Winding Up the Serpent (16 page)

Joanna spoke awkwardly. ‘I don't feel it's the right approach at the moment. I feel we should pursue other enquiries.'

Mike moved away. ‘If you say so, Inspector.' He looked at her carefully. ‘Joanna,' he said tentatively, ‘don't let your personal prejudices interfere.'

She looked questioningly at him.

‘If it wasn't Dr Levin,' he said, ‘you'd have been on the blower by now, badgering him for a cause of death. You'd have made a right nuisance of yourself. You wouldn't have side-stepped the issue.'

‘I know you're right, Mike. And I will ring him.'

‘So what else is on the agenda?'

She ticked off her list. ‘I want Willis to go to the bank to get some details. It's time we looked into Marilyn's financial affairs a bit closer. Over the last two years, I think.'

‘And you?'

‘I've got plenty to do, Mike,' she said. ‘I think it's about time I called on our Mr Machin. Check him out. I'd like to meet him anyway. And then there's Dr Wilson. He hasn't exactly told us the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, has he? What's your gut feeling?'

He frowned. ‘I don't know. I get the impression here the answer could be just about anything. I honestly don't know.'

She grinned and held out her hand. ‘Like to take a bet?'

‘I know what you'd put a tenner on.'

She nodded. ‘You're right.'

‘OK,' he said. ‘You stick to your murder theory. Ten quid says it's suicide.' They shook hands.

Joanna sighed. ‘I suppose I really ought to visit our friend Evelyn too.' She made a face. ‘I can't wait to meet this phantom dog.'

‘I'll come with you, Joanna,' he said. ‘I'd like to meet her.' He watched her curiously. ‘Do you think she could have killed her husband?'

Joanna shrugged her shoulders. ‘At first I would have said no. Now, I'm not quite so sure.'

She was still thinking when she backed the car out of the space. Her first murder case as an inspector. Why couldn't it have been straightforward? Why did it have to be such a tricky business? And now she had to move forward in this case or drop it. By Monday, the Super had said, then she had to return to the drugs through schools problem. ‘The county can't afford to watch you running around in circles, making a fool of yourself, finding out nothing, quoted in newspapers and listening to hunches,' the Super had said. ‘Set an example. Teach the young rookies when to hold on to a case and when to let go. It's obvious this girl died from natural causes and the doctors just haven't been quite thorough enough.'

She had demurred. What about the clothing?

‘She was just a kinky cow, Detective Inspector. No more than that. You'll find it's nothing more than drugs and alcohol. Until Monday – and that's it.'

But there were people she wanted to speak to first. She had a sudden thought. So far all the connections had been men ... Marilyn had been fond of men.

She turned to Mike. ‘All men,' she said. ‘Machin, Paul Haddon, Dr Wilson. No women friends. Surely everyone has women friends. Where were Marilyn's?'

‘The doctor's wife?'

She nodded. ‘That's what I think. They were close, weren't they?'

‘What about Mrs Shiers?'

They stood outside the neat bungalow. Nets twitched. She was watching for them.

She must have recognized Joanna because the door opened as soon as she mounted the front step.

Evelyn Shiers – even more like a cornered, bristling fox than ever – stared suspiciously at Mike. ‘Who's he?' she asked.

‘Detective Sergeant Korpanski, Mrs Shiers.' Joanna glanced at Mike. ‘We understand that you're still being disturbed by a dog barking.'

Evelyn glared at her. ‘It wasn't just any dog, Inspector. I told you. It was Ben. I heard him. I know his bark.'

Joanna shot another swift glance at Mike. ‘We need to look round your garden,' she said.

The woman looked nervous. ‘What for ... Why?'

‘To look for the dog,' Mike said stolidly. ‘You see we believe you, Mrs Shiers.'

Reluctantly Evelyn led the way round the back to the garden. There was no doubt – the garden was overlooked by Marilyn's house, was dominated by it. Three side windows gave on to Evelyn's small patch. Although it was spring little was coming to life here. The cats had overrun the garden as they had the house. Joanna walked the length of the patch. Jock Shiers had disappeared four years ago. At the end of the garden was a small, flowering tree. Joanna stopped in front of it. It was young – could not have been growing more than a few years. Nailed to its base was a crude wooden cross. She looked enquiringly at Evelyn.

