Five Six Pick Up Sticks (Grasshopper Lawns)

by EJ Lamprey

  'She did tell me to dab witch-hazel behind my ears to make my dates very attentive! Well, as long as she knows we know. It seems much less than a month since she was harvesting her herbs.'

  'A lunar month isn’t exactly a calendar month. Anyway. Monday, after we helped Kirsty move, I went to that garage. Susan’s.'

  'Oh yes?' Edge shot him a surprised look. 'Looking for a bargain for your next service?'

  'Just wanted to see the guy.' Donald offered her a Polo and she realized he wasn’t to be rushed and was striding along, his eyes on the blushing horizon, obviously enjoying himself. This was an unfamiliar side to him, relaxed and gregarious, and she willingly matched his mood.

  'Yes, thanks, if you’ve got one the donkeys didn’t slobber on. Was he lovely?'

  'Scrawny. Thinning black hair. The worst straggly ginger beard I’ve ever seen. No man in his right mind would keep growing a beard once he realized it was going to be a freak show.'

  'So he’s not in his right mind. You’re being very harsh, Donald. Not everyone shares your fine judgment of the aesthetic.'

  'You’re being very slow, Edge. And by the way, you promised you would tell Kirsty or Vivian whenever you went out with a man.' He shook his head at her impatiently. 'Look around you, woman.'

  'Not a soul for miles. Oh!'

  'Yes, oh. You did exactly what Susan did. You underestimated the danger.' He stopped walking and pulled her round to face him, suddenly stern. 'Susan got a very good deal from an amorous garage owner who came round for payment in kind, and she underestimated the danger too. As a result she’s dead and he’s grown hideous ginger whiskers to conceal serious scratches.'

  Her jaw dropped and she stared at him. 'No!'

  'Dinna fash, I told Iain.' He was still holding her arm from having pulled her round. Now he took her other arm and looked down at her, his handsome face implacable. Suddenly uneasy, she half-laughed and tried fruitlessly to pull away. She’d never considered him a particularly powerful man but there was real and effortless strength in his grip. She looked up questioningly and felt a spasm of real fear as he stared coldly back. This was not the man she now considered a friend, and liked more with every month. This was the cold and hostile stranger she had first met, and instantly disliked, in December. And she was alone in the middle of nowhere with him.

  Her knees went weak and she sagged in his grip – instantly he shifted it to hold her upright, his strong hands suddenly friendly again.

  'Are you frightened?'

  He steadied her, and her legs stopped shaking at his normal tone. She nodded warily, and he stepped back slightly, one hand against her arm to balance her, the iron grip gone.

  'Good. Now, where’s that dog of mine got to?'

  He turned away to whistle for Odette and she stared at his profile.

  'What – what the hell was that all about?'

  He glanced back over his shoulder, his face serious. 'Edge, you’re getting cocky. This is a risky business. Don’t be so damn careless again, dashing all over the place with strange men. I wanted to scare you, and I did, and now mebbe next time you’ll think twice before you trot off with a stranger, eh?'

  She was too offended – and, in truth, too shaken – to respond immediately and they walked back in uncomfortable silence until they reached the hogsback again.

  As he helped her up over it she made an effort and asked meekly, 'Do you really think I’ve picked up weight?'

  'You eejit.' He was surprised into a laugh, and almost affectionate. 'Dinna fash. It suits you. Women of your age need a little extra padding, or they look start to look haggard.'

  'You sod,' she said with feeling, but the exchange banished the last trace of that moment of real fear, making her brave enough to refer back to it. 'In my defence,' she said pointedly as they reached the well-lit walkway, 'you did pass the Buster test a good while back. And we’ve been friends for months.'

  'We only met in December.' He shot her a sidelong glance. 'And you went white, Buster or no Buster. Just remember, people can change in seconds. Don’t trust anyone, and don’t go off alone with strangers. Are you brave enough to come in for a drink?'

  'Not without telling Vivian first,' she was deliberately pert and he grinned approvingly, his teeth white against his deepening tan.

  'Don’t you forget it. But now that the point is made, I’m serious about the drink, and Brian’s intending to pop round too. He’s also Buster-approved.' They’d reached his door and he cocked his head towards it. 'Coming in?'

  'Well, half a glass of wine, then.'

