by Clare Revell
“1180 quid,” DI Holmes said.
“Quick at maths, Guv,” Zander said.
DI Holmes waved the phone in his hand. “Calculator.”
“Cheat.” Isabel grinned. “Anyway, my point is, not only is the Slayer richer than us, and have a lot of cash lying around, he has to have inside knowledge in advance of the girls’ sizes. So, all this was planned. Since at least March. It’s not random, he’s working to a premeditated schedule.”
Zander drummed his fingers on his desk. “So, he’d had to have broken in to all the houses at some point. Not taken anything, just rifled the underwear drawer.”
“Exactly.” Isabel drew a deep breath. At least they were taking her seriously and not dismissing her theories out of hand. “So, we need to check with the families of all those girls to find out if they were broken in to, even if nothing was taken and it wasn’t reported.”
DI Holmes glanced at the clock on the wall. “We’ll make a start on that. Zander, you need to get to the doctor’s. Isabel, go with him. Then go and get your locks seen to.” He paused. “I don’t need to remind anyone that Isabel is also not only on the list, but also fits the pattern of hair colour and so on.”
Isabel scowled. “I’m not a defenceless female, Guv.”
“I’m not saying you are. I just want you to be careful.”
“Always.”
Zander rose. “Let’s go before he wants me to hold your hand when we cross a road. We’ll talk to Dominic Higgins on the way back here after your locksmith. I’m not calling in advance and warn him we’re coming. I don’t want to give him a chance to talk to anyone else first and get briefed on what to say.”
Isabel glanced sideways at DI Holmes and then held her hand out to Zander. “I think you ought to hold it anyway. I might get lost on my way to the stairs.” She winked. “Remember I’m only a poor defenceless female…”
Zander snorted.
DI Holmes laughed. “Get out of here.”
Not needing be told again, Isabel grabbed her bag and strode to the door.
~*~
Zander left the doctor’s office and walked back to the waiting room where he’d left Isabel. At least she hadn’t insisted on going in with him. He glanced at her. “Done.”
She rose, shoving the book she’d been reading into her handbag. “And?”
“High blood pressure,” he muttered. “For which I blame you.”
“High blood pressure is not contagious.” She scurried to keep up with him as he left the building. “Wait up.”
“We need to get to yours quick sharp.” He glanced at his watch. “Got ten minutes or we’ll be late.”
“Did you get a prescription?”
“Yes.” He tugged the keys from his pocket and unlocked the car. “The same meds as they gave you. I figured I could get them whilst you’re with the locksmith, or later. There’s no rush.”
Isabel opened the car door. “Yes, there is. The sooner you start taking the meds—”
He groaned. “Good grief, woman! Enough.”
She smirked. “Not fun when the boot is on the other foot, is it? You know the Guv will ask when we get back and then nag until you take them. So how about we drop the prescription off at the chemist now, go to mine and wait for the locksmith, then go and pick your meds up on the way to see Dominic Higgins?”
Zander grumbled, but really what choice did he have? Isabel was right. The Guv would only ride his case until he was taking the wretched pills. Hopefully they would solve the problem. At least, the high blood pressure problem. He just needed to be more careful next time. The teasing about him being the Slayer was one thing.
The truth was something else altogether.
7
With a shiny, new door key on her key ring, Isabel followed Zander back to his car. “So, will we talk to Dominic Higgins next?”
Zander waved his keys in the direction of the car to unlock it. “Yes. I got the address whilst you were with the locksmith. He lives with his parents.”
“The locksmith does?” she asked, trying to keep her face straight as she deliberately misunderstood him.
He rolled his eyes. “No. The artist. Just get in the car. You’re not funny.”
“No. I’m not Funny, I’m Isabel.” She opened the door. “Means we can talk to his parents at the same time.”
He tilted his head. “They only live a minute or so from here, but I’m driving anyway.”
