Draper raised his hand in farewell, as he pushed out of the office door.
21
Crane wasn’t sure what to expect of a couple who enjoyed having sex with other people, but Cynthia and Justin Hall were definitely not it. Crane put Justin Hall at mid-forties. He was a bit myopic, his left eye wandering at times, as though it had a life of its own. Cynthia, of a similar age, brought to mind a horse, her neighing laugh grating on Crane’s already frayed nerves. How anyone could find them even remotely attractive was beyond Crane. Perhaps it didn’t matter so much if you were high on drink or drugs, but still, the thought of seeing the Hall’s with no clothes on… well it was best not to go there. He tried hard to concentrate on what Anderson was saying.
“So, you admit to knowing Major and Mrs Cunningham, through the Mayfair Club?” Anderson asked the couple, who were sat side by side on the sofa in the lounge of their London home.
“Yes,” Justin Hall replied.
“And you know them well?”
Hall had the grace to blush, a flush high on his cheek bones. “Well, yes, I suppose so.”
“We weren’t really friends, though,” said Cynthia.
“No?” asked Crane.
“Well, no,” she replied. “We only met them at the club, never outside.”
“Oh, so no dinner parties, days out, drinks here and there, nothing like that?”
“No,” she shook her head vigorously, her mane of reddish brown hair swinging backwards and forwards.
“So they were nothing more than regular sex partners?”
“That’s right,” she said with some satisfaction, making Crane think that the Halls were desperate to distance themselves from the Major and his wife.
“Have you ever been to their home?”
“No, sorry,” said Justin. “We don’t even know where they live.”
Crane said, “Could you just explain something to me, then, Mr Hall? How do these things work? Is it just a case of whoever happens to be at the club on the night you’ll hook up with?”
“Well, I suppose so.” The flush was back.
“So the Cunningham’s weren’t exclusive partners. There were others that you both fucked.”
After a stunned silence, Cynthia said, “Well, really!” There was no longer any sign of her neighing laugh, or horsey teeth. “There’s no need to use that kind of language.”
“Oh, so you don’t mind having sex with strangers, you just don’t like talking about it,” said Crane as Anderson bent his head to his notes. But Crane could see the tell-tale upward tilt of the side of his mouth, meaning that Anderson was stifling a grin.
“I mean,” she said sniffing, “that our private life is that just that. Private.”
“Not when we are investigating the disappearance and probable murder of Janey Carlton, it isn’t.”
The Halls groped for and found each other’s hand.
“Murder?” Justin Hall said, his roving eye rolling to the left, before he managed to pull it back, so that both eyes focused on Crane.
“Yes, possible murder. Now, you have two options. One, you help us here and now by telling us what you know; or two, you refuse to speak and come with us to the nearest police station where you’ll be cautioned for obstructing the course of justice.” Crane had no idea if he and Anderson could do that, but it sounded good.
The couple looked at each other and it was Cynthia Hall that nodded at her husband and turning to Crane said, “What do you want to know?”
Letting out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding, Crane smiled and said, “Tell me who Major and Mrs Cunningham were friendly with at the Mayfair Club.” Crane felt he could moderate his language, now that they were co-operating.
“Well,” Mrs Hall said. “We were thinking about this before you came. The man who paid Janey at lot of attention is called Zane. He comes to the club quite often, but always with a different, beautiful young woman. He would focus on the Cunninghams whenever they were there together. You should have seen his face if they went off with someone else.”
“Who’s face, this Zane’s?” asked Anderson.
“Yes,” nodded Justin. “He would get very angry if Janey and Clive chose a different couple and not him and his latest floosy. He flounced out a few times when that happened, but he was always back, he seemed to be drawn to Janey like a moth to the light.”
“Do you know anything about him?”
“No,” said Cynthia, “just his first name.”
“Young, old, fat, thin?” said Anderson.
“Um, young, at least younger than us, so probably in his late 20’s or early 30’s, good body, good looking, dark shaggy hair, tall, I’d say over 6’,” she said.
“Great description, thanks Mrs Cunningham,” said Anderson. “I’d like to arrange for a colleague to come down and create a photo fit picture, if that’s all right?”
“Of course,” she said, nodding her agreement, as Crane and Anderson stood to leave. “And, um, you’ll keep our names out of the media? Please?”
“We’ll do our best. Thank you for your co-operation,” said Anderson and he and Crane escaped out onto the street.
Crane rubbed his hand over his short dark hair. “This is turning into a surreal investigation, Derek.”
“Don’t I know it. It’s certainly the strangest I’ve ever worked on,” and after staring up at the house for a moment, he shoved his hands in his raincoat pocket and they both walked away.
“I’m not sure your raincoat gives quite the right impression here in Kensington, Derek,” Crane said. “Are you sure you can’t afford a new one?”
“You know very well I can, I just don’t want a new one.”
“Even though you look like a throwback to those clichéd TV detectives?”
“Yes, but think about it, people remember me, don’t they?”
“That’s true, but do they have any confidence in you?”
