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  “OK. It’s circumstantial. But can we keep him in?”

  “Yes. But only on the drugs charge. I’ll have to talk to the custody officer about bail. But I would think that because of the other pending charges, we’ll be able to keep him in, and in any case the magistrate will remand him in custody.”

  Clayton nodded. “And what about the tramadol, ma’am? It’s the same drug that Proctor was given. But Mercer says it’s for his own personal use and that it’s on prescription. He also claims to have been nowhere in the area on the day of the assault.”

  Bligh frowned. “Let’s see how cooperative he is in the morning. We’ve got time.”

  He smiled. “There’s one other thing to add to the mix, ma’am.”

  She tilted her head to the side.

  “Peroxide streaks in his hair.”

  She flashed her thin smile. “So you think he’s in the frame for the Kristina Manning murder? But you know we don’t have DNA from the hair. So that piece of information can only back up our case once we have other evidence. I’ll find out from Fiona how forensics are getting on with examining the contents of Mercer’s cottage. And his car.”

  She picked up her pen and wrote something down.

  “In the meantime, we must concentrate on getting to Braithwaite,” she said. “In the light of what you told me about Lauren Garner being raped by Steve Carter, that would certainly provide him with a motive. What do you think, Sam?”

  “We know that he and Mercer are friends. I think there are only two people who could be harbouring him. Mercer, out in Cley, and Jake Easton, the percussionist, who’s got a flat in Norwich. Prince of Wales Road, I think.”

  “Very well,” she said. “The press department is preparing a statement about Lauren Garner. I might get Fiona to do a briefing about the defrosting. We’d better brace ourselves for the reaction to that.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Clayton returned to his desk, fired up at last.

  He wondered if it was too late to arrange a drink with Luke Martin. One good turn deserves another. The journalist responded to his text immediately. They were on.

  Tapping urgently into his computer, he pulled up the file on Jake Easton, who had been interviewed by a DC. Just as he picked up his notebook, his phone rang. It was Julie, waiting downstairs for him with Sarah Cooper.

  Clayton introduced himself, and they took the musician into an interview room.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Sarah,” said Julie. “We just want to follow up on some stuff about Lauren.”

  Sarah took off her coat and set it down on the chair beside her. She was wearing a V-necked sweater over a gypsy skirt and boots. She brushed aside a strand of blonde hair from her forehead and began digging into her handbag for something. She pulled out a crumpled paper tissue.

  “We’re trying to pin down more information about Steve Carter, the violinist,” Julie said. “Do you remember telling me that he had a crush on Kristina Manning?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “And that he also tried it on with Lauren? In fact, I think those were the very words you used.”

  Sarah crossed and uncrossed her legs and looked down at her pink, painted fingernails. “I think I know what this is about,” she said. “And I’ve made it clear that I don’t want to be quoted on any of it.”

  So she was Luke Martin’s source.

  Julie held up a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, Sarah. We’re just trying to establish exactly what happened between Lauren and Carter. It seems that he spiked her drink in a pub and then raped her. Is that true?”

  Sarah didn’t answer straight away. Then she said, “It’s what she told me anyway.”

  Julie said quietly, “So maybe you could just tell us what Lauren said.”

  Sarah sighed. Clayton guessed she felt that she was betraying a confidence. But she’d already done that with a journalist! The two detectives waited.

  “OK. Well, there was a group of us at that pub in the market, the Sir Garnet I think it’s called. Steve came and joined us.”

  “Was he one of your friends?” Clayton said.

  “We knew him, obviously, because of the orchestra, but no, not really. He was a bit older than us,” Sarah said.

  “So, who was there that evening?” Julie asked.

  “Apart from me, there was Lauren, obviously, and Jake.”

  “You mean Jake Easton from the orchestra?” Julie said.

  Sarah nodded. “Yes, the percussionist.”

  “Mark Braithwaite wasn’t there that night?” said Clayton.

