A Fatal Frost

by Ruby Loren

  An unhappy muttering spread around the room.

  “We’re an archeological society! We don’t simply talk about murders. That’s just been the theme of the past couple of meetings. Anyway, you only asked questions about how we knew Maria and if we could think of any reason why someone would want her dead, and the answer is still no. I don’t know why anyone would,” Carl said, facing down the detective in an unusual display of confidence - that was only ruined when he looked at Louise as if to say: ‘How did I do?’. Holly tried not to smirk. It was amazing what people would do for love.

  DCI Chittenden raked a hand down his face.

  “Fine! Un-arrest her,” he said, pointing at Milly. The officer obliged. “We’ll need to speak to you all again, but we’ll do it tomorrow.” Chittenden was admitting defeat for tonight.

  Holly opened her mouth to remind him that she wasn’t actually in the society, so would be of little to no help at all, but then decided it would be better not to.

  It was at that moment that the two car searchers returned, and they weren’t empty-handed. A clear, plastic evidence bag held what looked to Holly like a large rock. The inside of the bag was smeared with red clots. There was no doubt at all that this was the weapon which had been used to stave in Maria’s head - and had probably resulted in her death.

  “This was in the light blue Fiat,” the female police officer said.

  “But that’s my car!” Louise burst out and then bit her tongue. It didn’t escape Holly’s notice that Carl took a step away from her. Chittenden nodded and the officer moved over and placed the cuffs - that had been around Milly’s wrists a moment before - onto Louise.

  “But… but… I didn’t do it! I’ve been out all day. I barely made it here on time,” she protested.

  Carl nodded. “It’s true! We shared a lift and she was late. I think I’d have noticed if there was a blood-stained rock in the car.” Carl’s voice was starting to get heated.

  Chittenden’s lips narrowed into a thin line. “If you have an alibi this can all be sorted out… down at the station,” he finished, and Louise was led away. Carl was left staring after her.

  “How can I get back? I can’t drive her car, and they’ve taken the keys,” he complained loudly, until George stepped forward and offered to drop him back home. Rather you than me, Holly thought. She could sense that George wasn’t thrilled to be lumbered with Carl. He shot a sorry look her way. Holly gave him a little smile back. She was sure he could handle Carl.

  One thing was clear, the Amateur Archaeological Society’s annual Christmas dinner was over before it had even started.

  Holly was still musing over the events of the past couple of hours and trying to recall anything she’d noticed at the scene before the police had arrived, when George touched her arm. She jumped but recovered and smiled at him as brightly as she could.

  “I’m sorry about tonight. You’ll still be paid, of course,” George said sincerely.

  “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it at all. I have plenty of work at this time of year, and I couldn’t possibly charge you for work I haven’t done. I only hope that they find whoever killed Maria,” Holly said, hoping that would make George feel a little better.

  He looked at her for a long moment, his dark eyes lost deep in thoughts that even Holly couldn’t read. “You’re a detective. What do you think? Will you help the police to work it out?” he asked - rather naively in Holly’s opinion. She didn’t comment on that. George didn’t share her own experience of the police…

  “Something like this should be left to the professionals. No one is going to hire a private detective to solve a murder. Anyway, they already have quite a good lead.” She said the last part in a lower voice, knowing that Carl was still nearby.

  “I think you should look into it anyway, just in case you see something that the police missed. I bet you’d be great,” George said, surprising Holly with his enthusiasm. “I’ll help you out with any details. I know all about the society. I even have the minutes from our last few meetings, so I can fill you in on everything. You could come round to see me soon.”

  Holly nodded distractedly, her mind still on Maria’s murder. What exactly had she seen today? Were there any details she’d missed? Somehow, she suspected that all of the answers lay in the very distant past.

  “I’ll see you soon,” she said to George and walked off towards her car, already wondering what her investigation would turn up. At the moment, it looked pretty likely that Louise had done it. The presence of the murder weapon in a car that only she had the keys to was pretty damning evidence. Holly didn’t know how she’d manage to wriggle out of that one.

  She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the way George looked after her when she walked out into the darkness of the car park.

  Miss Murder

  Sometimes in life, you find that the same people keep popping up for no apparent reason whatsoever. Holly had just discovered that this was definitely true in the case of the Amateur Archaeological Society. Before attending their annual Christmas dinner (although the dinner had never appeared) she’d rarely bumped into any of the members. The exceptions were perhaps seeing them in the distance at the front of the queue in the grocery store, or in the local paper when something out of the ordinary happened - such as an overly large marrow being grown - but now it was as if she couldn’t avoid them.

  Holly was out on a mid-morning run - enjoying how crisp and cold the winter air was against her face - when she nearly collided with Carl, who had stepped out from behind his car without looking. In all fairness, you usually didn’t have to look both ways before stepping onto the pavement, but Holly had picked up quite a bit of speed - mostly due to the bag of chocolate drops she had left sitting on her kitchen table. She planned to indulge in a hot chocolate so sinful it would cancel out the next ten mornings’ jogs.

  “Morning Holly,” Carl said briefly, hoisting a bag of golf clubs out of the boot of his car. “Did you hear that they released Louise? Isn’t that great news?”

