by Gwyn GB
‘Oh no no no, that won’t be necessary,’ Eddie Scott’s face wobbles with the exertion of his head shaking. ‘I’ll get the list of names for you. I can assure you that our clients are well vetted, we don’t accept every applicant. This is a high-end agency you know.’
Claire has been looking around his office as they’ve been talking. There’s a welcome absence of smiling happy couples, and the room looks more like a bedsit than an office. There’s a sofa to one side with a TV and a small fridge. He has an iMac on his desk, but if she’s not mistaken it’s one of the older models. The whole place could do with a bit of a revamp, it’s looking dated. On the face of it, it’s unlikely he’s going to want to turn away fee paying clients. She wonders if he and his business partner wife have a family. There’s no evidence of them in his office, not even a photo of her which Claire finds a little unusual for someone who is supposedly passionate about hooking other people up.
There are two pictures on the wall, one of the sun setting over the Thames and the other a group shot. Claire recognises Rachel in the group along with Eddie and the figure of eight haired woman, who has a short bob in the picture. Rachel looks exactly the same although she’s clearly more relaxed than when they’d seen her yesterday. There are two others in the shot, a man and another woman - heavily made up and looking like she’s posing for Vogue rather than a staff photo.
‘Is that your team?’ Claire asks.
Eddie doesn’t need to look where she’s pointing, but Bob does.
‘Yes. I’m lucky I have a good team, all been with me several years. They enjoy working here. A good looking bunch don’t you think?’
Claire doesn’t answer but changes tack.
‘Is there any client that you’ve ever had cause to eject from the agency, especially in the last year? Someone who might bear a grudge?’ she asks.
Eddie thinks for a moment.
’Male or female?’
‘Either,’ she replies.
‘Well there’s one woman, she’s been an absolute pain, I cancelled her membership about ten days ago.’
‘Did she go on a date with Neil?’ Bob interjects.
Eddie humphs, ‘She’s been on a date with virtually every man on our books. She’s a cold fish I can tell you. Not unattractive but just… well, difficult.’
‘OK if you could let us have her details please,’ Bob continues, ‘And which member of staff would have looked after Neil, you know arranged his matches and interviewed him?’
‘That would be Gary.’
Bob looks at the photo, ‘Is he in today?’
‘He is, but unfortunately, he’s back-to-back with clients. Saturday’s our busiest day of the week. As you’ll appreciate, most people are at work Monday to Friday and can’t get away to come in here.’ Eddie has noticeably quietened a little. ‘Look, this isn’t going to get out is it? That Neil came here. You’re not seriously suggesting that SoulMates could have had anything to do with his murder?’
‘We are just investigating every avenue, Mr Scott. We have several lines of enquiry but as I explained, one of your clients could have witnessed something while out with Neil, or perhaps he’s said something to Gary which might give us a clue.’
‘OK, well, please, you know, this is my business, if word gets out…’
‘We will be discreet Mr Scott. There is no need for the agency to be linked to this publicly - not at the moment.’ Bob, ever the professional, adds a caveat.
‘OK I’ll get Sandra to print you out that list.’
Eddie rises, an air of serious thought has settled on him, the earlier enthusiasm dampened. ‘She can also sort you an appointment with Gary - for your investigations,’ he quickly qualifies.
Bob gives a half smile.
‘Thank you Mr Scott. We’ll be back in touch.’
Sandra is the figure of eight haired receptionist who turns out to be very efficient. She has the list of Neil’s dates and their contact details all ready within minutes. She also provides details for Rosa McKenna, their former client.
‘So sorry to hear about Neil,’ she says as she hands over the information to Claire. ‘He was such a charmer. They’re dropping like flies around here - we won’t have any clients left soon!’
Claire’s ears prick up. ‘What do you mean, have there been other deaths?’
Sandra suddenly looks panicked as she realises the implications of what she’s just said.
‘Well, some, Todd Fuller died last week - not murdered like Neil though… I didn’t mean… you know…’
Eddie has been talking to Bob but seeing the papers being handed over he winds up their conversation.
‘Did you get everything you needed?’ he says to Claire, interrupting. ‘Sandra will sort out a time to talk to Gary.’
‘Thank you, yes,’ Claire replies.
Sandra is now avoiding her gaze and pretending to be busy on her computer.
‘Thank you, Mr Scott,’ Bob is keen to get back and on with their work.
Claire gives one last look at Sandra and as soon as she’s outside, scribbles down the name ‘Todd Fuller’ in her book.
21
Claire, 15th October 2016
Claire manages to set off for home before 7pm, which is a result. She’s tired. They’re hoping to hone in on Mike in Vietnam tomorrow, but they need Asia to wake up first and respond. One of the young Detective Sergeants, who’s pushing for promotion, has volunteered to stay on and man the phones and email. He benefits from still living at home with his parents and therefore having no responsibilities to deal with - and no one to complain if he gets back late. His rival for promotion has a baby on the way and an uncomfortably large and cantankerous wife. He’s already headed out the door.
