The Cedar Face: DI Jewell book 3 (DI Elizabeth Jewell) (12 page)

Elizabeth pointed
to the children. 'My advice fell on deaf ears. Some
of these mothers don't deserve kids.'

'You could always
contact social services,' Patterson suggested.

'And what good would that
do? That woman is definitely scared of someone or something
.'

'If Libby murdered Wilson, Janet would have known,' Patterson replied
.

'I don't think we can rule either of them
out.'

'The stuff in the cabinet, I caught a quick
glance, they're dark wood African carvings. Not cheap looking
ones either.'

'She might have relatives in Africa and they
send presents. Anyway you can buy stuff like it all
over the place. What are you getting at?'

'I spotted
a little wooden mask.'

'Tony, it is probably from the
pound shop. Come on, we better find Libby's place
.'

Patterson turned back to look at the house. 'I reckon
she's on the phone right now warning her. What
's the bet when we get there she isn't
in.'

Elizabeth's mobile rang. She stared at the screen
. 'Bloody hell it's Calbrain. I can't speak to
him now.'

'I think you should, you don't want
another ongoing feud. If he ever splits with the Spanish
woman he'll need a friend.'

Elizabeth had pressed the
call button and waved him away. He wandered back to
the Saab, curious to know what Calbrain wanted.

A few
minutes later Elizabeth got into the driver's seat. 'He
proposes we meet on Thursday.'

Patterson grinned. 'That was a
bloody quick engagement.'

'It's not about him and me
. He said it's about Jacob Morven.'

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The
southern end of the housing estate was distinctly more downtrodden
. Some of the small front gardens were unkempt and used
as a dumping site for household furniture or car parts
. Patterson pointed to the left turn leading to the street
where Libby Hall lived with her two sons.

'I bet
she either isn't in, or won't answer the
door,' he said.

'The lads might be, though right now
I'm not looking forward to tackling teenage boys.'

'Leave
that to me, I was a teenager once.'

'I can
't possibly imagine it,' Elizabeth said.

'I was a pain
in the arse,' Patterson laughed. 'Look at this place. How
can people live like this?'

'Stop being such a snob
. All big towns and cities have these areas. Cheltenham is
no exception.'

'It's like two different worlds only a
mile apart.'

'At least we only have one really rough
area and the council is changing its old policy of
sticking all the problem families together. Now they spread them
about hoping that the respectable tenants will influence them.'

Number
fourteen wasn't much better than the other properties. The
gate was hanging off and the garden resembled a wasteland
. Elizabeth looked at the dingy net curtains at the window
and wondered why Libby didn't tidy the place.

They
walked up the pathway avoiding the litter strewn across it
. A torn black bin bag had spilled its rubbish and
no one had bothered to pick it up.

'I hope
there isn't a dog,' Patterson said.

Elizabeth kicked a
lager can out of the way. 'I thought you liked
dogs.'

'Not the designer ones. Do we know where the
ex husband or partner is?'

'Left the area apparently, he
might be worth checking out though.'

Suddenly loud music belted
out. Elizabeth looked up at the open front bedroom window
. 'Somebody's having a sneaky fag,' Patterson said.

'Someone's
turned up the music as an excuse for not opening
the door.'

Patterson lifted his hand to the glass panel
. 'They're not stupid, they know who we are. What
's the plan if they won't answer?'

'Let's
wait until that happens,' Elizabeth said. My head's started
to hurt already.'

* * *

Libby Hall stared through the discoloured net
curtains. They weren't actually dirty, just old and needed
replacing. Money, she cursed inwardly, when would the nightmare stop
?

Bringing up the boys singlehanded hadn't been easy but
over the last two years, life had become more difficult
. Her two jobs didn't bring in sufficient money and
full time ones weren't easy to get. Now she
regretted not going to college. Even basic qualifications might have
given her half a chance. She wanted a better life
for the boys and hoped they would settle down and
concentrate on their schoolwork. Getting them into Grasmere had given
her hope so she had put up with their demands
. With mounting debts, there was no more money for the
expensive clothes, phones and computers.

