Darkness Looking Back, The (9 page)

'He hasn't bothered with the doughnuts either.'

'Eh?'

'A little surprise turned up at the scene while the guys were there. Bit creepy. The bastard sent them doughnuts.'

'Who?
Crime
squad?'

'A dozen, assorted. From Dunkin' Donuts. John said they appeared about an hour after he arrived on the scene.'

Stirling looked down at the crumpled paper bag on his lap, topped with its half-eaten shortbread.

'That's definite psycho material.'

'You're telling me. You and Tony had better get back here. Briefing's at one.'

Rees silently wiped his mouth and started the car. Stirling threw the remains of the shortbread into the bag and twisted the top.
Dunkin' Donuts
. He hurled it into the console under the radio with unnecessary force, sucking the stickiness off his fingers.

'Like he's watching,' Rees murmured.

'OUR SECOND BIG witch hunt in less than a year. It's a bit of a worry.' Kirkpatrick was leaning against Rees's desk, slapping his tie against his hand, unable to keep still. The briefing room was already full of detectives, wearing the entire spectrum of expressions from dour to asleep to excited.

'What's happening, Senior?' Stirling asked.

'You'll have to wait for William. It's over my head now.'

'You can forget sleeping from now on,' Rees said. 'Now we've got someone remotely high-profile involved, and the media are jumping up and down.' He sagged back in his chair, frowning angrily. 'What gets me is his attitude. All these deliveries, trying to be clever. What is this,
Dial M for Murder?'

'Well, well, well. It's
The Ant and Andy Show
.' Gardner grinned at Stirling and Rees as he walked in, looking positively perky. He seemed to be relishing his chance to get stuck in.

Rees glanced calmly up from his desk.

'What's yours, Ray?
Digging with Gardner
?'

Once again, Stirling had to marvel at Rees's command of his features, not to mention his quips. Gardner's face soured.

Woodward entered the room, followed by Little John Blundell, Nielsen and Paynter, who was carrying a stack of files.

'Take a seat,' Woodward told them, going to his own place beside the whiteboard. He waited for the scraping of chairs to subside. 'Hands up who
hasn't
heard the news about Alicia Schofield.'

There were a few seconds of rustling, but only of curious heads turning. Not a single hand went up.

'Good. You all got the first test right.' He nodded to Paynter, who got up and started separating the files into three piles, one for each row. 'Ciaran's just handing out all the details. You'll notice the folders contain stuff about two other homicides as well. The first one, Charlotte Hiscocks, who died in Epsom, and the second, Helen McCowan, who was found in Grey Lynn. Hence the reason for this briefing. Given the location — Ms Schofield lives in Ponsonby — and the fact that another delivery was involved, there's very little doubt we're dealing with the same bloke. Why is that, John?'

''Cause the bugger used her credit card as well, when he ordered the doughnuts.'

'Leave any for us?' someone called out from the back, to laughter.

'Yeah, if you like 'em dusted with black powder.'

'That mean they're Maori doughnuts?' called someone else. There were sniggers.

A thickset Maori detective hollered back. 'I'd shut up, boy, unless you wanna look like a doughnut, with an even bigger hole in your head than you got now.'

Woodward smiled, seeming relieved at the release of tension. 'Settle down, class.'

'But why hide the body?' asked Stirling. 'He's never done that before. He rings up delivery men. He
wants
them to be discovered.'

'Yeah, and who delivered the doughnuts? Dunkin' Donuts don't deliver,' Gardner spoke up from Stirling's left. The way he said it, it sounded like a slogan.

Woodward nodded. 'As John told me, the man ordered over the phone, and paid extra to get them to deliver. One of the staffers brought them down in his own car. Thought he was going to meet the real Alicia Schofield.'

'That's truly sick,' said Coleman, his face twisting.

'And it's getting top priority. Superintendent's orders. Fire any info to Graeme or myself, but all inquiries go through me.'

'Bloody media,' said Gardner.

Picking up the thread, Kirkpatrick added, 'Wish I could find out who sold us all out to
Cross
. Who on earth gave the press that lesbian story?'

Since Rees was sitting between him and Kirkpatrick, the glimmer of private amusement on his face caught Stirling's attention.

'Yeah. What a woman, eh?' Paynter was shaking his head. 'Not just an old-timer, but a two-timer. Jeez, makes you feel a bit out of it, doesn't it?'

