Authors: Fiona McIntosh
7
Jack and Kate sat awkwardly in the damp garden at the back of Michael Sheriff's small farmhouse outside Louth. Diane Sheriff had welcomed them warily and was now approaching with a tray holding plunger coffee and a plate of biscuits. Kate didn’t want a custard cream. She’d been pounding away at the gym to get into shape for ‘the dress’, so everything sugary, starchy or even vaguely fatty was best ignored. But she didn’t want to appear rude to a woman who looked as though she was barely holding it together. Just as she had the thought, Diane Sheriff dissolved into tears.
In an instant, Jack was on his feet and grabbing the tray. ‘We’re deeply sorry to resurrect Michael’s death, Diane,’ he said gently, guiding her to a seat on the bench next to Kate as he balanced the full tray with his free arm. He glanced at Kate and she took up the thread.
‘It’s just that we now believe that the attack on your husband wasn’t random as the police first thought.’
Diane sniffed into a hanky she’d produced. ‘I thought it was odd that Scotland Yard phoned,’ she said, sniffing. ‘But when you think of the horrific injuries inflicted, I don’t know why anyone could
think it was random. They had to have a purpose, didn’t they?’ She regarded them both with red-rimmed eyes over plump cheeks.
Jack, now seated, leaned forward. Kate could tell he didn’t want to upset Diane further with news of the second murder but it was unavoidable. She watched him take a breath.
‘We’re beginning to suspect that the person who did this to Michael is taking some sort of revenge.’
‘For what?’
‘We don’t know yet, that’s why we’ve come to see you. We hoped you might know something or remember something about Michael’s past that might give us a clue.’
‘Revenge,’ she repeated, looking between them. ‘What makes you think that? Mike had no enemies to my knowledge. Where has such an idea come from?’
An almost imperceptible nod from her boss gave Kate permission to say more.
‘There’s been a second murder, Diane. It has too many similarities to Michael’s death not to be connected.’
Diane stared at Kate, her face tear-stained and bloodless. ‘He did the same things?’
Kate nodded. ‘Apart from location, the only difference was that the second victim wasn’t intoxicated by alcohol at the time of death. But he was drugged, as Mike was,’ she said, dropping the formality and falling in line with how the woman referred to her husband. ‘Diane, I know this is painful, and again we apologise for raking over Mike’s life, but have you ever heard the name Clive Farrow mentioned in any of Mike’s conversations?’
She thought for a few moments, dabbing at her eyes as she did so, then she shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. It doesn’t ring any bells.’
‘Did Mike ever go out with a group of his own friends?’ Kate tried.
‘No,’ Diane said quickly. ‘Not really. Apart from his work colleagues, who he had to socialise with from time to time, he was a loner. We were really each other’s best friend. I don’t have anyone close either, other than our son and daughter.’
Kate felt a pang of guilt at making Diane confront her pain all over again.
‘What about before you two met? Did he ever speak about life before then? Mike was a teacher, wasn’t he?’
Diane sipped her coffee. A good sign, Kate thought, that the tears were done with for the moment.
‘Yes, he taught general science to the middle school age group.’ She smiled sadly. ‘They called him Ducky, because of his lips.’
‘What about his lips?’ Kate asked, her interest piqued. Perhaps this had something to do with why they’d been removed, although she dismissed that thought almost immediately because it wouldn’t account for Clive Farrow’s lips being taken as well.
‘He had thick lips — very smoochy,’ Diane replied, smiling sadly, losing herself in her memories momentarily. ‘So they called him Ducky, but also because his lips tended to gleam a bit from the special cream he used to keep them smooth.’ She noted Kate frowning. ‘He had a chapping problem.’
‘Ah.’
‘Mike enjoyed teaching. He said to me once that school hadn’t been very good to him. He wanted to
make it different for the kids who passed through his life as a teacher.’
Kate glanced towards Jack. He kept his silence, but his nod urged her to continue.
‘School was rough, was it?’ she said.
‘No, not rough, I just don’t think he was popular.’ Diane’s expression turned sheepish. ‘He had eczema, thick chapped lips and he wasn’t terribly tall. You know how kids can be.’
‘Did he get into any bother?’ Jack asked softly in the background.
She shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know any details — we met thirteen years ago. I think he might have fallen in with the wrong crowd, though, at one point.’
