Three Little Maids (30 page)

‘You have Michael to thank too. It was brave of him to come forward. It took a good deal of courage to confess to my son that he was gay. And how Aiden had behaved towards him sexually, during his school years. Aiden blackmailed him into silence, threatening to tell his father that it was Michael who made advances towards Aiden. And not the reverse. Berkley would have believed Aiden rather than his own son.’

‘Yes I suppose he meant to do that when he when he tried to confess to the crimes. He thought he was indirectly to blame for Maureen’s death. And the other two girls too.’

‘Jon- Thora won’t come into the limelight, will she? She won’t want people to know about her sister’s problem.’

‘Poor old girl. There’s no need for her to come into it. Aiden didn’t notice that the anklet had broken during the struggle. He took an earring each, from Maureen and Yvette, and the nose and tongue studs from Jodie to incriminate Raymond. And guessed I’d follow up the hints he’d given of Raymond’s dodgy past.’

‘Now do you want to know something funny, Viviane? If I can lighten things up a little can you guess what starring role Aiden Ludlam was taking on in the Mikado?’

‘No-o, you tell me.’

‘KoKo the Grand high Executioner...’

‘What! How apt. He must have been secretly delighted in that. I bet it gave him a real buzz. Now can we forget that evil man, Jon. Till he comes up for trial at least.’

‘And I think I’ll take Esmeralda’s talents far more seriously in future. I must thank her too. The anklet and the letter counted in the end, like she said. But it’s thanks to your inside information that I’ve overcome some considerable obstacles,’ he said with a smile.

‘I was just glad to help,’ Viviane said. ‘It made me feel personally as if I’ve got back into the life stream once more. The house will soon be without Simon’s noisy presence.’ She smiled. ‘I shall miss him. But I was thinking.’ She hesitated and then sai
d; ‘Wouldn’t you rather buy your own place, Jon? It would probably work out cheaper in the long term for you rather than renting.’

He sat relaxed back into the garden chair. ‘Do you want to be rid of me?’ he said. ‘Just tell me if you do. It’s not been too difficult for you having me here, has it? Do your children mind? ‘

She grinned. ‘No, they don’t. They have hinted that having you here has been most beneficial for me. In fact, Jill said that I can do with a good man’s company. And she personally approves. And, according to my cheeky son, in his own words, ‘The mental stimulation you’ve had lately from the case, and Jon Kent has done you a power of good, Mum’.’

She bit her lip nervously, wondering if she’d gone too far; said too much.

‘That’s great. Now can you take tomorrow off?’

‘I think I could manage half a day at short notice. Why?’

‘I haven’t celebrated my birthday yet. And I’d like to spend it with you. So- how about taking a look round the antique shops at Brighton to see if there’s anything worth picking up? And I’ll stand you a slap up meal, and a stay at a good hotel afterwards. So how about it?’

She wrinkled her forehead. ‘I don’t know
- I rather like the idea of a trip to Brighton. And a browse around the shops. But not the hotel bit though.’

‘Tell you what then, if I promise to cook you a superb meal here. Plus a bottle of bubbly? No! Better make it two. You can decide afterwards whether it’s to be your place or mine upstairs? So how’s that as an improper suggestion, Mrs Sherlborne?’

She laughed. ‘I think I like it very much, Inspector Kent.’

If you enjoyed
Three Little Maids
you might be interested in
Dying to Meet You
by Patricia Scott, also published by Endeavour Press.

Extract from
Dying to Meet You
by Patricia Scott

One

Bucket and spade dropped onto the sand. Lugworms forgotten, Victor Goring hitched up his pants and ran over to the crop of rocks where the tide lapped gently around his green wellies and played patter cake against the girl’s naked body lying on the sands in front of him.

‘Strewth!’

Victor stared down at her face which was a bloody, battered mess; her tawny green eyes wide open in the rocky pool surrounded by sea anemones clinging to the submerged seaweed-covered rocks. A small pink crab rested on her swollen tongue and erratic shrimps darted around the long strands of dark blonde hair floating in the water.

Victor
pulled out a mobile and a large handkerchief from his jacket pocket, scattering small change out onto the sand. Mopping his bearded face with the handkerchief, he phoned the Harling police station.

Two

‘A woman’s body has been found on the seashore near the Harling Pier, ma’am,’ DC Calder said, putting his head through his chief’s open office door. ‘SOCO’s there already.’

‘Right - call the Doc and the necessary team, please.’

Detective Superintendent Viviane Peterson, the new broom in the Harling police station, finished up the remainder of her early morning canteen coffee, already cold in the mug, freshened up her lipstick in her hand mirror and zipped up her light blue jacket as Detective Sergeant Geoff Trask put his plump rosy face round the office door.

‘Ready, ma’am?’

‘Okay.’

The police cars
and ambulance arrived noisily on the sunny sea front near the Harling Pier entrance. Some early risers amongst the holidaymakers from the hotels opposite lined up against the green railings to watch the police team making its procession down the long pebbled beach and across the shingle to join the white uniformed Scene of Crime officers on the sands.

The local man who’d found the body, Victor Goring, stood on one side watching the police proceedings with much interest, bucket and lugworms long forgotten.

‘Mr Goring? I’m Superintendent Peterson. You found the victim?’

‘Yes, miss, er - Superintendent.’

