by steve higgs
‘Well, that was fun,’ said Vince. ‘Shall we get some dinner now?’
Dinner Interruption
I slapped his arm as hard as I could. It had much the same effect as a fly headbutting a car and just made him laugh.
‘Vince Slater you almost gave me a heart attack. How on Earth am I breaking into buildings and nearly getting caught by the people who work there? I’m a respectable wedding planner I’ll have you know. Getting arrested is not part of my plan.’ The plan being to get the job of organising the next royal wedding.
‘Stop loitering inside then,’ he chuckled, heading for the back door. ‘Honestly, woman. Anyone would think you wanted to get caught.’
I felt my lip curl as a retort came to my lips, but I bit it down and followed him back the way we came in. I never once thought about throwing a four-hole punch at his head and you can’t prove I did.
As predicted, The Wild Oak had kept our table open though that was mostly due to Vince having some of his things still on it. Keys, reading glasses for the menu and what looked like a past-its-best whisky on the rocks were arranged on one side of the table. The doorman took my coat and the Maître D arrived to escort us through the restaurant.
My heart finally came back to its normal rhythm only once I had been sitting for five minutes and could distract myself with mundanity like the menu. I would never admit it, least of all to the rogue sitting opposite me, but the last hour had been among the most exciting of my life.
The chocolate biscuit had done little to quell my rising hunger though in all the excitement I’d forgotten just how famished I was. That is until the waiter brought a small ramekin of olives to the table.
I speared one with a cocktail stick, and then another. The menu was resting in my left hand while my right went in for a third.
Across the table Vince sniggered, making me look up.
‘Are you hungry, Felicity?’ he asked, flicking his eyes to the olives.
I moved my menu to look down. There was only one left. Somehow, I’d eaten them all, my side plate now covered in a small mound of pips. His plate had none.
As my cheeks coloured, I replied grumpily, ‘I expected to be eating some time ago, Mr Slater.’
‘Mr Slater,’ he echoed with a raised eyebrow. ‘You know this is a date, right? How about if you call me Vince?’ Yet again his pirate’s smile was in place, a mix of amusement, outright cheek, a wolfish need to tease and somehow also a threat of desire.
I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Stop looking at me like that.’
‘Like what?’ he asked, his expression now beginning to smoulder. I could feel my cheeks radiating heat.
‘Like you want to cover me in toffee sauce and eat me with a spoon,’ I snapped irritably and as quietly as I could. ‘I am not dessert, Mr Slater. Nor any other course on your menu. I agreed to this date because I was coerced into it.’
I got a smile and a nod in reply. ‘I honestly didn’t expect you to show up. I called you earlier because you were fifteen minutes late and I wanted to confirm I could get on and order myself something to eat. That you are here fills me with hope.’
‘Hope?’ I repeated, not liking the way he said the word.
Again, the smile. It made my stomach writhe. Not with nausea, but fear. Perhaps fear is too harsh of a word, but it was something akin to that.
‘Yes, Felicity, hope.’ He dropped his voice so it was a soft caress of a whisper. ‘I hope to get to know you.’ Gone was the rogue, banished so the real Vince could make an appearance. Across from me now, the man looking at me had chosen to drop his guard. His hopeful look, the depth of compassion in his eyes shocked me in a way I just wasn’t prepared for.
He reached out with his hand, laying it palm up on the table so I could put my hand into his. Instinctively, as another human bared their soul, I did so, feeling the warmth of his skin on mine. My hand was tiny in his as his fingers closed and he held my gaze, neither of us saying anything.
‘You want to get to know me?’ I repeated. This tender approach was not what I expected at all.
‘Of course, Felicity,’ he replied, his eyes locked on mine. Uninvited, unexpected, and largely unwanted, my heart was beginning to race again. ‘You are brilliant, talented, graceful, and beautiful.’ I would never admit to being any of those things, but it was nice to hear him say it. Abruptly, the pirate’s smile returned, ‘Besides, how else will I lure you into my bed?’