Janet had offered a loan
, explaining she'd recently won a few thousand and could
afford it. Libby had wanted to accept but was afraid
to tell her friend she'd already borrowed from a
high interest company and now owed more than she'd
originally borrowed. Yesterday she'd received a bailiff's letter
and had only ten days to pay the collection agency
or they would take action.

If only the boys had
found Saturday jobs and saved their wages. Gary was over
sixteen and could have easily got a job in McDonald
's. Ben was fourteen but had already turned down a
gardening job.

Now the police had parked outside her house
and she wished she could disappear. People did it all
the time and no one ever found them. She didn
't want to answer the door in case they took
her back to the station and accused her of killing
Mr Wilson. Libby wanted to scream at the boys to
turn down the music but knew it was pointless. She
went to the mirror and brushed her hair, the best
thing was to get it over with and then the
police would leave her alone. Janet had asked her around
tonight to watch a film and have a glass of
wine. Maybe she'd take her up on the loan
offer after all. Janet wasn't short of money even
before she won the competition so could afford to lend
her a few hundred. Libby straightened her jumper and skirt
before going downstairs.

The pretty police officer showed her a
card. 'I'm Detective Inspector Jewell and this is Sergeant
Patterson. We've just come from your friend Janet's
house and wondered if we could have a few words
with you. I did see you briefly at the school
.'

'I'm sorry I don't remember,' Libby answered and
opened the door wider.

At least the house isn't
too shabby inside, she thought knowing she had been extravagant
with the two matching sofas. She knew it was important
to have a nice home, especially when your children expected
to have their friends around.

'I can make a drink
if you like. Please sit down,' Libby said pointing to
the cream faux leather settees.

'Thanks, could we have coffee
?' Elizabeth asked.

Patterson turned to Elizabeth after Libby went into
the kitchen and closed the door behind her. 'She's
very nervous and doesn't seem well.'

'I wouldn't
expect her to feel on top of the world if
she's involved in Wilson's death.'

'So where do
we start?'

'Whether or not either of them knew Wilson
was still in the building. We made a mistake assuming
they didn't,' Elizabeth added.

'Janet pointed out that staff
often stayed late, in which case they should have known
.'

Elizabeth knew the importance of a timeline. 'We need to
establish how long they were apart. From the time they
went their separate ways to when Libby came running down
the corridor.'

'It couldn't have been much more than
an hour. Remember they worked at opposite ends of the
school and usually stopped for a tea break.'

'Plenty of
time for one of them to kill Wilson,' Elizabeth said
.

'Or both of them, I mean kill him together.'

'Keep
your voice down. It's highly improbable two school cleaners
joined forces to murder a teacher.'

'What if he'd
tried to rape them?' Patterson said.

'Janet might be in
her mid sixties but to me she looks like a
physically strong woman. Cleaners generally are after pushing Hoovers around
all their lives. They build up good upper body muscles
. And Wilson wasn't exactly a Hercules, so if he
had attempted to assault either of them they could have
easily overpowered him.'

Patterson said, 'She's coming.'

Libby had
only brought two cups. 'Don't you want a drink
?' Elizabeth asked.

'I'm not thirsty,' she replied, leaning back
in the chair.

'I'd like you to tell us
everything that happened from the moment you arrived for your
shift.'

As Patterson removed a notebook from his pocket, the
music above them reached deafening proportions. Libby knew the boys
had turned it up deliberately, almost as if they sensed
she needed a distraction.

'I'll just go upstairs and
tell them to turn it off.' She struggled to stand
up. 'Do you want to speak to them?'

Libby could
see the two police officers weren't sure. She waited
, hoping they wouldn't. It would buy her a little
time.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Wednesday May 15th 6.00 am

Seven was
early for a full team briefing and since Morven was
due to fly back to Canada late afternoon it could
only mean Yeats intended to bring him in for questioning
. Last night Elizabeth had been tempted to contact Jessica Oakley
, hoping the latest forensic results might have exonerated the Canadian
but her intuition had stopped her. Less than an hour
later Eldridge had emailed to tell her about the briefing
. A sure sign he was closing in on his prime
suspect. Yeats had now made his intentions very clear. Apart
from the forensic scientists, he would solve the Wilson murder
.

