Killing Pretties

by Rob Ashman

  There, that wasn’t so difficult now was it?

  He cracked the lid from the cardboard cup and inhaled the intense coffee aroma. This should have been a morning for easing himself back into work mode, and putting the troubles with Lubos Vasco behind him. However, there was a problem.

  ‘It’s like fucking Beirut out at the Matlock trading estate and I’m eager to hear what you have to say about it.’ Samantha Waite was not a happy Superintendent, her voice thundered down the corridor from the briefing room. ‘Do you have anything to tell me?’

  There was a low-key response which Malice couldn’t catch but there was nothing low-key about Waite’s second salvo.

  ‘I’ve got a warehouse that’s been burned to the ground with traces of accelerant all over the place, a torched van, the charred remains of four bodies and another one who surprisingly hasn’t been affected by the fire and looks as fresh as a daisy. And to top it all there’s not a scrap of I.D. on any of them. What the hell’s going on?’

  Malice winced and took a slug of coffee. That was problem number one. The risk of being pulled into the investigation to help was running high.

  Problem number two was the contents of the flash-drive.

  Pietersen came into the office and gestured with her thumb over her shoulder.

  ‘What’s going on in there?’ she said.

  ‘Waite’s giving Wilson and his team the hair dryer treatment. Apparently, we now have five more bodies and an arson attack on a warehouse.’

  ‘Shit, are they connected to the other murders?’ she shuffled out of her jacket and dumped her bag by the side of her chair.

  ‘I think that’s what Waite is trying to establish.’

  There was a bang as the briefing room door slammed shut. A welcome silence filled the office.

  ‘I’ve got good news,’ said Pietersen, pushing her hair behind her ears and taking a seat. She looked like the cat who’d got the cream.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I had a visit last night from Martin.’

  ‘I thought you said ‘good news’.’

  ‘He told me he would drop the complaint if I gave him another chance; and more or less said he’d made up the complaint solely to get my attention.’

  ‘That’s a turn up.’

  ‘Yeah, and the best thing is … I recorded him saying it!’ she flung her arms in the air like she’d scored a winning goal. ‘I’ve been with PSD this morning and handed over the recording,’

  ‘Boom! Let’s hope that’s the last you hear from him.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I doubt it.’

  ‘Any chance of you two ever …’

  ‘After what he did, no chance. I’ve decided on a new dating plan.’

  ‘Oh?’ Malice wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what was coming next.

  ‘I’ll never date a man who I could beat in a fair fight.’

  ‘Not sure that’s a wise choice, in your case it narrows down the field too much.’

  Pietersen pulled a face at him. ‘Very funny. How was your evening?’

  ‘Pretty boring,’ Malice forced a yawn.

  ‘Sometimes boring is good.’

  ‘Yeah, sometimes. My turn; I have bad news.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The judge refused our application for a warrant to search Kaplan’s place. He said we had insufficient evidence to support what we were looking for.’

  ‘He’s got a point. All we know is she caught a train and got off at Fallgate station.’

  ‘Yeah, he said pretty much the same thing.’

  ‘Do you think Garrett went to their house?’

  ‘Not sure, all I know is every time I speak to the Von Traps an alarm goes off in my head telling me they’re lying.’

  ‘This trial involving Damien is interesting,’ Pietersen took a notebook from her bag and flipped over the pages. ‘You were right about the husband leaving his phone at home but that’s not the only similarity to Garrett’s disappearance. They both left their homes on a Saturday; he was supposed to be visiting a company that didn’t exist and she was visiting a friend who we’ve not been able to trace; and we’ve not found a single item of their personal effects anywhere. Not his car, nor her suitcase – nothing.’

  ‘How long ago did he go missing?’

  Pietersen turned the page.

  ‘His wife last saw him on Friday the ninth November last year and he was reported missing by his agent sometime the following week.’

  ‘But you said he left the house on Saturday?’

  ‘They’d had a row and he’d slept in another room, when she got up the next morning he was gone.’

  Malice fell silent.

