Chris Collett - [Tom Mariner 01]

by The Worm in The Bud (txt)

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, as I said, it seemed to have been quite a sudden decision. Perhaps he was planning to discuss it.’ And perhaps not. Why make excuses for the fact that she and Eddie had hardly spoken to each other for years? ‘For the moment,’ Jenner concluded. ‘It will make James quite a wealthy young man…’

  ‘Wealthy enough to be able to afford some kind of long term residential care, I hope,’ murmured Anna. She was thinking aloud, but now that it was said Paul Jenner’s uneasiness compounded before her very eyes. ‘I’m sure that’s not what your parents had in mind when…’

  ‘My parents are dead, Mr Jenner,’ Anna quietly reminded him.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Now she’d really embarrassed him. He covered his confusion with the professional matter in hand.

  ‘Once probate has been granted, it will take me a week or so to draw up the papers. After that I’ll need to ask you to come in and sign them.’

  Anna nodded to indicate that she’d understood, feeling better than she had done since the news of Eddie’s death.

  It was what she needed to hear; that she would not have to bear the financial burden of residential care for Jamie entirely on her own, which in turn meant that she could find him somewhere good and find it soon. The house was a complication, but not one that couldn’t be overcome. Her relief was palpable. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and began gathering together her things.

  ‘Your brother did leave one other specific item with me,’ Jenner added, almost as an afterthought. He disappeared into a walk-in cupboard, emerging moments later carrying, somewhat bizarrely, an old shoebox tied with string. ‘I’ll leave it with you for a few minutes.’ He walked out before Anna could demur.

  As the door closed behind him, Anna slipped off the string and inside the box found a bundle of letters held together by an elastic band. Big deal, she thought. They looked old, but as Anna riffled through them, some had got numbers scrawled on them in what looked like Eddie’s handwriting. She freed one of the letters from the pile and scanned it. It was addressed not to Eddie, but to her father.

  At first she couldn’t see any relevance, but by the second paragraph, she was hooked.

  ‘Our daughter Maria was born at full term,’ it read.

  ‘Delivery was normal and she weighed 51bs 4oz. She was a happy, healthy baby, a joy to everyone, until at around eighteen months she suddenly began to cry and scream.’

  An unexpected pain speared Anna as a vivid memory of one of Jamie’s first ‘screaming days’ came rushing back to her. A hot summer day, they had gone to visit Auntie Meg and Uncle Keith down in Gloucestershire. Jamie, who would have been about two at the time, had started crying as soon as they got there, but for no identifiable reason.

  The crying had quickly escalated into screaming, in terror or agony, it was impossible to tell, but every time Mum tried to comfort him, he pushed her away, recoiling from her touch and screaming even louder. More plainly than ever, Anna could picture her mother’s face, stricken with the knowledge that she couldn’t even soothe her own child.

  The incident had shocked Anna because it was the first time she’d seen her mother cry. It was far from the last. And even then, at the age of seven, Anna knew that the other adults were looking on and making their own judgements.

  What she hadn’t understood, couldn’t have understood, was that their lives would never be the same again.

  The neat, copperplate handwriting blurred in front of her eyes. Blinking back tears, Anna glanced over one or two more of the letters. Not all were as fluently written and there were subtle differences to each. A child who was eerily passive and undemanding, another whose obsession with light switches had become intolerable. But from every page came the painful desperation of parents living with a child beyond comprehension. Anna couldn’t imagine why on earth Eddie had kept the letters, unless it was to punish her.

  Paul Jenner cleared his throat, making Anna start. She hadn’t noticed him come back into the room. ‘It seemed important to Eddie that you got those,’ he said. ‘Perhaps they’re of particular sentimental value?’

  Mm. Or perhaps in the last few weeks of his life, Eddie had been going slowly insane. Suddenly Anna was overwhelmed by an urge to be outside. Making an effort to pull herself together, she handed the shoebox back to the solicitor.

  ‘It’s all right, you can keep these, for now.’ And with a brief thank you and goodbye, she hurried from the building.

