‘Possibly,’ Merrily said. ‘In fact… yes.’
Jemmie Pegler had been fifteen years old. Reading her e-mails, you had to keep reminding yourself of that.
Merrily had left the Volvo in the Gaol Street car park, to find Frannie Bliss waiting for her in the street with an executive briefcase. Annie Howe, the DCI, had been delayed, was still in the building. Bliss had rushed Merrily off to a café in a mews at the opposite side of the car park. On a discreet corner table, he’d laid out a sheaf of printout material from the dead girl’s computer.
But first he wanted to talk about Mumford.
‘Merrily, why the… why didn’t you tell me?’
He’d had his red hair cut tight to the skull, maybe because it had been receding or maybe because he thought it made him look more dangerous. Which it did.
‘I did tell you—’
‘No, you didn’t. You totally did not tell me, Merrily.’
‘I don’t understand…’
‘Mumford’s been in Ludlow today, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Talking to people all over the town about Robbie Walsh and this woman?’
‘Did I mention—’
‘And the reason I know about this is that the DCI told me. And the reason the DCI knows is that she was telephoned by her opposite number in Shrewsbury, a shiny-arsed admin twat called Shaun Eastlake, who was clearly chuffed as a butty at being able to tell her about a… a member of the public stamping around his patch interrogating other members of the public, having identified himself as Detective Sergeant Mumford?’
‘Oh God,’ Merrily said.
‘Now, I think you can probably imagine how the Ice Maiden is reacting to this.’
‘Mmm.’ Danger signals in Merrily’s head blinking amber and red. Before Bliss had been promoted to Inspector and Annie Howe to DCI, Mumford had been her bag-carrier and local-knowledge man – history which, in the present circumstances, would matter not a damn.
‘Frannie, look, I didn’t know. Should have realized, of course… should have realized, if only from personal experience, how hard it is to get information out of people if you haven’t got the weight—’
‘Merrily!’ Bliss’s fist came down on the table, a woman behind the counter glancing anxiously across. ‘It’s an offence. Impersonating a police officer? And if you’ve been a police officer, does that make it better? No, it makes it wairse.’ The Mersey in his accent bursting its banks. ‘Is it conceivable the fat bastard’s forgotten that?’
‘Frannie—’
‘You think I’m kidding? This is Annie Howe we’re talking about, not a human being, and her face is as close as it gets to being pink with embarrassment.’
Merrily sat back. ‘One of the people he talked to told the police?’
‘No, they told George Lackland.’
‘The Mayor, right?
‘And county councillor? And vice-chairman of the West Mercia Police Committee?’
‘Oh God, really? But, apart from the element of deception, why would he – or any of the people Mumford talked to – not want the truth to come out about Robbie Walsh and a woman who—?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe she’s well connected. Let’s just say that Ludlow’s one little town where Mumford would be well advised to walk like the streets are tiled with antique porcelain. Bearing in mind that when it comes to bailing-out time, Steve Britton will no longer be his friend. Best to assume he doesn’t have any friends any more, in or out of uniform, at Ludlow nick.’
‘Policemen don’t just drop their mates.’
‘Times change, Merrily. We didn’t used to have divisional chiefs like Howe. So you tell Mumford: any officer spotted discussing the weather with him, it’s a red-card situation. Do you think you could convey that to him?’
Merrily nodded. There was nothing to be said. Mumford was so far out of line he probably couldn’t even discern a line any more.
‘Good,’ Bliss said. ‘Now let’s talk about poor Jemmie Pegler.’
it was realizing i just did it to keep him quiet and so he’d keep paying for the drinks. what’s that say. im anbodys after a few drinks and they just laugh at the desperate worthless fat bitch and when your worthless thats the bottom. your never gonna come back from that are you
Merrily winced. ‘Who’s this one to, Frannie?’
‘Girlfriend. Found it on the end of a reply from the other girl. Karen went to talk to the other girl. She seemed genuinely shattered. Said Jemmie Pegler’s e-mails always went over the top – wanted her mates to think she was a woman of the world who’d had so many men she was bored with sex. Girl thought it was all bullshit.’
‘Doesn’t seem like that to me.’
‘In which case…’ Bliss put a stiff-backed photo envelope in front of Merrily with another e-mail on top of it. ‘The girl said she thought this was bullshit, too.’
they’ve gone out again so i looked in the bathroom cabinet just now and im thinking what would happen if i emptied every packet and every bottle in there and swallowed the lot. well just be sick as a dog most likely. how sad is that, sam. im not going out sad. im not. when i go theyll fucking know ive gone.
Merrily read it a second time, then opened the envelope.
It was a flash photo, in colour: a party pic of a fleshy girl, laughing. Short black hair gelled into gold-tipped spikes. A nose-stud with an implausible royal-blue gemstone. She was gripping a bottle by its silvery neck.
‘When did the computer come in, Frannie?’
‘Soon after we got a firm ID. Last night.’
‘And would Karen have been working on it last night?’
‘She was certainly on last night, and it’s much nicer tucked up in an office with a computer and mug of tea than going out on the cold streets, so probably. Why?’
Merrily went back to the e-mail. ‘This line about not going out sad. Seems to echo what someone apparently said on the radio this morning – that this kind of public suicide was a way of saying, “Now you’re all going to know who I am.” ’
‘Who said that?’
‘I’m probably being paranoid. Dr Saltash, interviewed by Radio Hereford and Worcester. Is he officially assisting the police?’
‘Possibly. He’s done it before. The Ice Maiden’s fond of psychological consultants, profilers, all these buggers who’re supposed to be doing our job for us.’
‘Mmm. And Siân Callaghan-Clarke.’
‘Who?’
‘Colleague of mine.’
Callaghan-Clarke on DCI Annie Howe, the night of the Deliverance Paneclass="underline" I get on very well with her.
‘Why paranoid, Merrily?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You said you were probably being paranoid.’
‘Oh, it… it’s just that Nigel Saltash has been inflicted on me as a psychiatric consultant.’
‘He probably volunteered when he saw your picture.’
‘Do you have a reason to say that, or…?’
‘Hmm.’ Bliss did a wry smile. ‘If he is a mate of the Ice Maiden’s, forget I spoke. Have a look at this one.’
i want to go away. want US to go away where they cant get at us do you know what im saying. im sick of *guys* im sick of *going to london* in nicked cars only it always turns out to be Worcester and im sick of loading the poxy dishwasher. i want to GOOOOOO AWAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY FOR GOOD!!!!
Merrily went back to some of the earlier e-mails about Jemima not wanting to go to school any more, but not wanting a job either. Jemima professing to despise girls who stuck with one boy longer than a few weeks – suggesting that boys usually dumped her within that time-span.