White Lies

by Rachel Green

  Meinwen gritted her teeth, moving a few inches to the side. Whatever fantasies she had about him, he was about as emotional as a sock. Her eyes still prickled from her earlier tears. She had no intention of tempting an emotional rollercoaster to hit as soon as she left the house. “I’m not really certain. I wondered for a moment if he was one of the mistresses, either as a male dominatrix or a professional submissive. I’ve seen that happen before. I knew a great dominatrix in Aberystwyth who went by the name of Mistress Heaven who catered to everyone. She did well, primarily because she had a niche market. Underneath the leather and the corsets she was a gay man servicing the gay S and M scene. It was a brilliant cover for anyone in the closet. Even if they were caught going to see her it was assumed they were straight.”

  “Mistress Heaven, eh? What was his real name?”

  “Trevor. He used to work at the Chrysler dealership until it closed down. It certainly explained why all her gear was in Riviera Tan leather. It’s what they upholstered the cars in.” She winked and nudged his arm. “I can give you her phone number if you like. She does half-price on Tuesday afternoons.”

  “No thanks. Looks as though I’ve got plenty on my doorstep.”

  “You certainly have.” Meinwen closed the folder and browsed through the root directory. “Have you come across any photographs of John?”

  “A few. There are his profile shots on Facespace and there’s a folder of him in...various poses. I only glanced through them though. I hadn’t seen John naked since we kids having to shower together.”

  “Mind if I have a look?” She didn’t wait for a reply, opening the folder and enlarging the pictures to full screen. John Fenstone was a well-built man who looked after himself. Close-cropped hair in the style of a Roman senator, light, close-trimmed moustache and beard, piercing blue eyes and a physique that would make a straight man look twice. Not heavily muscled but certainly fit. Meinwen licked suddenly dry lips as she called up picture after picture. Some were intimate close ups, like one showing his clearly circumcised penis and another taken from the rear as John bent over, the dark asterisk of his anus clearly displayed as available, a mole down and to the left acting as a counterpoint to the composition. There were several shots of penile origami as well, the photographs taken in silhouette with a light shining through a stretched scrotum, the traceries of veins like a road map of the Red Planet. Behind her, the kettle boiled and clicked off.

  She stood again, pressing a hand to her back to ease the sudden pain, wishing she’d sat to look at the pictures instead of leaning over the table.

  “Good looking, wasn’t he?” Jimmy grinned. “We could have been twins.”

  Meinwen looked at him. His hair was a shaggy grown-out prison cut and while his beard was short, it was short because it was grubby stubble rather than a neatly trimmed beard. His clothes looked to be the same ones he’s worn to go to prison in ten years ago. “Twins? Maybe. That’s not what you said earlier, though.” She patted his shoulder. “You’ve got the better physique. Wiry.”

  “Prison food and exercise.” Jimmy grinned, turning back to the computer while Meinwen made a second cup of tea.

  “You certainly know your way around a laptop.” Meinwen placed his filled mug back on the table. “What were you in prison for again?”

  “Trafficking in stolen goods.” He picked up the tea. “Ta. We were allowed computers in the nick. An hour a day for the last couple of years, since I was an exemplary prisoner. I got to know my way around them pretty well. Ended up knowing more than the room supervisor, too. The future’s in computers. If you don’t know your way around them you’ll struggle forever.”

  Meinwen sat in the other chair. “You’ll get no argument from me. I couldn’t do without one now. I do all my shop accounts and write my books and pamphlets, too.” She took a sip of tea, looking out the window. “It’ll be dark soon. I ought to get going.”

  “I think I’ll stay here tonight.” Jimmy gave her a tight-lipped smile. “It’s a much nicer place and I won’t have John’s specter leaning over my shoulder.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She looked about the kitchen. “I wouldn’t want to sleep in the house where my brother killed himself either.”

  “Allegedly.”

  “Quite.” She put her tea on the table. “At least it’s stopped raining. I might walk back. Take in the air.”

