White Lies

by Rachel Green

  “Are you going to tell the police?”

  “I don’t know.” Meinwen sighed again. “I’ve got to, haven’t I?”

  Chapter 16

  Meinwen stared at her mobile phone. She had the inspector on her list of ten most frequently dialed numbers but much as her finger hovered over the button, she couldn’t bring herself to press it. She put it down again.

  “You’ve got to do it.” Dafydd had boiled the kettle and made himself another coffee since they’d been in the conservatory. “Do you want me to phone it in? Then you can deny all knowledge of my spilling the beans.” He took a swig of his coffee. “Talking of beans, where did you get these from? The coffee tastes like it’s been spilled already and then scraped up off the floor of Winson Green nick.”

  “It’s ethical trade. I paid nearly four quid a packet more than the supermarket brand and I thought that was expensive.”

  “That explains it. It’s been recycled once already, through the bladder of someone who enjoyed the real thing. Honestly, Meinwen. If I stay over another night I’m going out for provisions.”

  “All right.”

  “What?”

  “I said ‘all right’. As long as you’re paying for it I’ll take the philosophy of whatever food appears is the will of Allah. Or Jehovah. Or Mohammed. Whichever deity it is that presides over free meals.”

  “Bento, isn’t it?”

  “The Japanese god of artistic sustenance? Maybe.” Meinwen smiled. “If it’s alms food it’s good food.”

  “That sounds reasonable.” Dafydd leaned back against the sink. “It won’t be anything fancy, though.”

  “That’s all right.” Meinwen closed her phone and dropped it back in her voluminous handbag. “I’ll phone the inspector after I’ve been to the Larches.”

  “You’re not still going? What’s the point of keeping your appointment when he’s dead?”

  “They don’t know I know he’s dead, remember? I shall act sufficiently surprised and shocked to discover the news. It’ll give me the chance to have a word with my friend Jennifer and see what’s going on at the house.”

  “Isn’t that immoral? Lying to the recently bereaved?”

  “I won’t lie to them. I just won’t let on that I was at the cemetery last night when the inspector broke the news. I was fond of Richard. I can give my condolences to his wife and see if there were any other leads to his murderer at the same time.”

  “Do be careful, love. Where there’s a murder there’s someone out to conceal it.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve been in this position before. I can handle myself in a fight, you know.”

  “With what? Chanting slogans?”

  “No. I do self-defense for women at the community arts center in Blackwell Street every Thursday night.” She scowled at Dafydd’s bark of laughter. “What?”

  “I just can’t imagine you doing karate.”

  “It’s not karate. Not just karate, anyway. It’s a combination of lots of martial arts collated especially for women. Ju-jitsu, savate, bo-jutsu and anything else the instructor thinks could come in handy. Rolls, kicks, punches and throwing small objects with accuracy.”

  “So if I came at you with a weapon,” he picked up a banana and held it like a dagger. “You could defend yourself?”

  “Theoretically.” She smiled. “Of course, self-defense against a banana was covered by Monty Python in the seventies.” She plucked it out of his hand, peeled and bit off the top. “There,” she said through a mouthful of banana goo. “I’ve disarmed you.”

  He laughed. “So who teaches you all this self defense malarkey then?”

  “One of the police women. She does it for nothing, on the basis that the fewer women get beaten up the easier her day job is. We all pay a couple of quid a week to cover the cost of the hall.”

  “They should do that all over.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me. Of course, it helps to have a good walking stick or umbrella, too. Preferable silver tipped.”

  “Silver tipped?”

  “To beat off the werewolves.” Meinwen dropped the banana peel into his hand. “Put that in the biodegradable waste bin, would you? The green one.”

  “Sure.” He crossed the kitchen and opened the green bin. “Eurgh.”

  “Now what?”

  “This is full of rotting vegetables.”

  “Yes. Sorry. I was busy yesterday else I would have emptied it onto the compost. Just put the lid back. I’ll see to it later. What time is it?”

  Dafydd looked at his watch. “Half past eight, why?”

