bernie a cuppa, which he graciously accepted, and then he told her his story, which she dutifully copied down.’
‘I sense there’s a but coming.’ He sighed.
‘There is. As we learned, Beaton chose to come into Hornsey in the evening. Right in the middle of his statement, before she could ask any questions, they were interrupted by Detective Sergeant Coombs, who was the night duty CID on shift with her. According to Farrow, there had been a rape and they were being sent to take statements; he gave her the hurry-on. She saw Beaton on his way and only then learned that the rape victim had been taken to hospital and the presumed urgency had been a ruse to wrap up the interview.’
‘Saving her from Beaton, you mean?’ Jack asked, his tone tight.
‘Yes, I believe that’s exactly what she meant. She wasn’t happy about it but by then it was too late. In their defence, they did leave soon after for the hospital. Before she did, however, she checked with the reception officer . . . the one I met called Phil Brown, and he assured her he would file her notes, which he did . . . but they were never transcribed and thus overlooked, never taken into account – or indeed taken seriously – when the case was being investigated.’
‘Buggery bollocks!’
‘I heard that,’ Joan said from the other room.
Kate grinned. ‘Better dig out your fifty pence; you know how wrathful Joan can be.’
‘I heard that too, Kate,’ Joan said, arriving at the doorway. ‘Fifty pence, Jack . . . pop it in before you leave. Right, here’s the address for Mr Beaton, who is still at that property.’
Both Jack and Kate gave sounds of relief.
‘Well, my lovelies, I’m off, unless there’s anything else you need?’ They both shook their heads. ‘Don’t be late for that direct train; you’ll regret it because you’ll take all day to get there otherwise on the pretty route,’ she said, looking at them over the top of her half glasses. ‘Show your warrant cards on the train and you’ll be fine.’
‘Okay, thanks, Joan.’
‘Enjoy the seaside, you two.’ She lifted a hand in farewell and left them.
‘I didn’t ask how it went at the courts today,’ Kate said.
‘Nothing much came out of it immediately, although one of the clerks said he could cite a couple of regulars who might be worth looking into. Sarah’s gathering that info. I’m yet to hear how Mal got on and—’
Sarah interrupted them by bustling in.
‘Hi . . . any news?’ Jack asked,
She leaned in his office doorway, which was fast becoming a favourite spot for all. ‘Yes, actually. Mr Jarvis is good value. He suggested that we ask the court security to supply CCTV footage of all the regulars from the public gallery that any of the clerks consider “off”, as you put it, sir, and then they can point out the various people.’
‘Excellent. When can we begin?’
‘I spoke to the security team and we need to narrow it down a bit. I thought we’d bring Mr Jarvis into one of our meeting rooms here tomorrow – he’s happy to come in after work. Meanwhile, Mal and Ali are doing the same with the clerks they’ve interviewed. Okay, sir?’
‘Excellent. Kate and I are heading down to Hastings tomorrow to see Bernard Beaton. Kate found out today that his witness statement has credence.’
‘Ahh, for Peggy Markham? Let’s hope his memory holds, then. Mal said they’d head off directly from the courts, unless you need them?’
He shook his head. ‘Tell the others to go, Sarah. I’d rather they got in early and fresh.’
‘Will do.’
‘And why haven’t you gone home too?’
Sarah pulled a frown. ‘Something’s nagging me. I’m not sure what it is, and I think better at my desk.’
Jack knew exactly what Kate was thinking when she cut him a sly look. Better at your desk with your anorak on was what came to mind, as though she were planting thoughts for him. He dismissed it with a soft glare only she could catch. ‘Okay, then. I’ll leave you to that pondering and hope it yields something. I’m off. Kate, no need to hang around.’
‘Well, not with your hideously early start. Bring coffee, Jack, or I’m not going to be very pleasant.’
19
Jack should have gone home. But he was giving the taxi driver instructions to take him to an address in Bayswater, not far from Paddington Station, before he’d really thought it through. He glanced at the scrap of paper in his hand as he looked up at the terraced houses. Nothing too shabby about this address, he thought, frowning. Had she been lying?
He dialled a number.
‘Hello?’
‘Lauren, it’s Jack.’ There was a pause. He had used her personal number so maybe she was trying to work out who it was. ‘Jack Hawksworth.’
