by M A Comley
Lorne cringed. Tracking down work colleagues before breaking the news to Jenny’s parents hadn’t been the wisest move, but she had to go with what clues had come her way. “I don’t suppose you know her parents’ names or their address?”
“Let me get her employee records out. We have next-of-kin details on there.” The man left the room.
Pete leaned over and whispered, “Bummer. We should go see the parents before we interview this Simon Killon. Don’t you think, boss?”
“I was thinking the same thing, but what if someone around here blabs and warns him that we want to question him?”
“Thems the breaks. It’s your call.”
“Thanks, partner. I’m inclined to stick around here first, then go and break the news to her parents.”
“Either way, I reckon someone is going to get in there first and tell the parents before we show up.”
Mr. Cartwright returned. He handed Lorne a sheet of paper. “Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett’s address and phone number. They live out in the countryside. They’ll be devastated by the news…as any parent would be,” he added as an apparent afterthought.
“Thank you. Before we leave, I’d like to have a brief chat with Simon Killon, if that’s okay?”
“Of course. I’ll try and locate him for you.”
“I appreciate it. Does he have his own office? Perhaps we can chat there.”
“He shares an office with one of the other associates. I can arrange for you to have some privacy with him, if you like?”
“That would be great.” Lorne waved the paper in the air. “I’d like you to resist the temptation to ring the Bartletts with your condolences until later on today. It might take us a few hours to find the time to visit them and apprise them of their daughter’s death.”
“I understand. I won’t utter a word to anyone. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.” The man left his office again. He returned and offered to show them through to Simon’s office. They followed him down the passageway, amid puzzling stares from the staff. Lorne combatted their stares with a reassuring smile.
Finally, they reached Simon’s office. He was sitting behind his desk, eyeing Lorne and Pete warily. He rose to shake their hands and motioned for them both to take a seat. Mr. Cartwright closed the door quietly behind him when he left the room.
“The boss said you wanted to have an official word with me. I was wondering if you had some kind of crystal ball.” He laughed and entwined his fingers on the desk in front of him.
“Why’s that, Mr. Killon?” Lorne raised an eyebrow.
“I was going to ring the police, maybe not today because I’ve got a busy day scheduled, but over the next few days.”
Lorne glanced sideways at Pete, who returned her gaze with a knowing look. “And why were you thinking about ringing us, Mr. Killon?”
“It would have been a tentative call really, seeking advice on what to do.”
Lorne tilted her head. “About?”
“The strange things that have been happening at home the last few months or so.”
Lorne tried to suppress her mounting frustration. “What sort of things?”
“You name it, and it’s happened. Anything and everything from my car being keyed and doused in paint stripper—not once but twice—to the cat going missing, to strange notes being left on my front door.”
“I see. You’re making it out to sound like some kind of vendetta against you.”
“That’s the impression I’ve been getting, too.”
Lorne nudged Pete to jot down notes.
He swiftly withdrew his notebook from his pocket.
“When was the last time anything suspicious occurred?” Lorne enquired.
“I don’t know. I suppose a few weeks back. Has someone else in my area reported these sort of shenanigans going on then? Is that why you’re here today?”
“No. We’re here regarding a former acquaintance of yours.”
“Acquaintance?” He sat back in his chair and cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Yes. Miss Jenny Bartlett. Can you confirm that you know her?”
“Of course I know Jenny. I’ve not seen her since…”
“Since when?”
“Since around April, if I cast my mind back. She was a work colleague and a former girlfriend of mine. We presumed she had upped sticks and left the area when she didn’t show up for work a few months back. Has something happened to her? An accident or something?” His brow wrinkled in concern, and he bounced forward in his chair.
Lorne fixed the man’s eyes with her own. “Miss Bartlett’s body was found a few days ago.”
“What?” Simon jumped to his feet and began pacing behind his chair.
“Can you tell us exactly when you last saw Miss Bartlett? I urge you to think carefully.”
