No Lovelier Death

by Hurley, Graham

  ‘And what did you think then?’

  ‘I was appalled. I couldn’t believe it. The new boyfriend, I could understand. Maybe Matt had slapped him too hard. He could be quite physical when it suited him. But Rachel? No …’ She shook her head. ‘That didn’t work for me.’

  ‘When did you see him next?’ It was Suttle.

  ‘Sunday evening. He just stepped into the house like nothing had happened. I was the one who lost it, not him, not Matt.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘Nothing. He wouldn’t talk about it. It was like it had never happened. ’

  ‘The call in the middle of the night? The clothing? The blood?’

  ‘I went through it all. He just shrugged. Shit happens.’

  ‘He said that?’

  ‘Word for word.’

  ‘So how did you feel?’

  ‘I thought he’d gone mad. I thought he was in denial. We rowed a lot about it. I’d scream at him, I’d do anything to try and get through. But then the days went by, and you guys seemed happy enough, and he did too, and I suppose I just blanked off. It was easier that way. It’s always easier that way.’

  ‘You never brought it up? All the stuff in the papers? On TV? You never talked about it?’

  ‘Of course I talked about it, at first I talked about it lots. But he just refused to say anything. You’ve got to understand something about Matt. He takes everything to the wire. He’s very black and white. Trust me or don’t trust me. In the end I had no choice.’

  ‘You could have come to us.’

  ‘Yeah …’ She nodded, tipping her head back, gazing up at the ceiling. ‘You’re right, I could.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that have been a kindness? To Rachel?’

  ‘Sure. Of course it would. But then you’d have come looking, wouldn’t you? And we’d have probably ended up here.’

  ‘We? You mean you and Matt?’

  Her face stiffened, a mask now. She pursed her lips, refusing to avoid Suttle’s eyes. Then she swallowed hard, fighting for control, shaking her head very slowly, and Faraday had a sudden glimpse of the way it must have been, this woman’s investment in flesh and blood, in hours and hours of grinding effort, in getting Matt Berriman to the kind of giant he’d become, only to see her dreams dissolve. His bloodied T-shirt on the rinse cycle, he thought. At one o’clock in the morning.

  Ellis wanted to know what had happened to Berriman’s clothing and trainers once she’d washed them.

  ‘We threw them out.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘I threw them out.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I put them in the rubbish. The collection’s on Monday.’

  Ellis made a note. Another lengthy fishing expedition at the municipal tip. Her head came up again. ‘And you’ve no idea where Matt might be?’

  ‘None. We normally eat together on Sunday evenings. I’d be expecting him around six. Maybe you scared him off.’

  Next door, Faraday nodded to himself. A uniform at the front door. A Scenes of Crime van parked across the road. No way would Matt Berriman have been in a hurry for supper.

  Ellis was asking Nikki whether she’d like a break when Faraday’s phone began to ring. He fetched it out, put it to his ear. It was Parsons wanting an update. So far, Faraday explained, there’d been no word from the Scenes of Crime guys at Adair Road but it was still early days. Given Nikki’s admitted complicity, she’d already be facing a conspiracy charge. Under PACE rules, without an extension, they’d have to formally charge her within twenty-four hours. Either that or let her go free.

  ‘So what do we do, boss?’

  Parsons took a while to answer. Faraday could hear the murmur of conversation and an occasional clink of glasses in the background. Some fancy London eatery, he thought. With Parsons about to order the champagne.

  Finally, she was back on the line.

  ‘Press her on Berriman, Joe. From what you say, there’s obviously a relationship.’

  ‘That’s true, boss, but I don’t think it’s as simple as that.’

  ‘You’re telling me they’re not at it?’

  ‘I don’t know one way or the other. They may be. They may not.

  On balance, I think probably not. But she’s protecting him for sure, exactly the way she’s always done.’

  ‘Meaning she knows where he is?’

  ‘Meaning she might do.’

  ‘Then go for her, Joe. Give her a shake. We need to lay hands on Berriman asap, and from what you’re saying she’s our best chance.

