The Girlfriend: A Josie Cloverfield Detective Novel

by Jack Carteret

  I popped it into my mouth and rose to take the bowl out to the kitchen. As I washed it up and placed it on the drainer, I suddenly thought of Betty. Could I ring Betty instead? Of course, that would only work if she was on duty. I didn’t have her mobile number as I did Dale’s.

  Feeling a little bit apprehensive, I dialled the Grantstone Constabulary Communications room and tremulously asked if PC Elizabeth Butler was on duty, giving the crime number Betty had handed me the night before in relation to my mum’s affray.

  “Hi Josie.” Betty said, startling me so much that I gave a little gasp. “How are you doing?” I had been put through to Betty at top speed, and the call taker had obviously given my name and crime number and what-not.

  “Oh, hi Betty. I’m not too bad, all things considered.” I felt suddenly very stupid.

  I hardly knew Betty, and I was certain that I should not be asking her to tell me what was happening with a live police investigation involving my closest friend.

  “I know; I heard.” Betty said, clearly indicating that she was up to date with the whole me finding Hannah business. “You must be feeling pretty rough.” There was just something about Betty.

  She was certainly an officer you wouldn’t tangle with, but she was as caring as any mum should be. Like a fool, I started to cry.

  “I do feel rough, to be honest. That’s why I called.” In for a penny, in for a pound. I was already making a fool of myself, so I might just as well ask inappropriate questions and blame it on the stress. “Is Liam still there?”

  “He is, Josie, love.” She said, lowering the volume considerably.

  I suddenly realised that Betty was unlikely to be alone in the police station, and maybe couldn’t really talk.

  “I’m sorry to ask, but do you know if he’s ok? Or if he’s coming home soon? I know he didn’t do it Betty. I tried to call Dale, but he’s not answering. I’m sorry to hassle you instead.”

  “It’s ok, Josie. Dale is tied up in custody interviewing a shop-lifter. I was getting a bit of paperwork out of the way in the meantime. Look, are you at home?” Betty was practically whispering.

  “Yes.” I whispered back, then almost laughed at my own buffoonery.

  “No problem, Miss Cloverfield. I’ll just pop round if I may and get you to check over your statement from last night.” She said, in a suddenly loud tone which made me jump.

  “No idea what you’re talking about, but I’m guessing that’s for the benefit of the room.” I said, with a watery giggle. “I’ll be here all night, Betty. And thank you so much.”

  “No problem, Miss Cloverfield. I’ll pop round now.” She said, and rang off.

  Betty was at the door before the kettle had even boiled. She was a woman of her word, and those were in short supply in my life.

  “Hi, Josie. Sorry about the weirdness and the subterfuge. It’s just that my Sergeant was hovering, so I had to make it sound like we were talking about your mum’s case.”

  “Thanks so much for coming. And I’m sorry again; I know it’s totally inappropriate of me, but I just don’t know where to turn. That DI Thorn is a complete fool, and I’m so worried that he’ll find some way of fitting Liam up.” I realised that I should probably not have said that, and really didn’t want to sound like my mum. All cops are liars.

  I hurriedly told her about the Interception of Communications business. I was glad I did, because Betty was duly disgusted by him.

  “Between you and me, I’m not a bit surprised by what you’re telling me. Thorn has just been in the job too long, and he’s one of the old-school coppers who thinks things like human rights and surveillance laws are a total waste of time and only there to hamper him personally. He wants a result at any price, and doesn’t care who is affected by his methods.” Betty nodded gratefully as I handed her a steaming cup of strong tea. She’d asked me to leave the bag in; I like a lass who can stand to drink a really deep-tan shade of brew. “But if anyone asks, I didn’t say any of this, Josie.”

  “Understood. And you can trust me. I have a great deal to be grateful to you for already, and I’ve only known you a few days.”

  “You’re more than welcome.” She said, gulping down scalding hot tea in a way which made me even more in awe of her.

  “Betty, do they really think it’s Liam?”

  “Thorn would probably like to think so. It makes his job easier, you see. But he’ll still have to find evidence, and that’s what you have to hold on to.”

