Chameleon's Shadow

by Minette Walters

  ‘Re. urgent request for fingerprint identification on body taken from river this a.m. Match found with Paul Hadley, 68. Awaiting trial on indecent assault charges against a minor. Registered address 23 Albion Street, Peckham SE15. No known family. Photograph attached.

  He clicked on the attachment and stared at the mug shot of Paul Hadley.

  ‘I hear what you say, Dr Jackson, and I understand your frustrations, but first I’d appreciate confirmation of a photograph I have on my computer. I think it has a bearing on what you’ve found in your car. Do you have a 3G mobile? I’d like you to confirm whether the man in the photograph is the one you know as Chalky.’

  *

  ‘Why should I accept that any of this is random?’ asked Jones. ‘You drank in the same pub as Harry Peel . . . you were in possession of Kevin Atkins’s mobile . . . and you spoke to Walter Tutting a couple of hours before he was attacked. I’m looking for connections, not meanings.’ ‘It amounts to the same thing.’ ‘Not in my book it doesn’t. Anyone can invent meaning after the event – it depends how irrational you’re prepared to be – my job is about understanding causes.’ ‘I didn’t know you’d be here tonight,’ Acland pointed out, ‘so this interview is entirely random . . . and all in your favour. It wouldn’t be happening if I’d let Jackson take me back to the Bell.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘I needed to think about things.’

  The irony wasn’t lost on Jones and he gave a low laugh. Leaning forward on their respective seats – the superintendent on the bed and the lieutenant on the chair – their heads were only inches apart, and they seemed in thrall to a mutual respect rather than a mutual enmity. ‘So you decided to steer Dr Jackson’s car towards the Crown.’

  Acland shrugged. ‘Even if I did, I still didn’t know you were going to be here. Chance works in different ways for different people, so you and I will never take the same meaning from anything.’

  ‘We might if we agree that the end result is satisfactory.’

  Acland raised his head slightly. ‘And if we don’t?’

  ‘The only way that could happen is if you’re the person we’re looking for,’ the superintendent said reasonably. ‘Or you’re shielding someone.’

  A tiny smile lit Acland’s eye. ‘Or I don’t give a shit. We’re just rats in a cage . . . you, the inspector and me . . . acting out our alpha, beta and omega roles. Maybe I’m bored with the whole stupid game.’

  ‘You’ve got quite a thing about rats.’

  ‘Only the caged ones.’

  ‘So who’s the omega? You? On what basis? That you’re passive in every situation . . . or that you allow alphas to dominate you?’

  ‘You and the inspector are doing a pretty good job at the moment.’

  Jones gave a grunt of genuine amusement. ‘We’re doing a lousy job, Charles. An omega would have run for cover as soon as we entered the room. We see that type all the time. They hide behind solicitors, lie their heads off and duck into the nearest bolt hole the minute we turn our backs.’

  ‘Maybe I’m just keeping my head down while you throw your weight around. That’s pretty standard omega behaviour.’

  ‘Is that how you dealt with Ms Morley?’

  Acland held his gaze. ‘Why are you so interested in Jen?’

  ‘I’m far more interested in you, Charles. You react violently in certain situations and I want to know why.’

  ‘I’m angry about what happened to me and my men.’

  ‘Rightly so . . . but that’s not what makes you fire off when you’re touched. You’d be getting into fights all the time if resentment was your driving force.’

  ‘Except you’ve already cleared me of the attack on Mr Tutting, and I can prove I was back on my base by the early evening on both the dates you mentioned.’

  Jones stared at him, wondering why he’d waited so long to offer a defence. Was everything a test of nerve with Acland, a need to see how much pressure he could absorb before he issued a challenge of his own? ‘We’ll certainly check on that,’ he said. ‘Presumably your regiment keeps records—’ He broke off as his mobile started ringing. ‘Excuse me.’ He straightened and took the phone from his pocket.

  The caller was DC Khan but, after giving a clear indication that he wasn’t able to speak freely, Jones let the constable do most of the talking. Bar a couple of requests to clarify information, the superintendent’s longest speech came at the end. ‘Agreed. Send a couple of uniforms here. The inspector and I will wait. Just make sure nothing’s moved until we get there. We’ll be with the SOCO team in thirty minutes max.’

  He tucked the mobile away and turned his concentration back on Acland, staring at him intently for several seconds. ‘What’s Dr Jackson ever done to you, Charles?’

