by Linda Regan
Bruno Pelegino’s mother lived at number forty-two; Isabelle walked up the path to check this was the right house. There was a large brass number 42 on the door, next to half a dozen stickers for the Red Cross, Salvation Army, wildlife rescue and a homeless African children charity.
Crowther dawdled behind, manoeuvring around the shirts, sheets, white chef ’s overalls and underwear hanging from the line.
Isabelle pulled her warrant card from her pocket and leaned on the doorbell. Crowther was surveying a pair of extra-large nylon knickers; she caught his eye. “I don’t think she’ll be your type,” she said.
“You’ve got a one-track mind. That’s what stopped you getting promotion.”
He had to bloody rub it in, didn’t he? She was just about to give him a mouthful in return when the front door opened. The grey-haired woman behind it was short, tubby and middle-aged, and spoke in a thick Italian accent.
“He’s not here,” she said sharply, staring at the identification in Isabelle’s hand.
“Seems you were expecting us then,” Isabelle said. The woman’s brown eyes were perceptive, but nervous.
The woman nodded resignedly. “Sadie’s parents told us.” She closed her eyes. “My Bruno is devastated. She broke his heart, but he still loved her.”
“Where is he?” Crowther interrupted.
“He went out.”
Isabelle tried to inject some compassion into her tone. “We do need to talk to him. Do you know where he is?”
“He hasn’t done anything. He wouldn’t hurt a hair on that girl’s head. If she was murdered, it wasn’t by my Bruno...”
“Where is he?” Crowther asked again.
“Getting drunk, I wouldn’t wonder.” Mrs Pelegino bit her lip. “She broke his heart. In this family marriage is sacred. I hated her for what she did to my son.”
“What did she do?” Isabelle asked.
“Broke the sixth commandment.”
“Which is?” Crowther sighed impatiently.
The woman seemed shocked that he didn’t know. “Adultery. Thou shalt not commit adultery.” She looked Isabelle in the eyes for the first time. “But I’m still sorry she died like that.”
“You’re very well informed, Mrs Pelegino,” Isabelle said.
“Where does he drink?” Crowther demanded.
“In the Crown, at the end of the road. When they close he’ll go to the restaurant, but he’ll probably get the sack, because he won’t be fit to work.”
“Which restaurant?”
She hesitated. “He works part-time in a few. I think today he is at Fernando’s. Do you know it?”
“Yes, we do. Thank you.” Isabelle handed her a card. “Will you ask him to call us when he comes home?”
“I’ll ask him.”
“Don’t ask him. Tell him,” Crowther said firmly. “If we haven’t caught up with him by the time he comes home, tell him to call us. And tell him if he doesn’t, we’ll be back to arrest him.”
“He didn’t hurt her. He loved her.”
“We just need to eliminate him from our enquiries,” Isabelle said.
“I can do that. He didn’t kill her. He was here at home.”
“When?” Crowther said flatly.
“When she was killed.”
“We didn’t tell you she was killed,” Crowther said. “You said that.”
“Her mother told me it’s a murder enquiry.”
“Where was he last night?” Crowther didn’t bother to hide his irritation.
“Here. He was here, in the house with me.”
“All night?” Crowther pushed.
“I have told you, he was here with me. He worked at Fernando’s, and then came home.”
“What time?”
“Some time after I went to bed.”
“Which was?”
“Just after midnight.” She tried to close the door in their faces, but Crowther put his foot against it.
“Is there a Mr Pelegino?” he asked her.
“Beside Bruno? No, my husband is dead. We are Catholic. Catholics marry only once.”
“She’s doing what any mother would,” Isabelle reasoned a few minutes later as Crowther slammed the car door and clicked his belt into place.
“Lying to save her son, and getting in the way of a murder enquiry,” he snapped, firing up the engine.
Isabelle double-checked her safety belt. When Crowther was wound up it showed in his driving. He reversed too fast, swung the car round, and headed for the main road in a series of kangaroo jumps.
