by Joy Ellis
‘Of course I will.’
* * *
Eric pulled down the blinds, flicked on the anglepoise lamp and switched on his laptop. The room was small and smelt of cigarettes and two-day-old pizza. It was crap accommodation by anyone’s standards, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t about to spend his hard-earned cash on a flash apartment in this shitty little town. It was a stepping stone. Just like the job. Working with a load of carrot crunchers was a necessary evil, until he could move on — and up. His blood still boiled from the bollocking that pompous fucking bitch of a DI had dished out. What right did she have to disrespect him in front of an office full of men? Worse than the abuse, was the fact that that stupid cow, Cat Cullen, had been there. She had abso-fucking-lutely loved it. He’d seen her face, gloating at his embarrassment. Eric’s jaw clamped when he thought about it. Best not think. Best just to get even. He was pretty sure he knew how to do that, and get one over on that whole fucking shower in the process.
He pulled back the wooden chair that served as seat, clothes hanger and bedside table and flopped down in front of his laptop. The narrow desk was jammed against his bed, which was fine by him. It meant he could easily access the reams of papers, memos, scribbled notes and e-mails that lay scattered across the bedspread.
You have mail showed on the screen. He took a deep breath and clicked it open.
Yes! He printed off the list of names and addresses and stared at it. All we need now is a match. He turned to his bed-top filing system and began to riffle through the papers. Finally he located the report that he was looking for. Two names matched, but one stood out. He bit his lip. So, all he had to do was tie up this new information with what was already on the PNC. But no way was he going back to the office tonight. Someone would be working late, probably the old cow herself, and he didn’t want to share what he’d just discovered. He stretched and yawned. He was pretty safe until the morning. No one else had hit on this line of enquiry, and it was something of a long shot. Whatever, if the name matched, he knew it was worth a visit, and if he was right, and he was fucking sure he was, then he might just have nailed that lying bastard, Gregory. With a sigh, he pushed the papers onto the floor and flung himself onto the bed. Oh, that would be so sweet a result — and one up the arse for DI Galena and her precious team.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Before she took the nine o’clock meeting, Nikki was called to Superintendent Woodhall’s office. Moving some books from the least cluttered chair, she sat down and waited for her boss to finish a phone call.
He replaced the receiver and rubbed his brow thoughtfully. ‘I’ve had to say yes to this vigil, Nikki. It’s scheduled for tomorrow evening. I can’t really see a way around it without upsetting too many people, and frankly I want it over as soon as possible, then maybe we can get the Waterway back to normal again.’
She nodded. ‘I thought as much. We’ll have a substantial presence there, I suppose?’
‘Yes, and I’ve asked for volunteers from the neighbouring divisions. I want it low-key and respectful, but we can’t afford to get caught out. It should go off quietly, but I don’t want some gang of local yobs, or even worse, a bunch of organised rabble-rousers using it as an excuse to cause trouble. How would you feel about going? She was a friend of yours.’
Nikki frowned. It was the last thing she wanted. ‘No thanks, sir. Not my scene. I’ll grieve in my own way. Frankly I find this sort of thing quite bizarre. Most of the people who go won’t even have met her, let alone have known her well.’ She shook her head, then added, ‘But thinking about it, I might go and mingle anyway. It’s a good chance to observe a few people in particular.’
‘Hoped you’d say that, Nikki. Take a couple of your team with you. It could be informative.’ Woodhall rummaged unenthusiastically through a heap of papers, then pushed them aside and looked into her eyes. ‘What’s worrying you?’
‘I guess it’s all this stuff about Andrew Gregory, sir. I don’t know him as well as I knew Helen, but, hell, we go back years! It’s really hard to swallow, that someone you know, someone who’s been part of your life in one way or another, is being accused of being some kind of criminal mastermind.’
‘And he might have killed someone close to you?’
Nikki shook her head. ‘Maybe what he’s involved in got her killed, but he didn’t do it, sir.’
‘Then it would be nice if he’d come and talk to us, wouldn’t it? Instead of bloody well doing a runner.’
