by Sibel Hodge
But the flowers she’d just received . . . they were signed for with her right hand. Signed automatically, casually, with no hesitation, and as if no one was watching and she didn’t have to remind herself which hand to use.
I leaned back in my chair, steepled my fingers underneath my chin, and watched the now still screen.
What did it mean? Anything? Nothing? Alissa could be ambidextrous. But I’d never met anyone in my life who was. The rate of ambidexterity in the population was incredibly low.
I left a couple of robbery statements I had actually managed to take on Wilmott’s desk and said goodbye to Becky. If Alissa’s friends couldn’t tell me something interesting, then who could?
I was betting on Sasha. She seemed to be the scheming, watchful, calculating type. She reminded me of a magpie, the way they hoard shiny things, except Sasha wouldn’t be hoarding objects, she’d be hoarding snippets of information, storing them up to use for her own means at a later date. I’m not sure whether her friendship with Alissa was genuine or not, whether she was jealous of her or keeping an eye on Leo to make sure he didn’t fall for her, but if Alissa had let something slip, Sasha would be the one to catch it. And was that what her conversation at the funeral had been all about? Was she hinting that she knew something?
Sasha owned Smithers Art Gallery in the nearby town of Hitchin. It was a bright, spacious shop sandwiched between an artisan bakers and a bohemian coffee shop. Sasha was talking to a customer in his early fifties against the far wall when I walked in. She glanced over her shoulder at me, then flashed me a knowing smile, as if she’d been waiting for me all along. She nodded briefly and turned back to the customer.
I headed towards the opposite wall by the window to wait for her to finish, studying a large painting that looked as if someone on acid had been having a bad trip – random splashes of colour everywhere. The price tag was seven grand. I was obviously in the wrong job. I’d got the same effect after I’d accidentally dropped a tin of paint on the bedroom carpet when I was decorating once.
I perused a few more paintings until she wrapped up her conversation and the man left. She walked towards me, teetering on very high canary-yellow stilettos, a thin curve to her lips, and a thought flashed into my head that if you got on the wrong side of her, she’d make you pay.
‘Detective Carter. I didn’t take you for an art lover. There’s more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?’ She smirked, as if she was laughing at me. ‘I hope you’re not going to be rude to me again.’
‘I apologise if you thought I was rude the other day, but this is a murder inquiry. We can’t pick and choose our questions.’ However much some people would like me to, I thought.
‘What do you think of this piece?’ She pointed to an image that had been made from hundreds of bottle tops, depicting a horse’s head.
‘It’s not exactly my taste.’
‘What is?’ Her gaze swept me up and down. It wasn’t subtle, either.
I didn’t react, just smiled.
‘I heard you were asking Leo some more questions.’ She gave me a sly smile. ‘I might be able to help you out.’ She folded her arms underneath her cleavage, as if trying to draw attention to it. ‘Buttons. It was an accident. I saw her fall out of the tree. Leo told me you asked him whether he saw her after he looked for Russell in the woods.’
‘Hang on a minute. You’re talking about Alissa’s cat?’ I tried to understand exactly what she was saying, but she seemed to love talking in circles.
‘Yes.’
I attempted to keep the annoyance out of my voice and failed. I was losing patience with her attitude. ‘What exactly did you see and when?’
‘Well, there’s no need to be so snippy and rude. I tried to tell you the other day, at Max’s funeral, but you were rude to me then, too.’ She pouted orange lips at me. ‘Anyway, I didn’t think it was that important. Leo already told you what he saw, and I didn’t hear their conversation.’
‘I’ll decide what’s important or not.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘I like a forceful man. Are you single, Detective?’
I counted to ten in my head. ‘Withholding information in a murder investigation is a very serious matter, Miss Smithers. Just—’
‘Sasha. Miss Smithers sounds like a wrinkly old spinster.’
‘Sasha. Just tell me what you saw.’
