“I wouldn’t mind that myself,” said Gibbons. “I’d barely seen my flat before they sent me up here, and I was weeks and weeks at my parents’ house before that. It would be nice to feel like I lived in London again.”
“It’ll come,” said Bethancourt. “Jenks is bound to turn up sooner or later, and then you’ll be home and regaling me with the details of how it all went while we drink scotch in my living room.”
Gibbons smiled, a little wearily. “That would be nice,” he said. “Well, I’m for bed. You’ll ring me tomorrow before you leave?”
“Oh, yes,” said Bethancourt, rising and leading the way to the stairs. “I haven’t even put it up to Marla yet, though I doubt she’ll have any objections.”
Gibbons nodded and yawned as they climbed the stairs. On the landing they bade each other good night and turned to their respective rooms.
Throughout the night, while Bethancourt and Gibbons slept, all across Britain, white Volvo panel vans were having their license plates scrutinized by various members of law enforcement. But none of them was Jenks’s van.
15
In Which Gibbons Watches the Snow Fall
The air in the incident room the next morning was one of dogged weariness. They were all painstakingly placing one brick atop another, all the while waiting to see if their work would be needed.
Brumby apparently had had a very good night’s rest; he was clear-eyed and energetic, but there was unfortunately little for him to do. He spent his time ringing up his forensics team, who were very busy back in the lab, sorting out the wheat from the chaff. Thus far, however, there had been considerably more chaff than wheat, and there did not appear to be much promise of more to work on until Jenks and his van were found.
Rowett had discovered that prior to buying the bungalow in Appleton Roebuck, Jenks had rented a series of inexpensive flats in and around Leeds. Howard was out interviewing some of Jenks’s erstwhile neighbors, but it seemed incredible that he would have held, tortured, or murdered his victims in a studio flat. The van, Brumby had decided, must have been the scene of the crime. But so far it had remained elusive.
With so little to be done, Brumby turned to updating Ashdon’s profile, checking their work off against what was thus far known of Jenks. Gibbons, who had been left quite at loose ends, was roped into this discussion so that they might pick his brain of any little nugget of information he might have garnered about Jenks from his encounter with him. He did not in fact have much to contribute, but he found the conversation interesting and felt that at least he was learning a good deal about human psychology.
So he was there when Rowett, whose eyes were developing a permanently glazed look from the endless hours at the computer, suddenly let out a whoop.
Brumby’s head jerked around. “Andy?” he said.
“I’ve got it, guv,” said Rowett triumphantly. “I’ve found the place. The bugger’s been renting a cottage in Buckinghamshire.”
“What?” Brumby shot out of his chair and crossed the room with long strides to stand behind Rowett, who blinked up at him, grinning broadly.
“A place in Little Horwood called Bluebell Close,” he said. “Look, there it is on the satellite picture—nice and isolated.”
He pointed at his monitor and Brumby leaned forward to peer at it.
“My god,” he said, clapping Rowett on the shoulder. “You’re bloody brilliant, Andy.” He straightened and addressed the rest of the room. “Let’s get started on a search warrant for this place. Andy, do you have a landlord?”
“Of course,” said Rowett scornfully.
“Well, give Bradley there the lowdown on him so he can get a warrant,” said Brumby. “Bill, ring up the locals to let them know we’ll be invading their patch, and have them do a drive-by to see if the van’s in evidence. . . .” He continued to hand out assignments as they occurred to him, one bit of business after the other, and the machine that was his team shifted into high gear once again.
Bethancourt had thought about getting an early start back to London—providing Marla agreed—but they slept late and then he found that although Marla agreed in principle with the idea of leaving as soon as might be, in fact it was likely to take some time before she was ready to go.
“I’ve only got to pack my things up and say good-bye to Trudy,” she told him. “We’ll probably just get something to eat.”
Bethancourt accurately summed this up as an extended conversation between the two women, the details of which he would likely prefer not to know. Not to mention the “packing up.” He had traveled with Marla before and knew all too well that she inevitably had difficulty fitting everything she had got out of her suitcase back into it. At least, he thought, he would not be called upon to help in the present instance.
And it occurred to him that he, too, had an errand to run. Thinking it over, he reluctantly decided that conscience mandated he let Alice have her say rather than slinking off out of town before she was aware of his departure.
He packed up his own things and then, with both resignation and a touch of anxiety, rang the bookshop, only to be informed that Alice was not there. Hoping that she was out for the day, he called her house, ready with an apologetic message. But she was in and answered the call.
“I was wondering if we might have that talk,” he said, once the pleasantries were out of the way. “I know it’s short notice, but I’ve decided to drive back to London today—last-minute decision and all that.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding a little taken aback. “Well, how good of you,” she went on, recovering. “Would it be at all possible for you to drop by now? I’ve plans for later this afternoon, you see.”
“Of course,” said Bethancourt. “That would fit in very well. I’ll see you shortly, then.”
He rang off and sighed. He had really been hoping he would not have to go through with it.
“Come along, Cerberus, old boy,” he said. “Time for a walk.”
