Someone whistled.
‘Just like ours,’ Stella said.
‘Fainter than ours,’ Hen said. ‘The marks, I mean. The victim was wearing clothes, but you can still see bruising. Up to now the post mortem report hasn’t been made public. The incident hasn’t had much publicity, a paragraph on an inside page of the local paper. Our case, as you know, has had plenty of attention. Hampshire Police knew all about it and got in touch this afternoon. The assumption is that the two drownings are connected, that we have a double killing. Clearly it calls for cooperation across the county border. Seeing that our investigation is already under way, Hampshire have agreed to me being SIO in both cases. We’ll have two or three of their detectives on the team, but basically it’s our show. A double murder-unless it’s Sod’s Law that two similar drownings happened within twenty miles of each other.’
‘Sod’s Law?’ Gary Pearce queried softly.
‘Something that can go wrong will go wrong,’ the sergeant behind him said.
Hen had heard and said, ‘AKA Murphy’s law. Isn’t that right, Sergeant Murphy?’
‘Yes, guv,’ Paddy Murphy said, ‘but this should help us.’
‘Right. Good news and bad news,’ Hen said. ‘We’ve doubled our chance of learning something about the killer. But the bad news is that the pressure to make an arrest will more than double. The media will go bananas.’
‘A serial killer,’ Murphy said.
No one doubted this was how the press would portray the news, but Hen was a stickler for accuracy. ‘For my money, Paddy, a killer doesn’t rate as “serial” until he has at least three to his name. And before you tell me he could have killed in the past and no one spotted the signs, I’ve got a little job for you.’
DS Murphy gave a twisted grin, resigned to what was coming.
‘Check the drownings of all adult women in the past five years in Sussex, Hampshire, and adjacent counties. Accidental as well as homicidal. Get hold of the PM reports if you can. Anything remotely similar to these two cases, speak to the coroner.’
‘Do we change our focus now, guv?’ Stella asked.
‘In what way?’
‘I’ve spent a lot of time trying to establish if Dr Sentinel was in St Petersburg for the full three weeks he claimed. He’s unlikely to have killed this second woman as well.’
‘Let’s make no assumptions. How far have you got with the check?’
‘He definitely flew out on the day arranged and back three weeks later. The time between is less certain. He gave his lecture the first weekend. His hotel was paid for by the organisers. The hotel can’t or won’t tell me if his room was in use for the whole of his stay.’
‘Why not? The chambermaid must have noticed.’
‘I think they’re being cagey for their own reasons. If he was absent for some days they may not be entitled to claim full board from the conference people.’
‘God help us. It’s the same the world over-people on the make. Did you get the impression he wasn’t there?’
‘Something dodgy was going on. I’m not sure what.’
‘Keep at it, Stell. We need to know. Coming back to your question, we don’t change focus. Everyone in the frame remains there.’
Gary Pearce asked, ‘Do we know the identity of the Emsworth victim?’
‘Good question, and we do. She’s Fiona Halliday, aged twenty-four, and she couldn’t be more local. The house she rented faces onto the Mill Pond. She was found fifty yards from her front door. Everyone assumed it was an accident until the pathologist reported the marks.’
‘Who found her?’
‘Some old dear who feeds the swans. We can eliminate her as a suspect. Aged nearer to ninety than eighty, I’m told. The interesting thing about Fiona Halliday is that she went missing from work a week before she was found, and so did her boss, named Cartwright. I should explain that Fiona was divorced and had a four-year-old son.’
‘Poor kid.’
‘Yes. When the mother didn’t call in, some of the staff where she worked were worried that she’d collapsed or died and the boy was with her in the house. They’re a good bunch of people by the sound of things. They reported it and a patrol car was sent. The officers forced the door and took a look around. No sign of the child. It’s since been discovered that he was with the father by arrangement. His turn to have the boy for a week.’
‘Has Cartwright shown up yet?’
‘Not yet. Another mystery.’
‘Another victim, maybe?’ Stella said.
‘Or another suspect,’ Gary said.
‘What do we know about him?’ Stella asked.
‘Only what I’ve learned from the Emsworth police. He’s manager of the printing firm in Fishbourne where Fiona worked in accounts. The staff there had the impression he fancied Fiona. Last seen leaving the building with her mid-afternoon on the Friday. She was found six days later.’
‘We have to find this guy-and fast,’ Stella said. ‘Is he married?’
‘Divorced. Lives alone in Apuldram.’
‘Does he have form?’
‘Nothing known. But you’re right, and we’re putting out a description. We’ll need a warrant to search his house. That’s another job for you, Stell.’
‘Now, guv-at the weekend?’
‘You weren’t thinking of putting your feet up?’
‘It’s finding a magistrate to issue a warrant. Not easy on a Saturday night.’
‘Nonsense. They’ll be propping up the bar at the golf club. Droves of them. You need to be in Cartwright’s house tomorrow morning.’
‘I’ll get onto it.’
Hen knew she would. She could depend on Stella.
‘And we visit the print works and question the people there. That can’t be done till Monday, I guess. Right now I’m off to Emsworth to look at the scene and inside Fiona’s house. Gary.’
‘Guv?’ He looked as if the whistle had blown for a penalty against Pompey.
‘You can come with me.’
The Slug and Lettuce, in South Street, gets crowded on a Saturday night. The noise level is pretty high. But there was no problem hearing Gemma from the far side. ‘Over here, amigo.’
Jo went over. Rick and Gemma were sitting close together on the banquette opposite Jake, upright on a chair as if he was asking the bank manager for an overdraft. Something about Rick and Gem had changed. They gave the strong impression they had just shared a secret.
‘Check that outfit,’ Gemma said. ‘Doesn’t she look fabulous, Jake?’
A quick change after the phonecall, shimmery silver top over white leather skirt and ankle boots. Yes, it was dressy, but Jo could have done without the fanfare from Gemma.
Jake gave his customary nod.
‘Well, I know you’re a man of few words,’ Gemma said to him, ‘but you could show your appreciation by drumming on the table. She didn’t dress like that to please me or Rick.’
Jo said, ‘Gem, I’m sure you mean well, but do us all a favour and put the stopper in it. Who wants another drink? Don’t get up, anyone. My round.’ A tip she’d got from her canny father: always get your round in early. Then you can leave when you want with a clear conscience.
When Jo came back with the drinks Gemma was holding forth about some weird website she’d discovered. ‘It’s a bit like those African water holes where they have a camera rigged up permanently and anything coming to drink gets on the screen. If you’re patient and you get lucky you might see a lion. Well, this is outside a nightclub in Bristol, and you get to clock all the glam and glitz as people arrive. Of course you also get the bouncers turning away the troublemakers and the drunks coming out and the druggies dealing and the fights. Nonstop action.’