“We can ask up at this Big House place as well. They might be able to give us a decent description of the mystery woman from when she visited Garrison at the cottages there. I know it was a while ago but it’s got to be worth a try.”
I nod. “His wife. Poor woman. Finding out he’s passed away will be horrendous enough but discovering he was possibly having an affair as well…”
“Not to mention the fact he has a gun in his kitchen drawer which suggests it wasn’t just an affair he might have been getting himself tangled up in.”
Charlie’s phone buzzes and he pulls it from his jacket to answer it.
I listen as he says lots of ‘yep’ ‘OK’ and ‘got it’. Finally he clicks the phone off. “Looks like the wife is already on her way. She’s due in on the four o’clock flight this afternoon. The local police are meeting her at the airport. I think we should get ourselves over there too.”
The airport is nothing more than a large shack-type building with a waiting area of red plastic seats and a small coffee-bar-cum-shop in the corner. According to the timetable on the notice board there are several flights a day, the majority of which are from other parts of Scotland. There is a flight to London but it’s only once a week. I’m guessing the locals use the flights to Edinburgh or Glasgow to make connections with flights going elsewhere. Apparently Farra is something of a transport hub for the other Scottish islands on this stretch of coast. People get the ferry from the other smaller islands to Farra to then catch flights to the mainland. There’s also a lot of cargo traffic through Farra airport which then makes the onward journey to the other islands via ferry.
Mrs Garrison is due in on the flight from Edinburgh. Strange. I thought she lived in London. According to the monitor the flight is on time and should be landing in twenty minutes.
Charlie hands me a coffee in a proper mug – no cardboard cups at this airport coffee shop – and sips at his own drink. Constable McKenna – he of the blood and guts tale down on the beach when we first saw the body – is waiting to greet Mrs Garrison with a suitably solemn expression on his face.
“Don’t suppose the airport has working wifi does it?” Charlie asks him.
Constable McKenna nods. “It’s got wifi but whether it’s working reliably or not is anybody’s guess. Come through to the office.”
We follow him down a corridor and into a room full of desks, chairs and filing cabinets. He sits at a desk and taps away on a keyboard. “You’re in luck.” Getting to his feet he gestures towards the chairs. “Take a seat.”
Charlie is in front of the desk in a second, starting an Internet search.
“You’re sure this is OK?” I ask McKenna. “Just walking in and using somebody’s computer?”
“I can use my phone if you prefer but it’ll be faster on a computer,” Charlie says to Constable McKenna.
He waves a hand of dismissal. “Totally fine. I regularly use the wifi and the computers up here. I’ll see you out front when the plane lands.”
“Well, this is the wife,” Charlie says, pointing to the computer screen. I take a seat next to him.
We scroll through photo after photo of her, all glamorous and parading up and down red carpets at various festivals, award ceremonies and film premieres. Some of the photos are of her with Garrison in a variety of poses, arms linked, sharing a kiss, smiling for the cameras. On some of the more recent ones though she’s either with a man who is listed as her brother or with Marshall Coombes. Marshall is the drummer with Garrison’s former band Dynamo Monsoon. After Garrison left they got a new front man and the band is still doing pretty well by all accounts though no longer enjoying the dizzy heights of super stardom they used to.
I sip my coffee and watch as Charlie does an Internet search on Garrison’s family history. It’s amazing the kind of information which is readily accessible in the public domain. Even more so if you were once famous. Apparently Garrison has one older brother. Works in London. Married with a teenage son. Interestingly he also has a twin sister called Angelica. Recently separated from her husband of six years. They have a child. A boy.
“This could be our mystery woman,” I say, pointing at the family information on the screen. “A woman of about the same age as Garrison. A young child. Mrs Campbell at the shop said the woman had a familiar face. That could be why. If she’s his twin sister.”
Charlie shrugs. “Could be. Though Mrs Campbell also thought the woman wasn’t his wife and we found condoms at his house. If he isn’t having a fling with mystery woman, then he is with somebody. Unless of course, his wife has been paying conjugal visits to the island too.”
