One to Six, Buckle to Sticks (Grasshopper Lawns Book 11) Read online

  She accepted a cup of tea and, as predicted, Mortimer removed himself with a slightly offended air to his favourite seat in the window.

  ‘I thought for sure she’d found the killer and he’d lashed out?’ Edge left the scones to one side and sat opposite with her own tea.

  Kirsty shook her head. ‘We don’t know how he could have found her. Susan hadn’t got to the point of meeting targets although she was talking to a couple on the phone already, and had two meetings penciled in which she was going to discuss with you, but both in public places. She’d never have given the house address.’

  She sipped her tea and revived enough to kick off her heavy official shoes. ‘We’re still unearthing cases – now three suicides at hotels have turned out to not be suicides at all. As best we can establish, the first of those was also the first killing, nearly exactly two years ago; there’s nothing that fits the profile before that. The room was booked in the name Mrs Smith and the hotel clerk said at the time that the key was collected by a good-looking man, but she thought nothing of it. Or rather, she assumed – and at the time everyone assumed – that was exactly why the room had been booked. Mr Not-Smith goes back to his wife and Mrs Not-Smith takes an overdose. It does happen, after all.’

  Edge nodded and Kirsty drank again, then cradled her cup between her hands.

  ‘Some deaths have looked like suicides, some like accidental overdoses, some seemed absolutely natural. In every suspicious one the victim was seen by neighbours coming home with a bloke in a dark car. One neighbour said a Merc, another wasn’t sure if it was a BMW or Audi. There’s never any obvious violence, which is why it has taken so long to be picked up, but valuables – jewellery, laptop, valuable ornaments, mobile phone if it was a good one – were often missing. In one case the officer called in for a ‘natural’ death was accused of taking stuff as no-one else would have had access to the apartment. Anyway, there was a dark blue Merc outside Susan’s house, according to the neighbour across the way, but she was still wearing her rings, and the place wasn’t robbed that efficiently.’

  The strained look came back into her face. ‘Not only that, she – well, there were all the signs of a struggle. There’s never been a struggle before, not with the ones we’re fitting into the pattern. She must have known the killer, because she would never have invited a stranger into the house, so we have to consider it is a separate issue altogether. It looks as if our guy kills to a fairly regular timetable, and there is a possible over in Polmont a day later which might fit. The only thing is that the poor woman was strangled. And that matches another from a year ago, which opens up a whole new can of worms. One bawbag killing every month, and another with an annual addiction. Our victim could still be lying in the dark somewhere waiting to be found, and not be Susan at all.’

  ‘How did Iain even pick up on it, if the deaths looked natural?’ Edge added a puff of instant cream to the scone halves and slid one onto a small separate plate for Kirsty, taking the other one back to her chair. ‘And honestly, Kirsty, I’ve never breathed a word yet when you asked me not to. Plus if I’m still to help – and I want to now, more than ever – you really will have to tell me the secret detail sometime.’

  ‘Oh, ken, and Iain agrees. It’s such a wee thing. In the Grangemouth case, the second one Iain was called to, the woman was beautifully dressed, and he noticed a half-opened rosebud in a glass of water next to her. It had been months, but he remembered the earlier victim also looked smart and also had a rosebud in a glass. Remember that usually different polis would be investigating in the different areas and it’s hardly enough of a detail to set off warning bells. He did a quick cupboard check and she had any amount of vases, including those slim ones exactly for single flowers.’

  She finished her scone and wiped her fingers as she went on. ‘Her friend, who had called us in when the victim didn’t phone her to report back, said she always wore pearls, really good ones, and a two-carat ring, and both were missing. That time we were called in really quickly; some of the cases have gone days without being reported, but the friend lived two houses away and had been absolutely avid to hear why the victim had gone out in her own car, but come back with a tall dark stranger in a long dark car.’

