Prima Facie

by Netta Newbound

  The female detective appears, putting her back to the window. Then they both disappear.

  I can imagine what Lana is telling them. Feeling sorry for herself—the fragile victim. Yeah, right. She's another one who's going to pay.

  Chapter 3

  Adam and Frances took off after the remarkably fast-walking woman dressed in a pale blue knitted skirt and matching jacket. The affected way she placed her feet caused an exaggerated wiggle, reminding Adam of Jessica Rabbit. He nudged Frances and nodded at the woman, grinning like an adolescent.

  Frances nudged him back and shook her head, disapproval written all over her face.

  What? He mimed, goggling his eyes and shrugging his shoulders.

  She shoved him again in the ribs.

  He groaned, changing it to a cough as Lana turned to see what the sound was.

  "Excuse me," he said, clearing his throat.

  "This way, please." She ushered them into a sparsely furnished office devoid of all personal items.

  Adam suspected it wasn't her office but a neutral place used for interviews and private meetings.

  They all took a seat, Adam carefully lowering himself into the least painful position.

  Frances eyeballed him again.

  Lana cocked her head in question. "What can I do for you, detectives?"

  "I'm DI Adam Stanley and this is my colleague, DS Holly Frances."

  She nodded, not making a sound.

  "We're investigating a murder and would like to ask you a few questions," he said.

  "Murder?" She appeared genuinely shocked.

  Adam nodded. "Why else did you think we were here, Miss Davis?"

  "What do you mean?" She fiddled with a locket at her throat.

  "Well, you greeted us and brought us through here as though you'd been expecting us."

  She shrugged, shaking her head. "Who's been murdered?"

  "An elderly gentleman. Sally Kemp's neighbour."

  She gasped.

  "Can you tell us about your involvement with Miles Muldoon?"

  "He's my boss."

  "Any other connection?"

  She shrugged. "We had a thing, but I ended it yesterday."

  "Do you mind me asking why?"

  "What does this have to do with the murder, detective?"

  "It may have a great deal to do with the murder which is why I'm the one asking the questions."

  She bit her lip, clearly annoyed.

  "Well?" He pressed.

  "His ex, Sally, told me a few stories about him."

  "I see. Were you seeing Mr Muldoon while he was still having a relationship with Ms Kemp?"

  Her cheeks and ears flushed. "We began seeing each other a few weeks ago. He told me their relationship was all but finished though."

  "Oh, that old chestnut," Frances muttered.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Never mind. Not important." Frances gave a fake smile.

  "Do you know the current whereabouts of Mr Muldoon?" Adam continued.

  "No. He was angry with me for believing Sally. In fact..." she slid her jacket off and raised the sleeve of her blouse, "...look at this."

  Deep bruises covered her wrist and forearm. Adam knew without a doubt they were finger marks.

  "That looks nasty. Did Mr Muldoon do that to you?"

  "Yes. He would've probably done much worse, but my dad came home in the nick of time."

  "You live with your dad?" Frances asked.

  Lana nodded.

  "Then what happened?" He couldn't tolerate the ache in his groin for a second longer. “I'm sorry, do you mind if I stand?" He eased himself to his feet wishing he'd waited for the painkillers.

  "My dad punched him. That's what I thought you were here about. I waited all evening for something to come of it. Then, when Miles didn't show up to work this morning..." She began to cry.

  "Don't worry about it, love. It seems your dad may have saved you from a beating." Frances put her hand on the younger woman's arm.

  "I'm still in shock. I thought he loved me. He was always so lovely and gentle."

  "They always are, love," Frances said.

  Adam placed his card on the desk. "If you hear from him, anything at all, call me."

  She snatched the card up with shaking fingers. "Do you think Miles killed that old man?"

  "Put it this way. He's very high on the list of suspects, but it's still early days. In the meantime, if you notice anything remotely suspicious, just call—night or day."

  "Do you think he might come back for me and my dad?"

