Peter Lovesey - The Headhunters

‘Got him!’ someone said from the back of the room.

‘Let’s not get carried away,’ Hen said in a mild, but effective rebuke. ‘In theory, he could have got back here and carried out the murder-a scenario we considered before. But Stella also checked every airline passenger list and nobody of his name appears.’

‘False passport?’ Murphy suggested.

‘Possible, but unlikely unless he was into some other racket. Professional criminals know how to acquire false passports. I doubt if an academic wanting to murder his wife would have the contacts.’

‘So what was he up to, if he wasn’t flying home?’ Murphy said.

‘Sightseeing,’ said Larry Soames, a laid-back DC known for rubbishing everything he deemed farfetched.

‘We’ll ask him,’ Hen said, echoing Larry’s throwaway tone. ‘He’ll be coming to Chichester for the inquest and I’ve got to be there, too. When’s that, Stell?’

‘This afternoon.’

‘Is it?’ Her manner changed. ‘God, is it Tuesday already?’

‘It’s sure to be adjourned.’

‘Of course, but it’s an opportunity.’ She glanced down to see if she was wearing something suitable for the courtroom. Her grey trouser suit would have been better. Maybe she’d slip home at lunchtime. Needing to get her thoughts back on track, she turned towards the display board. ‘We have a picture here of the missing man who is also firmly in the frame. Cartwright, the employer of the second victim, Fiona Halliday. He was seen leaving the print works with her on the Friday afternoon and that was the last sighting of either of them alive. Is he another victim, or could he be the killer? Stella, you searched his house in Apuldram.’

‘Me, and a CSI team,’ Stella said, addressing the team rather than Hen. This process of keeping everyone in the loop was vital. ‘It was all in good order. No signs of violence. He’s a tidy guy. Even washes up his breakfast things before leaving the house.’

‘How do you know it was breakfast?’

‘I just assumed he didn’t go back to the house after the Friday because of all the mail on the mat.’

‘Okay. We’re getting nowhere fast. Anything else on Cartwright?’

‘They looked especially for traces of Fiona’s DNA.’

‘Where-in the bed?’

‘There, yes, and the sitting room downstairs. The results aren’t back yet, of course. For what it’s worth, I didn’t see anything to suggest he’d had a woman there recently.’

‘It’s in Apuldram. Do I know the place? I don’t think I do.’

‘South of Chichester, between the Witterings Road and the harbour. You must have been to the pub at Dell Quay.’

‘I have,’ Hen said, ‘but you don’t have to put it as if I’m familiar with every watering hole in the county.’

‘Well, Dell Quay is Apuldram,’ Stella said.

‘Is he a boating type?’

Stella’s eyes widened. ‘He could be. His bedside reading was some kind of sea story. And some of his clothes are from the chandler’s shop at the marina. But they’re the kinds of things anyone would wear in cold weather.’

‘Better look into it, hadn’t we? He could have murdered Fiona and sailed off into the sunset.’

‘We didn’t find anything really obvious like maritime maps.’

‘He’ll have taken them with him,’ Larry Soames said. He’d never been comfortable serving under this all-woman management, and he saw it as his mission to provide the practicalities only a man would think of.

Hen nodded and glanced Stella’s way. ‘See if he has a mooring at Apuldram or the marina.’

‘Or Emsworth,’ Larry Soames chipped in.

‘Good thinking, Larry. Your job.’

‘Ah.’ He’d overdone it this time.

At this point the door handle squeaked. All eyes watched it turn slowly, as if to cause minimal disruption.

‘Don’t be shy,’ Hen called out.

DC Gary Pearce put his youthful face around the door, crimson with embarrassment.

‘I had a feeling someone was missing,’ Hen said. ‘Come in, laddie. What was it-your grandmother’s funeral?’

‘No, guv. I’ve been at Fishbourne. You asked me to visit Kleentext, the printers, to ask if they did any work for the nature reserve.’

‘So I did. What’s the story?’

‘I got there too late last night. The office staff had all gone, so I called on my way to work this morning. I thought I’d still make the meeting, but it took longer than I expected. I’m sorry.’

‘And did you discover anything to mollify me?’

‘To what, guv?’

‘To calm the old bat down.’

‘Possibly I did. I saw the woman in charge, Miss Gemma Casey. She said all the official Pagham Harbour literature, the maps and guides and things, is done through the County Council and another printer has the contract.’

‘Oh, bugger.’

‘But she thought Kleentext had done something recently for the nature reserve as a small job, so she printed off a list of clients. I have it here.’ Gary was learning quickly how to humour the boss.

‘And?’

‘Pagham Harbour reserve is on the list. Five hundred Christmas cards.’

‘The best news I’ve had in days. Hand it across.’ Hen was given the list and spoke as she was scanning it. ‘And did this order involve a visit from one of the wardens?’

‘Four altogether.’

‘Wardens?’

‘No, visits, around the end of August,’ Gary said. ‘One to make the first enquiry, another to place the order, then returning the proofs and collecting the cards after they were finished.’

‘Four visits seems excessive. Things like that are usually put on a van, aren’t they?’

‘That’s what I thought, guv.’

‘Did you ask if Fiona dealt with it? I wonder if she was the attraction.’

‘I didn’t have time. I left with the list and checked it in the car. Then I came straight here for the meeting.’

‘So you didn’t ask which warden placed the order and kept coming back? No names are listed here.’

‘No, guv.’

‘I wouldn’t mind betting who it was. Nice work, Gary.’

‘Have I missed much?’

‘Forget it,’ Hen said. ‘You’re my hero. A superstar.’ She turned to Stella. ‘This gets priority. You and I are shortly off to Kleentext. Meeting over, boys and girls.’

Another night without much sleep had left Jo in a frazzled state. She’d already called Adrian at the garden centre to tell him she wasn’t coming in. She’d make up time at the weekend. Now that the storm damage was cleared up there wasn’t a lot to be done. Sales of horticulture products tail off as winter approaches.

She was still troubled about not reporting Rick to the police. One line of thought argued that he’d committed the worst of all crimes and should be handed over to the law; another, that he was not an obvious danger to the public. If she’d thought other people were at risk she would certainly have done her public duty. But the killing of Mr Cartwright was a one-off crime. She couldn’t imagine Rick murdering anyone else. He’d done this to find favour with Gemma-and Gem was too alarmed by it to encourage a repeat.

In an ideal world the police would investigate and solve the crime without any tip-off. Before long Cartwright’s disappearance was going to be taken seriously. But in the absence of a body would they ever find out he was murdered?

All of this churned repeatedly in her head. She’d come round to thinking after all she would confide in Jake. He sure wouldn’t blurt it about. What was more, he knew the people involved. And he was mentally strong. He’d come through his own hell and was wiser for it. He was the only person she would trust.

And it would be so good to see him.

She got in the car and drove out to the nature reserve. The sharp morning, the clear October sky, and the task of steering the car through the turns of the narrow road gave her a sense that she was doing something positive instead of keeping it all inside. Just being with Jake would lift her.