by Clare Revell
Loud, stringent alarm bells rang.
Shock flooded Isabel’s system that had nothing to do with the screaming fire alarm.
The firefighters ran from the room.
Isabel met DS Painter’s gaze. “A cop,” she said slowly. “With dark hair and a beard.”
He nodded. “We need to re-interview everyone. Try to build up an e-fit of this bloke.”
“Easy. Tall, dark hair, beard, cop. Just like Zander.” She tried and failed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“Only we know Zander hasn’t been dating Kacie for the last two weeks and he didn’t pick her up on Monday afternoon.” Her partner began to head down to where he’d parked the car. “There must be CCTV here, or across the street. We should track it down.”
Sirens filled the building and then headed outside as the fire engine left.
“We need to go back and make a start,” Isabel said.
DS Painter glanced at his watch. “We might as well go home. We won’t have any more reports until Monday at the earliest and it’s getting late. Plus it’s Friday.”
Isabel turned on him. Annoyed just didn’t cover how she felt now. “Seriously? Go home is the best you can come up with. The missing woman turns up dead, we know who did it, and no one cares.” She stormed down the stairs and outside. “You go home. I’m going back to work.”
He caught her arm. “You’ll go home.”
“I will not.” She shook herself free.
“That’s an order. Come back on Monday in a better frame of mind.”
“Whatever.” She shook her head and walked away from him, heading towards the main road.
“Do you want a lift?” he called after her.
She spun around. “So you can make sure I do go home? I have no home. That was taken away from me. So was my money, and my family, but hey…” she threw up her arms, “…who cares? I’m just another woman in the wrong place at the wrong time. No. I don’t want a lift. I can walk. Or there’s a perfectly good bus service.” Isabel turned and walked away, barely in control of her temper. They just didn’t get it. To them she was an unbalanced woman with a bee in her bonnet. She’d prove them wrong. She had to. For Zander’s sake.
She needed to talk to Gramps about Lexi. But she had no idea how to do that without the bug in the house picking up on the conversation. Then inspiration struck in the form of an old parlour game. She ran to the bus stop, arriving the same time the bus did. The sooner she was home, the better.
~*~
Zander walked slowly along the road. He could see his house now. The bus pulled up a few feet ahead of him. He grinned as Isabel got off and ran to catch her. “Hey, Is. Wait up.”
Isabel turned and waved.
Zander jogged to catch her, his broken ribs protesting with every step, despite the back brace. He hugged Isabel tightly. “I missed you.”
She hugged him back. “Hello, stranger. Who let you out?”
“They didn’t have much of a choice after today. Listen, Is, we need to talk.”
“Not in the house.”
He nodded. “I know. I almost wish I had a dog so we could walk it.”
Isabel shook her head. “We’re being watched, as well. Black sedan parks outside the house most of the day and all night. Add to that, it’s been ‘pick on Isabel day’ and everything is great and smelling of roses.”
He angled his head. “Guv said you weren’t happy.”
“Do you blame me? I told them yesterday it was Kacie we needed to find, not this other woman, but did they listen? Course not. Just as I told them it wasn’t you who killed everyone.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. Anger creased her face, pinking her cheeks.
Zander sucked in a deep breath. “There’s something you need to know. But you need to calm down first and promise me you won’t get mad. Well, madder than you already are.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“Just promise.”
“Fine.”
He held her gaze. “When the Guv arrested me, he and I both knew I was innocent. We both agreed that given the circumstances and the fact it all fitted and pointed to me, I’d go down for it, undercover, and see what the word on the inside was.”
Isabel’s face turned from a frown to full blown anger. He could see her temper simmering, ready to blow. “You’re kidding me? Undercover?”
“The Guv knew you wouldn’t agree or keep schtum, so he had to suspend you to keep the cover story.”
She spun away, shoulders straight. “He doesn’t trust me?”
“It’s not that.” Zander reached for her. “Is, you need to talk to him about this. Let him explain his reasons.”
“There’s no point,” Isabel said, anger replaced by a flat tone. “He doesn’t trust me. Nor do the others. No wonder he wants me off the case.”
He turned her to face him. “Are you coming home?”
“You don’t need me there now you’re home. You can look after Gramps.”
“Don’t be stupid and don’t say you’re not needed because you are.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You don’t know how much I wanted to tell you. That’s why I couldn’t have you visit me, because you knew it wasn’t me. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
“You could have died in there.” Hurt resonated in her eyes.
“But I didn’t. Please, Is. Come home. I’m desperate for a real meal and figured you and I could cook up a storm in the kitchen.”
“I’m not…”
“Hungry. See I know you too well. I’ll teach you how to make my world-famous macaroni cheese without making a roux sauce.”
“It’s called a packet mix.”
He shook his head and grinned. “Nope. Cornflour, milk and cheese.” He clasped her hand. “Please, Is. Don’t leave me alone to face the music.”
“What music?”
“Gramps. What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t lie for you. Feel free to tell him you were undercover. But I need to talk to him about Lexi’s boyfriend. I’m going back to the start of the case. I don’t care who tries to stop me.”
