The Order of Things (18 page)

‘Yeah, and … ?’

‘You couldn’t be with her? Couldn’t help out?’

‘I did. A bit. But … you know … not a lot.’

Rosie asked about his mother’s will. He admitted at once that he knew the money was coming to him because years back she’d told him.

‘And you had plans for that money?’

‘Of course I did.’

‘What were you going to do with it?’

‘Get a decent place. Maybe abroad. Tania likes abroad.’

‘And did your mother like Tania?’

‘She never knew her. Not properly.’

‘Did she ever say anything about her?’

‘Not to me. I never gave her the chance. I knew she’d say she was a slag. That’s one of the reasons I was never around at the end.’

Colin Myers picked up on Tania’s role in Russell’s life. When he suggested that she might have made a big difference, Russell nodded. ‘All the difference in the world.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she loves me. That woman’s as straight as you like. She says she’ll take care of you and she does. Honest. That’s what she is, honest.’

‘And she knew about the money as well?’

‘Of course she did. No secrets, me and Tan.’

Tremayne introduced Harriet Reilly. Was Russell aware that his mother was contemplating assisted suicide?

‘Of course not.’

‘Would it have made any difference if she’d have told you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s wrong.’

‘Who says?’

‘Tan. And I agree. In God’s good time you go. Not before.’

‘Is that what your mother did? Mess with the schedule?’

‘Yeah. Too right.’

‘OK.’ Tremayne was trying to nail down a timeline. ‘Your mother’s friend phones you. Frances Bevan. She tells you your mother’s died. I understand you asked about the will. She told you your mother had changed her will. You want to speak to someone about that, so you phone your mother’s solicitor.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And?’

‘She said it was true. About the will. Nothing for me, nothing for Tan. It all went to some charity. Half a million quid down the khazi.’

‘How did you feel?’

‘Gopping. I was hanging out.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s Marine-speak. I couldn’t believe it.’

‘Did you blame your mum?’

‘Yeah. And that new doctor she had.’

‘How did you know about her?’

‘My mum left me a note. That’s how I knew she’d gone the way she’d gone. She said the doctor was one of the few friends she had left. Her and that woman across the road.’

‘So you blamed the doctor as well?’

‘Yeah. We went to see her, Tan and me.’

‘Where?’

‘At her place. Where she lived.’

‘How did you find the address?’

‘Tan knew already. She drinks in Lympstone when she’s got the money. She’d heard about this woman. She was shacked up with that bloke who’s gone missing.’

‘And what did she say when you went round? This Dr Reilly?’

‘She refused to discuss it.’

‘And you? How did you react?’

‘I told her she was a disgrace. Doctors are supposed to save lives, not end them. I said something else too. She’d been away for a holiday. It was obvious, the look of her. My mum paid for that, I said. I bet she did.’

‘And Tania?’

‘Tania was off her head.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Don’t ask.’

‘I am asking, Dean. You say she was off her head. What exactly does that mean?’

Russell hesitated. For a moment, watching this exchange, Suttle thought he was going to hide behind his solicitor, but he was wrong.

‘Tan can get a bit emotional,’ he said carefully. ‘Sometimes she drinks a bit too much.’

‘She was drunk? Is that what you’re telling me?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So are you surprised Dr Reilly didn’t want to take the conversation any further?’

‘No.’

‘When was this?’

‘Last week. Thursday, I think. Maybe Friday.’

‘Right.’ Tremayne scribbled herself a note. Myers took over.

‘So Saturday comes. You’ve been to see Dr Reilly. You’ve got nowhere. What happens next?’

‘Tan spent the day in bed. She wasn’t well.’

‘And the evening?’

‘I went out.’

‘By yourself?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Where?’

‘Local. Exmouth. Tell you the truth, Tan was driving me nuts. Wanted to come with me. Kept phoning once I’d gone. Wouldn’t leave me alone.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘All sorts.’ Russell named several pubs.

‘You were alone?’

‘No way. I got lots of mates around town. We all got hammered. Ended up in a big fight. Me and two other guys.’

‘And?’

For the first time he smiled. He looked from one face to the other. ‘You’re telling me you don’t know?’

‘Know what?’

‘You lot arrested me. Three in the morning. Outside the Q Club. I never got bailed until Monday.’

