Two Faced

by A. R. Ashworth

  “Yep. But it’s up to me. Please take me home. I live in Mortlake. Near the Chiswick Bridge.”

  Tuesday night, Purley

  Jenkins had just reached Purley when his mobile rang. He pulled over and answered. “Sing to me, Charlie. Dulcet tones, luv.”

  Charlie wheezed a rheumy cough. “Not much chance of that, Jenks. Two packs of fags a day for forty years has seen to that. Three guesses who you’ve caught with the O’Rourke jackass.”

  Jenkins laughed. “Quiz night with Charlie? Right then, Princess Di.”

  “Aristocratic enough, but not alive enough.”

  “An aristocrat? Hmm. Grace Kelly?”

  “Too aristocratic, closer in the looks department. Still not alive enough, sad to say.”

  “Rosamund Pike.”

  “Alive, but dead common.”

  “Nothing common about her in my book, luv. Alright, who is our mystery blonde? Chop-chop. Roxy’s waiting.”

  “Married life calls, eh? Never saw much use in marriage, myself, which explains a lot. I’ve seen your blonde with her husband. She’s Lady Fiona Paternoster, daughter of the late and little-lamented Donald Paternoster, the Viscount Waleham. Married to Commander Jonathan Hughes.”

  “Blow me over. Didn’t see that coming.”

  “Something to ponder. I thought it was beyond interesting, so I called an old friend who likes to reminisce. But it can wait. You want to get home to your supper and a leg over Roxy.”

  Jenkins snorted a laugh. “You know me too well, Lady Charles. Tell me about Lady Fiona.”

  “Hippie life at university. Sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll. Flipping her finger in her father’s face. The old goat kicked off, and she had to do some growing up. Married a copper, had a bairn who’s the image of his father. She lived a solid, middle-class life till a drink-driving git rammed hubby’s car at a collision scene.”

  “And Hughes snapped up the grieving widow.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Fairly quickly. Hubby had been in the ground a year or so.”

  “Something to be said for middle-aged lookers, I guess.”

  “Ooh, hardly, luv. You don’t know?”

  “Don’t know what?”

  “Hughes is gay. And it’s known only to the initiated, but he and Cranwell have been an item for years.”

  “Fuck me.” Jenkins ended the call and sat stunned. Hughes and Cranwell? This required serious thought. Nothing in his mission brief had mentioned that situation. He’d stayed away from Hughes after the initial operational meetings; doing so was good tradecraft. Seeing him with Jacko had been a little too close for comfort. But sleeping with Cranwell?

  Either Hughes was a numpty with absolutely no awareness, or he was playing both sides of a dangerous game.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Tuesday night, Brentford

  Elaine stopped her BMW just outside her parking garage and let the electric gate close behind her. She inspected the road in both directions. When she didn’t see any sign of the dark van, she turned west on Brentford High Street.

  Fiona sat forward, her fingers on the door handle. “What are you doing? Where are you taking me? This isn’t the way to Mortlake.”

  “It’s one way to Mortlake, and I need to make sure we aren’t being followed. If we are, I don’t want to lead them straight to your door. I’ll twist around and double back a few times. Caution is a good thing, don’t you agree? Why don’t you tell me about your house? Will I just drop you at the kerb, or do you have a drive?”

  Fiona appeared to relax, but she left her hand on the door. “We live on a close. There’s a wrought-iron gate that I can open remotely.”

  “What’s the street like?”

  “What’s it like? Just a street.”

  Elaine checked her mirrors and turned right. “I mean is it busy or quiet? Wide or narrow? Secluded or open?”

  “Oh. Long and narrow. Not much traffic this time of night. Just local residential. There are a few blocks of flats. A pub around the corner.”

  “How many houses behind the gate?”

  “Seven. We’re number five.”

  Elaine turned up a close and stopped at the end. “Long and narrow is good. There’ll be a nice line of sight.” After a half minute, she exited the close and wound back to the main road. “I’m taking the back way to Mortlake, loop around to the south and come through Richmond.”

  “That will take awhile,” Fiona replied. After a few minutes she asked, “So what’s Jacko done to you?”

