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

by Frances di Plino

  “Morning, sleepyhead,” Paolo said. “Did I disturb you?”

  “No, I was awake anyway, just wasn’t ready to open my eyes.”

  Paolo traced a finger down her cheek.

  “Do you always snore when you’re awake?”

  Jessica laughed. “I don’t snore even when I’m asleep. Didn’t your mother tell you that females don’t…oh God, sorry, Paolo. I wasn’t thinking.”

  He reached forward and kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay. I’m quite sure if my mother had lived she would have told me lots of things that females don’t do.”

  She grinned. “Like sweating. Did you know we don’t sweat?”

  “Really?” Paolo said, loving the early morning banter and wishing the moment could last forever. “What was that you did last night?”

  Jessica wrinkled her nose. “Ah, that wasn’t sweating. That, I’ll have you know, was me glowing. Women don’t sweat; women don’t even perspire. We glow.”

  “I stand, or rather, lie, corrected, ma’am.”

  Jessica reached out for him. “On the other hand, we could do a little experiment. Shall we see if you can make me glow enough for it to be classed as perspiration?”

  “I’m all in favour of experiments,” Paolo said, as she snuggled into his arms.

  ***

  Paolo looked across the room, proud to be part of a team like this one. It was one thing to come to work over the weekend when there was a dead body to investigate, but coming in when there wasn’t one was over and above the call of duty. They were all here, even Dave who was supposed to be helping get things ready for his engagement party that evening.

  “What time do you need to knock off, Dave?”

  “I can stay until about half three, sir. Rebecca says if I’m not at the venue by four, helping to put out chairs and decorate the tables, there’ll be no engagement because I’ll be dead.”

  Paolo laughed. “Can’t have that, we’ve already had a whip round for your present.”

  “We could always give it to Rebecca, sir,” CC called out. “She could have it as a constant happy reminder of her near miss.”

  She ducked as a screw-up piece of paper flew towards her.

  “I’ll make the missile a bit heavier next time,” Dave said, laughing.

  Paolo sat back and watched the play fight. God knows, the team had worked so hard on this case with no reward, they deserved a few minutes of fun.

  When the paper missiles stopped crossing the office, he stood up.

  “Okay, listen up, everyone. Why do you think there hasn’t been a suspicious death reported this morning? What do we think has happened to our man? Has he given up? Changed his tactics? Was he prevented from carrying out the next attack for some reason?”

  “Maybe he’s moved further afield, sir,” Andrea called out.

  Paolo nodded. “It’s possible, but somehow I don’t think so. His first four victims are all local to Bradchester in some way, either because they lived here, or because they worked here. I’ve checked with the Leicester force and their only reported murders all seem to be gang related. They had three stabbings and one shooting last night. No one was killed by injection either there or here, as far as we know.”

  “There is another possibility, sir,” CC said. “Maybe we just haven’t found the body yet.”

  Paolo nodded. “You could be right, but he made sure the four earlier victims were all found on a Saturday. I’ve been in touch with the morgue and the only deaths during the night or early this morning have all been from natural causes.”

  “Are we sure about that, sir?” Dave said. “Couldn’t one of them have been death by insulin? Barbara Royston did say it could easily be overlooked unless there was reason to search for it.”

  Paolo nodded. “Yes, and I’ve asked that all natural causes be checked for insulin overdose. However, there was no note on any of them. Our man likes to let us know when he’s killed.”

  He walked over to the board and looked at the photos.

  “If the connection is Conrad Stormont, who would be the next logical victim?”

  CC stood up and came to stand next to him. “If the killer is Conrad and he’s looking for people who’ve hurt him in the past, what about his wife? Would she be on his list?”

  Paolo nodded. “It’s possible, but I still can’t shake off this feeling that we’re being deliberately led towards Stormont as the killer. What about if we look at things from another angle. What if Conrad Stormont is also a victim in this?”

  “In what way, sir?” Dave called out.

  Paolo shrugged. “I don’t know really, I’m just thinking out loud. Every death seems to be linked to Stormont, so I’m probably way off base. Let’s look at what we have so far. Andrea, any joy with the court transcript of the case that ultimately led to Stormont being struck off?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet, sir. I’ve requested it as a matter of urgency, as you know, but I’m still waiting for it to arrive.”

  “Okay, first thing Monday morning, I want you to go to the records office and stay there until they put it into your hands. Remind them this is a murder investigation, not an enquiry into a speeding fine.”

  “CC, have you had chance to look through the photographs of the crowds at all the crime scenes?”

  “Yes, sir. Unless he’s heavily disguised, I haven’t been able to spot the same person in any of the images.”

  “What about the CCTV footage from the multi-storey car park?”

  “The killer’s there, sir, but he knew where the cameras were placed. We’ve only got shots of him from the back and he was wearing a hoody, so we can’t even guess at his hair colour.”

  “Damn,” Paolo said. “This killing spree has been well planned. He didn’t up and decide to get to it a few weeks ago. Something triggered his actions and made him plan each move. He knew how to worm his way into the lives of each of his victims.”

