‘Any developments?’ he asked, and listened with head bowed, nodding from time to time.
‘Well,’ he said when she had finished, ‘I don’t know that I can help a lot at this stage, but I can tell you what we’ve got so far from the tests. Blood tests now … First of all, he wasn’t HIV positive.’
He searched for a particular sheet and pulled it out. ‘Blood group … He was an O secretor. PGM group (2-2 + ). The blood group of his sexual partner, on the other hand, was AB secretor. Unfortunately, the semen stains weren’t strong enough for a successful PGM grouping. Unlikely anyway after more than six hours…’
As he droned on about different classifications of the blood groups, Kathy found herself listening to the tone of his voice rather than what he was saying. The lilt had gone, his voice flat. He seemed worried.
‘… and until they get an effective PCR technique up and running it’s taking six to eight weeks to get a DNA profile. I’ve sent the semen samples anyway, though the profile won’t be much use unless you have someone to match it to - if it’s relevant at all. You particularly asked about drugs. We think we’ve found traces of MDMA.’
All these initials were beginning to go over Kathy’s head, and it took her a moment to register. ‘Ecstasy?’
‘Yes.’ He shrugged. ‘It suggests he wasn’t short of money, or the person who gave it to him wasn’t.’
‘I’m not up to date with this. Is it very expensive, then?’
‘It’s not so much that it’s very expensive as that in the past year it’s become so much more expensive than the alternative drug of choice - good old-fashioned LSD. About twenty-five pounds a unit as against five for LSD, so they tell me.’
‘Are they similar, then?’
‘To tell the truth, I’m not really sure. There’s damn-all scientific data on the effects. MDMA’s supposed to be softer, more pleasant, somewhere between a stimulant, like amphetamine, and a hallucinogen, like LSD. But in the high doses, 100 to 150 milligrams, it’s probably much like LSD. If you want to try it, let me know. I could write a paper on it.’
For a moment his face brightened, then reverted to a frown.
‘I was about to fax my preliminary report to you this afternoon anyway,’ he said. ‘You and the Deputy Chief Constable.’
Kathy blinked. He was looking down at his papers, avoiding her eyes.
‘The Deputy Chief Constable?’
‘Yes … I understand he has a personal interest in this case. Didn’t you know?’
‘I didn’t know he was asking for copies of your reports.’
‘Perhaps I’ve spoken out of turn, then.’ He looked up at her carefully, letting her know he was trying to help. ‘Perhaps you’d best forget I told you.’
Gordon Dowling found Kathy standing at a window in the office, staring out at the darkening sky. The street lights were coming on, some orange, others still cold and red. She was wondering why she was doing this. For three days she had been trying, trying hard, and had got nowhere. At the clinic she had been an outsider, attempting to get people to talk to her, help her understand. No one had. She remembered the look on the face of the last patient she had seen as she left. It was the same sensation she had had in the Jolly Roger, of being an unwelcome visitor, an alien. And it was the same sensation she had here in the force. And now Professor Pugh … All the time, she felt as if she had been charging around the outside, trying to find some way in.
‘Cheer up, Kathy,’ she heard Dowling say at her back, ‘I’ve got something for you.’
She turned and saw him standing there like a big puppy, holding two mugs of tea. She smiled. ‘Thanks, Gordon. Just what I need.’
‘I’ve got something else, too.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I found where the van went.’
He beamed in triumph at the look on her face.
‘Where?’
‘A greengrocer’s shop in Edenham. Two blokes own it -Jerry and Errol.’
‘Gordon! That’s terrific!’
‘Yeah. It was the barman in the Jolly Roger put me on to them. He knew they were friends of Petrou’s.’
‘What? He never said anything to me. How come he told you?’
Gordon looked sheepish. ‘I don’t know. He guessed you were a copper.’ ‘What about you?’
‘I told him straight off. He said I might have a word with them.’
Kathy was peeved. ‘Well … and did you?’
‘I spoke to Jerry. You’ll want to see him yourself. I said we’d meet him in an hour, after he’s closed up the shop. He wants to meet in the Hart Revived. More discreet, he says.’
