Dead Gorgeous (A Mystery for D.I. Costello) (14 page)

“What’s his bike got to do with his alibi? He was here all the time. I can vouch for that.” Tony said nothing; he gave her a shy smile and let the silence lengthen. Light dawned for Sandra. “You thinking they don’t want to rely on my word because of our relationship?”

“Well, I think they’ve got to rely on it, legally. But I’m sure they’ll be looking for a way to crack it. It’s what they do, isn’t it? I mean, say for instance Darren was the murderer. He would have had to get over to your and Kirsty’s place quickly and back again to the gym.”

Sandra saw the sense of this and nodded. “The bike would have been perfect for that.” She found herself suddenly having to fight back tears of frustration and anxiety.

Sensing the way she was feeling, Tony reached over, laying a comforting hand on her arm. “Don’t worry, Sandy, it’ll all work out. You’ll see.” The tenderness in his voice surprised Sandra, and she found herself having to work even harder to keep the tears at bay. “What does Darren say?” he asked.

“Oh!” Sandra’s frustration and anxiety turned in an instant to irritation. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s living on the same planet as the rest of us. All I get from him is, ‘I ain’t done nothing so I’ve got nothing to worry about.’”

“Did you tell him the police were asking about the bike?”

“Same thing, Tone: ‘The bike was in the lean-to all afternoon wasn’t it, so what’s the problem?’” Sandra produced such a close imitation of Darren’s voice that Tony let out a short, involuntary bark of laughter. She recognized the
humour of the moment and grinned. The truth was, she’d become increasingly frustrated with Darren. He seemed not to be aware of her feelings at all, not to understand when she tried to talk to him. If only Darren could look at her with a gentle, caring expression, like Tony’s right at that moment. She picked up her mug and tried to cut off that line of thinking.

Tony looked at Sandra for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to pursue the subject. Finally he spoke. “Why
did
you suddenly mention the bike on Sunday, Sand?”

She cast a puzzled glance at him and shrugged. “I dunno. I just saw it and mentioned it.”

“If you remember,” said Tony, carefully, “you said it hadn’t been there earlier.”

“Yeah, but that could easily be because it had been moved along a bit. You’re always in there for stuff.”

Tony looked at Sandra and slowly shook his head. “I don’t think I went in there at all on Sunday.”

A look of fear came into Sandra’s eyes. “So… what are you saying?”

“I’m not really sure,” replied Tony. The thought worried him, and the realization that he hesitated to share his growing suspicion with Sandra unnerved him even more.

Klara looked around and gave the ghost of a smile as Asia came into the kitchen. “Good morning,” she said.

“Morning,” replied Asia. She’d picked up from the television that English people mostly just said that one word.

“Have you any news?”

Asia shook her head. “No, I have to wait still. I have asked them all. They all say same, he very busy man. I have to be patient.”

“But you met him once.”

“Oh yes. He very nice. Say I very promising. Say he will help me.” Asia deliberately made her voice sound cheerful. Her housemates had problems of their own. She faced the truth; all hope had evaporated of ever hearing from her contact, the man who had promised to help her get started in the English fashion industry.

Klara nodded. “You want coffee?” she asked. The door to the conservatory stood open and for one brief second Asia’s heart leapt. It sank almost immediately as she saw the bulky form of Igor coming along the garden path towards the house. He veered off and went in through the French windows to the dining room.

Klara saw the hope flare and die on Asia’s face. “He more careful now,” she said. “Since Monday.”

Asia raised her shoulders and let them drop again. Yes, it was now Wednesday. Not for the first time she realized how this incarceration could easily make her lose track of the days altogether. She thought again of her mad dash through the open front door, the sprint along the street, the feeling, the glorious, ecstatic feeling that she’d managed to get away. She’d do the same thing again without hesitation, but she didn’t think
she’d get another opportunity. She just thanked God it was Igor pursuing her. That was a blessing really. Igor hadn’t been in a church in his life and didn’t know the slightest thing about confessionals. If it had been Pawel, the whole story would have ended differently. He would have gone straight round to the other side of the screen and likely as not would have attacked that poor priest. Asia couldn’t remember how many times she’d played that scene back in her head, though by now she felt convinced the effort had been wasted. She’d been too garbled, obscure, she hadn’t given enough information, and her English was bad. Only the thought of the kindness and concern in the face of the priest kept her from despair.

As Klara pointed out, Igor’s vigilance had increased; and if it wasn’t him it would be Vladimir or Pawel. She hadn’t wanted to make things awkward for the others, though. “If worse for you, I sorry,” she said.

Klara shook her head, her eyes dull. “Is no matter; I obey, they not hurt me.”

Asia nodded, knowing what Klara meant. It was a lie, though. “Maybe they don’t beat you, but they hurt you all the same,” she said softly.

Klara shrugged. “They keep promise, I get work. I work tonight.”

“Tonight, what kind of work tonight?”

“Tonight, big fashion bash.” Klara was obviously proud of knowing this word for a party. “Many peoples, much contacts, important for future career.” Klara looked away. “We provide entertainment.”