With no new leads and no obvious suspects and motives, the team is still scurrying around in all directions trying to get a scent. Claire knows Bob thinks it’s some cheated husband that’s responsible, but she’s not so convinced. Something tells her the key lies with the dating agency. Neil was a client and Rachel works there. Now he’s dead and she’s got some stalker hanging around and sending her veiled threats with flowers. Could Neil have received any threats in the days leading up to his murder?
As she pulls up outside her flat, her mind is buzzing with all the potential directions the case could take them. By some amazing miracle, she manages to get a car parking space almost directly outside instead of having to walk half a mile. She can see why Jack fancies the idea of that house, maybe he’s right. Maybe if they had a house there would be more space for them, she’d feel like they’re less on top of each other. She looks up at the flat windows and from their dark returning gaze she can tell he’s still not home. She surprises herself when she feels a little disappointed.
Claire nearly slips on a discarded burger bar wrapping in the gutter - just a couple of feet away from a lamp post bin. Further along, she can see the cardboard container for chips. She can’t bear slobs who dump their life’s detritus wherever they like. Perhaps that’s something she inherited from her father. She remembers him jumping out of their car at traffic lights in St Helier, years ago. The driver of the car in front had just dropped rubbish out of his window. Her dad had flashed his police badge and ordered the embarrassed driver to get out and pick it up again. She can’t quite remember her mum’s reaction, but she’d been proud of her father that day. It was events like that which had spurred her on to follow in his footsteps and join the police. A crusade against injustice and bad behaviour that she wanted to carry on.
The reality is that even if she’d seen the slob who’d chucked his take-away dinner wrappers onto the London street, she knows the paperwork and man hours required to charge him with littering wouldn’t be worth it. Not when there are murders and rapes to solve. Still, it niggles the hell out of her, she’d love to have given them an official mouthful.
Their flat door is shared with downstairs - the owner. She’s a divorced single mum with two teenagers, a boy and a girl, Emma’s her na
me. She works hard. Claire sees her going in and out at all hours and wearing different shop uniforms. The kids are polite, it’s only rarely she hears loud music. Jack’s PlayStation is probably the noisiest thing in the house - he insists on having the sound up loud to get the full effect.
She enters through the front door and into the small shared hallway. The door to what would have been the downstairs sitting room has been blocked off and another internal front door leads into her landlady’s flat. Claire’s front door is at the top of the stairs which are the same internal stairs that came with the house originally and somehow look slightly out of place in the new arrangement.
Claire can’t be bothered to cook from scratch tonight so she takes a lasagne out the freezer. That’ll do her with a few peas. It’s going to take almost an hour to cook so she gets changed and settles down to call her parents. The earlier phone call with her mum has been niggling away at the back of her mind.
The flat is quiet, not even any sounds from downstairs. It’s welcome relief from the buzz of the day.
Her dad picks up.
‘Hi dad, it’s Claire, how are you?’
‘Ah hello. Susan it’s Claire.’
He always does this, tells her mum she’s on the phone the second she’s through.
‘I’m fine. Had a few rounds of golf this morning with Richard and Don. Very pleasant day. Do you want your mother?’
‘I’ve just started a new case, murder enquiry.’ Claire scrambles to keep his attention.
‘Oh yes.’
‘Yes, not going to be an easy one.’
‘Well, the criminals aren’t there to make our job easy are they?’
‘No…’
‘Shall I get your mother?’
‘Is mum OK? Only she seemed a bit confused earlier when she called.’
‘Of course, she’s fine, I’ll pass you on to her.’
Claire sighs and closes her eyes, resigned.
‘Hello love, are you at home?’
Her voice sounds jauntier, more relaxed than earlier, but distracted.
‘Yes, sorry about this morning.’
‘No problem. Do you mind if I call you back love, only EastEnders is on?’
‘No of course. You do know you can pause it?’
‘Yes but your dad likes to watch it live. I’ll give you a call back.’
‘OK speak later.’
Claire ends the call and sits in silence imagining her parents in their living room. Her dad will be in his armchair, feet up on the footstool, her mum on the sofa. Their house has barely changed in decades. Her dad’s police medal and the photo of him at Buckingham Palace, still centre stage in the sitting room.
She sighs again and picks up her mobile. There’s a missed call from Jack, the phone is on silent, how irritating. She turns the sound on and instantly calls him back, but it goes to voicemail. He must be in Norfolk - it’s the only explanation. He’ll know she’s going to be flat out on the new case so he’ll be avoiding disturbing her. He’s probably in the arcades now, trying to win some silly stuffed toy. He’ll spend an absolute fortune before he realises the machine is rigged, and then go and drown his sorrows in the nearest pub.
She’s got one more evening alone tonight and she’s going to enjoy it. She might even have a soak in the bath, open a bottle of red, watch something that she’s recorded and Jack doesn’t want to see. A little bit of ‘me time’.
She can’t help it but her mind wanders back to the case. She never got a chance to check out the name, Sandra, the receptionist at the dating agency mentioned. She must do that in the morning.
The lasagna and peas are welcome sustenance. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was, and she takes a sip of her wine - it’s good. Not one she’d bought, probably a bottle brought along by a guest at some point. She’s half-way through her meal and an episode of Who do you think you are when her mobile rings. Neither she nor her phone recognise the number and she nearly ignores it, but she can’t.
