Dead Gorgeous (A Mystery for D.I. Costello) (8 page)

“Oh, really?” asked Angela.

“I didn’t know she had big ideas. It wasn’t just about modelling. She wanted to live the high life. She thought she could be somebody and get someone, way up there.” He waved his hand towards the ceiling.

“Up there?”

“Yeah, you know; like, up the social ladder.”

“And who did she want?”

“Someone rich and high class. Her parents had told her she could get anybody she wanted; but she didn’t realize.” Darren was overtaken by another bout of weeping.

“What didn’t she realize?” asked Angela after he’d calmed down a little.

“Well, it’s not just about looks, is it? You need other things. You have to have a bit more about you. You have to
know how to – you’ve got to be able to walk the walk as well as talk the talk, ain’t you? Kirsty was gorgeous all right, but apart from that she was just an ordinary girl. You know what I’m saying?”

Angela nodded. “I think so. Looks alone aren’t enough. To mix in certain circles, the ones Kirsty was drawn to, you need education and culture.”

“That’s it,” nodded Darren.

You need class. And it’s looking like Kirsty didn’t have any,
thought Angela.

“Who was the man she left you for?”

“Ian.”

“Ian King?”

Darren nodded. Angela made a note. “I see what you mean about her being a high-flyer.”

“Yeah. Well, it was him that she split up with me for, but I think there was someone else before that. I don’t know who the other person was, but that’s when I first got suspicious, like.”

“What made you suspicious?”

“She had texts here and there that she was cagey about. I’d go to the bar to get our drinks and when I came back, I’d catch her reading a text. When I asked who it was from, she’d just say it was her mum, or one of her friends, but I dunno, I just got a feeling. Then I reckon that finished ’cause she was, like, full-on with me for a while. Then it started up again.”

“You mean that relationship, the first one?”

“No, I mean the cageyness, things that made me suspicious.”

“And this time you think it was Ian King?”

“It was him. A couple of times she came to meet me and I caught a whiff of his aftershave. He always wears the same one. It’s not cheap stuff. Kirsty used to like to give herself a spray of a bloke’s aftershave here and there. She did it with me when we first started going out. And I saw them together.”

“Where did you see them?”

Darren was silent for longer than consideration of the question required. “In a pub in Barnes,” he said at last.

Angela made a business of writing the information down. “Anywhere else?” she asked, without looking up from her notebook.

The pause wasn’t so long this time. “They went for a meal in Mortlake once or twice and they were in Hampton Hill a few times.”

You’ve been following her, haven’t you, Daz,
thought Angela. She wasn’t surprised. There was something brooding about him, obsessive even. “And you’ve no idea who the first man was?”

“Nah.”

“Did it not bother you that she was seeing other men while she was supposed to be your girlfriend?”

Darren put his hand through the cable tie and pulled it up his arm in bracelet fashion. “Thought she’d soon learn, and then it would be all right, didn’t I?”

“Learn what, Darren?”

“What I said; looks ain’t enough; specially with him.”

“Him?”

“Ian. He never sticks with ’em for long.”

“Oh right; OK. Darren, I need to know where you were on Sunday afternoon.”

Tears welled up in Darren’s eyes again but he remained composed. “At the gym.”

“From what time?”

“I got there after lunch; ’bout two-ish.”

“And how long did you stay?”

“Till about five.”

“That’s a long time to be working out, isn’t it?”

Darren shrugged. “I wasn’t working out all the time. I
stopped, went to the loo; I helped out on the reception a bit. The bloke who runs the place is a good mate of mine so I hang out there quite a lot.”

“Do you remember what time you stopped for the loo and to help out at reception?”

There was a pause. “Three – or around then.” Angela looked up from her notebook to find herself being scrutinized by Darren. She bent her head to her notebook again.
Hmm,
she thought.
There was something going on in the back of your mind just then. I wonder what it was.

“So there are plenty of people who could verify that you were there?”

Darren was completely relaxed. “Oh yeah, no problem.”

Angela shut her notebook and stood up. She thanked Darren for his time and gave him the usual warning that she might need to speak to him again.

Once the door had closed behind them, Darren opened the bottom drawer of the desk. He took out a felt bag, extracted from it a gun and stared at it for a long while, running his hand lovingly over the gleaming metal.

Angela and Gary went out to the front of the building and called Rick and Jim to come and join them. “How did it go with the stitchers?” she asked, once they’d arrived.

“There were three of them there,” answered Jim. “We’ve got their details. None of them could tell us much. They knew who Kirsty was, of course, had seen her in the office here, but hadn’t really talked to her.”

“What about the is-he-or-isn’t-he boyfriend?” asked Jim.

