by Tim Ellis
‘She’d have to torture me first.’ He folded the two pieces of paper over twice and put them into his jacket pocket.
‘I think Mrs Bates would like that. She tortures people a lot and seems to enjoy it. Well, when I say “people”, I mean mainly me.’
‘She’s not very nice then?’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll find her nice, but she reminds me of my old headteacher – Mrs Lucifer – and yes, that was really her name. Did the devil have a wife?’
‘You speak as if the devil’s dead?’
‘I don’t suppose he is. If he were though, Mrs Lucifer would have killed him.’
‘What’s Mrs Belmont like?’
‘She’s okay.’
‘Okay! That doesn’t sound very encouraging.’
‘At least she doesn’t torture me.’ Tiffany shrugged. ‘In fact, she doesn’t really have much to do with me – especially over the last couple of weeks. I suppose that’s out of the ordinary. Usually, Mrs Belmont has time for me, stops for a chat, tells me about how her son Harry is doing and suchlike, but lately she’s been distracted and has mostly ignored me.’
‘And you don’t know why?’
‘No.’
‘Tiffany?’
‘Uh oh!’ She stood up. ‘Yes, Mrs Bates?’
‘Have you not got work to do?’
‘I have lots of work to do.’
‘I thought so, and yet here you are cavorting with a visitor.’
‘Cavorting! I don’t even know what that means, Mrs Bates.’
‘You don’t have to know what it means to do it, Tiffany. Get on with your work.’
‘Of course, Mrs Bates.’
Jenny Bates came over to hm. ‘Mr Kowalski?’
He stood up. ‘Yes.’
‘You’re interested in our services?’
‘No.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’m here about Mrs Belmont.’
‘What’s it got to do with you?’
‘I’m a private investigator.’
‘Who employed you?’
‘Harry.’
‘Paige’s son?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You’d better come through to my office then. Do you want another coffee?’
‘No, thanks.’
She led the way into her office, directed him to an easy chair and sat down opposite him. She was probably in her late thirties with long dark-brown hair framing an angular face, a thin nose and small mouth. There was a gold chain around her neck, and a wedding ring on her left ring finger. He thought she was reasonably attractive, but he imagined that getting on the wrong side of her wasn’t a pleasant experience.
‘Tiffany was just being polite,’ he said.
‘She’s not paid to sit on the arms of chairs being polite to men who walk in off the street. So, what’s this about Harry?’
‘His father told him that his mother has ran off with another man – Harry doesn’t believe him.’
‘And he’s asked you to try and find her?’
‘Yes. Would it be all right if I asked you a few questions?’
‘Five minutes, and then I have another client to see.’
‘Thank you. Harry led me to believe that you’re her best friend.’
‘We met at KPMG in London in August of 2000. We’d both just completed our degrees and accountancy training. We became best friends and in 2003 we set up the partnership, but we haven’t been best friends for a while now. Don’t get me wrong, we’re still friends and work colleagues, but we don’t have girlie nights out, chat for hours on the telephone, or even go shopping together. Mostly, we’re too busy working. And when we’re not doing that we’re busy being mothers and wives.’
‘You’re not enjoying your work?’
‘I thought you were here about Paige?’
‘Sorry. Did she come into work on Thursday?’
‘I saw her briefly about twenty to nine, but then she went out.’
‘Do you know where?’
‘I assumed she’d gone to see a client. That’s what we do when we’re not putting numbers into spreadsheet boxes, we see clients here or at their place of business.’
‘Is it possible to have a copy of her appointments for Wednesday and Thursday?’
‘I’m sorry – that’s confidential information.’
‘I understand. Have you any idea where she might be?’
‘No idea.’
‘You don’t seem surprised that your business partner has gone missing.’
‘I’m too tired to be surprised. As I said, I saw her briefly on Thursday morning, she didn’t come back to work that day, and she failed to appear on Friday or today. I called Lester – her husband – and he said she’d left him for another man. That didn’t surprise me either. Have you met Lester?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t know what possessed Paige to marry him – he’s a nasty piece of work.’
‘In what way?’
‘He’s hit her a couple of times, and then there was the affair with that slut in his office . . . Yeah, if something has happened to Paige, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was behind that either.’
‘You don’t like him.’
‘Lester is a large part of the reason Paige and I aren’t best friends anymore. He got Paige pregnant just after we’d formed the partnership. I told her not to marry the prick, but she said she didn’t want to be a single mother, and she wouldn’t consider a termination or adoption. Bill – my husband – he doesn’t like Lester either, so getting together for foursomes was out of the question. In the end, we just drifted apart.’
‘Surely, you were surprised when Paige didn’t come back into the office on Thursday?’
‘It takes a lot to surprise me. However, I must admit that I’d have expected her to tell me personally what she had planned, and to call to say she wasn’t coming in on Friday and today. As it is, she’s left me in a difficult position. I’ve had to arrange for two temps to cover her work, because I have no idea when she’ll be back.’
‘Do you know if she was seeing another man?’
