Part 5 (2/2)

'There's no evidence that he did ... except his knife was the same as the murder weapon. But if Forensic come up with a match ...'

Wesley nodded. It was a long shot but they had to make sure. 'What about our celebrity chef?'

'He's got the motive. But he's also got an alibi. There's Marrick's widow of course. She hardly seems heartbroken. And I get the impression her daughter didn't have much time for her stepfather there's something odd there.'

'She says she was in Bath when it happened. On her own, so no alibi.'

'She could have driven down and killed him, started back then turned round when she got her mother's phone call. She's certainly not out of the frame ... if we can come up with a motive.'

'And if Pinney's knife isn't the murder weapon. I can't see her going to Morbay specially and wasting valuable time dumping it on the Winterham Estate, can you?'

Gerry Heffernan scratched his head. 'Probably not. Mind you, it'd be a good way of throwing us off the scent. Has your mate Neil had any more funny letters?'

'Not that I know of.'

'You think there could be a connection with Marrick's murder ... the mention of blood and all that?'

Wesley said he had no idea but he thought it unlikely. Neil had been on TV and had probably attracted the attention of someone who was disturbed. The most unsettling thing, in Wesley's opinion, was that whoever it was had Neil's home address. But anyone determined enough could find it out from the electoral register.

They walked to the police station in amicable silence and when they arrived Heffernan gave his customary morning briefing. One wall of the incident room was taken up with photographs of the victim, alive and dead. One of the photographs showed Charles Marrick in a bar with friends, good looking, smooth and prosperous, the life and soul of the party. In the other he was posed against the ruins of Machu Picchu with a smug expression on his face, arrogant as any conquistador of old.

In contrast, the police pictures of Marrick's corpse, taken from various angles, showed the sh.e.l.l of the man. No self-satisfied smile. No life at all that had drained from him with his blood. Wesley stood there during the briefing, staring at the images. He wanted to know more about Marrick. He wanted to know what had driven someone to plunge a knife into his neck and leave him there to die. And he wanted to know why he hadn't put up a fight.

He was lost in his own thoughts when he heard the DCI mention Steve Carstairs's name. A formal complaint had been made, he said, and if anyone knew anything about the incident they were to come forward. But n.o.body made a move. Rather the whole team looked mildly embarra.s.sed and shuffled their collective feet. Only Trish Walton looked as though she wanted to leap to Steve's defence. But she had no information to offer so she kept silent.

Once the briefing was over and everyone was a.s.signed their tasks, Rachel Tracey marched up to Wesley, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with untold news. She perched on the edge of his desk and leaned towards him. He could smell her perfume, light and floral. She smiled, showing a set of perfect white teeth.

'Good news,' she began.

'What is? Steve's suspension?' He couldn't resist saying it.

She ignored the remark. 'Some fingerprints were found in Charles Marrick's bedroom. They don't match the wife, the stepdaughter or the cleaner. I'm having them matched against the database.'

'Good. Let's hope it's the breakthrough we need.'

'And everyone at Fabrice Colbert's restaurant was interviewed yesterday. When we had a close look at the statements we found some inconsistencies.'

Wesley sat up, taking notice. 'What do you mean?'

'The wine waiter ...'

'Sommelier. He's called the sommelier at Le Pet.i.t Poisson.'

'The wine waiter,' she began again defiantly, 'said he was with Colbert all afternoon. He said they visited a wine merchant's in Neston Varney's Vintages.'

'And?'

'It didn't tie in with a statement from one of the young chefs. He said he was looking for Colbert that afternoon because there'd been a phone call for him. He said he asked the sommelier where he was and he said he'd just been to Neston with him but they'd split up because Colbert had to go somewhere and he'd be back in half an hour.'

'So they told the truth about the Neston trip but after they'd been to Varney's they split up?'

'That's about it. He's the only one who mentioned the discrepancy. Mind you, it was his day off and he was interviewed at home. n.o.body had time to get to him and tell him the authorised version.'

Wesley thought for a few moments. 'Are you sure he's not mistaken? Are you sure he hasn't got the day wrong or ...'

'It's always a possibility. But if you want my opinion, I think we should get Fabrice Colbert in here fast.'

'With any luck he might give the cooks in the station canteen some tips.'

'I'm being serious, Wesley.' She pressed her lips together.

'So am I,' he replied, feeling defiantly flippant sometimes Rachel's serious nature affected him that way. 'I'll tell the boss. I'm sure he'll be up for another trip to Le Pet.i.t Poisson. If we time it right, maybe we'll get a free lunch. If there is such a thing.' He grinned at her and she shook her head.

'You've met Colbert. Do you think he could have done it?' she asked.

'Have you seen his programme on the TV? All that shouting and swearing.'

Rachel nodded.

'Pam always said it was an act ... that n.o.body could behave like that at work and survive. But she's wrong. That's exactly what he's like. His staff are terrified of him. Gerry Heffernan at his very worst is a p.u.s.s.y cat compared to Colbert.'

'So he killed Charles Marrick in a fit of rage?

'You know me, Rach. I never jump to conclusions.'

As she walked away, Wesley stared at the picture of Colbert that had just been pinned on the notice board to join their gallery of suspects. Most murders were simple. And this one probably wouldn't be any different.

Annette Marrick stared at the lounge door. It had been closed since the police Forensic team had left and she wasn't quite sure whether she was allowed in there. But, on the other hand, it was her house. They couldn't tell her what to do in her own house.

They had taken fingerprints left everywhere covered in a mess of grey powder, even the bedrooms. And she was afraid. If she'd thought, if she'd kept a clear head, she could have wiped everything before the police arrived. The horror of Charlie's death had driven all practicalities from her mind. But from now on she'd be far more careful.

She felt a sudden urge to enter the room, to break that invisible seal that had formed on the bland white door and to see the scene of Charlie's death once more. The room would have to be stripped, of course, and the sooner the better. All trace of him would have to be removed. All trace of the man who was a cheat, a bully and a brute.

She walked to the door and placed her right hand on the handle. This was it. Courage.

'What are you doing?'

Annette swung round. Petronella was standing there, her eyes full of contempt.

'Do the police know that you wanted to get rid of him like you got rid of me?' she said in a heavy whisper. She walked up to Annette and put her face close to hers. 'That's what you do isn't it, Mummy?' The word was almost spat with hatred. 'You get rid of people who are inconvenient.'

Annette stood, stunned, for a few seconds before rus.h.i.+ng up the stairs and slamming the bedroom door behind her.

But if she'd turned she would have seen the tears streaming down Petronella's face.

Gerry Heffernan was unavailable. He had to see Chief Superintendent Nutter about the Steve Carstairs situation. Carl Pinney had gone home to nurse his wounds and his solicitor was talking about prosecution and compensation. Gerry rather suspected that Carl Pinney was more concerned with obtaining the latter than the former.

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