The Secret Admirer: An absolutely gripping crime thriller (Detective Natalie Ward Book 6)

by Carol Wyer

  ‘It’s okay, I’ve got a spare key.’

  ‘I’ll try not to be too late.’

  ‘Sure. No probs.’

  ‘See you later. Love you.’

  ‘Yeah. Back atcha.’

  His response warmed her heart. It had been a long time since he’d shown any affection. No matter what was going on in this investigation, she wasn’t going to push him aside. She’d lost one child. She wasn’t going to lose another.

  Lennox wiped sleep from his eyes and sat on the edge of his bed. The room smelt of sweat and stale clothes. Like the laundry basket in the bathroom back home, thought Natalie. The young man’s room was surprisingly tidy with a laptop, folders and pens neatly laid out on an angular table with plastic red trays instead of conventional drawers underneath its laminated surface. There were no posters on his walls, only a cork message board to which he’d attached his timetable and a list of assignments to be completed.

  He rubbed at his face and yawned again before speaking. ‘It wasn’t really an argument. Gemma was pissed off with me, that’s all.’

  ‘Why?’ said Natalie.

  He shrugged lightly. ‘Her mum. Gemma said I was showing too much interest in her.’

  ‘And were you?’

  ‘Not really. I follow her on Instagram and I’ve chatted to her a few times when she’s come by.’

  ‘Why do you follow Sasha on Instagram?’

  ‘You’ve seen her,’ he said, opening his palms and shrugging again.

  ‘Because you find her attractive?’ Natalie asked.

  ‘Yes. She’s very fit.’

  ‘I can’t understand why Gemma would be upset about that. She knew her mother was good-looking and I’m sure she knew she had plenty of admirers. Is there something you’re not telling us? Because if there is, it might be better if you spit it out now rather than me finding out and having to come back.’

  He rested his hands on his pyjamaed knees. ‘She was annoyed because I went to Chancer’s Bar a couple of times and talked to Sasha. She said I shouldn’t try it on with her mum.’

  ‘Again, I don’t see why that caused an argument.’

  He sighed heavily. ‘She said I was stalking Sasha.’

  ‘And were you?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘She must have had good reason to accuse you of that.’

  ‘Gemma overreacted and had a go at me.’ He glanced across at the bedside locker, where his mobile lay, and Natalie wondered why he was suddenly rubbing his knees nervously.

  ‘If I asked you to hand over your mobile, would that be a problem?’

  ‘No.’ His face said otherwise.

  ‘Is there anything on your mobile that you wouldn’t want us to see?’

  ‘Okay. I took a few pictures of Sasha when she was here in the house. She’s beautiful and she’s really nice and easy to talk to. There was no harm in it.’

  ‘Did you talk to her often?’

  He hung his head. ‘Pretty much every time she came by. If I heard her voice, I’d pop downstairs and have a few words with her.’

  ‘Show me the photos.’

  He reached for the phone, flicked through the camera roll and passed it across. He’d taken at least fifty of Sasha, in the house, talking at the table, walking down the path, getting into her car, working behind the bar, smiling, laughing; in most, if not all, of them, she was completely unaware he’d taken them.

  ‘Are these photos the reason Gemma got cross?’

  ‘Sort of. Those and going to the bar. She made it out to be something it wasn’t.’

  ‘That’s a yes, then?’

  ‘I wasn’t stalking Sasha.’

  ‘I’m going to hang on to this phone for a while. Get it looked at.’

  ‘Why? There’s nothing else on it.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind our technical team examining it, will you?’

  ‘No. I suppose not. When can I get it back?’

  ‘When they’re done.’ She passed the phone to Ian, who put it in a plastic bag. ‘Would you say you were slightly obsessed with Sasha?’ she asked.

  ‘Not obsessed. I fancied her. That’s all. It’s not unusual, is it?’

  ‘But Gemma obviously thought it was an obsession,’ said Natalie.

  He nodded. ‘She blew it out of all proportion and told me to back off or she’d tell the police I was harassing Sasha.’

  ‘But you weren’t?’

  ‘No way! Gemma was being overprotective. She had the problem, not me.’