Zander nodded. “How will you manage talking to Gramps silently?”
Isabel started walking again. “Not sure. Play consequences, maybe. But we should go and cook before you and he starve to death.”
“I also want to take a shower.”
She smirked. “Didn’t think that was allowed. You’re meant to keep the brace on for two weeks, remember?”
“Two minutes without it won’t kill me. It’s not really needed now. It was more for protection inside than anything else.”
“You’ll be a good boy and put it back on after,” she said firmly. “You’ll also shower with the bathroom door unlocked in case I have to come in and rescue you.” She winked at the look of horror he shot her. “Teasing. I’ll send Gramps in.”
~*~
Twenty minutes later, finally showered and feeling clean for the first time in weeks, Zander stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom. He twisted first one way, then the other, studying his bruised body. It did look kind of pretty, with the older ones now yellow and green, the newer ones purple.
He carefully dabbed the surgery scar dry and reapplied a new surgical dressing to it. He climbed into boxers and eased a T-shirt over his head, before finally putting the back brace on. It did make breathing easier.
Isabel tapped on the door frame. “Are you decent?”
“Yeah—just about.”
She pushed the door open fully. Her mouth dropped for a moment then she grinned. “Wow. Who are you and what have you done with Zander?”
He chuckled and ran his hand over his beardless face. “It’ll grow back. It only takes a couple of days. What do you think?”
“It’s different.”
“Not as different as your hair.”
She angled her head. “I’m testing the theory that blondes have more fun.”
“And do they?”
She blew a raspb
erry at him. “Pfffttttt. They do not. They get picked on and sent home an awful lot.”
He grinned. “Anyway, just like you’re tired of looking like a murder victim, I’m tired of looking like a serial killer.”
“Fair enough,” Isabel turned as she spoke. “Pasta’s cooking. It’s gluten free as it tastes nicer. Actually, cutting down on the gluten seems to have helped Gramps somewhat. It’s probably not related, but the eczema is clearing a little and he says he’s not so bloated after eating.”
“That’s good. Let me put some jeans and a shirt on and I’ll be down.”
She stopped. “You own jeans?”
He grinned. “Yes. And cords. I’m not just a suit bloke, unlike some people from church who own nothing but suits.”
“It’s too hot for either. Just put a pair of shorts on and come as you are. See you down there.”
That was even better. He pulled shorts from the wardrobe and climbed into them as quickly as his battered body would allow then headed downstairs.
The TV was on deafeningly loud.
Gramps winked at him and held up a whiteboard. We talk like this if it’s important the board read.
Zander shot him a thumbs up. “Going to help Is in the kitchen,” he yelled. “Teach her how to make a cheese sauce.”
“Good. Hers is always lumpy.”
Zander laughed. “When I met her she couldn’t even boil an egg.”
Something hit his back.
“Hey, I resent that remark. I could boil an egg. It was cooking toast I couldn’t manage.” She paused as they headed to the kitchen. “I did microwave an egg once.”
“And?” he asked.
“It blew up.” She closed the kitchen door behind them. “There is a plus side to it. It wasn’t your microwave, so you don’t need a new one.”
He shook his head in despair. “And to think I missed you.” He grabbed the notepad from the kitchen table and scribbled quickly. Are you working this weekend?
No. I think we should be, but the Guv said go home ’til Monday.
Then we take Gramps out tomorrow. Talk to him then.
She nodded. “So, how do you make this wonderful cheese sauce, then?”
He pulled out a pan from the cupboard. “Like this.”
10
Zander sipped the coffee. Not the instant stuff at home, this was proper ground coffee and ought to be for the price he’d paid for it. “Remind me never to take this for granted again.”
Isabel raised an eyebrow. “The coffee?”
He gave her the look, and then waved a hand around the busy café. “This. Freedom.”
She smirked. “It’s hardly that. It’s a really busy, packed tearoom on an incredibly hot summer’s day in Victoria Park.”
“Yes, but it’s outside,” he emphasised. “There are shops, the gardens, the lake, and people. No guards.”
“I guess.”
He inhaled the glorious smell of coffee and studied her over the cup. “You’d rather be working?”
“I want to catch this bloke,” she said, still in a snit by the sounds of it. “We’ve wasted enough time and lives. I just can’t shake the feeling it’s someone I know, and he’s getting at me somehow.”
“Paranoid much?” Zander told her.
Isabel rolled her eyes at him. “Gramps, can we talk about Lexi for a bit?”
“What do you want to know?”
She pulled out her notebook. “Her boyfriend. Did you ever meet him?”
“Once. He picked her up from the flat a few times, but she always met him outside. This once, though, she was late and he came up to get her. He wasn’t happy about it. The lift weren’t working either which didn’t help matters.”
“What’s he like?” Zander asked, as Isabel took furious notes.
“Tall, thin-ish chap. Smartly dressed. Short, dark hair
, polite and all, but his eyes…” Gramps shivered.
“What about them?” Isabel’s head jerked up.
“They glittered like ice but had a hint of anger. Like there was a storm coming.”
“Would you work with a composite artist?” Zander asked. “Give us a picture of him.”
