Jack in the box, p.13
Jack in the Box, page 13
‘Some place,’ Tait said, whistling. The last of the snow still clung to ornate stonework hemming in a large patio, the glazing immense, empty planters like icing on a cheap bun. Beyond, bay windows were curtained off, emitting just enough warm light to be inviting. Smythe had an utterly unreasonable vision of a prissy aunt, prone to opinions and disdain. She almost lost her composure when someone fitting that description answered the door, two seconds after she pressed the doorbell.
The woman was well into her sixties, slim running to gaunt, with permed grey hair and a mouth you’d have tucked into your back pocket for a street fight. Her arms were tightly folded, a throw draped over her shoulders, completing a somewhat imperious vision.
‘This is some time of night to be disturbing people. What’s your business?’ Two sentences, with not much of a gap in between.
Smythe did the talking. ‘Mrs Symes? I’m Detective Sergeant Smythe; this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Tait, Police Scotland.’
The woman said nothing.
‘We spoke on the phone earlier? I realise it’s a little bit later than we’d hoped, but we’d like to come in and speak to your son, if that’s convenient.’
‘ID,’ Mrs Symes said, arms still folded. She did not take them, nor did she incline her head towards them as the cards were presented. ‘OK,’ she said curtly before turning on her heel. Smythe and Tait glanced at one another warily before following her in.
*
It was a comfortable, well-lit home, recently decorated, belying the somewhat austere exterior. It needed some heating going, though, Smythe thought, watching her breath cloud in the hallway.
Mrs Symes barred the way before allowing them any further in. ‘Now this is on the understanding that there’s nothing formal going on here?’
‘Nothing at all,’ Smythe said. She tried to sound reassuring, but Mrs Symes was someone whose manner seemed to forbid that, inviting conflict. ‘We need to ask your son a couple of questions to get one or two things straight.’
‘Whatever helps. I’ll say one thing to you – your care of Edward since this happened has been sorely lacking. And as for the rumours, well . . .’
‘What rumours are those?’ Tait asked.
‘That another body has been found. That my daughter-inlaw wasn’t the only victim of this . . . person.’
‘The investigation is at an early stage,’ Smythe said. ‘Please believe me, we’re working as hard as we can on this case.’
‘All your fancy tricks and forensics and cameras, and you haven’t made an arrest yet?’ The woman sneered. ‘Not sure what they teach you people these days.’
‘Is it through here, Mrs Symes?’ Tait asked, nodding towards a door, edged in bright light.
‘It is,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you ten minutes. Edward’s . . . well, you can imagine. And keep the noise down, if you would. My granddaughter is upstairs, sleeping. Today’s the first day it’s sunk in for her.’
‘We’ll do our best,’ Tait said. ‘We promise.’
They were shown into a kitchen that had all the right utensils hung in the right places and nothing at all to indicate that food might ever have been prepared there. It was also missing a table, though a breakfast bar stuck out of one wall, an awkward peninsula. Huge conifers blocked out all the remaining daylight beyond latticed windows that Smythe didn’t like at all.
Ed Symes got up from his seat and closed the gap between himself and the two police officers at an alarming speed. It was almost like an attack, but at the last moment he extended a hand, first to Tait, then to Smythe. He was twitchy, and Smythe thought he’d lost weight since she’d seen him, very briefly, a couple of days beforehand. That might have been more to do with the harsh lighting, which made depths out of hollows and turned bone structure into scaffolding.
‘We’re sorry to intrude,’ she said, taking one of the seats opposite Symes.
‘Is it true?’ he asked them. ‘About another body?’
‘This is a very sensitive investigation, Mr Symes.’
‘Another woman, then? That’s two of them.’ His voice caught. ‘Another maniac, targeting women. I can’t stop thinking about it, you know. Her last moments. She loved a bath. We’ll never set foot in that house again, if I can help it. If it wasn’t for the police, I’d torch the place.’
A silence descended for a moment or two. Tait said, ‘We can tell you that we did find another body yesterday, but it wasn’t a woman’s.’