“Well, that situation’s a bit clearer,” said Angela. “Darren who works in despatch is the ex who wanted her back. In the time he was with her, he suspected she’d been seeing someone else; and more recently, he knew for definite that she had gone out with the boss here – Ian King.”

“Who’s this Ivano King, then, Angie?” asked Jim, looking up at the sign above the unit.

“The same person; Ivano King is the label on the clothes, that’s all. I suppose he thought it sounded more interesting alongside names like Prada and Armani. As it happens, I’ve quite liked some of his stuff in the past, but I haven’t heard much about him for a while. I read somewhere that he’s had a couple of bad years.” She looked towards the building. “They seem to be in full production, though, so perhaps he’s hoping for better reviews for the next collection.”

“Really? Well, I’m strictly a Marks & Spencer man,” said Jim. “I expect the girlfriend will have heard of him, though.”

Angela didn’t bother to point out the Marks & Spencer stake in the fashion market to Jim; she didn’t think he would get it. “No matter,” she said. “Gaz and I will take him on. And then we can talk to this person,” she said, tapping the next name on a her list, “although I think she’s not here this afternoon.”

Jim cast a look down at the page. “OK, so do you want us to take the woman who let us in – Jenni – and this Paki bloke?”

There was a brief silence. “The what bloke?” asked Angela eventually.

Jim had the grace to look embarrassed. “The Asian gentleman, Angie.”

“Yes, Asian gentleman,” said Angela. “Raj Wickramasinghe; you’ll probably find he hasn’t ever been to Pakistan in his life and has little knowledge of either the customs or language of that country.” She paused.

“Yes, Angie.” Jim didn’t meet her eyes.

“There’s no place for racists on this team, Jim.”

“Yes, sorry.”

“OK, let’s get to it then, chaps.”

Angela realized what Darren had meant about Ian’s aftershave the minute she entered his office. And he was right; it wasn’t cheap.

Angela looked around, avidly drinking in the atmosphere. This was probably the only chance she’d ever get to be in a top fashion designer’s office and she wanted to make the most of it. The whole place breathed creativity. She noted all the photographs of the glossy lifestyle but her eyes were really drawn to the sketches on the worktable, the swatches of clothes; silks and wools, linens and cottons, thrown here and there. She wanted to run her hands over them, to feel the textures. In her teens and early twenties she’d made many of her own clothes and had only stopped in her determination to rise through the police ranks. In clearing out the room at the weekend for Maddie’s return, they had come across her machine. She was just thinking about how easy it would be to set it up in the smallest bedroom when she became aware of Gary looking at her with a puzzled expression on his face. Reluctantly she turned her attention to the other man in the room and tuned back into reality.

“I’m totally shattered by this,” Ian sighed. “And not just me; everybody’s very shocked.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Angela. “How did you all find out?”

“Jenni told us – well, she told Raj and Eleanor because they were in the general office.”

“Oh yes.” Angela consulted the hastily put-together list in her notebook. “Eleanor… Chandler? The head stitcher?”

There was a brief pause before he replied. “Yes.”

Angela looked up at him and gave a small, puzzled, smile. “You don’t sound too sure about that,” she said.

Ian put a hand up to his forehead and took a breath. “Sorry,” he said. “Not quite with it this morning. I keep thinking, ‘Goodness… Kirsty… but there’s work to be done…’ and then I find it’s some time later and I haven’t done any work. I suppose I can’t get my head round it.”

“Yes, I can understand that. There’s no gentle way to lead into this, so I’ll just get on with it. Would you mind telling me where you were yesterday afternoon?”

A flash of annoyance appeared in Ian’s eyes. “Well, to be honest I think I would, Inspector. Are you saying that I’m a suspect?”

“Not at all, sir, it’s just routine.”

The expression on his face lifted. “Yes, of course. Sorry, I’m overreacting. I think we’re all a bit tense today.” He paused for a moment as though thinking what to say next, running his fingers through immaculately cut hair; even the ensuing disarray looked fashionable. “This is why I hesitated just now. In the past few weeks, Eleanor and I have become rather more than just boss and employee and as it happens I was with her all yesterday afternoon.”

“From?”

“Ooh, I got there just after two o’clock and I think I left around six.”

“I see.” Angela made of point of keeping her face expressionless.
So how long was the interval between dumping Kirsty and taking up with Eleanor, s
he wondered. She jotted something down and underlined it.

“The thing is,” Ian hurried on, seeing her making notes, “my relationship with Eleanor; it’s not generally known and I’d be grateful if it didn’t get out.”

“We won’t be telling anybody,” said Angela.

He nodded; a man of the world.

Angela decided to squeeze a little. “Unless it becomes part of the evidence in the trial,” she said.

