by Gill Mather
“Idris.”
“That’s his name.”
“The Celtic constabulary. The Excalibur connection.”
“Whatever.”
They walked on in silence.
Roz was thinking, as she had yesterday evening, funny how unalike Andrea and Boris were. Both fair haired and blue eyed for sure but that’s as far as it went. Their features were totally different. She hadn't seen the ex-wife Liz, but neither of them looked like Guy who was dark. However she didn't say anything and….
“How long do we have to stay here?” asked Guy.
“Well. There’s fireworks planned for later.”
“What! It won't be dark for at least another four hours.”
“Don't worry. I told him we had to leave at five thirty so you could go to a family do.”
“Roz. You’re an angel.” He kissed her.
“We’d better go back,” she said.
GUY HADN’T HAD this dream for many years.
“We didn't do anything. We didn't do anything wrong. It didn't happen that way,” he was trying to say, but the words wouldn't come out.
He heaved and writhed and groaned until all his systems forced his sleep-paralysed body to erupt into wakefulness and his mind to start to function in the real world.
“Didn't,” he shouted.
And his brain registered the horrifying fact that he was lying next to a member of the constabulary. His worst night time fear was apprehension by the police. But instead of handcuffing him, the officer climbed on top of him and kissed him full on the lips. Unexpected. But still half in never-never-land, he responded in kind.
“I love you Roz,” he told her softly.
And all the dire possibilities faded away.
“YOU HAD A BAD dream last night.”
“Hmm. Did I say anything?”
“Not really. You just yelled something like ‘Don't’, that’s all.”
“Well, you dealt with it very effectively.”
They were in bed Sunday morning, Guy having gone downstairs and made and brought up a cup of tea each for them. Roz had however wrapped herself around him so he couldn't actually drink any of his. Never mind.
“Guy darling.” Darling.
“Hmm.”
“You told me you loved me last night. Did you mean it?”
He raised himself up a little and looked down into her eyes. He was silent for a moment.
“Yes,” he said. “Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me then.”
“I love you Guy.”
This was it. Their moment of no going back. As they looked deep into each other’s eyes, their souls mingled and held firm, something of each planted and rooted unshakeably within the other. That part so transplanted would remain in the other forever, regardless of the physical constraints of time and space, forming an unbreakable thread between them. So is the feeling of true lovers. They may each have and hold their secrets, but nothing could touch the essential bond formed in those minutes.
They sealed the bond with a soft and tender kiss. Then they drew apart, smiling a little shyly to each other and took their tea, both thinking their thoughts.
GUY WAS BACK in Lincoln again in his small crowded office at the University. For many years he had combed auction rooms, second hand bookshops and libraries and attended sales which included the assets of legal firms who had either gone bust or merged looking for redundant works which might render useful historical information. He similarly checked the “for sale” sections of the Law Society Gazette and other publications and of course all the online auction and other similar sites.
His small office here at the University had proved unequal to the growing library, therefore rooms at home and the garage had had to be appropriated, proving a considerable bone of contention with the former second Mrs. Attwood. Would Roz have put up with it? But since the divorce and his enforced house move, a summerhouse in the garden of his present home accommodated his books so the house itself was less cluttered than it might be. He ruminated absently when Roz might come and visit him instead of his travelling to Hertfordshire on the weekends.
But he had a singular task to perform. Since the mention of blackmail and a contract killing, Guy had speculated about Paul, the East End thug who drove Liz and Desmond about and fixed things for them, though so far as Guy knew, it was things like plumbing contractors, domestic cleaners, dog kennels, holidays, etc.
It was ages since he’d called Liz. There was no need since parental contact etc arrangements had ceased to be necessary years ago. He hoped she had the same mobile number. He needed to arrange to meet her. Soon. He knew what she’d expect him to do about his relationship with Roz, but she’d have to accept that that was off the agenda. It was likely that at this time of day, lunchtime, she’d be home alone with no Desmond to listen in. He looked up her number and pressed to call her.
Part 4 When Constabulary Duty’s to Be Done
IT WAS THURSDAY the following week and Len had called a brainstorming meeting in the incident room about the Romanian girl. Everyone involved in the case had to attend unless they were out on an emergency. The information on the white board was expanding. Amongst other things, there were photos of the girl alive and dead. There were a number of columns with some cross-referencing. Two were headed up with respectively ‘Unknown Romanian Brother’ and ‘Unknown Hispanic Man’. A third column had a new entry Roz hadn't seen before: ‘Unknown Englishman’. It made her feel uneasy.
There were theories on the board such as the perpetrator having been interrupted, that it was a family killing, that it was a contract killing. There was also a section for other theories, good ideas but weak ones for which there was no evidence, such as a thwarted boyfriend, a burglary gone wrong, a random attack, the wrong house and therefore a mistake.
