When Stars Grow Dark

by Scott Hunter

  So, all in all, Collingworth mused, he was in a very strong position. Information is power, especially when there was a plan afoot to topple the dodgy goings-on once and for all. Who knows? His involvement might accelerate his career way more than a mere sergeant’s board could ever hope to. He’d done what he’d been asked to. Now, all he had to do was watch and wait. That was the name of this game.

  Watch and wait…

  ‘Temp staff?’ Bola pressed the question. ‘So, what’s Chan’s background? Where might she have gone?’

  Judith Miller folded her arms over her ample bosom. ‘I have no idea, Detective Constable Odunsi. Where the casual staff go after they’ve worked here is not something we monitor very closely.’

  ‘OK,’ George butted in, ‘let’s start again. Connie Chan came to you three weeks ago. Through an agency.’

  ‘Yes, we get most of our care workers though the agency.’

  ‘And you were satisfied with her conduct, her work ethic while she was here?’

  ‘Yes. She worked hard, got on fine with the residents.’ Judith Miller shrugged. ‘There was nothing remarkable about her. Apart from her looks, of course. Very pretty. Malaysian, I believe.’

  ‘Did she talk a lot?’ Bola asked. ‘With the other staff? You know, chat? Gossip?’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to ask around. I’m always rather busy in the office, or attending to new admissions, or any particular crisis on any given day – they happen a lot, you understand, the residents being the age they are.’

  ‘Did she have any special interaction with Mr Daintree?’ George was tapping his forefinger on the desk.

  ‘Special? Well, she would have taken him his meals. Wheeled him into the lounge to socialise – not that he was a very social sort of gentleman. Brought him a cup of tea when appropriate, that sort of thing. All very normal.’

  ‘And what shifts did she tend to work?’ Bola could feel George’s impatience, feel the explosion brewing.

  ‘Oh, that’s easy. Hang on.’ Mrs Miller tapped her computer keyboard. ‘Here we are.’ She swivelled the screen so the two detectives could see. ‘All evening shifts. I remember she said she had some cleaning job during the day. They often do – have more than one job on the go, I mean.’

  ‘What was the agency’s name again?’ Bola’s pen was at the ready.

  ‘Blue Javelin. There’s a girl called Sara we usually speak to about vacancies.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Bola tucked his notebook away. ‘Is there anything else you think might be of help, Mrs Miller? Anything unusual you remember about Connie Chan, or maybe something one of the other staff members may have spotted?’

  ‘I really can’t think,’ Judith Miller frowned. ‘You’ll have to speak to the rest of the staff to see if they can remember anything. I can make a room available for you.’

  ‘Great – let’s get on with it.’ George stood up.

  ‘I can’t believe that little Connie Chan could have been involved in anything.’ Mrs Miller shook her head. ‘She was so sweet. Graceful, too. You know, like the Malaysians are. Very respectful.’

  ‘That could be exactly what she wanted you to think.’ Bola had also got to his feet. ‘Thanks for your time, Mrs Miller.’

  ‘My pleasure. I do hope you find out what happened. I feel so terrible. That poor man.’

  ‘We will,’ George assured her. ‘We always do.’

  ‘We’re not getting anywhere,’ George said. ‘No one knows anything. Damned agency weren’t much help, either. Worth calling them again?’

  ‘Nope, I don’t reckon,’ Bola replied. ‘Her references all looked good, according to Sara Catton. All written up on company-headed paper. They all looked legit.’

  ‘But did they actually try to contact the referees?’

  ‘Not as such. Chan talked a good story, as they say. And a written testimonial carries more weight than a phone call. Like I said, it looked legit.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Counterfeit money looks legit too, until you take a really close look at it.’

  ‘They didn’t try to place her in another contract?’

  ‘Nope. She signed off, and went off.’

  ‘OK, so what now?’ Bola was feeling George’s frustration. Chan was a ghost. Here one minute, vanished the next.

  ‘Let’s get back. Maybe someone’s come up with something.’

  They left the bedroom which Judith Miller had provided for them. ‘It’s empty,’ she’d told them. ‘Resident died last week. Help yourselves.’