  He unlocked the door and pushed it open. 'After you. There’s light, you should be able to see your way.' He twisted up the dimmer switch as he followed her in and the entire room sprang to life, reflecting soft light from what seemed, for a dazzling moment, to be every surface. She’d never visited his apartment before, although Olga had made teasing references to it.

  Donald loved leather – he loved wearing it and, it seemed, he loved surrounding himself with it. A vast black sofa caught soft gleams from the uplighters, downlights and feature spots, opposite a single opulent recliner chair. The paneling – she couldn’t resist touching – looked like coffee-coloured suede, although her fingertips revealed it to be a paint effect. A black baby grand piano was tucked into the far corner. A blown-up colour photograph of a huge harvest moon, starkly silhouetting a single dead tree, dominated the room above a slim steel and glass wall-hung heater. The only other decoration consisted of two geometric shapes, tubular steel and leather, wall-hung near the door.

  'Very nice. Although I’m disappointed you haven’t done the paneling and ceiling in leather.'

  'Katryn said I couldn’t.' He pulled open the faux cupboard doors to get to his kitchenette, the twin of hers. 'But after that crack, you’ll have to drink out of one of my leather wine glasses. That picture came from one of my sets, what do you think of it?'

  'Spectacular,' she could say honestly. 'I’m almost scared to sit down on that sofa, Donald. I could vanish from sight and never be seen again. '

  'It’s happened.' He lifted down one of the geometric shapes, which turned out to be a folded chair, and shook it open. 'There. No strain on the tummy muscles with that one.'

  Brian arrived at that point with his beagle Archie, and while the two dogs politely exchanged news he grinned shyly at her, shook hands, propped his walking stick against the wall and made for the all-enveloping sofa. Slightly to her disappointment it didn’t close over him but he did sink visibly as it sighed deeply under his weight.

  'Just a stick now, then,' she noted conversationally, and added wickedly, 'you’re looking well. Phwoar!'

  He had the grace to blush and cast a quick embarrassed glance at Donald, who was obliviously pouring wine. 'It’s going well, yes, I don’t need the crutch any more. Very frustrating losing muscle tone, though. I’m genuinely tempted to join the morning classes. Donald tells me there are chair-based exercises as well.'

  'And how’s Cheryl?'

  He sighed. 'Deep in training for the Challenge, and on a special diet, so we haven’t been out together since. She’s a nice woman, but a bit intense.'

  Edge remembered her overt role and asked curiously, 'You’ve dated quite a lot through the websites, then?'

  'Quite a lot, quite a lot.' Donald brought their glasses over as Brian answered, and sank gracefully into the other end of the sofa. 'I’ve made more friends than girlfriends, to be honest. I’m not really the romantic type. Actually, I wanted to warn you. That bloke you met for lunch the day I met Cheryl? I’m pretty sure he’s the one who talked a woman I know into investing in a very dodgy set-up. I hope you haven’t been taking financial advice from him.'

  'My accountant would check everything first.' She evaded the question, but couldn’t resist asking, 'Is she still seeing him?'

  'No.' Brian looked sombre. 'Pretty horrible, actually. She’s dead. We were supposed to be meeting for dinner, and she rang to ask if she could cancel. She’d been chatting to
some new bloke on-line and he’d asked her out for the same evening. Next thing the police wanted to interview me – she’d told a few friends she was meeting me that night, and the barman at Ringers gave the police my details. Quite right that he should, and luckily I’d gone off to meet another friend who was sitting on her own as the bloke she was supposed to be meeting hadn’t pitched up, so I had an alibi. The worst part was that she also died, three months later. The police weren’t very friendly about it the second time round.'

  'That’s the longest speech I ever heard you make,' Donald remarked into the awkward silence that followed. 'I did pass your warning on to Edge, to be bloody careful.'

  'Sounds to me like you’re the one who has to be careful. How on earth did you talk your way out of the second investigation?' Edge was trying to remember the details on her Brian file even as she asked, and he gave her a rueful look.

  'Watching a football friendly in the house with three other residents and Jamie. The police weren’t treating it as a homicide, but they decided I wouldn’t have had the time to burgle the place between her leaving on her date and me turning up here to watch the game. If you had any idea how tempted I was that night to turn in early – bloody glad I didn’t.'

