Married Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  The smile had faded somewhat. ‘That’s very conscientious of you.’

  ‘It’s my job,’ Millie said, lightly.

  * * *

  ‘Do you think that was wise?’ Mariner caught up with Millie as she walked away. He’d clearly overheard the exchange.

  ‘I wanted to make him squirm a bit.’

  ‘What if he goes back and takes it out on Lucy?’

  Millie stopped and turned. The thought clearly hadn’t crossed her mind. ‘He wouldn’t, would he?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be very sensible, especially now that he knows we’re watching him,’ said Mariner. ‘But it might complicate things.’

  Emerging from the pub, they saw Sally, Will’s fan, hovering in the car park close to an elaborately liveried transit van. ‘Waiting for another glimpse,’ she confessed. ‘Don’t you think he’s just gorgeous?’

  ‘You know he’s married.’ Millie said, gently.

  ‘Ah, but for how long?’ Sally grinned, a little maniacally Millie thought. ‘I mean, she seems like a nice woman but she’s bound to get fed up with the travelling, isn’t she?’

  ‘You’ve met his wife?’

  ‘Not met exactly. Will introduced her at one of the gigs. The novelty must have worn off though — she doesn’t come along any more. A long way to travel, I suppose.’

  ‘Have you come far?’ Mariner asked. ‘Can we drop you somewhere?’

  ‘Oh no, thank you. That’s my little Tilly there,’ she pointed across the way to a light coloured compact hatchback. They should have known it was hers. There were Leigh Hawkins stickers all over the rear window and stuffed animals littered the parcel shelf. ‘And I don’t live too far away. South Birmingham, in Kings Heath. Do you know it?’

  ‘A little,’ Mariner said.

  ‘It’s not far from where Will lives as a matter of fact.’

  ‘You know where he lives?’ Millie said.

  ‘I’ve driven past a few times,’ she said, airily. ‘Seen his van on the drive. I couldn’t help myself.’

  They left her standing beside the van in the freezing air.

  ‘She’s a bit scary,’ said Mariner in a low voice, when they were on the other side of the car park.

  ‘Will seems to think she’s harmless,’ Millie said.

  ‘I’d say she’s got the motive and the opportunity . . . and all the creepy stuffed animals.’

  ‘And now I’ve got her registration number,’ Millie said, snapping shut her notebook.

  ‘Good. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  * * *

  It was after midnight when Mariner got home, but the house was dark and empty. Kat was still out. This was a first, and combined with what he’d seen earlier, it bothered him. Where the hell was she? Was she still with Giles? What were they doing? He moved on from that one. It had been a long day, but even though he was shattered, Mariner didn’t want to go to bed. He paced around a bit then made himself a coffee, paced around some more, while it went cold, before tipping it undrunk down the sink.

  ‘This is stupid,’ he told himself. ‘She’s twenty years old, a grown woman.’ He went upstairs, brushed his teeth and got undressed, then came down and paced around yet again. Eventually fatigue forced him into bed, but he couldn’t relax, and instead lay awake listening and waiting. Finally, at 2:15 a.m., he heard a car draw up outside, footsteps and voices, followed by the clunk of the front door closing. After that it went quiet, so at least Giles hadn’t come in with her. Mariner padded down the stairs and found Kat in the hallway, standing precariously on one leg, trying none too successfully to take off her left shoe without falling over.

  ‘Hello, Tom. You’re awake,’ she beamed, though she seemed to be having some difficulty focusing on him.

  ‘And you appear to be drunk,’ Mariner remarked, stating only what was obvious.

  ‘I jus’ had a little drink.’ Concentrating hard, she held up finger and thumb, half an inch apart.

  That wasn’t all. The sweet smell of weed wafted towards him along the hall. ‘Good night?’ he asked.

  ‘It was great!’ She straightened up, stumbling a little.

  ‘You’re late home.’

  ‘After we go to club we go to a guy’s house for party.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t know. An apartment. It’s groovy, I think, and wicked, very wicked.’ She giggled again. Dumping her second shoe with a clonk, she wobbled towards him, but at the last minute missed her footing and fell against him, giggling. Her hand slid under his T-shirt, landing on his bare stomach. Mariner drew breath involuntarily.

