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

by Frances di Plino

  “I hope you haven’t come in here to pry again.”

  “No, I haven’t done that. I’ve come to tell you that if you ever speak to Dave like that again without reason or provocation, I won’t stand by and keep quiet as I did today. Dave did nothing to deserve your tongue lashing and neither, for that matter, did Chris, but that’s for him to bring up with you. I’ve known you a number of years, Barbara, and I know there is something very wrong in your life right now. I’m here if you want to talk. I’ve already told you that. But I am not going to let you speak to a member of my team as if he equates to something you’d scrape off the soles of your shoes.”

  He waited to see if she would answer, but she picked up the phone and began dialling.

  “Sorry, I have calls to make. Close the door as you leave.”

  ***

  When Paolo got back to the station his team were already in place, waiting to hear the autopsy findings.

  “From what Dr Royston has been able to establish, the same person killed both the professor and Mr Fulbright.”

  “I think we already knew that, sir,” CC said.

  Paolo smiled. “We believed it to be the case, but we didn’t know absolutely. What news on the fingerprints lifted from the car?”

  CC handed Paolo a sheet of paper. “Only one set matches both crime scenes, sir. Sadly, they are not in our database, so no help to us at the moment.”

  “No, but they will be when we find the killer. Andrea, what have you been able to find out for us? Any joy with the phone records of both men?”

  “Not yet, sir. I’ve checked the professor’s and there was only one call received on the morning of his death and that was from a pay as you go phone which we haven’t been able to trace so far.”

  “And the three missing men?”

  Andrea shook her head. “Nothing on any of them so far.”

  Paolo was disappointed. He’d had such good reports of Andrea that he’d expected results. Turning back to the group, he was about to assign research duties to other officers when Andrea’s voice interrupted him.

  “Sorry, sir, I have made some progress.”

  “But you said you hadn’t,” Paolo said.

  “No, what I said was that I hadn’t yet been able to track down the missing men, but I have had one breakthrough. I’ve found the ex-wife of Conrad Stormont. She might know where he’s hiding out.”

  “Well done, Andrea. Fill us in on what you know.”

  “It wasn’t easy tracking her down because she’s remarried and goes under her new married name. She’s now known as Beatrice Hunt, last known address 44, the Glades, Hambley Estate.”

  “Blimey,” Dave said, “that’s a comedown for a doctor’s wife. From an address in the best part of town to a grotty flat on one of the roughest estates in Bradchester.”

  “How do you know it’s grotty?” Andrea asked.

  “It’s a haven for drug users, pushers and pimps,” Dave said. “I can’t imagine there being a non-grotty flat on the estate.”

  “Let’s find out, shall we?” Paolo said. “Andrea, good work. Dave, you and I are going to visit Mrs Hunt and discover if she’s managed to turn her place on the Hambley Estate into a piece of paradise.”

  Half an hour later they were trudging up four flights of stairs.

  “Do you think they ever fix the lift here? I’ve never yet been into any block on this estate and been able to reach the upper floors without climbing the stairs,” Paolo said, trying not to inhale the stench of rotting garbage, cats’ piss and stale urine.

  Dave shook his head, but didn’t answer. Sensible man, Paolo thought, wishing he hadn’t spoken. Keep your mouth shut and maybe the germs won’t get in.

  When they reached the fourth floor, they edged along the corridor running alongside a row of identical front doors. Empty cigarette boxes, plastic supermarket bags and used condoms made walking an obstacle course.

  “How can anyone bear to live here?” Dave asked.

  “Little or no choice,” Paolo said. “Just thank your stars you don’t have to.”

  Number 44 certainly didn’t look like a portal to paradise, so Paolo wasn’t surprised when it was opened by a woman who didn’t look as if she’d taken a bath in recent memory. Her mouse-coloured hair was greasy and her face had the look of someone who has been kicked too many times, figuratively and literally. Paolo could see resignation in her eyes. She knew they weren’t there for anything that was going to make her life better.

