Christmas Crackers

by David W Robinson

  “I just can’t help buying jewellery for myself,” she said, flashing the bracelets on her wrists and the necklace dangling in her cleavage.

  Brenda also noticed little niggles. A curt word passing between Diana and Dom, which Jill assured her was nothing to worry about.

  “Dom asked her if she fancied going on from here, but she told him no, and he wasn’t happy about it. If truth be told, he’s not been happy since they finished three months ago.”

  “He doesn’t look too chuffed,” Brenda observed.

  By eight thirty, some people were beginning to get a little merry, others were checking their watches as if wondering whether it would be decent to leave at such an early hour. Brenda herself was wondering the same thing when she was joined again by Jill.

  Taking in a worried frown, Brenda asked, “Something wrong?”

  “Diana,” Jill admitted. “You haven’t seen her leave, have you?”

  “No. Last time I saw her, she was going to the ladies.”

  “Me, too,” Jill said. “But that was half an hour ago. Sally went in soon after her and said she hadn’t seen Diana in the cloakroom.”

  “Plenty of people been through there since,” Brenda said, “so there can’t be anything wrong.”

  Jill stood up again. “I’d better go check. Make sure she’s all right.”

  She left, and Brenda returned to looking through the windows onto the street once more. Sanford High Street had changed little from her young days. The shops were newer, more modern, and they were dominated by The Gallery Mall, but on Christmas Eve, it was just as she remembered it. Crowds of people, young and old, crawling from pub to pub, filled with good cheer, and actually being nice to each other.

  A scream brought her back to reality. It came from the cloakroom. Booth and Michael Fellows hurried in that direction, Brenda put down her glass and rushed after them. By the time she reached the door, it was crammed with bodies eagerly straining to see what was going off. Brenda fought her way through them and found Jill, white-faced, shaking and incoherent, Booth putting his arm around her.

  Brenda confronted the distressed woman. “Pull yourself together, Jill. Take a couple of deep breaths and calm down.”

  Jill did as she was told.

  “Now,” Brenda ordered. “What’s wrong?”

  “In there.” She pointed to the ladies toilets. “Diana. I think she’s… she’s dead.” Tears began to flow.

  People had entered the cloakroom. Dom took the opportunity to nip to the gents, but others stood around, awestruck. From the bank came the sound of Slade’s Merry Christmas Everybody, its lyrics awfully at odds with the situation.

  Brenda nodded to Fellows. “You’d better go check on her.”

  “She’s locked in,” Jill sobbed. “She didn’t answer, so I got down on my knees to look under the door, see if she was all right. She still didn’t answer me, and her, er, pants were not pulled down. I was worried, so I prodded her and her hand fell limp. God, I was scared out of my wits.”

  “All right. Take it easy, Jill.”

  Fellows returned from the toilet, his features grim. He shook his head at Booth.

  “Can you get the door open, Michael?” Booth asked.

  Fellows nodded and returned to the toilets. Booth and Brenda left Jill with other members of staff, and followed. As they entered the ladies toilets, several people crammed in the doorway to watch.

  Even for one as tall as the security man, it was a struggle. He hauled himself up on the door and reached over, stretching down for the lock. When he could not reach it, he brought himself back down and apologised.

  “Sorry, boss. I’ll have to go in from underneath.”

  Brenda doubted that the gap beneath the door was high enough, but Fellows stripped off his jacket, left it with Booth, and with difficulty slid under the door, and reached up. Again it was a stretch, but he managed to slide back the lock, and then withdrew, to push the door open.

  “I’m glad you don’t clean the ladies lavatories,” Brenda joked. “Sorry, just trying to calm my nerves.”

  Diana sat on the toilet fully clothed, as Jill had said, wearing her pink topcoat. Her eyes were open, staring sightlessly out at them. Brenda stretched a shaking hand towards her.

  “Brenda, you’re not a first aider,” Chris protested.

  She ignored him and gingerly pressed a finger to the girl’s neck. Fighting back the impulse to vomit or cry, she said, “She’s beyond first aid. She’s dead.”

  There were several gasps and one moan from the assembled people.

