Detectives Merry & Neal Books 1-3

by JANICE FROST

  “May we come in?” Neal asked when no invitation was forthcoming.

  “Do I have any option?” Irons was looking at Ava. Most men tended to do that.

  Neal raised an eyebrow. Irons jerked his head backwards and they stepped into the hallway. The barking started again, coming from a closed door that probably led to the kitchen.

  Irons showed them into a back room. They all took a seat at the old-fashioned dining table that dominated the room.

  “The girl on the phone said you wanted to talk to me about that fag, Leon Warrior,” Irons said. Neal and Ava both winced. “I could have had his poofter friend arrested for assault, you know. Don’t know why I didn’t. Must be getting soft in me old age.”

  “Tell us about the assault, Mr Irons. Did you do anything to provoke it?”

  “I was standing at a cheese stall at the farmer’s market when those two queers came over. I recognised woofter Warrior straightaway — he ain’t changed much and I’d seen him already in Marks and Spencer’s a couple of weeks before. I said hello, next thing I know Warrior’s ‘friend’s’ trying to deck me.”

  “Mr Warrior claims that you called him a derogatory name and that’s what provoked the assault. That and the fact that Mr Warrior’s partner was aware that you’d bullied Warrior for years at school.”

  Irons feigned astonishment — or perhaps his affront was genuine. “Typical, innit? Bloody political correctness gone mad. I get attacked and you lot side with the perpetrator just cos he’s a fuckin’ fag.”

  “I think you’re missing the point,” Ava said dryly.

  “That’s how it seems to me, duck,” Irons said. “But who cares what I think? Bloody straight white Englishman. We’re an endangered species.”

  Irons’ stress on ‘English’ wasn’t missed by Neal, whose accent was unchanged from the day he’d left Scotland. He cleared his throat. “Did you see Mr Mitchell or Mr Warrior again after the incident, Mr Irons?”

  “Nope, though I suppose you’re going to accuse me of stalking him or something.”

  “No one’s accusing you of anything, though we would like to know your whereabouts on Sunday night through Monday morning.”

  Irons threw his hands in the air. “I knew it. I’ve had a clear record for twenty years but every time a fag gets beat up or a Paki gets a brick through his shop window, you still come knocking at my door.” He stood up and slammed his fist into his palm.

  “That’s enough,” said Ava.

  “Mr Irons,” he said. “I advise you to modify your language and your behaviour.”

  Irons snarled and sat down, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “I was here all night,” he said. “Alone. Except for Ripper.”

  “Your dog?”

  “Yeah. Little white Staffie,” Irons said. The affection in his voice took Neal by surprise. “We was watching a movie. The Expendables. Ripper likes a good action film. Or a bit of porn.” He looked at Ava and she met his gaze without flinching.

  “I ain’t done nothing wrong, Inspector. You ain’t got nothing on me. I could easily have taken that American prick on but he weren’t worth the bother. And I ain’t in a hurry to go back inside. Got my own business now and I’m doing okay. All that political shit I used to be into don’t interest me no more.”

  “Do you know a woman by the name of Caitlin Forest?” asked Neal. Irons shook his head.

  “Never ’eard of her. You after pinning something else on me? I ain’t no rapist.”

  A salacious look in Ava’s direction accompanied his words. Neal experienced despair.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr Irons,” Neal said.

  Irons shrugged. He did not get up.

  “We’ll see ourselves out, then.” As they walked to the door, Irons called after them, “Sergeant Merry! You can come back anytime, duck.”

  Ava paused in the doorway, then walked out behind Neal, without looking back.

  Outside, she gave vent to her feelings, in language fouler than Irons’. Neal listened to the torrent, nodding approvingly.

  “. . . pathetic, shit-headed, lowlife, arsehole . . . bastard!”

  “You didn’t like him, then? Funny, I thought I picked up a hint of something, you know, sexual chemistry between the two of you . . .”

  Ava stared at him, then burst out laughing.

  “You couldn’t make him up, could you?” she said.

  “Is he capable of committing a hate crime against Gray Mitchell, do you think?”

  “Seriously? You really have to ask?”