  ‘Nothing. I like her . . . rather a lot as a matter of fact. Has she found the bag?’ He gave a hint of a smile at Jones’s expression. ‘I could have got rid of it, you know. I carried it around for twenty-four hours before I put it behind Jackson’s seat. Hasn’t she worked that out yet?’

  ‘Not by the sound of it. According to DC Khan, she’s furious about having to cancel her patient list again. Why did you leave her to find it? Why didn’t you hand it to me when I came to the car?’

  ‘I wasn’t ready.’

  Jones could just about accept that. ‘You could have told Dr Jackson at least.’

  Acland focused his attention on the carpet in front of him. ‘I was trying to. I just hadn’t got round to it. I thought she’d be less spooked if she found it herself. One of things in the bag belongs to me.’

  ‘So you know what’s in it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jones rose to his feet. ‘Then I won’t be asking you any more questions tonight.’ He stared down at Acland’s bent head. ‘Are you well enough to spend the night in a cell? The alternative is to sit on a chair in a waiting room until I’m ready for you.’

  ‘A cell will be fine.’

  ‘You won’t be under arrest, but I will be placing you in the charge of two uniformed officers. If for any reason you feel you’re not fit enough to travel in the back of a police car—’

  Acland straightened. ‘I’m OK, sir. You don’t need to worry about me.’

  Jones gave a sigh of pure frustration. ‘You’re a flaming bloody nuisance, Charles. I don’t know whether to admire you for your guts or despise you for your stupidity. What am I supposed to believe here? That you’re the victim of another unfortunate coincidence?’

  Acland’s mouth twisted into an approximation of a smile. ‘It sure as hell looks that way,’ he said.

  Twenty-six

  JACKSON WAS LEANING AGAINST a pillar box, playing chess on her mobile, when Jones and Beale drew up behind her car. She acknowledged them with a nod, but showed no impatience when they spent fifteen minutes with the three-man SOCO team who were working on the contents of the back seat. Whatever irritation she’d felt earlier seemed to have evaporated.

  ‘I’m sorry about this, Dr Jackson,’ said the superintendent, finally walking over to speak to her. ‘I realize we’re making your life difficult.’

  ‘Not your fault,’ she said, closing out the game. ‘Not mine either . . . but I wouldn’t blame you if you thought otherwise. I seem to be making a habit of bringing hot telephones to your attention.’

  ‘Courtesy of Lieutenant Acland.’

  ‘He’s the only other person who could have put the bag in the car. I’m assuming he left it for me on purpose, otherwise he’d have told you about it at the pub. I was hardly going to miss it. I only had to open the back door.’

  ‘Why would he do that, do you think?’

  ‘Fear?’ she suggested. ‘He was terrified when I identified Atkins’s mobile . . . wanted to abandon the whole idea of reporting it because he thought he’d be first in the firing line. I imagine he feels the same about being associated with Harry Peel.’ She paused. ‘I’ve been wondering why he didn’t dump the bag as a matter of fact. He could have distanced
himself immediately if he’d left it for someone else to find.’

  ‘Or thrown it in the Thames and got rid of it altogether?’

  Jackson nodded. ‘That, too. I don’t say I’m happy to be landed with the responsibility, but he deserves some credit for doing the right thing . . . even if it was in a roundabout way.’

  ‘He told us he walked around for twenty-four hours before he put the bag in your car. Is that a likely time-frame?’

  She frowned. ‘Have you questioned him already?’

  ‘Briefly. It’s a significant find, Dr Jackson.’

  ‘That’s no excuse to badger a sick man.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Jones with a blatant disregard for truth, ‘which is why we kept the questions to a minimum. When did you leave him yesterday?’

  ‘Midday.’

  ‘And you’re sure he had the bag with him when you met up again this evening?’

  ‘Pretty sure.’

  ‘He said something in it belongs to him. Have you any idea what that might be?’

  Jackson shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen all the contents. I backed off as soon as I spotted Harry Peel’s phone. Is there a wallet? Maybe that belongs to Charles.’

  Jones shook his head. ‘I didn’t get the impression he’d added anything to the contents. I think whatever he was referring to was already there.’ He glanced at Beale who’d just joined them. ‘Would you agree?’

  The inspector nodded. ‘He seemed to think you’d be spooked by one of the objects. He says it belongs to him.’