  George lingered in the hall. ‘Better sign out.’ He picked up the supplied biro, scanned down the visitors’ sheet. One of the residents was making slow, painful progress along the corridor; her Zimmer clunked on the carpet, she shuffled to meet it and then it clunked forward again. Bola caught the woman’s eye as she inched slowly towards them, her mouth set in a determined line, gnarled hands gripping the frame for all she was worth. Bola beamed her a smile of encouragement.

  ‘That’s it,’ George said. ‘Lets be off.’

  ‘Wait.’ The voice was weak, tremulous, but both George and Bola picked up the note of urgency.

  ‘Hello,’ Bola reprised his smile. ‘Do you need any help?’ Perhaps she needed assistance to manoeuvre herself into the lift.

  ‘No, but you might.’ She came to a halt, puffing for breath. Thirty seconds passed as the old woman recovered from her exertion. George and Bola waited politely.

  ‘Is there something you’d like to tell us?’ Bola asked her.

  A bell rang. The woman shook her head. ‘Tea time. Luke-warm and weak as cats’ pee.’

  George glanced at Bola. Let’s move on. He began to punch in the exit code.

  ‘Elizabeth Hurleigh. Not the movie star. With an ‘eigh’.’ She raised her hand, waved it briefly in the air. ‘I can’t shake. I might topple over.’

  ‘That’s fine, no problem,’ Bola told her. George was wrong. Mrs Hurleigh was totally compos mentis.

  ‘The girl, isn’t it? The one who came and went? You want to know about her? Well, I’ll tell you a few things.’ Another pause for breath. ‘Emphysema,’ she explained. ‘It’ll see me off in the end. But I’m all right if I take it slowly.’

  ‘In your own time.’ George was giving her his full attention now.

  ‘All smiles, that one, until she was alone with you. Sadistic streak. Used to taunt me. Keep my food and drink out of reach. Make me think I’d forgotten to take my medicine. Made me question my sanity.’ Another breath. ‘But I worked her out.’

  Bola was shocked. He’d heard about this kind of thing, but never experienced it. ‘She abused you? Did you tell anyone?’

  ‘No point.’ The hand waved again. ‘In any case, ‘abused’ is a strong word. She had a cruel streak in her, that’s how I’d put it. She enjoyed being in a position of power. And that Miller, she’s useless. Never around when you need her. Place is run by the carers. Some are all right, others not. Miller keeps herself away from the nitty-gritty. And besides, she liked Ms Chan.’ Hurleigh raised an eyebrow. ‘If you understand my meaning? Any complaints would have fallen on deaf ears.’

  ‘Ah. I see.’ George tapped the side of his nose.

  ‘Look, would you like to sit down?’ Bola pointed to the lounge door. He could see one or two residents dozing in their chairs.

  ‘You’re joking. Took me ten minutes to get up. Let’s savour the achievement.’ More deep, painful breaths followed.

  ‘So, about this Ms Chan, you wanted to tell us something specific?’ George encouraged her. Elizabeth Hurleigh reminded him of his late mother. She had endured a similar condition, and eventually, after months of suffering, her end had indeed come.

  ‘That night. When Mr Daintree left. I saw her in the car park.’

  ‘Mr Daintree was collected by a young man,’ Bola said. ‘Did you see him leave?’

  Hurleigh shook her head. Her hair was thin and grey, clinging to her scalp, but her eyes were bright and sharp. ‘Not then, but later. She went out the back.
I saw her, from the kitchen – she left the building.’

  ‘So,’ George frowned. ‘She left the premises after Mr Daintree. Did she come back? What happened then?’

  ‘It was at least an hour later. I saw her from my bedroom window. I always sit by the window. Gives me something to look at. She came around the back, didn’t use the front door.’

  ‘So, she bunked off her shift, for reasons unknown, returned later that same evening.’

  ‘That is correct. And she didn’t want anyone to know.’ Elizabeth Hurleigh broke into a fit of coughing. Bola felt a mixture of compassion and helplessness as he waited for her to recover. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said eventually.

  ‘Take your time. You said she didn’t want anyone to know?’ George prompted. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘She lied. I heard her.’ Hurleigh was emphatic. ‘Told the Miller woman she’d attended to her duties all evening. Nothing to report. Of course, they quizzed her about Mr Daintree. She mentioned nothing about her absence, just said he was collected as scheduled.’

