Dead Gorgeous (A Mystery for D.I. Costello) (21 page)

Angela looked at Gary. “Will the peculiar thing keep for a minute?”

“Yes, it will.”

“OK,” she said, moving across to Leanne.
Don’t jump to conclusions, Angie,
she admonished herself.
Check the facts first.
“Is it a ‘D’ Massingham, Leanne?”

“No, the initial’s ‘J’, guv.”

“Ah!” Angela brought a chair over and sat beside Leanne. Gary came and stood behind them. “Bring up the interview Gary and I had with her,” she said.

Leanne did so, and together they read through the account. The report was as innocuous as Angela remembered the occasion to be. Dorothea had mentioned her husband, but made it clear the agency was her baby. She’d said “the role of company director no longer appealed to him”.

“OK, we need to check this out to make sure we’re talking about the same family of Massinghams. I think it must be; it would be too much of a coincidence otherwise, but we have to be sure. We might have a direct link between Kirsty’s murder and a drugs and prostitution racket, and we can’t afford to blow it.”

“No probs.”

“Assuming he’s Dorothea’s husband, the contact details should be the same for them both, but I suppose it doesn’t automatically follow. In any case, find out what you can. Then get hold of her and ask if I can go and see her this afternoon.”

“Will do, guv.”

Angela got up and turned to Gary. “OK, Gaz; my office,” she said, leading the way.

“Right, what’s this ‘thing’, then?” she asked, as he passed her to enter the room.

“Look,” he said, taking out two pages from the file and laying them side by side on the desk. “I noticed it as I was collecting up all the pages when they fell.”

Angela walked over to her desk. “What am I looking at?”

“You get three guesses.”

She laughed. “Do I indeed?” She looked from one of the pages to the other and cast a puzzled glance up at Gary before scrutinizing them again. “OK,” she said, after a moment or two. “I give – oh no, I don’t! At least I don’t think I do.” She stretched out a finger to a place at the bottom of the right-hand page and then moved the same finger to point at something on the other sheet. She looked up at Gary with an enquiring glance.

He smiled. “That’s it, Angie; what d’you think?”

Angela nodded her head slowly. “I think I’m looking at something very odd that requires an explanation,” she said. “Well done, young man. You can have a boiled sweet.”

“Coo, fanks, Miss,” he beamed.

“I can check this out tomorrow. It won’t take long.” She tapped the page on the left. “In the meantime, you work back through the formatting on this one and see if anything’s been cropped off or airbrushed out. If you have a problem with it, ask the lab.”

“OK, Angie. I think my IT skills are equal to that.”

“Good-oh,” she smiled at him. “Now clear off, Houseman. I’ve got a report to write.”

Left alone, Angela got stuck into her task. After half an hour she felt pleased with her progress. As she sat back yawning and stretching, Leanne’s face appeared in the glass panel of the door. “Come in, Leanne!” she called. “Mission accomplished?” she asked once the young woman was in the room.

“Yes, guv, she’s on her way here.”

Angela looked up in surprise. “Did you say I would go and see her?”

“Yes, but she says she’s out and about this afternoon and it would be just as easy to pop in here.”

Angela frowned but nodded. “Hmm, that could be true. But more likely she just doesn’t want our plod footwear on her shag pile. Ah, well. What have you managed to find out about her husband?”

Leanne frowned. “Well, that’s the really funny thing.”

Angela looked at her with an amused, quizzical expression on her face. “What is it with the younger members of my team and ‘funny things’ at the moment? I presume it’s the same Massingham on the letterhead as owns the house.”

“Yes, guv, it is. But it’s really fun – er – strange.”

“Yes, what is?”

“He’s been dead for the last eighteen months.”

Angela stared up at her junior officer. “This is all getting very murky. I think, on reflection, I won’t ask her about the house and what happened there this morning. It would be better to wait until we’ve got a full report from the search team, anyway. I’ll stick to what you’ve just found out and see where we get with that.”