  OK?’

  ‘Sure.’ He brought the conversation to an end.

  Suttle stepped into the room. Dawn Ellis had gone to the loo while Nikki’s brief sorted some coffees. When Faraday nodded at the screen and offered his congratulations, Suttle shot him a look. ‘Not quite what we were promised, boss. Winter seems to think she did the girl.’

  ‘Maybe Winter’s wrong.’

  ‘Sure, but do we believe her? She’s obviously crazy about the guy.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so. He’s young. He’s hunky. He’s got it in spades. But he’s also in love with his ex-girlfriend. Are we seriously suggesting he stabs her to death?’

  Faraday’s gaze returned to the screen. Nikki Dunlop was still alone in the interview room.

  ‘There was a phrase she used,’ he murmured. ‘It’ll be on the tape.

  I should have written it down. “Matt was the kind of guy who made things happen.”’ Faraday looked up at Suttle. ‘He’s in control, Jimmy. All his life he’s in control. He’s a winner. He’s the fastest, the strongest, the bravest. He knows there’s nothing he can’t do. Then suddenly, bang, his girlfriend’s left him, he’s not swimming any more, and life’s not quite so rosy. Some people cope. Some don’t. And for my money he didn’t.’

  ‘So he stabbed her? Repeatedly? Five times?’

  ‘It’s possible. You know it is.’

  ‘And you really believe that?’

  ‘Yes, I think I do.’

  The interview began again. Nikki’s solicitor registered his concern about the lateness of the hour but accepted Suttle’s assurance that this second session would be brief. When he asked Nikki about the likelihood of Berriman knifing Rachel to death, she shook her head.

  ‘I don’t believe he could.’

  ‘Could or would?’

  ‘Either. Both. But could’s stronger, isn’t it? He loved that girl. He was passionate about her.’

  ‘He’d have killed for her?’

  ‘That’s glib. You don’t murder someone you love.’

  ‘Then who else might have done it?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Did you ever ask him?’

  ‘Of course I did. I’ve just told you. I live with this man. I’ve known him half his life. He must have been there. He must have seen it.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing. Nada. If he was here, now, it would be exactly the same.

  You wouldn’t get a word out of him. There are some things too private to share. You might get that far. But beyond that … nada.’

  ‘He said that? He told you there are some things too private to share?’

  Nikki stared at Suttle a moment, then ducked her head, refusing to answer. Suttle asked the question again, letting the silence stretch and stretch before offering her the chance to make things a little easier for herself. He told her she was already facing an extremely serious charge. Conspiracy to murder could land her with a substantial prison sentence.

  She nodded, sat back, looked Suttle in the eye.

  ‘Conspiracy to what?’

  ‘Murder, Ms Dunlop. We have two dead bodies. We have Matt Berriman ringing you at one in the morning wanting a change of clothing. According to you, he’s offered no satisfactory explanation of exactly what happened. You say you’ve tried to get the truth out of him and you say you’ve failed. For everyone’s sake, we need to talk to him, and we think you probably know where
he is. Or, at the very least, where he might be. Help us at this stage and we’ll bring it to the attention of the judge.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her solicitor touched her on the sleeve and Faraday watched their whispered conversation. Finally, she turned back to Suttle.

  ‘No comment.’ She said.

  ‘Meaning you don’t know? Or meaning you won’t tell us?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Fine.’ Suttle glanced at Dawn Ellis. Ellis shook her head. Suttle made one final attempt to coax the information out of her then checked his watch. ‘The interview ended at 22.16.’ He reached for the cassette machine and pressed the stop button.

  Still watching from next door, Faraday saw Nikki Dunlop get to her feet. She looked exhausted. As she manoeuvred round the table, she tripped. Her hand went out instinctively, reaching for support. Suttle caught it, steadying her, asking whether she was OK. She nodded, grateful, and asked what would happen next.

