Quick off the Mark

by Moody, Susan

‘Another? But that’s four in the past month, Fliss. What the hell is going on?’

  ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out. But the thing is—’

  ‘Do you think they’re related? Or is it still too early to—’

  ‘Stop gabbling, Quick!’

  I was silent. Whatever she was trying to tell me, I didn’t want to know. ‘The thing is, it’s someone you know.’

  ‘Who?’ My heart plunged like a high-speed lift. ‘Not one of my parents.’

  ‘No!’ She paused.

  ‘Nor …’ The lift crashed through the ground floor into the basement. What would I do if— ‘… Sam Willoughby.’

  ‘Not him, either.’

  ‘Who, then, for God’s sake?’ I braced myself.

  ‘Remember when you came round for a drink with us, what, a couple of months ago? You were raving and drooling about some hunk with black hair who ran a drama group that you’d joined?’

  ‘You can’t possibly be talking about Milo Stanton, can you?’

  ‘I can.’

  ‘Milo murdered?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Tell me—’ I swallowed. Once. And again. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘The police were called because some motorist nearly ran over his body which was lying in the middle of the road. He’d been tortured, just like your friend Huber, and tossed into a ditch along the verge of Borton Road. The awful thing was that he was still alive when he was dumped, and he somehow managed to find enough strength to crawl to the tarmac, where he collapsed and died. He had all his ID in one of his pockets, so we had no problem identifying him – but we already know that’s part of the killer’s MO.’

  ‘That’s … terrible.’ To think of Milo dead – so handsome, so energetic, so avid, so certain the future was bright – was too dreadful. And dying in such a manner.

  ‘Quick?’

  I coughed, trying to clear my air passages. I couldn’t squeeze any words past the back of my throat.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Quick. I know you fancied him.’

  I made some kind of grunt. Truth was, my fancying had been short-lived; Milo was fancied too much by Milo for anyone else to matter. Nonetheless, foibles and all, he was a fellow human. Why would anyone want to kill him?

  ‘Of course the driver who found him was questioned, but he obviously had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Are you linking his death to the others?’ I managed to croak.

  ‘Not yet. For a start, the MOs weren’t the same. And of course the sites were in different places.’

  ‘Linked or not, when this murdering bastard’s finished with them, they’ve all been removed from the original kill-site. Which is something I’ve been wondering about … with these other three murders – and now Milo – why would a killer want to take the bodies of his victims and dump them somewhere else? Somewhere where they’d be bound to be discovered.’

  ‘Cocking a snook at us, the cops? Because we know the villains always think they’re smarter than we are.’

  ‘A desire for attention, wanting the world to take note of his handiwork?’

  ‘Or simply hoping to be caught?’

  ‘Quite likely. Because if he’d left Tristan Huber’s body in that warehouse, it could have been weeks before anyone found him. And that,’ I added sombrely, ‘would negate the point. And think of the risks he’d take, the trace he’d be scattering all over the place, by moving him.’

  ‘Hang on a minute, Quick. I thought you were fingering some Chinese crime organization for the Huber death. Now you’re referring to a single perp.’

  ‘Only in a manner of speaking. Incidentally, good as you and your colleagues are at crime solving—’

  ‘You used to be one and I wish you still were.’

  ‘—if one of the Triads is responsible, they could thumb their noses at British law enforcement, just close ranks and you’d never get anywhere near an arrest, let alone a conviction. Remember that case in Borton? We knew exactly who was responsible, but hadn’t a hope in hell of pinning it on anyone.’

  ‘I remember it well.’ She yawned loudly. ‘Anyway, ma chère, I’m going to bed.’

  ‘Sleep well.’ I very much doubted that I would.

  After I’d switched of the lamp, the bedroom was dark. Very occasionally the lights of some late home-goer swivelled across the ceiling and were gone. I thought of poor Milo, his dreams of seeing his name up in lights in some West End theatre now forever extinguished, his Lear cancelled, his Hamlet still-born, his Macbeth aborted.

  Despite myself, I fell asleep. At eight o’clock, I awoke again and staggered downstairs. I’d just made a pot of coffee when the doorbell rang. I lifted the speaker phone. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘CID,’ replied a voice I recognized from my days on the force, despite the phone’s tinny resonance. ‘We’d like to have a word.’

