by JANICE FROST
Laurence had told the police he had spent the evening reading. The police hadn’t asked him what — did they ever do that nowadays? Laurence had volunteered the information anyway, but they were more interested in the fact that Maxine had spent the night at Helen Alder’s and could not back him up.
Laurence regretted telling the police about that non-incident between Caitlin and Angie. Neal and Sergeant Merry had seemed so desperate for information. Now Laurence worried he’d made too much of what he’d witnessed. Or thought he’d witnessed.
Like most people over fifty, these days Laurence had trouble remembering where he’d left his glasses. Maybe he’d imagined the whole thing? Factor in the three delightful cocktails he’d knocked back and the wine at dinner, and it was a wonder he could remember being at the soiree at all. One detail he remembered very well, of course. The dress Maxine had been wearing. It was a favourite of his, which she wore rarely now — probably worried it made her look fat. It was red with a fitted waist that emphasised the voluptuous curves she tried so hard to hide.
* * *
Laurence entered the cathedral café, glad of the sudden welcome heat and the chance of some respite from his own thoughts.
“I’ll just take a few minutes,” Maxine said to Helen. She poured two coffees and put them on a tray alongside a couple of croissants. She hesitated a moment over butter and jam. “Come on, petal, let’s sit in the alcove,” she said to Laurence. He took the tray and followed his wife.
“This business is really getting to you, isn’t it?” Maxine said.
“I suppose it is. Gray was one of the good guys.”
“Leon’s one of the good guys too,” Maxine said. “Isn’t he?”
“I didn’t mean . . .”
“I know. Leon’s still with us.”
“It won’t be the same.”
“Things change,” Maxine said. “What did the police ask you?”
“Just what you’d expect. How well we knew Leon and Gray, whether Gray seemed different lately, what we were doing the night Gray disappeared. They seemed very interested in Leon and Gray’s soiree.”
“Well, no one there would harm Gray, surely? We were all close friends.”
“I think I said something a bit stupid,” Laurence blurted out. “I might have landed Angie and Caitlin in it, without meaning to.”
“Why, what did you say?” Maxine paused, croissant in hand.
“I told them I thought Caitlin and Angie had a bit of an argument and Caitlin stomped off in a huff.”
Maxine stared at him. “You didn’t say anything to me about it.”
“Exactly. It wasn’t that much of a big deal. I think I sort of . . .”
“Bigged it up?”
“For want of a better phrase.”
“Oh, Laurie. You’ll be worrying about this for days now, or at least until the police realise it’s not important.”
“I don’t want to get Angie or Caitlin into trouble.” Laurence sighed. “I’ve got a lesson with Marcus this evening. I think I’ll have to cancel it. I won’t be able to concentrate.”
Maxine looked exasperated. “No, you won’t, Laurie. Listen to me. This is just you getting things out of proportion again.”
Laurence glared at her. “It’s not the same,” he said. Maxine covered his hand with hers.
“I like it here, Laurie. Stromford’s good for us. We’ve made friends, our businesses are doing well. I don’t want to have to move again.”
Laurence looked down at his wife’s hand gripping his. Could Maxine feel the sweat on his palms? She was leaning forward and he could see her round breasts straining at the buttons on her white blouse. White blouse, black trousers or skirt, and sometimes a black apron with thin white stripes, like butchers wore. The women in the café all dressed the same. Maxine was a shapely size fourteen and her hair was dark brown, eyes chocolaty velvet. In describing his wife’s looks Laurence couldn’t help resorting to cliché. At work she tied it back in a loose ponytail. Why did she stay with a pathetic man like him? She had moved once to accommodate him. Would she be prepared to do it again? How could he expect her to when she was so settled here?
“Laurie!” His wife’s voice startled him back to reality. She looked worried.
“I’m sorry, love.”
“I have to get back to work. Helen’s due a break.”