  ‘And you were arguing about this yesterday morning?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you and Gemma often fall out?’

  ‘No. That was the only time. We were sound before that.’

  ‘Did you like Gemma?’

  ‘What are you suggesting? I didn’t hurt her. I was in the chemistry lab all evening until shortly after eight.’

  ‘We’re looking into that. What were you doing in there?’

  ‘I was working on an experiment.’

  ‘What experiment?’

  ‘To develop green reactions using an applied magnetic field that can contribute to a sustainable chemical future,’ he replied. His answer was way beyond Natalie’s understanding of chemistry but she noted it anyway. His tutor would confirm it. The young man ran a hand through his bushy brown hair, and spoke again. ‘Honestly. I didn’t attack Gemma.’

  ‘We’ll have to talk to Sasha, and then if we have any further questions, we’ll be back,’ said Natalie. This wasn’t over yet. The boy clearly had a crush on Sasha and had managed to upset Gemma enough that she’d threatened to report him to the police.

  ‘I’d like to ask you where you went last night, after my officers spoke to you.’

  ‘Only into town for a drink. It was a massive shock hearing about Gemma, and Hattie was bawling her eyes out in her room, and I couldn’t face staying here. How is Sasha?’

  ‘As you’d expect.’

  ‘I thought about going to see her.’

  ‘I would leave it a while.’

  He rubbed at his whiskery beard that made him appear older than he was. His eyes were downcast. ‘Yes, probably best.’

  ‘Where did you go for a drink?’

  ‘Only into town – the Three Kings pub. I met Ryan and a few other students I know there and told them about Gemma. I had a few shots and chatted for a while then went for a kebab. I got back late, probably after one o’clock.’

  ‘Ryan’s room’s opposite yours, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, the other side of the bathroom. I’m sure he’s in. I heard him showering a short while ago.’

  They left the boy’s room and ducked out onto the landing. It was pokier on this floor, with much less headroom than the floor below, and the threadbare carpet didn’t prevent the floorboards from creaking noisily as they crossed to Ryan’s door and knocked. Natalie felt in her pocket for the key to Gemma’s room that she’d collected from Forensics before leaving HQ. She was putting off looking in the dead girl’s room until she’d spoken to Ryan Hausmann, who’d been involved with her.

  Ryan, dressed in jeans and a crisp blue shirt, emerged from the bathroom, bringing with him the scent of cinnamon and citrus. He drew to a halt in front of them. Broad-shouldered, with an expressionless face and straw-coloured hair cut very short, he reminded Natalie of an action figure. They showed him their IDs and he nodded politely. ‘I’m Ryan. Lennox bumped into me in town last night and broke the terrible news about Gemma.’ His accent wasn’t English; a mixture of Dutch and something else Natalie couldn’t identify.

  ‘We were hoping you could tell us more about her.’

  Ryan made no move to invite them into his room but kept his eyes fixed on Natalie. ‘I don’t have much to say other than she was a really nice girl. Really nice. I guess you heard we were an item for a while.’

  ‘Why did you split up?’

  ‘Gemma wanted to concentrate on her studies.’

  ‘Her mother told us you were serious about Gemma,�
� said Natalie.

  ‘Serious? I liked her a lot but not serious.’

  ‘And after you split up, you got along okay?’

  ‘Sure we did, although I didn’t see a whole lot of her on account of our timetables clashing. We would cross paths in the hallway as one of us was going out and the other was coming in.’ The accent was beginning to sound more familiar and Natalie identified it as Afrikaans.

  ‘Did you know what her plans were for yesterday evening?’

  ‘She was going to the library to catch up on some work. She was way behind on some assignment or other.’

  ‘When did she tell you this?’

  ‘Yesterday morning, when Hattie asked who was going to be in later that evening. She was trying to organise a takeaway night. We sometimes do that. We pool our cash and buy in some food and share it.’

  ‘Who else was there when Hattie asked who’d be in?’

  ‘Fran and Lennox.’

  ‘And Gemma announced she was going to be out.’

  ‘That’s right. She said she probably wouldn’t be back until after the library shut at ten.’

  ‘What about Lennox? Did he say what he was doing?’

