No Lovelier Death

by Hurley, Graham

  ‘Did he say why?’ Winter had stopped digging.

  ‘No. But that’s not the point, is it? I wasn’t here. I wasn’t in bed.

  I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. The last thing Baz saw of me Wednesday evening was in the restaurant, pissed. He’s not stupid, Baz. He might be a headcase sometimes, but the man reads me like a book.’

  ‘So what did he say? On the phone?’

  ‘He wanted to know where I’d been.’

  ‘And what did you tell him?’

  ‘I told him I’d gone to Trude’s.’

  ‘Trude’s in the fucking Canaries.’

  ‘I know. I forgot.’

  ‘Blinder, Mist. Just what I need.’ Winter gazed down at the soil, aware of Misty watching him. Finally he shrugged and set to again, digging very carefully, trying to feel for something solid.

  ‘How far down? Give me a clue.’ He looked round, expecting an answer, but she was already halfway across the lawn, heading back towards the pool. Seconds later came the click of her lighter as she settled back on the lounger. This time the robe stayed on.

  With Mandolin at a standstill and J-J’s return to London all too imminent, Faraday got back to the Bargemaster’s House in time to catch Gabrielle and J-J debating a change of plan. Last night J-J had been intending to catch a late-afternoon train back to Waterloo but Gabrielle had just made a call to check departure times and discovered that chunks of the journey would be served by a bus service. Now, given the weather, J-J had decided to stay on until Monday. An early train, he signed to his dad, would be perfect.

  Gladdened by the prospect of another evening together, Faraday suggested an expedition into the country. There was a stand of trees on Thorney Island that became a daily roost for hundreds of egrets. J-J, like Gabrielle, had always been mad about these stately little birds. High tide was at seven o’clock. They could take the car over to Thorney, park up, then follow the sea wall deep into Chichester Harbour. By seven the trees would be white with the egrets. Gabrielle hadn’t seen them since last year. After yesterday’s confusion over the spoonbill, she’d be back with the real thing. How did that sound?

  J-J was grinning.

  ‘Perfect,’ he signed for the second time.

  Bazza Mackenzie was cleaning his swimming pool when Winter turned up. According to Marie, Baz had been in a strop for most of the afternoon.

  Winter watched him through the kitchen window. When Bazza was angry he had a habit of doing everything very fast. Just now he was moving at the speed of light, pacing up and down the pool, scooping up the odd leaf with his special net, pausing to examine tiny stains in the plastic liner. He was wearing shorts and a pair of flip-flops. Winter noticed that he’d begun to put on weight.

  Marie wanted to know about Spain. Bazza had spun her a line about giving some old mates a good time but she knew that Westie had fled on Wednesday night and was far too bright not to have drawn the obvious conclusion.

  ‘Successful, Paul?’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’

  ‘Business trip?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So will Westie behave himself?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Winter nodded, turning away, wary of where this conversation might lead.

  ‘You want to tell me more? Only talking to Baz is hopeless just now.’

  Winter shook his head. Then he opened the kitchen door and stepped out into the sunshine.

  Bazza was on his knees, scrubbing away at the side of the pool. Hearing Winter’s footsteps, he barely spared him a glance.

  ‘I was on to Mist a couple of hours ago,’ he said at last.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Then you’re a cunt. And don’t tell me different, because you are.

  Helping yourself ain’t on, mush. Not now, not ever. When I say it’s OK, then that’s cushty. Otherwise you leave the fucking woman alone. I don’t care how pissed she was. You’re a fucking disgrace.’ He was scrubbing harder now, his face reddening with the effort. ‘Don’t bother fucking denying it either. Only scumbags pull strokes like that. I should sort this here and now, shouldn’t I? I should fucking offer you out.’

  Winter ignored the threat. He had something else on his mind. He wanted to know about Wednesday night.

  ‘I bet you fucking do. What’s the matter, mush? Were you pissed as well? So pissed you can’t remember?’

  ‘What were you doing there, Baz?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Mist’s. On Wednesday night. At three in the morning.’

  ‘None of your fucking business.’

  ‘Is that where you keep the money? Is that where the fifteen grand came from? For Westie?’

