by JANICE FROST
“I’m off out with a new friend to see a movie. Only met her a couple of days ago, but we have a lot in common.”
Neal asked what she was going to see.
“Oh, just some chick flick. You wouldn’t like it. That actor’s in it — the one you can’t stand.”
“Which one?” Neal called after her but Maggie was already out the door. Neal settled down to eat alone at the kitchen table. Perhaps he should get a dog, he thought. He could take it for long walks on the common and get to know some other dog walkers, maybe even female ones.
* * *
Maxine Brand walked into Accident and Emergency and scanned the people waiting there. Laurence was nowhere to be seen. Not knowing if that was a good or bad sign, she approached the helpdesk and was directed to a door protected by an intercom.
Eventually a nurse in pink scrubs let Maxine in and pointed to a cubicle with curtains drawn around it. Maxine slipped inside. Her heart lurched at the sight of her husband. Laurence lay fast asleep on the bed in his customary jeans and navy Berghaus fleece. His clothes were spattered with blood. She stared sadly at the bandages on his hands and the cuts and bruises on his face. She remembered that other time and place when she had been confronted with a similar scene — the man she loved lying in a hospital bed, hurt and vulnerable. She feared it would not be the last time she saw him like this.
“Oh, Laurie,” she whispered, stroking his face gently. “Not again.”
“Maxine?” She took his hand and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I’m here, Laurie.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She was silent.
“Leon isn’t pressing charges.”
Relief flooded through her. “You’re sure?”
“The police have been. They told me. It’s alright, Maxine.”
For whom? Maxine thought. How generous her husband’s victims were! Laurence could evoke sympathy in a psychopath. “You know they’ll probably check your record anyway?”
Laurence nodded, miserably.
“We won’t move this time, Laurie. I won’t move.” Maxine bent forward and kissed him on the lips.
He smiled at her, tears of gratitude welling up in his eyes.
* * *
After leaving the hospital, Maxine Brand went straight back to work. Helen Alder looked at her questioningly as she walked into the kitchen area. Normally the café would be closed by this time in the evening, but they were catering for a private function. Maxine was glad to be busy and around other people, especially Helen, whose support and discretion she knew she could rely on.
“Well?” Helen said. “How bad is it?”
Maxine sat down and let Helen pour her some tea. “Pretty bad.” She sighed. “But at least Leon’s not going to press charges. I’m just worried that the police might think Laurence had something to do with . . . what happened to Gray, or Caitlin. Oh, Helen, I can’t believe what’s been happening lately.” At last she cried. It brought a welcome release. Helen held her, making soothing noises and stroking her back, telling her to let it all out.
“I love Laurie, but Stromford’s my home now. I’m not starting over this time. I’ve told Laurie. No more running away.”
“Good,” said Helen.
She had never come right out and said it, but Maxine knew Helen thought she should never have given Laurence a second chance.
Chapter 13
Marcus Collins arrived and was seated in the interview room. Neal and Ava had been about to tuck into the bacon butties they’d brought in for breakfast.
“Thanks for coming in, Marcus,” Ava began. “We’re hoping that you can help us out with some questions.” Again, she thought. It was only a couple of days since she had spoken with Marcus about Gray Mitchell’s death.
The boy seated across the table from them looked utterly miserable — and hung-over. At nineteen, he was nearly eight years younger than Caitlin Forest, but Ava could see why a woman Caitlin’s age might be attracted to him. He was not conventionally handsome, but he had a good physique.
“First off, Marcus, we know that you were seeing Caitlin Forest. We spoke with Laurence Brand this morning and he confirmed that you confided in him the night before last. He also mentioned that you’d spent time with Caitlin earlier yesterday and that she’d broken up with you. Like to tell us what that was all about?”
“We kept it a secret because that’s what Caitlin wanted. I’m not sure why,” said Marcus.
Ava nodded.
“When we saw each other after work yesterday, Caitlin told me she wanted to break up with me. I . . . I didn’t want to. I tried to persuade her to change her mind.”
