by Gill Mather
“Oh. Right,” said Roz swallowing too. “Yes. Good idea. Well an odd thing’s come up with this Romanian murder victim I was telling you about. She was bumped off in her little rented studio flat. We know almost nothing about her but we found various men’s DNA around the place. One of them was my officer. He’d been there before because she’d allegedly been receiving threats and he actually found her dead, so that’s not surprising.”
“You mean Boris’s friend?”
“Yes. And there was DNA from a strange man of hispanic extraction we’re unable to identify. But the odd thing was that the third man’s DNA appeared to be from a sibling of the deceased.”
“What? A brother? A Romanian man?”
“Well yes presumably, if he was her brother. And his DNA profile was East European.”
“Oh.”
Roz was looking at him. Yet again he felt he was under minute scrutiny. His face, he was confident, probably conveyed nothing. But she knew he had been a criminal lawyer, a court advocate earlier on in his career. She’d be aware that solicitors and barristers trained themselves to give nothing away in court. No hint of nervousness, no reaction to a put-down from some judge or magistrate, no uncertainty if something unexpected arose. No sign of embarrassment allowed to leak into their features if they somehow showed themselves up.
What she’d said was certainly a passion-killer. Guy realised that he had pulled his hand away and he saw Roz shiver a little despite the warm sunshine. He wished she’d talked about something else. The pressures of the job, the avalanche of paperwork everyone laboured under these days. Promotion prospects. Anything.
Guy watched her. He thought he saw her face alter fractionally, showing uncertainty perhaps.
“Roz,” he said. “I think it’s best to be honest. I like you so very much. But you have this way of seeming to interrogate me, looking for some sort of reaction. That’s what it feels like anyway. Perhaps you don't mean anything by it but I don't like it. Actually, quite frankly, it’s a little creepy. If we couldn't see each other again, I’d be very upset. Very upset indeed, but….” He tailed off. But what? he thought. He was probably irreversibly hooked by now, powerless to cut loose, go back to Lincoln and forget her. He didn't think it was possible and now he regretted what he’d just said. She might take him up on it and….Oh God, he wouldn't recover for ages.
Her expression however was deepening. He saw a vulnerability there and he found it very appealing indeed. Hard-nosed, sex-mad career woman was all very well, but a little femininity wouldn't go amiss either.
“I’m sorry Guy. I didn't want to whinge about work in general. Of course I shouldn't be talking to you about the case at all. Or any case. It was just the East European thing and I wondered if anything had filtered through to you via Boris knowing my officer.
“I didn't mean….I didn't realise….it’s just that I used to think about you so much, you know, before, when we’d see each other at court and so on. I knew you were married but….And then you disappeared. And now you’re back….”
Just as I felt too Guy thought.
He saw her eyes had watered. “I only wanted to find out a bit about you,” she was saying. “I wondered because of Boris’s name if you had some East European connection and knew anything about the countries, the cultures etc.” She sniffed. “God knows my own life hasn’t been big on relationships. No kids. Short failed marriage. The odd romance. I haven't got much to tell. Yours seems to have been more eventful that’s all. We can still see each other again, can't we?”
Guy drew his chair close to hers and, despite their being in public, he put his arms around her and felt her shudder a little.
“Of course we can,” he whispered in her ear and he knew he was at least ninety per cent in love with her already.
Part 3 The Goths Are Coming
AS GUY’S CAR nosed into his drive Monday morning, he checked the clock and was glad he’d set off early to get back from Hertfordshire to Lincoln in time for work. He was supposed to return last night but somehow he hadn't. When he and Roz had got back from the bar yesterday afternoon, they’d gone straight to bed and more or less stayed there.
Despite the early start, having to leave a sleepy, cuddly Roz in bed at five thirty am, he felt fantastic. A day and a half of nearly non-stop sex left him fresh and fully spring-cleaned, pipes fully blown, mind and body flushed of all negative humours. And they had agreed to spend most of next weekend in bed too. There were definitely worse ways to occupy one’s leisure time.
Therefore he was surprised to look down at his phone as he approached his front door and see a text from Roz suggesting that they invite Andrea, Boris and their respective partners over for a meal next Friday or Saturday evening. He frowned and texted back:
“How cosy is that?”
“I thought you’d like to spend some time with them as well as with me. And we have to eat sometime too!” came the response. He replied that he’d see what could be arranged.
The Bulgarian cleaner would be working overtime.
ACCORDINGLY GUY FOUND himself on the A1 again the following Friday afternoon, early so as to make Roz’s house with a decent interval to spare before Boris and Andrea arrived tonight. Saturday hadn't been possible for them. The going was rather slow though happily there were no major traffic hold-ups.
Guy, initially sceptical about the idea, was now quite pleased that this dinner had been arranged. He’d barely had anything to do with Andrea’s fiancé, not least since the young man worked in a managerial capacity for Demon Desmond. And it would be interesting to see who Boris turned up with. As Roz said, he needed to spend some time with the kids.
