by D. E. White
“Just a second, if you don’t mind.” He tapped importantly at his keyboard, frowning, and finally nodded. Clearly it must be important business, although he couldn’t disguise the glint of eagerness in his eyes as he gave Dove his full attention. “Sorry about that, and of course I’m happy to help in any way I can. Is this about Mr Harbor? Your colleagues came round this morning and told us he was in hospital. Shocking! He’s such a nice man. I was so sorry to hear he had been attacked.”
The vast marble hallway was empty, and full of whispering echoes. Dove leaned a little closer. “I’m actually with the Major Crimes Team and I’m investigating another case. Can you tell me anything about Camillo’s? The cleaning service you use.”
The young man’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “The cleaners? Sure, if you like.” Donald pursed his lips, rattled through his keyboard with precise, pale fingers. “We’ve used them for eleven years. Very reliable. The owner is Mr Herbert Gunter, but you probably know that already.” Another flashing smile.
“Do you have any direct contact with the cleaning staff? I mean, after hours or anything?”
“Like all-nighters? Oh no. This isn’t a New York law firm, Detective. This is a respectable family solicitors’.” He smiled, slightly condescendingly. “Sometimes one of the partners might work late, but that would only be until about seven or eight. It would be unheard of for anyone to be here any later, and the cleaners come in at nine.”
“But if someone wanted to stay later, they could?” Dove persisted.
“Well yes. Access and egress is by swipe card and keypad.”
He was loving this, Dove could tell, waiting expectantly for each new question, eager to impart information. Well that was fine by her. In her experience it was unusual to have people willing to talk to the police. Most people didn’t want to get involved. “So you have a record of everyone leaving and arriving?”
“Of course.” Another rattle of keys. “I can tell you for the last month everyone has been out by seven . . .”
“Can you go back to June?” Dove asked.
“Sure. Sooooo . . . Ah. Two late departures in June. Neither of them from Mr Harbor.” He shot her a look from under his lashes.
Dove kept her face expressionless. “Can I have the names of the two who worked late in June, and a printout for June, July and August, please?”
“I can . . . what was the investigation you said you are working on?” He paused suddenly, as a door opened and two men walked quickly down the hallway towards the reception desk.
Dove could tell anything she said would be relayed, probably with embellishments, to everyone in the firm. No harm in rattling a few cages, and she felt strongly that there was something here. Unlike Steve, she didn’t believe in coincidences.
The two men, both wearing dark suits and with shiny polished shoes, turned left and opened the door to another room. Dove watched as they vanished inside, but they barely gave her a glance. Out of uniform, she probably looked like just another harassed client, she thought. She turned back to Donald, mindful of Steve still sitting in the car. Why hadn’t he joined her? Hopefully there wasn’t anything wrong with his wife. “It would be very helpful if you could do that. We are investigating the death of several people, including Mrs Dionne Radley.”
The look of surprise, shock and something else didn’t escape Dove’s sharp eyes. “Do you know the name?”
“No, doesn’t ring any bells, I’m afraid. She doesn’t work here, you know.”
“She worked for your contract cleaners, and was part of the team who cleaned your offices last night. It’s very important we try to trace her recent movements.”
“Oh. I see.” He relaxed a little, hit another button with a flourish and the printer spat out the documents she needed. “Glad I could be of help, Detective. Here you are.”
“One other thing. I see you have CCTV. Can I see the footage from last night?”
“You can. I already showed it to your colleagues earlier this morning. They said they were tracing Mr Harbor’s movements from yesterday evening.” He peered at her, eyes bright with speculation. “Goodness, do you think Mr Harbor’s attack could be related to your investigation?”
“There is no indication at the moment that the two cases are linked.” She smiled. “Sorry, but as this is a separate investigation I do need to have a quick look at the CCTV as well.”
He smiled back, but Dove thought she detected a trace of worry returning. “Look: this is the footage of last night from 5 p.m.”
