Detective Sophie Allen Box Set 2

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  ‘And does your boyfriend like church organ music?’

  She laughed. ‘A bit, but I think he says so just to please me. He gets more nookie that way.’

  Careful, Hattie. Don’t get carried away. Hattie heard a slight movement and turned to see the woman pulling a book out of her shoulder bag.

  ‘Have you seen this book before, Harriet?’ she asked.

  Hattie looked at the book and then at the woman’s face. She was middle-aged, with short blonde hair, and dressed in a mottled grey skirt suit. She looked very business-like. Her expression was impossible to read and she had green eyes, like a witch.

  Beware! thought Hattie.

  ‘It’s one of my favourite books on ancient history,’ Hattie replied cautiously. ‘Who did you say you were?’

  ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Sophie Allen. I’m the senior investigating officer, and I deal with all suspicious deaths in Dorset. Tell me about the book, please.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you want to know.’

  ‘It has a message from someone with the initial H written on the inside.’

  Hattie lowered her eyes and spoke quietly. ‘I gave it to a friend as a present.’

  ‘To Mark Paterson?’

  She looked up again, seeming puzzled. ‘No. I said I didn’t know him. I gave it to someone else. A woman friend. For her birthday.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Why should I tell you? What’s it got to do with this investigation you’re doing?’

  ‘Let’s just say that it would be helpful to us. It would save us a lot of time and effort. The police are always grateful when that happens.’ The woman didn’t smile.

  Hattie nodded as if she understood. ‘I gave it to Eddie Davis. She was a family friend and she helped me a lot. I’ve been having a difficult time recently, and had a problem with depression. She was a really good adviser on health issues, and she got me through a bad time.’

  ‘You say was rather than is. Why’s that?’

  Hattie paused. This woman was sharp. ‘She died in June. Well, actually she committed suicide. It was a shock to us all. I really liked her.’

  The woman pulled another book from her bag. God! It was the same book! Where had she got that from?

  ‘What about this one? It’s the same book.’

  Hattie looked astonished. ‘I don’t understand. Is this some kind of trick?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘It puzzles us as well. Two copies of the same book. Can you explain it?’

  ‘No, no,’ Hattie protested. ‘I bought a copy and gave it to Eddie in May, like I said. Why would there be two? This is crazy.’

  ‘So you gave a copy to this family friend, Eddie Davis. Did you often give her presents?’

  ‘No, but she took me away for a short break in Majorca because she said I was too pale and needed a trip to the sun. I didn’t have much money so I got her that as a thank you present just before we set out. She took it with her and I used it to explain bits of ancient history to her while we were away.’

  ‘Was it a family trip? Did anyone else go?’

  Hattie looked indignant. ‘No. I’m nineteen years old, for God’s sake. She was forty-four! What are you suggesting?’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything. But the fact is, there are two copies of the same book, both from H. It’s a big coincidence, isn’t it?’

  Hattie shrugged. ‘Spooky things happen all the time. To me, anyway. The one to that man, whoever he is, must be from someone else.’

  ‘Was, not is. He’s dead, remember.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry for that, but I don’t see why you’re having a go at me. I didn’t know him. I hope you find out how he ended up in the sea, but I can’t help you.’ Hattie put her hand up to her hair in her usual gesture, ready to pull her fingers through her long curls. But of course, there were no curls there. She frowned in exasperation.

  The woman looked at her. ‘You’re a very attractive young woman, Harriet.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Hattie was flattered, but wary.

  ‘The photo of you in your student file is a perfect likeness. You’re very photogenic.’

  What did the witch mean by this? She meant something, that was for sure. Did she know about the change of hairstyle? Was that what she was getting at? ‘Thanks,’ she muttered weakly.

  ‘Do you know of anyone else who committed suicide, Hattie? From when you were younger?’

