Good Girls Don't Die (11 page)

As Grace dressed for work early the next day, she only half regretted buying a third round of tequila. Or was it a fourth? Whatever, by the time her head had hit the pillow, her anger at Trev had begun to feel hazy and insubstantial. Even her airless flat had seemed merely boring rather than unfriendly. Roxanne had been a good listener, and they’d ended the night in giggles, making plans for an autumn holiday together somewhere hot. Grace had fallen into bed daring to hope that maybe more had changed than merely the stale air in her flat.

In the still empty office her positive mood plummeted as she leafed through the pile of Saturday morning newspapers. All now had a line on Dr Beeston’s ‘frolics’, and many of them sported photographs of the suspect, none of them flattering. The
Courier
, which had broken the story of his arrest the previous day, now led instead with a large colour photograph of Polly’s distraught parents. Below it, a banner caption read
God would never be so cruel!
In a black-edged box in the top right corner was the number ‘seven’
in heavy type: the number of days Polly had been missing. Above the photo, in even blacker type, Grace read
£50,000 reward
! Below was an appeal to the
Courier
’s readers to help snare the elusive killer stalking the streets of Colchester. As she read, she became aware of Keith’s voice raised in heated discussion behind his office door.

Through the half-closed screen of blinds she could make out that he was speaking to Hilary Burnett. It was unusual for the communications director to come in on a Saturday, but the reason swiftly became clear.

‘I don’t have time for this!’ Keith was exclaiming. ‘The media are supposed to consult with us before they issue a reward. How the hell did you let this happen?’

‘I can’t control what the
Courier
does, you know that.’

‘No, but you could have warned me in advance! Ivo Sweatman and I go way back. I could’ve had a word.’

‘I’m in constant touch with Mr and Mrs Sinclair. They said nothing about it.’

‘Ivo probably told them we’d be pleased. Fuck!’

‘There’s no need to use that language.’

‘You’re worried about political correctness? I’m about to have clocks ticking on two separate suspects, yet now I’m going to have to make time to set up extra switchboards to deal with every crank and idiot who thinks this is some kind of lottery prize? “Call this number and win fifty grand”? Jesus! Do you even have any idea what it’s all going to cost?’

Hilary persevered as the voice of calm. ‘My proposal, which the chief constable has approved, is that we offer an alternative story for tomorrow’s news cycle.’

‘Fine, whatever, that’s your job. Just tell the chief con I want this pantomime kept off my desk.’

‘We also have to look ahead. It’s Polly Sinclair’s birthday on Tuesday, and she’ll have been missing for ten days. Is that a headline you want to see?’

‘I have other priorities.’

‘The
Courier
’s not the only paper counting the days. And the chief constable is eager to avoid any presentational errors,’ she urged.

Hearing Keith’s muffled exasperation, Grace stepped further back against the row of filing cabinets, well out of their line of sight but still within earshot.

‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how the media will twist things if we don’t keep control.’

‘Then don’t!’

‘Ivo Sweatman told the Sinclairs what happened in the Chalmers case.’

‘He would, the fucking rat!’

‘Keith, please. Let’s stay calm.’

‘I don’t care what they print about me, but that poor couple are going to hell and back. For heaven’s sake, would it really hurt Ivo and his pals to show them a little mercy?’

‘I do understand.’

‘Then get a grip on this, Hilary. And fast. This isn’t a glossy magazine awarding stars to a new sunscreen. These are people’s lives.’

‘Pawel Zawodny.’ Hilary changed tack, but Grace could hear the increased tightness in her voice: Keith’s jibe about
her previous job with a global cosmetics company had plainly got to her. ‘Do I release news of his arrest?’

‘At least wait until we’ve brought him in!’ But Keith, too, must have regretted his irritation, for his voice dropped a little. ‘Maybe after we’ve interviewed him.’

‘And Matt Beeston? Are you still looking at him in connection with either Polly’s disappearance or the Moston murder?’

