Kissing the Demons (11 page)

The story was the same each time. It had been an ordinary Monday morning and nobody had seen or heard anything unusual. The clichés were trotted out again and again. Nobody could believe that such a thing could happen and the general consensus of opinion was that it was either ‘terrible', ‘shocking' or ‘awful'.

The sixth member of staff to be interviewed was the man who had been with Peter Darman when the body was found. Den Harvey, in contrast to his boss, was somewhat overweight. His well-worn tracksuit bottoms had a tendency to slip down over his bulging middle and he kept hauling them up for decency's sake. He had a round, unhealthy-looking face and Joe caught a strong whiff of sweat as the man sat down reluctantly in front of them.

As Harvey gave them the account of the discovery in his own words, Joe noted that it varied a little from Peter Darman's. Harvey reckoned she was probably a student at the university. You could tell them a mile off, he said. And he seemed to know that she'd been stabbed. When Emily asked him how he knew, he merely shrugged and said it was simple. He took a special interest in murder, he said almost proudly. He liked reading true crime books and, if you knew what you were looking for, these things were obvious.

Joe was about to ask more questions but Emily gave his knee a warning nudge under the desk. They watched the man leave in silence. But as soon as he was out of the room Emily spoke.

‘I'd like to find out more about our Mr Harvey.'

‘So he's on our list?' Joe said with a conspiratorial smile.

‘Oh I think that goes without saying, Joe, don't you?'

Matt was alone in the house. But as he tried to concentrate on his work, he kept hearing sounds, muffled thuds and shuffles as if someone was downstairs. But he knew the others were out. At first he tried to ignore it. But eventually he put his music on. The house was getting to him. And however many times he tried to tell himself that it was all in his head, he still felt like an unwelcome visitor in the place. It wasn't something he could put into words but he knew there was something there that didn't want him . . . or any of the others for that matter. It watched from the shadows, hostile and full of resentment. It wished them ill. He'd always prided himself on being level headed – a man of science. But since he'd found out about the history of the house, the place frightened him.

He sat at his desk for a while staring at the notes in front of him, his eyes hardly focusing. Then he remembered that a couple of days ago he had seen an article in the local paper about a clergyman who worked at the cathedral. The journalist had portrayed this George Merryweather as a pleasant, down-to-earth man, even though his role was the Diocesan exorcist – or, Deliverance Minister as he preferred to be called. Matt had torn the piece from the paper and kept it, not quite knowing why. Perhaps it was the thought that Obediah Shrowton or his victims hadn't quite gone away. He wasn't sure but he kept hold of that newspaper cutting like a talisman. If things got really bad in the house, George Merryweather seemed the type who wouldn't laugh at his fears.

He spread his notes out on the desk in front of him and turned up the volume on his iPod. Then he heard something behind the thumping rhythm of the music. The doorbell. Someone was at the door.

He switched the music off and made his way downstairs. The sight of DI Plantagenet and DCI Thwaite standing on the doorstep with solemn faces told him something was wrong. When they'd come before they'd been friendly and smiling. But now they looked like the bearers of bad news. He stood aside to let them in.

‘Let's go and sit down, shall we,' Joe said gently.

Matt allowed himself to be shepherded into the living room where he sat on the sagging sofa.

‘We've found a body,' Joe said softly. ‘And I'm afraid we think it's Petulia. We'll need to talk to you and everyone else in the house. And we'll need to contact her next of kin.'

‘I'm sorry,' Emily said. ‘It must be a shock.'

Matt felt numb, as though his body didn't quite belong to him. He'd been worried about Pet but somehow he hadn't expected this brutal finality.

‘Her family . . . do you know where they live?'

‘No. I only know her dad's in Dubai and she didn't get on with her stepmother.' He took a deep breath. ‘How . . . how did she die?'

‘We think she was murdered.'

Matt could hear his heart thumping as if it was trying to escape the cage of his chest. ‘Where was she found?'

