by Colin Davy
He shrugged. “I’m saying when people lie, even if they lie by omission like here, don’t expect miracles.”
“But I do,” she said. “If someone else was involved, I expect you to find out for me.”
Giving a soft smile, she stood back, taking his hand and bringing it to her lips. “We’ll give Riya another five minutes and then we’ll search upstairs. I really hope Gail had nothing to do with this, Gary, it would make Deb’s death … so incomprehensible.” That was the right word, he thought. Accidental death would be such a waste, but murder? Why would Gail even consider it?
He let her tears flow for a moment, before he embraced her again, but he began to feel selfish. To him, this investigation was now revenge for an act of spite from Gail. To Maria, it was hope for a partial closure to an awful episode. In her new Saintly incarnation, she’d naturally hope Gail was innocent.
The five minutes turned into ten, but finally, Maria led the way upstairs, pausing at Debbie’s door and unlocking it. He felt strange going into Debbie’s flat again and finding it identical to the day they’d discovered her body. If it was disconcerting for him, it must be traumatic for her, but she set to work immediately. After a brief search in a drawer, she headed for the bedroom leaving him to stare briefly out the French windows.
He found himself entranced by the calm waters of the dock, unruffled by any breeze on what was going to be the hottest day of the year so far. When he heard a noise in the corridor outside, he turned to see the front door opening.
“Hi, anyone there?” The cautious voice preceded the visitor, but Gary had already recognised the man’s cultured tones. “Oh!” William stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of Gary. “It’s you.”
“That’s right,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
William glanced briefly around, but hearing a noise in the bedroom, he gave Gary an enquiring look.
“It’s Maria,” he said.
“I see,” he said. “Not burglars after all. That’s a relief.” After giving a tight smile, he moved nearer and examined Gary’s cheek. “Although you’re giving a passable imitation of one. Were you poking your nose in other peoples’ business again?”
“I-”
“Gary.” The shout from the bedroom was excited. “I’ve found a picture of Debs and Gail. It’s a crowd scene, but Gail’s clear enough for Tom to recognise.”
William’s eyebrows rose a fraction.
Gary heard Maria’s footsteps as she continued in a raised voice. “I’ll bring-” she began.
“Maria,” he called out. “We have a visitor.”
“Oh.” She peered from the bedroom and saw their visitor. Recognising William, she scurried over, carrying a photograph in her hand. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing at all,” William said quickly. “First of all, can I offer my deepest sympathy.” Leaning forward, he kissed her lightly on her cheek. Today, he wore an immaculately-ironed light shirt and a colourful tie. His trousers, which Gary assumed belonged to an expensive suit, completed his formal attire. By comparison, Gary felt scruffy in his t-shirt and jeans, but even in these, he was sweating.
Maria seemed confused by William’s familiarity. “Thank you,” she said, glancing back at Gary for guidance.
“I think William was concerned about burglars,” he said, giving him the benefit of a large dollop of doubt. No harm in keeping on good terms with the man if he wanted to question him later. But he suspected he was a natural nosey bastard - and he’d certainly been quick off the mark today. He must have better hearing than Jodrell Bank.
“I always keep my eyes peeled and my ears sharp,” he said.
Only when it suited, Gary decided, he’d be all of the three monkeys put together when it came to talking about his party.
After straightening his tie, William gave a polite bow. “Forgive me for interrupting,” he said. “I’ll leave you in peace.” He did, but not without leaning forward and whispering to Gary. “I hope to see you later, I’m sure we can help each other.” Although he left without a backward look, Gary and Maria waited until the steps had receded before they spoke again.
“I think this picture is clear enough,” she said softly, showing him a well-focussed photo of a small group of people. The background, a pub interior where two women held up a small envelope in front of a cheerful dozen or so people he didn’t recognise. “Do you know any of the others?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not our congregation.”
“Let’s hope Tom Maddison can shed light on it.”
Fortunately, Tom was in his cubicle and less mystified when they showed him the picture. After peering at the photograph, he sighed and opened a drawer in front. Taking out a pair of glasses, he put them on and tried again. “The background’s ‘The Red Lion’, I think,” he said. “A mile or so from here.” When he looked up, his eyes twinkled. “They have a cosmopolitan clientele.”
“How about the two girls in the front?” Gary asked.
“Hmm … Deborah looks so healthy on this,” he said. “Such a lovely girl, and the girl with her is no slouch either. That’s Gail is it?”
When Maria nodded, he glanced at the picture and screwed his eyes up. “She’d become a regular here in the last couple of weeks, but I don’t think she was here last Sunday. I’m sure I’d remember if she was.” He cocked his head to one side before handing the photo back to Gary. “No, sorry,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t see her that night. Of course, she could have come through the pedestrian entrance and if I was looking elsewhere …”
“Thanks, Tom,” Gary said, his heart sinking. “But thanks for taking a look.”
“Any time.”
On the way back, Maria gave a loud sigh. “You’ll have to check Gail’s picture with William on your own,” she said. “I’ve the beginnings of a migraine. I’ll have a lie-down before it gets worse.”
“You’re sure you’ll be alright?”
