Fury: (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 11) (The Kate Redman Mysteries) Page 5

  Afterwards, they lay in a damp and happy tangle on the floor, Kate’s head on Anderton’s broad chest. She listened to the slowing beat of his heart, the push of his chest against her cheekbone gradually decreasing in rhythm.

  “God, this floor’s uncomfortable,” Anderton said after a few minutes. “I think I might be getting a bit old for sex that isn’t conducted horizontally.”

  Kate lifted her head. “You’re only as old as the woman you feel, they say.”

  “Well, exactly.” Kate gave a growl of mock-outrage and bit his nipple. “Ouch!” He grasped her wrist and they tussled enjoyably for a few moments before Anderton released her. “And I’m definitely too old for round two, right at this moment. Come on, let’s get a drink.”

  They both heaved themselves off the floor, Kate groaning as loudly as Anderton did. “I’m thinking about taking yoga up again,” she said, apropos of nothing except wondering when it was she got so inflexible.

  Anderton was poking around in the wine rack over by the wall. “Hmm?”

  “Never mind,” said Kate. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

  **

  When she came back downstairs, in her pyjamas and wrapped in her dressing gown, Anderton handed her one of his enormous wine glasses, half full of red wine. “I don’t think I’m going to finish this,” said Kate, faintly.

  “I’ll have the rest, don’t worry.” Anderton drew her down beside him on the sofa. “Now, how are things at work?”

  As she told him what she could, Kate found herself thinking about what a refreshing change it was to have someone listen to her for a change. All the interviews and questioning and trying to tease out evidence and information from suspects; it meant you spent most of your days listening to other people speak. Perhaps that was why Anderton was such a good listener; he had years of experience.

  “So, what exactly was it that bothered you about the Callihan crime scene?”

  “That’s just it,” said Kate. “I don’t know. You know I sometimes get those little bits of…of intuition, I suppose you’d call it.”

  “I do remember, yes.”

  “Well, it was one of those.” Kate took a sip of her wine, looking down at the shimmering maroon surface in the glass. “Something intangible. I noticed something, but I don’t know what I noticed.”

  “Well,” said Anderton. “I also remember that, generally, these things tend to eventually come to you.”

  Kate smiled at him. “I know. I don’t know why I always worry I won’t be able to work out what it means when I normally do. I suppose I always think ‘this is the one time I might not be able to get it’.”

  Anderton bent his head to hers and kissed her. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t worry about it now.”

  “I won’t.”

  Anderton took the glass from her hand and placed it on the coffee table. “And now, what do you say to round two?”

  Kate kissed him back. “I say yes.”

  “In bed, though.”

  Kate laughed. “That too. Come on.”

  It wasn’t until afterwards, when Anderton was already snoring, that Kate remembered her thought processes in the car driving over here. She rolled onto her back and stared up through the darkness at the unseen ceiling. Was she going to have that conversation with Anderton? Did she even want to? She pondered for a moment, swinging from one way of thought to another, before she yawned and rolled back on her side again. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about the future. She needed to get some sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Amanda Callihan’s sister was called Mary Stirling, and she lived in a suburb of Edinburgh. By the time Kate spoke to her on the telephone, local police had broken the news of her sister’s death to her and she sounded in control of herself, if understandably tearful. She sounded a nice woman, her voice softened by the hint of a Scottish burr.

  “Manda was a lovely person, she really was. She was so soft-hearted. She’s not had an easy life—it seems so cruel for it to be cut short like this—” Mary’s voice broke in a sob. After a moment, when Kate could hear her taking deep breaths on the other end of the line, she came back on the phone. “How can I help you, DI Redman? I’m sorry.”

  Kate felt like she should be apologising to Mary. “We’re trying to build up a picture of Amanda’s life, Mrs Stirling, trying to see if there’s anything we should know that might lead us to a suspect.”

  “I appreciate that—”

  “When was the last time you saw or spoke to Amanda?” Kate could hear Mary gulp. “Was it recently?”