Dorothea Massingham duly arrived and was put into an interview room. Angela and Gary entered. Angela beamed warmly at her. She wanted her completely at ease. “I’m so sorry to have to bother you again,” she began. She noted again the woman’s perfectly coiffed and made-up appearance. She certainly knew how to put her best face to the world. Angela didn’t miss, though, that the air of tension had intensified; she noticed an ever-so-slight tightening of the lips.

“Not at all, Inspector, think nothing of it. I’m only glad I was in the vicinity. It was very convenient to pop in.”

“That’s good; well, it’s just a small matter. Since talking to you yesterday about your company I’ve discovered that the named shareholder –”

“Ah yes! I know what you’re going to say and you’re right.” She paused and sudden tears sprang to her eyes. She clenched her lips together for a moment to gain control of herself. “I’m sorry, Inspector.”

“Please don’t be.”

“Thank you. Yes, I know it’s irregular. I have to be honest and admit it’s partly laziness.” Mrs Massingham stopped and looked Angela full in the face. “I presume we’re talking about the fact that my husband is still listed as the shareholder?”

“Yes, considering…”

Mrs Massingham nodded. “Considering he died over a year ago; yes, I do see why that would puzzle you. I’m sorry if I’ve created a… what do they call it? A red herring in your investigation.”

“Yes, it’s just that these little discrepancies loom large. They acquire a greater significance than they need to, perhaps; but there it is.”

“I do see that, and I’m sorry for wasting your time. As I say, it’s partly laziness but mostly the difficulty of…” she turned a regretful smile upon Angela, “… the difficulty of letting go. It only seems like yesterday that he and I… that we were…”

“I understand,” said Angela. The previous interview had proved good training for her. A quick learner, today Angela could pinpoint the precise instant Dorothea Massingham set about deflecting the thrust of the conversation. She leaned back in her seat listening, all sympathy, as Dorothea talked fondly of her husband and how things had been during those last months of waning health. Nodding here and there, adding the occasional comment, Angela allowed herself to become a quasi
-
grief counsellor. She didn’t mind. She knew the next step
to take, and could afford to be patient. It served her purpose that Mrs Massingham should be completely relaxed.

Twenty minutes later, Angela was walking slowly back towards the main entrance with her. They stood together in the reception area, Mrs Massingham fulsomely thanking Angela for her understanding attitude. Angela looked up, nodded and said, “Sir,” as Stanway came into the building. Stanway dipped his head in response, cast a casual glance of scrutiny at Mrs Massingham, and made his way to the front desk. He collected his messages and stood waiting for Angela as she saw Mrs Massingham off the premises.

“You wanted a word, Angie?”

“Yes; your office or mine, sir?”

“Mine’s closer,” he replied, turning and leading the way along the corridor. Once inside his office he hung up his coat and popped out to the fountain in the corridor for a glass of water. Angela sat in front of his desk and marshalled her thoughts. “Right, go for it, Angie,” he said, coming back in.

“The fashion industry is a very rich one; a good designer can make absolutely thousands in a year.”

“I can’t think why.” Stanway cast a brief glance down at his own clothes. “I’ve had this suit for the past five years and it’s still as good as new.”

“Yes, but you’re not a
fashionista
, are you, sir?”

“A what? Oh, never mind; I’m sure I won’t be any the wiser if you tell me.”

Angela smiled. “The thing is, Ian King, from what I’ve heard and read, has had a couple of very bad years. From what I can gather, he’s lost his edge. His last two collections barely raised a blip on fashion’s horizon. We’re talking about one of the top designers, somebody with celebrity status – so he must have lost quite a bit of face as well as a fortune.”

“And?”

“He’s going full tilt showing his next collection at the London Fashion Show this year. I’ve been to his Wandsworth office, where the clothes are made, and it’s all business as usual; a full staff doing all their regular stuff. I’ve been to their outlet in Chelsea, too. Very swish, sir.”

“You’d expect that, in Chelsea.”

“Yes, the decor looked expensive, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it’s fairly recent. And I expect they used an interior designer who I’m certain wouldn’t have come cheap. A glance through the glossies shows he’s been keeping his profile high on the social scene, too.”

