Too Close For Comfort (5 page)

“Gabriella
Poulson?”

“Who’s
asking?”

“DCI
Culverhouse and DS Wendy Knight, Mildenheath Police.”

Gabriella moved
to slam the door but Culverhouse’s size eleven boots were already
firmly placed against the doorframe.

“We’re not here
to arrest you, love. You know what you are and I know what you are,
but we need you to help us with our investigations.”

“Why the hell
should I help you lot?”

“Because two
prostitutes have been murdered in Mildenheath and we reckon he’s
about to do a third. If you don’t want to end up being the next one
you’d better start talking to us.”

Gabriella
paused before opening the door and motioning for Wendy and
Culverhouse to enter the flat.

The line
between the flat and the street was non-existent. Lager cans and
food packets were strewn across the flat along with a selection of
used syringes and condoms.

“Christ, you
running an AIDS factory in here or something?”

They walked
over to the lounge corner and Culverhouse daintily scoured the
rotting sofa for somewhere safe to sit. Once he had done so, he
dusted his knees and looked up to see Wendy quite content with
standing.

“Gabriella, we
need you to tell us if you know a… gentleman… by the name of Tom
Connors.”

“Tom? Yeah, he
was a client of mine.”

“Was?”

“Yeah, was.
Until it got too much for him and he decided to lump me one.”

“Did you not go
to the police about this?”

“What's the
point? They never do nothing. Not exactly sympathetic about people
like us.”

“Is it
something you want us to follow up?”

“I'm not
pressing charges if that's what you mean.”

“Was Tom
ever... more than a client to you, Gabriella?”

“No. I was
probably more than just another hooker to him, but it was purely
business from my point of view.”

“And do you
know either of these girls?”

Culverhouse
handed Gabriella the photographs of Ella Barrington and Maria
Preston.

“Na. Never seen
either of them before.”

“Are you sure?
It’s very important.”

“Are these them
two girls what got killed? A bloody shame, but I’ve never seen
them. Honest.”

“Right. Well
thanks for your time.”

Culverhouse,
clearly intent on not spending a second longer than he had to in
Gabriella’s flat, marched off towards the door. Wendy watched him
leave before offering some words of advice to Gabriella.

“Just… be
careful, OK? He’s out there and he’s going to kill again. Please
make sure you’re not the next one.”

As she left the
flat, Wendy found Culverhouse stood near the entrance to the
building, motioning towards the concrete apex.

“Disgusting,
ain’t it? Not even out of nappies and they’re already fumbling
around like a Jew in a Christmas shop.”

On leaving the
building, Culverhouse checked the car still had four wheels and six
windows before his phone rang.

“Culverhouse.”

“Guv, it’s
Frank. We’ve found another body.”

“Christ
almighty. Does it match the MO?”

“It seems to.
Funny thing is the body’s still warm. It can’t possibly have been
Connors.”

“Brilliant.
Just fucking brilliant.” Culverhouse snapped the phone shut and
shoved it into his jacket pocket.

“What’s
up?”

“That was DS
Vine. They’ve found another body. It wasn't Connors. It’s still
warm.”

“Shit. There
goes another evening to myself.”

“Nonsense.
You’ve been working flat out since yesterday morning. You need a
break. Go on your date.”

CHAPTER
TEN

The perfume
smelled sweeter than usual as Wendy delicately sprayed the sides of
her neck. But then again it had been a while since she’d worn
perfume, hadn’t it? At least six months? It must have been.

She turned to
look at the four dresses which hung from the door of her wardrobe.
A simple choice, but impossible to make. To the left, a long, white
dress decorated with a rose pattern and a black horizontal band.
Too flowery. Next to it, a short black number with a sequined bust
line. Too slutty. She eyed the grey linen one with the collar and
chest pockets. Too frumpy. That left the tight green one with the
plunging v-neck bust. Process of elimination – good police
work.

Selecting
appropriate jewellery wasn’t much easier, either. It occurred to
Wendy that it had been far too long since she’d been on a date.
Almost two years, in fact. Since she had been concentrating so hard
on her career, she’d had no time for boyfriends.

