The Bad Things (13 page)

‘And then what? Ask her to lie to the police?’

‘All she has to do is not mention knocking on the caravan door and you saying about a migraine. That’s all.’

That’s all. There was nothing else for it.

‘What’s going on?’ Nikki called out.

‘Nikki, it’s dreadful.’ Alex hurried over to her, trying to ignore the fear gnawing at her.

Nikki put down her carrier bags. ‘The police and everything. What are they doing?’

‘It’s Jackie.’

‘Your friend in the other caravan?’

Alex nodded. ‘She’s dead.’

She whistled. ‘Dead? What, the migraine see her off, did it? I’ll never get that cup of coffee with her. I always felt she was a bit like me, a loner, you know?’

Alex did know. ‘It wasn’t the migraine, Nikki.’

She cocked her head to one side. ‘Oh?’

‘When you knocked, she was lying on the floor and I panicked; I didn’t know what to do. I thought – I thought – actually, I don’t know what I thought. As I say, I panicked.’ She tried to give a little smile as if to say ‘wasn’t I silly’, which was a bit inadequate under the circumstances.

A sly looked flicked across Nikki’s face. ‘Is that right?’

At that moment Alex could see that Nikki was not all she made herself out to be; that Malone was right. There was a reason why she was in this godforsaken place in the middle of winter. Alex still wished she’d done the sensible thing, though, and asked her for help when she’d come knocking. But perhaps she could get away with it, perhaps Nikki wouldn’t want to get too involved.

‘Yes and the thing is, Nikki, I didn’t tell the police about that. I thought it would make me look—’

‘Silly?’

‘Something like that,’ she said, breathing out carefully. ‘And it was silly. Stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking of. And now if I say something to the cops, well…’

‘Look,’ said Nikki, ‘I have no intention of talking to them if I can possibly help it. Me and the police don’t have too good a history, y’know? And if I do have to, it’ll be short and sweet.’ She squeezed Alex’s arm. ‘Don’t you worry any more, I didn’t see or hear anything anyway. I mean, she was dead and that was that. You didn’t kill her, did you?’ She laughed.

‘No.’ Alex laughed too, but she could hear a nervous tremor in her voice.

‘Well then. Least said soonest mended, eh?’

‘Thanks Nikki.’

‘’S’okay.’ She picked up her carrier bags. ‘And perhaps we could have that coffee I was talking about? When I’m in my new flat, yeah?’

‘Right.’

‘And I don’t even know your name?’

‘It’s Alex.’

She started to walk towards her caravan. ‘Okay Alex, don’t worry. I won’t say a word.’

Alex watched her go. Nikki had changed from being the lonely woman who just wanted to find a friend to someone who had a small measure of control over her.

Why did she think that was more of a threat than anything?

13

Kate finished her conversation with the sergeant who had been about to dump several thousand pounds worth of expensive equipment on to the damp grass and went to get a forensic suit from the back of her car. She took off her coat and pulled it on over her clothes and tried to find somewhere dry to slip on the bootees.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Malone and Alex Devlin talking to a young woman laden down with shopping bags. She would have to make sure someone spoke to shopping-bag woman – from the expressions of the three of them there was something going on. Malone looked particularly fierce. He was a slippery one, that was for sure. When she had taken him to one side it had been to give some space for Alex to be able to talk to Steve without him glowering at them both. Influencing what she might say. A controlled menace had radiated from him that even his good looks couldn’t disguise.

‘I know you from somewhere, don’t I?’ she’d asked, getting straight to the point.

Malone raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you?’

She studied his face, irritated at the slow smile spreading across his features. ‘What’s your first name please?’

‘Mickey.’

‘Mickey Malone? Somehow I don’t believe you.’

‘No?’ He shrugged. ‘Tough shit.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘If you don’t come in and give a statement in the next couple of days, I’ll bring you in myself. Is that clear?’

Again that infuriating smile. ‘That should be interesting.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Shall we see how Alex is doing? I’ve got an appointment in half an hour.’

I’ll bet you have, she muttered under her breath before smiling tightly. ‘Remember Mr Malone, I will come and find you.’

Mickey Malone my arse, she thought as she went up the caravan steps. She’d soon sort him out when he came in to give his statement. But his face nagged at her. She knew she’d seen him somewhere before.