  “What’s he said now? The little shit doesn’t even live here, so why he has to stir people up is beyond me.”

  The voice took Paolo by surprise. The words were coarse, but the way she spoke belonged in a country club environment, not here. Mrs Hunt sounded as if she’d been raised by the aristocracy and took tea with the Queen.

  “I’m Detective Inspector Paolo Storey and this is Detective Sergeant Dave Johnson,” Paolo said. “Sorry to disturb you without calling ahead first, but would it be possible to come in and talk to you about your ex-husband, Conrad Stormont?”

  She looked surprised, as if that was the last thing she expected to hear, but stood back and let them pass.

  “Go in the sitting room,” she said. “It’s not too bad in there.”

  There it was again, a note off-key, Paolo thought. How many residents on this estate would call the tiny room they entered a sitting room? A smell of stale food and spilt beer lingered in the air and Paolo spotted several takeaway cartons on the floor. They must have been there a while as quite a few of the local fast food outlets were represented.

  Beatrice Hunt stood just inside the doorway, looking as if she was prepared to run at a moment’s notice. Paolo wondered if she always took up that stance or if it was because they were the police.

  “You said you were here about Conrad. Have you found him?”

  “No,” Paolo said. “We were hoping you might be able to help us in that regard.”

  “I haven’t seen him for at least seven years, maybe more. I divorced him after he’d been missing for three years.”

  “Do you still have his last known address?”

  Beatrice laughed and then launched into a violent coughing fit. “Third bench from the oak tree, Bradchester Park,” she said when she was finally able to breathe. “He turned to drink when he lost his licence. Felt so sorry for himself he didn’t have any emotion to spare for the effect losing his position had on me or our children.”

  Paolo looked around for photographs, but there weren’t any. “Your children didn’t keep in touch with their father?”

  “How could they?” Beatrice said. “He fell into a gutter and crawled away. We lost touch with him years ago.”

  “How many children do you have?”

  “Three. Two boys and a girl.”

  “Would it be possible to speak to them?”

  “Why? I’ve already told you they were not able to keep contact with their father. They know even less than I do about Conrad. I tried to shield them from the worst of his excesses when he was still living with us, but unfortunately, it soon became impossible to hide. They decided they didn’t want to know him and who can blame them?”

  Clearly she knew nothing that would help them locate the missing doctor. Paolo was about to thank her for her time when the front door opened and then slammed.

  “Bea,” a man’s voice called. “Where the fuck are you?”

  Paolo saw Beatrice shiver, but she answered without a tremor.

  “In here, Carl. These two men are from the police,” she said as the man came in. “This is Carl Hunt, my husband.”

  “What the fuck do you two want? What have you been telling them, Bea?”

  Paolo looked at the shaven-headed man looming over his wife and understood why she looked permanently on the verge of fleeing.

  “We are looking for her ex-husband,” Paolo said before Beatrice could answer. “We were just about to leave, but perhaps you knew Conrad Stormont and might have some idea of his current
whereabouts?”

  “Like fuck, I do. That poncy prick couldn’t handle life and left Bea in the gutter. If it weren’t for me she’d still be down there, wouldn’t you?” he finished, rounding on his wife.

  She nodded. “Yes, Carl’s been very good to me,” she said, but Paolo noticed the body tremors had increased and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

  “If you think of anything, please call me,” Paolo said, pressing his card into her hand and trying to get across to her by telepathy that he was there to call on for help if she ever needed it. He’d seen too many domestic violence situations not to know this was a powder keg waiting to explode. He’d make sure to put the word out that if a call came in from a Beatrice Hunt, the response should be immediate. The man had bully written all over him and Paolo’s hands itched to dish out a bit of what he was sure Beatrice received on a regular basis.

  Carl came with Paolo and Dave to the door without saying a word. He slammed it shut as they stepped through, barely giving them time to clear the entrance.

