Next of Sin: A psychological thriller

by Lisa Gordon

  Gaby started cautiously. She and Meagan had been unanimous in their decision not to reveal the fact that Clinton Butler was their brother and Gaby did not want to slip up. Gaby withdrew a photo of Clinton from the folder and handed it to Robbie. “This is Clinton Butler. He’s a very successful stockbroker with a leading firm in London. All-round good guy for all intents and purposes.” She drew breath sarcastically, then reached into the folders for the pictures of Sally, Melissa and Trina and the details relating to their deaths. “Clinton went out with all these girls, including Shelleigh at one time. As you can see, they met similar fates while on holiday abroad and alone. We’re still trying to trace an ex-girlfriend by the name of Katerina Mulbauer.” Gaby went on to give an outline of their meeting with Lilly Rice.

  “So how did you come to know Clinton and these women?” he asked curiously.

  Meagan was quick to step in. “Clinton was part of our group and so were all the girls at one time. But, we all moved on and lost touch and it was only by chance that we recently discovered the pattern.”

  Robbie linked his hands and shifted to a businesslike pose. “So what are we looking at here girls? Huh? Some surveillance, phone-tapping? Looking for Katerina? Gotta warn you, full-on surveillance is gonna cost.”

  “No.” Meagan was emphatic. “We want you to go back to Tokyo and continue looking for Shelleigh, this time with the photo of Clinton and the assumption that he met up with her there and they were together on the 19th. We’ll continue to dig back here.”

  “It will cost upwards of £2,000.00, but I’m certainly willing to take it on,” he said, nodding gravely. “What else can you tell me about Clinton Butler?”

  “He’s a snob. He only travels business class, only British Airways. Only stays in five-star hotels. Eats at the best restaurants. He’s highly intelligent. Women love him. He’s extremely charming and manipulative, although I guess that’s obvious,” explained Gaby.

  “Mmm … I hate the bugger from that description alone,” sneered Robbie, before continuing more sombrely, “I could get access to his VISA or Mastercard statements and check out the transactions for October that year.”

  “I’m not sure that would be helpful.” Gaby shook her head dolefully, then added, “He’s in banking. I would wager he has a dozen front companies set up with which he carries out transactions on these trips.”

  “Hotels take passport numbers these days,” suggested Robbie.

  “Well, we’ll make sure we get his passport number and have a good look at where he has been stamped in and out of,” offered Meagan with determination.

  Robbie seemed satisfied and energised; he made sure he had Meagan’s mobile number and Gaby’s numbers and, after a brief goodbye and a promise to be in touch before he left for Japan, he made his way towards the tube station clutching the yellow folder with a grim determination.

  The sisters watched in silence as Robbie melted into the bustling crowds of Oxford street. “Let’s get to some place warm,” urged Meagan.

  Gaby nodded her agreement, before being struck by a thought. “Let’s go in the pub a second.”

  “Why there of all places?” complained Meagan with impatience.

  “Robbie said he bummed a couple of Marlboro off the ‘foreign lad’ in there. I bet he’s Polish; all the Poles I know smoke Marlboro. We could get him to ring Sylwia’s number. It’s worth a try.”

  Gaby’s hunch was confirmed to be accurate and Ivan turned out to be gung ho about his role in unravelling the mystery of their missing au pair. They rang the Krakow number on Gaby’s mobile and, as before, it was answered promptly. Ivan conversed with the woman on the other end and it surprised both Gaby and Meagan when, after what seemed like a very brief exchange, he handed Gaby the phone saying, “She’s coming on the line.” Gaby grabbed the phone with relief and excitement. It was indeed Sylwia, who revealed that she had been in Australia working as a nursery nurse at the time of the wedding and that the invite had either not arrived or had not been sent on to her. Without explaining, Gaby made sure she used the opportunity to inquire whether Sylwia remembered the names of any of Clinton’s former girlfriends. She diligently racked her brain without any suspicious reservations and, within a minute, confirmed that although she remembered many coming and going, only one had made any impression on her. Gaby gave Meagan the thumbs up and a nervous smile as she waited patiently for the name, hoping that it would be one that was new to them. It was. Jenny Medledev, a British-born daughter of Polish and Latvian immigrants who had often chatted to Sylwia in her native Polish. Sylwia described Jenny as blonde with a distinctive broad forehead and very pale blue eyes. The description was adequate and a photograph immediately sprang to Gaby’s mind. According to Sylwia, Jenny lived in London and worked at a bank; however, Sylwia had never known more details. It was obviously their past and heritage which had attracted them to each other, rather than any other similarities in their lives.

