by Kim M Watt
Alice sipped her tea and said, “I merely suggested to him that maybe there were some things he couldn’t tell the police, but he could tell me.”
“And?”
“And someone was offering the councillors money, although he wasn’t quite sure what for. It was all most unclear.”
Colin said around a mouthful of cake, “Confirms what we found out.”
DI Adams leaned across the table, fixing Alice with a quite impressively fierce gaze. “The people offering this money may be dangerous, Alice. We have reason to believe that they are. You do not want to draw attention to yourself, do you understand?”
Alice was a veteran of fierce gazes, so she just nodded and said, “Of course.”
DI Adams scowled at her, and for a moment the table was silent. Then there was a squeak, a splash, and a sudden upheaval under the table.
“What was that?” Miriam yelped. She’d dropped a slice of cake in her cup and cracked her knees so hard on the underside of the table that everyone’s tea had made a break for freedom. “I kicked something! It moved!”
“It’s just Dandy. Sorry.” DI Adams got up to fetch a cloth from the sink as Alice peeked under the table.
“He’s still very invisible.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t seem to change.”
“You don’t really want to see him,” Mortimer put in. “He’s alarming.”
Alice harboured a suspicion that Mortimer was more alarmed by the vanishing cake.
“So, Alice,” Colin said, once the table was clean again. “You’re determined to carry on.”
“Of course.”
The inspectors exchanged glances, and he sighed. “Please be careful. We can’t have someone on you all the time, because we don’t want to tip these people off. It might make things even more risky.”
“I’m sure I can handle myself quite well, Colin. Forewarned is forearmed, after all.”
Miriam put her cup down with a clatter and said, “Armed?”
“Figure of speech, dear,” Alice said, handing her the cloth.
“We’ll be around to keep an eye on you, anyway,” Beaufort said. “Won’t we, lad?”
“Yes,” Mortimer said with great emphasis, then sighed and slumped against the stove.
“Thank you, dears,” she said, and turned back to the inspectors. “Can you give me details?”
“As much as we have.” DI Adams leaned forward again, talking in quick, clipped sentences with her dark eyes fixed on Alice. Alice listened carefully, asking a question here and there, feeling a pleasurable little shivering running up her spine.
Yes, sometimes retirement really was a little too easy for her.
Alice felt a little bad for Miriam, who had become paler and paler while DI Adams told them about the potentially crooked property developers, and who had also managed to put her feet on Dandy again and almost fall out of her chair. She was now perched on the seat with her feet tucked under her, clutching her crumb-festooned tea in both hands while Colin, steering the conversation away from suspicious deaths, drugs, and bribes, told them about a case he’d had the previous week. A garden centre had been complaining about someone stealing their rhododendrons. It had been happening every night for a week, and as they had no CCTV he’d decided to spend the night sitting behind a stack of potting mix bags waiting for the thieves to turn up. Just before dawn, a rustling at the fence had alerted him that the culprits had arrived, and he’d jumped out to confront half a dozen startled cows, who had discovered a loose fencepost and were letting themselves in every night for a snack.
DI Adams pushed her plate away and said, “See? This is what I mean. I catch criminals, you catch cows.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Colin said, and she shook her head.
Alice smiled, and said, “I guess I see both your points.”
“I prefer the cows,” Miriam said. She was still curled up on her chair, but her face was a little closer to her normal colour.
“Now, then,” Beaufort said. “Do you want to hear what we found out today?”
“You mean other than the husband’s suspicions?” DI Adams asked.
“Oh yes. There’s more,” Alice said. “Go on, Beaufort. You discovered it.”
He settled himself more comfortably and said, “Well—”
DI Adams’ phone beeped a text message, and as she was fishing it out of her pocket, Colin’s rang. She checked the screen of her phone as he answered his.
“Ah,” she said, and looked at Colin.
“Yeah,” he was saying. “Send a pin drop.” He put the phone down, and looked at DI Adams. They both looked at Alice.
Miriam stared at them all, her eyes wide.
“It’s another councillor,” Colin said. “Charles Morgan.”
Miriam gave a strangled little gasp, and Alice nodded. “Well,” she said. “You two best be going, then.”
DI Adams drummed her fingers on the table. “Alice, I really think you should stand down. This is looking more and more serious.”
“Then you need inside information more than ever.”
“Not when it’s going to put you this much at risk.”
“I agree,” Colin said. “If they’re removing anyone who suspects them, and they realise you’re connected to the police, you’re in danger just being there.”
“I could take the bribe. Go along with it.”
“It won’t work,” DI Adams said. “They’ll look at your background and know you won’t take bribes.”
“You make it sound as if just being ex-RAF puts me beyond reproach. I assure you, inspectors, no one is.”
“They may not be willing to take that risk. Especially when you’ve been in the papers as instrumental in three police investigations.”
“And how else do you propose to move forward? You have very little to work with.”
DI Adams spread her fingers wide on the table. “Alice. We’re not messing around here.”
“Neither am I. I am the only person you have in a position to actually gather evidence. I will be careful. Now go see what’s happened to poor Charles.”
There was a moment’s silence, and Colin clasped both hands over his head, looking at the ceiling. “I do not like this.”
