Dead Gorgeous (A Mystery for D.I. Costello) (12 page)

“Did you manage to get a look at her face? I mean, would we be able to draw up a photofit?”

“No, unfortunately, she kept her face down. I presumed she just looked at the ground as she walked – as some people do. Anyway, she stopped by the gate again; and this time she pushed it open and went in.”

“So, then what happened?”

Another disappointed look stole across Sanders’s face; his allocated fifteen minutes of fame were coming to an end. “Ah, that’s it, I’m afraid. Just at that moment, my taxi arrived. By the time I’d gone into the hall, got my coat and opened my own front door, she was nowhere to be seen.”

What a bummer,
thought Angela. “Had you ever seen this woman before, Mr Sanders?”

“No.” He gave her a sharp, penetrating look. “Nor since.” His expression lightened. “She hasn’t tried to go back to the scene of the crime yet – but murderers do that, don’t they? It’s a well-known psychological fact.”

“We don’t know that she’s the murderer,” said Angela. But she had to admit, the situation did look strange. Perhaps this woman was accepted into the house in all innocence by Kirsty
herself. She could even have been an accomplice to the man on the bike.

Angela made the arrangements for Sanders’s statement to be typed up and saw to it that he was made comfortable and given a cup of tea while he waited to sign it. She went into the incident room and fed the new information into the computer. “Have we got another date with Darren Carpenter?” she asked Gary.

“Any time today would do for him,” he answered.

Angela looked across at Leanne. “Anything back from the lab about Kirsty’s secret files yet?”

“Not yet, guv; I phoned them earlier and they were hoping to have something this afternoon.”

“OK.”

“We’ve had something a bit odd in from uniform though, guv.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, Ian King was attacked last night.”

“What?”

“Yeah. He was a bit shaken, apparently, but no harm done. He asked that you should be informed, though. In case it might be related to Kirsty’s murder. He’s worried that he might be next in line, and was asking for police protection.”

“Oh no, I hope he’s wrong. We’re going over there anyway to see Darren, so we can go up to him after that.”

“Shall I pass that message back to him, guv?”

“Yes, please, Leanne.”

Less than twenty minutes later, Gary was steering the Homicide Assessment Team car past the Lebanese food wholesalers towards the sign saying Ivano King.

“Stop,” said Angela suddenly.

“We’re not there yet,” replied Gary, stopping nonetheless, after a quick glance in the rear-view mirror.

“Sorry, Gary; still, let me congratulate you on your emergency stop.” Angela grinned at him and then inclined her
head out of the car to her left. “Do you see what I see?”

“It’s a bike rack in a cage…? Oh yes, of course.”

Secured snugly in its rack within the bicycle cage was an expensive-looking bike of a dull, reddish colour. It had white mudguards with strips of reflector tape added.

“Rust-coloured,” said Gary. “Not what I’d go for.”

“Yeah, but it’s what Darren goes for, seemingly.”

Darren led them through the despatch area and into his own tiny room, kicking the bottom drawer of his desk closed as he did so. He sat in his chair hanging his hands down between his muscular thighs, and looked expectantly at the two police officers.

“We won’t take up much of your time, Darren,” began Angela. “It’s just that some information has come in that you might be able to help us with.”

“Yeah?”

“A rust-coloured bike was seen outside Kirsty’s flat on Sunday afternoon shortly before the time that she would have been killed.”

Angela had kept her tone deliberately gentle, but it wasn’t enough to prevent a spasm of pain flashing across Darren’s face. His nostrils flared and tears sprung to his eyes. He lowered his head for a moment. When his gaze met Angela’s again there was a puzzled look in his eyes. “So?” he murmured.

“I believe we’ve just passed your bike in the cage outside, is that right?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“It’s rust coloured, just like the one our informant mentioned.”

Darren stared at Angela as if waiting for her to get to the point.
Good grief, this is like pulling teeth,
she thought. “Darren, was it your bike in the front garden of Kirsty’s flat on Sunday?”

“Nah,” he said. “My bike was at the gym. I was at the gym all Sunday afternoon. I told you.”

“It’s a bit coincidental, don’t you think?” said Gary. “How many bikes of that colour do you suppose there are around?”

Darren didn’t even bridle at the slight edge that Gary put into his voice. He merely shrugged. “Not many, but I’ve seen one or two about. It must be a coincidence.”

Angela and Gary exchanged glances. “When you’re at the gym, is your bike secured?” she asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“With a chain?”

