The Diane Dimbleby Murder Collection Volume 2

by Penelope Sotheby

  “I’m Inspector Crothers.” He waved identification in front of Gary’s face. Gary blinked his eyes blearily and tried to focus on the waving ID while the Inspector watched his face.

  “No faking there,” thought the Inspector.

  Gary opened his mouth to speak but coughed instead, which led to a wince and a hand grasping at the side of his head. The Inspector grabbed a small plastic cup from the nightstand and leaned into the bed slightly to put it to the patient’s lips. Gary sipped rapidly at the slow trickle from the cup then laid back upon several pillows, his tongue passing slowly over parched lips as he crushed his eyes shut.

  “Take your time,” said the Inspector, who hoped that his statement would be ignored. Time was not his friend. Sergeant Webster had called and given him more bad news. The mailman that delivered the finger hadn’t actually delivered the finger. He swore that he had never seen a box. A call to the sorting office found that any packages would have been X-rayed, and they would surely have noticed a finger even before it left the building. That left the only option being that the perpetrator had delivered the box himself. Another lead gone to the pyre. He had Sergeant Webster order a car to go past Monica Hope’s building every half hour, just to keep an eye on it, but it was probably already too late. He was running out of options, and he really needed to hear what Gary had to say.

  “I’m sorry,” croaked Gary as he opened his eyes and made a visible effort of focusing on the Inspector.

  “The doctors told you where you are.”

  Gary nodded slowly.

  “What do you recall before you woke up here?” The Inspector had deliberately kept his question vague to allow Gary to pull up memories that were untainted by anything the Inspector said.

  “I don’t…” Gary paused, his eyes shut again.

  Inspector Crothers waited, the smell of disinfectant prickling his nostrils. A porter wheeled someone past the large windows; the constable stood outside the door watching them intently.

  “Shelly…” Gary said the name and the Inspector realized it was not a question. He turned back to see Gary staring into his face, his eyes widening in horror. “Shelly.”

  ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

  Diane put the phone back into her pocket.

  “No answer,” she said as she creased her forehead in thought. “It’s becoming a habit for him.”

  “What do we do now?” asked Monica. She had gotten to her feet and begun pacing the hallway.

  “Melissa isn’t home, you said.”

  “That’s right. The policeman wanted to talk to her, but she wasn’t in her room. I haven’t seen her come back, but I haven’t been keeping my eye out completely.”

  “Alright, let’s give her a knock and find out. Lead the way.”

  Monica took the stairs two at a time leaving Diane behind to hobble upward, her injured ankle slowing her usually lively step.

  The hallway at the top of the stairs was similar to that on the ground floor with the exception of a worn and tattered beige carpet that covered the floor. Three doors came off the hallway, and Monica made for the one at the rear of the house, an off-white wood panel door with a black number hanging loosely from a single screw.

  Monica waved Diane over as she pressed her ear to the door. Diane gave her a questioning look, and Monica shrugged.

  “Only one good way to find out,” said Diane before rapping her knuckles heavily upon the painted wood. Monica pressed her ear against the door again, and they both waited in silence. After a minute, Monica leaned back.

  “Not a sausage.”

  The pair retreated along the hallway and down the stairs, returning to their previous spots around the mail table. Diane picked up the mail she had left on the tabletop and began fanning through it.

  “What else do you know about her?” asked Diane as she dropped several envelopes into a pigeonhole.

  “Nothing really. She’s new, and she works all day, and I’ve only seen her as we passed at the front door a couple of times. Hi and bye, you know.”

  “Would anyone else in the building know her?”

  “I doubt it. Everyone keeps to themselves mostly. It’s not like we invite each other around for dinner. We get on with our own lives.”

  Diane let out a sigh, partly in exasperation and partly at the isolated worlds people seemed to live in these days. She continued to flick through the pile of mail until something caught her eye. With thin fingers, she plucked the corner of an envelope free and began to examine it. Before long she pulled her phone from her pocket again and began typing.

