by Millie Vigor
‘I hope you enjoy what you have chosen,’ he said. ‘I’ll be happy to discuss them with you when you bring them back.’
He turned then to the two detectives. ‘How can I help you?’ he said. ‘Is it Mrs Thomas you want to see, shall I fetch her?’
‘We would really like to have a word with you,’ said Barker.
‘With me?’ Curtis’s hand flew to his chest. ‘What have I done?’
‘That’s what we would like to know.’
‘Oh my goodness, Inspector, now you’ve got me worried. Did I forget to pay my council tax, and are you going to arrest me?’
‘I know nothing about your council tax and I’m not going to arrest you, at least not today. But yes, since you ask, could you fetch your manager, please?’
Curtis stood for a moment and looked at the two policemen, then turned and went to find Hazel Thomas.
‘I think this is going to be interesting, Tremayne, don’t you?’ said Barker.
‘I’m looking forward to it, sir.’
‘Good afternoon,’ said Hazel as she approached the desk.
‘We’d like to have a word with Mr Brookes,’ said DI Barker. ‘In private.’
‘Oh.’ Hazel hesitated. ‘Well, if you want somewhere private there’s only my office or the staff room and at the moment, some of the staff are in there. I could ask them to leave, of course.’
‘No, don’t do that,’ said Barker. He turned to Curtis.
‘Mr Brookes, we would like you to help us with our inquiries into the disappearance of Virginia Harvey. I believe you knew her very well, didn’t you?’ He can’t very well say no, thought Barker, because he knows we know he did.
‘Yes, I know her, but I can’t think what I can say to help you,’ said Curtis.
‘You’d be surprised,’ said Barker. ‘Even the most unimportant thing could be a clue, so rather than question you in a public place, we would like you to accompany us to the station.’
‘Inspector, I really don’t think there’s anything I can do to help.’
‘No? You can refuse to come with us if you like, but—’
‘—It wouldn’t look good,’ finished Curtis. ‘Well, as long as Mrs Thomas can spare me, I will come. Just let me get my coat.’
Hazel, aghast at what was going on, stared at DI Barker, who stood waiting for DC Tremayne to come back with Curtis.
‘You surely can’t think that Curtis has had … ah …’
‘… Anything to do with Miss Harvey’s disappearance? Everyone is innocent until proven guilty.’ Barker smiled at her. ‘Who knows?’
‘I’m sure this is not going to take long, Mrs Thomas,’ said Curtis. ‘I’ll be back with you before you know it.’
‘I do hope so, Curtis,’ said Hazel. Hands clasped, she watched as the three men walked out of the library.
TWENTY-SIX
Curtis Brookes sat on a hard chair in the interview room of the police station and looked around him. It was certainly not designed for comfort. There were two chairs either side of a plain wood table, a recorder on a shelf and one window consisting of glass bricks, high up in the wall. Though he didn’t turn to look, he knew that a police constable was standing by the door.
In the corridor outside, Barker, a plastic cup in his hand, from which he drank from time to time, stood looking through a one way mirror at Curtis. Knowing that the man he was watching was aware that he was being studied, Barker smiled.
‘He’s a cool one, Tremayne,’ he said to the man at his side.
‘Looks very relaxed, doesn’t he, sir?’
‘Wonder how long he can keep that up. We’ll let him sweat a bit longer and give him time to wonder why we’ve got him here before we go and find out.’
Barker set his cup on the ledge of the mirror frame and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.
‘I know you don’t like him, Tremayne, but tell me what it is that makes you dislike him and what you think of him, and don’t leave anything out.’
‘He’s what I’d call a smarmy git. He acts all innocent, implies he’s as worried as anyone else about Ginny Harvey, and insists she’ll walk in one day as though nothing has happened. Now how can he be so sure? Because he does act as though he’s certain she will and if that’s the case, then I believe he knows what’s happened to her.’
‘But I believe he’s very fond of her,’ said Barker. ‘At least that’s the impression I got. Maybe he doesn’t want to give up hope and believing she will come back is just wishful thinking.’
