Killing Pretties

by Rob Ashman

  ‘Sorry. Like I said, they were too far away for me to get a proper look.’

  ‘Did you get the feeling they were planned meetings?’

  ‘No, I think it was pure chance. He saw them and jumped out.’

  ‘Did any money changed hands?’

  ‘I was too far away.’

  ‘Okay, what else?’

  ‘We’re working two cases. One involves a missing woman and the other is a murder. He’s running point on both.’

  ‘Shit, that’s a lot of work.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Pietersen plunged her hands into her pockets and began shuffling her feet. She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

  ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘A popular guy around the station, well regarded. He’s pretty unambitious and has a prickly side. Though, he gets on well with his boss. She obviously trusts him. He’s got a fractious relationship with his ex-wife and from what I can tell he doesn’t over-indulge on booze.’

  ‘Any other relationships on the scene?’

  ‘Don’t know. He hasn’t mentioned anyone.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘I checked the database and he doesn’t have any informants listed. So, the men he met are off the grid as far as the department is concerned.’

  ‘That fits. What else?’

  ‘He fixed my car.’

  ‘What?’ the man removed the fag from his mouth and spat on the floor.

  ‘My car was up the creek and he took it away and fixed it.’

  ‘Very neighbourly of him.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Fuck me, Ryan, it’s only been a couple of days,’ Pietersen slapped her arms to her sides and turned on the spot.

  ‘You need to get close to him.’

  ‘Get close to him? It’s not bloody Love Island.’

  ‘I’m just–’

  ‘D’you know what, Ryan, there is something else…’ she stepped in close. ‘If you’re unhappy with the way I’m managing the job, then pull me out.’

  ‘Sorry, there’s a lot riding on this.’

  ‘Yes there is, for all of us.’

  Ryan paused and stared at his shoes. ‘Do you need anything?’

  ‘Yes, I need you to find another place for us to meet. I’m going to go back to the office stinking of piss.’

  Back at the station Malice was surfing every database he could lay his hands on. Lubos Vasco was proving a difficult man to find; no mention of him anywhere.

  When Malice had Swivel jammed up against the wall, he hadn’t told him anything he’d not worked out for himself. Vasco was knocking over dealers and moving in on their patches. No one knew where he’d come from. He simply appeared and started shoving people out. Swivel had not had a visit, but he was expecting one. Which would account for him nearly shitting his pants when Malice grabbed him.

  Malice’s phone beeped in his pocket. It was a text message. On the screen was a picture of Amy and Hayley taken outside their house. Amy was dressed in her school uniform with her bag across her shoulder. Beneath the picture the text read:

  Whistle and Flute, 7.30pm today, table 10.

  Chapter 31

  M alice was aware that Pietersen was talking, though his mind was elsewhere; occupied with the picture of his daughter and the Whistle and Flute pub. He balled his fists together in his lap.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Pietersen asked as she shifted through the gears having pulled away from the traffic lights. ‘You seem distracted.’

  ‘I got some family stuff going on.’

  ‘Only I’ve been yakking away for the past twenty miles and you’ve not said a word.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Anything I can help with?’

  ‘No. Me and my ex are going through a rough patch — again.’

  ‘That can make life difficult.’

  ‘Too right,’ Malice stared straight ahead, his teeth clenched tightly together.

  ‘I was thinking. I never got the chance to buy you a coffee to say thanks for fixing my motor.’

  ‘There’ll be other times.’

  ‘I was wondering if you’d like a beer instead?’

  ‘I don’t know…’

  ‘C’mon, it’s the least I can do.’

  ‘Maybe a quick one.’

  ‘Or cocktails if you’d prefer. It might help to take your mind off things.’

  ‘Erm, yeah, that would be good.’

  ‘Which – beer or cocktails?’

  ‘Beer. Beer would be good.’

  Pietersen nosed the car into the driveway and the chippings crunched beneath the tyres. They got out and surveyed the house.

  ‘Must have cost a packet,’ Malice said.

  ‘Sending people to jail must be a lucrative business.’

