The Diane Dimbleby Murder Collection Volume 2

by Penelope Sotheby

  “Something like that,” said Diane. “Do you recognize this ring?”

  She pulled out her phone and flipped open the picture of the contents of the mysterious box. There was a sharp intake of breath followed by a slow exhalation that became a drawn-out “Woooow.”

  “I’m glad the stores don’t deliver all rings like that, with the finger already attached. Though that’s the only way it would get on a finger for some people,” chuckled Dolly.

  “Does the ring look familiar?” urged Diane.

  Dolly took the phone and manipulated the image, expanding the ring to make the stones clearer.

  “You know, I do think I have seen this before,” said Dolly as she tapped a bejewelled finger to her lips in thought. “Yes, I am fairly certain I know where this came from.”

  “Where would that be?” said Diane as she leaned in a little closer.

  Diane’s elbow nudged Dolly, who had become silent and was staring a little too hard at the image.

  “You’re in luck,” Dolly said distractedly. “It’s not far from here, and I’ve been a good customer over the years.”

  Diane reached for the phone and undertook a mild test of wills with Dolly in prying it from her hand.

  “Right, yes,” said Dolly as if waking from a trance. “Yes, I know the place. It’s just across the way in the shopping centre. Maybe we can get some ideas for Albert while we’re there.”

  ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

  The shopping centre was a short drive from their seats at the park and the early morning hour had left an abundance of parking spaces near to the entrance. The wind had picked up a little, and a line of dark clouds were bearing down from the north. Diane grabbed an umbrella from the rear seat of her car before she escorted Dolly into the building.

  Despite her shoes, Dolly could maintain a wicked pace, especially when she had a particular shopping objective in mind. Diane, whose legs were a little shorter, was glad that she had maintained her speed walking regimen around Apple Mews, even during the steadily worsening weather of autumn.

  Small knots of shoppers drifted from shopfront to shopfront through the brightly lit avenues. Everywhere were lights and reflective surfaces, the white walls and shining floors amplifying the illumination. Natural light would have poured in through the high windows had the rain clouds not imposed themselves on the sky, sprinkles of rain dashing against the panes.

  That clack of Dolly’s shoes echoed off the walls and shoppers looked upwards as if expecting to see rhythmic strikes of lightning across the sky. Dolly nodded to people they passed who had turned to follow the noise. Dolly strode through the place with her head high and shoulders back, like a queen walking amongst her minions, acknowledging not a single one.

  In short order, the jewellery store, Dazzling Jewels, appeared before them, sandwiched between a bank and a bookstore. The black-rimmed doors and windows were offset by gold lettering and displays of selections of fine jewels.

  Through the window, Diane observed a moderately-sized young man in a grey suit and pink tie wandering around cases manned by staff members in smart dress. He first looked at the display, once pulling his pocket square handkerchief free to clean a smudge or fingerprint, before running a careful eye over the person and their attire. His face held a sour look that seemed to be its natural state, and he spoke briskly to each of the staff who nodded or replied with one-word answers.

  This is a tightly run, or should I say tightly wound, ship that he’s running, thought Diane.

  “Here we are,” said Dolly unnecessarily. She was already beginning to appraise the stock on display, examining her needs and the objects that might meet them.

  “Do you know that young man? Is he the manager?” asked Diane.

  “Oh no, I don’t deal with him. He runs the shop well enough, but he’s got no idea of style. Only deal with the owner myself. He’s a very refined gentleman, and he knows what I like.”

  Dolly flashed Diane a smile, a knowing smile that a younger generation may have accompanied with a wink.

  “Is no gentleman safe from you, Dolly?”

  “Some only think they are,” replied Dolly, her smile widening.

  A small bell rang within the store as Dolly pushed the door open; the staff members’ backs seemed to stiffen and heads turned. She ignored them all, instead striding to the back of the shop to the man in the pink tie.

  “I need to see Mister Wilkins,” demanded Dolly.