“Neither do I.” DI Adams got up, the legs of her chair loud on the stone floor as she pushed it back. “But you’re right in that we don’t have much choice. Alice, please answer your phone. Don’t ask too many questions. Eyes and ears only. Please.”
“I shall do my best,” Alice said, and DI Adams gave her a look that said very clearly that she knew Alice wasn’t agreeing with her. But she put her mug in the sink and headed for the door, Colin trailing after her with one hand rubbing the back of his neck, and for a moment there was silence in the kitchen.
Then Beaufort said in an aggrieved tone. “First they weren’t interested in how I knew about the crash, now they’re not interested in what I found today. One could feel very dismissed.”
“I’m sure they don’t mean anything by it,” Alice said. “They have got another murder, by the sound of things.”
“They’d probably rather you weren’t finding things out,” Mortimer mumbled. He’d taken on the deep green of the stove, and seemed to be trying to become one with it.
“I’m finding out very useful things,” Beaufort said.
“You are,” Alice agreed. “How did you know about the crash?”
“Nellie told me. She was complaining about some of the tributaries having unusual run-off in them, and then the car in the pond. That’s why I was curious about the farm. That’s where she said the run-off came from.”
“How intriguing,” Alice said.
“Yes. I mean sprites can be … what’s that phrase, Miriam? For when one overreacts a lot? They use it on your television sometimes.” He pronounced television with the care of a foreign word, which Alice supposed it was, for him.
Miriam frowned. “Drama queen?”
“Yes, that’s it. Sprit
es can be drama queens, but she was very insistent that something was wrong.”
Mortimer sighed. “Nellie’s always insistent that everything’s wrong. All the time.”
“Drama queen,” Beaufort said, and grinned broadly.
“Can I put my feet down?” Miriam asked. “Is the dandy gone?”
“Oh yes,” Mortimer said. “He ate all the cake, then left.”
Alice thought Mortimer had done quite a good job on the cake himself, but she just said, “Shall we have some more tea? Maybe some toast? I don’t feel like going home yet.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Miriam said, and Alice squeezed her arm as she got up to find the bread. Some days just called for second dinners.
13
DI Adams
The house smelled of cooking, garlic and herbs and warmth, and DI Collins’ belly rumbled as DI Adams led the way to the kitchen, pulling on gloves as she went.
“Crime scenes always make you hungry?” she asked.
“There was less food involved at that meeting than I expected.”
“There was banana cake.”
“We were meeting W.I. members. That’s normally two kinds of cake, minimum. Plus I think your Dandy ate more than his fair share.”
DI Adams snorted, and stopped in the doorway to the kitchen as the crime scene photographer took a shot of the body face down on the floor, dressing gown open to either side like green plaid wings. The yellow-tiled kitchen floor ran on into a conservatory, and warm light rose from lamps on side tables, making the pink and green curtains glow. A cake box sat open on the kitchen island, and the body sprawled on a lime green rug, feet still caught in the legs of a bar stool. A pink cushion had been pulled loose and lay on the floor like a puff of cotton candy. DI Adams touched her fingers to the corner of her eye, feeling a slight twitch. It was like a decorator had been briefed to recreate a sweet shop.
“Ay-up, Colin,” the photographer said.
“Alright, Lucas?”
“Better than this one.”
DI Adams gestured at the room in general. “Can we?”
“Sure. Done on the photos. DI Adams, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She crouched next to the body, examining the face where it was turned to the side. She knew Charles Morgan was in his sixties, but his cheeks were swollen and red, lines smoothed away. It made him look young. “Cause of death?”
“Asphyxiation due to closure of airways from swelling, from first impressions.” Lucas took a step back to give her more room. “So what do I call you?”
“Adams.” She didn’t have to look up from her examination of the body to know the men were exchanging glances over her head.
“She claims she’s not posh, but she goes by her last name,” Collins said. “My DI sense says she might not be being entirely truthful.” He crouched down on the other side of the body. “Allergic reaction?” he asked.
“Anaphylactic shock, yeah,” Lucas said.
“Any idea what to?” DI Adams was checking the pockets of the dressing gown, but so far all she’d found were some mints and a Far Side cartoon clipped from a newspaper. She hadn’t thought they still ran those.
“We’ll know more after the post-mortem. Really, just Adams?”
“Yes. Is he married?”
“Yeah. The wife found him when she got home from Zumba.”
“She here?” Collins asked.
“In the dining room. A PC’s in with her.”
DI Adams looked at Collins, trying not to show just how much she’d rather keep going through a dead man’s pockets than speak to a widow. Grief was so … messy.
“We best go talk to her,” he said.
“Um. Yes.” She got up slowly, taking an evidence bag from the counter to pop the mints and comic in. “I suppose we should.” Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she spotted Dandy nosing around the conservatory. She sighed. She’d told him to stay in the car, but closed doors didn’t seem to be very effective on him. Or walls, for that matter. Still, at least no one could actually see if he left dog hair all over the crime scene.
Collins peered into the cake box. “These look nice.” There were three cupcakes still nestled inside, crowned with swirls of white and pink icing and dotted with little blue sugar flowers.
