by Franklin, JJ
‘I’ve made a comprehensive list of all known manufacturers of the type of dress Miss Metcalfe was found in, both made in this country and imported. Most of the imports come from China and can be found in fancy dress shops and on eBay. However, the material in this dress is from Yorkshire and is on sale all over the country. Likely sources for the made up dress would be theatre companies or, again, fancy dress shops.’
‘Or they could be made to order?’ Sam asked.
‘Yes. Probably for a specific show.’
‘I can’t think of what show that would be, Guv.’ Everyone knew Fluff was a theatre buff and loved going down to London on her days off.
‘Some marketing companies buy up old theatrical, ex fancy dress shop stock and either sell on eBay, or if they are in need of space, they hold a sale. In addition, locally we have the Royal Shakespeare Company. They have their own costume department, and every few years they have a sale of their unwanted items, selling mainly to professional theatre companies. There was also a large sale in Birmingham earlier this year of the combined unwanted stock from several theatrical companies, including costumes from pantomimes.’
As Wendy concluded her report, Matt stood to thank her personally, causing her to flush as she eased her bulk down into her chair. ‘I’d like you to follow up that Birmingham sale please, Wendy. Exact dates, who ran it, staff, stock, etc.’
She nodded her eager assent, and Matt indicated that Sam should continue. Sam said the dolls were made in China, with the main importer based in Leeds. They shipped to a variety of suppliers all over England, which included shops, both chains and private, some arcades, plus market stalls.
As far as the lollipops went, these were manufactured in Birmingham and shipped to several hundred suppliers in the country—mostly to seaside shops, theme parks, and again market stalls.
Matt realised, if he was going to keep McRay happy with the budget, they would never have the resources to cover all the possible outlets. If he was the murderer, he would have sourced all the items needed in a busy, jostling crowd where there was less likelihood of being noticed. Therefore, markets seemed the best bet. Even so, Matt knew it wouldn’t be possible to do a manual check of every retailer of the dolls or lollipops in the country. If they just concentrated on the hundreds of markets it still left them with an almost impossible task. Their best bet would be to enlist the aid of the local police forces and maybe the association of market stallholders.
Sam seemed to be thinking along the same lines. ‘It’s not going to be easy, Guv.’
‘No. Unless we go public with one of these items. The doll, for instance. It seems a bit out of date. Didn’t we have those a few years back?’ Matt asked.
Fluff spoke up. ‘We had Cabbage Patch dolls—must be twenty or thirty years ago. A bit of a resurgence a few years ago. But this is more a Raggedy Ann and they have been around forever.’
None of the team seemed inclined to challenge Fluff’s knowledge of dolls, so Matt asked, ‘Would the doll be the best bet for a public appeal?’
‘Surely the model soldier is the more unique item, inspector?’ DI Grant drawled from the back.
Matt hated the way he insisted on calling him Inspector in that tone, but he kept his voice calm. ‘Yes, definitely. But I would prefer to keep our investigations with that item on a more private level.’
‘Your call,’ he said, somehow managing to imply that Matt was wrong.
Matt let it go, as he was used to doing. However, he noticed Fluff shoot a look of disgust towards Grant. He hoped she wasn’t going to make an issue out of it. Then Sam highlighted another point.
‘If we go public, who’s going to take all the calls? You know what it’s like. We’ll be fielding confessions from every nutter in the country.’
It was a good point. Details about a murder would, under normal circumstances, be kept under wraps for as long as possible. Sifting through calls from the public, some trying to be helpful, and others not, was going to be a costly business.
‘Well, we do have the professor’s esteemed opinion that our murderer will kill again and soon. That should add some weight to our request.’
Promising to ask for extra help, Matt ended the briefing and sent most of the team back to the health club where the rest of the maintenance men and some of the other staff were still to be interviewed.
Matt was relieved that McRay seemed to have retained some of the helpfulness of last night, as it meant they could discuss if it would be wise to go to a public appeal with one of the items.
