by Jay Gill
“Hello, James,” said Sienna. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“I told you he’s even more dishy up close, didn’t I?” said Lyle. “And so domesticated. See how he takes the bins out?”
“Uh-huh,” said Sienna, turning her attention to her phone.
“Sienna is a little bit jealous. She thinks I’m obsessed with you,” Lyle whispered. “I suppose I might be, just a little.”
“I heard that,” said Sienna without looking up from her phone.
“You were supposed to, Sienna, my love. I’m teasing.” Lyle winked at me.
“Well, ladies, this is all very cosy and it’s a delight to take a peek inside your relationship, but what do you want?”
“Can a girl not just pay her man a visit without there being a reason?” Lyle looked at me incredulously then broke into a laugh. “I want to make sure you’re still on message, that’s all. I hear Fischer has miraculously escaped prison. Whoops! How did that ever happen? And suddenly the word on the street is that you and the little firecracker, DI Emma Cotton, have teamed up again. Does that mean you’re investigating Fischer?”
“I can’t discuss any possible investigation with you. You know that.”
“But I wanted to wish you luck in your endeavours. And find out what your plan is.”
“I’m investigating the attack on my home. We will be pursuing all lines of inquiry.”
“Such a stickler for the rules, James. I imagine one line of inquiry would be to look at Edward Fischer. I mean, why wouldn’t you? He’s such a bad boy. It can’t be pure coincidence that only days after his escape, your home is razed to the ground, can it? It looks to me, and I’m only speculating, that he might want some sort of recompense for time served. Remind me who put him away?”
“You know it was me.”
Lyle looked across the street at Mum’s house. “How is Mummy Hardy? It must be lovely for her having you all under one roof. One big happy family. Good night, John Boy; good night, Mary Ellen; good night, Jim-Bob…” Lyle looked over her shoulder at Sienna. “She’s too young to—”
“The Waltons,” said Sienna.
Lyle raised her eyebrows in surprise then turned her attention back to me. She rested her hand on my arm. “More importantly, how’s Detective Inspector Rayner and his gorgeous wife, Jenny? I heard she might be a tad crispy.”
“That’s enough,” I barked. “You don’t get to talk like that. Not about my family and friends. You hear me?”
“So sensitive, James. I love how protective you are. It’s a real turn-on. I sent Jenny flowers and a card. I’m not completely heartless.”
I grabbed the door handle to leave. I’d had enough for one day.
Lyle touched my arm. “James, a couple of things before you go. First, Fischer wants to leave the country. He has the money to do so. I’ve put pressure on his girlfriend, Moon, to delay that happening. In other words, you need to step up the pace of your investigations. If he’s arrested before you get to him, you’ll lose your chance to…” Lyle dragged a finger across her throat, tilted her head, stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth and made a croaking noise.
“I’m leaving,” I said. “I told you, I won’t do it.” I started to open the door.
“Second,” said Lyle. “I have something for you.” She turned in her seat. “Sienna, my little sex-pot, could you pass me our gift for James, please?”
Sienna put down her phone and reached into the footwell behind my seat. She passed me a gift-wrapped box with a pink silk bow. “It’s more for Monica and the baby,” said Sienna. “I chose it myself.”
“She did,” said Lyle excitedly. “Open it. Please open it, James.”
The two women looked at each other and seemed genuinely excited as I tentatively untied the ribbon and unwrapped the parcel.
“It’s not a bomb. Just look inside,” Lyle said impatiently.
I lifted the lid slowly.
“It’s Versace,” said Sienna. “It’s a playsuit with a bib and hat. It’ll be a bit big at first, but we thought he or she can grow into it. Look – there’s another gift underneath. It’s a Versace hoodie. I just love the Italian Baroque gold print.”
I put the gifts back in the box and closed the lid. “I can’t take these,” I said.
“He doesn’t like them,” said Sienna. Her face dropped and she sat back in her seat and looked out the window.
Lyle looked disappointed.
