Down to Sleep

by Clare Revell

  Zander held out the bags. “Isabel got this through the post day before yesterday. It’s our scene of death with the first commandment written on the back.”

  “There wasn’t a connection when it first arrived,” she said hastily. “Obviously there is now.”

  DI Holmes examined the card and envelope carefully. “Get it checked for prints. See what the post office can tell us about the postmark as well. I also want you to go back to the art gallery and re-interview the artist and owner about the paintings and theft. Find out all you can about this particular painting and the others.” He frowned and surveyed Zander. “Any trouble with Mr. Vixen and you let me know.”

  “I’d rather interview him here, Guv. Put a desk between him and Isabel. Or not have her in the room at all.”

  “Hey,” she objected. “I’m sitting right here, you know.”

  “And I’d like to keep it that way.” Zander shot her a smile. “It’s a partner thing.”

  “Anyone would think you cared,” she said.

  “I do. How’s the head?”

  She made a show of feeling it. “Still on my shoulders.”

  The DI grinned. “Glad to hear it. Interviewing him here is fine. Let me know what you find out.”

  ~*~

  Isabel watched and learned as Zander skilfully and gently talked to Jenny Hollander—Iona Kevane’s roommate. The girl was distraught. She’d gone out partying, came home, and gone to bed, never knowing that Iona wasn’t there.

  “It’s not your fault,” Zander said gently. “What job did Iona do?”

  “She was a cleaner. She worked three jobs, but none of the places knew about the other.”

  He glanced at Isabel, and nodded as he realised she was taking notes. “I see. Where did she work?”

  “Evenings, five ’til ten, at Music Box, then six ’til nine in the morning at the museum in Abbey Gate, then lunchtime as a dinner lady at Newgate Primary. Or lunchtime controller, as they’re now called. You know, they take care of the kids while the teachers are on their lunch break. Some days we didn’t see each other, what with different shifts and all.”

  “Thank you.” Zander shot her what he hoped was a comforting smile.

  “I should call them. They’ll need to know she’s not coming in.” Jenny reached for the phone.

  Zander stilled her hand. “We’ll do that. It’ll be better coming from us anyway.”

  “OK.” Jenny sniffed. “She was a good girl. She didn’t drink or smoke. Went to church twice on a Sunday, and midweek when she could.”

  “Which church did she go to?” Isabel asked.

  “Moor Street Baptist. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

  “It’s fine.” Zander gave her his business card. “If you remember anything else, give me a call. Do you mind if we take a look at her room?”

  “Sure.” Jenny rose and showed them upstairs.

  “Thank you.” Zander shut the door behind them. He turned to Isabel. “Well?”

  She took a deep breath, headache still pounding, but she wouldn’t admit that anytime soon. She glanced around the room. “She’s a neat freak like you.”

  “Thanks.” He pouted.

  “Seriously.” Isabel tucked her hair behind her ears. “It’s tidier than my flat. Nothing is out of place. The bed is made.” She pulled on a glove and ran a finger over the surfaces. “No dust.”

  Zander checked the deck and bookcase. “Not much for reading.”

  “Apart from this.” Isabel picked up the Bible from the bedside table. “Well used. She read this one. We should go and check out her places of work. See how long she’d been in each one.”

  Zander nodded. “Do the museum first as we have to go there anyway. Invite Mr. Vixen to the station tomorrow. Maybe Mr. Higgins as well, so it doesn’t look as if we’re picking on your ex-boyfriend.”

  “I thought you were.”

  Zander glanced at her. “Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I’m just not putting you in a position where he can hurt you again.”

  “I never said…” She broke off. Or had she? Honestly, that whole episode was a blur, the same as the others. Which she knew was a bad sign, but she was out of the relationship. Put it behind her. Or she was trying to.

  He moved over to her. “You didn’t have to say it out loud. I’m not stupid. Nor is the DI.”

  “Anyway, it’s over between us.”

  “I’m still not taking the chance.” Zander adopted his no-nonsense tone. “Besides, this will be an official, taped interview. Especially now the cases are linked.”