Gramps nodded. “Sure.”
Isabel pulled out her phone. “Should do it now. We could go down the station and—”
Zander cut her off. “The Guv said—”
She interrupted. “And I thought you said it could be him. This is our first real lead.”
“Monday,” he said firmly.
Isabel shoved her notebook in her bag and stood. “Men!”
“What?” Zander looked at her in amazement. What had he done now?
“I am sick to the back teeth of all of you stonewalling me over this.” She heaved her bag onto her shoulder. “I am going for a walk. I’ll see you back at the house later.” She flounced out, leaving her tea half drank.
“Did I say something?” he wondered aloud.
“She may have a point, Zander,” Gramps said. “If this bloke is a cop, then he knows the system and by not letting you work this weekend, who knows what mischief he can get up to.”
“My hands are tied. I’m on leave.”
“Isabel isn’t.”
“She’s off the case supposedly and been told to keep clear until Monday.” Zander put his cup down. “But yeah, I can see your point. I don’t like this, but there really is nothing I can do.”
~*~
Isabel strode to the bus stop. She’d go to work and start over from the beginning. There must be clearer CCTV images from somewhere. She’d find the killer and prove she was as good a cop as a bloke any day. Waiting for the bus to arrive, she pulled out her phone and rang Austin. “Hi, it’s Isabel.”
“Funny. That’s what my phone said when it rang,” he said, answering on the second ring. “What’s up?”
“Can I do your on call this weekend?”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“You most certainly can. Then I can go to the match. Thank you.”
“No problem. I’ll see you on Monday. I’ll tell work I’m taking over from you.” She ended the call, pleased she now had a reason to be in the building. Technically the on call detective only went in if needed, but she wanted to be there.
Ten minutes later, she got off the bus and jogged up the steps into the nick.
The desk sergeant studied her. “DC York. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Morning, Sarge. I swapped the weekend on call with DC Lexington, so I’m checking in and clearing my desk at the same time.”
“Have fun. Hopefully, it’ll be a quiet one.”
Isabel nodded, really hoping the man hadn’t jinxed the entire weekend by saying the ‘Q’ word. She swiped into the building and headed up to the squad room. Having put her handbag away, she pulled the incident boards together and sat on her desk to look at them.
Her work phone rang. “So much for quiet,” she muttered. “DC York.”
“Isabel, this is Ashton Clydesdale. How are you?”
Mildly surprised didn’t cover it. She should be grateful he wasn’t calling her personal phone. “I’m fine, thank you, sir. How are you?”
“Good, good. Just checking we’re still on for tomorrow lunchtime.”
Isabel frowned at the incident board. What had she agreed to now? “Tomorrow?”
“Sunday lunch at my place with the wife and kids.”
“Oh, yes. Sorry, but I won’t be able to make it. I’ve got the on call this weekend so I’m in the office all day.”
Was that a growl of anger in response? “You aren’t on the rota,” he hissed.
“I swapped. We do that a lot. We can always have lunch another weekend.” The line went dead. Isabel looked at it. “Or not. I think I managed to completely tick him off. Am I offending every single bloke on the face of the planet today?”
“That depends on what you’re doing here.”
Isabel jumped and turned to see DI Holmes standing in the doorway. “Sir
,” she said, her hand rising to her chest. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Apparently not.” He appeared mildly amused. “So, what are you doing here?”
“I swapped the on call with Austin. Figured I’d sit here and start over from the beginning as I’m working. It’s better than sitting at home twiddling my thumbs.”
His eyebrow quirked. “Even though I told you you’re off the case?”
She sucked in a deep breath. “Sir, with all due respect, ten women are dead. Ten women who look like me, have similar interests, share my faith, were going on holiday to the same place at the same time as me. It’s beyond creepy. The killer is making a point here, and I want to—no, I need to know what it is.”
“Do you want a hand?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to eat into your weekend off, Guv. I’m working anyway and had no other plans. Thank you, though.”
He nodded and headed into his office.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” she called after him, “why are you in on a Saturday?”
“I’m on my way to visit my wife and realised I’d left my wallet in my desk drawer.”
Something clicked in Isabel’s mind. That had to be it. The only time her purse and cards were left unattended was here. It had to be a cop or someone with unlimited access to the squad room. She shivered at the thought of it really being one of the blokes she’d worked with for weeks.
“Isabel, you OK?”
“Yeah, just thinking.”
“OK.” DI Homes relocked his office.
“Have you met the Chief Super’s wife?”
DI Holmes frowned as he crossed the office. “He’s not married.”
“Yeah, he is. He showed me a photo of his wife, Cynthia. They have two children—Reuben who’s six and Michael who’s three.”
“Well, he’s not as of the last time we spoke. Ex-wife, maybe.”
“Oh, all right.” She swallowed. “I must have misunderstood what he said.” Her phone rang. “DC York.” She listened, shoving her concerns down to the soles of her shoes. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Want a lift, since your insurance doesn’t start until next week?”
“Please.” She grabbed her handbag. “It’s a missing five-year-old. All hands on deck.”