  "It's doubtful. My guess is he'd have done it last night if he intended to do anything at all. But still, it’s advisable to be prepared." Adam shook her hand before limping off up the corridor.

  Once they were in the lift, Frances looked at him, her eyebrows drawn tightly together. "What the heck's wrong with you? You don't look a bit well."

  "I need to do a detour to the pharmacy next to the medical centre."

  "What for?"

  "Don't laugh."

  "Would I?" she smirked.

  "See? You're at it already."

  "Honestly, boss. Look at me. I'm being serious. What's wrong?" She forced her face straight.

  The lift door opened and they walked out of the foyer to the car park.

  "That kick I took to the knackers last week is still killing me. My right bollock has swelled up the size of a bowling ball."

  She sniggered and then straightened her face again when he looked at her. "Sorry."

  "It's not funny. If you received an injury in the line of duty I'd sympathise. Just because it's my goolies, suddenly I'm the laughing stock of the fucking station," he hissed, glancing around to make sure nobody could hear him.

  "You should get Amanda to bathe them for you." She sniggered again.

  "Honestly. I'm working with a bunch of children. And not one word of this to Calvin."

  She made a zipping motion to her lips.

  "Why don't I believe you?" He shook his head.

  They reached his grey Mondeo. "You can drive. I can't seem to position myself correctly. And it's even worse since the doctor fiddled about down there."

  She belted out a laugh this time. "Sorry, boss. Truly, I am. Is that what you were doing when I called?"

  He shook his head and raised his eyes to the heavens. "Just get in and drive, will you."

  At the pharmacy, he picked up his painkillers.

  Heading back to the car, he popped a couple of pills into his mouth and gagged as he swallowed them down dry.

  "Where to next, boss?" Frances started the engine as he got back in the car.

  "We need to call Calvin and tell him where we're up to."

  "Already done. I called him while you were getting your pills."

  "Did he have any news for us?"

  Calvin Wade, their admin assistant, kept them all in order and single-handedly kept the department running smoothly.

  "Not really. He sent me this." She showed him a photograph on her phone of a man, average build, in his early to mid-thirties, with close-cropped black hair and designer stubble.

  "Is that our man?"

  She nodded. "Miles Muldoon."

  "Any form?"

  "Just two minor offences. Urinating in a public place and drunk and disorderly. Both offences happened on the same night, nine years ago, when he was just twenty-three years old. The only other thing is a former girlfriend, Catherine Bailey, accused him of domestic abuse but dropped the charges the next day."

  "We may need to have a chat with Ms Bailey. Anything else?"

  "Calvin told me there's a team out conducting house to house enquiries to see if anybody saw or heard anything, but up to now, it's a big, fat zero."

  "Then I think we should pay a visit to the hotel and see if we can locate our Mr Muldoon."

  Chapter 4

  As they drove, Adam noticed the throbbing ache in his groin subsiding. He turned to face Frances.

  "So, come on. Tell me what's
wrong with you this morning?"

  "Nothing, boss. I just got up on the wrong side of the bed. You know how it is sometimes?"

  "Yes, for Calvin or Les or Ginger Dave, even myself on occasion, but never with you. Come on. I told you about my delicate situation, didn't I?"

  She grinned at the mere mention of his poor old gonads.

  "I can't tell you. I'll have to show you and I promise I will, but not now. We have a murder to solve."

  He didn’t want to leave it at that, but he'd worked alongside Frances for months now, and she'd said nothing about her private life in all that time. The rest of the station thought she was a lesbian. She never corrected them, but he knew she was married to a man called Steve.

  Adam had spoken to Steve on the phone a couple of times. Nobody had met him in person. Frances even attended his and Amanda's wedding alone.

  He figured so long as she turned up every day and worked her backside off, what business was it of his? However, the past few weeks she'd taken the odd day off here and there, and she seemed preoccupied and distracted.

