TT13 Time of Death (32 page)

‘You look fine.’ The lying had been getting easier and easier since she’d come back.

‘You think I should take the kids?’

‘Up to you,’ Helen said.

‘They’d love to see him.’

‘Maybe next time?’

‘Yeah.’ Linda sucked in a deep breath. ‘God, I’m nervous already.’ She walked back across to the bed and sat down. ‘It feels like it’s been ages.’

‘He’ll be pleased to see you.’

Linda nodded. ‘It’ll be fantastic. You think I’ll be able to touch him? I mean, will there be one of those screens?’

‘I really don’t know,’ Helen said. ‘I shouldn’t think you’ll be able to get very touchy-feely though.’

‘I just want to see him. I just want to show him that someone believes he’s innocent.’ Linda looked at Helen. ‘You know?’

Helen was still not ready to tell her friend that someone else believed it too. Not quite. She was thinking about a conversation she’d had the day before at the hospital. A chance encounter; things that had been overheard and passed on. Chinese whispers could make the most mundane exchange sound bizarre, she was well aware of that, but this one did not sound quite so strange when you knew the people who had been doing the talking.

No more than a casual chat, for those two.

Helen needed to sit down and talk to Tom.

‘Consulting with the police is never going to pay the mortgage,’ Hendricks explained. ‘It’s a pretty specialised area, after all, so he’s teaching most days.’

Dr Liam Southworth had agreed to meet Thorne and Hendricks between lectures, and on the forty-minute drive south to the Warwick University campus, they discussed the best way to make their approach. Hendricks thought he knew exactly how to play it, but Thorne was not convinced.

‘He’s a scientist,’ Thorne said. ‘We should make it all about the science.’

‘That’s one way.’

‘Tell him he’ll be helping an innocent man.’

Hendricks looked dubious. ‘At the end of the day, we’re asking him a favour. And we need this done quickly, don’t we? I reckon I know which buttons to push.’

Thorne pulled out and accelerated past a van doing sixty in the middle lane. ‘You were wrong about that bloke in the pub, remember? The first night.’

‘Twenty quid says I’m not wrong about the bug man.’

‘Fair enough …’

The science block was not easy to find, but they had arrived in good time and, after asking several students for directions, they finally knocked on Liam Southworth’s door a little after three o’clock.

He showed them into a small office with a view across a narrow strip of lawn to several other modern blocks. Rain was beginning to streak the window. Thorne and Hendricks dragged two uncomfortable-looking chairs from against the wall as Southworth sat down behind a cluttered desk, tapped at his keyboard for a few seconds.

‘Won’t be a minute,’ he said.

‘No rush, Liam,’ Hendricks said.

One wall was lined with books and the other was taken up by framed certificates dotted among a collection of insects in glass cases. Beetles, moths, enough spiders to give an arachnophobe heart failure. Thorne stared at a black and yellow beetle the size of his hand and decided that if he were ever to come across one inside a body, it would definitely be the main suspect.

Southworth looked up, followed Thorne’s gaze. ‘It’s an elephant beetle.’ The Dublin accent was straight out of a Guinness commercial. ‘Mainly found in Central and South America.’

‘Thank God for that,’ Thorne said.

The entomologist looked at Hendricks. ‘Nice to see you again.’

Hendricks said, ‘You too.’ He casually slipped off his leather jacket to reveal a tight white T-shirt underneath and nodded towards Thorne. ‘This is Tom.’ He rubbed a hand along one tattooed forearm. ‘I told you about him.’

The man behind the desk eyed Thorne for a little longer than might have been expected. ‘Right. Hello.’

Thorne nodded.

‘Strong, silent type,’ Hendricks said.

Southworth reddened a little. He was on the short side and stocky, with collar-length fair hair and a babyish face. He reminded Thorne of that actor who had died of a heroin overdose, though Thorne could not remember the name. Southworth was wearing khaki trousers and a blue button-down shirt, but did not seem altogether comfortable; like someone who was trying a little too hard to look like an American college professor.

‘So, something interesting, you said.’ Southworth looked at Hendricks again. ‘When you called.’

‘It’s not something you’ll have heard before,’ Hendricks said. ‘Put it that way.’

‘Right, well I’m all yours.’

Something something Hoffman, Thorne thought. That actor.

