Dead Gorgeous (A Mystery for D.I. Costello) (23 page)

Stanway went forward to the door marked “Reception” and pushed it gently. A sudden movement came from the other side and it was pulled fully open by Tony. His face white, he had his finger to his lips. The three police officers slipped silently into the room.

“Thank God you’re here,” whispered Tony. Across the room, Sandra, on the floor, pushed up against the door to the weights room, looked through the keyhole.

Angela didn’t waste any time on preamble. “What’s happening in there?”

Sandra turned her face away from the door. It struck Angela that looking through the keyhole must be a futile exercise. Sandra confirmed her impression with her next words. “I can’t see anything, really,” she said, “but I can’t help looking.”

“Better come away from there, babes,” said Tony. Sandra looked at the new arrivals and scrambled away from the door. “Yeah,” continued Tony. “This is a real turn-up. I would have just said he was the archetypal gentle giant.”

“But he’s definitely obsessive,” said Sandra.

Tony looked at her. “I s’pose. Once he gets his teeth into something he doesn’t let go easily.”

“Yeah, obsessive,” repeated Sandra.

“It’s very quiet in there,” said Angela.

“It wasn’t at first,” replied Tony. “That bloke he’s dragged in there was screaming and yelling and going on about all the things he would do to Daz, and then we heard a slap – well, a slap… it was quite a whack, really. The other bloke cried out in pain.”

“Is the other man still alive?” asked Stanway.

Tony looked at him. The little colour that had returned to his cheeks ebbed away again. “Yes, he must be. I think I heard Daz saying, ‘Get over here, you bastard,’ and there was some scuffling, a dragging sound.”

“This was after the slap?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely after.”

“And Daz has locked the door from the other side, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s a latch lock, so it can still be opened from our side if you have the key.”

“Which you have?”

“Yes,” answered Tony. “But I wasn’t going to use it without you here. Do you want me to open the door?” The look on his face showed all too clearly that Tony would prefer to simply hand the responsibility over to the police.

“No, no.” Angela hastened to reassure him. “We’ll handle things. Will you bring us the key, please?”

“Sure thing,” replied Tony, with obvious relief in his voice. He hurried across the reception area and disappeared into the little room behind the coffee bar counter. He was back again within half a minute, holding out the key to Angela.

She took it and cast a glance at Stanway. “Shall I try talking to him, sir?”

“Yes, give it a go,” answered Stanway.

Angela approached the weights room and leaned close to the door. Wondering what she was actually going to say, she opened her mouth to call out Darren’s name, but only a strangled croak emerged. She coughed and tried again. “Darren! This is Inspector Costello.”

Silence.

“Darren!”

This time there was an anguished moan from within. She assumed this to be from Darren’s captive. She couldn’t be sure
but though she’d heard only an inarticulate groan, she somehow felt she recognized the voice. She tried again. “Darren, I need you to speak to me.”

This was followed by more silence, and just when Angela was about to speak again, Darren spoke from the other side of the door.

“What about?” She could hear a mixture of rage, distress and tension that she wouldn’t have thought possible to discern from just those two words.

What about?
Angela gave herself a moment to take a breath.
What do you mean, “What about?” I’m not here to talk about the weather.
The thought made her smile and she felt a bit more relaxed. It also allowed her to take due note of Darren’s tone, and it gave her a clue as to how to proceed.

“Darren, I know you’re upset, but this isn’t the way to sort out your problems.”

“Yes it is,” came the reply. “He killed my Kirsty. I’m going to make him pay.”

Angela recognized belligerence behind all the other emotions. She took a brief look round the room. Tony and Sandra, both on the suspect list, were seated at a table. Stanway and Gary were a little way behind her. They were all staring intently in her direction.
OK,
she thought.
Not a good moment to tell him that he’s sparked off a major incident and the only way he’s getting out of here is in handcuffs.
She turned back. “Darren, will you open the door and let me talk to you?”

“Not till I’ve sorted him out.”

There was another moan from Darren’s captive, and this time Angela recognized who it was. Ian King.

It suddenly occurred to her that Darren, in his overwrought state, might have assumed that she was alone.
Time to slip into the first person plural,
she told herself. “Darren, we need to get medical aid to Ian King.”

“He don’t need no medical aid. He won’t need nothing ever again after I’ve finished with him.” This was followed by another, stronger groan from Ian, who sounded as though he must be coming round from the blow that Darren had given him.

