It’s funny, she mused bitterly as she brought her car to a gentle halt, you never appreciate normality until it is taken away from you. There was something safe and comforting about the mundane. She made her way to her office in her usual brisk fashion, nodding and smiling to her students and the odd member of staff she encountered en route.
Once inside her office, she rang through to her secretary. ‘Good morning Maisie. I’d love a cup of tea. Is that possible?’
Maisie who was ‘a treasure’ replied in the affirmative.
Minutes later Maisie entered with the tea on a tray. ‘Earl Grey with a chocolate digestive,’ she said, smiling gently.
‘That’s wonderful,’ said Matilda. ‘I left home in a bit of a hurry this morning and didn’t get chance for a cuppa there.’
Maisie nodded and was about to leave when she hesitated by the door. ‘Sorry to be a bother but I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d like to buy some raffle tickets. It’s for St Peter’s Children’s Hospice.’
Matilda smiled gently. ‘Of course.’ She knew that the hospice was very close to Maisie’s heart – her niece had had been there.
‘They’re sixty pence each or ten for a fiver.’
‘I’ll take ten.’ Matilda reached for her bag and dipped inside for her purse. On opening it she discovered it was virtually empty. There just a few coins, her credit card and the card of a taxi firm she sometimes used. For a moment she did not know what to say as her brain tried to work out the mystery. ‘It seems I forgot to bring some money with me,’ she said at length, with a half-smile, realising how lame it sounded. ‘Honest,’ she added laughing, trying to make a joke out of it. ‘I’ll buy some tomorrow. I promise.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Maisie easily. She knew Matilda well enough to believe her.
Once she was alone, Matilda sat back in her chair, her heart pounding. Despair and anger fought within her for mastery. There really was only one explanation why there was no money in her purse. Someone had taken it. There must have been at least forty pounds in there in notes. And there was only one person who could be responsible.
She clenched her fists in frustrated fury. Her own brother had stolen from her. She gave an exasperated cry. The bastard. He was beyond the pale. He’d had the gall to do this when he knew that he would be found out. His arrogance knew no bounds. She shook her head in disbelief. What the hell should she do about him?
On impulse, she picked up her phone and dialled. She got through to police headquarters quickly and asked to speak to Detective Inspector Snow on an urgent matter. Well, she thought, justifying the phrase, it was urgent to her. After a short wait, she heard Paul’s voice at the other end.
‘Paul, it’s me, Matilda.’
‘Matilda.’ He sounded surprised. There was an awkward pause and then he said, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes. Well no.’
‘What on earth is it? What’s the matter?’
She was beginning to regret being so impulsive and making the call. ‘I can’t talk about it on the telephone. Could we meet up?’
‘Of course. When?’
‘I can’t get away until the end of school today. Could we perhaps meet for a drink in the bar of the George Hotel around five this evening?’
‘Are you sure you’re all right? You sound… somewhat upset. I could come to the school if you want.’ She was touched by the concern in his voice.
‘No, no. It’s not that urgent. It’s… It’s just something… Something I want your advice about. This evening will be fine.’
‘O.K. The George at five.’
‘Thank you, Paul.’ She paused and then added, ‘It’ll be good to see you again.’
After replacing the receiver, she opened her purse again and gazed at it, her anger firing up once more. ‘The bastard.’ She said the word out loud this time as she snapped the purse shut with a sudden violent motion.
Paul had mixed emotions as he approached the George Hotel just before five o’clock that evening. He was very tired, not having been home to bed since visiting the crime scene at the bedsit in New North Road. He’d grabbed a few hours’ sleep in his chair but that was hardly refreshing, so now he felt fully knackered and he had a raging headache. He had thought he might nip home, shower and put on fresh clothes for this meeting (was it a date?) but he just hadn’t had the time. He had shaved in cold water with a little plastic razor he kept in his desk for such occasions but he was fully aware that he looked rough, with a rumpled suit and a wrinkled shirt.
