Murder by the Minster

by Helen Cox

  ‘Not yet,’ Evie said, ‘but undercover work is sexy, everyone knows that.’

  ‘Not the way I do it.’

  ‘We’ll see, old chum . . .’

  Twenty-seven

  Walking into the Owl and Star, Kitt’s eyes searched the early evening cocktail crowds for a familiar face. It took her a minute or so to find one. Not because she didn’t recognize the face, but because she was looking for a man in a smart, dark suit, and the man she thought she recognized was wearing a tight, white V-necked T-shirt and faded blue jeans. On noticing Kitt he waved over at her. The man looked strikingly like Inspector Halloran and, at the same time, nothing like him at all.

  With a frown on her face, Kitt continued over to the corner where he was sitting. He stood as she reached the table.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Just something soft, thanks, a lemonade,’ Kitt said, placing her trilby down on the table and hanging her satchel on the arm of the nearest chair.

  ‘You sure? Just because I’m on duty doesn’t mean you have to miss out on any fun,’ Halloran said with a smile.

  ‘Just the lemonade, thank you, Ins—’ but Kitt cut off there as Halloran shook his head in a sharp movement. Of course, there was no point in Halloran wearing plain clothes if she was going to announce him to the room as a police inspector.

  ‘Malcolm,’ Kitt corrected herself.

  ‘Actually, it’s Mal,’ said Halloran.

  ‘Mal,’ Kitt repeated, enjoying the way her tongue rolled its way around the ‘el’ sound, whilst ensuring none of this enjoyment played out on her face.

  Kitt took off her coat and sat down, which was Halloran’s cue to go to the bar. It had been a while since Kitt had been to the Owl and Star, perhaps even a couple of years, but it still pulled in the crowds on a Sunday. With its polished floorboards, wood-panelled bar, and rugged brickwork around the fireplace, there was no disputing the cosiness of the place. It was the perfect venue for forgetting you had to get up and go to work in the morning.

  Kitt smiled to herself, but, as she watched Halloran ordering from the bartender and paying for the lemonade, her smile faded. As he reached over the bar to pay, she noticed the short sleeves of his T-shirt bordered a tattoo on his left arm. It looked like some kind of lettering, but only the base of the letters were visible, so she couldn’t make out the word. Nonetheless, she smiled again, and her lips tingled at the thought of kissing along that tattoo. She was an avid reader, she told herself – it was only natural she’d be attracted to ink.

  She sat up straighter in her seat, trying to shake the strange stirring she felt. But it didn’t shift. Her breath deepened as she took in how tall and broad he looked, even in casual clothes. No matter how much she had tried to deceive herself since they had first crossed paths, she couldn’t deny it now. She wanted him, and that was the most frightening thought she had had that week – a week in which she’d been arrested for murder.

  Halloran turned back to bring the drinks over and she snapped her head away so he might not guess she had been studying him.

  ‘There you go,’ said Halloran, setting down Kitt’s drink before sitting back in his seat. He was close enough that his legs pressed against Kitt’s under the table. It was possible to move an inch in the opposite direction so that just a bit of space was made between them, but Kitt stayed where she was. It was a small table, and Halloran had long legs, so she had an excuse if anything was said about her quietly enjoying the warmth of him.

  ‘Seen anyone who might fit the killer’s description?’ he asked, his voice more businesslike than it had been before.

  ‘Give me a chance, I’ve just sat down,’ said Kitt, glossing over the fact she had been far too busy watching him to be paying attention to the rest of the room.

  ‘Well, we caught them on CCTV,’ said Halloran.

  ‘The killer? You’ve seen their face?’

  ‘Not exactly, but there has been a bit of a twist. Do you want to see?’ Halloran pulled his mobile out of the pocket of his jeans.

  ‘You made a copy?’

  ‘I did, and just so we’re clear, I’m not supposed to, and if anyone asks you haven’t seen this.’

  ‘Noted. You know, most people have cute cat videos on their phones.’

