The Cedar Face: DI Jewell book 3 (DI Elizabeth Jewell) (30 page)

'So
far we haven't come up with the Peugeot, but
I still want it checked over. I'm not saying
Jessica's wrong, but this paint chip could have come
from anywhere and have nothing to do with either murder
.'

'The bloke who's just bought it isn't going
to be very happy,' Patterson said.

Elizabeth stared at the
garage again. Whatever had occurred to her was gone. 'I
'm not happy and that's much more important.'

CHAPTER-FIFTY

The phone rang just as Elizabeth stepped out of
the shower. She grabbed a towel and padded into her
bedroom.

Teresa Lane sounded curt and agitated. 'Jacob Morven has
finally confessed to his whereabouts during the time Keith Wilson
was murdered.'

Elizabeth slumped on the bed wondering if she
'd heard correctly.

'Are you still with me?' Lane asked
.

'I am,' Elizabeth said, wondering what was coming next.

'I
'm afraid that DCI Yeats has a lot to answer
for. He intimidated my client, but we will leave that
for the moment.'

'Why has Morven waited so long?'

'He
heard that DCI Yeats had gone to Belfast and hadn
't yet returned. He says he feels safer knowing he
's out of the country.'

Elizabeth needed to stall Lane
so she could pull herself together. She suddenly felt cold
and began to tremble. 'Give me a couple of minutes
and I'll ring you back. I've just come
out of the shower.'

While she threw on some clothes
, Elizabeth felt increasingly suspicious. Why had Morven used Yeats' absence
as a reason to come clean? Had he somehow discovered
Yeats was under arrest? If so, who could have told
him and how had they come by the information? Apart
from her, Patterson and Reynolds no one else at Park
Road knew and Anita's operation was leak proof.

Then
she remembered the night at the Queens Hotel when their
relationship looked promising. He'd opened up and told her
more about his past. He'd spoken of his years
in Vancouver, working for the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. Like
any other secret service agent, he'd trained in intelligence
gathering, to counter those threats to the country's national
security. Elizabeth had listened fascinated as he recounted one or
two covert missions abroad. Without giving anything away he'd
explained about the dangers and how it had all caught
up with him. After the split with his wife he
'd suffered a breakdown but had carried on working. Then
on one operation he'd made a terrible mistake and
a colleague died. He received no sympathy from his superiors
, only intense condemnation. Shortly after he was summoned and told
his career was over. A year later he moved to
England.

Had Nick Calbrain made it his business to find
out what had happened to Yeats and used the information
to Morven's benefit? She dried her hair quickly, convinced
she was on the right track. Her first words to
Teresa Lane amounted to a veiled threat. 'Your client may
face another charge: perverting the course of justice.'

'I doubt
it. Do you want me to continue?'

Elizabeth would have
preferred to have talked to Morven at Park Road, but
she knew Lane would block any attempt to force him
there. She had no choice but to listen. 'Carry on
.'

'We knew Jacob had returned to Grasmere at Wilson's
request. This constituted the main evidence against him apart from
his fingerprints on the weapon and the drugs. One of
the major contradictions that Yeats refused to acknowledge was when
Jacob saw Beresford leaving the school. However, according to Beresford
, he denied seeing Morven. Personally, I believe he lied. Why
he did, is for you to find out. From the
day of his arrest, Jacob was adamant that Wilson was
very much alive when he left him. When he arrived
at his hotel, he was annoyed and restless; Wilson had
upset him and spoiled his visit to the Academy. He
had enjoyed giving the lecture and meeting the pupils. The
prospect of being cooped up until he was due to
fly home depressed him and on the spur of the
moment he decided to get out of Cheltenham.'

Lane paused
and Elizabeth realised she was holding her breath. 'When did
he tell you all of this and where did he
go?'

'He told me after he realised you suspected him
of Jade Harper's murder. Yeats had accused him of
one crime and he was afraid you would charge him
with another. He feared he would definitely end up in
prison, only this time for twenty years. As to where
he went, he took the train to York and stayed
overnight. He wanted to visit another historical city and York
was somewhere he'd always wanted to see.'

'Morven told
us he hadn't left the hotel, so how come
none of the staff saw him leave, or at least
wondered where he was the following morning?'

Lane sounded slightly
exasperated. 'The hotel was fully booked, the staff were run
off their feet and Jacob was in the habit of
hanging a do not disturb sign on his door.'

Elizabeth
made a guess. 'I assume your investigators have credit card
transactions for ticket and hotel sales as well as CCTV
at the two railway stations, and in the city.'

