by W. Soliman
“Ah yes, I think I do recall something now.” He tutted. “A most torrid affair.” I almost smiled. The guy had had his brains bashed in, and Miller described it as “torrid.” He made it sound as though he was talking about the weather. “But I don’t see what it has to do with me?”
“Not you exactly but a couple of your clients. She’s not managed to put what happened behind her. From what I know about him, Spelling was no great loss but naturally his wife doesn’t share that view.”
“Hardly surprising if she loved him, Mr. Hunter.”
“Yes, but ten years.” I spread my hands in a what-can-you-do-about-obsessive-women kind of gesture. “She latched on to me and plagued the life out of me for months afterwards, even though I didn’t work the case. Anyway, she’s convinced that the guy jailed for her husband’s murder was acting on someone else’s orders, and she’s been tenaciously trying to ferret out the truth ever since.”
“Good heavens.” Miller beetled his brows. “It never fails to surprise me, the manner in which grief manifests itself.”
“It now appears that Mrs. Spelling knew a great deal more about her husband’s activities than we, the police that is, realised at the time. She came to me the other day and produced some pretty damning evidence against the people she suspects had it in for her husband.”
“I see. And she hasn’t taken this alleged evidence to the police because…”
“Because she’s out for revenge and financial compensation.” I enjoyed watching Miller trying to pretend an indifference he clearly didn’t feel. “Why else?”
He frowned, feigning concern. “Then she’s probably playing a dangerous game.”
“That’s what I told her but you know how women can be.” I shrugged, wondering if he actually did. This place certainly lacked a woman’s touch. “She says the papers she showed me were just an example and that the rest are lodged in a safe place with instructions that they be released to the authorities if she meets with an accident.”
“Goodness, how very cautious of her.”
“Well, what can I say?” I flashed a grin, man-to-man, intended to lament our inability to understand what made women tick. “We live in a dangerous world.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Hunter, but I still don’t see what this has to do with me or any of my clients.”
“You don’t?” It was my turn to feign surprise. “Oh well then, she must have got it wrong. You clearly don’t represent these people so I won’t take up any more of your time.”
“Who are the people she’s accusing, just as a matter of interest?”
“That’s something I’d rather not reveal. Not if they’re nothing to do with you. The fewer people who know about this, the safer it will be for Mrs. Spelling.” I stood up and he joined me, leading the way toward the door.
“Indeed. But I still don’t see why she came to you.” He frowned. “You may not be a policeman anymore but, forgive me, leopards don’t change their spots.”
“She’s got this bee in her bonnet about me being the only person to listen to her at the time of the killing and, to be frank, I feel sorry for her so I didn’t brush her off.”
“Ah, I suppose that would explain it then.”
“And she knows that I left the force under something of a cloud.”
I could see that he was itching to ask me more but I’d done enough and had no intention of being caught out with unnecessary embellishments. Anne Spelling was safely in Leicester spending a couple of weeks with her sister, but if anyone wanted to get to her badly enough it wouldn’t be that hard to find her.
“What will you do now?” Miller asked in an indifferent tone.
I shrugged. “What can I do? Anne wanted me to contact these individuals direct but I’m not that stupid. I compromised by saying I’d have a word with you but that’s as far as I go.”
“So you think she’ll give up on this wild goose chase?”
We’d reached the front door and as I waited for him to open it I glanced again into that sumptuous lounge. There was a photograph on a sideboard in a silver frame. I only caught a brief glimpse of its subject but was fairly sure I recognised the person whose image took pride of place in this man’s home. My head was reeling with the implications it threw up but I had the presence of mind to look away quickly, not wanting to let on that I’d noticed.
“Sorry,” I said. “I missed what you said.”
“I merely asked whether you thought Mrs. Spelling would give up.”
“I’ll try and persuade her to see sense but I’m not holding my breath.” I shook my head and his hand simultaneously as I stepped into the corridor. “Thanks for your time.”
“Always a pleasure, Mr. Hunter.”
He remained standing in the open doorway. I could feel his eyes boring into my back as I made my way to the stairs. I figured that if Miller was going to contact his clients then he’d do it the moment I left. He’d then either go and meet them or they’d come to him.
* * *
But it didn’t work out that way. At six o’clock my mate Bill called me to say that Miller had left the building. Bill tailed him to an upmarket restaurant but couldn’t risk following him inside. I joined him there. Bill had a nice collection of pictures of all the people who’d come and gone after I left but there was no one that I recognised. Not even my stepbrother.
Together we watched Miller and another man enjoying a cosy dinner for two. Something about their body language made me wonder. Miller didn’t strike me as being gay but, I don’t know…there was nothing suspicious about this meal, other than it being easy to imagine the two men finishing up in bed together. If I’d rattled Miller with my questions it certainly wasn’t evident in his current demeanour. We were wasting our time here.
“Thanks, Bill,” I said, handing him a few notes. “It was worth a try anyway.”
“Fancy building like that ought to have a doorman we could bribe,” Bill complained.
“They make do with CCTV instead.”
“Fucking cheapskates.”