  Another piece of the puzzle slotted into place.

  The evening was hot and sunny and Robbie sat out on the terrace of the voodoo bar, his frothy, cold lager sitting in a pool of condensation on his table. He rubbed the stubble emerging on his chin and stared thoughtfully ahead. The chatter from a table of women celebrating a birthday faded away as he reflected on what the two sisters had told him. Gaby and Meagan were unlike his usual clients who were typically suspicious wives, adoptees looking for their parents, and insurance companies after fraudsters. They had also presented him with an unusual and somewhat implausible set of theories. Robbie could not fault their logic; however, at the same time, he felt the entire scenario they had postulated was more akin to a film script or minidrama than something which would happen in real life. For a moment, Robbie wondered if the women had an axe to grind with the Clinton fella and were trying to fit him up. No matter, his interest had certainly been piqued and he needed a ‘big’ job on the books to help him pay his income tax. What’s more, he was already relishing the idea of meeting up with these rather interesting women again.

  Chapter Eight

  Virginia Water

  Gaby indicated left and turned into the driveway of Havelock House. She was reminded of her recent visit to her childhood home as the car wheels crunched over the gravel driveway. How long ago that visit now seemed and how quickly things were developing.

  “So this is his house,” remarked Meagan with a hint of disdain. She looked with interest towards the Tudor-style thatched double-storey with lead light windows. Thuja conifers, highlighted with their new golden foliage, made up the right-hand border of the large garden. The gravel driveway swooped to the right in an arc towards the house, bordering the immaculate lawn which stretched to the edge of the property and boasted stripes which Wembley would envy. Neat beds of alyssum and snapdragons nestled within the lawn. The left-hand side of the property had a natural border of age-old, statuesque pine trees; owing to the shade and pine needles which fell to the ground, nothing grew on the left of the garden. Part of the garden was bathed in bright June sunshine, but the pines threw a cool shadow over the house. Gaby and Meagan climbed out of the car and crunched their way over the gravel towards the front door. Gaby reached for the old iron knocker instead of the electronic bell and rapped firmly on the solid oak door. It was merely seconds before the door was opened by a thin young woman with dark hair scraped back into a thick ponytail. Renata, Clinton’s housekeeper, had obviously noticed their car drawing in. Renata wore black trousers and a black blouse and her smoky quartz eyes were disconcerted.

  “Hello, Renata,” greeted Gaby with an injection of enthusiasm in her voice as she boldly forced her way past the immobile woman into the reception area, followed by Meagan. “I don’t think you’ve ever met my sister Meagan,” Gaby continued with a cheery smile as she gestured towards her sister.

  “No, we have not met. How do you do?” uttered Renata in accented English, without offering her hand. Before Gaby could continue, Renata hurriedly and emphatically stated, “Clint
on is not here. He is at his work and will only be home after eight. He is very busy as he has his business trip tomorrow.” Renata held open the front door in order to underline her inference that they leave.

  “We haven’t come to see Clinton; we’ve come to see you and the house actually.” Gaby smiled warmly and confusion flicked over Renata’s poker face for an instant. Gaby walked across the large entrance hall confidently, emphasising her intention to stay. “It’s Clint’s birthday next month and we are planning a surprise birthday party, to be held here. The entire family is on board; actually we’re all pretty excited about it. Meagan has flown over from Kenya to help me with the preparations. It’s our baby, so to speak.” Meagan nodded in agreement, beaming.

  Renata finally closed the door and began to pay closer attention. “No, I really don’t think that Clinton would like that,” she argued protectively.

  “Nonsense, he’ll be delighted!” exclaimed Meagan, walking over to Renata and placing her hand on her shoulder. “We need your help to pull it off though. It will be fabulous fun. C’mon, be a sport.”

