“Are you sure?”
“Yes. What else could I possibly say?”
“Something beginning with zed.”
“What is this? I-Spy?”
“I’m not playing games, chicken. What had Chad Roe got to do with the letter zed?”
“Eh?”
Wheeler stood. It didn’t make much difference but she was able to circle the desk and Roberta’s chair. “We have a theory,” she explained, “that each murder is somehow related to the last letter of the alphabet.”
“What?”
“You heard.”
Wheeler sketched out the list so far. Zorilla and zoo and Zumba and Zoe and zoetrope... Roberta said she couldn’t see how this had anything to do with Chad Roe. Wheeler threw Brough’s word at her.
“I don’t smoke.”
“It’s a type of pyramid, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but a ziggurat is - it has steps. Chad’s pyramid has smooth sides.”
Wheeler scowled.
“Honestly, Chief Inspector, I think your zed theory is tenuous to say the least.” She got to her feet. “Now, is there a car ready to take me back to that hellhole?”
“So, you can’t think of any zeds to do with that artist chap?”
“I’ve told you, no. But - hang about - what was the name of that Zumba instructor again?”
“Um. Zoe. Zoe something.”
Roberta’s eyes darted around as she thought of something. “There was a Zoe who put in an application for a lottery grant... Yes, it was Zumba, now I think of it. She wanted to set up her own business and we helped her.” She beamed with pride, but then her face fell. “And she’s dead, you say? Oh, dear.”
She tottered back to her chair. Wheeler poured her a glass of water.
“Those other victims. What were their names again?”
“I don’t know if I can make you privy to that information.”
“Chief Inspector! You must! Don’t you see? It’s not zeds! It’s not zeds at all!”
“Then what the fucking bastard is it?”
Roberta took a gulp of water. “It’s me,” she said.
“Is this a confession?”
“I mean it’s all the lottery. Everyone who has died so far has been granted money by my committee. The zoo - they wouldn’t have set up that partnership with the game reserve without our funding. The Zumba classes. Chad!”
“The museum?”
“Yes!”
“Well, shag me, Jimmy Cagney.”
“I’m sorry?”
But Wheeler was dashing for the door. “You sit tight, love. I’ve got a fucking team to brief.”
Chapter Ten
Brough and Miller escorted Roberta Woolton to her office. She was reluctant, to put it mildly, but she handed over a list of all applications that had been successful. Her qualms were assuaged by the notion that the information could lead to an arrest or at the very least prevent further murders. The quicker a resolution could be brought about, the sooner Roberta Woolton’s life could go back to normal.
Brough scanned the print-out. The names were all there: Zoe Brownlow, Jeffrey Newton, Dr Kabungo... the museum...
“And you’ve emailed this to the Chief?” Miller checked.
“Yes. Will that be all?” Roberta’s cursor hovered over the shut-down option.
“Thank you,” said Brough.
“Hang about,” said Miller. “What about a list of those you turned down?”
“What?”
“Genius, Miller! Yes! Bring up a list of those whose applications you denied. Perhaps one of them holds a grudge.”
Roberta rolled her eyes but complied. Within seconds, a second sheet of A4 was chugging out of the printer. Miller snatched it up.
The detectives thanked Mrs Woolton for her time. Brough said she could have a couple of minutes to gather anything she needed before a driver would collect her and take her back to the halls of residence.
Peering at each other’s list, Brough and Miller headed out to Miller’s car.
“I think you might have cracked it, Miller.”
Miller inspected her car’s bodywork in alarm.
“The case,” Brough brandished his list. “We merely have to round up those who received lottery funding and take them into safety, while questioning those whose applications were rejected and perhaps among them we shall find our killer.”
“Um,” said Miller, looking up at Roberta Woolton’s office window. “Do you think she’ll be OK, up there on her own?”
Brough pulled a face. “I’ll order her a patrol car. She won’t like it but tough tits.”
He got into the passenger seat and patted his thighs excitedly. As Miller buckled up, he put a hand on her arm.
“I don’t say this very often - well, I don’t often get the chance, but Well done, Miller.”
Miller blushed - because of the physical contact rather than the praise. The moment was broken when Brough’s phone played a fanfare. It was a text from Oscar Buzz, triggering an exchange of messages that kept Brough occupied all the way back to Serious.
Ha! Miller thought bitterly. If your mind was on the job, sir, instead of mooning around after your Hollywood heartthrob, you might have put two and two together while I was stood wondering where that woman goes to get her roots done.
***
The list of successful applicants almost matched the list of murder victims apart from two names who, as far as Serious was aware, were still numbered among the living. The list of unsuccessful applicants had only three names. Roberta Woolton’s lottery committee was certainly generous - on paper, at any rate.
“Should make your job a bit easier,” said Wheeler, handing Harry Henry a copy.
“My job, Chief?”
“Look into the unsuccessful bids. Find out who’s behind each one and where we can find them.”
“Rightio,” said Harry Henry, pushing his spectacles up his nose - the gesture meant he was ready to start work. He hurried out to begin his research on the internet.
