by Rob Wyllie
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The traffic had been quiet on the late July evening, the sun still warm but slowly sinking in a lovely pink-tinted sky. He'd been here a few weeks earlier when she staged her elaborate engagement celebration, but how everything had changed since then, Melody now the grieving widow, if that was the right description, given she had not actually been able to marry her great love.
He jabbed the button on the intercom that was mounted on one of the sturdy stone brick pillars of the entrance gates. The voice that answered was accented and unfamiliar. Of course, she had a maid. Bridget, that was her name, Latvian or Lithuanian. Maggie had told him that even Melody did not know which.
'Miss Montague is in the garden. She is expecting you sir.'
There was a click and then one of the automated gates began to swing inwards. He slipped through the narrow gap then looked around. She was seated in a shady corner, the table set for two and a bottle of something already on ice, the elegant silver wine-cooler alongside the table glistening in the fading sunshine. Champagne, if he knew anything about his client. The furniture was, as he expected, high-end, of a design that could be found in expensive Mediterranean hotels and on board private yachts, not that he had much experience of either. The garden was in full bloom, expertly-designed formal borders surrounding the luxuriant shaped lawn, clematis, honeysuckle and climbing roses clinging to ornamental trelliswork, the garden a secluded oasis walled on three sides by weathered dusky brickwork. A paradise, but a paradise that needed money to sustain. A ton of money.
He'd never seen Melody in anything but a dress but this evening she was informally attired in light blue jeans and a black loose-fitting T-shirt. She still looked nice, although he hated to admit it, and if anything even more attractive and alluring. But, no, nothing was going to happen, no way. This was strictly business. Grab the document, say thank you, exit stage left.
'I expect you're more of a beer man Jimmy,' Melody was saying, 'but I hope you can make an exception this evening. And this is a very good vintage.'
He smiled. 'I wouldn't know anything about that, but of course, I'd love some.'
Unnoticed, the maid had appeared beside them, filling both their glasses then slipping silently back through the patio doors and in to the kitchen.
'How are you coping Melody?' he said. 'It must be very difficult.'
'Yes, I'm still in shock. I can't believe it has actually happened. But life must go on, what else can you do?'
He wasn't quite sure how to react to this, because no matter what you said, they were just hopeless platitudes, of bugger-all use to anyone. It'll get better in time, believe me. I'm so sorry for your loss. If there's anything I can do just ask. So he didn't say anything, but hoped his look was warm and sympathetic. A look that must have been open to misinterpretation, because out of the blue, she leant across the table, straining to kiss him. 'I shouldn't really be doing this, should I? But, life is short as they say, and well, you know I've never been one for resisting temptation.' She extended a finger and gently ran it down his cheek. 'And you are so beautiful.' That explained it then. She just didn't do faithfulness. Even to the dead.
'Beautiful?' he replied, tensing up. 'I don't know about that. Melody, I can't believe I'm saying this but perhaps this isn't such a good idea. Look, you're incredibly attractive, but maybe you're aren't thinking so clearly at the moment...'
She drew away and gave him a surprised look. 'Well Jimmy boy, it will be your loss. No-one ever leaves my bed disappointed.' He didn't doubt that was true, but it was an extraordinary thing to say.
'I'm sorry Melody,' he lied. 'It's not you, it's just that I'm looking for something more at the moment.' It sounded like a cliché because that's what it was. But it was true.
She shrugged, evidently accepting his explanation. 'Yes, I know, my head is all over the place at the moment. It would have been nice, that's all. You see the loneliness and emptiness, it's quite unbearable. But whatever, I'll always be here when you change your mind.' He noted it was when not if.
She removed the bottle from the cooler and topped up both their glasses. There was an awkward silence and then she said,
'So, if it's just to be business, well, the pre-nup, I have it here. That's what you came for, isn't it?' She handed him a blue transparent plastic folder.
He gave it a brief glance. 'How did you come by it? Because when I spoke to McCartney he was quite sure he had lost it.' He had tried not to sound suspicious but it didn't come out that way.