  Out in the air again, part of her was relieved, knowing now that Jamie was financially sound and that she could safely turn her mind to some serious research. But her relief was tempered by everything else that was falling into place. Eddie had been making arrangements. He had been planning. Doing all things you would expect of a man who was about to take his own life. It was not an easy thought.

  Anna was still brooding on it when she met Becky for their regular lunch date at Chez Jules.

  ‘How are you doing?’ Becky asked.

  ‘Not wonderful,’ Anna had to concede. ‘When the police told me Eddie’s death was suicide I wouldn’t believe them, but now it seems obvious. The things he’d done, preparations he’d made. It’s all beginning to fit.’

  ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘Not least because it leaves me with the knowledge that I could have done something about it. I keep asking myself, how could Eddie have been so desperate and I didn’t even know? I’m his sister for God’s sake. Why didn’t he talk to me?’

  ‘Because you weren’t close. You said it yourself. How could you have known? What you need is some retail therapy to cheer you up. There’s a mid-season sale at Monsoon. Come on, let’s go.’

  They settled the bill and left the restaurant, but for once, even shopping couldn’t shake Anna from the sudden depression that had descended on her. Her attention snagged on a newsstand headline: City Journalist Found Dead. Eddie, she thought, numbly. And suddenly, trying to find a sweater in exactly the right shade of blue seemed a totally pointless exercise. ‘Actually, I think I’ll give it a miss,’ she told Becky. ‘I’m not very good company today.’

  Becky didn’t put up a fight. ‘What have you got planned for this afternoon?’ she asked.

  ‘I need to get some of Jamie’s things.’ ‘How’s it going? I heard about last night.’

  ‘Oh, did you? Yes, I suppose it’s all round the office by now. Unreliable Anna. It pretty well sums the way life is going. I’m hoping that there might be things back at Eddie’s house that will keep Jamie occupied so that I can start trying to get back to normal. I’ll go straight there now I think.’

  Becky shuddered. ‘Rather you than me.’ She saw Anna’s look. ‘Sorry, but you know what I mean.’

  ‘It’s only a house,’ said Anna. But driving out to Harborne, she knew precisely what Becky meant, and her apprehension began to grow.

  Chapter Seven

  Even under normal circumstances Anna didn’t look back at thirty-four Clarendon Avenue with any great fondness. It wasn’t that her childhood had been unhappy, it had just never been quite right, and she’d hardly been back here since her parents died. Contrary to their wishes, she and Eddie would both have preferred to sell the oversized house along with all its memories, but at the time their reasoning had seemed sound: that whatever other dramatic changes there might be in Jamie’s life after they were gone, here at least there would be continuity.

  On the approach to the house, the police squad car at the kerb-side heightened her anxiety, and she was mystified to see another car parked on the drive behind Eddie’s, until she recognised it as the one belonging to the detective, Mariner. Its presence slightly tempered her fears. Having never knowingly been into a building where someone had died, let alone committed suicide, her usual self-confidence seemed to have deserted her.

  Inside the squad car a young uniformed officer sat eating his sandwiches. What could be more normal than that?

  Walking up the drive Anna took a deep, calming breath. All she needed were a few
of Jamie’s clothes, his toothbrush and shaving kit. A quick in and out was all it would take.

  Beyond the strip of crime scene tape, the front door was open, leaving her free to enter, so why wasn’t she pleased?

  Anna ducked under the tape and went in. Inside, the place had an illusory look to it where surfaces had been painted with grey metallic fingerprint dust. Following the sound of movements, she pushed open the lounge door.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a place like this…’ PC Knox was saying.

  ‘It’s one of the few perks of losing your parents prematurely,’ Anna interrupted, and both men reeled around to face her.

  ‘How did you get in here?’ Mariner’s frown mirrored the accusing tone.

  ‘Through the door, the same as you,’ Anna defended herself. ‘It was open.’

  ‘It shouldn’t have been.’ He glared at Knox, who just returned the glare.

  ‘I just need to get some of Jamie’s things,’ Anna said.

  As he turned to her, Mariner’s expression softened slightly. ‘How is the Hula Hoop kid?’ he asked.

