Gregorys game, p.18
Gregory's Game, page 18
‘I know what you mean,’ Tess said.
‘And I keep thinking about Katherine Marsh and her little girl and wondering how the hell she got mixed up with someone like Ian Marsh in the first place. And I don’t quite know why I feel like that about him. He’s a nice enough man, comes over as ordinary and helpless and scared and … But it’s like there’s something else going on, you know?’
Tess nodded again, remembering her last meeting with Professor Marsh. He had scared her, she realized now. Not by anything he’d really said or anything he’d really done, but just that … what had Vin called it? That undercurrent.
She glanced up from the files she had been perusing on Vin’s tablet. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you might be glad to hear that Bernie Franks looks like he’s just a good old-fashioned villain.’
Vin laughed. ‘I don’t believe that,’ he said. ‘He’ll have his secrets and his undercurrents just like the rest of them. I’ve been chatting to Jaz,’ he said. ‘She reckons we got a visit from a mysterious man in black the other day. Reckon’s Branch was most put out.’
Tess squinted at him. ‘Johnny Cash?’ she asked.
‘What? No and not Will Smith either. And no, we’ve not had any UFO sightings. Home Office, Jaz reckons. She’s having to send regular reports to him on the QT.’
‘Not so much on the quiet if she’s telling you.’
‘Jaz likes me,’ Vin said. He grinned. Truth was he liked Jaz too and Tess wondered why they didn’t just get on with it and become the item most people wrongly assumed they already were. ‘The Gustav Clay connection, I suppose. Vin, what do you make of Ian Marsh?’
‘You really don’t like the man, do you?’
She shrugged, not sure why she held back on telling her partner what had happened on the Friday. The unease she had felt; the sudden change in the professor’s demeanour.
FORTY-SIX
Naomi had arranged to meet Patrick in town on the Tuesday morning, a day he had only one lecture. They’d spend some time shopping and meet Harry and his mother for lunch. Alec had said he’d try to join them.
Naomi valued her friendship with this son of her oldest friend and it wasn’t unusual for them to do things together, but the invitation to shop had come out of the blue and she guessed there was something on his mind. George Mallard’s son dropped her outside the new shopping centre that had opened up in the spring.
‘Looks like he’s already here.’
‘He would be. Patrick is as punctual as his dad.’
‘Maybe I could get him to give lessons to my two. I have to tell them we’re leaving immediately half an hour before we go anywhere.’
He helped Naomi from the car, checked that she’d got a lift home and then drove away.
‘Hi,’ Patrick said. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘Pleasure,’ Naomi said. ‘So what are we doing this morning?’
Patrick slipped his arm through hers. She’d left Napoleon with Alec, knowing Patrick was more than capable of looking after her and that it would probably be easier with just the two of them in the shopping crowd.
‘Three things,’ Patrick said. ‘One I really need your help with and so does dad. It’s Gran’s seventieth in about ten days’ time and we want to get her something special, so we could do with some advice.’
‘OK. And the other two things?’
‘Well, one is a uni assignment. I’ve chosen to do a mini module on portraiture. It’s one of the optional things and I thought I’d get on better with something that was kind of less abstract. I would like to paint you, if that’s all right. We’re supposed to be exploring our subjects. I thought I’d rather explore someone I know.’
Naomi laughed. ‘You know how I hate having my photo taken. I think being painted is going to be much worse.’ She could sense his disappointment and said hastily, ‘But for you, yes, of course, that’s fine.’
‘Good.’ Patrick relaxed. ‘I’ll make it as painless as I can. The third thing is Gregory.’
‘Gregory. Right. Harry mentioned he’d appeared. I’ve seen him too. Is he upsetting you?’
‘What? Oh, no, nothing like that. He’s fine. I like him, actually.’ Patrick took a deep breath and then said, ‘He knows this artist I really admire. He’s called Bob Taylor and I wondered … I wondered if you thought it would be out of order if I asked Gregory if he’d ask Bob Taylor to maybe look at some of my work.’
