Faithfully: Chase & Halshaw #1 (6 page)

Chase took out the box and lifted the lid. The box was half
full of business cards, which read:

Lucy Faith, BSc
Accredited Life Coach

Geoff Bean, a lanky young man with curly fair hair, a broad
smile, and a South African twang, answered the door immediately. “Hello,
officer,” he said. “We wondered when you’d call round. Come through, please.”

He ushered Chase into a lounge congruent with the office
below.

“This is Will,” he continued, pointing out a pasty-faced,
dark-haired young man in jeans and T-shirt, who sat holding his head in his
hands. A fleshy brunette with a spectacular ring through her lower lip held him
close to her well-upholstered bosom. “And this is Julie. Have a seat, please.”

Chase seated himself in the one vacant armchair, which
sagged a little under his weight. “Thanks,” he replied. He glanced at Will. “Is
he all right?”

Geoff smiled ruefully. “He’ll be OK,” he replied. “He’ll
have a sore head tomorrow, though.”

Chase nodded and took out his notebook and pen. “This won’t
take long, I promise. First of all, who found the body?”

“Will did,” said Geoff.

“What did you see, Will?” asked Chase, gently.

Will groaned and said nothing.

“We were on our way back from the pub,” Geoff explained.
“Lisa had to park the car a block or so away, and we were walking back when I
noticed the front door was open downstairs, and the lights were on. I called
out to Will and Julie, who were in front. They went downstairs to have a look.
Lisa and I followed them, but by the time we got there Julie and Will were on
their way out again. We came back up here and dialled 999.”

“Did you touch anything in the downstairs flat?”

“No,” replied Geoff.

Julie shook her head.

“I touched the wall,” groaned Will. “I thought I was gonna
faint. What a fuckin’ awful way to end my fuckin’ birthday!”

“You’ll never forget it, will you mate?” smiled Geoff,
patting Will’s shoulder sympathetically.

“Did you see anyone about?” asked the detective.

“No, Inspector,” said Julie. Chase caught a glimpse of the
silver stud in her tongue as she spoke.

Will shook his head and groaned again.

“We did,” Geoff replied. “A woman passed us – Lisa and me,
that is - just after we’d parked the car.”

Chase pulled out his notebook and pen. “A woman?”

“Yeah. Can’t tell you much more than that, I’m afraid. Too
dark, you know.”

“Which way was she heading?”

“Towards the main road.”

“In the opposite direction to you, then?”

“Yeah.”

“How did she seem?”

“Kind of in a hurry, I guess. She nearly knocked Lisa over.”

“Was she carrying anything?”

“A black shopping bag and a briefcase.”

“What about a handbag?”

“Don’t know. Sorry. It was dark.”

Chase made a note. “You mentioned someone called Lisa,” he
said. “Who is she?”

“She’s my girlfriend, Inspector.”

“Where is she now?”

“In the kitchen, making tea and toast. Want some?”

“No thanks. I’ll just go and have a word with her, and then
I’ll be on my way.”

Geoff nodded. “Come on. I’ll take you to her.”

*

Lisa was bright-eyed and petite, with dark waist-length hair
tied back in a loose ponytail and a smile Chase could only describe as perky.
Her feet were bare, her toenails painted cornflower blue to match the flowers
on her short blue dress.

“That’s right, Inspector,” she replied, turning the gas ring
under the kettle up high. “I dropped Will and Julie off on the main road. Geoff
stayed with me while I looked for a parking space. They must have been mucking
about, though. By the time they reached the house we’d almost caught up with
them.”

“Who spotted the lights downstairs?”

“Not sure. Will and Julie, I guess.”

“And you went down to investigate?”

“Yes. Well, Will and Julie went down first, like I said. We
followed them.”

“Who phoned the police?”

“Geoff did. He ran straight up here, while Julie and I were
trying to get Will up the stairs.”

“And did you see anyone?”

