The Headhunters

by Peter Lovesey

  ‘It seems she was in the water with her killer and held under until she stopped breathing. Now do you see why your recall of the scene is so important?’

  She released a large, shaky breath. And nodded.

  Hen Mallin pressed on with her questions. ‘You found the body at the base of the breakwater, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘As you pointed out, they stand ten or twelve feet high, those breakwaters. On the one side, that is. On the other, the stones are stacked almost to the top, so you don’t see much timber at all. It’s the action of the tide, dragging the stones from under one breakwater and heaping them against the next one.’

  Jo waited for her to get to the point.

  ‘And the sea was quite rough. Had been for some hours. Do you follow me? If the body had been washed up, it wouldn’t have got where you found it.’

  It was as if they were questioning her account. ‘That’s where it was.’

  ‘So it looks as if the tide went out and the body was left there, more or less where she drowned. That would explain why it was on that side of the breakwater.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘You didn’t find any clothes nearby?’

  ‘No. Why?’ She knew the question was stupid as soon as it left her mouth, but all this had come as a shock.

  ‘She’s not going to be on a public beach in no more than her knickers.’

  ‘There weren’t any clothes that I could see.’

  ‘You must have wondered where they were, surely, finding a poor dead woman almost naked.’

  ‘I don’t know what I thought. I was very upset when I discovered what it was I’d found.’

  ‘You didn’t look around, then?’ Hen Mallin’s brown eyes regarded her with disbelief, if not disapproval.

  Jo felt annoyed by the question. ‘I’m not an expert like you. I thought she’d been washed up by the tide. I’m only the person who happened to find her.’ She almost added that they were making her feel like a suspect, but she stopped herself in time. ‘Was she . . . ?’

  ‘Raped? Apparently not. The signs weren’t there, but who can say what was in the mind of the killer? Something that starts out as sex play can turn ugly if the woman doesn’t welcome it.’

  These words, ‘raped,’ ‘killer,’ ‘sex play,’ and ‘ugly’ struck Jo with near-physical force. ‘Do you think they knew each other, then? They went to the beach together for a swim?’

  ‘That’s our present assumption.’

  ‘And he held her under and she drowned?’

  ‘He, or she. We consider every option.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why was she attacked?’ Hen Mallin turned up her palms. ‘No one can say yet. The killer could have planned it, expecting she’d be taken for some unfortunate woman who fell overboard. You understand why I’m asking if you remember anything from the scene?’

  ‘Who was she?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. She could be local. Equally she could have come from miles away. Or been brought there by her killer.’

  ‘Poor woman.’

  ‘Yes. Whoever she was, her luck ran out that weekend. Cast your mind back, Jo. Who did you see along the front?’

  ‘Nobody I knew.’

  ‘That isn’t what I’m asking. I don’t expect names. I want your recollection of everyone you noticed.’

  ‘That’s hard.’

  ‘Think for a bit. Take your time.’

  She frowned. The finding of the body had pushed everything before that moment into a hazy, unimportant background. For much of the walk she’d been absorbed in her own thoughts, hoping against the odds to meet Jake. She’d been on the lookout for tall men, that was one sure thing.

  ‘There was a young guy who passed me early on. He was tall, over six feet, and wearing a fleece and tracksuit trousers. Grey, I think. And he had an iPod. Well, I saw the earphones.’

  ‘You say he passed you. Do you mean overtook you?’

  ‘No, he was coming towards me.’

  ‘From the direction of the body?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t think—’

  ‘Hair colour?’

  ‘God, this is difficult. Darkish brown and short.’

  ‘Age?’

  ‘Younger than me. Mid-twenties probably.’

  ‘Was he in a hurry?’

  ‘He was walking quite fast when I saw him. He could have been a jogger.’

  ‘Did you speak?’

  She shook her head. ‘There wasn’t even eye contact.’

  ‘But you’d remember him if you saw him again?’