  “He’s a real charmer, isn’t he?” Paolo said picking his way through the debris in the corridor.

  Dave nodded. “I wouldn’t like to be on the receiving end of his temper.”

  “Me neither,” Paolo said as they went down the foul-smelling stairs. “But I have a feeling that his wife is far too often for her safety. I didn’t see any sign of children there, did you?”

  Dave shook his head. “Let’s hope her parents took them in when she married the caveman.”

  “Parents!” Paolo said. “I wonder if Andrea would be able to track down the parents of any of our potential suspects.”

  He glanced at his watch when they reached the bottom of the stairwell. “Let’s get back to the station, Dave. I want to ask Andrea what avenues she’s covered and suggest the parents if she hasn’t already been in contact with them.”

  But when he put the question to Andrea he found she was ahead of him.

  “Patrick Kirkbride’s mother died when he was quite young. His father didn’t remarry and Patrick had no siblings. His father is in a home for the elderly in Scotland suffering with advanced Alzheimer’s. He is unable to recall that he even has a son, far less tell us where he might be living.”

  She looked down at her notes. “Michael Sergeant’s parents live in Switzerland, but they are on a world cruise until the end of August. I have contacted the ship and requested their assistance, but no information has yet come back to us. He has one sister who is a Carmelite nun. If you’re Catholic you’ll know the Carmelites aren’t allowed to speak to anyone. I had no idea such barbarous practices still existed, but you live and learn.”

  She drew breath, pushed her fringe out of her eyes and looked down. Paolo watched, fascinated, as the stream of information continued to flow.

  “I have requested special permission to speak to her via her Mother Superior, who is going to pray for guidance and get back to me tomorrow. I am hoping that God might be on our side, but if he isn’t, I intend to ask the Mother Superior to ask Sister Benedicta if she could write down any information she might have.”

  Pausing briefly, Andrea rummaged among the numerous pieces of paper littering her desk. “Conrad Stormont’s parents divorced when he was at university. His mother is trekking in the Himalayas with a Buddhist group and it is unknown when she will return, or even if she intends to come back. According to her cousin, she is seeking enlightenment. The mother’s cousin knows nothing about any other family members because she fell out with them years ago over his great-grandfather’s will. The father, that is, Conrad’s father, not his mother’s father, has moved to France. He wasn’t home when I called, but I have left a message on his answering machine – in English. I failed French at school.”

  Paolo was relieved when the stream of information came to an end. He was exhausted just listening to her.

  “Andrea, I promise never to question your research ever again. Let me know when any of your leads turns up something positive we can chase down.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  “In the meantime, could you look into the background of Conrad’s three children? They obviously aren’t living with their grandparents. I can’t bear to think of them in that dreadful flat with Carl Hunt for a stepfather.”

  ***

  Paolo stood in the restaurant doorway savouring the aromas of garlic, herbs and tomatoes that always reminded him of his early life, when his mother had still been alive. He scanned the restaurant, but Jessica wasn’t yet seated at their table.

  Moving towards the back of the room, he greeted the waiter and ordered a bottle of water. Jessica had said she might be held up on a case review, so he settled down to wait, allowing his mind to run free. Often it was only when he stopped trying to join the dots in a case that a spark of inspiration would strike. Tonight wasn’t one of those times. All he could think about was the woman he was waiting for. When the door opened and he looked up, his breath caught in his throat. She’d come straight from work, but still managed to look as fresh as a mountain stream.

  “Sorry,” she said as she pulled out the seat opposite. “Have you been waiting long?”

  “No,” Paolo said, shaking his head in amusement as the owner, Giuseppe, appeared from nowhere to tenderly assist Jessica to sit down.

  “How come you don’t rush out of the kitchen to help me with my chair and jacket?”

  “Because, Signor Storey, you are not an intelligent woman in the full bloom of her beauty. Signora,” he said, kissing Jessica’s fingers, “as always, it is my pleasure to serve you.”