Isabel strapped herself in and wondered why as Zander stopped two-hundred yards down the road. “Seriously? We could have crawled here just as fast.” She got out of the car and walked up the path. Pulling out her ID, she rang the bell.
A tired, grey-haired woman opened the door, but the chain still remained in place.
Isabel held up the ID. “DC York and DC Ellery. Are you Mrs. Higgins?”
“Yes. Susan is resting if you’re here to talk to her.”
Isabel glanced at her partner, surprised Susan was here and not in a shelter. “Actually, ma’am, we’re here to talk to Dominic, if he’s in.”
“He’s in his art studio out the back. Come on through. I did tell Susan she should press charges. I thought that was why you were here.”
Isabel shook her head. “We’re following up on the stolen paintings. But we can talk to her, if she wants.”
“Those paintings are nothing but trouble.” Mrs. Higgins grumped as she closed the door. She bustled through the house. “It’s a shame they didn’t all burn in the fire.”
“Fire?” Zander asked.
“The shed he was painting in burned down somehow. Daft kid must have left a candle alight or something. The place burned to the ground. Those Ten Commandment paintings were left unharmed. Fire brigade called it a miracle. More’s the pity. Those pictures give me the creeps. Wish he’d stick to normal paintings like he used to do before he got involved with that awful Mr. Vixen at the gallery.”
Isabel leaned into Zander as they followed the woman into the garden. “Susan is here?” she whispered. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Nor me,” he replied just as quietly. “At least the bloke is in custody for now.”
Mrs. Higgins stopped by what she called a shed, but the building looked more like an expensive summer house. She rapped on the door. “Dom, are you in there?” When she didn’t get an answer, she rattled the door. Then banged on it. “Dominic!” Finally, she pulled a mobile phone from her pocket and dialled.
“I’m working,” came an answering yell. “Go away.”
“Dom, honey, the police are here to see you about the paintings. Do you—”
The door flung open. “Have you found them? Can I have them back?” the teen gushed.
“We’ve recovered some,” Zander began, “but we need to hang on to them for a while longer yet. Do you have time to answer a few more questions?”
“Come in.” Dominic shut the door behind them before his mother could join them. A phone peeped from his shirt pocket, headphones dangling from them. “She doesn’t like my paintings.”
“Some of them are a little…” Zander paused.
“Different,” Isabel finished quickly. “We need to talk to you about them. Did you add anything to them after you loaned them to the gallery?” She pulled the brochure from her bag.
Dominic snatched it from her hands. “Like what?” The teen had gone on the defensive as he flicked to the pages concerned. “Why would I add anything? They are exactly what Mr. Vixen wanted. A new take on an old theme. Each one is perfect just as they are in the photos here.”
Zander pulled out his phone. “Can I show you what they looked like when we recovered them?”
Isabel narrowed her eyes. When had Zander taken photos of any of the paintings? She’d done it before calling everyone down to show them.
Dominic peered at the phone. “Eyes? That’s just weird and way out nasty. You don’t need eyes in the paintings, or else I’d have done it.”
“You don’t think it implies that God is w
atching His people breaking His commandments?” Zander pushed the issue.
“Oh, plu-ese! I was told what to paint, so I did just that. Creepy eyes were not part of the brief.”
“So, the commission included what to paint.”
“Kind of. Mr. Vixen wanted specific things. Well, not him, but a buyer had commissioned a set of paintings, and he wanted me to paint them.”
“So why offer them in a general sale?”
Dominic shrugged. “I dunno. Anyway, I painted what I was asked. But not eyes, like, ‘cos that’s just nasty creepy, yanno.”
“Do you know the name of the buyer?” Isabel asked. As the teen shook his head, she changed the subject slightly. “What about your sister’s boyfriend? Have you met him?”
“He’s not a nice man. He hurt her. She’s come here to get better.”
“Did you know him?” Zander asked.
“No. She hadn’t been seeing him long. She met him at church.”
“Which one? The one you go to?”
