Detectives Merry & Neal Books 1-3

by JANICE FROST

  Ava was thinking like a detective, asking the kind of questions that might help reconstruct the last hour of the dead man’s life. Neal’s own brain was still too befuddled with alcohol to think clearly.

  “That’s for you lot to puzzle out,” Hotter said. “The sooner the bleedin’ better. The last thing this area needs is negative publicity just before the Christmas market. A lot of people’s livelihoods depend on the extra trade it brings in.” It was true. Shops, cafés, restaurants, hotels, stallholders, all had a stake in the market. “All it wants is for people to believe there’s a killer on the loose and visitors will stay away in droves.”

  “Nobody’s saying there’s a killer on the loose. That kind of talk breeds unnecessary panic,” said Neal.

  “Can’t stop folks talking.”

  “Think about the victim’s loved ones,” Ava chipped in. “It’s bad enough for them not knowing what’s happened, without listening to half-baked stories.”

  Hotter stared at her for a moment, then nodded.

  Neal smiled to himself. He had noted the way Hotter had watched Ava climbing up the ladder. He couldn’t blame him. His sergeant was a pretty sight.

  They were all shivering now. The icy wind was blowing flurries of snow into their faces. When they spoke, their breath condensed in the air. It was going to be another bleak day. The three of them began the long descent down the scaffold.

  Back on solid ground, Neal turned to Ava. “Take one of the constables with you and collect Leon Warrior from the café, if he’s still there, otherwise head over to his place. I want you to take a look around, but make sure you don’t disturb anything. The SOCOs will be going in there when they’re finished here. Look for notes, messages, and any signs of disturbance. We need to recover Mitchell’s mobile phone as soon as possible. If it’s not on him, make it a priority when you search his place.”

  “Sir, Leon Warrior’s already been home. He could have hidden or destroyed any evidence he found there — including a suicide note.”

  “I’m aware of that, Sergeant, but we still need to be thorough.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ava answered. She went over to ask the scene-of-crime people whether they had retrieved Mitchell’s phone.

  The SOCO held up a polythene bag that contained a smartphone. Ava nodded. At least they had something.

  Chapter 4

  The café staff were still preparing sandwiches.

  “Everyone’s going to be coming in here to find out what’s going on,” said Maxine.

  “Don’t you think we should close as a mark of respect?” Helen said. She glanced over at Leon sitting in the window recess. Laurence was with him.

  “I’m not sure it would be appropriate. Gray wasn’t connected with the cathedral in any way and besides, we can’t afford to let all this food go to waste.” Maxine nodded across to the kitchen area. “And we’re contracted to be open, remember?”

  “I suppose you’re right. But I feel for Leon and, to be honest, I’m feeling a bit emotional myself.”

  “We’re all feeling emotional, but we need to keep it together for Leon’s sake.”

  “Laurence should take him home.”

  There was a sudden draught from the door to the cloisters.

  “It’s that young sergeant. Ava something, wasn’t it? Looks more like a model than a copper,” said Helen.

  * * *

  The atmosphere in the café was heavy with grief, but to Ava it was a relief after the tension of the past hour in Jim Neal’s company. She had been dreading the return to work after her convalescence. She had seen Neal only twice in that time — first when he had visited her in hospital after her ordeal, and then when he had called her into his office while she was still on sick leave, to give her a dressing down about her handling of the case. She shivered when she thought of Neal’s words, and his cold stare. She regretted that she’d let down a man whose integrity she’d grown to respect.

  Neal had vouched for her, she knew, when questions had been raised about her own conduct. After all, she had slept with a man she suspected of serious sex offences against very young women. Ava could not explain it. In a warped way, she had been attracted to Taylor. But she was ashamed, unsure whether that made her behaviour more, or less, reprehensible.

  This morning she had been unassertive, deferring to Neal, being his silent partner. It was not in her nature to be submissive and she was finding it exhausting. Their respective ranks inevitably defined their professional relationship but, as far as Ava was concerned, in all else they were equals. Ava knew she was inclined to be impulsive, even reckless at times, but she couldn’t help trusting her instincts. If she was going to succeed in the job, she knew she would have to deal with this.

