Filigrees, Fortunes and Foul Play

by Emily Selby

  'I'll be with your shortly,' Chris said, even though the woman had yet to open her mouth.

  Vera Bower knew how to attract attention.

  She slid the shawl from her head. Katie tried her luck.

  'Hi Vera, can I help you?'

  Vera acknowledged Katie with a curt nod.

  'Can you buzz me in? I'm supposed to meet, what's-his-name for a chat at 10.30.'

  Katie covered her triumphant smile with her hand, feigning a cough.

  'Inspector Heaton?' she asked to make sure.

  'Yes.'

  'I can let him know,' Katie paused awaiting any potential protests from Chris. 'Please sign the visitors' book here',' Katie added and passed the book.

  Katie backed into the staff room and dialled the DI's number.

  'Vera Bower for you,' she said and hung up.

  What the heck does Vera Bower have to do with Phyllis Dunbar's death?

  Sadly, there was no one else to ask, so Katie retreated back to her office with a cup of fresh, steaming java.

  She was still sipping on it, while trying hard to focus on the reports, when a knock on the door interrupted her.

  'Hello?' she called out.

  'Katie, do you have a minute?' DI Heaton looked a little less self-assured than he had earlier, his hair was ruffled, but his voice still held the same velvety smoothness.

  A little bit of untidiness suited him rather well.

  'Sure.' She invited him inside and swiftly moved her handbag from the only chair not occupied by piles of documents. 'How can I help, Inspector?'

  DI Heaton rubbed his cheeks with both hands so hard his glasses slid off his perfectly shaped nose. He pushed them back into place in a decisive move.

  'Right,' he said and paused.

  Katie watched him closely, looking for a clue to his emotional state.

  'You look ... confused, Inspector,' she ventured after a couple of seconds' hesitation. 'And maybe even a tiny bit, if I dare to say so, frustrated,' she added in a smooth sentence. It was brave of her, but then she was dying of curiosity.

  The inspector let out a long sigh.

  'What do I need to do to get you people to talk to me? Is there an innate dislike of outsiders? Or do you speak another language here that I don't understand? Or maybe I'm difficult to understand?' His blue eyes stared pleadingly at her.

  For a second Katie wondered whether it was a rhetorical question, but the frustration in his expression seemed too genuine to ignore.

  'I'd say ask them questions, but then you'll probably tell me "Elementary, Watson," or something.'

  Heaton lifted both his eyebrows and nodded vigorously. Katie considered this an encouragement to continue.

  'But judging by the tone of your voice you're probably not getting the responses you were expecting. Am I correct?'

  He nodded again.

  Katie thought back to those two you-didn't-quite-let-me-talk interviews she had with him. And the "no-hunches, please, just hard facts" feel to them. If there was ever going to be the right time to tell him about it, this was it.

  'Maybe the way you ask the questions doesn't help.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Here, in Sunnyvale, we're less pressured and enjoy a good chat, so we tend to take a while to get to the point. I'd let the person talk.'

  'Never been good at small talk.'

  'And then...' She paused to make sure she had the word choice right. 'We're not always very logical. We meander. Have hunches. Gossip.'

  DI Heaton stared at her, his lips pursed.

  'I've noticed,' he said tightly.

  She let the conversation fall silent for a moment.

  Yeah, that's how we operate, mate. It's not going to be easy for you.

  'But why are you asking me for advice?' she asked. The worst she could hear was that he genuinely didn't know what to do. The best - that he fancied her. Oops!

  'Okay,' he said slowly and shifted in the chair. 'I might have missed some important points you were trying to convey. So, I wondered if you could go over it again.'

  He was capable of admitting to mistakes. It was nice, but could he take hunches?

  'Like what?'

  'For whatever reason, you seemed to be concerned about the cat being in the house. Why?'

  'Mrs Dunbar didn't like pets. She would never let a cat enter her house.'

  'Are you suggesting someone else let the cat in?'

  'Maybe. But the cat might have just entered by an open window. I felt a draft.'

  He nodded. 'The toilet window was open.'

