by Joy Ellis
Greg looked at the paper and whistled. ‘Christ! Are you sure about these names?’
‘My source is reliable, sir.’ Greg suddenly looked aghast. ‘What’s wrong, sir?’
He did not reply at first, and then he said, ‘I’ve seen a name I recognise. This young lady has been going out with my nephew for the past two years.’
Nikki bit her lip. ‘Ouch. This really is a can of worms, isn’t it?’
‘Your source? I assume she’s one of these women.’
‘One I know well.’ She looked into his eyes. ‘Sir, she must remain anonymous. She said there was a good chance she could be ‘anonymously’ blacklisted for her new job if it became known that she was ratting on the group. Some of the women are very influential.’
‘And she would be no use to you either.’
‘Exactly. My problem is that I know fifty percent of those women in one way or another, so I’m not sure if I should be continuing with this case.’
‘You are not closely related or intimately involved with any of them, are you?’ Greg gave a sly smile.
‘Apart from a distant cousin, no, sir.’ She grinned back. ‘As well you know, but even so—’
‘Then do you not think that your involvement could actually be an advantage?’
‘I’m not sure what I feel at present, sir. I just don’t want to compromise the investigation in any way.’
‘Forget it, Nikki. It’s complicated, but there’s no conflict of interest here.’ He tapped the sheet of paper with his finger. ‘I think every senior officer in this station knows a good percentage of these women, including me. I’m still trying to get my head around one or two of these names! You are sure they are all lesbian women?’
‘So I’m told.’ Nikki smiled. ‘But I’m glad I can continue with the case. I’d like to suggest that we keep this close to our chests for the time being, sir. Madeline Prospero spent her whole life keeping her sexuality a secret. We don’t need to proclaim it from the rooftops just yet, do we?’
Gregg nodded slowly. ‘Agreed. Knowledge is power, Nikki. Use it wisely.’
Nikki stood up. ‘From tomorrow I’ll be back up to full complement when DC Ben Radley arrives. We should be able to juggle Prospero with the St Augustine’s graveyard investigation without putting any more pressure on DI Gill Mercer.’
‘Good. One is a very old murder, so just prioritise, won’t you?’
Nikki stood at the door and looked back. ‘Old, but interesting.’
Greg drew his beetle brows together. ‘I know that look, Nikki Galena. You sense something about that body, don’t you?’
‘From the moment Father Aidan phoned it in, sir.’
‘Mmm. Well, Prospero comes first but keep me informed about your long-deceased friend, won’t you?’
‘Naturally, sir.’ Nikki gave a little bow, and backed out of the room.
* * *
Nikki decided to hold the morning meeting in her office instead of the main CID room, not wanting to share her recent information with the entire Greenborough force. For a day or two at least, Spooky’s info would stay with her team alone.
When the door was closed, she told them what she knew about the Briar Patch Club. ‘Just hang onto the word sensitive, okay?’
Joseph skimmed the list of names. ‘I’ll say! This is quite some revelation, isn’t it?’
‘There are women here from well-known families, and some have husbands with high-powered jobs. One husband in particular is a church leader who takes a very hard-line stance against same-sex marriage.’ Nikki looked at her team. ‘Not only could this be messy, it could also tear lives to shreds. All we are interested in is finding and bringing to justice the killer of Madeline Prospero. I have no wish to destroy homes and relationships in the process. Are we clear?’
Everyone nodded.
‘Good. So if you find yourself interviewing any of these women or their families, exercise extreme caution. We have absolutely no proof to support what I have told you, so kid gloves, please.’ Nikki leant back in her seat. ‘Now, moving on to our mystery man. We are going to run the two investigations in tandem, okay? So, notebooks out. I’m going to fill you in on what forensics have discovered, then we’ll get to work.’ She looked around. ‘Anyone want to take the lead with the old case?’
Cat raised her hand. ‘If no one objects, I’d like to, ma’am.’
Nikki smiled. ‘I thought you’d had enough of that creepy churchyard! Fine. The mystery man is all yours. Everyone okay with that?’