  Trap, trap, trap! Don’t say anything, Hattie told herself. The voices were starting to whisper in her head and she tried to ignore them. Concentrate on what this witch is saying. Listen and think! She shook her head, unable to speak. She felt cold, as if an icicle was resting against her spine.

  ‘If anything else does occur to you, if you remember anything that might help us, please contact one of us. Here’s my card.’

  Hattie cautiously stretched out her hand and took the card, careful not to touch the woman’s fingers. Her touch might be infectious. Oh God. How much longer could she keep this up? She hoped her loose jumper would hide the tremors running through her body.

  Still looking at Hattie, the woman stood up, her lips compressed. ‘Thanks for your help. We’ll probably be back in touch.’

  Hattie almost fled from the room. She walked quickly out of the administration block into the bright sunshine, and then ran towards the shrubbery. She stopped to check that she was out of sight, then grasped the railings, shaking all over.

  ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ she moaned. ‘Jesus, help me.’

  Chapter 16: Organ Music

  Barry Marsh led the way out of the small office and back to the reception desk. ‘We’re looking for the engineering block,’ he said. ‘Could you direct us please?’

  They walked in silence for a while. ‘Well, that was useful,’ Barry said. ‘What do you think, ma’am? She seemed open enough, though a bit dramatic.’

  Sophie didn’t reply. He glanced at her but she seemed lost in thought, so he said nothing further. They walked on through trees and hedges, all in their autumnal colours. How beautiful was this?

  ‘Here we are — engineering,’ Barry announced.

  They entered and were told to go up to the second floor. They took the stairs and soon found the door they were looking for. Sophie still hadn’t spoken.

  ‘You’re quiet, ma’am,’ Barry said.

  ‘Mmmm.’

  Sophie tugged at a lock of loose hair. They waited for the department secretary to finish a phone call, and then Barry explained who they were. He asked to see Dr Markham. The receptionist spoke quietly into the phone, and then pointed to an inner door.

  ‘You or me, ma’am?’ Barry asked.

  ‘You.’

  Doctor Markham was a fairly young, fit-looking man with fair hair, slightly taller than Barry, and dressed in denim trousers and an open-necked shirt. He stood up to greet them, and then sat down behind his desk.

  He picked up a pen and began twirling it in his fingers. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘This shouldn’t take long. We just need to check the whereabouts of a student here on Sunday morning two weeks ago. Harriet Imber said she spent the second half of the morning with you. Can you confirm that, please?’

  Markham frowned. ‘Yes, yes. That’s right.’

  Barry waited but Markham said nothing further.

  ‘So can you give me the details, please?’

  ‘Oh, I see. Of course. We were in the cathedral for the late morning service. We’re both keen on organ music.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I bought us some lunch.’

  ‘Whereabouts was that, sir?’

  ‘In the White Hart, if my memory serves me right. Then I came back here to get on with some work. I’ve no idea where Harriet went.’

  ‘Have you known her long?’

  ‘Not really. About six months.’

  ‘And it was through church organ music that you met her?’

  ‘That’s right. I’m from Toronto, as you might be a
ble to tell by my accent, but my family originally comes from Devon. My great-grandfather was a parish vicar and amateur organist. I wanted to find out more while I’m here. There’s a small group of church organ enthusiasts in the university, and Harriet is a prominent member.’ He paused. ‘What’s all this about?’

  ‘We’re not really at liberty to say, sir. But we’re glad we can strike Harriet off our list.’

  ‘Well, if that’s everything, I need to get back to work.’

  The two detectives left the building and walked back to the car park.

  ‘What do you think, ma’am?’ Barry asked.

  ‘He was tense. That pen never left his hand. He twirled it around his fingers all the time we were speaking.’ Sophie stopped suddenly. ‘Let’s go back. There’s a staff chart on the wall near reception. I’ll distract whoever’s on the desk while you use your phone to take a photo of his mugshot. Totally unethical, I know, but I’m rather uneasy.’

