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

by Frances di Plino

  Dave laughed. “You’re just jealous,” he said, throwing a paperclip at her.

  CC caught it. “Not me. I’m enjoying my freedom, thank you very much.”

  Paolo glanced at Andrea. He wondered if CC was aware of how the younger woman looked at her. Now there was an interesting development. A happy one, as long as it didn’t affect the team dynamics.

  “Okay, enough banter. Let’s get down to work. Andrea, we’ll start with you. Any new information in overnight?”

  Before she could speak, Paolo’s phone rang. He glanced at the LCD screen and groaned. Chief Constable Willows. That’s all he needed to bring his mood crashing down.

  “I have to take this,” he said. “Hold fire a moment.”

  “Paolo, could you come up to my office, please?”

  “Yes, Chief Constable, I’ll be right there.”

  He put the phone back in his pocket and grimaced. “I think I’m in for a bollocking. Does anyone have any good news I can take upstairs with me? No? Okay. With a bit of luck my trip will be a short one. I’ll be right back.”

  Paolo left the office to a chorus of good luck wishes and knew he needed them. He wouldn’t be called upstairs unless the chief was taking serious flak from the press. Climbing the stairs two at a time, part of the exercise regime he’d got into when he turned forty, he was pleased to find he was barely out of breath when he reached the Chief Constable’s door and tapped on it.

  “Come in.”

  Paolo opened the door and studied Willows, trying to gauge his mood. The man certainly didn’t look as though he wanted to throw a party in Paolo’s honour any time soon.

  “Take a seat, Paolo, and for Christ’s sake tell me you’ve got a lead you’re following in this insulin case. The press are all over me, screaming incompetence again. It’s the same hacks every bloody time, looking for reasons to trash our efforts, instead of reporting the facts.”

  Paolo let Willows rant. He knew it would be better for him if the chief was able to let off steam before they got down to discussing where the case was going. Although, at the moment, not going would be a more honest description.

  “Needless to say, the press are having a field day over this. Two of Bradchester’s most distinguished residents have been murdered in the same manner and we can’t come up with anything to connect them. What am I supposed to say to the reporters who ask if you’re competent to lead the case when you don’t give me a bone to throw to them?”

  “Sir, if I had something, I’d give it to you, but we have nothing other than some fingerprints tying the killer to both crime scenes. The prints aren’t a match with anyone on our database. We can’t find a social or professional connection between the two men. They moved in totally different areas in all aspects of their lives. I can’t give you what I haven’t got, sir. Sorry.”

  Willows glared. “That’s not what I wanted to hear, Paolo.”

  “I know, but I can’t magic clues or evidence out of thin air. I’ve had photographs taken of the crowds hanging around both crime scenes, but we haven’t found anyone who was present at both. I’ve got my team looking into the backgrounds of those who stand to gain from the two deaths, but so far, once again, there’s no connection. We’re digging into the Fulbright extended family, but although there is plenty of ill-feeling over his latest marriage, none of them had anything to do with Professor Edwards. If it’s the same killer, and it certainly looks that way, there has to be a link between the two men. We’re searching for it, sir, but…” Paolo paused and shrugged knowing he wasn’t going to win a popularity award, “whatever it is isn’t obvious.”

  “You’d better hope your team come up with something. I’ve arranged a press conference for you for tomorrow afternoon.”

  “But, sir, we’ve got nothing!”

  “Then you’ll have to tell them that. Maybe the thought of appearing in front of the cameras will galvanise you into finding something.”

  Paolo walked back down the stairs a lot slower than he’d gone up. He hated holding press conferences even when he had information to give, or when he needed to ask the public for assistance, but what the hell Willows thought he could achieve this time was beyond him. His earlier euphoric mood evaporated. Damn Willows. He was throwing Paolo to the wolves to get them off his own back.

  Going back into the main office, it was almost as if his team picked up on his frustration as a collective groan greeted him.

  “What did he have to say, sir?” Dave asked.