  Holly tried not to look surprised. She’d thought that the evidence had been airtight, but if they’d let her go…

  “I knew it all along. She wasn’t lying when she said she had an alibi. She’d been at a baby shower all afternoon with a whole group of friends, and it had run on longer than expected. That was why she picked me up so late. The police agreed that there was no way she could have done it.” His lips twitched a little. Holly could tell he was pleased.

  “That’s great news,” she said to Carl, privately thinking that it meant the murderer was still at large. She hoped the police had some more leads up their sleeves. She nodded at Carl, motioning that she should really be going, and ran off again, pleased to be away from one of the poorer past decisions she’d made.

  She rounded another corner and nearly bowled over Annie and Wilbur - the old couple who’d been at last night’s meeting.

  “Hello Holly,” they greeted her, clearly pleased to have remembered her name. Given the traumatic events of last night, Holly thought it likely that none of them would be forgetting any details of the event in a hurry.

  “Hi Annie. Hi Wilbur,” she said, running on the spot.

  “Did you hear they let Louise go? I’m not sure if that was wise.” Wilbur stroked his chin thoughtfully.

  Annie swatted him with her bag. “The police know what they’re doing, dear! Also, Louise is such a lovely girl. I don’t see her lumping someone on the head with a big rock. She always got on so well with Maria. She’s not the archery fanatic either,” Annie said, and then pursed her lips. Holly opened her mouth to ask a question, but the couple had dissolved into further bickering - this time about what was, or wasn’t, for dinner that night. Holly wished them goodbye and left them to their discussion.

  Her next encounter was when she popped to the shops after finishing her run. She had known that Bernie looked familiar, but it wasn’t until she went to pay and saw him standing there in the supermarke
t manager’s uniform that she realised why.

  “Good to see you,” he began, his smile false and his eyes already roving.

  Holly swallowed down her revulsion and butted in before he could get any further. “I heard the news about Louise.”

  Bernie nodded, his gaze unable to meet hers because it never seemed to rise above chest level.

  “I’m sure we’ll all be dragged in for questioning now. The police will think that one of us did it!” His tone of voice made it clear that he thought the idea he could be implicated was ludicrous.

  Holly tried her very best to look understanding. “I’m sure it will all be over soon,” she offered, but Bernie didn’t seem to be listening anymore.

  “You should come round my house and make it easier for the police to ask their questions,” he said abruptly.

  Holly blinked. Had he just…? Was he really…? She blinked a bit more and then decided to make a small allowance, just in case his rudeness was some sort of affliction.

  “I’m sure you like older men. All girls do,” he added.

  Both of Holly’s eyebrows shot straight up. How had this man lived for so many years, presumably using the same deluded tactics, and yet no one had called him out on it? Allow me to be the first! she thought, mentally rolling her sleeves up before getting stuck into a lengthy ear bashing.

  “… you’re nothing more than a misogynistic, chauvinist, who’s stuck in the caveman era!” she concluded her rant, and then wondered if she’d been too liberal with the word ‘misogynist’. She tried not to count back.

  Heads had turned all around the supermarket, and people were eyeing the showdown between her and the manager. Holly was just wondering if she might have taken things a tad too far, when he flicked a hand up into the air and made a noise of derision.

  “Should have known you’re one of those man-haters,” he said, completely missing the point of everything that Holly had just said. “I wouldn’t waste my time.” He raised his voice before walking away, presumably so the watchers would think that she was the one bothering him - rather than the opposite being true.

  Holly sighed and pushed her brown fringe back from her face. She’d probably used too many long words during her admonishing speech. The truth of the matter was simple: men like Bernie never changed - no matter what was said to them.

  It wouldn’t be long before Holly would sorely regret trying to re-educate the cantankerous man.

  Having managed to get home without bumping into any more members of the Amateur Archaeological Society, Holly was ready for a night of rest and relaxation - starting with the relaxation bit. She walked up to the bathroom, which was one of the best bits of her little cottage, and the main reason she’d been renting here for so long. The room had a beautiful wooden floor (well-treated to avoid damp) and a very generous bathtub. Holly took her time browsing through her collection of bath bombs, before picking the one that smelt right for the night.

  She’d just popped it into the water and was watching it fizz and bubble when the landline rang. Normally, she’d have been tempted to leave it, but some intuition pushed her out of the room and onto the landing to answer the phone.

  “Did you have an altercation today with Bernie Bolton?”

  Holly frowned at the handset, quickly figuring out who it was that was calling her. It was typical that DCI Chittenden thought he could forgo any greeting sequence.

  “Not an altercation, no. I just put him right when he tried to persuade me to go home with him. He was rude, and I told him so,” she said flatly, wondering who would have bothered to tell the detective that. “Why do you ask?”

  A nasty suspicion was forming in her mind.

  “He’s dead,” came the reply.

  The Pharaoh’s Advisor

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Holly said and let a beat pass before she added: “How did he die?”

  Chittenden drew in a deep rattling breath that Holly heard all the way down the other end of the line. She privately thought it was probably high-time the detective considered quitting smoking.