  ‘It’s sweet that you think that’s what most people have saved. When you’re a DI you really get to see the darkest corners of people’s lives.’

  ‘I guess, since I was a suspect earlier in the week, that applies to me too.’

  Halloran smiled. ‘Nothing I saw unsettled me. Quite the opposite . . .’

  ‘It . . . settled you?’

  Halloran chuckled. ‘I see we’re feeling literal tonight. It intrigued me.’

  Unsure quite how to respond to that in a way that wouldn’t get her into trouble, Kitt let her gaze drift from Halloran to his phone.

  He tapped the screen and the footage jumped to life.

  Given the fact it had been taken down a side alley, the footage was shadowy, but Kitt could make out a figure with long red hair. At first they seemed to be attacking Tim Diallo. It took Kitt a while to realize that the redhead wasn’t attacking Diallo, but kissing him. The fact that Diallo could barely stand was making the exchange seem more confrontational than it really was. So the killer had used diazepam on this victim too. A few moments later, the redhead handed Diallo a bottle of wine, the one that had been found on him at the murder scene. Smiling, he held the bottle to his lips and drank. The redhead held the base of the bottle up so he took in more of the liquid than he might from an ordinary sip. He flailed, trying to struggle, but the killer held the bottle and Diallo’s head in place. A moment later Diallo staggered backwards against the wall, clutching his throat and convulsing.

  Kitt smothered a gasp with her hand.

  Halloran reached out and stroked her arm. ‘You all right?’

  Kitt didn’t respond in words. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed to the screen.

  After less than a minute, Diallo stopped moving. The killer bent forward and placed the wine bottle in his hands. Straddling the victim, the killer drew their arm back low, and then plunged it upwards in a stabbing motion. It was impossible to see exactly what had taken place, but Kitt assumed the killer had just pierced Diallo’s heart.

  There was some shuffling about then. The killer had their back to the camera, so it was impossible to see what they were doing, but if she had to guess, Kitt would say they were crossing the arms over the body and securing the note on the victim’s chest with a fountain pen.

  Slowly, the killer stood, drew up their hood, and turned to face the camera, their head lowered just enough that the hood covered their face. They stretched out their arms in a swift dramatic fashion and bowed. They held the pose for a few seconds before stalking off down the alleyway.

  Kitt sat rigid in her seat. ‘Oh my God. That’s . . . that’s beyond creepy. Are you trying to give me nightmares, showing me this?’

  ‘Is that your way of saying you don’t feel safe being alone tonight?’

  Kitt crossed her arms and gave Halloran a withering look. ‘Such an altruistic thought, but I’ll brave it.’

  Halloran didn’t say anything else, but continued to stare at her.

  Kitt stirred the straw in her lemonade, making the ice jingle. She wouldn’t normally fiddle like this, but she would take any distraction right now. ‘I believe you said there was a twist?’

  ‘Yeah, the killer is definitely a man.’

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘Well, if you look at the dimensions of the person in the video they do look a bit broad for the female frame – at least going by averages.’

  ‘Some of us are sturdier than others, you know?’

  Halloran held his hands up. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with that, but Diallo was gay, so that
person kissing him is most likely to be a man.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure as we can be, why?’

  Kitt shrugged. ‘Maybe nothing. It’s just my sister Rebecca, she’s a doctor. I asked her about poison cases. She said it was more common for women to use poison.’

  ‘It’s possible that it’s a man and woman working together,’ said Halloran, resting his hands on the table, not far from where Kitt was resting hers.

  ‘So you think the guy in the video is wearing a wig?’

  ‘Yeah. According to Diallo’s ex-boyfriend, they both dabbled in cross-dressing now and again.’

  ‘Did you ask Zoe Gray about the wig I saw in her dressing room? Or if she knew Tim Diallo?’

  ‘Yeah. The wig doesn’t belong to her, it’s the property of the theatre. Although she had access to it, she had no access to the chemicals or the sedative, and she has alibis for all three murders. She doesn’t know Diallo either.’

  ‘So Zoe’s out. What about Tim’s ex-boyfriend?’

