by Clare Revell
She shook her head.
“I won’t offer again.”
“It’s fine. You drive.”
He shrugged. “OK. But that makes lunch my choice and not up for debate.”
“That’s fine.” Isabel seemed to withdraw. She bent to pick up her bag.
Zander sighed, more than exasperated now. “I’m not Farrell!”
She jumped. “I’m sorry.”
“I won’t turn on you if you dare to disagree with me or have an opinion that is counter to mine. We’re partners, equals, remember?”
She gave him a sideways glance. “OK.”
He groaned in frustration. “So, if I said we were going to the Chinese takeaway in the precinct for lunch, what would you say?”
“That’s fine.”
He took a step forward, noting she immediately took a step backwards. “You like Chinese food?”
“No. But they do fish and chips there.”
“But we’re having Chinese. Weren’t you listening?” Zander curled his hands into fists, staring at her.
“I—”
He took another step towards her, raising his voice. “I said we’re having Chinese. Prawns to be precise. And we’re sharing it.”
“I’m allergic…” Her voice tailed off, and she looked down. “’K, and whatever you want is fine.”
“Don’t you look away from me!” Zander stood his ground, staring at her. Her shoulders were down, her whole body shook. He needed to push this, or they’d never work together properly as a team. He glanced over at the DI’s office, to find DI Holmes standing in the doorway. The Guv nodded, obviously having worked out what Zander was doing.
“If you don’t want prawns, then I suggest you come up with an alternative. And quickly.” He took three paces, closing the gap between him and Isabel. Taking gentle hold of her face, he lifted it, staring at her.
Abject fear gazed back at him, and she flinched. She actually flinched.
And he wasn’t even shouting, not really, not like he could. And he’d kept his touch gentle. Guilt rocked him, but he couldn’t back down. “Well? I’m waiting.”
Her eyes were too bright. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Then she dropped her gaze to his clenched fist.
He uncurled his hands and slid them into his pockets. He perched on the edge of the desk. “Guv,” he called. “Do you like Chinese?”
“Yes, but not at this time of day, and definitely not prawns. Nasty, vile things.”
“So, if I told you that was lunch, what would you do?”
DI Holmes laughed. “I’d tell you to go sling your hook. You can have them. I’ll stick to the sandwiches my wife made. Or chips.”
“But we’d still be friends?” Zander kept eye contact with Isabel, praying she’d forgive and trust him after this.
“Of course.”
Zander grinned at him. “What? No threat of desk duty for a hundred years? Scrubbing out the toilets with a toothbrush?”
DI Holmes laughed. “Nah…I’d just take away your phone charger for a week or three.”
Zander chuckled and turned back to Isabel. He softened his stance. “Please, Isabel, just tell me what you’d like for lunch. No one will force you to eat anything you don’t want, especially if it’ll make you sick.”
“Chips,” she whispered.
“See, that wasn’t hard. You have chips and I’ll have the prawns. You want a sausage in batter with that?”
She sucked in a deep breath, finally straightening. “No. I’d rather have chips in curry sauce.”
He pointed. “Now, that is a fantastic suggestion.”
“Really?” Isabel looked surprised.
“Yes.” He headed to the door.
She kept pace with him. “Maybe we should go and check on Mr. McNally as well. Make sure he’s not having trouble with those kids anymore.”
DI Holmes laughed. “You’ve done it now, Zander. Unleashed the metaphorical kraken.”
Zander roared with laughter. “That should be Isabel’s nickname from now on, I reckon. C’mon partner, before he finds us more work to do.”
She followed him into the corridor. “We should get your grandfather lunch as well. See how Lexi is working out.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He studied her. “I didn’t mean to be harsh back there. I just needed to get my point across before much more time went past.”
“Did you mean what you said? About my opinion mattering?”
“Always. You don’t have to be scared to say anything to me or anyone else here, no matter how silly it sounds. We all see things differently. You might pick up on something I don’t and vice versa.” He paused. “Farrell Vixen is the exception, not the rule. Most men are not like him. I certainly am not. Neither is the Guv.”
~*~
A huge weight dropped off Isabel’s shoulders as she followed Zander from the takeaway and back to the car for the short journey to the tower block. He’d followed through with what he’d said and let her choose her own meal. Even though she’d stuck with the chips and curry sauce, he’d given her the ability to change her mind. It was freeing—if that was even a word.
Zander started the car. “What?”
“You have no idea what such a simple thing like choosing my own lunch means, do you?” She wedged the takeaway bag between her feet.
“I can guess.”
She watched the road as he drove. “Have you ever done a case like this before?”
“Murder, yes. Several, unfortunately. Along with robbery, assault, and fraud. But never a serial killer. Unless you count the bloke, I arrested last month for stomping on a packet of cornflakes.”
She shook her head and groaned. “That’s awful.”
“I do my best.”
Isabel looked at her hands. “Some of the uniform blokes over at my old nick, the ones who’d been there for years, spoke disparagingly about CID.”
“We all play our part.” Zander turned left at the lights. “I know uniform are the front line, the first responders, but if the call comes over the radio and I’m the closest, then I go.”
“Really? Does the DI know you do that?”