  “He was poisoned. It may have been part of the reason why he acted out of sorts earlier in the day with you,” he allowed.

  “What was the poison?” she asked and then bit her tongue. The police weren’t going to give away all of the details.

  She heard another sigh. “Digitalis, foxglove - which, according to the Archeological Society, is reminiscent of another murder mystery of the past. Some officer, or something, may or may not have been poisoned by it… Somebody thought it was a fun idea to play copycat. It’s bad news,” he said and trailed off.

  Holly knew exactly what he was saying. Maria’s death wasn’t a one off. There was a serial killer loose in Little Wemley.

  “I’m going to need you to account for your whereabouts at various times,” the detective told her matter-of-factly.

  Holly tried not to splutter. He really suspected her? Then she remembered that the late Bernie had felt much the same about being considered a possible candidate for the culprit. No one was above suspicion in this case.

  “But Detective… I’d never even heard of Otzi the ice man before I went to play piano for the society! When Milly brought it up, it was the first I knew of it. Surely it’s far more likely that it’s one of the members?” she reasoned.

  “Are you going to tell me that it’s obvious who committed the murders? Because if you don’t have anything useful to say, stop wasting my time. You’re expected at the station in half an hour,” he said and hung up. Saying goodbye was also apparently beneath him.

  Holly thought of her bath - filled with warm, fragrant bubbles - and went back into the bathroom to pull the plug. She knew feeling annoyed because of a wasted bath was ridiculous when you considered that a man had died, but at the same time, why did she have to be dragged in so promptly? They didn’t really think she’d killed him, did they? She chewed her lip, wondering what a professional private detective like her friend, Rob Frost, would do in this situation. Probably dig a hole, she thought and shook her head. She needed to get herself out of a hole… not make it even deeper.

  “Let’s get this straight… Bernie Bolton turned you down and then you got angry and started yelling long words at him,” the DCI said.

  Holly tried not to grind her teeth together. Long words?!

  “Who said that?” she queried. The doughy man immediately clammed up. “Let me guess… it was a male witness,” she said and sighed. Why was it that the people words like ‘chauvinist’ and ‘misogynist’ best described never knew their definitions? “That’s not what happened,” she added to be clear, and then launched into her own explanation. She was just getting to the part where she’d walked back to her house, and definitely hadn’t killed Bernie, when the phone on the wall of the room rang.

  “What? Oh, fine.” DCI Chittenden glared at her. “You can go. Your alibi checks out for the time that Maria was murdered. Although, there is still a possibility you killed Bernie in a copycat killing - just to settle your personal grudge.”

  Holly tried to not let her mouth hang open too much. “The first time we ever spoke was at the Christmas dinner before Maria was found!” she complained, but the police detective just crossed his arms.

  “So you say,” he said and showed Holly to the door.

  It was lucky, she reflected, that she’d hired barmy Becky. Where would she have been without an alibi?

  She shook her head as she walked back down the street. The police were definitely clutching at straws if they were trying those tactics on her. Their evidence must be next to nothing.

  She turned the corner and started down Duke Road, just one street away from her little cottage. Chrissy was arriving home with a bag of groceries. Holly waved at her, resigning herself to bumping into everyone that was involved with the case. This town was starting to feel a bit too small.

  She’d only walked another twenty paces when she heard a scream.

  Chrissy ran straight back out of her hou
se. “Help!” she shrieked.

  Holly dashed over, sensing her deep distress.

  The other woman shut her front door and slid down the wall next to it, ending up sitting on the edge of her driveway. Her eyes stared at nothing and her jaw was slack.

  “Chrissy, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Holly asked, fearing that she’d been poisoned, too. It was then that she looked down and her sharp eyes picked out the flash of red that streaked Chrissy’s left hand, crimson and bright.

  “Aidan’s in there… I… I think he’s dead.”

  Holly knelt down next to her old acquaintance. She reached out and steadied her arm.

  “I’m going to go in there and check. Do you think you can go to a next door neighbour, or use your mobile phone to call the police?” she asked, keeping her voice level. She’d heard that giving people who were panicking or in shock something to focus on could help. Chrissy nodded mutely. Holly hoped the instructions had got through.

  With a sense of growing dread, she walked into Chrissy Bartholomew’s house.

  Groceries were strewn all over the hall floor where Chrissy had presumably dropped her bag when she’d seen the state of her living room… and of her boyfriend.

  Holly raised her gaze and looked through the open door. Her stomach tied itself into a knot. There was no need to double-check if Aidan Banks was dead, his head had been so bashed in, it was misshapen. Holly tried to breathe through her mouth, so she wouldn’t choke on the stench of death that hung in the air.

  There was something odd about Aidan’s face, something she hadn’t noticed before…

  She leaned through the doorway, careful not to disturb any of the blood that was liberally splashed around the room. Whoever had murdered Aidan Banks hadn’t stopped hitting him as soon as he’d died. Holly felt her stomach twist around some more. She closed her eyes for a second, before focusing her attention on Aidan’s left cheek. There was a raised, red area that hadn’t been there when she’d met the TV presenter at the club dinner.