Murder On The Menu

 

CHAPTER 1  

  

“This hotel is wonderful, isn’t it?” said the tall, striking Spaniard, Pablo, flashing a smile at his equally handsome – though a tad shorter – husband, Carlos, as they made their way down to breakfast.  

Their peaceful moment was shattered by a sharp, shrill female voice that cut through the air like broken glass.  

“She’s bloody well dead, I tell you!” Violent sobbing ensued.  

Like synchronised gymnasts, the Spanish couple leapt over the last two wide stairs, across the plush carpet to the area by the hotel’s reception.

Startled guests on the way to the restaurant gaped in their direction.  

“It’s okay,” called Carlos, his voice calm although his heart was hammering. “Enjoy your breakfast.”  

The source of the kerfuffle was a young woman in a green hotel logoed polo shirt whom Pablo had met the previous evening. She faced a woman wearing a tailored grey business suit with a white blouse and bleached blonde hair sprayed into the shape of a helmet. A badge declared her to be the hotel manager.  

Ever ready to be of assistance, Carlos turned to them. “Can we help?”  

The sobbing young woman spun round with a squeal, her black curls bouncing. “I…  She was…”  

The bleached blonde took a step towards Carlos. “She says she’s found one of the guests dead.” Her voice was croaky, her face pale, and her blue eyes wide.  

Pablo stepped over to the traumatised bundle of sobbing and pulled her to him, her face instantly wetting his shirt. “It is okay. We are here. You have had a shock. Crying is good for shock.” The woman continued to do what was good for shock.  

Reaching his hand to Pablo’s shoulder, Carlos looked to the Manager.

“This is Pablo. I’m Carlos. Please come and sit down.”  

While Carlos held her by the elbow and guided her to a nearby black leather sofa, Pablo helped the young woman to one opposite, soothing her until the sobbing reduced to the rhythm of a chugging tractor. The manager blinked her round eyes rapidly.  

Carlos perched on the edge of the seat and looked into her face. “Please, tell us what has happened. Then maybe we can help.”  

The overly hair-sprayed woman at last found her voice. “She…”  She waved a hand towards her colleague.  “Ruth… says she’s found one of our guests dead in their bed.”  

Carlos took one of her hands. It was cold, like the inside of his own gut, and rubbed it. “Where is this… person?”  

“Ruth, what room is she in?”  

“Nine”. Ruth pulled some tissues out from the middle of her bra and blew her nose noisily. Pablo squeezed her shoulders encouragingly, and Carlos stood.  

“I’ll go and look. You two stay here with Pablo. You’ll be okay with him.”  

Carlos strode off, breaking into a run once he turned the curve of the stairs out of sight. The door to Room 9 was wide open. With his pulse sounding in his ears, Carlos entered. He could only see the foot of the bed, but more came into view as he cautiously passed the en-suite.  

And there was Valerie, the elderly woman he had been introduced to the previous evening. She had come to the hotel to take part in Pablo’s fourday cookery course. She lay in the bed, hair white, face white, mouth and eyes gaping. Still. Lifeless.  

Carlos had to fight the urge to recoil or vomit, as his gaze was trapped by what failed to look human, flesh, but like a grotesque doll, plastic. The very air in the room was suffocating.  

Forcing his mind back to reality, Carlos became aware he was trembling. He felt cold, yet his face was flushed. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. He ran his hands over his head and closed his eyes, but he had to look. First he opened his eyes like slits, then forced the lids further apart.  

Think. What should you do?  

He was sure it was superfluous to do it, but he knew he must. He went over to Valerie and put his ear in front of her mouth and listened for breath. Nothing. Then he felt her neck for a pulse. Again, nothing.  

He knew from unfortunate past experience not to close her eyes or cover her face, or do anything to the scene, except walk out and shut the door with the latch down.  

As he reached the stairs, a couple of people were headed in the same direction. He turned to them with a smile fixed on his face. “Good morning. Enjoy your breakfast.” He walked behind them down the steps and across the level floor, although his body wanted to run.  

A couple of yards from the group on the sofas, he nodded confirmation of the death to Pablo and pulled out his phone. He called up the number for someone he had come to know well in the last year: Peter Van Niessan. The detective inspector answered after two rings. “Peter. It’s Carlos. I’m at the Wally Hill Manor Hotel. I’m afraid there’s a dead body in room nine. No blood. Dead in bed.”  

  

***  

Sometime later, when the Spaniards had been able to pass the matter over to the police, they made their way to the orangery attached to the main restaurant. Pablo, having become accustomed to strange things happening around them over the last year, was determined to carry on. He was due to start teaching a cookery course in one of the function rooms at ten.  

“We need to think about something other than Valerie now,” said Carlos. “Did you like the students you met yesterday evening? Who can you remember?”  

“Poor Valerie…” Pablo sighed. “She and the pretty young Rhana seemed to get on well.”  

“Yes, they did, and the three middle-aged men joined them, so hopefully there will be no arguments in your classes.”  

Pablo nodded and managed a tight smile. “Even the young one, Jamie, went to join them eventually.”  

“Although he must have been drunk by then, he’d spent so long at the bar.”  

Pablo chuckled. “Yes. I hope his head does not hurt too much this morning.”  

“He must be serious about his cooking. Already at university learning to be a chef and taking this course in his Easter break.”  

But Pablo continued to have difficulty keeping his mind off the unfortunate deceased  

Valerie Fleming. “She was a lovely lady. And she hadn’t lost her zest for life. Remember how she kept looking at that man?”  

“Damien? Yes, I think he spotted it. He’s no spring chicken, but Valerie would be too old for him, I’m sure. He probably preferred Rhana.”  

“Yes, she is much younger. She has big brown eyes like you, Carlos, but yours are better.”  

“Of course. What was the name of the Afro-Caribbean man?  

“Len.”  

I think he’s beginning to relax. Carlos kept up the distraction. “Then there was the widower, Ian, who misses his wife’s wonderful cooking… with the hair around the edge of his bald head. That will be me in a few years.”  

Pablo patted Carlos on the head. “It doesn’t matter what is up here on the outside. It is the mind inside that I love, and that lovely face.” He stroked the beard on Carlos’ left cheek.  

Carlos chuckled and pushed Pablo’s hand away. “Nutcase.”  

  

***  

Pablo’s first student was ushered in by Lesley Diakos, the manager who’d been dealing badly with the crisis earlier. “This is the gentleman who arrived this morning, Elliot Wensley. Mr Wensley, this is Senor Pablo Rubio, your instructor for the week.”  

“Buenos dias, Senor Rubio.”  

Pablo grinned. “Please, call me Pablo. I hope we will all become friends in this little group.”  

“Pablo. Pleased to meet you.”  

Elliot was in his fifties with the beginnings of a paunch and gingery-grey hair. He wore a brown silk scarf around his neck and tucked into his long-sleeved t-shirt, and fine brown gloves. Looking into his face, Pablo noticed his skin was dry with small red blotches.  

“Please excuse the gloves and scarf,” said Elliot. “I have terrible trouble with my skin, and they help. I’ll put latex gloves on for handling food.”  

Pablo smiled at him, then was distracted as two more people came in. One was the widowed Ian with his band of white hair, the other the younger Rhana with the brown eyes.   

Jamie, the dedicated catering student, arrived, showing no signs of a hangover. He was as tall as Pablo, but skinny with a very fair complexion and thick curly hair a shade darker than true blond.  

Two more men came in together: one Afro-Caribbean, Len, early forties, and the other a tad older, Damien. Both were quite athletic in build.  

Pablo was always interested in people and how they interacted with each other and their environment. He noticed Jamie spoke less to the others, and wondered if he was putting more concentration into his cooking or felt shy again now he was, presumably, sober again.  

Rhana wasn’t overly chatty but gave as good as she got in the banter stakes. Len and Damien talked a lot about football, while Ian and Elliot shared a passion for fishing.  

As the students finished clearing up, having put their dishes in to cook, and sat down for Pablo to impart more wisdom, Rhana Sharma asked,

“Where’s Valerie?”  

“Oh yes,” said Ian. “I hadn’t noticed. We’re one short.”  

Pablo felt a knot in his gut. “I’m afraid she was unwell in the night and won’t be joining us after all.” He couldn’t bring himself to say how unwell.  

 ***  

  

Carlos’ friends, Detective Inspector Peter Van Niessan and Sergeant Jennifer Sterling, arrived at the hotel and made their way to Room 9.  

“Good morning, Peter, Jennifer,” greeted the big pathologist beside the bed.  

“Not so good for this lady,” said Peter. “What have you found?”  

“Come and look at her nose.”  

Peter Van Niessan positioned himself for a closer look.  

“I’ll have to put her on the slab for a thorough investigation, of course, but… Can you see some tiny fibres in her nostrils?  May well match the bedding, the pillowcases.

I’m thinking she was very likely smothered.”    

 

 

CHAPTER 2 

 

 

Peter Van Niessan sighed and turned away. 

“I asked for you to come and have a look at her first, because I got the impression it was somebody who’d passed away peacefully in their sleep. Maybe I just hoped.” 

“Well, you couldn’t have done anything for her by getting here any earlier. And if the killer isn’t staying at the hotel, I should say they’re long gone.” 

Rubbing his grey-brown hair, Peter pursed his lips. “Yes, you’re most likely right. Oh well, I am the day-to-day head of the murder squad. If murders didn’t happen, I’d be out of a job, wouldn’t I?” 

“That’s the spirit. Always look on the bright side of life, as the song says. Or on the bright side of death…” 

Even as they talked, Peter was casting a trained and careful eye about the room for anything out of place, anything that may help him, while keeping his feet firmly within the area of floor covered by the plastic sheeting. Jennifer was doing the same. “D’you know, it was Carlos Sanchez who phoned me, Bob, to tell me of the death. Not a staff member. A young woman found her and freaked out, and the manager was in denial by all accounts –” 

“The longest river in the world, isn’t it?” 

“What? Oh, funny. Yes, I think so.” Peter allowed himself a little chuckle. “Anyway, it was Carlos who came up to check that the body was actually dead, then he called me.” 

“He’s one of those Investigators, isn’t he?” 

“Yes. Funny how some people seem to attract bad luck. He’s here with his husband, 

Pablo, who’s running a cookery course this week.” 

“And you don’t have either of them on your suspect list?” “Not a chance. Well, if he had anything to do with it, it’d definitely be time for me to pack away my copper’s boots and my magnifying glass.” 

“What can you tell me about our friend here?” asked Bob, starting to carefully stow away his equipment. 

“Only that she arrived yesterday evening, for the cookery course, and was introduced to the other students, and Carlos and Pablo. I don’t think she knew any of them beforehand.” 

Jennifer headed to the door. “I don’t think you need me here anymore. I’ll go and fetch her details and see if I can track down her next of kin.”  “Not a fan of corpses, that one,” said Bob with a chuckle. 

“No. But to be honest, I think any physical clues are going to come from your lot. I can’t see anything of interest.” Peter made to leave.  "Call me as soon as you have anything." 

He made his way downstairs. Approaching Reception, he saw a familiar face. A flicker of concern crossed his expression. “Carlos. You okay?” 

“I’ve got over the shock now, thanks.” 

The inspector grinned. “You and your Investigator mates keep getting mixed up with dead bodies in strange places, don’t you? You’re like a magnet to them.” “This is the first one I’ve come face to face with, though. As for being Investigators… Well, we were only supposed to be sorting out bad management in the Council!” Carlos breathed out a laugh and shrugged. “Anyway, what about Valerie?” 

Peter quickly swept a gaze around and lowered his voice. “Keep it under your hat, but I’m pretty sure she was murdered. Anyway, what can you tell me about her?” “I don’t know much. She was in the bar yesterday evening, with some other people here for the course. We were all introduced to each other. Valerie went and sat with the only other woman. But after a while, three men joined them. Then eventually, this young catering student, Jamie, who’d been propping up the bar alone, decided to be sociable too.” 

“Were there any disagreements amongst them?” 

“Not while I was there.” 

“Did she seem to know any of them already?” 

“I didn’t get that impression.” 

“I suppose they’re all in with Pablo at the moment?” 

“Yes. They break around 12.30 for lunch.” 

“Thanks. I’ll no doubt see you later.” Peter started to walk away, then turned back. “Carlos, did you see when Valerie went off to bed last night?” 

“No, afraid not. They were all in the bar when we called it a night.” 

“Call me if you think of anything odd, won’t you? One of us will need to speak to you both later, and the cookery students.” Peter turned and walked towards Reception. 

He found Jennifer sitting in an armchair with her laptop. She looked up. “I’ve got her address, but that’s all. Nobody else registered as living there. I think we’ll have to take a trip out to speak to her neighbours.” 

“Does she live in this area?” 

“Yes, in Walling. Only staying here for the cookery course.” 

 

Valerie had lived on the ground floor of a converted semi-detached house. There were other flats in the two adjoining properties. The detectives found someone in next door, a woman who appeared to be in her seventies. 

Having been invited in, they sat at her kitchen table while she made tea. 

“Are you sure you won’t have one?” she asked, heating the teapot. 

“We’re fine, thank you,” said Peter. 

Jennifer asked, “How well do neighbours get on around here?” 

“Quite well. We all say hello, but it’s only me and Valerie next door who are retired, so we have more time to chat.” She put a cup and saucer on a tray and got out a jug of milk from the fridge. “Plus, we both like gardening.” 

“You have a lovely garden.” Jennifer smiled at the woman. “Anybody live with Valerie?” 

“No, she’s widowed, like me.  She has a son and a daughter not far away, both with kiddies of their own.” 

“Do you know where they live?” 

The woman poured boiling water into the pot and stirred it. “Well, the son’s in Wallyborough, one of those new apartments overlooking the river, but the daughter’s… which one is it now? One of the villages off the London Road. East side. Not far.” 

Jennifer allowed a silence to hang while the woman brought her tea tray over. 

“Anyway, what can I do for you?” she asked. Her face became scrunched up. “Why are you asking about Valerie and not talking to her?” 

Jennifer tipped her head to one side and sighed. “I’m afraid I have some very sad news for you.” 

The neighbour’s lower lip dropped. “Has she passed away?” 

Jennifer’s brows knitted, and she patted the lady’s hand. “I’m afraid so. I’m very sorry. 

The woman drew a cotton hankie from her trousers’ pocket and dabbed at the tears spilling softly from her eyes. 

“Can I call anyone for you?” asked Jennifer. 

The neighbour blew her nose and straightened her back. “No, no. I’ll be fine. Thank you. My son will be here shortly.” She drew in a long, slow breath. “Was there something you wanted to know? 

Jennifer waited a beat, then asked, “Do you have a phone number or address for her son or daughter?” 

“I have a spare key. She has mine. We look out for each other’s places if we’re away, and water the plants. I’ll take you round. Their phone numbers should be on the kitchen board, in case they’re ever needed…

I suppose she was thinking of a situation like this…” 

Valerie’s flat was clean and tidy, and her children’s numbers and addresses were pinned on the kitchen board. Sensible woman, thought Jennifer. 

 

“Which one first?” asked Peter in the car. “Son or daughter?” 

“Let’s try the son, on the principle that men are supposed to be emotionally tougher than women, and he might be the type to be protective of his sister.” 

Peter looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “That’s not a very feminist attitude.” 

“I always wanted a big brother to look after me.” 

Peter chuckled softly. “Nadine and I did the right thing, then. Having James before Vicky.” 

At the apartment overlooking the river, a woman who said she was Mrs Fleming answered the door and buzzed them into the building. The detectives found her waiting at the door to the flat with a small child. 

While Jennifer distracted the toddler with some Duplo, Peter asked,

“What time are you expecting your husband home, Mrs Fleming?”  “Not until about half-past-five or six.” 

“What line of work is he in? Can he leave if he’s needed at home? 

“He’s in computers, so it depends on which client he’s working for and what he’s doing.” 

“It would be best if we talk to him in person, and it needs to be sooner rather than later,” said Peter. 

The wife frowned. “What is this about? He’s not been accused of anything again, has he?” 

Peter caught the ‘again’ in the comment but decided now was not the time to ask about it. “Oh no, nothing like that. It’s concerning his mother.” 

“Oh dear. Has she had a fall or something?” 

I’m going to have to tell her. “I’m afraid she’s passed away.” 

The young woman’s mouth moved as if she were about to speak, then it stopped, still open. She frowned. 

“She’s…” the daughter-in-law looked at her toddler, who was happy playing with some colourful bricks. “Gone? When? How?” 

“During the night. It’ll have to be investigated, of course. We'll have more information later. She was in her bed at the hotel.” 

“Oh yes. She was away doing the cookery course.” 

“Would you like us to find your husband and tell him, or would you prefer it came from you?” 

“I can tell him. It’ll be best. What about his sister?” 

“We were headed there next,“ said Peter. “Do you think she’ll be in?” 

“Hard to say. She’s a nurse.” 

“Where does she work?” 

“At the hospital. Geriatrics ward.” 

“Thank you.” 

 

Valerie’s daughter was home, not long in after a night shift and some shopping. Jennifer led the situation and suggested that she sit down. 

“Lauren, I’m afraid I have some very upsetting news for you. Would you like me to call someone for you? Perhaps your husband, or a neighbour?” 

She’ll have guessed someone’s died, but now she knows it’s not her husband and unlikely to be one of their children. 

Lauren’s face blanched. “Tell me.” 

“I am so sorry. Your mother passed away in the night.” As Lauren stared at Jennifer, tears welled in her eyes. 

Peter was ready with a cup of water. 

“At the hotel?” Lauren asked after a few sips. 

“Yes.” 

“On her own. Although I suppose she would have been had it happened at home.” The tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh, Mum,” she mumbled and covered her face with her hands.” 

Jennifer spoke softly. “Can I call someone for you now?” 

Lauren wiped her eyes and took a couple of slow, deep breaths. “No, I’ll call my husband, thanks. He’s a gardener. He won’t be doing anything he can’t stop and come home.” She stood and fetched her phone from the counter and made the call with her back to the officers, although they could hear her. Jennifer admired her control. 

Turning to face them again, she said, “He’s only five minutes away. I’ll be okay waiting for him.” Tears were in her eyes, but she kept them from flowing. “I need a moment alone.” 

“If you’re sure…,” said Jennifer. 

Peter stood up. “One last thing for now. Do you know who your mother’s solicitor is?” 

“The firm in her village. Pretty sure there’s only the one there.” 

 

***

 

Pablo and Carlos had arranged to meet for lunch in the orangery. Carlos had chosen a table in the far corner and bought two whiskies. 

“What’s this? Whisky at lunchtime? I have a class to teach this afternoon.” Pablo chuckled. “Still, one small one won’t hurt, as long as I eat.” 

Carlos waited until Pablo had sat and was still. “Some more bad news, I’m afraid.” 

“Is this why you buy me whisky?” 

“Yes.” Carlos put his hand over his husband’s. “It’s about Valerie.” 

“But what can be worse than dying?” 

“They think she was murdered. You and I and your students need to speak to the police.” 

“One of my students may be a murderer?” 

 

 

CHAPTER 3 

 

Pablo took a hefty swig of his whisky and groaned. “I will have the pleasure of being trapped in a room with them for hours.” “Being left alone with one of them would be more dangerous. But hey, don’t mention the word ‘murder’,” whispered Carlos. 

“I haven’t told them she’s dead yet!” Pablo slowly shook his head. “The thought of her being murdered… Is horrible.” 

“It’s very sad, but you must eat. You’re working all afternoon with your students. You’ll need to keep your strength up.” Pablo did as he was told. 

He took Carlos’ hand. “Why would someone want to kill a sweet old lady? It makes no sense.” 

“Murder never makes sense to a sane person. Only killing in selfdefence has logic.” 

“That is true. There are all sorts of motives behind murders: greed, selfish reasons, or maybe hiding a secret.” Pablo sighed. 

“With any luck, this’ll be a one-off crime. Perhaps for her money… someone who expects to inherit. An open and shut case.” 

“I hope so. I’m too young to die.” 

 

Having finished their lunch and moved on to coffee, Pablo’s gaze focused beyond Carlos’ head. “Here is someone who is not a murderer.” 

“What?” Carlos turned to look. “Ah, Patrick. I expect he’ll want to speak to you before your class starts again for the afternoon.” 

Detective Constable Patrick O’Shay was five foot nine, in his twenties, with sandy hair and a very young-looking face. 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Good to see you, although… Please select your own platitude.” 

“Hello, Patrick.” Carlos reached out a hand and shook the constable’s. “I expect you need to talk to this nutter before he gets back to teaching.” “Nutter I understand,” said Pablo. “But what is platitude?” “Cliché,” said Patrick. “About being here for a sad reason.” “But to see me is happy, si?” Pablo grinned. 

“Of course, Pablo,” said the detective. “And I’d better speak to you first. Your turn later, Carlos.” 

Patrick led the way to the hotel’s second function room, where a table and chairs had been set up for interviews. As opposed to the white of the room where the course was being held, this one was decorated in muted pink and sage green with a mottled carpet and a dancing area of polished wood. 

“Tell me what you know about Valerie Fleming, Pablo.” 

“I don’t know much, but we met her in the bar yesterday evening. There were six of my students there, and the receptionist brought them to me as they arrived or finished their meals and introduced them. They were all introduced to each other. Valerie sat down and chatted to Rhana, a younger lady. The others were men.” 

“Tell me about them.” 

“Three of the men were soon chatting together. There was another younger one, a catering student. He says he wants to be the best chef he can. That is why he is doing this course during his Easter holidays as well as studying at uni. He mostly sat at the bar on his own, drinking beer. But as we were leaving, he joined the others.” 

“The other men?” 

“Oh no. The men had joined the two ladies by then. So it ended up with all six of them at one table. I was pleased, because I thought they would then be good working as a group.” 

“Did it seem any of the six already knew one another?” 

Pablo leant back in his chair and rubbed his short beard. ”No. They were all introduced to each other.” 

“Even Valerie and the other lady?” 

“Yes. The receptionist introduced them.” 

“And did the men go to join the ladies, or vice versa?” 

“Si, the men went to Valerie and Rhana.” 

“How did they get on?” 

Pablo gazed off for a moment, then smiled. “I remember Carlos and I joked that Valerie fancied Damien. She looked at him a few times when he was at the other table. But he is younger, and you can see he takes care of himself, so no chance. But we had a little joke about it.” “So there was Valerie and the younger lady, Rhana. Who were the men? Damien…” Patrick made notes in his book. 

“And Ian and Len. Jamie was the one at the bar most of the time.

Another man joined us this morning, Elliot.” 

Patrick leant his arms on the table. “Have they all got on alright this morning? Anything strike you as odd? Any snarky remarks?” 

Pablo pressed his lips together and gazed at the table. “They have been alright – except for young Jamie. He hasn’t said much. I really hope it has nothing to do with my group.” 

 

Pablo showed Patrick the way to the white function room where he was running his course and introduced him to the group, noticing how his keen green eyes were taking in everything. 

Ian and Elliott hadn’t yet arrived for the afternoon session. 

“Mrs Sharma, would you come with me, please?” Patrick smiled at the young woman and held the door open for her. 

In his temporary office, he waited until Rhana looked comfortable before starting his questions. She first crossed her legs one way, and then the other, then pushed her sleek black hair out of her face. Finally she rested her hands in her lap and smiled at Patrick. 

“I’ve been told that you were sitting with Valerie in the bar yesterday evening, before the men joined you. Had you met Valerie before?” 

“No, but the receptionist brought her over after introducing her to Pablo, so I invited her to join me.” 

“How did she seem?” 

“She was looking forward to the course. She and her friends take turns in hosting lunch or dinner parties, so she was always on the lookout for something to impress them with, she told me.”  Patrick smiled at Rhana but said nothing. 

“Wait a minute.” Rhana’s big brown eyes looked even bigger. “Why are you, a police officer, asking me about Valerie? Pablo said she was unwell in the night. She’s dead, isn’t she?” 

“I’m afraid so. I needed to find out how well you knew her before breaking it to you… If you needed someone else with you.” 

Rhana gave a small shrug. “Thank you. It’s sad… rather horrible to think of… but I only met her last night.” 

“It’s never pleasant to be told of someone’s death, even a recent acquaintance.” 

“Mmm.” Rhana looked at the table between them for a moment, then back at Patrick. “Ah well. How can I help you?” 

“Anything you can tell me about Valerie?” 

“Well… She told me she liked gardening. Growing and cooking her own produce. I thought that was a lovely idea.” 

“What did she have to say about the other people on the course?” prompted Patrick. 

“She seemed keen to get to know them.” 

“Had she met any of them before, perhaps at another similar course?” 

“No, although she thought she recognised Damien. She said it was annoying her because she couldn’t remember where from.” 

Patrick smiled but let the silence hang for Rhana to continue. 

“But when they came over to join us, Valerie didn’t ask Damien if they’d met before. And he didn’t ask her. But I did wonder if it had been his idea to join us. Maybe he was thinking she looked familiar.” 

“I believe she was retired? Did she say what she used to do for work?” 

“She was a housewife, I gather. Although she said something about working in public gardens or wildlife places, as a volunteer.” 

“And what do you do, Rhana? Do you have a career?” 

“Yes. At least I’m working on it. I have two school-age children, but I also work in my uncle’s Indian restaurant. I hope one day to have my own establishment, but I want it to be more than only Indian food. I was born in this country. I want to be cosmopolitan. Hence, this course.” 

Patrick leant his forearms on the table and lowered his voice. “Rhana, can you think of any reason why someone may have wanted Valerie gone?” 

Rhana’s gaze met Patrick’s. “So it was murder?” 

Patrick looked away and took a deep breath. “I can’t say at this stage. I just wanted your thoughts.” 

“Oh no. Who would want to harm a hair on her head? That’s dreadful!” 

Patrick’s gut tightened. “We really don’t know if it is murder yet, so I’d be grateful if you didn’t say that to anyone. We have to do forensic tests…” 

Rhana frowned and sighed. “Alright, I’ll say I’m not allowed to talk about it for now, shall I?” 

“Yes, please. Thank you.” 

As Rhana went back to the course, and to tell Damien to go to be interviewed next, Patrick sat at the table with his head in his hands. 

Did I make it sound like murder? The fibres in her nostrils haven’t been identified yet. Supposing she just blew her nose, and I’ve caused a panic! 

           

 

CHAPTER 4  

 

Damien arrived and dropped himself heavily in the wooden chair opposite Patrick, sliding a hand over his near black hair. 

Patrick noticed his demeanour and wondered, Is he feeling guilty?  Let’s see… “Good afternoon, Mr Marchant.  Thank you for coming to speak to me.  It is, of course about the sad death of Valerie Fleming.” 

Damien’s expression dropped, his mouth a little slack.  “Valerie’s died?  I thought she was just ill.  Oh dear.” 

That’s more appropriate. 

Patrick explained why he had to question people, even though how Valerie had died wasn’t yet known.  “So I’d be grateful if you would go through what you did and saw and heard from when you first met Valerie, up until around seven this morning.”  Patrick sat back with what he hoped was an inscrutable expression, while he tried to assess the man before him. 

Damien spoke about the introductions the receptionist made, and how they sat and talked, separately at first, then all together.  When he sat up straight, Patrick saw that the muscles of his upper body were well developed beneath his white tee-shirt, despite his being in his fifties at least.  He wouldn’t have trouble smothering an old lady.    

“Had you met any of these people before you were introduced?”  Patrick asked. 

“No.  We all came individually.  First timers.” 

“Whose idea was it for the men to join the women?” 

“Ooh, let me think.  Ian’s, it must have been.  Len and I were probably talking about football too much.”  Damien allowed himself a discreet chuckle. 

“And they were happy for you to join them?” 

“Yes.  Len even got young Jamie off his bar stool to come and sit with us for a while before we drifted off to bed.” 

“Can you remember the order you all left the bar?” 

A mild frown crossed Damien’s face before he answered.  “Valerie was the first to say she wanted to turn in.  Tired, I presume.  She was the oldest.  So Rhana said she’d go too, and they left together.  I wasn’t long after them.  I think Jamie went before me.” 

When questioned further, Damien said he hadn’t noticed anything odd about Valerie or her interactions with anyone, and he didn’t see or hear anything in the night. 

“And how was everybody this morning?” 

“Fine.  Pablo said Valerie had taken ill in the night.  We all got on well, and with Pablo – he’s a great character.  Jamie continued to be quiet.  Maybe he takes his work very seriously.  And he’s a lot younger than the rest of us.” Patrick thanked Damien for his help and asked him to send in Len next. 

He remembered Damien’s saying they both chatted about football.  A bit of information he could use if Len proved to be hard to get talking.  But he needn’t have worried on that score. 

Len still had his apron on over his jeans and orange T-shirt.  He looked to be in his mid-forties, tall and strong, his tight black curls kept under control by being short.  He strode over to Patrick at the table and reached out his hand.  Patrick stood and shook it, introducing himself. 

“Please, be seated.  I’m afraid I need to speak to you about Valerie

Fleming.  Had you met her before yesterday evening?” 

“No, I hadn’t.  Pablo said she was taken ill in the night.  She hadn’t been helping herself to the silver or something, had she?” 

Patrick’s expression was serious as he looked into Len’s face.  After a moment, Len’s smile disappeared.  “What happened?” 

“I’m sorry to tell you, Valerie Fleming passed away in the night.” 

Len lowered his gaze.  “Oh, that’s awful.  Sorry I made a joke… I had no idea.” 

Patrick reassured him he understood, and the questioning began.  Using plenty of words, Len described the introductions and who sat with whom as Damien and Rhana had done. 

“And how did Valerie seem?” asked Patrick. 

“She seemed happy enough, talking to Rhana.  No idea what about.  Maybe they were talking about men, because, as I said to Damien, ‘I reckon that Valerie fancies you.  She keeps looking at you.’” Len gave a little chuckle. 

“Oh.  And what did Damien say about that?  Did he like her?” “Not in that way, no.  He said he’d prefer to be chatted up by the other one, Rhana.  She’s a pretty thing.  Too young for Damien, though, I said to him.  And besides, it turns out she’s happily married with a couple of kids.  She and I are the only ones married on the course, I think.  I prefer to do the cooking in our house.  My wife’s no good at it!” 

As Len finally ran out of words and left, Patrick asked him to send Ian in next. 

  

Ian was a little shorter than Damien and Len, with less hair, being bald on top. 

Patrick decided to ring the changes and opened by asking how he was enjoying Pablo’s course. 

“He’s very good, Pablo.  I’m enjoying it immensely.  My late wife was an excellent cook, and I'd love to be nearer her level, so I can once more have some decent meals.” 

Patrick smiled.  “I understand you arrived Sunday evening?” 

“That’s right.”  Ian went on to describe how he’d been introduced to the others, and as he spoke of Valerie, the penny dropped why he was being questioned. Ian didn’t have any new information, so Patrick thanked him for his help and asked him to send in Jamie McConnell next. 

As he scanned through his notes, the young DC found most people’s recollections consistent. 

He was curious about young Jamie.  Was he shy or was he holding back from talking with the others for another reason? 

Another thing that interested Patrick was why Valerie had been looking at Damien so much.  Rhana had said she thought she’d recognised him from somewhere, whereas Len had joked about Valerie fancying Damien.  Ian had mentioned this too. 

Yet Damien had said nothing about it.  Was it modesty that prevented him, or something he didn’t want to talk about? 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 5 

  

Jennifer drove Peter back to the village of Walling to find Valerie’s solicitor and discover if the contents of the will revealed any motives or grubby little secrets. 

“It looks lovely out here at the moment, doesn’t it?” 

Peter looked around him.  He’d already admired a particularly large number of daffodils shining like little suns along the side of the road.  There was some blossom in the hedgerows, primroses here and there, cow parsley and wild garlic starting to show its white flowers.  The grass was lush and green, and with the sunshine, it did indeed look like one of the best places on Earth to be. 

The village centre was set around an open area of grass with a large pond, and more beautiful spring flowers.  On the east side was an old church with the vicarage sandwiched between it and a funeral parlour.  Next was a dress shop which included in its window display a wedding dress.  Men’s clothing, from casual to formal suits, was sold in the adjacent premises. 

“It’s a definite destination for getting married, or having a funeral, isn’t it?” said 

Jennifer.  “There isn’t a shop for babies over the other side is there?” 

“First shop round that corner.  Prams and cots on display.” 

“No!  Are you kidding?”  Jennifer slowed down and took a look.  She chuckled.  “All life’s major events covered here, so long as you’re not of any other religion than Christian.” 

“There’s the solicitor’s office – left at the end of the green.  Beside the Mosque.” 

This time Peter was joking, but not about the solicitor’s. 

Parking quite near, they went to meet Mr Hornchurch, with whom they had an appointment.  He was a rotund man of indeterminate age between forty and sixty-five, with a bald head and a welcoming smile.  “Inspector Van Niessan?”  He stood up as his clerk showed them into his office. 

Peter shook his hand and introduced DS Jennifer Sterling. 

Declining tea or coffee, they sat across the desk from Mr Hornchurch. 

“I gather you need information on Valerie Fleming.  So sorry to learn she passed away.  A lovely lady.” 

“We’re particularly interested in her will,” said Peter.  “Should it transpire she didn’t pass of natural causes, we’ll need to know who benefits.” 

“Of course.  I have the file ready.”  He tapped in a code and pressed return on his keyboard.  “She had a son and a daughter, plus grandchildren.  She left the bulk of her estate to her two children.  I believe she said she didn’t want any future grandchildren that might come along to be missed out, so she didn’t specify any.” “Was she a wealthy woman?” asked Peter. 

“Wealthier than one would expect from her modest lifestyle.  You’ve seen the garden flat she lived in?” 

“We have.” 

“She lived there by choice.  Easy to maintain.  But she’d recently bought a cottage in the village for more than the asking price, for cash.  She wanted it for her son, now he has a child.  He lives in an apartment by the river, you see, so no garden.  She gazumped a family who’d been struggling to obtain a mortgage.  She bought a house for her daughter, too, when she married.” 

“You said ‘the bulk of her estate’.  Who else did she leave money to?” 

“There are a few bequests to friends and the RSPCA, but otherwise, the local wildlife association, the Walling Nature Trust, was a key beneficiary.  She was very fond of gardening and wildlife.  They also have a few small allotments on their land.  I think Valerie hoped they might acquire more and grow even more produce.  She liked the idea of the village being partly self-sufficient.  She’d lived here since a very small child and was extremely fond of the place.” 

“It is delightful,” said Jennifer.  “I noticed it has most of what a person would need.” 

“Certainly,” said Peter, thinking about the fine old pub next door.  “Would you give me the names and contact details of the people involved in the running of the wildlife association, please, Mr Hornchurch?” 

“Yes.  All legal work has been done through this firm so far, so I can give you the details of the land owned, too.  The Trust owns our lovely village green, complete with its quintessentially English duck pond, out the front.  It’s lovely, isn’t it?” 

“There was one other thing I was wondering if you might help us with,” said Peter.  “We spoke to Valerie Fleming’s daughter-in-law, and when we said we wished to speak to her husband, her first reaction was to ask if he’d been accused of something again.  Can you shed any light on that?” 

Mr Hornby frowned.  “No, I’m afraid not.  I was never asked to advise him on any legal matters other than relating to taking ownership of his apartment, and then the cottage from his mother.  I believe he had an eye for the ladies and gambling.” 

  

On the far side of the pub next to the solicitor’s was an antiques shop, and beyond that a quaint café. 

“Shall we go and check out their coffee while we’re here?” said Peter. 

“And have a look at these details.” 

“Definitely.” 

While Jennifer studied the map Mr Hornchurch had given them, indicating the land owned by the Walling Nature Trust, Peter examined the list of Trust members and its financial interests. 

“Does the name Ian Jackson mean anything to you?” asked Peter. 

“Er… I think I’ve heard it recently.  Something to do with this case?  I’ll ask Patrick.” While Jennifer was being told by Patrick that he’d interviewed Ian Jackson, Peter took a call from Dr Bob Robertson. 

Putting his phone back in his pocket, Peter asked Jennifer, “What’ve you got?” 

“Ian Jackson is one of the people on Pablo’s cookery course.  Patrick interviewed him.” 

“Right.  Thought so.  Well, I have information from Bob.  The fibres in Valerie’s nostrils match those from the pillowcases in her hotel room.  It’s definitely murder.” 

“Hmm.  Can’t say I’m surprised.  But why?  Maybe you'll find the answer in the bumph you’ve got there.  Why did you ask about Ian Jackson?” 

“Remember some of Valerie’s estate goes to the Nature Trust?  Ian Jackson is Treasurer of it.” 

“Oh.  Dodgy money dealings on the cards then.” 

 

***

 

The tall, thin catering student, Jamie McConnell, was next to be interviewed by Patrick. 

He described the movements of the people on the course in line with what others had said.  He’d overheard that Valerie was dead from Damien and Len talking.  His expression was a little sour, but Patrick couldn’t tell if that was because of Valerie’s death or if he was the surly type. 

“Why didn’t you go sooner to sit with the others last night, Jamie?” 

“I didn’t feel I had much in common with them.  I’m only twenty, and they’re more my parents’ or grandparents’ generation.  Rhana’s a bit younger, but she’s married with a couple of kids.  Eventually, I decided I ought to join them.  They might think I was some sort of snob otherwise, and we’ve got the course to do together.  I’d had a few pints by then, so I was a bit braver.”  He huffed out a little laugh at his last comment. 

“And how are you finding them now you’re getting to know them?” 

“They’re not so bad.  Ian and Elliot are a bit fishing mad, and Len and Damien are football crazy.”  Jamie’s tight expression was relaxing.  “I like football, so I could join in some of their chat.  Actually, I think I’ve seen Damien before, but I haven’t a clue where. Rhana’s like me, quite focused on the cooking and wanting to learn and make something of herself.” 

“Is that why you’re here, despite already being a catering student?” 

