Detectives Merry & Neal Books 1-3

by JANICE FROST

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Ava said.

  Carrie nodded, emptying her beer glass in a gulp. “Honey, I lost Gray the day he took up with that asshole, Leon Warrior.”

  “You didn’t like Leon?” Ava asked, glancing at the bar, where Neal was failing to attract the attention of the barman.

  “Let’s just say we didn’t get along,” Carrie said.

  “We? You mean it was mutual?”

  “Uh huh, it sure was. From the minute I set eyes on that man, I knew he was bad news — and he knew I knew it too. I have a gift, you see, young lady. Ever see that movie about the kid who sees dead people?”

  Ava’s heart sank. “Sixth Sense?”

  “That’s the one. Well, I don’t see dead people. I see live people.”

  “Oh. You mean like you’re sort of good at reading people? Summing them up, kind of? Like a psychologist.”

  Carrie Howard stared at Ava. “I see them. You know, right into their souls.”

  “Ah.” Ava hoped that Neal would be stuck at the bar for a bit longer. Long enough for Carrie Howard to stop talking nonsense.

  “I have a kind of sixth sense about people, and I could tell Leon Warrior was a bad man. Just like I can tell that you’re a good person, and that you’re a little troubled right now.” Carrie leaned forward. Her chins and neck merged. “On account of him.” She jerked her head in the direction of the bar. Neal was finally handing a ten pound note to the barman. “He’s a good person, too, by the way. That’s all I’m sayin’, honey. He’s coming over.”

  She leaned back as Neal set down their drinks. Ava hoped the flaky part of their conversation was now over.

  “How long are you here for, Mrs Howard?” Neal asked. Ava was wondering what Carrie would say next.

  “Until after Gray’s funeral. I got nothing to rush back for. I’m divorced and my kids are in college out of state.”

  “You’re not staying with Leon Warrior?” Neal asked.

  Ava kicked him under the table. “Carrie and Leon don’t get on,” she said. Then she asked, “Were you surprised that your brother was willing to move here to be with Leon?”

  Carrie shrugged. “Gray was besotted. I knew there was nothing I could have said or done to stop him.” She shivered. “Gray didn’t like to be cold, and he must have hated the weather here after LA.” It was the nearest Carrie Mitchell had come to being emotional.

  “Were you and Gray close?” Ava asked.

  “Used to be.”

  "Before Leon, you mean?” Ava prompted.

  Carrie shook her head. “Before Gray decided he was a homo.”

  As jaw-dropping moments go, that one was right up there, Ava confessed to Neal later. Neither of them had seen it coming and they stared at Carrie in disbelief.

  “I’m a Christian,” Carrie said, as if that justified her bigotry. “You shall not lie with a male as with a woman. It is an abomination. Leviticus 18:22.”

  Her voice seemed to resonate around the bar and Ava looked around, embarrassed. To her relief, no heads were turning their way. Then it occurred to Ava that Carrie’s words didn’t chime with the fact that she’d travelled over five thousand miles to attend her brother’s funeral. Though they did explain her dislike of Leon.

  “When did Gray come out, Mrs Howard?”

  “As a young man, back in the eighties. I warned him God would punish him and all his kind, and he did, didn’t he?”

  Ava stared at her.

  “AIDS,” said Neal, icily.

  “Um . . . Mrs Howard . . .” Ava suddenly had no idea what she had meant to ask.

  “Mrs Howard,” Neal said. “Why did you ask to speak with us?”

  “To tell you Leon Warrior killed my brother.”

  “Do you have any way of backing up that statement?”

  “I know it in here,” Carrie Howard said, placing a hand on her breast.

  “You mean, in your heart?” Ava said.

  “That’s right, honey. Like I told you, I know people, and I know that man killed Gray.”

  Neal said, “Mrs Howard, I’d like you to know that we are conducting a thorough investigation into your brother’s death. But as I’m sure you can appreciate, we need to be able to back up any accusation with solid evidence.”

  “You’ll find it. The Lord will lead you to it, I know, Inspector Neal.”