  She nodded. “Makes sense. So, let’s go get the notifications over and done with. Not my favourite part of the job. Never has been.”

  ~*~

  Zander parked in front of the museum and art gallery. “Art gallery first, then the museum.” He got out of the car.

  Almost as if he knew they were coming, Farrell strode outside to greet them.

  Dominic hurried after him.

  Zander positioned himself between Farrell and Isabel. “Mr. Vixen, we were hoping to catch you.”

  “Have you any news about my paintings?” Farrell blurted, his gaze on Isabel, even though he was replying to Zander.

  “He means my paintings,” Dominic added. “I want them back.”

  Zander didn’t move. “We need you both to come to the station tomorrow to give formal taped statements.”

  Farrell ignored him, keeping his scrutiny on Isabel. “Izzy, you look good. Tired though. I’ve missed you.”

  Zander wasn’t giving Isabel a chance to respond. “Mr. Vixen, if you could come at ten and Mr. Higgins at eleven-thirty, that would be helpful. If you’ll excuse us, we have a busy day ahead.”

  Farrell didn’t move. “Is that the only reason you came? To demand we attend the station tomorrow. What about an update?”

  “We do have other cases. We will see you tomorrow.” Zander tugged on the door handle. “After you, Isabel.”

  “Thank you.”

  He shut the door firmly behind them, leaning against it for a moment. “Are you OK?”

  She nodded. “I’m fine.”

  He grinned. “Good. This way, then.” He strode into the museum, keeping pace with Isabel. At least she’d regained some colour since they’d left the station, but if she didn’t perk up completely by lunchtime, he was sending her home again. He stopped at the desk and pulled out his ID. “I’m DC Ellery, this is DC York. We need to speak to whoever is in charge, please.”

  The girl at the desk eyed him. “Can I ask what this is in connection with?”

  “Seriously?” Irritated, Zander leaned over the desk. “It’s about your cleaner. I’m assuming she didn’t turn up for work this morning?”

  “Or yesterday. Has something happened to Iona?”

  “Can we just speak to whoever is in charge? Please.”

  The girl picked up the phone. “Carole, there are two police officers here to see you about Iona.” She hung up. “She’ll be right down.”

  “Thank you.” Zander turned to Isabel and gave her the I’m-talking-to-an-idiot expression.

  A woman in a suit and high heels tip-tapped her way across the tiled floor. “I’m the curator, Carole Field. How can I help you?”

  Zander pulled his ID out again. “DC Ellery, this is DC York. We need to speak with you about your cleaner, Iona Kevane. Your office would be best.”

  “Sure.”

  Three minutes later, he and Isabel were seated on the other side of an expensive wooden desk in two very uncomfortable chairs. At least he assumed both chairs were uncomfortable, because his certainly was. As he explained, Ms. Field’s face went through a myriad of emotions before settling on a mixture of blank and shock.

  The woman’s mouth worked silently for a few seconds before she uttered, “That’s terrible.”

  “When did you last see her?”

  “Day before yesterday. She left here around nine-thirty. She’d stayed a little later to set up a new exhibit.”

/>   “I thought she was your cleaner?” Isabel glanced up from her notebook.

  “She is, was, but helped out in other places when needed. We’re a little short-handed at the moment. How…how did she die?”

  “We’re still investigating but calling it suspicious for now.” Zander shifted on the chair. “Do you know if she had any plans for after work?”

  “No. At least none she shared with me.”

  “Did she have any friends on staff here?”

  Ms. Field shook her head. “No. She was a very private person. I know she lived with someone though.” She rummaged through the card box on her desk. “Here are her details.”

  Isabel took the card and copied the information into her notebook. “Thank you.”

  Back at the car, she paused as Zander unlocked the door. “Those details for next of kin don’t match.”

  He looked at her. “They don’t?”

  “Nope.” She flipped open the notebook. “According to them, her next of kin is a Joseph Ranklin over on Deerwood Estate.”

  “Then we’d best get over there. After the school.”