“Yes.”  He was almost smiling now.  “I want to be one of the best.  A household name for exquisite fine dining.  Develop my own recipes, in my own restaurants.  Which means I must work very hard.  No big bank of mum and dad or other family money.” 

“What did you think of Valerie? “ 

“Huh, I don’t think she had to climb a greasy career ladder.”  Jamie looked up at 

Patrick with a lopsided grin.  “But she was okay.  Grandmotherly, I suppose.” 

“Any interactions with the others that struck you as a bit odd?” 

Now he’d started talking, Jaimie’s face was becoming expressive.  His brows rose high.  “You’re saying she was murdered?” 

“I need to ask the questions while her cause of death is established.” 

Jamie nodded and leant his forearms on the table.  “Well, she seemed friendly enough.  Completely with it despite her age.  You know, she didn’t have trouble hearing or keeping up with the conversation.  And everyone treated her nicely.” 

“What about the others generally?  If you think back, can you remember anything that strikes you as a bit odd?” 

Jamie twisted his mouth to one side and gazed at the table a moment. 

“When the women had gone off to bed, Len nudged Damien and said something like, ‘You better follow her.  Don’t want to miss your chance.’  I thought he meant Damien fancied Rhana, but he was talking about getting it on with Valerie!  That was certainly weird.  Anyway, that’s when I decided I’d had too much beer and went to hit the hay.” 

“Did you see Valerie, or anyone else, upstairs?” Jamie shook his head. 

As the young student loped back to Pablo’s course, Peter rang.  He updated the detective constable that Valerie had been murdered by suffocation, that she had been well off financially, and that some of her money was going to a trust for which Ian Jackson was treasurer. 

“I’m ordering copies of his bank accounts,” Peter added before asking how Patrick’s enquiries were going. 

“Nothing much of interest.  Apparently, Valerie kept giving Damien Marchant the eye.  One of the men he seems to have struck up a friendship with, Len Quail, teased him that Valerie fancied him.  But the only other woman in the group, Rhana Sharma, told me Valerie thought she recognised him from somewhere but couldn’t remember where.  The youngest one, Jamie, though he might have seen him somewhere before, too.” 

Out of Pablo’s students, Patrick only had Elliot Wensley to interview.  Having not arrived at the hotel until that morning, there wasn’t much to talk about, but Patrick did his best in case the man had known Valerie in some other capacity.  He hadn’t.  Or if he thought there was anything suspicious about his course mates.  He didn’t. 

After that, it was time for a chat with Carlos and then see if any more staff had come on duty whom he hadn’t spoken to earlier. 

 

***

 

Arriving back at the hotel with Peter, Jennifer was struck by an idea. 

“It’s a long shot,” she said, “But I’m going to check who Valerie gazumped on that cottage in the village.  I don’t expect there are that many estate agents in Walling.” 

She got onto it on her phone, sitting with her colleagues in the room

Patrick had been using for interviews.  There was one estate agency in Walling, and having been told Jennifer was a detective sergeant investigating a murder, the agent willingly gave the name she wanted. 

“You’re not going to believe this, sir.” 

“What’s that?” 

“The person who was gazumped by Valerie on that cottage purchase is also on Pablo’s course.  Len Quail.” 

 

 

CHAPTER 6 

  

While Pablo was washing off any smell of onions, garlic and olives from the outside of his body, preparatory to putting some on the inside, Carlos read the messages that had come through on his phone, in a WhatsApp group they belonged to.  For historical reasons, they referred to themselves as ‘The Investigators’. 

Wendy:    

How was your first day of up-market cuisine teaching, Pablo? 

Lawrence:    

What is the hotel like? 

George:         

What they asked. 

Lucy:              

Ditto. 

Carl:               

Don’t forget us little people, oh famous one. 

Carlos smiled and joined the conversation. 

Carlos:    

It’s a beautiful hotel.  As charming on the inside as it is outside, with lovely gardens. 

 Which makes us excited for when we have our garden. 

Wendy:    

Huh!  Are you bored with mine now? 

Carlos:      

Of course not, just jealous.  It's a wonder to behold from our balcony, but we want to create our own. 

Lawrence:  

Where is the man of the hour? 

George:   

Of the week! 

Carlos:    

He’s just appeared at my side, in a fluffy bathrobe. 

Carl:     

Should you be playing with your phone right now? 

Carlos read the initial questions to Pablo.  He picked up his own phone and joined WhatsApp. 

Pablo:    

My morning classes were magical.  I am now loved by even more people.  Afternoon classes were interrupted by… DC Patrick O’Shay. 

Lucy:  

What????? 

Pablo:    

The curse has happened again.  A lady who was booked on my course died last night, and DI Van Niessan and Jennifer were here this morning. 

Pretty sure it’s murder. 

Lawrence:    

Not again!  Did you frighten her to death? 

Wendy:    

Oh, Pablo, I am sorry.  Had you met her? 

Pablo:  

Yes.  She was very lovely

Carlos:  

Best not to talk about it now.  Pablo has to prepare for food and beer, to forget and to smile. 

George:   

Try to push it out of your minds.  Have a good evening. 

Carl:     

I hope the beer is good. 

Lucy:    

Enjoy.  See if their cooking is as good as yours. 

      

Pablo and Carlos watched the news and listened to music for a while before going downstairs to the restaurant.  They enjoyed a good meal that Carlos declared was only a little short of Pablo’s standards, but Pablo insisted was at least as good.  Afterwards they went into the bar. 

They found Damien, Jamie and Len already there, sitting on bar stools watching the beginning of a football match on a silent TV.  Rhana was seated at a table nearby.  While Carlos fetched drinks, Pablo looked around.  He spotted Elliot and Ian eating together just inside the restaurant. 

Carlos returned with two foaming pints.  “These are from Damien.  In appreciation of your excellent course.” 

Pablo looked across at the football fans, stuck his thumb up at Damien and mouthed “Thank you.” 

Damien lifted his whisky glass in a return salute. 

Ian and Elliot came by the Spaniards’ table on the way from the restaurant. 

“It’s been a very enjoyable course,” said Ian.  “Apart from the obvious.” 

“Thank you.  I’ve enjoyed running it.” 

Elliot said, “We were wondering if you have any fish dishes lined up.  Ian and I are great fishing fans.” 

“I certainly do.  I am Spanish.  We eat a great deal of fish.  I hope you will enjoy that class.” 

The two Englishmen went over and joined Rhana. 

A short while later, the television was turned over to a music channel, and Len, Jamie and Damien joined their course mates.  Len took his glass to the bar, where Pablo had just arrived to order drinks. 

“Can I buy you another, Len?” 

“We’re off to the pub in the village.  Apparently, they should have the football on.  That’s me, Damien and young Jamie.” 

“I’m glad.  He’s been a little shy mixing.  Enjoy.” 

After a beautiful cloudless sky, the evening had become chilly.  A few minutes later Pablo spotted his three football-keen students in warm outerwear headed towards Reception and the main exit. 

He soon forgot about the people on his course as Carlos brought up the subject of the house they were trying to buy. 

“I think we will get it,” Carlos said.  “The people we’re buying from seem ready to move.  And if the couple buying our flat are delayed, we could always rent it out for a month or two, don’t you think?” 

“It’s always a risk, but I think I would be prepared to take it.  The garden is so huge, and I love it.  If I can do any more courses like this, it will help with the money too.” “It’ll be strange not to live over Wendy.  She has been such a great neighbour.” “I will miss that view from our back balcony, of her garden, but we will have our own to enjoy.  And besides, we will definitely continue to see her, as you are her accountant, as well as she is our friend.” 

They left to return to their room around ten-thirty.  Passing Reception, they met Len coming in. 

“Are you alright, Len?  Have you lost Damien and Jamie?” 

Len grinned.  “I needed to be back to phone my wife to say goodnight, without all the noise.  I left the other two getting very merry at the pub.” 

 

***

 

The Receptionist arrived at her desk at eight-thirty the following morning and found some keys left on the counter.  She looked up who had been using that room and found it to be Jamie McConnell.  Puzzled, she went to check if he had just popped out or cut short his stay.  The bed in his room was made, and all his things had gone. 

“He hasn’t even paid his bill,” she mumbled to herself. 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 7 

  

Lawrence arrived at work early the next morning to prepare for court.  Half an hour later, one of his admin assistants, Angela, had arrived and knocked on his door.  She peeped her head around it.  “I come bearing gossip.” 

A head of bouncy golden curls and blue eyes, plus body – plump or curvaceous, depending on whose opinion it was - stepped inside the room.  “You heard about the suspicious death at The Wally Hill Manor Hotel?” 

“Yes.  Pablo’s running a catering course there this week.” 

“Thought the news would have reached you.  Well, Patrick said the autopsy was concluded yesterday afternoon on the lady.”  

“And?” 

Angela sucked in her bottom lip.  “There were fibres in her nostrils that matched the pillowcases in the room.” 

“So, it really has happened again.” 

“Horrible, isn’t it.” 

 “It’s very sad.  But seeing as it has happened, with poor Pablo and Carlos there, I’m glad you’re engaged to your lovely detective constable to help us keep in the loop!” 

“So am I.” 

  

Lawrence decided to send Carlos a private message.  “Don’t want to freak Pablo out when he’s doing his course, but the lady who died in the night seems to have been suffocated by a pillow.” 

“How many times must people near us be murdered?  At least none of them have been our friends.  I think I’ll leave it until this evening to tell Pablo – after today’s lessons, but plenty of time before bed so he’s not having nightmares.” 

“I’ll tell George and Wendy, of course.  Well, if Angela doesn’t.   But I won’t put it on the Investigators’ chat.” 

“Thanks.  Let’s hope this is a one-off and the murderer will soon be caught.” Pablo came out of the bathroom.  “Ready for breakfast,

Carlos?” 

  

The hotel receptionist found Pablo having his breakfast with Carlos in the Orangery. 

“Mr Rubio, I’m sorry to disturb you.  I need to let you know that Jamie

McConnell won’t be on your course today.” 

Pablo’s eyebrows shot up, then down as he looked at his husband. 

Adjusting his features to a polite smile he looked up at the receptionist. 

“I’m disappointed to hear that.  Did he say why?” 

“I’m afraid he simply left his key on the reception desk.  His room’s empty. I suppose he must have had an emergency at home.” Now

Carlos was frowning.  “Did he pay his bill?” 

The receptionist blushed.  “Erm… No.  I’m sure he was enjoying Mr

Rubio’s course, though.  And payment for that will be made in full.  The Manager said to assure you of that.” 

Putting his hand on Pablo’s, Carlos thanked the receptionist for letting them know. 

As soon as she had gone, Pablo said, “This is scary.  Are we sure he left of his own accord.  My heart is hammering.” 

Carlos closed his fingers around the hand under his.  “I expect it’s something at home he had to rush off for.” 

“But he didn’t leave a message or pay his bill.” 

“You know what it’s like when something upsetting happens and you have to leave quickly.  You don’t think of everything.  And he’s very young.” 

“Maybe Damien will know.  They were at the pub together last night.”  “Yes.  Ask him in your course.  Which you mustn’t be late for, by the way.” 

  

Pablo collected what he needed from their room and went off to prepare for his students. 

Carlos stayed upstairs.  He had some work of his own to do.  But first he wanted to reassure himself about Jamie. 

He tried ringing Lawrence first, as he had been good enough to update him on what he'd learnt about Valerie, but got his voicemail.  He tried Wendy. 

“Hello, Carlos.  How are you?” 

“Not sure.  Physically fine, but a bit worried.” 

“Oh dear.  How can I help?” 

“You heard that lady on Pablo’s course was murdered?” 

“Yes.  Angela told me.  Suffocation.” 

“Well, now something else has happened.  It may be nothing, but I wondered if you might know…  Have you heard anything about Jamie McConnell, who was on the course?” 

“No.  He’s not dead too, is he?” 

Carlos’ gut tightened.  “I hope not.  I suppose I should phone the police directly, really, but with Angela being a go-between…” 

“What’s happened?” 

“Apparently, he took all his belongings and left his key on the reception desk.  No message, and he didn’t pay his bill.” 

“Oh.  Does sound rather odd.  I think you’d better run it by the police – unless you’d like me to speak to Angela, ask her to check with Patrick on the QT?” 

“No, it’s alright.  I must man up!  I suppose I felt asking a friend about it made it seem less likely that anything bad had happened.  Not like yesterday when I had to phone Peter Van Niessan to say we’d found a body.  But it’s probably nothing.  I have become suspicious over this last year.” 

“With good reason.  Yes, I’d phone Van Niessan or Jennifer, or Patrick, if I were you.” 

“Thanks.  I’ll do that now.” 

“Don’t forget to keep us posted, will you?” 

Not wanting to sound hysterical, Carlos decided to phone the police station and ask for Patrick, rather than anyone higher ranking. 

“Detective Constable O’Shay.” 

“Patrick.  It’s Carlos Sanchez.  I need to run something by you.” 

“Fire away.” 

“Have you been told by the Wally Hill Manor that one of their guests on Pablo’s course left in the night, or early morning, without paying their bill or leaving a note?” 

“No.  They haven’t been in touch.  Why did he go?” 

“We… they don’t know.  Jamie went to the village pub with a couple of men from the course last night, so Pablo’s going to ask them if he told them.  But with what happened…” 

“I get you.  When is Pablo due a break? 

“Not until twelve-thirty.  Oh, it’ll probably be nothing.  I’ll wait and ask him what he’s heard.  I’ll keep you posted.” 

“Thank you, Carlos.  I can come down if you want me to…” 

“Thanks, but I’ll see what Pablo has found out first.” 

With a heavy feeling in his stomach, Carlos tried to concentrate on his work emails. 

  

Pablo was checking with each of his students that they were okay with the first stage of preparation for that morning’s dish. “How are you getting on, Damien?” 

“Fine, thanks.  I think.  Does this look alright to you?” 

Pablo moved the spoon around in the bowl.  “Lovely consistency.  Just right.” 

“Good.” 

“Did Jamie tell you last night why he was leaving?” 

“No.  He seemed to enjoy the match.  He was pretty drunk by kicking-out time.  I was, too, I must admit.  We started walking back, then he suddenly turned round and said he’d left his phone in the pub.  I didn’t see him again after that?” 

“You didn’t go back with him?” 

“Well, I didn’t mean to be selfish.  I kept walking, leisurely, and thought he’d catch me up.  But he didn’t.” 

“It is strange, no?” 

“I suppose it is rather.  Maybe there was a message on his phone when he got it.  Had to call someone back straight away… something like that.  Although I did wonder if he was chatting up the pretty young barmaid.” 

“I hope he is alright.  Nothing too serious to make him go.” 

“Fingers crossed, eh?” 

 

           

CHAPTER 8 

  

 

Peter left it to Jennifer to look into the bank accounts of Valerie Fleming, her son and daughter, Ian Jackson and the Walling Nature Trust, as beneficiaries of her will. 

Having learnt about the mysteriously departed catering student, Peter decided to take a drive out to the Wally Hill Manor Hotel.  He already wanted to speak to Ian about the wildlife trust, plus Len in case he bore a seriously bad grudge against Valerie for gazumping him. 

Lesley Diakos, the manager, was behind the reception desk when he arrived. 

“Good morning, Inspector.  Will you be needing a room to carry out further interviews?” 

“Perhaps.  Firstly, tell me, how’s it all been going?” 

“Well, not too bad.  Largely due to your team’s discretion.  But we did have one couple go home early, because of Mrs Fleming’s death.” 

“Sorry to hear that.  No further upsets?” 

“Oh yes, a young lad from the cookery course left in the night.  No message.  Didn’t pay his bill.  Just left his key on the desk here.” 

“Oh, that’s not good.  Was he still here for dinner yesterday evening?” 

“Yes.  Colin, the bar manager, said he had a drink here and then went off to the village pub to watch the football.” 

“I haven’t spoken to many people here myself.  Perhaps I could have a word with Colin.  When will he be in?” 

Lesley glanced up at the large, practical clock on the wall.  “It’s Tuesday today, isn’t it?  He’s probably in already.  Let me check.” 

Picking up the receiver of the desk phone, she pressed a couple of buttons and held it to her ear.  “Is that you, Colin?” She nodded to Peter.  “I’m going to send Inspector Van Niessan through to you for a quick word, alright?” 

Putting the receiver back, Lesley smiled.  “Yes, he’s here and will be glad to talk with you.  Do you know your way through to the bar?” 

“Yes, thank you.” 

Colin Jones was a man of middling height and years, with neat pepper and salt hair and a smart black shirt and trousers.  “Inspector?” 

“Mr Jones…  I gather you were on duty here in the bar last night?” 

“I was up until nine-thirty.  How can I help you?” 

“I’m interested in the people doing the catering course this week.  Do you know who I mean?” 

“Yes, run by the Spanish guy, Pablo.” 

“Did you hear about the older lady who was due to do the course, but unfortunately died Sunday night?” 

“I did.  Very sad.  She was in here Sunday evening with the rest of them.  All smiles, and quite chatty.  Just goes to show, you never know when your time’s up, do you?  Heart attack, was it?” 

Peter deftly avoided the question.  “Were they all in here as one big happy group, Sunday?” 

“I don’t think they knew one other before.  The receptionist introduced them to each other, and they sat together.  One of them was much younger, so he spent more time on a bar stool drinking beer, but even he joined the others eventually.” 

Colin frowned for a moment.   “Oh yes, of course.  Elliot hadn’t arrived by then.  There were the three other men.  Middle-aged types.  Probably why the lad sat apart at first.  He was with them last night, though.” 

“The whole group from the course?” 

“Yes.  Well, three of them were here at the bar, watching the beginning of the football.  I didn’t put the sound on, some people don’t like it.  But they were keeping an eye on it.  Then there was a concert from Hyde Park on at eight, so I changed over and put the sound on.  I thought more people would like that.” Peter nodded and sat on a barstool.  “Sorry, Inspector, can I get you a drink?” 

“Is your coffee machine on?” 

“It is.  People wander in here straight after breakfast sometimes.  What would you like?” 

“Flat white, please.  No sugar.” 

Peter waited while Colin operated the machine, then asked, “What did the football fans think when you changed channel?” 

“They went and sat with the others for a bit, then Len asked me if there was a pub nearby that showed the sports.  So I suggested the Royal Angler in the village, and he went off down there with Damien and the young lad.” 

“The course is being held in the function room at the back, isn’t it? 

“That’s right.  Do you need to speak to them?  Did the old lady die of something suspicious?” 

“Well, there’s always a lot of loose ends to tie up.”  Peter evasively sipped his coffee and was glad when some guests came in to be served. 

Finishing his drink, he headed off with a cheery wave, in search of Pablo and his students.  He found the room, knocked and waited. 

Pablo’s face appeared around a partly open door.  “Oh, Peter.  How are you?” 

“Fine, thanks.  I know Patrick spoke to your people yesterday, but could I have a word with a few of them?  I’d especially like to speak to Len and Damien.” 

Pablo looked behind him a moment, then called to Len to come over.  Still keeping the door ajar, he asked if he was able to go to speak to the Inspector at the moment. 

“Yes, fine.  But can you make sure my pie comes out before the pastry is overdone?” 

“Of course.”  

Pablo stood back, and Len came out into the corridor.  The door swung shut behind him. 

“Len Quail?” 

“Yes.” 

Peter showed Len his warrant card and introduced himself, then smiled at the man’s worried face.  “I’d like to have a quick word with you.  Let's go to the area by Reception, if it’s quiet?” 

“Sure.” 

They sat down on some plump faux leather armchairs in a corner. 

“Firstly, I’d like to ask you if you’ve thought of anything more about Valerie that you might not have mentioned to DC O’Shay yesterday.  Do you know anyone who disliked her?  Or saw anyone near her room – or heard anyone inside it?” 

“Everyone seemed to get on fine with her.  I don’t even know which room was hers.” 

“Had she met any of the other guests here, maybe from a cookery course elsewhere, did she say?” 

Len’s brow puckered beneath his dark curls.  “She did seem to be looking at Damien quite a bit at first.  I remember because I teased him.  I said I thought she fancied him.” 

Peter gave a little chuckle.  “And what did Damien say to that?” 

“He wasn’t interested.  Said he preferred Rhana.” 

“He didn’t ask Valerie about it?” 

“He said he hadn’t noticed her looking himself.  It was only my comments…  Wouldn’t want to embarrass the lady.” 

“What were people saying the next morning, when they learnt she wouldn’t be on the course?” 

“First, Pablo told us she’d been ill in the night.  Eventually, we learned she’d died.  We’d soon become suspicious about your young officer asking questions.” 

“What were people’s comments on that?  Were they speculating about what might have happened?” 

“Yes, in twos and threes.  Not out loud in the whole group.  We were pretty much convinced by the end of yesterday afternoon that she’d been murdered.  But we weren't sure…  Had she?” 

Peter held Len’s gaze a moment, his gut feeling tight.  He decided that the truth needed to come out now.  “Yes, I’m afraid she was murdered.”  He watched Len’s face. 

There was nothing there that rang any alarm bells.  His eyes widened and his mouth opened without speech, and then he seemed to get a grip of himself.  “That’s horrible.  To think of that is much worse than presuming she’d passed peacefully in her sleep…  And it makes me feel…  Well, I’ll be keeping my eyes and ears out for anything suspicious.” 

“Thank you.  Don’t hesitate to tell us if you notice or think of anything.” Len nodded, a frown above his downward curving mouth. 

“Anyway, there was more I wanted to ask you, Len.  Tell me how things have been in the group. Generally,” 

Len sat up a little straighter, and the ends of his mouth raised to level.  “We all seemed to be getting on alright.  But now Jamie’s had to go home. I’ve struck up quite a good rapport with Damien over a shared love of football. Ian and Elliot are into fishing.  Rhana seems to be friendly, although her main topic of conversation is cooking, and her ambitions to open her own restaurant.” 

He put his hands under his thighs and rocked forward in his seat.  “She seemed to get on best with young Jamie.  He’s dead keen to have not just one restaurant, but a chain.  I think he fancies himself as a TV chef, or designer of new recipes that maybe he can sell in supermarkets – you know, develop a brand.  Good on him, I say.  It’s a pity he left.  He’d have got a lot out of it if he’d stayed.” 

“Why did he leave?” 

“He didn’t say.  In fact, he didn’t say he was leaving.  I last saw him when I left him and Damien boozing and gasbagging when the football finished last night in the pub in the village, West Walton, the Royal Angler.  I

came back here to keep my promise to say goodnight to my wife.  We don’t often stay away from each other overnight.” 

“Do you and your wife have children?” 

“Yes, two boys.” 

“Whereabouts do you live?  Anywhere near here?  Or is this advertised as a national event?” 

“We live in Walham.  We tried to buy a place in Walling, but we were gazumped at the last minute, which was annoying.  It’s so pretty there, and has everything we'd need, and it would've been handier for work.  But as it is, I didn’t fancy driving home each evening.  Besides, it’s nice being waited on and having a bar available every night.”  Len chuckled. 

Peter smiled, but didn’t speak for a moment, ready to change the subject.  He doesn’t seem furious about being gazumped. 

“I heard young Jamie was a bit of an outsider in the group to begin with.  Did he lose his shyness with everyone, or was it just you and Damien he got his confidence with?” 

“He did come over and join us as a whole group on Sunday evening, eventually.  He’s a bit shy, and so much younger than the rest of us.  But he came out of his shell talking about football.   He drank a lot Sunday.  I think that helped.”  Another chuckle. 

No obvious enemies. 

Thanking Len, he asked him to send Damien along next. 

Damien was perhaps ten years older than Len, but of a similar height and strong build.  His hair was dark and untouched by grey, which Peter guessed to be dyed.  He was all smiles, as if they were meeting socially. 

“I understand from Len that most of you have guessed Valerie Fleming was murdered…” 

“Yes, it did look that way, with your young detective questioning us all.” 

“How did you find her?”  Peter raised his brows, reflecting Damien’s own casual attitude. 

“She was a nice old thing.  Len kept on that she fancied me, but I wasn’t interested.  She seemed intelligent and a good conversationalist, but… not my type at all.  Yet I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to kill her.  Must’ve been for money, that would be my guess.  I gather she had plenty.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“Well, she only lived in Walling, but she chose to stay here.  And she spoke about her children and buying houses for them.  All very sweetly said, not like she was boasting.  But she was used to getting what she wanted, I could tell.” 

Peter smiled and crossed his legs before moving on.  “What can you tell me about Jamie McConnell?” 

“Oh, Jamie.  He seemed such a shy young thing at first.  But he’s a laugh.  Loves his football, which gave us something to break the ice with.  Len and I took him to the Royal Angler last night to watch the game.  There’s a lot more to him than meets the eye.  We had a good evening.” 

“Why has he dropped out of this course?” 

“He didn’t say.  He went out of the pub to make a phone call at one time, so I presume he had something going on at home or with a girlfriend, or boyfriend maybe.  Come to think of it, could’ve been a man in his life, and he’s not all the way out of the closet yet.”  Damien gazed off and nodded. 

“He didn’t give any hints in anything he said?” 

“No, nothing.” 

“Did he seem distracted?” 

“Well, only when he made the phone call.  Then he got back into the game and carried on drinking.  He soon seemed back to high spirits.” 

“I gather you and Jaimie stayed in the pub when Len left.” 

“Yes.  He wanted to get back for a cosy goodnight chat with his wife. 

Jamie and I decided to have another round.  Which I think ended up being two.  We didn’t leave until chucking out time.  I’ve got the headache I deserve.”  Damien grinned and rubbed his forehead. 

“Did you walk back here from the Angler?” 

“Oh yes.  Didn’t seem worth bothering with a taxi that short distance, and the weather’s been so nice.  Bit cold at night, mind you.” 

“And how was Jamie’s mood on the way back?  Did he not give away any thoughts about leaving the course then?” 

“No, not at all.  Although he did want his phone again.  That’s when he realised he’d left it behind.  I decided to keep walking, leave him to make his call privately.” 

“When did he catch up with you?” 

“He didn’t.  I didn’t walk too fast, in case, but I didn’t see him again.  I presumed he was talking on his phone.  That must have made up his mind.” 

Peter thanked Damien and let him go.  He wanted to speak with Ian Jackson but didn’t ask Damien to send him along.  There was something else he wanted to check first.  

He went into Reception and asked for Jamie’s phone number. 

He tried ringing it, but it rang out. 

He stepped outside into the sunshine and made another call.  “Patrick.  You have all the details of the people staying at the Wally Hill Manor, don’t you?” “I do.” 

“I want you to go and check out that youngster, Jamie, who left suddenly, who you told me about.  Make sure he’s still alive.” 

 

 

CHAPTER 9 

  

Peter phoned Jennifer.  “Have you got anything for me about Ian Jackson?  Or anything from the bank records?” 

“I’ve looked at Ian’s.  He seems to live near the edge of his funds sometimes, then gets more money and spends it on mini-breaks and things like that cookery course.  Haven’t quite sorted it out fully yet.  I think he works freelance.  His money comes from various sources.” 

“Okay.  I can ask him about that.  What about the Wildlife thing?” 

“That seems to have some steady donations, and income from public events in the spring, summer and autumn.  But at times it nearly runs out of funds, after a big spend with fence builders and the like, and nurseries.  Seems to all make sense.” 

“Anything suspicious about the financial habits of Valerie’s son or daughter?” 

“The son’s a bit unreliable.  He does that computer work his wife mentioned freelance.  Money comes in irregularly.  There are sums spent at casinos and nightclubs.  Not the best for a husband and father.  There’s a lowish monthly income from an insurance company, and my guess would be that’s the wife’s part-time salary.” 

“Do they come near to running out at times?” 

“They do.  But as Valerie bought the apartment for them, there’s no mortgage to worry about.” 

“How about Valerie’s daughter?” 

“No mortgage for them either, as Valerie also bought their house.  All seems normal. 

 Another joint account.  Regular direct debits, two sources of income, one from the NHS, so all fits.” 

“This young lad on Pablo’s course suddenly leaving strikes me as suspicious.  I’ve sent Patrick to see if he arrived home okay.  If he did, it’s unlikely to be of any further interest to us.  If he didn’t, we could be looking at another murder.  In which case, I’d say the focus is on the people here.  But more waiting to see.” “Did you speak to anyone on the course?” asked Jennifer. 

“Yes, I spoke to the guy who was gazumped.  I don’t think there’s anything in it, but… open mind and all that.  That was Len Quail.  It was he and Damien Marchant who went to the pub with young Jamie last night.  So I spoke to Damien too.  He carried on walking to the hotel when Jamie went back to find his phone.  Left it in the pub.  But he’d had a few, and they’re not lifelong mates, so I suppose there’s nothing really there.  I’ll speak to Ian next.” 

“Okay.  I’m about to start on Valerie’s accounts.” 

  

Carlos waited for Pablo in the Orangery.  He was glad to see the students come out and settle around a table together in the main part of the restaurant. 

Beyond the window, a mass of variously coloured tulips waved gently in the light breeze.  He saw Pablo’s smiling reflection in the glass and turned. 

Hopefully they’ve avoided the subject of death, thought Carlos.  “How was your morning?” 

No one seemed to have attached Jamie’s leaving to anything sinister.  Carlos wasn’t too optimistic, but hoped he was wrong. 

After their meal, Pablo returned to his course, and Carlos decided to relax at the end of the bar with an extra coffee and a glossy journal about interior and garden design.  It gave him a warm feeling inside as he started to look at the ideas.  He was excited about the new house they hoped to be moving into soon. 

  

Peter had decided to try the Royal Angler in the village for his lunch.  Pub lunches were a fond habit he’d picked up at Christmas time.  The inn was small, but with lovely black beams against uneven white walls, and horse brasses and some local photos of the area dating back a hundred years or so. 

A man with a short grey beard was behind the bar at the far end, talking to some men in grubby work clothes.  In front of him was an Asian looking young lady who smiled at him.  “What would you like?” Peter ordered sandwiches and tea. 

“I’ll bring them over to you.  Where will you be sitting?” 

Peter looked around and decided on a table by an inglenook fireplace.  The weather was mild and the fire unlit, but he always found such features attractive. 

When the young woman brought Peter his lunch, he asked if she had been working the previous evening. 

“Yes, I was here.”  She looked at him with her head tilted to one side, a gentle smile on her lips. 

Peter introduced himself, showing his warrant card.  “Did you talk to the men who came down from the Wally Hill Manor Hotel to watch the football?” 

“Yes, I did.  Two of them stayed till closing time, with some regulars.  They were quite drunk by the time they left.”  The young lady gave a tinkle of a laugh. 

“The youngster lost his phone and had to come back, I heard.”  Peter chuckled. 

“Oh, did he?  I didn’t see him.  I thought we locked up when that last group left.” 

“Perhaps I misheard.  Or maybe he’d dropped the phone on the way out.” 

Peter asked the man behind the bar if Jamie had returned looking for his phone, but he said no one had come back.   Jamie could easily have dropped it outside somewhere, Peter decided.  It didn’t mean Damien had made it up.  Unless Jamie hadn’t arrived home safely. 

He drove back to the hotel and strode through Reception with a wave and headed for the function room where Pablo was running his course.  As he passed, he was glad to see no one had taken over the cosy nook where he had interviewed Len and Damien.  But then he spotted Carlos, drinking coffee and reading a magazine. 

“Hello, Carlos.  Having a nice relax?” 

“I am indeed.  Pablo and I are hoping to buy a house.  We've had our offer accepted, so I’m looking for ideas.”  He lifted ‘Design for Inside and Out’ for Peter to see. 

“I hope it all goes smoothly for you.” 

“I don’t imagine you’re here to relax.” 

“Unfortunately not.  I’m about to interview someone Patrick spoke to yesterday.  Don’t think he’ll be of much interest, but… got to be thorough.” 

Again Peter knocked on the door of the function room, and again Pablo answered, eyebrows raised.  “Can I have Ian Jackson this time, please?” Pablo grinned and went to fetch him. 

The detective and the keen cook wandered back, past Carlos and to the cosy nook near Reception. 

Peter’s opening was friendly.  “What brings you to a course like this?  Are you a professional?” 

“Oh no.  My late wife used to be such a wonderful cook.  I miss her meals.  I miss her, too, of course.  But the meals are why I’m here.” 

Peter smiled.  “And are you enjoying the course?” 

“I’m finding it very useful.  Pablo, the man who runs it, really knows his stuff.  He’s Spanish.” 

“So I understand.  Now, I know you spoke to my colleague, DC O’Shay, yesterday, but I want to make sure we have all the information available. 

Is there anything at all that you can tell me that might help us about Valerie?” 

Ian’s face fell.  “Oh.  Do I take that as confirmation she was murdered?” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

“Well, I don’t think I’ve got any more to add, since yesterday.  I don’t know anything.” 

“I understand you knew Valerie through the Walling Nature Trust?” 

“I hadn’t met her.  In fact, it wasn’t until I Googled her yesterday that I realised the connection.  I believe she was one of the founders, or her late husband, and was still very supportive.  But she didn’t attend the committee meetings, at least not since I became treasurer.” 

“I see.  How is the Trust going?  I like the village green.” 

“Oh yes, that’s wonderful.  The space was always there, but it was the Trust that made it the attractive feature it is today.  I’m very pleased to be a part of it all. 

 Wildlife habitats, flowers for bees and pollinators, it’s all very important these days.” 

“It’s not a full-time job, is it?” 

“No, no.  It’s a voluntary position.  I’m ostensibly retired now, but I’m a design engineer.  I still do bits from time to time.” 

“What can you tell me about Jamie McConnell?” 

“He’s left after only one day.  I can’t imagine why, although Len thought he got called home for an emergency.” 

“How was he with Valerie?” 

“Oh!” Ian’s eyes widened and his mouth stayed open a moment.  “Normal.” 

Peter realised what Ian had thought he was talking about, and internally conceded it was a possibility that Jamie had run off.  “He went to the village pub last night with a couple of men on the course, I understand.  For the football?  Did you see them when they returned?” 

“I saw Len.  He came back alone.  The other two were still drinking, apparently.” 

“But you don’t know what time they came back?” 

“No, sorry.” 

Peter thanked Ian for his help and asked him to send Rhana along to speak to him next. 

His phone rang.  It was Patrick. 

“I went to Jamie’s house, where he lives with his parents and sister. 

They haven’t seen him.” 

 

 

CHAPTER 10  

  

Carlos had returned to his hotel room.  For a minute or two he simply admired the pretty garden and the surrounding countryside from the window, then strolled over to the desk.  Trying to decide what work he felt bothered to do, he thought he’d see how his friends, the Investigators, were doing. 

There were already some messages. 

George:  

Hot off the press (Angela).  Patrick went to look for one of Pablo’s students and couldn’t find him. 

Lucy:     

Is someone “missing” missing? 

Carl:   

Did Pablo cook him in a pie? 

Carlos:      

I was afraid this was going to be the case – not about the pie.  The person being missing.  Oh my poor Pablo.  He’s going to worry. 

Lucy:              

But he was so brave at Christmas.  He was a hero looking after damsels in distress. 

Carlos:      

Very true.  He is stronger than I think, really. 

Wendy:      

It’s nice that you care about his feelings so much. 

George:   

No, he just doesn’t want to lose that wonderful cooking. 

Carl:     

I think I’ve been missing out.  The last I heard, a woman who was going to be on Pablo’s cookery course died Sunday night. 

Carlos:      

Pablo!  If you don’t already know this, *don’t read any more before speaking to me*.  The lady was murdered, and now another student left in the night, just leaving his key, but didn’t pay. 

Lucy:      

Did he say why? 

Carlos:      

Not so much as a note. 

George:     

And Patrick went to check he got home OK.  He didn’t. 

Wendy:    

I have a feeling he’s not coming back. 

George:     

… to life? 

Wendy:      

Probably. 

Carlos:      

Patrick was interviewing people yesterday.  Today Peter’s here.  I was going to tell you, before I saw your messages. 

Carl:       

Where is Lawrence?  Is he missing, too? 

George:    

No.  He's in court for most of the day. 

  

In the cosy nook near Reception, the young, attractive Rhana Sharma sat in a chair near Peter. 

She talked him through what she knew about Jamie and the others on the course.  She hadn’t a clue why Jamie left.  Which only left Peter to tell her as gently as he could that Valerie had been murdered, because there would be speculation. 

Next, Peter asked the receptionist for a list of staff in the hotel that day, and where they were likely to be. 

Not wanting to upset the fainter of heart, he went about the premises speaking briefly to each person, asking two main questions: if they had seen or heard anything Sunday night, or if they had any clue why Jamie had left. 

"What does he look like?" asked Harry the gardener.  "The man who's gone missing?" 

Peter described him. 

"Hmm," said Harry.  Probably not who I'm looking for.  When you said

'young' I thought you meant a kid." 

Peter's interest was piqued.  "Did you see a child doing something odd?" 

"I don't know.  I didn't really think about it at the time, but looking back, I thought I saw someone beyond the hedge, just before dawn, yesterday. You know, when there's a little light in the sky.  They were right in the corner near the house next door.  Then in the morning proper, when it was light and time to get up, well after my breakfast, I went on a litter run and checked everything.  Some bugger had made a hole in the hedge over there.  Didn't look like a big tall bloke went through it though." 

"And the hole wasn't there the day before?" 

"No.  I always do me rounds.  There's usually some litter to pick up, or some deadheading to do this time of year.  Funny-shaped hole.  Looked to me just like a child had pushed their way through it." 

"Wouldn't it have been a fox or a badger, or a dog maybe?" 

"No.  Animals usually find natural gaps, and don't leave much of a trace." 

Peter frowned and tried to imagine something going through the hedge. 

"And you say you thought you saw someone outside before that?"  "Hmm."  Harry rubbed his chin, and his gaze drifted off.  "It was only when I tried to think back, after I'd found the hole like, that I thought I'd caught a glimpse of someone.  I was half asleep at the time." 