Elizabeth read the rest of the email. According to the
last surveillance report, Morven hadn't left his hotel room
since Saturday so why hadn't Yeats hauled him in
before now. Because, she decided, he was an adrenaline junkie
who liked living on the edge, the type who'd
go for high drama. Waiting until Morven left for the
airport before apprehending him was a risky strategy for any
police operation. Was he looking for accolades, dramatic headlines praising
him for his actions? Elizabeth didn't think so. Since
taking over, Yeats had kept a low profile even with
their local newspaper. Elizabeth suddenly stopped buttering her toast, so
why do it? It made no sense.

She decided to
break her rule and call in at the local newsagents
to pick up the Cheltenham Echo. The paper had recently
employed a graduate called Will Crosbie. Assigned to the crime
beat he had followed her during the Faraday case hoping
for more details. Elizabeth remembered one occasion when she'd
finally lost her temper and threatened to arrest him for
harassment. To describe him as determined was an understatement. Like
any police station Park Road was susceptible to leaks, albeit
very rarely. What worried her about Crosbie was he probably
already knew some details, but hopefully not sufficient to jeopardise
today's procedure. Thinking about the reporter reminded her of
another incident. Yeats had repeatedly refused an interview with Crosbie
, which had seemed odd at the time. After Crosbie's
boss took over and pestered him, Yeats compromised and wrote
a carefully worded biography for their
"Welcome to the
Cotswolds"
column. Eldridge, keen to suck up to Yeats, had
cut the article out and pinned it to the whiteboard
in the incident room. A couple of days later DC
Johnson had asked Yeats why the editorial hadn't included
a photo. Elizabeth hadn't attended but heard the gossip
after the event. When Yeats saw the press cutting, he
'd stormed out and disappeared for the rest of the
day. A trivial incident soon forgotten by all, including Elizabeth
, now seemed significant. Remembering small inconsequential details was one area
she often excelled in, but neither was she naive. Uncovering
the real reason Yeats came to Park Road would rely
on more than that.

Tomorrow she was due to see
Calbrain. Before she set off to meet him, she would
arrange for Patterson to have a couple of hours away
from Park Road. He could go back to his apartment
specifically to print off any photos of Yeats from the
internet, past or present.

Elizabeth checked the time, six-forty
. She had ten minutes to get to Park Road via
the newsagents. She fed Bagpuss, finished her coffee and hurried
out to the car. Traffic was light and she made
it with enough time to to spare. Reluctant to go
straight to the briefing, she headed for the extension at
the back of the police station. Clutching the Cheltenham Echo
, she pushed open the door and went inside. The old
storage facility was due for demolition, but like everything else
at Park Road, it didn't happen.

She rummaged in
her bag, found a cigarette and lit it. The front
page headline focused on more criticisms of GCHQ. The latest
scandal had brought the Director in front of a government
select committee to answer serious allegations. Elizabeth quickly scanned the
text to find a junior MP had accused the covert
institution of breaking more rules by widespread snooping on the
public.

'Oh for God's sake,' she cried, 'bloody stupid
politicians. They've probably given the orders in the first
place.'

She found Crosbie's story on page three. It
was short but informative under the heading.
"Grasmere Killing.
New Suspect."

Crosbie had very few factual details, so like
most hacks had decided to invent them. He'd referred
to the suspect as a Canadian but didn't mention
any name. According to Crosbie's narrative, this suspect had
previous convictions and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police had him
in their sights. She screwed up the paper and tossed
it into an ancient galvanised dustbin.

Yes, she thought, this
rapid result in the Wilson case was unusual. Why was
Yeats convinced of Morven's guilt? Building a case against
a murder suspect usually took time, unless someone witnessed the
crime or confessed. As far as she knew, no one
had pressured Yeats to solve the case quickly, other than
those worried parents wanting the killer caught before he or
she struck again.