My phone buzzes into life and I see the name on the caller display. “It’s James,” I say to Charlie. “I’m just going to take this.”
“Say hi from me,” he replies as I walk to the airport’s lounge and take a seat.
James is a fellow CCIA agent and also, officially speaking, my supervising officer whilst I’m getting to grips with the job. He was the one who lead my training sessions at the academy. He was the one I shadowed on a couple of cases. He’s a total sweetheart, a good friend of Charlie’s and now a good friend of mine too.
“Checking up on me?” I say.
He laughs. “Of course. How’s it going?”
“Not too bad. I freaked a little when I saw the victim.”
“Charlie was with you right?” he says, a note of concern in his voice.
“Yeah, he was. I’m OK. I just felt like such a wimp.”
“Don’t be stupid. I wish I could say it gets easier, but it doesn’t.”
“Charlie said the same thing. Anyway, we’ve started on checks and background stuff. Charlie’s on the computer right now, he says hi by the way.”
“Tell him I say hi back. Oh, and tell him I’m trusting him to keep you out of trouble on your first official investigation OK?”
“I will. How’s things with you?”
“Good. Just finished a case and I’ve got a week off. Faye’s planning a short break for us as we speak. Searching for flights to somewhere hot and sunny.”
I fidget on the uncomfortable plastic seat. “Oh, right, well, have a fantastic time.”
“Hey, you know you can still call me anytime if you want to. Doesn’t matter that I’m on holiday. I’m your training officer twenty four seven. You never truly switch off in this line of work. If you need to talk to somebody who isn’t involved with your case, just ring me.”
“Thanks. By the way, we have some extra help up here. The agency don’t trust me to get the job done I guess so they’ve sent another agent.”
“This is your first proper assignment,” he replies. “I wouldn’t worry they’ve sent someone else along. It’s no reflection on you. Out of curiosity who have they sent?”
I pick at a bit of cotton on my top. “Martha.”
James lets out a long exhale. “Phew, good luck with that. Martha can be something of a challenge.”
“So I’ve discovered. What’s her story? Why is she so…”
“I haven’t a clue,” James interrupts. “She just is.”
I sigh. “Great.”
“Yeah, well, if you need a sounding board, someone to whinge about her to, just ring me. OK? Don’t let her get to you.”
I smile. “Thanks, James. Have a great holiday and I’ll try not to call you.”
At the sound of an approaching light aircraft I turn and look out of the window. Charlie must have heard it too because he appears in the waiting area. “Let’s go and see what we make of the wife shall we?”
At five minutes past four o’clock the flight arrives. We watch as the pilot gets the plane to perform a smooth textbook landing despite the strong crosswind and slowly taxis it to a halt. Moments later the door swings open and an air stewardess appears, standing at the top of a bright yellow metal staircase. The passengers start to disembark. First down the steps is a man in a business suit carrying a briefcase. Then a woman with red hair appears with two sulky-looking teena
ge children. More and more passengers make their way across the airport tarmac. There can’t be many people left by now.
I shift my gaze back to the aircraft door and a woman with short blonde hair is standing talking to the stewardess. Even at this distance I recognise the assured stance of the woman on the aircraft steps. She has the same confident posture as the woman in the red carpet photos.
Mrs Garrison.
Are there any more passengers I wonder?
The stewardess is joined by a man who is clearly the pilot and they make their way down the steps. Nope. No other passengers then.
We stand and watch as Constable McKenna greets the blonde woman who has now made her way over to the terminal building.
“Mrs Garrison, I’m so sorry for your loss,” we hear him say. “We have a car waiting and have booked you into a local hotel. Would you prefer to go to the hotel first or to the island medical centre?”
“The hotel,” she replies before bursting into tears, clutching at an uncomfortable-looking Constable McKenna as she sobs into some tissues in her hand.
