Married Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  ‘And your neighbours arguing?’

  ‘I just happened to be up there. It drew my attention.’

  ‘I’ll bet it did,’ Mariner said. ‘You need to shut your computer down now, Mr Bonnington. We’re going to take it away with us.’

  At last he lost his composure and there was panic in his eyes. ‘You can’t — I need it for my work.’

  ‘We can, and you’ll have to make other arrangements.’

  ‘Can I just download some stuff?’

  This time Mariner just laughed. ‘We’ll let you have it back as soon as possible. Do you own a mobile phone?’

  ‘Yes, but I need it for my business.’

  Mariner held out his hand. ‘We’ll let you have that back too.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘What do you think?’ Mariner asked Millie. They were driving back to Granville Lane.

  ‘I kind of liked him.’ She saw Mariner’s expression. ‘I know. But he seemed pretty honest and open. I don’t know many men who’d confess their failings so easily. I mean, he virtually admitted to being a loser. How many other men would do that? And he’s got a sense of humour, which I didn’t expect.’

  ‘It could be a ploy. He was polite about it but he doesn’t seem to have a very high opinion of women. He seems pretty resentful of Will Jarrett, too. And he’s had every opportunity to act on it. He knows where to send the unwanted post, and he knows Lucy’s computer system, so it would be easy enough to set up the incoming emails. Also, he can see when Lucy and Will are coming and going, so can time the phone calls.’

  ‘But wouldn’t he realise that we’d be straight onto him?’ Millie pointed out.

  ‘Except that he’d equally know how difficult it would be to prove. I’d be interested to know who he used to work for and why he left.’

  ‘But if it’s Bonnington, and this is all because he’s still in love with Lucy, why wait until now? The failed encounter is history, and she got married six months ago.’

  ‘He’s caught them arguing,’ Mariner suggested, ‘seen some cracks in the relationship and is taking advantage.’

  ‘Wouldn’t a better strategy be to offer a shoulder to cry on, rather than making threats?’

  ‘Not if it’s all designed to incriminate Will Jarrett, or drive him away. Let’s face it; that’s who you’ve been thinking is behind it all, haven’t you?’ Mariner said.

  ‘But Bonnington just doesn’t seem to have it in him to take up stalking.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean he doesn’t,’ Mariner reminded her. ‘Would women be attracted to him?’

  Millie shrugged. ‘He’s intelligent, and not bad looking, even if his clothes are a bit nineteen fifties. I could see some women wanting to take care of him.’

  ‘The thing I don’t get is where the hell Nina Silvero comes into all this,’ Mariner said. ‘Say he did fix her computer, would he do it on a Sunday night, and would she then share a glass of wine with him?’

  ‘Depends how well she got to know him. If she was the motherly type . . .’

  ‘It would be interesting to know if his name rings any bells with Rachel Hordern,’ Mariner said. ‘Give her a call and find out where she is.’

  * * *

  In the middle of the afternoon, Rachel and Adam Hordern had just returned to their hotel after a visit to the Sea Life Centre. ‘I’ll come down and meet you in reception,’ she told Millie. ‘We’ve just got Harry down for his nap.’

  By the time Mariner and Millie got to the hotel she was waiting for them in a quiet corner of the lobby. Mariner formally introduced Millie, and as they sat, put the photograph of Bonnington down in front of Rachel. ‘Have you ever seen this man, or heard your stepmother mention a man called Martin Bonnington?’

  Rachel studied the picture carefully. ‘No. Who is he?’

  Mariner bypassed the question for now. ‘Who set up Nina’s computer for her?’ he asked instead.

  ‘Adam did it,’ Rachel replied.

  ‘Do you know if Nina ever called anyone out for technical support?’

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ said Rachel. ‘She hasn’t had the computer very long and I think she’s hardly used it. We encouraged her to get it so that we could keep in touch by email.’

  ‘Her history shows that she had explored one or two internet dating sites,’ Mariner said. ‘Do you still feel sure that she hadn’t been meeting men?’

  ‘I’m absolutely certain,’ she gave Mariner a pointed look. ‘It has about as much credibility as the idea of me murdering Nina for her money.’

  ‘We haven’t ruled that out,’ said Mariner, holding her gaze. ‘Have you ever heard your stepmother talk about a Lucy or Will Jarrett?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did Nina like folk music?’

