by D. S. Butler
I shook my head.
Unbelievable.
“Please sit down. Miss Carter will see you soon.”
She stared hard at me until I reluctantly sat down. The uppity, work-shy bitch.
They went back to ignoring me. But finally they started to do some work, although they didn’t get up from their seats. They kept their backsides firmly planted in their chairs, but propelled themselves on the wheels towards the filing cabinets.
I recalled an old proverb: The sluggard will not plow by reason of the cold; Therefore shall he beg in harvest, and have nothing.
I glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes past my appointment time. I was going to be late for work at this rate. It was beyond a joke. I was so tempted to get up and walk out of there, but I wouldn’t.
I couldn’t do it.
Goddamn social services.
I heard a door open along the corridor, and Gabby Carter stepped outside her office, all eighteen stone of her.
I stood up and walked towards her, not bothering to wait for those stupid women behind the counter to call my name. I ignored their beady stares as I walked passed them.
“Nice to see you again,” Gabby said as she walked back inside her office.
I took a seat in front of her desk which was littered with brown foolscap files, other cases like mine, no doubt.
I wanted to talk. I had a whole speech worked out, and it had sounded so logical and convincing in my head, but now I was here in this poky office, the words abandoned me.
Gabby picked up a file from her desk and flicked through it briefly, then she dropped it back on her desk as if the contents bored her.
“Your mother’s hands are healing well. That’s good news, isn’t it?” She spoke in a patronising voice, overly bright and cheerful.
She picked up a half-full cup of coffee and took a sip.
I stared in disgust at the half-eaten Mars bar on the side of her desk.
“She’s settling in well at the care home,” Gabby continued and shot a glance at the file. “Doris, one of the daycare staff, says your mum’s very keen on the rhubarb crumble.”
Gabby chuckled.
I bit down hard on the inside of my mouth. That was an outright lie. My mother hated sodding rhubarb.
“When can she come home?” I asked, deliberately not meeting Gabby’s eyes. Instead, I focused on straightening the collar of my shirt.
I heard the chair creak, and I knew Gabby had shifted her position. But I didn’t expect what she did next.
She reached out and patted my arm.
I flinched.
“We’ve spoken about this. Your mother isn’t going to be able to stay at home. She requires full-time care now, and with your job…” Gabby shook her head.
“I have to work. What do you expect me to do? Quit my job? If I did, how would we afford to live?”
Gabby raised her palms. “I know, I know. I don’t expect you to quit your job. It’s too much to expect you to care for your mum and work full-time. That’s why it’s best for your mum to stay at Daffodil House. She gets around the clock care there, doesn’t she? It really is the best thing for everyone.”
I stared at Gabby, hating everything about her.
Best for whom? Not my mother. Not me.
She must be so confused. She was away from everything that was familiar to her and surrounded by strangers.
I tried again. “Why can’t you let her stay with me? If you could arrange some assistance…perhaps a home help. That wouldn’t be as expensive as full-time care and—”
“I’ll have to stop you there,” Gabby said. “She needs more than home help, and I think you know that. Her hands…well, you saw what happened. She scalded her hands. Next time, it could be worse.”
I felt the tightness building in my chest. She was blaming me.
It was my fault my mother had burned her hands, my fault she’d poured boiling hot water all over them when she’d decided to have a boiled egg for lunch, and my fault she had sat there in pain all afternoon until I got home from work because she couldn’t remember the number to call for an ambulance.
With my cheeks burning, I lowered my head.
“I am on your side,” Gabby said. “I just want your mum to be safe.”
I said nothing. I just stared at my hands resting in my lap. I wasn’t seeing my hands, though. I saw the red, raw skin of my mother’s hands after she’d scalded them.
“Well, that’s sorted then,” Gabby said, heaving herself to her feet. “I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding. I’ve got a ton of other appointments this morning.” She tilted her head and gave me an embarrassed smile. “I know it’s daft, but I had it in my head that you might cause a fuss, silly, eh?”
