Gaby pushed her wine glass further into the centre of the coffee table, determined to rein in her friend’s conversation. Amy, while a dear and one of her closest friends, if not the closest, was a matchmaker of the worst sort. Since moving up here she’d bombarded her with a host of potential blind dates. Gaby didn’t blind date or internet date. She didn’t date full-stop and now certainly wasn’t the time to be thinking about Rusty and whatever was going on in his life. The thought that it probably had something to do with the delectable Dr Melanie Shaw squeezed through a gap in her mind before she had time to plug the hole with some emotional putty. That was a thought she was determined to ignore.
‘You do know you’re wasted as a FLO, don’t you? They’d have made good use of your powers during the war as an alternative to scopolamine!’
Amy rolled her eyes before starting to collect the plates littering the table. ‘If you’re not going to be sensible about the state of your love life then I might as well go.’
‘No, leave those,’ Gaby said, struggling to her feet. ‘And as for my non-existent love life, it’s not as if I’m over-run with spare time to go gadding about with all and sundry especially with a possible murderer on the loose.’
Amy looked up from the wine bottle she’d been shaking in the vague hope it might not be empty. ‘But I thought you said the feeling round the office was that it was a cut and dried case?
‘That’s what everyone’s telling me but there’s still the issue of the perfect placement of the missing knife in addition to the missing man to account for.’ She took the plates off Amy and, walking into the kitchen, placed them on the worktop beside the sink, Amy following behind. ‘We’ve also had some of the results back from the lab, which make for interesting reading. Christine de Bertrand’s blood alcohol level was three times over the legal limit, which is neither here nor there as she wasn’t in possession of a car, but her blood system was floating with Temazepam, a well-known night sedation. They’ve cross-checked with the inventory from the CSI team and, it’s not as straightforward as all that because it’s a drug she had in her bathroom cabinet.’
‘That’s a little odd, don’t you think?’ Amy said, relaxing against the wall, her arms folded. ‘Who in their right mind pops a sleeper right before sex?’
‘Exactly. It’s beginning to look like she was telling the truth about having no recollection of what happened that night. Intoxicated, drugged up to the eyeballs and deaf is a pretty lethal combo. The level of Temazepam in her blood stream indicate that she would have still been dopy when she woke up – no wonder she couldn’t remember. To my mind she’s off the hook.
‘Completely. So, what are you thinking then? That it was a date-rape scenario?’
‘Possibly. We’re still waiting for forensics to get back to us with the results from her swabs and the bed linen. There was nothing obvious which means that, if she did bring a man back, he probably used protection. But, as we already know, every brand of condom leaves a chemical signature so, even if we can’t prove anything through DNA analysis, at least we can make an informed guess as to what might have happened.’
‘And if by some chance she did murder Nikki in a drug-fuelled drunken rage what would her motive have been?’
‘God, you do love to put me on the spot, don’t you?’ Gaby said, running hot water into the sink and adding a dash of washing-up liquid. ‘All I’m prepared to say at this stage is that I think there was a man involved. But who he is or what relevance he has to the case is still a mystery and, harping back to the knife, without any physical evidence, the chances of having a viable case to bring to trial are minimal at best.’
‘So she’s not guilty then?’
‘No, not now we know about the sleeping tablet. But that’s not the issue, as you very well know. Now we have to prove it. Rusty will go some of the way – on the witness stand he’s going to swear blind that the killer must have had an in-depth knowledge of human anatomy in order to place that knife so exactly.’ She shook her head briefly, planting a smile on her face. ‘Come on now. I didn’t invite you round to bore the socks off you about work. Ring Tim and tell him to pop by on his way past, after all it’s meant to be a celebration. If I thought I was busy before … And, another thing,’ she said, her voice changing from light to serious. ‘I really would prefer if you didn’t wander the streets this time of night.’
‘You think it’s that bad then?’ Amy pulled her phone out of her pocket and scrolled through her list of favourites, not that she had to scroll far. ‘I think you’re holding out on me. If de Bertrand isn’t guilty then there’s a murderer on the loose. Someone that has the knowledge to kill with one thrust so someone that understands human anatomy. A doctor? What about the ex-husband? How does he fit in?’ She lifted the phone to her ear and headed across to the other side of the room.