  That made Rachel smile. ‘Absolutely not. She was strictly Mahler and Vaughan-Williams. Why all these random questions, Inspector?’

  ‘We’re just verifying some background information,’ Mariner said.

  * * *

  ‘My,’ said Millie when she and Mariner got back in the car. ‘She’s a bit prickly, isn’t she?’ En route back to Granville Lane, Millie remained in the car while Mariner went up to Estelle Waters’ flat to ask the same ‘random questions,’ but Nina’s friend showed no recognition of the name or the picture of Martin Bonnington. Nor could she recall Will or Lucy Jarrett ever being mentioned in conversation.

  ‘Did Nina ever talk to you about her computer?’ Mariner prompted.

  ‘Only to say that the whole contraption was a complete waste of money,’ Estelle told him.

  * * *

  Back at Granville Lane Tony Knox had found nothing among Nina’s things relating to Martin Bonnington, but there was a note on Millie’s desk from technician Max, along with a list courtesy of Lucy Jarrett’s internet provider, detailing the addresses from which the spam emails had been sent to her machine. Millie took it through to Mariner’s office.

  ‘This might help us, sir.’ With a brief explanation, she handed Mariner the list. By far the most frequently listed name and address was Mr M. Bonnington, sixteen Hill Crest.

  ‘At last this is starting to look like a case,’ said Mariner.

  ‘And we know the flowers were sent from Birmingham,’ Millie reminded him. ‘Is it enough to bring him in?’

  ‘The fingerprint itself isn’t conclusive,’ Mariner said. ‘But triangulate it with these emails and the flowers, posted locally, and I think we’ve got more than enough. Before we do though I want to talk to the other woman he harassed; Claudette Vernon. Let’s get to know as much about Martin Bonnington as we can. He played it pretty cool this afternoon and I’d like to get one step ahead of him if we can. We also need to keep working on the Nina Silvero connection. Unless we can come up with some kind of motive for her, we’ve only half the story.’

  * * *

  When he explained the urgency of the situation, Claudette Vernon invited Mariner and Millie to call round and see her at her flat that same evening. They turned up promptly at six o’clock, the agreed time. Bonnington must have something, Mariner thought, when she came to the door. Claudette was mid-forties, Mariner guessed, olive-skinned with fine features and smooth black hair that fell to her shoulders. Her movements were graceful and unhurried as she showed them into the sitting room of her flat, on the ground floor of a detached Edwardian villa in a smart area not far from the university. Once they’d declined her offer of drinks, she picked up her own wine glass and positioned herself opposite them, curling into the armchair like a contented cat.

  ‘You met Martin Bonnington on an internet dating site, I understand?’ Mariner said, quoting from the file.

  Claudette smiled, a perfect, white smile, and her voice, when she spoke, was deep and husky. ‘Yes. His postings on the website were funny. That’s what attracted me to him in the first place, and he just seemed like a nice guy. Some of them stand out as creeps right from the start; they try too hard, or they turn out to be nothing like their profile. My initial
reaction when I met Martin and got past the wardrobe issues, was that he was a sweet guy, if a bit nerdy. But he knows that. He never tried to sell himself as anything he wasn’t, and that honesty was very appealing. What you see is what you get. We built up a rapport quite quickly. I loved his dry sense of humour.’

  ‘We’ve had a sample of that,’ Mariner said, wryly. ‘How well did you get to know him?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She tilted her head to one side.

  ‘Was there any kind of physical relationship?’

  She drew back a little. ‘Is that really necessary?’

  ‘We’re investigating a particularly nasty murder, Miss Vernon. We wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t central to the case.’

  ‘Oh my God, and you suspect Martin?’ she was incredulous.

  ‘We’re just trying to find out a little more about him,’ said Mariner.

  ‘Okay, well, yes, it did get physical, almost straight away. I think it surprised both of us.’

  ‘And how was it? Really, this is crucial,’ Mariner added, seeing the look on her face.

  ‘It was fine!’ she said. ‘Okay, well, it wasn’t earth-moving. He wasn’t terribly experienced, so I had to take the lead quite a bit, but he was very responsive, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Did Mr Bonnington have any difficulties in that area?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘No. I mean, the first couple of times weren’t that great but after that it got better. He learnt fast.’

