A Need To Kill (DI Matt Barnes) (10 page)

It was now a little past six a.m. in the
UK.  Not that the time mattered.  He could be anywhere: at the Yard, at home in bed, or maybe out on a case, chasing down some creature that lived outside normal parameters and chose to take life instead of embrace it.  No matter.  She had his home, mobile and work numbers.  She picked up the phone and took a deep breath.

Matt
was sitting in the lounge with the lights out.  He had planned on a shower and a couple of hours’ sleep.  Instead, he had poured a large scotch and smoking too much as he let his mind drift between the case, Beth, and anything else that randomly coalesced in his overtired brain.  Shit!  The ghosts of his parents and fallen comrades pushed their way into his thoughts, to appear uninvited.  He did not want to be bombarded by vivid memories of what had gone before and could not be modified.

Stubbing out yet another cigarette end in the brimming ashtray, he reached for the pack and flipped the lid open.  Empty.  He crumpled it and tossed it onto the coffee table.
There were no more cigarettes in the house.  He got up, dismissed the depressing images that had been flitting across the screen of his mind, and went into the kitchen to build another scotch rocks.  He was letting everything get to him.  Felt like a pressure cooker that was on the verge of blowing its lid.  He had always been able to stay detached and deal with whatever came up in his stride.  But the accumulation of everything that had happened over the last twelve months had somehow diminished his resolve; sapped him of the strength of will that he had always taken as a given.  You can only maintain anything for so long.  As an erstwhile golfer, he remembered the great Arnold Palmer hacking round Augusta in 2004.  At seventy-four, Arnie had finally conceded to the march of time.  After racking up fifty appearances at the Masters, it was time to step down.  His tearful interview, after yet again failing to make the cut, was telling.  He pointed out that he still felt as competitive as he ever had, back in his heyday, but that his ageing body was not up to the task.  Everything and everyone had their time.  Matt wondered if he was burning out under the pressure that he had always courted and felt in control of.  He was jaded, and could not think of one positive thing that was happening in his life.  Beth seemed to be slipping away from him, and he didn’t think he could change enough to stop the slide.

His mobile bleated.  He sighed, took a deep breath and walked through to where it lay next to the TV
’s remote.

“Barnes
.”

“
Were you asleep?”

“
No.  Just sitting and thinking.”

“
What about?”

“
Oh, this and that.”

“
Miss me?”

“
Do bears shit in the woods?”

“
I’ll take that as a yes.”

“
How’s the Big Apple?”

“
Cold, noisy.  Same old, same old.”

“
I rang earlier.”

“
I was down at the bar.  Do you remember me talking about Alec Hoffman?”

“
The old shrink who trains the rookie profilers at the FBI academy?”

“
The one and only.  I let him buy me a couple of JDs, and talked about you.”

“
My ears weren’t burning.”

“
Should have been.  I told him all about you...Us.”

“
Looking for answers to questions that don’t have any?”

“
You got it.”

“
And?”

“
He thinks I should stop moping around and get on with the rest of my life.”

“
Sounds good advice.”

“
I thought I’d pack my case and get out of Dodge in the morning.  Unless you can think of any reason why I shouldn’t.”

“
What about the seminar?  The hospital might hit you for the airfare if you walk away.”

“So y
ou think I should stay?”

Matt
caught the hurt in her voice.  “I think you should hurry back, but it’s only for a few more days, so why not enjoy it, and buy me something expensive on Fifth Avenue when you get time to shop.”

“
Are we all right, Matt?”

“
We are from where I’m sitting.  I thought it was you that was coming down with a bout of commonsense and wondering how you’d got in so deep with a cop who keeps trying to get you killed.”

“
I decided that I’d miss the thrill of wondering whether I would live long enough to get grey hair.”

“
You mean to say that brunette thatch
isn’t
out of a bottle?”

“
You make a better cop than a comedian.  Are you on a new case?”

“
Yeah.  But let’s not go there.”

“
Okay.  Phone me tomorrow night...if you get chance.”

“
Deal.  I’ll try to remember you’re five hours behind.  I love you, Beth.”

“
I love you, too.  Be careful.”

“
Careful is my middle name.”

Beth laughed.

After they had spent another three minutes deciding who would hang up, Matt went for a shower with a bounce in his step.  He was up again, instantly reinvigorated at the sound of Beth’s voice, and in the knowledge that she was not about to dump him.  He had an insecure side to his character around women.  Didn’t know why they would find anything about him attractive.  He spent much of his time in a sleazy world, which by its very nature tainted the spirit of all but the most insensitive, who could move through it without the humanity to be affected.  He was not immune to the suffering that one man could inflict on another.  Every case took its toll and exacted a price.  He did not have the ability or desire to stay on the outside of what he did.  He was a hands on, get down and dirty kind of guy, who had to care passionately if he was to be able to function at the level necessary to doggedly persevere and, more importantly, be convinced that he would win out over adversity.

It was still dark when he left the house and set off back to the Yard.  Sleep was put on hold.  He would grab an hour when he could.

“Marsha
Freeman’s best friend was, in the past tense, Caroline Foster, another ex-model, who now runs a riding school in Bumble’s Green, out in Essex,” Pete said.  “You want me to take one of the lads and have a word with her?”

“
No.  I’ll go with you.  She’ll know more about Marsha than anyone else.  You’re driving.”

“
I thought you were going to see Colin Westin?”

