Detectives Merry & Neal Books 1-3

by JANICE FROST

  Mrs Scott cleared her throat. “The Forests lived next door to us for just over a year before the tragedy. I’m afraid we didn’t get to know them terribly well. They were very quiet people, not at all how you might expect Americans to be. They were pleasant enough but they didn’t reveal much about themselves. We had them over for drinks a couple of times, hoping to get to know them better. They’d make small talk but whenever you asked anything about their life in the States they’d just sort of brush you off. They said they’d come to Britain because they wanted a quiet life. Ian and I used to joke that they were in some sort of CIA witness protection programme. But it didn’t seem so funny when the Forests and their little boy died in such tragic circumstances.”

  “Did they work in Saffron Walden? Do you know what either of them did for a living?”

  Mrs Scott answered, “He was a teacher at a comprehensive in Braintree. She was a ‘stay-at-home mom,’ as she called it, but she had been a teacher too, back home. Kindergarten, as they say.”

  “And what about their daughter, Caitlin? What sort of girl was she?”

  The Scotts exchanged glances. This time it was Ian Scott who spoke. “My wife and I were both sad to hear about what happened to Caitlin’s family. The news your colleague just gave us about Caitlin’s fate was truly shocking.”

  Ava waited, sensing a but.

  “But,” Mr Scott said, “in my opinion, Caitlin Forest was a deeply disturbed young woman and I’d be lying if I said I was sorry about what happened to her.”

  As if affected by Ian Scott’s assertion, the Skype connection broke up. For a few seconds an image of Scott’s solemn face was frozen on the screen.

  “Dammit,” muttered Ava, hoping the connection wouldn’t fail completely.

  Then Scott came back to life, continuing to speak as if unaware that their conversation had been interrupted.

  “Sorry to speak over you, Mr Scott, but you froze for a bit there. Would you mind repeating what you just said in case I missed something important?”

  “Well, I don’t know if it’s important in terms of your present investigation, Sergeant Merry, but I imagine it might provide you with some background information on Caitlin’s character. I said that Caitlin Forest tried to kill my wife.”

  It was Ava’s turn to freeze. “That’s, er, that’s quite an allegation, Mr Scott. D’you think you could give me some more details? What did Caitlin do, exactly?”

  Maria Scott, who had initially given an impression of being an assertive woman, was now deferring to her husband completely. She allowed him to do all the talking, and she seemed to have shrunk beside him.

  “Maria was out walking our dog, Amble, one evening when she caught Caitlin bullying — assaulting actually — a school friend. She was concerned enough to intervene. Caitlin kicked my wife on the shin and called her an ‘interfering bitch.’ Maria had a nasty bruise for days afterwards. Maria told the Forests about it and they promised to deal with Caitlin themselves. They all but begged Maria not to report the incident to the school. They said they were sure it was a complete one-off and that the other girl had been teasing Caitlin for weeks over her American accent.”

  “And how did they deal with Caitlin, do you know?”

  “She was ‘grounded,’” Ian Scott said, making air quotes. “And she apologised to Maria. Claimed she’d been ‘off it’ because of her period, or some such nonsense.”

  Is that all? Ava thought. She remembered her own teenage years — the mood swings, the impulsive, sometimes wayward, behaviour that she had attributed to her hormones. She thought Ian Scott was being slightly over-dramatic in saying Caitlin had tried to kill his wife. She was about to say so, when he continued.

  “Two days later, Maria was involved in a near-miss. The Forests’ car rolled down their drive and almost knocked her over. Mrs Forest had just got out of the vehicle and Caitlin was still inside. Caitlin claimed her mother left the handbrake off and she couldn’t get to it in time from the back seat. I know what you’re thinking, Sergeant Merry,” Ian Scott said as Ava raised a hand to interrupt. “It was an accident, and, yes, Mrs Forest did insist that it was her fault, that she’d forgotten to put the handbrake on.” Ian Scott looked at his wife, who was now visibly upset. She held onto her husband’s arm.