  ‘We’ll keep you here overnight, Ms Dunlop. And talk again tomorrow. ’

  ‘Here? You mean a cell?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  She looked at him a moment and shook her head. ‘Shit,’ she said softly.

  Winter was still up, half-expecting a phone call from the Bridewell, when Suttle’s upturned face appeared in his video entryphone. He buzzed him in and had sorted a cold Stella by the time Suttle stepped in through the open door.

  Suttle opened the can and took a couple of gulps. Winter wanted to know how the interview had gone.

  ‘She coughed to bringing the change of clothes.’

  ‘Jeans and trainers?’

  ‘Yeah. And a T-shirt. They talked by the wall between the two houses. She’s saying she never saw either of the bodies.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise. What happened to the gear?’

  ‘She washed the lot.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘She says she binned it. That’s probably the truth. We’ll action the dump tomorrow. Might take a week or two but we’ll get there in the end.’

  Suttle told him about the rest of the interview. She couldn’t get any kind of story from Berriman. Neither did she have a clue where he’d gone.

  ‘And you believe her?’

  ‘No. Faraday thinks she’s protecting him.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I think he’s right. He also seems to think Berriman probably did them both.’

  ‘And you, son?’

  ‘I think she probably did Rachel. I think she took the knife home and disposed of it. Fuck knows where.’

  ‘So what does that make Faraday? Apart from wrong?’

  ‘Unfair question, Paul. Faraday’s OK. You’re going to owe him, big time. Most D/Is I know would have you down the Bridewell by now.’

  ‘Sure. But he needs me, doesn’t he? Because it turns out I was fucking right.’

  ‘About the girl? Rachel?’

  ‘Yeah. Dunlop’ll cough that too, in the end.’ He reached for Suttle’s can and swallowed a mouthful or two of cold Stella. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘What about Scenes of Crime?’

  ‘Nothing. Not yet.’

  ‘You want another tip?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She’s got a little office down Victoria Baths. I’d take a look at that as well, if I were you.’

  The second interview with Nikki Dunlop started at ten o’clock next morning. Suttle had been at his desk in Major Crime since seven, trawling through interview statements, looking for any scrap of evidence that might be useful in the coming encounter. A night in the cells might have loosened Nikki’s tongue as far as Berriman’s whereabouts were concerned but as she stepped into the interview room he rather doubted it.

  Given the circumstances, Faraday also thought she looked remarkably composed. He settled himself in the monitoring suite, adjusting the volume on the set. The rumour had spread that Mandolin was heading for a result and the Custody Sergeant had been thoughtful enough to provide a plate of custard creams to go with Faraday’s coffee.

  The interview was well under way by the time Faraday’s mobile began to trill. So far, Nikki had stonewalled every question, simply repeating what she’d said last night. She had a friend in trouble. She’d gone to his aid. She’d done her best. Whatever happened next was beyond her control.

  Faraday bent to the phone. It was the Crime Scene Investigator whom Proctor had tasked to take a look at the office at Victoria Baths. He’d found a pair of trainers in a box at the back of a cupboard. They were Reebok Classics and they looked to be on the big side.

  ‘Blood?’

  ‘Caked, boss. You can see it in the eyelets, in the seams, everywhere. ’

  ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘Yeah … real DNA-fest.’

  Faraday thanked him. On the point of hanging up, the CSI said he had another bit of news. Just might be of interest.

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘A knife, boss. Ten-centimetre blade, give or take. Wrapped up in tissue paper in the same box.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Exactly.’ He was laughing. ‘How stupid is that?’

  Faraday thanked him a second time and hung up. Moments later he brought the interview to a halt while he conferenced briefly with Suttle and Dawn Ellis, sharing this latest development.

  Suttle shook his head. Winter, he knew, would be impossible.

  ‘What now, boss?’ Ellis nodded at the video screen. ‘She’s not going to tell us about Berriman. I’m not sure she even knows where he might be.’

  ‘Keep pressing. But start with the trainers.’

