Deadly Admirer

by Christine Green

  ‘You'll be mayor next,’ I said and was amazed when he seemed pleased with the idea. His lips gave a definite twitch at the sound of the word mayor. I took up my drink, downed it in one, shrugged at Hubert as if to say, ‘Call me timid would you?’ – and advanced towards the bar.

  At first I didn't see DS Roade but suddenly he was there in front of me, bursting through a group of besuited men.

  ‘Kate,’ he said happily as if I were a long-lost buddy. His spots showed less in the red glow, and then I realised … he really was red, and drunk, very drunk.

  ‘Come on, girl,’ he said, ‘you come over here. Mr O'Conner wants to have a word with you.’

  He grabbed my arm and pulled me into the throng. It was how I imagine a midget would feel in a rugby scrum. My eyes were at chest level with most of them and the whole atmosphere was so overwhelmingly jolly and masculine I felt like ducking and running. Someone else took my arm and squeezed it. It was Finbar O'Conner, Chief Inspector.

  ‘Not much muscle there.’ He laughed. ‘Not for a private detective.’

  Everyone seemed to think that hilariously funny and I had to turn my head away to avoid the whisky fumes that escaped from his mouth like dragon's breath.

  ‘Piss off,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Tut. Tut. You naughty girl.’ He clamped an arm round me and half turned me, which was just as well because I was quite taken with the idea of kneeing him.

  ‘A drink for the lady,’ he shouted to no one in particular but a voice called back immediately, ‘What does she want?’

  There was more guffawing.

  ‘Double brandy,’ I said loudly.

  Within moments the drink was passed through to me. I looked at the large amount of brown liquid, wondering if I should try downing this lot in one. I decided against it. What would that prove?

  As I took the first gulp I noticed a man watching me. He stood at the far side of the bar, a little away from the general crush, one hand holding a pint glass, the other supporting his chin. I got the impression the others accorded him his own personal space. Through fear, I thought, and not respect. He had cold blue eyes, a thick nose that could have been broken once or twice, a low forehead, and a pugnaciously jutting lower jaw. Not a particularly ugly man – but aggressive-looking. ‘A nasty aggressive type' were Hubert's words and I was sure he was Paul Oakby and, rapist or not, I didn't like the look of him.

  ‘We're celebrating,’ a voice behind me said. I turned my head which was the only part of my body I could move with ease. It was Inspector Hook, with bloodshot eyes and more grey-looking than I remembered him. He suffered from migraine. No doubt he'd have one on the morrow.

  ‘Celebrating what?’ I asked.

  ‘Getting a result and our new Chief Inspector's arrival and the fact … that the CID beat the woodentops at five a side.’ He enunciated each word with the utmost care.

  The police were, I thought, very much like nurses – any excuse for a celebration, although nurses usually kept to cheap vino and a low profile. Longborough police were obviously more blatant with their boozing.

  ‘Result?’ I queried casually.

  ‘The murder.’

  ‘Which murder?’

  ‘We don't have that many. Today's murder.’

  ‘May Brigstock?’

  ‘That's the one.’

  He slurred on ‘that's'.

  ‘Explain it to me, Inspector,’ I said. ‘I've had too much to drink.’

  ‘Haven't we all. We think we've got the killer.’

  ‘Really?’ I wasn't surprised. I was amazed. ‘Who?’

  ‘Mrs Brigstock – Brigstock's nephew, and our best suspect so far. Nasty little tyke. House-breaker, mugger, car thief. He's … adaptable.’

  ‘He certainly is,’ I said. ‘This is a first-time murder, I take it?’

  ‘Are you being funny?’ he asked, squinting at me as if he could tell my state of humour by peering at me through slitted eyes.

  ‘Perish the thought, Inspector. I'm just eager to know more. Is he in custody now?’

  ‘He will be as soon as we can find him. We can definitely nail the little sod – his fingerprints were all over the house.’

  ‘I expect mine were too,’ I said, but he didn't seem to hear me. So I asked, ‘And the writing on the mirror? Is that his usual modus operandi when he's nicking things?’