  ‘His clothes are beginning to smell. He could use some more.’

  For a moment their eyes locked. She should do it now, but admitting she was wrong had never come easily. Oh well, here goes. ‘You were right,’ she said, eventually.

  ‘About the way Eddie died. It’s all beginning to fit. He had begun making plans for Jamie. His GP knew it, and he’d even made a will. Hindsight is a wonderful thing and I’m sorry I doubted what you said. At the time it seemed impossible, but I suppose that’s what everyone says. I still find it hard to believe that Eddie didn’t stick around long enough to see Jamie settled, but that must be an indication of how desperate…’ She tailed off, all at once seeing that both men were staring at her with a degree of discomfort. Something was slightly off kilter. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Why are you here?’ The question had suddenly occurred to her.

  Then Knox gave Mariner a ‘go on, tell her’ sort of look and the tall man sighed. ‘Eddie didn’t stick around to see Jamie settled because he didn’t take his own life,’ Mariner said. ‘You were right. It wasn’t suicide. We’ve been trying to contact you to let you know.’

  ‘What?’ Anna struggled to take in what he was saying.

  ‘We’ve had the postmortem report. Eddie was murdered.

  But someone went to great lengths to make it look like suicide’

  For the second time in two days, Mariner watched Anna Barham absorb what to many would be devastating news with great self-control. He’d been pretty shocked himself, when Bill Croghan had broken it to him late last night.

  Everything they’d turned up so far pointed to Eddie Barham as a man at the end of his tether taking up his final option, but now that theory had been completely overturned.

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ Anna Barham asked, echoing Mariner’s own question to Croghan.

  ‘Eddie’s killer made one or two mistakes, he said.

  ‘Either hadn’t thought things through, or was in a hurry, probably the latter.’ Suddenly he saw how wobbly she looked. ‘Why don’t we—?’ Mariner gestured towards the sofa and she sat at one end, while Mariner took up the opposite corner, a pair of bookends propping up an empty space. ‘We were right about the drugs of course,’ he went on, gently. ‘Eddie definitely died from a massive overdose of diamorphine—heroin to you and me—but he didn’t administer it himself. Eddie was right handed, wasn’t he?’

  Mariner had known that from Knox’s remark about the computer mouse.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But he’d injected into his right arm. Not normally the most natural thing for a right-hander to do.’

  ‘Somebody did it for him,’ she said, dazed.

  ‘That’s the implication. And Eddie wasn’t exactly cooperative about it. There’s indication that he was being forcefully restrained at the time he died.’ Extensive bruising to the wrists and upper arms, Bill Croghan had said, consistent with being held down. Along with some old cuts and bruises whose provenance was unclear. ‘We’ve run some basic forensic tests on the syringe, too. Significantly, there were no fingerprints on it, not even Eddie’s. Meaning that whoever injected him either wore gloves or deliberately wiped it clean afterwards. It’s not something suicides generally do.’

  ‘You’d know more about that than me.’

  ‘The other curious thing is that the heroin used was of a particularly pure grade, although we’re not sure how important that is at this stage. And the preliminary analysis of the blood that was on Jamie’s shirt shows that although it’s consistent with the timing, the blood isn’t his or Eddie’s. Some of it’s mine—big surprise—but there was someone else in the flat, too. We have to conclude that it was Eddie’s killer. Or one of them.’

  ‘Is that why Jamie was in the cupboard?’

  ‘It’s possible Eddie put him there for his own protection.

  But it’s more likely that Jamie was shut in there out of the way while Eddie was dealt with. It was an effective strategy.

  Jamie could tell us nothing about what happened, even if he was able to.’ Only this morning Francine the care worker at Jamie’s day centre had rung to confirm it. Using a photograph of Eddie she’d tried to elicit something, anything, from Jamie, but had got nothing.

  Anna frowned. ‘But what about the note?’ she asked, suddenly. ‘You found a note.’

  ‘Mm.’ Mariner felt the blush rising from his neck. It had been a pretty fundamental error, and so obvious in retrospect.