‘That’s what he wants you to think,’ said Tremayne. ‘And as long as you think that, you won’t push him. And what about that Scottish man who came in to see you? Didn’t he tell you he thought matey here was odd, that he acted strange? And didn’t he say that he thought matey knows where the girl is?’
‘Yeah, but …’
‘You’ve got to trip him up, Guv. I don’t know how, but you’ve got to. I think he’s got something to hide.’
‘You’re going to make a good DI one day, Tremayne. Let’s go and see what he’s got to say for himself.’
Barker, Tremayne close behind him, opened the door to the interview room.
‘So sorry to keep you so long, Mr Brookes,’ said Barker as he sat down. When the formalities of setting up the recorder had been done he went on. ‘Now.’ Then paused just long enough to see Curtis’s eyes switch from himself to Tremayne then back to him. ‘We would all like to know what has happened to Miss Harvey. I wonder if you have any thoughts on the matter that you’d like to share with us?’
‘As I said to you at the library, I don’t think I can help you. I have no doubt that you are well aware that she’d been pestered by someone leaving flowers on her doorstep and making those silly silent phone calls. There’s nothing I can add so it really is a waste of my time being here.’
‘But you decided to humour us and come along,’ said Barker. ‘That was very kind of you, Mr Brookes.’
Barker looked down at some papers that were on the table in front of him and let time slip by for several seconds. He looked up then and smiled briefly at Curtis.
‘You saw that young woman on a fairly regular basis, I believe, not only at the library but you took her out for a meal from time to time. Isn’t that right?’
Curtis, sitting confidently, legs stretched out before him, hands clasped loosely in his lap said, ‘Yes, that’s right.’
Barker, equally at ease, ran a hand round a chin that was beginning to rasp with the stubble of a new beard.
‘Presumably you did not sit and stare at each other,’ he said. ‘You talked as well as ate. What did you talk about, what do you know about her?’
‘I know that she’s a Scot. I know that she’s a writer, but that’s about all.’
‘You mean to tell me that you never asked about her family, what her interests were and what other friends she had?’
‘We talked about books most of the time.’
Barker crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling. ‘How very interesting,’ he said.
Seconds ticked by, grew into minutes. The room was quiet. Only the ins and outs of the men’s breathing broke the silence. Curtis watched Barker. Tremayne watched Curtis.
Suddenly, so quickly that even Tremayne jumped, Barker slammed his hands down on the table and, his body half across it, shouted, ‘You’re keeping stuff from me, aren’t you?’
Body pressed hard against the back of the chair, hands gripping its seat, Curtis, mouth and eyes wide open, cowered in shock at the DI’s attack. But, as swiftly as it had come, the attack was over and Barker was sitting down again. Curtis relaxed. His body softened and he hung his head. He turned away from the inspector and when he looked at him again, he did not raise his head, but gave him a sideways look.
‘Do you always try to frighten people?’ said Curtis. The words were spoken slowly and in a voice that was verging on being feminine. ‘Do you do that to try to make them confess?’
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br /> ‘Do you have anything to confess?’
Curtis raised his forearm and let his hand drop limply. ‘I’m sure I have many things to confess, but I’m equally sure that none of them would interest you, Inspector.’
‘You’ll let me be the judge of that,’ said Barker. ‘You live alone and have no family. So who was the young lady with red hair who was seen at one of your windows?’
‘Oh my, is a man not allowed to have visitors?’ said Curtis.
‘Of course you are, but who was the young lady? Tell me her name and where she lives.’
‘My private life is my own, Inspector.’
‘And you’re not going to tell me, in which case you’re withholding information. You volunteered to come here to help, not hinder. I want her name and where she lives and what she was doing in your house.’
Curtis smiled briefly at DI Barker. He put a hand up to his mouth and began to chew his finger nails. ‘No comment,’ he said.
He’s clamming up, thought Barker; he has got something to hide, but at the same time he was convinced that he was beginning to see a chink in Curtis Brookes’s composure, he knew he had been right to bring him in. But what was it with the limp wrist, the soft voice? Was the man gay, or was he putting it on? OK, time for a bit of the silent treatment.
