Detective Inspector Ian Cardhew kept a wary eye on the saucepan as he put bread in the toaster. The eggs had been placed in cold water and as soon as it came to the boil, he would give them exactly two minutes. His mother liked her boiled eggs on the hard side of soft.
The house he had grown up in had been substantially altered since he married and moved away eighteen years ago. An extension on the back provided another bedroom and quadrupled the size of the kitchen, which now incorporated a dining area. He laid for two on the table, deliberately avoiding the place usually occupied by his father. Burying him yesterday had been a sad business. There had been some jollity at the wake, as was usually the case, but now his mother had to face the reality of life on her own. He was staying with her for the weekend, hoping to persuade her not to be too hasty. She wanted to sell the house and move to Hamsworth, which was not a good idea. All her friends lived in, or close, to Ruislip and if she moved to Hamsworth she would be relying on him for company and his job demanded long, irregular hours. Apart from that, he had been thinking of applying for a move. Nothing much happened in Hamsworth and although he liked that when he first arrived from the Met, now he wanted more action. You could only investigate so many stolen tractor cases without losing your edge.
The first bubble broke the surface. He glanced at his watch and turned the gas down to maintain a steady boil. He looked at the framed photographs on the sideboard, one of the few pieces of furniture to have survived the 1990’s modernisation programme, pursued with his mother’s usual vigour. His father had been more pragmatic, a trait which probably saved the sideboard and made him such a good copper. He picked up the small photograph of him in uniform. He would have been about his age when the picture was taken, proudly wearing sergeant stripes. He never progress any further, refusing to take exams which his superiors urged him to take and he could easily have passed. The truth was he was happy with his lot and got a great deal of satisfaction in helping young constables who came through his station. He had the happy knack of being able to spot talent. The chapel at the crematorium was packed to overflowing with people who had benefited from his helping hand; many of them high ranking officers.
He looked at his watch. Fifteen seconds to go. He put the picture down, walked over to the gas cooker and stood over the boiling pan. As the second hand swept up to the two minute mark, he took the pan off the heat and ran cold water into it to halt the cooking process. As he took the eggs to the table, the toast popped up and his mother walked into the kitchen.
‘Perfect timing mum.’
His mother smiled. Yesterday she had looked drawn and tired. Now, with the ordeal of the funeral over, she looked young for her 64 years. He put the hot toast in the basket, covering it with a cotton napkin.
‘Thank you Ian. It’s good of you to stay on, but you won’t talk me out of selling this house you know.’
Ian gave her a rueful smile. ‘I never really supposed I would, I’m just hoping to persuade you to not to rush into something you could regret later.
‘Which means not selling up?’
‘No. It means not selling until you’re sure. Most of your friends are in this area. Moving to Hamsworth would mean not seeing them, and I’m not sure I want to spend the rest of my time in the force at Hamsworth.
‘It’s time you married again and put down some roots.’
‘Yes mum. Good idea, but just one snag. I’ve yet to find the right person.’
‘Dad thought Sally was right for you.’
‘So did I, but she couldn’t hack being married to a copper.
‘I never had that problem with your father.’
‘Dad was always uniform mum. He worked shifts; you always knew when he would be home.’
A silence settle between them as his mother tapped the top of her first egg and carefully removed enough shell to dip a teaspoon in. He sliced the top of his with a knife, before pouring her a coffee. They both liked it black. At least they had that in common.
The telephone rang. She held put a hand up to indicate he should stay where he was and went into the living room. A few seconds later she returned with the phone.
‘It’s Hamsworth police.’
He took the phone, walked over to the French windows and looked out into the garden. ‘Hi Jennie, what’s the problem?’
His mother studied his body language as he spoke and picked up on the gist of the conversation. There was a suspected murder and the woman thought he should visit the scene of the crime before they removed the body. He obviously trusted her as he immediately agreed, telling her that she should keep Kimberley out of it. Then he assured her that she had done the right thing in phoning his mother’s number. He would leave right away. He switched off the phone. ‘Sorry about that, but my mobile was switched off from yesterday.’
‘Finish your breakfast before you go Ian.’ There was no hint of disappointment although he knew she had been hoping he would stay another night.
