Urge to Kill (1) (9 page)

Eppie had chosen the Parma ham to remind him of Italy, a large slice of spinach quiche, his favourite, rocket salad, little new potatoes, cherry tomatoes, and two of the crusty rolls from the Italian delicatessen. As she covered the plate with cling film, she wondered if he would get home at all.

The murder had been highlighted on the local and national news and, although the details were not given, the grave police superintendent had stated that the victim was a young woman in her early twenties. Matt was on the front line and would have had to view her body. Eppie felt a surge of pride that he and his team would be the ones who would catch the murderer.

After tidying the kitchen, Eppie went into the living room where the new scatter cushions were attempting a brave fight against the dullness. She felt at a loss as to what to do for the rest of the evening. She had spent many evenings like this, marooned in some impersonal hotel room, waiting for her dad to reach port, but then she had been kept busy planning and smoothing the way for the next leg of his journey.

There were port authorities to be dealt with, supplies to be ordered. Sometimes the local dignitaries, together with the public and the press, would be gathering, wanting to meet and greet him as a great conqueror of the seas. They had no idea how hard Eppie had to work to get him to make port on time. Dad would become side tracked by a school of dolphins or a Sabine’s gull and ignore Eppie’s frantic messages.

She looked at him smiling down at her from the mantelpiece and felt a wave of nostalgia for those times, a sudden emptiness, which this new marriage hadn’t yet expanded to fill. Eppie knew it would get better with time, unlike the time she and Mike were dumped on Aunt Sandra.

Auntie Sandra had been kind enough, taking payment in licence to rubbish Mum. Eppie found it difficult to listen to her criticisms, mostly because she knew they were spot on. Her Mum was both lazy and selfish. Life there was very different with its ordered routine, bed at nine thirty, sensible meals and clothes. Even the television was limited. Eppie could see that it was good for Mike who was engrossed in his A-levels, but it left her stuck with cousin Natalie, with whom she had to share a room.

At first, Natalie was kind, in a patronizing sort of way, but then she started the same party line as her Mother, such as that day when they were dressing to go to a school dance.

‘You aren’t going to wear that, are you?’ Natalie sneered.

‘Yes. Why not?’

‘I think you should be careful.’

‘Of what?’

‘Well…of looking…too old.’

‘You mean like my Mother?’

‘Mum says she always used to flaunt herself.’

Eppie looked at her image in the mirror. The skirt and blouse had been bought on one of the good days, when Mum was in an indulgent mood. Maybe the skirt was a little too short, at the least four inches shorter than Natalie’s. The bare midriff was all the rage and looked good on Eppie’s slim figure. ‘It’s fine. Come on, let’s go.’

Natalie’s warning that her Mother wouldn’t like it was correct and Eppie had been given the ultimatum to either change or stay in her room. Burning with hurt and fury she had elected to stay in.

At first, she threw herself on the bed and cried, and then when she had calmed down she had decided that she couldn’t live here any longer. She still had the money her Mum had left in lieu of love. The money was the last contact with Mum. She counted it out, over two hundred pounds. Surely that would get her to where Dad was. Either she would persuade him to come home or she would stay with him.

Now, she was older and married to Matt, so it wasn’t an option to run back to Dad. She had made her choice. And the timing had been right. Eppie had begun to feel a yearning restlessness, as if there had to be something other than the constant round of exotic ports, embassy parties, and the like.

She smiled at the thought of her dad coping with Isabella, the strong-minded young woman from Porto Rica, who had stepped into her shoes. Maybe it was good that he was only planning to finish this latest trip before hooking up with his old friend and former sailing partner, Howie Grace. Together they planned to open a yachting business on the island of Maui.

On an impulse, she picked up the phone, needing to hear her dad’s voice, and trying to remember where he would be. If he had put to sea already, then he could be fighting stormy seas, sleeping, or busy making repairs; he could even be aloft.

But there was just a chance he might still be in Porto Rica picking up Isabella. Eppie started to dial without thinking, but then realised that this was Matt’s landline. His, like everything else here. He wouldn’t be very pleased to have an international call on the bill.

