Deadly Suspicions (Alexandra Best Investigations Book 3)

by Jean Saunders

  ‘So how goes the work?’ he asked next, when she had brought in coffee and biscuits. ‘Anything interesting in the wind?’

  ‘I went to Weston the other day,’ she told him.

  ‘Bored already then? I didn’t think it would take long.’

  Alex looked at him coolly. ‘Not at all, thank you, big copper from the Smoke! I went to check out one of Steven Leng’s friends, if you must know —’

  ‘You haven’t given up yet then?’

  ‘Did the police ever follow up on what happened to any of them?’ she said, ignoring the little frisson of annoyance in his voice. But he should know that she was as tenacious as he was when it came to having a suspicious mind.

  Nick shrugged. ‘Why should they? The case was over long ago, apart from the wretched Leng woman’s obsession. And that’s all it was, babe, an obsession. Don’t let it become one of yours as well, will you?’

  He was half-joking, but she knew that look in his eyes.

  ‘All right, but after she had sent me a list of their names, they became more real to me, and I wanted to know what happened to them. As you said, I didn’t have much else to do down here in the sticks, so where was the harm in it?’

  She spoke innocently, knowing the kind of response she’d get.

  ‘Waste of time,’ he said crisply. ‘Still, I suppose you had to do something other than twiddling your thumbs before you knew you’d made a mistake and came back home.’

  ‘I found one of Steven’s school friends,’ Alex said, ignoring the barb. ‘At least, I found what had happened to him.’

  She left it dangling in the air, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist any more than she would have done, if the boot had been on the other foot.

  ‘All right. Let’s get it over with. Who was it, and what happened? Is he a missionary in Outer Mongolia now?’

  ‘He’s dead. Killed riding his motorbike and forced off a coastal road by a car that didn’t stop. Case unsolved. Case closed. Interesting, don’t you think? Out of the six original boys, two down, four to go. Like Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Niggers except that that wouldn’t be politically correct now, would it?’

  Nick sat up in his chair, his shoulders tense.

  ‘Alex, you’re making a case out of all this when there isn’t one. When did this happen, anyway?’

  ‘Four years ago.’

  The way his lips twisted told her more than words that he thought she was mad. Wasting her time. Steven Leng’s disappearance was well in the past, and this other boy’s death could have had nothing to do with him — unless the remaining five boys in his group had kept in touch, and the others realized that John Barnett was losing it. Presumably he would have seen, or at least known about Jane Leng’s newspaper letters. People involved in any kind of crime or mystery always gathered up as much information about the follow-up as they could. It was masochistic, but it was human nature. Maybe Jane’s letters had begun to unnerve him, making him want to tell what he knew ... to get it off his conscience ... whatever it was.

  ‘Can we leave the subject strictly alone for one night at least?’ Nick was saying now. ‘I can think of better ways to spend the weekend with my girl than by going over pointless stuff like this. It’s not what I came here for.’

  ‘What did you come here for then?’ Alex said, before she could stop herself and realize how provocative the question was. Or maybe she did know ...

  *

  She awoke in the early hours of the morning, still wrapped in his arms, the taste of him still on her lips, the lusty pleasure of him still filling every part of her, and with the vague notion that she certainly hadn’t intended any of this, even if he had.

  She lifted the heavy weight of his arm from her breast, slid out of bed and left him sleeping while she took a shower. She gasped at the shock of the cold water before the heater kicked in, but the morning freshness also alerted her senses to the fact that DCI Nick Frobisher never did anything on the spur of the moment, or without some ulterior motive. He was never off duty, either, apart from certain times when she had to admit that thinking about crime — past, present or future — had been furthest from either of their minds ...

  So he must be here for some other reason than to make love to her.

  The aroma of fresh coffee filled her nostrils, and she stepped out of the shower wrapped in a towelling dressing-gown for January comfort.

  In her small kitchen she lounged against the door, resisting a smile when she saw Nick wearing her red silk kimono, his bare legs sticking out beneath it, his dark hair still ruffled with sleep and the vigours of the night, and looking ridiculously and endearingly house-trained as he poured out two mugs of coffee.

