Both Cleo and Leroy loved their silk scarves and thanked me. Mrs Fenwick thanked me for the antique flowered teapot.
‘It was the perfect present,’ she said. ‘What an inspired choice. Thank you, Jordan. I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything. I couldn’t think straight this year.’
Parcels look much the same when wrapped. I’d given Mrs Fenwick the wrong one. I didn’t think Mrs Drury would be so pleased with the high-tech egg coddlers, but I was mistaken.
‘Absolutely spiffing,’ she said, giving me a hug. ‘I’ve used them twice already. Saves me loads of time.’
‘My son, Ben, has phoned,’ Mr Frazer confided, not hiding his pleasure. ‘A Christmas call from London. Wasn’t that nice?’
‘I’m really pleased, Mr Frazer. That’s wonderful for you. He’ll call again. I’m sure, now the ice is broken.’
‘I hope you’re right. Miss Lacey. He said he was working in the catering trade.’
True, he was serving sandwiches and coffee in a snack bar. I’d seen him and spoken to him. I was glad he’d phoned at last.
Then in walked DI James and DS Evans and my evening was complete. James had upgraded his usual gear. He was wearing a grey polo jersey and dark jacket and slacks, human and civilised. It was almost more than I could bear. Ben Evans was his usual amiable self, glasses glinting, and was soon chatting with everyone. James smiled gravely at me. I could read that smile. He was amused at my feet. Thanks, buster.
Everyone sat down and Mavis produced the most succulent heaps of fish and chips this side of the Atlantic. Her face was healing well and she joined us for the meal. No one worried about my big feet under the table. Doris cut up my food. I could manage using a fork.
‘You’re looking better,’ said DI James, tucking in as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks. He was sitting the other side of me. A devious manoeuvre engineered by Doris, matchmaker in chief, bridesmaid in waiting.
‘Thanks to you,’ I said. ‘Did you rescue me?’
‘Guess so, but I couldn’t hear a word that you said on your mobile. The noise of the watermill drowned everything. But the water was the clue. Only one place sounds like that. Luckily we were not too far away. Niagara Falls are on the Canada-US border. I knew you weren’t there.’
‘I could have died,’ I said. He wasn’t asking me how I got inside the watermill. Didn’t he want to know if I fell or if I was pushed? If he didn’t want to know, then I wasn’t going to tell him.
‘But you didn’t. You’ve got work to do. And that, my girl, is what you are going to do as soon as you are better. Sort out all of Latching’s problems.’
I couldn't believe his detachment. Did he think I’d gone paddling? He was keeping something from me.
He couldn’t see my feet beneath the black cotton caftan that I was wearing. I’d pushed my hair up into some sort of bird’s nest. It was the best I could do with bandaged hands. DI James seemed to like it. Mavis produced several bottles of red wine, plonk variety (aromatic, zingy, hint of raspberry) and everyone toasted me. I couldn’t really stand up as my feet were too bulky. It was all very embarrassing. The red wine was a bit sharp, not my favourite but I was too relaxed to care. I decided I was still dehydrated so another glass wouldn’t hurt. Someone would see me home. Maybe James …
‘Did you arrange for my ladybird …?’ I asked cautiously.
‘Drove her myself,’ he nodded. ‘Not much leg room.’
‘That was very kind.’
‘Reciprocal gesture. We’re getting good results on our enquiries about the stolen goods from big stores, thanks to you. It’s a widespread organisation. We should be able to catch the gang any day now. Both your leads were invaluable.’
‘Both?’
‘The midnight boot. We found the whereabouts of that, too.’
‘Great … I don’t even know where it is. And what about the JCB?’ I had to be careful on this one. ‘Any news?’
He shook his head. ‘The JCB was stolen from a local building site, that’s all. We’ve no leads.’
‘And the … er … arm?’
‘We’re working on it,’ he said vaguely. Liar. He obviously wasn’t going to tell me that it had been identified.
‘I’m still curious about Oliver,’ I began.
‘You’re far too curious about everything,' he said. ‘But I will tell you one interesting thing. His red Aston Martin. The lab lot have been over it and guess what we found?'