Grace heard Keith sigh heavily. She knew that the search of Matt’s flat was already underway, but he’d been happy to cooperate and, although he’d been re-arrested on suspicion of rape, no one was really now expecting to find evidence linking him to an abduction or murder.

‘Just buy us some time, Hilary,’ Keith said wearily. ‘Keep the media off our backs for a few more hours.’

‘Might there be any positive developments by this afternoon?’

‘We’ve located Zawodny’s boat. Got the search warrant. Forensics are on it now. If we find any trace of Polly, we’ll seek charges. But I can’t give you a timetable.’

This was good news, but Grace also knew what the SIO wasn’t telling Hilary: that, whatever evidence was found on board the
Daisy Chain
, without a body, or a confession, the CPS might not play ball on charging Zawodny.

‘So we need to plan for failure. I mean,’ Hilary quickly revised, ‘for if no charges can be brought.’

‘I understand precisely what you mean.’ Keith opened his office door for Hilary to leave. ‘If we don’t have the right man in custody, then we may be looking at further killings.’

If Hilary gave any reply, Grace didn’t catch it. Failing, too, to hear the communication director’s high heels on the worn carpet, she was taken by surprise as the older woman suddenly appeared beside her. But Hilary did not seem in the least put out to discover her lurking there, and beckoned for Grace to follow her out into the corridor.

‘Try and get him to understand,’ she pleaded in a whisper. ‘I
am
on his side, but I can only formulate a proper strategy if he keeps me in the loop.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

Hilary patted her arm. ‘Good girl.’

Grace might have forgiven the patronising words had not Lance appeared at the other end of the corridor in time to hear them and to witness Hilary’s gesture. He nodded to Hilary as she walked past him, then raised a questioning eyebrow at Grace as he headed for the office.

‘Hang on,’ she told him quietly. ‘I think Keith might appreciate a moment to himself.’

Lance seemed about to ignore her advice, but then nodded and leaned against the doorway.

‘What was the Chalmers case?’ she asked.

Lance’s surprised stare was openly hostile. ‘It was before Keith came here.’ He spoke reluctantly. ‘You can look up the details, but he took a right beating in the press. Fair enough, he was SIO, but he wasn’t directly responsible for what happened. The Met hung him out to dry. Called it strategic presentation.’

‘I see.’

‘Do you? I don’t know what Hilary wanted from you, but –’

‘I like him, too, Lance,’ said Grace, cutting him off. ‘I think he’s a good SIO.’

But Lance wasn’t to be placated. ‘Hilary’s management,’ he said curtly.

‘She’s a friend of my stepmother’s.’ Grace seized the chance to explain. ‘She tipped me off there was a job going here, and then put me up for the night when I came for the interview, otherwise I barely know her. But she means well.’

‘She’s not one of us.’

Lance’s words evoked a leaden feeling that was all too familiar, making her mouth suddenly dry. ‘OK, I’ll remember that,’ she said, turning from him to lead the way into the office.

He pulled her back with a hand on her arm. ‘Hilary’s not one of us,’ he repeated. ‘And we don’t speak out of turn.’

‘Grass each other up, you mean?’

‘If you like.’

She lifted his hand deliberately from her arm and then let it go. ‘Then why don’t you come straight out and say it?’ she asked, giving him a level look. ‘Say that no one trusts me.’

He looked taken aback, almost hurt, but made no reply. Grace stalked past him into the office.

Two hours later Grace and Duncan faced Pawel Zawodny across the interview room table. Although he had asked for the duty solicitor, he now appeared to take little notice of the nervous young man seated at his elbow. Zawodny, dressed in worn but freshly laundered jeans and a spotless white T-shirt, sat comfortably, feet apart, on a moulded plastic chair that seemed a little too small for him, his calloused hands resting calmly on his muscular thighs. He met Grace’s gaze calmly, and she found it impossible to decipher the look in his eyes – angry, resentful, mocking, perhaps even curious? Time would tell.

