Spear of Destiny Page 11

  He was on edge, desperately wanting to know if there was any news of Sarah. He found Bob Forbes, who said he’d heard nothing yet, but assured him HQ had taken Ethan’s story seriously and had sent out a general alert.

  ‘Who’s in charge?’

  ‘Not sure. I’ll find out.’

  ‘I want to be put on the search team. Bob, I’m just wasting my time here. The super doesn’t want me on the murder case because I may be emotionally involved. I’ve been taken off my other case, and here I am standing around making coffee and fretting.’

  ‘Actually, the super’s on his way over. He was asking about you, wanted to know if you were here. There’s been a bit of a delay on the A46, but he’s past that now. Should be here any minute.’

  Five minutes later, Superintendent Willis left his driver to find a parking space, and came trudging up the drive to the house. Watching him through a ground-floor window, Ethan thought he seemed tired and distracted. Snow already lay on his bare head and the shoulders of his black overcoat. Ethan did not think it was just the snow that hampered his footsteps. The policeman on the door let him in.

  Willis spent several minutes talking in the hall with Forbes. Ethan waited in the morning room, which was unaffected by the investigation. Being there brought back memories of holidays with his parents, and of his mother in particular. Today, his heart misgave him. He awaited Willis’s arrival without hope, or the expectation of hope. The super’s face as he approached the door had told him all he needed to know. Ethan thought of his mother, of her hope for life and the sudden illness that had spent two years defeating her, turning all hope sour. He had spent so many hours with her in this room, playing while she read, and, much later, reading aloud to her as she sat wasting in the chair he sat in now.

  The door opened and Brian Willis stepped into the room. The door clicked shut behind him. The dim afternoon light, pearl-coloured from the snow, gave him a translucence at once contradicted by the expression on his face.

  He did not sit down. For several moments, he looked at Ethan, who got to his feet to greet him. Ethan thought he seemed uneasy, wanting to speak yet unable to frame the right words. Then the super spoke.

  ‘DCI Usherwood, I know you were questioned along with the other guests yesterday. I understand you were the one who found the two bodies?’

  Ethan shook his head.

  ‘Mrs Salgueiro found them, sir. She came out screaming, and I went in. I notified HQ right away.’

  ‘That was very prompt of you. Tell me, did you do anything else while you were in the study? Did you touch anything?’

  Ethan frowned.

  ‘Sir, I was shocked by what I found, but I didn’t panic. I’ve been on dozens of murder scenes. I closed the door and forbade entry, then I found the nearest phone and rang in.’

  ‘Where was the phone you used?’

  ‘In my own room. It was quite close, and I knew there was a phone there. Sir, is something wrong?’

  There was a long pause, then Willis shook his head.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m sure there’s an explanation, but… Just a tick.’

  The super went to the door and opened it part way. Moments later, Bob Forbes came in. He was carrying something in his hand, a plastic evidence bag with something in it, something long.

  Superintendent Willis took the bag and held it out towards Ethan.

  ‘DCI Usherwood, have you ever seen this before?’

  The object he held out was a knife. It was a folding knife of unusual design, with a brown horn handle and a long, slim blade. The blade was about five inches in length and seemed very sharp. Ethan noticed traces of blood on it.

  He shook his head.

  ‘No, sir. If it was in the study when I went in, I didn’t notice it.’

  ‘You’re quite sure of that? You’re sure you’ve never seen it before?’

  ‘It’s quite distinctive, sir. I’ve seen plenty of knives in my time, but never one like that.’

  ‘That’s curious. Just a moment.’

  The super turned to Forbes, who hadn’t looked Ethan in the eye since entering the room, and handed the transparent envelope back to him. He muttered something which Ethan didn’t catch, after which Forbes left the room.

  ‘What’s going on, sir? Are you suggesting I know something about that knife, that I’m holding back…?’

  The super tutted, as though in disapproval.

  ‘Just wait a moment,’ he said.

  Ethan wondered what was going on. The super had never been the friendliest of men, but he’d never been curt like this.

