‘So you haven’t fallen out with anyone, no garden boundary disputes or anything like that?’
‘No, nothing like that.’
Millie turned to place her coffee mug on an occasional table, beside a wedding photograph. Only on a closer look did Millie realise it was Lucy, so different was the bride in the picture to the woman who sat before her. ‘That’s a great photo. You look fabulous,’ she said, truthfully, picking up the picture for a closer look. The Lucy in the portrait glowed with good health. ‘And that’s a beautiful dress.’
‘It should be,’ Lucy smiled. ‘It cost an arm and a leg.’
‘Where—? Do you mind me asking?’
Lucy gave a brief shake of the head. ‘Brackleys. They were terrific, did the whole package for us.’
Somehow Millie wasn’t surprised. People came from far and wide to the exclusive department store in Birmingham’s city centre. It lent further weight to Mariner’s comment about her financial status.
‘The food was a particular nightmare,’ Lucy was saying. ‘Will’s lactose intolerant, but they were so creative with the menus.’
‘How long have you been married?’ Millie asked.
‘Nearly eight months.’
Wow, Millie thought, a lot could change in eight months. The radiant bride in the photograph was a far cry from the pale, gaunt figure curled into the armchair across from her, although the right makeup could do wonders. ‘I got married just over a year ago,’ she said, pleased to find some common ground.
Lucy’s face brightened too, sharing in the coincidence. ‘It’s great isn’t it?’ she said, though to Millie’s ears, the enthusiasm seemed a little forced.
‘He’s a good-looking bloke, your husband,’ Millie said, replacing the picture and stating only what was obvious.
‘I know. I still can’t believe it, really. I’m so lucky.’ Lucy didn’t sound lucky. ‘Do you want to see the other pictures?’ She was out of her seat and retrieving a big white album from the shelf before Millie had time to reply. But, in addition to satisfying Millie’s natural curiosity, it would also help her to get some idea of Lucy’s family and friends, which could be useful. Lucy came over and sat beside Millie on the sofa and opened the book. Judging by the number of guests and their dress, the wedding had been a big occasion.
‘Where did you have it?’ Millie asked.
‘The Wolverton,’ said Lucy. ‘Do you know it?’
Millie didn’t, but she could see that it was quite a place. After a few pages they got to the group photos. ‘So who’s who?’ Millie asked. As Lucy went through the names it was clear that the majority were her guests. ‘Not many from Will’s side,’ Millie commented lightly.
‘No, but he didn’t mind,’ said Lucy. ‘His mum and stepdad, that’s them there,’ she pointed to a couple standing beside her in the picture, ‘and the guys in the band, of course. But he was cool with that. It was a long way for his folks to come, and after years of being on the road he isn’t that close to them anymore. His friends and family these days are the band.’
‘And you,’ Millie added.
‘Yes, of course. And me.’
‘How did you and Will meet?’ Millie was genuinely intrigued.
‘He turned up at the aerobics class I used to go to with my friend, Julie-Ann. I assumed he would be interested in her, she’s so much prettier than me. See, this is her, next to Tamsin.’ Lucy indicated one of the bridesmaids. ‘I couldn’t believe it when Will asked me out.’
‘Lucky you.’
‘Well, it wasn’t so much “out” as to a gig, where he was working,’ Lucy admitted. ‘But he took care of me and apart from when he was on stage it was like a date. I broke my first rule that night; never have sex on the—’ She stopped with a grimace. ‘Sorry, you probably don’t need to know that.’ Millie brushed away the apology. ‘Antiquated rule anyway,’ Lucy went on. ‘How many people stick to that these days? Actually, I couldn’t help myself. It turned me on just to be sitting next to him, and he knew it. I’ve never felt that way with any man I’ve been out with before. I usually go for quiet intellectual types. Oh God, listen to me, prattling on.’
‘And you’re enjoying married life,’ Millie reiterated, wanting to give Lucy the opportunity to disclose anything she wanted to.
‘It was great, until all this started.’ But she still couldn’t muster much enthusiasm.
‘What does Will think, about the phone calls?’
