Dead Gorgeous (A Mystery for D.I. Costello) (9 page)

Eleanor shrugged. “I managed. I tried to be the dutiful daughter. A home help came in each morning, and – well, we got into a routine.” She straightened a little in her chair. “Still– you haven’t come here to talk about my mother, have you?”

“No, you’re right.” Angela opened her notebook and looked down at it. “We’ve been speaking to Ian King.” She looked up to see a softening of Eleanor’s eyes mixed, intriguingly, with a hint of sadness.

“Yes, he sent me a text to let me know he thought you’d be here this afternoon.”

Angela nodded. “Obviously we need to check on the movements of everybody who knew Kirsty, especially those who had been – er – closer to her.”
I wonder if Eleanor knew about Ian and Kirsty,
thought Angela, but she saw a tightening of the other woman’s mouth and guessed she knew the answer.

“I presume we’re talking about yesterday afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Ian was here with me all yesterday afternoon, Inspector.” She thrust her head up and opened her eyes wide.

Hmm,
Angela thought,
you enjoyed telling me that, didn’t you? Dutiful daughter, invalid mother since your teens; I bet there haven’t been many boyfriends on the scene, if any.

“What time did he arrive?”

“Around two-ish; I was downstairs when he got here and there aren’t any clocks down here. It’s taking a while, dragging the décor of this house out of the 1930s, and these rooms and the hall were only completed last week. I haven’t found any clocks to my taste yet, and I tend not to wear a watch in the house.”

“So you can’t give me an exact time.”

“Oh yes, the clock in Mother’s bedroom keeps excellent time; that’s where… It’s the only room with a double bed.”

“I see. So how long after Ian King arrived did you go up to the bedroom?”

Eleanor hesitated. “Very soon; Ian went up first and I followed a few moments later.” A soft blush appeared on her face

You’re not used to this, are you?
thought Angela
.
“Did you notice the time when you got to the bedroom?”

“Yes, it was ten past two.”

“And what time did he leave?”

“About six-ish. He slept for a little while and had a shower. He would have stayed, of course, but he had a business meeting.”

“Oh, really?” replied Angela, making a note of these details. “Odd time for a business meeting, I would have thought.”

“London Fashion Week’s coming up and things are more manic than usual.” Eleanor couldn’t avoid a smile of satisfaction as she spoke. “I should think a great many meetings will take place outside normal working hours.”

“I see. OK, Ms Chandler, that’s very helpful, thank you.”

Eleanor visibly relaxed. “That’s no problem, Inspector. I’m glad to help, but the very idea of Ian being a suspect is quite strange. The fact is, I had much more cause than he to want Kirsty dead.”

Angela opened her eyes wide and stared at the other woman.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be flippant. It’s just that it’s been quite a month, and Kirsty was involved.”

“Involved?”

“That’s probably the wrong word. How shall I put this? Her loss was my gain.”

“I’m aware that Ian King had been having a relationship with Kirsty until recently.”

“Ah, he’s told you. Well, he had no reason to hide it, really. I know one isn’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, but in spite of her looks she really was very ordinary; and since Ian finished with her she’d been quite a nuisance to me.”

“Oh, really, how?”

“She wanted him back and she let me know in no uncertain terms that she was going all out to get him. She… you could say she mounted a campaign. I’ve never come across such blatancy. Every day I had an email from her talking about the things she and Ian had done together, or making it clear that she would get him back in the end. I tried to rise above it, but I found it wearing. Then we had an actual confrontation, which left me reeling, I can tell you.”

“What happened?”

“She… she actually came into the sewing room one morning – when I was on my own, thankfully – to have it out with me. I could hardly believe what was happening.”

“What did she say, exactly?”

Eleanor’s cheeks turned crimson while the colour seemed to drain from the rest of her face. “What she said, ‘exactly’, was that
the very idea of me sleeping with Ian disgusted her, as I’m way too old for any such thing. She said he would very quickly tire of me. ‘He’ll soon get fed up with an old wrinkly like you,’ were her precise words; I remember them clearly. She said they had plans together, and I was kidding myself if I thought I could hold on to him. I’ve never been involved in such an unpleasant scene, but at least it showed me just what type of person she was – what my mother would have called a very common little piece.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I made it clear that I was not prepared to get embroiled in a slanging match, especially with a child. That shaft went home, I can tell you. I said her behaviour lacked all dignity, and if that was how she normally carried on then it was no surprise Ian had dumped her.”

“And how did she react to that?”

“Like the guttersnipe she really was: ‘Ian and me ’ave a good thing going, Ellie, and I’m going to get him back.’” Eleanor mimicked Kirsty’s Estuary accent. “Really, Inspector, the whole scene was ludicrous. And it’s not as if she didn’t already have a boyfriend.”

“You’re talking about…?”

“Darren Carpenter. His knuckles don’t quite scrape the floor when he walks and he’s OK if you like the sporty type. Perhaps that’s the problem. Kirsty didn’t strike me as being particularly sporty.”