Kathy raised her eyebrows.
‘So Petrou visited them at the shop on Sunday evening.’
‘No. That’s the thing - it wasn’t Petrou. The driver of the van was Dr Beamish-Newell.’
8
They sat in one of the ingle-nooks by the blazing fire in the snug of the Hart Revived. Jerry had style, Kathy decided. He was telling them a story about the unfortunate interior decor of the Jolly Roger and a biker who had become entangled in a lobster pot and fishing net after importuning an uncomprehendingly straight workman who had come in for a quick drink while repairing the road outside. He was very amusing and talked as if he were sitting with a couple of old friends instead of two police officers seeking his help with their inquiries. His large, round glasses reflected the firelight as he underlined his more telling phrases with languid movements of his hands and head. His complexion seemed ageless, although from the creases in his hands Kathy thought he must be at least forty.
‘So,’ she said eventually, steering the conversation back, ‘how do you come to know Dr Beamish-Newell?’
‘Dr Fiendish-Cruel?’ They laughed. ‘Oh, that’s what they call him up there, you know. That and a few other things. He’s a customer of ours. We supply the clinic. All organic, no pesticides.’
‘I thought they grew their own in the walled garden.’ ‘No, they can’t grow a fraction of what they use. They’re not set up for it.’
‘He’s just a customer, then?’
Jerry looked at her pointedly, pursing his lips. T didn’t say he was just a customer, dear. Unfortunately, my partner in life, Errol, has a great talent for attracting such shit, which is why I’m talking to you, isn’t it? From what Gordon tells me, it sounds as if Errol has been dancing a bit too close to the flame again, not for the first time.’
‘How long have you two been in partnership?’
‘We’ve had the business for fifteen years. But we’ve been together much longer. Next year is our twenty-fifth anniversary, as a matter of fact.’
‘Anniversary of what?’ Kathy couldn’t help asking, revising his age upwards.
‘Of when we were married. Yes, it’s true. Twenty-five years ago next spring, Errol and I were married in a church, on the quiet, by an obliging vicar we knew. I sometimes wonder why, but we’ve lasted longer than most of the straight couples we know. Are you married, luv?’
Kathy shook her head.
‘No, well. It has its ups and downs, but I think we’re getting to the stage when it’s just too much like hard work to look elsewhere. At least, / am. Sometimes Errol needs reminding.’
‘So what happened on Sunday?’
‘I thought something was going on when he said he was going to the shop to take stock of the non-food items for the VAT return. He never does that - leaves it all to me, the lazy bitch. After an hour I decided to go in and see if he really was there. Well, he was, and so was the doctor. They were having an argument about something, I don’t know what. They shut up when I walked in, and Fiendish-Cruel just glared daggers at me - at me! Then he marched out. I asked Errol what the hell was going on, and he got all sulky and said I was spying on him, which I was. He claimed Fiendish-Cruel just called in out of the blue with an order for fruit for Monday, but I could tell that wasn’t true - Fiendish never does the running around himself and, besides, Errol had that hurt, innocent look he
always has when he’s telling lies. Anyway, I thought I’d made my point. But when Gordon came into the shop this afternoon and told me about this police investigation, I began to wonder if Errol was being used by that man and getting himself into deep water. He’s an innocent, you see, contrary to appearances.’
‘You knew Alex Petrou?’
‘I recognized the picture Gordon showed me, but I didn’t know his name. I’d seen him in the shop once or twice. Well, you couldn’t help noticing him. I’m not too old to look:
‘So you never met him socially?’
‘No, never. I’m sure Errol never has, either.’
‘I’ll have to talk to Errol. Is he at home?’
‘Must you? Yes, he’ll be home now. Probably wondering why I’m not there cooking his tea.’
Errol was in a belligerent mood. As Jerry closed the front door he shouted angrily, ‘Jerry? Is that you? Where the hell have you been?’
‘Scoring points,’ Jerry muttered softly.
Errol appeared at the end of the hall, his scowl changing reluctantly into a smile as he saw the strangers. He came forward to greet them.
