Devil's Garden Read online

  ‘Just a wee totty. I’ll feed her the party line and tell her what to say. Those women are paranoid, with all this rubbish about a vendetta. Jase would just be looking for something juicy to sell to the tabloids.’

  ‘Lucky he didn’t find anything,’ Hammond said. ‘He was talking about blackmail the other night and he’d be just daft enough to try. Let’s go and pick him up so I can wring the stupid bastard’s neck.’

  When Richard Sansom came into Cassie Trentham’s office with only the most perfunctory of knocks on the door and demanded, ‘What the hell is going on?’ he didn’t sound like his usual suave self. He had obviously been out in the rain; his jacket was wet and his fair hair ruffled as if he’d been running a hand through it.

  Cassie looked up from her laptop with a sigh. ‘Richard, you probably know more than I do. All I know is that I got a call from Marta saying that Jason Jackson had broken into Highfield House last night and that there wasn’t any damage but they’ve changed the entry codes and she’s sending Davy out to my cottage to put in an alarm. Have you seen them?’

  ‘No, and it’s stressing me out. She told me about the break-in and that she’d informed the police but when I said I’d be right over she told me Anna was upset and wouldn’t want to see anyone today. How do they expect me to do my job if they keep me in the dark? They should have called me before they did anything. Now the police are involved it’ll leak to the press and the last thing we want at the moment is a distraction from the main event.

  ‘What was the man doing, anyway? He’s always seemed to me far too interested in Anna in a very unhealthy way.’

  Cassie shrugged. ‘Just looking through some papers, she said.’

  Sansom went very still. ‘What papers?’

  ‘How would I know? Richard, why don’t you sit down? You’re looming over me and it doesn’t help.’

  ‘No. Sorry.’ He sat down. ‘It’s just – this is going to have to be a major presentation problem now. If only they’d called me, I’d have gone round and talked to the man myself, discovered what he’d found out and threatened to inform the police – a threat’s always the best way to shut someone’s mouth. What leverage have I got now to make him tell me what I need to know and stop him telling everyone else? Now it’s out of my hands and God only knows where this will go.’

  He was sounding distraught. Cassie looked at him with some surprise. ‘I wouldn’t get so worked up about it, Richard. Marta’s pretty savvy herself and she’ll certainly have discussed it with my mother. If a scandal was likely to erupt because of something Jackson found they wouldn’t have gone public. She’ll have her reasons for what she did. She always does.’

  ‘She’s not telling me, though,’ he said bitterly. ‘I have to know all the details so I’m ready for an ambush. The press would love a juicy story to link to the Jacob’s Angel launch.’

  Cassie frowned. It was odd that he should be getting quite so upset about all this. ‘Richard, what do you know that I don’t know? What do you think Jackson could have discovered that would be so detrimental? Nothing’s ever emerged before. Whatever secrets Anna may have are pretty well hidden, I would say.’

  ‘Well, yes. Yes, I suppose so.’ It looked as if he was making a considerable effort to calm down. ‘You’re probably right. Thanks.’ He got up. ‘You’ll tell me if anything else comes your way?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Try not to worry too much.’

  ‘Thanks.’ At the door he paused. ‘I think I’ll just go anyway and see if I can have a word with Jackson. See if we can keep the lid on this. You’ll have his address on file, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, ask Gil. He’ll be able to help you.’

  It was strange, Cassie thought, that he should be quite so upset. Then she suddenly remembered – of course, he was a relatively new boy in the PR job. The poor man was probably terrified he’d lose it if something mucked up the launch. She was tolerably certain that nothing would. The Brand always managed somehow.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It felt as if she was moving through thick fog today. Anna Harper rubbed her eyes as if she thought that might dispel it, but it still felt as if all the edges were blurred. After a night of terrible dreams she had wakened to find that the nightmares were all but real. They were being stalked, closer and closer. Someone had been right there, in the heart of the house and only yards away from where she had been fitfully asleep. It made her flesh creep, just to think of it.