  Elaine smiled. “Dunno. As we say in the job, I need to eliminate him from my enquiries.”

  Fiona laughed. “Good luck with that. I need to pee.”

  “Bound to be someplace up ahead in Isleworth. Needs to be the right place, though.”

  “You said he hit on you. What did he say?”

  “Nothing that interested me. He said he found my interrogation techniques to be erotic. He wanted to sit across the table from me and let me have my way with him. Wanted me to verbally abuse him.”

  “No, he didn’t say that.”

  “He did, in several different ways. I guess he thought it was an intriguing icebreaker.” She glanced at Fiona. “I wondered at the time if he wanted me to be his dominatrix.”

  Fiona gave a sharp laugh. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Across the table. Did he offer to cook dinner for you?”

  It was Elaine’s turn to laugh. “How did you know? He went on and on about what a good cook he was, and why didn’t I stop at his place to unwind. Seemed every time he offered steak, with an Italian red and a massage.”

  “It was cooking with me too.”

  Elaine waited for more, but when she looked, Fiona was staring out the window.

  Two miles later they passed a sushi bar with a sign in front that said, “Parking at rear.” Elaine drove past for a couple of hundred yards, then turned into in a small parking lot. She watched traffic for a few moments before she reversed direction.

  “Where are we going?” Fiona twisted in her seat to look behind them. “Is someone following us?”

  “Not that I’ve seen. We passed a sushi place with off-street parking. They’ll have a loo, and we can sit in private.”

  The interior decor of the restaurant was red, black, and plastic. Fiona made straight for the loo. Elaine followed. “We go together. Take no chances.”

  A few minutes later, they sat at a table in a corner that had a view of both the front and rear entrances.

  Elaine studied the selection of sushi on her plate. “I never took him up on it. Jacko, I mean. At first it was funny. I teased him, just to see how far he’d go. I don’t think he realized what an ass he made out of himself.”

  When Fiona didn’t reply, she continued. “I haven’t run into him since I was raped.” She wiped her hands on a paper napkin. “I’m going to check the parking lot. Won’t take a minute.”

  Elaine slipped out the back door and into the shadows along the back wall of the restaurant. On her right, the roofs of residences were visible over a high boxwood hedge. Trees overshadowed the lined parking spaces along the back wall of the lot. When they had arrived, there had been three cars in the lot—two blue and one silver.

  Now, those cars had been replaced by four new ones. Besides her and Fiona, there were only three other sets of customers in the restaurant, so there was possibly one extra vehicle not accounted for. She crossed to the shadow of the trees and moved along the row of cars. The first had a child seat, which corresponded to the young couple with a toddler who had entered while they were there. The next two had no occupants, but she detected movement in the fourth, and last.

  Elaine retrieved her asp from her coat pocket. Staying low, she moved between two other cars so she could approach from behind. When she was ten feet away, the car started and the reversing lights came on. She stood as the car reversed from the space.

  The driver’s window opened and a young woman spoke. “Best be more careful, lady. I didn’t see you back there. Might’ve knocked you over if I�
��d been in a hurry.”

  Elaine gave a small wave as the car drove away. “I’ll watch out next time. Thanks.”

  Back inside, Fiona sat leaning against the wall, her elbow on the table, chewing her thumbnail, apparently lost in thought. One knee bounced nervously.

  “Looks all clear out there. No dark van. Why don’t we get on to your place?”

  “He groomed me. Isn’t that what they call it? Grooming?”

  Elaine sat. That’s a term we use. I suspect Jacko’s quite good at it.”

  “Did he groom you?”

  Elaine thought for a moment, remembering when she had first met Jacko, then said, “He tried. He picked days when I was fagged out, exhausted. Came over all sympathetic, wanting to talk. If I was having a hard time building a solid case, he’d offer to go over it with me, give advice. Most of the Crownies do that. It’s part of their job. He rarely wanted to meet in the office, though. I fell for it once.”

  Fiona looked up. “How?”

  “I was at my office late, working on some evidence. He showed up, gave me some good pointers, actually. Then he said why don’t we continue at The Swan. We went and had a pint, I said I was hungry. He offered to cook for me at his place.”