Ian paled before managing a smile. “Oh, there’s no chance of that. Our situation, Eleanor and mine, that is, has no bearing on what’s happened to young Kirsty.” He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease again.

Young Kirsty?
queried Angela to herself
. Are you distancing yourself from her now or did you always call her that?
“How much do you know about what happened?” she asked.

“Only what Jenni could tell us this morning,” he replied. “Apparently Kirsty’s flatmate phoned in to say Kirsty wouldn’t be in. Jenni was just about to enquire what was wrong with her, when the flatmate said Kirsty was dead – she’d been murdered. We’re all still having trouble believing it, really.”

“I’m sure.” Angela smiled pleasantly at him.
Now, is my next question going to annoy you or is it not?
She made a play of flicking through her notebook before finding the correct page. “I believe you were recently in a relationship with Kirsty,” she said.

Ian clicked his tongue. “I don’t suppose it was much of a secret around here.”

“So it’s true?”

“Yes, we had a thing going for a while, but I had to put a stop to it. Jenni fielded a couple of enquiries from the tabloids recently, and said they seemed keen to move from my next collection to my love life. I don’t mind my own people knowing, but I didn’t want it getting into the press. I’ve got a bit of a reputation and I don’t know that Kirsty would have done it any good.”

“Really? Why not? She was trying to make it as a model, wasn’t she? Isn’t that the sort of person you’d be expected to consort with?”

“Oh please, Inspector! This industry is crawling with women who are trying to make it as models. The bottom line is, if I ran into, say, Mick, at a bash would I have introduced them?”

“Mick?”

“Jagger.”

“Oh, right.”

“I’ve got a feeling Kirsty was telling her friends about us as though we were a couple. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; I think she was quite naive – a little gauche, perhaps. Not very sophisticated.”

“Surely that’s the type of thing gossip columnists look for anyway? Can you really be sure Kirsty was indiscreet?”

Ian spread his hands. “It was only a matter of time. A couple of occasions when her mobile battery was low she used my laptop – later I had to clear her Facebook and Twitter pages from my browsing history; you know how girls like to gossip.”

Angela also knew how girls like to keep secrets when it suits them. She wondered for a moment how far the lab had got with trawling through Kirsty’s computer. She decided not to let him get away with blaming Kirsty now she couldn’t speak up for herself. “I find it’s often impossible to trace gossip to its source,” she said.

“You might be right. The poor kid’s dead so there’s no point in dissing her anyway, is there?”

“No. So, how long were you in a relationship with Kirsty?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a relationship,” said Ian. He smoothed one expertly threaded eyebrow. “I don’t know, what’s the modern term for a… er… dalliance?”

I could tell you but modesty forbids,
thought Angela. She was beginning to feel defensive on “young” Kirsty’s behalf. “Well, whatever you call it,” she said, being careful to keep her voice neutral, “you were obviously seeing her for a while. Would you mind telling me when it started?”

Ian thought for a moment. “Where are we now…? Nearly into August, so probably middle to late May.”

“And when did it finish?”

“I told her it was over about a month ago.”

“Why did you decide to end the relationship?”

Ian sat forward in his seat, fully cooperative now. “Bottom line, Inspector; Kirsty looked good – knockout, in fact. But she didn’t cut it, as one got to know her better. Her conversation was quite limited. There’s only so much interest I can feign about which of her friends had said what about another one, or the goings-on in soap operas I’ve barely heard of. I’m afraid I tuned out a great deal of the time, or my head would have been filled with a significant amount of unwanted information. It’s as I said before, would I introduce her to Mick – or Hugh?”

Yeah, Hugh Grant, I get it,
thought Angela. “So you thought it best to finish it.”

“Yes; I also think she was hoping her association with me would be a kind leg-up into modelling, but the fact is she had zero chance of setting foot on any catwalk of mine – or, I strongly suspect, of anyone else’s.”

“Why wouldn’t she have made the grade as a model?”

“Too short for one thing; plain fact of life, I’m afraid. Also, Kirsty didn’t walk well, and she liked to loom large in the picture. At the end of the day, we employ models to show off the clothes, we don’t make clothes to show off the models.”

“So how did she take it when you finished with her?”

“Ah. Not good, I’m afraid.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Oh, you know; tears and protests. I tried to let her down gently. I used the difference in our ages, tried to point out that she’d be a lot happier with someone nearer her own age. But she was very upset, said that she loved me and wanted me.”

“That sounds as though it was difficult.”

“It was. So I took the avuncular route. Well, that’s what I was trying to do in my mind. Whether she took that on board or not, I don’t know. I said we’d still be friends and that she could still come to me with any problem she might have.”