Eppie got out her mobile only to find it needed charging. Throwing it on the couch, she reached for the landline again. Damn Matt, he would have to put up with it.

‘Dad?’ Eppie could hardly hear the familiar voice due to the static and the amount of noise in the background. It sounded as if Dad was in the middle of a party.

‘Hey. There’s a surprise. How’s the old married lady then? Hold on and I’ll lose the racket.’

Eppie waited listening to the sounds. The music sounded live, and the beat of a drum stopped as someone called out.

‘Pedro—do not go.’

She heard her Dad reply, ‘back in a minute.’

She realised that that was all she was to him now—a brief interval in the real business of life. He had always thrown himself into getting to know the local people wherever he went. He enjoyed being part of their lives, joining in their celebrations and, at times, their sorrows, and although she found it interesting, she never had gained the easy rapport he immediately established. For a moment the sense of loss intensified.

‘Don’t tell me he’s beating you already?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘I knew he wouldn’t take my advice.’

‘Dad.’

‘Making a rod for his own back. I did warn him.’

Eppie didn’t want to talk about Matt. ‘Sounds like you’re having fun.’ She heard the longing in her voice even as she said it.

‘Isabella’s family is giving her a big send off. That’s all.’

There was a pause as Eppie sought to say anything rather than how she was feeling. She was so used to being there at his side where communication was so easy and natural not at the end of a telephone.

‘While you’re in rainy old England with a strange man.’

Trust Dad to pick up on how she was feeling. ‘It’s sunny and, yes, it’s strange getting used to Matt, especially after you.’

‘Oh, blaming me are you?’

‘Definitely.’

‘It just takes time.’

‘I know. He’s on a murder case.’

‘That’s bad luck but it won’t last forever, Lass.’

‘I know. It’s just this flat feels so…so his.’

‘You didn’t expect the poor man to put up frilly curtains in your honour did you?’

‘Of course not. I hate frills.’

‘You’ll grow into it—change things gradually. Together.’

Eppie was thinking she didn’t want to grow into it at all. And she wasn’t sure Matt saw the need to change a thing, but before she could tell her dad, she heard someone calling him.

‘Señor. The mamma she come.’

‘Oh God. Eppie, can I call you back.’

‘Yes of course. Dad, who is Mamma?’

‘Isabella’s grandmother. Apparently I have to be fully inspected and passed by her before the family will let Isabella come with me. She’s sounds worse than the Godfather so wish me luck.’

‘You’ll be fine.’

‘That’s not all—if I survive the matriarch, tomorrow the whole village is turning out, led by the priest, to bless the Mary Lee. Can you imagine that—after all the storms she’s weathered? I hope she doesn’t take umbrage and bring us bad luck.’

Eppie laughed, not knowing quite how to say how much she missed him.

‘It’s not that glamorous, Epp. I’ll be seasick before I start out in the morning with all the homemade grog they are forcing on me. And you know how I get on the morning after.’

‘Rather Isabella than me then.’

‘You should see her face. I shall probably be teetotal in a couple of weeks.’

‘Good luck to her then.’

‘Honestly, Epp, you’ve got a lot going for you there. Us blokes find it harder to change. Give him time.’

As she put down the phone Eppie knew he was right. Men resist changing what they see as working well for them. Matt would just expect her to fit in.

Feeling cold Eppie hunted for the central heating controls. They were in the airing cupboard, but she wasn’t sure which buttons or dials to move. Giving up she decided to curl up in bed with her new Phillipa Gregory book and let herself be transported to medieval England.

Tomorrow she would talk to Matt and find out how to work the heating. And she would tell him about her job. Surely he would realise she couldn’t stay cooped up in the flat forever.

CHAPTER 14

B
ack at headquarters, Matt watched as his tired team settled into the incident room for a summing up. He was proud of all of them, from the newest uniform police constable to Fluff and Sam. Each one had brought his or her own skill and dedication to the task that faced them.

Sam was already starting the Incident Board as Matt stepped to the front. ‘I don’t intend to keep you long. I’ll just run through a brief outline of the information we have to date. And to say, although it has been a difficult day, I couldn’t ask for a better team.’