  “I think we may have a lead,” she said to Monica, who was sitting on the step once more with her chin resting in her hand and a distant look in her eyes. Diane pushed the envelope at her and continued fiddling with her phone.

  “This address is scribbled on the envelope,” said Monica.

  “Exactly. And the original address has been scribbled over, badly. But that was Melissa’s old address, I would bet.” Diane put her phone to her ear, and Monica could hear the buzz of a ringing phone. “I’m calling the phone number for that address, and we shall see what we shall see”

  The conversation was brief. Diane explained that she was looking for Melissa Hope, as her mail - a tax return - had been delivered to the wrong house and she wanted to contact her to make sure it got directly into her hands, instead of back into the incompetent mail service. Diane was suitably derisive and after a little back and forth, the person on the other end of the phone line, Melissa’s old housemate, told her that she would be at the flower shop on the main street where she had taken a job.

  Diane tried the Inspector again, but yet again his phone went to a full mailbox. After throwing her hands into the air, she and Monica got into Diane’s car and drove to the florist.

  It was approaching 6pm and the traffic through town was light, so they made good time and pulled up outside the flower shop while the lights were still on. There was a CLOSED sign on the door. Diane marched up to the glass door and gave three sharp knocks. She could just see a movement of shadows through an arch in the back of the store, but no one came to see who was knocking.

  Diane persisted and knocked three more times, then another three times until a head appeared around the side of the archway. Tight brown curls on a round middle-aged face. The face mouthed “We’re closed” at Diane and waited to see that she understood and was going to leave. Diane did nothing of the sort and knocked some more. She hoped that the person in the back would see her glasses and think that she could not see past the end of her nose. Most people thought that about her, and she did not work to dissuade them. Every time someone underestimates you, you gain an advantage, she had told herself long ago.

  Eventually, the woman came into the front of the shop and deftly moved around several large vases with selections of top-heavy flowers to reach the front door. Planting a foot firmly behind the door about two inches from the base, she unlocked and opened the door a sliver. Placing her lips against the crack, she said, “We’re closed.”

  Diane, mimicking the shop owner, placed her uninjured foot in the crack of the door.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m not here for flowers. I came to pick up Melissa.”

  “Melissa?”

  “I’m her aunt, you see. We were going down to the pub across from the bridge for dinner. I’m only in town for a few days, and it seemed a waste not to visit her.”

  “She…” The woman withdrew a little from the door, letting the crack widen. Confusion showed on her face. “She didn’t mention you.”

  Diane was about to launch into an excuse when the woman continued, “But she’s already gone. I let her out about half an hour ago.”

  “Oh,” said Diane. “I waited at her flat, and she hasn’t arrived yet.”

  “No, I bet she hasn’t.” There was a sly grin on the florist’s face. “A young gentleman met her outside, and they went off together.”

  Diane felt her heart flutter and not in a roman
tic way, though she continued to smile politely.

  “A young man? How odd.”

  “Very well-dressed young man too. She had seemed surprised to see him, but he had his arm around her when they left.

  “Maybe she forgot, or I have my days confused,” said Diane. “I’m so sorry to have disturbed you. Your store is very delightful.”

  The florist smiled at the compliment and wished Diane a lovely evening.

  Diane turned quickly as the door closed behind her and climbed back into the car.

  “Is everything alright?” asked Monica. She looked at Diane’s face, and something told her it definitely was not.

  “I think I know who sent the finger, and murdered that poor girl at the lake.” Diane looked sombrely at the steering wheel. With her phone in one hand, she pulled a piece of paper from her other pocket. “And now he has Melissa.”

  ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

  Gary wept when he described his last evening with Shelly. The beautiful dinner, Shelly glowing in the candlelight as the waiter poured champagne. She knew what Gary had planned, he could tell. The smile never left her face all evening. She had probably sensed how nervous Gary was, seen how he had gone to the bathroom every ten minutes to splash cold water on his sweating face. She had laughed at the slightest joke as if it were the greatest joke in the world.