  ‘Oh.’ Kat gazed drunkenly up at him. ‘You like that? You like me to do something for you?’

  ‘No!’ Appalled, Mariner wriggled free and started back up the stairs. ‘Go to bed, Kat.’

  * * *

  Lucy Jarrett couldn’t sleep either. She had been sick again earlier in the evening; the anticipation of an evening alone now enough to make her ill. She’d spoken to her mother on the phone earlier, and the instant she’d replaced the receiver the phone had rung again; silence at the other end. She’d spent the rest of evening with the phones unplugged, but for the last couple of hours had been jumpier than ever. Where was Will? Their gig tonight wasn’t exactly on their doorstep, but it was near enough for him to come home, and it must have ended hours ago. It was a long time since she’d seen him play. When they’d first met he was keen that she should go along, she felt that he was showing off to her, but then after the time he’d caught her yawning during a set he’d actively discouraged her from going.

  ‘You’re bored, of course you are,’ he’d told her. ‘One gig is pretty much like another, and you’ve been working all day. You don’t have to come along, really.’ At the time it had seemed like genuine empathy, though now she doubted that. But she’d taken him at his word and even when he was performing just a few miles away, she stayed at home and waited for him. And it did have its upsides. Often when he came home after playing he was on fire, pumped to the brim with adrenalin. It was when their lovemaking had been at its most passionate, and that was saying something. But not lately. Not since the calls had started. Was that down to him, or her? Something DC Khatoon had said made Lucy realise how little she knew about Will. When they first met she’d been mesmerized by him, even she could see that. But it had seemed mutual. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. When had that changed?

  She was actually dozing off when the headlight beams swept across the lounge and she heard the sound of Will’s transit pulling into the drive. Weak with relief, she was at the front door before he had even got out of the van, but she could tell as soon as he got out that something was wrong.

  ‘Good gig?’ she asked as he brushed past her and into the hallway.

  ‘It was different,’ he said, dumping down his things. He turned to glower at her before going into the kitchen, where he opened the fridge and took out a beer.

  She trailed him in there. ‘How do you mean?’ Lucy asked. What he’d said had sounded personal, though she couldn’t imagine what it could possibly have to do with her.

  ‘Thanks to you, I’ve been under surveillance from the police all night.’

  ‘What? How do you know?’

  ‘One of them was kind enough to introduce herself to me at the end; she said that she knew you.’ His voice was even but the fury was evident in the twitching muscle in his jaw. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you went to the police?’

  ‘Because I didn’t . . .’ Lucy whimpered. ‘At least I did, but then I thought about what you said, and realised how stupid it all was and I asked them to forget it . . .’

  ‘So what were they doing there?’ Will demanded.

  ‘Maybe it was just coincidence.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘Maybe they like folk music.’

  Will just glared at her. ‘You think I’m that stupid?’

  Lucy capitulated, her resistance gone. ‘Someone reported us to them,’ she said, listlessly.

  ‘Wha
t? When?’

  ‘When we had that row on Tuesday night,’ Lucy said, weakly. ‘The police got a phone call from someone saying that I was being attacked. Someone must have been watching. Someone is watching me, Will. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. The police woman, Millie . . .’

  ‘An Asian woman?’

  ‘Yes, she came to see me. I’ve been getting all these things in the post, and all these emails. They think there’s something going on.’ They believe me, she wanted to say, but something in Will’s expression stopped her.

  ‘And what exactly do they think is “going on?”’ Will grabbed her arm.

  He was hurting her. ‘That someone is trying to frighten me!’ she cried.

  He loosened his grasp. ‘And they think it’s me?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Did the denial sound as false to Will’s ears as it did her own? ‘They’re talking to everyone I know. It’s what they do.’

  ‘Well, now they’ve talked to me,’ Will said. ‘And it’s not going to happen again anytime soon.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I need to take some stuff off the computer then I’m out of here.’

  ‘You can’t . . .’

  Will regarded her coolly. ‘I think you’ll find that I can.’