Hendricks kicked things off. He talked about their suspicions about the time of Jessica Toms’ death, his theory about the killer’s judicious use of entomological evidence, and finally their visit to Bob Patterson’s farm. Thorne enjoyed watching Southworth’s reaction as Hendricks talked. It became clear very quickly that, whatever else might happen, they certainly had his attention.

‘Couldn’t think of anyone better to come to,’ Hendricks said, when he’d told the story. ‘I told Tom that you were just the man we needed.’

Southworth reddened again. He took off his wire-rimmed glasses, wiped them on his shirt, put them on again. He said, ‘Blimey.’

‘You keep some of the specimens,’ Thorne said. ‘Right?’ He nodded towards the insects on the wall.

‘Not here,’ Southworth said.

‘No, but you do keep them. Several examples of each insect taken from the body.’

‘Of course. Some are kept for use as evidence later on and some we hold on to just … out of interest. Can’t bear to throw them away sometimes. I’m talking about the more interesting
ones, obviously.’ Southworth smiled. ‘It’s not like I’ve got an enormous maggot collection or anything.’

‘So, what we’re talking about is possible then?’

‘Certainly a first.’

‘Possible, though?’

Southworth sat back. Behind him, the rain was a little heavier against the window. ‘Yeah, sure, theoretically. If you’re right and the insects removed from the body had initially invaded the body of a pig, fed on it, then that animal’s DNA should still be present within the insects themselves.’ He nodded to himself, puffed out his cheeks. ‘It’s actually the sort of thing people publish papers about.’

‘There you are then,’ Hendricks said. ‘One more good reason to help us out.’

‘Well, it wouldn’t really be me,’ Southworth said. ‘This is a bit out of my area. I think I’d need to ask someone at the lab to do it. Can’t imagine too many of them have ever done a post-mortem on a beetle though.’

Hendricks laughed. ‘Just need to find someone who likes a challenge.’

‘I think I know who to ask first,’ Southworth said. ‘She’s usually up to her eyeballs, but you never know. She’s a mate and all that.’

‘Anything you can do,’ Thorne said.

Southworth looked at him. ‘This
is
within the parameters of the inquiry, is it?’

Thorne and Hendricks exchanged a look. This was always going to be the trickiest part.

‘I mean you’re with the Met and Dr Hendricks is … well, I’m not quite sure where Dr Hendricks comes into it.’

‘It depends on how you define your parameters,’ Thorne said.

Southworth said, ‘Ah …’

‘For now, we’d prefer to keep it between us. If that’s OK.’

‘Well, it does put a rather different complexion on things.’ Southworth suddenly looked a little awkward. ‘This isn’t the first case I’ve worked on with the police and I’d rather it wasn’t my last, you know? I’m not sure I should really get involved in anything they might not approve of.’

Thorne exchanged another look with Hendricks. Things had been going so well.

‘I’m sure you understand,’ Southworth said. He looked at Hendricks, blinking hard behind his glasses. ‘Don’t get me wrong, it certainly sounds interesting, but I’d have to think very hard about anything unofficial.’

There was a knock on the door and, at the summons from Southworth, a nervous-looking student put his head around. He asked if he could have a quick word and Southworth told his visitors that they would have to excuse him for five minutes.

When Southworth had stepped outside, Thorne said, ‘So, not the only gay in the village, then?’

‘You’re cramping my style,’ Hendricks said. ‘You do know that?’

‘Sorry.’

‘I’m pretty sure I can persuade him.’

‘Hardly your type, I would have thought.’

‘No?’

‘I know you think his accent’s sexy, but I wouldn’t have said he was that fit.’

‘He’s cuddly.’

‘And he’s obviously not thick.’

‘We need this doing, don’t we?’

‘You’re telling me you’re prepared to make the sacrifice, are you?’

Hendricks shrugged. ‘A shag’s a shag. Besides which, that sofa’s seriously uncomfortable.’

When Southworth came back, Thorne told him that a call
had just come through and that he needed to be elsewhere fairly urgently. Southworth looked a little disappointed, until it became clear that Hendricks did not have to go anywhere.

‘Thanks for sparing the time,’ Thorne said, getting up.

‘Well, it was every bit as interesting as Phil said it would be.’

‘And thanks for thinking about it.’

‘I’ll call you later,’ Hendricks told Thorne.

