Next day, Gary was taking his Sunday turn at HQ. He was understandably
delighted with the report he received from Ted Beasely. There was at last hope
on the horizon for Alice Crane. Gary phoned Cleo immediately to tell her the
good news
“But I suppose you already knew, didn’t you?” he said.
“Only this morning. I’m holding the fort here,” he told
Cleo.
“I think Jenny made a
capture of her own last night.”
“It hadn’t occurred to me that I was match-making.”
“I’ve no idea about Jenny’s taste in men and I’ve no
intention of asking,” said Cleo, “but Jenny said you’d sent the right guy and
she was not alone when she rang me.”
“Good for him,” said Gary. “We all made a catch in that case!
That bastard Daniels has a youth record for violence and taunting girls at
school, Cleo. It’s called mobbing now but in my mind he’s a dangerous bully and
I’m glad he’s behind bars.”
“Unfortunately, those records are not taken into account
decades later, are they?”
“It rather depends on the judge,” said Gary. “Many a fine
lawyer was up before the beak for some failing or other as a kid. Some have
reformed, some just use different methods to bully their clients.”
Gary invited Cleo to go to the prison with him to give Crane
the news of Daniels’ arrest personally. Could she arrange it on a Monday
morning? It was almost certain that the case would be reopened now they had
evidence that the man was violent and abusive.
Cleo said she would postpone breakfast with Dorothy until
Tuesday. Of course, the prison visit took priority.
Gary said he was going to make a big effort to locate Margot
Smith’s whereabouts that day. He could use a slack Sunday to search Margot
Smith’s house.
Smith’s colleagues at Social Services had claimed to have no
idea where Margot Smith could be. Gary would could be at her house and back
again in less than an hour, so he organized a patrol team to join him and drove
there in his own car.
Together, Gary and the two patrol officers went up to the house.
It was one of a row of identical houses in a long terrace. The houses all had
red brick facades and tiny, oblong front gardens. There was a chance that Smith
could abscond via the back door and the passage running parallel to the houses,
so one of the officers went round the back, hurrying along a path parallel to
the terrace and counting the chimneys from the front and then the back of the
identical houses so that he could make a quick inspection of the back yards
before guarding the correct back door. Gary rang the doorbell several times and
the second patrol officer peered through the downstairs front window.
“I think the key will be where most people keep one.” said
Gary, digging his hand into the only plant pot in sight, which contained a
shrub that needed watering. Sure enough, he found the door-key and opened up.
They let the second patrol officer in through the back door, locked it and
removed the key so that no one could get out that way. The officer had not seen
anything you would not normally see in a yard, as far as he could judge. Then they looked around downstairs. It was
tidy, but there were unwashed dishes for two in the kitchen sink. There was
congealed fat on the dinner plates and an old newspaper revealed that fish and
chips had been on the menu. The post on the hall carpet was several days old
and included an electricity bill, advertising flyers and a postcard from someone
at the seaside. Either Margot Smith had not been home for that long or she was
in the habit of ignoring her mail.
Upstairs, Gary strode into the main bedroom expecting to see
nothing at all, but there his speculative visit ended. The woman they had first
thought was Mary Devonport had met with the same fate as her colleague, the
real Devonport. She lay face down on her bed. Her throat had been cut.
“I used to be a paramedic, Sir,” one of the police patrol officers
announced, pulling on latex gloves. I’ll take a closer look.”
“Do that,” said Gary, turning away in horror, taking pains
to hide his nausea from the patrol officers.
Moments later the patrol cop said that Miss Smith had been
dead for some days. The blood that had gushed from the wound onto her bedding
was congealed. Rigor mortis had been and gone. The body was stone cold and
stank. Gary pulled himself together and whipped out his mobile to take a few
shots of the scene from various angles.
The second patrol officer called forensics and the
paramedics. There was nothing else they could do apart from putting a cordon around
the building. Gary knew that Julie would not cringe at the scene. He rang her
and asked her to come to take official police photos, ostensibly since his
mobile was more suited to holiday snaps than crime detection, but really
because Julie would get professional results taken close to the body and from
every angle and they could go straight into the crime report.
“Do you still need us, Sir?” One of the patrol officers
asked eventually.
“No. Nothing more you can do here. I’ll wait for forensics
and the medics. Run along, write a report …. and thanks.”
Chris had been hoping for a free Sunday, so he was a little
irritated that he should be called out. His only compensation was that Julie
would be along to take photographs. In his opinion, he was much better suited
to Julie than this crusty example of a detective calling himself Gary Hurley.
