Problems with Girls (DI Sloane Book 2)

by Kelly Creighton

  ‘Wow, Justin is a flirt,’ said Hewitt, getting into the car.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Thick as shit though.’

  ‘You can bet it’s purely physical between him and Lizzie.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that,’ I said.

  ‘No? You need a smart one, obviously.’

  ‘What are you on about?’ I asked her.

  ‘Isn’t your fella a doctor?’

  ‘He is,’ I said, ‘and I do like brains, but they don’t have to have letters after their names for me to like someone, just a common intellect.’ Maybe it was job snobbery, but a personal trainer would never interest me.

  ‘Naw,’ said Hewitt, ‘bit of beefcake would do, quite honestly. That is catnip to me. At this point, a pretty one would do nicely.’

  ‘So you think it’s better to be the smarter one in the relationship?’

  ‘Who’s talking about a relationship? I wouldn’t mind a go on that, that’s all.’ She elbowed me in the arm.

  I pictured Drew. I don’t know what had gotten into me but he was the first crush I’d had in forever. It was like a crush you got when you were a teenager. It was hard to explain, I couldn’t even stand him.

  I normally went for good-on-paper kind of men. Charming, accomplished men who were admired by the people around me.

  And Drew wasn’t even conventionally good looking. Not preppy rugby boy handsome like Paul, not gym-bunny chavvy gorgeous like Justin, or even mod retro-pretty like Higgins. And he was a complete asshole layabout with no job, or a dubious criminal one. But I had wondered quite a few times what it would be like to kiss him, what Drew would be like in bed. Not that I was going to tell Hewitt.

  *

  By nine p.m. we were following that warm trail to the apartment in Kincora Mews where Martin Walsh was staying. The old houses were split into apartments. Aside from the large driveways you wouldn’t have known.

  They still had that classy but crumbling look. The driveway was shaded by a huge cherry blossom tree that snowed pinkly all over the cars.

  Martin was standing with a glass of wine in his hand and another guy, Bill, I presumed, was eating his dinner at the white dining table at the end of the room, sitting on one of the stylishly mismatching velvet chairs.

  ‘Sorry to disturb your dinner,’ I said. ‘But you gave us a false address.’

  ‘Come in,’ Martin said.

  ‘Friends of yours, Marty?’ Bill asked him, standing up and putting a white cloth napkin on the table.

  ‘It’s, erm, the police,’ Martin told him, ‘they need to speak with me about a matter. That girl I was telling you about.’

  ‘Oh, god yeah,’ said Bill, smoothing a fingertip over one eyebrow. ‘That was awfully heart-wrenching. Do you need some privacy?’

  Martin waivered, he watched Bill, who blew out the candle between the two-place setting, then undimmed the ceiling lights.

  ‘We can microwave dinner later, no problem,’ Bill said, then he moved to the black velvety corner sofa under the monochrome prints from obscure movies I’d never heard of, and Martin sat beside him.

  ‘Thanks for staying,’ said Martin and instantly it struck me; Bill was his lover.

  I became flustered. ‘Rebecca,’ I said, ‘we were speaking with her, obviously. That’s why we are here, and she …’

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like privacy, Dr. Walsh?’ said Hewitt.

  ‘No, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘And it’s Martin, please.’

  ‘Rebecca told us where we might find you,’ Hewitt continued, ‘and it seemed that she had concerns that you might have had a close relationship with Chloe, because you told her you are possibly seeing someone else.’

  A huge rag doll cat with a cream coat and bright blue eyes slunk into the room. Bill lifted her. She lay in his arms like a baby, him nuzzling the top of her head. I panged for my babies and wanted to be home.

  ‘Now,’ said Hewitt, ‘because we have already received similar information, and we need to speak with people who were close to Chloe Taylor, we don’t want to miss out on speaking with you again, Martin.’

  ‘Rebecca is just hurt,’ he said, ‘she’d say anything. It’s embarrassing. But I am not having an affair.’

  Bill sat further back into the seat, and the cat got to its feet, slunk off to sit by my side, wanting petted.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Martin said.

