by N. C. Lewis
The phone continued its frantic dance. She knew who was on the other end and took a deep breath as her hand twitched it into her grasp.
"This has turned into a hellish fiasco," Jeffery said in a waspish voice. "How did it happen with the team on the watch?"
Fenella took a quick gulp of coffee, did not know what to say, and waited.
"Did you hear me? How in the name of God did he get his hands on my friend Joy Hall?" Jeffery was shouting now.
Still, Fenella waited. She was good at the wait.
"Carlisle have called, said if we can't clean up the mess… this is the sort of screw-up that costs senior officers like me their career. I put my trust in Moss to lead the team, to find Perkins. And what does he do?"
Again, Fenella waited.
"Balls it up! He's out. You are in charge until further notice."
Fenella wasn’t sure whether it was a gift from God or the curse of the devil. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. "And Dr Joy Hall?"
"She'll live, no thanks to Moss. I've ordered an armed guard on her hospital room. No visitors."
"Is she conscious?"
"I said no visitors." Jeffery barked out those four words with the venom of a black mamba snake.
There was no point arguing with Jeffery about that. Now wasn’t the time for Fenella to push her luck. Moss had tried, and look where that got him.
"Okay," Fenella said, thinking. "As you wish, ma'am."
"Gather the team for a briefing at eight."
"It's Saturday, ma'am. We'll meet at noon. Give them a bit of a lie-in, eh?"
"Your call." Jeffery let out a sigh. "I've enough on my plate with all these cottage fires. Another one last night in the village of Egremont. The bloody politicians are hounding us. But it's not arson, just random blazes in old houses with lots of dry wood. Still, they've got to point the finger, haven't they? Keep me informed."
Jeffery hung up, and ten seconds later Fenella heard the grinding rattle of an engine. She went to the window. Dexter's Volvo eased into the drive. He walked with quick steps to the door.
"Bit late, aren’t you," Fenella said, inviting him inside. He always got the news first, had his ear glued to the ground. But for once she'd beaten him to it. Knew about Dr Joy Hall. Knew about Moss. Knew that she was back in charge.
He said, "Have you heard?"
"About Moss being kicked off the job?" She grinned. "And that I am the senior investigating officer?"
"Old news."
"What, then?"
"They have found another body, Guv."
"Where?"
"Hemlock Woods."
Chapter thirty-seven
Lisa Levon, the head crime scene tech, met them in the car park at Hemlock Woods. The dark of night still clung to the dawn, and the warmth of the sun that bathed St Bees in the daytime had not yet risen to chase the chill from the air.
"No one understands how the body could have been missed," Lisa said, "but it's another one, just like Viv Gill."
"Aye," Fenella replied. When Jeffery found out about another death, there'd be more crap flung at the fan. None of it would land on the Teflon woman even if Fenella ducked. Was it a mistake to take over from Moss? "Any idea of the time of death?"
Lisa puffed up her cheeks and let the air out slow. "We'll need to run tests, get the labs to take a look. That will take time. The force's medical examiner is on the way."
"Who?"
"Dr MacKay."
"He's on vacation: Africa."
"Oh!"
Everyone knew Dr MacKay would speculate on the time of death until the cows came home. That's one of the things Fenella liked about him. He'd make a good guess and was more often right than wrong.
"Come on, Lisa," Fenella said. "I'm not asking on the record, just your best guess."
"So long as it doesn't end up in any reports."
"I'd not do that to you."
"Or get quoted back to me in a mad voice if I am wrong."
Lisa Levon was as new-school as Dr Mackay was old. She worked hard, followed the rule book, waited for lab results, and stayed well within the lines. No grey areas—everything black and white. Fenella knew all of this, knew how to sprinkle in a drop of grey, and said, "What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?"
"Eh?" Lisa looked at her in surprise.
Fenella said, "Sunday, what you got on?"
"A lie-in till noon… nowt planned, to speak of."
"My place at two p.m. Bring a bottle." Fenella turned to Dexter. "You are coming, right? No booze for you. Bring a plate of cookies. Nan is cooking black-eyed peas with rice and browned chicken."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Guv," Dexter replied.