He paused as Sam placed a smiling picture of Amy Metcalfe in the centre of the board.

‘Amy Metcalfe, aged twenty-one. She worked at Timkins Solicitors as a clerk. Amy lived with her friend, Jodi Brown, who also works at Timkins. No known history of involvement with drugs, no steady boyfriend. Parents live in Leeds. They report, as far as they know, she lived an apparently normal life there. She had left home at nineteen to live with her college friend, Jodi, in Southam.’

Matt found the next piece of information upsetting as he imagined how her parents were feeling right now. ‘Amy’s visit to the spa was a twenty-first-birthday gift from her parents. Slim’s initial diagnosis is that Amy was killed by pressure applied to the jugular and carotid arteries, the vagus nerves, at the same time, causing the heart to stop. So we have no blood trace to go on.’

He could see shock on the faces of some of the team and guessed Sam had put up photos of Amy’s body in situ. For some it was their first murder case, and it was going to be a difficult one, unlike his, which had been sad and brutal, but which hadn’t had the strange overtones of this one.

Matt was just starting to run through the forensic evidence when McRay slid into the back of the room. He hoped McRay could see the need to encourage rather than berate the team, and in an effort to keep him onside, Matt nodded towards him for permission to carry on. McRay nodded his assent.

‘We think this is where the killer hid the items he used.’ Matt indicated a photo of the heating panel. ‘Unfortunately, Jason is pretty sure that he—and no, I haven’t ruled out the ladies—wore gloves. In fact, it seems we are dealing with a very careful killer who plans well. We think he put the white robe Amy was wearing into the linen tub at the end of the corridor. This was taken away about twenty minutes later, and we were too late to stop it entering the laundry system.’

‘Do we know yet what the killer was wearing, Sir?’ Grant called out from the back.

Why did everything the man said sound insolent? Matt looked across to the dark, gaunt figure, standing with his arms crossed at the back of the room.

The DI had been foisted on them from another division two years ago. The rumours and gossip about him had been rife at the time. Matt tried not to let them get in the way of a working relationship, but he disliked the man. Being several years older than Matt he was inclined to question his decisions. Matt worked hard not to let the man’s attitude affect him and, where possible, made sure he did not have to work directly with him. On a case like this, it would be difficult, since they needed everyone’s input.

Matt ignored Grant’s tone. ‘We think the murderer will have made sure he blended in. Given the amount of white robes and other uniforms, he would find it easy to pass unnoticed. If, for instance, he wore a white therapist’s suit, he could have placed it in the same laundry tub.’ Matt waited for a moment in case there were any other questions before continuing. ‘Amy’s clothes were found in a locker in the day guest’s area. These have been identified by Miss Brown and are with forensics. As are the white robes we collected from those guests who were in the immediate area.’

‘So why the kooky kid’s things, Guv?’ Sam asked.

Matt looked at the board, then back at his team before replying. ‘If we knew the answer to that one, we might be closer to catching our murderer.’

‘Maybe he just likes them young,’ Grant interrupted again.

‘Except there appears to be no evidence of sexual activity.’ Matt paused to see if Grant had a useful comment, but he was silent. ‘As you can see, the victim was dressed like a young girl at a party. Also found with the body was a doll,’ Matt said, pointing to a blown-up picture, ‘a lollipop and, in the folds of the dress, a toy soldier.’

He heard a slight murmur ripple through the team and waited for it to end before continuing. ‘All of these items are with forensics. Meanwhile, PC Harrison and her team, will be working hard to establish where these items came from.’

Wendy Harrison gave an embarrassed nod of acknowledgement and returned to her computer screen. Matt moved back to sit on the edge of a desk as Fluff went through those guests and staff who had been highlighted during questioning.

‘So, at the moment, we have no suspects to add to the board. But it is likely that the murderer was posing as either a guest or a staff member at the club, and we will have interviewed him. These interviews will be analysed and cross checked by DI Grant.’

‘As soon as I get them.’

The man’s tone was belligerent and suggested that he was usually kept waiting for his information.

Fluff was not rising to his taunt and merely gave a brief nod in Grant’s direction.