by Faith Martin
‘Miss Pryce?’ Hillary asked. The waitress looked surprised, as well she might, since she wasn’t wearing a name-tag on her T-shirt, and she obviously didn’t know Hillary from Adam. Or Eve.
‘Angie. What can I get you?’ She probably asked the question automatically, and Hillary wondered if she did it in her sleep.
Hillary gave their orders, then showed her ID. Angela Pryce looked at first surprised and then wary.
‘What’s the CRT, then?’ she asked, casting a quick look back towards the counter, obviously hoping that her boss hadn’t seen the flash of the official ID.
‘We work cold cases. We’re currently taking another look at the Rowan Thompson murder. You were seeing a housemate of his around that time – Dwayne Cox?’
Angie’s slightly worried look instantly cleared. ‘Oh, yeah. Dwayne. Right. Gorky name, I always thought. Now there’s a blast from the past, all right. But, come on, you don’t think Dwayne did it, do you?’ she half-laughed, half-frowned. ‘’Cause that’s giving me the creeps, I can tell you.’
‘It’s just routine, Miss Pryce,’ Hillary assured her, somewhat less than truthfully.
‘Call me Angie. Hang on, let me get your orders, or I’ll get it in the neck from Phil. I’ll be back in a sec.’
Before Hillary could warn her that she’d need a few minutes of her time, she was gone. Beside her, Vivienne glanced around and cast the waiter a quick look. The lad looked to be in his late teens, early twenties, Hillary noted, and was a typical student trying to stretch the student loan by doing some part-time work. And although he was fairly good-looking, and caught Vivienne’s scrutiny and returned it with an interested smile of his own, Hillary could see that the younger girl wasn’t interested.
‘Not your type, huh?’ she asked, trying to be friendly, when Vivienne turned a cold shoulder his way.
‘Not really. Besides, I’ve started seeing someone,’ Vivienne acknowledged flatly.
Hillary smiled encouragingly. At least she’d stopped mooning over Steven, which would please him. ‘Oh? Someone nice?’ she fished.
‘On the job,’ Vivienne said, feeling pleased at being able to use some jargon at last. She’d heard someone say that on an American cop show recently, and was glad she’d remembered it. ‘He’s really buff, actually. Got muscles out to here,’ she said, making a graphic gesture with her hands.
Hillary nodded, not really interested. Just then, Angie came back with their coffees.
‘So, what can you tell me about Dwayne?’ Hillary asked quickly, before she could just deposit them on the table and skedaddle.
‘Oh, he was all right. Bit full of himself, but then, a lot of them are. They get into Oxford and think they’re it.’ Angie shrugged one thin shoulder, and glanced across towards the counter again. But her boss was busy taking money from a large family of Japanese tourists, and wasn’t paying his staff much attention yet.
‘I’m surprised you went out with him, then, if that’s how you feel about it,’ Hillary said drily.
Angie grinned. ‘Yeah, well, I was younger and a lot more stupid then, wasn’t I? Besides, Dwayne was good-looking. You seen him recently? What’s he doing? Please tell me he’s gone to seed and is working in Tesco’s.’
Hillary grinned back. ‘Sorry, he’s working as a therapist in a posh clinic and is as handsome and smooth as ever.’
Angie grimaced and sighed. ‘I thought as much. Wish I could have kept a hold of him, but it was never on the cards. We went about together for a month or so, then he went on to someone younger and prettier. But that was Dwayne,’ she finished on a philosophical note.
‘Did you ever meet Rowan, the boy who was murdered?’ Hillary went on hopefully.
‘Might have done. I remember reading about it – but Dwayne and I had finished by then, so probably not.’
‘So you don’t know how Dwayne took it?’ Hillary asked regretfully.
‘Nope. But knowing Dwayne, I don’t suppose it did any lasting damage.’ Then, catching her raised-eyebrow look, smiled grimly. ‘I sound like a right sour bitch, don’t I? And, to be fair, I think he was genuinely a mate of his. Dwayne always talked about him like they got on well, and all that. But, honestly, Dwayne was all about number one. He was determined to get a good degree, a good job, and a rich wife, in that order. He had, like, this life plan, and that was all that mattered to him.’