‘Is that DI Falle?’
‘Yes it is, who’s speaking?’
‘It’s Rachel, Rachel Hill. I think someone is outside again. I’m sorry to call in the evening, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I’ve had a threatening letter and now they’re out there.’
Claire puts her wine glass and fork down.
22
Rachel, 15th October 2016
Rachel turns the blue stone ring round and round her finger as she stares out the back bedroom window into the dark garden. She’s definitely seen something: a shadow, the flash of a mobile screen. They’re out there watching her house right now. She’s sure of it.
She’s being careful with her own mobile, keeping it down and the screen off so they can’t see its light. Should she call 999? That seems a bit drastic, she’s not actually in danger right now. Is she? The business card for the police detective is in the kitchen, but if she goes downstairs she’ll lose sight of them, then she won’t know where they are, what they’re doing. She should have put the police officer’s number into her phone that would have solved the dilemma.
If she’d taken up Gary on his offer of dinner tonight, maybe the stalker would have been scared off again. She’d declined, what if Neil had been killed because of his friendship with her? She didn’t want to think about that kind of responsibility, but she should, for their sakes. Maybe she needs to be on her own until this gets sorted.
If she stays here at the window she can watch them, see where they go, until hopefully they leave. But what if they don’t? What if they’re waiting for the people in the houses all around to go to sleep and then they’re going to make their way into her home? How can she even be sure that there’s only one of them? That there isn’t someone else creeping up the stairs right now while she’s looking outside?
She bites the inside of her mouth, the pain a good distraction to her fear. The earthy iron taste of the blood sends her brain into an even higher state of anxiety.
If she stays up here she’s trapped. She has to go down.
She has thought about making a quick dash out the front door. If they’re out back they might miss her, but that relies on there only being one person, and what if they hear her? She can run, but maybe they can run faster. Then there’s the prospect of coming back home to an empty house.
Rachel takes one last look out the window, toying with the idea of taking a photograph, but realising it’s not going to do her any good. It’s too dark and the figure is hidden by the large bushes at the back.
She picks up a can of deodorant, holding it ready to squirt in the eyes of anyone she might encounter, and she makes her way downstairs to the kitchen.
DI Claire Falle is obviously eating when she picks up and there is a voice in the background which must be the TV because it is immediately quietened. If Rachel was worried about being fobbed off then she needn’t have been concerned as the police officer is instantly sympathetic. She tells her to sit tight and keep her phone with her. For once in her life, Rachel does as she is told.
It’s more difficult to see from the ground floor. The bedroom enables her to look over some of the low bushes but down here, at eye level, they merge into one. She can’t see if they’re still out there, but DI Falle is true to her word and within a couple of minutes she hears sirens getting closer. Her adrenaline rises. If they catch him, if she can find out who it is…
An hour later DI Falle is standing in her kitchen nursing a mug of hot tea. The two police cars, which had screeched to a halt outside her house, have gone - the officers leaving empty handed. Whoever it was had skipped away over the back somewhere. They’d searched everywhere but there was no one to be seen.
Rachel is worried that DI Falle is going to think she’s making it all up and she’s studying her closely.
‘I’ve requested regular drive-bys. We should hopefully have scared him off tonight anyway, but just to be sure,’ she’s saying to her.
Rachel pulls out her trump card.
‘I had a lette
r this morning too. I put it in a bag, just in case you could get something off it.’
She picks up the envelope and A4 sheet of paper which she had carefully placed inside one of her large freezer bags this morning.
DI Falle takes it from her, reading the words on the paper.
‘Do you have anyone who can stay with you? Or who you can go and stay with?’
Rachel shakes her head.
‘No family, a friend?’ the police officer pushes.
‘No. Both my parents are dead and I was an only child. This was my aunt’s house but she’s died now too. I’m not from London so I don’t have any close friends here.’
She shrugs and looks away from DI Falle’s sympathetic eyes. It’s a welcome relief when her mobile phone rings.
‘DI Falle… Yes, sir, I’m here now…’
She walks her conversation into the hall leaving Rachel to put the milk back in the fridge and stir her own tea. Her hands are shaking slightly, the after-effects of the adrenaline and the chink of the metal spoon on the china mug jars her nerves. She goes to the back door and checks again that it’s locked. She’s already double checked it at least twice.
DI Falle’s voice carries from the hall, ‘Yes I will. I’ll stay for a bit, make sure she’s fine… OK Bob, night.’
Rachel turns as the police officer re-enters the kitchen and she gives her a tentative smile.
‘I’m sorry to have called you out on a Saturday night.’
DI Falle smiles back, ‘You’re fine. I was only sitting home alone with a TV dinner. You were right to call. Let’s go take a seat and I’ll get some details from you.’
‘Would you like a biscuit or anything? I’ve got some chocolate cake,’ Rachel offers.
‘Actually yes thank you, I wouldn’t mind a slice. Could do with a sugar hit.’
The two women settle into the armchairs in the sitting room, cups of tea and cake by their sides.