Dead Gorgeous (A Mystery for D.I. Costello) (11 page)

“Well… I don’t really know. It was all so quick. I suppose it was an attempted mugging.” Ian reached across the ground to where his keys had fallen from his hand in the attack. He picked them up and allowed himself to be helped to his feet.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” asked the man.

“I think I shall be all right,” said Ian. “I live just here.” He looked at them. “Did you see who it was?”

“Not really. I saw you go down and heard you cry out, but it was all happening below the level of the car roofs.”

“I think I saw someone running away, but nothing more than a shape, really,” added the young woman.

Ian brushed himself down, and thanked the couple for their rescue and concern. He assured them no serious damage had been done. They obliged him with their names and addresses in case they were later needed as witnesses, and moved off to continue their journey. Home at last, Ian mixed himself a large gin and tonic before calling the police and gazed out into his garden. What a day! And what an ending to it!

A horrible feeling…

A few streets away, his assailant jogged to where he’d secured his bike, cursing himself and the two people who’d come running to the rescue. It wouldn’t work, not in the street; even a quiet street was too public. He’d have to think of something else. He freed his bike, swung a leg over the crossbar and cycled off into the night.

The conversation around the table drifted pleasantly and easily through a variety of topics, a good selection of jokes and a lively discussion about the relative merits of Chelsea Football Club over those of Arsenal. Cheerful and replete, as they poured the coffee to end their meal, Gary and Madeleine politely excused themselves to continue listening to the music of their choice in the living room.

Angela and Patrick turned to Martin. “You sounded a bit worried on the phone today,” began Patrick.

Martin replaced his cup with thoughtful care into its saucer, weighing up what to say. “Yes. I had a disturbing experience this morning in the confessional.”

“Oh, ’nuff said.”

“Oh, nothing like that. I can share all of it and not break the seal. It wasn’t confession. This young lady knew what she was doing and emphasized that she wanted me to tell someone about this. The trouble is, I haven’t much to go on; but if what she said is true, it’s very worrying, both from my point of view as a pastor, and legally.”

“Tell us,” said Angela.

Martin went quickly through the events of that morning. When he finished he sat back and gazed into two solemn faces. “What do you think?” he asked, after a moment.

Angela stood up. “I think I’d better get Gary in here,” she said.

Gary came in, listened to the story, took notes and looked at Angela. “Do you reckon it’s related to our current investigation?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied, “but we’ll have to throw it into the pot.” She turned to Martin. “We’re currently investigating the murder of a young woman. Did you read about it?”

“I think I did.”

“There’s a fashion industry angle to it, so, you never know, there might be a connection.”

“Location, location, location,” said Patrick.

“Mmm, that hadn’t escaped my notice, either,” replied Angela. “The murder took place in Roehampton and the episode in the confessional happened here in Richmond.”

“It’s only the other side of the park,” he replied.

“We’re talking about a very big park, but even so, I don’t like this,” said Angela.

“Me neither. I’m sorry,” Martin grimaced. “I feel like an out-and-out coward, but I don’t think I could have taken the bloke on; he was huge. Anyway, she told me to hide and I thought I’d better do as she said. If I’d tried anything on, I might only have made it worse for her.”

“Yeah, if he’s threatening to spoil her face somehow – I don’t know, slash it or throw acid at it – that’s scary,” agreed Gary.

“Wherever the house is, it can’t be all that far from the church,” surmised Patrick.

“I’ve thought about that. I reckon it must be within a two-mile radius, three at the outside.”

“Sounds reasonable, without knowing how long she was running,” agreed Angela. “She sees an opportunity to escape and makes a dash for it. Obviously he sets off in pursuit but she doesn’t know the area, I’m assuming that would be the case. She runs up one street and down another, finds a dead end or two, doubles back and ends up in his eyeline again and he gets to her, but this time they’re near the church and she heads for safety. What was this word he said?”

“It sounded like ‘asher’,” said Martin. “I don’t know if that’s
her name or an instruction in whatever language – well, Polish, I suppose. She said ‘
tak
’ at one point, which I know is the word for ‘yes’. That’s more or less the extent of my Polish, I’m afraid.”

“She didn’t give you much to go on, did she? Understandable; she was stressed and scared. You mentioned she said ‘I choose one with same name’, when she spoke about looking for a designer. That’s a puzzle. I suppose we can do a trawl of people in fashion with East European-sounding names.”

“That’s a bit of a hopeless task,” said Gary. “The designer is the ‘name’, but there are multitudes behind them, aren’t there? It could be any one of hundreds of people.”

