With that, they dispersed and CID returned to darkness.
* * *
In the event, Noakes found the LGBT demo a distinct anti-climax — nothing but earnest commie types with red noses, swaddled in university scarves and banging on through their megaphones about ‘minority rights’, while various sections of the community glowered at them from a safe distance. Clearly expecting something like the Notting Hill Carnival — frivolous headgear, furbelows, war paint and lots of bare midriffs — he was visibly disappointed.
‘No sign of Gailey,’ he hissed at Markham during yet another interminable speech by Councillor Penny Callaghan, pink-cheeked and clearly in her element. ‘Where’s the fuss an’ feathers?’
The DI was visibly deflated but replied gallantly enough, ‘It’s the depths of winter, Noakesy. They’re thinking thermals not flimsies and body paint.’
Markham felt as though he had ice water in the pit of his stomach to match the freezing conditions.
Gailey was a no-show.
Could he have gotten it all horribly wrong? Was Sidney right about him being seduced by his own cleverness?
‘Let’s head back to the incident room,’ he said, trying to conceal his dejection from the team.
‘I’ll go round by the cemetery, sir.’ Kate Burton was visibly reluctant to call it a day. ‘Maybe he’s in there somewhere with the stragglers.’
With that, they split up, Burton heading for Bromgrove South Municipal Cemetery while Markham and the other two trudged despondently back towards New College Close.
Halfway along the route, Markham turned to Doyle. ‘Check in with the uniforms outside the close, Constable. I want an update.’ The DC duly lagged behind a few steps, fumbling with his radio.
Minutes later, Doyle ran to catch up with them. ‘Nothing doing, boss . . . no movement. Just some Mrs Mop, but other than that nada.’
Mrs Mop.
‘Get back to them, Doyle,’ Markham barked. ‘I want a description of the woman.’
‘What, you mean the cleaner?’
‘Yes!’ Markham’s expression was dangerous, his eyes emitting sparks.
‘Just some woman, guv,’ the DC panted after a brief crackling exchange. ‘Nothing special. She came outside for a smoke and then went towards the car park . . . bird in a . . .’ Suddenly, he stopped.
‘In a headscarf?’ Markham interposed grimly.
‘Yes . . . oh fuck.’ Realization had dawned.
Noakes was already turning round, heading back the way they had come.
‘He’s dressed as a woman,’ was all the DS said as they retraced their steps. ‘Thass why we didn’t see him.’
‘Where will he go, boss?’ Doyle was agitated.
‘I think we can guess the answer to that, Constable.’ Markham looked so haggard that he was almost unrecognizable as CID’s resident pin-up. ‘Gailey was at the demo watching us . . . and now he’s got Kate.’
Noakes’s pace quickened perceptibly. It was the climax of the Newman Hospital investigation all over again. Only when it looked like Kate Burton was a goner had her cantankerous counterpart realized how much he rated her. Like some freaking Jiminy Cricket, he couldn’t dislodge her from off his shoulder, but he knew that, where the guvnor was concerned, they thought as one.
‘She’ll be alright, boss’ was all he said. ‘I’ve allus said she’s the next Cressida Prick — sorry, Dick. No scuzzy screwball’s gonna stop her getting them pips!’
* * *
Like the DI, Burton enjoyed exploring graveyards and cemeteries.
The bleak contours of Bromgrove South Municipal Cemetery were softened — somehow blurred — by a counterpane of snow, so downy and picturesque it was almost a consolation to think of the town’s deceased tucked up carefully under the rows of headstones and monuments . . . at least so long as she didn’t remember the roll-call of murder victims who lay there too.
Now she dawdled, enjoying the solitariness . . . the sense of having the place to herself.
There were no stragglers from the demo to be seen and it felt satisfying, like she was the only person on earth.
Her lips quirked.
Apart from the snowwoman.
Stout and uncompromising, it stood just in front of the strange little Norman folly over by the children’s memorial garden.