  ‘No, I mean the computer,’ said Lucy, miserably. ‘They’ve taken it away to look at.’

  ‘What?’

  Will took a step back and Lucy couldn’t help it, she flinched in anticipation. ‘It’s because of the emails I’ve been getting,’ she said. ‘They had to take it away to see if they can trace them.’

  Will’s expression changed subtly. Could she see panic in his eyes now? ‘The details of the band’s itinerary, all the booking confirmations are on there—’

  ‘Is that all?’ Instantly she regretted the question.

  ‘What kind of a fucking question is that?’ He moved towards her, but then changed his mind, turning and storming out into the hall, where he picked up his bag and jacket again. ‘Jesus, Lucy. I don’t know what’s got into you. Or maybe you always were this way and I didn’t see it.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Lucy pleaded, hating how pathetic she sounded. ‘I was going to run you a hot bath . . .’

  ‘I’m going some place I can relax,’ Will said. ‘Where I don’t feel persecuted.’

  ‘Back to Tess?’

  He stopped in his tracks and turned back to her. ‘Oh, so that’s what this is all about. You’re jealous of Tess?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’

  But Will didn’t wait for her explanation. He marched out of the house, slamming the door hard behind him.

  Wrenching the door open again Lucy called after him. ‘Will, please, I didn’t mean it! Come back so we can talk about this.’ But he was already reversing out of the drive. As she watched the tail lights of his van disappearing round the bend in the road, Lucy shuddered. A gust of wind blew up and, feeling suddenly exposed, she stepped back in and shut the door, leaning her back against it. Was he out there watching? Were the police about to arrive on her doorstep again? Part of her hoped they would, because at least then she’d feel safe again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kat wasn’t around when Mariner got up on Friday morning, the indulgences of the night before taking their toll no doubt. He wondered if he should call her, she might be late for work otherwise, but her hours were flexible some days and in truth he was glad to be spared the embarrassment of facing her. He was still trying to work out what had happened last night.

  As soon as he got into his office, he ran a check on the sports car he’d seen Kat getting into. A misuse of privileges perhaps, but Mariner didn’t feel too guilty about it. He was merely protecting Kat. The car’s owner was registered as Giles Ridley-Coburn. What’s more the Police National Computer told him that Giles had form. Millie knocked and came into his office.

  ‘Would you trust a bloke called Giles Ridley-Coburn?’ Mariner asked her.

  ‘Who’s he?’ Millie came to look over his shoulder at the screen.

  ‘He’s the guy Kat went out with last night.’

  ‘She went on a date? That’s brilliant,’ Millie enthused.

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Of course it is. It means that she’s getting back to normal.’ Millie paused. ‘Does she know you’re checking him over?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Mariner confessed.

  ‘So how did you get his name?’

  ‘I didn’t, I got his registration number.’

  ‘He picked her up from the house?’

  Mariner said nothing.

  Millie’s eyes widened as she pieced it together. ‘That’s where you were before the gig last night. You were spying on them.’

  ‘You sound as if you don’t approve.’

  ‘Of you following Kat? Isn’t that what we call stalking?’

  ‘I’m just looking out for her,’ Mariner said, defensively.

  ‘That’s probably what Will Jarrett would say about Lucy. With respect, sir, you’re not her dad. You can’t police who she sees.’ Despite her reservations, Millie peered over Mariner’s shoulder at the screen, curiosity overriding propriety. ‘Has he got form?’

  ‘Not much; a couple of endorsements for speeding, and one for possession of weed, though nothing recent. It doesn’t say anything about his associates though.’

  ‘It’s a pretty up-market address,’ Millie noticed. ‘Isn’t that the old insurance building that was converted into luxury penthouses? They don’t come cheap.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Mariner said, glumly. ‘He looks far too young to be earning that kind of money legitimately. And Kat was dressed provocatively yesterday evening.’

  ‘How do you mean, provocatively?’

  ‘She was wearing a short dress, sort of clingy, and not much to it, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘It was a mild evening,’ said Millie. ‘And she’s a young woman with a great figure. My God, if I was her shape I’d be showing it off too. Perhaps all it means is that she’s feeling confident about her body again and doesn’t need to hide it away under baggy clothes. I think it’s a good sign.’