'God, I hope they don't get hold of the doughnut story,' said Kirkpatrick. 'They'll have a field day.'

Woodward was no longer the solid, comforting figure at the head of the room.

'Whoever it is, he — or she — will soon find that putting gossip ahead of public safety is going to put them in a very, very difficult situation.' He eyeballed them all. 'I hope you're all paying close attention. Because we will find you.'

Rees caught Stirling gazing at him, and gave him a quizzical look. But it wasn't enough to undo the suspicion that had just latched its teeth into Stirling's mind.

'Don't look at us, sir,' said Gardner. 'It'll be our friend Mr Paxton, paying us back for dropping him from the investigation.'

'Or at least someone who didn't value his input,' said Nielsen, with a side glance at Gardner.

Woodward ignored both comments. 'Do you want to tell them your news, Vicky?' he asked. 'You might want to stand up.'

Nielsen smiled at him, nodding, then stood to face the rest of the group. 'It looks like we might have a suspect. For the murders, that is.'

Now there wasn't a single bored face in the room.

'Ciaran managed to get some straight facts out of a friend of Mrs Hiscocks. We all knew she played the field a bit, but it just so happens that one of her lovers wasn't quite so happy to share.'

'Remember the one who went to Australia?' asked Paynter. 'He was her first work fling, right before the richer one, Acott. Turns out she started with Acott while she was still with this man. He didn't have a clue. In fact, he left his wife for her, and got pretty upset when Mrs Hiscocks wouldn't leave
her
husband, and it all came out about Acott,' said Paynter. 'Especially when the wife cleaned him out in the divorce and he had to change jobs. Imagine that, they all worked together — Mrs Hiscocks, Acott, this guy and his wife. And they all sided with her.'

'So how good does he look as a suspect?' asked Blundell, leaning forward curiously.

Paynter smiled, his eyes sparkling with glee. 'Try sending his wife
and
Charlotte Hiscocks hate mail, stalking Mrs Hiscocks for a matter of months — until about six months ago, to be exact —
and
threatening to kill her.'

'Bloody hell, Ciaran,' said Kirkpatrick, beaming.

'But then how do you explain the time lapse?' asked Rees.

'That was when he went to Australia,' said Nielsen. 'He was supposed to still be there.
Except
we just found out he paid a visit to his ex yesterday. Now that his lover is dead, he said he wanted to make up.'

The room was so quiet it could have been a stakeout rehearsal.

'So when did he get back?' Rees spoke for all of them.

Paynter shrugged with mock nonchalance. 'According to passenger records, two days before Charlotte Hiscocks was killed. Stayed in a motel, was out all night. Not the faintest hope of an alibi.'

'
Now
we're talking!' Kirkpatrick said, chopping his right hand into his palm.

'There's just one problem,' said Woodward, commanding the attention of the room. 'John?'

Blundell got to his feet. '
I
have a chief suspect too.'

There was a general round of groaning and laughter.

'My guy is one of Ms Schofield's colleagues — namely, Curtis Webb.'

'Shit, the DJ? The media are gonna
love
that one!' said Paynter.

Again Stirling saw that private smile glance across Rees's face. 'But why?' he asked. 'I mean, that has to destroy his career.'

'Psychotic murderers aren't always the most sensible of human beings,' said Blundell. 'And as it happens he has form. Apparently he was bitter when Alicia dumped him on air for someone else, seeing as they were engaged, and he's known to be rather violent. No doubt some of you will have read about his punch-ups in a few bars around town. Plus it was kind of an unkept secret that Alicia was also having a thing with her other co-star, Joel.'

'Yeah, but that's just wishful thinking,' said Gardner. 'Where's the evidence?'

'The fact that Curtis and Joel apparently can't stand each other, and haven't ever since Alicia arrived on the scene.' Blundell started ticking them off on his fingers. 'The fact that if
anyone
hates the police enough to send us doughnuts at a murder scene, he does, because we arrested him. Some of the stuff he's apparently said about us on air . . . He won't even give us a proper statement — not even when we said it could help us find Alicia's killer. And finally, because his prints are all over Alicia's fat, his ex-fiancée publicly two-timed him and made him the laughing stock of showbiz, and he's a thoroughly unpleasant, egotistical pig with anger management issues.' He waved both hands, out of fingers. 'And he has no alibi.'

'
And . . .
' said Woodward.

Blundell looked at him, caught on the hop. 'Did I miss something?'