  Half an hour later, they pulled up outside the gated entrance to Deerwood Estate. Zander showed the security guard his ID, and he let them through.

  Isabel turned in her seat as the black gates gave way to a paved road edged with trees. This turned into a wide road ornamented with white fronted mansions with columns. “Wow. Didn’t think places like this really existed over here. Unless you’re royalty, or the prime minister, that is.”

  “Only for the super-rich.” Zander caught her gaze. “Not for the likes of you and me. Ever.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. When I win the lottery, maybe.” She laughed. “Problem would be trying to sneak a tenth of twenty million into the offering on a Sunday morning.”

  Zander roared with laughter. “Don’t think the offering boxes are that big. And then we’d get sermons on the evils of money and gambling for months to come.”

  Several large houses lined the streets as he drove, searching for number thirty-two. All of them had neat gardens, porches, and columns. Just like something out of a book.

  “Here we go.” He pulled up on the driveway behind a huge black BMW.

  Isabel climbed out and waited for Zander to lock the car before they headed up the driveway together. She rang the bell, trying not to laugh as it played a tune rather than the usual ding-dong.

  A tall, blond man wearing a shirt and tie opened the door. His face fell as he saw them. Obviously, he was expecting someone else.

  Zander produced his warrant card. “DC Ellery and DC York. Could we speak to a Joseph Ranklin, please?”

  “That’s me.” His voice was deeper than Zander expected. “How can I help you?”

  “Can we come in? This is best not discussed on the doorstep.”

  “Sure.” He opened the door wider. Once they were inside, he shut the door, and led them through to the lounge. He pointed to the decanter and bottles on the sideboard. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  Zander shook his head. “No, thanks, we’re on duty.” He pulled out his phone and flicked through to Iona’s photo. He held out the handset. “Do you know this woman?”

  Mr. Ranklin looked at it, his eyes widening. “That’s Iona. My wife. I reported her missing this morning. Has something happened to her?”

  7

  Isabel dropped her bag onto her desk and slumped into her chair. She buried her head in her hands, massaging her still aching temples. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave.”

  “Yup.”

  She glanced up.

  Zander sat at his desk, studying her.

  “I’m fine. Headache’s almost gone now.”

  “Hmm.”

  He didn’t sound as if he believed her, but hopefully he’d drop it. For now, anyway. “Thing is,” she said slowly, “I just don’t see how she could be married, with all that luxury, work three jobs, live in a tiny flat on the other side of town all at the same time with no one suspecting a thing.”

  “We’ll probably need a whole white board for this one. Just like on the TV cop shows,” he said grinning at her. “You know, an incident board. Photos, basic notes and so on. Lots of pretty lines in five different colours joining all the information up. That will most likely take all afternoon.”

  “I know what an incident board is, just never used one,” she said. “Uniform just hands complicated cases over to you.”

  DI Holmes breezed over. “Did you check the photo against the crime scene?”

  “Not had a chance, Guv.” Zander turned his chair to face the senior officer. “First thing tomorrow.”

  “Very well. So, where are we?”

  “In the squad room.” Zander kept his face straight.

  Isabel tried not to laugh as DI Holmes rolled his eyes.

  His lips twitched. “Oh, very droll. Smart one.”

  Zander smirked. “I try. It’s been a long day, Guv. It turns out Miss Kevane works three jobs, none of which knew about the other. She house shares with a Jenny Hollander in London Road. She’s also known as Iona Ranklin, married to a Joseph Ranklin and living on the Deerwood Estate. His reaction was…interesting. I’m pulling his record now.”

  “Interesting in what way?” DI Holmes asked.

  “His first question wasn’t ‘have you found her?’ It was ‘has something happened to her?’ Which was a tad strange seeing as how he’d just reported her missing. His name is Joseph Ranklin, thirty-two years old. Says he’s an investment banker in the City of London but spends most of his time all over the place. He flew into Heathrow on the red eye from Chicago. Plane landed at nine AM, hence not missing his wife until this morning. They’ve been married five years, no kids.”

  Zander’s computer chimed.