“Oh no, not at the gym. Tone lets me put it in the covered passageway. No one can get in to it from the outside.”

“Where is this covered passageway?”

“At the side. It’s a lean-to, really. Tone lets one or two of his special customers put their bikes there, out of sight of the road.”

Angela quickly decided the next port of call would be the gym. “OK; so did you miss your bike on Sunday afternoon?”

“No, but I didn’t check on it. I just left it there and came back for it later.”

“Was it still exactly as you’d left it?”

Angela would never be able to swear to it but she thought for a second that the question caught Darren without an answer. He glanced away, then seemed to remember himself and looked back at her. His brow furrowed and he shrugged. “I didn’t really take any notice. I mean, Tone might push it along a bit now and again to get to something, like, or somebody else might move it to make room for their bike. There’s not a lot of space. It’s only a tarted-up side alley.”

“Yes, I get it,” said Angela. “So you left your bike where you normally leave it and came back to it later when you were ready to go home, and that was that?”

“Yeah.”

“OK, that’s it for now,” said Angela. “I believe a couple of our officers have already been to see you about your bike.”

“Yes, they wanted to dust it for prints.”

“It’s a matter of elimination as much as anything else,” explained Angela, wondering why she was bothering. The matter seemed to excite no emotion in Darren whatsoever.

“Sure, no problem,” he replied.

“Right,” replied Angela, standing up. “We just need a word with Mr King. It’s back along that passage and up the stairs isn’t it?” she asked, pointing.

“Yeah, but he’s out.”

“Oh, really?”

“Saw his car go past quite a while ago.”

“OK, we’ll catch him another time,” said Angela.
At least he’s not sitting around brooding about being the next victim,
she thought. She glanced back as she walked through the unit. Darren was staring intently down at the bottom drawer of his desk; at the back of her mind, she wondered why.

It was some moments, as Gary nosed their vehicle through the labyrinth of roads, before either of them spoke.

“Getting blood from a stone might have been a bit easier,” began Angela.

“Darren? Yeah, not very forthcoming, was he?”

“I feel drained at the mere thought of ever having to interview him again.”

“Yes, mind you, I don’t think it’s because we’re the police. I get the impression he’d be like that with anyone… like… like…”

“Taciturn is the expression you’re looking for,” said Angela. “And I think you’re right. Still, we can’t all be stimulating conversationalists.”

“And he’s got plenty of brawn to make up for brains.”

“That’s not quite fair,” countered Angela. “He’s definitely not stupid.”

They had reached the end of the estate by now, and Gary
slowed before pulling out onto the main road. “We’ll have to file him under ‘strong, silent type’, then,” he said.

“He certainly looks strong.” Angela was quiet for a moment. “It wouldn’t have been a problem, physically, I mean.”

“What? Killing Kirsty? Darren? Yeah, no problem, I’d have thought.”

“Hmm… I think we’ll go to the gym. Let’s check out this covered passageway where he keeps his bike. I’d like to see the layout. If he’s such a good friend of the owner, a little chat could be very useful for all sorts of reasons.”

“OK, have we got the address?”

“Drive in the general direction of Roehampton and I’ll check it out on the Internet,” replied Angela, pulling her mobile out of her bag.

Tony met them at the door. Standing about five ten, he wore a sleeveless T-shirt displaying finely tuned muscles on his upper arms. This, with his close-cropped hair, could have given an impression of aggressiveness, but somehow did not. Tony was affability itself. He showed them round, pointing out the particular apparatus Darren liked to use, confirming without being asked that Darren had indeed been there the previous Sunday, for most of the afternoon.

The covered passageway, when they got to it, looked a simple affair. Originally there had been an alley at the side of the building. This had been built over by, effectively, a lean-to. A glass door gave into the passage from the back of the club’s reception area, with another door giving onto the street at the further end. Angela and Gary shuffled through the small area, easing their way past various bits and pieces of gym equipment to read a notice attached to the wall beside the street door, asking patrons leaving by this exit to shut the door firmly behind them.

“That’s partly for insurance purposes,” said Tony, seeing Angela take in the notice. “There’s only a couple of people
I let store their bikes here anyway, and none of them would dream of not shutting the door properly. As you can see I’ve got some gym equipment here as well. Anything stored in here is completely safe. I can vouch for that.”

“Yes, quite. So, really, there isn’t any access to the club from the street by this passage?”