  'I thought so. She didn't really use that toilet; she preferred the one in her en-suite. Plus, she would never open that window, you see. It didn't have a security blocker installed. She only opened the windows with security blockers.'

  The DI nodded.

  'When did you last clean the spare toilet?'

  'We had an agreement that I clean it every other week, because it was rarely used. I was due to do it this coming Thursday, which means I cleaned it twelve days earlier. Why?'

  'Did you clean the mirror and the windowsill?' he carried on, ignoring her question.

  Katie looked away, thinking back to her typical cleaning routine in Mrs Dunbar's house. 'Yes, both,' she replied. 'Why?'

  'There was a layer of dust on the mirror, but not on the window sill.'

  Interesting.

  'In my experience, they both gather dust at the same speed,' Katie said watching DI carefully. What was he trying to figure out?

  'If the windowsill was less dusty than the mirror, someone must have wiped it recently. It wasn't me, and I don't think it was Mrs Dunbar,' Katie offered, processing the information for herself as well. 'My guess is, the killer might have come through the window, and wiped the sill afterwards. Have you checked the handle and the frame for fingerprints?'

  He snorted. 'Yes, Madam. We know how to do our job.' His voice was clipped.

  Katie covered her embarrassment with throat clearing. Teaching grandmother how to suck eggs! She really had to be careful at conveying her thoughts to him.

  'We have the fingerprints and we have the person who left the window open,' he added.

  Now, that was a surprise.

  'What's the problem then?'

  'She admitted it. And she had a perfectly understandable reason for doing so. She was a guest, needed to use the bathroom, and didn't know the window should remain locked. End of story, apparently.'

  Katie's jaw dropped just a bit.

  'Vera Bower went to the toilet in Mrs Dunbar's house?'

  It was DI's turn to let his jaw drop a little.

  'How do you know it was Vera?'

  'You've just interviewed her. You never thought the window was important until now. You came to talk to me about it. I'm just guessing.'

  'You're guessing well, then. Yes, it was Vera. Does it surprise you?'

  'Of course, it does. What was she doing in Mrs Dunbar's house?'

  'Didn't they know each other?'

  Katie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and began curling it slowly.

  'Hmm...' she said slowly after a long pause. 'I'm not sure if "know" is the right word to use, but they have certainly met. I mean, they’d met before Mrs Dunbar's death.'

  'When?'

  'The last week of August, I can't remember the exact date, but it was during our Church Anniversary special meeting, for our Paper Crafts Club.'

  'You seem to be pretty sure about the occasion?'

  Katie waved the question away. 'Oh, I am sure of it. It was... a challenge. Vera came, because she wanted to participate in the church fete. And apparently, she loved paper crafts and other arts and crafts. But she was erh...'

  'Difficult? Dramatic?' the DI cut in, smugly.

  Katie chewed on her lower lip.

  'Some people weren't happy she was there, but she seemed very keen to join and help. I sort of defended her. She came two weeks later as well, to the regular meeting and it didn't go very well. She left ear
ly, slamming the door.'

  'Interesting,' he said slowly. 'What happened?'

  'Vera was loud, and she laughed a lot. To be fair to her, she got herself into a funny situation. Glued a paper coil to her fingers and couldn't remove it. I laughed, but a couple of older, more stately ladies were offended. Linda, that is Mrs McKay, was chewing my ear about it all the time. I was sitting between Vera and Linda, because no one wanted to sit beside Vera after her loud behaviour the previous time. Mrs Dunbar was sitting opposite. I could hear Mrs Dunbar mumbling under her breath as Vera was laughing. But it was Linda McKay who lost it.'

  'Lost it?'

  'I mean, "lost it" the Sunnyvale style. She just said in that old-fashioned schoolteacher's voice: "Vera Bower, can't you just be a little bit quieter for once?"'

  'What did Vera do?'

  'Surprisingly, she calmed down. She still couldn't get the paper off her fingers, so after a few minutes she snapped and said something along the lines of not being able to cope with it all and left.'

  'Slamming the door?'

  'Slamming the door.'

  'Never coming back?'

  'Not to my knowledge.'

  'Did she talk to Mrs Dunbar during any of those meetings?'