Darren’s tone had lost some of his distress and tension. Talking to Angela was helping to steady him, but she didn’t want to strengthen his resolve to injure his captive. She turned to Stanway and whispered, “I think we need to get in there.”

“It might send him over the edge. We can’t put a member of the public at risk, Angie. And I definitely can’t put you at risk.”

“Yes, but sir, he wants Ian to suffer, so he’s obviously planning to do him some damage before he kills him. He’s calming down now. It seems to me, we need to get to him before he’s completely in control of himself.”

“You think if that happens he’ll then start to think very clearly, decide time’s not on his side, and just deal the death blow?”

“Something like that, sir; I think we’re between a rock and a hard place.”

Tony’s face appeared over Stanway’s shoulder. “I really don’t think he’d do anything. I don’t think he’s got it in him,” he whispered.

Stanway looked at him. “We’re talking about a man who’s dragged his victim into that room and has already thumped him.”

“Yeah, but…” Tony’s voice tailed off.

“The thing is, sir, having interviewed the man I can see where Tony’s coming from. You would be surprised by all this if you’d met Darren as well.”

“Whereas, not having had the pleasure…”

Angela stared into Stanway’s clearly troubled face. She watched him wrestle with the doubts, the fear and the worry of what could happen and the repercussions thereafter. “With
respect, sir – I’m not convinced Darren would actually kill Ian, but I do think he can threaten to do so and hold out in this situation for a long time.”

Stanway knotted his brow and took up the internal debate again, no doubt factoring in overtime payments now, as well. “What is your suggestion?” he asked.

“I’d like to let him know that we’re coming in, sir. I might be able to get an idea, from his voice, how he reacts to that. If I unlock the door and push it open from this side, I won’t be in any danger. And we can keep it all very low key.”

He looked at Angela. After what seemed to be a very long moment, he nodded. “OK. Let’s give it a try.”

Uttering a silent prayer, Angie positioned herself close to the wall and put the key in the lock. As the key went in she heard a scrambling from the other side.

‘What are you doing? What are you up to? You can’t come in here!” What little equilibrium Darren had gained had now clearly disappeared.

Angela leaned well back from the doorway. “Darren, we need to talk to you.”

“I’ll talk – I’ll talk all right. You won’t be able to shut me up once I’ve finished with him!”

Angela, remembering the unresponsive face opposite her in his tiny office, seriously doubted this. “Darren, come on; you’re not stupid and you know this isn’t going to get you anywhere. Why are you doing this?”

Ian’s voice broke into the conversation. “Inspector…?” He sounded a little dazed.

“Mr King, the police are here.”

“Oh, thank God for that. He’s got me strapped into some sort of contraption. I can hardly move. You’ve got to get me out of here. He’s gone loopy.”

“Try to remain calm, we’re dealing with the situation.”

“He done her! He done my Kirsty and he’s going to pay!” Darren’s voice rose an octave.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” answered Ian, his irritation clearly detectable through his fear.

“What makes you think he killed Kirsty?” asked Angela.

Pause.

“I got my reasons.” Mr Taciturn was back.

“Do you know something you haven’t told us?” asked Angela. The notion of reminding him of the seriousness of withholding evidence came and was immediately dismissed. But she received a sudden illumination. “Was it the aftershave? Did you smell Ian King’s aftershave in the lean-to last Sunday?”

“Just went in there to check something on my bike, didn’t I? Didn’t think anything about it then, but I realized later.”

“You told me you hadn’t been in the lean-to at all that afternoon.”

“Weren’t going to tell you, was I? I was gonna sort it out myself.”

Angela thought back to the scene outside when she’d first arrived. Several well-heeled people were standing around outside the gym. She thought of the man they’d spoken to, designer warm-up suit, designer trainers, expensive streaks in his hair; she had no doubt that a lot of expensive aftershave was worn in this place. “Darren,” she called, “that doesn’t follow. Probably a lot of people wear that aftershave, especially here.”

“Yes, that’s right, you tell him. This whole thing’s ridiculous.” Ian was fully conscious now. There was an awkward quality to his voice, as if he’d been to the dentist and the anaesthetic hadn’t worn off. Angela wondered if Darren had loosened or even knocked out a tooth or two when he slapped him.

“You shut up! You bastard!” roared Darren.

There was the sound of movement followed by a slap and a dull moan. Surmising that Darren’s attention had been
deflected, Angie glanced over her shoulder at Stanway and Gary. “Here we go!” she said, and dashed into the weights room without giving herself a chance to think twice.

It all happened very quickly.