  ‘Is it a good sign that she hit on me too?’ Mariner explained what had happened the previous night.

  ‘Surely that was just the drink talking.’

  ‘You mean, why else would she come on to a sad old git like me?’

  Millie smiled. ‘You took the words right out of my mouth. You need to relax a bit and let her be herself.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right,’ Mariner conceded. ‘While we’re on here, let’s take a look at our obsessive Will Jarrett fan.’ Millie typed in the registration number she’d noted down the previous night, and the record unfolded. ‘Sally Frick,’ he read. ‘Address in Kings Heath as she told us,’ he did a swift mental calculation, ‘aged forty-seven, and clean as a whistle.’

  ‘No previous stalking convictions?’ Millie asked hopefully.

  ‘Sadly not,’ said Mariner. ‘But it might be worth paying her a visit.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘You could try openness and honesty,’ Mariner said. ‘Tell her what’s going on and see if she knows any other fans who might do this sort of thing. While you’re there you can get a sense of what she does all day, and at least establish whether she’s computer literate and has access to a machine.’

  A wolf-whistle out in the bull pen caught their attention and they looked up to see Tony Knox, looking uncharacteristically formal in a dark suit, giving the ‘V’ sign to Charlie Glover.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Millie. ‘What’s the occasion?’

  ‘Nina Silvero’s memorial service,’ said Mariner.

  ‘Ah.’

  * * *

  Nina Silvero had been cremated that morning in a family-only service that even Mariner wouldn’t have wished to intrude upon. Even for the purposes of the investigation, it seemed unjustified. But the memorial service this afternoon was an altogether different affair.
It was to be held at the Oratory, also known locally as ‘Little Rome’; a huge Baroque-style edifice on the Hagley Road, built as a tribute to Cardinal Newman.

  ‘What a place,’ murmured Knox gaping up at the ornate, high ceiling, as he and Mariner accepted hymn books from an usher. They followed his lead to two seats towards the back of the hall, the better to observe the mourners. ‘Could rival the Mersey Funnel, this could.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me you were an altar boy or something.’

  ‘Nah, we were all more or less lapsed.’

  ‘That sounds about right.’

  By the time the service began, the transept of the church was full, and not just with ordinary folk. Among the various dignitaries, Mariner watched a couple of high-ranking police officers make their way down the aisle towards the middle of the church. Family and close friends occupied the first couple of rows, including Rachel and Adam Hordern, and Mariner pointed out Estelle Waters, elegantly dressed in a grey wool suit. In addition there were a number of couples, some accompanied by teen and pre-teen daughters, who Mariner deduced to be students of the ballet school, past and present. A number of mature women, grouped together, Mariner surmised could also be ballet school officials. Rachel Hordern was the epitome of the grieving daughter and spoke movingly about her stepmother.

  ‘If she did have anything to do with it she’s putting on one hell of an act,’ Knox murmured to Mariner.

  As he spoke they became aware, as did those around them, of a commotion on the opposite side of the church. A woman, apparently in some distress, jumped up and began forcing her way from her seat in the middle, towards the centre aisle — no mean feat as she was a large woman, wearing a bulky duffle coat and carrying a capacious handbag. People turned to stare as, in her haste, she practically fell into the aisle before recovering and hurrying out of the church. Mariner, perfectly placed at the end of the row, quietly got up and followed her out, catching the closing door before it slammed shut. But when he emerged into the squally shower outside, the woman had vanished.

  The service ended with a rousing hymn, after which Rachel Hordern and her entourage proceeded out of the church. Mariner turned to watch them go, and as he did so caught the back view of another familiar figure on the very back row of the opposite side. He turned to tell Knox. ‘See who’s across there?’ But when he turned back again, Jack Coleman, his old DCI, had gone. On their way out of the church there was the familiar ‘meet and greet’ line. Mariner scanned the crowd ahead for Coleman, but he too had disappeared, leaving Mariner wondering if he’d been mistaken.