Flipping the box over, a label was attached and written in a clear script was:
M. Hope
43 Valley Gardens,
Ironbridge,
Shropshire TF8 4TR
The postmark wasn’t much more helpful, reading Shrewsbury and the date of postage being the day before. They weren’t helpful to Diane, but she was sure that the Police would have a better time drawing out information by working with the Royal Mail. Maybe they would have a CCTV shot of the package being posted.
Diane hesitated, Monica’s demeanour boding something ill. While the tape around the lid had already been slit open by Monica, the lid was a tight fit around the base. With some reluctance, she worked the lid upwards and exposed the contents.
Inside, cotton wool puffed outwards, expanding to meet the new-found freedom. Diane pulled a set of tongs from a canister near her stove and carefully excavated downwards, placing the loose cotton into the box lid. Slowly the level inside the box dropped, and the wool became heavier and sticky with red.
On a cushion of wool rested a finger. It had been poorly severed at the base, a cut right through the bone, and blood had leeched out of it into the surrounding wool. Just above the rough edge of skin was a ring, ornate gold with a setting of two sapphires and two rubies around a single square diamond. The nail was nicely painted, a pattern of small flowers, yet it was chipped in places, and a jagged tear had taken off the very tip.
“I called Rose, I thought it might be a sick prank. She told me to come and see you, that you’d know what I should do.”
Monica still hadn’t looked up from her tea. Diane lifted her glasses and squeezed the sides of her nose, squinting as she did so. She had been fine slaughtering fictional characters, but her morning was not ready for a dead girl’s finger in her kitchen. She was sure the finger’s owner was dead. Unless they were simply very very sick, living people didn’t go around mailing body parts to others.
Diane let out a sigh, and a shiver ran along her spine. “A normal person would have been upset by the sight of a severed finger,” Diane thought. “So Monica is normal at least. But me, not so much.”
“We will have to call the police,” said Diane. “I know someone there that can help. He’ll take care of everything, I’m sure.”
“Thank you. I knew I should call them, but I was scared because this person sent it to my flat. I didn’t want to wait there, just in case…” She left the implication unsaid.
“Do you know who it could have been that sent this? You’ve not had any other strange correspondence?”
“None.”
“How about suitors? You’re an attractive girl,” said Diane. “Has anyone taken a liking to you that seemed… unusual?”
“There was a guy at a bar a couple of months ago. He got a bit handsy, and the bouncers chucked him out. But nothing else. I’ve been too busy to worry about men for a while.”
“He hasn’t called unexpectedly? Or you saw him across the street when you were out?”
“No. I haven’t seen or heard from him again.”
“Well, do what you can to remember what he looked like. The police will probably want to talk with him.”
Diane went into the living room and dialled Inspector Crothers on her cell phone. She walked back into the kitchen as the phone rang repeatedly. Monica was finally drying her hair, great waving swathes of it flashing around the room. The Inspector didn’t respond, so Diane took a picture of the box and its contents and sent it via text message to the same number. Not twenty seconds later, Inspector Crothers’ name flashed up on her cell phone.
She filled him in on what details she had and told him that Monica was still at the house and that they would wait for him there.
Fifteen minutes passed as Diane alternately comforted and quizzed Monica before there was a knock at the front door. Damp images of Inspector Crothers and Sergeant Webster appeared in the peephole.
“Where’s this finger?” asked the Inspector as he pulled off his dripping coat.
Diane showed them both into the kitchen. Monica turned in her chair but didn’t get up, instead letting her head drop as though she was expecting to get chastened. The Inspector looked around briefly before making for the open box on the table. Diane got a couple of cups down from the shelf and made everyone some tea while the Inspector snapped on some blue surgical gloves. Meanwhile, Sergeant Webster was pulling evidence bags from his pocket, into which the Inspector placed the lid and cotton wool after a brief inspection.
“Sergeant, take Ms. Hope into the living room. I’ll want to talk to her in a moment.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sergeant Webster. He placed the sealed evidence bag on the table and moved to assist Monica into the next room.
“You do seem to attract unusual situations, Diane,” said the Inspector without looking up from the box.
“I suppose I have somewhat of a reputation for such things.”
“So it would seem.”
The Inspector picked up the finger and looked it over, rolling it around to look at it from every angle.
“Messy cut,” he said quietly. “I’d guess pruning shears or something of that nature. Definitely not an expert job.”
“What do you think about the ring, Inspector?”
“It doesn’t look cheap, that’s quite a chunk of ice in there. I’ll have the picture of it circulated through local jewellery stores. That’s assuming it’s local, of course.”
“I think it’s an engagement or wedding ring,” said Diane. “Look at the shape of the finger. It curves slightly to the right which makes me think it’s from a left hand, which would make it logical to be the ring finger.”
Inspector Crothers nodded in agreement.
“You have a sharp eye, Diane. But it doesn’t help much if we don’t have a fingerless woman to compare it to. Luckily, we’re in an area where most women seem comfortable keeping their fingers attached.”
The Inspector slipped the box into another bag and the finger into a third. He turned over the bag containing the box and scribbled the address into his notebook.