Zander chuckled. “I think I’m a lost cause as far as he’s concerned.” He parked the car outside the block of flats. “But why should uniform have all the fun?”
She nodded slightly, climbing out of the vehicle. He had a strange definition of fun.
Zander seized the bag of food. “Let’s see if the lift is working. If not, we’ll be paying the council and the housing association a visit in person.”
The lift worked, which Isabel was grateful for. She followed Zander down the hallway and rang the bell.
A loud voice echoed from inside. “I’ll get it. You stay put Mr. Mac.”
She grinned at Zander. “That’s Lexi, the home help. She loves abbreviating names and doing as much as she can for the folks she visits. Usually going way beyond the call of duty.”
The front door opened.
“Isabel!” Lexi exclaimed as she reached out to hug her friend. “I’ve been trying to call you, but it kept ringing out.” She wore her trademark blue overall, her long, black ponytail over her shoulder.
“Phone issues,” Isabel replied. “I’ll give you my work number. This is—”
“Mr. Mac’s grandson. I recognise him from the photos on the dresser.” Lexi turned to Zander. “He talks about you all the time.”
“Don’t leave ’em on the doorstep, girly. I can smell the food from here, and it’ll be getting cold.” Mr. McNally’s voice echoed from the other room.
“Best do as I’m told.” Lexi let them in and closed the door.
Zander trotted into the kitchen with the bag of food. “Hi, Gramps.”
Lexi caught Isabel’s arm. “Thanks for this gig. Mr. Mac’s great.”
Isabel smiled. “Are you getting on all right?”
“Yeah. Although he’s insisting on paying me more than the five quid you told him it’d be.”
; “I figured as much.” Isabel glanced towards the lounge, keeping her voice low. “Zander says he’s a proud man and likes paying his own way. Bit like Gran, really.”
“She’s another of my favourite ladies.”
“Food’s getting cold, girly. And if you don’t get in here fast, that grandson of mine will eat yours as well as his own. He’s a right piggy when it comes to food. Always has been from a small boy.”
Zander snorted like a pig.
Trying hard not to laugh, Isabel shook her head. “I’m coming.” She turned back to Lexi. “Catch you later.”
Lexi grinned. “I’ll go finish the ironing. I’ll say goodbye before I leave.”
Isabel headed into the other room. “Sorry, we got to talking.”
Mr. McNally crossed his arms, but the grin on his face indicated he wasn’t as angry as he was pretending to be. “That girl does like to chatter. She’s nice though.”
“That’s a backhanded compliment if ever I heard one.” Zander handed Isabel a plate as she sat. “Shall I say grace?”
Isabel nodded and laid her plate on her lap.
Warmth cascaded through her as Zander prayed. The differences between him and Farrell became more apparent every day. She should have left that relationship months ago, after the first time Farrell had scared her with his temper. She’d allowed herself to be taken in by his looks and outward persona. Sucked in by his lies and promises. Deceived by his speech and smile, deluded by his apologies, and above all, persuaded by his constant reminders that no one else would want her.
Well, did it matter if she was alone? She had her faith—she had Jesus. And she had a partner who treated her like family. And she had Gran. What more did she need? She rubbed her wrists.
“You OK, girly?” Mr. McNally asked.
“Hmmm?” Jerked out of her reverie, she hadn’t realised what she was doing. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I was miles away.”
“Not still bothering you, are they?” Zander sounded concerned.
“No.” She tugged the wristbands down properly. “The bruises are almost gone now.”
“Good. Now tuck in, or I really will eat yours for you.”
Isabel stabbed the fork into one of the chips, dunking it into the curry sauce. “Not cold, but not hot enough,” she said. “You know I prefer them incandescent.”
“I’m convinced you have a cast iron throat,” Zander said. “Heat them up then.”
Isabel headed into the kitchen and shoved the food into the microwave. As the chips heated, she glanced out of the window. Was that Farrell’s car parked down here? She couldn’t see the registration number, but it probably wasn’t. There was more than one black BMW in Headley Cross.
She carried the hot plate back into the lounge. The men were talking, so she ate quietly. What if it was Farrell? If it were, perhaps he was here on business—there were plenty of other flats, and not just council owned ones. With Farrell being an art dealer, he could be delivering or collecting a painting. Or even valuing one, as he did that as well. Despite being a poorer area of town, there were plenty of older people who may have had paintings in the family for generations.
Lexi stuck her head around the door. “I’m off then, Mr. Mac. See you on Monday. Ten-thirty on the dot.”
Mr. McNally put his plate down and reached for his stick.
Lexi waved a hand. “I’ll see myself out. Bye.”
“Bye, girly.” Mr. McNally waited until the front door closed before returning to his meal. “Lovely girl. Place always seems so much quieter after she leaves. So, Alezander, how’s your mother?”
Zander pulled a face. “You know I hate that name, Gramps. It would be all right if they’d spelled it with an X, but no they had to use a Z. Makes me sound like a Russian.”
“I know. Question remains, how’s your mother?”
“How did you know I’d seen her?”
“She came by here on her way home. Checked up on the old man.” He chewed on a chip. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d been telling tales out of school.”
