The Madam

by Jaime Raven

  She heard me approach when I was about ten yards away and looked up.

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  She pushed her hair from her eyes and frowned at me. There was no hint of recognition in her expression, but she did appear taken aback.

  ‘Do I know you?’ she asked, her voice thin and wheezy.

  I got to within a few feet of her and stopped. I saw then that her face, though not unattractive, was pale and drawn. She had full, pouty lips and a button nose. But her eyes were moist and set in dark shadows.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘But I’m really curious to know who you are.’

  She wrapped her arms around her chest and tilted her head to one side.

  ‘Why? What is it to you?’

  I gestured towards the headstone.

  ‘Leo Wells was my son. I’d like to know why you’ve been putting flowers on his grave since shortly after he died.’

  Her face creased in disbelief. ‘Oh my God. I thought you—’

  ‘You thought I was in prison,’ I cut in. ‘Well, I was until a few days ago. Now I’m out and I’d like an explanation.’

  Panic seized her features, and for several seconds she didn’t move, just stared at me with dilated pupils.

  ‘Look, I’m not ungrateful for what you’ve been doing,’ I said. ‘But you didn’t know my son and you don’t know me. So what’s with the flowers?’

  She shook her head and struggled to get the words out.

  ‘That’s my business,’ she said. ‘I don’t have to tell you anything.’

  ‘But why would you keep it a secret?’

  She unwrapped her arms, turned on her heels. Our shoulders touched as she shuffled past me and headed across the grass towards the path.

  ‘For Christ’s sake talk to me,’ I yelled as I followed her. ‘What the fuck have you got to hide?’

  ‘Just leave me alone.’

  ‘Not until you tell me what your connection is to my son.’

  She strode forward, picking up pace as she hurried in the direction of the cemetery gates. I reached out and grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop. She spun round and jerked herself free.

  ‘If you touch me again I’ll scream,’ she shouted. ‘And then I’ll call the police and tell them you’re harassing me.’

  ‘But this is ridiculous,’ I said. ‘Just tell me what’s going on. Why have you been coming here every week if you didn’t know Leo?’

  But she ignored me and carried on walking. Then, as I pursued her, she broke into a run.

  ‘Do you feel guilty about something?’ I yelled after her as I tried to keep up. ‘Is that it?’

  She didn’t respond, just kept running. As she passed through the open gates I caught up and stuck out my arm to slow her down. But this time she reacted by lashing out with her fist, catching me full in the face.

  I cried out and lost my balance, falling with a painful thump onto the gravel.

  The woman surged ahead. As I struggled to get back on my feet, I saw her stop next to a black VW Beetle about fifteen yards away. She quickly inserted the key in the driver’s door, wrenched it open.

  I reached the car just as she slammed the door shut behind her and pressed the central locking switch.

  ‘Please don’t go,’ I screamed at her through the side window. ‘I need to know who you are and why you’re here.’

  The engine spluttered to life. I banged on the window with both fists, but the woman didn’t turn to look at me as she engaged first gear and slammed her foot down on the accelerator.

  There were no cars in front, so the VW lurched forward with a screech of rubber.

  As I watched it roll away from me my eyes were drawn to a bright blue rectangular sticker on the inside of the rear window. The white lettering was bold enough to register even though the words were visible for barely two seconds.

  Arnold Royce Estate Agents, Southampton.

  I stood there gasping for air as the car sped along the road away from me and the cemetery. I thought about trying to follow in Scar’s car, but realised it’d be a waste of time. The bitch had too much of a head start.

  I dragged a hand through my hair and tried to think through what had just happened. But it didn’t make sense. The mystery blonde remained a mystery.

  I just didn’t get it. Why had she panicked when I asked her who she was? What secret was she desperate to keep?

  I was certain now that I had never met the woman. She was unfamiliar to me. If our paths had ever crossed, even fleetingly, I was certain I would have remembered.

  Surely if there was an innocent explanation for what she’d been doing she would have revealed it to me. But she had chosen to flee instead like some common criminal caught in the act.

  I obviously couldn’t leave it at that. I had to find out why she felt compelled week after week to put flowers on my son’s grave.

  I reached for my mobile phone as I walked back to the car. It took me a few moments to work out how to get online. On the Google search page I tapped in the words Arnold Royce Estate Agents, Southampton.

  The business came straight up along with a phone number and an address in the centre of town.

  Seconds later I was through to them. I told the girl who answered the phone that I was with Hampshire police and that we were trying to trace the owner of a black VW Beetle that had been involved in a minor accident.

  ‘It had one of your company promotional stickers in the rear window,’ I said.

  There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and I thought she was going to tell me that she couldn’t give out such information over the phone. But instead she said, ‘As a matter of fact one of our staff members does own a black VW. Is she okay?’

  ‘We think so,’ I said. ‘There’s no one actually with the vehicle, which is why we’re checking out the registration to find out who the owner is. But I thought I’d call you as well.’

  ‘I see. Well Pamela who works here has a black Beetle and she’s off today.’

  ‘And what’s Pamela’s full name?’

  ‘Ferris. Pamela Ferris.’

  I felt my pulse surge.

