Murder by the Minster

by Helen Cox

  ‘You need to do as you’re told and rest,’ Kitt said, pressing Halloran’s shoulders back and signalling with her hand that he should prop his feet up again.

  ‘Well, maybe I don’t mind being helped into bed so much by you,’ Halloran said, placing a hand on hers.

  She stared down at their hands resting together on the mint green hospital blanket. She followed the line of his left arm up to the sleeve of the T-shirt he was wearing. His tattoo was all but covered again now, but Kitt knew it was still there underneath. That if this went any further she’d have to accept the fact she was living in the shadow of another woman.

  ‘Kitt?’ Halloran said, looking from her face to the spot on his arm where her eyes were fixed.

  She raised her eyes to meet his, and smiled. ‘Banks said you wanted to see me?’

  ‘Of course I wanted to see you,’ he said, his brow dipping as he studied her face.

  ‘Any news on the Heather front?’ Kitt asked in an attempt to steer the conversation onto more professional lines.

  ‘Yes . . .’ Halloran said.

  Kitt raised both her eyebrows, waiting.

  ‘According to Wilkinson, her boyfriend shared his whole life story. How Heather had spent months planning this, moving from Manchester to York to set up a new business, placing the advertisements on LoveMatch. She even got him to use his apparently top-notch IT skills to hack into social media accounts, financial and medical records, in the hopes they’d find something they could use in their deception. They had a few stories to work with, a few people they could pin the blame on, but Evie’s diazepam prescription was listed in her medical notes, as was the overdose. According to him, that’s why Heather chose Evie as the scapegoat. She knew she’d be able to exploit those things. Added to that was the incriminating message chain on her Facebook account. They knew it would throw the investigation in a particular direction and that if it was clear the killer wasn’t working alone, alibis wouldn’t hold quite the same weight.’

  ‘What I can’t understand is why the ex-partners of the other two victims didn’t list Heather as one of the people who knew about their sob stories. If she’d turned up on two of those lists, we would have known she was involved sooner.’

  ‘Well that’s where they were a bit clever, and goes some way to answering the question about why they didn’t strike sooner. Would you really remember a conversation you’d had with a beautician four months or six months after the fact?’

  ‘No, I suppose I wouldn’t,’ said Kitt. ‘I suppose I’d focus on the people who were a bigger part of my life.’

  ‘And that’s exactly what Zoe and Francis did. The boyfriend said they toyed with framing Zoe Gray for the murders, hoping the police would think her theatrical tendencies had got the better of her. But they knew they had to bide their time. That acting on the information right away would increase the likelihood of them being caught. But when they looked into Evie’s background and found so much to exploit, they decided that was the time to strike.’

  ‘If they were that concerned about getting caught then arguably Heather shouldn’t have left a Stanwyck fountain pen resting on her desk.’

  Halloran nodded. ‘That goes to show how over-confident they’d got about getting away with it. There was nothing like that on display when Banks and I paid Heather a visit at the start of this case.’

  Kitt shuddered. ‘And what about those fountain pens? Did either of them let slip what that was about?’

  ‘Yes, one of the creepier elements of the boyfriend’s confession. Heather told him that when her fiancé left her, he wrote a note with a Stanwyck fountain pen that once belonged to her deceased mother.’

  ‘I bet he wrote it on the same paper as she used to write notes on the victims too,’ said Kitt.

  ‘I expect you’re right,’ said Halloran. ‘She bought those pens over a period of two years, in cash, from charity shops. That’s why we couldn’t trace them.’

  ‘The boyfriend must have been properly under her thrall to do all this with her,’ said Kitt.

  ‘Unfortunately, I rather get the impression that he just enjoyed it.’

  Kitt sighed. ‘All this mess, just to get back at her ­ex-fiancé?’

  ‘She’s unhinged, remember that,’ said Halloran. ‘When things like this happen to some people, they want to lash out at the person who’s hurt them, but they love them too much. So they hurt other people instead, channel their feelings that way.’

