Siren (A Kate Redman Mystery

by Celina Grace

  Kate shook her head in frustration. “Is there a possibility that someone could have tampered with the CCTV? Is that why it went wrong?”

  “No. Not unless they also had access to the council offices and the highly secure space where the CCTV is monitored. It’s just too unlikely and the council have confirmed that it was an electrical fault that wiped off that fifteen minutes.”

  “Hmm.” Kate bent over the floor plan again, tracing the outline of the passageway with her finger. “I’ll tell you what else is a problem.”

  “What?”

  Kate tapped the paper. “Why, if our murderer is this woman, and if she left the building by the passageway, why on Earth didn’t she come in that way and stay off the CCTV completely?”

  Olbeck’s jaw dropped momentarily. “Bloody hell. That’s a very good point.” Kate sat back in satisfaction, just as the airport tannoy began to announce that her flight was boarding. “Oh, hell, you’d better go. You’ve still got to clear Security and everything, and you know how long that takes nowadays.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” Kate began to gather her belongings together with some regret. What she really wanted to do was keep talking the case over. Come on, woman, try to feel a little excited...

  By this time, it was so late that there was no time other than to say a hurried goodbye at the departure gates and then deal with all the stress and fuss of Security, Passport Control and waiting to board the plane. It wasn’t until Kate was sitting in her window seat, her handbag tucked neatly under the seat in front of her and a gin and tonic fizzing gently on the little table before her, that she finally felt able to relax. As the plane had taken off, she’d peered out, wondering with amusement whether one of the tiny coloured dots that were the cars on the motorway was Olbeck heading back to Abbeyford.

  Kate sat back in her seat and took a sip of her drink. She was facing the prospect of a seven-hour flight and wondered what to do with herself. Before leaving, she’d loaded up her Kindle with several new books – should she read one of those? One was a new bestseller that Chloe had been raving about – perhaps she would start with that one. She leant forward for her handbag and then sat back again. On second thoughts, she didn’t feel much like reading. She opened up the in-flight magazine and took a look at the films the airline was showing. Definitely a few there that she might watch. Kate slowly unwrapped the little plastic packet that contained her headphones. Then she closed up the packet again and put it back in the pocket on the back of the seat in front of her. She reached for her handbag, but instead of her Kindle, she took out a notebook and pen.

  You’re supposed to be on holiday, she told herself, but still she found herself beginning to scribble down some thoughts on the Farraday case. She wrote CCTV issue – why did woman not use secret entrance to come into house as well as leave? Did she want to be seen on CCTV – why? WHO IS THIS WOMAN? NB. Check with Theo on fingerprints of other lovers.

  Kate paused for a moment, tapping her chin with her pen. Then she began to write again. Who was Simon Farraday?

  She put her pen down and stared at what she’d written. What exactly did she mean by that? Kate frowned, thinking. There was that internal itch once more, the idea that the case was one thing while actually being another. Smoke and mirrors.

  She began to write again, slowly, more of a jotting down of her stream of consciousness rather than an ordered series of notes. If Melanie Houghton is woman on CCTV, she must know about secret exit or she happened to leave in 15 mins of tape on fritz. But could not have predicted that, surely? NB. Double check alibi. Kate then remembered that Mr Houghton – what was his name? Jeremy Houghton – had alibied his wife. And she had done the same for him. Did that mean anything? Kate scribbled again. Check J Houghton’s fingerprints at townhouse – found?

  Kate stopped, catching her breath. Something else had just occurred to her. Quickly, before she could forget it or get muddled, she wrote it down. What if woman ISN’T murderer but OTHER killer entered and exited by secret tunnel so we don’t see them at all?

  Kate clenched her hands with excitement. God, if only she weren’t stuck on a plane... All she wanted to do was call Anderton and tell him her new theory, even if she hadn’t had much time to reflect on it. If there had been another killer, who could it have been? Again, her thoughts went to the Houghtons and their mirror alibis. Was one of them shielding the other? But then, if Jeremy Houghton had killed Simon Farraday, where was the evidence and why would his wife, who had evidently been Simon’s lover for months, let her husband get away with it?