‘Oh, hello,’ she said, sounding shocked. ‘It’s nice to hear from you. I was just having a glass of wine on my rooftop.’
‘Sounds glamorous.’
‘It’s not.’ She laughed. ‘I only say it to impress people but it’s our first lovely evening for spring – I didn’t want to waste it and it will help my mood.’
‘Not good?’
He heard a sigh. ‘I think I hate my life, Jack.’
‘Well, let me brighten it for you with some news. You’re on your rooftop, you say?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘Do you face Gloucester Terrace?’
‘I do,’ she said, sounding intrigued.
‘Then look down.’ He heard rustling and movement, and kept his gaze focused on the top of her building until he saw her head poke over the railing. He lifted a hand in greeting and heard her laugh. ‘You’re here.’
‘Indeed,’ he said.
There was now a pause as they both weighed up what that might mean. Jack decided he would ask her to come down if she asked him why he was standing in her street; they would talk at her building’s doorway and then he would be gone as swiftly as he’d arrived. He waited.
‘Fancy a wine on my rooftop?’ she finally said.
He knew she was watching him from her vantage point, and he looked at his watch. ‘Quick one, sure.’
‘Great. I’ll buzz you in. It’s the very top flat, as you can guess. Be warned, there’s lots of stairs.’
As she disappeared, he moved to the main door and waited. The tinny buzzer sounded, cueing him to push on the shiny black door to enter the vestibule of chessboard-tiled floor and parchment-painted walls. There was no lift so he had no choice but to heed her warning. Fortunately, the stairs were broad and shallow, and he wound his way up four floors until, greeted by insufferable laughter, he arrived on her landing.
She still had hold of her wineglass. ‘That was actually rather fast, Detective Superintendent. I think you’re in very good shape.’
He grinned; he was not out of breath but could feel the exertion. Little wonder she kept trim.
‘Come in.’ She gestured to her door and let him go first.
He arrived in a studio flat with tall stairs that led to a narrow mezzanine, which he presumed acted as her bedroom. It was a tidy space; lots of books and a pair of shuttered floor-to-ceiling windows added to its charm. ‘Very French,’ he said. ‘A pied-à-terre.’
She nodded. ‘This was my one tiny stroke of luck in recent memory. My cousin was posted overseas
and he’s letting me rent this from him cheaply. He knows I’m obsessively neat and reliable.’ She pointed towards the second room. ‘Here, take a look. Small galley kitchen, tiny bathroom . . . but so nicely done that I have to count this single blessing in my life, because I do enjoy coming home to my space.’
‘It’s lovely,’ Jack agreed, walking around as she fetched a second glass and filled it to just over one-third. ‘Does the mezzanine lead to the roof?’
‘No, the rooftop garden – and I use the word “garden” with care – is communal, but I don’t think anyone else uses it.’
‘Too many stairs?’ He grinned.
‘Exactly,’ she agreed, ‘so I win.’
‘Those are quite steep to the mezzanine,’ he said, taking the offered glass of wine.
‘Yes, I have to be very careful if I have one too many.’ She smiled, bringing her gaze away from her bedroom to him. ‘That’s not very often though. I’m no big drinker.’
‘Well, that doesn’t fit the journo stereotype.’
‘No, not much of me does. Anyway, cheers.’ They clinked glasses over a smile. ‘Come on, I promised you a rooftop.’
He followed her onto her landing, then out onto the roof.
‘And here we are.’
He looked out across Paddington Station’s roof line and beyond. Darkness was still to claim the night and it definitely felt like winter had handed over to spring. They weren’t exposed here, and Lauren was right, it was mild enough to enjoy the evening as the moon brightened.
‘How was your day, Jack?’
‘Well, I enraged my boss by telling him about you.’
Her eyes widened and her expression turned wicked.
‘Then, even though it seemed impossible, I incensed him even further by telling him something else I’d done that had broken the rules.’
‘Such a rebel.’
He liked that she didn’t ask further. He sipped. ‘This is lovely . . . a riesling?’
She nodded. ‘I can only afford one bottle a week because I only want to drink quality wine. That’s my rule. Drink less, drink best. This is from Australia, the south. From a small place called the Clare Valley . . . you may not—’
Mirror Man Page 21