  “Through this neighborhood?” He scooped up his mug by putting three fingers through the handle, his palm directly against the hot stoneware. He pressed it to his lips, sucking noisily at the hot tea. “I said I’d drive you home, didn’t I? I just don’t know where John left his car.”

  “You offered but I refused. Besides, I didn’t see any garages as we got here. Did you?”

  “No, but I know a way to find it. It depends on the range of the key, of course.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “Come with me a minute.” He led the way back to the mezzanine balcony and teased open a panel in the wall to reveal a door secured by three bolts. “Roof access.”

  A narrow staircase led up to another glazed door set horizontally in the ceiling. Jimmy unbolted it, swinging it out and over. He glanced back, grinning. “I saw this on the photographs of the flat. It’s still light enough to go up.”

  He stepped out into the gathering dusk, pausing to offer Meinwen a steadying hand. To their right lay the dazzling array of glass that was the living room roof, a series of standard skylights to their right marking the other flat. The rest of the roof was a level surface covered in fine gravel though, surprisingly, a small polypropylene bike shed stood next to the hatch. Jimmy peeped inside. “Deck chairs.”

  “The wonders of tar beach.” Meinwen stayed next to the hatch, though not too close for fear of falling down it. “Why are we up here?”

  “Looking for the car. Come on.” Jimmy walked to the edge of the roof. The was no balustrade or wall to prevent falls, just a small gutter area and a two-high course of brickwork to keep the roofing gravel from blowing off. He looked back. “You not coming?”

  “No, I’m fine here, thanks.” Meinwen gave him a thin smile and wrapped her arms around her. “Mind if I go down for my coat?”

  “We’ll only be a couple of minutes.” He paused, staring at her, his face a lighter blob against the gathering shadows. “Are you afraid of heights?”

  “I am when there’s no edge and it’s getting dark.” Meinwen looked down the stairs. She could see the warm, inviting glow from the open inner door. “It’s not so much being afraid of heights as being sensible.”

  “If you say so.” Jimmy grinned and balled his fists to his chest, raising his elbows to make mock-chicken wings. “Boork, boork.”

  “I’m immune to humiliation so you may as well give up now.” She went down three steps so she could sit on the roof with the feet firmly inside. “Just point the keys and get this over with.”

  “Aw. You guessed.” He angled the keys left and toward the ground. Nothing happened. He did the same to the right, paused again, then stalked past Meinwen to repeat the experiment at the back of the maisonette. He was rewarded by a pair of beeps. “Yes! It’s down there, outside the next block. I saw the lights flash. Not sure what it’s doing so far away, mind.”

  “Maybe it got lonely when John didn’t come home.” Meinwen’s face lit up. “That’s it. Enough evidence to suggest it wasn’t suicide. Why would he either walk or get a taxi to the other house. Why not just drive his car there? It’s a better neighborhood than this and he felt safe enough leaving it here.”

  “You think he was in the killer’s car to go there?”

  “He must have been. How else? He wouldn’t have walked, would he? Not with his car sat right outside his flat.”

  “He might have got a taxi. If he was depressed enough to kill himself, perhaps he was depressed enough to take some Dutch courage beforehand.”

  “And declared himself unfit to drive to his own hanging? Do me a favor.” Meinwen ru
bbed her arms against the cold. “I don’t think so. Besides, they’d have mentioned if he had a high blood-alcohol level. The police, I mean.”

  “Does this mean they’ll treat the case as a murder?”

  “It certainly gives us a good case to pressure them to reopen it.”

  “Fantastic.” Even in the near darkness Meinwen could see his grin. “Come on. I’ll give you a lift home.”

  “You most certainly will not.” Meinwen watched him draw closer, his features resolving as he approached the massive light spill that was the glass roof of the lounge. “For one, you’re not insured to drive it by any stretch of the imagination and two, there might be evidence inside relating to the case. If the killer drove it here from Ashgate Road, there’s a good chance he left fingerprints in it. DNA too, probably, since the plan was for John’s death to be declared a suicide.”

  Jimmy’s lip curled. “That’s a bit of a shit. I was looking forward to having a motor again.”