I stared at her coldly. Oh, I would make a fuss all right.
Gabby would realise soon enough that I wasn’t a person to be messed with.
7
THE MADISON LITERARY AGENCY was on Orange Street, just around the corner from the National Portrait Gallery and next door to a Cafe Nero coffee shop.
Mackinnon showed his ID at the reception. Beverley’s partner at the agency, Aaron Huxley, had been informed of Beverley’s death, and Mackinnon guessed he must have already told the rest of the staff.
The female receptionist looked up at him through bloodshot eyes and dabbed her nose with a scrunched up tissue.
“You’re here about Beverley,” she said. “I can’t believe it…none of us can. I suppose you want to speak to Alice first? Mr. Huxley said you would.”
“Alice?”
“Alice Read. She was Beverley Madison’s personal assistant.”
Mackinnon nodded. “Yes, thank you. I would like to speak to her.”
“I’ll just give her a ring and let her know you’re here.”
Mackinnon thanked her and turned his attention to the small reception area, which was decorated solely in black and white. The only splashes of colour came from the blown-up book jackets, hanging in frames on the wall.
One particularly eye-catching cover had a machete, dripping with blood, on the cover. The author’s name, Jacob Jansen, was written in blood-red bold type.
“Alice is ready to see you now. If you’d like to follow me?” The receptionist smiled weakly when she saw Mackinnon looking at the book cover.
“That’s Jacob’s latest,” she said, with obvious pride.
“I heard he is one of the agency’s top sellers,” Mackinnon said.
“Oh, yes. Sunday Times number one on every release for the past five years. He’s brilliant. I’ve met him a few times. He’s ever so charming.”
The receptionist led Mackinnon along a corridor until they reached a door with Beverley Madison’s nameplate. “Alice is in here. She’s trying to sort out Beverley’s office.”
Mackinnon frowned. “What?”
When the door opened, a small, dark-haired woman looked up from the desk. She stood up and then offered Mackinnon her hand. “Detective, my name is Alice Read.”
Mackinnon stared angrily at the woman who had been rifling through Beverley Madison’s desk. “Alice, I will have to ask you to leave Beverley Madison’s office and possessions alone until we say otherwise. They are part of a murder inquiry.”
“Oh, but…”
“You could be tampering with important evidence. Weren’t you informed that we would be sending out a crime scene unit?”
“Well, yes, but this isn’t actually a crime scene, is it? I was only giving it a quick tidy and Mr. Huxley insisted.” Alice Read shot a glance at the receptionist, who was still standing beside Mackinnon.
“You can leave us now. Thank you, Tara,” she said pointedly.
“Aaron Huxley asked you to do this?”
Alice Read nodded. “Mr. Huxley is the junior partner in the agency. He wants to move offices…”
Mackinnon raised an eyebrow. “That’s fast work.”
Alice Read flushed. “Sorry, if it seems insensitive.” She rubbed her forehead and looked
down at the desk. “I just wanted to keep busy.”
“Is there somewhere else we can talk?” Mackinnon asked.
Alice Read nodded. She locked Beverley Madison’s office behind them and took Mackinnon to a small refreshment area a short distance away.
She gestured to the coffee machine, but when Mackinnon shook his head, she sat down at the table. Mackinnon sat opposite.
“I know it’s not easy when someone you know well passes away, especially in circumstances like this, but I need to ask you some questions. Is that okay?”
Alice Read nodded. “Everyone has been saying Beverley was murdered. Was she really? Do you have any idea who did it?”
“We are still at a very early stage of the investigation,” Mackinnon said. “Could you tell me if Beverley was romantically involved with anyone?”
“Not to my knowledge. In fact, she made a joke about it the other day. Said she had been single forever.” Alice Read’s eyes filled with tears.
“How long have you worked for her, Alice?”
“Seven years.”
“Was she easy to work for?”
Alice Read smiled. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that exactly. She was rather particular, but she had a good heart.”