Constable McKenna guides her towards the exit and the waiting car. We follow at a respectable distance and as he helps her into the police car we climb into our rented 4x4.
“Guess, for now, we let her get settled at the hotel and calm down a little. Constable McKenna said earlier that he’ll let us know when Mrs Garrison wants to go to the medical centre for the identification and also when he interviews her,” Charlie informs me as he starts the car. “We’ll have to go along with it for now I suppose but I can’t help feeling McKenna is way out of his depth with this case.”
Back at the cottage Miss Beautiful is home. She’s spent the day checking local records and delving, via the unreliable Internet connection, into our victim’s past.
And she’s cooking again. I must admit the food smells which greet Charlie and I as we open the door are very tempting.
“Hello, you guys!” she says as she drops spaghetti into a pan of boiling water on the stove. “Had a good day?”
She makes it sound as though we’re here on holiday. Is it possible to have a good day when you’re investigating a murder case?
“I found out some interesting stuff from Garrison’s bank records but I’ll tell you all about that after we’ve eaten.” She opens a bottle of wine without spilling any on herself or the floor and pours generous amounts into three glasses. She hands the first glass to Charlie. “White is OK right?”
He nods and takes the glass. “Thanks, Martha but you don’t need to do all this. Cooking, pouring wine. Your food is amazing but really, there’s no need. ”
She shrugs. “I enjoy cooking.” Stepping closer she rubs his arm affectionately. “Especially for you. And, thank you, it’s nice to have my food appreciated. It’s spaghetti bolognese tonight.”
My glass of wine is still sitting on the kitchen counter. I step past her and pick up the glass and raise it to her. “Cheers, thanks, Martha. The food does smell great. I’m starving.” Silently I chant –I will not let her wind me up. I will not let her wind me up. I will NOT let HER wind me up.
She eyes me suspiciously. “Right. Dinner will be about ten minutes if you guys want to go change or anything.”
I decide to ‘go change’ as Martha puts it. Usually, at this point in the day, I might be tempted to slip into something comfy like my PJs and a pair of colourful cosy socks. I can hear Miss Beautiful singing to herself, playing the perfect hostess, dressed in designer jeans and a low cut jumper, hair swinging in a ponytail like one of those women in the shampoo adds.
I glance longingly at my PJs but opt for a pair of black leggings teamed with a fitted but casual shirt.
Back in the kitchen Martha is already serving up dinner. Charlie is sitting at the dining table. Thanks for waiting for me, I silently grumble to myself.
“Ah, there you are.” Martha gets to her feet and rests a hand on Charlie’s shoulder as she reaches past him for the wine bottle she left on the kitchen worktop. “I love your leggings,” she enthuses. “So cute!”
Cute. Right. The way she says it implies she thinks my outfit is anything but cute.
I glance at Charlie but he’s too busy stuffing his face with spaghetti to notice my unease.
Once we’ve eaten I gather the dishes and put them next to the sink as Martha pours more wine.
“Here, let me sort that.” Charlie is standing behind me, one hand on the edge of the sink so he’s half trapping me in the corner of the kitchen. He leans in close without actually touching me and I feel a flicker of excitement and wish Martha would chose this moment to make some excuse to leave us alone for a while.
I turn to move past him, letting my hand brush briefly against his jeans. He meets my gaze and I feel a hot and bothered sensation fizz through me.
Martha walks over and interrupts our little flirtation at the sink. As Charlie fills the bowl with hot water and starts to clean up the kitchen she leans in and touches his arm. “You’ll make some lucky girl a wonderful husband one day!” she laughs.
Once order is restored to the kitchen we settle ourselves in the living room of the cottage. There’s a sofa and two chairs. Martha positions herself on the sofa, curling her long legs elegantly underneath her. Which means Charlie and I end up taking a chair each. Not that we could have cuddled on the sofa anyway… not with me declaring the physical side of our relationship off limits whilst Martha is around. I’m definitely beginning to regret saying that…
“I picked up one of the island’s newspaper at the shop earlier,” Charlie says handing me a copy of the rather thin Farra Herald. “Always useful to have a read of the local paper, it helps familiarize you with the area and the people. The Herald even has a horoscope column, written by a woman called Phillipa. It’s nowhere near as good as yours used to be though. Take a look.”