“Well, Columbo always got his man. So…”
“So?”
“So I rest my case.”
Crane shook his head in disbelief and stopped to light a cigarette. As Anderson waited for him, he asked Crane, “Where to now, do you think?”
“Well,” Crane said after exhaling his first drag. “We’ve two options, either Major Cunningham, or the Mayfair Club. What do you think?”
“We’re near to the Club,” Anderson said.
“Good point,” agreed Crane.
“On the other hand we could put this to the Major and get him to give us the details.”
After a few contemplative puffs Crane said, “No. I want him in the dark as to the details of our investigations for the moment, so let’s go back to the Mayfair Club and see the spiv Dante Skinner.”
22
“Oh, it’s you, again,” Dante said as he looked up when Crane and Anderson walked into his office. “What do you want this time?” Dante affected a bored look, but Crane wasn’t taken in. The man was bouncing a pen up and down on his desk and seemed to have difficulty looking at them.
“Just a little more information, if you don’t mind, sir,” said Anderson.
“And if I do mind?”
“Let’s not go there, eh?”
Dante put down his pen, “No, I suppose not.”
Crane said, “We have been to talk to Mr and Mrs Hall, whose details you so kindly gave us. They told us of another customer who was quite taken by Janey Cunningham, but they only know him as Zane. Ring any bells?”
“Um…”
“Tall, good looking, dark shaggy hair, late 20’s, early 30’s,” Anderson read from his notebook. “Tends to come in with a new woman every visit and seemed very, very taken by Janey Cunningham.”
“To the point of obsession,” added Crane.
“Exactly,” agreed Anderson, “Any thoughts?”
In the silence that followed Anderson’s question, Crane wandered around the office, if you could call it that, as it was more of a store room, and he noticed a stack of boxes again
st one wall. He walked over to them and started to open the top one.
“Hey,” shouted Dante. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Nothing,” said Crane over his shoulder, “Just looking around. Why? Have you something to hide?”
Dante pushed his chair backwards and stood up. “No, of course not, but I’ve not given you permission to search my premises.”
Crane turned to face him. “What a good idea, Dante,” he said smiling. “Thank you for that. Come on, Derek, if our friend Dante here isn’t prepared to help us with the contact details of our mystery punter, then I’m sure a Judge will give us a search warrant, so we can find out the information for ourselves.”
Anderson slowly nodded, “Good point, Crane. And who knows what else we might find whilst searching not just the office, but the whole place.”
“Exactly,” Crane agreed. “We could find drugs, firearms, details of clients paying for sex. You know,” he said approaching the door, “I always thought there was something dodgy about this place. And now we’ll be able to find out just what it is.”
As Crane’s hand reached for the door handle, Skinner shouted, “Stop!”
Crane let his hand rest on the handle and said, “Yes?”
“I think I know who you’re talking about.”
“You do?” Anderson said. “That’s excellent.”
Dante Skinner sat down heavily in his chair and opened a drawer in his desk. Pulling out a file he flipped through it and then copied down some details onto a post it note. Handing it to Anderson he said, “Are we done now?”
“For now,” he replied and Crane and Anderson smiled at Dante as they got ready to leave his office. “Until you see this Zane again, in which case you’re to phone me,” and Anderson flipped his card onto Dante’s desk.
“I almost wish we had a warrant,” Crane said once they’d closed Dante’s office door. “He’s definitely got extra-curricular activities going on here.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but at the moment finding Janey Cunningham is our top priority. Anyway, this is the Met’s patch.”
“Suppose so,” said Crane reluctantly and followed Anderson up the stairs and out into the early evening sunshine.
23
…His latest escort arrived right on time. Checking her out he saw honey blond hair, a beautifully tailored dress which showed that she had curves in all the right places and long legs that ended in stylish stilettos. She was as well-groomed as any news presenter, television host, or actress. But perhaps those jobs didn’t pay as much as her current one. £1,000 per night wasn’t bad going, he supposed. A pretty good payday for her and easily affordable for him.
He had to admit that she was adorable, as they settled into the back seat of the car that he’d hired for the evening. Under the driver’s steady hand, the car swept up the M3 and was soon depositing them outside the door of a restaurant in Farnham. Glamorous and attentive, she took his arm and whispered in his ear as they entered the restaurant and were shown to their table. She turned most of the male heads in the restaurant and he saw Major Cunningham do a double take when they walked past him. And why wouldn’t he? For the escort could have been Janey’s double.
After delicious, yet dainty, French cuisine, which she hardly ate any of, they left the restaurant, the hired car and driver whisking them back to his house in London. Without a murmur she followed him into the house and accepted the balloon of brandy he handed her. They sat by the light of the fire and strategically placed candles, conversing quietly, until at last he rose, took her hand and led her to the bedroom.
Their lovemaking started out well enough. He enjoyed the silky softness of her skin, running his hands over her body, roaming, seeking and searching. Her firm breasts were perky, her legs long and agile. It was when he reared above her that it happened. An image of his mother came into his head. Filling him. Changing him.