  Diane read his nametag, Jeremy, and stood quietly as he inspected Dolly. His response was not swift and when it came there seemed to be a sneer upon his lip.

  “I’m sorry, Ma’am. Mister Wilkins is indisposed.” He paused, his mouth working as if he tasted the words that were to come and he didn’t like them. “Can I assist you?”

  “I need to see Mister Wilkins,” repeated Dolly, undeterred by Jeremy’s response.

  While they were each at eye-level with the other, somehow Dolly seemed to be looking down her nose at Jeremy and Diane was sure that she saw Jeremy’s hands clench before he slid them behind his back.

  “Madam, as I have said, Mister Wilkins is not available at this moment. Maybe you would like to browse our collections and allow us to assist you with a purchase.”

  Dolly placed a gloved hand on the glass counter separating the two combatants and leaned forward slightly while maintaining her nose-length gaze.

  “Inform Mister Wilkins that Miss Ainsley wishes to see him.” There was only command in her voice; she was clearly not in the mood for mincing words for anyone she deemed below her.

  Jeremy faltered, his crisp exterior cracking slightly around his eyes, his suit bulged a little as his shoulders sagged from defeat. Diane caught a rigid staff member casting sideways glances at the scene, lips slowly drifting apart in surprise.

  Not a man that is spoken to like that often it seems, thought Diane. Gives more orders than he takes.

  Jeremy reached for a small phone and pushed an intercom button. He spoke briefly and sharply into the handset before replacing it beneath the counter.

  “Mister Wilkins will be down momentarily. Could I offer you a seat in the office?”

  Without acknowledging his question, Dolly moved around the counter with practiced ease and through a thick black curtain. Diane followed close behind her, offering a “Thank you” to the scowling Jeremy as she passed him.

  “Arrogant little man,” said Dolly as she lowered herself into a dark green leather chair. “He’s been getting worse recently. He knows me well enough but tries this game every time. No wonder so many people cycle through here.”

  “He seemed a bit put out.”

  Dolly snorted and waved her hand dismissively.

  “Little man with a big image of himself. Not worth worrying about.”

  That seemed to end Dolly’s interest in the topic as she leaned forward to open a wooden box resting upon the desk she was seated before. She flicked on the desk lamp and turned the box for Diane to see.

  “New stock,” she said. “I’ll have first look before they go on display.”

  “Take your pick,” said a portly man in a dark brown suit, his red cheeks matching the red handkerchief in his breast pocket. He had a smile that seemed permanently attached, his eyes half closed due to his cheeks pushing up from below.

  “Billy!” exclaimed Dolly. “That wicked boy is trying to keep you for himself.”

  “I can’t fault him for trying to keep customers in the shop, can I?” He shrugged playfully, and his eyes disappeared behind his cheeks.

  “I’m just a customer to you?” pouted Dolly.

  Diane winced to see Dolly switch to her playful man-killer mode so quickly. Such talk made the skin on her neck crawl, and she distracted herself by picking up a ring from the box.

  “Oh no no,” said Billy soothingly, placing a hand on Dolly’s shoulder. “Of course you’re not, my dear.”

  Dolly covered his hand with her own and turned her eyes up to look at his face.


  “Billy, my friend needs your help. This is Diane. Diane, this is William Hoskins, owner of this marvellous shop.”

  Billy stepped around Dolly’s chair and extended his hand to Diane, who gripped it gently for a moment.

  “A pleasure. How may I assist, my dear Dolly’s friend?”

  “There’s a ring, Billy,” said Dolly. “Show him, Diane. There’s a ring, and we need to know who bought it.”

  “You’re not squeamish, I hope,” said Diane as she produced her phone and pulled up the image of the finger.

  “The poor girl,” said William under his breath. Then after a moment, “Have they found the poor child yet?”

  Diane shook her head solemnly.

  “We were hoping that is where you could help us, Mr. Hoskins.”

  “I know this ring. It’s definitely one we have had in stock. How did you get this?”