  When they had left and gone to the lake, Gary had blindfolded her to conceal the location more than the surprise. He had pulled up before the clearing and rushed out to light all the candles that he had placed earlier that day, and laid out a blanket by the shore. He had led her out of the car, her high heels making her totter as she walked over the uneven ground, though she had giggled all of the way. He had pulled off her blindfold and she had gasped at the sight, trees flickering in the candlelight, the moonlight rippling over the water. The air was still, as if the world was holding its breath.

  As he went down on one knee, a tear had run silently down her face. She had looked at Gary with those shining eyes and smiled a nervous, excited, wonderful smile.

  “Will you marry me?” he had said as he popped open the ring box.

  She didn’t speak at first, though her nodding head betrayed her. With a choke, she had finally said yes, and Gary had pulled the ring from the silk cushion and slid it onto her outstretched finger. He had been rising to kiss her when there was a scream behind them.

  “LIAR!”

  Gary made to turn, but something heavy hit him on the side of the head. He went down hard and watched through fading eyesight as Shelly turned to run. Her heels became caught in the grass and she fell. A figure in black fell upon her. The last Gary heard was Shelly pleading, sobbing, as the dark figure yelled at her.

  “BETRAYER!”

  Inspector Crothers took note of everything, pausing to give Gary time to collect himself between bouts of tears. He could hear the love in Gary’s voice, the way that he spoke of Shelly, describing everything about her. The Inspector thought of his wife and the night he had proposed and saw the same things in his wife that Gary had seen in Shelly. His heart ached for them, but the years on the job had given him a stony exterior to hide his emotions from criminal or victim. They only led to complications and distorted his view of the facts. He knew that some saw him as cold, especially the younger constables, though the veterans understood it was as much for the case as to help maintain sanity in a job where dealing with an insane world was the everyday norm

  After he had as much detail as Gary could muster, Inspector Crothers left him to be tended by nurses who came in to examine the wounds, the physical ones anyway. He exited the room and with a nod to the constable on guard, left the hospital as quickly as he could.

  The moment he stepped through the hissing automatic doors, his phone beeped to indicate he had missed calls. He had not realized the hospital restricted phone coverage to spare interference with the medical devices, and he quickly flipped through the list. Of the several numbers, he recognized one in particular. He felt like ignoring her, deleting his contact with her, even though she had led them to the lake. His finger hovered over the screen as he battled indecision when the phone vibrated and the same number flashed across the screen in large numbers, the Answer or Disconnect icons flashing helpfully.

  ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

  “Inspector! Finally, I have gotten through to you. This is urgent. I know who the killer is, and you need to hurry. He has another girl!” Diane’s words tumbled out of her in her haste to get the information where it could do some good.

  “What? How?” said the Inspector.

  “That’s completely the wrong question right now, Inspector. Who? Who is the question of the moment. And the who is called Jeremy Thurston.”

  “How do you know it is this Jeremy Thurston?”

  “Well, it’s quite obvious really once we figured out that the finger was not meant for Monica Hope. Oh no no, it was meant for Melissa Hope, a girl that lived in the same building but had only moved in a week ago. She used to work at the Dazzling Jewels store in the shopping centre where the ring was bought. Dear Mr. Wilkins thought her name was Molly, and that led me along a thoroughly useless path, I can tell you.”

  The words flowed from Diane, and the Inspector just stood rooted to the spot, only able to listen to the story unfold. He knew better than to interrupt; it was clear Diane would brook no such thing.

