‘And?’
‘It seemed really straightforward. Doctor Granger said it was his heart. But… I don’t know.’
‘Tell me…’
‘It was just as we were finishing up at the scene… I got a sense of having missed something obvious. That something didn’t quite sit right…’
‘Hiya, Tony. Thought I heard voices. Where’s that brew, Maya, I’m gasping.’ Elaine emerged from the side office wiping sweat from her brow. The moment was lost as Tony and Elaine greeted each other and they all settled down with a brew.
The three of them began to chat amicably, discussing mutual acquaintances and which SOCOs were retiring, pregnant or had applied for promotion. They heard footsteps heading down the corridor and Maya wondered if it was Connor heading back in early, but unfortunately it was Andy.
‘Tony,’ Andy nodded his acknowledgement, ‘good to see you, hope you’re well, mate.’ He sat down, completely ignoring the fact that Elaine and Maya were also in the room.
‘We’re fine, Andy, thanks for asking,’ Elaine said sarcastically.
While Maya would have chosen to just ignore the rebuff, Elaine was not the type to let it go. Andy grunted incoherently, not even bothering to make eye contact with her. Maya could sense Elaine fizzing with indignation, while Tony sat awkwardly, not knowing how to break the tension.
‘How was your warrant, Andy, did you find much at Nowak’s house?’ Maya attempted to ease the charged moment.
‘No,’ Andy replied flatly. He didn’t look up and his refusal to add anything more caused the tension to build even further.
‘Well, I better be getting back…’ started Tony, but Elaine cut in.
‘You’re an ignorant bastard, Andy Carr, what is your problem?’ she hissed.
‘I haven’t got one.’ Andy sounded bored. He had resumed his usual position of feet up on the desk. He swept a hand through his hair before tapping away at his phone.
‘Will you at least look at me when I’m speaking to you?’ Elaine was on her feet now. Her usual ruddy cheeks had deepened to an even darker shade of red and spittle flew from her mouth as she spoke.
‘Just leave him to it, Elaine,’ Maya said placatingly.
‘Yeah, come on, walk me out to my van and we’ll have a smoke before I go,’ Tony soothed, getting to his feet.
‘I don’t want a smoke. I want him to apologise for being so bloody rude.’ Elaine was shaking now, her fists balled at her sides as she glared balefully at Andy. Maya was surprised Andy didn’t drop dead on the spot from the look of pure hatred on Elaine’s face.
Andy was still typing away on his phone, refusing to look up. He gave a little sigh and his lip curled in a sardonic manner. ‘Bit uptight today, Elaine. You not getting any? Husband still playing away with that sexy little neighbour of yours?’
Time seemed to stand still. Andy had chosen to throw the most hurtful and personal thing he could at Elaine and Maya was shocked that even he could be so cruel.
‘You bastard,’ Elaine screamed. ‘You complete fucking bastard.’ She launched herself across the desk. Andy wheeled back in his chair, openly laughing at her and waving his hands in a mock surrender. Tony had Elaine gripped around the waist and was attempting to pull her back across the desk.
‘C’mon, Elaine, he’s not worth it.’ Tony was panting with exertion. Elaine towered over him and was what Dominique would have called ‘big-boned’, so trying to restrain her was proving quite difficult. A computer monitor rocked precariously on the desk before crashing to the floor, taking the office phone with it.
‘What the hell is going on in here?’
DI Mitton was framed in the doorway glowering reproachfully at the commotion in front of her. Tony still had Elaine in a half-hug across her waist. Maya stood with her hand over her mouth, gobsmacked, the displaced monitor and phone lay at her feet.
Andy was sat back in his chair, a look of pure innocence spread across his smug, angular face. It would have looked quite a comical scene if it hadn’t been so serious.
‘Alison, good job you showed up. I thought the mad bitch was going to kill me.’ Andy puffed out his cheeks in relief.
Maya knew that Alison Mitton was no fool. She’d hazard a guess that the DI had worked with Andy and men like him for long enough to know he was no victim. As for Elaine, she was a respected SOCO known to be a sensible, strong-willed woman who wouldn’t react so aggressively to a situation without provocation.