'Yeah, that's what he said, but it was his paralegal guy, Len Green who managed to find it. He said he was having a sort-out and came across it, that was all. Hidden away in the bottom of my file, where it seemed to have been all along.'
Yes, he thought, Len just happened to come across it after McCartney had been beaten to within an inch of his life. After somehow finding out that an agent acting for her ex-husband had paid him twenty grand to make it disappear. What a coincidence that was. But of course maybe he was being unfair. Maybe she didn't know anything about it. So he decided to ask her, and wasn't surprised by her reply.
'Yes, I heard. It's a great shame. But the man's a slippery fool, so I can't say I was surprised.' She gave him a steady look, as if to say, go on then, ask me. Did I have anything to do with it? This time, he decided to let it pass, reasoning that had she or her brothers been involved as he suspected, she was unlikely to admit it. He had been there no more than ten minutes and had got what he came for. So time to call it a night.
'Melody, I think it's time I was off. It's been lovely, really it has.' He got up and walked round the table and placed his hand on her shoulder. Gently, she clasped it and stood up to face him, her lips almost touching his, her gaze steady as she looked into his eyes. Almost imperceptibly their lips came together and he felt the tip of her tongue in his mouth, gently probing. At the same time, he felt her free hand moving up his thigh, the physical reaction as inevitable as it was irresistible. Time to make his excuses before it all got out of hand.
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Back in his flat, he picked up the plastic folder and carefully removed the agreement. Idly he flicked through the pages, vainly trying to make sense of the dense legalise, but after a few minutes, gave up the struggle. Sod it, it didn't actually matter what it said, the important thing was they had it back in their possession and so they could, however improbably, complete the mission they had undertaken for Asvina.
But then his attention was caught by the faint dark stain that had, unnoticed, spread across his fingers. Which struck him as odd, because you would think the ink would be dry by now on a five-year old document.
Chapter 23
They had been forced into a bloody huge change of plan and all because of an unexpected obstacle that had arisen in relation to that bane of his life, the case number. This particular one being the case number which had, belatedly, been allocated to his Shark investigation. The blame fell to some administrative assistant's assistant buried down in the basement of Paddington Green police station, or more accurately, to the stupid bureaucracy the Met had put in place to make everything three times more difficult than it needed to be. For it seemed an extra signature, rank of Chief Superintendent or above, was needed on the travel requisition form before a relatively junior employee like Eleanor Campbell could make an overseas trip, and since no officer of that rank could be arsed to sign it, there it sat in the stern and matronly clerk's virtual pending tray, ignored. From whence no amount of persuasion by Frank, subtle or otherwise, could release it. He'd even tried mild bribery, being rewarded with a stony stare and a threat to report him to his superior officer. As if Jill Smart would give a shit about that. His travel requisition had got signed without any such obstacle, and so at about the same time he was heading to the Netherlands to meet the van Durens, Dr Hanneke Jansen was heading the other way.
Now, back in London and four days after Jansen's arrival at Maida Vale labs, he was due to meet them for a progress report. But that wa
s a couple of hours in the future, giving him time to catch up with his amateur colleagues in the Fleet Street Starbucks they seemed to call home. To tell the truth, he was in desperate need of a caffeine infusion on account of a crashing headache, induced by the extended drinking session he'd enjoyed with Marco last night. He had only been returning the favour extended by Boegenkamp when he'd stayed over in Amsterdam a couple of days earlier, but now he was paying the price. Still, there was no denying it was good for international relations and he looked forward to seeing what state his Dutch mate was in when they met up later that day.
Maggie and Jimmy were already there, sharing some private joke at the cramped little table they'd managed to secure. He was pleased to see they had already ordered for him, a steaming black Americano which he hoped benefitted from a double shot of Espresso. She smiled up at him, causing him to reflect again how simply lovely she looked. Not that he had yet plucked up the courage to do anything about it, and probably never would. But he didn't have time to think about all of that now.
