A ‘hiatus’. Is that what they were calling it now?
And, anyway, who learned yoga in the land of yodelling and lederhosen?
More people than you’d think, he’d explained patiently as he kissed me goodbye at Heathrow.
That left me in the awkward position of being the sole occupant in the flat above the London-based family firm, Payne and Bullock, independent funeral directors. Glenda assured me I could stay, but maybe I should step back from helping out on the front desk? (I refer you to the wrong body debacle.) I should concentrate on my private investigator business. Like that was going so well. Ron said he liked seeing my cheery face around the place and I wasn’t to worry that Drew’s cousin, who was moving in to deputise for him, had to stay with them in Windsor rather than on the premises. Even I got that hint. So I moved out and took a spare room in Cory’s house – a change of scene will do you good. Give Oxford a go, said Ron. I’d been alerted to that possibility via one of their neighbours (yes, I know, Ron and Glenda were gently managing me). Cory’s husband had just upped and left for his old school sweetheart. Dumped wife needed the money and was happy for the arrangement to be a little fuzzy – or what the Inland Revenue might call ‘a totally illegal cash-in-hand arrangement’. If anyone asked, I was a friend.
From fake friend I became a real friend.
Cory patted my back. ‘You OK?’
‘A bit shocked but I didn’t know him so …’ Not like when I found Jacob and wondered for a while if Michael might’ve killed him.
My eyes went to the under-the-cupboard flip-down TV screen and speak of the devil … Michael was frozen mid-pontification. I pushed Cory gently away and pointed.
‘So, he’s back?’
‘Your Michael?’
‘Not mine for well over a year now.’
‘I saw this on catch-up while I was waiting for you. I thought I’d see what he was like.’
‘And?’
‘He’s a bit of a dish, isn’t he? Such a shame about the spinal injury, but somehow that only makes him more interesting.’ Seeing my expression, she turned the screen off and it folded obediently away, hiding from view the chiselled jaw and auburn locks of my former partner. His looks were the best part of him, the Michael Fassbender of Oxford’s Psychology Department. No, actually, it was the sex, then the good looks, then at the very bottom of the list, his character.
I slapped my forehead. ‘I forgot the important bit!’
‘Hmm?’ She was getting the kids’ bowls out for breakfast, ready on the side for her early-morning wake-up call. Life carried on despite murder.
‘I met Jago Jackson.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘That’s exactly what I said when he introduced himself.’ I quickly explained the whole screaming to a passing jogger thing and our subsequent conversation. I played down the creep factor and decided maybe he was just being understandably intrigued by my Botticelli figure arising out of the Cherwell.
‘I’m putting this on our WhatsApp group.’ Cory grabbed her phone from the charging station.
‘Isn’t it a bit late?’
‘They’ll see it first thing. They’d never forgive me if they see it all on the news first and I haven’t tipped them off.’ She typed out a quick summary of my post-book club adventures and even took a quick snap of me in my scrubs. ‘Do you think he’d come and talk to us?’
‘I thought you all hated his book?’
‘Not hated. Loved to hate,’ she amended. ‘Don’t worry: we’ll be really nice to him.’
‘I’m not sure if I’m even seeing him again. Drew and I are still a couple. I think.’
‘Exactly! You think but you don’t know. I’m not saying sleep with Jago but he said he’d show you a good time.’
‘He said he’d show me his secret ponds.’
‘Same thing.’
I wasn’t not sure it is. ‘Cory …’
She topped up my wine. How had I emptied my glass so quickly? ‘Jessica, did your boyfriend not say he needed space to work out what he wanted?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then use the space to work out what you want.’
‘I want Drew.’
‘Do you? Do you really?’
I thought I did. I felt happy when I was with him. We were a team. Bonnie and Clyde. No, not Bonnie and Clyde – they went down in a hail of bullets. Mulder and Scully? Why aren’t there more male and female partnerships to cite? ‘Yes, really.’
‘Then you won’t leap into bed with Jago – or try water acrobatics with him. You’ll just have a few fun dates and be confirmed in the feeling that Drew is the one for you.’