Wow, Naomi thought. Of all the things I thought you were going to ask.
‘I mean,’ Patrick went on, ‘I know it’s maybe an imposition but there are things he does … there’s this kind of ethereal quality to his work and I don’t know how he does it. He just seems to catch the moment, the second, like he’s frozen it, you know what I mean. I knew his work before, but after Gregory mentioned him, I took a better look.’
And you were star-struck, Naomi thought. ‘Ask him,’ she said. ‘Does he know this Bob Taylor well?’
‘I don’t know. You don’t think he’d mind?’
‘I think if he thought it was inappropriate he’d tell you. Gregory is very direct.’
‘True. OK, thanks,’ Patrick said. ‘Now what the hell are we going to get for Gran’s birthday?’
‘So, did we actually gain anything from that encounter?’ Tess asked.
‘Two photographs and a positive sighting.’
‘From a career criminal who may or may not be yanking our chain.’ Tess sighed and leaned her head back against the seat, closed her eyes. ‘We know there’s a leak,’ she said. ‘That’s a photo from the crime scene. Question is who and why.’
‘And that’s a problem for Internal Affairs. Why is this Nathan Crow looking for that woman, do you reckon?’
‘I’m betting Bernie Franks knows,’ Tess said wearily.
‘And he’s not saying. This Nathan obviously thinks it’s all connected with the Marsh kidnap. Maybe she’s involved? Maybe she killed our man Palmer. Maybe we should both go back and talk to your mate Alec Friedman.’
‘Maybe we should,’ Tess agreed. Maybe that’s all we’ve got – a whole load of maybes.
Bernie Franks waited for a few minutes and then called Rico Steadmann.
‘I’ve passed the pictures on to the police, like we agreed,’ he said. ‘They seemed more bothered that someone had got hold of crime-scene evidence. I think Mae’s a new thing for them, but you should watch yourself, Rico. She’s a loose cannon these days. Unpredictable.’
‘She’s never been predictable,’ Rico told him.
‘Anything else?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I can take it from here. Oh, yes, one more thing. You’ve got cameras at that place of yours?’
‘Security cameras. Yes.’
‘The man with Nathan Crow. I’d like a look at him. Could be someone I know.’
FORTY-SEVEN
‘So, where do we stand?’ DCI Branch rubbed his hands together in anticipation. A couple of people laughed; others settled more expectantly into their seats. Jaz, a little late for the briefing, slipped through the door and stood just inside.
‘Still no next of kin for our Mr Palmer,’ Tess said. ‘We talked to his work colleagues, here and from his old workplace, but all they can tell us is that he kept himself to himself and didn’t socialize. Nothing in the Church Lane house to suggest he had family. Not even photographs – and that’s the other thing. Everyone else in the estate agency, here and back where he worked before, had work-related pics on their phone. Nothing untoward, just random stuff when they’d been out together. Apparently Mr Palmer never went out with anyone. The only time he socialized with the group was last year at the Christmas party and he didn’t get much choice in that one: his old boss organized for a bit of a do after they’d shut up shop for the afternoon. And from that we’ve got this.’
Branch took the picture and looked puzzled. It was a group shot – ten people in various states of celebration. Silly hats and full glasses much in evidence.
‘Middle of the back row,’ Tess said. ‘You can just about make him out. He’s trying not to be there.’
‘Can we enhance it?’
‘Technical services are doing what they can. But it does make you wonder about him. Anthony Palmer doesn’t seem to have left much of an impression. We didn’t even find a driver’s license at the house.’
‘But he drove a car.’
‘And according to Swansea, never actually applied for a photo license.’
‘Passport?’
Tess shook her head. ‘Of course, whoever killed him could have cleared the place of anything personal, but we found no trace of a search, never mind anything being taken.’
‘If the search was done right, you’d never know it had happened,’ Vin pointed out.
Branch nodded. ‘Well, keep pushing. Someone must know something about the man. What else do we have?’