  ‘It must be… on the rare occasions that happens.’

  Pietersen pushed the button next to the door. A series of chimes echoed in the hallway beyond. Nothing happened. She tried again. Nothing.

  ‘I’ll check around the back.’

  Pietersen left Malice on the doorstep and skirted around the side of the house. Malice tried the bell again.

  She rounded the corner to find a huge garden at the back. The lawns were flanked by flower beds and hedges with the pottery shed in the far corner. An oval table and eight chairs took pride of place on the patio. She cupped her hands to the glass and looked through the kitchen window. Dishes were stacked on the draining board and a mug was sitting on the table.

  ‘Detective Pietersen, isn’t it?’ Elsa called out as she emerged from behind a row of bushes.

  ‘We rang the bell, but…’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you. I’ve been composting,’ she was dressed in three-quarter length jeans and a baggy top with a pair of comedy sized gardening gloves.

  ‘We wondered if you wouldn’t mind answering a few more questions.’

  ‘That’s fine, though Damien is at work. Any news on Belle?’

  ‘Our investigations are ongoing.’

  ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘No, my colleague is at the front.’

  ‘Shall we go inside for a coffee and leave him there?’ Elsa shook her hands and the gloves fell to the ground.

  ‘Erm, he’ll not be impressed with that.’

  ‘He might not be… but sometimes it’s good to make them wait.’

  Pietersen screwed her face up. ‘I’m not sure that’s going to work.’

  ‘I’m only joking, come inside.’ Elsa opened the back door and Pietersen followed her. ‘Can you let your colleague in while I go upstairs to change?’

  ‘There is no need for that.’

  ‘Nonsense. I’m in my gardening gear.’

  ‘You’re fine, Mrs Kaplan, we only want to…’ her words fell on deaf ears as Elsa disappeared. Pietersen made her way down the hallway and opened the front door to find Malice checking his phone.

  ‘Bloody hell, you broke in?’ he said.

  ‘Hardly, she was in the garden. She said I should keep you waiting on the doorstep.’

  ‘Why, what have I done?’

  ‘Don’t know. She’s gone upstairs to change.’

  ‘Into what?’

  ‘Search me.’ They loitered around waiting for Elsa to return. ‘Perhaps we should—'

  ‘Detective Inspector, how lovely to see you again. I hope your colleague didn’t keep you waiting.’ Elsa appeared at the top of the stairs dressed in a halter-neck maxi dress that floated open at the front as she walked. She glided down the stairs exposing a generous portion of leg.

  Malice took a double take. Pietersen took a double dislike.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Elsa said. Her perfume wafted over them as she glided past.

  ‘Put your tongue away,’ Pietersen mouthed. Malice raised his eyebrows.

  ‘So, what do you want to ask me?’ Elsa posed as she pulled three mugs from the cupboard.

  ‘The hotel records show th
at you saw Belinda Garrett five times over a twelve-week period. You got together every two to three weeks,’ said Pietersen.

  ‘That sounds about right,’ Elsa removed the kettle from its stand and filled it with water.

  ‘If we look at the pattern of your meetings,’ Pietersen consulted her notebook. ‘On the weekend of her disappearance she was due to see you and your husband. Had you arranged to see her?’

  ‘No, our association with Belle had run its course. She told us she had met someone.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Malice

  ‘She didn’t say, and we didn’t ask.’

  ‘Is that the way it works?’ he added.

  ‘The way what works?’

  ‘Couples who are into swinging.’

  ‘Some folk swing when they are between relationships and others, like Damien and I, do it because … well, we just do it.’

  ‘Did she say whether her new partner was a man or a woman?’ asked Pietersen.

  ‘Like I said, we didn’t ask. She wanted to move on and that was fine with us.’

  ‘Where were you the weekend Belle went missing?’

  Elsa ignored the question.

  ‘Can you help me with this?’ Elsa said to Malice, looking up at the coffee pot sitting on the top shelf. ‘I don’t know why Damien insists on putting it up there. Would you mind?’

