Murder by the Minster

by Helen Cox

  ‘You know guys aren’t always brilliant at accepting that we mean what we say.’

  ‘No. They can be a bit hazy on that when it suits them.’

  ‘If you ignore it, he’ll get that you don’t want to talk to him.’

  Kitt nodded. Ignoring it was probably for the best. She had enough going on now without reopening old wounds.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ said Grace, with a smile.

  ‘Yes, I don’t know how you managed without me for a whole two days.’ Kitt returned her smile.

  ‘Grace, Kitt,’ said a deep, familiar voice.

  Grace’s eyes flared wide and Kitt swivelled in her chair to see Halloran and Banks standing just behind her. How much of this conversation had they overheard?

  ‘Oh, you’re here already,’ said Kitt, while Grace, as casually as she could, walked back to her seat behind the desk.

  ‘We’re actually a little bit late,’ said Halloran. ‘You did say twelve, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I did,’ said Kitt.

  The previous afternoon Kitt had called Michelle to explain that there’d been a misunderstanding and that she was now assisting the police in their investigation as opposed to being a prime suspect. Michelle had in turn informed her that as no charges had been brought and due to Kitt’s record of service, the management team had decided to welcome her back to work starting with a few hours early Saturday afternoon, and that was when Kitt had had an idea . . .

  Halloran looked from Kitt to Grace.

  ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Fine,’ Kitt said, a little too fast, and then added, ‘it’s just been a long week.’

  Halloran pressed his lips together, a frown forming on his brow.

  Kitt leaned forward in her chair so she could look beyond Halloran’s broad figure. ‘Hello DS Banks, thanks for coming.’

  Banks didn’t respond. Halloran turned to her, his look stern enough to dredge a ‘Hello’ out of his partner.

  Apparently Banks wasn’t as enthusiastic about joining forces with civilians as her superior.

  ‘I— I have the presentation ready,’ said Grace, in an attempt to cut through the awkward silence. Kitt smiled at the eagerness of her assistant. She could see Grace was doing all she could to temper her excitement, but it was obvious to anyone who knew her that giving this presentation was a big deal for her. Not least because she was wearing her smart black trousers and a mauve silk blouse that made her look that little bit more professional than her usual boho style. ‘I’ve made a new discovery that might even help you get to the bottom of this.’

  ‘Wonderful. Let’s hear it,’ said Halloran. ‘No time to waste.’

  ‘This way,’ said Grace, leading the officers to the computer room.

  Kitt followed, and Halloran made a point of holding the door open for her. Kitt started to smile but, remembering Theo’s friend request, corrected her expression. She didn’t want or need any male attention. There were more important things to focus on right now.

  The computer room, for reasons Kitt could never understand, smelled strongly of plasticine. This inexplicable scent was fused with that of overheating metal. For this reason, Kitt spent as little time as possible in here. She pulled out a chair sitting at one of the computers and signalled for Halloran and Banks to do the same, while Grace was busy firing up the projector and pushing her USB into the main PC.

  The agreed plan was that Kitt and Grace would share all information they’d gathered so far on persons of interest in the murders. Halloran would share whatever information he could without being disciplined for compromising an ongoing investigation, and between them they would try to look at any overlapping links or patterns. As Kitt had spent the previous day first at the funeral and second comforting a very over-tired Evie, she’d had to leave Grace to prepare the agreed presentation unsupervised, which meant there was no telling what they were about to witness.

  A PowerPoint flickered up on the screen. Owen’s name stood in a bold font at the top of the slide. Underneath it was a picture of Brad Pitt. Sighing, Kitt covered her face with her hands.

  ‘So this is a rundown of the suspects so far, starting with the first victim, Owen Hall,’ said Grace.

  ‘What’s with the picture of Brad?’ asked Kitt.

  ‘I wanted to enhance the presentation with images, and I didn’t have time to scroll social media profiles looking for photographs of everyone involved, so I’ve had to make some . . . substitutions.’

  ‘Sir . . . if Percival finds out about this . . .’ Banks began, her tone weary.

  ‘Detective Chief Superintendent Percival said to do whatever it took to bring these people to justice,’ Halloran said. ‘Just give it a chance.’