“What did Laurence Brand advise you to do?”
“He said I should respect Caitlin’s decision. He said Caitlin probably wasn’t the one for me — plenty of other girls, you know, the sort of stuff anyone would say. I left feeing upset and decided to get wasted.”
“You sent Caitlin a text. A pretty nasty one. Abusive, even,” said Ava.
Marcus put his head in his hands. “I was wasted. I went to the pub, then the offie on the way home. I didn’t even remember sending it till late this morning. I wouldn’t have said those things if I’d been sober, you have to believe me.”
“What time did you leave the pub, and which one was it? We’ll also need the name of that off-licence you say you went to. I’m assuming you’re going to say you went home and drank alone afterwards?”
“I did go home,” Marcus said. “I drank some more, then texted Caitlin and then I crashed out.” He gave Ava the name of the pub and the off-licence he’d visited. If the times checked out, he would have been home alone when Caitlin was murdered. Then he’d have no alibi.
“Okay, Marcus. You probably realise that sending an abusive text to someone is a serious business. Together with Caitlin’s murder only hours after you sent the text, things look pretty bad for you. Do you understand?”
Marcus squinted at Ava. No doubt he had the mother of all headaches “Are you going to arrest me?”
“Not at the moment,” Ava said. “But we will need to book you and take some fingerprints. You’ll also be asked if you’ll give your consent to a DNA test. I strongly urge you to do so. If you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear. We’ll be looking closely at any forensic evidence found at the scene that might put you there and it can only be a good thing if we fail to match it to you.”
“I didn’t hurt Caitlin, I promise,” Marcus said, on the verge of tears.
“Take the test,” Ava advised.
She and Neal stood up, leaving Marcus to ponder.
Chapter 14
Ava was curled up on her sofa with her fat cat, Camden, watching an episode of Spacedrifters. Science fiction wasn’t really her thing, but she kept an open mind. The operatic opening credits seemed to last forever. They featured a whole parade of stars from the seventies and eighties, many of whom had disappeared without a trace.
Ava recognised Warrior immediately. He hadn’t changed much in the years since the programme was made. He was dressed in a rather unflattering muddy green jumpsuit with flared trouser legs. It seemed to be a sort of uniform for the band of renegades of which he was a member. His acting was a bit hammy, his accent affected and unconvincing, but he was no worse than some other members of the cast.
The first half hour was boring. The action picked up when the band of renegades hijacked a spaceship and escaped their home planet pursued by government agents. Ava found herself rooting for Leon and his little band of rebels. She even watched the second episode and then the third. Around eleven, Ollie came downstairs to say goodnight. Ava was about to reach for the remote to turn the DVD off when a scantily clad woman on the screen caught her eye. She hit the pause button.
“Who’s that?” she asked Ollie.
“That’s Tara Smythe,” her brother answered. “She was only in that one episode. I think she had an accident or something.”
“Does she remind you of
anyone?” Ava asked.
Ollie stared at the screen. “Nope.”
“Don’t you think she looks a bit like George Irons?”
Ollie looked again. He shrugged.
“Let me see that picture of you and George you’ve got on your mobile.”
Ollie took out his phone. He found the picture he’d shown Ava a few days ago, of him and George goofing around at school. He stared at the picture, then at the screen again, and passed the phone to Ava. “Still can’t see it.”
Ava studied picture and screen until her eyes hurt. “I get it. It’s not George Irons she looks like, it’s his father, Ray. George looks a bit like both of them, that’s why I thought of him first. They must be related.”
Ollie stared again. “Nope, still don’t see it.”
“You never were much good with faces.”
“I could ask George if a relative of his was in the show,” Ollie offered.
“No, best not to. We can check it out.” Ava looked at the clock, “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“Had to finish another essay. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“I’m just going to finish this episode.”
“Told you it was good,” Ollie said.
Ava was thinking that watching Spacedrifters might not have been a complete waste of her time after all.