  Fuck.

  Chapter 48

  T he problem with murdering my wife is I’d be killing the best part of myself. Everything I own and everything I am, I owe to her. It seems churlish to snuff her out over another man, especially given our marital arrangements. But I’m struggling to control the rage inside and whichever way I look at it, she’s breaking the contract.

  It’s late morning and I’m back in my workshop, swinging the axe like a man possessed. Which I suppose I am. I’ve spent the last two hours trying to persuade Elsa that screwing Malice is not a good idea. I appealed to her sense of logic and her love for me. The first she discarded and the second she laughed at.

  ‘Damien, this is not about you,’ she’d said. ‘It’s about me and what I want. And I want him.’ She repeated the mantra over and over as I twisted and turned my arguments, trying to make her change her mind. I might be king-pin in the courtroom, but in my own house I feel like the jester.

  ‘You’ve never denied me anyone before, what’s different with this one?’ she’d said.

  ‘He’s ugly.’

  ‘No, he isn’t. He has a rugged charm and a sensational body. Have you seen the way his muscles ripple under his shirt and the way—’

  ‘Look!’ I’d yelled in desperation. ‘I came up with these.’ I showed her a parade of beautiful men and women from the swinging website. Each one eager to take Elsa to heaven and back. ‘Pick one, pick two… or three,’ I’d said scrolling through the profiles.

  ‘I can have those any time. Right now I want him.’

  ‘For pity sake, Elsa. Do it for me.’

  ‘Oh Damien, you are funny. I’m going to have him. And that’s that.’

  The more she refused to change her mind, the angrier I became. In the end I called her a bitch which prompted her to shrug her shoulders and announce she was going for a bath. That’s the second time this week I’ve called her that.

  How I wish there was an exsanguinated corpse hanging in the drying room. Someone I could chop to pieces while thinking of my wife. But no such luck. I have to make do with my mind’s eye images of Elsa and that bloody copper, hacking at them through the air.

  Then a different thought enters my head.

  I could make it look like a disappearance.

  I could spin the story that Elsa had gone behind my back to meet Belinda and in a crazed sex session she’d died. Elsa must have disposed of the body and… and…

  My head goes into overdrive.

  This could work.

  I practise my defence.

  ‘I only went along with the story to protect her. I love Elsa and will do anything for her — including letting her bed other people. I’m a helpless, besotted husband.’

  I’m liking this.

  I’d need the police on my side to have any chance of them believing me… but I could do that. I need to play nicely the next time I see them. I could make myself out to be a victim of our wayward lifestyle.

  ‘I’m under the spell of my promiscuous wife.’

  I could make that sound convincing. After all, it’s not far from the truth.

  There would be a scandal but after things had died down I’d be in the clear. Maybe a temporary suspension from the partnership while the investigation was ongoing but then I could throw myself at their mercy to re-instate me afterwards. Th
ey’d go for that.

  ‘The police investigation was getting too close and she’s done a runner. There’s a large quantity of cash missing from our account and she’s taken off. Do you think you can find her? I have no idea where she is.’

  But I’d know precisely where she was. Her beautiful parts would be baked in the glaze of my latest creation while what’s left is floating on the wind down by the quarry

  ‘Screw an Ugly over my dead body,’ I rant to myself.

  She can’t do it. She won’t do it.

  I’ll make sure of it.

  Chapter 49

  M alice drove down the tree-lined country lane and passed the entrance to the driveway. Pietersen craned her neck to get a better view.

  ‘Yup, two cars. They’re both at home,’ she said, shifting in her seat.

  ‘Good.’ Malice kept on going, spun the car around in a side road and headed back to the house. ‘Are you okay with this?’

  ‘Will you stop asking that! I’m fine. The bigger question is… are you?’ huffed Pietersen.

  ‘We need to split them up.’

  ‘From what I’ve seen she’s gonna jump at the chance of having some alone time with you.’

  Malice flashed her a sideways scowl.

  ‘Are you being my bloody mother again?’ he snapped.