  ‘What is it you don’t like?’ I asked, petting the cat, but I never was a cat person. This beauty almost had me swayed.

  ‘That there is just no privacy. God knows what she has told you, but I won’t stoop to her level.’

  ‘Marty,’ said Bill, ‘you’re not a compassionless man.’

  ‘No, I know I’m not,’ Martin said.

  ‘So don’t let it sound as if you are. Ladies, the end of a marriage is a painful thing.’

  ‘It is,’ I said.

  ‘Can I say something?’ Bill asked Martin.

  ‘Can I stop you?’ he asked with a small smile turning up one corner of his mouth.

  ‘Can I ask that you don’t tell Rebecca anything we say?’

  ‘You can ask,’ said Hewitt.

  ‘You aren’t blind, ladies. You can tell, and maybe if Rebecca Walsh walked in at the same time, she’d see that we’re in a romantic relationship and have been for a while.’

  Martin looked at the floor and bit his lip.

  ‘We all went to university together, were all great friends.’ Bill held Martin’s hand. ‘She doesn’t know any of this and we didn’t, and don’t, want to hurt Rebecca. When the dust settles on the divorce, and maybe when she meets someone else, then we’ll tell her and the kids. We don’t see any reason to hurt her more right now.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Martin, easing his hand away from Bill’s. ‘Can I ask that you don’t tell her, or anybody?’

  ‘There’s really no reason why we should,’ said Hewitt. ‘I don’t think it’s relevant.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Bill.

  ‘Thank you,’ echoed Martin. ‘I’m sorry to have you running around all night. You understand though, right? It is a delicate time in our lives.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hewitt getting to her feet. ‘We understand.’

  ‘And I promise you there was nothing between me and Chloe. Nothing. Maybe wires were crossed somewhere but I can assure you there was nothing on my part and nothing inappropriate ever happened with her or with any of my patients, not ever.’

  ‘Can I just show you one thing, please, Martin?’ Hewitt asked. She fetched the photo. He looked at the back of it.

  ‘That’s not my handwriting, you have my handwriting on the business card I gave you.’

  Fleur was looking uncomfortable for the first time. ‘So, who wrote that?’ she asked.

  ‘Maybe Chloe did. It was not reciprocated. I’m a professional.’

  *

  We got into the car and as soon as we lifted off we each burst into laughter.

  ‘He’s gay,’ I said, feeling giddy but detached.

  ‘Your face, Harriet!’

  ‘Oh, come on, that was embarrassing.’

  ‘I think we can say without reservation that the G-string is his,’ said Fleur.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Is this worse, for his wife?’ I asked.

  ‘No!’ said Hewitt.

  ‘But she’ll be angrier in the long run, to find out he’s gay and to think that she wasted time on a man who couldn’t love her properly.’

  ‘There are plenty of people who can’t love properly.’

  ‘I know that, Fleur. Regardless of sexual orientation.’

  ‘But, Harriet, you keep saying he’s gay and how do you know? Maybe he’s bisexual. Maybe it was not a case of choosing Bill or Rebecca.’

  ‘Then, in that case, there could have been Chloe,’ I said, annoyed at myself. I should have known that the heart does not work like that, telling us who we should and should not love, or at least be attracted to, or even obey its own orders.

&nb
sp; ‘Question for you, Sloane: Do you think they got out the vanilla candles and put on that nice music just to get Martin out of the line of fire?’ Hewitt laughed.

  ‘That would be clever.’

  ‘Then we won’t dismiss him completely,’ said Hewitt, ‘though your face, it was a picture.’

  ‘I’m not a prude, you know,’ I said. ‘Yes, I should have known better than to jump to conclusions and call him gay but my sister calls herself gay, even though she left her husband for a woman, so, she wasn’t always gay,’ I said. ‘Her ex was pretty fucked off when Coral said she’d fallen for Rose, and had only ever liked women. So that’s where I’m coming from.’

  ‘Hey, no shit?’ asked Hewitt.

  ‘What?’ I asked. ‘You’re going to tell me that your sister did the same?’

  ‘Only child.’

  ‘That makes sense.’

  ‘Cheeky! No, I did the same,’ she said.