  ‘How long did your physical relationship last?’

  ‘About a couple of months, no more than that.’

  ‘What went wrong?’ Mariner wanted to know.

  ‘Not the sex,’ Vernon said, quickly. ‘That was getting better all the time. It was the other stuff. It was getting too intense emotionally — claustrophobic. Martin wanted to be with me all the time and I began to feel hemmed in. He used to send me dozens of emails every day and leave messages on my mobile. I started to realise that emotionally he was quite . . .’ she broke off, searching for the right word, ‘needy,’ she finished. ‘It became clear that he hadn’t had many relationships with women, and having found me, he clung to me desperately. I have other friends, and I like to go out with the girls at the weekend too. We had a couple of fairly public arguments about it, and in the end I felt that the fairest thing was to finish with him.’

  ‘How did he take it?’ said Mariner.

  She sat back. ‘It was a horrible conversation to have. He was so upset. I actually think he thought we had a long-term future together, but really we hardly knew each other. He’s a nice guy and I felt terrible, but it had to be done. We had very different approaches to relationships.’

  ‘And after that?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘I thought that would be it, but he kept ringing me. Usually it would start off on the pretext that he thought there was something he’d left at my flat, or he’d been given tickets for something that I might like, but from there it would always turn into a discussion about what he’d done wrong. He didn’t seem to grasp that fundamentally we’re different kinds of people. I’d started seeing someone else, and he was asking some very intrusive questions. Then he began hanging around outside the office where I work, waiting for me to leave, and a couple of times he came up to me while I was out with friends. He was clearly following me and it was getting creepy, so I went to the police.’

  ‘And after the injunction was served?’

  ‘Actually I feel quite bad about that. In retrospect it probably was a bit heavy handed. It shocked him. I’m not even sure that up until then he’d realised what he was doing. But he took the hint and it stopped immediately.’

  ‘How about in the last six months or so?’ asked Mariner. ‘Has he tried to contact you?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not at all. I mean, I saw him once when I was in the supermarket and that freaked me out a bit, but I think that was a genuine coincidence. We just smiled and said hello and moved on. It was fine. In fact he told me he was seeing someone else, too.’

  ‘Did he tell you her name?’

  ‘No. I wasn’t even sure that I believed him. What’s all this about? What has he done?’

  Millie put away her notebook as Mariner stood up to go. ‘We don’t know yet if he’s done anything,’ Mariner said. ‘But we appreciate your help, Miss Vernon.’

  * * *

  ‘So Lucy Jarrett is the second woman to have turned him down,’ Mariner observed, when he and Millie were back in the car. ‘And she gets the stalking treatment too.’

  ‘But what about Nina Silvero?’ Millie wondered.

  ‘Maybe she was the person he really vented his frustration on,’ Mariner speculated. ‘Tomorrow we could use some kind of break.’

  * * *

  Mariner opened his front door that evening to be greeted by the smell of Kat’s homemade beef goulash, wafting from the pot that was simmering on the cooker. Hearing him come in Kat herself appeared on the stairs, a bottle carrier in one arm. It contained six different varieties of ale. ‘We can watch this too?’ She held up a copy of The Big Easy, one of Mariner’s all-time favourite films, and one that he knew she didn’t really like, because of the violence.

  ‘That would be great,’ he said, gratefully accepting the olive branch.

  ‘We are friends again?’ she smiled, tentatively.

  ‘Friends again,’ Mariner agreed.

  It was almost like old times, but there was a conversation they needed to have.

  ‘So, tell me about this flat,’ Mariner said, when the film had finished and they’d both been mellowed by food and alcohol.

  ‘My friend Saira at the language centre, she haves one,’ Kat said. ‘Is in Moseley near to the cricket pitch.’

  ‘I think you mean the cricket ground,’ said Mariner.

  ‘Yes, and it haves one bedroom and a room for sitting and a kitchen and all the furnitures.’ Her enthusiasm grew as she spoke.

