Epitaph: a gripping murder mystery

by Anita Waller

  ‘You spent a lot of time with Mel?’ Harriet’s head was reeling. Melanie Brookes had been seen as a career woman at her peak, loved by all who knew her, and who would be sorely missed. It seemed that there was so much more to the dead woman than they had been led to believe.

  ‘He didn’t tell you, did he? Mr High and Mighty Vickers. I don’t know whether his wife has discovered what he’s really like, but she left about three weeks ago. He spends a lot of his time on the phone, trying to persuade her to come back home.’

  ‘Really?’ This was turning into a gossipy conversation.

  ‘I’m the receptionist, DS Jameson. I deal with telephone calls. As I said, Mel taught me a lot. Anyway, at one time Mel had all three men on the go, Mr Vickers, Patrick and Mark, but it was Mark who’d finally stolen her heart. She was worried; she thought he was cooling off.’

  ‘You didn’t know who she was planning to meet on Thursday night?’

  ‘No, as far as I knew she was having an early night because she had to get up at half five the next morning. I spoke to her Thursday afternoon, checking she didn’t need anything for her presentation, and that’s what she said. If she met somebody, it was arranged that evening.’

  Harriet thanked Imogen for being so open, and Harriet disconnected. She sat deep in thought. Melanie Brookes was a definite Jekyll and Hyde; on the surface a bright, talented woman, but underneath a woman who craved attention and got it by any means.

  They urgently needed the data from the mobile phone company. They might not have the phone, but that didn’t stop a list of numbers landing on the desk. Tomorrow, she decided, that document would be available for her perusal come what may.

  Doris buckled on her seat belt, and started the car. She was beginning to feel that she could make the journey to Hucknall with her eyes closed; no satnav needed.

  ‘Let’s call and pick up some flowers for Rosie, shall we?’ Wendy said, wriggling about to get more comfortable. ‘I think she needs to know it’s not all doom and gloom.’

  Doris nodded. ‘We will. I’ve been thinking. Melanie Brookes, this body in the river, why was she even out that night? Listening to what everybody has said, it seems she had an early start Friday morning for her visit to York, so what persuaded her to go out Thursday night for a Chinese takeaway?’

  ‘What? How do you know she did that?’ Wendy’s eyes widened. ‘I’ve not heard anything about that.’

  A small smile hovered around Doris’s lips. ‘If I told you how I knew that, I’d have to kill you.’

  ‘You’ve gone Connectiony on me. What time did you go to bed last night?’

  ‘About three.’

  ‘You’re up to date with the investigation then?’

  ‘Kind of. I did find out one or two things I hadn’t known before. Like this Chinese meal. It’s with forensics at the moment because they found the polystyrene box with some left in it. But it doesn’t make sense that she was out buying the damn stuff in the first place. She told Patrick Ledger she wouldn’t be seeing him until Saturday afternoon. She needed an early night on the Thursday, and she would be staying overnight in York on the Friday. Rosie said that, that’s nothing to do with me and whatever I was doing that kept me up until three. So what made Melanie decide to go out that night for food? Or maybe the food was an addition? Maybe she didn’t go out to get something to eat, maybe she went out to meet somebody who said let’s have a Chinese.’

  Doris touched her brakes lightly, then swung into a layby. The roadside stall had mainly fruit and vegetables for sale, but a large galvanised bucket held bunches of brightly coloured flowers. She bought one and put it into the boot before resuming her place in the driving seat.

  ‘Do me a favour, Wendy, when we get there. If I say something that I can’t possibly know, don’t question it. And let’s hope Rosie doesn’t. Megan, on the other hand, is a dead cert to query everything, so we might not get away with it.’

  ‘Doris, I rarely check anything with you, I assume you know things anyway. You give off an air of confidence that fools everybody. Let’s go see your extended family, and you can offer your help. Let’s talk these questions through with them and see what we come up with.’