  ‘You?’

  ‘Me. Left my husband for a woman.’

  ‘But you’re …’

  ‘What am I?’ she asked me.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘A flirt … around men.’

  ‘Am I?’ Fleur almost choked.

  ‘Oh, you absolutely are. Take Justin.’

  ‘Gladly. Just for an hour. But also, Lizzie’s not bad. Nice bum. Peachy.’

  ‘So you’re in a relationship now?’ I asked her.

  ‘No. It didn’t last. I left my woman for a man.’

  I laughed and she joined in, only Hewitt’s laugh was careful and pointed.

  ‘Hurting people is really funny,’ she said sarcastically. ‘I’m not proud of it, but I’m not ashamed of leaving weak relationships, or of being with women – just to be clear.’

  ‘You really don’t know me,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t care less who you are fucking.’

  I thought, but it’s Greg, right? You’re fucking my ex.

  ‘Keep what I just told you under your hat, Harriet.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone’s interested in people’s sexuality anymore.’

  ‘You think so?’ she said. ‘That’s not the point, anyway. It’s my private life and I’d appreciate you kept it to yourself and away from big noses at Strandtown.’

  ‘No probs,’ I said, but I was lost to curiosity, and something changed with her trusting me with a bit of insight into her life.

  And I was glad, finally someone else’s love-life looked as messy as mine.

  Chapter 23

  For years I was unable to sleep, now it’s a struggle to stay awake. And I used to dream. But now, if I do, they get stuck in the sleep. That is what having two babies will do to you.

  On Wednesday morning I woke early, earlier than the twins or Paul, and remembered the plastic bag with the jiffy bag, with the money inside it. Rattled, I drove straight to work.

  ‘Just here to pick something up,’ I told Ted on security. I was to go back for the boys.

  I checked the backseat of the car. Nothing.

  We had left the service car on the street many times the day before. We’d been so busy I’d forgotten about the money.

  ‘Did someone clear out the car?’ I asked the desk sarge.

  ‘No. Why?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing, just baby brain.’ First and only time I was happy for that stupid phrase.

  Hewitt was already there. ‘Fleur,’ I said, walking to her, ‘I had a plastic bag yesterday.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘You didn’t move it anywhere, did you?’

  ‘Has it gone missing?’

  ‘Well, yeah.’

  ‘What was in it? Booze?’

  ‘Nothing important,’ I said.

  ‘Seems important.’

  ‘It’s not.’

  ‘Okay. Be secretive,’ she said.

  ‘Did you lock the car doors every time? You were the driver,’ I said.

  Hewitt pulled a face. She didn’t reply. She wouldn’t have taken it, would she?

  I thought about everyone we saw that day. Checked the toilets and the car again.

  I went home, was a mother for an hour. Found my locker key, after the horse had bolted. Then I brought my boys to nursery and crossed the road to work. Father had told me in an extremely brief call that it was a bad idea, that people could see me go in. His paranoia was paramount that week.

  I, too, was in a spin, thinking about Janet Ward and her poor dead sister. I was itching to get to work on that case, telling myself to wait, don’t start, the time would come. But patience is not my strong suit.

  I thought about the girls Higgins had told me a little about, who thought they had been spiked. I had detoured away from that vein with his hasty departure.

  ‘Any news on Higgins?’ I asked Hewitt.

  ‘If he’s found guilty he’ll leave.’

  ‘Or be asked to leave?’

  ‘And rightfully so,’ she said.

  I felt for him a little bit. ‘He’s not a bad policeman,’ I said, ‘he has ambition but falls down in exams.’

  ‘He falls down in testing scenarios?’ said Hewitt, letting me know that if Higgins was not good under pressure he was not good at all.

  The phone rang, it was the press office to say that it was in the media that Lucinda Press had been found dead in a Belfast hotel. ‘No foul play suspected.’

  ‘Suicide?’ I asked.

  ‘She’d taken an overdose.’

  I began spinning even more.

  When Thomas had not met us, I briefly worried that he had taken his life. And I had thought, please, no; not over art. Not over what someone has said about it.

