by JD Nixon
Her tears dried up almost instantly. “No. He said we’d . . .”
“What did he say, Miss?” asked a detective.
“Nothing,” she sniffed, eyes downcast.
“Franny,” Jaegar said.
“But Jaegar, you said –”
“Franny, I don’t want –”
“What’s going on between you two?” I interrupted. “I thought you hated each other.”
“I think we might need a second interview with you, Miss. You don’t seem to have been completely forthcoming with us.”
Francine began to cry again, but this time Mrs Burwood didn’t offer her any comfort.
“You have to tell the detectives everything you know, Francine,” she ordered coldly, distancing herself from the distraught woman.
Francine sank heavily on a chair, almost in a daze. “I’m in so much trouble. I helped him,” she confessed.
“Don’t say another word, Francine,” demanded Jaegar.
She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes full of hurt. “You lied to me. You told me we’d go away together. That we’d finally be a proper couple, and not have to sneak around hiding our relationship. But you were just setting me up to be your fall guy, weren’t you?”
“Francine, listen to me –”
“Take him away,” said the detective to his mate. “He can cool his heels in a room while we interview this young lady again.” Jaegar was escorted away, still calling out to Francine.
“Francine, if you’ve done something criminal, you have no choice except to face up to the consequences. Make sure you tell the detectives everything.”
Her weeping intensified. “He told me he loved me. I was stupid enough to believe him.”
“We all make mistakes, especially in love,” said Mrs Burwood, cracking open the tiniest portion of sympathy. “But this is a very serious matter. Do you have the necklace at your house?”
“No,” she said, dejected, gaining control over her incessant tears. “Jaegar took it, saying he was going to look after it.”
“I don’t know what he thought he was going to do with it,” I mused. “It’s a highly recognisable piece. He would never be able to sell it in any reputable store. And even if he did the unthinkable and destroyed the necklace to prise out the gemstones, they’re also too rare to shift.”
“That only leaves a private collector,” surmised Mrs Burwood. “The thought of that magnificent piece being hoarded by a greedy, rich person makes me so angry. I so badly want to slap Jaegar across the face. And you too, you silly girl.” I wish she hadn’t said that because it started Francine’s waterworks again. “I could have sworn that Jaegar was an upstanding young man. He had excellent qualifications and a good sales manner. It’s so disappointing to be betrayed by my own staff.”
“At least you should be able to recover the necklace,” Farrell said. “It doesn’t sound as if it’s been sold yet.”
“Thank God for that. It’s the only bright point in this whole sordid affair.”
We didn’t have any more time to chat before one of the detectives came down to take Francine away for further questioning.
Farrell and I plonked ourselves down on the chairs again, still waiting for our turn with the detectives.
“At this rate, we’ll be here until tomorrow,” Farrell noted, closing his eyes and stretching out his legs.
“I’m officially bored,” I said, cradling my sore arm with the other. It was killing me. I tossed up whether I could wait it out until I got home or if I should ask Mrs Burwood if she had any paracetamol. I decided to tough it out.
After her interview, Francine came back to us, greatly subdued. She told us she hadn’t been arrested – yet – but that she was due at the police station tomorrow to give a formal statement. She wasn’t sure if she’d be arrested then, or if her total cooperation was a mitigating factor.
“I’ve never had a real boyfriend before,” she said sadly, keeping her eyes low. “He really seemed genuine in wanting me. He told me he loved me. He’s so good-looking and he was nice to me. He made me feel desirable.” She looked at her fingers. “The sex was amazing. I never knew it could be so good. I guess I was blinded to his real nature by that. It was the first time in my life I’d ever had an . . . you know.” We all nodded – we knew. “Something should have twigged when he wanted to keep our relationship quiet. But I was just so happy that someone like him would want me, I did whatever he asked. When he started talking about setting us up for life, I listened.” She hung her head even lower. “I know I shouldn’t have. I should have reported him. But I wanted a life with him.” She stole a quick glance at Mrs Burwood’s set face before looking away again. “You’re right. I’m just a silly girl.”
She took her place behind the counter again and Mrs Burwood silently removed the ‘closed’ signs. Neither of them spoke to the other.
Chapter 17
I didn’t think they were doing it on purpose, but Farrell and I waited for another three hours before we were interviewed.
“Hugh, I need to lie down soon. I’m feeling a bit faint,” I told him. “I hurt my arm when Jaegar pushed me over. It’s so painful.”
“I’m taking you home,” he said immediately, standing up. He laid his hand on my forehead, which glistened with perspiration. “You’re very pale and heated. You haven’t had much water today.” He held my arm. “These wounds seem inflamed to me. We better get you to the doctor.”
“But we’re supposed to stay here on the scene.”
“Screw that. I’m tired of waiting and you need medical help.”
I tried to stand, but my legs collapsed under me. I would have crumpled to the floor if Farrell hadn’t caught me around my waist, guiding me back to the chair.
He looked over at the ladies at the counter. “Mrs Burwood, could you please bring over another chair.”
“Certainly.” She dashed around, carrying back a chair from another section.