  ‘What of it?’ The scrubbing began to slow.

  ‘This is important, Baz. Just answer the fucking question.’ Mackenzie at last looked up. He was still livid but there was something else in his face.

  ‘Yeah.’ He leaned back. ‘Fifteen grand. Cash.’

  ‘And Westie?’

  ‘He picked it up.’

  ‘At Mist’s?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘He came by cab?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Brilliant.’ Winter dug his hands in his pockets, began to pace up and down.

  Bazza watched him for a moment or two. ‘What’s the big deal, mush? The cabby works for me. I know him. I pay him. No way he’s gonna grass me up.’

  ‘Have you got a name?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Why do you wanna know?’

  ‘Because we have to talk to him.’

  ‘Done it already, mush. Talked to him a couple of days ago, Thursday it was. Told him the Old Bill would be round. Told him what to say.’

  ‘Great. You want to ring him again? Ask him whether he has satnav?’

  ‘Of course he has satnav. All my blokes have satnav. What the fuck do you think we are, some khazi fucking outfit?’

  Winter gazed down at him then shook his head. He heard the kitchen door open. Marie stepped out onto the patio. She was carrying a tray.

  ‘Tea, anyone?’

  It was gone six by the time Winter made it back to Gunwharf. Jimmy Suttle answered on his first ring.

  ‘Me, son. We need a meet.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Now. Quick as you like.’

  Suttle began to protest. He had a spaghetti Bolognese on the go. Afterwards, he and Lizzie were off to the movies. Vue were showing Casino Royale. She couldn’t get enough of Daniel Craig.

  ‘My place,’ Winter said. ‘OK?’

  Suttle arrived half an hour later, furious. He’d binned the spag bol and parked Lizzie in a Gunwharf bar. The movie started at eight. No way was he going to miss it.

  ‘Sit down, son.’ Winter nodded at the sofa. ‘You want a beer?’

  ‘No.’ Suttle didn’t move. ‘So what is this?’

  ‘Your Mandolin.’

  ‘That’s got nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Wrong, son. It’s got everything to do with me.’ He was looking at the sofa again. ‘Are you going to listen or what?’

  With some reluctance Suttle finally took a seat. Then he checked his watch.

  ‘This better be kosher,’ he said.

  ‘Trust me?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘It’s a serious question, son.’

  ‘Yeah?’ He stared up at Winter then shrugged. ‘Go on then.’

  Winter took him back to the party at the Aults. At some time around midnight, he said, young Rachel had had a barney with her new boyfriend. He’d watched the pictures from the bathroom and probably slapped her about a bit. She’d gone next door. She knew where to find a key because she used to keep an eye on Bazza’s place when they were away. She’d let herself into the kitchen and had a glass of water. Hughes had followed. She’d made it up to him. Full service. On her knees.

  ‘We know all this.’ Suttle was getting impatient again.

  ‘Listen, son. Do yourself a favour. Just fucking l
isten. Yeah?’ Suttle nodded, said nothing.

  ‘So this is all cushty. She’s done what he wants and a tenner says she’s back at the sink washing her mouth out. What she doesn’t know, what he doesn’t know, is that Matt Berriman’s outside, watching it all. This is the guy she’s been shagging for years. This is the guy who knows exactly what she likes and doesn’t like. This is the guy who’s enjoyed a little oral in the bathroom and then shagged her properly afterwards. Now he’s watched what she’s up to with Hughes. Why? Because Hughes wants it, demands it. Like it’s the price she’s got to pay. Like it’s a kind of punishment. Put yourself in Berriman’s place, son. It probably looks like rape. Plus young Rachel’s been in the wars. Last time Berriman saw her, back in the bathroom, she was in one piece. Now she’s got blood on her face. That has to be down to Hughes, too. Has to be.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Berriman waits outside. He’s a big lad. He’s fucking angry. In fact he’s insanely angry. And he’s waiting. You with me?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘So lover boy comes out. There’s not a lot to say in that kitchen, not after what he’s done. He probably regrets the oral. He knows he won’t be flavour of the month. And he’s probably sorry about the slapping. But that’s not the point because the next thing he bumps into, just there by the pool, is Matt fucking Berriman. This isn’t a bloke who’s gonna bother with conversation. He’s seen what happened. He’s seen the state of the girl. He’s got a lot to get off his chest. He whacks Hughes. He whacks him fucking hard. Hughes falls backwards, cracks his head, end of story.’

  ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Killed by Berriman?’

  ‘Yeah. A good brief, he’d probably get away with manslaughter. But either way Hughes is dead.’

  ‘Killed by Berriman.’

  ‘Exactly. Like I just said.’

  Suttle stared at Winter for a long moment then shook his head. ‘Doesn’t work, mate.’ He explained about the stamp mark on Hughes’s cheek. The sole pattern had been matched to a Reebok Classic. Berriman had been wearing Nike Air Max 95s.

  Winter was beginning to get annoyed.

  ‘Are you here to listen to me or not?’

  ‘I’m just telling you it doesn’t work. We’re talking hard evidence, facts. Anyone can make this kind of stuff up but what the fuck do we say in court? It’s a fantasy, mate.’ He glanced at his watch and started to laugh. ‘You’ll be telling me he takes a knife to Rachel next. Stabs the girl he loves.’

  The laugh was a mistake. Winter’s finger was an inch from Suttle’s nose.

  ‘Listen, son. You lot have had a week on this job and from where I’m sitting you’ve done fuck all. One day you might learn a thing or two about asking the right fucking questions. And one day you might learn to say thank you.’

  ‘This is crap.’ Suttle got to his feet. ‘If I want fairy tales, I’ll stick to Casino fucking Royale.’

  ‘Help yourself, son. There’s the door.’

  Suttle made to go. Then he felt Winter’s hand on his arm.

  ‘Does Sergeant Suttle sound OK? Or have you given up on all that promotion shit?’

  Suttle shook his arm free.

  ‘I don’t know what this is about,’ he said. ‘I don’t know where any of this is going.’

  ‘Then just hear me out. And trust me.’

  Against his better judgement Suttle sat down again.

  ‘Hughes is dead, OK? Or dying. It now turns out that Berriman’s just planted a bloody great clue on his face. The boy’s not stupid. He knows he’s in the shit. Who does he phone?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. A mate? His mum? Why doesn’t he just fuck off out of it?’

  ‘Because he can’t. Because Rachel’s there. Because she’s in a right state. And the last thing Berriman does is turn his back on her. So I’ll ask you again: who does he phone?’

  ‘Pass.’

  ‘I’ll give you a clue, son. It’s someone he’s known for years. Someone who’s helped him become the guy he is. Someone who’s forced him through years of misery in that bloody pool. Someone he trusts completely.’

  Suttle stared up at him. The woman with Berriman last night, he thought. The older woman. The woman with her head on his shoulder. The woman he’d seen on the nudist beach earlier. This was beginning to make sense.

  ‘Something to do with swimming?’

  ‘Spot on, son. Her name’s Nikki Dunlop. He phoned her at gone twelve. She lives five minutes away. She hears what he has to say about Hughes, about the stamp mark, about his trainers. He’s probably got blood on his jeans, Hughes’s blood. This is someone who badly needs a change of clothing.’

  ‘How’s she going to manage that?’

  ‘Easy, son. Berriman’s living with her. Has been, off and on, for a while. It was her Beemer he borrowed the night he got done on the M27. He keeps some of his gear at her place. Talk to his mum. Nikki’s place is home from home.’

  ‘So she turns up with new trainers? New kit? New jeans?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Something else happens. My money’s on Rachel. She knows all about Nikki Dunlop. Why? Because Nikki’s been coaching her too. For years. She knows the woman inside out. And she knows that she’s always fancied Matt. That’s called jealousy, son. And if you were in the right mood, with access to a knife, you might take it a bit further.’

  ‘You’re telling me she tried to stab this woman Dunlop?’

  ‘More than possible. But Nikki’s a big woman, a strong woman, and she’s not pissed either. Plus …’ the finger again ‘… she’s got her own interest in getting Rachel off the plot.’