  “Hmm. Did you take much notice of his house? He’s comfortable. When he said he wasn’t into politics anymore, I think he meant it,” said Neal.

  “But his views—”

  “Haven’t changed; he’s still a racist, sexist, homophobic brute. And seeing Leon Warrior again, coupled with the humiliating blow from Mitchell might have reawakened the beast in him.”

  “And he doesn’t have an alibi,” added Ava.

  “We’ll need to get the foot soldiers to do more legwork. Maybe they can tie Irons down to places Mitchell visited shortly before his murder.” Neal put the car in gear.

  “He didn’t bat an eyelid when you mentioned Caitlin Forest, and he thought we were after him for rape, not murder. Or he pretended he did,” Ava said. “Was he just on his guard, do you think? Ready for anything we were going to throw at him?”

  “It’s possible, though I think the mention of rape was for your ‘benefit.’ I have a feeling that these days, Irons’ bark is worse than his bite.”

  As they drove along, Neal’s thoughts drifted to Archie and his current obsession with super powers. “Shame we can’t read minds, though I suppose it would be considered unethical. Teleporting to the past might be useful too, though you’d still have to be able to prove what you observed back in the present or no one would believe you . . .” Neal became aware of Ava looking at him and he concentrated on his driving all the way back to HQ.

  * * *

  Ava arrived home later than usual that evening, having visited the gym again after work. Ollie was busy studying. Camden, Ava’s fat tortoiseshell cat, was curled up on the table near his laptop.

  “Ready to eat?” he asked Ava. “It’s fish and chips tonight, I’m afraid. I’ve got an essay to write.”

  “You carry on working for a bit. Even I’m capable of sticking frozen fish and chips in the oven.”

  Ava poured herself a glass of wine while the food was cooking and sat down with her laptop at the kitchen table. She put Spacedrifters in a Google search and spent the next fifteen minutes reading about the show and its stars. It had been on before her time. Ollie was a bit of a sci-fi geek and he assured her that in certain circles the programme had almost attained cult status. Leon Warrior’s role had not been a starring one but, according to Wikipedia, he had appeared in nearly every episode of Spacedrifters’ first two seasons. Then he was dropped from the show.

  The concept was pretty simple: a group of people in some far-flung future, exiled from their home planet for plotting against an evil dictatorship, somehow manage to appropriate a spacecraft and escape their home world. They are then pursued by government agents bent on stopping them finding an ally somewhere in the galaxy. A total of thirty episodes had been made, and then the show was cancelled following a sharp fall in the ratings. Fans had launched a campaign to have it resurrected but their enthusiasm had quickly fizzled out and it never resurfaced.

  Warrior had played the part of Stephen Troy, an idealistic young doctor who had been arrested and sentenced to death for opposing his planet’s harsh euthanasia laws. His character had been widely ridiculed for his tendency to express everything in medical metaphors. He was predictably included in plots in which one of the main characters was seriously wounded or ravaged by a deadly disease which Troy alone could fix.

  Looking at Warrior’s bio, Ava saw that, after his move to the US, he had appeared in a number of daytime soaps and sitcoms. He was always a minor character, who was often d
ropped after one or two episodes. The character he had played in Gladiator had not lived long enough to warrant a name.

  Information on Warrior’s personal life was sparse. Ava was interested to read that prior to coming out, Leon had dated an aspiring model and had even been engaged to her for nearly a year. From the early nineties, he had been out.

  Ava clicked on a hyperlink to see what she could learn about Gray Mitchell. His working life was similar to Leon’s, with the exception that Gray’s background had been in the theatre. He had spent some years travelling from state to state with a repertory company, performing Shakespeare in far-flung rural communities in the Midwest.

  Ava didn’t think Mitchell’s apparent lack of partners was significant. He had probably been discreet in the days when to be openly gay in the acting business was career suicide. There was only one photograph that she could find of Mitchell and Warrior together — an image of them in a Gay Pride parade in LA. Ava sighed and closed the lid of her laptop. Then she sorted out the fish and chips.