  ‘I might. I can’t say for sure.’ She felt responsible, drawing attention to this guy who probably had nothing to do with the body. ‘He wasn’t the only man I saw along the beach. There was another, in combat clothes, down at the water’s edge throwing a ball for his dog.’

  ‘What—near the body?’

  ‘No. I told you nobody was there. This was further back, closer to those wooden buildings where the fish are sold.’

  ‘Go on,’ DC Pearce said. ‘We’re with you.’

  ‘I watched the dog running into the waves to collect the ball. It was a large black poodle.’

  Maybe a pit bull would have impressed them more. The two detectives lost all interest in the dog owner. They didn’t even ask the colour of his hair. ‘When you saw the first man, the guy in the tracksuit,’ Hen Mallin said, ‘it was early on in the walk, you said?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Not far from where you left the car?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have noticed if he got into a car himself?’

  ‘I told you. He passed me. I didn’t look back.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Hen looked at her colleague. They’d run through their repertoire. ‘There’s nothing else you remember from that afternoon?’

  ‘I’ve told you all I know.’

  They left soon after. Although something was said about thanks and cooperation, Jo felt it was only lip service. She’d had a mauling. She needed another coffee before she could face work again.

  THAT EVENING one of those small cars that look as if it they’ve been sawn off at the back was parked in the spot she always used outside her flat, so she had to go looking for another place. Typical. The only space she could find was way up the next street. Serious damage to property (namely, one yellow Smartcar) was on her mind as she finished humping two bags of shopping the two hundred yards to her door.

  Before she got there someone stepped out of the offending car and stood waiting for her.

  Gemma.

  ‘Can I help with those?’

  ‘You’d better, seeing that you nicked my parking place.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Gem sounded worried, more worried than ill-judged parking warranted.

  ‘Problems?’

  ‘Mind if I come in? I’ve had a godawful week and it’s still only Monday.’

  Supper would have to wait. Inside, Jo opened the bottle of merlot she’d bought for herself and carried two drinks to the sofa. The two friends sat facing the switched-off television.

  ‘It’s my butthead boss again,’ Gemma said. ‘You remember I was telling you about Fiona from accounts? Well, it seems I read the signs all wrong. She’s giving him the come-on now. In the last couple of days she’s appeared at work all done up like the next Big Brother contestant in really unsuitable clothes, low-cut tops and skirts a teenager would think twice about wearing.’

  Jo was still feeling frayed from her session with the police and it wasn’t easy to take Gemma’s problems seriously, but she made the effort. ‘I thought she was the homespun type. That’s what you told me.’

  ‘And how wrong I was. That line she gave me about being embarrassed by all his interest was a load of horse hooey. She was sounding me out, making sure I wasn’t going to make a play for him myself.’

  ‘And what does he make of it?’

  ‘Laps it up, naturally. He’s starting to give her jobs that mean report
ing back to him directly. Every time she comes in he sends me out on some errand.’

  ‘Do you think they’re at it in the office?’

  ‘Parallel parking? I wouldn’t put it past them. There’s some fooling around for sure, but that isn’t here nor there. What really upsets me, Jo, is that I think he’s grooming her for my job.’

  ‘Really?’ For all her efforts, Jo wasn’t sounding as outraged as the story demanded.

  Fortunately Gemma didn’t seem to notice. ‘Yesterday she was told to take a spess—that’s a specification—from a client. That’s what I do. I should have done that.’

  Jo rallied a bit. ‘Bloody cheek. Did you tell him he’s out of order?’

  ‘No. I’m a coward basically.’

  ‘You’ve got to stand up for yourself or she’ll trample all over you. If it happens again, you march into that office of his and tell him you won’t stand for it.’

  Gemma shook her head. ‘I know what’ll happen if I do. My office experience up against her pulling power? No contest.’

  ‘The place can’t run without you.’

  ‘I wish that was true. I was talking to Rick and he said no one is indispensable.’

  ‘You’ve discussed it with Rick?’

  ‘We had a drink last night.’

  ‘And he wasn’t much comfort by the sound of it.’

  ‘He said the writing is on the wall. I’d better see what’s on offer at the job centre.’

