Innocent Lies (Reissue) Page 23

  * * *

  The place turned out to be her flat, on the ground floor of a Victorian town house in Acocks Green.

  ‘This is fantastic,’ said Mariner as he scooped up rogan josh with a spicy naan that was as light as a feather. He hadn’t eaten all day, or realised how hungry he was.

  ‘Don’t get too excited,’ said Millie. ‘I didn’t cook it myself. My mum sends it over now and again. I think it helps to ease her conscience now the rest of the family won’t have anything to do with me. Dad doesn’t know she does it.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Long story,’ Millie said.

  ‘I’ve got time,’ said Mariner, sitting back. ‘But only if you want to.’

  ‘Why not?’ She dropped her chunk of bread into her dish and sighed. ‘My parents aren’t quite so enlightened as Yasmin’s. They always expected that I’d be a traditional Pakistani wife. I had to learn to cook and sew — all the usual. But when I got to about Yasmin’s age I started to realise that there could be more to life than that. I was doing pretty well at school and decided I wanted to go to university. I fancied being a forensic scientist, actually. But my dad has rather more rigid views than the Akrams. Within our community a woman’s sole purpose is to look after her husband. So, I had to do it the hard way. Over a number of years, I saved enough money to start paying my way through college, but a few weeks before I was due to go, Dad got hold of my building society book, confiscated my savings and that was the end of it.’

  ‘God Millie, I had no idea.’ Mariner was horrified.

  ‘Naturally I had a massive row with my dad, called him a lot of things that I shouldn’t have and effectively managed to cut myself off from the family and the rest of the community. I left home and came to live with a sympathetic auntie in Alum Rock, and this job was the nearest I could get to what I really want to be.’ Mariner could sense her struggling to keep the story light. In an attempt to conceal her emotion, she got up and carried her plate through to the kitchen.

  Picking up his own empty dish, Mariner followed her through. ‘Do you still have ambitions of getting into forensics?’ he asked as they loaded the dishwasher.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Millie. ‘I like what I do now.’

  ‘You’re bloody good at it,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I mean it. You’ve built a great relationship with the Akrams.’

  ‘Today was horrible, having to tell them.’

  ‘It was always going to be. I’m afraid it’s one of the bits of the job that won’t get any easier.’

  ‘I keep trying to imagine what they must be going through.’ Folding her arms, Millie leaned back on the counter. ‘Their own child. It must be—’ her eyes watered and she wiped at them crossly.

  Mariner put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You made it as easy for them as you could,’ he said. ‘You supported them. It’s all you can do. You can’t bring her back.’

  ‘No, but I still wish I could.’

  Afterwards Mariner couldn’t really be sure how it happened. One minute he had his arm around Millie comforting her, the next her lips were fused to his, her tongue, sweet and spicy, probing his mouth. Maybe the curry had aphrodisiac properties, or perhaps seeing Anna like that had left him gagging for it. Whatever it was, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world that he should kiss her back, his hands roaming her shapely body. And by the time her hand slid down to unzip him he was already hard.

  They made love urgently, only making it as far as the sofa, Mariner’s trousers shoved down to his thighs. For him it was over in minutes, too soon for Millie, who continued her frenzied pumping on his softening member for what seemed like an eternity, until spasms rocked her and she finally allowed him to withdraw, deflated and sore.

  ‘Sorry,’ Mariner said, stifling a belch. ‘That wasn’t up to much.’

  ‘No,’ she seemed not to mind. ‘But probably about what you’d expect from a couple of drunks. I’ll call a taxi for you.’

  Thankfully Mariner made it inside his own front door before his bowels decided to gurgle and erupt. He awoke the next morning, still half-clothed, mind and body feeling lousy in equal measures. His system clearly wasn’t accustomed to industrial strength curry and Millie’s mother’s, delicious though it was at the time, had consigned him to the bathroom for much of the night. He’d a thumping hangover and his dick hurt about as much as his ego. He didn’t think Millie was the type to broadcast details of their pathetic encounter around the station, but you could never really tell with anyone.

  * * *

  When the phone rang he really hoped it wasn’t Anna. It wasn’t. It was Mark Russell. ‘I thought you’d want to know, sir, we’ve got another body.’

