by Clare Revell
“Gran,” Zander told her. “Then get your bag. We’re off out.” He grabbed the picture.
“Where are we going?”
“Everett Publishing. Then Leaney Holdings. Talk to the staff and follow up this new line of enquiry.”
Isabel glanced over at DI Holmes. “Guv?”
He smiled. “Good work, Isabel. Now go follow up this lead and see if there is a more concrete connection.”
Zander headed into the corridor. “So, what’s the address for Everett Publishing?”
Isabel checked the sheet. “Fifty-four Hosier Street.”
Zander stopped dead. “Can’t be.”
“Why?”
“You know the Inner Distribution Road? It runs through the centre of town.”
“That dual carriage way no one sticks to the speed limit on?”
He nodded. “That’s Hosier Street. There haven’t been businesses or houses on there since the seventies.”
~*~
Isabel pushed open the main door to the Leaney Holdings office. It was quiet.
A man in yellow plaid sat at a desk, piles of boxes all around.
Beside the door was a board with photographs on. Labelled ‘who we are’, it depicted all the staff.
The man in yellow looked up. “Can I help you?”
She frowned. “Is this all the staff who work here?”
The man nodded. “It is.”
Isabel turned to Zander. Maybe the report hadn’t been a simple typo after all. “Come look at this. You have that sketch on you?”
Zander pulled the sketch from his pocket. He compared it with one of the photos. “What about this bloke?”
“That’s George Harmon. He used to work here.”
Isabel exchanged a long glance with Zander. “Used to? I take it he no longer does?”
The man shook his head. “Esther fired him last week. I’m sorry. Who are you?”
Zander pulled out his ID. “DC Ellery and DC York. We need to talk to whoever is in charge.”
The bloke pointed to a glass door to one side of the office. “Over there, but you can’t just walk in.”
“We’ll knock first.” Zander moved swiftly across the office, Isabel scrambling to catch up. He knocked and opened the door in the same movement.
The couple inside the room sprang apart. The woman in the red dress straightened it as she scurried to the outer office. The man looked indignant. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” Zander waved his ID. “DC Ellery and York. We’re investigating the murder of your boss, Esther Leaney. You are?”
“Brendan Stewart. It was terrible what happened to Esther. Pippa is inconsolable.” He pointed to the woman in the red dress, now seated at her desk in the other room redoing her make-up.
“You seem to have done a pretty good job of cheering her up.” Zander flipped open his notebook. “When did you last see Ms. Leaney?”
Mr. Stewart hesitated before answering. “The end of last week. She’d taken a few days leave to sort out her parents’ estate. She was also spending time with her boyfriend. She said he was taking her for a surprise trip or something.”
“Does this boyfriend have a name?” Isabel asked.
“She didn’t say. He’s picked her up a few times.”
“What’s he like?”
“Dark hair, fairly tall, drives a flashy car. She was a pretty private person when it came to her social life.”
Zander pointed to the photos on the wall and then showed Mr. Stewart the sketch. “And this man?”
“George Harmon. You don’t think he did it?”
Isabel shrugged. “We’re just trying to put this together. After all if he was fired and your boss is killed…”
Mr. Stewart shook his head. “He’s a decent bloke.”
“Do you have an address for him?” Isabel wished this bloke was a little more forthcoming. Trying to get more than one or two sentences from him at a time was like trying to get blood out of the proverbial stone.
“I’ll find his file. There should be another photo in there as well.”
“You mind if we take the photo and file with us?” Zander asked.
“I’ll have to make a copy for you.”
Zander frowned. “Can you tell me why he got fired in more than one sentence? Otherwise we’ll be here all day.”
Her partner had obviously had the same thoughts she had. Isabel worked hard not to laugh.
“Esther made the decision. She kept her cards close to her chest. She didn’t share her reasons for anything. She fired him on Friday.” He moved over to the filing cabinet and shifted through the folders.
