‘I’d worry too much about what they might chat about. As for client satisfaction…’
‘Look forward, not back! I’ll include detailed proposals and costings in my report. It should be with you on Monday.’ Wayne beamed. ‘See, I’m assuming you make it past Midsummer’s Eve.’
‘I appreciate your confidence. Anyway, I’d better be getting back.’
‘Sure, don’t let me stop you.’ Wayne lowered his voice and cast a glance towards the desk, but chewing gum and football talk occupied Lou’s full attention. ‘By the way, I had a thought. Your message about Midsummer’s Eve. Might it have been sent by Casper May?’
‘Why would he bother? We’ve only been tenants for a fortnight. It’s too early for us to fall behind with the rent.’
The lift doors opened and Wayne waved Harry in. As they moved from the ground floor, he tapped the side of his nose. His know-all expression made Harry want to kick him. Not for the first time, he forced himself to remember that he was in the man’s debt.
‘Suppose Casper got wind of the fact that you and his ex-wife are more than just good friends?’
‘I told you…’
‘Harry, we’re both men of the world. All I’d suggest is this. Might be an idea to give the lady a wide berth for a while. Know what I mean?’
The lift doors opened at the fifth floor and Harry escaped without another word. But as he exchanged a few words with Suzanne, his mind raced. That photograph in Juliet’s penthouse, of the couple walking up to the door of the Adelphi. The woman had reminded him of someone and he’d remembered who it was.
The moment he was back in his room, he did an internet search against the name of Denise Onuoha. Sure enough, he came up with the news stories about her murder. And the old picture of the victim as a schoolgirl. He closed his eyes. Yes, he was sure of it now. The woman in the photograph was Denise. Her hair was different and her outfit glamorous, but the similarities were unmistakable. Juliet kept a photograph of a woman who had been strangled.
Had Ceri conducted the inquest on Denise, was that a link? The inquest would have been adjourned pending further inquires, but a verdict of murder by person or persons unknown was inevitable, unless and until the culprit was found.
The door to his office opened and Grace looked in and asked if he would like a cup of tea. He nodded, but didn’t speak. His head was too cluttered. One damn thing after another.
As his thoughts roamed, he opened his inbox and scrolled through his emails. The name of one sender stood out.
Ka-Yu Cheung.
His heart almost stopped.
A message from a dead woman?
Hardly daring to touch his mouse, he scanned the words on the screen.
Harry, you will only receive this email if I’m in trouble. Tom showed me how to delay sending a message, and how to recall one that has already been sent.
I hate to say it, but Tom is sick of me. Whatever I do to please him, it’s never enough.
I’m scared. I overheard him talking on the phone when he didn’t realise I’d just got back home from work. What he said was terrifying. He’s done something bad, that’s how he found the rent for our new apartment. This time he is in too deep to get away with it.
Now he has guessed that I know too much. The way he looks at me frightens me to death. I’m pretty sure he’s bugged our phone. He has the skills. So he knows I want to talk to you.
He has a knife, and he’s ready to use it.
If someone doesn’t stop him, he’ll kill someone else.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tears pricked his eyes as he dialled Carmel’s number. A lecturer at college once said he had too much imagination for a lawyer, and it was true. He found it easy to picture Kay trembling as she typed with two fingers, and to smell her fear as she listened for her lover’s footsteps. She must have sent the email shortly before her death. They might be her last words, before the life was squeezed out of her and her tongue wagged no more.
That bastard Gunter.
Carmel’s voice murmured in his ear. ‘Harry, darling. Found the Maltese Falcon yet?’
‘I may have found out who killed Ka-Yu Cheung.’
When he told her about the email, she whistled. ‘So, you reckon it’s the obvious suspect, after all?’
‘Usually the way, isn’t it? Despite the fact that her tongue was cut out and Tom had an alibi for the Onuoha murder.’
‘Are you suggesting a coincidence?’
‘Or two people conspiring to commit a series of crimes? If Tom killed Kay, what about Denise?’
