Authors: Marni Graff
Chapter Fifty-Two
“It is odd, how one’s idea can change.”
—
Mary Roberts Rinehart,
The Wall
2 PM
Lottie was leaning on the co-op desk opening the paper, a thick, black headline proclaiming: “
Second Magdalen Road Murder
.” Although she hadn’t yet turned on the music, her pen beat a tattoo on the counter in its stead. She smelled Val Rogan’s grassy perfume before she saw her, and her mood lifted immediately.
“Let’s see that, Lottie love,” Val asked.
“Anything for you.” Lottie smiled broadly and handed over the paper. “Half my bacon buttie?”
“No, thanks.” Val glanced quickly at the paper. “I’m scanning for Lou’s name. She could be in jeopardy if her identity were known.”
Lottie sucked in a breath when Val described how Lou had come to be at the site of the murder. “I hope you don’t feel responsible for this situation, Val. Yes, Lou went to Magdalen Road to help you, but the fact it misfired badly is not your fault.”
Val sighed and handed the paper back to Lottie. “Thanks. I know, but I can’t help but feel responsible. At least there’s no mention of Lou by name.”
“This can’t be a coincidence—two murders at the same address? Just what was Bryn up to, Val?” Lottie tapped a pen on the counter top.
“I don’t know, Lottie. It’s too unreal to contemplate.” Val came around the counter. “Let’s look over the Board proposal before the other artists fill this place up and we can’t hear ourselves think.”
“Yes, let’s,” said Lottie, pulling out an envelope and patting the chair beside her.
Chapter Fifty-Three
“I’ve always been a liar—it runs in my family.”
—
Sarah Baylis,
Utrillo’s Mother
6:30 PM
Simon arrived at dusk to find Nora looking glum as she washed the last of the shelves. He was impressed with her industry. Cartons overflowing with books stood in rows around the room and spilled into the hallway. “Did you have a good day?”
Wisps of hair escaped Nora’s ponytail and clung to her damp face. “All done here.” She stood, arching her back. She looked tired and out of sorts.
He stifled the desire to embrace her. Instead he picked up her bucket and carried it into the kitchen, dumping the soapy water down the sink and rinsing it out. “I had a wonderful day, although I felt a little guilty I wasn’t here helping you. You must have worked all day.”
“It didn’t take as long as it looks,” she said. “Besides, you’ve been wrapped up in my friends and their problems; you deserved some time to yourself. How did your day go?” She washed her hands and put the kettle on for tea.
Simon took out a pair of mugs they’d left unpacked. “I spent the entire day at Blenheim Palace—what an ostentatious building, so god-awful it’s kind of wonderful. I’ve got pages of drawings and a few watercolours. I’ll show them to you later if you’d like. I didn’t have time to get into the saloon for those Laguerre figures.”
Nora seemed to brighten at this news. “Then you must go back tomorrow. I mean, our time here is growing short and you want to get those in.” She poured the tea, and they took their mugs to the table.
Simon blew on his to cool it. “I don’t know. Maybe I should leave something for our next trip here. We’ll be back in January to see Nigel Rumley.”
“No!” Nora half-shouted. He startled at the urgency in her voice. “I mean—no, you deserve to get it all in on this trip. It’s going to be a long winter at Ramsey Lodge, and I won’t be responsible for you not having interesting work to do besides my fairies.” She fidgeted in her seat.
“We’ll see,” Simon answered, wondering what Nora had up her sleeve. “Are we seeing Val tonight?”
“No, she’s bonding with her wicked stepmother and her sis, although I detect a slight thaw in the arctic there. Val called to say Barnes had another go at Louisa today with little result.”
“He gets around, doesn’t he?” Simon said.
“I get the impression you don’t care for the inspector.” Nora scrutinized him over her steaming mug.
“Let’s just say I’m cautious of someone who dresses that well, looks that good, and can change his personality at will.”
“That sums him up,” Nora said. “Another person might say it’s what makes him a good detective.”
“Another person has every right to his or her own opinion.”
Nora laughed heartily. “Why Simon Ramsey, I almost think you’re jealous!”