  “No, I don’t remember him being there.”

  “So you all hung out together then?” he added.

  She hesitated. “Well, not really. I left after Steve came in. The others were into drugs a bit, so I can’t say I spent much time with them.”

  “What sort of drugs?” asked Julie. “Prescription?”

  “I’m not sure. They always seemed to have something to hand though. I never touched the stuff myself,” she added hastily. “I didn’t want it to affect my performance.”

  “Right. And then what?” Clayton asked.

  “A couple of days later, I was talking to Lauren after a rehearsal and she told me that she’d been completely out of it for about twenty-four hours after I left. She woke up in Steve Carter’s bed at his place on the river and couldn’t remember what had happened after the others left the pub. Then she realised he’d raped her! She thought he’d spiked her drink.”

  “Was he there when she woke up? What about his wife and child?” Julie asked.

  “I remember Lauren saying that there was nobody in the house. I think she said Emily and Skyla were away, so I guess that’s why Steve was out on his own. Obviously, I asked Lauren if she was going to report him.” She raised her head, sanctimonious.

  “And?” said Julie.

  “She said she didn’t want to. She said she felt dirty. But she also said she’d get her own back.”

  The three of them were silent for a moment. Sarah dabbed her eyes.

  “Are you OK to go on?” Clayton asked her. She put away the tissue.

  “You know this vote that the players had after Proctor dismissed Lauren and Mercer?” he said.

  Sarah nodded. “Yes, of course; it was organised by Jake Easton.”

  “Which way did you vote?” Clayton asked, making a note.

  “I voted against Proctor,” she said.

  “But you were friendly with Kristina Manning,” Julie said.

  “Yes, I was,” she said. “In fact my vote caused a bit of a rift with Kris for a while when she found out. But I stuck with the wind players.”

  The mention of her dead friend brought another tear to her eye. Julie and Clayton marked another pause, then he asked, “Is there anything else that you can recall about Kristina and Steve Carter?”

  “I must say I did wonder about Lauren when he died. I mean, if she might have had anything to do with it. That’s why I rang DS Everett. But it could have been a coincidence, couldn’t it?” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “So, what did you make of that then?” Clayton asked Julie after Sarah Cooper had left.

  “I just need to take a look at our timeline for a sec,” she said, preceding him out of the lift.

  They went over to his workstation and looked at the whiteboard in silence for a few moments.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said. “Lauren couldn’t have killed Carter because she was already dead. Apparently. Although hopefully we’ll soon get that confirmed by forensics — once they’ve thawed her out.”

  “Exactly. I think the same. So we presume she told Mark, and he added Carter to the hit list, either before or after she ended up in the freezer.”

  They lapsed into silence again, staring at the whiteboard, lost in thought. Clayton pointed at a name. “OK. That makes sense. But how does Proctor fit into this narrative? Why wasn’t he the first victim? After all, he was the one who f
ired Lauren.”

  “Don’t they say revenge is a dish best served cold? The other thing is, did they intend to actually kill him?” said Julie. “I’m not sure about that.”

  Clayton nodded slowly, eyes on the board. “By the way, you know our friend Romano?”

  Julie grinned. “What about him?”

  “He’s been getting some unexpected fan mail.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Threatening letters, actually. They accuse him of being a paedophile, saying ‘we know where you live,’ and that sort of thing.”

  “Oh, the poor man!” she said.

  “Yes. I’ve put Mandy on it. It’s a tough one though, anonymous letters. We might never find out who’s behind it.”

  Julie nodded. “But you think it might be linked to the NFO?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said. “But why would he be targeted? And why now?”

  Julie folded her arms. The corners of her mouth turned down. “Well, it could be significant. What if these people want to destroy the NFO? I mean, it would be a disaster if they lost another conductor, wouldn’t it?”

  “You’re right, Julie. That could take us back to Lauren and co, couldn’t it?”

  The phone rang.