After working through the pros and cons Matt and McRay thought it would be a good idea, and both agreed that the doll was the most distinctive. Matt left McRay preparing to put the matter before Superintendent Neal and headed back to the health club, stopping only for a quick visit to the Royal Shakespeare Company’s costume department.
The building was made of corrugated iron, painted light grey with yellow trimmings. It would have been easy to miss it except for the large letters, RSC, on its side and two mega lorries, big enough to carry all the flats and equipment for the latest shows, parked outside. This seemed a far cry from the glamour of the theatre itself, set here on the small business park at the northern end of Stratford town.
After the brightness outside, the vast space seemed dim, and Matt could see very little for a moment. Mrs Mason, summoned by the outside bell, bustled up to receive him graciously enough, while reminding him that she was a busy lady, with a new production to costume. As if to emphasise, she pointed to two nearby rails hung with jewelled coloured velvet cloaks while a small golden puppet hung from one end next to a huge egg.
Matt raised his eyebrows at the interesting combination.
‘Arabian Nights. Christmas production.’
‘Must get tickets and bring my wife.’ It sounded strange saying ‘my wife’. This was the first time he had used the phrase.
‘I have received your fax, Inspector.’ Mrs Mason retrieved the fax showing the dress Amy was found in from her apron pocket and spread it out onto the desk. Do you have a sample of the material?’
Matt handed her the small square of material Jason had allowed him to have and watched as Mrs Mason rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger.
‘I am quite certain this is not one of our costumes. Apart from our Christmas productions, we would have no call for such items.’
‘Can you give me any suggestions as to who might use such a dress?’
‘Well, the fabric is very thin. I would think pantomimes or one of the more tatty costume hire shops.’
Mrs Mason was then distracted by a young man who approached carrying what looked like a peacock feather about fifteen feet long. Matt murmured his thanks and made for the door, receiving just a brief wave of the hand in dismissal. Mrs Mason had already moved onto the next problem.
Matt manoeuvred his way out of Stratford, dodging tourists crossing the road looking the wrong way and large parties of foreign students who felt it necessary to cross the road linked closely together, whenever and wherever they liked. Then out over the ancient Clopton Bridge, still bearing traffic over the River Avon after over five hundred years. Matt always liked to imagine Shakespeare crossing here on his way to London. As he squeezed slowly past a huge lorry, he wondered what Will would think if he were here today.
He arrived at the health spa to find Fluff exasperated.
‘I’ll swing for that bastard.’
Matt didn’t need to ask who had caused her grief. ‘OK what’s he done now?’
‘Upset Mrs Trowbridge. Admittedly, the CCTV tapes are useless, but he shouldn’t have had a go at her. It’s not her fault if they only cover the front entrance. Apparently, the Company feel it would be too intrusive of the guests’ privacy to have them inside the building.’
‘From what I have seen of Mrs Trowbridge, it would take more than Grant to upset her. Let’s not waste our energy on him.’
‘Sorry, Guv.’
‘So where is everybody?’
‘Jason’s team are still working the murder scene and corridor. Oh, and the manager wants him to finish in the locker room ASAP, since he will need it for the day guests. So Jason is finishing off in there.’
Matt would have liked to keep day guests out of the club for at least another day, but the spa’s owners had already started complaining that their business was being disrupted.
‘Sam and Grant are interviewing. I’m making lists of everyone who came in and out yesterday. We’ve interviewed a lot of them already. There are a few delivery vans we’ll need to chase though.’
‘OK. I’ll see if I can appease Mrs Trowbridge who might just be able to get us a nibble or two from the restaurant. Good chance for us all to have a catch up. Say half an hour.’
As Matt turned to walk away, Fluff called after him.
‘Make sure there’s no snails, Guv. You know they have a French chef.’
Laughing, he shouted back over his shoulder, ‘will do.’
It was a long afternoon, and the entire team were kept busy going through all the debris left behind after a murder, in the hope that something or someone would give them a lead.
