Percy was clearly astonished. “You are married to Chief Inspector Acton?”
“The eighth wonder of the world,” Doyle agreed. Serves you right, you vain knocker; thinking you’re world-famous, or something.
“I—I beg your pardon,” Percy stammered. “I assumed. . .” She decided she didn’t want to finish the sentence. Fortunately, the waiter came with their lunch, and the subject was dropped.
Doyle regarded the toast, tastefully arranged on her plate, and steeled herself, bringing to mind Dr. Easton, and his evil needle. Percy reached into her tote bag, and pulled out a small jar, which she opened, and placed on the table. An intriguing aroma wafted over. “What’s that?” asked Doyle. “Sauce?”
“It’s my guilty secret,” Percy replied with a smile. “It’s peanut butter.”
“Peanut butter? It doesn’t much look like butter.”
“It’s huge in the states, which is where I discovered it. Its mashed peanuts, with sugar and salt. I’m addicted now; I spread it on bread.” She demonstrated. “Would you like a taste?”
“Yes,” said Doyle.
12
Doyle waited on a bench inside the café’s waiting area, watching out the window for Williams. She’d already called Reynolds, and informed him of the latest miraculous development. “It’s called ‘peanut butter.’ The jar has a red lid. Buy lots.”
“Certainly, madam,” Reynolds had said. “Anything else?”
“I think you can spread it on many different things,” offered Doyle. “Use your judgment.”
“Perhaps we will start with melba toast,” he’d suggested, as though it were a rare delicacy.
“Can’t wait,” she’d replied, and had rung off.
She texted Acton, who was in the midst of Wexton Prison-related meetings with the DCS and the Prison Board. “Have a million things to tell u.”
The response came almost immediately. “I can spare 10 min.”
Not unexpected that he was busy, poor man. She thought about it for a moment, then texted, “No worries—can wait.”
Sheathing her mobile, she settled in to watch the traffic go by. After Percy left to go back to work, Doyle called Williams, and asked if he could pick her up, and drive her to the Metro animal shelter, since she needed to speak with him. Best not mention to Williams that Percy thought they were a couple—she didn’t like to think they gave off that impression. After Percy had watched Doyle devour her peanut butter, the other girl felt emboldened enough to ask causally about Williams.
“He’s a good friend,” Doyle had explained, licking her fingers. “I’d rather not be talkin’ about him in his absence.” Percy had taken the rebuff in good part, but her mood had improved considerably after Doyle’s revelation. She’ll make a run at him—she’s smitten, thought Doyle, and he’s half-way there, himself. Unfortunately, it was now time for the fair Doyle to throw some cold water on this promising romance.
Seeing the unmarked coming down the road, she went to stand at the curb, so he wouldn’t have to pull over. Williams leaned over to open the door for her, and she slid in. “I didn’t talk about you,” she said immediately.
“I appreciate that,” he replied a bit grimly. “What was this about?”
“Don’t be angry, Thomas. I needed to sound her out about somethin’.”
“All right, let’s hear it.”
She considered. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be drivin’.”
She saw him press his lips together. “Is this going to be worse than Savoie?” Williams had been nearly apoplectic, when he’d discovered that Doyle was hip-deep in clandestine dealings with the notorious Frenchman.
“I don’t think so,” she said cautiously.
“Then do your worst, I won’t crash the car.”
“Percy’s not telling us everythin’ she knows about the Wexton Prison case, and I think she knows quite a bit.”
He glanced over at her in surprise. “Oh?”
“Yes. I’m that sorry; she seems very nice.” She glanced sidelong at him, but he did not respond, as he was thinking over what she’d said. Here we go, she thought; nothin’ for it.
“How do you know this?”
Doyle swallowed. “Well, when she said that there was nothin’ unusual about Moran’s death—that it was not unexpected—she was lyin’. And since he was startin’ to blather in his cups about the bribery scandal, I wouldn’t be surprised if Moran’s death was yet another containment murder. And she lied about several other things also, like when she said there were no files in their chambers that would contain relevant information, and when she said she didn’t know of any court personnel who’d know about the scandal.”