Wishing now that she hadn’t knocked back quite so much tequila, she hoped that her face did not betray how rattled she still felt at Lance’s unexpected hostility. It hadn’t helped that Keith had then paired Duncan with her instead of Lance for this interview. She appreciated why Lance should feel put out – he considered Zawodny to be his collar – but surely he wouldn’t hold it against her that Keith wanted to gauge the suspect’s responses to a female officer?
And it wasn’t as if she’d tried to influence the SIO’s decision. She couldn’t bear it if she had, yet again, to be doing her job while constantly walking on eggshells.

As she’d made her way to the interview room, a couple of people had appeared from nowhere to clap her and Duncan on the back and wish them luck. Although only those close to the investigation would know what they had on him – that Zawodny liked to sleep with his exclusively female tenants and then invite them out to sea on his cabin cruiser – word had gone out that everyone in MIT was hoping this would be it, that by the end of the day they’d not only have Rachel’s killer banged up but be well on their way to finding Polly, too. Or at least being able to tell her parents what had happened to her.

No pressure, then. Time to get her shit together, and fast, so that Pawel could find no chink in her armour.

Grace was glad of Duncan’s calm, solid presence beside her, though it had been agreed at the strategy meeting that she would control the situation right from the very start, with Duncan exaggerating his non-participation in order to observe how Zawodny might be provoked by such male passivity. Not the best time for a hangover.

But Pawel answered Grace’s opening questions politely, confirming the facts about his rental properties and their current tenants. His manner seemed entirely natural and indeed confident, though in Grace’s experience an innocent person wouldn’t mind showing how spooked they were to find themselves in such a situation.

‘I note that you’ve only ever had female tenants in any
of your houses,’ she said, pretending to consult separate sheets of paper, not wanting yet to challenge him more than she needed.

‘They take better care of things,’ Pawel answered matter-of-factly. ‘Boys trash the place.’

‘But you’ve never rented to men?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

He shrugged. ‘I hear too many stories. It’s fine if a house is anyway a wreck, but I put in a lot of work to make mine nice.’

‘Do you earn your money back?’

‘So long as property values keep rising.’ His blue eyes showed what looked almost like amusement. ‘I’m here to discuss house prices?’

Grace smiled back; two could play at this game. ‘I’m interested in value for money, whether you feel adequately compensated for your hard work.’ She pretended again to consult her notes. ‘A couple of times you had to retain tenants’ deposits, is that right?’

‘It’s why they pay a deposit.’

‘Can you tell me what happened?’

‘A whole year, they don’t clean the oven. Said their mothers never taught them. A tile blew off the roof. Instead of calling me so I can fix it, they watch the stain spread until the ceiling nearly collapse.’

‘That tenant claimed you used to hang around watching them undress.’

‘No need to hang around!’ Pawel laughed, showing no
embarrassment. ‘They walk about in their underwear as if I’m invisible. So yes, I look.’ He turned to Duncan. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

The detective blanked him, calmly writing something on his notepad. Grace couldn’t figure out how much significance to place on Pawel’s unusual coolness under pressure. After all, she had tracked down the second tenant to a London ad agency where she now worked: the young woman had evidently done a bit of growing up in the last two years and expressed awkward regret at the stroppy retaliation she’d made against her landlord, agreeing now that he’d had every right to retain her deposit to cover extensive damage to the neglected ceiling. She admitted that she just hadn’t wanted the hassle of moving all her stuff out of the room so decided it could wait until she moved out.

‘And the other complaint?’ Grace asked.

Pawel’s lips curled in contempt. ‘Her boyfriend moved in. I said he had to pay rent. She refused, said her sex life was nothing to do with me. I kept the deposit. She wanted her money, didn’t want to have to pay the other tenant back her share, so made up a story that I’d harassed her.’

‘And had you?’

‘She was a little bitch.’

Grace had spoken to this young woman, too. Now a teacher, she had made no mention of any issue over a live-in boyfriend but had stuck vehemently to her story, including her original allegation that Pawel had stolen items of her underwear. If Grace had to go on a gut reaction, then the
teacher wasn’t someone she’d rush to spend time with. But being rude and spoiled didn’t automatically make her a liar.