As he entered the foyer of the hotel and passed by the over-decorated Christmas tree laden with its cheap plastic trinkets and gaudy lights and made his way to the bar, he wondered again what Matilda wanted to see him about. Was she in some sort of trouble or was she about to end their relationship? Had she been building up to this emotional meeting of severance? Well, he reasoned, he would soon find out.
The bar was gloomy and empty except for one figure sitting alone at the far end. It was Matilda. She rose as he entered and gave him a wan smile. They embraced in a perfunctory manner.
‘Thanks for coming,’ she said, taking in Snow’s less than smooth appearance. She had never seen him look so tired and dishevelled.
Snow glanced back at the bar. There was no one behind the counter.
‘You have to ring for the barman,’ Matilda said. ‘It’s hardly rush hour in here.’
‘What can I get you?’
‘A G and T if possible.’
It took a while for a callow youth to appear behind the bar and serve him. He performed his duties at a snail’s pace without enthusiasm or charm. No wonder there are no customers, thought Paul.
‘Thanks for coming,’ Matilda repeated, as Snow handed her the gin and tonic.
‘So,’ he said, ‘what’s this all about?’
She sighed and shook her head. All day she had tried to work out what to say to Paul and, indeed, what she hoped would result from this meeting. Just before leaving school, she had begun to panic. Really she shouldn’t involve him. Despite their relationship, he was a policeman after all. She didn’t want to get Roger in trouble with the authorities. That would only exacerbate her problems.
Snow could see that she was in some form of distress but his professional experience told not to prompt or interfere. He waited.
‘I have a brother: Roger,’ she began and then paused, struggling compose the next part of her story. ‘He’s three years younger than me,’ she added before pausing again.
Snow leaned forward and took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze of encouragement.
‘We were close as children but drew apart in our teens. I lost close contact with him when I was at university. By this time both my parents were dead. Roger’s a headstrong, wayward character and got into all kind of scrapes. And then he got into drugs and dealing. He ended up in prison. It was while he was serving time, that he decided that he wanted to cut off all connections with his old life – with me I suppose. He wrote to me saying that he didn’t want to see me again. To some extent this was a relief. We had grown so much apart that there was no real connection between us any more. I concurred with his wishes and got on with my life. As time went on I had almost forgotten about him. I suppose I blanked him out of my well-ordered respectable life. And then just over a week ago, he turned up on my doorstep expecting me to take him in while he sorted himself out. It was as though his rejection of me had never happened. What could I do? Despite everything he is my brother. He swears he has gone straight and is off the drugs but he’s irresponsible and somehow I feel threatened by his presence.’
So that was the voice I’d heard on the telephone, thought Snow. Her brother. ‘Has he harmed you?’
‘Oh, no, nothing like that. He’s said he will find a place of his own and get a job but he shows no sign of doing either and then today I found that he’s stolen money from my purse. It was a crazy thing to do. He must know that he’d be found out. It was an abusive, brazen act.’ Her eyes m
oistened. ‘I just don’t know what to do. I feel guilty about my feelings towards him – I cannot forget that he is my brother, but at the same time I just want him out of my life.’
She had started to cry now and withdrawing her hand from Snow’s she scrabbled in her bag for a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose before continuing. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this really. But I just needed to talk to someone and… maybe get their advice.’
‘How much money did he take?’
‘Only about forty pounds. It’s not really the amount of money but the act. The invasion of my privacy. He seems to have taken over my house and my life. What should I do?’
Snow did not know what she should do, but he was not about to admit this. He thought for a second, covering his uncertainty by taking a drink. ‘Shall I have a word with him?’ He held up his hand before Matilda could respond. ‘Not in my capacity as a policeman but as your friend. Does he know about me?’
Matilda shook her head. ‘I’ve told him nothing about my private life.’
‘Is that why you’ve not seen me?’