The teen shook his head violently. “Small one. Creepy preacher kept going on about fire and brimstone and us all going to hell ’cos we can’t keep the commandments and that even thinking it means you’ve done it and you’re going to burn. Crisp something.”
“St. Crispin’s?” Isabel asked.
“That’s the one. Mum says you’re not meant to scare people into heaven, but that’s what he’s doing. He has horrid eyes that follow you.”
Zander tapped his fingers on the easel, his frustration showing. “Going back to the paintings. In your original statement you said Mr. Vixen commissioned them. Your exact words were, “It was his idea, and he told me to, like, put my spin on them.” Are you now saying that account isn’t true? That this buyer wanted you to paint them.”
Dominic shoved his hands into his pockets, a worried frown twisting his brow. “I dunno. You’re confusing me. Mr. Vixen asked me to paint them, but I did them how I wanted to. He gave me the titles, and I interpreted them.”
Isabel put a hand on Zander’s arm. This wasn’t getting them anywhere. “Back off a little,” she mouthed. She pointed to the painting the kid was working on. “Tell me about this one? To me it just looks like a mass of colour, but I’m sure you can explain it to me.”
“It’s called Damaged. Underneath is one of them old fashioned sailing ships, like, but a storm came up and engulfed it. You can just see the top of the ship right there. Mum says I ruined it by painting over it, but that’s the point. I—I have to get on now.” He picked up his brush and pulled his headphones back over his ears. Music blared from them.
“Guess that’s our cue to go.” Zander opened the door. “After you.”
Isabel headed out into the warm sunshine. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that’s a totally different kid from the one we saw last time.”
Mrs. Higgins appeared. “Is he OK? Only he’s not eating and just shuts himself in there for hours at a time.”
“He’s a little wired,” Zander replied.
“He’s not taking his meds. He says they fog his mind, stop him painting, so Mr. Vixen said not to take them. Did you want to see Sue? I can wake her up?”
Isabel shook her head. “It’s fine. Let her sleep. Just ask her to give me a call at some point.” She held out one of her cards. “Both my numbers are on here.”
~*~
Back at the nick, Zander dropped into his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. “I shall type this up now while it’s fresh in my mind.”
“OK. Want some coffee?” Isabel asked.
“Black.”
She paused on her way to the kettle. “Since when do you drink it black?”
“Since you put way too much milk in it.” A packet of biscuits landed on his lap. “Thanks.”
“Some people,” she muttered.
Austin coughed. “So, we checked on your break-in theory. And you’re right.”
“That’s two grammar rules you’ve broken right there,” Zander told him. “Never start a sentence with the word ‘and’.”
“Really?” Austin raised an eyebrow. “And what if I wanted to? As I was saying, all six victims had been broken into sometime in February. Nothing was taken so none of them reported it.”
“So how do they know?” Zander took the mug from Isabel. “Thanks.”
“The front door was left open. Now I’ve done that before now, assumed it’d shut behind me when it hadn’t. In each case here, the underwear drawer was also slightly open, but again no one thought anything of it.”
“I always close the drawers and double lock my front door,” Isabel said.
“But that’s just you.” Zander gazed at her over the cup. “And still someone got in. If there are three or four of you living in the same house, you might assume someone else was shutting the door.”
“And Will rang.” Austin grinned as he started another sentence wrong. “He’s on a general ward now. Should be going home in a couple of days. We got the traffic cam footage of his accident. It’s not possible to see the plate on the car that hit him, because it was broken, but it was a red sedan.” He gave them the model and year for their notes.
“Same car as the one at the park where Brit was found,” Isabel said. “Also ties in with the theory about Esther.” She crossed to the incident board. She yanked off the lid from one of the pens and wrote the colour and make of the car down one side.
Zander shook his head. He drove the same make and model. Maybe he should get a new car rather than add fuel to the Zander-is-the-Slayer theory. The phone on his desk rang. “Ellery.”
“Hey, Zander. It’s Arend. Is Isabel there?”