She gave a weak smile. “Of course, I’ll see you later.” Watching her leave, he wondered if she’d heard William’s whisper and was making herself scarce.
Leaving her at his floor, he climbed to William’s floor and knocked firmly on his door. William opened it within seconds, and gave an eager smile. “Ah, the wannabe gargoyle has returned,” he said, “You’re a sight, Gary, I hope you’ve been checked over at A and E.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
Having removed his tie, William looked more relaxed. “Good, I’m sure we can help each other.” Ushering him to an armchair, he sat opposite and folded his arms over his stomach. “You’ve not brought Maria?”
“She’s unwell.”
Sitting forward, William lowered his voice. “That may well be for the best,” he said. “Obviously, I’m careful about speaking frankly in front of her in these tragic circumstances. As you’ve noticed, her rampant homophobia can colour her judgement, despite her own sister being more enlightened.”
Gary felt a surge of irritation. “She never allows it to cloud her views,” he said.
“If you say so.”
The man was trying to be reasonable, even if Gary didn’t believe a word, but he’d bite his lip and see what he could unearth.
“I assume you’re looking for someone who might have visited Deborah that Sunday,” he said. “In return, I’d like all the unnecessary attention on my Sunday evening parties to be curtailed.”
“What unnecessary attention? Are the police nosing around?”
“Not so far,” he said. “But it’s always a possibility. Hence the need to plan ahead. As I said, we can help each other.”
“Can we?”
He frowned briefly. “My soirees are totally harmless. Weed occasionally, perhaps a few exotic creations from time to time, but no hard drugs. There’s no need for the police to fuss, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want them wasting valuable time on irrelevant matters.”
“That’s up to them.”
“Indeed, it is.” Willia
m’s sigh was that of an expert battling against ignorant novices, but beneath all the verbiage, he might have something useful to impart. “Your photograph,” he continued. “I might recognise Deborah’s companion and be able to tell you if she’s been a regular visitor, and whether she was here on that Sunday.”
At last. William’s blue eyes looked almost childlike in their innocence, but Gary wondered what lay behind them. Was there more to his parties than harmless fun? He wasn’t worried about the man’s foibles, or what his friends liked doing, as long as it wasn’t relevant to Debbie’s death.
William relaxed back into the chair. “Shall we cooperate?” he asked. “Can I have a look at the photo, you’re nothing to lose.”
True, he thought. Taking the picture from his pocket, he handed it over. “Who is she?”
William gave an immediate nod of recognition. “A very pretty woman,” he said. “And a close friend of the delectable Deborah. Yes, she was a frequent visitor in the last two or three weeks. Did Thomas confirm she was here that Sunday evening?” His eyes narrowed and Gary suddenly felt he was the one being examined.
“No, he didn’t,” he said.
William nodded. “Despite Thomas getting on in years, I think he’s right. I don’t remember her being around that night, but I was rather busy. Being a host makes it important for me to perform host-like duties.”
He was taking a long time to say nothing much, Gary decided, and his expression must have registered with the man opposite.
“But wait,” he said. “All is not lost. My ex-partner made that night his swan-song. He used to make a habit of keeping a close eye on my neighbour.” At Gary’s look of surprise, he frowned deeply. “Have I not told you of his folly?”
“Is he the one you suspected of being bisexual?”
“In retrospect, I’m sure he was. It explains many of his odd habits. He became reluctant to visit and he often preferred to meet on what he called neutral ground. Certain pubs were out of bounds, as if he feared being seen with me. I should have realised more quickly than I did.”
The man was a boring fart - with delusions of being entertaining, but he may as well pander to him for a little longer. It was possible his former partner might be the witness he sought.
“He became fascinated by Deborah,” William continued.
“You mentioned that before.”
“Did I? Well, it’s true.”
“Was Debbie, or Gail, the real object of his fascination?” Gary asked and realised he was sounding nearly as long-winded as his neighbour. “Who did your partner lust after?” he added - that sounded better.
“I’ve no idea,” William said. “Either way, it’s evidence of his bisexual nature. I naively assumed it was Deborah as she was the most showy of the two, and less of a confirmed lesbian. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was merely sampling, but I wasn’t that interested in the intricacies of Scott’s lust for others.” He gave a weak smile. “We had a fiery row about it and I ordered him from the premises, although I’m sure he was planning to disappear anyway. As I’ve said before, I’m well rid of the scheming rat.”
Reading between the lines, Gary decided they’d had a tiff and man opposite was now happy to drop his ex-partner in the shit if that solved potential problems in the future. A win-win for him. “You said he was called Scott?” Gary asked.
“That’s right, Scott Smith.”
Gary tried not to smile, the chances of it being his friend were vanishingly small, and the surname eliminated that silly thought. The vision of Scott Sinclair and this cultured dandy being lovers was laughable.
“He was always secretive,” William continued. “Looking back, I should have realised sooner. I wonder if he was ever fully out. Perhaps he had another man on the side, or even another woman. Less common nowadays, but when he became paranoid about visiting, I knew the writing was on the wall. Love blinds us all, I suppose, but at least, it was short-lived.”
Gary tried to show sympathy. “I expect so,” he said. “But where is this Scott now?”