“You’re right,” agreed Angela. She turned back to Martin. “OK, I’ll make the incident known to the local force, and put it through to Vice in case they can shed any light on it. And of course, I’ll make sure our team are briefed and alert, just on the off chance there’s a connection with our case.” Angela looked at the young priest with a sympathetic smile. “Apart from that, I can’t do much without more information, Martin.”

“Thanks, Angie. I know there’s not a lot to go on. I just keep thinking of that woman’s face; the threat hanging over her… the things she – and the others – might be forced to do against their will. I know she said the others agreed, but surely under some very nasty form of coercion.”

Angela nodded. “Sadly, it’s a common story. Droves of them come over here from Eastern Europe, promised good jobs, only to end up in the sex trade. It’s heinous.” She looked at him. “I can’t promise you anything, Martin.”

“I know, but at least I’ve done what I could to help her.”

“Do you think there’s any connection with our case?” The question came from Derek at the following morning’s briefing, once Angela had told them about Father Martin’s experience.

“Well…” Angela ruminated on it. “On the face of it, no…
but…
That’s the thing. I keep thinking, ‘but’. Here we’ve got an ambitious model killed in Roehampton, and now this other one running, terrified, into a church in Richmond. I think we’d be failing in our duty if we didn’t keep this incident in mind. Unfortunately, that’s about all we can do at this moment. Leanne, draw a balloon up here with the incident in it, so at least we’ve got it on the radar.”

“Will do, guv,” said Leanne rising from her seat and going over to the board. “Mind you, I reckon I could throw a bit of light on what that bloke said.”

“Oh, really?” replied Angela. Leanne’s surname was Dabrowska. Both her sets of grandparents were Polish and she was known to be fluent in the language.

“Yeah, it’s quite a common diminutive of a longer name. You hear it all the time. Although it’s pronounced ‘asher’ it’s actually spelt A-S-I-A, like the continent. I know a few ‘Asias’ in the Polish community.”

“Oh, that’s helpful! Thanks, Leanne. At least this poor young woman has a name for us now. OK, what next?” Angela stood in front of the board staring at the photographs that were taken from Kirsty’s dressing table mirror. They’d been taped up in the order they had been displayed, including the blob of Blu-tak under the final one where the missing photograph should have been. “This is irritating me,” she said. “There
must
have been another picture there, and I think the murderer took it; but why?”

“Perhaps it’s nothing to do with the case,” ventured Rick. “Perhaps she took it down because she didn’t think she looked good in the photograph.”

Angela nodded, considering this. “OK, anything’s possible, but I think we’ve got to assume the murderer took it because it was in some way incriminating. The thing is,” she continued, “these first two are the normal girly pictures. Here she’s somebody’s bridesmaid, here she’s on the beach. But the last
two are completely different. She looks – oh, I don’t know, she doesn’t have the same feel about her. She’s different, less natural; she’s trying to impress, or something. She looks to me like someone with an agenda.” Angela looked round at her team. “I’m sorry, can’t you see what I mean? Do I sound daft? I can’t think how else to put it. For my money, the missing photo belongs to the final two. She’s at a party, but I get the impression it was a particular kind of party, not just a gathering at a friend’s house.”

“Hang on a minute,” said Gary walking to the front and taking a closer look at the photograph. “Yeah,” he said, after a moment’s scrutiny.

“What?” asked Angela.

“Look,” he said, pointing. “There’s some sort of sign just on the edge of the photo. Er, it’s the end of a word… er… STA. And I think that’s an ‘i’ just before that, so it’s a word ending in ‘ista’.”

“Oh yes,” said Angela, peering. “You’re right. It looks like a board attached to the wall.”

“Like at those show-bizzy, fashiony-type parties.”

“Oh yeah,” said Leanne, “the sort of ‘do’ you get pictures of all the time in mags like
Hello
and
OK
, where they’re launching something so all the celebs who turn up get photographed in front of the sponsor’s logo.”

“They have to earn their free champagne somehow,” said Angela. “I think you’re right, Gaz. That would account for the totally different feeling I get about Kirsty in these photos. Well done. OK,” she turned round to the rest of the team. “Something-ista, anybody?” Most of them looked at each other in puzzlement and shook their heads. Leanne frowned in concentration. “Leanne, you at least look like it’s not a complete mystery.”

“Er, it could be
Passionista
. It’s a fashion magazine,” she replied.

“Ah!” said everybody else.

Leanne giggled. “If you lot could only see what you looked like just then.”

Angela laughed. “It’s a shame there was no photographer to record the moment – ah, hang on, that’s
it
!” she exclaimed.

“What’s
it
?” they asked, more or less as one.

“These types of events have an official photographer and probably also photographers from various magazines and newspapers in attendance, looking for stuff for puff pieces in the media, if nothing else.”

