by P R Ellis
‘There’s about a hundred of them in the hotel, including the ten or so staying in the other five rooms along the corridor. They’re all the Wedding Belles. Then there’s the staff and there may have been an intruder.’
‘We’re going to have to question everyone,’ Tom groaned.
‘Yes, Sir,’ Patel nodded.
‘I think I’ll speak to Belinda first. You say she’s organised this whole thing.’
‘That’s right.’ Patel agreed.
Tom started to move quickly through the bedroom. ‘Let me know if you come up with anything, Sarah.’ He called out.
‘Of course,’ Winslade replied.
Tom reached the exit from the suite and paused with his hand on the door.
‘Have you got the room key, Sasha,’ he said.
‘It’s a card, Sir. Electronic locks. I haven’t seen it.’
‘Well, look for it. Look through Vokins’ stuff. Check with the manager. I’ll be back shortly.’
Tom found Belinda sitting on a chair in the empty conference room below the victim’s suite, with Susan by her side. Belinda was bent forward cradling her head in her arms. The sound of Tom’s footsteps made her sit up. Her eye shadow and mascara had run and her wig was lopsided. Tom lifted another chair off the stack by the door and placed it on the carpet in front of Belinda and Susan.
‘Hello, Belinda, Susan. I’m Detective Sergeant Shepherd. I think we’ve met before.’
Both Belinda and Susan stared at him. Susan spoke first.
‘Oh, yes. You were that nice police officer that came to Butterflies with Jasmine. When we had those awful murders.’
‘That’s right,’ Tom said.
‘Bert’s had a terrible shock.’ Susan added. Tom noted the use of Belinda’s real, male name despite her still being in her female guise.
‘I’m sure it was. Can you tell me about it, Belinda?’
‘I told that other detective, the Asian girl,’ Belinda said in a shaky, quiet voice.
‘DC Patel. Yes, I know. Do you mind telling it again? What time was it?’
Belinda looked at Tom with tear-filled eyes.
‘I said I’d meet Valerie in her room at four-thirty. It was about that time. She wouldn’t have been happy if I was late. But, but she was in the bath. Dead.’
‘How did you get in?’
‘The door was locked. When Vernon didn’t answer I went down to reception and got the master key from the manager. I thought there must be something wrong with Vernon.’
‘Did you see the key, the keycard thing, in the room?’
‘No.’
‘Did you know Miss, uh, Mister, Vokins well.’ Tom’s discomfort with the gender labels drew a thin smile from Belinda.
‘I’ve known Valerie and Vernon for years, decades. Not well. We’ve never been close friends, but, well two TVs getting on a bit, we were bound to know each other.’
‘Does his suicide surprise you?’
‘Suicide? I can’t imagine Vernon killing himself. He’s never been depressed; always too busy and eager to organise everyone and get his own way.’
‘But you saw the blood in the bath? How did you think Vokins had died?’
Belinda looked confused. ‘I…I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. I just found him dead and ran to get help.’
‘Describe again what you saw and did. You collected the master key so you could unlock the door. You went in.’
‘Yes. I called out but Valerie didn’t reply so I went right in to her bedroom. The bathroom door was open and I could just see her lying there in the water. The water was red.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Well, I ran into the bathroom of course to see if I could help her.’
‘You’re sure she was already dead?’
‘Yes. Her eyes were open and staring and her mouth was just above the surface of the water.’
‘The bath was pretty full then.’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you notice anything about the body or the room?’
‘Notice anything?’
‘Did anything attract your attention?’
‘Well, there was a knife beside the bath, a small one.’
‘Did you touch it?’
‘No.’
‘But seeing the knife and the red water must have made you think something.’
‘I left straight away. Ran down to the reception to get them to ring for an ambulance, police. I didn’t think.’
‘But you’ve had a chance to now. What do you think happened to Vokins?’ Tom pressed Belinda wondering what her response would be.
‘I suppose she must have cut herself.’
‘And bled to death?’
‘Yes. I suppose so.’
‘You have to be pretty determined to cut yourself that deeply. You said you didn’t think Vokins would commit suicide.’