  ‘Did you say Ferris?’ I said.

  ‘That’s right. In fact you might even have known her late husband, Neil. He was a detective with Southampton police and died about a year ago.’

  I hesitated, lowered my tone. ‘Of course I remember him. Can you give me her address?’

  ‘I don’t have it, I’m afraid. The manager does, but he’s not here at the moment. I can call him if you—’

  I hung up before she could finish the sentence.

  14

  Questions tormented me as I drove across town to the central police station. Why would the widow of the copper who had arrested me put flowers on my son’s grave? And was it a coincidence that her husband had committed suicide just a week or so after attending Leo’s funeral?

  It was impossible to imagine that there wasn’t a connection. But the nature of it eluded me. I kept coming back to what seemed to be the most plausible explanation – that the flowers were a way of appeasing a guilty conscience. But why did she feel guilty? And why did she want to keep it a secret?

  To find out I would need to confront Pamela Ferris again and put her under a good deal more pressure. But I was well aware that the opportunity might not arise if I finished up back behind bars.

  So as I approached the central police station I could feel the unease working its way through every part of my body. My breathing became shallow and erratic, and I had to force back a rush of nausea.

  But when I walked into DCI Ash’s office ten minutes later, I held my head up high and put on a brave face.

  I didn’t want him to see how scared I really was.

  To my surprise, Ash was alone behind his desk. There was no sign of DS McGrath.

  When my uniformed escort closed the door behind me, Ash gestured for me to sit opposite him. As I did so he gave me a scathing stare, and his eyes were filled with an unnerving
coldness. I steeled myself for bad news and felt a sudden rush of needles across my lower back.

  ‘What you did last night was unacceptable,’ he said, without preamble. ‘I’ve given my officers a bollocking for not holding you in custody overnight. They were too fucking lenient.’

  He spoke quietly, but the menace in his voice came through clearly.

  ‘I gave you a warning, Wells. I told you I didn’t want you stirring up trouble. But you ignored me. First you upset Ruby Gillespie. Then Joe Strickland. And then a man who happened to walk into a bar while you were there making mischief.’

  ‘He was one of the men who attacked me earlier in the day,’ I said.

  His eyes flashed with fury. ‘For your information I don’t even believe that attack took place. We’ve found no evidence to back up your claim. I think you made it up to get attention. And that’s also why you assaulted one of Mr Strickland’s employees.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ I said.

  ‘Not to me it isn’t. You’re behaving as though you’ve completely lost the plot. You’re harassing people and making false and slanderous allegations against them. And all because you’ve got into your head the crazy notion that you were stitched up.’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘No you weren’t. You killed a man and you admitted it in court.’

  ‘But you know why I pleaded guilty.’

  ‘Of course. Your lawyer told you it was the surest way of avoiding a life sentence for murder. And you got a result considering what happened in that hotel room. Just four measly years. But now you’re out and intent on making trouble for no good reason.’

  ‘I want to find out who really murdered Benedict and why.’

  ‘But it’s a futile exercise and in your heart you must know it.’

  ‘It’s all I’ve been thinking about for four years.’

  His eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Listen to me, Wells. I’m going to give you one final warning. Let this thing go. Just forget all about it. If you don’t then you really will go back inside. Do I make myself clear?’

  I ignored the question and said, ‘So you’re not charging me?’

  He pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘I’ve talked to the man you clobbered and he’s gone against my advice and decided not to press charges.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because both he and Mr Strickland want to avoid the publicity. So you’re one lucky bitch, Wells.’

  And I felt it too. I exhaled a long breath as the tension eased out of me.

  ‘What about Ruby Gillespie?’ I said.

  ‘I haven’t heard from her, so I’m assuming she doesn’t want the hassle of making a formal complaint.’

  ‘That’s good to know.’

  ‘But there’ll be no more chances, Wells. You need to understand that. If you harass anybody else then you’ve had it.’

  ‘I get the message.’

  ‘And what exactly does that mean?’

  ‘It means I’ll think about how to react to your threat.’

  What he did next took me completely by surprise. He laughed. But it was a harsh, crude laugh.

  ‘I’ll say one thing for you, Wells. You’ve got balls for someone in your position. Seems to me that your time inside didn’t change you much. You’re still a stroppy, over-confident little gobshite.’

  ‘And you’re still a bent copper with a serious attitude problem,’ I said.

  He raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘So now it’s my turn to be on the receiving end of your unfounded allegations.’

  ‘We both know you’re not straight,’ I said. ‘I’ve been told that you take backhanders from Strickland. And so did your man Neil Ferris before he topped himself. No wonder Strickland was never in the frame for Benedict’s murder. He had the two of you looking out for him.’

  I thought for a moment that Ash was going to blow a fuse. His eyes spread wide and his nostrils flared alarmingly. But when he spoke, his voice was seamless and flat, devoid of emotion.

  ‘You have a way of winding people up, Wells. But I’m not going to rise to it. I’ll tell you this, though. You’re wrong on both counts. I’m not bent and I did not stitch you up. I didn’t have to. The evidence against you was overwhelming.’

  ‘Of course it was. That was how it was meant to be.’