  “We normally spoke most weeks. I can’t remember the last time exactly—och, yes, I can because Manda was planning on coming up to see us, and she wanted to check we’d be around. That must have been…Thursday, last week? Was it the fourteenth?”

  Kate glanced at the little calendar she kept on her desk. “Yes, that’s right, Mrs Stirling. Can you remember your conversation? How did Amanda sound?”

  “Sound?”

  “Did she sound worried or upset in any way? Did she mention anything that might have been bothering her?”

  “I don’t think so.” Mary Stirling sounded unsure. Kate waited, not wanting to push her into making something up out of sheer nervousness, which had been known to happen occasionally. “No,” said Mary, eventually, and more firmly. “She sounded fine, quite happy and quite excited at the thought of coming up here.”

  Kate nodded and asked more questions, about Amanda’s family, her childhood, her relationships and her work. Mary was forthcoming but succinct, and yet again, Kate wished she was doing this interview face to face instead. You got so much more from being physically present at an interview. Would DCI Weaver authorise a trip up to Edinburgh so that Kate could interview Mary again, in more depth? Come off it, Kate. She wasn’t even going to bother asking.

  As she was on the verge of thanking Mary Stirling and ringing off, Kate remembered something. “You said she’d had a bit of a hard life, Mrs Stirling. What did you mean by that?”

  Mary sounded a little defensive. “Oh, it was nothing, nothing much. It’s just—I don’t think life had worked out for Manda quite as she hoped it would. I mean, she always wanted a family, but she just never seemed to meet the right kind of man, not in time, anyway.” Kate winced, glad she couldn’t be seen. “And I told you she used to be a social worker, which she enjoyed but found really hard, and about ten years ago, she had a bit of a breakdown and had to leave. That’s when she got into yoga and that sort of thing. Alternative health, I suppose you’d call it.” Mary’s voice was growing tearful again. “Och, and it’s just so cruel and unfair that somebody’s done this to her.”

  Kate soothed her without promising miracles. When she’d hung up the phone, she scribbled a note to herself; look into background of victim esp. social work. It probably had no bearing on what had happened, but you never knew…

  Kate dropped her pen and pushed her chair back. It was quiet in the office, unusually, with both Chloe and Rav out interviewing witnesses. Theo was typing busily away at his computer. Kate pondered for a moment. Should she crack straight on with delving into Amanda Callihan’s past? That would be slow and painstaking work, which was probably why it didn’t much appeal. She decided to make herself and Theo a coffee as her usual method of procrastination.

  Some mad impulse made her knock on DCI Weaver’s door to offer her a hot drink. Even as she opened the door to the other woman’s sharp ‘enter’—what was wrong with saying ‘come in’, like every normal human being?—Kate wondered why she was bothering.

  “I was just wondering if you wanted a coffee? I’m making one.” Kate tried to sound as pleasant and as neutral as possible.

  DCI Weaver looked up from the papers on her desk. She looked slightly less intimidating than normal—almost, Kate was surprised to note, happy. Relaxed, even. What was going on? “Thanks DS—sorry, DI—Redman. That would be nice. Black, no sugar.”

  Her tone was friendly enough to make Kate forgiv
e her for the slip of the tongue. Maybe this time it really had been unintentional. “Coming right up.”

  “Oh, DI Redman, the PM for the Callihan case is coming up this afternoon. I’d like you to go.”

  “Really?” Kate couldn’t help the note of surprise in her voice. Not that she minded attending post mortems, although it wasn’t on her list of favourite ever tasks, but recently, it had always been allocated to someone else. “I mean, of course. What time is it?”

  She made and distributed the drinks and returned to her desk with the details of the autopsy on a Post-it note. “What’s going on with our Nicola, then?” she asked of Theo. “She’s—dare I say it—almost human today.”

  Having known Theo for so long, Kate knew that this would be his chance to imply that Nicola’s change in personality was something to do with sex. “In fact, Theo, I’ll say it for you.”

  “What?” Theo looked puzzled.

  “’She’s just had a good seeing-to’, ho, ho, banter banter. That’s how it goes, isn’t it?” Kate said, grinning.