  ‘By killing her?’

  ‘By stabbing her in self-defence. By sticking her by accident.

  Whichever way you cut it, Nikki Dunlop is back home by one o’clock, and you know what she’s doing? She’s putting the washing machine on.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I’m a detective, son. And because I never fucking give up.’

  Suttle nodded. He wasn’t interested in his watch any more. He looked up. ‘You can evidence this?’

  ‘I can evidence the phone. I can evidence a knife. Plus I’ve found a witness who’ll tell you Dunlop’s washing machine was going berserk in the middle of the fucking night.’

  ‘Have you got the knife?’

  ‘No. Talk to Marie, Bazza’s wife. One’s gone missing.’

  ‘What about Berriman’s phone?’

  ‘I know where it is.’

  ‘You can lay hands on it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the last call?’

  ‘To Nikki Dunlop. At gone midnight. Just like I told you.’ He stepped back, shook out a handkerchief, mopped his face. ‘I’d take this further but I can’t. You need to secure her house. I doubt she’s changed the filter on the washing machine. The place might be stiffie time for Scenes of Crime. Then you need to talk to her.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Winter pocketed the handkerchief. ‘So where do we go next, son?’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yeah … you and me?’

  The question hung in the air. At length Suttle glanced at Winter’s bag, still lying by the door. It was tagged with a baggage label from Executive Air.

  ‘So where have you been?’

  ‘Spain. Bit of a jolly. Couple of days, there and back.’

  ‘By yourself?’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Successful?’

  ‘Some might think so.’

  ‘Productive? Job done?’

  ‘That’s closer, son.’ Winter stooped to the bag and ripped the tag off. ‘I talked to a guy called Grant Mason just now. I gather you’ve had the pleasure.’

  ‘That’s right. First thing this morning.’

  ‘And you seized his satnav?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Booked it in yet?’

  Suttle didn’t answer. At lengt
h he stood up. ‘We’ll need Berriman’s phone.’

  ‘Of course you will, son.’

  ‘And I’ll also need to talk to someone else.’

  ‘Obviously.’ Winter smiled. ‘Give him my best.’

  Faraday had his mobile on silent when the call came through. The three of them were standing in the long shadow of the sea wall. The stand of trees was fifty metres away, maybe less, clothed in white. The egrets shuffled and muttered in the still warmth of the evening air. J-J was transfixed.

  Faraday turned his back on the scene, hunched over the phone, his voice barely a whisper.

  ‘Yeah?’

  He listened for a minute or two, nodding a couple of times, aware of Gabrielle watching him. Finally he checked his watch.

  ‘Give me forty minutes,’ he said, then snapped the phone shut.

  The egrets stirred. A couple hopped into the air. J-J wondered why.

  Suttle was back in Winter’s apartment moments before Faraday appeared. Lizzie had gone off to see Casino Royale on her own.

  Suttle said he’d phone her later but didn’t hold out much hope of a post-cinema drink. When she’d icily inquired why, he’d pleaded work.

  He let Faraday into the flat. Winter was next door standing at the window, nursing a Scotch. On the phone Suttle had given Faraday the barest details. Now, in the hall, he told him the rest.

  ‘And this woman’s name again?’

  ‘Nikki Dunlop.’

  ‘Is she on the radar?’

  ‘No, boss.’

  ‘Never been actioned?’

  ‘No, boss.’

  ‘And Winter?’ Faraday nodded towards the open door into the living room. ‘You think he can stand all this up?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘I think he probably can.’

  ‘Right.’ Faraday paused for a moment’s thought then checked his watch. ‘I’ll need to talk to Jerry Proctor. Parsons too, if I can raise her.’

  ‘Be my guest.’ Winter had appeared. He was offering his cordless.

  Faraday thanked him for the offer. He was already calling up Proctor’s number on his own mobile.

  ‘Somewhere quiet?’

  ‘Use the balcony.’

  Faraday took up Winter’s offer. Suttle watched him slide the big plate-glass door shut behind him. He started talking almost at once, his back half-turned, his right hand making sharp downward chopping movements. Suttle hadn’t seen him so animated in days.