Dead Gorgeous (A Mystery for D.I. Costello) (3 page)

Sandra gave a rueful grin. “Yeah, I’m sure; it’s just a bit difficult right now.”

“The path of true love and all that.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that when you first start going out with someone, that’s when you expect it to be very intense, all hearts and flowers. I mean, it seems to me we got on better when we were just friends. I knew he was paying attention to me then; really listening, like, you know? It was great.”

Tony said nothing. He knew, and felt sure Sandra did too, the reason she and Darren got on so well as just-good-friends was because Sandra provided the perfect listening ear into which Darren could pour all his sorrows about Kirsty. Only a month had passed since Kirsty had finished with Darren, and in Tony’s opinion he’d jumped into this relationship with Sandra too quickly. He had his own ideas about why that had happened, as well.

“I’m sure it’ll be great again, Sandy,” he said, to comfort her. “You just need to give it a bit of time; let the dust settle.”

Sandra smiled at him. “Thanks, Tone. You’re right. I’m expecting too much too soon, really.” She looked gratefully at him.

“There you go,” said Tony. “It was a real blow to his pride, getting dumped by Kirsty. He thinks the body beautiful is all
any woman could want in a man and, you’ve got to admit it, his is honed to perfection.”

Sandra gave a small laugh. “You’re not kidding. I’ve never known a man who could hit the weights like he can. It’s either that or the cycle racing. He’s like a man possessed, sometimes.” She looked at Tony and her expression became conspiratorial. “But let’s face it, Tone, that’s not what motivates Kirsty, is it?”

“Oh, no way! I saw that early on when she first turned up here. I tried to hint as much to him, but I don’t think he got it. You could be an old crock but if you’ve money, power, prestige– especially money – Kirsty’s going to be interested in you. She and Darren were never going to go the distance.”

Sandra laughed. “No. He’ll realize that in the end. He’s much better off with me.” She pulled her shoulders back and smiled, feeling more optimistic. She’d had a few little talks like this with Tony recently and he always managed to make her feel better.

Tony discerned the change of mood and moved on to a different subject. “How’s the work going? Earning enough to pay the rent?”

“Nearly. I’m doing less and less temping to fill in. Got a shoot tomorrow, as it happens, for a catalogue; sportswear.”

“Sportswear? That’s right up your street,” said Tony, as he began to fish for something in his pocket.

“Off into the back room to indulge your vice, Tone?”

He stood up and grinned ruefully. “Had one already, just don’t want to squash the packet.” Tony limited himself to two cigarettes a week, which he smoked in a little room behind his counter. Now and again he was joined by Kirsty, who liked the occasional smoke but hadn’t wanted Darren to know.

“OK,” said Sandra, standing up. Something she could see through a glass-panelled door at the other side of the room suddenly caught her attention. “Oh, there’s Darren’s bike!”

Tony followed her gaze through the glass to the covered passageway alongside the building, shielded from sight of the road – he allowed some of his more regular, trusted clients to store their bicycles there. “Yeah?” Tony looked puzzled. The door opened and a customer came in, so he began to move towards the newcomer as he spoke. “Where else would it be?” he said.

“Well, there, of course – but it wasn’t there earlier; not that far along, that is.”

“It must have been,” said Tony.

“I didn’t see it earlier.”

“Well, nobody else would have moved it, except me, and I didn’t, so maybe you just didn’t notice it.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She didn’t want to seem obsessive, so she let the matter drop; but it focused her mind. Her real problems were nothing to do with Darren being such a keep fit fanatic and keen cyclist, those things she could deal with. He hadn’t really got Kirsty out of his system. That was the crux of the matter. She’d seen the way his eyes strayed to Kirsty when he came to the flat and she was home.

Sandra suddenly felt a frisson of fear. Darren was a brooder, and once or twice Sandra had definitely sensed that he could become violent. She sighed. It would all be all right if only Kirsty wasn’t around.

