by Clare Revell
“We still don’t know that Iona vanished from there. The only link so far is they both seemed to live double lives and attended the same church. I don’t even see how this one matches the second commandment.”
He sucked in a deep breath. “The painting was the golden calf and an orgy. She was a party girl, last seen leaving the golden calf bar.”
Isabel kneaded the back of her neck. “Yes, but she was a student. You can’t say she was guilty because she liked drinking in a pub with her mates. You and I go out to the pub, but we don’t drink. It’s a social thing more than an alcohol thing.” She looked out of the window as Zander started the car. “No doubt the old ladies from the church I went to on Sunday would look at me in horror for that. A Christian in a pub…that’s a one-way ticket to hell, isn’t it?”
“Not when it’s the only decent restaurant around,” Zander told her. “You don’t have to drink. It’s a social occasion and a personal decision. Some Christians never cross the threshold and some drink wine with every meal. Either way is fine with me. So, changing the subject, what are you doing this evening?”
“The usual. Home, bath, read, bed.”
“Fancy a game of squash? I have a court booked, but Rosa pulled out. She’s got a work thing apparently.”
Isabel glanced at him. “You want me to be your pity date?”
“As if!” he scoffed. “More like my last resort. I can’t play alone. Have you got your stuff with you?”
“At home.”
“Then let’s go to the nick, check those DVDs in. Then we’ll go pick your gear up. The court is booked for half six and it’s nearly half five now.”
“Really? Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun?” She smirked. “End sarcasm.”
He chuckled. “So, we’ll come at this fresh in the morning.”
“Shouldn’t we keep going?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Squash, coffee, and start over tomorrow.”
“You’re the boss.” Isabel settled back in her seat. “And, as much as I hate cars, this is better than the bus. Not so hot and stuffy.”
13
Isabel returned another smash and wondered how she was meant to be fresh in the morning. At this rate she’d be exhausted, even if she did sleep all night.
Zander’s shoes squeaked on the flooring as he dashed backwards and returned the ball with a resounding whack.
Her feet slid as she stretched to hit the elusive object. Her back twinged. There goes another muscle. She wouldn’t be able to move in the morning.
Zander volleyed the ball back at her.
She ran, slipped, and landed unceremoniously on the floor. She bit her lip, keeping in the cry of pain as the hard landing jarred all the way up her spine.
Zander hauled her upright. “Are you OK?”
Breathing hard she braced her hands on her knees. “Yeah, just a little out of practice.”
He looked at the clock. “You managed half an hour. Better than last time.”
“That’s all?” Dismay and wonder shot through her aching body. “Seems more like hours.”
“You’ll make the full hour next time.” He slid his racket back into its cover. “You hungry?”
“A bit.” She slowly straightened, feeling every muscle in her back complain. Along with a few she didn’t know she had. “What are you thinking?”
“I thought we could check out the night life and food at Lao Órga. My treat.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She ran hands through her wet hair. “But I need a shower first.”
He moved his soggy tee-shirt away from his body. “Not the only one. Meet you in the foyer in ten minutes. And I’ll even drop you home after we’ve eaten.”
~*~
Her hair still damp from the shower, and the music louder than before, Isabel sat opposite Zander at one of the few tables left in Lao Órga. The place was pretty busy, with hardly room to move. He’d gone for apple juice this time. In front of her, the tall glass of ice water dripped condensation onto the table top.
“Busy for a weeknight,” Zander commented, glancing around.
Isabel studied the menu. “And expensive. The cheapest thing on here is soda bread. No idea what half of this stuff is.”
“The translation is in the small print.” Zander leaned over and pointed.
“Ah, right.” Isabel read slowly. It all sounded good, just not cheap. And as she wasn’t paying, she didn’t want to take advantage.
“Pick what you like, don’t worry about the price.” Zander sipped his juice. “I’m guessing you don’t eat out much.”
“We did, but Farrell preferred high-end dining. The more stars the place had the better. I couldn’t read those menus either, but then he always ordered for me, so it never made any difference.”
Zander tilted his head. “You can pick your own meal. I’m not doing it for you.”
She sighed. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m having the coddle.” He pointed. “That’s layers of bacon, sausage, potatoes and onions.”
A live band took to the floor. Hopefully it’d be quieter than the piped pop music that had been ravaging her hearing for the last fifteen minutes or so.
“I’m torn between that and the collar and cabbage thing. Which is bacon in brown sugar and breadcrumbs. With cabbage, obviously.”
He smirked. “It’s all bacon, so what’s not to like?”
“True. I’ll go for the same as you. Make it easy for you to remember.” She caught the look he shot her. “No, I’m not compromising and just picking the same thing for the sake of it. It sounds like the better dish out of the two.”
Zander inclined his head a little as he stood. “OK, then. Be right back.” He headed across to the bar to order.
Isabel leaned into her seat, watching the band begin to play a fast Irish jig. Her feet moved of their own volition under the table. Several people got up to dance; others clapped along or simply watched.
Zander sat beside her. He leaned back on the seat, stretching his arm across the top of it, fingers tapping on the red leather. “Reminds me of the year Gramps took me to Ireland on holiday. I went away with him every year. Always somewhere different.”
