by Sibel Hodge
She nodded firmly. ‘Good point.’
‘I’ll go over first, then throw a rope back to you.’ Hacker scaled the wall like a spider, dropping down to the other side in perfect silence. A true ex-SAS professional at work.
Mum unfortunately broke the silence by whispering, ‘You can be Spider-Man!’
Hacker threw the rope from his backpack over the wall. Mum grabbed it, hoisting herself to the top of the wall as Dad and I simultaneously pushed her upwards with all our strength. When she reached the top, she swung one leg over, and I heard a ripping sound from her Catwoman outfit.
‘Damn. I’m going to take this suit back and a get a refund tomorrow. It’s not built for actual crime fighting!’ Mum swung her other leg over the wall and looked down at Hacker. ‘Can you catch me?’
‘Yes. But don’t jump off. Ease yourself down with your arms so you’re lower first, and I’ll grab your waist.’
Too late. Mum launched herself off the wall, and I heard a thud as Hacker hit the deck, probably with Mum on top of him.
‘Sorry. Maybe I need to lose a few pounds if I’m going to be Wonder Woman.’
‘I think you broke my dose,’ Hacker said in a nasally twang.
‘Oops. I’m so sorry. Is it bad? Does it hurt?’
Hacker made a noise that sounded like a small grunt.
I grabbed hold of the rope and climbed up. I swung my legs over the wall and used my arms to drop down a bit before Hacker grabbed my waist and plonked me on the ground.
‘See, that’s how Wonder Woman does it,’ I said to Mum, then stared at Hacker’s nose, which was swelling rapidly. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’ve had worse injuries than this in the line of fire.’
When Dad was over, we crept silently through the grounds of Aleesha’s garden (three cheers for silence!). Hacker had already got into the security system remotely and disabled the alarm and security lights, so there was no chance of a signal notifying the police. Now we just had to find some kind of evidence that Nathan had killed her.
As Hacker made light work of the lock on the French doors in one of the downstairs rooms, I gnawed on my lip, picturing Brad sitting in that cell in a striped prison costume. I could imagine his anger at the false accusation of murder simmering away under the surface. The guilt he must feel that he could’ve somehow prevented her death by taking the threats more seriously. But we’d both thought Aleesha was responsible for the letters herself. How wrong could we be? And regardless of my personal feelings about her, she didn’t deserve to be murdered. I worried about what Brad would do when all his anger and guilt bubbled to the surface. I wouldn’t fancy being Romeo when he finally blew. A picture of me in my Fandango wedding dress at the Chapel of Love for our Vegas Elvis wedding sprang into my head. I walked down the aisle to ‘Love Me Tender’, laughing. Brad stood next to Elvis, looking incredibly sexy in a suit that moulded to his firm body and wearing a dangerously smouldering smile. Would it ever happen now? Or would we have a prison wedding? Eeek! Conjugal visits in prison weren’t high on the top of my honeymoon bucket list.
I shook my head to get visions of the prison vicar marrying us out of my brain and snapped to attention.
‘This place is massive, but we need to be quick and thorough.’ I handed out latex gloves for us all.
We entered the lounge, and Hacker shut the door behind us.
‘Mum and Dad, you take the downstairs. Hacker and I can do the upstairs. And please, please don’t leave anything uncovered. We can’t afford to miss anything. Brad’s life depends on it,’ I pleaded.
‘Affirmative, Red Fox,’ Mum said.
We split up, Mum and Dad starting in the kitchen as Hacker and I climbed the ornate stairs that led to the top floor. I started in Nathan’s bedroom, and Hacker took the room opposite. At least, I thought I was in Nathan’s room. There was a huge watercolour painting of him on the wall, and a magical-looking bed, complete with a gold canopy and turrets carved onto the bedposts. Gold walls, gold cupboards, and even a golden carpet.
I got to work in the cupboards and drawers, examining all the clothes and shoes. Yes, it was Nathan’s room, although his choice of wardrobe was very dodgy. I found some more leather trousers, a leather waistcoat, and even a pink fedora hat, but no signs of smeary chocolate or glitter anywhere. I rifled through the sheets, under the bed, in the en suite bathroom, and through two bins. I found all sorts of things I really didn’t want to, but nothing that could possibly connect him to Aleesha’s death.