‘I hear what you’re saying, Super, but my money is still on an outsider for Helen’s death.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘But you let Paul Brant go? Now that did surprise me. He’s the one she was so frightened of, the one she asked us to protect her from, for heaven’s sake.’
‘That’s true, but she didn’t know his real reason for trying to talk to her.’
‘And you believe him, Nikki? Just like that? That’s not like you.’
‘We’ve confirmed about his wife dying. And we’ve checked with the hospital records. He was an in-patient for almost six months.’
‘Maybe, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t kill her. If he is, or was, deranged in some way, he may well have done it. And his alibi stinks.’
‘I’m aware of that, and we haven’t discounted him, sir. His doctor has him on a very tight leash at present. One slip and I’ll rein him in faster than the speed of light, believe me.’ Nikki glanced at the ornate brass clock on the superintendent’s wall, surrounded by official-looking photographs. ‘I should go. I have to take the morning meeting. Will you excuse me, sir?’
Woodhall went back to ferreting through his papers, and Nikki took it as permission to leave. She had known he would be less than delighted when she let Brant go, but all things considered, it hadn’t been the bollocking she had anticipated.
* * *
The meeting was over quickly. There was very little to report. As the officers moved off to their individual tasks, Nikki saw Rory Wilkinson approaching her.
He pushed an envelope towards her. ‘Something new, Inspector. Helen Brook. That design?’
‘Come into the office, Rory.’ She led him in and gestured towards a chair. ‘Has Jenny Jackson been in touch already?’
Rory shook his head. ‘No, this is a forensic report on the medium used to make the design, and it’s as bizarre as the rest of the case. I’d wrongly assumed the drawing material to be paint, or maybe ink, but I was wrong. The lab began the usual examinations and found it wasn’t paint at all. They viewed it under the microscope, and determined its composition by infra-red analysis. Along with the chemical data, they found it to be something called malachite green.’
‘I’ve heard of that before.’ Nikki tried unsuccessfully to recall what it was.
‘It’s a chemical, a toxic poison actually, sometimes used as a dye, but mainly as an anti-fungal treatment for fish.’
‘Fish? What, like Koi carp?’
‘Exactly.’
‘That’s where I’ve seen it. When I was a child my father had carp in his pond, until a heron had a hearty breakfast one morning. He had some of it in a cupboard in his shed, used to threaten me not to even go near it.’
‘It’s great for fish diseases, but for humans it’s pretty nasty. It shouldn’t be breathed in. It’s an irritant, thought to be carcinogenic. They used it extensively and very successfully in large scale fish-farming, but I believe it’s been banned now in favour of something a little less toxic.’
‘Why on earth . . . ?’
Rory looked utterly nonplussed. ‘Search me. Sorry, but I just provide the findings. I’m afraid it’s down to the good detective to fathom out the whys and the wherefores.’
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. ‘Someone down at the front desk asking for you, ma’am. A Miss Duchene?’
Rory got up and placed the envelope on her desk. ‘Gotta go anyway. I’ll leave you these reports, and I’ll let you know what Jenny comes up with.’
S
he nodded, trying to remember where she knew the name from. ‘I’ll be down in a minute, Constable.’ Oh yes, the woman who had tried to give her the cheque for Helen. Damn! I really don’t have time for this.
The woman sat quietly in the foyer, looking at the notices pinned to the wall.
Nikki held out her hand. ‘Miss Duchene? How can I help?’
‘I’m very sorry to bother you, but do you have a moment or two? I really need to speak to you.’ Her face was lined with worry.
Nikki immediately regretted her impatience. ‘I’ll see if the sergeant has a free room we can use.’
She sat down opposite Carla Duchene. ‘Have you decided what to do with the money yet?’
Carla Duchene looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled. Despite her worried expression, her face was beautifully made-up and her hair looked like something from Vogue. The only thing marring the perfection was the sadness in her eyes, and a hint of darkness beneath them that the foundation had not managed to cover. ‘Oh yes, I decided to give it to the Willows. I thought that Helen Brook would have appreciated that. After all, a lot of her work was done there.’
‘I’ll bet they were thrilled with ten grand!’