  He tapped on the first photograph. “For Professor Edwards it was his vanity. Posing as a New York Times reporter interested in the professor’s life story opened that door with ease, but the killer could only have known that would work if he’d studied the man.”

  Paolo moved along to the next image. “The same goes for Mr Fulbright. He must have spent time observing the victim and finding out where his weakness might be. We don’t know for sure, but it looks likely that he used Fulbright’s marriage to a younger woman in some way. The phone calls Fulbright received, and his reaction to them, points to that supposition.”

  He pointed to the solicitor. “This, too, wasn’t a spur of the moment attack. The killer found out Peter Bishop was a homosexual and got close to him that way. Not only that, but he discovered which chat site he used. How many gay chat sites are there? Andrea, could you look into that, please? My point being, it was highly unlikely he struck gold first time of trying. He must have spent a considerable amount of time on various sites before he found the right one – and even then, he had to build a relationship with Peter Bishop. We know they had phone contact. We also know from Mr Bishop’s mobile phone records that he received a call while he was in the nightclub shortly before he left the building. Each crime has involved a different disposable mobile phone.”

  Paolo turned back to the board and tapped on the last photograph.

  “For Marcus Wittington-Smythe it seems fairly obvious by the money left in the car that the killer used Wittington-Smythe’s missing son as a lure. Once again, a carefully targeted approach that must have taken research and planning to pull off.”

  Paolo held up one hand and started ticking off items on his fingers.

  “One, we know he’s intelligent. He’s bright enough to work out where each victim’s Achilles’ heel lies so that he can slip past their natural defences. Two, he’s been working on his strategy for many months, possibly even years. Three, his notes have each pointed to six victims and the four he’s killed so far have all turned up on Saturday mornings. If there isn’t one this week it’
s because we haven’t yet found it. I’m convinced he wouldn’t have missed a week with the level of preparation he’s used so far. Four, Conrad Stormont’s name comes up so often, he appears to be the pivot around which everything else spins. He’s possibly the killer, although you know my reservations on that.”

  He sighed. “Five, and this is the saddest point of all, if it isn’t Conrad then we haven’t a bloody clue who the killer might be.”

  Paolo made sure he had eye contact with each of them. “But six, and this is the one I want to stress, we will get to the bottom of this and we will catch him.” He paused. “But I think, in the absence of a body, we can give ourselves a few hours off. Dave, go and do your stuff with Rebecca. I don’t want to be an obstacle in the path of true love. For the rest of you, go home and enjoy what’s left of today and I’ll see you all this evening when I’m sure we’ll all have a great time at Dave’s party.”

  ***

  The pretender glared at the late night news. He’d been waiting all day for a report on the latest victim in what the press had dubbed the Saturday murders, but there was nothing. Not a word. He must have been found, so why were the police keeping it quiet? Was it to rile him? Were they trying to make him come forward and show his hand? If that was the case they were out of luck. He would never dance to their tune.

  He switched the television off and climbed into bed. He had Jessica Carter’s appointment to look forward to, but there was an extra little job he had to carry out before then. All he needed to do was pick the day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Paolo arrived at the station on Tuesday wondering if the break they needed was ever going to come. As he entered his office, his mobile rang and he recognised the ring tone he’d set for Lydia. Juggling papers and phone, he made his way to his desk and managed to put the papers down safely before taking the call.

  “Hi, Lydia, what can I do for you?”

  “I think you’ve lost your tiny little mind.”

  “Hmm, now that’s not friendly and nor is it enlightening. What have I done this time?”

  “Katy tells me you’ve met this boy she’s infatuated with. Not only that, apparently you’re now helping his criminal brother get a better deal. Isn’t locking people up supposed to teach them the error of their ways?”

  “Whoa, when did you become Miss Angry of Bradchester? You’ll be demanding the death penalty for parking offences next.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  Paolo sat down. “Sorry, you’re right, it isn’t funny, but when I get torn off a strip before I’ve even had chance to grab a cup of coffee my rapier wit tends to be a bit blunt. Shall we start this conversation again? What is it that I’m supposed to have done that has got you so riled up?”

  “Encouraged Katy to defy me, as usual.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t encouraged her to do anything. Katy brought Danny to ask if I could do anything to help his brother. That’s all.”

  “All? She now thinks you approve of him.”

  Paolo thought for a moment before answering. Approved was a bit strong, but he didn’t disapprove.

  “He seems a nice enough lad. He volunteers at the local homeless shelter. That’s where he and Katy met.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve told Katy I don’t like the idea of her being with all those down and outs.”

  Paolo took a deep breath. “Do you know something, Lydia? I’ve never realised until today that I don’t like you very much. I’m sure you used to have a much kinder heart. Katy and Danny work together at the shelter because they are two nice kids who want to help those less fortunate than themselves.”

  “That’s all right for you to say, but—”

  “Just stop right there. Let Katy be. She knows what she’s doing.”

  “When she gets mixed up with the drug-dealing brother you’ll change your tune. You’re supposed to be on the side of law enforcement, Paolo, not teaching our daughter that there are no penalties for bad behaviour.”

