“You don’t have any connection to the press do you? A secret bank account for them to pay into?” someone shouted from the back of the room, to hoots of laughter.
Paolo was about to issue a rebuke, but Andrea laughed.
“If I do, I promise to share my ill-gotten gains with you all. Deal?”
“Deal,” the heckler said.
“Right, Andrea, that’s the welcome out of the way. Your desk is over there,” Paolo said, pointing to the empty space next to CC. “Come on, team. Let’s get down to work.”
“CC, you start.”
She waited until Andrea had dumped her bag and got herself settled.
“As far as I can see there is no social or professional connection between our two victims. Professor Edwards was universally unpopular; Mr Fulbright had an active social life. They were never involved in patient cases together; at least, I haven’t been able to uncover any. They are, or were, in different age brackets. Professor Edwards was retired, Mr Fulbright was practicing and probably still had many years ahead of him. Professor Edwards was single and had never married. Mr Fulbright was on wife number three. Married only a short time ago to a much younger woman who used to be his secretary. The two men lived in different parts of town. The professor in a penthouse right here in the centre and Mr Fulbright has, or rather had, a mansion out in the country.”
“Thank you, CC. So, do we think our killer might be targeting professional people? Is that the connection? Is he looking for educated men?”
“I don’t think so, sir,” Dave said. “The notes he leaves behind are very precise. He’s got six victims in his sights. He’s dealt with two of them, leaving four more. That sounds more like he has actual people in mind, rather than what they do.”
Paolo nodded. “I tend to agree with you, Dave, but let’s not rule the professional connection out just yet – especially as we don’t have anything else to go on.”
He picked up a piece of paper from the desk next to him.
“Andrea, this will be your first job. There are three men who trained under Professor Edwards that we haven’t been able to track down and eliminate from our list of possible suspects. Michael Sergeant, Conrad Stormont and Patrick Kirkbride all need to be found and interviewed. It could be that one of them also knew and/or had reason to dislike Mr Fulbright.”
He passed the paper to Andrea and turned to CC. “Would you show Andrea where everything is and help her to get settled in?”
CC nodded. “Of course.”
“Dave, you and I will take a drive into the countryside to interview Mr Fulbright’s widow. Let’s see if she knows of any link between her late husband and the professor.”
Paolo ran his argument with Katy through his mind once again as Dave drove out to the Fulbright property. Would she ever forgive him if he delved into her young man’s background? Probably not. Maybe it was just as well; finding out who he was would be an almost impossible task without a bit more information. After all, he could hardly turn up at Social Services and ask about a boy called Danny whose surname he didn’t know, whose age he didn’t know and whose length of time in care he didn’t know.
“You’re quiet, sir,” Dave said.
Paolo shrugged. “I had a strange weekend,” he said. “A bit like the curate’s egg. Good in parts and bad in others. What about you? How was your weekend, apart from Saturday being messed up?”
“Good.”
Paolo watched the smile spread across Dave’s face. The weekend had clearly been better than good. It was great to see him looking so happy.
“We’re here, sir,” Dave said, turning off the road onto a short drive leading to a redbrick Georgian house. “Nice place,” he said, pulling up outside and turning off the engine.
Paolo climbed out and looked around. Yes, it was nice, but miles from anywhere. He wouldn’t like to be so isolated, but knew it suited some people to put distance between themselves and their closest neighbours.
The woman who opened the door when they rang the old-fashioned brass bell didn’t look as if she belonged in the country. Immaculately made up and dressed in a designer outfit that probably cost the equivalent of a few months’ police salary, she would have been at home on the cover of a fashion magazine.
“Please, come in,” she said in a voice trying hard to be cultured, but failing to achieve it. Paolo could hear undertones of a London accent. Not quite cockney, but nudging in that direction.