Stanway and Gary reached the doorway just as Darren straightened up from hitting Ian across the face again. He stared angrily at Angela.

It was then she saw the gun.

Nobody had said anything about a gun. She had completely forgotten about Darren’s other hobby.

It was pointing straight at her.

Stanway and Gary froze.

“Stay there! Don’t move!” shouted Darren. He gazed wildly round at the three police officers. Even the most amateur of psychologists would have been able to see that every vestige of his self-control had evaporated. His panic showed only too clearly, and Angela had no doubt about the danger facing her. Amazingly, if she could have spoken at that moment she would have remarked with wonder on how astonishingly, vibrantly alive she felt.

“You shouldn’t have done that!” he screamed. He blinked and took a breath. His hand, holding the gun, steadied.

Angela saw a change come over him. It was unmistakable. He was resolved. He was going to see this situation through to its end.

She forgot all about being a policewoman. She had no thought about whatever protocol might apply to this set of circumstances, if she ever knew. She was aware of only one thing; that she was facing death. She did the only thing she could.

She bowed her head to pray.

With a strangled cry, Darren pulled the trigger.

The bullet whizzed across the top of her head, missing it by a matter of inches, and ricocheted off the side of the weights machine behind her. Angela had closed her eyes and was only aware of the horrendous bang followed by a calm, peaceful core at the very heart of her being.

Darren’s brief moment as a hard man was over. He dropped the gun and collapsed sobbing on the floor.

Stanway and Gary raced into the room. Gary rushed over to Darren while Stanway came to help the still bowed Angela. She opened her eyes, and raised her head slowly. “Are you all right, Angie?” he asked.

“I’m not quite sure. Am I still alive?”

Stanway smiled, the relief evident in his voice. “Oh, you’re alive all right. That was the most amazing sight I think I’ve ever seen. How did you know to bow your head just at that moment? It was like a miracle.”

“Yes, sir.”

On the other side of the room, Gary helped the still weeping Darren to his feet and handcuffed his obediently presented wrists. Stanway looked at Ian, still held down by the weights. He called to Tony, now standing in the doorway with Sandra. “Could you get this chap out of that contraption?”

Tony nodded and hurried over.

Angela stood upright and looked at Sandra. “My husband might be outside,” she said.

“I’ll go and check,” said Sandra, hurrying off as she spoke.

“Sir?”

Stanway shook his head. “It’s not a problem, Angie. Patrick’s
been a D.I. in his time and he knows how to behave at a crime scene. In any case, he’s a coroner’s officer and his lot will have to be involved.”

“Why, sir, nobody’s dead?”

Stanway gave a short bark of laughter. “Of course not… how stupid…” He looked steadily at her. “You were marvellous, Angie. You did very well.”

“Thank you, sir.” Angela suddenly became aware of a dark shape rushing into the room and wrapping itself around her. Patrick buried his head in her shoulder and she could feel deep sobs shaking his body.

“Don’t ever, ever, ever…” said his muffled voice.

“No, darling, I won’t.”

“She was an absolute hero,” came Stanway’s voice from nearby.

“Don’t want a dead hero, want a live Angie,” muttered Patrick, without raising his head. Angela snuggled into the crook of his neck and hugged him more tightly.
Why on earth did I want to get him into charcoal grey with royal blue coordinates?
she asked herself and smiled as she recognized the incongruity of the thought.

Suddenly Patrick pulled away from her so that he could look into her face. He glanced quickly at Stanway and then back to her. “Well done,” he said, before burying his head in her shoulder again. “But don’t ever do it again.”

“No, Paddy, I won’t,” she assured him. She felt very, very tired, more than a little bit shaky and would like nothing more than to go home and lie down. But she was on duty and there was still work to be done.

“I wouldn’t mind sitting down for a minute.”

“How stupid of me,” said Patrick. He drew her gently with him into the reception room and over to a table. “Here,” he said, depositing her on a chair. He hunkered down in front of
her, placed a hand on each of her knees and looked into her eyes. “A cup of hot, sweet tea, I think.”

She smiled at him. “You might think that, but I’m thinking, a large brandy.”

Patrick gave a laugh. “Good idea. There must be some, somewhere.” He got up and turned to where Tony and Sandra were sitting at one of the other tables. Tony looked up at him. “Brandy, perchance?” asked Patrick.

Tony cocked his head in the direction of the coffee bar. “On a shelf under the counter,” he said.