Having been introduced to the Bulgarian cleaner Stefka, a pretty neat girl in her late twenties (a pinafore, yes, but cool and slender with no underarm stains) who was now fully occupied apparently effortlessly putting together what looked to be a delicious meal, and having showered and changed, Guy rushed to the front door as the bell rang. Andrea and Leo were early. More introductions followed as Roz accepted the customary bottle of red wine proffered by Leo and poured everyone a welcoming glass of chilled sparkling white. As the glasses were chinked and the bubbles went up Guy’s nose, he tried to avoid Andrea’s slight smile and raised eyebrow. He was entitled to a private life, wasn't he?
He found that Leo came over as a somewhat overbearing younger version of Desmond. Guy felt he rather bossed Andrea about and was dismissive of things she said. At least Demon Desmond, generally loathsome as he was, appeared to idolise Liz. Leo referred frequently to “Des” and Guy wondered if Leo was Desmond’s protégé. Perhaps that was the set up with Andrea, and ultimately the whole business, being the prizes on offer. And for Andrea, there wouldn't be many men available who would be able to keep her in the style to which she’d become accustomed.
He had plenty of time to make these speculations to himself and examine Andrea’s and Leo’s interaction since Boris was supremely late, something that might have been anticipated had Guy been thinking. He should have asked Boris to arrive at seven instead of eight, and then they might not have been sitting about at nearly nine o’ clock trying to find things to say and getting more and more tipsy as Stefka worriedly enquired with increasing urgency when they wanted the dinner served.
At nine they gave up waiting. Despite the delay and the re-heating, the meal was delicious. The doorbell rang again just as pudding was being served. Guy sighed, apologised and went to the door to let in Boris and his companion.
“Hi everyone. Sis,” said Boris swaying a little as he came into the dining room with a girl in full Goth regalia. “Pleased to meet you Roz.” He went and shook her hand. “This is Poison.” He gestured to the girl. “Great isn't she.”
“Hmm,” said Guy. “You’d better sit down.”
Stefka came in bearing a tray. “I served your dinners and put them in the oven. I hope they’re OK.”
“I’m a vegan,” said Poison.
Stefka looked uncertain. Boris said
, “I think we’ll skip dinner if it’s all the same to you.”
“Boris!” said Guy. “That’s exceedingly r….”
“Don't worry,” said Roz. “Have some wine.”
“I’ll just have water,” said Poison. “But it has to be distilled.”
Stefka walked out.
“Boris could I talk to you for a moment,” said Guy. “In the sitting room.” Boris followed him out unsteadily, making a mock salute to Roz as he went.
“What’s going on here Boris?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Turning up here so late and with….that girl.”
“Well you told me to bring someone. And I haven't got a girlfriend just now.”
“How surprising! But why does that make you late?”
“I had to go out and find someone.”
“When? Not tonight, surely?”
“Well yes.”
“So you don't even know her! Why….someone like her then.”
“I had to go to a pub where the Goth’s hang out.”
“But why?”
“Quite appropriate I thought. Goths.” Boris laughed in a slightly unhinged way.
“Boris?”
“Anyway, the girls are such dogs, I knew I’d be able to pick one up there.”
So this was modern male youth. His son referring to girls as “dogs” while his future son-in-law was in the next room doing his best to belittle Guy’s daughter. How long did this go on for, he wondered. Boris was twenty four now. Would a thirty four year old Boris still be oversleeping and showing him up? But Boris, though independent with terminally atrocious time-keeping, wasn't normally so rude and unco-operative as this.
“Boris. Have I done something to upset you?”
For a second, the drunken buffoon disappeared and Boris’s eyes became steely. “Now what would that be then?”
“I don't know. Enlighten me.”
“Not just now actually,” Boris said and walked past his father back into the dining room.
“IT WAS CLEVER of Stefka to have thought of bringing in distilled water for the steam iron,” said Guy later in bed, “even though that girl wouldn't drink it.” Poison had said that the water should be freshly distilled or else it would have absorbed contamination from the air.
Roz was laughing, as she had been in fact since Boris and Poison had left soon after their chat. Andrea was used to Boris’s ways but Leo hadn't seemed much amused. At least Roz wasn't offended.
“Come on. You have to see the funny side.”
“Do I?” said Guy. He was also put out that Roz had told him as they came up the stairs that there was a barbecue birthday party the following afternoon she wanted them to go to when they’d agreed on a weekend of almost total carnal activity.
But Roz was working her magic on him and, turning to her, he soon forgot his grouches.
“IT WON'T BE ALL coppers at this thing will it?” said Guy as they drove along the road to the house.
“Well there’ll be wives and girlfriends too.”
“I qualify as a girlfriend, do I?”
“You know what I mean. Other halves.”
The birthday boy, Len, was a fifty five year old detective chief inspector and he was standing next to the barbecue in the rear garden knocking back lager and laughing with some other men. Guy had taken Roz’s hand after they got out of the car but she’d disengaged once they were past the side of the house. The tough career woman with no visible weaknesses was obviously back. Roz led Guy over to say hello to Len and introduce him. She handed over a gift wrapped parcel. It looked like a book and he thanked her, putting it on a side table with other unopened presents. So, Guy thought, she must’ve known about this party before yesterday.
“Perhaps we can have a quick word a bit later,” Len said to Roz.