“Ah yes; we’ve spoken to Darren.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have.” A considering look appeared on her face. “I don’t know if it’s relevant, Inspector, but Ian mentioned that he thought Kirsty might be afraid of Darren.”

Angela made a note. “Yes, it is relevant; thank you. When did he say this?”

“On Sunday – just after… shortly before he left for his meeting.”

“OK, we’ll look into it. And this scene between you and Kirsty; this was the only actual confrontation?”

“Yes, apart from the sniping and the emails. I was surprised how much it upset me. I’ve been in this business a long time, and I thought I’d come across every possible situation. She must have caught me on an off day. Ian had told me about her texts and calls to him. He was very laid back about them, but personally I don’t think he was wise to let the situation drag on.”

Angela smiled politely. She thought she’d learned all she could for the moment. She rose, nodded at Gary and they took their leave.

Leanne and Derek were the only two people in the incident room. From the way they both stood up and looked at her as soon as she entered, Angela guessed they had news to impart.
Either that or they’ve been having a crafty snog,
she thought. Derek and Leanne had been thrown together on the investigation at the Wimbledon tennis tournament, and after a short time of coy prevarication they’d gone public with their relationship a few days earlier.

She looked expectantly at them. “What have you got?”

“Three things,” said Derek.

“A secret file,” said Leanne.

“A woman and…” Derek paused for effect.

“… somebody on a bike!” finished Leanne.

Angela smiled.
They’ll be wearing matching jumpers next,
she thought. “OK, let’s start with the secret file.”

“Ah,” said Derek. “We can’t actually tell you anything about that at the moment, except that it exists.”

“The lab people have been back to us with most of what they found on Kirsty’s computer. These are the printouts,” added Leanne, indicating a pile of papers on the desk at which she stood. “It seems pretty innocuous stuff, but they also found
some password-protected files; they’ll get back to us once they’ve cracked it.”

“That’s intriguing,” said Angela. “I wonder what Kirsty was keen to keep to herself.”

“I don’t suppose it’ll take the lab long to find out,” said Derek.

“No, I’m sure. Right, so tell me about this woman and the person on a bike.”

Leanne and Derek exchanged smiles, apparently certain they were about to pass on an important piece of information. “Information from the house-to-house, guv,” said Leanne. “One of the neighbours saw a woman near the house a bit before two o’clock.”

“Description?”

“Smartly dressed was all we could get. The witness thought she wore a dark suit, but couldn’t be sure about the exact colour.”

“OK. And the bike rider?”

Derek took over. “Somebody came to the house on a sports bike at just before three o’clock on Sunday afternoon.”

“Oh, wow. Tell me more.”

His face fell slightly. “Um… there is bit more, but I don’t know how helpful it will be.” He read from his notebook. “This is from a lady who lives directly opposite the house where Kirsty lived. She says she just glanced out of the window and saw this person riding up to the gate. She’s very clear about the time because she was timing some sponge cakes in the oven and had to keep her eyes on the clock. She went into the kitchen to swap over the oven shelves, then came back to check the clock and noticed the bike had been left in the front garden. She didn’t think anything of it, but the next time she looked out of the window, which she thinks must have been ten minutes later because her cakes were almost ready, the bike was gone.”

“Did she give a description of the rider?”

“Wearing an anorak was the only thing she was clear about. She ‘thinks’ he or she might have been wearing jogging bottoms.”

“You’re being very careful about saying ‘a person’ and ‘he or she’,” remarked Angela.

Derek grimaced. “Yeah, sorry, guv; she thinks the person was tall-ish so she was thinking it might be a man, but she wasn’t certain and didn’t want to commit herself as to gender. She also says they were wearing a baseball cap with the peak turned round the back, and sunglasses. She’s used to seeing a bloke on a bike come to the house so she didn’t take a lot of notice.”

“Never mind; what about the bike?”

“She reckons it was just like the one she’s seen before, a rust colour, apparently, and whoever owns it has fixed reflector tape on the mudguard so it’s quite noticeable.”

“That’s what she’s used to seeing?”

“Yes, guv.”

“OK, get Darren’s bike checked out before you do anything else.”

“Will do,” chorused Derek and Leanne.

Angela looked at Gary. “OK, so we’ve got a smart woman in a dark suit and
a
person on
a
sports bike,” she said.

“As regards the bike, I know he said he was at the gym all Sunday afternoon but Darren Carpenter’s got to be our first guess,” said Gary.

“No question of it,” she agreed. “We get the pleasure of thunder thighs again, but not today; it’s getting late and I want to go through the stuff from Kirsty’s computer, see if I can get an angle on her.”

An hour later Angela got up, stretched and yawned. “That’s enough,” she said. “I’m calling it a day.” She looked across to where Gary was sitting, gazing intently at a computer screen,
and saw he was playing Patience. “There’s a black nine in that top right-hand corner that can come down on that red ten in the middle,” she said.

