by M. L Rose
Arla spoke through clenched teeth. “Why didn’t you report this?”
Cherie blew her nose and collected herself. “I told David. He said that was it, he wasn’t doing business with him anymore. He actually rang Mike up to tell him. I was there.”
“Why did David owe him money? You seemed surprised when I said money was transferred from David’s account to Simpson’s.”
“David denied it. Said he had paid him back ages ago. He said Mike was making it all up.” Cherie looked at Arla and frowned. “I’m confused now. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Arla said. “But it’s time we paid Mr Simpson a visit.”
Cherie collected the cups and plates and put them in the sink. Arla asked, “Do you know of a company called Blue Horizon? It appeared David was sending cash there as well.”
Cherie turned around slowly and wiped her hands on a tea towel. “No, I don’t.” Her face was drawn and pale again. She looked into the distance and then focused on Arla. “I don’t understand any of this. What was David doing with his money?”
CHAPTER 30
There was a noise at the door and Harry poked his head in. His lips were set tight.
“Darren and the others didn't see anything,” he said. His eyes flicked from Arla to Cherie. “One of the reporters came up to me, asking for a statement.” His eyes met Arla’s and she knew from his face that he said nothing to them.
Harry addressed Cherie. “They’ll be far less polite to you. Be ready for insults, crude remarks, anything. Just don’t rise to it.”
“Can’t be worse than the film directors I’ve worked with in the past,” Cherie said.
The front doorbell went, and Harry answered it. Arla heard the voice of Parmentier, asking why they weren’t doing a proper job. It was meant in jest, but Cherie clearly heard it. Arla bustled outside.
“Can you keep your voices down please?” She walked up to Parmentier. “For the record, the burglar came in through the back. We can’t keep a watch everywhere. When you go upstairs, in the bathroom, there is a perfect set of boot prints. I want to see if there is a match with the ones from the front door.”
Parmentier rolled his eyes. “Gosh, I’ve been told.”
Harry’s lips twitched, but she could see it didn't touch his eyes. He looked at her carefully, trying to gauge her mood. Arla had other things on her mind. She suddenly remembered something. She turned to Harry.
“When we went to Luke’s house, do you remember if we saw any boot prints by the front door?”
Harry fixed her with a gaze. “Oh, I remember going there alright.”
Despite the stiffness of their encounter in the car park, Arla felt her cheeks beginning to burn, and her eyes widened. But she couldn't look away from his melting chestnut eyes, suddenly dancing with mischief. She melted a little and had to admit, it was when he tempted her like this that she enjoyed it the most. But she would never admit that to him, and she still felt awkward. It was also too risky in front of Parmentier.
She swallowed and took a step back, pausing to flick a strand of hair away. “I would like to check the boot prints of Luke against what we have here. Can you sort that out, DI Mehta?”
His eyes continued to burn into hers. Arla looked away finally, sneaking a look at Parmentier. To her relief, he was half turned as one of the SOCO’s walked in through the door.
Harry said, “Of course I can, guv. Anything for you.” He added the last sentence in a lower voice.
Arla turned away to head back for the kitchen. Harry caught up with her in two swift strides.
“Did the wife see the burglar’s face?”
Arla said, “No. He entered and left through the window at the back. Left one bedroom a mess though.” She told Harry what he had stolen. He creased his brows.
“Odd thing to take, no? Personal diaries?”
“I know. Chances of it being the killer is remote as surely he would’ve taken what he wanted the first time round.”
Harry said, “Not sure. The first time he came to kill. He made the effort to stage his sick show. He could have forgotten, or not known that this bedroom existed.”
Arla appraised this slowly. Harry was a good cop, and she knew when to trust his instincts. Something told her he might have a point here.
Harry said, “You know the drill, guv. Most murders are committed by someone the victim knew well. This is personal, right? Otherwise why come back for the diaries? Must be the same person, or they work as a team.”