That sounded so reasonable but … ‘You just want to meet a semi-celebrity.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re not even hiding it?’
‘No. Have another drink.’
I woke up to find it was Monday and I was supposed to be working. I did have a business that I was growing from a very modest beginning: a private investigation agency specialising in a lost-and-found persons service. It just about covered some of my overheads. I also had a part-time job as an office temp because I was realistic about the chances of making a go of finding missing persons as a full-time occupation. I was actually surprisingly good at working out where people hid once they vanished from their old lives. My method was a mix of research into their private lives (thank you, social media), psychology training, and gut instinct. Once you’d done this a few times, you saw patterns emerging. People were never really random in how they chose to disappear. If they chose to that is. I was also quite good at spotting the more sinister cases and persuading my clients to go to the police.
I had a deal with my clients. When the runaway was an adult, I promised when I found them to pass on news that they were safe and well, and offer a conduit for messages, but I wouldn’t give away the location without the permission of the runaway. With minors, I asked for a contact in social services to act as intermediary. I knew from my own experience that you could never be too careful. My father had been good at acting the perfect parent to authority figures while being a complete bastard to Mum and me. His manipulation skills and use of terror tactics such as mysterious injuries to my pets or damage to belongings had made my teenage years a nightmare.
The work that I was waking up to today was of the office temp kind, rather than investigating. That had gone quiet over the summer but I expected it to kick off again when people realised their loved one wasn’t coming back from that camping trip, holiday with friends, time at the other parent’s, or what other lame excuse they’d been given. With a sigh – I hate you, Cory, and your wine supply – I tumbled out of bed and practically crawled into the bathroom. I stepped gratefully into the shower. I’d had one last night, but I didn’t yet feel clean of the river. I closed my eyes in the stream of water, and couldn’t stop recalling the face I’d seen yesterday. White male of about forty, maybe fifty. Close cut hair. Not in the best physical condition but not overweight either. Tan lines where he once wore shorts – too much pale skin for Speedos. Patches of dark body hair. A complete stranger to me.
I was only half an hour late when I managed to get to work. I was doing a few weeks of filling in while the PA to one of the partners at my book club friend Frances’ law firm, Renfrew and Jakowitz, was on holiday. Frances had put in a good word for me and I got the job without sacrificing the cut to the agency who normally placed me.
I slid into my chair outside Grace MacDonald’s office and hoped she hadn’t noticed my tardiness.
‘Jessica?’
Oh hell. ‘Yes?’
‘Can you come in here a minute?’
I went to the entrance of her private office. Only the juniors got to sit in open plan; all the partners had their own dens.
‘Shut the door, please.’
Shit. That was it – I was fired.
‘I’m sorry—’
‘Are you all right?’ Her enquiry cut across my lame apology.
‘Yes?’ I didn’t sound very sure about it.
‘Frances told me.’ Mrs MacDonald wrinkled her freckled forehead. She was an extravagantly red person – red hair, red freckles, and even dressed in maroon suits in an ‘eff-off’ to the universe.
Thank you, book club grapevine.
‘It did come as rather a shock.’
‘Thank you for coming in, but we’d pay you for time missed under these circumstances.’
‘That’s very kind. Other than being a bit tired—’ and hung over ‘—I’m really fine. In fact, I prefer to keep busy.’
‘Good. At least he wasn’t someone you knew.’
I nodded but I’d like to know who he was, just so I could put a living face to the dead one I’d seen. I’d also like to know who killed him and why.
But it was none of my business.
I could, though, do a little poking about if I got a name from the police or press. No harm done. Just a little shaking of the social media tree to see what dropped out.
Chapter 7
Leo
Leo sent a request down to records for a list of like crimes from the database before getting up to stretch. Looking around him, he noted that the incident room was humming with activity as the murder enquiry got under way. In these days of mobile policing, it was never the same station used for an enquiry, just where there was space for the team in the district. This time room had been found at the Kidlington HQ as the brass wanted to keep a close eye on proceedings. Great: the senior officers would be breathing down his neck. Just what he needed.