  Kate looked back over what she’d written, her eyes resting on a particular phase. Who was Simon Farraday?

  Why did she feel that this was the key to the whole case? Was there something in Simon Farraday’s past, an injury to someone, a misdemeanour, even a crime? Had the sins of the past finally caught up with him? But what, if anything, had he done? And why, if the murder was the result of a long-held hatred, had he been killed now?

  Slowly Kate wrote a few more sentences. Look into Farraday’s past. Old friends? She thought of those other women he’d been in contact with. Was one of them not who she seemed? Kate wrote a bullet-pointed list. CCTV. Fingerprints. History. Houghtons’ past and marriage. She looked back at the word History and wrote Ewan Askell and added a question mark. Then she put down her pen.

  Kate’s head was beginning to hurt. She rubbed her temples, took a deep breath and closed her notebook, putting it back in her bag. Then she tipped the last flat, warm mouthful of her gin and tonic into her mouth and began to search for a film to watch, determined to try and leave the job behind, if only for a few days.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Olbeck was walking past Anderton’s office the next morning when he was startled, first by a shout, and secondly by his boss abruptly popping his head around the doorframe. “Mark! Got a minute?”

  Obediently, Olbeck turned into Anderton’s office and took a seat.

  “Did Kate land okay?” was Anderton’s first, rather anxious enquiry.

  “Yes, she’s fine, she sent me a text.”

  “Good.” Anderton, who’d sat back down in his chair in the meantime, shuffled some papers on his desk.

  “Was it anything urgent?” Olbeck enquired politely, after the seconds stretched out into silence.

  “Oh, not really. Well, just wanted an update, if you’ve got one.”

  “On the Farraday case?”

  “Yes,” Anderton said impatiently. “I didn’t mean the hunt for Lord bloody Lucan. What have we got so far?”

  Repressing a smile, Olbeck sat forward a little. “Right. Well. We’ve identified all six of the women contacted on the 4Adults website by Simon Farraday and interviewed them all. There’s nothing to suggest that there was anything suspicious about any of them but naturally we’ve swabbed and fingerprinted them all, just for purposes of elimination.”

  Anderton nodded. “Good. Talking of fingerprints, have we got final confirmation on the ones found at the scene?”

  “Yes. Off the top of my head, the only ones found were those of Mia and Simon Farraday, the two cleaning ladies and Melanie Houghton.” Olbeck paused for effect. “And several from Ewan Askell.”

  Anderton stilled. “Ewan Askell being Simon Farraday’s business partner?”

  “His deputy.”

  “I see. What’s his explanation for his prints being found there?”

  “He seemed quite unruffled by it when we asked him. Said he’d dropped in with Simon on the way back from a meeting, so Simon could pick up some paperwork. They had a cup of coffee there, apparently, and Askell’s prints were found in the kitchen, so I suppose it’s plausible.”

  Anderton’s eyes narrowed. “I thought the whole place had been cleaned the day before? When did Askell say he’d been there?”

  “About a week before. I know, I know, why would his prints still be there, but I suppose it’s possible that the cleaners missed that bit. Certainly, a defence lawyer could plausibly argue th
at his prints were there quite innocently.”

  “Hmm.” Olbeck watched Anderton shuffle his paperwork again, obviously mindlessly as he thought of something else. “Have you asked him about this mysterious bloody tunnel yet?”

  “Not yet. Rav is following that up today.”

  “Right.” Anderton gave up on the paperwork and sat back in his chair. “So Melanie Houghton’s prints were found on the scene, eh? In the bedroom, no doubt?”

  Olbeck grinned. “That’s right.”

  “Hmm. It’s not looking too good for Mrs Houghton, is it? I’ve a good mind to pull her in again, under caution this time. There’s DNA evidence linking her to the scene, she was emotionally and sexually involved with our murder victim, and her alibi’s as weak as water.” Something seemed to strike him. “No prints found from her old man, I suppose?”

