Murder by the Minster

by Helen Cox

  ‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’

  ‘I mean it. Perverting the course of justice in this kind of case is taken seriously.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Kitt. ‘You do what you’ve got to do. I’ll do what I’ve got to do, for my friend, and to keep things square with my own conscience.’

  ‘Kitt . . .’

  Halloran took another half-step towards her and looked as though he was about to say something else when his jacket pocket began to vibrate. The inspector sighed, walked a couple of paces in the direction of the door, and pulled out his mobile.

  ‘Halloran,’ he said into the receiver. ‘What—?’ Halloran swallowed hard and a shadow that had nothing to do with the dim lighting fell over his face. ‘When?’ he asked, his eyes flitting over at Kitt. ‘All right. I’ll be right there.’

  Halloran shoved the phone back in his pocket and was silent. It was one of those hard silences one knows not to break. The inspector’s breathing deepened as he looked once more at her.

  ‘Does the name Adam Kaminski mean anything to you?’ His voice was quiet, dangerous.

  ‘Adam . . .’ Kitt frowned.

  ‘Don’t play games with me, do you know him?’ Halloran half barked.

  ‘Of the two of us, I am not the one playing games here,’ said Kitt, that feeling of uncertainty about the inspector rising to the surface again. The feeling that he wasn’t completely in control.

  ‘Do you know him?’ Halloran shouted.

  ‘No!’ Kitt shouted back. ‘I’ve never heard of him. Why?’

  Halloran ran both hands through his dark hair and tugged. His whole posture had stiffened. ‘He’s just been found near the old chocolate factory, murdered.’

  ‘I . . .’ Kitt brought a hand up to the collar on her winter coat and stroked the soft material. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. Does this mean . . . ?’

  Halloran strode back towards Kitt. ‘Have you been near there tonight?’

  ‘You know where I’ve been tonight, in police custody.’

  ‘Earlier today then?’

  ‘I have a job, Inspector Halloran. I was at the library.’

  Halloran stared down at Kitt, his face only a few inches from hers. ‘Don’t be surprised if I come knocking on your door again. I’m not going to stop until I catch whoever’s responsible for this.’

  The inspector shook his head before stalking out of the office, leaving an open-mouthed Kitt wondering what on earth she should do next for the best.

  Pulling her phone from her satchel, she began writing a text message to her sister, Rebecca.

  Becca, have you ever treated any patients who have been deliberately poisoned? What kind of circumstances does it usually happen under? Please keep this convo between us. Mam doesn’t need to know.

  Then she wrote another message to Grace.

  Good morning. There’s been another murder. When you wake up, please use your incredible cyberstalking skills to find out all you can about a man called Adam Kaminski. Lives in York. Tell nobody.

  Eighteen

  Kitt was pretending to read the latest budget report for her department on her computer screen. In truth, she was flicking between that and the local news website – News on the Ouse – scanning the article about last night’s murder for the third time.

  This time the police had not been able to control information about the killing. The insomniac dog walker who had found the body at the old chocolate factory in the early hours of the morning, not a mile from where Kitt was now sitting, had called 999 first, but his subsequent calls seem to have been to every known media outlet in the county. When interviewed, he had spared not one gory detail about the scene he had stumbled upon, which seemed just as macabre as that of the first murder, if not more so. Just like Owen, Adam Kaminski had been found with his arms crossed over his body and a fountain pen lodged in his chest. The make wasn’t listed, and Kitt wondered if it was the same as the one used in the first murder. If it was, surely that was a lead for the police? The number of people bulk buying Stanwyck fountain pens these days must be small.

  Kitt was just rereading the part about the note pinned to the victim’s chest, which was composed of the sickening words, ‘Eat your heart out’, when a large rock landed on her desk with a thud. Kitt stared at the alien object, then looked up to see Ruby grinning down at her.

  ‘There you go, love,’ she said, as though that sentence alone was explanation enough for why she’d thrown a filthy-looking hunk of stone onto her work station.