Isabel looked at Zander and rolled her eyes. “So she fires him and goes away on the same day?”
“Yes. Here we go.” He handed over the photo and moved to the photocopier. “This will only take a minute.”
Zander sighed. “So, going back to Ms. Leaney. Can you think of a reason why anyone would want her dead? Did she have any enemies?”
“I thought she’d been killed by the Slayer. That’s what the news said.”
“We have to cover all the bases and ask,” Zander said slowly, as if explaining to a child. “Well?”
Mr. Stewart looked sideways at Isabel. “Not that I can think of. She got on with everyone, you know.”
Isabel turned to her partner. “I’ll go talk to the rest of the staff.” She guessed Mr. Stewart had things he wanted to say about his boss that he couldn’t say in front of a woman so she’d go make herself useful elsewhere. She headed into the outer office to find all the other staff huddled around one desk. “I need to ask a few questions about your boss.”
The woman in red glanced up. “If you ask me, she had it coming.”
“Oh?” Isabel pulled over a chair and sat with them. “And you are?”
“Pippa Blake, but you can call me Pippa. Everyone does. George always said she’d come to a bad end. Right nasty cow she was, too.”
Isabel searched her handbag for a notebook, but of course it wasn’t there, and she hadn’t picked up a new one. “I’m sorry. Do you have a piece of paper?”
Pippa handed her one. “Here.”
“Thanks. Is that George Harmon?” Isabel asked.
Pippa nodded vigorously. “Yeah. He’s worked here for years. I don’t see why she fired him, except her parents wanted him to take over as CEO and not her. She’s a bit of a man’s lady, if you get my drift.”
“Not really.”
Pippa leaned closer. “If you were a bloke, she’d set her sights on you and have you begging her for a date before the hour was up. Apart from Bryan over here.” She flashed a grin at the bloke in yellow. “He’s not her type.”
“How many of you work here?”
“There were five. Me, Bryan, Brendan, Oscar, and George. Well, not now. Oscar is on leave this week. His wife just had a baby. But Esther would probably fire him for that as well. Rumour has it she canned George because he refused to go out with her. Cow already had a boyfriend. She didn’t need George as well. Esther made out she was holier than thou, but she wasn’t. She like expensive works of art, as well as men. You might want to take a close look at the company’s finances.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you.”
Zander strode across, a folder in his hand. “Ready to go, Isabel?”
She stood. “Yes.” She tucked the sheet of paper into the folder Zander held. She followed him out into the bright, hot sunshine. “Well, that was interesting.” She shielded her eyes, wishing she had sunglasses.
“Yeah. So Patrick Villiers gave us a fake name. Still honestly not sure why I put Leaney Holdings on the typed up version of his statement.”
“According to the date on it, you typed it up the morning after we found Esther Leaney’s body, so maybe your mind was on other things.” She grinned. “Or you’re secretly a psychic.”
“Better than a secret serial killer,” Zander grumped.
Isabel inclined her head slightly. “But that wasn�
�t what I meant. No one liked Ms. Leaney at all. She was a right cow who got a kick out of firing people is virtually a direct quote. It was also suggested we look into the company finances very closely. George Harmon worked here years before he was fired, according to the woman in red.”
“Who is actually Brendan Stewart’s wife. They kept the relationship on the QT because inter-office relationships are a sackable offence.”
“Hmm. It didn’t look like a secret marriage to me.”
Zander unlocked the car. “I got the same comments about Esther though. Oh, guess who she was rather friendly with?”
“Who?” Isabel slid inside the car, hoping Zander would turn the air conditioning on a little faster than he normally did.
“Our old friend, Farrell Vixen. I’m going to see him, but I’ll take one of the others.”
“That’s fine by me.” She angled the blower onto her face. “I don’t want him violating the PIN. I’m rather enjoying not seeing him everywhere I go.”
17
Shortly after two, Isabel pinned the photo of George Harmon onto the board and picked up the marker pen. Slowly, making sure to use printed letters so everyone could read it, she wrote the connection to Esther Leaney and Gran under it.