Beneath him, Janey Cunningham smiled seductively up at him, pouting her lips, her arms reaching for him. At first he relished her touch, gave himself up to the ministrations of his mother. Allowed her to make him feel wanted, attractive, alive in a way he hadn’t before.
But as his climax began, his focus shifted once more. Beneath him was still Janey Cunningham, but now she was the whore who left him. The bitch who withdrew a mother’s love before he’d even had time to experience it. The cow who had to pay for her abandonment of him. He wanted to wipe the smugness from her face. Watch her features contort into something horrible. Wipe away her good looks and expose her for who she really was. Expose the evil in her heart.
His hands went around his mother’s neck. As he climaxed, he squeezed. His grip was as solid as a vice, rendering her struggles ineffectual. As she gasped for the air that was unable to pass through her closed throat and down into her lungs, her eyes bulged. She died with his name on her lips.
Replete, he rolled off her and sank into a dreamless sleep by her side.
The following morning, he wrapped the body of his escort in a blanket, threw her over his shoulder and bundled her into the boot of his car. Driving to the nearby river, he tenderly laid her in the water and watched as her body sank down, coming to rest in the mud. Her limp limbs spread, tendrils of her hair framed her face and her dress billowed around her.
“Goodbye, mother,” he whispered.
24
Ninety-six hours and counting and still no Janey Cunningham, no body, nor any ransom demand. It was proving difficult to locate the mysterious Zane, as it appeared that he had given false contact information to the Mayfair Club. When questioned on the telephone about this, all Dante had to say was that he was not a credit reference agency, nor a detective agency, and if a customer chose to give him false information, what was he supposed to do about it? Some people just went to great lengths to conceal their real identity and it was nothing to do with him. He’d fully co-operated with Crane and Anderson and didn’t know what else he was supposed to do. The only concession they’d gotten out of Dante was that he would definitely phone them if Zane turned up at the club again.
And so Crane and Anderson had decided that it was looking less and less likely that Janey had been kidnapped, which put the spotlight firmly on the Major once again, hence the fact that he was currently sitting stewing in an interview room at Aldershot Police Station. After he’d been sitting there for half an hour on his own, Crane and Anderson joined him, sat at the table and Anderson put a large file down. The room was cold and austere and Crane’s face matched the the room. He simply stared at Major Cunningham and didn’t speak.
“Now look here, Crane, what’s going on?” demanded the Major. He was on the verge of rising from his seat so Crane cut across him.
“I’m the one asking the questions, Major. So, to start with, what can you tell us about Zane Fisher?”
“Who?”
“Zane Fisher from the Mayfair Club. We understand you have had, shall we say, relations with him in the past.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Try again, sir,” said Crane and repeated the description from Mr and Mrs Hall.
When Cunningham once more denied knowing him, Anderson rummaged in his file and slid over an artist’s impression of the man in question. This time Cunningham couldn’t hide the fact that Zane Fisher was known to him. His face began to look like a piece of tripe, white with darker dips and hollows in it. Was it fear or embarrassment? Crane was beginning to suspect there was more that Cunningham wasn’t telling them. What was he hiding? What didn’t he want them to know?
“Tell me about him,” Crane said. “This Zane Fisher.”
“He, he,” the Major cleared his throat, “we met him at the Mayfair.”
“And he was one of your liaisons?” Anderson asked.
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“I suppose quite frequently, until…”
“Until what?” prompted Anderson.
“Until he became too pushy, too possessive, I suppose. Janey a
nd I go, went, to the club for variety in our sex lives, not to get close to another couple. And he was beginning to give me the creeps.”
“How so?” Crane asked keenly interested, his head tilting to one side as he listened to the Major’s explanation.
“He would suddenly appear,” said Cunningham. “You’d turn around and there he was. He was always watching us. Well, watching Janey I suppose. There was just something about him…” the Major thought for a moment. “It was as though there was something darker inside of him. Going to the Club was supposed to be for a bit of fun and he was definitely taking the fun out of it.”
“So what did you do?”
“I suggested to Janey that we leave him alone. She thought it a shame because he was so attractive, but she did agree.”
“So she liked this Zane?” said Anderson.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“And how did that make you feel?” Crane leaned over the table. When Cunningham didn’t reply, Crane spoke for him. “Did it make you feel bad, inadequate, inferior and old? I bet your self-esteem fell through the floor didn’t it?”
“I think it made you jealous,” Anderson added to Crane’s verbal bombardment. “Did it make you jealous enough to kill her?”
“No.”
“Oh I think so, Major. Is that why you did it? So no one else could have her?”
“No.”
“So you could keep her all to yourself?” said Crane.
“No! I haven’t killed her!”
“Has she run away with him then?” the questioning was relentless. “Perhaps she preferred a younger model? Someone with a hard, muscular body, who wasn’t going grey at the temples and slowing down?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“If she has run away, its best you tell us now, sir,” said Crane. “Before…”
Solid Proof: A dark, disturbing, detective mystery (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Book 8) Page 7