‘This is Sergeant Kolla and Constable Dowling, Errol. They want to talk to us in connection with someone up at the clinic who died at the weekend.’
Errol stopped dead in his tracks.
‘Come through into the lounge,’ Jerry said, apparently not seeing the stunned look on his friend’s face.
They followed him and sat on a pair of old leather chesterfields.
‘You remember that Greek boy came into the shop a few times a couple of months ago? He’s the one who’s died. You hadn’t seen him since, had you, Errol?’
Jerry asked the question as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world, but they all heard the accusation underneath.
‘Jerry, we should speak to Errol on his own, if you don’t mind,’ Kathy said gently. ‘It’s standard procedure, you see.’
‘Oh.’ His lips tightened, then he swung to his feet. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee, then, or a drink?’ ‘No, thanks all the same.’
‘Well, I think I will.’ He marched out, closing the door pointedly behind him.
Errol was shorter than his partner, more pugnacious in build and appearance, and without any of his easy charm. He glared at Kathy defensively.
‘You had seen him since, hadn’t you, Errol?’ she said.
‘Had I?’ He adopted a look of wide-eyed innocence, which she took to be the symptom of guilt that Jerry had described.
‘Jerry assures us that you’ve never met Alex Petrou socially, but we know that isn’t true.’ She let it sink in. ‘Well?’
He took a deep breath, shrugged in resignation, raised his eyebrows as if it wasn’t a matter of importance anyway.
‘I bumped into him once or twice in pubs.’
‘Which pubs?’
He mentioned the Jolly Roger and the names of two places in Crowbridge.
‘You became close friends.’ Kathy phrased it as a statement rather than a question, and he flushed and puffed his cheeks.
‘Absolutely not! God, if you’re trying to insinuate…’
‘You weren’t ever worried about him being HIV positive?’
It was an unforgivable tactic, she knew, and deserved to fail miserably, but she was tired of being spoken to as if she were a robot.
He turned white and for a moment looked as if he might topple from his seat. ‘Oh Jesus,’ he gasped. ‘Holy Mother of God! He wasn’t? Say he wasn’t!’
She stared at him, holding his eye for a long while, then said quietly, ‘He wasn’t.’
Colour rushed up his face from the neck. ‘You bitch,’ he hissed, tears spurting in his eyes. ‘You fucking, fucking bitch.’
They waited for him to recover, and then he told them of his affair with Petrou, a ‘passing fancy’, he said, which had come to a definite end two weeks before when he had discovered that the Greek had another lover. ‘Who?’
‘I don’t know. He just mentioned it casually one evening. I got upset.’
‘How did you meet him without Jerry knowing?’
Errol bowed his head. ‘I go to a gym in Crowbridge couple of times a week. Jerry likes me to keep in shape. I used to meet Alex there. I don’t want Jerry to know about this, Sergeant. It would make him very … unhappy. Does he have to?’
Kathy shrugged, suddenly feeling depressed. ‘I’m not sure. Tell us about Sunday afternoon.’
‘Stephen Beamish-Newell rang me at home on Sunday morning. He insisted on meeting me, and I suggested the shop that afternoon - there was an old movie on TV that Jerry particularly wanted to see, so he wouldn’t offer to come with me.’
‘You knew the doctor?’
‘Yes, I do the deliveries for the shop and often go up to the clinic. I’d met him a few times over the years. Anyway, it turned out he’d heard about me and Alex. He wanted me to promise to stay away from him. At first I thought he was worried about the reputation of the clinic or something. But he got very emotional, wouldn’t believe we’d broken up. Then I realized he was jealous.’
‘Jealous?’ Kathy repeated.
‘Yes. I told him so to his face, and he went berserk. That was when Jerry came in. Just as well, even if it did cause me more trouble with Jerry. Beamish-Newell was getting violent.’
‘Really?’
‘God, yes. I reckon he’d have killed me. Manner of speaking.’
‘Errol, I want you to come back with us to County HQ and make a statement. I’ll also want your permission to take a sample of your blood.’
‘Shit. He did have Aids, didn’t he?’ Errol’s hand began trembling again.
