Kat wasn’t about when Mariner got up on Friday morning, the indulgences of the night before taking their toll, no doubt. He wondered if he should call her; she might be late for work otherwise, but her hours were flexible some days and in truth he was glad to be spared the embarrassment of facing her. He was still trying to work out what had happened last night.
As soon as he got into his office, he ran a check on the sports car he’d seen Kat getting into. A misuse of privileges perhaps, but Mariner didn’t feel too guilty about it. He was merely protecting her. The car’s owner was registered as Giles Ridley-Coburn. What’s more, the Police National Computer told him that Giles had form. Millie knocked and came into his office.
‘Would you trust a bloke called Giles Ridley-Coburn?’ Mariner asked her.
‘Who’s he?’ Millie came to look over his shoulder at the screen.
‘He’s the guy Kat went out with last night.’
‘She went on a date? That’s brilliant,’ Millie enthused.
‘Is it?’
‘Of course it is. It means that she’s getting back to normal. Does she know you’re checking him over?’
‘Not exactly,’ Mariner confessed.
‘So how did you get his name?’
‘I didn’t, I got his registration number.’
‘He picked her up from the house?’
Mariner said nothing.
Millie’s eyes widened as she pieced it together. ‘You were spying on them. That’s where you were before the gig last night.’
‘You sound as if you don’t approve.’
‘Of you following Kat? It’s what we call stalking.’
‘I’m just watching out for her,’ Mariner said defensively.
‘That’s probably what Will Jarrett would say about Lucy. You’re not her dad, you can’t police who she sees.’ Despite her reservations, Millie peered over Mariner’s shoulder at the screen, curiosity overriding propriety. ‘Has he got form?’
‘Not much; a couple of endorsements for speeding, and one for possession of cannabis, though nothing recent. It doesn’t say anything about his associates, though.’
‘It’s a pretty up-market address,’ Millie noticed. ‘Isn’t that the old insurance building that was converted into luxury penthouses? They don’t come cheap.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Mariner said glumly. ‘He looks far too young to be earning that kind of money legitimately. And Kat was dressed provocatively yesterday evening.’
‘How do you mean, provocatively?’
‘She was wearing a short dress, sort of clingy, and not much to it, if you know what I mean.’
‘It was a mild evening.’ Millie laughed. ‘And she’s a young woman with a great figure. My God, if I was her shape I’d be showing it off too. Perhaps all it means is that she’s feeling confident about her body again and doesn’t need to hide it away under baggy clothes. I think it’s a good sign.’
‘Is it a good sign that she hit on me too?’ Mariner explained what had happened the previous night.
‘OK, that’s something different. But surely that was just the drink talking.’
‘You mean, why else would she come on to a sad old git like me?’
Millie smiled. ‘You took the words right out of my mouth. You need to relax a bit and let her be herself.’
‘Yeah, maybe you’re right,’ Mariner conceded. ‘While we’re on here, let’s take a look at our obsessive Will Jarrett fan.’
Millie typed in the registration number she’d noted down the previous night, and the record unfolded.
‘Sally Frick,’ he read. ‘Address in Kings Heath, as she told us.’ He did a swift mental calculation. ‘Aged forty-one, and clean as a whistle.’
‘No previous stalking convictions?’ Millie asked hopefully.
‘Sadly not,’ said Mariner. ‘But it might be worth paying her a visit.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘You could try openness and honesty,’ Mariner said. ‘Tell her what’s going on and see if she knows any other fans who might do this sort of thing. While you’re there you can get a sense of what she does all day, and at least establish whether she’s computer literate and has access to a machine.’
A wolf whistle out in the bull pen caught their attention and they looked up to see Tony Knox, looking uncharacteristically formal in a dark suit, giving the V sign to Charlie Glover.
‘Blimey,’ said Millie. ‘What’s the occasion?’
‘Nina Silvero’s memorial service,’ said Mariner.
‘Ah.’
Nina Silvero had been cremated that morning in a small family service that even Mariner felt unjustified to intrude upon for the purposes of the investigation. But the memorial celebration that followed was at the Oratory, also known as ‘Little Rome’, the huge Baroque-style edifice on the Hagley Road, built as a memorial to Cardinal Newman, and was altogether a different affair.