“A woman almost ran into me when I was getting out of the
car.”

“Can you describe her?”

She shook her head. “Not really. It was dark, of course, and
I didn’t realise it would be important.”

“Please think, Lisa. Anything at all.”

Lisa frowned prettily. “She was slim. Quite tall, I guess.
And she was wearing a dark quilted anorak. That’s right. She had the hood
turned up.”

“Could you see her face?”

“No.”

“So how do you know it was a woman?”

She smiled apologetically. “I don’t know, to be honest. She
wasn’t wearing a skirt, as far as I could tell, or high heels, or anything like
that. The only thing I can think of was that she was carrying a handbag.”

“What sort?” demanded Chase, his pulse quickening.

“White. Quite large. Leather, maybe.”

“Was she carrying anything else?”

“A briefcase and a black Marks and Spencer shopping bag. One
of those reusable ones, you know. It seemed heavy. The briefcase could have
been a laptop bag.”

“What colour was it?”

“The briefcase? I can’t remember. Dark, certainly. Plain.”

“Anyone else around?”

“No.”

Chase noticed her eyes flick over his shoulder. He turned
around and saw Geoff leaning wearily in the doorway.

“Just a couple more questions, then I’ll get out of your
hair,” said Chase, suddenly feeling like a gooseberry.

“OK, officer. Go for it,” replied Geoff, moving round to
Lisa and slipping a tanned, hairy arm around her slender shoulders.

“What can you tell me about the woman downstairs?” Chase
asked.

Geoff shrugged. “Not a lot, I’m afraid. She didn’t live
here, of course. She came here two, maybe three times a week. Odd hours –
daytimes, evenings, weekdays, weekends. No real routine that I could make out.”

“By herself?”

“Far as I know, yeah.” He looked down at Lisa, who nodded
emphatically.

“Was she quiet?”

“Yeah. It was only because the front door used to stick that
we knew she was there at all.”

“How do you mean?”

“It makes a horrible scraping noise when it opens and
shuts.”

“I see. Any sign of arguments, fights, anything like that?”

“No. Sorry.”

“Ever speak to her?”

“Once or twice. Just hello and nice day, that’s all. She
seemed very private – she never wanted to stop and chat – but not rude, you
know. Just quiet.”

“What about post? Did you ever take a parcel in for her or
anything?”

“No.”

“Did you see her arrive this evening?”

“No.”

“Or anyone else?”

“No.” Geoff smiled apologetically. “Sorry, we’re not being
much help, are we?”

Before Chase could reply, the kettle on the hob began to
whistle.

“Tea, Inspector?” asked Lisa, as she gently disentangled
herself from Geoff’s simian arm.

“No, thank you,” Chase replied, wearily. “I’ll send someone
round tomorrow to take formal statements.” He handed her a card. “If you think
of anything else, anything at all, please call me. Any time.”

Lisa glanced at the card and propped it against a line of
storage jars on the worktop. “Thanks,” she said. “We will.”

Faith is necessary to victory.

Charles Hazlitt

“I’ve blocked this room out for you for the morning,” smiled
Dinah
Rodway
, ushering Chase into a glazed cubicle.

“Thank you, Ms
Rodway
,” said
Chase. “Who have you managed to line up for me today?”

“Les Salter, Frank Usher, Dave Kelmarsh, Paul McKinley, and
Justin Hargreaves,” she replied, glancing at the spiral bound notebook in her
hand. “In that order. Les should be here in ten minutes or so.”

“And I’m seeing the others...?”

“Tomorrow morning. Lorna’s at a Board meeting, Bryn’s at
Microsoft in Reading, and the other two Sandersons consultants are working
off-site today.”

“That’s great. Is Amy in yet?”

“I’m not sure, Inspector. I haven’t seen her this morning.”

“OK. When she appears, can you tell her I’d like a quick
word with her, please?”

“Of course!”

