Murder by the Minster

by Helen Cox

  Kitt looked over at Evie to see the smile had fallen from her face. She had taken the tea dress off and was staring with intensity at a single spot on the floor, which, as far as Kitt could see, had nothing remarkable about it.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Kitt, half-expecting Evie to break into tears by the look on her face.

  Evie moved her lips one over the other, moistening them before speaking. ‘Something . . . something just occurred to me . . . that I didn’t think of before.’

  ‘What?’ asked Kitt.

  Evie’s eyes widened as she looked up at Kitt. ‘I think I know who the murderer is.’

  Twelve

  The Belle’s Ball was held each year at an old Tudor hall, just a stone’s throw from the Minster. Each year Kitt pulled her green silk evening gown with the sweetheart neckline out of the back of the cupboard for the occasion, and each year the conversation about cosmetics drooped to levels so inane, Kitt contemplated falling on one of the antique swords locked away in the glass cabinets hanging on the walls. Even an excruciating trip to A&E would be less painful than the irrelevancies oozing from the surrounding flock of over-painted lips.

  Kitt sighed down at the crustless leek and feta quiche on the plate in front of her. It had been served with a ‘side salad’ that comprised three leaves of baby gem lettuce. Kitt had forgotten about the portion sizes at this event, or perhaps, she had, as with all other years, tried to convince herself that they were not as small as she remembered. But they were. Everyone in the room was ‘watching their waist’, a dull pastime that Kitt had given up on long ago. Life was so short and cruel, why deny yourself good food?

  Kitt glanced at the others seated around the circular table alongside herself and Evie. Diane, who owned Daisy Chain Beauty – the salon where Evie worked – was leading the discussion on a new brand of hair wax they were buying in. Her partner, Keith, was sitting next to her with a sorrowful look in his watery grey eyes. Apparently he was finding the conversation at this event just as dull as Kitt. They were in a minority, however, as Deniz, the salon’s chief stylist, his boyfriend Scott, and a trainee stylist called Jazz, were hanging off Diane’s every word. And from what Kitt could hear in the background, the other fifty or so attendees, seated around similar tables, were relishing conversations along similar lines.

  Unable to listen to one more word about how the levels of magnesium ascorbyl phosphate in this new product line would keep the hair looking healthier for longer, Kitt’s mind drifted to the epiphany – of sorts – Evie had shared with her earlier that day. The realization that there was someone she had omitted from the list of people she gave to the police. Mr Ritchie Turner, the guy from a dating site that Evie had met with the week before Owen’s murder, should also have been added to the list of people who knew the details of Evie’s break-up with Owen. Kitt couldn’t deny it seemed more than coincidental that this person had entered Evie’s life right before her ex-boyfriend was murdered.

  ‘With a bit of luck, whoever’s responsible for that murder will have moved onto another town by now,’ said Diane, jerking Kitt out of her thoughts.

  It seemed the topic of conversation had moved on. Hardly surprising, given the murderer who had struck four nights ago was still at large and, according to the news outlets local and national, the police still didn’t have any suspects.

  ‘Does that make it any better?’ Evie asked, her glum face in contrast to the sunny tea dress Kitt had picked out for her. Evie pushed a piece of lettuce around her plate with her fork in a manner so sullen, Kitt wished they had kept the conversation on lighter issues, like the best methods of ensuring lipstick stayed on all night.

  ‘I know it’s not much,’ said Diane, bringing a large glass of red wine to her lilac lips, ‘but we’ve got to take whatever comfort we can get in times like these.’

  ‘I don’t think they will have moved on,’ said Jazz, who was wearing one of the most dazzling dresses Kitt had ever seen. Jazz’s black skin was draped in gold fabric from shoulder to toe, and the garment had sequins sewn in around the neckline. It flashed so brightly under the light cascading from the candelabra at the centre of the table, it was almost difficult for Kitt to look directly at her.

  ‘Oh, here we go,’ said Deniz, rubbing a hand over his designer stubble. ‘Jazz, you’re so macabre. Have you seen her Kindle wish-list?’