Jack nodded. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Oh, I’m not sure. Let me think.’ She bit absently into a biscuit and Kate watched the crumbs fall unheeded onto her lap. ‘Um, I think he might have mentioned there was a gang he moved with for a while. But something happened,’ she shrugged, ‘and they fell out with each other. I really don’t know much at all. I only knew Mike from when he moved to Lincoln.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Kate said. ‘Where was Mike from?’
‘He transferred to Lincoln from Aylesbury where he’d been teaching, but originally he lived in a place called Hangleton, down south. Couldn’t wait to escape it, I gather.’
‘Hangleton?’ Jack frowned. ‘Is that a village somewhere?’
‘No idea, never been there. I know it’s somewhere close to Brighton.’
‘Brighton?’ They said it together, startling Diane.
‘Yes, why are you looking at me like that?’
‘Diane, the second murder,’ Jack said gently, ‘it happened in London but the victim was originally from Brighton — well, Hove.’
This set off a fresh wave of emotion. Kate put her arm around the woman’s bent, sobbing shoulders, but a glance at her boss showed the same gleam in his eye. They’d just had their first breakthrough.
As the tears subsided once again, Kate asked for what was needed. ‘Diane, would you have any photos of Mike when he was younger? School photos perhaps, or better still, some teenage shots?’
‘I . . . er, I don’t think so.’ Diane shrugged as she sensed their surprise. ‘We’ve only been together since we were thirty. And Mike wasn’t terribly sentimental about his childhood.’
‘You’re quite sure?’ Kate urged. ‘I can help you look.’
‘Why do you need them?’
‘Because we might be able to find a link through this gang you mentioned, or perhaps we’ll find the other victim in his school photos,’ Jack explained. ‘All we need is something to link Mike with the second victim — photos can be a great help.’
‘Truly, I don’t believe we have anything of Mike’s from those years. Any number of my childhood photos, and hundreds from when we first met through to today, but nothing from his early years.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m sorry.’
Jack nodded and stood up. ‘This is my card,’ he said, pressing it into her hand. ‘If anything should occur to you, however small or seemingly inconsequential, phone me or leave a message and I’ll call you the
moment I can. Kate’s put her mobile number on the back too. Feel free to call either of us.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, his card crumpling in her grip.
‘Diane, is there anything we can do for you before we leave?’ Kate asked. ‘When do the children get home?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ve got to get used to being alone. It’s just talking about it makes it seem like yesterday.’
They both nodded sympathetically, and Kate hated herself all over again.
‘The school bus should be here in just over an hour. Time to get myself cleaned up,’ the woman said, the tremor in her voice clearing as she rallied. ‘I don’t like Rob and Sally to see me like this. It’s hard enough on them without their mum cracking up all the time.’
‘You’ve been very strong, Diane,’ Jack said. ‘And we can’t thank you enough for seeing us today.’
‘You catch that bastard,’ she said as they left.
Jack was reminded of his Super’s similarly charged demand.
Jack recommended Brown’s Pie Shop.
‘It never gets easier,’ Jack sighed, as the waitress placed a freshly squeezed orange juice in front of him.
Kate had opted for a latte, and a steaming pie sat before each of them.
‘What, that walk, you mean?’ Kate ripped the top from a packet of sweetener and tipped the fine powder into her coffee. She hated the stuff, but if she wanted to fit into her wedding dress, it was a necessary evil.
Especially as she was about to tuck into a pie. ‘From the bottom it looks easy.’
He grinned. ‘I know. It’s better to park in the old quarter and walk down. It’s not called Steep Hill for nothing.’
‘No understatement there. Why didn’t we park at the top anyway?’
‘I wanted to see how well you’d negotiate the cobbles in those unlikely walking shoes.’
‘Bastard!’ she murmured, which made his grin widen.
‘Actually, I meant it never gets easier dealing with the victims’ families,’ he said. ‘Each time I think I get the bedside manner right, it deserts me or they say something that makes me feel a complete git for asking such painful questions.’
Kate blew on her latte and sipped. ‘She’ll be hurting for a long time to come, I reckon. I’ll call her tomorrow morning; press on the photos just in case there are some lurking. Everyone has photos, right?’
Jack nodded. ‘You’ll have to press gently but with urgency. Time is not our friend.’
Kate looked up from her coffee. ‘I’ve never been to Lincoln before. It’s lovely.’