Asia picked up the kettle Klara had boiled and concentrated on pouring water into her cup, so Klara wouldn’t see the pity in her eyes. They both knew what “providing the entertainment” meant. The only contact Klara would make that night would be of a sexual nature with whatever man she’d been offered to.
They both knew Klara wouldn’t fight it. For a while, at first, Asia had wondered why; but only last week she’d seen traces of white powder around the nostrils of her friend, and knew the answer. No wonder her eyes were dull and the bloom had gone from her cheeks.

“When is next proper modelling job?” she asked.

Something of the old, carefree, hopeful Klara appeared in the other woman’s eyes. “Soon,” she replied. “They promise.”

Asia cast her eyes down at her cup again. They promise. Poor Klara, she was so innocent, in her way. She thought back to the day she and the Russian woman had arrived at the house, both armed with bursting portfolios and relieved to think they had found reasonable lodgings while they pursued their dreams.

Klara’s face fell again and she sat down at the little kitchen table. “When you first realize what goes on?”

“I suspect quite soon. I think, why always man in house like some… er…” Asia frowned as she tried to recapture the word eluding her.

“Bodyguard is word, I think.”

“
Tak
, yes; then I realize, they not bodyguards, they just guards.”

“They not make you go to provide entertainment now?”

“No, after first time when I refuse. My case different from you, they not have same hold. They leave me alone, but keep me here. Igor, Vladimir and Pawel, they not bosses; they taking orders from someone else. I think they don’t know what to do with me.” Asia got a grim sense of satisfaction from this, but it gave her little comfort.

“I remember that reception, our first one. I see – saw – you speaking with English lady.”

Asia brightened at the memory. “Yes, she nice, take interest in my work. I show it to her from my phone.”

Klara nodded, and both women were silent at the mention of mobile phones. These had mysteriously disappeared from
their belongings, along with their passports, very soon after they arrived at the house. It was the same with the other girls. They didn’t talk about it much among themselves but they all knew, they could all read the hopelessness in each other’s eyes. There was no landline in the house. They were guarded all the time.

For Klara and two of the others the little packets of white powder had become the only form of escape.

“Jim, how are you and Rick getting on with this Sylvia Marchant who lived over the road from Kirsty?” asked Angela as soon as the team briefing had ended.

“We haven’t managed to make contact yet, Angie,” replied Jim. “She seemed to be out most of yesterday. We’re going over there again this morning.”

“OK. I’ve had a couple of thoughts about Kirsty’s flatmate, Sandra, and that bloke that runs the gym.”

“Tony something-or-other, yeah? Is this to do with what you were saying in the meeting, something dodgy about the bike?”

“That’s the one. We’ve barely scratched the surface with those two. It’s time for a bit of digging. For all we know, any one of them could have taken the bike out. They could be in it together and covering for each other, or not in it together and each trying to avoid letting the other know what they were up to. It’s all up for grabs.”

Angela turned to the more junior members of the team. “Leanne, Derek, have you managed to find anything about Massingham Models?”

“I got a number and tried ringing them,” said Leanne, “but it went straight to voicemail; a message telling me to leave my name and number. Which I did,” she added.

“Did you say you were from the police?”

“No, I just gave my name and my mobile number. I didn’t want to alarm her.”

“Good. Did you contact Companies House?”

“Yes. The only other information we could get was the name of the company director and one named shareholder.”

“Yes?” she asked. “And they are?”

Leanne looked down at the paper in her hand. “Company director: D. M. Massingham, named shareholder: J. W. Massingham.”

“Hmm… whoever the Massinghams are, they’re keeping it in the family, aren’t they?” Angela said, holding out her hand for the page.

“They seem to be, guv,” agreed Leanne, handing the sheet over. “I tried Googling them. There was something about ‘Massingham’s girls’ in one or two of the things I read, and they were related to fashion shows.”

Angela took the page and tapped it against her lips for a moment as she thought. “Hmm, tell you what,” she said, eventually. “I’d like to know a bit more about this before I go any further. Kirsty thought it was important enough to password-protect information about this company on her computer, so I want to proceed with caution. Trawl around and see what you can find out. Rick and Jim, you’re still busy with Sylvia Marchant. Gary and I will concentrate on Tone-up Tony and Sandra.”

As it happened, Angela didn’t have to leave the building to speak to Tony again. She was just collecting her bag from her office when she received a call saying a Mr Chambers was in reception asking to talk to her.

Mr Chambers? Mr Chambers?
she said to herself. Across the incident room she could see Gary in conversation with Derek. “Hey, Gaz, bring your notebook. There’s a chap called Chambers downstairs asking to see me.” Just at that moment she looked up at the whiteboard and saw, in the space between the names “Tone” and “Tone-Up Gym”, somebody had squeezed in the name Chambers. “Ah! That’s who it is. This is interesting.”

“You were pondering about him in your heart, weren’t you?” said Gary. “You know – the Virgin Mary.”

Angela grinned. “I was indeed.”

