‘The man’s turned up twice in highly suspicious circumstances,’ he snapped. ‘Plus I understand he’s mentally unbalanced and a potential threat to young women.’
Clearly someone had been talking.
Time for the usual rearguard action.
‘I’ve placed Mr Burt under surveillance, sir.’ Or will do once we get out of here. ‘He won’t stir a foot without our being aware of it.’
‘Can you tell me why you haven’t arrested him, Inspector? One of your hunches?’ Sidney practically spat the last word at them.
Markham’s fists bunched. God, it would be satisfying to deliver a right-hander. He did everything possible with the side of his face furthest away from Sidney . . . everything which might relieve his feelings and prevent him toppling into anarchic fury. Beside him, Noakes sat in stolid sympathy, his features creased and crumpled with the strain of simulating appropriate interest.
‘We just have one or two more leads to check, sir.’
‘Leads. What leads?’
‘One of the teachers from Hope Academy is coming in this morning, sir . . . We think he can shed more light on Ms Shawcross’s personal life.’
‘What’s her personal life got to do with anything? It’s clear she was attacked by a deranged individual who then went on to target further medical personnel . . . for his own warped reasons.’
Time to ramp up the obsequiousness.
‘More than likely it happened just as you say, sir.’ He felt he might explode with the effort of arranging his features into a suitably deferential expression. ‘We’re hoping Mr Cartwright can confirm if Ms Shawcross had been bothered — subjected to unwanted approaches — which might well lead to Mr Burt.’
This was pushing it, but unless Sidney believed they would deliver up the caretaker in due course, all neatly filleted for the CPS, there was no chance of winning the extra time they so badly needed.
‘You’ve got forty-eight hours, Inspector . . . Forty-eight hours and not a minute more.’ The angry turkey-cock flush was subsiding, but Sidney’s eyes were deadly. ‘After that, the case goes to Superintendent Bretherton.’
Blethering Bretherton wouldn’t crack it in a month of Sundays!
Sidney’s basilisk stare fell on Noakes, taking in the scuffed suede sneakers and crumpled fawn ensemble topped by a faded blue raincoat. Markham had to admit the overall effect was somewhat bilious.
A rap on the door saved them from the inevitable diatribe about standards of dress. As Miss Peabody entered with a sheaf of papers to be signed, Markham felt he could almost kiss the woman . . .
‘A chuffing car crash,’ Noakes repeated, just in case the DI was in any doubt as to the disastrousness of their interview with Sidney.
‘I’m quite aware of that thank you, Sergeant.’ He glanced at his wall clock. Nine thirty. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘Leo Cartwright will be joining us shortly . . . I sent Kate and Doyle to pick him up.’
Noakes heaved himself up.
‘Time for a brew.’ He assumed an expression of crafty solicitude. ‘Can I get you anything from the canteen, guv?’
‘If you’re after a heart attack on a plate, Noakes, then make it quick . . . And for God’s sake don’t let Sidney or Bretherton see you noshing in the corridor.’ He grimaced. ‘We’re on notice now. Either we find some fresh angle or we’re stuffed.’
‘As if Bretherton could do any better!’ the DS scoffed. ‘That big girl’s blouse! D’you remember last year, guv, when he took over the trafficking case from Chris Carstairs an’ ended up giving it back cos he made such a balls-up?’
‘I do indeed, Sergeant. Which makes me all the keener to wrap this one up before he gets anywhere near it.’
‘We’ll just ’ave to put the thumbscrews on Cartwright. An’ if we don’t get no joy there, there’s Norman Bates as backup.’
Markham supposed it was as honest a way of summing up their predicament as any.
‘Remember, not a word about Tariq’s murder. Sidney’s agreed to a media blackout, so Cartwright won’t know anything yet.’
* * *
‘Just rewind for us, Mr Cartwright.’
The DI leaned across the table, his muscles tensing.
All of Kate Burton’s faculties were on high alert. She too had heard it, though Noakes and Doyle, stifling their yawns, were oblivious.
‘What is it, Inspector?’
Leo Cartwright was clearly puzzled.
‘What you said then . . . about your association with the centre.’
‘Oh yeah . . . Well, I’m not a patient . . . registered with Medway, y’see. But they’re a nice bunch. I dated Jayne Pickering for a bit . . . saw Tariq Azhar round the sports centre . . . did the odd stint in the study centre with Shirl . . .’
‘You dated Jayne Pickering?’
Now Noakes and Doyle were paying attention.
‘That’s right.’ He seemed to register the electric atmosphere in Markham’s office, looking apprehensively round at the four detectives.
‘How long did you go out with Jayne?’
‘Just a few months.’ He looked somewhat shamefaced. ‘She was a bit . . . well, a bit highly strung for me . . . a bit intense. And the aunt wasn’t keen on it . . . quite strait-laced.’ He gave an unconvincing man-of-the-world chuckle. ‘Worried about me leading her astray.’
Ho ho.
‘Go on, Mr Cartwright.’
‘Well, there’s nothing to tell really. We went out for a bit and then I got involved with Rebecca.’
‘How did Jayne feel about that?’
Again, that look of puzzlement. ‘She was fine. Look, it was no big deal, Inspector . . . We weren’t exactly the love affair of the century or anything like that.’
‘Did she know about Rebecca?’
‘I think so, yeah. But hey, she was totally cool . . . didn’t get heavy about it or anything like that.’
‘Okay, Mr Cartwright.’ Markham looked
