by Mark Hayden
‘Thank you, my lady. Vicky? Mina? Any questions?’
‘Have you located where it happened?’ said Mina.
‘No. Wayne went looking, but couldn’t find anything. He could have taken any number of routes to the Well … I mean, to the club.’
Vicky leaned forward. ‘The Well, my lady?’
Tara gritted her teeth. I think she may be under another geas: to answer our questions. This was one she’d been trying to avoid. ‘The Well of Desire. Private members club. Very private. Catered to the more extreme tastes of very rich people. I’ve had to shut it down. All the contacts were in the Count’s phone, and that’s disappeared.’
You hear about these places, but you don’t really believe that they exist. Not really. Or if they do, you like to think that they’re not as bad as the stories tell you. I had a feeling that this one might be worse.
Vicky shook her head. She had no questions.
I sent a quick text to the driver of the livestock transport, then said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have some sheep to move.’
Tara laughed. ‘I’ve never heard it called that before.’
‘If only it were a euphemism,’ said Mina with a shake of her head. ‘He really does have some sheep to move. I’ll call and get Kelly to bring Stacey back.’
Mina made the call while I got my boots back on. She stood on the threshold of the farmhouse and we kissed. ‘I’ll see you at the café in Cairndale,’ I said.
‘Our first date was there,’ she replied. ‘Take care at Lunar Hall. Love you.’
We kissed again and I whistled Scout over. ‘Back to work, lad.’
5 — The Dogged Detective
‘Doesn’t this place bring back painful memories?’ said Vicky. ‘I mean, you were in prison just up the road.’
‘Some. A lot of happy ones, too. This way – there’s a shortcut to the old town.’
We had just arrived in Cairndale, a small railway/market town right on the border between Lancashire and Westmorland, with the railway being on the northern, Westmorland side. Why I am I telling you this? Why do I even know this? Because of Conrad, of course. This is the sort of thing he thinks is important.
It was nice to travel with Vicky, and that way avoid spending another day in the tatty old Volvo to which he is so attached and which now smells of cigarette smoke and dog. We also got to discuss our second encounter with the amazing Tara Doyle. We didn’t discuss the murder of this Count of Canal Street person because it was not nearly as interesting as getting a glimpse into the gilded world of a footballer’s wife, even a non-human one. I used to think that my mother spent a lot of money in a month on trying to look good. Hah. Tara Doyle had already spent that before she left the house this morning.
At least it wasn’t raining, or the middle of winter, like it had been on most of my previous trips to Cairndale. We had parked up by the railway station, and from there the road dips down a hill to a very old bridge, now pedestrianised, then up again to the Market Square. I stopped to admire the new marina just down from the bridge, on the river Cowan (again, who cares about the name of a river in a little place like this?).
‘Do you think life on a yacht would be good?’ I mused. Vicky gave me a strange look. ‘Never mind.’ I checked my phone. ‘Conrad and his furry friends have arrived safely at Lunar Hall.’
‘Good.’
We strolled up the slope, past some really quaint looking shops and into the Market Square, which today was quiet and empty, there being no market. I led us to a coffee shop in a stone building to the right, tucked into a corner. It was an independent business, and they had gone for a Victorian look in the decor.
‘I shall get the coffee. Do you mind if we sit outside? Conrad will only move out here when he arrives anyway.’
‘Fine. It’s almost sunny.’
I got the coffees and joined Vicky outside.
‘Do you see the dental surgery over there?’
‘Aye.’ She gave me the sympathetic look and said nothing else. She thought she knew what was coming. She was partly right.
‘Yes, I was a patient. When I first went, my great-grandmother had more teeth than I did, and she’s been dead for a long time. I spent a lot of time in there. In the company of Luke the hot dentist.’
She smiled. ‘Oh aye?’
‘Oh yes. When I walked in, he took one look at me and got very excited. About my bone grafts. He said he’d never seen a jaw rebuilt quite so much.’
‘It was that bad, was it?’
