by Joy Ellis
Rory grinned. ‘Perhaps we should move out of Jenny’s garden? I would hate her to think we were sitting here talking about her. Pull in by the bridge just before the main road and I’ll reveal all!’
Five minutes later, they were sitting in the X-Trail, the engine running to keep the heater going.
‘So, he liked the weed?’
‘That and anything else that was on offer. A great experimenter, our Oliver.’
‘Forgive me for asking, but is he . . . ?’
Rory laughed. ‘Gay? Well, not completely, but as I said before, he was a great experimenter. Sadly, the answer is no, although those haunting Byronic features gave a lot of young men restless nights, I can assure you.’
‘So did he drop out of uni?’ Nikki asked.
‘Good Lord, no! Oliver dabbled because he was bored. He found everything so bloody easy. Nothing challenged him. He soaked up information like a sponge and sailed through his degree.’
‘What does he do now?’
Rory leaned back and frowned. ‘No idea. I was more than surprised when you said he was back in Greenborough. For a long while he slipped off the radar, then I heard he’d been in and out of clinics, mainly down south. Somewhere in Surrey, I think.’
‘What sort of clinics?’
‘Expensive ones.’ Rory puffed out his cheeks, and smiled conspiratorially. ‘Now you know I’m not one to gossip, but according to the grapevine, the speed finally got to him. If what I’ve heard is true, to say that his thought processes were disturbed would be something of an understatement. Apparently his amphetamine psychosis was virtually indistinguishable from paranoid schizophrenia.’
‘Jesus! He seemed so calm when I saw him.’
‘Calm? Or spaced out? Wide-eyed?’
Nikki remembered the strange eyes and that intense gaze. ‘Could be.’
‘Then, praise be, at least his current medication must be working.’
‘What on earth would he be consulting Helen about? She was an aromatherapist, a reflexologist, not a psychologist.’
‘Complementary and alternative medicine is often recommended for stress relief. Or maybe he just found the idea of a beautiful woman anointing his body with perfumed oils something of a turn-on. Why don’t you ask him?’
Nikki pulled a face. ‘Looks like I’ve got that dubious pleasure to come. Do you think he’s dangerous?’
‘If he’s being a good boy and taking his meds, he’ll be a veritable lamb. But if he’s being an arsehole and either not taking them, or taking something un-prescribed, then watch out for the hallucinations, or the delusions. In fact, send someone else to do the interview, preferably someone who weighs seventeen stone and is built like a brick outhouse.’
‘Well, this one is down to me, though after what you’ve told me, I won’t go alone.’
‘Sensible woman. Now I’d love to stay and gossip, but I badly need some sleep or my complexion will suffer untold damage. Plus, David is cooking paella, and I love paella! And I need to try to hurry up some of the reports on your friend, all before I can retire to my boudoir with small slices of cucumber on my tired eyes!’
He stepped out into the cold, pulled his coat around him and hurried towards his old Citroen. ‘Catch you tomorrow!’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Early next morning, Nikki looked out from her office and saw heads already down. The whole team was working hard. For once there was little banter. Earnest questions were batted back and forth and telephone conversations were quietly underway. Nikki stood up and, finishing her second coffee of the day, walked over to where Jessie Nightingale was sitting.
‘Last night? CCTV? Any luck?’
Jessie shook her head. ‘The café’s material is no better than the ones from the Willows. In fact, the clinic ones are clearer. That hood is a bummer. It masks his face very effectively. Oh, but I have seen one other thing. He has a limp. Nothing major, but he does drag his left leg.’
‘Let’s have a look.’
Before Jessie could press play, there was a shout from the other side of the office. ‘Guv! Come and look at this. Local TV news! It’s the super.’
Several officers were staring at a news update on the television. Superintendent Woodhall had finished his plea for help and the TV cameras had zoomed in on the crowd spreading down the Westland Waterway.
‘Bloody hell! That has trebled from earlier today!’
An interviewer with a microphone was talking to some of the mourners. As the lens panned round the crowd, Jessie suddenly exclaimed, ‘Look, ma’am! Right-hand side! Just behind that little kid with the silly fur hat! It’s him! That’s the bloke that was following Helen!’
