by David Blake
‘And what happens then, may I ask?’
‘What doesn’t happen then!’ the woman exclaimed, shaking her head in apparent disgust. ‘Music to all hours, drugs as well, and enough alcohol to sink the Titanic all over again.’
‘What about women?’
‘If you can call them that.’
Tanner raised an eyebrow. ‘What would you call them?’
‘Prostitutes!’ the woman spat, lifting her head to stare directly at the boat under discussion. ‘At least, they dress as if they are.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘AT LEAST WE know Sanders can’t be trusted,’ commented Vicky, as they continued their journey back to the car.
‘With regards to what?’
‘He said he never met any of Sir Michael’s women, when it sounds like they all did, and on what would appear to be quite an intimate basis.’
‘Yes, well; I’m not sure we can blame him for lying about that. He’s probably just trying to prevent his wife and children from finding out.’
‘But we can blame him for spending his weekends with women who need to be paid to perform. We could arrest him, as well.’
‘Only if they’d been coerced into doing so,’ Tanner continued. ‘Anyway, at this stage, we don’t even know if they even were prostitutes.’
‘But it fits with what Sir Michael’s housekeeper said – about the women who’d come round to see him.’
‘Who could have just as easily been girls he met at his nightclub. As one of the owners, I can imagine he’d have had his pick. All we’ve really learnt so far is that our Mr Sanders isn’t the most faithful of husbands; that and his alibi would appear to be sound. And as there isn’t any obvious motive for him wishing Sir Michael harm, at least not to the extent of feeling it necessary to open up his rib cage with a hacksaw, then I suspect he’s not our man. However, saying that, I couldn’t help think that there was something else he was lying about.’
‘What was that?’
‘When I asked him about the last time he’d seen Sir Michael,’ Tanner explained, coming to a halt beside his car. ‘When he said they went fishing together, he looked me straight in the eye and said it was just the three of them.’
‘Don’t psychologists say that people are only lying if they look away?’
‘I think that depends on the person. From my own experience, more calculating individuals know they’re supposed to look away, so in an attempt to convince you that they’re telling the truth, they do the opposite.’
Vicky shrugged. ‘Then they probably had some girls on board the boat with them, and he didn’t want us to know.’
‘Probably,’ Tanner mused, pulling open the driver’s side door, ‘although, saying that, it was the only time he did. Anyway, it was just an observation.’
The sound of his phone ringing had him digging it out to stare down at the screen. ‘It’s Forrester. No doubt checking up on us.’
Taking the call, he stood up straight to pull his shoulders back. ‘Tanner speaking!’
‘Just calling to see how you’ve been getting on?’
Tanner rolled his eyes at Vicky before turning away. ‘We’ve just finished talking to the first of Sir Michael’s friends, Mr Iain Sanders.’
‘Did you hear the news?’ Forrester continued.
‘What news?’
‘Sir Michael’s murder. The media’s found out about it. The story’s running across all major broadcasters.’
‘But – how? Surely it wasn’t one of us?’
‘Looks like it was the housekeeper, probably doing her best to cash in; at least, she’s the only person who’s been interviewed. If that isn’t bad enough, what’s she’s been saying is potentially worse.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That the last person to see Sir Michael was the woman he was with.’
‘Then I suppose it’s a good job she doesn’t know who it was.’
‘Unfortunately, it looks like she does.’
‘That’s not what she told us!’
‘Well…she’s gone and given them all a name, so it looks like she did after all. The problem is, it’s not the same one we have.’
‘OK, now I’m confused. I didn’t even know we had one.’
‘We’ve just this minute had a match with a DNA sample Dr Johnstone sent over. Apparently, the woman Sir Michael was with that night was a Miss Claire Metcalf. She’s on our database for soliciting prostitution. I’ve asked Sally to email you her address.’
‘And what’s the name our housekeeper’s being telling everyone?’
‘Amber Vale.’
‘Does that mean there were two girls with Sir Michael that night?’