  “Press conference tomorrow afternoon, so I’m going to need something to tell them. Let’s get back to where we were before I was summoned. Andrea, anything new?”

  “Yes, sir. Starting with the Fulbright phone records. He received several calls from a pay as you go phone, but not the same one as Professor Edwards. Each call seemed to last fractionally longer than the one before, which makes me think whoever called was reeling Mr Fulbright in. You know, giving just a little more information each time. Mrs Fulbright thought the calls might have been to do with her, but there’s no way of knowing.”

  Andrea shuffled papers. “I’ve found Patrick Kirkbride, sir, and spoke to him this morning. He’s in South Africa and has been there for nearly five years. He comes home twice a year to visit his father, but the last time was four months ago. I’ve made a note to check with airlines and other forms of transport, but I think he’s telling the truth about that, sir. He remembers Professor Edwards as a good psychiatrist, but a poor human being.”

  “You’d think you needed to be both,” CC said. “I’m not sure I’d want to tell my troubles to someone who was as nasty as the professor seems to have been.”

  “Psychiatry is more to do with medical faults affecting the brain. If you were looking for someone to talk to about your emotional troubles you’d go to a psychologist,” Paolo said, feeling the flush rising again. This was ridiculous; he couldn’t even discuss Jessica’s profession without blushing. “Anyway, that’s a side issue. Do you have anything else, Andrea?”

  She nodded. “Michael Sergeant’s mother left a message overnight. Her son died in a hang gliding accident over the Alps last year. I’m afraid I still cannot find any trace of Conrad Stormont. He simply dropped out of sight and hasn’t reappeared.”

  “Thank you, Andrea. CC, how are you getting on with the Medical Council findings which led to Stormont losing his licence?”

  “It all seems pretty straightforward, at least on the surface. Stormont admitted prescribing the drug that led to the patient’s psychotic episode. He insisted that he was following the written instructions of his superior, Professor Edwards. The patient, Jon Miller, and his brother, Andrew, both claimed compensation from Conrad Stormont and received healthy sums through a medical malpractice insurance pay-out.”

  Paolo sighed. “But no mention of Edwin Fulbright in that case?”

  CC shook her head. “No, sir. His name doesn’t appear anywhere.”

  “You know, even though on the surface there doesn’t seem to be a connection, I can’t help feeling the events leading up to Stormont losing his licence to practice are the key to solving this. Dig deeper, everyone. The connection is there, we’ve just got to find it.”

  “By the way, Andrea, did you have any joy with finding out about the Stormont children?”

  “Yes, sir. The children were officially passed into their maternal grandmother’s custody six years ago. The grandmother lives on the other side of Bradchester to their mother, so I don’t know how much contact she has with them. It’s possible they might know more about their father’s whereabouts than she does. I called the grandmother’s home while you were upstairs, but there was no reply. I’ll keep trying.”

  “Good work, all of you.”

  He glanced at his watch. Now would be a good time to call Katy. Over dinner last night he’d explained his dilemma and Jessica had given him some good advice. He wanted to put it into action before the rift between him and Katy deepened. He went into his office, but left the door
open. He liked to hear the buzz of conversation in the background.

  Settling himself at his desk, he forced himself to feel calm, just as Jessica had advised, then hit speed dial for Katy’s number. It rang for longer than usual and he wondered if Katy had seen who was calling and decided not to speak to him.

  “Hello, Dad.”

  She sounded wary and he couldn’t blame her. As Jessica had pointed out, and Dave, too, for that matter, Katy was a very together person and yet he’d jumped in as if she was five years old and incapable of making sensible decisions.

  “Hi, Katy. I wondered if you wanted to have lunch with me today.”

  Normally she’d have said yes before he’d finished the question. The fact she didn’t answer immediately told Paolo how far he’d damaged their easy going relationship.

  “Are you going to nag me?”

  “On my word as a boy scout, no. Dib dibs and all that.”