  Theo didn’t smile. “What are you talking about?”

  Kate felt foolish. “It’s just—Nicola—oh, never mind.” She swung back to face her desk, giving Theo a baffled look. What was up with him?

  They worked in not quite comfortable silence for some minutes. Then, conscience getting the better of her, Kate asked “Are you okay, Theo?”

  Theo looked up in surprise. “What, mate?”

  “I asked if you were okay?”

  Now it was Theo’s turn to give her a baffled look. “I’m fine.”

  Kate wavered, wondering whether to probe deeper or not, and then gave up. “Okay.”

  Theo shook his head, but he gave her a grin that lightened the atmosphere a little. Kate caught sight of the clock and realised she’d have to leave if she was to make the post mortem on time.

  It was a grey, nothing-weather sort of day, but not too cold for autumn. Kate kicked aside drifts of red and yellow leaves before she ran up the steps to the pathology laboratories. The doctor performing the post mortem was Andrew Stanton, a (very) old boyfriend of Kate’s. She was still on friendly terms with him and his wife. Come to think of it, she owed them a dinner invitation. She remembered talking with Chloe in the car some days ago about a Halloween party. Well, she was damn well going to go ahead and have one.

  “Do you and Juliet fancy coming to a Halloween party?” she asked, as they made their way to the theatre.

  Andrew looked at her with surprise. “Ah—yes?” After a moment, he chuckled. “I didn’t think those were your sort of thing, Kate.”

  “Well, not normally. I mean, I’m normally too busy, but I fancy one this year. So, you’ll come then? And maybe bring some friends?” Thinking of Chloe, she added. “Preferably single ones.”

  Andrew looked even more surprised. “Single? But I thought you and DCI Anderton were—”

  “Oh, we are, we are. I’m thinking of a friend of mine. But don’t worry too much.” Kate was regretting asking by now.

  Luckily, Andrew was nothing if not professional and took his post mortems seriously. They dropped the chat as soon as they entered the room in which the body lay on the gurney, shrouded in dark green cloth. Kate took a seat over by the wall as Andrew scrubbed up.

  Kate was used to Andrew working in silence, punctuated only by the occasional terse remark. She was free to think, turning her gaze away from the particularly gory bits. One part of her mind was on the proposed party; thinking of invitations and who to invite and what she was going to cook and where to get some decorations. And fancy dress, of course. What was she going to wear? The other half of her brain was attending the post mortem and thinking about the victim. Again, she felt that flash of unease about the crime scene—something she’d missed. What was it? Kate made a mental note to look at the crime scene photographs again when she was back in the office.

  At length, Andrew finished stitching, straightened up and drew the sheet back over the body. He rolled his shoulders, shook his head and removed his gloves, throwing them in the hazardous waste bin by the sink.

  “So?” asked Kate.

  “Well, like I said earlier, she died from strangulation. But—and this may be significant—she was stunned by a blow to the head first.”

  “Really? She didn’t put up a fight?”

  “Not at all. There’s nothing under her fingernails, there are no defence wounds.”

  “Interesting.” Kate stared at the covered shape of the body as if it might give her the answers. “Anything else pertinent?”

  “She was a strong, healthy woman. Very fit for her age. She’d not had a child. Um, no sign of sexual assault.” Andrew ran his hand through his hair, once red, now almost entirely grey. “What else?”

  “It’s fine,” said Kate. “I can wait for the report now we’ve got the vitals.”

  “Okay. I’ll have it over to you in a day or so, quick as I can.”

  “Thanks, Andrew.” She raised a hand in farewell and turned to go. “Oh, Halloween party? It’ll be on Halloween, ha, of course.”

  Andrew grinned. “We’ll look forward to it. Um…these single friends you’re looking for. Er, do they have to be male or female?”

  Kate laughed. “Male. I’m pretty sure that’s what she’s looking for.”

  “Hmm. Well, I’ll do my best.”

