The Order of Things

by Graham Hurley

  ‘We need to drop the odd hint about Russell. Suggest he might have been getting it elsewhere. No harm in making the woman wonder.’

  It was a common tactic, cheap as you like, and most lawyers would jump on it at once, but Buzzard – as Nandy was the first to point out – was badly in need of a little TLC and in his view it was certainly conceivable that both of them might have made threats against Reilly, if only to make themselves feel better.

  ‘That’s not the same as killing her, sir,’ Suttle pointed out.

  ‘You’re right, son. We’ll have to wait for Bentner before we bottom this bloody thing out.’

  Gerry turned out to live in Polsloe Bridge, a down-at-heel suburb of Exeter. Lizzie had wrung the address from his father in Lympstone. His second name was Piercy and he shared a downstairs flat with a woman called Gwendoline who had two young children. Lizzie had no idea whether the kids belonged to Gerry but it was obvious at once that this family needed more room.

  The kids were three and four, pre-school, hyperactive. They tore from room to room, the little girl doing most of the chasing, her brother shouting fit to bust. Living on top of a floor show like this would require either earplugs or a great deal of patience. Gerry sought shelter in the front room, which was full of cardboard boxes. He seemed to believe that there was money waiting for him if he was able to give Lizzie what she was after, and to some degree he was right. She’d stopped off at an ATM on the drive up from Lympstone and withdrawn £200.

  ‘Tell me about Bentner,’ she said.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘You worked for him, right?’

  ‘Yeah. Bits and pieces when he needed me.’

  ‘You saw him often?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘Enough for what?’

  ‘Enough to know the kind of bloke he is.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s all right. An all-right guy. My dad thinks he’s an arsehole. He’s not.’

  As far as the property was concerned, he said, Mr Bentner had no interest in keeping the place up. He treated the house like a tent. He’d once told Gerry that if he could fold it up and cart it off, he’d do just that. Bentner enjoyed the situation, liked living with the view, but in his head he was as free as the air.

  ‘A Gypsy, right? That’s what he believed.’

  Lizzie nodded. Gerry’s use of ‘Mr’ was significant. It meant he respected this man and probably liked him.

  ‘You knew his girlfriend? Harriet?’

  ‘Of course. Nice lady.’

  ‘Was she there a lot?’

  ‘I dunno. She may have been. When I was there it was always during the day unless there was an emergency, so I only met her a couple of times. You could tell though.’

  ‘Tell what?’

  ‘That they were … you know … tight.’

  The kids were beating at the door. Any minute now they’d wrench the handle off. Gerry seemed impervious.

  ‘Your dad says Bentner drank a lot.’

  ‘That’s true.’ He shrugged. ‘If you’ve got the money, why not? Any port in a storm.’ His eyes at last flicked to the door. ‘If you’re asking me whether he killed her, the answer has to be no.’

  ‘That’s what you believe?’

  ‘That’s what anyone believes who ever took the time to give the guy a fair hearing. People like my dad? Excuse me saying so, but they never bother to listen. Like I say, the guy’s OK. If he chooses to disappear, that’s his business. Some days I wouldn’t blame him.’

  He at last got to his feet and unlocked the door, shooing the kids back down the hall. Lizzie heard his partner complaining that she had no more tokens for the electric. Another hour and they wouldn’t have a kettle to boil water for tea.

  Gerry returned, locking the door behind him. Lizzie sensed that time was tight.

  ‘The next-door neighbour,’ she said. ‘Gemma Caton. Your dad says you think she’s nuts.’

  ‘He’s right.’

  ‘Why nuts?’

  ‘She’s just a crazy woman. Bright, mind. Works at the university. Some kind of scientist? I don’t really know. But she plays this weird music, Balinese I think it is. I could hear it through the wall when I was working there.’

  ‘Does that make her nuts? Balinese music?’