  Paolo was relieved to hear her laugh.

  “So what’s the special occasion? You don’t usually offer me lunch during the week. Shouldn’t you be doing your superhero stuff and get out there chasing crooks?”

  “Yes, but even superheroes have to eat or they lose their powers. Want to meet me in town?”

  “And you’re not going to get on my case about me and Danny?”

  “Katy, no nagging, no prying and no questions. If you want to tell me about Danny, I’m interested, but I am not going to get on your case about it. I promise – word of a super hero.”

  “Okay, then, but you have to pay a penance.”

  “Not McD, please, not that.”

  “’Fraid so,” she said, laughing. “At least that will taste better than humble pie.”

  ***

  Jon couldn’t face going straight home after another shitty day at work, so headed into the White Horse when he got off the bus.

  As he approached the bar, he saw Bradley chatting to one of the regulars. It hit Jon that the barman was the only person he could call a friend at the moment and he’d only known him a few weeks. Still, he was a good listener and Jon desperately needed someone to talk to before he lost it completely. Andy was too much part of the problem, so there was no point trying to talk to him.

  He sat on a bar stool and waited for Bradley to come over.

  “What’ll you have?” the barman asked. “You look as if you need a lot of it, whatever it is.”

  Jon tried to smile, but couldn’t quite get his lips to move without quivering.

  “A pint of lager, please.”

  He watched as Bradley moved away to pull the pint, wishing his life could be as uncomplicated. Surely pulling pints and chatting to people all day must be better than what he was going through. He’d barely had any sleep since getting the murderer letter and had made all sorts of errors at work through lack of concentration, giving Iain even more ammunition to use against him with Mr Montague.

  “Here you go,” Bradley said, putting the pint on a mat. “I don’t want to stick my nose in where it’s not wanted, but you’re looking a bit rough. Your brother giving you stick again?”

  Jon laughed. “When doesn’t he? I’ve got to get away from him, Bradley. I’ll go nuts if I hang around here much longer.”

  “Any news on that job you went after in Leicester?”

  “Yep, I’ve got a second interview tomorrow afternoon. I’ve not told Andy I’ve even got the interview. I’m going to book into a B and B and stay overnight. Let him see what it’s like fending for himself for a change.”

  “I expect your charming neighbour will keep him company.”

  Jon looked up from his pint. “That sounds like you don’t like Gordon either.”

  Bradley shook his head. “I don’t know him very well. He doesn’t come in that often, but let’s put it this way, if I had a daughter, I wouldn’t want him anywhere near her.”

  “Have you got any kids?”

  “Nope, sometimes I wish I had, but it didn’t work out for me and my wife.”

  “I didn’t know you were married.”

  Again, Bradley shook his head. “I’m not anymore. Which is just as well doing this job. Long unsociable hours don’t exactly make for easy relationships. But, as I said, if I did have a daughter, I’d make sure your neighbour never set eyes on her. There’s something very dark about him.”

  Bradley moved back down the bar to serve some new customers, but his mention of Gordon brought the murderer letter to Jon’s mind again. Gordon had been leaving the apartment the day it arrived. Could he have left it? Or was it Andy? Was Andy playing silly buggers, trying to get him wound up?

  The more he thought about it, the more he believed his brother was behind the letter. The bastard was always digging at him. When they were younger it had been Jon who’d played practical jokes on Andy. Maybe Andy saw this as payback time. There was no point asking him, he’d deny it even if it was true.

  “You with us, Jon?” Bradley said. “That’s the third time I’ve asked if you want a refill.”

  Jon nodded. “Yes, please. Sorry, I was miles away.”

  “I could see that,” Bradley said. “Wherever you were, it didn’t look like you were enjoying it.”

  “You’re wrong,” Jon said. “I was thinking how much pleasure I’d get from choking my brother to death. If I thought I’d get away with it, I’d do him in without a second thought.”

