Call It Pretending (#3 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series)

by Frances di Plino

  “That sounds like a great idea. You still picking me up at eight?”

  “If that’s okay with you, yes.”

  “I’ll be ready,” she said, ending the call, but this time Paolo heard definite enthusiasm in her voice. He owed Katy a special desert to go with her lunch. In fact, he’d even allow her to choose a restaurant with Mc in its name.

  ***

  The pretender stood in the shadow of the railway arch closest to the river. Honeysuckle growing wild over scrubland scented the air with a sweet cloying perfume. The silence was broken only by the gurgling of water swirling over rocks on the river bed. He’d arrived early to get into place before Mr Fulbright arrived. He wanted to make sure there were no witnesses to their meeting. Not that there were likely to be many people around at two in the morning, but he couldn’t take a chance on getting caught just yet. Later, when he’d worked through his list, it wouldn’t matter, but for now he needed to stay out of the clutches of the police.

  He wondered when they would make the connection – join up all the dots that would lead them to him. He shrugged. It didn’t matter. By then he would have the satisfaction he craved and would go willingly to face whatever punishment they meted out.

  Gravel skittering from under the wheels of a car alerted him to the surgeon’s arrival seconds before car lights signalled the man had driven into the railway siding. The car’s engine seemed deafening after the earlier peace and the pretender breathed a sigh of relief when the driver switched it off. From where he stood, he could see there was only one person in the vehicle. He hadn’t truly expected anyone to come with Fulbright, but that had always been a possibility.

  He wouldn’t go to the car yet – let the man sweat a bit. While waiting for the minutes to pass, he went over his plan one more time. This time would be trickier, the timing had to be just right, but the result would be worth it if he could carry it off.

  Reaching down to pick up his laptop case, he walked silently over to the parked car and opened the passenger door. As he slid inside, the surgeon’s reaction gave him confidence. He’d been expecting someone full of bluster, but the man cowering against the driver’s door didn’t look as if he’d be able to put up as much of a fight as the pretender had feared.

  “God, you gave me a fright. Where did you spring from?”

  The pretender ignored the question. “Good morning, Mr Fulbright,” he said, setting the laptop case at his feet. “I’m so glad you decided to come after all.”

  The surgeon looked away. “You didn’t leave me much choice. Have you brought the proof?”

  “Ah, I see, no pleasantries, just straight down to business.”

  “Business?” The man had been staring ahead into the dark, but his head whipped round as he said the word. “So this is blackmail, after all. I should have known. I’ll go to the police, you know. I have no intention of giving you a brass farthing, so you might just as well get out of my car right now.”

  The pretender laughed. “Relax. I told you on the phone my only role in this is on behalf of my sister, who’s trying to save her marriage. She wants your wife to stop her affair with Scott. She’s tried to get her husband to end things with your wife and failed. Apparently your wife and Scott are besotted with each other. My sister is scared he intends to leave her and the children.” He paused. In the dim light he could just about make out an expression of anguish on the surgeon’s face. Good! Let him suffer. “My part is to give you the flash drive with the photos of the two of them together. My sister believes you can use the images to better effect than she could. She’s convinced your young wife won’t want to give up the privileged lifestyle you provide.”

  “My wife’s age has nothing to do with this, so you can stop stressing the word young.”

  “No? Have it your own way, but I wonder what she would answer if asked what first attracted her to the extremely wealthy surgeon nearly thirty years her senior.”

  “We have a great deal in common and we’re very happy together. Not that it’s any of your damned business. Give me the flash drive. I’ll put a stop to the affair. If there even is an affair. My wife hasn’t given me any reason to doubt her.”

  “So why are you here at this ridiculous hour of the morning? If you don’t believe she’s screwing around with my brother-in-law, why come out to meet me?”

  The surgeon fell silent, but the pretender hadn’t expected an answer. Mr Fulbright had fallen for his lies, whatever he might say to the contrary. The pretender wished he could let someone in on how clever he’d been. Not only did he not even have a sister, but, as far as he knew, the young woman married to the surgeon was as faithful as her loving husband had protested she was. Planting the seed of doubt had been ridiculously easy. Fulbright was a much older wealthy man married to a beautiful woman; of course he would fear a younger rival.

  A strangled sound snapped him out of his reverie. He glanced over and was astounded to see the man was sobbing. Remorse briefly rose and was ruthlessly quashed. So what if the man was suffering with a broken heart? What about the pain Mr Fulbright had put him through all those years ago?

  He waited. Eventually the surgeon managed to stem the flow of his tears and blew his nose with a sound that vibrated around the inside of the car.

  “Here’s the proof,” the pretender said, holding out the flash drive.

  “And the printed images you mentioned? I want to be able to confront my wife with photos, not wave a flash drive around.”

  “I have them right here.”

  This was where it got tricky. It would be easier if he was in the driving seat and the surgeon the passenger, or if he was left handed instead of right. But he’d gone over this scenario in his mind time and time again. He could do it.

  He reached down and picked up the laptop case, sliding it onto his knees. Unzipping it, he reached inside. He’d positioned the syringe in one of the pockets, so that it was easy to locate, but his shaking hands made it difficult to grasp. Calm down! You can do this. Taking care to avoid the needle tip, he eased the syringe from its compartment. Now! Do it now!