  Jackson looked surprised. ‘Surely he’d be more worried about your reactions.’

  ‘He was answering a question from the superintendent about why he’d kept you in the dark. He said he’d been working round to telling you.’

  ‘The stun gun might have spooked me,’ she admitted. ‘I’d question the motives of any man who carried one of those little bastards. Can you think of an easier way to overpower a woman than to have her twitching on the ground for fifteen seconds, unable to defend herself?’

  Jones nodded. ‘We’re interested in the stun gun,’ he agreed. ‘The other objects are a wooden club – we think a Zulu knobkerrie

  – two mobile phones – one of which would appear to be Harry Peel’s – a packet of baby wipes and some throat lozenges. Might any of those belong to the lieutenant? Did he say anything that might have given you a clue?’

  Jackson looked from one to the other. ‘He said he’d left some African artefacts in his ex’s flat,’ she said slowly, describing how Acland had gone to look through Jen’s window. ‘I’ve been wondering about it ever since I found the knobkerrie. Do you think he was checking to see if his was still there? If he could spot it in her room, it would mean that one –’ she nodded towards the car – ‘had nothing to do with him.’

  Jones looked sceptical. ‘What makes you think he wasn’t setting you up to repeat a convenient lie? It sounds like smoke and mirrors to me. How many knobkerries are there in London? Wouldn’t he have recognized his own as soon as he saw it?’

  ‘It wouldn’t stop him checking. I’d have checked if I’d found something I thought was mine next to a mobile with Harry Peel’s name on it.’

  ‘Or you’d have spent twenty-four hours working out a story. The lieutenant’s not a fool. If he says he left a knobkerrie in Ms Morley’s flat – backed by your interpretations of his actions – and she says he didn’t, then we’re no further forward.’

  Jackson eyed him curiously. ‘I’m obviously way off-beam here. I thought this was Ben Russell’s bag, the one that Charles said Chalky nicked.’

  Jones spread his hands in a gesture of bafflement. ‘We’re as confused as you, Dr Jackson. For all we know, the bag has always been in Lieutenant Acland’s possession.’

  She studied him for a moment. ‘No,’ she said with sudden conviction. ‘You wouldn’t know it existed but for Charles. First he told you Chalky had taken it . . . then he left it for me to find. Why would he keep drawing attention to it if it ties him to Harry Peel?’

  ‘Smoke and mirrors,’ said Beale, echoing his boss’s earlier statement. ‘Unless you noticed the bag yourself last Friday – which you say you didn’t – we’ve only Charles’s word that it was ever in your boot. He’s accused both Ben and Chalky of handling it, but the only way we’ll know if he was telling the truth is if we find their fingerprints or DNA on any of the objects. If we don’t –’ he shrugged – ‘if we only find Charles’s – he’ll be able to claim they got there when he searched the bag yesterday.’

  It was Jackson’s turn to look sceptical. ‘If that’s the way your mind works, I’m not surprised he wanted me to turn the stuff in. He didn’t have to do it at all . . . He could have dumped the lot and walked away from the responsibility.’ She searched their faces. ‘Why tempt fate if he’s guilty? It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘He enjoys taking risks,’ said Jones thoughtfully. ‘He’s obsessed with chance, feels there should be meaning in random events.’

  ‘You would be, too, if you’d lost your eye, your career and your crew in an indiscriminate explosion that was aimed at the first vehicle that passed a particular point,’ said Jackson bluntly. ‘He understands malign fate extremely well . . . probably because he’s suffered quite a lot of it in the last few months.’

  Jones eyed her curiously. ‘Why have you changed your mind, Doctor? You looked close to washing your hands of Charles earlier . . . and DC Khan said you were blowing a gasket when he spoke to you on the phone.’

  ‘The wonders of modern technology,’ she said, opening her phone again and scrolling through her menu before turning the screen to the superintendent. ‘This isn’t Chalky. The face is too thin . . . and the beard and hair too grey. I’d describe this man as a goatee-wearing professor type. Chalky was more of a grizzly bear . . . wild beard with a square, heavy-featured face. I’ve told DC Khan I’ll confirm it formally by looking at the body later, but I guarantee this isn’t the man I saw in the alleyway.’

  ‘It was dark,’ Jones reminded her.

  ‘He was a passenger in my car for twenty minutes. Even if I hadn’t had a good look at him when he climbed in beside me, I had a clear view of his profile during the journey. Chalky’s nose was broken. This guy’s isn’t.’