  “Melissa has been at work all day, so she knew nothing of the finger. Poor Gary and Shelly were only a means to an end for Jeremy. He told me this morning that he didn’t know Monica. Well, of course he didn’t. He knew Melissa, and that’s who the ring was for. He also said he didn’t know who sold the ring to Gary Sandrake, but clearly he must have, otherwise how would he have known where the proposal was going to take place? He must have innocently inquired about it when Gary was buying the ring. So fiendish, he has been. Mr. Wilkins told me that the turnover of female staff had been quite large recently, and there had been some mention of inappropriate behaviour, but no one ever said more than that. I think Jeremy got a bit of a fixation with Melissa and scared her away so that she left her home and moved. Then, one day, Snap! He gets it in his head that he needs to find her and show her what’s what.”

  Diane took a breath and the Inspector took this moment to throw a question into the phone.

  “So Jeremy has Melissa? She is the other woman?”

  “Indeed, Inspector. According to Mr. Wilkins, Jeremy left around lunchtime and didn’t return to work. The owner of the flower shop where Melissa worked saw a man walk away with Melissa about half an hour ago. I bet if she were to see a picture of Jeremy, she would agree.”

  “Do you know where they have gone?”

  “Not completely Inspector, though Mr. Wilkins was nice enough to give me his address. Do you have a pen?”

  “Go ahead,” said the Inspector after rummaging in his jacket pocket.

  “Flat 5E, Windsor Garden Towers. It’s a tower block on the way to Hadley. He lives with his mother. She may know where he has gone with the poor girl. He is obviously deeply disturbed, Inspector. I fear for her very life.”

  “I’ll send a car round immediately and get over there as quick as I can. I hope you’re wrong Diane. For the girl’s sake, I hope you’re wrong.”

  ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

  Sergeant Webster stood at the end of the walkway, a hand on the chilled concrete of the wall. He swivelled his head from the location of the graffitied lift and dim staircase to the door of the flat of Jeremy Thurston. His orders were to keep watch on the area when he arrived and wait for Inspector Crothers before approaching the flat.

  “Suspect could be armed and may have a prisoner. All caution should be taken.”

  Fingers absently ran the outline of the Velcro strap that held closed his stab-proof vest under his cotton shirt. He’d had his fair share of fights through the years, knives and fists and broken bottles. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle himself when he needed to, but he preferred not to ne
ed to. There was always that stray stab that could nick an artery, and it would be all over in seconds. He had too many things he wanted to do, not that he got the chance often with the job being what it was. The daydreams came to him more often when he worked longer hours and left him playing catch up when he finally popped out of them.

  Webster blinked his eyes and realized he had drifted away again. Only a minute according to his phone; he wouldn’t have missed anything in that time.

  “Eyes on the ball,” Crothers always told him when he saw the distant look come over Webster.

  “Think of the devil,” said Webster as the lift doors opened and Crothers hustled out, walking at double speed to Webster.

  “Nothing to report, sir. No one in or out. No movement on this floor at all.”

  “Good,” said Crothers. “Let’s go and knock them up, shall we.”

  Their shoes made a soft crunch on the walkway, a thin layer of grit covering the bare concrete. Webster followed behind Crothers, looking behind them as they moved to avoid a surprise in the back. Crothers pace had slowed, and his eyes and ears probed the area in front of him, trying to gauge what lay behind his eyesight. A truck rumbled by with an exhaust like an air raid siren and the smell of fish and chips drifted up from a local takeaway. Nothing to help him gauge what waited ahead.

  The door was pale blue with more dents and peels than a decade-old discarded tin of peaches. Six small frosted windows formed a rectangle in the upper part of the door, and a letterbox stood half-open in the middle. Crothers stepped rapidly past the doorway, ducking beneath the windows as Sergeant Webster waited on the other side. A large window stood at Crothers’ back, bars crisscrossing the glass so that only air could get through.

  Crothers tried the doorbell, but after pushing the opaque plastic button several times he realized that it was not working. He rapped his knuckles on the door just below the windows. For all the response that he received, he might as well have kept working the bell. He knocked again, a little harder. Webster shook his head as the Inspector pointed to his ear. He heard nothing.