He brushed his fingers over his desk plant, checking the soil for dampness. It was fine for now. The bonsai, one of the first things he’d carried in from his car on top of a pile of files, was his sign to the team that he considered they had moved in and he expected it to be for some duration.
Leo would have been efficient in any case, even without the eyes of his bosses on him. He had already made sure his officers were fully briefed as they came on duty, the murder board with its timeline set up, and the search teams combing the rain-washed banks of the Cherwell, park and surrounding roads. Superintendent Thaxted had come in early for a full rundown of the situation and offered to inform the head of Kenneth Kingston’s college once the family had been told. That grim duty Leo had already performed with Sergeant Boston at one in the morning – a bleak memory to add to the many bad nights he’d had as a policeman.
An email came into his inbox. Forensics weren’t happy. The storm had blown through Oxford as forecast so that made trace evidence unlikely, and the body had been touched by Jess Bridges in her attempt to give first aid. A fuck-up but there was little anyone could do against Good Samaritans and nature. It was now midday and Leo hadn’t slept, but he counted himself fortunate that he’d had the chance to go home and change mid-morning. Having flirted a few years ago with becoming the cliché of the policeman with a terrible diet and alcohol problem, he’d made sure he spent ten minutes over a late breakfast, granola and fruit, washed down with green tea. He only had to look around the office to see the health problems that could be his in the near future if now, in his mid-thirties, he slipped back into bad habits.
Leo’s colleagues, at least the ones like Harry, considered him a ‘wuss with fancy habits’. His defence? He wanted to live. He wasn’t telling them that he’d only just survived his teens, thanks to some poor choices and worse parenting. Instead, he let his charge to conviction rate speak for itself – and the fact that he didn’t get breathless if pursuing an offender. Everyone got mocked for something in CID. Some of the older ones probably thought him homosexual because they couldn’t imagine a straight man acting as he did, taking care over his appearance and diet. Harry had even insinuated it to his face a couple of times, expecting Leo to be insulted. His expectations had not been met.
Not that it mattered, but he wasn’t gay, as his reaction to the witness last night had made plain. He couldn’t carry on a conversation with Jessica Bridges, ‘small, blonde and built’ as Harry so helpfully put it in his verbal report to the squad, while she clutched the Oxford Mail to her chest. She needed more than mail; she needed a full set of armour to stop unprofessional thoughts edging into his questioning. So he’d left her to get dressed in scrubs before embarking on an interview. It was as well that he’d done so because it had given him time to look her up and discover this hadn’t been her first time as a witness in a murder enquiry. The mishandling of the Jacob West case by the Met had been enjoyed by all rival police forces eager to see the big boys fall. It had been fresh in Leo’s mind as he’d actually met one of the victims, the psychologist Michael Harrison, at Hendon training college a few months ago. Superintendent Thaxted would not want her division to repeat any of those errors.
Stifling yawns, Leo assumed the noon report. The boss would want another update for the lunchtime newscycle.
‘Come in, Leo. I hope you got some rest?’ Superintendent Claire Thaxted was a slim woman with ash blonde hair well cut in a bob around a long, slightly gaunt face. She did triathlons for fun, which said everything you needed to know about her. Leo had gone running with her when they were on a senior officers’ course and he’d had to pull out his best game to keep up.
‘Not yet, ma’am. We’ve not had much luck with our searches this morning thanks to the storm that hit in the night. SOCO aren’t getting much from the riverbanks. Fortunately, we were able to lift the punt off the river before the rain. They’re going over that now but it looks like a college boat, available to everyone at Linton to hire, including conference visitors. DNA swabs will be basically useless unless we’re very lucky. I’m pulling like crimes but it’s too early to generate a list of suspects.’
‘And the victim? What have we found out about him?’
‘Kenneth Kingston. Forty-two. Former city financial wizard who took a job as bursar at Linton with resulting pay cut so he could spend more time with his young family. Worked four days out of five to do his share of childcare. Universally liked and admired.’
She tapped the blotter on her desk with her reading glasses case. ‘Evidently not, as someone murdered him.’