  ‘We haven’t got time for this,’ she argued.

  ‘Rushing in hasn’t done us any favours either,’ said ­Halloran. ‘Let’s take a step back. Humour a new perspective.’

  Banks said no more, but Kitt watched as she sighed and pulled out her notebook and pen.

  Grace, impressively unruffled by the interruption, flicked to the next slide. Angelina Jolie’s face hopped into view, accompanied by a text box with Evie’s name in it. ‘The wine, the sedatives, the chemicals used to poison the victim, and the wording of the note left behind by the killer at the first crime scene pointed to Evelyn Bowes.’

  Kitt prayed Grace was going to keep this segment brief. She had only just convinced Halloran that Evie was innocent . . . or she thought she had. At any rate, Banks thought Evie was innocent, and that had to count for something.

  ‘Evie provided the police with a list of people who knew about the break-up, and one person’s alibi didn’t check out.’ Cue the next slide, a photograph of Jennifer Aniston. The name Beth Myers beamed above it. ‘Beth lied to the police about where she was on the night of the murder. We talked to Beth’s housemate Georgette, and her manager Mr Buckhurst at the White Horse Hotel, and uncovered the fact that Beth had spent the evening with a married man named Julian Rampling. Beth’s housemate, however, acted a little weird around Kitt.’

  ‘Weird how?’ asked Halloran.

  ‘She didn’t seem to want to help Beth,’ Kitt explained. ‘She seemed jealous of her relationship with Owen.’

  ‘She had feelings for him?’ Halloran said.

  ‘Apparently not. Evie spoke to Beth when she was released, and it seemed she was just jealous of the kind of relationship they had.’

  Halloran looked at Banks and then back at Kitt.

  ‘Sounds a bit flimsy. We’ll make a note of that. ­Georgette was at home alone the night Owen was murdered. She didn’t have an alibi.’

  Grace flicked to the next slide. ‘With Beth discounted, suspicion was placed once more on Evie and her best friend.’

  Kitt’s jaw dropped. The visual aid for this particular part of the presentation was a candid photograph that looked as though it had been taken on Grace’s iPhone. In it, Kitt was sitting in the second-floor office, eating a forkful of her home-made ginger cake.

  ‘Grace . . .’ said Kitt, as she caught Halloran looking at her out of the corner of his eye, rubbing a hand over the lower part of his face to conceal a smile. ‘Didn’t you have any other photograph besides this one?’

  Grace put a hand on her hip. ‘I only found out this was happening this morning, I had to use whatever materials I had to hand.’

  Kitt opened her mouth to ask why of all the pictures Grace had taken of her boss without permission, this was the only one she had to hand, but decided she didn’t want the answer.

  ‘Nothing wrong with that picture,’ said Halloran.

  Kitt frowned at him; if there was one thing she couldn’t stand it was platitudes.

  Halloran stared back at her and leaned just a fraction in her direction. ‘Appetites shouldn’t be denied.’

  ‘Except the appetite for mur
der,’ said Banks.

  ‘Yes, except that one,’ said Halloran.

  ‘Or an appetite for violent crime, or theft.’

  ‘Yes, all right, Banks, you’ve made your point.’

  Kitt wanted to smile at how Banks had undercut ­Halloran’s obvious flirting, but she was concerned he might read it as her taking pleasure in his advances, so she hid her amusement and looked back at the screen.

  Halloran waved at Grace. ‘Please, continue.’

  Grace nodded at the inspector. ‘A person matching Kitt’s description was the last person seen with Owen while he was alive. They were seen in a bar – I forget which one Kitt said.’

  ‘The Owl and Star, on Fossgate,’ said Halloran. ‘Adam’s financials show he was there on the night he was murdered too. Only an hour or so before he was found at the old chocolate factory.’

  ‘So the killer takes all their victims to the same bar?’ said Kitt.

  ‘Or meets them there,’ said Banks, making her first cooperative contribution to the discussion.

  ‘This is strictly off the record, and not to be shared with anyone else, but we’ve already questioned the bar staff,’ said Halloran. ‘They don’t remember seeing Adam or a woman with red hair, but I’ll probably try going there undercover tomorrow night and monitor the behaviour of the redheads in the room, maybe even chat to a couple of them. See what shakes out.’

