Molly's Boudoir: the 4th Jasmine Frame novel (Jasmine Frame Detective)

by P R Ellis

  ‘Hi, there, gorgeous. What’s this call for? Suggestions for another evening? … heck, you’re okay, aren’t you?’

  Jasmine struggled to fit a word in. ‘Yes, I’m fine, but I needed someone to grumble at and you’re it.’

  ‘What’s there to grumble about?’

  ‘My car won’t start.’

  ‘That rusty old Ford. Why do you need it?’

  ‘Because I’m working. I have an investigation. Hamid took me back to Faringdon this morning, but I don’t want to be calling on Tom all the time to provide transport.’

  ‘No, I see. Where do you want to go? Far?’

  ‘No, just in to Reedham.’ She had decided on putting some more questions to Harriet Bunting at her borrowed house in the neighbouring small town.

  ‘Well, call a taxi.’

  ‘That’s expensive.

  ‘One day won’t matter. Then we’ll sort your car out if you really need it.’

  ‘Well, okay then.’

  ‘But don’t be long. I’m not going to be late this afternoon and I want to see you.’

  Jasmine chuckled. ‘Right. I’ll make sure I’m ready and waiting for you like an obedient little wife.’ She ended the call. Viv had succeeded in making her feel on top of the world. Now she just had to phone for a taxi.

  The taxi delivered her to the address that Harriet had provided. It was a pre-war detached house in a leafy part of the town. There were few cars parked in the narrow road, as the houses had driveways and garages. Jasmine paid the driver and watched him move off before walking up the gravelled entrance to the house. There was no car parked there so Tyler wasn’t calling. She hoped that Harriet was home otherwise her visit was a waste of time and she was stranded.

  She pressed the doorbell and waited. It was a minute or two before she heard steps approaching. The wooden door opened. Harriet Bunting peered out.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. What do you want?’

  ‘I have some questions for you, Mrs Bunting.’

  ‘More questions! Haven’t I answered enough. Why don’t the Police get on with finding who killed my husband?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘But of course, you’re not police are you.’

  ‘I am assisting them,’ Jasmine said.

  Harriet snorted. ‘But you have no authority. I don’t have to answer your questions.’

  ‘I think you should, Mrs Bunting. If you don’t you may find that DI Shepherd will be here next to ask them.’

  The woman glared at Jasmine, sighed and pulled the door open.

  ‘Alright, if I must. You’d better come in. But I haven’t got long.’

  ‘I won’t take up much of your valuable time, Mrs Bunting.’ Jasmine stepped into a wood-floored hallway and followed Harriet into a lounge with large plush sofas in floral covers and lots of ornaments on tables and display cabinets. At Harriet’s invitation, Jasmine sat on one of the sofas. She wasn’t offered any refreshment.

  Jasmine looked around. ‘Your friend was very kind to loan you this house.’

  ‘Is that one of your questions? It sounded more like a statement.’ Mrs Bunting sat herself in the other sofa some way from Jasmine and glowered.

  ‘No, just making conversation.’

  ‘I don’t want conversation. Get on with it.’

  Jasmine took a breath. ‘We have been checking up on your alibi for Tuesday evening.’

  ‘Really. How officious and unnecessary.’

  ‘It has to be done, Mrs Bunting.’

  The woman shrugged. ‘So you proved that I spent the night with Tyler at the Royal Hotel, Faringdon. Well done, you.’

  ‘But it wasn’t just the pair of you was it, Mrs Bunting, at least for dinner.’

  A startled expression appeared on Harriet’s face. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You were joined by two other people for dinner, a man and a woman.’

  There was pause. Jasmine guessed that Mrs Bunting was working out whether to deny the meeting, but she must have realised that Jasmine knew her facts and that the woman she had met was not quite what she appeared to be.

  ‘Yes, well, so what? We were joined by friends for dinner. There’s no law against it is there? We don’t live in the kind of state where everyone’s movements are controlled, and Big Brother decides who we can have dinner with.’

  ‘No, of course not, Mrs Bunting. The point is that these two people can vouch for your presence at the hotel and therefore support your alibi.’