“Night, Ollie,” she said. She picked up the remote and Tara Smythe’s pretty face came alive.
* * *
As soon as she met Neal the following morning, Ava announced her discovery. “Tara Smythe,” she said. “Model and actress. Dated Leon Warrior with whom she appeared briefly in an episode of Spacedrifters. Sister of . . . wait for it . . .”
“Ray Irons?”
Ava looked so deflated that Neal added, “Lucky guess.” It really had been, and he had no idea where it came from.
“I waded through three episodes of that drivel to make this discovery,” Ava grumbled. “You could have held off for my big revelation.”
Neal smiled. “Good work, Ava. Have you had a chance to follow it up?”
“I went Google mad last night, looking for information on Tara Smythe. There wasn’t a lot — she died so young. She was dating Leon when he was in Spacedrifters, and it’s likely he helped her get her role. Prior to that she’d been modelling, but nothing big time. Her career probably wouldn’t have amounted to much, even if she’d lived to pursue it . . .”
Neal nodded.
“So. Here’s the interesting bit. Tara died around the time Warrior was dropped from the show. I couldn’t find a scrap of information to tie these facts together. Then Ollie told me that George Irons said Warrior had left the series because of some scandal or other. He remembered his father saying something about it. But if Ray Irons did know something, why didn’t he go to the police? I guess he’d been in enough trouble with the police by that time. I’ll pull up whatever I can on the investigation and see what else I can dig up.” She paused. “Warrior’s starting to look like a bit of a shit, isn’t he, sir?”
“Hunt’s given me a preliminary report on Caitlin Forest,” said Neal. “Death occurred following multiple stab wounds to the neck and chest. Hunt thinks she probably knew her attacker. There were no defensive cuts to her hands or arms, indicating that she allowed him or her to get up close. She was probably taken by surprise, with no time to react. I’m convinced we’re looking at a single killer here, yet the methods used are so different. One seemingly planned and the other risky and random.”
“I suppose the killer could be the only factor in play,” Ava suggested. “Like, the motives in each case were entirely unconnected, but the first killing unleashed something in the killer’s psyche that had lain dormant — a desire to kill or simply seeing killing as a convenient way of getting rid of a problem, or getting what he or she wanted . . .” Ava tailed off.
Neal liked this sort of thinking aloud. He believed it was a creative process that set up new pathways in the brain. Connections could be made and coincidences rationalised.
“Maybe they’d killed before. Killing becomes a response, a solution to a problem, and the method depends on the killer’s state of mind at the time. Controlled when there’s no overpowering emotion or no sense of urgency, frenzied when strong emotions are involved.” Ava hesitated. “Two people in one? Or one person who sometimes loses control . . . like . . . Laurence Brand?”
“Hmm,” Neal said. “I’m all for getting into the psyche of the killer, but we’re not trained forensic psychologists.” Ava looked disgruntled. “Interesting theory, though. But let’s just make sure we do the police work before jumping to conclusions.”
“Let’s see what PJ’s come up with on Brand,” he said.
Ava tapped on the glass to attract PJ’s attention and signalled to her to come inside.
“He has a record,” PJ confirmed. “Arrested on two separate occasions for assault. In both cases, he was let off when his victims refused to press charges. But he did submit to a psych evaluation which led to a diagnosis of possible bipolar disorder, though not the severe type. Apparently there are degrees . . .”
“Details?” Neal asked.
“First time, he was in his early twenties. He had a sort of delusional episode and attacked a fellow student at his university during an exam. Apparently he became convinced that the student was reading his mind and stealing his answers. Second occasion was at his last school job. He leapt over the head teacher’s desk and tried to throttle him. Two supply teachers managed to restrain him and the head agreed not to press charges as long as Brand resigned. That was five years ago. Brand resigned and was out of work for a couple of years. Then he moved to Stromford and set up his Roman tour business.”
“What was the motivation for the second attack?” Neal asked.
“Apparently Brand was delusional again. He thought he was protecting a pupil whom he believed the head was abusing.”