‘He was ambitious?’ Hillary clarified. Yes, that tallied with her memories of the slick operator she’d met at the clinic.
‘Oh, yeah. Desperate for the good life, like the rest of us,’ Angela confirmed with a snort. ‘His mum and dad were only ordinary, like mine. But he was always determined to hang out with those who had money or class. And he liked to buy the best, no matter what it was. Food, clothes, the latest gadget. I suppose he felt he needed it, if he was going around with the sons of newspaper magnates and the other blue-nosed lot.’
Hillary nodded. ‘And did he fit in with them? The elite, I mean?’
Angela smiled, somewhat whimsically. ‘Oh, yeah. Funny thing, really, but he fitted in like he’d been born to it. That is, whenever we’d come across them, you know, the “in crowd”,’ here Angela made little comma movements with her hooked fingers, ‘they’d always be pleased to see him. I could tell by their posh accents that they were well up there, and I half-expected them to look down their posh noses at us. But they never did. They always invited us to join them, and seemed to be glad Dwayne was there.’
Hillary nodded thoughtfully. Yes. And she had a good idea why. ‘He took you to some nice places? He always had plenty of money, I suppose?’ she asked craftily.
‘Dwayne was always loaded. Not that he took me to Claridges or anything.’ Angie laughed. ‘In fact, we met some of the poshest people in the biggest dives. You know, how the well-off like to slum it?’
Hillary did.
‘It always made me mad, that. Here I was, genuinely as poor as mouse droppings, and I wanted to go to the good places and live it up. And there they were, money to burn, and they wanted to hang out in dives. Stupid, if you ask me.’
Hillary smiled. ‘Human nature, I’m afraid. The grass is always greener, and all that.’
‘Yeah, I suppose. Look, I’ve gotta get back to work,’ Angie said, noticing that the man who’d finished serving behind the counter was now staring at them.
‘OK, Angie, thanks,’ Hillary said, and took a sip of her coffee. The waitress nodded and resumed waiting on the other tables.
‘So, what do you make of that?’ Hillary asked Vivienne, who shrugged.
‘It seemed like a waste of time to me,’ Vivienne said grumpily. ‘She never even met the murder victim.’
‘But what she had to say about Dwayne was suggestive, wasn’t it?’ Hillary pressed, urging the girl to think.
‘I dunno. She didn’t like it that she was just a short-term fling. But then, if this Dwayne guy was good-looking and out to make a name for himself, she’s hardly the sort of girl he’d hook himself permanently to, is she?’ Vivienne said scornfully, giving Angie Pryce a dismissive glance.
Hillary sighed.
‘She told us that Dwayne always seemed to have money,’ she pointed out patiently. ‘Now, think about it. If you’re going to join the service, you have to cultivate a questioning mind. Never believe anything you’re told unless you can confirm it to your own satisfaction. And always ask the who, how, when and why of it. Take this interview, for instance. How could a student, bogged down by loans, and coming from a strictly working-class background, always be loaded with money?’
Vivienne looked up over her coffee and thought about it reluctantly.
‘Either he was having it off with ugly women for cash, or it was drugs, I suppose.’
Hillary nodded and smiled. ‘OK. It’s possible Dwayne was a male pro – he had the looks for it – but given the fact that Angie told us that the posh people always seemed glad to see him, and accepted him willingly into their golden circle…. What does that say?’
‘That he was more likely their drug supplier,’ Vivienne said promptly. ‘Big deal. I expect there’s always plenty of them around Oxford.’
‘Yes,’ Hillary agreed, fighting back the urge to take the surly girl by the shoulders and shake some of the apathy out of her. ‘But our murder victim Rowan had traces of an unspecified drug in his system when he died. And Dwayne Cox was one of his housemates.’
‘But even if Dwayne did keep Rowan supplied with a high whenever he wanted one, he didn’t die of a drugs overdose, did he?’ Vivienne pointed out in triumph.
‘No. But it might yet be relevant. Suppose they had a falling out and Rowan threatened to shop Dwayne to the cops?’
‘That would be a motive, all right,’ Vivienne conceded. She took a sip of her coffee as Hillary withdrew her mobile from her bag. ‘Who’re you calling?’ she asked, showing some genuine interest at last.
