Faithfully: Chase & Halshaw #1 (8 page)

“Hello Amy. This is Detective Inspector Allen Chase. Please
call me as soon as you can. You’ve got my number, I know. Thank you.”

He ended the call and turned to Dinah. “Thanks for setting
up the interviews today,” he said.

“My pleasure,” she smiled. “I’ll arrange the rest for
tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“Who do you still need to see?”

“Lorna Hilton, for sure. The last of the Sandersons team –
Priyanka, I think she’s called. Dave Kelmarsh, if he’s back. I’d like to see
Paul McKinley again, and Bryn Lewis too, if he’s around. And Amy Birkdale, of
course.”

“Leave it with me, Inspector. Oh, I’ve just remembered.
Amy’s on holiday tomorrow.”

“Holiday?”

“Yes. Bryn let her take the day off. You know, to get over
what happened.”

“Is she going away, do you know?”

“No idea, Inspector. Sorry.”

“Not to worry,” replied Chase. “I’ll hang around for a while
and see if I can catch her. If that’s OK?”

“Of course. Can I get you some more coffee?”

“No thanks, Ms
Rodway
.”

“OK.” He smiled awkwardly. She smiled back.

“Have you worked here long, Ms
Rodway
?”

“Only a couple of years. And please call me Di, Inspector.
I’m not a suspect, after all, am I?

“Of course not, er, Di. Did you say you’re quite new here?”

“I’ve been here, oh, coming up for two years now. Bryn took
me on as a temp while his PA was on maternity leave. Then she decided not to
come back, and I was lucky enough to get the job on a permanent contract.”

“Lucky?”

“It’s hard enough to get a permanent job anywhere these
days, Inspector, let alone a plum job like this.”

“Enjoy it, do you?”

“Yeah. Bryn’s a brilliant boss. Anyone would love to work
for him. I mean, it’s hard work sometimes, keeping track of his movements and
all, but he always makes a point of thanking me when I’ve done something
special. He compliments me when I wear something new. Do you know, he even
bought me flowers on my birthday?”

“I can’t imagine Chief Superintendent Royce buying me
flowers on my birthday,” laughed Chase.

Dinah
Rodway
chuckled.

At that moment his phone rang. An unmistakeable Hammond
organ riff, loping and insistent. He answered it, hoping it was Amy.

“Chase speaking,” he snapped.

“Hello, Sir,” replied a familiar voice. “It’s Clifford
here.”

“Hello, Sergeant. What’s up?”

“Are you able to get down to River Road right away?”

“I can be with you in ten minutes or so, probably. Why?”

“It’s that woman who was murdered last night, Sir. A member
of the public’s just handed in a handbag. We think it might be hers.”

The first thing Chase saw when he entered Chief
Superintendent Royce’s office was My Lady’s white leather Gucci handbag,
standing proudly on his desk, wrapped in a large plastic evidence bag.

Royce himself was standing by the window, deep in
conversation with a heavy-set, fair-haired woman in a navy skirt suit who Chase
recognised as Detective Chief Inspector Sandra Hopkins.

“Who found the handbag?” asked Chase.

Royce turned. “A Mrs
Gartside
,” he
replied, with a humourless smile. “She was walking her dog in the park and
found it under a hedge.”

“Anything in it?”

“A purse, with credit cards and documents. No cash, though.
A bunch of keys. A handful of clothes pegs, though God knows what for.”

“No phone?”

Royce shook his head.

“Sergeant Clifford said it might be connected with the murder
in Chiltern Park last night,” prompted Chase.

“Yes, Allen. It almost certainly is. The credit cards are in
two names, you see. One is Lucy Faith, the name you found on the dead woman’s
business cards. The other is Lucy Kelmarsh.”

Hopkins looked round. “Lucy Kelmarsh is my missing person,”
she said. “I spent half the morning with her husband.”

“He’s not called David, by any chance, is he?”

Her overly plucked eyebrows shot up. “Yes he is, as a matter
of fact. Do you know him?”

“No I don’t. But Dave Kelmarsh is one of the people I want
to interview at Logistical about the last Chiltern Park break in,” said Chase.
“You know, Sir, the copycat,” he added, as Royce narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, of course,” Royce replied quickly. “So you see, Allen,
I’m on the horns of a dilemma. Do you want to take over Sandra’s missing person
case? Or have you got enough on your plate already with the Chiltern Park
break-ins? Especially with Sergeant Thomas out of action.”

“I’d like to take it,” Chase said.

Royce looked surprised. “What about your workload?” he
asked.

“It shouldn’t be too bad. I’m pretty sure I know who
committed the break-in at Amy Birkdale’s. And anyway, I think I was the last
person to see Lucy Faith alive.”

“Other than her killer, you mean?” observed Sandra Hopkins,
sardonically.

Royce smiled. “Sounds good to me, Allen,” he said. “Are you
OK with that, Sandra?”

She shrugged. “It lets us concentrate on the cigarette
smuggling, I suppose,” she said, flatly. “And I’m more than happy to let Al be
the bearer of bad news to her husband.”

Chase smiled ironically. “Thanks, Sandra.”