“Right,” said Len at the head of the room. “Given the cash we think was being paid to the Romanian family, our favourite theory as you know is that the girl was blackmailing someone and they had her murdered by a contract killer. The reason we don't think the person immediately being blackmailed was the murderer is that the individual who organised it obviously had enough money to enable cash to be paid to the family leaving no records whatever and no trail back to himself or indeed herself which suggests a well off person with maybe some underworld or gangland connection. The person responsible wasn't going to sully their hands strangling a girl or running off to Romania with sacks of cash. This took organisation. It could have been a woman just as well as a man.
“On the other hand, we haven't found a scrap of mobile or internet traffic from or to Ileana that might suggest she was blackmailing someone or who it was. If she was blackmailing someone, then she was just as good as they were at keeping it below the radar. So maybe there was no blackmail and the brother was the murderer.
"But if so, why would he murder his sister? Sibling rivalry? Jealousy? And who was this man? There's no record of any man in the family coming to England to work as Ileana did.
“If she was blackmailing someone, then surely the threats she reported were to do with that. Trying to frighten her into stopping the blackmail. But reporting the threats seems a bit of a risky thing for her to have done. If we'd actually found anything out, it might have uncovered the blackmail too. Anyone have any theories about that?”
A young male DS spoke up. “Yes, but although she reported the threats, she wasn’t very co-operative about it. Perhaps her real intention was to send a message to the person she was blackmailing that she had guts and wasn’t going to be frightened off. Of course, that could have sealed her fate with the blackmailer deciding they had to do away with her, or at least frighten her really badly; like having her seriously beaten up, say.”
“It certainly could have,” said Len. “Very good point.” Len jotted a note on the board.
“OK. We don't expect to find out any more about the hispanic man. If he was a contract killer, he’ll be long gone. It’s assume
d he watched the building and knew the routines of the other flat occupiers and therefore when the building would be empty, apart from the girl.
“As to who interrupted the murder, perhaps that was the Romanian brother, if he wasn't actually himself the murderer. Perhaps the brother had had regular contact with the girl and just happened to go there that evening. If so, he was lucky not to have been killed himself by the murderer. A contract killer can be expected to be totally cold-blooded, prepared to remove anyone who got in his way. Perhaps the killer hid in the flat and got out without having to do anything to the brother.”
A DS spoke up. Pamela Chambers:
“Perhaps the killer had instructions not to hurt the brother.”
“Good point,” said Len writing it on the board with the word ‘Why’ and a question mark.
“Maybe,” said Pamela, “there was some sort of family situation here in the UK, as well as in Romania.”
“Good,” said Len and wrote that on the board with a question mark. “Come on. Let’s have more ideas. We don't just want my ideas.”
“Perhaps the brother got a look at the killer as the killer fled,” said a DC. “Odd then that he hasn’t come forward with information if his sister had just been killed. He may then know who the organiser of the murder was and is either frightened of him/her or the person is close to him and he isn't prepared to do anything to give them away.” The board was filling up.
Pamela said “Possibly the killer only intended to frighten her. But he got interrupted too quickly to do very much, panicked, and killed her.”
“Very possible,” said Len, noting this down.
Another officer asked: “This brother. Isn't there any record of him in Romania? Birth records, etc?”
“Well,” said Len, “those of you who’re old enough will recall that twenty, twenty-five odd years ago there was an influx of Romanian orphans into this country. Romania was a desperately poor country, a Catholic country. No contraception. Huge families. Girls, women would leave their babies in orphanages where the conditions were appalling. Record-keeping wasn't likely to have been a priority. Bordering Serbia was in conflict with its neighbour. There must have been some turmoil.”
“But why,” asked a DS, “are we assuming twenty-five years ago? Why a brother in his mid-twenties? We’ve been told the Romanian family have children ranging up to forty years old now.”
“Good point,” said Len. “Which brings me onto this and the possible reason for the blackmailing.” He aimed his pointer at the words ‘Unknown Englishman’.
Roz swallowed and looked down at her empty jotter.
“An older brother has broken cover and given some unexpected information which I’ve just received. He says that about twenty three years ago, an Englishman drove by their then home and bought the youngest little boy in the family who was a year old at that time. He handed over cash. The man went off with the boy and they never saw him again. The boy had a twin sister. Ileana Bratianu.”
There were gasps around the room. Roz felt her face grow hot and sweat break out all over her body. She thought she was over hot flushes but this felt just like one, including the nausea.
Len continued. “Might this Englishman be the mastermind behind the murder? The brother who disclosed this is now so frightened that he’s gone into hiding. We hope he’ll keep in touch through one of our intermediaries.”
Another officer piped up. “Is it reliable though? If he was paid, could he be trusted to tell the truth?”
“He was paid yes, but otherwise we wouldn't have got anything. We must hope that he or someone else in the family provides information that enables us to identify the Englishman. I think he’s the key to this case. OK, I’ll have to wrap the meeting up. Any more ideas? Roz?” Len said suddenly. “You’ve been very quiet. Any thoughts? Surely you must have a few ideas.”
“Not that I can think of,” said Roz, outwardly calm.