“Could you also bring a cold glass of water?”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
Farrell made me lay across the chairs, my feet elevated on his lap. Handing me the water, Mrs Burwood somehow found a cloth to dampen to place across my forehead. She also brought out a small pillow she used during long meetings to support her lower back when it was playing up. I gulped big mouthfuls of water, not having realised how thirsty I was.
“Does that help?” Farrell asked gently.
“Yes, thank you,” I said with my eyes closed, wishing I were back at home in bed. But despite their kind efforts, I started feeling worse, my arm burning with pain. I couldn’t focus on anything except that sheer, unrelenting mountain of agony. It was all I could do not to groan aloud.
Farrell helped me to my unsteady feet just as one of the detectives came to get us.
“What’s the matter with her?” he enquired, his suit rumpled from the long day.
“She’s been very unwell lately,” Farrell told him. “And this waiting around all day is not helping the matter. I’m taking her back to her place. You can interview her there whenever you get around to it.”
“I’ll decide who goes and who stays. And nobody’s leaving until we finish our initial interviews. I don’t want to risk anyone else doing a runner on us.”
“And I don’t want to risk her health. She’s been seriously ill. Are you going to bully a sick woman or are you going to show some compassion?”
“I have a job to do,” he snapped. “I can’t be distracted by every sob story I’m given.”
“This is unbelievable,” Farrell muttered, preparing to square up to the man.
Not wanting him to get into trouble, especially with the cops, I spoke up. “Hugh, let’s just get it over and done with. The sooner we do, the sooner we can get home.”
“Listen to her. The woman speaks sense.”
“You can interview us at the same time,” Farrell insisted, helping me to my feet. “God, Chalmers, you’re dripping with sweat and you’re burning up.”
“It’s okay,” I said weakly. “Let’s go.”
I needed Farrell’s help to reach the interview room. I barely remembered the journey, rather dazed and disoriented. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was fine this morning, only starting to feel sore after that fall. But this pain just hit me like a truck.
I slumped down into a chair, leaning heavily against the back. Farrell took the other chair, his eyes constantly fixed on me. He searched around his pockets, producing a hanky, handing it to me. I mopped my face, the hanky soon drenched in my sweat. I spotted a water jug and glasses and shakily poured myself some, splashing half of it over the desk.
“She doesn’t seem very well,” said the second detective, concern on his face.
“She’s not. I told your friend here about a hundred times she’s been very sick lately and is still recovering. You should have interviewed her first,” fumed Farrell.
“Why?”
“Because she’s your main witness. She was the first to discover the necklace had been replaced with a replica and she noticed some very suspicious behaviour between the two accused.”
“She should have told us.”
“You should have asked. You’re probably so ecstatic you’ve cracked the case so easily that you’ve forgotten basic procedure, like establishing the damn facts.”
“That’s enough smart talk from you, tough guy. Just answer our questions.”
“I will when you start asking them.”
They began with me. One of the detectives spoke to me but it sounded as if his voice came from a long distance away. “Are you up to a few questions?”
“I’ll try.”
He interrogated me for about five minutes.
I held out my hand to Farrell. “Hugh, please,” I begged. “I feel like I’m going to faint.”
He took my hand, holding it firmly, though even though it was unpleasantly slick with sweat.
After a few more minutes of questions, my mind increasingly befuddled, it became unbearably hot in the room for me. The smell of the men pressed in on me. I swallowed more water, mopped my face again and undid the last button on my polo shirt.
“Are you all right? You look very pale,” asked one of the detectives.
I stood up shakily to do something that I couldn’t later recall, and said, “I can’t . . .”
When I surfaced, I was lying on the floor with a king-sized headache.
“Ooh,” I groaned, reaching up to touch the sore spot on my forehead. My fingers navigated a huge, tender lump. Blood dampened my hand. “What happened?”
Farrell kneeled next to me, pulling my polo shirt out of my cargo pants and taking off my boots. “You fainted and hit your head on the table.”
“Oh God, it hurts.”
“I bet it does. Stay still now.”
The detective closest to me barked into the phone. “Get a first aid officer up here with a first aid kit.” He caught Farrell’s attention. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
“No. I’m taking her home. Like I wanted to do fifteen minutes ago.”
“She should be assessed by professionals.”
“I’ll call her doctor. He’s familiar with her medical history.”
A first aid officer, one of the counter staff, arrived, swiftly followed by the store manager. The detectives told him to leave as he wasn’t needed and would just get in the way. The woman efficiently patched up my forehead, making reassuring small talk about things I couldn’t remember afterwards.
Before Farrell took me back to the Warehouse, he pulled out his wallet, rummaged around and threw a Heller’s business card on the desk. “If you want to finish your interview with her, you can do it here. But I doubt she’ll be up to seeing anyone for a few days.” With that, he scooped me up in his arms and departed, leaving the two detectives not daring to stop him.
The journey home was a nightmare. I slumped in the front seat, unable to muster the energy to stay upright. My body core was over-heated and the blast of air con chilled my sweaty skin, giving me goose bumps. I shivered uncontrollably.