They all agreed, and Yvonne threw Cat a relieved smile. ‘You’re welcome to him!’
Nikki grinned. ‘So that’s sorted. Now, this is what we have so far . . .’
* * *
Cat flopped down behind her desk and pulled a large brown envelope towards her. Inside were some forensic pictures and notes relating to the gold ring taken from the body found in the churchyard.
Years of wear had worn the engraving on the inside of the band to little more than fine scratches — when viewed with the naked eye. But the pictures had been enhanced and magnified so that she could see a clear hallmark and the letter “H.” The initial could well mean nothing. As Rory had noted, it was an old ring and may have been purchased second-hand, or been passed down over generations, but it was a starting point.
She stood up and pulled on her jacket.
‘Leaving us already?’ Dave grinned at her across his desk.
Cat handed him the photos. ‘I’m going to see what I can find out about this mark. I’ll go down to Solly’s place. This picture is pretty clear, so I’m sure he’ll have no trouble telling me its history.’
‘It looks expensive, doesn’t it?’ Dave squinted at the photograph. ‘Family heirloom, maybe?’
‘Possibly, or he could be from a family that were well off and then fell on hard times. Who knows?’ Cat shrugged. ‘The forensic report said he had arthritis and degenerative changes to his hands and feet, so he was probably a manual labourer or a field worker of some kind.’
‘Hands-on farmer?’ said Dave. ‘Some people set great store by jewellery, gold in particular. Look at some of the villains we know, bloody great knuckleduster rings with gold sovereigns in them. I guess there could be a dozen reasons why he owned it. Anyway, go and see what Solly says. I’ll be interested to know.’
In ten minutes, Cat was making her way down the cobbled street known as Trawlers Alley. Solly’s jewellery and pawnshop was a dark, low-beamed cavern, full of treasure.
Solly examined the photographs. ‘Do you have the original article?’
‘Sorry, Solly, it’s just these, I’m afraid.’
‘No matter, no matter. The hallmarks are nice and clear. Did you know, young lady, these marks have been used since the thirteen hundreds, and now the EU wants to do away with them! At one time you were sentenced to death for counterfeiting the Hallmark. Now they’re going to abolish it! What are they thinking of?’ He gave a disgusted snort. ‘At least Brexit should put paid to that idea.’
The old man led the way through to a tiny back office, filled with dog-eared books, jewellers’ tools and magnifying glasses. He took the print-outs over to an elderly, battered desk and angled a lamp onto them. ‘That’s better, the old eyes are not as sharp as they were. Well, it seems to be a lovely ring. It’s Sheffield gold, look, the Tudor rose. There’s a crown and, let’s see, yes, it’s eighteen carat gold — see the tiny number eighteen? Old? Yes, it has six punch marks. I’d need to check with my copy of Bradbury’s, but I’d say this was around 1870. Certainly before 1890, because it has a duty mark over the then reigning sovereign’s head.’
‘Brilliant, Solly! I won’t need more than that I’m sure, but what can you tell me about the initial?’
‘The “H” was engraved within the last fifty years, and not particularly well done. I’d think it was a gift, an old family ring, perhaps engraved as a present for the eldest son, something like that.’
‘You’ve been a diamond, Solly, as us
ual. Thanks for your help.’
‘Ah, diamonds! Now you are talking!’
Cat said goodbye. The old jeweller had been very informative, but how would it help her? It looked as if the ring had most likely been inscribed for the dead man. They would be looking for a missing “H.”
Back in the office, Cat began to search the misper list for the years 1987-88.
‘Want a hand?’ Dave asked. ‘I’ve got some spare time until the boss sorts out some jobs for me.’
‘You’re a life saver, Davey-boy! Would you mind browsing the local newspaper archives for the period we’re interested in? We’re looking for a fortyish, fair-haired male with the initial “H.”’
‘Sure, no problem, although I can’t see his disappearance making the headlines.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, but there must have been something odd going on in his life, if he was murdered in that way.’ Cat sat back and looked up at Dave. ‘You know, I wonder if the mysterious “H” is the cause of poor Father Aidan’s bad luck. That church does seem to have a curse hanging over it, doesn’t it? Perhaps it’s the ghost of “H,” searching for his killer.’