Nikki ran from the office and almost fell down the stairs in her haste to get to the uniformed sergeant. ‘Radio your officers at the scene of crime! There’s a man there, he’s wearing a parka jacket and faded blue denim jeans. He has a limp. I want him brought in now! And, Sergeant, not in front of the TV crews. Get him away from those cameras first.’
While she waited, Nikki went to find Joseph.
‘Andrew Gregory’s computer had been stripped of information, ma’am. IT tells me it’s the most professional piece of work they have ever seen,” he said.
‘But they can restore it, can’t they?’
Joseph looked doubtful. ‘Norman reckons it would take until the next millennium. They’ve used a very advanced program to destroy everything on it. Some kind of super-bug, he says.’
‘What on earth could Andrew have that would be sensitive enough to warrant wrecking his house, wiping his computer memory and possibly kidnapping him?’
Joseph’s expression was serious. ‘That’s not all, ma’am. Eric Barnes has been helping me check out his finances, and Andrew Gregory has a serious amount of money. Accounts everywhere, even offshore. Eric has only scratched the surface but he’s located thousands of pounds squirreled away, and all the accounts were opened quite recently.’
Nikki’s mouth dropped open. ‘Andrew?’
‘’Fraid so, ma’am. But I do have a bit of good news. Do you remember that laptop we took from Helen’s house?’
Nikki nodded. ‘It was hers, wasn’t it?’
‘It was a sort of communal one. It held a mixture of games and downloaded web stuff: e-cards, music, Helen checking on the availability of aromatherapy oils, that kind of thing. There was an encrypted file on it too, and Norman has managed to break in. It’s all about something with the code name Telstar. What that is, we don’t know yet, but Norman is working on it now.’
‘It sounds like he might have used Helen’s computer when he couldn’t get back to Fentoft Quay. Maybe he didn’t want certain information on his own laptop.’ She whistled softly. ‘Thank God we already had it in our possession! That would certainly have been wiped too.’
‘No doubt of that. Oh, and I’ve had his computer at Seymour Kramer confiscated. One of our lads has gone to bring it back.’ Joseph looked at her. ‘Do you think Helen’s death is tied up with all this? Like the prof said, all the weird stuff was just to throw us off track?’
‘Let’s see what this yob, the one who was stalking her, has to say first, shall we?’
‘Have they got him yet?’
The murder room door opened. ‘From the look on Niall Farrow’s face, I’d say they have.’
‘We have him for you, whenever you are ready, ma’am.’
‘No fuss?’
‘No, ma’am. Our officers had been talking to a lot of people anyway, so it didn’t look suspicious. Luckily, he decided to cooperate and he was spirited away very quietly. He started to panic when I spoke to him, but Jessie soon talked him down. She was fantastic actually, really patient with him, all things considered.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ It was an odd comment to make.
Niall stared at her. ‘You’ve not seen the local paper?’
‘No, why?’
‘I’m afraid the old story has resurrected itself. Hang on, I’ll show you.’ N
iall walked from the room and returned a few moments later with a well-thumbed copy of the Greenborough Standard. ‘Look, centre-page spread.’
Together, Nikki and Joseph read the article:
Three Part Tragedy.
As our town reels under the shock of the murder of Helen Brook, our reporter, Sandy O’Neill, asks about two other unsolved Greenborough mysteries. Who deliberately lured Fireman Dan Moore to his death in a blazing warehouse? And where is PC Graham Hildred, the missing policeman who earlier in his career risked his life rescuing a child from the River Westland?
Joseph was angry. ‘Oh shit! Not again! How many more times will they do an article on Graham? Poor Jess! Just when things calm down, some arsehole goes and digs it all up again.’
Niall shrugged. ‘I guess they’ll keep on, Sarge, until we have an answer.’
‘After all this time, that could well be never,’ added Nikki. It was an old story, but one that haunted Greenborough nick like no other. Jessie Nightingale had been engaged to one of the beat bobbies, PC Graham Hildred. Then one day, after they’d had breakfast together, he had kissed her, walked out to go to work, and disappeared. No one had seen or heard from him since. Jess had been devastated, but had always maintained that one day they would know the truth. She had soldiered on bravely, but she didn’t need it raked up and thrown in her face every other month.