  ‘What do you want, Nick?’ she asked.

  His smile was seductive. ‘I thought I’d already had it.’

  ‘Apart from that.’

  He gave an elaborate sigh, ‘Alex, darling, do you really think I’d use sex as a means of getting information from the girl of my dreams?’

  ‘Cut the crap, Nick,’ she said. ‘I know you too well, remember?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess you do. Every nook and cranny, you might say.’

  She marched across the kitchen and grabbed her mug of coffee from the worktop, taking a slurp far too quickly, and wincing at not giving it time to cool down a little. But it was time to let Mr Goddamn-perfect know he wasn’t the only guy in the world.

  ‘I was actually seeing someone else this weekend,’ she lied. ‘It’s not too late for me to call him and say the date’s still on. I do have a life down here.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’ Nick said.

  ‘It’s what I’ve got. What I want is to know why you suddenly appeared out of nowhere. And what was this mysterious something you were going to tell me?’

  She hadn’t even remembered it until this minute.

  ‘I came to find out how you were getting on — as someone who cares about you,’ he added. ‘And to tell you there was a hell of an upset with the Lengs recently, and your name was the cause of it. I could have told you on the phone, of course, but why not come and visit my old friend, I thought’

  ‘My name?’ Her heart gave a jump. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Got your attention now, haven’t I?’ he teased. ‘It seems that Bob Leng and his missus had the mother and father of all fights after he found your card and he practically threw her out of the house for hiring you. She came to us in a panic, sure he was going to do her in, and asking for police protection. The silly mare’s been watching too many cop shows on telly, if you ask me.’

  ‘You didn’t take it seriously then?’ Alex said.

  Nick shrugged. ‘The pair of them have been at each other’s throats for so long, it’s a way of life for them now. They don’t seem to have much else holding them together.’

  ‘Only the memory of Steven.’

  He hesitated, and then said what he had come to say.

  ‘Alex, I just want you to be aware that Bob Leng can be violent, and he’s been led a hell of a life by his wife in the last ten years. If he threatens you in any way, go to the local nick and report him, OK?’

  ‘It’s hardly likely, is it?’

  It’s possible. I just wanted to warn you not to do anything stupid.’

  ‘I won’t, and I’m grateful for your concern, honestly.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be concerned? I care about you more than you know.’

  He sounded so sincere she felt her throat catch for a moment. She did know, and she cared about him too, but not enough to become the little wifey with slippers at the door every evening ... and that was stereotyping, if you like, she thought in disgust.

  Then his mood changed, the way it always did.

  ‘So what are we doing this weekend? Are you going to show me the delights of Bristol apart from the ones I’ve already seen, that is? On the other hand, we could always go back to bed.’

  *

  They spent a couple of hours at the Zoo and mingled with the many lone
fathers and their kids on their regular weekend escape route; they went over the SS Great Britain, and admired the amazing reconstruction of Brunel’s great ship; they spent the evening at the theatre watching an obscure play that bored them stiff; and ended up at a local karaoke tavern before finally falling into bed, exhausted.

  ‘I’ll have to get back early today,’ Nick told her on Sunday morning. ‘I’ll take you out for lunch and then I’ll be off.’

  ‘Right,’ Alex said, with the vague feeling that this wasn’t the way she wanted it, or planned it. Maybe it was the thought of losing him again so soon, but she knew there was more to it than that. They had never fallen into this pattern before. She had only slept with him a couple of times before, for God’s sake, and she didn’t want him thinking this was the way it was going to be from now on. They were bloody good together, but she didn’t want to be a weekend fling whenever he felt like — OK she did.

  ‘So what’s wrong?’ he asked, looking down at her.

  ‘Nothing. Except that I don’t think we should make a habit of this Nick. I could get to like it,’ she added, softening the blow to his ego.

  ‘Would that be so bad?’

  ‘You know it would. We’re mates, and we always said we were going to keep it that way.’

