by David Carter
Chapter Thirty
IN THE CHESTER POLICE station, Sergeant Karen Greenwood’s phone burbled to life. She grabbed it and said, ‘CID, Sergeant Greenwood.’
‘Oh, hi Karen, it’s Mrs West here, can you ask Walter to step in and see me.’
‘Sure, ma’am, right away,’ and the phones went down. She glanced across the bank of desks. Walter’s eyes were closed but his ears were open.
‘What?’ he said.
‘Ma’am wishes to see you right away.’
‘Never ceases to amaze me. She is the brightest person I have ever known; yet she can never ring the right number. What does she want?’
‘No idea, she didn’t say. Maybe it’s something on the PM report, or maybe...’
‘Maybe what?’
‘Maybe you’ve been a naughty man again, and you’re going to be on the wrong end of her ire.’
Walter guffawed and muttered, ‘Stupid girl,’ and pushed himself away from the desk. Did up his heavy shoes and loped away, hoping Mrs West had some good news for him. Her office door was ajar. He knocked softly and eased it open.
‘Come in, my man,’ she said, jollity personified which boded well. ‘Close the door, take a seat.’
Walter sat down and peered across the desk. She closed her diary and set her expensive pen down on the polished teak.
‘How are things with you?’
‘OK, Darren’s hard at work on the stolen cars, and we’re just waiting for the PM on the sad Terrington couple business.’
‘Oh, yes, what a sad thing that’s turning out to be. Terrible for the dogs too. Suppose they’ll be needing a new home.’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Not interested are you, in taking a dog?’
‘Good God no,’ before he added, ‘wouldn’t be fair on them, with me being out all day and half the night.’
‘Be company for you, though,’ she said, an odd thing to say, he thought, but he let that pass and said, ‘Nothing on the PM yet?’
‘Not with me. Not seen a thing.’
Damn, thought Walter, ‘I thought that was what you wanted to discuss.’
She pulled a lemon sherbet face and said, ‘No Walter, actually, it’s a bit of a delicate matter.’
Delicate matter, thought Walter. That did not sound great. Delicate matters had a habit of leading up to the dreaded R word, or even worse the R & R words, retirement, and/or retirement and redundancy, none of which he wanted to discuss.
She clicked her tongue and sat back in her big chair, pursed her lips, scratched her nose, and was clearly having difficulty in spitting out whatever it was that ailed her, and that didn’t bode well either.
‘Actually... the thing is, Walter, we’ve had a complaint about you.’
‘Eh!’
‘Yes, a complaint, and in writing too, I’m afraid. If it were just a silly phone call I could have smoothed it over and laughed it off, but seeing as it is in writing, I have to deal with it in an appropriate manner.’
‘A complaint about what?’
‘I’m coming to that. Actually, it’s nothing too serious, nothing to worry about unduly, or at least I don’t think it is.’
What the hell was she going on about, thought Walter, as he checked and rechecked his recent personal brain browsing history to see if anything popped out that might say COMPLAINT, COMPLAINT, COMPLAINT. Nothing there, nothing came, not a diddly-squat. What could she mean? He found himself saying, ‘Oh? What about?’
‘Don’t get defensive on me.’
‘I am not getting defensive!’
‘Let’s start with, erm, let me see, you are on a website, a dating website, so I believe?’
‘Eh? Yes, I was, or rather I still am, there are millions of people on there, literally, it’s a little thing Karen set me up with. Everyone’s doing it, so I understand.’
‘Not quite everyone,’ said Mrs West through her clipped voice. ‘I am not, for a start, and never have and never will, and neither is my husband.’
‘Ah yes, but you are happily married.’
‘Are you saying there are no married people on those sites?’
‘I’m saying nothing of the kind. But one thing is clear, I am not married, or attached, I am not running ten women, or flitting from flower to flower, a butterfly or a player, I think they call it. So I have every right to be on those sites if I wish, and I even qualify as OHAC and GSOH, in their shorthand speak, though I don’t have a car these days, as I don’t need one.’
