Murder Club - Mark Pearson [87]
Bible Steve didn’t respond, keeping his blood-shot eyes open. After a few seconds, though, they fluttered and closed. When the anaesthetist took the mask away he was already unconscious.
It was as dark as midnight outside now. The snow showed no sign of stopping. The traffic crept along the Harrow Road and the windscreen wipers of Delaney’s old Saab had fallen into a slow, steady rhythm. An almost hypnotic sound, and, given the fact that Delaney had cranked the heating to as high as it would go, Sally was feeling sleepy.
Delaney’s phone trilled in his pocket, waking Sally out of her trance, and she leaned forward concentrating on the road ahead.
‘Hi darling,’ said Delaney. ‘What’s new in Glockemorra?’ He listened for a while. ‘Okay, honey, keep me posted.’
DC Cartwright looked over at him. ‘Bob Wilkinson?’ she asked.
‘Sure if you make me laugh much more today I swear my funny bone will fall out of my body, Sally.’
‘Kate, I take it.’
‘She’s on her way to the morgue’
‘What’s the squeal?’
‘You’ve been reading too many American detective novels, Constable.’
‘No time to read, sir. Catching up on Sky Atlantic.’
‘Well, the squeal is that someone matching the description of the woman Bible Steve says he killed has turned up. Died on Friday night according to Dr Bowlalong Bowman’s best guess.’
‘And Bible Steve?’
‘Being operated on.’
‘So we have two dead bodies. One male from twenty years ago. And one young female, recent. And the two people who might be able to tell us something about them are both in hospital and unable to speak. They don’t make it easy for us, do they, boss?’
‘Didn’t they teach you that in Hendon?’
‘Everything I learnt as a detective I learnt from you, boss.’
‘God help us all then,’ said Delaney.
‘Exactly.’
Sally swung the wheel and parked outside a medium-sized detached house in Pinner. The driveway and pavement had been cleared. A man in his late forties was making a snowman in the middle of the left-hand lawn.
He raised a hand in greeting as Delaney and Sally Cartwright walked up to his house.
‘Caroline is inside, Detectives,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know why you couldn’t have a meeting at the school.’
‘I’m sorry?’ asked Sally.
The front door opened and a woman in her mid-thirties appeared. She was of medium height with a curvy figure and shiny, coppery hair. She had bright-red lipstick and long eyelashes. She reminded Delaney of somebody but he couldn’t place her.
‘Because the school is closed, darling, you know that.’
‘Well, next term then, you bring enough work home with you as it is.’
The woman smiled at Delaney. ‘Ignore him, Inspector, he’s just a grouch.’
‘I’m only saying …’ said her husband.
‘Well, don’t, just keep at it. I want that snowman built before Natasha comes home!’
‘Yes, darling,’ said her husband, with a dispirited grin and picked up another handful of snow.
Inside the house Delaney and Sally sat in the lounge on a large, white leather sofa. It was a comfortably cluttered room. A boudoir grand piano had a bunch of family photos on top of it. Mainly of a young girl whom Delaney presumed was Caroline Lewis’ daughter. She certainly had the same lustrous hair and easy smile.
Except Caroline Lewis wasn’t smiling now. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything – tea, coffee?’ she asked.
‘We’re fine, thanks. And sorry to disturb you on a Sunday evening. But it is urgent. A body has been discovered in the grounds of your old church.’
‘What’s that got to do with me?’
‘We don’t know. Maybe nothing.’
‘It was all so long ago.’
‘Twenty years ago.’
‘Yes.’
‘About the same time, a man was shot in the head and buried in the grounds of the church.’
‘Like I say, that has nothing to do with us. With what happened.’
‘What did happen?’ asked Sally.
‘Does it matter now? No charges were brought. We made a mistake.’
‘Reverend Hunt is an old man now,’ said Sally. ‘He is very ill and in hospital. He can’t hurt you now.’
‘He never did.’
‘Are you saying you made it up? He never touched you or Susan Nixon?’
Caroline Lewis reddened.