Peter was tempted to dismiss what the gardener was saying, but knew that would be wrong.  "Can you show me this hole?" 

Harry led the way to where the hedge alongside the road came to meet a wooden fence marking the perimeter of the property next door.  There, just a couple of feet from the corner, was a vaguely round hole.  Peter had to agree it didn't look right for an animal to have made it. 

"Odd," said Harry, "isn't it?" 

"It certainly is."  Peter felt compelled to put his hand through it.  He found just air.  He pulled his hand back.  What am I doing?  "The man we're looking for was thin, but he was over six feet tall.  I can't imagine him nipping out through there, can you, Harry?" 

"No I can't.  That looks like a child-shaped hole to me.  Cheeky blighters." 

They strolled back to the hotel, Harry telling Peter about when he was a lad and used to go into a neighbour's garden pinching windfall apples and pears.  Peter was left a little bewildered as he thanked the gardener and continued through his staff list. 

Any who had been in since Sunday evening but were not on duty then, he rang.  Apart from the prospect of Jamie crawling through a hole in the hedge, or being taken away by a child, he finished with nothing helpful.  

If only CCTV were mandatory inside all public buildings. 

He returned to the police station and set in motion a search of the area from near the hotel and pub to where Jamie lived, in case his body was found, or he lay injured somewhere.  He mentioned the hole in the hedge, asking people to look in that direction too. 

He had Jennifer and Patrick working on speaking to taxi firms and bus companies. 

  

When Pablo finished his course for the afternoon, he went straight up to his and 

Carlos’ room.  He entered full of smiles, which made Carlos’ tummy flip as it so often did.  He wished he didn’t have to update him on the bad news.  He wished he could have Pablo smile like that every minute of their lives. 

“How did it go this afternoon?” 

“Peter turned up again and took away some of my students one by one, but not for long.  Apart from that it all went beautifully.” 

“I’m so pleased.  Do you want a drink?” 

“Is the coffee machine on?  I could do with some.” 

“Why don’t you have a shower, and I’ll get it going?” 

With the machine on and working, Carlos picked up his phone.  He sent a WhatsApp message to the Investigators. 

Carlos: 

Going to tell Pablo all the bad news in a minute.  Wish me luck. 

Lucy:      

Good luck. 

Carl:     

Hope he takes it OK. 

George:     

Shall we all come and join you for some beers tomorrow as a distraction? 

Lawrence:    

Excellent thinking.  I’m up for it. 

Wendy:      

What’s wrong with gin and tonic? 

Carlos:     

I’ll get back to you shortly. 

Hearing the shower stop, Carlos set about finishing the coffee, so it was ready on the small round table between the club chairs as Pablo came back into the room. 

“Just what a man needs after a day slaving over an oven.  Thank you.” 

“I hope it’ll revive you.” 

Carlos let Pablo make a start on his coffee before speaking again.  “I’ve got a couple of things to tell you that aren’t too good, I’m afraid.” 

“As long as you are not going to leave me, then I will survive.” 

“I’m not going to leave you.  Ever.  But it’s about Valerie.  Something suspected…” 

“Was she murdered?” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

Pablo’s mouth formed a tight line.  He sighed.  “Well, like you said, we did suspect it.  It is so bad, how people can do these things.” 

Carlos nodded and sipped his coffee.  “There is something else to be suspicious about.” 

“What?  Is someone else dead?” 

“More missing than definitely dead.” 

Wide-eyed, Pablo looked at Carlos.  “Are you talking about Jamie?  No one knows why he left.” 

“He didn’t arrive home.”

“Who says this? 

“Patrick.  He told Angela, who told our lawyer friends…” 

“Oh no!  He had so much talent.  And so young.” 

Carlos reached over and took Pablo’s hand.  “Are you alright?” 

“I’m not missing or murdered!”  His face softened.  “But yes, I am alright. 

It is hard to know these things, though.” 

“Speaking of our lawyer friends.  Would you like them to come over and join us for drinks tomorrow night?  Take our minds of it all.  We were exchanging messages, and they suggested it.” 

Pablo sat back and frowned, his gaze wandering a little. 

“Yes.  That would be nice.  Let me have a look.   Please pass me my phone.” 

He read the messages and smiled.  “It is lovely to have such good friends.  They are kind.  One of them will have to be a designated driver, though, if they come here, I think, unless they can hire a large taxi.” 

Rubbing his short beard, Carlos began, “Unless…” 

“Unless what?” 

“It will sound ghoulish.” 

“What?” 

“There are two empty rooms – Valerie’s and Jamie’s.  Perhaps they would like to stay the night.” 

“I will suggest it.” 

Pablo got tapping on his phone, and soon Carlos joined in. The messages became jokey and cheered everybody up. 

Putting down his phone, Carlos said, “Come on, you.  Get dressed.  I’m hungry.  It’ll be great to see them tomorrow night, won’t it?” 

     

Peter Van Niessan was still in his office, eating noodles to keep away the hunger pangs.  He wanted to be available if any signs of Jamie were found, at least while there was still some daylight. 

When his phone rang, he quickly chewed and swallowed his mouthful and answered the call. 

“Sir.  We’ve found blood on a rough path between two houses near the Royal Angler.” 

 

 

                     

CHAPTER 11 

  

Peter dispatched a dog handler and directed all available officers to where the blood had been found.  He knew he risked it being wrong if the blood ended up having come from a child who had fallen over and cut their knee, or an animal, but they hadn’t found Jamie yet, and this was their best lead.  There was always a hope in a case like this that the person would be found alive, if wounded.  But the hope was thin. 

The sky was darkening as Peter arrived.  The dog had been taken out of the van, and a uniformed officer pointed to where the blood was.  The experienced handler knew to hold the dog back from contacting any forensic evidence if at all possible. 

Peter and the two other officers present let the dog and handler lead the way along the gap between two houses, leading to an open patch of shrubby grassland.  Peter saw four further officers in the near distance: three looking at the ground walking along, the other stood still. 

“He seems to be leading us in a fairly straight course,” commented a uniformed sergeant. 

“I wonder what they’re looking at.”  Peter nodded towards the officer who stood with their back to them. 

The dog continued to lead them in that direction, and as Peter followed, he saw there was a large pond that the officer was staring into. 

Peter’s gut flipped.  Is this going to be a job for the divers? 

There was some calling amongst the uniformed officers, and the one inspecting the pond turned round.  PC Zuri Timani. 

“What have we got, Zuri?” called Peter. 

She took a few paces towards the Inspector.  “He’s in there.  Definitely too late to go in and try to save him, so I thought we’d best leave it to forensics.  I called them.” 

“Thanks.” 

Peter followed the path already trodden by Zuri and stared into the murky pond.  He could just make out the shape of a long human body lying face down in the water.  The sight brought on an ache at the front of his head.  He turned away. 

“Right everybody, let’s have this taped off, making a path, say twenty feet wide, up to the houses.  Record where you’ve been stepping on diagrams in your notebooks.  Then move further out.” 

It wasn’t long before Dr Bob Robertson arrived with a small team.  “I suppose you lot have been trampling all over my crime scene, have you?” “At least they found him,” said Peter. 

“I know.  But couldn’t they have flown over the ground?”  The big forensics doctor chuckled. 

Plastic sheeting was laid out on the ground near the part of the pond where the body floated, and some yards back.  Eventually, the corpse was carefully carried out and laid on the covering. 

Peter hadn’t met Jamie, but he matched the description of the missing young man they’d been looking for.  He chose Zuri to come with him for the dreadful task of informing his parents that they believed they had found their son. 

With a leaden stomach, he walked back to his car, pulling out his phone.  “I’m going to need a family liaison officer.” 

  

During the night, Jamie’s body was formally identified.  Bob Robertson performed a postmortem the following morning.  By which time Peter had allowed himself a few hours’ sleep, and Jennifer and a uniformed officer had been to the Wally Hill Manor Hotel to fetch Damien Marchant, the last known person to have seen Jaimie alive, to the station for formal questioning. 

When Peter and Jennifer entered the interview room, Damien was sitting with his shoulders hunched and his eyes narrowed, with a smart middleaged man in a dark suit sitting beside him. 

“Is my client under arrest, Inspector?” 

“Not at the moment.  He is helping us with our enquiries in a very serious case.” 

Peter sat in the chair across the table from Damien and glared into his eyes.  “Good morning, Mr Marchant.  I presume you know why we need to talk to you?” 

Damien looked down, away from Peter’s gaze.  “Is it to do with poor Valerie, or is Jamie missing?”  He raised his eyes to look at Peter with no real expression discernible. 

“It is particularly concerning Jamie at this moment.”  The two men opposite each other continued to maintain eye contact.  “Jamie has now been found.” 

A smile appeared on Damien’s lips, but it didn’t seem convincing.  “Is he OK?” 

“No.  Not at all.  He’s dead.” 

Damien’s brows rose.  “What happened?” 

“That’s what we are hoping you can tell us.” 

Damien blinked several times.  His mouth worked as if he were forming words, but nothing came out. 

Peter and Jennifer gave him time. 

“Was he run over?” 

“No. 

Peter continued to watch Damien’s face closely.  Damien’s eyes flickered to meet his, but the gaze took a few attempts to become steady. 

“Well, what happened?”  Damien’s voice was low.  “Did he make it home?” 

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

Damien shook his head slowly from side to side.  “Oh no.  No, I don’t.  I have no idea.”  He sighed heavily and dropped his arms to his sides.  “Oh, this is so sad.  He was very young…  He was going to open restaurants…” 

Peter’s gut was tight as he leaned forward, trying to get into Damien’s space.  “Tell me again what happened at the Royal Angler Monday night.  Start from leaving the hotel.” 

Damien repeated the tale of the football on the television in the bar, its being turned off, their decision to go to the pub, all as matched what he, Len and others had said. 

“It was good in the Angler.  The football was showing on two huge screens, and there was quite a crowd in there.  Luckily nobody was supporting City.  Or if they did, they didn’t let on.   It was a lovely atmosphere.  It wasn’t like we were outsiders.  We talked a bit but were mostly focused on the match.”  Damien was sounding more animated. 

Peter’s head ached dully as he tried to make out if the suspect was telling the truth, and nothing but the truth.  “Did you stay on after the match finished?” “Yes.  Len only stayed to finish his drink, and then he said he was off because he’d promised his wife he would phone not too late each night he’s away.” 

“Did either you or Jamie stand up to go or expect to do so?” 

His lower lip slightly protruding, Damien again shook his head.  “Don’t think either of us thought of it.  There was the post-match commentary to go.  And then we stayed while the others were there.” 

“Who were the others?” 

“Well, locals, I presume.  I didn’t recognise anyone from the hotel. 

Certainly no one from our cookery course.” 

“When did the gathering start splitting up?” 

“A few people went.  When they finished their drinks, I suppose.  Last orders were called, but Jamie and I had just bought another.” 

“Which one of you bought your last drinks?” 

“Er, oh, me, I think.” 

“How many people were still in the bar when you and Jamie left?” 

“We were all kicked out together by the Landlord.  I suppose there were maybe half a dozen others.  Can’t say who was the first or last through the door.” 

“What happened when you were all outside?” 

Damien frowned at the table.  “A couple headed the way we went, towards the hotel. But they dropped off along the way.  I think the rest went the other way.  More houses in that direction.” 

Peter pictured the pretty pub in his mind and agreed about the houses. 

“Did you talk to the ones who went the same way as you?” 

“Not outside, no.  We took a few moments to get our bearings and remember which way the hotel was.” 

“Did you, Jamie or Len make or receive any phone calls while you were inside the pub?” 

A less intense frown this time.  “Yes.  Jamie got a call.  At least, I think it was incoming.  It was too noisy to hear it ring.  He went over and stood in the porch and spoke a few minutes.  Not long.  Then he came back in.  Didn’t say what it was about.  Just carried on watching the game.” 

“Did he receive a call outside?  You would have been able to hear it better then.” 

“No, no.  I presume he wanted to make a call.  Or something jogged his memory.  He suddenly said, ‘I’ve left my phone behind.  Hang on.’  And he turned round and loped back.” 

“And did you ‘hang on’?” 

Damien grimaced and his gaze wandered.  “I’m afraid I didn’t.  I walked slowly, but I kept going in the right direction.  It was quite chilly, despite all this nice sunshine we’ve been having this week.  Or maybe because of it.  No cloud cover.” 

“How often did you look back to see if Jamie was catching up?” 

Damien took a deep breath, still avoiding Peter’s eyes.  “I don’t think I did.  Look, I was pretty drunk.  It was a bit cold.  All I was thinking about was getting back to my cosy hotel room.  Sorry.  A young, healthy bloke Jamie’s height, well, I didn’t think he needed me to look after him.”  Peter looked discreetly at Jennifer.  She leant forward and took over the questioning, while Peter sat back.  Trying to read a person’s mind in such a serious situation was stressful. 

“Did you hear anything that might have been people having a scuffle?” asked Jennifer. 

“I don’t remember noticing anything like that.  I was happy.  I’d had a lovely evening watching my team win.  Good company.  The course is great.  The hotel is wonderful.  That was about the extent of my world that night.” 

“What were you wearing?” 

Damien’s head jolted up to meet Jennifer’s gaze, his brows raised.  “Er, my navy quilted jacket and my jeans, I think.  Yes.  And a scarf.  Red and white, of course.  And my black gloves and my cap.” 

“What shoes were you wearing?” 

“My trainers, my black ones.” 

  

A short while later, Damien was driven back to the hotel and freed to join Pablo’s course. 

“I think we’ve got him concerned, but not overly worried we’re onto him, if he’s innocent, Jennifer.  A good balance.” “I know Bob’s keen to find footprints at a crime scene, and there may be fibres too.  But I used your trick of making it seem like someone may have noticed him by his overall appearance.” 

“We’ll make a detective of you yet.”  Peter grinned at his sergeant. 

“Have you studied for your inspector’s exams?” 

“I’ve made a start.  Why?  Am I in with a chance?” 

“I’ve applied for promotion to Chief Inspector.  It’s a possibility.” 

“Would you be staying here in Wallyborough?” 

“That’s my hope.  It would help things with Nadine and the kids.” 

“Well, fingers crossed for you, sir.  And I’ll have a look for myself.” 

“Don’t spread it around, will you?” 

  

Mid-afternoon, Peter received a call from Dr Robertson. 

“What have you got for me, Bob?” 

“There was some water in the young man’s lungs, proving he was still alive when he went in.  But he’d been bashed on the back of the head a couple of times.  Pretty sure he wasn’t conscious when he was dragged along and thrown in the pond.  He’s a tall bloke, but skinny – which would have made it a bit easier.  Couldn’t imagine your average woman easily getting him from where the blood was into the water on her own, but it’s possible.” 

“What about the angle of the head wounds?” 

“Unless he was bent down, say to tie a shoelace – but he wasn’t wearing any – the assailant was probably fairly tall.  But that depends on the shape of the weapon.” 

“Weapon?” 

“We recovered some grains of sand and cement.  A small fence post or heavy garden ornament would fit the picture.” 

“I’ll send some people down to have a look around.  What did he have on him?  Wallet?  Phone?” 

“Ah, no.  He had neither.” 

“So now we have the possibility of a robbery that got out of hand.” 

                     

              

CHAPTER 12 

    

Pablo’s class remained successful despite the diminished numbers.  While Damien was at the police station, Pablo did some basic preparation for the morning’s dish so that he could carry on and keep up with the others, provided he came back. 

It was well before the lunch break when Damien returned.  Asking Pablo to excuse him, he stood at the front of the room and broke the news of Jamie’s death to everyone on the course. 

There were audible gasps in response.  Rhana cried, and Pablo desperately wanted to, but managed to hold back the tears  Len questioned Damien about what happened at the police station Ian and Elliot were quieter than usual. 

By the end of the day, Pablo was recovering from the shock.  He had told Carlos at lunchtime, about Jamie, but had been determined to see the day’s course through.  Entering their room a little after six, he looked as if he were carrying a sack of potatoes across his shoulders, and Carlos rushed over to meet him and hold him. 

“You’ve been so brave.  I’m proud of you.” 

“The show must go on, they say.” 

“Do you want to sit and have a drink and a chat first, or a shower?” 

“I’ll have a shower.  Otherwise, I will make the whole room smell of onions.”  He put away his kit in the bottom of the wardrobe.  “I’m looking forward to having that drink with our friends this evening.  It will take my mind off having only five course members left.  I was supposed to have had eight!” 

Working the little machine provided in the room, Carlos made some more coffee and had it ready for Pablo’s reappearance.  He looked beautiful with his black hair and beard wet, and his expressive brown eyes framed by long black lashes.  Carlos was pleased to see he was smiling, albeit a little wanly. 

  

Jennifer was excited about Peter’s talk of promotion.  Once home, showered and fed, she took her laptop to the kitchen table and looked up the full criteria for the rank of Inspector.  She was confident about most of it. 

Do I use my initiative as much as possible? 

As her mind drifted back to the Wally Hill Manor cases, she wondered if they provided an opportunity for her to show more dynamism.  She decided to Google the people involved. 

She looked up Elliot Wensley.  He hadn’t cropped up in anything she could remember.  He wasn’t on the board of the Nature Trust, he hadn’t been to the pub with someone who went missing, he hadn’t even been gazumped by Valerie.  Was there anything remarkable about him? 

She found a photo of him on a social media site.  She looked him up on there, clicked on his picture and studied him.  

He must have a skin condition.  That looks sore and itchy. 

She noticed that any snap of him showed him wearing a scarf, usually tucked into the top of his shirt.  In one or two it looked like he was wearing gloves.  These two things were regardless of the weather.  She looked for pictures of him by a swimming pool or at the beach, but found none. 

I reckon he has really uncomfortable and embarrassing skin.  Poor man. 

She tried to link such a condition with wanting to kill an old lady or a twenty-year-old catering student.  All she could come up with was if he were to benefit financially from the death of either of them, perhaps to have expensive medical treatment.  But he wasn’t in Valerie’s will, she knew that, and doubted Jamie had even made one.  He hadn’t come to the hotel in his own expensive car.  Probably lived off the bank of mum and dad. 

Who else was there she knew too little about?  Rhana. 

She Googled her and found three photos.  She was on LinkedIn, Instagram, Facebook and TikTok.  She was an attractive young woman with two beautiful children, a husband, and a family with an Indian restaurant.  Jennifer had read in the notes about Rhana’s ambition to run her own establishment, so the catering business side to her was important and drove part of her life.  Motivated her. Jennifer considered whether Rhana might gain from Valerie’s death, but again, it only came down to money.  That would help her with her professional ambitions, but only if she’d stood to inherit. 

Thinking about Jamie, she'd learnt he had had similar ambitions, maybe even grander.  Could Rhana have wanted rid of him?  There were so many restaurants, ridding herself of one potential rival didn’t compute. 

Could she have wanted to steal another asset of Jamie’s, in the form of a recipe or a business plan that he’d intended to copyright? 

That seemed more feasible, if farfetched. 

She jotted the idea down in her notebook. 

What about the others who had been interviewed and considered of more interest than Rhana and Elliot? 

There was Damien.  Obviously, he was suspect numero uno.  The reason relating to Jamie was clear.  He had been the last known person to see him alive.  He had the opportunity.  Despite Jamie’s height and youth, he was scrawny according to Patrick’s notes.  Whereas Damien was older, but also tall and looked like he worked out.  So, he had the means, given something to bash him with.  And there were always things lying around if you looked. 

But what motive could Damien have to kill a catering student he’d only recently met? It wouldn’t have been hard for Damien to smother a lady in her late seventies in her sleep.  He was already in the same hotel.  That applied to all the people on Pablo’s course, although Elliot said he arrived in the morning.  But Jennifer was stuck at motive again. 

She let her mind drift through every comment she remembered reading or hearing about Valerie.  She took her time.  Then she thought there was something… Someone said something odd about those two.  What was it…? 

That first evening, Sunday, she’d been looking at Damien.  Len Quail had noticed it and joked that he thought Valerie fancied him.  But Rhana had said Valerie thought she had seen him somewhere before. 

If she had, and there was something in Damien’s past he wanted kept quiet, that gave a motive. 

She Googled him and checked through social media.  Nothing.  He wasn’t there. 

Jennifer delved into newspapers, to see if anything had been mentioned about Damien, perhaps in the court pages. 

She found nothing, but still trying to get a jump on this case, she put in Rhana’s name. 

And there she was. 

There had been no evidence to pinpoint which person had been responsible, but someone in her uncle’s restaurant had put peanut oil in a meal for Valerie.  She had suffered anaphylactic shock.  Thanks to another customer who carried an EPI-Pen and realised what was happening, no lasting harm had been done to Valerie.  But the restaurant had been fined, ordered to close for a while, and staff given mandatory training. 

Rhana had been the member of staff interviewed about it.  “I had served her, and soon after, she was all red and couldn’t breathe.” 

There was no photo of Rhana in the article, only one of the outside of the restaurant.  But Valerie might have recognised her.  Perhaps said on that fateful first evening that she remembered her.  Rhana had the ambition to run her own high-class restaurant.  A wrong word from Valerie could considerably hamper her chances of success. 

 

 

CHAPTER 13 

  

Pablo and Carlos chose a table suitable for seven people in the hotel bar, bought some beer and waited for their friends. 

“It will be good to see them,” said Pablo.  “I had imagined a romantic break for the two of us, but now I want to see familiar faces… as well as your beautiful one, of course.  But you know what I mean.” 

“I do know what you mean.  All this murdering going on.  A bit of friendly familiarity will do us good.” 

“And here are the ladies.”  Pablo stood up as Lucy and Wendy entered the room.  Carlos followed suit. 

Hugs and cheek pecks followed. 

“What would you like to drink?” asked Carlos. 

“Orange juice for me, and…” 

“White wine and lemonade, please.” 

As Pablo sat with Wendy and Lucy, three men arrived. 

“Beer?” Carlos asked. 

“Of course,” said George, as he veered over to Pablo’s table with Carl. 

Lawrence joined Carlos at the bar.  “How’s it going?” 

“Not as bad as it might be, I suppose.” 

“Pablo managing to remain focused on the course?” 

“Yes.  I’m proud of him.  He’s stuck right in the middle of it.  His professional pride is no doubt helping.” 

Lawrence smiled.  “Yes, it will.” 

He helped Carlos to the table with the drinks.  “Hi, Pablo.  How’re you doing?” 

“I am okay, thank you.  It is so nice to see you all.  Are any of you staying the night?” 

“You bet,” said George.  “Don’t want to let travelling home spoil a good evening’s drinking.” 

“Not us,” said Wendy.  “Lucy and I are going back.  I’m driving.” 

Carl put down his half-empty beer glass.  “Ah, needed that.  First one this week.  Pablo, tell us about the course.  In general, that is, not about… shrinking numbers.” Pablo explained what dishes the group had made over the last three days. 

“Did you save us any cake?” asked George. 

“I did.  You can share the one I made as a demonstration, later.  Wendy,

Lucy, you can take some home if you like.” 

“No they can’t.  There won’t be enough.” 

“I think we can divide a large cake eight ways…” 

“No.  Well, I suppose you can all have a tiny sliver.  You should have made one for me and another for you all to share.” “George, how are you not fat?” asked Lucy. 

George flexed his long right arm and squeezed his bicep.  “It all goes straight to muscle.” 

Ian and Elliot came into the bar.  Pablo said loudly enough for them to hear, “Here are two of my excellent students.  Very fine amateur chefs.” 

The two men smiled and said “Hello.” 

In a lowered tone Pablo said.  “The taller one is Elliot.  The other is Ian.” 

A while later Rhana came in.  She waved to Pablo.  Pablo and Carl waved back. 

 “Good evening, Rhana.  Another top-class chef, professional this time.” She grinned and went to sit with Elliot and Ian. 

Not long afterwards, Len arrived, was vaguely introduced, and joined his course mates. 

Damien put in a brief appearance, said hello to everyone, then took himself back to his room with a large whisky and ginger, explaining he had a sore throat and was worried he was going down with a cold.  He wanted to keep his germs to himself. 

Lucy jabbed an elbow gently into Pablo’s ribs.  “Is that man at the table wearing gloves.  The one with the scarf?” 

Pablo turned towards her, his face away from his students.  “Yes.  He has to wear both for a nasty skin condition.  They are silk based.  He says it helps.” 

“I wondered if it might be that… or OCD.  Poor man.  My Amy suffers with her eczema and has to avoid things like collars rubbing against her skin sometimes.” 

Wendy and Lucy left a little after nine-thirty.  The caterers from the nearby table drifted off not long afterwards. 

  

Jennifer did a search through the papers for anything to do with Len Quail or Ian Jackson but found nothing.  On a general Google search, she found some family snaps of Len with his wife and kids on social media, and the only mention of Ian was on the Walling Nature Trust website. 

To the knowledge that Valerie thought she recognised Damien from somewhere, that she had gazumped Len, she was a major donor of a wildlife trust for which Ian was treasurer, she could only add Rhana fearing Valerie might ruin her reputation as a restaurateur.  But at least it was something.  It showed initiative. They had Jamie’s phone number, and Patrick had been dealing with call records.  Will the actual phone turn up and have any helpful photos?   

Deciding it was futile looking for the phone before daylight, she put away her computer and went to read her book. 

But she was out of the house at seven in the morning, to the area near the Royal Angler and the pond where Jamie’s body had been found, to look for the phone, hoping to get lucky, and she'd earn her brownie points for potential promotion. 

First, she walked along the road towards the hotel, checking the gutter, and clumps of weeds, and in front gardens.  She returned to the gap between the two houses where blood had been found, then decided to circle round the next pair of houses, and then the pub.  Jamie had gone outside to make a phone call, according to Damien.  Perhaps he had dropped his phone then?  Or on his way out at closing time?  Had it slipped out of his pocket perhaps, before the murder? 

She found the gates to the yard at the back of the Angler.  They were unlocked, so she went in. 

On the ground in front of her was the body of a young woman of slightly oriental appearance.  She had bruising around her neck and a piece of paper stuck out of the neckline of her top.  On it was written, “Cheating bitch!” 

 

 

CHAPTER 14 

  

Jennifer's abdominal muscles squeezed tightly.  Bile came into her throat as she fought off the urge to vomit. 

She dashed back out through the gates, and her trembling, sweaty hand drew her phone out of her back pocket. 

She retched again, but somehow kept her stomach contents inside. 

She phoned the police station.  “Put me through to DI Van Niessan, or whoever else is in CID, please.” 

“DC Cally.” 

“Cally.  Peter not in yet?” 

“No.  It’s too early.  What’s up?” 

“I’ve found a body.” 

She had to stop talking as another wave of nausea threatened. 

“Jennifer?  Where are you?” 

“Outside the Royal Angler, in West Walton.  I was hoping to find Jamie McConnell’s phone.  I went into the back yard of the pub and there was this young woman on the ground…”  She took a deep breath.  “I went closer and saw she was dead.  And there was a note sticking out of her top.” 

“What did the note say?” 

“Something like cheating whore, no bitch.” 

“Okay.  I’ll raise the alarm - call Peter and the forensics.  I’ll be there shortly.  Go and see if there’s anyone in the pub.  Sit down.” 

“Thanks.” 

Jennifer went round to the front of the pub and banged on the door. 

Despite the sunshine and a light jacket, Jennifer felt freezing. 

At last she heard bolts being drawn across the door and it opened.  A bleary-eyed man in his fifties with thinning, greying hair and a beer belly looked at her. 

She showed him her badge.  “Detective Sergeant Jennifer

Sterling.” The man blinked a few times and let her in. 

“Can I get you something to drink.  I need a coffee to wake me up.” 

“Thank you.  Coffee would be good.  There will be other people along shortly.” 

He looked at her and raised his brows.  “Oh?”  Her stomach churned briefly. 

“I’m afraid you have a dead body in your backyard.” 

His mouth opened, and he pointed an index finger towards her.  “Your lot found a body in the pond only yesterday, didn’t you?  Now you’ve found another one?” “Yes.” 

“Were you looking for another one?” 

“No.  I was looking for a phone.  Possibly a wallet.” 

He turned away towards the bar, scratching the back of his head. 

He turned the coffee machine on and lifted a flap on the top. 

He turned back to face Jennifer.  “What sort of body?  Another one from the hotel?” 

"I don't think so.  It’s a young woman.” 

“What does she look like?” 

“Black hair.  Possibly East Asian.” 

He had picked up a tin of ground coffee and slammed it back down again.  “No!” 

He dashed through a door to the back of the property.  Jennifer sped after him.  “It’s best you don’t look.” 

But the warning came too late. 

“No!  No, no, no!  Kayleigh!” 

He started for the back door.  Jennifer got there first.  “No.  You mustn’t go out there. 

 There’s nothing you can do for her, except keep the crime scene intact.” 

She moved to his side, took him gently by the arm, and led him back through to the bar. 

“Right, you sit down.  How much of this coffee do I put in the machine?” 

“What?”  He sat down then looked back at Jennifer.  “Oh, four scoops.  It’s in the tin…” 

Four scoops went in, and the lid was closed. 

“I’ll have the coffee,” the man said.  “But can you pour me a brandy first. 

Have one yourself.  It’s right there.  Glasses under the bar.” 

Jennifer quickly looked under the other flaps on the machine and saw water, milk powder and cocoa.  She turned it on.  Then she found a glass and poured a double brandy for the man from one of the bottles hanging upside down near the hot drinks machine. 

Taking it over to the pale and trembling landlord, she sat at the table next to him and took a notepad from her pocket. 

“So, I’m Jennifer Sterling.  And you are?” 

“Toby Jugg.” 

Jennifer’s glance shot to his face. 

“Sorry, my real name’s Roger Jugg.  But everybody calls me Toby, being a landlord.” Jennifer managed a tight smile and made a note. 

“And who was the… young lady?” 

Tears sprang to Toby’s eyes.  “Kayleigh.  Kayleigh Yip.  She works here.” 

“And who is her next of kin?” 

Toby patted his eyes with a handkerchief.  “Well, I’m not sure technically. 

But her boyfriend’s the person you’ll need to contact.  She lives with him. 

His name’s Paul Brackson.  They live here in the village.  Number 3

Cowslip Terrace.” 

Along with the names and address, Jennifer noted Toby’s instructions on how to find the house, about a quarter of a mile away. 

While Toby went over to the coffee machine, Jennifer went to the door and looked out.  A car she recognised turned into the rough track alongside the pub.  It stopped beyond the gates to the yard.  Cally got out and came over to her.  She was grateful he’d kept to his word, although she had got past the worst of her shock. 

“That gate you passed – that’s the way into the back yard.  The body’s in there.  I’ve been talking to the landlord inside.  Can I leave you to do the taping off and so on?” 

“Of course you can.” 

The forensics van arrived and parked behind Cally’s car.   Out stepped a petite lady and a bear of a man, both in white coveralls. 

“Where’s this morning’s entertainment?” Bob asked. 

“Backyard.  Beyond those gates there.” 

She was about to go back inside when she saw Peter’s car pulling in at the side of the road.  Patrick was with him. 

She waved and went back into the pub.  “Toby.  Is that machine of yours well topped up?” 

He turned.  “I’ll put another scoop in for now.” 

  

Jennifer and Patrick went on foot to speak to Paul Brackson, the deceased’s boyfriend.  It made Jennifer feel cold inside to see first his shock and then his misery. But she reminded herself of the note tucked in the woman’s top, labelling her a cheat.  The partner was usually a principal suspect, and that added a reason. 

“Was Kayleigh cheating on you with anyone?" 

Paul shook his head." 

Jennifer pressed the point.  "Now you think about it, were there any signs?” 

“Nothing.  We’re great together.  We only rent this place, but the tenancy is pretty secure.  We thought we’d stay here long-term, get married, have kids.” 

They waited with him until his parents arrived, whom he had asked for, using the time for more questions. 

Leaving the young man to the ministrations of his mother, the detectives left to walk back. 

“What did you think, Patrick?  You’re a man.  Truth or lies?” 

“I felt sorry for him.  But murderers can be good at hiding their evil side, of course.  What’s your gut telling you?” 

“I tend to believe him.  But I’m not writing him off.” 

Back at the Royal Angler, Peter sent them a list of staff and regulars to be questioned. 

“I want you to start on these, Patrick, after speaking to the people in the houses either side of here.  Say the first two or three.  You’ll soon find out if there was any noise they might have heard.  Take Cally with you.” 

He turned to Jennifer.  “There was someone in here last night from the hotel.  I think I recognise the description.  Come with me.” 

“What is the description?” 

“They started out the door.  “Man.  Middle-aged.  Taller than average…. Scarf tucked into the top of his tee-shirt, and gloves on indoors.” 

“Elliott Wensley.” 

 

 

CHAPTER 15 

  

Pablo and Carlos had a cooked breakfast that morning, having had four pints of beer each the night before. 

They didn’t see Lawrence, George or Carl until they went back up to their room.  George was knocking on a door, calling softly, “Wakey, wakey, rise and shine.” “Which one’s in there?” asked Pablo. 

“Lawrence.  Carl’s in that one down the end.” 

“I must go and prepare for my course.  I will leave you to wake up the sleeping beauties. 

Carlos moved down the corridor.  “Alarm call for Carl.  Can’t remember your surname.  But this is your wake-up call.” 

As Pablo came back out of his room, he found his husband waiting with George and Lawrence outside Carl’s room.  The door opened a crack. 

“Orange juice.  Get me lots of orange juice. I’ll come down for that.” 

The chef and his three companions went downstairs together. 

“I’ll stay with these lunatics.”  Carlos kissed Pablo on the cheek.  “You go and have a brilliant session in your course.” 

Carl arrived in less than a quarter of an hour, hair wet, but looking wide awake. 

“Here’s your orange juice, lightweight,” said George. 

As the three newer arrivals tucked into breakfast, Carlos stood and started towards the entrance.  “Someone I’d like a quick word with.” The others looked in the direction he was headed. 

“Oh no, it’s the feds!” said Carl. 

They all waved at Peter and Jennifer. 

After a couple of minutes, Carlos returned to the table. 

“Still investigating the lady and the lad?” asked Lawrence. 

“There’s been another death.” 

“Who?” 

“Where?” 

“What happened?” 

“A young lady who works in the pub in the village.  She was found out the back with a note saying she was a cheating bitch.” 

“Bloody hell,” said George.  “Do they think it’s related to the other two murders?” 

“Apparently, a man from here was in the pub last night, and by his description, they think it’s Elliott.  From Pablo’s course.” 

“Oh hell,” said Lawrence.  “Poor Pablo.  He was looking forward to this course.  He doesn’t deserve to be stuck in the middle of all…” he waved an arm wide, “all this.” 

“He certainly doesn’t.  I asked Peter if I could tell him myself what happened.  He said he would talk to Elliott first, and hopefully, Pablo will think it’s only more investigations about Jamie and Valerie.  But I can tell him when he needs to be told.” 

“Hopefully he’ll go through this morning’s session without stress,” said George. 

“Which one do they think it is?” asked Carl. 

“Elliot.  He had a scarf tucked in around his neck and gloves on.  The guy with the sore skin.” 

“Oh yeah,” said Carl.  “I did see him go out after they’d all left the bar here.  At least it looked like him.  Had a cap on too.” 

  

Peter was given the other function room to use to speak to whomever he needed.  He set up a couple of tables from the side of the room and some chairs while Jennifer went to fetch Elliot. 

Even Jennifer was surprised at Peter’s opening pitch.  “When did you really arrive here for this cookery course, Mr Wensley?” 

His rather unfocused gaze quickly connected with Peter’s.  “When?  Well, I think it was about eight-thirty, may have been nearer nine.” 

“What day?” 

Elliot frowned.  “Monday.” 

“Not Sunday night?  Or earlier on Monday? 

“No.  It must’ve been around that time because the receptionist was just arriving.” 

“But you were here before that, weren’t you?  And you went away again.” 

“What?”  Elliot started to scratch at his left arm.  “What do you mean?” 

“Weren’t you here while everyone was still in their rooms.  Still dark, I expect.  Valerie was in her bed, sleeping.” 

The red blotches on his face were lost in a general flushing of his skin. 

“What are you talking about, man?  I never met Valerie!” 

“Not here, when the others on the catering course met her.  But you knew her, didn’t you?  And this was a good opportunity to get rid of her and deflect the blame.” 

“I… I don’t…  What are you going on about?” 

“You chose to join the course on the Monday morning, despite the others joining Sunday evening, so no one would suspect you when you smothered Valerie in the night.  She was dead before you officially arrived.” 

Elliot’s left arm started to bleed, and he brought out a handkerchief from his trousers pocket. 

“Are you accusing me of murder?” 

“Were you at the Royal Angler last night?” 

“What?  Oh, the pub in the village?  No.  I was here all night.” 

“You went down there late, didn’t you?  When the others thought you were in your room.  Gone to bed.” 

“Look here, I was in the bar for a couple of drinks.  Then I went up to my room when Ian went up.  I stayed there all night.  What’s that got to do with that Valerie woman, anyway?  She was dead by then.” 

“A young woman who worked at the Royal Angler was murdered at the pub last night.  And the only non-regular matched your description to a tee.  You murdered the barmaid because she’d worked out you murdered Valerie, or Jamie, was that it?” 

Elliot scratched hard at his right arm.  “I didn’t go to the pub last night.  In fact, I haven’t been there at all.  I never met Valerie.  I want my solicitor.” 

“Call one.  We’ll wait.” 

Peter stood up and started to walk towards the door. He tipped his head in a sign for 

Jennifer to follow him.” 

Outside the door, Jennifer whispered, “Where did all that come from?” 

“I was thinking while you went to fetch him.  It’s a bit of a bugger that we’re here not at the station.  But with three murders, I realised I had to go in hard.  They’ve got to be connected, surely?” 

