MURDER AMONG FRIENDS a totally gripping crime thriller full of twists

by JANICE FROST

  “DS Alby.”

  “Clair Alby?”

  “Yes. Do you know her?”

  “I worked with her on a couple of occasions when I was a DS over Boston way. She was a DC then. She’s sharp. Did she contact you?”

  “Yes. When she discovered we were trying to find out Cox’s real identity.”

  “Right.” Steph felt slightly irritated that Elias had been the one to receive this information first. But it was exciting news. “Good.”

  “You’ll never believe who was one of the officers in attendance when Tickle was arrested.”

  “Jane Bell?”

  “Yes.”

  Steph’s irritation flared anew. “That bloody woman again. She seems to be everywhere.”

  “Tickle was charged and bailed to appear at court. I’ve got an address and place of work. I checked, and he’s at work now.”

  “Well done,” Steph said. “Let’s go.”

  Tickle worked as a maintenance fitter for an engineering firm located just south of the city centre. His manager showed them into his office when they arrived. He was aware that Tickle had been charged with domestic abuse and was on bail, but he’d kept him on. He wanted to know if Tickle was in more trouble.

  Steph advised him that they wished to question Tickle on a different matter but gave no details. The manager’s expression suggested that his patience with his employee was running out.

  Tickle hovered outside the door. The manager beckoned him in. The room had windows overlooking the shop floor and, before leaving them to it, he pulled the blind down.

  “So, who are we talking to today?” Steph began. “Dominic Tickle, or Ronan Cox?” She waited. Tickle looked sullen. “Why the alias?”

  Tickle shrugged.

  “Mr Tickle it is then.”

  “I’ve already been questioned about the domestic,” Tickle said. “What do you lot want now?”

  “We’re not here about your domestic abuse charge.” Steph showed him a picture of Mark Ripley. “Recognise him?”

  Tickle stared at the picture for a few moments. “Yeah. He’s the dead guy.”

  “You knew him before he died, though, didn’t you, Mr Tickle? We know that you attended a so-called ‘bootcamp,’ organised by Mark and two of his friends, Adam Eades and Phil Lavin.”

  “Waste of bloody time. And money.”

  “We’ve spoken to witnesses who’ve told us that you had to be restrained from assaulting a young woman who ignored you when you stopped her in the street.”

  “I never touched her.”

  “We have witnesses who’ve told us otherwise. You grabbed her arm and had to be restrained from harming her. Then you turned on Ripley.”

  “I never touched him either.”

  “Prefer hurting women, do you?” Elias said. Tickle glared at him.

  Steph showed Tickle a picture of Kylie Bright. “Do you recognise this woman?”

  “No. Never seen her before in my life. What am I supposed to have done to her then?”

  “She was murdered too. A friend of hers, Ryan Brown, was assaulted. Ever heard of him?”

  Tickle shook his head. “You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?”

  “Do I look amused?” Steph asked dryly.

  “Look, I work twelve-hour shifts at this place. How the hell am I supposed to find the time and energy to run around murdering everybody and their auntie?”

  “We’re going to need you to tell us what you were doing when Mark Ripley and Kylie Bright were murdered. And when Ryan Brown was assaulted.”

  “No problem.”

  Steph read out the dates. Tickle made a good show of thinking about it, before counting off his alibis on his fingers. “Pub quiz, worked a double shift, hospital procedure — I was kept in overnight.” He named the pub and a couple of bar staff who could confirm that he’d been at the quiz.

  “You can check with the guvnor what time my shift covered that night, and the hospital can confirm that I was admitted overnight after having my procedure.”

  Damn. If his alibis checked out, he’d be in the clear, and they’d be back to square one.

  “I’m curious, Mr Tickle. Why did you enrol on the pick-up course? Do you have a problem attracting women?” Steph knew her question was provocative. She met Tickle’s gaze and held it, though it made her feel deeply uncomfortable.

  “No. Not in the slightest.” Tickle flexed his arms. Beneath his overalls, his biceps bulged. “I thought it might be a good business venture for me, that’s why. Thought I might pick up some tips on how to set myself up, but they were a bunch of idiots. Couldn’t have organised a piss-up in a brewery.”