  ‘Francis,’ said Halloran. ‘Banks tracked him down. He’s an old boyfriend from about six months ago. He’d caught Diallo texting someone else while they were away for a weekend in Paris, at the top of the Eiffel Tower.’

  ‘How romantic,’ Kitt said in the flattest of all possible tones.

  ‘Isn’t it? Similar problems when it comes to marking him as a suspect though. He had no access to the chemicals. No links to Owen or Adam, yet. I mean, we’re still digging.’

  Kitt wondered if he was also still digging when it came to Evie, but knew that conversation would only lead to an argument. She moved her hands, which had been sitting happily within reach of Halloran’s, closer to her body.

  ‘So the first two victims were heterosexual and the third homosexual? Is that the twist you were talking about?’

  Halloran nodded. ‘Sometimes you see this in serial killer cases – the killer changes something small in their MO. Trying to break up the pattern and reduce the chances of getting caught. There is one other lead that’s come out of this however.’

  ‘One that will crack the case?’

  ‘Maybe. According to Diallo’s financials he has been to Ashes to Ashes a couple of times in the last month.’

  ‘Which links him back to Turner.’

  ‘Yes, but Turner was in custody when the third murder was committed, and we’re still waiting for those bloody forensics to come back on his work locker. It’s taken so long we’ve had to release him. You’d think with a case of this scale, toxicology would be pushed through as a priority, but it’s a slow process.’

  ‘Isn’t the fact that Diallo went to Ashes to Ashes enough to bring him back in?’

  Halloran shook his head. ‘We need hard evidence to make a conviction. But I can’t shake the idea that he is involved somehow. That he knows something. It’s rare that you’re led back to the same suspect three times without cause.’

  ‘What I can’t get my head around with him is motive,’ said Kitt. ‘I think it’s clear that the culprit, or culprits, are driven by some kind of heartbreak-related vendetta.’

  Halloran’s eyes gleamed. ‘I had no idea you were an expert criminal profiler.’

  ‘Do you need to be? In every instance, the victim has been a person who has committed some cruelty against an ex-partner. The killer, or killers, have an obsession.’

  ‘I can’t argue with that, but Turner’s relationships have all been short-lived, nothing dramatic or odd, and we can’t immediately assume this is revenge for some personal slight. Some people will take any excuse for vigilante-like behaviour. Some people just have superiority complexes.’

  Kitt smiled at the inspector. ‘All I’m saying is, I know from what Evie’s been through that these things are just desperately painful for those on the receiving end.’

  ‘I know.’ Halloran lowered his eyes, staring into his cola. ‘Francis told Banks he was still recovering. Said Tim was the first man he’d ever fallen in love with.’

  Kitt’s body stiffened. ‘It is difficult to get over that first heartbreak,’ she said, and then tried to think of a way to change the subject. ‘What about Justine Krantz? Did she give up her source?’

  ‘With a little bit of pressure, yes. Banks said she named her source as Jasmine Brewster.’

  ‘Jasm— Jazz? Who works at Evie’s salon? Evie’s out with her right now.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s cause for alarm,’ said Halloran.

  ‘Really? Because she has access to the same chemicals as Evie . . .’

  ‘She also has alibis, for all three murders.’

  Kitt sighed. ‘Well then, why would she go blabbing to the press?’

  ‘She told Banks that Krantz had ambushed her.’

  ‘That’s not difficult to believe.’

  ‘But apparently Diane Phelps, who owns the salon, had also told the staff that it would look better if they were open with the media.’

  ‘Really?’ Kitt frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘She thought it would look bad on the salon if they didn’t comment, and they wanted it known they were cooperating with the police.’

  ‘I suppose that’s understandable,’ said Kitt, while noticing that her mobile was buzzing. Seeing it was Evie calling, she gave Halloran an apologetic look and answered.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Kitt!’ Evie half-screamed down the phone.

  ‘Evie?’ Kitt raised her voice so her friend could hear.

  ‘He’s after us, he’s chasing after us. Heather got stabbed.’

