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

by Frances di Plino

  “When exactly?”

  Barbara smiled. “I was hoping you’d ask. Paolo, I know I’ve been a bitch the last few weeks, but I’ve got a favour to ask.”

  Paolo fought to control the feeling of seasickness that made him want to throw up.

  “Of course,” he said, “whatever you want. Just name it.”

  “My operation’s scheduled for the afternoon of the 22nd of August. You know all my family are still in South Africa?” When he nodded, she continued, “I haven’t told them. I don’t want my parents or my sister worrying themselves silly when there’s nothing they can do. I’ve kept it from my friends here as well.”

  She stopped and Paolo waited for her to get to the point of what it was she needed from him. Whatever it was, he would move mountains to give it to her.

  “In fact, you’re the only person I’ve told and I trust you not to tell anyone else. No one! Not even Chris. He thinks I’m going away on holiday for a couple of weeks.”

  Paolo smiled. “I hope you haven’t told him you’re going anywhere sunny. He’ll expect to see a suntan when you go back to work.”

  She smiled. “I thought of that. I expect when I come back I’ll tell him the truth, but I don’t want to share this with anyone until after the op.”

  “Fair enough,” Paolo said. “What is it you need me to do for you?”

  Paolo watched in distress as Barbara’s eyes filled with tears, spilling down her face and dripping onto her white coat. Ignoring her earlier words about not wanting a hug, he got up and went round to her side of the desk. As he held out his arms, she stood and walked into them. He pulled her to him and held her close until her sobs subsided.

  Leaning back a little, so that he could look at her face, he smiled.

  “Now, what was that favour you wanted?”

  “When I come back from the operating theatre I don’t want anyone to be there apart from you. Please, would you do that for me?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The pretender slipped outside to make his call. With a bit of luck no one would even notice he’d gone and if they did, he’d say he’d needed to go to the toilets. No way did he want anyone overhearing what he had to say. He’d memorised the hospital’s switchboard number and ran it through in his mind before dialling. It would have been better if he’d been able to find out a direct number to the department he needed, but he hadn’t been able to think of a way to do that without drawing attention to himself. He listened to the ringing tone and prayed he wouldn’t get one of those automated menu set ups that took forever to put you through to the right place. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the operator’s voice.

  “Bradchester Central, how can I help you?”

  “Could you put me through to psychiatry, please?”

  “Ward or appointments?”

  “Appointments.”

  He heard a click and then some annoying digital noise that was supposed to be music filled his ear. If he’d been a patient, he thought, listening to that crap would be enough to set off a psychotic episode. After a few moments he heard another click and the line went mercifully silent until a voice announced he was through to the psychiatry department.

  “I’d like to make an appointment with Dr Carter, please.”

  “Are you an existing patient of hers?”

  “No, I’ve just moved here from Bristol. Dr Sedgwick has given me a letter of referral.”

  The pretender smiled, thinking of all the phone calls he’d had to make to various Bristol hospitals to discover a psychiatrist who was about to go on holiday. No one would be able to contact Dr Sedgwick for four weeks while he took his wife off on a world cruise.

  “Do make sure you bring your letter with you when you come. I can give you an appointment for Monday 25th August at 2.30pm.”

  “Can she not see me this week?”

  “No, I’m afraid Dr Carter is away until then. That’s the first available appointment.”

  The pretender had to think quickly. It would mean rearranging his list, but he could put her at the end. It wouldn’t make that much difference.

  “I’m going to be away myself for most of that week. Is it possible to have an appointment on the Friday instead of Monday?”

  He held his breath. It had to be a Friday. Had to be.

  “She doesn’t usually hold Friday appointments, but will occasionally do so if it’s absolutely necessary, but not here at the hospital. Friday appointments have to be conducted in her private consulting rooms on the other side of town. The building is on a regular bus route, so isn’t difficult to access. Would that be okay for you?”

  “What’s the address?”

  As she read it out, he scribbled the details down on a scrap of paper. Getting her away from the hospital couldn’t be better, he thought. Less chance of her body being found before the insulin had done its work.

  “Yes, that suits me very well. It’s more convenient for me, in fact.”

  “Good. In that case, I can book you in for the same time on Friday August 29th.”

  “That sounds fine by me.”

  “Your name, please?”

  “Anthony Williams.”

  “Thank you, Mr Williams. That’s 2.30pm on Friday August 29th.”

  He switched off his phone, ending the call, and grinned. How many people would know that Tony Williams sang the lead vocals on The Platters original version of The Great Pretender? Even if they did, no one would connect Anthony Williams with the song until it was too late. Jessica Carter would be his final victim. No, not victim. She wasn’t a victim. None of them were. She would be his final act of judgment. After that, he didn’t care what happened to him. He would have avenged the terrible wrong they’d done to a truly innocent person. Someone only he remembered.

  ***

  Paolo glanced up from the file he was reading and looked at Dave sitting across the desk from him. He’d never seen his young colleague look happier. What a contrast with the outwardly misogynistic idiot he’d pretended to be when he first arrived at the station. He and Rebecca must be getting on really well to give Dave that glow of contentment.

  “Have I got ink on my face or something?” Dave asked.