*
Nora chewed an antacid for the heartburn that plagued her after the Greek meal they’d finally decided on for dinner. “I’m longing for one of Cook’s home-made meals,” she said.
“I’m sure too many takeaways add to your heartburn,” Simon said, tying up the garbage bag. “I’ll take this down to the bins so we’re not smelling it all night.”
Nora nodded from the sofa, reaching down for her pad. She looked at the notes she’d made. She couldn’t make any real progress until she’d spoken to Ted Wheeler. She
had
to convince Simon to go out again tomorrow.
When he returned Nora was heading for a shower. “Simon, it’s getting so crowded in here with all of these boxes, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said, looking around. “I’m going to tape the rest up. Maybe I can get some of them over to the storage unit tomorrow.”
“That would be wonderful,” Nora enthused. “When I get out of the shower I’ll finish clearing out the closet so you can take those boxes, too.” If she gave him directions to the storage center that got him lost it would buy her a few hours.
Chapter Fifty-Four
“To know is not enough. One must try to understand, too.”
—
André Brink,
A Chain of Voices
7:30 PM
Before leaving the station for the night, Declan called McAfee into his office. “Watkins will remind Janet Wallace she has to return Thursday for the inquest. Would you assign someone to go down the witness list and remind the others?”
McAfee nodded and left Declan’s office looking gloomy. This, Declan knew, was the inevitable result of too many unsolved crimes hanging about, especially murders. Long hours, little sleep, and not enough evidence flowing in created an air of frustration. He had to keep his team focused and believing they could solve these murders. Tomorrow morning at his briefing he’d give them all a pep talk. Although, he thought dourly as he stuffed files in his briefcase, he had no idea what he could say to increase their morale.
The evening was lovely, the lowering sun creating shadows and bringing out the much photographed golden glow of Oxford’s buildings. This was Declan’s favorite time of day, when he reminded himself how fortunate he was to live in such a glorious place, crammed with history and tradition. All that awaited him was a lonely evening reviewing case files, so he walked up the street and paused to look into the window of the Alice in Wonderland shop, where the inspirational little girl was said to have bought her barley sugar candy. He drew the fragrant air of a nearby rose garden into his lungs deeply, trying to empty his mind of all thoughts of murder, stabbings, skull fractures, and red-haired pregnant women.
Nora Tierney. Declan had to acknowledge he looked forward to seeing her again. He imagined she would accompany Val Rogan and Janet Wallace to the inquest. He couldn’t figure out why he was so intrigued by the woman. She was pregnant and moving out of Oxford, making a relationship distinctly unlikely. Yet she exuded an appealing vibrancy and an interest in life marked by her own streak of originality.
His stomach growled at the same time his thinking cleared. Unlike the other women he knew, Nora Tierney would understand his deep need to find the answer to the mysteries he encountered every day. Deciding to quiet his stomach with a stop at the kebob van on St. Giles, Declan returned to the station, lowering his tall frame into the MGB. Dec, old boy, you’ve been alone far too long.
*
Lottie entered The Blue Virgin, nodding to a few acquaintances. A little company would serve her well tonight. These past few days had been rough, covering all of Val’s hours, worrying about the toll Bryn’s death was taking on her partner. She hoped things would settle back to normal soon. Taking a seat at the bar, she complimented the bartender on her new eyebrow ring.
“Thanks, Lottie. I can change the little beads on it to match my outfits. What’ll it be?”
Lottie thought hard. “I think a vodka martini with double olives will do.” The music changed to a Coldplay song; the porn video was not playing at the moment. Lottie tapped one finger on the bar in time to the music and thought about where she wanted to be at this time next year. If the co-op renovation were approved, she and Val would be working again side by side on that project for a few months. Once that was done, she would suggest a vacation for them, maybe Spain. They hadn’t taken serious time off since opening the co-op, and both certainly deserved it.
Her drink arrived. “Here you go, love. Where’s Val tonight?”
Lottie didn’t feel up to explaining the whole situation. “Val’s busy. But she’ll be back here soon, I promise.” She drank deeply from the glass, the cold vodka cooling her throat and bringing her head to a better place.
Chapter Fifty-Five
“I may sound cruel and hard-hearted, but in the long run I’m not sorry any of it happened.”
