Too Close For Comfort

by Adam Croft

  “Why did Nicole live away from home? I mean, seventeen is quite a young age to set up on your own without any sort of boyfriend, isn't it?”

  “She was in independent woman.”

  Culverhouse's eyebrow rose at this last word.

  “Yes, Inspector. A woman. That is how I saw my daughter. She was very mature and we had no qualms about helping her set up on her own.”

  “What sort of work did she do, Mr Bryant?”

  “I don't know. She didn't say much to either of us about it. I think she was a little embarrassed.”

  Wendy's eyes met Culverhouse's. As Culverhouse opened his mouth to speak, Wendy decided it was best if she continued.

  “Embarrassed about what, Mr Bryant?”

  “Please, call me Gerry. I don't know what she was embarrassed about. I got the impression she'd had to take up work in a shop of some sort after she lost her office job. She was a very proud woman, Detective Sergeant. It would have pained her to take any sort of menial employment, never mind having to tell her parents.”

  “Do you know for certain that it was a shop job?”

  “Not for certain, no.”

  “Did it involve unsociable hours, do you know?”

  “It's hard to say. We used to speak to her at different times of day on the telephone but I assumed it was because she was part-time or on that flexi-hours thing.”

  “Is it possible that Nicole might have been mixed up in some sort of additional work or something she might not have wanted to tell anyone?”

  “As I said, she wouldn't have wanted to tell anyone if she had a menial job. She was very proud.”

  “I'm not talking about pride, Mr Bryant. I'm talking about whether her job was socially or legally acceptable.”

  Gerry Bryant looked confused; Jack Culverhouse looked exasperated.

  “I'm sorry; I'm not quite sure what you mean.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, man! Were you born with your head up your arse? Was your daughter a prossie or what?”

  “Jack!”

  “I beg your pardon, Detective Chief Inspector! Just what are you insinuating?”

  Patricia Bryant showed the first signs of emotion as she began to howl with tears.

  “I am insinuating, Mr Bryant, that your daughter was killed in a very similar manner to – and very probably by the same person as – a couple of prostitutes we've found dead round here recently. Now, I couldn't give a rat's arse if your precious daughter was on the game or not, but if it turns out to be the missing link that stops us from catching whoever killed these three women, I'm not going to be a very happy bunny!”

  “Get out! Get out of my house! I won't have that sort of talk around here!”

  “Mr Bryant, I'm sure DCI Culverhouse is very sorry. If we could just...” Wendy tried to pacify the situation.

  “Just nothing! Get out of my house!”

  Although Gerry Bryant was technically obliged to provide any evidence which may be useful to the case, Wendy felt the safest option would be to head back and see the Bryants once they'd had a chance to cool down – and she'd had a chance to make sure Culverhouse wasn't within twenty miles.

  “Nice one, Knight.”

  “I beg your pardon? What did I do wrong?”

  “We need to get evidence from that man to help our investigation. If we don't find out whether or not Nicole Bryant was a hooker, we could end up scraping another dead body off the streets tomorrow morning and I'll be for the fucking chopping block when Commander Hawes finds out!”

  “Perhaps if you'd managed to exercise a bit of tact, we might have got the evidence we wanted. Unfortunately I don't have a time machine which can stop anyone else getting murdered in the meantime, nor can I go back to five minutes ago and put some sodding gaffer tape round your mouth, so I'd appreciate it... no, I demand... that you let me deal with witnesses and grieving families from now on, Inspector.”

  Culverhouse stopped dead in his tracks.

  “You demand, DS Knight?”

  “Yes, sir. I demand.”

  “You kinky bitch.”

  ***

  After dropping Culverhouse back at the station that afternoon, Wendy drove to the hospital.

  Her mind was overflowing with mixed feelings as she walked towards Michael's ward. Was it wise to bring a recovering addict back into her home? What's to say he was even recovering? Was it really worth jeopardising her career? The angel on her opposite shoulder kicked the devil into touch, declaring that Michael was family and families stuck together – except when they go and die on you.

  Walking onto the ward, Wendy noticed that Michael looked much better than he had the last time she saw him. He looked fit, happy and healthy.

  “Ah, my chauffeur! Betty, this is my sister, Wendy.”

  Wendy shook the nurse's hand.

  “You look much better, Michael.”

  “I feel better, Wend. It's amazing how being forced into a situation forces you to come to terms with the way you saw things before. Sometimes it's only when someone forces you into that situation that you actually see the world for what it really is.”

  “Painkillers talking?”

  Michael smiled. “Something like that.”

  “Come on, then. Let's get you out of here. I've got a lamb joint in for tonight.”

  “Lamb! You remembered!”

  “How could I forget? You used to run around the house like a delirious lunatic every time mum cooked lamb.”

  “That was probably a reaction to the foul smell it makes when it's cooking. You don't mind if I keep well away from the kitchen before dinner, do you?”

  “As long as you eat it all, I don't care, because you're not getting any pudding unless you do.”

  Michael gestured a sarcastic salute. “Yes, ma'am!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  As the car passed through Mildenheath and the formality of the hospital setting faded into the rear-view mirror, a sullen air of silence fell over Wendy's car.

