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

by Frances di Plino

  Paolo smiled. “I know it’s tedious, but keep reading. I am certain the clue we need is in that transcript.”

  The door swung open and CC burst in. “You’ll never believe what I’ve got. Fulbright didn’t just save Stormont’s life; he was also the surgeon who operated on Andy Miller after the accident and he looked after the woman who was knocked down as well, but she didn’t survive.”

  Paolo looked across at Andrea. “How’s that for synchronicity?”

  “Sin what, sir?”

  “Synchronicity. It’s when two events are meaningfully related. You’ve uncovered the woman in the trial transcript and now CC has discovered she was Fulbright’s patient. Tell us more, CC.”

  She slipped off her jacket and sat down. “It makes for interesting reading, sir. As you know, Edwin Fulbright operated on Conrad Stormont’s wrists to save his life, but that was some considerable time after the accident we’re looking into. Andrew Miller and Grace Simmonds were both admitted at the same time. Andrew Miller eventually recovered, although he was left paralysed. Grace Simmonds wasn’t so lucky. Fulbright operated on her and she was expected to pull through, even though she’d suffered terrible internal injuries. Apparently, Mr Fulbright was a brilliant surgeon. Anyway, she suffered a massive heart attack during the night and she died.”

  “Do you have the husband’s details on record?”

  CC shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. The accident happened on the same day as that terrible train crash and the hospital was overrun with cases. In the chaos, the staff neglected to take down the husband’s address or phone number. I presume that’s why he didn’t find out until the next day that his wife had passed away.”

  “How do you know he wasn’t told until then?” Paolo asked.

  CC showed him a photocopy of the hospital records. “Because the nurse on duty noted it down. Oh my God!”

  “What?” Paolo asked.

  “Look, sir. She was admitted on a Friday and died overnight, but her husband only found out on the Saturday. That fits the pattern of the first five murders.”

  “You’re right. We need to find out this man’s name and address.”

  “I can help you with that, sir,” Andrea said. “All those details are here in the transcript. His name is Bradley Simmonds and the address given is 43, The Pallisades, Riversmead. That’s over the other side of town, isn’t it?”

  “It is. I don’t suppose there’s a phone number listed?”

  Andrea shook her head. “I’ll see if I can find one.”

  “Do that,” Paolo said, “but don’t call him. I don’t want him warned. Dave and I are going to pay him a visit.”

  Dave pulled up outside the house and Paolo was relieved to see it looked well cared for. That meant someone was living there. He could only pray it was Bradley Simmonds. He got out of the car and waited for Dave to lock it. They walked along the path next to a well-tended flower bed. Paolo had barely lifted his hand to ring the bell when the door opened.

  A young boy of about eleven, hand clasped around a football, stood in front of him. Before Paolo could speak, the boy turned and ran back into the house, still clutching the football.

  “Mum, there’s two strange men at the door.”

  Paolo saw him disappear into the room at the end of a short hallway. Soon afterwards, a woman came out who bore such a striking resemblance to the boy that she had to be his mother. She walked forward slowly, as if she wasn’t sure it was safe to come to the door.

  Paolo held out his warrant card. “Sorry to disturb you, madam. I’m Detective Inspector Paolo Storey and this is Detective Sergeant Johnson. We’re looking for Bradley Simmonds. Is he in?”

  The woman visibly relaxed. “I’m afraid he doesn’t live here.”

  “Do you have an address for him?”

  She shook her head. “No, we’ve only been living here for six months. Maybe the people we bought from have his address.”

  “Do you know how long the previous residents lived here?”

  “I think they said for about five years. I don’t know who had it before that.”

  “I see,” said Paolo. “Could you give me a contact number or address for the people you bought the property from?”

  “Sorry, I’ve no idea where they moved to. Up north somewhere it was.”

  Paolo smiled at the boy who had reappeared and had come to stand next to his mother.

  “I’m sorry I startled you.”

  The boy gave a sheepish grin. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be standing there when I opened the door.” He looked up at his mother. “Can I go now?”

  “Yes, but come straight back after practice.”

  “I will,” he yelled as he ran down the path.

  The woman turned back to Paolo. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been much help.”

  “Not a problem. We can find out all we need to know from the public records office. Thank you for your time,” he said.

  Back in the car, Paolo thumped the dashboard. “Every time we get a step closer, it seems we get knocked back again. Still, it shouldn’t be too difficult to track down Bradley Simmonds.”

  “You think he could be our man?”

  Paolo nodded. “Bradley Simmonds would have good reason to hold a grudge against the solicitor and the barrister who acted for Jon Miller. He has a valid beef against both Conrad Stormont and Professor Edwards because it was their combined act that provided Jon Miller with the wrong medication. Edwin Fulbright saved Andy Miller, but didn’t save his wife, Grace Simmonds. It all fits better than some of the other avenues we’ve explored, with the exception of Andy Miller’s death.” He smacked the dashboard again. “Why is it that there always seems to be one death that falls outside the rest?”

  As Dave pulled away, Paolo’s mobile rang.

  “Storey.”