  He shook his head. ‘You can say and think what you like, but my conscience is clear. We conducted a fair and thorough investigation.’

  ‘So why did Ferris kill himself?’

  He seemed genuinely shocked. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  I shrugged. ‘You tell me. Your detective threw himself off a railway bridge a week after my son died of meningitis. And ever since then his widow has been putting flowers on Leo’s grave. Could it be that her conscience isn’t as clear?’

  He sat bolt upright and stuck his chin out. ‘Please don’t tell me you’ve been harassing Pamela Ferris. If you have then so help me I’ll—’

  ‘I bumped into her at the cemetery this morning,’ I said. ‘She was placing fresh flowers on the grave.’

  He said nothing, but his eyes seemed to go out of focus, and he appeared confused.

  ‘You didn’t know about that, did you?’ I said.

  ‘What Pamela does is none of my business,’ he replied sharply.

  ‘Well, she’s made it my business by visiting my son’s grave. I want to know why, since she’s not a friend or a relative.’

  ‘Did you ask her?’

  ‘Sure I did. But she refused to answer and ran away. Now don’t you think that’s bloody suspicious?’

  He continued to aim unblinking eyes at me, but seemed lost for words.

  ‘It’s another part of the puzzle,’ I said. ‘And surely as a detective you can appreciate why I want to solve it.’ I held up my right hand and started counting off the fingers as I spoke. ‘As soon as I was released from prison I got a note threatening me, then my brother was beaten up, then Ruby Gillespie admitted that she’d lied in court, then I was attacked, then I found out that Joe Strickland is the moneyman behind Ruby’s escort agency. And on top of all that I’ve discovered that the widow of one of the officers who arrested me has been mourning the death of my son.’

  He sat there in sullen silence, as though trying to wrap his thoughts around what I’d told him.

  ‘When you put all that together it sounds really dodgy, doesn’t it?’ I said. ‘And that’s why I’m reluctant to walk away just so that you and whoever else is involved can keep a lid on it.’

  I knew I was pushing my luck, but I reasoned with myself that it was probably worth it. If DCI Ash was telling the truth – and he was not involved in a murderous conspiracy – then he might be inclined to start taking me seriously. If, on the other hand, he was a lying toerag, then I’d given him even more reason to put me out of harm’s way.

  We sat there staring at each other for perhaps half a minute, and I would have paid a King’s ransom to have known what he was thinking. I did detect a trace of uncertainty in his expression, though. It looked out of place on a face that always reflected such unbridled arrogance and self-assurance.

  Eventually he broke eye contact and checked his watch.

  ‘I’ve heard enough of this paranoid drivel,’ he said. ‘I want you to get out of my sight. If you continue making a nuisance of yourself I’ll have you banged up again.’

  His delivery was slow and threatening, and it made me realise that no matter how much evidence there was to back up my case, this bastard would make sure it was buried for ever.

  DS McGrath was waiting for me outside Ash’s office.

  ‘The governor asked me to show you out,’ he said. ‘I gather he’s told you that you won’t be facing charges.’

  ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘But he also accused me of lying about the attack in the alley. He said he doesn’t believe it happened.’

  ‘That’s because we only have your word for it, Lizzie. There were no witnesses, and one of the guys you say jumped you ha
s a firm alibi.’

  ‘So what’s the point investigating it?’

  ‘Because although he’s not convinced you were attacked, I am,’ he said. ‘It could be you’ve identified the wrong man. Maybe there are two thugs in this town with the same tattoo.’

  ‘I’m not stupid,’ I said. ‘The guy in the alley and the guy in the bar are one and the same.’

  ‘Victims of violence are often confused about the details, Lizzie.’

  ‘Well, I’m not. I’m a hundred and ten per cent certain.’

  Going down in the lift, he asked me what I had said to Ash.

  ‘I told him I knew he was bent,’ I said. ‘He denied it, naturally.’

  ‘That’s because he’s an honest copper.’

  ‘Yeah, right. And I’m a sweet little virgin.’

  When the lift doors opened on the ground floor, we stepped out into the reception area.

  ‘I’ll let you know if there are any developments,’ he said.

  As soon as I exited the building, I phoned Scar to tell her that I hadn’t been charged.

  She shrieked with relief and told me she’d been waiting anxiously for my call. I gave her an edited version of what Ash had said and told her I’d flesh it out later.

  ‘Meanwhile, have you had any luck with Karina Gorski?’ I said.

  ‘Actually I have,’ she replied. ‘I’ve been knocking on doors in and around Derby Road. Quite a few people remember her, but she hasn’t been seen for some years. Apparently she lived with her brother in one of the terraced houses. I’ve called there, but nobody’s at home so I’m going to check the local pubs.’

  ‘Let me know if you manage to track her down.’

  ‘I will. What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m hoping to see the editor of the local newspaper,’ I said. ‘He was Benedict’s boss and he’s been trying to get hold of me. I’m guessing he wants an interview.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried how Ash will react if they carry a story?’

  I laughed. ‘Oh, I know how he’ll react, and I only wish I could be there to see it.’

  The Post was the city’s only evening newspaper. It was headquartered on an industrial estate about three miles from the central police station.