“Not exactly, no. Oh, Jesus! Was she murdered? You said you found her body—you wouldn’t put it that way if she’d been killed in an accident, would you?”
“That’s correct, sir. At this point, our enquiries are just beginning. So are you telling me that you had no prior knowledge of why Miss Bartlett left the firm?”
“No. She didn’t hand in a resignation letter, which we all thought was very strange and totally out of character for Jenny. Oh, God…I can’t believe I’ll never see her again.”
“So after your romantic relationship broke up, you remained good friends. No animosity on either side.”
“No, definitely not! Back in December, there was talk of Jenny and me trying to rekindle what we used to have, but I decided to give my marriage another chance. Jenny and I met to discuss the idea of me going back to Tammy, and she was delighted for us.”
“Really? I’m not sure I’d be that overjoyed if an ex decided to leave me dangling like that.” Lorne turned to Pete and asked, “Would you, Sergeant?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders and turned his mouth down at the sides. “Nah, none of my exes would be happy with that scenario.”
Killon returned to his seat. “Jenny was different. A gentle soul, very forgiving most of the time.”
“Most of the time?”
“Yes, oh, take that as a slip of the tongue. She was always very kind and put others first.”
“If that was the case, then I have to ask why you broke up.”
Simon thought over Lorne’s question for a moment then responded with a shrug. “I really can’t tell you. I suppose we just drifted apart.”
“Yet there was talk of you getting back together?”
“Yes, I suppose I thought the grass would be greener after living through months of hell with my wife.”
“Forgive me for being confused here, but your relationships, both of them, sound very bizarre. One minute you’re falling out with your wife, the next you’re making up with her. Whilst having a break from your wife, you turn to your former girlfriend for a possible reconciliation. I’m presuming that’s what went on?”
“Yes. God, when you put it that way, I sound a right bastard—honest, I’m not. I guess I was confused myself at the time.”
“Clearly,” Lorne stated stiffly. “Do you know if Jenny was seeing anyone else, once you neglected to get back with her?”
“No. I don’t believe so. Oh, crap, do her parents know?”
“Not yet. That’s our next call. I’d rather you didn’t contact them until we’ve been there.”
Simon nodded. “Okay, they’re nice people, just like she was. Who would want to kill her? It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, that’s what we intend to find out. I wondered if you would have any objections to coming down the station to have your fingerprints taken?”
“For what reason, Inspector? Surely you don’t consider me a suspect?”
“It’ll help us with enquiries. We’ll need to do a thorough search of Jenny’s home, and if your prints show up, then we can discount them right away. Unless you want to confess to anything?” Lorne smiled, hoping to catch the man off guard.
“I’d rather you did it earlier in the day than that, Simon. How about lunchtime?”
“Very well, anything to help solve the crime and bring Jenny’s murderer to justice quickly.”
“Good, that’s agreed then. Is there anything else you can think of that might help us? Did Jenny have a long-standing feud going on with a neighbour or an old flame, perhaps?”
“Not that I know of. I’m really too numb to think straight right now.”
“I understand. Maybe once you’ve given the news time to settle, something will come to light. If it does, will you ring me?”
“Of course. I’ll be sure to drop by the station at lunchtime, Inspector.”
“Thank you. I’ll be asking people not to take any vacations or leave the country for the time being. Is there a problem with that request?”
“No, not at all.”
“I appreciate your help. We’ll leave you to get on with your work now.”
Lorne tapped Pete’s shoulder, urging him to stand. They left the building, and once in the car, Pete turned to Lorne.
“You were pretty light on him. How come?”
“Well, for a start, I wanted to get over to see the Bartletts ASAP, and for another, I liked the guy. Is that wrong?”
“Bizarre! You liked the guy, as in fancied him?” Pete looked horrified by her confession.
“No, idiot! You know how I work a lot on gut instinct? I just don’t think he has it in him to murder someone.”
“Ha! As my old gran used to say, ‘Killers don’t walk around with a tattoo signifying what they are on their foreheads.’” He punched his thigh.