‘You’ve been watching the Horror Channel again, haven’t you?’
Cat looked up at Dave, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. ‘No, really, you do hear of strange things happening when a soul is not at rest. It would be wonderful if the curse on St Augustine’s were lifted when the killer is caught.’
Dave sighed and shook his head. ‘Too many horror films. Try watching the Sound of Music for a change.’
Cat grimaced. ‘Nuns, Nazis and nasty children. Just my cup of tea! Don’t knock my theory, old fella! If we nailed the killer, that poor Father Aidan might have a Sunday service packed to the gunnels.’
‘Somehow I can’t see Father Aidan pulling in the multitudes, can you?’ Dave grinned.
‘Heretic!’
‘Just a realist,’ said Dave. ‘Now I’ll go and see what I can find, before you throw something at me.’
The office was a maelstrom, filled with the cacophony of ringing phones, shouted telephone conversations, swear words, and banter. Cat needed to concentrate, which was hard because, contrary to what she’d said to Nikki, she was waiting for Ben to arrive like a doe-eyed teenager. She could hardly believe that they would actually be working together. She’d had some pretty bad luck over the last few years, but this felt just right. She and Ben would gel, and together they would make a damned good pair of crime-fighters.
With an effort she gathered her thoughts, and turned back to her computer. There were fewer missing local men with the initial “H” than she’d expected, but she still sighed at the thought of having to check each one.
Cat stared at the names, grabbed a pen and a memo pad and scribbled. Badly broken right wrist. Gold ring. Sandy hair. She picked up the phone. ‘Could I speak to Ms Leila Hayes, please? Hello, Ms Hayes, it’s Detective Constable Cat Cullen here from Greenborough CID. Now we don’t want to cause you any distress, but we wondered if . . .’
CHAPTER FOUR
Nikki could not get the name Zena Paris out of her head. By eleven that morning she gave in and picked up her car keys. She would pay the woman a visit.
Nikki backed into a less than generous space in a side road off the High Street. She had passed the upmarket antique shop hundreds of times — always passed it because it looked so damned expensive.
She pushed open the heavy front door and entered a showroom redolent of old-fashioned wax polish and potpourri. To one side of the shop, an elegant couple were examining an enormous, ornately carved mirror. Nikki thought it hideous and wondered where these two lived. A warehouse? An aircraft hangar? She picked up a small china figurine and swallowed hard when she saw the price tag. She placed it very gently back on the rosewood cabinet.
‘Were you looking for anything in particular, madam, or are you happy just browsing?’
‘Oh, I’m fine, thank you.’ She beamed at the beautiful young man who had materialised beside her as soon as her hand touched porcelain. He wore a cream jumper, and had impossibly slim hips and the eyes of a Jersey cow. ‘Such lovely things! It must be a real pleasure to work here!’ Even she hardly recognised her own accent. She hoped he would not notice her outfit. It didn’t quite match the upper class vowels, being rather more M&S than D&G.
His reply lacked conviction. ‘Ah, yes, as you say, a real pleasure.’
Why the veiled sarcasm, Nikki wondered.
‘Mark! When you are free. Mrs Curtis-Webb requires assistance to her car.’ The young man jumped, and all but saluted. At least that was solved. The voice was deep and distinctly intimidating. She moved around a mahogany tallboy and surveyed the woman fussing over the overdressed and overweight Mrs Curtis-Webb.
Although the shop had been in operation for over five years, Nikki had never met its owner. But Nikki knew she was looking at Zena Paris. Her tight iron-grey curls were cut short. She wore very little make-up, tailored navy slacks, a three-quarter length jacket and a pale blue shirt with a Wedgwood cameo brooch at the neck. Her accent was pure girls’ boarding school, and Nikki thought she looked as hard as nails. It made her wonder about the alleged friendship with Madeline Prospero, who had apparently been quiet and unassuming.