  Doris and Wendy pulled up outside Rosie’s house, to see Mark on the front path holding Rosie and pushing the back of her head against the stone wall; he was screaming into her face. Megan was hovering inside the doorway crying, and Rosie was attempting, unsuccessfully, to push Mark away from her.

  ‘Stay in the car and film this,’ Doris said to Wendy, then ran up the path towards the irate man and the clearly frightened woman and child.

  Mark didn’t see, or hear, Doris’s arrival behind his back. ‘Where the fuck is my wife, bitch?’ were the words that Doris heard, and she went into action.

  Doris hooked her right ankle around his leg and tugged. He fell away from Rosie and turned around. ‘What the…’ he roared and lifted his hand to grab at her.

  Doris brought up her foot, and the pain that must have reverberated through his groin was the trigger that brought him to his knees, the roar changing to a scream. The right-handed chop to his shoulder saw him tumble to the floor, in too much pain to move. Doris pushed her foot towards his face. He didn’t move; he couldn’t move.

  ‘You can sue me if you want, Mr Ledger,’ she said quietly and sweetly, ‘but I do have to tell you that every part of this has been videoed and I am sure that when your friends find out you were… demolished… by a seventy-year-old granny, your street cred will be shot to smithereens. Facebook is a powerful tool. Now, we’re going to leave you here on the path until you feel you can walk again, then I want you to go home, Mr Ledger, forget you have a wife and children because they’ve certainly wiped you from their memories and don’t ever come near this house again unless it’s by invitation. Should I ever find out you’ve touched any inhabitant of this house, or even threatened them, I will be back and next time I won’t hold back, I will mash your balls.’

  Wendy had climbed out of the car to do the filming, and now walked up the path, still aiming the camera at the man lying prostrate on the path. She zoomed into his face and grinned.

  ‘Hello, Mr Ledger. Smile for the camera please.’

  His answer was a groan, and they walked around him and through the front door. Rosie was holding tightly on to Megan, who was still sobbing.

  ‘Shush, sweetheart, it’s over. When Uncle Mark’s able to walk again, I think he’ll go straight home. Let’s go and make a nice cup of tea, and maybe we can have the scones you made this morning?’

  Megan stifled a sob and nodded.

  All four of them headed for the kitchen and sat around the table. ‘Thank you, Doris,’ Rosie said quietly. She touched the back of her head. ‘Ouch. He was bashing my head into the wall before you arrived.’ Megan stood and moved behind her mother. She inspected her head and pronounced it free of blood, just a couple of scrapes.

  ‘I’ll give him a couple of minutes, then go and make sure he’s still alive,’ Doris said. ‘He deserved that, but I do think there was an element of if you’re a male you’ve got it coming, at the moment. It’s been a strange couple of weeks for me,’ she finished with a laugh.

  Megan stood to go and butter some scones, while Rosie made a large pot of tea. Rosie’s hands shook slightly, and Doris knew she had been afraid.

  Doris stood and walked down the hallway. She opened the front door but there was no sign of Mark. He’d clearly decided retreat was his best option.

  ‘He wanted to know where Shirley is?’

  Rosie nodded. ‘He did. And he says he’s going to go to the school on Saturday and get his boys, then she’ll come home to be with them. Arrogant bastard.’

  ‘She needs to get the boys for definite on Friday.’

  ‘I know. I’ll speak to her later. Megan and I are going over for the day on Friday anyway to help her move in. She’s apparently having new beds delivered really early. She’s managed to get a suite from a charity shop and that’s
coming Friday, so they’ll be comfortable enough until it can be made into a proper home for them.’

  ‘You’re off school, Megan?’

  Megan nodded. She pulled up her top and showed Doris and Wendy her back.

  ‘Shingles,’ Rosie explained. ‘She’s been a bit off for a few days and two days ago that rash appeared. I took her to the doctors yesterday and it’s shingles. She’s on a pretty intense course of treatment, five tablets a day, but the pain is easing. She’ll be okay by the end of next week’s holiday, hopefully. As a result, she’s free to help on Friday. Good news all round,’ Rosie said with a grin.

