Fireflies (2 page)

     ‘Can you say how he died, June?’ asked Jeff.

     ‘Well his genitals have been cut off, cock and balls, the whole lot. We’re searching the area to see if we can find them’. She pulled back the sheet over the body and watched all three police officers put their hands to their mouths and wretch before placing it back. ‘He’d have died from the bleeding if not the pain and shock of it actually happening’.

     ‘So you think he may have been still alive when the mutilation took place?’ asked Ollie.

     ‘Well he could’ve been, yes’ said June. ‘There are no signs of restraint. No rope marks around his wrists or ankles for example. Now he wouldn’t have volunteered willingly for this particular service so I speculate that he was probably drugged. I’ll know for sure one way or the other when I get him back to the lab for tests’.

     ‘Somebody must’ve really hated him’ said Ollie.

     ‘Or kinky sex gone wrong?’ Rebecca suggested.

     ‘I think wrong is something of an understatement when he’s been disembowelled’ said June, smiling at her own sledgehammer wit.

     ‘So was he a hotel guest or was he just dumped here?’ Rebecca wondered.

     ‘I take it you didn’t find any ID on him, June?’ Jeff asked.

     ‘No, love, sorry’ said June.

     ‘How long would you say he’s been dead, June?’

     ‘Not long’ said June. ‘I’d say three or four hours at the most’.

     ‘So he’s probably not been reported as missing by anyone yet’ said Ollie.

     ‘No’ said Rebecca. ‘If he’s only been there a short time then somebody living nearby might’ve seen something. They can’t all have been tucked up in bed. I’ll get a team down to start house to house. Then there are the hotel guests. Did any of them see anything if they happened to be gazing out of the window in the early hours’

     ‘I’ll get on to that, ma’am’ said Ollie, confidently.

     ‘We’ll also need to speak to the hotel staff’ said Jeff. ‘I imagine some of the guests from last night will have already checked out but we can chase them up and I’ll get uniforms to be at the reception desk and the exit points to stop and question everyone who leaves from now on. Who found him?’

     ‘A young Polish girl who works as a waitress here’ said Ollie. ‘She’s in shock as you can imagine but she’s inside and she seems okay to talk’.

     ‘The owner of the hotel is a complete cow, Jeff’ said June. ‘I could’ve punched her earlier’.

     ‘Yes, I can verify that about Mrs. Helen Curzon, sir’ said Ollie. ‘She’s been giving everybody a hard time. She just doesn’t seem to care that this is a murder investigation’.

     ‘So what do you think?’ asked Rebecca as she and Jeff walked towards the door through to the hotel kitchen. Ollie had gone round to the reception area to co-ordinate the uniform team’s efforts to take statements from the hotel guests. 

     ‘I think it looks personal to me’ said Jeff. ‘The killer had good reason in their mind to mutilate someone in that way. Whoever did this is making a point of some kind’

     ‘Remind me to go on that profiling course’ said Rebecca.

     ‘Yes, I think you should’ said Jeff. ‘It would be useful and add to your already well honed detective skills’.

     ‘Are you flattering me, sir?’

     ‘Really DS Stockton’ said Jeff, smiling. ‘The thought never crossed my mind’.

     Helen Curzon was sitting in her office next to the reception desk as if she expected all around her to dance to her tune without question. Jeff took her to be in her early fifties and she was wearing a black tailored suit of short jacket and knee length skirt. Her wavy hair was a hazel colour and swept back revealing an open face with large soft blue eyes. Her white open necked blouse looked like it came from one of the more expensive Manchester retailers and the ensemble was finished off with jewellery that could never be described as costume. Her finger nails looked false but coated in the deepest red and she had a trim figure. She clearly used much of whatever disposable income she had on her appearance. Jeff and Rebecca introduced themselves.

     ‘And you’re Mrs. Helen Curzon?’ asked Rebecca.

     ‘Yes. I’m the co-owner of the Mayfair hotel with my husband Brian’.

