“So, you’ve already uncovered secrets, lies and undisclosed money. I thought I knew Clive, and Janey come to that, but it appears not. Do you think any of this is connected to her disappearance?”
“At this moment I’m not sure of anything, sir. But the club and the bank account are leads that we need to follow-up,” said Anderson.
“Of course,” Lord Garford nodded. “Will you keep me informed?”
“Naturally,” Anderson agreed. “Where will you be, sir?”
“Here in London, at least until the end of the week, obligations in the House of Lords and all that.”
“Very well,” said Anderson and the three men turned and left the basement flat.
When they reached the pavement, Crane watched Lord Garford climb the few steps to his front door, with a heavy tread and a slump to his shoulders that hadn’t been there when they’d arrived.
Crane didn’t much like ruining people’s lives like that, but then, he consoled himself, he wasn’t really the one doing it. If people didn’t do such things, or kept such awful secrets from their families, then his job would be a lot easier.
“I didn’t enjoy that,” said Crane to Anderson as they pulled away from the house.
“Neither did I,” said Anderson, “but what else could we do? He did insist on being told.”
“Oh well,” said Crane, “Let’s hope that’s the worst of it.”
As it was early evening, Crane and Anderson decided to drive to the Mayfair Club, to see what they could find out there, before returning to Aldershot. They found a nearby coffee shop, where Crane filled up his caffeine tank and they both called their wives, telling them they wouldn’t be home for a while yet. Both women received the news stoically, as if to say, what’s new?
What was new to Crane and Anderson was a swinger’s club such as the Mayfair. Anderson’s warrant card gained them entry past a bemused doorman. Upon asking to speak to the manager, they were led down a thickly carpeted hallway and down a set of stairs into a basement, which was clearly a no go area for clients. The basement was sparsely furnished, money obviously being better spent upstairs and as they entered it, a man came up to them, one hand held out.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said. “I’m Dante Skinner. How can I help you?”
Crane introduced them both and wanted to know who Skinner was. “Are you the manager, sir?” he asked.
“Owner, actually,” and Skinner ran his perfectly manicured fingers through his beautifully styled dark hair, all gel and lacquer Crane thought as he saw the way it glinted in the overhead lights.
“I thought the club had been going for many years?” Crane asked.
“Oh, it has, 30 years to be exact. My father founded the club and I’ve taken over as the old man has retired.”
That explained the Skinner bit of the name but Dante? So Crane asked.
“My mother is Italian, what can I say?” Skinner smiled and now Crane could see indicators of his heritage. The jet black hair, slightly olive skin and tall frame.
“What sort of club is this precisely, sir?” Anderson asked.
“A club where people can come and drink and meet people with similar tastes, in a protected and confidential environment.” Which was exactly the strap line on the membership papers they’d found in the basement flat.
“A knocking shop,” said Crane, deliberately being provocative.
But it seemed Dante Skinner was too smooth to be riled and he laughed at Crane’s description of his club. “So, what brings you here?” Dante said. “You’re a long way from Aldershot.”
Anderson explained that they were investigating the disappearance of Janey Cunningham, who was a member with her husband, Major Cunningham.
“Yes,” Dante mused. “I saw that on the news. But why are you talking to me? I can’t help you.”
“Yes you can,” Crane decided to drop the ‘sir’ bollocks. He was getting tired and was fed up with people not giving them information. “Is there a couple they were particularly friendly with? Anyone they socialised with regularly?”
“Look, Sgt Major isn’t it? This is a private members’ club. The emphasis being on the word private, so unless you have a warrant…” Dante let his hand hang in the air.
“Please, sir,” Anderson said. “Can’t we do this civilly, without the need for warrants and all that sort of stuff?”
Dante looked puzzled. “What sort of stuff?”
“Well, we would have good grounds for closing you down for a while, for say, obstructing an investigation.”
