Purple Death

by Brian L. Porter

  could really be described as such.

  “Here you are Mikey,” said Angela as she placed the tray in his lap. “Everything just the way you like it.”

  “Thanks Sis,” he replied as his hand reached out to pick up the chicken sandwich she'd placed before him. There was nothing else to be said, at least for the present.

  A Burial of the Past

  Sean Connor returned to his home on the outskirts of town shortly before seven that evening. Between them, he and Lucy Clay had set in motion the various threads that he hoped would provide them with a springboard from which to advance the investigation. Detective Chief Inspector Lewis had given his blessing to an extra three detectives being assigned to work with Connor and Clay, so in addition to the number of uniformed officers already working flat out on various tasks connected with the investigation, Sean Connor now had a team of over thirty officers working virtually full-time on the case. By six o'clock, he'd exhausted the amount of productive work achievable for the day, so Connor had taken the decision to call it a day and head for home.

  Now, he sat in his kitchen with a glass of iced malt whisky in his hand, his shoes kicked off and lying in the corner of the room and his feet raised and resting on one kitchen chair as he sat on another.

  Barely two sips into his drink Connor was disturbed by the sound of his doorbell ringing. At first he was tempted to leave it, to ignore whoever had decided to invade this little bit of personal space and freedom he'd allowed himself in the middle of an increasingly frustrating investigation. When the bell rang again however, this time for far longer than the first time he cursed his ill-luck and placed his feet back on the floor they'd so recently left, and, ignoring the shoes which were scattered at two differing sides of the room he padded towards his front door and in a mood of increasing cantankerousness he opened it to reveal, standing on his doorstep, none other than the smiling face of pathologist Catherine Nickels.

  “Catherine,” he spoke in genuine surprise.

  “Hello Sean, I phoned the station and they said you'd left for home. I thought if I came straight round I'd catch you before you got too settled for the night. You don't mind do you?”

  “Of course not,” he replied, and Connor was genuinely pleased to see the attractive doctor standing on his doorstep. His earlier grumpiness seemed to be dispelled in an instant as he motioned for her to come in and follow him, which she did, until the two of them were seated comfortably in Sean Connor's living room, he in an armchair, Catherine on the sofa just across from him.

  It had been a while since her last visit, and Connor wondered whether this time she was visiting him on business or for personal reasons. In truth he hoped it might be the latter. Since his divorce, Catherine Nickels had been the only woman who had set foot in his house on a social level and that had been for too short a time. Now, hoping that his question would be answered in the negative, Sean asked the doctor;

  “Is this about the case Catherine? Have you found out something that couldn't wait?”

  “Don't be silly Sean. If it had been I'd have telephoned. No, I just thought that you looked a little weary, a bit worse for wear the other day when you came to the morgue. I thought you might need a bit of cheering up that's all, so, here I am. I'm sorry if I'm intruding on your evening, and you can tell me to go away if you want, but I thought you might like some company. We could have a chat, maybe a drink or two and if you feel like it I'll treat us to a take-away, Indian or Chinese, you name it; I'm easy.”

  “We'll go Dutch,” said Connor, “and let's make it a Chinese.” He realised he was smiling broadly for the first time in a long while. He was delighted that Catherine had turned up out of the blue. The prospect of sharing his evening with a pretty woman, with a meal and drinks thrown in, was the brightest chink of light that had crept into his dull and increasingly boring life for some time.

  With that, Catherine seemed to relax into her place on the sofa a little more, crossing her legs and leaning back against the comfortable cushions scattered randomly across it as she gratefully received the brandy that Connor passed across to her. He'd remembered her favourite tipple as well, she liked that.

