Murder Club - Mark Pearson [66]
‘I’ll get on it,’ said Delaney.
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Laura.
‘Kate, see if you can chase up the reverend’s brother meanwhile as you know the family. What’s the brother’s name?’
Kate consulted her notebook. ‘Jeremy Hunt, Diane. Reverend Jeremy Hunt, I should say. Runs in the family.’
There was a knock on the door and DI Tony Hamilton walked in followed by DI Emma Halliday.
‘Hello, ma’am. Sorry to interrupt,’ said DI Hamilton.
‘That’s okay, Tony. We’re wrapped up here.’ She gestured for the team to get on. ‘So what can I do for you?’
‘Like to have a word with Inspector Delaney.’
‘Be my guest.’ Diane left, followed by the rest of the team.
‘What’s going on, Tony?’ asked Delaney.
‘Not entirely sure.’ Hamilton waited for the room to clear then closed the door on the three of them.
‘Bit of a puzzle,’ Emma Halliday agreed.
‘Bit out of your bailiwick, aren’t you, Catwalk?’
‘Not really. They are going to combine White City here with Paddington Green next month apparently.’
‘Why?’
‘Cutbacks, Jack. Streamlining of management and operational infrastructure. Just the beginning, I’d say.’
‘Be about right. What does Napier say?’
Emma grinned. ‘Don’t know, but if it means a sideways move for him, he’ll not be happy.’
‘That’s something then,’ said Delaney, finishing his coffee. ‘So what’s the puzzle that brings the Met’s best and beautiful over to see little old me?’
Emma reached into the black leather bag she had slung over her shoulder and placed an evidence bag on the table.
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a tarot card. Major Arcana.’
Delaney picked it up. A man dressed in medieval garb, hung by his one foot from a T-shaped tree. Red hose, blue jerkin and a yellow corona around his head.
‘The Hanged Man,’ said DI Hamilton.
‘I’m Irish, not a gypsy. What’s this got to do with me?’
‘The card was found on a man who suicided a year ago. Jumped under a train at Piccadilly Circus station. Took a while to track him down. His name was Andrew Johnson. Came from a town called Lavenham in Suffolk. He was the landlord of a small pub called The Crawfish there.’
‘Go on.’
‘He was visiting London on business, he made the trip several times a year. In his suitcase we found women’s clothing. We thought he was a transvestite. But there was also a pair of torn knickers, with semen stains, some blood and pubic hair. Male and female.’
‘And?’
‘Turned out the semen was his, as was the male pubic hair,’ continued DI Halliday. ‘The blood and the other pubic hair was from an as-yet-unidentified female.’
‘So we have a suicide. And some stained underwear and a mystic tarot card, on the person of a pub landlord from Lavenham in Suffolk.’
‘Except maybe it wasn’t suicide,’ said DI Hamilton.
‘You have my attention,’ replied Delaney.
‘Last night,’ continued Emma Halliday, ‘another man jumped under a train. This time from the east-bound Bakerloo Line platform at Baker Street station.’
‘More underwear in a briefcase?’
‘No. But again no identification on him. And he was carrying an envelope with a lot of cash in it.’
‘And something else,’ said Tony, as the tall woman handed another evidence card to Delaney.
‘Another tarot card.’
‘This one is called Judgement,’ said Emma.
‘Does that have any special significance?’
‘It might do, especially if he didn’t jump.’
‘He was pushed, you mean?’
‘No witnesses said they saw him being pushed. But one of the people on the platform beside him thought they heard a sound before he went under the train.’
Delaney met her level gaze. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’
‘The sound she described sounded a lot like a static electric buzz.’
‘He was tasered, you’re saying?’
‘You catch on fast.’
‘I’m a detective inspector. It goes with my pay grade. And what’s the rest of it?’
‘The face was pretty smashed in,’ said DI Halliday.
Delaney grimaced.
‘But something about him …’ She gestured with her hand. ‘I got the pathologist to run a check for burn marks.’