‘Between you and me? I’m not sure if he believes me.’ She drifted off for a moment. ‘Was your marriage—?’
‘Arranged?’ Millie offered.
‘I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t make assumptions.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ said Millie. ‘I always swore I’d never go down that route, but then my parents introduced me to Suliman and I really liked him. We ended up having the full traditional Asian wedding, but it was brilliant.’ Millie turned back to the wedding photos. ‘You said Julie-Ann is your best friend?’
‘Yes, we do a lot together — or at least we used to before I got married.’ As she spoke Lucy gazed down at the rings on her left hand, stretching out her fingers to straighten them.
There was some deep reflection going on there, but good or bad Millie couldn’t tell. She wondered how Julie-Ann felt about the marriage. ‘I’ll need her details,’ Millie said.
‘Why?’ It startled Lucy out of her thoughts.
‘It’s just routine,’ Millie said, casually. ‘We talk to friends and acquaintances. In fact, is there anyone else you can think of who might be able to help?’
There were not many others. Apart from her mother and her work colleagues, Lucy didn’t appear to have a rampant social life. It was a stark contrast with Millie. Since she’d married she’d never been out so much. But maybe Lucy and Will got all they needed from each other. Millie knew plenty of couples who did.
Suddenly Lucy turned to her. ‘Listen, I don’t know if this is allowed, but I’d love to see your wedding photos some time.’
Millie smiled. ‘I’m sure we can manage that.’
Mariner came back into the lounge, his survey of the property complete. ‘Have you ever thought about having a burglar alarm installed?’ he asked Lucy.
She shook her head. ‘It crossed my mind, but I’d be concerned about it going off all the time and disturbing the neighbours.’
It was the reaction of many people these days and Mariner was, if anything, inclined to agree. ‘Well, a couple of security lights front and back wouldn’t hurt, but otherwise, as you’d expect with a building this new, you’re pretty secure. As long as you remember to lock the door behind you and keep the ground-floor windows locked you’ll be quite safe in here. There’s nothing to worry about.’
‘Thank you.’ She seemed to take genuine comfort from the simple reassurance.
Mariner’s phone rang. It was Tony Knox. ‘We need to get back,’ he said.
Millie stood up and Lucy took the drained coffee cup from her. She saw them out into the hall.
‘I’ll keep in touch,’ Millie said. ‘There’s a good chance that once whoever is doing this learns that we are involved it will be enough to make them stop, but if you get any further incidents it’s important that you log them — date, time and exactly what happened — so that if we eventually get to court we have some specific evidence.’
‘What about tapping my phone?’
Millie smiled apologetically. ‘That’s not actually as simple as it looks on TV,’ she said. ‘And I’m afraid we don’t have that level of resourcing at this stage.’
‘It’s not serious enough,’ Lucy Jarrett said. Stated so blandly, it sounded mean.
‘But we are taking your concerns seriously,’ Millie added, quickly. ‘The two things are not the same.’
‘No, you’re right. I’m sorry. I guess I was just hoping you’d wave a magic wand.’
Millie pulled a face. ‘Sorry, they’re not in the kit.’
‘Thank you for your time, anyway.
’
‘Sure,’ said Millie. ‘We’ll keep in touch.’
Reversing out of the drive Mariner had to manoeuvre carefully to avoid a silver Honda, parked on the road immediately opposite.
‘How did you get on?’ he asked, as they headed back up the main road towards Granville Lane. Back at the station he’d have to complete a risk assessment and was beginning to try and weigh up how serious this was.
‘I’m not sure,’ Millie said. ‘Lucy’s certainly anxious about something. She’s a pale shadow of what she was on her wedding day, and something must be causing it. The phone calls are clearly real.’
‘You handled the phone-tapping question pretty deftly. Well done,’ Mariner said.
‘Thanks.’
‘It’s a tough one, because she’s right, of course, a phone-tap would probably clear it up. But it’s important not to raise expectations. If we offered that service to everyone who’s made this kind of complaint in the last couple of months we’d have spent the annual budget.’
‘This is most likely someone who knows her, isn’t it?’ said Millie.
