Читать книгу West of the River - David Dalby - Страница 1

CHAPTER ONE.

Hazel Louise Vernon had dinner with Anne McLeod the Friday after Hannah McShane was acquitted of murder.

The Mermaid Café had been one of her favourite haunts for as long as She could remember. The food was excellent. She was finishing off a beef teriyaki and Anne had opted for a vegetarian dish that seemed to feature a lot of flavoured rice and pasta. They were drinking green tea because Anne objected to both the look and smell of French coffee “I didn’t think you worked criminal cases.” Hazel said. She had known Anne for many years. Anne worked for Hawkins, Son and Harker. A pretty efficient legal firm who handled Hazel’s personal affairs. In the case of Anne McLeod a brief personal affair two years ago.

“I don’t normally.” Anne, like so many people in Temple Caneston, was of Scots descent. Though her accent was barely noticeable. She was about Hazel’s age, mid-thirties and had recently took to colouring her hair red. She wore a sensible dark blue business suit with a mid-length skirt and boots. Anne loved boots. She also liked pill box hats. It was rare to see her without one. “Mr Hawkins had the case and his assistant was down with the ‘flu. I stepped in to help.” She looked at her tea cup and swirled the liquid. “I didn’t enjoy it.”

“Your client was acquitted.” Hazel said. She had nothing to do with the original investigation. The local CID had deemed the case open and shut. Hannah McShane stabbed Gloria Kelsey to death in her own home and was observed running from the scene by three independent witnesses. There was other evidence, but no reason to bring in the crime squad. Which were having enough troubles at that time.

“She did.” Anne said, “Though I’m not sure she qualifies as my client exactly. She was Mr Hawkins client.” Anne sipped her tea, “Do you know why I don’t involve myself in criminal cases?”

“You find civil law enough of a challenge.” Hazel said. Anne had told her that herself. When they were in bed, discussing career choices.

“Yes, that. Also…” She sighed, “I never know who’s innocent and who isn’t.”

“Your client is. A jury said she was.” Hazel finished the last of the teriyaki off. The Mermaid was a curious restaurant. Despite the tacky plastic mermaid near the main entrance, the inside was very sophisticated. The lighting was subdued and the staff polite and efficient. There were other mermaids here. Paintings on the wall. Not of ghastly tourist trap mermaids such as the door guardian. These were powerful, dramatic images of what real mermaids would look like. Wild eyed, bare breasted, fang toothed women with tails that had more in common with dolphins than fish. In the pictures the skies were always stormy. Dark clouds swirled. The mermaids came in pairs. One black, the other white. All the ships pictured were picaroons. The skull and cross bones flying proudly. Hazel suspected this meant something but her limited knowledge of art didn’t cover symbolism in paintings.

“I believed she was guilty.” Anne said. “You do as well.”

“I don’t believe anything.” Hazel said, sticking with the official line. Even if She didn’t believe it. “All I know is the Elm Street CID mishandled the original investigation.” She had seen the paperwork. Murder investigation reports should never be that brief. Calling it an investigation was being generous. The investigating officer had his suspect and decided there was no need to do any real work. He just wheeled out his witnesses.

“This is it.” Anne said. “It’s a game. This time we won but I don’t feel good about it.” She pushed her plate aside. In all the time Hazel had known her she had never seen Anne completely finish a meal. “So what do you want to know?”

“Whatever you can tell me.” Hazel said, “I have to start somewhere.” She did not want to start with the Elm Street CID. Having lost the case they would not be in a good mood and would resent her investigation. Also, She knew the investigating officer, Detective Inspector Owen Winters. They had a mutual agreement going. Hazel detested him and his methods. He detested her and the way she worked. The less They saw of each other the happier they both were.

“I don’t know that I can tell you a lot. I only assisted Mr Hawkins and then for the time when his usual assistant was ill.”

“You met Hannah McShane though.”

“I did. She’s a brat. I can actually see her knifing someone I‘m afraid.” Anne said, looking depressed. “That’s another thing. I don’t like the effect dealing with criminals has on me.”

Hazel said, “I knew a Linda McShane when I worked for the vice squad.” That was going back a good few years. The two years Hazel spent in the vice squad had been the start of a series of bad moves she made in both her professional and personal life. “Are they related?”

“I don’t know. I never met any of her relatives. They might be.”

