A Dangerous Life (DCI Jack Callum Mysteries Book 2)

by Len Maynard

  “Hello, Mr. Sullivan, this is WPC Banks of the Welwyn and Hatfield police. I’m trying to get some information regarding Lois Franklin, your Cadence Girl.”

  “Yes, a very successful advertising campaign. I’m not ashamed to say that I must take some credit for making Miss Franklin the success she went on to be. We went through a dozen hopefuls until we came to Lois. She had the perfect face, you see. It was a face that called out from the adverts. Beautiful, beguiling and yet unthreatening to the women our products were aimed at. I like to think that in Lois they could see themselves.”

  Well, I didn’t, Myra thought, and I used to use Cadence.

  “What can you tell me about Lois Franklin?” She cut through the advertising man’s waffle.

  There was a slight pause on the other end of the phone.

  “Mr. Sullivan?”

  “Sorry, I was just trying to remember. You see I didn’t really get to know her that well. We had dinner a couple of times after the photo shoots, but they were very much group affairs, the photographer and his assistant, the make up girl and hairdresser. So Lois and I didn’t really engage in any meaningful conversations. All I really knew about her was that she was an American and very beautiful. Of course, I found out more about her, as did everybody else, when that sordid little affair with that actor chappie was splashed all over the papers. We changed our marketing strategy as soon as the story hit the dailies.” He laughed softly. “Not good for business, as you can imagine.”

  “I can indeed. So, apart from what I can find out by trawling through old newspapers. you can’t tell me much about her?”

  “Sorry. We engaged her through an agency. They would be the people to ask I suspect.”

  “And can you tell me which agency that would be?”

  “Zoom.”

  “Pardon?” Myra thought she’d misheard him.

  “Sorry. The Zoom Modelling Agency. It’s based in London and pretty exclusive. I think all the girls we’ve used in our campaigns have come via them. Certainly those campaigns we’ve undertaken in the past five years.”

  “Could you give me their address and telephone number?”

  “But of course.” There was another slight pause accompanied by the sound of shuffling paper as Sullivan worked through his index cards. “Do you have a pen?”

  Myra picked up the receiver and dialled the number Sullivan had given her. On the other end of the line a phone rang three times before being picked up. “Hullo?” A woman answered, a cut glass voice with no warmth.

  “Hello,” Myra said cheerily. “Is that the Zoom Modelling Agency?”

  “It is. How may I help you?” The voice conjured up an image of a glacial blonde with a haughty demeanour and a condescending manner.

  Myra pressed on. “I need some information about one of your models. Lois Turner, though you probably have her on your books as Lois Franklin, the Cadence Girl.”

  When it next spoke the cool voice had dropped several degrees. “I’m afraid Miss Franklin is no longer on our books.”

  “No, I didn’t think she would be, but I still need any information you can give me about her.”

  “Who is this?” The voice was positively icy now.

  “WPC Myra Banks. I’m with the Welwyn and Hatfield Police.”

  There was the sound of the mouthpiece being covered followed by the muted murmur of conversation. Suddenly a man’s voice came down the line at her like a pistol shot.

  “Who is this again?” Educated, perfect enunciation.

  Myra repeated her name.

  “How do I know you are who you say you are?”

  “I assure you…”

  “Assurances mean nothing.” The man fired again. “Where is your proof that you are genuine? I know the way Fleet Street works. For all I know, you could be a reporter from one of those awful rags, trawling for a juicy bit of scandal to keep your moronic readers buying your newspaper.”

  “I could you give you the station’s number and you can ring me back here so you can see that I am who I say I am.”

  “Again it proves nothing. You could give me any old number, with another hack on the end of the line, ready to corroborate your story. No, as you were told, Miss Franklin is no longer with us, but I still have a duty to respect her privacy.”

  Exasperated Myra said, “Who am I talking to?”

  “Cedric Bannister. I own the Zoom Agency.”