“Or,” joined in Crane, “we could treat this as a crime scene and shut the whole place for, well, who knows how long? Some investigations take months. All it would take is a quick call to the Metropolitan Police. Don’t you agree, Derek?”
“Definitely, Crane,” Anderson confirmed.
Dante Skinner paled under his olive toned skin and ran his fingers through his hair again. But still he hesitated.
“Please, Mr Skinner. A woman is missing. A woman who was, I assume a regular at your club.”
Dante nodded his agreement.
“So, won’t you help us? Is there anything you can tell us that might move the case forward? All we want are the names of those couples the Cunningham’s were particularly friendly with.”
“We don’t have to tell anyone that the information came from you. We’ll protect your precious privacy policy,” Crane said still trying his best to persuade the man to co-operate.
Skinner pulled out a packet of Dunhill cigarettes and lit one with a gold lighter. After he’d blown out the smoke he said, “Cynthia and Justin Hall. I understand they’ve become quite close to the Cunninghams. They live in Kensington. I’m sure you can find them, after all you are policemen,” and he gave a wry smile.
“Thank you, Mr Skinner,” said Anderson. “We’ll not take up any more of your time,” at which Skinner looked relieved.
“But don’t worry, we’ll be in touch if we need to know anything else,” said Crane and winked at Dante Skinner, before they climbed the stairs back to street level, leaving the club owner to his secrets.
18
…It had been a few days since he had been in the house, other demands on his time meant that he had been unable to continue his surveillance until this evening. As he watched the family leave for an outing to the cinema, talking loudly about which film they were about to see and where to go afterwards for something to eat, he left his car which was parked a few houses further down the street. Their chatter continued as he walked towards them. As their words and laughter enveloped him, tendrils of their talk pricked at his arms like a thousand needles. Jealousy threatened to overwhelm him as he watched Tyler with his perfect family. Tyler, who had good job, nice car, beautiful wife, and the obligatory 2.4 children. Whilst he, well he had not been so lucky. His life had taken a different path.
Shaking himself like a dog wanting to shed water from his coat, so that drops of his envy splattered around his feet, he slapped his own face, forcing himself to get his emotions under control. He reminded himself that he was the one in the position of power, not Tyler. And that in time, well, Tyler would get what he deserved.
Once again he got into the house easily enough. The parcel tucked under his arm rustled as he squeezed through the door in the dark, not wanting to open it wide in case it drew anyone’s attention. He prowled through the ground floor by the slim beam of his torch, checking that he really was alone and silently thanking the family for closing the curtains before they had left. Satisfied, he put the parcel down on the hall table and proceeded to poke about. The downstairs of the property had clearly been renovated, that much was visible from his torch. No lights had been left on, so he moved through the rooms like the prowler he was, quickly and quietly, trying not to leave anything of himself behind. His hands were covered with surgical gloves and his shoes had paper slip-overs on. He lifted photographs in silver frames from the furniture they rested on, looking at the family pictures, which a
ppeared to have been snapped during various holidays. He ran his torch over the paintings on the wall. They were okay, but a bit too abstract for his taste. Modern art wasn’t something he understood or felt an affinity for.
The kitchen was all designer cupboards and marble worktops, with a free-standing island complete with high stools, where presumably the family could chat while the cooking took place, or gather around for a quick breakfast before starting their day. Oh yes, Tyler Wells had clearly done very well for himself.
Towards the back of the house, he found a space that had a completely different atmosphere. Most of the rooms he’d been in had evidence of people leading busy lives, with toys, books and magazines strewn around. It was as if the house was quietly waiting for the owners to return and pick up the discarded books, to carrying on reading the next chapter. He’d looked at Penny’s magazines, Vogue, Tattler, Homes and Gardens, all clear indicators of her expensive ways and good taste. In his mind’s eye he could see her wandering into the lounge with a cup of coffee, ready to read an article about this season’s must have designer handbag.