‘Yes,’ she said, lowering her eyes. ‘It’s stupid, I know but he’s invaded enough of my personal space, I wanted to keep as much separate from him as possible.’
‘Maybe if he knows there’s a male friend in your life (Snow shied away from the term ‘boyfriend’) he will back off and do as he says and find his own place and friends.’
‘Oh, he has no problem in finding friends. He brought one back to the house only a few days after arriving. I use the word friends loosely.’
‘A woman he’d picked up?’
‘No a man. Roger is gay.’
A shiver ran down Snow’s spine. ‘Oh,’ he said.
‘His sexuality has always fuelled his wayward ways. He knows he’s different so he wants to build on it.’
Snow wanted to say that it did not have to be like that. Being gay does not necessarily make you a rebel. But he didn’t. He knew that each individual coped with this predilection in his own way. Staying in the closet – hiding in the closet as he did - would be seen by many gays as cowardly and hypocritical.
‘A man with issues,’ Snow observed quietly. ‘So, would you like me to have a word with him? As I say, not as a policeman but as your friend.’
‘I’m not sure. Would it do any good?’
Snow shrugged. ‘I can’t say. It’s difficult as I don’t know the man but I should think it can’t do any harm at least. It will show him that you are not alone or as vulnerable as it would seem he thinks you are. Snatching money from your purse could be just the beginning. This needs nipping in the bud.’
‘You’re right,’ she said nodding in affirmation, her eyes brightening. ‘Would you come back to the house with me now? Just to support me when I challenge him about the theft?’
‘Of course.’
She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’
They drove out to Matilda’s house in their separate cars. Snow was grateful for the time alone to allow him to sift through the information he had just been given. He felt very uncomfortable about the whole situation. It was not just because Roger was gay, although that increased his edginess, but he disliked the idea of becoming involved in this tangled domestic situation. He was used to dealing with such scenarios in his professional life where he was able to take an authoritative and objective stance but this was different. Very different. He had no idea what he could say to this man. He had a farcical vision of himself acting like a tough guy in a B movie western threatening the fellow, telling to leave town on the next stage and never darken Matilda’s doorstep again. Despite himself, he smiled at the idea. Well, he thought, forcing himself to consider the situation philosophically, he would have to play it by ear, as they say.
He parked on the road outside Matilda’s house rather than go up the drive and joined her on the porch. All the lights in the downstairs rooms were lit.
‘He’s home,’ she said, her features taut.
They entered the hallway. The house was warm and welcoming. There was music playing in one of the rooms. Snow could also smell food, the pleasant aroma of home cooking.
A man emerged from the sitting room and greeted them. He was tall, with sharp angular features and long wavy blonde hair. It was clear from the large eyes and generous lips that this was indeed Matilda’s brother. He smiled broadly, completely unfazed by Snow’s presence.
‘Oh, Mat, you’re late. Another ten minutes and the food would have been ruined. And you’ve brought a guest. How naughty of you not to tell me. Still there will be enough to go round I reckon.’
Matilda opened her mouth to speak but no words came. Snow could see that she was non-plussed by this strange turn of events.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me, Mat?’ Roger said moving forward and holding out his hand to Snow. ‘I’m Roger, Mat’s brother, the black sheep of the family, but you probably know that.’ He gave Snow a charming smile as the two men shook hands.
Matilda broke her trance and said, ‘This is Paul. A friend.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Paul, a friend. You will stay for dinner I hope. I’ve cooked a little something as a thank you and…’ He took Matilda in his arms and gave her a kiss. ‘…an apology. I shouldn’t have taken that money. It was a naughty and foolish thing to do.’ He fished inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of notes. ‘Here you are, darling, the returned loot with interest. I had a bit of luck on the gee gees.’
He pressed the money into Matilda’s hand before she could respond. ‘Now you two go and take a seat in the lounge and I’ll get you both a drink. Then I must away into kitchen or my gourmet delight may end up in the bin.’
