The Death Pictures (36 page)

‘So, Mr Godley, what have you got to tell us?’ asked Adam, as neutrally as he could.

‘I’ll tell you exactly what I’ll tell the jury,’ the man replied, calm and easy, looking Adam in the eye.

The look of a rapist, he thought. Authors would tell you the eyes were cold, emotionless, cruel. That you could see his crimes in them. They’d tell you the hardened detective shivered at the sight. Nothing like it. His eyes are perfectly normal, if anything sparkling with amusement. The beautiful imaginings of his fists pummelling Godley’s face roared back, ricocheted around his mind.

He pushed them away, calmed himself, thought of the worm-charming at Blackawton. It had become a family tradition for them to visit. The insanity was wonderful. That man he saw last year, the one with the little drum kit, beating out an insistent rhythm on the earth, imploring the worms to come to him.

The distraction blunted his anger and cleared his mind. Adam focused back on Godley’s smug face. He knew he had to stay as calm as the detested man he was facing.

‘And what would that be, Mr Godley?’ he asked. ‘What are you planning to tell the jury?’

Number 225, semi detached, next to a playground patch of hilly grass covered in dry mud tracks and with a lopsided football goal at the far end. The house first then. What was there about the house?

A strange thought came to Dan of it being like something he used to draw at junior school. There were four windows, two up and two down, and a door in the middle with a crazy-paved path leading up to it. It was whitewashed, with a grey slate tiled roof and there was nothing in any way remarkable about it. The garden was grassy with a few pink roses and other plants he didn’t recognise colouring the earth beds around its edges. It was absolutely ordinary.

Dan stood back and again looked it up and down. Rutherford sat patiently at his feet, tail thumping on the ground. Still nothing came to him. He looked through the notes and pictures he’d brought, crumpled now and with the odd trail of sweat sliding off them, but still clear.

Could any of this refer to the house? Nothing in the numbers that he could see, and nothing in the imagery, no matter how devious he encouraged his mind to be. Nothing at all. Try a hard learned trick then. Walk away for a bit, let the power of your subconscious chew it over and see if it spits anything out. Let’s try the playground.

He kept Rutherford on the lead as there were kids about and climbed up onto one of the grassy mounds. A couple of young lads wandered carefully over from the football goal.

‘Is this your dog mister?’

Tempting, oh so tempting, but it was a lovely day and the kids were pleasant enough. No need for sarcasm. ‘Yes, he’s mine, and no he doesn’t bite. So yes, you can stroke him.’

They looked at each other in amazement.

‘How did you know we was going to ask that?’

Dan was going to tell the truth, that it’s what every youngster asks, but why spoil the illusion of genius? He didn’t get to experience it very often.

‘Because I can read minds,’ he said in his best mystic voice.

‘Cool.’ They weren’t listening, were too busy rubbing Rutherford’s head and patting his back. The dog tolerated it, as he did.

Dan looked around again. Was there anything here that could possibly relate to any of the pictures? Could the paths in the play area resemble a snake? He knew it was hopeless even as he thought it. He couldn’t see anything that could possibly be a clue. Oh well, another futile attempt he thought, but a pleasant run anyway and at least my hangover’s cleared.

‘Cheers, mister!’ shouted the kids, running back to the goal. The goal… Could the goal be his goal? Tenuous, but worth a try.

He followed them, stood watching the kick about, dodged the odd badly directed shot and knocked the ball back to them. Dan thought he made a nonchalant but thorough job of looking round the posts, but he couldn’t see anything useful at all.

Time to give up, jog back home and have a shower. The sun and his sweat were a potent combination. Better get home before I start to smell.

Then he saw it. The back garden of number 225, small and neat and next to the bird table a metal figure of a red-legged, red-beaked bird. A chough.

His heart started up again and Dan walked across to the wooden fence, looked over. Yes, it was certainly a chough, frozen as though hopping over the earth beneath it. Earth that looked like it had been disturbed recently. Had someone else found the answer? Or was it evidence that it was buried here?