  “It was brought to me by a young woman this morning.” Diana retrieved the phone and changed the image, handing it back to William. “Have you seen her before?”

  “She doesn’t look like anyone I’ve dealt with, but there have been so many customers, and I rarely spend time in the shop except for my special clients.” He turned a twinkling eye upon Dolly who became coy under his gaze.

  “Is there any way you could tell us who bought the ring?” asked Diane.

  “Usually I wouldn’t hand out such information, but due to the nature of the situation and that you are a good friend of Dolly’s, I think I can make a justifiable exception. Please, give me a few minutes to look through our records.”

  Diane sat in silence as Dolly looked over the new arrivals, tutting in places when she saw something not up to her extreme standards. A small clock on the desk ticked away to itself and Diane found herself looking at her phone, hoping for a message from Albert. Dolly’s flirtations with “Billy”, while a little gaudy, made her wish she could discuss the situation with Albert. Not for his insight or knowledge, but more for the unspoken reassurance he gave to her when things became difficult.

  “I think we have a candidate here,” said William as he thrust into the room, his hand waving a sheet of paper before him. He made for leather wingback chair on the far side of the desk and dropped into it. There was a redness to his cheeks that glistened from a sheen of sweat. “I never knew we had so many boxes of records.”

  “Technology would help with that,” said Dolly. “You really should come over to this century.”

  “I’d still keep paper files because you can’t trust all those electronic devices not to crumble under a moment of pressure.” He pulled in a large breath, as if carrying the paper across the room had winded him. “So, we have a very recent customer, not three days ago actually. A young man by the name of Gary Sandrake. I didn’t deal with him, of course, but we can ask around in the shop.”

  Pulling a small sticky note from a thick pad beside the stained blotter, he wrote down the name, address, and telephone number and passed it to Diane. She unzipped an internal pocket on her jacket and made sure the information was secure inside.

  “Let’s talk to the staff, shall we?”

  William heaved himself up from his chair and assisted Dolly from her seat. Then he opened the door and let the ladies precede him back into the main store.

  “Jeremy,” he barked.

  At that moment Jeremy was standing on the left side of the horseshoe of glass cases that lined three walls of the shop. He seemed to be gazing into the air above the head of a small blonde woman who was staring at a series of small diamond rings. He did not look especially pleased to be dealing with her, but the other three staff members were busy shuffling padded cases back and forth before customers.

  “Jeremy, come over here a moment,” said William again. Turning to the small woman, he said, “This will only take a moment. I’m sorry to take him away from you.”

  The woman gave a charming smile and nodded briefly before returning to the rings, slightly steaming the glass as she tried to look more closely.

  “Sir?” said Jeremy, his tone deferential but his eyes conveying boredom.

  “Did you sell a ring recently to this gentleman?” William waved the paper before Jeremy’s face.

  Gripping the sales sheet so that he could look at it clearly, Jeremy quickly scanned the information and said, “No sir. That wasn’t me.”

  “How about this lady? Have you seen her around here with anyone?” asked Diane as she held up the phone.

  “No, I haven’t seen her either. I would suggest asking the other staff.” The boredom was still in his eyes, and now it passed into his voice. “Can I get back to the customer?”

  “Of course,” said William, dismissing him with a turn of the shoulder.

  They went around to each of the other three attendants, interrupting their sale each time and the response was exactly the same.

  “Sorry sir. It wasn’t me. I haven’t seen her either.”

  Diane’s hopes of a quick solution faded slightly, her prospects now pinned on the note in her jacket.

  William showed both women to the door of the store.

  “There are a couple of girls, Sarah and Molly I think they were called, that left in the last week or so who might know something and I have their information in my office. I will call them and then let Dolly know should they have anything to add.”

  “You have been most helpful,” said Diane, taking his proffered hand and shaking it slightly. “I will get this information into good hands as soon as possible.”

