The Brides' Club Murder: the 3rd Jasmine Frame novel (Jasmine Frame detective)

by P R Ellis

  ‘Typical accountant. Scared of being accused of fiddling the books,’ Freddie said turning to face Camilla. ‘Hello, darling. Got a room for us?’

  Camilla was prepared. She was fairly sure that only one other room in the Pang Wing was booked out in two male names.

  ‘Mr Derham and Mr Jones?’ she said.

  ‘Well done, love. I’m Freddie Derham and this is Robbie Jones.’

  Camilla didn’t like being referred to as “darling” or “love” but Freddie’s friendly jollity was infectious.

  ‘You’re booked in room 4. It has a double bed. Is that what you wanted?’

  ‘I’ll say, love. We’re an item. Can’t have fun in twin beds.’ Freddie said as Robbie took the proffered pen, signed the card and took the keycards from Camilla. Freddie continued. ‘Come on Robbie, let’s get up there and try it out before we have to face Madame Vokins the Grouch.’

  Robbie smiled and mouthed thank you to Camilla. He started to move away as another couple approach.

  ‘Oh look, it’s the real lovebirds. The wedding couple themselves,’ Freddie raised his arms in welcome and embraced the short, rather dumpy woman who recoiled a little.

  ‘Hello, Melody, Gerald,’ Robbie said, shaking hands with the tall man. ‘We’re really looking forward to Sunday. It’s really bold of you to hold your wedding this weekend.’

  ‘We wanted our friends to be with us,’ Gerald said, putting his arm around Melody to protect her from Freddie’s enthusiastic greeting.

  ‘Are we all here?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Robbie said, ‘We’ve only seen Donna and Emma.’

  Freddie puffed out his cheeks and spoke in deeper voice than usual. ‘I expect Vokins was here first.’

  ‘We saw Richard in the car park,’ Melody said, ‘but there was no sign of Sally.’

  ‘Probably still getting her wheelchair out of the car,’ Gerald said.

  Freddie rubbed his hands and chuckled, ‘Well, we’ll all be here to get your celebrations started this evening, whatever old Vokins says.’

  ‘We’ll let you get settled in first,’ Robbie said dragging Freddie off towards the Pang Wing.

  Camilla smiled as Melody and Gerald finally reached the desk.

  ‘So you are the couple getting married on Sunday,’ she said, glancing at her screen, ‘Miss Woods and Mr Salter.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Gerald said. ‘You probably think us off our heads having our wedding in the middle of a tranny weekend.’

  Camilla shook her head, denying that the thought had ever entered it, but she was eager to hear the explanation.

  ‘Well, this was where we met; at our first wedding event five years ago,’ Gerald continued.

  ‘I hadn’t started my transition then,’ Melody said. Camilla had to stop herself blurting out, “you used to be a man?” and admit that perhaps she couldn’t always tell a transsexual from a woman who was born as such.

  ‘But now she’s all woman,’ Gerald said, giving Melody a playful hug around her not insubstantial middle, ‘we’re going to celebrate being a couple properly.’

  ‘Very good,’ Camilla said taking a deep breath, ‘I am sure you will have a wonderful time and I hope you’ll remember the Ashmore Lodge for all the best reasons.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure we will,’ Melody nodded vigorously, ‘We’ve always had a good time here.’

  ‘You should have had the suite,’ Camilla said, ‘but Mr Vokins booked that.’

  ‘Oh, Valerie always has that room,’ Gerald said, not without a note of grievance, ‘Not even our wedding could persuade him to give up the bridal suite.’

  ‘Well, here are your keys to room 3. Please let me know if there is anything you need.’

  Belinda transferred her attention from the queue waiting to register with the manager sitting a few feet away.

  ‘Melody and Geraldine. I’m so glad I was here when you arrived.’ She kissed both guests on each cheek. ‘It’s so good of you to invite me to your ceremony on Sunday.’

  ‘We couldn’t leave you out after all the work you’ve done organising this whole event,’ Gerald said.

  ‘You’ve always been so good to us, Belinda,’ Melody added.

  Belinda waved away their gratitude and dropped her voice, ‘I’ve bought a new dress specially. I do hope you have a wonderful weekend.’