‘If she was, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. My husband keeps telling me to get more people in, and I probably should, but it’s getting the time to do it properly. And now Paige bailing out on me . . . I can’t see the wood for the trees at the moment.’ She stood up. ‘If there’s nothing else?’
‘One thing. Because Harry has employed me, I can’t speak to his father. Would it be okay if I said to Lester that you’d asked me to look into Paige’s disappearance?’
She thought for a handful of seconds and then said, ‘Sure, I don’t see why not. That’d put Lester’s nose out of joint.’
He stood up and shook Jenny Bates’ hand. ‘Thanks for your valuable time.’
‘When you do find Paige, tell her she’s fired.’
‘I thought she was your partner?’
‘She is, but that’s how I feel right now.’
‘If I see her, I’ll let her know.’
He gave Tiffany a secret smile and a wink on his way out.
She smothered a smile back.
In the car, he opened up the two sheets of paper. On Thursday Paige Belmont’s appointments list was full. In which case why would she go home, pack her things and run away with another man? It didn’t make any sense. He’d retrace her steps, find out at what point she’d disappeared and go from there. He certainly needed to take a closer look at her husband – Lester.
***
They caught a District Line train from Temple to Victoria, and then changed to the Victoria Line and hopped on a train to the next station – Pimlico. Above ground, they walked down Lupus Street, turned right into Cambridge Street and kept walking until they identified the exact spot – from the crime scene photographs contained in the file – where Emily Hobson had been murdered.
‘There’s not a lot here, Mrs K,’ Joe said, looking up and down the street
On the opposite side of the road was
St Gabriel’s Church, but other than that there was only a row of Victorian three-storey houses and parked cars on the road. It was a residential street – nothing more, and nothing less.
Jerry shook her head. ‘Well, it has been nineteen years, Joe.’
‘As long as Joe and me have been alive,’ Shakin’ said, rubbing his chin and pursing his lips. ‘Still . . . I was hoping to see one of those chalk bodies on the pavement, maybe a brown sign screwed to the wall stating that Emily Hobson had once been murdered here with the date underneath and possibly a little bit of history as well.’
‘You mean a blue plaque?’ Jerry suggested.
‘No, a brown one,’ Shakin’ insisted.
‘They’re blue, Shakin’,’ Joe chipped in. ‘Remember? When we first got to University we were looking at ways to earn a bit of extra moolah, and we did some research on working for English Heritage as London tour guides – the signs were blue.’
‘If you say so, Joe. You’ve got a better memory than me. Why didn’t we do it?’
‘Too much walking and talking.’
‘Sounds like hard work to me.’
‘It was. When we weighed that up against doing nothing . . . Well, I think you know what the outcome was?’
‘No contest, Joe.’
‘Exactly.’
Shakin’ screwed up his face. ‘What I vaguely recall is being disappointed that there was no plaque for Jack the Ripper.’
Joe grinned. ‘Hey! You do remember?’
Jerry interjected. ‘That’s because the blue plaques are for famous people who have contributed to London in some way and are associated with a particular building,’ Jerry said.
‘Well Jack the Ripper is pretty famous I’d say,’ Shakin’ persisted. ‘He brings in millions of tourists each year, and he’s also associated with a number of places in Whitechapel such as Buck’s Row and Mitre Square to name two.’
‘Let’s get back to Emily Hobson, shall we?’ Jerry said. ‘This is where she was murdered – no chalk outline, no blue or brown plaque and no evidence to say she was ever here.’
‘It’s really sad, isn’t it?’ Joe said, his face drooping downwards. ‘I expect her family still remember her, but you can bet nobody else probably does. The police never even found her killer, and now she’s being used as a teaching aid in a law school . . . You know what?’
Shakin’ grabbed Joe’s shoulder. ‘Don’t say it, Joe.’
‘I have to, Shakin’. I think we ought to try and find Emily Hobson’s killer.’
‘You had to say it, didn’t you?’
They began to walk back along Cambridge Street towards the Nurses’ Home in St George’s Square that serviced Great Ormond Street Hospital.
Jerry shook her head. ‘Our task is to write a paper discussing the legal issues, problems, implications and citing relevant case law should the murderer be caught and prosecuted today, not actually catch the murderer, Joe. Not only that, what chance do we have of catching the killer nineteen years after the event, when the police couldn’t catch him at the time, and they had fresh evidence and free access?’
‘I know Mrs K, but think how much better it would look if our ten thousand-word paper was based on us actually finding the killer, the police charging him, and the Crown Prosecution Service using our research to prosecute him . . . You’d certainly look good. Not that you don’t look as hot as chilli peppers already, but it would definitely add some weight to our CVs.’
Her eyes narrowed to slits. ‘You make a convincing argument, Joe.’
‘I do?’
‘I can imagine you making an impassioned please for justice to a jury of twelve good men and true.’
‘You can?’
‘I can. I obviously use the term “men” loosely, because things have moved on slightly since those words were uttered in the seventeenth Century – a jury includes women now as well.’
‘That goes without saying, Mrs K. Doesn’t it, Shakin’?’
‘We should have been around during those times, Joe.’
‘What times?’