‘No. It was worse. Thankfully, the only surviving photographs are in my medical files and the police archive.’ I grinned. ‘The only time Luke treated me like a person and not a potential case-study was when he advised me not to eat rare steak ever again.’
She winced. ‘Ouch. Did you tell him?’
It has been over year since I finished my treatments, and only now can I start to smile about it. With my lips closed, of course. ‘Vicky, it is hard to stand on your dignity when you are high on dental anaesthetic and have a mouth full of blood and cotton wool. When he finally realised I was saying I’m a Hindu and not I’m into you, he was mortified.’
‘I bet the other girls inside were jealous.’
‘They would have been if they knew. Morrisons is a private dentist. They had to make do with an NHS dentist who fitted them in on his way to play golf. That’s not the only reason I remember Luke’s surgery. It’s where Conrad and I did a lot of our courting, as my grandmother would say.’
‘Courting? Like you went on dates to the dentist?’
‘I was in there all day sometimes, and it was too expensive to have an officer with me one-to-one. Conrad used to sneak in when he could, while he was based at Fylde Racecourse. I was sitting in Luke’s actual chair when he got down on one knee and promised never to lie to me.’
‘You’re joking. As in he actually made a Clarke-grade promise?’
‘He did. I released him when we got engaged.’
‘Mmm,’ said Vicky. She wasn’t quite sure what to say about that.
‘Two doors down from the dentist is an Indian restaurant, but don’t look at it. There is a woman standing in the doorway. She has been watching us since we sat down, and has taken pictures. Can you tell if she is a Mage?’
Vicky shifted in her seat to face the restaurant. Without looking directly over the road, she moved her hands apart and then glanced at the doorway. ‘She’s not using magick actively.’
I pushed my chair back and stood up. Vicky did the same. I put my hands on my hips and stared back at the woman. She was a little taller than me (so not very big by most standards), and wearing a short denim jacket with a big woolly scarf. A cloud of brown ringlets emerged from the scarf. From under the jacket, I could see a short purple skirt and black tights. As soon as she realised I was staring, her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes widened.
She dashed across the cobbles as fast as she could and stopped at a safe distance. ‘I’m really sorry, I wasn’t looking at you. Honestly.’
I kept up the poker face. ‘Then what were you looking at, and why were you taking pictures?’
She pointed behind us. ‘The coffee shop.’
‘It’s not that interesting,’ said Vicky.
‘Can I sit down and explain? I can prove it.’
We sat down and she pulled up a third chair. ‘I run a coffee shop in Southport. Caffè Milano, and we’re expanding. We already have a place in Garstang, and this is on my shortlist. Here’s my card.’
Vicky was nearer, and she took the card. She stared at the name, and then at the woman. Closer up, she was nearer to my age than Vicky’s. About twenty-eight, then. Without comment, Vicky passed me the card and got out her phone.
I scanned the card.
Caffè Milano Enterprises
Lucia Berardi
Chief Executive Officer
I flipped it over, and there was a picture of an espresso cup nestling in a mound of roasted beans. It was a good cover story. The name of
the company – and her name – was Italian, but her accent was a soft English one, with just a trace of Northern in it. And then I made the same connection that Vicky had.
‘Lucia White?’ I said.
She went bright red. ‘Yeah. You must have good memories. Most of the stories in the papers didn’t mention me.’
‘Aye, no, but Celebrity Enquirer did,’ said Vicky.
She tried a smile. ‘I didn’t have you two down as readers.’
‘We’ve given up now. Vicky has yet to recover from Prince Harry not marrying her, and me, well I had a lot of time on my hands when you were in the news. Now I know who you are, I can see that you could afford to buy this place. Perhaps you could improve the coffee.’
Vicky passed me her phone. It was a TripAdvisor review of the coffee shop in Southport, and it mentioned how much the new management had changed it for the better. There was even a picture. I passed Vicky’s phone back.
‘Sorry for doubting you.’ I smiled to myself. ‘You’re not going to use those pictures with us in, are you Lucia?’
‘Call me Lucy, please. No. Of course not. Shall I delete them?’
I looked at Vicky, and she shook her head.
