Dirty Secrets

by JANICE FROST

  “We’ll check it out. Probably a false alarm, like you said, but best not to mention it to anyone until we know for sure.” The last thing she wanted was a crowd of nosey onlookers at the site. Ava put in a call to the station and explained the situation. In her opinion, Tara was credible, and so she instructed uniform to dispatch a patrol car to the area immediately.

  As Ava made her way back to A&E, the nurse she’d been speaking with on the ward appeared behind her. “I . . . er . . . don’t suppose you’ve got time for a coffee? Or a drink some other time, when it’s convenient?”

  Ava smiled politely. “I’m sorry, I’m with someone.”

  “Oh, right. Of course you are. Oh well, it was worth a try. See you around, Detective.”

  “Still pulling I see, Ava.” It was Joel Agard. They kissed each other on the cheek.

  “He was cute, but . . .” But what? Joel was cute too, good in bed, attentive and sexy, and they’d got on well together. Since Joel, there’d been no one.

  “You’ve been talking to my concussed patient, I take it? Or are you just here to see me?” Joel smiled.

  “Actually, I came by to say thanks for contacting me.”

  “No problem.” Joel’s pager beeped. “Sorry, got to go.” He gave her an apologetic smile.

  With a pang of regret, Ava watched him disappear through the doors to A&E. She hadn’t thought about him that much since they broke up, but all of a sudden she missed him. It was wrong, she knew, but if he suggested a night together for old times’ sake, she’d accept without hesitation.

  * * *

  When Ava got to the station, PJ greeted her with the words, “Your jogger wasn’t hallucinating. It looks like we’ve got another murder.”

  “Right.” Ava said. Why did murders always seem to come in twos?

  “You’re going out to the scene, aren’t you?” PJ asked.

  “Yeah. Fancy a walk in the woods?”

  “Okay. Just . . . give me five, can you?”

  Ava was leaning on the bonnet of her car checking her emails on her phone when PJ finally joined her, having changed into jeans and a pair of trainers. Unlike Ava, who tended to dress down for work, PJ, freshly out of uniform, favoured smart dresses and tailored trousers. Evidently she’d considered the red A-line dress she’d been wearing to be unsuitable attire for a country ramble.

  “Always keep a change of clothing in my locker for times like this,” she said, breezily. Then, as they both belted up, “So, how did your dinner with the DI and his family go?”

  Ava had been anticipating the question since PJ returned to work. She’d been away on a week’s holiday with her partner, DC Steve Bryce. She wondered why it had taken her friend so long to ask. Come to think of it, PJ had been a bit quiet of late.

  “It was . . . nice. I’m still surprised they invited me to a family occasion. I think it was Maggie’s way of thanking me for saving her brother’s life.”

  Ava couldn’t believe it was only a few weeks ago that she’d rescued Jim Neal from a deranged killer who’d been trying to choke him to death with a plank of wood. She’d grabbed the first weapon to hand — an old-fashioned flat iron — and belted the killer over the head with it.

  The invitation to a family dinner celebrating Maggie’s engagement to Neal’s best friend, Jock Dodds, had indeed come from Maggie, but Ava had left out a crucial nugget of information. Maggie’s exact words were, “Jimmy would like you to come to dinner . . .” It would only have fed into PJ’s fantasy about a romance between Ava and the DI.

  The evening had been more than just nice. Ava had been welcomed as part of the family. She and Neal — somehow she couldn’t think of him having any other name — had been completely at ease in each other’s company. She’d have to content herself with that for now. Maybe friendship and a good working relationship was the best they could manage when they worked so closely together. Still, her encounter with Joel Agard had reminded Ava that something was missing from her life. And it wasn’t just sex.

  To her surprise, PJ didn’t ask her to elaborate. This seemed out of character to say the least. PJ wasn’t known for holding back. Ava glanced sideways at her friend and saw that she was staring straight ahead. She looked miserable.

  “Is everything okay between you and Steve?” Ava asked.

  PJ burst into tears. “No. Oh, Ava. Steve might have cancer.”

  Taken aback, Ava stalled at the traffic lights. She’d been imagining a lovers’ tiff, or even a major bust-up. Not this.