He also knew better than to assume that Julie would be horrified at what she
saw, and he was safe in his assumption that Gary was tagging along with Julie
only because he could not be with Cleo.
“Why were you here, Gary?” Chris wanted to know. “You are on
HQ duty, aren’t you?”
“Instinct, Chris. Part of that Devonport case. Nigel is
holding the fort at HQ, but there was a lull in activity. I expect all the
felons are in church.”
Chris laughed. Nigel was Gary’s assistant and general factotum.
Chris did not like him, and the feeling was mutual. Nigel did not trust Chris. He
had found out bit about his past. Forensic scientists have skills they can use
outside official criminal investigations. Gary had told him not to mention that
to anyone. Christ would not stay much longer, and his successor, A Dr Chris
Winter, was lined up.
Gary thought her should offer some information about the
dead woman.
“We have a curious social services team, as I expect you
know, Chris. “This is the woman who collected the child in Upper Grumpsfield
and it is clear now that at least two of the women have been swapping
identities. Both are now dead.”
“Do you think both were killed by the same assassin, Gary?”
“It’s certainly possible. The first victim was a social
worker named Mary Devonport, and she’s in your mortuary. This woman here, Margot
Smith, was wearing Devonport’s ID badge when she collected the child in Upper
Grumpsfield. Can you tell if the same instrument has been used in both cases?”
“That’s a tall order, Gary, but maybe the pressure used will
give us a clue, though how you are going to find a serrated knife to match the
murder weapon used here beats me, unless it was tossed into the bushes three
yards away and is crying out to be found. Devonport was stabbed viciously in
the back, so the gesture would be different.”
Gary shuddered at that euphemism.
“Any killer worth his salt will have taken the knife with
him, I should think” said Gary. “Killers tend not to be helpful with evidence.”
“Though a blood-stained knife might be something you might
want to dispose in the nearest hedge,” said Chris. “A turn in a dishwasher or
washing machine removes any fresh evidence from gadgets or clothing. You almost
have to be a witness to know what really happened.”
“In other words, unless we stumble across that knife, we can
forget about it.”
“Quite apart from that, it could be an inside job, Gary.
Social Services have been hit hard by the criticism of their draconian methods.
Maybe they have a knife block and one knife is missing.”
Chris was almost joking, but not quite.
“On the other hand, there was no break-in and there’s a
serrated-edged bread knife in everyone’s cutlery drawer.”
“The chances are that someone in the know wanted to silence
both ‘ladies’ if they were involved in what Cleo suspects is baby-trading,”
said Gary. “At first I thought it was an absurd idea, but I’m starting to think
she may be on to something.”
“Cleo Hartley is cute, Gary, and she’s a woman. Her
intuition is working for her.”
“Her friend Dorothy is not exactly devoid of good ideas,
either.”
“Do you still lodge there?”
“I’ve just moved back into my old bachelor flat. I miss Dorothy’s
cooking.”
Chris thought Gary also missed being near Cleo but refrained
from mentioning that.
“You look as if you should live on lettuce for a month,
Gary.”
“My inner hungry beast defeats me,” said Gary. “You’re
getting fatter too”
“I have a new partner who can cook.”
“I didn’t know you went for the ladies, Chris.”
“I don’t.”
***
Julie arrived and called “I’m here” from the bottom of the
stairs.
Gary and Chris rushed to the balustrade.
“Do you always leave front doors open during investigations?
I just marched in here. How’s life. Gary?”
“What life are we talking about?”
“I mean after the love of your life married someone else.”
“Oh that,” said Gary, feigning a casual approach.
“You made yourself scarce, you know,” Julie continued.
“Busy. I was moving.”
“My father’s cock-a-hoop about the marriage.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“He thought you’d lodge a last-minute protest, but you
didn’t,” said Julie as she climbed the stairs slowly, laden with photo paraphernalia.
“Are you carrying on as usual, Gary?”
“What do you mean by that, Julie?”
“You know what I mean.”
Although Gary realized that she was referring to his affair
with Cleo, he did not offer any comment. Why was she asking? She was not
jealous and too old to want to defend her father. Julie was nice, but not his
type. She was, as every woman he had anything to do with these days, only part
of the waiting game, he reflected.
“Should I be, Julie?”
“I’d be surprised if you weren’t. Those red roses …”
Gary ignored the innuendo.
“Now you’re here, brace yourself for what you’re about to
see,” he said as they entered the bedroom.
“Wow. Someone had it in for her,” Julie exclaimed. “Photos
aren’t much good without the face. Can you turn her over?”