'Correct
,' Lane said. 'All verified.'

'Then I suggest you let me
have them immediately.'

'I'll deliver them personally tomorrow morning
. Then you can deal with the paperwork.'

Elizabeth felt like
a dog with a bone, so many unanswered questions. 'I
still can't wrap my head around why he didn
't tell Yeats straight away. We've wasted time and
recourses on your client, which amounts to a lot of
taxpayer's hard earned cash. In case you've forgotten
, Gloucestershire Constabulary isn't awash with funds. Yes, people confess
to crimes they haven't committed, but I've never
heard of someone professing their innocence then flatly refusing to
prove it.'

'DCI Yeats threatened and intimidated my client. He
visited him in the cells while he was on remand
. He put the fear of God in him. Ask yourself
, DI Jewell, why go to such lengths to prove he
was guilty. If you don't know I can tell
you. Yeats is a vindictive man, who gets off on
mental torture, that's why.'

Elizabeth knew she was right
but didn't dare say so. 'I can't see
why anyone who was intimidated while in custody would be
afraid to speak up. If the duty Sergeant had heard
anything untoward, he would have reported it to me.'

'Not
if Yeats had put the frighteners on him too. Are
you aware that Jacob has the gift of extra sensory
perception?'

'I know he told Yeats he was clairvoyant.'

'Precisely
, and after Harper's death he had a premonition which
he acted on.'

'I take it you believe people have
these psychic abilities?' Elizabeth asked.

'In my profession, I believe
it's best to keep an open mind.'

Elizabeth felt
suddenly apprehensive. 'What if he hadn't experienced this vision
? He could have gone to prison for a long time
?'

'Jacob was certain his situation would be resolved. He's
a spiritual man who believes in balance. He explained how
if you rely on spirituality to guide you, waiting for
the exact moment is fundamental. Yeats leaving gave Morven his
time.'

'You sound brainwashed,' Elizabeth said and immediately regretted it
.

'For a police officer, I find you very naive Inspector
Jewell. You, more than anyone must have been aware of
Yeats' unorthodox methods. As for me being brainwashed, I take
that as an insult. I intend lodging a complaint with
the Independent Police Complaints Commission.'

Elizabeth sat down, feeling completely
shattered. How on earth could something like this happen? Yeats
had deliberately set out to nail Morven and now they
were in an even bigger mess than before. It was
clear that Lane had no idea about Yeats' present predicament
. But if she did find out and demanded to see
him, a Home Office official would fob her off with
some cock and bull story. Was that the reason Walsh
and Adams showed up, to help her private detectives?

Elizabeth
held the phone away from her ear. Lane was still
talking. 'We'd like all of the charges against Jacob
Morven dropped. He's anxious to return home to Canada
as soon as Professor McAllister is fit to travel.'

Elizabeth
came out of her fugue and managed a question. 'How
is the Professor?'

Teresa Lane's voice lost its hard
edge. 'Doctor Burgess phoned not that long ago. According to
him the Professor's made a remarkable recovery. He's
out of intensive care and in a private room. We
're going to see him shortly.'

'What time can I
expect you at Park Road?'

'I'll see you at
ten o'clock prompt,' Lane said and disconnected.

Elizabeth went
straight to the kitchen and instead of wine, poured a
double whisky. She wandered into the garden and spotted Bagpuss
curled up on the grass asleep. She'd forgotten all
about him and knew he'd be starving, unless wherever
he'd gone had included a meal. She stroked his
head hoping he'd wake up but there was no
response. He was out cold, his nocturnal adventures had finally
caught up with him and she had no one to
talk to.

Thinking over what Teresa Lane had said about
Yeats, Elizabeth had to accept Morven's story. What would
she have done in the same position? Yeats had certainly
scared her on occasions and had systematically demoralized her team
until no one dared challenge him. It was easy to
imagine how Morven felt after Yeats arrested him. He was
in a strange country confronted with a corrupt police officer
. All those years working undercover must have warped Yeats' mind
to the point where he only ever saw guilt and
didn't recognise innocence. However well intentioned Teresa Lane was
, complaining about the way he'd treated Morven would get
her nowhere. Compared to his other crimes it paled into
insignificance.

Elizabeth headed back indoors for another whisky, hoping it
would put her to sleep. Her fingers hovered over the
kitchen phone willing them to pick it up, even though
she knew she'd regret it. Bagpuss saved her. He
stood by the door and meowed loudly.

'Well hello stranger
,' she said. 'Where have you been?'

