‘She called in to let you know?’
‘She doesn’t have to,’ said Mayer. ‘Kat is one of our freelancers, so it works the other way around. She calls us to see if there’s any work for the day; if there is she agrees to what she can do, if not, we’re not committed to paying her. It’s an arrangement that suits us both.’
‘And does she often not call in for work?’ Knox asked, as the door opened and an usher stuck his head out and caught his eye. Knox started back towards the building.
‘I wouldn’t say often,’ Mayer said. ‘But from time to time she has a break. Like I said, she works hard.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ said Knox, hurrying back into the court. ‘I might need to call you again, okay?’
Mariner woke at first light in the attic room of the hostel and, gathering up his sleeping bag, crept back down to the dorm. Bryce’s snoring had declined into heavy, raspy breathing, but Mariner didn’t want him to feel awkward about it, so he left his sleeping bag arranged as if he’d slept there all night and went and had a shower. When he finally surfaced, Bryce didn’t feel well enough to walk, so Mariner went off alone, leaving him at the hostel. He walked across the yard as Cerys and Elena emerged from the house, the girl looking pale and washed out.
‘She didn’t feel like going in on the bus today,’ Elena said. ‘So I’m giving her a lift in to school. Quite a treat isn’t it, my love?’ Cerys managed a smile as she opened the car door.
Mariner’s walk that day took him over towards the coast but he felt drained and tired and couldn’t shake off a feeling of gloom that had descended on him again. He was back by the middle of the afternoon, deliberately passing by Gwennol Hall in the hope that he might see Suzy Yin, but there was no sign of her and he didn’t feel he knew her well enough to intrude on her day. The village, as he walked through it, seemed unnaturally quiet, the focus of the police investigation having shifted now from the streets to the incident room. When he got back to the hostel, it too had the feel of the Marie Celeste. He knocked on Elena’s door. There was no reply, but as his knuckles made contact with the wood panelling of the door, it swung open with a peculiar groan. Inside, the kitchen looked as if someone had left in a hurry. A pan of onions, half fried in oil, was on the stove, alongside garlic ready chopped on the board, and a mug of tea stood gathering a scummy film on top of the counter. Mariner put his fingers around the mug; it was lukewarm.
‘Hello?’ he called, but the only sound he heard was the slow dripping of a tap. Something filled him with foreboding and he did a quick check around the ground floor of the house. It was empty. He went across to the hostel and up to the dormitory. Bryce’s sleeping bag was empty too and some of his things were gone. His mind racing with possibilities, Mariner ran back down the stairs, and as he did so Elena’s car pulled into the yard, Cerys in the passenger seat.
Elena greeted him cheerfully. ‘Hi, everything all right?’
‘Fine,’ Mariner gasped, his heart beating double time, although why, he didn’t quite know. ‘Just wondered … It seemed quiet around here.’
Cerys climbed out of the passenger seat and, with a weak passing smile, went into the house.
‘She was invited to a friend’s house after school,’ Elena explained. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time, something to take her mind off things. But she called me to come and fetch her.’
Elena eyed Mariner’s muddy clothing. ‘You look as if you’ve had a walk.’ As she spoke, she went round to the boot to retrieve a couple of carrier bags containing produce.
Mariner automatically stepped forward to help. ‘Yeah, I was just going in to shower.’
‘If I hadn’t got so much to do I’d come and scrub your back.’
‘Don’t let Rex hear you say that. God, what have you got in here?’ he asked, picking up the last and heaviest of the bags. He carried them into the kitchen and was just emerging, when Bryce appeared at the gate.
‘I felt much better this afternoon,’ he told Mariner. ‘Thought I could do with some fresh air, so I stopped in at the pub too for a glass of ginger wine. It’s not a bad little hostelry, in fact I’d like to take you there for dinner tonight,’ he went on. ‘My treat, for the kindness you’ve shown me. Do you think your friend Elena would come along?’
‘I’m sure she’d love to, but I’m not sure about Cerys, given it’s a school night.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Bryce said. ‘Silly me. Do you think she might like another game of chess though?’
‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised,’ Mariner said. ‘Why don’t you use the shower first, then you can go across.’
Knox was on the stand until the case adjourned at the end of the day. No point in returning to Granville Lane, so instead, on his way out of the city, he stopped by at Katarina’s flat on the off-chance that she might be there. The complex where she lived was a newly built development opposite the county cricket ground at Edgbaston, with limited parking for non-residents, except by expensive meter. Knox then had to wait around for someone to leave the building until he could gain access. The muffled sounds of music playing, children shouting and raised voices could be heard from behind the flimsy walls of the flats as Knox ascended three flights of stairs and walked along Kat’s landing. But on the whole it looked well kept and still smelled clean and newly decorated. He rang the bell to Kat’s apartment three times, at intervals of several minutes, noting the absence of any sound coming from the other side of the solid wood door. Squatting down he lifted the letterbox flap, but could see nothing beyond the floor of the hall and a closed internal door.
‘Hi, can I help you?’
The young Asian woman who came up behind him made him jump slightly and automatically Knox drew out his warrant card. ‘I’m looking for Katarina,’ he said. ‘You know her?’
‘Yes I do,’ the girl said. ‘We moved in here together and we used to work together. I’m Saira Mahmood. What’s happened?’ She looked suddenly worried and Knox realized his mistake.
‘Nothing,’ he assured her. ‘Well, nothing to be concerned about. I just need to talk to her.’
‘She might not be back for a while,’ Saira said. ‘She stays a lot with her boyfriend.’
‘Is that Giles Ridley-Coburn?’
‘Yes. Are you a friend of Tom Mariner?’ she asked.
‘I work with him,’ said Knox. ‘He’s gone away for a couple of weeks so I said I’d keep an eye on things. If Katarina contacts you, can you ask her to give me a call straight away?’ He gave Saira one of his business cards.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, having difficulty meeting Knox’s gaze.
After he’d showered and changed, Mariner went back across the yard to wait for Bryce. ‘They’re upstairs,’ Elena told him.
‘Is that wise?’
‘Don’t be such a copper. He’s a nice man. Cerys wanted to show him some chess game on her computer.’ She crossed to the foot of the stairs. ‘Your dinner date’s here, Jeremy!’ she called. ‘And he’s getting impatient!’
Moments later Bryce appeared shaking his head ruefully. ‘She’ll go far, that young woman,’ he said. ‘She had me on the ropes again. I need a drink.’
Mariner and Bryce walked down to the pub in companionable silence. It was early and a Monday night, so the bar was a little less frenetic than it had been the night before. Mariner could smell the press a mile off though, and they were still well represented here. He and Bryce took a table in a secluded corner and Mariner at least tried to avoid eye contact with any other customers.
Bryce lifted his pint. ‘Well, here’s to you,’ he said. ‘And your kindness. As you so rightly predicted, after a day’s rest I feel reinvigorated, and tomorrow I shall be on my way again.’
When they walked back again later that evening, Mariner let Bryce go on ahead while he called in to check on Elena and Cerys.
‘There’s no need,’ Elena told him. ‘We’re fine.’
‘I wanted to,’ said Mariner. ‘With any luck by the time I go up Br
yce will already be asleep, then I can sneak up to the attic room again. I don’t want to offend him by telling him he’s keeping me awake.’
‘You want a night cap before you go?’
‘Yes, go on then.’
Bryce, as Mariner had predicted, was rumbling away like a motorcycle with an exhaust problem, by the time he followed on across to the hostel. Christ, he wondered how Mrs Bryce could stand it, although it might explain why she didn’t holiday with her husband. On the few occasions when Anna had accused Mariner of snoring he’d also swiftly been relegated to the spare bedroom. Gathering up his sleeping bag again, he retreated up to the attic room. He checked his phone briefly to see if Knox had been back in touch, even though he knew it was probably too soon, then quite suddenly weariness overtook him and he drifted into sleep.