Leo disagreed, as often people killed the ones they loved, but he left that thought unspoken. ‘His wife couldn’t think of anyone who held anything against him – not at work, not in his old employment, not in his private life. We’ll check that but, from the early enquiries we’ve made, he’s something of a local hero, volunteering for the local food bank in his spare time.’
‘Spare time? That must be nice.’ Thaxted got up and walked to her window which had the view of the gardens of the neighbouring estate. ‘The family?’
‘I left a victim support officer with them and have a constable on the door to keep the press away. Mrs Kingston appears to be alibied – at home with the children, putting them to bed.’
‘And did Mrs Kingston have any idea why her husband was found naked in a punt?’
‘No. They’d had a normal day – church, lunch with friends, a walk in Shotover country park and then he got a call. That wasn’t unusual and she didn’t ask for details. He just said it was some problem with the crew that’s filming at Linton College this summer. He didn’t think he’d be long.’
‘His phone?’
‘Not yet recovered.’
‘You’re going to the college, I assume?’
‘Yes, ma’am. That’s my next stop.’
‘Tread carefully. The Master of the college is Norman Wiseman, former head of the Police Complaints Authority. I’ve rung him already to tell him about Kingston. He was audibly shocked and says you can expect full cooperation from all his staff.’
Her concerns that this must be handled sensitively made even more sense. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘I need better than best, Leo. I need perfect.’
It was rather a relief to find Harry hadn’t yet made it in so Leo didn’t have to tell him that he was taking DS Suyin Wong with him to the college. She was a highly competent young officer who had been tipped for the fast track; in fact, Leo could sense her nipping at his heels as they shared many of the same strengths. He could trust her not to put a foot wrong at Linton.
He brought her up to date as she drove down the Banbury Road. The houses got progressively larger and more expensive the closer they were to the centre of Oxford. Many of the Victorian mansions had become colleges, institutes or private schools. Their gardens were beautifully kept, croquet lawn standard, with lush borders bobbing with summer flowers. Perhaps they were too perfect, mused Leo, too much money spent on immaculate presentation, suggesting a professional team of gardeners, rather than the old style don taking a breather from his studies to deadhead his roses. Oxford was losing some of its charm to the influx of serious money.
‘Saintly man ends up naked and dead: the papers are going to love that,’ Suyin said acerbically when he’d finished profiling the victim for her.
‘So far there’s no hint of anything sexual in the crime.’
‘But you have to go there, don’t you, considering?’
‘Let’s just go there with an open mind, sergeant.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She turned into the residential street leading to the castle-like entranceway to the college. The Oxford undergraduates were away for the summer and had been replaced by flocks of language learners and conference goers. Linton was experiencing a different summer from the usual, as they had attracted a film company and were currently pretending to be living in the 1920s. The vintage Rolls Royce parked on the forecourt, women in flapper dresses and men in Oxford bags and blazers, made the illusion almost complete, if it weren’t for the scaffolding holding the lights. They parked on a side road rather than risk getting entangled in that business.
‘One of our witnesses is from this college, isn’t he?’ said Suyin.
‘Yes, a don and a celebrity author. He’s near the top of the list of people we want to talk to, but first I think we should tackle the porters and Dr Kingston’s office.’
‘Which one do you want to do, sir?’
‘I’ll do the porters. Let’s get the key for the office from them. We need his mobile.’
‘You think they already know he’s dead?’
Leo glanced at her, surprised she’d even had to ask. ‘Suyin, this is an Oxford college, and the university is a very small world. Everyone knows everything within five minutes of it happening.’
They entered into the lodge under the archway. A man who had the unmistakable bearing of a head porter, which Leo thought of as Mein Host crossed with Rottweiler, came to greet them. His stomach was straining against his mustard waistcoat under his black jacket. He was not in costume, but he might as well have been as porters had not updated their image since the nineteenth century.
‘Can I help you?’
Leo held out his badge. ‘DI George, DS Wong. Do you know why we are here, sir?’
‘I do, Inspector. It’s about poor Dr Kingston. I’ve been instructed by the Master to make sure the college offers every assistance. I’m the Head Porter, Robert Field.’
That made things a little smoother. ‘Mr Field, my colleague would like to see Dr Kingston’s rooms in college and I have some questions for the porter on duty last night.’