“Leaving you, Brough, Miller,” Wheeler gave them back the other list, “with the task of rounding up the remaining successful applicants and placing them under our protection.”
“And what about us, Chief?” said Pattimore with a hopeful smile.
“Don’t tell us we’ve still got to scrat around looking for that bastard wammal,” said Stevens.
“Have you found it yet? No? Well, then. You don’t need me to tell you anything. Now, go on; fuck off.”
Wheeler passed Superintendent Ball on her way to her office. Before he could utter a word, she scowled. “I know, I fucking know. I’m working on it. Right this minute.”
She slammed the door behind her, leaving the superintendent nonplussed in the corridor. He had been about to buy her a cup of coffee but now he supposed he wouldn’t bother.
Wheeler grabbed the folder from the top of the pile. It was Stevens’s.
“Right,” she snarled. “Now we’m talking.”
***
Brough and Miller’s next port of call was Dedley Leisure Centre, which boasted a swimming pool, a couple of squash courts, and a bar. Built in the 1970s, it was now hideously outdated. If anything was in need of an injection of lottery cash, it’s this place, thought Brough as Miller locked her car.
The humidity hit them as soon as they walked in, that chlorinated dampness that warms the air.
“Oh, arh,” said the receptionist. “Yo’ll want Darren.” She glanced at her watch. “He’s on lifeguard duty if you want to wait. Should be out in half hour.”
She directed them up to the bar where they could sit and, through a panoramic expanse of glass, look down on the pool. Miller bought coffees.
“Is that him the
n?” she peered through the window.
“I imagine so...” said Brough.
On a high chair, like an overgrown baby at dinner, sat a well-built man whose wedge-shaped torso was accentuated by his white vest. His muscular thighs strained against the confines of his red swim shorts. He was watching the people in the pool like a hawk - and they were the prey. He looked ready to swoop and snatch someone from the water at any second, although the couple of saggy pensioners doing laps with polystyrene floats seemed to be doing fine.
“Cor!” said Miller, taking a seat without taking her eyes from the window. “He’s a bit of all right.”
Brough spared her a withering glance that went unnoticed. “Don’t be so sexist, Miller.”
Miller laughed. “That’s rich coming from you!”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh - never mind. But you have to admit he is as fit as. I’ve always liked a swimmer’s build, haven’t you?”
“Well...” Brough shifted uncomfortably. He did not want to talk about his taste in men with Miller of all people. He was spared by an urgent buzz from his smartphone. His face lit up to match the screen when he saw who was calling.
“Oscar!” he gasped, standing up. “How lovely!”
He walked away from the table and out of Miller’s earshot.
Miller’s shoulders slumped. Her own phone hadn’t rung for a long time; she couldn’t remember when. Not a personal call, at any rate. And certainly not a lover. Although she had enjoyed a protracted exchange with some bloke who was trying to get her to switch energy providers the other night.
She warmed her hands around the coffee cup and gazed absently at the lifeguard.
Perhaps I should chuck myself in, she mused. At least that way I’d get picked up. Might even get the kiss of life...
“Stop staring, Miller,” Brough returned, grinning like the cat that had got both the cream and the canary.
“All right, is he?” Miller nodded at Brough’s mobile. He pocketed it quickly.
“Fine and dandy. Wants me to fly out for the weekend. I can’t wait to see him.”
“You can’t,” said Miller.
“Oh, he’s paying.”
“No, I mean, we’ve got a case on. Wheeler will never allow it.”
“Fuck Wheeler.” But Brough knew Miller was right. All the more reason to bring this case to a swift resolution.
Down at the high chair, a changing of the guard was under way. Angular Darren was relinquishing his seat to a collection of sticks in a baggy tracksuit and glasses like jam jars.
“Isn’t he more your type?” Brough teased. Miller showed him her tongue.
The receptionist’s Dedley accent crackled through the air. “Darren to the Olympus bar, please. Darren to the Olympus bar.”
“Tenner says he’s gay,” said Brough.
“Not everyone’s gay,” said Miller. “You’re on.”
They watched the lifeguard bound nimbly up the stairs, taking two, sometimes three, at a time. He greeted the detectives with a broad and perfect smile, a lighting flash of white.
“Who wants me?” he said. He wasn’t out of breath in the slightest.
Brough and Miller couldn’t help smiling back in admiration. Miller flashed her i.d.; Brough handed over his card.
The lifeguard’s brow crinkled but only slightly. “Cops? Oh dear, what have I done this time?” He laughed and Brough and Miller found they were laughing too.
“We haven’t come for you, sir,” said Brough.
“Well, we have,” Miller nudged him. “In a sense.”
The lifeguard held out his arms, wrists together as though ready for handcuffs. “I’ll come quietly,” he grinned, and then with a wink added, “unless your neighbours don’t mind a bit of noise.”
Miller blushed. Brough forced himself not to lick his lips.
Darren Bennett laughed again. He was used to having this effect on people and he loved it. “Please,” he gestured to a nearby table. “Take the weight off and tell me what this is all about.”
The detectives sat facing the lifeguard, resting their chins on their hands and gazing adoringly at this charismatic, handsome and fit-as-fuck specimen.