I snatched my hand back with an exasperated gasp and snatched up my handbag. I was storming out of this restaurant and never speaking to Vince Slater again. Honestly, his brazenness was shocking.
‘Come on, Felicity,’ he chuckled, seemingly unconcerned that other diners were staring our way and murmuring to one another. ‘You enjoyed that kiss and you know it.’
‘You stole that kiss!’ I snapped. ‘I never even saw it coming.’
‘Why did you kiss me back then?’ he smiled at me ever so knowingly.
My mouth opened to retort, but I didn’t have an answer for him. I wanted to say that I hadn’t, but conjuring the memory into my mind, I knew that I had. His lips met mine in the dark and I pushed back with my own.
Pausing, while across the room I could see the Maître D urging the doorman to fetch my coat, I met Vince’s eyes, and claimed quite triumphantly. ‘Savour it. It’s the only kiss you will ever get.’
Then I spun on my heel and marched to the door. Around me in the restaurant there were bemused looking men sat at tables with their wives or girlfriends. The women, however, did not look bemused. They were giving me nods of appreciation and support. I think I even saw one woman raise her fist as if punching the air.
My exit from the restaurant would have gone ever so much better if Chief Inspector Quinn hadn’t come through the door just before I got to it.
‘Ah, Mrs Philips, good evening,’ he said, blocking my exit with his body. Two more officers, both men, came in behind him.
Cautiously, since he appeared to be here looking for me, I replied with, ‘Good evening.’
‘Felicity Philips, I am arresting you for the crime of murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court.’
Arrested
My eyes went wide in shock as the world began to spin beneath my feet. I must have heard the words spoken a thousand times watching cop shows with Archie but only heard them spoken by a real police officer for the first time last weekend. I heard them again this morning when the chief inspector took John Ramsey into custody.
Now they were aimed at me. My head went whirly, and I felt my knees sag. Someone caught me, hoisting me into the air with a strong arm under my legs and another around my back. Through the sparkly lights dancing in front of my eyes, I looked up to find Vince’s face looking down at me.
That pirate’s smile was back where it ought not to be and just before I fainted, he said, ‘Adventure, Felicity. That’s what you and I have ahead of us.’
When I came to, I was in a side room of the restaurant. Not that I knew where I was instantly; I had to figure it out from the clues.
Feeling groggy, I levered myself into a sitting position. I was in a small room, stretched out on a couch – a staff breakroom I guessed.
‘She’s awake, sir,’ a voice said. I looked up to find one of the male police officers sitting on a plastic chair from where he had been keeping an eye on me.
Other noises drifted in through the door, a murmur of conversation from the restaurant, the squawk and bleep of police radios and the voice of Chief Inspector Quinn as he issued an order to someone before reappearing in the doorway.
‘Get her up then, Constable Hayes. Let’s go.’ He didn’t bother to spare me a look.
The young officer rose from his chair, coming toward me as he reached behind his back to produce a set of cuffs.
I waved a horrified arm at him. ‘What? What is going on? You said murder!’ I squeaked at the chief ins
pector where he hovered still just outside the door.
He swung his gaze to meet my eyes. ‘Yes, Mrs Philips. You were very sloppy. The carpark is littered with CCTV cameras, so too the street outside. It took minutes to find footage showing you tampering with John Ramsey’s car and no longer to track your casual stroll to this restaurant to get dinner. I have met plenty of stone-cold killers in my time, but none that managed to portray such innocence as you.’
‘But I am innocent!’ I protested instantly. ‘Hold on,’ what he had said finally dawned on me. ‘Has something happened to John Ramsey?’
The chief inspector narrowed his eyes at me, then looked up at his constable with an impatient glare. ‘To the station, Hayes. I will interview her myself.’
He turned and walked away, leaving me behind with the young constable who put cold steel handcuffs on my delicate wrists. I kept hoping I might wake up from what had to be a nightmare. Perhaps Amber was lying across my face and my brain was being starved of oxygen.
‘Where’s Vince Slater?’ I asked, my voice barely a whisper as the police officer led me through the restaurant.
