‘Time of death, doc?’
‘Tch, tch . . . you know me better than that, Inspector.’ The stock rebuke.
‘The body must have been left in the fountain recently.’ Burton’s voice was strained. ‘We were out here just a couple of hours ago.’ She shuddered reflexively. ‘I even stood inside to see what it felt like.’
Davidson relented. ‘He’s been dead no more than an hour. Most probably killed where he was found.’ He glanced at the paper-suited SOCOs quietly moving about their tasks like a sinister priesthood. ‘Right, I’ll be off. Good luck, Markham.’ He recalled Tariq Azhar’s sensitive, refined features with a sharp pang that was unusual for him on such occasions. ‘The feel of not to feel’ was the bluff pathologist’s clinical maxim, but now and again a particular case got under his skin. ‘I’d like to see whoever did this go down for a very long time.’
The team watched his retreating figure in silence.
Then, ‘You know what Sidney’s gonna say.’
‘Only too well, Noakes.’
‘You’ve got to admit, Burt’s looking good for it, guv. I mean, like, he was out here getting all touchy feely over the fountain an’ just fell over the body? Pur-lease.’ Dave Elson nodded his approval.
‘What do you think, Doyle?’ The young DC was looking unusually introspective.
‘I don’t think he’s got what it takes. Sorry, sarge,’ with an apologetic duck of the head to Noakes, ‘but he’s just the local saddo. ’Sides, when me and the boss interviewed him, he seemed frightened . . . almost as though he’d been threatened. That’s right, isn’t it, sir?’
‘Yes, Constable,’ Markham confirmed. ‘He was definitely scared.’
‘Guilty conscience,’ Noakes growled, eliciting a further approving nod from PC Elson.
‘No, Sergeant, I don’t believe so,’ the DI said slowly.
‘Oh, come on, boss.’ Noakes wasn’t going down without a fight. ‘Burt’s got sex pest an’ all-round nutter written all over ’im.’
More vigorous bobs of the head from Elson. Talk about nodding dog, thought Burton.
‘He may have fancied Shawcross and other attractive women he saw round the centre,’ she said decisively, ‘but no way was he ever going to do anything about it . . . Too much under the cosh for that.’
‘Shirley Bolton said he was sharper than he looks,’ Noakes persisted stubbornly. ‘All that simpleton stuff . . . could be a cover . . .’
‘True, sarge,’ Burton conceded, ‘but there’s the way he walks — all uncoordinated and shambling. That doesn’t look put on to me.’
‘Can’t see him cutting someone’s throat and then getting the body in there,’ Doyle pointed at the fountain, with its eerie nimbus from the arc lights. ‘He doesn’t look able to tie his own shoelaces, let alone pull off something like that.’
‘Okay, Columbo, you tell us who did it then,’ Noakes said amicably.
‘No idea, sarge,’ the youngster admitted. ‘But it looks like Tariq agreed to meet the killer here . . .’
It struck Markham with a chill that Tariq Azhar’s murderer had most likely observed their activities that afternoon from some vantage point before checking that the coast was clear and summoning the Asian to his death.
‘No mobile with the body,’ he mused. ‘So our man probably lured Tariq here with a call or text and then made sure to take the phone away after he was done.’
‘Jus’ like Elford.’
‘Yes, Sergeant. The same pattern. And no doubt the same forensically aware modus operandi, so very unlikely we’ll get useful trace evidence.’
Markham looked exhausted, thought Burton, with dark smudges under the eyes. But he spoke with calm authority.
‘Elson, I want you to ensure the area’s as secure as it can be. There are uniforms front and back now, but give everywhere a final once-over please.’
‘Will do, boss.’ If he was disappointed that Chris Burt’s arrest did not appear to be imminent, the patrolman gave no sign of it. ‘I’ll drive by the librarian lady’s place after that, shall I?’
‘Yes, please. Regular checks,’ he sighed, ‘but I think she’s safe for tonight . . .’
Elson plodded off on his mission.
‘I don’t think she’s in danger,’ Markham repeated. ‘Tariq Azhar was the immediate threat, not Shirley.’
‘But why, sir?’ Burton burst out. ‘I mean, everyone liked him . . . he didn’t seem wary of anyone . . . he was relaxed as you like at the wake, no sign of anything wrong . . .’
The DI rubbed his eyes as though to clear them.
‘We need to know what he was doing after the wake — where he went, who he talked to. Something happened which made him a threat . . .’
‘He guessed the killer’s identity,’ Burton hazarded.
‘Yes, I think that’s right, Kate.’ Markham spoke with growing conviction. ‘Ronnie Shaw spoke of Rebecca having someone at the centre “in her pocket”. The way she spoke, it sounded like it may have been a sexual liaison . . . something illicit . . . something furtive and naughty that she almost hugged to herself . . .’
‘And Tariq suddenly twigged who she was getting off with . . .’ Noakes looked bemused. ‘But none of ’em fits . . .’
‘What if it was a woman,’ Burton said suddenly.
‘What!’ Noakes’s jaw dropped, heightening his resemblance to an outraged pachyderm. ‘You gotta be kidding me.’
‘Think about it, sarge,’ she said earnestly. ‘Ronnie said the heroine of Rebecca’s novel was “sexually fluid” and Rebecca herself was obviously . . . well . . . unconventional when it came to sex . . . may even have had issues round men after what happened with Phil Carmichael . . .