‘Er, no. I would never have thought so.’
‘Is there any other explanation for Vokins’ death?’ Tom asked, drawing Belinda on.
‘What do you mean? An accident?’
‘Accidently cut your wrists in the bath? I don’t think so, Belinda.’
Belinda looked at him wide-eyed. ‘You don’t mean that Valerie was murdered?’
‘I’m asking you, Belinda. Did you recognise the knife?’
‘I didn’t look at it closely.’
‘Would anyone be pleased that he’s out of the way?’
‘What! No, I can’t imagine anyone wanting Valerie dead.’ Belinda paused, thinking before continuing. ‘Alright, she wasn’t the most likeable character. She could be bossy and irritable and opinionated. I told you we weren’t really friends. But who would kill her?’
‘That’s the question.’
‘Do you really think Valerie was murdered?’
Tom hesitated. How much should he tell Belinda? Susan was there too, listening to their conversation. One of them could be the principal suspect. Belinda was the organiser of the event as well as the discoverer of the body. She had the opportunity but did she have a motive?
‘We’re not sure. Vokins’ death looks like suicide but there are doubts. There’s a strong possibility that he was murdered.’ Tom examined Belinda’s and Susan’s faces carefully. Did either display worry that their plan to have the death put down to suicide was being questioned? Tom couldn’t detect any guilty expressions, just the pain of being close to the death of someone they knew well. But he was no expert on psychology or body language. He would have to trust the two of them for now.
‘Who would do such a thing?’ Belinda said turning to Susan. Susan shook her head in disbelief.
‘I’m going have to put together a list of suspects,’ Tom said, ‘and as this is now a crime scene we’re going to have to close the hotel.’
‘What! You can’t!’ Belinda exclaimed, leaping to her feet.
‘Why not?’ Tom asked. Belinda’s reaction of horror to his suggestion surprised him.
‘Be…because it’s the Ball. There’s a hundred of the girls booked in. If it was cancelled we’d have to pay them back but we’ve spent lots on the advertising and the entertainment and all sorts. We’d be broke. You can’t stop it.’
‘I can,’ Tom insisted.
‘And, oh, gosh, there’s the wedding,’ Belinda went on.
‘Wedding?’ Tom asked, ‘You mean the thing that Vokins had a wedding dress for. Dressing up as a bride.’
‘No, not that. That’s tomorrow. On Sunday there’s a real wedding. Melody and Geraldine are getting married.’
‘Melody and Geraldine? How can two women get married? Is it a civil ceremony?’
‘No, it’s a proper wedding with vows and everything. Melody is TS and Geraldine’s a TV, she’s a man, Gerald.’
‘Oh,’ Tom was confused now. ‘So, it’s a man and a woman getting married.’
‘Yes, but they’ll both be dressed as brides. Some of the others are bridesmaids. Melody and Geraldine would be so disappointed if you cancelled it
.’
‘They’re all suspects,’ Tom said trying to justify himself. ‘Anyone at this gathering of yours with a grudge against Vokins could be the murderer.’
‘I know, but if you cancel the Ball they will all have to go home. How will you interview them then?’
Tom froze with his mouth open. That was a problem he hadn’t thought of. It would be an impossible job following up dozens of possible suspects and witnesses if they were dispersed across the country. The murderer could easily slip out of their view.
Susan spoke up. ‘If you let the convention carry on you could carry out your investigations while everyone is here in one place. They’re not going anywhere once they’re checked in except on the organised outings.’
Tom scratched his chin while he mused. ‘Hmm, yes. You could have a point.’ What would happen if they told the guests that they were carrying out a murder investigation and were looking for the murderer? Would people panic? There would certainly be a lot of talk, stories would get merged and muddled. They would never get the true picture of what happened to Vernon/Valerie Vokins.
Tom made a decision. ‘You’re right. It would be a good idea to keep everyone involved close by, but we’ll keep the murder a secret. We’ll say that we’re investigating Vokins’ suicide. I’ll need you two to keep quiet about looking for a killer. Whoever it is will have to think that they’ve got away with it. Perhaps they’ll give themselves away and make all our lives easier. Do you understand, Belinda, Susan?’