He sat down and buttered a piece of toast. ‘Sorry mum, the one weekend I’m away and we have a suspected murder.’
‘It’s your work dear. Your father was always proud of the way you went about it. But tell me, who is Jennie? She sounds very nice.’
‘She’s on my team – Detective Constable.’
‘Are you on first name terms with all the people on your team?’
He smiled at her, knowing full well where she was coming from. ‘Not all, but I treat the best of them as equals, outside work.’
She shuffled forward in her seat. ‘So what is she like?’
He laughed. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree mum. Jennie Leadbetter is very bright and very attractive. She is also twelve years younger than me.’
‘Not married then?’
‘No, but I think she was in a long term relationship when she was a teacher.’
‘What did she teach?’
‘Physical Education and Biology.’
‘You seem to know a great deal about her. You obviously fancy her.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘You pulled your stomach in when you talked to her.’
‘I don’t have a stomach.’
‘Yes you do. You’re getting a paunch; if you don’t do something about it, no self respecting girl will look at you. Don’t worry about clearing the table, I can manage, you mustn’t keep Jennie waiting.’
He laughed. ‘Mum, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I told you.’
‘Yes, and I know you fancy that girl, so do something about it.’
‘I’m too old for her, she’d never be interested in me. Besides, I would never make a pass at someone who works for me.’
His mother got up and collected the plates. ‘In that case, you’ll either have to encourage her to go back to teaching, or hope she makes a pass at you.’
Ian Cardhew's mother waved goodbye as he drove off but before the car had turned out onto the main road, she had dialled 1471, connecting back to the last call.
‘Hello, is that Jennie? This is Mary, Ian’s mother. He has just left: Now dear, don’t tell him I called but there’s something you should know…’
Peter Bunford was propped up in bed with a mug of tea. What a night! When they left the hospital, they took a taxi back to his house; as expected, Julie was not there. He collected a few clothes and toiletries and the taxi took them on to Lydia’s place. It was a two bedroom flat, in a block built on the old cinema site, close to the town centre. Peter could remember them being built and thinking how out of place they looked, but after eight years, the modern design had somehow blended in. Her flat was on the top floor, the fifth. They took the lift, dropped off his bag and set off for something to eat. They settled on a small bistro which was dimly lit and quiet. They had both seen the pictures in the evening paper and the last thing they wanted was to be recognised.
When they returned to the flat, she helped him take off his shirt and put on the pyjama jacket. Then she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers. Everything was under control until she stooped to pull them off. His erection was immediate and unmistakeable, although she chose to ignore it, folding his trousers and carefully putting them on a hanger with his shirt. As she opened a wardrobe he managed to hook the thumbs of his bandaged hands over the waistband of his underpants and pull them off. Willing his erection to go away, he turned towards the head of the bed. She was moving around by the wardrobe for sometime, but his erection stayed solid. He felt her hand rest on his shoulder and give it an affectionate rub. ‘Shall we put these back in your bag?’ He put his hands down to cover his recalcitrant member and turned to face her. It was the first time he had seen her without glasses – and without any clothes on. She moved in close and he put his arms around her.
As he took another sip of tea, Lydia came back into the bedroom, wearing a long lime green dressing gown and her glasses; no longer the insatiable sex kitten of last night.
‘Have you finished Pete?’
He drained the cup. She took it and put it on the dressing table over by the curtained window, shrugged off the dressing gown, took off her glasses and snuggled under the duvet.
‘Now where were we?’ She unbuttoned the pyjama top and slithered up to give him a long lingering kiss. Then he felt her breasts brushing his chest as she eased down onto his extreme erection. He recalled the look of sheer joy on her face as she achieved full penetration the previous evening and there it was again, followed by a soft moan as she gyrated her hips before lifting up to tease herself on the tip of his penis. Peter would have preferred to be on top, but they both knew that would be difficult until his hands healed. She was doing all the work and it felt fantastic. Her breasts pressed hard against his chest and he carefully wrapped his arms around her as she began slowly lifting up and down the full length of his penis. With Julie, he would have been worried about finishing quickly before she wanted to stop, but he had no such fears with Lydia, who proudly told him every time she was about to come, or shoot, as she put it. Now he knew he could hold back and increase her pleasure, although it was difficult when she started grinding her hips against him as she was now.