Jennifer leaned against the wall and bit her lip. 

“I suppose it makes sense.  The first two are connected to here.  And he was at the pub…  But what about the note about her cheating?” 

Peter thrust his hands in his pockets.  “I know.  I might be wrong.  But the note may be a red herring.  Deliberately to put us off.” 

“Could be.  Yes…” 

“He fits for means and opportunity.  But I’m buggered if I can think of a motive.  It must be to do with Valerie, surely.  Then Jamie gets it because he saw or heard something, or our murderer thinks he did.  Then the barmaid goes for the same reason, but about Jamie.” 

“It would make more sense if he’d been in the pub earlier in the week, though, sir.” “We need to go back over who was where when.  Interview them all again, with that particularly in mind, and see how it matches up to what was said on Monday, or whenever.” 

“What are we going to do about him in there?” 

“Let’s go back in.” 

Elliot was holding his handkerchief against his right arm now, with the occasional dab of his left arm with his tee-shirt.  He looked at Peter and scowled.  “My solicitor can be here in about half an hour.” 

“You are free to go in the meantime, Mr Wensley.  But please don’t leave the hotel.” 

Elliot got up and stormed out, pushing the door open with his shoulder while he held his two arms to stem the flow of blood. 

“I’ll fetch the next one,” said Jennifer.  “But I want to tell you about a possible theory concerning Rhana.” 

“How possible?” 

“Just an idea.” 

“Okay, well, I think I’d like to establish alibis and opportunities first, before the solicitor comes.  So we know better what we’re dealing with.” 

“Okay.  I’ll go and see who’s easiest to leave their cooking, then.” 

“Good idea.  Then we’ve got Carlos’s mates here.  I presume they were here overnight.  We need to see if they can give us any information about yesterday evening.” 

“Yes, of course.  They’re an observant bunch.  I’ll try to stop them leaving for the moment.” 

Peter carefully went through the notes on his tablet of previous interviews and tried to form a clear picture of who had been where and when. 

Jennifer reappeared with Ian, the man with the band of hair around his head who loved fishing as much as Elliot. 

“Mr Jackson.  Please come and sit down.”  Peter held out an arm to indicate the chairs opposite him.  “We need to go over who was where and when more carefully, so if you can concentrate on remembering as clearly as possible, I’d be grateful.  Tell me if you’re uncertain of anything you’ve said before, or if you think of anything new…” 

The double doors into the room from the corridor banged open and Elliot strode in. 

“Someone’s stolen my blue scarf and gloves!” 

 

 

CHAPTER 16 

  

Ian’s eyes were wide as he shot to his feet. 

Walking over to Elliot at a measured pace, Peter’s heart hammered.  Have I gone down hard on the wrong man? 

Jennifer stared at Elliot, her mouth ajar. 

Steering the virtually accused man into the corridor, Peter kept his voice low.  “Tell me exactly what's happened.” 

“I wasn’t at the pub yesterday.  Someone must have been mistaken for me.  Then I thought that maybe the most noticeable thing about my appearance is my skin and the damn silk gloves and scarves I have to wear.  So I checked if any were missing. 

 And they are.  Someone’s taken the blue ones.  I have different colours to wear with different shirts, as well as some flesh-coloured gloves.  Try to make them less noticeable.  So I know what I should have.” 

“Okay.  Perhaps you’d like to go and sit somewhere comfortable – by Reception or in the bar – and I will double-check what the witnesses said.  Hopefully there should be more than one report by now.”  “I’ll sit in Reception and look out for my solicitor.”  Elliot stomped off. 

Peter felt a little sickly. 

He put his head round the door to where Jennifer was with Ian.  “Carry on.  I’ll be back shortly.” 

Going out a fire exit to the car park, Peter phoned Patrick.  “How far have you got?” 

“We’ve done the houses near the pub.  Nothing.  We’re about to interview the pub’s cleaner. 

“Can you go back there and ask for as clear a description as possible of the man thought to be from the hotel.  I was assuming it was Elliot because of the scarf and gloves.  He’s denying it, and also saying his blue scarf and gloves are missing – someone’s nicked them.  He says the person there last night must have been pretending to be him.  So, special attention to the colour of gloves and scarf, if they noticed his bad skin, colour of eyes, everything.  I only spoke to the landlord, so as many witnesses as possible, please.” 

“Right.  Got it.  I’ll give ‘em a grilling.  Nicely, of course.” 

A dark blue current-reg Jaguar pulled up in the car park, and a man in a suit got out, carrying a briefcase, and walked to the front entrance.  Solicitor!  Hoping to avoid Elliot until he had more information, Peter was grateful he’d thought to leave the fire exit door propped open on the end of its bar.  He went back to Jennifer. 

As he was entering the room, Ian was leaving.  “I’m going to fetch someone else.” “Thank you, Mr Jackson.” 

Peter just had time to update Jennifer when Len Quail arrived.  “Good morning, officers.” 

Peter nodded to Jennifer for her to lead.  His mind was unfocused. 

Jennifer had found no inconsistencies with other reports from Ian, and now nothing had changed after interviewing Len again, despite the large number of words he used to explain everything.  She asked him to send along Damien next. 

“I’m leaving Rhana until last, because of my idea, which may be way off the mark, 

but I’d like to give it a try.” 

“What is it?” 

“I was looking online yesterday, Googling the people on the course, looking at any social media.  Then I thought about reports in newspapers and tried the court pages first.  I was particularly hoping I’d find something on this thing about Valerie saying she recognised Damien from somewhere.  I found nothing about him.  But I did find a hit on Rhana Sharma.  She gave an interview after Valerie had an anaphylactic shock at her uncle’s restaurant.  Someone had put peanut oil in Valerie’s dinner even though they’d been told she was allergic.” 

There was the sound of the door opening.  Peter quickly whispered,

“Good initiative.” 

Damien’s voice was a little croaky in places, and he coughed a couple of times.  He explained how he’d started to develop a sore throat the previous evening after dinner.  “I didn’t go and join the others in the bar.  I went down and got myself a decent-sized Scotch and ginger and took it back to my room.  Better than the little bottles in the mini bar.  But I managed to fall asleep quite early, so that must have helped me fight off whatever it was starting to be.” 

Damien proved to be another course member who confirmed all the comings and goings as reported before and was unable to shed further light on whether Elliot went out the previous evening.  Peter asked him to send Rhana along next. 

“I’ll let you loose with her, as you have the theory,” said Peter. 

When Rhana entered, Jennifer greeted her with a smile.  “Come and sit down, Mrs Sharma.” 

“Thank you.”  She sat opposite Jennifer. 

“What can you tell me about Valerie Fleming?  She’d been a customer at your uncle’s restaurant, I gather.” 

Rhana’s already large brown eyes appeared to widen further.  “Was she?” 

“Yes.  Don’t you remember?  She had an anaphylactic shock after consuming some peanut oil she’d warned she was allergic to.” 

“That was her?” 

“Yes.  Didn’t you recognise her?  You were interviewed by the Argus about it.” 

Rhana’s gaze drifted away for a moment.  “Yes.  Yes, I did do that interview.  My uncle insisted because it was my fault.” 

Now the big brown eyes were filling with tears.  “I completely forgot.  I ladled out the dish from the same pan for everyone who was having it.” 

Rhana’s shoulders shook as she sobbed.  “I’ll never forgive myself for that.  Never.  She could have died.  Thank God she didn’t.  What a stupid, stupid mistake.” 

She dragged in a deep breath and heaved most of it back out in one puff.  “I had no idea that was poor Valerie.” 

Peter and Jennifer exchanged glances and were silent a moment as Rhana cried. 

“Have some water,” said Jennifer, pouring some out of the jug on the table and pushing it in front of the distraught woman. 

Rhana drew in another deep breath and let it out more slowly, more controlled this time.  A shaky hand reached out for the glass, and she sipped.  More studied breathing and more sipping. 

Eventually, Rhana looked back at Jennifer.  “Sorry.  I hadn’t thought about that for ages.  And I’m so sure I can run my own top-notch restaurant!  Perhaps I’m kidding myself.” 

Peter broke in.  “Did you think Valerie was better out of the way?” 

The big, wet eyes blinked on their way to meeting Peter’s.  “Pardon?” 

“Did you kill Valerie so she didn’t tell anyone what you had done, now you were suddenly there in front of her again?” 

“No!  I felt so bad about what happened to her before.  And she didn’t go round dragging my name through the mud or even sue the restaurant. 

Her son wanted to, but she didn’t.  I don’t think she recognised me on Sunday.  I didn’t recognise her.” 

“It could ruin your reputation if you try to set up your own establishment.” 

Tears reappeared, trickling down her cheeks 

Jennifer took a steadying breath of her own before going on to have

Rhana repeat her version of where everyone had been and when, since Sunday evening.  Again, her report of events matched with all those on record. 

“Do you know anything about anyone, anyone at all, from this hotel going to the Royal Anglia pub last night.  Did you see anyone going out, say in a jacket and scarf, out of the building?” 

The gaze went off again for a moment before returning to Jennifer.  “No. 

I don’t remember seeing anyone going out.” 

“Didn’t hear any fire doors opening or closing?” 

She shook her head.  “If I did it didn’t register.” 

After Rhana had left the room, Peter looked at Jennifer.  “I’ve been thinking.  If Elliot killed that woman last night, and he was wearing his unusual combo of gloves and scarf indoors on a spring evening, why would he let on that he’d been staying at the hotel?  It would rather point the finger at him, wouldn’t it?” One of the double doors swung open.  It was Patrick. 

“The people in the pub last night certainly couldn’t agree that whoever was wearing the scarf and gloves wore blue ones.  I went round the regulars as well as speaking to the landlord.  The most popular memory was green, followed by purple.  One person remembered red.  Another one swore the gloves didn’t match the scarf.  And a couple didn’t even remember the gloves.” 

“Clear as mud,” said Peter.  “What about descriptions?  Anyone comment on the bad skin?” 

“No one.” 

“It’s a red herring.  But whoever it was knew about Elliot and his odd clothing.” “So it implies someone from here, as the person claimed,” said Jennifer. 

“Most likely.  Better do the staff soon.  But first…”

“Lunch?”  Patrick grinned. 

“All your interviewing given you an appetite, boy?”  Peter smiled.  “Yes, lunch.  But there are some other people I want to talk to.” “Ah, yes, the Investigators are here, aren’t they?” 

Leaving the tables and chairs where they were, the three detectives headed for the restaurant. 

Carlos was sitting with George, Lawrence and Carl, three half pints of beer and an orange juice on the table. 

“Half pints?” said Peter. 

“We’re on a health kick,” said George. 

“I don’t want Pablo to think I’m getting drunk waiting for him,” said Carlos. 

“And the orange juice?” asked Patrick. 

“That’s mine,” said Lawrence.  “I’m getting old and lonely.  Never going to bag myself an Angela, so to speak, letting myself get haggard.” 

Jennifer laughed.  Lawrence was one of the best-looking men she, or most people, had ever met – she had said so to Peter, but told him not to tell Patrick.  Patrick being engaged to one of Lawrence’s admin staff. 

“Come and sit with us,” said Lawrence.  “Pull that table over a bit.”  Peter moved the next table a little closer, and the three sat down. 

“Pablo will be here any minute,” said Carlos.  “If you want to speak to us all together.” 

“We’re just softening you up with a friendly approach.”  Patrick grinned at them.   “It’s one at a time with the fingernail extractor after lunch.” 

“Oh stop it!  You know how I love it when you say things like that, don’t you, Paddy darling?” said George. 

Jennifer turned to Carlos.  “Do you mind jokes like that?  Men being camp?” 

Carlos replied in his best camp voice, “Not when it’s George.  He knows how much I like it.” 

Three detectives and four Investigators laughed rather noisily.  Peter realised how good it felt. 

At that moment, Pablo came to join them, his face happy and relaxed.  Peter’s stomach plummeted. 

He doesn’t know about body number three. 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 17 

    

Carlos stood and steered Pablo away from the others. 

Peter kept his face away from their direction, but he glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw Carlos hugging Pablo tightly.  Now he knows about the latest death. 

They returned and sat down. 

“How was your morning – doing the course - Pablo?” Jennifer asked. 

“It was good, thank you.  My clients are very capable at cooking.” 

Peter attracted the attention of a waiter.  Fresh drinks were ordered, along with plates of crusty bread, dishes of olive oil and a kind of Anglo-Spanish tapas. 

“Pablo, Carlos, I need to go over the last few days again, I’m afraid.  Only who was where and when, any strange sounds of doors or creaky floorboards.   Anything that might have popped into your minds.  But first, who can tell me about who you saw and where last night?” 

“Wendy and Lucy were here for an hour,” said Lawrence.  “So we can have a word with them too.  But the most shocking observation for me was going into that bar and seeing Pablo and Carlos.”  His full lips showed only the slightest hint of a smile. 

Peter was glad to see the comment raise a weak grin from Pablo, despite having only just received the latest bad news, as well as laughter from the others. 

“Were any of the people from the course in the bar at the time?  Or had they been in that evening?” 

“They were here in the restaurant when we went off into the bar,” said Carlos.  “We came down early to make sure we’d finished eating before these people arrived.”  He nodded towards his friends. 

“And did they come into the bar?” 

“Yes.  Who was first…?”  Between them they gave a comprehensive order of appearances and departures. 

“Did you see anyone heading out?” asked Peter. 

Carl said, “I saw one of them, I think.  He had a cap on, but he was wearing a scarf tucked in his jacket, and gloves.  So I took it to be…  What’s his name?” “Elliot?” asked Pablo. 

“Yes, the one you explained had bad skin.” 

“Right.”  Peter nodded, leaning towards the young law student.  “Can you think very carefully.  What colour gloves was he wearing?” 

Carl frowned, and his mouth formed a straight line. 

“I think they were blue… or maybe green.” 

“What colour was his jacket?” asked Jennifer. 

“Navy.” 

“Now think about the jacket, and go down the sleeve to the gloves…” 

“Well, they certainly weren’t navy.  Or black.  A bit lighter… a pale sort of blue, I’d say.” 

“And compare the jacket with the scarf…  And the gloves…” 

“Similar.  Although I couldn’t see much of the scarf…  Gloves… up the jacket…  I don’t think the scarf was exactly the same as the gloves, but very similar.  Blue or green…  Not the woolly sort.” 

“Thank you, Carl,” said Peter.  He looked at each of the others briefly in turn.  “Any of you see the man with the cap and navy jacket?  What colour was the cap, Carl?” 

“Oh, that kind of mixed colour.  Flecks in it.  Tweed, do you call it?  I suppose it was mainly brown.” 

Peter watched as the other four men frowned.  But no one else remembered seeing the Elliot-like person. 

  

It was the day before Good Friday, so the rooms the two solicitors and the law student had stayed in the night before were no longer available. 

They packed their belongings and stored their bags in Pablo and Carlos’ room. 

Pablo went back to finish his course, and the other Investigators took up residence on a couple of sofas separated by a polished oak coffee table, in the bar. 

The Inspector, the sergeant and the detective constable had gone back to the function room to interview staff, most of them for the second or even third time. 

As promised, Lawrence contacted Wendy and Lucy to see if they remembered an Elliot-like man leaving the hotel while they were still there.  They didn’t. 

George:   

Did you see anyone at all heading out of the building? 

Lucy:  

I think I saw a man in a back cape and hood with pointy ears leap down from an upstairs window. 

Carl:     

That could have been Batman.  Don’t worry, he’s one of the good guys. 

Lucy:   

1. Don’t remember anyone else.

Wendy:    

Nor me.  Sorry. 

 

As far as making progress in solving any of the murders was concerned, the afternoon was unproductive. 

Lawrence, George and Carl decided to stay on for dinner and a brief drink before going home.  They took a stroll around the pretty gardens while they waited for Pablo to finish his course. 

“Thank you, lovely people,” said Carlos.  “Your being here will help keep

Pablo’s mind off all these bad things going on.  Then, when we go back tomorrow, we can concentrate on getting ready for moving into our new home.” 

“This group of murders is strange, isn’t it?  They have to be linked, don’t they?”  It was Lawrence who had spoken, sounding rather like he was mumbling to himself. 

“I can’t imagine coincidences stretching that far,” said George. 

Carlos only managed a “Hmm.” 

“What about that note on the barmaid’s body?” said Carl.  “Wasn’t there a message about her being a cheating bitch, or something?” 

“I’d forgotten about that,” said George.  “Maybe that one was a jealous boyfriend or husband… or girlfriend.” 

“Could be someone she kept beating at chess, or badminton, or something,” said Lawrence. 

The others looked at him, smirking. 

Carlos checked his watch.  “It’s only three-fifteen.  Maybe we should go to the pub, to be downright nosey.  But in a subtle way.” 

“Excellent thinking,” said George.  “Going to a pub is often the right thing to do.” The proposal was accepted unanimously. 

There were more people than Carlos had expected for a pub in a small village on a Thursday afternoon, but he presumed some people had finished work for Easter.  The group managed to find themselves a table near the back. 

“I’ll get these,” said Carlos.  “I owe you one.”

“Thank you.  Beer for me,” said George. 

“Cheers.  Beer,” said Carl. 

“Orange juice for me again,” said Lawrence. 

Three pairs of eyes turned to him. 

“Are you driving?” asked Carlos. 

“No, we’re getting a taxi back.  Just looking after my liver.” “I feel a bit guilty now,” said George. 

“You don’t drink every night, do you?” asked Carl. 

“No, definitely not.  Just a lot on the nights I do drink.”  George grinned.  “I reckon 

Lawrence has got his eye on someone, and he’s trying to impress her with a healthy glow.” 

“He’s got bigger muscles than most people I know.  And look at that hair!  All thick and curly and glossy.  Not like my gravity-stretched stuff that needs washing every day.”  Carl’s black hair hung very straight over his shoulders.  But like his short beard and moustache, it wasn’t very thick. 

“Who do you reckon it is?” 

“Not Olivia?” 

“Olivia’s been after him since she started working with us years ago.  Angela was, too, I reckon, until she met Patrick Green Eyes.” 

“Are his cheeks turning a bit pink, do you think, George?” 

Lawrence chuckled.  “Stop it.  I don’t think she’s even noticed me, well, not in that way.” 

“Aha!  So there is someone,” said George.  “But who?” 

Carlos returned with a tray of drinks.  “Who is who?  Have you heard anyone say anything about…” 

“No,” said Carl.  “Lawrence has got his eye on someone, romantically.  But he’s not letting on who it is, yet.” 

“I see.  Woman?” 

“Yes, a woman.  No offence, Carlos.  Did you hear anything interesting up at the bar?” 

“They all seem to be talking about Kayleigh and what a lovely young woman she was, and there was no way she was cheating on… whatever his name is.” 

“Let’s all stop talking for a bit – give me a bit of peace, too – and listen,” said Lawrence. 

The late barmaid, Kayleigh, did indeed seem to have been very popular amongst the majority of the punters in that afternoon.  Only an older man and woman who came in after the legal eagles and the accountant appeared to be non-regulars. 

  

The four men walked back in the sunshine to the Wally Hill Manor Hotel without much conversation. 

Carlos expressed the reason for his subdued mood.  “I was hoping we would find out something in there.  We’ve been lucky in the past.  I didn’t catch a word about suspicious strangers, or screaming at a particular time in the night.” 

“Me neither,” said George.  “Shame.  I don’t like the idea of a murderer hanging about.” 

“Nor me,” said Lawrence.  “I was wondering.  If these are all connected, it makes sense it all goes back to the first killing.  The little old lady.  If we knew the motive for that, the rest should fall into place, don’t you think?” 

“That could be described as stating the obvious,” said Carl. 

“Yes, I suppose so.  But can we find out any more about this woman?  Was she rich?  Who stands to inherit from her? 

“We could ask Angela to ask Patrick,” suggested George. 

“Maybe Jennifer will still be at the hotel,” said Lawrence. 

“Aha!  That’s who it is, isn’t it?  You normally refer to Peter, or Jennifer and Peter.  They’re working together today.”  George positively bounced in his enthusiasm at guessing. 

Lawrence’s face gave away his feelings, even before he said, “Don’t you think she’s been looking more gorgeous than ever since her hair’s been longer, and she’s dropped the corporate dressing?” 

“So you’ve always quite liked her?” 

“Well, yes.  But she’s kind of grown on me.  And not having seen her for a couple of months, with her hair suddenly longer, and not hidden inside a big coat…” “Ain’t that cute,” said Carl. 

  

But returning to the hotel, they found both Jennifer and Peter had gone. 

The sun had moved round, so they sat in the cluster of armchairs in Reception and drank coffee, waiting for Pablo to finish his course. 

A woman in a dark green polo shirt bearing the hotel’s logo came through to the desk, holding a neatly folded blue bundle.  “Look!  Who left this behind the loo rolls in the landing cupboard?” 

The receptionist took them from her.  It was a silky blue scarf and matching gloves. 

 

 

CHAPTER 18 

  

Carlos stood up.  “Please.  Don’t touch them.” 

The receptionist dropped them on the counter and jumped back, retracting her arms, hands still out in front of her as if left behind. 

“What’s on them? Have I touched something poisonous?”  Her voice was high-pitched, her eyes wide. 

“No, no.  Please don’t worry.  I don’t want you to put too much DNA on them.  I think the police were looking for them.  They will want to know who was wearing them.” The receptionist’s shoulders and arms slowly relaxed into their normal pose, but her eyes darted from the clothing to Carlos, to the member of staff, back to Carlos. 

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to frighten you.”  Carlos gave both women his best smile. 

“Stone me!” said the woman in the polo shirt.  “I thought I’d found a bomb there for a minute.” 

“And I thought I’d touched Novichok,” said the receptionist, her voice lowering in pitch.  She blew out a huge sigh. 

Polite laughter came from all around, but it held a nervous tone. 

“Bloody hell, man,” said Lawrence.  “You scared us all there, and we know what you’re on about.” 

“You’d better phone Jennifer,” said George with a grin. 

“Not with you lot all listening in, making me self-conscious.” 

“I’ll phone Peter,” said Carlos.  “But first.  Do you have a clean plastic bag to put the scarf and gloves in, please?” 

The receptionist stared at Carlos, blinking, still looking confused. 

“A clean bin liner, maybe.” 

  

Pablo found his friends in the reception area.  Carlos stood up and hugged him.  “All finished now?” 

“Yes.  I have enjoyed teaching, but I am glad this particular course is over.  I will stick to your side now and keep safe.” “Shall I get you a coffee?” 

“Don’t I smell of onions and garlic?” 

“Maybe I’ll take my time over the coffee while you shoot off for a quick shower and change.” 

“Okay.  I’ll be quick…  Oh no!  Perhaps I’d better wait to hear the latest.” 

Various eyes followed Pablo’s gaze through the glass entrance doors.  Patrick came in.  He grinned at the assembled group of men. 

“You lot keep me busy.  What have you got for me this time?  The missing scarf and gloves?” 

“Oh!” Pablo raised his brows high. 

Carlos grinned.  “I’ll tell you in a minute.”  He took the bin liner from the bemused looking receptionist and handed it to Patrick. 

“Is it just the clothing in here?  Any severed hand inside a glove?  Blood?” 

“Just the scarf and gloves.” 

Patrick turned to Lawrence and George. “I presume Angela still has the long weekend off for Easter.  Can you avoid giving me any more work to do for a day or two, so we can trundle off down to the West Country?” 

George chuckled.  “Don’t worry.  If anything else turns up, we’ll demand Peter or Jennifer respond.”  His gaze bounced briefly at Lawrence.  “Got to give love a chance.” 

As Patrick left with a cheery wave, Pablo grabbed his husband’s arm.  “Come with me.  You can fill me in on the way.” 

  

An hour and a half later, Pablo and Carlos went down to the hotel’s restaurant.  Lawrence, George and Carl were already there. 

Before long, the conversation returned to speculation on the recent murders and what analysis of the hidden gloves and scarf might yield. 

Carl looked around to ensure none of Pablo’s students were nearby.  “Do you think the clothing was a rather amateurish attempt by the murderer to hide what he’d used as a disguise?  Or might Elliot have tried a double bluff, pretending someone had taken them to deflect suspicion from himself?” “Could be either, I suppose,” said Lawrence, frowning. 

Carlos pressed his lips together.  “Whoever hid them must've realised they wouldn’t stay hidden long.” 

“Maybe they were nearly caught hiding them and had to rush off without putting them somewhere better,” said Pablo. 

“If none of Kayleigh’s DNA is found on them, their being hidden may be enough to introduce ‘reasonable doubt’ into a court case,” suggested George. 

“Yes.  Along with the note on the body about Kayleigh cheating,” said Lawrence. 

 “What couple doesn’t argue from time to time, with one of them getting jealous.  A whiff of that coming out – a row overheard by a neighbour, say - and guilt about the barmaid is deflected straight back to her partner.” 

“You mean, there’d be enough doubt against linking all three murders, Valerie, Jamie and the barmaid?” asked Carlos. 

“Exactly.” 

Carl scratched his chin through the fine dark hair of his beard. “Thinking about the gloves and scarf being hidden…  What happened to Jamie’s belongings?  They thought he’d left, right?  So his room must have been empty.  If he was killed between the pub and here, I doubt he moved the stuff himself.” “Why the hell did no one think of that before?” said George. 

“At least it wasn’t only us, so far as I know.  The police didn’t mention anything…  Didn’t ask if we’d seen any of his things.  I think they would have asked – us at least.  Friends.  Extra eyes,” said Carlos. 

“Bloody hell,” said Lawrence.  “I think I need to go back to drinking more beer.” 

George laughed.  “Well, at least it gives you an excuse to phone Jennifer.” 

Lawrence smirked.  “She’ll have gone home by now.  But maybe we need to check they have thought of it, and someone’s looking for the stuff.” 

“Angela,” said Pablo, at the same time Carlos said, “Patrick.” 

“Try Angela,” said Carl.  “It’s more subtle.  Don’t want to sound like we’re accusing the professional investigators of being stupid.” “I’ll call her,” said George. 

“Maybe we should order some food,” said Pablo.  “I have been around it all day, but not to eat it.” 

Carlos put his arm around him.  “You need your sustenance.  You’ve been working hard all day.  Actually, I’m hungry.  I just got engrossed in the conversation.” “I’m hungry, too,” said Carl. 

“What do you fancy having tonight?  Go over and help ourselves to the carvery?  Or something else off the menu?” asked Lawrence. 

“Let’s have a look and see if there’s anything…” Carl mumbled, picking up a menu. 

Lawrence huffed out a “Hah!” adding, “They’ve got a good sense of humour.  Death by Chocolate’s on here!” 

George swung round in his chair, back to the table, leaning on his arms. 

“Angela asked Patrick, and they haven’t been looking for Jamie’s stuff.  He said he wondered if it was in the pond, where the body was.” 

 “Murder is such a messy business.”  Lawrence sighed.  “Well, I’m talking apart from the body and blood and stuff.  It’s rarely straightforward.  It’s not always clear if it is murder, or suicide, or an accident.” 

“Quite,” said George.  “And take these three.  ‘Why?’ is a very important consideration.” 

“Why did two of them have to be from my course?”  Pablo frowned and pouted. 

Carlos rubbed his knuckles on the top of his head.  “I know it’s worse for the victims’ families, but it’s not fair on my poor husband.” 

Lawrence smiled at Carlos and Pablo.  “Can anybody think of anything other than that Valerie was killed for… some reason still unknown.  But then Jamie was killed because the murderer thought he was on to him – or her.  And then, seeing Jamie was done in so near the pub, the barmaid witnessed that.  Or the murderer thought she’d seen or heard something.  Which was enough to make her too dangerous to live, in his eyes – or hers.” 

Carl nodded.  “Yet on the other hand, Valerie might've been done in, say, because someone wanted to inherit through her will, or by family position.  Jamie might have met his maker because he was secretly some kind of dealer or gangster.  Then the barmaid was dispatched so soon after to make it look like her death was connected, but really it was because she was cheating on whoever.” 

George held out a finger towards Carl.  “Or Valerie, for her money.  Jamie, because he upset someone in the criminal world, like you said, and then the barmaid because she was a witness.” 

“Or secretly Valerie and Jamie had got married, and her next of kin wanted his inheritance the way he had expected,” said Pablo. 

“Very likely,” said Carlos.  “But what about the barmaid?” 

“Erm…”  Pablo had some of his drink.  “I know!  She was Valerie’s love child and found out and was about to put in a claim on her money.” Lawrence and Carlos looked at each other and nodded.  “Nutter.” 

  

A taxi had been ordered for the three homeward-bound companions, and they had a last drink with Pablo and Carlos in the bar while they waited. 

Jennifer came into view, crossing the end of the large but cosy room.  She saw the friends and changed course. 

“You lot still sitting around boozing?” 

George grinned at her.  “Lawrence was saying he hoped you’d pop by with an update on the scarf and gloves before we left.” 

“Was he now?  Well, you’ll have to come with me, Mr Eagle.  The only

DNA we found on the items was yours.” 

“Hah!” he replied, putting out his hands, wrists together.  “It’s a fair cop.  Slap the bracelets on me, gov!” 

What am I doing, flirting in front of this lot? 

Fixing on his best in-court face, Lawrence sat down and said, “Keep us posted, won’t you?” 

“There were two lots of female DNA and one male, so I’ve come to do some cheek swabbing.” 

“Have fun.” 

  

Lawrence was back home in Wallyborough when he received a call from Jennifer.  He felt a pleasant wave through his strong abdominal muscles when he saw her name and answered with his voice starting a little higher than he intended. 

“Jennifer.  Happy Good Friday.  How are you today?” 

“I’m fine, thanks.  Working today.  I thought I'd keep you posted as you asked.  I know what a nosy lot you and your friends are.”  Lawrence heard a little giggle that he didn’t associate with Jennifer. 

“That’s why we have the nickname The Investigators.  What have you got?” “You’ll be unsurprised to hear that some of the DNA on the outside of the gloves and on the scarf belonged to the cleaner and the receptionist.  That on the insides of the gloves only belonged to Elliot, and likewise the scarf, apart from the two staff members.” 

“Well, well, well.  So only Elliot had been wearing them.” 

“Yes.  But there was no DNA from the late Kayleigh Yip.  And nothing was found on her that gives us a clue as to who strangled her.” 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 19 

  

Jennifer hauled Elliot into the police station again and questioned him hard, using Cally as note-taker.  He couldn’t explain why a man looking like him and wearing gloves and a scarf like he does was seen in the Royal Angler on Wednesday night, or why someone Carl took to be him left the Wally Hill Manor Hotel that evening.  Nor why a pair of his gloves and his scarf were found in the storeroom with only his DNA on the inside of the gloves, and the only other belonging to the two women who were known to have handled them. 

Taking Cally with her, she left Elliott in the interview room to stew with his solicitor. 

It gave Jennifer time to think. 

“What’re your thoughts about all this, Cally?” 

“It doesn’t really seem to make sense.  Why the business with the gloves?  Was Elliott stupid enough to think it looked like someone else had used them for the murder and forgot there’d be no one else’s DNA?  Or did someone else do it and plant the gloves and scarf to try and deflect the blame to Elliot and not realise there’d be none of Kayleigh’s—

” 

“None of Kayleigh’s DNA on the outside of the gloves. But why no DNA on Kayleigh?” 

Cally leant back against the corridor wall and ran a hand over his shortcropped hair. 

 “Someone was wearing gloves.” 

“Had to have been, didn’t they.  Was it Elliot with gloves over his gloves?  You know, the sort we use?” 

Cally’s brows went down as he stared at the floor.  “Could have been.  But then why leave the gloves where the cleaners would find them anyway?” 

“That’s got to be either a red herring, and it was someone else, or Elliott was in a mad rush to hide them somewhere, got disturbed and couldn’t do a better job… maybe intended to come back for them when the coast was clear and didn’t have the chance?” 

“Red herring or carelessness at the last minute?  I couldn’t call it.  Any ideas, glove and scarf evidence aside, Jennifer?” 

Twirling the end of her hair around her finger, Jennifer thought hard.  She was desperate to take this opportunity to crack the case, while Peter and Patrick were both off.  Patrick often shone out by his quick thinking and eagle eyes, but Jennifer wanted some of the limelight and the chance of promotion to Inspector. 

She looked up at Cally with a wry smile.  “How about an ID parade?  See if the people in the pub really did see Elliot?” 

Cally’s eyes met Jennifer’s, then flickered around for a moment.  “Yes.  Apart from Elliot’s pleading his innocence, the main doubt lies with his identity, all wrapped up with the fact that he was wearing the gloves and scarf…  I like it.” 

  

At four o’clock that afternoon, the identity parade was ready. Elliott was given back his gloves and scarf to wear, and told to wear his navy jacket and cap. 

Jennifer had particularly wanted to use the men who’d been on Pablo’s course as part of the lineup, but they discounted Len due to his ethnicity.  She was able to get Ian and Damien to attend. 

Cally himself volunteered, as he was about the right height, and a uniformed constable was asked to join in. 

“One more?” said Cally.  “Know any other blokes about six feet tall, or maybe a little shorter, as Ian’s shorter?” 

“Yes,” said Jennifer with a smile on her face.  She asked Lawrence to help out. 

A couple of navy quilted jackets needed to be bought, and gloves and scarves for five, plus three caps, and they were set. 

Witnesses were chosen from people present in the Royal Angler on Wednesday night, but warned that one member of the line-up had been in the Angler on Monday night, when the football was on.  Carl also came as he had seen someone leaving the hotel he’d assumed was Elliot, but he admitted it was only from the gloves and scarf. 

Jennifer’s gut felt tight as one by one a uniformed officer directed the witnesses on what to do.  After studying the line-up, they were told which door to exit, where Jennifer was waiting for them to say if they recognised anyone. 

  

Lawrence found Jennifer after he was dismissed from the lineup.  “Any luck?” 

Flopping back in her chair and tucking her hair behind her ears, Jennifer groaned.  “No.  Two for the suspect, two for another man from Pablo’s course, and one for DC Cally.”  “Phew!  They didn’t recognise me.”

Jennifer chuckled. 

“So what’s next?” 

“I probably should go home, but this is bugging me.  Elliot’s gloves and scarf have to have something to do with poor Kayleigh’s death, surely, else why hide them in that cupboard?  The line-up gives us either Elliot himself or Damien.  But there’s no motive.  And how does any of it tie up with the other two murders?” 

“Maybe the only connection is someone took advantage of Valerie and Jamie’s murders as cover to kill Kayleigh - assuming it would muddy the water and make us assume there must be a connection with the first death.” 

Lawrence smiled at Jennifer, spread his hands and continued.  “Or Jamie copped it because the murderer thought he knew about Valerie’s death, then Kayleigh had to go because she knew who killed Jamie.  I think that’s the most likely scenario to be honest.” 

Jennifer looked into Lawrence’s almost perfectly featured face.  “You think they’re all connected, or if not, two are and one was made to look like it was?” 

“Yes.  Who’s in the running?” 

Jennifer blew out air between partially closed lips.  “Firstly, there’s Kayleigh’s boyfriend.  Killed her because, like the note said, she was a cheating bitch.  The people in the pub don’t seem too keen on that idea, but he’s got to be prime suspect, as always.  The partner.” 

Sucking her bottom lip in, Jennifer continued. “But go back to murder number one, 

Valerie, I’d say the son is a bit dodgy.  Then we have Ian from the course – he’s the treasurer of the wildlife trust Valerie was involved with.  Maybe something dodgy going on there.” 

Lawrence nodded. 

“Then there’s the only other woman on the course, Rhana.  She nearly killed Valerie once before, by accident.  Gave her a meal with peanut oil in it and caused anaphylaxis.  That was in her uncle’s restaurant.  It hit the press, although Rhana wasn’t named as the person whose fault it was.  But there was a bit of a hoo-ha, and Rhana is mad keen to set up her own high-end restaurant.” 

“That wouldn’t be a ringing endorsement, nearly poisoning a customer.” 

“Quite.”  Jennifer leant forward, elbows on her desk.  “Beyond that, there’s a guy on the course who was gazumped by Valerie, on a property he wanted to buy for himself and his family.  Valerie bought it for her son and his wife and child.  But all these things are a bit weak.” 

“How about instead of going home, we go somewhere and chew it all over.  See if we can come up with something brilliant between us.” 

Jennifer looked up at Lawrence and smiled.  “It’d probably be twice as productive as me going home alone and thinking about it.  And probably better than sitting here stewing over it.” 

“When did you last eat?” 

“Er…  A while ago.” 

“Let’s get food and drink and think.  There you are, I made up a poem, just for you.” Standing up, Jennifer retrieved her colourful tailored jacket from the back of her chair and shrugged into it. 

So much nicer than her old plain dark colours, thought Lawrence.  “Is there anywhere you’d like to go where one of your suspects might be hanging out?” 

The Wally Hill Manor Hotel crossed Jennifer’s mind, but she disregarded it as of no use now, and a place she didn’t particularly want to be seen in again.  Then her memory hit on somewhere else.  “You up to driving?” 

“Consider me your chauffeur.” 

“There’s a nice old pub in Walling.  Wouldn’t mind giving that a try.” 

“Would that just happen to have come up in the course of your recent investigations, m’lady?” 

Jennifer grinned.  “It’s in the village where Valerie lived.” 

  

Lawrence parked near the church, and Jennifer suggested they walk around the perimeter of the oval village centre, instead of straight across the green.  “It’s so pretty here,” she murmured. 

“I’m surprised that cottage is up for sale.  That’s not where Valerie lived, is it?” 

“No, she lived a block back.  Garden flat in a converted semi.  I bet that cottage is worth a pretty penny.  There’s as many commercial properties as houses facing onto the green, so they wouldn’t come on the market often.” 

“Oh, it’s the old police station,” said Lawrence as they approached the For Sale sign. 

 “Can you imagine the pleasant life of the village bobby, with a place like that thrown in?” 