Jaz waved nervously from the back of the room. Branch beckoned her forward.
‘The second photograph you got from Bernie Franks,’ she said. ‘I got a hit on the woman.’
She pinned an enlargement to the board, then looked meaningfully at Branch. ‘It’s not from police resources,’ she said. ‘I did … um … a kind of lateral search.’
Branch frowned and then nodded as he got her meaning. ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘Well, she has half a dozen aliases. I’ve printed a list and some background. I’m just getting copies made. Her birth name was probably Maria Dubrovna, but we can’t be sure even of that. She grew up in the old Yugoslavia, when it was still a communist state, moved to East Germany when she was in her late teens, then she disappeared altogether for a while. She surfaced in the early eighties, when she had an affair with a French diplomat – this was in Moscow. She’s suspected of acting as a courier for both UK intelligence and for East Germany. She speaks a dozen languages, and she was a definite associate of this Gustav Clay’s. I’ll get more information soon and put it in the files.’
Branch called Jaz over at the end of the briefing. ‘You faxed the photo over to our friend Charles Duncan?’
She nodded. ‘The result came back fast.’
‘A bit too fast.’
‘I thought so too. He sent a note saying there was more, but he had to clear it first. Sir, what do you think is going on?’
Branch shook his head. ‘I think we’ve got to focus,’ he said. ‘Kat Marsh and her little girl are all we should be concerned about now. The rest can fall into line.’
‘And what about Anthony Palmer – whoever he was?’
‘Jaz, I think that’s the problem. The “whoever he was”. I have a feeling we’re not the only ones looking into that. And we’ve got to be cold about this. We know he’s dead. So far we don’t even have relatives needing closure. We have to hope the woman and child are still alive, so they get our attention.’
Jaz nodded. ‘Anyone spoken to Ian Marsh today?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. Tess hasn’t been here. I made a routine call this morning, but after that … Why?’
‘I just think it’s strange,’ Jaz said. ‘If someone I loved had been taken, I’d be making a right nuisance of myself, hassling anyone that could tell me anything.’
FORTY-EIGHT
A few miles away, Ian Marsh sat alone in the house his wife had grown up in. He shivered, despite the fire burning in the grate and the thick sweater he had on. He felt such a chill inside of him that it seemed never to be truly warm. Ian Marsh, frozen to the core, frozen to the tips of his fingers. Frozen into inaction.
‘My fault,’ he whispered to his absent wife and missing child. ‘All my fault.’
Tess wasn’t sure why she had driven home via Ian Marsh’s road, but it was something she had done many times in the past week. Sometimes she had driven straight down the road. Sometimes she had slowed and looked at the house, mostly hidden behind the high hedge. Sometimes she had stopped her car a little way down the road and just sat there, watching, waiting, though for what she couldn’t have said. The same impulse had taken her to and past the house in Church Lane. Tess could make no sense of any of this. How did it all tie together? The respectable professor. The supposedly respectable estate agent, Anthony Palmer – though a man who seemed to have no friends, no family, no past. Abductors who took a woman and child and then … then what?
She turned the car around and parked on the opposite side of the road a few doors from Ian Marsh’s house. The rain had cleared but the sky was still leaden and the fireworks from local gardens merely served to highlight the dense cloud. Tess hated fireworks, always had, even as a kid. Her family had all gathered together for a regular bonfire – siblings and cousins and even her gran. Tess had liked the bonfire and the food and the family gathering, but the fireworks had always left her cold, unable to understand how people could get excited over a few brightly coloured explosions.
Through gaps in the hedge she could just make out that a light was on in Ian Marsh’s house. In the living room she and Vin had sat in so many times. She visualized it now. Old-fashioned and cosy in a haphazard, overstuffed kind of way. She had never been able to gauge much about Ian Marsh or his wife from that room. It had been created by an earlier generation, put together according to the taste and habits of another couple. Ian and Katherine Marsh had simply inherited it, moved into that space, but made no impact upon it.
