The Cedar Face: DI Jewell book 3 (DI Elizabeth Jewell) (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Thursday May 16th

From Princess Beatrice Way
Elizabeth turned onto the Evesham road and headed towards Pittville
Park, Cheltenham's largest ornamental park situated two miles from
the town centre. She tried to remember the last time
she'd visited, five years ago at least, she thought.

Elizabeth also knew why Calbrain had chosen to meet there.
The park had sufficient secluded areas making it unlikely anyone
would see them together. Therefore, it seemed likely that Francisca
Montero had already laid down the rules and it didn'
t take a genius to figure out why. She wouldn'
t appreciate Calbrain meeting another woman, especially one he'd
previously worked with. Not that she had any reason for
jealousy. She was the one wearing a diamond ring.

As
a former crime journalist, Calbrain wasn't renowned for secrecy,
not when the public had an insatiable interest in real
life murders. From first meeting him, she'd admired his
openness, down to earth approach and analytical mind. Had it
not been for his impulsive and irresponsible behaviour during the
Jerome case their relationship might have reached the point where
she wore the diamond ring.

After he left his editorial
job, he'd vowed never to work in the industry
again, but he still had contacts and sources which must
be how he knew about Morven.

She eventually stopped in
a side street and accessed the park from the Evesham
Road. Elizabeth checked the time. Calbrain wouldn't arrive for
another ten or fifteen minutes and she wondered why she'
d rushed to get here. The western side of the
park's layout had a natural feel with small woodland
areas and lakes where you could fish during the season.
Elizabeth passed a children's play area, tennis courts and
a pitch and putt golf course. She sauntered along the
pathway leading to the cafe he'd specified. Most of
the outdoor tables and chairs were unoccupied. Inside a group
of people sat together deep in conversation. Satisfied she didn'
t recognise anyone she bought a Panini and a cup
of coffee then went outside again. While she ate, she
took in the view, glad she'd made an effort
to learn some of the town's history.

George III
and Queen Charlotte had actually put Cheltenham on the map
as a spa town. Later, a banker called Joseph Pitt
commissioned an architect to design the new Pump Rooms to
enhance its reputation.

She lifted her head and warm sun
shone directly on to her face. Images of nineteenth century
Regency Cheltenham flashed through her mind. She visualised elegant carriages
dropping the fashionable women on the Promenade, their parasols twirling,
their taffeta skirts swishing across the pavements. Totally immersed in
another world she didn't hear anyone approach. It was
only when he spoke she opened her eyes.

He seemed
taller, but was that because she was sitting down. He
seemed thinner and that was probably because she'd put
on weight. His deep tan indicated he'd spent time
abroad.

'Elizabeth,' he smiled, white teeth contrasting with his bronzed
face. She stood up too quickly and knocked over her
coffee. They stood looking at each other for a few
moments and when he spoke again whatever had passed between
them was gone. 'I'll get another one.'

'Thank you,'
she said.

She watched him walk the few yards to
the cafe thinking how he was about to leave her
life forever. Rather than dwell on the fact she focused
on a hypothetical connection between him and Morven. Both were
Canadian with links to Vancouver, however knowing each other was
pushing any coincidence too far. Then he was back, carrying
a tray with one hand and suddenly she felt awkward.
He placed the tray on the table and she saw
two large slices of chocolate cake.

'You look like you
need feeding up again,' he said.

'I've actually put
on weight and I've already eaten a Panini,' Elizabeth
replied, wondering whether to read his observation as a compliment.

'
I'm sure you can manage the cake.'

Elizabeth picked
up the fork and caught him staring at her. He
reached over and touched her hand. 'It's good to
see you.'

'You too,' she mumbled. 'Why do you want
to speak to me about Morven?'

'I met him a
few years ago. Morven is one of the world's
good guys, there's absolutely no way he's a
murderer.'

Elizabeth pondered on her earlier thought about coincidence. Life
threw them at you when you least expected it. 'How
do you even know he's a suspect?'

'Coming from
you that is a stupid question.'

Elizabeth was flabbergasted, even
though she'd speculated on a link. His expression gave
her no cause to think he was lying. Calbrain, had
met plenty of criminals. She remembered him telling her about
the many crimes he'd covered and how he could
spot the bad guys a mile away. She'd watched
a recent documentary exploring the crocodile tears syndrome. How those
killers who craved the limelight always gave themselves away. Calbrain
was a self-taught expert.