“Your parents didn’t take you?”
He shook his head, not taking his gaze from the band. “Dad’s job is twenty-four-seven, three hundred sixty-five days of the year. He doesn’t even get Christmas off. It’s just another day, same as all the others.”
“That must be hard.”
“This is precisely why I’m a cop.” He sighed. “You know he’s a farmer, right? Six acres consisting of sheep, wheat, and rapeseed mostly. Hens, usual farm stuff. There’s an orchard as well. Mum makes a lot of jam and chutneys for the farm shop.”
“You didn’t fancy farming?”
“Nooo…” He shuddered and gave a short laugh. “Dad never forgave me. Anyway, back to the real reason we’re here. I asked behind the bar whilst I was there. The students are in most nights according to the barmaid with the pink hair. Usually they turn up around eight and stay ’til ten.”
She grinned. “That makes this a bacon-out then.”
“Huh?” He looked confused.
“It’s not a stake out because we’re not in a steak house. We’re having bacon, thus it’s a bacon-out.”
He groaned. “That is really, really bad.”
She laughed. “Thank you. I’m here all week.”
The food arrived and Zander said grace.
She unwrapped her knife and fork from the serviette. “The question remains though.”
Zander shook the ketchup bottle, before depositing a huge dollop on the side of his plate. “Right now, we’re two friends having a meal together after work. Should a bunch of students show up, we can talk to them now, rather than in the morning. If not, it’s fine. We can yank them out of class.”
Isabel let the atmosphere sink in as she ate. The music wasn’t as loud as she feared and was actually lovely to listen to.
; Zander’s phone rang. “I’ll answer this outside. That way I don’t have to shout.”
She nodded. She sipped her drink, before returning to the meal in front of her. It was delicious. She’d definitely have to either come back or find the recipe online and attempt to make it. Which, knowing her inability to even boil an egg, was bound to end as an epic disaster.
A group of girls came in and plopped down at the next table. They were obviously university students and extremely quiet.
Zander came back in. His face was impassive, but the set of his jaw meant something was up.
“Everything OK?”
“Not really.” He dropped into the chair beside her. “Just Rosa being Rosa.”
One of the students, long, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, leaned forwards. “Excuse me. Are you the police officers from the campus earlier?”
Isabel nodded, dabbing her mouth with her serviette. “I’m DC York, and this is my partner, DC Ellery.”
“I’m Mary,” the girl said. “Is it true what they are saying about Sally? That she was murdered?”
“I’m afraid so. Did you know her?”
“We all did.” Mary glanced back at the others. “We were all here on Saturday night, celebrating my engagement. We thought she’d left with Peter. That’s why we called a cab and went home.”
“Peter who?” Isabel pulled out her notebook.
“Peter White—the bloke she’s been seeing. Not her boyfriend exactly, they’ve only been out a few times. But her car was still here when we left, and he doesn’t drive. I should have gone back inside and made sure she was all right, but the taxi was here, and we were splitting the fare.”
“Where can we find this Peter?” Zander asked.
“He’s over by the bar. Red shirt and black jeans.”
Zander glanced at Isabel and rose. He threaded his way through the crowd to the bar.
“Did Sally drink a lot?” Isabel asked.
Mary shook her head. “She never drank. She didn’t do anything much. We all got these tattoos done.” She pushed up her sleeve, showing the golden Taurus symbol on the inside of her wrist. “She didn’t want one, but we forced it on her. To remind us we’ll all be friends, no matter what.”
~*~
Zander propped up the bar. “Peter White?”
The blond man turned to face him. “Depends who’s asking.”
Zander pulled out his warrant card. “DC Ellery. I was chatting to Mary, over there with my partner, and she said you knew Sally Rollin.”
Peter’s face fell a mile. “Yeah. We were dating.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Zander meant it. Normally the words flowed easily when talking to relatives, but this one was harder. The young man looked broken.
“She wasn’t like the others,” Peter said. “She only went out with them to be sociable, so they’d like her. I don’t care what the rumours are, there is no way Sally was drunk.”
Zander pulled out his notebook. “Oh?”
“She didn’t drink. Ever. She stuck to lemonade or juice.”
“Her blood alcohol level says otherwise. She was several times over the limit.”
“Then someone spiked her drinks. They were all drinking cocktails, and I usually made sure to order her a mocktail. I ordered her drinks, I always did. She said it was safer. I don’t think she trusted them. But Saturday evening I had to work, and I didn’t get here until almost ten. Sally seemed out of it, but she said she had a headache.”
“Bartender says you left soon after.”
“Sally wanted some fresh air. We went outside, talked a bit in the beer garden. Danced a little.”
“Danced?” Zander studied him, pen poised over the paper.
“Yeah. You can hear the band out there. Sally loved dancing. She can-could do the Irish tap dance thing. Oh, what’s it called…step something.”
“Step dance.”
“That’s it. I asked the band to play it, and she danced in the garden for me. She’s really good. Was really good…” Peter’s voice broke as he struggled to control it.
Zander gave him a ten count.
“Come to think of it, she did seem out of it. A little wild.”