'Hey guys, how's tricks? Solved the Jamie Grant case yet?'
'Sod off,' Jimmy replied, grinning, 'but we're following a number of promising lines of enquiry, that's all I can tell you.'
'Oh aye, is that right?'
'Not exactly,' Maggie said, 'but there have been developments.'
'Developments?' He was willing to bet they wouldn't be as interesting as what he'd recently found out from his useless mate DC Ronnie French.
'That's right,' she nodded. 'Jimmy will tell you all about them. But I heard about your big success with the van Duren boy. You must be incredibly relieved how it turned out.'
'Aye, I am,' Frank said, trying not to sound too pleased with himself. 'Gives us some hope if it happens again. But come on, let's hear these developments. What have you got?'
He listened intently whilst Jimmy told him about McCartney being beaten up in prison, and about the twenty grand payoff, and the unexpected re-emergence of Melody Montague's copy of the pre-nuptial agreement. And about the traces of ink on his hand. It was interesting enough, but how any of it had anything to do with either the Jamie Grant case or the Leonardo murders was beyond him.
'You see Frank, this all seems like some sort of scam engineered by the very late Benjamin Fox to cheat his ex-wife out of a couple of million quid. Gives her quite a motive, don't you think? I mean, if she found out about it.'
Frank shook his head. 'Except it doesn't. Because the terms of the pre-nup stand irrespective of whether Fox is dead or alive. I'm sure I heard Asvina telling me that.'
Maggie nodded. 'That's true. But maybe Melody was just angry with him.'
'Aye, maybe. But we've been through all of this before. Melody might have had the motive, and to be frank, even that's iffy, but she certainly didn't have the opportunity. Every single second of her time at that awards do was accounted for.'
'But it does point to the character of Fox, I suppose,' Maggie said, sounding uncertain.
'Aye, maybe. It does suggest he's careless with the truth if nothing else. But is it a reason for his murder? I don't know.'
The fact was, he'd already dismissed any connection between the pre-nuptial agreement and the murders or the abductions. It was just a wee spat over money, and nothing else, of that he was convinced. The only problem was, right now he didn't have a better theory about any of it, especially the Danny Black murder. And then he remembered Jimmy and Maggie saying they had met Black at that house-warming do over at Richmond.
'What was he like, this Danny Black?'
'Nice enough,' Jimmy said. 'A bit of a lad, perhaps. Eye for the ladies, definitely. He asked me if I was shagging Asvina, which I thought was a bit forward. But here, I've got a couple of photos from the do. Take a look.'
He took Jimmy's phone and peered at it.
'Good-looking guy. Him I mean, not you. A nice wee snap with the kids and Melody too. They must have been pleased, meeting their hero.'
'They were. And if you swipe through, you'll see wee Ollie got one with Danny too.'
Frank nodded. 'Nice picture. The wee lad would be thrilled I guess?'
'He was,' Maggie said, smiling. 'We've printed it out and he's got it stuck on his wall alongside the Ferraris. But getting back to the murders, I can tell you that Melody definitely didn't kill Danny.'
'Why do you say that?' Frank asked.
'She was desperate for it to work this time, to build the perfect little family. She told me all about her tough upbringing and about her previous failed marriages, and I really believed her. Danny was her last chance, that's the way she saw it.'
'But somebody must have wanted him dead,' Frank said. He knew it was stating the bleeding obvious and he wasn't really looking for a response, but he got one anyway.
'Well, what about Bow Road? That's how he was connected to Benjamin Fox and to Allegra Ross too,' Maggie said. 'Maybe that's something for us to look at.'
He laughed. 'What, you think it's the cast of a rival soap bumping them all off? That would be quite a plot-line.'
But there was no denying it was a connection. What's more, he realised it also provided a link back to Charles Grant and the abduction of his toddler. Which brought him back round to Frenchie and the meeting he'd had yesterday with Vivien Grant.
