Murder by the Minster

by Helen Cox

  ‘Are you going to arrest me again?’ asked Evie.

  ‘It’s not my plan,’ said Halloran.

  ‘All right, I’m too tired to argue about it. Come in.’

  The trio walked towards Evie’s door. It was a narrow house on the end of a terrace that was deceptive about its size. Looking at the modest frontage, with a slim garage attached, you wouldn’t think it stretched as far back as it did. The rooms had been built in a sort of procession: a small hallway headed up the parade, with the living room, kitchen, bathroom, and a small patio following on behind.

  Once over the threshold, Evie steered Kitt and Halloran straight into the living room where she dropped down onto her favourite piece of furniture – a mahogany chaise longue upholstered in green velvet. It was one of the many charity shop bargains with which she’d furnished the room. Most people with a love for vintage would style their rooms in a particular era, but Evie had never had the budget to be that fussy and thus her house was a strange collage of furniture from the late 1800s through to the 1970s. It was probably a little bit unsettling to Halloran’s untrained eye, but Kitt had got used to it. To her, it just felt cosy.

  Evie looked at her friend and it seemed to Kitt as though she was going to have to take the lead in this conversation.

  ‘So what can we do for you, officer?’ asked Kitt. She decided to remain standing. She didn’t want to give ­Halloran any cue that it was OK for him to take a seat or make himself too comfortable.

  ‘I wanted to apprise you of a few things,’ the inspector said. ‘It’s clear from the two crime scenes on this case that whoever killed Owen also killed Adam.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t that a given?’ asked Kitt.

  ‘No, not in cases like these. You can sometimes get copycat crimes. Or the original killer can pay someone off to commit a crime that looks similar to theirs so they can secure an alibi for that crime, making it more difficult to prosecute.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Kitt. ‘But you’re sure that in this case it’s the same killer?’

  ‘As sure as we can be without any DNA evidence,’ said Halloran. ‘In the case of a copycat there are usually subtle differences to how everything’s arranged.’

  ‘But not in this case?’

  Halloran shook his head. ‘The arms were crossed over the body, just like they were with . . .’ Halloran glanced at Evie for a moment. Perhaps after seeing the way Evie responded to Justine Krantz when she mentioned the O-word he was thinking twice about what he said in front of her. Or maybe he was just being sensitive. ‘Like they were with the first victim. It looks as though the same chemicals were used to sedate and poison him, and precisely the same pen and notepaper were used as those at the first crime scene. It’s the same handwriting on the note too. We didn’t release specific details to the press, so anyone wanting to forge the crime would have difficulty replicating it.’

  ‘What about Ritchie?’ Evie asked, still with her eyes closed. ‘Kitt said he ran away from you.’

  ‘Initially we thought we were onto something there. He didn’t have an alibi for the second murder, which happened between ten and midnight, before he started work. He claims he was in bed before his shift – not very convincing. But he did have an alibi for the first murder and, with no phone records or financials linking him to either of the victims, we had to cut him loose.’

  ‘Then why did he run?’ asked Kitt. ‘He must have something to hide.’

  Halloran cleared his throat. ‘Mr Turner was in possession of some recreational substances that he shouldn’t have been. That’s why he ran.’

  ‘So the only person left on the suspect list is someone in a black hooded cloak and red wig?’ said Evie, her eyes opening.

  ‘Whoever they are, it’s likely they’re at least involved,’ said Halloran. ‘People who commit crimes like this often get a sick satisfaction from watching the aftermath. The funeral of their victims can often draw them out.’

  ‘But why wear a costume? It only makes you more conspicuous,’ said Kitt.

  ‘A black cloak isn’t that conspicuous at a funeral,’ said Halloran.

  ‘Not if you’re a character in The Woman in Black,’ said Kitt. ‘It’s a bit 1910.’

