The Hissing of the Silent Lonely Room (The Christy Kennedy Mysteries Book 5)

by Paul Charles

  ‘Okay, Josef, that’ll do for now. We’ll see you later if we need to.’

  *

  ‘God,’ Irvine began, after they’d shown Josef Jones to the front door of North Bridge House, ‘he seems to do well with a certain bunch of women who aren’t Corrie fans. If you’re to believe him, there’s a host of women out there waiting for men to drop in on them at seven thirty every Sunday, Monday, Wednesday or Friday. They’re all ready, willing and able to do anything that will spare them from having to watch the telly. And the sad thing is, I haven’t met one of them yet.’

  Chapter 33

  ‘WELL, THE first obvious thing must be that there’s got to be something vital we’ve missed in Esther’s journals,’ Kennedy said, enjoying his first cup of tea of the morning.

  ‘But why would Josef Jones be so desperate to get to it? What would he have to lose?’ WDC Anne Coles asked, still glowing from her early morning swim.

  ‘Perhaps he was looking on behalf of someone else?’ Irvine offered. He’d been up the earliest and, by the look of him, was probably the last to bed too. That was, of course, assuming Kennedy’s chasing the nocturnal butterfly qualified as bedtime.

  ‘Okay, let’s go along that route for a moment,’ Kennedy said, walking over to his noticeboard and removing Rosslyn St Clair’s name card from the list of suspects.

  ‘Is that wise, sir?’ Irvine asked, before Kennedy had a chance to bin her name card.

  ‘Well, I think we can accept that the murder of Esther Bluewood and the murder of Judy Dillon are connected. If so…’ Kennedy began.

  ‘I’m not so sure we can accept that at this stage, sir.’ Irvine added.

  Kennedy smiled. He was happy. Irvine was following one of the detective inspector’s prime rules: don’t make the crime fit the facts.

  ‘Good point, James,’ Kennedy began, returning St Clair’s name card to the board. ‘Let’s assume for now that the murders are not connected. Okay? At the very least we can rule her out of the murder of Judy Dillon. Can you accept that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Irvine beamed proudly. ‘Well, at least any direct involvement.’ Kennedy was convinced that his Sean Connery accent was stronger than usual. ‘She was in hospital in the Cotswolds at the time of that murder.’

  ‘Do we know how she’s doing?’ Kennedy asked Coles, as he returned to his desk and his tea.

  ‘Yes. I checked with the hospital this morning. They say she had a comfortable night. She’s off the danger list now apparently and she’s going to be okay. I’ll go up and see her later if you like,’ Coles said, removing a wisp of fine blonde hair from the side of her face, and trying to place it back into her very complicated hair arrangement. Eventually she had to settle for tucking the offending strands behind her ear.

  ‘Yes, I would like that. As DS Irvine rightly pointed out, we need more information before we can start eliminating anyone,’ Kennedy said. He rested his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands together. He then pulled his hands apart ever so slightly to break the triangle, and clicked his forefingers together, once, twice, three times, before he continued, ‘So, back to Judy Dillon. Whoever murdered her was obviously looking for something. We have to assume it was the journal. She panicked when we took it from her yesterday. Now, Josef Jones, Paul Yeats and Tor Lucas had reasons to want those pages. Although, mind you, it was only a photocopy, so it wasn’t as if they were going to be able to completely destroy any evidence. Paul Yeats knew that. He’s been trying to get his solicitors to get the original journal back from us. When I read through it I must say I didn’t pick up on anything significant enough for anyone to lose their life over. Okay, Miss Bluewood wasn’t at all flattering about the three people I’ve mentioned. But by now Yeats must have been well used to the adverse press he’d been getting. Josef seemed extremely proud of his association with Esther, so he could be concerned about what might come out. But as for Tor, I don’t know her game at all, only that she’s very ambitious and desperate to make a career connection – and it doesn’t even have to be her own career. She does have one secret she wants to keep from her brother – the relationship she’s been having with a married man, a family friend.’

  ‘God, what an utterly chaotic scene of domestic disharmony,’ Coles said, her voice filled with exasperation.

  ‘I couldn’t have said it better myself,’ Irvine said, smiling at Coles.