‘It usually is,’ Mariner agreed. ‘So we need to think about people Lucy has come into contact with at and away from work. Anyone she talked about?’
‘Away from work it doesn’t sound as if she sees anyone much, so that should be easy,’ said Millie. ‘Her husband is interesting. They’ve only been married eight months and his background is a bit hazy.’ They drove in silence for a few minutes. ‘Is it me, boss, or is stalking on the increase?’
‘That and road rage. Thanks to people like Jemima Murdoch it’s definitely reported more in the media, but I think it is on the increase too. Mobile phones and the internet make it so easy. We’re all being stalked to some degree by the thousands of CCTV cameras around. And at the same time we’re moving towards a blame and revenge culture, which provides the right person with the motive and the justification.’ Signalling, Mariner pulled into the Granville Lane compound. ‘You seem to have established a good rapport with Lucy Jarrett,’ he said. ‘How would you feel about taking the lead on this?’
It would be the first time he’d given her the responsibility, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her visibly grow into it. ‘I’d really like that, sir,’ she beamed.
‘You need to keep me and the rest of the team informed though, and if at any point,’ Mariner placed a deliberate stress on those two words, ‘you feel out of your depth, you bring me in again, do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I mean it; no heroics. So, are you clear on what strategy you’re going to adopt?’
‘There are a couple of other leads to follow up; friends I can go and talk to,’ said Millie. ‘Also, I want to find out more about the husband. Lucy said herself that she never gets the calls when he’s at home. They haven’t been married long and it seems to me that she’s made compromises for him. She also more or less said that he chose Lucy over her friend, Julie-Ann. According to Lucy, Julie-Ann is prettier, though it wasn’t the case on her wedding day and I doubt it’s true at all — her self-esteem is at rock bottom.’
‘I wonder what Julie-Ann’s financial status is too?’ Mariner mused. ‘Lucy’s clearly loaded.’
‘Yeah, it did make me wonder what hubby brought to the union.’
‘So, money and sex — our old favourites bob to the surface again.’
‘Can’t get enough of them,’ said Millie. ‘I’ll go and talk to the mother and the best friend first and see what they have to say.’
Mariner nodded agreement. ‘Then maybe I’ll come with you to talk to the husband when he gets home.’
Millie was still grinning from ear to ear when they got out of the car. Mariner’s mobile pinged again, the arrival of a text; Stephanie once more, disappointed that he hadn’t called yet.
‘Another text from your admirer?’ joked Millie. ‘Maybe you’re getting a stalker of your own, sir.’
‘She’s got a night off and wants to meet up,’ Mariner said, absently.
‘Do you want me to go round and keep Kat company?’
‘No, it’s fine. I won’t be going. She was all right in bed but she wasn’t scintillating company.’ Looking up, Mariner caught Millie’s expression and realised what he’d said. That was rather more detail than he’d intended sharing with his detective constable. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to—’
‘’S all right, sir.’ Millie was struggling to keep a straight face. ‘Our little secret.’
Mariner did wonder for a fleeting second what it said about him — that he would rather spend his evening with his twenty-year-old charge than a woman his own age, but if Millie thought it odd, she kept it to herself.
She’d come a long way, Millie, from when she’d first joined the team. Only recently promoted to CID, so far she’d proven to be a thoroughly reliable officer, who could be trusted absolutely. Lucy Jarrett would be in safe hands.
Chapter Four
Just as well really, because DS Tony Knox was waiting for Mariner at the top of the stairs. He was dressed, as always, in casual civvies, the detective’s unofficial uniform of chinos and leather jacket.
‘What’s the excitement?’ Mariner asked.
Knox rubbed the back of his shaven head. ‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Sharp wants you and me in her office.’ He did a double-take. ‘Don’t look at me, boss. I’ve done nothing.’
In deference to her status DCI Sharp’s office was one of the larger ones, but was pretty crowded by the time Knox and Mariner got there. The DCI had been joined by a couple of officers from uniform, one of whom was a giant. Mariner recognised and nodded a greeting to Sergeant Gordon Powell, but the young black PC who dwarfed Powell, he’d not, to his knowledge, met before. They were standing beside Sharp’s desk with hands clasped and heads bowed, as if waiting for a prayer meeting to begin.