“Champagne, caviar and all sorts of substances they’d probably prefer the police not to know about.”

“Exactly, sir. Keeping up this kind of lifestyle takes a very great deal of money.”

“And you’re wondering where it might have come from.”

“That’s it, sir.”

Stanway steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them as he digested this. Angela waited patiently through his “hmming” and “hah-ing”.

Eventually he spoke. “You don’t have a business brain do you, Angela?”

“No, sir; I’m a policewoman. I have an enquiring and suspicious mind.”

He grinned and nodded. “Quite.”

“It’s just that you can’t make nothing from nothing, sir. I’m wondering if there’s enough reason to ask the Financial Services Unit to take a look at their books.”

Stanway thought for a moment. “Hmm, I can have a word with them, Angie; see what they think.”

“Thank you, sir.” Angela paused. “There’s another small thing that’s just come to light. Of course it might be nothing but while you’re talking to the FSU –”

“OK, let me in on it.”

Angela quickly went through what she’d learned about Massingham Models. Stanway listened closely and nodded. “So, what does your suspicious policewoman’s mind make of this business?”

“These facts have only come to light in the past couple of hours and I haven’t really had time to consider them properly; but I think that, unlike me, Dorothea Massingham
is
an efficient businesswoman. Leaving her husband’s name on the list of shareholders isn’t an oversight or the result of her grief.”

“What do you think it is, then?”

“A calculated risk. She needs a name on the letterhead. It’s most unlikely that anybody’s going to run a trace on him. They’d just see the director and the named shareholder, as required by law, and think, ‘That’s all right, then.’ There would be no grounds for further investigation.”

“Ye–es, so it’s a low risk; but all the same, why take it?”

“Yes, that’s the puzzle isn’t it?” Angela lapsed into thought. Stanway waited and after a few moments she spoke. “Well, she described the workforce of the company as being two men and a dog, so I know she’s not a one-woman band, though –” Angela stopped.

“Yes?”

“I should think running a modelling agency can be quite an undertaking. I got the distinct impression she’s not alone in the enterprise; but that was when I thought she meant her husband.”

“And now we know she’s not talking about her husband?”

Angela smiled. “The people she’s actually in business with don’t want their connection with the company to be known.”

“Exactly! Yes, I’ll flag that up as well and pass on the details. We can’t be too careful. Yes, a word with Fraud, I think.” He picked up the telephone.

“Thank you, sir.” Angela got up and moved towards the door. “OK, back to the team, see what they’re all up to.”

“Yes indeedy.” Stanway looked at her before dialling. “By the way, what on earth was Dottie Finch doing here?”

“Dottie Finch, sir?”

“Yes, I got to know Dottie very well when I was a young constable. A lady of the night; used to get pulled in regularly, along with her colleagues – though, mind you, Dottie always looked smarter than the others. I said to her one day, ‘Dot,’ I said, ‘you’ve got a good brain in your head. Why do you settle for this?’ She took my words to heart but not in the way I meant. Would you believe it, the next time I had to arrest her she was done for running a brothel,” Stanway gave a laugh, “and running it very efficiently, I believe. Last I heard, she’d struck lucky and nabbed herself a rich businessman.”

“Sir, I don’t know any Dottie Finch.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Er…”

“That lady you were speaking to when I came in.”

“That was Dorothea Massingham, sir.”

“Ah.” Stanway gave her a big smile. “Dottie Finch, as was. I would have recognized her anywhere. This is becoming very interesting, Angie.” He smiled into the middle distance as he cast his mind back. “I must say she’s scrubbed up very well. I always knew she could.”

Angela came back and sat down again.

“Indulge me, sir, while I say this slowly.”

Stanway grinned. “Go on, then.”

“One of the documents on Kirsty’s laptop has led us directly to a woman, Dorothea Massingham, who runs a modelling agency, often used by Ivano King, a company about whose funding we have questions.”

“Very succinctly put, Angela.”

