“Stephen Blumley. He’s a local solicitor.”
“Let’s go, then.”
*
A steep, narrow staircase above a dental surgery led to the offices of Blumley and Blatt.
“Can I help you?” The attractive, blonde-haired receptionist eyed us suspiciously.
“We need a word with Stephen Blumley, please.” I flashed my ID.
“Have you made an appointment?” she asked, knowing full well we hadn’t.
“No time for that, I’m afraid. Could you tell Mr Blumley we’re here. It’s important.”
The woman scowled and got to her feet. “Wait here while I check if it’s convenient.” She stomped off down a hall and through a door at the end.
“How to make friends and influence people,” Frances laughed.
“Stuck up wench. She got my back up as soon as she opened her pretty, pink-painted mouth.”
Frances sniggered. “Did you see the way she looked at you?”
I shrugged. “I couldn’t care less.”
The woman returned moments later and gave me another stony-faced glare. “You’re lucky. He can spare five minutes.” She motioned for us to go through.
Stephen Blumley was a man in his mid to late thirties with thick, wavy brown hair and a jovial apple-cheeked smile. He stood up as we entered and shook our hands. I was amused by Frances’ reaction to him. She batted her eyelashes, and her tone sounded more girly than usual. I made a mental note to have her on about it later.
Once seated, I took the photograph of Fiona Mills out of the envelope, and the man’s charming façade dropped.
“I can tell by your face you recognise her. Maybe you can tell us how you met.”
He scrubbed at his face with both cupped hands before he placed his palms down on the desk and exhaled noisily. “I met her a while ago, and we had a brief fling. You’d think I would know better, being in this industry. But she totally had me fooled. Do you mind me asking why you’re interested?”
“Fiona Mills was found murdered yesterday.”
“Ah, the woman in the cemetery?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “That’s the one.”
“I knew her as Gaynor, though.”
“An alias she used to use,” Frances said.
“I take it you paid the money she demanded?”
“I’m ashamed to say I did, against my better judgement, might I add. I considered confessing all to Rebecca, my wife, but she’d just given birth to our baby and wasn’t coping at all.”
“Do you mind telling us what happened?” Frances asked.
He shrugged. “I met a client in a hotel in Coventry. After dinner, and one too many drinks, my client turned in for the night. Gaynor approached me in the bar afterwards, and we got on really well. Rebecca had gone to stay with her parents for a few weeks for a break. The pregnancy had been playing havoc with our marriage.” He glanced at us and shrugged again. “What can I say? She got me at a weak moment. But I promise you the relationship didn’t start out as sexual. We got on well, as though she knew what made me tick.”
“Where did you meet after that?”
“At the Carlton here in town. She got the room. I didn’t want to go at first, and decided I wasn’t going to turn up after she invited me, but I obviously changed my mind.” He shrugged and rubbed his face again with the palm of his hand.
“Can you remember the room number, by any chance?” Frances asked.
“Hang on. I have it written down in my diary.” He rummaged in his briefcase and produced a small red book. “Here we go. Room 219.”
Frances and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance.
“What else can you tell us?” I asked.
“We met several times until out of the blue, I received a letter and photographs threatening to ...”
His phone buzzed.
“... one moment, please.”
He picked up the handset. “I’m in the middle of something, Nicola. They’ll either have to wait or make another appointment.”
I got a thrill out of the way he spoke to the stuck up receptionist.
Stephen hung up. “Now, where were we?”
“You received the photographs.”
“Yes, of course. The letter said somebody would be in touch, and I needed to pay one hundred and ten thousand pounds in used notes.”
“And I’m presuming you paid it.”
“Every penny. Like I said, my wife had just given birth to our first child. I couldn’t bear the thought of telling her—although I know from experience these things rarely stay secret for long.”
“Who did you pay the money to?”
“I had to meet a man in the tube station at rush hour. When a homeless man approached me, I expected him to beg for a handout. I was flabbergasted when he said my name. As soon as he took the bag, he seemed to vanish into the crowd, and that’s the last I heard about it until today.”
“How did you receive the amount and payment details?” Frances asked.
“A courier package was delivered here.”
“Well, we appreciate your honesty. And you may feel better to learn you weren’t the only businessman in the area to be taken in by this woman.” I got to my feet. “And we understand it’s a delicate subject. We’ll do our best to keep your name out of it, but I’m sure you’re aware this might not be possible. If I were you, I think I’d confess everything to your wife in case the media do get wind of it.”
“I’ll consider it, thanks,” Stephen said, as he escorted us to reception.
I gave the receptionist a smug smile and a nod. I couldn’t help myself.
We were halfway down the stairs when my phone rang. It was Cal.
“Our victim is Lynley Antonescu. She and her husband run the Polish restaurant called Victor’s, on the high street.”
“Nice one. How did you work that out?”
“Somebody noticed a body lying in the back of a car. Mrs Antonescu’s photo ID was in the handbag on the front seat.”
“Body?”
“Yeah. Some young woman, Carly Fox. She was dead by the time anybody got to her. It appears to be an overdose, but things will be clearer after the autopsy.”