  “Just be patient. Besides, I’m perfectly happy to walk home. I could do with dropping in at the shop, anyway. Make sure no one’s run off with the sandalwood.”

  “The what?”

  “Never mind.” Meinwen stood. “Now can we go back inside? I’m freezing my tits off up here.”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  She paused on the stairs, looking at the glass roof over the living room. “That sends a lot of light skyward doesn’t it? Let’s hope there’s not another war or you’ll have to board it over.”

  “No need. There’s a switch downstairs that drags a privacy cloth over it like a swimming pool cover.” He looked up at the sky, where the clouds reflected the yellow of the sodium vapor lights. “You could set up a telescope up here and watch the stars.”

  “Only if you blew up the substation. Look at the amount of light pollution from the streets.” Meinwen pointed, coming back up a couple of steps. “The churches too.”

  “And the hospital.” Jimmy pointed to the west. “And what’s that glow?”

  “London’s only forty miles away.” Meinwen turned and pointed to the north. “The M4 corridor’s over there, though you can’t see it from here. You can from the manor.”

  “What? You’ve been on the roof of the manor?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “No reason. I just remember it as a ruin, I suppose.” He motioned toward the stairs, his arm looking strangely white in the reflected light. “I thought you were cold?”

  “I am.” Meinwen clattered down the uncarpeted steps, her boots thumping against the wood. Behind her, Jimmy closed the outer door, fumbling with the bolts.

  “Can you hit the light switch? I can’t see a thing.”

  “Certainly. Hang on.” Meinwen reached the bottom and felt around the wooden paneling. She picked up her coat from where she’d slipped out of it earlier and dragged it on. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  Chapter 10

  Meinwen hurried away from the flat, glancing up only once to see if Jimmy was watching her leave, but she couldn’t see him at either of the windows facing the front of the building. It wasn’t until she faced the long length of Cemetery Lane that she began to regret not calling for a taxi. With the gathering gloom and the threat of more rain it promised to be a dreary walk back to town.

  She paused at the bus stop. There were no timetables attached to the posts any more. Unfamiliar with the route, she had no idea if there would be a bus in ten minutes, an hour or not at all. Bus services were being cut all the time.

  It was also tempting to phone for a taxi, but that would mean waiting outside the cemetery. Not that there was anything creepy about cemeteries per se, just the multitude of shadows wherein any mugger might lurk. She strode on and was almost run down by a battered red Ford Fiesta hurtling through the cemetery gates. It screeched to a halt with the scent of burned rubber. Meinwen rested a hand on the front wing until the beating of her heart dropped to a more reasonable level.

  “Are you all right, love?” The driver, a woman, got out and stood sandwiched between the door and the warm, well lit body of the car, one foot still inside and one hand resting casually on the door frame.

  “Yes, I think so.” Meinwen squinted, trying to make out the face. The car seemed familiar. “My fault I think. I was miles away, wishing the buses still ran. You don’t know if they still do, do you?”

  The woman let out a breath. She sounded relieved, probably because she’d narrowly avoided running over a pedestrian. “The seventy-four leaves the station at five past the hour, gets to the terminus at Chervil Court at quarter past, here just after that. If you’re quick you can get off at the bus stop over there”–she nodded across the road–“dump your flowers and go back on the same bus. We call it the graveside dash.”

  “We?”

  “The police.” She reached over the car door, offering her hand.

  “I see.” Meinwen shook the proffered hand. “I thought I recognized the car. Detective-constable James used to drive this before he got the promotion and went back to uniform Nice bloke. Always concerned about the cleanliness of food vendors.” She remember DC James as a affable, roly-poly man who never liked to pass a fast food vendor without sampling the wares “in the interest of public health.”

  “Thanks. Now I know who to blame for the sticky carpets.”

  “That will have been his lad, Michael. Right little tearaway.”

  “Really? I didn’t even know he had a kid.”

  “Oh yes. By his first wife. Michael must be twenty by now.”

  “Twenty? Are we talking about the same DC James?”