  ‘Funny, but I don’t remember ever saying any such thing.’

  ‘Well, I’m saying it, and now I’m going to have a shower and get dressed and then I’m going for a walk. Are you coming?’

  She dared him to make anything of that, praying that he wouldn’t cheapen everything, and slipped out of bed before waiting for any answer. When she returned to the bedroom, he was already dressed and raring to go. She groaned, remembering how fit he was (she had plenty of evidence of that), remembering his vigorous five-mile walks and his one-time entry into the half-marathon. But he wouldn’t let her get out of a walk now.

  In the end, absolutely wilted, she was almost relieved to see him go, even though she felt as if he was taking a little part of her with him. He represented everything she knew, while Bristol was still a bit of an alien country.

  She mentally shook herself for being such a spineless idiot in even thinking that way. And anyway, he had certainly given her something else to think about. The violence of Bob Leng, for a start. She had never actually spoken to him, but his presence seemed to be felt by all who knew him — his wife, in particular. And she wasn’t looking forward to meeting the paranoid Jane Leng again.

  Alex sighed, knowing she had got herself into this, despite all Nick’s warnings. Common sense told her she should have listened to him, and one of her father’s sayings came into her head too:

  You always did let your heart rule your head, Audrey ... you rush into things before you stop to think of the consequences ...

  And that was no way for a PI to behave.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ she muttered. ‘But you never came across the Jane Lengs of this world, did you? Nor anything like the world I’m involved in now.’

  She paused in her flat tidying, remembering the gentle soul he had been at heart, despite the rigours of farming life in the Dales. He would have had no comprehension of the seedy characters she sometimes had to deal with, nor the dangers she put herself in. Nor would her mother ... and Alex was in danger of getting maudlin again, when this was the life she had chosen, and the one she relished — most of the time.

  She threw herself into cleaning the flat. Housework wasn’t her favourite occupation, so when it happened it wasn’t so much spring cleaning as an all seasons blitz rolled into one. And how the hell could anyone have got the place in such a muddle in so short a space of time? She resolved to be tidier, knowing it was unlikely to happen. It was just taking her mind off losing Nick, that was all.

  Much later the sound of the buzzer on her intercom was a welcome break in her gloom, which she was now putting down to the aftermath of being part of a couple. She answered the buzzer quickly, and didn’t recognize the bright young voice for a moment.

  ‘I saw you saying goodbye to a very dishy bloke ’safternoon. Is that really you? The private investigator who’s moved in recently, I mean?’

  ‘Yes, it is — but who —’ Alex said, half amused, half annoyed. She was tempted to say she didn’t work on Sundays. Police did. Conscientious PIs did. She couldn’t afford to be really off duty, any more than Nick was. She hoped she had sounded more professional than she felt at that moment.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ came the reply. ‘It’s me, Mavis Patterson from the shop. I live around the corner, and wondered if you wanted to drop round for a cup of tea or something? It’s only me and my old gran, but I know you haven’t been here long, and thought you might want some company. Unless your bloke’s coming back?’

  Alex relaxed, hiding a grin. Mavis obviously scented a romance here. She must have been even more intrigued to discover that her new acquaintance was a PI, which wasn’t someone you met every day of the week.

  Her immediate instinct was to say thanks but no thanks. She was pretty tired from two heady and torrid nights with Nick, and then tramping halfway around Bristol yesterday. But she changed her mind. Mavis and her old gran might be just the kind of garrulous people she needed to meet. They knew the city. They knew people.

  Nick would have called it using people. In his book, and in his business, he also considered it a perfectly legitimate thing to do. Alex preferred to call it networking.

  ‘That would be lovely, Mavis,’ she said into the intercom. ‘I’ll be right down.’ To hell with tidying the flat. That could wait.

  *

  Mavis was waiting outside her door, a garish vision in a mottled fake fur jacket, skin-tight, loudly-patterned jeans and chunky boots. The snobby part of Alex wanted to screech at being seen with someone wearing such a mix-match of fabrics and colours, but the generous part of her warmed to the fact that this girl had bothered to contact a stranger at all.

