Dead Feint

by Grant Atherton

  But I never forgot him.

  And when fate brought us together again after all those years apart and the smouldering embers of that latent desire ignited again, we were both determined to reestablish the relationship we had once shared.

  But old hurts die hard and Nathan, ever cautious, was struggling to accept my renewed commitment and was taking it slow, needing to reestablish our relationship step by step, and give us time to get to know each other again.

  But at least we were moving in the right direction.

  Sometimes, life gives us second chances we don’t deserve. I knew I didn’t. And so when it was given, I’d grabbed it with both hands and held on tight, ready to settle in for the long haul.

  And so I was content.

  “No chance of you moving in with him?”

  “I’m not sure either of us is ready for that yet. I’m going to need some time too.”

  “You know you have a room at the Fairview for as long as you need it?”

  “I know. And I’m grateful. But I have to find somewhere more permanent. Somewhere I can spread out and call home. I’ll start looking around in a few days.”

  “I’m sure you’re doing the right thing here.”

  “I hope so.” I changed the subject. “And how about you and lover boy? How’s that working out?”

  She frowned. “His name is Richard,” she said, emphasising each word to make known her displeasure at my choice of name. “And we’re doing just fine, thanks.”

  I grinned in response. “Big changes for both of us,” I said. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing too. He’s a nice guy.”

  Richard Lowe and Karen had announced their engagement a few months before. They’d decided on a Spring wedding the following year, and Karen was busy planning for the big day as well as running a busy time-consuming business. But she still found time to engage in and support her friends’ relationships when they needed it. Which is why she was still my best friend after so many years.

  I glanced down at my watch. “That reminds me, we’d best get a move on, or I’m going to be late.”

  “What’s the hurry?”

  “I have a meeting with lover boy in an hour. And I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

  I broke into a run, laughing at Karen’s explosion of expletives from behind me, and raced her back to the Fairview.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lowe slid the file across the desk. “What’s the deal with this?”

  I pulled the manila file towards me and opened it at the first page. It was headed ‘Investigation into the Murder of Candy Bayliss’. “Her brother was one of my psychology students in London.”

  We were in Lowe’s office at the back of Elders Edge Police Station. The muggy weather pressed in around us, hot and humid, and the wall fan struggled on full power to cool the air. Outside the window in the compound beyond, the early shift prepared to set off on their morning run, and the slamming of car doors and the revving of an engine interrupted the clattering of the fan’s whirring blades.

  Lowe dropped into the other chair at the side of the desk. “So how’d you get involved?”

  “Reluctantly.”

  I brought him up to speed on my conversation with Rusty. Richard Lowe was well acquainted with my profiling techniques, including crime scene analyses and suspect appraisals, procedures he was often involved with. So once I’d explained how I structured my lectures around my work with the police, he understood why Rusty might assume I’d be able to use my skills and my connections to help kick-start the investigation into his sister’s death.

  But the more I tried to explain, the more it sounded as if I was interfering. Lowe had become a good friend over the past few months but, friend or not, I was wary of treading on his toes. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was questioning his competence.

  Once I’d finished, I added an apology. “Just so you know, I made it absolutely clear you’d be on top of this. He knows cold cases are under constant review. I don’t want you to think—”

  Lowe interrupted and dismissed my apology with a wave of the hand, “You don’t need to explain. We’re nearly two years down the line on this and, God knows, it can’t be easy on the guy. It must be hard as hell to sit on the sidelines and wait. I get that.”

  “Just so you know.”

  “No worries. And if you want me to run through it with you, I’d be happy to.”

  “I know the body was found in Tinkers Wood but could you show me where?” A large glass-fronted map hung on the wall adjacent to the window, a high-resolution aerial view of Elders Edge, and I nodded towards it as I spoke.

  Lowe pushed himself up from his chair, crossed over to the map, and tapped it near its centre. “It was here. An old abandoned cottage, right in the middle.”

  I rose and went to stand next to him. The map showed Tinkers Wood to the left, a large expanse of unspoiled woodland with the town bordering it to the east and running in a partial crescent around its edge.

  Lowe had his finger pressed against a spot at the heart of the woods.

  “I know that place,” I said. “It was the gamekeeper’s cottage back when Tinkers Wood was part of a private estate. We played in the old ruins as children.”

  “Then you’ll know how remote it is.”

  “And that’s where she was killed?”

  He nodded. “One of the worst I’ve seen. Barely anything left of her face. He cut off her hair too.”

  “Rusty told me how she died.” I returned to my chair and dropped into place. “Can’t say I envy you that particular spectacle.”

  “There are some photos in the file with the pathology report if you need to see them. But I warn you, they’re not pretty.” He followed me back to the desk and took his seat on the other side.

  I wrinkled my nose and held up a hand between us as if to rebuff the suggestion. “I’ll pass on that particular pleasure for the moment.” I pushed the file away. “Something else. Something that struck me as odd. Rusty lost touch with his sister before her murder. The first he knew of it was following coverage in the media. Yet when he contacted the police, they weren’t able to tell him any more than he already knew; where she’d been living, who her friends were, what sort of life she’d led.”