‘It’s ma’am to you.’ Alison scowled pointedly. ‘Elaine, go and have a cigarette and calm yourself down. Maya, if you wouldn’t mind picking those bits off the floor for me, please. Andy, I’d like a full debrief of the scene examination relating to Piotr Nowak. Now please.’ She nodded to Tony and stalked out of the office.
Elaine looked close to tears; she grabbed her bag and stormed out of the office, quickly followed by Tony. Maya gathered up the phone and monitor, watching Andy out of the corner of her eye. The smug look had been replaced with an uncharacteristically sheepish expression. Maya noticed his hands were shaking as he gathered up his scene notes and quickly annotated a few lines. Clearly his paperwork wasn’t up to date. He hadn’t made the contemporaneous notes in his crime-scene report that he should have; something Kym was incredibly strict about.
Andy walked into DI Mitton’s office and sat himself down without even asking. ‘The mad bitch tries to attack me and I’m the one who gets the curly finger.’ He pouted petulantly, a pathetic look on the face of a man his age.
DI Mitton responded with a raised eyebrow, silently appraising Andy for long enough to make him squirm uncomfortably. She eventually addressed him in an even tone. ‘I was coming into your office to ask about the scene at Nowak’s. I’ve reviewed the disc of photographs you left on my desk and have to say they leave a lot to be desired.’
Andy attempted to speak but DI Mitton silenced him with a glare. ‘I’ve been told you left the scene before the search dog was brought in.’
‘I didn’t know they were using a dog. No one told me,’ he replied sulkily.
‘Well, fortunately they did as the dog found a quantity of cash and some cocaine stashed in a storage box, which you not only missed, but is in an area of the scene which does not even appear on your photographs.’ She tapped the disc as she spoke.
Andy didn’t comment. His expression remained fixed; a muscle pulsated near his jaw.
‘I’ll be discussing your failings with Kym when she’s next on duty. You can go.’
DI Mitton concentrated on a raft of paperwork in front of her, not even acknowledging Andy as he left the office. He stormed back up the corridor and began slamming items about as he gathered his paperwork. He could sense Maya watching him and that angered him even more. She’d only been in the place two minutes and was already trying to lord it over him. Playing the race card and pulling her pretty face because she didn’t like the way he talked.
Andy raged silently at the injustice that he even had to share breathing space with the likes of Maya and Elaine. Who did these fucking women think they were, treating him like they did? They had no idea who he was and what he was capable of. He should be revered by them, not treated as if he was just a bit of a kid like that Connor. He was a man – a real man’s man. He may not be a senior SOCO like Kym, but he had years of experience and that meant he should be afforded the same respect. If not more.
Still, he was patient. He would calm himself down and bide his time until the right opportunity arose so that he could show them all. And as for Kym bloody Lawson, she could stamp her prissy little feet at him as much as she wanted, he wouldn’t rise to the bait. He’d been married enough times to know when to say and do the right things to buy himself some peace and quiet. Those women would rue the day that they ever crossed Andy Carr; he would make sure of that.
13
When she opened the door and saw it was me, she had laughed. Not the reaction I had anticipated. Her eyes had widened fleetingly in surprise before she tossed her
head back and barked that hollow laugh of hers. I asked her what the point of expensive electric gates was if she was going to leave them wide open.
‘Anyone could come wandering up that huge driveway of yours,’ I had said. ‘Anyone did! Come here, you,’ she replied. Then she pulled me into the hallway in a huge embrace as if we were old friends. She had wrapped her bony arms around me, smothering me with her sickly scent, oblivious to the fact my arms remained pinned to my side.
She had ushered me into the lounge where unsurprisingly, she already had a bottle of something open. She clumsily forced a glass into my hand, as quick as most people would blink. She pushed me towards the sofa. One of those monstrosities that you sink into and wonder if you can ever get back out. She sat too close. Our knees were touching and as I talked, I noticed she still had that unnerving way of staring. It was as if her eyes were like maggots boring into an apple. She didn’t flinch or blink. She just stared, her gaze level and unwavering. I’d forgotten how distracting it could be.
