Winding Up the Serpent (18 page)

It was a dismissal.

‘I want to get him, Mike,' she said.

He looked at her. ‘Who?'

‘Machin.'

‘You don't think ...?'

She leaned forward, chin cupped in her hand, and stared straight into Mike's face. ‘I don't know,' she said. ‘The trouble is I can't see how he could have done it.' She laughed. ‘Call it a copper's instinct, Mike,' she said. ‘He's a crook. I want to see him put away.'

‘How?' He stood up, agitated, pacing the room. ‘Look, Joanna,' he said. ‘We've been trying for ages. He's been getting steadily richer and richer over the last six, seven years. We've never managed to pin a thing on him, at least nothing that would stand up in court.' He stared at her, frowning. ‘You know how frustrating it can be ... all that police work – for nothing. And you know the defence will make a total fool of you, make you out to be corrupt, victimizing an innocent man. And that's if it gets past the Crown Prosecution Service. Joanna, we have to catch him with blood on his hands.'

‘Not blood,' she said. ‘Not blood.'

‘What, then?'

‘Come on, Mike,' she said impatiently. ‘We know where all that money came from. And it's bloody obvious – the connection with Marilyn Smith.'

‘I'm sorry,' he said politely. ‘I don't think we're talking the same language any more.'

‘Drugs!' she said. ‘Containers full of antiques. And what else? Drugs. What better vehicle to smuggle drugs into the country? We should have thought of him before. Why has he kept so quiet for the last couple of years? Besides – who better than a dealer to be handling all those stolen china figures? I want a check made on the Doulton found in Marilyn's house. We can make a start on handling stolen goods. Then we'll take it from there.'

‘You'll never prove it,' he said. ‘And even if you could you couldn't make it stick.'

‘We'll make it stick,' she said grimly. ‘That and a murder charge.'

Mike bit his lip and watched her.

She turned back to her notes. ‘I don't suppose Jock Shiers has turned up?'

‘No such luck. And no record of the
Marie Celeste
in Bangor. No one's seen either the boat or him. The coastguard doesn't know it.'

‘Do you mean the boat is missing or that it was never there?'

‘It was registered,' he said, ‘but not from North Wales. South Wales – Milford Haven.'

‘And,' she said.

‘And nothing ... No one seems to know anything about it.'

She sat very still. ‘He's disappeared, Mike ...' She looked up at him. ‘He's disappeared, hasn't he?'

‘So far,' he said uneasily.

‘Do we have a description?'

‘Heavily built,' he muttered, ‘aged fifty, no scars. Black hair.'

She sighed. ‘Not a lot of help.'

She stood up. ‘I'm getting a warrant,' she said, suddenly decisive. She badly needed the action. ‘We're digging up the bloody garden. You saw her, Mike,' she said defensively. ‘Something's under that cross.'

‘Look,' he said. ‘We have a prime suspect. Why go preying on her?'

‘There's something there,' she said.

He moved towards her, even more uneasy now.

‘Joanna,' he said awkwardly. ‘Don't think I'm trying to tell you your job.'

The hardness was back in her eyes. She knew what he was going to say.

‘Don't you think you should have a word with Dr Levin?' He paused. ‘If only we could get some idea of what she died of ...'

‘I want to leave him out of this,' she said, ‘as much as possible.'

‘But –'

She wheeled around. ‘I'm not ringing Matthew,' she said. ‘And that's that.'

Mike scowled and she felt angry with him – and with herself. But she did not want to ring him. She wanted him to ring her.

The telephone rang as if on cue, and she stared at it. It was Evelyn Shiers, and this time she was hysterical. ‘Come and listen!' she said. ‘Listen to him. Then you'll know ... He sniffs around the tree.'

Joanna let the woman rant for a full five minutes then she put the phone down and sat for a while, still holding the receiver, before she made her decision.

‘I want the garden dug up,' she said, ‘concentrating on the bit around the willow tree.'

Mike said nothing. He watched her carefully. She knew he wanted to speak. Just as surely as she knew he would probably say nothing unless she prompted him.

‘All right,' she said eventually, ‘go on. What's bugging you?'