  Ava felt there was little point in carrying on the conversation, but Neal plodded on.

  “Were you in regular contact with Gray, Mrs Howard? Did he contact you recently and express any concerns about anything?”

  Carrie Howard took a slug of beer and made an exaggerated show of thinking. “We didn’t speak all that often. Gray and I had differences of opinion on a lot of things.”

  No surprise there, thought Ava. Carrie Howard made Ray Irons look tolerant. At least he was up front about his prejudices. Carrie justified hers with religion.

  Carrie shook her head. “Nope, can’t think of anything.” She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a belch, then yawned loudly. “I’m bushed. Must be jet-lag catching up on me.”

  More likely the booze, Ava thought.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” Carrie declared. “I’ll get you guys another coke when I get back.”

  “That’s alright, Mrs Howard. We have another appointment.” Neal was already standing up.

  “Guess I’ll go get some shut eye, then. Is that cathedral worth a visit? Might as well do a bit of sightseeing while I’m here.”

  Neal and Ava assured her that it was indeed worth a visit.

  * * *

  The minute they were out of earshot, Ava murmured to Neal, “She does know, doesn’t she? That her brother fell to his death from ‘that cathedral’?”

  “I suspect that’s part of the attraction,” Neal muttered. “Bloody waste of time that was. The woman’s a bigot. Probably believes the world was created in six days and evolution’s a load of bollocks. Beggars belief, doesn’t it?”

  Ava agreed. At the station, Neal was sometimes referred to as ‘Red Jim,’ because of his assumed political beliefs, which no one had actually heard him express. Jim Neal was a deeply guarded man. To Ava, it seemed that much of what was known about her colleague was a mixture of rumour and speculation. The rumours were based entirely on the small crumbs he scattered on the rare occasions when he’d had too much to drink. Even less was known about his personal life, except that he lived with his younger sister and his son. No one knew the truth about Archie’s mother and no one dared to ask.

  “I’m struggling to understand why she even bothered to come over,” Ava said. “I mean, it sounds like there wasn’t much love lost between them.”

  “No doubt she’s hoping to profit in some way from Gray’s death,” Neal said. “I don’t know if he and Warrior had a civil partnership. Unless Mitchell made a will, his sister might stand to benefit.”

  “They have a nice house,” Ava said, “but neither of them were A-list actors, and they were running a ghost tour business. That doesn’t shout big money to me.”

  “They weren’t A-listers, but both had steady work, especially when they were younger. If they’d saved and invested well, they’d be financially secure. You saw the antiques in that house of theirs.”

  “Do you think money’s a motive in this case?”

  “We can’t rule it out. If Warrior was tired of Mitchell and wanted him out of the way.”

  “That scenario makes it less likely that the same person killed Caitlin Forest. Why would Leon want her out of the way? Unless she knew something, but that’s unlikely. She’d had plenty of time to speak to the police between Mitchell’s death and her own.”

  Neal had no answers for Ava.

  The opening bars of the song, ‘Love is in the Air,’ sounded out from Ava’s pocket — Ollie had been at her phone again. Ava slipped it back unanswered. It was Joel Agard calling her, as he’d promised when they’d parted the evening before. Ava sneaked a look at Neal but he was staring straight
ahead. His coat collar was turned up against the biting cold, concealing most of his face. She remembered the awkwardness between them when Joel’s name came up earlier and had no desire to reawaken it.

  “This case is full of your unknown unknowns, sir. There seems to be a lot of stuff we don’t even know we don’t know.” She wasn’t quite sure if what she’d just said made any sense.

  Neal turned to her in surprise. “So you were listening.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  Chapter 15

  Neal was feeling a little uncomfortable about interviewing Angie Dent again. She was likely to be still reeling from the death of her best friend, but since she might actually be a suspect, he had no choice.

  He was hoping that, as Caitlin’s friend, she might be able to offer some insights. He was particularly keen to see if Angie could provide information that would link the deaths of Caitlin and Gray Mitchell.