Gary jumped and turned round, a deep crimson blush suffusing his face. “Oops, sorry, Angie.” Angela laughed. He closed down the game, stood up and came over to her desk. “Did her laptop throw up anything of interest?”

“Hmmm… the jury’s out…”

“Oh yes?”

“I’m somewhat intrigued. There’s a great deal of what you’d expect; emails between Kirsty and her friends, between Kirsty and her mum and dad, and all the usual jokey ones that go round. She didn’t do a great deal of surfing – mostly to dress shops, fashion houses, Facebook and Twitter. In the last few weeks, though, she’d trawled loads of modelling agencies, and gone to Companies House a few times, and two or three other sites which give advice about setting up a business.”

“That’s a bit odd for an aspiring model – maybe related to these big ideas she’s supposed to have had?”

“Yes, that’s what I wonder. We should be able to shed more light on that once the lab has broken open these password-protected files. It’s a blooming nuisance about her mobile phone.”

“Its absence has got to be significant, hasn’t it?”

“It certainly looks that way – unless she lost it somewhere, which I think is unlikely.” Angela wandered over to the whiteboard to scrutinize the pictures taken from Kirsty’s dressing table mirror. “These might have been taken on a mobile phone. Ah!” She raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at him.

“Ian King! He said he’d had a text from her yesterday.”

“Well done, that detective constable,” smiled Angela. They both reached for their notebooks. Angela found the relevant page first. “Yesterday morning, which would be… oh, it’s still
Monday, so it’s still yesterday morning.
‘The last text I had from her was yesterday morning’
,” she quoted.

“So we know she had her phone on the morning of her death.”

“The perp must have taken it. Something on it is very incriminating.”

“That makes sense,” agreed Gary. “They didn’t just delete whatever it was, they took the phone.”

“Time must have been of the essence.”

“Which would tie in with the bike being there and gone again in about ten minutes.”

“Yes, indeedy. I suppose it could be anything – a text, a contact detail.” Angela frowned at the whiteboard again. “But a photograph had been pulled away from the dressing table mirror. Suppose the missing picture was also stored in her phone?”

“We’ve got no way of finding out for certain,” said Gary.

Angela grinned at him. “Oh, I’m not so sure. Who knows what will come to light as we go along? OK, just before I switch off for the night, let’s set down a marker. We’re definitely talking about premeditated murder, most likely perpetrated by someone well known to the victim.”

“That’s about the size of it, Angie.”

Angela stretched again. “Right now I’m going to do a Scarlett.”

Gary looked at her, his face bewildered. “… Johansson…?”

“O’Hara, as in
Gone with the Wind
,” said Angela, grinning. “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”

He laughed. “Oh, right. Do you want me to drop you off”

“What? Oh! Yes – thanks, Gaz. I was forgetting I haven’t got the car today. Driving to the coroner’s with Patrick this morning seems a long time ago.”

Madeleine, listening intently to her iPod, was just approaching the house as Gary and Angela drew up a short while later. She
stopped and waited until Angela got out of the car. “Evening, Step-ma; how’s it going?”

“Hiya, Maddie; we’ve made a start,” replied Angela, turning back to the car and pulling her bag and briefcase from the back seat.

Madeleine bent down and grinned across at Gary. “Hi, Gary.”

Gary leaned across the passenger seat. “Hi, Madeleine. How’re you doing? What are you listening to?”

“I’m good, thanks. Vaughan Williams.”

“Oh, really, which piece?”

“The ‘Greensleeves’ thingy.”

“Ah! Love it; it’s been ages since I heard that.”

“Want a blast?” asked Madeleine.

“Yes, please.” Gary leaned back again so that Madeleine could get into the car. Angela called out “Goodnight!” and got back a distracted “See you tomorrow”, as Madeleine settled herself in the front passenger seat. Smiling, Angela shrugged and went into the house.

Patrick, examining a lasagne through the glass oven door, looked up and smiled as Angela came into the kitchen. She went over and dropped a kiss onto his lips.

“I hope you don’t mind – I’ve invited Martin round for dinner,” he said.

“Father Martin?”

“The very same.”

“No, I don’t mind – that’s good.”

“He called me today. He wants to ask our advice about something.”

“
Our
advice?”

“That’s what he said. He sounded a bit agitated, to be honest. So of course I said he’d be most welcome, and we’d been meaning to invite him anyway.”

“Absolutely. It’ll be a good opportunity for him to meet the returning prodigal.”

Patrick laughed. “By the way, I thought I heard her voice in the street.”

“You did. She’s cosying up to Gary in the car. They’re listening to some music.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows. “I thought he seemed a bit… taken, the other night when he was here.”

Angela nodded. “And she thought he was cute, if I remember.”

Patrick looked at her. “Do you think…?”

Angela spread her hands. “I haven’t a clue.”

Patrick turned his attention back to the oven. “We’d better ‘watch this space’, then, hadn’t we?”