  Crossing her arms, Kitt sat back in her chair. She’d had nowhere near enough sleep last night, what with being arrested and all. There was a good chance she had nodded off. That said, would her eyes still be stinging from weariness in a dream? Would her bones ache from lying on the unforgiving concrete of the police custody suite? Even in nightmares, one usually has the luxury of blotting out such physical complaints. The odds were she was perfectly awake and experiencing yet another of Ruby’s surreal moments.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Kitt.

  ‘A gift,’ Ruby said, her eyes shining as she hmmphed down in the chair near Kitt’s desk. ‘Found it on’t moors yesterday, and thought of you.’

  ‘You . . . shouldn’t have,’ Kitt said, dusting away some dry soil that had crumbled off her ‘gift’. She looked over at Grace, who was sitting at the next desk over. For once, she wasn’t taking the opportunity to giggle about the latest weird incident to befall her boss. Instead, her gaze was fixed on her screen. Kitt had never seen her assistant so focused. Hunting down details about the latest murder victim, it seemed, was all-engrossing. Given the similarities between the two murders, Kitt had instructed Grace to start with ex-girlfriends. A break-up had inspired the grisly elements of Owen’s death. It was the most obvious starting point for tracking down useful information about the last breaths of Adam Kaminski. Kitt couldn’t get the similarities between real-life events and A Study in Scarlet out of her mind. The first murder revolved so heavily around the end of a relationship, she was sure a broken heart had its part to play in this mess.

  ‘I know you’re having a difficult time of it at the moment,’ said Ruby, re-establishing Kitt’s attention. ‘Best friend locked away for murder and that. A certain police officer getting you into a twist.’

  Kitt felt a heat building in her cheeks and glared at Ruby. ‘Halloran does not get me in a twist.’

  ‘I was talking about that Banks lass,’ said Ruby, cocking her head in a manner that was far too innocent to be the least bit believable. ‘You said she barely spoke when she came in on Monday, and was spiteful when she did.’

  Kitt nodded, but in truth Halloran’s accusatory behaviour had been far more distressing than the silent treatment Banks favoured. ‘How do you know Evie’s been arrested? Has that made the news already?’

  ‘Don’t know about official outlets, but news ’as passed to the 59.’

  Kitt raised an eyebrow. ‘The 59?’

  ‘Aye, the bus I take into town. Anything you can’t learn on the 59 isn’t worth knowing.’

  ‘Duly noted,’ said Kitt. ‘And the solution to my problems is . . . a rock?’

  ‘Not just any rock. A magic rock.’

  ‘A magic rock.’

  ‘Well, all rocks are magic, really.’

  ‘Yes, well, I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, but I’m not sure this rock is going to help me much.’

  Ruby shuffled in her seat and knocked the side of Kitt’s desk with one of her walking sticks.

  ‘Think you know everything because you’ve read a few books, do you?’

  Kitt pressed her lips together. This was the second time in twelve hours she’d been berated for her bookishness. Since when did reading books make you seem less knowledgeable?

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘There’s a whole universe outside books, you know,’ said Rub
y.

  ‘Yes, I’m well aware—’

  ‘Put the rock in your coat pocket and keep it there.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Put it in your coat pocket.’

  ‘It’s a bit heavy for that, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, just the right size. Ruby knows. Go on.’

  Sighing, Kitt picked up the rock and shoved it into the deep pocket of her coat, which was hanging on the back of her office chair.

  ‘Now, whenever you feel overwhelmed by a situation, if you feel out of your depth or even in danger, put your hand in your pocket and hold onto that rock. It’s part of the earth that holds you up. It’ll steady you, no matter what’s going on.’

  Kitt smiled at the old woman. Ruby’s rationale seemed nonsensical, but her heart was kind. The librarian’s smile disintegrated, however, when a familiar figure caught her eye. Standing just beyond Ruby, in the feminist history aisle, was Cabbage. Kitt had seen him hovering about more than once in the last couple of days, even though, as far as she understood from their first and only exchange, he had no business in the Women’s Studies section. Realizing he had drawn Kitt’s attention, the man held a copy of The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir up a little higher, so it covered his face. Such odd behaviour. What on earth was he up to?

  ‘A-ha,’ said Grace.

  Kitt turned towards her assistant.