Somehow, waiting at the door, the chief inspector heard my question. ‘Your accomplice is already on his way to the station, Mrs Philips.’ He added nothing further, the accusations ringing in my head enough to clamour out all noise but the rushing of blood to my head and the thumping beat in my chest.
I was mortified to have been arrested, terrified that I might be found guilty because I had been near John Ramsey’s car, and just about bright enough to keep my mouth shut.
On the way to the station, all manner of questions and thoughts whirled around like a maelstrom in my mind. Secured in the back of a police car and trying hard to stop myself hyperventilating, I focused on what I might need to say, on what I had actually done, and who I could call.
I didn’t have a lawyer at my beck and call. Who does? There were legal firms in my contacts list but that was for ensuring contracts were legally binding when I took on my clients. Securing some of the biggest wedding venues, ordering dresses that cost the same as a car … all these things are managed by me or rather, by my firm, and when spending that kind of cash in an environment where one in ten engagements never make it to the ceremony, both parties need protection.
Anyway, they were not the right people, but I suspected they would know someone who was. I hadn’t killed John Ramsey. I hadn’t even wanted him dead. Not since we were kids anyway. Any decent criminal defence lawyer would be able to clear this up in a few hours. That’s what I told myself in the dark shadows of that police car and whether it was a lie for my own benefit or not, it made me feel a little better.
At the station, I was processed, my fingerprints taken, and my personal belongings removed. It was when they got to my handbag that a fresh spike of panic shot through me. In my handbag were the pages of numbers I’d lifted from John’s car. It served as evidence of wrong doing, though if the chief inspector’s claim to have CCTV footage of me was true I doubted the pages would be any more damning, but perhaps they would show that all I did was steal something.
It was hardly a demonstration of innocence, but it was a long way from murder too.
The pages weren’t in my handbag though. The sergeant behind the desk, a flat-chested woman with a stern face and short hair cropped in a man’s style went through the contents of my handbag one item at a time. The pages were not there.
Perplexed, and wondering what to make of it, I kept quiet, believing the fewer words I said the better off I might be.
Vince was nowhere in sight, but when a constable – another woman – this one in her twenties but bearing the same professional disinterest in me, took me to the row of cells, I could hear his voice echoing out. He was singing. It was Jail Guitar Doors by The Clash, a song I hadn’t heard in more than thirty years. That I could name it startled me, but back in my teenage years, I had been into that dirty rock music.
In the back of my head as I walked into my cell, a voice laughed that Vince and I had the same taste in music.
I said some rude things to that voice.
Sisterly Love
I genuinely didn’t expect to fall asleep. The rigid, hard shelf that formed a bed was the only thing to sit on. It was far from comfortable, but I guess my eyes got heavy because the sound of the cell door opening woke me.
Looking in was an emotionless police constable in his forties. He had a thick beard with a few specs of white invading the dark brown and glasses that seemed to have been colour matched to his hair. Using two fingers, he motioned for me to leave the cell and then walk ahead of him. I got mostly single word commands telling me to, ‘Wait,’ or, ‘Turn right,’ until I found myself out of the cell area.
The constable said, ‘Stop.’ He had led me to a door marked Interview Room 2. Butterflies erupted in my stomach. I hadn’t been here long, just over an hour according to the clock on the wall, but wasn’t I supposed to be given a phone call and see a lawyer before I had to speak with anyone?
The bearded, bespectacled constable knocked on the interview room door, got an invitation to enter, and pushed it open.
Chief Inspector Quinn was inside. ‘Please, come in, Mrs Philips,’ he beckoned. ‘Can I offer you a cup of tea? I understand from Mr Slater that we arrived before you got a chance to eat your dinner Can I have someone bring you a sandwich?’
It felt like a trap, but my stomach rumbled audibly again which made it seem churlish to refuse. ‘Thank you, Chief Inspector. Tea and a sandwich would be most welcome.’
The constable at the door got a nod and closed the door, departing to fetch my snack and drink, I hoped.