  “Like forensics?” I asked, hoping that I could ease a bit of info out of my hero.

  “Exactly. Look, Hannah was strangled, apparently. Now I really shouldn’t be telling you this, so you keep it close to your chest, ok?”

  “I promise.”

  “She was strangled.” Betty resumed. “And that’s not an easy thing to do to somebody. There’s usually a real struggle to it all. There’s a possibility that her attacker would have left a bit of DNA behind. Skin cells or what-not.”

  “What about other types of DNA?” I said, looking down into my own cup, mortified. “I mean, when I read the private messages between the two Facebook accounts, it very much seemed as if they were going to meet up at that old building to…well….you know.” Josie Cloverfield: Total prude.

  “No. There was no sign of sexual activity whatsoever” Ok, why couldn’t I have just said that? “It looks like she was lured there to be killed.” Betty shrugged kind of helplessly, and I totally got her mood.

  “Oh Betty, that’s awful.” I said, feeling sadder than ever. “I mean, it’s awful that she was killed, no matter what. It just seems worse somehow that that was the killer’s intention. I mean, it obviously isn’t ok for an argument or something to end in violence and death, but it’s just the thought that Hannah set off for what she thought was a bit of fun, only all the time she was making her way to her death. Like, it had all been decided already, and she didn’t know.” I knew I was babbling. “I’m sorry, that makes no sense at all.”

  “It makes perfect sense, Josie.” Betty said, and reached out to pat my shoulder with such force that I was left hoping she didn’t have any small pets at home. “It makes it the more tragic, somehow. Like, if only something had happened on the way to stop her making her rendezvous.” Betty totally got it.

  “So, if there’s no forensics, will Thorn have to let Liam go?”

  “Well, he’ll keep him for as long as he can, badgering him in the hope he’ll confess. He’ll only be able to hold Liam in custody for twenty-four hours without charge. Then he’ll either have to bail him with the idea that further enquiries need to be made, or release him without any further action. Most likely, it would be bail for further enquiries. If there’s no forensics or anything even vaguely solid, then there will be little point in Thorn applying for an extended custody period. He just wouldn’t get it, unless he has something a bit stronger. Then, he could apply to hold him from thirty-six to ninety-six hours.”

  “Thank you, Betty.” I said, and I meant it.

  It just felt better, somehow, to truly know the ins and outs of what could happen to Liam, and to have that information straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were. Still, the idea that Liam could be held for ninety-six hours made me shudder. Four whole days.

  “And I’m told that the search at Liam’s place turned up nothing.” Betty said, in a conspiratorial whisper which spoke volumes about the fact she was really telling me far too much.

  “His house has been searched?”

  “Yes. This afternoon. You see, Hannah was missing her gold necklace. It was the only thing missing. She still had her phone and purse in her pocket, and all the clothing her mother saw her go out in was intact. Everything but the necklace. And she definitely had it on, because the coroner stated that there was a mark on the back of her neck which was entirely consistent with having the necklace pulled off her whilst still done up.”

  “Oh God.” It was an all-encompassing Oh God.

  It was everything; the fact t
hat Hannah’s family now knew, the fact that Liam’s home had been searched, and the fact that Hannah’s murderer had taken a souvenir.

  “I know. But they found nothing. And for what it’s worth, Josie, my gut tells me that Liam is innocent. In the end, that will come to the fore. Motive alone isn’t evidence.”

  “Motive?” I said, looking at Betty with big, scared eyes.

  “Yes. Thorn is working on the theory that the nude painting gave Liam a good motive. Still, he has yet to prove that Liam could have even known anything about it.”

  “Has Thorn spoken to Matty Jameson?”

  “Yes. He called him and asked Jameson to come into the station. He’s actually just treating him like a witness instead of a suspect.” Betty said with an incredulous shrug.

  “And you think he should have arrested him too?”

  “Well, I guess I just think that Thorn should have kept an open mind. I don’t know this Matty guy, so I can’t really say what I think of him. I don’t have an actual opinion of him, as such.”