  She pulled up outside the reception area of The Sentinel. A sign above the parking space threatened anyone parking there would be towed away. Frances shrugged when he pointed it out.

  "You little rebel, you." He got out of the car slowly.

  "Have the pills not started working yet?"

  "Yes, I think my body’s got used to moving like this," he laughed, trying to straighten himself up.

  "Harden up, man!"

  He slowly shook his head, half smiling. "It's easy for you to say—you were born with a pair of massive balls without the added complication of testicles."

  "Aw, you saying I'm ballsy, boss?"

  "You know you are. Stop fishing for compliments and get me across this car park with my street cred intact."

  "What street cred?"

  He made as though to cuff her around the earhole and she grinned.

  After the first few steps, the pain subsided and he managed to walk relatively normal again.

  "What did the doctor say?" Frances asked as they approached the huge glass automatic doors.

  "That it's probably bruising. But I may have to go for a scan, just in case."

  "That'll teach you. Next time you see a group of fellow officers struggling with a thug, leave them to it."

  "Don't you bloody worry, I will."

  The foyer of the hotel was deserted.

  Adam slapped the flat of his hand against the counter.

  “I won’t be a minute,” a female voice called from somewhere out the back.

  Adam raised his eyebrows and scanned the room. "Strange name and branding, don't you think?”

  Frances shrugged. "Not really thought about it, to be honest."

  "Well, look at that sign. It shows a kind of medieval sentinel, hence the name of the hotel, The Sentinel. In this case, it's indicating a knight in shining armour, that kind of thing."

  Frances nodded. "Ye-es."

  "If I saw that on the internet, I'd be expecting historic and atmospheric accommodation with high ceilings and traditional architecture. If I arrived to find this sparsely furnished, uber-modern monstrosity, I'd be more than a little pissed."

  She shrugged. "Looks alright to me."

  He sucked his teeth. "I don't know. Grown-up conversation is wasted on you."

  "I can't think of anything more boring than talking about architecture. Is that what you and Amanda talk about? She's an architect, isn't she?"

  "No. She's an interior designer, not that she does much of it anymore. But yes, she is interested in architecture."

  A delicate Asian woman appeared in the doorway. "I'm so sorry to keep you. We are experiencing a problem with the hotel security system, and they kept me on hold for ages." Her perfect English was better than most English people he knew.

  Adam smiled, digging his ID out of his pocket. "We're looking for Miles Muldoon. We've been told he's staying here."

  "Yes, that's correct. Hang on two ticks and I'll call him." She checked on the computer before picking up the phone.

  He heard the ringing tone from where he stood.

  The woman replaced the receiver. "I'm sorry, he doesn't appear to be answering. Would you like to leave a message?"

  "I would prefer to check his room. We urgently need to speak to him regarding a serious matter."

  She appeared flustered. "I'm here alone at the moment. Is there any chance you could come back later?"

  "We don't need you to come with us. If you give us a key, we can go ourselves."

  She shook her head. "No. I must be present. Hang on." She stepped back into the room behind reception and made a phone call. She came back and busied herself programming a swipe card. "Somebody is coming to cover me in a few minutes.” She gestured they take a seat.

  Moments later, another Asian woman appeared and they spoke between themselves for a few seconds. The first woman came from behind the counter and led them to the lift and up to the fourth floor.

  The corridor they stepped into seemed dark and gloomy with no windows and only dimly-lit wall lamps to light the way. She stopped at number forty-six and tapped lightly on the door.

  When nobody answered, she swiped the card and the door clicked open.

  As expected, the room was empty. Adam found an Adidas holdall in the wardrobe and several items of clothing hanging up. On the dressing table lay a pile of loose change, a watch, and a mobile phone.

  "Look at this," the woman said, pointing to a swipe card that had been left in the slot to power the electrics. "Why would he go without his card? He can't get back in without it."

  On the bedside table were a bunch of car keys. "Do you know what car he drives?"

  "We usually obtain all that information when they check in. It should be on the computer," she said.