Cerberus, at least, greatly enjoyed the walk over to Heworth, trotting briskly in the cold, though his master could well have done without it. He took the last puff of a cigarette, pitching the butt into the gutter before turning and ringing the brass bell beside Alice’s front door.
She opened it with a smile.
“Perfect timing,” she said. “My nanny is just giving the boys their lunch.”
Bethancourt stepped in. “Then perhaps you’d allow me to take you to lunch while they’re busy?” he asked politely.
Alice shook her head. “Thank you, but George is coming to take me to lunch in half an hour,” she said. “And once we’re done, we’re taking the boys on an outing, since it’s the first day in weeks it hasn’t been raining.”
“Cold, though,” said Bethancourt, shrugging out of his coat.
“Oh, the boys won’t mind that,” she said. “They’ll run around and get warm in no time. Don’t you remember how it was when you were young?”
“I remember having to go for freezing-cold swims in prep school,” said Bethancourt, shuddering. “I can’t say I enjoyed it.”
Alice laughed, leading the way into the drawing room.
And Bethancourt again remarked the change in her tone since yesterday afternoon. There was also something different in her manner, a certain joie de vivre, that he had never noticed before. Putting two and two together, he drew a bow at venture and asked, “I don’t think you’ve mentioned George before—that’s not your ex-husband, is it?”
“Oh, no,” said Alice, motioning him to a seat. “No, George is a new acquaintance. He’s the father of one of my son’s friends, but we only met the other day. He and little Frank’s mother are divorced, you see, so I usually see her when the boys get together. But last week, she came down with the flu and George stepped in to take the boys on their outing.”
“But the boys aren’t going to lunch with you today,” said Bethancourt.
And Alice colored slightly as she replied, “Well, no. George rang quite unexpectedly ye
sterday afternoon to ask me to lunch.”
Bethancourt beamed at her. “And you said yes,” he said. “I take it you were impressed with him on the boys’ outing the other day?”
“Well, yes, rather,” Alice admitted with a laugh. “I never dreamed he would ask me out, though. And then I found out from my son that he’d seen quite a bit of George and liked him—he’d never mentioned that before.”
“So he’s a good father, too,” said Bethancourt.
Alice nodded and then cocked her head. “Haven’t you ever thought of having children yourself?” she asked.
“I’ve thought of it,” said Bethancourt. Then he grinned unrepentantly. “I don’t think I’m enough of a grown-up yet,” he said.
Alice laughed. “Well,” she said, “we all grow up at different rates. One never understands that when one’s a child, but it’s clear as day once you’re a parent.”
And Bethancourt, thinking this over, saw how true it was and suddenly began to understand what she had been speaking about the day before. But looking at her now, he rather doubted she wanted to have that conversation anymore.
“I’m glad you came by before you left,” she continued, growing serious. “I know you’re not to talk about the case, but I was hoping you might give me some kind of information. Because, what with Brian Sanderson’s murder and the Ashdon case, Jody seems to have got lost. And, well, we’re still walking on eggshells over at the bookshop.”
Bethancourt considered this. “It’s rather awkward just now,” he confessed. “As you’ve so cleverly intuited, I’m heading home because the cases are all but solved. On the other hand, the police are at a very delicate moment, and if I were to let the cat out of the bag . . .”
“Of course, I understand,” said Alice. “But surely it couldn’t hurt to just tell me. I do promise not to say anything until you give me permission, or it becomes public knowledge.”
Bethancourt knew perfectly well that he should say nothing, but he had never held himself to the standards required of Her Majesty’s officers of the law. And he really didn’t feel it was fair to leave Alice in the dark.
“All right,” he said abruptly. “I’ll tell you what I know—in general outline. But it must go no farther until after Superintendent Brumby has made an arrest in the Ashdon murders. If anyone else gets wind of it before then, it could jeopardize his case and result in a serial killer going on about his business.”
Alice nodded, frowning a little in puzzlement over the connection between Jody Farraday and the Ashdon killer. But she seemed to take his point.
“I would hate to be responsible for anything like that,” she said.
“Well, then,” said Bethancourt, “where to start?”
The question was addressed to himself, but Alice answered it.
“Start with Jody, if you can,” she said.
“All right,” said Bethancourt. “It’s as good a place as any. Did you know that Jody had rather a habit of picking up bits and pieces of other people’s secrets?”
Alice looked appalled, and opened her mouth to reply, but then a thought struck her and she said thoughtfully, “I’m not certain I know what you mean by that. Jody was very discreet, but, well, I did sometimes get the feeling that she knew more than she let on about some things.”
“That’s it,” said Bethancourt. “Well, through her involvement with Tony Grandidge, Jody became aware of a secret he knew about his uncle. She had,” he added, “no intention of using the information or telling anyone else about it—it was just something she happened to know.”
“Yes,” said Alice. “That sounds like the Jody I remember. I take it I’m not to know what the secret was?”
Bethancourt smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “Suffice it to say that it was something which, if revealed, might have harmed Sanderson’s standing in the community.”
Alice’s mouth made a little O, and then a horrified look came into her eyes.
“You don’t mean . . .” she said.
