He still wasn’t tempted to comment, so Hen continued, ‘Another drowning wouldn’t have been good for my reputation. As I was saying, she’s a good ally of yours, that young woman. She didn’t pick you out in the ID the other day, and even today she insisted you weren’t one of the men she saw at Selsey.’
Jake appeared unmoved. Certainly his lips didn’t move.
Hen was not discouraged. ‘But it turns out that you two are friends, close friends, according to her, and now you have a chance to help her out. We’re not going to charge her with wasting police time this morning, but misleading us over the ID parade is a lot more serious. As you know, the parade wasn’t controlled by me, or by CID. By law it had to be overseen by a uniform branch inspector. A word from me to him could result in a serious charge for Miss Jo Stevens.’
The bird was persuaded to sing at last. ‘She didn’t mislead anyone.’
‘But she’s a friend of yours.’
‘She told the truth,’ Jake said. ‘She didn’t see me that morning. I was on the beach, yes, but she didn’t see me.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘Walking.’
‘And did you see Meredith Sentinel, the woman who was drowned?’
‘No.’
‘You’re certain of that?’
‘I would have told you.’
If nothing else, the responses were coming now. Hen rested her elbows on the table and supported her chin with her cupped hands. ‘I’m going to ask you again, Jake: What were you doing there?’
‘Thought I might meet Jo. I didn’t.’
‘Let me get this right. You knew she was going to be there that morning?’
‘She told me she likes to walk there early on a Sunday.’
‘What was this-a date?’
He shook his head. ‘We weren’t dating.’
Hen glanced towards Stella. ‘Sounds to me as if the possibility crossed the young lady’s mind.’
‘We only met the evening before,’ Jake said.
‘Where?’
‘Chichester Gate.’
She was intrigued to know how. She couldn’t believe he had a chat-up line. But to ask would have brought the interchange to a juddering halt. ‘How did it come about? Were you alone there?’
‘With friends.’
‘Ah.’ This linked up with something she’d learned before. ‘Was this the evening you started with Gemma and ended with Jo?’
‘Er, yes.’ He plucked at an ear lobe. ‘Gemma wasn’t my girlfriend,’ he said, impelled to add something. ‘We went bowling, that’s all, and met up with the others.’
‘Others?’
‘Jo and Rick.’
‘And who’s Rick?’
‘A guy playing bowls with Jo.’
‘Was anyone else in the party?’
‘No.’
‘A foursome, then.’
‘It didn’t start like that.’
‘How did it end, Jake? You teamed up with Jo, right? Did Rick and Gemma pair off as well?’
‘No. Rick and Jo left in a taxi. He wasn’t feeling well, so she made sure he got home.’
‘Was he hammered, then?’
A shake of the head. ‘There wasn’t much drinking done. We saw a film.’
With communication working as well as it was ever likely to, she switched to the matter that interested her most. ‘You first met Gemma at her workplace. Kleentext, the printers, am I right?’
He nodded.
‘Tell me about it, Jake.’
‘Not much to tell. The council said we could get some Christmas cards printed from a photo. I was sent to arrange it.’
‘You made a number of visits there. Four, I believe.’
He gave her a dark look. ‘All connected with the cards.’
‘I’m sure. But it was through this contact that you persuaded Gemma to go bowling with you?’
‘You seem to know all about it.’
‘I’ve already spoken to Gemma. Now I’m getting your side of it. Did you also meet Fiona Halliday, the other woman who drowned?’
‘Don’t know.’
Stella opened the folder in front of her and took out a photo and pushed it across for Jake to inspect.
He took a look. ‘She was around, yes.’
‘Around? Didn’t you speak?’
‘Nothing much,’ he said.
‘But words were spoken? Come on, Jake. You can do better than this.’
‘I was in the office one time and she came through. She asked if I was being looked after. I said I was.’
‘That was all?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you see her on any other occasion?’
‘No.’
‘At the printers, or anywhere else?’
‘No.’
‘You understand why I’m asking? You’re the only person we know who met both women who were murdered. Can that be coincidence or is there something that hasn’t come out yet?’
He moved his shoulders a fraction.
‘Are you sure you didn’t meet Fiona some other time? A chance encounter when you suddenly remembered she was the young woman who spoke to you at the printer’s?’
He shook his head. He was reverting to his silent mode. Some new line of questioning had to be introduced.
‘Do you swim, Jake?’
Another suspicious look. ‘I can.’
‘Where? In the sea?’
‘Mostly.’
‘This year?’
‘A few times.’
‘When’s the best time? Not when the beach is crowded, I expect.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘Late in the evening? Early morning?’
‘Depends.’
‘On what, Jake? The tide?’
‘How I feel.’
‘You’re looking at me as if I’m trying to lasso you. It’s no big deal, going for a swim in the sea. I reckon at the end of a day’s work in the sun in August or September you must welcome a chance to cool off. You live a short walk from the beach, so why not?’ She realised as she spoke that this wasn’t a productive question, so she followed it with another. ‘When did you last have a dip?’
‘Two or three weeks ago.’
‘You know what I’m going to ask now. Were you alone?’
‘Yes.’ He put his hand to his mouth and yawned. ‘You’re wasting your time with me.’
Denis Cartwright’s house in Apuldram stood in its own grounds at the end of a lane. Brick built and faced with the local flint and mortar, it was not large, but had a fine position overlooking the inlet known as Fishbourne Channel-a property that spoke of a comfortable income.
Gemma parked on the gravel drive. ‘What now?’
Tension was clumping in Jo’s ears. ‘We look around.’
The front door had been forced and secured again with a padlock. A printed notice from the police stated that anyone with reason to enter should contact them.
‘We’re a long way behind the fuzz,’ Gemma said.
‘And we’ve got to catch up,’ Jo said. ‘No, I mean overtake.’
Being isolated, the house was easy to walk around without being seen. The paintwork was well cared-for, the climbing rose trimmed, the paths swept. They looked through all the windows they could. The interior looked nicely furnished. At the rear was a rose garden with a patio overlooking a swimming pool already covered for the winter.
‘I see there’s an alarm system,’ Gemma said. ‘Do you think it’s working?’
‘I expect the police disabled it.’
‘Do you think they turned it on again?’
‘Probably not, going by the way they padlocked the front door,’ Jo said, chancing her arm. ‘A bit rough and ready, wasn’t it?’
Without actually discussing their next move, they looked to see if by chance a window had been left open. But Cartwright was a careful owner.
‘Now that the police have been inside and seen what they want, they won’t be in a hurry to come back,’ Jo said, trying to sound confident. She was supposed to be the leader of this expedition.
‘Probably not. What exactly do you expect to find?’
‘I don’t know exactly. Something they haven’t noticed, I suppose.’
‘Proving he’s the murderer?’
‘Well, yes.’
Doubt had crept into Gemma’s eyes, but she continued to play along. ‘Shall we check the garden shed? That may not be locked.’