  Ava knew Neal was concerned about her lack of remorse. She had nearly killed Taylor. Neal had stared at her open-mouthed when she said, “It was a fight to the death, sir. Him or me.” Neal, she suspected, was a man given to deep introspection. He had killed someone once, and suffered long agonies about it. But he shouldn’t expect her to be the same. You acted and moved on. Life was too short for regrets and recriminations. Ava’s approach to life was not to look back.

  Ava had protested when Neal insisted that she see the police counsellor. She had endured three sessions with the kindly and well-intentioned woman. Ava was proud to have emerged from the therapy unshaken. Not that she’d have revealed this to Neal. He was convinced that the sessions would help her re-evaluate her perspective.

  Ava watched Laurence Brand consoling Leon Warrior. The men were both in their mid-fifties, with greying hair. Warrior was a bit of a silver fox. He was of medium height, lean and muscled, a man who obviously took a lot of care with his appearance. He was impeccably dressed in a well-cut suit, and a fine woollen trench coat was draped over the arm of his chair. Brand, on the other hand, was one of those men of a certain age who are invisible in a crowd. He was average-looking. He had a bit of a gut, and was dressed in loose-fitting jeans and a navy Berghaus jacket.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to search your house, Mr Warrior. I have your partner’s keys but I’d be grateful if you would accompany us. You may be able to advise us if anything is out of place or doesn’t feel right.”

  “Nothing feels right,” Warrior said.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” said Ava. Her fingers twisted around the strap of her handbag, leaving sweat on the leather. Why was she feeling so nervous? This wasn’t the first time she had dealt with a murder victim’s nearest and dearest. Then she realised that she was not nervous at all, but impatient to get to work. She was also rather guilty that it was this that was uppermost in her mind, not her concern for Leon Warrior’s loss. She felt that Leon Warrior must see right through her hollow sympathy. Well, if the post-mortem revealed Gray’s death to be suspicious, then this was a murder investigation and every second counted.

  “I can see you’re eager to get on with your job, Sergeant,” Leon Warrior said, and Ava blushed. He rose stiffly from the table, waving away Brand’s offer of support.

  * * *

  The house was a rambling, late-Victorian pile in the Uphill area of the city, all jutting gable ends and period features. It was located at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac about five minutes’ walk from the cathedral. With the snow slowing them down, the walk took a bit longer and Ava’s feet were numb inside her wellies by the time they reached the latticed wood entrance porch.

  Ava and PC Dale entered an impressive entrance hall with faded floor tiles in a geometric design, and a sweeping oak staircase. Leon led them into a high-ceilinged room with two tall windows that stretched almost from floor to ceiling. The room must have been bright on a sunny day. This gloomy morning, Leon switched on the light.

  Ava’s eyes flitted around the room. The antique furnishings gave an impression of a room suspended in time. A grandfather clock stood between the two windows. There was a grand piano, glazed bookcases, a chesterfield sofa. Ava wouldn’t have expected a couple of ex-Hollywood
actors to feel comfortable in a place like this.

  “Gray and I love old things,” Leon said. “The old couple who were selling the house threw in a lot of the furniture. The stuff we had in our condo in the States would have looked out of place here.” Ava looked around the room, nodding at PC Dale to do likewise. Both wore gloves to avoid leaving prints.

  In the kitchen, they found the charger for Mitchell’s phone still plugged into the wall socket.

  “Mr Mitchell had his phone with him,” Ava said. “Our forensics people will examine it. His last messages might provide an insight into why he left the house in the middle of the night.”

  “What do you mean?” Leon asked. “Are you suggesting he went to meet someone?”

  “I’m not suggesting a rendezvous with a lover, Mr Warrior. I’m sorry if that’s what you thought I meant,” said Ava.

  “But it’s a possibility, isn’t it?”