I let out an almighty sigh as I texted Tia to get an update on Nathan.
‘Is he co-operating? Are you keeping him busy?’
‘Yes. Penolop Pitstop aways ets the job don. Exting with my hand uneder the tabel.’
Well, at least that was something, but when I finally shut Nathan’s bedroom door, an overwhelming sense of helplessness and anxiety pressed down in the centre of my chest. Popping my head in the bedroom Hacker was searching, I said, ‘Have you found anything?’
He shook his head solemnly. ‘Do,’ he said, which I think meant no, but his nose had now turned huge.
Between Hacker and me, we searched every room upstairs, and a thousand years later (OK, so it was probably only about three hours, but it felt like a lifetime), we retraced our steps downstairs. The only place we’d found any glitter or chocolate was Aleesha’s bedroom and bathroom, which was expected and not very helpful in proving Nathan’s involvement.
We found Mum in the utility room and Dad in the downstairs toilet just off it. Mum was searching the laundry basket as Dad examined the plughole in the sink with a torch.
‘Did you find anything that could help?’ I asked Dad, more pleading than a question.
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Looks like he hasn’t done any washing since last night,’ Mum said. ‘The machine is dry, and there’s a pile of laundry left. I’ve just gone through it all, but there are no traces of glitter or chocolate.’
My shoulders slumped. Unless I could come up with something, Brad was completely screwed.
I texted Tia and told her to let Nathan go in ten minutes. We all left the house, making our way back over the fields. My legs felt rubbery with fatigue, and my heartbeat fluttered erratically against my ribs. I was sure Nathan had killed her. I suppose he could’ve destroyed the evidence, but did he have the time or opportunity? The police were there all morning and would’ve seen him trying to burn or bury evidence on the grounds, the paparazzi were camped out on the driveway, and Tia had followed him when he left the house, so he couldn’t have done anything then, either. We found no traces of glitter in any of the pipes or traps from the showers or sinks, apart from Aleesha’s. Even if Nathan had worn gloves to strangle her, he would’ve surely washed his hands afterwards if he’d done the dirty deed. Unless he was clever enough to wash his hands in Aleesha’s bathroom. But the glitter would’ve still got onto some part of his skin or clothes, and yet there were no traces of transfer anywhere. And strangling someone, looking into their eyes as the life flowed out of them, took a hardened kind of killer. Somehow, Nathan didn’t seem like the kind of guy to pull off a perfect murder. He was too high strung and drama queenish. I had to admit I’d been wrong about him. He must’ve been telling the truth. Which left me where?
‘So, if it wasn’t Nathan, it had to be someone else who knew the alarm code and got into the house with no sign of forced entry,’ I said as we drove back down the country lane. ‘And someone who had access to Nathan’s tea.’
And then my brain pinged into idea mode. Nathan said Aleesha was always leaving her keys and phone everywhere on set. Her keys weren’t missing, so someone must’ve taken a copy. Then I thought about the alarm code. They had to keep changing it whenever Aleesha dumped another guy, just in case. We had so many pin numbers and passwords for things these days, I couldn’t keep up or remember them all. What if Aleesha had to change her alarm code so often that she couldn’t remember it anymore and wrote it down, leaving the note in her ba
g with her keys? Or what if Aleesha stored the code in her phone under a fake number? That meant anyone at the studio or at a photo shoot could’ve got hold of it. But Nathan also said he’d already had his daily afternoon cup of nettle tea while Aleesha was filming Real Women, so he wouldn’t have taken the tea into the Playboy shoot. Which meant the killer had to be someone with access to the studio kitchen, where Nathan left his tea for everyone to help themselves, and the Real Women set, where someone could copy Aleesha’s keys and alarm code. The code hadn’t been changed for two weeks because Steve and the guy Aleesha dumped him for, Alfonso, had never been to the house and couldn’t have seen it. Jessie was sacked two weeks ago. She stormed off after being fired and finding out about their affair, so she could’ve got the alarm code and copied the keys before she left. She’d also threatened to kill Aleesha. Were those threats in the heat of anger, or did she really act on them? Plus, Jessie was known on set. I bet it wouldn’t have been hard for her to slip into the studio on the day Aleesha died, spike Nathan’s tealeaves, and then leave. Had my empathy for Jessie made me miss something I should’ve seen all along? Was she just an amazing actress who completely fooled me?
