The Headhunters

by Peter Lovesey

  Gary had heard the cautious note and gave only a slight nod.

  ‘On the other hand,’ Hen went on, ‘he may have wanted to throw suspicion on someone else for the murder of Fiona.’

  ‘How would he do that?’ Gary asked as Francisco looked from one to the other.

  ‘Well, his first line of defence was that she drowned accidentally. But just in case that wasn’t believed and we discovered she was murdered, he thought if he removed the car from the scene we would mistakenly assume her killer drove off in it, thus deflecting suspicion from himself, the man living next door.’

  ‘Wicked,’ Gary said.

  ‘You say I killed her? No way.’ Francisco flapped his hand as if swatting a fly.

  ‘Somebody did,’ Hen said. ‘Did you fancy her, Francisco?’

  ‘Per-lease.’

  ‘You disliked her, then? A bad neighbour? Was she giving you trouble?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s easy to see how disputes arise. Loud music late at night getting on your nerves. Well, I guess it couldn’t be that because you’re used to loud music late at night. It’s your job. You’re not around most nights. Perhaps it was the reverse. She objected to you coming home in the small hours, banging doors and waking her up. She kept complaining. Drove you round the twist. Is that the truth of it?’

  ‘Are you trying to say I’m mental?’

  ‘Not at all. Angry. Violent. But for a reason.’

  ‘Fuck off, will you?’

  ‘We’re about to,’ Hen said smoothly. A delay would be useful. This had gone as far as it could for the present. If Francisco was the killer, there would be more to throw at him after his house was searched.

  Hen stood. ‘I’m keeping you under arrest. When we brought you in for questioning it was in connection with the theft of a vehicle. You’re now under suspicion of murder.’

  thirteen

  ‘ DO YOU RECKON FRANCISCO slept with Fiona?’ Hen asked Gary.

  Gary weighed the question for a moment before shaking his head.

  ‘Or wanted to?’

  He answered with a smile and a shrug that said he wasn’t a mind-reader.

  ‘They were on close terms,’ Hen pointed out. ‘Must have been if she gave him a key.’

  ‘With respect, guv, that doesn’t mean a lot these days. They were neighbours,’ Gary said, making Hen feel about ninety.

  ‘You see where I’m heading with this?’ she said. ‘I know he’s not Mastermind, but he’d be an idiot to kill her for the bloody car. What other motive is there?’

  ‘Maybe she kept a load of money lying around the house.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t. She was an accountant. They keep it in interest-bearing accounts.’

  ‘She had something on him, then?’

  ‘Blackmail, you mean? I suppose he may have had secrets she got to know about. But he doesn’t have a record. We checked.’

  ‘All that means is that he’s not been caught.’

  ‘Okay, but I can’t see Fiona as a blackmailer.’

  ‘She knew how to get what she wanted.’

  ‘You mean what we heard from the people who worked with her? Cosying up to the boss? Yes, they made her sound like the office whore. But she was up to something smarter, known to us women as maximising your assets.’

  ‘This wasn’t the office,’ Gary said. ‘This was the bloke next door.’

  ‘How did it work, then?’

  Gary hesitated. He was new in the job, but he already knew he’d better not look smarter than the boss. ‘I’m guessing, but let’s say he was into something dodgy.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Nicking cars and doing them up. Fiona watches the comings and goings, follows him one day, finds out, and sees a way of turning a profit.’

  ‘By threatening to tell all? She’d be taking a mega risk demanding money from a hard man like Francisco.’

  ‘She did. We know the result,’ he said.

  ‘Not bad, Gary,’ Hen said, ‘not bad at all. I’ve only got one problem with it. We’re investigating two drownings. If he killed Fiona because she was blackmailing him, how do we explain the killing of Meredith Sentinel?’

  Gary actually looked relieved, like a driver who has wound down the window and been told he was speeding and had better improve his driving next time. ‘You’ve got me there, guv.’

  Hen said, ‘It’s back to the sexual motive.’

  She’d lost Gary altogether now. He was frowning. ‘I didn’t think either woman was assaulted.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting they were. It’s more about what was going on in Francisco’s mind.’

  He still looked baffled.

