An Eye for an Eye (Detective Kate Young)

by Carol Wyer

  The cleaner, in his late twenties or early thirties, thin and putty-faced, leant against the side of a van emblazoned with the name ABeClean. He spotted Kate approaching and dropped a half-smoked cigarette, grinding it into the gravel with the heel of his trainer.

  ‘Hi. You feeling okay?’

  ‘What do you think?’ he said.

  ‘I think it’s been a pretty ghastly shock. I’m DI Kate Young.’

  ‘I’m Mike. Mike Blythe.’

  ‘Do you clean here regularly, Mike?’

  ‘Ironically, I don’t. ABeClean is my girlfriend, Tabitha Grant’s, business. She usually cleans here along with another woman, but there’s a gastroenteritis bug doing the rounds that’s wiped out all of her team. Tabitha wasn’t feeling too well this morning – probably caught it from them – so I volunteered to come in and do it for her. I’ve worked here a few times before.’

  ‘Do you work for her?’

  ‘Only when she needs a hand. I’m a musician – guitarist with a local band.’

  ‘Did you know the man who was killed?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to him a few times.’

  ‘You didn’t see anybody else about, did you?’

  ‘No one, and there weren’t any cars in the car park when I arrived at nine. The place doesn’t usually open until about eleven thirty, so the front door was locked, as usual. Tabitha holds a set of keys so I let myself in via reception and cleaned downstairs, starting with the dining room, then along the corridor, doing each of the rooms in turn. The drawing room was the last on the ground floor.’

  ‘You said you’ve worked here before. When was that?’

  ‘When Tabitha first got the contract to clean here, she and I always did it. That was until she grew the business enough to hire other cleaners. We were short-staffed earlier this year, so I helped out then, too.’

  ‘Do you know Alex Corby?’

  ‘Should I?’

  ‘He was a member here.’

  ‘Name doesn’t ring any bells.’

  ‘How about Ian Wentworth?’

  Mike pulled a face. ‘I remember him – not the bloke, but certainly his name. He and a couple of other members stayed over at the club at the beginning of January. He stole a silk velvet bedspread. Tabitha told Xavier about it, but he said she was mistaken.’

  ‘Does Tabitha supply all the bed linen?’

  ‘Not provide it, no, but when she took on the cleaning contract it was with the proviso that she also dealt with guest rooms. All the towels, sheets and so on are sent to a local laundry service for washing and ironing.’

  ‘Could the bedspread have been missed off a list?’

  ‘No way. It was immediately after the Christmas and New Year break, the staff were still on holiday, so Tabitha and I cleaned and made up the all rooms together. The bed definitely had a bedspread on it – a deep maroon one. All the beds are prepared the exact same way with a matching bedspread and cushion set.’

  ‘Did you confront Ian about it?’

  ‘There was no point. The club owns the linen. If they want to let one of their members steal bedspreads, then it’s their loss, not ours.’

  ‘Tell me, how did you know Ian Wentworth stayed in that particular room?’

  ‘Tabitha was sounding off about the theft to the kitchen staff and one of the waiters told her he knew who had stayed there. Ian ordered some brandy to be delivered to his room.’

  ‘Do you know which waiter spoke to her?’

  ‘No. Tabitha would have to tell you.’

  ‘Do you know the boss, Raymond Maddox?’

  ‘I’ve never met him. Xavier was generally the go-to person, but Tabitha might have spoken to Raymond.’ He ended with a sigh and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

  ‘Would you prefer to go inside to talk, or maybe sit in my car?’

  He raised his head. ‘I’m better out here, thanks. In the open air.’

  ‘I’ve only a couple more questions to ask. Are you okay to continue?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘Did anything strike you as odd when you arrived this morning?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Everything seemed the same as usual. I didn’t notice . . . the body . . . until I walked into the drawing room.’

  ‘Did you knock over or move anything inside the room?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I ran straight outside and called the police.’

  ‘And you didn’t spot anything obviously out of place?’

