Stalked By Shadows (26 page)

‘The flowers you had in the post,’ Mariner said. ‘We’ve come across something similar before.’

‘Oh?’ Lucy looked uncertainly from one to the other of them. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Lucy, do you know a woman called Nina Silvero?’ Millie asked her.

Her brow creased to a frown. ‘The name is fam- Wait a minute, isn’t she that woman who was killed recently?’

Mariner nodded. ‘But had you heard of her before that? Did you know her?’

‘No.’

‘What about Rachel Silvero, or Rachel Hordern as she’s called now, or Susan Brady? They’re more your age.’

But Lucy knew neither of them.

‘Did you ever have ballet lessons?’ Mariner asked.

‘No.’ She glanced at Millie, her anxiety levels visibly rising. ‘The cheerleading is the closest I got. Look, I’m sure I don’t know any of these people. What is it? What’s going on?’

Mariner chose his words carefully, knowing that what he was about to say would put the fear of God into her. ‘Nina Silvero received some flowers packaged in the same way as yours, and with exactly the same message, about a year ago,’ he said. ‘It seems that she had been getting unwanted phone calls too, and there’s evidence to suggest that she had fears for her own safety.’

‘What kind of evidence?’ Lucy made no effort to disguise her unease now.

‘She’d taken steps to make her house more secure,’ Mariner said.

‘And you think it’s the same person who’s coming after me?’ Lucy asked, her eyes wide.

Mariner took out the photograph he’d brought along. ‘Do you know this man?’

‘Yes, of course I do.’ Now she was baffled. ‘It’s Martin from across the road.’

‘How well do you know him?’

‘Not at all really.’ Lucy shifted uncomfortably. ‘He was very helpful when I moved in to the house.’

‘Helpful how?’ Millie asked.

‘He’s a computer geek. He wired everything up for me.’

Millie and Mariner exchanged a surreptitious look.

‘And since then?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘Nothing much. We speak to each other when our paths cross but that’s about all.’ But she’d coloured. Something she wasn’t saying.

‘Lucy, if there’s anything -’ Millie bided her time and eventually Lucy cracked.

‘It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all,’ she blurted out.

‘What was?’ Mariner wanted to know.

‘Martin came over to look at my computer one evening, not long after I’d moved in,’ Lucy said. ‘He came on to me, but he’d completely misread the signals. He’s a bit, well, old-fashioned looking and I didn’t fancy him so I fielded it. And that was the end of it. It was all perfectly innocent and it was ages ago.’

‘Do you know where he works?’

‘From home mostly. He’s freelance.’

‘He’s at home now?’ Mariner asked.

‘He comes and goes. If his car’s there, he will be. If not, he shouldn’t be long.’ Lucy looked up at Millie. ‘But I don’t understand. You can’t think that Martin’s behind this? He’s harmless.’

‘Did he talk to you about his previous relationships?’ Millie asked her.

‘We didn’t get that close.’

‘So he didn’t tell you that he was subject to an injunction to stop him harassing another woman?’

‘Oh, God. No, he didn’t.’

Leaving Lucy to rest, Mariner and Millie went together to interview Martin Bonnington. The way some men behaved towards women could often be telling, and Mariner wanted to determine his attitude towards Millie. But Bonnington’s car wasn’t on the drive and no one answered the door. They were in for a wait, so, sat in the car.

While they were doing so, Mariner put through a call to Tony Knox. ‘When you were going through Nina Silvero’s paperwork, did you come across any adverts for computer services?’

Knox couldn’t remember seeing any.

‘Bonnington’s a freelancer and helped Lucy with hers,’ Mariner told him. ‘He might have done the same for Nina Silvero. Have another look, will you?’ He ended the call.

‘How’s things with Kat?’ Millie asked.

‘We’ve called a kind of truce. I’ve apologised to her boyfriend and actually he took it surprisingly well. That’s what breeding does for you, I suppose.’

‘And you feel happier about him?’

‘Sort of. Once Kat explained how she met him, it all made sense. I still think he’s too worldly for her, but he does seem to genuinely care about her, and the bottom line is, it’s none of my business, is it?’

‘Is she still talking about moving out?’

‘We haven’t discussed it, but I think -’ He broke off. A Renault Clio had just swung into the drive of number sixteen. They watched the man they assumed to be Bonnington get out of his car and let himself into the house. Several minutes later, they followed him to the door.