He hesitated as soon as he mentioned Denise’s name. The photograph. He didn’t want to cause a rumpus with Juliet – or her ex-husband – without a very good reason. He must think things through before he told Carmel that Juliet kept a snap of the first victim in her magazine rack. There might be an entirely innocent explanation, but he hadn’t the faintest idea what it was.
‘I found out something else when I rang HQ a few minutes ago. The forensic people have matched Tom Gunter’s trainers to the footprints where Kay Cheung’s body was found.’
‘Is that conclusive?’
‘Not when we hear from counsel for the defence, I expect, but even so. A huge search for him is underway. The senior officers reckon he may not have gone far. He left his car at the Marina, so he doesn’t have his own transport unless he’s stolen someone else’s motor. There’s a chance he may be hanging out with friends or in some dark corner of the city.’
Harry had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was sure that Tom had killed Kay. Presumably he’d accessed her emails or found out about the meeting at Runcorn Bridge and decided he had to shut her up for good. The Woman Who Knew Too Much. If Kay hadn’t blown the whistle on her lover, she might still be alive. Something else for him to feel guilty about.
‘If I hadn’t…’
‘Listen, it’s not your fault,’ Carmel interrupted.
‘If you’re right, it would make a nice change, wouldn’t it?’
‘Don’t blame yourself. Kay called because she trusted you and there was nobody else she could rely on. She turned to you because you’re honest, and you were on her side.’
‘Much good it did her.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up over this, Harry. Please, I have enough on my plate. Jim’s making progress, but he’s not out of the wood yet.’
‘Sorry. I’m being self-indulgent.’
‘No, you just can’t help getting involved. Only trouble is, if you get involved with murder cases…’
‘I know, I know.’
‘What I don’t understand is, you’ve been on your best behaviour for years, then all of a sudden, it’s like a dam bursting.’ She paused. ‘Is this anything to do with that baloney about Midsummer’s Eve?’
‘No, I’ve almost forgotten about that.’
The moment he said it, he realised it wasn’t true. He took another glance at the desk calendar. The best thing about the future is that it only comes one day at a time. Not much consolation when the date was 22 June.
Tomorrow was Midsummer’s Eve.
When the phone rang half an hour later, he snatched it from its cradle.
‘I said I didn’t want any calls.’
Suzanne said, ‘The coroner is on. She says it’s personal. And urgent. I’ll tell her you’re too busy, shall I?’
Ceri. Personal. Urgent. For once, Suzanne had pressed all the right buttons.
‘No, no. Put her through, please.’
‘Are you sure?’ Suzanne gloated. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t want to disturb you in the middle of important business.’
‘I’m sorry I snapped. You did the right thing.’
‘It’s just that…’
‘Please, could you put her through?’
She heaved a sigh to convey patience tried beyond endurance, and a moment later he heard the voice of Ceri Hussain. Tense, unsure, quite unlike the calm and authoritative coroner he’d listened to in court.
; ‘Harry…is it convenient? I…I don’t want to interrupt you if you’re busy.’
‘I’m glad to be interrupted,’ he said. ‘At least, by you.’
‘That’s sweet of you. Harry, I…I wanted to apologise. For the other night.’
‘No need, honestly. Forget about it, please.’
‘No, I shouldn’t have messed you about like that.’
‘I shouldn’t have asked you back.’
‘But I was glad when you did. I wanted to…be with you. And then suddenly it became too much. I felt overwhelmed, but I handled it wretchedly. I’m hoping we can still be friends? I’d like to stay in touch, if that’s all right with you.’
‘That would be wonderful.’
‘So, how are things? Did you talk to Grace about the pagans?’
He found himself telling her the story of his search for Aled Borth and their bizarre encounter at the Waterloo Alhambra.
‘My God. Mr Borth, a serial killer?’
‘I don’t think so. He’s a sad specimen, but I got it wrong. There’s no real harm in him. His alibis are impeccable.’
‘You watch, it’ll be as I said. My hunch is, the police are nowhere near finding the man who killed those poor girls.’