  ‘No. Oh, wait a second, there was an ornament on the floor near the door. I left it there.’

  ‘You didn’t knock into it?’

  ‘No. It was definitely on the floor.’

  ‘How many female cleaners work for Tabitha?’

  ‘Six.’

  ‘And do any of the others ever work here at the club?’

  ‘No. It’s usually only Tabitha and Poppy, unless they need an extra pair of hands or one of them is off for some reason.’

  ‘Poppy?’

  ‘Poppy Notts.’

  ‘Have any of the other women worked here recently?’

  He shrugged loosely. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I will need to talk to Poppy. Do you have her contact details?’

  ‘I don’t, but Tabitha will have them for certain. I know she lives near the railway station in Stoke, but I don’t know her address or phone number.’

  ‘Could you get them for me?’

  ‘Yes, but why?’

  Kate brushed away his concerns. ‘It’s for elimination purposes. There’s a drop of blood in there that might have come from her or Tabitha. I’d also like to talk to Tabitha as soon as possible.’

  ‘She was totally out of it this morning, but I’ll see if I can get her to ring you.’

  ‘If you think of anything else, here is my card. Call me.’

  Mike pocketed the card she offered him and briefly looked away across the car park towards the white forensics van outside the large house. His words were cagey. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing him tied up like that. The image will fade eventually, won’t it?’

  A body, sprawled across the narrow aisle, lips contorted, silently condemning her for arriving too late to help.

  She gave a strained half-smile and left it as if she thought it was a rhetorical question. She couldn’t give him the reassurance he wanted. She had her own demons to battle.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  TUESDAY, 8 JUNE – LATE AFTERNOON

  Chris wasn’t in his den. Kate entered the room tentatively, pausing only to breathe in the lingering aroma of bergamot and oranges from his favourite aftershave, before opening the filing cabinet and removing the file marked ‘Maddox’.

  Once in the kitchen, she dropped it on to the table, poured a glass of water and drained it in one. Her head was beginning to thump again, a result of coming off the pills: you’re detoxing. The water would help. She flopped on to a stool and opened up the file. It was subdivided into three sections. The first, entitled ‘Private Members’ Clubs’, contained a series of articles about the origin of such associations. The second was named ‘Traditions’ and contained links to websites about what happened inside them, but the third, which Chris had named ‘Gold Service’, was the one she was drawn to. It comprised of a list of names and phone numbers, three of which she immediately recognised – Alex Corby, John Dickson and Ian Wentworth.

  Why had Chris arranged to meet Ian? She lifted the phone to call him, then changed her mind and instead rang the first number on the sheet, but Raymond didn’t pick up. She scanned the names in front of her, trying to work out which of them to ring next. She chose the second one, Stephen Brown, a vintner from Stafford. His phone also went straight to answerphone. She cursed aloud. The club was significant. She had a direct link to both it and to John Dickson. Thoughts, like washing in a machine, churned over and over. Why on earth had Chris written Dickson’s name in the Gold Service file?

  Her mobile rang and she snatched it from the tabl
e, hopeful it was Raymond.

  Ervin was on the other end of the line. ‘I’ve got some useful information for you, Kate. The eye left outside Superintendent Dickson’s house definitely belonged to Ian Wentworth. Secondly, about your apple. I had to recruit an expert in apple varieties to help identify it. It transpires both of those left at the crime scenes were a variety known as Macoun, named after Canadian horticulturist T. W. Macoun, and mostly grown in the US. According to my specialist, it’s a medium red apple with snow-white flesh.’

  She’d never come across the name.

  Ervin had more news. ‘There are three sets of fingerprints on the peanut bowl you saw on the bar – one of which belongs to Xavier. The others are identical to those lifted from the whisky tumblers. My guess is two members had a drink, shared a bowl of nuts and left. If you can find who they were, we’ll do the necessary to check the prints match. For what it’s worth, I don’t imagine either set belongs to the assailant.’

  She could only agree. The killer had made no mistakes thus far. ‘It would be too much to hope for. Thanks for the update.’

