The Murder House (24 page)

‘I've had my fill of your sly tricks. I'm—'

‘That's enough, Sergeant,' said Davis sharply.

Oakley was behind her and Jeeves behind him. Had Jeeves gone to fetch them, to put an end to my shame? I felt so embarrassed that I wished the ground would open and swallow me up.

‘Helen, go get a cup of tea,' said Davis. Her eyes were hard and cold, but not with me, with Wright. It was awful. She was going to make things worse by interfering. I turned and ran out of the briefing room, unable to stop the sobs that racked me. I hated Barry Wright! He had no right to say all those things. Oakley was behind me, and he caught my arm.

‘Wait,' he said. ‘This is my fault. I'm sorry. I should've known better.'

I didn't reply, because I just couldn't speak. I stared dumbly at him.

‘I'm sorry,' he said again. He rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. ‘Look, I'll ask Taylor if we can get you seconded to CID for the Orchard Street enquiry. The thing seems set to run for a while, and by the time it's over things will have calmed down, and we can get you on to a shift with a different sergeant.'

I still couldn't speak. I was aware of Jeeves and Paul standing next to me. Jeeves put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it.

‘Ignore the bastard, Hel,' he said gently.

‘We're all going out for a drink tonight,' said Paul with forced cheerfulness. ‘Come with us. It's in the Red Lion, PCs only and no sergeants. You'll have a good time.'

Their kindness was more than I could bear. I pulled away and dashed towards the ladies' loo, just wanting to be on my own. I collided with Dave Merrick as I ran, and the dental records were knocked from my hand. I didn't bother to pick them up. I just wanted to be alone.

‘S
hit!' muttered Oakley, bending down to retrieve the papers Anderson had dropped as she fled. ‘She didn't get these to the mortuary. They're James Paxton's dental records. And as the owners of nine Orchard Street are represented by Urvine and Brotherton, we may have a connection.'

‘The Paxton who screwed over Mark Butterworth?' asked Jeeves. ‘I heard he was missing.'

He glanced nervously over his shoulder towards the closed door of the interview room into which Davis had hauled Wright. No one could hear the specifics, but her voice was an angry monologue – the sergeant wasn't being allowed to get a word in edgeways. Jeeves exchanged a glance with Franklin, unsettled. Oakley was more concerned with the dental records. He beckoned to Merrick.

‘Take these to Grossman – and watch him while he looks at them. He's getting forgetful, and I don't want him telling us he's done it when he hasn't. I'm going to Urvine and Brotherton.'

‘Wait, Guv.' Merrick caught his arm before he could leave. ‘I've been on the phone to the cleaning lady, Gail Langham. She says the keys
were
on the table on the Tuesday morning, as agreed with Kovac, and he'd cleaned out all his stuff and left the place clean and tidy. She also claims there was no dead body on the kitchen floor. She still has the keys, and intended to bring them back to Jessop now that he has returned and the office is open again.'

‘Did you ask why she didn't come forward and tell us all this earlier?' asked Oakley testily.

‘She was waiting for us to contact her, and is surprised it's taken so long.'

‘Get her statement after you've seen to the dental records,' said Oakley tiredly, the idiosyncrasies of the general public never failing to amaze him. ‘And get the keys Kovac left, too.'

‘Why?' asked Merrick. ‘If he left the keys and took his belongings with him, it means he's gone home and we're looking at a different identity for our corpse.'

‘Not necessarily,' said Oakley. ‘What's to say that he didn't cut himself a new set of keys and come back after the cleaner had gone? Besides, there might be fingerprints on them that we can use. And get on to the university, as well. Check that Jessop really did send the keys to Kovac there.'

‘I'll do that,' offered Davis, who had finally emerged from the interview room. Her lips were compressed into a hard, thin line, and Jeeves and Franklin made themselves scarce, afraid that some of Wright's tongue-lashing might fall on them. ‘After I've seen to a female officer who's been unnecessarily distressed.'

‘It's a shame,' said Oakley. ‘But she needs to be less sensitive.'