  “I picked up on that too.”

  “I may be wrong, but the impression I got from Rusty was that enquiries about her recent past drew a blank. It’s as if her corpse just materialised out of the ether. And that puzzled me.”

  “And me.”

  “No one followed up on that?”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t down to me. Baxter handled the investigation back then.”

  Something in his tone suggested he was less than impressed by his predecessor. “Do I detect a hint of disapproval there?”

  “I had a look through the file before you arrived. And far be it from me to criticise a colleague but I would have handled it differently.”

  I leaned back and folded my arms. “You want to tell me about that?”

  “You said it yourself. She seems to have appeared from nowhere. What does that suggest to you?”

  Instead of answering directly, I said, “I’m presuming you followed all the usual procedures at local level; house-to-house, local media. Anything there?”

  Lowe confirmed what I was already thinking. “Total blank.”

  I turned some thoughts over in my mind. And for a few moments, the only sound was the whirring of the fan.

  I said, “It’s not unusual for a murderer to disfigure his victim and dispose of the body far from the crime scene. An unrecognisable victim with no local connections would seriously hamper any investigation. In this case, the victim was killed here. But if she was brought here for the sole purpose of killing her far from her usual environment, the effect would be the same.”

  “That’s the line Baxter followed.”

  “Given that she wasn’t known locally, and the way she was disfigured and shorn of
hair, it’s not an unreasonable assumption to make.” Another thought struck me. “How was she identified?”

  “Her bag was found nearby. There was ID in it. And her fingerprints were on file. She had some form.”

  “Yes, Rusty told me about that. Any other identifying marks?”

  “There was a hummingbird tattoo on her left shoulder. No record of it though, so it must have been fairly recent.”

  I drummed my fingers on the desk while I thought through the various fragments of information and tried to piece them together. “Why would her killer make sure she couldn’t be recognised and yet leave some ID at the scene?”

  “The bag was discovered in the undergrowth by her side against one of the walls. Seems the killer overlooked it. Just carelessness. And he probably wouldn’t have known her prints were on record.”

  I nodded, accepting the point. “Okay, so let’s recap.” I tapped the file. “The approach taken by your predecessor appears to have been that Candy Bayliss was brought to or lured to the scene of her murder from outside the area. This assumption based on the failure of enquiries to establish a local connection.”

  “That seems to be about it.”

  “Now let’s consider an alternative.”

  “That’s more than my predecessor did.” That disapproving tone again.

  “You would have taken a different approach?”

  “I don’t think she wanted to be found. Why else would we hit a dead end? It should be easy enough to keep tabs on someone.”

  Seems we were thinking along the same lines. “And if she had wanted to disappear, a change of name and location would be the best way to do it. And maybe a change of appearance.”

  “So she could have been living locally after all. Under another name. And instead of following that particular line of enquiry, Baxter let it pass. A big mistake.”

  “It also raises the question of why.”

  “She could have been in some kind of trouble. Maybe hiding from someone.” He snorted. “Not that it did her much good in the end.”

  Something else occurred to me. “Were there any missing persons reports at the time?”

  “No, but then people move around all the time. Quite legitimately. So we wouldn’t necessarily know if someone had suddenly disappeared from the scene. And it’s not something that was given much attention. The investigation focused solely on trying to trace Candy Bayliss. So if she was living under an assumed name with a new identity, it wouldn’t have registered.”

  “Then why don’t we start there? Get things rolling again with some house-to-house and local publicity. Only this time, we’re interested in anyone who left the surrounding district at around the time of the murder. Regardless of who they are.”

  “I’m already way ahead of you on that. It’s what we should have done in the first place. And at the very least, it should settle some of my misgivings about the initial investigation.”

  “In the meantime, I’ll let Rusty know we’re taking another look at it. That should help persuade him the investigation is still active.”

  I pulled the file towards me again and settled down to reading it in detail. I was energised, my earlier lack of enthusiasm dispelled. Murder and its perpetrators was my subject after all, and once I got the bit between my teeth, there was nothing I liked better than probing into the darker corners of the human psyche.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Nathan?”

  He came to with a start. “Sorry, what was that?”

  I faced him across the table and said, “I’ve been talking to myself for the past few minutes.”

  For all the attention I was getting, I could have been talking to a brick wall.

  “Sorry, what did you say?” The dark heavy brows creased into a look of concern.

  We were sharing a meal at the Bar Grill on the Esplanade. This was supposed to be a chance to take some time out together and relax. But Nathan was anything but relaxed. He had returned from London earlier that day in a sombre mood and had been distracted all evening, his mind obviously on other things. And I was becoming increasingly irritated as the evening wore on.

  The place was busy. It was the evening rush and most of the other tables were taken. Diners sat all around us in animated chatter. Only at our table was the conversation muted.