By the end of the afternoon, Madeleine had been installed, or rather, reinstalled. The only reminder of the rebellious teenager who had set off for university three years earlier was that her teddy bear, perched on the corner of her pillow, wore a little black trousers and T-shirt outfit.

“I see Ted’s still going through a Goth phase,” remarked Patrick, hoisting the last few books onto the top shelf of the bookcase.

“He’ll get over it,” replied Madeleine, flopping onto the bed and stretching herself the length of it. Angela appeared in the doorway bearing a tray of tea and biscuits. Patrick looked up at her, correctly interpreted her hesitancy, grinned and beckoned her in. Angela came into the room, put the tray on a small table, then sat down.

Madeleine sat up. “Thanks, Ange, that’s ace,” she said, leaning forward to take a cup. Over her head Patrick winked encouragingly at Angela.

Madeleine slipped her shoes off, drew her legs up under her on the bed and munched contentedly on a biscuit. “That hits the spot,” she said.

“Have you kept up with your old school friends?” asked Angela.

“One or two, but the closest ones have moved away. I’ll check out the parish on Sunday, see who’s around. How’s it doing these days?”

Patrick and Angela exchanged surprised looks. “The local parish? The church?” he asked.

Madeleine grinned. “Yeah, you know, where I was baptized and went to Mass for all those years.”

“Yes, but I thought you’d become an avowed atheist,” said Patrick.

“I tried to be, but it didn’t take.”

“Now there’s a thought to conjure with,” said Patrick. “Let’s see, it’s quite lively. I’m sure you’ll find something you can get involved with.”

“The parish priest these days is a young bloke called Martin Buchanan,” said Angela. “He’s a friendly chap. He should be coming here for dinner within the next week or so; we really must nail down a date, Paddy – oh – excuse me,” she added, as she heard her phone ringing from her handbag in the other bedroom.

“That’s your work mobile,” said Patrick, inclining his head towards the sound. “You’re not on call, are you?”

“I’m just covering Ronnie Bailey for this afternoon as he’s got a family ‘do’,” called Angela, hurrying into the room at the other end of the landing. She leaned across the bed and grabbed her handbag, trying to keep any trace of either relief or hope out of her voice. In spite of Patrick’s reassurance earlier, she knew that she was going to have to get used to Madeleine’s presence in stages.

She could see from the screen on her mobile that it was Detective Constable Gary Houseman calling. Even while she was telling herself not to be silly, she knew she wouldn’t be sorry to be called in to work just at this moment. “Hi, Gaz,” she said, more loudly than necessary, knowing Patrick would hear and come to the obvious conclusion.

“Sorry, Angie; I know you’ve got something on at home, but DI Bailey said –”

“Not a problem,” said Angela, firmly. “What have we got?”

“Unexplained death in Roehampton,” replied Gary. “A young woman; sounds dodgy from what I can gather, but the person who found the body is in hysterics. The neighbours who came
to help had the sense not to touch anything – well, apart from one of them trying to find a pulse. The doc’s on his way. Rick and Jim are with me in the car. Shall we swing by your place?”

“Yes, Gary, thanks; see you when you get here.” Angela finished the call, went back to the other room and stood in the doorway.

Patrick threw her a penetrating glance and raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t say you were on call.” The conflicting emotions of irritation and understanding battled with each other in his expression.

“Sorry, it’s just for a few hours; once we got embroiled in all the clearing out in here I forgot.”

“It reminds me of when I was little and Dad was still in the police,” said Madeleine. She knew nothing of the tensions exercising Angela earlier, aware only that she had come back to her old home and a warm welcome from her father and stepmother.

Understanding won, and Patrick clicked his tongue good-naturedly. “I’ll do the dinner,” he said. “I hope you’re back in time for it.”

“I hope so too,” she replied, gratefully accepting his olive branch. “I’ll keep you informed.”

“What is it anyway?” asked Madeleine. “Are you allowed to say?”

