Peter Lovesey - The Headhunters

Her impulse was to tell the sergeant they’d made a dreadful mistake and Jake shouldn’t be there. He was a good man, not a murderer. He cared about the living world and the ecology. No way would he take another person’s life.

Better judgement ruled. She stayed silent and tried to make a cool assessment. Innocent men were brought in off the streets to make up the number on these parades. The police dressed them to match a witness’s description. Now that she took a wider view this entire line-up had ill-fitting tops and tracksuit trousers like Jake’s and she remembered giving DCI Mallin a description of the man she’d passed that day at Selsey. Well, one thing was certain: that guy wasn’t Jake. Only through coincidence had Jake been brought in. Probably he’d come into town for the afternoon and some policeman had picked him at random and asked him to take part.

Convincing?

Not really, she thought. I can see the strain in his face. He’s their suspect and the rest are there because they faintly resemble him. Tall, dark men, not one of them anything like the man she remembered seeing.

‘Make a start, miss.’

Her anger mixed with fear as she forced herself to glance at the first man. A white card with the number one was on the floor in front of him. She’d never seen him before. He looked faintly bored. So did number two.

She took a deep breath and moved on. It was painful looking at Jake. His eyes were red-lidded and dark all round. Stress lines at the side of his mouth made him seem twice his age.

She stepped past him, trying to appear unaffected. All the others seemed untroubled, indifferent to this whole procedure. No one was stressed and exhausted like Jake.

‘Take your time. No need to hurry.’

Her thoughts still in turmoil, she started walking back.

‘You’re not facing them, miss. You’re supposed to look at them all at least twice.’

She didn’t trust herself to speak. Her throat ached. To satisfy the rules she paused in front of each man and gave another glance. Except for Jake. She couldn’t bear to look into his face again, so she fixed her eyes at the level of his chest. When she reached the end of the line she faced Sergeant Malcolm and shook her head. It was the truth. She hadn’t seen any of them at Selsey.

‘For the record, would you mind saying if you recognised one of these men?’

The way he put the question sounded like a trap. If they could choose their words, then so could she. And still speak the truth. ‘I saw two men at the beach and they aren’t here.’

‘Are you quite sure, miss?’

She nodded.

He glanced at the solicitor, who shrugged and spread his hands.

‘Would you like to walk the line one more time?’

She shook her head.

DS Malcolm held open the door and she came out. He offered tea. She needed something to calm her jangled nerves. On the way down to the canteen he said, ‘It’s not too late to say if you spotted one of them. You can tell me now and I’ll inform the solicitor.’

To emphasise the truth of what she was saying, she stopped on the stairs, looked straight at him and spaced her words. ‘They were not the men I saw at the beach.’

‘I thought you reacted to one of them.’

This time she couldn’t be as truthful. She turned away and moved on again. ‘It was the situation. I wasn’t comfortable being so close and having them stare straight through me.’

In the canteen, her spirits plunged. A small familiar figure was waiting at a table with a teapot and cups. Hen Mallin stood to greet them, eyes wide in anticipation.

Sergeant Malcolm shook his head.

The start of a smile turned into a puzzled frown. ‘You’d better get back, then. You’ve got work to do.’

The sergeant nodded to Jo and left her with Hen Mallin.

‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Black, without, please.’

‘Help yourself.’

She poured it and slopped some in the saucer.

‘So you weren’t able to help?’ Hen said with a sharp note of accusation.

‘I did what I was asked.’

‘A waste of everyone’s time.’

That stung her. ‘I can’t think why, if it proves you’ve got the wrong man.’

‘It doesn’t prove anything,’ Hen pointed out, ‘except that you didn’t see the killer. Apparently.’

‘All I saw at Selsey were people acting normally. God knows why you asked me here. It’s not as if I witnessed the murder.’

‘You placed two men near enough to the scene to be of interest to us. If you’d picked out the suspect we’d be a damned sight closer to charging him. We’ll have to release him now. There’s a limit to how long we can hold a man and we’ve just about reached it.’

‘Don’t you have any other witnesses?’

Hen watched her, level-eyed. ‘There is one actually.’

Jo suppressed the spasm of panic she felt. ‘Did they see the woman killed?’

‘Christ, no. If we’d got that lucky we wouldn’t need you. Just some guy who was out walking that afternoon like you and gave us a description.’

‘And did he identify the man?’

‘In a parade, you mean? No need.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s local, like the suspect. He gave us the name of the bastard.’

Back in her flat, she tried to calm herself enough to get a sense of what had been going on. She was in no doubt as to whom their suspect was. She’d never seen anyone so shattered, looking just as you would after hours of questioning. The only conceivable reason for putting Jake through this ordeal was that the other witness must have seen him on the front at Selsey that fatal morning.

Jo couldn’t think how she had missed him.

Was one sighting enough for them to pull him in as a suspected killer?

They’d need more. What else had they got on Jake? Whatever it was, it could only be circumstantial. Maybe he was linked in some way to the victim. Had they managed to identify the dead woman? She hadn’t asked, and they weren’t telling.

Out of all this wretched business there was one consolation. She now understood why Jake had failed to meet her at Selsey yesterday. Not because he’d forgotten, or lost interest. It could only be because they’d arrested him.

Whatever the police suspected, she was sure Jake was innocent and he would get her backing. Poor guy, he needed oceans of support after this. Unfortunately there was a difficulty. She didn’t have his address or phone number. And it was too late in the day to phone his work and leave a message.

She spent the next hour trying to think of ways of contacting him. The police had said they couldn’t hold him any longer, so he’d be home by now. How frustrating was that?

Just Before seven, her phone rang. She picked it up and gave her name. At first no one answered. She waited in dread that it was only a cold call, someone in India trying to sell her cheap electricity.

Then a man’s voice said, ‘Sorry about yesterday.’ And she knew instantly who it was.

‘Jake. How are you?’

‘In a spot of trouble.’

‘I know. I know all about it.’

‘You do?’

‘I was there today for that stupid identification parade.’

‘You?’ There was a pause, then a despairing, ‘Oh, Christ.’

‘They made me do it because it was me who discovered the body on the beach. I was supposed to see if I recognised one of the men I’d seen. Jake, it freaked me out when I saw you in the line-up. God knows what the police think they’re doing. Anyway, you’re home, are you?’

‘Mm.’ He sounded preoccupied, still absorbing what she’d told him.

‘How did you get my number?’ she asked.

‘Number?’

‘The phone. I’m ex-directory.’ How it was done didn’t matter squat, but talking about it was giving her time to get her own jumbled thoughts in order and decide what to say next.