  “Might have cancer? What does that mean? Has he seen a doctor? Had tests done?” The gears grated and they moved away.

  “He found a lump when we were on holiday. On his left testicle. The doctor thinks it could be a tumour. He’s got to see a specialist and have an ultrasound scan.”

  “I’m so sorry, Peej. You must be worried sick.” Ava never knew what to say at such times. She didn’t want to offer platitudes, didn’t want to play down the risk or PJ’s worries. She pulled over.

  “Whatever happens, I’m here for you Peej. You know that, don’t you?” PJ nodded, tearfully. Ava took her hand. “Does he have an appointment?”

  “The twenty-fifth, unless a cancellation comes through. His GP prioritised it but he’s still got to wait ages to see someone. Lucky it’s not longer, I suppose, but it’s going to be an endless wait.” Ava could only agree.

  “Does Neal know?” she asked. PJ shook her head.

  “You need to tell him as soon as possible,” Ava advised.

  “I won’t let it affect my work.” PJ’s promotion to detective constable was recent and she was keen to prove her worth.

  “I know, but you should still tell him.”

  “I’ll tell him this afternoon.”

  PJ’s news cast a cloud over the morning. Instead of hearing about her friend’s trip to Alicante, Ava listened instead to her worries about diagnosis, treatment and all the longer-term things, like whether they would be able to have children. Ava let PJ get it all off her chest. By the time they reached Crystal Lakes, she seemed to be in a more positive frame of mind.

  They parked the car at the marina beside a police patrol car. A uniformed officer, who introduced himself as PC Patrick Doyle, met them and led the way into the woods.

  “Creepy place to go running alone,” PJ remarked, as they entered the wood and the light dwindled under the canopy of trees. “You don’t go anywhere this off the beaten track, do you, Ava?”

  Ava was a keen runner and she hated to think that any routes were off limits to her simply because of her gender. She wasn’t easily intimidated, but then again she was a cop. “This isn’t really off the beaten track. We’re inside a gated community, remember?”

  “Yeah, but there’s a body in the woods,” PJ reminded her.

  “I can remember when this was all woodland and countryside,” PC Doyle said, waving an arm at the Crystal Lakes ghetto.

  “Me too,” said PJ, who was Stromfordshire born and bred. “My grandad used to bring me and my brothers here to play.”

  It was still a sizeable wood, Ava thought, pleased that the developers had left some of the mature trees.

  “Not much further,” Doyle said. The flattened vegetation on either side of the path showed that Doyle and his colleague had searched the undergrowth.

  “Find anything?” Ava asked him.

  “Just the sort of stuff you’d expect to find in a patch of woodland. Ava nodded. Parks and wooded areas were often littered with empty drinks cans and torn Rizla packets. Sometimes there would be evidence that someone had been sleeping rough — old clothes or traces of a campfire.

  “Any obvious cause of death?”

  “Oh yes. Very obvious. Looks like her head was bashed in with a shillelagh.”

  “A what?” Ava asked.

  “A club,” PJ said. “Are you Irish?” The PC didn’t have an accent.

  “My parents are. Clue’s in the name.” PC Doyle winked at her. “Here we are.” He pointed off the path into t
he trees. Ava and PJ followed him through a tangle of bushes, until they almost stumbled over a middle-aged PC sitting on a wide tree stump.

  “Ah, at last,” he said. “Still, don’t reckon she’s in a hurry to go anywhere.” His eyes sought out a spot amid the undergrowth, where a discarded ballerina pump was the only sign of what they had come to see.

  Ava saw PJ steel herself. The grumpy PC struggled to his feet and took them to the body.

  They stood in silence, staring down at the victim. She lay amid a clump of flattened bracken, grass springing up between her legs and arms, her wide-open eyes staring up at the underside of a blazing, autumnal awning, as if astonished at its splendour. Blood had dried in grainy streaks of purplish brown and red ochre, painted across her face like camouflage.

  All of a sudden Ava felt cold. It was as though, in seconds, the season had slipped, unnoticed, into winter. Every bird, every creature in their radius had fallen silent.

  “I know her,” Ava said, at last. “That’s Dana Schell, the Cornishes’ help.”

