Dead Feint

by Grant Atherton

  “You can’t live in the past, Mikey. You have to move on.”

  “You think it’s so easy?” I didn’t wait for a reply. “I’ve lived the lie so long, it’s become a part of me. I guess I’m still catching up with the rest of the world.”

  I tried to read his face, looking for some sign of acceptance. “And I know you’re right but let’s not pretend it’s all plain sailing. Even in these enlightened times, there’s still plenty of prejudice out there. And I’m not you. I find it difficult to deal with. Don’t tell me you haven’t had to face your share of prejudice along the way. Especially in your line of work.”

  “Sure I have. But you don’t solve the problems by hiding away. I’m not pretending it’s always easy. You often have to go that extra mile to prove yourself. But you get there in the end.”

  I nodded, accepting his point with an understanding smile. “Maybe it’s you who should have settled for an accountant.”

  He snorted. “I’m not sure I could stand the excitement.” He treated me to one of his dimple-making smiles. “So no more lurking in the closet, eh?”

  “Okay,” I said with a grin. “And I have to admit, it does get a bit claustrophobic in there.”

  “Tell you what…” He gave my arm an extra squeeze. “…let’s go get some lunch.” He stood up. “My treat. To make up for yesterday. We both need to unwind.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  We left the station together, chatting aimlessly, secure again in each other’s company. And whatever misgivings I’d had fell away. Sure, I was going to have to make some changes along the way; living behind a false facade wasn’t an option anymore. And I was more determined than ever to make this work.

  The sun was riding high in a clear blue sky, raising a shimmering heat haze from the tarmac. And as we crossed the car park, I took off my light linen jacket and slung it over my shoulder.

  We reached his Astra, and Nathan changed the conversation back to the investigation. “I went through the outstanding cases when I took over at Division. Can’t say I saw any problems with the way the investigation was handled.” He unlocked the Astra’s doors with his fob, climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the engine.

  I slid in beside him and threw my jacket onto the back seat. “A written account doesn’t always give the full picture.”

  “True enough. I’ll go through the file in more detail later.” He slipped the Astra into gear, headed over to the car park entrance and swung out onto the main road. “But for now, let’s forget about work shall we? Time enough for that later.”

  “Suits me.” I turned on the air conditioning. “But first, I need to make that phone call.” I dug into the pocket of my jeans for my mobile. “Probably best to make it while you’re here. You can hear how it goes.”

  I called Rusty and spent several uncomfortable minutes explaining the current position with the investigation. It wasn’t one of the easiest calls I’d ever made.

  I finished my carefully rehearsed words and waited for a response. There was silence at the other end.

  “Rusty? Are you still there?”

  An audible exhalation of breath. “I don’t know what to say. I’m stunned.”

  Hardly surprising. I figured having a dead sister come back to life after a couple of years might have that effect.

  “Nothing’s certain,” I said. “At the moment, it’s just an outside chance. But it’s the sort of thing the media picks up on. I wanted you to be prepared before it hit the news.”

  He thanked me and I finished the call with a promise to let him know of any developments.

  “That must have been one hell of a shock,” said Nathan. “What’s this guy like?”

  “He’s a good friend. The type who stands by you and looks out for you when you need it. I owe him. And I’d like to give him my support now he needs it.”

  Nathan grunted but said nothing.

  He took a left turn and pulled over onto the forecourt of the Dog and Duck. “If we really do have a case of mistaken identity here, and if his sister is still alive, you have to wonder why she’s not been in touch with him.”

  “If she’s still alive. You hit the nail on the head.” I reached over the back seat for my jacket as Nathan turned off the engine.

  We climbed out of the car, and as we strolled towards the pub, he explained his thinking. “Someone may have realised their mistake and got it right the second time.” He swung open the door to the lower bar and ushered me in. “So for all we know she could already be another victim.”

  “Could be. It would also explain why she never contacted the police. You’d think if her life was in danger, she’d want to report it.”

  “Depends what she was mixed up in.”

  The Dog and Duck wasn’t too busy. We found a table over by the window and I dropped into place, draped my jacket over the arm of the adjacent chair and picked up the menu.

  “I’m starving,” I said. “I skipped breakfast this morning.” Glancing up at him, I added, “I hope you have your appetite back.”

  The underlying meaning in my words wasn’t lost on him. With a twinkle in his eyes, he said, “No need to get in a sweat about it. I promise I won’t bite your head off.”

  I leaned back in my chair and grinned. “It worries me not to see you wolfing down your food.”

  “Then worry no more. I’m starving too.”

  He wasn’t joking either. He ordered a triple cheese and bacon burger with fries and extras while I went for a lasagna. And when we finally got our meals, there seemed to be enough on his plate to feed a family of four for a week. I always wondered how he managed to stay in such great shape with all the food he shovelled away and guessed his gym routine must be a punishing one.

  We passed the rest of the meal pleasurably enough with a lot of light-hearted banter and casual small talk, both of us much more relaxed. This was the Nathan I knew, the dependable one.