  “Sir,” CC said and Paolo could hear the excitement in her voice. “I’ve been checking into Grace Simmonds’s medical history. You’ll never guess what her appointment was for on the day she was knocked down. It was to have her insulin levels tested. She was a diabetic!”

  “So her husband would have been familiar with the risks of insulin overdose. Great work, CC. Listen, while you’re on, do me a favour and see if you can find any records for Bradley Simmonds. He sold his home some years back, but not to the current owner. Check every database you can to see if he pops up anywhere.”

  “We’ve had the six bodies he promised in his notes, sir; do you think he’s finished?”

  “No, something tells me that last murder wasn’t part of the pattern. Apart from the element of rage involved, why didn’t he leave us his usual note?”

  “He didn’t leave one on Stormont,” CC pointed out.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Paolo said. “I think he probably did and someone saw what they thought was a drunk or druggie passed out in a shop doorway with an envelope on his chest. I think a passer-by whipped it away in the hope of finding a few quid inside.” He sighed. “We’re on our way back to the station. We need to find Bradley Simmonds before he strikes again because someone is going to be in danger tomorrow.”

  By the time Paolo and Dave reached the station, CC and Andrea had reams of information for them to go through, but none of it very helpful.

  Paolo looked through the notes CC gave him. “Okay, so he dropped off the electoral roll eight years ago round about the same time as he sold his house. He resigned from his job and didn’t take another one, but neither did he sign on for benefits, so what’s he been living on for the past eight years?”

  “And where?” Dave said.

  That evening, nestling next to Jessica on her couch, Paolo felt the tension of the day finally leave his body. They’d barely spoken since he’d got there two hours earlier, but it felt one of those rare comfortable silences where no one has to say anything because everything is understood without words.

  “Would you like to watch a film,” Jessica asked, smiling up at him.

  He pulled her in
closer. “No, thank you. I’m quite content just sitting here with you. How was your day?”

  “Okay. Interesting. Yours?”

  “Frustrating. We spent most of it following up what looked like promising leads, only to find each one ended in a brick wall. We’re fairly sure now we know who we’re looking for, but not where to find him. He’s going to strike again tomorrow. I’m sure of it, but I don’t know who he has in his sights this time.”

  “Why are you so sure there’ll be another murder? You said all the notes pointed to six victims.”

  Paolo shook himself. He was here with Jessica and should be enjoying the moment, not trying to second guess a madman. He turned to face her.

  “I can think of much nicer ways of spending our time than talking about my work or even watching a film,” he said.

  She grinned. “What could be better than watching a film?”

  “This,” he said and pulled her to him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Week Six – Friday 29th August to Thursday 4th September

  Paolo picked up Barbara’s overnight case and carried it out to his car. He held the passenger door open and Barbara slid in.

  He thought she looked more fragile than ever, but that was hardly surprising considering what she been through just to get to this point.

  “Thanks for doing this, Paolo,” she said.

  “Nonsense, that’s what friends are for.”

  She tried to smile, and Paolo thought he’d never seen such a feeble attempt from someone who was usually so strong minded she terrified all the male staff on her team.

  “Anyway, you’d do the same for me,” he said.

  “I hope I never have to, but yes, I would.”

  They drove to the hospital in silence. Paolo pulled into the car park and found an empty space.

  “I’ll stay with you as long as they allow me to. Okay?”

  Barbara nodded. “And you’ll be there when I come back to the ward after the operation? Promise?”

  “I promise,” he said.

  Paolo stood at the front of the central office, his mind still on Barbara, but he knew he had to put thoughts of her to one side. Someone was going to die today unless he figured out a way to prevent it. Of that he was absolutely certain.

  He tapped the board to get everyone’s attention and the room went quiet.

  “I’ve been summoned upstairs to see Chief Constable Willows and I need something to tell him. Have any of you managed to track down Bradley Simmonds since he disappeared eight years ago? Please don’t tell me this is Conrad Stormont all over again and he’ll only turn up when someone kills him.”

  The room remained silent.

  “Nothing? One of you must have something.”

  His mobile rang.

  “Saved by the bell,” someone called out.

  “Storey,” Paolo said.

  “Are you the copper who came upstairs when Andy died?”

  “Yes. That’s Gordon, isn’t it? What can I do for you?”

  “Look, I don’t know, it might be nothing, but it’s the barman from our pub.”

  Paolo sat on the edge of the closest desk. “What about him?”

  “Well, I saw him, see. I mean it’s probably nothing. I shouldn’t have bothered you. Sorry.”

  “No! Wait,” Paolo said. “It’s often the things that people think aren’t really important that turn out to be crucial to solving cases. Now, as calmly as you can, tell me what it is that bothered you about your barman.”

  “It was the morning I went to see my mum. You know, I told you I walked to the station to catch the train.”

  “Yes, I remember you telling me that.”

  “Well, that’s the point. I saw him going in the opposite direction, but I didn’t think he lived out our way. But I’ve just realised, he was probably visiting a friend or something. I’ve wasted your time, sorry.”

  “Gordon, don’t go. This is really important. Are you saying you saw your local barman heading towards where you live, but you’ve never seen him in the area before?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. I think he lives over by the river, so it’s the opposite direction from the pub to us.”