Grace pressed on. ‘Your houses are much higher spec than the average student let. But these girls are careless, they do what they like. If they don’t appreciate all your hard work, maybe it’s not enough just to keep the deposit? Maybe you don’t think that’s fair?’

‘They’re spoiled kids, some of them,’ Pawel agreed. ‘Everything paid for by mummy and daddy. They should show more respect.’

‘How should they do that?’

‘Keep the houses clean and in good order, that’s all.’ He smiled at her again. ‘But they’re good business. These princesses are about to pay the mortgage on my fourth house. Not bad for a carpenter from Szczecin.’

Grace could see that his pride was real. Duncan had established that the landlord kept impeccable accounts: mortgages paid on time, hardly any other debt apart from the finance on his truck. Enquiries in Poland had shown the same.

‘And
you
live where?’ Grace asked.

He gave her a cynical look. ‘You already know. A box on the edge of town. It’s all I need. Another few years and I sell up everything and go home.’

‘No family, no girlfriends?’

He shrugged again. ‘Anything serious will have to wait.’

‘Really? A good-looking man like you?’ Grace smiled to show that she was in earnest. ‘What do you do for fun?’

His fingers rose as if in search of something hidden beneath the neckline of his T-shirt. Grace wondered if he normally wore a cross that had been taken from him in custody. She must remember to check.

‘I work hard,’ he replied. ‘I have the occasional beer, go fishing. The electrician I work with, his wife cooks dinner once in a while. Sometimes a movie. What do you want to know?’

Grace glanced sideways at Duncan, who took the cue. ‘Ah, fishing!’ he said. ‘Now you’re talking! Do you get out to sea at all?’

‘Most weekends.’

‘Lucky man! What do you catch?’

‘Cod, plaice.’

‘You go with friends?’ Duncan maintained his chatty style.

‘Depends. Sometimes.’

‘You get to sea last weekend?’

‘Yes.’

Grace observed Pawel grow more watchful as he realised the direction of Duncan’s questions.

‘Take anyone with you?’

‘No.’ Pawel drew back slightly, looking at them suspiciously.

Duncan turned to Grace and gave a slight nod for her to resume.

‘Ever take any of your tenants out on your boat?’

He paused before giving his answer. ‘Polly Sinclair came
on board once. Just at the mooring, when she happened to walk past. We didn’t go out to sea.’

‘So Polly Sinclair has been on your boat.’

‘Briefly.’

Grace tried her best to remain impassive: had Pawel given such a careful reply because he’d calculated that they might find trace evidence of Polly on board the
Daisy Chain
and wanted to cover himself? If so, this was the clearest indication yet that he might be involved in her disappearance. And that he was clever.

‘What about nights out?’ she asked, deliberately moving on. ‘Ever go to the Blue Bar?’

He shook his head. ‘Too full of noisy kids.’

‘So you know it?’

‘Everyone knows it.’ Pawel’s blue eyes blazed, showing he understood the significance of her questions.

‘So where do you drink?’

‘At home. A beer sometimes. I don’t drink much.’

Grace glanced at the camera that was feeding images to Keith and Lance: if Pawel wasn’t a drinker himself, then maybe he disapproved of girls who got plastered.

‘The evening you fixed the shower at your house in Alma Street,’ she continued. ‘Where did you go afterwards?’

Pawel shook his head. ‘Home? Maybe the supermarket. I don’t remember.’

‘Which supermarket?’

‘The big Tesco.’

‘And the Friday night after you mended the washing machine in Station Road?’

‘I don’t know. Much the same probably. I’m working on the costing for a new house.’

‘You weren’t in the centre of town?’

‘No.’

‘You told us that Polly Sinclair was in bed with someone when you went to the house.’ Grace paused, giving him time to recall the memory accurately.

‘Sure, I told you, I heard them.’

For the first time, Pawel looked discomfited and uneasy.

‘Did you go upstairs?’

He hesitated, gave her an injured look, then raised his chin. ‘Sure, why not? It made me horny.’