Fenella turned back to Lisa, flashed a smile, and said, "So, I'll see you at my place, then."
"I… don't know."
"You've got nowt else on, luv."
"It is just that…"
"My team will be there… and Detective Constable Jones."
"Is casual wear okay?"
"Aye, luv." Fenella's lips quirked at the corners. "Time of death?"
"About ten p.m., maybe a little later."
Fenella exchanged a look with Dexter. That's when the team were in the woods. There was no way a murder could have happened then; they would have heard the screams.
Fenella said, "It had to be earlier than that."
"An hour or two, perhaps," Lisa replied, then shook her head. "You asked for my best guess. I'm sticking with ten p.m."
"We were here till close to three a.m., and there were officers searching the woods for Perkins all night. How did we miss the body? How did we not hear the screams?"
Lisa shrugged. "I'm only a crime scene tech, you're the detective. Let's look, shall we?"
They eased around people and equipment to the edge of the roofless crime scene tent. A siren blasted from the car park, ten seconds of ear-splitting shrieks. Fenella paused at the entrance, for only a beat, then followed Lisa and Dexter inside.
The smell of death hit Fenella's nose and turned her stomach. Huge lamps shone fierce white light on the crumpled body, partly covered by white sheets. She blinked, took in the details, then looked away.
It was a woman, but they'd have to confirm the rest through medical records. Her eyes returned to the face and lingered. After what felt like hours, she tilted her head up and traced the outline of a cloud as the rising sun chased away the dark sky. Such a sad way to go, she thought, butchered in the dead of night. Did the poor lass have a husband? Kids? A family?
Lisa was talking. "We believe it's a Mrs Pearl Smith of Thirty-Eight Oak Grove Lane, St Bees. A local."
Fenella stared at Dexter. The look of shock on his face must have mirrored her own. They had visited with Mrs Pearl Smith a few days ago. Alarm bells rang. Did their visit trigger the attack, or was it another coincidence?
With slow steps, Fenella walked around the body, her head bowed in total concentration. The face was unrecognisable, but those lardy arms and legs. Yes, she was the same Pearl Smith they'd visited. And she was in a relationship with Rodney Rawlings, the newspaper reporter. That complicated matters. She circled twice, then said, "Mrs Smith's handbag?"
"What about it?" Lisa replied.
"A big, orange strappy thing, leather, and not cheap. What did you find inside of it?"
"No handbag or purse found on-site," Lisa replied, then added as if to be helpful, "But Mrs Smith wore stilettos, orange with black-lace buckles."
Fenella thought about that for a long while, pursed her lips, and said, "I want that handbag."
"Wasn't with the body," Lisa said.
"I'll arrange a search, Guv." Dexter gave a quick nod to Lisa and strode off.
As she watched him weave between the white-clad crime scene techs, Fenella considered the odds that two women in St Bees would venture out into the dark, cold night in high heels and no handbag. A sense of unease crept deep into her bones.
Crime scene techs scuttled back and forth. There was the low
mumble of voices mixed with the growl of a diesel generator. They were setting up more lights even though the night had waned into day. A figure in white appeared at Lisa's side and whispered. She nodded, and the figure hurried towards the car park.
Fenella took a slow breath and said, "One more question, then I'll let you get on. Do you know who found the body?"
"A Mr Chad Tate," Lisa replied.
"Not a police officer, then?"
"Just a man out for a quiet walk in the woods. American, owns the village store."
Chapter thirty-eight
In the briefing room, the team waited for Fenella. She glided in as the chimes from the Port St Giles town clock rang out the noon hour, with her mind back in the crime scene tent and wondering how the whole mess began, and where it would end. They say there is nothing you can do for the dead, but there is one thing. Justice for the living.
Now she was in charge of the team once more, tired for sure. Excited? Hell yes. She could barely contain her thrill at taking the lead from Moss, and began the meeting with words that would lift the team high.