  Neal had opted to interview Angie alone. Ava would follow up on her investigation into Leon Warrior’s history with Tara Smythe and Ray Irons. He’d also tasked Ava with visiting Warrior and Brand again and showing them the artist’s impression of the young man who had been seen with Gray Mitchell not long before his death.

  Maxine Brand smiled faintly at Neal as he walked into the cathedral café. He had arranged to speak with Angie Dent informally at the café. Neal needed to speak with Maxine about her husband’s history, possibly after he had talked to Angie Dent. Maxine poured him a coffee, the jug jerking in her unsteady hand.

  Angie was fifteen minutes late. She didn’t apologise, and even crossed over to the counter to pick up a coffee before joining Neal at his table. She had changed her hair, he noticed. A shorter style that a lot of famous female actors were sporting these days — a pixie cut, he thought it was called. The bubblegum pink was now a smooth, silvery blonde. She had a side parting and a fringe of hair falling over the left side of her forehead, softening the overall look. To Neal, she looked about sixteen, but it was hard to tell. Even when young women were make-up free, as Angie was today, it was difficult to tell how old they were.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to your friend,” Neal began. “I’m sure you must still be feeling upset and I’ll try to keep this brief so that you can get back to work.”

  Angie nodded.

  Neal wasn’t sure whether her muttered reply was a “thank you.”

  “How long had you known Caitlin?” Neal asked.

  Again, when she answered, Angie’s voice was almost indistinct. Neal had to lean forward to hear.

  “About a year. Since I started working in the gift shop. Caitlin came in one day and overhead me saying that I was looking for a place to stay. Her flatmate had just moved out. So I moved in.”

  “Would you say you got to know her well in that time?”

  “Yes. We became good friends. I haven’t had a lot of close friends because I moved about a lot when I was at school.” She gave a sob and used her napkin to dab away a tear.

  “Take your time,” Neal said. He noticed the dark circles under Angie’s eyes. “Couldn’t you take a little time off work?” he asked.

  Angie looked shocked. “Oh, no. I couldn’t bear to be alone. Believe me it’s much better to be around other people at a time like this — for me anyway.”

  Neal nodded. He asked Angie the usual questions about whether Caitlin had any enemies, whether she’d been behaving differently of late, whether she’d confided in Angie about any problems she was having. Angie’s responses were laconic, offering him no new insights.

  “You and Caitlin were part of a social circle that included the Brands and Helen Alder, Marcus Collins, Vincent Bone, Gray Mitchell and Leon Warrior, isn’t that right?”

  She flinched at the mention of Gray Mitchell’s name. Neal reminded himself that Angie had lost two friends in less than a week.

  “Caitlin had worked here for longer. She was friends with Vincent Bone and Laurence Brand and the rest of them and I sort of got included in their social get-togethers.”

  Another sob. Maybe Angie was contemplating her whole social network falling apart. Neal hoped she would manage to pick up the pieces, resist the urge she probably felt to pack up and move elsewhere.

  Neal was interested in learning more about Caitlin and Gray’s friendship. Their murders had been wildly different, yet they had occurred in the same time frame. It had to be more than just coincidence.

  “Were Caitlin and Gray particularly close?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Caitlin was a sweet person. Everybody loved her. And Gray was a sweet guy. I think they just sort of recognised the goodness in each other, know what I mean?”

  Neal nodded. It was obviously out of the question that Caitlin and Gray were involved in a sexual relationship.

  “I think Gray felt sort of protective of Caitlin. He was sort of, not exactly a father figure, maybe more like an uncle?”

  That would work, Neal thought. He had trouble forming a mental image of Caitlin. When he tried to recall what she looked like, only the incident room photograph of her dead and bloodied body came to mind.

  “Do you think the same person who killed Caitlin, killed Gray?” Angie asked. She was spooning cream off the top of a dessert-style coffee. “Everyone’s money’s on that homophobic guy Gray had a run in with. But why would he want to kill Caitlin?”

  Neal didn’t answer.

  “Did you know that Caitlin was seeing Marcus Collins?” he asked.

