Vampire Wake (Kiera Hudson Series #2) (3 page)

Taking her by the arm, I led her into the kitchen, and she pointed to the spot on the windowsill where she had last seen her wedding ring. The window was open and a breeze blew in and cooled the stuffy kitchen. I lent forward and inspected the area where she said she had left her wedding ring.

“Mrs. Lovelace, can you remember if the window was open last Thursday?” I asked her.

“Now let me see,” she said, and scratched her grey wispy hair with her gnarled fingers. “Yes, it would have been. I always have the window open in the warm weather.”

“Can I take a look outside?” I asked her.

“Outside?” she said, eyeing me with curiosity. “What ever for?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I smiled at her. “I’m just nosey like that.”

“Go right ahead, my dear,” she said, and shuffled behind me to the kitchen door.

Stepping into the small garden, I could see a pretty-looking flowerbed in the earth directly under her window. Kneeling down, I brushed my fingertips over the Lavender that grew there.

“You’re an excellent gardener,” I said, gently pushing the plants aside so I could inspect the earth.

“Oh it’s not down to me, a local man comes in twice a week and does it all for me,” she said. “He’s a terrific chap.”

I had seen enough, so standing straight, I asked, “When was your gardener last here?”

“Let me see,” she said, and scratched her hair again. “Last week sometime, I think.”

“Nice is he?” I asked her.

“He’s a lovely man,” she said.

“What’s his name?”

“Dave-something-or-other,” she smiled. “I can’t remember, and I only spoke to him this morning.”

“How come?”

“He telephoned to ask if I wanted him to get me some more Fuschias. Apparently they’re on sale at the gardening centre,” she told me.

“You don’t have an address for him, do you?” I asked.

“It’s written down somewhere,” she said, shuffling back into the house. “Now let me see…where did I put it?”

Following her into the kitchen, I watched as she picked up a tatty-looking handbag. Pawing through it she said, “I’m sure it’s in here somewhere – he gave me one of these little card things with his number on it. Oh dear, I can’t seem to find it now.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Lovelace,” I assured her, then walked into the hallway where the telephone sat on a small round table. Anyone else called you today?” I asked over my shoulder.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said back from the kitchen.

Lifting the receiver, I pressed the ‘last caller’ button and made a note of the number. Going back into the kitchen, the old woman was still rummaging through her bag.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Lovelace. It wasn’t important,” I told her.

“Why did you want it?” she asked.

“My garden is a bit overgrown and I could do with a gardener, that was all.” Then changing the subject, I added, “Have you got a picture of your wedding ring?”

Trundling back into the living room, she took a picture from the mantelpiece and handed it to me.

“That’s me and Frank,” she said. “One of the last pictures we had taken together,” and I noticed her pale blue eyes begin to water.

In the picture she had her arms around her husband, both of them frail-looking but happy. Her left hand rested against Frank’s arm, and I could clearly see her missing wedding ring. It was gold, with a yellow transparent-looking stone set into it. I guessed that the stone was citrine. On either side of the stone sat a cluster of tiny diamonds.

“It certainly is a beautiful ring,” I told her.

“Will you be able to find it?” she asked, her voice wavering.

“I’ll do my best,” I said, taking her hand. “Can I hold onto this picture for a couple of days?”

“Yes, but why?” she asked, giving me that curious stare again.

“Oh it’s just a hunch.”

“Ok, if you think it will help, although I don’t see how,” she said, easing herself back down into her arm chair.

“I’ll be back in a day or two,” I told her, heading for the door. “I’ll see myself out.”

Climbing into my beat-up old Mini, I headed straight into town. Parking, I went to the local pawnbrokers. With picture in hand, I peered in through the windows, and there sitting on display, was Mrs. Lovelace’s wedding ring. Without my badge, I would never be able to seize the ring from the owner of the shop, so heading across the street to a nearby Starbucks, I called the only person that I had stayed in contact with since being
temporarily
relieved of my duties – while I was mentally evaluated by Doctor Keats.

