Fury: (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 11) (The Kate Redman Mysteries) Read online

  “Right,” said Theo, with some finality. Kate got the message.

  “Look, I’d better go.”

  “Yeah, okay. Think I’ll stay for another.”

  Kate nodded and began gathering her belongings. “Oh, by the way. You’re coming to the party, right?”

  “Party?”

  “My Halloween party. Next weekend? I did give you the invitation.”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, sure. Plenty of hot chicks going to be there, right?”

  “Of course,” said Kate, crossing her fingers out of sight under the table.

  “Cool. See you tomorrow then, mate.”

  Kate clapped a hand on his shoulder in farewell and made her way to the door. As she shut it behind her, she could see Theo through the panes of glass. He was texting someone on his phone. This mystery lady? Kate shrugged and trotted down the front steps to the street.

  As she walked home, she phoned Anderton on her mobile and related much of the conversation to him. “What do you think’s up with him?”

  Anderton sounded amused. “He’s probably finally in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same way about him. For a change.”

  Kate laughed. “Romantic karma.”

  “Well, quite. Anyway, enough about Theo. Shall I come on over or are you too tired?”

  “Come on over. I’ll try and stay awake.”

  Now it was Anderton’s turn to laugh. “Do your best. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Bye.” Kate put the phone back into her handbag and strode off into the night, hands in her pockets.

  Chapter Eleven

  As Kate had predicted, DCI Weaver held an incident room debrief the next morning. Kate rubbed her eyes as she listened. Although she’d only had two glasses of wine the night before, the resulting late night of love-making with Anderton meant she’d had far too little sleep. She yawned, and Chloe, leaning on the desk beside her, caught it. Kate expected DCI Weaver to pull them both up on it, make some sort of pointed remark, but she didn’t. Nicola looked rather exhausted herself. Looking around the room, Kate thought that everyone was looking rather wiped out. Complex murder cases had that effect on you. Added to that the time of year, with the seasonal round of colds and flu, and the weather turning grim, grey and blustery, and it was hardly surprising that nobody was looking their best.

  DCI Weaver came to a halt before the two whiteboards covering both cases. “So, to recap. The statue links the two cases, and it’s imperative that we find out how and why this might be. I want you all to concentrate your attention on finding out more about it. DC Cheetam, you’ll be researching possible manufacturers, retailers, where these statues originate from.”

  She turned slowly on one high heel, examining the boards as if in thought. “DS Wapping, DI Redman, I want you to do a deep dive on the history of both Roland Barry and Amanda Callihan. Find out if anything else other than the statue links them. Interview their relatives, their work colleagues, find out everything you can.” She ran a hand over her glossy hair, in a way that meant Kate was suddenly reminded of Anderton doing exactly the same. Was it something they taught you at Chief Inspector level? “Now, we’re still waiting on a lot of the forensic reports. DS Marsh, you made a very good suggestion as to whether there have been any other cases in which this statue has been found.” Theo looked smug. “Could you take on that task?”

  “Sure.” Looking for similarities in differing murder cases was something of a speciality of Theo’s. Kate remembered how he’d managed to track down a link between cases in the butterfly killer case, all those years ago. Her stomach twisted. Was this another serial killer? Surely not? But what if it was?

  Dismissed by their DCI, Kate and Chloe made their way back to their desks.

  “So, bird, you want to take Roland or Amanda? I’m easy.”

  “I’ll do Amanda.” Kate had already had contact with Amanda’s sister and knew that it would make things a little easier. “If that’s okay with you.”

  “No problem. I’ll get us a coffee.”

  When Chloe returned with two steaming mugs, Kate took one from her and sat back in her chair in thought. Amanda Callihan. Social worker turned yoga teacher. Which strand of her career to unpick first? There was the case that her sister had mentioned, the one in Whitehaven, The child that should have been removed from her family for safety but hadn’t been, with tragic results. A depressingly common story. Should she start there? Kate thought of the mounds of data she would have to wade through, the newspaper headlines to look up, the phone calls to people she didn’t know, the answerphone messages she would have to leave that might or might not be returned. Inwardly, she groaned. If she’d been feeling more awake, that might have been the place to start. But, fogged with tiredness as she was, she decided to get a bit of fresh air instead.