  Ahmed Khan had already passed this information to Jones. ‘I hadn’t realized you were so worried about what the lieutenant might have done to Chalky,’ he murmured. ‘You obviously think Charles is capable of violence.’

  Jackson tucked the mobile into her pocket. ‘I know he is,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I saw what he did to you at the station, and to Rashid in the pub . . . but he didn’t kill either of you, and the only weapons he used were his hands.’ She placed a meaty elbow on the top of the pillar box and stared towards her car. ‘Why are you so interested in the stun gun?’

  ‘For the same reason you gave. That particular model packs a million volts. Anyone touched by it would be unable to defend himself for two or three minutes . . . possibly longer. They’re illegal in this country, so it must have been smuggled in from abroad . . . which may well rule out Ben and Chalky.’

  ‘Meaning it’s Charles’s?’

  ‘It’s a possibility. He’s laying claim to something in that bag that he thought would worry you . . . and the first thing you nominated was the stun gun. You said you’d be very suspicious of a man who used an electric pulse to subdue a woman in order to rape her.’

  Jackson shifted her attention back to the superintendent. ‘Are you suggesting Charles would do that?’

  Jones shrugged. ‘You tell me, Doctor. All I know is, he has a real problem talking about the last time he saw Ms Morley . . . and that was shortly after he returned from a training exercise in the Middle East. It wouldn’t be hard to hide a stun gun in a kitbag.’

  *

  Jackson wasn’t amused to be informed by DI Beale a few minutes later that her car would have to be towed to a laboratory for examination under controlled conditions. He talked apo
logetically about contamination. ‘Two of the people who might have handled the bag have travelled in your car – Chalky and the lieutenant – so we need to be very precise about the location of DNA evidence. We also need to look for fibres in the boot. If we find a match with the bag, it will go some way to substantiating Charles’s claim that Chalky took it.’ ‘Only some way?’ ‘He could have put it there himself when you came into the pub.’ ‘And taken it out again?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘It’s a possibility.’ Jackson gave an impatient sigh. ‘You seem very set on Charles’s guilt. I don’t give much for his chances with you and the superintendent against him. Are you even looking for anyone else?’

  *

  Chalky opened a bloodshot eye and blinked into the beam of the torch that was shining in his face. ‘You’d better not be who I think you are. I hate cops!’ DC Khan turned the torch to illuminate the two uniformed constables beside him. ‘I’m afraid you’re out of luck, Chalky. We’ve been searching all over for you. Are you willing to cooperate or are we going to have to arrest you? Either way, you’ll be coming with us.’ ‘Who let you in?’ ‘Your lady friends.’

  ‘Two-timing bitches!’ The corporal raised his voice. ‘You hear me, you fuckers! This is the last time I do favours for dykes.’

  Avril spoke from the doorway. ‘Seems to me it’s us who’s done you the favour. A bit of shoplifting, you said . . . no harm done. So how come we get served with a search warrant, eh? And how come there’s four more of these bozos downstairs guarding the exits. What you been up to, Chalky?’

  He covered his face with his arm to block out the light. ‘Took the word of a bloody officer,’ he said. ‘Arrogant bastard! Should have known he couldn’t be trusted.’

  *

  ‘I’m afraid we need to impose on your time a little longer,’ said the superintendent as he and Jackson stood side by side, watching her BMW disappear down the road on the back of a recovery vehicle. ‘Chalky – or a man we believe to be Chalky – was picked up ten minutes ago from a squat in Bread Street. It would be helpful if you could identify him for us.’ ‘The ladies’ squat? How come they let you in?’ ‘They didn’t fancy the alternative,’ Jones told her with a small laugh. ‘Given the choice between handing over the man tonight or having every inch of their property searched tomorrow under an official warrant, they traded Chalky. They don’t seem to like him very much.’ ‘The woman who runs the squat doesn’t like people she can’t manage . . . and I imagine Chalky’s a bit of a nightmare when he’s drunk.’ She stooped for her medical case, which had only been released from the car after she threatened to sue the Metropolitan Police for depriving her of her livelihood. ‘Is Charles still at the Crown?’ ‘No. He was removed about an hour ago after agreeing to spend the night in a cell. You’re welcome to check on him back at the station. He’s not under arrest and I don’t have a problem with you talking to him.’