  “Well, if Matty is innocent, at least Thorn didn’t wreck his career by marching into the university and carting him off like they did Liam.” I thought of Matty with his silly scarf and his cockapoo puppy hair and just couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone.

  Still, that probably counted for absolutely zero, and was not exactly an informed line of reasoning.

  “Look, I’m going to have to head back to the nick in a minute, Josie. Dale’s probably out of custody and wandering around the office banging into stuff.” Betty said, with a smile that just made me feel that little bit better.

  “Thanks for everything, Betty.” I said, rising to show her out.

  “Now listen to me, Josie. You did amazingly well to find Hannah the way you did. Honestly, Thorn couldn’t have got there in a million years.” Her smile began to fade. “But please be careful. I’m not going to tell you to stop looking, because I reckon I’d be doing just the same thing in your shoes. But just watch your back. Not just DI Thorn, but, well….. there’s a killer out there, Josie, and there’s a really good chance that he was the one who came into your house and stole the diary.”

  Thanks Betty. That was very look-behind-you. I was suddenly a bit unnerved.

  “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  My Saturday shift at the dry cleaners dragged horribly the next day. I know that it probably seems odd that I turned into work when I’d found a dead body the day before and my best friend was in clink, but I didn’t really have much of a choice in it.

  I needed the money, not to mention the fact that I needed to cling on to this job. It wasn’t the best pay ever, but they only wanted a Saturday shift out of me, and it never really interfered with my studies.

  The meagre income was just manageable for a long-practiced economiser like myself, so, in I went.

  The dry cleaners was not a shop as such, but rather an alcove in a supermarket, next door to the key cutting concession. That was its only redeeming feature, really; I could gaze at all sorts of folk as they wandered past the dry cleaners in the direction of the shampoo aisle of the supermarket, and they were so intent that they didn’t know I was staring. Sad, but true.

  “And can you get the bobbles off it, love? You know, with one of those bobble remover things?” For a scary few seconds, I had no idea what the woman in front of me was talking about.

  “Erm….” I began, stalling like a pro. “Yes, of course. Let me get the full price for you.”

  “Finally.” The old duck said, waspishly. “I thought for a minute it would be quicker to serve myself.” She went on, turning to say it to some imaginary person behind her, but obviously aiming her snark at me.

  Working at the dry cleaners had taught me much about just how irritating the population at large truly was.

  How dare I falter for two seconds? How dare I be a human being with a life and troubles of my own, whose concentration wandered for just a heartbeat?

  I was just a green overall and an unreadable name badge to her. What was worse, she looked like one of the adorable old ladies on the cereal advert where the little squares of wheat were allegedly knitted by nanas.

  Yeah, right; this snappy old goat would be too busy poking new-born babies’ eyeballs out with her knitting needles to do anything as mundane as lovingly hand-crafting cereals for a grateful nation.

  Just goes to show that anyone, even a snowball-haired, dough-faced old nana, can have that vile sense of entitlement which gives them the erroneous impression that they and their inconsequential wants are so much more important than anything else on earth.

  I gave her the price for dry cleaning and de-bobbling the heavy fleece jacket depicting an intricate scene of wolves out on the prairie. She clicked her false fangs and glared at me as if I personally were entirely responsible for a nationwide dry cleaning chain’s price list.

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” She barked at me.

  “Yes.” I said, glaring at her and getting ready to ditch my principles as far as abuse of the elderly went.

  “Oh.” She said, a little on the back foot.

  She had been expecting me to apologetically defend the price. Instead she got a flat one-word answer that seemed impossible to argue with. She looked at me, as if she was expecting me to say something; it was my turn after all. I remained silent. The old duck squirmed a little.

  “Well, I don’t suppose I have a choice.” She spat, determined to have her row.

  “Yes, you do.” I said, keeping it flat and starting to enjoy myself.

  I’d sunk her, and I wanted to cheer.

  “Here you go, love.” She said, handing me her bank card with a really tight smile that would loosen her dentures if she wasn’t careful.

  “Thank you.”

