by Alan Bexley
‘I was just explaining to Mrs Edwards that we’re doing as much as we can.’ He dug into his coat pocket and found a bundle of contact cards. He pulled them out and handed them to the man. ‘Give these to your friends and neighbours. Get them to report crimes. You can help us crack down on the criminal elements.’
The man continued, “‘Crack down?” Are you being funny?’ He had emphasised the word ‘crack’.
Frank glared at him but said nothing.
‘And what’s more, there’s a house in my road that’s been taken over by squatters…’
Frank walked back into CID. Helen chuckled as he passed her desk. He walked around the big table and Yalina’s desk as he made for his own. She looked up and then carried on working.
Frank sensed there was an atmosphere. ‘What?’ he said.
Helen kept her eyes on her screen but smiled broadly.
He looked across at Jade. ‘For God’s sake, tell me what’s the matter with the children.’
She looked across at the two younger women and then fixed on Frank. ‘I’m not sure why it’s so funny,’ she said. At which point, Yalina dipped her head even further and typed faster.
‘You have just been to ASDA?’ Jade said.
‘Yes,’ Frank said. ‘And?’
‘I am guessing you had a run in with at least one of the customers?’
Frank scratched the back of his neck, ‘Yes.’
‘A woman has lodged a complaint with the inspector.’
Helen sniggered.
Frank stared at the ceiling. He shook his head.
The door to Altman’s office opened. ‘I thought I heard you,’ he said.
Frank walked over to join the inspector. ‘I understand a complaint has been made against me.’
Altman had a chuckle. ‘A Mrs Alice Edwards says you were rude to her. But I persuaded her not to make the complaint official.’
‘There is a God,’ Frank said.
‘But you’ll have to call on her and apologise.’
Helen grinned and Frank noticed that even Jade had a thin smile on her face.
Altman returned to his office and Frank dropped into his seat.
Jade raised a hand to catch Frank’s attention. ‘We’ve finished going over the interviews Hastings did with Vicky’s work colleagues.’
‘Yes?’
‘They all socialised together occasionally. Birthdays, that sort of thing. But they knew what she was like and only one of them admitted to getting close. One of the young men did date her but that was a few months ago.’
‘So not really anything for us to get our teeth into?’
‘Only Jason Thackeray. He did date her.’
‘I’m going to the Elektra Club next to see Ed Morgan. What time does the building society close?’
‘5:00 pm.’
‘There should be time to go there after I’ve finished at the Elektra.’
Chapter 12
Frank and Helen walked up to the Elektra Night Club. It was dull compared to its night time incarnation. The club was not its usual blaze of inviting light and the neon sign next to invisible. In a former life it had been a cinema and then a bingo hall. Falling attendances allowed the Morgan family to snap up the lease for a song. They turned it into Westchapel’s premier night spot. In their opinion.
Frank knew to use a steel shuttered side door which had a buzzer and intercom, far away from the double doors of the main entrance.
‘What do you want?’ asked a male voice that Frank recognised as belonging to Ed Morgan.
‘Police. Sergeant Grey. We need to talk to you about the death of Vicky Crosby.’
The door buzzed. Frank pulled it open and gestured Helen to walk in first. She took one glance inside and raised an eyebrow. ‘No, thanks, it’s all yours.’
Frank entered the gloomy interior. The dusty corridor was lit by a bulb hanging on a wire at the far end. He walked, followed by Helen, along the corridor which ran to the back of the venue. The wall to their left was cobwebbed brick, and the right battened plasterboard. A scratched wooden door faced them at the end of the corridor. The red eye of a CCTV camera watched their progress.
As they reached the door, the sound of a key turning in the lock announced Ed’s presence. He opened the door, glanced at Frank but lingered longer on Helen. Ed was in his late 40s, with receding hair, grey over his ears. He wore glasses but spent most of his time looking over them. He was the image of a respectable business man and the eldest son of the Morgan family.
‘Come through to the office,’ Ed said.
They followed him through a short hallway to an open door. Inside was a large, mahogany desk and beside it a grey, four-drawer, steel filing cabinet which had its back facing out. Ed’s leather chair had peeling arms and there were uncomfortable, plastic, moulded seats for his visitors. CCTV screens covered the wall opposite the desk.
‘Who’s this Vicky Crosby?’ Ed said.
‘She died yesterday morning in a traffic accident, Ed,’ Frank said.
Ed’s face showed annoyance at the familiarity and he looked pointedly away from Frank towards Helen. ‘How are you keeping? I haven’t seen you in a while.’
‘I’m fine, Mr Morgan,’ she said.
‘Victoria Crosby?’ Frank prompted.
‘So, is he the boss of you?’ Ed asked Helen.
‘Just answer the question,’ Helen said, using the voice of a long-suffering mother.
Ed looked at Frank. ‘I’d never heard of Victoria Crosby until I read about her death.’
‘Can we speak to the other bar staff?’
‘No.’
‘They’re not here?’
‘That’s right. They come on shift for five o’clock. Come back then.’
‘Is Leonard Kowalski here?’ Frank asked.
In answer, Ed bellowed the man’s name. ‘Loki!’