  While we waited for the bill, the conversation took a more serious turn. I said, “I know I let you down, Nathan. I’ve not always made the best of choices and I know what a mess I made of things. But I promise you, I won’t let you down again.”

  He stared at me blankly for a moment. And then the light went out of his eyes and he looked down at the table. When he answered, his voice took on a flat monotonous tone. “We all make mistakes, Mikey. I guess it’s how we deal with them that matters.”

  It was only afterwards, thinking back to that pained look on his face, I wondered what mistakes he thought he’d made.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “The Chief’s with us all the way on this,” said Lowe. “He took a closer look at the file and he agrees the investigation needs to be steered in a different direction.”

  It was early morning, and we were in Lowe’s Astra heading towards Tinkers Wood.

  “Any progress on that?” I asked.

  “Not yet. But my men are still out there making enquiries. Only now we’re looking for anyone who had a connection to Tammy Page and Melony Draper.”

  “The media coverage should help with that. I guess we’ll just have to wait.”

  A week had passed with no new developments on the investigation. But, hopefully, the publicity would bring in results.

  On a personal level, life wasn’t ideal either. Nathan’s heavy work commitments and our living apart imposed limits on our time together. What little time we did have to ourselves was precious and pleasurable enough. But relationship? Not so sure about that. It was more like the setup he’d had with Brandon, his ex. A friendship with benefits. Casual.

  But if, eventually, we were to commit to something more lasting, we needed to establish a common shared routine; my occasional stopover at Nathan’s flat in Charwell wasn’t going to hack it.

  His desire to reestablish our relationship a step at a time was understandable. It’s not as if my past behaviour had inspired much confidence. But if I could find a more permanent home for myself and persuade him to stay over for longer
periods, it would be a step in the right direction.

  Which is what this morning’s outing was about. A possible rental. One that Lowe had learned of.

  Just past the end of Old Farm Lane, he turned into Woodside Road, pulled over, and parked against the low flintstone wall running alongside the embankment to the left.

  He switched off the engine and nodded towards a building on the other side of the road. “This is it.”

  The building was a cottage of ivy-covered yellow stone under a peg tiled roof, the type you usually see only on the cover of chocolate boxes; too good to be true. And yet here it was. In glorious isolation right on the edge of Tinkers Wood.

  It crouched in a hollow by the roadside, peering over the top of a privet hedge from the far side of a garden run riot with rambling roses, hollyhocks, and a host of country flowers, and shaded by surrounding elms.

  “It’s perfect,” I said. “How did you come across it?”

  “The last tenant did a runner and took some of the landlady’s furnishings with him. She called it in as a theft.”

  “Great. You sure she wants another tenant after that?”

  “She jumped at the chance. A long-term tenant is a much safer bet.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “She’s hardly likely to turn down a recommendation from the local police, is she? And I knew you were looking for somewhere. Seemed like the ideal solution for both of you.”

  “Well, let’s go see,” I said, getting out of the car.

  “You’re lucky to find a place during the holiday season,” said Lowe as we made our way along the garden path. “The last tenant got it only because there was a last minute cancellation.”

  A stern-faced woman met us at the door, thin, pointed hawk-like features, grey hair scraped back in a bun. Lowe introduced her as Martha Stubbs.

  This was going to need a full charm offensive.

  I shot her one of my best winsome smiles, sympathised with her loss, and spent the next few minutes praising her gardening skills and asking her advice on the most suitable growing conditions for dahlias. Moments later, I was ducking through the doorway and a smiling Mrs Stubbs was showing me around an oak-beamed living room and giggling like a schoolgirl.

  Lowe rolled his eyes at me behind her back. “I’m sure you don’t need any help from me,” he said, making no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

  He took his leave of us and returned to the car while I toured the house and talked terms with Mrs Stubbs.

  “I’ve always liked the rustic look,” I said. “And this a perfect example. It’s charming.”

  It was too. Dark varnished oak floorboards creaked underfoot as I made my way around the room, running a hand over the white stucco walls, admiring the low wooden beams, trying out the deep fabric-covered window seat on the wall facing out into the woods.

  “I don’t know how anyone could bear to leave here, Mrs Stubbs,” I said.

  “Do please call me Martha,” said Mrs Stubbs, and continued, “I usually let it out short term as a holiday rent, a week or two at a time. But it’s becoming too much of a chore. Especially when this sort of thing keeps happening.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “The theft? It’s happened before?”

  “You’d be surprised. Usually, it’s just towels and crockery. People these days don’t even think of it as stealing. But the last one went too far.”

  “I hope the police can help.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “I shouldn’t think so. He paid by post; a Bankers Draft. So I doubt they’ll trace him.”

  “Didn’t you give the police a description?”

  A rueful look. “I never met him. I left the keys under the mat.”

  Some people are too trusting for their own good. But I wasn’t going to say so. After all, it had been to my advantage.

  “Not that it’s much consolation,” I said, “but it did me a favour. I couldn’t have wished for anywhere better.”

  “You’re happy with it then?”

  “Couldn’t be happier. Not sure how long I’ll need it but I’m willing to pay three months up front.”