“No way. I wouldn’t allow that. I need to be able to keep track. Everybody has to come through the main front door and sign in. Apart from the fact that it’s my business, there are Health and Safety regulations to think about.”

Angela nodded. She walked up and down the space and peered through into the gym and back to the passage’s street door. “So,” she said, coming through into the main building again, “this room is your reception and the refreshment area.” She gazed over at the mass-catering coffee machines, the large urn and his selection of snacks arranged in a rack.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Tony.

“Hmm.” Angela sat down at one of the tables. “You can’t really see into the passage from this room.”

“No, well, if you’re sitting at one of those two tables at the back you can see into it a little way –” Tony stopped abruptly. There was a pause. Angela and Gary watched as something triggered a memory and a worried look stole across his features. His expression changed into one of diffidence and Angela moved in before it could become anything less than cooperative.

“Yes?” she asked, raising her eyebrows in encouragement.

Tony lowered his eyes. “Oh, nothing,” he replied. “I was just remembering something.”

You don’t seriously think I’m going to let that pass, do you? No way, José,
she thought. “About the bikes in the passageway on Sunday?” she asked. She was careful not to sound as though she was pouncing on the hesitant note in his voice.

Tony shrugged and feigned nonchalance. “It’s nothing,” he repeated. “It’s just that I was talking to Sandra and she noticed Darren’s bike out there.”

“Did she not normally notice it?”

Tony cranked up the nonchalant attitude but his eyes didn’t meet hers. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. He then looked her full in the face and grinned.
Ah, you’ve found an explanation that you think will do,
she thought. “Yeah, but she’s in love with Daz, ain’t she? You know what it’s like; she takes notice of the least little thing.”

“So what did she say about Darren’s bike?”

There was another inconsequential shrug. “Nothing, really; she just suddenly noticed it through the window. Come to think of it, she was sitting where you are.”

Angela looked at Tony. His expression now was one that she’d seen many times on the faces of suspects, a whole variety of suspects, but always the same look: “Will she buy it?”

She decided to buy it for the moment. Tony wasn’t going anywhere and she could come back to him. Since Sandra seemed to be at the heart of this mini-intrigue, she would speak to her. She thanked Tony for his cooperation and they left.

“Little bit of a mystery here,” said Angela as she buckled her seat belt round her a few moments later. “I like to iron out the wrinkles as I go along.”

“OK, so where to, then?” asked Gary.

“Hang on a tick,” replied Angela, leafing through her notes. She found Sandra’s mobile number and made a call. “Putney,” she said a few moments later, as she put the phone back into her bag. “She’s temping in an office near the High Street, and her lunch hour is due to begin in about ten minutes.”

It seemed Sandra’s close proximity to a murder case had given her a frisson of celebrity status in the solicitor’s practice where she was temping. When Angela and Gary arrived, the earnest young receptionist made no secret of the fact they were expected, showing them to a small room where Sandra would join them in a few moments.

It was closer to ten minutes before the door opened and Sandra appeared. “I’m sorry,” she said, by way of greeting. “I had to finish an important letter to one of the clients.”

Angela could hear a hint of hesitancy behind the seemingly reasonable sentence, and she saw guardedness around Sandra’s eyes. “Not a problem,” she answered.

Sandra came fully into the room and sat down on the only other vacant chair. “So you want to talk to me about…? Has something else come up?”

Angela and Gary noted the hesitation.
I bet “Tone” was straight on the phone to you,
thought Angela.
I’d love to know exactly what he said.
“Yes, we’re just checking up on the business of Darren storing his bike in that lean-to at the side of the gym.”

It would have been hard to miss the sudden tensing of Sandra’s whole demeanour. She had enough sense to try to hide it behind a rather brittle smile, and she made a business of getting comfortable on the seat. “Yeah?” she asked.

Ten out of ten for sticking to a one-word answer,
thought Angela. She could see Sandra gaining mastery over herself.
OK, let’s make a pincer movement and see if I can approach from the flank
. “Did many of the clients store their bikes there?” she asked, assuming an innocent expression.

“Not many,” replied Sandra, a smug look appearing on her face. “Daz is a favoured client; he’s been going there so long, Tone’s a friend by this time. He even runs some of the sessions, and helps out on reception sometimes.”

“I get it. So Darren stored his bike there on Sunday afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Was it there all afternoon?”

“Yes,” said Sandra firmly. Her voice was calm and level, but the guarded look in her eyes intensified.

