by Issy Brooke
“I suppose that’s the urbex stuff. What is the law on trespassing?”
“We weren’t trespassing last night.”
“How do you know?”
“It was just an air raid shelter.”
“They don’t just exist in the middle of nowhere, you know. You will have been near a house or something. You will have been on someone’s land. Everywhere belongs to someone.”
“Oh.” Penny felt a little silly. “They didn’t say.”
“Here comes someone who might know,” Drew said, jumping down from the table. “Hi, Cath! Now then.”
“Now then, Drew. Penny! They said you would be here.”
“They?”
“Oh, Agatha and some other woman I just got chatting to at the post office.”
Penny shook her head. “Everyone knows everyone’s business.”
“Except the important stuff,” Cath said. “But we’re making progress on the Warren Martin case.”
“Oh! So am I. I think.”
“Can we …”
“Yes, of course. I’ll catch you later, Drew.”
“You can’t leave me in all this!” He waved his arms at the dogs and photographers.
“I’m not in charge, remember,” she said as she walked away. “Eric is.”
Outside, the sunlight seemed brilliant and Penny fished around in her bag for a pair of shades.
“Oh, very Jackie O,” Cath teased.
“Dahhhling. Anyway, so what’s new?”
“We got access to Warren’s online dating profile,” Cath told her.
“I’ve had a look too,” Penny said.
“Not the way that our techy boffins can, I’ll bet. We got into his messages and looked at the history. The company was very understanding. Well, they got more understanding when we slapped an order on them.”
“I bet he sent out loads of messages,” Penny said. “I’ve had dozens and they all sound like total creeps.”
“Yes, he did. But believe it or not, he also had a reply. More than one, as it happens. And he had one ongoing series of conversations with one particular woman called Clarissa.”
“Good heavens. Really? What was wrong with her?”
“Yes.” Cath was smiling smugly. “And I think you need to sit down for the next bit. They appear to have gone on an actual date.”
“No. Really? In real life and everything?”
“As far as we can tell, yes. And I spoke with her earlier and she sounded evasive, but pretty much confirmed it.”
“I’d sound evasive, too, if I’d found myself on a date with Warren.”
“Well, quite. We’re certainly not reading too much into that. She was reluctant to come to the station and I didn’t press her. On a whim, I suggested we meet somewhere in Lincoln for an informal chat. She agreed to that.”
“Is she a suspect?”
“Not really,” Cath said slowly. “Their date was a few weeks before he was killed, and they didn’t meet again. I think I’m just groping towards trying to get an idea of who he really was. It’s hard because you think you know someone, especially someone who has been a fixture in the community for so long, but when something like this happens, you realise they were a mystery all the while.”
“I think I know what you mean,” said Penny. “I’d be interested to know more about what he was like on that date, too.”
“Great. Because that’s what I’ve come to see you about. Will you come to meet Clarissa with me, tomorrow? I want to seem less threatening, and you’re good with people. And I’m hoping a second pair of eyes and ears will pick up on clues, too.”
“Really?”
“Yup. And … well, her profile was …”
Penny sighed. “What are you not telling me about her, Cath?”
“I don’t want to prejudice you in advance. No, I’m not going to tell you. Come with an open mind, and let’s see what you make of it all. Tomorrow. Meet me at the police station at half past eleven, and we’ll walk down to see her.”
“You are very annoying.”
“But you’ll come?”
“Of course.”
Chapter Ten
“She’s late.” Cath folded her arms and her mouth was set in a line. “I cannot stand lateness.”
“That’s because you are so frighteningly organised,” Penny said. They were sitting in a quiet corner of a sophisticated café that wasn’t so much riverside, as actually river-over. The building was a mediaeval bridge over the River Witham that flowed through Lincoln and the café was inside that bridge-building, all black wooden beams and waitresses in old-fashioned frilly caps. It was the oldest mediaeval bridge still with buildings on it in the UK. Inside the café, it was cool and calm, and oozed genteel refinement. They had a view through the leaded windows over the main shopping street and to the river below with its brick banks.
“Of course I am organised,” Cath said. “I’ve got two kids, a career, a house and a husband to somehow manage. Clean shirts don’t just happen, you know.”
“I just about coped with a career,” Penny said. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Gin.”
“Really?”
Cath laughed. “No. Although scheduling in the odd gin and tonic while lying in the bath does help. I put my music on very loud and try to ignore the screaming from the other side of the locked door.”
“How will she find us? This Clarissa?”
“She’ll ask the staff and they know we are waiting for her; I spoke to them – and here she is, I think.”
Penny sat up straight and as soon as she saw the vision of elegance that was wafting in their direction, she felt like the dowdiest woman on the planet.
Clarissa had long, straight black hair that looked as if it had been ironed. It fell in a swishing curtain, just like it did on shampoo adverts on the television. She had large beige sunglasses which matched her cream mules and oversized tote bag. Her tanned skin glowed. Her expression, alas, did not. She did not crack the slightest hint of a smile as she approached Penny and Cath, nor did she accept Cath’s outstretched hand to shake.