‘Can I make it up to you?’ said Lucy. ‘I’ll buy you more coffee, and cakes. Whatever.’
Given that we had just intimidated her and acted like gangsters, it seemed like the least we could do.
‘Won’t be long,’ said Lucy.
‘I’ll give you a hand,’ I said. ‘I could use the bathroom. Two Americanos for us, and Vicky will have an allegedly home-made muffin.’
After washing my hands, I checked my phone again: Conrad was on his way, sheep safely grazing in their new home. Good.
Lucy needed help. As well as our order, she had a slice of cake, two double espressos, a cappuccino and a sandwich. Oh, and a glass of water. I took the second tray and said, ‘You lost your step-brother, didn’t you?’
‘Half-brother. Same mum. He was the full Italian, though.’
‘My brother was the full Indian. I lost him, too. I’m sorry, Lucy.’
‘Thanks. All we need now is someone to open the door. Is there a reason you were sitting outside?’
A young mother with a buggy backed into the door and we somehow got her in and us out with no accidents involving hot coffee and babies.
‘We’re outside because my fiancé smokes and will have his dog with him. He’ll be here shortly.’
‘So will my boyfriend and his partner. I’ll leave you in peace when they get here.’
When we sat down, Lucy remained standing. ‘Feel free to move away if you want,’ she said. She picked up one of the espressos and gave it a good sniff. Then took a big sip and gargled with it. She looked around to see if anyone was watching and spat it back into the cup.
‘That was gross,’ said Vicky. ‘I hope it was worth it.’
Lucy tilted her head to one side. ‘Nice bitterness but no real depth of flavour and poor crema. That’s down to the machine, I think.’
‘Are you gonna do that with all of them?’
Lucy ignored her and peeled back the froth on the cappuccino like a surgeon. She grunted and poured in the second espresso before finally taking a sip and grimacing. When she took a drink of water, I thought it was over, but no. She prodded the sandwich like my mother used to prod mangoes and she smashed the cake to mush with a fork.
‘I can see why your boyfriend isn’t with you if this is how you behave at cafés,’ I observed.
She waved vaguely towards the other end of the Market Square, beyond the giant Celtic Cross that stood in the middle. ‘He’s used to it. It’s Scarywoman who objects.’
‘Scarywho?’ said Vicky.
‘His partner. His work partner.’ She looked at us again. Now that Vicky and I had changed back into our travelling clothes, I supposed we looked like a couple of young mothers having a coffee. Neither of us looked like we were at work. ‘Do you live here?’ she asked.
Vicky started to explain our situation, but I wasn’t listening. A couple were walking towards us, heading for our table. I held up my hand and interrupted.
‘Lucy, is your Scarywoman tall and thin and does she wear bright red Doc Martens?’
Lucy twisted round and waved at the couple. The man waved back and said something to Scarywoman. She did look scary, all lean and full of aggression.
‘How did you know?’ said Lucy.
‘Because I recognised your boyfriend. He’s bought a new coat since I last saw him.’
Vicky sat up. ‘Ooh, he’s not an ex you’ve failed to mention is he, Mina?’
A bell clanged in the back of Lucy’s head when she heard my name.
‘Tom is not an ex,’ I said to Vicky. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Morton was the one who arrested me. He was only a Sergeant at the time.’
‘Mina Finch!’ blurted out Lucy.
‘Aye aye,’ said Vicky. ‘Here’s Conrad as well. Will you look at them two! Like gunslingers they are.’
Conrad and Scout had appeared from over the old bridge. Conrad and Tom Morton had seen each other and stopped about twenty yards apart. They stared first at each other, then at us, then back at each other. Scout picked up on the atmosphere and switched to guard-dog mode. Scarywoman was utterly mystified, until Tom said something and pointed at Conrad.
Tom moved first, heading for our table. He had definitely spotted me now. Conrad limped along to join him. He ordered Scout to stay, and the two men shook hands, very formally, greeting each other by surname.
‘Morton,’ said Conrad.
‘Clarke,’ said Tom.
I stood up and made namaste.