  * * *

  Sophie and Barry drove to the cathedral and, after a frustrating hour, managed to track down the stewards at the Sunday morning service Harriet and Markham claimed to have attended. No one could remember them but equally, no one could be sure that they hadn’t been there.

  ‘Those stewards are quite elderly, ma’am, and, to be honest, I’d be hard pushed to recall something like that,’ Barry said at the door. ‘Should we head back to the car now?’

  ‘No,’ Sophie replied. ‘Lunch first. I know the very place.’

  She led him through the narrow lanes on the west side of the cathedral close until they emerged onto the busy thoroughfare of South Street. Barry glanced across the road at the old building opposite.

  ‘I should have known,’ he said. ‘There’s always a method in your madness.’

  Sophie laughed. ‘The beer’s meant to be really good here. And you’re driving.’ They crossed the road and entered the narrow coaching courtyard of the White Hart. The lounge bar was dimly lit, with low-beamed ceilings.

  ‘Lunch is my treat,’ she said. ‘Let’s talk to the bar staff, and I’ll see what ales they have.’

  They were in luck. The duty manager, a middle-aged woman in a smart black skirt suit, had also been on duty for part of the Sunday in question. She looked at the photo Barry had taken.

  ‘Yes, I remember him. He was with a young woman. But you’re wrong about it being after the morning service at the cathedral. It was in the evening and they’d just attended evensong because I remember them talking about the organ music that had been playing. I’m pretty certain he wasn’t in during the lunchtime session. We were fairly quiet and I would have noticed them. They both had venison casserole and I’m sure that wasn’t on the menu at lunchtime. That’s why I remember it.’ She looked back through a pile of menus on her desk. ‘No. It was definitely the evening.’

  ‘And the young woman had a short bob hairstyle? Fair with blonde streaks?’

  The manager looked puzzled. ‘No. She had long, curly red hair. Really striking.’

  ‘Right,’ Sophie replied. She turned to face Barry. ‘I thought as much. It was all too perfect this morning. A celebration pint is called for. Just a half for you, though.’

  After their lunch, they returned to the cathedral. This time, they found someone who remembered the young woman and her companion, but at the evening service. So why had they lied?

  ‘Can we lift them, ma’am?’ Barry asked.

  ‘No. It’s too circumstantial. And what would we charge them with? We don’t even know for sure that a crime has been committed. We need to tread carefully, Barry. More digging, I’m afraid. It may be time to cut Rae loose. She’ll fit in like a natural down here on the campus.’ Sophie looked at her watch. ‘We’d better call in at the local cop-shop before we head back and let them know what we’re up to. I don’t want to alienate the locals. I like Exeter too much for that.’

  * * *

  They were back in their office by late afternoon. Sophie told Rae that she was sending her to Exeter for a few days.

  ‘I need to know more about both of them,’ she told the two junior detectives. ‘Something’s going on there and I want to know what it is. But keep it low profile, Rae. Don’t show yourself. The local squad know you’ll be there but you only need to call on them in an emergency. We’ll talk every day on the phone. Okay?’

  ‘Of course.’ She paused. ‘Ma’am, there’s something you need to know. After you phoned earlier with the information, I did a bit of digging on that village where she said she lived, Bridgeford St Paul. I didn’t really expect anything.’

  ‘But?’

  Rae took a deep breath. ‘There was an unexpected suicide there five years ago. The local church organist. Very talented. Apparently he was very well known in church organ circles. He taught some of the local youngsters. He was found hanging from a beam in his house.’

  Chapter 17: Unease

  The following morning, Rae paid a quick visit to the Exeter CID unit to let them know she was here, and checked in to her guest house. She made her way to the city centre and sat sipping a coffee in a small café. She wanted to get a feel for the place, particularly the university campus and the area around St David’s, where so many of the students spent their time.