  ‘Half a note, actually. There was a postscript,’ he said. ‘We found it stuffed in the hedge outside. Fitted together again with the so-called “suicide note” it would have read: “NO MORE MILK UNTIL THURSDAY THANKS, NO 34”.’

  ‘Oh.’

  It was one of the things that had jarred with Mariner; that a man who made a living from words would make his last message to the world so brief. ‘Eddie must have left it on the doorstep that evening,’ he said. ‘It was a gift to whoever killed him. It may even have influenced the way they set things up.’

  Anna shivered as Mariner watched her efforts to digest what he had just told her. ‘It’s funny,’ she said, eventually.

  ‘I thought it would make me feel better to know that Eddie hadn’t taken his own life, but it doesn’t.’ Her eyes glazed over as she momentarily drifted off into her own thoughts, and Mariner could only guess at the images crowding her head. It was the stuff of nightmares. He began to wonder if he’d given her too much information too soon, but in a matter of minutes she seemed to come round again.

  ‘So what happens now?’ she asked, at last.

  ‘At the moment it’ll help if we can keep all this to ourselves,’ Mariner said. ‘If Eddie’s killer is still around, it suits us that he or she should think that we’re still treating the death as suicide. It’s good that you’re here, though.

  You may be able to help. Tell us if you see anything else unusual, anything about the place that strikes you as odd.’

  He wasn’t holding out much hope, especially in such austere surroundings, but it was always worth a shot.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she confessed, looking absently around her, at a home she must have once known intimately.

  ‘I’ve only been here once since my parents died.

  And that time Eddie succeeded in making me feel so guilty that I just walked out again.’

  ‘Guilty?’ It seemed an odd choice of word.

  ‘Well look at it,’ she raised her arms. ‘This room is like a monastic cell.’

  Mariner nodded, grimly. ‘And we thought it was all fashionably minimalist.’

  ‘Fashion doesn’t come into it. There are only so many times an insurance firm will pay out for “damage caused by autistic sibling”. Add into that Eddie’s own little fetish for order. We used to joke that he was on the spectrum too.’

  ‘Sorry?’ She’d lost him.

  ‘The autistic spectrum,’ she elaborated. ‘These days it’s pretty well ac
cepted that autism is a continuum, with “normal” at one end and “severe” at the other. If you take it to the extreme, we’re all on it somewhere, with our own little routines and obsessions,’ she smiled suddenly. ‘I’m sure you must have some autistic traits.’

  From the corner of his eye, Mariner saw Knox suppress a grin. Okay, so he kept his desk tidy. What was wrong with that? ‘I can live without Hula Hoops, if that’s what you mean,’ Mariner defended himself uneasily.

  ‘Either way, it all screamed “sacrifice!” at me,’ Anna said. ‘Which is exactly what Eddie wanted.’

  ‘Why?’ Mariner sensed a sudden reluctance. Maybe she didn’t expect him to understand. Maybe he wouldn’t. But he wanted to know.

  ‘Because after our parents died, Eddie was prepared to take Jamie on, and I wasn’t,’ she explained with great patience. ‘It shocked a lot of people. After all, I’m the woman, the nurturer. The fact that I had a husband and a home to run, as well as a successful career didn’t count for anything.’

  There was an awkward silence, which Mariner wasn’t sure how to fill.

  ‘Families, eh?’ Knox chipped in, and the word hung in the air for several seconds, where Mariner was content to leave it, for now. After all, what did he know about families?

  ‘You wouldn’t know if Eddie had any enemies, then?’ he asked, moving on.

  With the change of subject Anna perceptibly relaxed.

  ‘I’ve already told you. I had very little idea of what was going on in his life. But it’s hard to imagine that he would have. Eddie was such an easy-going guy. Except where I was concerned of course.’ She shot Mariner a wry look.

  ‘Does that confession make me a suspect?’

  He managed a smile. ‘I don’t think so. Although it would help, for the record, if you could tell me where you were between the hours of nine and midnight on Sunday night.’

  ‘That’s easy. I was at home with my boyfriend. He’s “happily married”, so we don’t go out much.’ Something nipped at Mariner’s gut, but he couldn’t quite identify it as disapproval or disappointment.