EVIL CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  Rae merely smiled politely, then spent the next twenty minutes tracking the room bookings for the weekend conference in October. Just as she had thought, there was no Imber. But she did discover that Professor Murey had stayed two nights, had a double room to himself and had left after the final conference lunch on Sunday afternoon. She asked the local Cambridge CID to help her identify nearby hotels. The manager of the Red Rose Hotel told her yes, a double room had been booked for Harriet Imber for the same two nights, and the reservation had been paid for in advance by a gentleman called Murey. So it looked as though the good professor had brought Hattie along as a night-time plaything during his conference. Well, well.

  So what had been in that envelope, the one Hattie had slid under his office door the previous day, causing him obvious anxiety? Photographs, maybe? A demand for money? If so, was she putting herself at risk of harm?

  Rae shook her head. Just what kind of person was Hattie Imber, and what drove her to act this way?

  Chapter 23: Distinctly Queasy

  ‘I saw a crossdresser earlier,’ Craig said. ‘In the café next to the station. I got here sooner than I’d expected and grabbed a coffee while I waited for you.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this, Craig? Do you think I want to know?’ Rae looked across the table at her boyfriend. They were in a busy Chinese restaurant near the cathedral, at a small table in a window enclosure. The light from a wall lamp shone down on his head, and his fair hair glinted with orange highlights. She liked him a lot. He was considerate and thoughtful, smart and very huggable. But that didn’t give him the right to start a conversation that he must surely know she’d find irritating at best and upsetting at worst.

  He looked embarrassed. ‘I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t mean to compare her to you. I know the difference.’

  ‘Do you? There’s an old, bitter joke about it. What’s the difference between a transvestite and a transsexual? About five years.’

  Craig looked puzzled. ‘Not sure I understand.’

  ‘I’m not a transgender purist, Craig. I’ve never split people into this and that. There are very subtle gradations in gender variance. It hits people in different ways, to different degrees and at different stages of life. If you must know, I admire people who manage to find a sort of part-time balance that keeps their relationships together, particularly if they’re older and have family and relationship commitments. I was young when it all happened to me, so I wasn’t in that situation. But I sometimes ask myself, what would I have done if it had all exploded on me a decade later than it did, when I could have been a married man with a family? How would I have handled it? Sometimes people just feel they have to stick with what they are for the sake of their families, and take opportunities to be their preferred selves when they can. I admire them for it. Those labels that people used a decade ago are way out of date.’

  ‘Yeah, well, that makes sense. But I still don’t understand the joke.’

  ‘Because for a few years before I transitioned, I was only a woman part of the time. I went to support groups and other events, but at work I was a “normal” bloke as far as everyone knew. Those evenings out were my lifeline. So what was I then? In those outdated terms, I was a transvestite, a crossdresser. Then three years later, I officially became what I am now, a legal woman. It’s an insult to still be using these demeaning labels for people struggling with gender identity issues. It makes me bloody angry.’

  ‘Anything else make you angry?’ said Craig. ‘Do you want to get it all off your chest now?’

  ‘Why not? This obsession the media has with male to female trans people, for instance. Do you ever hear anything about women who transition to men? The media is just not interested in them. But they’re there all right, in nearly the same numbers.’

  ‘Why’s that? Why don’t the press tell us that?’ He looked genuinely puzzled.

  ‘We could speculate for hours but I can’t be bothered. Look, I don’t want to waste time thinking about it. I just want to be me, Rae Gregson, person. I’m happy as I am, and people need to accept that.’ She looked at her boyfriend. ‘Are you having second thoughts about me? Is that what this is all about?’

  Craig looked unsure. ‘I don’t know. I guess it’s always there at the back of my mind.’

  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have told you about my background. Some don’t.’

  ‘No, you did the right thing, and I admire you for it. It couldn’t have been an easy decision.’

  ‘So do you want to split? I don’t want us to stay together if all you feel is pity for me.’