‘Thank you for calling us. You can go now, Mr Goring. Can you come into the station later? Say in an hour’s time to fill us in with the details? Good morning, Granger. Looks like the tide’s coming in fast. We’ll have to make it quick. First impressions anyone?’

Doctor Anthony Granger, the police surgeon, a short, thin young man, with a cheerful freckled face, snub nose and pencil thin moustache, straightened up to greet her. ‘Good morning, Superintendent. Our victim’s a female. She was strangled and battered about the face and head extensively with a heavy weapon of some kind.’

‘Sexually assaulted?’

‘At a quick glance, I would say possibly - yes. Looks like extensive bruising
between the thighs and in the groin area.’ He bent over again to study the face more closely and with a wry grimace said, ‘Young, a natural blonde - age about twenty-six/seven. Time of death, midnight or thereabouts, and the injuries, I would say, were committed shortly
after
death. The head placed as it is in the pool, its small inhabitants will doubtless have added to the damage done to it already.’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘Nasty.’

‘Could she have been moved and dumped here after she was killed?’

Granger nodded. ‘There are signs of possible movement; those purple marks on the left side under the body can vouch for that. I would say more than likely she was brought here during the early hours before the tide was on the turn.’ He shifted his brown suede shoes with a smothered curse as the water splashed and lapped in closer around them.

Peterson nodded and turned to the officers who’d joined her. ‘You agree with that lads?’

DI Nick Farmer and DS Geoff Trask nodded as they stared silently down into the rocky pool at the terrible battered face lying under the water, and then at each other, shock registering plainly on their grim faces.

DC Brian Calder joining them took a hesitant look down at the victim and gulped, then stammered out, ‘It’s - it’s, DS Handley, ma’am! Look! See there’s a rose tattoo on her left arm and that - that gold pendant she’s wearing. It’s Cancer the
star sign. Linda was given it for her birthday last week.’

The police officers grouped around her saw Peterson’s fine boned features flush with anger as she swore and slammed a fist into her open hand. It seemed that the seagulls echoed her explicative as they shrieked out and screamed overhead.

‘A police officer! Christ! The killer has a blighted sense of humour,’ Granger said straightening up again.

Pushing back her thick honey blonde hair from her wide forehead, Peterson wondered how she was going to deal with
the case efficiently and quickly. Of all the bad luck, it seemed that fate really had it in for her. Only three weeks in a new place and she was faced with this foul crime.

Peterson addressed the forensic team briskly as they started to work on the beach around them, ‘Okay, everyone, let’s get on with it. See if you can find the weapon. We haven’t got long before the tide comes in. I’m depending on you all to make a good job of it, no mistakes
- no bloody balls up!’

*

The yellow strips were put in place carefully across the beach, under the pier, fluttering in the brisk sea breeze frivolously like yellow ribbons. Photos were taken quickly as the invading tide encroached on the crime scene.

Accompanied by Trask, DI Nick Farmer
strode back up the beach, and attempted to sort out the maelstrom of thoughts that were catapulting around in his head. He had worked with Peterson some years ago as her sergeant in the Met. She had a reputation of the iron hand in a silk glove to keep up; it had followed her even here. He hoped it stood her in good stead. Linda Handley had been an efficient young officer. Well liked. Who could had have done this? Who’d wanted her out of the way? He cursed, brushing his eyes quickly with the back of his hand, and hoped Trask hadn’t noticed.

‘So what do you think, lads? Was it because of something she was working on?’ Peterson joined them half way up the beach. ‘Or was she a victim of a sexual assault out in the street? Are we looking for a rapist turned killer?’

Farmer curled his generous mouth expressively, shook his dark head and shrugged. ‘No idea, ma’am. We have had a couple of reports of attempted rape locally but no leads so far.’

‘Do you think we’ve got to look for a rapist, Nick? It seems motiveless otherwise,’ Geoff Trask said. ‘God! What wouldn’t I do for a smoke right now.’ He fidgeted in his loose blazer jacket pocket for a peppermint sweet
, popped it into his mouth and chewed on it.

‘We don’t know that, Geoff. We’ll have to take a look at her
house. See if the bastard got at her there. It’s not far from here on the front.’

‘Come on lads, let’s get moving
,’ Peterson said studying their grim faces.

Farmer walked on up the beach quickly. Behind
him, the forensic team in their white uniforms were zipping up the body in a black body bag. Farmer felt his mouth constrict and his palate grow dry, as he glanced back over his shoulder and saw the body bag lifted carefully onto the stretcher, passing him by as it was carried up the beach by the medics. He’d made a swift move from the Met to Harling two years previously, leaving the mess of his earlier life behind. He had settled down uneasily at first into this new lifestyle, a new team, new home and new working routine. He had found, surprisingly, that the south east coast was equally as busy as London. He hoped that Peterson would not wish to interfere and leave it to him and the others on the team to deal with everything.

*

Peterson forced herself to remember all she could about the young, bright eyed woman officer. She recalled Linda greeting with a wide welcoming smile, chocolate biscuits and a mug of decent hot coffee in her office on her arrival at Harling Police Station.

Peterson’s
contracting stomach muscles were betraying the acute uneasiness and nausea she was feeling. It wouldn’t have taken much for her to throw up in front of her officers. They were on the move again, ignoring the crowds of interested onlookers staring down at them from the wide promenade above.

She swallowed hard before speaking again. ‘Linda was a local, wasn’t she, Trask? Do her parents live here?’