“Yeah,” said Rick, “but what Kirsty had were just snapshots, not glossies or anything like that. They just looked like the sort of thing you take on your mobile phone and print up later.”

“Yes, but if there was a professional photographer there, he or she could have taken a shot at the same moment, or something very similar. We might at least get an idea of what the murderer might be trying to hide.” Angela looked pointedly at Derek and Leanne in turn. “I’m looking at my ace researchers.”

Derek grinned. “We’ll get on to it.”

“I want to know everything about this ‘do’ and see every available photo from it.”

“Right, guv,” replied Leanne.

“Oh good, a bit of progress, I hope,” said Angela. “Now I need to set up another meeting with Darren Carpenter.”

She went into her office, and was on the point of picking up the phone to do this when it rang.

“D.I. Costello?”

“Angie?” It was Jim speaking from the incident room. “Looks like somebody got missed out on the house-to-house.”

Angela quashed the immediate judgment that rose to her mind and told herself that, no, Jim wasn’t trying to get anyone into trouble.

“And you’re telling me this instead of going and dealing with it because –?”

“Got a bloke at the front desk who lives next door to Kirsty Manners and he’s wondering why nobody’s been to see him yet. Says he’s got ‘information pertaining to Sunday’s incident’; I quote.”

“Oh, don’t tell me – ‘I want to speak to the officer in charge.’”

“Got it in one, Angie,” said Jim.

Angie sighed. “No worries, I’ll talk to him. The rest of the house-to-house is underway, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, all sorted.”

“OK, put Mr Next-Door-Neighbour in an interview room. I’ll be down in a minute.” Angie left her office and headed downstairs, making a quick detour through the incident room to ask Gary to set up the meeting with Darren. Within a few moments, smile in place, she breezed through the door and found herself looking into the pinched features of Ronald Sanders.

Everything about him was thin. Thin hair clung limply to his head, his thin body sat primly upright on the seat and thin lips were pursed in an expression of disapproval Angela guessed was likely to be permanent. As she opened the door he was making a business of looking at his watch.

“I was wondering how much longer I would have to wait,” he began in a grudging tone.

Angela had the distinct impression he was miffed by her prompt appearance. She sat down and opened her notebook.
I bet you always demand to see the head honcho in any given situation, don’t you,
she said to herself.

Seconds later, Ronald Sanders confirmed this impression. “I asked to see the officer in charge. Is that you?”

Angela looked at him and cranked up the smile.
I’m the in-chargest you’re going to get, boyo,
she thought. “I’m Detective Inspector Angela Costello,” she said. “Chief Inspector Stanway is overseeing the whole operation but, for practical purposes, yes, I’m in charge.”

“I have important information pertaining to the murder of my neighbour.” He paused, his brow furrowed as if he wasn’t sure a mere D.I. could be trusted with what he had to say.

“So I understand,” she replied. She made a point of lifting up her pen and waiting.

Realizing that he wasn’t going to get his chief inspector, Sanders gave a petulant little pout, shifted further forward in his seat and took a breath in order to give more weight to his words. “I think I may have seen the murderer.”

Raising her eyes, Angela saw a look of smug satisfaction on his face. She nodded as if this snippet was no more nor less than she had expected. “Would you like to tell me about it?” she asked.

Disappointment that Angela didn’t go running upstairs to bring the D.C.I. in on the interview showed clearly in his face and words. “Well, I… this conversation will be reported to the chief inspector, won’t it?”

You need to get out more,
she thought. “Word for word,” she assured him.

Sanders made a final little moue with his mouth and capitulated. “I was waiting for a taxi on Sunday afternoon when I saw this person approach next door’s front gate.”

“What time was this, Mr Sanders?”

“It was thirteen thirty-five.”

“You’re sure about the time?”

“Perfectly, I was waiting for a taxi which was booked for thirteen-forty. I use this cab company all the time and they know my views on punctuality.”

No doubt,
she thought. “I see,” she said, as she wrote. “OK, tell me about this person.”

“It was a woman. A brunette.”

“What was she wearing?”

“A rather elegant suit.”

“What colour?”

“Hmm, dark. It might have been maroon but I couldn’t swear to it.”

“All right, what else can you tell me about her?”

“Well, it was all a bit odd. She passed my front window, and she slowed down as she got near next door’s gate and veered towards it as if she were about to go in. Then the next thing I know, she’d picked up speed and was moving off up the road. I didn’t think anything of that at the time. I mean, she could have been a stranger in the area and realized that she’d got the wrong house or, well, there could be several reasonable permutations on the theme. But then, blow me down; a moment later she was approaching the house again from the other direction.”