Kissing the Demons (13 page)

Zepper put his head in his hands. Then, after a few moments he looked up. ‘There's an old story that a beautiful woman in white used to emerge from one of the city churchyards and follow the Waits – always at a respectful distance – then she'd suddenly disappear. It was said she was a ghost but . . .' He suddenly looked a little embarrassed. ‘I'm sorry . . . but there was something a little other-worldly about Pet. Sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I, but it's come as a shock.' He straightened his back and took a deep, calming breath. ‘Look, I'd like to help you but I really don't know how I can.'

‘I take it you saw Pet at the concert?'

‘I noticed her in the audience at one point but I didn't have a chance to acknowledge her.'

‘Where did you go when the concert was over?'

‘We changed back into our normal clothes at the Early Music Centre then we all went for lunch and a few pints at the Swan on Ditchgate. I was with my fellow musicians till around three o'clock. Look, like I said I saw her in the audience then I never saw her again. And I certainly had nothing to do with her death.'

‘We never said you did, Dr Zepper. We're just speaking to everyone who knew her.'

‘Of course. I'm sorry. Look if I can help in any way . . .'

‘Were you at a party at Pet's house in Torland Place on Friday night by any chance?'

‘No. I'm not in the habit of going to student parties.'

‘Do you know a man called Andy Cassidy?' Joe asked.

There was no mistaking it, Zepper had turned pale. But he soon regained his composure.

‘I knew him when he was younger. I used to teach his sister the piano.'

‘Why would he want to implicate you in Pet's disappearance?'

Zepper remained silent for a few seconds. Then he shook his head, avoiding Joe's gaze. ‘I've really no idea.'

Joe didn't believe him but he let it rest . . . for now.

‘Who were Pet's special friends? Anybody she used to hang round with. Anyone you can think of who might be able to help us.'

‘You'd have to ask the students she lived with.'

‘I believe she was planning to move into your house next year.'

‘I have a self-contained flat that I let to students. She was going to share with another girl from the department.'

‘Was she close to this girl?'

‘I don't think so. It was just an arrangement of convenience as far as I know.'

‘We'll need to speak to everyone who knew her in the department.'

Zepper gave a resigned nod. ‘I'm sure nobody here would be able to help you. Surely it was a mugging or . . . ? Was she . . . you know . . . sexually assaulted or . . . ?'

‘We're not sure yet, sir,' said Joe quickly. There had certainly been no sign of sexual violence but they would have to wait for the post-mortem to learn more.

Joe had waited till the end to ask the next question. ‘Were you close to Pet?'

‘There was nothing improper about our relationship, if that's what you're getting at. She was an unusual girl; very sensitive. And she would have made a very fine musician. Her death's a tragedy, Inspector, but I know nothing that might be relevant to your investigation. I'm sorry, I can't help you.'

The vehemence of his words almost convinced Joe that he was telling the truth. Almost, but not quite.

‘Where were you at eleven thirty on Saturday night?'

‘I was at home. And before you ask, I have no witnesses. I did some work and had an early night.'

They took their leave with a warning that they might be in touch. In Joe's experience it was always best to leave them a little on their guard.

‘What do you think?' Joe asked as he climbed into the driver's seat.

‘I think he knows more than he's letting on. Do you agree?'

Before Joe could answer, his mobile phone began to ring. When the call ended he turned to Emily. ‘Mrs Ferribie will be here in half an hour.'

Emily did up her seat belt. Facing the relatives of a murder victim was something she always dreaded.

Shame is a powerful emotion and it was one that Barrington Jenks felt strongly as he boarded the later train to London.

When he'd first met Jasmine in that bar he'd been an up and coming estate agent in Eborby. He'd been ambitious and single minded but he'd always found time for a spot of dalliance in his spare time before politics took over his life completely. Then, after that first encounter they'd lost touch – until she'd contacted him again when he'd been elected for parliament eight years ago. Until he'd put his head above the parapet and become a public figure.

After that she kept in touch, a voicemail here, a message at his constituency office there. She'd never asked to meet but the hint had always been there. At times it frightened him. But sometimes living dangerously makes you feel alive.

Jasmine had been surprising in that bland, worn hotel room . . . surprising and dangerous. It had been a thrilling reminder of his past. A past that would be the end of his political career if anyone were to find out. Financial scandal was one thing in the world of Westminster and sex was another. But what he and Jasmine had done all those years ago would surely ruin him. There would be no redemption after something so terrible.

Jenks settled himself down in the first class compartment, well away from anybody who might conceivably vote for him, and opened his briefcase. It was time to get down to business.

Like her stepdaughter, Jane Ferribie wore her silky blonde hair long and straight. She was dressed in well fitting jeans and a white shirt that Emily later said must have cost a fortune. From behind she would have passed for a teenager and, even face on, she had the unlined look of a woman in her mid thirties who attended the gym each day. Maintaining looks like that tends to demand a lot of single-minded effort. But Joe's training for the priesthood, although interrupted, had taught him never to make judgements. Instead he wondered why she felt she had to go to so much trouble to hold back the years.

As she talked to Emily, he soon learned the answer. Jane was Pet's father's second wife and a year ago she'd abandoned him to live with a much younger man. Her husband had been due to move to Dubai with his work and, as she hadn't wanted to live in the Middle East, the decision had been easy. She'd left Paul and moved in with Carl, and Pet had shown her disgust by never speaking to her again. Keeping up with Carl was hard work, of course. And she hadn't told him about Pet's murder . . . he didn't like illness and death.

Emily caught Joe's eye. Jane might be on borrowed time as far as Carl was concerned and probably deserved their sympathy, with or without a step daughter in the mortuary.