  “I can only hope that the situation is resolved for the better,” said William. Turning to Dolly, he took her hand and bent over it to kiss a large ruby on her knuckle. “My dear, it has been marvellous to see you. We shall have to have dinner sometime this week.”

  Dolly smiled at William’s offer and said, “I think we shall, Billy.”

  He stood at the open door as Diane and Dolly walked back into the main concourse of the shopping centre. He was still there as they rounded a corner towards the exit.

  Chapter 3

  Diane had left Dolly at her car with the assurance that she would let her know how the finger hunt went and that they would get together for a proper catch-up the following week. She had then gone to her own car and, while watching the splash of rain on the windscreen, had called Inspector Crothers to inform him of the information she had obtained. A mechanical female voice on the other end of the line had informed her that the caller was not available and that the voicemail was full.

  “You really do need to become more organized, Inspector,” she had said to herself as she hung up.

  Next, she called the Shrewsbury police station and this time a male human voice had told her that the Inspector was unavailable but that he was expected to arrive shortly. She left her number and the name and address that she had been given at the jewellery store.

  The police station was located only a few miles from where she had parked at the shopping centre. She knew it wouldn’t take her long to drive over there but noon was fast approaching, and the streets were filling with the cars of people on their lunch breaks coming to the centre to eat and spend a few minutes picking up a gift or a grocery item for dinner. If there was something Diane was not especially confident with, it was driving in town traffic. Apple Mews and the surrounding area suited her to a tee with its quiet streets and leafy vacant back roads. When they visited larger towns, she always made Albert drive. He was much more proficient, and he rarely became rattled by rude and distracted drivers. She wondered if it was her eyesight, which had never been good, though her lens prescription had become progressively worse as age had taken its toll. The glasses she was forced to wear seemed to warp the world a little at the edges, stretching out images and making them shift in peculiar ways. Albert had suggested she get contact lenses, and she had joked that she wouldn’t be able to blink because they would be so thick.

  “A medical option then,” he had said. “They’re doing wonderful things with lasers these days. My da
ughter had a friend that had it done, and now they can spot at gnat on a postage stamp from a hundred paces.”

  “I think not,” she had responded. “I remember when little Tommy Watkins was acting the fool in the science class at school and shone one of those lasers into his eye. The poor silly boy couldn’t see right for a week.” She tapped the frame of her glasses with a short nail. “I may be old-fashioned, but I’m also stubborn. I’ll stick with the bottle bottoms, thank you.”

  Albert had tried opening his mouth to respond but decided against it, seeing the hard edge come to her mouth that signalled he had done all that he could. He had taken her out for dinner at the pub instead. A much better outcome for everyone, she had decided.

  An angry honk from a nearby motorist made her decide that she would rather walk to where she needed to go than risk being the brunt of some road rage. The rain had slowed to a light sprinkle, so Diane reached behind her seat and grabbed her umbrella.

  “You haven’t had your morning walk yet,” she said to herself. “And there’s still plenty to do.”

  ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

  Inspector Darren Crothers sat down heavily into his office chair. The appearance of this woman’s finger had been another straw that was straining the camel’s back. In the previous three weeks, there had been an unusually high incidence of serious crimes, and he had spent less time at home than he had in a car with Sergeant Webster.

  Some people in the department bantered about it being a full moon, or that the planets were aligned in Uranus, but Darren just scowled and went back to bury himself under the stack of reports that teetered precariously on his desk. He had no time for flippancy. He barely had time for a coffee. Yet here he was with a severed finger and nobody to connect it to.

  He had sent Sergeant Webster off to collect information about local missing persons, and also to get a call out to neighbouring constabularies so that they could collate all the potential victims before whittling it down again to only those that fit the finger’s description. Yet he still wasn’t sure what a finger could tell him. That would have to wait on the report for the coroner and the blood, DNA, and hopefully, approximate age information. He guessed it was a mid-twenties female, not much older, from the nail polish colour and the overall appearance of a well-manicured fingernail. The skin had been a little shrivelled, though he accounted for that with the time it had spent unattached from its owner.