‘Mmm, it is. Just up from here,’ he said, taking a gulp from his glass, ‘is the area known as Bailgate, which includes the cathedral. And in the Norman castle just above us, they’ve got one of the four original copies of the Magna Carta.’
She cocked her head to one side. ‘Bakes, likes old churches and seems to enjoy history.’
He put his hands up in mock defeat. ‘These Brown’s pies are famous. You’ll never want any other sort of pie after this one.’
‘Dan loves pies.’ She stopped, embarrassed that Dan’s name was now flashing like a huge neon sign between them. She had no reason to feel awkward and yet she did.
Jack didn’t seem to feel the awkwardness, however, asking without hesitation, ‘So Dan is your fiance?’
She nodded. ‘We’re getting married later this year.’
He raised his glass. ‘Congratulations to both of you.’
She clinked her latte against his orange juice.
‘What does he do?’
She really didn’t want to get into the Dan thing now. She cut deeper into her pie. ‘Computers,’ she replied, the all-encompassing answer that didn’t explain anything but was unlikey to prompt further queries.
‘All Greek to me. I just want them to work.’
‘Dan ensures they do.’
There was a small, fragile pause that Jack filled almost the second it arrived. ‘So, Kate, you’ll phone Mrs Sheriff, right?’
She nodded, realising he had once again picked up on her wariness regarding Dan. ‘It’s a long shot but somewhere to start.’
He finished his food in five neat gulps while Kate was still only a quarter through hers.
‘Will you excuse me?’ he said. ‘I’m just going to check how Bill and Cam are faring. Enjoy your pie whilst it’s still hot.’ And he went outside.
Kate poked at her pie, suddenly losing all interest in its decadent deliciousness. She turned instead to her cooling latte and focused on the case. She agreed with Jack: the blue paint had obvious significance for the killer, and perhaps his victims. Why else would he have dipped Sheriff's and Farrow’s fingers into the paint?
Something else was niggling at her too. The more she considered the mutilations, the more it nagged at her that something wasn’t quite right about the profile. She just wasn’t sure what. She ate another couple of mouthfuls, just to make her plate look less full.
Jack returned. She could see frustration flitting across his normally carefully controlled expression.
‘I can’t raise either of them,’ he said. ‘I’ve left a message. Let’s go take a look at where Sheriff's body was found.’
‘Okay.’ She reached for her bag. ‘Have we —’
‘All paid. Let’s go,’ he said, holding her jacket out to her. ‘You might need this, it’s cooled off out there. I’ll walk you past the cathedral.’
She smiled thinly, hating him momentarily for being so considerate. Why couldn’t he be boorish, and then she could go home to Dan tonight and complain about her new boss.
‘We’re not doing the hill again, are we?’ she asked, wondering how her heels would hold up on the cobbles.
‘We’re almost at the top anyway.’
He guided her towards the peak of the hill. She couldn’t help but be awestruck by the magnificent structure once they crested the rise.
‘Oh, it’s brilliant!’ she exclaimed. And it was. Her bleak mood vanished at the sight of one of the most glorious medieval buildings in all of Europe.
‘We can get a closer look on our way down. They say nothing stands between its spires and the Urals of Russia,’ Jack said. ‘It was begun nearly one thousand years ago.’
‘Have you swallowed a textbook?’
‘Sorry. I admit I find history comforting.’
‘Like baking.’ She leapt back to the safe ground of work. ‘Listen, I’ve been thinking.’
‘Mmmm?’ he murmured distractedly, staring at the northern transept where work was being done.
‘Can I run a notion past you?’
He didn’t reply, still gazing at the cathedral.
‘Are you listening, DCI Hawksworth?’
‘I’m waiting for your notion, DI Carter,’ he replied.
‘Ah, right. Well, our murderer . . .’
‘Yes?’ He turned back to her, the wind that Lincoln was famous for pulling at his jacket and tousling his hair.
‘Er . . .’ Kate felt her thoughts disintegrate. This wasn’t the right time. In fact, not only did she need to take more time to think through such a crazy notion but she also needed to get a better grip on herself. Wedding or not, doubts or otherwise, this was her boss and they were working on the highest-profile criminal case in the UK right now. And while the rest of the team was applying all of its available hours to hunting the killer, she was admiring the colour of Jack Hawksworth’s hair and wondering what it might feel like if she touched it!