Gaby watched from the kitchen doorway, waiting for Amy to finish her call before continuing where they’d left off.
‘All okay?’
‘I think so. He’s had a crap day at work. Some sort of problem in the kitchen.’ She pocketed her phone, her mind obviously on more domestic problems.
‘He’s all right though?’
‘He’s fine. Just stressed.’ She joined Gaby in the doorway, wrapping her arm around her shoulder. ‘Come on, he won’t be here for ages yet. So, what do you think about the ex-husband?’
‘You should be the last person to ask that question. In our job it’s almost impossible to measure the value of a person but, for what it’s worth, I liked him. I thought he was genuine.’
‘So, he’s bound to be the murderer then,’ Amy said, picking a tea towel from where it hung from the rail on the door of the oven.
‘Mmm, maybe. I’ve been proved wrong in the past.’ Gaby’s thoughts winged their way back to the time she’d spent in South Wales and the sudden demise of her boss. She pursed her lips, still unwilling to think about that last case in St David’s. A lot had happened since she’d moved up north and thinking about past failings wouldn’t help her now. She needed answers not memories, her mind placing Paul de Bertrand in the hot seat. ‘There is that issue of the hand-delivered birthday card, isn’t there?’
‘And he’s also a doctor so there’s your answer,’ Amy declared with a grin. ‘There’s no point in the Welsh constabulary expanding their workforce with Darin and Potter on the case. We’ve solved the mystery of the body in the bed and all it took was one bottle of wine and a few dips.’
‘If only it was that easy, my love, but he’s not that sort of doctor. Apparently, his doctorate is in anthropology and, even after a lengthy Google search, I’m still not a hundred per cent sure what that is.’
‘Something to do with old bones, isn’t it? Tim will know, he spends most of his spare time watching documentaries on Sky. But, if I’m right,’ Amy said, her expression suddenly sharp, ‘an anthropologist would have a fair idea as to human anatomy.’
Tim was a tall, slender, unassuming man with eyes only for Amy. If Gaby could bottle him and sell him on eBay, she’d make a killing because he was what could be termed the ideal partner. Oh, he wasn’t the best-looking bloke on the block by a long way and while tall, he wasn’t the tallest. He didn’t have time to go to the gym, but his daily jog and demanding job kept both his mind and body in first-class shape. He’d made it to the top of his profession by sheer hard work and deserved all the accoutrements that went with success like the sports car currently pulled up outside her house. But if he lost it all tomorrow, Gaby knew instinctively that he’d still have Amy by his side. He’d knocked on the door and she’d flown across the room to open it, all thoughts of their conversation completely forgotten. For a relationship that only spanned eight weeks she was already planning on what to get them for a wedding present.
‘Come on, cut it out or get a room. I’m happy to rent my spare out by the hour – if only it had a bed,’ Gaby said, handing him a coffee. ‘I’ve put a drop of whisky in it,’ she added with a smile. ‘Amy did say you’ve had a b
itch of a day?’
‘More than a bitch,’ he said, flopping down on the sofa, Amy leaning into his side, his mug resting on the arm. ‘For a restaurant that specialises in steak, to run out of meat is unacceptable. I thought we were going to have a stampede on our hands when I realised the delivery from the butcher’s never arrived this afternoon. It was only a mercy dash to Asda that saved the day.’
‘Poor you.’ Gaby picked up the whisky bottle from the top of the old sideboard and placed it on the coffee table in front of him. ‘Go on, help yourself. You can always leave your car here and walk home.’ She turned to Amy with a smile. ‘And, as I’ve had more than enough, you might as well keep him company – remember, it’s my turn to drive tomorrow.’
Chapter 19
Gaby
Tuesday 12 May, 8.45 a.m. Rhos-on-Sea
‘I knew we shouldn’t have opened that second bottle.’ Amy lifted her hands, securing her hair back into a tight ponytail.
