‘Casper!’
‘I’ll interview the others. You interview Casper.’
Now this was one of those awkward times when the personal and the professional came crashing together. It had entered her head to make a night of it, but seeing Casper’s name on the list intrigued her. She weighed up her options. It was no good. Responsibility came with her having been the last person to see the victim alive – the last person beside the murderer, that is.
Chapter Thirty-four
The flagstones outside the Garrick’s Head were roughly as old as the theatre and pub, and it showed. Knobbly bits, raised ridges, and blobs of cement and mortar held them together and in place. Wads of green moss had taken over in many places. All in all, they were lethal …
Honey was wearing her favourite shoes: plain black, higher heels than normal – and that was, as old Bill Shakespeare would say, the rub; or rather, the ridge. Her heel caught in a groove; her foot moved onwards but her shoe didn’t. With a piercing cry, she fell forwards, her nose making contact with the step.
Steve helped her to her feet. ‘Oopsy-daisy.’
She covered her nose with the flat of her hand. ‘Och, noch! My noch is broken.’
Nose! She meant nose! Why did it sound like ‘noch’?
‘Let me see,’ Steve said. ‘Move your hand away.’
She did so, holding her head back to help stem a slight blood flow.
Steve peered intently at her nose, turning her head this way and that, from the front and from each side. He kept smiling.
‘It looks good from all angles. Even full-frontal.’
She eyed him accusingly. ‘You’re not concentrating. Full-frontal means my whole body, not my nose.’
His smile widened. ‘Can I help it if my concentration wanders when you’re around? At least you’re not speaking a foreign language any more.’
A few tourists from a ‘See England in Two Hundred Hours Trip’ chose that moment to leave the pub. They all had a comment to make.
‘My God. What happened? Has she been attacked?’
‘She fell up the step!’
‘My, my, honey pie, I would sue if I were you.’
‘A broken nose can get you a whole lot of plastic surgery money. You could have your boobs done at the same time.’
‘Take no notice,’ said Steve, looking slightly perplexed by the last comment. ‘They’re fine as they are. As for your nose, well, that’s up to you.’
‘Honey? I thought I heard your dulcet tones.’
She looked up to see Casper St John Gervais on his way into the public bar. ‘Casper. I was just on my way to see you.’
‘Too hurriedly,’ he quipped. ‘No need to bow and scrape, dear thing.’ He was in company, and the company was vaguely familiar. Wasn’t he the Hollywood actor who’d got famous in some medical drama but didn’t admit to being gay? Was it for his benefit that Casper was putting on his Noel Coward performance? Casper was what he termed casually dressed. Midnight blue velvet jacket, cherry red neckerchief, black shirt, and trousers.
His attitude was as aloof as ever. ‘Dust yourself off,’ he said as he stepped around her while Steve helped her to her feet.
His handsome companion threw her a winning smile – and did the same.
Honey was livid with Casper’s behaviour. She watched him stroll off in that casual way that he had. Damn the man!
Steve helped her up. ‘Old Casper’s certainly got a way with him.’
Honey erupted. The fact that room occupancy might be jeopardised fell by the way side.
‘That man is the most selfish, the rudest, the most arrogant … Interview be damned. Interrogation! That’s what this will be. Hold it right there, Casper! I want a word with you.’
He heard her. Turning round he raised his elegant eyebrows. ‘Such an aggressive tone!’
She heard the warning in his voice. Whoops! Steady on girl. Remember how much you like jam on your bread and butter. Room reservations were put her way, courtesy of Casper, in return for being Crime Liaison Officer on behalf of the Hotels Association. Reminding herself of that fact curbed her temper. Her tone turned as sweet as brown demerara.
‘This is a police investigation. It’s generating a lot of media interest and you do have some interesting information. Who knows, you could make the front page. Hang on and I’ll take a photograph.’
Trusty bag came off shoulder. She delved in for her cell phone.