  “How did you find out about Mark and his friends’ ‘business’ venture?

  “I overheard them talking about it in the changing room at the gym. Boasting about how many women they could pick up, and how they could put their skills and knowledge to use teaching saddos some of their secrets. I thought I could do that. Like I said, I have no problem attracting women.”

  Liar. They’re afraid of you. Steph thought of what Jake Flood had said about women instinctively shying away from Tickle. Up close to him, she could appreciate why. Not that Tickle himself was aware of it. An ego as big as his wouldn’t allow him to doubt himself.

  “Perhaps,” Elias said, “your money would have been better spent on a course in anger management, or a few sessions with a therapist specialising in treating abusive behaviours.” That earned him another glare.

  Steph noticed Tickle’s fists curl. “Why did you get violent when that girl ignored you then, if you were only there to watch and learn?”

  “Dunno. Maybe I just don’t like being ignored.”

  “Hmm. Some other members of the group that day said that you seemed jittery. Had you taken something, Dominic?”

  “No.”

  Steph shrugged, unconvinced. “I’ve read the statement given by the young woman you beat up at your house, Holly Carpenter. She says that you roughed her up because you thought she was cheating on you with her work colleague.”

  Tickle’s eyes darkened. “She was, the little whore.” Then, “We finished?”

  Steph stood up and looked down on him. “Yes. For now.”

  * * *

  Jane arrived at Thea’s house and found her already waiting at the end of the long tree-lined drive. She was taking Thea to see a production of The Winter’s Tale by a local amateur Shakespearean theatre group in a school hall not far from Veganbites. Jane had seen productions by this group before, most memorably an outdoor production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream performed on a warm August evening in the grounds of Lincoln Castle.

  On the way, she gave Thea a quick summary of the plot. When she’d finished, Thea commented, “So, basically it’s about a misogynistic, jealous, prick who causes his own wife’s death after falsely accusing her of getting pregnant with his best mate.”

  “In a nutshell.” Jane smiled. She hadn’t told Thea anything about the ending of the play.

  “Can’t wait.” Thea’s tone was mocking, but Jane knew she was looking forward to the outing. They’d watched Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet together and Thea had loved it. She’d talked about going to London in the summer to see a play at the Globe. So, when this production was advertised, Jane had bought the tickets, thinking that she could go with Allie if Thea didn’t fancy it. “Sorry it’s not the Globe,” she said, “but it’s not a bad little venue.”

  They had good seats, giving an excellent view of the stage. Thea was obviously engrossed in the play right from the start.

  Out of nowhere, the thought popped into Jane’s head that it would have been nice to have been sitting here with Ed. She wondered if he liked Shakespeare. He liked books and reading. Perhaps she could invite him next time there was a production in town.

  When a scene change interrupted the drama, Jane looked around the theatre, wondering if she’d see anyone she recognised. As her eyes scanned the rows near the back, they came to rest on a familiar,
if not friendly, face. Jane scowled. What the hell was DI Warwick doing here? She hadn’t struck Jane as a thespian. Was she stalking her now? Or spying on her, looking for evidence that she was still ‘sticking her nose’ into her investigation, despite having been suspended.

  Jane turned away quickly. Had Warwick seen her? She hadn’t seemed to, but Warwick wasn’t the sort to miss anything — or anyone. She’d probably spotted Jane first, when she arrived with Thea, whom she’d probably assumed was one of the ‘legions of young women’ Jane had recruited to help run her own inquiry into the murders.

  The setting for the next scene was in place. A prison. Paulina was asking for the queen’s permission to take the newly born Perdita to King Leontes — the misogynistic, jealous prick, as Thea had rather aptly labelled him. It was hard to concentrate after seeing Warwick. Jane could feel the DI’s hostile gaze burning her neck. She rubbed it furiously, prompting Thea to whisper, “Are you okay?”

