Before I Wake

by Clare Revell

  “Yes. I was first approached, oh, it must have been about a year ago. The letter came in the post. I brought it with me.” She fished in her bag. “Here you are.”

  Isabel got chills as she glanced down. The same handwriting as the Slayer. Without thinking she held out a hand. “May I?” She took it and studied it. “No return address. Croydon postmark in May of last year.” She opened the envelope, pulled out a photograph, and folded letter. “The photo is me. I recognise the dress. I bought it for a function we didn’t end up going to, but I did wear it elsewhere.” She put the photo down and opened the letter. “No name or signature. Same printed handwriting. This bloke obviously wasn’t taught cursive script at school.”

  She cleared her throat. “Dear Ms. Barnes. Please accept the commission to paint this woman. The picture should show her wearing this dress and standing waist deep in the sea. She should be surrounded by flower petals with birds overhead. On completion and delivery of said painting to Abbey Gate Gallery in Headley Cross, you will receive payment of 5000 pounds.”

  Isabel folded the paper. “May I keep hold of this for now?”

  Mrs. Nemec nodded. “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” Isabel slid the letter, envelope, and photograph into an evidence bag, and put that inside the folder in front of her.

  “If I may, you said this was connected to a murder case. And you just said the handwriting was the same. How is my wife connected to all this?” DI Nemec pressed the point home.

  “At the moment all we have are theories,” Zander said. “But yes, the handwriting matches those in a current case. Did you ever find out who sent the original letter?”

  “No.”

  “But you got paid, I assume?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I received a cheque from the gallery owner—Farrell Vixen. He has since bought several more of my paintings. Older ones with the SB signature on them.”

  Zander glanced at Isabel. “We need to get that to the lab.”

  “OK.”

  He turned back to the others. “Can we take your fingerprints for elimination purposes?”

  DI Nemec scowled. “Is that really necessary? Because Sara’s aren’t on the system, and you’ll need to destroy them immediately afterwards, rather than putting them onto your system here.”

  Zander returned the scowl. “Why?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  Mrs. Nemec put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Luke, it’s fine. You don’t need to be so protective all the time.” She turned back to Zander. “I was in the witness protection programme. It’s how we met. So, I have a totally new identity.” Glancing sideways at her husband she grinned. “Although I insisted on keeping my first name, much to everyone’s horror.”

  “I will personally make sure we destroy them,” Zander said. “In fact, if you come with me now, we can do the fingerprints, get the letter checked, then you can destroy the card yourselves.”

  “Thank you.”

  Zander rose. “And thank you for coming all this way on such short notice.”

  “We have family here,” DI Nemec said. “It gave us a good reason to visit.”

  Zander opened the internal door. “This way please. Is, I’ll take those if you want to go back upstairs and deal with that other matter.”

  Not having a clue what he was going on about, she wasn’t about to ask. “Yes, Sarge.”

  ~*~

  An hour later, Isabel sat bouncing a small rubber ball on her desk. This made no sense to her at all. The prints on the envelope, photo, and letter had come back quickly for once. They belonged to Sara Nemec, her husband, Zander, Isabel, and an unknown set. She assumed Zander had touched them somehow before she bagged them. But she didn’t remember him doing so.

  “Penny for them.” DI Holmes appeared out of nowhere.

  “The painting of me—Lost Love. Zander’s fingerprints are on the commissioning letter, photograph, and envelope that Mrs. Nemec brought with her from Scotland.”

  “He must have touched them.”

  Isabel scrunched her hair with her hand. “That’s the thing. I’ve been sat here for ages, wracking my brains, trying to remember if he did. And when that photo of me was taken. I only wore the dress once, maybe twice. There is nothing in the background that helps as trees are kind of generic. But as it was sent to Mrs. Nemec over a year ago…” She bounced the ball again.

  “Where is Zander?”

  She shrugged. “Around somewhere. He said he had sergeant stuff to do and vanished. He’s taking his new role extremely seriously.”