Thorne was only halfway back to Polesford when Hendricks called.

‘Piece of piss.’

‘Really?’

‘Pick me up in the morning,’ Hendricks said. ‘You can bring the twenty quid with you.’

Having decided once again to forgo the specialised dining area, they ordered food and took a small table at the end of the bar. The young girl who brought their meals over was clearly used to people making the same decision.

‘Shelley’s tried telling them, but they know best.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Trevor and his wife. It always stinks of bleach and it’s too near the toilets. Puts everyone off, doesn’t it?’ She smiled. ‘Enjoy your dinner …’

Thorne got stuck into ham, egg and chips, while Helen picked somewhat less enthusiastically at scampi and salad. Thorne asked how things had been going with Linda. Helen told him about the visiting order arriving, the visit Linda would be making to Steve Bates in Hewell prison the next day.

‘Nice to see her a bit happier,’ she said.

Thorne nodded, sipped at his pint. ‘Well, with any luck, I reckon we’ll be able to make her even happier pretty soon.’

Helen folded her arms. ‘Oh yeah, when exactly
were
you planning to tell me about the bugs?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You and Phil working out that they were actually put into the body. That they’d come from somewhere else.’

‘I haven’t seen you, have I?’

Helen reached for her phone, held it up. ‘You heard of these?’

Thorne tried hard not to show his irritation. What about those things Helen had chosen not to share with him? He had only found out about those kids spitting at her because Linda had mentioned it. He felt sure there was plenty else besides.

He took another drink. Said, ‘How did you find out?’

‘I ran into Paula at the hospital yesterday.’

‘How the hell did
she
know?’

‘She came down from her ward because she’d heard what was going on, that Bates had been brought in. She told me her mate who runs the café had overheard you and Phil talking about it. Bugs and bodies.’

‘Jesus, this place.’

‘I had to pretend I knew what she was talking about.’

‘I hope you told her to keep it to herself.’

‘I think it might be a bit late for that,’ Helen said.

The waitress stopped at their table as she collected glasses and asked if everything was all right. Thorne told her it was and nodded across at Trevor Hare who stopped pulling a pint to wave at them. The place was busy enough, but there was plenty of room at the bar and several empty tables. Thorne wondered if there was a search party out looking for Poppy Johnston tonight.

‘I didn’t tell you about it because there wasn’t anything to tell. It was just a theory of Phil’s, that’s all.’

Helen leaned towards him. ‘It’s a bit more than that now though, isn’t it? I could tell by how pleased with yourself you were looking.’

While they finished eating, Thorne told her exactly where Hendricks thought the bugs had come from and about that morning’s visit to the pig farm. He told her where they had spent the afternoon and why Hendricks would not be coming home.

Helen was excited, the snippiness of a few minutes earlier gone. ‘So we can prove it.’

‘I think so,’ Thorne said. ‘You know how persuasive Phil can be.’

‘That’s fantastic.’ Helen downed the last of her wine. ‘I can’t wait to give Linda some good news.’

Thorne looked at her.

‘What?’

‘You didn’t seem very interested before,’ Thorne said. ‘When I told you I thought Bates wasn’t the killer.’

‘I didn’t want to give her any false hope, that’s all.’

‘“Pissing in the wind.” I think that was how you put it.’ Thorne conjured half a smile to let her know he wasn’t being altogether serious. ‘“Poking around in misery.”’

‘Sorry,’ Helen said. She reached for Thorne’s hand. ‘And sorry about having a go at you just now.’

‘Bloody hell, I’d really hate to be across the table from you in an interview room.’

‘You’ve no idea,’ Helen said.

Thorne went to the bar to get more drinks. When he came back to the table, Helen said, ‘Thanks for doing this, all right?’

‘It’s only a glass of wine.’

‘Seriously.’

‘I’m counting on a fair few brownie points.’

‘Lots.’

Thorne smiled. ‘And I didn’t even need to go antique shopping …’

Helen had called her father after leaving Linda’s and, for a few
minutes, she talked about their conversation, every bit as awkward as it had been the first time they’d spoken after the pictures had appeared in the newspaper. She was telling Thorne about the much more enjoyable chat she’d had with Alfie, when she looked up to see a figure approaching from the kitchen.

She sat back. ‘Twat incoming.’

Thorne turned to see Shelley, the poetry-writing chef, striding to the table.