‘Fish scales.’
He looked at me incredulously. ‘Jordan, are you sure you’re feeling all right?’
Whoops. I had nearly let on that I knew about the discovery of fish scales on Oliver’s clothes. ‘Light-headed,’ I said. ‘Lack of food and post traumatic stress.’
He seemed convinced. ‘We found a hair, a long black hair in the car. Female, no doubt.’
I knew one woman with long black hair and in my mind she fitted the bill. ‘Sonia Spiller’s, I bet. How can we find out if that woman had a lift with Oliver in the car before he died, or has been driving his car around since he died? Maybe even indulging in a spot of hit-and-run?’
‘We don’t know, Jordan. You’re speculating. No more shop talk. Not tonight. This is supposed to be a celebration.’ He filled glasses in all directions. ‘A toast, everyone. Here’s to Mavis! And the best fish and chips in Sussex!’
‘Here, here!’
‘The best fish and chips!’
‘To Mavis!’
Everyone stood and toasted Mavis, that is, everyone except me. I mean, I toasted her but didn’t stand up. She was grinning all over her face and looking more like her old self. The company was doing her good. Mavis was serving apple pie and ice cream now but I was too full for any more. People started changing seats and I lost James. Still it was nice to talk to Cleo and Leroy and hear all their news. Then Mrs Fenwick started to tell me about her evening classes in French cookery, and Mrs Drury gave me the latest recruitment figures for the WI. It was all very pleasant.
The front door opened and a gust of cold sea air blew in. Mavis froze. A woman with spikey magenta hair stood in the doorway, her face twisted with anger.
‘Back in business, are you?’ she sneered. ‘Well, I bloody well don’t think so!’
She made a lunge towards Mavis. I stuck out my twelve inch, plastic shod feet. The woman tripped and went flying. Ben Evans was up and out of his seat in seconds. He held the woman down on the floor with his big hands.
I didn’t see what happened next. The pain was excruciating. I think I fainted. Or perhaps it was the wine.
*
Everyone said that the party was terrific especially the cabaret afterwards. Ben Evans was sitting on one red-head (magenta) and James propping up another (tawny). Such fun. Four mobile 999 calls were made simultaneously.
‘No need to phone,’ said James, irritated. ‘We are the police. We’re here.’
I didn’t pass out for long although I would have liked to make it last a bit longer. Considering the proximity of DI James and his strong arms around me. I didn’t even have time for a ten-second fantasy of his face coming closer and his hands tenderly brushing my hair back. The bird’s nest had fallen down.
He hauled me upright. ‘Too much wine?’
‘Too much feet,’ I groaned. They were throbbing, the intense pain pulsing up to my brain. I wanted a painkiller. I didn’t care that they don’t mix with alcohol. I wasn’t going to be driving a tractor.
‘Quick thinking, Jordan,’ said Ben, pushing his glasses back on his nose. ‘Well done. Shall I cuff her, guv? She’s calming down.’
Mavis was still shaking. ‘That’s the one. She’s the cause of all this. That’s Tracy Jones, jealous bitch. She won’t let him go.’
‘He’s my husband,’ the woman on the floor spluttered. ‘You leave him alone. He’s mine.’
‘You don’t own him, Tracy,’ said Mavis, holding onto the back of a chair for support. ‘He’s had enough of you and your temper tantrums. He’s a decent man. He wants a qui
et life.’
Ben stood up, pulling the woman to her feet. I could see that she wasn’t going to let go of whoever it was in the middle of this tug-of-love. Her black-rimmed eyes were flashing venom and in the fraction that Ben relaxed his grip, she grabbed a wine bottle off the table and flung it at Mavis as if she was competing at the Commonwealth Games.
Mavis saw it coming and had a split second to evade its aim — her face. The bottle hit her on the shoulder, shattered, drenching her in wine. Lucky she was wearing red.
‘Cuff her,’ James shouted.
*
So one crime was solved. Tracy Jones confessed down at the station that she had arranged for Chuck and his mate to bash up Mavis. Via the Latching crime grapevine, Tracy had found out they did the Mexican and thought it would be simply listed as another robbery. She paid them £250, she said.