  "Okay. That's all we can do for now. When he comes back, he'll have no choice but to approach reception before he can access the room. If you would be good enough to inform us when he does, I’d appreciate it. And it's probably best you don't mention our visit. He's a very dangerous man."

  Her eyes widened and Adam knew she would call as soon as he showed his face. The last thing she'd want is trouble in her hotel. If it turned out Miles was innocent, then no harm done.

  Down in reception, she found Miles' car details. A blue Audi Quattro A4 and his number plate details.

  Adam gave her his card.

  They headed outside and he took his car keys off Frances. "I'll drive," he said.

  "Feeling better?"

  "Much. Thanks."

  "So what do you make of that? All his personal belongings still in his room," she said.

  Adam shook his head as they climbed into the Mondeo. "Seems a bit odd, but it's not the only thing that doesn't seem right about this whole scenario. Keep your eyes peeled for a blue Audi." He drove through the hotel car park, trawling up and down each aisle.

  "There it is," Frances said, breathlessly.

  He pulled into a space beside the Audi and checked the number plate. It was indeed the right one.

  They got out and peered through the windows. The pristine leather interior gleamed. There wasn't a thing out of place. It could have been parked in a showroom.

  "So now what?" Frances asked.

  "We can't do any more right now. We might have to apply for a warrant to search the car and phone, but at this stage Miles is still just a suspect, and we don't have any right to go through his stuff."

  "Shit. I'd love to know where he is."

  "Let's head back to the station and see if anything else has come to light. Do you fancy a sandwich?"

  She nodded. "Yeah, I'm starved."

  He picked up two chicken and avocado sandwiches on granary bread on the way to the station.

  As they walked in, he nodded to Tom Sullivan on the main desk.

  Smirking, Tom winked at him.

  "What the heck's tickled his fancy?" Adam said to Frances under his breath.

&n
bsp; "I haven't the foggiest."

  They climbed the single flight of stairs to their offices and, as they entered, everyone stood up and began singing and clapping.

  Ging gang goolie, goolie, goolie, goolie, watcha

  Ging gang goo. Ging gang goo

  Ging gang goolie, goolie, goolie, goolie, watcha

  Ging gang goo. Ging gang goo

  Hayla, oh hayla Shayla, oh hayla Shayla, Shayla, oh-ho

  Hayla, oh hayla Shayla, oh hayla, Shayla, Shayla, ho.

  Then, they all doubled up laughing raucously.

  Adam shook his head and stared at Frances, who was also laughing.

  Covering her mouth with her hand, she said, "I'm sorry, boss. I only told Calvin."

  "Right, you've had your fun. Get back to work, you horrible lot." He walked into his office and shut the door.

  The noise stopped suddenly and he smiled to himself. They'd all be worrying that he was annoyed now. The last laugh definitely belonged to him.

  Chapter 5

  Adam waited a few minutes before calling Calvin into his office.

  The door opened and Calvin waved a white paper tissue ahead of himself. He bobbed his head in and smiled sheepishly. "Is it safe to come in?"

  Adam rolled his eyes at the slightly effeminate young black man and smiled. "Get in here, you fool. Anything you need to tell me?"

  "It was all my doing, I'm sorry. We didn't mean to upset you."

  "About the case, Calvin," Adam groaned.

  "Oh, yes, boss. Of course." He came further into the room. "We've had no joy with the neighbours. Nobody saw or heard a thing. A few of them know Miles Muldoon and couldn't speak more highly of him."

  "Anything else?"

  "We don't have Muldoon's DNA on file, but his girlfriend found a hairbrush of his and we’re currently waiting for the report to find out if it matches the faecal sample found at the scene."

  Adam nodded. "We need that ASAP. If it does belong to our man then we can ramp up the search."

  "I spoke to Jemima, at the lab and she's on it. Probably won't be back until tomorrow though. I'll bring you a printout of Muldoon's phone history and all we know about the bloke."