  “What?”

  “You were staring at me.”

  Paolo laughed. “Sorry, Dave. I was miles away, thinking of the past.” He looked back down at the Stormont file. “I think we should take a second visit to Stormont’s ex-wife. She may not know where Conrad is, but it’s possible one of her sons does.”

  Dave smiled. “Oh, good. Another trip to that beautiful housing estate. I can hardly wait. Please, sir, can we go now?”

  “Don’t be sarcastic, Dave, or I’ll decide we need to conduct a door to door there and put you in charge of it.”

  Dave opened his mouth to answer, but a knock on the door distracted him.

  “Come in,” Paolo called out. “Ah, good, pull up a couple of chairs,” he said as CC and Andrea came in. “Was Constance Myers helpful?”

  CC flopped onto the chair she’d dragged across from the wall.

  “She was eventually, when we pointed out the only way her boss was going to get justice was by going back through the cases he was working on before, during or just after the time Conrad Stormont lost his licence to practice.”

  Andrea sat forward and took up the story. Paolo noticed the two officers were already working in synch, always a good sign in a partnership.

  “We’ve asked her to pay particular attention to any cases where Conrad Stormont, Edwin Fulbright or Professor Edwards are connected, no matter how nebulous the connection.”

  CC nodded. “She says she’s happy to do it, but warned it might take quite some time to get results. Nowadays, everything is on computer, so it’s just a case of running a search for names, but in 2003 to 2005 they kept paper copies only.”

  “Is she doing the searching on her own?” Paolo asked. “That’s going to take her months. We can’t afford to wait that long.”

  �
�She’s going to set a couple of office juniors on it,” CC said, “but with her overseeing their work so that they don’t take home any information that shouldn’t leave the office.”

  “Are there any Fulbright family members we’ve overlooked?” Paolo asked. “I know we keep falling over Conrad Stormont, but I can’t help thinking that’s because we’re supposed to. Someone wants us to make that link. Why else use that name in the chat room? If it really is Stormont behind the killings, why draw attention to himself? He must know we would search Peter Bishop’s computer and find the evidence there.” He shook his head. “Something isn’t right with this, but it’s all we’ve got to go on, so we need to see where it leads.”

  ***

  Paolo studied the three autopsy reports. Looking at them side by side, it was obvious the same killer was at work, but what else did the reports show? Paolo was convinced there must be something worth finding in them, if only he knew what to look for. But the more he looked, the less he understood.

  He was saved from going over the same material for the hundredth time by his mobile playing the tune that told him Lydia was calling.

  “Hi, Paolo here.”

  “Did you really tell Katy it was okay for her to see this boy with the criminal brother?”

  “Good afternoon to you, too.”

  “Paolo, don’t play the fool. This is too important. You of all people know what could happen if Katy gets in with the wrong crowd. Is that what you want for our daughter?”

  “Don’t be silly, Lydia, you know it isn’t, but I trust Katy’s judgment.”

  “That’s a turn up for the books. Last time we spoke you were all in favour of finding out who the boy was and stopping Katy from seeing him.”

  Paolo sighed. “I was wrong. Katy is very clued up. If she feels he isn’t a bad person then we have to believe in her ability to make that call.”

  “Where on earth did that rubbish come from? Katy is only sixteen, Paolo, or have you forgotten that?”

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten. Listen, Lydia, two people who know Katy made me look at her from a different angle. Not as a parent, but from the outside. We’ve got a lot to be proud of with our daughter – and we should trust her to make the right decisions.”

  “Are you mad? Who knows her better than us? Who are these two people who seem to have turned your brain to mush?”

  “Dave Johnson and Jessica Carter, but neither of them—”

  “I might have known it! Did you jump into bed with her the day you moved out of our home?”

  “Lydia, my relationship with Jessica has nothing to do with this.”

  “It has everything to do with it. Jessica shouldn’t even be discussing Katy with you. Katy was her patient, for Christ’s sake. I’ve a good mind to report her to the medical council or whoever it is that deals with—”

  “Just stop right there and calm down! Katy is no longer Jessica’s patient and while she was there was nothing between Jessica and me. Not a thing.”

  He heard Lydia catch her breath. “But now there is?”

  Paolo hesitated before answering. “Yes. I don’t know how serious it is, but we are together as a couple.”

  “I see. Well, she may have enticed you into her bed, but that changes nothing as far as Katy is concerned. I’m her mother and I’ll do what I think is best for her. When she gets back from wherever she’s gone off to today, she won’t be going out again without telling me exactly where she’s going and who she’s going to be with.”

  “Lydia, that’s not the way to go with Katy and you know it.”

  “Is that what the sainted Jessica said?”

  “Don’t be childish.”

  “Tell your girlfriend to keep her advice to herself where my child is concerned.”

  Paolo heard a click and then silence. He threw the phone on his desk, angry with Lydia, but even angrier with himself for mentioning that he’d been advised by Jessica. Should he warn Katy what to expect when she went home? He reached for his phone. No, that might make matters worse. Katy was quite likely to go in with all guns blazing and that would solve nothing. He’d have to wait until Katy came to him for advice. But what advice could he give without setting himself up against Lydia.