  ‘But that is ridiculous. Why do I need someone to back up an alibi? You know I was there and that therefore I can’t have been in Thirsbury when my husband was murdered and my home gutted.’

  Jasmine tried an explanation. ‘It is true that we have the evidence from the hotel that you and Mr Smith spent the night there, but you don’t have to have been the person who swung the baseball bat or lit the fire to have been involved in the murder or the arson.’

  Harriet stared at her as she considered her words. Realisation arrived. ‘Are you suggesting that I conspired with someone to kill my husband.’

  ‘It is a possibility that we have to consider,’ Jasmine said as sweetly as she could manage.

  ‘That suggestion is preposterous. What’s more it’s slander. I am not having you accusing me of such a thing.’ She rose to her feet and took a step towards Jasmine.

  Jasmine remained sitting, leaning back in the sofa and looking up at the formidable figure of Mrs Bunting.

  ‘I am not suggesting you did anything Mrs Bunting, but we have to examine all possibilities. Any information that your dinner companions could provide to remove you from a list of potential suspects would be useful.’

  Mrs Bunting stopped, glared at Jasmine then turned away and walked across the room. She looked out of the window at the front garden for a moment then turned around.

  ‘No, I cannot tell you who they were. They trusted me to maintain their privacy. So however much you think it might help your investigation I can’t tell you anything more.’

  Jasmine decided that Mrs Bunting had to be pushed a bit further.

  ‘I understand your loyalty to your friends when one of them was apparently taking the opportunity of meeting you to express their transvestite tendency, and especially as they paid for the meal.’

  ‘Transvestite tendency! That’s ripe coming from you. Do you think you are so much better than those men who dress as women just because you’ve had the operation that gives you the ability to fuck like a woman.’

  ‘I don’t consider myself better…’

  ‘You’re no more a woman than they are, and you’re not a man either. You’re a nothing, a eunuch, a cockless, ball-less, fraud.’

  Harriet advanced towards Jasmine with her fists clenched in front of her. The thought occurred to Jasmine that she couldn’t tell whether Harriet really meant her harm or if this was just a ploy to make it appear that way. Nevertheless, Jasmine reasoned that Harriet could cause her real harm, especially as she wasn’t fully recovered from her surgery. She stood up and backed towards the door.

  ‘I am a woman,’ she insisted, ‘My operation only confirmed what I believe is true.’

  ‘Pah! Utter nonsense. You and your certificates and rights. You think they make you special. You’re just another one with an itch you need to scratch.’

  Jasmine was back in the hallway now, reaching for the catch on the front door.

  ‘You mean like Evelyn,’ she countered, ‘We’ve seen the cage and the stool and the whips. Whose urges were they satisfying?’

  Mrs Bunting hastened to her, fists raised. ‘How dare you! Evelyn and I had a relationship that you wouldn’t understand.’

  The door opened, and Jasmine took a step back through it. She backed off the doorstep onto the drive. Harriet grasped the door and stood glaring at her.

  ‘Yes, you run away, you freak, and don’t expect me to answer any more of your questions.’

  She slammed the door.

  Jasmine turned and walked to the road, her breaths coming in rapid succ
ession. Well, that went well, she thought. What was it that angered Harriet Bunting so much? Was it the suggestion that she was involved in her husband’s murder or the threat to the privacy of her friends who stumped up the cost of the meal and the room at the Royal Hotel? What was the purpose of that meeting and what was behind this apparent bond between the two men and Harriet?

  There was more to find out, but now she was stuck by the side of a road without transport. She rang the taxi company, but they couldn’t provide a vehicle for half an hour. She tried to get in touch with Viv but his phone went to voicemail. Tom couldn’t be asked to provide just a lift home. How far was it to walk? She hadn’t got to know the area where she lived well since they had moved but she knew it was only a couple of miles away. She called up a map on her phone and started walking. Two miles? No distance!