  It was some time before Craig replied. ‘It isn’t anything like that. It’s the dead opposite, in fact. I really like you a lot, I fancy you like mad and the sex is great. It’s just when I visit my sister and her family. She’s pregnant again.’

  ‘And I can never be pregnant. I can never have your children. Is that it?’

  Craig nodded. ‘I never really thought about it much before, about kids and things. But recently . . . well.’

  ‘There are ways round it, Craig. There’s adoption or surrogacy.’

  ‘It’s all complicated, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I guess it is. But if we’re committed to each other, we’ll get through it. And we’ll need that commitment if we’re to have a family.’

  Craig reached across the table and put his hand on hers. ‘I think I’m okay with that.’

  Rae felt tears welling up. All she could think of to say was one of Sophie Allen’s favourite phrases, ‘Oh, you sweetheart.’

  The waitress arrived with their food and they smiled at each other across the steaming plates.

  * * *

  The strobe lights flashed and the music pounded. Rae and Craig had managed to grab two vacant seats at a small table and were looking across the packed dance floor at the revellers. Rae had spotted Hattie and Maria a few minutes earlier when the two of them made their entrance. Maria was wearing silky, olive-coloured combat trousers with a matching vest and soft brown ankle boots, and blended in with the crowd. Hattie, though, was hard to miss. She was wearing a tight, strappy emerald blue dress that glittered in the disco lights, and her high heels made her even taller than usual. Were they also blue? Rae couldn’t see for all the people crowded around the two young women. Hattie was simply gorgeous. It was a wonder she hadn’t been picked up by a modelling agency. Her height and looks were near perfect for such a career. Tonight she seemed a far cry from the sullen, cursing figure that had bumped into Rae in the geography block corridor.

  Hattie spent some time in her large group of friends, until a hungry-looking young man approached from the other side of the room. They moved away, Hattie laughing conspiratorially, her left hand on his elbow. She glanced at Maria, who was talking to another group of students. Hattie pulled the man towards a secluded corner near the toilet corridor. Maria stared at them and frowned. Rae rose from her seat, told Craig to stay put, and followed after them. Where had they gone? Rae edged towards the recess and discovered a narrow corridor off the dance floor that led to two office doors, both locked, and what appeared to be a storage area adjacent to a fire exit. Rae made her way quietly along the corridor and peered into the storeroom. There, against one wall, Hattie and the young man were having sex. After a while he groaned and shuddered, and Hattie pulled her dress down. Rae saw him pass her a small bundle of what could only be money.

  One thing was for sure — Hattie Imber was no novice.

  Rae backed away and hurried to the exit, where she leant against the wall and studied her phone. She watched them return, Hattie to the group of students. The young man left the club. Less than ten minutes had passed, and Hattie didn’t seem to have been missed. Except by Maria. She stood at the edge of the group and stared venomously at her friend. With a flourish, Hattie extracted several banknotes from her bra and made her way to the bar.

  Rae sat down beside Craig. ‘I think I’ve seen enough. I’m beginning to feel distinctly queasy.’
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br />   Craig looked puzzled. ‘I was thinking how well behaved they all seem to be. Was it the food? I’m always a bit cautious about stir-fried duck.’

  ‘Nothing I’ve eaten, I promise you. It’s what I’ve just seen. I need some fresh air and maybe a quiet drink in an ordinary pub. Let’s go.’

  Chapter 24: Swearing and Spitting

  Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny in Plymouth, although a chilly wind was blowing in from the east. Matt Brindle opened his bedroom curtains and looked out across the railway line just beyond his parents’ back garden. He’d been looking forward to today all week, for he was due to travel to Exeter to visit his girlfriend, Hattie. He wanted her to know what she meant to him, and he was going to tell her how much she’d changed his life in the week since he’d met her. He was a different person, an adult at last with an adult’s view of the world. And he was deeply in love. He would tell Hattie and then they would celebrate this love that they had for each other. He was sure she felt it too. Her text messages of the past couple of days had been full of the kind of things only true lovers would send each other. They also hinted at what she’d like to try with him when they were alone together in her room. He looked at the clock on the wall. Enough daydreaming. He’d better get some breakfast and head off to the station.

