Dead Gorgeous (A Mystery for D.I. Costello) (15 page)

Gary stopped typing and looked a question at her.

“Think about it, Gaz. If the reception stood empty for about half an hour, give or take, then nobody was there to clock Tony. We’ve only got his word for it that he was chilling out in the little room behind the counter.”

“You’re right. Say the perp did use the bike to whip round to the flat and kill Kirsty. How much time do you reckon that needed?”

“No much. It would take little more than two minutes to cycle from the gym to the house. Kirsty lets him in.”

“Or her.”

“No – if it was Sandra she can let herself in.”

“It could have been another woman.”

“Yes, of course. But, whoever, I get the impression they wasted no time on pleasantries. The attack came from behind, so it took her by surprise. It would have all been over in a matter of moments.”

“Easily, I’d think. If this is how it happened, Kirsty could have been dead within ten minutes of the murderer cycling away from the gym.”

“Then the bike has to be returned to the gym and put back
into the lean-to. This is where he or she took a big risk. They couldn’t know they wouldn’t be seen wheeling the bike back, through the reception.” Angela sat down. “Hang on, let’s think about this,” she said. “At the start of the enterprise, Matey comes into an empty reception and goes into the lean-to.”

“Does he/she come in from the street or from further into the gym?”

“Either. Let’s say ‘he’. He wheels the bike out through the lean-to front door. Ah!” Angela’s eyes lit up and she raised a finger in the air.

“Oh yeah!” said, Gary, picking up the thought. “He leaves the lean-to door on the latch.”

“Absolutely,” said Angela, remembering the sign by the lean-to front door asking patrons to make sure they shut it behind them if leaving that way. “When he comes back, he doesn’t have to come into the main reception at all.”

“And the timing fits in with the estimated time of death.”

“Yes. He still took a chance, but a much smaller one than we originally thought. And, of course, the perp knew there’d be a bike.”

“Or a strong possibility of one being there.”

“That’s right. So – who’ve we got in the frame?”

“Tony, as you’ve pointed out, Darren and Sandra – and I suppose, other members of the gym.”

“Yes, we’ll need to obtain a full list of the membership and find out exactly who came in to the club on Sunday afternoon. That’ll be a job for our D.C.s, I think. We can’t rule out the possibility of a house-to-house in the vicinity of the gym, although the question they will have to ask is a bit of a no-brainer.”

Gary grinned. “Did you see an athletic-looking person wearing gym clothes cycling away from here on Sunday afternoon?”

“Duh!” said Angela, putting a finger to her lips.

Immediately after lunch, Leanne appeared in the doorway of Angela’s office. “Hi,” said Angela, looking up at her. “How are you getting on?”

“I’ve just been talking to the director at that company – Massingham Models – guv.”

“Oh, that’s good. What have you found out?”

“It’s run by a Mrs Massingham, She phoned in response to my voicemail message.”

“Oh right; and what did Mrs Massingham have to say for herself?”

“Nothing yet, guv. She sounded a bit bewildered when I said it was to do with one of our investigations.”

“Bewildered, eh? Did you tell her we’d like to pay a visit?”

“Yeah, but she wants to come here. She said it would be more convenient. Shall I arrange a time with her?”

Surprised that the woman thought the effort of a journey more convenient than receiving a home visit, but glad of the time it saved, Angela looked at her watch. “OK, let’s say three. Thanks, Leanne.”

“Guv.” Leanne left to make the phone call.

Mrs Massingham, in her mid to late sixties, from her beautifully cut and styled hair through the flawlessly applied make-up to her expensive, elegant suit, looked every inch a successful company director. She arrived a few minutes before three. Angela remembered Leanne’s use of the word “bewildered”, and set about putting Mrs Massingham at her ease. “I expect you’re wondering why we wanted to see you,” she said, as she sat down at the table between them.

“I’m completely intrigued,” replied Mrs Massingham. She raised an enquiring eyebrow in Gary’s direction as he sat beside Angela and opened his notebook. “Am I being interviewed, er… er… officer?”

“I’m Detective Inspector Angela Costello, and this is Detective Constable Gary Houseman. Don’t be alarmed, Mrs Massingham, it’s just that the name of your company has appeared in the course of one of our investigations, and we’re hoping you might be able to help us.”