‘We’ve set it up as a fund, so that those that cannot afford the treatment can still be seen.’ She looked down in an almost embarrassed manner. ‘Yes, they were delighted, Inspector Galena.’
‘That’s wonderful, a very kind gesture. But I’m sure you’ve not come here to tell me about that.’
Carla Duchene’s face darkened. ‘No. The thing is, I’ve joined with the Willows to organise the vigil, you know, tomorrow night?’
Nikki nodded. ‘Yes, I hope to be there myself.’
‘Oh good! You see, I’m not sure if I’m upsetting someone in some way.’ She delved into her handbag and retrieved a folded sheet of notepaper. ‘I volunteered to pay for the flowers that we will be floating on the river. A supplier from Spalding said I can have them at cost, considering what they’re for, which was very kind, of course.’
Nikki fought back her impatience. ‘So, who exactly do you think you have upset?’
‘Sorry, I’m getting off track. That’s the problem, I don’t know who. I went down to the river early this morning to meet the flower wholesaler. It was heaving with people there, terribly crowded.’
Carla Duchene was really beginning to irritate her now.
‘And anyway, I must have been there for over an hour, then when I got home, I found this in my pocket.’ She carefully laid the note on the table. ‘It had to have been put in my pocket today, because I only picked this coat up from the cleaners yesterday.’
Nikki looked at the white paper. The words were in large, neat capitals. “CANCEL THE VIGIL. KEEP AWAY FROM THE RIVER OR SOMEONE ELSE MIGHT DIE.”
Carla Duchene was still talking. ‘Initially I thought someone was frightened by the number of people who would be close to the riverbank in the dark. Maybe they thought it could be dangerous, especially if there are kiddies there, and there will be, of course.’
‘And now you think differently?’
Carla looked unsure of herself. ‘I keep going over the wording, and now I’m wondering if there might be a more sinister message there. Cancel the vigil, or else. Am I being silly, Inspector?’
Nikki stared at the note. ‘Not in the least, Miss Duchene. I’m glad you brought this in. Can I take it, please? I’d like my boss to see it.’
‘Naturally. That’s why I came, and to ask you what you think we should do about tomorrow night.’
‘Has anyone else handled this?’
‘No, only me.’
‘Hold on, I’ll just be a minute.’ Nikki went to the front desk, retrieved an evidence bag and returned to her visitor. She carefully placed the note in the bag and sealed it. Then she turned to look at Carla. ‘Did you notice whether you were jostled at any point? I know it is difficult in a crowd, but did you notice anything definite?’
Carla shook her head. ‘There were an awful lot of people there, as I said. I certainly don’t recall anything in particular.’
Nikki felt a shiver of concern about the warning. She was certain that’s what it was. Someone with honest concerns about public safety would voice their anxieties publicly, not surreptitiously stick notes in women’s pockets. ‘Who at the Willows is helping with the arrangements for tomorrow?’
‘Eh, Julia Abbott, the practice manager, and Sam Welland, one of the therapists. Do you think we should cancel?’
It shouldn’t be damned well happening at all. Nikki looked at Carla and said, ‘I think I need some advice from the superintendent. Can I ring you?’
Carla stood up to leave. ‘Of course. But without being rude, the sooner the better. If we have to make alternative arrangements, we don’t have much time. Naturally, we’ll do whatever you advise. And, Inspector?’ She looked at Nikki, almost beseeching her. ‘Do you think this person means me any harm? After all, it was my pocket he put the note in.’
‘I’m sure the warning is general, Miss Duchene. Someone does not want the vigil to take place. You are part of the organising team, and maybe you were easiest to accost. I would try not to worry too much. I really don’t believe this is personal.’
Carla was visibly relieved. ‘I hoped as much, but, well, after what happened to Helen . . . Thank you for your time. I appreciate it.’
‘Would you be happy to let us take your fingerprints, to exclude them from any others on the note?’
‘Of course.’ She glanced at her watch, ‘I have an appointment to get to, but I’ll certainly come in first thing tomorrow.’
Carla Duchene left the room, leaving a trace of perfume behind. Nikki picked up the evidence bag, showed her out, and made her way quickly back upstairs to find Superintendent Greg Woodhall.