Since Quinn was acting friendly, I chose to broach the subject of my arrest.
‘You don’t really think I had anything to do with whatever happened to John Ramsey, surely?’
He shuffled some paperwork on the desk to his front, refusing to make eye contact. ‘Take a seat, please, Mrs Philips.’
I did, staring at his head until he looked up and met my eyes.
‘Well? Do you?’ I wanted to know. ‘Because the idea is ludicrous.’
Sitting by his side was a sergeant. Tall, clean-shaven like Quinn but with ginger hair, he spoke next, talking to a computerised recording device to announce the interview and those present.
When his sergeant stopped talking, Quinn asked, ‘Is it ludicrous, Mrs Philips? You admitted to having a long history of ill-feeling toward John Ramsey. You went out of your way to ensure he was trapped at the Bleakwith residence earlier today and this evening you tracked him to his place of work and can be seen tampering with his car.’
‘I wasn’t tampering with it!’ I felt shocked at the repeated claim. ‘I was … I wanted to confirm it was his car. I was meeting Vince for dinner at The Wild Oak. You can check our reservation.’
‘I already did,’ the chief inspector replied. ‘You do realise that suggests this was premeditated?’
‘What!’ Each time he spoke, it was like another slap to the face. ‘I saw John’s car and was surprised. I thought you would have him in custody still and I wanted to check it was his car,’ I was getting flustered and repeating myself. ‘And then I saw something on his passenger seat and …’
‘Yes,’ Chief Inspector Quinn encouraged.
‘Well.’ I knew I was opening a trap door with what I was going to say next. ‘It looked like it might be a clue.’
The sergeant sniggered. A small laugh escaping his lips. The chief inspector didn’t laugh.
‘A clue,’ he repeated. ‘To what exactly, Mrs Philips?’
Okay he had me there. ‘To whatever is going on,’ I hazarded, not even managing to convince myself. ‘Look, I don’t know what is happening, but when Vince and I were inside Orion Printing, we overheard someone talking about erasing evidence. If John Ramsey pushed Derek Bleakwith over his balcony, why did he do it? Something is going on and I think you should be trying to find out what it is, not hassling me. If you hadn’t let
him go, I wouldn’t have seen John Ramsey’s car and we wouldn’t be sitting here now.’
The chief inspector let me finish, steadfastly allowing me to run my idiot mouth which should have been clamped shut, I suddenly realised. Why hadn’t I demanded to have a lawyer present? Why had I spoken at all? I bet myself Patricia Fisher wouldn’t have said a word.
Leaning forward in his chair to get his face closer to mine, Chief Inspector Quinn said, ‘So you admit to breaking and entering the premises of Orion Printing?’
My cheeks flushed bright red. ‘I want to speak to my lawyer.’
‘Do you have a lawyer?’ Quinn asked.
‘Um. I can get one,’ I tried to sound confident but didn’t think I achieved the level I was aiming for.
‘Your rights were read to you at the time of your arrest, Mrs Philips,’ he stated calmly. ‘Would you like to make a phone call?’
I am such an amateur. Blabbing on and on, telling the chief inspector everything he wanted to know instead of using my head. Now I was probably in deeper than I had been when they first arrested me.
Who on Earth did I call though? Escorted from the interview, which was terminated pending my return with legal representation later, I found myself jittery with nerves. I needed someone to swoop in to save me from this mess.
It was the monosyllabic bearded constable who came back to get me. He had my sandwich and cup of tea and managed to speak a few words finally to tell me I couldn’t have them in my cell so would have to stand in the corridor to consume them or not have them at all.
Treated like a common criminal, and feeling like one too, I took a slurp of the going-cold tea and tore the sandwich from its plastic wrapper. Being watched, I refused to feel self-conscious, and despite the rather stale bread and dubious unidentifiable meat filling, I ate the whole thing and felt glad to have something to fill the hole in my middle.
Beardy took my empty cup and plastic wrapper, then led me to a phone mounted on a wall. It was an old thing like one used to find in a public call box.