  ‘I’m sure we will,’ Gerald said picking up their two large cases, ‘We’ll see you shortly.’

  Belinda returned to welcoming each man and woman as they came through the doors. She was thankful that despite it being late November it was not a wet afternoon so the arriving guests were generally cheerful and not grumbling about the weather. Many were familiar to her and they exchanged greetings and brief updates. Belinda greeted newcomers warmly whether they were in male attire or already in their feminine personas. She was always nervous at this stage hoping that everyone would be satisfied with their accommodation and that the atmosphere at the gathering would be light-hearted and jolly. While the weekend was fully booked Belinda worried in case the participants didn’t feel that their expenditure had been worthwhile.

  It was gone four o’clock when Belinda saw Susan, her wife, emerge from the spa wing of the hotel. Susan looked comfortably casual in a pair of check trousers and plain blue top.

  ‘Hello, my dear, have you had a good swim?’ Belinda asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you, and a relaxing lie down. It was nice and quiet. Emma Preston showed up but hardly stayed in the water for a minute before leaving again. Now I suppose you want me to take over the meet and greet,’ Susan replied.

  ‘Yes, please. I just want to have a look around, make sure everyone’s happy, and I said I’d call on Vernon at four-thirty. He should have completed his transformation into Valerie by then.’

  ‘Why does he have to see you? There are less than a dozen of them in the wedding group. You’ve got nearly a hundred other guests.’

  ‘You know Vernon, or rather, Valerie, dear. She does rather fuss about getting everything just right, at least from her point of view.’

  ‘That’s the trouble. It’s all about her isn’t it.’ Susan said. Belinda looked at her sadly, knowing that she was right but that it was too late to change Vernon/Valerie. Susan saw the expression and added, ‘Oh, go on; go and do your rounds.’

  ‘Yes, dear. I won’t be long.’

  Belinda set off into the Lambourn Wing and tramped along the corridors on both floors of bedrooms. There were a number of guests to say hello to, mostly ladies but some who were still in male attire. Then she crossed to the Kennet Wing and repeated the chore. It was pleasing that there were no problems to sort out and she was relieved that the new electronic keys seemed to be working well. Belinda returned to the vestibule, noticed Susan deep in conversation with the wife of one of the guests, and entered the bar and lounge. It was already filling up with ladies in various styles of dress. Some wore fancy tea dresses or cocktail outfits while others were dressed in casual skirts and tops. There were just a few pairs of trousers in view, all, Belinda was certain, being worn by the wives and female partners. There was a healthy buzz of conversation with tea and coffee and some alcoholic drinks being drunk. Some guests were obviously making an early start on the evening’s jollifications. She glanced at the ornate gold watch on her wrist and saw that it was approaching four-thirty. She ought not to keep Vernon waiting; he could be very stuffy about timings, amongst other things.

  Belinda left the lounge and turned into the Pang Wing. Rather than wait for the lift she climbed the stairs to the first floor and walked down the short corridor to room 1, the suite. All the other doors were closed and there were no sounds from inside so Belinda wondered which members of the wedding party had arrived and whether they were inside or elsewhere. She reached the door of the suite and tapped on it. There was no reply so she tapped louder. Still there was no response. Silly old fool, Belinda thought, he’s probably in the bedroom and can’t hear. She pressed on the door handle. It was locked.


  ‘Hello, Valerie?’ Belinda called. There was no answer. Belinda was surprised. For Valerie Vokins punctuality was amongst the highest of virtues. Belinda was expected at this time so Valerie must be awaiting her; Belinda started to worry. Perhaps Valerie had been taken ill, had some sort of attack, or a fall? She was getting on in years but was no older than Belinda so not really ancient. Belinda called again but there still no answer. She made up her mind and retraced her steps to the foyer. There was quite a queue now with Camilla, the receptionist, and Barry the manager busy handing out keys. She approached the desk, apologising to the middle-aged gent who was next in line.

  ‘I can’t get a reply from Vernon Vokins in the Pang suite,’ Belinda said to the manager, ‘I’m worried that she might be ill. I’m sure she is there, we had an appointment.’

  Barry looked uncertain. The queue behind Belinda was still growing. ‘I can’t really leave Camilla to cope on her own,’ he said. He put his hand in the pocket of his jacket and drew out a keycard. ‘Here. Take my master key, but please bring it back as soon as you can.’