“Shame we can’t get hold of the feed into that camera.”
“I might know someone who could help there.”
“No, but thanks anyway.” There were limits, and right now I wasn’t so desperate to help Cleo that I’d actually break the law.
“Do you want me to hang round the guy’s building for a bit longer then, just in case any familiar faces appear?”
“No point. It was always going to be a long shot. If the people I wanted to see were worried, they’d have appeared by now. Let’s leave it.”
“You’re the boss.”
I phoned Cleo with the glad tidings. As always, she took the lack of progress in her stride and thanked me for all I’d tried to do. I didn’t tell her that it was far from over. If there really was a conspiracy to do away with Spelling then the people behind it couldn’t risk any evidence turning up that might point the finger at them. Anne Spelling was out of harm’s way for the moment, and so I was the obvious target. I’d waved papers under Miller’s nose and his clients would want to know what they contained. All I had to do now was wait for a visit.
But no one called and I started to wonder if I’d got it wrong. I tried to carry on as usual but the waiting was starting to get to me. To take my mind off things I returned to Miller’s building two days later, not to see him but to make that long overdue call on my stepbrother. Sod’s law, he wasn’t home. I’d psyched myself up for the confrontation and left feeling deflated, as though Paul had somehow managed to get one over on me yet again.
I parked the bike and walked back towards the boat. Cleo was waiting for me at the gate to the pontoon. My initial reaction was one of pleasure, even though it was dangerous for us to be seen together. Still, no one had stopped by yet so I was probably being paranoid. My need for congenial c
ompany overcame my caution and I waved a greeting.
“Hi, what brings you here?”
“Just wanted to say a personal thank-you for trying to help.”
She was wearing jeans, a sweatshirt and minimal makeup. This girl wasn’t trying to make an impression or coerce me into chasing more wild geese. So what did she want?
“Well,” I said as I keyed in the code for the gate and ushered her through it ahead of me, “if you’re prepared to risk my cooking then you’re welcome to join Gil and me.”
“Oh, I’m the type that likes to go out on a limb.”
“Can I have that in writing?”
Grilled steaks, baked potatoes and frozen vegetables. Even I can’t cock up a simple meal like that. We washed it down with a bottle of decent red, talking about anything and everything except her father’s situation.
“Come on,” I said as we settled down with our brandies. “Now’s the time to tell me what you’re really here for.”
She flinched as though I’d hit her. “You think I have an ulterior motive?”
“Don’t you?”
“Actually, no. You’re right about my father. If he doesn’t want to help himself then there’s sod all I can do about it.” She tucked a foot beneath her thigh, leaned an arm along the back of the seating unit and stared out of the portlight at the pontoon pilings. Not the most attractive view when the tide’s out but she didn’t appear to be taking it in so I guess it didn’t matter. “Perhaps he’s become institutionalised and is better off where he is.”
“Perhaps.”
I wondered if that was what she really believed. She’d obviously learned to keep her thoughts to herself and it was impossible for me to read anything from her expression. She closed her eyes for a second or two, revealing in that simple gesture her unwillingness to show weakness by crying. It made me wonder just how close to the edge she actually was. The desire to comfort her was compelling. Without thinking it through I reached for her and pulled her into my arms.
She responded to my kiss with an urgency that matched my own and I knew that if I didn’t bring this thing to a halt right now then we’d finish up in bed. So what? I wanted her and the feeling was obviously mutual. Why did I feel the need to fight it?
“Cleo, I don’t think we should—”
“Shush!” She brushed a finger across my lips, sweeping my feeble objections aside just as easily. “I need you. Nothing else matters. Nothing needs to be said.”
But before we could get down to specifics, a knock on the hull made us both start.
“What the fuck?”
The timing was lousy, bringing all my concerns to the fore. Someone had been watching us, waiting until I was with Cleo before coming to call. Whoever it was presumably intended to use her as leverage to get what they wanted out of me. But when I stepped into the cockpit, it wasn’t some murky underworld figure waiting on the pontoon but my nemesis, Detective Chief Inspector Jillian Slater, as she now was. Jimmy Taylor was right behind her, looking as though he’d much rather be somewhere else.
“Not interrupting anything, are we?” Slater asked with a malicious glance in Cleo’s direction.
“Evening, Jimmy,” I said, ignoring Slater. “Kind of late for a social call, isn’t it?”
“Hi, Charlie, we’re…er, just—”
“This is official,” Slater said, cutting across Jimmy’s attempts to explain.
Her air of smug satisfaction suggested she knew something I didn’t and intended to use that information to cause me maximum embarrassment. Slater enjoyed her petty attempts at revenge but as I’d always been able to run rings round her I wasn’t unduly worried.
“Must be important if it can’t wait until a more civilised hour.” I thrust my hands into my pockets and leaned casually against the door frame. “But then I’m always at your service, Chief Inspector, you know that. Need my help catching local villains, do you?”
My reference to Slater’s questionable abilities as a thief-taker was greeted with a predictable scowl. “It might surprise you to learn that we’re managing very well in your absence,” she said, making to step onto the deck.