  “Everything’s a possibility at this point in time. Mr Mitchell might have been lured to his death by a threat, a lie, even a cry for help.”

  “A cry for help. Yes, that would be in keeping with Gray’s character.”

  “That’s just the sort of insight that’s useful to our investigation, Mr Warrior.”

  Next, Leon led them up the sweeping oak staircase to a galleried landing and into the master bedroom, a large en-suite overlooking the back garden. On a clear day, it would have had a nice view of the cathedral’s towers.

  As they progressed from room to room, Ava asked Leon to look carefully and tell her if anything was missing, or out of place.

  “Take your time. Try to get a sense of anything that’s not right.”

  “Everything’s exactly as it should be,” Leon said.

  Except for one thing, of course. Gray wasn’t there. All too soon the dead become no more than a memory, Ava thought. Suddenly she remembered her long departed grandmother.

  Their search brought them back to the room they had started in.

  “I apologise for the cold,” Leon said. “We haven’t got around to double glazing yet. We both love the sash windows so much. This house is rather expensive to heat, so we heat the rooms selectively. We wouldn’t normally use this room in the morning.”

  He was rambling, speaking about Gray in the present tense, Ava noted, obviously still in shock. She hoped Leon would suggest moving to whatever room did hold some warmth, for she was still chilled to the bone and Leon was visibly shaking. Instead he sank onto the velvet sofa and sat with his head in his hands.

  “How long had you and Gray been together?”

  “About twelve years. We met on the set of a low-budget zombie movie. Did you know we both acted in Gladiator and Master and Commander? Russell said we made a great couple, bless him. Do you know the movies?”

  “No. I’ve heard of them, of course.” Ava wondered briefly why the grief-stricken man would bother to name drop. Nostalgia maybe.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me the usual questions, Sergeant? I’ve been on the set of enough crime dramas to know the routine. Did Gray and I have a fight before I left for London? Did he seem any different from usual? Did he have any enemies? And the big one — can I prove where I was last night?”

  Ava smiled. “All of the above.”

  “Gray and I parted on the best of terms. He’s been a little quiet lately, but that’s his nature.” He paused. “I suppose you’re going to find out sooner or later, so I might as well tell you now. Gray is — was — bipolar. But please don’t go leaping to the conclusion that he was suicidal. It simply wasn’t the case. I know all the signs, believe me, and Gray was not in the depressive cycle of his illness. And he was assiduous about taking his medication.”

  Ava nodded. Gray Mitchell had been an actor, even if not a very successful one. Was he good enough to hide the extent of his illness from those closest to him? It would be necessary to verify what Leon had just revealed. Dr Hunt would be aware of it soon anyway, toxicology reports were a routine part of autopsy examinations. A little voice in Ava’s head whispered suicide. She pushed it away. She wouldn’t allow Mitchell’s illness to prejudice the outcome before the investigation had even begun.

  “Enemies?”

  “No. Gray had no enemies here. All he’s made is friends since arriving in England.”

  “I heard that Laurence Brand wasn’t happy about the competition from your ghost tours,” she said.

  “Ah. Someone’s been talking. Well, it’s true that Laurence was a bit put out when we first set up, but that didn’t last for long. Our tour is very different from his. It attracts a different clientele.”

  “Still, it must have riled him. After all, he’d had it all his own way for a while. If a Roman tour was all that was on offer, surely that was better for him?”

  Leon looked piqued. “Maybe you should speak with Laurence.”

  “I will. Mr Warrior, since your return to Stromford, have you or your partner met with any hostility from the local people?”

  “Gay bashers, you mean?”

  Ava winced, but nodded.

  “I grew up in Stromford in the seventies and eighties, Sergeant. Those were much less enlightened times. I didn’t come out until I was in my late twenties but by then I had suffered my share of homophobic abuse. Young people have a sort of radar for anyone who’s different. I just wish I had had the courage to come out and be counted sooner. It’s one of my greatest regrets in life.”

  “In those days it wouldn’t have been good for your career, I suppose?”