  Somehow Mariner dragged himself under the shower. Every time he moved his head pain jangled round it like vibrations in a bell. Forcing down coffee and a couple of strong painkillers, he put on his sunglasses against the glare of daylight and got a taxi to Granville Lane where he saw that his own car had materialised in the station car park. The movement of the journey had made him feel queasy again, but somehow he managed to roll down the blinds in his office and make it to his desk where Russell came to update him on the latest discovery. ‘She was found a little way downstream from where Yasmin was discovered.’ Russell was saying, but Mariner was momentarily distracted by Millie walking into the bull pen. She smiled a brief good morning to them both through the glass partition, but her face gave nothing away.

  ‘Sir?’ Russell said, looking up from his notebook.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘She was found by Ben, a liver and white springer spaniel who’s apparently a keen swimmer. His owner, a Mr Lovell, took him to the park this morning as usual, and Ben had what I s’pose you’d call a “swamp day.” Mr Lovell had to go looking for him and that was when he saw the woman’s body, caught on an old bit of fencing that runs alongside the stream. Yesterday that part of the park would have been completely under water but the flooding has subsided overnight.’

  ‘And what do we know about her?’ Mariner forced himself to concentrate.

  ‘Not much yet. She’s an older woman: late forties or fifties. The pathologist at the scene said she’s been in the water a lot longer than Yasmin — could be weeks or even months. She’s got similar kinds of bruising though.’

  ‘So she could have been released at the same time, when the mechanism disintegrated,’ said Mariner, thinking aloud.

  ‘Maybe,’ Russell agreed. ‘They think there won’t be much in the way of forensics, thanks to decomposition, but we’ve got a pair of earrings that may help with identification and there was a large splinter of wood caught in her cardigan.’

  ‘From the bridge?’ Mariner thought of the railings.

  ‘SOCO are down there now.’

  ‘Do we know how she died?’

  ‘There’s a head injury, but we can’t be sure that that’s what killed her. Croghan seemed to think that may have happened when she fell into the water.’

  Mariner fought down a wave of nausea. ‘Any ID?’

  ‘Not yet. Tony Knox is going through the missing persons.’

  ‘Okay, let me know when you find anything.’

  CHAPTER 24

  The best solution to avoid throwing up, Mariner found, was to remain as inactive as possible. He got Russell to bring him some water on his way out then began sifting through the messages that had accumulated on his desk. He didn’t trust himself to return any of the three calls from Anna and consigned those yellow slips to the bin. The next was from a Sahira Masud. Mariner couldn’t place the name, not even in connection with Yasmin Akram, and in the end he had to pick up the telephone to find out who it belonged to.

  ‘I live next door but one to your mother,’ Mrs Masud reminded him. ‘I wasn’t sure that anyone would have let you know — I’m afraid she’s had a slight stroke.’

  The words had more of an impact than Mariner could ever have imagined, his own fragility instantly forgot
ten. He’d known this day might come of course. But, thanks to the ever-dwindling contact between his mother and him, Mariner had always expected to feel numb to any such news. He’d been wrong. Now he felt bad that he hadn’t returned her calls. Was that what she was ringing about, to tell him she wasn’t well? ‘Is she all right?’ he asked, his voice thin with anxiety.

  ‘She’s fine,’ Mrs Masud was instantly reassuring. ‘But they’ve taken her into Warwick hospital to keep an eye on her overnight. You might want to—’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mariner. ‘Thank you for letting me know.’ Visiting the hospital was a decision that Mariner would make himself, after weighing up whether it was likely to make her worse or better.

  ‘She’s on ward eight.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Mariner looked up to see Millie standing in the doorway, dangling his car keys from a finger. She came and laid them on his desk, all the time studying his face, which Mariner guessed was probably an interesting shade of grey.

  ‘Everything okay, sir?’ she asked.

  Mariner nodded and instantly regretted it. ‘Look, about last night,’ he said. ‘I was pretty pissed.’

  She returned a wan smile. ‘You and me both, sir. To be honest I can’t remember much about it. Probably best forgotten.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right.’ Mariner was weak with relief.