  ‘So, are we saying that Jones would have been the only one with a real reason for chasing the journal?’ Coles asked, faking a smile back at Irvine.

  ‘But he came in here this morning to admit that he had spent yesterday evening with Judy in her flat,’ Irvine said.

  ‘Best form of defence is attack,’ Kennedy reminded them. ‘He knew we’d eventually track him down through DNA testing. Think about it. He was very clever. Evidence of his person is all over Miss Dillon and her flat. He knew clearing it up would have been a near impossibility. So, instead he calmly waltzes in here and says he had sex with Judy Dillon yesterday evening. Completely invalidates in one statement all the work of our team of experts. All he has to say is, “I was there, we had sex. I left her and when I left her she was alive”.’

  ‘Then our question would have to be, was the murder premeditated? Did he go there to fetch the journal and stop her telling anyone of his interest? So, he thought, I’ll make love to her, that’ll take care of the DNA rubbish, grab the journal and then top her.’

  ‘Gross,’ Coles said. ‘That would mean there had been some sort of relationship going on before. He couldn’t have gone there thinking that she would just make love to him at the drop of a hat, could he?’

  ‘Good point,’ Kennedy said. ‘When we receive Taylor’s report, we’ll hopefully be able to see if maybe she was raped.’

  ‘No, no,’ Irvine complained. ‘Jones is too clever for that. And look at him, look at her. Of course she’d have to have been overjoyed to have sex with him.’

  ‘And why’s that?’ Coles asked, looking down from her very high horse.

  ‘Well, I mean to say, come on… Please, does it need to be spelled out?’ Irvine said.

  ‘Moving right along, then,’ Kennedy said, cutting in on their friendly banter. He, for one, certainly didn’t want it to be spelled out. ‘I think we need to dig up some more information. There are still too many gaps. Okay, Anne, you’re going to catch a train back up to see Miss St Clair?’

  Kennedy had taken to addressing Irvine and Coles by their Christian names, but only when the three of them were alone together.

  ‘James, what I’d like you to do is to go and interview the man from the gas company again. Find out from him the exact sequence of events from the minute he arrived at Esther Bluewood’s maisonette on Monday morning. Also, take him back to Fitzroy Road and have him empty the gas meter. I want all the coins in the box dusted for fingerprints.

  Just then Kennedy’s phone rang. It was local solicitor, Leslie Russell.

  ‘Hi, how are you doing?’ Kennedy asked, as Coles and Irvine both made pantomime gestures about leaving Kennedy’s office. Presumably, Kennedy thought, to get on with their work. He gave them a quick thumbs-up, swinging around in his chair when they finally left the room.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ said Russell. ‘Look, this is a wee bit awkward. I was looking for ann rea. It’s very important, official business of course, and she’s not in at the paper yet. I wondered, would you have any idea where she is?’

  Since when did dinner dates constitute official business, Kennedy thought, but he said, ‘Yes, as it happens I do know where she is. Let me give her a call and ask her to ring you straight away.’

  The detective thought that was the most discreet way to go about it. There was no point in telling Russell where she was as it might compromise ann rea with the solicitor, although for the life of him Kennedy couldn’t think why. Yes, Leslie Russell had invited ann rea out, twice. On both occasions it was Kennedy’s view that Russell thought that they (Kennedy and ann rea) were no longer an item.<
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  ‘That would be very kind of you. This entire Esther Bluewood thing is a bit of a mess, isn’t it? I hear now that the nanny has been killed. Any idea who committed the murders? I assume they’re connected,’ Russell said.

  ‘I’ll get back to you on that, when I know the answer myself,’ Kennedy said with a laugh in his voice.

  ‘Sorry, yes, of course, you’re still working on it obviously.’

  Kennedy suddenly had a thought. ‘Tell me, Leslie, do you represent Paul Yeats, by any chance?’

  ‘No. I don’t actually. Coincidentally, though, he and his sister have been on to me a few times recently about doing some work for them. Trying to hire me…’ Russell said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I had to decline,’ Russell continued, a master in the art of discretion.

  ‘And why would that be?’ Kennedy asked, pushing discretion to its limits.