‘Just because you're immune to his charms doesn't mean we all are,' retorted Davis sharply. ‘He'd have upset me, too, going on like that in front of everyone. I'd better find something for her to do, because otherwise Wright will be even harder on her now.'

Oakley was grateful that Davis was dealing with Anderson, as he was keen to follow up on the leads that had suddenly materialized. Without further ado, he left New Bridewell and walked to the offices of Urvine and Brotherton on Queen Square. Their offices comprised a terrace of three Georgian houses that had been knocked into one. The rooms were large with high, carved ceilings, and there was an elegant chandelier in the waiting room. He sat in a plush leather armchair while he waited for Brotherton to see him, taking the opportunity to collect his thoughts.

Anderson's distress preyed on his mind, and he knew he'd been wrong to commandeer her without clearing it with Wright. It was true that he outranked the sergeant, but it would have been polite to ask his permission. The fault being his, he was disgusted that Wright had taken his anger out on Anderson. He'd have to make it up to her somehow. She wasn't right for CID, but there were other departments that might be glad of a quietly intelligent woman.

Meanwhile, what was he to make of the morning's events and discoveries? The anonymous note he'd received had gained significance now there was a connection between the murder scene and the law firm that represented Yorke. He'd have to call Solihull to see if they'd found DNA, fingerprints or other trace evidence on the thing, although he suspected it was still lying in its envelope, untouched.

His mind wandered to Maureen Paxton. Why did she think the body was her son? Was there something she wasn't telling them? And what about Kovac in light of what Jessop had said? Was he camping with his family, oblivious to the stir his absence was causing? Had he returned to the house, intending to sneak a few nights without paying rent, or because he thought he had left something behind, and had died for it? And what of the brother in the secret police? Had Kovac brought some foreign operation to Oakley's patch?

His reverie was interrupted by Brotherton, who marched into the waiting room looking at his watch. He was immaculately dressed as always, although there was a bitterness to his suave exterior that had not been there previously. He carried a stack of files to show he was busy.

‘Five minutes,' he said rudely, dropping the files on the table with an authoritative thud. ‘Fridays are always busy for us.'

‘And us, so I'll be brief,' said Oakley, equally brusque. ‘First, have you had any news from James Paxton?'

‘None. Next question.'

‘Does anyone on your staff have any idea where he might have gone?'

‘Not as far as I am aware.'

‘Do you mind if I ask them again?'

‘If you must.'

At this rate they'd be done in one minute, not five, thought Oakley wryly. ‘I understand your company represents the owners of nine Orchard Street. May I have their name and address?'

‘Certainly not. That would break client confidentiality.'

Oakley put his notebook away. ‘I'll return with a warrant at six o'clock, Mr Brotherton. This is a murder enquiry, and you hold information that may be relevant. If you're not here, I shall send a car to collect you from your home.'

Brotherton sighed irritably. ‘Very well. Give me a moment.'

He was gone for more than fifteen minutes, and Oakley was on the verge of going to see what was happening when the door opened and Tim Hillier came in. He shook Oakley's hand.

‘Mr Brotherton asked me to give you this,' he said, passing over a piece of paper with a scribbled name and address.

‘Too busy to do it himself, is he?' asked Oakley, a little sourly.

Hillier had the grace to flush. ‘He was called away to an urgent phone call.'

Oakley took the opportunity to quiz the junior partner. ‘He said no one's heard from Paxton since Tuesday the thirty-first of July. Is that true?'

Hillier nodded. ‘There've been rumours about where he is – I told you about them. But we've not had a postcard.'

‘Where do
you
think he is?'

‘I really don't have the faintest idea. Giles Farnaby reckons he saw James going into a gay bar that evening, but even if James
is
gay I don't see him disappearing because of it. Personally, I don't believe Giles. I think he made it up. And even if he didn't, and he really did go inside, I doubt he was there long enough to see much. A dark-haired man in a suit.' He gestured to his own attire. ‘How many of those are there in Bristol?'

Oakley supposed he would have to question Farnaby again. ‘Now, about Orchard Street. What do you know about the owners?'