  And, okay, so he would never be a garrulous bundle of scintillating wit, but I expected more than the occasional grunt.

  I tried again, “I was asking how the conference progressed.”

  “Oh, you know, just the usual sort of thing.”

  No, I didn’t know. Not that I was particularly interested in the inner workings of police procedural practises, but any conversation would have been better than this.

  Before I could respond, the pimply youth behind the counter barked out our order and Nathan went over to fetch our meals, sparing me any more embarrassed silences.

  On his return, he transferred the contents of the tray to the table, dropped back into place, and pushed fries around his plate while I tucked into a cheeseburger.

  I said, “You don’t seem to have much of an appetite.”

  “I’m not really hungry.”

  I snorted. “Since when were you never hungry?”

  He snapped. “Right now for instance.” He spat out the words and his lips curled.

  I stiffened, the cheeseburger halfway to my mouth. I put it back on my plate. “Okay, enough.”

  Elbows on the table, I leaned forward. “I don’t know where your head’s at, Nathan, but it’s not here. It hasn’t been here all day. So what’s up?”

  He groaned and screwed his face into a show of self-reproach. “I’m really sorry, Mikey. I’m just out of sorts. It’s been a shitty week and I’ve come back from this goddamn conference to a pile of work.”

  As excuses went, it was pretty lame. Nathan was the type who took everything in his stride. Always on top of his game. “This isn’t like you. Something isn’t right.”

  “I’ll be fine once I’ve settled back into my usual routine.” He shot me an apologetic smile and stabbed at his fries.

  Perhaps it wasn’t the best of times to remind him that my return to Elders Edge was meant to upset his usual routine. At least, I’d hoped it would. That was the point of coming back after all. And, frankly, I’d expected a more enthusiastic response to my suggestion of some time together.

  Something didn’t add up. The warm welcome I’d received before Nathan’s trip to London had morphed into a lukewarm reception on his return. And his lacklustre attitude wasn’t doing much for my self-esteem right then. How could so much have changed in so little time? Something had dampened his mood. And some half-baked excuse about pressure of work would not convince me otherwise. But he wasn’t about to enlighten me so I let it be.

  He picked up his bun and looked around for the sauce. His idea of the perfect burger was one hidden under a thick layer of ketchup.

  There were no condiments on the table so I motioned him to stay where he was, swung myself out of my chair, and headed over to the rack by the counter. Anything to give me a break from that monotonous monosyllabic conversation. Even if only momentarily.

  I helped myself to a handful of sachets of sauce, and salt and pepper, and threaded my way back towards the table.

  I was almost there when an unfamiliar figure intercepted me, a slight man, mature with thinning grey hair and round metal-framed spectacles. The gaudy blue and red Hawaiian shirt and bright green shorts were at odds with his general demeanour.

  He said, “It’s Mr MacGregor, isn’t it? Michael MacGregor?”

  I had no idea who he was. But I greeted him warmly, anyway. Working in the media gave me a high public profile, and it wasn’t unusual to be approached by strangers familiar with my work. My TV series about the psychological aspects of unsolved murders was particularly popular just then and earned me more than the usual amount of attention.

  He held out a hand. “Graham Worth. I helped organise your last lecture tour.”


  “Of course,” I said, feigning recognition, and shook his hand. It would be impossible to remember the many brief encounters of my working life. But it always seemed more polite to pretend otherwise.

  “And how is your charming wife?” he said.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that my ‘charming’ wife and I were engaged in a bitter battle over our divorce settlement. With a rueful smile, I explained my current marital circumstances.

  His obvious embarrassment at learning of my separation was put to rest when I explained that all was well and I was happily settling into a new relationship. “So no need to be concerned on my behalf.”

  “Perhaps you and your lady would care to join my wife and me for dinner this evening,” he suggested.

  Thrown off kilter by his presumption and unsure whether to correct him, I stammered out an excuse, pleading a prior engagement.

  “I’m sure I’ll find more time for socialising when my work schedule allows it,” I said, sidestepping the issue.

  Given we weren’t likely to cross paths again, I let his mistaken assumption pass without comment, ended our conversation with a promise to find time for us all to meet up at a later date, and made my way back to the table.

  Nathan was scowling. “Lady? You want to explain that?” His face had reddened.

  “He took me unawares.” I slid onto my chair, dropped the sachets onto the table, and picked up my fork.

  “Really? And it never occurred to you to put him right?” He waited for my response, stern-faced. The square jaw clenched.

  “I didn’t think it was that important.” I kept my head down, unable to meet his gaze, and speared a couple of fries.

  “Well thanks for that, Mikey. It’s good to know our relationship means so little to you.”

  Reacting sharply, I sat bolt upright. “How can you say that?” I stared at him, shocked by his words. “Where the hell did that come from?”

  He grunted and played around with the food on his plate without looking up.

  “No, you’re not getting away with that.” I glanced around to make sure no one was listening and leaned towards him, teeth gritted. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you right now but you’re not going to make me the butt of your bad mood.”