  ‘Had a breakthrough, love? Working on something important?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘Er . . .’ Grace looked at Kitt.

  The librarian gave an almost undetectable shake of her head.

  ‘Just a eureka moment with an Excel spreadsheet, nothing to write home about,’ said Grace, before turning back to her computer and tapping hard and fast on her keyboard.

  A moment later, an email popped up in Kitt’s inbox with the subject line: AK.

  Adam Kaminski. Good on Grace for thinking to write in code. Kitt had no idea how often or even if IT checked their email content, but she didn’t need Michelle finding out that they were carrying out a secret murder investigation during office hours. Kitt was about to open the email when she heard a somewhat-familiar voice say, ‘Katherine Hartley?’

  Kitt looked up. It was Justine Krantz – the reporter who’d been shoving a dictaphone in her face just a few days ago. The reporter who had posted that footage of Kitt standing on Beth’s doorstep to every known social media outlet.

  ‘You can’t film in here, Ms Krantz,’ said Kitt, glaring at the man standing to her right with a video camera perched on his shoulder.

  ‘It’s an open campus, isn’t it?’ Justine said. ‘Roll cameras.’

  ‘Excuse me.’ Kitt rose to her feet. ‘Did you not hear what I just said?’

  ‘We have it on good authority you and a Ms Evelyn Bowes were arrested at a social function last night, is that right, Ms Hartley?’

  ‘Good authority from whom?’ asked Kitt.

  ‘I can’t reveal my sources,’ said Justine.

  ‘Probably because they’re not reputable,’ said Kitt.

  Justine sighed. ‘I’ll tell you this. It’s a person Ms Bowes knows professionally.’

  That wasn’t too surprising. Anyone at the Belle’s Ball could have spoken to the press. Given the way Evie’s co-workers had behaved when the pair were arrested, Kitt couldn’t rule out that it was one of them. She narrowed her eyes at the reporter. ‘I’m going to give you three seconds to stop filming. Otherwise I’m calling security.’

  ‘Dodging our questions for a second time,’ Justine said, looking to camera briefly before turning back to Kitt. ‘What are you hiding, Ms Hartley? Are you trying to protect your best friend from the truth coming out?’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say,’ said Kitt.

  Without hesitation, Krantz fired another question at Kitt. ‘Can you at least tell us if you know the second victim – Adam Kaminski?’

  ‘I knew an Adam once,’ said Ruby. ‘He wasn’t a Kaminski though. He was a Fawcett. Do you know the Fawcetts?’

  Justine frowned at Ruby, shaking her head at the ­distraction.

  ‘Grace, run down to reception and tell security we have a situation on the second floor, will you?’ Kitt smiled across at her assistant as though she were unfazed and in control.

  At once, Grace started heading in the direction of the staircase, but before she’d gone even a few paces, the worst possible person rounded the corner.

  ‘What is going on in here?’ asked Michelle, her grey eyes flitting from the camera operator, to Justine, and then to Kitt.

  ‘We’re calling security,’ said Kitt.

  The camera turned on Michelle, and she put both hands on her hips, glaring down the lens.

  ‘How do you know Ms Hartley?’ Justine asked.

  ‘I am the manager of floors one to three at this institution,’ said Michelle. ‘I’m telling you now to switch that camera off and leave the premises quietly.’

  ‘Were you aware that Ms Hartley was arrested for murder last night?’ Justine asked, with a knowing smile.

  Michelle’s jaw tightened. ‘Well, given that she’s out and about now, there can’t have been much to that, can there? Now stop filming and leave, before security have to escort you.’

  Ruby let out a cackle. ‘That’s you told.’

  Justine sighed and tapped the man holding the camera on the shoulder. ‘Stop rolling,’ she said, looking between Michelle, Ruby, Grace and Kitt. ‘We’ll leave, but I’m not going to stop searching for the truth on this story. Lives are at risk.’

  ‘Will you even know the truth when you hear it?’ said Kitt. She knew it was unwise to elongate this interaction, but she couldn’t help herself. The whole situation was a nightmare, and an invasive press visit was the last thing she needed.