“A young woman in Roehampton; unexplained death,” said Angela. “I don’t really know any more than that at the moment.” She saw Patrick’s hand reach out automatically in a protective gesture to Madeleine and suddenly realized, just as she had her own reasons for wanting to be out of the house for a few hours, it would do father and daughter no harm to be alone together for a while.

The Homicide Assessment Team car barely pulled into the kerb before Angela was pushing open the front gate and heading towards it.

“OK, have you got any more information yet?” she asked Gary Houseman as she slid into the front passenger seat and clicked her belt into place. The newest and youngest member of the team, Gary’s arrival had coincided with Angela’s promotion to detective inspector recently. Two other members of the unit, detective sergeants Rick Driver and Jim Wainwright sat in the back.

“Not much, Angie. The dead woman’s name is Kirsty Manners. Her flatmate, Sandra, found her about an hour ago. Apparently she – Sandra, that is – came home to find Kirsty lying face down across her bed. She called her name but didn’t get a response, so she went close enough to see Kirsty’s eyes wide open and staring; which is when she went screaming to the couple in the downstairs flat.”

“Who did what?”

“Came back up with her and saw Kirsty. He tried for a pulse and she rang for an ambulance and the police. A couple of uniforms are in attendance.”

“We can take them if you like, Angie,” said Rick.

“Who, Mr and Mrs Downstairs?”

“Yeah,” added, Jim. “We’ll want to know if they were in all afternoon. If they heard or saw anything.”

As a box-ticking exercise, what Jim said was accurate, but Angela preferred to take in the scene before making any procedural decisions. “Thanks for the offer, you two. Let’s check it out first. For all we know, the woman died of natural causes and we’re on a wild goose chase.”

“She might not even be dead,” added Gary. “Who’s to say she wasn’t playing a trick on her flatmate and they’re having an argument about it at this very moment.”

But Gary’s optimism proved to be unfounded. Kirsty Manners was unmistakably dead.

Angela always waited for expert assessment, but just taking
in the scene at first glance it looked very much as though the young woman had been strangled.

She lay face down across her bed, the ends of a filmy pink scarf trailing out across her back. Her mid-length, dark brown hair had fallen across her shoulders, obscuring part of her face; so it was difficult to be exact, but it looked as though the scarf went all the way round her neck. She wore jeans, and a shirt that spread out at her sides.

Angela and her three colleagues said nothing for a moment, each taking in the scene in their own way.

Rick spoke first. “At least she had her own bedroom,” he said. “That’ll make it easier to seal the scene.”

“Assuming this is her room,” said Jim. “Oh yeah, look,” he added. “There are photos of her stuck on the dressing table mirror.” They all looked across at a selection of photographs showing the young woman in a variety of poses: in peach, as a bridesmaid, standing next to what was obviously a bride in the topmost view; in a bikini, relaxing on a beach; at a party; on the arm of a man out of shot.

“That looks a bit odd,” said Angela.

“What does?” asked Rick.

“Oh, I know why,” replied Angela moving round the bed towards the dressing table. “These photographs have been stuck on with Blu-tack, and look – there’s just a blob of the stuff on the frame under the last picture, like there was another photo there and it either fell or has been taken away.” All four officers looked down at the surface of the dressing table and on the floor all around the area.

“If there was another photo there it hasn’t just fallen down,” said Jim, finally.

“Hmm, I wonder if it’ll matter to us,” remarked Angela.

“It might turn up,” said Gary, “the SOCOs will find it, if it’s here anywhere.”

“Or maybe the flatmate will know what was in it.”

“You’re right,” said Angela giving the photographs another glance. She would look more thoroughly at them all later. They would go through the dressing table contents and the wardrobe. They would scrutinize her diary and address book, her mobile phone and her computer. They would turn over every detail of Kirsty Manners’s life to find out who had ended it.

