My poor heart was thudding again and I thought I might pass out, but then I realized what Jeeves had said: that Wright wanted me back. I closed my eyes in relief. Wright had heard what Oakley had told me to do and objected to me being used as CID’s errand runner. Wright was just playing power games. I needed to stop jumping in alarm every time something perfectly normal happened, or I’d end up betraying myself. I had to get a grip.
‘I’ve got a man from Academic Accommodations in the interview rooms,’ said Merrick, walking up to Oakley and Davis. ‘It’s taken me this long to get hold of anyone, as the place shuts down for two weeks in August for holidays. Anyway, he’s in number three. His name’s Geoff Jessop.’
When Merrick had gone, Oakley turned back to Davis. She’d been telling him that, despite spending the best part of three days at the university, she’d learned little about Kovac. He was polite, worked hard and missed his family. He’d once mentioned a brother in the Albanian secret police. Davis intended to ask Professor Jinic for more specifics about that particular organization, to help determine how such an involvement might bear on the case.
‘That’s it, really,’ she said. ‘I wish I had more. But a word before you go, Neel – I’m making an official complaint about Barry Wright. Will you back me?’
Oakley nodded. ‘But are you sure? He’s not a man to go down quietly.’
‘He told me to fuck off. I can’t ignore that. Frankly, I’m surprised you aren’t doing the same. I heard what he said to you.’
Oakley shrugged. ‘He’s not worth the paperwork.’
‘So it’s all right for him to tell senior officers to fuck off, and call them any names that happen to enter the mass of slime that passes for his brain?’
‘He’s a dying breed, and he knows it. That’s his problem – he sees the old order changing and isn’t happy with the new.’
‘Bullshit!’ declared Davis. ‘Don’t make excuses for him! Have you seen how he persecutes Helen Anderson? Giving her all the bum jobs and running her down in front of her colleagues? I’m surprised she’s stayed as long as she has. And you should certainly want to see him on the carpet. You know how he feels about you.’
Oakley nodded. ‘He started a rumour that it was me – not him – who left his lunch on the floor at Orchard Street. Luckily, everyone knows I don’t eat station chips, or people might have believed him.’
Davis pulled a face that registered her disgust. ‘I took that photo down. We don’t want officers from other stations asking why we’ve got pictures of vomit pinned up. Who put it there?’
Oakley grinned. ‘Not me, although I half wish it had been.’
He strongly suspected Merrick, who, as Oakley now knew, had good reason to dislike Wright and his bigoted intolerance.
Geoff Jessop was a burly, confident man in his fifties who wore a tweed jacket, old corduroy trousers and a tie with a small knot. He employed two clerks – one for mornings and one for afternoons – and a cleaner. The company took details from anyone who had a house or a flat to rent, and matched them to visiting scholars who needed somewhere to stay. They had a range of properties on their books, from expensive six-bedroomed houses in Westbury to seedy bedsits in Bedminster. Some owners wanted long-term tenants while others preferred short term. Number nine Orchard Street was in the latter category.
‘Its owners live in the Middle East.’ Jessop passed Oakley a card covered with handwritten notes. ‘There’s all the information we have, including a list of everyone who’s rented it since it came on to our books last summer.’
Oakley scanned it quickly. ‘Three stays by Doctor Kovac, none for longer than three weeks, and half a dozen others, but it’s empty a lot. It can’t be making much money.’
Jessop took the card, adjusted his glasses and studied it. Then he passed it back to Oakley. ‘You see where it says “4wmx”? That means “four weeks maximum”. That’s not much use for scholars who need to be here for a term or more. The ones who come for the odd week usually prefer our bed-and-breakfast service. Orchard Street won’t get many takers by imposing that condition.’
‘Why do it then?’
‘I imagine the main objective is for us to keep an eye on it,’ replied Jessop. ‘Our cleaner goes round the day the tenants leave, to make sure all’s ship-shape and Bristol fashion. Short-term contracts mean it gets cleaned more often.’