  ‘I see.’ Bola said. ‘This is very helpful, Mrs Hurleigh.’

  ‘Well, I hope so,’ she replied. ‘Daintree was a miserable old sod, but he didn’t deserve that. Oh, by the way, she spun the other policeman a whole lot of nonsense, too. I made it a priority to park outside Miller’s office when she was in there.’

  ‘You’re very astute, Mrs Hurleigh.’ George said. ‘Thank you for your observations.’

  ‘No one pays any attention when you’re this age,’ she said. ‘They think you’re doolally. But I keep my ear to the ground. Keeps me on an even keel.’

  ‘Well, thank you again for the information,’ George said. Hurleigh was clearly struggling to keep hold of the Zimmer. She needed to sit down.

  ‘I’m not finished.’ She looked George up and down. ‘This’ll be familiar to you, young man, judging by your accent.’ With a huge effort she kept one hand on the frame, delved into her handbag – which was hanging by its strap from the Zimmer’s handlebar – and produced a piece of paper. ‘Here. I found this.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Bola accepted the paper. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I found it. In her housecoat. Call me nosy, but I knew she was up to no good.’

  Bola examined the paper, and George peered over his shoulder. ‘A complement slip. Chapelfields, Aviemore.’ Bola’s eyebrows went up. ‘There’s another residential care home with the same name in Scotland? Chapelfields?’

  ‘Yes, yes. There are ten homes altogether, I believe – and there are plans for more. All run by the same person, the entrepreneur Duncan Brodie. You must have heard of him, surely? One of the richest men in Scotland.’

  ‘Now you mention it, yes,’ George confessed. ‘He’s been on TV. Mousy little chap. Glasses.’

  ‘That’s the man.’ Hurleigh nodded. ‘Very shy, so they say. Hardly looks the part, but there we are. Looks can be deceiving. Anyway, does that help at all?’

  On the paper was written in scrawled biro: meet King’s X. 09.45. I x

  ‘King’s Cross. That’s the station for all points north, right?’ Bola flicked the corner of the complements slip.

  George rubbed his hands together. ‘Yep. Train to Edinburgh. Connections to Aviemore, among others. We’d better let Charlie know that a little bird is on her way home.’

  He turned to thank Mrs Hurleigh, but the old lady had already shuffled off on her way.

  ‘Much obliged,’ he called after her frail figure.

  A gnarled hand was raised briefly in acknowledgment. They watched as their unlikely informant turned the corner and was gone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The hotel room was exactly as Charlie had anticipated – characterless, but clean and tidy. She plonked herself on the bed, flopped onto her back. Her eyes were gritty and her mouth felt dry and dehydrated. It had been a long day.

  Luscombe had dropped her off at the Premier Inn with a promise to collect her at eight sharp tomorrow. She’d wanted to ask him what his plans were for the evening, but couldn’t formulate the question in a way that didn’t sound as though she was angling for an offer. She hadn’t quizzed him about his private life, though she’d been sorely tempted. He didn’t wear a ring – not that that necessarily meant anything. If he’d offered her hospitality of any kind, though, she’d have jumped at it.

  What are you thinking, Charlie?

  She groaned, covered her eyes. It had been a long time since there’d been anyone special in her life. The job wasn’t conducive to relationships, a lesson she’d learned from two previously shipwrecked liaisons. She wasn’t looking for anyone, was reluctant to even consider the possibility of finding a partner.

  A lover…

  And again, Luscombe’s easy manner, the way he carried himself, the way his eyes bored into hers, rose to the forefront of her mind, chipping away at her emotions like an archaeologist seeking to uncover the true state of something long-buried.

  Oh dear, Charlie, oh dear…

  She let her arms fall to her sides. She could hear the background noise of traffic, the murmur of conversation, snatches of dialogue as guests hurried by in the corridor. She allowed her mind to wander and a parade of images drifted across her subconscious: the distant Cairngorm mountains, the glassy surface of the lake they had passed en route, the tall pines, the bleak open spaces that somehow filled her heart with longing.