'
And . . .
at this stage, there ain't a shred of evidence to say
he
did it either.' Woodward crossed his arms. 'Read your files, fellas. Operation Othello. Let's go before he gets hold of someone else.'

WEDNESDAY NIGHT, AND the conversation in the bar was all about the murders — Alicia Schofield's in particular. Though no body had been found, no one was in any doubt she was dead. It had been three days. The kid had been just twenty-two. She'd only got her job last August, and it was freaking out everyone under the age of thirty. Even the waiting staff from the restaurant were spooked. There was no strangeness about Paxton now. They all wanted his predictions as soon as he walked in the door.

Ross the chef stuck his head out of the kitchen, calling and beckoning. 'Hey, James, do you know who did it? What happened?'

'I wouldn't tell you even if I knew.'

'I'll cook for you at your place on your next night off. I can even bring round tiramisu.'

Paxton had a sweet tooth and Ross knew it. However, his mood tonight was blacker than treacle. 'You're a sick bastard, Ross. Besides, I'm not even on the case any more.'

'Oh, come on.'

'Piss off. Go toss a salad.'

'Fine,' said Ross, shrugging and backing off. 'Just because I can't pay you as much as the networks can . . .'

'What are you talking about?'

The small cluster of staff around him dissolved as a young man approached. He'd had a haircut in deference to the heat, and the ratty jumper had changed to an ugly checked shirt, but there was no mistaking the nose. It was Paxton's favourite journo, John Merchant from the
Herald
. He was a good reporter, but the last place Paxton wanted him digging was in his backyard. And Merchant wasn't alone — just behind him were a reporter from the local freebie paper, a photographer and a young blonde woman with a TV camera in tow.

'Mr Paxton, could you give us some clues as to the identity of the killer? Who murdered Alicia Schofield?'

'Is Alicia Schofield dead?'

'Is it the same killer, the one who killed the women in Epsom and Grey Lynn?'

Paxton was unable even to go through to the bar — they were blocking the doorway. Merchant was squashed closest to him, dictaphone at the ready, his eyes knowing.

'How does it feel to be involved in all this again?'

'How does it feel to be served with a trespass notice?'

With unbounded relief, Paxton turned to see the restaurant manager Tanya Helms striding towards them. Tanya wasn't just the manager, she co-owned the place with her husband Regan. They'd started out running their own liquor store in Manurewa, and been robbed twice. She could sense trouble with her back turned.

'What's going on here? You can't do this on my property.'

The TV reporter stepped up to her respectfully. 'Are you the owner?'

'Yes I am,' Tanya said crisply.

'I'm really sorry about all this disturbance, but your employee here, Mr Paxton, could be of real help in reassuring the public. If you'll let us have a really quick, exclusive interview with him, you could get rid of all this crowd. We'll take him somewhere private, buy a few drinks . . .'

There was an uproar from the other two journalists, and from Paxton himself.

'I don't
want
an interview!'

'We'll be really quick, Mr Paxton, I promise.'

'I'm not even part of the investigation any more!'

Paxton realised his mistake as soon as he'd said it. The questions rained down harder than ever.

'Have the police thrown you off the case?' Merchant asked.

'You can ask them yourself,' called another voice. 'I've just rung them.' Brent was standing nearby, with his arms casually folded.

'Trespass, harassment . . . that all, Tanya?'

'Loss of earnings. I could sue the lot of you. Customers are turning around and walking out the door. Now I suggest you all do the same, before the police get here.' She nodded at the main entrance. 'Thirty seconds. Go on. You can't treat a private restaurant like the steps of the High Court!'

Muttering, they let their notepads fall to their sides and filed out through the door like revellers who had been raided by the cops.

'You all right, James?' Tanya asked him.

'Thanks a lot, Tanya. Sorry about all that. I didn't expect —' He was both elated and embarrassed.

'It's not your fault. They should have rung for permission.'

'Yeah.'

'Come on,' said Brent. 'Maybe if you come into the bar we'll get some of
our
customers back.'

Nodding, Paxton followed. All his adrenaline was ebbing away now, leaving him tired.

'I saw them carrying cameras outside,' said Adam. 'I tried to ring you, but of course you'd already left. This is why you need a cellphone.'

Paxton just nodded again. He served two customers, both of whom asked curious questions, which he fobbed off as best he could. As he looked up to give the second his change, he saw Mandy standing behind the man's shoulder. She waited her turn silently, her look turning the wine to vinegar. Paxton felt his burning anger fare back into life. As if he hadn't had enough.