“‘Helping the police with their enquiries’,” quoted Mrs Massingham. “When I hear that on the news, I always wonder if it’s a euphemism for the police grilling a suspect.”

Angela smiled. “Not at all. We’d better take some details first. You’re Mrs D. M. Massingham?”

“Dorothea Millicent, if you want the full name. I suppose you want my address as well?”

“Thank you, yes,” said Gary, noting all the information as she dictated it in her well-modulated, cultured voice.

“Are you familiar,” said Angela, once Gary finished writing, “with the name Kirsty Manners?”

Mrs Massingham’s brow furrowed as she considered the question. “Yes… I… I’m sure I’ve heard that name recently. I just can’t think in what connection.”

“Kirsty was trying to break into modelling. She was killed on Sunday afternoon at her flat in Roehampton.”

“Ah yes! That’s it. I remember reading about it in the papers. Poor thing.”

“Yes, she was. Did she have any connection with your company?”

Mrs Massingham’s expertly arched eyebrows went up towards her hairline. “With Massinghams? Well, I suppose she may have approached us at some time. It’s conceivable we could even have her photo on our system – but I have
never put her forward for any work. I would remember that.”

“A document relating to Massingham’s was found among her personal effects.”

“How extraordinary!”

“Could she have applied to your company for a job other than modelling, perhaps?”

Dorothea Massingham gave a gentle laugh. “We’re a very small enterprise, two men and a dog, if you see what I mean.”

“Two men and a dog,” repeated Angela, considering the comment. “I believe the named shareholder is a J. W. Massingham?”

“My husband, Inspector. As someone several years older than I, having already retired, the role of company director no longer appealed to him. When I started the agency, he preferred to take on a supporting role.”

Angela smiled at Mrs Massingham, wondering why she’d launched herself into an explanation about her husband’s status in the company. She decided it must be a generational thing, and to respond in kind. “That’s good,” she said. “Some men would have had a problem with it, wouldn’t they? Especially men of a particular, er…”

“Age group? I dare say you’re right. Not Jeremy, though.”

“Then is there any possibility Jeremy would know the name Kirsty Manners?”

“Not a chance, Inspector,” Mrs Massingham responded swiftly and decisively. “If this young woman – or indeed any young woman – applied for a position with Massinghams, it would be I who dealt with it. We have not been advertising any secretarial positions. I assume you have in mind that Kirsty Manners may have applied for an office job?”

“Yes, that or… well, anything, really. I was just following a trail.”
Which unfortunately seems to have come to a dead end,
thought Angela. “Right. Well, I can’t go much further with
this, then; but if you come across the name Kirsty Manners in any of your business papers, or any connection comes to your attention, I’d be grateful if you’d get in touch. Let me give you my card,” finished Angela, fishing in her handbag.

“Certainly, Inspector. If I can help in any way –”

“Ah yes! There is one thing. May I have a copy of your letterheaded notepaper?”

“Letterheaded…? Yes, of course. I’ll fax you a page.”

“Would you also drop a hard copy in the post for us, please?”

The sculpted eyebrows rose once more, and a good-natured smile appeared on Mrs Massingham’s face. “I don’t see what – still, mine not to reason why. I’ll attend to it immediately on my return.”

“Thank you very much. You’ve been most helpful.” Angela went to the door, holding it open for her to go through first.

Mrs Massingham gave a small laugh as she allowed herself to be escorted along the corridor. “I’ll take your word for that, Inspector,” she said, as she disappeared through the front entrance.

“Hmm…” Angela closed the door slowly behind her.

“Angie?” said Gary.

“I dunno, Gaz. Did you get a funny feeling about that woman?”

Gary shrugged. “I could tell she was nervous. I thought she was uncomfortable about being in a police station.”

“So why volunteer to come in? We could have gone to see her. Never mind. Perhaps I’m being overly sensitive. Come on– let’s see what the others have been up to.”

Angela and Gary got back to the incident room just seconds after Rick and Jim.

“Hi, guys,” she said. “Any luck with Mrs Marchant?”

“Not as regards the bloke on the bike,” replied Jim.

“Person on the bike,” corrected Rick.

“Yeah, person; well, her story hasn’t changed from what she told the house-to-house lot. Person and bike as per description turns up a little before three, possibly goes into house where Kirsty lives, is gone by three. And she didn’t really have any relationship with Kirsty. She think she nodded ‘good morning’ to her once in the newsagents, that’s all.”

