by P R Ellis
She pulled the door open a crack, covered her face with a hand and peered out. The figure of Tom Shepherd filled the doorway. She dropped her hand from her face.
‘Tom? What on earth are you banging the door down for?’
‘Sorry, I thought you might still be asleep.’
‘Well, I’m not. I do have a job to get up for, you know.’
‘Do you? Oh, yes, your surveillance.’
Jasmine opened the door wider. ‘You’d better come in. What’s this all about?’
‘Sloane wants you.’
‘DCI Sloane wants me?’
‘That’s right. He wants to speak to you.’
‘Well, he, or you, could have phoned. I was prepared to come into the station to make my statement. Why send you to hammer my door down?’
Tom stepped inside the door and looked down at her.
‘He was in one of his moods this morning. Said we couldn’t make progress on this case until he’d interviewed you.’
‘Interviewed me?’
‘Yes, and he wasn’t prepared to wait for you to swan in at your own convenience. Those were his words.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Jasmine felt the familiar knot form in her stomach when DCI Sloane’s manner wound her up. ‘Are you going to give me time to get dressed properly?’
‘Yes, of course. I’m not going to drag you to the station in your dressing gown.’
‘Well, thanks for that. You’d better sit down while you wait. Better still, make us both a cup of coffee – you know where the kitchen is.’
Jasmine turned and huffed back to her bedroom, not caring whether Tom followed her instructions. What was Sloane up to, hauling her into the station for questioning? Did he think she knew something about Xristal’s death? Of course, that was it - Xristal was trans too. Sloane would automatically assume that as they were both transsexuals they were bound to know each other.
She went into the bathroom, sat on the loo and had a brief shower, but shaved carefully. Returning to her bedroom, she opened the wardrobe and contemplated what to wear. She enjoyed winding Sloane up, but that was probably not the best course of action today. She decided to dress modestly but as femininely as possible. A glance out of the window showed that it was a warm if somewhat dull morning, so she chose a plain white vest top, a blue Topshop skirt and a pair of flat sandals. She paid careful attention to her make-up and finally emerged into the living room to find Tom sitting at the dining table with an empty mug in front of him. He glanced at his watch.
‘We’d better get moving.’
‘I’ll have my coffee first, if you don’t mind, since you have deprived me of breakfast.’ Jasmine reached for the full mug beside Tom’s empty one.
‘Look, I’m sorry about this, Jas, but you know what Sloane’s like.’
Jasmine downed the lukewarm coffee and replaced the mug on the table.
‘I know, and I don’t want to get you into trouble, so let’s go!’ She picked up her bag from the floor and rummaged for her car keys. Tom watched her.
‘I’ll take you.’
‘And bring me back?’
‘Of course, unless Sloane bangs you up.’ He added a chuckle.
‘Don’t joke. I wouldn‘t put it past Sloane to keep me hanging around all day.’
Tom led Jasmine through the reception area of Kintbridge Police Station and through the security doors into the corridor of interview rooms. Jasmine followed him, trying to look nonchalant. She nodded to the officer on the desk as they passed. He looked at her, his eyes registering recognition before lowering them to his book without a comment. She tried to act as if this happened every day, but although the entrance foyer was as familiar as ever after all her years in the force, she felt almost like a criminal being led through.
Tom opened the door of the interview room and ushered Jasmine in. She surveyed the familiar small room with its four plastic chairs either side of the Formica-topped table, next to the wall with the switches of the recording apparatus. She glanced up to the corner of the ceiling to see the camera angled towards the table.
‘Take a seat, Jas. I’ll tell Sloane you’re here. I’m sure he won’t be long.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it. I don’t suppose he gives a toss that I’m supposed to be observing a suspected benefits fraudster.’
‘Yeah, probably not. Look, I’ll take you back home as soon as you’re done.’ Tom pulled the door closed. Jasmine was almost waiting for the click of the lock, but it didn’t come. She was still a free woman then. She walked around the small room, delaying sitting at the table, but, with little space and no windows, there was nothing to occupy her. She settled on a chair, smoothing the skirt under her thighs and dug in her bag for her phone. A quick check revealed no calls or messages.
The door was thrust open and the imposing figure of DCI Sloane entered. Despite his nondescript grey suit he dominated the room. Jasmine looked up at him but did not move from her seat.
‘Ah, Frame. Glad you could come in.’ Sloane sat down in the chair opposite her. She heard it groan as it took his weight. Jasmine looked at him expectantly, not gracing him with a response. He flicked a switch on the wall.
‘About the death of this, um, person, in a fire. The Fire Officer’s report states that you, Frame, were in the flat when the fire and rescue service arrived.’
‘That’s correct, Chief Inspector.’
‘Could you tell me what you were doing there?’
Jasmine took a deep breath. ‘The occupant of the ground floor flat, Tilly, said there was a fire in the top flat. I went up to investigate. The door was locked so I broke a window to get in and found the, uh, body, on the bed.’ Despite her efforts to remain dispassionate, Jasmine found her voice wobbling a little as she recalled the smell and the scene that had confronted her.
‘You were visiting this Tilly girl?’