  She was falling apart with the strain of the past few days. She couldn’t understand how Marta managed to stay so calm, so much in control. She seemed so sure that this was him – could she be right? Anna was less convinced. After all, his mission had failed because of course the records he was looking for didn’t exist. So why had he left it at that? Payback time, the note had said. He could have told them what he wanted, threatened them, even crept upstairs with a knife—no, she mustn’t let herself think about that.

  She hadn’t been sure that bringing it all out into the open was wise but Marta’s judgement was usually sound and she’d seemed almost exhilarated after her encounter with the police, as if it had solved something, and she was busy now with work about the house, leaving Anna alone in the study. Alone with her torment.

  The fear was blotting out everything else – fear for herself, yes, but more for the daughter who refused to let her mother protect her without being told why she should need to. And Anna simply couldn’t do it – not that, not now. It was all just too sordid. She knew Cassie blamed her already for Felix’s death. If she confessed that she had been aware of danger without putting them on their guard too, her daughter would consider her a murderer, no less. And perhaps she was right, at that. They had fled from those first notes sent to the London address and imprisoned themselves behind the state-of-the-art security system while leaving her children vulnerable.

  A sudden squall of icy rain beat against the windows and Anna, with a shiver, pulled her chair closer to the fire. It was burning sullenly and every so often there was a hiss and a puff of smoke as some rain found its way down the chimney. She picked up a magazine from the coffee table and tried to read it – anything for distraction – but after a moment she put it down on her lap.

  When what everyone called the real world brought ugly problems, it had been her habit to withdraw into that alternative world, her world, to talk with the people who were certainly as real to her as the ones she met every day – more real, in some ways. But Jacob’s Angel was long finished now; the characters had melted into thin air, leaving not a rack behind. This was her fallow period, when an idea would whisper to her and gradually, gradually, her new world would people itself. It hadn’t, as yet. She was alone in her head, with her fears.

  Marta was being naive, though. She seemed to think the police would lock Jackson up for their protection, on her say-so. But what harm had he actually done? Oh perhaps, with the influence they had, they could push to have him charged with house-breaking, but if it ever got to court there would be no more than a token punishment. All she had to rely on now was the security system that had been so contemptuously bypassed last night – and she would even have to step out of it on Friday when her masterclass was scheduled. She couldn’t cancel without drawing more unwelcome attention.

  Anna had looked at last night’s footage for a long time, at the man whose literary ‘career’ Marta had so swiftly arranged to sabotage. It hadn’t been necessary; Anna had read the book then herself and it was clear it was going nowhere. Marta’s reaction, though, had been what it always was: Anna Harper, Genius, The Brand, had to be unique. She had to be. Otherwise what justification could there be for what they had done?

  DC Livvy Murray and PC Kate Graham came back from their break just as a man in a hoodie and jeans was leaving the police station. He barged past them, scowling.

  ‘Oh dear! Somebody isn’t happy,’ Graham said.

  ‘You don’t know who he is?’ As Graham shook her head Murray went on, ‘I wonder –
could he be the Jason Jackson that DS Wilson said was a bampot for breaking into Anna Harper’s house?’

  ‘He did what? That’ll be big trouble. The District Commander loves our local celebrity. It’ll be all round the town.’ They had paused in reception. ‘What are you going to do now?’

  ‘I think I’d better try to report to DS Wilson,’ Murray said.

  She went over to identify herself to the FCA on the desk and was told that Inspector Hammond, not DS Wilson, wanted to see her. As she made her way along the corridor to his office she was wondering what that signified. There was a chain of command; she’d have expected any orders to come through her sergeant, not directly from on high. He couldn’t possibly have sensed something odd in her arriving, could he? No, of course not, she told herself firmly.

  When she opened the door of the office DS Wilson was there as well as the man behind the desk – Hammond, obviously. Wilson got up to introduce her and she was very aware of being assessed as Hammond shook her hand. She assessed him in her turn: dark-complexioned, dark curly hair cut short, brown eyes, thin-lipped. Smart casual clothes that said sharp operator.

