House of Mourning (9781301227112) Read online

  Yeah, he was still learning, but learning fast. He’d get the job done sooner rather than later. One day, they’d make a film about him. It’d be called “The Apprentice”, and some young kid would use it as a training film.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘We have to find out who the father of Fannie’s baby is, don’t we?’

  He sighed. ‘Yes, and that means visiting Social Services at Redbridge Council offices again.’

  ‘They don’t like us much there, do they?’

  ‘It’s you they don’t like, but it’s been a while since you upset them. Maybe they’ve forgotten who you are.’

  ‘Me? You’re becoming senile. It’s you they don’t like. If you recall, they have your picture pinned to their dartboard in the staffroom, and they throw darts at it. I’m just an innocent bystander.’

  ‘You don’t know the meaning of the words “innocent” and “bystander”.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get used to people not liking us when we’re just trying to help them.’

  He climbed out of the car while Richards called the station and arranged for a court order to access the adoption records of Fannie Binetti’s baby. It was getting dark, and there was still a chill in the air. The first day of Spring had meant to be on the vernal equinox – March 20 – but it was dragging its heels.

  Jane Cole lived at 15 Stafford Drive in Spitalbrook – a short drive up the A170 – in a three-bedroom semi-detached white house that needed a lick of paint. The front drive was concrete, but weeds were beginning to poke through the cracks.

  A small man with spiky hair and an unusually square jaw answered the door and gave Richards the once over.

  ‘Hello, love.’

  Richards showed her warrant card. ‘We’d like to speak to Jane Cole.’

  ‘She’s in the kitchen. You’d better come in.’

  They squeezed past him into a lounge/diner that looked like any other. Parish could see through the patio doors into a long back garden. There was a flagstone patio with a row of large overgrown plant pots, and a small wall that had a miniature gate in the middle. A path led down to a wooden shed, and either side of the path were a multitude of evergreen shrubs and bushes.

  ‘We just rent the house,’ the man said. ‘Buying in a recession is asking for trouble.’

  Parish’s brow furrowed. ‘I thought that was the time to buy.’

  ‘If you’re not worried about money, but if you’re wondering if you’ll have a job tomorrow then it’s the worst time. The country’s going to hell in a hand basket. Nobody’s got hold of the reins, and we’re just holding onto whatever we can find in the hope that we’ll reach the other side in one piece.’

  A woman in her early thirties came in carrying a steaming mug with a chemical symbol on the side.

  Parish guessed it was the chemical symbol for coffee, because it had CH3, H3C, a lot of N’s and some O’s in it. Not that he was in any way an expert on chemical symbols – it was an educated guess.

  ‘Are you preaching doom and gloom again, Patrick?’ Jane Cole said.

  ‘Let me see, “doom and gloom” – isn’t that another word for austerity measures, redundancy and laying people off?’

  ‘Doom and gloom is two words, asshole.’

  ‘I’m going to take a shower now, and for your information “doom and gloom” is actually three words, bitch.’

  ‘Don’t mind him,’ the woman said. ‘He has issues.’

  ‘So it would seem,’ Parish agreed.

  ‘And don’t for one minute think we’re together because we’re not. We’re housemates, although mates is not really the right word to use anymore. ‘Who are you?’

  Like the magician’s apprentice Richards produced her warrant card again. ‘Police.’

  ‘Oh! If it’s about . . . ?’

  ‘You don’t want to say something you might regret,’ Richards interrupted her. ‘Please, sit down.’

  Jane Cole sat in one of the two armchairs and Richards perched on the edge of the sofa. Parish remained standing and walked round the room inspecting the ornaments on the mantelpiece, the pictures and hangings on the walls and the books in the bookcase.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Fannie Binetti is dead.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’d like to ask you some questions, if you’re feeling up to it?’

  ‘Dead? Are you sure?’

  ‘We’re sure.’