‘I’ve no idea, but one thing I do know; at this precise moment in time just about every journalist in the UK is trying to find her, so I suggest you speak to Claire Metcalf. Hopefully she’ll be able to point us in the right direction.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
ENDING THE CALL to find an address waiting for him in his inbox, it wasn’t long before they were parking up in front of a large sandstone coloured block of flats on the outskirts of Norwich.
After leading the way up a set of cold grey concrete steps to the third floor, Tanner was soon leaning his finger against a cheap plastic bell as Vicky dug out her ID beside him.
‘Miss Claire Metcalf?’ Tanner enquired, holding up his own to the face of the attractive young woman who’d answered the door, her natural beauty hidden by layers of garishly coloured makeup.
‘Christ!’ the woman replied, glaring first at Tanner, then over at Vicky. ‘What’ve I done now, for fuck’s sake?’
‘DI Tanner and DI Gilbert, Norfolk Police,’ Tanner stated. ‘We just have a couple of questions. May we come in?’
‘Er, no, you may not. Now, get on with it. I was about to go out.’
‘Anywhere nice?’
‘Not that it’s got anything to do with you, but some of us have got to work for a living.’
‘And what sort of work is that?’
The woman looked Tanner up and down. ‘Nothing you could afford, darlin’, at least, not if that suit is anything to go by.’
‘Is that an open confession to soliciting sexual favours in return for someone’s hard earned cash?’
‘I’m an exotic dancer, thank you very much.’
‘Oh, I see. And where abouts is it that you “exotically dance”?’
Metcalf folded her arms over her ample-sized chest. ‘The Riverside Gentleman’s Club; if you must know.’
Tanner turned to raise a questioning eyebrow at Vicky.
‘Don’t look at me,’ his colleague replied, tilting her head to give him an accusatory glare.
‘It’s a private club, about two bus stops that way,’ Metcalf interjected, pointing off towards where they could see Norwich Cathedral’s spire rising majestically up from its burgeoning city’s centre.
‘I see,’ Tanner continued. ‘And that’s what you were doing on top of Sir Michael Blackwell on Thursday evening at around nine o’clock; exotically dancing?’
The woman’s eyes darted erratically between the two detectives before coming to an eventual rest on Tanner’s. ‘I was his escort for the evening.’
‘Right, yes, of course. And where did you escort him to?’
‘Oh, you know, around,’ she replied, offering him an irreverent smirk.
‘Around where? His bedroom?’
Metcalf shrugged back in response.
‘After which you just happened to find yourself on top of him, having accidently handcuffed his wrists and ankles to the bed posts?’
‘I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but whatever it is, it isn’t true.’
‘Unfortunately, for him at least, he hasn’t told us anything.’
‘Then what makes you think I was there?’
‘You’re honestly trying to tell us you don’t know?’
Her eyes stared blankly into Tanner’s, the mascara lined lids remaining fixed a
nd unblinking.
Tanner drew in an impatient breath. ‘Sir Michael’s body was found by his housekeeper yesterday. Someone had cut open his rib cage with a hacksaw to remove his still beating heart before stuffing it down into his throat. Apparently, it’s been all over the news this morning.’
‘But – I…’ she began, her voice trailing away as the skin beneath her foundation rapidly drained of all colour.
‘But you…what? Didn’t mean it? I see. So I suppose you’re going to tell me that you lost the keys for the handcuffs, and the hacksaw slipped when you were trying to cut them off?’
‘No – I – I d-didn’t…’ she spluttered, her former proud countenance crumbling before their very eyes.
‘OK, listen, Claire,’ Tanner began, adopting a more gentle tone of voice, ‘to be completely honest, we believe you; at least the part about you not having been the one who cut him open with a hacksaw. And whether or not you were there to provide Sir Michael with sexual favours is frankly of little interest. What is, however, is how you ended up being there?’
‘How’d you mean?’
‘Did he call you?’
She nodded her head.
‘You don’t use some sort of an intermediary?’
‘I don’t have a pimp; if that’s what you mean,’ she stated, her eyelids batting away at an escaping tear.
Tanner took a moment to study her face. ‘OK, so…how often would you see him, roughly?’
‘I don’t know. Once a month?’
‘Did he see any other girls?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘What happened afterwards?’