She walked around his desk, noting the immaculate state of his computer, the single white lily in a blue vase complemented by a royal blue notebook and gold pen. This close, the floral scent from the reed diffuser made her feel sick.
The footage was good, as she had expected from a solicitors’, and they watched in silence as people came and went. The mass exodus slowed at six, and Donald started to namecheck the employees.
Last person out was Alex Harbor, the Claw Beach victim. He left at seven. Donald went to stop the film, but Dove make a dissenting sound. She wanted to see when the cleaners arrived.
They came in a group. Five women and one man, dressed in blue overalls, carrying cleaning equipment and cloths. Dionne Radley. She was there, dressed for work at nine o’ clock that evening, long black ponytail swinging as she walked with a sure, confident stride.
The man swiped the cleaners in and after that Donald was able to switch to footage from various cameras in hallways and rooms, which showed them working quickly and efficiently.
“Fast forward slowly,” Dove said.
The cleaners left promptly at ten thirty. All of them, including Dionne.
“Have you got outside footage?” Dove asked.
He pulled it up. “Here you go.”
Five people got into the logoed Camillo’s van, leaving one person to walk away alone. She had not taken the transport, been safe with her colleagues on her way to another job. Three hours before her estimated time of death, Dionne Radley had walked briskly towards the Bond Road, dressed in her blue cleaner’s overall and baggy trousers, a large white bag over her shoulder. Her long dark ponytail bounced in time with her strides.
The last frame of footage showed her turn the corner, still alone, into the alleyway that linked Bond Road with Cliffacre road. Had she been making her way to see her husband and brother-in-law after her shift?
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You’ve been ages. The DI was on the phone again.”
“You all right?” Dove stared at him. He seemed a little pale and she was still wondering why he hadn’t followed her into Pearce and Partners. “You look like you’re going to throw up.”
“Yes . . . I mean no, I’m not going to vomit.” He laughed and rubbed his cheeks with both hands. “Zara said she had done a test and . . . Shit, Dove, she’s pregnant again.” He peered at her anxiously, suddenly mindful of her recent history. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure whether to tell you or not.”
Dove slapped him on the back, grinning, thankful to be feeling genuine pleasure for the couple. “Why would you not tell me, idiot? That’s great news! A bit quick after Grace . . . You won’t be getting any decent nights’ sleep for a while. Congratulations to you both. When’s the baby due?”
“February.” Steve’s voice was warming back to naturalness. “I’m just a bit shocked, I guess . . . We weren’t trying or anything and suddenly Zara says she’s pregnant again and do I like the name Michaela for a girl, or Joseph for a boy. Jeez!”
As Steve was still trying to absorb the fact he was going to be a dad of two, Dove read through the notes on Ellis Bravery, the third victim from Escape Room Six.
“Steve, you need to focus. Get some beer in on the way home and celebrate properly, but get your head back in the case for now.” But Dove was smiling at his evident pleasure at the news. “Recap for your scrambled brain: Ellis Bravery, forty-seven, with no previous convictions. Divorced, owns an IT company. His ex-wife lives in Edinburgh, no kids,
but he does have a girlfriend. She’s at his place now and waiting for our visit.”
Steve’s phone pinged and he scrolled down, checking his emails. “Aileen Jackson, née Boyle, has previous convictions for prostitution and possession of amphetamines, intent to deal, etcetera.” Apparently sufficiently recovered, he tapped the screen. “No evidence of links to organised crime, but certainly an interesting rap sheet. I can see why she might have brushed it off to her new husband as being a party girl. He doesn’t seem the type to have ever set foot in a nightclub.”
“Maybe she wasn’t hiding out from any dealers or pimps she might have grassed up or owed, perhaps she really did just decide to change her life and go straight,” Dove mused, indicating right at the junction, swearing at a kid on a moped zipping through the traffic at high speed. “That’s an accident waiting to happen.”