‘Not like that, Mark! For heaven’s sake! Bubble-wrap the legs first! It’s managed to survive since the early nineteenth century without damage. It would be nice if it could remain intact at least until Mrs Curtis-Webb gets it home.’
Nikki slipped unnoticed from the shop. It didn’t seem like a good time for introductions. She was pretty certain that Zena Paris had not even seen her, which would prove advantageous should she need to interview her officially.
Back at her car and about to drive off, she suddenly remembered that another very surprising name on Spooky’s list worked close to where she was parked. This time it was someone she was on good terms with. She would not have to creep into this shop wearing a false moustache and dark glasses.
* * *
‘Nikki! Haven’t seen you for ages! Come on in. Time for coffee and a Danish?’
‘I always have time for a Danish, Denise. How are you?’
‘Great, actually.’ The plump, smiling woman wiped her hands on a tea towel and called out for one of her waitresses to bring two cappuccinos. She flopped down into a chair opposite Nikki and grinned at her. ‘I’ve just heard that I’ve finally been granted planning permission to extend the coffee shop. I’ll be able to do proper lunches and maybe dinner as well.’
‘That’s fantastic, Den. I bet Rosemary is thrilled.’
Denise smiled warmly. ‘Too right! She’s fought for almost two years to get this through. I’d have given up ages ago, but you know what a terrier she is. No way was she going to back down. Building work can go ahead before the end of the month.’
‘What exactly are you going to do?’
‘I’ll show you the plans if you like? Hey, no . . . why don’t you and Joseph come round for supper one evening? I’ll give you the full guided tour. I’ll make sure Rosemary is free, too. We can catch up on all the gossip.’
‘Love to. I’ll need to check with Joseph though. His daughter got married a couple of weeks ago and he’s helping them get their tumbledown cottage liveable.’ She laughed. ‘But I’ll certainly come. I’ll ring you and we’ll make a date.’ Nikki disliked cosy, girly evenings but she was interested in local gossip. Cousin Denise’s coffee shop was a fount of local knowledge.
Denise beamed at her. ‘Smashing! I’ll look forward to that.’
The coffees arrived and Denise told Nikki the story of their long battle, and Rosemary Allsop’s tenacity in fighting for the cafe’s right to extend. ‘I think even she thought we’d had it when the surveyor turned up that old well in the backyard. Half the Greenborough History Society was up in arms about it. They wanted it preserved for posterity! Bloody dangerous thing! Sooner it’s filled in the better, I reckon. It’s only a hole in the ground for heaven’s sake!
Anyway, Rosemary won in the end. As long as the work is done officially, we can go ahead.’
‘I suppose you can’t just tip a load of hard core down and build on top of it, can you?’
‘Some would, I’ve no doubt, but we’ll do it properly, although I’m dreading getting the estimate.’
They talked on. Nikki was careful not to mention the Briar Patch or the deceased Ms Prospero. She wanted the name Nikki Galena to remain above suspicion as far as the club was concerned. She finished her coffee and glanced at her watch. ‘Look, Den, I really have to go. Give my regards to Rosemary and I’ll talk to Joseph and ring you at the weekend.’ Nikki reached into her bag and found her purse.
‘You can just put that away, Detective! Building work or not, I can still afford to give my cousin a cup of coffee.’ One didn’t argue with the sixteen stone Denise Fowler, so Nikki thanked her and left.
Still smiling, Nikki went back to her car. She liked Denise. They were not first cousins, but they behaved like they were. Denise was a kind of second cousin once removed. They were of a similar age and had been great friends as children. From their early teens, Nikki had been aware that Denise was “different,” although her cousin never admitted it. She still didn’t. Her “friend” Rosemary was always just that, a close friend. Which was fine by Nikki. It was their business.
Nikki kicked a battered Coke can into the gutter and tried to imagine how she would act if she were in that position. She had a no-nonsense, forthright attitude to most things, but she kept her emotions to herself. In that regard she was a very private person. She wasn’t a “joiner,” and wouldn’t be heading up a Gay Pride rally or waving a rainbow flag. A lot had happened in her personal life, most of it traumatic, but she really wasn’t sure how she would have dealt with an issue of sexuality.