  ‘And you can afford this?’ Mariner asked. But he already knew the answer to that. Albanian translators were in great demand in a city as culturally diverse as Birmingham, and Kat was paid handsomely for her services. He knew this because she occasionally worked for them at Granville Lane. And she had thought it through. ‘Saira, she have not such much money as me, and she can do it. She help me. Wait.’ She disappeared up to her room and returned moments later with a glossy folder containing property details and a notebook, in which she’d worked out all the sums. The flat would be rented but well within her means, and after all, she pointed out, she didn’t know if she’d be staying in this country for ever.

  ‘It looks great,’ Mariner said, saddened by that thought. ‘Do you want me to help you apply for it? You’ll need to get hold of an application—’

  Sheepishly Kat sorted through the pack to produce the necessary application forms already completed in her neat hand. ‘Is all done,’ she said. ‘Will you referee for me?’

  Despite himself, Mariner smiled. ‘Yes, I’ll referee for you.’

  * * *

  At Mariner’s request, DCI Sharp joined them for the briefing session first thing on Thursday morning. If they were going to bring Bonnington in, Mariner wanted her to hear the exact grounds for it beforehand.

  Knowing what they were up against, Max had worked overnight on Bonnington’s computer and he joined them as well. ‘Bonnington’s taste in porn is a tad disappointing,’ he told them, ‘very tame. And there are a few legitimate emails sent to Lucy Jarrett months ago, but I can confirm that most of the spam emails and the catalogue requests were triggered by his machine. He’s also accessed Lucy Jarrett’s wedding photos on several occasions,’ Max went on. ‘And I found this . . .’ He passed round a sheet that bore a printed label: flowers from Guernsey. ‘He must have mocked it up himself and stuck it to the boxes to make them look legit. Stupid git saved the document to his hard drive.’

  ‘Isn’t that odd?’ queried Sharp. ‘He’s a computer expert himself, yet he’s made no attempt to hide any of this?’<
br />
  Max shook his head. ‘He must have thought he was safe. He hasn’t made any attempt to conceal anything, and there are plenty of basic steps he could have taken. Ultimately we’d have found it of course, so it wouldn’t make any difference, but it meant that I could just lift all this off straight away.’

  ‘He panicked when we said we were taking the machine,’ Mariner told her. ‘He even asked if he could download some “work materials” before we took it. Maybe he just got lazy and didn’t bother to cover himself at the time.’

  Sharp nodded, seemingly satisfied with that explanation. ‘Can we pinpoint exactly when the emails were sent?’ she asked.

  Max responded by producing a data printout. ‘This is a breakdown of dates and times. Bonnington’s a night prowler. Most of the stuff is done in the late evening, a couple of times in the early hours. His mobile is clean, by the way, no calls to Lucy Jarrett’s number. Most of the numbers coincide with the numbers for client accounts on the computer, but that’s not to say he hasn’t got another phone he’s not telling you about.’

  ‘Is Nina Silvero on his client list?’ Mariner took the printout that Sharp handed him.

  ‘’Fraid not,’ said Max. ‘Only similarity with her is that they’ve both used internet dating sites, but they’re not even the same ones.’

  ‘So what now?’ Sharp asked Mariner.

  ‘I’d like to bring him in,’ Mariner said. ‘Voluntarily, if he’ll come. I want to get him onto our territory, where I think he’ll be less sure of himself. There’s enough to question him about Lucy Jarrett and maybe, in the course of the interview, the link with Nina Silvero will become clear.’

  Sharp nodded agreement. ‘Best of luck and keep me posted.’

  * * *

  Mariner took Millie with him to collect Bonnington. She’d done a lot of work with Lucy Jarrett and deserved to take the credit. Bonnington continued to maintain his innocence. ‘There must be some misunderstanding,’ he kept saying. But he came willingly and chose not to exercise his right to have a solicitor present. Entering the interview suite, Mariner felt the familiar nervous anticipation that always came with the end game. The most satisfactory outcome, as always, would be a confession from Bonnington, preferably with a clear explanation of his motives. It was seldom what they got, of course, and Bonnington was continuing to play the ‘confused’ card, which could be genuine, or could mean that he had simply convinced himself that he had done nothing wrong. Either way, he was calm and confident that the misunderstanding would be rectified. He looked smaller than ever in the interview room, Mariner and Millie on the opposite side of the table. ‘I really don’t understand why I’m here,’ he said, for the umpteenth time. ‘A fingerprint on a wine bottle?’