  I thought that kids, kids like Thomas and his sister, were not resilient and I worried for their generation and how it was impossible to stop bullies.

  They didn’t leave school, or work, or home, and get respite. The bullies were in their phone, in their pockets, in the papers, always lying in wait.

  But with Lucinda that cowardly darkness now had a face, and now it had been revealed in the paper that she had not been resilient either. A strong Yorkshire woman. A grandmother who wanted Chloe to be less strong.

  Lucinda was strong enough to harass her and her family only in the dark. Now the spotlight was on her, Lucinda was exposed, vulnerable, and ultimately ashamed. And now, dead. By her own hands. This too was sad.

  ‘These trolls are different when they are unmasked,’ I said to Hewitt. ‘Let’s see if the letters stop now …’

  ‘Was she a troll?’ Hewitt asked me.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Maybe Lucinda believed what she said, in which case it’s not trolling.’

  ‘It’s still harassment,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, but trolls don’t care, they don’t even believe what they’re saying, they just want to cause maximum disruption.’

  ‘Did she not cause maximum disruption?’ I asked. ‘And how could Lucinda be so against women having rights? It makes absolutely no sense.’

  ‘I didn’t say she made sense,’ said Hewitt, ‘but she had the right to think those thoughts.’

  ‘Well, she obviously regretted the letters … up to a point,’ I said.

  ‘Hmm. She doesn’t deserve to be heard anyway, she’s only a woman.’

  ‘Baffling,’ I said.

  ‘We don’t have to understand it, fuck sake. Just have to go home at the end of the day and forget about it.’

  ‘Is that all? Easy as that?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Hewitt, ‘it’s in the beginner’s handbook: How to be a Bad-Ass Copper.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about it.’

  ‘It’s got crazy, Sloane. You’ll have missed it, I suppose, being away.’

  ‘Being off.’

  ‘Half our bloody workload is Facebook-related.’

  ‘Abuse and trolling?’

  ‘It’s against the law to hurt people’s feelings now. It’s gone too far.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s gone far enough,’ I said. ‘It’s more than
that, and you can’t say it wasn’t disgusting; Lucinda said Chloe deserved to be killed.’

  ‘I know. Hundred percent! That was totally uncalled for.’

  I nodded, satisfied that I could understand my new partner at last.

  ‘Would she have it in her to stab Chloe though?’ Hewitt said in a bruising voice. ‘I think not.’

  Chapter 24

  The reconstruction was at 11.15 a.m. in the PACT office. As it played out Hewitt and I sat in Wee Buns. Lyndsey Matchett had finally given me the list I asked her husband Boyd for a week before. Who was in the bakery that day?

  It went like this:

  school kids getting sausage rolls,

  an elderly woman getting a tea and bun,

  mums getting coffees,

  two work men getting their late morning coffees.

  Justin, a construction worker, went through my mind, and next Dan Hamilton, the gardener. But Dan had his dialysis alibi.

  I watched Mike Birch out of the bakery window. Where was he at the time? He seemed sincere. I caught myself on; trust no one, Harry. No one.

  ‘We should find out more about Birch.’ I nudged Hewitt.

  ‘It could be somebody completely unknown,’ Lyndsey shouted over while buttering bread for sandwiches. ‘There was that robbery.’

  ‘Yes, at Mayhew’s pharmacy,’ said Boyd.

  ‘No further on one week later. Fuck this for a game of chess,’ said Hewitt in a low voice.

  ‘I want to speak with Justin,’ I said to her quietly.

  ‘Why, because Lyndsey said there were workmen?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  ‘How many workmen go through this area?’ Hewitt asked louder.

  ‘A lot,’ said Lyndsey.

  ‘His building site is not in the vicinity,’ Hewitt said. ‘He is working on new apartments on the outskirts of Comber. Didn’t Lizzie say?’

  ‘Did she?’ I asked. Must have missed that.

  We stood outside and watched. A lookalike for Mike Birch came and called into the PACT office, while the real Mike was standing with us.

  ‘My God,’ he said, ‘they even have my outfit down to a tee.’

  ‘You arrived last Wednesday at around midday?’ I asked him.

  ‘Yes.’