Fell Purpose (40 page)

‘That’s entirely my problem,’ Slider said with dignity.

Joanna, holding Slider in bed, could feel both his weariness and his tension. The intense sympathy he always felt with a murder victim, even when it was a low-life scumbag, was partly what made him a good detective, but it also wore him out. He would find it hard to get to sleep tonight. He was keeping quite still, so as not to disturb her, but it was not a restful stillness. She sought for something to take his mind off the case.

‘Your father rang again this evening,’ she said, quietly, so as not to wake the baby.

‘Hmm?’

‘He sounded wistful.’

Slider sighed. ‘I’ll ring him tomorrow. I’ll
make
time. I’ve got him on my conscience.’

‘You haven’t got room on your conscience for anything else. I looked at more flats today.’

‘Oh?’

‘Nothing we could afford. You wouldn’t believe what a broom-cupboard costs these days. The only thing in our range was a lock-up garage. But it had no plumbing.’

‘What about . . .?’

‘I looked at rentals, too,’ she anticipated. ‘The rents are as much as a mortgage would be. The only reason I can afford this place is that I’ve been here so long the rent’s protected.’

‘I’ve let you down.’

‘Don’t start that. I’m not your dependant. But I just can’t think of a way out. We can’t increase our incomes, and we’ve nothing to sell. Unless . . .’

‘Unless what?’

‘Well, I did think perhaps we could sell George and lease him back. You get a big tax advantage with lease-back.’

‘I’m glad you’ve still got your sensa yumour,’ he said. ‘You’ll need it, living with me. We can’t even get a council flat, since I was foolish enough to marry you. They only give them to unmarried mothers.’

‘I was just wondering about your dad, though. If he’s selling his place, perhaps we could pool our resources and live together.’

‘You wouldn’t mind?’ Slider was amazed and touched.

‘I love your dad.’

‘But it’s different having him to live with us.’

‘Well, it’d be the other way round, really, since the money would be his.’

He kissed her brow tenderly. ‘Thank you for the thought. I’m glad you like the old man that much. But you don’t know that he’d want to live with us.’

‘I think he would. He was hinting that he’d like to move closer to us.’

‘Closer and with aren’t the same thing. But anyway, that cottage can’t be worth much – not enough to buy somewhere in London, let alone something big enough for the four of us.’

‘Oh well,’ she said comfortably, ‘we’ll just have to stay put. At least we’ve got a roof over our heads. People in past times lived in small spaces and shared rooms.’

‘People in past times had surgery without anaesthetic.’

‘Not the same thing. I think we’ve just got too nice. We’re all going to have to trim our nails if the recession gets bad.’

‘Hmm.’

She could feel he had relaxed, and the ‘hmm’ was much more contented than the first one. They were silent a moment, and then she thought of something that infallibly relaxed him and put him to sleep afterwards. She laid her lips against his ear, and whispered, ‘How would you feel about a close encounter of the marital kind?’

‘Hmm,’ he murmured into her neck. And one second later she felt the infinitesimal thud as he fell off the cliff of consciousness and into the void of sleep. It was that quick when you were as tired as he was. Smiling in the darkness, she held him until he was deep enough under for her to release herself without waking him, then turned over into her own sleep position.

TWENTY

You Must Remember This; A Kiss is Still a Coordinated Interpersonal Labial Spasm

T
ufnell ‘Tufty’ Arceneaux, who described himself as ‘The Bodily Fluids Man’ with more than a coincidental accuracy, rang Slider as soon as he was at his desk in the morning. ‘Bill, old chum!’ he roared (everything about Tufty was larger than life). ‘How’s the world treating you? How’s the wife? How’s the nipper?’

‘He’s great fun,’ Slider said. ‘He’s just started crawling.’

‘That’ll be useful training for later life! Especially if he wants to get on in the police force.’

‘We’re not allowed to call it that. It’s the police service now.’

‘Makes you sound like a lot of bloody tennis players.’

‘How’s Diana? Is she enjoying the job?’ Tufty’s wife had recently gone back to work in an advertising agency.

