Urge to Kill (1) (15 page)

‘Yes. Mother did say what a pleasant young lady you were. She said I should invite you to tea.’

‘Oh how lovely,’ Anne simpered, ‘but I thought it was lunch?’

‘You’re right. I’m looking forward to it.’ Lying was so easy. You simply told someone what they wanted to hear, just like the politicians. He watched as she preened, putting up her hand to check her hair while glancing slyly around to see if Ben was watching. ‘I’ll check with Mother as to a time.’ He stopped himself saying ‘date’ deliberately, not wanting to give her too much satisfaction.

Now she should be satisfied and could leave. Clive rose, intending to act the gentleman and open the door for her, but she remained seated, dropping her eyes demurely. He waited.

‘There is something else, Clive. It is a little delicate and I only speak because I do not want your mother to be upset.’

‘Then you must tell me, of course.’

‘Please forgive me, but I am just a little concerned.’

The damn cheek of her. Was she going to tell him how to look after his own Mother? ‘Anne you know you can tell me anything.’

‘Of course, it is none of my business…’

She was certainly right there.

‘And you do a simply marvellous job of looking after her.’

Would she ever stop rambling?

She took a deep breath. ‘I’m just a little worried that your Mother would be upset if she knew of your friendship with Ben.’

Clive was so aghast he just stared at her. The little cat had sharp claws. If the outer office had been empty, she would have been dead at his feet. But several people had now arrived and there was a noisy buzz as they greeted each other and settled into work. Dead she certainly would be, but he would choose the how and when. Right now he had to play her game. Let her think she had the upper hand.

‘My friendship with Ben?’

‘It is becoming rather noticeable.’

He went over the few weeks since their first drink together and could recall nothing in his behaviour or Ben’s to warrant Anne’s ravings. ‘Why should having a drink with a colleague be a problem for anyone, let alone my Mother?’

‘Oh, Clive. You are such an innocent. Ben is not—he is an American. You mustn’t let him lead you astray. Once he knows we are together, he will leave you alone. Then your Mother or anyone else will never need to know.’

God, how desperate must she be. To get her own way, she was willing to highlight his and Ben’s flowering friendship, to his Mother and the entire office. She was now no longer just a nuisance but an imminent danger, one that needed sorting and fast. He needed time to think. Clive switched back into caring mode.

‘Oh, Anne. It is you who are the little innocent. Why I hardly notice anyone else when you are in the office.’

Her dull face lit up for a moment with a brilliant smile. She thought she had won. She thought she had him where she wanted. She would learn differently.

He walked around the desk and, taking her hand, led her towards the door. ‘Let’s get together soon and chat about it. How about I sort out a time and come back to you?’ He opened the door for her to pass triumphantly out. Her triumph wouldn’t last long. He would make sure of that.

Sitting down at his desk, he began thinking of how he could get rid of her for good. Until, having ruled out a variety of ideas, he gave up and, forgoing his lunch, drove up to the health spa, past the bored uniformed officers sitting in their panda car at the end of the drive to keep the few hopeful journalists at bay, whilst letting him through with hardly a glance.

News coverage on his first statement was fading, but the reporters shouldn’t worry as he intended to provide them with more headlines soon.

He was pleased to see both the new Mrs Turrell and the always-cheerful Sandi on duty. Clive waited until Sandi was dealing with a guest before he moved towards the reception desk so he could renew his acquaintance with Eppie. He smiled what he knew was his rather boyish smile and stepped forward to explain mother’s problem. The perfect son, concerned for his mother’s welfare.

He chatted with Eppie and made her laugh. If he was going to use her to get to DI Turrell, he needed her relaxed and friendly. While they waited for Sandi’s advice, he let his gaze wander to the entrance of the dining room.

A small group of people had gathered waiting for the doors to be flung open ceremoniously by Anton the Maitre D’. They had that anxious look of smokers, eager to get the basics over with and go back to their first love. Clive had relied on that, since he needed to place his props in the smoker’s tent, and this would be the best time.

He turned back to Eppie as Sandi joined her. Soon, it was all arranged. Mother would see Mrs Mooney, who apparently was a kindly, middle-aged woman who would be very sensitive with dear Mother. More importantly, he made a mental note of the hours the new therapists worked.

Sandi said she would leave a little note for Mrs Mooney to say they would be calling in. Then he wondered aloud if he should bring Mother to dinner that evening to give her a treat to combine with meeting Mrs Mooney. Both Sandi and Eppie thought this would be a lovely idea, and they were duly booked in for dinner on Saturday at seven.

He made to walk away, and then stopped to check his watch before heading towards the toilet. He wanted it to look as if he had decided to freshen up before leaving for an important business meeting. Rather pleased with himself, he allowed a small smile of satisfaction to reach his face. He had the distinct impression that his halo was very firmly in place.

Leaving from the side door, it only took him a minute to take the props from his briefcase and stow them safely in position.

He had also decided who was to have the honour of being the centrepiece in his next statement.

CHAPTER 20

M
att walked away blinded by anger. He wished he was on the rugby field and could find release in pure and cathartic action, but that wasn’t an option.
Damn Eppie
. Why couldn’t she understand that having her at the scene of his murder enquiry would distract him? He couldn’t bear to think of her in danger, and until this killer was locked up, every woman would be, including Eppie. Matt was very tempted to go back and order Eppie to go home.

Before he had a chance to move, Fluff caught up with him.

‘That’s the last of them, Guv.’

‘Anything?’

‘No. Strange really, no one seems to be hiding anything. There’s usually one or two pinching the towels or something. But not a tweet of guilt.’

Before Matt could reply, Sam arrived.