“I wouldn’t mind it.”  Jennifer stopped with her hands on the wall at the front of the large garden.  “Although it might be a bit dull at times.  Not much to get your brain onto.” 

“Well, I see the first mystery for the village bobby.  What are those bags doing over there under that bush?” 

Jennifer cast a look around in case anyone was moving in or out of the property and loading or unloading a car.  Seeing no one, she went in through the gate and looked inside one of the bags. 

“Lawrence, there are chef’s knives in here.  I bet this was Jamie’s.” 

           

 

CHAPTER 20 

  

Jennifer called the forensics team, explained what she’d found and its probable significance, and asked if she should bring the bags in or leave them in situ. 

As she ended the call, Lawrence asked, “What did they say?” 

“Best to leave them here.  But they’ll send some uniforms along to look after the scene, so we won’t have to hang about too long, hopefully.” 

“Do you have to write up a report?” 

“Yes, but that can wait a bit.  I’ll take my own photographs to show what we saw.  Especially as the light’s going.” 

Watching Jennifer taking a few snaps of the scene, Lawrence found it interesting.  Police work was interesting, and he understood the importance of not skimping on evidence when it came to trying cases in court.  He also enjoyed looking at Jennifer.  He hadn’t had much to do with her that wasn’t directly related to her work, but he’d been beginning to notice the real Jennifer this week.  And the change in her appearance recently had certainly made him pay attention – she looked so much more feminine. 

Half an hour later, they entered the pub they had planned to visit.  It was wonderfully old, with plenty of character, but very comfortable and with an excellent menu. 

Lawrence pushed his empty plate away.  “That was delicious.  Tell me, was it women’s intuition or a copper’s nose that brought you here to find those bags?” 

Jennifer smiled broadly.  “A bit of both.  And that it’s so lovely here.  But I did think of it because we came here to investigate Valerie’s death.” 

“If they do turn out to be Jamie’s bags, got any ideas about why they were dumped in that garden?” 

Jennifer gave a light laugh.  "I think I know why there was a hole in the hotel's hedge, which the gardener was so worried about.  It wasn't a child that went through, it was a couple of canvas bags." 

Taking a sip of her drink, Jennifer thought out loud about why the bags were hidden, badly, where they were.  “If we stretch coincidences…  Valerie bought a cottage in the village for her son.  And strangely enough, she gazumped one of the catering course lot, Len.  So maybe Len was super spiteful and killed Valerie, then Jamie because he was onto him.  Or…”  Jennifer emptied her glass.  “Valerie’s son killed his mother for more money, and then Jamie for the same reason as in the Len theory.  And this was the obvious place for him to dump something quickly.  Locals might know he was moving in, the son.  Or they might have thought Len had bought it after all.” 

“With a mind like yours, you should be a detective.”  Jennifer returned Lawrence's grin. 

“But then, someone might have simply chosen an empty property, in a rush to find somewhere to put the bags where they wouldn’t be found immediately.” 

  

Saturday morning, Jennifer woke alone, but with a broad smile.  Lawrence had been too much of a gentleman to go anywhere near staying the night, and she liked that about him.  She liked a lot about him. 

But there was also the finding of the bags in the garden of the cottage in Walling, which were probably Jamie’s.  Another possible clue that might help her on the path to promotion. 

She phoned the forensics department.  One of Bob Robertson’s assistants answered.  “We’ve got as far as confirming the contents of the bags had Jamie McConnell’s DNA on them, but we’re still trying to find anybody else’s.  There was a familial match on the outside of the bags – maybe his mum’s.  We’ll check.” 

Patrick was away in the west country with Angela, and the DI was hoping to have some family time this Easter weekend, but Jennifer felt she ought to at least keep him updated by email. 

Next, she wanted to know if the cottage had been the one Valerie had bought for her son, when she gazumped Len.  She phoned the estate agents. 

“Yes, Mrs Fleming had completed the purchase on the cottage,” he told her.  “It’s still empty.  Her son’s apartment hasn’t gone on the market yet, and he hasn’t even picked up the keys.” 

“Whose name is the cottage in?  Is it in the younger Flemings’ names, or Valerie’s?” 

“It’s officially in the name of Keith and Gemma Fleming.” 

“So, legally, the son and his wife own the two properties?   The cottage and the apartment?” 

“That’s correct.” 

“Were you told what the plan was for the apartment?  Was it to go on the market once Mr and Mrs Fleming had moved into the cottage?” 

“I believe so.  Mrs Fleming, Valerie, wanted her son to have plenty of time to move in comfortably, and Keith didn’t seem in any rush.” 

Pushing her hair behind her ear, Jennifer took a moment to think.  “Did you get the impression Keith actually wanted to move into the cottage… or maybe that he’d prefer to stay in his apartment in town?” 

“To be honest, I think he wanted to stay where he was.  But his mother said it wasn’t suitable now that they had a child.  They should live somewhere with a garden.  And of course, she liked the idea of him living closer to her.” 

Thanking the agent and ending the call, Jennifer mulled over the implications of Valerie’s son having two properties in his name, which his mother had paid for, when it came to dividing up her estate.  Would the timing of her death mean that Keith Fleming would do better than his sister?  The estate must surely be money and assets only in Valerie’s name.  As she had chosen to buy homes for both her children, would the funds from the sale of Keith’s apartment have gone back to her, to her estate?  Two children, a house apiece, rather than two for the son and one for the daughter.  With the money from the riverside apartment into the pot, Keith would only inherit half of that, rather than keeping the lot. 

It's definitely time for another visit to Keith and Gemma Fleming. 

Jennifer’s phone rang.  It was Peter.  “Good work finding Jamie’s bags.  Hopefully we’ll get some kind of break from that.  DNA, or a sighting of who put them there.  Do you know who the cottage belonged to?” 

His question answered Jennifer’s thoughts about how much to tell him while he was supposed to be off spending time with the wife he had only recently got back together with.  She told him the lot, and of her plan to visit Keith Fleming.  She guessed what his response would be. 

“Are you at the station?” asked Peter. 

“I’m still at home.” 

“I’ll come and pick you up.  Say, twenty minutes?” 

  

Valerie’s son wasn’t in when they arrived at the riverside apartment.  His wife Gemma was home with their just-walking baby, Cleo.  “Come in.  You’ve missed him again, I’m afraid.” 

“Working on the Easter weekend?” asked Jennifer. 

“Don’t think so.  Don’t know where he is half the time these days.” 

Entering the lounge, Jennifer and Peter could again appreciate the attraction of living in this apartment – its view over the river. 

“It’s beautiful here.”  Jennifer thought talking about the property would be a good opener to what she wanted to ask.  Peter had agreed to let her lead as it had been she who had made the latest discoveries. 

“It is.  But with this little one…”  Gemma grinned at her daughter on her lap.  “A garden would be very useful.  Now she’s started to walk, I realise how much better off we’ll be as a family once we’ve moved to the house in Walling.  But Keith doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.” 

“He prefers it here, does he?” 

“Yes.  He loves being right in the centre of things, so close to all the shops and restaurants and so on.  But it’s not like the house is that far.  What, about a twenty minute drive?” 

Jennifer smiled at the other woman.  “So what’s the plan?  Obviously, losing Valerie less than a week ago will have thrown things.  But did you have a date when you hoped to move?” 

“Keith kept saying, let’s think about it when contracts have been exchanged, house purchases often go wrong – the chain breaks, that sort of thing.  But the cottage is ours now, and it’s empty, and we don’t have to sell this place first.  I told him I definitely wanted to be in by summer.  I’m really looking forward to having that garden for Cleo to run about in.” 

“When did contracts exchange?” 

“Well, to be fair, they didn’t until about, ooh, ten days ago.  So there wasn’t any certainty until then.  And of course, with Valerie…” 

Jennifer glanced at Peter, letting him know it was his turn to move on to the seedier element of their visit. 

Leaning forward, forearms on thighs, Peter spoke.  “Sorry to seem indelicate, Mrs 

Fleming, but I need to ask you about Valerie’s will.  We spoke to her solicitor, and he informed us that apart from some small bequests, a decent sum is to go to the Walling Nature Trust, and the remainder of the estate is to be divided between your husband and his sister.  Is that correct?” 

“Yes.  Fifty-fifty between them.” 

“And what about the value of this apartment?  Was that due to return to Valerie’s estate once you’d moved into the cottage?  On the basis that then Valerie would have bought a home each for your husband and his sister.” 

Gemma frowned, then smiled at her daughter, who was pulling at her blonde hair.  “I don’t know.  I hadn’t thought about it.  But I see what you mean.  It wouldn’t be right if we kept ownership of this flat and the cottage, and then inherited fifty per cent of the rest, while Lauren and her family only had the one property plus the fifty per cent.  I’d better speak to Keith about that.” 

“What had been the plan in the first place?  When you sold this place, would the money have been given back to Valerie?  And then you just owned the cottage?” “Yes.  That’s what we were going to do.  It’s in our names, but Valerie wanted to pay for us to have a home, not a property portfolio.  Maybe Mr Hornchurch, the solicitor, will clarify it for us – after a suitable period of mourning and all that.” 

“Yes, he would want to be discreet.  Part of his profession,” said Peter.  “But excuse my asking – how are things financially for you and your husband?” 

Gemma put baby Cleo down in front of a coffee table laden with toys and resumed her seat, her lips tight.  “Not so good, really.  I leave most of it to Keith, but he did say I should maybe ask for more hours at work, at least if I could continue to work from home.  And he said we couldn’t have a proper holiday this year – maybe go up to the Lakes for a long weekend.  But there again, it’s been an expensive year or so with all that a baby costs, cot, buggy, clothes and all the rest of it.” 

Peter nodded.  “I know what you mean.  More time at home, less time in the pub or dining out and what have you.”  He watched Gemma carefully. 

Again, her lips tightened, and she looked down.  “I wish Keith would spend more time at home.”  Then she looked up and smiled and Peter.  “Oh well.” 

Jennifer went over to Cleo at the low table and admired her toys with her, giving herself a moment to think, but she couldn’t quite come up with the words to ask if Gemma thought Keith was having an affair or gambling and in need of his mother’s money.  Not here and now with the child present.  It would be better to ask him. 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 21 

 

 

Climbing into Peter’s car, Jennifer sighed.  “I feel a bit sorry for that woman.  I bet her husband’s up to something a happily married man shouldn’t be.” 

“You got that impression, too, did you?  Let’s go and pay his sister a visit.  See what she thinks about her brother owning two properties bought by their mum when she only owns one.  See what else she lets drop about him, too.” 

Just short of the village of Wally, Jennifer turned right onto a narrow winding road.  A couple of miles down she took the right fork and they entered the outskirts of a small village.  Valerie’s daughter, Lauren, lived the third house along on the left. 

Her husband answered the door, with a small boy and a young girl just behind him. 

Peter and Jennifer showed their warrant cards and introduced themselves. 

“Come in.  I’m Tom, Lauren’s husband.  Are you the two who visited the other day?” 

Peter followed Tom along a short corridor, with Jennifer behind him.  “Yes, that was us.” 

They came out into a bright and cheery kitchen dining room, with folding glazed doors overlooking a decent-sized garden, mainly laid to lawn, with a swing and slide set and other children’s toys. 

Lauren was at the island placing marzipan carefully onto a simnel cake. 

“Hello again.  Tom, can you make some drinks?” 

As was often the case, Peter couldn’t resist accepting a cup of coffee, especially as he smelled it brewing in a large percolator.  Jennifer accepted one, too.  Tom waved them over to a large oak dining table. 

The children were introduced to them: Archie, three, and Abby, five. 

Jennifer felt a comfortable warmth inside her.  If ever I get married and have kids, this is what I’d want Easter Saturday to be like.  Her mind threw up an image of Lawrence, and she quickly scolded herself for it. 

Lauren put the cake inside a lidded box and washed her hands.  “Have you made any progress about Mum?” 

“I’m afraid not,” said Peter.  “You haven’t had any thoughts yourselves by any chance?” 

“No.  It still seems unbelievable.” 

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to… do that,” said Tom, bringing over a tray of cups of black coffee, a jug of cream, and a bowl of sugar.  “I associate that sort of thing with gangs, or drunken husbands… not people like Valerie.” 

Coming to sit down at the table, Lauren said, “It sounds odd to say it, but mum would have loved all this intrigue, trying to work out who dunnit.  She always liked to study pictures of wanted people on the telly and kept an eye out for them.  I think Miss  Marple was her role model.” 

Lauren sighed, her eyes tearing up.  “Did you find out anything from the people at the Hotel?  Perhaps the people on the course with Mum?” 

Peter realised that mention of Jamie and Kayleigh’s deaths had been very sketchy on the local news, with no mention of any connection to Pablo’s catering course or the hotel.  How much should I tell them?  “There have been another couple of suspicious deaths this week.  We are, of course, investigating them with the thought that they could all three be connected.” 

Tom looked at Peter with wide eyes.  “I remember hearing something, but I didn’t catch where they happened or who they were.  Did they have anything to do with the hotel?” 

“A young man had been on the course Valerie had been booked on.  The other person was a barmaid at the nearby pub, in the local village.” 

Lauren’s face looked pale with traces of tears.  “That’s horrible.  They must be connected, surely.” 

“We mustn’t make any assumptions.  We’re looking into them as carefully as possible with an open mind,” said Peter. 

Looking at his wife, Tom stood and ushered the children out to play in the fresh air.  Then returned to the table. 

Jennifer took advantage of the change to move the subject to Lauren’s brother.  “I haven’t managed to speak to Keith yet.  We saw Gemma earlier, but Keith was out.  Is he that sort, not in much?” 

Rolling her eyes, Lauren said, “He seems to be like that lately.  I’ve hardly seen him over the last year.  And I think Gemma’s a bit pissed off with him.  I hope he hasn’t got another woman on the go, but I must admit it’s crossed my mind.” 

“Has he got any other sorts of vices, like drinking a lot, drugs, gambling?” 

It was Tom who replied to Jennifer.  “He likes the odd bet on the horses, and he’s been to a Casino in Easford a couple of times, too, that I know of.” 

“Has he?” asked Lauren.  “I knew about the horses, but nothing about a casino.  Is gambling becoming a bit of a problem for him, d’you think?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Do you think he’s seeing another woman?” asked Jennifer. 

Tom shrugged.  “It’s a distinct possibility.  Something’s not right since little Cleo was born.” 

Leaving a pause in the conversation, Peter sipped his coffee, then started a new line of enquiry.  “Have you heard from Mr Hornchurch this week, about your mother’s will?” 

“Yes,” said Lauren.  “We went to his office on Thursday, and he told us the contents.  Keith and I are to inherit half each of Mum’s estate after a few small personal bequests, and a lump sum to the Nature Trust.” 

“What about this house, your brother’s apartment and that cottage your mum purchased in Walling?  Wasn’t Keith going to live in that?” 

Frowning, Lauren spoke quietly.  “Oh, that’s a point.  Mum bought that cottage and put it in Keith and Gemma’s names.  The agreement was that when they sold their apartment, the money would go back to Mum, to make it fair.  So she’d bought us a home each.  I suppose he gets to keep both places now.” 

“There was nothing that legally put the properties as part of your mother’s estate?” asked Peter, feeling pretty sure he knew the answer. 

“Not that I know of.  Huh!  He got lucky there.”  Lauren’s frown reflected her husband’s. 

The children ran in, gave Peter and Jennifer guarded looks, and climbed up on a parent apiece. 

“Maybe Keith will offer us half the proceeds when he sells the apartment,” said Tom.” “If he even sells it,” said Lauren. 

  

Back in the car, Jennifer looked at Peter.  “Well, the two properties being owned by Keith give a motive I hadn’t cottoned onto before today.  Had you?” 

“No, I have to admit I hadn’t.  With Jamie’s murder and then Kayleigh’s, my mind was on the people at that catering course.” 

“I suppose if the son did kill her," said Jennifer, "doing it at the hotel would have been a good choice to throw us off the scent.  We need to check his alibi for Sunday night.” 

“Yes, we’ve been remiss about him.”  Peter tapped his lip with his fingers.  “Thinking about whether Jamie’s murder was because he saw or heard something about Valerie’s…  No one mentioned Keith Fleming was in the Royal Angler Monday night, but there again, we didn’t ask.” 

“Back to his place and see if he’s arrived, or what his wife says about Sunday night? 

 And Monday and Wednesday at the relevant times?” 

“Let’s give it a try.” 

  

“He was here Sunday night,” said Gemma.  “Well, I think I would have heard if he went out, going out or coming back in.  I slept in Cleo’s room from about, ooh, eleven.  Because she was unsettled, and Keith had to work in the morning.” 

“How about the next night?” asked Peter.  “Monday.” 

Gemma gazed off for a moment.  “No, Cleo was alright that night, so I slept in my own bed.  Keith was there.” 

“Had he been out that evening?” 

“Yes.  I don’t know where.  But he was back, and I remember him coming to bed.” 

“What time was that?” 

“About midnight…  Maybe half past.  That’s not bad for him.  He’s a night owl.” 

“Was he in on Wednesday evening?” 

“No.  He was home for dinner on Tuesday and stayed in.  But he was late home again Wednesday.” 

“What time did he arrive home?” 

Gemma bit her lip.  “Er, I’m not sure.  He was in bed asleep when I got up to see to Chloe.  But I must have been asleep when he came in." 

 

 

CHAPTER 22 

  

Having dropped Cally back at the hotel to pick up his car, Jennifer headed home.  She was pleased with her day’s work and her show of initiative.  Cally was going back to the station to search through CCTV footage to investigate how Jamie’s bags came to be in the cottage garden.  She’d told him to contact her if he found anything. 

After she’d had a shower, Lawrence phoned.  “How’s the sleuthing going today?” 

She gave him an outline of the day’s events and discoveries.  “How’s your day been?” 

“Pretty quiet.  I’m meeting George and Carl at the Frog and Toad later, if you want to come and discuss the case more.  You know what brilliant minds we have.” 

“I do.  And such modesty, too.” 

Jennifer chuckled.  She would love to see Lawrence that evening, and liked George and Carl, but it would seem odd.  They weren’t an item, although she hoped they would be, so she felt it was better to leave the men to their beer and manly company. 

 “But that’s not to say you don’t have to solve this case for me.  But don’t tell Peter it was you guys who worked it out.” 

The call had boosted Jennifer’s good mood further, and she sang as she prepared some pasta and poured herself a glass of red wine.  She felt on a roll with life, and that included the prospect of climbing the professional ladder.  With Patrick away and Peter trying to have as much of the weekend with Nadine and their children as possible, now was the ideal time to show what she was capable of.  As she sat down to eat, she mulled over the potential suspects and looked for gaps in their enquiries. 

Thoughts of different people were still floating through her mind when Cally rang. 

“What have you found?” 

“Nothing certain.  I haven’t seen any of the cars belonging to the lot from the cooking course, or Valerie’s son.  But there’s someone on a bike I’m not sure about, but it could be Len Quail.” 

Jennifer asked him to forward her the piece of footage via email.  It was dark, but there were a couple of streetlights near the village green.  It was a possibility that it was Len, with his lean body and curly hair, but she was unsure if the person had dark skin, or if their face was just badly lit.  The footage was only monochrome.  And anyway, he might have had only one bag on his back.  The cottage was out of range of the camera. 

She phoned Cally back.  “Is there a camera further along showing if he passed through the village and out the other side?” 

“I can’t see him.” 

“Do you see him head back towards the hotel?” 

“There are a couple of cyclists, not together, going back down the road, but the pictures are even less clear from that camera.” 

“Can you imagine either of them being any of the others we know about?” 

“The only other one who might fit would be Jamie, if he wasn’t dead.  It’s the slim build and, particularly, the hair.” 

“I agree.  Bloody inconvenient, Jamie being the dead body is this mystery.  Thanks, 

Cally.  I’ll give it some more attention.” 

Jennifer decided that tomorrow she’d call on Len-the-gazumped.  After all, he’d been to the Angler the night Jamie died.  He returned to the hotel earlier than Jamie and Damien, but could she be sure he didn’t go back out?  Maybe he’d taken Jamie’s phone in the hope of getting him on his own looking for it. 

  

Len lived with his wife and children, but Jennifer decided against going alone.  Cally was happy to come along, even though he wasn’t officially due on duty until a couple of hours later that Sunday. 

The address was a smart semi in a leafy road.  The town was a couple of miles to the west of the main London Road, and further out from Wallyborough than Walling, or the village where Valerie’s daughter lived. 

The door was answered by a pretty woman in her thirties.  She led them through a door off the hall and went to fetch Len.  Two young boys ran in giggling.  Len was heard calling for them to go back to their mother. 

“Sit down,” he said once he was in the room.  “How can I help you? 

Have you arrested anyone yet?” 

“Unfortunately not,” said Jennifer.  “We just have a lot more questions.” 

“Fire away.” 

At that moment, an even smaller boy toddled in but was soon retrieved by his mother. 

“You have a lovely family, Len.  And a nice home.” 

“They’re great, the wife and kids.  I like this house, but I was after one in Walling.  Thought we were going to get it too, but we got gazumped at the last moment.  Got a few things packed away in boxes, but luckily it hasn’t caused too much havoc.” 

“Oh well, at least you have some things ready for when you do move. 

Have you found another property?” 

“No.  We weren’t really looking to move, but we saw this real beauty up for sale, and it would have taken off nearly half an hour’s drive to work if we’d got it.  It had everything we needed on a day-to-day basis, right there in the street, plus a nice, large, safe back garden for the kids.  Oh well.  Mustn’t complain.” 

“Who did the gazumping?  Was it someone who wanted to make money renting it out?  There's a lot of that these days.” 

“No.  I don’t know who it was.  A cash buyer, for someone with kids, I think.  The estate agent was vague.” 

Jennifer watched Len’s face closely, but if he knew it was Valerie who’d bought it, she couldn’t see it in his expression. 

She moved on to the night of Jamie’s death.  “Tell me about Monday night, when you went to the pub to watch the football with Jamie and Damien.” 

Len scratched his head.  “That seems a lot longer back than, what… five days ago?” Jennifer just smiled in reply. 

“Well, we were in the bar, at the hotel, watching the start of the game, the line-up and so on, with the sound down.  Then it started, and still it was on silent, but it was okay.  Then Colin behind the bar turned it over to a concert on another channel and put the sound on, so we went and sat with the others.” 

Len frowned before continuing.  “Damien said there was a pub in the village, you know, the Royal Angler, and that it might show the game, so we decided to go and have a look.  It was a nice evening for a stroll, although it was quite chilly.” “What did you wear?” asked Jennifer. 

Len looked at her with his mouth a little puckered.  “Erm, I wore my faux leather jacket.   Black.  It was the only suitable outdoor jacket I had with me.” 

“Did you wear gloves, a scarf, a hat maybe?” 

“I didn’t have a hat or scarf.  I had my gloves in my jacket pocket, and I put those on when I felt how cold it was.  Clear days are great for sunshine, but if there’s no cloud cover at this time of year, the heat soon goes in the evening.” “It does,” said Jennifer, and left a silence for Len to fill. 

He nodded.  “Yes, black gloves.  Woollen ones.  Anyway, it only took about ten minutes or so to walk to the Angler, and sure enough, we went in to find quite a full bar and the match on two big tellies.  We were very happy bunnies.” 

Jennifer smiled and tucked her hair behind her ears.  “I’d like you to think very carefully for me.  Who did you see there?  Can you describe people?  Who bought the first round, and the second…?  Who was serving?” 

Len smiled.  “That sounds like a lot of questions, but I get it.  Tell you all that was happening in detail…” 

He recalled Damien had bought the first round, but he wasn’t sure who served him.  He described some of the other people in the bar, none of whom made Jennifer think of anyone who had come up in the investigation. 

“Then I got the next round in.  It was that poor barmaid who died, who served me.  She was such a sweet thing.  Coped well with all the testosterone and language in there.” 

After a pause, Len continued.  “Jamie made a phone call, or received a message or something.  Then he got us a round in.  I remember it was getting near the end of the game, so I just had a half.  We all cheered when the final whistle went.  Then I finished my beer and left to go back to the hotel, ‘cos I’d promised my wife I’d phone her each night and not leave it too late.” 

“Who else left at that time?” 

Len glanced at Jennifer and Cally.  “Erm, I think it was only me.  Damien and Jamie stayed.  They wanted to listen to the post-match discussion.  And in Jamie’s case, keep on drinking, I think.  He did seem very fond of his beer.” 

“Did you phone your wife straight away when you got back?” 

“More or less.  Went to the loo.  Made some tea, put my slippers on, first, then I rang.” 

“And about how long did the call last?” 

“Ooh, best part of half an hour, I think.  She wanted to know if they’d caught the person who killed Valerie.  It’d unnerved her a bit.” 

Jennifer had seen Len’s phone records, and the timing seemed to ring true.  “Where did you go after that?  Down into the bar?  Out for a walk?” 

“Oh no.  I put the telly on and lay on the bed.  Despite the coffee, I didn’t stay awake long.  I nodded off, then later had to get up and clean my teeth and change into my pyjamas.” 

“What time did you go out in the morning?  Are you an early bird?” 

“Well, I’m usually awake between six and a quarter past, out of habit.  Even without an alarm clock.  With three kids, I’m not used to sleeping in.  But I don’t go out for a jog or a brisk walk or anything.  Again, having kids doesn’t allow for that as a rule.” 

“But you didn’t have the children with you at the hotel,” said Jennifer, carefully watching Len’s face. 

“No.  But it’s not a thing I do, going out early.  I do what needs to be done, then go off to work – that’s my regular routine.  At the hotel, I got up, showered, dressed, and watched the news.  Then off downstairs when it was time for breakfast.” 

“You weren’t out on a bicycle between the pub in the evening and breakfast in the morning?” 

Frowning, Len replied.  “No.  Haven’t ridden a bike in years.” 

One of the young boys opened the door and peeped in.  “Dad, did the Easter Bunny hide any eggs in here?” 

Jennifer heard an angry woman’s voice.  “Out you!” 

Cally chuckled.  Len called, “No eggs in here.” 

“Mr Quail,” said Jennifer.  “We’ll be out of your hair in a moment.  But can you tell me your thoughts on who may have killed Jamie?” 

“I don’t know.  I really don’t.  I know it looks a bit like Damien must have done it, because he was there with him, but I can’t imagine it.  And why would he?” 

“Perhaps he thought Jamie knew something about Valerie’s murder.” 

Len gazed at Jennifer a moment, his brows low.  “I really can’t imagine Damien doing that.  Or again, why?” 

Jennifer thought quickly.  What was the potential motive they had for Damien? 

 “Because she recognised him from somewhere, and he didn’t want anyone to remember what he did.” 

 

 

CHAPTER  23 

  

Back in the car, Jennifer asked, “Where does Damien live, can you remember?” 

“I think he’s further along the London road.  Couldn’t swear to it though.” 

Jennifer took out her phone and tapped on the screen.  “That’s what I was thinking.  Seeing we’ve come this far, I thought he might be a good one to visit next.” 

“Any particular reason to speak to him otherwise?” 

“Well, things seemed to happen so quickly during the week, with the three deaths, and we kept having short talks with all the people who seemed to have anything to do with it…  We didn’t have the chance to look at them closely enough.  Except for bringing Elliot in.  We gave him a bit more of a roasting, with the ID parade and all. 

 But we’d hardly given Valerie’s son and daughter much thought, beyond telling them what had happened.  Actually, I still haven’t met the son.” 

“Better do that soon.” 

“Yes, you’re right.  He seems well dodgy to me.”  Jennifer put her phone in the holder on the dashboard, set up to use as a satnav.  “We’ll get to him again soon.  But 

Damien does live further towards London from here, so let’s go and pay him a visit while we’re halfway there, shall we?” 

“Good idea.  I hope he’s one of those who offers food and drink.” 

Jennifer grinned at Cally and started the car.  “So do I.  As long as it’s not poisoned of course.” 

 

***

 

Damien wasn’t in, so Jennifer and Cally found a café.  When they returned to Damien’s chalet bungalow, he was in. 

Jennifer was surprised at some of the art on the walls and a display unit with small antiques in it.  She didn’t expect his home to look like this.  In the kitchen, however, she saw the influence of his passion for football in the form of red and white wall tiles, and a large clock announcing the name of his favourite team in gold letters around the top half of its curved outline. 

There was a small peninsular unit which helped to divide the room, and a café-style breakfast table.  Beyond was a good-sized conservatory, complete with a dining table and two sofas.  Damien ushered the officers out there. 

“Can I make you tea, or coffee?” 

Cally looked to Jennifer, but she decided to use the time for interviewing only. 

“We’re fine, thank you, Mr Marchant.”   Jennifer gestured towards the other sofa.  “We’d just like to ask you a few more questions.” 

Damien sat down and crossed his legs.  “How can I help you, officers?” 

On a whim, Jennifer asked, “Do you know anything about a cottage for sale in Walling, overlooking the green?” 

His expression gave nothing away.  “No.  I’ve travelled through Walling many times, but I don’t know the place other than that.” 

“So, if I said the cottage for sale, the one that used to be for the local police officer, you wouldn’t know which one I meant?”  Jennifer watched Damien keenly. 

“No, I’m afraid it wouldn’t mean anything to me at all.” A smooth reply, but I can’t hold that against the guy. 

“I’d like you to tell me about the evening you went to the Royal Angler, Monday, to watch the football.” 

“Ah, well, we caught the beginning of the match on the television at the hotel, in the bar.  The sound was turned down, but it didn’t matter too much.  We could see what was happening.  But then Colin changed channels.  He put on a music concert.  He put the sound on for that.  I suppose people like a bit of music in a bar – a better ambience than a football commentary.” 

Damien chuckled.  “I’d been watching with Len and Jamie, and when it went off, we went and sat with the others from the catering course.  Then I had an idea, which I checked with Colin, and then we were off down to the Royal Angler to watch the game there.” 

“Tell me about the people in the pub that night.” 

“It was pretty full.  Mostly men.  Come to watch the game.  If there was a City supporter in, they didn’t let on.” 

“Who was behind the bar?” 

“The landlord, and that poor girl who died…  What was her name?  Kayleigh?  Sweet little thing.  Can’t really imagine she’d been cheating on her boyfriend.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“I heard there was a note on her body or something.  Saying she’d been cheating.  I presume on her boyfriend.  Unless she had someone else on the go.  I don’t think it meant taking a bit of cash out of the till, did it?” I wish that hadn’t got out. 

“Who bought the first round?  I presume you bought your drinks in rounds, the three of you?” 

“Yes, we did.  I got the first one in.  Let’s see.  Len got the next one in.  Then I remember wondering if Jamie had enough money, being a student and all that, but he bought his round.  Len only wanted a half.  He and Jamie were drinking beer.  When the match finished, Len finished his and left.  Said he had to go and phone the missus.  I’ve never been married, so I don’t know what all that’s like.”  He chuckled again.  “I prefer the free life.” 

“How did you and Jamie get on?” 

“Fine.  He kept himself to himself on the first night, Sunday, until the rest of us were all sat together round a table.  And he’d had got some beer in him.  He came out of his shell gradually.  He was fine at the pub with us older blokes.  Engrossed in the game.  We listened to what they had to say about it afterwards.  Then the news came on, and the sound went down, a bit quieter.  People were mostly still chatting, in high spirits after a good result.” 

Damien threw his head back and sighed.  “A great game, it really was.” Jennifer gave him a moment to move past his football reverie. 

“Was Jamie talking to others in the pub?” 

“We both were.  It was rather like we were all old friends with each other.  If you’re watching your team and they’re winning, you’ll talk to anyone who’s on the same side as you.” 

Jennifer glanced sideways at Cally with a smirk.  She knew he’d understand that.  He took over the questioning. 

“Who did Jamie leave with?” 

“With me.  Quite a few of us were kicked out at the same time.  But some went left, a few went right.  We took a moment to catch our bearings, then headed off to the right too.” 

“Why didn’t Jamie come home with you?” asked Cally. 

“He started to.  Then he realised he hadn’t got his phone with him.  He thought he must’ve left it in the pub, so he went back looking for it.  Probably looked around on the ground too.  I’m sure he couldn’t remember where he last saw it.  He was three sheets to the wind, poor fellow.” 

“And you didn’t think you should go with him?” 

“I’m not his dad!  And besides, I was more like four sheets to the wind.”  Damien laughed again.  “He was over six feet tall, young and healthy.  He could look after himself.  Or so I thought.” 

Looking down at the ground, Damien at last looked like he was telling a tale more serious than a jolly day trip with a bunch of mates.  His features settled into a more serious pose. 

Jennifer leaned her elbow on her knee.  “Did you look back to see where

Jamie was?” 

Damien shook his head.  “Probably not.  I really wasn’t expecting anything bad to happen to him, not in a place like that.” 

“What did you do when you got back to the hotel?” 

“I didn’t see anyone from the course in the bar or the restaurant.  There was only a small area where the lights hadn’t been dimmed.  Not many people about.  I went up to my room.  I made myself a cup of tea.  Thought it would help me avoid a hangover.  But then I went to bed and slept.” 

“What time did you go out next?” 

Damien was silent for a beat before looking at Jennifer.  “I didn’t go out again that night.  Or even early in the morning.” 

“Are you sure?” asked Cally.  “No morning jog, or bike ride.” 

“No.  I was in a very comfortable hotel for a catering course.  I got up, came downstairs, and had an excellent breakfast.  Then back to Pablo’s class.” 

Jennifer had caught on to what Cally was getting at.  “You’re denying going out on one of the hotel’s bikes?” 

“It wasn’t me.  I didn’t go out at all.  I've no idea who it was.” 

He sounds rattled.  Jennifer asked the next question quickly in the hope of throwing him off his guard.  “Where was it you knew Valerie from?” 

Frowning, Damien hesitated.  “I didn’t know her before that Lesley woman at the hotel introduced us.  Len said she was looking at me.  But I didn’t remember her.  Maybe I tuned her piano or gave her kids a few lessons.  But I didn’t recognise her.” 

“When did you go to Walling?” 

Damien spluttered and turned red.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!  I want you to go now.” 

 

 

CHAPTER 24 

  

“What do you reckon to that conversation?” Jennifer asked Cally in the car outside Damien’s house. 

“I noticed he reacted with ‘it wasn’t me’ about riding a bike.  Like he knew someone did.  Which I took to mean himself.  Or at least he gathered that was what we were implying.” 

“Which we were.  And then his reaction to asking when he went to

Walling was way over the top for an innocent man, don’t you think?” 

“Definitely.” 

“Although he might've had a bad case of nerves.” 

“Maybe it was those pigs flying over the garden that caused that.” 

Jennifer smiled and sat still in the driver’s seat.  “Yesterday morning, I went to a couple of interviews with Peter - Valerie’s son and daughter - except the son wasn’t in.  My gut tells me the son is dodgy, but the daughter probably not.  Now you and I have been to see Len and Damien.  Damien seems shifty to me, but Len not really. 

You think the same?” 

“Yes.  Didn’t get much bad feeling from Len.  Although he could have gone out again after returning early and phoning his wife, and it could have been him on the bike, but only a weak maybe.” 

“You’re right.  He may have had the means and opportunity.  How do you feel about trying one more?” “Who’s that?” 

“Mrs Rhana Sharma.” 

“Any particular motive or activity?” 

“She wants to set up her own restaurant, and she caused Valerie to go into anaphylactic shock at her uncle’s restaurant, which wouldn’t be a ringing endorsement for a career as a restaurateur.” 

“Oh yes, I read that in a report.  Okay, I’m in.  Where does she live?” 

After tapping and scrolling on her phone, Jennifer found her address. 

“Back the other side of Wallyborough.  Let’s go and see if she’s in.” 

Not far from the centre of the town, the Sharmas lived in what appeared to be a terraced house that had once been a shop.  The adjoining property looked the same. 

But once inside, the property was a pleasant family home.  They were shown into the lounge at the front, which benefited from the larger-thannormal window.  Tea was offered by Rhana and accepted, and she could be heard talking to children in a room further back.  Then a man’s voice was heard.  Oh good.  Don’t have to worry about kids hanging around or causing havoc left alone. 

Jennifer began the questioning once the tea was poured and Rhana had sat down.  “I’d like you to go over your memories of a few particular times for me, regarding the deaths this week.” 

“Of course.” 

“Tell me about Sunday evening, and what it was like in the night – noises and so on.” Rhana had nothing new to add to what she had said before. 

“Now I’d like you to think hard about Monday night.  Tell me everything you can remember about the people on the course, or any others you noticed, leaving the hotel and returning, even after most people were in bed.” 

Again, there were no tell-tale clues that might mean someone had come in and gone back out again, or cleared Jamie’s room of his belongings. 

“Let’s move on to Wednesday night.  Who did you see or hear coming or going?” 

She related the same story about some of them having a drink together in the bar, Damien coming down for a whisky because he had a cold coming on.  She hadn’t even seen Elliot, or someone who looked like him, go out late in the evening. 

Oh well, at least it serves as a confirmation of our records, even if the tea is weird.  Jennifer looked to Cally for inspiration. 

He leant forward in the armchair and said, “Mrs Sharma.  How much of a threat did you think Valerie was to your professional reputation after you’d nearly killed her in your uncle’s restaurant?” 

Rhana looked at him, her eyes and mouth three circles.  “I…  She…  I didn’t recognise her at first.” 

“So, you admit you did recognise her?” said Cally. 

Rhana started to cry. 

Jennifer studied her carefully.  One thing was noticeable: she didn’t have any tissues on her.  Jennifer took a pack out of her jacket pocket and offered them to her.  She took them with a mumbled ‘thank you’ and set about trying to clean her face, although the tears were still falling.  “I really didn’t realise where I’d seen her from for quite a while.  It was only just before we went to our rooms that it struck me.” 