‘There may be more than one murderer. Tom Gunter is in the frame for the murder of Kay Cheung.’
‘Tom Gunter? I don’t believe it.’
‘There’s supposed to be evidence linking him to the site where Kay’s body was found.’
He heard a sharp intake of breath. ‘You mean it was a domestic?’
‘Not so much a crime of passion, more a crime of uncontrollable rage.’
‘But he’s another suspect with an alibi the police couldn’t break.’
‘Exactly. He couldn’t have murdered Denise Onuoha. So two separate killers must have been at work.’
‘You’re saying someone else murdered Lee and Denise?’
‘Yes, though that doesn’t explain how Tom Gunter was able to copy the original MO.’
‘There must be some mistake.’
‘No mistake, Ceri. Information has leaked, though God knows how it reached him.’
‘He’s an IT expert, do you think he hacked into the police computer system?’
A very long shot, Harry thought. As Ceri spoke, he’d suddenly had the glimmer of an explanation for the mystery.
‘He may have talked to someone on the periphery of the investigation.’
‘I can’t believe anyone in the police would gossip with a man like Gunter.’
‘Agreed.’ Harry pictured Barney Eagleson’s knowing smile. ‘But I can think of someone else who might.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘It’s the man who first told me what the murderer’s signature is. Barney Eagleson.’
‘The embalmer?’
‘You know him?’ As soon as he said it, he realised it was a stupid question.
‘Of course, in my job I come across undertakers and embalmers all the time. But I can’t believe…’
‘He’s an odd character.’
‘Harry, you need to be careful.’ He was touched by the anxiety in her voice. ‘Better leave this to the experts. The police have the resources, they know what they are doing.’
‘You said yourself, they may never find whoever strangled those girls.’
He could almost hear the fatalistic shrug. ‘Well, Harry, if your mind’s made up, I’m sure I won’t change it. You have a reputation for being persistent.’
‘Speaking of which, would you like to get together again sometime?’
Another pause. ‘Harry, I’m…I mean, I really enjoy your company.’
‘That’s good enough for me.’
‘Ricky’s death changed everything,’ she muttered. ‘I persuaded myself I was getting past the worst. But…right now I feel as if I’ll never manage it.’
‘You will. You’ll never forget him, but you’ll get over the pain. Trust me, I’ve been there.’
‘I don’t deserve your kindness,’ she said.
Before he could argue, she’d put down the phone.
Five minutes after Sylvia and Grace said goodnight, Gina Paget arrived at his door. Her eyes shone, her smile gleamed with excitement, her hands were tucked behind her back, as if she were a fond parent concealing a birthday gift.
‘It’s worked like a dream!’
‘You have the key?’
‘Ta-da!’ With a flourish she opened her palm to reveal a small key. ‘It’s all thanks to Irena. She’s a magician.’
‘How did she get it?’
‘Don’t ask,’ Gina giggled. ‘Let’s just say she didn’t have to sleep with horrible old Victor. Apparently he was scared to death when she came on to him. Told him he was her dream husband and he could have a lovely Lithuanian bride without even needing to give his credit card details online. All in broken English and with explicit hand gestures, naturally.’
‘Naturally.’ Harry laughed. ‘I owe her. And you.’
‘Let’s say we’re quits after you bought me that drink the other night. And Irena wants you to represent her if she is ever nicked by a store detective. Though it would take a Sherlock Holmes, she’s that good. Deal?’
‘Deal.’ He held out his hand for the key, but she shook her head.
‘I’m coming down to the basement with you.’
‘I don’t think so, Gina.’
‘Oh yes, I am. Nobody’s going to stop me from seeing what Victor Creepy gets up to behind closed roller shutters.’
‘We can’t be sure it’s safe. Christ knows what’s going on in the basement. If anything.’
‘I don’t see you picking up the phone to beg the police to rush over here. Are you saying I can’t come with you because I’m a woman?’
Game, set and match. ‘Of course not.’