  ‘Oh, there was a possible conflict of interest. You see, I represented Esther Bluewood and I now represent her estate. Anyway, I can’t say much more about it now, but I’d really appreciate it if you could get miss ann rea to ring me.’

  Russell sounded like he couldn’t contain a chuckle, and when it burst free, Kennedy spoke, ‘What’s so funny, Leslie?’

  ‘No, it was just that when I said her name in that form, you know, “miss ann rea”, I wondered whether the m of miss should be in upper or lower case,’ Leslie said, sounding a little embarrassed that he’d had to spell out the reason for fear the detective might have thought the solicitor was laughing at something else.

  Kennedy agreed it was amusing, and said that perhaps Russell should ask the journalist when he spoke to her.

  Kennedy clicked the cradle of the phone with his fingers and immediately dialled a number, the number to his house in Primrose Hill, in fact. It always felt strange dialling the number to his own house when he wasn’t there. How would he feel if a total stranger answered the phone? Kennedy had lived at 16 Rothwell Street for twelve years now. It was just a skip away from the foot of the most beautiful hill in London. It was the first address he’d called home. Up until then, no matter where he lived in London, he’d always referred to home as his parent’s home at Portrush in Northern Ireland.

  The house was a two-minute walk from the Queen’s pub and restaurant where Kennedy and ann rea dined frequently. He was thinking about the Queens when ann rea answered the phone. She still sounded sleepy, even though it was nine thirty. Kennedy had already done what he considered half a day’s work by then.

  ‘Hi, lazy bones, don’t you have work to go to?’ Kennedy asked, trying to sound as up-beat as possible.

  ‘Well, hello and good morning to you, too. The paper comes out today; I don’t usually get in until about midday on Thursdays,’ ann rea said, adding quickly (maybe, Kennedy thought, a little too quickly), ‘I’ve still a couple of hours to kill if you fancy coming back?’

  ‘Well, now, maybe you have, maybe you haven’t,’ Kennedy said into his phone. At that moment there was a knock on the door, followed very quickly by the breezy entrance of Superintendent Thomas Castle. Before Kennedy had a chance to welcome his superior in, offer him a seat, say he wouldn’t be a moment, or any combination of the above, Castle had plopped himself down in the comfortable leather chair opposite Kennedy’s desk. Kennedy mouthed ‘be right with you’ at Castle, who nodded in return. Kennedy continued down the phone, ‘Look, could you please ring the solicitor, Leslie Russell, as soon as possible. He says it’s urgent.’

  ‘Your voice has changed, Kennedy. Has someone come into the office?’ the tiny electronic voice in his ear piece said.

  ‘Yes, that’s right, he says it urgent.’

  ‘Is it James Irvine?’

  ‘Ah no, that won’t be necessary,’ Kennedy replied.

  ‘Don’t tell me it’s that Anne Coles. I keep telling you you’re seeing too much of her now that she’s out of uniform. She’s not out of uniform in your office is she?’ ann rea said, not letting Kennedy off the hook.

  ‘No. Sorry, I mean yes. I mean not that way, no. I don’t think so. Try higher,’ Kennedy said, smiling at Castle, who by now was starting to wriggle in his seat.

  ‘Oh, higher than Coles, but not Irvine, now let me see…’ ann rea said. Kennedy knew she was testing him now. He just wanted to extricate himself without Castle picking up on the fact that it was a personal call. Here he was, a grown man in his forties and he was behaving like someone who’d been caught out by a schoolteacher. Mind you, Castle probably acted in exactly the same way when his superior caught him on the phone, and that superior was probably the same with his superior, until you could go no higher, and even then he or she would no doubt behave in a similar way with someone, probably their wife or husband, maybe even a junior bobby on the beat, thereby completing the full circle.

  ‘At a guess, I’d say you were with Superintendent Thomas Castle,’ ann rea offered.

  ‘Yes, actually,’ Kennedy said, hoping his sigh of relief wasn’t apparent to his superior. ‘That’s also correct, but I think you might have more relevant information after speaking with Russell, okay?’

  ‘Sounds very official, Kennedy, but what I’d really like to talk about is what we were doing last night when you were pretending to be asleep,’ ann rea said impishly.