‘No, nothing like that. We’re using blood tests to crosscheck witnesses. It’s a scientific procedure. You have nothing to worry about if you’ve told us the truth. Of course, you don’t have to agree to this. It’s quite voluntary, at this stage.’
It was well after eight that evening when they finished with Errol. Gordon and Kathy had a quick meal in the canteen, then returned to their office to check his account against the earlier statements of people at the clinic. It didn’t take long to confirm the information they needed.
‘Beamish-Newell left the shop at around five-fifteen, certainly no later than five twenty-five,’ Kathy concluded. ‘It’s a ten-minute drive to the clinic, but he wasn’t seen by anyone until he appeared for dinner in the dining room towards six-thirty. He had plenty of time to find Petrou and have a fight with him.’
‘You think he did?’
‘Why did he lie to us? I’ll tell you what, I’d love to know if he’s an AB secretor - only two per cent of the population is, Gordon. Only two per cent!’ Kathy’s eyes were bright. ‘No wonder he didn’t want us to take the van. I’d better tell them we’re looking for his prints inside now.’
‘Do you want to speak to him tonight?’
Kathy hesitated, looked at her watch. It was fourteen hours since they’d come to work. ‘He’s not going anywhere,’ she said. ‘We’ll get him in the morning.’
She smiled. ‘Relish the prospect, Gordon. You did well.’
He grinned back.
They met early the next morning, but Kathy had to wait to find out what had happened with the van. It was nine-thirty before she was able to get hold of the sergeant in charge, and she was tapping her fingers impatiently on the phone as she spoke to him. ‘They returned it yesterday evening, Gordon. They’re sorting the fingerprints now. It’ll take them a few hours yet, he says, so we won’t wait. Come on.’
She got up and reached for her coat just as Tanner walked through the door. It was the first time she had seen him since their visit to the temple, and she froze inwardly at the sight of him. He ignored her and spoke abruptly to Gordon. ‘Where are you going?’
Gordon hesitated and half turned his head towards Kathy, expecting her to answer. When she didn’t, he said, ‘To Stanhope Clinic, sir.’
‘What for?’
Gordon looked back at Kathy
again, not understanding. Still she made no move to step in. ‘Er … we want to interview the Director again, sir. It appears …’ he searched desperately for the right words. ‘It appears he lied to us in his earlier statement.’
Tanner glared at him, then barked, ‘My office!’ and turned on his heel.
Gordon looked appealingly at Kathy. She shrugged and hung her coat back on the hook. ‘My mistake, Gordon. We should have gone last night.’
They sat facing Tanner across his desk. It was untidy, piled with files and document trays. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke impatiently out of the side of his mouth. The ashtray beside the telephone was already half full. ‘Tell me,’ he said.
‘What, sir?’ Gordon said.
‘Everything. The whole thing.’
Gordon paused, then with relief heard Kathy begin to speak. Yet, unnervingly, Tanner continued to glare at him, snorting smoke from time to time, as if it was Gordon’s words coming out of her mouth.
She gave a full account of the development of their investigation over the previous three days. Her voice was expressionless, which Gordon found almost as alarming as Tanner’s strange eye-contact. When she’d finished, Tanner said, still staring fixedly at Gordon, ‘Your paperwork is shit.’
Gordon blinked. Was he supposed to respond?
‘I want all of this written up. A detailed report. Before you do anything else.’
‘Sir!’ Kathy protested, ‘It’s not that incomplete, apart from yesterday. We’ll write it all up later today, but right now it’s important we see Beamish-Newell immediately.’
‘You’ll do exactly as I say.’
Gordon hesitated, then offered, ‘I’ll write up the reports, Kathy. You can take someone else.’
‘Dowling, you sleepy bugger.’ Tanner’s voice was low and withering. ‘Why don’t you keep your fucking suggestions to your fucking self. I said, you’ll do exactly as I say. Both of you.’
It felt like being back at school on detention. They sat on opposite sides of the table while people came and went, Kathy writing longhand drafts, Gordon typing with two fingers. Her face was white, her lips tight with anger.
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