As soon as the man was out of earshot Mandy stepped up to the bar. Each word was like an ice cube. 'You arsehole. You bloody arsehole.'

'Hello, Mandy.'

'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

Paxton shrugged and turned away with a sigh. 'When you work out what your point is, let me know.'

'Don't pretend you don't know, you slimy little shit.'

Paxton turned back to face her, holding a bottle of Baileys. 'Orgasm, Mandy? Looks like you could do with one.'

Her hiss had as much poison behind it as a cobra's. Despite his outward cockiness, Paxton was taken aback by her venom.

'Where do you think you get off using Lena like that? I know
exactly
what you're doing.'

Paxton felt his own temper slowly boiling back to the surface. 'Yeah? What's that?'

'You're just taking advantage of her, you creep. You saw a wounded, lonely girl and you went in for the kill, didn't you? As soon as her dad died and she came into some money, bang! Look who appeared.'

'Has it ever occurred to you that I might have been trying to help her? That I might actually care about her?'

'Oh, don't give me that
bullshit
. You
bastard
! You pretended to be in touch with her father just to get close to her, didn't you? You damn well
exploited
her vulnerability, and now you're sitting pretty. She thinks you're a god when really you're just some manipulative little English loser who thinks he's onto a good thing.'

Out of the corner of his eye, Paxton had seen Adam and Brent take one look at her angry posture, fingers jabbing and stiff with rage, and melt into the shadows. However, customers weren't bothering to hide their stares.

'Are you finished?'

'Like hell I am. I hope the police find out just what a fraud you are and put you in jail. You have no right to be living off Lena like you do. When are you ever at
your
house?'

'Whenever you're at Lena's.'

'Don't get smart, you prick.'

'Then how about you just shut your gob and stop being such a prissy little
bitch
? You wouldn't know what love was if it appeared on your Visa statement.'

Mandy sucked in a breath to reply, but Paxton beat her to it, with a sudden sharp look. 'Does Lena know you're so unhappy at work?'

Mandy blinked, thrown for a fraction of a second, then lashed back. 'I don't know what you're talking about. Don't try your little mind games on me.'

'He doesn't want you, does he? Your colleague. You scare him.'

'Shut up.' She was breathing faster.

'He's not the one for you. There's no point staying just for him.'

'You're just jealous because I'm so successful and you're not. You pour
drinks
for a living.'

'Your grandma says you wanted to be a nanny.'

'Look,
just shut up
!'

Everyone in the bar had gone dead quiet. Mandy had seized a glass from the counter, gripping it so hard it almost shattered in her fist. Paxton could see how badly she wanted to throw it at his head.

'You're a lawyer, Mandy. You know the consequences of breaking other people's things.'

Almost hyperventilating, Mandy glanced at the glass in her hand, then at Paxton. She looked as if she was about to cry. After a second, she slammed the glass back down on the bar. Without another word she turned and stalked from the restaurant.

Paxton should have felt triumphant, but he didn't. The voices in his head evaporated, leaving only a strong sense of guilt and not a little astonishment. He hadn't been able to do that in years. Not since he was a kid.

'Sheesh! Who was
that
?'

Paxton gave Adam a brief look. 'Lena's best friend.'

'Oooh. That's not good.'

'No.'

'What'd she want, anyway? She did not look happy with you.'

Paxton crossed his arms. 'She has so many issues I should start up a charity. Starting with getting her a boyfriend to sharpen her fangs on. No man wants to be with
her
. She barks in her sleep.'

Adam spluttered with laughter, but Paxton still felt the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach.

'You've been having a hell of a night, haven't you?'

'Yeah. Tell me about it . . .' He huffed out a breath, slumping on the bar. 'You know that saying, shit happens? Well, my philosophy is, it happens to
me
.'

A few customers drifted through from the restaurant, swapping guesses and watching him over their glasses when they thought he wouldn't notice. He was easily the most popular of the three barmen. Paxton actually saw one young woman pretend not to hear Adam calling out to her, waiting patiently behind another couple for Paxton to serve her.

However, among the staff not another word was uttered about the reporters or the murder case. It was now a banned subject at Anubis, on pain of dismissal. On balance, Paxton wasn't sure what was worse — the whispering of strangers, or the silence of his mates.