  “Everybody knows about that.”

  “They do now. But did she confide in you?”

  “Not exactly, but I guessed, and I think she knew I knew. I don’t know why she felt she had to make a big secret of it.”

  Had Caitlin worried that Angie would disapprove of the relationship? That she would be jealous, perhaps?

  He found Angie rather an elusive personality, not unlikeable, just a bit hard to categorise. The morning of Gray Mitchell’s death she’d come across as quite an assertive type. Today she seemed almost retiring. And she looked guarded, but he was one to talk.

  “I’m scared,” Angie suddenly blurted out. “What if the person who murdered Caitlin comes after me too?”

  It wasn’t a completely irrational fear, Neal thought. He did his best to reassure her, knowing she would continue to worry.

  “One more thing, Angie. Did you and Caitlin have a falling out at the party at Gray and Leon’s house a few nights before Gray’s death?”

  Angie looked startled. “Not that I remember,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s just that one of the other guests thought they saw you having a heated argument. They could have been mistaken.”

  “I really don’t remember. I had quite a lot to drink that night and I felt unwell, so we left early. If someone saw us quarrelling, it was probably over something stupid, you know.”

  “Not over Marcus, then?”

  “Why would we fight over Marcus? Do you think I was jealous or something?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my God! Please tell me you’re not thinking I killed Caitlin over Marcus? I thought you were supposed to be a detective? That’s the sort of stupid theory a kindergarten kid would come up with.”

  “It wasn’t an accusation. You and Caitlin were friends. It wouldn’t be the first time a relationship got in the way of a friendship.” He wouldn’t have persisted with this if Angie had not reacted so fiercely. She surely must have guessed that this question would be asked.

  “I don’t have an alibi for when Caitlin was killed. That’s something else you can go to town on, isn’t it? Why don’t you just cuff me right now and be done with it?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Come to think of it, I was with Caitlin the night Gray died and she isn’t here to vouch for me now, so why don’t you just pin that one on me too?”

  “Ms Dent . . . I think we’re finished for now. I’m sure you’d like to get back to work.”

  “Yeah, right. Well, I won’t be holding my breath wa
iting for you to find out who really killed Gray and Caitlin.” With that, she stood up, her chair teetering, and headed for the door.

  Neal hardly needed to look up. He knew he had an audience. Maxine and Helen Alder were staring at him, their faces both accusing and disapproving.

  Maxine came over and sat down opposite him. “That young girl has been through the wringer since she found out her best friend was murdered. You had no right to come in here upsetting her.”

  “I’m investigating two murders, Mrs Brand. How would you suggest I proceed?”

  At that moment, Helen Alder ramrodded the swing door to the kitchen with a tea tray. She brought it over and plonked it down on the table, in front of Neal and Maxine. As well as tea, Helen had provided scones and cream — comfort food for Maxine, no doubt. Neal was feeling a tad hungry and he reached for a scone, avoiding the cream. He didn’t feel want to put on the pounds. Unlike Ava, he was not a big fan of keeping fit.

  “Laurie isn’t a bad person,” Maxine blurted out. “He wouldn’t normally behave like that. It’s just he’s been under a lot of stress this week. Gray Mitchell was a good friend and his . . . murder upset Laurence greatly. My husband isn’t a criminal, Inspector.”

  “We know about the previous incidents when your husband lost control, Mrs Brand. And about his condition.” Neal spoke gently, but firmly. He watched her closely. He knew Maxine Brand was at least ten years younger than her husband. He wondered fleetingly what she had seen in Laurence Brand. Perhaps she had been attracted by his helplessness and vulnerability. There were people, nurturing types who were attracted by these characteristics. They were often drawn to the caring professions. Maxine had once been a social worker. It was obvious what Laurence Brand had seen in her. She was curvy, with luxuriant dark curls and a face that, back in Scotland, he would have described as ‘bonny.’

  “Laurie was stressed then too. I’m not making excuses for his behaviour, Inspector, but he really isn’t a violent man. Sometimes he just gets things out of proportion.”