  Hook looked at me stonily. ‘That message was for his aunt.’

  ‘But it said “For you. V.”’

  ‘Ah!’ Hook said triumphantly. ‘That was for Vera.’

  ‘Who's Vera?’

  ‘Vera May Bri … Brigstock, known as May.’

  I tried to keep the surprise from my voice and my face. ‘And you're sure it was him?’

  Hook nodded. ‘Sure we're sure. We wouldn't be celebrating, would we? You're not convinced though, are you? Neither was your little friend.’

  ‘Little friend?’

  ‘Vanessa Wootten. She came to see us this evening, about six. Gave us a good statement. She was still a bit upset but she said a few days with her sister in … Derbyshire would sort her out.’

  I smiled, as if I already knew, and murmured something about the pretty countryside. But I felt angry and disappointed. What was she playing at? All that worry and she was quite safe and swanning off to act out her victim role with her sister. Well, I'd been manipulated long enough.

  Hook, noticing perhaps that I'd lost interest, began to force his way through to the bar again and I searched round for the comforting sight of Hubert's balding head. I couldn't see him and as I turned back I saw that thick nose was making his way towards me though the crush with a raised beer in one hand and what seemed to be a brandy in the other. He was flashing me a leery expression as though by buying me a drink he was hoping for something in return. I looked around again for Hubert. He was nowhere to be seen. I turned back. Thick nose was already by my side now, smiling as he handed me the brandy. And the smile was as slick as a scorpion's tail.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Paul Oakby I presume?’ I asked in what I hoped was a casually cheerful tone.

  ‘The same,’ he said, the smile vanishing. ‘Let's find somewhere a bit quieter to talk.’

  He took my arm as if he were arresting me and led me over to a two-seater table by the exit.

  ‘Where's your minder?’ he asked as he guided the chair under me.

  ‘Minder?’

  ‘That weird undertaker.’

  ‘Mr Humberstone you mean. He's my landlord, that's all.’

  Paul Oakby smirked. ‘Same difference.’

  I didn't argue. ‘Don't let's waste each other's time, Mr Oakby. Why exactly did you want to see me?’

  ‘I thought you wanted to see me,’ he said. ‘Making enquiries, weren't you?’

  ‘Well, I … yes. I was making enquiries about Vanessa Wootten and the … the rape. She suspects she's being followed, you see and I—’

  ‘Alleged rape,’ he interrupted, alleged rape. Get your facts straight, Miss Would-be-detective.’

  ‘Look, Mr Oakby, if you're going to take this tone then I think there's no point in us continuing. I don't have any real interest in whether or not you raped Vanessa. That's past history now. I just want to find and stop the man who is supposed to be following her.’

  ‘Okay. Okay. No need to get on your high horse. I'll just tell you this. I didn't rape her that night or any other. I don't need to rape women. They beg me for it.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Really,’ I breathed.

  If his tongue had been forked he would definitely have given me the two-pronged attack. Instead he said, ‘You bitch,’ quietly, with such cold anger that I couldn't maintain eye contact and I turned my head to look once more for Hubert. This time he was back in his seat, raising his glass to me in cheerful salute.

  Some time passed before either of us spoke again. Oakby continued to drink his beer with one hand clenched tightly around the handle and with his free hand he drummed on the table with hi
s fist, slowly and rhythmically. I decided then that PC Oakby had to be humoured even if I had to grovel, for I only had him and Sean on my paltry list of suspects.

  ‘Look, I'm sorry we've got off to such a bad start,’ I began, ‘I know hardly anything about Vanessa and I really would appreciate your help.’

  He finished his beer and placed the glass carefully on a beer mat. ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked.

  ‘Tell me about the suspected rape.’

  ‘I was there that night,’ he said, ‘and you are the only person I've admitted that to. Tell anyone and I'll deny it. But I repeat, I did not rape her. We were driving round on patrol, Dick Hobbs and me. I saw Ness going into the house so we stopped outside and I dropped in to see her. A fleeting visit but she was pleased to see me. It seems she'd had a row with that pillock Sean and anyway, as I've said, she was pleased to see me.’