Nikki brought herself back to the present. ‘Okay, our stalker. What sort of man is he, Niall?’
Niall Farrow puffed out his cheeks and raised his eyebrows. ‘Not what I expected. He’s very jumpy, but not just because we want to talk to him. I’d say he’s twitchy, anyway, in a fruit loop kind of way.’
Nikki looked at Joseph. ‘Okay, let’s see what we make of him, shall we?’
* * *
Back in that bare room, Nikki and Joseph sat looking at a new interviewee.
This man was very different from the missing Andrew Gregory. He stammered, his eyes darted around the room, everywhere but Nikki and Joseph, and he shifted constantly in his seat.
‘Your name is Paul Brant?’
He nodded furiously. He asked why they wanted to talk to him, swearing he knew nothing about Helen Brook. He refused a solicitor. ‘Why do I need one? I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘But you did know Ms Brook, didn’t you?’
‘I . . . No, I didn’t know her.’ He bit furiously on a thumb nail. ‘No.’
‘Then why were you following her, Paul?’
He swallowed loudly, and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. ‘I wasn’t following her.’
‘We have evidence to the contrary, Paul, recorded on CCTV. We know you were following her.’
‘Can I see my doctor, please?’ He sounded close to tears.
‘We have already offered you time to see the duty medical officer. Are you now saying you want to see him?’
Brant looked frightened. ‘No! I need to see my own doctor, she’ll understand. I can’t talk to a stranger!’ His eyes darted around the bare room. He looked like a trapped animal. ‘And I don’t want to talk to you either. I want the other woman, the nice one.’
Joseph looked at Nikki. ‘I guess he means Jessie.’
Nikki nodded. ‘Paul, do you mean the policewoman who spoke to you when you were brought in?’
He nodded, violently enough to induce a migraine.
‘For the tape, I’m asking Detective Sergeant Easter to leave the room to see if WPC Jessie Nightingale is in the building. Thank you, Sergeant.’
Joseph left the room. Nikki wondered what this guy was on. As Niall had said, he wasn’t exactly what they expected from a stalker. Although he was shabbily dressed, he didn’t look like a wino or a homeless person. Rather it was as if he had given up on himself, forgotten to shave, couldn’t be bothered to wash his hair. More than anything Paul Brant looked lost, and frightened.
‘I don’t mean to upset you, Paul. We are trying to find the person who hurt Helen, so we have to ask a lot of people a lot of questions. Do you understand?’
Brant stared at his ragged thumbnail. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Now can we wait for the other lady please?’
The next five minutes were spent in a silence broken only by the sound of Paul Brant chewing on his few remaining nails. Nikki was greatly relieved when the door opened and Joseph and Jessie entered and introduced themselves for the tape.
Jessie sat herself down opposite Paul and spoke softly to him.
Nikki retreated and took up a position near the door. A few moments later, and after a few suspicious glances directed at Nikki, Paul Brant began to talk.
‘I wasn’t following her. Well, not like you think. I needed to talk to her but I didn’t have the courage. I kept trying. That’s what I was doing if you saw me near her. I was trying to find the right words, and find a way of approaching her.’ He stared into his lap miserably. ‘You don’t think I frightened her, do you?’
Nikki bit her lip. Not much! Only terrified the shit out of her.
Jessie assured him that Helen hadn’t been frightened. Then she asked, ‘What was so difficult to ask her about, Paul?’
‘Would you ring my doctor? The number is in my wallet.’
‘Don’t you want to talk to us anymore? Only you’re being really helpful.’
‘I want Dr Chambers. I can’t talk about what happened! Not won’t — can’t! She’ll explain.’
Nikki noted that he was becoming excessively agitated, and decided to call a halt to the interview. ‘I’ll ring your doctor, Paul. You have a break and we’ll talk later, okay?’
‘When Dr Chambers gets here?’
‘Sure.’ Whenever that might be, thought Nikki, knowing the reluctance of GPs to turn out for their patients. As Joseph handed Paul over to the custody officer, Nikki added, ‘And thanks, Jessie, he seems to respond well to you. Could you stick around for the next session?’