“It must be affecting your concentration. Getting too much attention from that new boyfriend of yours?” another DI said. He wasn't working directly on the case. Too many DIs spoiled the broth. But he was required to keep abreast of developments. There was general laughter. There was only one way to treat such a comment
“Not getting enough attention yourself in that department? You’re just jealous,” she smiled.
“Come on. Break it up,” said Len. You never knew where these jibes might lead. He didn't want it degenerating into a situation that might result in a complaint. He wished now that he hadn't thrown the spotlight on Roz. “OK. We’ll call it a day.” He named a few officers to go to his room for some follow-up jobs.
Roz glanced at the photos of the girl before going back to her desk as quickly as possible, glad that she had the rest of the afternoon off. She’d been in since six and she wanted some time to rest and think.
GUY WAS NOT in Hertfordshire and he wasn't in Lincoln. He’d been asked to guest lecture on jurisprudence for a few days at Oxford University. He had told Roz that as a result, he wasn't able to see her during the forthcoming weekend. This wasn't strictly true but he’d decided it might be a good idea.
He had met Liz and she had suggested that Guy should cool it with Roz. He had found Liz’s attitude strange in the circumstances given that he bore no responsibility for the recent developments. She was cold, distant and severe. He had imagined that they could chat amicably and collude as necessary to try to avert any problems for the family but she stonewalled him. Many years of being a rich woman able to command more or less anything she wanted seemed to have changed her and made her selfish and self-centred. He hadn't found out how much Desmond knew about the early circumstances of their marriage. He soon gave up when it became obvious that any passing of information was going to be all one-way.
He almost wished he hadn't bothered. He didn't see why he should accede to any dictates about his love life from his ex-wife who had abandoned him, but all the same it wouldn't hurt to not see Roz for just the one weekend. Although actually it was hurting.
Roz hadn’t said much when he cried off the weekend and he couldn't tell if she was upset or not. He found he was unable to concentrate on preparing for tomorrow’s lecture and he knew that if it went on much longer, he’d have to call Roz and see if she would still be able to meet this weekend.
WITHOUT MEANING TO, Roz had fallen asleep on the settee with the TV on and she woke with a start when the doorbell rang. It was just gone five pm. She hurried to the door.
She was surprised to see that it was Boris, clutching flowers and a box of chocolates which he held out. She looked at his big hands as he passed them over to her.
“Peace offering. To say sorry,” he said. They stood there for some seconds until Roz collected herself and invited him in.
“There was no need. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee.”
“Well….”
“Oh. I suppose for you city slickers it’s wine bar time now. I’ll dig a bottle out of the fridge and join you. Sit down.”
She was back soon with the bottle and glasses. “Not at work today?”
“Hmm this is nice,” he said taking a sip. “No. I took a few days off. Actually I’ve carried on seeing Poison and she works some evenings in a bar so I’ve spent a couple of days with her.”
Roz laughed. “Doesn't she have a proper name?”
“Probably,” he said vaguely.
Roz decided he was rather charming in his evasive way. With his mop of blond hair, he looked a bit like Boris Johnson but much better looking and, though big, not fat. And of course he was terribly posh like Andrea.
“Well that’s nice anyway. That you’re still seeing her. Though taking her out for a meal or even a drink must be a bit of a challenge.”
“Hmm. We haven't done much eating or drinking actually so it hasn’t been a problem.”
“Oh. Well. Good.”
She wondered what they would talk about for the next half hour or so. She assumed he wouldn't be staying much longer tha
n that.
“You seeing dad this weekend?”
“No,” she sighed. “You know he’s at Oxford this week. Apparently he couldn't spare the time.”
“No, I didn't know about Oxford. Oh well. Perhaps you’ll work this weekend. Isn't that what you police officers do? My mate Idris is always having to work odd hours. He found that Romanian girl didn't he?”
“I suppose he must have told you that. Yes. He did.” Roz looked away. “I’ll go and get a snack,” she said and got up. However he followed her into the kitchen and stood hovering near her as she poked about in a cupboard.
“Are you any nearer to finding the killer?” Boris asked.
“Boris, obviously I can't discuss it. We’re doing our best.”
“You must have some idea though.”
“We’re working on it. That’s all I can say.”
He looked at her coldly. He was just a foot or so away and she started to feel threatened. As she straightened up with a packet of bombay mix in her hand, she was face to face with him. Neither of them said anything. He was so big. For a second she pictured the face of Ileana Bratianu staring seriously out from the photos of her when she was still alive, superimposed on the features of Boris before her. She felt sure he knew she was frightened of him. She shook her head trying to find something to say. Something normal and ordinary.
“I’ll get a vase,” she said. “For the flowers.” She tried to edge past him but he didn't move.
“Is there any new evidence?” Boris was watching her intently and he moved fractionally closer.
What evidence, Roz thought, could he possibly know about already, conscious that she might be alone in the presence of a murderer. Someone who had strangled a girl with his bare hands.
But Boris suddenly turned away.
“I’d better go,” he said.
“Oh really. So soon?”
Boris gave a half laugh to himself. “Give my love to dad if you talk to him,” he said. She caught sarcasm in his tone. He walked out.