“I don’t think it’s going to get any better than that, Angie,” said Rick.

“No, I suspect you’re right. And we’ve only got the next-door neighbour’s account of this woman who was seen earlier –” Angela stopped abruptly and everybody looked at her. “No, we haven’t,” she said.

Several pairs of bewildered eyes turned towards her, which made her laugh. “You should see your faces.”

“Has a witness slipped off the radar, guv?” asked Derek.

“Nearly, I think.” She looked at Leanne. “Leanne, remember telling me the house-to-house had thrown up information about someone on a bike, and a woman in a dark suit?”

“Yes, guv.”

“And afterwards Jim called and told me Ronald Sanders was in reception, asking why nobody had been to see him yet and asking to speak to –” Angela spread out her hands.

Her prompting was rewarded with a small chorus of “– the officer in charge”, followed by a communal: “Of course!”

“Good-oh; that means someone from the house-to-house had already mentioned this woman. Check it out, will you?” she said to Jim and Rick. “Whoever it is might have got a better look than Sanders did. The timing is a bit earlier than the murder, but we don’t know the circumstances. She could still be the murderer.”

“Or in on it with the perp, maybe,” suggested Jim.

“Possibly,” agreed Angela.

“We’ll get onto that,” said Rick. “How did things go with Massingham Models?”

“I’ve now spoken to the director, a Mrs Dorothea Millicent Massingham. She didn’t know Kirsty, apart from reading about the murder in the papers, and can’t think why we’ve found a connection.”

“Did you tell her?”

“Oh no. This trail needs a bit more work on it yet. Hello,” she said, breaking off as she saw Gary coming across the room towards her with a paper in his hand. “What’s that?”

Gary handed it to her. “It’s the report on the bike from forensics. They found a clear thumbprint and some fingerprints on the crossbar of the bike.” He mimed the action of picking up a bike by its crossbar to a chorus of “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah” from everybody in the room.

“Our hypothesis is looking more and more likely, isn’t it?” suggested Angela. “If I wanted to take a bike quietly, I think I’d be inclined to pick it up and carry it rather than wheeling it away, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yeah,” agreed Gary. “Unfortunately, the print isn’t known to us.”

“Don’t be downhearted. It might become known.”

“Needles and haystacks come to mind,” said Rick.

“You might be right,” said Angela. “Never mind, Gary, it’s a hoop we have to jump through; feed the information into the computer and that’s another box ticked. I’m presuming they found loads of Darren’s prints as well?”

“Not as many as you might think. They reckon he wiped the bike down on a regular basis, which is why, they think, this one is so clear.”

“Hmm. I’m not surprised. He looks the sort of bloke who’d take really good care of his stuff. The other thing to do is make sure we’ve got Tony Chambers and Sandra Hodges’s prints.”

“Yeah,” said Gary. “I’ll get on to it.”

Dorothea Massingham hurried up the garden path and entered her house. She’d managed to maintain her sangfroid throughout the interview with D.I. Costello, but anybody seeing her at this moment would have recognized her agitation. Her natural pallor had gone, replaced by a bright red spot on each cheekbone, completely negating the effect of the blusher she’d put on before setting out. She had been thinking she’d make herself a cup of tea, but as she closed the door behind her she knew she would opt for a stiff drink instead.

But she was nothing if not efficient. She went into the office and faxed a copy of Massingham Models letterheaded notepaper to the number on Angela’s card. Then she took the same sheet, put it between two pieces of cardboard and slipped the whole thing into an envelope. It would go into the postbox when she went out later. She’d been planning a quiet evening in, but that would have to change now.

She poured herself a gin and tonic and sat down, sipping it slowly. After a few moments, feeling much calmer, she picked up the telephone and dialled a number.

When the phone was picked up at the other end she spoke before the person could even say “hello”. “I’ve just come back from a most interesting chat with a Detective Inspector Costello.”

She heard an intake of breath at the other end of the line, but didn’t wait for any speech. “She seems a nice woman. I’d probably take to her if the circumstances were different… astute, gets to the point, doesn’t miss much.”

There was silence at the other end. She raised her eyebrows. “However, it looks like
I
might have been missing something; what do you think?”

After a few seconds there was a mumbled response.

“Indeed we
will
have to talk,” she said, “and very soon. I shall see you later.” Dorothea put the receiver down without even saying goodbye.