  ‘Come on up.’

  I had time to pull on some clothes before they were knocking at my door. ‘Inspector Richards,’ I said, throwing open the door. ‘Do come in.’

  The burly man in front of me frowned. ‘DCI Quick?’

  ‘Ex.’

  He was puzzled. ‘What are we …’ He turned to the female DS behind him. ‘Is there some mistake, Lindsay?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Lindsay Griffiths winked at me. ‘Is that coffee I can smell?’

  ‘Sure is.’ I led them both into my kitchen and filled three mugs. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘We’re investigating the death of Milo Stanton,’ Richards said. ‘We believe you knew him quite well.’

  ‘I knew him. But not well.’

  ‘You don’t seem surprised to hear that he’s dead,’ Richards said.

  ‘That’s because I already knew.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I was informed late last night.’ Before either of them could ask by whom, and not wanting to land Fliss in it, I added, ‘They’d just heard, I don’t know how. The point was that the last time I saw him I was with some other people from the drama group he ran up on the hill. I expect you’ll be talking to them.’

  ‘Quite right.’ Griffiths pulled an iPad from her bag and turned it on. ‘Charlotte Plimpton, Richard Hadfield, Timothy—’ She produced a kind of snort. ‘—Timm, Dorothy Overdene.’

  ‘They’re the ones. But there are others in the group. Fifteen or twenty of us in all.’

  ‘As an ex-copper, you might be considered more likely than others to have noticed anything out of the way in the dynamics of the group,’ said Richards.

  ‘Absolutely nothing, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What was this Milo guy like?’

  ‘Handsome, vibrant. A bit up himself. But then as far as I can see, most actors are. It seems to come with the territory.’

  ‘Any idea at all who might have it in for him?’

  ‘None at all.’ I thought back to the people who’d travelled with him to the technical run-through for the panto Kearns was going to be in at Christmas. And the rest of the am-dram group. ‘I only recently joined. I barely knew any of the other members. They’d be much more helpful than I would.’

  ‘It was worth a try,’ DS Griffiths said. ‘Which is why we came to you first.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t anticipate seeing you when you opened the door,’ said Richards. As though the town was rife with people called Quick. ‘No wonder DS Griffiths insisted we come here before we went anywhere else.’ He gave her an approving smile.

  As they left, I murmured to Lesley, ‘You’ll love Timothy Timm.’

  ‘Can’t wait.’

  ‘He’s a huge bloke, calls himself Fred.’

  She grinned. ‘I’m not surprised.’

  Later, I dialled Sam’s mobile. ‘Are you at home, or in the shop?’ I asked, when he answered.

  ‘The shop. What’s u—’

  ‘I’ll come down,’ I said, and disconnected.

  He was waiting for me when I pushed open the door. He said nothing, just spread his arms wide. I leaned again
st his chest. ‘Oh, Sam,’ I said. ‘I seem to spend half my time leaning on you.’

  ‘I love it,’ he said. ‘Feel free.’

  I dropped a few tears on the front of his shirt. Straightened up. Explained what had happened.

  We sat down at one of the café tables in a corner of the shop I sipped at the cappuccino he brought me. We stared at each other. ‘I didn’t really know him,’ I said. ‘But …’

  ‘Any man’s death diminishes me?’

  ‘Donne and – sadly – dusted.’

  He put hand over mine. ‘Looks like we’ve got a serial killer on the loose.’

  I shook my head. ‘Someone else suggested that but I don’t agree.’

  ‘You can’t believe there’re four separate murderers in town all at the same time. Or do you still …’ He groaned. ‘Not your pet theory again. Chinese gang members swarming all over Longbury. Come on, Alex. The victims can’t all have been involved with Triads.’

  ‘It doesn’t really hold water, does it? Although I should point out that you were the one who came up with the intel re death by a thousand cuts or myriad swords or whatever.’ I frowned. ‘If the same guy killed all of them, and assuming it’s not just random murder, what we have to find out is why these people, and why now? What do they have in common? How did he snatch them or overpower them?’