  It took a while for me to understand what he meant. ‘You mean you … you?’

  ‘Yeah. We had a quickie.’

  ‘With your colleague in the car outside?’

  ‘He was happy enough. He read the paper.’

  ‘I see,’ I murmured, trying to sound as if having a quickie while on patrol was a normal part of police activity.

  ‘You're shocked,’ he said. ‘You're more prissy than I thought, but then when I first met Ness I thought she was a prissy little bitch.’

  ‘And now what do you think of her?’

  ‘If you must know I think she's a raving nympho and she's nuts as well. She's been in the bin, you know.’

  I nodded. ‘I know she's had psychiatric treatment. I know too that she's very frightened. What I don't understand is why she should accuse you of rape.’

  ‘Do nutters need excuses?’

  There was no answer to that. Paul Oakby, I thought, was the worst type of policeman, no doubt over-endowed sexually but with an IQ not much higher than the average police dog and with less sensitivity.

  ‘Another drink?’ he asked.

  I paused, drained my glass … why not? ‘Thanks, I'd love one.’

  I watched him push his way to the front of the bar and then talk to the men either side. I saw them turn and laugh and I grew hot and uncomfortable. The bastard probably thought he'd bought me for a double brandy.

  When my drink finally arrived, it was a single.

  ‘Let me give you some advice,’ he said as he sat down.

  ‘I could do with some,’ I replied, trying to sound convincingly humble.

  ‘Don't believe a word Ness tells you. She nearly ruined my career, you know. Dick's alibi that we stayed together saved my bacon. He knows what I'm like with women. I'll fight with any man but I'm not violent towards women.’

  ‘And you don't hold a grudge against her?’

  He mumbled something into his beer which I didn't quite hear.

  ‘Could you say that again?’

  His blue eyes stared at me for a moment. ‘I still love the silly bitch,’ he murmured. ‘And that's the truth.’

  And somehow I believed that it was.

  I had only two more questions to ask. ‘Do you always call her Ness?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘And do you know her sister's address?’

  ‘No,’ he answered, ‘I didn't know she'd got a sister. She gave the impression she was an only child. Mind you, she didn't talk much about the past but she did have me looking for the someone who is supposed to be following her.’

  I tried not to let the surprise show in my face, but he noticed. ‘Take it from me,’ he said, ‘Vanessa imagines things. She believes that someone is following her. She believes I raped her. She doesn't deliberately lie but I think she's more than a little round the bend, don't you?’ He smiled then, as if he were a small boy who'd got away with stealing from his mother's purse. A mixture of triumph and guilt.

  I thanked him coolly and stood up to go.

  And just when I didn't expect it he asked, ‘She'll be all right, won't she?’

  He sounded genuinely concerned, he even looked concerned, and at that moment I was sure I'd misjudged him.

  ‘I'll do my best,’ I promised.

  Hubert looked forlorn sitting alone.

  ‘You took your time,’ he said. ‘Want a drink?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘You'll drink with everyone else,’ he said, peeved.

  I was too tired to argue. I sat down. ‘Another brandy then, Hubert.’

  He smiled at his minor victory and walked off briskly to the bar.

  ‘Vanessa's gone to Derbyshire,’ I said as Hubert put a double in front of me, ‘or so she says, to her sister's.’

  ‘You don't sound convinced,’ said Hubert.

  ‘It just seems funny she didn't mention a sister to me or to Oakby when she was seeing him.’

  That was my last coherent sentence before the brandy took hold. I heard a bell ring loudly for last orders and as it did so I felt like a boxer who'd gone down in round nine and was struggling to stay upright for round ten.

  I vaguely remembered the walk back to Humberstones, stumbling as I walked up the stairs and then being helped on to the sofa-bed in the room adjoining my office. And Hubert tuttutting at me as he took off my shoes and covered me with a duvet. It must have made Hubert's day, I thought, as the room began to dip and dive, and I said the common prayer of drunks everywhere: ‘Never again, Lord, never again.’