“Anything from the house to house?” asked Royce.

“Nothing so far,” Chase replied. “Has anyone said anything
to the press, Sir?”

“Nothing yet. Once we’ve confirmed her ID we should put out
a press release, I suppose.”

Naturally, Chase said to himself. “Can I make a suggestion?”
he asked.

“Of course, Allen.”

“Don’t mention her, er, erotic sideline. Just imagine the
sensational stories.”

Sandra Hopkins harrumphed.

“I agree,” said Royce. “It’ll only make it even harder on
her family.”

“Bring me Hitchins!” ordered Chase. “I want to talk to him
once more before I have to let him go.” I wish I could find a way to get
through to him, he added silently.

The desk Sergeant, a solid black man greying at the temples,
looked faintly puzzled. “But he’s in an interview room already, Sir.”

“Why...? Oh, never mind. Which one, Cliff?”

“Room Two.”

“Thanks.”

“Sir, I think you should...”

But Chase had already swept off towards the interview rooms.

In the corridor he stopped, puzzled to hear the sound of
laughter. Shouts, sobs, and slammed doors were the usual soundtrack. Calm
conversation was the best he could hope for. He had never, ever heard laughter from
the interview rooms. Not since the Christmas party, a couple of years before,
when two uniformed officers decided to put the table in Room Three to
unconventional use, but forgot to turn off the CCTV camera first.

He flung open the door to Interview Room 2. Darren Hitchins
slouched in the chair facing him, a broad smile across his face, which quickly
faded when he saw Chase.

The person opposite Hitchins turned. She was a striking
young woman, athletically built, with a swimmer’s broad shoulders, dressed in a
long, multi-coloured sweater and black leggings. Her thick dark hair was neatly
cut in an asymmetric bob. Her bottle green eyes lit up when she saw Chase, and
she sprang to her feet, towering over him in her high heels.

“Hello, Constable Halshaw,” said Chase, trying to keep his
voice even. “Detective Constable, I mean.”

Trainee Detective Constable Lauren Halshaw smiled broadly.
“Good to see you again, Sir,” she replied, with the merest hint of a Somerset
burr in her well-modulated voice. “Darren and I were just chatting while we
were waiting for you.”

Chase pulled up the spare chair and sat at the table. “What
about?” he asked.

“Oh, music and TV. Football. Computer games. All kinds of
things.” Another broad smile, which caused Chase’s insides to lurch. “And
blokes in boozers who organise break-ins.”

“What!”

“Yes. Will you tell the Inspector what you told me, please,
Darren?”

Darren sniffed. “Well, like I said to Lauren, I was in the
boozer, a month or two back, and there were these two geezers talking, see. So
I got closer, you know, and they was talking about break-ins. When people was
on holiday, like. So I thought I’d try my luck.”

“Who were they, these geezers?”

“One was this old guy. I ain’t never seen him before.”

“Old like you, he said, Sir,” Halshaw interjected, with an
apologetic smile.

“The other was this bloke what I knew from school. Few years
older than me, ‘e was. Drove a minicab for a bit, like, but didn’t like the
hours. Does a bit of window cleaning now, sells a few pills round the clubs.
You know, bit of this, bit of that.”

“What’s his name?” Chase leant forward keenly.

“You didn’t hear it from me, right? But everyone calls him
Dmitri.”

“Russian?”

“Nah. Greek, I think. Something like that.”

“Has he got a surname?”

“Dunno.
S’pect
so.”

Chase sighed. “What does he look like?”

“Tall. Long black ‘air. Hard-
lookin
’,
you know, tattoos and piercings, that kind of shit.”

“What were they talking about?”

“Like I said. Break-ins. The old geezer was
givin
’ Dmitri an envelope. Cash, it looked like.”

“What did the older man look like?”

“Dunno, really. Old.”

“Short? Tall? Black? White? What?”

“Kinda medium. White, though.”

“Hair?”

“Not a lot. ‘
E
had a beard, I
think.”

“Would you recognise him again?”

“Maybe,” shrugged Hitchins.

Chase nodded thoughtfully.

“Where does he live, Darren?” asked Halshaw.

“Who?”

“This Dmitri.”

“Dunno.”

“OK,” she sighed, patiently. “Where could we meet him?”

“The Green Parrot.
Y’know
, the
boozer on Chiltern View?”

“Your local, is that?” asked Chase.

“Yeah.”

Why am I not surprised, Chase thought.

*

“So how have you been, Halshaw?” asked Chase.

“Very good, Sir,” she replied, inspecting the contents of
her plastic cup suspiciously.

“Don’t you like the coffee?”

“Oh, is that what it’s supposed to be?” she chuckled.

“It’s not great, is it? I’m sorry”

“Don’t worry about it. Our caterers are exactly the same.
There’s probably a factory somewhere that produces special packs of
coffee-flavoured tea and tea-flavoured coffee for police stations, schools, and
hospitals all over the country.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he smiled. “Though it’s probably
got more to do with not washing the urns up properly.”

Her smile faded. “Yes, you’re probably right,” she replied,
flatly.

Chase smiled awkwardly. “Got anywhere to stay yet?” he
asked.