“Ms Pritchard?” she said, looking from one to the other. Her accent was unplaceable; she might be local, but have had the Lincolnshire burr educated out of her.
“Me. Call me Cath, please. Thank you so much for coming. Do have a seat.”
Clarissa did not sit. She turned her gaze on Penny, and lowered her sunglasses a fraction. “And who is this?”
“This is Penny May, my friend.”
“Does she work for the police as well?”
“No, she doesn’t. As I said on the phone, this is all informal.”
Clarissa laughed without feeling or humour. “I don’t believe a word of that. No doubt you are taping everything I say. Still, this way is far less of a fuss, I suppose. It does maintain some dignity.” Finally, she sat down, scraping the chair to one side, obviously keen to put a little distance between her and the others.
A waitress, a plump young girl with a pink scrubbed face and nervous hands, came to take their orders. Cath ordered strong black coffee, and Penny went for a straightforward pot of tea.
Clarissa, however, made the waitress recite their speciality coffees before sighing about their lack of some “regal blend” or something, and ordered a skinny latte – Indonesian, apparently – with the air of someone forced to slum it. As she turned back to Cath and Penny, she removed her sunglasses fully, and opened her bag.
Penny nearly yelped in surprise as a narrow nose poked out from the bag. Clarissa ignored it, and instead delved around until she could retrieve a case for her glasses.
“Is that a dog?” Penny asked, fairly certain that it was, and horrified at the idea.
“Yes, of course.”
“You’re not allowed to bring dogs in here!” Cath said.
Clarissa shrugged. “Well, they didn’t stop me, did they?”
Penny tried to imagine smuggling Kali anywhere, and pressed her lips together to hide he
r smile. You would probably need a tank if you wanted to hide a Rottweiler. And even then, it would be rocking from side to side on its tracks.
Cath had clearly decided she was not on duty, and the dog was not her problem. “Clarissa, can you tell us about Warren Martin?”
Clarissa’s perpetual sneer deepened. “What would you want to know about him?”
“You are aware that he’s been found murdered. We’re interested in what sort of man he really was, and we know you corresponded through the dating site.”
She lifted one shoulder in a tiny, elegant shrug. “That’s the nature of dating sites, isn’t it? I corresponded with many men. Ahh, the coffee. At last,” she added pointedly, looking the waitress up and down with distaste. The poor girl blushed furiously and her hand shook as she handed over the jug of milk for Penny’s tea, and it spilled.
“I’ve got it,” Penny said hastily. “Don’t worry. This is lovely. Thank you very much.” She wanted to talk over anything nasty that Clarissa was about to say, and the waitress muttered another apology and retreated quickly.
Cath stirred sugar into her coffee, and asked, “So, what is it you do for a living, Clarissa?”
“I’m in media,” she said, as if that was somehow an explanation that everyone understood.
“Full time?”
“Oh heavens, no. Part time.”
“And the rest of your time?”
Clarissa looked at Cath as if she’d asked her a sudden algebra question. “I spend a lot of time at the gym. I am not the sort of person who lets things slide.”
Meaning that we are, Penny thought, wanting to stab Clarissa in the hand with a cake fork. It was lucky for Clarissa that the cutlery had been tidied away. She said, “May I ask what attracted you to make contact with Warren?”
Clarissa tapped her long, manicured nails on the side of her coffee cup, and the rat-a-tat sound set Penny’s teeth on edge. “What you have to understand about such things is that some people don’t take it very seriously. That man, unfortunately, presented himself online somewhat … inaccurately.”
“So how did he present himself?” Cath pressed.
“As I said. Inaccurately. He appeared to be suave and sophisticated. He talked of cultural things, the opera, eating out. I was misled. When we went on our date – our only date – I soon discovered the truth. He was simply a sad little man with a dead end job and no life. And a terrible body. I mean, his whole approach to health was just …” Clarissa trailed off, shaking her head and shuddering dramatically. “He was a heart attack waiting to happen anyway. The murderer has just speeded up the inevitable.”
Penny wanted to slap her for those callous words. She drew a hissing breath in, ready to launch into a rebuke.
Clarissa turned her kohl-rimmed eyes to her and said, before Penny could get her words out, “And what is it that you do? Do you work?”
“I’ve taken early retirement, but I’m developing my own arts and crafts business. Penny May Designs.”
“Oh, how sweet.” She turned away, dismissing Penny as something of no interest.
Penny wanted to shout that she had been someone, once; someone important and successful in London. But what was the point? She wanted to be judged as a person, not on her job status.
Clarissa pushed her half-drunk latte away from her and picked her bag up from the floor. She peeped inside and cooed at her tiny dog, and pulled out her sunglasses. “I am afraid I’ve told you everything that I can. I hope you catch the killer soon.”
Penny couldn’t stop herself. “You don’t mean that. You don’t care one bit what happened to that man.”
Clarissa stood up and hid her eyes behind the large glasses. “Of course I don’t. I’m simply being polite. But I met the man once and I didn’t like him one bit. He was not my type, and we didn’t stay in touch. So if you want the truth, then there it is.” She hoisted her bag to rest in the crook of her arm.