“Now, I must speak to the witness. I would appreciate if you would stay in here, Diane. This is now a police matter.”
“As you like, Inspector. I’d get right onto the post office and jewellers if I were you though. No time to lose.”
“The Sergeant will be heading back to Shrewsbury with this evidence, and he will have his instructions. Right now I have this witness to talk to, and I’m going to get that Rose O’Dowd and Tommy Giles over here if you don’t mind. Your living room might get a bit crowded, but we haven’t got the station here in town anymore.”
The Inspector referred to the police authority closing the police station in Apple Mews and replacing the full-time constable with a community officer that would be shared amongst the three villages in the area. Cost-cutting was given as the reason, but many viewed the recent incident in Apple Mews as being a deciding factor.
“Quite alright, Inspector. I really should get ready for the day anyway. I’ll take my laptop and head upstairs.”
“Thank you for your cooperation. We will try to be as unobtrusive as possible.”
Diane went into the living room and saw the Sergeant sitting opposite Monica, whose hair was finally starting to dry into a rough tangle. She was picking at her fingernails, avoiding eye contact with the Sergeant, and he was scrolling through his phone.
“I’ll get you a brush, dear,” said Diane, “otherwise you’ll have sparrows nesting on your head.”
Monica nodded absently, her mind distracted by the shock of all that had transpired.
“I will be right back.”
Diane headed upstairs and was greeted by Rufus, who stood on the landing having already decided that there were too many people in the house, and that the best defensive position was behind the balcony rail. The little dog led the way into Diane’s bedroom before turning upon entering with a sour look on his wrinkled face.
“Don’
t look at me like that,” admonished Diane. “Your food is safe from them.”
The answer didn’t seem to please Rufus, who continued to frown at Diane while she made her way over to her dressing table and retrieved a brush. She heard the front door close and saw Sergeant Webster heading along the pathway to the police car that sat at the side of the road. She returned downstairs, leaving Rufus as sentry to the bedroom.
“Knock knock,” said Diane before entering the living room. “Here’s that brush, and I’ve found a small mirror too.”
She handed the items to Monica and left the room again, Inspector Crothers swinging the door shut behind her. Diane could hear him begin asking the same questions Diane had already told him the answers to. She shook her head while walking upstairs. She said to Rufus:
“The police do travel the most circuitous paths.”
As she headed to the master bathroom, Diane flicked her phone on and searched for the photo she had sent to Inspector Crothers earlier. She had saved a copy for herself. Something about the image reminded her of something she had seen before today.
She looked over the fingernail, zooming in for more detail. The little yellow flowers on the deep blue background were not false, having been meticulously painted with great care. There were shades of yellow and stems and leaves, all greatly detailed, which was not the work of someone simply idling away time fixing her nails. This girl had spent time and money on making her fingers look immaculate. The suggestion came to Diane that her hands were to be the focus; she wanted her nails to look more special than usual.
And the ring; the beautiful rubies and sapphires and that diamond. This was not a ring worn without purpose. This ring had expense and meaning embedded in it.
This was the hand of someone newly engaged or married. This was someone that had prepared for the moment to make everything perfect and had met with this horror soon after. The ring and nails were of a celebration turned macabre.
These were things Inspector Crothers would find out after the medical examiner had looked at the finger.
“Lack of tan line around the ring would probably tell them,” she mused.
And then the answer struck Diane. She had seen the ring before. A jewellers in Shrewsbury was having a sale and rings were flashed across the screen during the TV commercial. They had shown a beautiful princess-cut two carat diamond ring that Diane had “accidentally” paused upon the television for Albert one day when he had visited for tea. The very next ring in the commercial was two rubies and two sapphires around a square-cut diamond.
Diane ran to the shower. She had to make herself look presentable; she was going ring shopping.
Chapter 2
Diane dressed quickly in khaki trousers and a floral blouse. She skipped down the stairs to see Tommy Giles and Rose O’Dowd sitting in the living room with Inspector Crothers. Monica was sitting again at the kitchen table and was sipping on a fresh cup of tea.
“Feeling any better, dear?” asked Diane as she stuck her head into the kitchen.
“A little, thanks.”
Monica gave a shallow smile to emphasize her improved mood.
“I’ve got some business in Shrewsbury, so I’ll be gone for a while. I’m sure the Inspector will let you know when you’re free to go home.”
Without a further word, Diane raised her phone and snapped a picture of Monica before she could react. She looked down at it and nodded in approval.
“Your hair looks so much better,” she said as Monica made to protest.
Diane winked at her, the action exaggerated by the lenses of her glasses. Then, turning on her heel, she headed to the front door and out to her car with a brief “See you soon” to the Inspector as she streamed past. He barely had time to look up from his notepad, and Diane was already behind a closed front door.
As she reached her car, she tapped through her contacts until she had found exactly who she was looking for, setting the phone to dial as she lowered herself into the driver’s seat.
With the phone buzzing in her ear, she saw Sergeant Webster pull up in a marked police car. He parked irregularly against the kerb and was stepping out of the car even as he turned the engine off.