  ‘Odds are, as we’ve suspected all along, that the killer is known to the victims and their friends, but the disguise suggests they’re not very close to them.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kitt. ‘If they were close to them they could just show up. No one would suspect anything.’

  ‘So the likelihood is we’re dealing with somebody on the periphery. Somebody who watches closely but doesn’t really engage.’

  ‘You two are freaking me out,’ said Evie, moving her shoulders as though there was an insect scuttling along them that she was trying to shake off.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Halloran. ‘I know the idea of being watched isn’t a comforting one.’

  Kitt narrowed her eyes. ‘Hang on a minute, why are you telling us all this? Before, you would barely tell us anything. You’re being very open all of a sudden.’

  For the first time since Kitt had crossed paths with ­Halloran he smiled a real smile. ‘I have a proposition for you.’

  ‘Not interested,’ Kitt said.

  ‘We haven’t even heard what it is yet,’ said Evie.

  ‘Don’t need to,’ said Kitt. ‘If it’s got anything to do with these murders we don’t want to be involved. This could be entrapment for all you know.’

  By the smirk on his face, Halloran was clearly entertained by this idea. ‘I assure you, I’m a good enough detective that I don’t have to resort to entrapment.’

  ‘Then be out with it, but I doubt we’re interested,’ said Kitt, hoping that her act was convincing enough to mask her curiosity, whilst deep down suspecting that it wasn’t.

  ‘The murders started with you two. I mean, someone you knew was hit first.’

  ‘So . . .’ Evie said, her voice wavering. After two nights spent in police custody she was probably more than a little bit wary of saying something that might land her back there.

  ‘So, I don’t know how yet, but I think you two are the key to this case, and because of that it makes sense for the police to keep you close at hand.’

  ‘You mean . . .’ Evie’s eyes widened.

  ‘I mean, I think you might be able to help us out, so we can prevent another murder.’

  ‘You think the killer is going to strike again?’ asked Evie.

  ‘In cases like this, the culprits don’t usually stop,’ ­Halloran said. ‘Until they’re caught.’

  ‘And . . . you’re asking for our help?’ said Kitt, crinkling her nose.

  ‘Despite being arrested, I have to admit that you’ve been quite helpful – at least in ruling out suspects. It would have taken Julian Rampling much longer to come out of the woodwork without your involvement, and Ritchie Turner for that matter.’

  ‘But I only looked into those people because you suspected Evie,’ said Kitt, while wondering to herself if inquisitiveness would have got the better of her anyway. ‘I’m not trained to investigate a murder.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to take the lead, I’m just asking you to pass on any information or ideas you have.’

  ‘We’ve been doing that anyway,’ said Kitt.

  ‘Have you?’ said Halloran. ‘I don’t remember receiving a phone call in advance from you about Julian Rampling. Or Ritchie Turner, or Zoe Gray.’

  Kitt shook her head. Halloran already knew that she had tried to be careful about implicating innocent people. ‘You never gave me your number,’ she said drily.

  Halloran took a step towards Kitt, put a hand in his jacket pocket, and produced a card. ‘Let me rectify that.’

  Kitt paused before reaching out and taking the card. The name ‘Detective Inspector Malcom A. Halloran’ was printed across it in a bold serif font, and on the
reverse were his contact details, including the aforementioned phone number.

  ‘Trust me, if I’d known you were that eager to have it, I’d have given it to you sooner.’

  Out of nowhere, Evie giggled. ‘Said the actress to the bishop.’

  Kitt sighed in her friend’s direction and then looked back at Halloran. It was her understanding that detectives were not supposed to try it on with suspects. She couldn’t decide if Halloran’s line was a sign she was no longer under suspicion, or if that was one rule he didn’t care to follow. ‘Trust me, if I’d been that eager to have it, I’d have asked for it before now.’

  ‘Now you’re doing it on purpose,’ said Evie. ‘It’s no fun when you make innuendo that easy.’

  ‘I see you’re getting your strength back,’ said Kitt.

