Fade to Black (22 page)

“Got the powder ready?”

Friend held up the cake mix-sized pack.

“Showtime!” Arthur said, imagining he looked just like Betelgeuse.

Arthur approached Paula and smiled like a spider as he sat down beside her. She leaned in towards him.

“Everything ok?” she cooed. “You were such a long time!”

Arthur glanced over her shoulder. New friend had sat directly behind her, as planned.

*****

Allie St. Clair was driven away from the Black Crow by a privately seething DS Strauss, who considered she had been asked to ‘go and sit in the car’ like an errant child while the grown-ups had a chat. Allie knew they were on the brink of a new dimension in the case beyond that which she already knew to be ‘otherworldly’—the realm of the hard men—a moral wasteland to be entered only as a last resort.

It was hard to ignore Strauss’s anger.

“Are you interested in knowing who was upstairs, Detective Sergeant Strauss, or would you like another five minutes to complete the entire ten-step sulking program?” Allie asked with an innocent look. Strauss looked over at her. A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.

“Yes, Detective Inspector St. Clair, I would indeed be interested in knowing."

“Excellent, DS Strauss. Let me tell you that his initials are R.R.”

Strauss needed no further hints. “You are fucking joking!
Ray Riley
was there?"

“Just ten feet above your pouting head.”

Strauss shook her head in disbelief. “But wasn’t Banks going to see him at his home in Chelsea?”

“That’s the thing,” Allie said. “Banks would have completely wasted his time. I’ll be interested to know what arrangements he thought he’d made to interview Riley.”

“Holy hell.” A nervous laugh escaped from Strauss. “This is getting seriouser and seriouser.”

Allie smiled at the corruption of ‘curiouser and curiouser’. Lewis Carroll would be apoplectic. But Rachel had nailed the personal parallel. Allie herself had been plunged into a different world, one with a new reality or dimension that only she could experience.
Allison’s Adventures in Wonderland
indeed. Or was it
Through the Looking Glass
?

“So,” Rachel said, continuing her focus, “we have Diamond Ray Riley at both the Golden Bamboo and The Black Crow.”

“Yes. Too much of a coincidence, is it not?”

“What are you thinking, then?" Strauss asked. At least Rachel was initiating conversation; that was a big step forward.

Allie fiddled with the hairpin that held her thick hair in check.

“I’m thinking we’re in a world of pain here. If Riley is involved in Georgie’s murder, I’ll have to clear any contact with him with Carr. They might even try and take the case off us.”

“No!” Rachel thumped the steering wheel. “We can nail this!”

Allie sighed. “I said they might
try.
” Her phoned bleeped yet again. This time she checked it.

They’ve killed again

Allie slumped in her seat. Strauss noticed and asked what was wrong.

“I just have a horrible feeling the worst is yet to come, Rachel.” Had Strauss not been driving, she would have seen the glistening in Allie’s eyes. Allie looked again at the message and pondered the use of the plural—
they’ve
killed again. Presumably, Michael meant the murderer and his inner demon?

*****

Connors had completed his task. It had been worse than he had anticipated. His new life would take much more planning and he would have to be
so
careful. Checking his watch, he saw it was 6:30 p.m. He’d been out of contact with head office for five and half hours! Sweat stuck his shirt to his back and his hands still shook. The feeling of light-headedness would surely abate soon. He wondered if it would affect him like this every time. Driving was still a problem, but he had no choice. If he was not back at headquarters soon, serious questions would be asked. He tried to jog across the busy road, but his legs failed him. He slowed his pace. After all, it was just a couple of minutes back to where he had parked his car.

Chapter Fourteen

6:45 p.m.

DC Jacinta Wilkinson saw Allie St. Clair and Rachel Strauss emerge from the elevator. She grabbed the messages that had come in for Allie and prepared to greet her. The fact that St. Clair and Strauss had arrived together was interesting. Normally, they wouldn’t have been seen dead in each other’s company. She saw Allie striding towards her and held out the phone messages.

“Ma’am, there are three messages from your mother.”

Allie stopped and spun around. “Three? How did she sound?”