“And it now transpires this same woman, an ex-tom, once ran a brothel.”

“That’s right. Interestingly enough, you don’t seem to see it so much these days, but there was a time when the word ‘model’ was a euphemism for ‘prostitute’; a bit before your time, Angie; you’d see it on the shop doorways and in the small ads. Well, you still get it, of course, but not nearly so much.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Angela, only half-listening to him as she tried to gather up the strands of the investigation. “Sir, that house we raided today – when Asia first ran into the confessional last week, she told Father Martin she came here for the fashion industry.”

“Ah yes! I remember you telling us at the briefing. I know where you’re going with this. She’d ended up expected to do ‘things’ with men at parties, didn’t she?”

“And she said that ‘the others’ went along with it. I wonder how she got away with not complying.”

“They had to hang on to her, I suppose. She probably knew too much.”

“Which is probably why they stuck her in the attic when we came calling.”

“Oh yes, we’ll see what Fraud make of it. Always leave the expertise to the experts. That’s what I say.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll need to revisit everything you’ve got so far – not a bad practice, in any case – and see if, how and where this new information fits in.” He cocked his head to one side and smiled at her. “I thought I’d save you the trouble of saying it.”

“Sir?”

“That’s the answer to your next question about how to proceed.”

“Nuh-uh, that wasn’t going to be my next question. I’d already asked that and answered myself.”

“Oh, really, and what did you tell yourself?”

“What you said, sir.”

Stanway laughed. “So what questions had you moved on to?”

“The ones you’d expect, really. How much did Kirsty know about this and, if she did, was she aware of the full importance of it?”

“And how had she reacted to it?”

“Yes; this casts a whole new light on that sheet of letterheaded paper, doesn’t it? Was she trying to muscle in? Was she trying a spot of blackmail, even?”

“And was she killed because of it? Those are the very questions. Getting the hang of this job, aren’t we?”

Angela smiled. “I believe so.”

“OK, Angie: all joking aside, I’ll point Fraud in your direction once I’ve made contact.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied as she left his office.

Back in the incident room, Angela quickly brought the rest of the team up to speed.

“If that turns out to be what it looks like, and Kirsty was trying to muscle in, she was playing a very dangerous game,” said Jim, after Angela had finished speaking.

“No argument there,” agreed Angela, “but let’s not become too blinkered. Fraud enquiries apart, our main task is still to find the murderer, and the most likely candidate is still someone who left a bike outside her flat the Sunday before last.”

“Which brings us back to the gym,” said Rick.

“Indeed it does. Tell you what, Rick and Jim, go back to her flatmate, Sandra, and Tony who runs the gym. We can be a bit more focused now. Tony and Sandra are on our suspect list and we haven’t pushed them far enough yet.”

“We can harp on about Kirsty’s ambitions to start,” suggested Rick. “They’ll think we’ve got nothing new and they might relax and let out something without meaning to.”

“Exactly, we need to chip away at them a lot more; and Darren. I’ve also got an idea about this ‘lady’ seen outside Kirsty and Sandra’s flat.”

“You think it might have been Mrs Massingham, guv?”

Angela nodded. “We’ve only got a sparse description, but I reckon Mrs Massingham would fit that.”

“Along with millions of other ladies,” said Jim.

“Yes, but we’ve now got reason to believe she might have been an interested party. She claimed not to know Kirsty when I first spoke to her, but I’m not relying on that.”

She turned to Leanne and Derek. “Will you find out what you can about Mrs Massingham? We know she has a record and was known to the police in former days as Dottie Finch, so start there.”

“Will do, guv.”

“I want to go and see her, and I want a bit of background first.”

“I bet she’ll ask to come here, same as before,” said Gary.

“She’s not going to get the chance. Our next interview will be on her turf but my terms. OK, everybody, let’s get going.”

Within two minutes Rick and Jim had set off on their errand, while Leanne and Derek disappeared in the direction of
the kitchen to make a cup of tea before getting stuck in to their tasks. Angela and Gary were the only two people in the room.