They were speaking in low voices by the kitchen door. Harry dropped his voice a shade lower. “Have you asked Cherie about how she knows the Secretary of State so well?”
Another good point, Arla thought. She told Harry quickly about Mike Simpson. Then they opened the kitchen door and walked inside. Cherie wasn’t at the counter, but they found her at the opposite end of the gigantic kitchen, stacking cushions on the sofa. She turned when she heard them approach. Arla asked her about James Fraser, the Secretary of State.
“Jamie? Oh, he used to come every now and then.” Her face brightened. “He and David were close. They knew each other from way back, from university.” Her look became anxious. “He’s not in any trouble over this, is he? I mean, I’m sorry I had to drag him into this, but Luke wasn’t answering his phone and I didn't know who else to call.”
Arla asked, “Did Luke know Mr. Fraser?”
Cherie frowned, then her face cleared. “Yes, they did. How well, I don’t know. But David did mention that Jamie knew Luke from when he was a child.”
“Thanks. Will you please let us know if you think of anything else?” Arla took out her card, then flipped it over and wrote her number down on the back.
“This is my personal number.” She gave the card to Cherie, who took it. “Call me if you need help with anything.”
Cherie’s expression made it clear she appreciated the gesture. Arla and Harry left Parmentier and his team upstairs and said goodbye to Cherie. Harry went upstairs to have a word with one of the SOCO’s to get a forensic team to Luke’s house, to check for boot prints.
Arla opened the front door and as soon as she stepped outside, the cameras began to click. Flashlights popped in the darkness, following her as she stepped down the stairs. They were gathered like a pack of hound dogs at the police tape barrier. Three uniformed officers stood at regular intervals, ensuring none of them broke through.
“Is it a crime of passion?” One of them called out.
“Was he gay?” another hollered.
The media scrum pressed forward as she got nearer to the car. Harry ran ahead, arms spread out. He held the door open for Arla as she slipped inside. Flashbulbs popped against the glass and Arla bent her neck, shielding her face with a hand. Harry reversed with a growl of the engine, then blared his horn as the BMW took off, tires squeaking. Reporters ran for cover as the car bore down on them.
“Bloody vermin,” Harry breathed as he stopped at the traffic lights.
CHAPTER 31
Jonty was sitting against the trunk of a stout oak, perched a few meters above ground. He could feel the rough bark against his back, but it felt solid, comforting. Jonty liked to climb trees. It allowed him to watch people who passed all around him in blissful ignorance. People fascinated Jonty, mainly because he didn't understand why they got so worked up over things. Why they sometimes argued on the streets and honked their horns in road rage. Jonty never got angry. He never lost control.
He could see through a gap in the leaves, the house in Bellevue Avenue he now knew well. The mask was on his head, ready to be pulled down if necessary. The binoculars rested on his eyes, and he leaned forward slightly as the door opened and the female police inspector came out, followed by the lanky, wide shouldered male officer. The man stayed at the porch briefly, looking around him. Jonty could swear he looked directly at him for a few seconds.
“You can look, but you can’t see me,” he whispered, in tense excitement.
The binoculars moved
down to the female officer. Her dark shoulder length hair was bobbing up and down as she moved quickly towards the car. The man overtook her, moving the reporters away. Flashlights lit up the female officer’s face. Jonty caught his breath. She had a sharp nose, full lips and a strong chin. She looked like someone Jonty had known in a previous life.
She looked so close. He could imagine her musky odour, a flowery, lilac smell maybe? Or would it be rosewood, the lingering smell inside that house? God, he felt he could reach out and touch her. His breath came in gasps.
The man slammed the door shut and the car took off as reporters flashed their cameras. Jonty memorised the registration number. He knew it was going to Clapham Police Station. He removed the binoculars and watched as the uniform officers herded the cameramen back. Some returned to their parked vans.