‘What’s up?’ Mariner asked.
‘You know Gordon? And this is PC Ralph Solomon,’ Sharp said. ‘We want you to have a look at these.’ As she spoke, Gordon Powell spread out some ten-by-eight crime scene photographs out on the desk.
Over the years Mariner had naturally seen his share of gruesome deaths, and this was another to add to the list. But, while those that he’d witnessed to date involved copious amounts of blood and/or body parts arranged in a way that nature had never intended, this one was different. The victim, a woman, had met with a violent and obscene death. That much could be seen in the paroxysm of pain and fear that still contorted her features even after the life had ebbed away, leaving behind a rictus of terror. Her mouth, shaped like a crooked ‘o,’ was an unnaturally dark crimson and her hands were at her throat. Radiating out from the beautifully manicured fingertips and up towards her chin were angry red, vertical lacerations. The frayed ends of a fine thread were grasped between the fingers of her left hand, and there was a scattering of what looked like small pellets around her head, spread out like a halo. In fact the whole tableau had the look of a representation of purgatory.
But, while the death had clearly been a violent one, there was not a drop of blood to be seen and — as far as Mariner could ascertain from the dozen or so multi-angled photographs — aside from the gouging on her neck, her body was unmarked. Mariner’s first thought was heart attack; severe pains in the chest, the inability to breathe and the fear that she was going to suffocate to death. He stood transfixed by one particular full-face shot, before finally glancing up. The other three were waiting for him and Knox to process the images in front of them.
‘Nina Silvero,’ Powell offered, although that wasn’t the information Mariner needed right then. The name sounded exotic, but also vaguely familiar. ‘A sixty-one-year-old widow, lived alone, taught dance classes, although she was due to retire soon.’
‘Heart attack?’ ventured Knox, though as he said it Mariner knew that it was wrong.
‘Sulphuric acid,’ said the sergeant, calmly. ‘She drank it. According to the pathologist, it would have burned through the lin
ing in her throat first of all, then, on the descent into her body the heat would have radiated out and slowly cooked her internal organs.’
Mariner gulped back the bile that had suddenly heaved up into his own throat.
‘Fucking hell,’ murmured Knox, beside him.
‘Croghan said she would have died in agony.’
‘That much we can see,’ said Mariner.
‘It was the smell.’ For the first time the young constable spoke up, though his comment wasn’t directed at anyone in particular. He was thinking aloud, reliving his horrific discovery.
‘What’s that, son?’ his sergeant asked.
‘It was what I noticed first when I went into the house . . . it was like the smell of burning meat,’ Solomon said.
This time they all visibly balked.
‘Our first thought was suicide,’ the sergeant added.
Mariner looked up at him. ‘But you’ve changed your mind.’ He had a sudden unwelcome flashback to several years before, a suburban house and an apparent suicide that had changed his life for ever.
‘The stepdaughter tells us she wasn’t suicidal,’ said Powell.
‘Families always say that,’ said Knox, reasonably.
The sergeant placed another photograph on the desk. This time it was a still life, showing a collection of items on a table-top: a bunch of flowers, wrapped and awaiting a vase; a grey plastic bottle of the kind that might contain detergent; a Chardonnay bottle, and a single wine glass. He pointed to the detergent bottle. ‘This is what killed her. Industrial-strength drain fluid, according to the label.’
‘And this stuff would be easy to get hold of?’ Mariner asked.
‘Looks as if it’s the kind of thing you can pick up at any number of DIY stores locally. As you can see though; only one wine glass, and the wine bottle is empty,’ he said. ‘The stepdaughter also tells us that Mrs Silvero wasn’t a drinker. She wouldn’t have been drinking alone, and she certainly wouldn’t have finished the whole bottle herself.’
‘Unless she was plucking up the courage to switch to the other bottle,’ Mariner said, feeling as though he was stating the obvious. ‘People do deviate from their habits . . .’
Married Lies (Reissue) Page 4