  “I’m off to the yoga centre where Amanda worked,” she told Chloe, as was the protocol for all officers at Abbeyford when going somewhere alone. Chloe merely nodded; she was already on the phone chasing leads of her own.

  **

  As Kate stepped outside, she was almost blown off her feet by the howling wind. Clutching her wildly flapping coat around her, hair whipping across her face, she battled across the car park and slammed the car door thankfully. Well, there was fresh air at least… The sky was an odd yellowish-grey colour and the gale was tearing the last of the autumn leaves from the trees. Kate turned on the car radio to hear the weather forecaster promising a storm across Wales and the South West. Great. Kate looked up the address of Amanda Callihan’s place of work, put the car in gear, and drove away.

  Namaste Studios were located up a tiny cobbled side street in the centre of Abbeyford. Parking was impossible. Cursing, Kate drove around until she found a council car park and noted down the parking money amount in her notebook to claim back on expenses later. Anderton had once laughed at her careful notes of what she’d run up in expenses but, as she pointed out rather acerbically to him, he earned a great deal more money than she did. He had had the grace to look a little sheepish at that.

  Kate reached the door of the studios, which was set back from the street. The rooms were located in a tall, Georgian building. Namaste Studios was neatly printed by the doorbell, under R. Brown, Life Coach for the doorbell above. Kate pressed the bell and waited for a response.

  She was granted entry and climbed the stairs. The walls were painted a serene pale blue, and she could smell some sort of incense as she wound her way upwards. On the second floor, the corridor opened out into a reception area, clean and white, with a pretty, dark-haired girl sat behind the desk. The girl looked at her with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but the midday class has started,” she said.

  “Oh, I’m not here for a class.” Kate produced her credentials and the girl’s dark blue eyes widened. “I’m investigating the death of one of your instructors, I’m afraid. Amanda Callihan?”

  Those blue eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Amanda,” the girl said and burst into sobs.

  The next few minutes were taken up with Kate attempting to soothe the girl—Josie Hill, according to her name tag—back into some sort of sense. As she tried to get the girl to stop crying, Kate heard some sort of Eastern music coming from the studio nearest the desk. There was a glass panel in the studio door, and Kate could see several women bending and contorting themselves on purple mats on the white-painted floor.

  At last, Josie got herself under control. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, “but it’s just so awful. It was such a shock to us all.”

  “I’m sure it was. I’m so sorry,” said Kate. She handed Josie another tissue—she always carried several packets around in her handbag. “I was hoping you might be able to help me?”

  “I’ll try,” said Josie, with a watery sniff. Kate wondered at her age. Surely no more than twenty-two?

  “When does the next class start, Josie?” Kate didn’t want a whole load of lycra-clad women descending on them in the middle of the interview.

  “Not until three.
The instructors have a lunch break after the midday class.”

  “Great. Now, as I mentioned before, I’m investigating Amanda’s—” Kate had been about to say ‘murder’ but decided on a euphemism, in case Josie started crying again. “I’m investigating Amanda’s case. We’re trying to piece together her history, the kind of person she was, her friends and anyone she knew that might be significant. What can you tell me about her?”

  For all her youth and soft-hearted nature, Josie turned out to be quite observant. Kate learnt that Amanda had worked for the studio for three years and was “nice, but, like, quite self-contained.” Josie, warming to her theme while the tears dried on her cheeks, said “She always seemed a little…sad, maybe, if that’s the word. Not, like, sad, like pathetic, more—more she just seemed a bit…”

  Kate always tried not to prompt but the silence stretched out so long that she couldn’t help saying “Lonely?”

  Josie looked at her gratefully. “Yeah, lonely, maybe. I mean, she always would come out for a drink and come to the Christmas party and stuff. She wasn’t anti-social, but she was… I suppose she was a bit of an introvert, really.”