  “Right, we’re coming down.” He turned to Julie and gave her a thumbs up.

  “It’s Jake Easton in reception,” he said. “Just the man we want to see.” This was turning into a long afternoon.

  “You OK to stay?” he asked.

  Julie smiled. “Sure, boss.”

  * * *

  Easton had a boxer’s physique, his muscular upper body straining against his leather jacket. Clayton smiled to himself. Stands to reason, all that drumming. They led him into one of the interview rooms.

  Side by side with Julie and facing Easton, Clayton picked up the file in front of him and began to read. “So, you’re a twenty-five-year-old librarian originally from Southampton and, let’s see, you’ve been in the NFO for the last three years.”

  Easton nodded.

  “Please answer for the tape, Mr Easton,” Julie said.

  “Yes, that’s right,” he said.

  “I see you’re not married. No kids?” Clayton looked across at him.

  “No,” he said.

  “So, when was the last time you saw your mate, Mark Braithwaite?” Clayton asked.

  “Must have been at the last concert. The Mendelssohn,” he said. “I tried to reach him the other day but he’s not answering the phone.”

  “I must warn you that we are trying to locate Mark Braithwaite in connection with our investigation,” said Clayton, his voice hardening. “Now we hear that you organised the vote against Mike Proctor after he dismissed Lauren Garner.”

  “I wouldn’t say I organised it,” said Easton.

  “Who did then?”

  “Mark asked me to do it. I agreed.”

  “So you did end up organising it then? At Mark Braithwaite’s request,” said Clayton.

  “That’s correct,” Easton said.

  “And the reason for the vote?” Clayton said.

  “It was like you said, after he got rid of Lauren. He also told Chris Mercer to leave, but it was Lauren mainly. We felt he’d been unfair on her.”

  Clayton shut the file. “Who else was involved in this vote?”

  “It was a couple of us. The oboist and I rang round to canvass the players,” Easton said.

  “So the wind stuck together regarding Lauren and Chris?”

  “Yes. Of course,” he said.

  “And the result was?” asked Clayton.

  “Practically everybody agreed with us,” Easton said. “We asked if they still had confidence in Proctor and most of the players said they didn’t.”

  Clayton nodded. “Do you remember who Proctor’s supporters were?”

  Easton paused. “Well, it was a bit ago, so I can’t be totally sure. But I do remember there was Kristina Manning.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Oh, there was Alex Parker too.”

  “You’ll be aware that both of those players are now dead, Mr Easton,” Clayton said. “Can you remember anyone else who voted in favour of Mr Proctor?”

  “Not at the moment, no,” he said. He appeared untroubled by the line of questioning.

  “And have you had any reason to go to Mr Proctor’s house since he left the orchestra?” Clayton asked.

  “I don’t even know where he lives,” said Easton. “Why would I?”

  “So you’ve not been to his house since he left. Correct, Mr Easton?”

  Easton nodded. “Correct.”

  “Now, we understand that you have Thursday afternoons off,” said Clayton.

  “Not every Thursday, but sometimes I do.”

  “OK. So do you remember whether you had the afternoon of October eighteenth off?”

  “October eighteenth? Yes, I was off. That sounds about right.”

  “And what did you do on that particular afternoon?” Clayton asked.

  “I was with Chris Mercer. I went out to his place in Cley, and then we went to Sheringham.”

  Clayton sat back to allow Julie to take the lead.

  “Mr Easton, were you friendly with Kristina Manning?” she asked.

  “Not particularly, why?” he said.

  “Well, I’m wondering whether you were invited to her party on Saturday October the thirteenth? It seems that a lot of the orchestra players were there.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” he said. “She was a cellist. She mainly hung out with the strings.”

  “But she was also friends with Sarah Cooper, the clarinettist, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right. And can you confirm that Sarah voted against Mr Proctor with the rest of you?” Julie asked.

  “Oh yes.” He nodded vigorously. “She liked Lauren.”

