Kissing the Demons (21 page)

‘Did you?'

‘I'd like to prove he was lying. I'd like to clear my name.'

‘Thank you, Mr Cassidy. You've been very helpful.'

They were words Andy Cassidy had never expected to hear from a police officer and he couldn't help smiling to himself as he shut the door.

When Joe returned to the incident room there was a message from George Merryweather waiting on his desk. Could Joe ring him back? Joe dialled George's number and the phone was picked up after three rings.

‘Joe, I'm glad it's you. I'm worried about something . . . and it involves a murder victim.'

Joe sat back in his seat, picked up a pen and began to doodle on a blank sheet of paper in front of him. ‘Go on.'

‘Have you eaten?'

Joe looked at his watch. It was two o'clock already and he'd had nothing since breakfast. ‘I'll see you at the National Trust café in fifteen minutes.'

He thought he'd better let Emily know where he was going and as he entered her office she put phone down with a sigh.

‘Pet's dad's arrived from Dubai. He'll be here about four.'

‘I'm going to have a word with George Merryweather. He says he has some information for me.'

She smirked. ‘The Exorcist. Has he got a message from the other side?'

Joe rolled his eyes. He'd heard it all before. ‘He's been talking to Pet's housemates. Maybe they told him things they wouldn't tell the police. I won't be long.'

‘You'd better not be.' She paused. ‘Do you think Jade is alive?'

‘Do you?'

‘The poor bloke's probably clutching at straws.'

Joe raised his eyebrows. ‘I know it sounds awful to say this but I didn't like Steve Portright.'

Emily gave him a conspiratorial smile. ‘Tell you the truth, Joe, neither did I. But none of the parents were suspected at the time. Off you go then,' she said with a wink.

Joe hurried out of the building and walked quickly through the streets to the cathedral, weaving in and out of ambling tourists. He reached Vicars Green and saw the National Trust café on the corner where the Green meets Gallowgate. George was waiting for him as promised at a corner table and they ordered sandwiches and a pot of tea to keep body and soul together.

They lowered their voices, which was probably unnecessary as the young woman on the table next to them was preoccupied with keeping her two young children entertained and under control. Joe found himself watching her. He would have liked children himself but life hadn't worked out that way. He caught the young woman's eye and smiled but she shot him a suspicious look.

‘Now then, George, what did you want to tell me?'

‘I had a phone call from Matt Bawtry last night. He was in a bit of a state. He's been hearing odd noises. And he had a fight with Jason last night because he wanted to hold a seance to contact the murdered girl.'

‘I'm surprised Caro didn't put a stop to it.'

‘In spite of appearances I think it's Jason who controls that house.'

Joe didn't reply. The social dynamics of thirteen Torland Place wasn't something he'd really given much thought to.

‘According to Matt he arranged the fancy dress party they had.'

‘And he was one of the last people to see Pet alive.'

‘I called round to see Matt this morning. Jason was there and he gave me a bit of a hard time. Asked me how I could believe such nonsense and all that. I told him that there's an earthly and often mundane cause for nine out of ten of supposed psychic phenomena but there are always things that can't be explained. I invited him to share his opinion of what had been going on.'

‘And what did he say?'

‘Nothing. And I don't think he was comfortable with that.'

‘With the place possibly being haunted?'

‘With there being something beyond his control.'

‘What did Matt have to say?'

‘He's frightened, Joe. He thinks that whatever's in that house is responsible for Pet's death. He's convinced there's some kind of curse on the place.' He took a sip of tea. ‘I'm going there tomorrow.'

‘To do an exorcism?'

‘To pray. In the meantime a theology student I know is finding out all he can about the Obediah Shrowton case using primary sources that might tell us something the Internet can't.'

Joe took the last bite of his sandwich. ‘You should have my job,' he said, looking at his watch. ‘I'll have to go, George. Let me know how it goes tomorrow, won't you?'

‘Heard from Kirsten?'

Joe shook his head. ‘She's gone down in Devon. Let's hope she decides to stay there.' He stood up to leave.

‘Take care, Joe,' George said as a parting shot after they'd said their farewells. He sounded concerned and Joe wondered why.

He got back to the incident room at ten past three and made straight for Emily's office. As he passed Jamilla's desk he saw that she was studying her computer screen intently and making notes. Intrigued, he stopped and spoke to her.

‘Found anything interesting?'

Jamilla hesitated for a few moments before answering. ‘A young woman was found stabbed in London seven years ago.' She hesitated. ‘The killer had tried to hack off her nose. I'm waiting for the Met to get back to me with the details.'

Joe's brain was racing. ‘Think it could be our man?'

‘There do seem to be similarities. Her name was Roni Jasper, aged twenty-one and she was found in an alleyway not far from the House of Commons.'

He told Jamilla to keep up the good work and hurried to Emily's lair.

‘Has Jamilla told you about the murder in London?'

‘Yes. But don't get too excited, Joe. It might be nothing to do with our case.'

He sat down on the visitor's chair. Emily was right; they really shouldn't be making connections that might not exist.

‘It's coming up to half three,' she said. ‘Why don't we both go and meet Mr Ferribie off his train and we can take him to the pub for a chat. Let's face it, he'll be miserable enough without making him suffer the interview room.'

Emily was right. The police station was no place for a grieving relative. Especially one with the cast iron alibi of being over a thousand miles away at the relevant time.

They both put on their coats before leaving the office; rain was forecast and the clouds looked ominous. But Joe sensed that Emily was glad to get out of the incident room into the fresh air.

They walked slowly and it wasn't long before they reached the rather grand entrance to Eborby station. The place was bustling as usual but it didn't take them long to cross the ornate bridge over the tracks and reach the draughty platform where the London train was due to arrive.