‘I presume the GSOH is good sense of humour,’ said Mrs West, smirking, ‘though I confess I have no idea what OHAC means.’
‘Own house and car,’ said Walter in a rush, not quite believing he was discussing such a thing with his prim boss.
‘I see,’ she said, ‘well quite, but that’s not really relevant to what I have to say here.’
‘So?’ he said, shaking his head and looking bemused.
There was another short silence as if she was sorting her words into the correct order, before she said, ‘The written complaint has come direct to me and states that you are using and abusing your position to coerce women into doing things they might otherwise not wish to do.’
‘What? Baloney! You have to be joking!’
She held up her right hand and said, ‘Let me finish, Walter. This lady states that you led her on, dropped her at a moment’s notice, and that you have a reputation for doing this to a string of lonely ladies of a certain age, and if true, that would be most disappointing, and possibly even an abuse of your official rank and position.’
‘I get ya! Now it makes sense. This is the infernal Mrs Coningsby, isn’t it?’
‘Well you clearly know the lady.’
‘I do know her, or at least I had the misfortune to meet her once, and believe you me, once was way more than enough!’
‘Care to expand on that?’
‘Do I need to?’
‘It might be better if you clarified things.’
Walter blew out hard and said, ‘She’s quite a good looking woman, as it happens, buxom and curvy, the kind I like, (Mrs West raised her eyebrows), takes a good photograph too,’ continued Walter, ‘if you know what I mean, and definitely fully clothed pics, you don’t need to concern yourself with that kind of thing, no nudity involved, younger than me, she is, but only by three or four years.’
‘Five,’ said Mrs West, revealing she had looked into things in some depth.
‘Well, whatever. Anyway, we chatted on the phone three or four times, and seemed to hit it off. You know how it is, it can be nice to talk to someone on the phone in the evening after a hard day at the coal face.’
‘She’s a coalminer?’ said Mrs West, through a straight face.
‘No, course not, she runs a beauty parlour in St Werburgh Street. Pretty successful too, from what I understand.’
‘And? What happened between you?’
‘I asked her to dinner.’
‘And how did that go?’
‘It was a total nightmare from start to finish.’
‘In what way?’
‘I discovered she was a serial moaner, a complainer of the first degree. Not to put too fine a point on it, a pain in the...’
‘Well, quite. Can you be more specific?’
‘Everything was not up to her standards, and I mean everything. I took her to a good place too, no cheap Jack joint. We went to that uppity French restaurant that’s recently opened to huge fanfare.’
‘I know the place, expensive, but worth it.’
‘Precisely, but not to Mrs Coningsby’s liking. If I’d taken her to Buckingham Palace for tea, she would have complained about something.’
‘Go on. Bit more detail, please.’
‘She didn’t like the table they put us at, said it was too draughty. She sent the prawn starter back, said the prawns were off, I’d already eaten half of mine and they seemed fine, sent back her steak three times saying it wasn’t properly cooked, I had pork so coul
dn’t comment on that, complained about them foisting margarine on us when we should have had butter, and to top it all, she said the first two bottles of wine they brought were corked, and told them in no uncertain terms they didn’t know how to run a decent restaurant, and we would drink G&Ts in future because their wines couldn’t be trusted.’
‘She was hard work?’
‘That’s putting it mildly. To top it off she said to me that I was at fault for not complaining, and that I had shown cowardice. That is the word she used, cowardice, in not having the guts to complain. I should stand up for myself, and for her too, and by then the manager had rolled up, and she said to him, “Don’t you know who this man is? This is Inspector Walter Darriteau of Chester Police and the treatment he has received here is disgraceful.” She was trying to use and abuse my rank and position to embarrass the man into giving us free meals, which of course I could not condone. Then she said to the guy, “Is it because he’s black? The reason for the appalling service we have received?’’ That was the end of it for me. Talk about cringeworthy. But it wasn’t the end for her.’
