The Cedar Face: DI Jewell book 3 (DI Elizabeth Jewell)

by Carole Pitt

  She retreated into her fantasy world. This time she was evacuating Park Road before blowing it up.

  Tom, the desk sergeant, waved as she walked through reception on her way to the incident room. Katie Gardiner looked over and smiled. She noticed one or two new faces and wondered where Yeats had found them. He didn't acknowledge her presence and carried on lecturing everyone about a glitch in one of the witness statements and insisting whoever was responsible to come to his office afterwards. No doubt for a rollicking, Elizabeth thought. I'm supposed to be part of this investigation she reminded herself, so when can I expect a little more responsibility. Did he intend continuing his autonomy until once again she ended up totally surplus to requirements.

  She found a chair and compared the present situation to when Daly was in charge. Back then, everyone knew what was going on.

  Yeats had worked on plenty of terrorist investigations; at least Patterson had unearthed that snippet. Finding out more damning information about him was proving impossible. It explained why he operated differently, but at the same time, his methods shouldn't compromise the case. She closed her eyes and listened to his orders. Then he abruptly dismissed everyone, waited until the room emptied and walked towards her. 'You're timekeeping is shit,' he said.

  'I told you why. Calbrain was here and I didn't want to see him. What's all this about a new witness?'

  'A second person insists he saw Morven hanging around outside the school. Meaning he lied about going back to the hotel straight after lunch.'

  'Rubbish, the hotel receptionist swore she saw him come in.'

  'Take those blinkers off your eyes Jewell. Some women go for types like Morven. We only have her word for it, strange no one else at the hotel did.'

  Patterson turned up just as Elizabeth was about to disagree. She was glad to see him.

  'Excuse me Sir. I need to discuss the Faraday case with Patterson. The forensic accountant is preparing a report for the CPS.'

  'Any ideas when we can expect a court date,' Yeats asked.

  'When we can prove tax evasion, unless you decide they're innocent.'

  Yeats ignored her blatant rudeness and smiled as he spoke. 'Your old friend Calbrain is off to the Canadian Embassy. Morven has a rich benefactor who is keen to bankroll his defence.'

  Elizabeth wondered why Calbrain hadn't mentioned this. 'When is he due in court?'

  'The consular help won't kick in until tomorrow, so I'm not sure. What I have learned is Morven has massive support in Canada.'

  Patterson spoke. 'I noticed a short article in the Telegraph Sir; the news is already starting to circulate. I suggest we organise more uniforms for Morven's court appearance.'

  Elizabeth saw that Yeats wasn't happy with the possible developments. She made sure her tone sounded confident. 'Morven will definitely get bail, there's no other option.'

  'Not necessarily,' Yeats stated with a grim look.

  Patterson added his bit. 'Why worry. He can't do a runner without his passport.'

  'Don't underestimate any murder suspect determined to evade justice,' Yeats said. 'Believe me I've seen every trick in the book. So instead of gloating and praying this case will finish my career, I suggest you both get out there and consolidate the evidence.’

  'You mean only in one direction, no deviation from the guilty path?' Elizabeth said.

  'That's exactly what I mean,' Yeats replied.

  Elizabeth turned to Patterson and grinned. Winning a small victory had lifted her spirits and the Patterson /Jewell partnership was back in business.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Following day May 17th

  If a lorry hadn't broken down right under his bedroom window Calbrain probably wouldn't have woken up. He'd arrived back home just before two am and didn't get to sleep immediately. It was not yet eight-thirty so he could take his time. Yesterday, in London, everything he'd planned took longer than expected. The last straw was missing the train and having to find a taxi driver willing to drive to Cheltenham. Chiswick High Street had produced an affable cabbie up for the job.