  ‘Pen and paper time.’ Sam produced a lined notebook and a couple of fine-tipped pens. ‘OK, let’s write down what we know and see if the four victims can be linked in any way.’

  ‘And having done that, try to work out who might have been responsible.’

  ‘Right.’

  We wrote them down: Tristan Huber, Kevin Fuller, Ned Swift, Milo Stanton. I wondered if DCI Fliss would be generous in sharing any information the police had uncovered. After all, any questions needing to be asked, or information Sam and I unearthed, the cops would surely have already latched on to. Longbury wasn’t a big metropolis, as well as being a town of which the sea occupied 180 degrees of the available space. Four murders in just a few weeks was verging on an epidemic. But it didn’t necessarily imply a serial killer.

  ‘So,’ said Sam. ‘What did the victims have in common?’

  We made a list.

  They’re all men.

  At least two of them had spent time out East (as had the Landis/Lockharts).

  Three of them were connected to the university. Tristan, too, though only peripherally.

  All had interests outside their main fields of expertise: extreme sports, chess, theatre, though apart from the fact that two of them belonged to the chess club, none in common, unless you considered marionettes as theatre. Or playing in a band, like Swift.

  Kevin Fuller had been on the redecoration of the junior common room committee, which brought him into contact with Tristan, and possibly Swift and Milo.

  ‘Did Milo Stanton or Tristan Huber play chess?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. But I didn’t know Milo very well – and thinking back, I do believe I’ve played chess with Tris in the past. And lost.’

  ‘Apart from Tristan, were any of them into interior design? Or were artists?’

  ‘Don’t know. It looks like one of us is going to have to go up to the uni and poke around a bit,’ I said. I gazed at him, my expression full of significance.

  Sam picked up on it. ‘You mean me, don’t you?’ he said.

  ‘God, you’re quick! Yes. Because you’re so good at winkling the gen out of people,’ I said. ‘Look what you found out about Kevin Fuller.’ A sudden thought struck me. ‘Hey, we know he was gay. Do we know anything about any partner, or long-term relationship he might have had?’

  ‘If there was one, it wasn’t volunteered when I was pursuing my enquiries earlier,’ said Sam. ‘Why are you asking?’

  ‘Knowledge is power. And if you don’t ask questions, you’ll never get the answers.’

  ‘Gnomically put.’

  ‘Just call me Dopey,’ I said.

  ‘Tomorrow’s Sunday,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll pursue the trail of truth and justice on Monday, since most people will be gone for the weekend. But only on one condition.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘That you cook lunch for me on Sunday. And I mean lunch with all the trimmings: roast lamb, mint sauce, redcurrant jelly, roast spuds, sprouts, lashings of gravy. Even Yorkshire pud, though I know that’s supposed to go with beef rather than lamb.’ He smiled at me. ‘Deal? Or no deal?’

  ‘Deal.’ I enjoyed cooking, was good at it. A necessary defence against my mother’s culinary shortcomings.

  On the way back to my flat, I did the requisite shopping. As I pushed open the door of my building, I found Char Plimpton standing in the lobby. ‘Alex!’ she exclaimed. She looked terrible, face ashen and blotchy, eyes red and swollen, hair all over the place. ‘Have you heard this frightful news about Milo?’ She broke down, great sobs shaking her body, mouth unattractively open as she wailed.

  ‘Unfortunately, yes,’ I said. ‘Look, come on up and I’ll fix you a coffee – or something stronger.’

  She followed me up the stairs and into the flat, still weeping loudly. I set my bags down on the kitchen counter. ‘What would you like, Char?’

  ‘Something stronger,’ she gulped.

  ‘Go and sit down in the sitting room and I’ll bring it in.’

  A swig or two of brandy later, she’d calmed down a bit. ‘It’s so awful,’ she said. ‘So unbelievable. I mean, who would want to kill Milo, of all people?’

  Nil nisi bonum and all that, but I was willing to bet that there was a quite a cast-list ready to audition for the part, if not of First Murderer, certainly of Grievous Bodily Harmer. Then chided myself for unkind and inappropriate thinking. ‘I know,’ I agreed. ‘It’s terribly sad.’