‘Loves it. A prank a minute. They’ve just taken on a new product, Galaxy-type chocolate bar called Destiny. She put up a whole folder, artwork and everything, with the slogan “It’s the Destiny that shapes our ends”. Did it with a straight face,’ he concluded admiringly.

‘They’ll sack her if she’s not careful.’

‘Oh, no, they love her. All the others are under twenty-five. She’s the only one who can spell. Anyway, I’ve pulled every digit out of every orifice, done the impossible, and got all your analyses done.’

‘All of them? That’s amazing,’ Slider said. ‘I thought I’d have to wait until Monday at least.’

‘What are you talking about? I’ve had them since Tuesday.’

‘I know you had the first ones on Tuesday, but Freddie only sent the foetal tissue on Thursday.’

‘I can do it in thirty-six hours when I have to. Come to think of it, I’ve done it
for
thirty-six hours when I’ve had to, but that’s another story.’

‘Well, I’m very grateful.’

‘Special service for my old and bestest chum. Fact is, when the foetal tissue came in, I thought there’s no point in the one lot without t’other, so I got on with it without waiting for you to fast-track. Now, if that doesn’t warrant an invite to dinner with you and your charming mate, I don’t know what does.’

‘Absolutely as soon as I’ve got this case sorted out, we’ll do it,’ Slider said, thinking doubtfully of how easy it would be to fit Tufty’s large frame and its even more enormous appetite into Joanna’s small sitting room, where the only table was.

‘Excellent, old chum-bum. Nosh-date, potential, duly noted in the almanac. Now, regarding your samples – the foetal tissue does
not
match the profile you gave me from the records – Michael Carmichael? God, what a name!’

‘Carmichael is not the father?’

‘Not in those trousers. Have you got anyone else you want me to check it against?’

‘Not yet, but I hope to very soon.’

‘Ah, a hot suspect in the offing, eh?’

‘What about DNA from the tights and the chain?’

‘Couldn’t get anything from the tights, just a few of the victim’s own skin cells. But there was a trace of blood and a few cells on the chain. I managed to work it up, and we have a match between that and the foetal DNA. Whoever cut his hand on the chain was also the baby’s progenitor. I’d say father but it doesn’t seem a very fatherly act to kill the mother, now does it?’

‘Not when I was a boy scout. Thanks, Tufty. That’s a great help.’

‘Let me know when you’ve got something to match it against, and I’ll put it through on the express till. Five items or less. You’ve got room in your basket. Well, back to the grindstone. Dyb dyb, old horse.’

‘Dob dob,’ Slider responded absently, his mind already on the next thing.

Porson was late in, having gone to Hammersmith first, straight from home, and he was still inhaling his first mug of coffee when Slider arrived at his door.

‘Good news, sir,’ he said.

‘I’m up for that,’ Porson said.

Slider told him about the DNA typing, and went on, ‘And we’ve just had the phone records back, for Carmichael’s home phone and Tyler Burton’s mobile. The number Zellah called from each was the same. It was Alex Markov’s.’

Porson put down his mug so sharply a slurp of coffee sprang over the rim. ‘Bloody hell, that’s a relief,’ he said, giving himself away completely.

‘That’s how I felt, sir,’ Slider admitted. A theory’s all very well, but one is as good as another until you get something solid to back it up. ‘And we’ve got a good possibility the car under the bridge was his. Same make and colour, anyway, though it’s a pity we haven’t got a reg number.’

‘Plus he lied to you about not having a car,’ Porson added, dragging a handkerchief from his pocket and mopping the spilled coffee with it. His wife was dead and he did his own laundry now, Slider reflected. ‘Right, how do you want to proceed?’

‘I need to get a DNA sample from him so I can check it against the foetus and the sample from the chain,’ he said.

‘You could arrest him,’ Porson said, stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket. ‘You’ve got enough to be going on with.’

‘I’ve been thinking about it, sir,’ Slider said, ‘and I’d like to get him to come in voluntarily, get him relaxed and then catch him unawares. I think with the right handling we could get a confession out of him, and that would make things much easier.’