Wilkinson squirmed and Allie saw it. That could only mean one thing—Suzie Whiteman was drunk. Allie took the messages, thanked Wilkinson and asked that everyone assemble in the briefing room.

“Please ring Superintendent Carr and ask if I can have a word first.”

Allie continued on to her office. She could not yet ring her mother. She opened her emails, immediately spotting the one from photographer Everett Blight. It had a short message and four attached images. The message was self-serving drivel, so she opened the first attachment and printed it out. It showed what she hoped it would—great swirls of paint of some sort on the brick walls of the Earl’s Court Lane. She made the image as large as she could and peered at it.

“You wanted to see me?” DCS Carr stood in her doorway.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, I was just on my way. You might like to come around and check this out.” Carr obliged and they talked about what the images might mean. Allie then briefed Carr about Ray Riley and his connection to the murder scene and The Black Crow hotel. Carr was thoughtful about the new information. “Perhaps someone’s sending him a message. I don’t see Diamond Ray as actually committing a murder like this. Not his style. Maybe he’s upset someone. But what’s the connection between him and this Georgeta? Surely he wasn’t banging a common waitress?”

Allie left that alone, stood and picked more copies off her printer. They exited Allie’s office and walked into the briefing room together.

Allie saw Connors was seated in the front row. She made a mental note to follow up on just where he had been. Pecking away at the back of her brain was the feeling that, at any moment, another murder would be reported—if Michael was right. She turned her phone off before he responded to that thought.

“I’m right,”
his voice boomed in her ear.
“I just use the phone so I don’t scare you. The gloves are off now.”

She flinched at his unexpected communication and saw that Carr was looking quizzically at her. She brushed some imaginary lint from her sleeve, cleared her throat and addressed her team. She ran through the information they had and asked Banks and Connors to add anything they had turned up. Banks spoke up. “Inspector, may I ask—”

“Hold that thought please, Peter,” Allie said, knowing full well he was about to query why he had been called off Mr. Raymond Riley of Chelsea. She turned on the overhead projector and threw Everett Blight’s weird infrared photo of the crime scene onto the white screen. There was the initial intake of breath and Allie saw everyone lean forward to study the scribble on the wall behind the suspended body of Georgeta Konstanzo.

“I asked the crime scene photographer to take an infrared photo of the scene and the images you see have come to light, literally.”

Judging by their rapt attention, she had no doubt that finally, her team was fully engaged with the case. Hallelujah.

“Does it say
Chase
?" Banks asked. “Does this nut bag want to lead us in a merry dance, is that it?” Connors disagreed and suggested it was just nonsense. Wilkinson thought the lettering spelt
Chaps
, as did Strauss.

“We,” Allie said, gesturing toward Carr, “think it says,
Chaos
." Allie, of course,
knew
it said
Chaos
. If nothing else, it validated everything Michael had said.

“So what do you make of that?” Carr asked the team.

“Well," Connors piped up, “he’s created chaos and he’s naming it.”

“Not bad,” Allie said. “He’s created or is he
creating
… as in, there will be more?”

Connors shrugged. “I think,” Allie said, “that there is a number 2 embedded here as well. She traced a sweeping line through the word 'Chaos'. “See it?”

After a moment, all heads nodded. Yes, they agreed. There was a barely discernible number there. Strauss walked to the image, but addressed her question to Allie.

“What made you think there was more here than the first photos showed and, moreover, why did you choose to have an infrared photo taken?” It was the question Allie had been hoping to avoid. She was not surprised that Strauss had tumbled to it. Despite their differences, Allie still considered her to be, by far, the brightest member of the team.

“Careful, Allie,” Michael’s voice cautioned.

She hesitated a moment, then launched into her explanation.

“In an overall sense, what we have here, in my view at least, is a biblical tableau—a parody of the crucifixion. I think we all see that—the arms akimbo, the posture of the body; the wound in the side; the bottle of red wine below the body depicting the current Holy Grail bloodline idea, and the removal of the eyes and tongue, denoting blind faith and the inability to bear false witness. I was expecting to see a reference to a psalm or similar, but there was nothing. I just felt there had to be more; it was half a message.”