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’ Gaby was silent a moment, manoeuvring her car through the entrance to the station, her next words creeping in from the side before she had the time to edit them. ‘I’ve had a card from Izzy.’
Amy’s mouth dropped open. ‘Izzy Grant? How is she?’
‘Good, I think.’ She stared at her briefly, the memories of their time together in Swansea filling the space between them. Izzy, whose baby daughter had disappeared. A case that Gaby had solved but only after Izzy’s own life had been put in danger too. It was her biggest failure and the reason Gaby had been transferred when moving between police stations wasn’t the norm. ‘I’ve been invited to her son’s christening.’
‘Her son’s christening?’
‘Yes. Godmothers usually are, you know.’
‘Oh Gaby. How wonderful,’ Amy said, drawing her into a deep hug before continuing. ‘Godmother Gaby. How cool is that!’
‘Not quite so cool when the poor little blighter realises who he’s named after. Darren Charles Grant.’
‘Ha, that’s hilarious. I thought for a minute she’d called him Gabriella!’
They parted at the entrance, Amy heading to her office on the second floor while Gaby strolled up to the front desk to ask Clancy, the desk sergeant, if there was any post, only to turn at the sound of her name being shouted from the far end of the corridor. Glancing up, she saw Owen racing towards her.
‘Thank God you’re early, ma’am. I was about to phone.’
‘What is it?’ Her eyes widened at the sight of his dishevelled appearance. ‘It looks like you’ve had a night of it.’
‘You could say that.’ He ran a hand through his hair, only making it worse.
‘Has there been a development in the case?’
‘No, nothing like that,’ he said, throwing a look at the waiting area and the couple of people eyeing them with interest. ‘Come on, I’ll tell you on the way. DCI Sherlock has called an emergency meeting. They’re all waiting in the squad room.’
She secured her briefcase under her bent elbow, trying to match his footsteps stride for stride and failing miserably. Grabbing onto his arm, she pulled him to a halt. ‘You’ve either got to walk slower or carry me and I really don’t recommend the latter option.’ She glared at him, her voice reflecting her expression. ‘Why the hell didn’t you phone me last night? I’d have been happy to come in.’
‘Sherlock wouldn’t let me when I suggested it – some rubbish about you looking tired and needing your off-duty after working all weekend. Believe you me, I’d have been happy with the extra support, not to mention the extra brain power,’ he said, his skin the colour of parchment. ‘We had a call last night about a missing woman. It’s not looking good.’
Chapter 20
Gaby
Tuesday 12 May, 9 a.m. St Asaph Police Station
‘Settle down everyone,’ DCI Sherlock said, slamming his hand on the desk with enough force to rattle the legs against the floor. ‘We have a lot to get through. As you’ve probably heard on the grapevine, we’ve a missing person on our hands. But before we get to that I’d like to inform you all that I interviewed Gaby for the post of detective sergeant yesterday and I’m delighted to say she was successful.’ He paused until the clapping had died down. ‘Anything you’d like to say, Darin, before I continue?’
Gaby shook her head, her face a picture of embarrassment. She’d never been any good at having the spotlight shone in her direction and occasions like this were torture to someone like her who just wanted to get on with the job.
‘Right, back to business. Bates, what can you tell us?’
‘There’s not a lot to go on, sir. Tracy Price, age thirty-four years, missing since yesterday afternoon. The station received a call at 15.55 from her distraught husband, Barry, who’d had a message from the school to pick up the kids, twin boys aged six. He returned to the house only to find no sign of her. Her handbag was hanging on the back of one of the kitchen chairs as usual. The family car sitting outside in the driveway. The only things missing her phone and diary.’
‘Any history of marital problems?’
‘Not that he’d admit to, but I wouldn’t necessarily expect him to. They have a house in one of the lanes off Upper Mostyn Street. I’ve also been in touch with her parents and sister, but they were the first people the husband called before phoning us, which I’ve got to say, on paper at least, looks spot on. We’re also checking CCTV footage of the area but there’s quite a few spots that aren’t covered that end of town.’
‘What about hospitals?’ Marie interrupted.