They followed her through a large panelled hallway, past the central staircase, to a door half hidden behind a full-sized statue of a classical god. Paolo had no idea whether it was Greek or Roman, but wouldn’t have given it house room. It looked a bit too much like it was about to throw a thunderbolt for his taste. Again, he was struck by how out of place Mrs Fulbright looked in her own home.
“Take a seat,” she said, sitting on a fragile ornately carved chair.
Paolo glanced around. The place was full of antiques and gilt furniture that would have graced any French country home, but didn’t fit as well in the English countryside.
Mrs Fulbright looked even younger than he’d expected. He knew she was in her mid-thirties, but could have passed for late twenties at the most.
“I’m sorry to have to ask questions at this difficult time,” he said, “but we need to establish whether your husband knew Professor Edwards.”
“The man who was murdered last week? Are you saying Edwin was killed by the same person?”
“We’re keeping an open mind. Do you know if Mr Fulbright had any dealings with Professor Edwards? Were they, perhaps, on the same charity committees?”
She shook her head. “No, I’d have known if that was the case. I used to be Edwin’s secretary, so I knew all his social and professional contacts. He definitely didn’t know Professor Edwards in either capacity.”
Paolo glanced across at Dave, waiting for him to finish writing before moving on with his questions.
“Did you notice anything significant in the days before your husband was murdered? Did he say or do anything out of the ordinary?”
She nodded as tears formed in her eyes and she brushed them away.
“He got several phone calls and acted funny with me afterwards, but when I asked him he wouldn’t tell me what they were about. He said they were nothing to do with me, but I am pretty sure they were.”
“What makes you say that?” Paolo asked.
“Because of the way he was with me when he’d received one of those calls. He wanted to know where I’d been and who I’d been with. It was almost as if he thought I was having an affair.”
“I’m sorry,” Paolo said, “but I have to ask. Were you?”
“No! I loved my husband. I know everyone thinks I married him for his money, but I didn’t! I married him because he was a lovely man who made me happy.”
She shuddered. “I don’t know how I’m going to manage without him. His kids from his first marriage hate me and his two ex-wives have already told me they’re going to contest his will and he hasn’t even been buried yet!”
She sobbed and Paolo found it easy to believe she had genuinely loved her husband. He waited until she’d got her emotions under control again.
“When did the phone calls occur? Can you remember?”
She nodded. “They started about a week ago.”
“Were they made to the house phone, or his mobile?”
“Here, as far as I know. He might have had some on his mobile, but I only knew about the ones here. He’d answer the phone, go all quiet and walk out. When he came back in the room afterwards he was different – a bit distant.”
Back in the car, Paolo ran a mental checklist of things they needed to look into.
“Those phone calls could be significant,” he said. “We’ll need to get a printout of his home and mobile phone records. We should also look into his family background. It sounds as if there is some bad blood with his ex-wife and children from his first marriage. No children from the second marriage,
but the ex-wife could be vengeful enough and seems to have joined forces with the first ex. Maybe one of Mr Fulbright’s family members knew the professor. There has to be a link between them somewhere. We just need to find it.”
He broke off as his mobile rang.
“Storey.”
“Paolo, it’s me. What have you been able to find out?”
For a moment Paolo couldn’t think why Lydia was calling, but he dragged his mind back from the case and onto his own family issues.
“Nothing yet,” he said.
“Nothing? Paolo, have you even tried?”
“Lydia, I don’t even know his last name. All I know is that he’s in care and called Danny. I can’t start asking questions about all the kids in care called Danny!”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try talking to Katy again. I handled it badly. She might open up if I take it easy on her.”
“Yeah, well, good luck with that! She didn’t even say goodbye to me when she stormed out this morning. I asked her where she was going and when she’d be back and she said she didn’t know. This isn’t like her, Paolo. It must be that boy’s influence.”
“Look, I’ll talk to Katy. I promise.”
He heard Lydia sigh before she said goodbye and ended the call.
“Problem, sir?”