‘I’m shooting Pete. I’m shooting!’
She sat up and looked at him as she used her legs in conjunction with her hands pressing on his chest to move her hips frantically up and down and from side to side.
‘Oh Pete! Oh Pete!’
He felt her juices run down his penis and her body tremble. He waited patiently for her to start again. She was happy to go on and on and could come three or four times to his once.
Eventually, she lay deliriously exhausted in his arms. She stroked his muscled chest and whispered. ‘You’re my man Pete; my hero.’
He kissed her soft fragrant hair and chuckled. ‘And you, Lydia are my shooting star.’
She giggled and felt for his penis.
DI Cardhew drove through the gates to Laburnham Court to find several police vehicles parked outside and DC Leadbetter waiting for him. A guy in a royal blue jacket and cap, saluted and directed him to a parking space. She introduced him as Charlie Bell, the concierge of Laburnham Court. It was Charlie who found the body. Cardhew shook his hand and told him he would want to speak to him later.
‘So where’s the body Leadbetter?’
‘In the penthouse sir.’
Charlie Bell showed them to the lift and pressed the button. As the doors closed Cardhew relaxed. ‘Any suspects yet Jennie?’
‘Not as far as I’m concerned sir, although sergeant Kimberley believes he’s solved this case – and a suspected arson at the Meltcon factory.’
Cardhew smiled. ‘My word, he has been busy. Who suspects arson, the fire service?’
‘Don’t think so. It’s an accusation from a friend of the Chief Super’s. He’s accusing that rugby guy who ran out through the blaze carrying a female colleague.’
The lift door opened. They walked past a community police officer, standing guard at the open door to the penthouse. ‘Cardhew grunted. Well, you never know your luck; they could both get promoted – or, of course, as so often happens, they could both be barking up the wrong tree.’
DC Leadbetter smiled to herself, what was it his mother had said about barking up the wrong tree? She pointed out the double door security arrangement; although both doors had been locked on open to maintain easy access. They paused to put on, scene of crime overalls, before she led him through the long room and into the bedroom where the forensic team were working. Without a word, she carefully removed a sheet covering the naked body of a young woman laying across the bed. Cardhew looked down at her: he always felt sad when he looked at a dead body. Some people in the force became immune over time, but he never had. Even in death and trussed-up like a chicken, there was no denying that this young woman had been a great beauty. He would say she was about the same age as Jennie. The whiteness of the rope used to bind her, stood out against her lightly tanned naked body and whether by chance, or deliberately, it was tied in a way which enhanced her breasts. Her eyes were wide open and a gag, pulled tightly into her mouth gave the impression that she was laughing at death.
‘It’s difficult to see sir, but there’s a vibrator hidden between her thighs. It was still working when we came to investigate.’ She pointed to it with a gloved finger.
He nodded his understanding, not wanting to look too closely. ‘How long do those gadgets normally run for?’
‘Perhaps a couple of hours, but this one works off the mains. I switched it off as soon as I arrived. It’s plugged in over here.’
She moved over to a bedside table and pointed to the plug. He was drawn to her lithe, animal grace as she crouched down. It was amazing that she could look so attractive in a shapeless overall. The vibrator started to hum. She looked up at him, prepared to switch it off again. He scratched at his left greying temple, an unconscious action she had become accustomed to when he was thinking.
‘Is that the only way of switching it on or off?’
‘No sir. There’s a switch on the vibrator, which also controls the speed.’
‘Do you think she could have switched it on and off by herself?’
‘Not after she was bound. Her hands are pulled up her back and as you can see, the rope is very tight.’
‘You said the switch also controls the speed, presumably that means vibration speed? If anyone other than DI Cardhew had been pursuing this line of questioning, she would have felt uncomfortable, but she knew him well enough to know he would get no salacious kick from her answers; he simply wanted to know.
‘Yes, I don’t know what speed it’s set on, but I assume either she selected it, or the person she was with did it for her. If she did make the selection and switch it on after inserting it, someone else must have been on hand to tie her up.’
Cardhew scratched at his left temple again. He was pleased Jennie was assisting and not Kimberley; she had treated the dead woman with respect, covering her and switching off the vibrator would never have occurred to Kimberley. She was right, this had all the indications of a sex game which had gone tragically wrong.