Porson nodded. ‘I’m all for that. But how are you going to get him to come in?’

‘I think I know how,’ Slider said.

‘Well, go to it, laddie, and best of luck. It’d be good to get this cleared up today. Mr Wetherspoon was asking me questions this morning. He’s got a new protégé he’d like to parachute into a front-line unit for experience. If it comes our way I want to refuse, but I need a bit of leverage to fight it off, and a quick result in the hand is worth a nod to a blind horse.’

‘Absolutely, sir,’ said Slider. ‘I’ll do my best.’

‘I know, laddie. You always do,’ said Porson.

‘How are you going to get him in?’ Atherton asked.

‘Stop breathing down my neck. I have a plan.’

‘A man with a plan: Panama.’

‘Right. And if it doesn’t work, I’ll eat my hat.’

‘It was a
canal
!’

‘Stop burbling, it’s ringing. Hello? Mr Markov? It’s Detective Inspector Slider here. Shepherd’s Bush police station. You remember I called on you – yes, that’s right. Oh, coming along slowly. These things take time. Mr Markov, there are just a couple more questions I’d like to ask you. It’s just a small thing, but it’s as well to get these things cleared up. Well, I wondered if you could pop into the station here this morning? If you wouldn’t mind. Yes, I could come out to you, but,’ he lowered his voice, ‘I assume your wife is there, and I would hate to disturb her. There are some aspects of the case I’m sure you’d prefer not to expose her to. Quite. There’s no need for her to be involved in any unpleasantness. Everything said here will be confidential. Indeed. Yes. Thank you so much. I’ll expect you shortly, then.’

He put down the phone and smiled like a cat. ‘He thinks I’ve cottoned on that he and Zellah were making the beast with two backs. He’ll come in to explain it away somehow.’

‘Devious and unscrupulous,’ Atherton said. ‘I like it!’

Markov looked as though he hadn’t slept much for days. He had shaved for the occasion and put on clean clothes, but his skin was slack with too much alcohol, and there were bags under his eyes. The eyes themselves were bloodshot, and his nose was red around the nostrils and kept running. ‘I think I’m getting a cold,’ he said, to excuse the constant need to sniff and wipe. ‘These summer colds are the devil – worse than the winter sort, I always think.’

‘Yes, very nasty,’ Slider said in a friendly way. ‘And so unfair, somehow. One feels far more put upon.’ He gestured Markov into a seat in the interview room, and went round to the other side of the table. ‘Can I offer you tea, or coffee?’

‘No, thank you. I wouldn’t mind some water, though.’

Slider had him brought a small bottle of mineral water and a plastic cup, and sat with hands relaxed on the table in front of him while Markov unscrewed the cap, poured some water and drank it. The action and Slider’s demeanour were working on him. The wariness with which he had entered had evaporated. He obviously thought that he was going to be able to talk his way out of whatever was coming.

‘Well, now,’ Slider said, with a comfortable smile, ‘I expect you’re wondering what all this is about. It’s quite a small thing, but I do need to have it cleared up. It’s about your wife’s car.’

‘Oh yes?’ Markov said. He frowned, as if he were trying to remember what, if anything, he had ever said about the car.

‘You did say that she cycled to work?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Then I wonder why you didn’t report it missing on Sunday night.’

‘Missing?’

‘If you knew she hadn’t taken it, it must have been stolen, mustn’t it?’

‘It wasn’t stolen,’ he said, looking puzzled. ‘It was there this morning.’ A blush spread through his waxy face as he remembered he had previously repudiated all knowledge of a car. ‘Oh! I mean – when I said before . . . it was . . . I didn’t . . .’

‘You said you didn’t own a car. Quite.’

‘It was the truth,’ he protested.

‘Yes, I know – your wife owns it. What I want to know is, what was it doing under the railway bridge at Old Oak Common on Sunday night?’ Markov looked absolutely stumped, his face rigid, his eyes stationary. ‘We know your wife was at work on Sunday night. You can’t work in an intensive-care unit without having plenty of witnesses to the fact. You, on the other hand, were at home, with no one to vouch for you.’