Bonnington took a little while to respond. At first glance he wasn’t what Mariner had expected. He was small, probably about five six or seven, and his short dark hair was thinning slightly on top and neatly combed across from a side parting. He wore dark trousers, white shirt and a cardigan. Mariner could see what Lucy Jarrett meant about Bonnington looking old-fashioned. Good looking? He’d have to ask Millie later. The facial expression was one Mariner recognised; Bonnington was afraid they were going to try to sell him something, at worst a religion, and his greeting was mild but uncertain. ‘Hello, can I help?’

Mariner held up his warrant card and made the introductions. ‘Your neighbour, Lucy Jarrett, is being harassed by someone making, among other things, nuisance phone calls,’ he said.

‘Oh. So she pointed you in my direction.’ More than anything, Bonnington sounded hurt.

‘We’re checking out all friends and acquaintances, which means talking to neighbours as well,’ Mariner said. ‘It’s just routine.’

‘Uhu.’

‘Can we come in?’

‘Well, to be honest, it’s not the most convenient . . .’ He tailed off, the weak protest left hanging as Mariner and Millie walked past him into the house. ‘In here.’ He indicated the way into the front living room whose bay windows would have overlooked the street had the wooden slatted blinds not been half closed. A computer work station took up one wall, otherwise the room was sparsely furnished, tidy and spotlessly clean. Mariner remembered Knox’s comment about Nina Silvero’s obsessive compulsive tendency and, in a moment of idle speculation, wondered if this was something she and Bonnington had in common. Perhaps they’d met, like Giles and Kat, through some kind of support group. ‘What are you working on?’ he asked, though he had next to no interest in computers.

‘I’m a freelance programmer,’ said Bonnington. ‘Though Lucy must have told you that. I’m working on an auditing programme for an accounting firm.’

Mariner sat on the white linen sofa with his back to the window, Millie beside him, leaving Bonnington the armchair opposite. All the better to see his face. But instead he chose to sit where he felt most at home, on the office chair beside the computer. He leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees.

‘I understand you and Mrs Jarrett are friends,’ Mariner said.

‘Friends? Is that what she told you? That might be putting it a bit strongly.’

‘So how would you characterise your relationship?’ Mariner asked.

Bonnington shrugged. ‘I helped her to move in, we went out for a couple of drinks and then she dropped me when she had no further use for me.’ He flashed a brief, humourless smile. ‘I’m not sure I’d describe that as friendship.’ He seemed bemused, stating the facts blandly. Mariner was alert to any hint of bitterness, but there seemed to be none.

‘Mrs Jarrett says you made a pass at her,’ he said.

‘Does she?’ The puzzled frown looked real enough. ‘That makes it sound a bit one sided.’

‘You disagree?’

‘She seemed keen enough, to a point,’ said Bonnington. ‘All I did was respond in the way that any normal man would.’

Mariner exchanged a fleeting glance with Millie. They’d both heard that one before. ‘She says you misread the signals,’ Millie said.

‘Oh. Well, of course, she could be right about that,’ he accepted. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time. I don’t have a great success rate with women, generally speaking. But in Lucy’s case -’ he grimaced, straining to recall ‘- I did think it was obvious, even to me.’

‘So why don’t you tell us what you think happened?’ Millie suggested.

‘Well, as I said, we went out about three times. On the last occasion Lucy told me that her Internet connection was playing up. As I’d set up the system for her when she moved in, I felt responsible, so offered to go in and fix the problem. When we got back from the pub we went to her house and I went upstairs to where her computer is. It turned out to be quite simple; for some reason the configuration of the modem had -’

‘You can spare us the technical details,’ Mariner intervened.

‘OK.’ Bonnington seemed puzzled at the lack of interest. ‘Well, then I came back down and Lucy had made tea and we sat talking. We seemed to be getting along well, and we were sitting quite close, so, at what I thought was an opportune moment I leaned over and kissed her. It was probably a bit clumsy, admittedly, but she kissed me back, which I took as an encouraging sign.’

‘You’re sure about that, she definitely kissed you back?’

Bonnington looked Millie in the eye. ‘Oh, yes. I was pleasantly surprised. It doesn’t always work out that way.’

‘And then?’

‘Clothing got unfastened, as I remember it.’

‘Hers or yours?’