  “I found a phone,” the older PC said. “Could be hers. Bit careless of the killer to leave it near the scene. But they’re not always thinking straight right after the act, are they?”

  Ava knelt to take a closer look at the body. Her eyes were drawn to Dana’s hands. At first she couldn’t work out why, and then she realised it was the nails.

  “Look at her nails,” she said to PJ. “Looks like she’d had them done recently, but see how they’re torn.”

  “She tried to fight her attacker off.” PJ shuddered. “Let’s hope she got some of the fucker’s DNA on those nails.” It was unusual for PJ to swear. Ava found it strangely worrying.

  Ava remained at the scene as the senior presiding officer. PJ waited with her until the CSIs arrived and evidence collection was underway. It was late afternoon by the time they drove back to the station, with the phone in the glove compartment, tucked securely in an evidence bag.

  As soon as they walked into the office, Ava crossed to her desk and rummaged in her drawer. She extracted a charging lead and plugged in the phone. “Don’t know if it’ll work after lying in the woods all night, especially after all that rain. Here’s hoping the case protected it a bit.”

  They waited. The phone flickered back to life. A selfie of Dana’s smiling face filled the screen.

  It wasn’t password protected, so Ava checked through the more recent text messages. One immediately caught her attention.

  It was from Russ Marsh. Go to hell.

  Chapter Seven

  “So Dana Schell communicated with Russ Marsh shortly before his death?” Neal looked up from reading the string of text messages that had passed between Dana and Russ. “Who’s been checking the phone Russ Marsh had on his desk when he was found?”

  “Tom, sir,” Ava replied. “He said it was mostly business stuff. He didn’t mention this.” She hoped Tom wasn’t in trouble. “Maybe Russ Marsh deleted the messages?”

  “What do you make of that question in her opening text?” Neal asked. He read it aloud. “‘There are no secrets in a house that has servants. Do you agree?’”

  Ava frowned. “The tone’s obviously sarcastic. I doubt Dana thought of herself as a servant. But it’s clearly a reference to her position in the Cornish household.”

  “What’s she getting at? Is she telling him she’s overheard something in the Cornish household that might be of interest to Russ Marsh?” Neal said.

  “Do you think she was working up to blackmail?”

  Neal shrugged. “Reading between the lines? Could be. Or, she could be offering him information in return for money.”

  Ava reread the conversation. Dana had texted Russell three times. First with her enigmatic teaser about no secrets in a house with servants, to which Russ had responded with a question mark. In her second text, Dana strongly hinted that she knew something and that Russ should meet with her to talk about it. This had elicited two question marks from Russ.

  Her third text was more pressing. It read, You can’t afford to ignore my texts. A thinly veiled threat? It was this message that had prompted Russ Marsh to respond with, ‘Go to hell.’ Would he still be alive if he’d responded differently?

  “So what did Dana know? Or think she knew? Something about Paul and the business? Or something more personal, perhaps,” Ava said. “Should we speak with Val Marsh? Maybe Russ told her about the texts, although the fact that he deleted the thread suggests he didn’t want anyone knowing.” She paused. “Could Dana have learned something that ended up getting her killed?” Ava said.

  “As always, we make no assumptions,” Neal said.

  Ouch. Neal hadn’t taken that tone with her for some time. What had got him riled?

  “Sir,” Ava said. “Are we going to visit the Cornishes now?”

  Neal glanced at his watch. It was already quite late, but it was important for at least one of them to see how the Cornishes would receive the news of Dana’s death. Neal rubbed his chin.

  “Drive out there now. Take DS Knight with you. I have other matters to attend to, or I’d accompany you myself.”

  What other matters? Myrna? Ava nodded and left Neal to his thoughts. Outside his office, she broke the news to Tom.

  “Where’s PJ?” she asked, looking around.

  “Had to go,” Tom said. “Something about her partner.” Ava frowned and took another minute to ping off a supportive text to PJ.

  She left the station with Tom. Knowing that he liked everything to do with cars, she let him drive.

  A queue of traffic on the road outside the car park held them up for a few minutes. Tom drummed impatiently on the steering wheel and looked in the rear-view mirror. “Hello, looks like the boss’s got himself a date.”