  Sighing, he stood up and put the phone in his pocket. It was time to visit another dysfunctional family and put his own out of mind for the time being.

  He walked into the main office and called out to Dave.

  “The moment for that treat I promised you has now arrived.”

  Dave looked up. “You spoil me, sir. I feel bad at getting all this preferential treatment. I bet CC would like to go with you in my place.”

  “Go where?” CC asked, turning away from the computer screen showing CCTV footage of the car park. “Anywhere would be better than straining my eyes on this.”

  “The Hambley Estate,” Dave said. “A second visit to Conrad Stormont’s ex-wife.”

  “On second thoughts,” CC said, grinning at Dave, “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of a couple of hours in our exalted boss’s company. I’m just a lowly, feeble woman, so it’s best if I stay here and stare at the screen.”

  Dave screwed up a sheet of paper and threw it across the room. It landed short of CC’s desk and she laughed.

  “When you two have quite finished,” Paolo said, “perhaps we could get going? In your own time, of course, Dave.”

  “Yes, sir, sorry, sir, coming, sir,” Dave said, standing up and grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and then hobbling towards Paolo in semi-crouched position. “Don’t beat me, sir.”

  “Beat him, sir,” CC called out.

  Paolo laughed. “You two are both mad. Come on.”

  As they left the office, Paolo couldn’t help but wonder what Katy would be facing at home, but when they got outside, all thoughts of Katy and Lydia disappeared.

  They walked into a barrage of questions and flashing lights.

  “Are you close to finding the killer?”

  “What leads do you have?”

  “Any ideas on the next victim?”

  “Is this a homophobic killing spree?”

  “Why has no one been arrested?”

  “Do you have anything to go on?”

  “Should the general public be worried?”

  “What can you tell us about the case?”

  Paolo and Dave pushed their way through the reporters and photographers, avoiding the enormous microphones being shoved in front of them every step of the way.

  “Our enquiries are on-going,” he said over and over until they reached the haven of Dave’s car.

  For once, Dave had his key ready and they wrenched the doors open and climbed in, with the reporters still pushing and shoving against the car.

  “It’s going to be dangerous to drive away, sir,” Dave said. “I don’t want to be had up for running over someone’s foot.”

  “Just start the engine. If the idiots don’t move away, run them over.”

  “Blimey, you sound mad.”

  “I am,” Paolo said. “What the hell do they think I’m going to tell them? Even if we did have leads, we couldn’t share the information with that lot.”

  Dave started the car and inched forward. The photographers in front of the car jumped to the sides, flash bulbs still exploding. Gradually they were clear of bodies in front and Dave was able to pull away.

  As they made their way through town, Paolo’s mind flitted between his conversation with Lydia and the questions he wanted to ask Stormont’s boys, the eldest of whom must be only a few years older than Katy. That thought sent him back to his own teenage years and the worry he must have caused his dad at times. Maybe that’s what a teenager’s mission in life was, to remind older people that they were young once. Remembering his own youthful exploits made Paolo smile. It’s just as well Katy didn’t know what her sensible policeman dad had got up to with his mates.

  “It’s nice to see a smile back in place, sir,” Dave said. “You’ve been
frowning since we left the station. They’re all savages, aren’t they? Prepared to do anything for a story.”

  Paolo had been trying to work out why Dave thought teenagers were like savages, but the last sentence made him realise he wasn’t on the same wavelength.

  “It’s their job, I suppose. No doubt their editors will give them hell when they come back without any new information.”

  Dave pulled up in the parking lot outside the Hunt’s tower block.

  “We could do with some information ourselves,” Paolo said. “Let’s hope the Stormont boys can provide some.”

  By the time they’d climbed the stairs, holding their breath as much as possible, and negotiated the litter-strewn corridor, Paolo was hoping he never had to come back to the place again. He rapped on the door with his knuckles and waited. After a few seconds, Beatrice Hunt’s voice reached them.

  “Go away. Not home. Not…not here right now.”

  Paolo knocked again. “Come on, Mrs Hunt, open the door.”

  “Whoever you are, go away. I…I’m not in.”

  Paolo rapped again, louder this time. Wincing, he looked at his knuckles.

  “That hurt,” he said to Dave. “I must be getting soft. Open up, we just want to talk to you,” he yelled.

  He was about to knock again when the door opened. Beatrice Hunt was still in her nightwear. A dirty blue silk gown hung open, revealing an almost sheer negligee beneath. She made an attempt at modesty by pulling the gown’s edges together. A bruise disfigured one side of her face and her throat had clear finger marks on either side.

  “What do you want?” she slurred and Paolo took a step back as the stench of alcohol and vomit hit him full in the face. “Carl is out.”

  “Could we come in? Just for a chat?”

  She staggered back and waved her arm vaguely in the direction of the lounge. As they entered the room Paolo guessed what had happened the night before. The only bits of furniture still standing were those too heavy to throw. Carl Hunt must have lost his temper and taken it out on the room and his wife in equal measure.

  Beatrice staggered into the doorway and collapsed against it as if that was all that was keeping her upright. It probably was, Paolo thought.