  “Good.” DI Holmes turned to leave.

  “Sir, do we know what blood type the girls are?”

  “Should be in the postmortem reports. Why?”

  She scrunched her nose. “Just a random thought.” She scribbled a note to herself on the pink pad on the desk.

  “How’s your safehouse working out?” he asked.

  Isabel glanced at him. “It’s fine. Did you get those files I emailed?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Zander came into the room. “There you are. I tracked down the name on the dumpster. There are approximately fifteen hundred of them in town.”

  “So, let’s go and find some. We can get lunch at the same time.”

  ~*~

  Two hours later Zander was heartily sick of bins, dumpsters, and rubbish in general. He’d exhausted his supply of rubbish jokes, to the point where Isabel had stopped groaning and told him to shut up. He looked at his partner as he stared down another dead-end alley. Literally. But she wouldn’t appreciate that one, so he’d keep it to himself. “We’ll never find it.”

  Isabel leaned against the wall. “Let’s just think logically for a moment and go back to basics. They all broke a commandment, albeit a tenuous link in some cases.”

  “Seven is adultery.”

  She nodded. “So, she’d have to be married. So, it’s not me.” She pointed at him. “Before you suggest it. Maybe she’s not even cheating. Maybe the Slayer just thinks she is because of her job.” Isabel snorted. “Maybe she’s a stripper.”

  “She’s a Christian, don’t forget. Or attends a church, at least.” He let out a deep breath. It really was far too hot again. He could feel the sweat running down his neck and he probably had a huge wet patch on his back. “Can you honestly see any of Rev. Eke’s congregation stripping for a living?”

  Isabel snorted. “No. It was just a thought. How many strip clubs are there in town?”

  “One. Over on Colebrook Road.” He unlocked the car.

  “Should I be worried you know that?”

  He rolled his eyes and opened the car door. “I’m surprised you don’t. It’s the red-light district. As fast as we close down the unlicensed and illegal places, they open up under a different name somewhere else.”

  “And the street girls?”

  “The same. Pick them up and they always come back.”

  Ten minutes later, he parked outside the front of the club.

  Isabel climbed out of the car and headed around the side of the building. “Zander?”

  He jogged around to find her.

  She pointed. “There’s our dumpster. The picture matches the area around it.”

  Zander pulled out his phone to send the Guv a text.

  Found the bin. Strip club on Colebrook Road.

  “OK, let’s do this.” He led Isabel back to the front of the building and tugged open the door. “After you.”

  Despite it being early afternoon, loud music blasted from a back room. Zander held out his ID and waved it at the woman behind the desk. “I need to speak to whoever is in charge,” he yelled.

  “Can I help?”

  Zander turned to see a short man with an ingratiating smile standing there. He held out his ID again. “DS Ellery and DC York. And you are?”

  “Fred Smith. I run this place. I can assure you my licence is up to date. We’re perfectly legal and above board.”

  Despite the fact he’d love to
debate the fact that none of this was above board, that it wasn’t the way women should be treated, Zander didn’t. This wasn’t the time or place. “I’m not here about that. Can we go somewhere a little quieter? I don’t want to have to keep shouting.”

  “My office.” Mr. Smith led the way to the side of the building. Once he’d closed the door, the noise level dropped considerably. A huge TV on one wall showed what was happening inside the main area of the club.

  Zander got straight to the point. “I need you to close for the next two or three nights.”

  “I can’t do that,” the man protested.

  “How many girls do you have working here?” Isabel asked, pointedly standing with her back to the screen.

  Zander didn’t blame her and wished he had the same choice, but there was only so much room in the office. He kept his gaze trained on Mr. Smith.

  “They all have contracts,” Mr. Smith said quickly. “I pay them. They get tips.”

  “Not what the lady asked,” Zander snapped. “We have good reason to believe the Slayer is targeting your club next. That puts your girls at risk. I need a list of all your female employees, and they need to stay clear of here for at least three days.”