  “Lydia, I believed Danny and his brother when they said Mark was set up. I’ve met the stepfather and he is exactly the type who would do something like that. All I’ve done is arrange for him to stay in the youth hostel here under supervision. He’s being watched, but really doesn’t seem the type to do drugs.”

  “Just deals them,” Lydia snapped.

  “I give up! It doesn’t matter what I say, you’ve decided the two boys are the dregs of society. I’ve met them. You haven’t.”

  “I don’t want to meet them. I want you to tell Katy to stay away from both of them.”

  Paolo sighed. “I’m not going to do that. You should know better than this, Lydia. I trust Katy; why can’t you?”

  “It’s pointless talking to you, Paolo. I don’t know why I bothered to call. Just don’t blame me if Katy ends up as a drug-addicted dropout.”

  Before Paolo could answer, the dialling tone buzzed in his ear.

  He was still sitting glaring at the phone when Andrea stuck her head round the door.

  “You’ll never guess what I’ve just picked up, sir.”

  It took a massive effort, but Paolo managed a smile.

  “How many guesses do I get?”

  She stepped into the room carrying a thick bound document and held it up for him to see.

  “Just one, sir.”

  “The trial transcript. At last.”

  She grinned and pretended to collapse under its weight. “It’s going to take me a while to get through this.”

  “Take as much time as you need. I’ll move your case files onto other officers. I’m convinced the answers we need are in that file.”

  ***

  Jon came into work on Tuesday morning feeling that his life was finally turning a corner. At last something was going right for him. He’d spent six nights in the B and B and had hated every one of them. But tonight was the last one where he’d have to share a bathroom with a bunch of strangers. The bedsit he’d gone to view the night before was small, but he could make it into somewhere to call home.

  As he hung up his jacket and reached back into the locker for his work clothes, he saw Iain approaching. If he could only get Iain off his back, life might be worth living again. He decided to face up to the man and find out once and for all what it was the idiot had against him. He shut his locker door with a bang and turned to face him.

  “Shall we sort this out? I’m sick to death of your bullying. Tell me what I’m supposed to have done all those years ago.”

  “Like you don’t know,” Iain said.

  Jon slammed his fist against the nearest locker, sending metallic reverberations around the room.

  “Sandra Milligan,” Iain said.

  “Who? What? I’ve no idea who she is.”

  Iain came closer and leaned forward. “That’s my point, you little shit. You don’t even remember her, but thanks to you she’s in a mental home.”

  Jon felt as if he was caught in a B movie, but he was the only one who didn’t know the script.

  “Iain, I have no idea who the hell Sandra Milli…oh God, you mean Sandy. I haven’t seen her for years.”

  “No, because you dumped her when she needed you most.”

  “I didn’t dump her. We’d only been out a couple of times and then…well, and then my life took a turn for the worse. I lost touch with her.”

  “That’s not the way her mum tells it.”

  Jon sat down next to his locker. “Look, I’ve still no idea what you’re on about, but clearly you think I did something dreadful to Sandy. If that’s the case, how come you were all right with me when we first worked together?”

  Iain sat down opposite, but Jon could see by the way his fists were clenching and unclenching that he was ready to lash out on the smallest provocation.

  “I didn’t know who you were back then,” Iain said. “It was only when my aunt Vera saw you outside one day that she told me you were the prick who’d ruined Sandra’s life.”

  “Iain, I swear
to you, Sandy…Sandra, I mean, we weren’t a couple, no matter what your aunt says. We went out three times, max. Sandy was nice, but she was a bit too clinging for me, almost as if we were planning wedding bells instead of someone I barely knew. Then the accident happened and I got caught up in all that shit and—”

  “What accident?”

  Jon wondered if Iain was putting him on. If his aunt knew who he was, surely she must have mentioned the accident. It had been big news back then.

  “You really don’t know?”

  “No, when did it happen?”

  “About ten years ago. Round about the time your cousin and I split up.”

  Iain looked disbelieving. “How convenient.”

  Jon stood up. “There’s no point in talking to you. It wasn’t fucking convenient. It was horrific, a woman died, my brother was in hospital for months and I almost went to prison. If you thing that’s convenient, you’re off your fucking rocker.”

  Iain waved a hand towards the seat. “So, explain it to me.”

  Jon sat down again. “There’s not much to explain. I told you, Sandy was just someone I’d had a few dates with. She wanted it to be more than that. I can’t remember now what I wanted, but I ended up crashing my car and all the other stuff I’ve told you about. I didn’t give her another thought. I was either at the hospital with my brother, or talking to my solicitor. It was a nightmare year. By the time it was all sorted, I’d forgotten Sandy even existed. If that makes me the villain in your eyes, there’s fuck all I can do about that, but I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

  Iain sat silently for a couple of minutes, staring at the ceiling, and Jon wondered if he should get up and get back to work, but then Iain looked back at him.

  “I was away when Sandra tried to kill herself. I only came back to Bradchester three years ago. I’ve been travelling all over and had no idea what was going on with the family. I stayed with Aunt Vera when I first came back, my parents moved down south when Dad retired. All I heard was about this arsehole who’d driven Sandra into the asylum. I remember her as a sweet kid. We lived in the next street and as she grew up she used to follow me around.”