  “What about her family? Did she have a partner?”

  Josie crumpled up her mouth as she pondered. “She had a sister, she was close to her sister, always going up to Scotland to visit her. She was seeing this bloke, I can’t remember his name, but he was quite new. She hadn’t been seeing him for long.” Something seemed to occur to her and she gulped. “Oh my god, it wasn’t him, was it? It’s always the men, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t comment on that, Josie,” Kate said gently. She scribbled down a few more notes and asked a few more questions.

  As her conversation with Josie drew to a close, she was aware of the music stopping and bustle and hum of people beginning to pack up after their yoga class. “Josie, thanks for your time, it’s been really helpful. I’d like to talk to the instructors now, if they’re free?”

  “I’ll check for you,” Josie said and scurried into the studio while Kate moved out of the way of the stream of flushed and sweaty women pouring past her on the way to the changing rooms.

  After her interview with the yoga teacher, Dawn Hassan, which yielded little other than much of what Josie had already told her, Kate thanked both women again. She said goodbye and went back out into the corridor, wondering where to go from there. She had a name from Dawn, one of Amanda’s friends who she’d introduced to her work colleagues after her friend had come to a class. Kate read the name again: Charlotte Simpson. She would surely be the next best person to contact.

  Kate ran down to the first floor landing, rounded the corner of the stairs and nearly ran into another woman who was walking up them. They both apologised simultaneously.

  “Oh, sorry!”

  “Sorry—”

  Both laughed. “My fault entirely,” said Kate.

  “These stairs are rather narrow,” said the woman. In the dim light of the hallway it was hard to make her out properly, but she looked to be in her late thirties, possibly older. She was thick-set, dressed in a rather frumpy woollen dress, sage-green and voluminous, under a beige parka. She didn’t look much like a yoga student, and Kate wasn’t surprised when the woman, smiling politely as she passed her, produced a key to the door on the landing that had a sign on the wall outside, R. Brown, Life Coaching Services.

  Kate turned to go and then turned back on impulse. “Ms Brown?”

  The woman looked surprised. “Yes?”

  Kate introduced herself and why she was there.

  Ms Brown’s face contracted briefly. “Oh, God, yes. Poor Amanda. It was just too cruel. Too cruel for words.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “Not well. I knew her to say hello to, like I do all the women here.” Ms Brown hesitated for a moment and added, “Amanda was a client of mine, for a very brief time. She only came for one or two sessions.”

  “Would you mind if we had a quick chat, Ms Brown? I’m just trying to get as much information as I can on Amanda’s background, and it would be so handy if you could give me anything—anything at all.”

  Ms Brown smiled sadly. “Of course. Of course, I will.” She glanced at her watch, a fussy silver one with lots of curliques. “I’ve got a client coming in half an hour, but I can spare twenty minutes or so.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ms Brown unlocked her door and stood back to let Kate walk through. “I’m Rachel, by the way. Do come in.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Rachel Brown’s suite of rooms consisted of a large sitting room, where Kate now stood, with what looked like a tiny kitchenette off to one side and another door that possibly led to a bathroom or was perhaps only a store cupboard. The walls were magnolia woodchip, the carpet a sad brown, covered with a fluffy rug that Kate recognised as one from Ikea (she had one herself in her bedroom). There were a few indifferent watercolours of flowers and trees dotted about on the walls and a three piece suite in a faded floral pattern. Over by the window was a desk with a laptop, a white Buddha statue beside it and an incense burner the only other objects on it. A small filing cabinet on top of it. The whole set up reminded Kate rather oddly of Amanda’s flat, in that it was tired and shabby, with that indefinable air of sadness permeating it.

  Rachel, who appeared unembarrassed by her surroundings, headed to the filing cabinet, opened it and began flicking through the contents. “Amanda, Amanda,” she muttered, and then looked enquiringly at Kate. “What was her surname again?”

  “Callihan. Amanda Callihan.”