  She drifted into unconsciousness and the images skewed towards the surreal. She was climbing a sheer rock face. Luscombe was above, encouraging her. Her limbs were leaden. She looked down and vertigo hit her hard. Her head spun. She heard Luscombe calling, cajoling, bullying her to carry on. She grabbed a handhold, a slim outcrop of rock, but it gave way in her hand. She twisted on the rope, tried to maintain her footing but that was crumbling too. Her feet scrabbled for purchase and found nothing but empty air.

  An eagle flew overhead, its beady eyes regarding her disdainfully as if to say: this is my domain. She felt the breath of its wings. She clung to the rope, spinning round and round. Luscombe’s voice was receding. He’d given up on her, left her to her fate. The rope was catching, she could feel the rock cutting into the hemp as she hung helplessly, dangling from the mountainside. It wouldn’t hold. She had to grab something, anything…

  Her hands reached out, but the rock had become smooth, glassy. There was nothing to hold onto.

  This is it, Charlie…

  The rope above her was a thread, down to a single strand.

  It separated with a jerk and she was free-falling, turning over and over and over…

  The phone on her bedside table jangled and her eyes jerked open. Her fingers were clinging to the bedclothes like claws, her heart racing.

  A dream. Just a dream…

  The relief made her giddy. She sat up, reached over and picked up the phone.

  ‘Charlie Pepper.’

  ‘Finally,’ Luscombe’s voice said. ‘I thought for a moment you’d run out on me.’

  Her sleepy brain struggled to make sense of the statement. ‘What? Sorry. I fell asleep.’

  ‘Two things.’ Luscombe sounded amused. ‘First, your guv is trying to get hold of you. Second, I’m at a loose end this evening. Wondered if you fancied tackling a steak and a bottle of red. There’s a nice wee place just down the road from where you are. I could pick you up in, say, forty-five minutes?’

  Charlie’s head reeled. ‘Right, er, sorry, I’m not really with it. Yes, that sounds great. No shop talk, maybe?’

  ‘No shop talk,’ Luscombe agreed. ‘See you shortly.’

  Charlie replaced the receiver, went to check her mobile. Dead battery. That explained it. She mussed her hair, fumbled in her handbag for the charger, plugged it in. She sat at the cheap dressing table, looked at her drawn face in the mirror. God, I can’t go out looking like this…

  Her mobile sprang to life, the screen filling with missed call messages. She found Moran’s number, waited for him to pick up.

  ‘Moran?�
��

  ‘Hello, guv. Sorry, battery was dead. You were trying to get me?’

  ‘I was. Interesting development.’

  She listened as Moran’s mild Irish tones filled her ear. By the time he’d finished, she was wide awake. ‘Right,’ she summarised, ‘so Chapelfields is a chain of homes run by this Brodie guy. And Isaiah Marley has a clear connection to the one here in Aviemore?’

  ‘That’s about it, yes. He wrote a note to his girlfriend on the home’s notepaper.’

  ‘We’ll pay them a visit first thing tomorrow. And the girlfriend, she might be headed our way?’

  ‘Well, we thought so.’ Moran sounded a little distracted. He paused for a few seconds until she felt she had to check to see if he was still there.

  ‘Sorry, Charlie. A lot going on here.’

  ‘Sure. The girlfriend?’

  ‘Yes. They had a rendezvous arranged – Chan and Marley – at King’s Cross. But as far as we can tell, she was a no-show. George and Bola’s eyes have changed shape staring at the CCTV footage; no sign of her yet, but we’re still keeping an eye out. Their plans were sabotaged by the RTC, is my gut feeling, so her next move is anyone’s guess. She may have other contacts, friends, relatives.’

  ‘So, she could have gone to ground with anyone, anywhere?’ Charlie replied. The guv sounded uncharacteristically vague. This wasn’t like him, not at all.

  ‘See what you can dig up at Chapelfields in Aviemore,’ Moran said. ‘Isaiah Marley was employed there in some capacity, despite what his sister might have told you about his employability.’

  ‘Righto, guv. Will do.’

  ‘I’ll keep you in touch with developments,’ Moran promised. ‘Keep your phone handy.’