The final room on the ground floor was completely different in furnishing and feeling. Tyler’s study was clearly a male space, all dark furniture, cabinets and desk. There was nothing out of place here. The desk had a laptop on it and nothing else.
He moved around the desk, pulled out the leather office chair and sat, taking a moment to settle into the chair, pulling Tyler’s life around him like a well-worn overcoat. Then he reached out and opened the laptop. As he clicked the icon in the middle of the screen, the operating system came to life and granted him access. No password. How trusting. He settled down to his mischief, occasionally reaching into desk drawers or moving over to the filing cabinet, to obtain the information he needed.
His mission complete, he walked back through the house, collecting the package he had left in the hallway. Mounting the stairs, a sense of urgency in his stride as he needed to be away before the family arrived back, he walked into Tyler and Penny’s bedroom. Taking a moment to work out which was Penny’s side of the bed, he then put a single red rose on her pillow. That was his calling card for this evening. A blood red rose that would send the message to Tyler that he was being watched.
With a smile on his face, he left the house, wishing he could see Tyler’s expression when he saw the bloom.
19
The girls tumbled through the front door. Tyler often thought that they never walked anywhere, they were always on the run, always trying to outdo each other, to be the first in the door, up the stairs, to the dining table. He smiled at their antics as Penny shushed them up the stairs to get ready for bed. As he walked into the lounge, their laughter floated down the stairs; it was a perfect end to a perfect evening. The new Cinderella film by Kenneth Branagh had been a huge hit, not only with the girls, but with him and Penny also. It was a heart-warming tale of love and triumph over adversity. He felt the new mantra in the house was going to be, ‘Have courage and be kind,’ Cinderella’s mother’s last words to her beautiful daughter.
Whilst he waited for Penny, he turned on the television to watch the late evening news. The top story, in fact the only story really, was the disappearance of well-known model Janey Carlton. The media were reporting from outside her house, outside her agent’s house and anywhere else they could think of that had even a tenuous connection to the missing model. Then the news anchor settled down to a longer piece, interviewing a former police detective. What had really happened to Janey Carlton? Their speculation went on and on…. Kidnap, (but there had been no ransom demand that they were aware of), murder (where was her body), she may have left her husband (who for), she could have simply just disappeared for a while (a la Agatha Christie who disappeared for 11 days back in the 1920’s). The news anchor said that Janey’s husband was distraught and beyond consolation. The policeman explained that as her husband was a major in the British Army, the case was no doubt being investigated by both the civilian and the military police.
As they launched into an explanation of how the two police forces worked together, Tyler stopped listening and wondered what it would be like if Penny went missing? How would he feel? Somehow ‘distraught’ didn’t seem to even come close. He was practically pole-axed with fear just speculating about it. Maybe it was because he was an adopted child that he needed such commitment and reassurance in his personal life. Losing Penny would be like cutting off his arm. Losing his children would be like cutting off the other one. Losing his adoptive parents would be like a hammer blow that would take months, if not years, to come to terms with. Battling the fear that threatened to consume him, Tyler went through to the kitchen to see Penny. He needed reassurance that she was really there, he needed to touch her and kiss her. He needed to ground himself.
He found her making a cup of tea and standing behind her, he put his arms around her waist.
“Hey,” she said, “what a lovely evening that was. Although I think I ate too much pizza. I’m so full I’m going to pop!”
“Your stomach feels fine to me,” he said running his hands over it.
“Oh, I forgot to thank you,” she said stirring the tea.
“Thank me for what?”
“For making the bed and leaving sexy underwear out for me to wear the other morning. I felt horny all day. And now you’ve left a rose on my pillow! I never knew you were such a romantic.” Penny turned in his arms and kissed him deeply.
Tyler did his best to respond, but he wasn’t turned on by her kiss, rather turned off, as a shiver ran down his back, for he had done no such thing. He hadn’t left out any underwear for her one morning. To be frank, he was always far too intent on getting to the office in the mornings, than thinking of sex. As for a rose, what bloody rose?