  “OK. So you see quite a bit of Mark and Lauren, isn’t that right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I suppose I do,” said Easton.

  “And when was the last time you saw Lauren?” she asked.

  “A few weeks ago. At their place.”

  “That’s quite a long time ago. How did she seem?”

  He looked down at the table. “Fine. Why, what do you mean?”

  “Was she high?” Clayton broke in.

  “Oh. She might have been. Yeah,” he said.

  “Maybe you could help us by letting us know what she was on.” Clayton tried to catch his eye.

  “How would I know?” Easton said. He looked round the room. “Do I need a solicitor?”

  “Mr Easton, don’t worry, we’re not investigating your leisure activities. Not now, anyway, although other people have told us about your drug use,” said Clayton.

  Julie took up the questioning. “So, the last time you saw Lauren was at Mark Braithwaite’s place. You, Mark and Lauren, right? Anyone else there?”

  “Chris was there too. Chris Mercer,” Easton said.

  “Do you remember whether he was handing out drugs?”

  “I don’t remember that, no.”

  “You can’t remember or no, he wasn’t handing out drugs?” said Clayton.

  “I can’t remember,” said Easton. The questioning seemed to be making him increasingly nettled.

  “Haven’t you tried to meet up with Lauren again since that night?” Julie asked.

  “No, I have not. I’ve been busy,” he said.

  Julie looked across at Clayton, who said, “There’s another evening we need you to tell us about. Do you remember a night when you were down the pub on the market with Lauren and Sarah Cooper? And Steve Carter?”

  “It depends when,” Easton said. “When are we talking about?”

  “Say, a few weeks ago,” Clayton suggested.

  “The Sir Garnet? Yes, there was a night there. But Sarah didn’t stay long, as I recall.”

  “What can you tell us about Steve Carter’s behaviour that night?” Clayton asked.

  Easton smirke
d. You smarmy bastard. Clayton would have dearly loved to wipe that smile off his face.

  “You mean was he flirting?” Easton said.

  “Why? Was he known for that?” asked Julie.

  “He certainly was,” Easton replied.

  Clayton fixed his eyes on Easton. “And what happened with Lauren?”

  Easton shrugged. “I dunno. I left them to it.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “We’re going to run the story tomorrow,” Luke Martin said, wiping froth from his lips.

  “The rape story? So it’s been firmed up for you?” Clayton asked.

  Martin nodded.

  Clayton picked up his pint and took a swig. He looked around the near-empty pub. “Quiet in here tonight, isn’t it?” he said.

  Martin frowned.

  Clayton could see he was wondering what he was doing there. “Right, well, you didn’t get this from me, but tomorrow we’re going to announce that Lauren’s body has been found in a freezer at the boyfriend’s place.”

  “What?” said Martin. He stood up, nearly knocking his chair over. “Let me just make a phone call.”

  He got up and walked towards the door, muttering into his phone. Clayton couldn’t tell whether the journalist was trying to convince his editor or whether he was already getting his way. Call ended, he turned back towards Clayton with a pout.

  “I’m going to have to re-file,” he said. “Is the boyfriend in the frame?”

  “We don’t know how she died yet. That’s the problem. We don’t know how long the body has been there either. Forensics is going to do a briefing. They’re defrosting her. It’ll take a while, apparently.”

  “When did you find her?” Martin asked.

  “I can’t tell you that, Luke — sorry. You’ll get all the details tomorrow. But I just wanted to give you the heads up before the Sun puts in an appearance.”

  “Thanks,” said the journalist. “They’ll all show up for this. First, a musical serial killer, and now a missing woman is found in a freezer — and a rape victim to boot. In Norwich, of all places!”

  “Good story for you, hey?” said Clayton. “Though I wouldn’t be jumping to any conclusions about the rape being connected to her ending up in the freezer.” Jesus, these journalists. He’d only spoken to Martin to ensure they didn’t go off at half cock.