  “Well, Mr. Bannister, I really need the information. It’s regarding an investigation I’m working on. A murder investigation,” she added heavily.

  There was a slight pause and then Bannister came back on the line. “If you are who you say you are then you need to prove it, in person.”

  “You want me to come up there, to London?”

  “Precisely, and bring identification with you. Do that and I’ll see what I can do to help you.”

  You have to be joking, Myra thought. “I’ll be with you first thing tomorrow.”

  “Very well. You know where we are? Holborn Viaduct?”

  “I have your address.”

  “Then I’ll expect to see you in the morning. Good day.” The phone went dead.

  Myra shook her head in disbelief and replaced the receiver.

  23 - MONDAY

  “Have you been in touch with Simon Docherty yet, Frank?”

  Lesser spun round in his seat as Jack came into the squad room. “Not yet, Guv.” Tracking down Simon Docherty was his task for the morning and so far he had drawn a blank.

  Jack frowned. “How hard can it be to track down a solicitor. Criminals manage it, why can’t you?”

  “It’s been nigh on impossible. Brick walls at every turn. He has an office in Belgravia, so I ’phoned there and they say they haven’t seen him since the middle of last week, and they were reluctant to give me his home address. They got very snooty about it in fact, even when I told them I was police and I needed his help in a murder investigation I was working on.”

  “He must be in the telephone directory.”

  “You would think. But other than his office number I can’t find him. It’s the same story with the Law Society. They’ll let me have the Belgravia address, but won’t divulge any personal details, such as where he lives.”

  Jack sat down at his desk and opened the case file. “Have you tried Bob Lock? He might have Docherty’s home address on file somewhere.”

  “I did and he hasn’t.” There was frustration in Lesser’s voice.

  “Give me the number for the Belgravia office. I’ll call them and give them a rocket. Their reluctance to give us what we need is interfering with an ongoing police investigation. We can’t have that.”

  With a sigh Lesser scribbled the telephone number on a piece of scrap paper and dropped it onto Jack’s desk blotter.

  Jack picked up the handset and dialled the number.

  “Good day, this is Chief Inspector Callum of the Welwyn and Hatfield Police. I need to speak with Simon Docherty. It’s a matter of great urgency.”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Docherty is not in the office at the moment,” a female voice replied, speaking with a soft Belgravia drawl. “If you leave me your telephone number, I will make sure Mr Docherty calls you as soon as he comes in.”

  “Can you tell me when that’s likely to be?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “To whom am I speaking?” Jack’s voice took on a harder edge.

  “This is Sara Gibson, Mr. Docherty’s secretary.”

  “Well, Miss Gibson, I think when Detective Sergeant Lesser called you earlier today, he made it quite clear that this is a murder investigation we are conducting here and not being able to speak with Mr. Docherty is hampering our inquiries, quite seriously in fact, so please be good enough to give me his home address.”

  “I really am not a liberty to disclose that.”

  “Miss Gibson, what part of ‘murder investigation’ did you fail to comprehend? The killer’s modus operandi in this case is particularly brutal, an
d we have reason to believe that he has targeted Mr. Docherty. The fact that he hasn’t been in the office there since the middle of last week gives us great cause for concern, so, his home address if you please.”

  “Simon could be a target? His life could be in danger?” There was an edge of mild hysteria in her voice.

  “It’s a chance I’m not willing to take, nor, I am certain, are you.”

  Jack listened as the mouthpiece on the other end of the line was muffled. Finally Sara Gibson came back on the line. “Do you have a pen?”

  “Indeed I do.”

  “Docherty lives in St Albans. 13, Devon Street.” Jack put down the pen.

  “I didn’t realise Docherty’s life was in danger.” Lesser sat down heavily at his desk.

  Jack smiled. “As far as I know, it’s not, but his secretary doesn’t know that, does she?”

  “Very cunning, sir.”

