‘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.’
‘I bet it is, but we can try.’ Jo sensed that this was a delaying move from Gemma, dubious about a break-in to the house itself.
The lock on the shed had been forced recently and reattached so loosely that the hasp came away as soon as Jo touched it. The police must have looked inside.
There was a motor mower and some garden tools. Loungers, a sunshade, and some patio furniture.
‘What’s that hanging on the wall? Looks like a life-jacket,’ Gemma said.
‘Dusty,’ Jo said. ‘Hasn’t been used for some time.’
‘Well, he’s not going to offer one to the women he drowns.’
They giggled a bit and it eased the tension.
‘Living here so close to the harbour it’s quite likely he has a boat,’ Jo said. ‘You said the other day he could be living on the Costa del Crime, and it’s not impossible. Looking around, I get the feeling he’s closed the place down and gone.’
‘Sailed off into the sunset?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Smart move.’
‘Exactly,’ Jo said. ‘If I was on the run from the police I’d use a boat if I could. You’re more likely to get caught if you go by any other form of transport.’
‘Well, have we done the shed?’ Gemma asked.
Jo unhooked a wooden mallet from the tools hanging on the wall. ‘We’re going to need this.’
They closed the door and reattached the lock.
Law-abiding people have to be pushed past endurance to break with a lifetime of conformity. Jo couldn’t get out of her mind the sight of Jake being led away in handcuffs to the police cars. She knew he wouldn’t be treated fairly with his prison record. He was mentally scarred already. They’d reduce him to despair and he’d be broken,