She continued to gaze silently down at the body stretched out on the bed.
She must be close in age to Madeleine,
she thought. She sighed, remembering Patrick’s hand reaching out to Maddie as soon as he heard about the death of a young woman, and realized this murder enquiry would have a different resonance for her.

“
Everything makes a difference,
” she whispered to herself.

“Angie?” asked Gary.

Angela blinked and looked at him. “Sorry, just thinking aloud.”

They heard a noise in the hallway. Jim slipped out, returning almost immediately. “The doctor and scene of crime officers are here.”

“Yeah,” replied Angela, stepping back from the bed. “We’d better get out of here and let them get on with their stuff.” They filed out of the room, standing aside in the hallway to let the SOCO team and police doctor enter. They headed for a door at the end of the hall and found themselves in the flat’s sitting room.

“Did you take a close look at those photographs?” asked Jim. “A hot girl like that must’ve had a boyfriend. We’ll need to round him up.”

I bet you had no problem with geometry at school did you, Jim?
thought Angela.
You have a complete grasp on the fact that the shortest distance between any two points is a straight line.
“We’ll
round up everybody we need to,” she replied, putting a slight emphasis on the word “everybody”. “OK,” she continued, “I presume the flat downstairs has more or less the same number of rooms as this, so I’ll take up your suggestion, Jim. You and Rick, ask if you can talk to Mr and Mrs Downstairs in one room while Gary and I see the flatmate in another. Did you say her name was Sandra, Gaz?”

“Yeah, Sandra Hodges,” answered Gary, consulting his notebook.

“OK. Rick, you and Jim know what questions to ask. We’ll meet back up here after we finish the interviews, and take it from there.”

All four officers made their way down to the apartment below, whose occupants showed Angela and Gary into their bright, cheerful living room before withdrawing with Rick and Jim to sit round their kitchen table. Within a short space of time, a WPC led a pale-faced, shocked-looking young woman through the door. In the way with which Angela had now become familiar, Gary found a chair where he could sit unobtrusively, his notebook open and ready.

Angela assessed Sandra’s build and colouring as very different from Kirsty’s. Tall, she must have easily made about five feet ten or eleven, Angela guessed. Her slim body looked taut and muscular. She wore her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, and was dressed in trainers, jogging bottoms, and a T-shirt. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen and her face blotchy from crying. She stumbled a little as she walked across the room holding on to the policewoman’s arm, and allowed herself to be settled like an invalid into the armchair.

Angela took out her own notebook as the door closed softly behind the WPC. “I know you’ve had an awful shock,” she began, gently, “but you do appreciate that we need to ask you some questions, don’t you?”

Sandra nodded. Her eyes filled with fresh tears. “I can’t get that image out of my head… I just can’t… They’ve been great, Mel and Jon, who live down here, you know. I don’t know what I’d have done without them. They’re going to let me stay with them tonight cos I don’t think I can go back up… you know.”

“I understand,” said Angela. “Thank God for good neighbours, eh?”

“Yeah.” Sandra managed a weak smile.

“Right,” continued Angela, after a short pause. She found official spiel a useful tool for getting to the nitty-gritty, so launched herself into it. “I’m Detective Inspector Angela Costello and my colleague over there is Detective Constable Gary Houseman. There will have to be a post-mortem examination to find out exactly how Kirsty died, and until we know for sure we have to treat it as a suspicious death, hence the questions.” She stopped. Through the clear signs of shock and distress, Sandra had turned a pair of very alert, very focused blue eyes upon her.

“Silly cow,” she said. Across the room Gary glanced up and raised his eyebrows before bending his head back to his notebook and recording her words.

“Er…?” began Angela. She gave the other woman an interrogative look and waited.

Sandra shook her head in an exasperated gesture. “Oh, the way she was, with blokes and stuff. She was just so up herself and didn’t see how she could upset…” She blinked and gazed directly into Angela’s eyes. “If it turns out to be murder, you won’t find any shortage of candidates, you know.”