‘I have a pal in Narcotics. He asked me to keep him informed if I came across anything he could use,’ Hillary explained.
‘But that was all years ago,’ Vivienne protested. ‘I told you, when I first contacted the Drugs Squad, they told me it was nothing doing. It was all too long ago and vague for them to give a rat’s arse.’
Hillary sighed again and began to press the digits. ‘Think about it, Vivienne: where does Dwayne Cox work now?’
‘Some fancy clinic. A relaxation place, or some such, for rich twits who want to chill out— Oh,’ she added, in sudden realization.
‘Exactly,’ Hillary said succinctly. ‘He’s a doctor, with an eye to the main chance, who likes to make money, and one, moreover, who has regular access to a stream of rich people who want to “chill out”.’
‘You think he’s a Dr Feelgood?’ Vivienne said, nodding her head and stirring some more sugar into her coffee.
‘Almost certainly. Once a drug pusher, always a drug pusher.’ Hillary offered the maxim for what it was worth. Which, in Vivienne’s case, probably wasn’t much.
She keyed in the number of her mate and listened to the phone connect. When he answered, she gave him a brief, quiet update on what she had, careful not to be overheard in the busy shop. Vivienne half-listened and half-watched the waiter who was giving her some more interested smiles.
He was all right, Vivienne supposed, but he was hardly in Tom’s class.
When she’d first met Tom she’d been impressed by his pecs, but little else. He wasn’t as old as she liked her men, or as powerful. He was certainly no Steven Crayle, for instance. He lacked the super’s stunning good looks and polish.
But since that initial meeting in the cafeteria he’d taken her out once or twice, and he’d sort-of grown on her. He wasn’t so young that he was daft, like a lot of the uniforms his age. And his green eyes were really sexy as hell. Funnily enough, he hadn’t seriously come on to her yet. Not that she’d mind getting more up close and personal, but it was up to him to make the first move.
And the fact that he hadn’t done so yet was beginning to intrigue her. Was it possible, in this day and age, that he was a gentleman? That he was a genuine romantic, who wanted to do things the old-fashioned way? If so, he was the first one Vivienne had ever come across.
With some reluctance, Vivienne turned her attention back to what her boss was doing.
‘So if you keep an eye on the clinic, and trace his source, you could get a nice little coup out of it,’ Hillary was saying. ‘And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if a Dr Marcie Franks wasn’t involved in it somewhere. I have an idea she was probably his fixer when he was up at Oxford. … What? … Yes, a biochemist. And I can’t see any reason why they wouldn’t have continued their trade once they’d both graduated. A quick background check on her finances will soon tell you whether or not she’s living above her means.’
Hillary smiled at something the other guy said, and Vivienne drained her mug. She still couldn’t for the life of her see what Steven Crayle saw in Hillary Greene. Not when he could have had her. She was years younger, and much hotter.
Still, he’d lost his chance. She wasn’t the sort to hang around and pine forever. Somehow she’d have to invite Tom down to the office and show him off. Make Steven understand he was not the only fish in the sea. Who knew, if he got jealous enough, she might even give him a second chance.
After all, this fling he was having with wrinkly Hillary couldn’t last for long, could it?
‘And I’m sure your guv’nor would be well pleased shutting up operations on a swanky outfit like that place,’ Hillary was still chatting into the phone. ‘I don’t know a copper alive who doesn’t like to see the complacent middle classes come a cropper. You’ll be on his Christmas card list for a couple of years at least.’ Hillary laughed, listened some more, said, ‘No trouble. Don’t forget, you owe me,’ and hung up.
Then the younger girl felt Hillary’s sherry-coloured eyes on her and felt herself instinctively sit up a bit straighter and pay attention. ‘You’ll discover that it pays to give out and call in favours from as many friends and sources within the service as you can find,’ she said. ‘It’s how the system works. And remember, you’re here to take the villains down. Whether you do it yourself, or can help out a mate to do it, it makes no difference in the end.’
Vivienne tried to look impressed.
Hillary looked at her, knew without doubt that she was simply wasting her time and effort, sighed again and drained her coffee. ‘Come on. We’ll give the other girlfriend a miss. I think we got all we needed to know from Angie.’
‘Right, guv,’ Vivienne agreed, without much interest.