“Was he?” Ava asked.
“Not according to the pupil. He’d never even been in the same room as the head. There was no suspicion from any quarter that the head was guilty.”
“Thanks, PJ.”
“Wow,” Ava said after PJ had left Neal’s office. “I know, I know. It’s not nearly enough to bring him in, but given his record and the fact that he has no alibi . . .”
“Let’s not forget Marcus,” Neal reminded her.
“No, sir.” Ava made for the door. Neal called after her.
“Ava. I trust your date with Dr Agard went well last night?”
Ava coloured.
“PJ mentioned it this morning.” Neal didn’t add that in fact he had overheard PJ mention it to PC Winters at the water cooler.
“It was good,” Ava said.
“Good,” Neal said, and suddenly there it was again, that awkwardness between them. After Ava was gone, Neal sat, staring at his computer screen, until he roused himself to stab out an email to DCI George Lowe — an overdue update on the case so far.
* * *
Outside Neal’s office, Ava made a face at PJ. “What’s up?” her friend asked.
“You. Telling tales about my date with Joel.”
“What are you on about? I never mentioned it to anyone — well, except Faye Winters.”
“So how does Neal know about it?”
“He must have overheard. I seem to remember him hovering around the water cooler at the time we were talking. Hey, Ava, d’you think he’s jealous?” Only a month ago, PJ would have hated the idea, but now she was slowly but surely being won over by Steve Bryce. The DS had been carrying a torch for her for as long as Ava could remember.
“Don’t be an idiot, Peej. He’s my boss. Even if he did fancy me, he’d be stupid to act on it. And before you say anything, no, I’m not interested in Jim Neal. So no blabbing, okay?”
PJ smirked. “Okay. By the way, I’ve got the artist’s impression of the kid Faye’s friend described.”
Ava stood behind PJ as she brought the picture up. The face on the s
creen resembled no one she had come across in the investigation. It was certainly not Marcus Collins. It would be worth checking with Laurence Brand to see if it matched the face he had seen at Leon Warrior’s bedroom window. And, of course, they needed Warrior to confirm whether the mystery boy was indeed his lover. It was important that they discover the nature of Gray’s relationship with this young man as soon as possible.
“Thanks, Peej. We need to find out who this young man is.”
“I’ll get on it.” They were interrupted by an urgent tapping at Neal’s window. The DI was gesticulating at Ava.
“Better see what he wants,” Ava said.
“I’ve just had a call from Gray Mitchell’s sister, Carrie Howard. Her flight got in last night and she’s eager to speak with us.” Leon had already let them know that Mitchell’s sister was coming. Apparently she was desperate to learn what had happened to her brother.
“She wanted to know if we could meet her at her hotel. She sounded a bit jet-lagged but insisted she was up to talking to us.”
“She’s not staying with Leon?”
“Not a big fan, apparently.”
* * *
Carrie Howard was staying at a five-star hotel on the Long Hill.
Gray’s sister was waiting for them in the bar, where she’d asked them to meet her. It was immediately obvious which of the women in the room was Carrie Howard. She bore no resemblance to her brother, but she was wearing a New York Yankees sweatshirt. She stood at the bar, pouring Budweiser into a glass.
“Carrie Howard?” Neal asked.
“That’s me.” She looked surprised.
“Inspector Neal. We spoke on the phone.” He introduced Ava.
“Well, how d’ya like that?” Carrie said. “I saw you two walking through the door and would have bet my life you were a couple of lovebirds. I’m not often wrong about these things, y’know.” She winked at Ava who didn’t dare look at Neal.
“Now, can I buy you good folks a drink?”
“I’ll get them,” Neal said. He signalled to Ava to move Carrie Howard away from the bar.
“Let’s have a seat over there,” Ava suggested, nodding at an empty table. Carrie filled the double seat along the back wall, her backside too wide for a stool. Her belly pushed against the table and Ava politely pulled it out to give her room.