  ‘Oh, Milo, why?’ she mourned. ‘Why, oh why?’ She was beginning to sound like a B-list tragedienne. Any minute now I feared she was going to start beating her bosom or plucking out her hair.

  ‘Is there a Mrs Milo?’ I asked.

  ‘Not so’s you’d notice. At least, not so anyone who knew Milo would notice.’ She sat up a bit and sipped again at her brandy balloon, looking considerably pinker of cheek. ‘I don’t normally drink in the middle of the day but …’

  ‘So there is one?’

  ‘Plus two little Milos.’ She raised a hand to her forehead. ‘Oh Lord, those poor people … losing their husband and father. And why?’

  ‘I didn’t really know him,’ I said. I poured a little more brandy into her glass.

  She produced a short barking laugh. ‘In my opinion, there wasn’t a whole lot to know. What you saw was what you got. Poor man, he was so determined to make it big.’

  ‘Did he have any aptitude for the stage?’

  ‘Oh yes, some. But nothing like he thought he had. It was the wife who’s got the talent. I believe there was quite a bit of domestic friction about the fact that she was always getting parts in TV sitcoms and BBC drama – you must have seen her in that last historical series they produced … what was it called? About some French queen? She played the title role, got pretty good notices, too. And she’s always on quiz shows and the like.’

  ‘Milo must have been proud of her,’ I said, though it seemed unlikely.

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Trouble was, she’s much more successful than he was ever likely to be.’

  ‘So jealous rather than proud?’

  ‘You’d think he’d have to be, wouldn’t you? He certainly never asked her to take part in any of the group’s shows. Or maybe he did, and she refused.’ Char grimaced, then hiccupped. ‘Oh, ’scuse me! I often thought that was why he chased women all the time, to prove to himself that he could at least do something, that at least he was still able to pull the chicks. Sad, really.’

  ‘Was his self-esteem that low? I know he always seemed to be brimming over with self-confidence, but that’s so often nothing more than a defense mechanism.’

  ‘Nonetheless,’ sai
d Char, hiccupping again. ‘I was very … fond of him. Actually, I loved him, in a quiet sort of way, I mean I’m a happily married woman etcetera and so on, but I’m … well, I’m devastated to hear of his death. Totally devastated.’ Tears began to flow once more.

  ‘Should we try to carry on with the Christmas show, as a kind of homage to him?’ I asked.

  She looked shocked at such levity. Then her face lightened. ‘That’s a brilliant suggestion! And it would give us all a focus, help us to come to terms with what’s happened. And if the others don’t think it’s practical, without Milo, we could always hold our own little memorial service for him.’ She got up. ‘Alex, m’dear, thank you so much for allowing me to let off steam. I’ll get in touch with the rest of them, and see how they feel about the idea. Both ideas.’

  ‘And then let me know.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘By the way, where do the wife and children live?’ I asked.

  ‘In Dovebridge.’

  ‘Really?’

  So did Edred and Mary Quick, my parents. I would have to make a quick trip over there, invite myself for lunch with them. On second thoughts, since Mary was so gastronomically challenged, make that for tea. And I’d provide the cheese scones. I’d cracked a tooth on the last batch she’d whipped up.

  It would give me a chance to call on Mrs Milo Stanton and offer my condolences. Maybe learn something more, though I knew it showed a horrible degree of insensitivity on my part. But no more than the investigating officers would. It was always difficult to walk the line between information-collecting and intrusiveness.

  At the door, I put my hand on Charlotte’s arm. ‘A few more questions: do you have any suspicion of who could have been responsible for his death? Did he ever get across anyone enough – as far as you know – to generate hatred or violence? Was he universally liked or disliked? Was he currently living with his wife or kids?’

  She laughed nervously. ‘Goodness, you sound like a policeman or something.’

  ‘Funny, that,’ I said.

  ‘As for suspicions, I really haven’t a clue. I didn’t see him outside the group – at least, not really.’ I deduced that she and Milo had at some point enjoyed a passage of arms. ‘And as far as I’m aware, he hadn’t split up with Tamasin. Not yet, anyway. As for who might have … might have killed him, I absolutely have no idea.’