Bad Moon Rising (#1 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series) (8 page)

“Don’t answer it. Don’t. If you go, I’ll never forgive you,” Katy said. “This is our time.”

Paolo’s stomach turned over. He’d given strict instructions, no calls unless it was absolutely necessary, which meant this wasn’t going to be good news.

“Storey,” he said.

CC’s voice told him all he didn’t want to know. Another body had been found and it was almost certainly the work of their killer.

He put the phone in his pocket and turned to his daughter who was glaring at him. “Katy...”

“Don’t say it, Dad. Don’t say you have to go. You were going to take me for a burger. You promised.”

As he reached out for her, she picked up one of the controls and threw on to the couch.

“I hate you,” she yelled and ran from the room.

He heard her sob as she fled upstairs. Seconds later the slamming of her bedroom door reverberated through the house. As he gathered his belongings together, a shadow fell across the sitting room. He looked up to see Lydia leaning against the doorframe.

“I take it from Katy’s yelling and door slamming that you’ve done what you do best, let down the women in your life.”

“Give it a rest, Lydia. I have to go. It’s work and...”

“And what? And you can’t wait to run away? Isn’t that what you always do? Give up on trying to make things work?”

He stood up and walked towards the doorway. Lydia moved to one side to let him through.

“I tried to make our marriage work,” he said as he passed her. “Then I found out that you were having an affair. There didn’t seem to be much point in trying after that.”

She shot him a look of pure loathing. “And who drove me to it? Who made me so desperate for affection that anyone would do?”

“But it wasn’t just anyone, was it?”

She shook her head and pushed him to one side, then turned and headed into the kitchen. Paolo let himself out. He had never felt more alone.

***

Barbara was exhausted after a heavy bout of retail therapy. She didn’t usually come into town on a Saturday, but had woken feeling as though she needed a treat. She walked into the Nag and Bag ravenously hungry. Whatever Sharon had on as special was going to go down well. Unusually, she was behind the bar and there was no wonderful aroma wafting through from the kitchen.

Dropping the bags at her feet, Barbara smiled across the counter at Sharon.

“I decided to treat myself to one of your wonderful meals. I don’t often see you serving the drinks, Sharon. Is this a regular Saturday thing?”

“Larry’s out, so I’m having to cover. There are no specials on today though, Barbara, sorry,” Sharon answered without turning her head in Barbara’s direction. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Diet Coke, please. Is there something wrong with your neck?”

“No, why?”

“You seem to be holding it at a funny angle.”

Sharon turned to face Barbara and revealed something more serious than a stiff neck. The right side of her face was swollen and she had a painful looking black eye.

“What happened to you? That looks really bad.”

Sharon shrugged and winced as if the slightest movement hurt. “I fell down the stairs.” She moved away to serve another customer and then came back to Barbara. When she spoke again, her voice was barely audible and Barbara could hear she was close to tears. “Go and sit at your usual table. I can get one of the kitchen girls to make you something from our bar menu.”

Barbara made sure no one was within hearing distance. “Come on, Sharon, what happened really?” she whispered. “You didn’t get that falling down stairs. Is Larry up to his old tricks?”

Sharon’s lip trembled and she nodded. When she spoke her words were barely audible. Barbara leaned forward as Sharon answered.

“We had a fight and Larry got mad at me. I think he’s having an affair, Barbara. He’s always going out without telling me where he’s going and leaving me to cash up. I got fed up last night and when he came back I told him I wasn’t going to take it anymore and he freaked. Started chucking stuff around upstairs in the flat and when I tried to leave... well, you can see what happened when I tried to leave.”

“You can’t stay with him, Sharon. Not if he’s hitting you again.”

“I drove him to it. He didn’t mean it. He’s a good man really, Barbara. I know you don’t think so, but he is. He wouldn’t have hit me if I hadn’t kept on at him. He was so sorry this morning when he woke up and realised what he’d done.”

Barbara was furious, but before she could say anything more a customer on the other side of the bar called for a refill. By the time Sharon came back Barbara had an argument well prepared. Sharon could stay with her for as long as she needed to. No way would she let Larry anywhere near Sharon, but she never got a chance to outline her plans for Sharon’s future because the door opened and Larry came in, peering out from behind a massive bouquet of roses. He walked up to the bar and handed them over to Sharon with a flourish.

“These are for my special girl.” He turned to Barbara. “Did she tell you about her fall? Frightened me half to death, it did, seeing her lying at the bottom of the stairs. Still, she seems to be okay now. We don’t usually see you in here at the weekend. You want something to eat? Now I’m back Sharon can rustle you up something, no problem.”

Barbara’s phone rang, saving her from having to answer Larry, which was just as well because he wouldn’t have liked what she had to say. More to the point, she might make things worse for Sharon. She sighed, snapped open her phone and turned away from Larry to take the call.

“What? It’s the weekend. Why me? Oh, okay. Ja, I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

She slipped the phone into her handbag and gathered up her shopping.

“I have to go,” she said, “but I’ll be back later. Chat then.”

Barbara could only hope that Sharon realised the last bit was aimed at her. She had to find a way to help Sharon stand up to Larry and stop being his punch bag.

***

The illegal dump site was on the western boundary of Bradchester; right next to the open countryside. The view of rolling hills and trees was marred by only one thing, the mountain of black bags, rotting mattresses, broken televisions, fridges and computers. The pile was finished off with an assortment of plastic garden furniture, which looked as if it could come toppling down if the swirling gusts battering the garbage heap were any stronger. Paolo stood upwind, away from the stench, to question the council worker who’d found the dead woman, while Barbara and her team worked with the body.