“Was that because she said something?” Cally asked.  “Let’s have the truth this time.” 

Wiping away with the tissues, Rhana was gaining control over the tears, but she hadn’t stopped them altogether.  She blew her nose loudly a few times. 

This is giving her plenty of time to think what to say, thought Jennifer. 

At last Rhana spoke again.  “When we got to the first-floor landing, she asked me which room I was in.  She said it was next to hers.  Then she smiled and said, ‘I hope you won’t be popping in and giving me peanut oil.’  And then I realised.  She was smiling, but I thought it wasn’t very nice of her to say that.” Cally leant closer to Rhana.  “So you killed her to shut her up?” 

“No, no!  She hadn’t said it downstairs, to the others, when she had the chance.  I wished she hadn’t mentioned it at all.  She seemed such a sweet person, then to say that at the last minute…  It upset me.” 

“So you went into her room…” 

A loud sob came from Rhana.  “Alright, I did go into her room.  I followed her in and asked her what she meant by bringing it up, and if she intended to spread the word around now that she knew I planned to set up my own establishment.” 

“You must have hated her in that moment.” 

“No, not hated her.  I was scared.  I didn’t want my dreams of a wonderful restaurant of my own to end because I made a stupid mistake once.” 

“And you wanted to make sure she didn’t use the weapon she had against you.” 

“I didn’t want her spreading it around, no.  I wanted to persuade her not to.  She said she wouldn’t.  But I was upset.  I was really pleading with her.  It’s embarrassing, but I did literally plead for her to promise…” 

“But she didn’t, or she didn’t convince you that she would keep to her word?” “She did in the end.  She said she’d recognised me early on, but she hadn’t wanted to embarrass me in front of the others.  I was still worried after I left her, but not so much.  She said she just wanted to mention it, well, I think she used the expression, ‘small world’.  What a coincidence, that sort of thing.”  Rhana blew her nose again and wiped her eyes. 

“But later on, you decided it was too risky and went in and smothered her,” said Cally. 

“No, no.  Honestly, I didn’t.  I couldn’t do that.” 

“Then who did?” 

Rhana dabbed at her face with the tissue and kept her gaze low. 

Then she said, “She recognised Damien as well.” 

 

 

CHAPTER 25 

  

Jennifer felt good as she showered and prepared food.  It had been a productive day, and she’d done it all without Peter, so she hoped she was showing her ability to be an inspector.  Cally had been helpful, though, and she was impressed with his questioning of Rhana. 

Sometimes she had felt almost outshone by Patrick since he’d joined CID.  It was too soon for him to be in line for promotion, but he was particularly sharp. 

Her phone notified her that a message had been received.  It was from Lawrence, and her tummy did a little flip.  She’d hoped to hear from him, but didn’t really expect to after turning down his offer yesterday, which may have only been politeness on his part as he was seeing his friends already. 

He’d sent her a Happy Easter Monday gif with a cute chick, despite it still being Sunday, with a message underneath it saying, “Wanted to get in early, before everyone else.” 

Jennifer grinned, and after only a moment’s thought, she replied to him with a Merry Christmas gif and the same message.  In response, she received a Happy New Year GIF, again saying the same underneath.  She loved that he could be as silly as she liked to be, but didn’t often feel she had the chance. 

She pinged off a Happy Burns Night gif.  And so it went on.  Jennifer scoured her diary to find celebratory dates, and she assumed he was doing the same. 

The flow was interrupted when Peter checked in to see if there was anything he should know.  Jennifer was glad he’d only messaged and not called, so she could keep it brief.  In the morning, she hoped to manage to find and interview the elusive Keith Fleming, but she decided to keep that to herself for now.  For her sake and that of Peter’s family, and marriage.  He and Nadine had split up last year because of his long working hours, but they had got back together at Christmas.  

Replying to Lawrence’s latest GIF, she explained Peter had been in touch.  She thought that was a sensible cue to say goodnight, hopefully leaving Lawrence wanting more.  Although she didn’t want to count her chickens before they hatched. 

 

***

 

There had been some rain in the morning, but by eleven it was dry and sunny again.  Jennifer wondered whether to call at Keith Fleming’s apartment again, or to phone him first.  She decided that appearing out of the blue would be best, as he was a suspect. 

She persuaded Cally to come with her again. 

“Peter and Patrick being off this weekend,” he said, “is a chance for me to upgrade my experiences.  I appreciate the opportunity.  I'm slowtracked with no degree.” 

“You did well yesterday.  Let’s see if you can do it again today with this guy.  You've still got plenty of time ahead of you to climb the ladder.” 

Cally huffed a laugh.  “I wonder if we'll actually catch Keith Fleming in, for me to practice on him.” 

The door was answered by Gemma, with Cleo clinging to her leg. 

“Is Keith in?”  Jennifer hoped her voice conveyed a degree of impatience. 

“He’s playing golf.  But he said he would be back in time to take us to the Riverside for lunch.  They’re having an egg hunt for the little ones at two.” 

Having anticipated Keith wouldn’t be in, Jennifer had put a business card in her pocket.  She took it out and handed it to Gemma.  “Please make sure he phones me as soon as possible.” 

Gemma’s mouth pressed into a tight but crooked line.  “Okay,” she said quietly. 

“Thank you.  Today please.” 

Jennifer turned and walked back with Cally to the car.  “I feel bad for the wife or whoever in this sort of situation, but I want to make sure he gets the message.” 

“Maybe it was her who bumped off Valerie, for the inheritance, and now she’s done the same to her husband.”  Cally chuckled.  “She’d be in for a tidy sum for herself and the sprog then.  Got to think out of the box.” 

“Oh don’t.  I could do without another body showing up.  Supposing he is dead...” 

Unsure if it was worth interviewing anyone else before they’d spoken to

Keith, deciding to give Gemma a last chance to persuade him to phone Jennifer, they returned to the station.  Cally did some more careful viewing of CCTV footage, with the hope of finding someone relevant going towards the cottage in Walling where Jamie’s bags had been found.  Jennifer decided to review all reports and draw up a mind map with pen and paper. 

Lunchtime came, and Cally asked if Jennifer wanted anything fetching from the canteen. 

“Anything vegetarian I can eat here, thanks.  Cheese sandwich or something.  I’m having a deep think.” 

Two o’clock arrived, and Jennifer wondered if Cleo’s father had turned up to take her and her mum Easter egg hunting at the Riverside.  She decided she couldn’t begrudge him time doing that with his family.  If he were innocent, he would be a grieving son, and time with his family would be good for him. 

Three o’clock came and went, and Jennifer was feeling fed up that she still hadn’t heard from Keith Fleming.  She decided to give him another quarter of an hour then phone Gemma.  She didn’t even have his phone number, which made her feel rather stupid again – but mobile phones weren’t registered in the same way as landlines had been. 

A few minutes later, she was called to interview a woman who had been mugged. 

It was almost four o’clock by the time she had dealt with that.  She needed a cup of coffee, then she would phone Gemma and see if Keith had turned up. 

The phone on her desk rang as she was walking over to it.  She put down her drink and answered.  “Jennifer Sterling.” 

“Sergeant Sterling.  I've received a call from a member of the public.  I’ve dispatched a couple of marked cars and an ambulance, but somebody’s been dragged out of the river, probably dead.” 

Jennifer felt her gut squeeze into a knot.  “Okay, whereabouts?” 

Jennifer knew where that was.  Not all that far from the Flemings' apartment block. 

“Cally.  Unless you’ve just seen a murder on that CCTV, I want you with me.” 

“Yes, boss.” 

Jennifer rolled her eyes at the name and started to walk out the room.  Cally was soon at her side. 

“What is it?” he asked.  “Keith Fleming shown up at last?” 

“I hope not.  It’s a body in the river.  Well, there’s a chance it’s still alive, but I’m not holding my breath.” 

“Well, let’s hope they are.” It didn’t take long to arrive at the stretch of river that had already been taped off. Jennifer could tell the person was dead because he was lying on the shore and nobody was doing anything to him.  They’ll be waiting for Bob from the coroner’s office. 

“Cally, can I ask you to go over and find out who it is, or what they know?  I’m not keen on dead bodies.” 

Jennifer sat on a bench while Cally went down to find out about the body.  She took out her phone to text him to take photos. 

She checked her incoming messages and was cheered to find one from Lawrence. Something that wasn’t all doom and gloom, presumably. 

He’d written: “How’s it going.  Caught any bad guys yet?” 

She replied: “No.  Only a dead body washed up beside the river.” 

“Oh no.  Sorry to hear that.  Can I meet you later, buy you a drink or whatever and try to take your mind off it?” 

“I’d love that.  I’ll message you when I can escape.” 

Managing a small smile, Jennifer looked over at the gruesome scene beside the river.  A tent was being erected over the body. 

She sensed someone beside her.  “I thought it was Easter eggs we were supposed to be finding today.”  It was Dr Bob Robertson, the coroner.  He was tall and broad, and despite dealing with death so much, he usually had a smile on his face. 

“Bob.  Hi.  I wish it was Easter eggs.  A man, as far as I can make out. 

I’m a wimp and sent DC Cally to go and find out.” 

“No Peter, or young Patrick?” 

“I’ll have to disturb Peter.  He was trying to have some family time, but he’ll need to know about this.  Patrick’s actually out of town.  Headed west with his fiancée for a few days.” 

“I’m glad somebody’s managed a proper break.  Right, better go and see what we’ve  got.” 

The big man walked over the grass onto the stony slush and into the tent.  Cally appeared from behind it and headed back to Jennifer. 

“How much will you bet that we won’t get to speak to Keith Fleming today?” 

“I’m not betting.  That’s him down there, isn’t it?” 

“Yup.  Wallet and driver’s licence in his pocket.” 

“Sod it,” hissed Jennifer.  “That’s not the way I wanted to reduce the suspect list!” 

            

 

 

CHAPTER 26 

  

Jennifer strode over to the tent and called to Bob.  She could see the body there, but at least she didn’t have to examine it.  Bob came to the entrance. 

“If he’s the guy on the driver’s licence, I know who he is.  We’ve been trying to interview him the last few days.  Very roughly how long has he been dead?" 

"Not days.  Looks fresh as a daisy.  It wasn't the grim reaper keeping him from you." 

"That's something.  Anyway, I’ve met his wife a few times, so I’d better be the one to inform her.  When will you want her to identify him?” 

“I’ll give you a ring when we’re ready.  Good luck with the widow.” 

Jennifer walked back to Cally, glanced at him, and headed for the car.  He followed.  Neither of them spoke until they were inside with seat belts connected. Jennifer started the engine.  “Let’s go back to the station.   I’ll have to call Peter. Then I want a woman family liaison officer to come with me to tell the wife, Gemma.  Won’t be nice for her, with a little kid.” 

Pulling into traffic, she added, “Then I have to do the same with his sister, Lauren.  At least she has a husband, but she’s already lost her mother.  A few hours short of a week between the two deaths.  Horrible.” 

 

***

 

Jennifer left with her two angels of mercy to inform a couple of women that another family member had died. 

Cally waited in the CID office for Peter.  He had started writing up the reports of the day’s events when the Inspector arrived.  He filled him in verbally. 

Peter pressed his lips together and gazed off.  “Why is it so often that murders in this town come in clusters?  Are they all really connected?”  He turned and poured himself a second mug of coffee since he’d arrived.  “I’ll be in my office if anyone wants me.” 

After a while sitting at his desk thinking, Peter phoned Bob’s office to let him know he was now the officer in charge, and asked to be told as soon as he found any clues as to when Keith Fleming had died and, if at all possible, where and how. 

Half an hour later, Bob called him.  “Hope you enjoyed your family Easter break. Sounds like you actually got a few hours.  Anyway, Keith Fleming hadn’t been dead all that long.  Less than an hour I’d estimate, so around four o’clockish.” 

“Thanks, Bob.  Anything on him to indicate where he’d been?” 

“On a quick look over him through the magnifier, I found a few fibres that looked to me like rope.  The sort you get on a boat.  Clingy buggers.  Not the most surprising thing to find on a body out of the river, but if you want a place to start, you could try boats belonging to bad guys.  Or to our victim.  I’ll let you know what else turns up, and how he died as soon as I find out.” 

Nothing had stood out to Peter from what Cally had told him about the weekend’s activities that pointed him in any particular direction, so he typed up a list of names of possible suspects on a blank file and decided to see if any of them had a boat registered to them.  The rope could have come from the river, or if Keith came off a boat, it may have been just a dinghy, but it was a place to start.  Peter liked starting with a clean page and a particular line of enquiry when there were a lot of muddled possibilities in a case. 

Deciding to leave the Fleming family aside for the moment, he listed: Rhana Sharma, Len Quail, Damien Marchant, Ian Jackson, then at the top, Elliot Wensley – he of the gloves and scarves. 

But the family nagged at the back of his mind.  Keith’s wife Gemma presumably now stood to inherit her late husband’s recent windfall from his mother, as well as the riverside apartment and the cottage in Walling.  Unless his sister Lauren was entitled to some of Keith’s half of the balance of Valerie’s estate, especially with the odd situation about the apartment and the cottage.  He didn’t think so, but the deaths had been close in time.  Had Valerie’s will been officially dealt with fully. Probably, but they should all go on the list. 

He added: Gemma Fleming, Lauren and Tom Henley, and then remembered Keith Fleming himself, as a potential boat owner. 

Elliot and Ian both had small boats, kept on the River Wally, apparently of the type used for fishing.  Keith Fleming himself had a larger two-berth affair, suitable for travelling further afield and staying on for a break, or even living on. 

Dispatching officers to find Elliot and Ian’s boats, and to take a tiny sample of any rope from them, Peter went himself to find Keith’s boat. 

It was a smart vessel, with a high bridge.  Gleaming white in the April sunshine, with a sky-blue trim along its angles.  It was called the Maiden of the River. 

Yes, there was rope, tying the vessel to the mooring.  He inspected the boat from a few yards away, with professional and personal thoughts.  He thought it might be fun to go on a sailing holiday with Nadine and the children, but he’d be more comfortable on a canal barge. 

Strolling over to the gangplank it occurred to him that the boat’s interior may be locked, like a front door to a dwelling.  He reached the door and quietly turned the handle.  The door opened. 

He heard someone inside. 

He strongly suspected Keith Fleming had gone into the river from this boat.  The chances were that the person who put him in was who he could hear inside now. 

He wanted to go in and arrest them.  That would go down well, especially if the same person who killed Keith had also killed Kayleigh the barmaid, Jamie McConnell and Valerie.  It would be a boost in his bid for the promotion he was under consideration for. 

But he would be going against police procedure, and that might earn him a slap on the wrist.  More to the point, if it were the murderer, he would be putting himself in considerable danger.  Someone who had already killed four people wasn’t going to say, “It’s a fair cop, I’ll come along quietly.” 

He thought about his children, James and Vicky, and his wife Nadine.  He wanted to be able to give them the best.  He wanted Nadine to be so proud of him that she never wanted to spend months apart like she had last year.  But it wouldn’t make her love him anymore if he were dead. 

He quietly returned to dry land.  He needed to call for backup.  Where to hide?  He also needed to get a piece of rope from the boat, so he crouched down by the mooring – two birds with one stone. 

No guns had been used in any of the four murders, but he and his colleagues were taking no risks.  Two armed officers were dispatched, along with two other uniformed people.  Peter cut a sample of rope with his pen knife and stayed where he was.  He didn’t think he was visible from any of the boat’s windows, but he had a view of the door.  He was pretty much obscured to anyone coming out. 

His heartbeat very fast, and the temperature of his skin rose as he crouched and waited and watched.  He felt sweat on his forehead and down his back, and his thighs were seizing up.  He changed position and kept as low and hidden as possible. 

The armed officers arrived first in their van.  The marked car parked further away and its occupants came out, opening and closing the doors quietly, and ran low to a small wooden bin store. 

At Peter’s signal, the armed officers went ahead, and he followed close behind, wearing the bulletproof vest they had thrown to him. 

The gunmen took position angled towards the door.  Peter leant flat against the side of the cabin.  He reached around with his hand and banged hard on the door.   “Police!  Open up!” 

There was a muffled scream inside.  Female.  But he heard no voice in reply to it. 

He banged on the door again and repeated the order. 

Above the pounding of the blood in his ears, he heard someone cross the cabin to the door. 

A woman’s voice called out, “You won’t shoot me, will you?” 

“Open the door,” Peter said, “and show your hands.  Then slowly come out.  Keep your hands where we can see them at all times.” He gasped in a breath.  “How many of you in there?” “Just me,” said the female. 

The armed officers remained rock still, their weapons trained at the door, at the level of a person’s midpoint.  Aim for central mass, Peter remembered. 

“Okay,” said the woman.  “I’m going to open the door now, and I’ll show you my hands.” 

Despite the windows and the sunshine, it seemed quite dark inside to Peter as he peered round the corner of the cabin.  Two hands came out, small, slim.  In what seemed like a very long time, a woman emerged in a white maternity dress.  She was pregnant.  About halfway, Peter guessed.  He stepped forward and cuffed her wrists in little more than a second. 

The two officers went inside looking for anyone else. 

“Clear,” they called. 

Peter led the pregnant woman down the gangplank and towards the marked car, adrenaline causing a slight trembling in his limbs. 

I bloody hope this isn’t some innocent woman and we cause her to miscarry. 

 

 

 

CHAPTER  27 

  

“Michaela Lang,” the pregnant woman replied for the benefit of the tape, and gave an address in Wallyborough as her home, a flat-share. 

She had been checked over by the doctor, especially to make sure the baby was okay, and sat with the duty solicitor, Wendy Napier, who lived in the garden flat beneath Pablo and Carlos. 

Peter was glad the solicitor was a woman as Jennifer was still out telling family members Keith Fleming was dead, and the station was short on female officers.  He had Cally with him to assist. 

“Ms Lang, we found you on the Maiden of the River when we came to enquire about its owner.  Can you tell me who the owner of the boat is, please?” 

Michaela had been crying, and a tear trickled down her face again.  “Keith Fleming.” 

“And where was Keith Fleming?” 

“In the river.  Someone came barging on the boat when I was lying down resting in a berth – I heard them.  It was a man.  I couldn’t hear all they were saying but I think he hit Keith and threw him in the river.  When I plucked up the courage to look out, I saw Keith, floating face down.” 

“Did you see the man who came onto the boat?” 

“Only from a distance.  I looked out the other window and a man was running away.” 

“What did he look like?” 

Wiping away a tear with the back of her hand, Michaela shrugged.  “He was fairly tall.  Slim or medium.  Not fat…” 

“What about his hair?” 

Michaela’s eyes glanced off, her lips parted.  Then she looked back at

Peter.  “He was wearing a cap.  A tweedy sort of thing…  Brown.” 

“What else did you notice about his clothes?” 

He was wearing a navy-blue jacket, you know, padded sort of thing.  Probably a bit hot for the weather. 

“So you couldn’t see any tattoos on his arms, or a watch, that sort of thing?” 

Frowning down at the table, Michaela chewed at her thumb nail.  “There was something odd.  But I can’t think what it was.  My overall impression was that he looked like he was dressed too warm for the sunshine.  Does that make sense?” 

“What else was he wearing?” 

“Possibly jeans.  Some sort of dark trousers.” 

“What did he have on his feet?” 

A wry smile crossed Michaela’s face.  “Don’t think I saw his shoes.” 

“But you say he was wrapped up warm.  You don’t mean he was wearing winter boots?” 

“No.  No, it wasn’t that.  Maybe it was just the jacket and cap…” 

Peter encouraged Michaela to remember what she had heard.  She related coming to the boat to meet Keith, lying down and having a nap in one of the berths, as the pregnancy made her tired.  She’d been there a while, but Keith had only just arrived. “I said I’d be up in a little while, and he said he was going to make himself a drink and relax.  I must have dozed off again, and I was woken up by these heavy footsteps or something.  No, maybe not that.  Some sort of banging about.  I heard Keith tell someone to get off the boat, and I think the other man said something about being a cheating bastard.  Something that made me think Gemma was on to us.  That’s Keith’s wife.  He lives with her, and I’m afraid I’m his girlfriend, mistress, whatever you say.  But he said he would find somewhere nice for me and the baby to live.  He wasn’t going to abandon us…” 

She sighed.  “Anyway, they didn’t argue long, but that’s what I thought it was about.  Then I thought they’d come to blows, but I heard someone, the bloke, stomp off.  I went through to the front berth and looked out the window, and there was Keith in the water.  I looked out the side window and saw the bloke running off down the towpath, and he disappeared behind a hedge.” 

“Did you call an ambulance?” 

Michaela chewed her thumbnail again and stared at the table.  “No.  I was in a panic. I wasn’t supposed to be with Keith.  And I was scared.  I wanted to run away.  Then I looked out the front window again and I saw people shouting and pointing at Keith. Someone went into the river and pulled him out.  I didn’t know if he was dead or not.” 

Silence hung for a moment, then Cully said, “Well he definitely is dead.  You pushed him into the water, didn’t you?” “No!  No, it was the man.” 

“Was there really a man?” 

Michaela started to cry, but Peter understood what Cally was trying to clear up. 

“Yes.  There was a man.  When I first heard him I stayed on the bed.  I

was scared someone was going to find out about me and Keith having an affair, and about the baby.  So I stayed out of sight.  I was too scared to go to the front berth and look out the window until I heard the person go, and by that time Keith was in the river.” 

  

The interview was continuing when Jennifer returned to the station.   She went to her desk in the CID office and wrote up her reports.  She remembered she had said she’d let Lawrence know when she finished work, but had no idea when that would be - not until Peter finished the interview.  Her shift had finished in theory, but a sergeant hoping to become an inspector didn’t just walk off.  She didn’t know more than Peter had been to a boat and come back with a pregnant woman. 

She walked languidly over to the whiteboard, picked up a red marker pen and crossed through Keith Fleming’s name with one swipe, and wrote beside it “deceased” and the date. 

Because of the inheritance from Valerie, this now brought the newly widowed Gemma and her sister-in-law Lauren more into focus for the first murder. 

But what had they had to do with Jamie?  Or Kayleigh the barmaid? 

Had their initial emphasis on people at the hotel been wrong?  Should they have been looking at the people who were closer to the victims? 

Looking at Kayleigh’s pretty, semi-oriental face in the photograph on the board, Jennifer followed the line out to her boyfriend, Paul Bracken, and underlined it twice. She didn’t want them to miss out anyone, as they may have done so far.  But it had only been a week. 

At that moment the people from Pablo’s course seemed distant as suspects, but she had to remind herself about Damien coming out from the pub with Jamie, and someone who seemed like Elliot being in the pub the night Kayleigh died. 

Oh, it’s such a tangled mess! 

Peter and Cally came into the room.  Peter moved to the whiteboard, next to Jennifer, interlaced his fingers and stretched his arms up high and back.  “We might not be able to talk to Keith Fleming now, but he’s not out of the picture.  We’ve been interviewing his pregnant girlfriend.  Her existence may have been causing problems in the Fleming family.” 

Jennifer frowned.  “Pregnant?  I wonder if an unborn son or daughter stands to inherit from their parent?” 

“You’d better ask Wendy or her mates.  Wendy was the duty solicitor representing this woman, by the way.  But that’s an interesting point.”  “Or maybe more relevant, does the mother of the unborn child think it can inherit?” Peter added Michaela Lang to the list of suspects on the board. 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 28 

    

It was a little after seven in the evening when Jennifer was free to go.  She messaged Lawrence from her car.  By the time she was home, he’d replied and asked if she’d like to go somewhere.  She replied that she’d love to but warned him she had a lot of work stuff on her mind, and to withdraw the invitation if he didn’t want to risk hearing it. 

Lawrence sent two laughing face emojis and told her to name her venue. 

He added, “Shall I drive over and we can take a taxi together?” 

Tiredness dropped away from Jennifer as she replied to do that, and she’d see him in an hour.  “Going to shower and eat first, so don’t wait to eat with me.”  Her stomach was doing happy little flips. 

As it was Easter Monday, they settled on a small pub in the more expensive side of town, hoping to avoid over-excited children so they could hear themselves speak. 

Talk about work was avoided in the taxi.  “How are Pablo and Carlos getting on?”  Jennifer asked.  “They told me they were hoping to move soon.” 

The new house with the wonderful large garden in which Pablo wanted to grow all kinds of edibles made a good light topic until they were at the pub. 

While Lawrence went to the bar, Jennifer found a small square table in a corner, with a large plant to one side adding privacy.  She sat down with her back to one wall, and wondered if Lawrence would sit at right angles to her or opposite.   

Beside me would be cosiest, but opposite would be good for eye contact.  

She felt happy, a little breathless with an elevated pulse.  She hadn’t been out with a man she was genuinely attracted to for some time. 

Putting their drinks on the table, Lawrence chose to sit with his back to the other wall of the corner.  To Jennifer’s delight, he took hold of both her hands in his.   Happy excitement shot through her.  She looked into his face. 

“Now, Jennifer.  I want you to shut your eyes, and I shall read your mind.” 

She giggled and shut her eyes, opening them a slit after a second.  He was looking at her and grinning. 

“I see water,” said Lawrence, his voice low and husky.  “And a boat…  I see a woman.  She is full of belly with child –” 

“You’ve been talking to Wendy, haven’t you?”  Jennifer laughed, but she still managed to keep one hand in Lawrence’s.  He seemed content with that while she filled him in on how they hadn’t managed to speak to Keith Fleming, and the complications of Valerie’s estate. 

“Oh, and then there’s the other thing you might know.” 

Lawrence smiled at her.  She was quite animated, and smiling broadly herself she knew, but she couldn’t help it. 

“Michaela Lang said the baby she was expecting was Keith’s.  Now, as we know Keith died a wealthy man, does the baby stand to inherit some of his money?” 

Lawrence pursed his lips.  “Well, it depends if he left a will… even then it could be contested once the baby is born if it proves to be his.  If there’s no will, Michaela could certainly plead the case that the child is entitled to its share.  Although his widow will have been his next of kin.  They were married, I presume?” 

“She called herself Gemma Fleming.” 

“If Michaela wants a share for her baby, she’ll certainly have a case to take before the courts, although I couldn’t predict the outcome.” 

“And then there’s the fact that Valerie wanted to buy a home for both her children, Keith and his sister Lauren.  She’d recently bought that cottage, where Jamie’s bags were found, and put it in Keith and Gemma’s names.  But she’d also bought the apartment they were living in, again putting it in their names.  But poor ol’ Sis only got the one house for her and her husband, and two kids.” 

Smirking at Jennifer, Lawrence said, “There’ll be some lovely ‘intent’ wrangling in that one.  It’ll be an interesting case to follow.” 

“Maybe Lauren won’t bother.  After all, she still has her husband and kids, and they seemed well set up.” 

“And I bet you thought Keith was a bad guy.  But now he’s a murder victim.” 

“Hmm…  Maybe Gemma and Lauren both had a motive to kill

Keith.” “And Michaela,” added Lawrence. 

Jennifer groaned and hit him on the arm, but only gently.  “And I’ve still got Kayleigh Yip’s boyfriend to properly interrogate.  We were putting a lot of emphasis on the people at the hotel and on Pablo’s course to begin with.” 

“Not surprising.  Two of them were picked out of the line-up, weren’t they?  The one with the skin and the other one, who could be taken for him in the right gear.  Not forgetting your detective constable.  Glad no one picked me out.” 

Jennifer realised she had to update her list of suspects and sort out the strongest motives, plus opportunities, but that would have to wait until tomorrow.  She would probably start the day going through them with Peter. 

Lawrence sighed and looked at Jennifer.  “I wonder if Elliot had anything to do with Michaela, or Gemma, or Lauren.  If he were a hitman, say.  Or would that be Damien?” 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 29

  

 

Jennifer was on duty at nine the next morning.  She virtually skipped in, after such a lovely night.  Which she realised seemed a little inappropriate as she was there to talk about murders.  But they all had their ways of getting through the grimness, and all had their lives outside work. 

Peter arrived at the coffee machine as she did.  “Ah, just the person.  We have visits to do today, after our wake-up juice.  But we need to work out who and in what order.” 

“Before we go onto all things Valerie, I want to ask about Kayleigh’s boyfriend.  I haven’t spoken to him, have you?” 

“No, only Patrick when he went to give him the news of her murder.  Partners are often the murderers, so we need to speak to him, you’re right.  Everything has happened so fast, hasn’t it?  Or is it because I took some time off and the time I’ve been working seems to have been overly full?” 

“It’s only eight days since Valerie’s body was discovered, and we’ve had three more deaths since then.  I think we can safely say we’ve been very busy.” 

Standing in front of the whiteboard, they discussed all the suspects, including who could benefit from both Valerie and Keith’s deaths.  But they decided to visit Paul Bracken, Kayleigh’s partner, first. 

He was a motor mechanic.  Over the phone, he said he'd be at work that day, trying to keep his mind off losing Kayleigh. 

There was a tiny room off the workshop that sufficed as an office, and Paul led them through so they could sit down.  His eyes were puffy, his hair a mess, and the stubble on his chin and throat couldn’t be described as ‘designer’. 

As they took their seats, Peter gave Jennifer a nod to start the questioning. 

“Paul, how long had you known Kayleigh?” she asked, her voice soft. 

He rubbed a grimy hand over his face.  “Let’s see.  We’ve been living together for about six months.  We were seeing each other for about another six months before that.  So… about a year.” 

Still keeping her voice low and her face relaxed, Jennifer asked, “Was it common knowledge that you argued a lot?” 

“What?  We didn’t row much at all.  Not more than your average couple.  Why d’you ask that?” 

Jennifer kept the same tone and expression but leaned a little closer to

Paul, watching his face.  “Because of the note on her body.” 

His face crumpled.  “She didn’t cheat on me.  I have no idea why that note was on her.”  His eyes filled with tears.  “Someone must've become obsessed with her or something.  Wanted her for themselves.  Hated her being with me.”  Elbows on the table, he dropped his head into his hands. 

Peter stepped in.  “But they wouldn’t have said she was a cheating bitch about you.  You were her partner, not someone she was cheating with.  She must have been cheating on you.  And that must've been very hard to take.” 

It was a second or two before Paul lifted his head, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.  “She wasn’t cheating on me.  I would've known.  She always came straight home after work in the evening.  And I was there waiting for her.” 

This time Peter leant closer to him.  “But what about the lunchtime shifts,

Paul? Where were you when she finished those?” 

Paul looked at him, jaw slack, tears trickling from his wide eyes.  “No, no.  We loved each other.  We talked about having kids, maybe getting married.” 

“Did you really love each other or was it just that you loved her?” asked Peter. 

“What made you so sure she loved you?” asked Jennifer.  “Still loved you?” 

“What did she do on her afternoons off?” persisted Peter.  “While you were working?” 

Knocking his chair against the wall, Paul jumped up and took a step to the edge of the desk, then not really having anywhere else to go, turned round and took two small paces back the other way, facing away from the detectives. 

“We had a fairly old-fashioned arrangement in a way.  Kayleigh likes to cook.  She did nearly all the shopping.  She’d go out and buy food, and there would be a meal on the table or in the oven for me when I got home, depending on what times we were working.  She kept the house clean and tidy.” 

Peter put in another barb.  “And she got fed up being taken advantage of?  Was that it?” 

Paul slumped back down in his chair and put his head in his hands again.  “No, no, no.  It’s how she liked it too.  I’m really crap at cooking.  I can manage a salad in the summer.  And we could afford the odd takeaway.  I don’t leave wet towels all over the bathroom floor, I clean up as I go along.  But she was the one who would make the taps shine and polish the furniture.  She never complained… and she seemed happy.” 

He raised his head to look at Peter.  “Honestly, I really think she was happy.  I cannot imagine what happened.  Why someone would want to kill her.  Why that message… 

 To incriminate me, I suppose.” 

Peter and Jennifer noticed the steadiness of his gaze and the tears on his face. 

“What were you doing Wednesday evening and through until early Thursday?” asked Jennifer. 

“I was home alone.  Kayleigh went to work soon after I got home –” 

“How did she seem?” 

“Just, normal.  We ate together.  One of her stew things, with rice.  But then she was soon off to work.  I showered, put on me trackies, and vegged out in front of the TV.   

I went to bed after I’d nodded off.” 

Peter stood, and Jennifer followed suit.  “We’ll leave you for now.  Let us know if you think of anything to help us solve this.”  And Peter led the way out. 

Back in the car, Peter asked, “What did you think of him?” 

“He seemed genuine and suffering grief…  But of course, someone did it.” 

“So, it’s not impossible that Paul killed Kayleigh for the reason in the note.  He did what it said on the tin, so to speak.” 

Jennifer rolled her eyes at the reference to a familiar TV advert, but it made her smile. 

“Or,” Peter continued, “she was killed because she could have put us onto who killed Jamie.” 

“Shall we go back to the Royal Angler, and try for a better idea of what she was like, now they’ve got over the shock?” 

“That’s what I was thinking.  See, you are literally thinking like an inspector!” 

  

It wasn’t yet eleven when they arrived at the Angler, but the front door was open and Toby Jugg was getting ready for a day’s trading.  One man was already sitting on a stool at the bar with a pint of beer. 

Peter called out to Toby, who turned and beamed at them.  “Nice to see you back, officers.”  Then his face fell.  “Although I don’t suppose it’s for a nice reason.” 

“That’s what makes us not very popular, unfortunately,” said Peter.  “Got that coffee machine on?  Jennifer?” 

“Can I have an orange juice, please?” she replied. 

“Sounds nice and healthy.” 

Jennifer’s mind flicked back to a few days ago, when she found Lawrence drinking fruit juice, and his friends ribbing him about being on a health kick.  Now she’d subconsciously followed suit. 

Toby fetched their drinks, poured himself a half pint of bitter and led them over to a table by the inglenook, nearest the bar.  “How can I help you?” 

“We need to understand Kayleigh better,” said Peter.  “Can you tell us about her? 

 What sort of person she was?  If things were serious between her and

Paul…  Whatever comes to mind.” 

Toby nodded.  “I imagine you’re thinking about that note that was with her when you found her.” 

The two officers encouraged him to let out his thoughts and feelings about the poor barmaid.  When his words seemed to be running dry, they interjected an “Oh?”, or a “How so?”.  Nothing he said so much as hinting at Kayleigh being a cheating bitch, or anything other than a happy young woman in love with her boyfriend. 

As they stood to go, a woman entered the bar whom both Peter and

Jennifer recognised.  Young, brown skin, curly black hair… 

“Ah, this is my newest employee, Ruth.  She’ll be helping me out with some cleaning as well as behind the bar.” 

“Oh yes, you work at the Wally Hill Manor, don’t you?” said Peter.  “You found Valerie Fleming.” 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 30 

  

 

“Well, that was an unexpected turn,” said Peter as they drove back to the police station.  “My brain hasn’t caught up with why there’s a suspicion alarm going off in my head, but coincidences do that to me.” 

“We can start with Ruth wanting Kayleigh’s job, although that’s a bit tame.  Or maybe she had something else against her.  Or she’s been in on it from the beginning, starting with smothering Valerie, and the same old reasons we’ve already thought why Jamie then Kayleigh copped it next.  If there’s a link between Ruth and Valerie… or her family and her money.  Or something to do with Keith and his gambling and womanising.  She might even have been doing a favour, paid or not, for someone else.” 

“We have a lot of options,” said Peter.  “And it would have been easy for her to put the gloves and scarf in that cupboard, knowing they’d be found.” 

“Or she’s just a local girl who has chosen to work in hospitality.” 

“Well, I think we’ll finish the paperwork for today's fun, draw up a list of possibilities to consider, and call it a day.  The Boy Wonder will be back tomorrow.  Fresh pair of eyes and all that.” 

Before they left, Peter received an email from Bob Robertson following the autopsy on Keith Fleming.  He forwarded it to Jennifer and Patrick.  Keith had inhaled enough Chloroform to make him pass out, but he had still been alive when he went into the water.  So far, no prints or DNA or substances had been found on his body to help lead to the killer.  There were the rope strands on his jacket, which most likely came from his boat, and two tiny fibres inside his nose from a standard white cotton handkerchief, believed to be used to administer the drug. 

 

***

  

The previous day, Wendy had told the Investigators' WhatsApp group that she had represented Michaela Lang, as duty solicitor, when she was questioned after being found on the boat Keith had fallen off for his fatal face-down float. 

This had led to comments, questions and speculations, and quite soon to a suggestion they meet up Tuesday evening at the Cartwheel.  All seven regulars had been keen to attend. 

Jennifer had seen there was a message on her phone from Lawrence, and she waited until she had finished work to read it.  He had told her about the meeting and asked if she’d like to come along, concluding, “It might seem a bit odd to you, being officially on the case, because we will be unashamedly discussing it as an excuse to drink alcohol, and I wouldn’t want you to feel you were being invited for our entertainment.” 

“Being your entertainment, just you, could be fun; but I think I’d better pass at this stage of the proceedings.” 

“Wouldn’t want to put you in an awkward spot.  Maybe we can catch up tomorrow to solve the whole thing, work out where Lord Lucan and Shergar went, and generally put the world to rights.  Or leave crimes out of it altogether.” 

“I’d like that.  I’ll let you know what chaos reveals itself tomorrow, when I get to the end of it.” 

  

A little before 8 pm, Lawrence, George and Carl arrived together at the Cartwheel and lurked around their favourite table in the back corner.  A couple looked to be finishing up after a meal.  Lawrence ordered three pints, and sure enough, by the time he had them, the couple got up to leave.  The table was claimed, and George and Carl took the used crockery and glasses to the bar. 

Soon afterwards, Wendy arrived with Lucy, Pablo and Carlos. 

“I’m playing chauffeur tonight,” Wendy explained. 

Carlos and Pablo provided drinks. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of our little gatherings, despite their strange beginnings,” said George. 

“That’s because beer’s involved,” said Carl. 