‘Do we know who she is?’
‘The concierge identified her as Lucinda Lovebrace, the owner of the penthouse.
‘What time did he find her?’
‘About 6.30am.’
‘What made him come up here at that hour?’
‘We called and asked him to check. A drunk came into the station claiming to have strangled her. Sergeant Kimberley has arrested him on suspicion of murder. Probably claim it as yet another crime he has solved single handed.’
He noted the irony. ‘Is there any doubt?’
‘Could be;. I thought we should leave everything as it was until you arrived.’
Apart from a natural attraction, Cardhew liked Jennie because she was quick to learn and thorough in searching for the correct result. Unlike Sergeant Kimberley, a graduate in criminology, who was fast tracked; thought he knew everything, and went out of his way to please his superiors – apart from him of course.
‘Have forensics arrived at any conclusions yet?’
‘Doctor Russell thinks she died at around 3am. He wants to carry out more tests when the body reaches the morgue. Shall I switch this off again?’ She pointed towards the general area where the vibrator was buzzing away on a fruitless mission.
‘Yes please – at the mains.’ She obviously felt the same way as he did about the poor woman. He forced himself to look away as she crouched down to reach for the plug, but found her image in other mirrors around the room. He looked up at the mirror in the ceiling. Was it two way? Were any of the others two way? Were there any hidden cameras? He’d come across similar set-ups during his time with the Met. He would say the dead woman was a high class prostitute, but that did not make her death any the less tragic.
The buzzing stopped, creating a silence which prompted two members of the forensics team, to glance towards the body. He moved around the bed, studying it closely. The ankles were tied together with the rope looped around the heels of black stilettos, back through the ankle binding, under the wrists, around the face to pull the gag into her mouth, then knotted back on her wrists. The rope was piano wire tight. There was also rope between her legs, around her waist and criss-crossed between her breasts. It was difficult to tell if all this had been achieved with one length of rope. He noted some bruising around her throat and what looked like flaking skin over her cheek and nose. He looked up and met Jennie’s eyes, viewing the body from the other side of what was a very wide bed.
‘Is this what I think it is?’
‘Doctor Russell thought it could be dried semen. He lifted a sample off for analysis.
‘Did he say when he expected to get a result?’
‘Could be Friday, Sir. ’
‘Ha, that sounds like the ever cautious Doctor Russell; we’ll probably get a result by Wednesday.’ He stepped back from the bed and surveyed the room. ‘I’m pretty sure this was consensual, at least up to the point where she died. It looks as if she was in that line of business. I’ve seen all I need here, but I’d like to see the rest of the place. Shall we put the sheet back on?’
Jennie nodded, relieved to cover the naked body. They draped the sheet respectfully over the lifeless Lucinda Lovebrace.
‘Will they take her away like this?’
‘You mean, tied up?’
‘Yes, Jennie. I want a stage by stage photographic record when they undo the rope, I don’t care if it’s done here or in the morgue, but we must have it.’
‘I’ll tell them right away sir.’
‘And Jennie.’ She turned back towards him. He smiled. ‘You did the right thing. I think this case is as far from being solved. I‘ll just take a look around, then we’ll have a chat with the concierge.’
Charlie Bell had been doing his best to avoid residents, determined to find out what had happened, so when the service lift stopped on the fourth floor, he knew he had to be quick if he was to avoid an inquisition from Major and Mrs Dodd. He had his hand written sign to say the lift would be out of order until further notice fixed onto a traffic cone. When the lift doors opened, all he had to do was slide it out – but they were there, waiting to pounce.
‘Ah, Charlie, can you tell us what’s going on?’
He shoved the cone out with his foot, pushed the button for the third floor and pointed at the other three cones, carrying the same message, in the lift.
‘Sorry, must get these out to stop anyone trying to use the lift. I’ll tell you all about it later.’
In the couple of seconds it took for the lift doors to start to close, Mrs Dodd, who was by far the more nimble of the two, darted forward and wedged a hefty brogue against a door. Major Dodd followed at a more sedate pace, leant against it and spoke in a way which usually wheedled information out of anyone.
‘Come on Charlie. What’s happening? Why the police?’