  ‘In my job I move around a lot,’ she went on. ‘I try to bag an inspector at every OCU I’m assigned to. You did enough.’ Mariner stared. ‘Joke,’ she said, deadpan, before walking away.

  * * *

  Tony Knox was next in line. The bacon sandwich in his fist nearly had Mariner reaching for the bin, but Knox remained oblivious to Mariner’s state. Then again, he didn’t look all that hot himself. His shirt was creased and slightly grimy, and he didn’t appear to have had time for a shave today.

  ‘We’ve got a possible match on the body, boss,’ he said. ‘Barbara Kincaid. IC1 female, aged forty-four, reported missing back in March from an address on Banbury Road.’

  ‘That’s what?’ said Mariner, forcing his thoughts back to the investigation. ‘About half a mile from the reservoir?’

  ‘The other side of the station.’ Knox nodded. ‘According to the husband’s statement at the time she’d been suffering mental health problems, depression. She left the house late one evening and didn’t come back. The description of what she was wearing matches the clothing on the body and we’ve asked him to come in and identify some jewellery she was wearing.’

  ‘Russell said something about a splinter of wood?’ Mariner said.

  ‘Yeah. It’s a possible match with the wooden railings of the reservoir bridge.’

  ‘So she went in at the same place Yasmin did.’

  ‘It looks like it. She could have been the one who leaned on them and broke them.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have taken much. They were pretty well rotten through. What do you think?’

  ‘Either that or she threw herself in, got tangled up in the drainage mechanism,’ said Knox. ‘It’s a bit desperate though.’

  ‘Desperate feelings lead you to do desperate things,’ said Mariner, trying not to think of last night. ‘Let me know when identity’s confirmed.’

  * * *

  The final straw was Fiske, who hovered in the doorway at first, distinctly reticent, and Mariner was soon to find out why. ‘The Skeet family have made a complaint,’ he said, eventually.

  ‘About what?’ said Mariner, though he could fairly easily guess the answer.

  ‘They don’t think their son’s disappearance was made enough of a priority. How far do you think they’ll take it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Is Colleen Skeet the vindictive type?’

  If it hadn’t required the effort of standing up, Mariner would have been tempted to walk over and punch his smarmy face. ‘Colleen Skeet isn’t any “type,” sir. As I seem to remember, it was thinking of her family as a “type” that got us into trouble. Right now she’s a woman grieving for her son. I couldn’t begin to understand what’s going on in her head.’

  ‘I thought you said you knew her.’

  ‘I know Colleen, sir. I know very little about those who might have any influence over her, especially at a time like this.’

  ‘Will you talk to her?’

  ‘I’m not sure that that’s a very good idea,’ Mariner said truthfully.

  ‘I do hope that as a fellow officer I will be able to count on your support, Inspector.’ Not a request, just a statement. But it would be a difficult one to adhere to. Mariner felt not a shred of fellowship for the man.

  * * *

  Nonetheless, his brush with Fiske gave Mariner the nudge he needed and by mid-afternoon — having exhausted all the paperwork he could reasonably do at this point in the case and starting to feel halfway human again — he ran out of options. He hadn’t had the guts to face Colleen since Ricky’s death. Now was as good a time as any and from there he could go over to see his mother. Moving very carefully, Mariner picked up his jacket and keys and walked out to his car.

  He went to pass through the exit at the same moment as a man being shown out of the building by Mark Russell.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ To avoid a collision the other man stepped back at the same time as Mariner did.

  ‘No, after you,’ Mariner found himself looking into a vaguely familiar face, but there was no reciprocal recognition and he dismissed it. It happened all the time in this job, a consequence of meeting so many people. Then, crossing the car park, it came to him. He went back into reception.

  ‘That man who just left. What was he doing here with Russell?’ he asked Ella.

  ‘I think he’s the guy who came in to identify his wife’s jewellery. The latest body that was found. Poor bloke.’

  ‘Can I use your phone?’ Mariner called up to Russell. ‘The body found today, she was Mrs Kincaid.’

  ‘Ms,’ said Russell. ‘She kept her maiden name when she got married.’

  Poor bloke indeed, thought Mariner.