Bob Barker stood up and began to pace slowly back and forth, one arm across his chest, the other cupping his chin in his hand. Back and forth he went and from the corner of his eye, he could see that Curtis was watching him. He stopped in his pacing to look at Curtis.
‘Hmm,’ he went then continued to walk. Tremayne watched Curtis as well as his boss until Barker sat down again.
Putting his elbows on the table, Barker leaned across it towards Curtis. In a soft voice he said, ‘Help me out here, Mr Brookes, you see I’m puzzled. I just can’t work out what’s happened to Miss Harvey.’
‘Can you not?’ said Curtis. ‘Well, that is a pity.’ A smile twisted his mouth.
Jumping to his feet Barker shouted, ‘You know what’s happened to Virginia Harvey, don’t you?’ He banged his fists on the table top and Curtis jumped visibly.
‘If you do that again,’ said Curtis, ‘I’ll have you for harassment.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, did I frighten you? It’ll be nothing to what I will do if you don’t cooperate.’ Barker sat down. ‘You’ve got her holed up in your house, haven’t you?’
Curtis was examining his fingernails and didn’t even look at Barker as he said, ‘No comment.’
‘Curtis Brookes-Taylor,’ Barker was on his feet again. ‘If you don’t give me some answers, I am going to arrest you for withholding information and obstructing police procedure.’
Looking down at Curtis, he felt his jaw drop as he watched the man’s body language change from being softly feminine to aggressively masculine.
Curtis had risen from his seat and, his voice gruff and with a markedly foreign accent, shouted, ‘You haf not one shred of evidence. You cannot keep me here. I vill not allow it.’
Suddenly he lunged towards Barker, but the constable by the door sprang forward and Tremayne, the chair he was sitting on sent flying, sprinted to help. Curtis Brookes was slammed back down on his chair and held there.
Barker was smiling. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Did I touch a raw nerve, Mr Brookes? I think we’d better put you somewhere safe to cool down. We’ll continue this talk later on. Go and find someone to put him in a cell, Tremayne.’
Later happened to be an hour or two away, for DI Barker had other things to do. First of all, he would adjourn to his office there to recap on proceedings so far. As he and DC Tremayne walked towards it Barker said, ‘He’s right, you know, we have no evidence and nothing to hold him on. But we’ll let him stew for a bit, eh? What do you think, Tremayne?’
‘I guess it won’t do him any harm.’
DI Barker’s office was as neat and tidy as the man. Pens and pencils stood to attention in a mug. A pile of papers on one side of the desk had been patted into uniformity. He sat down at his desk, stretched his legs, leaned back and laced his fingers.
‘I believe that that young man I’ve just had stowed away has serious mental problems,’ he said.
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Tremayne. ‘I think he’s just trying to pull a fast one, making out he’s not in his right mind to put you off the scent.’
‘But that’s just it; he’s not your average chap with a low IQ. If he was I could accept that, but he’s intelligent; he has to be to work in a library. No, he’s not putting it on for effect.’
Barker stared across his desk and out of the window. Tremayne, fully aware of his boss’s long silences, settled down to wait. While Barker sifted his thoughts regarding Curtis Brookes, Tremayne let his mind go back over events so far. Curtis Brookes was a nutter as far as he was concerned.
‘I’d accept the gay bit as play acting,’ said Barker. ‘But not that last stunt he pulled. You couldn’t see his eyes. I could. They were black and there was pure hate in them. But I also think it confirmed what I had been thinking, and that is that he’s involved with that woman’s disappearance. The problem now is to try to pin something on him so that we can get into his house. If we can’t do that we can’t hold him.’ Barker rubbed his hand round his chin. The rasp of stubble was now audible. ‘I need a shave,’ he added.
‘I’m surprised he hasn’t asked for a lawyer,’ said Tremayne.
