Urge to Kill (1)

by Franklin, JJ

  He walked around the desk and, taking her hand, led her towards the door. ‘Let’s get together soon and chat about it. How about I sort out a time and come back to you?’ He opened the door for her to pass triumphantly out. Her triumph wouldn’t last long. He would make sure of that.

  Sitting down at his desk, he began thinking of how he could get rid of her for good. Until, having ruled out a variety of ideas, he gave up and, forgoing his lunch, drove up to the health spa, past the bored uniformed officers sitting in their panda car at the end of the drive to keep the few hopeful journalists at bay, whilst letting him through with hardly a glance.

  News coverage on his first statement was fading, but the reporters shouldn’t worry as he intended to provide them with more headlines soon.

  He was pleased to see both the new Mrs Turrell and the always-cheerful Sandi on duty. Clive waited until Sandi was dealing with a guest before he moved towards the reception desk so he could renew his acquaintance with Eppie. He smiled what he knew was his rather boyish smile and stepped forward to explain mother’s problem. The perfect son, concerned for his mother’s welfare.

  He chatted with Eppie and made her laugh. If he was going to use her to get to DI Turrell, he needed her relaxed and friendly. While they waited for Sandi’s advice, he let his gaze wander to the entrance of the dining room.

  A small group of people had gathered waiting for the doors to be flung open ceremoniously by Anton the Maitre D’. They had that anxious look of smokers, eager to get the basics over with and go back to their first love. Clive had relied on that, since he needed to place his props in the smoker’s tent, and this would be the best time.

  He turned back to Eppie as Sandi joined her. Soon, it was all arranged. Mother would see Mrs Mooney, who apparently was a kindly, middle-aged woman who would be very sensitive with dear Mother. More importantly, he made a mental note of the hours the new therapists worked.

  Sandi said she would leave a little note for Mrs Mooney to say they would be calling in. Then he wondered aloud if he should bring Mother to dinner that evening to give her a treat to combine with meeting Mrs Mooney. Both Sandi and Eppie thought this would be a lovely idea, and they were duly booked in for dinner on Saturday at seven.

  He made to walk away, and then stopped to check his watch before heading towards the toilet. He wanted it to look as if he had decided to freshen up before leaving for an important business meeting. Rather pleased with himself, he allowed a small smile of satisfaction to reach his face. He had the distinct impression that his halo was very firmly in place.

  Leaving from the side door, it only took him a minute to take the props from his briefcase and stow them safely in position.

  He had also decided who was to have the honour of being the centrepiece in his next statement.

  CHAPTER 20

  Matt walked away blinded by anger. He wished he was on the rugby field and could find release in pure and cathartic action, but that wasn’t an option. Damn Eppie. Why couldn’t she understand that having her at the scene of his murder enquiry would distract him? He couldn’t bear to think of her in danger, and until this killer was locked up, every woman would be, including Eppie. Matt was very tempted to go back and order Eppie to go home.

  Before he had a chance to move, Fluff caught up with him.

  ‘That’s the last of them, Guv.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘No. Strange really, no one seems to be hiding anything. There’s usually one or two pinching the towels or something. But not a tweet of guilt.’

  Before Matt could reply, Sam arrived.

  ‘There’s one maintenance bloke, Pat O’Neil. He’s in Ireland for his sister’s wedding. Off from Tuesday and not back till Saturday. Be a good knees up I guess.’ Sam sounded wistful.

  ‘His background?’

  ‘Nothing on the radar. Solid family man according to his mates.’

  ‘Right. If there are no special concerns about him, we’ll check him out Saturday. We’re starting to get some earache about us being here.’

  ‘Disrupting guests so I’ve heard,’ Fluff interrupted. ‘I would have thought it would be an advantage to have all you good-looking men about. Sam excepted of course.’

  Matt stepped in before Sam could retaliate. ‘Not as Management sees it. Jason still needs to be here, but let’s head back to the office. Round up the others, Sam.’

  Sam nodded and moved away.