A couple of ambulance men, whom Angie hadn’t seen arrive, were helping Ian King through the door from the weights room to a seat. As he sat down, Darren was led past them. Ian looked morosely at him and called to Angela. “Well, some good’s come out of this.” His voice was not quite a lisp, and a vivid bruise had appeared on the left side of his face. “You’ve got your man, at least.”

“Have I?” said Angela.

Ian King wasn’t able to move his facial muscles much but he managed to look puzzled anyway. “Well, of course. It stands to reason.”

Patrick arrived at her side with a glass of brandy, but she realised it would have to wait. She shook her head gently. “Sorry, darling, I haven’t quite finished the job I set out to do.”

Patrick hesitated for a second before giving an understanding nod. He put the glass down. Angela stood up, aware that she felt clammy and decidedly odd.

As it happened, although they were at different tables Tony, Sandra and Ian were all sitting close to each other. Angela looked at each of them in turn.

“Of course it stands to reason,” Ian reiterated. “It was either Darren on his own, or one of them.” He tried to throw a glance in the direction of Tony and Sandra, winced and stopped. “My
money’s on Darren. It must have been him stalking me, waiting for an opportunity.”

“It certainly looked like somebody from this gym was involved,” agreed Angela.

“Well, there you are then.”

“Tonight’s events have shown me a scarf is not Darren’s weapon of choice,” said Angela. “And in any case, he was in love with Kirsty.”

“Well… it was a crime of passion, or whatever,” replied Ian. “But I’m sure you’ve got your man, Inspector.”

Angela stood very still and let her gaze travel across all the suspects. Mentally she included Nigel Summers and Eleanor in the picture. “Yes, I’m sure I have,” she said. She was now aware of feeling very queasy and recognized the effects of shock setting in. She wondered how much longer she could stand.

Angela glanced briefly at Stanway; he gave a small nod.

But it wasn’t to be. She stumbled and would have fallen if Patrick hadn’t caught her. She found herself leaning over his arms, staring at the floor, and as the contents of her stomach hurtled up past her throat she was vaguely aware of Stanway stepping in to take her place and arresting Ian King on suspicion of the murder of Kirsty Dawn Manners.

Patrick took Angela home, put her to bed and she slept for ten solid hours. The next morning she still hadn’t fully processed the shock of facing death one moment and finding herself still alive the next, but she felt completely refreshed. By the time Gary came to pick her up, she had begun to wonder how Ian had slept, if at all.

His face had been cleaned up, and a bandage covered the cut Darren had made on his forehead, by the time Angela and Gary came into the interview room and she spoke the preliminary introduction into the tape machine.

Dark circles under Ian’s eyes gave a partial answer to Angela’s query, but his demeanour hovered somewhere between petulant and peevish. “Inspector, is this some kind of joke?” he asked, as Angela and Gary sat down.

“It’s no joke, sir. You are under arrest –”

“I was with Eleanor Chandler from about two o’clock on Sunday afternoon, which I know she’s already confirmed with you. Would you like to explain to me how I can be killing one woman at the same time as I’m in bed with another?”

“You couldn’t, not if that were true but, in fact, you didn’t arrive at Eleanor’s until a little after three.”

“I can assure you, Inspector –” His voice was loaded with confident assurance.

“You forgot to put the clock in Eleanor’s house back to the right time before you left.”

Ian looked abruptly down at his hands, but he wasn’t quick enough and Angela saw a look of horrified remembrance on his face. When he raised his head again he’d regained control of his features. She wondered what his stomach felt like.

“I noticed it when I was at the house yesterday,” she said. “I took a photograph so I could check it against the time on my mobile, just to be sure.”

“I presume you mean the clock above the bed. I’ve no idea what time it says, or said on that Sunday, but I can assure you my watch showed a little after two. Would you like to check my watch?”

Yeah, right; like I’m going to believe that,
thought Angela. “That won’t be necessary, sir.”

Ian had completely recovered himself now. “So would you like to take me through this revised scenario? I seem to have lost an hour from my week.”

“You got to Eleanor’s a little after three o’clock. You went up to the bedroom first and she followed a short while afterwards.
While you were alone up there, I believe you moved the hands on the clock above the bed backwards an hour. Apart from Eleanor’s watch, that clock is the only functioning timepiece in the house.”

“Amazing; I do hope you’re not going to try building a case on this flimsy piece of evidence,” he said. “And would you mind telling me why on earth I would want to kill Kirsty in the first place? A sweet child and obliging in the sack but, quite frankly, an airhead. What on earth was my motive?”