  The door opened and Bob Forbes stepped back inside. This time he was holding several larger bags, all containing what looked like items of clothing. Again, DI Forbes avoided looking at Ethan.

  One by one, the DI handed the evidence bags across.

  ‘Have you seen this before?’ asked Willis, holding up a bag containing a woman’s thong, a pretty thing with a pink see-through panel in front. There were darker marks on the panel, random blotches that might have been blood.

  Ethan shook his head.

  ‘I no longer have a wife, and I haven’t had a girlfriend in several months, sir. No, I’ve never seen this before.’

  ‘How about this?’

  This time, the super held up a bag containing a bra that matched the thong.

  ‘No, sir. Not that either.’

  Forbes handed a third bag across. Willis let it open out. It held a white woman’s dress on a hanger. The front of the dress had been slashed in several places, and was covered in blood.

  ‘And this?’

  Ethan wanted to throw up. He moved back a couple of steps, then collapsed onto the chair he’d been sitting on earlier. The food he’d eaten forced itself back up his throat, and he vomited onto the carpet. Shutting his eyes, he wiped his mouth and tried to concentrate. No one said a word. When he opened his eyes, the others were still looking at him.

  ‘Well?’ asked the super. ‘Do you recognise this dress?’

  Ethan nodded. His head was spinning. He felt something trickle from his nose and put his finger to it. He was bleeding. Staunching the nosebleed with a handkerchief, he nodded again.

  ‘It belongs to Sarah. She was wearing it on Christmas Eve, at the party.’ He bit his lower lip and repressed a sob. ‘Where did you find her? What…did they do?’

  ‘We were hoping you’d tell us where she is,’ Willis said, his voice hardening now, his manner honed in years of conversations with suspects.

  ‘I have no idea. I told you, they must have driven off with her.’

  ‘We found the dress in your bedroom, hidden underneath your mattress. The bra and knickers too. The knife had been shoved behind the radiator.’

  Ethan felt suddenly like a butterfly pinned to cork while still alive. For several seconds, he stared at the clothing. His old colleagues looked back at him, unsmiling. Ethan felt his heart go out of him. He’d been standing where they were standing many times. He knew what they were thinking. Like them, he’d used an accusing silence to intimidate a suspect into confessing.

  ‘You think this was my work?’ he said. ‘You think I killed her?’

  The bra and thong, the dress had all been bloodied and planted. He had no doubt of it.

  ‘DCI Usherwood, I think you should know that fingerprints were lifted from the knife several hours ago, and that they match samples of your fingerprints we hold on record. You should also know that the blood found on the dress and underwear is from two individuals. When DNA tests have been completed, we expect to confirm that the smaller patches of blood belong to you.’

  ‘This is insane. She was my niece. Why would I harm her? And why the hell would I murder my grandfather? Or his friend?’

  Willis breathed in sharply through his nostrils and held his breath tightly for some seconds before letting it escape again.

  ‘I spoke with your family lawyers an hour ago. Apparently, the bulk of your grandfather’s estate has been left to you, apart
from a large sum bequeathed to your niece Sarah, and smaller amounts to other members of your family. Woodmancote Hall passes to you, along with its contents, apart from specific bequests listed in the will. You have a motive for the murders, and I have to act according to the evidence. I leave the rest of this to DI Forbes, who remains in charge of this investigation.’

  Saying which, Willis turned and strode out of the room, leaving the door to swing closed behind him.

  Bob Forbes stepped up to Ethan.

  ‘DCI Usherwood, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Gerald Usherwood and Max Chippendale. You are not obliged to say anything but anything you do say may be taken down and used in evidence against you.’

  There was a knock on the door, then two uniformed officers stepped into the room.

  Ethan said nothing. He knew the score, knew what to say, what not to say.

  ‘I’d like to make a phone call,’ he said.

  Forbes nodded, and he took the mobile from his jacket pocket. He tapped in a number and waited for someone to answer at the other end.