Farrell pulled out his phone and called Clive. “Chalmers is sick. She fainted in the store and hit her head. I think some of her previous wounds are infected. Can you call the doctor and have him on hand. I’m bringing her home now.”
Farrell slowed down for a busy roundabout, but I didn’t remember the rest of the trip home, drifting off. I only stirred when Farrell lifted me out of the car and carried me upstairs.
Clive had been keeping an eye out for us and followed us up to my flat, taking my boots off my stomach where they’d been resting. “The doc’s going to take longer than expected. He’s out on a shopping expedition in a small town up in the hinterland with his girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever he has.”
“How long will he be?” Farrell asked curtly, as Clive unlocked my door.
Clive shrugged. “He said he’d hurry.”
Farrell carried me to my bed, laying me down gently. He loosened and removed my belt. I hovered in that strange state of illness where you can hear conversations around you, but not participate in them.
“We really should dress her in something cooler. She’s sweating so much,” Clive suggested.
Farrell shook his head. “I’m not taking her clothes off.”
“Neither am I,” Clive agreed. “It will have to wait until the doctor arrives.”
Farrell went to fetch a damp cloth, while Clive brought back a bottle of cold water.
“Why didn’t you bring her home earlier?”
“We had some dumbshit detectives who insisted on interviewing her, even though she was obviously not up to it.”
“That wound on her head. How bad is it?”
“It seems pretty bad. You can see it’s still bleeding. But it would have been a lot worse if she landed a smidge to the left on the corner of the desk.”
“Poor girl. She’s been through a lot over the last few months.”
“Yep.”
“Heller’s going to be furious about this.”
“He should never have gone away. He should have made sure she was okay on her first job after being so sick. Do you know where he is? Someone should tell him about Chalmers.”
“He’s not contactable.” Which was no answer at all. “You can go now, Farrell. I’ll wait for the doctor.”
“I’d prefer to stay and wait for the doctor too.”
“I know you would, but go home.” With every sign of reluctance, Farrell did what he was told and left.
I drowsed for a while. When I woke again, Clive took my washcloth and refreshed the water, laying it across my forehead again. I opened my eyes and looked around me. I reached over to grab the water bottle, struggling with the tight lid. Clive took it off me and opened it in one go. “Thanks.” I drank deeply, holding the cold bottle to my cheek.
“The doc should be here soon,” said Clive, sitting on my bed, creating such an indent that I almost rolled over on top of him.
“My head’s killing me, and my arm’s so painful.”
“It looks very infected. It’s really red and there’s pus oozing out of the edges of the scars.”
“Yuck! You didn’t have to tell me that. It makes me feel sick.”
“I thought you’d want to know.”
“I don’t. I just want Dr Kincaid to hurry.” That very man walked into my bedroom as I said that.
“It’s nice to be wanted,” he said drily. “And believe me, I did hurry, leaving behind a very unhappy partner to whom I’d promised a pleasant day browsing through antique shops. I also promised I wouldn’t be interrupted by any emergencies.”
“A brash promise for a doctor to make,” grunted Clive.
“Who asked you? And get off the bed, you big lunk. I’m surprised you didn’t catapult the poor girl into the atmosphere when you sat there.” He sat on the bed in Clive’s place, taking out all his doctor’s implements. “I hear some of those cuts have become infected.”
“I gu
ess.”
“That’s something you really must be keeping an eye on, Miss. There can be terrible complications from bacterial infections in deep wounds, some of them very risky to your health.” He looked at Clive. “You can leave.”
“Heller will expect me to report to him about everything relating to this.”
“If Heller’s so desperate to know about Miss Tilly’s health, then he should be here himself. So, goodbye and close the front door when you leave.”
I wished everyone would stop talking about Heller and his notable absence. It only increased my misery.
He slipped on gloves and took my blood pressure and temperature. “Your temperature is very high, Miss. Much higher than it should be. And your pulse is rather rapid. Show me your wrists.” I turned my arms over for him. “Hmm. Hmm.”
After quickly giving them the once over, he spent some time on the left one. He felt gently around the wounds, telling me he was looking for any swelling. He pressed lightly on the deepest of the cuts.
“Does that hurt at all?”
“No, it’s a little tender, but it doesn’t hurt.”
“I think that arm’s okay.” He peered at my right arm. “This one, however . . .” He shook his head. “I can see just from looking at it that’s it’s infected. Didn’t you notice?”
I felt stupid. “I noticed it was a bit sore and red, but I thought I must have bumped it or scratched it in my sleep. The scars on my other arm are itchy sometimes.”
“That’s perfectly normal, but you should try to refrain and leave your arm in peace to finish healing. Fingernails aren’t very clean, no matter how many times you wash your hands.”
“I was pushed over today and fell on my right arm. That’s when the pain really started.”
“This infection’s been brewing for a while. That fall isn’t responsible for it. These wounds of yours are swollen, heated and inflamed and this hasn’t happened overnight.” He sat up straight and regarded me seriously. “Have you been totally honest with me about your progress?”
“Mostly,” I said in a small voice, regretting now I hadn’t mentioned it to him earlier. Heller wasn’t going to be pleased with me about that.