At mention of taking a photograph and making the front page, the handsome actor turned nervous. ‘Ahem,’ he said, stepping back with all the elegance of a ballroom dancer. ‘Another time, Casper, another time. There’s an old girlfriend I promised to see …’ He gave a swift wave before the slow waltz became a backward quickstep.
Casper looked as though he’d been hit in the face with a smoked kipper. His smug smile was wiped firmly off his elegant features. But Casper was not a man to be down for long. A group of women recognised the handsome Joe Tierney. A murmur of excitement ran from one to the other. Casper saw them and pounced.
‘Ladies! He fancies me a lot more than he fancies you!’
There was momentary confusion amongst the group of women, who were out for a hen night judging by their raucous laughter and smutty comments. Then they were off!
‘Oi! Joe. Come back here.’
‘Joe! Tell us it’s not true!’
‘Joe, show us it’s not true!’
A stampede of clattering heels and hoots of laughter accompanied their running, as they pursued Joe Tierney down the street.
Casper sighed. ‘I could do with a drink.’
Now the tourists had gone, the bar took on a more sedate atmosphere. They headed for the corner nearest the window.
Over a large sherry, Casper told them what he’d seen – such as it was. Pursing his lips and holding her photograph at arm’s length, he confirmed that he did indeed remember her. ‘She was in the lounge bar, and so was I.’
Still slightly angry with Casper, Honey buried her mouth in the contents of her third vodka and tonic. Her hand shook. Casper presumed it was due to the fall.
‘Steady on there,’ said Casper covering her hand with his. ‘Take deep breaths. Count to ten.’
‘My, Casper, you sound so fatherly!’
He pulled a face. ‘Heaven forbid!’
She tried to pull herself and her torn skirt together.
Casper glanced and raised his eyebrows. ‘A black lining to a beige skirt?’ He looked affronted at the prospect.
She put him wise. ‘No. That’s my underwear.’
‘Thank heavens.’ He went on to describe the young man he’d seen in the company of Lady Templeton-Jones.
He was a lumpy youth whose only redeeming feature was the fact that he could blend into a crowd very easily. Nondescript is the right word. The clothes were memorable only for their superior blandness. Green anorak. Dark polyester trousers.’
Casper said the word polyester as though he was spitting out something foul.
‘I know where we can find him!’ Honey exclaimed, falling back in her chair. ‘He works at ASS.’
Casper eyed her disdainfully. ‘What was that you said?’
‘Associated Security Shredding. It’s a company.’
‘An unfortunate name.’
‘My sentiments exactly.’
Steve Doherty’s expression was thoughtful. His eyes were trained on her. ‘So she did visit that place! Simon Taylor was telling the truth about that. But why did they go the pub afterwards, too? That’s going beyond the bounds of customer service, isn’t it?’
Doherty was parked in Queen Square and insisted taking her home.
‘I can walk.’
‘Your knees look sore. So does your nose.’
She gently touched her nose. ‘It is still sore.’
The lights of Queen Square passed over their shoulders as they swung into George Street. They took a left swinging up towards the Circus. The Green River Hotel was in the other direction.
‘Why are we taking the scenic route?’ Honey asked.
‘We’re being followed.’
‘Ugh.’ She suppressed a shiver. Looking out of the window was thinking time. She presumed it was the guy on the motorcycle.
‘Is it Warren Price?’
Doherty cursed inwardly. ‘I shouldn’t worry too much about him.’
‘But you said …’
He made a snorting sound. ‘Trust me. Everything will be fine.’
‘Relax,’ she said mostly to herself. ‘Admire the view.’
That’s exactly what she did. It was no big deal. The old Georgian buildings looked just as good at night as they did in the day – only different. Less traffic gave vent to more imagination.
Unblinking, she studied shadows she would never have noticed before. Could she see a figure hiding there? It was possible. A few late-night gropers might be around, grunting and humping in silent shadows.
