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

by Frances di Plino

  Paolo thanked her and promised to try not to disturb her more than they already had.

  He followed her into the entrance hall. There was a door on either side of the space. The young woman ran up the narrow stairs leading to the floor above. Paolo knocked at flat one. The door opened a crack and dark eyes peered out at him.

  “Who let you inside?”

  Paolo showed his warrant card and introduced himself.

  The door opened a little wider and the dark eyes were matched by mahogany skin. The bright orange hair didn’t seem to fit the face, but Paolo was so used to CC’s wild colour choices that he barely noticed.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Mrs Jenson? I believe you have a key to number three.”

  “What of it?”

  “It’s very important that we have access to that apartment.”

  “Do you have a warrant?” she asked.

  Paolo shook his head. “No, but it really is very important we get inside.”

  She grinned. “I’m sure it is, but you aren’t getting any key from me without you show me a warrant.”

  “Okay,” he said. “You win. Officer, we’ll use the enforcer.”

  The door opened fully and she strode out. “What’s an enforcer? You can’t go bringing that thing into my house.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs Jenson, but I’m trying to prevent a murder taking place. If you won’t open the door for me, we’ll have to use that,” he said, pointing to the mini battering ram cradled in the arms of the uniformed men.

  “But that’ll break the door all to bits.”

  Paolo nodded. “It will, but don’t worry, you can claim for damages. I’m sure you’ll be reimbursed eventually. Off you go, men.”

  “Now just you hold on,” she yelled. “I’m not having my doors broken down. I’ll get the key, but I’m coming in with you. I don’t trust you lot not to plant stuff on that poor man.”

  Muttering under her breath, she went back inside and soon reappeared with the key.

  “Just you and him,” she said, pointing to Paolo and Dave. “I don’t want them up there. If my poor husband knew I’d even let you in the house he would be spinning in his grave, except I had him cremated and scattered his ashes, so it’d be hard for him to spin.”

  Paolo and Dave followed her up to the first floor where the young woman was standing outside her apartment door.

  “Will you please keep the noise down?” she hissed.

  The words were no sooner out than a baby’s scream pierced the air. The woman threw them a look of pure venom.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” she said, going inside and slamming the door.

  “I don’t think this is the place to sell police raffle tickets somehow, sir,” Dave said. “We don’t seem to be very welcome here.”

  Paolo shrugged. He didn’t care if every resident in the house hated them as long as he could get inside Bradley’s flat. Mrs Jenson made a big performance out of unlocking the door. When she’d turned the key she took it from the lock and put it in her pocket.

  “And there it stays,” she said. “I’ve opened the door under protest, but you’re not getting your hands on the key.”

  Grudgingly, she moved to one side to let Paolo and Dave enter. Immediately, Paolo knew they’d come to the right place. The walls were covered in articles taken from the local papers showing group images taken at social events. In all of them, either the professor, Wittington-Smythe, Peter Bishop or Edwin Fulbright was present. Paolo moved over to a chest of drawers, pulled on some gloves, and opened the top drawer. There was nothing of interest to find, just clean underwear and socks.

  The next drawer down contained tee-shirts, but the third held the jackpot. Boxes of syringes and vials of liquid filled one side of the space. Notebooks were stacked in the other half.

  “Look at this, Dave,” he said, moving so that his back shielded the contents from Mrs Jenson’s view.

  “Bloody hell, sir. We’ve found the right man, but where is he?”

  Paolo reached down for the top notebook. Marcus Wittington-Smythe was neatly printed on the front. Inside the pages were full of information about him, his wife and his missing son. Ideas on how to approach him were written and then crossed out. The only one not scratched through was a detailed plan to use the barrister’s love for his missing boy as bait.

  He put the notebook on top of the dresser and picked up the next one. Peter Bishop’s name was printed on it. As with the first book, it contained pages and pages of details about the solicitor’s life and movements.

  Professor Edwards’s name was on the third and Edwin Fulbright’s on the notebook under that one. Paolo placed them with the other two on top of the dresser and reached down to pick up the next notebook. As he did so his phone rang.

  “Storey,” he said.

  “Sir, it’s Andrea. I’ve almost reached the end of the transcript.”

  As she spoke, Paolo stretched out his left hand to lift up the next notebook and wasn’t surprised to see Conrad Stormont’s name printed on it. The final notebook had Jon Miller’s name on the cover. So that’s who the last victim was going to be! Not what Paolo had expected.

  “Yes, sir, and there’s another name mentioned right near the end as an expert witness.”

  Paolo rested the book on the dresser and turned the page, seeing that this one was different to the others. It detailed ways in which it could be made to appear as if Jon was the murderer.

  “Sir, I feel I have to warn you.”

  Paolo felt the room spin around him. On the second page was a list of intended victims. The first five had ticks against them. As the sixth name registered, he knew exactly what Andrea was going to say and heard the words as if from the end of a long tunnel. Her voice seemed to echo and reverberate.

  “It’s Dr Jessica Carter, sir. She gave evidence in favour of Jon Miller.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Paolo hit speed dial again. “Come on, Jessica, answer your bloody phone.”

  Her recorded message clicked in and he left yet another message.