  The crashing and banging drew him to the window where he saw a delivery van bumped onto the curb. The bonnet was open and the driver was lugging a large metal can across the pavement. Calbrain threw on the same clothes he'd worn yesterday and went downstairs to the kitchen. While he boiled the kettle, he went over the previous day's events in London. At least he had achieved everything he'd set out to do. He'd phone John before dropping by Park Road, by then it would be nearly time to pick up the consular official at Cheltenham station. The solicitor, Teresa Lane from the Chiswick firm, was driving up and arriving early afternoon. His visit to the embassy had seemed laborious and tiring but the staff had been very hospitable and in great diplomatic tradition had fallen over themselves to help.

  Teresa Lane, the senior partner, was optimistic about Morven's chances of acquittal. She worked with a high profile QC and was confident she could secure him for the defence. Calbrain then called at the city bank, where John had deposited the cash, and spent an hour filling in forms.

  He returned to Chiswick weary and hungry and Teresa Lane suggested they had dinner together to discuss the case. She chose a small restaurant on Chiswick High Street and they spent the best part of three hours eating, drinking and talking. Teresa was an attractive woman in her mid forties and Calbrain had enjoyed her company. She was easy to be with, and able to exude professionalism without boring him.

  He picked up his coffee and cut through his office to check on the lorry. By some miracle, the middle-aged driver had managed to start the engine just as the traffic had built up behind him. From the earlier efforts and the ominous noises, Calbrain hadn't held out much hope.

  'You woke me up,' he shouted over to the driver.

  'Sorry mate. I've been driving all night and didn't realise the bloody petrol gauge was on the blink. I ran out.'

  'I'm amazed, from the racket I thought the engine had blown. Fancy a coffee, I've just made some?'

  'Thanks for the offer mate but I only live in Wolverhampton. I just want to get home and have a kip.'

  Calbrain felt sorry for him. 'Take it easy then. Next time you feel like breaking down, don't do it outside my place.'

  The driver laughed as he steered the lorry away from the kerb.

  Calbrain went back inside, refilled his coffee and was ready to ring Vancouver. John had emailed that he was on the mend and eager to get back to work. His health scare had been nothing more complicated than a flu virus.

  Calbrain started by giving him an update on his London visit, emphasising he was satisfied they'd hired a decent firm.

  'I'm thinking about coming over,' McAllister said. 'I'm feeling a lot better.'

  Calbrain wondered why. John McAllister was a clever man in his field but like many academics wasn't particularly practical.

  'Not sure that's a good idea John. Why don't you stay put and see how you feel in another week. I can handle everything at this end and believe me they can't hold him for much longer.'

  'It's my fault Morven's in this shit. If I hadn't accepted the invitation to Oxford none of this would have happened.'

  'Don't blame yourself,' Calbrain answered. 'How could either of you have predicted this?'

  'Jacob's a loyal friend. I feel responsible.'

  Calbrain wondered about their relationship. Living in the UK for all these years he'd lost touch with many people but John had religiously phoned two or three times a year.

  John had never married, fuelling rumours within the academic circle that he was gay. He knew otherwise but John had done nothing to quell the speculation. John had found it amusing and allowed the idea to flourish, hoping it added to his eccentricity. Calbrain guessed their relationship had a deeper and more meaningful angle, kindred spirits in the quest to uphold First Nation culture. John dedicated to passing
on his knowledge to the next generation, Morven determined to preserve his peoples' heritage.

  'Let's see how things go in another week,' he repeated.

  'I can't help thinking the worst case scenario. Jacob goes to trial and is convicted.'

  Calbrain was surprised at John's negativity. 'Listen to me. Don't believe everything you read in newspapers. Since I came over here to live, I've met a broad cross section of police officers. I can only remember a handful I didn't like and respect. DCI Yeats is in my opinion a rogue cop but I've no evidence to prove it. Have any Vancouver papers covered the story yet?'

  'A very short piece in the Herald but I guess after Jacob's court appearance we'll see a glut of them.'

  John sounded tired and Calbrain wanted to wind down the conversation. 'I'll ring as soon as the hearing is over. There's no reason to oppose bail, he's handed over his passport.'