Zander grinned. “Like I’d rat on you. You’d have my guts for garters if I tried. And if she called in here, then you know exactly how she is. As well as the fact that I’ve seen her.” He paused. “It was good. I missed her.”
“That goes both ways.”
“You know how hard it is for her to get away at the best of times.” Zander glanced at Isabel. “She and Dad have a farm down Margate way. There’s never a slack time for her to get away. She’s busy. I’m busy. And if my hunch is right, we’re about to get a whole lot busier.”
Isabel pointed her fork at him. “Be quiet. You say things like that in a patrol car on the beat, and there’s a riot in town. Or say it’s quiet in a coffee shop, and all of a sudden there’s a queue out of the door and halfway down the street.”
Zander’s phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket. “Ellery…” His eyes widened and his expression darkened. “We’re on our way. Be there in ten minutes.” He glanced at Isabel. “Remind me to just keep quiet in the future.”
She frowned. “Why? What’s up?”
“That location we were looking for? I know where it is.”
Her face fell as his words sank in.
Zander rose. “Gramps, I’m sorry to run, but duty calls. I’ll give you a bell later on tonight.”
10
Zander and Isabel stood on the banks of Mill Lake. Even without the postcard and the body he knew where they were.
“It’s the photo he sent,” Isabel said, confirming his suspicion.
“Yup. Not quite so sunny today, though. The sun is at a different angle from when he snapped the photograph. Few more clouds.” He turned around. “No CCTV I can see.”
“Still hot though. And the ground is too hard for prints, unless there are some right down by the water.” Isabel rubbed her arms. She must be chilly despite the heat.
But then he wasn’t surprised. He had chills running through him as well.
“C’mon, white suit on and let’s get down there. After last time, I stuck some in the car.” He opened the car boot and pulled out the suits. He tugged the garment over his clothes, assuming Isabel would do the same. Then he slapped the white shoe covers over his black lace ups. “Ready?”
She nodded.
Not bothering with the tight-fitting hood this time, Zander headed down to the crime scene. He glanced at the uniformed officer. “DC Ellery and DC York.”
The cop nodded and let them through.
Arend Van Houten glanced up. “Late to the party again, Zander.”
“You know me. Let everyone else do the hard work, and I’ll just put it together afterwards.” Zander trod carefully over to the pathologist’s side. “What have we got?”
“According to her ID which was found by her side, her name is Sally Rollin, twenty-one, lives locally.”
Zander slid his gaze over the body. Her wrists, ankles, and knees were bound with grey duct tape. The hem of her white towelling robe was caked with mud.
“Is the ground wet?”
“No. The bloke who found her knocked her over into the water’s edge. He claims it was an accident, that he was reaching for her pulse and she toppled.”
“Great!” Zander moved closer. “Are we looking at the same killer?”
“That’s my guess from how things appear. She has the word guilty on her forehead and tape over her mouth. I can give you a time of death later.”
“Thanks.” He turned around. “Bit more secluded here than before.”
Isabel pointed. “Still have a direct line of sight from those houses. Plus, there’s a fishing tent.”
Arend nodded. “Yeah. The bloke who found her had set that up and begun fishing before he noticed her.”
“Seriously?” Zander scoffed. “She wasn’t placed here while he wasn’t paying attention?”
Arend shook his head. “No. It was dark when he arrived. Then he—”
Zander interrupted him. “Wait a minute.” He
checked his watch. “It’s almost two in the afternoon. I know for a fact it was daylight at five because I was up and on my morning run by then. What time did he call this in?”
“I got the call an hour ago. I told them to call you as soon as I arrived.”
“It took him, what …” Zander counted on his fingers, “…nine hours to notice a body next to him.” He groaned. How much worse could things get with this crime screen? “Isabel, go have a word with the uniform officers and find out what’s going on, will you?”
“Sure.” She headed back up the path.
Zander sucked in a deep breath. “Can I take a look?”
“Of course.” Arend beckoned him over. “I’m about ready to move her. I’ll do the post-mortem as soon as I get her back to the morgue.”
Zander tugged his hood around his head and stepped carefully around the body. Making sure his gloves were on tight, he gently brushed the girl’s hair back behind her ears. “The writing on her forehead looks the same as before. Can you find out what pen he used?”
“Certainly.”
“Thanks.” Zander scanned the body. Everything else matched the first death exactly. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll have left footprints this time.” He glanced around him, studying the ground and bushes.
“What are you looking for?”
“The painting.”
Arend frowned and pushed to his feet. “What painting?”
“The last crime scene, he left…” Zander broke off as he spotted something in the bushes to the left. He straightened and pointed. “There, by the edge of the tent.” He headed over and gently moved the bush aside. He pulled off the gloves he wore. “Do you have fresh gloves?”
“Here.” Arend tossed him a pair.
Zander caught them and jerked them on with a snap. Carefully he picked up the painting. Head to one side, he examined it. It was very detailed. A macabre portrayal of the Israelites partying around a golden calf, a woman tied to the horns of the animal, looking as if she were about to be sacrificed. Around her, no one paid attention as they were all singing, dancing, and carrying on in a manner quite unbecoming to the children of God.