Constable John Miles had joined the police force at the same time as me and not being the brightest of recruits he had soon acquired the nickname ‘Sparky’. But John was a sweet guy, dependable, and a loyal friend. Whereas my other fellow recruits had given up on me, Sparky had stayed in touch. He had been my lifeline back to the police, just updating me with gossip really, but it helped me maintain some kind of contact with the job that I longed to go back to. Sparky had never asked me about the ‘vampire thing’ which had caused so many raised eyebrows, sniggers, and condemnation amongst my peers. In fact, John had been pretty cool, and on the odd occasion that I had needed some information regarding my own enquiries, he had put his job on the line and run checks on the police computers for me. I knew that John wanted more than friendship, but I didn’t have those kinds of feelings for him. The only feelings that I had for anyone like that was Luke, and I couldn’t even be sure what they were anymore. But in return for the odd piece of information that John gave me to assist in one of my cases, I would sometimes cook him dinner or take him to the movies. John was awkward-looking, gangly, and shy and there was a part of me that I hated because I knew deep down I kind of used him. But knowing this didn’t stop me from calling him up and asking him for his help - again.

John was on a day off from work, and joined me in the coffee shop within half an hour of my phone call to him. Nervously kissing me on my cheek, he pulled up a chair and sat opposite me. For someone who was in their mid-twenties he still had a sprinkling of spots on his forehead and cheeks – giving him a constant flushed look. His eyes were a dull grey and his glasses always perched lopsided on the bridge of his nose, giving his whole head a slanted look.

“What is it this time?” he asked, almost sounding excited that I was including him on one of my cases.

“I need you to flash your badge for me,” I told him, with a smile, knowing that I wouldn’t have to work hard at getting him to help me out. I then told him about Mrs. Lovelace’s missing ring and how I’d found it sitting in the front window of the pawnbrokers across the street. I explained to him that without a badge, I would never be able to convince the owner to hand it over and get a look at the CCTV to see who it was that had brought the ring into the shop.

After finishing our coffees, I followed John across the street and into the pawnbrokers. Flipping his badge from his pocket, John spoke coolly to the owner and said, “I’m Constable Miles and this is Constable Hudson from Havensfield Police.” Without giving the owner the opportunity to ask to see my identification John had started to talk again. I was impressed.

“The ring in the window, the one with the yellow stone, we suspect has come from a burglary,” John said.

The owner, a smartly dressed man in his fifties with combed- back greying hair, looked back at John and said, “How can you be so sure?”

Producing the photograph given to me by Mrs. Lovelace, I waved it under the man’s nose and said, “This is how we know.”

Pulling a pair of spectacles from his suit pocket, he put them on and studied the picture.

“Take a look at the victim,” I said. “That could easily be your mother sitting in that picture. Is your mother still alive?” I asked him.

“Well, yes…” he started.

“Lucky you,” I cut in. “So she’s not alone then, like this poor woman. See the guy in the picture?”

The owner nodded.

“Well that was her husband. Married for best part of sixty years,” I told him. “But he died just six months ago and someone steals the wedding ring that he gave her. Now who would do a thing like that?”

“I don’t -” the owner said, but this time it was Sparky who cut in.

“So you don’t keep records of who you buy from?” and without waiting for the man’s reply, Sparky said, “That’s very remiss of you.”

Then looking around the shop at all the other display cabinets, I said, “So, if you don’t keep records or receipts, how can you be sure that none of this other stuff hasn’t be stolen? I guess we had better get a warrant and come back and seize the lot. What do you reckon, Constable Miles?”

“Gee, and there seems to be so many pretty items in this shop to go through,” Sparky said looking at owner. “It could take months to work our way through all this stuff – I mean this place could be closed down for God knows how long!”

“Okay, okay,” the man sighed. “He came in last Thursday with it.”

“Who did?” I asked.

“Didn’t give his name,” he said.

“CCTV?” John asked.

The man nodded.

“We’ll be taking that, and the ring,” I said, and held out my hand.

We drove back to my rented room, and while John fixed us both up with a mug of coffee and a sandwich, I watched the CCTV disc on my DVD player. There was a camera right above the counter and it gave a clear view of anyone that approached it. I sped through the disc to the previous Thursday. At 15:22 hours that day, my man came into the shop and produced Mrs. Lovelace’s ring.

“I have him!” I shouted over my shoulder at John.

After a quick call to the number I had taken from Mrs. Lovelace’s phone, I sat back in my favourite chair by the window, with John sitting opposite me, and we waited. Within half an hour, the buzzer on the door below sounded. Pressing the intercom button, I told the caller to come up. Leaving my door ajar, I went back to my seat. Moments later, a plump-looking middle-aged man, wearing overalls and muddy boots, stepped into my room. His hands were rough and dirty-looking, with mud under his fingernails.