Halshaw’s smile began to return. “My sister Cheryl’s place,
in Camden. You know, where I stayed for the trial last year?”

“Oh yes, I forgot. Sorry. So, how did you manage to get
Darren Hitchins to talk?”

“I didn’t, Sir. Well, not exactly. We were just chatting,
about all kinds of things, and it kind of came up in conversation.”

“Well done,” said Chase, genuinely impressed. “I wish I had
the knack of striking up casual conversations with lowlife like Hitchins.”

Halshaw smiled uncertainly.

“But why did he confide in you about Dmitri?”

Her smile broadened. “We Gooners have to stick together,
Sir!”

“Gooners? Are you telling me you’re an Arsenal fan,
Constable?”

“God, no! I’m a Man U fan, me. But we got onto the subject
of football, I started slagging off Chelsea, Darren decided I was a Gooner, and
let’s just say I didn’t bother to correct him.”

Would Royce call that sharp practice? Chase wondered.

“Who is he, anyway?” she asked.

“Dmitri? Don’t know. I’ll ask around, see if anyone’s heard
of him.”

Halshaw drained the last of the warm brown liquid and tossed
the cup expertly into the recycling bin. “What do you want me to do first?” she
asked. “Shall I check up on Dmitri?”

“He’ll keep,” Chase replied. “I need you to do some digging
on a murder case first. The victim was a woman called Lucy Kelmarsh, also known
as Lucy Faith. She worked as a Life Coach, but she had a sideline as a
dominatrix. A very lucrative sideline, from what I gather. I want a list of her
clients. Get her files from her office and see what you can find.”

“Day job or sideline?”

“Start with the sideline. There shouldn’t be too many of
them. From what she told me, she was pretty exclusive. Oh, and see if you can
find any evidence of disputes, anything like that. When you’ve finished that,
you can start on her legitimate business. OK?”

Halshaw nodded enthusiastically.

“But first, I’d like to take you for a drink somewhere. A
proper drink, not this muck.” He drained his plastic cup and grimaced.

“What did you have in mind, Sir?” she asked, dubiously.

“The Green Parrot, of course. Let’s see what we can find out
about Dmitri.”

Halshaw slipped into the front passenger seat of the Mondeo,
slid it back a couple of notches, and stretched out her long legs. “So what
does Lucy Faith have to do with Dmitri, Sir?” she asked, buckling her seatbelt.

“Probably nothing at all,” replied Chase. “But I’ll tell you
why I’m so interested in him.”

“Go on.”

“We’ve had a series of break-ins in the area. Professional
people, away on holiday, mostly. The same MO every time: in through a bedroom
window, take whatever jewellery and money they can find, trash the place, smear
dog muck everywhere, and out the way they came.”

“Charming!”

“Yes. They’re clever, too. They know when the people are
away. They only go into the master bedroom. And then they make it as hard as
possible to work out exactly what’s been taken.”

“Why the master bedroom?”

“Because it’s where people tend to keep their valuables. And
it’s usually the only room in the property without a motion sensor.”

“Don’t the neighbours notice anything?”

Chase chuckled humourlessly. “Neighbours? Not a chance.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is Chiltern Park, Halshaw. Nobody knows their
neighbours round here. They may have friends in a dozen different countries,
but the person who lives next door is a total stranger.”

“So Darren’s done some of the break-ins, has he?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. They were copycats. Same MO, pretty
much, except that they tended to be at weekends rather than during the week.”

“How did you catch him?”

“He was unlucky. Last Sunday afternoon, Darren broke into a
garden flat. Trouble was, the owners had put a sensor in their master bedroom
too, and a silent alarm system that notified us directly. We caught him red
handed. When we took him into custody he confessed to four more.”

“Is the burglary at Amy Birkdale’s one of the same
sequence?”

Chase looked round sharply. “How do you know about that?”

“Chief Superintendent Royce told me about it when I
arrived,” smiled Halshaw. “That was why he put me in with Darren, to see if he
knew anything about it.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “I don’t think so,” he replied.

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing, she wasn’t on holiday. She was working
late, so she could have walked in on them at any moment.”

“Any prints?” Halshaw interrupted.

“Nothing useful. Just hers, and lots of smudges. But that’s
not all. She thinks someone’s trying to undermine her at work.”

“What does she do for a living?”

“She’s an IT manager at a multinational logistics company.
Logistical Group, they’re called. Ever heard of them?”

Halshaw nodded. “Why does she think someone’s trying to
undermine her?”

“The project she’s leading is highly contentious. And she’s
received some threatening texts, too.”

“Any idea who from?”

Chase shook his head. “I haven’t interviewed everyone yet.
There’s an ex-boyfriend who’s my current favourite. He’s certainly capable of
it but I don’t understand why he would have started now, over a year after they
split up.”

She nodded again. “So why was the grey-haired man Darren saw
paying Dmitri? Was he a fence or something, do you think?”

“What else could he be?” replied Chase, sourly. Then his
face brightened. “So you see, Halshaw. We’ve got a lot to discuss with our
friend Dmitri. Don’t you think?”

“When we find him, Sir,” Halshaw murmured. “When we find
him.”