“Go on then,” Darren prompted after a couple of minutes of basking in their silent admiration. “Tell me. Or am I supposed to guess?”
“Lottery,” Miller managed to squeak.
“Never play it.” Darren sat back and rested his arm on the back of the chair beside him, affording them a better view of his pecs. “My balls dropped years ago.” He chuckled. Brough was agog. Darren Bennett had certainly won the draw when the top prize had been good looks.
“You put in a bid,” Brough had to look at the space beyond the lifeguard’s shoulder. “You were awarded a grant?”
“Oh, that! Oh, yeah.”
“What was it for?”
Darren Bennett made an expansive gesture. “Look at the state of this place.” The detectives didn’t take their eyes off him. “Most of the time I feel like a big fish in a shit pile. And all we get from the council is cuts and more cuts. And then they wonder why the kids are all tubby fuckers. So, I decided to set up a fitness club for youngsters. That lottery committee lapped it up. Offered me double the amount I asked for. As of last week, I’m working my notice. Got my eye on some premises I’m going to rent and, in a few months’ time. I’ll be up and running. Bring your kids along.”
“I haven’t got any!” Miller blurted. “I’m not even married.”
“You do surprise me,” Darren Bennett twinkled. Miller giggled.
“And I’m not the paternal sort,” Brough chimed in.
“Oh, no?” Bennett flashed Brough a twinkle. “I suppose you’re a bit on the young side to be somebody’s daddy.”
Brough’s mouth fell open.
“We’m taking you in,” said Miller. “For protection.”
“I can protect myself, sweetheart.” He flexed his muscles to prove it.
“You may have heard there’s a killer on the loose,” Brough stated, although his voice was constricted.
Bennett pulled a face. “I heard something about an animal or something. Got out of the zoo, didn’t it? Some skunk done a bunk!”
Miller laughed, too loudly and for too long.
“That’s a separate issue,” said Brough. “There is a vicious murderer in Dedley and we have reason to believe he - or indeed she - is targeting those whose applications to the lottery committee were successful.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I shit you not.”
“Shit.” Darren Bennett now looked stunned as well as stunning. “Bugger me.”
Brough coughed.
“So, if you’ll please come with me...” Miller got to her feet.
“With us,” Brough amended, also standing. “We’ll take you to a place of safety.”
“I’ve heard worse chat-up lines, I suppose. But really? I mean, I’ve got things to do and training to stick to. How do you think you get a body like mine, eh?”
“I was just wondering that,” said Miller.
“It won’t be for long,” said Brough.
“Well, we can’t say that for sure, can we, sir? Who knows how long it’ll take to catch him - or indeed her,” she mocked Brough’s pompous tones.
“I run,” said Brough. “Perhaps we could train together...”
Miller rolled her eyes. “Let’s make a move. I’ve got a car outside. He doesn’t even drive.”
“Ooh, back seat for us then, um,” Darren glanced at Brough’s card for the first time, “David!”
Miller seethed. Brough looked triumphant.
“You can ride in the front with me,” said Miller. “More legroom. I’m sure the detectiv
e inspector won’t mind.” She fluttered her eyelashes. Brough scowled.
Darren Bennett was delighted. “It’s all right, David,” he clapped Brough on the shoulder. “I’ll toss you for it.”
Chapter Eleven
Harry Henry’s task was to track down the people behind the unsuccessful lottery bids. It might lead to no leads, he knew, but every trail had to be followed even if it lead to a brick wall on the edge of a cliff, or wherever.
He was glad the list was short.
The things people want funding! Someone wanted to set up a home delivery service, which sounded fair enough, until you read on and saw what they wanted to deliver. The entrepreneur behind Absolutely Offal certainly had guts, Harry mused. He laughed alone and made a mental note to crack that funny again in briefing.
He made a note of the contact details - a butcher’s shop in Netherton. And then his blood ran cold.
A butcher... A butcher would have all sorts of sharp implements as tools of his trade...
Someone would have to have a butcher’s hook at him...
Harry Henry chuckled to himself again. I’m really on a roll today.
The next rejected application was from a choir who wanted a new minibus so they could ‘spread their joy throughout the borough and beyond’. They specialised in bringing Handel’s Messiah to hospitals and retirement homes - anywhere there was a captive audience, it seemed. Hah. Harry’s wife had dragged him along to hear that choir last Christmas. He wouldn’t be surprised if somebody had sabotaged their old van to bring an end to their reign of terror.
But he made a note of the contact details. It was a large choir, he remembered. Every member would have to be questioned, until someone sang - um, warbled - er... Harry faltered. He couldn’t think of any more jokes.
He tried to think of anything that might suggest a member of the choir was the killer. Perhaps the choirmaster - or indeed mistress - used a baton like an orchestra conductor... It seemed a long shot.
People don’t realise the legwork that goes on, Harry Henry considered as he remembered how many people were in that choir - and none of them able to carry a tune in a bucket. Being a detective’s not like it is on the telly, all punch-ups and car chases and autopsies.
Zorilla At Large! Page 8