  Belinda took the card thanking the manager and praising his efforts. She hurried back up to the Pang Wing rooms. The corridor was still deserted. She tapped again on the door to the suite, firmly.

  ‘Valerie? It’s me, Belinda.’ Still no response. Belinda waved the card across the lock and heard a clunk. She pressed the handle down and the door swung open. Belinda stepped into the sitting room. There was no-one there. The door into the bedroom was open.

  ‘Are you there, Valerie?’ Belinda followed her call into the bedroom. It was unoccupied too but Belinda noted the assorted items of female underwear laid out on the bed. Valerie must be in the bathroom. Belinda turned around to look at the bathroom door expecting it to be closed. It wasn’t. The door was wide open and Belinda saw something inside that spurred her to run towards it, crying out, ‘Valerie! What happened?’

  3

  DS Tom Shepherd hastily pulled on a disposable overall on the landing outside the lift then strode along the corridor pulling the hood over his dark hair. The door to the suite was open and there were two, similarly clothed, Scene of Crime officers inside spraying liquid onto door handles. The person he was expecting to see wasn’t there, so Shepherd passed through into the bedroom which was larger. There were two more forensic staff at work and DC Sasha Patel, also in overalls, standing between the king size bed and the mirrored wardrobe. She was writing in her notebook.

  ‘Sasha,’ Tom said. The younger detective looked up from her writing.

  ‘Ah, DS Shepherd. DCI Sloane not with you?’

  ‘No, he’s stuck in a meeting with the ACC. He sent me to assess what was needed. What have we got?’

  ‘A body in the bath.’ Patel pointed to the bathroom with her pen. ‘Dr Winslade’s in there.’

  ‘Good.’ Tom looked around the room. There were items of female clothing on the bed including what he recognised as a corset though he could not recall ever seeing a real one before. He looked at the wardrobe. One of the sliding doors was open and there were dresses on hangers hooked over the rail. One was a long white dress in a transparent plastic cover. Tom crossed the room to have a closer look.

  ‘This is a wedding dress,’ Tom announced.

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘I gathered when I arrived that there was some kind of convention happening. There seemed to be a lot of women.’

  ‘Not all women, Sir.’

  ‘I can’t say I noticed any men.’

  ‘They’re transvestites, Sir.’

  Tom felt his face colour. After all the time knowing Jasmine he still couldn’t tell the difference between a real woman and a competent trans-woman.

  ‘Transgendered they prefer, I think, Sasha. It gets complicated, so Jasmine has told me on many occasions.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘So the deceased is, um, a man?’

  ‘Yes. Sir. We assume it’s the room’s sole occupant, Mr Vernon Vokins. Apparently, he’s also known as Valerie.’

  ‘Are we sure it’s him, er, her. Damn I still get mixed up.’

  ‘The person who discovered the body says it’s him.’

  ‘Who was that?’

  Patel flicked through her notebook. ‘Belinda Russell.’

  ‘Belinda?’ Tom thought the name meant something to him. ‘Is she trans?’

  ‘Tall, deep voice when she talks naturally, masculine facial features, old fashioned dress sense and wears too much jewellery, although I suppose this is a special event,’ Patel recited.

  ‘Very observant, Sasha. Yes, I remember her. Where is she now?’

  ‘We put her downstairs in the conference room. Her wife is with her.’

  ‘Susan.’

  ‘That’s right, Sir. You do have a good memory.’

  ‘I met them when I was on that case with Jasmine Frame back in May.’

  ‘Oh, that case.’

  ‘Yes. Belinda runs the Butterflies group.’

  ‘That’s right. They’ve organised this weekend. The Butterfly Ball.’

  Tom glanced at the wardrobe and the bulky, white wedding dress that hung there. ‘What’s with the wedding outfit?’

  ‘The deceased was the organiser of a sub-group called the Wedding Belles.’

  ‘Wedding Bells?’

  ‘B, E, double L, E, S.’

  ‘Oh. Wedding Belles.’

  ‘Yes, Sir. They have this whole wing to themselves.’

  ‘Right. I’ll have a word with Belinda once I’ve spoken to Doc Winslade.’ Tom took the few steps to the doorway of the bathroom with Patel at his heels. He peered in.