  * * *

  He found Colleen sitting smoking on the front step in the yellow late afternoon sunshine, a grotesque pastiche of contentment. ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve,’ was all she said as he walked up the path.

  ‘I’m sorry, Colleen, really sorry.’ Was there ever a way of instilling those words with enough sincerity? Mariner doubted it.

  ‘I bet you are,’ she said. ‘Sorry that you’re all in the shit.’

  She was wrong about that, but there was no point in arguing. ‘Are you really going through with it, the complaint?’

  ‘Yes, she fucking is,’ snarled a voice from behind her. It belonged to a giant of a man with thick muscles and apparently no neck. Steve, Mariner guessed. ‘So why don’t you piss off out of here and stop harassing her?’

  Yeah, why didn’t he? ‘I’m sorry, Colleen,’ Mariner said again and turned and walked back to his car.

  ‘Tom?’ she called after him, her voice smaller than before. He turned. ‘I know it wasn’t your fault.’

  Mariner nodded briefly and walked on.

  * * *

  Back in the car Mariner thought again about what he’d just learned from Russell. The reservoir, Yasmin Akram, Barbara Kincaid and, through her husband, the link between them all: Shaun Pryce, with his apparent predilection for middle-aged housewives. Mariner wondered if there was any way Barbara Kincaid could have known Shaun Pryce too. Pryce must have come across her husband. On his way out to Leamington to visit his mother Mariner would have to drive along Banbury Road. That was fortuitous.

  * * *

  There was a considerably delayed response when he rang the doorbell of the three-floor terrace, but eventually the door opened on Brian Goodway. His shoulders were hunched and even on this warm afternoon he wore a thick cardigan over his open collared shirt, his body temperature thrown off-balance by shock. He was apologetic. ‘I was upstairs. The kids are at home but they never answer the door, even though it’s usual
ly for them. Teenagers, eh?’ He shook his head despairingly but his heart wasn’t in it, he hadn’t got the energy.

  Mariner felt another surge of sympathy for the man. ‘Mr Goodway, I know this is a difficult time for you, but I understand you identified your wife’s jewellery this afternoon.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘As you know, I’m investigating Yasmin Akram’s death. This may be important. I wonder if you could spare a few minutes.’

  ‘Um, yes, of course.’ He seemed disorientated and vague and Mariner almost changed his mind. But he was here now and followed Goodway past bikes propped in the hallway into an untidy lounge with a high ceiling and a wide bay with sash windows. Like the Akram’s sitting room it felt cool and unlived in, probably because most of the space was taken up by a polished walnut baby grand piano.

  ‘Barbara’s,’ Goodway said, although Mariner hadn’t asked. ‘She used to teach part-time. The number of pupils had dwindled over the years but she liked to do it. It was something for herself.’ Already used to speaking about his wife in the past tense, but then she’d been missing from his life for months.

  ‘Is that why she kept her maiden name?’

  ‘Yes, it was like a stage name really. Barbara was a performer: music, amateur theatre, that kind of thing.’

  For the first time Mariner saw a black-and-white portrait photograph. The subject was strikingly pretty and not at all the kind of woman Mariner would have thought of as a natural partner for Goodway. ‘Is that her?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, taken a few years ago now. At the time we married she had quite a reputation locally, so understandably didn’t want to lose that. Inevitably though once the children came along family became more of a priority and she had to put her other ambitions on hold.’

  ‘That can’t have been easy,’ said Mariner.

  ‘No. I know she found it frustrating at times. She was very artistic. But she continued to provide accompaniment for a local drama group from time to time. Please sit down, Inspector. Can I get you anything? A cup of tea?’

  ‘That would be good, thank you.’ It was the last thing Mariner wanted, but it would give Brian Goodway something else to focus on while they talked. He sat down on a lumpy sofa, draped with an Indian print throw. Somewhere in the house a low bass throbbed a steady beat. Looking around it was clear that this room wasn’t a priority for decoration, being papered with ivory coloured anaglypta that had gone out of fashion ten years ago. A vertical strip from the light switch to the ceiling had been torn away and fresh pink plasterwork inserted. It was precisely what Mariner had been hoping for.