After Snow and Matilda had been left alone, Matilda gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘It’s all an act of course.’
Snow could see that but it was a very smooth and accomplished one. Roger’s apology and charm offensive had taken Matilda completely by surprise and had effectively pulled the rug from under her. Her brother now had no case to answer.
‘Well,’ said Snow slowly, ‘it does make my role somewhat redundant now. I can’t go wagging a finger after that little performance.’ He tested a gentle smile out on her. ‘Can I?’
She responded in kind, her eyes twinkling. ‘I guess not, but trust me this is only a respite.’
‘You know you can always call on me for help if needed.’
‘Thank you, Paul.’ She drew close and kissed him full on the lips.
‘And now, I think I really ought to go.’
‘Not on your life. You will stay and eat. I’m determined to make Roger keep up his charade all evening, which he’ll have to do if you are here. And besides it will be awfully rude of you to leave after being invited to stay.’ She tweaked his chin playfully.
Surprisingly Snow found the food very pleasant. It was a simple pasta dish but fresh and appetising. It was one of the best meals he had tasted in a while. At least it hadn’t come out of a tin or from a packet which was de rigueur in the Snow household. For Matilda the whole occasion had a strange surreal air about it as though she was taking part in a Harold Pinter play: three people seated around a dinner table indulging in strained almost monosyllabic conversation that was masking true emotions and intentions. She was still angry with Roger. No amount of smarm and charm would excuse him for taking money from her purse. What would have been the scenario if the bloody ‘gee gees’ hadn’t come in? Would he have shifted into the ‘begging for forgiveness’ mode? She also felt sorry for Paul. It wasn’t really fair involving him in her private family problems. He seemed to be coping on the surface, but she wondered how comfortable he felt beneath his apparently calm exterior.
Snow placed his knife and fork neatly on his empty plate and took a sip of water. ‘That was excellent,’ he said. ‘Where did you learn your culinary skills?’ he asked Roger.
‘In the nick. Cookery classes a la Wandsworth. It’s amazing what you can l
earn when you’re banged up. Oh, I’m sure Mat has told you that I’ve been a very naughty boy, a lot worse than borrowing some money from her purse. But I’m a reformed character. Honest. And I enjoy cooking. I like the creative part. You take a set of disparate ingredients, put them together and come up with something that fills a plate with colour and a fine aroma, something that you can share with others’. He grinned broadly and reached out with his hand to touch that of his sister who had been very quiet during the meal. Giving him a frosty stare, gently she removed her hand from his touch.
Roger was unfazed by Matilda’s cool response and turned his gaze towards Snow, the eyes still twinkling lightly. ‘And what do you do to earn an honest crust, Paul?’
‘I’m a policeman.’
‘Gosh. So had you come along to arrest me or beat me up or something?’
‘I’d thought about it.’
Roger laughed. ‘Well, I’ll come quietly if that will help. But before then, who’s for dessert? I’ve made a rather fabulous cheesecake, even if I do say so myself. You must try a slice’. With these words, he rose quickly from the table and disappeared into the kitchen.
Matilda rolled her eyes. While Snow understood her frustration, he could not help but be faintly amused by the situation. ‘He’s certainly a charmer,’ he said softly.
‘When he wants to be. When it’s necessary.’
Snow nodded. ‘Don’t worry, I understand. Why not raise the question of his moving out while I’m here? I can be your witness to his responses.’
‘His lies, you mean.’
‘Maybe. Let’s see how he copes.’
‘Wriggles out of it, you mean.’
At this point Roger returned and with a flourish placed the dessert in the centre of the table. Paul thought that the cheesecake was ‘rather fabulous’ as described and the generous portions were eaten for the most part in silence. Matilda toyed with hers while she considered how to approach the topic of Roger’s departure.
Eventually, she asked, ‘How are your plans going for finding somewhere else to stay?’
Blood Rites: A Detective Inspector Paul Snow thriller Page 11