‘That would be me.’
‘Is that right?’ Leo hadn’t expected the top man to pull the Sunday night shift.
‘They were filming.’
Now it made sense. He didn’t seem the sort to risk leaving such important matters to an underling.
Field cleared his throat. ‘I had a cameo.’
Crystal clear.
He turned quickly away from Leo. It was too frivolous a topic to be dwelt on when a member of college had just been murdered. ‘Bernard, please take the young lady up to Dr Kingston’s rooms.’
‘Right away, sir.’ Another porter came forward and selected a key from a hook on the wall.
‘Is that the only key?’ Leo asked.
‘Dr Kingston had a set, of course. And the cleaners,’ said Field.
‘So no.’ Leo gave the nod to his sergeant and Suyin followed the porter out and across the quad, leaving him with Mr Field.
‘Is there a place we can talk in private?’ he asked. Outside a bus delivered a new batch of extras to the forecourt. They spilled like streamers from a party popper when the front door opened. A lighting crew, an older man with a young red-headed assistant, set up a bank of lights near the Rolls. A couple of sound technicians, one male, one female, rigged some microphones. ‘What’s the film?’
The Head Porter frowned. ‘We’re not to say.’
‘Right.’
‘To protect the stars.’
‘Understandable.’ Leo was guessing an Agatha Christie – the period felt about right.
‘Very big names. They won’t want any association with any of this.’
His attitude was irritating but Leo remembered his lecture on sensitive handling. ‘Then we’ll try and be in and out of here as quickly as possible then.’
The porter jingled the keys at his belt a little nervously. ‘Inspector George, there is something I wanted to ask you. Your men are already in the boathouse and the film makers want that for a scene they planned to shoot today.’
The forensic team feared a far more dramatic scene had already played out there last night. From the early results on the blood splatter marks, they believed they’d found the site of the murder before the body was set adrift in the punt.
That made Leo wonder: why bother pushing it out in the punt rather than just leaving it there? He’d have to puzzle that one out later as he had more immediate questions that needed answering.
Mr Field was still speaking. ‘They’d got it all rigged but I’ve had to put them off. When will they be able to get back in there again?’
‘I’m afraid that depends on what we find but I can assure you that everything will be done as speedily as possible without prejudicing any evidence that might be there.’
‘Of course.’
‘I think it is safe to tell them that it won’t be today.’
‘Lad, pass on the bad news, will you?’ This comment was lobbed to the scrawny young man, most junior of the porters, who had the frightened-rabbit look of someone terrified of his superiors.
‘Yes, Mr Field. Right away, Mr Field.’ He picked up the phone.
As the head porter led Leo to his office, Leo saw the junior porter smirk at his back. He revised his opinion that the lad was a rabbit, more a sly fox. There was something not quite right about the young man’s attitude in the wake of a murder, just a slightly off note. Maybe the porters, with their access to all areas, would be worth a closer look as suspects?
‘Mr Field, did you see Dr Kingston last night?’ Leo asked, getting back to more immediate business.
‘Not personally.’ Mr Field offered Leo a chair but he indicated he preferred to stand. Even with all the windows open, the porter’s office felt airless. ‘I knew he was around. His bike was chained up in its usual place.’
‘If you could show me that next?’
‘Of course.’
‘Any idea why he was here?’
‘None. Everything seemed to be running smoothly and I was here if there were any college related enquiries.’
‘But if you were involved in a scene, maybe someone thought they shouldn’t bother you?’
He rubbed his chin. ‘That’s possible, I suppose.’
‘Who else was here?’
‘Simon – that’s the lad on duty now. He didn’t see Dr Kingston, I’ve already asked him. But he did admit that he was very busy, so Dr Kingston could’ve walked in without Simon noticing. We don’t have a formal signing in process for college staff, only visitors.’
‘May I see that list?’
‘Of course, but you’ll want the film crew’s records as well, which we don’t keep.’
‘I’ll ask them myself, don’t worry about that. Mr Field, you’ll understand I have to ask difficult questions as part of my duties.’ This was the right button to push with this man.
‘I understand.’