“Had she had any disagreements with anyone recently? Arguments?”
Alice shook her head, but she bit her lip at the same time.
“Are you sure?” Mackinnon pressed her. “It might not seem important to you now, but we need to find out as much as we can.”
Alice Read hesitated. “Well…she did have a bit of a rant the other day. It was about one of her major clients, Jacob Jansen.”
Mackinnon nodded. “Go on. What happened?”
“Well, that’s just it. I don’t know exactly what happened. All I know is that Beverley came into work last Wednesday in a foul mood. She was fuming. She said something about Jacob really going too far this time, and she said she wasn’t going to let him get away with it.”
“What had he done?”
“I really don’t know. You see, they can all be a bit theatrical around here. I just thought it would all blow over so I didn’t really pay much attention. They were always falling out.”
“Jacob Jansen and Beverley?”
“Yes, they had a tempestuous relationship at the best of times, but well, I’m sure Jacob has nothing to do with what has happened to Beverley, Detective. I spoke to him this morning, and he is really distraught over what has happened. We all are.”
Mackinnon nodded. They would have to take a close look at Jacob Jansen’s relationship with Beverley Madison.
“Did Beverley talk much about her relatives?” Mackinnon asked.
“Well, I know her father is in a care home in Hampstead.”
Mackinnon nodded.
“And she does have a niece,” Alice continued. “I think she used to spend Christmas with her until they had a falling out.”
“Do you know why they fell out?” Mackinnon asked.
Alice shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
“What about allergies? Do you know if Beverley was allergic to anything?”
Alice frowned. “Allergic? Well, she did suffer from hay fever.”
“Anything more extreme?”
Alice shook her head again. “Not that I know of.”
Mackinnon asked Alice a few more questions but didn’t feel like he was getting very far. “Perhaps I could have a chat with Mr. Huxley,” he suggested.
Alice nodded. “Of course.”
They found Aaron Huxley bundling his possessions into boxes.
“Preparing for a move are we, sir?” Mackinnon asked.
Aaron looked up, his eyes widening slightly, and his gaze flickered to Alice and then back to Mackinnon. “I take it you’re a police officer? Here about Beverley?”
“Detective Sergeant Mackinnon, City of London Police. I was hoping to have a quick word and ask you a few questions about Beverley.”
“Of course,” Aaron Huxley said as he sat back down in his chair and gestured for Mackinnon to take the seat in front of his desk.
Alice Read left them to it.
“What was Beverley like to work with?”
“Oh, she was fantastic,” Aaron said. “An absolute genius. I was so fortunate to learn from one of the best in the business.”
As he spoke he didn’t meet Mackinnon’s gaze. His words sounded rehearsed and insincere.
“I’d heard she could be difficult to get along with at times,” Mackinnon said, wanting to be sensitive, but at the same time, wanting to get down to the truth.
Aaron looked uncomfortable. “Well, I know how people talk, but really there isn’t any truth to the rumours.” Aaron folded his arms across his chest.
Mackinnon leaned forward, smiling. “Really?”
“People just like to stir things up,” Aaron said and scowled. “The thing is, they don’t understand our relationship.”
“What don’t they understand?”
“Well,” he said and licked his lips. “We’re creative. Passionate. We believe in our clients and sometimes we don’t exactly see eye-to-eye, but deep down, I’ve always had the greatest respect for Beverley, and she knew that.”
“You argued?”
“I wouldn’t say that exactly. At times, our vision for the company wasn’t in complete alignment. Sometimes, we had differences of opinion.”
Mackinnon nodded. “You had a disagreement, then?”
Aaron tutted and looked away, in the direction of the window. “It really wasn’t my fault. I was perfectly reasonable about it. I just wanted to make Beverley see that Jacob was our best client, and we needed to keep him. You know, it really is just common sense. Seventy percent of the agency’s earnings come through Jacob Jansen,” Aaron Huxley said, poking his desk to emphasise his point. “Beverley was Jacob’s agent, but recently he had taken to calling me because she didn’t reply to his emails or calls. I tried to make her see sense. We simply couldn’t afford to lose someone like Jacob Jansen.”