  At the interval, Jane worried that Thea would want a drink or an ice cream, which would necessitate getting out of their seats, thereby increasing her chance of encountering Warwick. Thankfully, Thea seemed content to peruse the programme. Jane needed to pee but decided to cross her legs.

  At the end of the play, they filed out of the hall. To Jane’s great relief, Warwick had already vacated her seat. Thea asked one of the attendants if she could wait for the cast to come out. She wanted to have her programme signed. They were directed outside to the stage door, which was just an exit at the back of the school.

  Jane hurried off to the toilet, saying she’d meet Thea outside. Thea was still waiting at the ‘stage door’ when she eventually joined her. She was talking to the only other person in the queue. Jane’s heart sank when she saw who it was. She gave DI Warwick a brief, forced smile. It wasn’t reciprocated.

  “Hi, Jane, we were just talking about the ending of the play. I don’t think Leontes deserved to have a happy ending,” Thea said.

  “I’d have locked him up and thrown away the key. Jealous, controlling men don’t change,” Warwick said. She turned to Jane. “What do you think?” It sounded like a challenge.

  “Well, he did suffer years of guilt . . .” Jane began uncertainly, muttering words about atonement and redemption, feeling obliged to offer a different perspective. But she didn’t want to go into a lengthy explanation of the complexities of Shakespeare’s late romances in front of Warwick. Besides, she’d never felt much sympathy for Leontes either, so she agreed, “He was a bit of a dick.”

  Fortunately, at that moment the stage door opened, and two members of the cast stepped outside. They pretended to be overwhelmed by the crowd of three. One by one the cast came out and signed Thea’s programme. Warwick stood to the side. Jane wondered why she was there, if it wasn’t to congratulate the actors.

  A young man appeared in the doorway. Jane didn’t recognise him at first.

  “Thanks for coming, boss,” he said, addressing Warwick. It was her colleague DS Harper.

  “No problem,” Warwick said. “You’re clearly wasted as a police officer.”

  Thea thrust her programme in front of him, and he signed, clearly delighted to be asked. Jane couldn’t remember what part he’d played. It must have been very small.

  On the way home, Thea talked non-stop about the play. “I thought it was going to be rubbish. I was sort of looking forward to it, but my expectations weren’t very high. They’re only a local amateur group, but they were really good, weren’t they? Especially Florizel.”

  So, DS Harper had played Florizel? Jane wouldn’t have known. His dark hair had been hidden under a curly blond wig.

  “I might audition for a part in their next production. What do you think, Jane?” Thea had never expressed any interest in acting before she’d set eyes on DS Harper.

  “I think that’s a very good idea.” She meant it. Thea was good at most things. Why not acting too?

  Thea’s house was in darkness when Jane dropped her off. “Will you be okay?” It seemed rather sad for a sixteen-year-old to be returning alone to a big, empty house this late in the evening.

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve got Buddy and Pearl for company. They’ll be dying for a walk.”

  “Any news about when your parents are coming back, Thea? Have you heard from them this week?”

  Thea shrugged. “They’ll be gone for at least another two weeks.”

  Jane noticed that Thea avoided looking at her when she said this. Did she always do that? She was always a bit flippant whenever Jane asked about her parents. Could her flippancy be a cover for evasion?

  The Martins paid Jane monthly by bank transfer. Jane had had no direct dealings with them since before they’d departed, which was a bit unusual. Most parents wanted regular updates on their child’s progress.

  “I’d like to speak with your mum or dad, let them know how you’re coming along. Do you think you could give me a mobile number for them?” Jane had tried the landline number she’d been given by Thea’s mother, but no one answered or bothered to call back.

  Thea hesitated, but only a beat. “Sure. Next time you come round. I need to let the dogs out now. Goodnight, Jane.” And she was off.

  On the drive home, thoughts about the play intermingled with thoughts about the events of the past few weeks. It seemed apt that she’d just watched a play about a jealous, controlling man.