“Kirsty wasn’t such an airhead though, was she? She had very big ambitions. She discovered the link between Ivano King and Massingham Models
and
just what they were supplying. She wanted a significant piece of the pie, didn’t she? And you couldn’t have that, because then you’d be stuck with her. But left out of the equation she could bring the whole little empire tumbling down. You really were impaled on the horns of a dilemma, weren’t you?”

Ian couldn’t avoid running a tongue around his lips to moisten them, but he managed to speak in a normal voice. “You’ve got a good imagination, Inspector, but I hope you’re not building that case on Eleanor’s clock
supposedly
being an hour out. You’re going to look very silly when this business falls apart.” His eyes suddenly brightened. “She has a mobile phone, for goodness sake. She would have looked at that. She’ll be able to confirm that I arrived around two and not three.”

Angela ignored him. “But the real clincher is your latest collection. You weren’t worried about Kirsty having got at some of your designs. The reality is, she knew who you’d stolen them from and could prove it.”

Ian went white. Angela wouldn’t have thought it possible for someone to look so pale and still be alive. It lasted for only a moment before colour seeped back into his face and he sat up stiffly, to make sure she knew he would not allow any
slur to be cast on his professional integrity. “I can assure you, Inspector, there is no question about the provenance of my latest collection. It is entirely my own work.”

Angela opened up the folder she’d brought into the interview room with her and laid out two pieces of paper. The first contained one of the designs taken from Kirsty’s computer, and the other his statement about the attack in the street outside his flat. She waited a few moments. He looked at them and raised his eyes to hers, an amused, questioning look on his face.

“Your point, Inspector?”

“This is one of the looks from your collection?”

“You know it is.”

Angela placed one index finger on the statement’s signature and the other on the single initial “K” below the design and watched carefully as Ian cast his eyes again at the pages. She saw his eyes widen and he gave a short, involuntary gasp.

“You’ll see the letter ‘K’ in your signature on the statement is completely dissimilar from the one at the bottom of the design,” she said. “And it’s curious that there’s no ‘I’.”

He had a stab at nonchalance with a not very convincing shrug. “I was probably stressed. My signature changes when I’m in a hurry; I miss things.”

“I have a more workable theory,” said Angela. Asia had now been interviewed and Angela had seen the transcript. “After the
Passionista
reception, Nigel told you of a promising young woman called Asia, from Poland, who had come here hoping to get an internship. You interviewed her and realized that she’s very talented. You, having lost your edge and looking for something fresh to produce for this year’s fashion week, came to the conclusion her collection offered just the thing to win back your reputation. You also knew the woman was being offered – er – ‘lodgings’ in the Richmond house, which she
would accept because it sounded so good and she didn’t know any better. Oh yes, we know all about that,” she added as she saw his eyes widen. “So she’d be out of the way. You were free to put her looks into production.”

“What utter rubbish.”

“The trouble is,” continued Angela as if he hadn’t spoken, “you didn’t trace the initial contact to its source. Nigel doesn’t chat up wannabes at parties. He’s not bothered about giving talented young foreign students a helping hand, especially not when he’s come equipped with his own arm candy. You should have asked him how he knew about this keen designer.”

“Oh, should I?” Ian’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“It was Kirsty who met up with Asia. Kirsty was striking out on her own, finding out what she could. Asia, doing the same thing, eager to network and try to get a foot in the door, would grasp at even the faintest whiff of a promising contact. It was almost inevitable they’d meet. It was Kirsty, wanting to build her own stock, who told Nigel about her. It also goes without saying that Kirsty would ask to see some of Asia’s designs, which she would have stored on her mobile. I expect Asia sent them to Kirsty’s phone by Bluetooth at the same party. Then Kirsty uploaded them on to her laptop later.”

Ian said nothing but his face had become drained of all colour again.

“I’m sure you’re right about what you told me last week. I’m sure Kirsty had got at your computer. She would have seen you’d got hold of Asia’s designs, and no doubt came to the conclusion you were going to use them yourself. The morality of this didn’t bother her, she just wanted to help you; so she made an attempt to change the initials on the ones on her own computer.” Angela tapped the bottom of the page. “She went for the simplest option and cropped off the first initial, leaving only the ‘K’. Careless, really, given the different handwriting,
but I don’t suppose she thought it mattered at that stage. She uploaded the design as a photograph, inserted it into a Word document where, as I’m sure you’re aware, it’s very easy to recover the original format and see what’s been cropped.” Angela pulled out a similar page from her file and laid it on top of the others. It was the same design but, here, the initials “A” and “K” could both be clearly seen.