Matt had taken over interviewing and had sent Grant back to CID where he could work on cross checking the statements already taken. And it would get the man out of the way for a while. He hoped he hadn’t made his own feelings clear about the man and influenced Fluff in any way, but lately the two seemed to argue all the time. He resolved to have a quiet word with Fluff when this was all over.
Late in the afternoon, McRay rang to say that Superintendent Neal had agreed to make a public appeal for information about the doll. The broadcast would go out on all news channels at six p.m. and be repeated at ten.
It had been a long day, so this was a good time for the team to stop for a coffee and sandwich to watch the chief superintendent, in full uniform, standing rather self-consciously, holding the doll.
Sam said it all. ‘He’d look better with a teddy bear.’
Everyone laughed, releasing the tension.
CHAPTER 17
Clive composed himself and, back at his desk, tried to look as if he was working, when it struck him that maybe he could have it all. Why couldn’t he have the power and pleasure of expressing his pain and Ben?
He allowed himself to fantasize about holding Ben, softly stroking his naked neck, and moving downwards to his chest and loins. Clive could feel his body responding and looked around, embarrassed as a schoolboy let down by pubescent hormones. Everyone else in the office appeared intent on their work, and he smiled, wondering if they, too, were locked into similar fantasies.
He wanted it all. It was simple. For the moment, he would keep his secret life separate. Then, when he had done enough to impress Ben, he would tell him. Ben would be excited and want to join in. Together they could experience the same exhilarating power, and it would fuse them together forever.
It was a call on his mobile that drew him back to the present. It was Lizzie, who blithely informed him that she was dropping Mother off at four-thirty for her shopping trip.
Lizzie saw Mother at the most once a fortnight, to take her to the library, and considered her duty done. Clive guessed that this was her way of getting rid of Mother early and escaping back to the world of academia. Not that Mother seemed to mind as, after all, Lizzie hadn’t as yet produced any appalling babies, and so of course came lower in the lovable order than Margaret.
Lizzie gave him no chance to argue, merely stated what her plan was, and hung up. He was tempted to call her back, to say he had other plans, but he knew she never left any room for manoeuvre around her own needs and probably had Mother already strapped in her Mini.
Lizzie had always demanded her own way from the minute she was born. She tried to make his life hell when they were growing up, until he became clever and started to pretend he was the most caring brother.
The most difficult occasions were Margaret or Lizzie’s birthday parties when hordes of giggling girls, all dressed in their best party frocks, arrived at the house to play silly games, while he was expected to hand around the sandwiches, move the chairs, and help blow up the balloons.
They hunted in a pack, led by Lizzie, and their sole aim was to torment him. They demanded kisses, made him hold their dolls, or even worse, dance with them.
On Lizzie’s fifth birthday, she received one of those ugly Cabbage Patch dolls that were all the rage at the time. All afternoon she had been showing off to her friends, clutching the disgusting thing, which she had named Miss Molly. All of a sudden, she thrust it at Clive.
‘You are to guard Miss Molly with your life, or I will tell Father. Do you hear?’ she demanded before skipping off with a swish of her party frock to join in musical chairs.
All the little girls tittered as he stood there dangling Miss Molly by one arm, trying hard to look unconcerned while raging inside.
Clive waited until Lizzie was busy squealing with the others and then slipped out into the back garden. At first, he thought of drowning Miss Molly in the water-butt before deciding she might be too easy to find.
Instead, he climbed up to the tree house. This used to be his place, full of pirates and rogues, until Lizzie made her first foray up the small ladder. Since then, the pirates were vanquished in favour of tea parties with plastic cups and several dolls.
Ignoring his best clothes and with Miss Molly in his teeth, Clive inched his way along one of the strongest branches of the tree, until he could see down into the wilderness at the end of the garden. Taking careful aim, he flung the doll into the thickest part of an ancient blackberry bush. It fell straight into the heart, snagging its dress on the thorny twigs and came to rest balefully looking up at him. He rolled a great gob of spit and spat it down onto Miss Molly’s face to see it land just below her right eye, so she looked as if she were crying. With a last quick look of triumph, he slithered backwards down the branch.