He stared at his
empty bowls.

'Oh Bagpuss,' she said. 'Let me know the
next time you decide to go missing and I'll
dish up double portions when you decide to return.'

Elizabeth
sipped her whisky, her mind focused on the evening's
revelations. Liam Yeats facing a prison sentence, Jacob Morven about
to be exonerated, and the responsibility for finding whoever had
killed Wilson and Harper all hers.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Following
morning, May 30th

Half a mile from Winchcombe town centre
, Patterson pulled into a large trading estate. Beresford had sold
his car to a small garage tucked away at the
end of the first row of units. He pulled up
in front and cursed when he saw the closed metal
doors. It was coming up to eight am and Patterson
had always assumed garages opened early to deal with a
never-ending backlog of customers. Last time he'd needed
a mechanic, every garage he'd tried were fully booked
and he'd ended up going to Kwik Fit.

He
looked across the narrow road and noticed lights on in
the pet food outlet. A woman in her late sixties
stood behind the counter. She smiled and asked how she
could help.

'What time does Chris' garage open?' Patterson asked
.

She walked to the door and peered across the road
. 'He's usually here by seven. Sometimes he's late
, but not that often.'

Just my luck, Patterson thought, wondering
what to do next.

'I've got his home number
,' she said. 'But I've got strict instructions not to
give it out unless it's an emergency.'

Patterson wasn
't sure whether to show his warrant card. He didn
't want to embarrass Chris, small trading estates were often
targets for the police after they'd received tip offs
about stolen goods. 'Can you ring him for me and
say a Mr Beresford suggested I speak to him.'

The
pet food lady nodded. Her eyes were decidedly suspicious. 'Hold
the fort, I'll go out back and use my
mobile.'

Patterson leaned on the counter and scrutinised the goods
on offer. Stacked on broad shelves was every conceivable brand
of dried dog food, ranging from the cheap basic products
to a much higher priced selection. The latter, no doubt
, a recipe from some celebrity chef who'd expanded into
the hugely profitable dog business. The unit wasn't large
but the owner had used her ingenuity with the available
space. Patterson found the accessories section fascinating. Never having owned
a dog he had no idea of the vast number
of toys, beds, leads and countless other products the conscientious
owner required to keep his four-legged friend happy.

The
pet store lady returned. 'Chris says to wait. He's
just about to drop the kids off at the child
minder. They're a hard working couple, him and his
Mrs. It's such a shame women have to leave
their babies to go out to work. In my day
, our husbands wouldn't let us.'

Patterson didn't fancy
a long drawn out conversation on nineteen seventies childcare. 'I
've just remembered I've left some documents in my
car. Thanks for all your help.'

'You're welcome,' she
replied, her eyes narrowing with distrust. Patterson didn't look
back but he knew she'd be watching him until
Chris arrived. He'd often wondered if he might have
a suspicious air about him, now he'd had it
confirmed.

Chris Smith was tall and well built. He opened
up the garage and headed for a tiny office at
the rear.

Patterson started by showing his identification. 'I believe
you recently bought a car from a Mr Beresford.'

Chris
was already going through a pile of receipts. He pulled
one out and handed it over. 'You'll see everything
's above board. He asked for cash, here's a
copy of the receipt.'

'Mr Beresford told me the cost
of getting the car through the MOT was astronomical and
you offered to take it off his hands.' Patterson checked
the amount. 'You certainly got a bargain.'

Chris sounded sullen
. 'It cost more than that to fix.'

No the wonder
Chris didn't hesitate. Mechanics weren't stupid. Seven hundred
quid for a car worth two grand seemed too good
to be true. 'Did it really need that much work
?' Patterson queried.

'Don't accuse me of being dodgy. I
'm a legit bloke trying to make a profit and
that's bloody hard these days. The heating system was
knackered, that costs a fortune and takes ages. Beresford said
it had played up during the winter then packed in
altogether. Apart from the electrics, there was welding and other
bits and bobs.'

'You sold it straight on.'

'To my
mate, he lives next door. He'd asked me to
keep a look out for something half way decent.'

'Okay
,' Patterson said. 'Give me his address and I'll get
out of your hair.'

Chris was subdued as he wrote
details and directions down on a business card. 'You lot
think all garage owners are criminals. Try starting one up
then you'll understand. You better hurry, Al will be
leaving for work soon.'

Patterson pulled away wondering why Beresford
hadn't haggled over the price. Why sell the car
so quickly, if he had nothing to hide. There had
to be another reason.