Diane shook her head and muttered,
“Always in a hurry. He will need to take his time more if he wants promotion.”
It was an old habit, remarking on people’s attributes that might be a detriment to improving their situation. When she had been a teacher in the Apple Mews school, parents’ evenings had been a moment for her to shine. She had every student analysed and annotated in a little notebook and could clearly highlight areas of expertise and need for improvement with specific examples and suggestions.
“Hello Diaaane,” drawled a high-pitched voice.
“Dolly, my dear. How are you?”
“Splendid, just splendid. Though a little early still. You know how I don’t do mornings. They’re so, well, early.”
Dolly Ainsley was a long-time friend of Diane’s. They had met in school when they were on the hockey team together. Over almost fifty years they had kept in touch even as their paths diverged. Diane had married once, worked as a school teacher for many years and enjoyed keeping herself in top form, both mentally and physically. Dolly had headed the other way, marrying five times, outliving four and divorcing one, had never worked, and had let herself go, both mentally and physically. Yet when they got together, they were schoolgirls giggling over boys and sharing stories over a plate of biscuits.
“Dolly, I have need of one of your areas of expertise. Can we meet somewhere?”
“Looking for a man, eh. Does that mean that delicious Albert is free for the picking?”
Dolly had a way with men, much easier and freer than Diane, and she had made it clear several times that she would take Albert off Diane’s hands in a flash. Diane had mentioned this to Albert, who had shivered and said something about knowing how a fly in a Venus flytrap would feel.
“No no, we’re quite happy. You’ll have to keep looking.”
“Oh no, dear. I’ve already found my next one. Lovely old fellow called Graham. We met at a dinner and dance about a month ago. He’s spritely. I do like them with a lot of life.”
“And money,” replied Diane.
“Oh yes. They have to have money. I do like my lifestyle just the way it is.”
Dolly’s lifestyle involved fine food, fine drink, and relentless shopping.
“Well, I need your jeweller knowledge, and it’s pretty urgent.”
“Why didn’t you say so. I will meet you at the Town Park, our usual bench by the lake. Say, ten… no, make it twenty minutes. Have to make sure I’m presentable to the men of the world.”
Diane agreed and hung up, turning the key and gunning the engine to life. She had time, the park being only ten minutes away, but once she was moving, Diane was loath to slow down until she had the conclusion well and truly sewn up.
♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠
Diane sat on the wooden bench, her gaze passing out over the fine ripples of the lake. A brisk wind had gotten up and ruffled her hair dry, but she did not pay any attention to it. Her short hair always seemed to fall back into place with minimal effort, no matter the ferocity of the tousling.
Behind her on the path, small groups of people were moving. Some walked past at speed, chatting in pairs during their morning constitutional. Others formed groups around a nucleus of pushchairs, getting the good clean air into their and their offspring’s lungs. The gaggle of chatter was caught by the wind and whipped away so that Diane only caught snatches of it, some words overcoming the force of the breeze. None of the words resonated with the concerns foremost in her mind, so she let them sidle into one ear and ejected them out of the other.
Through the waves of words lapping at her ears, a clacking sound came that rapidly increased in volume. Wildlife fled, swans skidding across the lake surface, ducks scattering as if under gunfire. Diane smiled as she recognized the approach of her friend.
“Diaaane,” came the familiar drawl. “So awfully windy, it’s messing with my ‘do.”
“Bracing weather,” she replied. “Not for the timid of hair.”
“I paid good money for this ‘do. The wind always has been quite thoughtless about my appearance.”
Diane turned slightly as she felt the wooden slats of the bench bow. Dolly was dressed in a crimson jacket over a blindingly white blouse with a lace collar. Her skirt was shorter than her age would generally consider tasteful and black silk ran over her legs from strapped high heels. Strands of black hair had broken free of the helmet of hairspray and were whipping wildly about the side of her head. Her jacket had a brooch that looked to be of jade, which was large enough to be an egg. Each finger had a different adornment from petite bands of platinum to thick strips of gold encrusted with gems of all colours and kinds.
Diane knew that some rings had been gifts from husbands, suitors, and lovers over the years. She also knew that the rest came via the small fortune Dolly had accrued through her several marriages and inheritances combined with a passion, and some would say lust, for shopping. And they were exactly the reason Diane knew she would find the information she needed.
“This had better be a good reason for getting me out so that my hair can look like someone dragged me through a hedge backwards.” Dolly ran a hand over the wayward strands that tried to tangle themselves in the rings.
“I need to find a jeweller,” began Diane.
“Is that all?’ said Dolly, mildly agitated “There are plenty of them in the phone book, dear. And they don’t cost a hundred pounds’ worth of styling.”
“It’s not quite that simple,” replied Diane smoothly. “I need to find a specific jeweller for a specific ring.”
“You don’t know where a ring came fro…” started Dolly, before pausing in thought. Her face slowly evolved into one of recognition as she continued, “Is this one of your cases? Am I going to get to watch a perp walk? Are you hot on the trail of some blackmailer or con man? How exciting!”
The Diane Dimbleby Murder Collection Volume 2 Page 8