“Are you and Maddie planning any more dates?” she asked.

He flicked a glance towards her, slightly apprehensive. “I was planning to phone her later,” he said.

Angela smiled. She detected a worried note in his voice. “It’s all right; I’m not going to pump you for all the juicy details, and I’m most definitely not reporting back.”

He relaxed visibly. “Yes, it’s very early days, but the signs look promising.”

“That’s good.” Angela made her way into her office, an amused smile on her face. She turned her computer on and set about revisiting all the evidence they’d collected so far.

An hour and a half later, she and Gary sat in the car in a quiet street in Kingston, looking at a house a little distance away on the other side of the street.

“OK, let me just see what Leanne managed to dig up for us,” said Angela, taking some A4 pages out of her bag. Derek had presented them to her just before she and Gary set out.

“She’s pretty good at research, isn’t she?”

“Leanne? Yes, she’s very efficient. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ends up in somewhere like FSU.”

“FSU?”

“The Financial Service Unit; Stanway tends to call it Fraud but it’s not just the old Fraud Unit, its remit expanded when it changed its name to incorporate financial investigation. I tell you something, I wouldn’t want them beavering away in my bank account!”

Gary laughed. “They’d be lucky to find anything in mine.”

Angela looked at him with a grin. “Go Dutch next time.”

“It’s OK, I’m exaggerating.”

A faint blush had appeared on his face. Angela cast a very brief glance across at him.
It’s not something they teach you at
police training college, Gazza, how to date your D.I.’s stepdaughter,
she thought.
If this relationship develops I hope you learn to relax a bit; we’ve got to work together.
She veered away from the subject. “Right then, let’s see what we’ve got.” She riffled through the pages. “OK. Born Dorothea Finch; first arrest for soliciting at age twenty. Soliciting… soliciting… der, der, der, more of same… more of same. Ah. Here’s where she went up in the world – keeping a disorderly house, then a gap, keeping a disorderly house again.” Angela grinned across at Gary. “No wonder Stanway remembered her so well! And that seems to be that. Perhaps she met her rich husband after the last conviction.”

“You’ve got another page there,” said Gary.

“Mmm, I just want to check I’ve covered everything here. OK, that seems to be all the arrests and what-have-you. So what else has Leanne found out?” Angela ran her eyes over the writing on the final page. Then she flopped the sheets into her lap and breathed out loudly. “Oh!
Bin-go!
”

Gary opened his eyes wide and looked at her. “Have we hit the jackpot?”

“I think so. Listen to this. ‘Ten years ago at the age of fifty-five, she married a local businessman, Jeremy Massingham.’
But.
Listen! ‘In her mid-twenties she was briefly married to an electrician by the name of Leonard Summers.’”

“Summers? But that’s –”

“Yes, it is. You’re absolutely right. Nigel Summers is the business partner of Ian King. It can’t simply be coincidence. It just can’t.”

“I think we’re about to find out,” said Gary. He nodded towards the house they’d been watching. Angela followed his gaze just in time to see a light switched on in the front room.

“She’s in, then,” he said. “I wonder if she’s worried.”

“If she’s got any sense she will be, deeply worried,” said Angela. “She was much less at ease with me the last time we spoke.”

“We’re not exactly going to be welcome callers, are we?”

“No, Gary, we’re not,” said, Angela closing her bag and opening the door. “Come on, let’s get it over with.”

Gary’s prediction was correct. When Mrs Massingham came to the door a few moments later, her opening stance was one of exasperation.

“Yes? Er… Inspector? Really, this is becoming too much. What on earth do you want now?”

“I’m sorry to bother you again, and so soon after our last interview, but some more information has come to light and I need to ask you some more questions.”

“Well, can’t it wait until tomorrow? I’d prefer to come to the station.”

I know you would and I wonder why,
thought Angela. She allowed a firm edge to creep into her voice. “I’m sorry, but we need to act on these things as soon as we can. May we come in?”

