Part 12 (2/2)

'Jonathan's coming up to stay for a few days next week,' she announced. 'We haven't seen him since before the wedding, have we, Mark?' She looked at Pam and smiled. 'You remember Jonathan, don't you, Pam?'

If this had come from anyone else, Pam would have interpreted it as a snide remark at her expense. But she knew that Maritia was quite unaware of what had pa.s.sed between her and Mark's old school friend, Jonathan, just before the couple's wedding the previous year. For one thing she'd been far too busy to notice.

'Mmm.' She glanced at Wesley, glad for once that he was too preoccupied with work to hear the giveaway nervousness in her voice.

'Why don't you come round for dinner next Sunday?' Maritia put her arm around her husband's waist. 'It'll be nice to have a get-together.'

Mark kissed the top of his wife's head and Pam looked away, feeling a sudden urge to blurt out the truth, to shock these smug innocents. But she forced herself to smile.

'Yeah ... great,' she heard herself saying, even though she had every intention of avoiding Jonathan at all costs. Jonathan was dangerous. Jonathan had threatened her marriage once and she wasn't going to let it happen again.

Wesley was quiet as they drove back home, deep in thought.

'Everything okay?' she asked, glancing round at the children. Amelia had fallen asleep in her car seat and Michael was looking out of the window entranced at the pa.s.sing scenery of rolling fields and grazing animals.

'Yes,' Wesley replied. 'Apart from the fact that I've got two corpses on my hands identical MO but no apparent connection between them. And on top of that some kids found a skeleton in the woods near Sunacres Holiday Park yesterday.'

Pam looked at him, shocked. 'That's not been on the news.'

'Early days. I had a missed call on my mobile earlier Neil. Why don't you try and get him now?' Wesley wanted to distract Pam from his work commitments Neil had his uses.

She took Wesley's mobile and tapped in Neil's number. But there was no answer. She tried his mobile but it was switched off. This wasn't like Neil. Maybe something had happened. Or maybe he was up to something and he didn't want to be contacted.

Pam, slightly uneasy, promised herself she'd try again later.

They made an early start on Monday morning. Carl Pinney was in the interview room with that indispensable accessory to life on the wrong side of the law his brief. Carl regarded his solicitor as an infallible lucky charm that could get him out of all manner of trouble. Gerry Heffernan had nailed a lucky horseshoe to his back door once. It had fallen off and hit him on the head. He just hoped that the protection provided by Carl's brief would prove equally ineffective.

Wesley entered the interview room just behind his boss. He hadn't been able to contact Neil the previous evening and there was a small nag of worry in the back of his mind. After all, Neil had been receiving those anonymous letters ... the ones that spoke of blood and death. Wesley would call him later just to make sure he was okay.

They sat down opposite Carl Pinney and his solicitor, a bored-looking man in his mid-forties with a s.h.i.+ny suit and thinning ginger hair who kept glancing at his watch as though he'd rather be elsewhere. He didn't look lucky and he didn't look charming. But Pinney was relying on him.

Wesley gave Pinney a friendly smile. 'I expect you go out on Sat.u.r.day nights, Carl.'

Pinney rewarded him with a look of utter contempt.

'Where did you go on Sat.u.r.day ... and who were you with?'

'What's it to you?'

'You know why you've been brought in, don't you?'

'Haven't a clue.'

'The knife you used in the attack on DC Carstairs is the same one that killed Charles Marrick.'

'I told you before. I found it.' He looked at his solicitor who avoided his eyes.

'There's been a development since then, Carl. There's been another murder. Exactly the same as Marrick's. Where were you on Sat.u.r.day night?'

Pinney's eyes darted to and fro in panic. 'I weren't feeling well. I didn't go out. I got beaten up, you know. That b.a.s.t.a.r.d mate of yours put me in hospital. I've still got the bruises and they still b.l.o.o.d.y hurt. Takes a long time to get over something like that,' he added self-righteously. 'I think I've got post traumatic stress disorder.'

Wesley ignored this last remark. 'Is there anyone who can back up your story?'

'Our Chelsea.'

'Our Chelsea? Who's that?' asked Heffernan.

'Me sister. Me mam was out so we sent out for pizzas.'

'What time was this?'

Pinney shrugged. 'About six ... seven. Dunno really. We ain't got a clock.'

'Where did you order the pizza from?' Wesley asked.

Pinney said a name which meant nothing to Wesley or Heffernan one of the many small pizza delivery joints that plied their trade in the large seaside resort of Morbay. It would be checked out, of course, but even if the delivery driver saw Carl Pinney, it didn't mean he didn't nip out soon after the pizzas were dropped off and murder Simon Tench. To do that he'd need access to a car, of course. But Wesley would put money on his ability to hotwire and pinch any car that lacked adequate security and he would have honed his driving skills on the unofficial skidpans of the Winterham Estate, terrifying the older residents with the noise of squealing tyres as the vehicles careered recklessly around the litter strewn streets.

Wesley made a mental note to ask someone to check on stolen cars at the relevant times. It was the only possibility: buses in the area were like rare protected beasts reported on in hushed tones by David Attenborough on BBC natural history programmes infrequent and unreliable. And Pinney was hardly the type who'd walk miles on the off chance of finding a likely victim.

But the more Wesley thought about it, the less likely it seemed that Pinney was their murderer. The impulse attack the knife in the alley or the s.n.a.t.c.hed handbag was his style. Not the calculated piercing of arteries. But they still had to be thorough and check out his story.

'Have you any pets, Carl?'

Pinney looked at Wesley as though he was mad. 'We had a dog once but that was years ago. Why?'

'Did you ever take it to a vet called Simon Tench?'

Pinney looked puzzled and shook his head. 'Never took it to no vet. It got run over in the end ... killed. We never had to take it to no vet.'

Wesley and Heffernan caught each other's eye. Carl Pinney was no advert for responsible pet owners.h.i.+p.

'Have you ever heard of or met Simon Tench? He worked in Tradmouth. The Cornvale Veterinary Clinic.'

Pinney shook his head vigorously but Wesley could tell he was uneasy. He had recognised Tench's name or that of the clinic.

The solicitor made a show of studying his watch. 'I think it's time my client had a break.'

Gerry Heffernan stood up. 'Break? We've not even started yet.'

Wesley put a hand on his arm. 'Quite right. We'll continue this later on. We've got to attend the postmortem of the latest victim.' He watched Pinney's face for a reaction but saw none.

And he had an uncomfortable feeling that they were wasting their valuable time.

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