Peter Lovesey - The Headhunters

‘We talked in the car about him pushing her in.’

‘We were both feeling guilty for not going to the police. It was a relief to throw suspicion on someone else.’

Gemma frowned. ‘You’ve changed your mind already?’

‘We should take a more balanced view now.’

‘Accident?’

‘Unless someone proves us wrong.’

‘They’ll do a post mortem, won’t they?’

‘Sure to.’

Gemma gave a wicked smile. ‘And you’re going to look pretty damn silly when they find the mark where the poisoned arrow went in. Did I tell you my boss took a cruise up the Amazon last year and met one of those tribes who use curare for hunting?’

‘You didn’t, and I don’t believe a word of it.’

‘He’s also a Russian spy.’

Jo laughed. ‘Working at the printers’ in Fishbourne? I don’t think so.’

‘All will be revealed.’

‘I can’t wait. That drink must be doing you good. You’re sounding more like the Gemma I know.’

‘Permanently pissed?’

‘Nicely relaxed.’

‘I did panic a bit, seeing the body. First time for me. You’re more experienced.’

‘By a few days only. I don’t intend to make a habit of it.’

‘Do they know who she was-the dead woman on the beach?’

‘If they do, they haven’t told me.’

‘What if there’s a link with Fiona?’

‘It would be surprising.’ Time to draw the line, she thought. ‘Gemma, this isn’t getting us anywhere. We ought to stop speculating and get back to normality.’

‘Coffee in Starbucks on Saturday?’

‘Good suggestion.’

They drank up and returned to the car.

Jo didn’t have much confidence in Gemma. She’d soon be chirping like a sparrow to Rick about the body in the Mill Pond. She might even tell all to the police if they arrived at the print works. There were people constitutionally incapable of keeping anything to themselves and Gemma was a prime example. The best hope was that this death would be treated by the police as an accident and dealt with by those constables in uniform who searched the house. Not CID. Please God, not Hen Mallin.

After dropping Gemma in town she drove home, trying to put the best spin on what had happened, but getting increasingly anxious. She took a lasagne from the freezer and popped it in the microwave before listening to her messages. Her mother was home from hospital and asking her to visit. Someone from a call centre wanted to know if she was satisfied with her electricity bill. The bank needed her to call in about some query on her account. The overdraft, no doubt. It didn’t seem to matter so much any more.

Nothing from Jake. She’d hoped to hear from him. A whole weekend was coming up and they hadn’t fixed to meet. She didn’t like doing all the chasing.

Nothing, either, praise be, from DCI Mallin about the dead woman at Selsey. Was it too much to hope she’d found other people to question?

She transferred the lasagne to the cooker to crisp up the top. Then she pressed one of the preset numbers on the phone.

‘Mummy?’

The voice that answered was steeped in self-pity. ‘Is that you, Josephine? Good of you to call at last. I’m home now.’

‘That’s why I’m phoning. I got your message.’

‘The standard of care in that hospital was nil. They push you out as soon as they can.’

‘I thought you couldn’t wait to leave.’

‘That isn’t the point. I’m not fit to cope and your father’s a dead loss, as you know. Shall I see you this weekend?’

‘Mummy, it’s the worst possible time. They want me in at work and I’ve got all the chores to catch up on. I’ve had one hell of a week. Can we leave it that if I do find a space I’ll let you know?’

The disapproval would not have disgraced Lady Bracknell. ‘Find a space? Is that how you think of me? If you’ve got more important things to do don’t trouble yourself.’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘I’ll survive, no doubt. The migraine attacks will calm down eventually, they told me. Meanwhile I can’t do a thing. Can’t sleep, can’t relax. Watching television is out of the question. What were you doing at Selsey, anyway?’

‘You heard about that?’

‘It was on the front page of the paper. I couldn’t miss it. They got your age wrong, of course. If they’d come to me I could have put them right. I see that they’re still trying to identify the dead woman. You’d think they’d know by now.’

‘When did you hear that?’

‘This evening on the local news, that nice Sally person. I always think she’d make someone a wonderful daughter.’

‘So you’ve seen some TV?’

There was a pause for rapid thought. ‘I expect your father mentioned it. He watches far too much. Do you want to speak to him? He’s in the kitchen trying to boil an egg for me. It’s sure to be like concrete.’

‘Don’t disturb him, then. Just give him my love. I’ll call as soon as I can.’ She usually finished with, ‘Take care,’ but the sentiment might not be appreciated this time.

Strange that the woman at Selsey remained a mystery. You’d think someone would have reported her missing by now, more than two weeks on. Presumably Hen Mallin and her team were studying all reports of missing women. In a way, Jo wanted to know who the victim was, yet at the same time she dreaded finding out. A name and a life and family ties would make her more real, and give the whole experience more potential for lasting trauma.

Lasting trauma? More like Mummy every day, she thought.

She poured herself a glass of red wine and ate her supper listening to local radio. News bulletins came every half hour, but there was nothing about the Selsey woman or the body in the Emsworth Mill Pond. Maybe Fiona was still in the water, condemned to another night. She recalled what DCI Mallin had said about the appearance of a body after a lengthy immersion and then she couldn’t finish the lasagne.

About eight she took the plunge and called Jake’s number.

‘Yes?’

She warmed to his voice, even though it sounded strained. ‘It’s me-Jo.’

‘Hi.’

‘We said we’d stay in touch. I was wondering if you’ve got plans for the weekend.’

‘Oh?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised, Jake. We spoke in the pub about this. Have the police been onto you again?’

‘No.’

‘That’s all right, then. You sound kind of guarded. I’m a bit frazzled, too, and I’d really like to see you.’ The difficulty dealing with anyone as reticent as Jake was that you were forced into making all the suggestions and so seeming manipulative. ‘Are you free Saturday? I’d enjoy some more time with you.’

‘Where?’

‘I’m still wanting to get up my courage and take a walk along the front at Selsey. We were all set to meet on the day you were picked up by the police.’

‘Selsey?’ He spoke the name as if it was Death Valley.

‘Restoring my confidence. Remember?’

‘Yes.’

It wasn’t clear whether he was confirming the memory or agreeing to meet, but Jo was sure what she had in mind. ‘Shall we say the car park at the end of the High Street?’

‘I suppose.’

‘At two?’

‘All right.’

She was disappointed he wasn’t more animated. Last time they’d spoken she’d thought he was getting confident with her. He sounded uncomfortable now. That experience of being arrested was preying on his mind. Understandable, considering his time in prison.

On local radio at ten-thirty the same evening it was announced that a woman’s body had been found in the Mill Pond at Emsworth. She had not yet been formally identified, but she was believed to have been a local resident who had been missing for about a week.