  She reached over the side of the chair, pulled up a bright green handbag and found her phone inside. ‘We’ll see,’ she said, pressing call and holding the phone up to her ear. ‘It went to voicemail. She never lets it go to voicemail.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but Fannie is dead,’ Richards repeated.

  ‘How?’

  ‘She was murdered in the early hours of this morning.’

  ‘Who would do such a thing?’ Tears welled in her eyes. She found a tissue in her bag and dabbed at them.

  ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out. Do the initials GH mean anything to you?’

  ‘GH? I know people with the initials GH, but none of them would have murdered Fannie.’

  ‘We’re specifically interested in boyfriends and ex-boyfriends.’

  ‘She didn’t have a current boyfriend.’ Her forehead creased as she rummaged around in her memory. ‘The last boyfriend she had was Jimmy Selby. He was a right bastard, but he wouldn’t have killed her. Before him was Harry Lucas – a bit of a wimp. Then there was Dick Morley. From what she told me, he had the wrong first name.’ She held up her hand and indicated with her thumb and forefinger the size of Dick’s penis. ‘They say it’s not the size, but what you can do with it. Apparently, he couldn’t do much with his because it was so tiny. Do you want me to go on? I could probably go back ten years, but I can’t think of any of them having the initials GH.’

  ‘No, that won’t be necessary, but I would like you to compile a list if you could? We still have to check them out.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘No, sometime today would be fine. Could you email me?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Richards wrote down her email address and passed it to the woman. ‘Can you think of anyone else who had a grudge against Fannie, or who might have wanted to kill her?’

  ‘There was one guy where she worked. Yeah . . . his initials are GH – Gareth Hayes if I remember correctly. It was about a year ago now. He had a thing for her, wouldn’t leave her alone. He kept sending her flowers, text messages, sat outside her house in his car watching her – a right weirdo. In the end, she threatened him with a restraining order and he backed off.’

  Richards checked her notebook. ‘She was a customer services representative at Moorcroft Debt Management call centre, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes. She wasn’t really interested in work, she only went so that she could earn enough money to go on holiday and go out at nights – she liked to have a good time. Do you know about the baby?’

  ‘I was going to ask you about that,’ Richards said.

  ‘Apart from her family, I was one of the few people who knew.’

  ‘Do you know what happened to it?’

  ‘It was a boy. He was adopted.’

  ‘She kept a picture, but there was no information about the sex of the baby. Her sister didn’t know either.’

  ‘Anne was too young. He’d be about twenty years old by now.’

  ‘What about the father?’

  Jane shrugged. ‘She would never tell me.’

  ‘Do you think it was her own father?’

  ‘I don’t know. I thought the same thing, but I got the feeling it wasn’t.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can think of that might help us?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t offered either of you a drink. Would you . . . ?’

  Richards held up her hand. ‘No, thank you. I think we’re about done now.’ She looked at Parish. ‘Have you got any questions, Sir?’

  ‘No, I think you’ve
covered everything. Thanks very much for your help, Miss Cole.’ He passed her one of his business cards. ‘If you do think of anything that might be useful, please call us.’

  She showed them out.

  It was dark.

  ‘What now, Sir?’

  ‘I thought I was meant to be asking that.’

  ‘I keep forgetting.’

  ‘We should go home. I can hear Digby pacing in the kitchen.’

  ‘You cannot.’

  ‘Digby and I have a bond, you know. We’re like twins from the same egg. We both know what the other is thinking.’

  ‘Earlier you were a horse, now you’re a dog.’

  ‘No, you’ve got it the wrong way round – Digby is nearly human.’

  ‘What about briefing the Chief?’

  ‘You can brief him tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll have to work on my notes tonight.’

  ‘Notes? There’s nothing to write notes about.’

  ‘Yes there is. We’ve found out . . .’

  He interrupted her. ‘Don’t bore me now, save it for tomorrow morning. I’ll be interested to discover where we are with this investigation.’

  ‘You’ll be amazed.’