She wandered across for a closer look.
It had a pointy carrot nose and pebbles for the eyes and mouth. As she took in the bright-red jaunty patterned headscarf and shawl, she realized someone had gone to unusual trouble.
She found she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the headscarf . . .
The next moment, Burton’s world exploded as her face slammed into the snowwoman’s torso. She felt blood trickling from her nose and for a moment couldn’t breathe, as though her head was enveloped in a suffocating pall.
And then she was yanked backwards by strong arms like steel girders and found herself looking into a face that somehow was and yet wasn’t familiar.
Simon Gailey.
His face was so distorted by a snarl that she wondered how anyone could ever have thought him handsome. And the eyes . . . the eyes were those of a man in hell.
‘If it isn’t Inspector Gilbert Markham’s little lackey.’ The words were uttered in a crooning, sibilant whisper, so unlike the solicitor’s light baritone that she felt her skin crawl. ‘The one in the Chairman Mao trouser suits.’ His breath was hot on her neck. ‘The one scared to dress like a woman. The one in love with her boss but frightened to tell him.’ Even in that moment of extreme peril, Burton felt a scorching wave of shame ripple through her like the aftershock from a volcano. She would never forget this psychopath who spoke her secret aloud in a snowbound graveyard.
‘Mr Gailey . . . Martine . . .’ Somehow she got the words out through cracked, chilblained lips. ‘There’s nowhere left to go . . . It’s over.’
The strong arm lay across her throat in a choke hold.
This is how it must have been for Stacey Macmillan, she thought . . . neck stretched back, then crushing pain followed by merciful oblivion.
‘I don’t want to die,’ she whispered.
And suddenly she wanted life with a passion.
The words of an old school poem came into her mind.
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round in earth’s diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.
She wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready to be forgotten. Wasn’t ready to leave the gang. Not yet.
And then she heard the much-loved voice.
‘Let her go, Gailey.’
DI Gilbert Markham had come round the other side of the folly with Noakes and Doyle. Her fellow DS made a discreet thumbs-up, piggy eyes fixed on her face as though he would memorize its features.
Markham took a step closer. ‘Let her go,’ he said very calmly. Then, ‘It’s been a heavy burden, hasn’t it . . . ? Time to lay it down and set yourself free.’
Something clicked in Gailey’s throat as though he was trying to speak past some obstruction.
‘Beyond and above you all.’
There was the flash of a knife. Noakes leaped forward and Burton felt the hot gush of blood. The DS enveloped her in a tight bear hug that showed no sign of slackening.
Meanwhile, the snowwoman watched impassively as crimson stained the white.
* * *
Two days before Christmas Eve, the team and Olivia sat in the backroom of their favourite hostelry, The Grapes.
‘Denise needs ter do summat about that godawful carpet in the lounge. Them swirly patterns are enough to give punters a migraine.’
‘It’ll be a brave man who gives her suggestions about interior decoration, George,’ Olivia laughed, eying the bosomy blonde landlady who had just plonked menus in front of them. ‘I know Gil’s her blue-eyed boy,’ she added, in a sly allusion to Denise’s shameless favouritism when it came to Markham and his team, ‘but I don’t see her giving up her fleur-de-lis
for anyone.’
Kate Burton sat quietly, sipping her gin and tonic, and enjoying the banter.
Their oak booth was dark and warm and cosy, while the quaintly nautical brasses and copperware had the familiarity of old friends.
‘Supper tonight is on the DCI,’ Markham announced, only the corners of his mouth giving the lie to his air of solemnity. ‘By way of thanks for our sterling efforts in wrapping up the New College Close investigation before Christmas.’
‘Thought we’d be saddled with Professor Fanakerpan,’ Noakes mumbled.
‘Regrettably Professor Macfadyen has another appointment and is unable to join us.’
‘I’ve gotta say it, guv.’ A premonitory belch. ‘He was a big fat waste of space.’