  Kirsty shrugged and half smiled at her aunt’s baffled expression. ‘That’s all. Really. Iain got me pulling records for any other incidents of a rose, or rosebud, in a glass of water in similar deaths, and that’s what sparked off the whole investigation. All the victims were beautifully made up and nicely dressed, which is where he got the idea to check whether they’d been on a blind date. Ken, ‘I’ll be the man with a rose in my buttonhole’ – boutonnières, is that the name? I told you he’s a top copper. Everything we’ve found since supports the theory – like in three cases the victim’s car was missing, and each time it turned up in a restaurant or pub car park. A taxi driver came forward after one death was reported to say she was a regular of his and he had dropped her off at a restaurant. She’d even told him she had a date, and was all excited about it, though she didn’t say if it was a blind date. The thing is, always one rose, half-opened. In Susan’s case there was a whole vase of them lying on the floor.’

  ‘Couldn’t she have bought them herself?’

  ‘No, that’s the thing, she didn’t like roses. Didn’t like any cut flowers, only living ones. Her colleagues knew not to give her flowers on her birthday.’

  ‘Yes, all right, but you’re not having the cream off my scone!’ Edge hastily pulled a slightly threadbare cushion onto her lap as Mortimer flowed to the floor, and put an enquiring paw on her knee. Kirsty’s somber face lightened in appreciation of this unexpected twist in the conversation, and her aunt smiled ruefully at her, then returned to the matter in hand. ‘So, what’s happening about the ongoing stuff?’

  ‘Actually, Iain wants to know if you’ll – well, keep it going. For the time being. The conversations, not the investigation itself. The thing is, you and she weren’t that different in looks. People kept thinking she and I were related, and anyone can see at a glance that you and I are. She was plumper than we are, but otherwise most of the differences were cosmetic; she wore her hair down socially, not up the way you do, and had heavy glasses. I brought photos.’

  Edge studied the three photos thoughtfully. It’s usually a shock to see someone for the first time when you’ve been told you look alike, but in this case it flattered. The first photo was Susan’s police one, very rigid and a little intimidating, her reddish-brown hair pulled tightly back to make her cheekbones look particularly dramatic, and her black-framed glasses dominating her face. The second showed her relaxed and laughing, the glasses in her hand. She was very like Kirsty, with the same large eyes, slightly tilted nose, full-lipped mouth and firm chin. She was definitely heavier in the hips but that didn’t show at all in the third photo. This was the head and shoulders shot used for the dating websites. Susan was looking directly at the camera with a little smile playing about her lips and her hair in soft waves around her face. She’d been skillfully made up to look ten years older, with deeper creases from nose to mouth and penciled laugh lines, and her likeness to Edge was clear. It would certainly be enough to identify her to a stranger.

  ‘Okay, I can see it. With my hair up – and everyone uses flattering photographs – to explain the differences, it would be close enough. I wouldn’t mind doing it, if it was safe. It would be safe, right?’

  ‘Oh aye, you’d be fitted with listening equipment, as she would have been, and there’ll be plainclothes polis in the place. I’m not happy about it but everyone’s taking this really seriously. Kill a copper, you’re not going to walk away. The only reason I’m not refusing pointblank on your behalf is that this lunatic, whoever he is, has his own twisted schedule – the killings are almost exactly a month apart.’

  ‘Now there’s a point. Lunatic?’ Edge looked alert. ‘Have you checked a lunar calendar?’

  Kirsty shook her head regretfully. ‘One of our guys tried th
at, but he said not even close to the full moon. There’s definately roughly a monthly pattern. We checked HOLMES and CHS entry by entry, pulling the files on every death of an older woman, and then checking the photos taken at the scene for a single rose. What is it today, the eighteenth? The next one, in theory, is due between the eighth and the eleventh. He’s either casting about or already grooming his next victim. Several of the victims told their friends about the men they’d met and were seeing again, but there aren’t many matching descriptions cropping up yet. We don’t want to lose momentum at this stage, if there’s any chance.’

  ‘I’ll borrow Buster,’ Edge said lightly. ‘He should be a police dog. He’s never been wrong yet about someone, Vivian swears by him. I’ll take him along, job done.’