  ‘I’m sure I will. Now, you drive and I’ll catch up on my beauty sleep.’

  ‘I’m not driving to Scotland, you know.’

  ‘Ha, ha!’

  When they reached home, Angie had dinner simmering in the oven.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked as he put Digby’s lead on.

  ‘Wait and see.’

  ‘That means it’s an experimental dish and it’ll be touch and go whether I like it or not.’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  ‘Digby will tell me.’

  ‘Courgette lasagne.’

  ‘I knew it. What are courgettes?’

  ‘Green vegetables that look like cucumbers.’

  ‘It’s some kind of warped revenge, isn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t you have a dog to walk?’

  ‘Is there anything you want from the fish and chip shop while I’m in there ordering minced beef and onion pie, chips and mushy peas? I also plan to eat a pickled egg while I’m waiting.’

  ‘Do they sell coffins?’

  ‘I’ll ask. How many?’

  ‘Just one will do. The cheapest they’ve got. No padding, just bare wood.’

  ‘Come on, Digby, it’s time we made ourselves scarce.’

  She was trying to turn him into a vegetarian. He’d have to start taking supplements. If he wasn’t eating meat, what minerals and nutrients was he being deprived of? Maybe iron, calcium and zinc. He’d have to check the facts, start making daily dietary plans. Would he still be able to get out of bed in the mornings? Could he still function as a detective? Maybe he wouldn’t be that bad. There are lots of vegetarians who appear to live normal lives. Maybe he was worrying about nothing.

  ‘How’s your day been, Digby?’

  Digby’s ear twitched, but he was more concerned with marking out his territory again than being interrogated.

  What was going on with this case? They had one corpse – Fannie Binetti – was that it? Were there going to be more? What were the broken heart and initials about? And why carve it on her abdomen? Was GH the killer’s initials? Who was the father of Fannie’s baby? Why was it hushed up? Was it even connected to her murder?

  There were far too many questions again. Maybe tomorrow they’d start getting some answers. He wasn’t looking forward to renewing his relationship with Redbridge Council staff again.

  ***

  Owen Roberts International Airport,

  Grand Cayman, Greater Antilles

  It was quarter to ten in the evening by the time they walked out of the airport. He was glad there was no time difference between Colombia and the Cayman Islands that they had to adjust to.

  He hailed a taxi.

  ‘Caribbean Club,’ he told the driver, and it wasn’t long before they’d navigated through George Town and were weaving their way towards Seven Mile Beach along the Esterly Tibbetts Highway.

  The driver initiated conversation. ‘You folks on holiday?’

  ‘No.’ Oscar wasn’t in the mood to tell a stranger his business.

  Rosibel stared out of the window as she had done since boarding the plane at Medellín.

  The driver gave up.

  They arrived at the hotel at ten thirty. After booking in and ordering sandwiches, the busboy showed them to their rooms on the top floor overlooking the sea.

  On the way up in the lift he said to Rosibel, ‘We’ll meet in the restaurant for breakfast at nine-thirty.’

  She gave a slight nod.

  Oscar tipped the busboy twenty dollars.

  ‘Hey! Thanks, Mister.’

  He gave half a smile.

  Even though he’d dozed on the plane, he was tired now. Maybe he was prematurely aging.

  The room was the best available. It had a kitchen and dining area, a large plasma television surrounded by a white leather suite, a drinks bar, a four-poster bed in the bedroom, a marble-tiled bathroom, and a spacious balcony with white wicker furniture.

  There was a knock at the door.

  A white-jacketed waiter brought in a silver tray of prawn mayonnaise sandwiches.

  Oscar tipped him twenty dollars.

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  The two things he’d learnt about people above everything else was that most of them will do anything for money, and if you also treated them like human beings then they’d eat out of your hands.

  After stripping down to his boxers, he helped himself to a pineapple juice from the fridge under the bar, and took the tray of sandwiches onto the balcony. There was a slight breeze rustling in the palm trees and he could see the lights from a cruise ship on the horizon.