  ‘I’ll contact you as and when we get further information.’ Ervin hung up, leaving Kate staring into space and pondering her next move.

  She needed to bring her team up to speed and find out if the blood on the ornament and carpet had come from Poppy or Tabitha. As far as she was aware, there were no other female members of staff at the club. If only she could get hold of Raymond and ask him. She rang Morgan, whose phone went immediately to voicemail. She had more luck with Emma.

  ‘There’s been a development,’ Kate told her. ‘Xavier Durand was killed at the Maddox Club, sometime late last night or early this morning.’ She ran through what she knew.

  ‘Do you suspect the blood belongs to the perp?’ asked Emma.

  ‘Given they’ve been uncannily clever, I think it’s unlikely they’d have left any clue behind. The MO was different to the others, so we might even be dealing with two killers.’

  Emma let out a low whistle. ‘This gets weirder and weirder.’

  ‘Are you at the station?’

  ‘No. Morgan got a trace on Cooper’s whereabouts and asked me for back-up. I’m not far from the rendezvous point. Do you want me to return?’

  ‘No. Stay on Cooper’s trail. I’ve a feeling he’s pivotal to this investigation and we can’t afford to let him slip away. I’ll head to the station and meet you later. I have some tracking of my own to do.’

  Call ended, Kate stared at the phone screen. ‘Ian, Alex, Xavier and Cooper. They’re all linked in some way to the Maddox Club.’

  ‘And Dickson. Don’t forget him,’ said Chris.

  ‘He spent a night at the club in January. I wonder if it was the same night the bedspread disappeared from Ian’s room.’

  ‘You need to find out if it was.’

  ‘Yes, I know I do, but I don’t know how to contact him. He’s in a safe house.’

  ‘And isn’t that convenient? Out of the way so you can’t speak to him.’

  ‘Chris, why were you investigating the club?’

  ‘Never mind that for the moment. It’s more important you speak to Dickson.’

  Chris was right. And there was only one way she could contact the superintendent: via William.

  William blocked her request. ‘We can’t risk the killer uncovering his location.’

  ‘He’s the only person who can shed some light on what I’m dealing with here. Three men, linked to the club, have all been murdered within days of each other. This is unprecedented. What if the killer has a long list of intended victims, possibly all linked to the Maddox Club? We must stop them before they continue this killing spree. Tell me where to find Dickson, please.’

  She took the silence at the other end of the phone to mean William was considering her argument. His response was little more than a grunt. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Where shall I meet you?’

  ‘My house in fifteen minutes.’

  William lived outside Stafford in what had once been a row of terraced cottages for farmworkers. They’d been converted into one long house but still retained an olde-worlde charm. William had retained many features, such as the black latches and ancient doors with gnarled knots in the grain, and old fireplaces in each of the rooms. A white long-haired cat with sapphire-blue eyes stretched languidly before climbing down from the kitchen chair.

  ‘Hello, Wayan,’ she said, stooping to scratch its head. William owned two Balinese cats, both with silky, flowing coats and full plume tails, and had named them according to Balinese custom.

  Wayan wound himself around her legs. Kate stood up quickly at the sound of Dickson’s voice.

  ‘You wanted to talk to me again, Kate,’ said Dickson, appearing at the kitchen door.

  ‘Yes, sir. I can’t get hold of Raymond Maddox and I’m desperate for some answers.’

  William picked up the cat and stood beside the sink stroking his head while Kate spoke. ‘What can you tell me about the Gold Service offered at the Maddox Club?’

  The superintendent glanced at William. ‘Could you leave us for a moment?’

  William moved outside, disappearing into his lovely garden.

  ‘This is to remain strictly between ourselves, understand?’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Let me make it perfectly clear, I wasn’t aware of the service until the night I was invited to join Alex and Ian at the club.’ The sigh that followed seemed to emanate from within his chest cavity. He shook his head at the memory. ‘The Gold Service, if you must know, consisted of supplying members with prostitutes.’