  The restaurant manager appeared next to the table. “Thanks, ladies, but it’s closing time.”

  Elaine paid the bill. When they were back on the A310, Fiona asked, “Did you go?”

  “No. I’d like to say warning bells went off, but the real reason is I was too tired. Told him I needed to feed Scratch and I’d just grab a salad at home. Left him there.”

  “I thought you said he wanted you to abuse him.”

  Elaine laughed. “That was later, after his offers of wine and steak and massage didn’t work. The creep never really gave up.”

  “I didn’t realize he was grooming me until it was too late.”

  Elaine checked her mirror and signalled a lane change. “What do you mean, ‘too late’? You couldn’t tell him to fuck off?”

  “I’d been married to Jonny for three years. We knew Jacko. Same parties, friends, that sort of thing. You know how it is when your husband’s married to the job.”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, sorry. Most of the women in our circle thought Jacko was sexy. He’s bit of a rogue, and the game was exciting. Every now and then he’d pick one of us off. A one-night stand here and there. I didn’t think of him as a predator. He was just a randy lawyer who got lucky once in a while.”

  “I get that. The job’s a marriage destroyer.”

  Fiona stared straight ahead. “I think back, and I realize he knew whose husband was working twenty-four/seven. Whose marriage was in the toilet. He flirted with me. At first I was determined to keep my marriage with Jonny going.”

  She went silent. When Elaine glanced at her, she was met by Fiona’s blue eyes, studying her face.

  “What?”

  Fiona reached out and touched Elaine’s shoulder. “I’m not surprised he tried it on with you. You’re a beautiful woman.”

  “No. I was a challenge to him, is all.”

  “Yes, you are.” Fiona withdrew her hand. “You and I, we’re not so far apart. I don’t think any two women our age are far apart, once we start talking about things that matter.”

  Elaine slowed for the roundabout at the A315. “Almost there. On the home stretch.”

  “He started complimenting me. My hair. My style. Wanted my advice on buying art for his flat. One night at a party, Jonny and I had a row. The next day Jacko sent me flowers and a note saying it wasn’t my fault given Jonny…”

  Fiona stopped and took a deep breath. “Jonny and I started to fall apart. Maybe my resolve was shaken. Maybe I…”

  Elaine stopped for a red light. This is coming hard for her. An abuser? I wouldn’t have pegged him for that.

  “Jonny’s gay. He told me two years after we married. His partner is … they’ve been together for almost thirty years. Almost since they joined the force.” Fiona fished a tissue from her purse and blew her nose.

  “Jacko knew,” Fiona continued. “He said he couldn’t comprehend my loneliness, but if I ever needed a kind ear, then he had two. And he knew something else, but I didn’t find out until later.”

  “What was that?”

  “Don’t you have a light inside this thing? A mirror?” Fiona rummaged in her purse and extracted some lipstick.

  Elaine pointed at the sun visor. Fiona flipped it down and slid aside the small cover of the vanity mirror. She studied herself in the light. “I should have known.”

  “Some cars are diff—”

  Fiona scoffed. “Not that. He was blackmailing Jonny.”

  “What? Jonny’s a shit for doing what he did to you, but that’s not blackmail material. Neither is being gay.” She stopped. “What else?”

  Fiona gave a huge sigh. “I’m not sure exactly. I think years ago Jonny covered up something his lover did. Or didn’t do. Something about evidence. A murderer got off.”

  Crap. That was blackmail material. Even if it had been years ago, it could cause all kinds of havoc, possibly cost both of them their careers and pensions. “Don’t tell me any more about that.”

  “I don’t know any more.”

  “Hold on. You’re the price?”

  Fiona shook her head. “At first it was an affair. Jonny was paying him money, but I didn’t know that. The threats started after I learned what a shit Jacko is and tried to end it.”

  A few turns later they pulled up to a gate. Fiona pushed a button on her electronic fob to open it, and indicated a parking space at the end of the close.

  “I should come in with you?” Elaine asked.