  ‘What— where are you?’ Kitt said.

  ‘We’ve made it to the Wonky Donkey.’

  ‘Stay there. We’re on our way.’

  Twenty-eight

  Kitt barged through the door of the Wonky Donkey, or, to give the pub its official name, The Three-Legged Mare, on High Petergate with Halloran a step behind. The pub was quiet at this time on a Sunday, and it took Kitt mere seconds to scan the room and find Evie, Jazz, and Heather sitting around a circular wooden table. Evie and Jazz were wrapped up in their winter coats, but Heather had taken hers off and was clutching a white cloth to her forearm. The cloth was spotted with red.

  The group was too engrossed in Heather’s injury to notice Kitt had arrived, and so the librarian strode towards them, calling out her friend’s name as she did so.

  Evie jumped up at once and scurried over for a hug.

  ‘Are you all right? What happened?’ asked Kitt, putting an arm around her friend’s shoulder and walking her back to the table.

  ‘We saw the killer,’ said Jazz, unhooking her green duffel coat.

  ‘You saw his face?’ said Halloran.

  Jazz shook her head. ‘Some of it. The lower part. Just from the nose downwards really. He was wearing a . . . like a cloak with a hood, and a wig, by the look of things. A red one.’

  Halloran’s shoulders tensed.

  ‘It was the same person we saw outside the cemetery gates at Owen’s funeral, or someone dressed just like them,’ said Evie.

  ‘He followed us down Mad Alice Lane as we were making our way here for one last drink,’ Jazz explained.

  ‘Mad Alice Lane,’ Kitt repeated, and looked at Halloran. ‘Where Ashes to Ashes is situated.’

  ‘Turner,’ Halloran growled.

  ‘Heather tried to confront him,’ said Jazz.

  ‘That was a very dangerous thing to do,’ Halloran said.

  ‘I know it was stupid,’ Heather said. ‘I thought three against one would be good odds. Thought I’d take the chance to find out who the killer was and save us all this trouble. But he was carrying a knife.’

  ‘That cut looks nasty.’

  ‘It’s not as bad as it looks, I don’t think, but I’m not a doctor.’

  ‘When he cut Heather like that, we made a run for
it,’ said Evie. ‘It was clear he wasn’t messing around.’

  ‘You did the right thing,’ said Halloran. ‘Excuse me, I need to put in a call about this.’

  As the inspector walked away, Kitt turned back towards the table. A chill came over her as she looked around the small circle of friends. ‘This can’t have happened by accident.’

  Evie cocked her head. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, the killer must have known where you’d be tonight. It’s too much of a coincidence.’

  Evie swallowed hard. ‘So, you think the killer is . . . actively stalking us?’

  ‘Stalking is time-consuming. The odds are they are focusing their energies on one individual,’ Kitt said, unable to make direct eye contact with her friend.

  There was a pause while Evie considered this. ‘Me? You think they’re stalking me?’

  ‘That would make sense, my sweet,’ said Heather. ‘The killings started with someone connected to you.’

  ‘But stalking me has to be the most boring job in the universe,’ Evie said.

  ‘Maybe whoever it is gets off on watching people get massages?’ said Jazz.

  ‘Suppose that wouldn’t be any less weird than the rest of it,’ said Evie.

  ‘Maybe the police should put some kind of security detail on you,’ said Kitt.

  Evie frowned. ‘That’s going a bit over the top, isn’t it?’

  ‘It might help them catch the killer. They might notice who it is, lurking in the background. Besides, you can’t take any chances with stalker stuff, that story doesn’t go well. Have you ever read Never Let You Go?’

  ‘No,’ Evie said, ‘and I’m getting the impression it might not be the most comforting read right now.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Kitt. ‘But that story was totally different to yours. Unless you have an abusive ex-husband who has just escaped from prison you forgot to mention?’

  A wry smile formed on Evie’s lips that suggested she had sussed Kitt’s plan to tease her into feeling better about being stalked by a murderer. ‘I think that might have come up by now.’