Laurence looked over to the food preparation area behind the counter, where Helen was piling sausage rolls onto a plate. He felt a stab of jealousy. Sometimes it seemed his wife spent more time with her colleague than with him. He sighed and she let go of his hand.
“It’s going to be alright,” Maxine whispered as she pecked him on the cheek.
As he was leaving the café, Laurence caught sight of Sergeant Ava Merry standing at the zebra crossing on the road along the cathedral’s east side. No doubt on her way to question another suspect — another of his friends. Laurence touched the spot on his cheek where his wife had kissed him. She had told him everything was going to be alright. He wished he could share her optimism.
Chapter 7
Angie Dent had not turned up for work in the cathedral shop that day. According to her supervisor, she had called in sick. Unwilling to waste time now that she was there, Ava sought out Vincent Bone at the stonemason’s yard.
Vincent Bone showed her into his tiny office. Its door was propped open with a sleeping pig carved out of stone. The office was situated off a large workshop where stonemasons were busy working. Bone took Ava over to where Marcus Collins was chipping away at a lump of rock with a hammer and chisel. He was learning the skill of ‘boning in,’ Vincent Bone explained, creating a flat surface on a piece of quarried stone. According to Bone, this was the first skill anyone wishing to become a stonemason needed to master.
Ava watched Marcus for a few minutes. Finally Bone touched the boy lightly on his arm. Marcus removed his protective goggles and smiled at his supervisor. “Nice job, son,” Bone said, running his hand along the flat surface of the stone. “Your mason’s eye is improving. Listen, Marcus, the detective sergeant here wants a word. We’ll go to my room. Can’t hear much out here.”
“Hey, cool gargoyle,” Ava said as they passed another stonemason. He was working on a rather revolting-looking stone figure, its face blunted featureless by pollution and weather.
“It’s actually a grotesque,” Marcus said.
“Never heard of that. Is that just another word for a gargoyle?”
“No. Gargoyles are essentially waterspouts designed to carry rainwater away from the side of a building to protect the stone or brickwork. Grotesques have an architectural purpose. Bearing weight’s one example, but often they’re purely ornamental.”
“Scary ornament.”
“That’s because they were originally intended to remind people of the existence of evil,” Vincent said. “Though in your line of work I don’t suppose you need reminding. This is what evil looked like to the medieval mind. I guess in reality the bad guys are harder to spot, eh?”
“Yeah, just a tad.”
Bone led the way into his office and closed the door.
“You’re an apprentice stonemason, aren’t you?” Ava asked Marcus. “What attracted you to it?”
“I’ve lived in Stromford all my life and I always liked visiting the cathedral. Over the years I just got more and more interested in the stonework.”
“Marcus used to hang around here so much that we ended up giving him jobs to do,” Vincent said, smiling.
“You have to train for four years to become a qualified stonemason. I go to college too,” said Marcus. He seemed to be quite at ease.
“Marcus, I know you were acquainted with Gray Mitchell. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright?”
“Gray was sound,” he said, his voice a little shaky.
“You met Gray Mitchell and his partner Leon Warrior through Laurence Brand, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Laurence’s been teaching me Latin. H
e’s a really interesting guy, knows loads about history and that kind of stuff.”
“I did a bit of Latin at school,” Ava said. “Puella, puellam, puellae, puellae, pulla . . .”
“Awesome.”
“That’s kind of all I remember. So, what’s Laurence Brand like?”
“He’s a pretty good teacher.”
“And as a person?”
“Sweet. For an old guy, you know?”
She smiled. It was exactly the kind of thing Sam would say. Nearly ten years younger than her, Ava’s brother regarded everyone over thirty as ancient.
“He’s not a suspect, is he? Seriously, Laurence wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Marcus said.
Ava wondered how many times she’d heard those words. People were seldom what they appeared.
“How well did he get on with Leon Warrior and Gray Mitchell?”
“They were friends,” he replied, a little guardedly.