  ‘Funnily enough I’ve been a bit busy running a salon to make time for that,’ said Diane. ‘Should I have?’

  ‘It’s an eye-opener.’ Deniz opened his eyes wider for effect as he spoke. ‘Every book is either the latest crime novel guaranteed to leave you with nightmares for months, or it’s a book about serial killers.’

  Jazz’s left eye twitched. ‘No, it’s not.’

  ‘I tell a lie, The Notebook is on there too,’ said Deniz.

  ‘I love that book,’ Scott said.

  Kitt wanted to give her tuppence worth on The Notebook and how there were much better books out there if romance was what you were in the market for. She also wondered about the other books on Jazz’s wish-list, and if they were any good. But Jazz’s tantalizing theory about why the killer had yet to leave the town was still to be discussed. Though Kitt knew her best friend wouldn’t appreciate her continuing this line of conversation, if she wanted to make sure Evie was really off the suspect list for good she had to pounce on every piece of information that might lead her to the real killer.

  ‘Why do you think the murderer is still in town, Jazz?’ asked Kitt.

  ‘Well,’ Jazz glanced at Evie, ‘Evie told us that the murder had been premeditated and elaborate.’

  ‘So?’ said Deniz.

  ‘So, people who plan an elaborate killing like that often take pleasure in sticking around to watch what happens next,’ said Jazz. ‘Don’t want to go into too much detail at the dinner table, but the kind of person who’d do that sort of thing would want to stick around and check out the carnage.’

  ‘Seems like everyone in town’s got a theory about this murderer,’ said Keith, pouring himself another glass of blood-red wine, the same colour as the silk shirt he was wearing. Following Keith’s comment, some other people at the table started to chip in with their own theories.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Kitt murmured in Evie’s direction.

  ‘Not really,’ said Evie. ‘If I’d known my ex-boyfriend’s murder was going to be dissected over dinner, I probably wouldn’t have come.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Kitt, wishing she had managed to find another way to talk to Jazz and spare her friend. ‘You know Yorkshire folk. Turning things over and over with their friends is the only way we really have of dealing with anything.’

  Evie nodded. ‘I know. But if everyone in town has got a theory, I don’t see how it can hurt to let Halloran and Banks in on mine.’

  ‘I told you,’ said Kitt. ‘I’m not stopping you from doing that.’

  ‘But you don’t think it’s a good idea,’ said Evie.

  Kitt tilted her head at Evie. ‘I didn’t say that either; I said it’s important not to get hysterical and throw around accusations. Passing his name onto the police is one thing, especially given he came into your life on the eve of this catastrophe. But you can’t provide a clear motive, so it’s unwise to make solid allegations. Especially given there is no physical evidence that we know of. That kind of detail will play a key part in catching the suspect.’

  Evie folded her arms and stared at her friend. A small smile appeared on her lips. ‘You’ve been reading up on murderers, haven’t you?’

  Kitt sat up straighter in her chair. ‘No, of course not. I haven’t got time to sit around looking at books about murder.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ said Evie. ‘I think you’re secretly in research mode.’

  Kitt sighed. ‘I may have accidentally stumbled across one or two volumes about profiling criminals when I was clearing a bookshel
f in the library today, but I hardly think that constitutes research.’

  Evie shook her head at her friend. ‘You’ll take any excuse to read a new book.’

  ‘Be that as it may, what I said stands,’ said Kitt. ‘Ritchie’s a local bartender with zero connection to Owen as far as we know. He doesn’t have a motive.’

  Evie shrugged. ‘Ashes to Ashes is one of those goth, metal clubs. Maybe he’s into something dark?’

  ‘You frequent vintage clothes shops, but you don’t send all messages by carrier pigeon,’ Kitt said, grinning at the idea.

  ‘Maybe that is a bit stereotypical, but stereotypes exist for a reason, you know?’

  ‘Yes, to belittle people.’

  ‘All right, you’ve made your point.’ Evie took a sip of her wine. ‘Anyway, I don’t really need to rely on stereotypes. I know why Ritchie did it.’

  ‘I’m listening,’ said Kitt.