  Much as I loved the cottage, the furniture left something to be desired. Utilitarian at best, it was the sort of cheap make-do stuff typical of transient short-term living. I needed something more substantial, more permanent. In other words, my own furnishings.

  Might as well broach the subject and see how she felt. “There is one thing. Given that it’s a long-term stay, I’d feel much more comfortable with my own furniture around me. Would that be okay?”

  Her expression suggested she wasn’t too sure, so I hastily added, “Mine’s in storage in Charwell at the moment and I’d be prepared to have yours take its place. At my expense, of course.”

  I held my breath while she thought it over.

  Finally, with a slight tilt of the head, she smiled and said, “I’m sure it will be fine. I can’t see any problems.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief and thanked her. “You won’t regret it,” I said.

  For the next few minutes, we talked terms and payment and, once agreed, she said, “I’ll have the cottage cleaned and have all the ornaments and bric-à-brac stored away, and then you can clear it out and move in as soon as you like.”

  We shook hands before saying our goodbyes and parting company, and I made my way back to the car feeling more cheerful.

  Lowe didn’t seem in a mood to share my good fortune. He was hurrying up the path towards me, grim determination stamped on his face. Clearly, something was amiss.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “We need to be on our way, Mikey.” His face was drawn. “Just had a call from the station.” He turned back towards the car.

  I hastened after him and climbed in beside him as he switched on the ignition.

  Something about his manner put me on alert. He was troubled, perplexed. None of the usual professional detachment. This was something different.

  “Who, what, where?” My mind was awhirl with questions.

  “We have a murder on our hands.”

  “What the…?”

  I fastened my seatbelt as he swung out into the road. A moment later we were racing away around the perimeter of Tinkers Wood, emergency light flashing.

  He said, “The Duty Sergeant sent a team over there. But I need to see this for myself. They found her in Tinkers Wood. In the old gamekeeper’s cottage.”

  A slow creeping sensation spread across my chest, and my throat tightened. A sixth sense told me I was about to learn something I didn’t want to hear.

  “This is just getting crazy,” he murmured. “It doesn’t make sense any more.” He was no longer talking to me. He was talking to himself as if he was trying to convince himself of something.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “It’s Candy Bayliss. They just found Candy Bayliss.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Less than ten minutes later, we were in the middle of Tinkers Wood, trudging towards the crime scene.

  A fetid smell rose from shallow hollows in the rocky ground where the early summer rains had settled into dirty stagnant pools. I wrinkled my nose against the stench and swatted away the cloud of midges hovering before us in the damp humid air.

  The ruins of the old stone cottage lay nestled in the undergrowth ahead and as we neared them, I said, “It is definitely her? You’re absolutely certain?” I still couldn’t quite believe it.

  “We use electronic fingerprint scanners at the scene these days. We got a match on the national database.”

  “No arguing with that I guess.”

  Struck by a sudden thought, I pulled up short. “Do you want me to speak with Rusty?”

  Lowe stopped too. “You’re off the hook there. This is a new investigation. So best to keep it official. I’ll call him when I return to the station.”

  “Rather you than me.”

  We set off again.

  “I need to get him down here anyway,” said Lowe. “We’l
l need to re-interview him and he’ll have to formally identify the victim.”

  Bright yellow duct-tape cordoned off the wooded area around the building’s crumbling remains. A uniformed officer stood guard at the access point.

  Lowe greeted him with a nod and asked for his assessment of the current situation.

  “The pathologist got down here pretty sharpish, Sir. He’s already finished his initial examination of the body.” As he spoke, the young constable handed us both a set of disposal coveralls and overshoes. “He was waiting for your arrival before having it moved to the path lab.”

  We both donned the protective clothing and, as we entered the crime scene, Lowe said, “The Chief’s been apprised of the situation. I understand he wanted you to see the body in situ.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time I’d assisted the local force under Nathan’s command. The first one being a case in which I was personally involved given that the victim had been my father.

  “Is the Chief on his way?”

  “He went up to London. I thought you knew.”

  I didn’t. And it seemed odd he hadn’t told me. But I said nothing and put it from my mind.

  Lowe said, “He’ll be back later today. I’ll give him a full report then.”

  Around us, crime scene investigators went about their duties. Uniformed officers searched the ground, some on hands and knees. A photographer moved from spot to spot, taking shots from a variety of angles, and nearby, someone was sketching a map of the area.

  “Okay, let’s do this.” I swallowed hard. Examining corpses was one of the less appetising aspects of my work. Necessary, but not something I relished all the same.

  Lowe stepped forward.

  I took him by the arm and brought him to a halt. “But first, I’d like to know how she died. Did you get any details?”

  Lowe nodded.

  “Same MO?”

  It wasn’t lost on either of us what we were probably dealing with here. This was a copycat killing with a difference; the possibility that the intended victim had been the same in both cases.

  “Yes, she was battered to death,” said Lowe. “Several blows to the head and face.” He grimaced. “Sorry, I should have warned you. It’s not going to be the prettiest of sights.”