  Movement to the left caught his eye.

  Rosibel had opened the balcony door. It was at a slight angle and reflected the inside of her bedroom. She was standing naked in front of a mirror touching herself.

  Mother Teresa and all the saints in Christendom. He ignored the prawn mayonnaise sandwiches, but he couldn’t ignore his throbbing erection.

  His place in hell was assured – one more sin would make no difference to his penance. Watching Rosibel, he imagined that it was his hands touching her and that she was touching him.

  ***

  Ray began stroking her thigh. She had no idea with what, but hoped it was his hand.

  ‘There was a time, not too long ago I might add, when the only thing you used to take to bed with you was me.’

  She was trying to finish the chapter on “Duress” before switching off the light and going to sleep.

  ‘There was a time, not too long ago, when you used to wear revealing and very sexy satin nightdresses that I could get into without too much trouble. Now though, you seem to wear pyjamas like an old woman, and in my weakened condition I have great difficulty finding a way inside.’

  She dropped the heavy law book on her thighs.

  ‘I think you’ve broken the bones in my hand.’

  ‘You’re a dinosaur Raymond Kowalski.’

  ‘A very horny dinosaur.’

  ‘We have some things to discuss before I let you into my pyjamas.’

  ‘There was a time, not too long ago I might add, when your vocabulary in bed was very limited.’

  ‘That was before they took my children away.’

  ‘We’re back to that, are we? Our children are in their beds. Everything is right with the world.’

  ‘Everything is not right with the world, Ray. I’m a different woman now. I want more from my life.’

  ‘There was a time . . .’

  ‘Those times have gone. You have to support me in what I’m doing.’

  ‘I am. I will, but . . .’

  ‘No buts, and stop calling my mother Genghis Khan’s older sister.’

  ‘I have other names that I could use. What about Shelob? Black Widow? Or Lucrezia Borgia?’
r />   ‘None of those. Who’s Shelob?’

  ‘Don’t you remember the giant spider in Lord of the Rings.’

  ‘She is my mother, you know.’

  ‘I think you were swapped at birth. Your real mother is a nice old lady who lives in a gingerbread cottage surrounded by a white picket fence and flowers.’

  ‘I have a problem.’

  He began wrestling with the second button of her pyjamas. ‘You’ve come to the right department.’

  She pushed his hand away. ‘Not that type of problem.’

  ‘I’m equipped to deal with many sexual problems.’

  ‘Someone is trying to kill a woman I’ve been helping.’

  ‘Let’s not talk about work. Let’s talk amore, let’s talk about my hands caressing your body, let’s . . .’

  ‘This is important, Ray.’

  He sat up. ‘I can feel the moment fading into oblivion. Come on then. As long as you realise that one good turn deserves another.’

  ‘I have a good turn just waiting for you in my baggy pyjamas.’

  Ray licked his lips. ‘Okay, what do you want to tell me?’

  She told him about Lorna Boyce appearing at the office on Friday evening, about the woman’s story that someone was trying to kill her, about hiding her in the women’s refuge, and about Cookie’s investigations.’

  ‘As soon as she knocked on the office door you should have directed her to Woodford Green Police Station. They stay open until ten o’clock at night.’

  ‘She’d already been to the police. You lot are only interested when a crime has been committed.’

  ‘Oh, so now it’s my fault?’

  ‘More or less. I don’t trust the police anymore.’

  ‘I’m your husband. You trust me, don’t you?’

  ‘It depends on whether you’re going to help me or not.’

  ‘Whatever happened to unconditional love?’

  ‘It grew up. Are you going to help me?’

  ‘Help you do what?’

  ‘Save this woman’s life?’

  ‘I haven’t actually heard anything that would suggest this woman’s life is in danger. A fault with her gas cooker and a snapped brake pipe hardly constitutes evidence.’