  ‘I hadn’t eaten much when I went on that date, and got rather drunk really quickly, and told Ritchie . . . well, everything.’

  ‘Yes, you said you harped on about your break-up with Owen all night and it was clear there wouldn’t be a date two, but what’s that got to do with Ritchie’s motive?’ asked Kitt.

  ‘That is his motive,’ said Evie.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I didn’t just harp on about the break-up. I told him my entire relationship history from start to finish. I even told him about the towels.’

  Kitt raised both eyebrows. Whilst they were together, Evie subtly tried to convey to Owen that she looked good in bridal colours by buying a set of luxury white bathroom towels and parading around the flat in them every chance she got. She was convinced that if she came out of the shower wrapped in white every day, it was going to lead to a proposal.

  ‘You must have been drunk,’ said Kitt.

  ‘I prefer the term “squiffy”,’ said Evie.

  ‘And you think that the ordeal of listening to your relationship history provoked his killer instinct?’

  ‘You don’t think listening to me wailing about a break-up for three hours is enough to drive someone to murder?’ said Evie.

  Kitt forked slightly more quiche into her mouth than was polite, while trying to think up a diplomatic answer to that question. If her friend wasn’t so desperate about what had happened, she’d have joked that if that was the motive, Kitt herself would be the chief suspect. She hadn’t been tallying the number of hours she had spent listening to Evie’s ongoing break-up monologue, that wouldn’t be the action of a good friend, but what she did know was that it totalled more than the length of a dinner.

  ‘But the police believe that the killer is known to Owen,’ Kitt said, once she had finally swallowed her quiche. ‘There was no sign of a break-in. Ritchie and Owen didn’t know each other, and your theory about his motives is, at best, dubious.’

  ‘I don’t know for sure they didn’t know each other,’ said Evie. ‘York is quite a small place when it comes down to it. And what about the way I met Ritchie? He’s my first online dating experience. A total stranger. Everyone else I’ve been out with, I’ve connected with through a friend or workmate.’

  ‘His presence on a dating website doesn’t automatically make him suspicious,’ said Kitt. ‘After all, you were using the website too – LoveMatch, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess it’s just a frightening idea. I didn’t know him at all, but through my own stupid fault he knows everything about the break-up. He could use the information against me, if he wanted.’

  ‘Hi Evie,’ said a velvety voice so rich and cloying it was almost smothering to the ear.

  Evie turned her head towards a lady with sea-green eyes that caught the light in a way that was almost hypnotic. ‘Heather, hi. Kitt, this is Heather, the woman who’s been doing such a good job of my nails lately.’

  ‘Pleasure to meet you,’ said Kitt, admiring the way in which the woman’s ash-blonde hair fell in rivulets over the scarlet dress she was wearing.

  ‘You too,’ said Heather, before turning back to Evie. ‘I really just came over to check in with you. I’m surprised to even see you here after all that’s happened.’

  ‘It was a stupid decision. Which seems to be the one thing in life that I am good at,’ said Evie.

  ‘Hey, that’s my best friend you’re talking about,’ Kitt said.

  ‘Best friends,’ Heather said, smiling between Evie and Kitt. ‘I’m pleased to hear there’s somebody looking out for you, especially at this difficult time.’

  ‘In that respect, I am lucky,’ said Evie.

  Heather rubbed her arms as though she felt cold all of a sudden. ‘You know, me and my boyfriend don’t live far from Fulford, and we’d been out in that area the night the murder took place. It could have been us.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t,’ Evie said, lowering her eyes to the table. No doubt thinking about who had been murdered.

  ‘What about you?’ Heather gave Evie a sideways glance.

  ‘What about me?’ asked Evie.

  ‘Were you . . . anywhere nearby where it happened?’

  Heather wasn’t looking at Kitt, but Kitt was scowling at her anyway. How could she ask Evie something like that? She was basically asking for her alibi. As if Evie hadn’t been through enough without suspicion from her friends.

  ‘No, I was staying at Kitt’s house on the other side of town,’ Evie said, her voice faint. No doubt she was worrying about what the rest of the people at the table thought. If they suspected she had a hand in Owen’s death, despite her protests.