As he slowed for the junction he asked, “Isn’t there a commandment about lying?”
“We have no proof that she was.”
“He was violent with Sadie. We’ve got her diary, and witnesses.”
“Doesn’t mean he killed her.”
“Quit winding me up. Let’s just hope he’s at Fernando’s.”
Isabelle made no reply. There was no talking to Crowther when he was in this mood.
“Then we’ll pay my snout a visit,” he went on. “He doesn’t know you, so you’ll have to keep it buttoned, is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, sergeant.”
Crowther grinned and relaxed. “I like it when you call me sergeant.”
Isabelle closed her eyes. Don’t rise to it, she told herself.
Alison pulled down the visor to expose the mirror, and put a blue scrunchy between her teeth. Banham watched, fascinated, as her hands busied themselves twisting her long reddish-mousy hair back into a ponytail, and wriggled the scrunchy over the wild bushy mass to secure it at the nape of her neck.
She was beautiful. Her skin was pale and flawless, apart from the dark circles under her eyes from the long hours she worked. He thought she was unusual and exquisite, rather like a rare specimen of squirrel. He watched her in silence, resisting the temptation to lean over and kiss her.
She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a floral cosmetic bag. “When will you get to see the kids?” she asked.
“If there’s nothing too much happening, I’ll go tomorrow, after the morning briefing. I’ll come in first thing, then I’ll hand over to you and take them to lunch. Is that OK?
“Absolutely fine. I think you should spend some time with them.”
She pulled out a little pot with Homeopathic Lip Balm on the lid, and was now spreading a little of the contents across her lips. He still wanted to kiss her.
“Will you talk to Bobby?” she asked, holding out the pot. “Here. It’s obviously intriguing you! Have a look for yourself!”
She started tugging a large rake-like comb through the ends of her ponytail. He took the pot from her and examined the writing on the lid.
“I’ll try. I’ll aim to be back sometime in the afternoon – but call me if you need me.”
She carried on pulling the wide-toothed wooden comb through her hair. Loose hair flew in all directions.
“You look great.”
“I look a sight. I should make more of an effort, especially if I’m going to play good cop on this one.”
He dropped the lip balm back in her floral bag, resisting the temptation to rifle through its contents, then reached over and pulled some fallen hair back off her face. “You remind me of a squirrel more than ever with your hair pulled back in that bushy tail piece.”
“It keeps it from falling over my face.”
He refrained from telling her that it was flying all over his car. “That lip balm smells nice,” he said instead, immediately realising how corny it sounded.
“It’s supposed to be strawberry.”
She pushed her comb back in her handbag, and this time he did lean over and kiss her. Their noses collided, and she jumped back. They both spoke at once.
“I’ll have to put more on now.”
“It smells more like cherry actually.”
He suddenly felt like a sixth-former on his first date. The seven years they had worked together seem
ed to have vanished. It was a sort of new beginning.
She wiped something off his cheek with her fingers, and touched them to his lips. It definitely smelled more like cherry.
The words came out before he could stop them. “Can I stay with you tonight?”
She looked into his eyes, and for a moment he thought she would agree. But she shook her head.
“I need to get my head around this case. I can’t let myself be sidetracked.”
Was that her way of saying he wasn’t up to standard? Well, it had been eleven years, and he had been very nervous.
He brushed her cheek gently. He wanted to tell her that he understood, and that last night meant all the world to him, that he loved her, that he was going to take care of her. But he didn’t know how.
“There’ll be time when we’ve wrapped this one up,” she said, opening the car door. “Come on. Let’s go and give PCSO Andrew Fisher some more grief.”
His mind shifted into work mode as soon as Andrew Fisher opened his front door.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were in Doubles last night?” he demanded, adopting his bad cop tone, the one which had gained him the reputation of being the detective no one argued with.