“I heard they didn’t all get along at first. Didn’t Laurence see them as rivals when they started up their business on his patch?”
Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know about that. I only met them this year, when I came to work at the cathedral. They’ve all been pretty good to me.”
Ava turned to Vincent Bone. “That’s past history,” he said. “Laurence, Leon and Gray settled their differences amicably.”
“You were both at Leon and Gray’s party, weren’t you? The one they held a couple of days before Leon went to London?”
Marcus nodded. “It was a cool night. Leon and Gray did some funny sketches.”
“Angie Dent and Caitlin Forest were there too, weren’t they?”
“Yeah. Caitlin and Angie were there. Angie felt sick so she and Caitlin left early. Lucky them — they missed Maxine’s singing.”
“Was that before or after they had an argument?”
Marcus and Vincent exchanged puzzled looks. “What do you mean?” Bone asked.
“Laurence Brand thought he saw Angie and Caitlin arguing about something.
“Can’t say as I noticed,” Bone said, and Marcus agreed.
“What was wrong with Angie?”
“What? Oh, like at the party?” Marcus blushed. “Er . . . women’s problems, I think . . . you know — her period?”
“Right,” said Ava. “Thanks, Marcus. You can go back to work now.”
Marcus stood up and crossed to the door.
Ava always found this part of an investigation challenging. She chafed at the sheer plodding nature of questions that often yielded few results. “Nice kid,” she said to Vincent Bone.
He nodded. “If you think anyone around here killed Gray, Sergeant, you’re on the wrong track. Everybody liked Gray. He was the sort of person you’d instinctively trust with your life, know what I’m saying?”
* * *
Ava was feeling deflated. Returning to work and landing a murder case on her first day back was a big thing, and the day before she had been jittery with excitement. She was the sort of person who rushed headlong into things. At school, her teachers were always advising her to stop and think before she spoke. She was full of nervous energy, hence the gruelling fitness regime.
Neal was the contemplative one. Despite their differences — and there were quite a few — they would complement each other nicely if they could find a way of working together. That’ll be the bloody day, Ava thought. She recalled her boss’s — in her opinion — disproportionate anger when she failed to check Warrior’s alibi. Her phone rang. Neal’s number.
“You finished with Angie? Thought you’d be a bit longer,” he said.
And your interview with Warrior? Ava thought.
“Anything?”
“Not really. We’re going to have to cast our net wider with this one, I reckon,” said Ava.
“Well, we can’t cover everyone ourselves. Meet me at the Stag in fifteen minutes?”
The Stag was only ten minutes’ walk away. Neal was already there when Ava arrived, standing at the bar, pint glass in hand. He rarely drank on the job, and the day before he’d obviously been hung-over. Was this a new development? They moved to a quiet table and exchanged information on their recent interviews. It wasn’t a lot to work with.
“Angie Dent might have been on the right track the other day, suggesting we could be looking at a hate crime, although luring someone to a high place and pushing them off doesn’t really fit with what we know about that type of crime,” Ava said.
“Aye,” Neal said, slipping into his native vernacular. “I’d find the hate crime angle more convincing if Gray had been stabbed or beaten to death. Obviously, at present, our likeliest suspect for a hate crime is Ray Irons. If what Leon said about his bullying behaviour at school is true, he might easily have matured into a violent offender.”
Neal glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to catch up on this afternoon and a meeting with George Lowe. We’ll speak with Irons tomorrow. In the meantime, liaise with PJ. Find out if she’s run a background check on him yet and if not, do it yourself.”
Ava nodded, thinking of her own paperwork. Barely two days back on the job and already it was piling up. It was the bane of every cop’s life.
“Did your friend enjoy his weekend in Stromford?” she asked Neal when their food arrived.
“Jock?”
“PJ told me.”
“How the hell did she know?”
Ava tapped her nose. “Sorry, can’t reveal our source.” In fact, PJ had bumped into Neal’s sister Maggie the previous week.