“It’s not proven,” answered Bethancourt. “It may never be, although Jack assures me forensics will do their best. But, yes, we think that Sanderson killed her. Tony confirmed that his uncle was aware that Jody knew his secret, but he only found it out just before she left York. As best we can piece things together, Sanderson must have encountered Jody on her return. We don’t know what she might have said to provoke him, but the idea that she was back in York and in possession of his secret was untenable to him.”
“But if Sanderson was the murderer,” said Alice, bewildered, “then who killed him? We’ve all been thinking it was the same person.”
“We believe it was Ashdon,” replied Bethancourt. “And there is some evidence for that. If Superintendent Brumby is right, Ashdon was actually a friend of Jody’s—not that she knew anything about his, er, recreational activities. He would have killed Sanderson in revenge.”
“Well,” said Alice, sitting back to think it through, “at least that makes some kind of sense.”
“A lot of it is supposition, however,” Bethancourt warned her. “The police haven’t yet picked up this friend of Jody’s, and it may be that when they do, they’ll find they were mistaken. You can see how crucial it is that nothing should come out about this until the police have completed their investigation.”
“Yes, of course,” said Alice. “I do assure you I won’t breathe a word.”
“I trust you, Alice,” said Bethancourt, hoping that he did. “And I did want to thank you for all the help you’ve been in this case. Really, I don’t think we’d have figured it out without you.”
“Oh, I didn’t do much,” said Alice. “Just passed along gossip, really. Women are always better at that sort of thing than men, I think. But it was delightful to see you again, Phillip.”
“And you,” said Bethancourt, taking this as a dismissal and rising. “Wonderful, really, to run into you like that.”
Alice had risen as well; it had nearly been half an hour since his arrival, and she no doubt wanted to be rid of him before her date came by.
They bade each other good-bye while Bethancourt donned his coat and bent to kiss her on either cheek.
“You’re off today then?” she asked as she opened the door to a blast of arctic air.
“That’s right,” said Bethancourt, wrapping his scarf more firmly about his neck. “Or at least sometime tonight,” he amended, remembering his original plan to get an early start, which had slowly dissolved upon contact with Marla and the real world.
“Better go earlier rather than later,” Alice advised, “else you’ll find yourself snowed in.”
“Snow?” demanded Bethancourt, swiveling round to look at the clear blue sky.
“Yes, they’re expecting the storm to come in sometime this evening,” Alice told him. “By this time tomorrow, we should be a foot deep in it.” She sighed. “We really have had the worst weather this season.”
But Bethancourt was now thoroughly alarmed by the prospect of being snowed in and forced to extend his stay. He took his leave of her politely enough, but he was already pulling his phone from his pocket as he walked down the street.
“Marla?” he said when she answered. “We’re going to have to speed things up—there’s a snowstorm on the way and God knows when we’ll be able to get away if we don’t go before it hits. Yes, I’ll pick you up at the hotel.”
Everything was set in motion. Inspector Howard had been called back from Leeds in preparation for a departure for Buckinghamshire, and the local police had been alerted to keep an eye on the M1 north of Milton Keynes. The search warrant was in the works, and Brumby hoped to have it in hand by the time he reached Little Horwood. The uniformed branch had already reported back that there was no van or vehicle of any kind parked at Bluebottle Close. The nearest neighbor had been interviewed, but had been able to say only that the cottage’s tenant was there infrequently, and that she had not noticed him in the last day or two. But she had no direct view of
the property because of the trees, and so would have been likely to see Jenks only as he came and went.
“He’ll show up at one place or the other,” predicted Brumby. “And I want a look at this cottage—it’s far more likely to be the scene of the crimes than the bungalow here is.”
Gibbons, having waited all day for an assignment, had in the end drawn the short straw and been sent to relieve the team presently watching the house in Appleton Roebuck. He would much have preferred to drive south with Brumby and Howard, but he supposed it was only reasonable of them to choose one of their regular team members as a driver. So he made a quick stop back at the house for his warmest things, hoping to find Bethancourt there, but finding instead only a hastily scribbled note with the caretaker’s phone number and the news that Bethancourt had headed back to town with Marla.
He provided himself with a thermos of hot coffee and his iPod and then climbed back into the police Rover and drove off to Appleton Roebuck as the sun was dipping toward the rooftops and clouds were gathering to the northwest.
Since Jenks’s bungalow was the last house on the road, the detectives had only to watch the intersection with the larger way, and to this end they had simply parked in the village school car park, which handily overlooked the main road and the lane that branched off from it, leading to Jenks’s bungalow.
Gibbons eased his Rover in beside his cohort’s, glad to see that there were still other vehicles in the car park as well.
“Glad you’ve come,” said DS Ford. “It’s not so bad here, but it’s deadly dull—hardly a car goes by.”
“Won’t I rather stand out once the car park empties out?” asked Gibbons, trying to judge how it would look from the road.
“Doubt anyone’d even notice,” returned Ford. “There’s no lights here, and apparently it’s not unknown for some of the staff to leave their cars here and walk up the road to the pub. I think you’re safe enough.”
Gibbons nodded. “All right then,” he said. “Don’t forget to have someone relieve me.”
A Spider on the Stairs Page 28