'Where did you meet him?'
she asked.

'The first time was in Auckland. He'd
gone there to verify some piece a group of archaeologists
unearthed. I'd heard of him of course, he'd
written several books on the search for lost First Nation
treasure. You've got the wrong man Liz.'

She could
see his belief in Morven was genuine. What surprised her
was he'd overlooked a well-known fact, that the
least likely people often commit murder.

‘You're lucky they
haven't run any stories yet. I can guarantee when
they do Morven will be portrayed as the victim and
you lot as incompetent.'

The word incompetent angered Elizabeth and
she fought the urge to shout him down.

'So on
the basis of one brief meeting and perusing a few
books you've decided he's innocent and feel duty
bound to tell me to disregard any evidence. Come on
Nick, what's in it for you? Are you out
to prove a serious injustice hoping one of the broad
sheets will offer you a job? Or are you just
fed up because the private detective business isn't doing
well and you need a fat salary to keep your
fiancé in diamonds.' Elizabeth stood up. 'I'm leaving. I
shouldn't even be discussing this with you.'

'Believe me,
your evidence is wrong.'

'I'll make my own mind
up about Morven and if you're harbouring any ideas
of helping on another police investigation you can forget it.'

'
I'm going to see him now. I had a
phone call from one of his associates, who has asked
me to act as an intermediary with embassy help.'

Elizabeth
wondered why one of Morven's friends, who she presumed
also lived in Canada happened to know Calbrain's phone
number. That was too much, even for her. 'I'm
sure no one will object to you liaising with the
embassy. Morven will receive what help he needs. What's
the point of asking to see me when you know
there's no chance of influencing the outcome.'

'I'm
doing it for your own good. What I'm saying
is that the publicity surrounding this case won't do
yours or Gloucestershire Constabulary's name any good. You had
one bad case, surely you don't want another.'

'I
won't be railroaded into believing we deliberately arrested a
high-profile person on a whim. You've got a
bloody nerve after what happened.'

Calbrain looked away. 'I tried
for months to open up a dialogue between us. You
didn't want to, now I've found another woman
you can't stand the idea.'

'I didn't remember
you having such an inflated ego. What's happened Calbrain,
has the Spanish woman successfully moulded you into husband material?
If she has then you're trapped and it's
your own lousy fault.'

'Maybe I want to be trapped,
what the hell's wrong with that? It's a
shame you don't fancy the idea. If you're
not careful you'll turn into a lonely resentful woman.'

'
So what if I do. Once I stop obsessing about
finding the right bloke I'll definitely end up a
better detective. Men are no more than fucking horrendous distractions
and I've proved I can do without them, but
thanks for the concern. Talking of hardnosed coppers I suggest
you get around to Park Road and ask to see
DCI Yeats, he's in charge and he's from
Belfast. Don't say I didn't warn you.'

Elizabeth
waited, hoping he'd ask about Daly but he didn'
t. Why should he, she thought, after Daly had wiped
the floor with him. Her need to see and speak
to Daly surfaced again. The feeling was so strong she
decided to forget about his privacy or the half-baked
rumours about what he was or wasn't doing. She
would begin searching for him as soon as she'd
figured out where to start.

Before going off Calbrain repeated
his warning. 'Check the evidence. Morven has influential friends and
supporters who will never believe he's guilty. I'm
going straight to Park Road. If you want to avoid
bumping into me I suggest you stay away.'

'How long
will you be there?'

'As long as it takes,' he
said and walked off.

Calbrain had changed and in certain
respects seemed like a stranger. How does that happen she
wondered after they'd become so close? She knew the
reason why but her pride prevented her from admitting it.
What she had to accept was their relationship was over.
She watched him until he disappeared from view. Then she
surprised herself. She rang Yeats to tell him Calbrain was
on his way.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Nearly nine months had
elapsed since Calbrain last stepped through Park Road's entrance.
He recognised the desk sergeant and introduced himself.

'I'm
here to see DCI Yeats,' he explained.

'Name, address and
contact details,' the sergeant demanded. Calbrain was under no illusions
the sergeant remembered him.

He gave him the information, feeling
like a criminal. Why was he so surprised after Daly
had ordered him never to set foot in the place
again? He'd kept his promise until today. This time
he had no choice.

'DCI Yeats isn't available,' the
sergeant mumbled.

'I'll wait,' Calbrain said and sat down.
He studied the reception area. Nothing had changed since his
last visit; the move to CID's new premises was
obviously still on hold. Calbrain sympathised with everyone working in
a building that was way past it's sell by
date.

