Marriage is Murder

by Jean G. Goodhind

‘I wish to report a theft,’ she said to the duty sergeant.

  Once he’d put his eyeballs back in, he cleared his throat and licked the end of his pencil, then realising times had moved on, put it down and turned to his computer screen.

  ‘Right, madam. If you would like to give me the details.’

  Neither Honey nor Doherty had any idea that the woman Marietta had caught in bed with her husband, was outside reporting a crime.

  The evidence room was a chilly place bound by cupboards, files and fridges – all those places where necessary evidence could be kept safe and sound.

  Honey badly wanted to feel the material of the wedding dress, but was aware that doing so would contaminate the evidence.

  ‘Lovely dress,’ she mused.

  ‘I dare say it is. Was it the one you saw her get married in?’

  Honey shook her head. ‘No. Quite frankly this is a bit of a meringue. Marietta had a gorgeous figure and wore a dress that showed it off to best advantage. It was a sheath design, you know, clung in all the right places. And her veil was short, not at all like this one.’

  Once she signalled she was done, Doherty grunted at Carole to see the dress was returned to where they’d got it.

  He closed the door to his office. At one time he’d shared it with another officer but someone from Health and Safety had since decreed that it was too small an office for two to share. Quite frankly the ‘elf was right. One desk and it was cramped. Two desks and it was skinny people only.

  ‘Has Ahmed been in yet?’

  ‘Yes. First thing. He was pretty upset about his car being nicked. He’d borrowed money from a family member to buy it on the understanding they would take a percentage of the profits. We can’t let him have the car back just yet until it’s been fully checked over.’

  ‘That’s likely to make a hole in his takings. No wonder he wants it back. He said he had bookings.’

  ‘Yep. But not one for your friend Marietta. We showed him her photo, but he didn’t recognise her. Not that we’d expected him to. His statement checks out. There are a number of houses overlooking the block of garages where he keeps his car. It was a warm night and the end house was having a barbecue. They waved to him when he left. He told them he’d forgotten his keys to the lockup and they assured him they’d keep an eye on it. Fat chance. A few burgers and beers and it was all over.’

  ‘Probably in the early hours of the morning?’

  ‘More than likely.’

  ‘Somebody’s got an issue here. What was the point of stealing a wedding car and dolling two women up in wedding dresses? There’s some meaning to it.’

  ‘Though not to us.’

  ‘Not yet anyway.’

  She eyed him thoughtfully.

  ‘Say what you want to say,’ he said locking his eyes with hers.

  ‘Don’t you think it odd that all this – dead brides – might be tied up with the nutcase warning us against getting married.’

  ‘You could have a point.’

  She chewed her lips as she carefully considered what it was she wanted to say.

  ‘What I mean is, whoever is warning us off marriage by letter might also be doing the same by deed. You know, there’s nothing to put a bride off trotting down the aisle like the prospect of having her head bashed in.’

  ‘I take your point. Oh, and by the way, there was no sign of insulin in the second murder. Just a bash over the head.’

  He was considering her feelings referring to Marietta’s death as the second murder rather than mentioning her name. It helped. Better still to change the subject.

  ‘Hmm. I think I might not go for a white wedding after all. What do you think?’

  Doherty grinned. His hand slid beneath her hair.

  ‘How about we just have the honeymoon?’

  ‘Asking me to marry you requires more commitment than torrid sex for two weeks in the sun.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ he said, cupping her cheek before bringing his lips down to meet hers. ‘We can play let’s pretend like when we were kids.’

  ‘Did you ever play doctors and nurses?’ she asked.

  ‘My favourite game.’

  Her knees were weak by this time. My, but Doherty was one hell of a kisser!

  The rat a tat tat of knuckles on bare wood prevented things progressing any further.

  The Wizard popped his head round the door. He smiled and nodded at Honey.

  ‘Hello Mrs Driver. As always nice to see you. How’s that mother of yours?’

  ‘Absent without leave.’

  The Wizard chuckled. ‘Well if she can’t be off doing ‘er own thing at ‘er age, then when can she.’