  Ava swung round and saw a red-haired woman walk up to a waiting Neal, and kiss him on both cheeks.

  “Myrna!” she exclaimed before she could stop herself.

  “Myrna? Unusual name,” Tom said.

  “She’s an ex-girlfriend.”

  “Doesn’t look like it to me.” Ava looked over her shoulder as discreetly as she could. Myrna had linked arms with Neal and was leaning in like a tender lover.

  “Ouch.” Tom had pulled suddenly out onto the road and she’d hit the window, but her exclamation wasn’t solely a reaction to the pain.

  “So, doing anything exciting at the weekend?” Ava asked Tom to distract herself.

  “Going to a mate’s stag do back home.” Tom had grown up in the East End of London, and he returned every so often to catch up with family and friends.

  “Paintballing. Semi-automatics. Fifteen of us running around like lunatics. Ratatatatatat . . . Wicked. Can’t wait.”

  Ava laughed. “PJ loves paintballing. And laser tag.”

  “Yeah? Never would have guessed it,” Tom said.

  “What? You think she’d prefer to dress up as a princess and get her nails done?”

  “No offence, Ava, but PJ just doesn’t strike me as an action girl. Now if you’d told me you were into paintballing, I’d have no problem believing it.”

  “Huh.” Ava was slightly put out at Tom’s assessment of PJ. Just because she was on the small side, roundish and feminine, didn’t mean she couldn’t squirt paint at a target. You didn’t have to be an Olympic athlete to do that. Aware that her annoyance with Tom was partly displaced irritation at seeing Jim Neal with Myrna, she said, “Yeah, well. Who doesn’t love paintballing?”

  Tom slowed down. “Is this the turnoff?”

  “Next one,” Ava said.

  “Looks well posh. What’s this? Flipping sentry post?” Tom drew to a halt at the security barrier. A burly guard was already approaching.

  “It’s a gated community. Just flash your ID.”

  Ava directed Tom to the Cornishes’ house. “You could fit the whole estate that I lived on in Tower Hamlets into these grounds,” he commented.

  They parked and walked up to the imposing front door of Kingfisher Lodge. A
va couldn’t help thinking of the last time she’d been here with Jim Neal. They’d been let in by Dana Schell. Ava wondered who would answer the door now she wasn’t around.

  Paul Cornish, it seemed.

  Ava hadn’t expected him to be home at this hour. He greeted Ava, and she introduced Tom. Paul showed them into the sitting room with a view of the lake and went off in search of Gail. Tom crossed to the French doors and gave a low whistle. “Is that . . . ?”

  “The Cornishes’ boat? Yep. Most of the residents here have got one.”

  “Do they have a daughter?”

  Ava grinned. “Yes, but she’s a bit young for you.”

  “Pity.”

  Gail Cornish appeared. “DS Merry. I’ve been in the garden.” Paul Cornish hovered just inside the door.

  “What can we do for you this time, Sergeant?” Gail’s tone was as cool as her handshake.

  “We wanted to speak with you about your help, Dana Schell.” Ava watched the Cornishes. Gail looked puzzled. Paul raised his eyebrows, questioningly.

  “Dana’s not here. It’s her day off,” Gail said.

  “When did you last see her?”

  “Yesterday. Sixish. She was going to the spa for a nail appointment. Mine, actually. I’d forgotten it was parents’ evening at the twins’ school and it was too late to cancel the appointment.”

  “Did she sleep here last night?” Ava asked.

  “No, but that’s not unusual. Dana has friends in Stromford. She sometimes stays the night with them when she’s got a day off the next day. I don’t expect her to tell me what she does in her free time. What’s all this about, Sergeant?” Either Gail had no idea that Dana was dead, or she was a very convincing liar. Ava turned to Paul, who’d remained silent. He gave no hint of what he was thinking.

  “Either something has happened to Dana, or she’s done something wrong. Which is it, officers?” His wife stared at him as though this had not occurred to her.

  “I’m sorry to have to give you this news,” Ava said. “Dana Schell’s body was found in the woods, here at Crystal Lakes, early this morning. We believe she was murdered.”