“But why infrared?” Strauss again.

“Couldn’t think of anything else, to be honest. What would the alternative have been? Lemon juice, as in the old invisible writing? The question for us is, how the devil has it been done, because I certainly don’t know. I’ll be asking forensics to go back and look at the wall, in any case.”

“Incredible,” said Banks. "Absolutely incredible. Great thinking.” Everyone agreed, including Carr.

“The thing is,” Allie said, “what does it tell us? That its murder number two and we’ve missed one? Or that perhaps two people are involved?” As she said this, she realized that of course that was it. Two people–duality. Man and temptation, working toward a common destructive goal. That’s what it meant.

“Or God and the Devil—good and evil—the two sides of man,” she continued.

“Deep,” said Banks.

Allie laughed. “It is. In any case, we have a religious zealot or very troubled soul, about whom we have no idea, no evidence and no trace.”

Carr raised her eyebrows at Allie. She took it as the signal to feed the team the latest info.

“Except,” she said with just a hint of theatrical flourish, “for this afternoon’s events."

Bright eyes shone up at her. This was more like it. She invited Rachel to summarize what they had learned from the visit to Georgeta’s house in Shepherd’s Bush and the quick drop in at the Black Crow. Rachel left until last the revelation that the notorious Diamond Ray Riley might be involved.

“You see, Peter, I just couldn’t let you tackle Ray Riley at that point in the investigation.”

“Just as well you stopped me.” He laughed. “I had no idea who he was!”

Allie studied Banks for a moment. “You might just tell me how you were going to see him, anyway. Presumably you had not rung for an appointment?”

“I certainly did. His ‘secretary’ said he was in and would be happy to see me.”

“That’s interesting,” Allie said, looking at the others. “He was at the Black Crow at 5:30 p.m. That’s a little distance from his home, but I suppose
not that far,
as the crow flies.” Banks groaned at the lame pun.

Allie dug her mobile phone out of her bag and clicked it back on. “Does anybody know who this is?” She flicked up the photo of the young man from the ‘Crow car park. She handed it to Connors first. He had no idea, nor did Banks, who passed the phone to Wilkinson.

“You’re kidding, right?” she said with huge smile. “C’mon, you’re having us on, yeah?”

“Err… no, not all,” Allie said. “You know him?”

“Like, yes! He's only the biggest thing in pop music at the moment! Jase Britt!”

No one had heard of him. Wilkinson was incredulous.

“C’mon! 'The U.K.’s Got Talent' winner, Jase Britt! He’s gorgeous!”

Allie laughed. “I’ll take your word for it. He didn’t look too gorgeous a couple of hours ago, I can tell you. The boy’s got a substance problem.”

“No, no way!” Wilkinson said. “He's a devout Christian–wholesome ‘as’, as they say.”

Allie saw a bright, pink light all around Wilkinson. It was so fierce she wondered if anyone else could see it. Wilkinson was a child at heart—a sweet, warm person, who it now seemed was heavily into Christianity. She probably had no long-term place in the police force. Allie knew she could never cope with what lie before them. Allie and Carr exchanged looks. Allie suspected Carr had come to the same conclusion. Jase Britt’s appearance now made sense. Riley was chasing music industry money.

“Ok, everyone,” Allie announced, “it’s been a long day and tomorrow is looking very challenging. Mathew, I’ll talk to you in the morning about how it went today, say 8:00 a.m.?” Connors confirmed the arrangement with a curt nod and left the room. Allie and Superintendent Carr lingered while everyone filed out. Carr turned to her. “So basically, you’re thinking Ray Riley is mixed up in this somewhere along the line.” It wasn’t a question.

Allie zipped up her satchel. “It’s all we’ve got and it makes sense. Quite how it fits together is a question for tomorrow, of course. Are you comfortable with me interviewing Mr. Riley or would you also like to be involved?”

“An informal interview you mean?”

“Absolutely. As casual as I can make it; I don’t want lawyers involved!”

Carr patted her on the shoulder. “That’s the way to do it. It’s all yours. I’ve got his mobile phone number if you want it.”

Allie’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, that’s handy!”