‘I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs Ferribie,' Joe said after a long silence.

‘Thank you,' she said with a weak smile. ‘I can't tell you anything about her life here, you know.' Her tone was almost defensive. ‘We were never what you'd call close. I only married her dad when she was fifteen and after I left him she never spoke to me again.'

‘What about Pet's biological mother?'

There was a pause before Jane answered. ‘When Pet was eleven she disappeared – walked out of the house one day and never came back.'

‘It would have been natural for Pet to want to find her,' said Joe. ‘Do you know if she ever tried?'

‘I don't know. I don't think so.'

Joe couldn't help feeling a little sympathy for this woman thrust into a family with a dark hole at its centre – a mother who went out one day and never returned, leaving a damaged child who was bound to give her successor a hard time. Perhaps she couldn't be blamed for seeking comfort in the arms of Carl or any other available man. Who was he to judge?

‘We need to contact your husband,' said Emily, handing Jane a sheet of paper.

Jane took it and scribbled an address. ‘That's the only address I've got for him,' she said, handing it back to Emily.

‘Tell us about Pet,' said Joe. He'd been leaning on the edge of Emily's desk but now he pulled up the spare chair and made himself comfortable.

Jane looked at him. ‘I tried really hard at first but she kept knocking me back, making sarcastic remarks, deliberately excluding me. She made me feel as though I wasn't welcome . . . which I wasn't, I suppose. She used to call me the Wicked Stepmother.'

‘Was that to her friends?'

‘She never had many friends – or if she did she never brought them home. She called me that to her father. And he never told her off about it,' she added as though this had caused years of simmering resentment. ‘She just spent hours practising her violin and piano. Hour after hour of scales and half finished tunes. Used to drive me mad.'

‘I can imagine,' said Joe. ‘So she never confided in you at all?'

‘You're joking. She was a little bitch if you must know.'

‘So you don't know if there was anyone she was afraid of?' Joe knew the question was futile. Pet had kept her distance from the ‘Wicked Stepmother' and she was probably the last person who would learn her innermost secrets.

Jane shook her head. ‘And before you ask, I don't think her father would know any more than I do. Like I said, we weren't what you'd call a close family.'

Joe realized this was a considerable understatement. He was starting to get a picture of Pet Ferribie now and it wasn't a happy one. She'd kept her distance from her family and her housemates. She'd been beautiful but she'd had no close friends.

‘Then she tried it on with Carl,' Jane said unexpectedly.

‘How do you mean?' Emily asked.

‘She started ringing him, asking to meet.'

‘And did he?'

‘He met her for a drink once. He said it was best to put her straight.' She hesitated. ‘She said she'd go to bed with him if he'd finish with me.'

‘What was his reaction?' Joe asked with genuine interest. The Ferribies' family life seemed to contain all the scandal and emotional excitement of a TV soap opera.

‘He told her to get lost. She was trying to get at me and Carl wasn't falling for it,' she said confidently.

Emily glanced at Joe then she stood up. ‘Are you ready to identify her?'

Jane stood up and brushed her hair away from her face. ‘Yeah. OK. Let's get it over with, shall we.'

They drove to the hospital in silence and Joe watched as the sheet was drawn back to reveal Pet's pale, beautiful face. The mouth was closed now, the horror of the severed tongue carefully concealed. He watched Jane, anticipating cool indifference.

But he saw tears in her eyes which was the last thing he expected.

Den Harvey left work early after telling Mr Darman that he wasn't feeling well. Discovering that girl's body had played havoc with his nerves. And his nerves were never good at the best of times.

As he walked through the male changing rooms the echoing voices of the swimmers drifted through on the chlorine-scented air and suddenly he felt a little faint. It was too hot in there, hot and damp like a tropical jungle. He had to get out. He had to get home.

When he reached the staff room he put his key in the battered metal locker in the corner. As the door creaked open he looked at the photographs he had stuck inside. Some of the women at the Leisure Centre would have objected . . . if they knew. But he was careful not to let anybody into his private world where women were naked and compliant and they didn't put up a fight or answer back. A world quite divorced from the reality of his life.

He knew there was nobody watching him so he put out a hand and lovingly brushed the glossy paper thighs of the girl who was lying against his locker door, spreadeagled there in two dimensions for his delight. Then he pulled out his rucksack, slung it over his shoulder and turned the key in the door, knowing that his paper girl would be waiting for him in the morning.

He left the leisure centre by the back door because he wanted to avoid any awkward questions from Tracey on reception . . . and also because he wanted to see what was going on. The police were still there, of course. He knew from all the true crime books he read that they always took their time at a crime scene. He knew all about the search for tiny scraps of evidence and the painstaking sifting of clues. And he knew what they would do to the girl's body on the post-mortem slab. He had read about it so often.

And once he'd even experienced the reality of death in all its inglorious horror. And it had changed him forever.

It wasn't far to the red brick terraced house he shared with his mother in Banff Street and when he opened the front door he heard her voice from the room she always called the front parlour. ‘Is that you?'

Silly question. He answered ‘yes' automatically and made his way upstairs, his footsteps muffled on the richly pattered carpet.

Once inside his room, he leaned against the door for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. Then he turned the key in the lock and sat down at the computer desk in the corner, resting his bare feet on the floor.

When the computer screen flickered into life, Den began to type. Three words.

Kissing the Demons.

TEN

I
t was the second time in an hour that they'd visited the mortuary. The first time they had brought Jane Ferribie to identify her step daughter. Then they had taken her back to her hotel on Boothgate before returning to witness the post-mortem from behind a newly installed glass screen. Emily took up her position, arms folded, and Joe stood beside her while Sally Sharpe began work.