  Kate drove back to the station, feeling cheerful. Should she make the party a child-friendly one? It made it more likely that people would be able to come if they didn’t have to worry about babysitters. Then she thought of Olbeck and Jeff’s children and how timid and wary of strangers they were. Oh dear, perhaps not. The thought of subjecting two damaged children to a room full of scarily-dressed adults was not a good one. No, best keep it adults-only. Not to mention that it would actually be much more fun without little children there, thought Kate, who then felt slightly guilty. She put all thoughts of the party from her mind as she drove into the station car park and attempted to refocus on work.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning was a little gift from heaven: bright sunshine, a blue sky wisped with white cloud and the autumn colours of the trees in full glorious colour. Kate almost bounded into the office and headed for her desk, keen to get started.

  “All right, bird?” Chloe was already at her desk, pecking away at her keyboard.

  “Morning, bird.” Kate’s fingers flew over her own keyboard with a clatter. “Anything I should know about?”

  “Not much. We’re still pulling CCTV from the streets around Amanda’s flat. Someone will have to go through that with a fine-tooth comb.”

  Kate made a face. “Bagsy not me.”

  “I think Rav’s on it. He’s good at that.” Chloe pushed her chair back a little, stretched and yawned. “God, I’m knackered already. How did the PM go?”

  “I’m just emailing that round now.” Kate signed off her email, making sure she’d copied in DCI Weaver as well as everyone else, and sent it. She remembered the time she’d genuinely forgotten to add Nicola’s email to the ‘To’ column and boy, hadn’t she heard about that for a week? Thinking of this, she quickly checked over her shoulder to see if Nicola was standing behind her—no—and turned back to Chloe. “By the way, how is our Nicola this morning?”

  Chloe shrugged. “Haven’t seen her yet. I don’t think she’s even in. Why?”

  Kate told her about Nicola’s rather nicer behaviour of yesterday. Chloe pulled a face. “About time. But no, I don’t know why.”

  “Well, never mind.” Kate tried to focus her mind on what she had to do. She consulted her notes. Look into background of victim esp. social work. Ah, yes. Was there something else she had to remember? What was it? She cudgelled her memory and remembered. Something about the crime scene photographs—that’s right, she had to check them to see if she could put her finger on what exactly was making her uneasy.

  She almost got up to do that right there and then but decided to do a bit of research on
Amanda Callihan. Knowing the victim was sometimes the quickest and easiest route to their killer. She ran Amanda’s name through various databases, checking on previous convictions, addresses, connections. No previous convictions. She could see from the electoral roll that Amanda had lived in her flat for ten years. Kate was beginning to think that she should go back there, to the scene of the crime. No doubt there was a plethora of information on Amanda to be found there, and Kate could also see if she could pinpoint what she’d felt was wrong. It would be much easier to do on the scene, rather than using a photograph. She made up her mind.

  “I’m off to Amanda’s flat,” she told her friend. “Can you tell our Nicola if she asks?”

  “Hopefully she won’t. But, yes, I will. See you later, bird.”

  Kate blew her an airy kiss, picked up her coat and handbag, and strode from the office.

  The beautiful weather held. It was almost warm, most un-October-like, thought Kate, swinging her car into a free space in the carpark by Amanda’s flat. She wondered who would inherit it. Her sister, perhaps? Amanda’s will was yet another thing to be looked into.

  Blue and white crime-scene tape still garlanded the door. Kate ducked under it and unlocked the door. She waited in the small hallway for a moment, trying to clear her mind. Then she strode purposefully into the living room, trying to look at the whole room in one sweeping gaze.

  This time, she saw it almost at once. The ornament – or statue, she supposed, would be a better term. On the top of a bookcase, half-hidden amongst vases and knick-knacks, stood the same winged statue of a woman that Kate had seen on the sideboard of Roland Barry’s house.

  Kate held her breath and let it out in a rush. Then she walked, almost tiptoeing, up to the bookcase, as if the statue might take flight if she were too rushed in her movements. Without touching it, Kate peered closer, checking she hadn’t been mistaken. No, she hadn’t—it was the same sort of statue. She reached for her bag and extracted a pair of gloves and an evidence bag. Once the object was safely stowed in the latter, Kate moved to the window and held it up to the light.