  These days she couldn’t seem to get away from misogynistic men who sought to deny women agency over their own lives. She thought of Holly, beaten by Dominic Tickle because she’d dared to talk to another man. Then there was Kylie, coerced and manipulated by Mark Ripley, murdered by an unknown man. Was it a man? She couldn’t be sure of that. And the fact that Mark and his friends had run a group that was essentially about harassing women in the street and tricking them into having sex. Or was she being unfair? Nope.

  Jane pondered over whether she agreed with Thea and Warwick’s view that Leontes didn’t deserve a happy ending. People in the grip of strong passions often behave outrageously. Many live to repent. Should they be condemned for ever for their actions resulting from such passions?

  Leontes regretted his foolish behaviour. He’d suffered for the loss of his wife and child for many years. Even after his ‘happy’ ending, he would continue to suffer whenever he reflected on the harm he’d done to others, to himself, through his actions. Nothing in life was black and white, as Shakespeare knew only too well.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “Can you believe that woman being at the play last night? It’s starting to feel creepy the way she keeps turning up everywhere.”

  Elias didn’t comment. He was probably bored with her rants about Jane Bell. Steph bit back the further comments she’d been about to make. But it was Elias who mentioned Bell next.

  “She was with that young girl who asked me to sign her programme, wasn’t she? Was she her daughter, do you think?”

  “No. Too young. She’s got two kids, a boy and a girl, both in their twenties. Bell used to teach English. She still does tutoring. Maybe the girl was one of her students.” Steph thought for a moment. “Damn it.”

  “What?”

  “I wonder if she’s the student who met Mark, Adam and Phil at the leisure club?”

  “And told Bell about their group?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does it matter? You could interview her any time you like.”

  “It might be worth speaking with her, if only to tell her to stop snooping around on Bell’s behalf. I doubt there’s any more she can tell us. Bell’s already told me everything the girl told her. I’m not sure I believe her, mind you.”

  “Given that we’ve now interviewed and eliminated almost all of the men who signed up for the pick-up course, where does that leave us?” Elias sounded tired and slightly hoarse. He hadn’t made it to work until nine this morning, late for him.

  He’d invited Steph along to the pub for drinks with the rest of the cast and crew the previous evening. She
’d stayed for one drink, then made her excuses. She’d seen another side of her young sergeant at the pub. He was clearly in his element with all his acting friends. It was slightly concerning that she’d failed to guess at this side of his personality. Maybe she wasn’t such a good judge of people as she’d thought.

  Immediately, Cal spoke up, reminding her that she’d misjudged him too. She cupped a hand over her ear as if to block the sound, but his voice was in her head.

  “You okay, boss?”

  Steph realised she’d screwed her eyes tightly shut, forgetting Elias was there. “I’m fine.” She hadn’t meant to snap, but Cal was an irritant. “Bit of a headache.” She looked at him. “Could be worse. Could be a hangover.”

  Elias gave her a sympathetic smile. He took a packet of paracetamol out of his drawer and held it out to her. “Want a couple of these?” She almost laughed aloud. She’d swallow any number of pills if she thought they would get Cal out of her head.

  With reluctance, she picked up her phone and called Jane Bell, but the call diverted to voicemail. She checked whether Bell had a landline and quickly obtained the number. Bell answered on the third ring. “Why didn’t you answer when I called your mobile?” Steph said.

  “Sorry? Who is this? Oh, it’s you, DI Warwick. I turn the sound down on my mobile when I’m at home. It makes too many noises.”

  “Like the ringtone?”

  “I was thinking more of all the irritating sounds it makes to let you know you’ve received some kind of message.”

  “That’s kind of the point,” Steph commented, exasperated. They hadn’t even greeted one another yet and already Bell was getting her back up.

  “Look, can I help you? I’m due at a student’s house soon.”

  “That girl you were with at the theatre last night. Was she the one who told you about Adam and Phil’s pick-up group?”

  There was a prolonged silence, then a quiet, “Thea? Yes.”

  “I’d like to talk to her. Do you have her contact details?”

  “What do you want to talk to Thea about?”

  “Excuse me?” Bell didn’t repeat her question, forcing Steph to speak again. “I would have thought you could guess without too much difficulty, not that it’s any of your concern.”