  Kitt shook her head. She didn’t want to relate to ­Heather’s plight in any way, but if she was honest with herself, she understood. Not what Heather had done, but the feelings behind her actions. What had Evie written in that letter at Heather’s request? That those who break hearts aren’t ever punished for the pain they cause. Kitt would never have administered the punishment herself, but for a long time she had believed that Theo deserved to suffer for what he had done to her. The irony was, he had been suffering, and would always suffer for that fatal decision. He would be loved by others, Kitt was sure of that. But nobody had a love quite like hers, and Theo had lost that. For good.

  ‘Kitt,’ said Halloran.

  She started out of her thoughts.

  ‘About that kiss . . .’

  She smiled at him and gently placed her fingers over his lips, enjoying the tickle of his beard against her skin. ‘Not now, love. You’ve got to get your strength back. You’ve no doubt got to get down to the station and tie up all kinds of loose ends, and just like me, you need a good night’s sleep. Let’s talk tomorrow, eh?’

  Halloran kissed the three fingers Kitt was holding over his lips. She closed her eyes, savouring the tender touch of his skin against hers. Right then, it would have been the easiest thing in the world to wrap her arms around him. To tell him how desperate she had been when she thought he wasn’t coming out of the water. To admit that in spite of the fact he had arrested both Kitt and her best friend for murder, she still wanted him. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for anyone else, except Kitt – a woman who had practised keeping her distance for many years, and right now was still under the illusion she needed thinking time.

  ‘I hear you’re giving our nurses grief, Inspector Halloran,’ a woman’s voice said.

  Kitt looked over her shoulder to see a doctor writing a quick note on the clipboard she was carrying.

  ‘I hope you’re writing down that he’s being a difficult customer,’ Kitt said, withdrawing her hand from Halloran’s lips and joining the doctor at the end of the bed.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, her voice mock-stern for effect. ‘I’ll make sure to use red ink as well. So the rest of the staff have fair warning.’

  The doctor turned to Halloran. ‘Time to take a closer look at this wound.’

  Despite the seriousness of Halloran’s injury, Kitt wanted to chuckle at the doctor’s manner. Halloran had spent the last week being, for the most part, stern and serious. It was sort of comforting to know even he couldn’t escape being spoken to like a baby by medical professionals.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Kitt said, reaching up to draw the curtain.

  ‘Shall I come by the library tomorrow?’ Halloran asked; his tone conveyed that he really wasn’t sure what her answer would be.

  Kitt paused. As she looked back at him, a slow smile formed on her lips. ‘Around midday suits me, and if you could see your way to getting my coat dry-cleaned, having used it as a pillow, I’d be grateful. Walking around smelling like the river wasn’t on my to-do list this week.’

  Halloran laughed, and then winced at the pain that caused him. Slowly, Kitt closed the curtain.

  On her walk back to Evie’s cubicle, Kitt fiddled with the Jane Eyre pendant that hung around her neck and put the palm of her free hand flat against her chest. There was a heat, somewhere inside. Not the painful searing she was used to, but the homely warmth of an open fire on
the coldest of winter days. It was comforting, enveloping, safe. It was new.

  Forty-three

  The next day was painfully ordinary in comparison to the deathly riverside drama of the day before. After all that had happened, however, Kitt was almost pleased to be heading off to a finance meeting, an experience she would usually dread. When she returned to the enquiry desk, she discovered Grace sitting in her seat. Kitt’s trilby was perched on her head, and she was speaking to someone on the ­telephone.

  ‘Yes, well, as I say,’ she said in the over-the-top accent she used whenever she was impersonating her boss, ‘I had very little to do with the resolution of this case. It was really down to the talent of my very hard-working assistant, Grace Edwards. Such a charming, well-rounded, saintly figure around the office really. She photographs very well too, in case you were wondering. Do you need me to spell her name for you again?’

  Kitt crossed her arms. Grace glanced in the direction of where Kitt was standing and her eyes widened. ‘Yes, well,’ she let out a flustered little chuckle. ‘I must dash now. Just had a Dewey decimal-related emergency, you know how it is, this librarian lark. Toodle pip.’

  Grace slammed down the phone. ‘Hello boss,’ she said, removing Kitt’s trilby and placing it on the desk.