  “I haven’t got to be at the Larches until eleven. That gives me a couple of hours free.” She wondered what Jimmy was doing at that moment. Still asleep? Showering? Licking beer from the navel of some floozy? She shook her head free of the images. “Get your coat. You’re taking me for a drive.”

  “I am? Where to?”

  “Mill Street.” Meinwen dragged her heavy woolen coat off the peg and pulled it on. “I can’t do anything about Richard’s murder until later so I’ll get on with the John Fenston case. He had a second job at a hotel there.”

  “What? As a bell hop or something?”

  “I’ll go with the something. He pulled in an average of two or three hundred a day.”

  “Blimey. I wouldn’t mind working somewhere for that kind of money. What was he? A male prostitute?”

  “That was my guess, too.”

  “What a fantastic job. Having sex with different women and getting paid for it? That’s what I’m talking about. Think there might be an opening there now he’s gone? Not that I want to step into his grave or nothing.”

  “I’m sure they be delighted to have you filling his shoes. Of course, they’ll probably want you to demonstrate your talents in the relevant area.”

  “I can do that. You could vouch for my skills in the bedroom too, couldn’t you?”

  “They won’t be interested in my opinion, lover boy. John was gay.”

  “Gay? You mean...”

  “With other men, yes. But don’t let me stop you living your dream.” She slipped into her boots, grinning as Dafydd spluttered behind her. “Come on, sugar. Grab your keys.”

  “Right.” He pulled on his jacket and followed her out, crossing to the van while she locked the front door.

  She turned away from the cloud of black smoke that poured from the exhaust, trying not to cough. It cleared after a few seconds and she felt safe to get in, or would have done if he’d unlocked the passenger door.

  “Sorry.” He leaned across and pulled up the door lock. “It’s a habit. Leave the doors unlocked and you get kids climbing in while you’re serving in the back.”

  “I can see that would be a problem.” She twisted in the seat to look at the interior. There were two freezers, an urn for boiling water and a gas fired barbecue grill plate. Dafydd generally sold ice cream in the summer and hot food the rest of the time. Keeping both in the same van was an operational nightmare at times. “What are you carrying at the moment?”

  “Nothing much. I cleaned most of the stuff out to bring your statue down. There are some hot dogs and burgers in the freezer if you’re desperate. No buns, though. They went moldy and the customers complained.”

  “You were giving moldy bread to your customers?”

  “Sure. I told them beforehand, look you, and gave them a discount.”

  “And still they complained?” She shook her head. “You can’t please some people.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Dafydd put the van into reverse and backed out of the drive. More clouds of black smoke appeared as he put his foot on the accelerator. “Where are we going then?”

  “Mill Street. Back out and turn left.” She coughed. “You know you can get done for emissions, don’t you?”

  “She’ll be fine in a minute. She always blows a bit when she’s been standing.”

  “Standing? You drove all the way from Aberdovey in it yesterday.”

&nbs
p; “Yeah. She’s been standing all night. Give her five minutes, she’ll be fine.”

  “I hope so. I don’t want to get stopped.” She frowned. “The other left. Now you’ll have to turn around.”

  “How was I to know which left you meant? We were going backward.”

  “Our left, obviously. This is St Pity’s car park.”

  “I can turn here, can’t I?”

  “This is the car park to the cemetery. It’s a good job there’s no funeral being conducted.”

  “It’s half eight in the morning. Who’s going to hold a funeral this early?” Dafydd executed a full three-sixty and sped out of the car park again, nodding at the uniformed police officer guarding the crime scene in the rain. “Think she’d want a cornet?”

  “No. Go right at the end of the road, then the next right and left into Markham Road.” Meinwen settled back into the seat. “Then it’s pretty much a straight road all the way to Mill Street,

  “Posh or rough?” Dafydd glanced at her. “The area, I mean. Should I stay in the van or what?”

  “Chervil’s mostly council maisonettes, though it is where John Fenstone lived and he had a bob or two. We’ll drive past the hotel and double back. I’d rather not park the truck outside it unless we have to.”