The police hadn't given a statement as yet, but he always knew the Clapham station would be involved. Jonty didn’t know the name of the female officer though. He slipped off the tree and landed on the ground with a soft jump. He wasn’t wearing his ski gear today, save the mask. His trekking shoes squelched mud as he walked on the grass. His head moved around, eyes searching in the dark for shadows. It amazed him that the police hadn’t searched this part of the Common yet, looking for clues. Not that he left any. That would be losing control.
Jonty came up to the tarmac path that skirted the edge of the Common. There was two meters of bush and then the sidewalk, lit up by the yellow orange halogen streetlights. He watched for two minutes. The media vans were on the kerb, and he could see two reporters out, smoking. A man and a woman. The woman said something, and the man laughed.
Jonty moved past them. He came to another van, with a satellite dish on top. A solitary man was standing outside. He bided his time, then came out on the sidewalk several meters behind the reporter. Jonty started to whistle loudly. The reporter turned his head abruptly, watching Jonty as he came out of the darkness.
Jonty knew his face was visible in the street lights, but he didn't care. “Hi there,” he said, raising his hand in greeting. He stopped in front of the man.
“Terrible thing to happen here, isn’t it? Such a nice man as well.”
The reporter looked at him askance. “Do you live around here?”
Jonty paused for a second. “Yes, just around the corner.”
“Oh right.” The reporter was instantly interested. A salacious gleam came into his eyes. “Did you know them by any chance?”
“Who, David and Cherie? Yes, seen them around a few times.”
The reporter came forward. “Oh, I see. What are they like?”
“Very friendly, nice people. It was a tragedy this, though. Are the police any closer to finding who did this?”
“I don’t know. But…”
“What’s the police officer’s name? The woman, she seemed to be in charge.”
“DCI Arla Baker,” the man said impatiently. “What can you tell me about…”
Jonty smiled and waved at the man. “Sorry, got to go.”
CHAPTER 32
Arla craned her neck back. She was exhausted. It had been a long day, and she wanted nothing more than a glass of wine. She hadn't drunk for 2 weeks and felt better for it. Her problem was stopping after one glass. Only four glasses in a bottle of wine. Easily done, apart from the next morning’s headache and regret. Harry, like most male cops, was a big drinker. And Arla had to admit, the peer pressure made most female cops drink as well, and up the banter in the pubs after shift. It was a slippery slope.
She said, “Luke sent her a text this morning, saying he would be in touch. I’ve got the number.”
“Excellent. We can track it.”
“I have a feeling he’s either stopped using the phone now or destroyed the SIM. But still worth a try.”
It was close to seven pm by the time they got back. Arla expected the team to have dispersed, but was pleasantly surprised to see Lisa and Rob, with Rita Patel, a Detective Sergeant who had recently joined the force from up north, and Larry Gomez, a tall, black man who was the same rank as Rita. Next to them, Rupert the new DC was also present.
“Working hard I see,” Arla said.
Lisa yawned and stretched her arms above her head. “You did say to get a move on, guv.”
Arla glanced at her watch. “Look, you guys have to be here early tomorrow. Take a break tonight.”
Rita spoke up in her strong Yorkshire accent. She was petite, with shoulder length black hair, and a pretty face. “Feels like we’re getting somewhere though. We got new stuff to feed back to you, don’t we?”
Lisa nodded. Arla said to Rupert, “Are you guys hungry?” All the heads nodded almost in unison.
“Rupert, would you mind ordering some pizza? Ask the front desk to put it on my tab.”
“Sure guv.” Rupert got up and headed out to the corridor. Arla sat down at Lisa’s table and pulled up a chair, then another one to put her feet up.
Harry sat behind Lisa, looking at her screen. “Where are those CCTV images from?”
“The Zizzi restaurant on Dulwich High Street.” Lisa said.
Arla hunched forward. Lisa pointed at the screen, which was divided into four boxes, each showing a black and white image, with the time and date in the top right corner.
“That’s Cherie Longworth, right?” Lisa asked.