  ‘When have I ever said “toodle pip”?’

  ‘Y-you always say toodle pip . . . don’t you?’ Grace tucked a dark curl behind her ear and flashed a sweet smile.

  Kitt put a hand on her hip. ‘No, I do not. I give you a fair bit of slack, but let it be known that impersonating me and using the words “toodle pip” is a hard red line.’

  ‘I was just handling media enquiries about the investigation, like we agreed.’

  ‘Yes, well I think it’s best I field those from now on,’ said Kitt, and as Grace was raising two fingers to the side of her head, she added, ‘and there’s no need for that cheeky salute of yours either.’

  Grace lowered her hand and pressed her lips together. ‘Maybe I’ll take a look at the student enquiry box.’

  ‘I think that’s a good idea,’ said Kitt.

  ‘’Ello love,’ said a familiar voice. Kitt turned to see Ruby hobbling towards her, accompanied by Evie.

  Kitt narrowed her eyes. ‘Hello you two . . . is this a synchronized visit?’

  ‘No lass,’ said Ruby. ‘Complete coincidence, we met on the way in. Just happened to come and see you at the same time.’

  ‘You don’t believe in coincidences,’ Kitt said, tilting her head. She looked at her watch. 11.55. Halloran would be here soon. Today, Kitt didn’t believe in coincidences either.

  ‘So Evie’s obviously here because I let slip that Halloran was coming to see me around the midday mark,’ Kitt said, while Evie giggled and slumped down in the seat nearest Kitt’s desk. She was wearing heavier eye make-up than usual, and had brushed her hair forward in a manner that part-covered the stitches along her temple. Kitt didn’t have the heart to dig at Evie for wanting a distraction from her war wounds. She still wasn’t sure exactly how her friend was coping with the new contours of her face. It was a situation she would have to monitor closely in the next few weeks to make sure Evie was really as OK as she was pretending to be.

  Ruby, however, was another matter.

  ‘So, you obviously somehow know that Halloran’s on his way here,’ Kitt said to the old woman.

  ‘I ’ad a vision,’ Ruby said, nudging Kitt’s arm.

  ‘Try again.’

  ‘Oh all right, one of the women who travels on the 59 with me is a nurse at the ’ospital. She heard off someone who heard off someone else that a police inspector was having a romantic moment with a librarian in one of the cubicles. She knew all the details.’

  Kitt sighed and brought a hand to her forehead. She had no idea why she had let herself get so ruffled by the intrusive media presence over the past week. No piece of information was private or sacred in a small city.

  ‘Having a party, are we?’ said Michelle as she approached Kitt’s desk and eyed everyone in attendance. Kitt smothered a smirk as she noticed Evie’s eyes dart to the floor. She had told Evie about Michelle’s gorgon glare on more than one occasion, and she was now a bit wary about looking straight at her.

  A week ago, Michelle’s negativity, not to mention insensitivity after all they had been through lately, would have riled her, but not any more. After all the drama of the last ten days, Michelle’s petty attitude seemed small fry. ‘Couldn’t have a party without you, Michelle,’ Kitt said with a short chuckle.

  ‘Wouldn’t have thought you’d have time anyway,’ said Michelle, ‘with all the swanning off you’ve been doing.’

  ‘Swanning off?’

  ‘I have it on good authority you left half an hour before your shift ended on Monday evening.’

  Dear God, this woman had spies everywhere.

  ‘And don’t think your absence yesterday afternoon went unnoticed either.’

  Kitt insisted on keeping the smile on her face, despite the less than cordial tone in Michelle’s voice. ‘You can chalk it up as time off the ten days of annual leave I didn’t get around to taking last year.’ She kept her tone very level and very calm, which meant her boss didn’t really have scope to come back in a heavy-handed fashion. Instead, Michelle sighed and looked pained.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Kitt. ‘The murder case is over. There won’t be any more swanning off . . .’ but then, on seeing Halloran’s face at the top of the staircase, she added, ‘except for right now . . .’