Angela thought for a moment. She took in his high-end polo shirt, the pique detail as good as the Ralph Lauren label that was no doubt sewn into the back of the neck. He liked hobnobbing with celebrities and dropping their names into the conversation. He was very aware of his own image, and that image was youthful. She wondered if he was capable of being avuncular to his actual nieces and nephews, let alone his ex-girlfriend. “And did she?”

“What, come to me with her problems? Well, unfortunately yes, and they all seemed to centre on me. It was clear she was experiencing a great deal of difficulty getting over me, poor child.”

Oh, get me a bucket
,
someone, I want to puke,
thought Angela. She wondered what Gary was making of all this. “Were you still in contact with each other until yesterday?”

“The last text I had from her was yesterday morning.”

“Do you still have any of these texts?”

“I’m sorry, I tended to delete them as soon as they came.”

“Can you tell me the nature of yesterday’s message?”

“Oh, the same as all the others; she wanted us to get back together again. She said she realized she’d been a bit shallow, but she was changing, learning lots of things, and she knew we could make a much better go of it this time round.” He paused. “I’m a high-end dress designer, Inspector. I’ve dressed rock stars and Oscar-winning actresses. That’s the world I move in. She wasn’t easily going to come up to scratch, if at all.”

“What about when you saw her here, at work? Did she try to speak to you alone?”

“Oh yes, she would come in and chat to me, mostly a tale of lovesick woe, I have to say. I was trying to help her through it.”

I bet that was totally counterproductive
,
apart from feeding your ego,
thought Angela. “Right, well, I think that’s all for the moment, but I’m sure you understand we may need to see you again as the investigation progresses,” she said.

“Oh yes, absolutely no problem,” replied Ian. He was a picture of reasonable helpfulness, but didn’t try to disguise his relief at the ending of the interview.

“Of course I’ll need to speak to Ms Chandler, to verify your account of yesterday afternoon. I gather she’s not here this afternoon.”

“That’s right. Would you like her address?”

Angela noted down the address, and a few minutes later she and Gary joined the others in Kirsty’s office.

“Your eternal polygon theory is holding up,” said Rick, looking through his notes.

“Oh yes?”

“Yeah, Raj Wickramasinghe was filling us in on the office gossip,” Jim cut in. “He seems to have quite a sense of humour.”

“Oh, really?” remarked Angela, noting the conciliation in Jim’s words. “Let us in on the joke, then.”

“He was with his family in some pub when he saw Ian King and Kirsty Manners come in; but he says Darren Carpenter was there as well, watching them and making sure he wasn’t seen.” Jim broke off and looked at Angela. “That might be important, eh, Angie?”

“Oh yes, noted,” said Angela, doing so. “That confirms the impression I got from him.”

“Anyway, Raj says she was making up to him like nobody’s business,” said Jim, adopting what they assumed to be Raj’s voice. “She was going all out to impress him; bending over backwards, probably literally as well as figuratively, if you take my meaning. Silly tart, she didn’t even have the sense to wonder why her date was happening in a suburban backwater.
A more savvy woman would have at least expected a Mayfair restaurant.”

The chunky, darts-playing, macho Jim’s efforts to reproduce Raj’s crisply camp utterances and arch manner of expressing himself made them all laugh.

“Ah, bless!” said Angela. “Well, Ian King was very open about the situation with Kirsty. Mind you, he didn’t go so far as to dignify it with the term ‘relationship’; he called it a ‘dalliance’.”

“Not what I’d call it,” said Jim.

Angela laughed. “Right, you two – get off to the incident room and start feeding what you’ve got into the computer. Gazza and I are going to talk to the head stitcher – the new lady in Ian’s life, apparently, and his alibi for the events of yesterday.”

The door of Eleanor’s house in Putney opened to reveal a brunette in her forties, of average height and build. Her face, neither pretty nor plain, benefited from very well applied make-up. She looked enquiringly at them.

“Ms Eleanor Chandler?” asked Angela.

“Yes?”

“We’re sorry to disturb you, I’m Detective Inspector Angela Costello and this is Detective Constable Gary Houseman.”

Eleanor stood back a little. “Ah yes; I was told to expect you. Come in.” She showed them into a comfortable front living room decorated in shades of peach and cream. Every single item in the room looked new, and Angela thought she could detect the faint smell of fresh paint.

“Have you been decorating?” she began, sitting down in the armchair indicated. Gary went over to an upright seat in a corner, and took out his notebook.

“Major interior overhaul, more like,” replied Eleanor. “My mother died a year or so ago. Her taste got stuck in
her
mother’s
era – and she hated change. She’d been an invalid since my teens, bedridden for the last ten years of her life.”

“That must have been difficult for you – juggling work responsibilities with caring for your mum.”