He leaned back in the chair. ‘I don't see Evelyn Shiers killing anyone,' he said. ‘Least of all her husband. And if she had killed him, she wouldn't have carried on living there. She couldn't have.'

‘What else would she have done?' Joanna demanded. ‘Confess? Sell the house and have someone digging up the garden? What else?'

‘She couldn't have lived there with him lying in the garden for years.'

Joanna's hand touched the telephone. ‘Stranger things have happened,' she said. ‘Besides, why the hysterics?'

He shook his head. ‘Panic?'

‘I don't think so.' She picked up the telephone. ‘We'll soon see,' she said, waiting for the connection. She spoke quickly into it, justifying her reasons for the request.

When she had finished Mike stood up. ‘And Machin?'

‘He'll have to wait.' She paused, hoping she might gain his approval. When he remained silent she spoke again.

‘It is a murder investigation,' she said. ‘We'll get back to him.'

He stood over her so his eyes were very close to hers. ‘And Dr Levin?'

She broke the gaze, picked up her coat. ‘He can wait too.'

It was dull and grey, no sign of sun, just interminable drizzle.

Joanna picked up one of the spades and started to dig. The soil stuck to the spade so she had to shake off each clod. Her hands were cold and muddy. She looked around at the silent, digging group. Police work, she thought. Neither glamorous nor romantic.

She looked up to see Evelyn watching through the window, a dark shape, shadowy and silent. Joanna stared at her and knew she would never forget the woman's expression when she had knocked on the door and told her they would dig up the garden. She had looked as though she had given up all hope, a lost, unhappy woman who had lived for years with a guilty, lonely secret, one which her next door neighbour had capitalized on. She had blinked with her frightened pale eyes and muttered something about a migraine. And now she stood, motionless at the window, staring down at the diggers.

Grave diggers, Joanna thought, and dug again into the stiff clay. She looked up to see Evelyn standing at her side, clutching a coat around her.

‘Why?' she asked.

‘Because we're curious about the whereabouts of your husband,' Joanna said. ‘There isn't anything you'd like to add, is there, before we carry on?'

Evelyn's face hardened. She looked at Joanna with dislike. ‘It isn't your business,' she said. ‘What happened to my husband is nothing to do with you.' She looked around the square, muddy lawn. ‘He isn't here, you know.' Then the quick, brave moment passed and the frightened fox was back. ‘Find the dog,' she said. ‘Find out where Ben's barking from.'

‘While we dig,' Joanna said stolidly. ‘While we dig we'll listen.'

Evelyn stomped back into the house.

She was left with eight sturdy volunteers. The Super had proved generous. Men had appeared from other divisions. Murder was a serious crime. No manpower problems in this case.

‘Get this solved,' he had said. ‘Dig up the secrets, Piercy, and find out how and why this wretched woman died.' The press had been short of news recently. The original story had been followed up on page two by indignant headlines. ‘Police no further ... Detective Inspector Piercy unavailable for comment ...' Joanna had grimaced as she had read it. ‘Unavailable for comment ...' ‘But it is understood they still cannot rule out homicide.'

Dig ... dig ... dig ... The sound of the scrabbling of the shovel against clods of earth liberally peppered with gravel and stones. They squared the garden with red plastic tape to show where they had already investigated. If they did find Jock Shiers' body it would be allocated one of the squares ... D4 ... C3 ... Joanna sighed. They had begun near the willow tree and fanned out. The drizzle was filling small channels with mud. Her Wellington boots were sucked into the squelch. She needed a bath.

Her spade touched something hard. She peered down. Not caring any more about the mud on her hands, her knees ... she fumbled in the ground and pulled out a bone.

It was strange to watch the diggers. They had been mechanical, careful but bored by the job. Now their spades quickened. As Mike used the car phone to ring the pathologist they worked to uncover the bones. Joanna glanced across at the house. The face had gone. Evelyn was no longer watching.

It took Matthew almost an hour to arrive at the scene, by which time they had cleared the earth around a small collection of bones. Joanna's face was smeared with mud. And she was cold. The light was fading and she was achingly tired. She heard Matthew's car pull up the drive, then the crunch of his feet up the garden path, the squeak of the gate. She looked up.