Martha eyes me across the room. “Nowhere near as good as yours?”
“Amber used to make up the horoscopes for the Palstone Courier, the local paper for where she lives,” Charlie supplies helpfully.
“Really?” Martha raises a quizzical eyebrow. “How sweet!”
I bury my head in the paper to hide my flushed cheeks and silently curse Charlie for mentioning my former alter ego Madam Zamber in front of Martha.
“So the wife has arrived on the island then?” Martha says moments later. “What’s she like?”
“Upset,” I reply. “She broke down in tears at the airport. Constable McKenna didn’t quite know what to do.”
Martha shakes her head, a sad expression clouding her eyes. “Poor woman.”
“It’s looking as though it’s about to get even worse,” Charlie chips in. “Amber and I spoke to the woman who runs the local store and she told us about the house Garrison owns a few miles out of the village. She also told us how he’s been a regular visitor to the island for a while now and that he’s been seen with a woman, on the beach. They even had a young child with them, a boy, she reckons he might be called Luke.”
“Could be anyone,” Martha shrugs.
“We searched his house and found a gun,” I say.
“We’ve handed it in to the local constabulary,” Charlie adds. “I’m convinced McKenna hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing most of the time but protocol states we give any evidence which could be relevant to the case, especially if it’s dangerous, to the local police.”
“We found some women’s stuff at his cottage too,” I say.
“Could be his wife’s stuff,” Martha counters and I feel she’s gearing up for a verbal sparring match though I’m not sure why.
“It’s possible but the description of the woman he was with on the beach doesn’t match his wife at all. The mystery woman had long dark hair. His wife is blonde.” I fidget in my chair. These leggings are getting all rucked up and uncomfortable. “We did some research though and he has a twin sister, recently estranged from her husband. They have a child so the mystery woman might be his sister. She might have be
en visiting before to seek solace from a difficult marriage, more recently perhaps because she’s finally split from her husband.”
“When can you guys interview the wife?” Martha asks.
“We’re waiting for the local police to confirm that. It will probably be tomorrow morning now though,” Charlie replies.
“Guess we’ll have to see what she’s got to say about all this then.” Martha plumps up a cushion on the sofa. “In the meantime I found out there are no obvious irregularities on Garrison’s bank account. Business as usual. Consultancy money going in, bills being paid. Nothing exciting. Not on the joint current account anyway. He does, however, have a bank account in just his name and that’s more interesting. There have been some very large payments out of that account. There doesn’t appear to be a pattern to them though. Sometimes there are several a month and other times maybe only one.”
“Could be payment for anything,” Charlie offers, resting his feet on the coffee table.
“They all appear to be to the same place but without further investigation it’s not clear where. There are a couple of things though which make me think things are definitely amiss with Garrison.”
“Such as?” I say and Martha gets up to fetch a folder of paperwork from the desk in the corner of the room.
With Martha’s back turned I risk a glance at Charlie and he meets my eyes and winks.
Martha comes back and sits on the edge of the sofa, spreading various pieces of paper over the coffee table. Charlie moves his feet and sits forward to check through the documents.
“Firstly,” Martha continues, “some of the amounts being paid into his account are surely too large to be coming from just regular consultancy work.”
Charlie lets out a low whistle as he reads a bank print out. “I see what you mean. Though some high profile consultancy stuff does pay close to these kind of figures and Garrison’s work and reputation were definitely high profile, largely thanks to him being famous. Plus he’s been doing the TV presenting stuff too.”
“You think he might have been receiving payment for extra work from somebody else?” I ask.
Amber Reed Mysteries Volume One: Romantic Comedy Mystery Series Box Set (Amber Reed Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency Mystery Box Set Book 1) Page 34