‘Wow, what a place,’ murmured Knox, gaping up at the ornate high ceiling, as he and Mariner accepted hymn books from an usher and took a couple of seats towards the back, the better to observe the mourners.
By the time the proceedings began, the transept of the church was full, and not just with ordinary folk. Among the various low-level dignitaries, Mariner watched a couple of high-ranking police officers make their way down the aisle towards the middle of the church. Family and close friends occupied the first couple of rows, including Rachel and Adam Hordern, and Mariner pointed out Estelle Waters, elegantly dressed in a grey wool suit. In addition, there were a number of couples, some accompanied by teen and pre-teen daughters, who Mariner deduced to be from the ballet school, past and present. A number of mature women, grouped together, Mariner surmised could also be ballet-school officials. Rachel Hordern was the epitome of the grieving daughter and spoke movingly about her stepmother.
‘If she did have anything to do with it she’s putting on one hell of an act,’ Knox whispered to Mariner.
As he spoke they became aware, as did those around them, of a commotion on the opposite side of the church as a woman, apparently in some distress, jumped up and began forcing her way from her seat in the middle, to the end of the row; no mean feat as she was a large woman, wearing a bulky duffle coat and carrying a capacious handbag. People turned to stare as, in her haste, she practically fell into the side aisle before recovering and hurrying out of the church. Mariner, placed on the end of the row, quietly got up and followed her out, catching the closing door before it slammed shut. But, when he emerged into a squally shower, the woman had vanished.
The service ended with a rousing hymn, after which Rachel and her entourage proceeded out of the church. Mariner turned to watch them go, and as he did so locked eyes with another familiar, albeit older figure at the very back of the church on the opposite side. Nodding an acknowledgement, he turned to tell Knox. ‘See who’s over there?’ But when he turned back again, Jack Coleman, his old DCI, had gone. On their way out of the church there was the familiar meet and greet line. Mariner scanned the crowd ahead for Coleman, but he’d disappeared, leaving Mariner wondering if he’d been mistaken.
‘Thanks for coming, Inspector,’ said Rachel, as they approached. ‘I hope you and your sergeant will be able to join us at the reception.’
‘Thank you, we’d be pleased to.’ Mariner didn’t like to say that they had been planning to come along anyway, invitation or not.
Nina Silvero’s wake was held just down the road at the Clarendon Suite and many of the guests were choosing to walk there, Mariner and Knox included. They caught up with Susan Brady.
‘I still can’t believe she’s gone,’ she said. ‘I keep expecting her to pop up. All other things being equal, I think she’d have rather liked it; the music, the friends. I can’t imagine how we’re going to get on without her.’
‘Not all bad, though,’ Mariner said. ‘We have had a look at her will. In some respects it’s worked out well for you, hasn’t it?’
Susan’s colour rose. ‘Look, if you think I had anything to do with -’
‘How well do you know Rachel?’ Mariner asked.
‘Before today I hadn’t seen her in ages, but we used to dance together when we were younger. We weren’t close. Rach is a couple of years older than me, and moves in rather different circles.’
‘Did you notice the woman who left the church halfway through?’ Mariner asked.
‘Yes, overwhelmed by it all, I suppose.’
‘Did you know her?’
She shook her head. ‘She might have been a ballet-school mum, though I couldn’t be sure. There are so many of them. And there are plenty of people here today that I don’t recognise.’ They had arrived at their destination and Susan excused herself to go to the Ladies.
Mariner and Knox were directed, along with those around them, to a windowless, airless room that looked as if it was designed for sales conferences. It couldn’t have been further removed from the church, but perhaps that was the intention. Helping themselves to the proffered mineral water, Knox and Mariner hovered on the fringes doing what they did best - watching people. Rachel was working the room expertly, though she looked drawn and tired. There must have been a hundred people there at least, and it was her task to go through the same routine with them all. Mariner’s eyes roamed constantly, but Coleman wasn’t here. Assistant Chief Constable Bennett was, though, and eventually came up to them and shook hands. ‘How’s the inquiry going?’ he asked Mariner.
‘There are a few leads emerging,’ Mariner replied. ‘But nothing yet that stands out, sir. We’re still doing all the leg work.’
‘Well, keep on it. This is one we need to crack, and as quickly as possible, and without dragging up any old skeletons if at all possible, if you get my drift.’ Bennett’s none-too-subtle way of saying he didn’t want the media spotlight casting its beam once more on Ronnie Silvero’s death.