  “What must I do?” asked Renata nervously.

  Gaby stepped forward. “We need to look around the house, check the room capacity and seating arrangements. The DJ wants us to find a suitable place for him to set up and we need to see how many plugpoints there are in the main lounge. The caterers want to know where to park for easy access to the kitchen, and they will need to speak with you about where to store and heat food. Extra plates and glasses will have to be delivered — perhaps you can suggest where to store them.” Gaby paused. “Also, does Clint have an address book in his study? We don’t want to forget to invite all of his friends.” With that, Gaby started towards the spiral staircase in the centre of the hallway and began to go up.

  Renata looked horrified. “You cannot go up there!” she barked.

  “Of course I can, he’s my brother,” retorted Gaby cheerfully but firmly. “Meagan hasn’t seen how superbly he’s decorated the spare rooms yet and I want to show her.” It was at that precise moment that one of those rare but timely pieces of luck fell serendipitously into place: the doorbell rang. Renata stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs looking anxiously at Gaby; she seemed torn between the urge to control the unwelcome visitors and the need to open the door. The doorbell rang again.

  “Don’t let us keep you,” asserted Meagan as she pushed past Renata and mounted the stairs. “You had better answer that door.”

  With reluctance, Renata moved towards the door and opened it. Meagan lingered on the staircase just long enough to observe that it was a Waitrose Ocado delivery of groceries: Renata would be kept occupied for at least ten minutes. “Didn’t bank on a housekeeper-cum-Rottweiler,” sighed Meagan. “We’d better hurry.”

  Gaby led the way to Clinton’s study which was on the first floor, facing the front of the house. Once in the study, they regarded with some dismay the immaculately polished array of mahogany furniture: the units, desk and cabinets nearly all boasted locks. The only unit door which was not locked was the one concealing the safe. The green-leather embedded surface of the desk was almost empty save a calendar, calculator, notepad, digital clock and stationery carousel. Meagan was undeterred and set about checking every unit to see if it was indeed locked, and scouring the room for something of interest. Gaby followed her example by checking the desk drawers. The top drawer was open and Gaby flicked through the contents. “Mmm … glossy literature about the Audi R8 Spyder … okay ... block-paving brochures ... whatever ... stuff about some luxury development on Lake Zurich ... aha.” Gaby paused as she withdrew an oyster-coloured sheet of watermarked paper. Meagan’s eyes widened with curiosity. “Interesting,” began Gaby as she read out loud, “Cressing Vale Medical Centre. Dr Derek Hoffman, MBChB (Pulmonologist). It reads, ‘Allergen and Irritant Report’.” Meagan waited, her interest waning as Gaby scanned through the document. “Blah, blah, blah, allergic asthma is, blah, blah, blah, chronic asthma attacks can be triggered by exposure to solvents (i.e. turpentine, ethanol), also benzene and chlor something or other, blah, blah, blah, organic aromas of bergamot, vanilla, blah, blah, blah, exacerbated by damp conditions and fungal spo...”

  “Just leave it Gaby, we have to hurry,” urged Meagan, adding, “thought he grew out of asthma anyway.”

  “Well, he doesn’t exactly talk about it does he?” said Gaby disdainfully. “Doesn’t suit his image.”

  “Yes!” Meagan let out a sudden squeal of delight as she reached for something that had been sitting out of view on a filing cabinet behind the door. “A carousel of business cards.”

  “Excellent. Flick through and take note of the names of any women not obviously connected to banking,” suggested Gaby. She continued to rummage through the drawers of the desk, some of which were not locked.

  Meagan scanned each business card diligently while standing at the door of the office where she could keep cavy. Gaby’s position at the desk afforded an excellent view of the drive and she would be alerted as soon as the Waitrose van departed and Renata was once again free.

  “Martine Martin — Reflexologist. That sounds out of place.”

  “No, legit I’m afraid. Martine’s in her sixties, grey hair. I recommended her to Clint. She really is very good.”

  “Victoria Benson — Physiotherapist?”

  Gaby shook her head. “No, seen her. Dark hair.”