He pulled away from Penny and said, “Where’s that tea? I’m dying of thirst,” and laughed to distract her from further conversation about his so called ‘gifts’.
As they walked back into the lounge, he debated telling her that it wasn’t him who had left out the underwear and put a red rose on her pillow. But to be honest, he didn’t want to frighten her. It was probably nothing, he decided. Just a prank. Maybe it was the girls messing about? Yes, he thought, taking a sip of his tea. The girls are the best explanation. But then he thought back to the phone calls in the office. The ones where no one was there when he answered. Perhaps he needed to start taking some notice of what and who was around him. Could it be that a stalker was watching them and that he had somehow gained access to the house? Tyler went cold to the core of his being, as if someone had just walked over his grave. The words, ‘Have courage and be kind’, flitted through his mind. He needed to find the courage to deal with this and get to the bottom of it, and be kind to Penny and the girls by not burdening them with his fears. But was he up to the job?
20
“Okay, Crane,” Draper said, looking at the white boards in the open plan SIB office that detailed the investigation into the disappearance of Janey Cunningham, “Where do we stand?” He was dressed in fatigues and struck a relaxed pose, propped up on the side of a desk with his hands in his pockets.
“Well, at the moment, sir, it’s more a case of what we don’t know, than what we do know.”
“Explain.”
“Well,” Crane scratched at his black curly hair, “We don’t know where she is, we don’t know what’s happened to her and we don’t know who did whatever has been done to her. We still don’t know if it’s a disappearance, a kidnap, or a murder and if it is a murder then why haven’t we found the body. We now know what Major and Mrs Cunningham got up to in their private life and to be honest, boss, I get the feeling we’ve only just scratched the surface on that one.”
Draper sighed. “I suspect you’re right. What are you and Anderson up to today?”
“We’re off to interview the couple from the swingers’ club. We’ve made an appointment with them, so it’s not going to be a wild goose chase.”
Drap
er smiled, “You sure about that, Crane?”
Crane returned the grin. “To be bloody honest, boss, I’m not sure of anything. Talk about going with the flow. Every time I lift up a corner of the Cunningham’s lives, I find something new that’s even more bizarre than the previous fact. How are they taking it up there?” Crane was alluding to Major Cunningham’s and Draper’s superiors.
“Not well at all. He’s been officially suspended until the case is brought to some sort of conclusion. The rumour mill is working overtime and he’s becoming a bit of a joke amongst the soldiers he commands. So the brass are working on damage limitation at the moment. To be honest, even if he comes out of this in the clear, I suspect he’ll be moved on to somewhere faraway, where hopefully the rumours won’t have spread to, if he isn’t persuaded to resign, that is.”
“Poor bugger.” For once Crane had some sympathy for the man, if he was innocent that was, and he unconsciously scratched at the scar under his short beard as he thought about it.
“It’s not the way the men upstairs see it,” said Draper. “They feel he should have had more control over his wife.”
Crane smiled ruefully, “Typical senior officer attitude.”
“Well, as far as they are concerned, Janey Cunningham, or Carlton, or whatever you want to call her, represented the British Army just as much as her husband. And disappearing is not in the handbook. So,” Draper pushed himself off the desk, “no pressure, but an early resolution to this mess would be appreciated. What we really need to do is to find Janey Cunningham, preferably alive.”
“Don’t I know it, boss. She’s like a phantom, a will-o’-the-wisp, protected by her friend Laura Battle. That woman is doing my head in, she’s lied to us twice already, let’s hope that’s the last of them.”
“Keep me posted, Crane,” said Draper as he walked away. “And remember,” he turned back “an officer who has killed his wife isn’t what the brass want to hear. But just in case he has, they’re backing away from him, distancing themselves already. You can be sure they’ll be quick to disown him if he has.”
Solid Proof: A dark, disturbing, detective mystery (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Book 8) Page 6