“Probably the culprits,” Lucas said. “Peanut allergy, if I had to guess.”
“They still look nice.” Collins led the way out of the room, and DI Adams trailed after him, notebook in hand. It could have been accidental. It looked accidental, but the way things were going, she rather doubted it.
The woman seated at the head of the dining room table was dressed in some very high-end gym gear, her hair bundled up into a bun on top of her head and a headband holding any stray wisps back. She was clutching a well-used tissue in one hand and the box in the other, and when she saw the inspectors she wiped her face hurriedly and straightened up.
“What’s going on?” she whispered.
“Mrs Morgan?” DI Adams asked, sitting down on one side of the table as Collins pulled out a chair on the other.
“Please, call me Shirley. Mrs Morgan always sounds so old.” She wiped her nose with the tissue and gave them a very small smile. Her face didn’t move quite right when she did, and DI Adams thought Shirley might have serious objections to the ageing process.
“Shirley, the techs are almost done in the kitchen, then the body can be removed—” She stopped as Shirley gave a choked wail and covered her face with the tissue as well as she could, given its wadded state. DI Adams wrinkled her nose.
Collins shook his head and leaned forward, placing his big hands within reach of the sobbing woman. “Shirley, I know this is such a terrible time. Is someone coming over to stay with you?”
She snuffled and wiped her nose again. DI Adams suppressed a shudder and took a clean tissue from the box, holding it out hopefully. Shirley grabbed it, but just mushed it in with the dirty one. “Yes. My friend’s on her way.”
“That’s good,” Collins said. “Well done. You need a little company right now.”
She nodded jerkily, and clutched one of his hands in both hers. “I just went out to my class! That was all! I always go to my class! Charles knows!” She froze. “Knew. He knew.” She started to cry again.
Collins patted her hands with his free one. “You poor thing.”
Shirley wiped her face, and DI Adams passed her another tissue. “What do I do? I mean, I have to tell his mum, and his sister, and, and I—” She dropped her face onto her forearms, and Collins made reassuring noises while DI Adams looked at the ceiling. She wanted to get on with the bit where they actually found out useful information, but she rather felt she’d best just let Collins do this at his own pace, painfully slow though it was.
Eventually Shirley’s sobs eased, and Collins said, “Can you tell us if your husband was allergic to anything?”
She nodded, taking a new tissue without any urging. She had at least half a dozen of them wadded up into one awful mess now. “Shellfish.”
“Shellfish?” DI Adams said carefully, unable to wait any longer. “Not peanuts or anything like that?”
“No.” Shirley scowled at her. “Just shellfish. He was terribly sensitive to even the smallest amount. He always had an EpiPen on him.”
Not this time, he hadn’t. Not in his pyjamas and dressing gown, and evidently not handy in the kitchen. DI Adams wondered just how often you might find shellfish in cupcakes. Probably not often, she imagined. Even in the realm of “interesting” new flavours, that seemed a bit off.
“And what did Charles have to eat today?” Collins asked gently. “Anything unusual?”
“Just the damn cakes.” She sniffled. “He was just … I told him he had to stop eating cake, but he just wouldn’t listen! And now look what’s happened!”
“Why did he have to stop eating cake?” DI Adams asked. “Did he have health problems?”
“He would have. Sugar’s poison.”
“Oh,” t
he inspectors said together, and for a moment there was silence except for Shirley’s small, regular sniffs. Then DI Adams said, “Do you know where the cakes came from?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. He was always sneaking them. I knew. Icing sugar on his shirts and jam on his sleeves. I used to get so angry.” Her voice had grown very small, and DI Adams asked the next question carefully, hoping she wasn’t about to set the woman crying again.
“Did Charles mention any troubles at work? Or at the council?”
Shirley looked up, her eyes red and raw-looking. “No. Why? It was an allergic reaction, wasn’t it?”
“Of course. Just trying to get a … ah, picture of the general situation.”
Shirley blinked at that, then said, “Because that might tell you where he got the shellfish from?”
“Um, yes.” Something nudged her leg and she ignored it.
“But it’s almost instant. It’s not like he might have gone to lunch somewhere new yesterday and there was fish sauce on the veggies or something.”
“Right.” DI Adams drummed her fingers on the table, and this time when her leg was bumped she glanced down to see Dandy with something in his mouth. She pushed him away as unobtrusively as she could manage. “But was he especially stressed recently? Worried about anything in particular?”
“Why are you asking this? Are you suggesting someone poisoned him?”
“Just routine questions,” Collins said, going back to his arm-patting. “We need to ask these things.”
“Routine.” She still looked doubtful, but said, “He was a little stressed, maybe. I think it was to do with the council. He was under pressure to agree to some business thing or something like that. I don’t know. He didn’t talk about that stuff much.”
DI Adams rubbed the back of her neck, thinking of Alice. Dragons weren’t going to be much help when apparent non-drug users in perfect health were having cocaine-induced heart attacks at the wheel and shellfish was turning up in the cupcakes of allergy sufferers. Dandy rested his head on her knee, and she petted him absently.
A uniformed officer knocked on the door and peered in when DI Adams called out, “Come in!”