‘No problem, ma’am.’
Back in her office, Nikki stared at the telephone number. It was not a Greenborough one. She recognised the code, but was not sure where it was. She keyed it in, and was surprised to hear the doctor herself answer. She introduced herself, made quite sure that Dr Chambers did indeed treat Paul Brant, then briefly described the situation.
The doctor sounded worried. ‘Oh dear. I was afraid something like this would happen, Inspector. Look, I’ve got one more patient to see before lunch, then I’ll drive over. I can make it in about an hour, is that all right?’
Nikki asked her where she was coming from.
‘Oh, didn’t Paul tell you? I’m based at Needham Hall Psychiatric Hospital, just outside Louth.’
Nikki replaced the receiver, and put her head in her hands. Oliver Kirton was paranoid, now she had learned that Paul Brant was receiving psychiatric care. Along with Titus Whipp, who was simply barking mad, and a boyfriend who had deep, dark secrets . . . What on earth kind of men did Helen Brook attract?
* * *
Joseph spent a few moments talking to Niall about the atmosphere the uniformed officers sensed on the streets. Nothing the younger man told him made him feel any easier. Not only was there tension among the people gathered at the Westland Waterway, the edginess in and around the Carborough Estate seemed to be slowly mounting.
Niall spoke anxiously. ‘I’m still no closer to knowing what’s going on out there, but whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t kick off until this weird stuff about Helen Brook has gone away.’
Joseph agreed. That could be very bad for the police, very bad indeed.
Back in the CID room he went into his tiny office and closed the door. Time to try another route into the troubles on the Carborough. He pulled out his phone and found the number he wanted.
Mickey answered after two or three rings.
‘Hey, Mickey! How are you doing?’
‘Joe? I’m okay, and you?’
Joseph stiffened. Mickey’s tone had none of its usual enthusiasm. ‘Something wrong? Other than Archie?’ Joseph h
oped that Archie hadn’t just shuffled off his mortal coil.
‘Archie’s not good, Joe. But you know him. He’s hanging on.’
‘I hear that the family has all come home to be with him.’
‘Yeah, it’s pretty intense around here.’
Maybe that was it. Joseph decided he had better go for broke. ‘I need your help, my friend.’
‘From what I hear you need more than me. This vigil thing is freaking people out. I bet you guys are run off your feet.’
‘Something like that, and two murders aren’t helping either. Mickey, what’s going down on the estate? It feels like someone has lit a fuse and everyone is waiting for the big bang.’
For the first time since Joseph had known Mickey, he fell silent. After a moment, he lowered his voice and said, ‘I can’t talk about it, Joe. I dare not.’
Joseph felt his stomach tighten. ‘Are you in any danger, Mickey?’
‘No, no, nothing like that, but it’s personal, okay? I’d tell you if I could, but . . .’
‘Okay. I know the rules. But if anything happens and you are scared, you come to me or Nikki. Do you understand?’
‘Thanks, Sergeant Joe. I won’t forget.’ The line went dead.
Joseph closed his phone and stared at it. Mickey was a bright, incredibly energetic teenager. As a kid he had been hyperactive, with considerable attention deficit problems, but since being adopted by Peter, Archie’s youngest son, he had gone from strength to strength. After several unfortunate incidents, inside and outside the law, he had kept in touch with Joseph and they had developed a kind of special alliance. Now the boy’s odd reticence to talk worried Joseph a great deal. The only thing he could have meant when he said “personal,” was that something serious was happening in the Leonard family circle. Maybe it was something to do with Archie’s impending demise. Perhaps there was dissension around Raymond taking the throne. He was certainly the next in line to be King of the Carborough, but he wasn’t the eldest son. Joseph knew there was an older one, also called Joseph, but as far as he knew, the number one son was making an honest living as a successful businessman. As were Peter and Fran, the couple who had adopted Mickey. Joseph pulled a face. But apart from the immediate family, there were dozens of other villainous Leonards — cousins, uncles, brothers and numerous in-laws. Perhaps there was trouble in the camp.