  “Nicola Holding — Sports Promoter.”

  “Mmm … sounds unusual, but then again, his company does sponsor 20/20 Cricket so there may be a link. I’d make a note of it.”

  “Aha!” Gaby smiled triumphantly as she produced from one of the drawers a retro telephone directory with a dial with which to select a letter of the alphabet before opening the directory with a lever. She selected ‘H’. “Yes, there is an entry for Nicola Holding here too, so she must be more than a casual acquaintance.” Gaby flicked to ‘P’, ‘C’, ‘M’, ‘B’ and ‘W’ to check for references to the other girls. There were none, but Gaby did notice that pages had been torn out and replaced as some of the older pages were distinctly more yellow.

  Gaby looked out the window and saw that Renata was helping the delivery man remove another crate of groceries from the van. As she looked back towards the desk, she noticed that the sunlight was catching the glossy cover of the A4 pad and, looking closer, she could see faint indentations, indentations that looked like numbers and letters. Clinton had obviously written something down while pressing on the pad. Squinting, she could just make out two letters: ‘KM’. She grabbed the pad and held it to the light. There were numbers too: ‘002721’. The pad ended after the 1, so the remaining numbers would remain a mystery. KM — Katerina Mulbauer, thought Gaby. “Meagan, 0027 is an international telephone dialling code, right?”

  “Yes, what’s after the 27?” asked Meagan, interested.

  “21.”

  “That’s Cape Town, South Africa,” announced Meagan with certainty.

  “That must be where Katerina is,” concluded Gaby while holding up the pad.

  Any excitement over the discovery was abbreviated by the sound of the van starting its engines. “We’ve got to hurry now,” said Meagan with urgency. “Guess the passport is in the safe.”

  Gaby groaned with despair. Suddenly, she grabbed Meagan’s arm and steered her in the direction of Clinton’s bedroom. “I just thought of something. Renata said he is travelling on business tomorrow. Knowing how organised he is, I’ll bet he’s packed already. Maybe he’s packed the passport.”

  They raced into Clinton’s bedroom which, unlike the rest of the house, was a rather impersonal, minimalist affair. The curtains and bedcovers were in coordinating shades of taupe and mink. There was a flat-screen HD television and glass dressing table. The built-in cupboards were concealed behind cream louvre doors. On the pristinely ironed bed were two executive suit bags, ostensibly containing clothing for the trip. In the corner by the dormer window stood a medium-sized Louis Vuitton roll
er case and alongside it, a matching attaché case suitable for cabin luggage. Meagan headed towards the cases with guile. “Allow me, I have recent experience in searching men’s luggage. If he’s anything like Peter, I’ll know exactly where to find it.” It took Meagan a few seconds to produce the passport, which was in a plastic envelope in a zipped compartment. “Bingo!” She immediately flicked through the pages. “Millions of stamps, many on top of one another. Visas. It will take ages to decipher them all.”

  “I have an idea. There’s a photocopy machine in the office; let’s copy the pages.” They made their way quickly back to the office and while Meagan began to photocopy, Gaby made sure that everything they had touched was returned to its rightful position.

  “I can hear noises, Gaby,” whispered Meagan. “Go and see where Renata is. We don’t want her up here. Take her to the kitchen and talk some rubbish about catering.”

  Without commenting, Gaby left the office and headed for the stairs. She was in the nick of time as a sour-looking Renata was on her way up, with “I’m on a mission” written all over her face. Gaby was at pains to analyse whether Renata was simply a fastidious, territorial housekeeper, a possessive and protective employee, or whether there was another element to her frosty and guarded approach to her and Meagan. As Meagan had recommended, Gaby dragged the reluctant Renata to the kitchen where she did everything she could think of — from perusing the pantry to checking the specifications of the microwave — in order to buy time. Gaby realised that it would be some time before Meagan had copied the hundred-odd pages of the passport. Once again, the god of good fortune smiled on Gaby and there was a knock on the kitchen door. This time it was the gardener who had presumably been working at the back. He made some noises about a glitch with the sprinkler system and Renata was required to investigate. Back upstairs, Meagan had finished the copying.