  “That’s right.” A hint of bitterness crept into Leon’s voice.

  Ava asked the question again. “Have you experienced any homophobic bullying recently?”

  Leon didn’t reply.

  “Mr Warrior?”

  “It’s hardly worth mentioning. Just a stupid incident, but Gray was very angry about it.”

  If this did turn out to be a murder investigation, no detail was irrelevant. Ava waited for Leon to continue.

  “Gray and I were strolling around the farmers’ market one afternoon back in the summer. We were looking for a stall that sold a local cheese we both liked . . .” He began to cry. “Sorry. There are going to be a lot of moments like this, aren’t there? Perhaps when they stop making me upset, I’ll learn to treasure the memories.”

  Ava nodded. She had very few memories of her dead grandmother now, but all were suffused with a sense of kindness and warmth. It made her feel happy and sad at the same time. “Bittersweet,” she said absently.

  “Yes, bittersweet. Anyway, we were at a stall selling local cheeses and a man came up to us accompanied by his teenage son. I recognised him immediately, though it must have been over thirty years since I last saw him.”

  “Who was he?”

  “My school nemesis, Ray Irons. School bully extraordinaire. Anyone he didn’t like was labelled ‘poofter.’ He really didn’t like me.”

  “And how did he react when he saw you at the market?”

  “Rather predictably, I’m afraid.” Leon mimicked, “‘Well, well, well, Leo Warrior. Always knew you was a fucking poofter.’ To his credit, the young lad seemed embarrassed by his father’s comment.”

  “What happened?”

  “Gray took a swing at him.”

  “Seriously?” Ava was impressed, forgetting to be professional for a moment. She cleared her throat. “Did Gray do that sort of thing often? Did he have a temper on him?”

  Leon shook his head, “I think it was because I’d told him so much about Ray Irons and his bullying ways. He always said if he ever met the man, he’d deck him.”

  “Did he injure this Ray Irons? Did Irons report the incident to the police?”

  “Irons had a bloody nose. I was surprised he didn’t retaliate — he would have done in the past. Perhaps it was because his son was with him. We didn’t hear anything about it, so I guess Irons didn’t report it.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “The guy on the cheese stall and a couple of other cu
stomers. And Irons’ son, of course.”

  Ava made some notes. Next to Ray Irons’ name she wrote ‘Hate Crime?’ She looked up to see Leon Warrior studying her.

  “You have perfect symmetry of features.”

  “Not quite.” Ava smiled. She tapped the bridge of her slightly misaligned nose.

  “Hardly noticeable. Adds character. You could have been an actress — or a model.”

  Ava snorted. “Not me. I’d rather be doing something that makes a difference to the world than prancing around on a runway.”

  “Or strutting and fretting an hour upon the stage, then heard no more?”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean acting.” Warrior’s quote had made Ava suddenly realise that she might have caused offence. She was often guilty of opening her mouth and shoving her foot inside.

  Leon Warrior leaned towards her and Ava sensed a change in his demeanour. He spoke in a low voice. “Make a difference in this case, Sergeant Merry. Gray did not take his own life and I want to see whoever pushed him from that scaffold brought to justice.”

  His words were uttered with a dramatic — or melodramatic — flourish. Ava found herself entranced for a moment. She found herself replying in an overly solemn voice. “Justice is my business, Mr Warrior. I will do my utmost to . . .” She stopped. Coughed. “I can assure you that we will do our outmost to investigate Mr Mitchell’s death.”

  “I’m cold,” Leon said, suddenly himself again. “And you look positively blue, Sergeant Merry. “Would you like a brandy to warm you up?” He stood up and walked over to a drinks cabinet.

  “Thanks, but no. I’m on duty.” Ava was already working out in her head where the nearest warm coffee shop might be.

  Leon saw Ava and PC Dale to the door. He was holding it together well, Ava thought, considering his grief was still raw. Then again, he was an actor. Was he good at feigning grief? It was not until they were halfway down the street that Ava realised they had not discussed Leon Warrior’s alibi.