  She and Ollie sat together over their meal, chatting companionably. Before Ollie came to live with her, Ava had been in the habit of eating in front of the TV, more often than not with a microwaved meal and a bottle of wine. Playing big sister was forcing her to be civilised.

  “What’s your essay about?” Ava asked.

  “The Russian revolution. It’s due in tomorrow but I’ve nearly finished. Shouldn’t be too late a night.” Ollie was doing science and maths A levels. The history was an optional extra subject. He seemed to be enjoying it.

  “So, I saw George Irons today,” Ollie said.

  “And?” Ava answered. She’d half-hoped Ollie would forget their conversation about George Irons.

  “I asked him about his dad.”

  “Oh yeah? I hope you didn’t mention the case.”

  “Course I didn’t! What do you take me for? Anyway, I’ve already told you George doesn’t know you’re a cop, never mind working on the Gray Mitchell case.”

  “Okay, sorry for doubting you.”

  “You’d have liked the way I kind of, like segued it into the conversation.”

  “Word of the day?” Ava asked. Ollie was boosting his vocabulary by learning a new word every day.

  “Anyway, it seems that his dad, Ray, was in the National Front in the eighties. You’ve heard of the NF, right?”

  Ava nodded. Ollie often seemed to think she was completely uneducated.

  “Tell me something I don’t know already.”

  “Well, George’s old man went off on one when he heard that Leon Warrior was back in town.”

  Now Ollie had her interest. He feigned a yawn. “Suppose we’d better load the dishwasher and get back to work then.”

  “I know you’re bursting to tell me something, so drop the act. Or you’ll be back living with Mum before you can finish that essay.”

  “You got me. Okay. George told me his dad went ape-shit when he read about Leon Warrior and his partner starting a ghost tour business in town. There was an article in the Courier about it and he ripped the paper to shreds when he read it.”

  “Did George say why?”

  “When he asked, his dad just went on about effing fags.”

  “Ray Irons bullied Warrior all through secondary school,” Ava said. “Your typical sort of bullying to begin with, then what would now be called homophobic bullying.”

  “He’s not all bad,” Ollie said unexpectedly. “Apparently he looked after George’s mum for years before she died.”

  Ava raised her eyebrows, “What did she die from?”

  “Motor neurone disease. She was diagnosed just after they met.”

  Ava wondered whether she was going to have to revise her image of the thuggish Irons. He had stood by a woman with a debilitating illness and looked after her for years. He was also a dog lover. But monsters often have redeeming features, she thought. It was all about compartmentalising. What had Neal said? Irons’ bark was probably worse than his bite nowadays.

  “Finish your essay,” Ava said to her brother. “I’ll sort out the dishwasher.”

  As she loaded plates into the racks, Ava was thinking of Leon Warrior’s bio on Wikipedia. “There’s something I forgot to mention.”

  Her brother’s voice made Ava jump. She had been absorbed in what she was doing and he had crept up soundlessly behind her. Before she knew what she was doing, Ava had grabbed a knife from the draining board and jumped back, in an attack pose.

  “Flipping heck, Ava!” Ollie exclaimed, backing away.

  “Sorry! Sorry. It was instinct.”

  Ollie shook his head. “Most people scream when you startle them.”

  “I . . . it’s my martial arts training kicking in,” Ava said. She wasn’t about to tell Ollie the history behind her reaction. “What was it you forgot to say?”

  “I’ll tell you if you teach me some of your moves,” Ollie said.

  “Okay.” It was a good idea. Ollie had been bullied at his last school, and a bit of kick-boxing or karate would boost his self-esteem — and keep him safer.

  “George said that Leon Warrior got sacked from Spacedrifters before the series ended. He was involved in a scandal.”

  “What sort of scandal?” Ava asked.

  “Sorry, that’s all George said. He remembers his dad mentioning it to his mum years ago when Spacedrifters came out on DVD. George wasn’t all that interested at that time.”

  “Thanks, Ollie. All this info’s really useful.”

  Ollie beamed.

  “But no more probing, okay? You’ve done enough. Oh, you don’t happen to have the Spacedrifters box set, do you?”

  “No, but I could stream it for you really easily.”