“How did it go?” DI Holmes asked.
Isabel turned. “Interesting. Patrick Villiers does not exist, nor does Everett Publishing. Hosier Street was demolished decades ago to make way for the IDR. But when we got to Leaney Holdings they had a board with everyone’s photos on. Including our bloke.” She pointed. “His name, at least the one he used there, is George Harmon. Who does have a bank account, driving license, and so on, but no criminal record—not even a speeding fine. According to the people who worked with her, Ms. Leaney was the complete opposite of what her mother described her as. She’d fire you for no reason. Mr. Harmon worked there for several years and according to the man we spoke to was in line for the CEO position. There’s a copy of his file on my desk. I’m about to chase up the address he gave them. Austin is checking out the company finances as it was suggested we look into those closely. Zander and DS Philips have gone to follow up on something the acting CEO said. Mr. Harmon worked there until a week ago when he was fired. Ms. Leaney left on a trip the same day, leaving Brendan Stewart in charge. He’s married to Pippa Blake, the secretary, but Ms. Leaney didn’t know that—or so they assumed. At this point, it’s looking as if there was nothing she didn’t know.”
“Back up a bit. Who has Zander gone to see and why didn’t he take you?”
Isabel pursed her lips. “I kind of had to stay here. Ms. Leaney was very fond of art and a certain gallery owner.”
“Ah.”
Isabel grinned. “And as nice as it would be to have you lock Farrell up and throw away the key, it’s hardly fair if I make him break the PIN.”
DI Holmes threw his head back and laughed. “That’s almost word for word what I said to Zander the other day. What are you doing now?”
“I’m about to research poison hemlock. Find out where I can get hold of it. Then I want to…” She broke off as the phone rang. “Excuse me. DC York.”
“It’s me.” Zander didn’t sound happy.
“Hello Me. What can I do for you?”
“You’ve still got my notebook. I need the name of that painting Esther Leaney brought from the gallery. You know, the one that was here the first time we visited.”
“One sec.” Isabel reached across to Zander’s desk and picked up the notebook. She flicked through to the back where she’d written notes. “It’s Sunset Over Cat’s Point. Why?”
“I’m using that as a conversation opener. Find out how many other victims bought paintings from our mutual friend.”
Isabel rummaged through papers on her desk. “Whilst you’re there, can you ask about other works by Dominic Higgins?”
“What about them?”
“What Farrell’s sold, what’s been enquired about, have sales risen since the set got stolen, that kind of thing.”
“Sure. What are you thinking?” Zander said something she didn’t quite catch, presumably talking to DS Philips at the same time as her. From the background noise, they were still in the car.
“I’m curious. Call it a hunch. And you’re not driving are you? Because you know that phoning and driving at the same time is illegal, right?”
“Being driven for once and loving it. And go get a new notebook. I want mine back.”
“It’s on your desk. Where it’s been since I borrowed it.” She tossed it back. “I’ll go and get a new one. And one for you as well, since yours is almost full. I have to go. See you later. Bye.” She hung up.
DI Holmes eyed her. “You lost your notebook?”
“Couple of days ago. It’ll be around somewhere,” she said hopefully. She really needed to look at home. Maybe the cat had shoved it under the sofa.
DI Holmes didn’t look impressed. “Go and get a new one. And then have a good look for the old one. We don’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”
“Yes, Guv.”
~*~
Zander exited DS Philips’s service car. He really had thoroughly enjoyed being driven for once. He glanced up at the art gallery. “Do you want to take this one, Sarge?”
“Nope. All yours.” DS Philips winked. “I know how much you like the bloke.”
“Thanks.” They headed inside and Zander pulled out his ID.
Several people milled around, looking at paintings and chatting.
Zander moved swiftly to the desk. “DC Ellery and DS Philips to see Mr. Vixen.”
A receptionist who was no older than a teenager peered at them through huge glasses. “Do you have an appointment?”