“
I’ll catch up with him this afternoon.  Come on, let’s get out into the sticks and see what gems this Foster woman can give us.”

The Chestnut Horse Riding Centre was in green belt, situated on a lane off the B194, and appeared to be a medium-sized concern that offered a wide range of services.

Pete parked next to a converted windmill that had a sign: OFFICE-OPEN hanging on the inside of the glass-panelled door.  He and Matt walked in and stood at the counter that fronted a small office.

A
stony-faced, middle-aged woman wearing too much makeup, a quilted parka, and with a cigarette bobbing between her puffy collagen-filled lips said, “Can I help you?” from where she was sitting at a computer.

“
Yes,” Pete said, holding up his ID.  “We’d like to speak to Caroline Foster.”

“
I’m Caroline’s mother, dear.  Perhaps you could tell me what the problem is.”

“
I don’t think so, Mrs. Foster,” Matt said.  “It’s Caroline we need to have a word with.”

“
It’s Mrs. Fairbanks, dear.  Although there is no Mr. Fairbanks these days.  He drowned in that terrible ferry disaster.  You’ll find Caroline in the stables behind the mill.”

Matt
thanked her and beat a hasty retreat with Pete close behind him.

“
You think that her late husband tied a breeze block to his ankles and threw himself overboard, dear?”  Pete said.

Matt
grinned. “You have a warped sense of humour.  And don’t call me dear again, or I’ll have to kill you.”

They both adopted a suitably sombre expression as a tall, attractive young woman wearing jodhpurs and riding boots below a chunky, zipped up fleece approached them from a stable block.

“Ms. Foster?” Matt said, opening his wallet to let her see his warrant card.

She inspected it, not just giving it the cursory glance that most civilians did, but seemingly digesting every word.

“What can I do for you, Detective Inspector Barnes?” she asked in a refined, velvety voice.

“
Tell us all you can about Marsha Freeman.”

Matt
saw her eyes widen.  Genuine concern is hard to fake.

“
What has happened?” Caroline demanded.  “Tell me.”

Matt
didn’t gift wrap it.  “She was found strangled to death, Ms. Foster.”

Caroline closed her eyes.  Her smooth brow furrowed as she fought to maintain her composure.  One deep breath and she was back in control, her emotions under wraps.
She opened her eyes and stared at Matt.  He was impressed by her poise, and by the strength of character that emanated from the ex-model.  That he did not have to lower his gaze was also an uncommon event.  He was six feet tall, in shoes, and Caroline was the same height.

“
Let’s go into the office and discuss this,” she said, striding past them and around the front of the circular-shaped building.

“
Mother, stop smoking in the fucking office and go and make some tea or coffee for these gentlemen,” Caroline said as Matt closed the door behind them.

Rosalie Fairbanks scuttled out from behind the desk and went into another room; a cigarette still sprouting from her mouth.

“And close the door, Mother.”

Formidable was the adjective that came to
Matt’s mind.  Caroline Foster was headstrong, used to being in control of any given situation, and had the air of a woman who considered men second rate human beings, that the world might be a better place without.

Pete was dumbstruck.  He pegged the haughty
-looking blonde in skin-tight breeches for a dyke, or maybe the type who would insist on being sat astride her men, loath to adopt the position of underdog in any conceivable way.  The image of her on top of him and her breasts jiggling a few inches from his face was a turn on.  He had no intention of cheating on Marci, but could still fantasise.  A man’s thoughts were best kept firmly to himself.  Whoever coined the phrase ‘Honesty is the best policy’ was a saint or an idiot.

“Take a seat
,” Caroline said.

They did
.

“
We believe that you were Marsha’s best friend Ms. Foster, and―”

“
Caroline,” she interrupted.  “Yes, I was very close to Marsha.  We used to be on the circuit together.  And before you ask, I don’t know anyone who would harm her. She...you know what she did.  But she did not have what you might term as rough trade. She entertained very well-heeled and sophisticated gentlemen. If any man can be defined as being gentle.”

“
Did you know about the address book and videos?” Matt asked.

An instant too long hesitation. 
“No.  We did not discuss what she did.  She knew it made me feel very uncomfortable.”

Her eyes had slipped away from
Matt’s.  She was lying.  Her body language said so.  He had interviewed hundreds of suspects over the years, and only a handful knew  intuitively how to lie with their whole being, and not with just words.

“
I need your full cooperation, Caroline,” Matt said, opening his briefcase and withdrawing an envelope with 8x10’s of Marsha’s corpse.  “Look at those if you’ve got the stomach to.  Then let’s start again from the top.”

Pete gave
Matt a searching look.  Showing her the prints of the victim seemed to be a gratuitous act, which was out of character for Matt.

Caroline knocked the envelope away as
Matt held it out.  “Don’t try to shock me into saying anything that would incriminate Marsha or soil her, Inspector.  I will not play your unsavoury mind games.”

Matt
raised the envelope again.  “I don’t play games, Caroline.  Whoever did this to Marsha also did exactly the same to a sixteen-year-old girl.  We need to stop him before he strikes again.  We call this type of animal a repeat, ritual or serial killer.  They don’t stop.  You were lying to me about the book and tapes.  Have the balls to look at what this man is capable of.  We have no intention of tainting the memory of Marsha. Our only objective is to save lives.”

The silence that followed was almost unbearable.  Neither
Matt nor Pete broke it.