The air in the caravan was dank, fetid, and smelt of death and decay. Kate tried hard to breathe through her nose and knew the smell would linger on her skin and clothes until she washed. The police photographer was taking pictures of the scene from every conceivable angle, and other forensic officers were carefully bagging evidence, dusting for fingerprints, and testing for anything out of the ordinary.

She looked around the living area, seeing an overturned cup on the table and a brown stain underneath. Food was ground into the carpet, too. A couple of chain-store paintings on the wall, thin brown curtains pulled back from the windows. A small pile of books and newspapers on a chair. An open can of baked beans. She tugged at a drawer by the sink. Cheap cutlery. In the cupboards above she found white plates with a green line painted around the rim. Bowls, mugs, all with the same pattern. There was also a jar of mustard, salt and pepper pots, and a jar of pickle. She bent down and opened the fridge. A limp lettuce, three yoghurts, and a piece of cheddar. She stood up, her hands vaguely damp inside the police-issue gloves. Not much to show for a life. Someone had pulled the caravan door shut. She went to open it, to let death out and fresh air in.

Kate knew she couldn’t avoid it any longer, and looked towards the toilet-cum-shower-room. She saw the splayed legs of Jackie Wood and the broad back and iron-grey head of hair of the pathologist, Jane Blake, crouched between the legs and taking samples from beneath Jackie Wood’s nails.

‘Nasty one, this.’ Jane stood, her bulk filling the doorway. ‘Blood everywhere. Quite a frenzied stabbing.’

‘Time of death?’

Jane laughed. ‘Come on, Katie, you don’t expect me to tell you that without lots of uming and ahing do you?’ However grim the situation, Jane never stopped smiling. She enjoyed her work, took great pride in it. She was good too. Experienced.

‘And it’s Kate these days, as you very well know,’ said Kate.

‘Ach, you’ll always be Katie to me.’ Jane smiled at her.

Kate grinned. Jane, with her round face, ready smile, and comforting presence was the only one allowed to call her Katie. They had known each other since Kate found Harry Clements and Jane had performed the post-mortem in a gentle, considered manner. ‘Okay. Let’s presume you’ve umed and ahed enough. What do you reckon?’

Jane wrinkled her nose though more in concentration than at the smell that curled around them both. ‘It was a cold night but the heater had been left on. Rigor mortis had set in and is still in place. She died where she lies now – from blood loss in all probability – and maybe shock. I would say sometime between ten o’clock last night and seven this morning. Though until I’ve carried out a proper exam I won’t know for sure.’

Kate looked down at the shell that had been Jackie Wood. That was all it was – a shell. Any sense of life had fled. It was at times like these that Kate thought maybe human beings did have souls, otherwise what was it that left the body at the time of death? And what sort of person – deranged person – could do this to another human being? Leave them lying on the floor of a smelly toilet after stabbing them multiple times. It was so
sordid
. But then murder was sordid. She looked at Jane, trying to ignore the waves of nausea that swept over her.

‘Weapon?’ she asked.

Jane stared down at the body, pursing her lips. ‘Knife. I’ll know more after the post-mortem.’

‘Thanks Jane.’

Jane smiled briefly. ‘It never gets any better, does it? Seeing the body of someone who’s had the life snuffed out of them?’

‘No. It doesn’t.’

Twenty minutes later Kate walked through the doors of the Sole Bay police station, which was on a side street in the town. The smell of hops from the nearby brewery permeated the air; a warmer scent than the stench of death that had followed her back from Harbour’s End.

‘Good to see you Ma’am.’ The desk sergeant in the reception area stood a little straighter and looked as though he was about to salute. Kate smiled at him. ‘Sergeant, I gather you have a room set aside for me while you get the incident room set up?’

‘Incident room?’ The sergeant looked worried. ‘Incident room. Yes.’

‘And?’

‘The…er…incident room is in the yard, Ma’am. The Portakabin. It’s just being cleared now.’

‘Okay, I’ll take a look.’ She strode through the door on the other side of the desk into the cold. The makeshift building in the concrete yard looked as though it’d had several resting places before it had finally reached Sole Bay. Broken plastic chairs lay forlornly at the bottom of the steps. Bundles of newspapers tied up with string were strewn around, as if they had been thrown out of the building. A fact confirmed when a bundle sailed through an open window and landed at her feet. A couple of uniforms were coming out of its door carrying cardboard boxes in their arms. If she looked carefully, Kate was sure she could see mildew on the boxes. All in all, it didn’t look like a great prospect. Oh well. She went back inside.