  ‘You know, you should be on my side,’ Justine said. ‘The police can’t be trusted on matters like this. They’re creating a false sense of security, and it’s not healthy. Ninety-nine per cent of all crimes committed are withheld from the media. Ask yourself why that is.’

  With that, Justine signalled again to the man holding the camera, and he turned towards the second-floor staircase, following ‘the talent’ towards the exit.

  Kitt wiped a palm across her forehead and sighed.

  ‘Michelle,’ she began. ‘I can’t thank you enough for sticking up for me there.’ Kitt was more surprised than grateful about this, but tried not to let it show. She couldn’t remember a time when Michelle had actually fought her corner on something.

  ‘That wasn’t for you,’ said Michelle. ‘I had to get rid of that lot as soon as possible, and now they’re gone, I think you’d better go home.’

  Kitt stared at Michelle. ‘Are you suspending me?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Michelle. ‘I don’t know what we’ll do with you as we’ve never had an employee get themselves into this position before. But I know one thing, the board of deans will not let anyone bring this institution into ­disrepute.’

  ‘But I haven’t done anything wrong,’ Kitt said, her eyes watering at the idea of being dismissed from the library. It had been her whole life for ten years.

  ‘We can’t have the media traipsing in and out to talk to you,’ said Michelle. ‘It’s disruptive. Go home. I’ll speak to the management team about the situation, and see what’s to be done.’

  Swallowing hard, Kitt began throwing the essentials into her satchel. She could feel Grace and Ruby looking at her, but didn’t dare meet their eyes in case she broke down. Cabbage was probably looking at her too, and the rest of the students using the second-floor facilities, but she didn’t have the strength to face any of them and so kept her head down.

  She glanced at her computer screen and remembered the email Grace had sent to her. It read:

  The last girlfriend Adam Kaminski had was an actress called Zoe Gray. They broke up eight month
s ago, which is why she was so difficult to track down. She’s currently playing Lina Lamont in the Majestic’s production of Singin’ in the Rain.

  Even as she was scanning the message, Kitt knew how she would have to use her unscheduled afternoon off. She didn’t know Zoe Gray. As far as Kitt was aware, neither did Evie, so the odds of her being Owen’s murderer were slim, but she was the next link in the chain to her best friend’s redemption. If Zoe knew something, anything, about how Adam or Owen died, Kitt would know about it before the day was done.

  Nineteen

  ‘Can I help you, madam?’ said the receptionist at the Majestic Theatre. Her uniform comprised a white shirt matched with a magenta pencil skirt. Her black hair was cut very short in a pixie crop, and there was a sparkle in her eyes that suggested youth and optimism. After a restless night and being kicked out of her place of work, Kitt wasn’t in an optimistic space, but had to take advantage of the receptionist’s desire to please if this plan was going to work.

  ‘Oh, I do hope so,’ said Kitt, putting on an over-friendly smile and flashing her staff ID card. ‘I’m from the Vale of York University. I’m due to interview Zoe Gray for a research paper I’m working on before the matinee begins.’

  ‘Oh – Ms Gray is expecting you?’ said the receptionist. She seemed to be competing with Kitt over who could smile the hardest and widest. Certainly, she had the perkiest cheekbones the librarian had ever seen.

  ‘Yes,’ Kitt lied. ‘She’s very excited about the interview. She said I should just ask to be shown to her dressing room.’

  ‘How thrilling,’ said the receptionist. ‘Just walk straight through the fire exit doors at the end there. Take two left turns, and then a right, and then another left. Walk up three steps, then down five steps. You’ll see a door right in front of you. Don’t go in there, that’s the laundry area. Instead, look to your left and you’ll see Ms Gray’s dressing room.’

  Though a frown was bubbling under the surface, Kitt managed to keep her expression level. It was important to keep things jolly to avoid planting any doubt or negativity in the receptionist’s mind. Or anything else that might lead to questions. The fledgling frown wasn’t threatening just because the directions to Zoe Gray’s dressing room were rather on the long-winded side. What was more concerning was how easily Kitt was being permitted into the backstage area. Had these people not heard there was a murderer on the loose? It was amazing how far a staff ID card and an authoritative posture could get you in life.