‘When women were burning their bras.’
‘They took them off first though, didn’t they?’
‘That’s what I mean, Joe. Imagine all those women jumping up and down in protest without their bras on.’
‘I’m imagining it, Shakin’.’
‘And did you know?’
‘What?’
‘They used to wear see-through tops.’
‘See-through tops! That you could see through?’
‘All the way.’
‘And they’d burned their bras?’
Shakin’ licked his lips. ‘Exactly.’
‘Apart from the fact that you two clowns are mixing up the suffrage and feminist movements, which were a couple of hundred years apart, I remember wearing a see-through top with no bra myself when I was about your age. I think I still have a photograph somewhere.’
‘Don’t say that, Mrs K,’ Joe said. ‘Now we’ll be thinking of you in that see-through top all day, won’t we, Shakin’?’
‘All day, Joe. All day long. We’d also like to register our academic interest in seeing said photograph at your earliest convenience, Mrs K.’
‘In your wet dreams, boys.’
‘You’re a tease, Mrs K.’ Joe said.
Chapter Six
As expected, Tessa Henson was at work, so Parish arranged for her to take the rest of the day off and meet them at her home address – 55 Herongate Road in Turnford.
Richards knocked on the door. It opened so quickly that it made her jump back and barge into Parish.
‘Sorry,’ the woman said. ‘I thought I heard a car pull up, so I came out to see if it was you, and then you knocked on the door as I was opening it.’
‘That’s all right. I was probably standing a bit too close to the door anyway. Are you Tessa Henson?’
‘Yes.’
Richards showed her Warrant Card. ‘DC Richards and DI Parish from Hoddesdon Police Station.’
‘Come in.’ She stood to one side while they shuffled past her. ‘It’s Christy, isn’t it?’
‘Should we go in and sit down?’ Richards suggested.
‘I knew it. She’s dead, isn’t she?’
They went into the living room and parked themselves on the sofa.
Tessa followed them in and sat on an easy chair opposite. She was a slim woman with dark hair, a long thin face and large eyes. ‘Well?’
‘Yes,’ Richards said. ‘I’m sorry to have to inform you that your sister Christy was found dead early this morning.’
‘Jesus! Do you know who killed her?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Tell me everything,’ she said. ‘I want to know every little detail.’
Parish interrupted. ‘Before we do that, there are a few questions we’d like to ask you, if you wouldn’t mind?’
‘I do mind. I told the officer everything I knew when I reported Christy missing. Now, I want to know about my dead sister.’
‘The situation has changed, Miss Henson. DC Richards and I are murder detectives. The person you spoke to at the police station was simply filling in a form. Our questions are more specific, and we need your help if we’re going to catch the person who killed your sister.’
‘Ask your questions then.’
‘Did Christy have a boyfriend?’
‘No.’
‘Is it possible that an ex-boyfriend could have murdered her?’
‘No. She never kept a man for more than a couple of weeks, and she hadn’t been with anyone for more than a one-night stand since August of last year.’
‘Did she mention whether anyone was bothering her in or out of work?’
‘No.’
‘She failed to arrive home after work on Friday the 19th, but you didn’t report her missing until Tuesday the 23rd – three, nearly four days. Why was that?’
‘I thought that maybe she’d hooked up with someone.’
‘From work?�
�
‘No. She didn’t go out with men from work, she thought it would get too complicated. Sometimes, she went to a club after she’d finished on Friday nights.’
‘Did she “hook up” often?’
‘A fair bit.’
‘And this “hooking up” involved going back to a man’s place and staying there the weekend?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘And you thought this was one of those occasions?’
‘Yes.’
‘Weren’t you surprised that she didn’t call you?’
‘A bit surprised, but she didn’t always call.’
‘Did you try to call her?’
‘On Sunday afternoon. I wondered if she was coming home to change her clothes, but I was diverted to voicemail.’
‘When she didn’t return the call and she didn’t come home either, what did you do then?’
‘Well, nothing. I mean, I just thought . . .’ Tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘I don’t know what I thought. I tried calling her again on Monday, but it diverted to voicemail again. I was getting worried by then – mainly because she wasn’t answering her phone, and she hadn’t called me either. When I got home from work on Monday night, she still hadn’t been home or called me. I kept calling her, but there was still no answer. So I decided to give her until the morning to come home or contact me, and if she didn’t by then I’d report her missing. I know, you think I should have gone to the police sooner, but I never thought . . .’
‘We’re not here to pass judgement, Miss Henson. You knew your sister best, and it’s obvious you cared about her. Which club did she go to?’
Tessa wiped her eyes with a tissue. ‘There were two clubs she might have gone to – Eros and Faces, but she would have started off in The Crocodile on College Road, or the Maltster on Windmill Lane. It’s possible she could have gone to both before getting to the club.’
‘What about clothes? Would she have gone clubbing in her work clothes?’
Tessa shook her head. ‘No. Christy kept spare clothes in her office just in case she fancied a night out. She knew that if she came home first to change, she’d probably end up staying in.’
Parish stood up. ‘Can you show us Christy’s bedroom?’