  He did have some stories from his more conventional experiences which Edge, with some help from Donald, managed to tease out of him, but finally the effort of having to talk so much took its toll and he got up to leave.

  'I’m not a kiss and tell sort of man,' he apologized, 'plus Archie needs his last run before I go up to the pub again. But listen, Edge, if you want to make overlapping arrangements – you know, not making a foursome but meeting people in the same place at the same time, like the other day – just say the word. Safer for you.'

  'And an alibi for you.' She said it solemnly, and he looked startled, then laughed. It transformed him, and she suddenly realized he was an attractive man. Donald, who missed nothing, shot her a wicked grin.

  'Or you could go out together?' he suggested, and Brian went a shade darker and mumbled something about Edge not wanting that.

  'You’ve never asked me,' she pointed out, laughing, but he was more embarrassed than ever and left almost immediately. 'Not one of my fans,' she told Donald, in mock resignation, and he shook his head.

  'Little do you know. I think he’s terrified of you, though. Anyway, now that you’ve got the cat, nae chance.'

  'He doesn’t like cats?'

  He shot her a sidelong smiling look. 'Not that. But you can’t have a cat around a man wearing a wig. Disastrous.'

  'What, Brian wears a wig? It must be a very good one, I hadn’t noticed at all.'

  'I’m pretty sure, or his stylist should be shot. The cat would know in a minute. If he does, he’d never have a quiet moment waiting for the next time it was whisked off his head. Can’t ask that of a man. Why, do you fancy him?'

  'I can’t like the way his women friends keep dying. Maybe Mortimer is a blessing in disguise. Donald, I’m off too. That half glass turned into half a bottle and I’m going to get myself home while I can still make it under my own steam.'

  Chapter 13 - Bad moon rising

  'We’ve got a definate on the bully boy, Reginald Dickerton.' Iain brought a burst of afternoon sunshine into the small police station as he entered, pulled round a chair and sat at Kirsty’s desk, looking pleased with himself. 'That woman who was attacked and left for dead, she said it’s definately him. With the Pillay ID on the other case, and a close partial match on a thumbprint found at the first of the murder scenes, we’d got enough to charge him and start DNA matching. But even better, we’ve got Susan’s killer.'

  'Wow! Excellent! The garage man?'

  'The garage owner, Greg Wilkins.' He nodded. 'I tell you, the Grasshopper Lawns lot is making us look bad. But get this. When he was being picked up, his apprentice went white, ken, and asked if this was about the women. So they brought him in too, and he said he’d seen how many of their clients had died. So the garage files have been seized, too, to cross-check against the list. Wilkins himself denied everything, says he never heard of any of them, but his fingerprints match the partials we found on the front door bolts at the house. Then he swore it was an accident; Susan fell and knocked herself out, and he panicked and ran. Still denying he’s ever even heard of the others, and demanding a lawyer. Accident is one thing and pinning murder on him will be quite another, he’s nae been so clumsy with his other customers. Still, we can charge him on Susan while we check his files and his alibis. Have we got a completed list of exact dates yet?'

  'I can pull one off in an hour. Some of the dates have to be approximate, because in some cases it was a week or more before the bodies were found. How much other detail will you need?'

  'Och, the dates are key. Any information where the women were seen last will help – I ken we have that in a couple of cases. He was absolutely shocked we’d worked out the tap trick. This is a weight off my mind, ken.'

  'My aunt will be thrilled. There’s a bloke she wants to meet that she really liked the look of. When will they officially cancel the cover?'

  'They already did.' Iain got up to pour himself a cup of coffee. 'Took the team off standby about ten minutes after he confessed. Dinwoodie won’t collect the phone until Wilkins has been formally charged, but she’s no longer being actively tracked, she can have her date in peace. I hope, if she likes him, she doesn’t tell Donald where she’s going. That was some act he pulled at the Italian restaurant, eh?'

  'She did say she’s never telling him again! She’ll still have an escort, as William and Vivian absolutely love trying out every restaurant and gastro pub in the area, but at least she’ll have a bit of privacy now, not us listening to every word they say. I’ll let her know, then get that list out for you.' She glanced involuntarily at the clock on the wall and Iain followed her glance.