On the other hand, maybe Steve wasn’t as embarrassed about being manipulated by Aleesha as he seemed. Maybe he was angry with Aleesha instead, blaming her for losing Jessie. Angry enough to kill?
Eeny, meeny, miny, mo.
Or maybe Steve and Jessie were in it together. A Bonnie and Clyde murder team. Or was it someone else who worked at the studio? Someone who held a secret grudge against Aleesha? What about Tania Tate, the Real Women co-host? She said she got on well with Aleesha and liked her, but was that just a lie? Was she harbouring a secret hatred of her? Had Aleesha stabbed her in the back, too, as she’d done to so many others?
I mentally banged my head on the dashboard, feeling so helpless as my mind sifted through all the possibilities. There were just too many maybes and not enough hard facts to go on.
Hacker and I dropped Mum and Dad off at home and drove back to my car in the Hi-Tec car park as I mulled everything over.
‘I remember watching the live show of Children in Need the night Aleesha was killed, and Tania Tate was hosting it,’ I said. ‘Can you get hold of a recording of it and find out the exact time Tania was at the studio until? Maybe I can rule her out, too, if she was at the studio all night. I think it was supposed to be live from eight p.m. to eight a.m.’
‘Will do. It may take me a while, but I’ll stay up all night if I have to.’ He parked up, turned off the engine, and gave my shoulder a squeeze.
‘Thanks.’ I gave him a pained smile.
Time was running out, and it was too late to do anything else tonight. Tomorrow I had to find the real killer.
Chapter 15
It was one a.m. when I finally crawled into bed, exhausted and defeated. Marmalade snuggled up beside me, sensing something was wrong.
‘I’m not talking to you anymore. You told me Brad slept with Aleesha, and I don’t think he did.’ I scratched him behind the ear.
He eyed me nonchalantly, waiting for me to carry on talking. Even Marmalade knew I couldn’t keep up the silent treatment for long. My mouth had a mind of its own and loved to blab.
He blinked his huge green eyes at me and, of course, I couldn’t stop myself.
‘OK, maybe you didn’t actually say “yes” before. Perhaps “me meow” means maybe. Is that it? Meow once for “yes” and twice for “no”.’ I gave him a stern look.
‘Meow.’
Right. I got it now. As long as we were clear on this. So, the only good thing to happen all day was that Marmalade had increased his vocabulary from just ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to ‘maybe’ as well.
‘So who’s the killer?’ I was rapidly running out of suspects, and so far, all my instincts on this case had been completely wrong. I seriously doubted my ability to find the truth before it was too late.
Marmalade blinked at me and rolled onto his back, letting me stroke his soft belly.
‘Steve?’ I asked hopefully.
Purr.
‘Or Jessie?’
Louder purr.
‘Tania?’
Marmalade sneezed.
I sighed at him. ‘What does that mean? Why can’t you talk sense anymore? Are you missing Brad? Is that it?’
‘Meow.’
‘Me, too, boy. Me, too.’ Turning over onto my side, I stared at Brad’s empty spot on the bed. I touched the cold sheets, wondering if he’d ever be in this bed with me again. I grabbed his pillow and hugged it tight, inhaling the traces of his aftershave and musky, manly smell like it was a drug.
The next morning I woke up in the same position, wrapped around Brad’s pillow. Marmalade was lying on my head. No wonder I kept waking up with headaches. It was nothing to do with the wine after all.
I forced myself to eat a slice of toast before I wasted away, but the bread felt like sandpaper in my mouth, and it took all the effort I had to swallow each piece. I gave Marmalade a kiss on the head and went upstairs to grab a suit, shirt, and tie for Brad to wear in court.
Court! Yikes. They wanted to hold him in custody with no bail until the trial.
No, Amber. There won’t be a trial. You’ll catch the killer. You will.
As I was putting Brad’s clothes in a suit carrier, Hacker phoned.
‘Yo,’ I said. ‘How’s your nose?’