  “So, how's work?”

  “Yeah, fine. Working on a big case at the moment so I'm glad to have you at home where I can keep an eye on you.”

  “Yeah? How so?”

  “Well, it's a lot easier than trekking to the hospital all the time.”

  “No, I meant the big case. What's it all about?”

  “Ah, you know. Madman on the loose bludgeoning young girls to death — the usual fare.”

  “Just another day in the life of Mildenheath, then?”

  “Something like that.”

  “And how's the love life?”

  “You think I get time for one of those with work?”

  “Probably not, seeing as you tend to be so obsessed with it.”

  “I am not obsessed. Actually, I wanted to speak to you about that very thing. As a matter of fact, I've met somebody.”

  “Oh?”

  “His name's Robert.”

  “Good start.”

  “Yes, well. That's exactly what it is – a good start. It's still early days and I don't know if anything will come of it but I thought you ought to know.”

  “I'm delighted for you, Wend. Why don't you invite him over?”

  “What, are you sure? Are you ready for that?”

  “I'll be honest, sis – I've had bigger emotional shocks than my sister telling me she's got a new boyfriend.”

  “I didn't mean emotionally, you berk. I meant physically.”

  “I'm fine, Wend. Physically, too.”

  “Well, if you're sure, that would be lovely. And I promise we won't have lamb.”

  “Oh, but I like lamb. It's just the smell it makes when it cooks that I can't stand.”

  “Exactly. You're cooking.”

  For the first time in as long as she could remember, Wendy truly felt as though everything in her life was improving. Well, almost everything. Although it was still very early to say, Michael seemed to be getting better and she had met a truly alluring man in Robert Ludford, she remained haunted by the
prospect of there being another girl murdered before the killer could be caught.

  Someone, somewhere, was killing these girls and she didn't know who or why.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was just after 9am when the phone rang in the incident room at Mildenheath CID. Culverhouse answered it.

  “DCI Culverhouse? It's Gerry Bryant, here.”

  “Ah. Mr Bryant. Listen, I...”

  “Look, I wanted to call and apologise.”

  “You wanted to apologise?”

  “Yes. I was completely out of order yesterday. I should never have thrown you out of the house.”

  “No, well. Let's... make sure it never happens again, yes?”

  “Very well, Inspector. To bring us back to your original question, though...”

  Culverhouse racked his brain, but he couldn't remember having asked Gerry Bryant any questions during their brief telephone conversation.

  “My question?”

  “Yes. You wanted to know if Nicole was a... was one of those. You know.”

  “A prostitute, Mr Bryant?”

  “Yes. Well, no. That's just it. I can absolutely categorically say she wasn't.”

  “I respect your views, Mr Bryant, but how can you categorically say that? You admitted yourself that you very rarely saw or spoke to Nicole.”

  “Yes, but that doesn't change the facts. Nicole had — has — a sister. None of us see her anymore — I think she's in London, now. At least that's where she said she was going. Bethany was a prostitute. Nicole despised that and hated it even more for tearing her family apart. The truth is, Mr Culverhouse, you're not the first person to have the honour of being thrown out of my house.”

  “You threw Bethany out?”

  “After a fashion, yes. She got mixed up in the drugs game too and it's not the sort of world I want infesting my household. Nicole agreed wholeheartedly and was often even more vehemently opposed to prostitution than I. That, Inspector, is how I know Nicole wasn't mixed up in that terrible business and it's also why I reacted in the way I did. My wife and I have lost one daughter through prostitution and now when our second one is murdered, you accuse her of being a prostitute, too. That cuts very deeply, especially as nothing could be further from the truth.”

  “I understand, Mr Bryant. I'm sure you realise that we cannot entirely remove the possibility from our enquiries, but I can assure you that we will certainly focus our efforts elsewhere for the time being.”

  “Thank you, Inspector. I would appreciate that.”

  DS Wing was stood behind Culverhouse as he put the phone down.

  “Gerry Bryant, guv?”

  “Yes. He rang to apologise.”

  “Apologise? With all due respect, guv, from what I've heard it's you who was meant to be apologising.”

  “Yes, exactly. I'm not sure what's going on with Mr Bryant, Steve, but something's not quite right.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Are you going to put a dress on under that belt or are you going to wear it as it is?”

  “That 'belt' is my dress, thank you very much, Michael.”

  “I know. I'm only joking. I didn't realise they made dresses that short anymore.”

  Wendy felt a little unnerved by Michael's comment. She carefully caressed her hair with the brush. “What, do you think it's too short? I mean, it is only a second date, after all.”

  “Well, some might say it's conveniently short.”

  “Oi!”

  Michael managed to duck just in time as the hairbrush crashed into the wall behind him.

  “Woah, woah! I'm sure the bel... dress will be fine, Wend. It's kind of cool, actually...”

  “I wouldn't go that far. It's just some bargain-basement thing I picked up in the charity shop.”

  “Nah, not the dress. I mean this. Us getting on like we used to. Bit of banter, and all that.”

  “Well, there's more where that came from if you fancy making another remark about my dress sense.”