  Before he could lose his nerve completely, he pulled the syringe from the laptop case and stabbed it into the surgeon’s leg, depressing the plunger as he did so.

  “What the…”

  The surgeon grabbed his hand, pulling the syringe out, but the pretender had already injected the full dose. He reached across and snatched the car’s keys, dropping them into the laptop case.

  “I don’t want you to die believing your wife was having an affair,” he said. “I made it all up to get you here. As far as I know, she might have married you for love, but console yourself with the thought that she’ll make a beautiful widow.”

  “What…wha…inject…wha…wassit?”

  The pretender opened the passenger door. “I’m not going to tell you; you might know a way of neutralising the effect.”

  He climbed out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side and opened the door. Searching through each of the surgeon’s pockets, he located the man’s mobile phone and removed it. He turned towards the river and threw it in an arc. Smiling with satisfaction as it landed in the water with a resounding splash. He put the laptop case on the ground and opened it, taking out the surgeon’s car keys. These followed the mobile phone into the river. There was now no way for the surgeon to reach help before morning came.

  He leaned back into the car and picked up the flash drive Fulbright had dropped.

  “I’m going to leave you now. I expect you’ll be dead by the time it gets light. I hope so; I don’t want you to suffer for too long. Not like the pain you put me through. You should thank your stars I have a kinder heart than you.”

  Mr Fulbright’s eyes widened in shock as his body began to spasm.

  “Plisss,” he whispered. “I…I…wha…”

  The pretender reached into his pocket and removed a white envelope, which he placed on the dashboard behind the steering wheel.

  “That’s f
or the police,” he said.

  He looked at the man now slumped unconscious in the driver’s seat. Is this really what he wanted? Yes! Now wasn’t the time for pity. The bastard hadn’t shown him any. By his actions all those years ago, the surgeon was simply reaping what he’d sown. There was no point getting soft and wishing things could be different. He had to remember he wasn’t doing this just for himself. He’d made a vow and had no choice but to keep it.

  “Goodbye,” he said, shutting the door and turning towards the road.

  Another one down, four still to go. Maybe the next one would be easier, but somehow he doubted it. He’d thought exacting justice would make him feel good, but it hadn’t so far. He shrugged. Too bad. He’d just have to accept the guilt as a price worth paying and see this journey through to the end.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Paolo opened his eyes and stretched. Peering at the bedside clock, he was astounded to see it was well after nine. This was amazing. He never slept in so late, not even on a Saturday. He got up and padded through to the bathroom, pausing briefly to grin at himself in the mirror. God, he felt good this morning.

  Coming out of the bathroom, he stopped: should he go back to bed, or make some coffee? He settled for the wake-up brew. He wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again now, and nor did he want to. What he wanted to do, and had every intention of doing, was think about how much fun last night had been.

  Jessica had been every bit as bad as him when it came to bowling – each of them achieving only one strike and in both cases more by luck than judgement – but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much. One particularly memorable throw by him had so much spin on it, the ball came back towards him, instead of travelling towards the pins.

  Dinner afterwards had been the perfect end to a magical evening. They’d drifted through the town and ended up at the Italian restaurant where they’d first got to know each other. By unspoken agreement, it seemed the right place to eat. The only blight on the evening had come at the end. When he’d dropped her at home, instead of moving towards her as he’d wanted, he’d found himself shaking her hand and saying thanks for a great evening.

  He cringed at the memory as he depressed the plunger on the cafetière. Inhaling the aroma of fresh coffee, he consoled himself with the thought that she’d agreed to see him again.

  Flopping down on the sofa, coffee and newspaper at hand, he made himself comfortable. Saturday mornings were to be savoured and he had every intention of…

  His thoughts were interrupted by the tune playing on his phone. Damn it, that was Dave’s ringtone. Sighing, he picked up the phone.

  “Dave, please don’t give me bad news. I’m in far too good a mood to hear it.”

  “Sorry, sir, but it looks as though our insulin killer has struck again. We’ve had a call from an early morning angler. Dead body in an expensive car down by the railway arches.”

  Paolo glanced at the cafetière. A burning mouthful while he threw some clothes on would be the only enjoyment he’d get from that.

  “I’ll see you there in about twenty minutes, Dave, but I may never forgive you for calling me.”

  As Paolo showed his card to the constable keeping the press and public away from the crime scene, he spotted Barbara standing next to Dave outside the tent erected to make sure prying eyes didn’t get to see or photograph anything they needed to keep hidden.

  He walked over and joined his detective sergeant and was just in time to hear Barbara ripping up.

  “Oh, great, here comes your boss. I have no doubt he will also be asking impossible questions and demanding answers before I’ve had chance to do my job properly.”

  She stalked back into the tent, leaving Paolo wondering what on earth Dave had said to cause that sort of response, but he was none the wiser when Dave answered his questions.

  “Sir, I swear to you, I have no idea what I did or said wrong. All I asked was did she think there was a connection to the professor’s murder last week.”