Confused, she asked, “What did you do that for?”
“Damn, I forgot to check if his eyebrows met,” he said, staring at the parked car ahead of them.
“What the heck does that mean?”
“Another thing my gran always used to say when she watched old movies. She knew who the killer was if he had bushy eyebrows that met in the middle.”
Lorne tutted and placed her head in her hands. “I don’t know who’s bloody worse—your gran for saying such twaddle or you for bloody believing it.”
CHAPTER SIX
En route to the Bartletts’ home, Lorne instructed Pete to call the station and tell them to prepare for Simon Killon’s visit at lunchtime.
Mr. Cartwright wasn’t wrong when he’d said the Bartletts lived way out in the countryside. The sat nav had taken them down several wrong narrow turnings, which Lorne had struggled to back out of, before they eventually arrived at the cottage in the middle of nowhere around eleven o’clock. Pete opened the large single wooden gate, and Lorne drove into the gravelled drive. Her partner closed it again and joined Lorne on the doorstep just as a very tall man in his early sixties opened the door.
“Can I help you? This is private property.”
Lorne produced her ID. “Mr. Bartlett. DI Lorne Simpkins and my partner DS Pete Childs. Do you mind if we come in for a chat?” Lorne smiled, sensing that the man could prove obstructive if the notion took hold.
“What is this concerning?” he asked, frowning.
“Your daughter, Mr. Bartlett.”
His frown deepened. Nevertheless, he stood aside and welcomed the detectives into the quaint cottage, which looked as though it had recently undergone extensive renovations. Lorne thought she detected the smell of paint in the air as they walked into the lounge.
“Doreen, we have visitors—two detectives. They’re here to discuss Jenny.”
Mrs. Bartlett set aside the needlework she was engrossed in and looked up. “I don’t understand. What has my daughter—sorry, our daughter—done wrong to bring the police to our door during the day?”
Lorne swallowed hard then cleared her throat. “Where do you believe your daughter to be, if you don’t mind me asking?” She was struggling to fathom the Bartletts’ reaction. If Jenny had gone missing two months ago, why hadn’t her parents reported her disappearance yet?
“Out of the country. She’s been volunteering in Africa for the last few months. Out of contact due to the remote area she’s working in. What is it? What’s wrong? Has she been involved in an accident? Please tell me.”
Mrs. Bartlett bombarded Lorne with questions while she was reeling from the revelation that they thought their daughter was alive and well. Lorne looked behind her and sat on the edge of the sofa. Pete sat beside her, and Mr. Bartlett crossed the room to stand next to his wife, one hand resting on her shoulder to comfort her.
“I’m so sorry. I have some bad news to share with you.”
“Get on with it, woman!” Mr. Bartlett snapped, his face resembling a black storm cloud on the verge of erupting.
Lorne glanced at Mrs. Bartlett, avoiding all eye contact with her husband as she relayed the unwelcome news. “I’m afraid Jenny is dead. Her body was found in a wooded area not far from her workplace.”
Mr. Bartlett’s arm grasped his wife’s shoulder in a vice-like grip, and Mrs. Bartlett could do nothing more than break down and cry.
“What?” Mr. Bartlett asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
Lorne looked up at the man’s ashen face and nodded. “Maybe you should sit down, Mr. Bartlett.”
“I’m okay. When did this happen? We weren’t even aware that Jenny had arrived back home from her travels.”
“I think someone purposely put you off the scent. We think Jenny’s death occurred in April, over two months ago.”
Mrs. Bartlett wiped her eyes with a tissue. “So you think she didn’t go away after all?”
“It doesn’t appear that way, Mrs. Bartlett. Although, our investigation is just beginning, and I’m planning on looking at that aspect immediately. I was wondering if you had a key to your daughter’s flat.”
Mr. Bartlett walked past Lorne in a daze and left the room. When he returned, he handed Lorne a key ring with a cute teddy bear attached. “Here you are. I can’t believe she’s gone. Murdered, do you think? Or was it an accident?” He shook his head in disbelief.