  “Chris, you’d better call the police.”

  “Yes… oh, my god… yes. You’re right.” Chris turned to Fellows. “Michael. Dial nine, nine, nine and get the law here. Then stand by the door until they arrive.” While Fellows hurried off, Chris turned back to Brenda, who gave immediate orders.

  “And everyone else should keep out of here until the police give you the all-clear. Not only here, but the cloakroom, too.”

  Having delivered her advice, Brenda opened Diana’s coat.

  “You really shouldn’t be touching her.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Chris. I’m not doing anything major. Look at this.”

  Pulling the collar of Diana’s dark blouse away, she revealed the livid mark of a ligature.

  “Strangled?”

  Brenda nodded. “Yes.” She glanced at the label in the blouse. Carlotta’s Boutique Sanford. “She didn’t skimp on clothing, did she? I can’t afford to shop there.” Brenda stood up. “Come on. We’d better get out of here before the cops arrive.”

  She led the way aback out into the bank, where Fellows now stood by the door looking for the tell-tale, blue light of a police car, and everyone else had spread out and broken down into their cliques. The air of gaiety had left them. Their faces were sombre and there was only one topic of conversation.

  Brenda and Chris joined Jill at the window, where Brenda told her old friend of their conclusion.

  “If she was murdered, then it has to be someone in here,” Jill said, her voice barely louder than a whisper and filled with trepidation. Her face was still grey and her hands shook.

  “That’s right,” Brenda agreed, and took out her mobile phone.

  “Who are you ringing?” Chris wanted to know.

  “A man who knows about these things,” Brenda replied and pressed the speed dial key for Joe. “It’s Brenda,” she said when the connection was made.

  “What’s up, chick? Party too boring for you?”

  “Don’t be a prat all your life, Joe. Have a day off. One of the tellers has just been murdered.”

  Joe whistled. “Murdered. You’re sure?”

  “Certain.”

  “Right. I’ll get me coat and be with you—”

  “No, Joe,” Brenda interrupted. “It’s a private party and they won’t let you in. The police have been called and we’re waiting for them to arrive. What I need to know is how do you go about solving these things?”

  “Well, I could use any number of ways, but one thing: always check the victim. You’d be surprised what they can tell you.”

  “I did, and she told me only two things: she was strangled and she buys expensive clothing.”

  “Too expensive for someone who works in a bank?”

  Brenda shrugged and felt foolish. Joe could not see the gesture. “Not necessarily.”

  “No strangers at the party?”

  “Only me.”

  “Sorry, girl. You’re on your own. If I could get in there, I may be able to help, but like you said, they won’t let me in. If there’s anything else I can do, bell me.”

  “Sure, Joe.”

  Brenda cut the connection. “Chocolate teapot, as it turns out.” She dropped the phone in her bag. “We’ll have to wait for the police.”

  ***

  It was after nine o’clock when Detective Constable Gemma Craddock emerged from the cloakroom, had a brief word with Chris Booth and then Jill Reason, and fin
ally approached Brenda.

  After taking her initial statement, Gemma smiled in an encouraging manner, and Brenda prepared for bad news.

  “I’m told you touched the body, Mrs Jump.”

  “Only to check her pulse,” Brenda insisted. “Oh, and I moved her shirt collar to one side to point out the ligature marks.”

  Still smiling, Gemma shook her head. “You’ve been listening to Uncle Joe. You really shouldn’t have touched it.”

  “Nonsense. For all we knew she could still have been alive. If so, she’d have needed CPR.”

  “Checking her pulse is fine. I’m talking about moving her blouse. We’ll have to fingerprint you for elimination.”

  “That’s no problem.”

  Gemma seemed relieved that the stricter part of the interview was over. “You worked here, didn’t you?”

  “Until I lost my husband, yes.”

  “Did you know Ms Linden at all?”

  Brenda nodded. “I’ve known Diana for about four or five years. Bright girl. Bubbly, always full of life. You know.”

  “She’d never been in any trouble?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  A deep frown etched itself into Gemma’s clear brow. “She liked her clothing, didn’t she?”

  “Well, you know. Young girls.”