  ‘I only have your best interests at heart.’

  ‘Concentrate on your own job.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The gravel crunched under the wheels as they pulled up behind the cars.

  ‘Let’s keep this off the radar as far as Waite is concerned,’ Malice said, killing the engine. ‘I’m not sure she’d be too keen on two of her team chasing around the countryside on the basis of a hunch.’

  ‘She doesn’t need another reason to go ballistic, that’s for sure. She was terrifying this morning.’

  ‘Yup, she’s one scary woman.’

  ‘I’m being serious … you do know this is crazy, right?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Okay I just wanted to check. Let’s hope Damien doesn’t stick us with a harassment charge.’

  ‘That’s where you and your fine arts degree comes into play. Let’s go.’

  They got out of the car and approached the front door. Pietersen rang the bell. The blurred outline of a figure could be seen through the ornate glass, walking down the hallway. The door opened. Elsa’s face lit up as soon as she clapped eyes on Malice.

  ‘Detective Sergeant, what a lovely surprise,’ she squeaked, immediately striking a pose. She was dressed in jeans and a baggy sweat shirt. Malice had never before been so relieved to see a woman fully clothed.

  ‘I wonder if you have time to answer a few more questions, Mrs Kaplan,’ Malice said.

  ‘Of course, please come in.’ Elsa moved to one side as they filed past. ‘Hello my dear, it’s nice to see you, too.’

  ‘It’s Detective Kelly Pietersen, Mrs Kaplan.’

  ‘Yes, I remember. Please come through, Damien is in his workshop. I’ll give him a shout.’

  Elsa beetled off, through the back door and into the garden. Malice and Pietersen followed her as far as the kitchen.

  ‘That one,’ Malice mouthed the words and pointed to the vase on the window sill. Pietersen picked it up and turned it over. She nodded and put it back.

  ‘Damien, the police are here!’ Elsa’s voice carried on the breeze. ‘Something about more questions.’

  He emerged from the workshop and the pair of them strolled back to the house.

  ‘This is the third time. You must be bored by now?’ Damien said as he entered the kitchen.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Kaplan, but this is a fast-moving investigation and we need to check things out,’ Pietersen said. ‘We do appreciate your cooperation.’

  ‘How can we help?’ Damien asked.

  ‘It’s more Mrs Kaplan this time.’ Malice leaned against the worktop. ‘You’ve been very frank and open with us about your lifestyle and about your relationship with Belinda Garrett.’

  ‘There is no point in being anything else. We have nothing to hide,’ said Elsa.

  ‘So we know that while you both knew Belinda, it was Mrs Kaplan who had the sexual relationship with her.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘We need to understand more about that relationship,’ said Pietersen looking at Elsa.

  ‘Umm… okay… that’s fine with me,’ Elsa shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘If you don’t mind I’d like to talk to you privately, Mrs Kaplan,’ Malice said.

  Elsa beamed at the suggestion.

  ‘Of course. Damien would you be a love and put the kettle on.’

  ‘Umm, yeah I suppose so. You don’t want me?’ he asked.

  ‘Not this time, Mr Kaplan. If that’s okay?’ replied Pietersen.

  ‘Yeah, well, if Elsa says it’s okay then I guess…’

  Elsa turned to Malice. ‘Let’s go to the study, it’s more private there.’

  The two of them trooped down the hallway and disappeared through a door to the left.

  ‘Thank you for being so helpful, Mr Kaplan. We do appreciate it,’ Pietersen said.

  Damien put the kettle on to boil and broke out mugs from the cupboard. His gaze landed on the yellow mug, paused, then snapped out of it.

  ‘We’re only too pleased to help. Elsa told me you have a new lead. She said Belle caught a train to Fallgate.’

  ‘Yes that’s one of our lines of enquiry.’

  ‘You could have knocked me over with a feather. I can’t think what she was doing here. Do you have her on CCTV leaving the station?’

  ‘I can’t discuss the precise details, Mr Kaplan.’