  'If you need more money,' McAllister said, ' there's plenty.'

  'There's more than enough already John.'

  'Don't forget to deduct your expenses.'

  Calbrain laughed. 'I'm a well-paid freelance PI John, not Philip Marlowe without a dime to my name. If it makes you feel better I'll make sure I eat in Cheltenham's best joints.'

  Calbrain heard the older man sigh. 'Whether Jacob gets bail or not I'm booking a ticket. Expect to see me soon.'

  'Okay, as long as you realise how serious this situation is. They have evidence against him, probably just enough to take it to a trial and that won't happen for several months. If Jacob's refused bail, he's on remand until then. The last thing you need is more stress. I have to go but I'll ring you tomorrow,' Calbrain said and rang off.

  On his way upstairs to change, he wondered why John was so determined to come over. The man was still not well and risked having a setback. Calbrain checked his appearance in the mirror. Another new suit, this time dark grey, teamed with a shirt and tie Francisca had bought him while they were in Spain.

  He heard the front door to his office open and Hannah shout, 'It's me.'

  Hannah was already working on the computer as he prepared to leave. Francisca, he'd forgotten to ring her. 'Do me a favour,' he asked Hannah.

  She looked up and pulled a severe face, 'Not again.'

  'Tell her I'll ring later.'

  Hannah got up and peered through the blind. Calbrain was standing by the bus stop with his phone clamped to his ear.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Monday May 20th

  Wetheralls wine bar was quiet. The day was muggy, overcast and the weather forecasters had predicted more heavy rain for the rest of the week. Elizabeth collected her coffee and sat at the far end of the room so she could watch out for Patterson. Until he collected the report from the forensic accountant, the Faraday case was on hold and there was nothing more she could do.

  Morven was due in court tomorrow morning to answer the murder charge to which he intended to plead not guilty. Calbrain had paid a second visit to Park Road yesterday afternoon to meet with Geoffrey Goddard, a consular official from the Canadian Embassy and Morven's solicitor Teresa Lane. When Eldridge first mentioned he'd seen them in the canteen, Elizabeth had decided to stay away. Half an hour later she changed her mind.

  Calbrain had acknowledged her but hadn’t introduced his companions. Elizabeth had felt she’d a legitimate reason for her presence in the canteen because she was hungry. She’d bought a sandwich and sat by the window. Occasionally she’d glanced across at the trio. Teresa Lane was talking on her on mobile while Calbrain and Goddard sifted through paperwork. Elizabeth understood why they'd made use of the station's canteen. Morven was close by should they need to speak to him. Teresa Lane had finished her call and opened up a laptop. The defence team in action, plotting to defeat Yeats and the CPS.

  This is how wealth can alter the course of justice, she’d thought. Whether the Canadian was innocent or guilty didn't matter, Elizabeth was prepared to bet Morven wouldn't end up in a British prison.

  Patterson rushed through the door looking flustered. He sat down and unusually he was out of breath. Elizabeth still worried about him. 'You sound like you're hyperventilating. Take a few deep breaths and tell me what's wrong this time.'

  'I'm sure I've just seen Daly,' he gasped.

  Elizabeth could barely move. Her whole body felt rigid. 'Keep your voice down,' she whispered. 'Tell me where.'

  'Not far from the Air Balloon roundabout.'

  'What were you doing up there?'

  'Our forensic accountant rang me and asked if I'd meet him at the Prince Albert pub on the A40. He was on his way back from London en route to Birmingham and wouldn't be back in Cheltenham for another week. He wanted me to collect the report.'

  'And you're saying Daly was in the pub?'

  'I saw him as he was leaving, with a woman and she wasn't Mrs Daly.'

  'Did you recognise her?'

  Patterson gulped in more air. 'She was getting into a car, very elegant but she was wearing a headscarf and dark glasses so I couldn't tell.'

  Elizabeth forced a laugh.' This all sounds a bit cloak and dagger to me. Are you absolutely sure it was Daly?'