  Kitt swallowed hard and tried to keep her face straight. She allowed herself to glance at him, just long enough for her eyes to follow the hard line of his jaw in profile. He was, Kitt conceded, an attractive man. She was sure he would have no difficulty using his charms to get information.

  ‘Is sitting in a bar on a Sunday night really the best way to solve a murder?’ she asked.

  ‘Perk of being the DI,’ said Banks. ‘He gets to go to the pub for a swally while I’m doing the real work, running down phone records and searching through lists of local businesses that stock fountain pens.’

  Grace frowned and mouthed the word ‘swally?’ at Kitt.

  Kitt, by way of explanation, mimed bringing a glass to her lips and swallowing.

  Once Grace gave a nod of understanding, Kitt smiled over at Banks.

  She didn’t smile back.

  ‘I’ve paid my dues,’ said Halloran. ‘Besides, these murders happened less than a week apart. If there’s going to be another one, it’s going to be soon. I’ve got to check it out from every possible angle, and the bar is the first link we’ve found between the two victims.’

  ‘It might be the first, but it’s not the only one,’ said Grace. She had a smug little smile on her face that Kitt wasn’t sure she had seen before.

  ‘You’ve found something else?’ said Halloran, excitement rippling through his voice.

  Grace flicked to the next slide. A promotional photograph of Zoe Gray filled the screen.

  ‘Elements of the second murder scene pointed to Zoe’s break-up with Adam,’ said Grace.

  ‘Yes, we spoke to her,’ said Halloran, his excitement fading. ‘The similarity of the MO suggested not that Zoe was the killer, but that it’s someone who knows Evie, Zoe, Owen and Adam – or at least two of them.’

  ‘MO?’ said Grace.

  ‘Modus operandi,’ said Kitt.

  ‘The victims were killed by the same method,’ Banks clarified.

  ‘Oh, right. Got it,’ said Grace. ‘Well, there is someone Evie and Zoe have in common. Someone who has already been taken in by the police for questioning.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Kitt.

  Grace tapped the keyboard and brought up her final slide.

  Kitt squinted at the screen and then back at Grace. ‘Colin Farrell?’

  Grace looked up at the slide. ‘Oh, I was in a hurry, so I forgot to label this one, sorry. It’s Ritchie Turner.’

  Halloran’s eyes narrowed. ‘He knows Zoe as well as Evie? How did we miss this?’

  ‘It wasn’t a straightforward trail.’ Grace was looking far too pleased with herself for Kitt’s liking, but she let her assistant have her moment. She had earned it, it seemed. ‘According to Evie’s Facebook profile, she’s signed up to that dating website, LoveMatch, and that’s where she met Ritchie.’

  ‘Yes, she mentioned that in interview,’ said Banks, her voice striking what Kitt thought was a heavier note than usual. Was it because she had no faith in Grace’s investigative skills? Or was it the reminder that Evie probably wasn’t going to fall into her arms any time soon? If it was the latter, Kitt sympathized. Unrequited love, or even loving someone who didn’t love you as much as you loved them, was the worst.

  ‘How is this connected with Zoe Gray?’ asked Kitt, trying to refocus.

  Grace raised her dark eyebrows. ‘I had to set up my own LoveMatch profile to look at Ritchie’s whole dating history. Alongside Evie, and quite a few other women, one of his love connections is Zoe Gray.’

  ‘Love connection?’ said Halloran.

  ‘It’s a website designed to help people find love, so to stop people misusing the site there’s a display on each profile page of who else they’re seeing, or have seen in the past.’

  ‘How do you misuse a dating website?’ asked Kitt.

  All eyes in the room fixed on the librarian. In them she read a mixture of pity, incredulity, and amusement.

  ‘You use it to cheat,’ said Grace. ‘To date multiple people or . . . you know.’

  ‘What?’ asked Kitt.

  ‘To . . . ghost someone.’

  Kitt didn’t say anything. She just waved in a manner that suggested they should continue the conversation.