He gave her a quick, amused glance which told her she looked a mess. She wiped her face and smeared more mud across her cheek.

‘What have you got?' he said, and she pointed to the pile of bones.

He squatted down, picked up first one long bone then another and as he touched the skull she felt suddenly foolish. He studied it for a minute then grinned at her. ‘Dog,' he said, setting it down next to the others. ‘Did you find any more?'

She knew then the effort in the garden had been wasted. She watched the diggers. They had covered nearly the whole garden. Wherever Jock Shiers was he was not lying here. She straightened up. Matthew's hand was on her shoulder. She knew from his touch he felt her humiliation. And she knew he was excited about something. ‘I've been trying to get in touch with you all day,' he said. ‘I've got some news.'

‘At last,' she said, ‘some light.'

Matthew grinned. ‘Don't get too excited, Jo,' he warned. ‘I haven't proved it yet but I'm optimistic.'

She felt a surge of warmth for him. ‘I could hug you,' she said.

He stared at her then and she caught her breath at the fierce, hot expression in his face.

He drew a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped some of the mud off her face. ‘I'll take you back to your place,' he said. ‘You can have a bath and wash your hair. Then we need to talk.'

She could not hide her excitement. She gave a quick laugh and instructed Mike to complete the work in the garden. He looked sour. ‘Thanks,' he said. ‘On a bloody Sunday too. I have got a family, you know.'

‘One of the joys of being a copper,' she said, then glanced up at the window and saw Evelyn's silhouette. ‘Have a word with her, Mike,' she said. ‘Tell her again. Ben is dead. Marilyn is dead. If she knows anything else she has a duty to tell us or she could be had up for wasting police time ... withholding information ... obstruction ... And tell her we still want to get in touch with her husband. Tell her we're worried about her safety.' She stopped. ‘Tell her she must tell us anything she knows.'

She paused. ‘And tell her this. It'll be the house next, tell her. And, Mike,' she added, ignoring the look of disapproval on his face, ‘tell her if she hears a dog it's someone else's animal. It's not Ben.'

Mike looked even more angry. ‘So you're swanning off with him?'

Matthew was standing a short distance away, watching her patiently but with a look of amusement on his face. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

‘We'll probably end up at the morgue,' she said, ‘after I've had a bath.'

He shrugged his shoulders and turned away.

Matthew laid sheets of newspaper on the passenger seat and she got in and fastened her seat belt. He watched her quietly for a moment before starting the engine, smiled and moved away. As they swung into the traffic he briefly touched her hand. ‘I can't tell you how good it is to see you in the car again.'

She didn't trust herself to speak.

She left Matthew downstairs, sitting relaxed on the sofa. He had always felt comfortable in the small cottage. She climbed the stairs, stripped and showered, shampooed her hair and wrapped a white towelling bathrobe around her. It was warm and comfortable in the sitting room. Matthew had opened a bottle of wine.

He grinned and raised his glass to her. ‘That looks a bit better,' he said. ‘Mucky work, digging the garden. And if you want my opinion,' he said, ‘you were wasting your time – especially with my latest bit of information.'

She looked at him. ‘A lot of police time is wasted,' she said defensively, ‘following leads that take you nowhere. It doesn't matter as long as you reach the truth in the end.'

He studied her face. ‘And you think you will?'

‘Yes,' she said, but it was with a degree of uncertainty.

He paused and she waited for him to tell her, knowing he liked to be precise about forensic facts.

‘I haven't redone the PM – yet,' he said cautiously, ‘but I think I know how she died.'

She was sitting on the floor, in front of the fire, her hair spread out to dry. She ran her fingers through it, feeling it spring back as the dampness steamed away. She put her arms around her knees, looked up at Matthew sitting in the chair. He had switched on the standard lamp behind him, and the light touched his hair, giving it a yellow look. She listened as he spoke slowly, choosing his words as carefully as if he was in a court of law.

‘Jo,' he said, watching her very carefully and she knew she was being tested. ‘How much have you learned about Marilyn?'