‘Will this cleaner have been to Orchard Street after Kovac left?’ asked Oakley, his interest quickening.
‘Of course. Gail will have given the place a quick once-over on the Tuesday morning, but Kovac usually leaves the place very clean so there won’t have been much for her to do. An American is due in next week, but I suppose we’ll have to find him somewhere else.’
Oakley nodded that he would. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t hear about the murder. It was in all the papers.’
‘I never touch a paper when I’m away. That’s why I go – to escape.’
‘I should try that myself,’ muttered Oakley. ‘Can you tell us anything about Kovac? Has there ever been any trouble with him?’
‘None,’ said Jessop firmly. ‘We wouldn’t have leased him a property again if there had been. We can’t afford troublesome tenants, but most are no bother – they don’t get their deposits back if they misbehave.’
‘Did you give Kovac his deposit back?’
‘No – he’s booked for another visit in December, so we agreed that it would be easier for us to keep it, rather than to fiddle about with cheques each time he comes. I didn’t even see him when he arrived in July. We sent the keys to the university.’
‘How was he going to get them back to you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jessop rubbed his forehead. ‘No, wait a minute! He was going to leave them on the kitchen table for Gail the cleaner, and close the door behind him so it locked. That’s right. That’s what he did the last time, too. You’ll need to ask her whether he left them or not, because I’ve been gone since just about the same time that he would have completed his stay, and I’ve not caught up on such details yet. Here’s her address.’
‘Is there any more you can tell us about Kovac?’ Oakley smiled encouragingly. ‘As we haven’t been able to get a much of an impression from anyone else.’
Jessop sat back and closed his eyes. ‘A family man. Wife and two children. Excellent physicist – he had a paper in New Scientist a couple of years ago. He loves England. Well, actually, what I think he likes are the shops. He decks himself out in good suits and takes stuff home for his family. He always comes with a briefcase, and goes home with two suitcases.’
‘How does he pay for it? I doubt he earns a princely salary in Tirana.’
Jessop shrugged. ‘A grant perhaps. The EU can be generous to promising research.’
‘We found no suitcases.’ Oakley refrained from telling Jessop they’d found precious little else either – just a corpse in black plastic.
‘Then I imagine he took them with him. The killer must’ve seen an empty house and used it for his horrible work. I can tell you for certain that Kovac didn’t do it. He’s a physicist.’
Oakley wasn’t sure that the two remarks necessarily followed. ‘Then what about the possibility that the body might be him?’
Jessop frowned. ‘Why would anyone would want to kill him?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out. Can you tell us any more about him?’
‘He has a brother who’s a secret policeman. I believe that’s rather more sinister in Albania than it is here. Perhaps that’s an avenue you should explore.’
‘We are,’ he said, thinking that discovering more about the Albanian security services was exactly how Davis intended to pass her afternoon. ‘Now what about the house’s owners? Who are they?’
‘We don’t deal directly with them. We work through their solicitors – Urvine and Brotherton.’
I don’t think I’d ever seen Wright so angry. His face was flushed an ugly red, and veins stood out in his neck and on h
is forehead. I could see one of them pulsing. He was sweating, too, and his hands were shaking. I knew straightaway that I was in trouble because Oakley had used me to run his errands. It wasn’t fair.
‘I’m your senior officer,’ he began in a low, menacing voice. We were in the briefing room – he didn’t even have the decency to dress me down in the privacy of an office. ‘You do what I tell you, not some jumped-up Paki with inspector’s pips on his shoulder. So, tell me why you ran his errands when I’d already told you what I wanted you to do?’
I could see he expected an answer. ‘He asked me, Sarge,’ I said lamely, turning James’ dental records over in my hands. I tried to keep my head up, not stare down at my feet like some chastised teenager. I couldn’t bear the contempt in his eyes, so I stared at his mouth, and his nicotine-stained teeth. ‘He’s an inspector. I didn’t feel I could say no.’