Belinda and Susan nodded vigorously.
‘Of course we’ll keep the secret,’ Belinda said. ‘Thank you for letting the Ball go on. You can’t know how much work has gone into it.’
‘We’ll help you any way we can,’ Susan added.
‘Well, the first thing I’ll need is a list of all your guests, particularly those in this Wedding Belles group who are staying in the same wing as Vokins.’
‘That’s easy, I’ve got the list here,’ Susan said. ‘I was checking the arrivals when Belinda came down screaming that Valerie was dead.’ She handed Tom a clipboard with five or six sheets of paper attached. He looked at the list of names and addresses and other details. There were ticks alongside about half the names.
‘Does the tick mean that the guests have checked in?’ Tom asked.
‘Yes,’ Belinda replied.
‘Up until I left the reception area to calm her down and call the emergency services,’ Susan said.
‘What time was that?’
‘Not long after four thirty,’ Susan replied. Tom glanced at his watch. It was just past six now.
‘I guess more will have arrived since then.’
‘I should think so,’ Belinda said. ‘All but a handful are booked in for two nights starting with this evening’s dinner. Most of them will be here now.’
‘We’ll need the list back to check them off with the receptionist,’ Susan said.
‘Of course. I’ll get it copied straight away.’ Tom flicked through the pages again. ‘Do you know these people?’
Belinda grinned. ‘Most of them. They come back each year. The Butterfly Ball is always popular. We have no trouble filling the hotel even though we have to put the price up each year. We’ve known most of the girls for years. It’s largely ladies of a certain age, of course, who come on these weekends.’
‘Hmm. Your information is going to be very useful. We’re going to have to sit down somewhere more suitable for a long chat soon.’ Tom had visions of a very long interview. His phone burbled in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw that DC Patel was calling. He touched the screen to take the call.
‘Hello, Sir, DCI Sloane is here asking for you.’
Tom gulped. Sloane had not spent long getting out of his meeting. Typical of him not to call but to just turn up at the scene. He hadn’t really caught on to mobile phones, let alone smart ones.
‘Are you still in the suite?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘I’ll be there in a moment.’ Tom stabbed “end call” and dropped the phone in his pocket. ‘I’ve got to go and speak to my boss and persuade him how we need to run this investigation.’
‘Thank you Sergeant,’ Belinda said. ‘Can we get back to the guests? There’s quite a lot to do.’
‘Yes, OK. But remember, Vokins committed suicide. That’s the story.’
‘Of course.’ Belinda and Susan both nodded. ‘And our guest list?’
‘I’ll get it back to you very soon.’ Tom hurried from the conference room with Belinda and Susan following behind at a slower pace.
Tom arrived at the suite at a gallop, panting just a little having ascended the stairs three steps at a time. He scudded to a halt as he entered the lounge. DC Patel and Sarah Winslade were standing in the middle of the room dominated by the grey-suited bulk of DCI Sloane.
‘Ah, Shepherd. There you are,’ Sloane said as soon as Tom entered the room. ‘Dr Winslade tells me we have a murder rather clumsily disguised as suicide.’
‘That’s my suggestion,’ Sarah Winslade said gently, ‘I’ll be more certain when I’ve got the body back to the lab.’
‘I gather that there is some kind of convention going on here of which the victim was a member,’ Sloane continued.
‘Yes, Sir,’ Tom answered. ‘It’s a weekend for transgendered people.’
Sloane appeared mystified, then his top lip curled. ‘You mean it’s a gathering of transvestites? People like Frame?’
‘Well, I think some are transsexual like Jasmine, Sir, but most of them are men who like to dress up as women.’
‘Some have their wives or partners with them,’ DC Patel added.
‘But I gather this Vokins fellow belonged to a group called the Wedding Belles. Is that right, Shepherd?’
‘So I’m told, Sir.’
‘Are they part of the entertainment or something?’
‘No, Sir, they are men who wear wedding dresses.’ Tom observed Sloane’s neck take on a shade of pink. ‘I don’t fully understand it, Sir.’ Tom added quickly.