“Did anybody contact the husband?”
“No. Thought you’d probably prefer to do that, boss.”
“We’ll get over there now. Oh, and, Cal?”
“Yes, boss?”
“Could you arrange a search warrant for the Carlton Hotel—room 219. It seems all Fiona’s illicit romps were held there, and the room is let on a long term basis to a Mr James Cassidy. I’m guessing we will find the room fitted with cameras.”
“No worries. Leave it with me, boss.”
*
Victor Antonescu, a huge Polish man, with a perpetual angry face, seemed horrified when we walked in. I thought, at first, he must’ve already been informed about his wife, until he pointed at the door.
“We’re closed,” he barked. “Got no staff today. Everybody gone.”
“Victor Antonescu?”
The man nodded.
“We need to talk to you, sir. Shall we sit down?” With a flash of my badge, I indicated the table to the side of us.
Victor obliged and pulled out a chair.
“I’m sorry, Mr Antonescu, but we have some bad news. It’s your wife. There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. I’m afraid she’s dead.” I hated every word that left my lips.
He shook his head. “My wife? No. You mistaken. It not her. It Carly. Lyn taked Carly to hospital this morning, but she say the girl dead already.”
I had to concentrate in order to understand his heavily accented speech. “Well, they never made the hospital, sir. Carly was found in the back of your wife’s car. She’s also dead I’m afraid.”
Victor grasped the edge of the table. “So Lynley really dead?” he asked, his eyebrows screwed closely together.
“I’m sorry.” I nodded.
“How? Did she crash car? I told her ca
ll ambulance.”
“She didn’t crash. Your wife was shot, sir. We suspect her death is connected to the recent shootings in the area.”
“Why would anyone hurt my Lynley? She kind to everyone. Too kind. So, she suffered with her nerves. People took advantage of her good nature.”
“We don’t know, yet. However, if we are correct, we think she was probably responsible for the death of Fiona Mills yesterday.”
“Who?” Victor’s eyes were bulging.
“The woman shot in the cemetery.”
“That impossible. We watched news last night and Lynley horrified—same as me.”
“Has Lynley been acting strange lately?”
“No. Anxiety seem much better. She calmed down a lot and, except for trouble with Carly, she been perfectly normal.”
“I see. Well, we will have more questions, but they can keep for now, and somebody will need to identify your wife’s body.”
He nodded.
“Do you have any family?” Frances asked.
“Son—our son. Oh, no, Kelsey.” The big man’s hand flew to his chest.
“Would you like me to arrange some support for you, Victor?” Frances asked, rubbing his arm.
“No—no, thanks. I be fine.” He took a deep breath and struggled to get to his feet.
Frances stepped forward to steady him, but she was too late. All twenty-plus stone of Victor Antonescu crashed to the floor, sending the table and chairs flying.
We dropped down beside the unconscious man. Frances flicked her fingers on his face. “Victor? Can you hear me, Victor?”
The large man groaned, but was still spark out.
“Do you think we should call an ambulance, Adam?”
“He’s probably fainted because of the shock.”
“I know, but I don’t feel we can leave him alone after this.”
Stepping back outside, I called emergency services. While asking for an ambulance, I peered through the window and saw Victor lifting himself onto his elbows and knew he would be okay.
Instead of rushing back inside, I glanced at my watch. I’d been meaning to call Emma before her first day of school, so I dialled Amanda’s number.
A giggly Emma answered the phone.
“Hi, sweetheart. It’s Adam.”
“Adam! Mummy, it’s Adam!” she squealed.
“I’m ringing to wish you luck for tomorrow, my darling.”
“Are you coming to my party? Mummy maded me a party with balloons and cakes and jelly.”
“I can’t, Emma, I’m sorry. I’m still at work.”
“Are you catching all da bad men?”
“I’m trying to.”
I heard her whisper, “He can’t come. He’s catching da bad men.”
“I’ll tell you what, though. If it’s okay with your mummy, I’ll take you all out for pizza on the weekend, and you can tell me all about your new school.”
“And Jacob?”
“Of course, and Jacob.”
“And Grandma Sandra?”
“If she wants to come.” I laughed.
“And Mary?”
“Everybody.”
“And Daddy?”
I was belly laughing by now, and after a commotion Amanda came on the line. “I’m sorry about that, Adam. She can talk a glass eye to sleep.”
“It’s refreshing to chat to her. She tells me you’re having a party?”
“Yes. You would have been invited, but we haven’t heard from you since last week.”
I smiled, certain I’d sensed a peeved tone. “It’s been full on at work.”
“I thought that. Anyway, I’d best be off. Emma’s waiting to cut the cake.”
“No worries. I told Em I’ll take you all for pizza on the weekend to make up for missing the party.”
“Oh, Adam,” she growled.
“What?” I said, smiling.
“You know what.”
“I’ll give you a call soon. Don’t be angry with me. I was only trying to stay on the good side of your kids.”
“Whatever. Goodbye, Adam.”
Although her words were stern, I could sense the smile on her face.