'My colleague Ronnie French finally got off his fat arse and went to interview Charles' wife. He said she was in a bit of a state and already hitting the vodka and oranges at ten in the morning. But the interesting thing was, she seems to blame wee Jamie's abduction on some photo-shoot the family had done for one of these glossy lifestyle magazines. It hit the newsagents just a month or so before the incident and she says it put her boy in the shop window. A funny way to describe it I know, but that's what she says.'
'God, that's interesting,' Maggie said. 'Did that come up in the original enquiry?'
'Nothing came up in the original enquiry. But it makes you think doesn't it? Some villain sees the article and thinks, yep, that boy will do nicely. Not that it takes us any further forward in terms of who did it.'
'Not really,' Maggie agreed. 'But you know, it might be interesting to know if the other two kids were involved in one of these photo-shoots too. Their parents were in the public eye after all.'
'Maybe that's one for you and Jimmy to look into,' he said, draining the dregs of his coffee, 'but I need to shoot. Got some hot-shot boffin over from Holland who might be able to nail this da Vinci bloke for us. I'll keep you informed.'
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On the way over to Maida Vale, Frank reflected that he had to do some serious thinking about what the press was now calling the Bow Road murders. Danny Black's killing was definitely a copy-cat job, he now accepted that. And now Colin Barker was back in charge of the case, more smug and more stupid than ever, and with renewed determination to stitch up Darren Venables for the Ross and Fox killings. The far-right thug had barely been free for twenty-four hours when he was re-arrested, and all that da Vinci social media stuff was going to do for him. Frank would bet his pension that he was innocent, but he realised with some reluctance he would have to leave that for the jury to sort out. As for the Danny Black murder, where did you start? The only half-lead he had so far came from Jimmy, from that meeting at Melody Montague's place. He sounded like the sort of man who regarded infidelity as nothing more than an innocent hobby like fishing or golf. So was this the revenge of a wronged husband, a husband who somehow had got to learn the MO of the earlier killings and staged a neat if flawed re-make? He shook his head, swearing to himself under his breath. Of course it sounded ridiculous, because it was ridiculous. There had to be more to it than that.
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Boegenkamp was waiting in reception when Frank arrived and, annoyingly, looked none the worse for his session the previous evening, where he had out-drunk Frank in a ratio approaching two to one.
'Good afternoon Frank. A little bird is telling me we have some good news to look forward to.'
Frank fo
rced a smile despite his pounding head. 'A little bird called Hanneke is that?'
He nodded. 'Yes, she called me on my way over from my hotel.'
Frank collected their passes then led Boegenkamp up the stairs to the corner conference room where Eleanor and Dr Jansen had been installed for the duration. Eleanor smiled warmly in Frank's direction, a smile which he recognised as her pleased-with-herself one. Which was a surprise to him since she had been far from pleased when he told her she wasn't going to Leiden after all. However, the source of her good cheer was soon revealed by her first words to him.
'Hanneke got me access to her Cray. It's like beyond awesome.'
She looked as if she hadn't slept for a week, dark rings surrounding her eyes and her hair dull and matted, her favourite lavender t-shirt crushed to within an inch of its life, but then again, that wasn't much different from her normal look. Dr Hanneke Jansen by contrast was fresh-faced and smartly dressed in new-looking jeans and a crisp white tailored shirt. She was tall and slim, almost as tall as Boegenkamp in fact, and her general academic appearance was accentuated by a pair of circular wire-framed spectacles perched on the end of her nose. Despite the outward differences, it was clear that a bond had developed between the two women over the few days they had spent together, as they now shared a quiet joke which Frank suspected, correctly as it happened, featured himself in some way.
'Eleanor has told me so much about you,' Hanneke said in way of introduction. 'I have been very much looking forward to meeting you in person also.'
He gave her a suspicious look. 'Is that right? I can't imagine what she's said about me.'
Eleanor grinned. 'We were just trying to work out how to explain what we've found out, you know, in a simple way, as if you were like a five-year old.' The words may have been unkind, but the tone was affectionate.
He shrugged. 'Aye, well I'm sure you'll keep it dead easy, that's what I need.'