Tone looked up, a mixture of diffidence and embarrassment on his face when Angela and Gary entered the interview room a few moments later. They sat down across the table from him. “So,” Angela began. “What may I do for you?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you were asking me yesterday; about this business of Darren’s bike.”

“Yes?”

“Well… I think there would have been a gap.”

“A gap?”

“Yeah, in the timing. I think there might have been a space when the reception wasn’t manned. On Sunday, I mean.” He looked at them and leaned back slightly in his chair.

“How long a gap are we talking about, Tony?”

Tony fixed his eyes on the surface of the table. His hands clenched and unclenched compulsively. “Maybe half an hour, or even a bit more,” he said eventually.

“At what time?”

The eyelids remained resolutely lowered. “About a quarter to – ten to three.”

“And when did you and Sandra have the conversation about seeing the bike in the lean-to?”

Tony looked up; the worst was over. “Twenty past.”

Exactly the period covering the time of the murder. Angela and Gary made a point of not looking at each other.

“How can you be so certain about these times?” Angela asked.

Tony was more relaxed now. “I’m guessing at the time before three, but I don’t think I’m far out. I’m sure about the end time because I had someone booked in for quarter past. It was a new client looking for a personal trainer, and when he
arrived the first thing he did was apologize for being late, so I automatically looked at the clock.”

“I see; and is the reception area generally left unattended?”

“Not often, but lately it’s been the norm round about that time on a Sunday. I always go out for my ciggie then. There’s a little room behind the counter in reception.”

Angela was no smoker, but she was reasonably certain it didn’t take half an hour to smoke a cigarette. Something of this thought must have shown in her face, because Tony continued.

“The thing is, I’m a personal trainer as well, and that’s how I’m building up my client base. And I only had this one client booked in for last Sunday afternoon.”

“I see,” said Angela but she didn’t, quite. “This timing still isn’t clear to me. The reception was empty for…?”

“Sorry, yes, I’m not explaining this very well. Sunday afternoons I generally know exactly who’s there and who isn’t. If anyone goes into any of the rooms, there’ll be someone there I can trust. Darren or someone’ll be in the weights room, for instance, and there’ll be Sandra, or another person I know well, doing cardiovascular stuff. I mean, anyone coming into the club won’t get very far without being noticed and challenged.”

“Isn’t that still risky, though? Didn’t I notice a till on your counter?”

“Ah no, when I’m out the back I can see the till and the counter from where I sit. It’s just that I can’t see the front door and that whole side of the room where the lean-to is.”

“I’m still not sure why it takes half an hour to smoke a cigarette.”

“It doesn’t,” replied Tony. “But I take a bit longer, specially lately. It’s a chance to chill out, to have a think. I only opened the gym a couple of years ago, and I’ve been working flat out to build it up the way I want it. Now it’s taking shape I let myself relax a bit here and there.”

“OK. So, what was said about the bike, exactly?”

Tony took a deep breath as he marshalled his thoughts. “It was nothing really. Sandy just said, ‘Oh there’s his bike,’ or something like that, and I said, ‘Where else would it be?’ and she said it hadn’t been there earlier. That’s all it was.”

“Could the bike have been moved along at all?”

“I suppose so.”

“Did you move it?”

Tony swallowed. “I didn’t go into the lean-to at all on Sunday afternoon.”

Angela looked across at Gary’s notebook and watched him write down the details of the conversation. She gave an infinitesimal nod and turned back to Tony. “Do you have any idea why we asked about the bike?”

Tony shrugged. “No, but you
did
ask about it, and Sandra seemed to think it had been moved. Then I thought about my ciggie routine and realized maybe it was significant.”

“OK. Thank you very much for coming in to see us, Tony; you’ve been helpful.”

“Sure, no problem. Is that it, then?”

“Yes, for now,” said Angela, standing up. “We’ll get someone to type up your statement so that you can sign it.”

“Will it take long?” asked Tony, rising as well. “Only I’ve left the gym locked.”

“Don’t worry, one of our officers can bring it to you tomorrow for signing.”

“Thanks. She couldn’t have done it, you know,” he said abruptly.

Angela raised her eyebrows. “She?”

“Sandra. She’s solid gold. She just wouldn’t. It’s not in her. Nor him, he’s all right, just a lump of fitness, really. I mean, I know he’s into guns but he hasn’t got a malicious bone in his body – Darren, I mean.”

Angela smiled at him. “Thanks, Tony. Let’s hope you’re right.”

Back in the incident room, Angela stood over Gary’s shoulder as he typed in the latest information. “It seems as though this bike was used in the murder, isn’t it?” he remarked as he tapped the keys.

“It’s looking like a contender. By the way, I haven’t seen the forensic report on it yet.”

“Oh, you’re right. I’ll get on to it.”

“My impression is that Tony didn’t notice the bike at all on Sunday and would never have picked up on this if Sandra hadn’t said, ‘Oh look, there it is.’ On the other hand, I could be wrong. We have to put Tony in the frame with the others.”