  “Why’s that? Gives the wrong impression?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “It is what it is.” Dafydd shrugged and grinned. “If I was the hotel type I’d be driving something that didn’t have a tank of propane wedged behind the driver’s seat.”

  They drove on in comfortable silence. Meinwen was going to point out John Fenstone’s penthouse flat but they couldn’t see it from the main road without turning into Chervil Court itself.

  “Student land.” Dafydd nodded toward the row of houses on their right. Unkempt gardens and doors with multiple bells and letterboxes advertised the presence of flats and bedsits.

  “Yes. They mostly go to the community college on the other side of town. I think the planners didn’t want the students cluttering up the area around the college.” She looked at the name of a side street as they passed it. “Take the next right. That should be Mill Street.”

  “It is indeed.” Dafydd slowed and turned. “And there’s your hotel.”

  Meinwen looked to her left as they passed. The Hotel Luminaria was a short block of three-story Edwardian terraces knocked into one. Bay windows and palm trees in pots set it apart from its neighbors.

  “Welcome to Laverstone Riviera.” Meinwen took a deep breath. “You can just about see the canal from here.”

  “Where’s the river?”

  “About a mile to the east.” Meinwen wiped condensation from the passenger side window. “It looks all right.”

  Dafydd had parked up on the other side of the road and was looking at the hotel in between rolling a handful of cigarettes. “Not very busy though.”

  Meinwen glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “It’s ten to nine. Those guests who work will have left already and those that don’t work will still be having breakfast.”

  “Or a last shag before it’s time to get up.” He’d made a small pile of cigarettes like a crooked log cabin. He folded away his tobacco pouch.

  “There’s someone coming out.” Meinwen leaned forward in her seat. “Can you make out who it is?”

  “Some white dude.” He lit a cigarette and wound the window down a couple of inches to blow the smoke out. “They all look alike to me.”

  “Really?”

  “Nah, but what do you expect? I only know one person in Laverstone and that’s you. I’m hardly going to say ‘Oh yes, it’s Mr. Pinkerton from Sycamore Lane’ am I?”

  “I suppose not.” She sat back again. “I can’t make him out, anyway. It could be the mayor for all I know.”

  They were interrupted by a knock on the back window. Dafydd scowled.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Some kid.” He undid his seat belt and went through to the back of the van to slide open the serving window. “Yes?”

  There was a boy outside dressed in an anorak, jeans and trainers. He looked to be about seven. “Have you got a Strawberry Sprinkle?”

  “No, mate. I haven’t got anything.”

  “What about a Chocolate Volcano?”

  “No. Nothing. I’ve got nothing.”

  “A Big Banana Bellyache?”

  “No. Listen, kid. It’s raining. I’ve got no music on and the freezers are empty until next Easter, all right? Why aren’t you in school, anyway?”

  “I’ve got mumps, ain’t I? My Mam says the best thing for mumps is ice cream.”

  “Well, I haven’t got any. You’ll have to try the supermarket.”

  “Oh.” He gave a dejected sigh. “What about fags?”

  “Get out of here.” Dafydd slid the window closed and clambered back into the driver’s seat. “Bloody kids.”

  Meinwen watched the lad trudge away. He looked dejected. “You could have done him a burger.”

  “Don’t you start.” He relit his cigarette. “Right. Are we going in or what?”

  “We are.” She slipped off her seat belt, opened the door and dropped to the pavement, then waited while Dafydd locked the van. They headed toward the double doors of the hotel where Meinwen paused and took a deep breath. She straightened her coat and settled her bag more comfortably on her shoulder. “How do I look?”

  Dafydd shrugged. “Fine. You look fine.”

  “But do I look like a dominant woman?”

  “How should I know? I’ve never been into that. Shouldn’t you be wearing black leather or a PVC catsuit?”

  “Dominance is a state of mind.” Meinwen straightened his jacket and brushed away some specks of dandruff. “From now on, you call me ‘Mistress’ or ‘Ms. Jones,’ all right?”