  ‘He was up for it and said he’d be back in time. Fran too, although she had some meeting or other first. I dipped out. I’d already made plans to go into town with friends.’

  ‘Where did you go last night?’

  ‘Pub crawl around Samford until late. I can give you the names of the guys I was with.’

  ‘You look pretty fresh for someone who was on a pub crawl last night.’

  ‘Strong constitution. I can take my drink,’ he said.

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘White Hart, Stolen Pig… I don’t know the names of all of them.’

  ‘We’ll need to talk to your friends. Can you give me their names?’

  ‘Stuart Button and William Ingles. They only live three doors from here, towards the main road.’ He hesitated briefly before asking quietly, ‘Did she suffer?’

  ‘I really can’t discuss that.’

  ‘It’s absolutely disgusting what happened to her. Acid! She didn’t deserve that. What bastard would do that to her?’ It was the first time he’d shown any emotion. He visibly struggled to compose himself, then, before she knew it, his features had rearranged themselves once more and his face was blank. He asked if he could help any more.

  ‘We’ll be in touch if we need to speak to you again,’ she replied.

  They left him where he’d been standing, descended the few stairs to the first-floor landing and stopped outside Gemma’s room. Natalie fished out the key, slotted it into the lock and twisted it. The door opened with a soft groan. The curtains were drawn and Natalie had to lean across the sofa bed, piled high in cushions, to open them. Turning back around, the first thing she spotted on the table against the wall was a silver frame with a photograph of Gemma with her arms around her mother, both smiling for the camera. A lump caught in her throat.

  Ian began searching through the fitted wardrobe and drawers. Natalie let her eyes wander over the striped blue, silver and white cover – with coordinating cushions in a mixture of plain blue and patterned – that was neatly doubled on the foldaway bed to create the impression of a sofa. Three silver plant holders filled with artificial lavender stood on the window ledge, and pale blue and white storage boxes filled with personal belongings – make-up bags, clothes and books – sat between the bed and table. Natalie spotted a turquoise water bottle next to a matching teddy bear and was reminded again of Sasha. She read through notes and glanced through the girl’s work. Her handwriting was the tidiest Natalie had ever seen. She was well-organised, and an A5 diary, covered with blue butterflies, that lay on her desk was filled only with coursework due dates and shift times at Chancer’s Bar. There were several pieces of paper slipped into the back of the diary – an out-of-date flyer for a free drinks night at the students’ union, a receipt for coursework books, a letter inviting her to apply for a credit card at a special student rate and a folded piece of A4 paper. Natalie unfolded it. It was a typed note, signed ‘An Admirer’.

  ‘She had a fan. Listen to this, Ian. “Dear Gemma, Hi! I wanted to tell you that I think you’re incredible.

  ‘“I saw you in town today with your mother. I stopped and stared at you. I wasn’t being rude. In fact, quite the opposite. I was hypnotised by you: the way you walk, the way you hold your head to one side when you are listening intently to somebody, and your smile. It is… perfect.

  ‘“Anyway, now you know how I feel and I’ll pick the right moment to make myself known to you. I’m excited and nervous to find out how you will react when I speak to you. I hope you will smile at me. An Admirer.”’ She studied the note again. There was no date on it, no envelope, and it was difficult to tell when Gemma might have received it. The flyer was for an event taking place on 28 September, and the book receipt and credit card letter were dated 18 and 19 September respectively. There was a chance the note from her admirer was delivered at around the same time rather than more recently. ‘We’ll take it around the students here and see if they know anything about it.’ She slid it into a plastic evidence bag and continued searching for more notes, but there were none, and nothing else shouted out at Natalie.

  ‘I can’t see anything untoward,’ said Ian, shutting the bottom drawer he’d been examining.

  ‘No. She was exactly as everyone described – a nice girl.’

  ‘Maybe that’s exactly why she was targeted,’ said Ian.

  Natalie looked again at the photograph of Gemma and Sasha. She wasn’t as glamorous or as striking as her mother, but she had a freshness and vitality that was arguably attractive. Somebody had wanted to destroy that. ‘You could be right,’ she said.