  ‘So glad you weren’t anywhere nearby,’ said Heather, her tone even more sugary than before, perhaps to over-compensate for her blatant suspicion of Evie. ‘I just wish I could catch them for you.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Evie. ‘Whoever’s responsible, I just wish—’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Jazz, her voice striking a hard note of fear as she pressed five talon-like fingernails against her cheek. ‘Aren’t they the coppers who were in the salon the other morning?’ Deniz and Scott looked in the same direction as Jazz, and let go of each other’s hands.

  Heather also started and took a step backwards. ‘Yes, they visited me too. That’s them,’ she said.

  Looking to her left, Kitt saw DI Halloran striding towards them. His jaw was tight. His eyes were a cold, steel blue, just as they had been in her dream the other night. DS Banks stalked silently behind him.

  On reaching the table, Halloran looked first at Evie and then at Kitt.

  ‘Wha—’ Kitt began, but Halloran cut her off.

  ‘Evelyn Bowes. Katherine Hartley,’ he said, before producing a pair of handcuffs. ‘You are under arrest for the murder of Owen Hall.’

  Thirteen

  Kitt frowned at Evie, but her friend sat still and unresponsive. The librarian looked around the table of gawking faces. More people on other tables were starting to turn in their direction. Whispers passed from person to person, and all this was kindling to Kitt’s fire. She couldn’t lose her temper, however. It would look suspicious, and that wasn’t going to serve either of them well just now.

  Swallowing back her anger, Kitt rose slowly from her seat and stood face-to-face with Halloran. Even in heels she was no match for his height, but she glared at him all the same. The inspector didn’t falter, but held her eye.

  ‘We are under arrest?’ Kitt said. Despite the sting in her tone, she kept her voice low.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ Halloran replied.

  ‘On what grounds?’ said Kitt.

  Halloran paused, probably assessing whether he should answer this question with an audience looking on. Some part of him must have understood, however, that Kitt and Evie were at a gathering amongst friends and colleagues. Arresting them without any explanation may cause more trouble for him. ‘We have forensic evidence that points to Ms Bowe
s’s involvement in the murder, and given that you’re her alibi, you’re under arrest as an accessory.’

  Kitt blinked hard. ‘I don’t believe it. A mistake has been made.’

  Kitt waited for someone else at their table to chime in and agree with her. She glanced over at Diane, who had employed Evie for the last five years. Diane’s eyes slowly dropped to the table, and she began fidgeting with her knife. Everyone else followed suit and refused to meet Kitt’s eye.

  Looked like it was Kitt and Evie against the world, then.

  ‘What you do or do not believe is unimportant,’ said Banks, the consonants sounding hard in her Scottish accent. ‘You have the right to remain silent,’ she continued, beginning to read Kitt and Evie their rights. The whole way through Banks’s speech, Kitt kept her eyes on Halloran, her lips scrunching tighter in disgust with every sentence. Everyone in the room was looking over at their party now. Banks’s penetrating voice was the only sound reverberating off the sandstone walls, the wooden beams that lined the ceiling, and the steel plates of the suit of armour standing in the corner of the room.

  ‘Are handcuffs really necessary?’ Kitt asked, glancing at the pair in Halloran’s hands.

  He paused, looking Kitt up and down from head to toe, making some unspoken calculation. He shook his head and tucked the cuffs away in his jacket pocket.

  Kitt turned to her friend, who still hadn’t spoken. ‘Evie,’ she said, tapping her on the shoulder.

  Evie started, as though she’d just come out of a trance. ‘I didn’t do it. I didn’t do this.’

  ‘I know, neither of us did,’ Kitt said. ‘But we need to go with the officers now and sort this out. OK?’

  Evie made the smallest of nods to confirm she’d heard Kitt’s words.

  ‘Now, put your coat on. It’s not evening-dress weather out there,’ Kitt said, leading by example and pulling her crimson winter coat over her green dress. Evie watched Kitt for a moment and then put her arms through the sleeves of her blue waterproof.