“Cheers!” said Lawrence. 

Lucy turned to her friend.  “Okay, Wendy.  Now will you tell us what you were doing at the police station yesterday that linked to the murders of two people on Pablo’s course?” 

Wendy took a long sip of her orange juice and lemonade, lightly smacked her lips and sat back against the padding of the banquette.  “Now children, if you’re sitting comfortably, I’ll begin.  Although Lawrence and George already know some of it.”  She told them everything she could, factually, and without speculation. 

“Thank you, counsellor for the defence.  Now we can chew it over and spit out our ideas as to what it might have all been about,” said George. 

Lawrence took out his notebook and smart marble-effect pen and made notes.  He didn’t mention he’d discussed it with Jennifer the previous evening. 

Two pints of beer later he sat back and sighed.  “So, even leaving out the murders of Jamie and Kayleigh, we have the following suspects for Valerie: anyone still alive on Pablo’s course, Keith Fleming (while he was still alive that is), his wife, his girlfriend, his sister and maybe her husband.  Presuming it had nothing to do with the Walling Nature Trust.” 

Laughing, Carl said, “We’ve almost got it cracked.” 

“For Jamie,” continued Lawrence, “We have whoever killed Valerie, as aforementioned, plus Damien, because we know he was there, or perhaps Elliot because he may have been at the pub the next evening and killed Kayleigh, which could have been because she saw him do Jamie outside after closing time on 

Monday.” 

Lawrence held up his pen while he finished his beer.  “And for Kayleigh, we have any of the above because she may have been onto them, plus her boyfriend.” 

Lucy stood and pulled Wendy up by the arm.  “Let’s get the next round, and then we’ll announce the winner.” 

As they settled down to their next drinks, George said, “I’d really like to get to the bottom of this person dressed like Elliot being at the pub the night Kayleigh died.  It screams of someone dressing themselves up to look like him, and the identity parade was inconclusive.  If I were a betting man, and if it's only one murderer my money would be on whoever that was.  Which I think excludes Rhana, and possibly Ian on grounds of height.  So, Elliot himself, or Damien, or Len.” “Len is black,” said Pablo. 

“Good point.  Makeup?  White face instead of blackface?” 

“And which of those would know about Keith and his boat?” 

Looking at Pablo, Carlos asked, “Didn’t you say a couple on your course were into fishing?” 

“Yes.  Elliot and Ian.  So they might be interested in boats.” 

“But what motive would they have to kill Keith Fleming?” said Wendy. 

“Which one was treasurer of the Nature Trust?” asked Lawrence. 

George waggled a finger.  “Good point.  If they were fiddling the Trust’s books and got rid of Valerie because of it, they may have thought her son was involved with it and be onto him.” 

“Perhaps Keith was onto the Treasurer, and was blackmailing him,” suggested Carl. 

“Ian was the Nature Trust treasurer, wasn’t he Pablo?” 

Pablo squeezed Carlos’ hand.  “Yes, he was.” 

“And he’s too short to pretend to be Elliot.  So that makes it unlikely he had anything to do with Kayleigh --” 

“And therefore Jamie,” finished Lucy. 

The debate went round and round, and when Wendy, as designated driver, was the only one left sober, they decided to have a secret vote on their best-educated guesses.  Lawrence tore up a page from his notebook and gave a piece of paper to each person.  “Write your entries on these, screw them up, and give them back to me. 

Five minutes later Lawrence stood up to announce the result.  “In third place, with one vote, we have the late Keith Fleming’s pregnant girlfriend!” 

There was some fingers-on-table drum rolling, then Lawrence declared,

“And in first place, we have joint winners, Damien and Elliot.”  “Whoop, whoop!” said Carl.  “We’ll have a play-off for the winner.” “Who said the pregnant girlfriend?” asked Wendy. 

“Me,” replied Lucy.  “Follow the money and cherchez la femme.  That’s what they say, and she fits both.  Maybe.” 

 

 

CHAPTER 31 

  

The following morning Patrick was back from his holiday to the west country with Angela.  He strode into the CID room and glanced at the board.  “You didn’t wrap this one up while I was gone, then?” 

Jennifer rolled her eyes.  “We’ve added a new body.  Pity, he made a good suspect.” 

Patrick turned back to the board and studied it.  “Oh, I see.  Keith Fleming.  Valerie’s son and due to inherit from her.  So, who now benefits from what had become his?” 

“Well, it’s funny you should ask that.  It would have been his wife, Gemma, with their little daughter.  But now there’s another contender, and she was on the boat from which he went into the river and drowned, at the time.” 

“But a girlfriend wouldn’t inherit…  Or did he write her into his will?” 

“We’re yet to find out about a will, the solicitor having extra time off for

Easter, but she bears in her belly, according to her, Keith’s child.  If the DNA confirms it’s his, the girlfriend will have a case to claim.” 

“The plot thickens.” 

Peter entered the room.  “It sure does.  Glad you’re back.  We have plenty of interviewing to do, of the sort where we have to work out who’s lying.  With this many deaths, we must have spoken to at least one murderer by now.” 

“Who would you like me to visit, sir?” asked Patrick with an ill-disguised grin.  He did enjoy his work. 

“Cally and I interviewed the pregnant girlfriend, Michaela, on Monday, and Jennifer spoke to both the widow, Gemma, and the sister, Lauren, to tell them the news.  So you two, Patrick and Jennifer can have Michaela.  Two fresh new faces for her, and someone new for you. She has to be a suspect, but I want you to be careful because of her condition.” 

Cally had heard his name mentioned and now sat on Jennifer’s desk.  “And Cally and I will visit Keith’s sister, and her husband – even he could have done it for the money.  And also Keith’s widow, who by luck of marriage is now into inheriting a whack from Valerie as well as owning the two properties.” 

“So it’s the familial Valerie connection today,” said Patrick.  “Anything new crop up about the lot from the hotel?” 

“Michaela said she saw a man run away from the boat, and his description fitted Elliot, or even a person dressed as Elliot, the one seen before Kayleigh was sent to meet her maker.  My best guess would be Damien if it was someone in disguise.” 

“We had an ID parade,” Jennifer told Patrick.  “Which was inconclusive. 

Both Elliot and Damien were picked out.” 

“So was I,” added Cally grimacing. 

“But there is one more person who cropped up unexpectedly yesterday.  Maybe nothing.  But the cleaner at the hotel who found Valerie dead in bed has now taken over from Kayleigh at the Royal Angler.  I haven’t come up with a convincing motive yet, but I’ve put her up on the board, back burner.” 

  

Jennifer told Patrick to drive, enjoying that little discovery where she could pull rank, especially as she was hoping soon to raise that rank a notch.  Patrick grinned at her. 

 “I like driving, so I’m not doing you any favours.” She stuck her tongue out at him. 

They arrived at a large, detached house with a concreted front garden for parking. 

“She’s not already a rich bitch, is she?” asked Patrick. 

“It’s a house share.  Looks better than some from the outside.” 

There were several doorbells, and they found Michaela Lang’s.  She answered the door and looked at them blankly. 

Showing their warrant cards, they introduced themselves and asked to come in. 

Jennifer was aware they had to be sensitive with this woman.  She had just lost her boyfriend and the father of her unborn child. 

Yet she might have caused his death. 

Michaela’s room was at the back of the house, overlooking the garden.  It was cramped with second-hand furniture, but reasonably clean and tidy.  She waved an arm at the room.  “Sit down.” 

Patrick took the swivel chair at a small desk, and as there was only one armchair, which Jennifer knew would be more comfortable for a pregnant woman, she sat on the bed.  They accepted a cup of tea, which Jennifer hoped would allow an illusion of relaxation. 

As Michaela was in the shared kitchen, Patrick whispered, “Doesn’t look like she’s benefitted from a fella with a rich mum so far.” 

“But did she plan to?”  Jennifer’s brows raised and hid themselves under her fringe, and Patrick grinned. 

Once they were all seated with tea, Jennifer spoke gently to Michaela.  “When did you first meet Keith?” 

“I did a bit of bar work at his favourite casino, standing in for a friend.  When I told him I was only a temp he went all fake panic.”  A smile played briefly on her lips.  “He said I’d better give him my number in case he couldn’t find me again.  He was good at acting the fool.  He made me laugh.” 

Jennifer smiled at Michaela.  “When was this?” 

“Ooh, about a year ago.  Yes, it was spring last year.  I’d started to wear sleeveless dresses I remember. 

“And was it long before you went on a date?” 

Another smile from Michaela.  “No.  He phoned me the very next day, and we went out on my evening off.” 

Jennifer wondered if she’d known then that he was married, but she avoided asking. 

And conveniently Michaela supplied the answer.  “Of course, I didn’t know then that he was married.  I might not have said yes if I’d known. 

But he did tell me quite soon.  He said he and his wife lived quite different lives, but they stayed together because of his little girl.”  I wonder how many men have told women that over the years? 

“As we got closer, we did talk of living together.  But he wanted to wait until 

Cleo started preschool.”  Michaela rubbed her rounded belly.  “But things changed.” 

“What were your plans, then?  Would Cleo have started preschool before this one is born?” 

“No, not quite.  Keith was going to set us up somewhere suitable, look after us but carry on living mainly with Gemma.  We hoped she’d feel things had finished between them before Keith moved out properly.  You know.  Let her down gently.” Jennifer nodded and smiled softly, hoping Michaela couldn’t tell inside she was yelling Bastard! 

“He did suggest we live in a house his mother bought him in Walling, but neither of us were really keen on living out there.  We prefer Wallyborough.” 

So, he wasn’t planning on giving one of the properties back. 

Jennifer questioned Michaela about the afternoon she was on the boat and Keith went into the river.  She gave the same story as Peter had relayed, about the man matching the description of the one in the Royal Angler the night Kayleigh died, possibly Elliot, but maybe someone, like Damien, dressed as him. 

Patrick stepped in.  “What exactly happened?  Can you talk us through it?” 

“No.  I just heard a bit of arguing, rather muffled because I was in the berth in the middle.  Then it sounded like someone running off, but only one person.  I went to the front berth and looked out, and there was

Keith in the water.  I saw the man running away out the side window.” 

“What did you do?” 

“I looked back out the front and saw someone wading out to get Keith.  I was terrified, but I thought he’d be alright ‘cause they got him.” 

“So did you go along to where he was?” 

The tears that were already trickling down Michaela’s cheeks increased in volume.  “No.  Nobody was supposed to know about us.  And, look at me…  Five months pregnant.  I couldn’t run round all those bushes and what have you.  And I couldn’t see the riverbank where they pulled him out.  I had to sit and wait and hope.” 

There was a pause in the questioning while Michaela wiped her face with tissues and blew her nose a few times.  As she seemed to gain control of herself, Patrick continued. 

“This was on Easter Monday, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you usually see him on Mondays, or in the afternoons?” 

“Not especially.  It varied.  Different days.  Sometimes evening, sometimes during the day.” 

“What about Sunday last week?” 

Michaela frowned.  “I think I saw him in the evening.” 

“Did he stay the night?” 

“No.  We don’t often have the chance to do that, because of Gemma and Cleo.” 

“What did you do last Sunday evening?” 

“Went out for a drink, I think.  Yes, then we went back to the boat…  To finish the evening.  Then he took me home, back here.” 

“About what time was that?” 

More frowning.  “I'm not sure.  Around midnight, I suppose.” 

Swivelling gently in his chair, Patrick asked, “Were you with him the next evening? On the Monday?” 

“Er, no.  I don’t think so.” 

“Tuesday?” 

“We spent the afternoon together on Tuesday.  Oh, his mother had died!  We went for a drive and found a tea shop with a lovely view over the countryside, and we talked.  I hoped it did him good.” 

“Did you see him on the Wednesday?” 

“Briefly.  We went to the boat for a quiet hour or two.  Then we went for a drink the next evening, but he didn’t go home late.  Then he said he wanted to have hot cross buns with Cleo on Good Friday…  I saw him briefly later.  Then for about an hour on Sunday.”  Michaela was gazing upwards as she thought through the days.  “He took Cleo to an Easter egg hunt on Monday, before he came to see me.  He was a good father.”  Tears trickled down her face again. 

Silence hung in the room a moment, and Michaela once again dabbed her face with a tissue. 

“Michaela,” said Jennifer.  “Did you think the person you saw running from the boat on Monday had deliberately pushed Keith into the water, from what you heard.  Or do you think it might have been an accident?” 

“I don’t know.  I’ve relived it a hundred times in my mind.  I just don’t know what happened.  How, or why.” 

“Did Keith have any enemies?” 

“None that I saw him arguing with.  He didn’t mention anyone…” 

Patrick glanced at Jennifer and she stood.  Bearing in mind Peter’s warning to be careful of Michaela’s condition, she had run out of questions for the time being that didn’t involve pushing her hard.  Such as if she had given her boyfriend a nice hug as she held a chloroformed hanky over his face. 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 32 

  

“Cally tried to find out who could have dumped Jamie’s bags at the cottage in Walling, by watching CCTV footage,” Jennifer told Patrick when they were back in the CID room.  “He thought he might have found Len on a bike.  But it’s all vague. 

And there aren’t enough cameras in the area.  Anyway, you’re good with anything computers.  Can you carry on, please?” 

“Sure.” 

“I’ll write up the report for this morning…”  Jennifer wandered over to her desk, taking out her phone as she went.  A message had come through.  She smiled.  It was Lawrence: “How’s it going today?” 

She sat down and replied: “There’s still a murderer or two out there.” 

“Are we going out to solve it between us tonight?” 

“Hope so.  Not sure what time I’ll finish.  Should be free by this evening – Patrick’s back from his hollybobs.” 

Planning to share a taxi again, Jennifer was to let Lawrence know when she’d be free.  She put her phone away, with butterflies on the loose in her tummy. 

It was less than an hour later when Patrick declared, “Hey, I’ve found something interesting!” 

Jennifer went over to see what he was looking at on his screen. 

“As Cally’s done some of this, I thought I’d widen the particular vehicles we’re looking for.” 

“Good thinking, so who’ve you found?” 

“A car belonging to someone on the suspect list.  It goes past the camera on the road between the hotel and Walling.  I picked it up the other side of the village but couldn’t find it beyond a certain point, so I looked at turnoffs.  I found it going back towards Wallyborough about a quarter of an hour after it was seen going the other way.  I followed it.  I lost it near the owner’s address!” 

“Patrick!  You’re brilliant.  What are you?”

“Brilliant.”  Patrick laughed. 

“Well, don’t keep a girl in suspenders.  Whose car was it?” 

“You know that film – I see dead people?” 

“Sixth Sense.  Yes.”  Jennifer’s face scrunched up.  “What’s that got to…  No.  Not Keith Fleming’s car.” 

“Got it in one.” 

“Bloody hell.  So do you think he did his mum and then Jamie because he thought he’d witnessed something?  Then someone worked out it was him and got him out of revenge over Jamie or because…?” 

“Either that or someone was driving his car.” 

Jennifer hit the palm of her hand against her forehead. 

“I suppose the most likely person, if it wasn’t Keith would be Gemma.  Use him to sort out some unpleasantness then get rid of him and laugh all the way to the bank. 

 Have you managed a clear enough view of who’s in the car yet?”  

“I haven’t found a brilliant view yet.  Looks like someone wearing a cap pulled down to conceal the face.  Dark coat.” 

“Not a cap again.  Like the person who had the gloves and scarf a la Elliot.  They had a cap on, to confuse the issue.” 

“It can’t be the same person, can it?”  Patrick squinted one eye as he looked at Jennifer. 

“Pablo’s mate, Carl – you know the Investigators were there on the Wednesday night - he saw someone fitting the description leaving the hotel the night Kayleigh copped it.  Someone could have snuck in and then visibly went out the normal way, hoping people would spot him and think it was Elliot…  Maybe they’ve got someone on the inside.” “The cleaner who found Valerie at the hotel, the one who’s taken over Kayleigh’s job.  Could there be a motive there?  Maybe a bonus for someone helping out our mystery person.” 

Jennifer was so deep in thought she jumped when she heard a deeper voice at her side say, “You’re not looking for a mystery person are you?”  It was Cally.  “And you being detectives an’ all.  Well, I never.”  Patrick laughed and outlined what they were talking about. 

“You’d better go and tell the boss.” 

“What?  He’s in and hasn’t come to use the coffee machine?” 

“We had some at Valerie’s daughter’s place.  I think he’s trying to cope without having another until he has lunch.” 

Patrick went to Peter’s office and explained his findings. 

“And you’re thinking Gemma?  Or Michaela?”  Peter tapped his lip with a pen and frowned.  “Or someone was using Keith then got rid of him when he ran out of usefulness…”  Peter grinned.  “I love a new clue.” 

“Food for the brain, eh, sir?” 

“Certainly is.”  Peter did some more tapping with his pen.  “Right, two things.  The CCTV footage needs to be looked at to see if Keith’s car goes to the hotel on Sunday night or anywhere near the Royal Angler on Wednesday night.  And Gemma needs questioning some more, even if it’s only about who has access to that car. Cally and I saw her this morning, so I nominate you and Jennifer to visit her next.” 

“Right, I’ll go and grab her.  And I’ll put Cally back on the CCTV, shall I?” 

“Yes, thank you.  I need to speak to the solicitor again.” 

 

***

  

Receiving no reply at the apartment overlooking the river, Jennifer and Patrick went into a nearby café with a view of Gemma’s main entrance, and got some lunch. They discussed the case, and Patrick told tales of romantic fun in Cornwall. 

“You came back on the right day by the looks of it,” said Jennifer.  It had clouded over and some light rain was visible on the café window. 

“I had a word with God and asked him to keep it nice while we were away.  Oh look.  Gemma’s back with little – what’s her name?” 

“Cleo.” 

“Alright to avoid indigestion finishing this?” 

“So long as we dash if she comes back out again.  Save chasing her all over and wasting time.” Ten minutes later they rang Gemma’s bell again and were buzzed into the vestibule. They went up to the apartment. 

“I’ve already seen your boss this morning,” was Gemma’s greeting. 

“Things develop all the time in this business,” said Jennifer, smiling and going over to Cleo.  She crouched down next to the child and admired her toy animals, hoping to put Gemma into a better mood, at least to begin with; but also because she didn’t like children being frightened. 

Patrick sat on the sofa and commented to Gemma about the change in weather.  Soon the adults were all seated and Jennifer began the interview. 

“Can you tell us what Keith’s car was doing going up towards Walling in the early hours of last Tuesday morning?” 

Watching Gemma, Jennifer saw her brows raise and her eyes widen. 

“When?  Last Tuesday morning? 

“During the night Monday to Tuesday.” 

“Oh.  I don’t know.  Why do you ask?” 

“His car was seen on CCTV footage.” 

“Oh,” Gemma said again.  “I… I don’t know.  Maybe…  Maybe he was giving someone a lift home, after they’d been out at the casino or the club or something.” 

“Where did he say he was going that Monday night?” 

Gemma looked at the floor and rubbed her thumbs and index fingers together.  “I’m not sure.  I think that night he was going to the casino.  It could have been the Club here in Wallyborough, the Mermaid.” 

“How many people have access to that car?” 

“Only him and me…  I think it was.  So me now.  He might have lent it to a friend or two occasionally I suppose.”  Gemma wiped a tear from her eye. 

“How many keys were there?” 

“Er, just two I think.” 

“What about insurance?  Were you a named driver?  Was it fully comp?” 

“Oh, I’m not sure.  I was allowed to drive it, but I don’t know if it was only me.” 

Patrick leant towards Gemma.  “I suppose a friend could have driven it on their own insurance.” 

“Yes, of course.”  Gemma was frowning at the floor. 

“But you think it was Keith who was driving it that night, Monday to Tuesday?” persisted Jennifer. 

Gemma pushed her lips together as if in an attempt to form a smile that was just too much hard work.  “Yes.  Unless he was drunk and a friend…” “Not you?” asked Patrick. 

“No.  I would have been here with Cleo.” 

Jennifer took her turn to ask, “Could he have been anywhere else other than the Casino or the Mermaid?” 

“I don’t know.  Well, yes.  He goes out a lot.  He plays golf, so he may have been in there…  I couldn't say for sure.” 

Patrick changed angle.  “How was your husband with his mother?” 

“Valerie?  Okay.  They had their different views.  Like she thought we should go and live near her in Walling.  She bought a house not far away for her daughter, and she bought the old police house in Walling for us. 

But she’d already bought us this place, and we prefer it here, in town. 

She was very into nature and gardening and cooking. 

 Keith didn’t even want a garden and certainly doesn’t… didn’t cook.”  She dabbed at her eyes again with a tissue. 

“What about you, now?  Will you go to Walling and have a garden for

Cleo?” 

“No, I’ll stay here.  I’m a townie.” 

“What happens to the cottage now?  Does it go back to Valerie’s estate?” 

“No, no.  I might rent it out or sell it.  It’s a bit early to be thinking about it.” 

Patrick rested his arms across his knees, still angled to look directly at Gemma. 

 “The idea behind having the two properties wasn’t one for you, one for Keith?” 

The tears she’d been dabbing at visibly flowed.  “No, no.  Keith was, well, not the best husband.  He was out a lot.  But we were solid.  It was Valerie’s idea to buy the cottage.  If Lauren or someone wants it, they can have it.” 

  

Driving back to the station, Jennifer asked Patrick if he thought he’d learnt anything from the interview. 

“Not really.  I couldn’t tell if what she said about her marriage and the cottage in Walling was true, if she wasn’t bothered.  They certainly seemed to live a strange life for a couple with a small child.  I hope Angela and I are a lot closer than that.” 

“She didn’t mention Michaela at all.  It’s like you said, it depends on how much she was being honest with us.” 

“I’m looking forward to hearing if Cally saw Keith’s car anywhere near the Wally Hill Manor Hotel on the night Valerie said farewell to her mortal coil.” 

 

                     

CHAPTER 33 

  

 

Jennifer was home before six, and suggested Lawrence come round about seven thirty.  He arrived pretty much on the dot.  Jennifer felt a thrill of muscle tightening inside her at the thought that he made the effort to arrive on time, and at his beautiful face and curly light brown hair.  And she loved the surprise of his kissing her passionately the moment he stepped inside her flat. 

But she pushed him away after a minute and they decided where to go. 

“How about that olde-worlde pub in Walling, where we went after we found Jamie’s bags,” suggested Lawrence.  “Not likely to bump into any friends up that way are we, to impose on our evening?” 

“Not unless Valerie’s ghost turns up.” 

The rain had been on and off in heavy bursts since the afternoon, and the temperature had dropped.  They had no trouble getting a table and a meal that evening. 

Jennifer brought Lawrence up to date on what she’d been doing at work and why but deliberately didn’t go into conversation in any depth.  Lawrence outlined the cases he’d been working on but kept it light. 

“We’ve had a very happy Angela in the office today.  Was Patrick all loved up after their time away?” 

“He was.  When we mentioned the strange marriage Gemma and Keith Fleming had, he made a comment about hoping he and Angela would be closer.” 

“Aw, I’m pleased.  Let me know if he ever starts seeming less keen.  Angela’s bonkers about him and I’d hate to see her let down.” 

“They’re probably talking about weddings this very minute.”  Jennifer gazed off for a moment, recalling part of her interview with Gemma.  “Can you see Angela wanting to come and live in a place like this, if it was in budget?” 

“I don’t know.  She seems to want kids, so I think she’ll want a house and garden, but the villages might be a bit far out for them.” 

Having finished their meal, they ordered drinks and moved over to a quiet area with an upholstered seat for two. 

“At the Cartwheel the other night,” said Lawrence, “we discussed the murders and had a vote on who we thought did it.” 

“Oh, do tell.  It might crack the case for me.” 

“Well, Lucy voted for Michaela.  Something about cherchez la femme and money.  But the rest of us voted three for Elliot and three for Damien.  We haven’t quite got you your rapid promotion to inspector.” 

“It’s an interesting thought, though.  Those two.  There’s something odd about that person wearing the scarf and gloves the night Kayleigh died.  Either it was Elliot who killed her, and he was quite blatant about it, or someone wanted us to think he did.” 

“I think it could be a bit dodgy dressing up like someone in particular, rather than a more generic disguise.  You know, long blonde wig and fake pregnancy, that sort of thing to throw the scent away from the hotel.” “Yes, and that’s another strange thing, giving away that they were from the hotel. That would bring it a bit close to home if it was Elliot.  Although it would reinforce the idea it was him if it was someone pretending to be.” 

Jennifer leant her shoulder into Lawrence’s muscular one and Lawrence put his arm around her.  “Let’s think about the idea of wearing those gloves and scarf.  It’s a distinctive Elliot thing.  Would he risk wearing them to the Angler if he intended to commit murder outside in its backyard?” 

“Perhaps he can’t cope without them, for comfort reasons.  Or to stop people being disgusted if his hands are really flaky and look bad.” 

“Yes.  That makes sense.”  Lawrence sighed and gave Jennifer’s shoulders a little squeeze.  “But what’s the potential motive for Elliot?” 

“There isn’t one, unless he did in Jamie, and he thought Kayleigh saw him.  I can’t see how Kayleigh could have been a witness to Valerie’s murder.  And none of us have thought of another reason for any of the hotel lot to kill Kayleigh.” 

“But we know Damien went to the pub on the Monday night, because Len admits being with him.  And the two of them were seen leaving the hotel together, with Jamie.” 

“Yes.” 

“What motive might Damien have for killing Kayleigh?” 

“Same sort of thing.  That she witnessed him kill Jamie.” 

“Now that seems slightly more likely to me,” said Lawrence.  “If Elliot had crept out of the hotel on the Monday and lurked about hoping to catch Jamie on his own, managed to, killed him and Kayleigh saw it… One, that seems a bit haphazard, and two, would he risk going to the pub on the Wednesday night – actually into the pub, not lurking about this time waiting for Kayleigh to come out?  She might have clocked him and called your lot all while in the safety of the pub.” 

Slowly a broad smile crept across Jennifer’s face, and she turned and gave Lawrence a quick peck on the lips.  “You know, you could be a detective.” 

“An Investigator, moi?  I could.”  He laughed. 

Jennifer made Lawrence go through his logic about the murderer not being Elliot again, and she had to agree. 

“What motive have you got for Damien?” asked Lawrence.  “As we know he had access to Jamie on his tod.” 

“Hmm, only that he killed Valerie and thought Jamie knew or suspected.” 

“And Jamie was a little outside the group, due to his age and probably being a bit shy, except when it came to the cooking or football, yes?” 

“Yes.  If Damien wanted to lure him off on his own, going to watch football at the pub and hanging about would be a good way…” said Jennifer, pursing her lips.  “If he knew Len would go back earlier.” 

“He went to phone his wife, didn’t he?  Promised her he’d do it each night I believe.” 

“Yes, you’re right.  So getting Jamie to the pub and keeping him there after Len had gone would be quite feasible.” 

“But for it to make sense, Damien would have had to kill Valerie.  What motive have you got for that?” 

“Only that she recognised him from somewhere.  It’s a bit vague.  Rhana and her causing Valerie to have an anaphylactic shock and now wanting to set up a restaurant of her own makes as good a reason…” 

“But nothing about Rhana fits with Jamie or Kayleigh’s death, does it?” 

“No.  When you take the chain of three murders together, Damien sits right there at the top.  But what about Keith’s death?  Do you think that was separate?  His wife or girlfriend, for the money?” 

Larence frowned then emptied his pint mug.  “Maybe Damien was in league with one of them.” 

Jennifer laughed lightly.  “That would tie it up nicely, but it may be a bit far-fetched.” 

“Why?  If either Michaela or Gemma wanted Keith killed for his money, well, he’d have more money to be killed off for once his mother had died and left him a load of dosh.” 

“True.” 

“So imagine.  Let’s refer to the person who could be either Gemma or Michaela as Woman X.  Imagine Woman X knew Damien, and thought he wasn’t angelic. She might have wanted Keith to inherit his mother’s money, then to inherit herself.  She and Damien could have worked out a way for him to do in poor Valerie.  He likes cooking, Valerie was going on the course.  So they plan for him to do it there…  And the rest follows on.” 

“And if Woman X was Gemma, Damien kills Keith on the boat.  Or if it was Michaela, she tops him herself, maybe, or gets Damien to do it ‘cos she’s preggers…” 

Lawrence went to buy more drinks, reverting to orange juice for himself to enhance his chances of pleasing the beautiful Jennifer.  Back at the table, he said, “Gemma must be the numero uno for Woman X, because she was certain to inherit regardless of Michaela’s baby, including the properties.” 

Picking up her red wine, Jennifer held it out for Lawrence’s glass.  “Cheers.  I think I should run with the theory of Damien and Gemma, take credit for it and be promoted, and then I’ll let on that you worked it out!” 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 34

  

Theoretically, it was Jennifer’s day off on Wednesday, but she couldn’t resist going into work to discuss the Gemma and Damien theory. 

When she arrived, Peter and Patrick had gone to interview the cleaner from the hotel who now had Kayleigh’s old job at the pub too.  Their favourite motive was that Ruth was not just keen to work hard and make extra cash, but that she had a thing for Kayleigh’s partner, Paul. 

Cally had explained this to Jennifer, concluding, “As the boss says, until we’re there, we need to check out all possible routes.” 

Jennifer grinned.  “Anything come of his visit to the solicitor yesterday?” 

“Nothing new.  The apartment and the cottage were both already in Keith and Gemma’s names, so they couldn’t be forced to give either to Valerie’s estate, nor sell and share the proceeds with the sister, Lauren.  And if Michaela’s baby proves to be Keith’s, the courts may decide it should inherit a share of the money.  Not a definite open and shut case, unless Keith died intestate – which he didn’t.” 

“Did he leave everything to Gemma and little Cleo?” 

“It all went to Gemma.” 

Jennifer nodded slowly, smirking. 

“Okay, what’ve you got, Jennifer?” 

“Well, it’s only a theory.  But it’s looking good.” 

“Come on, spill.” 

“I will do when Batman and Robin come back.” Cally laughed at that. 

Jennifer was about to go to her own desk but turned back.  “Cally, did you find any more sightings of Keith Fleming’s car, particularly on the Sunday when Valerie was 

killed.” 

“Not going anywhere near the hotel, no.” 

“Good.”  Jennifer grinned and this time did go to her desk. 

  

As was often the case when Peter returned to the station, he came into the CID office to make coffee.  This time he and Patrick had to hang their coats up to dry, as the rain was back again. 

“April bloody showers,” Peter muttered as he worked the machine, but he smiled at his favourite aroma as the coffee poured out.  “What are you doing here, Jennifer? Can’t get enough of us, or have you cracked the case.” 

“Definitely the former, and maybe the latter.” “She’s got a theory,” Cally said with a grin. 

Peter perched on his favourite spot near the whiteboard, an old desk, as Patrick availed himself of the coffee machine. 

“A theory, eh?” said Peter.  “We could do with one of them alright.  One that holds more water than the flimsy ones we have so far.” 

Patrick carried his coffee to his desk, to sit facing Peter.  “Sounds like you’ve been giving the brain a good workout, Jen.” 

Cally rolled his chair closer.  “No excuses now, girl.  Spill!” 

With slightly pink cheeks, but an unsuppressed grin, Jennifer told them the theory of 

Damien and Gemma being in cahoots.  “It could otherwise be Michaela and Damien, in which case Gemma would be at risk.  But I think Gemma and Damien are more likely.” 

“I like it,” said Peter.  “If you were me, the Inspector in this outfit, what would you do next?” 

“Bring Damien and Gemma in for more pressurised questioning.  And, maybe, let them accidentally come across each other in the corridor, or reception, and watch their expressions.” 

Rubbing his hands together, Peter declared the idea “Excellent.”  He continued, “What do you suggest about how we go about bringing them in?” 

Jennifer’s gaze drifted a moment, before focussing back on Peter.  “Find out where they’ll be, make an appointment to see them, and plan it so they both arrive at the same time – if we can.” 

“Perfect.  I’ll leave it to you to make it happen. 

First Jennifer phoned Gemma. 

“I’m afraid I’m in and out quite a lot today.  I have a lot to sort out, having lost my husband.  I, er, could see you this evening, or better still tomorrow.” 

“Shall we say two o’clock?” said Jennifer firmly.  “Perhaps you’d like to leave Cleo with a friend, then we can get through matters more quickly.” 

“Well, er, yes, okay.  I’ll leave Cleo with the friend I’m about to visit. 

I’ll see you at two o’clock then, for a quick chat.” Next, she phoned Damien. 

“I’ll tell you what.  I can drop into the station about six, on my way back from an errand I have to run in Wallyborough this afternoon.” 

Jennifer didn’t mess about.  “Be here at two, promptly, please Mr Marchant.” 

“Well, I might be a bit late.” 

“Two o’clock precisely.” 

Damien sounded unhappy.  “Okay.  See you at two.” 

Having told the desk sergeant to expect Damien Marchant at two, and asking him to keep him in reception until she called him through, Jennifer arranged for a uniformed pair of officers to pick Gemma up from her apartment in time to arrive at the station at two.  She explained the need to come into close proximity with Damien so they could observe their reactions.” 

“Okay, we’ll keep her in reception, if necessary, then.” 

A little before two, Jennifer went to wait in the office behind the front desk.  She first saw the marked car pull up with the officer she asked to drive to collect Gemma.  The other officer, a woman, was in the back of the car with Gemma. 

Jennifer’s stomach churned.  Where’s Damien? 

She was pleased to see Gemma was brought out of the car slowly.  She anticipated the officers were going to end up inside the building smack on two o’clock.  She wanted to keep out of the way to watch the two suspects meet unobserved. 

Gemma was brought in through the main doors, and Damien at last was seen coming from Jennifer’s right.  She let out a breath, but her gut was still tight.  Gemma came in just ahead of Damien and was facing away from the doors, looking around.  Damien came from slightly behind and strode to the desk.  The sergeant who greeted him asked him to sit, pointing near where Gemma was with her two officers. 

And there it was.  A definite if brief two-way stare.  Nothing said, maybe just people being people.  But to Jennifer, it looked like they knew one another, and each was surprised to see the other. 

Jennifer stayed hidden for a few minutes.  Observing.  As others came and went, they looked at those near them, that was only natural.  But she felt confident there was some glancing going on between Gemma and Damien, without eye contact. 

She rang through to Peter to tell him it was time to start the interviews.  He and Patrick took Damien, and Jennifer led Gemma down the corridor to meet Cally outside their room.  It gave them all time to position the suspects close together and to observe any further reactions. 

Damien kept his head up and only looked straight ahead.  Gemma fiddled with her hair in front of her face, head down. 

  

Jennifer showed Gemma where to sit and sat down opposite her, beside

Cally. 

“Why are we here?” asked Gemma. 

“There have been a lot of deaths in the area, and I’m sure with your losing first your mother-in-law and then your husband, you will want us to take matters very seriously.” 

“Of course.  But why come in here like I’m a suspect or summat?” 

“Gemma, I must inform you that you are not under arrest, although we have to treat everyone involved as potential suspects.  Would you like to have a solicitor present? 

 It will be a recorded formal interview.” 

“I don’t know if he can come right now, without warning.  How do these things usually work?” 

“You can call your solicitor.  You can wait here for him or her.  Or we can supply you with a duty solicitor.” 

Gemma’s gaze wandered around the plain brown room.  “I’ll try and get hold of the solicitor Keith and I dealt with about the properties.”  She took her phone out. 

Cally and Jennifer stepped out of the room, leaving the door ajar.  They smiled at each other but said nothing.  After a couple of minutes, they heard Gemma call out “Hello?” 

Returning to the room, Jennifer asked, “Any luck?” 

“He can be here in about twenty minutes.” 

“Okay.  Good.  Would you like a tea or coffee, water?” 

“Tea, please.” 

With Cally dispatched to fetch drinks for them all, Jennifer sat quietly pretending to study something on her phone.  She needed to stay with Gemma in case she made any more phone calls, but didn’t want to invade her space while they waited for her legal representation. 

  

In the adjoining room, identical except it was grey, Peter and Patrick sat opposite Damien and a duty solicitor – a tall thin woman in a black skirt suit and white blouse, with rather stiff hair an unrealistic shade of auburn. 

Peter’s first question had been about Damien recognising Gemma. 

“I’m sure I don’t know her.  What makes you think I do?” 

“The way you both looked at each other.” 

“But it’s a very strange experience.  Two people come in to help the police with their enquiries.  We had that in common.  She was even with a couple of officers, which made me a bit curious about what she’d done.” 

“But you didn’t have any officers with you.  She wouldn’t have thought you were in the same boat.” 

Peter had used the phrase in the normal manner, but he thought Damien had reacted to it, and he remembered how Keith Fleming had met his end, off a boat.  Does he think I’m making reference to it? 

“She must have known why I was brought down here,” said Damien.  “Escorted by two officers.” 

“But we’re not in uniform.  She could have easily thought you were a solicitor, or the victim of a crime.” 

Damien grunted and looked at the table. 

Patrick kept his eyes closely on the suspect as he asked, “Perhaps you know her husband, Keith Fleming?” 

“The husband’s mother was Valerie Fleming.  You knew her, didn’t you?” 

Damien blinked quickly a moment and drew in a breath, which seemed difficult.  “Of course I knew Valerie.  Although not well.  You spoke to me about her death, when I was on the catering course last week.” 

“Yes, that’s right.” 

Damien seemed a little wheezy.  “But I don’t know her son or daughterin-law.” 

“Why did Valerie recognise you, Damien?  Through her son or daughterin-law?  I  was of the understanding you knew them.” 

Damien’s face was looking florid.  “No, no.  I’ve never met them before.  Not that I recall.  I don’t know anything about them…  Never met Valerie before.” 

He took a couple of sips of the water in front of him and looked at his solicitor.  “I don’t know what this is about.  I’m not feeling well.” 

The redhead said firmly to Peter.  I must insist my client takes a break from questioning now. 