  “It’s called good police work, Frank, or bending the truth to achieve the result you want. They don’t teach it at Hendon, but I’ve found it works, more often than not. Now, Sergeant Fuller and I will go and pay Mr. Simon Docherty a visit.”

  Fuller came into the office, carrying an enamel mug of canteen tea.

  “No time for tea, Eddie. We’re going to St Albans to speak to Simon Docherty.”

  Fuller muttered an oath under his breath and put the mug down on Frank Lesser’s desk. “A cuppa for you, Frank.”

  “You’re too kind.” Lesser picked it up and took a swig, before grimacing and spitting the tea back in the mug. “Hey, there’s sugar in this!”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers, Frank.” Fuller whistled cheerfully as he walked out of the office.

  “Sir! Excuse me, sir!” Myra ran across the station foyer

  Jack paused as he was about to push through the doors and follow Fuller out into the car park. “What is it, WPC Banks?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I nearly missed you. I’ve managed to locate the modelling agency that used to procure work for Lois Turner.”

  “Splendid. What information did you glean from them?”

  “That’s just it, sir.” Myra shifted her weight from foot to foot, blushing slightly with embarrassment.

  “Go on, girl, spit it out. What have you found out?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head. “They won’t speak to me unless I can prove I am who I say I am. They want me to go there in person, and they won’t talk to me until they see I’m not a reporter trying to rake up some muck on their ex-client.”

  Jack took off his hat tiredly and ran a hand through his hair. “Where is this agency?”

  “London, sir. It’s the Zoom Modelling Agency. They’re based in Holborn Viaduct.”

  “So you have to trek all the way to Holborn, just so they can see you’re a policewoman asking genuine questions?”

  “That’s about the long and the short of it, sir. The man who runs the agency, a Mr. Cedric Bannister, is the very suspicious type. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been had before.”

  Jack shook his head. “There’s a lack of trust in this world, Myra.”

  “Yes, sir. I said I’d go up there tomorrow.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Did you indeed?”

  “I thought you’d want to know anything they can tell me.”

  He suppressed a smile. “Yes, I do. Fair enough. Go up there by train in the morning. Get a receipt for the fare and let me have it. I’ll see that you’re reimbursed. Come and see me when you get back and tell me everything they said.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Jack pushed open the doors. “Oh, and, Myra.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Good work.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “You did yourself no harm there,” Andy Brewer said from the desk as the doors closed behind Jack. He had witnessed the whole encounter.

  “I wasn’t sure he’d allow me to go.” Myra smiled at him.

  Brewer laughed. “Are you pulling my leg? It’s common knowledge that you’re Jack Callum’s favourite. He was never going to say no.”

  “Now you’re pulling my leg. I’m nothing special. Just an ordinary WPC doing my job, that’s me.”

  “That’s not what they’re saying in the canteen,” Brewer muttered under his breath, but she heard him.

  “Just what are they saying in the canteen, Sergeant Brewer?”

  “Come on, Myra love, don’t play the innocent. You’ve got our

  chief inspector wrapped around your little finger, or as my old dad used to say, you’ve got him on a piece of string. You tug it and he jumps. I should remind you, Constable, that he’s a married man.”

  “What are you implying, Sergeant?”

  “I’m only repeating what I’ve heard. You can play coy all you like, but you work in a police station, for heaven’s sake. There are too many eyes around here, eyes used to uncovering dirty little secrets, for you to pull the wool over them all.”

  Myra felt the implication like a kick in the stomach. It took her breath away and hot tears sprang to her eyes. She clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into the heels of her hands to keep the tears from flowing down her cheeks.

  “I don’t know what gossip you have heard, Sergeant Brewer,” she said steadily, fighting to keep her voice even. “But, I assure you, you are wrong. You are all wrong. DCI Callum treats me the same as any other police constable in the building.”

  “And if you believe that, girl, you’ll believe anything.”

  Myra flushed and walked quickly from the foyer.

