Winding Up the Serpent (11 page)

At this moment Jonah wandered through, saw her and hesitated, as though unsure whether to enter or leave.

Joanna pocketed the picture. ‘Tell me, Dr Wilson,' she said, ‘what's your private opinion? What do you think she died of?'

He looked around nervously. ‘Well, as I've already told you, I don't think she really was the type to commit suicide,' he said slowly. ‘Although you never can tell. Most suicides have made one attempt before. But then people do sometimes bottle things up.' He frowned. ‘Maybe some sort of accident?' He gave a shy smile.

It was an unsatisfactory answer and Joanna felt irritated. Damn it, she thought. She was the investigating officer. It was up to her to decide. Murder investigations were expensive. Suicides cheap. And all this flamming from the medical profession was making it bloody hard to decide which this case was. All the time she was busy here she was missing from somewhere else.

‘Boyfriend?' she said.

‘No one ever came here,' the doctor said calmly.

She was going to get no help from here, she decided, and left.

Matthew rang her almost as soon as she arrived back at the station. His voice sounded tight and strained. ‘Are you busy?' he asked curtly.

She replied yes and then he asked her if she had time to talk. Again she said yes.

‘I can't let go of you, Jo,' he said. ‘I can't stop thinking about you.'

She felt her heart pounding against her chest and wished he had not rung.

‘Are you there?' he asked, in the same, strangled voice.

‘Matthew,' she said softly. ‘Give it some time – please.'

He sighed. ‘I can't, Jo. I've tried.'

‘For God's sake, Matthew,' she said, suddenly irritated. ‘You're married. You have a daughter. You want to stay that way. That's fine by me but don't involve me on the sidelines. Work your life out ...'

‘Don't you know what I'm saying, Jo? I love you.'

She felt herself shake with a sudden strong anger. ‘I don't want to go through it all again, Matthew,' she said. ‘All the waiting and hoping. Please – leave me to get on with my life. I have work to do.'

He paused. ‘How's it going?'

She answered not well.

‘Did the SOCOs find anything?'

She had always loved the way he lapsed into police jargon, although it felt dangerously familiar to be discussing cases with him.

‘They've found bugger all,' she said. ‘Alsatian hairs, her fingerprints. Little else. It's almost unnatural. The woman led the life of a nun.'

Matthew gave a strained laugh. ‘She didn't look like that to me. That was no nun lying there on the slab.'

‘She wasn't dressed like a nun,' Joanna agreed, ‘but there's no sign of riotous living in the house in Silk Street. What about you? Have you got the results from the path lab?'

‘Some. There'll be more coming through over the next few days. The stomach contents revealed tiny traces of barbiturates which would have made her sleepy but certainly not killed her. Alcohol ... I think ...' He paused. ‘This is just a theory, but I think she might have used the champagne as an aphrodisiac. I've sent the viscera and more samples off to the forensic lab in Birmingham but you know how long that can take. Do you know what I wish?' he asked, and without waiting for a comment said, ‘I wish I could put on the death certificate that she just died. Cause unknown ...'

Joanna was puzzled by his attitude. He was a pathologist. ‘Matthew,' she remonstrated. ‘How can you say that? Surely you want to find out? Healthy women in their late thirties don't just die.'

‘But it would fit in neatly, wouldn't it?' he asked. ‘The dog ... no sign of a break-in. No forced entry. Nothing broken, damaged or stolen from the house. You have to face it, Jo,' he said, ‘it's the only explanation that fits in with everything – including the fact that I can't find a mark on the body.'

Privately she knew she had to agree with him.

There was a pause from the other end, then Matthew said, ‘So what about us?'

She was silent. Then, after endless seconds, she said, ‘Matthew. Ring me when you have more results, please. I have to go now,' and she hung up.

She was left staring at the phone with a vague feeling of disquiet. Had she ever really known him? Small voices whispered the answer to her. No ... Matthew Levin was a stranger.

She was about to leave the station for the evening when the duty sergeant called her.

‘Telephone,' he said, then made a face. ‘Nutter ...'

She picked it up. ‘I want to speak to' – there was a pause – ‘Detective Inspector Piercy.'

She recognized the wavering voice immediately. ‘Good evening, Mrs Shiers,' she said. ‘It's DI Piercy here. What can I do for you?'