All that
matters is the police force and the rest of the world can go to
hell.

Just as Wendy
had selected the diamond-encrusted watch and matching earrings, the
taxi honked its horn, perfectly on cue.

“Well, here
goes nothing,” she said to herself as she descended the
staircase.

Wendy arrived
at Alessandro’s to find Robert Ludford already seated at a table
for two. The table was topped with a single red rose and a bottle
of Veuve Cliquot was nestled in a bucket of ice.

“Good evening,
Wendy. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,
Robert,” she said gracefully as if it had been no effort at
all.

“I took the
liberty of ordering us some champagne. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course
not. It’s lovely, thank you.”

Wendy felt
distinctly out of place as she perused the menu at Alessandro’s.
Chicken liver pate served with toasted bread and berry compote.
King prawns sautéed in olive oil, garlic and chillies, served with
fresh bread. King scallops and king prawns in a white wine and
cream sauce infused with chilli.
No microwave ready meals for
one here, girl
.

“What will you
have, Robert?”

“I’m thinking
perhaps the
Il Risotto al Funghi Porcini
.”

“My favourite.
I’ll have the same.”

“Marvellous.
So, tell me about this investigation.”

“Sorry?”

“The serial
killer case. I presume you’re on it? I’ve read about it in the
papers. Terrible thing to happen.”

“Yes, it is. I
can’t really speak about it though, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course. Do
you have any suspects?”

Wendy smiled
and exhaled in resignation.

“Why are you so
keen to know?”

“It doesn’t
matter.”

“Of course it
does.”

“But it sounds
so silly.”

Wendy took
Ludford’s hand.

“Tell me,
Robert.”

“Right, well,
if you promise not to laugh.”

“Promise.”

“I like to
write in my spare time. Novels, you know. I really enjoy writing
crime novels about serial killers and murders. Now you know.”

A slight titter
escaped Wendy’s mouth, not unnoticed by Ludford.

“Wendy, you
promised you wouldn’t laugh.”

“Oh Robert, I’m
not laughing at that. I’m laughing at how you dressed it up as some
big secret.”

“You mean you
don’t find it weird or sad?”

“Of course not.
In fact, I find it kind of sexy.”

“Sexy?”

“Well, someone
who writes crime novels must have quite a creative
imagination…”

Wendy glanced
at the label on the back of the bottle of Veuve Clicquot.

“Sorry, I
didn’t mean to sound so forward. I’m not usually like this, I
promise.”

“Well, I like
to think it was my masculine charm rather than the alcohol.”

“Of course. I’m
sorry – I know I’ve only had one glass but I drink much faster when
I’m nervous.”

“What is there
to be nervous about?”

“Not nervous.
Excited.”

Ludford
smiled.

A few minutes
later, the waiter floated to the table carrying two plates of
Il
Risotto al Funghi Porcini
which he placed in front of the two
diners.

I hate
mushrooms! And where’s the bloody meat?!

“Everything OK,
Wendy?”

“Yes! Looks
delicious!”

Wendy tucked
into her festering fungus and cheesy gloop, eager not to upset her
companion for the evening.

“So, Robert.
Are you married?”

“Me? No. Well,
I was. Separated, I guess you might say.”

“Oh, I’m sorry
to hear that.”

“Isn’t
everyone? Truth is it just wasn’t working out between us. We tried
to keep it together but in the end we’d drifted so far apart she
ended up going off with someone else.”

Wendy sat in
silence, safe in the knowledge that silence made people talk.

“I suppose I’m
just like any other guy, you know? No man is an island. I guess I
just want to be happy and feel loved again.”

Wendy smiled
and said no more.

At the end of
the evening, Wendy and Robert Ludford left the restaurant and
hailed a taxi. As the taxi pulled up outside Wendy's flat at 22
Dashwood Avenue, she felt an insatiable urge, leaning over and
kissing Robert passionately.

Inside her
flat, Wendy nursed another glass of red wine. She realised she must
stick to her promise to be completely open and tell Michael about
her blossoming relationship with Robert.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

The incident
room was eerily quiet at five-thirty the next morning. DCI Jack
Culverhouse sat slumped over a manila file and a mug of strong
black coffee. He had trouble sleeping at the best of times but he
knew he would not be able to rest until he had caught the
killer.