  ‘It’s not just that. Mr Bentner says she’s got a thing about allergies, about what you do eat and what you don’t. Like no proper milk. No nuts. No cheese. I went in her house once. She had a leak in her boiler. All these weird carvings. African they looked like. Witch-doctor stuff. Creepy.’

  ‘You asked her about them?’

  ‘I couldn’t. She wasn’t there.’

  ‘So how did you get in?’

  ‘Mr Bentner has a key.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘Yeah. He says she’s away a lot. Field trips? I dunno. Anyway, he’s supposed to keep an eye on the place. In fact it was Mr Bentner who spotted the leak. That has to be a first for him.’

  Lizzie felt a tiny prickle of excitement. Did Jimmy Suttle know this? Had Operation Buzzard bothered to swoop on Gemma Caton’s nest? Have a poke about? Ask a question or two?

  There was a knock on the door, sterner this time. Gwendoline, Lizzie thought. With an ultimatum about the electricity meter.

  Gerry was on his feet again. Lizzie joined him. Was he certain that she worked at the university?

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Department?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  Lizzie thanked him for his time. The fold of notes from the ATM lay in her shoulder bag. She gave him the lot and wished him luck.

  He stared down at the notes, and then counted them.

  ‘Fuck.’ He looked up. ‘Are you serious?’

  Twenty

  THURSDAY, 12 JUNE 2014, 16.23

  The interview with Dean Russell started late. His solicitor had been stuck in traffic at Kingskerswell, and it took another forty minutes before she was satisfied that her client had told her the whole story.

  Rosie Tremayne and Colin Myers had been waiting in the interview room for nearly an hour. Tremayne opened by offering Russell her condolences on his mother’s death. When he didn’t respond, she asked him how close they’d been. This time he was more forthcoming.

  ‘Not at all close. Not ever.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘My dad went off when I was a nipper. She was always rubbishing him. It got so bad I could see why he’d gone. Didn’t help me none, though.’

  ‘You blamed her?’

  ‘I did. She wound me up. Never failed. I’d go off, like, get hammered on cider or lighter fuel or whatever, get in trouble, get in a fight, and there’d she be on the doorstep when they took me home.’

  ‘Who took you home?’

  ‘The police. You lot. Tell you the truth I preferred you lot to her.’

  ‘But she was dying, Dean.’

  ‘Yeah, and … ?’

  ‘You couldn’t be with her? Couldn’t help out?’

  ‘I did. A bit. But … you know … not a lot.’

  Rosie asked about his mother’s will. He admitted at once that he knew the money was coming to him because years back she’d told him.

  ‘And you had plans for that money?’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘What were you going to do with it?’

  ‘Get a decent place. Maybe abroad. Tania likes abroad.’

  ‘And did your mother like Tania?’

  ‘She never knew her. Not properly.’

  ‘Did she ever say anything about her?’

  ‘Not to me. I never gave her the chance. I knew she’d say she was a slag. That’s one of the reasons I was never around at the end.’

  Colin Myers picked up on Tania’s role in Russell’s life. When he suggested that she might have made a big difference, Russell nodded. ‘All the difference in the world.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because she loves me. That woman’s as straight as you like. She says she’
ll take care of you and she does. Honest. That’s what she is, honest.’

  ‘And she knew about the money as well?’

  ‘Of course she did. No secrets, me and Tan.’

  Tremayne introduced Harriet Reilly. Was Russell aware that his mother was contemplating assisted suicide?

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Would it have made any difference if she’d have told you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s wrong.’

  ‘Who says?’

  ‘Tan. And I agree. In God’s good time you go. Not before.’

  ‘Is that what your mother did? Mess with the schedule?’

  ‘Yeah. Too right.’

  ‘OK.’ Tremayne was trying to nail down a timeline. ‘Your mother’s friend phones you. Frances Bevan. She tells you your mother’s died. I understand you asked about the will. She told you your mother had changed her will. You want to speak to someone about that, so you phone your mother’s solicitor.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She said it was true. About the will. Nothing for me, nothing for Tan. It all went to some charity. Half a million quid down the khazi.’