  Connor was used to seeing her in her white coat or worse still in her scrubs, her arms and hands invariably covered in the various fluids and such that were part and parcel of her job. To see her sitting on his sofa in her smart business suit, her hair neatly brushed and hanging loose rather than in it's usual position of being tied back so as not to interfere with her examination of the bodily remains associated with her everyday life, and sans the white coat of course, made him realise what a beautiful woman she really was. He just managed to stop himself from passing a highly flattering remark concerning her legs, which moved with a lithe suppleness as she uncrossed and recrossed them, her skirt riding up to reveal a little more leg, then transferring her opposite foot to the floor. Maybe now wasn't the right time for such compliments.

  He allowed himself to think about the last time she'd been in this very room, but that had been six months ago, and Connor had been hit by an almost schoolboyish nervousness on that occasion, being tongue-tied and very gauche, until Catherine had beaten a hasty retreat from the house after less than an hour. Perhaps this time would be different. He hoped so.

  Three hours later he felt that the evening was proving something of a success. He hadn't scared the pretty pathologist away, and they'd managed to studiously avoid the pitfalls of discussing the case he was working on, or his ex-wife. Catherine knew, almost by instinct as well as reports from mutual acquaintances, that Sean found it very difficult to talk about what had happened between Marilyn and himself and Catherine had no desire to open up old wounds that might spoil their time together. The two of them had found much in common between them and Connor had even managed, after they'd shared a sizzling repast of Chinese food to find the courage to place himself on the sofa, next to Catherine.

  At last, the detective felt that it was time for a case of `fortune favours the brave,' and, with a little hesitation, he reached across and took Catherine's hand in his own. To his intense relief, she didn't make any attempt to snatch it back. Instead, she allowed him to squeeze her hand, and she squeezed back, giving him the signal that he was waiting for. Turning his head to stare into her eyes, he used his free hand to turn her head until they were looking directly at each other. Seeing no sign of resistance in Catherine's eyes Sean Connor took his life in his hands, and leaned forwards towards her. Still she didn't pull back and then, their lips met. Sean Connor hadn't touched a woman since his divorce and Catherine had already told him there'd been no-one special in her life for some time, and now it showed. They kissed with a passion born almost of desperation in a kiss that they would both probably remember for a long time, even if nothing more came of that night.

  Neither of them spoke one single word for what seemed an age. After the kissing stopped they simply sat staring into one another's eyes for some time, until Sean again took the initiative and allowed his hand to fall and rest on Catherine's lap. When he reached down to touch her knee, she froze for a second, then, as he felt her relax again, he allowed his hand to slowly work its way up her leg, beneath the skirt of her smart business suit which was beginning to lose some of its pristine appearance by then.

  “No Sean, please, not here,” her voice suddenly breaking into the heavy silence that had developed.

  “I'm sorry,” said Connor, rapidly pulling his hand away and sitting back, looking extremely contrite. “I thought…”

  “It's OK, really,” she said, “I only meant that we might be more comfortable if we went upstairs, that's all. You do have a bed up there don't you Detective Inspector?”

  “I certainly do,” said Connor, relief pouring into his voice, “or at least, I did the last time I looked.

  Little more was said as Sean Connor took the hand of the beautiful pathologist and the two of them walked slowly from the sitting room, up the stairs and into the bedroom that Sean had once sha
red with his now forgotten ex-wife. As the two of them fell into each others arms and as the hours of darkness fell, Sean Connor and Catherine Nickels found the togetherness that both had been missing in their lives for a long time and as the dark of night gave way to the light of the following morning they came together once more, and then, before they knew it, the sun had taken the place of the moon and a day's work lay ahead for both of them.

  Sean made breakfast while Catherine showered. Soon after, the two of them stood together on the doorstep where she'd arrived less than twelve hours ago, though now that seemed a long, long time ago.

  “We really will have to do this again sometime,” said Catherine.

  “And soon, if you don't have any objections,” Connor replied a little formally, his earlier clumsiness creeping back into the relationship with the cold light of day.

  “You can bet on it,” she went on. “I'll call you after work tonight if you like.”

  “Yes, please, do that Catherine.”