“It’s thoughtful. Thank you, Sienna,” I said. “I love them. They’re not necessarily something I would have chosen myself, but that’s possibly because I don’t frequent Versace stores. I’m grateful, nonetheless. I just can’t take them. I’m the law and you’re, well...”
“Criminals,” said Lyle.
“You really do like them?” Sienna asked.
I nodded. “Thank you.”
Sienna smiled, satisfied.
Lyle took the box from me and passed it to Sienna. She started the car, indicating our time was up. “I’ve extended your window of opportunity. Kill Fischer. I don’t care how you do it, I just want him dead.”
I got out of the car and walked back to the house. As I watched them drive away, I wondered what the hell I was going to do about Fischer and how life had ever got this crazy. My watch informed me it was nine thirty. I decided to call my old boss, Chief Webster.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“This is nice,” said Alex. “I can’t remember the last time I went out for breakfast on a weekday.” He reached out and took Emma’s hand but immediately sensed a distance between them. “What is it, Emma? You’re not yourself. Is it something I said?”
“No. It’s not you,” said Cotton. She stirred her coffee absentmindedly.
“Talk to me. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. A problem shared is a problem halved,” said Alex lightly. “Come on, I want to hear what’s worrying my girlfriend.”
A smile crept across Cotton’s face. “It’s stupid, really.”
“It’s not stupid if it’s worrying you. Tell me.”
“I bumped into someone you used to know. She told me some things and warned me to stay away from you.”
“I don’t believe it.” Alex leaned back in his chair and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I’d hoped that was all over. I’m really sorry, Emma. This is why I’d all but given up on relationships. Whenever I get close to someone, that woman destroys it. I won’t let that happen this time. I’ve never met anyone like you before. I won’t let her come between us. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m crazy about you.”
“Who is she? She worried me; I won’t lie.”
Alex moved his chair close to Cotton and put his arm around her. “I was in a relationship with Louise Greenslade for four years. I tried to make it work, I really did. We simply grew apart. She drove me away with her jealousy and questions and the way she belittled and berated me. We’d go to parties and she’d flirt with other men in front of me. Taunt me. Tell me she wanted a real man. A man that could satisfy her. She bullied me, and – this is embarrassing for a man to say – she threatened me. Told me she’d kill me in my sleep if I so much as looked at another woman.” Alex started perspiring. He loosened his tie. “This is hard to talk about. I’m sorry. I get upset thinking about it.”
For a moment or two Cotton stared at Alex, unsure what to say. “She told me it was the other way around. That you were violent towards her.”
“You’re a police officer. Check up on me. I don’t have a criminal record. I’ve never hurt anyone. She’s lying. You have to believe me. She’s scheming and manipulative. A compulsive liar.”
Cotton couldn’t very well tell him she had already checked; the only thing she could find on Alex was a speeding fine. “You’re saying everything she told me is fabricated. She looked pretty shaken up. She looked scared.”
“Believe me, she’s a bloody terrific actress when she needs to be. She could win an Academy Award for her performances. You can’t trust a word that comes o
ut of her mouth.”
“Why did you never go to the police, press charges?”
“You saw her. Who would believe me? I’m almost twice her size. I’m a man. How seriously do you think I’d be taken if I had reported her? At the end of the day, I just wanted to get away. Which I managed, eventually. But now she’s back. And she won’t stop.”
Alex looked ashamed. He ran his finger over the handle of his coffee cup and around the saucer. “I’d hoped that by now she’d have moved on. Forgotten about me. I really don’t want to lose you, but I’d understand if you want to run a mile. I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this. The truth is, she will come between us, and she’ll not only make my life a misery, but yours too.”
He got to his feet, then took his jacket from the back of the seat and put it on. “I’d better go. I’m sorry. You mean too much to me to put you through this.” He leaned over and kissed her softly on the cheek. His eyes glistened. “Goodbye, Emma.”