“You could say that,” Paolo said and filled Dave in on his weekend chat with Katy.
“It’s none of my business, I know,” Dave said, “but your Katy is pretty switched on. I think in your place I’d…”
Paolo looked across at Dave as he drove back into town. “Go on; finish what you were going to say.”
“I think in your place I’d trust her judgement. She’s brighter than most and is about the most balanced teenager I’ve ever known.”
Paolo smiled. Dave had a point. Maybe he should ease back and give Katy a bit of room. He sighed. Who was he kidding? He’d give her room, but keep a watchful eye on her all the same. She was too precious to take any chances with her safety or happiness.
***
Jon trudged home after the worst day he’d ever spent at work. None of the other porters would speak to him, leaving him in a silent bubble for hours at a time. When he went in to speak to Mr Montague about it, he was told that he shouldn’t have lodged a complaint with Iain if there was no foundation to it. He’d tried to protest his innocence, but Mr Montague had rounded on him for accusing Iain of underhand behaviour.
“Why would he do such a thing?” the manager had demanded.
Jon couldn’t give a reason because he didn’t know himself why Iain hated him. He’d racked his brains, but couldn’t connect Iain with anything or anyone in his past.
The manager had called Iain in and that had been the worst part of all. Iain had put on an outraged act at being accused of making up Jon’s complaint. He’d offered to resign if Mr Montague doubted his sincerity and the manager had fallen for it. Jon had received a written warning and Iain had walked out with a shining halo.
He pushed open the metal gate and walked up to his front door. As he was rummaging for his key, the door opened and Gordon came out.
“Oh, hello, shame you’ve arrived too late for the action. We’ve been watching some hot babes,” Gordon said with a wink that turned Jon’s stomach. “If you’d got here a bit sooner you could have sat with us. Still, I expect you’ll watch some of the stuff later. Andy’s downloaded quite a lot.”
“Has he?” Jon said, pushing past Gordon to get inside. “I hope to God it’s all legal. Bye, Gordon. Sorry, gotta rush. Lots to do.”
Gordon laughed. “When you’ve watched some of Andy’s stuff you’ll definitely have lots to do.”
Jon shut the door feeling sick. Gordon always had that air of sleaze, but knowing he’d been sitting on his couch getting horny made Jon want to puke right there in the hall. He reached down and picked up the mail that Gordon had walked over. It wouldn’t hurt Andy to come out and put it on the hall table out of the way, he fumed.
He flicked through the envelopes. Nearly all of them had windows, meaning yet more bills. The last one was a plain white envelope with his name and address printed on it, but no stamp. It must have been hand delivered. He was about to open it when Andy’s whining voice reached him.
“Are you going to stand out there all night? I’ve been on my own all day and you can’t even be bothered to come in and say hello.”
Jon’s temperature shot skywards and he couldn’t breathe for the rage that consumed him. Slinging the unopened letters onto the small table against the wall, he stormed into the lounge.
“You lying little shit! You haven’t been on your own. You’ve been watching porn with that slimy git upstairs.”
Andy didn’t even flinch. “So what if I have? I’m not going to sit here day after day with no one to talk to. Why should I?”
What was the point? Jon thought. Turning away, he went back into the hall and picked up the scattered mail. He opened the top one. Water bill. The next was the electricity. Andy paid bugger all towards his keep. The third one looked like his credit card statement and under that was the white envelope without a stamp. He was tempted to ignore the credit card bill, but knew he should look. With all the trips to the pub and other restaurants designed to keep Andy’s moans to a minimum, Jon knew he’d overspent. With his job looking a bit precarious, he’d have to watch his step where money was concerned.
He ripped open the envelope and stared at the total. That couldn’t be right! No way had he spent so much. Scanning the itemised bill, Jon could feel the rage burning inside like a volcano about to erupt.
“Andy, you little shit!” he yelled, going back into the lounge. “Have you been using my card to buy stuff online?”