  Paolo could feel his heart beating so fast it felt like a beginner drummer had let rip with an extended drum solo.

  “What’s the barman’s name?”

  “I don’t want to get him into trouble. I mean, I didn’t see him do nothing.”

  Paolo forced his voice to remain calm. “I understand that completely. Don’t worry; he won’t be in any trouble unless he’s done something wrong. We just need to eliminate him from our enquiries. What’s his name, Gordon?”

  “Brad. Brad Masters.”

  “I see, thank you, and which pub is it?”

  “The one down the road.”

  “I meant, what’s it called?”

  Gordon laughed. “Sorry, I’m such a dickhead at times. It’s the White Horse.”

  “That’s great. Gordon, if you should see Brad before we do, please don’t mention that you’ve told me you saw him that day. He might think he’s in trouble and get a fright.”

  “Oh, okay. No, I won’t say a word. He doesn’t like me much anyway, so we’re not exactly on buddy terms.”

  Paolo ended the call and turned back to the room. Every face was intent on his. They all looked as if they’d been hanging on every word.

  “We’ve got a name to chase up. Find out what you can about a Brad Masters. He’s the barman at the White Horse. Dave, let’s get going. We should get there just before opening time with a bit of luck.”

  Dave drove to the pub and slowed to look for somewhere to park.

  “Just pull up outside and park on the double yellow lines,” Paolo said. “We haven’t got time to waste looking for the perfect parking spot.”

  He reached into the back and grabbed the police sign, slinging it on the dashboard before getting out.

  The pub was still locked up, but Paolo hammered on the front door. After a couple of minutes it was flung open.

  “For Christ’s sake, keep your bloody hair on. I’m only five minutes’ late opening.”

  Paolo flashed his warrant card.

  “Bradley Masters?”

  “No, I’m bloody not, and if you’re looking for him, you’re out of bloody luck. The bastard hasn’t turned up for work since he left on Monday night. I’ve had to do it all myself, haven’t I, which is why I’m late getting the doors open. What d’you want him for anyway? I went round to his gaff but he didn’t answer the door. I don’t know if he’s done a bunk or what. If you find him, smack him around the head for me, will you.”

  He paused to draw breath and Paolo seized his chance.

  “Could you give us his address, sir? It’s very important.”

  “Yeah, come in. I’ve got the fucker’s phone numbers, too, but a fat lot of good that is. He’s not answering his landline or his mobile. If he’s sick I hope he dies, leaving me in the lurch like this with no warning.”

  As he was ranting, he’d made his way to an office behind the bar. Paolo and Dave followed him in and watched as he scrabbled through the piles of paper scattered over a battered old desk.

  “Where did I put it? I had it here yesterday. Called on and off all bloody day, I did. The kitchen staff’ll be here in a minute and I’m nowhere near ready with the bar even. Here it is, no that’s not it. Aha!” he said, holding up a sheet of paper as if it was the crown jewels.

  In Paolo’s eyes, if it led them to Bradley Simmonds, or Brad Masters as he now was, it was worth more than any jewels. He took it and thanked the man before he could start on another rant.

  As he and Dave left the pub, the man’s voice was still ringing out.

  “Don’t forget. Smack him one for me when you find him.”

  “Do you know how to get to this address? Flat three, 78, Cooper Street,” Paolo asked.

  “I don’t,” Dave said, “but the Sat Nav will. I don’t think it can be far from here.”


  Paolo waited with mounting impatience for Dave to key the address into the Sat Nav, but was rewarded with the information that the street was only a couple of roads away.

  “I think it’ll be quicker to run there than move the car,” Paolo said. “I’ll call in for back-up, just in case.”

  He fished the mobile from his pocket and gave the address to the operator.

  “Right, let’s go,” he said. “There’s a car on its way. They’ll meet us there.”

  As they ran, Paolo’s conviction that Bradley was already out, possibly even with his next victim, grew even stronger. They turned the corner into Cooper Street, looking for number 78.

  “Over there,” Paolo said just as a police car swept past them and pulled up outside a terraced house. There was a single front door, but a panel at the side contained four buzzers, showing the house had been converted into flats.

  Slightly out of breath, Paolo was glad of a chance to recover while he waited for the uniformed officers to get out of their car.

  “What would you like us to do, sir? We’ve got an enforcer in the car if it’s needed.”

  “Let’s see if anyone is at home first.”

  Paolo rang the bell for flat three and listened. He thought he heard a noise and waited, but when the door opened a young woman in her early twenties confronted him.

  “My baby’s asleep upstairs. Can’t you keep the noise down?”

  “I’m sorry,” Paolo said. “Are you from flat three?”

  “No, next door to him, but his bell is on the party wall. It’s fine if someone just presses it and lets go, but you’re standing there like you’re planning to wait all day if necessary and you’ll wake my baby if you keep it up. Anyway, I don’t think he’s in. I haven’t seen him for a few days.”

  “Do you have a key to his flat?”

  She looked horrified. “Why would I? I barely know him other than to say hello. Try Mrs Jenson at number one. She’s our landlady. I know she’s got a spare key to my place because she watches Jamie for me sometimes and lets herself in.”