  “Yes, but what I can’t square is her shopping at places like Carlotta’s. I’m starting to get on in the police, but even so I have to think twice about shopping there.”

  “My feeling, Gemma, is that young women – and men – will spend money they don’t have to make sure they look the part when they’re out and about. I don’t think there’s anything suspicious about it.”

  “You don’t know what I know.”

  Gemma’s words were delivered as more of a mutter and Brenda guessed that the young detective had not meant to say it.

  “What is it you know?” Brenda asked.

  “I’m sorry, Brenda, I can’t… Did Diana do drugs, do you know?”

  Brenda felt a shock run through her. “Well… er, obviously, I didn’t know her that well, but I shouldn’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s, er. I… Look, I shouldn’t really be telling you this, but we’ve just gone through her belongings, and we found ten wraps of cocaine in her coat pocket. It’s not unreasonable to assume that such an amount is for personal use, but it’s more likely that she was dealing. At thirty pounds a wrap, she had three hundred pounds in her pocket. That would fund some serious shopping at Carlotta’s.”

  Her mind a haze of confusion, Brenda stared around the room, then out through the windows and around the room again. “Well, I’m gobsmacked. I couldn’t be more surprised if you told me Chris Booth was printing his own money.”

  “I’m sorry, Brenda, but it looks like this could be a motive for killing her.” Gemma, too, looked around the room. “The only problem we have is deciding which one of your former colleagues did it. Did she have any enemies here?”

  “Not while I worked here, she didn’t. They’ve taken on only one new teller since I left but from all I’ve seen Diana and Sally Hoban got on fine.” A bell rang in Brenda’s head. “Oh there is… No. It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does, Brenda,” Gemma insisted. “This early in the investigation, everything matters. The inspector is in Wakefield, half drunk when I spoke to him, but when he gets here, he’ll expect me to have everything shipshape, and my report half written, if only in rough. Now what were you going to say.”

  Brenda sighed, and nodded towards Dom. “Dominic Granger, Dom to everyone here. He and Diana had a thing. According to Diana it fizzled about August-ish, when she met her new fella. Earlier this evening, I saw Diana and Dom talking, and it didn’t look too pleasant. Jill said he’d asked her out and she told him where to get off. But honestly, Gemma, I don’t think Dom is the murdering kind. He may be mad, sure, but he wouldn’t harm her.”

  Gemma looked him up and down. “Big bugger, though. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d had his mitts round her neck, but Scientific Support say the ligature was like a rope, only very narrow.”

  Brenda shrugged. “So search him.”

  “He’ll have dumped it.”

  “Come to think, when we all went into the cloakroom, he was quick, into the gents, so maybe you’re right.”

  Gemma chewed her lip. “It seems to me that her supplier, or one of her customers, must work here. Again, I’m asking you because you know these people and you’re more likely to give me an honest answer now that you don’t work here, so is he on drugs; are any of them on drugs?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Brenda was aware that her reply was bitten off and she may have come across angrier than she appeared.

  Gemma, however, did not appear put out. “Your friend, Mrs Reason, tells me that you noticed Diana on the street, just before she came in here. She was with a man in the doorway alongside Boots’ entrance. Could you describe the man?”

  Brenda shook her head. “Too dark and he was in shadow. All I know is his name is Zack, and he sells cable and satellite TV.”

  “He gave something to Diana. You didn’t see what?”

  “His car keys,” Brenda said, and went to explain what Diana had said to her.

  “Could be an excuse. Could be she was covering up for the drugs.” Gemma checked her notes. “According to what I’m told, Diana went to the ladies about eight o’clock, but it wasn’t until half past that Jill went to find her. During that time, did you notice anyone else missing for a good period of time?”

  “Almost everyone, I think. Sally Hoban went not long after Diana, so did one or two of the other women, and a few of the men. I wasn’t taking that much notice, Gemma.”

  “No. Of course not.” Gemma closed her pocketbook. “All right, we’ll leave it at that. I’ll get one of the uniformed lads to take your prints, and then you can go.”

  “And that’s it?” Brenda demanded. “What about poor Diana?”