  “You didn’t believe her?” Ava wished she was in a real face-to-face interview instead of an online one. It was harder to read faces when you couldn’t look someone in the eye. Skype eyes were eerily devoid of emotion.

  “Tell her what you saw,” Ian Scott said to his wife, covering her hand with his own.

  Maria Scott cleared her throat. “Caitlin winked at me afterwards. It was the most chilling thing. I knew then that she’d released the handbrake deliberately. What I don’t know is if her mother knew it too, and was covering up for her.”

  “Mrs Scott. I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but were you actually hurt?”

  “I could have been.”

  “You didn’t see the car rolling towards you?”

  Maria Scott looked embarrassed. “Not immediately. I was bending over to clean up after Amble. She’d pooped at the entrance to the Forests’ drive. She saved my life by barking.”

  “I see,” Ava said, slightly lost for words. Was this something or nothing? A genuine accident or an act of malice?

  “There was something not right about that girl,” Maria Scott said, “something . . . unwholesome. Our chocolate lab, Amble, always gave her a wide berth and that dog loves everyone.”

  “Thank you for your help, Mr and Mrs Scott,” Ava said. She wondered whether the Scott’s dog could be relied upon as a credible judge of character.

  “One thing before you go, Sergeant Merry,” Mr Scott said, quietly. “My wife and I have never come right out and said it, but we could never understand how Caitlin managed to survive when the rest of her family drowned.”

  Ava nodded. “I understand what you’re implying, Mr Scott, but of course I can’t comment. I don’t know any of the details of that case.” Ava looked at her watch to indicate that she had to bring the call to a close.

  For a few moments after the connection terminated, Ava stared at the screen. She couldn’t decide whether the Scotts were credible or a bit bonkers. Their suspicions about Caitlin seemed far-fetched and groundless. A bruise to the shin, a near-miss accident and their pet dog’s disapproval. Caitlin may well have been a bit of a problem teen but that didn’t mean she had graduated into a killer.

  Ava thought over possible motives for Caitlin killing Gray Mitchell. Both were Americans, which might be of significance. Caitlin had been only fourteen when she arrived in the UK. Was there some connection in their past that had given her a motive for killing Gray? It was disheartening to think that their investigation might hinge on something that happened long ago and in another country. An unknown unknown.

  Ava thought again about Gray Mitchell’s Internet search history and his emails to his sister concerning an unusual crime about which he seemed to know very little. Had his interest in that crime been triggered by something, or someone, here in Stromford? By Caitlin Forest, perhaps? It seemed unlikely, given that Caitlin was so young when she lived in the States. Something to do with her parents, then?

  Ava texted Carrie Howard. Within seconds, she obtained a response that the American woman was free and willing to meet her, although, of course, she was intending to go to the Christmas market later on.

  Ava wasn’t looking forward to another encounter with Carrie Howard. Ava had no reason to hope that Carrie had undergone a personality change since they last met. She was meeting Carrie in the bar of her hotel. Where else? There was a cashpoint machine near Carrie’s hotel and Ava made the slight detour to withdraw some cash. She knew she’d be expected to stand Carrie a drink or two for the pleasure of spending time in her company and pumping her for information.

  Ava stared in dismay at her account balance. Her sergeant’s pay was more than adequate to meet her own needs, but since Ollie
had moved in there had been a lot of extra expenses. Their mother seemed to have abrogated any financial responsibility for her son when he left home. Ava was left to pick up the bill for all her brother’s worldly needs. She continued to be astounded by how much a teenage boy could eat. Ollie’s interest in cooking was a further drain on her finances — he tended to favour upmarket, expensive ingredients. Ava was now having to make adjustments to her own spending to keep within budget. Ollie was apologetic and had offered to look for a part-time job, but Ava knew how much his studies meant to him and how much he wanted to get into a good university, so she had assured him that she could cope. The rewards of having Ollie live with her could not be measured in monetary terms.

  As expected, Carrie was warming a seat at the bar, her more than ample buttocks spreading out to fill the space around her like a giant, brushed denim peach. Ava perched on the stool beside her and asked what she was drinking.