‘He’s not going to do that because he’s maintaining that he’s innocent. If he asked for a lawyer, as far as I’m concerned, it would mean he had something to hide and he was going to need help to do that. All we would get from him then would be “no bloody comment”.
‘Come on, let’s go and get a cup of tea before we get him out. Better phone your wife and tell her you’re going to be late, I’m not going to let this bird go before he sings.’
But DI Barker’s caged bird refused to sing despite a continued barrage of questions, statements and accusations, and it was long past midnight before Barker let him go.
‘He’ll be back, Tremayne,’ said Barker. ‘He’ll be back, and it won’t be long.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ginny had refused the breakfast Curtis brought her, but now she wondered if she should have. Not only had she had no breakfast that morning but no supper last evening, and she was hungry. She would not be able to eat again until Curtis came home and that would not be until six o’clock at least. Well, it was not too long to wait, she would have to make do with the bottled water with which he kept her supplied.
But would she be safe when he came with her supper? Would he be Curtis or someone else? Should she unbar the door and let him in? Or would he invite her to join him upstairs? And if he did would he morph into Mikhail, and would he still want to kill her? She sat on the bed, thought about his attack and wondered what the next move was going to be.
She put up a hand to feel her throat. It was still tender and sore. Was it bruised? She had no mirror so she couldn’t see. But she was alive and as long as that was so, she had to record all that was happening to her so that if – God forbid – Mikhail did murder her the evidence would be there to be found. She picked up the laptop; it was old and it was heavy. Why couldn’t Curtis have given her something better than this? She put her feet up and settled the laptop on her legs, opened it and switched it on, listened to it grunt while warming up, then began.
Things have changed a lot since I last wrote in this journal. Let me fill you in on what’s been happening. In a funny sort of way Curtis has been courting me. He has brought me lots of presents, some clothes and a beautiful pair of shoes, for which he must have paid a fortune. There have been odd little things too. Ornaments. What a stupid idea, I have nowhere here in the cellar to display them. Some jewellery, most of it inexpensive pieces, but a week or two ago he gave me a wonderful ruby and diamond brooch which must have cost the earth. I refused to take it at first but he insisted and said it belonged to his mother. Whether that w
as to make me feel better about it I don’t know. But I wasn’t going anywhere so I accepted it to please him.
Curtis used to bring meals to me on a tray and only let me out to go upstairs to have a shower or a bath. He always stood outside the door – did he think I was going to make my getaway wrapped in a towel? And then he asked me if I would like to go upstairs and have my supper with him. Wow. His kitchen is immaculate. He’s a wonderful cook. He wouldn’t let me help him, I had to sit and watch while he worked. I have to admit I enjoyed being waited on. I did find that he was obsessive about everything being put in its place. He said that it saved time because he always knew where everything was and he’d never have to spend time looking for it. Aha, I thought. That means that when I’ve worked out where he keeps his door key, and the situation arises when I’ll need it, I too will be able to put my hand on it and not have to search for it.
Being allowed to go upstairs with him also lets me see more of the house. I’d been in the lounge before, but only briefly, when I’d foolishly walked in, but I’ve seen the tele-vision room, too. Curtis keeps saying that he wants to look after me, that he’ll do everything for me and that I can concentrate on my writing. And I have to say that at times I am tempted to agree with him, but then I think about it and I don’t love him so how could I possibly live with him? He would stifle me, because he would be making all the decisions. No, it wouldn’t do.
On Sunday – was that only two days ago? – I was taken on a tour of the rest of the house. In every room there was proof that no expense had been spared in furnishing them. Carpets were sumptuous, drapes at the window – far too good to call curtains – had obviously been professionally made. And the furniture, well, I’m sure a lot of it was antique and what wasn’t looked as though it might have been bought from Harrods, and can you get a more expensive place than that?
There was a study at the back of the house. Curtis asked me if I liked it. I did and of course I said so. “It’s yours,” he said, “a lovely quiet spot in which to do your writing.” I could just imagine it. A beautiful old desk, bookshelves stacked with books and a window that looked out on the garden. I could see myself there.