I levered myself away from the door, glowering. “What’s occurring?”
“I just need a word.”
“And you’d walk into someone’s house without being invited?”
“We’re old colleagues. I didn’t think I needed an invitation.”
“All right,” I said reluctantly, curiosity overcoming my distaste. “Come aboard if you must but remove your shoes first.”
“You have got to be joking!” She looked at me askance but I didn’t dignify her comment with a response, focusing my eyes on her heeled court shoes instead. With an elongated sigh she finally bent to remove them.
“You’re all right in those, mate.” I nodded toward Jimmy’s trainers, just to rub salt into the wound. Jimmy caught on straightaway and flashed a grin.
“Sorry,” Jimmy whispered as he stepped aboard first and left Slater to struggle over the gunwales unaided. I had no idea what he was apologizing about and he had no time to explain.
“We need to talk. Now.” Slater pushed past Cleo as though she didn’t exist and stepped into the salon. “And alone if you don’t mind.”
“Well, Charlie,” Cleo said, reaching for her coat. “It was about time I was off anyway. We’ll finish our chat later.”
“No.” I put a restraining hand on her arm. “There’s no need to go.”
“Don’t push your luck, Hunter, or we’ll take this down the station.”
“It’s Mr. Hunter to you, Detective Chief Inspector. And if you have a valid reason to take me in then by all means be my guest.” I stared at her, and when she dropped her eyes first I knew I’d been right to call her bluff. Even she would think twice before pulling a respected ex-copper in for questioning about an as yet unspecified matter. “Now, as you’re obviously on duty I won’t put temptation in your path by offering you a drink.”
I resumed my seat, pulling Cleo down beside me and making a big thing out of swirling the brandy round my glass. Irritated that Slater was already getting under my skin like only she knew how, I took a long sip. Hell would freeze over before Jillian Slater told me who could and couldn’t remain on board my own boat. Gil appeared to be of the same mind and offered the occasional growl in Slater’s direction as he settled warily at my feet.
Slater looked round the boat with obvious interest. I watched her impassively, waiting for her to get to the reason for her visit. She was short for a copper. Probably only just made the minimum height requirement, but was attractive and made the most of herself. She had short brown hair, pale blue eyes and a decent figure. Although most people wouldn’t believe it from their dealings with her, she also had a wicked sense of humour when she allowed herself to relax—which wasn’t often.
“Who’s your friend?” she asked, giving Cleo an officious once-over.
“Cleo, this is Detective Chief Inspector Slater and Sergeant Taylor, both ex-colleagues of mine.”
I left it at that. Cleo’s full name was no business of Slater’s. I didn’t invite her to sit down but she took the other end of the seating unit to Cleo and me anyway. Jimmy stood behind her, still looking glum, which bothered me. Jimmy was one of the most irreverent, upbeat people I knew and a bloody good copper to boot. Something unpleasant, other than having to spend half the night traipsing round Brighton in Slater’s company—which would be enough to upset anyone—must have happened to make him look so apprehensive. I was slightly mollified when his eyes lingered upon Cleo and, reverting to type, he winked at her.
“Right then,” I said briskly. “What’s so important that it’s brought Brighton’s finest calling at such an unsocial hour?”
“Sorry to interrupt your cosy little evening,” she said, looking anythin
g but sorry, “but I need to talk to you about a local solicitor named Jason Miller.”
Cleo stiffened beside me. I covered her hand with mine to prevent her from speaking. “What about him?” I asked.
“You know him?”
“I asked first.”
She pursed her lips. “He’s been murdered, Mr. Hunter, that’s what about him.”
Chapter Five
“Murdered?” I exchanged a look with Cleo. “When?”
“Time of death is yet to be established but it was sometime within the last twelve hours.”
“And you came knocking at my door because…” I knew what was coming but felt the question needed to be asked.
“Because your name was in his appointment book for two days ago.” Slater’s eyes glistened with malicious intent. “And because you were seen on CCTV leaving his building today.”
Fuck it, I should have let Bill’s mate doctor that bloody camera. I forced my limbs into a more relaxed pose and felt Cleo shift imperceptibly closer until our thighs were touching. Possibly she’d picked up on Slater’s latent interest in me and was staking some sort of prior claim. Either way, having her leg pressed against mine wasn’t something I intended to complain too strenuously about.
“Care to tell me what you were doing there?”
“Nope.”
“Come on, Charlie, you know you can’t keep quiet when murder’s involved.”
“How did he die?”
She hesitated before replying. “He was stabbed.”
“So the killer would have been covered in blood.”
She pursed her lips. “Not necessarily.”
“Yeah, necessarily. And if you have me on CCTV leaving the building, you’ll know I was as fresh and clean as a daisy.”
“You were wearing a biker’s jacket. You might have taken it off before doing the deed.”
“You’re really anxious to pin this on me, aren’t you, Jill?” I knew she hated her name being shortened. “But as usual you haven’t considered all the angles.” I shot a glance at Jimmy, who was heroically attempting to smother a grin. “Why am I not surprised?”