There was a sharp intake of breath, then the words came tumbling out. ‘I'm so frightened ... Please send someone round here.'

‘What's the matter, Mrs Shiers?'

‘Please ...' The voice sobbed. ‘Please send someone round. I heard the dog,' she said. ‘I heard Ben ...'

In spite of common sense telling her this was impossible, Joanna felt herself grow quite cold. Ben was dead. She tried to tell Evelyn Shiers. The dog had gone to the vet's. He had been put to sleep.

Evelyn was most insistent. ‘I heard him,' she said. ‘Do you think I could have imagined it? I heard the dog.'

The duty sergeant looked at Joanna enquiringly.

She tried to make light of it. ‘Ghost dog,' she said apologetically. ‘Better get a squad car round.'

The duty sergeant chuckled and picked up the phone. He was going to enjoy telling this to his mates in the pub.

Joanna picked up her bag. ‘Ring me at home,' she said. ‘I'll be back in an hour.'

She was about to run a bath when the phone rang.

‘There wasn't a dog there. The place was deserted.'

‘No barking?'

‘It was quiet.' The constable was speaking from his car phone. She could hear the crackle. ‘We looked all over – spent half an hour there. Nothing doing. No dog.'

Joanna frowned. ‘And how was Mrs Shiers?'

‘Bloody hysterical,' the constable said. ‘Doing her nut. We tried to convince her but she wasn't having it. She was sure the dog was still inside.'

The vague feeling of disquiet refused to go. ‘And the house?'

‘Deserted,' he said. ‘No one there. We had a good look round. Nothing. Not another dead body or another fierce dog.'

‘What did Mrs Shiers say?' Joanna asked.

‘She insisted it was Ben.' He sounded sceptical. ‘Said she knew his bark.'

Joanna heard an explosion of laughter in the squad car. ‘OK,' she said. ‘Thanks.' She replaced the phone, wondering whether it was possible to recognize a dog by its bark.

The question seeped into her dreams that night and by morning she still didn't know the answer.

The house was still today – so still she knew it was filled with diaphanous memories. She wandered from room to room.

‘Stevie,' she whispered. ‘Stevie ... Are you there?'

She wandered into the kitchen to collect the baby's bottle but Jonah must have hidden it again. She searched for it, pulled things out of drawers ... tea towels and hand towels ... spoons and plates. Saucepans and packets of cereal. Where was it?

She walked through to the living room and smiled. Jonah liked it tidy ... all the toys put away. That was how Jonah liked it. Then up the stairs to run the child's bath.

She heard the chuckling as she reached the halfway step. It was always like this. She could hear Stevie. But then naughty Stevie would hide when she reached the top step. He sometimes hid in the nursery, so when she reached the top of the stairs that was where she headed. But when she reached the door with a pink rabbit on it she stopped, reached out to turn the handle, already knowing that it would be locked ...

It didn't improve Joanna's mood that morning to have her leg pulled. ‘Heard the one about the phantom dog, Inspector?'

She waited by the desk. ‘Tell me,' she said.

‘Bit the bugger on the bum.' The duty sergeant exploded into giggles, joined by the two lads from traffic. She gave a quick smile.

‘By the way,' he said. ‘She's rung again.'

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Same thing, Martin?'

He nodded. ‘Getting to be a right pest, this phantom dog.'

The telephone rang and he jerked his thumb towards it. ‘That'll be her now,' he said. ‘Nine o'clock prompt.'

‘I'll take it in my room.'

The voice on the other end sounded hysterical. ‘I know it's Ben,' she sobbed. ‘I know the sound of his bark.'

‘Do you have someone who can come and stay with you?'

‘I don't need someone. Just do something. Stop him barking. Please ... I know it's Ben.'

‘Mrs Shiers,' Joanna said soothingly. ‘Ben was put down. The vet couldn't cope with him. He put him to sleep. Marilyn wanted it that way. She left instructions.'

‘Inspector ...' Evelyn's voice was panic-struck now. ‘Inspector ... I know it was Ben. I have lived next door to him for two years. I know the sound of his bark almost as well as the sound of my own voice. It was Ben.'