The woman was pale with terror. Her eyes were filling with tears. Her hand shook as she crossed herself.

‘Cat,' she said hoarsely. ‘My cat. He died.'

The two police looked at each other. Joanna glanced at the base of the tree and muttered to Mike, ‘Do we dig?'

Imperceptibly he nodded then turned to Evelyn. ‘I don't hear a dog,' he said.

Evelyn held her hands up to her ears. ‘The dog,' she said. ‘I can hear it.' She looked from one to the other. ‘Can't you?'

‘Look,' Joanna said kindly. ‘I think ... I think all this has been a strain on you. Why don't you see a doctor?'

And to Mike later, when they were back in the car, she said, ‘What if she was blackmailing her too?'

He objected. ‘But Jock Shiers disappeared before Marilyn lived here.'

Joanna stared through the windscreen. ‘I don't know, Mike. What if she sort of ... tended the grave and Marilyn saw her?'

He nodded. ‘Possible.'

‘And ... blackmailed her. It would explain the phantom dog. Disturbed, guilty mind “hears” the dog ... Remember Ben was put down because Marilyn died.'

‘Just one or two tiny flaws in your case, Joanna,' he said. ‘One, if you're suggesting Evelyn Shiers actually killed Marilyn, she was bloody terrified of that dog. She'd never have got past him. And two, we still don't know how Marilyn died.'

Joanna was silent for a moment then murmured, ‘Poisoned meat?' She sighed. ‘We need to talk to the vet. Right now, Mike, I think I'll go and visit your friend Grenville Machin.'

‘Yes – let's,' he said, but she put a hand on his arm.

‘I think I'd rather go on my own. I don't want to antagonize him and I think you're probably a bit of a red rag to that particular bull, Mike.'

‘You spoil all the fun,' he grumbled.

‘I know ... I know. Look – why don't you go and see the vet again? Ask him whether he thinks Ben might have allowed anyone into the house.'

Mike gave a grin. ‘You want me to ask about phantom dogs while I'm there?'

She laughed. ‘Why not?'

The antique shop was huge – a massive warehouse converted into a showroom of antiques all shapes and sizes. Joanna walked in and was met by a tiny, strikingly pretty blonde behind the counter. She wore a skintight, black Lycra miniskirt with high-heeled silver boots and a scarlet silk shirt which showed small, pointed breasts. She raised thick, black false eyelashes at Joanna. ‘Can I help you?'

Joanna showed her her ID card. ‘I'm Detective Inspector Piercy,' she said. ‘I'm investigating the death of Marilyn Smith.' She looked at the blonde, who had shrewd, business eyes in spite of the bimbo costume. ‘Did you know her?'

The girl bit her lip. ‘I don't think so,' she said slowly.

Joanna drew out the photograph she had of the dead nurse. ‘Have a look at this ...'

‘Patty,' the girl supplied. ‘Patty Brownlow.' She stared at the picture then raised the heavy lashes. ‘I don't think so,' she said, then scrutinized Joanna's face. ‘What did you say your name was?'

Joanna gave it again and the blonde disappeared to find Grenville Machin, leaving Joanna with the vague feeling she might meet Patty Brownlow again.

He was nothing like she had expected. No hint of the thug millionaire. He was short – a few inches shorter than she – slim, almost weedy, with a heavy Italianate moustache, bristly like a lavatory brush. He held out his hand and gave her a charming, suave smile, displaying white, wolfish teeth.

‘What can I do for you, Detective Inspector? A woman ...' He leered ‘... and so far in her chosen profession.' His eyes crinkled. ‘No stopping you now, is there?'

And all the time she was wondering, is this man a clever murderer? Joanna felt a deep revulsion for him with his easy confidence. Dislike doesn't necessarily make a man a criminal, but she knew this one was, one way or another ... Drugs ... Stolen goods ... Fraud... Attempted murder? Murder?

She took a deep breath. ‘I'm investigating the sudden death of Marilyn Smith.' She used the word ‘sudden' purposely, hoping to rattle him. It failed. He merely looked puzzled.

Who?' he asked.

‘Sister Marilyn Smith,' Joanna said clearly. ‘She worked at the Health Centre. She was found dead on Tuesday, at home. I believe you were a close friend of hers.'