  Damien added milk to the cups and smiled, recalling the time when he’d shot the camera with an air rifle. ‘One black, one white and neither of you take sugar?’

  ‘That’s right, thanks,’ Pietersen mooched around the kitchen. ‘I have to say, Mr Kaplan, these are works of art. Very beautiful.’ She motioned to the vase on the window ledge

  ‘They are rather lovely if I do say so myself. I won a competition with that one — the North West finals. I beat off some tough competition.’

  ‘The glaze is amazing.’

  ‘It’s what won me first prize.’ Damien poured the hot steaming coffee and offered her a mug. ‘I’ll take these in to the study.’ He shuffled off with a drink in both hands and came back.

  ‘Would you mind showing me some of your other work?’ I studied fine art at university and joined the pottery club. I was never very good at it, things kept cracking and exploding in the kiln.’

  ‘It can be the most frustrating of pastimes. Many hours of work can come to nothing in an instant. I have some more through here.’ Damien picked up his drink and wandered through into the lounge. Pietersen joined him. ‘I won a prize for this one too.’

  Pietersen looked at the figurine of a dancing woman which was sitting on the sideboard.

  ‘Wow! You don’t just do vases then?’

  ‘No, I do all sorts; jugs, tea sets, modern sculpture — the lot.’

  ‘That is impressive, people tend to stick to one thing. May I…?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Pietersen picked up the figurine and turned it over in her hands. ‘

  This is stunning, Mr Kaplan.’

  ‘Thank you. I have another over here which required a different set of skills,’ he said, pointing to a water jug sitting on the hearth of the fireplace.

  ‘Did you make that for a competition as well?’

  ‘Yes, I think that one won first prize in its category.’

  ‘I have to ask… may I?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Pietersen picked it up and went over to the window.

  ‘This crackled effect on the glaze is mind blowing, how did you achieve that effect?’

  ‘That’s a trade secret. If I told you, I’d have to kill you… so to speak.’

  Pietersen replaced the jug on the hearth.


  ‘You have a real talent, Mr Kaplan.’

  ‘You’re very kind. It’s not often I get to chat about my work with people outside of the competition world. There is a set here you might find interesting.’

  He opened a glass cabinet and brought out a china teapot. On the shelf below were six cups and saucers. He handed the teapot to Pietersen.

  ‘Oh my goodness, bone china. This is so delicate.’

  ‘Yes I think I was lucky with that one. It could so easily have shattered in the firing.’

  ‘Was this a competition piece?’

  ‘I won first prize.’

  ‘I’m in awe of these,’ Pietersen handed it back. ‘Do you sell them?’

  ‘There is a gallery in London who exhibit some of my pieces and they tend to be purchased by collectors. But most of the competition pieces I keep myself. That sounds awful doesn’t it?’

  ‘Not at all. If I made something this beautiful I’d want to keep it as well.’

  ‘There’s another piece here…’

  ‘Sorry, Mr Kaplan, do you mind if I use your loo? Too much coffee, I suspect.’

  ‘No, not at all. There’s one down the hallway or you can use the one on the landing upstairs.’

  Pietersen chose the upstairs toilet. She pushed open the door and locked it behind her. Adorning the window ledge was another brightly glazed vase that sparkled in the sunlight. She sat on the edge of the bath and took out her notebook and pen and tried to write.

  But she couldn’t… her hand was shaking.

  Chapter 50

  T he station was in chaos. Superintendent Waite had lit a sizeable fire under Wilson and his team and had them running around like a bunch of kids caught scrumping for apples. She was sitting in her office barking orders like a Hollywood three-star general. All that was missing was a pantomime dame and the chant of ‘it’s behind you!’.

  Malice had things to do; things that were best kept off Waite’s radar — at least for now. With so much frenetic activity going on he was still worried they would be dragged into the murders at the Matlock warehouse. He decided the best course of action was to give his boss an update, knowing full well she wouldn’t have the time nor the inclination to listen.

  He door-stepped her in her office and launched into his speech. She held up her hand for him to stop.