Steve agreed, “He’s right next to that HGV. There’s no way the driver can see the little idiot.” He paused. “I think Aileen’s worth pursuing. If she started a new life with Billy, and settled down to play housewife, why was she out partying again? Because there is nothing to suggest she wasn’t a willing participant at the moment. And if he found out about the baby, knowing of course that it wasn’t his, it gives him even more of a motive to kill.”
* * *
They left the vehicle in the dim coolness of the underground car park and took the lift up to the ground floor. Ellis lived in one of the newer apartment blocks near the marina. His place was on the top floor, and the whole building was a luxury development that spoke of money. A smiling, efficient concierge with quick, darting eyes, sent them straight up when they showed their ID.
“I thought hotels had concierges, not flats,” Steve muttered, as they got back in the lift and rode to the eighth floor.
“This place has a pool in the basement too.” Dove pointed at the lift buttons. Not only was there one marked ‘swimming pool’, but also ‘spa’ and ‘gym’.
“I’m in the wrong job.” Steve shook his head. “Grace or the next baby had better turn out to be some kind of genius city trader or something, because if I have to rely on my pension, I’ll be down on the Seaview Estate.”
Dove rolled her eyes at the mention of the notorious housing estate further down the coast. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Zara will be able to keep you in the manner to which you could clearly become accustomed. Didn’t you say she had two new clients already this month?”
“True, her graphic design business is going great.” He glanced at Dove. “I suppose you and Quinn would be happier with a beach hut than a penthouse.”
The lift stopped and the doors slid smoothly open to a marble hallway with discreet lighting and oak panelled walls. Dove grinned and turned back to her partner. “You suppose right, but we’re thinking somewhere a bit hotter, and preferably with palm trees, so it will have to be a damn small hut.”
Ellis Bravery’s girlfriend, Ally, a skinny redhead, opened the door as soon as they pressed the buzzer. Her face was a mask of make-up so thick Dove found it hard to detect any expression whatsoever, and her long red-gold hair fell in a ponytail to her waist.
“I can’t believe he’s gone.” Ally led them through the apartment after they had introduced themselves, and indicated white leather sofas for them to sit. “He was going to propose and we were so happy together . . .” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, but Dove noticed no tears streaked her thick black lashes.
“Can you tell us when you last saw him?” Steve asked.
Ally smiled at him. She had very small, even teeth. Feline-like, her green gaze was calculating, the weight of her false lashes narrowing her gaze to mere slits. “Last night he came home as usual and we went out to dinner. We eat out a lot, and Ellis hosts a lot of parties,” she added with apparent satisfaction.
“What happened after dinner?” Steve asked.
“Well he quite often has meetings late at night, or very early in the morning, and when he does we sleep in separate rooms. He has properties all over the world, you know.” She half-smiled, but paused again as her face clouded with genuine grief. Dove suddenly realised just how young Ally was and how possibly unprepared she was for this situation. “He was very successful, but it came later in life. He always said he was just starting to enjoy his money, and now it’s been taken away from him . . .” She buried her face in her hands for a moment, taking quick shuddering breaths. “I honestly can’t bear it. Do you think he . . . suffered?”
“We are so sorry for your loss,” Dove repeated. How old was Ally? Maybe twenty-one? And Ellis had been forty-seven. That was a big age gap . . . “But we need any information you might have to try to catch whoever did this to Ellis.” She paused to allow the girl time to compose herself. “I thought he had an IT business?”
“Oh, he does—” She stopped abruptly. “He did . . . But he started investing in property in Florida, and he also bought some flats in Tobago in a holiday complex. It’s just gone from there. It’s just a side project, but it’s made a lot of money.”
“How long have you been together?” Steve asked.
“Six months.” It came out quick, defensive. “But it’s been long enough for us to know we were meant to be together. People think it’s his money, you know, and they can be quite mean. Older people think that . . .” She ground to a halt, clearly realising she was giving an explanation when none had been asked for.
Disregarding this, Dove prodded her with the same question. “We aren’t here to judge, we just need to find out what happened. Going back to last night, you came back from dinner, and then what?”
