“No. He was bitching about the little pot of jam being too small.”
“I feel like I fucked that up,” said Tristan. He felt Kate touch his shoulder, and he looked at her.
“No. You didn’t. And he’s been arrested. He’s been our main suspect since the beginning,” said Kate. He could see she felt cheated that they weren’t able to question him.
40
The next day was three weeks since they’d started their investigation, and Kate and Tristan drove over to see Bill and Bev in Salcombe to give them an update.
It was a hot morning, and they left early, arriving at Bill’s villa just before ten a.m. The sea and sky were in unison, a perfect blue. A group of sailing boats moved across the flat surface of the bay, and a yacht was moored farther out to sea next to a Jet Ski carving its wake in a large circle.
Bev and Bill’s garden had burst into life since their first visit and was filled with sweet-scented summer flowers and the lazy hum of bees. When they reached the front door, Bev was waiting for them. Kate was alarmed to see she was crying, but as they drew closer, she smiled and launched herself at Kate, grasping her in a hug.
“Thank you, thank you so much,” she said. She reached out a hand and pulled Tristan into the embrace. Bev smelled of cigarettes and stale alcohol mingled with peppermints. “It’s been on the news; the police have arrested Noah Huntley . . . Bill recorded it for me. I’ve already watched the news report back twice. Come on in.”
They followed Bev in through the front door into the vast marble living area. It was as empty and neat as before, and just like the first time, Kate thought how out of place Bev looked, padding across the elegant white-and-gold marble in a beat-up pair of pink Crocs. Bill was sitting at the huge breakfast bar with his laptop. A flat-screen television was mounted on one of the walls in the kitchen.
“Hello, Kate; hello, Tristan,” said Bill, with a smile just as wide as Bev’s. They all shook hands.
“This is Noah Huntley’s house,” said Bev, grabbing the TV remote. The frozen image on the TV screen was the outside of a house on a leafy suburban street where a row of police cars were parked. The sun was low in the sky, casting its beam almost horizontally and flashing gold on the surrounding windows, which made Kate wonder how early or late they’d arrived at his house. Bev pressed “Play,” and the camera switched angles to show where neighbors were watching from their doors on either side of the street as a team of forensics officers emerged from the front door carrying items of clothing in clear plastic evidence bags.
“Police obtained a warrant to enter the home of the ex–Member of Parliament for Devon and Cornwall Noah Huntley,” said the news reporter’s voice. “He was arrested at the same time.” It then cut to Noah Huntley as he was escorted to the front steps of Exeter police station, with his hands cuffed in front of him. There was a crush of journalists outside, waiting with cameras and smartphones, and he kept his head down as the police guided him through the crowd.
“Noah Huntley lost his seat in a 2002 by-election after he was accused of taking bribes to award council-run contracts. Police are now arresting him in conjunction with the body of a twenty-one-year-old man found in the West Country. They also wish to question him in relation to four other unsolved murders dating back to the time he was an MP, and the disappearance of Joanna Duncan, a local journalist from the West Country News who was investigating Noah Huntley shortly before she went missing,” said the news reporter. The photo of Joanna smiling on the beach with the coconut cocktail in her hand flashed up on the screen.
“Oh, my darling,” said Bev, taking out a tissue and putting it to her face. “They’ve got him. They’ve got the bastard,” she said, moving closer to the screen and talking up to the photo of Joanna. Tristan glanced across at Kate. Bev’s grief was so raw that it felt almost intrusive to be standing next to her.
“It looks like the news reporters were tipped off about Noah Huntley being arrested,” said Tristan.
“Is that a good thing? That must be a good thing . . . They’ll be looking for Joanna. Is there anything more about her? Have they said that they’re reopening Joanna’s case?” said Bev, turning to face them.
Bill remained sitting at the breakfast bar with his laptop. “It’s still very early days; I presume they only have a few days to question Noah before they have to charge him or let him go,” he said. Bev moved around and nudged Bill out of the way. She put her fingers on the touch pad and scrolled down to the photo of Joanna.
“I told you that we’d find out who did this to you,” she said, to the photo. Bill looked up at Kate and Tristan, almost apologetically. “I know it was that nasty politician. You found him out, and he didn’t like it, did he?”
Kate understood that Bev was mired in guilt, but the way she was talking to the photo of Joanna was uncomfortable.
“Could we talk to you both and give you our update on the case so far?”
Bev was still talking to the photo on the screen, oblivious to Kate and Tristan. “We’re now going to question that awful man, and he’s going to tell us where you are, do you hear me, Jo?”
“Why don’t you go and have a seat out on the terrace? There’s an umbrella and table. I’ll make us some coffee, and we’ll join you,” said Bill, indicating that he would deal with Bev.
Kate nodded, and she and Tristan moved over to the glass doors and outside. The terrace ran the width of the house, and it was equally deep as it was wide—to Kate it looked huge. It was empty of furniture, apart from a wooden table and four chairs under a white umbrella. She and Tristan sat down.
“The police must be confident, to move so quickly and arrest Huntley?” said Tristan.
“They have potential DNA evidence; if that comes through and links him to Hayden or any of the other young men, then they’ll have a strong case to charge him,” said Kate.
Bill emerged from the glass doors with Bev, who was clinging on to his arm. She looked frail in the sunshine, her skin pale. They came and sat at the table.
Kate gave them an update on everything they’d discovered over the past three weeks: how the names David Lamb and Gabe Kemp printed on the lid of Joanna’s cardboard box had led them to Shelley Morden, who knew David Lamb, who in turn led them to Max Jesper.
“We’ve thrown a wide net with the investigation over the past few weeks,” finished Kate. “But we’d like to continue and focus in on Max Jesper’s commune and the people who went there. So many of the people we’ve investigated have been linked to the commune.”
“I’ve never heard of this place. Have you, Bill?” asked Bev.
Bill rubbed his face. He looked serious after Kate’s recap.