“Is, phone.” He held out the handset to her. “It’s the coroner.”
Isabel perched on the edge of Zander’s desk. “DC York. Hi Arend.” As she listened the colour drained from her face. Her eyes glistened. “I see.”
Concern mounted as Zander watched the emotions playing out on Isabel’s face. He stood, easing her from the desk into his chair.
“OK, thanks.” She ended the call and looked at her hands. “He um, got Gran’s postmortem results back. He’ll send us a copy.”
“And?”
“Poison hemlock.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, tears brimming in her eyes. “She was murdered. The fire was a cover up.”
Zander laid a hand on her arm. “Is, I’m so sorry.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “Least we know now.”
“All the more reason to get you into a safehouse.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m fine where I am. Besides, there’s Mr. T and not everywhere takes cats.”
If he comes back. Zander was surprised Isabel hadn’t reported the cat missing or stolen.
DI Holmes appeared from his office. “Isabel, I have the fingerprint report on the cat’s collar. Just yours and Zander’s.”
Zander frowned. He thought he’d been more careful than to touch it. “Mine?”
“Probably from when you petted him the other week,” Isabel whispered.
“I guess so.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “Guv, we got the autopsy results back on Isabel’s gran. It was poison hemlock.”
DI Holmes face fell. “Isabel, I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK.” She wrapped her arms around her waist.
“No, it’s not. Do you need a moment?” their boss asked.
She shook her head. “No. Thank you, but I don’t need a moment any more than I need a safehouse or a bodyguard.”
“Oh, but you do.” Zander winked. “That’s a very good idea. Guv, Is really needs a bodyguard. Complete with dark suit and sunglasses and one of those fancy earpieces connected to his suit jacket.”
She ignored him. “We spoke to Dominic Higgins on our way back. He still insists he was told to paint the Ten Commandments but put his own take on it. He didn’t add the eyes, and apparently the paintings had been contracted by a buyer, so he has no idea why they were being sold again. Unless the original bloke no
longer wanted them. We need to go to the art gallery and find out who that person could be.”
DI Holmes turned to Frank. “You and Tony get over there now and make enquiries. Don’t leave until you get an answer.”
Frank rose. “Yes, Guv.”
Zander tossed his pen on the desk. “Guv, the paintings are mine and Isabel’s…”
“It’s not up for debate.” DI Holmes spoke over him. “Isabel can’t go, and I need you to read this.” He held out a file.
“What is it?” As annoyed as he was not to be the one chasing up the painting lead, Zander had to admit his curiosity was piqued.
“The interview with your grandfather. It’s a courtesy, nothing more, because I know you’d only go hunting for the file otherwise.”
Zander took the file and opened it. He began to read.
Isabel’s phone rang. “DC York.” She tapped her pen on the desk.
Zander’s gaze halted over the words on the paper. He glanced up. “He can’t remember, but knows the kids were messing around in the area shortly before hand.”
“That’s what he said.” DI Holmes nodded. “I would imagine it’s the same ones who’ve been tormenting him and the other residents. I’ve given uniform descriptions and the names of likely suspects and they’ll do the rest, including regular patrols.”
Zander handed the file back. “I’d like a few minutes alone with them when they’ve been caught.”
“I know you would.” Sympathy echoed in DI Holmes eyes. “But the answer is no.”
“Figured it would be,” Zander muttered. He clenched his fists in his lap.
“We’re also getting the media involved. See if anyone knows anything.”
Isabel dropped the phone back onto its base and scowled at it.
Zander raised an eyebrow. “Did it do something to offend you?”
“Something like that.” She gave the phone the evils for a few more seconds. “I asked the local vets if a stray cat had come in, but no.”
DI Holmes hadn’t moved. “What did the doctor say, Zander?”
“High blood pressure. I’m on the same meds as Isabel.”
DI Holmes inclined his head slightly, and then turned to Isabel. “Have you rung the DVLA about your driving licence yet?”