His brow furrowed, Williams glanced over at her. “How do you know she was lying?”
“I can tell. I have a knack, or somethin’.”
There was an incredulous pause. “You know when someone is lying?”
“Yes; well—most times.”
He turned to look at her for a long moment.
“Watch the road, Thomas.”
“Does Acton know this?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied, nettled. “And you must’nt mention it to anyone—not even Acton, because he doesn’t want anyone else to know.”
There was a pause. “I don’t believe you.”
Her eyes slid over to him. “Yes, you do.”
He was silent for a moment. “I have an extra vertebra in my back. I’ve never had my wisdom teeth pulled.”
“Thomas,” she protested, thoroughly annoyed. “It’s not a parlor trick.” After a small pause, she added, “And the vertebra thing is true, but the wisdom teeth is not.”
“Holy Christ.”
“You mustn’t blaspheme, Thomas.” He’d picked up this bad habit from Acton, unfortunately. “So if we can get back to the subject at hand, we have a problem.”
Williams was still struggling to maintain his composure, but after a moment he asked, “Was Percy lying about Whitteside?”
“No. Moran did indeed make the comment. And there was somethin’ else—” she frowned, trying to remember. “When Percy said it was difficult to come forward, that was not true, either.”
Surprised, he raised his brows. “So the whole thing’s a set-up, then? Are we being manipulated?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did. I tried to get her to talk about it at lunch, but she was close as an oyster.”
“I think,” he said slowly, “that we tell Acton.” He paused. “But I suppose it has to be you that tells him.”
She glanced at him, and said gently, “I wanted to let you know; she may be in the thick of it.”
“You did right.”
He drove, and seemed disinclined to speak any more on the subject. She ventured, “It may not be as bad as it looks.”
“I would appreciate it if you allow me to handle my own affairs, Kath.”
Thus rebuked, she subsided into silence, and after a moment he reached to squeeze her arm. “My turn to be sorry. Mainly, I’m annoyed because you’re not jealous in the least.”
“Nor should I be,” she retorted. “And you promised you were not goin’ to do this to me.”
He ran a hand through his hair, and made as if to respond, but said nothing, and they fell into an uncomfortable silence. As Doyle was not one for uncomfortable silences, she said rather defensively, “I only want you to be happy.”
“Allow me to decide things for myself, please.”
Biting back a retort, she decided she’d best hold her tongue for a change, lest the emotions that were now thick in the car get out of hand. She’d forgotten that she should tread carefully around Williams, which was annoying in its own way, because she was not very good at watching what she said.
His mobile pinged, and he answered. “Williams.” He listened, then said, “Yes, sir; I’m dropping off DS Doyle, then I’ll be over straightaway.” He listened, then handed the mobile over. “He’d like to speak to you.”
“Ho,” she said into the mobile. “Are you knoc
kin’ any heads together?”
“Matters are progressing, I think. How are you feeling?”
“I am well. I am startin’ to think you like Chiu more than you like me, though.”
“I’d be no better off. She likes Chinese food, too.”
She smiled. “Good one.”
“Are you heading back to the Met, or going home?”
“Do you need me?” She carefully sidestepped any cat-delivery explanations.
“I’d like to have you listen in to Zao’s solicitor, but I’m not sure how I can arrange for it. Let me think about it.”
“The one who is doomed?” she teased.
“That’s the one,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Please give me Williams again.”
Williams pulled in to park in front of the Metro animal shelter, and after he’d hung up with Acton, he contemplated his hands on the steering wheel for a long moment. “I should go; are we all right?”
“We are, and we always will be,” she assured him as she got out of the car. “I’m that sorry I’m such a crackin’ knocker.”
He leaned out the window. “No more than I am. You’ll tell Acton?”
“As soon as I run my cat-errand. Thanks for the lift.” She straightened up, and then paused in astonishment, as the woman coming out of the building was Cassie Masterson.