"You will be pleased to know Dr Joy Hall is on the mend."
They got to their feet and cheered. PC Beth Finn quickly raised a clenched fist, and Jones let out a wolf whistle. Dexter slapped PC Hoon on the back. The St Bees bobby's lips curved up, but the grin seemed forced.
Fenella waved the team to their seats. "I know there have been rumours about Inspector Moss. Today I can confirm that he has left Port St Giles to spend more time with his family."
More cheers. Dexter shuffled in a two-step dance.
"Save it for Sunday," Fenella said, her lips split into a wide grin. "You are all invited to my place tomorrow at two p.m. Bring a bottle of wine or case of beer, casual dress, no airs and graces. We'll kick off our shoes and relax for a while. No talk of work."
There were nods of thanks.
Fenella raised both hands, palms out. "From here on in, let's take things nice and slow. Work with care so there is no doubt that we have been thorough. We'll chase down each lead to the end of its road." She pulled a chair from the front row, turned it around, and sat so she faced the team. "Let's put our egos to one side, strip this case down to the bare bones. What is our number-one goal?"
There was a flurry of mumbles, but it was PC Beth Finn who spoke first. "To put Perkins back behind bars, ma'am."
"Aye, that'll be good for a start." Fenella half turned and pointed at the whiteboard. A picture of Viv Gill hung next to a photo of Mrs Pearl Smith. "To do right by these two ladies is what I want you to focus on. Keep your mind on that, and we'll do all right."
PC Finn nodded as if in the presence of a great sage. Fenella's heart squeezed. The job made cynics of many and rotted the souls of others, but PC Beth Finn would do all right. She cared.
Fenella said, "We know Mr Perkins spent a few nights hiding in the grounds of the Seafields Bed & Breakfast. He was spotted with a woman. Who is she? Where is he now?"
Jones said, "Since Perkins escaped, there has been a track on his financial assets—bank and investment accounts. He hasn’t touched the money."
Fenella said, "And what do you think about that?"
"He's using cash or has money stashed in a place we don't know about."
Fenella liked the way Jones thought. He might be new to the police force but learned fast and was good with computers. She'd never quite got the hang of the blasted machines, and said, "Could an admirer like Mrs Pearl Smith have funded him?"
"Possible. I'll check into that," Jones said, clearly thinking.
"And while you are at it, see if you can find out if she visited Port St Giles in the past two weeks. Was she the woman seen at Seafields Bed & Breakfast with Hamilton Perkins? Easy enough from her phone, right?" Fenella didn't wait for an answer and stood. "We have a box of letters from Perkins to Mrs Pearl Smith. PC Finn, go through them, will you? See if anything pops out."
"Will do," PC Finn replied.
Fenella said, "Okay, what do we know about Viv Gill? Pays her rent ahead of time and goes out in the dead of night to the Pow Beck bridge. There are so many things about her actions that do not compute." She paused a beat. "Like, where is her handbag?"
PC Hoon said, "It was late at night, ma'am. There'd be no shops open. That's why she didn't have a handbag with her."
PC Finn chimed in. "When a woman wears high heel shoes, she always carries a handbag."
"Aye, my thoughts exactly," Fenella said. "Track down their mobile phone numbers, credit cards, and the like. Find out when they were last used and where. And let me know if that handbag shows up in the search of her house. Maybe PC Hoon is right, and she left it at home."
PC Finn took out her notebook and wrote. Fenella could tell she enjoyed being in plain clothes and working with the detectives.
"I've not seen a statement from Chad Tate yet." Fenella pointed at PC Hoon. "Why don't you have a chat with him? Being local, he might open up and recall something that might help."
"Will do, ma'am." PC Hoon gave a slow grin. Fenella thought there was a slyness to it as if he couldn’t be trusted. "He's not a local, though. Likes to creep about St Bees in the early morning. I've even seen him hovering about the graveyard. Not illegal, just odd. He's from America, New York, but has been running the village store for years."
Fenella said, "Aye, so I've heard. Take PC Finn with you when you interview him." She paused, thinking. "Jones, what have you found out about Viv Gill's financials?"