  ‘How come everyone knows what my mother should be doing better than I do?’

  ‘She’s still the adult; you’re still the kid – no disrespect intended. It’s an age thing you see. The nearer you are in age to the subject of conversation, the more you understand. Um...’ Realising he was going off on a tangent that had nothing to do with why he was here, Wizard cleared his throat and fixed his attention on his superior officer.

  ‘There’s a woman outside to see you, sir. A Miss Carolina Sherise. And very nice she is too.’

  Honey looked at Doherty. A nerve jerked in his cheek. Wasn’t Carolina Sherise supposed to be in Spain with Harold Clinker?

  ‘That’ll be all, thank you,’ said Doherty dismissively. Not that The Wizard took much notice.

  ‘’I’m sure I’ve seen her before,’ he said, frowning and scratching his spiky grey hair with one finger.

  ‘I’ve got it. She’s a model!’ exclaimed the Wizard.

  ‘Not that I’m aware of,’ murmured Doherty who recalled clearly that Carolina Sherise had introduced herself as an exotic dancer.

  ‘I’m sure she is. Not one of these skinny birds that model clothes at fashion shows and stuff. More the Littlewoods type; you know, mail order catalogues, modelling underwear and stuff.’

  Doherty peered at him. ‘Right. So we all know which pages of a catalogue you study when you’re thumbing through looking for screwdrivers and lawnmowers.’

  The Wizard was unfazed. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Get out Potter, and bring the young lady in.’

  Doherty sat down and gestured for Honey to do likewise. As there were only two chairs and Carolina would want one, she perched on the corner of the desk.

  A cloud of perfume accompanied Carolina entering the room as though she owned it. If the room was cramped before, it was more than cramped now. Carolina was easily six feet tall and from the top of her head to the tips of her varnished toenails, she was impeccably groomed. The clothes were tight and moulded to her frame because her flesh was tight; this girl worked out. Running, gymnastics, weight lifting; the whole shooting match. It made Honey sick to even think about it.

  Carolina’s perfect teeth flashed in the winning smile she shared between them.

  Doherty acted as though he were Prince Charming, inviting her to sit down, asking if she would like a drink or anything.

  Carolina smiled the confident smile of somebody who knows how to tickle a man’s fancy – and anything else for that matter.

  Doherty acted as though he were smitten; putty in her long fingered hands.

  Honey knew he really knew how to play pretend. Be disarmingly charming and get the other party on your side.

  Carolina’s earrings made a tinkling sound when she smiled. Her teeth were as bright and white as a shark. Her bite was likely just as sharp.

  ‘I’m told you wish to report a theft,’ said Doherty. Resting his elbows on the desk, he clasped his hands together beneath his chin. It made him look boyish; vulnerable. Easy meat for somebody like the long limbed exotic dancer sitting opposite him. ‘Perhaps you could tell me what it was.’

  ‘A wedding dress. I left it in the back of my car, and when I came to look for it, it was gone.’

  ‘You’re getting married?’

  Honey received a warning look from Doherty. It w
asn’t her place to ask questions, but it seemed a bit rich seeing as Carolina had only recently been to bed with somebody else’s husband.

  ‘The wedding dress was for a photo shoot I did recently. The client gave me the dress once it was over.’ She shrugged her square shoulders. ‘You never know. I might meet the right man.’

  The smile flashed again. Doherty gave no indication that he’d even noticed.

  It then came to her that Carolina didn’t yet know who it was in the car. The veil had been over the victim’s face. Carolina was suggesting that whoever had murdered the woman had stolen her wedding dress.

  Before they had chance to go much further, there was another tapping at the door. This time it was Carole, the girl who had fancied the world of fashion then changed course and ended up making tea.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, but there are a load of journalists outside requesting a press conference.’

  Doherty looked at her in surprise. ‘That was quick. We haven’t released any details yet.’