  'Probably. Vera is quite sociable. I think she tried to talk to everyone. As I said, I felt she really tired hard. Maybe she is one of those people who struggle to stay focused for long. Do you know what she was doing at Mrs Dunbar's house?'

  'Apparently Mrs Dunbar invited her. To show her how to make some sort of paper craft. Vera told me she wanted to learn it to make some artwork for the church fete. Does that sound right to you?'

  That was strange. Katie's hand wandered to the free strand of hair again. Heaton’s eyes followed her movements. Suddenly conscious of her quirks, Katie pretended she just meant to tuck the unruly strand behind her ear.

  'Yes, I remember that. Vera was talking about recreating some sort of old-fashioned elaborated piece of craft. I can't remember exactly what but I thought Vera was just exaggerating.'

  'Did you see any of her artwork?'

  'No. But someone must have mentioned something. Maybe Linda?' Katie sighed again. 'But why Mrs Dunbar?'

  'Apparently, only Mrs Dunbar knew how to do a particularly difficult thing. Does this sound likely?'

  It did, actually. Having thought about it, Mrs Dunbar might have been talking too much about her late husband's talents, and not enough about her own.

  'I suppose so. Phyllis Dunbar made quite a few nice paper decorations for the Christmas sale last year. This was when she was feeling well, and when her hands were working properly.'

  DI Heaton nodded.

  A thought crossed Katie's mind. Apart from the murderer, Vera must have been the last person who saw Mrs Dunbar alive. Or was she?

  'I didn't see Vera on my way there. Didn't see anyone, to be honest,' she ventured.

  'Vera claims to have left the house at around 2.20 pm. Long before you arrived and just before Mrs Dunbar called you. She went through the new housing estate and was seen. We have it confirmed.'

  'That's why I didn't see her. It's in the opposite direction. It wasn't Vera, then...' Katie mused. 'Mrs Dunbar must have been killed between Vera leaving the house and me arriving. I was the last person who spoke to Mrs Dunbar.'

  'Apart from the murderer, apparently so.'

  There was something not quite right with this scenario either. Katie wriggled in the chair, thinking back to the scene in the house.

  'But why was Mrs Dunbar murdered in her crafts room? With the craft material still on the table?'

  The DI's cheeks grew half a tone pinker. 'Maybe she thought you would do it?'

  'Put away her stuff? No.' Katie shook her head so vigorously, the unruly strand of hair swung across her face. Once again, she tucked it behind her ear.

  'You see, Phyllis Dunbar was quite peculiar. She was fussy and liked having things done certain ways. She liked ordering people around, but she always played by the rules. A cleaner was for cleaning, not tiding up, she told me. Sometimes, she would ask me to do her dishes, or take the washing off the line, but not put her washing on, or tidy up her crafts stuff. You see, on days I came to clean, Thursday afternoons, her house was tidy. And my job was to dust, polish, and vacuum. Nothing more. Walking into her crafts room and seeing all the craft things still on the table that was quite a surprise.'

  DI smiled. 'I've learnt something today. Cleaning is different from tidying up. That's interesting. But since it wasn't your usual cleaning day, maybe she didn't have time to put the things away after Vera's visit and before you came?'

  'It’s possible. I'm just not sure.'

  'What are you not sure?'

  'I'm not sure. Something’s still puzzling me. Why did Vera go to Mrs Dunbar for help with her project? Mrs Dunbar had been complaining of arthritis lately. It was one of the reasons she hired me to do her cleaning. Why would Vera want to learn quilling from Mrs Dunbar? Why not from other, younger members of the club?'

  DI Heaton looked at her, his eyebrows raised like big "Help" signs.

  'I've no idea. All those supposition, hunches, and hearsay is foreign language to me.'

  Now it was Katie's turn to be puzzled.

  'I beg your pardon?'

  ‘Look.' He let out a big sigh. 'I'm a police officer, an IT specialist, and a detective. I can talk in zeros and ones. I analyse available data. I can talk probability, predictions and DNA evidence, but I do not work with hunches and feelings.'