‘And the ambulance?’ Mrs Dodd had locked onto him with her ice blue eyes. There was no getting away from that gaze. Someone had once told him that during WW2 she interrogated German prisoners. He suddenly, felt sorry for the Germans, if he didn’t let them have something, she would never let him get away.
‘There has been an unexplained death. Please don’t ask me to say more. I’ve been ordered by the police not to say anything.’
‘But it’s us Charlie. You know we wouldn’t do anything to get you into trouble.’
Mrs Dodds wrinkled her eyes in a superficial smile. ‘We think of you more as a friend than concierge and would hate to get you into any sort of trouble. So you don’t have to say anything, simple nod if we are right.’
Charlie nodded to show that he understood.
Mrs Dodd continued. ‘Does it concern the woman on the fifth floor?’
Charlie nodded.
‘Murder was it Charlie?’
Charlie looked at the major and shrugged. Mrs Dodd repeated the wrinkled smile. ‘We heard this lift in the early hours. If the police want to talk to us we will be happy to help.’
‘Did you hear anything else?’
Major Dodd stepped back from the lift. ‘We’re happy to talk to the police at any time Charlie. You can tell them so if you wish.’
‘I’ll do that. They want to talk to me again, that’s why I’m in a hurry.’
‘Are they taking the body out in this lift?’
Mrs Dodd held his gaze, waiting for his nod before taking her foot away from the door, leaving it free to close.
Charlie managed to push the cones out on the other floors without getting buttonholed by any one else. Detective Inspector Cardhew and Detective Constable Leadbetter were waiting by the lift on the ground floor. He placed the last of the cones with the out of order message in front of the doors, explaining that the he had been asked to make sure the service lift would be available to bring the body down. He showed them the rear entrance to the building, before taking them into his ground floor flat, where his wife, Sandra made them a cup of coffee. Charlie told all he knew about Miss Lovebrace, which was not very much. If she was a high class prostitute, it was none of his business. If there had been any complaints, he would have passed them on to the Residents Association but there had not been any. She did have quite a few regular visitors, but he assumed they were business associates; she was a successful business woman with lots of different interests. No, he knew nothing of her family. The person she seemed closest to was Julie Bunford, who he had introduced to her a couple of years ago when she was looking for a cleaner. About six months ago they started a cleaning company called ProClean. From what he could gather, it was quite successful and Miss Lovebrace wanted her to become involved in the running of her other companies, which didn’t really surprise him because Julie Bunford was a good worker and not really a cleaner; she had worked for a Bank at one time. He and Sandra always went out on Friday evenings, they were back around 11pm and went to bed shortly afterwards. They did not hear anything, although Major and Mrs Dodds, in apartment 15, on the fourth floor, reckon they heard the service lift working in the early hours.
Cardhew drained the last inch of cold coffee from his cup and handed it to Sandra Bell. ‘Thank you Mrs Bell, that was most welcome. So, Charlie, who would use the service lift to the penthouse?
Charlie Bell thought for a moment. ‘The gardener uses it to get to the roof garden, but he only has the code to get into the garden, not the penthouse. Julie Bunford always used it. In fact she still does, even though she’s a business partner.’
‘Were you responsible for giving her the code?’
‘No, Miss Lovebrace would have done that.’
‘So she could have given it to anyone else she trusted?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Do you know the code?’
‘Yes, I have the door codes for all the apartments.’
‘Where are they kept?’
‘In the safe in my office.’
‘Which is where?’
‘Behind my desk in the lobby; it’s little more than broom cupboard really.’
‘Fine, well we’ll just have a look at that if we may, and perhaps you could take me up to see Major and Mrs Dodds.’
As they walked through the lobby, Cardhew whispered to Jennie Leadbetter. ‘Go to Julie Bunford’s address. Break the news gently; then find out where she was between 9pm yesterday and 6am this morning. Apologise; tell her it’s routine but as she was her business partner, we will need to speak to her again later. I’ll see what the folks in apartment 15 have to say; then high tail it back to the station – see if I can stop Kimberley making a fool of himself.’
She smiled. ‘I don’t know why you bother sir. I mean, give him enough rope and all that.’
‘Jennie, give Kimberley enough rope and he’ll hang us all.’