  Malice sidled over and reached up.

  ‘I mean, look…’ Elsa squeezed herself against him with her arm in the air. ‘He knows I can’t reach.’ She gazed up at Malice. He stepped away and handed over the pot. Elsa smiled, spooned in ground coffee and filled it with boiling water. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Mrs Kaplan, where were you the weekend Belinda went missing?’ Pietersen tried again.

  ‘We were here all weekend. Damien was working and I pottered around the house.’

  ‘Did you go anywhere? See anyone?’

  ‘No. We decided it would be nice to have the weekend to ourselves. It’s been a really busy time lately.’

  ‘When was the last time you had any contact with Belinda?’

  ‘At the Mexborough.’

  ‘Is that when she told you about having met someone?’

  ‘Now, if I remember correctly, yours is white with no sugar,’ Elsa said, glancing across at Pietersen. ‘And you… you’re strong and black.’ Elsa lasered Malice with her piercing blue eyes.

  ‘Err, yea, that’s fine,’ Malice replied. If it wasn’t for his Jamaican heritage they would have seen him blush.

  ‘Mrs Kaplan, is that when she told you about having met someone?’ Pietersen said with an edge in her voice. This was beginning to grate.

  ‘Yes, it was. Obviously, we were disappointed but it was her choice and we respected that.’

  ‘So, you had no contact with her after that date?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Can I ask you a question of a more personal nature?’ Pietersen said.

  ‘Sure, fire away.’

  ‘Did you and your husband both have a relationship with Belinda Garrett?’

  ‘Ha, you really must be more direct. If by that you mean were we both having sex with her… the answer is no. I was screwing her, not Damien’

  ‘What was he doing while you were having sex with her?’ asked Pietersen.

  ‘Come on — do I need to draw you a picture? You know what you boys are like.’ She looked straight at Malice, who looked away.

  ‘I don’t think we have any more questions. Thank you for your time, Mrs Kaplan,’ Malice had had enough.

  ‘But you haven’t finished your coffee.’

  ‘We have to get back to the station,’ he said, placing his cup on the worktop. Pietersen flashed him a look.

  ‘Well, any time you want to talk more, just give me a call.’ She plucked a used envelope from the letter rack and scribbled down a telephone number. ‘Call me,’ she handed it to Malice. He folded it in two and stuffed it in his jacket pocket.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Malice and Pietersen said their goodbyes and made their way out to the car. Elsa gave them a wave and closed the front door.

  ‘Christ, that was like being in a lap dancing bar without the poles,’ Malice said as he revved the engine and backed out of the driveway.

  ‘I think she saw you as fresh meat,’ Pietersen replied, giving him a sideways glance.

  ‘It felt like it.’

  ‘I got the feeling if I hadn’t been there, you’d have been in trouble.’

  ‘I got the feeling she’s lying.’

  Elsa’s fingers danced across the screen of her mobile phone:

  Elsa: The police were here. Same two as before.

  Damien: What did they want?

  Elsa: They asked more questions

  Damien: Are you okay?

  Elsa: Yes, fine. Talk when you get back later.

  Damien: Do you want me to get you anything on my way home?

  Elsa: Yes - him.

  Chapter 32

  M alice shouldered the door to the Whistle and Flute open, then walked into a wall of sound. Three televisions were blasting out a football game to the delight of a room full of people sitting at high tables that were covered with empty glasses. A young man and woman, both dressed in black, weaved their way around the room trying to collect them. It looked like a full-time job.

  On the other side of the pub, people were trying to make themselves heard while enjoying dinner. Malice scanned the room and spotted an empty table in the corner with a Reserved sign on it. He wandered over and took a seat at table 10.

  He’d spent the last ten minutes loitering outside pretending to be on his phone, stealing glances through the windows. There were two men that stood out like a pair of sore thumbs.

  A big guy wearing a leather jacket that fitted him like a diver’s wetsuit was standing at the bar staring straight ahead; either his beer was flat or the untouched pint in front of him had been there a while. A second man, tall and lean, was sitting at the opposite end reading a newspaper. In all the time Malice observed him, he hadn’t turned the page once.