‘Detective Inspector?’ Alex Devlin was sitting on one of the hard chairs in the reception area, her hands jammed between her legs, foot tapping.

Kate stopped. ‘Ms Devlin.’

‘I thought I would come and get it over with. The fingerprints and all that.’

‘Great. I’m afraid I’ll have to take you into one of the interview rooms – my incident room isn’t ready yet.’ She looked at the desk sergeant. ‘Can you ask DS Rogers to come through, please.’

‘Yes Ma’am. Interview room is on the left.’

A few minutes later Kate was watching Steve Rogers as he manoeuvred Alex Devlin’s fingers onto the ink pad, while apologising for not having the state of the art digital equipment used in more modern police stations. Next came the swab of the inside of her mouth; not that Kate thought either process would elicit any new information about what had happened in the caravan. The woman’s prints and DNA would be all over the place.

‘Interesting job you’ve got,’ said Kate. ‘How do you come up with what to write about?’

‘Sometimes it’s commissioned – my editor asks me to find out about so-and-so – other times I see an interesting story in a paper, hear something on the TV or radio, or read something online that piques my interest so I do a bit of research and pitch the idea to my editor.’ Alex held her fingers in front of her face as if to examine her black fingertips.

‘Don’t worry, it will come off. Is that how you met Mr Malone?’ She tried to sound as casual as she could, aware of Alex suddenly shifting on her chair.

‘Sort of,’ she said. ‘I can’t really say too much—’

‘Confidentiality and all that?’ Kate smiled. ‘That’s okay, I understand.’

‘It’s my next feature coming out soon. It’s a bit under wraps.’

Kate smiled. Under wraps. Of course, that’s where she’d seen Malone before, at Martlesham, disappearing into an office. Three or four years ago now and she hadn’t seen him since. Probably worked undercover. Right. Cocky git. She filed the knowledge away for future reference. ‘So, you were what? Wanting to write something about Jackie Wood?’

‘Yes.’ Alex licked her lips. ‘I know it must seem odd to you, wanting to write about the woman who killed my niece and nephew—’

‘She has been freed.’ Kate said, gently, not wanting to stop Alex from talking.

‘Yes, yes, I know. It’s just that I wanted to understand her, try and find out what life had been like for her inside, that sort of thing.’

‘And you thought she would talk to you rather than anyone else?’

‘Yes. No. I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea…’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Her lawyer set it up.’

‘So today was going to be the second time you talked to her?’

‘Yes.’ She began to feel impatient. ‘Look, I’ve already told your detective this. I’ve told him all this. Do I have to go through it again?’

‘I just like to get it clear in my head, that’s all Ms Devlin. From what you’ve said, you obviously still think she was guilty?’

‘Yes.’

‘So were you hoping to find out where Millie was?’

‘It was an interview about Jackie Wood and her time inside. Her side of the story.’

She was a calm one, thought Kate. ‘And your sister?’

Alex visibly stiffened. ‘Sasha? What about her? She’s got nothing to do with Jackie Wood’s death.’

‘I didn’t say she had,’ said Kate patiently, watching as Alex’s eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but at her. ‘I was only wondering what she thought about you talking to Jackie.’

‘She doesn’t know. Not yet. I was hoping—’

‘Yes?’

‘I was hoping she wouldn’t have to find out.’

‘She would have when the article was in the magazine.’ Kate pointed out.

‘I know, I know. But I wanted to be able to tell her when the time was right. Now I suppose—’

‘You’ll have to tell her sooner.’

Alex jumped up, pushing the chair back. ‘Do I have to stay any longer? Am I under suspicion, or what?’

‘No, you don’t have to stay any longer.’

‘But I am under suspicion?’

Kate sighed. ‘Everybody is until we can eliminate them.’

‘I just wanted to talk to Jackie. Find out about her. I didn’t want her dead. Stabbed like that with a bloody great kitchen knife. Now I want to go, please. I’ve done what you wanted. Given you a statement, fingerprints, DNA, and unless you’re going to arrest me I’d like to leave.’ Kate watched as Alex clenched and unclenched her hands.