  Mr. Smith paled. “Um…”

  Zander pressed on. “Or I get vice and immigration to pay you a visit. We’ll get a court order closing you down.” He paused. “I’m simply trying to prevent another woman dying here, that’s all.”

  Finally, the man pulled a file from the drawer. “Here.”

  Zander scanned the list, then took a photo of it. “Thanks. Call them all and tell them to stay at home until the weekend.”

  “I told you, I can’t. There’s a private function booked tonight. I can’t cancel it.”

  Zander scowled. “Seems there’s a lot you can’t do.”

  “We’ll put a marked patrol car out the front of the building,” Isabel said. “That’d do it.”

  “Are you trying to put me out of business?” the club owner demanded.

  Zander leaned on the desk and shoved his face into Mr. Smith’s. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  Isabel raised an eyebrow. “Zander, I fancy taking a wander around the dance floor. Flash my ID, ask the patrons a few questions, check their ages and if they have a visa…oh, and the liquor licence as well.”

  Mr. Smith held up a hand. “OK, OK. A patrol car is fine, but can you at least make it an unmarked one?”

  Zander nodded. “Sure. Is, let’s go.” He marched out, before the need to deck the smarmy bloke became overwhelming. He sucked in a deep, cleansing breath as he reached the car park. “I’m getting vice to raid this place once this is over.”

  Isabel glanced at him. “Maybe in two or three days. Call them when we get back, along with immigration, and give them a heads up.”

  Zander nodded. “Sounds good. That will give vice time to get all the paperwork in order.” He unlocked the car.

  Isabel opened the door, and then froze. “She looks familiar.” She nodded to a woman getting her keys out, three cars along.

  The woman glanced up and smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” Isabel replied. “Do you work here?”

  The woman shook her head. “Not at the club, no. I work in the admin department at H and P. It’s a shared staff car park for the club, us, and the printers.”

  Zander recognised her. “It’s Yasmin, isn’t it? We met at St. Crispin’s on Sunday.”

  She nodded. “I’d better go, I’m late. Need to get dinner on before Rob gets home.” She jumped in the car and shut the door.

  Zander pulled out his phone. “I’ll call the nick and get the ball rolling here with uniform.” He glanced up at the cameras. “Can you go back in and ask them to angle one of the cameras on the bins?”

  She nodded. “Go stand by them, so I know when the angle is right.”

  “Will do.”

  Isabel headed to the door. “By the way,” she asked, turning back. “What blood type are you?”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “Figured I ought to know in case you get hit by a bus and need surgery or something and you can’t tell them.”

  “They do blood matches as standard.”

  “Humour me. I’m O positive.”

  “AB negative. Now go sort those cameras.”

  ~*~

  Head in a spin, Isabel went back into the club. Zander was the same blood type as Lexi and Barney Terrance. She’d always thought that AB negative was rare. But maybe not. An alarm bell rang in a corner of her mind, but she silenced it. Zander had a nosebleed the night Lexi died. That’s why he’d had blood on his shirt. The same as the night Esther died. Had she had a head injury or blood on her clothing as well?

  She tugged out her phone and rang the coroner. “This is DC York. Could I speak with Arend Van Houten, please?”

  “He’s in a meeting right now,” the voice replied. “Can I take a message?”

  “Ask him to call me as soon as he can, please.” She hung up and went down to the office, bypassing the woman on the desk completely. The door was open, and she tapped loudly on the frame.

  Mr. Smith dragged his gaze away from the TV screen. “Are you still here?”

  “Looks that way. I need you to angle one of your CCTV cameras on the dumpsters in the car park.”

  “Why?”

  “Call it a hunch.”

  Sighing the man tapped on the computer for a few minutes. “Done.”

  “Thank you.” Isabel headed back out to where Zander waited. “I figured I’d cook tonight. What do you fancy?”

  Zander shrugged. “Haven’t shopped in a while so there isn’t much in.”

  “So, we shop on the way home.”

  “Sure.” Zander looked and sounded distracted; his gaze firmly fixed on the CCTV cameras.