Symes’ shoulders relaxed. ‘Oh. An equal-opportunities maniac, then. Smashing.’ He laughed awkwardly, covering his mouth as if he’d coughed.
‘We don’t want to take up too much of your time,’ Tait said. ‘Really we want to talk to you about Benny Kettles.’
‘Favourite topic.’ Symes smiled thinly, and in that moment he closely resembled his mother. ‘Favourite person. Sure. What do you want to know?’
Tait flipped open his notebook. ‘I understand you had a tense relationship with Mr Kettles?’
‘That’s one way of putting it. I hated him. Always trying to involve Kath in business deals, investments, property he was into. Trying to buy plots of land. Brownfield sites. I used to joke that he was just trying to get hold of my money before Kath divorced me. But . . . that wasn’t funny, I suppose.’
‘And you had a row recently?’
‘Aye. Well. You ever seen him live?’
‘I have. Not really my thing,’ Tait ventured.
Symes nodded. ‘Everyone I speak to says the same. Can’t stand him. The man’s a sicko.’
‘Have you ever got on with him?’ Tait was leaning closer to Symes. Smythe noticed the dead woman’s husband responding more to the male presence, and backed off a little, pretending to take detailed notes.
‘I’ll be honest, no.’
‘How long have you known him?’
‘As long as I knew Kath. He was always there and there-abouts. Social gatherings, you know?’
‘They were close?’ Tait said.
Symes smiled ruefully. ‘Leading question, eh? Am I a jealous husband, that’s the question, eh?’
Tait said nothing.
‘The answer to your question is . . . yes. They were close. Too close for my liking. I make no apologies for that. The thinking is that Benny Kettles is gay and I shouldn’t feel jealous about him, but you know what? I only ever saw him with women on his arm, never men. If he was gay, he went about his business behind closed doors. It was too much, you know? Always touchy-feely. He knew it bothered me, but he kept going. Because that’s who he is. You know, if I find out he was involved in what happened to Kath in any way, I . . .’ He blinked. ‘I don’t know what I’ll do.’
‘You don’t think they were ever together?’ Tait asked. ‘Boyfriend and girlfriend?’
‘Well, no, I had no cause to think that. But he’s one of those people who gives you the doubt. They had a thing. I don’t know what the thing was, but it was there. A closeness. I didn’t like it. You’ve asked, I’ve told you. Were they ever lovers? I can’t say. Only he would know that. And Kath.’
‘Did you and she have any mutual friends?’ Smythe asked.
‘Nah, it was strictly her tribe and mine – mostly mine, as time went on. She had friends from uni, but they all fell away as the years went by. The only cling-on was Kettles.’
‘How often did you see him?’
‘Him and Kath met up a lot. Lunch, nights out.’ Symes’ jaw tensed.
Smythe could see him, sitting at home, staring at his phone, alone, waiting for her to come back in. She felt an odd chill at the vision. ‘Once a month? Every couple of months?’
Symes nodded.
‘They ever go away together?’
‘A couple of times. Not recently.’
‘And how about the last time you met? The argument?’
‘He was . . .’ Symes took a deep breath. ‘Wouldn’t give it up, you know? Talked about this investment he was making. Big money, he said. Got a site. Working with Avalon King, the builder. I heard that Nicole Kingsley was involved in that – I mean, that’s a red flag right there. Dodgy by default. He mentioned how much money he was going to make, how much of a money-spinner it was. I remember Beatrice was getting excited, even. Kath was totally taken in by it. And you know that way, when you know what’s coming? You’re braced for it? Sure enough, the bastard says, hundred grand outlay, you could double your money in a matter of weeks. These houses will just fly away, he says. Off-the-peg. Oven-ready. And it sickened me, you know? He could say anything, she’d listen to him, hanging on his every word. This muppet’s practically signing away our savings, and her tongue’s hanging out.’ The strain told on his voice. It strangled him. ‘I told him in front of her, in front of everyone. Fuck off. No more. Take your investment somewhere else.’
‘How did he take that?’ Tait asked, eyebrow cocked.