  Earlier, Malice had spoken on the phone with Hayley on the pretext of arranging a visit to see Amy. She’d seemed fine. He wanted to say more but until he knew what he was dealing with it was best not to spook her.

  Malice threaded his way through the morass of baying people and pulled up a chair. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the big guy pull out his phone. Malice could hear blood pulsing through his temples.

  A man appeared from a side door. He was about the same age as Malice with a taut wiry frame. His hair was cropped and his pale blue eyes chilled his face. He dragged the chair opposite away from the table and sat down.

  ‘I like a man who’s early, Mr Malice.’ He spoke with a thick accent. His open shirt showed a patchwork of DIY tattoos carved into his skin in black ink.

  ‘If you go near my wife and daughter, I’ll kill you.’

  ‘Ex-wife, Mr Malice. And we have no intention of hurting them. That is not how we do business. I needed to grab your attention. Do I have your attention?’

  ‘If you harm them…’

  ‘I give you my word. You play ball and I have no interest in your family.’

  ‘What do you want, Mr Vasco?’

  ‘You know my name! Was that a lucky guess or have I come up on your police radar already? If it’s the latter I would be surprised, so it must be the former. Which is it?’

  ‘I know who you are.’

  ‘I respectfully suggest you know my name but you have no idea who I am.’

  ‘You have my attention, what do you want?’

  ‘That is the trouble with you British, all business and no pleasure.’

  Malice leaned forwards across the table.

  ‘Don’t piss about.’

  Vasco didn’t flinch.

  ‘I like to conduct business in a civilised way,’ he said, raising his hand without breaking eye contact. ‘Some of the best deals I’ve ever done have involved good food, good wi
ne and good entertainment. You Brits are all about getting to the bottom line as fast as possible. You need to enjoy the journey, my friend.’

  He rolled up his sleeves to reveal more home-made tattoos. Malice noticed the top of Vasco’s little finger on his left hand was missing; the same with the ring finger and little finger of his right.

  The big bloke in the leather jacket lumbered towards them. He was carrying an ice bucket with a bottle of fizz and two glasses sticking out of the top in one hand and a paper carrier bag in the other. He placed the bucket in the centre of the table and arranged the champagne flutes. He handed the bag to Vasco who placed it on the floor. And with that, the big man sloped off back to the bar.

  Vasco poured two drinks. Condensation fogged the outside of the glasses.

  ‘I thought it would be good to get our new relationship off on the right foot. It’s not the proper stuff I’m afraid, my man asked for champagne and the barman looked at him like he had two heads.’

  ‘Not sure that’s the only reason.’

  ‘He’s not pretty, I agree. But he’s effective and fiercely loyal.’

  ‘More effective than your other goons? I hear you’re two men short.’

  ‘That was unfortunate.’

  ‘No, it was the work of amateurs.’

  ‘You were there?’

  ‘Have they run home to matka yet?’

  Vasco’s eyes flashed anger at the use of the Slovak word for mother.

  ‘I asked if you were there?’

  ‘And I asked if they’d run home to matka?’

  Vasco raised his glass.

  ‘We are the same, you and I, strong men who test each other out before making up our minds. I like that.’

  ‘I’ve already made my mind up.’ Malice left his glass on the table.

  Vasco sipped his drink.

  ‘It’s not bad. Could do with being colder but then where I come from everything’s colder. Apart from the women. That’s another area where you Brits could learn some lessons.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Okay as you’re insistent on conducting business — let’s talk business.’ Vasco drained his glass and topped it up, bubbles spilled over the rim onto the table. ‘Are you sure?’ he held the bottle up and Malice shook his head. ‘I am, how you say, the new kid on the block and I’m currently in the acquisition stage of building my corporate enterprise. Sometimes that happens fast and at other times it’s… let’s say… problematic. But one thing I do know is it’s important to have good market intelligence. Which I believe is what you provide.’