“We were told you mentioned the bike while you were sitting at one of the tables in the reception area,” said Angela, convinced Sandra already knew exactly what Tone had and hadn’t said.

Her expression lifted a little. “Well, there you go, then,” she said.

“Could it have been moved at any time, by anyone else, I mean?”

Sandra appeared to consider the matter. “Well, Tone might have moved it if he’d gone in there for something. He keeps some stuff in there. He could have pushed the bike along to get at whatever he wanted and then pushed it back further along than it was before. That would explain why I couldn’t see it at one point and then suddenly noticed it.”

“Right,” said Angela. She made a note. She looked at Sandra and smiled. “Thanks, if we need to come and talk to you again we’ll let you know.”

“Of course.” Sandra returned her smile, but there was no mistaking the relief in her face.

Back in the car Angela looked across at Gary, behind the wheel, as she pulled out her seat belt. “That’s all a bit interesting, don’t you think, Gaz? What did you make of it?”

Gary furrowed his brow. “Something’s not adding up,” he said.

“And what do you suppose that is?”

“They seemed to be a bit twitchy about where the bike was over the time of the murder.”

“Hmm… that’s what I thought; but to all intents and purposes it’s completely innocent. Darren cycles to the gym and puts his bike where he always puts it, does his workout, probably sits about a bit, socializing, then gets out his bike and goes home again.”

“So why are they uptight?”

“That’s what I’m wondering. Right: Darren, Tony and Sandra; they’ve all got to be very big blobs on our radar.”

“I reckon so,” agreed Gary.

“OK, let’s do that Virgin Mary thing until I’ve fed everything into the computer.”

“Come again? The Virgin Mary?”

Angela smiled. “We’ll ponder this in our hearts.”

“Oh, right, for a minute I thought you were going to have me saying the rosary all the way back.”

Angela laughed. “You can say whatever prayers you want, just so long as you don’t close your eyes while you’re doing it.”

Everybody seemed engrossed with their computer screens when they arrived. Angela made a beeline for her two detective sergeants. “Rick and Jim, have you gone through the rest of the house-to-house enquiry?”

“Just doing it now,” answered Rick. “It doesn’t give us much. Most people seem to have been watching the telly, dozing, or out somewhere.”

“Sunday afternoon, what can we expect?” said Angela. “Can you dig out the information on that woman opposite Kirsty’s flat – the cake-maker who saw a cyclist arrive at the house?”

“Yep,” said Jim, scrolling down. “Here it is. Mrs Sylvia Marchant.”

“OK, go back to her and dig a bit deeper. I also want to know if she had any sort of relationship with either Kirsty or
Sandra. Anything from passing the time of day when they met in the street to being bosom pals.”

“OK, Angie.”

She headed back to a free console and sat down just as Gary’s hand put a cup of coffee on the desk. “Oh, nice one, Gaz, thanks. What have I done to deserve you?”

“I know who to crawl to,” he grinned.

“You’ll go far, young man. OK, have you been pondering?”

“Yeah, it’s possible that either Tony and/or Sandra
know
Darren went somewhere on his bike during the afternoon…”

“Right, and they’re covering for him.” Angela grimaced. “Hmm. That wouldn’t make life too easy for us; they were almost smooth in giving their answers today. By the time it came to court they’d be completely twitch-less.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Mind you, that theory raises the question of why Darren…”

“Why he’d want to kill Kirsty? Yes, but if it turns out to be him he won’t be the first to kill someone he loves. Oh, hang on, I’ve had another thought.” Angela stared into the middle distance for a moment before looking speculatively at him. “We know Darren’s a keep-fit fanatic, right?”

“Right; and he’s into guns.”

“Yeah, but forget the guns for a moment. How about this for a scenario? Darren comes to the gym, as per, and he gets stuck in to his session. So he’s concentrating on the weights, and the treadmill and whatever else it is that he does.”

“Yeah?”

“And he’s pretty single-minded, is our Darren. That’s the impression I have of him anyway; head down, eyes front, get on with the job.” She looked at him. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Gary narrowed his eyes. “Er… Ah! Yes, he’s so into his workout he wouldn’t know if somebody
else
took his bike out for a while.”

“Gottit!”

Gary beamed. “I’d say that’s a definite possibility.”

“Sandra’s a tall, muscular woman. She could fit the bill as the person seen by Sylvia Marchant, and I don’t think we’d have much trouble thinking up a motive for her.”

“Yeah, and if we dig a bit we might come up with something for Tony.”

