Chapter 35
John Richmond didn’t seem the type to send threatening correspondence. He lived in a neat semi-detached house in a respectable Morbay suburb and looked an unremarkable individual: balding, middle-aged, medium height, medium everything.
‘Your station rang to say you wanted a word. What is this about?’ He sounded worried, like an innocent man who feared he was about to be accused of something he hadn’t done.
‘Somebody’s been sending threatening emails from your email address.’
The man’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s impossible. I hardly use my computer. I’m not one for technology. And I certainly haven’t sent offensive emails to anyone. Why would I? It’s not the sort of thing I do.’
‘Ever heard of Suzy Porter?’ said Gerry.
‘No. Who is she?’
‘You might know her as Daisy Cootes.’
Richmond looked genuinely puzzled.
‘Is there anyone else here who has access to your computer?’
His expression changed. ‘Er . . . only my wife. She uses it for her work. She’s a writer,’ he added with a note of cautious pride.
‘Can we have a word with her?’ said Wesley, feeling a little sorry for the man, who looked completely out of his depth.
Richmond stood aside to let them in and called upstairs, ‘Someone to see you, love. The police.’
It was a while before the woman appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘I’m working. What do they want?’
‘Just a word, Mrs Richmond,’ Wesley said. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ he lied.
She walked downstairs slowly, holding up her long skirt so she wouldn’t trip. She had purple hair and fitted the description given by the bookshop staff of the woman who’d had a disagreement with Suzy at her book launch.
Richmond hurried out to make tea while his wife, who said her name was Beryl, sat silently in their soulless front room.
‘Why did you send threatening emails to Suzy Porter?’
The woman looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know anyone called Suzy Porter.’
‘You might know her as Daisy Cootes.’
Her eyes widened in realisation. ‘Oh, her,’ she said, almost spitting out the words. ‘I sent the emails because she’s a thief.’
‘What did she steal?’ Wesley could see the fire of fury in her eyes, as though she considered herself the victim of some great injustice.
‘Lawrence the Lion. Although his original name was Callum the Cowardly Lion. That’s what I called him.’
‘You mean she stole your idea?’ Wesley asked as realisation dawned.
‘And she made a fortune from it. I entered a story competition and she was one of the judges. I made the shortlist and went to the presentation in the town hall. Someone else won, but I spoke to her afterwards, hoping she’d give me some feedback.’
Wesley could see tears in her eyes, as though she was reliving a painful experience.
‘She was most unpleasant,’ Beryl continued. ‘She said my idea was rubbish. Then the following year I found out she’d stolen it.’
‘And you thought you’d get your revenge by killing her.’ It was the first time Gerry had spoken, and she stared at him in horror.
‘You mean she’s dead? Daisy Cootes has been murdered?
Look, I never killed anyone, I swear. I was just letting off steam with those emails.
I wanted her to know how much hurt she’d caused, that’s all.
I couldn’t have killed her, I don’t even know where she lives; only the email address on her website. Honestly.’
‘So you didn’t know her real name is Suzy Porter?’
The answer was a vigorous shake of the head as tears began to cascade down the woman’s cheeks. ‘I never harmed her. I only meant to frighten her. I’m really sorry,’ she added in a whine. ‘When was she . . . ?’
‘Oh, she’s still alive, but someone with a similar name was murdered in the same village. Did you get the wrong woman?’
‘No. You’ve got to believe me, I never killed anybody. I wouldn’t do anything like that.’
‘Where were you last Friday evening?’
‘At my writers’ group. They’ll all tell you I was there.’
Wesley caught Gerry’s eye. They’d been considering the possibility that Suzy Porter, the well-known and apparently much-disliked author of children’s stories, had been the killer’s real target, but now it seemed they’d have to think again.
When they told Beryl that they’d check her alibi, she meekly gave details of the other members of her writing group.
‘Ever heard of a lanzani?’ Wesley asked, standing up.
‘No. What is it?’ She sounded genuinely puzzled.
As they left the house, Wesley put his thoughts into words. ‘I don’t think she did it, do you?’
‘I agree, Wes. That was a waste of time.’
‘Perhaps Sue Potter was the killer’s real target after all.’
Gerry shook his head. ‘If Suzy Porter did that to one person, she might have done it to others. I don’t think we can rule her out as the target just yet; not if she’s the type who tramples over other people and makes enemies.’
It wasn’t often that Wesley disagreed with the boss, but somehow he couldn’t see it. He was sure Suzy Porter was a blind alley. In his experience, investigations were usually full of them.
‘Now, how about that trip to the zoo,’ Gerry said as he settled into the passenger seat. ‘We need to find out what Dale Gadson wants to tell us.’
Wesley started the engine and set off.
The smell hadn’t got any better. In fact, as they approached the ticket office, it seemed even more pungent than it did on their first visit.
The same girl was on duty, bored and scrolling through her phone.
She obviously recognised them because she didn’t ask for any money. Dale was somewhere inside, she said.
As they made their way in, the place seemed empty of visitors.
Their first port of call was the office, but there was no sign of the owner there, so they wandered further into the zoo, passing cages occupied by sad-looking animals that either stared or growled at them.
Wesley noticed that they seemed a little restless, as though they were waiting for something, possibly food.
Perhaps Dale Gadson was busy preparing their meals.
He knew nothing about animal-feeding regimes, so he could only guess.
They walked on, towards what sounded like the roaring of big cats. Wesley suddenly had an uneasy feeling that something was wrong. He looked at Gerry and guessed he was thinking the same.
‘Come on, Wes, let’s go and see what those pussycats are up to. Get ready to run if they’ve got free.’
As they rounded a corner, they saw the lions’ enclosure, a space Wesley considered too small for such noble beasts.
The lion was standing there roaring while the two lionesses were pawing at something on the ground.
When he saw that the wire mesh around the enclosure appeared to be undamaged, he relaxed a little.
‘All mouth and no trousers, that one,’ said Gerry, watching the noisy lion. What have the ladies got there?’
Wesley moved forward and peered into the cage. He stared for a few moments until he realised what he was looking at. He could see clothing. And raw, half-eaten flesh.