He didn’t wait for the answer. He pushed past Andrew into the hallway of the small bungalow, closely followed by Alison.
“DC I Banham is asking you a question,” she said. Andrew stood pressed against the door, his acne-spotted face looking redder than ever.
He closed the front door. “Come through,” he said nervously, and led the way into the lounge, which was occupied by three cats and a collection of DVDs that took up the whole of one wall.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were inside the club last night?” Banham repeated.
“I wasn’t.”
“So you’ve never been in the club?” Alison made no attempt to hide her disbelief.
“No.”
“So your name isn’t in the guest book, and you haven’t signed in twice in the last fortnight?”
Andrew Fisher tensed, then shrugged. “Millie signed me in, while I was waiting for her. In case I wanted to go in. But I didn’t. I waited outside for her.”
“When?”
“She had a rehearsal, or a fitting, something like that, during our shift.”
“So you’ve never been inside Doubles?” Banham asked again.
“No, sir.”
“Andrew, we know that’s a lie,” Alison said.
He turned away and stared at a wall covered in Clint Eastwood posters. Crowther would have been bowled over, Alison thought. He idolised Clint Eastwood, and had The Good, the Bad and the Ugly as a ring-tone on his phone. Judging by the signed poster that took pride of place on the opposite wall, Andrew was also a fan of James Bond. There were also autographed photos of the American astronauts who manned the first space shuttle. Boys will be boys, she thought.
“I think you are trying to protect Millie Payne,” she said gently.
Andrew shook his head.
“OK, if you weren’t in the club, tell us where you were.”
He blushed like a beetroot again but said nothing.
Banham raised his voice. “Fisher, you’re a police officer and this is a murder enquiry. Now answer the question.”
“I didn’t kill her,” Andrew said defensively.
“No one’s saying you did. Yet. Where were you between two and five o’clock this morning?”
“Waiting for Millie.”
“For three hours?”
Andrew reddened again.
Banham closed his eyes and turned away.
“Where?” Alison asked more kindly.
He dropped his gaze to the floor now and shook his head.
“Look, we know you were in the club,” Alison said. “We have CCTV footage of you in there.” She sat on the sofa, and it dipped under her weight. “Andrew, it’s loyal of you to stand by Millie, but you’re being extremely naïve. If we didn’t have that footage of you at the time that Sadie was murdered, you might well be a suspect.”
She paused, momentarily distracted by a sound close by. One of the cats was licking itself, its body contorted in a strange yoga-like position as its tongue flicked back and forth over its tail end. She caught Banham’s eye and struggled to keep a straight face.
“In some ways lying to save a colleague is a noble gesture, but in this case it’s downright stupid,” she finished.
Andrew blushed again. “I didn’t want to get her into trouble. If I’d said I was in the club I’d have had to say why, and that would have meant dropping Millie in it.” He bowed his head. “Yes, I was in Doubles last night.” He let out a large sigh. “I went in while Millie had a costume fitting. She invited me in. She knows I like old films.” He waved at the posters. “Given what happened it was unforgivable; I haven’t stopped feeling guilty ever since. We went in around a quarter to two, and were back out on the beat by four. Both of us, together.”
Banham nodded. That was better. “On the CCTV you’re wearing a coat over your uniform.”
“It was the one I wore to work last night. Millie was prepared, she had her civvy clothes to change into. I went back to the station and got my coat. I wore it to hide my uniform.”
“I’ll need the coat,” Alison said. “To run past Forensics.”
“It’s in the bedroom,” Andrew said. “I’ll get it.”
As he moved towards the door Alison made a decision. She took a deep breath and launched in. “Andrew Fisher, I’m arresting you for wasting police time. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you do say...”
He paled. “What?”
“But anything you do say may be used is evidence. Do you understand?”
Andrew nodded, stunned into silence.
“Is this necessary?” Banham asked quietly as Andrew went to his bedroom to get the coat.