Arla squinted, then nodded. “Have you got another image?”
Lisa clicked on the keyboard, and this time it was clearer. Two women were coming out from the restaurant, and their faces were visible. The woman on the right was Cherie.
“That’s her alright. What time stamp does this have?”
“23:40.”
“So, she was leaving then. Where does she go?”
Lisa clicked through several more images, which showed the two women walking down the quiet High Street, their backs to the camera. She switched to a camera that faced them, and stopped at an image that showed Cherie getting into a BMW convertible with the roof up.
Arla checked the time stamp. “23:47. It would have taken her about fifteen minutes to drive back home at that time of the night. So she was speaking the truth.”
She glanced at Lisa. “Did we follow her down?”
Lisa gestured towards Rita. “She did that.”
Rita got up from her table and came around holding a laptop. She put it on Lisa’s desk and all of them gathered around it.
Cherie’s red BMW was visible on Clapham High Street as she crossed it, heading down to the common.
Arla said, “OK, that’s her whereabouts. Did we speak to the friend, Jill, and the ex-husband?”
“I did guv, Rita said. Went over to the friend, Jill Hunter’s house. Jill backs up the story. She’s in the middle of a messy divorce. One daughter doing her A levels. She’s fighting the husband to stop selling the house. Although they had a dinner date, they spent till about 21:00 at her home. The daughter was also there, and I spoke to her, so it’s watertight.”
“Cherie’s ex-husband?”
Rob spoke up. “I called Guy Percival. He heard it on the news. Sounded quite shocked, really. Yes, Cherie was definitely his wife. He knew her maiden name of Reeves, and her DOB, down to the mole on her left forehead, her identifying mark. They didn’t have children, as Cherie said.”
“Where is the husband now?”
“Lives in Salford near Manchester, where he works for the BBC. He’s got a new girlfriend. I checked into him. No records on the PNC.”
Arla leaned back on her chair. “So, the wife is clear, for now. She has no record whatsoever, right?”
Lisa spoke. “Nope. Squeaky clean.”
There was a knock on the door, which sounded loud in the empty office. Rupert went to open the door and returned with a stack of pizza boxes. Harry helped him unload them on a table. Rob got paper plates and cups from the kitchen and for a while no one spoke as they munched on pizza. Arla hadn't realised how famished she was. She polished off a half slice of veggie pizza, feel
ing a twinge of guilt at all the carbs she was stuffing herself with.
She wiped her mouth with a tissue and drank some diet coke. “OK. Those wires that were cut from the pole. The cable ones - did we get any prints from the pole?”
“No,” Larry said, bottom perched on a desk, sitting straight. Arla didn't know him well, having dealt with him only once before. He had joined Clapham station last year.
“And BT Openreach gave some feedback. They had no repairs planned, so it wasn’t a botched job on their part. They have filed a case with us for criminal damage.”
Harry said, “So it was a calculated move to stop the street from getting internet or phone access.”
Rita said, “He didn't want a signal in there while he was active.”
Arla asked Lisa, “Any progress on this Bahamas company, Blue Horizon?”
“Nope, still searching.” Lisa clicked her fingers. “I got something else though. Almost forgot.”
She pulled out a folder from one of her desk drawers and handed it to Arla. “David Longworth’s mobile phone log. Still waiting for the voice data. You know how phone companies are.”
Arla grabbed the folder. “Looks like I have my homework for tonight.” It was past 20:00. Arla stifled a yawn. It was only the first full day of the investigation and she was knackered.
She rose to her feet, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “No further word from Banerji?”
The team shook their heads.
“We need a fix on Luke Longworth’s phone number,” Arla said. “I take it he hasn’t been in touch?”
“Nope,” Lisa said.
“This is priority now. Get the location and if he hasn’t shown up tomorrow morning, I’m getting a warrant to search his house.”
Arla put her coat on and turned. “See you all in the morning.”
CHAPTER 33