She pouted. ‘OK, OK, keep your hair on!’ She laughed raucously as she dropped her arms and rested one hand on her hip, jutting it out in my direction. ‘I’d popped out of the marquee for a cigarette and was standing around the side of the orangery behind a bush, where no one could see me. Alissa was out there, looking back at the house with a drink in her hand. But you know all that.’ She waved her hand casually.
‘I want to hear it again. Were you watching her on purpose?’
At least she had the good grace to blush, then, as she told an obvious lie and said, ‘No! Of course not.’
‘Go on, then. You saw Russell approach from the woods?’
‘Yes. He was in a right old state, staggering, so you could tell he was drunk. He fell over the fence as he climbed over it and his baseball cap fell off.’
My heart raced slightly. Funny how Alissa didn’t mention Russell falling over. Or that his cap fell off. A cap that she could quite easily have gone back for later and removed his hair from. A cap that hadn’t been recovered in the area search by SOCO, either. Vicky hadn’t seen the first part, where Russell fell over the fence, as she’d stepped into the garden afterwards, and Leo had caught the tail end of the incident, so he hadn’t known, either. And as far as Alissa was concerned, well, if she hadn’t seen Sasha, she’d think there was no one else who knew about that bit.
‘Did he pick it up again?’
‘No. Russell was so pissed he probably didn’t even notice. He rolled to his feet, which seemed to take a lot of effort, and staggered over to Alissa. That’s when they started talking, but I told you, I didn’t hear what they said. Then Max came out and it seemed to get heated. Alissa stepped in between them and then Russell left the way he’d come, going back into the woods. Then Leo came storming down from the house, over to Max and Alissa. They spoke for a few minutes, and Leo went into the woods to check he’d gone.’
‘What about Buttons? You said you saw what happened.’
‘Well, Leo came back, shaking his head. Then he and Alissa and Max went back into the marquee. I was just about to go back in, too, when I saw a flash of white hurtle down from the top of one of the trees. So, of course I went to investigate. By the time I got there, Buttons was obviously dead. Her head was facing back to front.’ She scrunched up her face with distaste. ‘Her neck was broken.’
‘And you didn’t tell Alissa about her cat? Didn’t go and fetch her?’
‘What was the point? She was already dead. Anyway, I didn’t want to upset her at her wedding reception.’
I stared at her, very much doubting that. ‘Did you see anything else?’
‘No.’
‘Did anything strike you as different about Alissa recently? Did she do anything that seemed out of character?’
Her eyes narrowed, her lips curved higher, exposing those pointed canines. ‘What an odd question.’
‘Not really.’
She tilted her head and tapped the toe of her stiletto on the floor. ‘You mean, did she seem like she was plotting to kill Max?’
‘I mean, can you think of anything, no matter how small, that seemed different about her?’
‘Have you asked Vicky? She saw Alissa more than anyone and they talked on the phone practically every day. But if you ask me, Vicky’s always been a bit needy. And if you say something Vicky doesn’t like, she bites your head off like a crazy woman!’ She curled her lip up, and I wondered if Sasha had any close female friends herself. I had the feeling she preferred to hang out with men. Or maybe she was jealous of Alissa’s close relationship with Vicky, and Sasha and Vicky obviously clashed. ‘You don’t t
hink Russell did it, do you? You think it was Alissa?’ She leaned forward. I could smell cigarettes and coffee on her breath.
‘I can’t divulge anything about the investigation, Miss Smithers.’
‘Sasha.’ She gave me an irritated huff. ‘Actually, there was one thing, but it wasn’t anything out of character. It was my fault, really.’
‘What was your fault?’
‘Max told me Alissa was a bit stressed out with the arrangements for the wedding reception and making sure everything went smoothly. It was usually Max who organised everything in that relationship, but she wanted to take on the party because Max had a lot of things going on at work. I don’t know what she was fussing about, really. I mean, they had someone to set up the marquee, someone to do the catering and the drinks. It wasn’t like she had to lift a finger, as usual.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘So, anyway, I wanted to treat her to a spa day, as a way to distress her before the party.’