‘Both; she worked on mine and I worked on hers, except that she was more adept at it than I was. She had these tiny buttons on her blouse that were impossible, so she progressed further than I did.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘She had her hand inside my trousers before I’d even got the top couple of buttons undone.’

‘And then?’

For the first time Bonnington avoided eye contact, and his colour heightened a little. ‘It was over before it started really.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I ejaculated. I couldn’t help it. It just sort of happened. I suppose it had been a while since - anyway, I apologised and she said it was OK, which clearly it wasn’t. And we both got dressed and I went home.’

‘So that was the end of it?’ said Mariner.

‘Well, a couple of weeks later the man in the van appeared, so what do you think?’

‘The man in the van?’

‘Will drives a transit,’ said Millie. ‘Did you think you were still in with a chance?’ she asked Bonnington.

‘We seemed to get on quite well, and the sex would have improved, I’m sure, but I didn’t get the opportunity to find out, did I?’

‘How did you feel when Lucy “dropped” you?’ Mariner asked.

‘Let’s just say it wasn’t a shock. I could hardly compete, could I?’

‘Do you like him, Will?’

‘From what I’ve seen, I can’t imagine we’d have much in common,’ Bonnington said. ‘And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think he treats Lucy very well.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘I’ve overheard them arguing. He seems to do a lot of storming out. And I think he might be violent towards her.’

‘That’s quite an allegation,’ Mariner observed. ‘Did you contact us earlier this week?’

After a lengthy pause, Bonnington owned up. ‘Yes, that was me.’

‘You didn’t give your name. Why was that?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t want to get involved.’

‘Yet you were happy to report it. Where were they when this argument was taking place?’

‘In the kitchen. Their house is laid out differently, and theirs is in the front. But I suppose you must know that.’

Mariner got up and went across to the window. ‘That must be thirty feet away, and behind the shrubs and double glazing. How did you hear that?’

‘I didn’t, I saw it.’

Mariner strained his eyes. He could hardly see into the kitchen opposite, for one thing there was a thick conifer obscuring the view.

‘From upstairs,’ Bonnington added.

‘And what did you see?’

‘I saw Lucy and her husband leaning in towards each other, you could tell they were shouting, then suddenly Lucy fell to the floor and he stormed out. I tried ringing Lucy but there was no reply, and she didn’t seem to get up again; I couldn’t see her, so I thought the best thing was to call you. I thought I was helping.’

‘How do you feel about Lucy now?’ Mariner asked. ‘Still fancy her?’

Bonnington shrugged. ‘I still think she’s an attractive woman, yes, but I got over it. You have to, don’t you? There’s more to life.’

‘Like computer programming?’ Millie ventured.

‘Are you laughing at me?’ Bonnington didn’t sound in the least bit offended.

‘Not at all,’ Millie said. ‘Are you seeing anyone at the moment, Mr Bonnington?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that a proposition?’

‘Just answer the question,’ Mariner warned.

‘No, I’m not seeing anyone. But that’s pretty much my default setting.’

‘Do you mind that?’

‘It keeps life simple. Don’t get me wrong - I like women, but in my experience they’re complicated.’

‘How well did you know Nina Silvero?’ Mariner asked.

Bonnington didn’t miss a beat. ‘That’s easy. I’ve never heard of her. Who is she?’

‘She was a sixty-one-year-old widow. She was murdered several days ago in her home.’

Bonnington paused, his brow creased in confusion. ‘What’s that got to do with me?’

‘That’s what we’re keen to find out,’ Mariner told him. ‘Someone gave her some industrial paint stripper to drink; sulphuric acid chiefly. It came disguised in a bottle of Chardonnay. The bottle had your fingerprint on it.’

Bonnington remained remarkably calm. ‘I don’t drink white wine,’ he said, as if that settled the matter.

‘All that tells us is that you might have bought this bottle specially,’ Mariner said. ‘Where do you usually shop, Mr Bonnington?’

‘It varies, but mostly Sainsbury’s.’

‘Which one?’

‘In Selly Oak,’ Bonnington said, showing the first signs of impatience. ‘Look, this is ridiculous. I told you, I’ve never even heard of this woman. Why would I want to - how could I - harm a total stranger?’

Mariner ignored the question. ‘What were you doing last Sunday evening between the hours of seven thirty and midnight?’ he asked.