Chase took a mouthful of his cappuccino and watched Dinah
flit through the open plan office. A few minutes later he saw Amy Birkdale
stride past. She was dressed in a severe, black tailored suit, with her hair
tied up in a high ponytail. For a pleasant moment he remembered his dream of
the previous night, but quickly forced it from his mind.

A few moments later she reappeared at the door. “Di says you
want to see me.”

“Yes, if you‘ve got a moment.”

Amy smiled. “Of course.” She perched on the edge of the
table. “Any news?”

“A fair bit, actually,” he said, with more confidence than
he felt. “We’ve confirmed that it wasn’t Bryn Lewis who sent you that text. The
number is assigned to a pay-as-you-go mobile, activated within the last couple of
months. We’ve traced the text he received in the meeting to one of his
friends.”

Amy nodded thoughtfully. “That’s something, I suppose. But
what about the break-in? Any news there?”

“We’ve got a suspect in custody for some of the other
break-ins. We think he knows something about yours but he hasn’t said much
yet.” God, that sounded weak, he thought.

She pursed her full, rather sulky lips. “Oh.”

“Received any more texts?”

“Only one.”

“When was that?”

“Yesterday evening sometime. It went to my company phone
which was switched off, so I only got it this morning.”

“From the same number?”

“Yes.”

“What did it say?”

“See for yourself.” She handed Chase her phone. He read,

You’re holding up well, bitch. So far. But this is just the
start.

He looked up, and saw her looking intently at him.

“I’m not sure what to say,” he floundered.

“You don’t look surprised?”

“Don’t I? Maybe I’m not.”

“Why not?”

Chase sighed. “If this person’s trying to undermine you,
they’re certainly not going to stop just yet. So far, they only seem to have
made you more determined.”

Amy smiled grimly. “Too bloody right,” she replied.

“Good for you,” he smiled. “Look. Les Salter’s due here any
minute. So I’ll see you later on. OK?”

Amy began to leave. At the door she turned. “You will catch
them, won’t you, Inspector?” she asked, her bright blue eyes boring into his.

Chase said nothing.

*

Les Salter arrived a few minutes later. He was an older man,
slim and grey-haired, with a neatly trimmed goatee and large glasses that gave
him an owlish appearance. He wore a tweed jacket and an off-white poly-cotton
shirt, teamed with a navy knitted tie. Chase did a double-take: for a moment he
thought his old geography teacher had returned to haunt him.

“Is this about the break-in at Amy’s?” Salter asked, once
the two men had shaken hands. His voice was clipped, the words emerging in
rapid-fire bursts.

“Partly, yes,” replied Chase.

“Why partly?”

“I’d rather not say at the moment, Mr Salter. Can you
describe your relationship with Amy, please?”

“My relationship with Amy?” mused Salter, stroking his
salt-and-pepper beard. “We don’t have a relationship, Inspector. Not as such.
We’re colleagues, that’s all.”

“Do you like her? Resent her? What?”

“Oh, I’ve got nothing against Amy personally. She’s pleasant
enough, and very capable. It’s just that...”

“What, Mr Salter?”

“Well, she’s young and inexperienced. She’s impatient. She
doesn’t have the deep understanding of our business that you need to be
effective.” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “Yet, I mean, of course.”

“Of course.”

“The thing is this, Inspector. Bryn Lewis is a man in a
hurry. He wants success, wants to look good to the Group board. So he brings in
young, pushy people like Amy, and gets them to do whatever it takes to force
his changes through. He rides roughshod over those of us who know the business
better. He doesn’t bloody listen, basically.”

“So Amy’s one of Bryn Lewis’
henchpeople
,
is that what you’re saying?”

Salter shook his grey head. “Not exactly, no. Amy is one of
Bryn’s people, it’s true, but she has a mind of her own. Not like most of them.
Amy’s quite prepared to stand up to him if she needs to. And, fair dos, he
respects that.”

“What about Dave Kelmarsh? Does he have a mind of his own
too?”