‘Distress her?’
‘Destress her.’
She’d definitely said distress. I wondered if it was a mere slip of the tongue. I’m sure Freud would’ve had a field day with her. He’d have probably ended up slitting his wrists. And I wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t make up something she thought I wanted to hear to make her the centre of attention.
‘I booked it for the day before the reception, and I’d included a couple of massages and a manicure and pedicure for us both. We were lounging by the indoor pool after lunch and we decided to get a superfood smoothie, so we chose our drinks from the menu, and I went to the juice bar to get them. I had one with mango and kiwi and other bits and pieces, and Alissa had a different mango concoction. Except I accidentally mixed them up when I took them back to our loungers.’ She appeared sheepish.
I frowned. ‘And why was that a problem?’
‘Because Alissa is allergic to kiwi. She has been since she was little. It brings her out in horrible hives, all over her body, particularly her neck. I didn’t find out she’d drunk mine and I’d drunk hers until Alissa had gone for another massage and the waitress came over to take our empty glasses. The one with kiwi had a slice of mango on the edge of the glass and the other one had a slice of pineapple, you see. That’s how she could tell the difference when she was chatting about whether we’d enjoyed them. Of course, I panicked then, thinking that Alissa would have these horrible hives all over her for the wedding reception the next day, which would look atrocious in the photos.’ She bit her lip, as if she was contrite, but I thought it was an act. She didn’t look guilty about it at all. ‘Usually, the hives came up really quickly whenever she’d eaten kiwi by accident, but when she came back from the massage an hour later, she didn’t have any.’
‘And did you tell her you’d accidentally mixed up the drinks?’ I had no doubt she’d done it on purpose as a way to sabotage Alissa’s party. What could be worse than turning up to your own wedding reception covered in hives? With friends like Sasha, who needed enemies? Still, enemies were far more likely to tell you something interesting.
‘No. I thought she might think I’d done it on purpose.’
‘Now why would she think that?’ I raised an eyebrow.
‘I’ve got no idea.’ She flapped the idea away as preposterous with a flick of her hand. ‘But, anyway, as the afternoon wore on, she didn’t get the hives, so I thought I’d got away with it and wouldn’t have to tell her.’
‘And the next time you saw her was the following day, at the wedding reception?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did she seem then? Had she had a reaction to the kiwi by that stage?’
‘No, that’s the really strange thing.’ She frowned. It was a mixture of disappointment and bafflement. ‘She didn’t have any hives at all.’
I was on my way to see Vicky Saunders when my mobile rang. It was Malcolm Briggs, the gardener, who was now recuperating at home after his operation, so I took a detour to his small terraced house.
He sat in an armchair, his skin a sickly colour that matched his washed-out cream cardigan. He was so shocked when I told him exactly what had happened at The Orchard that he just stared at me blankly for so long that I wasn’t sure he’d heard me.
‘Are you OK, Mr Briggs?’ I asked.
He sat up straighter and winced in pain. I saw genuine tears in his eyes. ‘I’ve known Max since he was a little boy. I started looking after his parents’ garden when they bought the house, ooh, probably thirty years ago now. I just can’t believe he’s been killed.’ He wiped his eyes. ‘Sorry, I’m not usually like this.’
Denise had been a nurse, and if she was here right now, she’d be comforting him, telling him he was bound to feel a bit down and oversensitive after his operation, the anaesthetic, and the heart attack. I couldn’t say that, though – it would sound weird coming from a man. I just did the manly thing and nodded, pretended I hadn’t noticed him crying.
‘When was the last time you were at The Orchard?’
‘Um . . . on the Wednesday, so four days before Max was killed.’ He wiped his eyes again. ‘I usually only do one day a week there, but when they were having the reception I was there for a week solid, getting the garden pristine for the party.’
‘Did you notice anyone suspicious hanging around recently?’