  On the train, Matt soon put his magazine aside and sat looking out of the window at the Devon countryside flashing by. He was wondering if he could transfer to the Exeter office permanently. He knew that he’d impressed the local manager during his week’s secondment, his boss in Plymouth had told him so. The estate agent Matt worked for had branches in most of the county’s major towns, and was opening new offices in Cornwall and Somerset. He could be looking at becoming an assistant manager within a few years and a branch manager by his mid-thirties. Would that impress Hattie? He wasn’t sure. She’d see the benefits, though. Just think. If he was careful with his money, he might be able to afford a small house in a couple of years and then, if his career developed according to plan, a cottage in a small Devon village. He knew that Hattie would love such a home. Nevertheless he was worried that someone with a passion for ancient history, music and art might not rate such a career as highly as his own family members, with their very ordinary background. From the sound of it, Hattie’s family were all very middle class, privately educated and with degrees and such things. Could she ever be satisfied with a man in his line of work? Even if she did seem to like him a lot at the moment, how long would it last? He’d already seen how very changeable her moods could be.

  The familiar sense of inferiority crept over him, one that had been with him, on and off, since the later years of primary school. A sense of puzzled underachievement, despite all his best efforts. He sighed. Come on, Matt. Why be sad? He was on his way to visit the love of his short life. The sense of anticipation kicked in and he lost himself in the memories of the previous passionate weekend.

  The train finally pulled into St David’s and Matt slung his bag over his shoulder and strode towards the exit. He looked at the clock and a sudden doubt struck him. It was just before ten o’clock and he was due to meet Hattie at ten thirty. Or was he? He checked the text message she’d sent two days earlier, and discovered his mistake. It was eleven thirty that they were to meet for coffee. Stupid. It was his longing to see her, probably. What should he do with this spare hour? Maybe he’d just walk up to the campus now and give her a surprise.

  * * *

  Hattie Imber was angry. Why couldn’t Maria see that she only went with these guys for fun and profit? Maria was being ridiculous demanding total loyalty. For God’s sake, she was living in another era. Maybe it was her Greek Orthodox background. Hattie had told her often enough how she wanted to live her life. Hadn’t she been tricked enough in the past — used, abused and tossed aside like a dirty plaything? Well, it wasn’t going to happen again. She was going to stay in total control of all her relationships from now on. They would be on her terms or not at all.

  It had all ended up in that row over breakfast this morning, with Maria in tears and she, Hattie, saying things that she now regretted. And it wasn’t just Maria giving her grief. The fucking professor was refusing to play ball and turf up the extra money she was due. She’d show the bastard. The voices in her head were starting up again, whispering suggestions to her about how she could pay them back. She pushed them to the back of her mind, just as her therapist had instructed and walked quickly away from the campus, down to the leafy street where the professor lived. What would he be doing on a Saturday morning? Playing golf? Pruning the roses? Did it matter? She needed to vent her anger somehow. She reached his driveway and then just stood there in the middle of the pavement, staring at his house.

  It was five minutes before a white-faced Paul Murey appeared. He strode out of his gate and grabbed Hattie by the arm.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, what do you think you’re doing?’ he hissed.

  ‘Let go of my arm or I’ll scream rape,’ she hissed back. ‘Loud enough for the neighbours to hear.’

  He stepped back. ‘My wife’s seen you. What are you playing at? We have an agreement and you’re not sticking to it.’

  ‘Is she watching now?’

  ‘No. She’s just gone into the back garden. It’s a good job she’s never seen you before, because she’s got a memory for faces. Don’t ever come round here again, or there’ll be hell to pay. For both of us. She’s not stupid.’

  ‘Unlike you, then,’ Hattie retorted. ‘You must be stupid to try to cheat me like this. I want another two hundred quid for last Sunday evening, and that’s cheap considering the time you got out of me.’