  This university had a rather different feel to the one she’d attended at Portsmouth, with its city-centre location. Rae listened to the accents of the students in the café, and noted that a higher proportion came from wealthy backgrounds. A decade earlier when Rae had been looking at university courses, Exeter had been described as one of the favourite landing grounds for Oxford and Cambridge rejects. She wondered why Hattie Imber had chosen to come here. Was it because it was fairly close to her home, or had she been turned down by one of the top places? Rae finished her coffee, paid her bill and left the café. Time to start work.

  First, she would visit the university security offices to see the director and pick up a pass. She walked north from the city centre towards the main Streatham campus and the administration offices. Soon she was in possession of her security pass and a copy of Hattie Imber’s timetable. She made her way around the landscaped gardens, heading towards the large building that housed the ancient history faculty. Hattie was due to attend a seminar with her tutor at eleven. Rae sat on a nearby wall, watching the students come and go. She thought she recognised a tall, slim young woman who seemed to fit Hattie’s description. If this was indeed her, she didn’t look like the self-confident, bubbly character that Barry had described. Maybe it wasn’t her. Rae followed her into the building.

  A young man approached the young woman and spoke to her. ‘Hi, Hattie. Into the lion’s den. Did you get the essay done?’

  Hattie gave an exaggerated scowl. ‘Yeah, but it’s crap. I had too much personal stuff to deal with. Left it too late. It’ll be my worst mark of the year so far, I know it.’

  ‘It’ll still be better than mine.’

  Rae followed the pair up the stairs, pretending to flick through the pages of a notebook. They turned in to the seminar room, while Rae walked on along the corridor to the far end. She had an hour’s leeway, plenty of time to find the engineering block. She wondered where Markham lived. She hadn’t mentioned him to the security director, guessing that the security staff would take a dim view of the police doing surveillance on a senior staff member.

  She entered the block under the suspicious gaze of a porter. He asked to see her identification, and looked surprised. ‘Security?’ he said. ‘You’re new, aren’t you?’

  She gave him a vague wave and went over to the staff availability board. Markham was available for student consultations for an hour, late in the afternoon, in his office. Good. She would come back then. She walked up the stairs, turned a corner and there he was, standing in the corridor talking to a couple of other staff members. She walked past, aware of at least one pair of eyes on her. Normal enough, she guessed. She was wearing tight black jeans and knee boots, after all. But it was confusing to have men watching
her. Part of her welcomed it. It proved that her transition had worked extremely well. But now she understood what it was like to be objectified in this way. Was it really all down to that bloody testosterone? Did the stuff itself cause some men to have an over-masculinised, self-centred, predatory approach to life? Or was it ‘cultural’ in origin? A societal norm? Whatever the cause, it was a relief to feel that particular cast of mind slip away during her treatment.

  Rae left the building and strolled around the campus, matching buildings, paths and roads with the map on her phone. She returned to the history block in time to see Hattie coming out of the seminar room, chatting to a small group of fellow students. Rae followed at a distance. The group meandered slowly away, its members heading off in different directions until Hattie was alone with a young woman with cropped black hair and olive skin. She’d been waiting outside the seminar room, apparently for Hattie. A close friend? Rae was too far back to hear their conversation. The pair in front of her reached the student accommodation and went inside a three-storey block of flats. Rae seated herself on a low wall and enjoyed the sunshine. She already had a note of the room number and floor of Hattie’s flat. Would the two of them appear again, or would they have their lunch inside? Rae waited, and it was more than an hour before Hattie and her friend re-emerged and went back to the history block. Rae followed at a safe distance, and then visited a café, where she asked some of the students about local hair salons. She was told of three that offered discounts to students.

  Rae had decided to visit all three salons to ask the staff for suggestions about restyling her hair, mentioning that Hattie had recommended the salon. The staff in the first two didn’t know who Hattie was, so Rae trudged round to the third, a much smaller salon near St David’s station. The stylist happily described the drastic change Hattie had asked for just a few days earlier, and said how pleased she’d been with the result.