  ‘Picture the scene on the beach,’ Hen went on. ‘Meredith starts stripping off. They both do, I guess. Suppose Francisco’s secret is that he’s impotent.’

  Gary blinked, disbelieving. ‘A muscleman like that?’

  ‘It’s not so unusual. Agreed, he pumps iron and shaves his head and wears tattoos to suggest the opposite. He persuades himself that if he finds the right woman he’ll turn into a full-blown stud. He’s on a quest to find her. And each time it doesn’t happen he goes into a red mist and kills them. It’s not just that he blames them for his failure, it’s that he can’t bear them knowing. They have to die.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘But now you’re going to tell me Fiona—unlike Meredith— was fully dressed when she was found. Picture the situation. It’s late at night outside her house beside the Mill Pond. The two of them have been for a drink, or just a walk. The classic dilemma. Just a goodnight peck or an invitation inside? She’s confident with men. She gives him the come-on, kisses, some fumblings. He knows he’s going to disappoint and he panics.’

  Gary completed it for her. ‘Pushes her over the edge and drowns her. Hell, yes.’

  He was so impressed that Hen felt compelled to add, ‘It’s a possibility, no more.’

  ‘How would we find out? He’s never going to admit it.’

  ‘We ambush him. But let’s not leap ahead. If there’s anything in this, he may have killed before. Has Sergeant Murphy finished checking all the drownings I asked him to?’

  ‘He was still working on it this morning.’

  ‘Tell him to snap it up.’

  GEMMA PHONED about eleven and said she was going to the Island after lunch on a secret mission and why didn’t Jo join her. She made it sound like another adventure for the Famous Five.

  ‘Which island?’

  ‘Which do you think, my innocent? Tasmania? Madagascar? The jolly old Isle of Wight, of course.’

  Jo wasn’t sure. The trip across the Solent was only ten minutes or so by hovercraft from Southsea, but you didn’t take it unless you meant to stay some hours. The last thing she wanted was one of Gemma’s interrogations about the night before, especially after what had happened. Even so, she was curious. Against her better judgement she heard herself saying, ‘What are you wearing?’

  ‘Smart casual.’

  ‘It’s not the beach, then?’

  INSIDE THE hovercraft, when Gemma unzipped her white suede jacket it was clear she was dressed for an evening out, all spangle and cleavage.

  ‘What’s this, girls’ night out?’ Jo said, a little peeved. She was in a cashmere top and skinny jeans. ‘You could have warned me.’

  ‘You’ll be fine.’

  ‘So what’s the occasion?’

  ‘Today is my two hundredth birthday.’

  ‘Oh, God, Gem, you’re the bloody limit. I haven’t got you a present or anything.’

  ‘No probs. Buy me a drink instead.’

  ‘A bottle of fizz?’

  ‘I won’t say no to that.’

  ‘Is anyone else coming?’ She was already wondering why Rick wasn’t in the party.

  ‘Only Brad Pitt and Hugh Grant.’

  Be mysterious, then, she thought. ‘Which one is mine? Can I put in a request for Liam Neeson?’

  Gemma giggled. ‘The tall, silent type. Yes, w
e know about you. How was last night, by the way?’

  The question she’d been expecting. ‘Okay. And yours?’

  ‘Better than okay.’ There was no doubt what Gemma’s eyes were saying.

  ‘I knew he wouldn’t keep you waiting much longer.’ This was going well, the emphasis on what Rick had been like.

  ‘How do you know it wasn’t me keeping him waiting?’

  ‘Put it this way,’ Jo said. ‘You wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’

  Gemma gave a hearty laugh. ‘A stud, darling, a rampant stud.’

  ‘Attagirl.’ The moment to steer the talk away from last night’s intimacies. ‘You did go to Jongleurs? Who was playing?’

  ‘Some boy band just out of nappies. Very noisy. Rick seemed to think they were hot. His taste isn’t the same as mine. I’ve never thought any band was hot since Duran Duran.’

  Jo enjoyed this disclosure. ‘You were one of the new romantics?’

  ‘A fully paid up member of the tribe. Batwing jumpers, peroxide fringe. I could do it all again, no probs.’

  ‘I wouldn’t advise it.’

  ‘How about you? Did you do the dressing up thing?’