“I don’t need one.” Zander stated. “Just tell him we’re here and it’s urgent.” He wandered over to a bank of paintings. “These are all new since I was here last time.”
“Really?” DS Philips peered at a price tag and raised an eyebrow. “The bloke can’t be poor in that case. These are way out of my price range.”
Zander laughed. “I can see your wife now, Sarge. She sends you shopping for nappies and formula milk and you come home with one of these instead.”
DS Philips chuckled. “She’d kill me.”
“Then I’d arrest her, have your job, and live happily ever after.” Despite the seriousness surrounding their visit, Zander couldn’t resist teasing. Truth was, DS Philips job was as safe as houses. Being the Guv’s partner sealed that. If Zander passed the sergeants exams, and that was a big if, he’d have to seek a position elsewhere.
Farrell appeared by their sides. “Can I help you gentlemen?” His eyebrow quirked and he glanced around looking for someone else.
Zander gazed at him. “I hope so. We have a few questions about a painting.”
“Is Izzy not with you?” A calculated look filled Farrell’s eyes. “I hope she’s not unwell.”
“DC York is busy working on another case,” Zander said. Was the man deliberately trying to goad him?
“That’s a shame. I hoped she’d have come as well. I miss her.”
Zander ignored his obvious dismay. “We have some questions. We can ask them here if you’d rather.” He waved an arm at the busy gallery. “Alternatively you could accompany us to the station.”
“I don’t think so. Come through to my office.” Farrell led the way across the gallery.
Zander started to follow. Then he stopped, his attention caught by a large painting, almost filling an alcove. He strode over to it for a closer look, the subject of the painting hauntingly familiar. “Sarge?”
DS Philips moved to his side. “Isn’t that Isabel? But not quite?”
“If it’s not, it ought to be.” Zander studied the woman with long dark hair standing waist deep in the sea. Flower petals surrounded her.
Farrell appeared beside them. “You like it?”
“It looks like someone I know,” Zander said.
“You mean Izzy? Yes, I thought that when I f
irst saw it, but Izzy doesn’t have a scar on her cheek. It’s called Lost Love. Something all of us have known at one point or another.”
Zander refused to be drawn on that subject. “Who’s the artist?”
“Sara Barnes, she lives in Scotland.”
Zander kept his gaze on the painting. It conjured up a huge sense of loss and loneliness. Waves tossed on the surface of the water, birds soared and wheeled overhead.
“We’ve acquired a few of her paintings if you’re interested. I could show you. They are right over here.”
Zander raised his gaze to the price tag. “Not on my salary.”
Farrell didn’t let up. “We do have a postcard of this one. I’ll get you one.” He moved over to the counter.
Zander glanced sideways. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Isabel posed for it.”
DS Philips nodded. “I’ll check the artist out when we get back to the nick.”
Farrell came back with the postcard. He offered it to Zander. “On the house.”
Not wanting to be beholden to the man, Zander pulled out his wallet. “I’m on duty, so I’ll pay for it. A pound isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Zander handed over a pound coin and slid the postcard into his pocket. “Your office?”
Farrell led the way, handing the money to the cashier on his way past the desk. He shut the office door and indicated the two chairs. “Please sit. Which painting was it you were interested in?”
“Sunset over Cat’s Point,” Zander said.
“I’m afraid that was sold just over a week ago.”
“Yes, to Esther Leaney, we know that.”
Farrell frowned, looking from one man to the other. “Then why are you here?”
“Esther Leaney is dead. We’re just following up on a line of enquiry.”
The gallery owner’s face remained impassive. “Dead? That’s terrible.”
Zander exchanged a glance with DS Philips. “Did you know her well?”
“She’d been in several times and bought several pieces over the past seven or eight months.”
“I don’t suppose you have list of which ones and who painted them?”
“Yes.” Farrell opened a drawer and pulled out a card index box. He flipped through them. “Here you go.”