Hazel said, “Never mind, I can find out.” She had liked Linda McShane. She was a tralk, but a decent woman, all said. “Three witnesses claimed to have seen Hannah McShane run from the murder scene.” The scene in question was Keys Court, which wasn’t more than ten minutes steady walk from here. The Keys, as everyone but the residents called it, had been built about twenty five years ago. The idea being to provide high cost luxury housing for the sixteen families most able to afford the huge costs of the resulting houses.

That worked until ten years ago when Carandini Chase had been constructed and the eight most wealthy families in the city moved into that gated community, right next to the Elm Street police station.

The Keys would never become a slum but the house prices had fallen to a more rational level.

Gloria Kelsey, a forty eight year old photographer and divorced woman, had lived at number eight, Keys Court, for the past five years.

“The security guard saw her first.” Anne said. “He works from ten at night until six in the morning.”

Unlike the Chase, Keys Court was not gated. But the residents did chip in some of their hard earned money to employ a security guard at night. Shepherd Security Services provided the guard. Hazel knew a couple of former police detectives who worked for Triple S. The detective side of the company was well staffed, but the uniformed guards tended to be low paid, unskilled workers.

“Geoff Hope.” Hazel said. She might be over thirty, but she still retained the ability to memorize three names. “I’ll have to talk to him. What was he like?”

“He was very young for a security guard.”

“I know.” Hazel said, “The recruits the police are turning out all look about twelve years old. What did you make of him?”

“I think he was more worried about losing his job than anything else. He made a good impression in court though. He chased after Hannah but she out ran him.”

“A seventeen year old girl?” Hazel said, not believing that “He gave up once he reached Skeggs Street, didn’t he?” Skeggs Street was the access to Keys Court. Its main feature was a huge, funnel shaped junction wide enough to turn a forty tonne Euronaut lorry around in.

“Mr Hawkins brought that up at the trial.” Anne said. “If Hope had been injured outside Keys Court he wouldn’t be covered by the company’s insurance policy.”

That was the problem with private security people. They were limited and knew it. But liked to make sure their customers didn’t know things like that.

“He did positively identify Hannah, and said she had a knife on her. He said he saw it clearly.”

“This was the knife found on her when she was arrested.” Hazel said. She was very unclear on the arrest. It had happened very soon after Winters had arrived on the scene. He’d sent Detective Constable Dave Blackman out to arrest Hannah McShane right away. The original officer who responded was Police Constable Jonathan Stanger. He seemed to have remained at the house.

“Yes. Though there was no forensic evidence to connect the knife to the murder victim.” Anne said. “We thought this was something in our favour but apparently the knife had a complicated design on the handle which singled it out.”

“Was Hope close enough to see that?” Hazel said. This didn’t make any sense.

“Mr Hawkins mentioned that too, but Hope said Hannah was a regular visitor to Gloria Kelsey and he’d often seen her with the knife.”

“Doing what?” Why would he see her with a knife?

“Just having it, showing it off, I suppose.”

Hazel shook her head. None of the details were in the police report. She could see why Hannah was acquitted. It was shoddy, incompetent police work. The crime squad ought to have been given this case. By now Hannah McShane would be inside and Hazel could be doing something far more productive than trying to sort this mess out.

“What about the other witnesses? A man and a woman, weren’t they?”

“They were very good, reliable witnesses.” Anne said. “A retired bank manager and an IT consultant.”

“Thomas Mitchell and Helen Trent.” Hazel said.

“That’s right. They both heard and saw the crime. At least Mr Mitchell heard the shouting from the guard and came to his front door. He saw Hannah being chased. She passed very close to him. Not more than four metres. He positively identified her. Which isn’t difficult.”

“Meaning what?”

“She’s pretty distinctive. Hair, make-up, clothes. You know what girls are like. We both do.”

Hazel had been pretty serious and studious at seventeen. But then she had been in the European Police Cadet Corps and took her responsibilities very seriously. No way out make-up and micro-miniskirts for Hazel Louise Vernon. At least not until she was stupid enough to transfer into the vice squad.

“Helen Trent had the most damning testimony I thought.” Anne said. “She’d been upstairs getting ready for bed and looked out of her window. She lives opposite and could see right into Gloria’s house when the curtains were open. She said she saw the killing take place. She screamed and ran for a phone. Then she heard all the shouting and looked out of the window to see the chase.”