‘No, no, I didn’t see anyone. It was usually only Alissa there, but sometimes Max worked from home, although he didn’t get involved in the garden. He just let me get on with it. Alissa would take an interest in it when she wasn’t busy with her writing. She loved sitting outside when the weather was nice, and she always told me what a lovely job I did.’
‘Did you witness any arguments between Mr and Mrs Burbeck?’
‘I never heard them argue in all the time Alissa lived there. They were very happy as far as I could see. Very happy. They seemed even happier when they got back from Australia, as if marriage had made them a lot closer. I remember the same thing happening with me and my wife. It was as if the commitment made both of us relax a little.’
‘Did you notice anything odd happening? Was Alissa acting differently? No matter how small it might seem, it might be important.’
‘You can’t think she had anything to do with his murder, surely? She’s a lovely girl.’
‘I have to ask.’
He nodded slightly. ‘Of course, I’m sure you do.’ He frowned as he thought about the question. ‘There was something a bit strange that happened. Before they went to Australia, Max bought Alissa a special rose bush as a wedding gift. He had it named after her – you can do that, you see, with specialist companies. It was a beautiful deep pink floribunda. She thought it was lovely, and asked me to plant it near the pond while they were away. But when she got back, it was like she couldn’t remember it. She brought me out a cup of coffee when I was in the garden – said she was taking a break from writing. She often did that, got a bit of fresh air and stretched her legs after being cramped up at the laptop for hours. So we walked around the garden together, and she was admiring what I’d done getting it ready for the reception while they’d been away. We stood by the rose, and I asked her what she thought of it in the new spot. She said it looked really pretty and asked me the name of the plant. It was like she’d completely forgotten about it. Maybe she was just distracted, what with the wedding reception coming up and making all the arrangements for it.’
‘Maybe,’ I said. Or maybe not. ‘Did she seem to forget anything else important?’
‘No, I didn’t notice anything else.’
Vicky worked as a senior stylist at a place called A Snip in Time. I thought Vicky’s job might be a sign to start trying to get my act together. Denise used to cut my hair, and I’d neglected it since she’d gone. It wasn’t as if I had anyone to try to look good for now, but I supposed I should make the effort of appearing on the surface like I was still holding it together. Even if I was only fooling myself for a short while.
There was only one customer on the shop floor when I walked in: a m
iddle-aged woman sitting under some kind of blow-dryer machine. Vicky was talking to the receptionist, huddled over her shoulder, pointing to an entry in an appointment book.
They both looked up as I approached.
Vicky gave me a slight smile. The receptionist gave me a more the-customer-is-always-top-priority one.
‘Hi,’ I said to Vicky. ‘Do you have time for a cut?’
‘Actually, yes. I’ve had a cancellation. Come over.’ She walked towards an empty chair by the window.
I sat down. She got a black gown from a cupboard and fastened it around my neck, standing back and looking at me in the mirror. ‘Do you just want a trim?’
I ran a hand through my hair. It was way too long, curling at my collar and around my ears. ‘Yes. I’ve neglected it a bit lately.’
She smiled. ‘No problem. Maybe I should do it shorter at the sides? Leave it a bit longer on top?’ She ran her hands through it, tugging slightly to test the length.
‘Whatever you think.’
‘Do you want me to wash it or spray it wet?’
‘Spray is fine.’
She nodded, dampened my hair first, then pulled a pair of scissors from a belt at her waist. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’
‘No, thanks. How’ve you been?’
‘I still can’t believe what’s happened. It’s just terrible. You think you know someone, and then . . .’ She glanced down at my hair in her fingers and blinked a couple of times, as if she was close to tears. ‘I never thought Russell could ever do something like that.’
‘I appreciate this is still very upsetting, but I wanted to follow up on a few things.’
She sniffed loudly and snipped away vigorously with speed using her scissors. I hoped she wasn’t too upset to cut properly so that I’d end up with a lopsided mess. Or worse, half an ear missing. Still, it had to end up better than the style I was currently wearing.
‘I thought everything was all finished with now that Russell’s been arrested.’