Jones jabbed at the screen of his tablet computer. "Up until about six months ago, her income came in irregular spurts from Jabbar's nightclub in Whitehaven. Since then it's been cash deposits." He glanced at PC Beth Finn and lowered his voice. "I hear it is a place of… uncertain virtue run by a Madam—"
"DuPont, real name, Nellie Cook," interrupted Dexter. His eyes gleamed as he spoke. "Our paths crossed way back in the day. Nellie was a sex worker. Must be close to seventy by now, thought she'd retired from the game."
For a long moment Fenella struggled to speak. When she was in uniform, she'd saved Nellie Cook from a savage beating by a street pimp. They'd put the bloke away for years. What was his name? She couldn’t remember, frowned, and said, "It's been a long time. Dexter, why don't you and I drive over to Whitehaven for a nice cosy chat with Nellie."
Chapter thirty-nine
The young girl sang in a ragged voice about undying love.
That's when the detectives inched into the dim lounge of Jabbar's. A shroud of sour booze and stale cigarette smoke clung to the black walls like a well-worn coat. They watched from the back.
It was a little before 2:00 p.m., lull time in the party district of Whitehaven. A polished bar stood at one end of the room, and a dance floor with booths along the far wall, and dim spotlights shone bleary-eyed on the stage. There was no barman about, no one visible in the room, but the girl continued to sing. She looked like a teen star, wore a gold bustier, short skirt, high heels and sang like a wind-up clock losing time—off-key and offbeat. A wannabe in search of gold. One of hundreds who had passed this way before. Girls whose dreams of fame died the day they passed through Jabbar's doors.
"Bravo." The praise came from a booth close to the bar. "You have a voice like an angel and a body like a goddess. You are in. All our girls start as waitstaff, so be here at six, and I'll walk you through the paperwork."
"Thank you," the girl replied, breathless.
"Oh, and there's one more thing. You'll need a stage name. Gretchen Stodge is nice but won't cut it in Hollywood. That's where you are going, isn't it? When you are on duty, it will be Bo Prim. I'll get a name tag worked up."
"Bo Prim?" The girl sounded uncertain.
A tall, wiry man in a black pinstripe suit, wire-rimmed eyeglasses, a button-down cream shirt and dark tie, emerged from the booth. "You want stardom? It comes at a price. Bo Prim is so much more…" He swung around and pointed at the detectives. "Who the hell are you?"
Before he finished his sen
tence, two men with shaved heads were at his side. Big biceps, splayed noses, men who knew their way around a fight.
"Just passing through," Fenella said. "Thought we'd take a look around."
"We are closed, don't open till eight. Come back then."
The henchmen took a step forward.
Fenella said, "I'm Detective Inspector Sallow, and this nice man by my side is Detective Sergeant Dexter."
"You got ID?"
Dexter flashed his warrant card and grinned. He still liked a good scrap, even when the odds were weighed against him. Fenella thought he was too old for that; she certainly was. She said, "Okay if we have a look around?"
The man in the pinstripe suit said, "This place is clean. We don't sell drugs, if that's what you're after. All our girls are waitstaff, nowt else. We are above board."
"So, you don't mind if we have a look around, then?"
"You got paperwork?"
"I can get it."
He stared for a moment as if weighing up his response. When he spoke there was a hint of doubt in his voice. "What is this about?"
"We'd like a word with Nellie Cook."
"Ain't no one by that name works here."
That's when Fenella remembered the last time she'd seen him. He was a snotty-nosed teen back then. Now he looked like a business executive up from London for the day.
"Troy, I'd like a quiet word with your gran, please."
He didn't need telling twice, turned, and said, "This way."
Chapter forty
Nellie Cook sat at a desk in a pine-walled room, her elbows leaning on a pile of papers. She wore a bright-red blouse with a string of white pearls around her neck. If she'd aged since the last time Fenella saw her, it didn’t show in the well-powdered face. She could pass for a woman in her fifties, not a lass close to the big seven-O.