  “Jeremy Houghton? In the townhouse? No, nothing.”

  “Hmm.” Anderton drummed his fingers on the desk. “I wonder. What did young Kate say about covering up to evade forensic detection?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Oh, I’m just thinking aloud. Kate mentioned something about the bondage gear being an effective way to make sure you didn’t leave any DNA behind. Something like that, anyway. I didn’t think much of it at the time but...” He trailed off, rubbing his jaw. “Mark – do you get the impression that there’s something behind this one, this case, that we’re not quite seeing? That it’s not quite what is seems?”

  Olbeck stared at him. Then he said, doubtfully, “I suppose so. Nothing ever is just as it seems in a murder case, is it?”

  Anderton sighed. “I know that. But—”

  “It’s funny you mentioning that, actually, because Kate said just the same thing.”

  “Did she now? She’ll go far, that one.” Anderton looked as if he were about to say more when the chime of an incoming email sounded on his computer and distracted him. “What’s this? Christ, talk of the devil.” He indicated his computer screen. “Young madam’s just sent me an email.”

  “Kate?” Olbeck got up and walked around Anderton’s desk to take a closer look. “She’s emailing you now?” He did a quick mental calculation. “She must be mad. Isn’t it about five thirty am over there at the moment?”

  Anderton chuckled. “She’s probably jetlagged. Besides, Americans start work ridiculously bloody early. She’s picking up bad habits.”

  Both men read through the email in silence. After they’d finished, Anderton turned to Olbeck with his eyebrows raised. “Well. Do you think she has a point?”

  “The fact that someone else could have entered and exited the house without being seen at all? Yes, I suppose so.” Olbeck was uneasily aware of the fact that he should have been able to pick that one up for himself. “But say she is right. How on Earth are we going to prove it?”

  Anderton swung his chair round and grabbed a pen. He stabbed it at a piece of paper, marking out three bullet points. “Right, well, let’s make a start. I want the Houghtons’ house searched. Today. I’ll organise the warrant. I want that CCTV footage sent off to a specialist to see if they can identify the woman on it. And I want Ewan Askell, Jeremy and Melanie Houghton in for further questioning. Got that?”

  “Got it,” Olbeck said, taking the note from his boss and trying not to droop at the thought of all the extra work ahead of him. Come back soon, Kate, he pleaded silently inside his head, wondering what his friend was up to over on the other side of the Atlantic. He hoped she was having fun, although seeing as she was up and sending work emails at the crack of dawn, that didn’t bode particularly well.

  Dismissing those thoughts, he took his leave of Anderton and made his way to the office, head filled with everything he had to set in motion today.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What are you doing?”

  Kate turned around from the glass-topped table that stood in one corner of Tin’s living room. “Nothing much. Just catching up on emails. Did I wake you?”

  “No, but – it’s six o’clock in the morning, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be working. Come back to bed.”

  Obediently, Kate got up. She’d sent the most important message already, the one to Anderton, and there was nothing to do now but wait until he replied. And, she reminded herself guiltily, I’m supposed to be here to spend time with Tin. Not to be preoccupied with work.

  A couple of hours later, the two of them were showered and dressed and ready for breakfast. Tin had astonished Kate by claiming that he almost never ate in his apartment but went out for every meal. “Even breakfast?” she’d asked, and he’d nodded.

  This morning, they were eating in a restaurant off Park Avenue, a place Kate was rapidly warming to. It was decorated like a 1940s diner, with a real, old-fashioned soda fountain, a black and white tiled floor and with booth seating in pale blue leather. After the first morning, Kate had realised she should only order a child’s size portion of scrambled eggs and toast, as the adult one was alarmingly massive.

  As they ate, she looked across at Tin. In some ways, he was reassuringly the same as the man she’d kissed goodbye at the airport all those months ago. In others, he was developing something of a New York gloss, an aura of sophistication and glamour that very much wasn’t what she was used to. Once or twice, she’d heard the tinge of an American accent in his voice. Perhaps it was just the slang he was beginning to pick up, but for a moment, it made her feel rather lost and lonely. Would she end up like that if she moved here?