‘Well, then.’ She checked her watch. ‘I spoke to Lou. He thinks Victor has nipped out for a drink with his pal, but we don’t have much time. Victor’s supposed to take over on the desk at six, and he may be back in the building before then. Let’s get moving.’
As they waited for the lift, Harry asked himself what they were moving towards. He had no evidence that Barney Eagleson knew Tom Gunter, far less that he’d shared inside information with him. Victor Creevey knew that Denise’s tongue had been cut out, yet there was no reason to believe that he and Tom had met.
Even so. Someone had battered Jim in the basement, a crime lacking motive and logic. If Jim had stumbled across something untoward in the basement, the attack made more sense. And if Barney, or Victor, was responsible for what had happened to his partner, Harry meant to make them pay.
‘Are you angry?’ Gina asked in a small voice as the lift doors opened.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘It’s written all over your face.’
He mustered a careful smile. ‘Just as well you’re coming along. You can be a restraining influence.’
‘Mmmm.’ A cheeky grin. ‘I like a man who gets carried away. Especially a solicitor, you’re supposed to be so discreet and well-behaved.’
‘You obviously haven’t met many solicitors. Here we are. Ground level.’
Lou and WH Auden were still absorbed in football talk at the welcome desk. Harry and Gina tip-toed across the floor and made it through the door to the basement without earning a glance from the concierge. His usefulness was on a par with the clapped-out CCTV, and for once Harry was delighted. He’d dreamt up several explanations about why he and a young female cleaner wanted to sneak off to the basement of the building and none of them would have fooled a toddler.
Gina stood with her back to the door, and whispered, ‘Made it!’
‘So far.’ Harry cast a glance at the entrance to Victor’s home. No sign of life. ‘Shall we go downstairs?’
He took the steps one at a time, trying not to make a sound. It wasn’t long after five, and someone might be in the car park, ready to leave for home. Or Wayne Saxelby might be lurking there, after a trip
to see a client. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he peeped around the edge of the door, but saw nothing. The basement was deserted.
‘Come on.’
Gina tried the key in the lock of the roller shutter. It lifted without a sound.
‘It’s well oiled,’ she whispered. ‘Must be in regular use. That Irena, she’s brilliant. He never noticed, you know. When she turned up at his door and invited herself in, he was too busy fending her off to realise she’d slipped the keys into her pocket. According to Irena, when he realised she was nude beneath her overall, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. He was scared stiff and really made it clear that he didn’t want to know. But she made an impression of the key to give to the locksmith and put it back on the hook when she called back a few minutes later. Old Creepy was so desperate to get rid of her, he never guessed a thing.’
‘Sure about that?’
‘Trust me, I’m a cleaning lady.’
Behind the shutter was an unlit passageway, running along the rear of the car park. Harry stepped into it.
‘Do you want to wait here, so that you can sound the alarm if I run into trouble?’
‘All right, if you want to play the hero,’ Gina murmured, ‘but won’t you need a torch?’
‘I didn’t bring one.’
‘What are you like?’ She gazed at the ceiling before producing a pencil-sized light with an exaggerated flourish. ‘Here.’
‘Gina, you think of everything.’
‘You bet.’ She winked at him. ‘Mind how you go.’
The torch cast a narrow shaft of light between the unpainted brick walls of the passageway. The air smelt musty, the stone flags underfoot were hard and uneven. No sign of the hole in the floor that, according to Victor, had caused the place to be shut off for safety reasons. On the right hand side were doors set into archways. Harry remembered his dream about the people in masks. No music this time, just the distant scurrying of tiny feet. Even in the heart of a built-up city, rats were never far away.
The doors had iron handles caked in dust. He tried to turn one, but it did not budge. Ahead, the passage made a ninety-degree turn. He edged to the end of the wall on his right and poked his head around the corner. The way forward was blocked by another door, this time made of steel. It might have been the entrance to a bank vault, except that the door did not sit flush on the ground. Through the gap he saw light coming from within. Not daylight, but low-wattage bulb with a reddish glow.
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