  “OK, now I really have to go. My clothes are all rumpled from our evening on the sofa, and I need to rush home and change. My staff would have a fit if they saw me in this state,” she laughed.

  “Go then, quickly,” he laughed, “before I arrest you for loitering on my doorstep.”

  As she drove away from his house, Sean Connor's heart felt lighter than at any time since Marilyn had deserted him. The day ahead beckoned, and he approached it with a new gleam in his eye.

  Elementary, Inspector Connor

  Lucy Clay was the first to see the difference in her superior officer that morning. Something in the way he carried himself as he walked through the open plan sector of the department on the way to his office gave him away, and she was a detective after all.

  “You look like the cat that got the cream this morning Boss,” she smiled at him. “Is there something I should know?”

  “Morning Lucy,” he replied. “If you must know I had a very enjoyable evening in the company of a very fine lady, and I'm feeling on top of the world.”

  “That's great Sir, and about time too if you don't mind me saying. Who's the lucky lady then, or is it a state secret?”

  “As you say Sergeant, a state secret, or at least, my little secret for the time being. Out of respect for the lady, I'll keep my love life private for the time being if that's ok with you.”

  “Whatever you say Sir,” Clay responded, smiling at her boss, and feeling secretly pleased that he had something else to occupy his time apart from work. She, perhaps more than anyone was aware of the workaholic tendencies that had virtually taken over Connor's life since his divorce. She knew it would do him good to develop a new social life, and if he'd managed to find a little romance along the way then Lucy Clay was delighted for him.

  The rest of the morning was spent in going through interminable paperwork as the two officers tried to decipher some shred of a clue from the statements they and the team had so far managed to accrue. There was little that could be called useful and frustration and exasperation were beginning to creep into their day. There'd been no further word from Charles Carrick in Birmingham so Connor had to conclude that the investigation in the West Midlands had reached a similar hiatus as his own. As he and Clay were devouring their third cup of coffee of the morning a knock on the door brought some welcome relief from the paperwork.

  Detective Constable Tim Kelly almost fell through the door, such was his enthusiasm to communicate the information he'd obtained.

  “Yes Constable, where's the fire?” Connor joked with the young detective.

  “Sorry Sir, it's just that I thought you'd want this information straight away.”

  “OK man, spit it out,” said Connor.

  “Well, I've been on the detail checking out the local hotels for this `chocolate woman' we've been told about, and I called in at the Regency Hotel near the station and the receptionist there remembered a woman who stayed there the night before Sam Gabriel and Mrs Remick died.”

  Connor's ears pricked up. The young detective had got his full attention now.

  “Go on man,” he encouraged.

  “Right Sir. Well, the receptionist, a Miss Reynolds, told me that a woman checked in at about seven in the evening. Miss Reynolds remembers her well because she was the only single person to check in during her shift that night. The only other rooms she let were to an elderly couple and a pair of sales reps from a tyre manufacturer who shared a room to save money. Anyway, she was able to give me a pretty good description of the woman and I've asked her to come down to the station after work today to help the police artist put together an impression of the woman.”

  Connor was impressed but said nothing. He knew that Kelly hadn't finished.

  “The other thing is, she also remembers that the woman was quite agitated, as though she was scared or nervous abut something. She was a little furtive, that's my word, not Miss Reynolds' and kept looking over her shoulder as if she was being followed, or as if she expected someone to come up from behind her.”

  This was the best news Connor had received so far in respect of the investigation. He also knew instinctively that there was yet more vital information that Kelly was holding back until the end of his report.

  “Do we have a name, Kelly?” he asked, unable to contain himself any longer.

  “We do Sir. It may have been a false name and address of course, but Miss Reynolds allowed me a look at the register. The room was registered in the name of Miss Shirley Holmes, and the address,” Kelly paused to check in his notebook,

  “Don't tell me Kelly, the address was Baker Street, London?”

  “That's right Sir, but how did you know?”