He looked around. No one about. He could hear a radio playing in the house. So there was someone in. He couldn’t very well hop over the fence and start digging, could he? Certainly not with Rutherford to keep an eye on. So could someone have buried the answer here? Why not, if they did it at night? The garden was easy to get into. His heart was still pounding. So how to check? He wasn’t going home now without at least having a look.

He didn’t like to admit it, but this time the honest and obvious solution was going to have to be the one. Dan pulled Rutherford alongside and walked up the paved path. He stared at the door for a moment, then knocked.

Adam sat still, breathed regularly, didn’t fidget. He kept his eyes on Godley, stayed focused. From behind he heard a scrape as Suzanne ran a shoe across the concrete floor, but he remained motionless, eyes locked on the man in front of him.

‘You see, Detective Chief Inspector, I know women. I’ve always been good with women. I’ve always known what they’re thinking.’ The man was talking easily, as if telling the story of a relaxing fishing trip he’d just returned from. ‘And I know what they want. Some women like playing a part you see. I like playing a part myself. So when we get together, it can have very pleasant consequences if you know what I mean?’

Godley smiled, knowing and understanding, one experienced man of the world to another. Again, that image screamed in Adam’s mind, the fists he was clenching under the table beating into Godley’s face, Sarah watching, nodding approvingly. Calm it, control it.

‘I’m not sure I do… sir.’ Neutral tone again, the best he could manage. ‘Please, explain it to me.’

Godley’s smile grew. He stretched out an arm on the table, spread his fingers, yawned.

‘Then perhaps I have more experience of life than you, Chief Inspector.’ Godley paused, waited for a bite, but Adam stayed silent. ‘Some women like it rough, you see. Some women have the oddest fantasies. And they’re more common than you think.’ He paused, scratched an ear with a well-trimmed nail. ‘And do you know what one of the most common is?’

Again that image, Adam’s fists pounding into the man’s face. Push it away, calm, control.

‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ he managed. ‘Do… please… tell me.’

‘Well, it’s like this,’ Godley continued smoothly. ‘And don’t be shocked here, Chief Inspector. I was a little when I first found out, but you get used to it. I came to enjoy it in fact. I was glad to help them.’

Again he smiled, waited for a reaction. Still the detective remained impassive.

Godley nodded gently, then spoke. ‘Some women have this fantasy about sex with a stranger you see. And not just as simple as that. Oh no… nothing quite so easy. They like a little bit of security to go with the excitement. So they want to do it in their homes. And you know what makes them even more excited? If they pretend to themselves they don’t know the man’s coming and he has to break in to get to them. They just love that. It really… gets them going. Oh, it gets them going so much.’

Again the smile, again a pause waiting for the reaction that Adam knew he couldn’t give. Godley leaned forward across the table and dropped his voice, a whispered confidence between old friends.

‘And do you know what they like most of all? The icing on the cake, as it were? They like to pretend they didn’t arrange it all, they didn’t want to do it, that they were forced to. And they like to get the police involved, to give their little fantasy that delicious added reality.’

Godley sat back on his chair. He crossed his legs again and beamed at Adam.

‘Strange, isn’t it? But it’s true, so very true. And I help them with it.’

A balding man in his mid 30s opened the door. He was wearing a green Plymouth Argyle football shirt and tracksuit bottoms, flecked with white paint.

‘Yeah?’ he said suspiciously, looking from Dan to Rutherford. ‘Can I help you?’

For once in his life, Dan was at a loss to explain what he wanted. ‘Errm, yeah,’ he said, but was interrupted by a peroxide blonde older woman joining the man at the door.

‘Here!’ she exclaimed. ‘Aren’t you that guy off the telly?’

An opening, Dan thought. Being recognised could be useful for once. ‘Yes. Yes I am.’

‘Well, come in. Bill, don’t keep guests waiting on the doorstep. I’ve told you about that before. And yes, bring your dog in too. We love animals.’