‘Well, we certainly took the wind out of his sails by the end, Noakesy.’
‘Yeah. He deffo wasn’t expecting it to turn out like that . . . Sidney neither.’ The DS lapped up his beer contentedly. ‘Wonder how they’ll spin the boy-girl thing, though . . . They won’t want “tranny town” headlines or owt like that.’
‘Oh, if Councillor Callaghan has anything to do with matters, I’m sure by New Year it’ll be yesterday’s news.’
‘A good thing too.’ Kate Burton surprised them with her vehemence. ‘I felt sorry for Gailey — Martine Knowlson — forced to live a lie . . . her whole life ruined.’
‘Don’t waste your sympathy, luv. He were in two minds about topping you. An’ I reckon only the thought of a lifetime banged up in the loony bin made him cut his throat ’stead of yours . . . If we hadn’t rocked up . . .’ Noakes left the sentence unfinished but shook his head portentously.
Gently, Olivia laid her hand on top of Kate’s.
‘All that matters is you live to fight another day.’
Their food had arrived and a cheerful bustle banished gloomy thoughts.
* * *
Afterwards, as Olivia and Markham walked home together hand in hand, she turned to her lover. ‘George said Simon Gailey whispered something to Kate right at the end before he died, Gil . . . but he was too far away to hear.’
‘The trauma means she’s blocked it all out.’
Markham had heard those final curses, carried to him on the still air of the cemetery. But he would never breathe a word. And if George Noakes knew, he certainly wasn’t telling.
THE END
ALSO BY CATHERINE MOLONEY
THE DI GILBERT MARKHAM SERIES
Book 1: CRIME IN THE CHOIR
Book 2: CRIME IN THE SCHOOL
Book 3: CRIME IN THE CONVENT
Book 4: CRIME IN THE HOSPITAL
Book 5: CRIME IN THE BALLET
Book 6: CRIME IN THE GALLERY
Book 7: CRIME IN THE HEAT
Book 8: CRIME AT HOME
Book 9: CRIME IN THE BALLROOM
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Glossary of English Slang for US readers
A & E: Accident and emergency department in a hospital
Aggro: Violent behaviour, aggression
Air raid: an attack in which bombs are dropped from aircraft on ground targets
Anorak: nerd (it also means a waterproof jacket)
Artex: textured plaster finish for walls and ceilings
A Level: exams taken between 16 and 18
Auld Reekie: Edinburgh
Badger-baiting: illegal spo
rt where badgers are drawn from their setts and killed by dogs
Barm: bread roll
Barney: argument
Beaker: glass or cup for holding liquids
Beemer: BMW car or motorcycle
Benefits: social security
Bent: corrupt
Bin: wastebasket (noun), or throw in rubbish (verb)
Biscuit: cookie
Bloke: guy
Blow: cocaine
Blower: telephone
Bob: money
Bobby: policeman
Brass monkeys: cold, as in cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey
Brown bread: rhyming slang for dead
Bun: small cake
Bunk: do a bunk means escape
Burger bar: hamburger fast-food restaurant
Buy-to-let: Buying a house/apartment to rent it out for profit
Charity Shop: thrift store
Carrier bag: plastic bag from supermarket
Care Home: an institution where old people are cared for
Car park: parking lot
Chat-up: flirt, trying to pick up someone with witty banter or compliments
Chemist: pharmacy
Chinwag: conversation
Chippie: fast food place selling chips and other fried food
Chips: French fries but thicker
CID: Criminal Investigation Department
Civvy Street: civilian life (as opposed to army)
Cling film: plastic wrap for food
Clock: punch
Cock and bull: made up/ nonsense
Cock up: mess up, make a mistake
Common: an area of park land/ or lower class
Comprehensive School (Comp.): High school
Cop hold of: grab
Copper: police officer
Coverall: coveralls, or boiler suit
CPS: Crown Prosecution Service, decide whether police cases go forward
Detective Markham Mysteries Box Set Page 170