  Paolo glanced towards the tent. “Yes, I heard her reply. She wasn’t happy with you, that’s for sure.”

  “Believe me, sir, what you heard was nothing. You should have got here five minutes earlier. According to Dr Royston I have less intelligence than a flea and far less value to the community.”

  Paolo frowned. That wasn’t like Barbara. She might get ratty, and frequently did, but she never levelled personal insults at anyone.

  “That’s out of order,” he said. “You want me to take it up with her?”

  Dave shook his head. “Nah, she most probably had a relaxing day lined up and this ruined it for her.”

  “Even so…”

  “It’s fine, sir. Let it go. I didn’t take it to heart.”

  Paolo nodded. “Okay. Right, what do we know so far?”

  Dave flipped open his notebook. “Deceased is Edwin Fulbright, surgeon at Bradchester Central. Married, fairly recently judging by the wedding photo in his wallet.”

  “Has his wife been notified?”

  “Yes, sir. Uniform have already called on her and a family liaison officer is still at the house with the widow.”

  “Good. What else?”

  Dave referred to his notes. “Fingerprints all over the car. We’ll run a check against those in Professor Edwards’s home, but I’m already fairly certain there will be some matching prints because of this,” he said, putting the notebook in his pocket and pulling out a plastic evidence bag. “Another envelope with a card inside. Printed using the same font as the other one. This time it says two down, four to go.”

  “Before she bit your head off, did Barbara give you an estimated time of death?”

  “She felt it would have been the early hours of this morning. Certainly at some point during the night, anyway. It was trying to pin her down on a more exact time that precipitated the outburst you caught the tail end of.”

  Paolo laughed. “I think I’d better brave the lion’s den and see what I can find out. In the meantime, who found the body?”

  Dave pointed to a man sitting on a fisherman’s folding seat. “He’s a Mr Graham Jensen. He says he arrived at about nine, expecting to have the place to himself because most fishermen go further upriver. When he spotted the car, he wondered if someone was going to disturb his spot, so went over to find out where the driver intended to pitch. He saw the body, tried the handle and found the car unlocked. He intended to try some form of resuscitation, as he’s a first aider, but as soon as he touched the body he realised the man had been dead a while. So he called us.”

  “And he didn’t see anyone coming or going?” Paolo asked.

  “According to the PC who questioned him, Mr Jensen had neither sight nor sound of another person, sir. I was just about to go over and question him myself when you arrived.”

  “You mean, you were going to do that once Barbara Royston had finished wiping the floor with you,” Paolo said. “Friday night murders ruin weekends. Maybe that’s why Barbara is so uptight.” He took a step towards the tent, stopped and turned back to Dave with a grin. “If I’m not out in ten minutes, send in the medics to pick up the pieces.”

  He opened the tent flap and looked around. Barbara Royston was kneeling next to the car. Had she lost even more weight since Wednesday? Surely not. It must be the coverall, Paolo decided. He went to stand next to the driver’s door and coughed.

  “Don’t bite my head off,” he said when Barbara looked up.

  She smiled. “I’ll try not to, but if you ask me idiotic questions like your detective sergeant, I can make no promises.”

  He crouched down next to her. “Okay, how about if I don’t ask anything and you just tell me what you’ve discovered so far?”

  “Are you humouring me?”

  Paolo laughed. “Which is more likely to get me in trouble, saying yes or saying no?”

  “Both,” Barbara said, standing up.

  As she did so she seemed to lose her balance. Paolo stood quickly, catching her arm
as she fell.

  “What’s wrong, Barbara? Are you not well?”

  She shook off his hand. “I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all. I had a late night and was hoping for a lie in this morning, but got called out on this instead.”

  “Are you sure. You don’t look well to me. I…”

  “For God’s sake, Paolo, will you give it a rest! I am fine. Do you want to talk about our victim or not?”

  Startled by the venom in her tone, Paolo took a step back. “Of course. Sorry. What can you tell me?”

  Paolo watched as Barbara made an effort to control her emotions, wanting to reach out to her, but knowing it would be the worst thing he could do.

  “Time of death,” she said after a few moments, “I would put at somewhere between midnight and three am. We are looking at the same killer without a doubt. I’m sure Dave has already filled you in on the envelope containing the note. Cause of death is almost certainly insulin overdose, but I need a tox screen to confirm that. At the moment, that’s all I have for you.”

  She turned back to the car and knelt down again. Paolo crouched next to her.

  “Barbara, you can push me away as often as you like and as hard as you like, but I’ll keep coming back and I’ll keep asking what’s wrong because I care about you and can’t bear to see you like this. If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, that’s fine, but please, please, for the sake of our friendship, don’t try to convince me there’s nothing wrong.”

  He waited until she gave a slight nod and then squeezed her arm.

  “You’ve got my number. Call me. Anytime, day or night. Okay?”

  She nodded again and he stood up.

  “I nearly forgot. When will you be able to do the autopsy?”

  “Tuesday, but not until late. It will probably be last on my schedule. Will you be there?”

  Paolo shrugged. “If I can, but it depends on what else is going on with this case. So far we’re nowhere near knowing who or why.”