  ‘You bet I did.’

  ‘Stop,’ Gemma said. ‘Let me guess. You were a goth. Dreadlocks and ripped fishnets.’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Tell me, then.’

  ‘Studded belt, pixie boots, and lycra leggings.’

  ‘God help us, Jo! Who were you following, dressed like that? ’ ‘Depeche Mode. Still do on the quiet, but I don’t wear the gear.’

  They were silent for a while, indulging in nostalgia, and only jerked out of it when the hovercraft hit a larger wave.

  ‘The sea’s getting up,’ Jo said. ‘If it gets any worse we could be spending all night on the Island.’

  ‘I know. The forecast isn’t great, but sod it, this is my birthday.’

  ‘I still can’t believe you kept quiet about that for so long.’

  ‘At my age you do, ducky.’

  ‘Did you get any cards at all—apart from the one from the Queen, of course?’

  ‘Aunt Jessica always sends. She’s nearly eighty and lives in Singleton.’

  ‘Where I work.’

  ‘Is that where your garden centre is?’ Gemma said. ‘I never even knew one was there. Shows how much I care about gardening. My aunt’s quite an expert, though. She’s got a dinky little cottage garden like the cards she sends, all hollyhocks and roses. Funny old dear. Wears a hideous pink hat, indoors and outdoors.’

  Jo smiled. ‘I think I might know her, then. Would her name be Miss Peabody?’

  ‘Sweet Jesus! You’ve met Aunt Jessica.’

  ‘She’s the bane of our lives. Comes in every day and points out the plants that are ailing.’

  ‘Brilliant. That’s my Aunt Jess. Small world, huh?’

  ‘Don’t you have any close family?’

  Gemma shook her head. ‘My parents died young and so did my kid brother Terry.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m well-adjusted. Or, as they say in the office, a hard bitch.’

  ‘No cards from your workmates, then?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want one from that bunch of tossers and they wouldn’t bother anyway. I’m too stuck-up for them. They’ve got their teeth into more meaty stuff, what with Fiona being murdered and the boss going AWOL. We’ve all been questioned.’

  ‘What’s going to happen to the business?’

  ‘Don’t know. All I can do is make sure we complete the current orders.’

  ‘You’re wishing Mr Cartwright was back?’

  ‘He won’t be.’ She sounded definite.

  ‘But if you lose your job over it?’

  ‘I’m pinning my hopes on someone taking us over. There are plenty of print firms in the area.’

  AT RYDE, they went for a drink in the first pub they reached. Jo asked if she should order the birthday champagne, but Gemma said later would be better. She was still being mysterious about what was to come.

  Some men at another table started trying to get attention by spinning beer mats and shouting. They weren’t bad-looking and they weren’t teenagers either, but Gemma showed no interest. When one of the mats landed on the table she tossed it back without a glance at them, provoking hoots of derision.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said to Jo.

  ‘It’s a bit of fun, Gem.’

  ‘We’ve got bigger fish to fry.’

  Outside, Jo remembered another saying: Better a small fish than an empty dish. This didn’t seem the time to mention it.

  They went for a pizza.

  ‘I may as well tell you. We’re meeting Rick,’ Gemma said.

  Great, Jo thought. What am I doing here, playing gooseberry?

  ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘No. You’re the two lucky campers I want to be with on my birthday.’

  ‘That’ll be nice,’ she lied. ‘Why didn’t Rick come on the hovercraft with us?’

  ‘Sally.’

  She had to think. Sally was Rick’s Sunday lunch date, that older woman he insisted on seeing. ‘He’s still at it?’

  ‘Don’t know what you mean by “at it,”’ Gemma said. ‘She cooks for him, that’s all.’

  If she really believed that, she’d believe anything.

  ‘It’s been going on for years. One of those arrangements you can’t suddenly end without hurting feelings.’

  ‘Have you met her?’

  ‘Wouldn’t want to. A right little Mary Poppins, by the sound of her.’

  ‘So what time are we meeting Rick?’

  Gemma looked her watch. ‘About an hour. Make your margarita last. We don’t want the embarrassment of getting there first.’