  ‘Not really, just comforted at the thought of you working on the case,’ said Evie.

  ‘I haven’t agreed to do that,’ said Kitt. ‘I’m not convinced it’s a good idea.’

  If this murder spree really was being orchestrated by the kind of sick individual Halloran was suggesting, maybe all that had come so far was just the warm-up. What if some new piece of information was planted to further incriminate her and Evie? The police might argue that they had manipulated their way onto the case, putting themselves in a better position to stay one step ahead. Or worse, maybe this was just a manipulation on Halloran’s part, to keep them close and monitor their behaviour. Surely it was best to keep their distance until the true culprit was behind bars?

  ‘Oh no, come on,’ said Evie. ‘I’ll feel so much better if I know you’re helping.’

  Kitt lifted her palm to her forehead. ‘Evie . . .’

  ‘The quicker the case is solved the better, right?’ said Evie.

  Kitt crossed her arms. ‘Right . . .’

  ‘So, what harm could it do to pass on information, or do a little digging if anyone in our circle starts acting suspiciously? You’ve sort of already been doing that anyway.’

  ‘I— I’ll think about it,’ said Kitt, and then she jumped as the opening chords of ‘Kiss Me, Honey Honey’ blared out. Evie rooted around in her coat pocket for a minute and pulled out her phone.

  ‘Hi Mum,’ she said, scraping herself off the chaise longue and pointing towards the door to indicate she would take the call elsewhere.

  Kitt waited for the door to close and listened for the sound of Evie’s footsteps on the stairs before turning on Halloran.

  ‘Why did you have to bring that up in front of Evie? She’s very vulnerable at the moment. Your suggestion only got her over-excited.’

  ‘I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to help,’ said Halloran.

  ‘Because I don’t trust you,’ Kitt blurted out.

  Halloran tried to correct a wince. ‘I suppose arresting a person can have that effect.’

  ‘And their best friend,’ added Kitt.

  ‘That too,’ said Halloran. ‘But I was only doing my job. Work with me, and you’ll learn that on the whole I am considered a trustworthy person.’

  Kitt stared at Halloran before raising an eyebrow. ‘On the whole.’

  Halloran was fighting a smile and, in spite of herself, Kitt was too.

  ‘I can’t take full credit for the leads we’ve had so far,’ said Kitt. ‘My assistant Grace has rather worrying cyberstalking skills and has been helping me find information on certain persons of interest.’

  ‘Like Zoe Gray?’ said Halloran.

  ‘Yes,’ said Kitt. ‘You didn’t seem surprised earlier. When I told you I’d been to see her.’

  Halloran started walking towards the door. ‘I already knew you’d talked to her.’

  ‘She told you?’ said Kitt, following after the inspector. So much for Zoe keeping that to herself.

  ‘No,’ Halloran said, flashing a small smile. On anyone else, Kitt would have described the smile as cheeky, but up until this moment she wouldn’t have thought that was a quality Halloran possessed. Without saying any more, he opened the front door and stepped back out into the biting October air.

  ‘Then how?’ Kitt pushed. If someone was onto her private investigation or was passing information on about her to the police she wanted to know.

  Stepping down the two steps that led up to Evie’s front door, Halloran turned to face Kitt. With the inspector on lower ground, for once Kitt was able to stand eye-to-eye with him.

  He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. ‘Do you really want to know?’

  ‘I didn’t ask for my health.’

  Halloran stared straight into Kitt’s eyes. ‘I could smell you.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  His smile broadened then. ‘Your perfume. It’s got a citrus scent about it, like ripe grapefruit. It was hanging in the air of Zoe’s dressing room.’

  Kitt frowned. Her stomach was turning over at the idea that Halloran could recognize her that way, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of believing this was in any way romantic, or, God help her, sexy.