“`Course,” said Roz and she took Guy over to the table with the plates, salads, sauces, etc. There were loads of people here, groups of women talking, whether partners or officers Guy didn't know, children running about, table tennis and a few other little games going on. Guy as usual was famished and started to heap up his plate.
“I’ll go and get us some meat,” said Roz. “Can you serve me a little bit of green salad and some potato salad.” And she walked off. To the barbecue. And didn't come back. Guy watched Len and Roz stroll away from the press of people round the barbecue and they disappeared into the house. He swore under his breath. He took a slice of cold quiche and went and sat down at a large table where there was a spare seat and he was offered a beer. They made conversation with him, mostly about Roz and he tried to be as discreet as possible. He cast his eyes every so often towards the conservatory by which Roz and Len had entered the house. Pamela he thought her name was, sitting next to him who said she was a DS, told Guy that Roz’d be back soon; not to worry. It was police all over to come to a party and then talk shop. And they had a number of tricky cases on at the moment.
“Is it all CID here then? No uniformed or clerical staff?”
“Pretty much,” said Pamela.
As she asked what he did, he told her he currently lectured at a university on contract and tort having been a criminal solicitor in a past life, though his pet enthusiasm was jurisprudence which the law courses only touched on. As she looked puzzled, he tried to explain that jurisprudence was an academic subject that included various theories, for example what morality had to do with the law. He expanded on this rather rarefied scholastic area and Pamela’s eyes started to glaze over. Guy laughed and, seeing Roz approaching on her own bearing some burgers and sausages on a paper plate, he excused himself. Balancing their two plates of salad and his beer, he followed her to a small empty table.
“This is more like it,” he speared a sausage, in a better mood now.
“Sorry about that. Just a few developments.”
“About what?”
“Just cases.”
“The murder of the Romanian girl?”
“Well yes as you ask.”
“So what’s new?”
“Guy. You know I shouldn't be talking to you in any detail about cases.”
“Don't you trust me?”
Roz looked up from her plate. Guy’s eyes had turned rather flinty, rather cold. It surprised her since he was usually so laid back and easy-going.
“Who’s grilling whom now! It’s not a question of not trusting. It’s my duty not to disclose details of cases. If you were still a practising solicitor, would you tell me all sorts of things about specific cases?”
“Probably, yes. If you were interested.”
“Well it’s not the same. The girl’s name’s been in the newspapers. We’ve had a televised appeal for information for heaven’s sake. If you told me about cases you were dealing with, unless they were incredibly high profile, the clients would still be anonymous.”
Guy looked away and sank his beer. They’d been talking in low voices. He glanced across the lawn and saw birthday boy peering at them over his own glass. Roz noticed too.
“Look,” she said, “let’s have another drink. Then perhaps after that we can go for a little walk. Through that shrubbery there’s a gate onto a public footpath at the back.”
“How d’you know that?”
“I’ve been here before of course.”
“Not one of your ‘odd romances’ was he?”
Roz sighed. “Maybe,” she said.
“All right then.” Guy gave a crooked smile. “And perhaps you’ll let me hold your hand if we’re alone.”
THE PUBLIC FOOTPATH was rather overgrown and, Roz would hazard, little used in spite of the fact that all these houses backed onto it. It was quiet and you’d never know you were in the heart of the commuter-belt just a stone’s throw from a station directly to St. Pancras.
They were walking along slowly, more relaxed now that they were away from her colleagues. Guy put his arm around Roz and nuzzled her hair.
“I do trust you,” she said.
&
nbsp; “S’all right. I was being unreasonable.”
“It isn't much anyway,” Roz said. “It’s just that we’ve been in touch with the girl’s family in Romania, and they’re a lot better off than would be normal. It’s still a poor country by our standards. Someone’s been giving them large chunks of cash as far as we can make out. But there’s no paper trail, no electronic trail and the family aren't saying anything. And there’s no sign of the brother in England. It’d be handy to get the males of the family DNA tested in Romania but we can't do that, at least without more evidence. The man of hispanic extraction whose DNA we found could come from anywhere. We can't get every country where there’s a hispanic/latino population to open their records to us. There’s two main possibilities. Either some sort of family thing or, bearing in mind the cash being somehow shipped to them, a contract killing.”
“You mean she was blackmailing someone and they got her bumped off?”
“Yes basically.”
Roz tried not to scrutinize Guy too closely while they discussed these things. She didn't want a repetition of last Sunday when her heart had stopped beating over the possibility that he might be about to dump her. She had to look down anyway to avoid standing on any dog poo. It looked like dog walkers at least used this poorly maintained path.
“What we need is someone to come forward with information,” she said. “Whoever visited the deceased were very careful not to be seen. No-one in the building she lived in or roundabouts saw anything apparently.”
“No CCTV evidence?”
“None. No cameras at all in the vicinity.”
“What about the officer who found her though?” Guy asked. “You seem to have discounted him. But isn't it the case that the person who finds the body sometimes turns out to be the perpetrator?”
“Don't think we haven't considered that possibility. But the girl was strangled. Idris’s hands don't match the bruising to her neck. The man who did it had much bigger hands.”