  “Dave, can’t you drive any faster?”

  Paolo knew he was being unfair. Dave was already endangering himself and other road users by driving too fast on crowded roads. He was weaving in and out of traffic, often missing oncoming vehicles by inches.

  Paolo dialled again, this time getting through to Jessica’s secretary at the hospital.

  “At last,” he said. “Your line has been solidly engaged for bloody ages.”

  “Can I help you?”

  Paolo forced himself to behave rationally. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be rude. This is Detective Inspector Storey. It is essential I speak with Dr Carter. Do you have more than one number for her at her office?”

  “No, sir, I’m afraid not. She just has the one line over there, but she has a new patient today, so she won’t answer the phone until he has left.”

  “New patient? What’s his name?”

  “I’m afraid I cannot tell you that, sir.”

  “Why is she seeing a patient today? I thought she used Fridays to catch up on her cases?”

  After a brief silence, the secretary must have decided answering wouldn’t breach client confidentiality.

  “Because the new patient wanted to see her on a Friday. He was quite insistent about it.”

  “What time is the appointment.”

  “I, er, I don’t think…”

  “What time is the bloody appointment? For Christ’s sake, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. Dr Carter could be in serious trouble, now what time is the appointment?”

  “It’s at two-thirty.”

  Paolo looked at his watch. They had five minutes to get there.

  “If Dr Carter should contact you, please tell her she needs to listen to the messages I’ve left as a matter of urgency. She must listen to them before she sees her patient. It’s a life or death situation. Have you got that?”

  “Yes, sir,” she s
aid.

  Paolo ended the call and tried Jessica’s mobile again, only for it go straight to voicemail. He was about to dial her office number when the car swung violently to the left and Dave drove into the car park. Paolo didn’t wait for the car to come to a complete stop before jumping out. He was vaguely aware of Dave’s footsteps thundering behind him as he pushed the glass door open and ran for Jessica’s office.

  The waiting room was empty. Had Bradley arrived early? Was Jessica alone? He didn’t hesitate. He tried the handle, it was unlocked. Throwing open the door he burst into the room. There was a man standing next to Jessica, pointing to something on the desk. Paolo launched himself across the room and tackled the man to the floor.

  Jessica stood up. “What the hell is going on?” she yelled. “Paolo, have you lost control of your senses? That’s my patient.”

  Paolo forced the man’s arms up behind his back. “No, he isn’t. He’s a killer. This is the man who murdered Professor Edwards and Conrad Stormont, amongst others.”

  “Have you got him secure, sir?” Dave asked. “I’ve got my cuffs here.”

  Paolo moved slightly to one side so that Dave could reach down and slip the cuffs on. He stood up and then pulled the man to his feet.

  “Bradley Simmonds, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Professor Edwards, Peter Bishop, Marcus Wittington-Smythe, Edwin Fulbright, Conrad Stormont and Andrew Miller. You don’t have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be taken down and given in evidence. Do you understand?”

  Bradley nodded. “You got here too soon.”

  “No,” Paolo said, “I got here just in time.”

  Paolo looked over at Jessica. She hadn’t said a word since he’d rushed in. He guessed she must be in a state of shock.

  “Jessica, why don’t you sit down? I have to take Bradley Simmonds to the station. Is there someone I can call to be with you?”

  She shook her head, but still didn’t speak.

  “Jess, talk to me. I can’t leave you like this. Let me call one of your friends.”

  She looked at him and Paolo felt as if he’d been slapped.

  “How dare you? How dare you burst into my office when I have a patient with me?”

  “Jessica, he was here to kill you.”

  “So you say, but he hadn’t shown any sign of aggression. In fact, the only aggressors in this situation are you and Dave.”

  Paolo knew she’d only believe the danger she’d been in if he could show her evidence of it. He patted Bradley’s pockets and felt the outline of a syringe.

  “Hold him steady for me, please, Dave.”

  Dave stood behind their prisoner and linked his arms through Bradley’s to stop him from lunging forward.

  Paolo held the pocket open with one hand and carefully extracted the syringe with the other. As he dropped it into an evidence bag, he turned and smiled at Jessica.

  “This was intended for you.”

  As she began to tremble, he moved towards her and gently eased her back until she sat down.

  “Who can I call to be with you?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. It just hit me I’d be dead if you hadn’t arrived in time.” She glared at Bradley. “Take him away,” she said. “Take him and do whatever it is you have to do.”

  Paolo dropped a kiss on her forehead. “You sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

  She nodded. “Really, I’m fine.”

  “I’ll be over this evening as we’d arranged. Okay?”

  He hated to leave her sitting all alone in her office, but had to accept that she didn’t want him to call anyone. Forcing himself to remain calm and not lay into the man, as all his instincts urged him to do, he took hold of Bradley’s arm and led him outside.

  Paolo switched on the recorder and stated who was in the interrogation room, the date and time.

  “For the purposes of the tape, would you please repeat your assertion that you do not wish to have a legal representative at this time?”

  Bradley shrugged. “I don’t want anybody. Can we just get this over with?”

  “Do you realise the severity and number of charges against you, Mr Simmonds?”