     ‘Mrs. Curzon, I’m sure my colleague DC Wright has explained that we do look for your full co-operation here’ said Jeff.

     ‘And there speaks the civil servant as opposed to someone who lives in the real world of the private business owner’ said Helen, her voice like ice falling on an enamel board and making a screeching sound that made everyone shudder.

     ‘Excuse me?’ said Jeff, his shackles rising.

     ‘Detective, my husband and I have built this business up over several years and we have an enviable reputation in the higher end of the business and leisure market’.

     ‘It still doesn’t stop you offering incentives of cheap lager every Friday and Saturday night for the binge drinking crowd’ Rebecca pointed out. ‘I saw the posters on our way in’. She’d already had a bucket full of this odious woman.

     Helen Curzon smirked as if she was speaking to a complete underling who was rather stupid. ‘We meet that particular market at the weekend but it doesn’t stop us from meeting a different kind of market during the week’ said Helen, flatly. ‘That’s how private enterprise responds with flexibility’.

     ‘Mrs. Curzon, a man has been murdered and the body left at the back of your hotel’ said Jeff, sternly. ‘Isn’t that a matter of importance to you?’

     ‘The only matter of importance in my life is my husband and making him happy, detective’.

     ‘And I’m sure he very much appreciates that but back to the matter in hand if you don’t mind’ said Jeff. 

     ‘Oh look I’m aware of the gravity of the situation, detective’ said Helen. ‘Of course I am. But my hotel has 297 rooms and last night we were running at ninety percent occupancy which
is no mean feat considering the current economic climate. Do you realise the implications on my business this could have?’

     ‘I do Mrs. Curzon but with all due respect your business concerns are not at the top of my list of priorities’ Jeff retorted. ‘Finding a killer is. Now I presume you have a night manager?’

     ‘Yes’ said Helen as if it was causing her physical pain to co-operate. ‘He went home at five because he has a dental appointment today and needed to adjust his sleep pattern. He’ll be making up the hours tonight by coming in early’.

     ‘The name of the night manager?’ asked Rebecca.

     ‘Julian Fowler. He lives over in Marple. I expect you’ll require his address?’

     ‘You expect correctly’ said Jeff. ‘We’ll also need the names and contact details of all the staff, especially those who were on duty last night and those who started work this morning before the discovery of the body’.

     Helen sighed. ‘Very well’.

     ‘Now DC Wright will be leading the team here at the hotel’ said Jeff. ‘I don’t want to hear from him that you’ve been anything less than fully co-operative with our enquiries. Is that clear, Mrs. Curzon?’

     She glared at him with a look that said if she could stamp on him she most certainly would. ‘I don’t waste my energy fighting decisions over which I have no choice’. 

     ‘I’ll take that as a yes then’ said Jeff. ‘Do you live on the premises?’

     ‘Heavens, no! My husband and I live in a converted stables over in Saddleworth’.

     ‘Is he there now?’

     ‘Yes’ said Helen. ‘It was my turn to do the early start. Our property is worth a considerable amount of money which we might need if this does have a downward impact on the business’.

     Jeff sighed irritably. ‘Does he know about the body yet?’

     ‘No. I don’t know how he’ll take it. He’s been worried enough about the business as it is. This is the age of the consumer and everybody wants to cut costs. Everybody wants to spend twenty pounds on a level of service that costs a hundred to deliver. One’s margins are being squeezed all the time. That’s why this couldn’t have come at a worse time for us and furthermore I have tickets for Joan Collins and her one woman show tonight. I’m a great admirer of her. They don’t make real stars with talent like her anymore’.

    
Talent? That’s not a word Jeff would put in the same sentence as Joan Collins. He’d only ever seen her play herself.

     ‘Like I said before Mrs. Curzon’ said Jeff, testily. ‘We expect your full co-operation’. 

FIREFLIES TWO

     
Andrea Kay cursed the bloody weather. On her way into work she’d been drenched in a downpour that could’ve signified that November had swapped its weather for that of the current month of May.