Cotton grabbed Alex’s wrist as he began to walk away. “I’m a kick-ass detective inspector. I think I can handle myself.” She pulled Alex to her. “Don’t go.” Placing her hand on his face, she gave him a long, passionate kiss. She could feel Alex smiling. “What’s funny?”
He crouched down beside Cotton’s seat. “We’re in the middle of a busy coffee shop. People are having their breakfast.”
Cotton looked around. At the next table a middle-aged woman with a half-eaten bagel was looking on disapprovingly. Cotton mouthed an apology. Then both Cotton and Alex burst into laughter.
“Come on. We’d better go before we’re thrown out,” Alex said.
Cotton checked her watch. “We’ll talk more later. Right now, I’m supposed to be picking someone up. I’ve got a packed day today, but I’ll call you tonight.”
“Deal,” said Alex. “And thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
My late-night conversation with Chief Webster went well. We talked over the Edward Fischer case, chewing over the old investigation before speculating on how he might have escaped prison. After the business of the call was over, we discussed Rayner and Jenny’s condition, then spent a good hour reminiscing and chatting over old times. I felt better for having talked. I didn’t consider Webster just my boss; he was also a friend, and as such, he was also interested in my plans for the future. It didn’t take him long to suggest my return to full-time duties within the police force. He ventured various ideas and roles that I had the feeling he’d been mulling over for some time.
Meanwhile, I still had time left on my temporary warrant card from my previous case with Cotton, and I planned to make the most of it.
I watched as Police Constable Polly Hoyle wriggled the key in the lock and opened the front door. “The lock’s a bit sticky,” she said with an apologetic grimace. Hoyle’s dark hair was tied back and wrapped in a bun below her hat. She had big eyes and a broad nose that was covered in light freckles. She gave the door a kick and rattled the key in the lock. “Here we go. I just need to…” The door sprang open.
Hoyle picked up the letters and free papers and leaflets inside the door and placed them on the telephone table. She then pointed the way. “The victim’s mother has been moved to a care home. Dementia and cancer,” she said as we moved along the hallway. “It seems Timothy Spicer was caring for her before he… well… you’ve seen the pictures. It was a grim way to go.” Hoyle showed us through to the kitchen.
“Of course, I know you’ve seen far worse, Chief Inspector.” She looked at me as if she’d said something she regretted. She blushed. “I mean, it’s just, they were talking at the station about you and your cases. When you were at New Scotland Yard, I mean.”
I didn’t need to see Cotton’s face; I could feel her laughter as she walked behind me.
Hoyle continued. Her eyes widened even more. “You’re kinda famous. I heard you’re writing a book about investigating serial killers?”
I heard Cotton snort. I turned and saw her put her hand to her mouth to hide her giggles.
“The book’s on hold for the time being.” I turned back to Hoyle and smiled at her politely. “Where was the body found, Constable?”
We entered the kitchen, and she pointed to a Formica table. “That’s where he was. The arms of the table were folded down, just like they are now. Mr Spicer was laid over it, like he was hugging it.” Pointing at the floor, she added, “There was blood and water and… urine on the floor. It was gruesome.
“District nurse called it in. She called to check on the mother and when she didn’t get any response from Mr Spicer, she called us. I was first on scene. I assumed the old lady had croaked it, and that was why there was no response at the house. Happens all too often, of course. Thought it was just a routine call-out. What I didn’t expect to find was something out of a Martin Scorsese movie. I’d just finished a vegetarian sausage roll from Greggs. Only just kept it down. Thought the district nurse was going to have a heart attack… She’d attended one those recently – poor old sod on a bus, the number 11 into town.”
“This must be where the knife exited the body.” Cotton examined a groove in the edge of the table.
“Yep, he was that way round. His head was there. He looked like a carcass on the butcher’s block.”
“What about the weapon?” Cotton asked.
“The knife had been removed. It wasn’t in the body, if that’s what you’re asking. Forensics confirmed it was very likely washed in the sink and placed back in the knife block. They found DNA in the sink and on one of the knives in the block.”