  ‘A sure sign that I should cut down on how much I’m wearing.’ Kitt blushed. If Evie was still listening in she would have a field day with that sentence. ‘Perfume, I mean . . .’

  ‘That’s what I thought you meant,’ said Halloran, before breaking out in a grin. Kitt wished she could think of a way of knocking it off his face.

  ‘Are you always this animal?’ she tried.

  He stared at her. ‘Only when the situation calls for it.’

  Before Kitt could say anything else, Halloran turned on his heel and walked off towards his car. Kitt watched after him for a moment and then quickly closed the door. Just in case he happened to look back and catch her smirking.

  Twenty-three

  The next day, just as morning lapsed into afternoon, Kitt stormed up the spiral staircase to the second floor of the library. Her stomach turned over and over to the point that she thought she was going to be sick. At the top of the steps she clung to the banister rail for a second, steadying herself before striding over to the student enquiry desk where Grace was sitting.

  Her assistant wouldn’t usually be working a Saturday. There was a skeletal staff rota at the weekend, but Kitt had texted Grace asking her to come in especially today, and right now she was more grateful than she could have imagined that she had been available at short notice.

  Kitt opened her mouth to explain she needed her assistant’s help. To explain to her what had happened, but the words were stuck in the back of her throat.

  ‘Grace . . .’ she managed in a wavering voice.

  Grace, who had been staring at her computer with a big smile on her face, looked up at this and at once her smile faded.

  ‘What’s wrong? Oh God, has there been another murder?’

  Kitt shook her head and held up her mobile phone with a trembling hand.

  Grace leaned forward to get a closer look at the screen, and then her eyes widened.

  ‘A friend request, from Theo?’ she said. ‘Is that all? You scared the life out of me there. I thought it was serious.’

  ‘This is serious.’

  Grace tilted her head at her boss.

  ‘Oh, all right, not murder serious. But don’t the trials of the living still count?’

  Kitt tried to steady her breathing. She knew she was being over-dramatic. She wouldn’t be over-dramatic about anything else. She had even taken being arrested for murder on the chin, but when it came to Theo she wasn’t known for her level-headedness.

  ‘Did you send him a message?’

  ‘I’ve made no contact at all,’ said Kitt. ‘All I did was look at his profile the other day, probably for less than a minute. On the way here, this notification popped up on my phone.’

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Grace, tucking a dark curl behind her left ear.

  Kitt crossed
her arms and looked at her assistant. ‘What do you mean “uh-oh”?’

  ‘There are two possible scenarios.’

  Kitt remained silent, waiting.

  ‘Either, it’s complete coincidence and after ten years of not communicating he has decided to get in touch on the same week you happened to look at his profile.’

  ‘Or . . .’

  ‘Or, well. There is this app you can get on your phone. That tells you when someone has looked at your Facebook profile.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s not good form, but some people do install it. It’s a Facestalker’s worst nightmare.’

  Kitt threw her phone down on the desk, slumped down into the nearest seat, and put her head in her hands. ‘If I’d known that app existed, I wouldn’t have risked clicking on his profile.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Grace. ‘I sort of forgot. Nobody uses it. Or, at least, nobody I know. Most of us are happy living in blissful ignorance about who has and hasn’t clicked on our profiles.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ said Kitt. It was her own fault for letting curiosity get the better of her after all these years of trying to put distance between herself and Theo. After a decade of throwing herself into work. After every promise she had made to herself that she wouldn’t give him her time and energy, she had caved at the first opportunity. ‘What do I do now?’ she asked.

  Grace stood up and walked around the desk to put her arm around Kitt. ‘Depends on what you want. If you want to get back in touch with him, accept the request.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘Just ignore it.’

  ‘Ignore it . . .’ It seemed such a cold thing to do, but then so was disappearing without a word to your girlfriend of twelve months.

  ‘If you respond in any way, he’ll see it as an invitation to start a conversation.’

  ‘Even if it’s just to say I don’t want to talk to him?’