Masterson saw her at the same time, and there was an excruciatingly awkward moment; the other woman was a disgraced newspaper reporter who had been about to write an exposé about Acton, but Acton had turned the tables by pretending to pursue her. He’d manipulated her into stalling the story long enough to exact a thorough revenge, and now she’d lost all credibility, and was out of a job. As part of this scheme, Doyle had been forced to stand by while Acton pretended a romantic interest in the woman; it was a thoroughly forgettable experience.
Masterson’s gaze rested on Williams, and she smiled ironically. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose, to discover that you two are in cahoots.”
Williams, ever the gentleman, said politely, “I hope you’ve found another position, Cassie.”
“Still searching,” she replied. “But I will definitely be more careful; lesson learned.” She glanced over at Doyle again, her expression mocking. “No hard feelings, I hope?”
“You were a fool, pursuin’ another woman’s husband,” Doyle retorted, trying to keep her temper in check. “Drinkin’ from another’s cistern.”
“As I said, lesson learned,” Masterson replied with a graceful shrug.
As the other woman turned to walk away, Williams grasped Doyle’s arm from the car window and murmured, “Count to ten.”
But Doyle continued incensed, as Masterson’s figure disappeared into the crowd. “How can she be so casual? She tried to ruin our lives.”
“You won; she lost. She acknowledges it; everyone moves on.”
“She actually thought Acton would divorce me and marry her.” Doyle could not let it go.
“It only shows how delusional she was; Acton will never marry anyone but you—that much is obvious.”
“Stupid brasser,” pronounced Doyle with satisfaction.
“Lesson learned,” he replied mildly, and started the car.
13
Doyle set the cat carrier down in the hallway, overheated and thoroughly frustrated, and knocked on Mr. Huse’s door. She’d phoned the man repeatedly to let him know she was on the way, but had gotten voice mail every time, and she wondered if perhaps he couldn’t hear the phone; he did seem hard of hearing.
The cat hadn’t taken kindly to being lugged around in the carrier, and had yowled in protest on the tube, which thankfully hadn’t been very crowded. Still and all, a very forgettable experience, and Doyle was half-inclined to push the beast down the rubbish chute, and call it a day.
“Mr. Huse,” she said loudly, knocking again. “It’s Officer Doyle.”
The door didn’t open; instead, the SOCO’s door at the end of the hall opened, and a heavy-set, older man stood framed within it. “So it’s you, is it?”
Doyle willingly abandoned the stupid cat to approach the man she presumed was the SOCO’s father. “My sincere condolences for your loss, sir.”
“Off-i-cer Doyle.” The man eyed her sourly. “She thought you were really something—a girl hero.”
As this was said in a mocking tone, Doyle was a bit taken aback. “We were friends,” she offered, and hoped it wasn’t a sin to fib about the dead.
The man shrugged, and retreated back into his daughter’s flat. “Not a lot here; all the equipment is gone.”
A cold one, Doyle concluded; selfish and mean. Probably not a killer, though; Chiu said he had an alibi, and in truth, he was the sort who wouldn’t bestir himself enough to murder his poor daughter. Changing her manner from sympathetic to brisk, Doyle said, “I understood you had a fallin’ out with your daughter last week. The neighbor said you had an argument in the hallway.”
“I already told the China lady,” he protested with the wave of a ham-sized hand. “It weren’t a big deal; she wouldn’t let me in—didn’t want me to see what she was working on.” He shook his grizzled head. “Daft, she was. I told her to stop all her nonsense, and get back to Liverpool; her sister needed help with her kids.”
Although Doyle was inclined to hotly defend the decedent to her uncaring parent—faith, it was turning out to be a very contentious day—her scalp started prickling, so instead, she tempered her reaction, and asked, “What was it that your daughter was workin’ on, sir?” There’d been nothing in the flat that seemed related to a project, work-connected or otherwise.