  “I think I'll pass. So, are you keen on this Robert bloke then? Think he might be the one?” he said, in a swooning, thespian manner.

  “Who knows? I'm not particularly fussed either way. If it works, it works. If not, hey.”

  “What time's he coming?”

  “Drugs addled your brain? I must have told you twenty times already. He should be here about seven-thirty.”

  “Really? It's already seven-thirty-five.”

  “Oh my God! It can't be!” Wendy scrambled across the bed and yanked the alarm clock towards her. 19:03. As she read the digits for a second time, she heard Michael laugh out loud behind her. Had the clock not been plugged in at the wall it would have nestled nicely beside the hairbrush.

  The doorbell rang on the stroke of seven-thirty and Wendy moved out into the hallway, halting at the full-length mirror to examine herself one last time. She turned to the door, then back to the mirror. She yanked the dress down two inches. Michael's words popped into her head: conveniently short. With that, Wendy pulled the dress up four inches and opened the door.

  “Wendy! Wow!” Robert Ludford had a huge grin on his face, his head bobbing like a slow-motion pigeon as he eyed-up Wendy – a thousand naughty thoughts racing through his mind. Wendy stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. Robert hoped she hadn't noticed his rather unfortunate trouser bulge.

  “I'm so glad you've come.”

  Robert yelped and pulled out of the hug. “Huh? What?”

  “To the meal, Robert. I'm glad you've come.”

  “Oh. Right. Yes. Me too.”

  Confused, and slightly unnerved, Wendy stepped aside and let Robert in.

  “I'd like you to meet someone, actually. Do you remember I was telling you about my brother, Michael?”

  “I do indeed.”

  “Michael, meet Robert Ludford – my date for the evening.”

  Michael and Robert shook hands and greeted each other.

  “Less of this 'date' nonsense, Wend. I don't want to feel like the spare part!”

  “Don't worry about that. We'll try and keep our hands out of each others' pants until we've finished dinner.”

  Robert laughed nervously. “So, umm... Michael. How are you?”

  “Am I off the drugs, you mean?”

  “Well, no, I meant 'how are you'. I don't...”

  “It's OK, Robert. I've told Michael that you know about the problems.”

  “Ah. OK. Well yes, how is that going?”

  “Fine, thanks. I'm on a treatment program and my surrogate mother here is doing a grand job of keeping an overbearing eye on me. Except when she's at work, of course!”

  “Yes, Michael gets up to all sorts of mischief when I'm at work. Yesterday he even did the ironing and the washing.”

  “Well, that's more than I do so I'd be happy with that if I were you!”

  Wendy tried not to look more than a little bit disappointed. She wondered whether all women inherently and subconsciously considered marriage with every potential partner they met or if it was just an over-keen trait of hers.

  Later that evening, the trio sat down to dinner and the red wine flowed.

  “Just the one glass for me, please, Wendy. I have to drive back home tonight.”

  “Work in the morning?” Michael asked.

  “No, I'm not in until Monday now.”

  “Well, why don't you stay over then?”

  Robert looked at Wendy.

  “We've got room, haven't we, Wend?” Michael added.

  “Well, yes...”

  “I wouldn't want to impose.”

  “No, that's fine, Robert. Michael's right. I can sleep on the sofa and you can have my bed.”

  “Oh, nonsense. The sofa's fine for me.”

  “I won't hear of it. Anyway, I prefer the sofa.”

  “Well, if you're sure. That would be very kind, thank you.”

  “Good, because we're nearly at the end of the bottle.” Wendy poured another generous measure of wine into Robert's glass
and smiled at him.

  As Wendy opened the third bottle of wine, the conversation began to flow just as well.

  “So, how's the big case going?” Robert asked.

  “Ah, not too well if I'm honest. There've been three murders now. We thought we had a link but it doesn't look like the third one matches.”

  “How do you know it's the same guy?”

  “We have our ways of knowing. We don't even know that it is a guy.”

  Robert stuttered. “W...well, no. But one assumes, doesn't one?”

  “Indeed. Police work is 99% assumption.”

  “And the other 1%?”

  “Guesswork.”

  “Enough to fill the public with confidence!” Michael added.

  “So what doesn't match?”

  “I really shouldn't be telling you both this. It's confidential stuff.”

  “Oh, come on. You can tell us! We might even be able to help. Three heads are better than one, and all that.”

  “OK, well, the first two victims were prostitutes. Known to the police, so that's indisputable.”

  “Right...”

  “But the third one wasn't.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. The funny thing is, though, her sister is a prostitute.”

  Robert accidentally dropped his fork onto his plate.

  “Her sister?”

  “Yes. But she's alive and well in London – we've checked with the Met.'

  “I see. If you'll excuse me for a moment, I just need to nip to the loo.”

  Michael began to chew his beef more slowly as he watched Robert walk off towards the bathroom.

  “How... odd,” Wendy remarked.

  “Indeed. Very odd.”

  Once the fourth bottle of wine had been drained, and as Wendy and Robert sat on the sofa, Michael declared that it was about time he went to bed. As the latch on the door snapped shut, Robert put his arm round Wendy as she rested her head on his shoulder.