  ‘Works for me. So, if you’re really up for helping? I brought some folders, and it’s all on this USB stick but I printed off some stuff. I wasn’t sure if you had a colour printer.’

  Edge pulled across a side table and Kirsty collected her carrier bags, dipping into them to spread out several stapled sheets of paper.

  ‘We’ll be supplying more all the time, as we confirm other cases, but these ones I’ve printed off were in regular contact with two victims or more. Susan pulled off photographs, their bio details, and every communication she’d had with them. I’ve got her passwords, too, for the email account she was using, and all the website details, so you’ll be able to log in as her.’ She reached into the carrier bag again. ‘I’ve also brought the mobile phone she was using. Obviously you wouldn’t give that number out too freely but she said you reach a point where you have to give a number or you come across as a time-waster.’

  ‘I won’t get police calls, will I?’ Edge eyed the phone dubiously, but Kirsty shook her head.

  ‘She bought one of those disposable ones, then transferred the SIM card into a special issue police phone, shielded against tracking. You won’t have any awkward calls from friends who haven’t heard, either, as it was bought for this investigation. Don’t forget, when you do go on the dates, to switch your own phone off! There are nine files. Three of the men appeared for most victims, only this one – Nick – has met every one so far. He seems to have been and gone from their lives before they died, but still – every single one! We’re very keen to get a real name and address for him.’

  She picked up the top stapled copy and handed it across.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Godfrey’s engagement tea

  ‘Ooh!’ Edge said appreciatively as she stared into the soulful eyes of the handsome man in the photograph. ‘This job could be fun! Oh, Kirsty – I’m joking. I’m just trying to cheer you up. I’ve never seen you so subdued.’

  ‘I’ve never felt so down,’ Kirsty agreed. ‘I love my job but this whole Susan bit has shaken me to the core. Also, there’s a chance I’m trying to make up my mind about –’

  ‘Work? An opportunity? Get me more tea, darling, this cat’s got me pinned down.’

  Kirsty obligingly topped them both up, then perched tensely on the edge of her chair.

  ‘It’s an opportunity, yes. Not work. The thing is, Susan was trying to sell the house to pay out her ex-husband. She’s had it on the market for nearly a year but the market is really slow. We checked out anyone who might have viewed the house recently, then come back on his own, because we thought she might have let in a potential buyer. But there’s only been a handful of viewers in all, none in the last three months. So her ex, in Aberdeen, now wants rid of it as fast as possible before he has to start paying council tax and maintenance on it. He was still listed as her sole heir, which means he gets her death-in-service payout – that’ll be huge – and of course the mortgage will be paid off by her insurance, so financially anything the sale makes will be clear profit.’

  She looked enquiringly at Edge, who nodded.

  ‘The thing is, it isn’t his to sell yet and there’s also the faint chance – although he does seem to have a rock solid alibi – he could have killed her himself, and wouldn’t inherit at all. So nothing’s going to be paid out until the case is solved. Even if he is in the clear, the ESPC agent told him that by law they have to tell potential buyers there was a murder there. He then halved the price and still nothing. He can’t even find a tenant.’

  She lifted her cup to her lips and breathed in the hot steam, then went on, looking troubled. ‘He rang yesterday to see if anyone in the polis would be interested in a deal. Not the nicest man; he was girning that we’d got her killed and we might as well do him a bit of good. The thing is, I would like the house. He’d already told the ESPC agent he’s prepared to sign a lease guaranteeing he’ll sell to the tenant, at a price agreed up front, as soon as probate goes through. The rent is only a little more than I’m paying now and he’ll sell at a hundred thousand. Susan had dropped her price to two hundred for a quick sale, and the valuation is two twenty. It’s not a chance I’d get again, at that price, but I feel a ghoul benefitting from her death. I’m also terrified that if he does turn out to be the killer, it could make the polis look bad and land me on a bribery and corruption charge.’

  ‘But if you’re fairly confident he isn’t the killer, it is a really good chance. If he’s already dropped the price with the agent, and they’ve already told him it may not sell because of the murder, I don’t think a bribery charge would stick for a second. Very few people would be interested at any price. You’re not going to be bothered by the fact she died there, are you?’