  “Whoever she is, she's got a sense of humour, I'll give her that,” said Connor. “Think about it man. Shirley Holmes? Think `Sherlock', then put that together with an address in Baker Street and you have the great fictional detective himself. She's playing games with us Kelly, that's what she's doing.”

  “Damn, I'm sorry Sir, I should have thought…”

  “Don't worry about it Kelly. Why should you have thought it? You got a name and that was what we needed. How about a description?”

  “About forty-ish, smartly dressed in a two piece blue skirt suit, sort of ash-blonde hair Miss Reynolds said, though she did say she thought it was dyed. She couldn't remember the colour of the woman's eyes, but she did say that she was about the same height as she is, which would make her about five feet two.”

  “That's great Constable, it gives us something to be going on with, and narrows the investigation down a wee bit. She really was very clever, and if I'm not much mistaken the false name and address was left there deliberately. She knew we'd check the hotels, and this could be her way of taunting us.”

  “I know Sir. I just wish I'd thought of the Holmes and Baker Street connection myself. It's so bloody obvious when you think about it.”

  “I said forget it. At least when this receptionist comes in we might get some idea of who we're looking for. You've done well, really. You've maybe brought us our first major lead in the case. So, you get a big pat on the back Kelly. Honestly, you've done a good job. The hotel check by the police in Penzance yielded nothing, so you've gone one better than the boys down there.”

  Tim Kelly blushed. He wasn't used to receiving such effusive praise from the normally dour Detective Inspector. Obviously, Connor's good humour from his night with Catherine Nickels was spreading to his attitude towards the squad's junior officers. They were used to him being polite but a little distant at times. Kelly couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the D.I. look this relaxed, especially considering the heavy burden of the current multiple murder investigation.

  “Thank you Sir,” was all he could think of to say as Connor smiled at him, and then went on to say:

  “I'll leave it up to you to supervise the receptionist's session with the artist when she gets here Kelly. Just make sure you get the picture to me as soon as she's finished, OK? And ask her if she
remembers anything else that might be of help. I'm not insinuating that you didn't conduct the first interview thoroughly but you know as well as I do that witnesses often remember things later, when they've had a chance to think. Try to make sure she hasn't missed anything out that might be useful to the investigation.”

  “Will do, Sir,” Kelly replied, and he took his leave of the inspector and Lucy Clay.

  As the door closed on D.C.Kelly, Lucy Clay broke her silence, having patiently listened to his report to Connor without butting in or making any comment.

  “D'you think he's found her then sir?”

  “This woman certainly fits what little of a profile we've got for the `chocolate woman' Lucy. A false name and address, furtive and suspicious behaviour, she really could be the one we're looking for. I only hope that the receptionist can tell us more.”

  “So, maybe we've got lucky.”

  “Maybe Sergeant, maybe,” Connor mused. Then again, like I've said before, she could be just a courier for the poison, a delivery agent. The real killer could be her boss; someone who we don't even know exists yet. The whole thing is like a complicated jigsaw puzzle with some of the most important pieces still missing.”

  “At least we've got a few of the starter pieces now though Sir,” Lucy said optimistically.

  “We have indeed, Sergeant, we have indeed,” Connor repeated, actually allowing himself to share in his sergeant's air of optimism.

  His evening and night with Catherine had obviously had a very positive effect on him, and he knew it. He made a mental note to ring her as soon as he was free and try and make arrangements to see her again that evening. In the meantime he had work to do, lots of it, and as Lucy Clay left to continue her own avenues of inquiry Connor made his way to the outer office where his team of officers were still wading through the past cases of the late Judge Tolliver. Connor had the strongest feeling yet that the answer to the present day string of murders was rooted firmly in the past and that Tolliver's court records held the clues that would lead to the apprehension of `The Chocolate Woman' as Connor now officially named her, at least in his own mind. There was still the possibility that she was a mere pawn operating under the control of the real mastermind behind the killings, but for now she was the only option he had to go on, and something was, after all, better than nothing.