Metcalf shrugged. ‘I just un-cuffed him, got dressed, and left.’
‘There wasn’t anyone else there with you?’
She shook her head. ‘I was on my own.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yes.’
‘So…how come you say you left him alive and well having uncuffed him from the bed, only for the housekeeper to find him back in the exact same position, that time with a hole in his chest where his heart used to be?’
‘I d-don’t know. Someone must have come in after I left. All I know is that he was alive and well when I left him.’
‘You’re sure you weren’t sent there at someone’s behest?
‘I swear!’
‘And that there was nobody else with you?’
‘On my mother’s life!’
‘You do know that we can take you down to the station to ask you all this again, that time under caution, don’t you?’
‘Be my guest, but it won’t change my answer.’
‘What if I said that we’ve heard from a reliable source that someone was with you at the time?’
Tanner watched her full red lips tighten as her eyes continued to stare.
‘A woman by the name of Amber Vale, for example?’ Tanner continued.
Metcalf’s countenance remained unchanged for a split second longer before she suddenly snorted with laughter, leaving her face cracked in half by a wide broad grin.
Tanner glanced curiously around at Vicky. ‘Did I say something funny?’
‘Not at all,’ Metcalf continued, straightening her face. ‘You’re hardly the first person to make that mistake.’
It was Tanner’s turn to look confused. ‘And what mistake was that?’
‘Amber Vale is my stage name. I’d never be stupid enough to use my real name for work.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘AT LEAST WE know that there was only one girl with him that night,’ Vicky commented, stepping around a hunched-over old lady at the base of the communal stairs.
‘I’m not so sure we even know that,’ replied Tanner.
‘We don’t?’
‘Well, if she wasn’t the one who left him handcuffed to the bed, then someone did.’
‘Oh, please! Don’t tell me you believe her?’
‘I suppose that depends on which part. At this stage, all I know is that she didn’t kill him.’
‘You seem very sure.’
Tanner shrugged. ‘I just can’t see her as being the type capable of doing such a thing.’
Reaching the car, Vicky stopped to stare at him. ‘Then maybe we shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Don’t forget what Johnstone said, that he thought it would have been possible for anyone to have done it. All they’d have needed was a hacksaw.’
‘And the adrenaline, of course.’
‘Yes, well; with the sort of people she must meet through her line of work, I can’t imagine it would have been too difficult for her to get hold of.’
‘Look, don’t get me wrong,’ Tanner began, ‘it’s not that I don’t think she could have killed him, it’s the method that bothers me. Had he been stabbed, or maybe had his throat cut, then I’d be more easily convinced, but not with his chest being opened up like that. She’d have needed one hell of a motive. No! Whoever killed him wanted him to suffer, and when I say suffer, I mean really suffer.’
‘What if she was a furious woman who’d recently been scorned?’
‘I wasn’t aware she had been.’
‘I can think of a least two scenarios which could have led her to be, certainly if she turns out to have psychological problems we don’t yet know about. For example, if he’d proposed, only to end up laughing at her face when she found out that he had no intention of marrying her. Or maybe if he’d convinced her that she was the only woman for him, only to find out she was just one of a very long line.’
‘Fair enough,’ Tanner continued, skirting around to the driver’s side door, ‘but she’s going to need to have some pretty serious mental issues. I don’t mind taking a look at her medical history, but if nothing shows up, I think we need to focus our attention on the people she knows from work.’
‘OK, well, you’re the boss, I suppose.’
‘You don’t agree?’
‘Not really, but hey, what do I know? So anyway, what’s next?’
Tanner turned to look over his Jag’s sweeping low roof to find her staring vacantly down at her open notebook. Wondering if he’d either said or done something to upset her, he glanced away to tug open the car’s door. ‘I suggest we make our way over to see the second of Sir Michael’s friends the housekeeper mentioned. What was his name again?’
‘Toby Wallace,’ Vicky replied. ‘I’ve got his address. It’s not far from where we are now.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘IT SHOULD BE up here on the left,’ said Vicky, staring out of the passenger-side window where a long line of elegant stately homes could be seen drifting effortlessly past.