  “You OK? You’re miles way.”

  “I’m fine. Let’s go home via the corner shop. The patrols are sorted. They will be here all night until the place closes at two. Same again tomorrow night.” He got into the car and fastened his seatbelt. “I’m meant to be seeing a mate tonight.”

  “So go see him.” Isabel grinned. “I’m more than capable of having a long, hot bath then curling up with a good book. I’ll lock all the doors and windows and not move. I promise. Just don’t leave me all the dishes if I’m cooking.”

  “I won’t.”

  ~*~

  Isabel put the book down and glanced at the clock. The red digits shone in the dimly lit bedroom. 12:30. Zander had gone out at seven. He’d texted at eleven to say he was swinging past a night club and not to wait up, but he still hadn’t come back.

  She shook her head. She was his partner, not his keeper. If he wanted to spend all night on the tiles and still make work at half past eight in the morning, that was up to him.

  Car doors slamming woke her at 3:00 AM and she could hear voices, followed by a key in the front door. She turned over, tuning out the noise. When her alarm woke her at half past five, there was only the sound of snoring coming from Zander’s room.

  She changed into her running gear, then headed quietly down the stairs and straight out of the front door. She ran the three-mile circuit Zander had shown her in just under twenty minutes. Returning to the house, Isabel showered and dressed for work. When Zander still hadn’t surfaced by seven-thirty, she made coffee. She was about to head upstairs with it, when she heard movement.

  It was another twenty minutes before he came downstairs. “Morning.”

  “You look dreadful.”

  “I feel it.” He drained what must have been cold coffee. “Is Mike up yet?”

  “Mike?” Isabel made more coffee.

  “He crashed on the couch.”

  Oh. She shook her head. “Not seen anyone.” She wrinkled her nose. “You need a shower.”

  “Yeah. I’ll get right on it.” Zander pinched the bridge of his nose. “My head is thumping.”

  She leaned closer. That was alcohol she smelled. He reeked of it. �
�Were you drinking last night?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll go and catch the bus to work.”

  “I’m not drunk,” he protested.

  “And not fit to drive either.”

  He dropped his cup on the counter, spilling coffee everywhere. “Just tired.”

  “Go back to bed and sleep. I’ll spend the day tracing missing files and doing paperwork.” She headed out of the kitchen, before he could argue.

  A man came out of the lounge, wearing nothing but shorts. “Morning, sweetheart.”

  She ignored the comment. “Zander’s in the kitchen.” Skirting past him, she left the house, shutting the door firmly behind her. She joined the queue at the bus stop, desperately hoping the day would improve.

  The bus came almost immediately. She paid, found a seat, and then pulled out her phone.

  I assume the half-dressed bloke in the hall was Mike. What were you thinking? You don't drink. At least that's what you told me.

  Her phone buzzed, and she looked at his reply.

  I wasn't drinking! I stuck to orange juice. We went to the club and stayed until it closed at 2:00. If I stink of booze it's b/c Mike spilled beer on me.

  Isabel didn’t dignify that with a response. If someone spilled beer on her, she’d have gone home, showered, and changed. She wouldn’t have stayed in the bar until closing time and then slept in the same booze drenched outfit. Maybe she didn’t know Zander as well as she thought she did.

  At work, she sat at her desk and bounced the ball several times, looking thoughtfully at the zebra-cam. She glanced around to make sure she was alone in the room, and then changed the disk. She slid the used one into her bag to watch later.

  “Morning, Isabel.” The Guv had appeared from nowhere again. “Where’s Zander?”

  “Under the weather,” she said. Well, it was almost true. “He should be back tomorrow. Unless his conscience kicks in and makes him recover faster.”

  “Something you’re trying hard not to tell me?”

  She shook her head. “I figured I’d run a few programmes on this. Try to work out how the stuff got removed.”

  “Leave it to the tech blokes.”

  “They can’t do it until Monday and it’s only Thursday. I’ve done several IT courses and came top in them. I’d like to try.”