“God, no. If Bryn told him to jump, Dave’s reaction would be
to ask how high. And then he’d jump even higher.”

“He’s a yes-man, is he?”

“Yes. That was why he got the job in the first place.”

“Was that recently?”

“Not really. He went to work for Bryn a couple of years or
so. Three, maybe.”

“Did Lewis bring him in from outside the group?”

“No. Dave used to work for Logistical, in the days when they
still had an in-house IT function. When Bryn arrived he handpicked a group of
acolytes from various parts of the group before he outsourced the rest.”

“And Dave Kelmarsh was one of them?”

“That’s right.”

“So Lewis saved his job, in a way?”

“Absolutely. And he got a promotion to Senior Management out
of it too. None of us saw that one coming. Not even Dave, I think.”

Chase nodded thoughtfully. “And Amy was another hand-picked
acolyte, I take it?”

Salter raised his eyebrows ironically. “Very good,
Inspector! But I don’t see what that’s got to do with...”

“What do you make of this project?” Chase interrupted.

“Bloody stupid, if you ask me. We’ve spent the last year
wrapperising
BRAHMS, to get the benefits of web services
without losing any of the capability.”

Why do IT people feel the need to mangle the English
language? Chase wondered. “
Wrapperising
?” he asked.

“Like it says, Inspector. We’ve wrapped BRAHMS in a layer of
web technology.”

Chase stared back at him blankly. “So if the project’s such
a stupid idea, why is he doing it?”

“Politics, in a word. Bryn’s on a mission to take over all
the IT in the Group.”

Empire building, eh? Chase thought. I’ve never seen that
before. Especially not in the Police Force. And it never happens in Education
either, from what Miriam used to say. “Is that a good thing?” he inquired,
blandly.

Salter took a deep breath and breathed out slowly. “No, it’s
not,” he replied. “He calls it standardisation, but he’s destroying everything
that’s unique or special about the subsidiaries, reduce them all to
homogeneity.”

“Like dumbing down, you mean?”

“Exactly, Inspector!” beamed Salter, triumphantly.
“Exactly!”

The detective smiled indulgently. “I wondered what BRAHMS
stood for,” he said. “Mr Lewis said you would probably know.”

Salter chuckled conspiratorially. “If I tell you, do you
promise faithfully not to tell Bryn?”

“OK.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing at all. We came up with the acronym first, then ran
a competition in the company newspaper for the best name.”

“What was the winning entry?”

“Bearing’s Really Advanced Heuristic Management System,” he
grinned. “Our IT Director at the time hated the name and refused to use it. So
from that day to this it’s just been BRAHMS.”

“And if you’d built another system, would it have been
called LISZT?” asked Chase, with a grin.

“No, Inspector,” replied Salter, straight faced. “The next
big project was an invoicing system called BACON.”

Chase sighed despairingly. He glanced at his watch and was
relieved to see that it was almost time for his next victim.

“Last question, Mr Salter. Where were you on Monday night?”

“At home, Inspector. With my wife and family. We had dinner
together and watched TV. Just like you, I imagine.”

*

Frank Usher was engrossed with something on his Blackberry
as he walked through the door.

“Have a seat, Mr Usher,” said Chase, pleasantly.

The heavy-set, balding man grunted and sat at the table.
Chase got up and closed the door as Usher continued to fiddle with his
Blackberry. At last, Usher looked up.

“Sorry, Inspector,” he grunted, in a gruff voice that seem
to resonate around his ample paunch. “It never rains, you know.”

“How well do you know Amy Birkdale?”

“Not very well, Inspector. She used to work in my
department, of course. Nice girl, by all accounts. Very easy on the eye, too.
But I can’t say I know her particularly well. Not like Bryn.”

“How do you mean?”

Usher smiled broadly. “Well, word on the street is that
they’ve been having an affair for the last year or so.”