  ‘How did you feel?’

  ‘Gopping. I was hanging out.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It’s Marine-speak. I couldn’t believe it.’

  ‘Did you blame your mum?’

  ‘Yeah. And that new doctor she had.’

  ‘How did you know about her?’

  ‘My mum left me a note. That’s how I knew she’d gone the way she’d gone. She said the doctor was one of the few friends she had left. Her and that woman across the road.’

  ‘So you blamed the doctor as well?’

  ‘Yeah. We went to see her, Tan and me.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At her place. Where she lived.’

  ‘How did you find the address?’

  ‘Tan knew already. She drinks in Lympstone when she’s got the money. She’d heard about this woman. She was shacked up with that bloke who’s gone missing.’

  ‘And what did she say when you went round? This Dr Reilly?’

  ‘She refused to discuss it.’

  ‘And you? How did you react?’

  ‘I told her she was a disgrace. Doctors are supposed to save lives, not end them. I said something else too. She’d been away for a holiday. It was obvious, the look of her. My mum paid for that, I said. I bet she did.’

  ‘And Tania?’

  ‘Tania was off her head.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘I am asking, Dean. You say she was off her head. What exactly does that mean?’

  Russell hesitated. For a moment, watching this exchange, Suttle thought he was going to hide behind his solicitor, but he was wrong.

  ‘Tan can get a bit emotional,’ he said carefully. ‘Sometimes she drinks a bit too much.’

  ‘She was drunk? Is that what you’re telling me?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So are you surprised Dr Reilly didn’t want to take the conversation any further?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Last week. Thursday, I think. Maybe Friday.’

  ‘Right.’ Tremayne scribbled herself a note. Myers took over.

  ‘So Saturday comes. You’ve been to see Dr Reilly. You’ve got nowhere. What happens next?’

  ‘Tan spent the day in bed. She wasn’t well.’

  ‘And the evening?’

  ‘I went out.’

  ‘By yourself?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Local. Exmouth. Tell you the truth, Tan was driving me nuts. Wanted to come with me. Kept phoning once I’d gone. Wouldn’t leave me alone.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘All sorts.’ Russell named several pubs.

  ‘You were alone?’

  ‘No way. I got lots of mates around town. We all got hammered. Ended up in a big fight. Me and two other guys.’

  ‘And?’

  For the first time he smiled. He looked from one face to the other. ‘You’re telling me you don’t know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘You lot arrested me. Three in the morning. Outside the Q Club. I never got bailed until Monday.’

  Suttle reported back to Houghton by phone; Nandy was nowhere to be seen. The news that Dean Russell had the perfect alibi raised a mirthless chuckle. Buzzard was turning into a car crash.

  ‘Why didn’t we know this before?’

  ‘I never checked, boss. I belled a mate at Exmouth and told him he was on a nicking, but I never went into any detail. My fault,’ said Suttle.

  ‘You’re right.’

  Houghton wanted to know who Russell had met in the pub in Exmouth.

  ‘Guy called Wilson, boss. He runs a maritime security company. Russell says he’s on a contract for Wilson’s next job.’

  ‘Have you checked him out?’

  ‘No, but I will.’ He frowned, then glanced at his watch. ‘How are they doing at Heavitree?’

  ‘They’re not. The lady’s gone No Comment.’

  ‘No Comment?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘It gets worse. The only time she opened her mouth was to confirm she’s going to do you for assault.’

  ‘And the brief?’

  ‘Appears to confirm it.’

  ‘Great.’ Suttle paused. ‘This is a woman without an alibi. She told me they’d both been there on Saturday night. That’s obviously bollocks. He was out on the lash. What if she went up to Lympstone? Talked her way into Bentner’s place? Say Bentner’s not there? Say Reilly’s been drinking? This is a woman with previous for assault. She’s no stranger to violence. She’s got half a million quid’s worth of motive. She’s got the opportunity. The kitchen’s full of knives. She’s got a debt to settle. She’s not the forgiving kind. She may be off her head herself. Am I getting warm here?’