Tess realized that she was hungry. She should go home, eat something. Instead, she drove to a Chinese takeaway she knew and ordered chicken and cashew nuts with egg-fried rice. Then she drove on a little further down the coast and sat in her car to eat her meal, listening to the radio, finding solace in a country music programme that played songs of love and loss and broken hearts. Briefly, she thought of Alec. He’d mentioned he was going to the fireworks in Pinsent, with his wife and some friends. He even seemed to be looking forward to it. Tess wondered if she’d ever be one to enjoy domesticity.
So, she asked herself, what exactly was she doing here? She told herself that she’d driven out towards Halsingham because the takeaway she liked was out in that direction, but she knew that was a lie. This had always been her plan. Why else would she be parked up at the side of Ian Marsh’s cottage on Church Lane?
Quietly, Tess got out of the car and slipped around to the back door. The keys she had taken from the evidence box had now been copied and replaced and this wasn’t the first time she had let herself into the property on Church Lane or even into Ian Marsh’s other house – though that was something she had to be more cautious about. Church Lane, on the other hand, was easy. Not overlooked and far enough from the neighbour’s house that she never noticed Tess’s incursions.
Tess stood in the kitchen, cleaned now by a professional company Tess herself had recommended, though she knew even they would never get rid of every trace. Blood would remain, hidden in the cracks of the flagstone floor, the tiny gaps in the cabinet fixings, absorbed into the new paint on the kitchen walls. Traces would remain.
Tess stood and inhaled the scene. She closed her eyes and remembered the hanging man, the CSI moving purposefully and quietly around him. The click of the camera shutter …
Eyes still closed, she erased them from the scene, took away the officers and their quiet intensity. Left only the hanging man and her own presence. She could hear her own breath now, was conscious of her heartbeat, the pulse of blood in her ears. She lifted her head as though looking up, but kept her eyes closed, remembering every detail of the body, the look, the presence, the smell, the pain.
In her mind’s eye she saw his assailants. Faceless, sexless, even, but she assumed both male. She visualized where they must have stood. The one behind, manipulating the rope, the chokehold they had on their victim. One standing where she stood now, or maybe a pace further back, looking up at the victim. Winding that tight fibre about his body, twisting it tight so it bit into the flesh, twisting it tighter still. The knife wound in the side – Tess mimed the upward thrust. Most of the blood on the floor would have come from that knife wound. Arterial blood, spurting out, hitting the ceiling at one point, trailing down the body and on to the floor.
That was an oddity, Tess thought. The rest of it had been relatively clean. There would be blood on the knife, blood on the assailant. Blood that spurted out and covered the man driving the knife upward into the wound.
Tess mimed the movement again. No, the angle was wrong. It was all wrong.
One man would have held the rope, pulling it tight around Anthony Palmer’s neck. It hadn’t been a sliding noose, merely a way of applying a choke hold across the windpipe.
The other stood in front of him … and there was evidence that Anthony Palmer’s feet had been bound and tied down to prevent him from kicking out at his assailant. His ankles had been ripped and torn by the same monofilament. It had taken a while before they understood what he’d been tied to, but marks on the heavy oak table suggested it might have been that. The noose man maybe sitting on the table to add extra weight and provide him with the ideal position from which to increase the tension.
So what about the knife wound?
Tess moved round slightly, thinking again about the angle of thrust. From the side, she thought, and the assailant wasn’t worried about getting Palmer’s blood all over him. Somehow that seemed at odds with the rest of the scene – and they knew the blood had spurted all over this man because there was a void in the spatter pattern on the floor and wall.
‘A third man,’ Tess said softly. ‘There was a third man. I’m bloody certain of it.’
Tess didn’t look back as she got into her car. If she had she might have caught the hint of a movement in the shadow beside the garden hedge. After she had driven away the shadow detached itself fractionally, stood silent and still until the tail lights of her car had disappeared.
He then retreated to his own vehicle and made a call. His companion fired up the ignition and eased out from between the trees, following Tess’s car up the hill.