‘Mr and Mrs George Harton. He works in oil. We did the conveyancing when they bought the property. The oil industry's a bit uncertain, and the Hartons aren't sure when they might come back, so James recommended that they lease it short term, so they won't have to wait long before retaking possession.'

‘James dealt with it? I thought he was a criminal lawyer.'

‘He represented Mr Harton on a drink-driving charge a couple of years ago. I suppose the family asked for him when they bought the house. Giles did the actual work, but James saw them, and recommended Academic Accommodations.'

‘Do you have other clients who rent their houses through this particular agency?'

‘A few. I can't tell you how many exactly, but I could look it up if it's important.'

‘Thank you. Does Billy Yorke have any houses leased through Academic Accommodations?'

‘Billy Yorke?' asked Hillier, startled. ‘I wouldn't have thought so. He does own property, but he's not the kind of person who'd use Academic Accommodations. Their tenants come through the university, you see, and scholars aren't usually wealthy, although they
do
tend to be respectable. In other words, they're low risk but low return.'

Oakley nodded to the files that Brotherton had dropped on the table and forgotten to take with him. ‘The letter on top of that pile – the one on Avon and Somerset Constabulary notepaper – appears to be in my writing. Yet I've never sent anything to Urvine and Brotherton, so what do you think it's doing here?'

It took a lot to pull myself together after the incident with Wright. DI Davis was sweet, and said she'd ask Superintendent Taylor for a temporary transfer to CID, to help with the Orchard Street case. But that was the
last
thing I wanted – it was bad enough getting involved with the murder on an occasional basis; I didn't think I could stand doing it all day. Also, I didn't want everyone to think that Wright had driven me out, and for him to start telling people he'd got rid of me because I was no good. I told her thanks, but no thanks. She seemed surprised, but was understanding when I explained – the second reason, obviously, not the first.

Wright was coolly hostile when I walked into the radio room an hour later and told Jeeves that I was ready to go out on patrol. Jeeves needed someone to see Mrs Vinson at the hospital, and I left without even looking at Wright. I could feel his eyes on me as I went, though, and I was sure he'd be talking about me as soon as I was out of earshot. It occurred to me that I should double back and catch him at it, but I didn't have the strength to take him on again. Loathsome man!

I tried to put him from my mind while I watched Emma Vinson struggling for breath. She was weaker and frailer than before, and I wondered how much longer she would cling to life. How
could
James have contemplated defending the louts who'd done this to her? And how could he have expected me to live with myself if he
had
forced me to play a part in seeing the bastards acquitted? They deserved everything the law could throw at them, and I hoped with all my heart that Oakley would see the whole lot sent down.

Oakley had used Brotherton's lengthy disappearance to look inside the files he'd left, of course. He was a policeman, after all, and curious by nature. There were several of them, all pertaining to clients of Paxton. There was one on Orchard Street detailing its purchase by the Hartons, complete with printouts of emails between Bristol and Saudi Arabia. The Hartons had only looked at the property once, and Paxton had purchased it on their behalf.

More intriguing was the thicker, fatter file concerning Noble, and Oakley was bemused to find in it several memos from him to Clare Davis, reports of the surveillance on Noble's sheds, and even a shift rota, giving details of officers' availability for court.

A cold horror gripped him. Someone had copied documents from the police file – documents that should certainly not be with Urvine and Brotherton. Was
this
how Paxton had learned about Butterworth's Blunder? There was someone at New Bridewell whose first loyalty was not to his fellow officers.

But who? Wright, who had spread the rumour about Butterworth in the first place? With a few drinks inside him, and a personable lawyer playing to the man's vanity, who knew what the sergeant might do? But for all his faults, Oakley couldn't see Wright passing police files to lawyers.

He'd studied the documents carefully. They weren't photocopies, but printouts of photos taken on a mobile phone – he could tell by the date in the lower right-hand corner. They'd been taken on the thirtieth of March at 4.10 p.m. He decided to check if Wright had been on duty then.