  Houghton admitted he had a case. ‘But we need more,’ she said. ‘A lot more.’

  ‘Forensics?’

  ‘They’re still boshing their property.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing so far.’

  ‘Shame.’

  Suttle rang off. The interview room was already empty, Russell en route back to Heavitree with Tremayne and Myers to sign the release forms.

  Golding checked his watch. Nearly half five. ‘Drink, skip? I’ll drive.’

  Twenty-One

  THURSDAY, 12 JUNE 2014, 18.27

  They settled for a pub in Exeter, the Angel, just across from the Exeter Central station. Suttle’s leg was beginning to aggravate him. The constant throb-throb had become a burning sensation that made him irritable as well as faintly anxious. Oona, he thought, as soon as I get home. I’ll give her a ring. She’ll know what’s wrong. She’ll know what to do.

  Golding bought the drinks. Suttle lifted the top off his Stella and then half-drained the pint. Within seconds he was starting to feel better.

  ‘Bad sign, skip. And you’re talking to an expert.’

  ‘Thanks, and I mean that.’

  He put his hand on Golding’s arm and gave it a squeeze. But for the baseball bat he might not have a leg at all. ‘I owe you, mate. I do.’

  Golding told him it was nothing. All his life he’d wanted to kill a dog, and now he’d done it. A pleasure and a privilege. The stuff of dreams.

  He gave Suttle a look. The pub was filling up nicely, mainly students.

  ‘Mind if I ask you something, skip?’

  ‘Help yourself.’

  ‘Who did that text really come from?’

  ‘The one in the pub?’

  ‘Yeah. And the lead on the dead woman.’

  Suttle reached for his glass, avoiding his gaze. He knows, he thought. What now?

  ‘Lizzie,’ he said. ‘She’s always
fancied being a cop.’

  ‘Yeah? And what else?’

  ‘Fuck knows.’

  ‘Be honest, skip. Think motive. She wants you back.’

  ‘No way. She’s got a sweet life. Why ruin it?’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I’ve got your ex-partner. And she makes me very happy.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘Truly? You mean that?’

  ‘I do. And I happen to know she feels the same way.’ He sat back a moment, then leaned forward again. ‘Spot of advice?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Don’t fuck it up. She loves you. You know she does.’

  Suttle stared at him. He knew it was true. He also knew that Golding still had the ear of Oona. One word from her wayward ex-lover and Suttle was looking at a car crash all of his own.

  He drained his pint, looked at his watch. His Impreza was still at Middlemoor but he didn’t fancy driving. Trains left for Exmouth every half-hour.

  ‘I’m off.’ He got to his feet, his hand on Golding’s shoulder. ‘Thanks for the pint.’

  Ten minutes later, waiting for the train, Suttle took a call from DI Houghton. She had a team working house-to-house enquiries in Tania Maguire’s street. One of the DCs had just phoned to report that Saturday night a neighbour had found Maguire passed out on the pavement below her bedroom window at one in the morning. She’d gone down to help. Maguire, as pissed as ever, had set out to try and find Dean but had never made it.

  ‘So what happened, boss?’

  ‘The neighbour walked her back home. Put her to bed. Sunday morning she went round to check up on her but Maguire couldn’t remember a thing. Dean wasn’t around either but she didn’t seem to have noticed.’ Houghton permitted herself a dry laugh. ‘Does that sound like someone who could have done the job on Harriet Reilly?’

  Lizzie phoned Anton the moment she got home. When he volunteered more of Harriet Reilly’s patients, she told him the story had moved on. She had the name of a scientist at the uni, some kind of environmentalist. Her name was Gemma Caton. Might Anton find out a little more?