She was dressed to the nines as always. She wore a lightweight designer trouser suit meant for a woman much younger than her. She still had that stick-thin figure and it was obvious that she was no stranger to Botox. Her features were frozen in the recognisable mask of a telltale cat face, and I wondered how many facelifts she had endured. Probably so many that by rights her nipples should be on her forehead.
Her make-up was plastered on. Foundation battled against the warm weather to stop her sweating, and I noticed that her lipstick had bled into the thin smoker’s lines around her mouth. Her mascara was so heavily applied it looked like she had a host of errant spider’s legs jutting from her eyelids. She was definitely past it but was clearly deluded. She undoubtedly saw the woman of her twenties pout back at her every time she looked in the mirror.
That was probably why she drank. It was like the photographer’s trick of rubbing Vaseline on the camera lens to soften the edges. Back in the day she had been beautiful, and she had known it. She used her looks and her body to manipulate people so she could get what she wanted. But our old friend Time had well and truly caught up with her.
As the saying goes, beauty is only ever skin deep. Even in her heyday, on the inside she had always been one hell of an ugly bitch. She was cold and ruthless with a sinister streak that would chill even the most hardened criminals to their core. She had the morality of a sewer rat and the only thing in life that motivated her was money. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for the right currency.
Whatever she was up to these days was clearly still financing the lifestyle to which she had always been accustomed. I couldn’t help wondering which poor bastard she had pincer-gripped by the bollocks as she squeezed the cash out of them. Her house screamed affluent although the crass furnishings muttered ‘woman with no taste’. The place looked like a tart’s boudoir. It was all animal print, feather boas and canvases of naked women. There were tits and arses displayed on every wall; not that I’m complaining about that – I just prefer to think I have a more refined sense of taste.
And speaking of taste, can you believe she tried it on with me? As if I would ever consider going with a woman like her. At first, I thought I was misreading the signs and that she was just being tactile. But the way she leaned even closer towards me, oblivious to my personal space, pressing herself against me, the flick of her hair, the constant licking of the lips and the hand that persistently wandered above the knee. Oh, and the fact she blatantly announced that she wanted to fuck me.
She had asked me about Louisa. She wanted to know if we were still together. She enquired in that husky voice of hers, her head cocked to one side, I assume to look coquettish. In reality, she looked like she had whiplash. It took me every ounce of self-control not to smash my fist into her ugly, vicious mouth. The juxtapose of Louisa’s beautiful name on her cesspit lips was unbearable.
Fortunately, I managed to restrain myself for the sake of the plan and even managed to play along with her. Out of all of them, I knew she’d be the hardest to kill. She was no fool, after all. I knew I would have to tread very carefully to make sure she didn’t second-guess my intentions before it was too late. She thought I was an old friend eager for a walk down memory lane, and I was happy to go along with that.
Her constant flirtation made it so much easier to get her where I wanted. She had always liked playing games; she had no idea this would be her last. The champagne was flowing as we chatted. The real deal too, no cheap supermarket version for her. It was also obvious that each time she ‘popped to the loo’ she was snorting a line of coke as her eyes became glossier and her behaviour even more wild and errant.
She agreed to write the note. She was like an excitable child compiling a Christmas list. It took her a while in her intoxicated state. She knelt at the coffee table, carefully printing each word out, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on forming the rounded letters. It was painful to watch, and I swear if I’d had a crayon, I would have asked her to use that. I even had to help her out with the bloody spelling.
As she scribbled away, I steeled myself to respond warmly to her flirtatious touches and even managed to spew a few suggestive comments her way. When she offered me a tour of the place, I was left in no doubt that the pièce-de-résistance would be her bedroom. I also knew it could provide me with an opportunity too good to miss and I was right.