  ‘And,’ Megan interrupted, ‘it’s given me time to look up where there are some karate classes. Mrs Lester, that was the most amazing thing. I’ve seen it on TV, but that’s the first time I’ve ever witnessed it used in a real situation. I want to be able to do that when I’m a PI.’

  24

  The briefing on that Thursday morning saw everyone issued with different jobs, unlike the day before when the work had been concentrated on the riverbank area and the bridges.

  They had some answers. Melanie Brookes had been thrown in from the bridge closest to the Chinese takeaway where she had last been seen alive. The Styrofoam packaging had been confirmed as being of the same type used by Ernie Chan. Ernie’s statement also confirmed he had provided two boxes with prawn balls in, and one portion of chips. He could not confirm it was a man who accompanied Melanie on her last walk, but there had definitely been a second person waiting outside his shop for her to buy the meals. Ernie also confirmed she had worn a backpack, but could give no further details other than it was either black or navy blue.

  Harriet gave the account of her visit to Global Systems (Newark) PLC, and of her impressions of the owner. She described her visit in detail, and how that visit had ended with a surreptitious action on the part of the receptionist, the proverbial note-passing so that the boss doesn’t know what’s going on.

  Harriet read from her notebook, telling them of the conversation she had with Imogen the previous night, a conversation that upped the suspect count to three definites: Mark Ledger, Patrick Ledger and Kevin Vickers.

  ‘She was sleeping with all three of them?’ The query came from the back of the room.

  ‘Not currently. She had broken off with Kevin Vickers, but he wasn’t happy about it. He was even more unhappy when his wife left him. The boss and I will take this interview as soon as possible, we’ll have to speak to Vickers to get the address. He’s not going to want us talking to her, he wants her back in the marital home and we might kill off any chance of that by talking to her, but we need to know why she decided to go. It may be that she was fed up, and it was nothing to do with Melanie, but we must hear her reason so we can rule him out or in. If it turns out to be him who killed Melanie, he certainly killed his golden-egg-laying goose. She was a real star at the company, earned massive bonuses for arranging contracts for new work, which is why I’m hesitant to think it’s him. He’s definitely not ruled out though. She was currently living most of the time with Patrick Ledger, he was her acknowledged boyfriend, but she was having an affair with Mark Ledger, Patrick’s older brother. You know, the brother who’s devastated his wife has gone walkabout, and who desperately wants her home to do his ironing.’

  There was laughter around the room at her words. ‘You get the idea, then. So, I’m leaving…’ she glanced around the room, ‘Fiona to organise what everybody is doing today. DCI Stamford is working from her office and is available if needed. She’s checking everything that’s come in, chasing up some details we’re still waiting for, and is generally in charge. The divers are moving further downstream and Sam will be with them. Sam, take two more bodies with you, continue with that bankside search. The phone and bag still haven’t been found. I have the phone records now, for Melanie’s number. I shall be working on them at my desk. Any queries, see either the boss or me. Okay?’

  There was a general shuffling of feet, a drift over to Fiona Harte, and an exit by Sam Ellis who took Ian and Andrew with him. They’d been up to their knees in mud the previous day, and yet hadn’t complained once – they’d do for him.

  When everyone had left for their various visits and tasks, Harriet went through to Grace’s office.

  ‘Okay, everybody’s out doing things, and I’m about to be glued to my desk. You need anything, boss?’

  Grace sat back with a sigh. She opened her purse and took out a ten-pound note. ‘I want a large cappuccino with loads of chocolate on it. You fancy going and getting us one each before you start? I can’t, I’m waiting for a phone call, but you’ve not started yet.’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure. Look at the sunshine,’ Harriet said with a smile. She picked up the money, and closed the door quietly behind her.

  The queue in Costa was long and Harriet had changed her mind about which drink to have by the time she reached the front. In the end, she decided to go with the cappuccino also, and gave her order to the girl behind the counter. She paid and moved to the end section where she would collect her order.