Dorothea made a last-ditch attempt. “I’m not at all sure I want you in my house, Inspector.” As she spoke, Angela could see her mind busily active, and wondered at the nature of the calculations going on inside.

“We can speak on the doorstep if you’d prefer,” she offered, keeping her tone relaxed and her smile pleasant.

Dorothea knew when she was beaten, but she’d obviously also worked out her strategy. “Oh, very well, come through here,” she answered in a tetchy voice. She was clearly indicating that they should precede her down the passage to a room further towards the back of the house.

In the few seconds available, Angela glanced at Gary and slewed her eyes very briefly towards the front room door, which remained closed. As he stepped across the threshold, Gary made for this door and opened it, every inch the keen, young, courteous police officer who couldn’t possibly have seen where Mrs Massingham was pointing because he was behind Angela.

“Oh yes, thank you, Mrs Massingham, just in here, is it?” he asked, pushing the door open.

“No!” Dorothea Massingham couldn’t hide a note of panic and fear in her voice.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Gary, pulling the door shut quickly. “I do beg your pardon.”

Mrs Massingham regained her composure and gave a tight smile. “I’m sorry; it’s just that it’s such a mess in there. I’m in the middle of decorating. It’s better if we go into the dining room.”

“Decorating, eh?” said Angela. “I know what that’s like… total chaos and you end up wishing you’d never started.” Her voice was full of sympathy. Behind Dorothea’s back she gave Gary the thumbs-up and they exchanged the briefest of smiles.

The glance she’d managed to get into the front room had been enough. There was no sign of any decorating, but on the wall opposite the door was a large photograph. It showed Dorothea and Nigel Summers, dressed in evening clothes and holding champagne flutes, smiling at the camera at what was clearly some upmarket social function.

In the dining room, Dorothea moved swiftly round the table. They took seats at one end of the highly polished mahogany, while Dorothea perched herself on a chair halfway along the side.

“Very well, Inspector – fire away.” Dorothea was nearly in control. Her voice was only one degree off having a squeak in it and she had the good sense to keep her hands out of sight under the table.

“We’re trying to trace a woman who was seen outside Kirsty’s flat shortly before the murder last Sunday.”

Dorothea relaxed visibly. This was evidently not the kind of question she had braced herself to field. Something akin to a smirk even appeared on her face. “And this has
what
to do with me, exactly?” she asked.

“We need to speak to all interested parties who fit the description.”
I really sound very formal at times,
thought Angela.

“I’m not quite sure why I should be considered an interested party.”

“If you remember, we found a page of Massingham’s letterheaded notepaper among Kirsty’s effects.”

“Ah yes, I remember. I didn’t have an explanation for it last week and I don’t have one now. It strikes me this link is very tenuous, Inspector, and I don’t think it qualifies me to be considered an ‘interested party’.”

She was almost beginning to enjoy herself. Angela had no problem with that.

“I can assure you, I was here all day that Sunday, Inspector.”

“Is there anybody who can verify that?”

“Unfortunately not.” Dorothea was completely at ease now.

Angela had offered no description of this unknown woman and could tell Dorothea recognized the paucity of the information about her. “Right, let’s leave that for the moment, although I presume you’d be willing to take part in an identity parade should we decide to go ahead with one.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, that’s very helpful.”

Dorothea dipped her head in a gracious gesture and the atmosphere in the room warmed up a little.

OK,
thought Angela,
so you feel on solid ground with this subject
.
Let’s take you where it’s a bit more wobbly
.

Angela flipped over a page in her notebook. “So when did you open this modelling agency?”

“We’ve been going for four years now.”

“Have you built up a strong client base?”

“I’m pleased with the progress we’ve made. Four years isn’t long but we’ve made some good contacts.”

“Was it difficult to get started? I would think it’s a hard industry to break into.”

“I know when to be pushy,” replied Dorothea. “And we have some very good models on our books.”

“That would be essential, of course. Still, I expect you find that part easy. You’re quite experienced at running girls, aren’t you?”

Dorothea paled a little. “I’m not sure what you mean, Inspector.”