“Aye. He enjoyed his weekend well enough. Not that he’ll remember much about it.”
“Like that, was it?”
Neal scowled. Her boss evidently wasn’t in the mood for teasing. Sometimes she felt like telling him to lighten up. Then she reminded herself that he had had to bring up his son alone. She bit her tongue. Working the hours she did as well as coping with a child was something she didn’t like thinking about. Her biological clock could tick as loud as it liked. She would ignore it.
They left the Stag and returned to the station, neither of them saying much. It was unusually quiet in town for the first week in December. The weather was keeping Christmas shoppers at home, they were going online instead. With only a week to go until the Stromford Christmas market, the local traders were becoming jittery. Ava had lived in the city long enough to know how important the market was to the local economy. For some small businesses it meant the difference between staying afloat and going under.
Neal headed for his office as soon as they reached base. Ava was pleased to see PJ at her desk, staring at her computer screen. As Ava neared, she saw that PJ was online-shopping. She peered over her shoulder.
“You’re a bit of a sneaky sneak, aren’t you?” PJ said.
“How’d you know it was me?” Ava asked.
“I sense things,” PJ answered.
“Saw my reflection in the screen, more like. Seriously, Peej, you should be more careful. That could have been Neal creeping up behind you.” Then she caught sight of what was on the screen.
“Oh my God! Is that top really only twenty-five quid? It’s gorgeous!”
“Uh huh. And it’s available in your size. Want me to buy it now and you can owe me?”
Ava looked over her shoulder. “Oh, go on then. There’s only two left. They’ll be gone by the time I get home.”
PJ smiled smugly and clicked. “Done! And by the way, it’s my lunch break. I’m shopping in my own time.”
“Sorry, girlfriend. I’m not your boss. I was just concerned about Neal getting the wrong impression. I’ve just had a bite with him at the Stag and he’s in one of his moods.”
PJ snorted. “Just for a change. Want to know what I’ve come up with so far?”
Ava pulled up a chair. “Start with Ray Irons if you’ve checked him out.”
“Mr Irons is a bad man.” PJ reeled off the evidence from Irons’ record. “Fifty-four years old. Embarked early on a career of hatred and
violence against minorities. Excluded from school for verbally abusing a female black teacher; arrested for participating in a ‘fight’ outside a gay bar when he was eighteen; joined the National Front at twenty. Here’s a picture of him at a rally in the eighties.”
Ava hardly needed to look. The picture on the screen only confirmed the stereotypical image of a white male skinhead in Doc Marten boots and rolled-up trousers. Nevertheless, it was unsettling to see the young man on the screen. He stood in a group of them, his face contorted in hatred, Union Jack emblazoned on his T-shirt. Most chilling of all, his arm was raised in a Nazi salute.
“Lovely chap. Bet his mum’s proud.” Both women stared at the image on the screen, then PJ made it disappear.
“Moving on. Arrested and charged with AGBH in his twenties. Served two prison sentences, the longer one for an attack on a gay man. It left his victim in a coma for a couple of days. Released in 1994. That’s it.”
“Really? Nothing in the past twenty years?”
“Nada.”
“Did he simply grow up? Maybe he got married, settled down a bit.”
“It’s a possibility, I suppose. Doesn’t necessarily mean he’s modified his views though, does it?”
“He was less than complimentary to Leon Warrior, so I’m guessing he’s not become a nice, cuddly character. Neal and I are paying him a visit tomorrow. Should be fun.”
“Rather you than me. Mind you, at least people like Irons are up front about their views. I was in a club once, on a first date with a bloke I’d fancied for ages. We were getting on well until he spotted two guys kissing on the dance floor and he went berserk. Didn’t actually do anything, it was just his language — you know, “effing faggots . . .”
“What did you do?”
“Told him my brother’s gay,” said PJ.
“Is he? You never told me that.”