Chase’s eyebrows shot up. “Why do you think that, Mr Usher?”

“Common knowledge, isn’t it?” His Blackberry rang and he took
the call. “Yeah Bob... make it quick... yeah, OK. Sounds good. You do that, and
let me know if it works.” He ended the call. “Sorry, Inspector.”

“That’s all right,” replied Chase, struggling to overcome
his desire to insert Frank Usher’s Blackberry somewhere anatomically
infeasible. “Do you know a woman by the name of...?”

But before he could finish his sentence Usher was on his
Blackberry again.

“Put that bloody thing down!” Chase snapped.

“But Inspector, I’ve got a job to do...”

“And so have I! What happens when you’re on holiday, when
you’re asleep? Don’t tell me you’re on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days
a week? So put that bloody phone down and talk to me.”

Usher reluctantly ended the call and placed his Blackberry
face down on the table, his face like thunder.

“That’s better, sir. Thank you,” smiled Chase, his voice as
smooth as syrup. “Now then. Where were you last Monday evening?”

“At a dinner.
LogiSoft
User Group.
We call it LUST.”

“LUST?”

“
LogiSoft
Users Suffering
Together,” grinned Usher.

Oh, for God’s sake! sighed Chase. “What do you make of this
project?” he asked.

“Project Goldmine? Not a lot.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s a vanity project, Inspector. It’s all about making
Bryn look good to the board. Nothing will come of it, mark my words.”

*

After Frank Usher had departed, gratefully reunited with his
Blackberry, Chase sat back in his chair and replayed the conversations with
Usher and Salter in his mind. Nothing terribly exciting, he thought. Just the
petty rivalries and scandals you find in any organisation. I’ve seen far worse
in the Met over the years. But nothing that would drive someone to vandalism,
never mind murder.

The door swung open again and Dinah
Rodway
popped her head into the meeting room. “I’m very sorry, Inspector,” she said,
“but Dave Kelmarsh hasn’t come in to work today.”

“No?”

“There’s been some kind of emergency at home. One of his
kids, I think. He’ll be back in the office tomorrow, I expect.”

“That’s OK, Ms
Rodway
. Thanks for
letting me know.”

She departed, closing the door behind her, and Chase
returned to his thoughts. It probably wasn’t a bad thing I lost it with Frank
Usher, he realised. If word gets round that I won’t tolerate being messed
about, that’s all to the good. But I’d better be careful. I don’t want to aggravate
people too much. Not unless I need to.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at the display, and opened the
new message.

The first thing he saw was these words:

Who did the dead whore spend her last night with?
Back off now or this picture goes to the media.

He scrolled down, and watched the picture build. It showed
him sitting at dinner with My Lady Perdita. They were both leaning forward,
smiling, and gazing into each other’s eyes. One of her hands rested lightly on
his arm.

Amy’s latest text was right, he thought. This is just the
start. But in a way that’s a good thing. It means there’s a connection between
the murder and the break-in at her flat. And there may be no connection between
those two crimes and the other break-ins. But Royce will still expect quick
results. On all fronts. His heart sank.

Dinah
Rodway’s
brightly coloured
hair appeared above a partition on the opposite side of the office. Chase flung
open the door and marched over to her desk.

“Where does Amy Birkdale sit?” he asked.

“Just here, Inspector,” she replied, pointing at a desk in
the next bay. The chair was unoccupied, and the chunky HP laptop was running
the Windows Marquee screensaver. Chase noticed a black leather handbag tucked
discreetly under the desk.

“Any idea where she is now?”

“No, sorry. I’ll have a look at her calendar. Just give me a
moment, please, Inspector.” She turned away and busied herself at her computer.

Chase looked around him. Every desk was devoid of any
personal effects, evidence of a clear desk policy like the one Royce’s
predecessor had attempted to introduce. Every desk, that is, except the one
next to Amy Birkdale’s.

“Who sits here, Ms
Rodway
?” he
asked.