‘There’s one maintenance bloke, Pat O’Neil. He’s in Ireland for his sister’s wedding. Off from Tuesday and not back till Saturday. Be a good knees up I guess.’ Sam sounded wistful.

‘His background?’

‘Nothing on the radar. Solid family man according to his mates.’

‘Right. If there are no special concerns about him, we’ll check him out Saturday. We’re starting to get some earache about us being here.’

‘Disrupting guests so I’ve heard,’ Fluff interrupted. ‘I would have thought it would be an advantage to have all you good-looking men about. Sam excepted of course.’

Matt stepped in before Sam could retaliate. ‘Not as Management sees it. Jason still needs to be here, but let’s head back to the office. Round up the others, Sam.’

Sam nodded and moved away.

Fluff looked at Matt. ‘Prof still getting to you?’

Matt realised that he couldn’t hide his feelings from Fluff. Her antenna was too finely tuned. One of the reasons she made such an excellent detective. He knew he had too many questions about himself and Eppie to externalise any of them at this point so he fobbed Fluff off.

‘He was full of his own self-importance as usual. But I’m used to it by now.’

Fluff nodded and accepted what he said, but Matt knew she had put one of her mental ticks against it and would not let it go until she had worked it out. At least for now she had backed off.

Back at the office, Matt sighed at the pile of reports waiting for him. He had already been verbally given most of the information. He selected a file from the forensic team and skimmed through it. Jason had caught up with him earlier to say that the model soldier—Matt had duly noted the word
model
and not toy—was made in England by Frederick Smith and Sons about sixty years before. It looked very much as if it was part of a collection.

Sam came in just as he finished reading, and Matt pushed the file across the desk towards him. ‘If he’s trying to make us understand what he went through, why a soldier? Was he in the army?’

Sam looked up from the file. ‘If it’s this old, wouldn’t it belong to his granddad, or even dad I suppose? Could be one of those obsessive sorts who meet up and re-stage battles and things. They take it really seriously too.’

Matt rose and started to pace the room. ‘What sort of person,’ he paused searching for another word but gave up in the end, ‘plays with these damn things?’ Matt held up the evidence bag in which the soldier was ensconced.

‘Silly, old balding blokes,’ Fluff answered as she entered the room, qualifying her answer due to the look from Matt. ‘Military men? Ones who can’t do the real thing anymore?’

Sam frowned. ‘You think in the past they might have been in the forces?’

‘Yes.’

‘They’re more likely to be your clever, nerdy type now. They re-enact all the old battles. Dunno why. Doesn’t make sense if you know who won anyway, does it?’

Fluff had moved forward to the desk and was scanning the report. ‘But these are ancient.’

‘So they could have been passed down, father to son, or grandson. And according to the amount of dust on this little fellow, it’s now owned by someone who isn’t interested,’ Matt said.

‘So our murderer has either a military figure or a nerdy type in his family. Doesn’t help us much, does it?’ Fluff summarised.

Matt was aware that he held dozens of strings in his hands like reins. He needed to decide which reins to tighten, which to drop. Choose the wrong lead to follow and someone else might die. The decisions he made were vital, and he was aware that he was working against the clock if he was to stop a further murder. Unless the murderer had placed the model soldier on the body to send them down a blind alley, it had to be important.

‘Sam,’ Matt said, making up his mind, ‘see what you can find out about this little fellow.’ He passed the bag containing the soldier over to Sam. ‘Re-enactment societies, where you would buy, collections, etc. The works.’

Taking the bag, Sam held it up and tried for an American drawl. ‘OK little fellow you’re coming with me. And no arguments—OK buddy?’

It was nearly five p.m. as Matt watched his team wearily settle into place for a briefing. Even the usually effervescent Sam had dark circles under his eyes. Matt knew every member of the team was working flat out and guessed they were looking forward to a few hours at home with the family or a pint down the local with time to catch up with all the latest football news.

Down time was the oil that helped to keep the team working the long hours they ungrudgingly put in on a case like this. He knew he would need to keep them motivated and focused. It was his job to stop them getting dispirited when the long, hard slog seemed to be getting them nowhere. Matt was probably the only one who wasn’t looking forward to going home—the pull of his favourite chair and an hour or two of rugby on the box was negated by uncertainty on how to be with Eppie.

As Sam finished, Matt straightened up and moved to stand in front of the incident board. He made sure he stood tall with his shoulders back in an effort to create an air of confidence he was far from feeling, glad at least that they’d had some response from the TV appeal.

‘Thanks for all the hard work.’ Matt made sure his gaze included everyone in the room. ‘This murderer thinks he is clever. He plans everything carefully. However, as we know, there will always be something he has overlooked, a small mistake. For example, we are already getting calls from the public in the doll appeal. And while there is nothing yet to take us forward, I am confident it will come. We can and will find that mistake before he can kill again.’

CHAPTER 21

B
y the time Clive arrived back to the office, he was still trying to work out how to rid himself permanently of dear Anne. He knew he couldn’t use her in one of his statements. Her demise needed to look like an accident or suicide, and he must be sure he provided himself with a foolproof alibi. He didn’t fancy facing that smart DS again unless he had completely covered his tracks.

As he entered the office, it was strangely quiet. Gloria was a lone sentry keeping the world at bay.

‘Thank goodness. I’m dying to go to the loo.’

‘Off you go then.’

‘Thanks. Aren’t you going to the do?’

‘Do?’

‘Artie’s. He’s treating everyone to lunch at Pizza Express. His way of making up for being one of the most miserable bosses ever.’

‘No. I’ve got a deadline on the Foster account. I’ll hold the fort if you want to go.’

‘Clive, you are my hero. I’d really hate to miss a free lunch, especially off that old bugger. He owes me.’