“I don’t see why not. She’s been dead for days,” said Chris.
“Thanks. Pretty
gruesome,” said Julie.
“Are you OK?” Gary asked.
“I should be asking you that,” Julie replied. “You look a
bit chalky, Gary, but that dead guy at the slaughterhouse was a more shocking
experience.”
“The one hanging from a hook like a carcass?” said Chris.
“Yes. Just move away both of you! I’ll take some close-ups
showing her in profile unless you want selfies. Who is it, anyway?”
“The woman wearing Devonport’s badge who went off with Anna
at the bell tower. Her name is Margot Smith.”
Julie took photos from all angles.
“That’s it then. I’ll mail you them later, Gary. Bye Chris,
see you anon.”
Julie’s departure said it all. Gary’s relationship with
Julie was all but non-existent. Chris had once wondered why they weren’t an
item.
“So you moved without inviting Julie to share your pad,” Chris
said.
“I never thought of her that way nor she of me, Chris. She’s
fixed on Colin Peck.”
On reflection, the nuisance of turning out to investigate a
crime on a Sunday morning that you’d planned to spend at the gym had proved
rather a godsend for him. He could date Julie and maybe introduce her to his
parents. They were hoping for grandchildren. He did not expect Colin to return
and it was easier to affect bisexuality than spend one’s life listening to
people asking you when you were going to get hitched.
“You don’t fancy Julie, do you, Chris. You said you lad a new
male partner.”
“Temporary. I’m between two stools, so to speak.”
Gary thought he would ask Cleo what she thought of that
turnup for the books. He phoned her during a null at the office. Cleo had been
waiting for the call and told him so. Er irritation turned to shock when Gary
told her about Margot Smith.
“You took your time letting me know, Gary.”
“It’s Sunday. I thought you’d want a cosy day with your new
husband.”
“I didn’t hear that,” said Cleo. She had gone outside to
keep talking on her mobile.
“Julie took photos,” said Gary.
“Is she moving in with you?”
“No, of course not. She was just a cover, but that’s blown
too, Cleo. I think Chris would like to date her.”
“He prefers men, Gary.”
“Maybe both.”
“Just be glad he’s interested,” said Cleo. “On the other
hand, Robert would like to think you have a steady girlfriend, even if it is
his daughter.”
“Julie is hoping Colin will return on a white charger to elope
with her at dead of night, Cleo.”
“Some hope. Can we meet? I’m at a loose end here.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“Of course not. I meant that Robert is tussling with his
accounts and said he wanted to practice his table tennis afterwards.”
“We could go to my flat tomorrow after we’ve seen Crane.”
“Good idea. I’ll survive until then. Any idea who killed
Margot Smith?”
“Chris and I think she and Devonport could have been killed
by the same person. The method was more or less the same except for the pool.”
“Is it possible that the person who killed Devonport did not
put her in the pool?”
“Do you mean she was transported there after death?”
“Well, was she?”
“Possibly. She certainly did not drown and the blood beside
the pool could have been caused when she was dragged there.”
“How come you found Smith?”
“Instinct. Quite Dorothy-like. I went to her house and got a
patrol car there. She was stretched out on her bed. We think she was killed
there. There’s no sign of blood anywhere else in the house.”
“Monkey business or sex, Gary. Do you think she put up a
fight?”
“Smith had been entertaining someone beforehand. The dirty
plates in the kitchen sink were probably from that last supper. They must have
gone upstairs and her guest might have killed he. Chris will take samples of
DNA from the coffee cups and cutlery, and a team of forensic guys is swarming all
over the house. As far as evidence of a struggle is concerned, Chris will find
out when he does the autopsy tomorrow. Skin under her fingernails might
indicate that she fought for her life.”
“Are you going to inform her colleagues?” Cleo asked.
“No. I only hope the papers get hold of the story. I rather
think I’ll wait a day or two. Someone might turn up who is looking for her. Or
the villain returns to the scene of the crime.”
That sounds like Dorothy, Gary. You can’t leave a guard
there. Anyone visiting or checking would be warned. You can’t rule out that
neighbours could have seen what went on, either.”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
“People get up to all sorts of things behind their net
curtains.”
“What’s next on the menu for you behind your net curtain,
Cleo?”
“Even if I had net drapes, I would not be planning anything.
It’s going to be a tough day tomorrow with that penitentiary visit coming up.”
“Tell Robert you’ll be out all day.”
“I’ll tell him,
but he wouldn’t notice. Monday is sausage-making day.”
“A thrilling prospect!
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