  He snorted. “If you think I’m going to play your errand boy, you’ve another thing coming.”

  “Have I?” She placed her hand over his groin. “You didn’t complain last night, did you?”

  “I suppose not.” Dafydd looked away. “All right. Just while we’re here though.”

  “If you like.” Meinwen lips creased into a half smile. She wished she’d remembered lipstick. “Right then. Lets find out a little more about John Fenstone.” She crossed the road to face the door, squared her shoulders and entered.

  Dafydd almost felt the pull of an invisible leash. “Coming, Madam.”

  The lobby of the Hotel Luminaria was much like any other hotel Meinwen had ever been in. Not that she’d been in many, but there was a front desk with attached computer screens, forgettable paintings and lots of white painted walls and wood paneling. There was a woman behind the desk wearing a perfectly normal business suit.

  “Good morning, madam.” Her eyes flickered briefly to Dafydd but returned to Meinwen. “Welcome to the Luminaria.”

  “Hello. I wonder if you can help me.” Meinwen took a gamble that news of Richard’s death was not yet public knowledge. “You were recommended by Richard Godwin.”

  “An occasional guest. That was kind of him.” She smiled. “Did you want a room?”

  “Perhaps.” Meinwen glanced at Dafydd. “It depends upon the facilities you offer.”

  “We have a gym and a sauna for the use of guests, a bar and a dining room and we can arrange for you to have a masseur visit if you desire.”

  “What about...” Meinwen scraped a fingernail along the polished wood of the desk. “Personal services? My boy here is an animal lover.”

  “I’m afraid we don’t allow animals here, madam.”

  “You misunderstand. He likes...cats.” Meinwen wondered if she could be so badly mistaken about the hotel. She had got the right one, hadn’t she? The website hadn’t mentioned any code words to access the kinky side of the business. Did she have to be more obvious? “The sort with nine tails.”

  “I see.” She pursed her lips, looking at them both, then reached for the telephone and dialed zero. “Lady Shadow? There’s a lady her
e who’d like to speak to you.” She listened to the reply before replacing the handset. “If you’d like to wait in the guest’s lounge?” She pointed with an open hand, like an air hostess indicating the emergency exits.

  Meinwen followed the direction. “Thank you.”

  “Would you like anything while you wait? The bar’s not open but I can offer tea or coffee.”

  “Nothing, thank you.” Meinwen headed toward the lounge.

  “I wouldn’t mind a coffee.” Dafydd trailed after her. “The stuff you gave me was stretching the trades descriptions act.”

  The resident’s lounge was reminiscent of an old boy’s club. Several overstuffed armchairs, a card table and a large fireplace, presently unlit. Thankfully Meinwen could detect no smell of smoke. She suspected the room would have once been full of it. The bookcases along one wall held a series of legal tomes and Reader’s Digest condensed works. She selected a seat by the fireplace but when Dafydd went to take the seat opposite she shook her head and pointed downward.

  “On the floor?”

  “Start as we intend to go on, eh?”

  “How you intend to go on, you mean. This isn’t my scene at all.” He sat nonetheless but declined to kneel, preferring instead to tuck one leg beneath him with the other straight out.

  Meinwen glanced through a gossip magazine while they waited. Before she’d finished the letters page a man dressed in the hotel livery entered with a tray. “Your coffee, ma’am.”

  Meinwen barely glanced up from the magazine. “It’s for him, actually.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He placed the tray on a low wooden stool, several of which were stacked against one wall, and carried the whole lot over to Dafydd. “Would you like me to pour, sir?”

  “No, thanks. I can manage.”

  “Very good, sir.” The waiter looked up again. “Will that be all?”

  “Yes.” Meinwen looked up, the magazine still held open. “Wait. There is something. Did you know John Fenstone? I believe he used to work here.”

  “Yes. Well, to a degree. He freelanced his services. Horrible what he did to himself. I can’t imagine what he must have been going through.”