Joanna promised to look into it and replaced the phone, then picked it up straight away. Roderick Beeston was on the line in a matter of seconds.

‘I know this probably sounds a silly question, Mr Beeston,' she said cautiously, ‘but there is no doubt about it, is there? It was Ben you put down – wasn't it?'

‘What's all this about?' His voice was deep and suspicious.

Even to her the whole thing sounded illogical. She stalled for a moment. ‘Tell me, Mr Beeston,' she said. ‘Is it possible to distinguish the sound of one dog from another?'

‘You mean – do dogs have individual barks?' He paused. ‘That's a good question, Inspector. Not one I would have expected the police to be interested in.'

‘I'm interested in anything that might have a bearing on this case,' she said crisply.

‘Well now, I'm intrigued. The answer is – I believe so,' he said, ‘provided you know the dog well enough. I think you can.'

She was silent for a moment then said quickly, ‘Marilyn Smith's next door neighbour has rung us six times in the last twenty-four hours, convinced she has heard Ben barking.'

Roderick Beeston cleared his throat. ‘Now that is interesting,' he said.

‘So I thought I'd check with you.'

‘There's no doubt about it,' the vet said. ‘Ben's dead. I scattered the ashes myself. On the roses, as it happens.'

Joanna felt slightly sick. She thanked the vet and sat twiddling her pencil. As soon as she heard Mike's voice outside she called him in.

‘I thought we were going to Cardiff today,' he said. ‘I told my wife.'

She ignored his irritation and told him about the phantom dog. ‘What do you make of it?'

‘I'll tell you what I make of it,' he said. ‘Guilty conscience.' He stared at her. ‘She's having nightmares because she knows something we don't. Now, are we going to Cardiff?'

‘This afternoon,' she said. ‘I want to go back to the surgery. I want to find out a few more things about Marilyn. Mike.' She suddenly stopped. ‘Do you think it's possible Marilyn was blackmailing Evelyn Shiers over something to do with the disappearance of her husband?'

‘Maybe,' he said. ‘But I can't see her killing her husband.'

‘Perhaps,' she said, ‘it wasn't a killing. Maybe it was something else. Maybe, we should dig up the garden.'

They put Constable Willis on the job to ask questions at the engineering company where Jock Shiers had worked until four years earlier.

The foreman was a stout man with acne scarring. ‘I remember Jock,' he said. ‘Good man – regular as clockwork. Jet black hair.' He frowned. ‘Passion for sailing.'

‘Really?' PC Willis raised his eyebrows.

‘Yes.' The foreman grinned. ‘Had a boat called the
Marie Celeste.
Always thought it an unfortunate name myself but Jock had quite a sense of humour.'

‘You must have thought it strange when he didn't turn up for work.'

The foreman sighed. ‘Well,' he said slowly. ‘I did and I didn't. He was a strange, unpredictable character. Often did weird things. So when Mrs Shiers said he'd decided to take off in that boat of his I wasn't really that surprised – not really.' He gave the PC a quick, curious look. What's happened? Something funny going on?'

‘We're just making enquiries,' Willis said.

The foreman gave a sceptical chuckle. ‘I've heard that one before as well,' he said. ‘Don't give me that. You're wondering what's happened to old Jock, aren't you?' He scratched his head then gave a sudden exclamation of enlightenment. ‘Of course!' he said. ‘That dead nurse. Lived next door to them, didn't she? Well, surely Mrs Shiers can tell you where Jock is, can't she?'

Willis picked up his helmet and the foreman followed him out. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘You can tell me. What are you thinking?'

‘Just routine enquiries,' Willis said, letting himself into the car. He drove off, leaving the foreman staring after him.

Joanna sat patiently in the waiting room for the doctor to finish his surgery at eleven. There were still a few patients to be seen; Dr Wilson's buzzer was busy, summoning the sick. Marilyn Smith's buzzer was silent.

At last the waiting room was empty and the receptionist called her through. ‘He'll see you now.'

She could tell from the receptionists' hostile eyes that they were asking questions. Why hadn't she tracked down the reason for Marilyn's death? Why hadn't she caught the killer – if there was a killer? Why was she still asking questions – and giving no answers? Why was everything taking so long? Even Dr Wilson looked irritated by yet another visit from the police.