He closed his eyes and remembered his first encounter
with Elizabeth Jewell. If only he'd stayed away from
her, but back then he'd needed a challenging woman.
Had she not quickly become an obsession, he might have
avoided a lot of heartache. They hadn't stood a
chance right from the beginning and after she was seriously
injured, her colleagues had condemned him and sealed their fate.
He'd understood what a difficult choice she'd faced.
By continuing their relationship, she might have lost their respect.

Now he was committed to Francisca. He checked the time
and wondered how long he'd have to wait. Three
youths and a teenage girl staggered through the main entrance.
Two uniformed officers steered them to the counter.

'Who's
on?' The taller officer asked nodding towards a door in
the far corner.

'Gareth,' the desk sergeant said and grinned.

'
Right you lot, follow me, we have the best crime
deterrent in the world downstairs in the shape of one
Sergeant Gareth Harris. Some good advice until we contact your
parents. Be nice to him.'

Calbrain watched as the officers
escorted the group towards the stairs leading to the custody
suite. He remembered the shabby dark narrow corridors well. He
stood up and wandered about to ease his anxiety. Professor
John McAlister had begged him to intervene and Calbrain knew
he could have refused, but he owed him. One way
to repay his debt was to help Jacob Morven find
a suitable lawyer.

Ten minutes later the sergeant shouted his
name.' You can go up now. DCI Yeats is in
Daly's old office.'

Calbrain nodded. Was the sergeant's
reference to Daly a reminder of his fall from grace,
or worse, a shot across the bows? He would soon
find out.

He hurried up the stairs, memories of the
last time filling his head until he stopped outside the
office. The door was ajar; he pushed it slightly and
saw it was empty. Then he heard a voice behind
him.

'Go on in,' Yeats said.

They were of a
similar height and build and Calbrain estimated they were also
about the same age. When Yeats turned to face him
Calbrain had the feeling he'd seen him before. Elizabeth
had said he was from Belfast, a city he'd
only visited twice. He tried to remember where else he
might have bumped into him but drew a blank.

'Take
a seat,' Yeats said.

'DI Jewell tells me you're
from Belfast,' Calbrain said.

'Correct, and why would you be
interested in that?'

Before answering, Calbrain recalled a couple of
facts. The Royal Ulster Constabulary had changed to the Police
Service of Northern Ireland in two thousand and one after
a big shake up. He recalled how constant accusations by
certain Catholic communities and human rights groups had played a
part in the reorganisation.

'I researched the history of the
troubles for a television documentary.'

Yeats bent his head pretending
to examine a document. Calbrain felt the tension in the
room and decided not to pursue the topic. Yeats looked
up, his face strained, his eyes wary.

'Before we start
Calbrain, I know all about you. I thought I'd
better make that clear. My first requirement long before I
came here was to read a mountain of paperwork. Familiarise
myself with future colleagues. Your name came up in relation
to a botched rescue attempt.'

'I'm not here to
discuss that period, or my relationship with DI Jewell.'

'I'
m sure you'd rather forget it, I would if
it was me. It's hard to live down an
incident like that. So what can I help you with?'

For a few seconds Calbrain felt like smashing his fist
into the man's face. He unclenched his hands and
calmed his thoughts. He could hardly say, by the way,
you've arrested the wrong man. 'Can you confirm Jacob
Morven has been charged?'

Yeats reverted to businesslike. 'Until we
issue a press release I'm unable to confirm any
details on Morven's status. Go home Calbrain, unless you
have a lawyer waiting outside in a fancy car.'

'Not
yet, but I'm working on it. A colleague has
asked me to liaise with the Canadian Embassy. As you
should know, any foreign national arrested abroad is entitled to
consular help. I've arranged to meet someone at the
embassy tomorrow, then a firm of solicitors. That's why
I'm here, to take Morven's instructions.'

'You're
not a relative or his lawyer so I can legitimately
refuse. He can organise his own representation, or use the
duty solicitor. That is until such time you do bring
in the big guns.'

Calbrain ignored the sarcasm. 'If you
have arrested him then I will remind you of consular
requirements. He must appear before a magistrate's court within
twenty-four to thirty six hours. The consular official will
also monitor his detention. I'm sure you know how
embassies operate from your experience in Ireland. They are specific
about treatment, conditions and equality with local prisoners. They will
also follow the case through the legal system.'