  ‘Yes, I’m quite sure that more information will come to light on that at a later time. However, in the meantime, I’m just about to start a meeting…’

  ‘Oh come on, Kennedy, you can’t get off that easy. You enjoyed it as well, didn’t you?’

  ‘Quite definitely. However, I think you’ll find the process quite complex.’

  ‘Sorry, Kennedy, what’s that code for? You lost me on that one.’

  ‘Well, I could always check out some more detail and get back to you later.’

  ‘Kennedy, I don’t want us to split up,’ ann rea said. Either she was being very careless or else picking her moment very carefully, thought Kennedy.

  ‘Yes, you’re right, it is very complicated, but I think for a full explanation we’ll need more time and as I said I’m just about to start a meeting.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes. Castle is there staring holes in you, I know, but will you give it a try? I know what I want now Kennedy, I know what I need. It’s you I need. I’ve been thinking about nothing else for the last day and a half. I’m convinced of it,’ ann rea said. The fun had gone out her voice now and Kennedy could her the desperation creeping in.

  He said nothing.

  ‘Kennedy, you still there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will you think about it? I mean, you’re not going to rule it out altogether are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What, no you won’t think about it or no you won’t rule it out altogether?’

  ‘I’d say the latter would be the case and, as I say, I’d be quite happy to go into this detail later.’

  ‘Kennedy, please tell me you’ll at least consider it, give it a chance, give us a chance. I’d like you to see what I’m like when I don’t have any doubts and believe me I don’t have any doubts any more. None at all.’

  ‘God, that’s incredible,’ Kennedy said, and Castle’s ears pricked up.

  ‘Is that a maybe, Kennedy?’

  ‘That’s a definite maybe. I still think you should ring Mr Russell. He did say it was rather urgent.’

  ‘Okay Kennedy, you can say goodbye now and I’ll talk to you later.’

  ‘Yes, rather. We’ll speak later, then,’ Kennedy said and breathed a silent sigh of relief as he sat the phone down. ‘Sorry, sir, I just couldn’t get off the phone. I think something important has just come to light.’

  ‘Good. Yes, very good. Now, what about this nanny case? What’s that all about?’ Castle asked.

  ‘Right. Yes, ahm, Judy Dillon was Esther Bluewood’s nanny as you’ve quite correctly observed. She was found murdered in the early hours of this morning.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know all of that, buddy, but what’s
this I hear about someone walking into the station this morning and confessing to the crime?’ Castle asked impatiently, straightening his already straight tie.

  ‘It wasn’t exactly like that, sir. Someone did come in, but it was to give himself an alibi,’ Kennedy offered.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I’m sure you’re dealing with it. Sorry?’ Castle stopped dead in his tracks for a second. ‘What did you just say?’

  Kennedy then spent several minutes replaying the morning’s events.

  ‘So, Josef Jones,’ Castle began, following the summary, ‘he’s our man is he? Is he also in the frame for the Bluewood murder?’

  ‘Much too early to say on that front really – we’re still collecting our information, sir,’ Kennedy said, trying to sound as non-committal as possible.

  ‘I know you, buddy, always trying to go for the complicated option. In my day, we always used to say, don’t let the obvious scare you off. It may not be as sexy or as exciting, but sometimes the solutions staring you in the face are the real solutions. Two murders in one week, it’s incredible, Christy. Get both these cleaned up pretty lively, buddy, and we’ll be the toast of the Met. Our figures will look great.’

  ‘Indeed they will sir. I hadn’t thought of it in that way, but now you come to mention it, of course you’re right.’

  ‘Good. That’s it, then,’ Castle said, dragging himself out of Kennedy’s extremely comfortable chair. ‘Don’t forget, buddy, I’m only upstairs if you need me. My experience and expertise are always available to you, Christy. You’ve only to ask. My office door is always open, figuratively speaking, of course.’

  ‘Yes, sir, thanks.’

  Then, staring at Kennedy from under arched eyebrows, Castle said, ‘Was that your young lady you were speaking to when I came in? How are you two getting on? Still stepping out? You’ve really got to get her to come over and have tea with Mrs Castle and myself, you know.’

  ‘Ahm, well…oh earlier…that was—’

  ‘Right then, I’ll be off,’ Castle announced, terminating the conversation.