‘No. I was in the street outside the house.’
‘Were you about to call on the victim?’
‘No. I don’t, didn’t, know her.’
‘So, what were you doing in Bredon Road?’
‘I was collecting evidence.’
‘Evidence of what?’
‘Benefit fraud. Look, you can check with the Fraud Investigation Service. I am under contract to keep George Parfitt of 29 Bredon Road under surveillance for the purposes of determining whether he is eligible for disability benefits.’
They stared at each other, Jasmine trying not to blink before Sloane.
‘So it was a coincidence that you were in Bredon Road while this person, Xristal Newman, was burning on the bed?’
‘Yes. I’d been there all day, sitting in my car, waiting for Parfitt to come out. When he did, it just happened to be at the same time as Tilly appeared, panicking and shouting “Fire!”’
‘I don’t like coincidences. Are you saying you didn’t know this Newman person even though she was, ah, transsexual like... like you?’
‘That’s right. I have never seen or heard of her before in my life. Now and again coincidences happen. This is one of them.’
Sloane sucked in his cheeks and smacked his lips together.
‘I see,’ he said at last.
‘Do you really suspect me of having something to do with Xristal’s death?’ Jasmine said, struggling to control the anger that was building up inside her.
‘Everyone connected with the deceased is a suspect until the evidence suggests otherwise. Your fingerprints are on the door handle.’
‘Of course they are. I didn’t carry gloves with me and I thought someone might be trapped inside. I didn’t touch anything inside. Not when I saw...’
‘That’s correct. We haven’t found any of your prints inside the flat.’
‘I realised that it was a crime scene not a rescue. I haven’t forgotten my training, you know.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Sloane growled. ‘Miss Jones, Tilly, confirms your story as does another witness, a Mr Parfitt...’
‘Oh yes. He came a
long when Tilly shouted out.’
‘He says he saw a woman get out of a car, an old Ford Fiesta, when the alarm was raised. He says the woman ran into the house with the Tilly girl. The woman had dark brown hair and your build. Your hair is fair.’
‘I was wearing a wig.’
‘So DS Shepherd reported. It appears therefore unlikely that you are the perpetrator.’
‘Well, thank you.’
Sloane glared. ‘But it was reasonable to think you may have been visiting this person as you are both...’
‘Look. I don’t know every trans person in Kintbridge. There are quite a lot if you count in all the transvestites and transsexuals together; dozens, possibly hundreds, even in a place this size.’
‘Hmph. In that case your assistance will be even more valuable.’ Sloane spoke calmly and without a trace of his previous belligerence.
‘My assistance?’
‘Yes. Since you have no connection with the deceased and as his transsexual nature may be a contributory factor in the murder, your knowledge of these matters will be of use to us.’
‘Of course it will.’
‘I am therefore offering you the temporary position of special advisor for transgender matters. You will liaise with DS Shepherd.’
‘Oh, right. OK.’ Jasmine was struggling to cope with Sloane’s change of tone.
‘We’ll sort out the contract at a later date. Normal rates for advisors will apply.’
‘Thanks.’
Sloane stood up and advanced towards the doorway.
‘You can go. Shepherd will fill you in and note any information you may have.’ He opened the door and was gone.
Jasmine remained seated, stunned. So Sloane had given her a job, a paid job with a title. OK, only temporary, but for the duration of the investigation. It meant that she was entitled to know how the search for Xristal’s killer was progressing.
‘What are you still sitting there for?’
Jasmine looked up to see Tom standing in the doorway.
‘I was thinking about what Sloane has just asked me.’
‘About being a special advisor?’
‘Yes. Did you know he was going to do that?’
‘We discussed it after this morning’s briefing. He said not to mention it until he was sure that you weren’t involved with Xristal.’
‘Well, he certainly pushed me on that, but I had never heard of her before yesterday.’
‘Sloane doesn’t like coincidences.’
‘So he said.’
‘So, are you coming or do you want to stay sitting here all day? I’ve got work to do after I’ve been your taxi driver.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Jasmine jumped to her feet. She smoothed down her skirt.
Tom’s car edged its way through the tail end of Kintbridge’s morning rush hour traffic.
‘What else can you tell, me, Tom?’
‘Probably no more than you know already. We know the victim’s name, Xristal Newman, but there was nothing in the flat to confirm her identity or tell us anything more about her. What there might have been was possibly in a bag, which seems to have been removed.’
‘So we don’t know much about her.’
‘That’s right. I think Sloane was hoping that you did know her.’
‘What about how she died?’
‘Don’t know yet. It was late last night when Winslade had the body removed – that wasn’t easy. I hope she’ll have some more for us later today.’
‘I spoke to Tilly. She didn’t seem to know Xristal or her friend Honey very well.’
‘Honey?’
‘Honey Potts. The big blonde in the photo with Xristal. Tilly seemed to think they were pretty close until Honey disappeared a couple of weeks ago.’
‘I don’t know anything about this Honey.’
‘I thought you’d spoken to Tilly? Sloane said she confirmed my story.’
‘She did, but I don’t think she was asked about anyone else.’