‘Didn’t feel? Didn’t feel?’ he mocked. ‘We’re not paying you to “feel”, missy. We’re paying you to be a police officer. And that means obeying orders, not sticking your nose up CID’s arse. And don’t think you’ll be a detective. Frankly, you’re not good enough. You’re lazy, unreliable and you just haven’t got it in you. If you had any sense of responsibility you’d do the decent thing and resign.’
Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes and I tried to fight them back. I knew that Jeeves and Paul Franklin were listening in the radio room, and several others were doing paperwork nearby, trying to look as though they weren’t there. I felt myself go hot all over and the heat blaze from my face. I was embarrassed, humiliated.
‘You’re useless,’ he continued. ‘Yes, go on! Blush! You should be ashamed of yourself. You’re a disgrace to the uniform. Just because you’ve got a degree’ – his voice turned sneering again – ‘you think you’re better than the rest of us, that the rules don’t apply to you.’
I felt his spit hit my face, and I raised a hand to wipe it away. I was horrified to find that the tears I thought were under control were trickling down my cheeks.
‘I’ve had my fill of your sly tricks. I’m—’
‘That’s enough, Sergeant,’ said Davis sharply.
Oakley was behind her and Jeeves behind him. Had Jeeves gone to fetch them, to put an end to my shame? I felt so embarrassed that I wished the ground would open and swallow me up.
‘Helen, go get a cup of tea,’ said Davis. Her eyes were hard and cold, but not with me, with Wright. It was awful. She was going to make things worse by interfering. I turned and ran out of the briefing room, unable to stop the sobs that racked me. I hated Barry Wright! He had no right to say all those things. Oakley was behind me, and he caught my arm.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘This is my fault. I’m sorry. I should’ve known better.’
I didn’t reply, because I just couldn’t speak. I stared dumbly at him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. He rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. ‘Look, I’ll ask Taylor if we can get you seconded to CID for the Orchard Street enquiry. The thing seems set to run for a while, and by the time it’s over things will have calmed down, and we can get you on to a shift with a different sergeant.’
I still couldn’t speak. I was aware of Jeeves and Paul standing next to me. Jeeves put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it.
‘Ignore the bastard, Hel,’ he said gently.
‘We’re all going out for a drink tonight,’ said Paul with forced cheerfulness. ‘Come with us. It’s in the Red Lion, PCs only and no sergeants. You’ll have a good time.’
Their kindness was more than I could bear. I pulled away and dashed towards the ladies’ loo, just wanting to be on my own. I collided with Dave Merrick as I ran, and the dental records were knocked from my hand. I didn’t bother to pick them up. I just wanted to be alone.
TWELVE
‘Shit!’ muttered Oakley, bending down to retrieve the papers Anderson had dropped as she fled. ‘She didn’t get these to the mortuary. They’re James Paxton’s dental records. And as the owners of nine Orchard Street are represented by Urvine and Brotherton, we may have a connection.’
‘The Paxton who screwed over Mark Butterworth?’ asked Jeeves. ‘I heard he was missing.’
He glanced nervously over his shoulder towards the closed door of the interview room into which Davis had hauled Wright. No one could hear the specifics, but her voice was an angry monologue – the sergeant wasn’t being allowed to get a word in edgeways. Jeeves exchanged a glance with Franklin, unsettled. Oakley was more concerned with the dental records. He beckoned to Merrick.
‘Take these to Grossman – and watch him while he looks at them. He’s getting forgetful, and I don’t want him telling us he’s done it when he hasn’t. I’m going to Urvine and Brotherton.’
‘Wait, Guv.’ Merrick caught his arm before he could leave. ‘I’ve been on the phone to the cleaning lady, Gail Langham. She says the keys were on the table on the Tuesday morning, as agreed with Kovac, and he’d cleaned out all his stuff and left the place clean and tidy. She also claims there was no dead body on the kitchen floor. She still has the keys, and intended to bring them back to Jessop now that he has returned and the office is open again.’