‘The usual. Clowning around. Did his handstand thing, you seen that? Belly hanging out. I told him, “I’ll put you the right way up, then launch you.” He tried to walk out the front door on his hands, but he fell over. Kath thought I’d hit him, but I didn’t lay a finger on the guy. Beatrice was crying. So was Kath. Terrible scene, and I was the bad guy, as well.’
‘Did Kath ever see him again?’
‘Nah. That was after new year, so not long before . . . you know.’
‘Do you have any details about the plot?’ Smythe asked.
‘You know, he left a prospectus. I meant to throw it out, but Kath and I had a row that night, and I forgot all about it. I don’t think I saw it in the recycling. It might still be around.’
Smythe got up and crossed the kitchen, light on her feet. Before anyone could ask what she was doing, she had opened the door.
There was the little girl, in her pyjamas, an oversized dolly in her arms.
‘I heard someone say my name,’ she said, in a quivering voice.
31
Smythe ignored the looming presence of Mrs Symes, and allowed the little girl to lead her into the front room. It was the kind of room that would have suited a grand Christmas tree and all the trimmings; the grandmother looked as if she was the kind that might grudge it. Same way she grudges the heating. Nice big radiators, there. You’d need them for a place this size.
Smythe had a niece she doted on who was just about to cross the threshold from primary to secondary school. This wee one was a bit younger. The detective went with her instinct, and decided to ignore the great big horrible thing.
The girl tweaked open the curtains. ‘Granny’s got lots of space out here. But you can’t see it now.’
‘I love these windows,’ Smythe said. ‘Must look amazing in the snow.’
‘It does,’ Beatrice said. ‘I wish it would snow again. We didn’t have enough for a snowman when it snowed at the start of the week.’
She didn’t take after her father so much; maybe a suggestion of his brow and his lips, but nothing else. She had the same hair and features as her mother. Pretty little thing. It was hard not to feel for her; it was also hard to plug in to what she was saying, to lead her a little. No amount of training could set you up for this.
‘They say it might snow again at the end of the week.’
‘Even in February?’
‘Oh aye – I remember it snowed in April once. A right thick one, as well. I went out sledging.’
‘What? Here in Scotland?’
‘Oh yeah. You get snow all year round sometimes, on some of the mountain-tops.’
‘I’d like to go skiing.’
‘Must be cracking to have a big garden to play in.’
‘Do you not have a garden?’
Smythe shook her head. She caught sight of her own reflection, then, in the bay window. The grandmother, arms folded, haunted a space over her shoulder, near the door. Smythe hadn’t heard her move. ‘I’ve never lived in a house, you know. Stayed in some nice flats. Never had a garden. Once I had a room underneath a garden – in a basement. That wasn’t too bad.’
‘I liked our garden,’ Beatrice said.
‘How about the woods? They’re pretty cool.’
‘Woods?’ The girl frowned at her. She still clutched the dolly, who glared disconcertingly at Smythe from the crook of her elbow. ‘There’s only a couple of trees.’
‘No, I mean the woods back at your house.’
‘Yeah. I like them.’
‘If I’d had woods, I’d have played in them all the time.’
‘I play out a bit. In the summer. When it’s light.’
‘I’d have gone off on all kinds of adventures. In my head, I mean. I’d have made up castles and unicorns.’
The girl’s eyes widened a little. She saw something outside, past the darkness, beyond the pollution of the lights. ‘We did that as well. We used to have a place that was like a drawbridge. To a castle.’
Smythe picked up on it right away, but she didn’t dive in. ‘Was it like a bridge you could move?’
‘No, silly. It was more like an old fence, or a gate. It was made of wood. You could move bits of it over the puddles. Some of the puddles were deep.’
‘Ah, I see. Well then, technically, if it was over a moat, then it was actually a drawbridge. That’s how I see it.’
‘You’re right. That’s what I said, in fact. Like we didn’t have to pretend.’
‘And do you and your pals go back to it? Is it still there?’
‘Oh yeah. I could show you. We . . . I know the woods really well.’
