by Adele Abbott
“Sure, why not? I don’t mind.”
Amber looked around to make sure no one was listening. “You mustn’t tell anyone, and you definitely mustn’t tell Pearl.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“Or Mum.”
“I’m not going to tell anyone. Now, what is it?”
“We’ve been house-hunting.”
That was the last thing I’d expected her to say.
“House-hunting? You mean for you and William?”
“Of course. I can’t wait to get away from Pearl. She drives me insane. You know what she’s like.”
I smiled. I knew what they were both like, and they were as bad as each other. I’d always thought it was strange that they’d chosen to live together because most of the time they fought like cat and dog. Even so, I hadn’t seen this coming.
“When will you start looking at houses?”
“We’ve already found one.”
“Already? Where is it?”
“It’s only a couple of miles from Cuppy C, so I’ll be able to walk to work every day. It’s not too far from where William works, either. It’s beautiful, Jill. Look.” She took out her phone, clicked her way through a few screens, and then held it up for me to see.
The house in the photos did look lovely. Maybe a bit small, but that was to be expected for a first time buyer.
“Have you actually made an offer?”
“Not yet, but we’re going to, aren’t we, William?”
He nodded.
“Why don’t you take a look at it, Jill?” Amber was so excited that she could barely sit still. “We’d love to know what you think, wouldn’t we, William?”
“Me?” I said. “I don’t really know much about houses.”
“Maybe not, but you’ve got good taste.”
That was so very true.
“Okay. If you give me the address, I’ll pop over there when I get a chance.”
***
The witnesses who’d come forward in the Coffee Triangle murder hadn’t been named in the Bugle article, but a quick trip to the police station, combined with a little invisibility, had snagged me the names and contact details of all the people who had been in Coffee Triangle at the time of the incident. The four key witnesses—those who had been standing or sitting close to the murder victim—had been highlighted.
My first port of call was at Ridic Court; a block of flats very close to my own. I’d telephoned ahead and arranged to meet with an Adrienne Paige.
A woman, in her early thirties, answered the door.
“Adrienne? I’m Jill Gooder—I called earlier.”
“Of course. Come in. Would you like a drink?”
“Do you have tea?”
“Sure. I don’t have any biscuits though, I’m afraid.”
“That’s okay.” Cheapskate. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
“No problem. I’m between jobs at the moment, so it’s not like I’m doing anything else.”
When I stepped into the living room, it was as though someone had turned off the colour. Everything was either black or white.
Suddenly, something small and furry rushed past my feet. I almost jumped out of my skin. “What was that?”
“That’s Stripe.”
I looked all around the room—trying to catch another glimpse of Stripe. Then he dashed across the room and out of the door.
“He gets a little nervous around strangers.” She passed me the tea.
“What is he?”
“Stripe? He’s a skunk.”
“Don’t they make an awful smell?”
“Only if they feel threatened. Stripe’s a little darling. Would you like to hold him?”
“No thanks, I’m good.” The tea tasted like Stripe had made it. “I guess a Zebra would be too big?” I laughed.
Adrienne looked confused.
“I assume you got Stripe to match the décor?”
She glanced around, and then smiled. “That had never occurred to me. I suppose he is a good match. No, I’ve always kept skunks—ever since I was a kid. I tried a dog once, but there wasn’t the same connection.”
“Thank you for agreeing to talk to me. I understand you were sitting quite close to the man who was murdered?”
“I was actually standing. I couldn’t get a seat, so I was leaning on the end of the booth where he was sitting.”
“Did you see the shooting? Or hear the shot?”
“I didn’t see anyone shoot him, and it was too noisy to hear yourself think. From what I understand, no one actually saw the shooting.”
“Can you tell me what you did see?”
“I thought the woman in the seat opposite him was getting ready to leave. I was keeping an eye on her, so I’d be able to grab her seat. The woman next to the murder victim was getting more and more annoyed because he’d left her hardly any room. I think she said something to him, but he didn’t respond. She must have nudged his arm to get his attention, and he fell, head first onto the table.”
“What happened then?”
“It took a few seconds for people to realise what had happened. They probably thought he was just drunk, and had passed out. Then someone shouted, ‘There’s blood’, and everyone looked around. There was blood all over the table. Then people started screaming and shouting.”
We spoke for a short while longer. She more or less confirmed what Andy Tunow had already told me. On my way out, I caught another glimpse of Stripe—fortunately for me, he didn’t feel threatened.
The next woman on my list was Joy Sanders. She lived in a terraced house on Ulous Road. Joy had been less enthusiastic about talking to me, but in the end, I’d managed to convince her to spare me a few minutes.
“Have you been collecting these long?” I was transfixed by the display of egg-timers.
“I don’t collect them. I hate the stupid things.”
“Oh?”
“They belong to my mother. She has so many that she’s run out of space in her house. Like an idiot, I said she could leave a few of them here. That was three years ago. It started with five of them, and now I’ve got almost as many here as she has at her place. I wouldn’t mind, but she expects me to dust them.”