  The pathologist was leaning over the freestanding bath. The room was spacious with a shower unit in addition to the washbasin, toilet, bidet and shelf unit stacked with towels. Tom’s eyes were drawn to a pale body largely immersed in pink water.

  ‘Hi, Sarah. What you got?’

  Dr Winslade turned her head, saw Tom and straightened up.

  ‘Hello, Tom. Are you in charge?’

  ‘Until Sloane decides otherwise.’

  ‘You can come in. We’ve checked out the room.’

  Tom stepped inside the bathroom and looked at the body in the bath more closely. It was a naked man who appeared to be in his late sixties or early seventies. Apart from the stiff grimace on the dead face, there was something unusual about the body. It took a few moments for Tom to realise what it was. The limbs were hairless as were the armpits. The only body hair appeared to be the tuft of grey pubic hair.

  ‘Vernon or Valerie Vokins, I gather,’ Tom said.

  ‘Yes, Tom. Physically male but I understand he was a cross-dresser.’

  ‘With a fancy for wedding dresses?’

  ‘I don’t know about that, Tom, but the wedding dress in the wardrobe is a bit of a giveaway.’

  ‘It was his?’

  ‘There’s no-one else sharing this room, Sir,’ DC Patel said from behind Tom. Tom glanced at her and then back at Winslade.

  ‘OK. So what can you tell me?’

  ‘He’s been dead an hour or two. His wrists have been cut.’ Winslade lifted a limp arm out of the water and showed the slit, puckered skin of the wrist.

  ‘Suicide?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘He died from loss of blood?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘You’re not being very certain, Sarah. What’s the problem?’

  ‘On the face of it, it looks like a simple suicide. The guy, fills the bath, gets in, drinks a glass of wine,’ Winslade pointed to the wine glass on the shelf attached to the wall near the end of the bath, ‘and cuts his wrists. He bleeds into the bath water, drifts into unconsciousness and is dead a short while later. We have a knife, found by the side of the bath.’ Winslade reached to the floor by her side and lifted up a plastic bag to show Tom. It was a small kitchen knife with a blade about three inches long. It had a blunt tip but the blade looked sharp. The name Ashmore Lodge was stamped on the handle. ‘It
looks like a vegetable or fruit knife. There’s a bowl of fruit in the lounge. I think the knife would have been with it, Tom.’

  ‘OK. Sounds straightforward. But you’re not convinced?’

  ‘No, Tom. The cuts in the wrists are not very deep, so he hasn’t bled enough.’ Tom nodded. The bath water was not the deep red colour he might have expected. The pathologist continued, ‘The knife is clean – no finger prints. There was water, clean water, on the floor around the bath as if he thrashed around before his wrists were cut.’

  ‘So, if he didn’t bleed to death, how did he die?’

  ‘Drowned probably. I’ll know as soon as I do the post-mortem. I think his head was held under the water, hence the splashing. There are bruises on his forehead and neck where he might have been grasped.’

  ‘So, not suicide but murder?’

  ‘Yes, I think the murderer has made an amateurish attempt to make it look like suicide. That’s why the wrists were cut.’

  ‘Vokins looks pretty fit despite being elderly. He would have fought an attacker trying to drown him and spilled more than a drop of water.’ Tom scratched his chin. ‘Surely he would have locked the door of the suite while having a bath. Doesn’t everybody? How did the murderer get in?’

  ‘That’s your job, DS Shepherd, but I’m going to have a close look at the contents of that wine glass and Vokins’ blood. Oh, and there’s another wine glass and the bottle of wine that were in the lounge’

  ‘He was drugged?’ Sash Patel whispered.

  ‘Something to make him woozy? Rohypnol? Sleeping pills?’ Tom said.

  ‘It’ll take a few days to check, but, yes, something like that is possible.’

  Tom stepped away from the bath and looked around trying to imagine a struggle: Vokins, naked in the bath, drugged, being held down under water by his attacker. There was plenty of room around the bath for the killer to kneel or bend over and use their weight to hold the victim under.

  ‘OK, Sarah. I’m going to have to speak to Sloane about this. If it’s murder, it’s a different scale of investigation to a suicide.’ He paused and turned to Patel. ‘What about suspects, Sasha?’