Suttle reported back to Houghton by phone; Nandy was nowhere to be seen. The news that Dean Russell had the perfect alibi raised a mirthless chuckle.
Buzzard
was turning into a car crash.

‘Why didn’t we know this before?’

‘I never checked, boss. I belled a mate at Exmouth and told him he was on a nicking, but I never went into any detail. My fault,’ said Suttle.

‘You’re right.’

Houghton wanted to know who Russell had met in the pub in Exmouth.

‘Guy called Wilson, boss. He runs a maritime security company. Russell says he’s on a contract for Wilson’s next job.’

‘Have you checked him out?’

‘No, but I will.’ He frowned, then glanced at his watch. ‘How are they doing at Heavitree?’

‘They’re not. The lady’s gone No Comment.’

‘
No Comment?
’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘It gets worse. The only time she opened her mouth was to confirm she’s going to do you for assault.’

‘And the brief?’

‘Appears to confirm it.’

‘Great.’ Suttle paused. ‘This is a woman without an alibi. She told me they’d both been there on Saturday night. That’s obviously bollocks. He was out on the lash. What if she went up to Lympstone? Talked her way into Bentner’s place? Say Bentner’s not there? Say Reilly’s been drinking? This is a woman with previous for assault. She’s no stranger to violence. She’s got half a million quid’s worth of motive. She’s got the opportunity. The kitchen’s full of knives. She’s got a debt to settle. She’s not the forgiving kind. She may be off her head herself. Am I getting warm here?’

Houghton admitted he had a case. ‘But we need more,’ she said. ‘A lot more.’

‘Forensics?’

‘They’re still boshing their property.’

‘And?’

‘Nothing so far.’

‘Shame.’

Suttle rang off. The interview room was already empty, Russell en route back to Heavitree with Tremayne and Myers to sign the release forms.

Golding checked his watch. Nearly half five. ‘Drink, skip? I’ll drive.’

Twenty-One

T
HURSDAY, 12
J
UNE 2014, 18.27

They settled for a pub in Exeter, the Angel, just across from the Exeter Central station. Suttle’s leg was beginning to aggravate him. The constant throb-throb had become a burning sensation that made him irritable as well as faintly anxious. Oona, he thought, as soon as I get home. I’ll give her a ring. She’ll know what’s wrong. She’ll know what to do.

Golding bought the drinks. Suttle lifted the top off his Stella and then half-drained the pint. Within seconds he was starting to feel better.

‘Bad sign, skip. And you’re talking to an expert.’

‘Thanks, and I mean that.’

He put his hand on Golding’s arm and gave it a squeeze. But for the baseball bat he might not have a leg at all. ‘I owe you, mate. I do.’

Golding told him it was nothing. All his life he’d wanted to kill a dog, and now he’d done it. A pleasure and a privilege. The stuff of dreams.

He gave Suttle a look. The pub was filling up nicely, mainly students.

‘Mind if I ask you something, skip?’

‘Help yourself.’

‘Who did that text really come from?’

‘The one in the pub?’

‘Yeah. And the lead on the dead woman.’

Suttle reached for his glass, avoiding his gaze.
He knows
, he thought.
What now?

‘Lizzie,’ he said. ‘She’s always fancied being a cop.’

‘Yeah? And what else?’

‘Fuck knows.’

‘Be honest, skip. Think motive. She wants you back.’

‘No way. She’s got a sweet life. Why ruin it?’

‘And you?’

‘I’ve got your ex-partner. And she makes me very happy.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘Truly? You mean that?’

‘I do. And I happen to know she feels the same way.’ He sat back a moment, then leaned forward again. ‘Spot of advice?’

‘Go on.’

‘Don’t fuck it up. She loves you. You know she does.’

Suttle stared at him. He knew it was true. He also knew that Golding still had the ear of Oona. One word from her wayward ex-lover and Suttle was looking at a car crash all of his own.

He drained his pint, looked at his watch. His Impreza was still at Middlemoor but he didn’t fancy driving. Trains left for Exmouth every half-hour.

‘I’m off.’ He got to his feet, his hand on Golding’s shoulder. ‘Thanks for the pint.’