“Oh dear.”
“That’s not the worst part. She insists that I turn them over four times a day. According to her, the sand gets lumpy otherwise.”
“That must be a bit of a pain.”
“It is, but between you and me—” She looked around as though expecting someone else to be listening. “I only do it twice a day.”
“That’s understandable. Anyway, thanks for sparing me the time. I believe you were sitting next to the victim?”
“Yes, I was. The big stupid oaf.” She hesitated. “I probably shouldn’t say that now he’s dead, should I? He was taking up almost one and a half seats; I only just managed to squeeze on. I thought that once I sat down, he’d shuffle along a bit, but he didn’t. He just sat there; he never budged—I guess that’s because he was dead.”
“Could he have been dead when you sat down?”
“I don’t know; it’s possible. He didn’t speak and he didn’t move, so maybe he was. I hadn’t been sitting there long myself.”
“You didn’t see or hear a shot after you sat down?”
“No. It was only when I got fed up, and tried to get him to shuffle along that he fell head first onto the table. It scared me to death. And the blood ruined my skirt.”
“So you’ve got no idea who might have done it?”
“None at all. I didn’t see anything. I don’t think anyone did.” She checked her watch. “Look, if there’s nothing else, it’s time for me to turn all of these over.”
“Would you like a hand?”
“That would be great. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. It’s the least I can do.”
I spoke to the other two key witnesses, and they told a similar story. No one had actually seen anything, and no one had heard the gunshot be
cause of the noise from the drums. The first anyone had known about the murder was when the man had fallen head first onto the table.
I was getting nowhere fast.
Chapter 15
Custard cream nirvana! Oh yeah!
I’d just bought a brand new packet, and I had the whole evening to myself. Of course, I’d have to regulate my consumption of the aforementioned custard creams. I definitely wouldn’t eat more than four of them—maybe five—six at the very most.
I’d only just settled down on the sofa when there was a knock at the door. Please don’t let it be Betty or Mr Ivers.
It was Horace. He really was a mountain of a man, and seemed even bigger now that he was standing directly in front of me.
“Horace? Is Grandma with you?”
“No. I’m alone. I hope you don’t mind me calling on you like this, unannounced.”
“Err. No. Of course not.”
“May I come in?”
“Sorry. Yes, of course. Would you like a cup of tea? Or coffee?”
“Nothing for me, thanks.” He looked around the living room, and for the longest moment, a silence seemed to hang in the air.
“Do you have relatives or friends in Washbridge, Horace?” I felt the need to break the awkward silence.
“No.”
“Business interests?”
“No. I spend as little time as possible in the human world.” He was staring straight at me now. “Why do you insist on living among humans, Jill?”
The question caught me completely off guard, and I was a little surprised by how much venom the word ‘humans’ seemed to carry.
“This is where I was raised. It’s all I knew until recently.”
“Don’t you feel vulnerable?”
I was beginning to.
“Not at all. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink?”
“No, thank you. Your grandmother tells me that you’re going to be the first level seven witch.”
Grandma said that? I was astonished.
“I’m not sure about that. I’ve still got a lot to learn.” My nervous laugh gave away just how uncomfortable I was beginning to feel.
“I sense a force within you, Jill. It’s very powerful.”
I had absolutely no idea how to respond to that.
“A force like that shouldn’t be wasted.” His eyes were burning into me.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t want to be rude, but my sister is coming over.” I glanced at my watch. “Anytime now.”
“Kathy? How is she?”
“Very well, thanks.” How did he know Kathy’s name? Had Grandma told him? Probably.
“And those darling children, Mikey and Lizzie?” Horace continued. “Children are such a precious gift. Be sure to tell Kathy to look out for them. Danger lurks everywhere.”
“Sorry?”
“I won’t keep you.” He started for the door. “I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.”
When he’d gone, I felt—I don’t know—dirty. What was that all about? I checked the door, to make sure it was locked. Then, I double-checked the French doors, too.
I’d lost my appetite—even for custard creams.
***
The next morning, I felt pretty ropey. I hadn’t slept well. I kept waking up and thinking about Horace’s surprise visit, and in particular his mention of Kathy and the kids. It was probably harmless. Of course it was harmless. He was just a little strange, but then he’d have to be to put up with Grandma.
Very little had been said in The Bugle about the murder victim other than his name: Joe Snow. And his occupation: an accountant. I’d tried to get hold of Tom Hawk to see if he could give me any more details, but he was either too busy to return my calls or he was ignoring me.
It didn’t take long to find an address for Snow’s accountancy practice. I was surprised to see that it was located in the seedier part of Washbridge. Accountants, solicitors and other professionals tended to have their offices in the more prestigious parts of the city centre.
As I’d expected, the building where Joe Snow’s office was located was fairly run down, and occupied mostly by small start-ups. His office was locked, and I was still trying to decide what to do when the door to the next office opened, and out walked a very tall man. He was at least six feet six, slim, and was wearing blue overalls stained with what I hoped was red ink.