I walked over to the sink.
Hoyle came and stood next to me and we looked in the sink together. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? The killer broke in, probably wanted to rob the old lady – easy target. Was interrupted by Timothy Spicer. The killer then restrained him on the table, tried to extract the information with threats of torture and mutilation, and when he wasn’t forthcoming…” Hoyle raised her arm over her head as though she were holding a knife. She then brought it down sharply. “The killer lost his temper and struck the fatal blow. Spicer choked to death on his own blood.”
“You might be right. That’s certainly a possibility,” I said. “Good work.”
Hoyle added, “I’m also pretty sure that if I’m wrong and the motive wasn’t robbery, then we can rule out Spicer’s mother as a suspect.”
“Why’s that?” asked Cotton.
“She’s ninety-two and blind. Fifty years blind, so the district nurse says. Not saying it’s impossible she killed her own son. Just unlikely, in my opinion. And it’s only my opinion. Mind you, probably worth checking she really is blind, don’t you think?” Hoyle rubbed her wide nose and looked at us both eagerly.
Cotton tried to hide another smile. She nodded appreciatively.
“Thank you, Constable. Would you mind if we look around?” I said. “Just Cotton and I. It’s just so we can examine the scene with fresh eyes. It’s a technique I like to use.”
“Oh. Uh, no. Not at all. Yes, good idea. I’ll be just outside, if you have any questions. I’ll be, you know, out here.”
Hoyle watched us for a moment before slowly backing out of the room. I heard the front door close.
“You’re so diplomatic. You’ve got a fan there,” said Cotton. “She’ll be wanting an autograph and a selfie.”
“Certainly enthusiastic,” I agreed. “Detective material, perhaps?”
“Quite a vivid imagination,” laughed Cotton. “She’ll fit right in.”
“I bet you were just like that not so long ago. All bright-eyed and eager to please.”
“How did you know?” chuckled Cotton.
I crouched down beside the table. There wasn’t much to see; the crime scene cleaning team had already been. Forensics had their samples. The scene had been photographed and catalogued by local detectives. We were just there to learn what we could.
Discoloration showed where blood had stained the linole
um flooring. “The report says there were two types of blood?”
“Yes. The first being Spicer’s, the other unknown. It’ll be a few days before we find out whether it’s Edward Fischer’s.”
“Some sort of struggle,” I said to myself out loud. I went over to the back door at the end of the kitchen to check the lock. “It was forced.”
“Yes.” Cotton looked at the report she carried courtesy of the local detectives.
I examined the back door: all the edges, the handle and the hinges. The lock had been replaced for security, but I could still see where the door had been forced. “Why would Edward Fischer need to force the lock? Surely Spicer would just let him in? They know each other. They’re supposedly friends.”
“Maybe they had a disagreement? Or Fischer didn’t want any loose ends? He might have been worried Spicer had a big mouth.”
“Mm. Perhaps,” I said. “If it was loose ends, he’d just kill him. Why tie him to a table?” In my mind, I was thinking this was more like the work of Kelly Lyle. Though her killings were more staged and flamboyant. Her style leaned more towards the dramatic. “What else do we know?”
Cotton was examining the window ledge where the knife block had sat before Forensics took it away. “Spicer was face down on the table, head pointing this way, towards me. The weapon was driven through the back of his neck. It went right the way through.”
I watched Cotton stand on a chair and check on the tops of cupboards. “Lazy detectives don’t look here.”
I grinned. “Supposing it wasn’t Fischer. That would mean this murder was spontaneous. Had it been premeditated, the killer would very likely have brought their own weapon.”
“What do you want to do next?” asked Cotton.
“I’d like to speak the witness who saw Fischer and Moon outside my house on the day of the fire. I have doubts about whether it was them. This killing doesn’t make sense. Why kill Spicer days after successfully escaping prison?”
“Maybe it’s what we first suggested: Fischer didn’t want to leave anyone who could point to his current whereabouts.”