  ‘Oh great!’ Jo’s fighting spirit surfaced. ‘Listen, Gem. Rick is way off message here. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re practically running that firm on your own. If you want out, okay, but if you want to keep the job you’ve got to hit back.’

  ‘What can I do? Call in the Headhunters?’

  ‘Let’s think. Like you say, she’s played the sex card, and that’s got him all fired up. We give him the cold shower treatment.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You say he’s giving her the chance to meet clients. What if she makes a mistake that costs the firm a lot of money?’

  ‘I’m sure she will, given time, but I can’t afford to wait for it to happen.’

  ‘Exactly. You help it along. I don’t know how your office works, but if, say, an order comes in for three hundred booklets it won’t look good for the fair Fiona if her paperwork says thirty thousand.’

  ‘I add some zeros? She’d notice. She’s trained in accounts.’

  ‘It’s a matter of when it’s done. You intercept the order after it’s left her and before it goes to the printer. You can find a way of doing that, can’t you?’

  ‘I guess I can . . . but it’s sneaky.’

  ‘Gem, I don’t get you. Don’t you think she’s being sneaky, doing you out of your job?’

  Gemma looked as if the sun had come out. ‘Back of the net. Yes, I could use her computer and alter the figures at source and reprint the order. It would be simple to do.’

  ‘Remember, for this to work it has to be several zeros, not just one.’

  ‘A major boo-boo?’ Gemma’s eyes shone again.

  ‘Precisely. And the beauty is, she won’t know for certain that she didn’t make the mistake herself. We’ve all done that, pressed one key too hard and made a row of letters.’ Jo was surprising herself with her relish for this underhand plot.

  ‘Do you think I’ll get away with it?’ Gemma said. ‘I’ll be the obvious suspect.’

  ‘If she points the finger at you, she’s admitting she’s made an enemy of you by targeting your job. She won’t want to do that.’

  ‘What about Mr Cartwright? He’s going to think it was me.’

  ‘Let him. He won’t be able to prove a thing. And he can’t be certain it wasn’t Fiona who screwed up. The main thing is he won’t dare put any more of your work her way.’

  ‘I’m going to do it,’ Gemma raised a clenched fist. ‘I feel heaps better now.’

  Jo, too, was much recovered.

  ‘I knew I could depend on you,’ Gemma said. ‘You know what?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘When I top the bastard, you’re definitely on the team.’

  four

  ‘THIS IS GETTING TO ME,’ Hen Mallin said to Stella Gregson, who was managing the mobile incident room on the front at Selsey. They were sitting on the steps in front of the open door so that Hen could smoke one of her evil-smelling cigarillos. ‘I never fancied a caravan holiday.’

  Stella had worked with Hen ever since their days at Bognor police station and knew when the boss was in danger of erupting. Ten days into the investigation they still hadn’t identified the victim. ‘Things could be worse. Makes a nice change from the nick. Fresh sea air.’

  ‘You think so? I’m an Essex girl, raised on petrol fumes.’

  ‘A tough case brings out the best in you.’

  ‘It isn’t a case at all yet.’

  ‘I can’t think what else we can try, guv. The posters are everywhere. We had the front page in all the local papers. Television news.’

  ‘And what have we got for it? Sweet FA.’

  ‘There can’t be anyone left in Selsey who hasn’t heard.’

  ‘Have we scared them off, parking this Port-a-Loo at the scene, or what? Even the attention-seekers are shunning us. We might as well shut up shop and shift back to the nick. At least you get a burger and chips there.’

  ‘You get freshly caught fish here. I took home two beautiful fillets of plaice last night.’

  ‘Great—if you’ve got the energy to cook at the end of the day.’

  ‘My fellow does the cooking.’

