‘I saw.’ Hen puffed on her skinny cigar. ‘I thought you must have failed to notice the pool. You failed to notice the body.’
‘That’s worse,’ Stella said.
‘I wasn’t going to say it, but you’re right.’
‘Don’t know about you,’ Gemma said to Jo as they drove away from Apuldram, ‘but I don’t feel like going back to work after that.’
‘Starbucks?’
‘Great suggestion.’
‘Some people call them pigs,’ Jo said.
‘The police, you mean?’
‘Yes. I’ve always thought it was unfair. Until today. That’s what they are-pigs. They’re disgusting. We do the public-spirited thing and report what we found in the pool, proving Cartwright must be the killer and what do we get in return? The third degree. Anyone would think we were murderers.’
‘And they’re still holding Jake.’
‘It breaks me up, Gem. It’s sadistic.’
They each had a black espresso and an almond croissant, to restore the blood sugar, as Gemma put it.
Jo hadn’t finished her diatribe against the police. ‘It was insulting. The Hen woman was questioning me about my background, how long I’ve lived here, all kinds of stuff you only ask of criminals.’
‘We did break into a house, matey.’
‘Not to steal.’
‘We were in the wrong, Jo. She gave me a going-over, too. It wasn’t about us actually. It was about her annoyance that we discovered something she missed.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Good thing she doesn’t know the whole truth.’
Jo frowned. ‘What’s that?’
‘Us being the first to find Fiona’s body.’
‘Christ Almighty, yes. Keep your voice down, Gem.’
‘In fact, you found all three bodies.’
Jo blinked and gasped. ‘That’s true.’
Gemma gave her conspiratorial grin. ‘And we associate with a man who confessed to murdering a fourth.’
‘Rick.’ Jo’s throat was dry. ‘But we don’t believe him, do we?’
‘I think we’ll find out soon. Mallin knows about him. She calls us a clique and she warned me not to cover up for my friends. I don’t think she meant you.’
‘She meant Jake.’
‘I doubt it. I think she’ll soon be knocking on Rick’s door.’
‘You’re making me nervous,’ Jo said. ‘This was supposed to calm us down. I don’t like to think what Rick might say under questioning.’
‘He’s rock solid. Don’t worry.’
TWENTY-TWO
Hen didn’t bother much with snail mail. Everything that mattered reached her by phone, email, or internal memo. The few letters with her name on them got dropped into a tray on her desk and could stay unopened through the day. Most were junk. A few were from attention-seekers who’d seen her on television or in the press. Rarely anything worth troubling over.
So it wasn’t unusual that a typed envelope with a London postmark didn’t get opened until mid-afternoon.
It wasn’t even a proper letter.
She almost tossed it aside without reading it.
The sender had scribbled a few words on a Post-it attached to a white invitation card. ‘Found this among Merry’s papers,’ was all Austen Sentinel had written before adding his initials.
The wording couldn’t have made more impact if it had grabbed Hen by the throat. Embossed lettering on fine, cream-coloured board.
In September, 1987, the skeleton of a mammoth was uncovered on Selsey’s East Beach and excavated by a team from Brighton University, assisted by volunteers. To mark the twentieth anniversary of this notable event you are invited to a reunion barbecue on the section of beach where the dig took place.
Saturday 15 September, 8.30 p.m. Free food, drink, and eighties music.
No reply necessary. To have fun with old friends just turn up.. like the mammoth did.
She now knew why Meredith Sentinel had returned to Selsey for the first time in twenty years.
Heart racing, she snatched up her phone and dialled Sentinel’s number. He answered at once.
‘Hen Mallin, Chichester CID,’ she said. ‘Just read your note. Quite a discovery.’
‘Yes, it answers one question and begs some others,’ he said as if he were talking about an essay topic instead of the invitation that had led to his wife’s death. ‘I thought you should see it for yourself.’
‘You found it among her papers?’
‘A few items I’d overlooked when I went through her belongings last week. She sometimes put letters and such things in a glass cabinet where we keep the silverware. It served as her PENDING tray. After she’d dealt with them she threw them out.’
‘Was the invitation in an envelope?’
‘Not when I found it. She got rid of envelopes.’
‘You’re certain of that?’
‘Didn’t I just explain? I don’t understand why it matters.’
‘Because I need to know who was behind this invitation. It may be crucial to find out. We can get DNA from an envelope. We might get some from the card itself, but the envelope would be better. And the postmark would be useful. There’s no return address or name on the card.’
‘I noticed that. No RSVP. Unusual.’
‘You’re telling me there’s no chance at all of finding the envelope? Not even with a special search?’
‘Sorry to disappoint you. My wife was well organised. She didn’t keep wrappers of any kind. And she made a point of using the shredder.’ The voice sounded smug, as if he enjoyed frustrating the investigation.
Hen let it pass. There was more to prise out from this obnoxious man. ‘How would they have traced her? She’d have been known by her maiden name in 1987.’
‘Through the university, I expect. They have an alumni association. Their magazine publishes news of former students and there are always reunions being organised.’
‘She was in her first year when it took place, you said?’
‘A fresher, yes.’
‘How many other people would have received one of these invites?’
‘How would I know?’
She felt a surge of fury. ‘You were in charge, for God’s sake. You’d know how many were involved in the dig.’
‘Can’t be precise. Anything from twenty to forty.’
‘I’m going to need their names and addresses.’
‘Don’t ask me. I couldn’t even begin to remember. I told you before, they were just willing hands as far as I was concerned.’ His attitude was breathtaking.
‘Where could I find a list?’
‘God knows, all these years later. I don’t suppose one exists.’
She was trying to suppress her annoyance and not succeeding. ‘You told me you published some illustrated articles about the dig. Get them out, please, look at them and see if you recognise anyone in the photos. Where can I get copies for myself?’
‘The university library ought to have them.’
‘Thanks. You must have had one of these invitations yourself.’
‘I don’t recall one.’
‘Come on, Dr Sentinel. You led the dig. It would have been Hamlet without the Prince.’
‘Ha. That’s a point.’ He seemed to enjoy that. ‘But the Prince was missing. I don’t need to remind you I was in St Petersburg at the time.’
‘Or Helsinki.’
‘Er, yes.’ Not quite so bumptious.
Hen played to his vanity. ‘It seems odd for anyone to have organised a reunion without consulting you first about the arrangements.’
‘Going by the wording on the invitation, I’m not surprised. It was my dig, my show, but they don’t mention me by name. I get the impression this was an undergraduates-only event.’
‘They’re not undergraduates any more. They’ll be forty-year-olds with their own careers.’
‘You don’t understand, do you? I was in the senior common room in nineteen-eighty-seven.’
Hen couldn’t see how that made a blind bit of difference. ‘Something else you can do for me immediately after you put down the phone, Dr Sentinel. Look through your own correspondence and see if you can find the invitation to you, preferably still in the envelope. Handle it as little as possible. Get back to me at once and we’ll arrange to pick it up.’