Elizabeth clung on to the notion that
the mask was the missing link, had it actually ever
existed or did Wilson fabricate the story for a reason?
He was a lonely man who had craved attention. Broadcasting
he was about to become very wealthy would guarantee him
that. Elizabeth's brain was in overdrive, if the mask
was a marketable commodity and potentially worth a fortune, it
opened up the possibility of more suspects. Janet for one;
she was the more intelligent of the two cleaners. What
if Libby had seen or overheard Janet discussing this mysterious
mask with Wilson. Janet had already hinted at Libby's
financial crises, the mask could have solved all of her
problems, presuming that is, she could sell it. However, that
hypothesis could apply to any number of other people. The
mask was the intangible thread, floating around in the atmosphere
with little substance. Did it exist, or was it deliberate
misinformation to confuse the investigation.

Patterson disturbed her thoughts, 'Hiding
from someone?'

Elizabeth jumped. 'One of these days you'll
give me a heart attack. Why do you insist on
creeping up on me?'

'You should be more alert if
you're in hiding. It didn't work because I
saw cigarette smoke billowing out.'

'Don't be bloody stupid,
why would I hide?'

Patterson smiled. 'Sometimes Liz you confuse
the hell out of me. Come on, or we'll
be late.'

Elizabeth stood on her half smoked cigarette refusing
to pick it up and put it in the bin.
She felt rebellious, almost as if Daly was back and
they were about to have one of their spats.

Patterson
headed towards the main entrance as Elizabeth lagged behind. The
incident room was crowded, stuffy and untidy. No one had
bothered to open a window. She looked at her colleagues.
Each time she'd considered packing the job in, she
always asked herself what would she miss the most, the
work or the people. Part of her still believed justice
must always prevail but the most important aspect was teamwork.
A group working together, determined to make it happen.

Concentrate,
she told herself. All this negativity was pointless; she needed
to be alert, to figure out the man who had
usurped Daly's place at Park Road. Maybe that was
what was fuelling her. For once, it wasn't the
current investigation, which would take its course one way or
the other. A new theory had begun plaguing her. Yeats
replaced Daly for a more specific reason other than to
shake up lazy attitudes at Park Road. She needed to
figure it out, and quickly.

Yeats had started talking, his
accent more pronounced as he explained the CPS had agreed
charges against Morven were in the public interest. 'Until then,
no press statements,' he stated. 'Otherwise we'll attract even
more media interest. I want all of you to view
this subjectively and not from a knee jerk reaction. Just
because Morven is a visitor to this country, does not
preclude him from committing a crime. One thing's for
sure, once this gets into the Canadian press, Morven will
attract huge sympathy and support. We've all seen what
happens when Americans and Brits go abroad and end up
arrested. Remember the Italian and Portuguese cops, how the British
media slated them for months. Not forgetting the South African
Police force, they too were severely criticised. I saw this
appalling journalism plenty of times in Ireland when the army
and the Royal Ulster Constabulary were condemned for arrests. Take
the British out of British Columbia and what have you
got? A Canadian territory, no more British than Northern Ireland
is. Believe me, this is what we're up against,
constant attacks and criticism. Not trusted by our public never
mind abroad. Police reputations are currently in the gutter. We
do this properly or they'll be gunning for us.'

For the first time Elizabeth had agreed with Yeats. He
shared one of her long-term gripes about the British
press. However, her concerns made her more determined to keep
up the pressure. 'Why arrest him then, if you're
so worried about a backlash?'

'It seems Inspector Jewell has
succumbed to another of her conspiracy theories.' Yeats stated to
his audience. 'Perhaps her relationship with an ex newspaper editor
has affected her judgement. As for her remark about the
lack of evidence, I suggest she studies it carefully before
asking pointless questions.'

Elizabeth was shocked he'd mentioned Calbrain
in front of everyone. She raised her voice. 'Don't
bring my personal life into a public discussion.'

'Then I
suggest you don't accuse me of a cover up.'

Elizabeth knew she was on the verge of making a
fool of herself. If Yeats, his superiors and the Crown
Prosecution Service wanted Morven charged with Wilson's murder, there
was bugger all she could do to prevent it.

As
she stormed out of the room, Elizabeth repeated his words. "
Take the British out of British Columbia."

No, she thought,
he couldn't possibly be. Yet the idea wouldn't
leave her. Could Liam Yeats have been an IRA sympathiser?
Even if he had, proving it would be a logistical
nightmare.