  ‘Be like that.’ Hen lived alone in a Bognor terrace. Her police career had always come first, and, unlike Stella, she’d never thought of sharing her home with a cop. She’d been raised in a working class family in Dagenham, but the raising had stopped at five foot one, and when she’d confided to her sister and two older brothers that she wanted to join the police they’d teased her without mercy. For the next year she was PC Shortarse and had to put up with ee-ah siren sounds whenever she appeared. She’d refused to be downed and answered a recruitment ad as soon as she was old enough. For the interview she’d added extra inches with platform shoes and her hair on top in a bun. Even the interviewer had poked fun, telling her the ballet school was up the street, but she’d toughed it out and said she had her own version of the Nutcracker called the ballbuster. And here she was, twelve years on, running a murder squad.

  Stella switched the talk back to the investigation. ‘I’ve been asking myself why it’s so quiet. It’s a small community, just a village really. Suppose word got round that talking to us is not encouraged?’

  ‘A conspiracy of silence? I don’t think so, Stell. You don’t see that in their faces. Nobody cares enough. If we could put a name to the victim, we’d get a response, believe me.’

  ‘There are still no reports of missing women.’

  ‘I’m wondering about house-to-house.’

  Now it was Stella’s turn to get uptight. ‘Do you want my honest opinion, guv?’

  ‘Save your breath,’ Hen said. ‘I know where you’re coming from. It wouldn’t be cost-effective. If we knew what happened to the victim’s clothes, we might get somewhere.’

  ‘Taken by the sea?’

  ‘I doubt it. You’ve seen the tideline all the way along. Enough rubbish to fill a quarry. Things get washed up here, not swept out.’

  ‘And everything along the beach has been sifted by the search squad.’

  ‘I’m not complaining at the effort,’ Hen said. ‘I want to know why, that’s all. Either some local ne’er-do-well found her kit and nicked it and is scared to own up, or the killer saw the sense in disposing of it. I would, and so would you.’

  Uncomfortably close to home. Stella hesitated before asking, ‘So are we talking about someone with police experience?’

  ‘Not these days. Any couch potato with a telly gets the basics about forensics most nights of the week.’

  The dialogue was i
nterrupted briefly by some screaming gulls fighting over a fish head. Burgers still got Hen’s vote.

  Stella threw in another suggestion. ‘What about the woman who found her?’

  ‘Jo Stevens?’

  ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘Ordinary. Profoundly shaken up by the experience. Lives in Chi and has the occasional walk down here at weekends. I got the impression she was keeping something back. It could be down to nerves, but she was pretty tight-lipped when I asked.’

  ‘Could that be because she picked up the victim’s clothes?’

  Hen turned to look at her. ‘That’s a thought.’

  ‘Is she short of a few bob?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be. She’s in work. Mind, we don’t even know if the clothes were worth taking. No, on second thoughts she’d have found nicking them difficult. She was still at the scene when the patrol car answered the shout. The things must have walked before she got here.’

  ‘What’s she holding back, then?’

  ‘Don’t know. It’s just the vibe I was getting from her.’

  ‘Would you like me to have a go at her?’

  Hen shook her head. ‘I don’t want her retreating into her shell.’

  Stella wasn’t known for bullying tactics, but she let the remark pass. ‘Could she be a suspect?’

  Hen flicked ash on the pebbles. ‘What, drowned the woman and raised the alarm herself? It wouldn’t be unknown in the annals of crime. I dare say there’s a syndrome with a special name for it. In the absence of any other suspects, Stella, I’m keeping an open mind on Miss Jo Stevens.’

  ‘And the men she saw along the beach, the jogger and the dog-owner?’

  ‘Still trying to trace them. Like I said, Selsey people aren’t the best at coming forward. This box on wheels looks too much like a prison vehicle. Speaking of which, I’m still interested in local villains.’

  ‘We checked the sex offenders’ register on the first day and drew a blank, as you know.’

  ‘This may not be about sex.’

  ‘Nothing showed up in the post mortem.’

  ‘My point exactly. It’s easy to get carried away with the idea that because she was undressed it was for one thing only.’

  ‘What else is there?’

  ‘Skinny dipping, for starters. This was a warm September night. At this end of summer, the sea temperature is as high as it gets.’