‘Behind Bearsley Leisure Centre. Do you know of any reason why she should be there?'

Matt shook his head vigorously. Pet had never been one for sweaty gyms or early morning swims and he said as much to Joe and Emily.

‘Is anybody else in?' Joe asked.

Before Matt could answer he heard the sound of the front door opening and they all looked round as Jason entered the room, wearing his combat jacket, buttoned up against the cold of the morning.

‘This is starting to feel like police harassment.'

Matt turned round. ‘Shut up, Jason. Pet's dead.'

Jason froze. ‘You're joking,' he said after a few long seconds.

‘It's hardly the sort of thing I'd joke about,' Matt said. ‘They found her body this morning. At the leisure centre.'

Jason opened his mouth to say something then shut it again. He looked shocked but not particularly upset.

‘They need to ask us some questions . . . and they've got to trace her family.'

‘She didn't get on with them.'

‘So I've heard,' said Emily. ‘But they still need to be told.'

Jason bowed his head, his first gesture of sorrow. ‘How did she die?'

‘She was murdered . . . stabbed,' said Emily bluntly.

‘I expect it was a mugging gone wrong.' He looked round. ‘I'm bloody starving. Hope there's some bread left.'

Matt felt anger rise like bile in his throat and he almost forgot the presence of the two detectives. All he saw was Jason, mocking and uncaring, smearing Pet's memory.

He flung himself at his housemate, fists clenched, and tried to aim a punch at his face. But before he could make contact he felt a pair of strong arms pulling him away. DI Plantagenet had him in a restraining hold, muttering calming words in his ear. After a few moments Matt shrugged him off. ‘OK, OK, I'll leave it.'

He looked at Joe and saw sympathy in his eyes, as though he understood. Then he felt the tears coming.

Barrington Jenks climbed into the first class carriage of the London train, thankfully separated from the crowd of less privileged humanity who were being herded into the overflowing second class carriages.

The attendant smiled to greet him. ‘Good morning, sir.'

He gave the man a gracious nod in return before making for his seat. Once he was settled, he took out his official briefcase, preparing to make a pretence of working. He laid the documents out on the table before him but he didn't see the words on the paper. He had other things on his mind.

His wife was expecting him at their London flat for lunch then he intended to put in an appearance at the House. What he didn't know was that his well-planned day was about to be disrupted.

When his mobile phone rang he looked at the calling number and answered swiftly, aware that his hand had begun to shake.

‘Yes?'

‘I've booked a room at the Turpin. Be there in an hour.'

‘I'm on my way to London. I can't just . . .'

‘Suit yourself.' There was a pause. ‘But the police might be interested in . . .'

‘OK. I'll be there.'

The train wasn't due to set off for ten minutes and he had to make a decision. After a few moments' consideration, he gathered his papers together, spilling some on to the carriage floor. He knelt to retrieve them, hardly aware, in his agitated state, that the position was undignified, hardly worthy of a Member of Parliament and an Under Secretary of State in the Department of Justice. At last, when the papers had been rounded up and corralled into his briefcase, he looked up and saw that a woman in a grey business suit was watching him with detached interest. He gave her an apologetic smile and hurried off the train.

He had little choice. Jasmine had summoned him. And disobedience wasn't really an option.

Emily had organized a detailed search of Petulia's room and contacted the university for details of her next of kin: a father in Dubai and a stepmother in Dorset who would have to be told the bad news. When she'd enquired about Pet's tutor, Ian Zepper, she'd been told that he was at a meeting in Sheffield that morning but he'd be back after lunch.

As the father wouldn't be easy to reach, Joe arranged for the Dorset police to inform the stepmother and then sort out a car to bring her up to Yorkshire. He couldn't help recalling how two police officers, one a young rookie the other a sergeant who had seen it all before, had come to the hotel to break the news that Kaitlin's body had been found at the foot of some nearby cliffs. He knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of something like that and the memory made him feel slightly sick, especially when he thought of Kirsten trying to rake the whole thing up again.