“Are you looking for Joe?”
“Actually, no. I understand he was killed.”
“That’s right. Very strange affair. I read he got shot in that coffee shop; the one where they play triangles and drums.”
“Did you know him? Sorry, what’s your name?”
“Les Winters. We’d said ‘hello’ a few times. That’s all. He was never here.”
“How do you mean?”
“Between you and me, this isn’t really his office.”
“It’s the address given for his accountancy business.”
He glanced around in case anyone was listening. “He wasn’t really an accountant.”
“How do you mean? What did he do then?”
“I don’t suppose it matters if I tell you now. I only found out by chance. He was actually a—what would you call it? A loan shark. He lent money to people. The interest rates he charged were ridiculous. Just out of curiosity, I once asked him about borrowing some money. I could do with a new printing press, but not at the rates he was charging. He always seemed pleasant enough, but from what I understand, he could be a nasty piece of work. He was okay if you paid on time, but if you didn’t, you were in big trouble. He had a reputation for violence.”
“You said this isn’t really his office. Does that mean he had another office somewhere else?”
“I shouldn’t really say.”
“He’s hardly going to complain now, is he?”
“That’s true. He did once ask me to forward some mail to him. I have the address in my office, I think. Would you like me to go and look for it?”
“Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”
He disappeared back inside. So, Joe Snow had been a loan shark with a reputation for violence. This was becoming more and more interesting.
“There you go.” The man passed me a slip of paper. “You won’t tell anybody I gave it to you, will you?”
“My lips are sealed.”
Joe Snow’s real office was in downtown Washbridge. A much more upmarket area than the office I’d just visited. This building was very modern, and had a security guard at the desk on the ground floor.
If I walked nonchalantly by, maybe the security guard would assume I worked in one of the offices.
“Excuse me, madam. Excuse me!”
Drat!
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Where are you going?”
“To room three-one-eight.”
“Where’s your ID badge?”
“I left it on my desk.”
“Sorry, madam. No ID, no entry.”
“But I need to get back to the office.”
“You’ll have to phone them, and get someone to bring your badge down to you.”
“But I’ll be late.”
“Sorry, madam. There’s nothing I can do about that.”
The man wasn’t to be moved, but while we were talking, I noticed a number of photographs on the wall behind him. One of them was of the manager of the building, another was of the Assistant Manager, and the final one was of the Head of Security. I memorised the latter’s face, made an excuse, and then left the building.
I waited for a few minutes before casting the ‘doppelganger’ spell which made me look like the Head of Security. This time, when I walked toward the desk, I got a very different reaction from the security guard.
“Good afternoon, Mr Carruthers.” He practically saluted me. “I had no idea you were coming in today.”
“I like to pay a surprise visit from time to time. Keeps the staff on their toes. How are things?”
“Everything’s fine, sir. Absolute
ly fine.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, sir. No problems at all.”
“Good. Well you won’t mind if I have a quick look around, then?”
“No, sir. I’ll accompany you.”
“I’d rather do it alone. You stay here. I’ll let you know if anything’s not to my liking.”
“Yes, sir. Certainly, sir.”
That was easier than I’d expected. Once in the lift, I reversed the spell.
The door to room three-one-eight was locked. After I’d checked that the coast was clear, I cast the ‘power’ spell, and forced the door open—breaking the lock as I did. Once inside, I cast the ‘take it back’ spell to return the lock to its original state.
The office was practically bare. There was a single leather chair, a metal desk, and behind those, a filing cabinet. I’d expected to find a computer, but there was nothing of that nature.
I tried the drawers of the filing cabinet; they weren’t locked. Presumably Joe Snow didn’t expect anyone to find his office, and certainly not to get past security, and through a locked door. The top drawer was empty. There were a few books in the middle drawer, but nothing of any interest. The bottom drawer contained a single large book; it was some sort of ledger.
I flicked through the pages. This was obviously where Joe Snow kept his record of debtors and payments. He presumably didn’t trust computers or the internet. It was all very old-school; all hand written. I flicked through to the letter ‘T’, and soon found what I was looking for: Tony Tuck, the manager of Coffee Triangle. And it didn’t make pretty reading. Tony had borrowed twelve thousand pounds, and although I was no accountant, it appeared that his payments were way overdue. When Tony Tuck realised that he couldn’t make the payments, he must have feared for his safety because, if Les Winters was to be believed, Joe Snow could be a violent man.
But even if that was motive enough for Tony Tuck to commit murder, it didn’t explain how he’d done it. And more importantly, where was the murder weapon? Without that, I had nothing.
***
I decided to take a look at the house that Amber and William were thinking of buying. Just as Amber had said, it wasn’t far from Cuppy C. From the outside, at least, it was delightful, but I’d forgotten to ask Amber where I could get hold of the key to take a look inside.