Mackinnon stared at Aaron until he flushed and looked away.
“And what did Beverley say to that?”
Aaron’s cheeks flushed even redder and he didn’t answer at first.
“It’s best if you’re honest with me,” Mackinnon said.
“She said, I was just a little boy trying to play adult games that I didn’t understand,” he mumbled, looking down at his hands.
After a moment, he looked up. His eyes were flashing with indignation. “She was wrong! I’ve learned a lot from Beverley, but in this case…” He shook his head. “In this case, she was most definitely wrong.”
8
OVER THE NEXT TWO hours, Mackinnon spoke to everyone else at the Madison agency.
When he left, stepping outside onto Orange Street, he headed next door to Cafe Nero, pulling his mobile phone out of his pocket and dialling DI Tyler.
Tyler answered on the third ring. “Any luck? What did you get out of her colleagues?”
Mackinnon walked into the coffee shop and stood in line. He was surprised to see Aaron Huxley at the counter, buying a toasted sandwich.
Aaron noticed Mackinnon and nodded, giving him a small smile.
“I’ve got something that could be of interest to us,” Mackinnon said, keeping his voice down. “I’m just in a cafe, picking up a coffee and then I’ll come straight back to the station. Any news on your end?”
“Couple of things on the CCTV,” Tyler said. “It’s given us something to go on. Obviously, not a lovely clear face shot. That would be too easy.” Tyler sighed. “Collins is still working his way through the hotel guests with the team. That’s taking him a while. Brookbank has spoken to the press this morning. We’re keeping it as low-key as we can. And I’m about to head off to the post-mortem, so if you’ve managed to get a great lead, you’d better tell me about it now.”
A few feet ahead of Mackinnon, Aaron Huxley picked up his toasted sandwich and carried it past Mackinnon towards the
exit.
Now that Aaron Huxley was out of earshot, Mackinnon filled Tyler in. “Beverley had no allergies except hay fever, according to her PA, but as we have already gathered, Beverley Madison was known to have a somewhat abrasive personality. There was an incident last Wednesday when she was overheard ranting about a client, a writer by the name of Jacob Jansen.”
Mackinnon covered the mouthpiece of the phone and asked the barista for an Americano.
“Jacob Jansen? The thriller writer? Even I have heard of him,” Tyler said.
“Apparently, Beverley had been his agent for years, but they haven’t been getting on well lately, and at one point last week, Beverley was overheard by her PA saying that Jacob Jansen had gone too far this time.”
“Interesting.” Tyler paused as if he was mulling things over. “I want you to go and talk to this Jacob Jansen. Right now. Until our questioning at the hotel produces some information, we’ve not got much to go on. I’d like to know exactly what this Jacob Jansen character did to push Beverley Madison too far.”
Mackinnon paid for his coffee and carried it outside.
“I’ve got the address,” Mackinnon said. “It’s in Hampshire.”
“Take one of the pool cars,” Tyler said. “I won’t be here when you get back. I’ve got to attend the post-mortem in a minute.” Tyler exhaled deeply on the other end of the phone. “I’m not looking forward to it. That’s for sure. Did you uncover anything else?”
“Not much,” Mackinnon admitted. “She was a prickly character and had a few disagreements with Aaron Huxley, the junior partner, but the only one she had a real big blow up with recently was Jacob Jansen.”
“All right,” DI Tyler said. “Go and have a word with him and let me know how you get on.”
9
DI TYLER HATED GOING to post-mortems at the best of times, but he was really dreading this one.
By rights, it should have been Brookbank attending, but Brookbank wasn’t any more keen than Tyler and so he’d delegated.
Just his luck, Tyler thought as he pushed open the door. The PM was being carried out by Dr. Edward Green, the most pompous man Tyler had ever had the pleasure of working with.