“In what way?”
Peter shoved his glass to and fro on the bar. “Just overly affectionate. Then my phone rang. Sally went back inside to go to the loo while I took the call. When I went back in, she’d gone home.”
“What time was this?”
“About eleven.”
Zander frowned. “The bartender said she’d been drinking heavily all night. Along with the others.”
“They always buy her shots, but she never touches them. She wouldn’t drink. Her father’s an alcoholic, so she just wouldn’t.”
Zander nodded. “Can you come to the station tomorrow, make a formal statement—Just what you told me, when you got here, along with what time you left, and so on.”
“I’ll do anything to help catch the person who did this to her.”
“Thank you.” Zander rose and went back over to where Isabel sat talking with the female students. He sat down and raised an eyebrow. “So, which one of you girls spiked Sally’s drinks?”
The girls exchanged looks.
“It’s a simple enough question,” Zander said. “And I can always go and ask at the bar to find out which one of you clowns ordered the drinks on Saturday night. I know for a fact that Sally didn’t drink, never touched a drop, so either you tell me now who did it, or I arrest all six of you, and you spend the night in my hotel. Five-star accommodations, comes with a plastic blue mattress, one blanket, and a bucket. No room service.”
One girl, short, cropped blonde hair raised a hand. “I did.”
Zander scowled at her. “And you are?”
“Felicity Masters. It was a joke. She needed to lighten up. It was meant to be a party and all she wanted was mocktails. So, I changed it up. Got her the same as the rest of us—blue lagoons. She couldn’t tell the difference. Guess she can’t hold her vodka as she got plastered. She didn’t even notice the Bacardi in the coke later on.”
“Stand up.” He pushed to his feet. “DC York, call in for uniformed back up please.”
“What?” Felicity looked stunned. “Why?”
“I said stand up.” Zander grabbed her arm and yanked her upright. Putting her hands behind her back, he cuffed her. “Felicity Masters, I’m arresting you on suspicion of reckless endangerment and assault. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say—”
“Wait a minute,” she protested. “I didn’t do anything…”
“Really?” Zander was wholly unrepentant. “You spiked Sally’s drinks, when you knew she didn’t want any alcohol. You got her so drunk, that the landlord took away her car keys and put her in a taxi. She threw up in said taxi resulting in her being put out onto the streets, where she was picked up, and murdered on her way home. If I had my way, I’d recommend the CPS charge you with manslaughter.”
The colour drained from Felicity’s face. “I didn’t mean…”
“Uniformed officers are on their way,” Isabel said, putting her phone down.
Zander nodded grimly. “Good.” He looked at Felicity. “Anything you do say—” he continued “—may be given in evidence.”
“What about my one phone call?”
“After you’ve been booked in.” He glanced at the other students. “I need names and addresses from all of you.” A storm of complaints greeted him. “Isabel, call a riot van. All these ladies can come and join their friend in the cells tonight.”
Blue lights flashed outside. Zander took a step, making sure his prisoner moved with him. “Looks like your taxi is here. Shall we? I’m assuming you girls are taking me up on my offer of overnight accommodation?”
Mary shook her head. “We’ll tell the officer what she needs to know and come in tomorrow.”
“Sensible girl,” Zander said. “Isabel, I’ll hand this one over and be right back.”
&nb
sp; Isabel nodded, and pulled out her notebook. “Right, who’s first?”
Zander began walking Felicity to the door, repeating her rights as he did so.
This would turn out to be one very long night.
14
Zander finished booking Felicity Masters in and watched the protesting girl being taken down the corridor to the cells. He sighed and then turned to Isabel. “Let’s go home.”
“Are you really pressing charges?” Her face was a cute mix of shock and incredulity.
“I ought to, but probably won’t. I’ll get the custody sergeant to read her the riot act in the morning and release her, once she’s been interviewed properly. Hopefully this will teach her not to spike people’s drinks in future. And yes, the police caution will remain on her record.” He walked across the lobby to the door. “Want that lift I promised?”
She nodded. “Please.”
Zander held open the door for her. His phone rang and he fished it from his pocket. Glancing at the screen, he answered as they walked to his car. “Hi, Rosa.”
“Where are you?” She sounded peeved. “I swung by your place and there’s no one home.”
“I’m just leaving work.”
“Work? It’s almost ten o’clock at night.”
Zander rolled his eyes dramatically and shook his head. “We were following a lead. Then we had to do the paperwork. I’m just about to drop Isabel home. The buses are only hourly now.”
“Yeah, well, I need to see you. I can’t stay long as I have an early start in the morning.”
He scowled and unlocked the car, motioning for Isabel to get in. She wasn’t the only one who started early, yet she was always making out that she was. “I’ll be fifteen minutes, twenty tops. If you really can’t wait that long, we can talk over dinner tomorrow night.”
“I’ll wait.” The sound of a key in a lock echoed down the phone. “I’ve found your spare key. I’m letting myself in. Don’t be long.”
Zander hung up. He ought to hide the spare key someplace else. Or better yet, change the code to the key box. The previous owner of his house had installed the box and he’d kept it. He climbed into the car and slammed the door.