Mariner woke with a jolt, some hours later. Something had disturbed him, and as he came to he became aware of voices, and the low thrumming of an engine somewhere down in the street below. Unlike the previous night, the temperature in the attic had dropped significantly and it was with reluctance that he crawled out of his sleeping bag and went to the window, half expecting to see the black Range Rover back again. But this time the vehicle was just a regular car, idling outside one of the tied cottages a little way back down the street, its headlights on and unafraid of being seen. As Mariner watched, someone emerged from the end cottage and walked down to the car. The interior light briefly came on as he or she climbed into the passenger seat, and seconds later the car pulled away.
Mariner shivered. It was freezing up here now. Terrific. Now he had the choice of Bryce’s snoring or frostbite. But now that the car had moved off he realized that the hostel was quiet. Bryce had stopped snoring. Triumphant, he crept downstairs to the dorm, where the air felt marginally warmer, got carefully into the lower bunk to avoid triggering Bryce’s snoring again, and quickly fell into another deep sleep.
Day Eight
When Mariner next awoke, the first thing he noticed, aside from a nagging headache, was that his face was wet, even though he had no recollection of having dreamt about Anna. In fact he’d slept so deeply he couldn’t remember dreaming about anything at all. They should have opened a window. The room was stuffy and his head felt muzzy from a lack of fresh air. Lifting his head from the pillow he saw, in the dim light afforded by the curtains, a dark stain. Not tears then, but another nose bleed; probably why his head felt stuffed with cotton wool. He hoped he wasn’t about to contract Bryce’s cold. His watch said only six-twenty. Careful not to disturb Bryce, Mariner slipped out of bed and, taking the soiled pillow with him, he padded along the corridor to the bathroom, the stone flags freezing under his bare feet.
He looked a sight in the pocked mirror, blood smearing his face, though it seemed now to have dried up. He rinsed his face in cold water, the shock of its iciness catching his breath. He couldn’t do much with the pillow, so he left it on the bathroom floor and, taking a spare from another dormitory, went back to the bunk room, in the hope of grabbing another hour or so of sleep. His blood, he noticed, getting back into bed, had spread on to the flimsy mattress too. He’d need to try and get that off.
Bryce didn’t seem to have stirred. Maybe not that surprising given the amount of booze he’d downed last night. Hoping that his nose wouldn’t start bleeding again, Mariner rolled on to his back, and that was when he felt the tingle of a drip on his cheek that trickled warmly down behind his ear. He felt it again. His eyes snapped open. The underneath of the top bunk was in shadow, but now that it was getting light, Mariner could make out a dark patch immediately above his head, about the size of an orange. A fist grabbed his heart and squeezed as he turned over and swung his legs out of bed again. Standing up brought him level with Bryce’s bunk and what he saw made him cry out in horror. Bryce lay supine, his eyes closed and arms folded neatly across his chest, exactly as if he were sleeping, though Mariner knew with absolute certainty that he wasn’t. His throat had been slit from ear to ear and Jeremy Bryce lay in a dark pool of crimson blood that matted his beard, the spray splattered in a scarlet arc across the wall behind him. In one reflexive movement, Mariner doubled over and vomited on the floor, retching uncontrollably over and over until his stomach was empty. Christ, what a mess.
Stepping round the noxious puddle he went over to the window and wrenched back the curtain. The sudden flood of light revealed the extent of the bloodbath and for some time Mariner simply stood, staring at the obscenity, his mind racing. How the fuck had this happened? And Elena. Oh God, Elena. Christ Almighty. How the hell was he going to break this to her? But he would have to, and he would have to do it soon. Glancing down, Mariner noticed spots of blood on his T-shirt. Bryce’s blood. It was on his face again, too, and he felt an overwhelming, desperate urge to cleanse himself of it. He wanted to tear off his clothes and get under a scalding shower to scrub at his skin until it was red and raw. But rationally he knew that it was the last thing he could do. Even in these few minutes while his brain struggled to make sense of this, it was obvious that he would be a prime suspect. Any attempts to clean himself or his clothing would reflect very badly on him. As he stood shivering, considering what to do next, he heard the distant sound of the door scraping across the stone floor, followed by Elena’s voice echoing up the stairs. ‘I hope you’re decent, you two. I’ve brought you tea.’