The girl tapped manicured fingers on the coffee table, apparently thinking. “We had a nightcap, and he said he had some business to take care of, so he would see me in the morning.”
“Did he say he was going out?” Dove was finding it very hard to believe Ally wouldn’t notice her boyfriend leaving the apartment. The floor was wooden, and everything else seemed to be marble and glass. Footsteps anywhere would surely echo around the place. The apartment reminded her of Pearce and Partners, the solicitors.
“No.” Again that flash of guarded annoyance from under the thick lashes. “I don’t know . . . I don’t remember. This place is huge and if he said he was doing business I usually assumed it was in his office, which is at the opposite end of the apartment to the bedrooms.”
“Surely he would have told you if he was going out?” Steve pressed.
“He was very considerate, and perhaps he didn’t want to disturb me,” Ally said. “I went to bed around eleven and he was sitting on the sofa right where you are now, with his iPad and a glass of wine. When I got up at nine, he wasn’t here. I made a coffee and got on with my day, thinking he’d probably text or something . . .”
“You know Ellis met with Oscar Wilding and two other women for a night at the Beach Escape Rooms?” Steve prodded.
The woman shrugged, dismissing the other women with a wave of her hand. “I don’t know anything about that. Our relationship was based on trust. I was shocked when I found out how he had died, but . . .”
Dove and Steve waited, but she shook her head. “I don’t know what he was doing down on the pier, and I’ve never heard of those other people, the ones who died with him. He meets a lot of people in business, and I don’t pay much attention.”
Steve turned his iPad round and showed her photographs of Aileen, Dionne and Oscar. “Have you ever seen these three? Out socialising with Ellis, or maybe to do with a business transaction?”
She peered intently at the photos, and to Dove’s surprise she tapped Dionne’s photograph. “Her. I’ve seen her somewhere but I can’t think . . .” She frowned and brought her hand to her forehead. “I know! It was at Blue Domino’s. You know, the nightclub on Broad Street. Ellis and I were there with some of his friends and she was part of another group he seemed to know. They were wild, and almost got thrown out of the VIP area because they were that pissed. We weren’t actually introduced but we got talking a
t the bar later.”
Suddenly Ally’s face was bright with the memory, long nails tapping her slim thigh, leaning towards them in her eagerness, and making Dove feel guilty for doubting her. On first impressions Ally had seemed a little vapid and shallow, but suddenly a keen intelligence was showing through the doll-like exterior.
“Go on. When was this? What did you talk about?”
“Oh, the usual . . . Music, the vibe that night. She said she was starting a new career in interior design. I asked how she knew Ellis and she said she had a friend who did business with him . . . I guess it would have been last month, because Ellis and I were just back from his villa on the Costa del Sol. June eighteenth, but I’ll double-check the calendar.” The flood of information halted abruptly. “That was all. She wasn’t with him, though.” The sharp pink nails tapped Oscar’s picture before going back to her phone. “I would have remembered him because of his red hair. You always remember a fellow redhead.” She smiled prettily, the bland little doll again, raking a hand through her own glossy mane. “Yes, I was right . . . Look.” A moment later she showed Steve and Dove the packed calendar on her phone.
So Dionne had been drinking in a rather upmarket nightclub with her friends at the same time as Ellis Bravery and his girlfriend last month. Dove was very keen to see the tech report on the phones back from forensics, and find out what kind of contact all these people had. Glancing at Steve, she could tell he was thinking the same thing.
“Are you sure you didn’t hear any phone calls, any late-night visitors from last night?” Steve asked now.
But the girl shook her head. “I sleep really soundly, and I trust Ellis a hundred per cent.” The tears started again, and she rubbed her eyes, sniffing, smearing black make-up across her face. “He always said I slept like a child and laid in like an adult.”
Ally seemed to find this comment sweet, but to Dove it sounded more than a little creepy and she felt herself wondering again about their relationship.