—
Nora Johnson,
The Two of Us
Wednesday
10 AM
Wednesday’s paper had reduced the death of Tommy Clay to a small article on page three:
“
No New Information on Second Magdalen Road Death
.”
Cam threw the paper down on his kitchen counter and breathed a huge sigh, not exactly of relief, for that would be a long time coming, but at least he felt the immediate danger had passed.
It had been an accident, plain and simple, Cam rationalized. He had planned on turning himself in until he’d come to his senses several hours and a few snorts later. How could he convince anyone, let alone the police, that he hadn’t killed Clay on purpose? He’d have to tell them Clay was planning to blackmail him after seeing him at Bryn’s flat on the night of her murder. It was too powerful a motive for anyone to believe a simple mishap had taken Clay’s life.
No amount of arguing could make the bloody man understand that while he had gone to see Bryn Wallace at the height of a particularly good high, he’d lost his nerve at the door to her building. He’d been standing outside when that Rogan dyke came out of Bryn’s flat; he’d ducked down the side alley before she could see him. Afterwards he’d gone into the lobby but had hesitated in a moment of clarity and checked his watch. When he’d seen the time, he’d wondered if Bryn were even awake. He’d left soon after, but not soon enough. Tommy Clay had seen him enter the lobby and was prepared to go to the authorities with his information unless Cam bought his silence.
“You could buy yourself a little peace of mind, Mr. Wilson,” Clay said over coffee that day. “I know a few people at the local station—Detective Inspector Barnes was actually over my place just the other day. It was easy enough for me to find you—he’d have no trouble at all.”
Cam looked the man up and down in revulsion, wondering what the slimy bastard and the high-level detective could have in common. He tried to quell the rising panic. After a moment, he said, “I haven’t any disposable income.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, old chum. If you were to cut your blow in half, I’d be happy with the money you’d save per week to start.” Clay tapped the side of his nose.
Cam blinked twice rapidly. He’d indeed gotten flying high from his dwindling reserve stash just to attend this meeting. His mouth hung open without a quick retort.
“Don’t play innocent with me, you cheeky bastard—you’re high right now,” Clay said with a sneer. “I know a cokehead when I see one.”
Cam’s cocaine paranoia took off like a shot. Clay must be undercover drug squad; that would explain him being chummy with Barnes. “I take offense to those remarks,” he told Clay.
Clay seemed to think this comment humorous, grinning from ear to ear without remorse.
“And I noticed you used the phrase ‘to start’—I’d be a fool to get involved with you. The payments would only get higher and higher.” Cam broke out in a sweat, apprehension turning the coffee bitter in his stomach, his pulse picking up speed. He felt trapped and disoriented, confusion clouding his reasoning. The conversations around him suddenly became loud and distorted, the fruity perfume of the waitress overpowering.
Cam stood up and so did Clay. They left the cafe, ostensibly to continue the discussion at Clay’s flat. When they crossed the street, Clay stopped in front of Bryn’s building.
“Yes, it was just about here I saw you that night, Mr. Wilson,” Clay said.
The roar in Cam’s head was unbearable. His heart beat so fast, it felt like it would tear right out of his chest. He hated Tommy Clay and what this little man was trying to do to him. He could lose it all because of the grinning fool standing in front of him.
Clay seemed to grow wider, larger, to loom over him, threatening to choke the air out of him. In desperation Cam pushed the demon away, giving the man a mighty shove. The rail caught Clay in the small of his back and flipped him neatly over. By the time he hit the concrete bottom, Cam was halfway down Magdalen Road.
A convulsive spasm ran through Cam, fluttering the newspaper in his hand. He considered a quick snort to calm himself down, but first he had to read this article and confirm that his identity was unknown. That seemed to hold true as he scanned the piece, but his fury grew as he read the snippets of information the reporter had dug up to end the article:
Sources confirm Mr. Clay has form for indecent exposure to minors and was on probation.
Cameron dropped the paper and slid down onto his Le Corbusier lounger. This was who he had let get to him—a man who’d hinted he was an undercover cop, someone closely acquainted with the local plod—when in truth he was a kiddie flasher. Bloody hell!