Peter Lovesey - The Headhunters

What a thicko I’ve been, she thought. I went out with Rick a few times, snogged, petted, and came horribly near to full sex with him, and failed to see the danger signals. He’s always had an edge, the dark quality that is part of the attraction of the man. But I didn’t believe in him as a killer, even after he revealed his interest in murder.

What drove him to do it? Rick had nothing personal against Cartwright. He hadn’t met the man when he’d started talking about disposing of him. His motive was to impress Gemma. Had to be. Clearly there was a sexual element. Gem had confided more than once that she hadn’t slept with him when they’d started going out. He’d listened to her stupid talk about killing the boss and taken it seriously. He knew the sure way to pull her.

As for Gemma, she gloried so much in the murder that she couldn’t keep it to herself. The logic of her behaviour was that she had a share of the guilt. She was-what did they call it? — a conspirator. A latter-day Lady Macbeth. She hadn’t struck the fatal blow, but she’d urged him on. She’d made killing Cartwright a test of Rick’s passion and rewarded him with sex.

If Gemma’s up to her eyes in this, Jo thought, then what about me? I was never serious. I wasn’t involved. But I am now. I know about this crime and I’m not telling the police.

Before nine, her phone rang. She checked the number. Gemma. She didn’t take the call.

Francisco had looked down the list and picked a tricksy old solicitor called Woolf, who asked how long the custody clock had been ticking and said he would need time to get up with the case. Hen told him his new client had already admitted to stealing the dead woman’s car. Woolf wasn’t fazed. He said in that case he’d need to listen to the tapes of all the interviews so far.

Hen left him to it and said to Stella, ‘You know what his game is? He’ll keep this going until the twenty-four hours is up.’

‘We can ask for an extension.’

‘Not with the case we have so far. Nicking the victim’s car isn’t a serious arrestable offence.’

‘And we haven’t charged him yet.’

‘We’re investigating two murders, Stell. I’m not getting sidetracked over the bloody car.’

‘You mean there isn’t enough to detain him?’

‘If we can prove the car theft is linked to the killings we might get somewhere.’

‘Like he was disposing of the evidence?’

‘That would be terrific, but it doesn’t wash. It’s not as if he used the car to move the body somewhere. She was drowned a few yards from her front door and his.’

‘Suppose he murdered her for the car.’

Hen pulled a face. ‘I don’t think so. Do you?’

Stella shook her head. ‘Not really.’

They returned to the incident room, now dominated by a pin-board featuring photos of the crime scenes.

‘A couple of guys from Emswoth CID searched his house,’ Hen told Stella. ‘There was nothing obvious like a pair of jeans on a clothes rack.’

‘I don’t follow you.’

‘Whoever killed Fiona was in the water with her.’

‘But surely he’ll have dumped his clothes if he’s got half a brain.’

‘I’m not sure he has. The longer this goes on, the more it looks to me as if he’s nothing else but a failed car thief.’

‘He’d have to be an idiot to steal a car belonging to a murder victim.’

‘We haven’t established when it was taken. It could have been during that time she was away from home and no one suspected she was dead.’

‘That makes more sense. Then all hell breaks out because she’s murdered and Francisco’s got a problem he didn’t expect-the victim’s motor parked in a field with his fingerprints all over it.’

‘He’s got no form as a car thief.’

‘First offence, maybe. Or he’s always got away with it.’ Stella looked away, at a pen she was rolling across her desk. ‘Mind if I ask something?’

‘Fire away.’

‘I was told you have an ingenious theory that he’s impotent and gets into a murderous rage each time he tries to have sex. Is that right?’

‘Are you being sarky?’

‘Not at all, boss. It’s-well-ingenious. The best we’ve got.’

‘I’ll take that. And now you can tell me what’s been going on while I’ve been wasting precious time on bloody Francisco. Did you search the missing manager’s house at Apuldram?’

‘Yesterday. Quite a nice pad.’

‘What did you find there?’

‘He’s tidy to the point of obsession. No signs of disturbance whatsoever. It was almost eerie. His car’s gone. The mail on the mat shows he’s been away for over a week.’

‘Which we know. Does he have a computer?’

‘We took it away. It’s being checked. We also picked up the letters and his filing cabinet. There’s a photo of him we can use.’

‘Neighbours?

‘The house is on its own at the end of a lane. The locals don’t seem to know him much.’

‘You checked the outbuildings, I expect?’

‘The patio, the garden shed, the pool. Just about everywhere.’

‘Nothing exceptional, then?’

‘His collection of bow ties. He has about fifty in his wardrobe, every colour you can think of, and spots, stripes, tartans, florals.’

‘We need better than that, Stell.’ Hen sighed. ‘What would really make my day is a link to Meredith Sentinel.’

‘Could be on the computer. If it’s there, we’ll find it,’ Stella said.

‘Yes, and find Cartwright himself while you’re at it. No clues as to where he might have vanished to? Have we learned any more about the guy, apart from his job and the fact that he’s divorced and lives alone?’

‘I talked to his staff when the office reopened this morning. It’s an open secret that he fancied Fiona. She was doing her best to advance her career.’

‘By cosying up to him?’

‘Seems so. His PA, Gemma Casey, wasn’t thrilled about it. She was left running the business while Cartwright flirted with Fiona.’

‘Is he unpopular with all the staff?’

‘By no means. “Nice” is the word that keeps coming up. He knows them by name and smiles and opens doors for the ladies.’

‘A right old smoothie.’

‘I wasn’t going to say it, but yes.’

Hen turned towards the visuals on the display board. ‘That’s two possible suspects, Francisco and Cartwright. I haven’t ruled out the others.’

Stella’s eyes widened. ‘I thought we’d moved on from Dr Sentinel.’

‘Well, deputy dear, early in this investigation you suggested he may have hired a hitman. Sounded wild at the time, but I’m not ruling it out.’

‘To kill his wife, yes.’ Stella was frowning now. ‘But there’s nothing to link him to Fiona’s death, is there?’

‘Well… ’ Hen paused and raised her eyebrows.

‘Well, what?’

‘What if the hitman happened to be a bouncer called Francisco?’

Stella reddened in surprise. ‘How is that possible?’

‘Let’s say the hitman was hired to kill Meredith Sentinel while her husband was out of the country. He did a fair but not faultless job of faking an accidental drowning. You and I know that Francisco’s not the brightest. Maybe he boasts about it, or flashes his blood money around. His neighbour Fiona reads the papers, gets suspicious, and asks a few leading questions. He drowns her, too, and makes her car disappear to give the impression she’s gone away.’

‘Neat.’

‘I wouldn’t say so. It’s a cock-up.’

‘I meant your explanation.’

‘Ah.’ A quick smile crossed Hen’s lips. ‘Dr Sentinel returns and plays the distressed husband and is secretly incensed that so much has gone wrong, but he’s still not in the frame. We need to know whether Sentinel had any dealings with Francisco.’