Smythe nodded. She turned towards the grandmother. ‘Could I ask a favour? I’m really thirsty. Do you mind if I get a glass of water?’
Mrs Symes tutted. ‘This is the height of cheek, this.’
‘I wouldn’t ask, but my throat’s really dry. We’ve been out on the road most of the day. I’m awfully sorry.’
‘I’d like a glass of water too,’ Beatrice said. ‘Please, Granny.’
‘We’re grieving,’ the woman said, but she strode away from the door. Fast on her feet, as well as quiet, Smythe thought. She should work with us.
‘I bet you’ve got lots of pals at school,’ she said.
‘Some. Lia, and Muna, and Grainne.’
‘And do they come round to play?’
Beatrice shook her head. Then she leaned in close and whispered excitedly, ‘Can I tell you a secret?’
‘Absolutely. My favourite things.’ Smythe grinned.
‘I don’t know. It’s a real cross-your-heart-hope-to-die secret.’
‘I can keep them. And I’ll tell you what. You tell me one, I’ll tell you one.’
Beatrice brightened. ‘OK. Well, I have a pal in my street I’m not supposed to see.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Yeah. I was told not to play with them, but I do.’
‘I think everyone has a friend like that. Boy or girl?’
‘Girl.’ The child’s voice had shrunk below a whisper. Perhaps knowing Granny well, she peered over her shoulder as if the besom was still there, poised behind the door.
‘And do you play with her in your garden, as well as the woods?’
‘No. Dad doesn’t like her.’
‘What age is she? Can I guess?’
The girl coloured. ‘Bet you can’t.’
‘I would say she’s . . .’ Smythe’s gaze went towards the distant ceiling. ‘Fourteen.’
‘Ha! Miles out.’
‘Eleven?’
‘Warmer.’
Smythe clicked her fingers. ‘Eight!’
‘Oh, cold! Miles out.’
‘Umm . . . ten?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now I’m going to try and guess her name.’
‘You’ll never guess. And I don’t think I can tell you, anyway. That’s a definite.’
‘Ah, I’m good at guessing, though. Hold tight. I think her name is . . .’ Smythe had a moment of doubt. Surely that was the name? Nothing else for it . . . she heard footsteps outside, rattling the china behind the glass on the wall unit . . . ‘Kay. I’m going to guess she’s called Kay.’
‘You’re a cheater,’ Beatrice declared, thrusting her chin upwards.
‘Hah! It was a good guess. I think it’s great that you’ve got pals in your street. It’s a good thing to have mates outside school. Some of my best friends were at different schools, you know. You can even have some best friends in your job.’
‘Kay’s been on a pony,’ Beatrice confided. ‘I’m not sure I believe her, though, and anyway, I would beat her. I’ve been on a proper horse.’
Smythe smiled. ‘Sometimes a best friend ends up being competition. How it goes, I guess.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. So you play quite a lot with Kay?’
‘Just when it’s light.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Well . . . that’s a double secret. I’m definitely, definitely not allowed to tell you.’
‘Oh. I’ll tell you two secrets if you will.’
‘Hmm. Well, I can tell you it’s a boy. Or I think it’s a boy.’
‘That’s funny. How can you not be sure?’
‘I can’t see his face. He talks to us, though. He hides.’
Smythe and Beatrice both leapt when Granny Symes said, close enough to bite, ‘Here’s your water, love. But your voice seems fine, detective. Still thirsty?’
‘I’m going to have to ask you to step outside, Granny, if you wouldn’t mind.’
The woman’s chin dropped. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I was talking secrets with Beatrice. I’d much rather do it here, where we’re both comfortable, rather than somewhere like an interview room.’
‘What? Are you serious?’
Smythe kept her tone light. ‘Oh yeah. Thanks for the water. Just what I need.’ She took the glass. ‘Two minutes, Mrs Symes. Please.’
Beatrice’s eyes shone with admiration as the dragon stomped off, slamming the door behind her like a scolded teen. ‘Wow,’ she said.