Ten minutes later, waiting for the train, Suttle took a call from DI Houghton. She had a team working house-to-house enquiries in Tania Maguire’s street. One of the DCs had just phoned to report that Saturday night a neighbour had found Maguire passed out on the pavement below her bedroom window at one in the morning. She’d gone down to help. Maguire, as pissed as ever, had set out to try and find Dean but had never made it.

‘So what happened, boss?’

‘The neighbour walked her back home. Put her to bed. Sunday morning she went round to check up on her but Maguire couldn’t remember a thing. Dean wasn’t around either but she didn’t seem to have noticed.’ Houghton permitted herself a dry laugh. ‘Does that sound like someone who could have done the job on Harriet Reilly?’

Lizzie phoned Anton the moment she got home. When he volunteered more of Harriet Reilly’s patients, she told him the story had moved on. She had the name of a scientist at the uni, some kind of environmentalist. Her name was Gemma Caton. Might Anton find out a little more?

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Everything you can lay your hands on. Married? Partnered? Age? Reputation? Strengths? Weaknesses? Whatever …’

Anton said he’d do his best and rang off. He was back within the hour. Lizzie was in the kitchen, trying to conjure something interesting from what little she could find in the fridge. She wedged the phone against her ear.

‘Any luck?’

‘Of course.’

Dr Caton, he said, was an American anthropologist with a big following among the watermelons.

‘The what?’

‘Watermelons.’ Anton was laughing. ‘Green on the outside, red on the inside. Activists. Warmists. Socialists. Maybe even communists if we have them any more. She’s very political, this woman. Her colleagues are maybe not so keen. I get the impression she can be an embarrassment. But she’s very popular with some of the students. Go to her lectures and they’re packed. Apparently she says things no one else will say.’

‘About what?’

‘About society. About the way we are.’

Lizzie was making notes on the back of an envelope. Anthropology, as far as she understood it, had to do with the study of human evolution.

‘Does she have a speciality? Something in particular?’

‘Native Americans in the Pacific Northwest.’

‘You mean Indians?’

‘Yes. I think she’s written a book. That’s what I’m told. Oregon. British Columbia. Foothills of the Rockies. Are you writing all this down?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

Lizzie didn’t answer. She wanted to know about this woman’s private life.

‘Is she married?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

‘Age?’

‘Forty-something. You want me to keep asking? You want more?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘What are you after?’

‘I need to know who she’s close to. Who matters to her.’ For the first time Lizzie mentioned Bentner.

Anton interrupted at once.

‘The climate scientist? The one who’s gone missing?’

‘Yes.’

‘He was here last week. Up on the campus. Dr Caton runs evening meetings sometimes. Bentner came to talk.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I saw the posters. They were everywhere.’

‘What was the talk about?’

‘Global warming. Four degrees? Five degrees? I can’t remember exactly but that was the title.’

Suttle was home by half past seven. His leg, if anything, was worse. He fetched a Stella from the fridge, popped a couple of ibuprofen and then sat in the window with his leg propped up on another chair. He felt about a hundred. The leg was bad enough after all his other injuries, but there was something else even more menacing, a feeling that he’d somehow lost control of events.

He brooded for a while, trying to concentrate on
Buzzard
,
tallying the various leads, weighing one against another, trying to silence the voices in his head, but even here, on home turf, he couldn’t rid himself of the thought of Lizzie. She was everywhere: on his mobile, in his ear, on the strip of grass outside his window. She’d found herself a perch in
Buzzard
, fed him information he didn’t know existed, led him from the restaurant and bedded him.

What followed had taken him by surprise in all kinds of ways. Who’d taught her to be so playful? So deft? So light-fingered? And what – exactly – had she meant by asking him to keep her in the loop? Was this Lizzie the journalist? Or Lizzie the hot near-divorcee wanting to cash in on her independence and her new-found celebrity? She could have any man she wanted, so what had brought her back to her ruined ex-husband?

To all these questions Suttle had no answer, and that knowledge, that degree of helplessness, simply made things worse. Look at the last twenty-four hours from one perspective, and Lizzie couldn’t seem to keep her hands off his life, professional or otherwise. She was everywhere. She was staking out her territory. She was in his face. But take a tiny step back, try and be as honest as he could, and it was hard not to accept that he too was a player in this game. Had he enjoyed last night? Yes. Did it feel like having sex with a stranger? Yes. And was there a tiny voice in his head that suggested there might come more leads from Lizzie? Again, yes.