  A SHORT taxi ride brought them to the secret venue, a spanking new nightclub on the seafront called Cliffs—and nothing to do with Sir Cliff, Gemma confided. Even so, the people who thronged the entrance didn’t look right. They weren’t straight out of school. They were grown-ups, more like first nighters in the West End than clubbers.

  ‘First we find my prize stallion,’ Gemma said, ‘and I see him. Over there by the palm tree.’

  ‘Can that be real?’

  ‘The palm or Rick? They both look plastic to me.’ Gemma shrieked at her own wit. She meant to enjoy her birthday.

  Rick was in a new leather jacket and was carrying a gift bag that was obviously expensive chocs. He knew what the occasion was.

  ‘Before we go in,’ Gemma announced after they had all kissed, ‘this is my treat, guys. I brought you here and I know what the tab is.’

  It was a good thing she warned them, because it cost a ton a head to get in. No wonder the teenagers weren’t there in force.

  ‘Who’s playing, Madonna?’ Rick said to Jo while Gemma was keying in her PIN number. ‘Did you see the ticket price?’

  ‘Don’t rock the boat,’ Jo muttered. ‘The birthday girl planned this.’

  Inside, the smell of fresh paint competed with the perfumes worn by the clubbers. Complimentary cocktails were being handed out by gorgeous creatures wearing peacock feathers and little else. The heavy beat of retro rock music beckoned from across the carpeted foyer.

  Jo noticed some of the new arrivals being taken aside to a sales area where hip clothes and shoes were on offer. It seemed there was a dress code for the men. Suits and chinos were out, designer drainpipes and T-shirts de rigeur. The girls were treated more indulgently. Gemma had been right about smart casual. The skinny jeans did nicely, and it was only right that the birthday girl had the party frock.

  They collected drinks and moved inside, where a DJ was emoting about the acts in prospect, including a stand-up comic. Basically, the dance area was dark and huge, even the lighting upmarket compared to clubs Jo had seen before. A guitar band started playing and with a whoop of joy Gemma grabbed Rick and Jo and drew them into the fray. The tempo was just right for this early stage of the evening.

  After two numbe
rs Jo was ready to sit one out, except that seating was not a feature of Cliffs. Rick and Gemma joined her at the ledge where they had stowed their drinks. Bangers and mash and some kind of risotto were now being handed out by the peacocks, all included in the cover price. Rick took a large plateful, and the girls regretted the pizza they’d had.

  ‘I didn’t know this place existed,’ Jo said.

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘Love it. For a special night out it’s ideal. Wicked. Jongleurs will never seem the same.’

  ‘Slick marketing,’ Rick said in his man-about-town voice. ‘People of our age are going to go for this, and we have the money to splash out—well, Gemma does. But have you noticed the sprinkling of under-twenties, all bright-eyed and beautiful? I wouldn’t mind betting they’re on complimentary tickets.’

  ‘To glam up the ambience? You could be right.’

  ‘I bet they’re models on ten times our salary,’ Gemma said.

  ‘Or city traders earning millions,’ Jo said.

  ‘But we’re not envious, are we?’ Rick said. ‘We’re achievers, too. It’s just that our talents aren’t rewarded.’

  ‘What talents are those?’ Gemma said.

  ‘Show you later.’ He gave a sexy smirk and Jo felt like the hanger-on she’d not wanted to become. She was already thinking about strategies for leaving.

  Out of Rick’s hearing range, Gemma said, ‘Promises, promises.’

  Another band was playing. A heavier beat.

  ‘Let’s you and me strut our stuff and leave him to finish his nosh,’ Gemma said, taking Jo’s hand. ‘Sally’s Sunday lunch couldn’t have been much, judging by the amount he’s wolfing down.’

  ‘If you two want to be alone I can slip away any time,’ Jo offered.

  ‘Don’t you dare. We’re a threesome. End of story—unless you get lucky with one of these millionaires.’

  Jo laughed. ‘Better exercise my hips, then.’ She appreciated Gemma’s friendship, and when the music stopped insisted on ordering the champagne she’d promised, in spite of Gemma warning her it would cost an arm and a leg in this place. She used her credit card and avoided looking at the tab.

  They went back to Rick.

  ‘Still struggling with that risotto?’ Gemma said.