  “Since you’re buying, I’ll have a double,” Carrie said. “Scotch on the rocks.”

  The bartender was already hovering nearby. He needed no encouragement to come over. Ava ordered Carrie’s scotch and a sparkling water for herself.

  “He didn’t serve me that fast,” Carrie complained. “Guess your ass is more appealing than mine.” She grinned at Ava. Her perfect, white, North American teeth glinted.

  “So, what can I do you for this time, Detective? I thought we established last time we met that there wasn’t much I could help you with. You any closer to proving Leon Warrior killed my brother?”

  Ava sighed deeply.

  “I’ll take that as a no. Thought as much.”

  “I’m not sure if it has any relevance,” Ava began, “but I’ve been looking through your brother’s emails and I noticed that he’d asked you to look into unusual crimes in the area he’d been touring with his Shakespeare troupe about twelve years ago.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “Well, I was wondering if you’d been able to pinpoint what he was thinking of. I know his email was a bit vague . . .”

  “Nothing vague about it,” Carrie said. “Not for someone who has an interest in true crime stories. Gray knew he was consulting the right person.”

  Ava was surprised to learn that Carrie Howard had an interest in anything other than booze.

  “Plus, my ex was a cop and we’re still on good terms. He made a few calls to his buddies in the region and we came up with some cases that Gray could sift through. If you’re gonna ask me why Gray was interested, you’re gonna be disappointed. He didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”

  Ava had been through scores of email messages and she wondered if she’d overlooked the crucial one.

  “Kurt — that’s my ex — was over here about a month ago on holiday and he met up with Gray. Said he’d let Gray know what he had.”

  Ava’s heart sank. “So you never emailed any details to your brother?”

  “Nope.” Carrie was looking down at her empty glass. Trying not to think of her bank balance, Ava ordered her another double scotch.

  “Carrie, can you remember what cases you came up with?” Ava was not harbouring much hope. Then again, she was beginning to think Carrie Howard was sharper than she would have people believe.

  “Sure can,” Carrie answered.

  Ava waited.

  “Fact is there ain’t that many serious crimes that are all that unusual. I guess you have the same thing here? Lot of domestics, the odd gang-related homicide, that kind of thing? Run-of–the-mill type homicides.”

  Ava nodded.

  “There were a couple murders that had a ring to them, you know, kinda out of the usual. One was a serial thing, some deranged psycho who was mistreated by his ma and pa when he was a nipper took to chopping up young women in the Colorado region. The FBI finally gunned him down someplace outside of Boulder.”

  Another encouraging nod from Ava.

  “The second case involved two teenage kids — girls who took a dislike to one of their classmates and threw her off the roof of a parking garage, what you guys call a multi-storey car park. This was in a town in Colorado where Gray spent a week performing — what was it now, oh some Shakespeare play or other. One of the girls had wealthy parents who hired them fancy lawyers and they got off on some kind of psychological defence. You ever hear the term, folie à deux?’”

  Carrie’s pronunciation of the French words was execrable, but Ava was familiar with the term and knew what she was talking about. She frowned. Folie à deux was a rare phenomenon, and not uncontroversial. Also known as ‘shared psychotic disorder,’ it occurred when one person shared the delusions of another. Often one of the two suffered from a genuine psychiatric disorder — schizophrenia or some other disorder that induces psychosis in its sufferer. The second person, often the weaker, more submissive one, comes to share the same delusion.

  There had been cases where people had become so caught up in the delusion that they committed a murder together. But why would Gray Mitchell be interested in such a case? Was it worth pursuing? Had Mitchell simply become an aficionado of true crime like his sister? Or had something in his personal life provoked his interest? Ava had forgotten all about Carrie for a moment.

  “Well? You know what it means, then?” Carrie asked.

  “What? Oh . . . yes I’ve heard of it. Do you know what happened to the girls?”

  “Like I said. They got off. One of them, the one they thought was the real nutjob, she was sent to a psychiatric facility for a few years. No idea what became of the other. Maybe Gray followed it up, I don’t know.”