‘It’s the first of June on Thursday’ said Andrea as she and her friend
Tina hung their coats up in the staff room. Everybody who worked at the super store liked to cover up their uniform when they were going to and from work otherwise they were accosted on the bus by elderly women who wanted to know if cat food was on special offer this week. ‘And it feels like bloody winter out there’.  

‘It’ll start rolling down the street soon if it carries on as heavily as this’
Tina remarked. ‘Traffic will come to a standstill, the heavens will descend on us, the world will stop spinning and all life as we know it will come to an end’.

Andrea laughed. ‘You’re such a fucking drama Queen.
By the way, how did you get on with that fit bloke from the Paradise club on Saturday?’

     ‘Oh, fine’ said Tina who really didn’t want to go into it. The fact was the whole situation had been an absolute disaster but she wasn’t about to tell Andrea that. ‘Anyway, nobody owns me
and variety is the spice of life. You should try it’.

Andrea smiled. She and her friend were so different
.  Tina was outwardly confident, some would say loud and brash. She could walk into a pub anywhere on any night of the week and find a man to pull but she made damn sure she didn’t get pregnant. She was only twenty-two and she didn’t want a husband or even a sniff of kids until she was at least thirty which she admitted made her unusual amongst her family and some of her other friends on the estate where she came from where it wasn’t unusual to be a Grandmother at the age of thirty.    

‘
But I never see anyone I really fancy’ Andrea moaned.

‘
There are plenty of men out there who are up for some fun. You’re just too fussy’.

‘And you’re a tart’.

‘Thank you. I model myself on how you’d be if you let yourself go. There must be bloody cobwebs up your fanny’.

‘Cheeky b
itch’

‘Truth hurts?’

Andrea sighed. ‘I don’t deny it. I’m boring and I’m old before my time’.

‘Don’t turn into one of those women who
are obsessed with finding reasons not to have sex’ cried Tina. ‘Because that’s why so many men walk around looking so fucking miserable. All they want is a bit of legover but all their wife or girlfriend want is a baby and once that’s popped out and she’s a Mum then sex is confined to the past’.

‘Oh go
and make me a cup of tea and I’ll think about whether or not I’m still talking to you’.

‘
Right you are, chuck’ said Tina. ‘By the way, doesn’t the new boss start today?’

‘Paula Jones?’ said Andrea. ‘Yes, I think she does. It was supposed to be last Monday but they put it back for some reason’.

‘I still think they should’ve given the job to you after Phil had to retire’ said Tina, ever loyal to her friend. ‘Especially after you’ve been standing in all this time whilst we were waiting for that lot at head office to get off their collective backsides and organise themselves. It’s been over three months since Phil had his heart attack’.

‘Yes, well, they didn’t’ said Andrea. ‘Have you spoken to Phil lately?’

‘I went up to see him yesterday afternoon’.

‘And is he okay?’

‘He seems fine but he isn’t if you see what I mean’ Tina revealed. ‘I mean, he’s sleeping downstairs now. He can’t manage the stairs and poor Jean is worn out, not only with the physical side of taking care of him but also with the worry of not knowing if he’s going to wake up in the morning’.

‘Tina?’

‘What?’

‘I just wanted to say thanks for, well you know, not going for the promotion yourself and giving me a clear shot at it’.

‘Fat lot of good it did you’.

‘I know but I’m grateful. You know I am’.

‘Yes, well you were always better suited to it than me but let’s hope Paula Jones is grateful for the fact that she’s been parachuted in over your head’.

‘I’m grateful for all the blessings in my life, thank you’.

Andrea and Tina, both momentarily shocked by the sudden appearance of a Welsh accent behind them, turned round and gave the best supermarket customer service smiles normally reserved for those daft bastards who can’t find tinned tuna chunks on a shelf that’s packed with them. They also hoped she hadn’t overheard what they’d said.