  “Tall, round, eats biscuits with his tea?” Meinwen smiled. “He looks a lot younger than he is. Most men do, of course. I always think they look their maturity level.”

  “Which would make him about six.”

  “Ha, I suppose.” Meinwen nodded. “I’m Meinwen Jones, by the way. I run the Goddess Provides on Knifesmith’s Gate.”

  “I’ve heard of you.” The woman smiled at last, her teeth catching the ambient light. “I’m DS Anna Wilde.”

  “The one that transferred from the Met? How’s your mother?” Meinwen nodded toward the cemetery. “She’s not–”

  “Dead? No. Not yet, though she’s come close the last couple of weeks and if she asks me if I’ve met any nice young men once more, she’ll be six feet under by teatime. Look, can I offer you a lift? It’d the least I can do after almost running you over.”

  “Thanks. I’d like that very much.”

  “Hop in then.” Anna slipped back inside, reaching across to the passenger side to pop the lock and lever the door open. “You have to jiggle it.”

  “Thanks for this.” Meinwen settled back into the seat and snapped the belt into place. “How do you find the other officers? Do they treat you all right? They’re a bit...”

  “Misogynistic?” Anna laughed. “They have to be polite these days. They’re all right, really. I do a decent job and that’s what gets the respect. The main problem is half of them think I’m their mother. I don’t think any of them know what washing up is.”

  “They’ve always been very polite in their dealings with me.”

  “In small numbers they’re charming. It’s the difference between one dog and a whole pack. They become aggressive as a group.”

  “Saturday night boys.” Meinwen looked out at the rain. It was still slow enough for intermittent wipers. “Has Sergeant Peters said anything about a case I’m trying to get him to reopen?”

  “He may have mentioned something.” Anna shifted up to third, then fourth. “Mind if I put a bit of music on?”

  “Go ahead. It’s your car.”

  Anna fumbled a cassette out of its sleeve since the ancient car had neither an MP3 nor even a CD player. “Mind a bit of soft rock?”

  “Not at all.” Meinwen picked up the case. Pink Floyd’s The Other Side of Madness. “I like these.”

  “I like most of them.” Anna cranked the volume up as Queen’s Bohemian Rhap
sody began to stream from the crackling, door-mounted speakers. “Damn it! Someone switched the tapes around again.”

  “Perhaps the Pink Floyd is in the Queen case?”

  “I don’t have a Queen case. I don’t have a Queen album.” She ejected the tape to check the label. Pink Floyd. She threw it out of the window into the night.

  “Isn’t that a fixed penalty and points on your license?”

  “Only if they catch you. It’s double points for Queen tapes.”

  They drove on in silence until the road brightened from the streetlights and shop fronts of town. “Where should I drop you?”

  “Knifesmith’s Gate, if you wouldn’t mind. I need to drop in at the shop.”

  “Sure.” Anna took a left and pulled up at the far end of the street. “Is this okay? I have to get back to the station.”

  “This’ll be fine.” Meinwen unclipped the seatbelt. “Listen. Could you put a word in for reopening the John Fenstone case. His brother is convinced it was murder and to be frank, so am I now.”

  Anna looked doubtful. “It’s not my place to interfere in an investigation...”

  “Just if you’re asked for an opinion then? All I’m asking is you look over the evidence and make an unbiased judgment. I just need Inspector White to reopen the case. If it’s still deemed to be suicide after a proper investigation, even Jimmy will be satisfied.”

  “All right.” Ann held up her hand. “I’ll look the case file over and make my own opinion, but I’m not promising anything.”

  “Thanks. That’s all I wanted.” Meinwen pulled the handle but the door remained closed.

  “It dropped on its hinges.” Anna reached over to grab the handle. “Some fool climbing into the car through the open widow, I expect. You have to–”

  “Jiggle it.” Meinwen laughed as she popped the door open and climbed out. She slammed the door shut and waved as Anna roared off.

  She trotted down the street until she came to her shop on the market end, surprised to find the shop door blocked by a large package on the inside of the door, forcing her to push hard against it to get inside. There were three envelopes, which she picked up and carried over to the counter to open.