He pulled up at the curb
just as Chris's mate was coming down the path
. Patterson was pleasantly surprised at the neighbourhood, a small estate
of ex local authority houses. 'Can I have a quick
word?' he shouted.

Al had already pressed the remote key
and was sliding into the driver's seat.

Patterson went
over and inspected the Peugeot. From his perspective, it looked
in pristine condition. He held up his card for the
third time that morning. 'Sorry to bother you mate but
I need to confirm a few particulars about this vehicle
.'

Al seemed an okay guy and showed no animosity. 'As
long as you make it quick,' he replied.

Patterson didn
't fancy trying to impound the car there and then
. Al hadn't committed any offence and was going about
his business. He tried not to give too much away
, just that they were looking for a similar car and
there was a possibility they would need to examine it
.

Al's attitude changed immediately. 'No chance,' he asserted. 'I
've got to drive up to Sheffield and won't
be back until tomorrow night.'

Patterson knew he was stuck
. If he insisted, Al could claim harassment, or worse. If
Al didn't take up his offer, he'd have
to leave it. He offered an incentive. 'I could arrange
for a hire car.'

'Sorry mate. Get back to me
about eight tomorrow night and I'll see what I
can do.'

* * *

Elizabeth was at odds with herself when Patterson
returned to Park Road. He'd sat in her office
for a couple of minutes and all she'd done
was clock watch. He hadn't spoken to her since
last night but he could tell by her face something
had changed.

He broke the silence. 'The guy who bought
Beresford's motor was on his way to work and
wouldn't cooperate.'

'Great, and I bet he's had
the damn thing cleaned up by now.'

'Forget the car
for a minute and tell me what's going on
.'

She stood up, went to the window and stared out
. 'Morven's off the hook as from this morning.'

Patterson
felt surprise more than shock. 'Has someone else confessed?'

'I
wish. Morven's playing the victim, but it's not
a good performance,' Elizabeth explained why he'd kept quiet
about his visit to York. Then she added, 'Lane will
be here soon with a suitcase full of corroborative evidence
.'

'Give me a quick run through. I need a breakfast
.'

Elizabeth repeated what Lane had told her the previous evening
. 'So there you have it. We'll have to start
again.'

'Don't be so bloody pessimistic.'

'I can't
help feeling anything other than pessimistic this morning. I seem
to have been abandoned, no one wants to know me
, yet I'm expected to solve two murders.'

'Then get
onto Dr Oakley. We need her final reports on this
paint chip thing, before we hurtle down another blind alley
.'

'I'm about to do that. 'We're two thirds
through the registration document list and so far, no one
with any solid links to Grasmere owns a white Peugeot
208.'

'It's a long shot Liz. Could Oakley have
got it all wrong?'

Elizabeth shook her head. 'Jessica saw
the importance of the paint sample, and made the right
decision to have it tested. I refuse to accept the
results are wrong, if we don't find the car
then we start considering other explanations. I keep mulling over
this clairvoyant business.'

'Morven's weird, even if he isn
't a murderer.'

Elizabeth pulled a brush out of a
drawer and raked it through her hair. 'Lane will be
here soon. I need a bit of moral support, so
I'd like you to come straight back from the
canteen.'

'Do you want a bite to eat?'

'I've
no appetite for food, but plenty for coffee. Bring one
for Lane as well.'

Five minutes later, he was on
his way back. Lane was hurrying along the corridor pulling
a trolley bag. He did the courteous thing and offered
to help.

'Thank you, Sergeant,' she said.

Patterson took the
opportunity to ask after Walsh and Adams. 'We haven't
seen them since Oxford. What are they up too?'

'Clearing
up a few discrepancies and keeping Professor McAllister company until
he's well enough to leave.'

Patterson wished he knew
what the discrepancies were but didn't ask. Babysitting McAllister
was obviously a cover for protection duty. He kept his
stone friendly. 'Will they all fly back together?'

'I expect
they might, but don't quote me on it.' Lane
looked up at him and smiled. 'This is an excellent
outcome Sergeant, whatever your boss might feel.'

Again, he wondered
what her remark meant. All he could think was Lane
had sensed Liz's uncertainty regarding Morven. As his solicitor
, she was undoubtedly privy to a lot more information, and
as she showed no intention of sharing, it was pointless
trying to wheedle it out of her.

Lane stopped outside
the office and retrieved her trolley. 'We know the statistics
Sergeant. Over eighty percent of all murder victims, are either
related to, or friends with their killer.'

Patterson opened the
door for Lane. As he followed her in, he experienced
a revelation moment.