Yeats tapped
a key on his computer and appeared thoughtful. 'Excuse me
while I authorise your visit, I'll be back in
a while.'

Calbrain hoped Yeats had thought twice about refusing
his request and was clearing the way with the duty
officer. Police work was straining from the burden of political
correctness. He cast his mind back to Daly, famous for
ignoring such trivia yet he still commanded respect. He wondered
what had become of him and wished he'd asked
Elizabeth while he'd had the chance. Perhaps Daly was
seriously ill. If something awful had happened to him, surely
she would have mentioned it. Daly's sudden departure had
all the hallmarks of a mystery. His prying journalistic mind
wanted to dig around and find out more.

Yeats was
gone for ten minutes. Fed up with hanging on Calbrain
left the office, he was only a few yards from
the stairs when Yeats appeared with a uniformed sergeant. 'You'
ve got forty minutes.'

Calbrain followed the silent officer. He'
d never forget the cell's claustrophobic feeling and wondered
how Morven was coping. A man brought up in wide
open spaces then suddenly incarcerated, might crack. The officer opened
the cell door and the clanging of metal against metal
gave Calbrain a jolt. Instead of finding a man sitting
with his head in his hands, Morven was standing up
and appeared calm.

'Yeats told me you were on your
way, thank you for coming.' Morven said.

Calbrain felt the
full force of Elizabeth's hypocrisy. Why alert Yeats when
she obviously hated him? He had to put her out
of his mind. He had come to help a fellow
Canadian. 'Are you coping?'

'It isn't easy but neither
is it a burden. We have met before but forgive
me for not remembering where.'

'It was a long time
ago,' Calbrain replied. 'In New Zealand, but I'm not
here to reminisce. I only have a short time to
talk. John asked me to help you in any way
I can.'

'How do you know John?' Morven asked.

'That'
s another long story. I've an appointment at our
embassy tomorrow, after that a meeting with a firm of
solicitors in Chiswick. Yeats is adamant you should find yourself
a local solicitor, but John's instructions are clear. Do
not allow them to pressure you.'

'I'm not bothered
who represents me as I won't be here much
longer. I didn't kill this man and they can'
t prove it. Eventually they will realise their mistake.'

Calbrain
didn't believe Morven was naive, yet within the next
few hours he would become a big media story and
the man appeared unfazed.

'I'm not here to discuss
what happened. John asked me to liaise because he didn'
t know anyone else in England he could trust. I
need a list of items you might need. I also
have to ask if you want to choose your own
lawyer, or leave it to me.'

Morven's face changed.
Calbrain noticed an element of stress creeping in. 'I don'
t know any lawyers in the UK unless the embassy
can suggest someone suitable.'

'They can't advise or recommend
legal representation. Their role is to make sure the cops
in England don't stitch you up,' Calbrain answered.

Morven
rubbed his temples. 'I've read about some of their
catastrophic mistakes.'

'It happens in every country, not just here.
If you write down the things you want, I'll
collect them for you.'

‘I'd like my computer returned,
but I don't suppose they'll let me have
it.'

'I'll ask but don't hold out too
much hope. What books do you read? Give me a
few ideas.'

'Not fiction. While I'm stuck here I
might as well familiarise myself with English history. One section
I know very little about is the ancient Druids.'

'Apart
from the legends neither do I,' Calbrain said. 'They were
Pagans who allegedly practiced human sacrifice. You must have heard
of the wicker man. That's about as much as
I know but I'll see what I can find.'

Morven nodded, 'Thanks. I can't pay you yet.'

Calbrain
was about to broach finances. 'John's provided a substantial
cash deposit for bail and whatever else you require.'

'Is
it certain I'll get bail? Morven asked.'

'I honestly
don't know. During my days as a crime reporter,
it varied from case to case. You're not a
flight risk and you have plenty of funds, so there'
s a fifty-fifty chance.'

Calbrain's back began to
hurt again. A few weeks ago, he'd woken up
with severe pains and had gone to see his GP
who suggested physiotherapy. The sessions had relieved the symptoms for
a while, but the pain had started up again. The
wedding, scheduled for August would take place in Francisca's
hometown in Southern Spain. A big affair, her father had
informed him. Calbrain had never worried about his health, but
Francisca loved sport and had insisted teaching him to sail.
He'd spent a gruelling holiday on her sailing yacht,
Odyssey, which he knew had caused the problem.

'Can we
sit down?' he asked Morven.