‘Go on.’
‘Don’t pay them a bean, Walter! she insisted. Not a damn bean.’
‘I had a quick word with the manager, told him I’d be back in a minute or two.’
‘And then?’
‘I escorted her back to the car.’
‘She was driving? After drinking G&Ts?’
‘No, that wasn’t going to happen. But before we departed, I hopped back to the Frenchie place as fast as I could, apologised and paid the bill. They were great, really understanding, and said I would be welcome back anytime, only maybe, with a different dining companion, and that was understandable after facing that nightmare of a woman. I smiled and nodded and hurried back to Jill, that’s her name, Jill Coningsby, who was waiting in the car, busying herself, refreshing her lipstick.’
‘So how did you get home?’
‘I persuaded her to take a cab, and that took some doing, I can tell you.’
‘And what happened after that?’
‘I went home and as soon as I was there I knocked the phone off the hook.’
‘And after that?’
‘Nothing, I ignored her, didn’t ring, or anything.’
‘You mean to say you haven’t spoken to her since?’
‘Just the once. It was a few night’s later. She rang me at home, quite late it was, and I’m guessing here, but after a good few G&Ts, which seems to have been her favoured poison.’
‘Go on. How did that conversation pan out?’
‘Badly.’
‘You might as well tell me everything.’
Walter nodded, exhaled hard, and said, ‘Guess what? She complained.’
‘She complained to you?’
‘She certainly did.’
‘About what?’
‘She said that she was most surprised I hadn’t rung her to thank her for going out with me.’
Mrs West killed a grin and said, ‘Bit cheeky. Go on.’
‘She said that it might be better if she chose the restaurant we went to next time.’
‘Ah.’
‘Yes, ah, precisely. I can see you’ve guessed. I decided to end it there and then. There would be no next time. Good looking and buxom she may have been, but too much hard work.’
‘She didn’t take it well?’
Walter breathed out fast through pursed lips, nodded his head and said, ‘The woman pressed the hysterical button. I wouldn’t like to repeat the things she said.’
‘It might be an idea if you did.’
Walter exhaled and glanced across the desk at Mrs W and said, ‘Very well. She began yelling, saying that she knew all about men like me, men who were only after one thing. She’d met dozens of men like me before. I can believe that too, and she crowned it by accusing me of using my position and influence to coerce women into doing things they shouldn’t, and that I should be ashamed of myself and disciplined, and she wouldn’t let it lie.’
‘Was that it?’
‘Pretty much. I said to her, Jill, it is not working between us, and we’d both be better off with someone else. I wished her well and said I had to go as I needed to be somewhere else, and put the phone down.’
‘Did she ring back?’
‘No, I didn’t hear anything from her again, and I assumed she had simmered down and sobered up, and had found someone else to harangue. It’s been a while now, and I haven’t thought of her once since, thank goodness.’
‘You mean this wasn’t a recent thing?’
‘No, not really, it must have been a couple of months ago, maybe more.’
‘Oh, I thought it was last week. Odd that she should make a complaint now.’
‘Yes, but she was a bit weird. Maybe she had nothing better to do, and had been sitting ruminating and coming to the boil over it.’
Mrs West sighed and said, ‘OK, Walter, that seems clear enough. I’ll reply and say that I am satisfied the Inspector did not and would not use his position to influence events, and hopefully that will be an end to it.’
‘Thank you, ma’am, I appreciate it.’
‘But one thing, Walter, I don’t think it is a good idea that you are on those sites, and you might like to think about removing yourself.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, like it or lump it, you have become quite famous round these parts, often on the TV giving press conferences and organising witness appeals, that kind of thing, and famous people can attract an undesirable element, not to mention the possibility of getting involved in blackmail stings.’