  I woke the next morning at seven with a terrible headache. I drank two mugs of strong black coffee, took two aspirins and waited for them to take effect. Then when my head no longer pounded, just ached dully like an old bruise, I decided to ring Vanessa. For I was sure she was at home. Who exactly was she trying to convince she had gone to Derbyshire, the police or me? But the phone remained unanswered, and I would have to go to her house to find out.

  Vanessa's house in Percival Road showed no sign of life but there was a pint of milk on the doorstep. I gave a few raps on the door and as I stood waiting, I half turned towards the road. A small black van with those sinister dark tinted windows passed by. The only reason I noticed it was that it was going so slowly … so slowly, and suddenly I sensed that it was him, but by the time I realised, it was too late, he had speeded up and more traffic had followed on behind him. And I hadn't seen his face.

  I rapped again on the door and shouted through the letter-box, ‘Vanessa, it's Kate. Come on, open the door. I know you're in there.’

  I didn't of course, but I guessed. A few moments later the door opened a fraction.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, hardly allowing me space to get through the door. ‘I'm in the bedroom.’

  Upstairs I had the same problem getting through the door. A chest of drawers had been positioned as a barricade and I had to hold everything in to get through. Vanessa's slim frame slipped through the gap as easily as a cat.

  Once in the room I was surprised by its state. Clothes lay strewn over the floor, drawers were open, everything on the dressing-table had been knocked aside. Face powder and lipsticks and jewellery littered the floor.

  ‘What on earth has happened?’

  Vanessa's eyes swept around the room sadly as though she too couldn't quite believe it. She wore pale blue pyjamas that could have been silk, no make-up, and her eyes were red-rimmed with crying. She still managed to look wonderful.

  ‘Did you see him?’ she asked. ‘Did you see him? He drove off when you arrived – in the black van.’

  I nodded. ‘I didn't see his face though.’

  ‘Did you get his number?’

  I shook my head. ‘I wasn't to know it was him. Did you get his number?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘He's too clever for that. He parked the van some way down the road in front of another car.’

  She sighed heavily and slumped on the edge of the unmade double bed and then she began to tremble. I sat down beside her, put an arm around her and just patted her back until the trembling eased.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ I said, ‘slo
wly and clearly.’

  She tensed and shrugged just a little. I removed my arm and she managed a weak smile.

  ‘I'm sorry I ran out on you, Kate. I couldn't stand being in that chapel of rest. I felt trapped. I walked round for hours after that, just walked. Then in the evening I felt calm enough to go to the police. I gave them a statement. I told them I was going to my sister's in Derbyshire. Why I did that I just don't know. And then I came home … and found …’ Her hand flicked towards the room.

  ‘Go on,’ I encouraged.

  ‘He got in by breaking a pane of glass in the back door. He cleared up the broken glass but every room is a mess; he couldn't find it at first, you see. I'd put it on my bedside table and it must have fallen under the bed. And now he's got it.’

  ‘Got what?’ I asked.

  ‘My work diary.’

  I was about to say – is that all? And then I realised. A district nurse's work diary contains names, addresses, telephone numbers, times of visits. He could work out where she was at any time of the day.

  ‘He'll know everything now. My patients could be in danger. He could be lying in wait for me …’ Vanessa's voice rose to the edge of tears.

  ‘Do you have MOEs in your diary?’ I asked. Mode of Entry is how a district nurse gets into a house when a patient is alone or unable to walk.

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Only abbreviations but he could work them out, couldn't he?’

  ‘Have you told the police about the burglary?’

  ‘No, Kate, and I don't want them to know. They think they know who May's murderer is. Did you know that?’

  ‘Yes. But when they do find him,’ I said, ‘I think they'll find they have got the wrong man.’

  She stared at me for a moment. ‘The police here aren't much good, are they?’

  I agreed, but I didn't want her to lose complete faith in the Longborough constabulary. ‘They don't have that much experience with murder, you know,’ I said. ‘Round here it's more likely to be drunks, kids stealing cars and the odd domestic. They are doing their best and you really must report this robbery.’

  ‘No.’ Vanessa's voice was quietly defiant. ‘I just want you to be involved. You might be able to catch him if he thinks the police aren't on to him. He might get careless …’