The Fourth Friend (DI Jackman & DS Evans #3)(66)

‘Big breakfast? Or are you expecting a guest?’ Jackman asked.

‘Well, you’re here now, so . . .’ Robbie held out a cup.

Jackman took it. ‘My office? It’s comfier.’

‘You can say that again,’ laughed Robbie, picking up the box. ‘Apple and blueberry or cinnamon pinwheel?’

‘You choose. I like them both.’ He sat down and took the top off his coffee. ‘Is this some sort of celebration?’

‘It depends how you look at it. But it is another step forward, in a kind of convoluted way.’ He reached down to a bag at his feet and took out what appeared to be a tablet. Then he looked around and located a socket.

‘Take a look at this, sir.’ He pushed some buttons on a small remote control and scrolled through a stream of brightly coloured photographs. ‘It belonged to Tom Holland. The memory card in it is definitely his. You’ll see why in a moment.’

Pictures blended into new pictures. Robbie slowed them down and flicked through them, one by one.

Jackman stared at fragments of Tom Holland’s short life.

Tom on the Eva May, polishing a brass plaque and grinning inanely at the camera. Tom with a beer bottle in one hand and an electric saw in the other, trying to look dangerous but just looking idiotic. Then there were the other dead men, all behaving like big kids and being — Jackman swallowed — being so happy. He tried not to think how far away it was from their death. Months? Maybe only weeks? He could almost see the Grim Reaper sitting on the prow of the old boat.

‘This is difficult to watch.’

‘I know, sir. I’ve watched them all. Hundreds of them. He liked his camera, did our Tom.’

‘Are there any in particular you wanted me to see?’ By now, Jackman just wanted it to end.

‘Here. It’s in this selection. They are at a party. It wasn’t at Holland Cottage, but all the gang are there, and it’s in a kind of sequence.’

Jackman squinted. Everyone was either having a very good time, or pissed. Probably both. Glasses were raised, food was being eaten, women danced provocatively, men danced badly, and there were a lot of rude gestures to the photographer.

Robbie stopped on one image. ‘Look, sir! The guy watching Suzanne.’

Jackman didn’t recognise him.

Robbie moved to a shot taken from a different angle, and Jackman saw the ash-blond ponytail. ‘Ralph Doolan?’

‘Mmm. I’ve checked it. It’s him. And look at his expression.’

‘Lecherous.’ Jackman snorted.

‘Doolan doesn’t appear again, but wait for the next ones, sir. They must have been taken just before the party ended. It’s a kind of finale.’ He clicked the remote.

‘I thought you said Doolan had left. He’s there.’ Jackman pointed to a ponytailed man entering the room, a glass in his hand.

‘Keep looking.’

Jackman did. First there was one bespectacled ponytail, then two, then three, and finally four.

‘They were taking the piss out of Ralph Doolan. Wigs and horn-rimmed glasses. I checked against pictures I downloaded from the Internet. We are looking at Ray Barratt, Jack Corby, Matt Blake and Carter McLean, all dressed up as Ralph. Then someone takes the camera from Tom, and you see all the five friends together in the next picture.’

Jackman stared at five “Ralphs” lined up, all making lascivious faces, licking their lips and gripping their crotches.

‘They really liked him, didn’t they?’ Robbie switched off the picture frame.

Jackman took a long swallow of his coffee. His Danish sat on the table, untouched. He realised the implications immediately, and sat back feeling as if the air had been knocked from his lungs.

‘It could be any one of them that Alan Pitt saw that night at the cottage. A wig and dark-rimmed glasses. Tom? Ray? Jack? Matt? Or . . .’

‘Carter?’ Robbie spoke softly. ‘I don’t believe that, sir. Not for one moment. And don’t forget, anyone could know about those wigs. The lads could have dined out on that little party caper for months afterwards.’

But it wasn’t someone else, was it? thought Jackman. It was one of those five friends. He had no proof, but he was sure he was right. Marie had asked what it would do to Carter, should the killer turn out to be someone close to him. How would he take this news? Or should it be kept from him? Because, like it or not, Carter had just entered the frame for killing Suzanne Holland.

‘Leave that digital thing with me, Robbie, and don’t say anything just yet. I have to take this upstairs.’

*

Jackman caught Ruth just as she was closing her office door.

‘Only if it’s urgent, Rowan. I need to get to a commissioner’s meeting.’

‘Five minutes, ma’am, and it really is important.’

Inside, he closed the door and immediately told her what they had seen on the digital photo frame. Her expression darkened.

‘I am going to have to remove him from his post, you realise that, don’t you?’

‘Ma’am, normally I’d agree. But he’s the only person left alive who has first-hand knowledge of the people involved. And no matter how bad this looks, I cannot believe he killed or even accidentally injured his best friend’s wife.’

Ruth did not look convinced. ‘I, on the other hand, believe that Carter McLean is capable of anything if he thinks it fits in with his own very special moral code.’