“We believe Jenny was murdered. The killer’s motive is unclear, considering how well-liked your daughter appeared to be. We’ve just come from Cartwright and Sons.”
Mr. Bartlett dropped onto the arm of his wife’s chair and rested his hands on his knees. “I see. Who did you speak to there? Did they mention Jenny going abroad?”
“We spoke to both Mr. Cartwright and Simon Killon. And no, neither of them mentioned they knew Jenny had intended to set off on her travels.”
Mr. Bartlett’s face darkened instantly at the mention of Simon’s name. “Is there something wrong, Mr. Bartlett?” She winced when she heard how foolish the question sounded then rephrased it. “Sorry, I meant, when I mentioned Simon’s name, you seemed annoyed. Is there something I should know about your daughter’s relationship with him?”
“Apart from him playing with her emotions? I really wouldn’t know. The day that young man dumped my daughter for no damn reason was when he dropped in my estimation. Until that time, we had always got on well together. What did he have to say about my daughter’s…Jenny’s death?”
“To be truthful, he appeared to be suitably upset. Do you think we have any reason to question his validity?”
Mr. Bartlett shrugged. “That’s for you to determine, Inspector. Given what I’ve just told you.”
“And that’s where the problem lies, Mr. Bartlett. I’m afraid it’s not against the law to simply end a relationship, if that’s all you’re suggesting Simon is ultimately guilty of. If, however, you’re telling me that your daughter and this man had a violent relationship, then that would be a totally different issue altogether.”
“Kenneth, hold your tongue, or you’ll get the boy into unnecessary bother,” Doreen Bartlett said.
“It’s important we know the facts, Mrs. Bartlett. Did your daughter have a less-than-amicable relationship with Simon at any gi
ven time?”
Mr. Bartlett sat erect on the arm of the chair and admitted, “No, I don’t think we can ever say he ill-treated my daughter, either physically or mentally, Inspector. I was, however, very annoyed that their relationship ended. Forgive my judgement of the man being somewhat clouded. Understandable given the circumstances, I think you’ll agree?”
“Thank you for clarifying that for me. Maybe you could give me the names of Jenny’s friends? I’d like to see if they knew any of her recent contacts before she went missing.”
“I’ll do my best.” Mrs. Bartlett rose from her chair and picked up a notepad from the table close to the phone.
“Can you tell me how the idea of the trip came about? Just in case it turns out that your daughter did leave the country and return without your knowledge. Was she going out there with a friend, or was the trip organised by one of the large charitable organisations working out there?”
“No, not as far as we know.” Mr. Bartlett said. “She rang us out of the blue—it was on a Monday, I believe. Just announced that she had thought things over and decided to go to Africa. Truth be told, we were both puzzled by her decision. Jenny was pretty level-headed, didn’t tend to do things out of character like that.”
“Did you query her decision over the phone?”
“I tried to, but she shouted, ‘It’s my life!’ and hung up,” Mr. Bartlett said, sadness replacing the anger that had been evident in his eyes at the beginning of their conversation. He shook his head. “Those were the last words she ever said to me, and they were full of rage.”
Mrs. Bartlett held out the piece of paper on which she had jotted down two names then returned to her seat to comfort her husband. “Kenneth, you mustn’t think like that. She knew how much we loved her.”
“Did she, Doreen? Did she really?” Tears misted his eyes, and he raked a hand through his steel-grey hair.
Mrs. Bartlett placed her hand on top of her husband’s. “Of course, dear. We’ve never fallen out with Jenny, ever. You must cling on to that fact. You mustn’t blame yourself. We mustn’t blame ourselves for what has happened to our beautiful daughter.”
Lorne smiled at Mrs. Bartlett. “That’s right. None of this is your fault, and I give you my word that I will get to the bottom of this. Thank you for the names. I think we should be on our way now, get the investigation started in earnest.” She stood and motioned for Pete to follow her out of the room.