‘Is that all my face is worth?’ said Mavis long after.
Tracy wouldn’t say where Chuck was now. They moved around. How would she know?
Tracy was bound over to keep the peace for the party incident but charges were going to be pressed on the GBH.
My hands and feet healed fast but I had to buy a size larger trainers to accommodate the dressings. I returned the hospital dressing gown the next day. It was time to call on Francis Guilbert.
Francis was amazed at how much I had discovered. I thanked him for the flowers.
‘Sisters! Even twins maybe? Jordan, I do congratulate you. It puts a whole different aspect on the claim, or fraud, as I think it is now. Are we ready to confront them?’ He knew I had been injured at the watermill but not that someone had pushed me in the river.
‘No, not yet. I need video footage of the two of them together. I lost the video at the watermill. My visual evidence is not enough. Also we need something that confirms that Sara attended the medicals and not Sonia. What, I’m not really sure. Often, even with identical twins, there is some minor difference. I’d like to see the medical reports again.’
‘I’ll get you copies. And, I must tell you, the vanishing stock has stopped. It’s a relief to me but I wonder if they have wind of what you discovered here?’
‘DI James is sure they are going to nail the gang soon. They have so much evidence now. You see, it wasn’t just Guilberts, but all the big stores in Sussex were targetted. So it was well organised.’
‘Good, the sooner, the better. Jordan, I notice that you haven’t picked up your pay packet from Guilberts.’
I was confused. I hadn’t sent him an invoice yet.
‘But I haven’t worked out an invoice for you or for Oliver’s work yet,’ I said. It still hurt to say his name. So sad. I had to charge for that time.
‘I know that. But you were so good as a seasonal temp, there’s a pay packet for you in Personnel. And what about the New Year’s Day sales? It’s a big event. Can you come in for that? We’d be glad to have you. Miss Kent raves about you. And New Year’s Eve … arc you doing anything? I don’t want to be in the house alone.’
He looked so forlorn. I could not turn him down. It would be too cruel.
‘Yes … to both invitations. I’d love to spend New Year’s Eve with you. I’d bring a bottle except that I know you have a better cellar. And I’ll be a temp for the sales event. I might even spot a bargain for myself.’
‘You get a staff discount, you know, on anything you buy.’
‘Don’t tempt me.’
I walked along the seafront. It was packed with children trying out their Christmas presents: scooters, skateboards, roller skates, zig-zagging in all directions. Such bright colours, handlebars fringed with tinsel. Plastic has a lot to answer for. I fed stale bread over the side of the pier to flocks of greedy seagulls. The young birds were a squabbling carpet of flecked while and brown feathers. I was still feeling frail after my influenza and went into Macaris for a coffee, very cappuccino, piled high with froth. I could afford it.
DI James sat down beside me on the bench, facing the window to the receding sea. He had a cappuccino too and a Danish pastry on a plate. He studied both for some moments.
‘Jordan,’ he said. ‘It’s time we pooled information. I know we are not a team. I know you were treated badly on the force and I am not apologising. It was before my time and I was not responsible. But you know things and I know different things. And we might be able to solve a few cases if wc had a deal going.’
‘But James,’ I said, making room for him on the bench. He suddenly seemed very broad or had I shrunk? ‘It’s not logical. When cases are solved, I no longer get paid. You are on a monthly salary. I have a daily rate.’
He broke off a piece of glazed apple and pecan pastry and put it in my mouth. It was so unexpected. ‘How can I tempt you?’ he said, his blue eyes brilliant.
Of course I couldn’t answer because my mouth was full.
Twenty
Immediate action: take footage of the two sisters, preferably front facing. This was crucial. My focus was in gear and I was determined to get this evidence. My reputation depended on it.
Somehow I had to follow both women at the same time in order to get this shot. I had no idea of Sara’s surname or address. A trip to the Family Records Centre in London would confirm if they were sisters or twins.