Back inside the restaurant, Victor was sitting at the table once again, sipping a glass of water.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
“Don’t know what happened. I feel stupid.”
“You had a shock. The ambulance should be here shortly.”
“Don’t need it. I’m fine now.”
“They’ll still want to give you the once-over. If they agree you’re okay, you won’t have to go anywhere.”
“Good, I ‘ate hospital.”
“I have one more question for you, Victor. Do you mind?”
“Adam!” Frances scolded.
I looked at Victor, waiting for his answer.
Victor shrugged.
“Good. It’s just, I wondered if Lynley had access to a large sum of cash?”
Victor stood up as though electrified and marched to the kitchen. We followed and found him inside the huge walk-in freezer. He came out shaking his head.
“She’s taked our money. Why would she do that?”
“What was the money doing in there, sir?”
He shrugged, clearly not wanting to incriminate himself.
“We’re not the tax department. We just need to know it wasn’t gained by fraud or deception.”
“I earn every penny. When people pays cash we put away for rainy day. We pay enough money to tax man. We only doing what every businessman does.”
“Okay. Can you tell how much is missing?”
“Thousands.”
“Fifty thousand?”
He nodded. “At least. How you guess?”
“It seems, with this recent spate of murders, every victim gives fifty grand over to their killer.”
The restaurant door crashed open and we went back through to the dining room as two ambulance officers entered.
“We’ll leave it at that for now, sir. Somebody will be in touch soon.”
*
“That was terrible. The poor man. He was devastated,” Frances said, as we walked back to the car.
“You’re lucky he fell backwards, otherwise you’d be flat as a pancake now.” I grinned.
She punched me in the arm. “Don’t be horrible.”
“I’m not.” I chuckled. “I’m telling the truth. He would have squashed you beyond recognition. He’s a big guy.”
“Yeah, well, the saying is so true. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Man, I really thought he would’ve seriously hurt himself when he crashed to the ground.”
We reached the car and got in.
“So we know the basic details of Lynley’s murder are the same as all the others—no unexplained behaviour, fifty grand lighter and three shots to the chest without a fight.”
I scratched at my head in frustration. “There must be something else we’re missing.” I put the car in gear and indicated to pull out.
“There’s nothing else. Nothing obvious, anyway,” Frances said, as we joined the main road.
“Let’s go through everything so far. Five different shooters, five different victims—soon to be six at this rate. What else?”
“Nothing links any of the victims, and yet their behaviour, either as the killer or the victim, is almost identical in each case.”
I nodded. “What else?”
“None of the victims put up a fight, although they would know what’s coming. It’s as though they accept their fate, which is so hard to believe. I mean basic self-preservation would kick in, and most people would try everything in their power to survive.”
“And what else?”
“Each victim is able to get their hands on that amount of money.”
“I’m not being funny, but I’m a single man with a decent income, and I would struggle to get my hands on that kind of cash at short notice.”
“Me too. Shit, I’d struggle to get five hundred quid.”
“So, the person behind all this must have access to the victim’s finances,” I said.
“I’m stumped on that one. I first thought it could be someone at the bank, yet in most cases the cash is being held anywhere but a bank. Oliver Bertram was the only one who withdrew cash. Everybody else managed to lay their hands on fifty grand, no problem.”
I nodded. “Good. Okay, what else?”
“None of the victims have a criminal record. They’re all squeaky clean. None of them behaved strangely leading up to the killing.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Nothing.”
“There must be something else. Let’s start with Oliver. What do we know about him?”
“A computer programmer, married, no kids, no bad habits or vices. He gave up smoking a couple of weeks before.”
“And Malik?”
“Owner of the sweet factory, engaged to be married, no kids, no bad habits or vices, unless you count his excessive weight.”
“Yeah, but he was dieting. His girlfriend said he’d lost a lot of weight.”
“He still had a long way to go though.”
“What about Fiona?”
“A glorified prostitute up to her neck in blackmail and extortion, linked to James Cassidy, single, no kids, no bad habits.”
“Ah, but she was supposed to be a recovering alcoholic.”
“I didn’t know that. Who said?”
“That wimpy-looking neighbour of hers. He told me she was seeing a specialist.”
“AA?”
“Possibly.” I shrugged. “Now, what about Lynley?”
“Joint owner of a restaurant, married, one son, no vices—in fact her husband suggested she was too good.” She turned to face Adam and shrugged. “That’s all.”
“No, it isn’t. You’ve forgotten Wayne Houston.”
“Shit. I did, too. Owner of a pipe company, more money than sense, married, no kids and no vices.”
“Maybe they were all abducted by aliens.”
Frances laughed. “Honestly? Is that all you can come up with?”
“You may well laugh, but it’s like every one of these people had been preprogrammed to perform the murders with no emotion whatsoever.”
“I still think it’s more than likely someone was threatening a loved one. That’s the only reason I would ever consider doing anything illegal.”
“But imagine if somebody threatened to kill your husband or somebody close to you,” I said.
Psychological Thriller Series: Adam Stanley Boxed Set: Behind Shadows, Positively Murder and Mind Bender Page 50