“Mr. David Evans?” I asked, not getting up from my seat. “Owner of ‘Tidy Gardens’ who can be contacted via Tidy Gardens dot com, whose business address is fifteen Hayfields Road, Havensfield?”

“Why, yes,” he said, looking at both me and Sparky. “You called me about some gardening that you need done?”

“That’s correct,” I said, not taking my eyes from his.

“But I don’t understand,” he said, scratching his untidy hair, “you live in a flat – you don’t have a garden.”

“No, I just like watching people dig themselves holes,” I said back at him.

Looking at me totally confused, Evans said, “Is this some kind of joke?”

Placing Mrs. Lovelace’s wedding ring onto the small coffee table that sat between Sparky and me, I said, “I don’t think stealing from a seventy-eight-year-old woman is a joke.”

The gardener looked down at the ring then back at me, his face white – the colour of paper. He opened and closed his mouth like a drowning fish.

“What have you got to say about that?” I asked him.

“‘I-I don’t know…” he stammered. “I’ve never seen it before.”

Snatching up the ring, I said, “Have it your way, Mr. Evans, but this gentleman over here is a police officer and is ready to take you into custody.”

Hearing this, Evans dropped to his knees at my feet and gripped my ankles.

“Please, I beg you!” he cried. “This will ruin me – my family and my business!”

Kicking him away, I shouted, “Pull yourself together, man. It’s only yourself you have to blame for the situation that you now find yourself in. You have tears of pity in your eyes, now that you have been caught – but where were your tears for Mrs. Lovelace?”

Still on his knees, Evans looked at me and, through his tears, he said, “I’m so sorry. I have been a fool. These last few months or more have been difficult for me. What with the credit crunch, most of my business has dried up. People can’t afford to have their gardens tended to by me. It’s a luxury that most people can now ill afford.”

Showing him no pity, I said, “And so it is hard for millions of people up and down the length of the country, but do they all take to stealing from the elderly to supplement their wages?”

Sniffing, the man wiped his eyes with his dirty hands. “No they don’t – but you must understand, I was desperate. Never before have I stolen anything. But I am behind with my mortgage and the bank is close to repossessing my home. My wife and children will be thrown out onto the street.”

I didn’t doubt that what Evans was telling me was the truth. I could tell that he was no hardened criminal, but still, I was angry with him for what he had done to Mrs. Lovelace. I looked at him; he was pathetic and a very small part of me felt sorry for him.

“Get up!” I snapped at him.

Like an obedient child, Evans stood, while Sparky and me remained seated. Then wringing his hands together, he looked at me and asked, “How did you know I had taken it? What led you to me?”

“Mrs. Lovelace contacted me as I am in the occasional business of solving…how can I put it? Little problems for people. I got her to work backwards in her mind and remember exactly where she had last seen it. She led me to the kitchen windowsill, where she had removed it last Thursday so she could wash the dishes. After a very brief examination of the windowsill, I could clearly see one muddy fingerprint, which suggested that it had been taken by someone with dirty hands. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to have worked out that someone who spent much of their time with their hands in soil had removed it. After examining the flowerbed beneath the kitchen window, I found boot prints in the earth.”

“But of course my foot marks would be there, I’m her gardener,” Evans sniffled.

“You do a lot of your work standing on tiptoe, do you?” I asked him. “There were a set of prints that showed you had been standing on tiptoe just beneath her window. This is where you stood and reached in and took the ring.”

“But…but,” he said sounding astounded. “How did you find the ring?”

“The fact that Mrs. Lovelace didn’t report any other missing valuables, suggests to me that this was a crime of impulse. Just as you have told us, you are struggling financially and on seeing the ring, you saw a way of solving your problems – albeit a mere quick fix. But you weren’t thinking of the long-term consequences or of the outcome should you be caught for your crime. I knew that this theft was a crime of impulse – to make a quick buck, dare I say. Therefore you would want to get rid of the ring as quickly as possible and convert it into some cash. You wouldn’t sell it to friends – they would have wondered where you had come by it – no, you are an amateur – you don’t mix in criminal circles and wouldn’t know anyone to pass it to. So needing the money quickly, you took it to the only place in town that would be interested in buying such an item – the pawnbrokers. So that was the next stop and there was the ring. You were smart enough not to leave your details, but the CCTV proves that it was you.” Then smiling at him wryly, I added, “The chain of events weren’t very hard to follow.”