  Gemma,

  I’m used to insults. I’ve heard them all, but I thought better of you. You may think you were whispering quietly, but I overheard the comments you and your mother made about me. There seems little point in trying to befriend you. I don’t care if you are popular and pretty and everyone likes you. You’re as bad as all the other girls I have met: a cruel bitch. In some ways you are worse than them because you trick everyone with your false smile and fake interest in them. You can fool them but you don’t fool me!

  If I were as popular as you are, I’d be genuinely nice to everyone and not make snide comments about others behind their backs.

  If you could spend one day in my shoes, you’d understand how I feel, and you would never have treated me in such a way. I wish I could show you how hurtful it is to be mocked.

  An Admirer

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday, 17 November – Morning

  Natalie and Ian passed the note around the housemates but none of them recognised it or had any idea who might have sent it. Gemma hadn’t mentioned it to any of them. The only person they couldn’t ask was Hattie, who didn’t answer her door; there was no sound from inside her room. Trying the door handle, they discovered it locked.

  For a moment, Ian was nonplussed. ‘I expected her to be here. She was really upset about Gemma last night… and she said she didn’t go to her six o’clock lecture yesterday because she felt run-down.’

  Natalie registered his concerns. ‘She might have nipped out for any number of reasons; however, double-check that she really was here yesterday evening, and see if you can find out how much of a friend she really was to Gemma.’

  ‘Her father’s a vicar,’ Ian said vacantly then pulled himself up short with, ‘Yes… I know. That means nothing. I think what I’m actually trying to say is she came across as genuine. She wants to help fight poverty abroad.’

  ‘That’s highly commendable but we both know appearances can be deceptive and people lie. Vicar’s daughter or not, let’s make sure she was actually at home when she said she was, shall we?’

  ‘She owns a grey Nissan Micra. I’ll check the route between the house and the library and see if it passed by any cameras between six an
d seven.’

  ‘That’s a good starting point, although even if she was responsible for the attack, she might not have used her car – maybe she caught a bus or taxi into town instead, or even got a lift with somebody.’

  ‘And reached the library before Gemma did?’

  Natalie knew it was only a shot in the dark but she had to pursue it regardless. ‘There’s a chance Hattie went on ahead and attacked Gemma. I’m not sure how likely that is, but given we can’t yet confirm she was at home when Gemma was attacked, we need to explore that possibility. Right, let’s try Ryan’s mates. Which house do they live in?’

  ‘Number 59.’

  As they walked along Eastview Avenue, they checked for Hattie’s Nissan Micra but there was no sign of it parked in between the numerous vehicles squeezed into impossibly small spaces. The street was strangely silent, absent of traffic noise at this time of the day. It was far quieter than the main road outside Natalie’s flat, where the constant hum was a permanent background noise. Eastview Avenue was a place that, without the vehicles, was stuck in a time warp, with grand edifices, bicycles against wrought-iron railings and aged trees, empty of foliage, their roots twisting and bulging beneath the cracked asphalt. She stepped over one such section of raised pavement in front of their destination and turned into a narrow, leaf-covered path. The house bore similar outward signs of disrepair and neglect as the one they’d just visited: paint peeled from window ledges, and the windowpanes were so thick with grime she could make out three smiley faces that somebody had traced on the inside of the one downstairs.

  The doorbell pealed faintly, and within seconds a plump girl with a closely shaven head that revealed glimpses of a pink scalp opened the door. She glanced swiftly at their identity cards. ‘Have you come to ask about Gemma? We’ve heard what happened to her. Bloody awful or what?’ Her accent was thicker than Dan Tasker’s but unmistakably Welsh. She continued chattering at high speed as she showed them into a gloomy hallway, where a couple of grubby bicycles with mud embedded in their tyres were propped against a wooden staircase to their left. It might once have been a grand Victorian residence, but to Natalie it felt abandoned and unloved. The cream walls had been scraped and dirtied in places, and apart from a notice of ‘dos and don’ts’ there was nothing on the walls. Directly ahead of her, the kitchen door opened onto a shambolic mess of unwashed pans and crockery piled next to a sink, and a table littered with tins, boxes and condiments that hadn’t been replaced in cupboards. The air smelt of stale cigarette smoke. It was far less organised here than in the house where Gemma had lived.