  “Call me Brad. Yes, and I freely admit to killing Edwards, Fulbright, Bishops, Wittington-Smythe, Stormont and Miller. If you hadn’t come bursting in, you could have added Carter to the list.”

  Paolo pulled the file towards him, but before he could speak, Bradley tapped on the table.

  “You don’t have to get clever with the questions. I’ll tell you why I did it. I just wish I’d managed the last one as well.” He smiled. “You should have seen my Grace that morning. If ever anyone had a name to suit their personality, it was her. She was beautiful. Oh, not in the conventional sense. I don’t suppose many would have given her a second look, but that was their loss. She glowed, Detective Inspector. She was full of grace and had her whole life ahead of her.”

  He stopped speaking and pulled a tissue from his pocket to wipe his eyes.

  “Do you know why she had that hospital appointment?”

  Paolo shook his head. “No, was it for a special reason?”

  “You could say that. We were going to start a family, but my Grace was diabetic. She’d arranged to see someone who was going to advise her on diet and such like if she fell pregnant. She said, ‘I’m off to the hospital. I’ll see you later.’ Then she left. That bastard Miller ran his car into her. She went to the hospital all right, but she never came home again.”

  He sat forward. “I tried to come to terms with what had happened to her, but the hospital didn’t even tell me she’d died until the next morning. I went there expecting to find her in the ward, but she was already in the morgue.”

  He wiped his eyes again. “They saved Andy Miller, but couldn’t save my Grace. I went to the court every day, you know, thinking I’d see justice done. But it doesn’t work like that, does it? All those people saying poor Jon Miller, it wasn’t his fault. Well, it sure as hell wasn’t Grace’s fault, but no one cared about her.”

  “So you were angry when Jon Miller was found not guilty?”

  Bradley shook his head. “Not then, I wasn’t. I didn’t really feel any emotion. I’ve read up on it. I must have been in a state of shock, because I stayed that way for years.”

  Paolo leaned his arms on the desk. “Where did you go? We couldn’t find any trace of you after you sold your house.”

  “South Africa,” Bradley said. “There was an advert in the paper for Chartered Accountants. I thought maybe it was a sign I should start a new life. I went for a couple of interviews at South Africa House and they accepted me. I moved out to Cape Town, lived in Claremont at first and then moved to Camps Bay. It was a good life while I was there.”

  “But you came back,” Paolo said. “Did it not work out?”

  Bradley smiled. “It worked out very well. I thought I’d stay, but a couple of years ago something called me home.”

  “What was it? Your plan to commit murder?”

  Bradley shook his head. “No, not at all. I had come to terms with my loss and thought I’d moved on. When I landed at Heathrow, I had no job and nowhere to live, but I had earned a good salary in SA and hadn’t spent much of it over the years, so didn’t need to work for a while. I came back to Bradchester because it’s where I was born. Where I got married and lived with Grace. Where I’d been happy.”

  “Then I don’t understand,” Paolo said. “If you were so at peace with yourself and the world, what happened to change all that?”

  “Edwin Fulbright got married to that young woman.”

  Paolo thought he must have misheard, but the look on Dave’s face told him he was confused, too.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Bradley sighed. “I’d only been in Bradchester a few weeks, staying in a B & B while I looked around for somewhere to rent. The local news came on the televis
ion and there was Edwin Fulbright beaming with happiness on his wedding day. It did something to me. Hurt in a way I can’t describe.”

  “So you decided he should die for being happy?” Paolo asked.

  “No, not straight away, but that same weekend, Wittington-Smythe and his wife were in the paper attending some charity event. The photographer caught them in one of those poses where they are looking at each other with the kind of look only people who’ve been married for a while can share. It showed how close they were and I hated them for it.”

  Bradley sat up straighter in his chair. “That’s when I decided to look into the lives of all those I felt had let Grace down, or had been party to the accident. I discovered they all seemed to be living good lives. All apart from Conrad Stormont. It took me ages to find him. When I realised he’d dropped off the face of the earth, but wasn’t dead, I hit on the idea of him living on the streets, so went round all the shelters and soup kitchens until I struck lucky.”

  He sighed. “He was supposed to have been the final one, but when I tried to get an earlier appointment with Jessica Carter, she wasn’t in Bradchester. She was the last person to testify on Miller’s behalf. Did you know that? That’s what made me think it was meant to be. You know, it started when a woman died, so maybe it was fate for it to end with the death of another one.” His voice broke and tears streamed down his face. “I loved my Grace so much. You’ll never know how much. She died on the Friday night, but I only found out on Saturday morning.” He wiped the tears away and sniffed. “When I decided to kill them all, I wanted it to be like with Grace; they die on Friday, but only get found on Saturday. Then I took it a stage further and thought it would be poetic justice to kill them with the stuff Grace used to have to inject herself with. Have you any idea how easy it is to buy insulin from the internet?”

  Paolo shook his head. “I’ve never looked into it, but it frightens me to death to realise just what is available online. So you began following them?”

  Bradley nodded. “I knew I’d need to be able to get close enough to inject them. That would mean setting up a situation where they trusted me, so I found their weak points. Then I pretended to be someone they would allow to get close.”