  She discovered that two miles was actually a considerable distance when you are still recovering from major surgery. The final gentle rise to the house felt more like an assault on a mountain. She made it, with an ache in her groin and collapsed onto the sofa in the lounge, with her coat still on.

  The next thing she heard was the front door opening. She forced herself to sit up. Had she been asleep? Surely it wasn’t time for Viv to get home yet. She glanced at her watch and was surprised to see that it was only four-thirty.

  The door to the lounge opened and Viv entered, and froze.

  ‘What’s wrong, Jas? You’ve got your coat on.’

  Jasmine looked down at herself and realised Viv was correct. She swung her legs off the sofa and felt a twinge in her groin. Viv obviously saw her grimace.

  ‘Have you hurt yourself? You haven’t opened up the incisions, have you?’ He knelt by her side and rested a hand on her knee.

  She managed a thin smile and placed her hand on his.

  ‘No, I think I’ve just strained a few muscles that I haven’t used enough for a while.’

  ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘Just walking, but it was a bit further than I thought.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘Harriet Bunting’s borrowed house in Reedham.’

  Viv sighed. ‘What were you doing walking? I said take a taxi.’

  ‘I did. I got a taxi there but when I rang to get one to come home they couldn’t come straight away. I didn’t want to hang round outside so I started walking. I did try calling you.’

  ‘I know, I picked up your call when I got out of a meeting. I came home straight away.’

  ‘That’s why you’re early.’

  ‘Well, I did say I wanted to be with you as soon as I could. What was wrong with waiting with Mrs Bunting till the taxi came?’

  Jasmine snorted. ‘I couldn’t stay with her. I rather buggered up the interview. She got annoyed and all but threw me out.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Your questions hit a nerve, did they?’

  ‘I’ll say and I didn’t get everything I wanted from her.’

  ‘Well, if you are going off to ask people questions that get them worked up we’d better make sure you have transport.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘We’ll get your old Fiesta taken away and see about a hire car for you.’

  Jasmine moved to get up.

  ‘No, stay there. Relax,’ Viv said, ‘Let me take your coat. Cup of tea?’

  Jasmine shucked off her coat and lay back on the sofa feeling looked after and mollycoddled. She shouldn’t be like this. She should be out investigating, tracking down Evelyn Bunting’s killer. But just for a few minutes… She closed her eyes.

  15

  SATURDAY 19th OCTOBER

  MORNING

  The ring tone stirred Jasmine from a pleasant slumber. She found herself still entwined in Viv’s legs and arm. Her hand reached out to pick up the phone as Viv moved beside her. She peered at the screen as she pressed the answer button. It was eight-thirty.

  ‘Good morning, Jasmine.’ It was Hamid’s voice.

  ‘Hi,’ Jasmine replied still struggling to get fully awake. ‘This is early for a Saturday. What are you up to?’

  ‘Inspector Shepherd has got us in, looking into the insurance fraud he thinks Bunting and Griffiths were involved in.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I can see that. Has he got a lead?’

  Hamid made a non-committal sound. ‘We’re trying to get phone and email data on Griffiths and his employees to see if we can find any conspiracy.’

  ‘That’ll be fun for you. You don’t need me…’ It was the kind of task that Jasmine had found herself doing in the time between the start of her transition and leaving the force. She was good at it but that didn’t mean that she enjoyed it.

  ‘No. DI Shepherd hasn’t asked for you. I was ringing to say I have the information on those two people that met Harriet Bunting in Faringdon.’

  Jasmine felt a little burst of excitement. She heaved her leg out from under Viv’s and slid around to sit on the edge of the mattress.

  ‘That’s great. Well done Hamid. Can you send them to me?’

  ‘They’re with you now.’

  ‘Thanks. Er, does Tom know?’

  ‘Yes. He says we have Harriet and Tyler’s alibi’s confirmed, so he doesn’t see that these characters are important.’

  ‘He’s going with the insurance scam as the reason for the arson and murder?’

  ‘He thinks something went wrong with the plan and Griffiths’ accomplices killed Bunting as well as setting the building alight.’

  ‘Possible,’ Jasmine admitted although she wasn’t convinced. ‘Good luck in finding the evidence, and thanks.’