  The interview resumed. Confronted with the evidence from her office, Nikki Dunlop simply nodded. She’d seen the guys in the grey forensic suits walking up Adair Road, Faraday thought. She’s sensed the reach of the Major Crime machine. One way or another, she must have known that this moment would come.

  Ellis wanted to nail the evidence down. No shadow of ambiguity. ‘These trainers belong to Matt?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And they’re the ones he was wearing on Saturday night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You told us you washed them.’

  ‘You’re right. But I didn’t.’

  ‘Why not? And why on earth hang on to them?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know. I should have got rid of them. I know I should. But ever since last weekend I’ve somehow thought we might have a proper conversation about what happened. Shouting wasn’t enough. Maybe I’d have to force it out of him. Maybe I’d have to stick those bloody trainers under his nose, make him look at them, make him remember.’

  ‘And the knife?’

  ‘That too. In fact that especially.’

  ‘So you must have assumed … ?’

  ‘I assumed nothing.’

  ‘You didn’t think he’d killed her?’

  ‘I didn’t think anything. I wanted to know. I needed that knowledge. ’

  ‘OK. So if he’d told you what really happened? And if it turned out he’d killed them both?’

  ‘Then we’d have to deal with it.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, we.’

  ‘And how would you do that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. It never happened. But there’d have been a way, I know there would, because that’s the way it’s always been. If you go through the kind of years we had together, then you kind of sign up to each other. Total dependency. Total trust. The going gets rough, you hack it. What you don’t ever do is give up.’

  ‘So where would that have taken you? As a matter of interest?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Nikki looked round, a sudden vagueness in her eyes. ‘Here, I suppose.’

  Afterwards

  On DCI Parsons’ instructions, Nikki Dunlop was charged with conspiracy to murder. Her solicitor’s plea for bail was turned down by the magistrates and she was remanded to Winchester Prison.

  Later that morni
ng a bather reported a pile of abandoned clothing on the beach close to the Langstone Harbour narrows. The clothes were still damp from the overnight rain. In the back pocket of the jeans the attending PC found a note on blue paper. It read,

  Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound

  Upon a wheel of fire that mine own tears

  Do scold like moulten lead …

  It was Suttle, hours later, who remembered the quote. King Lear, he said, Act Four, Scene Seven.

  The coastguards commissioned a search for Matt Berriman which lasted until nightfall. On Tuesday, at daybreak, it recommenced. When there was no sign of a body the search was called off.

  That evening, in a specially convened Mandolin squad meet, Willard commended Acting Sergeant Jimmy Suttle for driving the intelligence cell throughout an extremely difficult investigation. The Sandown Road job, he said, had been neither prolonged nor - in the end - especially complex. But everyone had been under the cosh in terms of the media and, speaking personally, he never wanted to see another TV crew in his life. When the ripple of laughter subsided, he added a final word of praise for DCI Gail Parsons. She’d steered the ship through choppy waters with skill and determination, he said, and she was owed a collective debt of gratitude.

  The following week Bazza Mackenzie announced the establishment of a fund in memory of Rachel Ault. He’d seeded the fund with a personal donation of £100,000 and proposed to put Paul Winter, a trusted friend and colleague, in charge. Paul’s brief was to explore ways of integrating kids into the wider culture in a city as densely packed and volatile as Portsmouth. The word he used, after a glance at his notes, was ‘interface’.

  That evening he and Marie hosted a dinner in Gunwharf for a couple of dozen of the city’s key figures in the world of juvenile offending. Invitations went to social workers, academics, psychologists, sports officials and a priest. Pathways forward were discussed and there was a collective sense that the evening had been a success.

  Afterwards, in the privacy of Winter’s apartment, Bazza confessed that he felt guilty over Berriman’s disappearance. Winter, by taking his new boss at his word, had triggered the set of events that had led to the clothes on the beach. Not for a moment had Mackenzie believed the lad capable of killing his ex-girlfriend and even now he found it hard to believe. Only mad people do something like that, he told Winter. And he’d never had Berriman down as a loony.