  ‘I never expected you to be one of them people,’ Mavis greeted her at once, nodding towards the elegant sign printed on the office door. ‘That was a bit of a surprise.’

  ‘It’s not immoral, Mavis,’ Alex said with a laugh.

  ‘Oh, I never thought it was,’ the girl said hastily. ‘Just that I never thought — well, you’re not exactly Jonathan Creek, are you?’

  ‘He’s fiction,’ Alex said, falling into step, ‘and anyway, he’s only half of the detection team, isn’t he? It’s Maddie who does most of the thinking.’

  ‘Is it? Oh, I suppose so.’ Mavis was clearly vague about that. Not a great thinker herself then, thought Alex. ‘So do you have to go around looking for murderers and all that creepy stuff?’

  She laughed as if she had said something terribly witty.

  ‘Oh, all of that,’ Alex said airily. ‘I’m on a case right now.’ And why the hell had she said that? Showing off, Audrey, her dad would have said.

  ‘Really?’ Mavis said, impressed. ‘What’s it all about then?’

  ‘Sorry, can’t tell you anything more. Client confidentiality, you see.’

  It was a shame to tease her, but somehow she couldn’t help it.

  ‘Oh, I do see,’ Mavis said, hanging on her every word. ‘When I told my old gran who we had living on our doorstep, she said she was dying to meet you. She loves all those old murders on the telly, and real life ones too. Keeps scrap books on ’em, she does. Creepy, I call it. But she don’t get out much.’

  Creepy was clearly a favourite word. But Alex was no longer bothered by Mavis’s quaint mannerisms. Her old gran kept scrap books, did she? Interesting. She realized she was falling into ‘old gran’ mode now, and maybe a little accent lapse would be all to the good too. This was a social call, after all, and what was called her posh voice could put some people off.

  ‘You don’t live with your parents, then, Mavis?’ she asked next.

  ‘Nah. They moved to Swindon with me dad’s job, but I didn’t fancy it, so I stayed with Gran. She could help you out with a few problems, I bet. You’ll
like her. She’s a real card.’

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ Alex said, trying to keep a straight face.

  They lived in a two up, two down little house, cosy and a bit stuffy in the winter, and probably boiling hot in summer, due to the coal fire that was kept stoked up day and night because of Gran’s chest, Mavis told her.

  Gran greeted her like an old friend.

  ‘Now come and sit yourself down, my lover, and tell me all about yourself while our Mavis puts the kettle on,’ she said, wheezing musically.

  Alex laughed, easy in her company and the friendly atmosphere that reminded her of the farm back home, donkeys’ years ago. Too many things were doing that lately, she thought uneasily.

  ‘Oh dear. That’s the sort of question that makes people clam up, Mrs —’

  ‘’Tis Gran, my lover. Everybody calls me Gran around here.’

  My lover was clearly a local expression, Alex noted. ‘Gran then. Well, I’ve just moved down to Bristol from London and —’

  ‘And you’re one of them lady detectives, I hear.’

  ‘A private investigator, yes, and —’

  ‘You’ll be interested in my newsy bits and pieces, I’ll bet. Our Mavis don’t take no notice of them any more. She’s got nothing but chasing boys in that head of hers, but I can see you’re a young woman who’s a thinker.’

  Mavis poked her head round from the kitchen and called out cheerfully, before disappearing again.

  ‘What’s to think about, working in a poky little corner shop?’

  ‘Are these newsy bits and pieces your scrap books, Mrs — Gran —? Mavis mentioned them to me,’ Alex said. She didn’t want to appear too eager, but from the way the old lady’s eyes sparkled, she realized she could be on to a winner here. She told herself cautiously not to get too excited, and that there might be nothing about the Leng case, but Gran was clearly overjoyed to have someone to share in her passion.

  While Gran was rummaging in the sideboard for the scrap books, Alex couldn’t keep silent any longer. She had to know, but she spoke casually, as if it was just a passing thought.