  'Och, that’s your shift over, isn’t it?'

  'Nae worries. I’m taking this one personally. I want to see the scunner locked up for good as soon as possible. Anyway, Drew’s studying tonight so I didn’t have any plans.'

  She rang Edge quickly to pass on the news.

  'Excellent!' Edge’s voice on the phone warmed with satisfaction. 'Perfect timing, too. Ben’s on instant messaging right now asking me again if I won’t change my mind about tonight. And Kirsty, if he is anything like his bio and photos, he is perfect. Wait until you meet him!'

  'Oh aye. Don’t get your hopes up. Have you even talked to him on the phone yet? I thought not. Probably got a voice like a canary on helium. That’s no uniform I ever saw, either. For all you know he’ll have an impenetrable German or Polish accent along with the squeaky voice. I’m not ordering my niece-of-the-bride outfit yet.'

  When Kirsty had finished teasing her aunt and ended the call, she grinned across at Iain.

  'She’ll be saying next she’s got a feeling about this one. You have to admit it would be ironic if she really did meet someone as a result of the investigation.' She crossed to the coffee machine and was adding sugar to her mug when she noticed the printer blinking a light at her. 'Damn, we’re out of paper.'

  'Something from Central? I’ve not had an email to say something’s coming through.'

  'There’s one printout waiting at least, the light’s blinking.' She put down her coffee to open the printer and fed in new paper, then idly picked up the first sheet whispering through. 'Oh, good, it’s the latest updates from Gemma, the procurator fiscal reports they re-examined. That’ll give us better dates. The header sheet says seventeen pages!'

  Iain jotted a note and looked up from the file he was reading. 'That’ll take a while. Honestly, we’ve got him safely in hand for forty-eight hours at least. If you want to leave it until tomorrow you can.'

  'No. I’ll start on what we’ve got, then slot in the new dates as they get confirmed.'

  Edge checked her appearance with satisfaction. Brown wasn’t normally her favourite colour but the new honey brown hip-length coat and matching sl
acks, teamed with a creamy silk blouse, looked casually and effortlessly elegant. She started emptying her handbag into the one that went with the outfit – it was smaller, so she left her diary and her own mobile phone. She hefted the police one thoughtfully; she’d switched it off gleefully as soon as she’d finished talking to Kirsty, but it was the only number Ben had for her, so she dropped it into the handbag. She had no intention of switching it on ever again, but if he was late – but she didn’t want to think of him being late.

  Her eyes were bright and she smiled mockingly at her reflection. 'Don’t be too disappointed,' she warned herself aloud, and Mortimer wound himself around her ankles plaintively. She picked him up at arm’s length, deposited him back in his favourite window seat, and brushed his ginger hairs lightly from the soft clingy fabric.

  'Only strangers are perfect,' she told him. 'If Ben’s as good as he looks, he’d never have needed a dating site, eh? But you never know. You’ve got food, relax and have a good evening. All going well, I’ll be back late.'

  He sank obediently into a supine position and she smoothed his ears affectionately, picked up her handbag and let herself out. William’s big 4x4 was already at the kerb and she hurried over to scramble into the back seat. William twisted his head round to grin at her.

  'You look pink with excitement. He’s not that hot, from the photos, you know. Of the lot you showed us, Nick’s the man, if you ask me.'

  'Hush!' She couldn’t help grinning back. 'You like Nick so much, you date him. Don’t tease me, I’m really looking forward to this, and I’m really nervous!'

  'I think we’ve got a cause of death for the natural-looking ones,' Kirsty told Iain, and handed over two autopsy reports. 'The autopsies at the time were fairly cursory – after all, these were older women – but this is the second report noting a tiny puncture wound. Both were routinely checked as injection sites, in case of a drug overdose, but no drugs were found. The second report, though, there’s been a note added that if it wasn’t a brooch or a pin, if anyone had injected a bubble of air at the injection site, it could have caused the victim’s death.' She glanced up at the clock again, and wearily picked up the last report. So much for an hour to create the list; the last two hours had simply flown by, but her timeline was at last nearly complete. This hadn’t been the last death, just the most difficult autopsy as the victim wasn’t found until over a week later, but the date had finally been narrowed to a forty-eight hour window and she filled it into her summary, then skimmed down the list, frowning.