  Fluff looked at Matt. ‘Prof still getting to you?’

  Matt realised that he couldn’t hide his feelings from Fluff. Her antenna was too finely tuned. One of the reasons she made such an excellent detective. He knew he had too many questions about himself and Eppie to externalise any of them at this point so he fobbed Fluff off.

  ‘He was full of his own self-importance as usual. But I’m used to it by now.’

  Fluff nodded and accepted what he said, but Matt knew she had put one of her mental ticks against it and would not let it go until she had worked it out. At least for now she had backed off.

  Back at the office, Matt sighed at the pile of reports waiting for him. He had already been verbally given most of the information. He selected a file from the forensic team and skimmed through it. Jason had caught up with him earlier to say that the model soldier—Matt had duly noted the word model and not toy—was made in England by Frederick Smith and Sons about sixty years before. It looked very much as if it was part of a collection.

  Sam came in just as he finished reading, and Matt pushed the file across the desk towards him. ‘If he’s trying to make us understand what he went through, why a soldier? Was he in the army?’

  Sam looked up from the file. ‘If it’s this old, wouldn’t it belong to his granddad, or even dad I suppose? Could be one of those obsessive sorts who meet up and re-stage battles and things. They take it really seriously too.’

  Matt rose and started to pace the room. ‘What sort of person,’ he paused searching for another word but gave up in the end, ‘plays with these damn things?’ Matt held up the evidence bag in which the soldier was ensconced.

  ‘Silly, old balding blokes,’ Fluff answered as she entered the room, qualifying her answer due to the look from Matt. ‘Military men? Ones who can’t do the real thing anymore?’

  Sam frowned. ‘You think in the past they might have been in the forces?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They’re more likely to be your clever, nerdy type now. They re-enact all the old battles. Dunno why. Doesn’t make sense if you know who won anyway, does it?’

  Fluff had moved forward to the desk and was scanning the report. ‘But these are ancient.’

  ‘So they could have been passed down, father to son, or grandson. And according to the amount of dust on this little fellow, it’s now owned by someone who isn’t interested,’ Matt said.

  ‘So our murderer has either a military figure or a nerdy type in his family. Doesn’t help us much, does it?’ Fluff summarised.

  Matt was aware that he held dozens of strings in his hands like reins. He needed to decide which reins to tighten, which to drop. Choose the wrong lead to follow and someone else might die. The decisions he made were vital, and he was aware that he was working against the clock if he was to stop a further murder. Unless the murderer had placed the model soldier on the body to send them down a blind alley, it had to be important.

  ‘Sam,’ Matt said, making up his mind, ‘see what you can find out about this little fellow.’ He passed the bag containing the soldier over to Sam. ‘Re-enactment societies, where you would buy, collections, etc. The works.’

  Taking the bag, Sam held it up and tried for an American drawl. ‘OK little fellow you’re coming with me. And no arguments—OK buddy?’

  It was nearly five p.m. as Matt watched his team wearily settle into place for a briefing. Even the usually effervescent Sam had dark circles under his eyes. Matt knew every member of the team was working flat out and guessed they were looking forward to a few hours at home
with the family or a pint down the local with time to catch up with all the latest football news.

  Down time was the oil that helped to keep the team working the long hours they ungrudgingly put in on a case like this. He knew he would need to keep them motivated and focused. It was his job to stop them getting dispirited when the long, hard slog seemed to be getting them nowhere. Matt was probably the only one who wasn’t looking forward to going home—the pull of his favourite chair and an hour or two of rugby on the box was negated by uncertainty on how to be with Eppie.

  As Sam finished, Matt straightened up and moved to stand in front of the incident board. He made sure he stood tall with his shoulders back in an effort to create an air of confidence he was far from feeling, glad at least that they’d had some response from the TV appeal.

  ‘Thanks for all the hard work.’ Matt made sure his gaze included everyone in the room. ‘This murderer thinks he is clever. He plans everything carefully. However, as we know, there will always be something he has overlooked, a small mistake. For example, we are already getting calls from the public in the doll appeal. And while there is nothing yet to take us forward, I am confident it will come. We can and will find that mistake before he can kill again.’