Dan was ushered into a kitchen which looked out over the garden, and was given a cup of tea. It was old-fashioned, but tidy and clean. An African grey parrot sat on a perch in a silver cage on top of the fridge. It eyed them balefully. ‘One nil to the Argyle,’ it squawked and cackled. Dan tried not to stare.

‘Quiet, Jake,’ the woman said. ‘So what do we owe this honour to?’ she asked as Dan blew steam from his tea. ‘Are you going to put us on TV?’

She was doing all the work here, he thought.

‘You know, I just might,’ he replied. ‘It rather depends. May I ask you an odd question?’ They both nodded. ‘Has anyone come knocking at your door, asking to dig up part of your garden?’

From their obvious bafflement, Dan knew he was the first. Another kick of adrenaline hit him.

They stood in the garden beside the chough, Dan and Bill both with spades in their hands. He’d explained, they’d grown excited, then businesslike. After some bartering, they’d reached a deal. If the answer was here, they’d be interviewed for the TV news and get five thousand pounds.

The one thing that was worrying him was whether someone had beaten him to it. Bill and his mum said no one had come asking to dig up the garden, but what if it had happened at night? The earth looked like it had been disturbed, but Bill said he’d probably done that when he was gardening.

First Dan checked the chough. Nothing, not a hint of a clue. Then they started digging up the ground beneath it, each shifting a spadeful of earth at a time. If there was something important here, he didn’t want to damage it.

It was only a couple of minutes work before there was a dull metallic clank and Bill’s spade stopped abruptly in the earth. He’d hit something. ‘Shit!’ he hissed, falling to his knees, scrabbling the soil away. Dan watched, stroking Rutherford’s head, tried to contain his excitement. He thought back to Advent and then the manhole cover, tried to prepare himself for disappointment. But couldn’t resist kneeling down to look.

They’d uncovered a small metal box the size of a biscuit tin. It was covered with faded flowers. Bluebells, Dan thought with a shock. Bluebells as in Blue Bella. This had to be it.

Bill pulled the tin from the ground, shook off the loose soil and stared at it. He went to lift the lid but his mother slapped his arm.

‘He should open it,’ she said, in a tone which allowed no argument.

Dan was annoyed to see his fingers trembling as he reached for the lid. He found an edge and lifted it. It opened easily. Inside was a piece of paper. ‘Five grand. Come on five grand,’ Bill repeated in a hushed voice. ‘Five grand…’

Dan unfolded the paper. There were some words, handwritten, McCluskey’s writing again. He recognised it now. This time, surely this time. It had to be... Come on, stop shaking fingers, give me a chance to read it. His throat had gone dry. He turned the paper round. What did it say?

‘Not here either!’

* * *

Adam was amazed at how level he managed to keep his voice.

‘So you’re going to tell the jury that these women secretly wanted you to come round and have sex with them, then tried to cover it up afterwards by saying it was rape. And that they added to their fantasies by calling the police in?’

‘That’s it,’ replied Godley warmly.

‘Despite all three giving us sworn statements saying they were attacked and raped in their homes by a man unknown to them? Despite all three of them being willing to testify to that in court?’

‘Well, they would say that wouldn’t they? You know what women are like. They’ll say anything to get themselves out of trouble. They just want to make themselves look good.’

Adam didn’t rise to it, knew what Godley wanted.

‘No jury in the world will believe you.’

‘We’ll have to see, won’t we? It’ll be an interesting trial. I’m certainly looking forward to it.’ Godley rolled a cigarette, beamed that infuriating smile.

‘I’m planning to defend myself, you know,’ he went on chattily. ‘I’m sure the ladies will be excited to see me again. I’ll be close to them too, just a few feet away. Probably close enough for them to smell me, just like they did before. I’ll be able to ask them all about what it was like when we had our little moment of ecstasy together.’

Godley tapped the cigarette on the table, tilted his head. ‘The one thing I haven’t decided yet is what to wear. I think it’ll have to be the same clothes I had on when I popped round to see the ladies. I’m sure that little touch will excite them even more.’