  ‘You found who murdered Mel yet, then?’ a voice said quietly. She spun round, suddenly scared.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Saw you cross the road after you’d come out of the police station. Mel was a friend, so thought I’d ask.’ The man, around twenty-five if Harriet had to guess, smiled.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t discuss work outside of work,’ she retorted. ‘You want to know anything, join the police.’

  ‘Okay, okay!’ He held up a hand in surrender. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I liked Mel, we got on, so I thought I’d ask.’

  ‘You haven’t come forward as being a friend of Mel’s. If you are, we need to interview you.’ Harriet felt uncomfortable. The situation was out of her control. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Ray Taylor. Raymond really, but I don’t like that. Everybody calls me Ray.’

  ‘Ray, I need to talk to you. An hour? Don’t be late. She handed him her card and picked up her two coffees which had arrived. ‘Don’t make me have to come looking for you.’

  ‘As if I’d dare,’ Ray said with a laugh. He picked up his own cup, and carried it to a table.

  Harriet headed back across the road, and delivered both drinks to Grace’s office, where she told the story of her coffee shop trip.

  ‘Think he’ll turn up?’

  ‘Oh yes. I might have threatened him. Only a little bit. I reckon he’ll come, and I reckon he’ll be early. I don’t suppose for a minute he’ll have anything to add, I wanted to pay him back for making me jump.’

  Ray Taylor was ten minutes early for his appointment, fully believing that the officer he’d tried to get a bit cocky with would indeed go out and search for him, possibly with a view to keeping him locked up overnight.

  He confirmed that for a period of about three weeks he had slept with Melanie Brookes, about five times in all. But more if you counted the number of times per night, he hastened to add.

  Much to his dismay, she then ditched him. Ray thought her boyfriend was starting to click on, so it was bye bye, Ray. Yes, he had said, he did still think about her a lot, and was sad to hear of her death. She didn’t deserve that.

  He did come up with one interesting comment – when she went out walking or running, she always took a backpack. It had a side strap for holding a water bottle, and it was lightweight.

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘It was how I met her. The running, I mean. I run as much as she does… did, and I spotted her by the side of the road having a drink. I stopped because she was proper tasty, but she’d stopped because her drink holder strap had snapped. We ended up in bed that night, and the next night I took her a new bag.’

  ‘Can you remember what the bag looks like?’ Harriet felt a small frisson of anticipation.

  ‘Yes, it was black, Nike on it, lightweight, made of nylon I think.’ He took out his phone and scrolled through his pictures. He passed the ph
one over to Harriet. ‘That’s it. Scroll to the next one as well.’

  Melanie was in the pictures, totally naked, her back to the camera and wearing the backpack, her thumb held up indicating she was happy with it. The second picture was a full-frontal shot with Melanie leaning forward to blow the photographer a kiss.

  Harriet sent the pictures to her own phone, then thanked Ray for his co-operation.

  ‘I miss her, you know,’ he said. ‘I really liked her, but she’s like a free spirit, not tied down to anybody. I hope you find whoever did this, he deserves to hang.’

  Harriet walked him to the car park, and waved as he went. Nice bloke, she thought, I misjudged him.

  Unable to use Ray’s pictures of the bag, they found one on the Internet and showed it on the evening news, asking everyone to keep an eye out for it as it was still missing despite carefully searching the crime scene. Grace was the spokesperson, and she also asked for any sightings of Melanie on that journey between the Rainbow Chinese shop and the bridge where they believed she had been killed.

  They didn’t have a single call in response, and frustration was starting to set in.

  Finally Harriet managed to get around to checking the data for Melanie’s phone. She couldn’t help but wish they had the actual instrument, with its photos and a list of contacts, but they didn’t so the file sent by O2 was vital to the investigation.

  Melanie had had five incoming calls between four and seven on the evening she died. One was from Patrick, one from Mark, one from Shirley, one from Rosie and one from Global Systems. Patrick’s had gone unanswered, but she had spoken to all of the others. There had been no incoming calls between Melanie leaving Patrick’s home at midday, and speaking to Mark at four seventeen. The call was slightly over four minutes in length.