The curiosity reached up from where it was hidden and took hold of her. ‘So this murderer, this Warren Price, who is he exactly?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t want to know. I do want to know. Especially since he could be prowling around Bath.’ Honey couldn’t quite get this evasiveness. Since they’d started working together he’d always been pretty open with her. ‘Are you trying to frighten me?’
‘Hey!’ he exclaimed, and laughed nervously. He took his eyes off the road to look at her. ‘Would I do a thing like that?’
There was something about the way he said it that just wasn’t right. His laugh didn’t ring true.
Something was definitely going on with Steve Doherty. Something he didn’t want to let go. It made her wonder about the motorcyclist who’d dogging her of late.
She couldn’t let things lie.
‘Go on, Steve. Tell me more.’
‘OK.’ He said it slowly as though giving himself time to think. ‘Now let me see … right … OK, OK. Warren Price … I got him locked up. It was a long time ago. He was nearing the end of his sentence, got time off for good behaviour. So they put him in an open prison. And then, surprise surprise, he absconded. Before legging it, though, he swore he’d have my head. Not a forgiving type.’
‘Who did he murder?’
‘His girlfriend. Well, his recently-ex-girlfriend. Slit her throat in a fit of temper.’
Honey took her turn to mull. Steve drove around the Circus and took the exit on to the long hill sloping down from Lansdown.
‘Are you hinting at revenge here? He wants to slit your throat too?’
‘Not quite. That’s why he attacked my fellow officer. He wanted to hurt me by disposing of someone close to me. That’s why I was out with Karen Sinclair, jogging late at night, trying to draw him out. As I’ve already told you, our course of action paid off. He thought she was my girlfriend. That’s the premise we’re working on anyway. Can’t get at me, so he’ll hurt her. It was a warning.’
The jealousy aroused by seeing Steve jogging with the leggy blonde shrunk from an ugly green monster to the size of a grape. Another niggling worry followed the first one. He was lying. What was more he had cause to.
‘Am I in danger?’
He made a non-committal kind of sound as though he were straining to break wind. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘But you don’t know for sure.’
‘It’s me he wants to get at …’
She knew the rest, remembering when Steve had told her not to put her arm through his. In case they were being watched. In case Warren Price would reach an obvious conclusion. ‘Which is why you haven’t come calling too much of late.’
He made a grunting noise. ‘That’s about it. It’s been hard, babe, but I didn’t want to put you at risk. Karen drew him out quicker than we’d thought.’
The big green monster sprouted arms and legs. ‘So you were having a thing with her?’
She saw a grin crease his cheeks. ‘A training thing. I didn’t mind the jogging that much. Besides, I saw you’d lost weight and were looking good on it. I figured I needed to get into shape. Karen’s a qualified personal trainer.’ He glanced at her sideways. ‘But not that personal.’
She hit his arm. ‘Steve Doherty, this is really what this is all about, isn’t it? I saw you out jogging and you’re embarrassed about it. This Warren Price thing is a load of rubbish!’
She saw him wince as they dropped down on to the main road the Star public house and the park. At the lights he took a right on to the Warminster Road.
‘About that jogging …’
‘Forget it, Steve.’ She said it with force and feeling. ‘Anyway, if what you say about Warren Price is true, I can throw in a googly.’
He pulled in outside the hotel and looked at her. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Cameron Wallace has asked me out.’
He looked surprised. ‘You’d go out with him? After what I told you about him and his personal assistant.’
‘All in the line of duty. I’m working on him to make him offer my mother another shop. There’s no way I can cope with her camped around the corner. I’d go mad.’
‘I can see where you’re coming from. Just decline his offer to go up and view his etchings.’
‘Funny you should say that. He’s a collector. Like me.’
‘Underwear? The man collects underwear?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what he collects. Only that he collects.’
‘Oh, well. No doubt you’ll hold him off.’
‘I may not want to. Had you considered that?’
‘Don’t need to. I’ve met the guy. Smooth, yes, but hey, you can’t say he’s better looking and more charming than me.’