  Having put Paolo in his place, he went back into the kitchen, leaving Jessica laughing and Paolo trying hard not to smile. The waiter placed a bottle of water and their menus on the table and asked if they wanted wine.

  “No, thank you. Just water for me, too,” Jessica said. “Are you going to break with tradition, Paolo, or have what you always do?”

  Paolo glanced at the menu. “I know I should try something new, but this is one of the few restaurants where you can get Osso Bucco almost as good as my mother made. I’m going to be boring and have that as usual. What about you?”

  Jessica looked over the top of the menu. “I’m going to have the Saltimbocca.”

  By the end of the meal, after they’d shared zabaglione as dessert, Paolo felt there had been a shift in their relationship, but didn’t want to push it. He paid the bill as they drank coffee, refusing Jessica’s offer of going halves each. He wanted this to be his treat.

  They walked outside and Paolo suddenly felt like a fourteen-year-old without a clue what to say to the gorgeous woman standing close enough to kiss.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Jessica put her finger on his lips.

  “Ssh,” she said. “Don’t speak, just nod or shake your head. Would you like to come back to my place?”

  Paolo nodded.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Paolo woke up wondering where he was. The bed felt different; the room was wrong. Then he remembered and turned to look for Jessica, but her side of the bed was empty. He lay there trying to work out what he should do. Get up and shower? He couldn’t stay here, even though the memories of the night before made him want to do exactly that.

  He was about to climb out of the bed when the door opened and Jessica came in, fully dressed and holding a tray with coffee and toast for two. She sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. His stomach did a triple somersault that would have won a gold medal in any Olympic gymnastics event.

  “I didn’t want to wake you, but I have to be at the hospital early today. I’ve just got time for a few mouthfuls of coffee and a slice of toast.”

  He reached across and caught her hand. “Jessica, about last night—”

  She grinned and picked up her cup. “If you say anything other than wow, you’ll be showering in very hot coffee.”

  “You read my mind. Wow was exactly the word I was about to use.”

&
nbsp; Jessica sipped from the cup and replaced it on the tray. Picking up a slice of toast, she stood and leaned forward to drop a kiss on Paolo’s lips.

  “I’ll munch on this in the car,” she said, waving the toast at him. “Sorry, I have to go.”

  “Can I see you tonight?” Paolo asked.

  “For more wow?”

  Paolo laughed. “Definitely more wow and maybe a bit of oh my God thrown in for good measure.”

  “That’s a date,” she said. “Sorry, I would stay if I could.”

  “Go,” he said. “You’re taking my mind off my breakfast anyway. I’ll be wanting wow instead of toast if you stand there much longer.”

  She blew him another kiss and disappeared through the doorway in a blur of motion. Paolo heard her skipping down the hallway and then the front door opening and closing. He looked at the clock on the bedside table – seven-fifteen. He had enough time to finish his toast and coffee, then go home to shower and change before heading to the station. He leaned back against the headboard and thought about how little sleep they’d had, but he felt wide awake. In fact, he felt wow.

  ***

  Paolo wondered if his vision was coloured by the events of the night before, but he was convinced everyone looked happier this morning. CC and Andrea had their heads close together, poring over whatever it was Andrea had collated on her desk. They both looked up when he called out good morning.

  CC grinned at him. “That’s the cheeriest good morning I’ve heard from you since I’ve been stationed here. Did you have a good evening, sir?”

  Paolo felt his cheeks redden and thanked his genetic background. Maybe no one would notice the blush under his olive complexion. He could see from the look of understanding on CC’s face that he had no such luck! His face felt as if you could fry breakfast on it.

  “Yes, thank you. Very pleasant. Where’s Dave?”

  “Holding hands with Rebecca in the canteen. Working in this place is like being in a chick flick these days,” she said, eyes alight with laughter. “I keep expecting an orchestra to start playing. And here, walking on air through the doorway is our romantic hero, floating on a glow of love.”