‘Hmph. Well, I suggest you do so very quickly if you’re going to solve this crime, Shepherd. How do you propose to organise the investigation?’
‘Me, Sir.’
‘Yes, you, Shepherd. You’re the investigating officer. I have other tasks to attend to. So let me have your plan. I presume you are going to lock down the hotel.’
Tom felt a quiver of nervousness pass through him. ‘Actually Sir, I think it would be best to let the convention go ahead so that we keep all the potential suspects and witnesses close. We’ll let them think we are just investigating the suicide while we question them.’
Sloane nodded slowly. ‘I understand Shepherd. You are hoping the killer is going to hide amongst the crowd thinking that his or her subterfuge has been successful and at some point will drop his guard and reveal himself.’
‘Er, something like that Sir.’ Sloane’s agreement gave Tom some confidence.
‘A suicide investigation will require a lower key style of interrogation,’ Sloane continued.
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘And fewer officers.’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘But you have limited time. I presume this “weekend” you refer to is just that.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘You need someone on the inside, a person who will talk to these transvestites as one of themselves and so perhaps overhear a clue to the perpetrator’s identity.’
Tom wondered where the DCI was headed. ‘Umm, I think I follow, Sir.’
‘Get on to Frame,’ Sloane said firmly. ‘Get her here as one of the participants, a Wedding Belle. She can get to know the people closest to the victim.’
Tom was staggered by Sloane’s suggestion. Usually Sloane could barely refer to Jasmine without wincing and here he was suggesting that she be invited to join the investigation.
‘I don’t know whether Jasmine would be free to join us, Sir. Even if she was and willing to take part I don’t know whether
we can fit her in. Belinda, she’s the organiser, said that the hotel was fully booked. And what about the dressing up, the wedding dresses?’ Tom glanced at his watch. It was nearly six thirty.
‘Well, I suggest you get on to Frame and see if she is available. I’m sure you can find an answer to the other queries.’
‘Yes, Sir.’ The realisation hit Tom that this was not going to be a standard investigation.
‘Good. Well, I’ll be heading back to the office. You can keep Patel, here with you, Shepherd and as many SoCOs as are needed to complete the scouring of the crime scene. Keep me informed.’ Sloane strode out of the suite leaving Tom feeling a growing burden of expectation.
‘I must be off too, Tom,’ Dr Winslade said, ‘I’ve done all I can here. The body is ready to be removed to the lab. I’ll be able to let you have confirmation about the cause of death in a day or two, although it seems as though you have to have the case solved by then.’
Tom sighed, ‘Thanks Sarah. We’ll see. I’ve got no idea how Sloane expects Jasmine to infiltrate these Wedding Belles and help us find the killer in two days.’
‘You’ll do it, Tom.’ Winslade said and followed Sloane from the Suite.
Tom looked down at the smiling DC Patel. ‘Well, it seems we have a mystery to solve and lots to set up before we even start interviewing the guests. I’ll try and get in touch with Jasmine. You speak to Belinda and see if we can get Jasmine into the guest list if she is available. Oh, and see what you can do about a wedding dress – I guess Jasmine will need one.’
4
‘Hello, Jasmine. How are you today?’ Katie Kershaw beckoned Jasmine into the treatment room. Slow, tinkle-tinkle music played at a low volume.
Jasmine was unsure how to answer and just mumbled ‘Fine, thanks.’ On the one hand she looked forward to these fortnightly appointments with Katie, her electrolygist, as each one took her that tiny step towards ending the daily, sometimes twice daily, chore of shaving. Eventually she would have the soft-skinned face of a woman, but that was a long way off. She had many, many more of these dates with the electrolysis needle before that goal was reached and that gave the reason why she dreaded them. She had to prepare by leaving part of her face unshaved for two days before and a day after the treatment. Anyone looking at her at all closely could see that she grew a beard and would think she was an imposter, a man dressed as a woman. Not even make-up could be used to cover up the hairs as that would interfere with the treatment. There was also the small matter of the pain.