‘You’ve a very high opinion of yourself, Steve Doherty.’
He winked again. ‘I’ve had good feedback.’
‘Not from me.’
‘Yet.’
‘I won’t kiss you goodnight just in case we’re being watched.’
‘We are,’ said Honey. She pointed to where a head bobbed at one of the windows of the Green River Hotel. ‘My mother’s staying over.’
‘One little piece of information,’ said Steve, his right hand diving into his inside pocket. ‘We’ve had a breakthrough with Noble Present, the site from where Wanda Carpenter bought the Lady Templeton-Jones title. I had our computer bods look into it. It’s a worldwide thing. The guy who runs it from here is only a franchisee. The real brains is this guy. Be surprised.’
She took the piece of paper he passed her.
Her gaze swept over the name. ‘Hamilton George!’ She couldn’t help sounding surprised. Hamilton George had been on the ghost walk.
Doherty raised his eyebrows questioningly. ‘Something of a coincidence?’
She nodded. ‘You bet it was! Didn’t his wife say that he was a whiz on computers?’
‘I don’t know whether his business and Wanda Carpenter being killed are linked, but I don’t believe in coincidences.’
Doherty told her Hamilton George had been traced to a cottage in Bradford-on-Avon. ‘That’s according to the hotel he = = checked out of.’
Honey refolded the piece of paper and tucked it into her bra.
Steve noticed. ‘Hey. I may need that.’ He grinned. ‘Never mind. Keep it there. I promise to warm my hands before I retrieve it.’
They fell silent. It was great to maintain their usual camaraderie, but underlying it all was a murder done. All they could do was work through it. It was hard not to feel nervous, knowing a murderer was out there. More than one, in fact …
‘This Warren Price. Does he wear wellies when he’s riding a motorbike?’
Doherty frowned. ‘I don’t know.’
‘The guy that keeps dogging my steps definitely wears rubber wellington boots.’
‘Has he approached you?’
‘Not exactly. He just always seems to be nearby, but when I turn round to challenge him, he roars off.’
‘Hmm. But he let you go. Out of character for Warren. I’d be digging you up by now.’
‘Lovely! Well. Perhaps he was having one of his off days.’
‘Perhaps he just wasn’t Warren Price. Or perhaps he was, but he’s changed tactics.’
Chapter Thirty-five
The lights of the city spangled the tall buildings and sweeping crescents. Lindsey strolled along Alfred Street. The street ran from the Assembly Rooms to Lansdown Hill. .What traffic there was passed at knee-level, due to the fact that the pavement was four-feet higher than the road. It was interspersed at regular intervals with worn stone steps. Ironwork that had once held braziers to light the way for footfall and carriage arched over each set of steps. Nowadays they were empty, their job taken over by the overhead street lights.
Lindsey was on her way home from a recital given by the Medieval Minstrels. She had been hoping for company, but her date hadn’t turned up. She was feeling glum about it. She liked him a lot, but absence didn’t necessarily make the heart fonder.
She consoled herself that his profession caused him to keep odd hours. He told you that, she reminded herself. Normally such a relationship would have floundered, but he was hard-working. And different. Certainly different.
She forced herself to think pleasant thoughts. Naturally the concert she’d attended sprang to mind. Her mind filled with music. She hummed as she walked.
The sound of a motorcycle coming up behind her interrupted the flow.
She stopped and turned round.
He pulled up by the steps and pushed up his visor. ‘Sorry I couldn’t make it. I had a delivery. Came straight from work.’
She glanced down at his boots. ‘So I see.’ They were still a bit muddy. ‘How many?’
‘Eight. Hop on.’
She smiled. The evening had turned out better than she’d thought it would. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’
Chapter Thirty-six
It was late, long past the witching hour.
The courtyard between the back of the hotel and the coach house was totally enclosed by high walls on each side and the buildings on the others. The sound of Honey’s footsteps ricocheted from all four corners.
Walking with Ghosts - A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries) Page 14