  ‘So you think Zoe Gray and Ritchie Turner dated after she broke up with Adam?’ said Halloran.

  ‘According to the date on the love connection they dated about four months ago,’ Grace explained.

  ‘But if Ritchie Turner is our killer and he’s using this site to find his victims, wouldn’t he have murdered Adam four months ago?’ asked Kitt. ‘He didn’t waste any time in killing Owen. Why would he wait so long to strike against Adam?’

  Halloran rubbed the back of his hand against his beard. Kitt watched him and found herself wondering what it felt like to do that. He looked at her, and her eyes darted back to the screen, to the close-up of Colin Farrell sitting in a green sports car.

  ‘Given the level of premeditation, odds are the murderer was thinking about this for some time. Fantasizing about it,’ said Halloran.

  ‘Maybe something finally happened to tip him over the edge, or maybe he just couldn’t resist any more,’ said Banks. ‘And if that’s true, anyone on Turner’s love connection list could be related to the next possible victim.’

  Halloran nodded. ‘We’re going to need that list of people. And we need to get Turner back in the interrogation room.’

  ‘I’ll arrange for him to be picked up,’ said Banks, standing and taking her phone out of her jacket pocket. She exited the room to make the call.

  ‘There’s something else,’ said Kitt. ‘I’m not sure if it means anything, but Justine Krantz said that someone Evie worked with tipped her off with information on the case.’

  ‘Did she say who?’ said Halloran.

  ‘She wouldn’t say, but it was somebody at the Belle’s Ball, and if they are in the beauty industry, they would have access to the same chemicals Evie does.’

  ‘We’ll put some pressure on Ms Krantz to reveal her source. If she’s as keen on the public interest as she pretends to be, she won’t mind assisting us in that particular line of enquiry.’ Halloran paused and looked at Kitt. ‘It might be a good idea if you watch Ritchie’s interrogation.’

  ‘Watch? No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I didn’t entirely endear myself to Turner on our first meeting.’

  ‘He won’t know you’re there. We’ll put you behind the mirror. If he gives us a
story about Evie, you might be able to corroborate or discredit it on the spot.’

  ‘When will it be?’ asked Kitt. ‘I said I’d go back to Evie’s, make sure she’s all right.’

  Halloran paused. ‘It will be at the earliest possible moment we can get our hands on Mr Turner.’

  Kitt pursed her lips, thinking.

  ‘Consider this,’ Halloran said. ‘Maybe the best way to serve your friend right now is to be somewhere other than at her side.’

  Kitt took a deep breath. What Halloran said made sense, and she had agreed to help the investigation in any way she could. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Count me in.’

  Twenty-four

  Kitt was doing her best not to inhale the fusty smell that saturated the dim cubicle she had been standing in for the last ten minutes. Nobody could have smoked in there for years, at least not legally, and yet that old, bitter tang of nicotine remained. The only other person standing alongside her was PC Wilkinson, the fledgling constable who had been responsible for searching Beth’s house the morning Kitt had paid a visit. His pasty skin and wide eyes left him so young-looking Kitt half suspected he was not a police constable at all, just a local lad playing fancy dress. Halloween was on the near horizon after all.

  The pair stood in front of a large pane of glass. Beyond it Halloran and Banks sat opposite Ritchie Turner, who was slumped in his chair with his arms crossed around his chest. The suspect had been picked up at home just after four o’clock and was dressed in a much more relaxed fashion than he had been the night Kitt had tried to question him at Ashes to Ashes. Clothed in a pair of faded jeans and a long-sleeved khaki T-shirt, Ritchie’s casual attire was in sharp contrast to the look on his face. A shallow pool of sweat had formed along his hairline, and his dark brown eyes glared at each of the officers in turn. Waiting it out, forcing them to make the first move.

  Halloran pressed the record button on the machine sitting on the table. Ritchie narrowed his eyes at the inspector and continued his silence.

  ‘We’ve been speaking to an acquaintance of yours, Mr Turner,’ Halloran said, the sound of his voice warped by the glass between him and Kitt. Even in profile the stern intensity of the inspector’s stare was enough to make her shuffle on the spot, shuffle into another space that was somewhere between discomfort and excitement.