  ‘Take a seat, DC Murray. Now, you’ve been seconded here to assist in the Borders operation to counter this county lines business. Have you been involved with it in Edinburgh?’

  ‘Not really, sir. Heard about it, of course, but no direct experience.’

  ‘Right, right. Well, not a problem.’

  Had she imagined he looked pleased? ‘Anyway,’ he was going on, ‘we’re on top of things here, as far as anyone can be, these days.’

  It was smug, very smug. With deliberate malice she said, ‘PC Johnston was telling me there was a knife fight last night. Is there a lot of that, sir?’

  Both men were taken aback. After a moment Hammond said, ‘Oh no, absolutely not – just a couple of silly lads, was all. Spend too much time on the Internet, that’s the trouble. We’ve given them a fright and got the parents on side.

  ‘Now, I’ve got a task for you. You may have heard of Anna Harper, the author, who lives here?’

  Murray nodded, though she’d known nothing about her before researching the famous writer’s son’s overdose after DCI Strang had spoken to her.

  ‘She and her companion, Ms Morelli, are upset about a stupid stunt by a local writer who broke into her house last night. We’ve just spoken to him and he didn’t mean any harm, just being far too nosey. Probably had an eye on getting something to sell to the tabloids. But she’s trying to link it now to Ms Harper’s son’s death – you know?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Tragedy, of course, but hardly surprising, given his problem. Now they’re claiming that this, and a minor cycling accident the daughter had, were the result of deliberate murder attempts. Nonsense, of course – we’ve investigated thoroughly and there’s not a shred of evidence in either case. But they are very influential and they need convincing that we’ve done everything possible. I mentioned to Ms Morelli that you were part of our increasing vigilance and she was very keen to speak to you. Italian – a bit emotional, you know? Can we rely on you to make sure she doesn’t feel she’s being fobbed off?’

  Murray made a lightning judgement. Needle them by asking them to explain exactly what had been done – next to nothing, according to Kate – or play dumb and get the chance to quiz someone at the heart of the Felix Trentham tragedy? No-brainer.

  ‘Right, sir. Natural they’d be upset after what’s happened and then a break-in. I’ll do my best to reassure the poor ladies.’

  That was the right answer. Hammond gave a nod of satisfaction, asked an avuncular question about how she was settling in and dismissed her. She went back to the CID room.

  It still showed the signs of former glories when it had been a fully staffed department, with several computers now shrouded in plastic sheeting. It was empty at the moment and Murray chose a corner with a working terminal, hoping that Wilson wasn’t planning to follow her in. Kate had given her the reference for the Felix Trentham case and she speed-read through the reports.

  They had, admittedly, appealed for witnesses. They had spoken to the man who had found Felix in the bus shelter and to the other three men who had carried him up to Cassandra Trentham’s cottage, Burnside. They had interviewed Cassandra herself, and Anna Harper. There were a couple of brief reports from Graham, acting as family liaison officer. And then – nothing. Just a copy of the death certificate.

  Murray closed it down and was leaving the room as DS Wilson came along the corridor. He frowned. ‘Don’t hang about, Murray. She’s a difficult woman and it’s your job to keep her sweet.’

  ‘On my way, sir,’ she said. ‘Just finding directions.’

  In the car she thought about what she had been told. There wasn’t a drugs problem, there wasn’t a knife crime problem, a housebreaker was just a harmless idiot. Either they were determined not to see what was going on under their noses or they were very stupid indeed. And she didn’t think Hammond was stupid.

  Jason Jackson was in a dangerous mood as he packed up his things: humiliated, betrayed, angry, even more than a little worried. Kayleigh was kicking him out. She’d phoned to tell him, had the nerve to say, ‘I want you out before I get back,’ the cow. He’d have stayed to argue the toss when she finished work only Hammond had said that really wasn’t a smart idea.

  What got to him most was that Anna Harper had won. Again. The Anna Harpers always did, sailing through life cushioned by money, success and self-satisfaction. For a heady moment he’d thought he was on to something that would level the playing field, something that would force her to come begging to him.