Chance would be a fine thing, thought Walter, though he didn’t comment on that, and Mrs West was already talking again.
‘You have an instantly recognisable face, and like it or not, you have become something of a celebrity.’
Walter laughed aloud, though Mrs West didn’t seem to think it funny.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘if you think that’s best.’
‘I do, Walter, I do. That’s all for today, my man, now trot along and catch those horrid car thieves who are making my life a misery.’
“Trot along”, thought Walter. Was that really how a Chief Superintendent should address an Inspector in Her Majesty’s Constabulary? But right there he was happy to be out of it, trotting along or not. He stood up and muttered something about, so long as I don’t hear the name Jill Coningsby ever again, and the car thieves had better look out. That seemed to placate Mrs West, who smirked to herself and dictated a reply for the woman, and hoped it would bury the matter once and for all.
Internet dating, eh? One just never knew who one might come up against, or with. It was literally a lottery, and she let her mind wonder about how she would get on if she ever strayed that way, and what kind of men she would meet, and could one opt for a younger man, say fifteen or twenty years younger? And if she explored that avenue, she’d have to keep her employment a secret, and in doing that she’d have to invent a whole new world for herself, and she reckoned she would be good at that too.
Perhaps that came through dealing with criminal minds, day in, day out. Some of their deviousness and deceitfulness must eventually rub off, and she laughed at the thought. It would never happen, of course, the blind dating experience. But then again, who knew what the future held? Everyone was doing it, so they said, everyone, even Walter, and how much of a surprise was that? Though his activities in that area were about to be curtailed, if he did what he said he was going to do, and he’d better.
Chapter Thirty-One
SERGEANT SHARISTES removed his wide-brimmed reed hat and mopped his brow. He stood outside Nicoliades’ front door and glanced up and down the narrow street, as he regained his breath. He blew out hard and knocked on the door. A few moments passed and Aris opened up.
The policeman noted his eyes were red and glazed, as if he had shed tears. Christos Sharistes was unshaven and wore a soiled white shirt. His collar was open and stained, and his trouse
rs baggy and creased.
‘Come in,’ said Aris, ‘he’s in here.’
Christos ambled inside and stared down at the twisted body, at the bloodline that oozed away from the corpse, and at the flies that had discovered the giant meal. He stooped over the body and stared down.
‘Have you touched anything?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Sure?’
‘Certain. The only thing I touched was Nico, to check if he was alive.’
‘He’s dead, all right,’ said Christos, pointing to the hole in the back of his shirt. ‘No weapon?’
‘None. I looked for one but couldn’t find a thing.’
‘When did you last see him alive?’
‘Yesterday afternoon, about two o’clock. He left with a young woman.’
Ah yes, a woman. What else would it be with Nico?
‘Did you know her?’
‘No. I’ve never seen her before.’
‘Tell me about her.’
‘She was English. Slim and young, not the kind of woman he usually ended up with. Pretty too, blonde hair, kind of teasingly tucked under her chin.’
‘You don’t know her name?’
Aris shook his head and said, ‘I’m not sure, maybe Beryl, or Belinda, something like that, Brenda perhaps.’
Christos sighed and pulled his new mobile from his pants. He hadn’t yet mastered the technology and pushed several buttons one after another, and stared at the revolting machine as if it were being deliberately obtuse.
‘Damned thing!’ he muttered, as he put it to his ear as if to check he could make a call. It was working. He rang the doctor and asked him to come and issue a death certificate. After that, the body could be removed before it began to rot in the heat of the day.
Christos thought of the girl he’d met on the quay, the girl who had arrived on that smart cruiser, because the brief description Aris had given fitted her to a tee.
‘The doctor’s on his way,’ he said, as he bent over the body and sniffed. ‘The thing is, if I don’t solve this case by tonight, the mainland will send a detective. Probably some college educated kid who’s never seen a body. God forbid.’ Christos rolled his eyes. ‘Did he always bring his women back here?’