Penny spotted the waitress and another member of staff standing nearby. She said, very loudly, “What a cute dog you’ve got in your bag, Clarissa!”
The other member of staff by the waitress was a woman in a severe suit, who looked rather managerial, and she descended upon them instantly. “Madam, this is a food establishment and–”
“I’m going.” Clarissa shot Penny a venomous look.
“I must insist that–”
Clarissa pushed past the manager and clattered down the stairs, ignoring everyone.
“If you come back–”
“I’m sorry,” Penny said immediately. “It didn’t achieve anything but I wanted to show her up in front of everyone.”
“That’s okay,” Cath said grimly. “So did I. And it seems to have achieved something,” she added as the manager came back up the stairs and approached them both.
“Your friend has left without paying,” the manager said.
“Yes, I thought she might. Add it to our bill, please,” Cath said.
“I already have.” She swept away, and nodded to the waitress, who remained in the corner, watching them in case they decided to do a runner as well.
“My goodness,” Penny said, leaning forward to peer out of the window. “There she goes.”
Cath peeked out as well, and they watched Clarissa stalk down the busy street, her slender back straight and firm. “What a nasty piece of work.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being high maintenance,” Penny said, “and I think I had elements of that when I was working in London. But there’s no need to be such a stuck-up cow about it all. Did you see how she looked at people?”
“Yes. Like we were all dog dirt. Some things don’t add up, but I can’t think why.”
“Same here. What do you think? What doesn’t add up for you?” Penny asked.
Clarissa was out of sight now, and they both sat back. Cath said, “It’s like you just said. She’s high maintenance. That bag wasn’t a cheap knock-off from the market, I would bet. She was wearing a few hundred pounds’ worth of clothes and a few thousand pounds’ worth of jewellery. And she claims that she works part-time?”
“Yeah, in ‘media’. What does that even mean?”
“We did some background research on her. It doesn’t mean anything. She’s actually a junior office admin for a local company that produces those advertising brochures that get delivered free.”
“Junk mail?”
“Just about. Junk mail dressed up as information. The company operates out of a tiny office in Lincoln. It’s called LocalNews4U and it’s struggling.”
Penny said, “So she must have investments or a rich family or something.”
“Perhaps, but nothing that we could find. What didn’t add up for you?”
“The way she was dripping with money, I suppose. I wondered if she was a gold digger. But more importantly, it’s what she said about Warren’s profile.”
“How so?” Cath asked.
“I’ve looked at it. You have, too. She said it was sophisticated and that’s what attracted her. But come on, seriously? I know he’d smarted himself up and made himself sound interesting, but there was nothing I’d call ‘sophisticated’ about it. It was still Warren, just Warren with a bit of polish.”
“You’re right.”
“What’s her last name?” Penny asked.
“She’s Clarissa de Castille.”
“Very fancy.”
“Hmm.”
They lapsed into a thoughtful and mutual silence.
* * * *
Penny made a mental note of her full name, and as soon as she got home, she got online and looked Clarissa up using a few different search engines. She also logged back into the dating site and tried to find Clarissa’s profile by guessing at what she would put for her interests and so on.
She couldn’t find Clarissa on the dating site, but she did come across a web of blogs which she was convinced were hers. Penny had soon learned that you could find out who had registered a domain by searching certain websites. She found o
ne of the possible sites that Clarissa owned, or ran, was devoted to entertainment gossip of the most virulent sort, with most of the blog posts authored by a “MzzRazzr”, and there was another about make-up with lots of links to sites where you could buy the products. When Penny followed one of the links, she was then plagued with pop-ups appearing on her screen until she signed up to some newsletter using a throwaway email address.
That was what Clarissa was doing with her spare time, Penny thought. She was building some kind of online empire. People can make money that way, can’t they? She only had the vaguest notions of how one made money from writing a blog, but maybe that was how she earned enough money for her fancy clothes.
So that explained one of their queries, but it didn’t explain what Clarissa had seen in Warren in the first place.
It made no sense at all.
Exasperated, Penny glanced at Kali. “Come on. Go fetch your lead, and let’s go for a walk.”
* * * *
It was ten o’clock at night, and Penny retired to bed with her laptop and a hot chocolate. It wasn’t a summer drink, but it was a comforting one, and she wanted something to ease her mind before she went to sleep. Clarissa de Castille had unsettled her.
She knew that browsing around on the internet wasn’t the wisest thing to do before trying to sleep, but she had run out of books to read and needed to visit the local library soon. She decided she would contact the spinner she’d met at the last craft fair, and thank her for her support. And ask her, maybe, how long the other craft workers’ unfriendliness would last for. She didn’t want to end up permanently ostracised. She’d heard of a local sculptor called Alec who no one ever spoke to, and she was afraid that might be her future.
She flicked onto her email.
Her inbox was full to overflowing with every manner of unpleasant spam, and more pop-ups spiralled across her screen. She frantically clicked all the red crosses, trying to get them to stop, and eventually forced her browser to close and re-open.
She never had that much spam. What was going on?