  “Right. Oh, here we are.” She extracted a slim cardboard file and then, gesturing for Kate to sit down on the sofa, took the opposite armchair. “Here we are.” She withdrew a few sheets of paper from the folder. “Like I said, she only came for one session. No, sorry, two. Just two.” Rachel bit her unpainted lip for a moment. “Normally, I obviously wouldn’t give this to anyone to read. I take client confidentiality seriously. But the poor woman’s dead, after all.”

  She handed Kate the two sheets of paper, clipped together.

  “May I take this?” asked Kate. “I’d give you a receipt of course.”

  Rachel waved a hand. “It’s fine. It’s of no use to me now, and if you think it would help…”

  Kate thanked her and carefully folded the papers away in her handbag. “Now, Mrs—Rachel, could you tell me anything else about Amanda?”

  Rachel sat back in the armchair, her fingers tapping against the arm rests. “I’m not sure. There’s so little I actually remember. It was well over a year ago she came to see me.” She looked at Kate as if something had just occurred to her. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even offer—would you like a cup of tea?”

  Kate was parched but she didn’t want the woman to get side-tracked. Besides, if the décor was anything to go by, the tea would most likely be herbal and taste of nothing more than faintly fruit-flavoured water. “No, thanks, Rachel. Anything you can remember about Amanda would be so helpful.”

  Rachel looked down at her lap for a moment. “She was unhappy. I’d say very unhappy. She used to work as a social worker, I assume you know that?” Kate nodded. “Well, she said she had to resign because of—well, actually I think she was signed off sick because she had some sort of breakdown. Something to do with a case she’d been involved in.”

  Kate nodded again. “Yes, that’s something we’re looking into.”

  Rachel looked troubled. “She came to me because she said she wanted to know what to do with her life. That’s something I help with, you know, helping people figure out what it is they might like to do. Particularly after a difficult period in their lives—you know, after a divorce or a redundancy or an illness.” Kate smiled encouragingly. “Well, there was that but…it was odd, but I got the impression she was scared of something.”

  Kate’s internal sensor pricked up its ears. “Scared?” she asked.

  Rachel nodded, looking even more troubled. “Yes. As I s
aid, she only came twice. The second time, I was pushing her a little bit more about her past work experience and what have you, and she said something like ‘I want to leave the past behind me, it’s got nothing but bad memories, and I’m scared that one day it’ll catch me up.”

  Kate stared. “She said that?”

  “I know. That’s why I remember it, it made a real impression on me.” Rachel recited as if from memory. “’I’m scared that one day it’ll catch me up.”

  The two women looked at one another. Kate was first to break eye contact, and she took out her notebook and wrote down what Rachel had just told her. “Anything else?”

  Rachel shook her head. “That was her last session with me. The next week she rang to cancel, and I didn’t see her again. Well, not in a professional capacity.”

  “Right.” Kate wanted some time to mull over what Rachel Brown had told her. She also wanted to find out exactly what had happened in the case that cost Amanda Callihan her career. “I’ll give you my card, Rachel. Please do contact me if you remember or think of anything else.”

  “Yes, of course.” Rachel got up to usher Kate out and held out her hand to shake goodbye. She had a surprisingly strong handshake for someone who looked so, well, woolly. “Goodbye.”

  **

  Kate battled her way back through the wind, mini-tornadoes of autumn leaves assaulting her as she opened the car door. As she subsided, gasping in relief, onto the driver’s seat, a woman passed the front of the car, carrying a shopping bag in one hand and a jaunty orange pumpkin in the other. Kate was reminded that her Halloween party was in two days’ time and she hadn’t done any food shopping, decoration preparation or, indeed, house cleaning. She ripped a page from her notebook and scrawled down a list of things she needed to do. Hopefully, she’d be able to get away from work on time tonight, providing no great breakthrough had been achieved on either case. At least her costume was sorted; Kate had ordered it from Amazon a week ago. Two, in fact. “Zombie bride or sexy witch?” she mused to herself, reversing out of the car parking space and heading back to the office. “That is indeed the question.”