  “No, I’ll—”

  “Yes. There’s no point taking a chance.” Elaine opened the glove box and retrieved a heavy, cylindrical torch. “I don’t like the idea of you sleeping here tonight. I’ll stay with you.”

  “Come inside, but I’ve decided to go to the family pile in Hampshire for a few days. My aunt and uncle are there.”

  Elaine considered. An estate in Hampshire was safer than being alone here. “Okay, we’ll check the house together, top to bottom. Then I’ll see you off and make sure you’re not followed.”

  “Are you going to grass on me?”

  “Not right away. You need to make the right decision. But remember—I’m a cop.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Wednesday night, Brentford

  “I have to tell you again. Some would call this meeting insubordination.” Elaine looked across her kitchen table at Costello and Bull, who had arrived a few minutes earlier with a bottle of Argentinean Malbec for her and beers for themselves.

  “We haven’t forgotten, guv.” Costello pried the cap from an ale and handed the opener to Bull. “And it could be more than that, if someone wanted to construe.”

  Elaine studied the label on the wine bottle. “This isn’t your standard Spanish plonk. Beer and wine glasses are in the cupboard, Bull. Bring the corkscrew from the drawer by the sink, please. We’ll be civilized drinkers tonight.”

  The cork squeaked as Elaine twisted it. “Coppers are paid to construe.” She watched the levers rise as the screw penetrated the bottle. “Like I’m doing now. I ask myself, if this isn’t garden-variety insubordination, what is it? What more?” The cork groaned before emitting a pop of submission. She poured half a glass.

  Costello began. “Remember the French lady who brought in the shoe? I interviewed her Monday. She appears to be in poor health, but it was hard to tell if she was taking the piss with me or if she was truly ill.”

  “Avoidance.”

  “That’s it. Especially when I pressed her on the Peugeot driver and the connection with the Duclerq family.”

  “The guy who owns the Peugeot?”

  “His son. She was downright evasive about whether she knew them. Claimed senility. Hell, the families have been neighbours for centuries. Definitely some smoke there, guv.”

  Elaine swirled
the deep red wine, sniffed, and took a sip. The strong fruitiness and acidity were balanced perfectly. “She’s what—seventy-something? Could be true.”

  “Don’t think so. She knew what she was doing. I pushed as hard as I dared. We have to tread carefully. Don’t want to be accused of being uncompassionate.”

  Elaine snorted. “Certainly not. Delicate feelings must be respected, especially during murder investigations. What else?”

  “Remember Novak’s disappearances and his afternoon delight?”

  “That’s speculation.”

  It was Costello’s turn to snort. “Not so sure now. I met La Veuve’s companion, and what an angry little piece of work she is. Name of Lydia Anstey. I may have been a bit provocative and accidentally tread on those delicate feelings. She was ready to smack me, got in my face, this close.” He held his thumb and forefinger a few inches apart.

  “And?”

  “She was wearing the same perfume I smelled on Novak. I rang up my sister afterward and we went to find it. Here it is.” He laid the small blue bag on the table.

  Elaine picked it up and read the logo. “Never heard of it. May I?” She retrieved the minute flask and sniffed. “Not something I’d wear. Expensive?”

  “That little drop you have in your hand runs ten quid. Full bottle over two-fifty.”

  “I can afford this flat partly by avoiding that kind of extravagance. So this Anstey female bathes in it. At least she wears it in the afternoon. Thousands of women in London might. It hardly narrows the scope of the investigation.”

  “That’s just it, guv. Thousands of women don’t. It’s popular on the Continent but hasn’t taken off here. Only one shop in Britain sells it, a small place in Elizabeth Street. They say they sell fewer than fifty bottles a year.” He lifted an eyebrow at Elaine, who cackled.

  “And they keep a list of their customers.”

  “Who are almost exclusively rich males. One John Novak figured prominently. He dresses like a toff, but I’d wager he’s hardly rich.”

  “What do you make of it?” Elaine asked.

  “It’s interesting. Novak’s investigating a murder the Veuve household voluntarily got involved in. I think he’s boinking the Anstey harpy. Maybe she told him about the shoe during pillow talk. Maybe he said they needed to turn it in to avoid scrutiny. He could be materially involved.”