  ‘I paid you for the two hours. It’s not my fault that we both fell asleep afterwards. Considering all the money you’ve already had out of me, I’d have thought you’d understand that.’ He glanced back towards the house. ‘She’s getting suspicious, she’s checking up on our bank accounts.’

  Hattie’s look was full of derision. ‘Not my problem. You pay for the hours I give you and nothing less. Fair’s fair.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll get you the money but it’ll have to wait a while. And what were you doing sliding messages under my office door? Are you mental? Anyone could have seen it. I’d be finished if they found out.’ He looked at her and the strain showed in his eyes. ‘You’re a student, aren’t you? At the university? At my place? How else could you have got into the building to deliver that stupid note? Christ, I’d never have started with you if I’d known.’

  Hattie laughed. ‘Mistress Pandora. Mystery is my name, cruelty is my game. Did you think those were just empty words? You don’t have a clue, do you?’ She stepped back. ‘You’ve got until this time next week, so get your fucking act together, you prick, or things will get much worse for you.’

  He stared at her. ‘That was you round here the other night, throwing gravel at the windows, wasn’t it? You stupid bitch!’

  She spat at the ground, turned on her heels and marched, still seething with anger, to George Markham’s flat. It was a fortnight since she’d used the car, and she needed to check that it was ticking over okay before going home the next day. She might as well do it now, since she was in the vicinity. She climbed into the small car and turned the key. The engine coughed and died. She tried again but it still refused to start. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Everything in her life seemed to be falling apart. She rested her forehead on the steering wheel, wanting to cry. After a few minutes she climbed out. Markham was standing by the car, watching her.

  ‘You look upset, Hattie,’ he said. ‘It’s only a cold, damp battery. An hour on charge and it’ll be fine.’

  She gripped the car door. ‘I don’t have a fucking hour,’ she hissed. ‘Christ, why is this all happening to me today?’

  He put his hand on her arm, but she whirled round and knocked it away. ‘Keep your fucking hands to yourself, you perv. Don’t fucking touch me. I don’t want any of you to touch me again. Ever. Fuck off.’

  She spat on the g
round at his feet, turned and hurried away.

  * * *

  Across the road, Matt Brindle watched the end of this scene with interest. You’d never see his girlfriend behave like that young blonde woman, swearing and spitting at people in public. He was looking forward to surprising her. He’d brought a selfie-stick with him, so that he could take a photo of the two of them together, to show his parents. He’d already described her to them, her slim figure and the way her long, curly, chestnut-red hair cascaded around her shoulders.

  Should he text her first, and let her know that he would be arriving an hour early? No, let it be a surprise. Matt liked surprises. They were always good, in his experience.

  Chapter 25: Bridesmaids

  Sophie Allen realised that she had just yawned, and her grandfather had spotted it.

  ‘Sorry. That was rude of me. It’s probably my age catching up on me.’

  James Howard looked concerned. ‘You’re not in danger of burning yourself out again, are you? You should take more care of yourself, Sophie. Go on a holiday or something.’

  Sophie laughed. ‘No, I’m not overworked, not at the moment anyway. I’m busy making lists in my head, now that Mum has decided to get herself hitched in the New Year. Has she spoken to you, Grandad?’

  He smiled. ‘Yes. And what a wonderful gesture. I’d be delighted to accompany her down the aisle. We were both very amused by the way she described it. She refused to use the expression, give me away. I can see where you and the two girls get your independent spirit.’

  ‘So you’ll do it?’

  ‘Yes, of course. We’re not sure what two old fogeys like us will add to the occasion, but we’re willing.’

  Sophie, Martin and Jade had driven to Gloucester soon after Sophie finished work on Saturday afternoon. They planned to stay with the Howards until Sunday afternoon, partly to assess the wellbeing of the elderly couple. Florence’s health was beginning to deteriorate, although mentally she was as bright as ever. ‘It’s the joints, I expect,’ she said. ‘They’re giving out on me at last. But I can’t complain, can I? My body’s done well to get me this far.’