Tom was keeping his face utterly bland. ‘Mrs Finch. You are looking … very healthy.’
‘It’s Ms Desai, or preferably Mina.’
‘And this is DC Fraser. With an “s”.’
‘Elaine,’ said Scarywoman. Unlike Tom, she was having great difficulty keeping a straight face.
‘And I’m Vicky,’ said Vicky. She hadn’t picked up on the undertone of awkwardness and saw the scene as a confrontation between two alpha males. In a commendable show of loyalty to Conrad, she added, ‘Captain Vicky Robson, Military Police.’
Conrad smiled. ‘I saw you coming from the main road. Have you been to Cairndale Division? How’s Commander Ross? He still hasn’t properly forgiven me for landing a chopper on the golf course.’
Tom Morton does not get flustered easily. He’s younger than Conrad, but he totally embraces the Fogey look – three piece suit in impeccable pinstripe, Crombie overcoat and highly polished shoes. He sensed a wind-up in Conrad’s reference to this Ross person. ‘The Commander is as always. Should I give him your regards?’
Conrad relaxed his grip on Scout and the dog went to investigate the newcomers while Conrad fished in the pocket of his old Barbour. I am definitely buying him a new one for his birthday: that coat smells of smoke and dog and horse. Ugh. He passed a plastic card to Tom, who looked at it without a word and passed it to Scarywoman.
Tom shook his head. ‘I should have known. You’re the one responsible for the Driscoll Case, aren’t you?’
Conrad took the card back from Scarywoman. I must stop calling her that. I have no reason to be afraid. He took the card back from Elaine. It was his ID card as a Special Constable in the Lancashire & Westmorland Constabulary.
He pocketed the card and said, ‘I think you’ll find that Sexton was responsible for the Driscoll case, and yes I arrested him. Are you still with Professional Standards?’
‘For my sins. As is DS Fraser. No point in asking what you’re up to, I suppose?’
‘This morning? Just delivering some sheep. Generally, I’m with one of the special units now. Could I trouble you for a new business card? Here’s mine.’
Tom looked very suspicious, but couldn’t really argue. He handed one over and glanced at Conrad’s. ‘Congratulations. I take it the promotion to wing commander is recent since you’ve written it in.’
‘Ohmygod sorry,’ said Lucy. ‘I’ll clear this away.’
‘I think we’re ready to go,’ I said. ‘Vicky and I have already had too much caffeine. Conrad can get himself a takeout.’
Conrad, Tom and Elaine piled up the trays and took them inside, and I started to pick up my things. Lucy went to give me a hug and whispered in my ear, ‘Now I know who you are, you lost a lot more than your brother didn’t you? I’m sorry.’
‘It is for the best,’ I said. ‘Ganesh always opens a door to the faithful, if you can see it. Tell me, do you know Tara Doyle, or have you left all that behind you?’
‘Well behind me. Mostly. Why?’
I gave her one of my cards. ‘Have a look at what Tara was up to last Saturday. I might need your advice. It was lovely to meet you, Lucy.’
‘And you Mina.’
She said the same to Vicky and followed the others inside.
Vicky turned back to me. ‘You’ve talked about your marriage to Miles, but not really how you got to be arrested. Every time I’ve talked to Conrad, he just shrugs and says, “It’s Mina’s story, not mine.” Either that or he cracks a joke. He’s told me about landing a chopper on the golf course, but not why or anything.’
‘He’s being protective. Of me and the memory of another woman.’ I saw the look on her face. ‘They barely knew each other. It was nothing like that. It was an army thing. He pays for it every time he walks on that bad leg of his or puts his life on the line.’ I shook my head. ‘And that really is his story. Here he comes. Next stop Middlebarrow.’
Hannah talks blithely about Middlebarrow being in the North. It’s not really: it’s in Cheshire, a distinction that will be lost on most non-English readers of this story. The house is located just east of the ancient city of Chester, and is a lot closer to the Welsh border than it is to the authentically Northern city of Manchester. And having got to Manchester, you’d still have to drive a good three hours to get to Vicky’s home city of Newcastle upon Tyne.