The man shook his head and shrugged. “Ha; I don’t know what it was, she wouldn’t let me see—didn’t you hear me? She was going to be a hero, though, just like you. Some hero.” He made a gesture that indicated the empty flat. “Look where it got her.”
This is important, Doyle thought in surprise, her instinct prodding her; I wonder why? “You’ve no idea what she was talkin’ about? It may be a clue, to help solve her murder.”
The man raised both hands in disgust. “She always had big dreams that went nowhere. This time she thought she’d break a massive story, and her snap would be in all the papers with that famous detective—that Lord what’s-his-name.”
Doyle stared at him. If I were Williams, she thought, I’d say “Holy Christ.”
“So what’s with the cat—is it a police cat?” The man peered around her at the pet carrier in the hallway, clearly tired of discussing the dead daughter, who hadn’t left much of value in her flat.
As the cat yowled in frustrated outrage, Doyle tried to pull her scattered wits together. “Oh—it was your daughter’s cat. Her neighbor, Mr. Huse, is going to take him in.”
But her companion only seemed to find this amusing. “Ha; no he’s not. He’s dead, too.”
“Dead?” Doyle stared at him incredulously. “Are you sure?”
“The building manager told me when I came to get the key; said he couldn’t believe it—two people dead on the same floor in the same week.”
“A moment, please.” Her mouth dry, Doyle stepped aside, and pulled her mobile to call Chiu, only to be sent to voice mail. After hesitating for a moment, she rang up Acton on their private line, and he, bless him, answered immediately. “Kathleen.”
She could hear voices in the background, and said quickly. “I’m sorry to be botherin’ you, but I’m at the SOCO’s flat and somethin’s come up; a witness is now dead—not the one who was lyin’, the other one—and I think there’s somethin’ here.” As the SOCO’s father was within earshot, she added with meaning, “It’s one of those things. I’d like to re-seal the flat, and bring in the SOCOs again, for another look ʼround.”
“Can’t you speak over the phone?” He must have sensed there was someone listening.
“I don’t know what I’ve got, yet,” she admitted. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s connected to somethin’ big, and that we’re lookin’ at a couple of con
tainment murders.”
“Right; can you wait? I should be free in an hour or two.”
“I’m that sorry to pull you away, Michael, but I think it’s important.”
“Don’t worry; I’ll see you soon.”
After she rang off, Doyle pulled her occurrence book out of her rucksack, and began scribbling notes, trying to remember the bits and pieces of information that she hadn’t thought were very important, up to now.
Watching her with open annoyance, the SOCO’s father protested, “Here now; you’re not going to shut the place down again?”
Thoroughly irritated, Doyle decided that a small abuse of power would not be out of line. “Yes. And in the meantime, you are goin’ to sit at the table and write out a statement of everythin’ your daughter said to you over the past two months, together with the dates and times.”
The man blustered in disdain, “How am I supposed to remember all that?”
“Because otherwise you are goin’ to the nick for obstruction of justice, that’s how.”
As was the case with all bullies, he buckled under pressure, and retreated with a show of reluctance. “All right; all right; I think there’s a pad here, somewhere.”
Alert, Doyle asked, “Is there? Don’t use it; I’ll want to test it for impressions.” Oftentimes the writings from a torn-off page could be discerned on the blank page beneath. “Don’t touch anythin’, and call the manager to come up here.”
While she waited, Doyle rang up Syed, the evidence officer on the case, to explain that she wanted to re-open the forensics investigation at the SOCO’s flat. Fortunately, he was willing to indulge her, even though she could hear in his voice that he wasn’t certain there was much call for it. She explained, “I think there is somethin’ here that’s bein’ covered up—somethin’ that was removed from her flat. D’you know who she was friendly with, within the unit? I’m hearin’ that she had a project she was workin’ on—somethin’ mysterious, that she thought was very important. D’you know anythin’ about it?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Occasionally, she’d go out for drinks with everyone, but I don’t remember her saying anything unusual.” He hesitated, embarrassed. “She rather admired your husband.”
Murder in Containment: A Doyle and Acton Mystery Page 8