I went up to London. It was a terrible journey. The train service was up the creek, running late or bits not running at all, not enough carriages, luggage and backpacks cluttering the corridors, people stepping on your feet. Commuters had my sympathy. The underground was crammed with bodies and dirty floors littered with bottles rolling about and food wrappers. The bacteria must be rampant. Latching at least had clean air.
I had noted Sonia’s date of birth and maiden name from the documents Oliver lent me to read when I took on the case so it did not take long to find the entry in the Births Registry. Tippett was a pretty unusual name. Bingo. Legs eleven. There it was in faded script. They were twins, Sara being the elder. They must be working a scam. I was a hundred and ten percent sure. I had to prove it.
After I had ordered copies of the birth certificates, I made some random searches through Marriages, hoping for a miracle, but Sara drew a blank. But I found Sonia’s marriage to Colin Spiller, got a photocopy and two words leaped off the page. Occupation of groom: airline pilot.
The uniform … that was the uniform of Sonia’s stalker. An airline pilot or steward. It had that distinctive well-cut look. But surely her own husband wasn’t stalking her? I’d never actually seen him or met him so how was I to know? Had her companion in the Mexican been her husband? I should have to check with Miguel. If he’d paid by credit card, there would be a name on record.
I fought my way through the crowds milling about Victoria station to get the train back to Latching. A promotions stand was offering tiny tastings of Bordeaux wine in plastic thimbles and I knocked back two. This gave me the courage to say no to the blanket boy asking for change. I usually take the coward’s exit.
London exhausted me or maybe that bout of ’flu was lingering. And my feet hurt. It was the cracked pavements. I’d checked that Ben Frazer was still working at the sandwich bar near the Records Centre, but I didn’t speak to him. That first call home was a fragile link and I didn’t want to rock the dinghy.
It was gathering darkness before we reached the Sussex coast. The train trundled over the aqueduct into Haywards Heath station and I could barely see the fields below. When we bridged over the Adur river at Shoreham, I realised with relief that I was nearly home. The countryside had flashed by in a kaleidoscope of lights, shadows and shapes and I had not taken in anything.
Sometimes fate helps you out; more often it hinders. There was still time to collect my pay from Guilberts. They were holding it for me in Personnel.
‘We thought you didn’t want it,’ said the girl clerk cheekily. ‘I was just going to put it in the charity box.’
‘I’m the charity,’ I said. ‘But thanks all the same.’
The envelope was flat and slim. A cheque,
unlike Miguel’s wholesome wad of notes. I opened it in the corridor, leaning on a wall. Francis had been more than generous. He had paid the going rate for a temporary seasonal plus my daily rate for the four days of investigation. It was a nicely rounded-up sum. Plus the dress and the shoes, I’d done rather well. I could afford a cappuccino. It spurred me on to resolve the Spiller case.
Fate threw me a lucky charm on my way out of the store. The wet streets were still busy with late shoppers and people leaving work early. The air was sharply cold after the heated store and I blinked hard. Sonia Spiller was ahead of me or was it Sara? The woman had long black hair, flowing and blowing, wearing the usual sheepskin jacket and neck collar covered with a chiffon scarf. The downside was that I didn’t have a video camera with me.
On went my sunglasses (in the middle of winter, very pop star), up went my collar. I decided a limp might be over the top. It was all I could do in the way of a disguise.
Sonia stopped to shop in Superdrug. She was buying hair dye. Mahogany Black: permanent. It was on offer, two for the price of one. She was either Sara making her hair look like Sonia’s or Sonia touching up some grey. I bet those two had spent their lives confusing people.
I pretended to read the instructions for Deep Chestnut: semipermanent. Then I noticed something else about this Sonia/Sara. It was the smallest detail that no one had noticed. I had spotted a difference. This was gold dust.
I had to get hold of Sonia Spiller’s X-rays. Both the hospital plates which were taken right after her fall and the insurance company’s independent report. She would have had X-rays taken again at the private clinic that did the report. My friend at Latching Hospital was happy to look up attendance and admittance records for me on the computer, but finding an X-ray plate was stretching a favour.
Spin and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 3) Page 19