‘Did you masturbate?’

Pawel appeared genuinely appalled and then paled with fury, his lips drawing into a thin line. He turned to appeal to the solicitor, as if he ought to disbar such questions; when the lawyer merely shrugged uncomfortably, Pawel snorted in contempt.

‘Please answer DS Fisher’s question,’ Duncan told him.

‘No, I did not.’

‘Had
you
ever had sex with Polly Sinclair?’

‘No.’

‘Ever ask her for sex?’

‘No.’

‘So what was your relationship? Were you friendly?’

‘She made me a cup of tea once in a while. We’d chat. The girls are always on the phone with problems. I get to know them.’

‘Did Polly ever ask you for a lift?’

‘No.’

‘What about your other tenants? Were you friendly with Amber, for instance?’

Pawel turned angrily to Duncan. ‘Why do you let her keep asking questions when she already knows the answers?’

Duncan made no reaction, allowing Grace to continue pleasantly. ‘I’d like to hear what you have to say.’

‘I slept with her a few times.’

‘Because you liked her?’

‘Yes, I liked her.’

‘Not to get value for money when she couldn’t pay the rent?’

‘It was her suggestion and I accepted. I liked her. She respected my hard work.’

‘Have other tenants shown respect by offering you sex?’

Pawel looked from her to Duncan and back again. He fixed his now icy blue eyes on hers and shook his head.

‘Did you demand sex from the girl who accused you of harassing her?’

‘I see these girls in town giving it away for free,’ he replied. ‘They expect everything for nothing. I don’t give my hard work away for free. Do you?’

‘One tenant alleged that you stole her underwear? Did you?’

‘No.’

‘What about Rachel Moston, was she friendly?’

‘No. She acted like I should use the tradesman’s entrance in my own house! Then goes out looking like a tart. Sorry,
sorry!’ Pawel held up his hands. ‘I forget. She’s dead. I forget.’

Grace, acutely aware of Keith and Lance watching remotely on the monitor, remembered not only Lance’s suggestion that Rachel’s killer had used the vodka bottle to humiliate his victim, but also that Rachel’s underwear had not been found. She studied Pawel’s face, attempting to evaluate whether his contrition was a pretence but, for the first time, he looked down at the floor, keeping his eyes veiled. Until this point he had sat with an easy composure, but now he began to rub the palms of his hands slowly up and down his thighs.

‘Rachel’s parents gave her a generous allowance,’ she said. ‘She had a job lined up with a prestigious law firm. Everything handed to her on a plate.’ It was hateful to collude in speaking of the victim in this way, but Grace could all but hear Lance urging her to push as hard as she could to provoke another outburst.

‘No matter.’ Pawel crossed himself quickly. ‘I shouldn’t speak ill.’

Catching Pawel’s gesture, everything fell into place in Grace’s mind: angry enough to kill a young woman who refused to show respect for his hard work, he’d nevertheless been sufficiently repentant to rest her head on her folded jacket. ‘So you don’t like the way the students behave in town at night?’ she asked.

‘Do you?’ he countered angrily.

‘Please answer the question, Mr Zawodny.’ Duncan’s tone verged on offensive.

‘They get drunk, ask for trouble.’

‘What sort of trouble?’

‘I liked Polly. You want to know why I went upstairs?

‘Please. Tell us.’

Pawel began again to run his palms up and down his thighs. He seemed undecided about whether or not to speak. ‘I thought I heard her –’ He stopped and took a deep breath. ‘I worried she was in trouble.’

‘You thought she was being assaulted?’

He nodded. ‘Maybe I should have gone in. Asked if she was OK.’

‘What stopped you?’ Grace found that she really wanted to know.

‘She saw me at the door. Turned away. She knew I was there, and she didn’t care that I was watching. She was a slut.’

‘A slut?’

‘No one is going to marry such girls.’

‘So what does happen to them? To Polly? To Rachel?’

Pawel folded his arms stubbornly across his chest. ‘Good girls don’t die,’ he said.