  Ava was experiencing a familiar, tingling feeling that she often had when she thought she’d discovered something significant. She didn’t know what that something was yet. Her brain needed time to synthesise all her thoughts and make the right connections.

  “Thanks, Carrie. You’ve been really helpful. Would you be able to give me your ex-husband’s contact details, preferably his phone number? I’d like to speak with him as soon as possible.”

  “Sure. Got a pen?” She wrote the number in Ava’s notebook, then lowered her empty glass to the bar with a sigh.

  Ava got the hint. She was grateful enough to stand the woman another drink, but she also had Ollie’s next meal to think of. Ignoring the hint, she thanked Carrie and slid off the bar stool. Carrie, obviously disgruntled, snapped her fingers at the bartender.

  Ava calculated it would be around noon in Kurt Olson’s part of the world —an acceptable time to call. She found a quiet café, tucked herself into a booth and called the number. Olson answered on her second ring. There was the din of some kind of heavy machinery in the background. Mercifully it stopped abruptly when Ava introduced herself, which she had to do all over again when it was quiet.

  “Sorry about the noise,” Olson said. “I was drilling a hole to put up a picture.”

  After enquiring about Carrie and expressing his sadness about his ex-brother-in-law’s death, he asked how he could help. Ava explained the purpose of her call.

  “I’m interested in a case that Mr Mitchell might have been researching at the time of his death. It was a case he’d asked his sister for information on, and I believe you were able to help?”

  “Are you talking about the folie à deux case?”

  “Yes,” answered Ava. “Anything you can tell me about it would be useful.”

  “Sure, no problem. Always happy to help our boys and girls in blue across the pond. You thinking this has something to do with Gray’s murder, Sergeant?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s a bit out of the box, but I’d be interested in hearing any information you might have on the case — and why Gray was interested in it.”

  A pause. “Well, it involved two schoolgirls who murdered another girl at their school. They lured her to the top floor of a parking garage with the promise of alcohol, and pushed her off. Shocking case, really.”

  “How did they get caught?”

  “Well, the girls didn’t leave things to fate — t
hey bashed the poor kid over the head several times with a couple of vodka bottles before they pushed her off. And they’d been caught on camera entering the parking garage. It wasn’t a sophisticated crime, Detective. They were kids who had no idea what they were doing in terms of planning and risk assessment. Unlike their trial, which was a piece of work.”

  “How so? Do you mean the verdict? Do you think it was contrived?”

  Kurt Olson snorted.

  “Those girls were inseparable friends, but hell, how many girls of that age have — what is it they call it nowadays — BFFs?”

  “Best friends forever.”

  “What you just said,” Kurt replied. “How many of them go crazy and commit murder together? There was that case in New Zealand in the fifties . . . sixties? Coupla schoolgirls beat the mother of one of them to death with a sock fulla rocks. They made a movie out of it, I think, with that Brit actress in it. You know; the one who was in Titanic?”

  “Kate Winslet,” Ava said. “I know the film you’re talking about. It was called, Heavenly Creatures.”

  “Something like that. Anyway, one of the girls had wealthy parents who hired a big-shot lawyer to get his daughter and her friend off. You’d have expected an unusual case like that to create a sensation, but for some reason it didn’t. Didn’t even make the national news and there wasn’t a lot of local coverage either. Guess it pays to have the right connections, right?”

  There was no arguing with that.

  “Why did they do it, do you know, Mr Olson? What was their motive?”

  “Sheer wickedness, if you ask me. Officially, it was claimed their victim had been bullying them, accusing them of being lesbians, but if that had been the case, no one knew of it. The police questioned teachers and other kids but couldn’t verify it one way or the other.”

  “Do you remember the girls’ names, Mr Olson?” Ava held her breath.

  “Give me a minute, Detective. Once upon a time I could have told you straight off, but my memory’s not as sharp as it used to be.

  It took only a couple of minutes for Kurt Olson to find the information.