Andy glanced up. “Have I? I suppose I might have mixed our card details up and given yours by mistake.”
“Over two hundred pounds is a bloody big mistake. Especially as it took ten entries to rack up that much. What the fuck have you been spending my money on?”
Andy grinned. “Quality doesn’t come cheap. I’ve got to do something with my time and watching—”
“Porn! You’ve spent my money on porn?”
Andy grinned. “You can watch it as well if you like.”
Jon turned and went into the kitchen before he could explode. He slammed the door behind him and leant against it. He had to get away from Andy. If they continued to live together Jon didn’t think he’d be able to control himself. Right now he wanted to lash out and do his brother a greater injury than any he’d suffered in the car crash.
The rage grew until he blacked out. When he came to again there was broken china scattered over the floor. He could hear Andy laughing at him in the lounge.
“You arsehole, you lost it again, didn’t you?” Andy called. “What a wanker!”
Jon shuddered. That hadn’t happened to him for a long time. Or had it? There were times when he’d felt as if there was something he should remember. Something he’d done when the other one took over his mind.
Eventually, he stopped shaking. As he turned to get the dustpan and broom, he spotted the two envelopes on the worktop. He must have put them there before chucking the mugs around. One of them had the logo of the hospital in Leicester where he’d gone for an interview. The way today had gone, this could only be a ‘sorry, but we don’t want you’ letter.
He ripped it open and scanned it, ready to screw it up the moment his eyes hit the word sorry, but instead ‘happy’ jumped out at him. Hardly crediting the evidence of his own eyes, he read the letter in full. They wanted him to go for a second interview. There was still a chance he could get away from this place. Get away from Andy. Start out on his own somewhere.
Feeling better than he had for days, he opened the unstamped envelope and took out a single sheet of paper folded into a neat square. He unfolded it and his stomach heaved. There was only one word printed in large type in the middle of the page.
Murderer.<
br />
CHAPTER TWELVE
Paolo arrived early for the autopsy of Edwin Fulbright in the hope of catching a moment alone with Barbara, but she was already gowned up and talking to her assistant, Chris, when he got there. She looked up and smiled, but continued her low-voiced conversation with her colleague. Paolo stood against the wall and tried not to eavesdrop, but the acoustics carried the softly spoken words clearly, giving him no option but to overhear.
“So I’ll be out all afternoon and may not be in tomorrow,” Barbara said.
“But we’ve got a full programme for tomorrow,” Chris answered. “I’m not sure I can deal with them all on my own.”
“If I can’t get in, you’ll simply have to cope. It’s about time you took on more responsibility instead of doing the bare minimum. If you’re looking for promotion, this attitude of ‘I can’t do it’ isn’t going to get you very far.”
Barbara’s back was to him, but Paolo had a clear view of Chris’s face. He looked every bit as shocked as Paolo felt. Never had he heard Barbara speak in that tone of voice to Chris. If anything, she’d always gone out of her way to be more supportive than Paolo sometimes believed her assistant deserved. Maybe she’d decided on a tough love approach, but it seemed out of character. He’d never been so glad to see Dave as when he walked through the door a few seconds later.
Barbara turned as he shut the door behind him.
“Nice of you to show up, Detective Sergeant. Should we apologise for dragging you away from something more interesting?”
Dave looked at his watch and opened his mouth as if he was going to argue, but Paolo stepped between him and Barbara.
“Okay, we’re all here. Let’s make sure this victim mirrors the first one, shall we?”
By the time Barbara declared the autopsy complete and ordered Chris to finish up, she had sniped at all three men, becoming steadily more aggressive as time wore on. Dave and Chris both looked shell-shocked, which was pretty much how Paolo felt.
“I’ll get back to the station, Paolo. See you there.”
Paolo nodded and followed Barbara down the corridor to her office. As she slid into the seat behind her desk she glared at him.
Call It Pretending (#3 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series) Page 8