“Yes. He’s a new officer, this is a murder enquiry and he’s lied. He needs to learn a lesson. He and Millie Payne both need to learn that wearing a uniform isn’t a game.”
Raymond Adams stank: a combination of stale perspiration, cigarette smoke, dirt and grease. He looked as if he hadn’t washed for a month. His thin hands, gaunt face, and even his ears were grubby.
As he settled into the back of Crowther’s car Isabelle breathed in a lungful of body odour and cracked open the passenger window.
Adams pinned nervous eyes on her. “Who’s she?” he asked Crowther in a smoke-steeped voice. “I don’t do no bloody talking in front of strangers”
His aggressive air fooled neither of them. The constant foot tapping and the tic at the side of his mouth told a completely different story.
“She’s sound,” Crowther said.
“I don’t know her.” Raymond voice rose. “I’m risking life and limb here. Tell her to clear off.”
Crowther twitched a twenty pound note out of his pocket and held it just out of Adams’s reach. “You’re risking nothing for me, my old son. I’d say it’s all for the big fat fix this will buy you.”
Adams blinked a few times then focused on Isabelle. A grimy hand wiped the sweat from his top lip. “All right. What d’you want to know?”
Crowther pulled the note back. “What happened to that Marilyn lookalike, Sadie Morgan? You do know she ended up in the duck pond on the waste ground last night?”
“She played one off against the other.”
“Go on.”
“Johnny Gladman, the black doorman. She was his bit, and then there was the husband. Mr Chang don’t like trouble.”
Crowther pulled his mouth into a tight smile. “Mr Chang invented the word,” he snarled. “He saw to it, did he?”
“No, he didn’t. It weren’t nothing to do with the club.” Adams pulled at his ear lobe. “Chang’s hopping mad about it.” He paused. “The ex didn’t like her seeing the doorman. The doorman didn’t like her nosing into his business.” He reached over and grabbed at the money.
Crowther held it back. “Not fi
nished yet, old son. What’s the news on the east European women? The shipment into Dover. Is that imminent?”
“They aren’t here at the moment.” Adam’s foot started tapping. “I’ve heard its happening next week. Chang’s put it on hold now because of all this business.”
“Keep me posted,” Crowther told him. “There’s a fat drink in it for you.”
“I’ll make sure of it, Mr Crowther.” Adams looked around nervously and pleaded quietly, “I’ve told you where to look for your killer. I’m risking my life for this. Give me the money”
Even in the dim light in the back of the car, Isabelle was aware Adams’s hands were a little twitchier than when he had climbed in. He was getting desperate for his fix.
“Have you seen her ex-husband in the club?” she asked.
There was a silence. Crowther flicked angry eyes at her. Raymond looked at her, then back at Crowther.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Crowther said. “She’s sound.”
Isabelle knew Crowther was furious with her. She said nothing more.
Adams tried to take the note but Crowther didn’t let go. “Answer the lady’s question. The ex. He’s Italian. His name is Bruno Pelegino.”
Adams shook his head. “Have you talked to Johnny Gladman’s brother?”
“Brother? Does he work at the club?”
“No, he’s a kid. He’s only fifteen. Name’s Otis. He lives with Johnny. He’s a right little tear-arse though, violent with it, takes after his brother.”
Crowther released the twenty pound note. Adams snatched it, leaned on the door handle and was on the street in an instant.
Isabelle waited for Crowther to give her an earful. He didn’t. He gave her one of his winks instead.
“Well done,” he said. “If you hadn’t opened your mouth we wouldn’t have found out about the brother. We got more out of him than I expected.”
Isabelle resisted the urge to smile, but maybe the day wasn’t turning out so bad after all.
The smell of coffee permeated Alison’s new office. Banham had bought her a new machine as a promotion present.
He perched on the side of her desk talking on the phone.
“Penny had Millie’s clothes from last night,” he said, clicking it off. “A pair of jeans and a t-shirt and a coat. Still being tested.”