  ‘I see. And you had no idea this service existed before the second of January?’

  ‘No.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Can I remind you, I’ve divulged highly personal information that I expect you to keep to yourself?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Understood. Could you tell me more about the evening, before you went to bed? How the subject came up?’

  ‘It came out of the blue. I wasn’t very good company. My wife and I had been going through a difficult patch and I had too much to drink and happened to mention our marital problems as we were eating. Ian then told me about the service, which he fully intended using after dinner, as did Alex. They both thought it would “cheer me up” and arranged for me to have somebody in my room, too. So yes, I was drunk and yes, I slept with a prostitute. However, it was a one-off.’

  ‘Did you see either man in the morning?’

  ‘I had breakfast with Alex, but apparently Ian took off before we got up. Xavier arranged a taxi to take him home.’

  ‘Were you surprised he’d gone?’

  ‘Yes. He hadn’t mentioned anything the night before about leaving early. In fact, he’d said he’d see us at breakfast, but we assumed he was simply too hung over to appear.’

  ‘Did you speak to him after that evening?’

  ‘No. I was ashamed of my actions and I made no effort to contact him.’

  ‘But you still saw Alex?’

  ‘Only on a couple of occasions.’

  ‘Do you happen to know if they still offer the Gold Service at the club?’

  ‘Alex told me it stopped after that night.’

  ‘Have you any idea why?’

  ‘None whatsoever. I don’t see where this line of questioning is leading us.’

  ‘I apologise, sir, but there’s nobody else I can speak to about this. Xavier is dead. Raymond isn’t answering his phone. Would it be okay if I continue?’

  He sighed again but gave his permission.

  ‘Do you have any idea who arranged for the prostitutes to visit?’

  ‘I assume it was Xavier. He arranged all the extras, and besides, he oversaw the entire running of the place. He was the manager. Nobody could have operated the service behind his back.’

  ‘Raymond could have.’

  ‘Unlikely. By all accounts, he wasn’t often at the club.’

  ‘Was he there on January the second?’

  ‘I
didn’t see him, but I heard he’d dropped by for a while.’

  Xavier had told her Maddox was away in the Maldives at the time – another lie.

  ‘Kate, there’s nothing more I can add. You know as much as I do. If you don’t mind me saying so, I don’t think delving into people’s personal lives is the correct way of handling this. You need to look further afield.’

  ‘Sir.’

  He studied her carefully. ‘I wanted you as lead on this investigation, but we now have three victims, Kate . . . three, and . . . well, I’m beginning to wonder if I haven’t made an error of judgement. I’m not convinced you are on top of this.’

  She kept her head lifted. ‘We’re working the case, chasing leads and doing it by the book, sir. As I recall, I asked if we shouldn’t bring in more manpower, but you wanted it kept low key.’

  He raised a finger of warning and pointed it in her direction. ‘Don’t get clever with me.’

  ‘That’s not my intention. We’ve worked flat out and pursued every avenue. We don’t want to make mistakes, sir.’

  He pursed his lips. ‘I don’t know. I wanted to give you the chance to get back on your feet and show us you still had what it takes to head a murder investigation. I wonder if I was wrong to throw you in at the deep end. Lighter duties might have been more appropriate.’

  ‘I’m more than able to handle it, sir.’

  ‘You say so, yet here you are asking about a service for club members that no longer exists, rather than rounding up suspects.’ He waited a couple of heartbeats. ‘Maybe it was too soon for you to return.’

  ‘There’s no reason for you to doubt my ability.’

  He didn’t reply. His silence was unnerving, but Kate maintained steady eye contact until he broke off with, ‘I want results soon. I can’t stay in hiding for much longer, and unless you can make rapid progress, I shall have to bring in a fresh team.’

  ‘Sir.’

  He turned on his heel, leaving her alone in the room. Damn the man! He’d just shown his true colours. Chris was right. Dickson was hiding something, and she was damn well going to find out exactly what it was.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO