Passion Killers

by Linda Regan

  Isabelle crumpled the empty Malteser bag and dropped it on the floor. “Oh dear. You’re in one of your ‘I’m the sergeant’ moods,” she said dryly.

  “I am the sergeant, as it happens,” Alison replied. “So here’s what I’ve decided. When we get there, I talk to the women and ask them to come in and give a DNA sample, while you take a statement from Kenneth Stone and tell him we need some pubic hair from him. Use your charm; he’s a difficult man, and a potential suspect. We need to get him into the station, but we can’t arrest him till we have something on him.”

  Isabelle nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

  “You need to push him for everything you can about the Scarlet Pussy Club. Banham asked you to deal with Stone, because he knows you’re good at getting what you want out of men.”

  “Hey, I resent that.”

  “I’d take it as a compliment if I were you.” Alison turned the car into an unmade road. A painted sign saying CHERRY TREE WALK was nailed to a large tree; its branches swung out into the road, partly blocking the view ahead. The car bumped its way over the potholes.

  “What’s going on with you and Crowther?” she asked Isabelle.

  “You mind your own!” Isabelle joshed.

  “Damn! Look at that!” A stone flew out from under the front wheel and smacked into the bodywork of Alison’s green Golf.

  “I hope the DI hasn’t used up too much of the budget on blow-up dolls from the sex shop,” Isabelle said sarcastically. “You’re going to need some for car repairs.”

  “I’ll send Ken Stone the bill,” Alison retorted, pulling up at the bottom of the Stones’ vast U-shaped driveway. She decided against driving up to the house, parking instead beside a bush by the gate. From here she could observe the house and most of the drive, where there were already four cars parked: Katie Faye’s BMW, a shining silver Mercedes, Olivia Stone’s brand new royal blue convertible Mini, and another, older BMW.

  She teased Isabelle as they walked up to the house. “Is Crowther not good in bed, then?”

  Isabelle ignored the remark and stopped to examine the cars. “He must get a deal with BMW,” she said. “One of the perks of being a Right Honourable.”

  “If I see you driving one, I’ll know who your next conquest is,” Alison teased again.

  “You’re the one who’ll need a new car,” Isabelle retorted.

  They reached the Mercedes with its personalised registration: KS 001. “Do you think that stands for marks out of ten?” Alison joked.

  Isabelle laughed crudely. “Crowther’s got a beat-up Cadillac with zero-zero-zero on the plate. Does that answer your question?”

  Olivia’s son Kevin opened the door. “Sergeant. Hello again. Mum and Auntie Katie are still upstairs. Come in and I’ll give them a call.”

  “Your father too, please,” Alison said, wiping her feet on the doormat. Isabelle ignored it and walked straight into the wide hall regardless of the mud on her boots. “We’d like to see him first. He is expecting us.”

  “Oh.” Kevin looked surprised. “Dad’s not here. He’s gone to the House.”

  “Isn’t that his car in the drive?” Isabelle asked.

  Katie Faye appeared at the top of the elegant curved staircase which snaked across the hall. She hurried down as fast as her Moroccan-style mules would allow, pushing her arms into a dressing gown that matched her long, royal blue silk nightdress. “Please don’t say something else has happened?” she said, pulling the sash around her trim waist.

  Her hair was uncombed and she wore no make-up. Dark rings under her eyes hinted at lack of sleep. Alison noticed a small pimple on her chin, and wondered if Banham would have found her quite so irresistible this morning.

  “No, nothing else,” Alison reassured her. She introduced Isabelle and explained the reason for the visit. “We came to talk to Mr Stone too,” she added.

  Fear clouded Katie’s eyes. “Why do you want to talk to him?”

  “We need to ask him a few questions, that’s all.”

  “And we need a sample from him too,” Isabelle said.

  Alison glared at her. “For elimination.”

  “He’s not here,” Katie said.

  “His car is,” Alison pointed out.

  Katie’s eyes flicked in the direction of the drive, then back at Kevin.

  “He often gets picked up by a driver,” he said quickly.

  Katie was clearly edgy. She walked to the front door and opened it.

  “The driver parks outside, does he?” Alison asked.

  Kevin nodded.

  “It’s just that there are no fresh tyre marks in the gravel.”

  Katie closed the door. “Thank you for your concern,” she said in the soft, sweet voice she used on television as Staff Nurse Penelope. “Do have some coffee before you go. Olivia and I will make our own way to your station as soon as we’re dressed. Kevin will stay with us.”

  Alison gave up. “Please tell Mr Stone we’ll come back this evening,” she said. “We’ll expect you and Mrs Stone at the station in a couple of hours.” She put a hand on the door handle and was about to open it when voices sounded from upstairs. “Has your mother got guests?” she asked Kevin pointedly.

  “I think that’s the radio,” Kevin answered quickly. “And my sister is upstairs.”

  Alison blew out a sigh. “Miss Faye, we’re concerned for your safety,” she said. “We will find whoever killed your friends, but we’ll do it more quickly with your help.”

  Katie wrapped her arms round her body and shivered. Alison had to admit she was good at the vulnerable look.

  Kevin slipped his arm around her. “It’s all right, Auntie Katie, I’ll look after you and Mum. I won’t leave either of you alone. Not even with Dad.” He looked at Alison.

  “I’m retaking my A-levels,” he told her. “I can study anywhere. I’ll drive Mum and Auntie Katie to the police station this morning.”

  Alison opened her mouth to ask him how he planned to defend them against a knife-wielding maniac whose intention was probably to kill them. Then she closed it again, and dug in her pocket for a card with her mobile number on it. She handed it to Katie. “We’ll expect you both in a couple of hours,” she told her. “And if anything happens, either of you can call me, night or day.”

  “What about Theresa?” Katie blurted. “Who’s looking out for her? She’s got Brian Finn’s daughter, but she won’t talk to him… Bernadette’s mentally handicapped…”

  “At the moment we have Brian Finn in custody,” Alison told her. “And by lunchtime you’ll all be under twenty-four hour police protection.”

  “Doesn’t Theresa live with her mother?” Isabelle asked.

  “Have you met her?” Kevin said disdainfully. “She’s a liability – always drunk. I’ll phone Theresa. She can stay here too, with Bernadette. I grew up with Berny. I used to babysit her. We’re the same age, but… well, you know. I’ve done self defence classes, I’ll look after you all.”

  “He was definitely there,” Isabelle said a few minutes later as they clicked their seat belts. Alison started to do a u-turn, backing the car over flying stones and cursing as a wheel hit in a large pothole.

  “Careful,” Isabelle shouted as Alison reversed angrily. “There’s a large bush behind you.”

  “I’ve seen it,” Alison snapped, reversing into it.

  Isabelle laughed. “Only one more scratch, no one will notice. What kind of bush grows to that height and colour in the middle of February?”

  “I didn’t have any scratches till I started to drive down this road,” Alison snapped. “And with the kind of money they’ve got, they can afford a gardener to come in every day.” Isabelle was being really irritating. She raised her voice. “And I know he’s bloody well there.”

  “Some gardener, to get it that big.” Isabelle realised what she’d said and burst out laughing.

  “You’ve got size on the brain,” Alison told her. “The question is, why doesn’t he want to talk to us?”


  Her mobile buzzed, and she pulled the car into the side of the road before glancing at the number display. “Well!” she exclaimed. “Would you believe it?”

  8

  Olivia faced the dressing table mirror and pulled the brush through her hair. Kenneth was perched on the side of his bed, phone to his ear and plastic charm fully stretched.

  “Hello, Inspector, I’m so sorry…” There was a brief pause. “Oh… Sergeant? Surely not? I really thought you were the one in charge.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes and went on brushing her hair.

  “I must have just missed you,” Kenneth continued. “I was in a meeting.” His lips stretched into a false smile as he listened. “To the station? Well, of course, to eliminate me from your enquiries, why else? It will be a pleasure. I have meetings all day, but for you I’ll fit it in.” He turned angry eyes on Olivia. “Yes, this morning if possible, or as soon as I can. Many thanks. I’ll see you later.”

  He clicked the phone off with a sharp snap and stood up, his face like thunder.

  Olivia knew that look, but decided to brave it out.

  “It’s only a DNA test,” she soothed. “You heard what they said to Katie; we’re all doing one, just for elimination.”

  His face grew redder as his temper bubbled up. “I’m a respected government minister. If this gets in the papers… You said there would be a storm in a tea-cup when Finn came out, and now we’re involved in murder, blackmail and God knows what else.”

  “You should have seen it coming.” Olivia tried and failed to keep her voice level. “If you hadn’t refused to pay Brian off in the first place none of this would have happened.”

  “Haven’t I already paid out enough? And why the hell didn’t you tell me the bastard was blackmailing you? I had to hear it from bloody Dixon of Dock Green last night.”

  “I didn’t tell you because I knew how you’d react!” She turned back to the mirror and lowered her voice. “Look, it won’t make the papers, and it won’t wreck your career. The police don’t want to ruin their case.” She picked up a hairbrush and started to pull hair out of it. “There are people more influential than you around,” she added almost in a whisper.

  Suddenly he was upon her. He grabbed her by the upper arm, pulled her up and twisted her round so she had to look at his face.

  “Stop it, you’re hurting…” His nails pinched the thin skin on her arms, then his grip loosened. As she pulled her arm away, his clenched fist landed into her eye. Her hand flew to the spot; the skin under her brow had caught the edge of his thick gold signet ring and a trickle of warm blood ran over her fingers.

  Footsteps galloping up the stairs were followed by urgent rapping on the door. “Mum? Mum, are you all right?”

  Ken’s temper vanished as quickly as it had erupted. “It’s all right, Kevin,” he called. “Everything’s fine.” He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and held it against Olivia’s eye.

  “I’m fine, darling,” she confirmed, controlling her voice with an effort. “I just bumped into the wardrobe.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Ken whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “No. You never do, at least not when you’re sober.”

  More banging on the door was followed by Katie’s and Ianthe’s voices.

  “Livvy, are you sure you’re OK?”

  “Mummy, has Daddy hurt you again?”

  “Open the door! Open the bloody door! Dad, if you’ve hurt Mum, I’ll bloody kill you.” Kevin’s voice drowned out the sound of Ianthe crying.

  Olivia snatched the handkerchief from Ken and pushed him away. “It’s all right, Kev. I’ll be down in a minute. I can’t let you in, I’m getting dressed. We’ve all got to go to the police station.”

  Judy Gardener was carving slices of pink beef with an electric carving knife. Two plates balanced upside down on the cooker to warm, and beside them were two bubbling saucepans.

  As Kim walked into the kitchen the phone on the table started chirping. The two women looked at the phone, then each other.

  “Shall I answer it?” Kim asked nervously.

  Judy stopped carving and wiped her large hands on the navy and white striped apron tied around her waist. “No, I will.”

  It was Isabelle Walsh. As Judy listened to what she had to say, Kim’s small-boned face grew more and more anxious. Kim was in her usual choice of attire, a fawn tracksuit, and today the neutral colour wasn’t doing her any favours at all. She looked pale and thin, and there was a red, angry eruption of acne around her nose and cheeks. Her big brown eyes reminded Judy of a terrified rabbit facing a hunter’s gun.

  She replaced the phone on its cradle. “Nothing vital,” she said. “They’ll need a hair sample from you at the station, that’s all. We’ll go as soon as you’ve eaten this meal.”

  “It smells great,” Kim said flatly. “I only wish I had an appetite.”

  “Please try,” Judy said, conscious of a little more irritation in her tone than she wanted to show. “You need to eat.” She opened the fridge, filled a glass from a carton of apple juice and handed it to Kim. “Nothing will happen to you, Sausage. I’ll protect you.”

  Kim took the drink and sipped it, then set it down and picked up one of the saucepans to drain it. “What exactly does this hair sample entail?” she asked.

  “Just let the FME take some of your pubic hair, that’s all.”

  “The who?”

  “Forensic medical examiner. It’ll be over in a couple of seconds.”

  Fear clouded Kim’s eyes again.

  “It won’t hurt,” Judy reassured her. “They’ve found a hair, and they just need to eliminate all you girls.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Judy sighed. “If the knickers are the real thing, from your strip club, anyone who wore them could have left a stray pube on them.”

  She pointed at the table, and Kim obediently sat down. Judy put a plate of roast beef and vegetables in front of her, picked up the knife and fork and put them in Kim’s hands. “Early lunch,” she said gently. “Eat. Please.”

  “Couldn’t you do the test?” Kim said.

  Judy didn’t move. “No, I… can’t.”

  “But you just said you’d protect me.”

  “I will,” Judy insisted. “I’m staying by your side night and day.”

  Kim began to cut her meat into tiny strips.

  Judy sat down at the table and fixed her eyes on Kim. “I went up into the loft last night.”

  “What for?” Kim’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth.

  “You know what for. I needed to see if there were any red g-strings in the costume trunk.”

  Kim’s knife fell with a clatter, and Judy leaned towards her. “Kim, I love you, and I will protect you – but you haven’t told the police everything, have you?”

  Kim looked down at her plate. “What do you mean?”

  “They don’t know we bought some of the club costumes when they auctioned all that old gear off.”

  “I didn’t get them all. Someone else bought the other trunks… I didn’t want to put the cat among the pigeons, that’s all.”

  Judy looked at her.

  “I didn’t get the red g-strings.”

  “Not all of them, no.”

  Kim shook her head vigorously. “We bid for the trunk with the sequinned bikinis and the feathered showgirl stuff, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “It was you who saw the advert for the auction,” Kim reminded her. “You suggested we might get the costumes very cheap. You even signed the cheque.”

  “I remember.”

  “So what else is there to tell?”

  “I don’t know, Kim. You tell me.”

  It was nearly lunchtime. Theresa McGann ran up the twelve flights of stairs to her flat. Graffiti covered the walls around her, fast food containers and old papers blew about in the February wind, and a used condom squelched under her cheap boots.

  They
had kept her waiting longer than she had hoped at the police station, and she needed to get back before the valium she had given Bernadette wore off – and before her mother woke up and needed a gin to start the day.

  When the police had rung and requested a hair sample from her for elimination, she almost laughed. Hers would have been instantly recognisable. Nineteen years ago she had long hair, naturally bright red. Now it was cut like a boy’s and almost completely faded to grey. Both then and now, her hair was quite different from the other girls’; three of them were blonde, all courtesy of a bottle, and Shaheen was naturally dark, although also faded to grey now. Kim who was the only one with natural hair untouched by chemicals, and hers was dark brown.

  The interview had been unnerving. When they told her they were holding Brian Finn in custody and he had admitted blackmailing them, she had played naïve, and pretended she knew little about it. She had felt herself blush when the young detective told her Brian could go back to prison.

  Now, bounding up the stairs, she feared the consequences of what she had done. A month or so ago Olivia had told her Kenneth was going back on his word, refusing to give her and Brian the lump sum they needed to start a new life. Getting Brian to blackmail Katie and Olivia had been her idea. Brian had agreed; he was an innocent, too nice for his own good; he’d do anything for her and Berny. And the police were clever enough to realise that. If they found out she was behind it, she could go to prison, and then what would happen to Bernadette?

  She had spent nineteen years watching Olivia and Katie have it all. She’d had no choice but to accept their handouts – but now Brian was out, she wanted to start again. And they couldn’t do that without money. It hadn’t seemed such a crime at the time, seeing that Brian had gone to prison for them. But now it was different; there was a murderer on the prowl. Someone who knew about Ahmed Abdullah’s death, it seemed.

  So who knew about their secret? It was just the six of them, wasn’t it, apart from Brian. It certainly wasn’t him. He was as thick as a sledgehammer, and he would never hurt a woman.

  She ducked under the washing lines that blocked the walkway to her flat and quietly unlocked her front door. There was no sound of crying or shouting; her mother’s gin-soaked night and her daughter’s valium were still working. She breathed a sigh of relief; she had peace and quiet for a little longer.