Christ, why had she chosen today of all days? Snatching up his fleece, Mariner bolted out of the door and pounded down the stairs, meeting her at the bottom, relieving her of the tray and guiding her out through the door, in one smooth action.
‘What is it? What’s going on? You two got women up th …?’ She tailed off, staring at his face, and then down at the bloodstains on his T-shirt.
‘We have to call the police.’ Mariner was breathless. ‘Jeremy Bryce is dead. He’s been murdered in his bed.’
‘What? Is this some kind of wind-up?’ Elena started towards the hostel again and Mariner had to hold her back.
‘You can’t go up there, Elena. It’s carnage. And it’s also a crime scene. We have to call the police. Now.’ Grabbing his boots from the drying room and pulling them on over his bare feet, Mariner steered her back across the yard towards the kitchen. ‘Where’s Cerys?’ he asked, his voice low.
‘Brushing her teeth, I think. She’ll be off to school in a bit. She said she’d be all right to catch the bus today.’
‘I’ve got to phone the police straight away. Can you keep her upstairs for a few minutes and try to behave normally. It’s probably best that we don’t tell her anything yet, just let her get off to school.’
She was staring at him. ‘But if he’s dead …’
‘I didn’t do it, Elena.’ Mariner held her gaze for a moment. ‘Someone must have got in during the night.’ He had no way of knowing if she believed him or not, but that was too bad.
‘But how come you didn’t hear?’
‘I don’t know; I was out cold. The booze, I suppose.’ Mariner shot her an agonized look. ‘Please, Elena, we can talk about this later.’
Inside the house Elena disappeared upstairs, while Mariner dialled 999 and reported what he had found. Then he swilled his face under the kitchen tap to remove any traces of blood and zipped up the fleece to cover what was on his T-shirt, before sitting at the kitchen table, shaking and feeling sick. He pulled himself together when Cerys appeared, coming down the stairs with her school bag in hand. ‘And so, another exciting day at school, eh!’ he said with excessive enthusiasm.
Cerys curled her lip. ‘I’d rather stay here.’ She brightened. ‘Is Mr Bryce about? D’you think he’d like a game of chess? Mum could always take me in later.’
‘I don’t think so. Anyway Mr Bryce is having a lie-in.’ Mariner cringed inwardly, a euphemism if ever there was one.
‘Come on, love, off you go,’ Elena breezed down the stairs, her recovery from the initial shock impressive. ‘I’ll walk you as far as the gate.’
‘Have a good day,’
Mariner called after them.
Elena returned no more than a couple of minutes later, the facade of forced cheerfulness collapsed. ‘Now what do we do?’ she said, dropping into the chair opposite Mariner.
‘We wait,’ said Mariner. ‘Any chance of that cup of tea?’
TWENTY-THREE
They had drained their mugs and were sitting at the kitchen table, listening to the washing machine finish its cycle, when tyres crunched over the gravel in the yard. An unmarked vehicle pulled in followed by a squad car, its light flashing. Mariner and Elena went out to be greeted by Ryan Griffith and a uniformed officer, a young gangly lad with dark red hair and a bad complexion, whom he introduced as DC Blaine. The absence of DCI Bullman told Mariner that he was content to steer this investigation from behind a desk and trust Ryan Griffith to do a good job.
‘Where is he?’ Griffith asked.
Mariner gestured towards the hostel entrance. ‘Top of the stairs, second room on the right.’
The two policemen followed Mariner’s instructions and Mariner heard their footsteps echoing on the floorboards, followed by a startled cry. Seconds later the younger man reappeared, hand clamped to his mouth. He staggered out into the yard and, bent double, brought up whatever it was he’d eaten for breakfast. Griffith took his time and it was several minutes before he emerged again, calm and unruffled. ‘Sorry,’ he said coolly, regarding his colleague, who had straightened now and was wiping his mouth on a handkerchief. ‘I don’t think he’s ever seen anything like this before.’
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