Helen Trent had been the one who made the original call that started all this. Hazel understood a police constable was watching her home because of the acquittal.

“She knew about Hannah.” Anne said. “It turns out a lot of the residents knew Hannah went there on a regular basis. She was very distinctive for that area.”

“Why?” Hazel said. “Do we know why Hannah went there so many times?”

“No. Mr Hawkins thought it best if we didn’t put her on the witness stand. She’s pretty bad court fodder.”

“Don’t you just hate not knowing things?” Hazel said. She tried to keep most of the sarcasm out of her voice. “Why Hannah visited Gloria Kelsey. Why Helen Trent was looking out of her bedroom window. How the guard could identify the knife. All of that and God knows how much more.”

“Do you think she’s innocent?” Anne said, genuinely surprised.

“I think I’m going to have to do a better job than Winters and his useless staff.” Hazel said. “Anyway, thanks. You’ve given me enough to make a start.”

“How are you, Hazel?” Anne said seriously, “In yourself, I mean.”

“Fine. Once I get this sorted out….”

“They might give you a real investigation?” Anne said. “You’ve been out of the CID for four years. Maybe they just think you need to be eased back into the routine.”

Hazel had been in the crime squad for six months after spending four years shuffling paper in Southfields, a sub-station so small it had only fifteen officers to a shift and no CID. Most of those officers had been probationary constables with less than two years’ experience. She had resigned herself to ending her career there.

“I feel bad about what happened.” Anne said.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Hazel said. She didn’t believe the misconduct charges were entirely her own fault either. If she wanted someone to blame, that person would be Jimmy Marsh, editor of the scandal rag, The Caneston Star. More generally, the gutter press itself.

“Patricia cast a spell.” Anne said. “Following our affair.”

Hazel sighed, she had heard all this before. Anne McLeod’s long term partner was Patricia Conroy. Hazel did regret my affair with Anne. But I didn’t think Patricia’s spell casting was to blame for my problems.

Anne had been educated at a Catholic school by nuns. She was a devout Catholic who managed to follow her faith while being a practicing lesbian in a long term partnership with a pagan witch.

Patricia worked as an accountant. Hazel had never met anyone who looked less like the popular idea of either a pagan or a witch. The smart business suits, glossy hair and technophile abilities couldn’t mask the fact that she was, in Hazel’s mind, as mad as a spoon.

“She took a long time.” Anne said, “But she forgives you.”

“That’s nice.” Hazel said. She was very much a disbeliever. There was no God in Heaven. No Devil in Hell. No afterlife, no redemption, no reincarnation, no ghosts, demons, alien visitations or dinosaurs wandering around Africa. There was just us. Humans. A bunch of apes with a bad attitude.

“She carried out a remote reading.” Anne said.

“Good for her.” I said. She’d seen Patricia’s spell book. She bought it for €16.99 from a high street book store. Which was one more reason why Hazel doubted her magical powers. She also spelled magic M-A-J-I-C-K.

“She said you were a woman named Lucy Ferrier who lived in the nineteen thirties. She was a prostitute who was murdered on a boat in 1934 and dumped in the river. Patricia says this is why you have such a bad reaction to boats and why you became a detective. No one ever found her killer. Patricia said no one tried because she was just a tralk.”

Hazel always thought her aversion to boats was sea sickness stemming back to a rough ferry crossing to France when she was five years old and had been sick on an epic scale.

“Thank Patricia for me.” Hazel said. She had, long ago, decided not to argue with Anne about the rationality of these beliefs.

“I know you don’t believe this, Hazel, but Patricia’s really powerful. She’s been spell casting all her life.”

Hazel nodded. As she would nod to someone who insisted Jesus was the Son of God or Allah was the one true God or whatever. All religions were equally meaningless to her. If Patricia Conroy believed she was a witch and worked her spells for the good of people, what did Hazel care?

As beliefs went hers was relatively harmless.

“She said she’ll cast her spells to help you.”

Hazel took it as if Anne, as a Catholic, had said she’d pray for a successful outcome to the investigation. It was nice, but She didn’t really care.

She paid the bill and they parted company.

She drove back to the police HQ.

On the way Hazel wondered if Patricia’s magical powers could identify the car that had followed her from the police station to the Mermaid Café and which, now, followed her back to the police station.