  “Here we go. Joseph Peter Ranklin, thirty-two years old, investment banker for Williams and Ranklin, which is the second largest firm in the city with offices all over Europe and the USA. Interestingly he didn’t tell us this little snippet. He was arrested for DUI last Christmas. Paid the fine, got a three-month ban.”

  “He got a ban for a DUI? Was the judge in a bad mood or something?” Isabel was unable to contain her amazement. “That’s usually a slap on the wrist and points on the licence on a good day, more’s the pity. Should ban the whole, jolly lot of them.”

  “He hit a police car, swerved, and then crashed into a judge’s car. Hence the ban.”

  DI Holmes frowned. “How does all this tie into the painting?”

  Isabel rubbed the back of her neck. “Not sure yet. She’s been lying to everyone, but that isn’t the first commandment, it’s the ninth.”

  Zander tapped a pencil on the desk. “The killer thought she was guilty of something.”

  DI Holmes slid his hands into his pockets. “Write up the board. Find out what the husband was doing in Chicago.” He turned and headed towards his office.

  Zander tossed Isabel the marker. “Off you go. The board is all yours.”

  She caught the marker pen and stood. She trudged to the board and stuck the photo of Iona at the top. She wrote Iona Kevane underneath it and turned to Zander. “Now what?”

  He shook his head and smirked. “Let me guess. First murder board?”

  “Something like that.”

  “My, my, you are green.” He stood and reached her side in a few steps. He snatched the marker. “OK, watch and learn.” Under Iona’s photo, he wrote everything they knew so far. He then added the names of Joseph Ranklin and Jenny Hollander and drew arrows between them and Iona. He also pinned a copy of the crime scene photo with Iona bound, gagged, and kneeling as if in prayer.

  “Want me to chase up the tox reports?” Isabel asked.

  He shook his head. “They won’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest. The labs are good, but not that good.” Zander glanced at his watch. “Anyway, it’s almost five-thirty and time to go home. Want a lift?”

  “The bus is due soon.”

  “I’ll
drive you. I insist. You can’t hide that headache from me. I’m your partner. I know everything.”

  Isabel would have argued, but Zander had that determined set to his jaw. Besides, the headache was still there, and a long, hot bus ride wasn’t really what she wanted. “Thank you. That would be nice.”

  ~*~

  Isabel lay on her bed, covers kicked to the floor, unable to sleep. The past couple of days played over and over in her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see the body of Iona Kevane perfectly posed in prayer, as if she were repenting of her guilt. Would sleep never come? She glared at the clock. Only ten-thirty. Seriously? It seemed so much later than that.

  Maybe a cold glass of water would help. She padded into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. Of course, the jug was empty. She grabbed the offending item and carried it to the sink. She ran the cold tap and filled the jug. Then she reached for the glass on the side and held it under the tap.

  The kitchen overlooked the drive she shared with upstairs and next door. Lights shone through the dark, and she pushed the curtain aside to see who besides herself was still awake. A figure stood on the other side of the glass, staring at her.

  Isabel screamed and dropped the glass. It shattered as it hit the edge of the sink, sending droplets of cold water and shards of glass everywhere. Good job Mr. T was over at Gran’s place. That would have scared the poor cat half to death.

  The figure tapped on the window.

  Realising it was Farrell, she trod carefully across the floor, hissing as she stepped on a piece of glass. She grabbed her foot and hopped to the door. She opened it on the catch. “What are you doing? You can’t be here.”

  “Can I come in?”

  She shook her head, biting her lip. Leaning heavily against the wall, she clutched her foot, fingers getting damp. Great, she was bleeding. “It’s late and I’m tired. What do you want?”

  “To talk. To make sure you’re all right. You looked awful earlier and you still do. Aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

  “I’m fine.” Her new mobile phone chimed. “I have to take this. Please leave. I’ll see you at the station tomorrow when you come in for your interview.” She shut the door in his face, shooting all the new deadlocks across. Then she hobbled into the lounge, hoping she wasn’t dripping blood everywhere, and grabbed her phone from the coffee table.