  CHAPTER 21

  By the time Clive arrived back to the office, he was still trying to work out how to rid himself permanently of dear Anne. He knew he couldn’t use her in one of his statements. Her demise needed to look like an accident or suicide, and he must be sure he provided himself with a foolproof alibi. He didn’t fancy facing that smart DS again unless he had completely covered his tracks.

  As he entered the office, it was strangely quiet. Gloria was a lone sentry keeping the world at bay.

  ‘Thank goodness. I’m dying to go to the loo.’

  ‘Off you go then.’

  ‘Thanks. Aren’t you going to the do?’

  ‘Do?’

  ‘Artie’s. He’s treating everyone to lunch at Pizza Express. His way of making up for being one of the most miserable bosses ever.’

  ‘No. I’ve got a deadline on the Foster account. I’ll hold the fort if you want to go.’

  ‘Clive, you are my hero. I’d really hate to miss a free lunch, especially off that old bugger. He owes me.’

  She leant across and planted a kiss on his cheek, before snatching her coat and heading for the loo.

  Clive moved into the main office and stood besides Anne’s desk looking for inspiration and aware that a plan was beginning to form in his mind. Hearing the ladies toilet door open, he moved away.

  ‘Thanks, Clive.’

  With a cheery wave of her hand, she was gone, and it was then he noticed Anne’s shoulder bag was still in its usual position, slung across the back of her chair. Clive felt a flush of excitement race through him. If she had left her credit cards behind, then he had found the perfect way to get rid of her. He would give her what she wanted, a date with him. But the date would be deadly and she would never return.

  Seating himself at the desk, he opened her bag. With trembling fingers and an ear attuned for sound of anyone returning, he searched through it. There were two credit cards in a small zipped side pocket. He selected one and laid it in front of the computer.

  The RSC website was easy to find. The Royal Shakespeare Company was busy rebuilding the main theatre, so their temporary Courtyard theatre would have to do. It was just past the Dirty Duck pub on Waterside.

  He crossed his fingers and hoped there would be tickets to see Twelfth Night tomorrow. It was not one of his favourites, but it didn’t matter. At last the site confirmed that there were some tickets available, the most expensive of course, and he booked two without hesitation, giving all of Anne’s details and using her credit card. Just as he was finishing, the soft whine of the lift told him the workers were returning. He slid the cards into in Anne’s bag and moved back to his office.

  Clive just had time to seat himself at his desk when several cheerful staff poured out of the lift. A free lunch was a rare treat and worthwhile, even if they had had to put up with Artie to get it. Anne wasn’t amongst them, and he hoped her computer would go back to screen saver before she arrived. If not, he would have to distract her.

  She was one of the last to return and, by then, her computer was back to normal. Clive congratulated himself that the gods were truly on his side. Anne paused to give him a little wave before she sat down, so he indicated that he wanted to talk to her. She was at the office door even before he could rise to open it for her.

  ‘Did you have a good lunch?’

  ‘It would have been more fun if you had been there.’

  ‘Sorry. Holding the fort so Gloria could get off.’

  ‘How like you, Clive.’

  She sat down and rearranged her skirt while Clive sat on the side of the desk and leaned towards her. ‘Anne, I’ve had a word with Mrs Sinclair and she can stay late with Mother tomorrow. I was really hoping, if you are free, that we could meet up for a drink, have that chat.’

  Her face lit up so that, for a moment, she almost looked pretty. He wondered what she would look like when he had finished with her.

  ‘Oh, Clive, that would be so lovely.’

  ‘Let’s keep it quiet at this point, shall we? It will be our own little secret.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Then it was a simple matter to arrange a place and time and she left the office blissfully happy. It wouldn’t last of course, and he wanted to laugh aloud at the thought of tomorrow, but stifled the rising merriment, turning it instead into a big smile. Anne looked back and returned his smile.