But he couldn't dwell on his sister-in-law's thoughtlessness. He needed to discover everything he could about Pet Ferribie.

He couldn't forget the fact that Andy Cassidy had made the effort to call him with Ian Zepper's name. He needed to know more about Pet's relationships and perhaps another go at her housemates would pay off.

Matt had already given his statement and somehow Joe thought he seemed the straightforward, reliable type who may have been a little in love with Pet. And if this was the case he seemed to have accepted her lack of reciprocal affection philosophically.

Matt reckoned that Pet might have had a bit of a crush – a delightfully old-fashioned term, in Joe's opinion – on her tutor, Ian Zepper. She'd been planning to move into a flat in Zepper's house the following year so maybe they were close – but she'd never said much about their relationship.

Matt had called Caro at the university and she'd returned as soon as her lecture was over. She was downstairs now, still apparently cool and businesslike after uttering the obligatory expressions of shock. Only her clenched hands and nervous eyes betrayed that she felt Pet's death more than she cared to let on.

Jason had retreated to his room like a sulky child after his spat with Matt and hadn't come down again. When Joe went up there he could hear music drifting from the room. Thomas Tallis Mass for Four Voices. It seemed Jason shared his musical tastes. He knocked and when there was no answer, he turned the handle but he found the door was locked.

‘It's DI Plantagenet. Can I have a word?'

‘I've nothing to say. No comment.'

Joe took a deep breath. ‘I can break this door down and then you can answer some questions down at Police Headquarters if you'd prefer.' He stood waiting for the threat to have the desired effect.

Eventually the door opened and Jason Petrie stood there in front of him. ‘I would have thought all this would be a bit beneath you with a name like yours,' he said with a smirk.

Joe, who had heard it all before, didn't dignify the remark with a reply.

‘Like the music,' Joe said as he entered the room. It was tidier than most student rooms he'd seen. And the audio equipment was top of the range.

‘It's Thomas Tallis. Sixteenth century.'

‘I know.'

Jason raised his eyebrows and looked at Joe as though he suspected he was lying. ‘I studied music for a year in Manchester. Then I got sick of it and decided to switch to English, which I've since dropped . . . hence my visit to the dole office first thing this morning.'

‘If you studied music, you and Pet must have had a lot in common?'

‘I wouldn't say that,' he said quickly. ‘I like to live dangerously. How did Pet put it? I like kissing the demons.'

‘Kissing the demons. Was that something she made up?'

‘No idea. But it was something she accused me of doing. When I asked her what it meant, she said it was flirting with dangerous situations . . . or people.'

‘And did she kiss the demons?'

‘I really couldn't say. Mind you, I always thought that she had secrets that she didn't share with us mere mortals.'

‘What secrets would they be?'

‘Haven't a clue.'

‘Was Matt close to her?'

‘He never stood a chance. Born to be mild, that one. And besides, I reckon she liked her men much older . . . and with more money.'

‘Did she ever mention her tutor, Ian Zepper?'

Jason grinned. ‘I heard from a friend of a friend that they'd been seen huddled together sharing secrets and sweet nothings. Very furtive. I've heard that he plays in an early music group.'

Joe thought for a few moments. ‘She was last seen on Saturday on her way to the Early Music Festival. Could she have been meeting him there, do you think?'

Jason gave an inscrutable smile and Joe sensed that he was enjoying himself, tantalizing the police, letting out tiny drips of information. ‘You'll have to ask him yourself.'

‘We will. Is there anyone else you can think of who knew her well – friends or lovers?'

Jason shook his head. Then he looked straight at Joe, his expression serious. ‘She was very beautiful.'

‘I've seen her.'

‘Yes, but she was dead. That's different.'

There was something cold in the way Jason said the words, almost as if he knew that her lovely face had been desecrated, and Joe felt a shiver travel up his spine. ‘Did you have a relationship with her?'