‘It’s a bit sore, but I’ll live.’
‘Did you watch the Children in Need show?’
‘Yep. Tania was on live TV from eight p.m. until eight a.m. In between presenting, there were obviously segments, bands, and sketches, but the longest was only thirty minutes. There’s no way she would’ve had time to leave the studio, get to Aleesha’s house and kill her, then back again. Tania’s definitely off the suspect list.’
‘OK, thanks, Hacker. I’m going to see Brad now. Then I’ll stake out Jessie’s place. Hopefully, I can get inside while she’s out somewhere and take a look around. I’ll get Dad to cover Steve’s. They’re the only two possible suspects left on my list. And if it isn’t either of them, Brad’s in deep shit.’
‘Good luck. And tell Brad we’re doing all we can. Yo.’
I hung up and motored towards Hertford Police station, arriving at eight a.m. on the dot. As I climbed up the steps of the building where I used to work for seventeen years, I wondered how things could go so badly wrong in such a short space of time. Brad and I were jinxed. Our whole relationship had been complicated from the start. Maybe we just weren’t supposed to be together. Maybe this was really a sign. I mean, having your fiancé banged up for murder a few days before the wedding couldn’t possibly be a good sign, could it?
‘Hi, Amber, how’s things?’ the duty officer on the front desk, who I’d known for years, said to me.
I pulled a face. ‘Not good.’
‘I suppose you’re here to see Brad?’ he asked sheepishly, as if it was his fault.
‘Yes. Can you tell the custody sergeant I’m here, please?’
He disappeared behind the desk. His footsteps squeaked on the lino floor up the corridor to where the cells were located. Cells I’d put many prisoners into during my time there.
I stood at the desk and tapped my foot as an elderly woman shuffled to the counter in her slippers. She wore a thick tweed coat and curlers in her bluish-tinted hair.
‘I want to see my son who’s been arrested,’ she said to the duty officer who’d reappeared behind the desk.
The door behind me that led into the building opened and dragged my attention away from the old lady. A bubbly woman with fiery red hair practically shot out the door towards me. Carole Blake, the coroner’s officer and a good friend, squished me in a big hug.
‘I heard what happened. God, I’m so sorry.’ She pulled back.
‘He didn’t do it, Carole. But I’ve just got to find some way of proving it.’
She nodded sympathetically. ‘You don’t think it’s because Brad st
ole you from Romeo, do you? You know, maybe Romeo’s got it in for him now and he’s trying to stop the wedding. ’
I’d thought about that. A lot. But Romeo was a good guy and a good police officer. I think he genuinely believed Brad had killed Aleesha.
‘No one can steal someone who doesn’t want to be stolen,’ I said. It wasn’t as if I was a possession, like a car or favourite keepsake. Maybe Romeo did still have strong feelings for me, but I didn’t think he’d seriously get Brad put away for murder to prevent us being together.
Carole rubbed my arm. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll find out who did it, Amber. Listen, I have to shoot off. I’ve got another suspicious death scene to go to. Good luck.’ She gave me one last hug and left through the front entrance.
I tapped my foot and stared at the wanted posters on the information board, wondering if Brad and I could make a run for it. Could I spring him from the cells, and we could hide out somewhere until I found the real killer? I let out a deflated sigh. Nope. It wouldn’t do any good.
The elderly woman’s voice grew louder behind me as she demanded to see her son, who was apparently in one of the cells.
‘You have no right to keep him locked up in one of those padded cells!’ the woman shrieked at the officer.
‘It’s not a padded cell, ma’am.’
‘He needs his memory foam mattress, not a hard trolley to sleep on.’ The woman ran a shaky hand through her hair. ‘How can you keep him in there with the common criminals?’
‘I’m afraid he’s been charged with breach of the peace, ma’am. He swore at an officer.’
‘How could he swear at an officer?’ the old woman cried. ‘He’s deaf, and he can’t speak, either!’
‘He signed the swear word, ma’am.’
‘What do you mean?’ The elderly woman frowned.
‘He swore at the officer in sign language.’
‘How did the police officer even understand sign language?’ the woman asked skeptically. ‘I still haven’t mastered it yet, and I’ve been trying to learn it for twenty years.’