‘Did you ask why she didn’t come forward and tell us all this earlier?’ asked Oakley testily.
‘She was waiting for us to contact her, and is surprised it’s taken so long.’
‘Get her statement after you’ve seen to the dental records,’ said Oakley tiredly, the idiosyncrasies of the general public never failing to amaze him. ‘And get the keys Kovac left, too.’
‘Why?’ asked Merrick. ‘If he left the keys and took his belongings with him, it means he’s gone home and we’re looking at a different identity for our corpse.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Oakley. ‘What’s to say that he didn’t cut himself a new set of keys and come back after the cleaner had gone? Besides, there might be fingerprints on them that we can use. And get on to the university, as well. Check that Jessop really did send the keys to Kovac there.’
‘I’ll do that,’ offered Davis, who had finally emerged from the interview room. Her lips were compressed into a hard, thin line, and Jeeves and Franklin made themselves scarce, afraid that some of Wright’s tongue-lashing might fall on them. ‘After I’ve seen to a female officer who’s been unnecessarily distressed.’
‘It’s a shame,’ said Oakley. ‘But she needs to be less sensitive.’
‘Just because you’re immune to his charms doesn’t mean we all are,’ retorted Davis sharply. ‘He’d have upset me, too, going on like that in front of everyone. I’d better find something for her to do, because otherwise Wright will be even harder on her now.’
Oakley was grateful that Davis was dealing with Anderson, as he was keen to follow up on the leads that had suddenly materialized. Without further ado, he left New Bridewell and walked to the offices of Urvine and Brotherton on Queen Square. Their offices comprised a terrace of three Georgian houses that had been knocked into one. The rooms were large with high, carved ceilings, and there was an elegant chandelier in the waiting room. He sat in a plush leather armchair while he waited for Brotherton to see him, taking the opportunity to collect his thoughts.
Anderson’s distress preyed on his mind, and he knew he’d been wrong to commandeer her without clearing it with Wright. It was true that he outranked the sergeant, but it would have been polite to ask his permission. The fault being his, he was disgusted that Wright had taken his anger out on Anderson. He’d have to make it up to her somehow. She wasn’t right for CID, but there were other departments that might be glad of a quietly intelligent woman.
Meanwhile, what was he to make of the morning’s events and discoveries? The anonymous note he’d received had gained significance now there was a connection between the murder scene and the law firm that represented Yorke. He’d have to call Solihull to see if they’d found DNA, fingerprints or other trace evidence on the thing, although he suspected it was still lying in its
envelope, untouched.
His mind wandered to Maureen Paxton. Why did she think the body was her son? Was there something she wasn’t telling them? And what about Kovac in light of what Jessop had said? Was he camping with his family, oblivious to the stir his absence was causing? Had he returned to the house, intending to sneak a few nights without paying rent, or because he thought he had left something behind, and had died for it? And what of the brother in the secret police? Had Kovac brought some foreign operation to Oakley’s patch?
His reverie was interrupted by Brotherton, who marched into the waiting room looking at his watch. He was immaculately dressed as always, although there was a bitterness to his suave exterior that had not been there previously. He carried a stack of files to show he was busy.
‘Five minutes,’ he said rudely, dropping the files on the table with an authoritative thud. ‘Fridays are always busy for us.’
‘And us, so I’ll be brief,’ said Oakley, equally brusque. ‘First, have you had any news from James Paxton?’
‘None. Next question.’
‘Does anyone on your staff have any idea where he might have gone?’
‘Not as far as I am aware.’
‘Do you mind if I ask them again?’
‘If you must.’
At this rate they’d be done in one minute, not five, thought Oakley wryly. ‘I understand your company represents the owners of nine Orchard Street. May I have their name and address?’
‘Certainly not. That would break client confidentiality.’
Oakley put his notebook away. ‘I’ll return with a warrant at six o’clock, Mr Brotherton. This is a murder enquiry, and you hold information that may be relevant. If you’re not here, I shall send a car to collect you from your home.’
The Murder House Page 18