  After breakfast, Tin announced he would show her Central Park. It was quite a fine day, although cold, and they set off, hand in hand, for their destination.

  “You know what’s strange?” Kate asked, as they waited to cross Seventh Avenue.

  “What’s that?”

  “It just all seems weirdly familiar. The streets and the buildings. It’s almost as if I’ve been here before.”

  Tin laughed. “In a past life, maybe.”

  “No, it’s not that,” said Kate, seriously. “I think it’s because in England, we see so much of New York on the TV, don’t we, and in films and things. We grow up watching it. No wonder it looks familiar.” She looked up as they passed the Algonquin Hotel. “I love all the art deco design.”

  “You want to go to Miami for that,” said Tin, piloting her onto the pavement on the other side of 44th Street. “Damn it, I should have gone a different way, sorry. This is going to take a bit longer than I anticipated.”

  “That’s fine,” said Kate, quite happy to see a bit more of New York as they walked on.

  Eventually, they reached one of the entrances to the park. The sun had disappeared behind a blanket of thick, grey cloud and Kate pulled the neck of her coat tighter.

  “What’s it like back in England?” asked Tin. “The weather, I mean.”

  “Just as it always is. Some rain, some sun and you never know what you’re going to get.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  Kate stole a sideways glance at her boyfriend. “Do you – do you miss it?”

  Tin glanced over at her. “I miss you. I can’t say I particularly miss England. It seems – oh, it seems really small now. Even London.”

  “Oh.” Kate was conscious of a small heart-sink moment. She realised then that she’d been half hoping that Tin would be so homesick that he’d decided to come back to the UK.

  They walked on along the winding paths, past a children’s playground where a small group of toddlers and pre-schoolers were climbing on the equipment and digging in the sandpit. Kate knew that this was as good a moment as any to ask what she wanted to ask, but she quailed just the same. Perhaps she should leave it for a better moment. This is as good a moment as you’re going to get.

  She took a deep breath. “Listen, Tin.” She saw him turn to her, eyebrows raised and plunged on. “If – if I move out here, will we – will we get married?”

  There. It was out. Tin stopped walking and dropped her hand.

  “What?”

  Kate d
rew in another breath and repeated herself. “Will we get married?”

  Tin made a surprised face. “Well, I – do you want to?”

  Kate opened her mouth to say a firm ‘yes’ and surprised herself by hedging at the last minute. “Well, I suppose – I think it would be a good idea.”

  “Oh.” After a moment, Tin began walking again but he didn’t take her hand. “Well, I – I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest. I hadn’t really thought about getting married.”

  Kate was conscious of a surge of anger. Chloe’s words rose up in her mind once more. If you move out there, you’re giving up your job, your house, your friends, your family, God knows what else, and for what? For a man who won’t even make any kind of commitment to you?

  “Don’t you think you’re asking rather a lot of me to give up everything in my life back home and come out here without any sort of promise of commitment?”

  Tin looked astonished and then uneasy. “Well – I can sort of see that but – but there’s no point in rushing into anything, is there? I mean, marriage – that’s a huge deal, that’s a huge commitment, right there.”

  The anger surged again. “But me giving up my entire life for you isn’t a big deal?”

  Now Tin was starting to frown too. “Hold on, I wasn’t saying that. You’re twisting my words—”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Kate – you took me a bit by surprise, that’s all. I’m not saying ‘no’, I just need a bit of time to think about it, that’s all.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t,” said Kate, surprising herself again. “You should know. By now, you should know.”

  “You can’t ask that. You can’t demand that.”

  They stared at each other, all good feeling having evaporated into the chilly air.

  “You don’t think I’ve at least got the right to know that the man who expects me to move countries for him is actually serious about me?” asked Kate. She could hear the anger in her voice. Once, she would have perhaps thought about moderating her tone, being more conciliatory, putting Tin’s feelings first. Now, her overriding feeling was sod it. If I can’t talk honestly about how I’m feeling and what I want, then what’s the point in any of this?