Ever since he
had been on his own, Jack Culverhouse had become increasingly
obsessed with work. His wife had told him that had been the case
for years, but Jack knew that was nothing compared to now. The
truth was that working dulled the pain – the pain of having your
wife of almost twenty years leave you in the dead of night with
your only child. That sort of thing could finish a man.

Jack thought
about Emily every day. She would be almost twelve years old by now.
He had done everything in his power to track down Helen and her
successive string of male partners in order to get access to his
daughter but every new lead became a dead end. He didn’t give two
shits about his wife; he just wanted to see Emily. Desperately.

Culverhouse
took another slurp of coffee as he contemplated his next move on
the case. The manila file beneath his left elbow seemed to be
growing almost by the minute; growing with information on more
redundant leads and phone calls from deadheads who were convinced
they could solve the murders using a range of mysterious
techniques. Dowsers, tarot card readers, psychics – they were all
there; all willing to help. All willing to waste Jack’s fucking
time.

The phone rang.
Jack glanced at the clock – eight-fifteen. He pondered for a moment
as to why he couldn’t sleep at home in his super-king size bed but
had no trouble dozing off whilst leaning on a pile of papers and
coffee mug.

“Culverhouse.”

“Jack, it’s
Charles Hawes.”

Jack, eh?
That’s a good start. Looks like we’re on friendly terms today,
thought Culverhouse.

“Ah. Good
morning, Commander Hawes.”

“Can you come
and see me in my office please, Jack?”

“I’ve got a
team briefing in fifteen minutes, Commander. Shall I pop up
after?”

“Now,
Culverhouse.”

Culverhouse,
now, is it? Bang goes the friendship, then.

As DCI
Culverhouse made his way up the concrete staircase to Commander
Hawes’ office, he feared the worst. Pausing to knock gingerly on
the door, Culverhouse entered the office.

“Sit down,
Jack. What’s the latest on this serial killer case?”

“No news, sir.
We had a suspect in for questioning, but it looks like we’re going
to have to let him go.”

“So I hear. I
also hear that we’ve had another murder take place while the
suspect was with us.”

“That’s
correct, sir.”

“So what made
you interview Tom Connors in the first place, Culverhouse?”

Jack swallowed
hard as he felt the tension rising. The Commander was using his
surname again.

“We had a
tip-off from someone who said he knew Maria Preston and had reason
to believe he may have somehow been involved in her death,
sir.”

“His mum, I
hear.”

“That’s
correct, sir.”

“You do realise
it’s now been two full days without as much as the slightest
breakthrough? We have three girls dead and all you can do is go
round and have tea with every little old lady who thinks their
son’s been a naughty boy. Just what the hell are you playing at,
Jack?”

“Sir, at the
time we had reason to believe Tom Connors may have been involved in
Maria Preston’s death.”

“Oh, really?
Well let’s just hope the IPCC agree with you.”

“IPCC,
sir?”

“Yes, Jack. Tom
Connors has made a formal complaint over yesterday’s little
episode. Let me tell you now, Jack. If we don’t get results – and
fast – you’re going to be out of this building quicker than you can
say ‘meep meep’, do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,
sir.”

Culverhouse
left the office with Commander Hawes’ words ringing in his ears as
he made his way back down to the incident room – late – for the
team briefing.

“Here he is!”
called the familiar voice of DS Steve Wing. “Overslept did we,
guv?”

The incident
room was momentarily awash with titters before the eyes settled on
Culverhouse. His body language said everything.

“In fact, DS
Wing, I’ve just been to see the Commander.”

“Bad news,
guv?”

“Quite the
opposite. It could be fucking fantastic news for Commander Hawes if
he gets to roast my bollocks on his barbecue at the weekend. We
need results and fast. I’ve just had the dressing down of my life
from the Commander and if we don’t start making some serious
inroads in this investigation, we’re all for it. The fact of the
matter is we’re now averaging a killing a day. Every day we let
this bastard stay on the streets, another girl dies. Frank – did
you get an ID on the third victim?”