A tall, broad-shouldered bearded man in his forties walked in. ‘Yes, boss?’ he said, in an accent Frank tried to place. Eastern European?
‘Do you know a tart called Victoria Crosby?’ Ed asked.
‘Plenty of pretty girls come here.’ Loki’s grin revealed highly-polished white teeth.
Frank pulled a photograph from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Loki. ‘Her picture was in the local paper and online because someone murdered her.’
Loki looked at the image. ‘I think I’ve seen her . . . Hard to say. We have many customers.’
‘She used to work at the Westchapel Building Society,’ Helen said.
‘Perhaps that’s where I saw her,’ Loki said. ‘I have an account with them.’
‘I must pay you too much,’ Ed said. ‘If you can afford savings.’
Loki looked towards Ed but did not comment.
‘I’d like to know where you both were yesterday morning around 7:30 am?’ Frank said.
Ed laughed. ‘That’s easy. We don’t close up here until around four in the morning. We were both asleep in our beds.’
Loki nodded.
‘Can anyone confirm that?’ Frank asked.
‘My girlfriend will corroborate my alibi,’ Ed said and grinned. ‘The same for Loki.’
Loki nodded.
‘OK,’ Frank said. ‘We’ll go but I expect we’ll be back.’
‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ Ed said, leering at Helen.
Outside on the street again, Frank turned to Helen as he unlocked the car. ‘You noticed what Loki was wearing?’
‘Black zip up biker’s jacket and jeans, and he had the right build for our description of Ingermann’s attacker. Trouble is the witness didn’t mention a beard and there are plenty of men in black jackets walking the streets.’
They opened the doors and got in. ‘I tell you, my gut is saying that he’s the attacker. I’m just wondering if he could be Vicky’s killer too,’ Frank said.
‘We need to find proof.’
‘I wonder how Ingermann is getting on?’ Frank said.
‘Now, no excuses. We have to go and s
ee Mrs Edwards so you can apologise.’
Frank pressed his palms in his eyes and rubbed them. He looked across at Helen who was facing him with eyebrows raised.
‘You were rude to her.’
‘Apparently so,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘But that can wait until after we’ve talked to Jason Thackeray.’
Jason Thackeray was young, well-spoken and wearing the building society’s dark blue uniform suit. They were sitting in a meeting room.
Frank had asked Helen to start the interview while he watched.
‘Jason, I understand you had a relationship with Vicky Crosby. Can you tell me about that?’
Jason smiled but his eyes darted in all directions. ‘For a few weeks, we went out together. It wasn’t too serious. This was months ago.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Just restaurants and bars.’
‘The Elektra Night Club?’
‘No.’
‘Drinking and the occasional pill?’
‘No,’ he blurted. ‘I don’t do drugs.’
‘Relax,’ she said. ‘I’m not trying to catch you out.’
‘Sorry, ’ he said.
‘Did you ever go to Vicky’s home?’
‘No.’
‘Did you take her to your home?’
‘I couldn’t. I live with my parents.’
Helen studied him. ‘Did you have a sexual relationship with Vicky?’
Jason stiffened, and gulped air. ‘Yes.’
Helen narrowed her eyes. ‘Where did you have sex with her?’
‘In her car. We parked in Lakehurst Wood.’
‘How many times did you actually go out with her?’
‘Four times, three times I guess.’
‘And you had sex with her once?’ Helen asked.
His mouth fell open, and he looked at the tabletop. ‘Yes, once.’
‘Would it be fair to say that you have exaggerated your relationship with Vicky?’
‘I guess you could say that.’
‘Do you have anything you can tell us about her death? Were you aware of anyone who would have wanted to harm her?’
‘No, everyone liked her.
‘I think that will be all,’ she said.
Frank nodded.
Jason rose and left the room. He slammed the door in his haste.
Helen chuckled.
‘That was a waste of time,’ Frank said.
‘But he looked so cute,’ Helen said.
It was just after eight o’clock when Frank leaned back on his front door to close it. He heard the TV. A voice was describing a war zone somewhere.
He walked into the front room where his wife was sitting on the sofa with her dressing gown on and her feet curled under her. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘I thought I was tired.’
He grinned and patted her hair as he passed by on the way to the kitchen.
‘Get off,’ she said.
He pulled a curry and rice convenience meal out of the fridge and opened the packet. He put the black plastic tray on a plate and punctured the transparent cover. The food didn’t look very appetising.
He set the microwave running and switched on the kettle. His wife padded out to the kitchen in her flip-flop slippers. ‘I’ll make the tea,’ she said. ‘Go and take your shoes off.’
‘You might regret saying that.’
She smiled.
She sniffed. ‘Oh, God,’ she said. ‘Not curry again. It makes the place reek.’
He put his hands around her waist, and kissed her.
‘And you need a shower,’ she said. ‘If you get a move on, you can be down before this is ready.’
The hot water made him feel human again. He hurried downstairs to find Barbara had turned out the curry onto a plate she had warmed. She was mixing the rice in the sauce. It looked good and the aroma sensational.
‘You do know you’re not going to kiss me once you’ve eaten that?’ she said.