  But I do believe that, she thought. Really I do. Andy Brewer’s comments and the knowing wink he gave her had upset her more than she would have imagined possible. Worse, it brought thoughts to the front of her mind she had been trying to bury for months.

  “Hello, Myra. What brings you to my humble abode?” Elaine Simmons said. There was one other person in the Dispatch room, an older woman called Esther, who had headphones covering her ears as she spoke softly into a microphone mounted in front of her.

  “Are you all right, love?” Elaine said.

  Myra glanced nervously at Esther.

  “Pay her no mind. She’s calling her husband. She thinks I don’t know about her misappropriation of police resources, but I do. She’ll be another half an hour yet.”

  “Can we go somewhere to talk? I need to ask you something. In private.”

  Elaine smiled at Myra indulgently. “Of course. It can’t wait until we go for our drink tomorrow, but then, that won’t be very private will it?”

  Myra could not keep the desperation out of her voice when she spoke. “Please?”

  “Okay, love. Let’s go to the Ladies. We should be private enough in there.”

  The small lavatory smelt of disinfectant. There were just three stalls and Elaine pushed open all three doors to make sure they were empty and then she turned to Myra. “Okay, pet. What’s the problem?”

  Now she was here and about to bare her soul, Myra felt tongue-tied and foolish. She cleared her throat. “I…I don’t know where to start,” she began and then a wave of emotion swept over her. She shuddered and the recently suppressed tears began to flow. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey now.” Elaine wrapped a motherly arm around Myra’s shoulders and hugged her. “Whatever’s wrong?”

  Myra sniffed. “I’m just being stupid.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  Myra recovered herself slightly. “You take your lunch in the canteen, don’t you?”

  “Most days. Sometimes I bring sandwiches, but I usually go there to eat them. It gets me away from the ’phones and the radio for an hour.”

  “Have you heard the gossip, gossip about me?”

  Myra felt Elaine pull away from her slightly.

  “You have, haven’t you?”

  Elaine sighed. “You know what men are like when they all get together. The thing you have to do is to take no notice of them.”

  Myra sagged. �
�But none of it’s true, Elaine, none of it. DCI Callum is just my boss. I can’t help it if he gives me interesting stuff to do.”

  “Stuff that the other PC’s would give their eye teeth for. I’m afraid that the preferential treatment Jack Callum shows you has put a few people’s noses out of joint. I’m sure that wasn’t his intention, but it has ruffled a few feathers.”

  “But that’s not my fault. I never asked to be treated any differently to anyone else.”

  “But it doesn’t alter the fact that he does treat you differently and people are beginning to resent it and, when resentment sets in, those same people start to ask why.”

  “There’s nothing like that going on between us. Elaine you must believe that.”

  Elaine chuckled. “Oh, I do, love. I’ve known Jack Callum for years and I know that’s he’s a straight arrow. He’s a loving husband and a committed family man. He wouldn’t be interested in a slip of a girl like you, no matter how pretty you are. Lord knows, you’re not that much older than Joan, his eldest daughter.”

  “So how do I convince the others and stop the gossip?”

  Elaine pulled away from her and looked at her frankly. “Ah, there you have me. I really can’t say. Once the rumours start circulating it’s hard to know how to stop them without fanning the fires that give them life. Best just to let them smoulder for a while. Deprive them of oxygen and eventually they’ll burn themselves out.”

  “And until they do?”

  “Keep your head down and work diligently. Show the gossips in the canteen that you’ve earned the favours you’re shown with hard work and nothing more. Show them that you are simply good at your job. Once they realise that fact the rumours will stop.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “And if they come to me with such rubbish, I’ll tell them straight out what I think of their tall tales.”

  “You’d do that, Elaine?”

  “As long as I’m sure there’s no truth to them, then of course I will. But I’ve seen the way you stare at him sometimes, when you think he isn’t looking. Not that I blame you. Jack Callum’s a very attractive, older man.”