  Michelle glared as Kitt strode towards the inspector, and she wasn’t the only one watching after her. Kitt smiled as she drew closer to Halloran. He was back in his suit, and Kitt’s coat was draped over his right arm, wrapped in dry-cleaning plastic.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Kitt put a finger to her own lips. ‘Sssssh. It’s not safe to talk here,’ she said, and then looked back at Grace, Evie, Ruby, and Michelle, who were all staring at them. Halloran tracked her line of sight and then let out a short laugh.

  Beckoning him, like the brave, carefree women in the books she read might do, Kitt started down the staircase, walking at a brisk pace through the reception area and out of the front doors towards the river. It was a bright day for October. The waters sparkled, and the spires of the Minster glinted beneath the autumnal sun.

  ‘Everything sorted out with the case? Heather locked up without any trouble?’ asked Kitt. She had other things on her mind, but she would feel a lot safer knowing the arrest had been a success.

  ‘She’s written a full confession,’ said Halloran. ‘It makes for shocking reading. She’s showing no remorse.’

  ‘She let that one rejection destroy her,’ Kitt said, folding her arms across her chest.

  ‘And the lives of many others,’ said Halloran, with a despondent note in his voice.

  ‘Makes you think,’ said Kitt, ‘about the importance of letting go of things.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Halloran. ‘Hanging onto the past does lead to dangerous places . . . Kitt—’

  ‘I know you like to be in control,’ Kitt said, glancing at Halloran, ‘but I want to take the lead on this one.’

  The familiar gleam shimmered in Halloran’s eyes. ‘As you wish.’

  The sound of those words leaving his mouth sent an excitable shiver down Kitt’s spine, but she ignored it and turned to face Halloran square on. ‘So, it’s fairly obvious you’re into me.’

  Halloran burst out laughing, and Kitt joined in for a moment before he composed himself again.

  ‘Really, and what makes you think that?’

  ‘Oh, let me count the ways,’ said Kitt. She looked at ­Halloran. He was smiling, but he hadn’t got the reference. ‘That was a little nod to Elizabeth Barrett Browning there.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ She brought her
hand to the side of her face. ‘There is so much to teach you. I’ve got my work cut out.’

  Halloran took a step towards Kitt, brushed her hair away from her ear, and murmured, ‘I’ve got plenty of things I can teach you.’

  Kitt’s breath caught in her throat as she imagined what those things might be. She pulled her head back a fraction so she could look up at him. ‘The thing is, I’m all for letting the past go, but . . . you have a tattoo of your wife’s name on your arm.’

  Halloran lowered his eyes. ‘You noticed.’

  ‘Hard to miss,’ said Kitt. ‘It’s a beautiful name though.’

  It didn’t feel right to say it out loud, but Kitt meant it. It sounded exotic. She imagined Kamala to be very beautiful.

  ‘I loved her, Kitt, just as you loved Theo. Neither of us is sixteen.’

  Kitt pressed her lips together and ran a hand over his beard. The softness was so inviting.

  ‘You’re definitely not,’ Kitt said.

  ‘We’ve both got a past.’

  ‘We have, nothing can change that,’ said Kitt. ‘But I still want you.’

  A slow smile spread across Halloran’s mouth. ‘I want you too.’

  ‘Glad we got that settled, now if we could just iron out a couple of particulars . . .’

  Halloran’s smile widened. ‘Like . . . ?’

  ‘I just want you to be upfront about what it is you do want. If it’s just sex, that’s fine . . .’

  ‘Is it now?’ Halloran raised an eyebrow, and Kitt gave him a playful tap on the shoulder.

  ‘If it’s more, that’s fine too. I just want to know. I just want honesty. We’ve . . . we’ve got trust to build.’

  Halloran studied Kitt’s face. Slowly, he gathered her hair in his hand and wrapped the copper strands around and around his fist until he reached the base of her hairline. With each turn of his hand, Kitt’s breathing deepened. She knew that people must be watching them, and she didn’t care. All she could focus on right now was the way he gently pulled her head back so she was looking up into his eyes. ‘It’s more,’ he whispered, before leaning forward and delivering a deep, hard kiss. The heat of it spread far beyond Kitt’s lips, down to her toes, out to her fingertips, and straight through her heart.