William shrugged. “Who knows? Out there somewhere, deceiving someone else, but if you want to find him, I suggest you call in at the Red Lion some evening. He seemed to be well known there.”
“Any particular evening?”
“You could try tonight,” he said. “Mondays and Thursdays seemed to be his day, and he was a creature of habit. A shameless bastard too, so I can’t see him moving elsewhere.”
“Have you a photo?”
“Not now,” he said. “I threw them all away.”
“Hmm, what did he look like?”
“Tall, well-built, good-looking, dark hair, a small moustache, and a deceitful heart.”
Although Gary waited for more, William had decided he’d finished.
“Have you a mobile number or an e-mail address?”
William blinked a couple of times. “I can give you his mobile number,” he said. “Assuming he hasn’t changed his phone.” He shrugged. “He always had two on the go.” Rising to his feet, he made a great play of searching for a pen and paper before scribbling down the number and handing it to Gary.
“Thanks, William,” he said. “I appreciate this.” When William didn’t retake his seat, Gary hesitated.
“You want to know what I’d like in exchange?” William asked. “Very little, but in the interest of police efficiency, there’s no point side-tracking them into something irrelevant.”
“Like your party?”
“Exactly.”
“I understand.”
William held out his hand. “Well, I wish you luck in tracking down your man.”
Realising he was being dismissed, Gary took the hand. “Thanks for your help.”
Back in his flat, he found Maria sitting on the settee in the front room and staring out the French windows. Yes, it was hypnotic, but she looked troubled too. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing really.”
“Maria, what is it?”
She turned to face him and gave a brief smile. “Sophie rang, she’s invited us to meet them in the Royal Oak tomorrow. I said we’d be there.”
“That’s fine with me,” he said.
The humidity was intense and her face was damp with perspiration. Moving past her to the French windows, he opened the inner windows fully.
He’d considered fitting air-conditioning at one time, but the cost and nuisance involved had discouraged him. Usually, opening the windows gave enough breeze on all but the hottest day. Today, however, looked to be one of those exceptional days, and to make matters worse he banged his knee on the iron guard rail. As it came up to his waist, he sat on it for support when he turned to face her.
She seemed preoccupied. “Are you still feeling rough?” he asked.
“I’m a little better,” she said.
“You don’t look it”
“I’m not surprised.”
He shuffled to get more comfortable. “What’s the problem?” he asked.
She looked up. “I found a letter addressed to me in your post-box downstairs.”
“Oh?” He wasn’t surprised she’d checked his post-box, she was effectively living here for the foreseeable future. But he was surprised she was upset by a message of condolence.
“Who’s it from?” he asked.
“From Caitlyn,” she said. “From Caitlyn Jones, the Caitlyn Jones who threw herself in front of a train three days ago. Yet it’s postmarked Liverpool and was posted yesterday.”
Chapter Twenty
“That’s impossible,” Gary said.
“I know.”
Sitting on the guard rail, he felt the sun warm his back. “The letter didn’t come from a ghost, Maria.”
“I know that too.”
“It must be a forgery.”
She sighed. “That’s bleeding obvious, Gary.” It came out abruptly and he could see she was badly shaken up.
“Sorry,” he said. “Who else could have written this letter?”
“I’m sorry too,” she said. “I didn’t mean to snap.” Clutching her silver crucifix, she rolled it around before pushing it securely down her cleavage. “We know the writer wasn’t Keith or Raif.”
“Why do you say that?” He moved away from the windows when he felt the sun burning a hole in the back of his neck, even this late in the day.
“Read it.” She passed over a crumpled envelope, and inside was short letter written in what looked like childish handwriting.
“Very amateurish,” he said, before quickly beginning to read. “Possibly written by someone using their wrong hand, and accusing Keith and Raif of plotting to defraud the group.” Handing it back, he sat beside her. “You can rule Raif out of those accusations for starters.”
“Why?”
“I spoke to him recently and I’m sure he’s clean. He may have plans for the future, but it’s too early for him. As for Keith, I don’t see it.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Did you sense anything strange about Keith yesterday?
“No,” he said. “Nothing at all. I think he’s a greedy bastard, but I’ve seen plenty of them before. There’s nothing conspicuously evil about him. If he’s embezzling, it’s for pocket money only.”
Her jaw tightened at his phrasing but she nodded at his conclusion. “Who else could have written the letter?” she asked.
“That’s an interesting question,” he said. “Either someone with evidence to back their genuine fears, or someone wanting to muddy the waters. It looks like number two. Perhaps there’s no financial con after all, perhaps it’s about Debbie’s death? It’s addressed to you, remember, not the police. Very odd.”
“Exactly,” she said. “But why me?”
He smiled. “That’s what I usually say. Whoever wrote it must be someone close to both of us. They know your fears about the congregation, or there’d be no point writing.” Although it sounded like incisive comment, it was only an expression of their ignorance.
“We can ignore the contents of the letter?” she asked.
“I think we can bin it,” he said. “But we shouldn’t ignore the reasons the person wrote it. An amateur and panicky effort to mislead us. Why would someone pretending to be Caitlyn write in the first place?”