* * *
‘I’ve reassured her that it’s most likely not directed at her, but frankly I’m not too sure. What do you think, sir?’
The superintendent stared at the note and pulled a face. ‘Why would anyone want to stop the vigil? And want to stop it badly enough to resort to threats.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t think it was the killer. According to most documented cases, he would be revelling in all the attention for what he’s done.’
‘Mmm. And why threaten Miss Duchene anyway?’
Nikki shrugged her shoulders. ‘Perhaps it’s intended to perpetuate the whole thing. Keep it boiling, make it even bigger than it is. If the media gets hold of this, the situation could get way out of hand.’
Greg Woodhall nodded. ‘I see your point.’
Nikki shrugged again. ‘Or it could be directed straight at Miss Duchene? Something else entirely, and they’re using the vigil as a cover to get at her. She’s a wealthy woman, boss. Perhaps there’s another issue here.’
‘Whatever, we don’t stop the vigil. It goes ahead as planned, but with a whole lot more plain-clothes police officers in the crowd.’
‘And Miss Duchene?’
‘If she still wants to attend, we keep a very close watch on her.’ The superintendent handed back the plastic envelope. ‘And get this down to the lab straightaway. It may be nothing, just some crank, but then again it could be from Helen’s killer, and we can’t afford to miss a thing.’
Nikki picked up the plastic bag and looked again at the large, evenly spaced capital letters. ‘Okay, I’ll inform Miss Duchene of the decision to go ahead.’
* * *
Nikki sat with the team in the CID room. ‘I’m very concerned about Helen’s apartment being locked. As you know, when I arrived and found her dead, I had to break in. The place was shut up tighter than a duck’s backside, and the keys were inside. We know that Andrew Gregory had just had the locks changed, and most of the keys have been accounted for.’
‘Most?’ asked Yvonne.
‘Andrew has his with him, we checked that. But now he’s gone missing.’
‘Surely that points heavily towards Gregory being the killer, ma’am?’ said
Niall. ‘It’s nearly always someone close, isn’t it?’
‘You are beginning to sound like the superintendent, PC Farrow. And I’d agree with you, except that I know Andrew Gregory, and although I can’t ask you to believe me without any proof, I just cannot believe he did it. He’s up to his eyes in something, that’s for sure, but murder Helen? I just don’t buy it.’
Cat was doodling on a scrap of paper. ‘Well, as we have more or less discounted her stalker, Paul Brant, what other avenues are there if it’s not Andrew Gregory? The locksmith? Or a client of Helen’s maybe?’
‘That’s where my thoughts are heading,’ replied Nikki. ‘Although the locksmith has been eliminated. He was from an accredited firm, we’ve used him on occasions, and he has a confirmed alibi for the time of the murder. It’s the patients that interest me. Any more luck with the list?’
Joseph answered. ‘Well, we do have a short list of special cases, all people that she treated outside the Willows Clinic. There are about six or seven that she used to see, either in their own homes or at her apartment on Westland Waterway.’
‘Anyone stand out?’
‘Officers have spoken to four of them. None seem anything other than deeply distressed at her death. Then there is the chap that we met at the river, uh, Oliver Kirton. We knew you would want to tackle him personally. Let’s see, another one is on holiday until the weekend, and the last one is dead.’
‘Kirton is next on my list, and I’ve been advised to take someone with me.’ Nikki grinned at Niall Farrow. ‘Ah yes, Niall! Someone of your physique will do nicely.’
‘Is he dangerous, ma’am?’
‘No idea, but an ex-university chum of his, our very own Professor Wilkinson, suggests that he may be on some kind of serious medication — or not, as the case may be.’
Niall grinned back. ‘No problem, ma’am. I’ll be right behind you.’
‘Right beside me might be more useful. Now, back to the list. We have one other possibility. Andrew Gregory is somehow involved in the design of some amazing computer program which has got our whole IT department drooling uncontrollably onto their keyboards. Apparently it can bring down billion-pound businesses if a rival company gets hold of it. There is a chance that Helen Brook was murdered in order to put the fear of God into Gregory, and stop him going any further.’