‘Yes, sir.’
Towards the end of the afternoon people began to drift away, and Mariner noticed Rachel for once standing a little apart. Seizing the opportunity, he picked up a glass of sparkling water and swooped in on her. ‘Here.’
She took it gratefully. ‘Thanks, I’m parched. It’s rather exhausting, all this.’
‘As you said, your stepmother was popular,’ Mariner observed. ‘She had a lot of friends,’
‘Even I had no idea how many,’ Rachel agreed. ‘This probably isn’t the time to ask, but is there any news?’
‘Nothing concrete,’ Mariner said. ‘But we’re following up on a number of things. Actually there was something I needed to ask you about.’
‘Go ahead. It’ll make a change from what I’ve been talking about all day.’
‘I understand you and your stepmother had a disagreement a couple of weeks ago.’
She hadn’t been expecting that. ‘How did you . . .?’
‘One of the neighbours overheard you.’
‘Oh I might have known. Bossy Patterson next door. Just happened to have her glass to the wall, did she?’
Mariner was taken aback by the acid tone. ‘She was working in her garden,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t sound as if you were particularly discreet.’
Rachel sighed. ‘Well, in the end there wasn’t much to be discreet about. Mum turned me down flat. She said that the key to starting any business is to know your limitations, and that, if she just handed over the money, we would have an unrealistic idea of what they were. Never mind that actually most of it is my dad’s money.’
‘What kind of business were you starting?’ Mariner asked.
‘Organic bath products, soap, shampoo, that kind of thing. We were going to market them over the Internet, still are as a matter of fact.’
‘So you raised the capital elsewhere?’
‘Not as much as we’d have liked,’ she said.
‘But that hardly matters now, does it?’ Mariner couldn’t resist it.
She gave him a quizzical look.
‘We’ve had access to Nina’s will. It’s all part of the investigation.’
Having placed her glass carefully on an adjacent table, Rachel held out her hands towards Mariner, wrists together in preparation for handcuffs. ‘It’s a fair cop,’ she said. ‘You’ve got me bang to rights.’ But, despite the levity of the words, her tone was hard. She let her hands drop, and for a second Mariner thought she might hit him, but instead her eyes narrowed a little. ‘Today of all days,’ she said, with great control. ‘How dare you?’ She turned and walked away.
Mariner watched as Adam approached her, offering some comfort and they both glared accusingly across at him.
It was time to go. But all the mineral water had caught up with Mariner and he went to find the Gents. As he passed back through the room on his way out, afterwards, he couldn’t help noticing that Rachel was no longer in conference with her husband. Instead she had moved along the room and was deep in conversation with Susan Brady.
‘Let’s go to the crematorium,’ Mariner said. He and Knox had retraced their steps to the car.
‘She was cremated this morning, boss,’ said Knox, getting into the driver’s seat. ‘There’ll be no one there.’
‘I want to look at the flowers,’ said Mariner. ‘It might be interesting to see who’s left them. If our killer sent her some while she was alive, perhaps he’s done the same again now that she’s dead.’
The floral tributes for Nina Silvero took up the whole of one bay, from modest wreaths to elaborate floral creations spelling out her name, but Knox and Mariner were the only ones there to see.
‘What a waste,’ said Knox. ‘A couple of days and all this lot will be dead, too.’
Mariner walked slowly along the line. ‘Look.’ He pointed out the wreath from Jack and Glenys Coleman.
‘The gaffer must have known Ronnie Silvero. That’s why he was in the church.’
‘Would he have worked with Silvero?’ Knox wondered, and Mariner realised that he probably did. The message on a nearby wreath was simple:
Cherished, loved and much missed
, but was unsigned. With a jolt, Mariner recognised the handwriting, but Tony Knox had already moved on, so no need to draw his attention to that one. There were no others that stood out, and certainly at this point no arrangements of dead flowers. Maybe Rachel Hordern was right, and that had been a mistake. It had begun to drizzle again and Mariner caught up with Knox sheltering inside the crematorium entrance where the book of remembrance lay open on this date for previous years. He stopped to scan the pages. ‘Christ,’ he said to Knox. ‘There’s a woman here in her twenties.’ He traced his finger along the protective glass case. ‘Makes you think about how little time you’ve got, doesn’t it?’