  Oh, boy. The HQ sent us a computer nerd. This was going to be a difficult one.

  'I think you may find it really hard working here, in Sunnyvale,' Katie said slowly, carefully controlling her voice to make it sound perfectly polite. 'We do like the... human touch.'

  He pursed his lips, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down a couple of times.

  'Yeah,' he said after a tense pause. 'I've noticed. And I wonder if you could'—he cleared his throat—'help a little with deciphering this gob- er, foreign language for me.'

  Katie considered his request. He could admit to a mistake and he could ask for help. In a reasonably respectful way. Not too bad.

  'If you think it'll help find the killer, I'll do all I can. She shouldn't have died, and she deserves justice,' Katie said decisively.

  She definitely wanted Mrs Dunbar's killer to be found and punished, and to clear her own name. Regardless of evidence, people in Sunnyvale would talk about strange testaments and hidden motives. Katie didn't want anyone to think she could have killed Mrs Dunbar because of a possible inheritance.

  Once DI Heaton disappeared behind the closed door of her office, Katie dug out her phone and brought up Linda MacKay's contact number. If Linda didn't know why Vera had gone to Phyllis with her quilling stuff, nobody would. She would need to be careful not to share too much, though. Linda was a bit too generous on the gossip-sharing front. Katie sent her a text and, after a short while, she received a reply with an invitation for a cuppa that afternoon.

  Katie did a little fist pump. Her first step into the world of investigation - a murder investigation - was underway.

  5

  Katie was so excited about her first unofficial interview, she forgot to prepare her questions.

  'I'll just let her talk and see where it takes us,' she whispered and rushed to her friend's place.

  Linda and Adam McKay lived in a modern detached house with a tiny front lawn and a not much bigger back garden. The lawn was impeccably cut though, and she couldn't find a single blade of grass longer than the others. Adam's attention to detail was notorious in Sunnyvale.

  Katie wiped her shoes thoroughly on the doormat before knocking lightly. The doorbell button was covered with two criss-crossing strips of sticking plaster. Linda looked after her grandson while his parents were at work. Katie remembered how shallow a baby's sleep could be.

  Linda must have been watching Katie approach from her kitchen window, as the door opened before she’d finished h
er second knock.

  Linda greeted Katie with a finger on her lips.

  Katie nodded vigorously and silently removed her shoes.

  They tiptoed to the kitchen.

  'Baby Adam is asleep in the spare bedroom, so we're fine here.' Linda said in a softer than usual voice. Her softer side had really come to the fore since her first grandchild was born. Baby Adam was a cute seven-month-old and Linda adored him. She’d taken early retirement to help her daughter and son-in-law, both junior doctors, raise the boy.

  'How's the little one?' Katie asked politely, on the inside dying to get on with her 'investigation'.

  'He's fine. I think the teething is over for now. We've got the first bottom two out now,' Linda replied, reaching for a cup. 'Milk and sugar?'

  'Milk, no sugar.'

  They exchanged a few more pleasantries while Linda prepared the drinks.

  'Now, tell me what brings you here,' she asked, putting two steaming cups on the kitchen table.

  'You know Phyllis Dunbar's dead?' Not sure whether the circumstances of Mrs Dunbar's death were widely known, Katie started cautiously.

  Linda nodded, looking attentively at Katie.

  'I found her body yesterday afternoon.'

  'Yep. That's what I've heard. It must have been awful for you.'

  'It was. Do you know anything else?'

  Linda stroked her pointy chin.

  'Probably less than you,' she said slowly, and added milk to her cup.

  Katie regretted not having planned her questions more carefully. She'd be better prepared next time there was ever to be a next time.

  'I don't know much,' Katie said. 'But there is something about that day that really baffles me.'

  Linda stirred the contents of her cup and tapped the spoon on edge, as if trying to make sure not a single particle of tea remained on it. The sound echoed in otherwise a silent kitchen.

  'What is it?'

  'Do you know who came to see her earlier that afternoon?'

  'I've heard some rumours,' Linda said and sipped on her tea. 'Apparently, she called her solicitor, but she was out of the office until three. Her secretary told Phyllis to call again later.'