  Kirsty hesitated, then shook her head and Edge shrugged. ‘Rather you remembering her fondly, than some speculator leaping in for the profit to be turned on it, don’t you think?’ She glanced down and flicked Mortimer’s ear affectionately with a finger. ‘I’m wheeler-dealing like mad to keep Sylvia off my back, but one complaint from her or anyone else and I’ll not be allowed to keep him, you know. It would be great if he could go back to his own house instead of yet another upheaval. How about the finance, could you manage that?’

  ‘Thanks to Uncle James, aye, no problem at all. I’ve saved about forty grand from the allowance he left me, so no problem getting a mortgage on the rest. I talked it over with Iain, too, I had to. Of course, it would look bad if I seemed to be benefitting from a case we were investigating, but he said the same as you; I’m not taking advantage of inside information, the price is already out there. What do you think?’

  ‘I think at worst you get to rent a really nice little house for a few months. At best, you’ll never get a better chance to buy. What a pity you’ve got to drive, we should be breaking open a bottle of bubbly! Or at least a celebratory glass of wine.’

  ‘We’re in luck there.’ Kirsty’s face finally lost its shadow and she looked mischievous. ‘I never said I drove here today. Drew dropped me off, and he’s collecting me,’ she glanced at her watch, ‘around quarter past five. I thought it was time for you to meet him. So if you have some spare wine in your vast cellar…’

  ‘Wow, meeting the aunt, that’s a big step.’ Edge was impressed. ‘And no danger of running out, I’ve always got Chateau Cardboard. I’ll decant some and pop it in the fridge to chill. So, you told me everything else about him but you never commented on his looks. Flawless bone structure with hollowed cheeks again, or have you beefed up towards a Chippendale gobsmacker?’

  ‘More a chipmunk than a Chippendale,’ his loving girlfriend said affectionately. ‘In fact, that’s a very good way of describing him. Definately a chipmunk.’

  ‘He sounds lovely,’ Edge said politely, not believing her for a minute. Kirsty wasn’t conventionally beautiful, but she was very attractive. It was a pity, in her aunt’s opinion, that she had always picked men heavy on brooding good looks, but light on personality and humour, from the ranks of her admirers.

  She changed the subject. ‘I didn’t get in anything else to eat with our tea, because there’s a farewell do up at the house. Open invitation. You remember auld Crabbit? He’s away soon, so this is his way of introducing us to
his future bidey-in and getting out of inviting us to the wedding. The house teas are always good, and I am determined to see this poor deluded woman for myself, so you don’t have a choice.’

  ‘What, Mr Crossley? Getting married!’ Kirsty’s jaw dropped. ‘Isn’t he the genius who recovered that report on my laptop, but made me feel like the rankest eejit into the bargain?’

  Edge sputtered with laughter. ‘That’s the boy. Crabby is as crabby does. Now you see why I want to see the lucky bride?’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’ Kirsty was awed. ‘I’ll get changed right now; luckily the dress I brought is just the thing for a party. Didn’t you tell me Miss P had a bit of a Heathcliff thing for him as well?’

  Edge grinned. ‘She told me yesterday he was her image of Mr Rochester. I think she might have had hopes of being his Jane Eyre. She was certainly the only person who ever stuck up for him. She was a bit tremulous about his news, but being allowed to worship someone is disastrous for a relationship. The chosen one is twenty years his junior, and hopefully a lot tougher. She’ll need to be!’

  ~~~

  ‘That was fun, I do envy you living here.’ Kirsty headed for the little kitchenette as they re-entered the apartment shortly after five. ‘That Major Horace is something else.’

  ‘His face, when he realized you were a police officer!’ Edge gave a whoop of laughter as she hung up her jacket. ‘What on earth had he said to you, that you were ticking him off?’

  Kirsty giggled. ‘He said he’d offer me cupcakes, but I already had the best in the room. Then he leered down my front and put his hand on my butt.’