  10

  On the Loose

  Adam Markham turned out to be exactly as Ethan had imagined him. He was what people call a ‘safe hand’. Some said he was that rare thing, a man of the law you could trust. The moment Ethan set eyes on him, he had the same impression. Middle-aged, conventionally dressed, slightly plump, with a kind face, wise eyes, and frameless spectacles. In all probability, he would turn out to be a dull sort, a man for whom life pretty much began and ended with the law, with a little church attendance and sherry drinking to add spice. That, of course, was the impression he sought to convey, and the impression Ethan took.

  But Mr Markham was not a criminal lawyer, nor was anyone else in the much-esteemed family firm of Markham and Pritchett. When he met Ethan in the police cell where he was being held before an appearance before the magistrates’ court the next day, he pointed this out to him, and added that good defence lawyers with experience in murder cases were thin on the ground in Gloucestershire.

  ‘But I’ll sort something out,’ he said, his little eyes twinkling, as though Ethan was being pulled up before the beaks for an infringement of some forgotten by-law.

  ‘I need to get out,’ said Ethan.

  ‘Out? You can’t get out. Not before the magistrates’ hearing.’

  ‘I want to get bail. I need to get bail.’

  ‘Ethan – if I may call you that – everyone wants bail. Ordinarily, there is little difficulty in obtaining it, as I’m sure you know. But these charges… They are, if I may say so, monstrous. Of course, I am your legal advisor, and I have every confidence in your lack of guilt in the matter. Unfortunately, the magistrates may not see it that way.’

  ‘I was set up,’ said Ethan. ‘If I’m locked up, there’s nothing I can do to prove myself innocent. I know Willis and Forbes and the rest, and I know what they do when they think they have a watertight case. They close down all other lines of inquiry and focus on getting a conviction.’

  ‘There’s time to deal with that once this goes to the Crown Court. You’ll have a barrister, probably a silk, you can afford the best counsel.’

  All Markham’s clients were well heeled, and Ethan detected in him a carelessness to the risk he was running, a perception of things rooted in a preening assumption that money and status brought innocence in their train.

  ‘If I’m right,’ Ethan said. ‘Sarah hasn’t been killed at all. She’s out there somewhere, kidnapped probably.’

  ‘But I can’t see—’

  ‘They took it too far, can’t you see that? If they had killed her, why strip the body? If she’d been stabbed in the heart, why would her thong be bloodstained? It doesn’t add up. If I were in charge of the investigation, I’d have a team of officers out there now, hunting for her.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the solicitor, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  The following morning, he surprised Ethan. The heir to Woodmancote Hall had spent a miserable night in the cells, where he’d been treated with a mixture of embarrassment and contempt. He’d been a popular officer, but now the shine had been taken off his image by the stories passing from mouth to mouth, stories that told of more than mere murder, that painted a gruesome portrait of a multiple killer who tortured his victims before despatching them in a bizarre and blasphemous fashion.

  The chief constable had issued instructions that as little as possible be said to the press about the arrest. Ethan was hurried in to Gloucester Magistrates’ Court through a back entrance used by the magistrates, and taken to a small court normally used for smaller cases. On his arrival, he was met by Brenda Pritchett, Markham’s partner. She introduced herself to Ethan, then brought forward a tall, dark-haired man in an expensive-looking suit and soft silk tie.

  ‘Ethan, this is Myles Clavering. Myles is a barrister with a long experience of criminal cases, including homicide.’

  Ethan shook hands.

  ‘I’ve not seen you in court before,’ he said.

  Clavering smiled. It was a rich smile, warm rather than polite. For some reason, Ethan took to him at once. Or was it because he desperately needed to put his faith in someone, anyone? He could not be sure.

  ‘Actually, I’m not local. My patch is London.’

  ‘And you’ve handled homicide cases before?’

  ‘Fifteen, to be precise. Some manslaughter too.’

  ‘And the outcomes?’

  ‘Fifteen acquittals for the homicides.’

  Ethan paused and thought hard.