She led me from room to palatial room, the castanet clicks of her Louboutin heels on the expensive tiled floor grated on my nerves. The kitchen made me laugh the most. It boasted a top-of-the-range Aga, huge American-style fridge and a large kitchen island, as well as a host of expensive-looking pots and pans.
My eyes briefly lingered on the knife block which stood alluringly on the kitchen worktop. I made a mental note that they were there. Just in case. It was typical of her to have such an extravagant kitchen. It was all for show. I had no doubt that the only time she came in here was to reach for another bottle of champagne. And as for cooking? No chance. I doubt she could even boil a kettle.
I followed her on the tour across the hallway and up the sweeping staircase. The first-floor landing boasted several en suite guest bedrooms, each as gaudily decorated as the next. There was also a room which she announced was the study. Ironic really, seeing as she was semi-literate. I assumed the computer and DVD equipment in there was where she stored her ‘work’. She didn’t linger in there. She pretty much dragged me in and then shoved me back out as an afterthought. Maybe common sense had penetrated through the alcohol and drugs, and her natural instinct not to reveal too much had given her a nudge.
She maximised the charm then as she excitedly grabbed me by the hand and dragged me up a smaller, but no less luxurious stairway.
‘The penthouse suite,’ she had declared with a flourish of the hand, revealing a porn star’s paradise.
The huge open-plan room consisted of a circular king-sized bed positioned below a mirrored ceiling. The closet doors were also mirrored so every angle of the body could be captured. There was even more animal print, and the walls were painted a sickening, deep-cerise colour.
‘There’s an en suite through there,’ she had said throatily, pointing towards one of the mirrored doors. She had attempted the coquettish look again as she meandered backwards toward another door which she pulled open with glee. ‘And this,’ she had purred, ‘is my Pandora’s box.’
I had to swallow down the bile that rose in my throat as she revealed a walk-in wardrobe which housed countless sex toys. There were dildos of every size, shape and colour, butt plugs, whips, paddles, handcuffs, nipple clamps, and God knows what else. All carefully and proudly arranged.
She had raised an over-plucked eyebrow in my direction. The Botox did its job and no other part of her face followed. ‘See anything you’d like to play with?’ she had asked teasingly.
I’d forced a smile as I leant towards her, running my hand gently down her frozen face.
‘Just you,’ I had
said, as I stared suggestively into her eyes, before turning and nodding towards the double patio doors. ‘What’s out there?’ I asked and she practically skipped toward them, flinging them open to reveal a rooftop terrace.
We stepped outside and I glanced admiringly at the hot tub and patio furniture. She was leaning against the wall, watching me like a hawk as I sauntered towards her. The view stretched out for miles, from her long, private driveway to the fields and hills of the countryside that surrounded her home. The heavy air smelt so fresh and sweet, a mixture of grass, warm wood and sunshine.
She was smirking as I stood in front of her, so close our hips were touching. Her lower back nestled into the brickwork as she arched forward so she could grind her groin against mine. The bright sunlight accentuated her flaws even more and I was disgusted to see a crusting of white powder in the corner of one of her nostrils. It was as if every detail of her face had been magnified, from her large pores to her overstretched, unnaturally taut skin.
She had wrapped her arms around my neck and began to work her lips over my face and throat. It was all I could do not to retch. I turned her around, so I didn’t have to look at that face. Her hips were pressed against the wall, her scrawny arse burrowing into me. I ran my hands along the front of her body, hearing her moan as I skimmed her stomach and breasts. I knew she was aroused at the thought of gaining the one sexual conquest she thought she would never have.
There was a thick piece of trunking which ran along the wall, concealing the wiring for the lights and hot tub. She had giggled childishly as she stepped on it, teetering precariously as she splayed her arms out.
‘I’m flying,’ she exclaimed, reminiscent of the scene from Titanic. I had gripped her hips firmly as she wobbled precariously, warning her to be careful.
‘It’s stunning out here. Absolutely beautiful,’ I had said as she leant back against me.
‘Are you talking about the view or me?’ she had murmured hoarsely as she glanced at me over her shoulder.
Definitely Dead Page 8