  'Would I be in this state if I wasn't sure? Bloody hell Liz, you can't mistake the man. At first, I thought I was hallucinating because he's lost weight and was kitted out in a fancy suit.'

  'Perhaps the rumours were right and he did run off with another woman. I remember being suspicious when he joined a gym.'

  Patterson sighed. 'I find it hard to believe he'd do that to Mrs Daly.'

  Elizabeth paused, trying to think logically. 'Hang on a minute, we're jumping to conclusions. Just because he's with this woman doesn't mean he's having sex with her. Think about it. Yes, there was plenty of gossip about an affair, but that idea seems to have died away. These days it's impossible to keep affairs a secret. Someone always knows and eventually tells somebody else. And, more importantly where is Mrs Daly? No one's seen her either.'

  'Well it was definitely him, either with a new woman or a friend. Who knows?'

  Elizabeth hadn't disclosed her snooping to Patterson. With this sighting, maybe she should. 'I've done a bit of checking. The Daly's rented out their house and the new tenants don't have a forwarding address because I checked. When I went to see the letting agent he told me any information about Mr and Mrs Daly was confidential and not to come back unless I had a warrant. My instinct tells me it's not Daly you saw.'

  Patterson pulled a face. 'Yeah, because I had a serious brain injury I'm gaga.'

  Elizabeth looked into his eyes and could see he was telling the truth. She badly wanted to believe in his powers of observation but at the same time didn't want to build her hopes up. 'I'm sorry. Start from the point where you went into the pub to meet Phil. Pretend you're a witness to a crime, you know how difficult total recollection is so take it slowly, step-by-step.'

  Patterson's breathing had eased. 'Can I get a coffee first?'

  'You sit there and I'll fetch it.'

  When Elizabeth returned to the table Patterson was writing notes. She waited until he'd finished. 'Is it any clearer in your head?'

  'Have you ever been to the Prince Albert?'

  'No, or if I have, I don't remember.'

  'There are two car parks at the Albert. The larger one is at the back, the smaller one at the front. When I arrived, I drove around the back and went into the bar through the rear entrance. Daly definitely wasn't in there, so he must've been in the restaurant. Phil was waiting and had ordered a couple of mugs of tea. We were together no more than fifteen minutes. I went to the toilet, took a wrong turning and ended up walking out of the front door. That's when I saw him.'

  'Did he see you?' Elizabeth asked.

  'Not a chance. The moment I recognised him I went back in and looked through the window. I saw him face on for at least ten seconds.'

&nbs
p; 'Did you get the number plate?'

  Patterson fished a scrap of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. 'DVLA says it's a customised fake, normally used to evade detection and prosecution.'

  'Remind me how they can tell,' Elizabeth said.

  'We all know the letters and numbers on all plates must be a set size and be the mandatory font with the correct spaces between letters and numbers. Anything else is illegal and always picked up by roadside cameras. Certain customised plates are difficult to read because of background patterns and if the font isn't legal it's even more confusing.' He pointed to the piece of paper. 'That one was in italics, so we won't get anywhere.'

  'What type of car?'

  'I had to look it up. It's a popular Russian saloon. Remember the old Ladas, built like tanks but no style. Daly's was the Lada Kalina and very nice too. It resembles any other mid-priced stylish motor.'

  'He's had a couple of different cars in the last three years and they certainly weren't Russian,' Elizabeth said. 'So it must belong to the woman, or he borrowed it.'

  'Whichever way you look at it Liz, he doesn't want to be recognised. With the weight loss, not many people will. The question is, why?'

  'I haven't got a clue,' Elizabeth said rubbing her brow. 'The more I think about it, the worse it gets. Much as I don't want to accept the idea, he must be having an affair. Well, he can't lie low forever. When I catch up with him...'

  Patterson interrupted, 'I think we should just forget about him. It's his life and he is getting on a bit. I reckon he's decided to rebel before he snuffs it.'