“Hmm… they’re definitely going to be revisited. OK, well that’s good. That was bothering me, but I feel a lot clearer about the gym situation now.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Angela could see Leanne and Derek coming towards her. She looked round and nodded them forward. “Yes? Have you got something?”

“Yes, guv,” said Leanne. “The lab has got into those password-protected files.” She waved some pages at Angela.

“Oh great; let’s have a look, then.”

Angela took the pages and laid them on the desk. The first few showed a series of sketches. Each one depicted a garment, drawn in clean economical lines. At the bottom of each page the initials “I. K.” could be clearly seen.

“I suppose these are designs Ian King had been working on,” said Angela, pointing at the initials. “The thing is, I wonder if he knew she had them on her laptop.”

“It seems odd,” agreed Gary. “I’d have thought dress designers were very cagey with their work – until it appeared officially, that is.”

“Yes, me too. We’ve got to see him again, anyway, so we can let him know where we found these. What else have we got?”

She uncovered the next sheet and saw what seemed to be a page of letterheaded paper for a company. The paper was blank apart from a centred letterheading,
Massingham Models
. This company name stood out in large, bold, green, italic print. Underneath in smaller italics, but the same colour, followed
the words, “address”, “telephone number”, “fax”, “email” and “website” – but none of these were actually given. Beneath that came the words “company directors”; then, about halfway across the page, the name Kirsty Manners.

“Hmm…” said Angela. “How very odd.”

“It’s a funny sort of letterheading, that’s for sure,” agreed Derek. “No way of getting in contact with the company.”

“And her name on the board of directors,” finished Angela. “I keep hearing how Kirsty had told people that she was going to be ‘someone’. She wanted a particular lifestyle. Maybe this is her sketching out a fantasy until the dream could come true.”

“That could be it,” agreed Leanne. “She might have been designing a letterhead for the company she hoped she’d run herself, one day. She was obviously trying to find out something about business; she visited the Companies House website quite a bit, didn’t she, in her surfing?”

“Yes, but…” Angela laid the page on the desk. “I’m wondering, though.”

“Guv?” said Leanne.

“Well, look where she’s put her name. It’s halfway across the page. What does that make you think?”

“It looks like she had the sense to realize she wouldn’t be top dog – she would only be one of a board of directors. There’s room for a couple of other names in front of hers,” said Derek.

“That’s what I was thinking,” said Angela. She was silent for a few moments, going over in her mind everything she’d heard about Kirsty’s ambitions.

“Perhaps the names would be added as her plans took shape,” suggested Leanne.

Angela looked up at them both. “Chase this up. If Massingham Models actually exists, they’ll be registered with Companies House and quite likely have a website. See what you can find out about them.”

“OK, guv,” said Leanne. “And you’ll find there’s even less on the other”

Angela glanced down at the last page and saw what Leanne meant. An A4 page with very little on it – just a series of numbers on one line at the top. Angela counted them. “Eleven digits beginning with 07; no prizes for guessing,” she said.

“Mobile number, guv.”

“Exactly. I’ll tell you what. Before you look into this company, can you check up on all the telephone numbers we’ve got so far, from all the people we’ve spoken to, and let me know if this tallies with one of them?”

“OK, guv,” replied Leanne. She and Derek moved away to get on with the task.

Angela switched on the computer. “OK, let’s feed in the result of our labours this morning.”

She worked silently. A quick and efficient typist, before long she pressed “save” and leaned back from the computer. “That’s good,” she said. “Things are moving. We’ve got a couple of promising lines to follow.” Just at that moment, Leanne appeared by her desk again. “Ah, how’d you get on, Leanne?”

“Nothing doing, I’m afraid, guv. We haven’t got this number anywhere on the system relating to this case.”

“Oh, not to worry, thanks for trying.”

“That’s a nuisance,” said Gary, as Leanne moved away. “It’ll take a while to find out who it’s registered to. We don’t even know the network. Do you want me to get started, talking to the mobile phone companies?”

Angela smiled broadly at him. “Why do you want to make life so complicated? There’s a much easier way to get the information we need.”

A blush suddenly appeared and spread across Gary’s face and he grinned sheepishly. “Ah yes.”

Angela was still smiling as she picked up the desk phone and
keyed in the number. After a moment or so, someone picked up at the other end. She could hear a conversation going on, and a male voice speaking, clipped and precise, with authority. Then he spoke into the phone.

“Nigel Summers.”