  ***

  Paolo lay back against the pillows with Jessica’s head resting on his chest. Her hair was tickling, but he’d put up with any discomfort just to keep her there. Eventually, she moved away and gently touched the scar on his face.

  “How did you get this?”

  “A thug threw a full beer can at me when he was trying to get away. The edge of the can caught my skin at just the right angle to split it. I’ve had the scar for so long now I’m always surprised when anyone notices it.”

  She sat up, drawing the duvet over both of them.

  “How did it go with Katy?”

  “I think we’re back on track. I didn’t ask any questions, but I now know more about her friend Danny than I would have done if I had. She’s quite taken with him, but…”

  “But?”

  “She’s only sixteen, Jessica. She’s so young. What if this boy hurts her?”

  “She’ll learn from it and move on. Besides, how old were you and Lydia when you fell in love? Didn’t you tell me you were still at school?”

  Paolo laughed. “That’s unfair, using my own past against me. Considering Lydia and I are no longer together, that’s hardly an advertisement for young love.”

  “I think you two might have still been together if it hadn’t been for the tragedy of losing your other daughter.”

  Paolo sighed. “You could be right. When Sarah died our lives went into free-fall. By the time we found ourselves again we’d changed too much to reconnect.”

  “So it wasn’t age but circumstances that got between you and Lydia. I’m not saying Katy and her young man are serious about each other, but they are far more likely to become so if they meet with opposition.”

  Paolo pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “How did you get to be so wise?”

  “I was born that way.”

  “Hmm, modesty becomes you,” Paolo said. “By the way, do you have any advice to give on how to conduct a press conference when you have nothing to say?”

  Jessica shook her head. “Nope, you’re on your own with that one tomorrow.”

  “Not so wise then,” Paolo said. “I’m going to need lots of moral support and tender handling tomorrow evening to help me over the trauma.”

  He felt Jessica’s fingers running over his chest.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, “but don’t forget I’ll need to have a fairly early night tomorrow. I leave at six on Saturday morning.”

  “Damn, I’d forgotten about the conference. It’s going to be a long fortnight without you.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Week T
hree – Friday 8th August to Thursday 14th August

  The pretender watched the news showing yet another rerun of the press conference and nearly choked with rage. What the fuck did that stupid policeman know about anything? He was making out the murders had been committed by some mindless idiot without right and justice on his side. He wanted to scream, but he had to hold himself in check. He’d come this far, he wasn’t going to mess it up now. The policeman was mouthing off about avenues of enquiry and following different leads, but that had to be a pack a lies. No way would they have worked it out yet. Only with the death of the final name on his list would it all become clear. Until then, they hadn’t a hope in hell of catching him. He’d planned so carefully. What could they know of his reasons? What did anyone care about his suffering over the last decade? Nothing! Let the police spout about how close they are to catching him. After tonight they’ll be scratching their heads again looking even more stupid than they do already.

  He looked at the clock. It was nearly seven. Time to chat. He turned off the television and reached for his laptop. Powering it up, he slipped into the persona needed to snare the next on the list.

  Searching under favourites, he clicked on ukgaychat.com and keyed in his username, StormyC, and password.

  He looked to see who was online and quickly located Peter Bishop’s username: the clergyman. They’d been chatting for over a month. Tonight it was time for them to meet.

  The clergyman: Helloooooooo, I thought you’d deserted me. Where have you been?

  StormyC: Busy, busy, busy. You know how it is.

  The clergyman: I thought we were finally going to meet, but you disappeared. You haven’t been on here for days. I missed you. I tried your mobile, but you didn’t answer.

  StormyC: I know. I’ve been away and forgot to take my charger. When the battery died I couldn’t do anything about it. Only got back an hour ago and couldn’t wait to chat. You’re not sulking are you?

  The clergyman: No way. I never sulk, darling. Happy little sparrow, that’s me. I’m going to that new club tonight. The one that’s been so heavily advertised. Sparklers. It would be a good place for a little rendezvous, n'est-ce pas?