  I was supremely glad to see the back end of Grandma Nasty and, as I lifted my gaze from the cash register to the next customer, I was horrified to find it was none other than Fliss Hardcastle.

  “What can I do for you?” I said, keeping hold of the flat tone, despite the sudden thundering of my heart.

  Don’t get me wrong, Fliss didn’t scare me; I just wasn’t expecting to see her there and I really, really didn’t want her making a scene of some sort at my place of work.

  “Oh no, really, I couldn’t.” Fliss said, looking disdainfully into the alcove and shuddering, as if there was something shameful about dry cleaning. “I would never use such a place.”

  “Oh really? You just throw your stuff away when it gets dirty, do you?”

  “I can’t believe you’re making jokes.” She hissed. “You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

  “I’m not in any trouble, actually. If you don’t want dry cleaning done, you need to move on. I’m working.”

  “Aren’t you just.” She said, with a derisory laugh. “Working your little socks off to pay for your second-hand clothes and cheap snacks!”

  “Go.” I snapped.

  “No, I won’t. You’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”

  “Which is?”

  “You found Hannah. Everyone knows it now!”

  “And I’m going to pay for that? I’m going to pay for looking for her and finding her as opposed to leaving her there? You really are an idiot, Fliss.”

  “Is everything alright?” Bunty, yes Bunty, the weekend manager called over to me.

  “Yes, thank you.” I said, giving her what I hoped was a mind-your-own-business look.

  “Look at you!” Fliss went on. “You couldn’t care less, could you. If you did, you wouldn’t even be able to work! I wonder why it is you don’t care?” She was leaning over the counter, her seriously pinched up face just an inch from mine. “Because you either put her there, or you know who did. Liam’s going to swing for this, and hopefully you will too.”

  “Swing for it? No such thing as public hangings anymore, you ignoramus.”

  “Are you sure everything’s alright?” Bunty sounded tw
itchy.

  “Yes, Bunty!” I said, with a little more harshness than was perhaps required.

  “Did you watch Liam do it?” Fliss said with a sort of horribly excited relish. Her eyes were wide and she was actually smiling, albeit garishly. “Or did you help him?”

  “Neither, because Liam didn’t do it. Now please just go away. You’re out of order.”

  “No, you’re out of order. You really think you’re somebody, don’t you? Just because you got your paws on Richard….”

  “Ah, now I see.” I said, and chuckled like some kind of Bond villain; suddenly I was back in my white suit and stroking a big Persian cat.

  I must say, however, that I was feeling nowhere near as confident as I was sounding. In truth, I felt sick. Fliss was going to lose me my job if I didn’t think of a way to get rid of her.

  “You see what?” She snarled.

  “You’re not here because of Hannah. And as for not caring, you’re wrong. I do care, I just can’t afford to lose a day’s pay. But you? You are awfully dry-eyed for a best friend, aren’t you? All perfect hair and make-up, out shopping just hours after you find out your best friend is dead! Seriously, can’t you see that your own double standard is showing you up as having the IQ of a cornflake!” I was having a bit of a cereal themed morning. “And that performance at the vigil! Nobody was fooled by that! It was all about you, and all about you getting into the local papers. You make me sick.”

  “Josie. What’s going on?” Bunty squeaked.

  “Oh Bunty, give over!” I raised my voice.

  “Hannah was my best friend!” Fliss wailed.

  “And even now, not a tear in sight. You’re not here having a go at me because you think Liam killed Hannah. You’re here because you think I took Richard from you. Seriously, your ego is limitless!”

  “Oh, don’t flatter yourself! Richard’s not interested in you! He’d go with anybody! He even…..” And there, she stopped dead.

  “He even slept with Hannah. Yeah, I know.” I said, feeling a really unsettling mixture of the chills and victory. Chills, because I’d realised she had known Richard had cheated on her with Hannah all along, and victory, because I’d got her to give herself away. “But Richard hadn’t realised you knew.” I went on, desperate to hurt the hell out of her. “Well, well, well…. smells like a good motive to me. No wonder you’ve been so keen to throw mud and spiteful looks across the canteen.”