  Thoroughly pleased with himself, he settled down to work for the rest of the afternoon, while contemplating what a wonderful day it was turning out to be. Everything was going his way.

  Finding it was difficult to concentrate, Clive decided to take advantage of the gods being on his side to take care of a couple of other tasks.

  For one, he wanted to prepare his little message to the Inspector. And two, if that cocky little Constable had thought she had got away with trying to trip him up, she would soon find out otherwise.

  CHAPTER 22

  Making her way home, Eppie began thinking about her and Matt. She had never experienced such cold anger before and wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Would it be gone by the time he came home? Dad seldom got angry, and when he did, it was over in a hot flash. Anger she could deal with, but if Matt withdrew from her…Eppie pushed the thought to the back of her mind and started to prepare the vegetables for dinner.

  With everything prepared, Eppie had just picked up her book when Matt came in. Letting it drop, she stood trying to assess his mood, holding herself back from rushing forward and throwing her arms around his neck. He looked tired, but as he walked towards her, she was glad to see the coldness was gone from his eyes.

  Matt seemed to hesitate so she moved towards him. They could talk later; right now she needed to feel his arms around her. She had the sense that that was what he wanted too, for he was quick to enfold her and she snuggled into his embrace.

  Eppie buried her face in his chest, enjoying his masculine smell that was mingled with sweat and pizza. It felt as if there was nowhere safer in the world. She thought about saying ‘sorry.’ It would be so easy, but she couldn’t bring herself to spoil the moment.

  Matt showered and changed as Eppie finished preparing dinner. Despite the surface harmony, she had the sense of a blockage between them. She was reluctant to bring up the issue, although she knew they would have to talk about her working at the spa.

  Matt came into the kitchen to get the cutlery to lay the small table. ‘Eppie.’ He broke the silence as he turned to face her.

  Eppie almost jumped but tried for casualness, ‘Yes?’ She knew what was coming and tried to stave it off by opening the fridge and examining its contents. ‘Is there anything you would like for dinner tomorrow? I could do…’

  Matt stopped her by turning her towards him and closing the frid
ge door. ‘We have to talk about this. You must understand the position you are putting me in, Eppie. I can’t have you on the scene of an enquiry, especially a murder enquiry.’

  ‘But, Matt—’

  ‘No buts, none at all. My main aim is to catch this murderer, protect the public, and you, my wife. I can’t be juggling everything and worrying about you, Eppie, I just can’t. Surely you can see that?’

  Eppie was slow to reply as she tried to choose her words. ‘I love you for wanting to protect me, Matt, I really do, but I’m in no more danger than anyone else. You aren’t stopping any of the other women working at the health club, are you?’

  ‘I’m not married to any of them, am I?’ There was now an edge creeping into Matt’s voice.

  Finding it difficult to stay calm, Eppie replied, ‘So because I’m your wife, I’m the only one who can’t go out in the big bad world?’

  ‘Now you are being completely ridiculous.’

  The anger in Matt’s voice was sparking Eppie’s hot temper, and although she tried to control it, she knew she was becoming determined to make her point and at any cost. ‘Ridiculous am I? You forget I have been in countless dangerous situations and dealt with hundreds of awkward officials.’

  ‘But no one wanted to harm you. None of them were murderers I take it?’

  ‘Now, you are being ridiculous.’ Eppie turned back to the sink in disgust.

  Matt moved swiftly to grasp her arm and spin her around. Eppie could see that coldness coming over his face again. ‘I don’t want you there.’

  ‘Tough, because I work there.’ Eppie pushed her way past him aware that her face was flushed in stark contrast to his. Making her way to the bathroom she slammed the door shut and sat on the edge of the bath trying, without much success, to stop the angry tears.

  And Matt was wrong. She had faced those who intended her harm and in the worst possible way.

  Seven months after Mum had walked out on them, Eppie, unable to put up with cousin Natalie and Aunt Sarah’s constant criticism of her Mother, had decided to run away to join Dad.