  “We’ll get to work on it, but these investigations take time. Don’t let it ruin your Christmas, Brenda. I know it’s tragic, and I know it’s… it’s… obscene almost, but that’s why we’re here. To bring the killer to justice. If there’s anything else we need to know, we’ll be in touch.”

  With no one allowed in the cloakroom, coats were passed out by Scientific Support team members, all safely clad in their forensic jumpsuits. Putting on her coat, preparing to leave, Brenda watched her ex-colleagues, their faces glum, getting ready to brave the cold and rain. A few were together in one corner, and if Brenda knew anything about them, they would be planning to continue the party in a nearby pub, where Christmas would not be the only topic of conversation. Gemma sat off to one side talking to Dom, who kept shaking head, and breaking down weeping.

  Sally Hoban collected her coat and slipped it on, shrugging back the sleeves so she could button it up against the weather. Bending to pick up her bag, her hands invisible behind the fur cuffs, she made for the door.

  Realisation shot through Brenda.

  “Stop,” she shouted. “Michael, don’t let her leave.”

  Sally turned to stare. Fellows, on duty with a uniformed constable at the door, looked to Brenda, then to Sally, and back to Brenda.

  “I know what happened, Gemma.” Brenda pointed an accusing finger at Sally. “She did it. She murdered Diana, and I know why.”

  “Mrs, Jump… Brenda—”

  “Don’t let her leave, Gemma. If I’m wrong, she can sue me, but I know I’m not wrong, and if you let her go, she’ll get rid of the proof in minutes.”

  Gemma nodded at the uniformed officer, who escorted Sally back.

  The girl’s eyes blazed at Brenda. “What is this silly cow on about?”

  Brenda ignored her. “Gemma, get your people to check the size of Diana’s coat.”

  Again, the young detective nodded to one of her colleagues who disappeared into the cloakroom.

  “And while you’re at it, get your fore
nsic people to check the chain on this little madam’s bag.” Brenda pointed at the ornate metal strap of Sally’s handbag. “I think you’ll find this was the rope used to strangle Diana.”

  “Brenda, I—”

  “Size eight, ma’am.” The unformed man returned from the cloakroom and delivered the news.

  Triumph spread across Brenda’s face. “Diana was a size ten. Remember I checked the label in her blouse? I noticed the size then. And if you check Sally’s coat, you’ll find it’s a size ten.”

  Gemma turned to Sally. “Take it off, please.”

  “Now look—”

  “Just take your coat off, Ms Hoban, and let me look at it.”

  While Sally began to remove the garment, Brenda explained.

  “When Sally came in this evening you could see her bracelets. She liked showing them off. But just now, as she was getting ready to leave, you couldn’t. The sleeves of her coat were too long and the bracelets were hidden. It was obviously the wrong coat, and that’s when it hit me.”

  “Well hit me with it,” Gemma insisted, “because I don’t understand.”

  “You should. You’re a woman aren’t you?” Taking in the detective’s blank face, Brenda sighed. “All women want to be slimmer, don’t they, and Diana was no exception. One of the first things I noticed tonight was that she and Sally were wearing exactly the same coat. And I’ll tell you what happened. Diana went to the ladies, and as she passed through the cloakroom, she spotted Sally’s coat. Exactly the same as hers, only a size smaller, and like any sane woman, she wondered how well a size eight would fit. So she tried it on. Standing before the mirror, she admired herself in a coat that was a little too small. Then she put her hands in the pocket, like the models on the catwalk do… and she came out with ten wraps of cocaine. And right at that moment, Sally walked in. There may have been an argument, I don’t know, but if so, it ended when Sally strangled her. She dragged Diana into the loo, and locked her in the cubicle. I can’t remember if Sally was wearing tights, but if she was they will have been torn when she climbed over the door, and if you check the bins in the toilets, you’ll probably find them. She then came out, and others went in after her. It was only when Jill began to worry about Diana that she checked the cubicles and found her dead. By then, of course, practically everyone in the place had been in the cloakroom and any one of them could have done it. All Sally had to do was wait until you let her out, then dump the coat.”