  ‘That’s a good record,’ he said. ‘Bloody good, in fact. You’ll be representing me at the Crown Court as well, I take it?’

  Clavering nodded.

  ‘That’s the plan. I should mention that your father picked me out. His people employed me on a number of occasions in the past. He’ll be in the public gallery.’

  ‘Do you think I can get bail?’

  Clavering did not answer right away. Ethan had the impression he had not thought about it before.

  ‘Tricky, to be honest. The charges are serious, there are three counts of murder. But you’re a policeman with a perfect record. I’ll point out that you, of all people, would know exactly how to cover up your tracks. Leaving your fingerprints or your DNA behind would be such an elementary slip-up, you’d have to be suicidal.’

  Ethan told him about the underwear, and he nodded and seemed thoughtful. Then an usher came and escorted the barrister to the courtroom, while Ethan was taken to a different door, through which he could access the dock.

  The hearing took ten minutes. In court, Clavering could have won Oscars. He dominated the room. He did not stumble in his address, he did not fumble with papers, nor even look down at them. His mastery of the slim evidence available was complete and devastating. This was not a trial, but had it been, Ethan might well have been acquitted by all but the most obtuse jurymen and women. By contrast, Bob Forbes came across as uncertain and hampered by the knowledge that a colleague and superior stood in the dock.

  But what swung the hearing in Ethan’s favour were two fortuitous matters. The chairman of the bench had just completed his chairmanship training, and had arrived that morning expecting to sharpen his teeth on motoring offences. To compound this, the senior clerk who should have been sitting in front of the bench had been snowed in at home, leaving her place to be taken by a junior who seemed dwarfed by the rows of legal books on her desk. Clavering knew act and statute by heart, and while she fumbled, he took the magistrates through the complexities of bail legislation.

  Ethan walked from the courthouse with an agreement to appear at the Crown Court in one month’s time, and bail set at a figure of fifty thousand pounds. His father met him outside, and shook his hand.

  ‘I know you didn’t do this, Ethan. Clavering will get you off, don’t worry.’

  ‘It’s not that simple, Dad. If the CPS field somebody first class, even Clavering could be out of his league. But the first thing is to
find Sarah.’

  ‘Sarah? I thought she was back in Oxford.’

  Ethan explained.

  ‘What are you planning to do?’ his father asked.

  ‘I’m not sure yet. But if she’s alive, somebody has to do something. Even if I can just persuade someone to get a search under way it would be something.’

  They had a late breakfast at a little cafe near the courthouse. The heavy snow was keeping people out of the city centre, and the place was almost empty. They sat in overcoats, their hands hugging mugs of hot coffee, snacking on crumpets smeared with butter and Marmite.

  ‘Dad, they’re going to appeal the bail. Once this gets into the press, which it will by this evening, everybody and his dog will start bawling about why a mass murderer was released. The Home Office will panic, MPs will get up in Parliament, the tabloids will scream for my blood, and I’ll be back in clink before you can ring Clavering’s mobile.’

  ‘What was the point of getting out, then?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking this over all night, Dad. Here’s what I’d like you to do.’

  A forensic team had already gone into his flat in the town centre and spirited away everything of interest, including his computer. They made him sign all sorts of papers and warned him of the consequences of leaving Gloucester. He took it all in his stride. The entire thing felt more like an exercise at work, and once or twice he’d had to explain the procedure to the young officers who’d gone back to his flat with him. He’d felt more worried about them than about himself, and he spoke to them reassuringly, promising he would report at the station every day. They asked for his passport, and he handed it over without a word of protest. It would not, he knew, be long before someone more senior was in touch, Willis perhaps, or someone from the CPS, to say the bail decision had been overruled. He had to move quickly.

  Leaving the forensic team to continue their work, he drove straight to the bank. His father had already paid a large sum into his account, and he drew out most of it in cash. After that, he bought himself a travel bag, fresh clothing, a pay-as-you-go mobile phone, and an Apple laptop. His final stop was the cathedral, where the coffee shop offered a quiet environment away from prying eyes.