Grenville Machin looked completely comfortable. ‘Then you've been misinformed,' he said. ‘I'm afraid, Inspector, that someone has been telling you little porkies.'

‘Porkies?'

‘Pork pies,' he said. ‘Lies.'

Round one to him, she thought.

‘But you did know her?'

He sauntered to the window, doodled in the dust on the windowpane, then turned so his face was in deep shadow, features in darkness. ‘No better than I know a few hundred of my other regular customers,' he said. ‘I sold her some nice pieces of furniture over the years. I even delivered them to her house.' He smiled carelessly. ‘I do that for most of my private customers. Of course – trade ...' He shrugged his shoulders and bared his teeth again, stroking his moustache lovingly. ‘When probate has been settled I'd be quite happy to buy most of them back. They were honest pieces,' he said, his black eyes flashing with a rude challenge.

Now Joanna knew why Mike had such a strong abhorrence for the man. He was an utter rat. As a woman she felt her skin prickle in reaction to him; any red-blooded man would long to punch him.

‘We need to examine the circumstances surrounding her death,' she said sharply, ‘before we sell off her household goods.'

The antique dealer grinned. ‘No harm in trying,' he said. ‘It'll have to go somewhere and I'm offering.'

‘I suggest you were close friends.' She kept her eyes trained on his face, which was screwed up against the light, trying to draw what she could from his dark features.

But Grenville Machin laughed at her. ‘Close friends!' he exploded. ‘Do you mean what I think you mean?

‘God,' he said, ‘you've seen her. She was no oil painting. Now Patty there...' He jerked his head towards the blonde, just visible through the open door. ‘That's what I call pretty – worth a grunt or two.' His face challenged her and she felt a sudden, hot anger.

‘I've seen Marilyn Smith dead,' she said. ‘No one is pretty dead.' But she knew it had the ring of truth. The blonde and Marilyn Smith were women out of two quite different moulds. Try as hard as she might, she knew Grenville had not been the man Marilyn Smith had bought black lace for. But there had been no actual love-making. What if it had all been in Marilyn's mind? What if Grenville Machin had led her on, pretended he found her attractive? What if he had decided on a way to deal with the blackmailer?

But she knew what rankled. This man was trying to make her look a fool and was succeeding in nettling her. The connection between the dead woman and this buyer and seller of fine antiques was tenuous. Possibly they hardly knew each other. More make believe?

But ... ‘How did she pay for her pieces?' she asked.

Grenville Machin looked momentarily discomfited. ‘I can't remember,' he said irritably. ‘It was a couple of years ago.' He leered and his confidence seeped back. ‘I sell a load of stuff through this place,' he said. ‘I can't be expected to remember how everybody pays for them.'

‘But you keep books,' Joanna insisted.

‘I have to,' he said. ‘Inland Revenue.'

‘I'd be grateful, Mr Machin,' she said calmly, ‘if you'd hunt out the receipts of the antiques you sold to Marilyn Smith. We know about the clock and the bureau.' She smiled smoothly. ‘Was there anything else?'

He was rattled. He reddened and promised to have the books ready for inspection by the following day. Joanna stood up to leave but underneath her confident manner she was depressed. She felt disheartened and tired and sickened by Machin.

‘I've read about you,' he needled. ‘Got a bee in your bonnet about murder. I don't suppose it's occurred to you that maybe she died in her sleep. You coppers,' he said, ‘see murderers hiding round every tree, behind every door. We're all crooks to you, ain't we?'

She tightened her lips and he grinned even more broadly. ‘Keep your hair on,' he said. ‘Pretty woman like you. You should be married – at home with a couple of kids, not pitting your wits against the criminal world.'

‘Mr Machin,' she said sharply, ‘you sound just like my mother.' She put her tongue in her cheek. ‘Would you mind if I had a quick look round? I believe you export Doulton figures to the United States.' She looked hard at him. ‘We have a lot of thefts in the Potteries of Doulton figures. I don't suppose there's any connection.'

He looked wary. ‘Got a warrant?'

‘No,' she said smoothly, ‘but I have a penchant for antiques. I just might want to buy some.'

The antique dealer looked furious and she knew she had emerged the victor of this minor skirmish.

‘Don't go through any of the doors marked private,' he snarled. ‘I've got closed-circuit television.'

She tutted. ‘The things we have to do these days to deal with the criminal fraternity.'