  ‘No problem.’

  They ended the call and Jasmine went into her inbox. She found the email there from Hamid giving the details on Harriet Bunting’s generous guests. She read the information eagerly. The two men were Edward Wilson from Cheltenham and Montgomery Russell from Oxford. The first was apparently the one who had appeared dressed as a woman and paid for the dinner while Russell had covered the full cost of the room. Jasmine was keen to meet both. She jumped up and headed for the bathroom.

  ‘Where’re you going?’ Viv asked sleepily.

  ‘I’m getting up. Things to do.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘There are a couple of people I’d like to interview in connection with the Bunting case.’ Jasmine called out from inside the en-suite.

  ‘Oh. Where are they?’

  ‘Oxford and Cheltenham.’

  ‘Do you really need to speak to them? Can’t Tom organise his people to do it?’

  ‘I am one of his people. It’s a lead I’m following. If my old car has had it I’ll have to hire one.’

  ‘Okay, Jas. If you say so.’ Viv was sounding more awake. He hauled himself out of bed. ‘I’ll get on to it.’

  Jasmine settled herself into the driving seat of the Nissan Micra, while Viv leaned on the open window.

  ‘All okay for you?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. I haven’t driven a newish car since I left the force, but I think I’ll manage.’

  ‘Take care then. Don’t overdo it. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Yes, I won’t be late, I promise.’ Jasmine blew him a kiss and started the engine. Viv stepped back, and Jasmine set off across the forecourt of the hire car depot. Soon she was in the queue of traffic made up of Saturday morning shoppers heading into central Kintbridge but she parted company with them and headed north towards Oxford. She’d chosen to call on Russell first as he was the closer and he had paid the larger sum for the evening’s entertainment, whatever that involved. She’d googled the address and found that it was in Jericho, an area of central Oxford popular with students and university staff alike. She knew where she was headed.

  Speeding up the A34’s dual carriageway, she found herself making comparisons between the hire car and the old red Fiesta. The Micra was comfortable, relatively quiet and covered the miles without complaint. The old car had performed a role when she needed it but had begun to complain bitterly about being pushed at
its advanced age. The charms of the newer car gained her appreciation. She found herself in the Oxford congestion sooner than she expected but the last couple of miles to her destination were a slow crawl.

  Finally, she entered the grid of streets of terraced and semi-detached houses that made up Jericho. Parking was on the straight, narrow roads and there were few spare spaces. Jasmine drove round for several minutes wishing for a police car pass that would allow her to park anywhere. Eventually she pulled into a space just vacated by a departing car. She got out, smoothed down her skirt and wrapped her coat around her. It was a sunny day, but still cold. She set off to find Montgomery Russell’s home in Ramsay Street.

  It was a two up, two down in a terrace. It looked small, but Jasmine knew that these homes were much sought after, in walking distance to the colleges and the centre of the city. She pressed the doorbell.

  Almost immediately the door was opened by a man of similar height to herself, but carrying rather more weight. He had short fair hair and was wearing a waistcoat over a check shirt with brown corduroy trousers. Jasmine guessed he was a college fellow or some other kind of academic.

  He frowned as if surprised to see someone he did not recognise.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, ‘Can I help you?’

  He was polite at least, Jasmine thought. ‘Mr Montgomery Russell?’

  He nodded, still frowning. ‘That is correct. Who are you?’

  ‘Jasmine Frame. I’m a detective helping the Kintbridge police with some enquiries.’ She took her identity card from her pocket and briefly showed it to him. He didn’t show any interest in reading it.

  ‘Kintbridge? What enquiries?’

  ‘I believe you are acquainted with Mrs Harriet Bunting.’

  His frown became one of puzzlement for a moment and then his expression changed to embarrassment. Jasmine noticed the rising flush.

  ‘Um, yes, I, er, am.’

  ‘You spent Tuesday evening in her company at the Royal Hotel, Faringdon.’

  Now he looked scared.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘You paid for the room Mrs Bunting occupied even though you did not spend the night there yourself.’