  ‘It’s not that sir,’ she said, looking swiftly from Doherty, her eyes settling on the glamorous woman wearing clothes Carole could only dream of. ‘It’s Miss Sherise. They’ve been told her wedding dress was stolen and a murder victim was found wearing it. There’s also a Manuel Glipp in the reception waiting for Miss Sherise. He’s from that reality TV show. You know, celebrities living on a campsite miles from anywhere. Apparently the next one’s in Tuscany...’ Carole threw Carolina a flashing smile. ‘I think they’re onto you, Miss Sherise.’

  Carolina preened like a pedigree cat winning first prize at a championship show. Slowly and purposefully, she crossed one long leg over another, her toothpaste smile firmly fixed on Doherty.

  ‘My agent, I’m afraid. He doesn’t believe in letting the grass grow under our feet...’

  Her long frame unfolded from sitting to half standing.

  ‘Stay right where you are!’

  ‘My dear man,’ said Sherise, unaware that her cloying condescension would only make Doherty angrier. ‘It was my dress. It was stolen, so I have every right...’

  ‘Sit down.’

  ‘But I...’ It finally got through to her that Doherty was far from pleased. Still smiling she gave in. ‘Very well,’ she said with a sigh as she sank back onto the chair. ‘Have it your way.’

  ‘Where’s Harold Clinker?’

  She looked at him in total surprise. ‘What’s he got to do with this? He didn’t steal my dress.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  She giggled. ‘It wouldn’t fit him.’

  Doherty’s look was frosty enough to freeze her butt to the chair.

  ‘Miss Sherise. A woman has been found murdered in the village.’

  ‘So I heard, but I don’t see what that’s got to do with...’

  ‘Marietta Hopkins!’

  Carolina’s glossy confidence disappeared. ‘Marietta,’ she whispered. ‘It was Marietta?’

  ‘Mrs Driver here identified the person found dead as Marietta Clinker, formerly Mary Hopkins, Mr Clinker’s wife. As you may recall, we were summoned to Belvedere House as the result of a call you put in to us. Mr Clinker had physically abused his wife. Do you recall that, Miss Sherise?’

  Although Carolina had a modestly brown complexion, she visibly paled. Her eyes opened wide, a striking grey and amazing contrast to her skin tone.

  ‘Why?’

  Honey had held her tongue up until now, but the time had come to blab regardless of her civilian status.

  ‘I knew Marietta. OK, she liked the good things of life, the bling, the bubbly and being on the arm of somebody with a fair sized bank account. But she didn’t deserve to die in such bizarre circumstances.’

  Doherty stepped in. ‘She was wearing a wedding dress, Miss Sherise. Mrs Driver assures me it was not the one she got married in. Was it your wedding dress?’

  ‘I don’t know...I don’t...’ Carolina threw her head from side to side as if she might do the same with the truth; fling it away as though it didn’t exist.

  Doherty took over. ‘Where is Harold Clinker?’

  ‘I don’t know...he was in hospital...

  ‘So you knew he was in hospital. Was it you who put him there? Was it you who attacked him in the churchyard?’

  ‘No! Of course I didn’t. I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘But you knew he was in the hospital. Did Marietta tell you that?’

  ‘Look,’ said Carolina, looking less like a TV star and more like a wide-eyed puppet. ‘I haven’t seen Marietta or Harold since the incident when you were called. Then I heard about this woman being found wearing a wedding dress. I just thought....’

  ‘That you would take advantage of it,’ said Honey who was feeling sicker by the minute. ‘For the sake of your career. You not only bedded her husband in her own home, you are a totally self- centred cow!

  Doherty insisted she look at the dress before she left. ‘Seeing as you think it may be yours.’

  She frowned when she saw it.

  Honey stood back, watching and listening but not making comment. Doherty had warned her not to.

  ‘Is it your dress?’

  Carolina shook her head.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Doherty.

  On seeing Carolina’s expression, Honey guessed immediately what was coming next.

  A scowl came to the lovely face. ‘I wouldn’t be seen dead in a dress like that.’

  ‘The boys in the office asked if you’ve got any autographed photos,’ Doherty asked suddenly, taking Honey completely by surprise. He threw her a warning look and she knew instantly that he was up to something.