‘First place I tried. No Jane Does brought in, either alive or otherwise.’
Gaby stood from where she’d perched on the edge of a chair and walked up to the front. She was still trying to process having to deal with a missing woman so soon after the murder and it was true to say, felt miffed that Sherlock hadn’t allowed Owen to phone her last night but there was nothing she could do about that now. She picked up a photo from the top of the pile, ready for distribution. The face was a pretty one with rounded apple cheeks and a lively smile, but that wasn’t what grabbed her attention and got her synapses going into overdrive. It was her distinctive coppery red hair, tied up in one of those messy buns that were still all the rage. Hair so like Christine de Bertrand’s that, for a second, she thought they’d mixed up the photographs.
‘I take it this is the missing woman,’ she said after a long pause.
‘Yup. Tracy Price, taken only last week.’ Owen took the photo from her and added it back on the top of the pile. ‘So, you’ve spotted it then.’
‘Spotted what?’ Marie interrupted with a little shake of her head.
Gaby finally tore her gaze away and turned to face the rest of the team. ‘That Tracy Price could almost pass for Christine de Bertrand’s sister,’ she said, picking up the pile and starting to hand out the photos. ‘This has just turned from a missing person’s case into possibly something a whole lot more sinister. I want a widespread search started and, with the DCI’s permission, extra staff begged, borrowed or otherwise from the North Wales network.’ She glanced towards Malachy, who appeared to be still chewing on what looked like the remains of his breakfast. ‘Devine, what was the name of that Country Park Warden who we had to contact when there was that problem with graffiti a couple of months ago?’
‘That would be Dafydd Griffiths, ma’am,’ he said, swallowing hard.
‘Thank you. By the way next time you come in late still eating, it will be bacon sarnies all round – got it?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She walked over to the window and fiddled with the blind, her eyes drawn to the car park outside, which was swiftly filling up with cars. The murder of Nikki Jones was spiralling out of her grasp and she didn’t know what to think of this latest development. Were they linked? Possibly, although exceedingly unlikely with one being a potential victim, the other a suspect. It was that distinctive hair colour … surely not a coincidence? But, if not a coincidence
then what? Just like Rusty the one thing she distrusted above all else were coincidences. There was no place for them in police work. She brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face before turning her head and starting to speak.
‘Owen, I’d like you to coordinate the search and take the rest of the team with you,’ she said, angling her head to where Jax and Marie were sitting. ‘But be led by Dafydd with regards to the Great Orme. He knows the place better than anyone. I also need you to get the husband in – we’ll meet him together. She snapped her fingers. ‘And you’d better get Amy Potter to sit in on the interview too. We all know how astute she is. We need to push ahead with this ASAP.’ She scanned round to the other side of the room and where Malachy was tilting back in his chair, his long legs stretched out before him. ‘Mal, I’d like you to conduct a door-to-door of all the Prices’ neighbours. All this activity will mean that we’ll have to scale back a little on Nikki Jones’s murder. It’s not as if she’s going anywhere …’ She gathered together her notebook and phone and headed for the door, saying over her shoulder, ‘We’ll all meet back here at three o’clock sharp.’
Marie Morgan pushed up from her chair, her fair hair pulled off her face in a couple of plaits, which only accentuated her heart shaped face and wide-set eyes.
‘I’d like to continue with looking for the knife, ma’am, if I may? I’ve a hunch that it might be in a car park somewhere in Llandudno.’
Gaby studied Marie’s flawless complexion while she thought how best to reply. If she’d been gifted with such attributes … she’d probably have ended up in the same job. Her expression softened at the thought. Marie Morgan’s looks were deceptive. She was usually the first in the office and the last to leave, which said a lot about her work ethic and even more about the state of her marriage. Gaby wasn’t a gossipmonger and refused to listen to the rumbles that tore through the building at a rate faster than any spring tide. But she’d have to be deaf not to realise that things weren’t all they seemed in Marie’s garden and, just like she protected Jax with his speech impediment, she now allowed Marie the room she needed to prove herself.
Darkest Night Page 11