There was nothing the officers could do but accept the request.  They left the room and moved along the corridor, away from the door. 

“What do you think, sir?” 

“Oh Patrick, I hate it when they claim to not feel well.  If Damien did kill people, he’d be bound to pull any stunt to get himself out of the questioning until he came up with some false alibi or something.  But if he is innocent, it might bring on…  well, a heart attack or stroke or something I suppose.” 

“Do we call for the duty doctor?” 

“At this stage, I think we give them time to settle, then go back in.  And if he claims to feel ill again, then we have him checked over.” Patrick nodded and leaned against the wall. 

Peter had his hands in his pockets and his mind deep into the case.  He thought again about the mention of the word ‘boat’ and played around with ideas to bring the subject around to what happened to Keith Fleming while on a boat. 

They returned to the room a few minutes later.  Peter asked the solicitor if it was alright to continue or if the duty doctor was needed.  She said she thought her client had felt overwhelmed by the frightening situation. 

The detectives resumed their seats, and Peter took his time settling, ostensibly giving Damien time to feel at ease, but also keeping him wondering what was going to be asked next.  Then he went for it. 

“What were you doing on the boat the Maiden of the River on Monday afternoon, a little after four?”  Peter stared at Damien for an unspoken response.  Then he wrote on his pad “Did he blanche at that?”, tore it out and passed it surreptitiously to Patrick. 

Peter watched Damien again carefully.  He looked pale, and his breathing was shallow and on the fast side. 

Patrick leant his lips to Peter’s ear.  “Yes.  Keep going.” 

“The boat belonged to Keith Fleming.  As I said, I believe you know him.  Perhaps it’s the name you’re not familiar with.  You were seen leaving the boat in quite a hurry.  Keith Fleming had just gone face down into the river –” 

Damien Marchant clutched his chest and hissed, “I need a doctor.” 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 35 

 

Peter pressed the emergency strip on the wall and an officer came straight in. 

“Doctor, or ambulance, now,” ordered Peter. 

The Duty doctor was in the room within a minute and demanded a marked car take her and Damien straight to the hospital, with the lights and siren on. 

A wheelchair was brought round and Damien was whisked away. 

“Bugger!” said Peter. 

“I think he was putting it on,” said Patrick. 

“I hope you’re right.” 

  

As Damien was being taken out, Cally escorted a tall, hefty man into the room where Gemma and Jennifer were waiting. 

“Gemma, my dear.  Don’t worry.  I’m here now.”  The solicitor turned to

Jennifer and offered his hand.  “Alexander La Mont.  Her to represent Mrs Fleming.”  He shook hands with Jennifer then Cally, then rolled his way round to the seat that wasn’t quite wide enough for him, next to Gemma. 

Taking his time, he lifted his brown leather Gladstone case onto the table and took out a notepad and pen.  He closed the case unhurriedly and placed it down on the floor beside him next to the wall. 

“Well,” he said at last.  “What’s going on here then?  I understand my client is not under arrest?”  “She is not,” said Jennifer. 

“And you know that she has very recently been bereaved.  Lost her beloved husband?” 

“We do know, Mr La Mont.” 

“And are we here to try to uncover who pushed Mr Fleming off his boat, to his death?” 

“Yes, we are.  And also to find out who killed Mrs Valerie Fleming.” 

“Of course.  I see.  Gemma has been through a very rough time of it lately.  Two losses of such close family members.  How can we help you?” 

Jennifer matched La Mont’s slow pace.  “As you know, Gemma is due to inherit a large amount of money, from both deaths.  That leaves her vulnerable.”  An idea was coming to Jennifer.  “We are concerned about a Mr Damien Marchant and his involvement in the matter.” 

Jennifer smiled at the large solicitor.  “He was at the hotel where Valerie was staying on the night she died.  Smothered in her sleep.  The following day he went with two other men to a pub near the hotel, and one of them didn’t come back.  He was found in a large pond behind the pub.  And then two days after that we believe he was in the vicinity when the barmaid of the same pub was murdered.  And now, as we understand he knew Keith Fleming, he was seen near the site of his death…” 

Jennifer sighed and smiled again at the solicitor.  “Gemma says she doesn’t know him, but we believe he may have killed all these people. 

All connected.  Gemma may know him under a different name, perhaps. 

We don’t want it to be Gemma next.”  Oh, that was a nice touch.  Jennifer was proud of herself. 

La Mont turned to his client and smiled.  “Gemma, my dear.  I need you to think about who this man is, and his connection to you and your family.”  He turned to Jennifer.  “Do you have a photo of him?” 

“We do.”  Jennifer tapped on her tablet and turned the screen for Gemma to see. 

Gemma gazed at the photo, then at her hands.  “No.  Never seen him before.” 

“Are you sure, Gemma,” asked Jennifer, tapping the tablet to keep the photo on the screen.  “Imagine him, say, wearing a cap, or with a scarf…” 

Gemma swallowed hard.  Generally nervous about the situation, or about Damien in a scarf and cap? 

For the sake of the solicitor mainly, Jennifer assumed a soft tone.  “Tell me about 

Monday, when you last saw Keith.” 

Tears moistened Gemma’s eyes.  “We took Cleo to the Riverside for an Easter egg hunt.  It was so lovely.  Our little family together.  The sun was shining, and Cleo and the other children had a wonderful time searching out little chocolate eggs hidden amongst the bushes and things in the garden.” 

“What time was that?” 

“I think it started at two.  Round about then.  The children had found all the eggs in about ten minutes, so we got some drinks and crisps and enjoyed being there.” 

“Where did you go afterwards?” 

“We stayed there quite a while.  Then Keith got a phone call…”  Gemma fished a tissue out and dabbed at her eyes.  “Work.  Someone was having trouble, he said.  Something failing with their computer.  So he had to go.  I wasn’t very pleased, of course, and Cleo was enjoying our time together.  But work is work.  It’s what pays the bills.” 

Except for the mortgage, in your case.  “Then what happened?” 

“Keith took us home, then went off to see his client.  He said he hoped he wouldn’t be long.  Actually, I didn’t have long to worry about where he was, because…”  Gemma cried and covered her face for a minute.  La Mont patted her on the shoulder. 

“Then you came with the other lady to tell me Keith was dead.” 

Gemma emitted something akin to a howl and covered her face some more. 

I’m not buying these tears as genuine.  Jennifer glanced at Cally with lowered lashes.  She could see his lips pressed firm, encouraged that he appeared to feel the same.  Then he had a question for Gemma. 

“Why do you think your husband and mother-in-law were killed, Gemma?” 

A few more sobs.  Gemma wiped her face with the tissue.  “I don’t know. 

I just don’t know.  Maybe someone hates me!” 

“Why would they hate you, Gemma?” persisted Cally. 

Gemma’s voice was whiny.  “I don’t know.  It’s all I can think of.” 

“Did Keith owe anybody money?” 

Gemma blew her nose and looked forlornly at Cally.  “A little bit.” 

“How many people?  How much?” 

“He was a gambler.  He did lose money badly sometimes.” 

“Did people ever come round to your home and demand he pay them?” 

Gemma looked at the table.  “Once or twice.” 

“Only once or twice?” 

“Well, a few times.  But he was a good husband apart from the gambling. 

It was an addiction, he said.  He couldn’t help it.” 

“A good husband, who got another woman pregnant.” 

The howl-crying started again.  La Mont asked for his client to take a break, and Jennifer and Cally left the room, moving away to the end of the corridor. 

“What do you reckon?” asked Jennifer. 

“I don’t trust her.  She seems fake to me.” 

“Me too.  Good jab about Michaela.  I think we should try to find out if she knew.  I have a feeling she did, but I don’t know if she’ll admit it.” 

“She’s admitted he got into debt with the gambling.  Maybe she’ll admit to knowing more about his dark side.” 

“Yes.  Let’s see if we can get her riled up about him.  Show a motive for wanting to be rid of him.” 

“Good plan.  Shall we go back now?” 

Jennifer looked at her watch.  “Yes, let’s.” 

As they re-entered the room, Gemma seemed calm and was talking quietly with her solicitor, although they cut it short, and Jennifer couldn’t quite make out what was being said. 

Resuming their seats, Cally turned the tape back on and Jennifer asked Gemma how much of a problem Keith’s gambling really was.  “Don’t feel embarrassed if it was bad.  It was his doing, not yours.” 

Gemma glanced at La Mont and then looked towards Jennifer.  “It was bad.  I worried.  Not only for me, but for darling Cleo.  I didn’t want to see her brought up in some terrible place and not have the things her friends had, as she grew up, started preschool and proper school.  She’s young yet, but as she gets older she’ll notice more and more what she has compared to others.” 

“Did you try to persuade Keith to seek help for his addiction?” 

“I tried.  He wouldn’t have it.”   Gemma stared down at the table again.  “They say the hardest part is admitting you’ve got an addiction, don’t they?” 

Cally cut in.  “What about the women?  Did he see a lot?  How many did he get pregnant?” 

Letting out a gasp, Gemma put her hands over her mouth and nose.  “Only the one.  She got rid of it, thank God.  But I did suspect he may have been… with other women from time to time.  He was out such a lot.  Some of it gambling, but sometimes he was out really late, or for a while at odd times.” 

“Gemma.  Keith’s girlfriend didn’t get rid of the baby.  She’s four or five months pregnant.” 

The not-too-convincing sobbing started again. 

“I must remind you that my client is not a suspect,” said the solicitor. 

“And you have no right to upset her like this.” 

Jennifer leant across the table and looked into La Mont’s eyes.  “But we are beginning to see that Gemma may have had quite a strong motive to want rid of her husband.” 

He frowned and looked at his client.  “Continue.” 

“Gemma, where did you go after the Easter egg hunt on Sunday, after

Keith told you he was going off somewhere again?” 

“He dropped us at home.  Me and Cloe.  I stayed there.  I called my friend Ursula, and she came round, and we had some wine while Cloe slept.” 

Cally slid his notebook and pen across the table to Gemma.  “Name, address and phone number, please.”  Gemma obliged, which made Jennifer expect she was telling the truth.  Unless the friend stayed with Cleo and Gemma popped off dressed as Elliot, although Damien disguised as Elliot was more likely. 

Cally stood, picking up the notebook.  “I’ll go,” said Jennifer. 

  

She was surprised to see Patrick in the CID room.  “Finished with Damien already?” 

“He got carted off to the hospital on the verge of collapse.  Looked like a heart attack.  I’m not thoroughly convinced though.” 

Jennifer’s eyebrows rose.  “Well I never.  I’ve just got to check something.” 

Dialling the number on the piece of paper, a woman’s voice replied. 

“Ursula?” “Yes.” 

“My name is Jennifer Sterling.  I’m a detective sergeant at Wallyborough Police 

Station.  I’m sorry I’m unable to go into details about why I’m asking, but could you please tell me where you were on Easter Monday, from about three-thirty until six?” 

“Oh.  Crikey.  Yes.  I was at home, then I got a call from my friend Gemma Fleming. 

 Not quite sure what time.  Maybe four-thirty.  I went to her place.” 

“Thank you.  And why was that?  Was it to look after Cleo?” 

“No, no.  She was having a nap most of the time.  We had some wine and put the world to rights, chatting.  But I couldn’t stop long.  I was supposed to be somewhere by five.” 

Jennifer thanked the woman and ended the call.  Then an idea hit her. 

“Patrick…” 

“Yes, Jennifer?” 

“I want you to do me a favour.” 

“Right.  And what’s that?” 

Jennifer told him and went back to the interview room. 

“Right.  Thank you, Gemma.  That checks out alright.  You were at home with Cleo, and your friend came round, but she couldn’t stop long as was gone by the time I arrived, is that correct?” 

“Yes.” 

There was a knock on the door and Patrick popped his head round.  “Boss,” he said, addressing Jennifer. 

Jennifer went over to the door but didn’t step outside. 

“It’s about Damien Marchant,” said Patrick.  He moved his head a little further back and lowered his voice, but not to a whisper.  “He’s had a heart attack.” 

“A heart attack?”  hissed Jennifer.  “Where is he now?” 

“Rushed to the hospital.” 

“Is he going to be alright?” 

“Touch and go, ma’am.” 

“Oh dear,” said Jennifer and turned back to the room, thanking Patrick over her shoulder and closing the door. 

Gemma’s eyes were wide, and her mouth was open.  “Remember that man you said you didn’t know, Damien

Marchant?” Gemma stared at her. 

“He’s just been rushed to the hospital with a heart attack.  And we thought we might have got him for murdering your husband and motherin-law.“ Jennifer adjusted her position in the chair.  “I hope this doesn’t mean we’ll never find out.” 

Gemma’s voice became shrill.  “What do you mean?” 

Jennifer raised her eyebrows and smiled.  “Don’t worry.  We’ll get to the bottom of it somehow.” 

“Is that man dying?” 

Again a gentle smile from Jennifer.  “I don’t know.  He’s headed to the hospital, so he’ll be getting the best care.” 

Jennifer shifted the questioning to what sort of person Valerie was, and what her relationship was like with her son, Keith.  She didn’t manage to extract any useful answers from Gemma, but she was quite convinced she was now very nervous. Cally agreed.  Even Alexander La Mont seemed less confident. 

           

 

CHAPTER  36 

  

 

Damien was given a clean bill of health at the hospital and packed off home with the suggestion that he avoid spicy food. 

In the CID room at the police station, Peter sat on the spare desk next to the whiteboard and they discussed the afternoon’s events. 

“I think there’s every chance we have narrowed it down to two guilty people.  I’m not keen on the idea that Elliot’s involved, scarf and gloves or not.  Let’s leave Damien and Gemma to stew for tonight, give the others and our brains a rest and see what tomorrow brings.” 

Peter had been genuine that he wanted his team to rest and come back refreshed, but he wasn’t giving up on the case himself.  He went across the road to the baker’s and bought sandwiches and a small apple pie.  He ate them while he read the news online, trying to clear his mind, and then phoned Nadine and chatted briefly with her and James and Vicky.  He apologised carefully that he would be a little late – he didn’t want his marriage to suffer again – and said he’d keep in touch as he found out how long he needed to be out. 

He dispatched a pair of uniformed officers to Elliot’s address to see if he was there, and to follow him if he went out.  Then at seven-thirty, he went to the Flemings’ apartment overlooking the river.  He checked Keith’s car was in the underground carpark and positioned himself to wait to see if Gemma went out or received any visitors.  The overcast sky and intermittent rain meant that most people had lights on indoors, and Gemma’s flat was no exception. 

After some forty minutes, a man got out of a taxi.  He was roughly the height and build of Damien Marchant, but he had on a cowboy hat and a yellow Pack-a-mac.  No cap, no scarf or gloves, no navy quilted jacket, but Peter thought it was Damien. 

Having checked in with the team watching Elliot’s house and finding nothing happening, he called a backup team for himself.  He had them park around a corner.  One hid himself near the main door, out of view of the doorbell camera, and Peter sent the other to wait against the wall next to the fire exit at the back. 

Peter pressed his index finger on Gemma’s bell.  His heart beat fast and heavily.  After what he guessed to be a minute, he rang the bell again.  There had still been no reply when a woman came out the door.  He grabbed it before it shut again. 

Using a radio, he quietly checked the two uniformed officers were in place, then made his way upstairs to the apartment door. 

He stood outside it with his ear against it, listening.  He heard movement.  And then he heard a man’s voice.  Not enough to make out what it said, but enough to know there was a man in the flat. 

Peter moved away from the door and hissed into the radio for the officers outside to grab any man who came out. 

Back at the apartment door, he listened again.  He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and heard his own pulse in his ears.  But he stood up straight and drew in a deep breath. 

He knocked on the door. 

He heard a sound that could have been a door open and close quietly.  Then some movement near the main door. 

Gemma opened it and peered out.  “Yes?” 

Peter strode forward and had to trust that instinct would make Gemma step back. 

“I need to have a word with your visitor,” he said. 

“I haven’t got a visitor.  Don’t wake Cleo up” 

“I’ll be quiet.”  He looked in the lounge and the kitchen. 

A voice called him over the radio. 

“Go ahead,” instructed Peter. 

“Got him.  Handcuffs on.” 

“Good.  Take him to the car.  I’ll call the family liaison officer.” 

“What are you calling her for?” asked Gemma.  “I told her I didn’t need her.” 

“But Cleo will while you’re at the station.” 

“You had me there this afternoon.  You’ve got nothing on me.” 

Peter ignored her and rang the station and requested Gemma Fleming’s family liaison officer, someone from children’s social services, and a female officer to assist him with his arrest. 

“You’d better call your solicitor,” he said to Gemma.  “We’ve caught Damien 

Marchant, who you say you don’t know, coming out of your fire escape.” 

“No!  How did you know?” 

“Call it copper’s instinct.” 

 

***

  

Damien was put in Interview Room 1 and offered the duty solicitor if he didn’t have one of his own.  He called his own, who arrived within a quarter of an hour.  A man of medium height and build, around fifty, with slicked back thin ginger-grey hair. 

Peter tapped his pen against his lips as he stood in his office.  Jennifer was supposed to have had a day off today, so he couldn’t call her in.  Patrick had been off for a long weekend but was probably with Angela.  Should he go with a uniformed officer, or call Cally who would be more useful, knowing the case? 

He called Cally, who was doing nothing more than watching an old episode of Midsomer Murders on the television. 

“I call it training,” said Cally with a chuckle. 

“I’ve just caught Damien round at Gemma’s place.  He snuck out of the fire exit.  I’ve brought them both in.  Do you want to lend me a hand?” 

“I sure do.  I’ll be there in ten.” 

  

True to his word, Cally was with Peter within minutes.  They tossed a coin to decide which suspect to interview first.  Gemma was chosen. 

Alexander La Mont was sat beside her in the grey room.  He shook hands with the officers as they introduced themselves. 

The recorder was turned on and Cally gave the details of time and those present. 

Peter looked hard at Gemma, and she winced. 

“Alright, alright, Damien was there with me.  But I didn’t ask him to come.  He wanted money.” 

“Why?” asked Peter. 

“He said he killed Valerie and Keith for me, so I could be rid of a nagging mother-inlaw and a sod of a husband who didn’t treat me right.” 

“And why would he do that?” 

“He said he’s in love with me and wants me to be happy.  But he also knew there was a lot of money at stake, and he wanted some, said he needed it.” 

“Is he your lover?” 

“We’ve hooked up a few times, but nothing serious.  Or that’s what I thought, anyway.” 

“Where did you meet?” 

“At the bloody casino of all places.  The cause of a lot of the problems Keith and I had.” 

Peter sat back in his chair.  “Go on.” 

“He chatted me up, and I was flattered, because Keith had been flirting with the women there – mostly dressed to the nines in their high stilettos and expensive dresses.  I don’t fit clothes like that since I had Cleo.  Can’t even wear the shoes because my feet puffed up so much, and they never seemed to have slimmed down to their proper shape since.” 

Gemma sighed heavily and pushed the hair back off her face.  “I felt I was losing Keith.  And to add to my misery, that night Valerie was there.  She wanted to come along one night and see what a casino was like.  I

probably wouldn’t have been there myself if Keith hadn’t tried to make it a family affair.” 

“Were Lauren and Tom there too?” 

“Yes.  All the Fleming herd.  We had dinner, then looked around the casino, placed a few bets…” 

“You said to make it worse Valerie was there.  Didn’t you get on with her?” 

“Oh, she was nice enough, with her charity work and so on.  But Keith was her golden boy.  I don’t think any woman would have been good enough for him in her eyes.” 

“But she bought you an apartment and then a cottage and had them both put in your joint names, yours and Keith’s.  She must have liked you.” 

“Yes, that was lovely of her.  I do her a disservice.  She was very kind.  But I never quite felt part of the family really.” 

“How about Lauren, your sister-in-law?  How did you get on with her?” 

“Oh, she’s sweet.  And she has the kids too, which is nice for Cleo, having cousins.  But she’s a reall country girl, like her mum.  I’m a definite townie.” 

Turning in his chair, Peter crossed his legs, to the side of the table that had been in his way.  “What did you and Keith plan to do when Valerie bought you the cottage?  Did you tell her you wanted to stay at the apartment?” 

“No.  Keith said not to say anything straight off.  We made ourselves too busy to move.  He said to see what happened.  Mind you, Keith was too busy most of the time.  He worked and he partied, and he gambled.” 

“And you were left asset-rich but cash poor.  Would you have preferred the money instead of another house?” 

“Hmm, yes and no.  It would have been nicer to have more money to go on holidays and buy more things.  A car of my own, for instance.  But there was always the risk that Keith would fritter cash away.  Gamble it and lose it.” 

Cally leant his arms on the table and put his face closer to Gemma’s.  “Speaking of cars.  Was it you driving the car registered in Keith’s name last Monday night?  Heading between the Wally Hill Manor Hotel and the village of Walling, where your cottage is – then looping back round again to your apartment?” 

“Me?  No.  You lot were asking where Keith was going that night.  I didn’t know then and I don’t know now.  What’s it all about?  Why do you want to know?” 

Cally maintained steady eye contact with her, and when she turned away to look at Peter, she met the same gaze.  Her cheeks tinged pink. 

Cally continued.  “Were you perhaps going to meet Damien?” 

Lifting her hands onto the table and twisting her fingers together,

Gemma looked down at them.  “No.  It wasn’t me in that car that night.” 

“We’ll see what Damien has to say about it then,” said Cally and pressed his lips together tight. 

“Yes, Damien.  We’ll speak to him now I think,” said Peter.  “Perhaps it was Damien driving the car.  We’ll find out eventually, Gemma.  If you’re keeping secrets… well, you’d do better to be straight with us now.  Lies have a way of coming back to bite you on the bum.  Especially when you rely on someone else telling the lie in the right way.” 

 

 

CHAPTER 37 

  

 

Damien had his fingers interlaced and was rubbing his palms together as Peter and Cally came in.  His shoulders were hunched, and his eyes looked hard and bird-like. 

Beside him sat his solicitor with his slicked-back hair.  Reminds me of a gangster, thought Peter, as he approached, smiling, with his hand outstretched. 

Hands were shaken and introductions made.  The tape was turned on.  Peter looked steadily at Damien. 

“Mr Marchant, Damien.  What were you doing at Gemma’s apartment earlier this evening?” 

Clearing his throat, Damien looked away a moment then back.  “We have been, er, friends a little while now.” 

“Lovers?” 

Again, Damien’s eyes avoided Peter’s gaze momentarily before he glanced up briefly and said, “Yes.” 

“Now, why have you two been keeping this a secret?” 

“Gemma was married.” 

“But it would have been helpful to know, given she was married to Valerie Fleming’s son, and Valerie was murdered in the very hotel you were in on the night it happened.  You can see how it all looks very suspicious.” This time Damien didn’t reply.  Just looked down at his hands. 

“You drive Gemma’s car sometimes, don’t you?” 

He looked up and frowned.  “No.  Why should I do that?  I have my own car.” 

“It will be tested for DNA.  Are you telling me none of yours will be found in it?” 

“That is what I’m saying.” 

Bugger.  Years of experience helped Peter to keep his feelings from showing in his face. 

“Why did Gemma drive up by the Wally Hill Manor last Monday night?” 

“Did she?  I don’t know.” 

“Somebody took Jamie’s bags to the cottage Gemma owns in Walling and left them under a bush in the front garden.  A quick hiding place, but not very effective.  They were spotted by a passing police officer.” 

Damien cleared his throat.  “I don’t know anything about that.” 

“But you were with Jamie that night in the Royal Angler, watching football and drinking together, with Len Quail.  But Len left early.  It was just you and Jamie left to walk back to the hotel.  You killed him, didn’t you, Damien?” 

Damien’s face turned a deep red.  “No, I did not.” “Was it Gemma?” asked Peter. 

“Did the two of you do it together?” asked Cally. 

“What?  What are you on about?  I didn’t kill Jamie.  I liked Jamie.  I was sad to hear he’d died.  Didn’t he drown?” 

“Technically, yes,” said Peter.  “But only because you’d bashed him unconscious before putting him in the pond.” 

“I did no such thing?” 

“Was it Gemma then?” 

“No.  I don’t know.  I don’t know anything about it.” 

“So, you agree it could have been Gemma?” asked Cally. 

“I don’t know.  It…  It…  Whoever did it, it wasn’t me.” 

“You think little Gemma could have thwacked him on the back of the head and pulled him into the water?” said Cally.  “Come on.  He was over six feet tall.  You had a hand in it.” 

“Was it you pulled him into the water?” asked Peter.  “Or did you bash him?” “Who did what?” demanded Cally. 

“I…  I…  Er.”  Damien coughed several times, then clutched at his chest. 

“Come on!” said Peter.  “Don’t make yourself ill.  Was it her or was it you?” 

Hyperventilating wheezily, Damien gasped.  “It was her.” 

Peter and Cally exchanged glances.  Peter poured a cup of water from the jug on the table and pushed it over towards Damien.  “Drink this.  Take some deep breaths.” The solicitor announced, “My client needs a break.” 

“We’re giving him one,” said Peter.  He stood up and paced the room. 

“Take your time, Damien.  Relax.  Breathe easily.” 

Cally sat back in his chair and examined his fingernails.  The solicitor looked a little flustered with indecisive movements of his hands and body, but eventually sat back, knowing he didn’t really have anything to complain about. 

Peter was determined to stay in the room if the solicitor would allow it.  He slowly walked up and down with his hands in his pockets, head down, as if lost in thought.  He was thinking, but he was also monitoring Damien carefully.  And in a few minutes, Damien’s colour returned to normal, he stopped coughing, and he no longer clutched his chest.  Peter gave the room two more turns, then slowly and gently came and sat opposite Damien once more. 

“Damien.”  Peter’s voice was soft.  “Are you telling me that Gemma killed Jamie?” 

“Yes.” 

He gave it thirty seconds. 

“Did she kill Valerie?” 

Damien wheezed slightly before saying, “Yes.” 

“Did Gemma kill Kayleigh, the barmaid?” 

Damien hesitated.  “I think so.  She told me to go to the pub that night and pretend to be Elliot.  She said it would be a wheeze.  I went along with it.  I see now she hoped I’d get the blame.” 

“And who killed Keith?” 

“Gemma did.” 

The silence hung heavy in the room. 

Eventually, Peter broke it.  “Why did Gemma kill all these people?” 

Damien sighed and crossed one leg over the other.  “For the money, originally.  That’s why she killed Valerie.  But then she thought Jamie might have seen her, so she killed him.  Then she saw the barmaid, she said, when she was dragging Jamie into the water.  She got away, but she was nervous about it.  So, she killed her too.” 

Another sigh, very heavy.  “Then she killed Keith, as she’d always planned to.  Kill 

Valerie, kill Keith, and she’d be loaded, and free.  Keith treated her abysmally.  I think it broke her.  I tried to hold her together, but she said she had to give Keith what he deserved.  Valerie was more of an afterthought, when Gemma realised she would be on the same course as me.” 

“How did Gemma get to Valerie at the hotel?” 

“I let her in.  She wanted a night in that place, with me.  Then I told her Valerie was there…  And she came up with the idea.  Do both, more money.” 

“Didn’t you try to stop her?” 

“I tried to dissuade her, yes.  But lately she’s been like a thing possessed.  Knowing all about Keith’s debts and women…”  Damien rested his elbows on the table and dropped his face into his hands.  “And I love her.” 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 38 

  

 

“Bloody hell, I didn’t expect that!” said Cally. 

They had moved to Peter’s office. 

“Nor did I.  But I’m not sure if I can believe it.  What kind of man would let a woman do all that, and still love her?” 

“Because he loves her?” 

Peter stood by the window with his hands in his trouser pockets and looked out, frowning.  “I’m not sure.  I suppose whoever did it won’t be quite right in the head, but all that?  A woman?” 

“Are you being sexist, sir?” 

Peter gave out a mirthless laugh.  “Sort of.  But…  No, you’re right.  Women are capable of such dreadful things.  But then there’s the physical side.  Did she really kill Jamie and drag him into that pond?  I think Damien helped her if she did do it.  I think we’re looking at more of a double act.” 

He turned towards Cally and tapped his lip with his finger.  “What do you think?” 

“I was shocked, I gotta admit that.  Maybe the double act theory is more realistic.  Damien wouldn’t have wanted to admit to helping, obviously.” 

“Let’s go and talk to Gemma now.  Watch her reactions carefully.  See how she responds. 

  

Peter had an air of confidence as he strode into the room where Gemma was with her solicitor: his back was straight, head up, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. 

He sat down, and Cally followed suit. 

Resting his forearms on the table and staring straight into Gemma’s eyes, he spoke in a clear voice.  “Damien has told us everything, so don’t mess us about.  But we need a statement from you, for the record.” 

Her head sinking into hunched shoulders, Gemma’s voice quavered.  “What has Damien told you.” 

“Everything.  Valerie and Keith, and the money and freedom for you.  Jamie and Kayleigh out the way in case they knew.” 

Tears welled in Gemma’s eyes.  “What’s going to happen to him?” 

“To him?  Shouldn’t you be worrying about yourself?” 

Gemma swiped at the now-falling tears with the heels of her hands.  “All I did was hide Jamie’s bags.  I didn’t even know why at the time.  I thought it was some sort of schoolboy prank.” 

“You knew Jamie was dead.  You killed him.” 

Eyes wide, Gemma gaped at Peter.  “I didn’t!” 

“Damien said you did.” 

Gemma sucked in a huge breath.  “What?”  Her voice was little more than a squeak. 

“It was all about the money and getting rid of Keith because he was a rat.”  Peter’s voice was still firm. 

“No…  No!”  Tears streamed down Gemma’s face.  She didn’t even swipe them away.  Cally pushed a box of tissues in front of her and she pulled some out without looking.  “I didn’t kill anybody.  Damien did.  He said he killed Keith for me.  I was stunned.  But I was already dazed and frightened by that time.  I was too scared to tell anyone or do anything.” 

“He said he killed Keith for you?”  Peter leaned back in his chair, smirking.  “What about his mother?  It was all about her money, wasn’t it?” 

“No.  No.  I said Damien could have some, of course.  I’m terrified of him.  I have to do everything he says else he’ll kill me too.  I’m sure of it.  He wants us to be together…  With all the money I’ll inherit…  So maybe he wants to marry me, then he’ll do me in, and all the money will go to him.  God knows what will happen to Cleo.” 

Gemma cried heartily.  Alexander la Mont patted her warily on the shoulder then sat back and looked away, frowning. 

Peter felt in his gut that it was more likely that Damien had been the murderer, but he’d suspected Gemma was a willing partner.  Now he was confused and uncertain.  He let his mind roam over all that he knew, all that had been said, all that he’d felt, while Gemma sobbed.  Eventually, she seemed to be calming down. 

He tried again.  “Tell me everything, from the beginning.” 

“I first met Damien when we had this awful Fleming family trip to the casino.  We had dinner first.  That was okay.  Then we went to the casino because Valerie wanted to see it.  She wanted to try to understand her son’s fascination with it. 

“Valerie mumbled to Lauren that she’d seen Damien before, but she couldn’t think where.  Then Damien came over and talked to me.  He asked if I was with that woman, meaning Valerie.  I explained she was my mother-in-law and asked if he wanted me to introduce him. “’No, that’s fine,’ he said.  ‘Only she seems to be looking at me and I wondered why’.  I told him what I’d heard her say to Lauren.  He just said, ‘Oh,’ or something like that.  But he hung around. 

“Valerie did talk to someone there she knew, telling her about the cookery course she was going on at the hotel.  The woman thought it sounded like a lovely idea. 

Now, it could be that it was pure coincidence, but I think that’s when Damien had his idea, to join the course.” 

Why the hell would he want to do that? Peter thought but left Gemma to speak uninterrupted. 

Gemma’s tears had stopped, and she frowned.  Peter thought she was choosing her words carefully. 

“Keith was chatting up a couple of women, all legs and glamour.  I felt annoyed. Then Damien asked for my number, and kind of out of spite, I gave it to him.  He messaged me the next day and asked how I was.   Said he’d been pleased to meet me.  I messaged back that I was fine. 

"He did the same thing a couple of times more.  Bit of chat, weather, hoped Keith wasn’t treating me too badly, that sort of thing.  I did have a moan about Keith, and it possibly came across as a bit flirty.  Although I didn’t really mean it that way.  It was just nice to have someone care.” 

Gemma pushed her hair out of her eyes and stared off to the side for a moment. 

Then she began again.  “He messaged me the morning after Valerie died, before your lot had come and told me.  He didn’t mention it.  Just how was I and that?  Then when he texted later in the day, I said my mother-in-law had died in a hotel, and he said, ‘Of course.  She was with you at the casino.  I’m on the same course as her. How dreadful for you.’ 

“That evening he sent a text saying he was thinking of me and hoped I was coping alright.  He’d been trying to cheer up the other people on the course and was going to take some of the men to the pub in the village.  I thought that was kind.” Now we’re getting to the bit about Jamie.  What’s she going to say?  Peter’s guts were twisting inside him with tension.  He forced himself to breathe more slowly. 

“Later on,” continued Gemma, “Damien sent me a message and asked me to do him a favour.  He said he and the men he was with had been drinking and watching football, and having a laugh, and he wanted to play a practical joke on the youngest one.  That it would make them all laugh and forget about poor dead Valerie.  I thought that was kind and asked what he wanted me to do."

After taking a deep breath and twisting her fingers together, Gemma said, “He wanted me to go to the hotel, keep on the road, and under the end of the perimeter hedge he’d leave two bags, rucksacks.  He asked me to take them and hide them somewhere a mile or two away.  Not really well hidden because they’d go and find them the next day, and that would be when they’d all laugh. 

“I thought about the cottage Valerie had bought us.  No one was in it, but if I put the bags under a bush in the front garden, they wouldn’t be too hard to find.  Cleo and Keith were asleep, so I did it.  I was a bit embarrassed in case I’d been seen so I went up and round, and came back into town via Litnore Hill.” 

Cally cleared his throat and Peter jumped, so absorbed was he in Gemma’s tale and trying to decide if it was true. 

“The next evening Damien messaged to say everyone had had a great laugh, and teased the young man on the course, but they bought him more drinks, so he didn’t feel bad.  All lads together and all that.  Then he carried on with his caring messages as before… 

“I didn’t know he was behind the deaths until he’d killed Keith.  Then he told me.  He said I’d have even more money now, and we could live together as soon as it seemed right and proper.  Honestly, my insides froze when he told me he’d killed Keith, and then I started to think.  Eventually I had to know, and I asked him.  Had he killed the young man and the woman from the pub?  And he said yes, and asked when he could see me!  I was terrified.” 

Gemma started to cry again, and Peter thought it was time for a question.  “He started off his killing spree so you could inherit Valerie’s money?” 

Gemma dabbed at her face and blew her nose and sniffed.  “Apparently not.  It was because she kept looking at him.  He knew she recognised him.”  She grabbed more tissues and covered her face.  It was difficult to tell if she was laughing or crying. 

“He’d been some famous jewel thief back in the day and he thought she’d remember why he looked familiar. He’d never left any fingerprints or DNA, but someone had seen him and there was a drawing of him, you know, one of your police things, and it was on the telly.  Valerie used to love to pretend she was Miss Marple, and always hoped she’d recognise someone like him, and solve a crime.  And she ended up the victim.” 

Gemma wiped her face again and looked more composed.  “I think he felt better about pretending he’d done it for me as well.” 

  

Peter stood up and excused himself, but beckoned Cally to come with him.  They went to his office.  Peter sat in front of his computer and tapped on his keyboard.  After a few minutes, he said, “Aha!  Found the one I was looking for.  Look at this, Cally.” 

On the screen was an Identikit picture of someone very like Damien.  A wanted jewel thief who’d been creating havoc in London and Edinburgh.  Peter sent the image to his tablet.  “Let’s go and see what he has to say, shall we?” 

Sweat was creeping uncomfortably down Peter’s neck as he marched into the room with Damien and his smarmy solicitor.  He looked directly at the accused.  “Well, well.  If it isn’t the Rock Raider.” 

The look on Damien’s face and the colour it turned was enough to convince Peter a good ninety-five per cent that Gemma had been telling the truth. 

“What?” said the solicitor. 

“Your client here, Mr Innocent, helping a damsel in distress, is not only a murderer but the infamous jewel thief known as the Rock Raider.” 

                     

 

CHAPTER 39 

  

It was Friday night, the couple of days of rain had eased off, and the Cartwheel was busy.  People had been off work the last week because their children had been on the school Easter holidays.  Everyone seemed in a good mood. 

At the large table in the back corner sat the original Investigators: solicitors Lawrence, George and Wendy, plus law student Carl and his colleague from his parttime work at the leisure centre, Lucy.  The becoming famous chef, Pablo, was there with his loving and loved husband, Carlos.  But there were three extras there too. 

Angela, who worked for the solicitors had come along with her fiancée,

DC Patrick O’Shay.  And his immediate superior at work, DS Jennifer Sterling was also there. She sat next to Lawrence with his arm around her shoulders. 

“I must admit I was a bit jealous of Cally,” said Jennifer, “being in for the kill. 

 Although I was having a good time elsewhere.”  She looked up at Lawrence and giggled.  He squeezed her shoulders. 

“Yes, I was a bit peeved at first,” said Patrick.   He looked into Angela’s big and bright blue eyes and smiled.  “But I was in a good place too” 

“Three of us were right,” said George.  “We chose Damien as the demon.” 

“And I knew there was a woman involved,” said Lucy.  “Only not which one or how.” Laughter rippled around the table. 

Then Patrick stood up, holding his beer glass.  “I’d like you all to raise a toast to my lovely fiancée Angela, now that we have set a date for our wedding.  The twentieth of September.  Be there or be square.” 

“Good to hear you’re so down with the kids, Patrick,” said Jennifer.  “No way am I going to be square!”