It wasn’t long before Lizzie realised that Miss Molly was missing. Clive pretended innocence, something he was becoming an expert at. ‘I put her there,’ he said pointing at the garden swing. ‘Just while I had a sausage roll. I didn’t want to get her dress dirty,’ he added for good measure.
With Lizzie’s wailing turned into hysterics, father emerged from his study and Clive had to repeat his plea of innocence, while quaking under his long, suspicious stare. For a moment, he thought he wasn’t going to be believed, that he would be dragged into the dreaded study for a telling off or worse. Father’s eyes seemed to bore right into his head, and Clive almost faltered under that gaze, but finally his father turned away to promise Lizzie another Miss Molly. Clive was glad to see she wasn’t consoled, crying that she wanted the old Miss Molly.
Clive become more careful after the Miss Molly incident, and at least on the surface, was a most caring, thoughtful brother. He found this made it so much easier to get away with things. As for Miss Molly, she was never found, and he liked to think she was still there rotting away.
Clive gave a sigh and admitted to himself that Lizzie had managed to get one over on him, but he would make sure she paid for it.
Not being able to think of any legitimate reason to put off the promised trip again, Clive resigned himself to the inevitable shopping spree. He knew he would be trapped in Marks & Spencer’s for well over an hour, trying not to lose his temper as Mother dithered between the merits of several pairs of plain cotton ladies knickers, all of which looked exactly the same to him.
He stood and moved across to tell Ben that their drink was off. Looking down at his dark, bent head, he noticed there were little curls at the base of his neck. Clive had to stifle a sudden impulse to reach out and run his fingers through them.
Ben seemed disappointed at the news but no alternate date was set. Clive consoled himself by thinking the delay gave him more time to be sure that a relationship with Ben was what he really wanted. However, being this close to him again he already knew the answer.
The local
Marks & Spencer’s stayed open until six. It was just as he had envisioned. The ladies lingerie department was crowded with women. Clive, as the only man, tried not to look as they held up, examined, or exclaimed over the intimate apparel that surrounded him.
Although Mother had become a whiz in her electronic wheelchair, she found the folding, portable one difficult, and he had to wheel her around. He was not averse to this, but advising on her underwear was way beyond his comfort zone.
As Mother indicated she wanted to go back, yet again, down the same aisles she had already been down twice, Clive could feel his helpful, caring-son persona running out fast. It was then he saw her. She was already homing in on them and, as she caught his eye, she waved. Eagle-eyed Mother had already noticed.
‘A friend of yours, Clive?’
‘Just a young lady from work, Mother.’
‘Ah. You must introduce us.’
He could tell that Mother was already mentally assessing whether Anne was suitable marriage material. Did she look smart enough? Tick. Was she too tarty or normal? Tick. Did she look healthy and strong enough to have babies? Tick. Was she the right age? Tick.
By the time Anne had manoeuvred her way through the bra section to reach them, Mother almost certainly had them engaged.
Anne didn’t waste any time on Clive but zoned in directly on Mother. ‘So pleased to meet you at last, Mrs Draper. Clive talks about you all the time. I’m Anne. I’m sure Clive must have mentioned me.’
‘No he hasn’t. Although I can’t imagine why not.’
Both Mother and Anne looked at him waiting for an explanation. He had to bring Anne to order, stop this nonsense before it went any further. ‘Mother, the office is full of young ladies; I can’t possible mention them all.’
Anne laughed and put a hand on Mother’s arm. ‘Oh, he’s so shy. That is so sweet and just what I love about him.’
Clive squirmed as Mother looked up at him in surprise, seeking confirmation of this supposed loving shyness. There must be a way out of this. Looking at his watch, he reminded Mother that the store was due to close in thirty-five minutes. For emphasis, he pushed the wheelchair forward, causing Anne to take a step back.