‘What about the photo?’
‘Which photo?’
‘The one on Xristal’s chest of drawers. The one I took a photo of myself on my phone.’
‘Oh, that one. That’s at the station. We’re using it to check who recognises Xristal.’
‘Well, find out what you can about Honey too. I think she’s TS as well.’
‘Why?’
‘Haven’t you looked? She’s tall, broad-shouldered, with big tits that look too good to be real.’
‘I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Call yourself a detective? Oh, by the way, Xristal had an old, red leather handbag.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Tilly told me.’
Tom sighed and turned the Mondeo into the car park of Jasmine’s flat.
‘It’s good to have you back on board, Jas. We need you.’
‘I’m glad Sloane thinks so too. I want to find out how Xristal ended up smouldering naked on her bare king size bed and whether it had anything to do with her being trans.’
‘We all do. Here we are.’
‘Thanks for bringing me back. I had better get back to Bredon Road and see if I can continue my surveillance without being recognised. That’s going to be difficult since Parfitt saw me go in to investigate the fire.’
‘Parfitt?’
‘My suspected fraudster.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Give me a call when you have some news.’
‘Of course. Now do you mind getting out? I have to get back.’
Jasmine got out of the car.
‘Thanks Tom,’ she said, pushing the door closed. Tom drove off immediately.
Jasmine went into her flat. She realised that she was starving having only had a cup of coffee before being rushed off to the police station. She looked in a kitchen cupboard and found a lonely cereal bar. Munching on it, she hunted in her bedroom for another wig. She had bought two cheaply when she realised she needed a disguise for her surveillance operations. Now Parfitt had seen her with brown hair she needed a change, but where was the other one? She found it nestled at the bottom of the wardrobe like a black rabbit. A vigorous shake dislodged the dust from it and restored its shape. She decided to stay dressed as she was – it was different to what she’d been wearing yesterday.
Jasmine got into her car and pulled the black curly wig on to her head. A look at herself in the mirror confirmed her suspicions: she looked appalling, but it certainly made her look different. Perhaps it would fool Parfitt.
Jasmine turned into Bredon Road and realised that parking on the road was no longer possible. Parfitt had seen her, well he’d seen someone with brown hair and her figure, and he’d seen her car. He’d become suspicious if he saw the car again. She would have to park out of the line of sight of Parfitt’s house. There was a short side road nearby and she was delighted to find a space near the junction. She did a quick turn and backed into the space facing towards Bredon Road. This was going to have to be a different type of stakeout. A matter of loitering in the street rather than a sitting in the car.
Jasmine stood on the corner trying to look as though she was waiting for someone. She glanced at her phone frequently, to give passers-by the impression that she was impatiently checking the time or text messages. In fact it was because she was bored, plus she needed the camera on her phone ready in case Parfitt appeared. She couldn’t very well stand there with her big SLR camera.
Looking up the road she could see Parfitt’s SUV parked outside his house, but there was no sign of him. Someone walked along the pavement and turned into the house which Tilly and Xristal occupied – a middle-aged man in a business suit. He disappeared from view, presumably invited in.
Jasmine decided to take a walk. She crossed to the other side of the street and sauntered slowly along, making sure she only took brief glances at Parfitt’s house. A dozen more steps took her to another side street, where she stood discreetly out of sight for a while. Luckily there were few pedestrians and cars on Bredon Road,
so she didn’t feel conspicuous.
Over an hour later, the man emerged from Tilly’s front door. He looked briefly in Jasmine’s direction then walked off hurriedly the other way, back towards the town centre. Still no sign of Parfitt, though.
After a few minutes, Jasmine decided to retrace her steps to her first viewing site. As she crossed back over the road, another man walked up Bredon Road and turned into Tilly’s entrance. Jasmine’s curiosity was aroused, so instead of merely watching for Parfitt’s appearance she kept a look out for the man’s re-emergence.
Time dragged and her attention wandered. The operation she would undergo in five days’ time worried her. She desperately wanted her male organs to be gone so as to be free from testosterone’s masculinising effects. Nevertheless, her mind was filled with the dreadful image of a knife slicing through flesh. It was a silly phobia and it must not stop her from achieving what she wanted, but she worried that getting to the hospital next Monday would be a trial. She still had to find someone to accompany her or at least pick her up to bring her home. Who could she ask? Angela, Tom, someone else? Who else was she close enough to?
At last, the second man emerged from Tilly’s flat and strode along the street. Jasmine stepped out of her hiding place just as he reached her. He almost jumped into the road in shock, and increased his pace back towards the bustle of the high street. His nervous behaviour aroused Jasmine’s suspicions. She walked down the road, turned into Tilly’s entrance and rang the doorbell.
The door opened a few inches and Tilly’s blonde head appeared.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
Jasmine stepped forward, placing her foot against the door - a risky thing to do not wearing standard police footwear, but she had to stop Tilly closing the door on her.
‘Jasmine Frame. We met yesterday.’
‘I don’t know you!’
‘Let me come in and I’ll explain.’
‘Why? I’m expecting someone – not you.’
‘Another client? That will be three in a morning will it?’