  Her response was instant and dramatic. ‘I most certainly do!’

  Carolina Sherise opened her handbag and brought out an envelope containing a number of photographs.

  ‘Portrait or full frontal?’ She smiled at Doherty meaningfully. To his credit, he managed not to blanch at the prospect that full frontal might be one of her in the nude. As it turned out it wasn’t; Carolina explained that she was always armed with photographs just in case the big deal came knocking.

  ‘Have you a pen?’

  Doherty obliged. Carolina willingly signed a number of photographs.

  ‘Can you leave us a few of each,’ Doherty asked her. Carolina was more than pleased to do so.

  ‘I’ll have one portrait and one full frontal,’ said Honey once Carolina was gone.

  Doherty narrowed his eyes and a grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. ‘You’re just curious to see whether she’s got her clothes on.’

  Honey tossed her head. ‘It makes no difference to me. I just want to know who killed Marietta. That woman isn’t exactly weeping is she.’

  Doherty leaned forward and tapped her nose. ‘You know what happened to the wooden puppet who didn’t tell the truth...’

  ‘Yes. His nose grew. But I’m not jealous of her. Honest I’m not.’

  As expected, Carolina looked good on both photos.

  Legs long enough to knit a tennis net, Carolina presented quite a picture especially seeing as she was wearing little more than a few sequins and a feather which looked as though it were sticking out from between the cheeks of her bottom. She guessed it was just the camera angle.

  ‘I need more than one of this one. I’ll never get it back. Fancy posing like that!’

  Doherty smiled. ‘Fancy.’

  Honey read his look and heard his hopeful tone. She paused by the door.

  ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  He shrugged whilst wearing his best little boy hurt look.

  ‘What have you got against a few sequins and a feather in private?’

  ‘I’m allergic to the glue that sequins are fastened with, and feathers make me sneeze!’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Lindsey had taken her mother unawares. Honey did her best to look innocent and to hide the catalogue of Italian clothes she’d been referring to. Wom
en with stick figures and impeccable manicures modelled the gorgeous clothes in the catalogue.

  In a knee jerk response to meeting the gorgeous Carolina, Honey was in the process of trying on clothes.

  Carolina had unnerved her with her great height, flashing white teeth and perfect complexion. She was beautiful. No wonder Harold Clinker had shunned the normal rules of his marriage and taken her to bed – the marriage bed that up until then had been sacrosanct to him and his wife.

  Honey sighed. Clothes were made for women like her with long legs and fatless figures not figures with lumpy bits and the need for firm control undergarments.

  The clothes worn by Carolina and the women in the catalogue were not available in Marks and Spencer. In dramatically vivid colours, they were breath taking, dramatic and beautifully presented in combinations Honey would never have thought of.

  Mixing jade with flowery jackets, and coral with purple, she’d done her best. Once satisfied she was close to the style of the model in the magazine, she had then surveyed the final effect in the mirror.

  Lindsey had taken her unawares.

  ‘Do you think I need liposuction?’ Honey asked. She prodded at her hips. ‘Here and here.’

  Lindsey picked up the magazine and flicked through it. After perusing a page or two, she shook her head. ‘No. It’s not pounds you need to lose. It’s years.’

  ‘Thanks a bundle!’

  ‘So what’s brought this on?’

  ‘My wedding,’ Honey exclaimed even though it wasn’t really the truth. ‘I have to look good for my wedding.’

  The glamorous photos of Carolina Sherise chose that moment to slide out of the centre of the magazine where she’d been using them as bookmarks and onto the floor. Lindsey picked them up.

  ‘Is this one of the models?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They fell out of the magazine. You know, like a free gift.’

  ‘No,’ Honey replied, more huffily this time because she couldn’t evade telling the truth.

  ‘She’s involved in the murder case.’

  ‘And she’s thin as a stick and gorgeous with it.’

  ‘No comment. OK. She’s a real clothes’ horse. I’m pretty certain she buys her clothes from this catalogue. Italian clothes. Don’t they look drop dead gorgeous?’