  “You do realise that’s illegal, don’t you?”

  “Everybody does it.”

  Ava was about to give him a lecture, but let it go.

  Ollie went back to his homework. Ava returned to her laptop and ordered the DVD of Spacedrifters. She was annoyed that she had to pay an inflated price for something she most likely wasn’t going to enjoy.

  Chapter 10

  Laurence Brand was still reeling from the news of Gray Mitchell’s murder. When he learned about Caitlin Forest’s fate, his sanity began to lurch sideways. Maxine had called him with the news the minute she heard it from Helen Alder. Vincent Bone had told her. She had failed to show up for work and he was worried she might be ill. And now everyone knew. Young Chloe was so scared she wanted to go home. She was convinced a serial killer was taking out the staff at the cathedral, one by one. Maxine had assured Laurence that there could be no connection between the murders. Laurence asked himself how she could possibly know that.

  Since his early twenties, Laurence had suffered from mood swings that nowadays placed him somewhere on the bipolar spectrum. His symptoms were not severe or frequent enough to affect his day to day functioning. Laurence liked to view his moods as just part of his personality. There had been occasions in the past when he had, as he put it, ‘lost it.’ The last time it happened, he had lost his job and they had moved to Stromford.

  Maxine referred to these lapses in judgement as ‘episodes.’ Laurence was worried that Mitchell’s death was about to trigger another one. He was aware of the anxiety gnawing away inside him.

  Like the cataclysmic forces below the Earth’s crust, Laurence’s emotions could overwhelm him, erupting to the surface and creating new landscapes of unrestrained behaviour. Only Maxine and a few close friends knew about his condition, including Gray Mitchell, Leon Warrior, and Vincent Bone. Laurence suspected that Maxine had told Helen Alder. There were few secrets between those two.

  Laurence suddenly felt that someone should let Leon know about Caitlin. So he made his way to Leon’s house. As he walked, he thought over his conversation with Marcus the previous evening. As far as he knew, he was the only person Marcus had confided in. Laurence hadn’t even told his wife about their talk, and he told her everything. Things might look bad f
or the boy if his relationship with Caitlin Forest became common knowledge. Laurence wondered what he should say if the police questioned him. What would Marcus say? Perhaps he should wait until he had had a chance to talk to the boy before he spoke to anyone else.

  Laurence felt the familiar tendrils of anxiety curl around his chest. He reached into his jacket pocket, reassured by the bottle of pills resting there.

  Poor Caitlin. Laurence hadn’t known her that well, but whenever he visited the cathedral café, Caitlin had been there with the others. She was hard to miss in a group that included only one other woman, Angie Dent. With her bubblegum-pink hair, she reminded him of Cyndi Lauper, an American singer he’d fancied back in the eighties. He began to hum one of her songs, something about girls and fun. Hadn’t Leon and Gray met Cyndi once?

  Laurence walked up Leon’s drive to the front door. When Leon answered, Laurence understood that he had called at a bad time. Leon was in his dressing gown. His hair had a damp, sweaty sheen and his face was flushed. Leon stood just inside the door and Laurence sensed that he wasn’t welcome.

  “Er . . . this isn’t a good time,” Leon said. He glanced over his shoulder towards the elegant staircase.

  Laurence looked up, saw a movement at an upstairs window and caught a glimpse of naked torso and fair hair. Laurence stared at Leon in disbelief.

  “Did Gray know? You always said he was the love of your life.” Laurence’s voice shook. “Where were you really, at the weekend?”

  “Laurence, dear chap. It’s not what you think . . .”

  Laurence stumbled back down the path. He was in turmoil. He needed to see Maxine but she was at work. He couldn’t turn up at the café in a state like this.

  He crunched along the newly gritted pavement. All the old, exaggerated feelings about Leon Warrior rumbled inside him. Leon had threatened his tour business, his very livelihood. Laurence was angry, bitter. Leon had betrayed Gray. How could he do this? By the time he reached home and the sanctuary of his study, Laurence was barely in control. Maxine mustn’t see him like this. He reached for his bottle of pills and prayed for calm.