After waiting expectantly for five minutes they saw the train in the distance, approaching at a stately pace. Soon the sleek engine glided past with a shrieking of brakes and the carriages drew to a halt in front of them. They stood back and watched the passengers disembark, searching the sea of faces for lone men of a certain age.

Suddenly Joe felt Emily grab his sleeve and haul him backwards. ‘There's Jenks,' she hissed.

‘Four-day week,' said Joe in a loud whisper. ‘Can't be bad. Do we have a word or . . .'

‘No. But we could pay him a call sometime – ruin his weekend.'

‘The Super won't be pleased.'

‘The Super can take a running jump off the city walls. Jenks is in something up to his neck . . . if only we knew what that something was.' She released her grip on his sleeve. ‘Any sign of Mr Ferribie?'

‘That could be him.' Joe pointed at a tall man in his late forties with a small wheelie case. He was tanned with grey, well cut hair and he wore chinos and an open necked shirt that seemed unsuitable for the chilly northern spring.

Emily stepped forward. ‘Mr Ferribie?' The man nodded warily and Emily thrust out her hand. ‘I'm DCI Emily Thwaite and this is DI Joe Plantagenet. We could go back to the police station and have some disgusting tea from the machine or there's a good pub nearby . . .'

‘The pub would be fine.' He sounded grateful. ‘It's a bit colder here than where I've been.' He opened up the case and took out a cagoule which wouldn't keep out the Yorkshire breeze, but it would keep him dry if the heavens decided to open.

Joe took charge of the wheelie case as they made their way out of the station and crossed the busy road. Ferribie looked rather lost and Joe felt sorry for him. A pint of Black Sheep would do him the world of good.

Once in the pub Emily found a free table and Joe went to the bar. When he returned he found the pair deep in conversation.

‘I was just saying to Paul here that we're doing our best to find out who killed Pet,' Emily said as he put the drinks down.

Paul Ferribie nodded. He looked as though the reality had started to dawn on him. Back in Dubai it had probably seemed like a bad dream.

‘Paul tells me that Pet chose Eborby University because her mother was last heard of here.'

Joe caught Emily's eye. This was something new. ‘Have you met Pet's housemates?'

Paul shook his head. ‘I haven't seen my daughter for over a year. Maybe if I'd stayed in England to look after her . . .'

‘Don't blame yourself,' said Emily.

But Joe knew her words were futile. The man would be blaming himself until his dying day.

‘I left her with her stepmother. I thought everything was OK between them until Jane took it into her head to go off with some . . . Pet was upset about it, what with her mum vanishing like that and . . . I should have come back and tried to sort things out but we were busy with a new contract. I offered to pay for her to come out to stay with me but she had her university work and her music and . . .'

Joe put a reassuring hand on his arm. ‘If you don't feel like talking now . . .'

Paul drained his pint. Joe got him another. After taking a couple of sips from the new glass, he took a deep, shuddering breath.

‘What do you need to know? If there's anything I can do to help . . .'

‘Tell us about your first wife,' said Emily gently.

‘Her name was Helen and she looked just like Pet . . . a beautiful, fragile blonde. She was what they used to call a free spirit.'

‘Go on.'

‘She started taking art classes. She had no talent but I never said anything. You don't like to trample on people's dreams, do you? She began to hang around with artists – or rather people who liked to call themselves artists.'

‘She had affairs?'

‘I never asked. Looking back, I can see that she only stayed with me for the financial security. I don't think she'd have enjoyed starving in a garret whatever she might have said.'

‘Was this after Pet was born?'

‘Oh yes. Pet must have been about eleven. I suppose all this art business started as a way of filling the time once Pet was at school.'

‘What happened when she left?'

‘She came from Eborby originally and she said she fancied going back. I thought it would just be for a few weeks but then she wrote to me to say that she'd met someone else – a chef. She said she was staying and not to bother looking for her.' He bowed his head. ‘I wondered how she could do that to Pet. But some people are just selfish; they say they want to find themselves and sod everyone else.'

‘You never tried to look for her?'

‘After about ten months I came up here. I didn't have an address but I checked if she was on the electoral register and I even made enquiries at the police station but nobody had heard of her. Then I traced a man she'd shacked up with for a while. He was a chef like she said. Paolo Jones his name was.'

Joe caught Emily's eye. It looked as if the mystery of Paolo had been solved.

‘He told me she'd stayed with him for a few weeks but then she'd gone looking for a place of her own. He swore he didn't know where she was and I believed him. As a last resort I went to the police and they asked me if I wanted to report her missing but she'd gone of her own free will and what's to say she hadn't moved on somewhere else?'

‘You say Pet was hoping to find her. Do you know if she made any progress?'

‘She called me to say she'd met someone who'd offered to help. She said he owned property around here and he had useful contacts.'

‘Did she tell you his name?'

‘Sorry.'

But Joe thought that Cassidy fitted the bill perfectly and it would explain their secretive meeting. However, if that was the case, why hadn't Cassidy been open with them?

‘Do you mind if we talk some more tomorrow? I'd like to get to the hotel and have a lie down before . . .'

Joe nodded. He'd almost forgotten that Ferribie was due to identify his daughter's body later that afternoon. ‘If there's anything you need . . .' he said.

‘Only my daughter back,' Pet's father replied as he drained his glass.

Nurses never liked to cross the railway bridge next to the General Hospital alone after dark. Many years ago a girl had been attacked there and the area's reputation for danger had lingered long after the event like an unpleasant odour.

The only source of light was a tall street lamp overhead which cast a sickly yellow glow on the scene. But it was a short cut and the perils of the night were pretty low on Mrs Ackroyd's list of priorities that Thursday evening. She had other things on her mind as she began to climb the litter-strewn concrete steps up to the bridge, such as how she was going to cope when her elderly mother came out of hospital.