She handed him the plate, and he sat. She made two cups of tea and put them on the coffee table. They sat side by side as the news report continued.
‘Do you want to watch this?’ she asked.
‘Not really. I see enough violence at work.’
She used the remote to blank the screen. The silence was bliss to Frank.
She watched him forking the curry into his mouth. ‘Saturday, we’re going for a restaurant meal together,’ she said. ‘No arguments. I want you to eat a meal with me at least once this week.’
‘I expect I’ll still be working on the Crosby case. It might be difficult to get away.’
‘Lunchtime,’ she said. ‘I want sparkling conversation for once.’
‘I really—’
‘I’ll phone Dan Altman if I have to.’
He scraped the last of the rice grains from the plate.
‘Couldn’t we make it Sunday?’ he said.
‘No, it has to be Saturday.’
A smile spread over his face. ‘Ten years,’ he said. ‘I can’t guarantee lunch but definitely dinner.’
‘Yes, ten bloody years,’ she agreed.
Frank replied with a broad grin, ‘And they said it wouldn’t last.’
Helen turned off the vacuum cleaner and stowed it under the stairs. She looked around her living room while using an air freshener spray. She had just taken clothes off the back of the chairs and dropped a pile of newspapers in the recycling bin. The doorbell went. ‘That’ll have to do,’ she said to herself.
Peter had a bunch of flowers and bottle of wine.
‘Get in you fool, before the neighbours see you.’
He leant forward for a kiss and she grabbed his lapels and dragged him into the hall.
‘Steady on,’ he said, straightening his jacket now she had let go. He checked himself in the hall mirror and brushed back his hair with a hand.
‘Honestly,’ she said. ‘You spend more time admiring yourself than I do.’
Helen had showered and changed into a flowery blouse and black pencil skirt, but no jewellery.
Peter made no comment as he followed her through to the kitchen.
‘I brought a bottle of rather nice rosé as I wasn’t sure what we were eating. Where’s your corkscrew?’
‘The drawer over there,’ she said, pointing. She took two large wine glasses out of a cupboard.
‘We’re having fish and chips,’ she said. ‘I got it from the shop ‘round the corner and I’ve been keeping it hot in the oven.’
‘Suits me,’ he said. ‘I’m not a snob about food and drink.’
She hurried through to the living room with cutlery, glasses and two place mats for the coffee table. He followed her in.
She bustled out and returned carrying the two plates of food using oven gloves. ‘Careful, the plates are really hot.’
She dumped herself on the sofa beside him. He poured the wine.
‘Where’s it from?’ she asked.
‘Tesco,’ he answered, with a grin on his face.
‘Fool,’ she said, picking up a fork.
‘It’s Italian,’ he said, tasting it, ‘and quite good.’
He had slumped on the sofa and now she was lying with her head on his chest.
‘So how goes the investigation in Vicky Crosby’s death?’ He slurred his words. They had finished the bottle.
She laughed but said nothing.
‘I bet Grey thinks the Morgans are behind it.’
‘Yep. But Frank thinks the Morgans are behind everything.’
‘“Frank” is it?’ he said. ‘I didn’t know you were that intimate.’
‘Shaddup.’
‘I know something that might interest you.’
She waited. ‘So?’
‘What’s it worth?’
She reached up to pull his head down and give him a kiss.
‘Loki at the Elektra is dealing.’
‘Hardly news,’ she said. ‘We’ve suspected it for ages.’
He stroked her face. ‘Your turn.’
‘Was she an informant?’
‘I’m not confirming or denying that she was an informant.’
‘Right. Did the post mortem tell you anything useful?’
‘Huh, you don’t give up. I’ll tell you.’
She paused.
‘Well?’
‘The post mortem . . . told us zilch, nadda.’
‘I heard Vicky had a lot of money in the building society.’
He looked down at her.
‘You have spies everywhere,’ she said.
‘People love to gossip. Come on. Are you confirming it?’
Helen pretended to zip her mouth.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I give up.’
‘Good.’
He stroked her hair.
‘You love your job, don’t you?’ he said.
Her smile disappeared and she nodded slowly.
They fell silent.
‘Have you ever been married?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I did propose once but I was turned down.’
She grimaced. ‘Oh.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘In a galaxy far, far away.’
‘What?’ he said. ‘You’re drunk.’
‘Serious relationships?’
‘Some. But what about you? You’ve told me you’ve never been married but have you lived with anyone?’
She shook her head. ‘I like my own space.’
He looked around. ‘Could do with redecorating. And as for that front garden . . .’
She slapped his arm.
‘You got any kids anywhere?’ she asked.
‘What? No. It’s getting late. Am I staying the night?’
‘Do you wanna?’
He slid his hand up her thigh.
Barbara squinted as she walked in the open door of the fluorescent tube lit kitchen. Frank was sitting at the table nursing a cup of tea. The vinyl was cold to her bare feet. She peered at the wall clock.
‘It’s half-past two in the morning,’ she complained.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Did I wake you?’
She sat down facing him. ‘The case?’
‘I saw Vicky’s mangled face in a nightmare. She was a beautiful in life.’