  And what use had his mates in the polis been? He could almost hear the sound of running water, with the way they were washing their hands of him as he told them what had happened. The best he could hope for was that those two old witches could be talked down from actually linking him to Felix Trentham’s death and his sister’s accident.

  He didn’t need Hammond to remind him to be careful what he said. He knew the sort of reminder he was likely to get if he forgot that ‘They’ weren’t keen on publicity. It was uppermost in his mind when the doorbell rang.

  For a moment he was tempted not to answer but not answering the door was no solution if you were dealing with people who would simply kick it in, and he didn’t need that kind of hassle either. He swallowed hard and opened it.

  It was Richard Sansom who stood there. ‘Jackson, I need a word with you.’

  Jackson swore at him, trying to shut the door again, but Sansom put his shoulder to it and shoved. Caught off balance Jackson staggered back and Sansom strode in, slamming the door behind him. In the dark narrow lobby he towered over the other man, taller, heavier, stronger. Definitely threatening.

  Jackson had never been pugnacious. Truculent, yes, petulant more or less constantly, but self-preservation ranked high in his list of priorities and he’d had a lifetime of ducking confrontation.

  ‘Look, cool it, OK? What’s all this about?’

  Grim-faced, Sansom stared him down, then walked past him through the open door of the sitting room, where stuff was piled waiting to be put in a couple of cardboard boxes. Jackson hesitated for a moment, then followed.

  ‘Sit down.’

  He could have refused, but somehow he didn’t. He swallowed nervously as he sat down on one of the easy chairs by the coffee table. Sansom brought over an upright chair and placed it so that Jackson had to look up at him.

  ‘What did you think you were doing last night? And how did you get in, anyway?’

  ‘Girlfriend,’ he muttered. ‘Gave me the code.’

  ‘So what was it about?’

  ‘Look, Harper saw to it that my book was rubbished. She’s got it in for me and I wanted something to get her off my back. You’ve no idea what it’s like to put everything you have into a book and just have it trashed—’

  ‘I’m happy to say I don’t, and I don’t care either. What did you do?’

/>   ‘All I did was go to her study. There are filing cabinets there. I know she has secrets—’

  He seized on that. ‘What secrets? How do you know?’

  ‘If I knew I wouldn’t have had to break in, would I?’ he whined. ‘I just know she has to have. I’ve read every interview she’s ever given and every question about her past gets killed off. I reckon they have to give her final approval before they even talk to her.’

  Sansom gave a small, cold smile. ‘She’s not stupid.’

  ‘I didn’t say she was. She’s clever, very clever. And she’s got her attack dog to do the dirty work. Something should be done—’

  ‘Never mind that. Filing cabinets. What did you find?’

  ‘Nothing!’ That came out as a howl of rage. ‘Absolutely sodding nothing!’

  Sansom stared. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Suit yourself. Oh, I can quote you letters of appreciation. I can tell you her national insurance number and the name of the shoemaker who keeps her details for her handmade bloody shoes. The most sensational information was that she takes medication for blood pressure. It was as if they’d expected someone to break in and purged the files just in case.’

  ‘That’s really true?’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s true. And because of that I’m in trouble with the law, which I’ve kept clear of up till now. My girlfriend’s throwing me out on to the street. My next book’s going to get strangled at birth too, if I ever find a publisher to take it. And now I’m even scared to open the door.’

  His sense of grievance had overwhelmed him and that had slipped out. Fortunately, Sansom seemed to be attributing it to his own intrusion and he was visibly relaxing. ‘Should have thought of that sooner,’ he said brutally and got up.

  ‘It’s my job to manage Anna’s publicity and keep everything positive. Perhaps you could claim you were drunk at the time and such a great fan that you had the crazy idea that you had to speak to her. I want this kept as low-key as possible, which is distinctly to your advantage. And I have connections. If you try to get smart over this, I can see to it that there isn’t a publishing house in the land that would touch your next book with a ten-foot pole. Got it?’