Hillary drove back to HQ in thoughtful silence. As they walked through the lobby and down into the basement, she told Vivienne to type up a report on the Angie Pryce interview and log it into the murder book. Then she followed the younger girl into the shared office and nodded at Jimmy Jessop.
‘Jimmy, a quick word. Actually, it’s nearly lunchtime, fancy a pint?’
‘Always, guv,’ the old-timer said with a smile.
‘Don’t let the brass hear you admit to that,’ Hillary shot back with a grin of her own. ‘Afterwards, we’ll take a jaunt out to Kebler Road. I want to talk to Wanda Landau again.’
Vivienne watched them sourly as they headed out. All cosy and pals together! As if she cared. She sighed, turned to the computer and started to type up the report. Then she noticed she had email, saw that it was from Tom and smiled widely as she read it.
Hillary Greene was not the only one who lunched outside the office. Eagerly she grabbed her coat and bag and fled, the report on her morning’s activities unfinished and already forgotten.
Hillary bought Jimmy his pint and a pie, and opted for the ploughman’s and a cider shandy for herself. As she bought the loaded tray carefully back to their window-seat table, she heard her phone beep.
She was probably the only person she knew who didn’t have a tuneful or comic ring tone on her phone. She put down the tray, took a sip from her glass and called up her messages.
Jimmy quickly tucked into his pie, just in case they had to shift. He’d lost count, over the years, of the number of times he’d had to eat on the run.
Hillary read the message briefly, frowned, then shrugged, and flipped the phone shut.
‘Work?’ Jimmy asked curiously, taking a hefty gulp of his beer.
Hillary nodded. She rarely got personal messages nowadays. ‘But it can wait until we’ve eaten. It’s not urgent,’ she said, then smiled as the older man shot her an up-from-under look. ‘Relax, Jimmy. I’m not about to read you the riot act. Now, tell me about your mate and what happened last night.’
As Jimmy and Hillary quietly discussed her stalker, in a pub just a few hundred yards away, Vivienne accepted a glass of white wine and a plate of crab salad from Tom Warrington.
‘This pub’s nice. I’ve never been here before,’ Vivienne said, glancing around. ‘Is this the one with the reputation for being a gastropub?’
Tom smiled and shrugged. He’d
taken off his tell-tale jacket, and in his plain white shirt and black trousers, nobody would immediately take him for a copper at first glance.
‘I like to eat well.’ He himself had selected a portion of steamed salmon on a bed of wild rice. ‘So, how’s your morning been?’
Vivienne rolled her eyes but told him. She kind-of liked it that he was so interested in her work in CRT and liked it even more that he was so obviously envious. ‘I know you keep on telling me how you’d give your left arm to work down there, but seriously, it’s right boring,’ she finished. ‘Take this morning, for instance. The girlfriend of one of the murdered man’s housemates – what was the point of talking to her? We didn’t learn anything new. Well, a bit, about the drugs maybe.…’ She paused to take a bit of dressed crab.
‘Come on, that’s got to be better than working in admin like poor old me,’ Tom said with a smile. ‘What’s she going to do next, then?’
Vivienne shrugged. ‘I dunno. Oh, yeah, she’s going back to talk to the landlady. Who the bloody hell knows why, though – I mean, what can the old bat tell her anyway? If you ask me, Hillary Greene’s no great shakes, no matter what her reputation is.’
Tom felt his smile tighten on his face, but he leaned back in his chair and let his foot nudge hers under the table. ‘Taste the wine. It’s Italian. Like it?’
Vivienne took a sip, and agreed that she did. She didn’t normally like wine, preferring breezers and cocktails. Wine could be too sharp for her palate. But this one tasted sort-of creamy, and reminded her vaguely of vanilla.
Tom watched her eat and fought back his impatience. So Hillary was going back to Kebler Road. But right at the moment, she was out with old man Jessop, having lunch. Perfect. He knew just what to do next.
‘I’m afraid we haven’t got long. I don’t get a full hour for my lunch break. What say we meet up again tonight sometime, and have dessert then?’ he asked, forcing himself to smile like a lovesick calf.
Vivienne smiled over her wineglass. ‘Got that line from a film, did you?’ she teased.