“How long has this been here?” he asked, pointing to the mass of refuse.

“The council have known about it for six months or more, but we only started clearing this week. People have been complaining, but you know what the council’s like, never do nuffink if they can get away with it. They said with the budget cuts, there was no money to pay us lot overtime. That’s what they always say. No money, no overtime. Simple as that.”

“If that’s the case, how come you’re working today? Why not send you out during the week?”

“They did,” the man said with a grin, “the pile was twice as high a few days back. It’s been classified as a health hazard, so now the tight bastards at the top have to pay us to work non-stop until it’s cleared. Good for us, this is. I’m putting the extra towards a nice holiday for me family.”

Paolo took the man’s details and moved over to where Dave was chatting to the young WPC who’d been first on the scene. Paolo smiled. From the look on Dave’s face, it didn’t appear as if this was one of his partner’s easy conquests. It looked more like a full-scale argument had erupted, so Paolo stopped to enjoy the sight of Dave being given a tongue lashing by a slight figure who barely reached his shoulder. Maybe the idiot would learn that not all women would fall at his feet. This one looked like she’d rather chop them off. The wind changed direction and a few words drifted across, just on the edge of Paolo’s hearing.

“...she lied. I never did...” Dave said, sounding really pissed off.

“That’s exactly right,
Mr I’m an important policeman
, she said you couldn’t...”

“... fuck you...”

“Rebecca says... can’t... up,” the WPC said, grinning at Dave who’d flushed a vivid fiery red.

Paolo decided it was time to step in. He pulled his phone out and opened it. Holding it to his ear, he spoke loudly enough for Dave and the WPC to look up.

“Hmm, yes, that’s right. Thanks for the call.”

The WPC glared at Dave and moved away. Paolo walked over and stood next to his partner, waiting until the WPC was out of earshot.

“This is your last warning, Dave. I catch you using a crime scene as a dating agency just one more time and you are off my team. Do I make myself clear?”

Dave nodded and turned away, but Paolo thought he saw a tear fall down the man’s face. Considering how insensitive Dave usually was, that seemed really out of character and Paolo regretted speaking as harshly as he had.

Dave turned back, wiping away the tear. “Bloody wind makes my eyes water every time.”

“Here comes Dr Royston,” Paolo said, glad of the chance to change the subject. “Shall we find out what she’s got to say about our latest victim?”

Paolo waited for the pathologist to reach him. Remembering their last encounter, he prayed she would give him a break. He didn’t think he could cope with any more disapproving looks today.

“What can you tell us?” he asked, determined to keep his voice light and friendly.

“Not much until I get her back to the lab.” As Paolo opened his mouth, she continued. “No! Don’t ask. I don’t have any instant answers and I don’t want to start making guesses just to give you something to write in your report. The only thing I’m sure of is that this body has been here for quite some time. Weeks, possibly longer, which means she was killed before the other two. Make of that whatever you want. I was hoping to have some time to myself this weekend and I’m not in the best of moods, so unless you really want me to let rip at you, it might be best to stop asking bloody silly questions that you know as well as I do I can’t answer.”

As she stormed off Dave’s mouth dropped open. “Blimey, what rattled her cage?”

Paolo sighed. “I have no idea, but right now a monastery with really high walls and padlocked gates sounds like the safest place for me to be. Have I got
hate me
written across my forehead?”

C
HAPTER 
S
EVEN

After a weekend spent alone, despite several ineffective calls trying to make it up with Katy, Paolo was relieved when Monday finally came round and he was able to go to the station without anyone asking him why he was working when he should have been enjoying his time off. His tiny bedsit felt more like a prison cell than the cells in the nick, so he’d escaped the place on Sunday by going to work. Maybe he should just move into the station and be done with it.

He walked along the corridor leading to his section, wondering if he’d ever get his problems with Lydia sorted out. Surely, to remain so angry with him after all this time must mean she still had feelings for him?

He stopped dead as he reached his office. Bloody hell, this was just what he needed on a Monday morning. Talk about the worst possible start to the week! Leaning against the wall was Matthew Roberts.

Matthew smiled at Paolo as if they were friends, making Paolo’s head throb with anger.

“What the bloody hell are you doing in here? Who let you in?”

Matthew laughed. “Which question would you like me to answer first, Paolo? I’m here to stop you from harassing my client. Your desk sergeant let me in to wait for you. Aren’t you going to invite me inside, or do you chat to all your visitors in the corridor?”

Paolo unlocked his office door and gestured for Matthew to go ahead.

“Where would you like me to sit? Your chair looks more comfortable than that rickety old thing,” he said, pointing to the visitor’s chair.

Paolo didn’t bother to reply. He moved behind the desk and sat down. “Well, I haven’t got all day. Why are you here?”

Matthew sauntered over. “Hmm, I hope the stains on the seat aren’t fresh,” he said as he sat down. “Paolo, we’ve known each other for too long to play games. Let’s not mess around with the niceties. Either you leave my client alone, or I’m going to go after you with everything I’ve got. Frank Azzopardi has many, shall we say, less than savoury activities, but that doesn’t mean you can drop in and threaten him whenever the mood takes you. He tells me you and your latest sidekick accused him of murder. I was under the impression no charges had been brought against him involving the Albanian prostitute – and also that the CPS didn’t intend to bring charges in the near future. But maybe I was hallucinating that day.”

“She’s dead, Matthew. That’s why she disappeared and her disappearance meant the CPS had no case to bring. Now, if you take into account the fact that she died before she could testify against Azzopardi, doesn’t that seem a little suspect to you? It did to me, so I thought I’d have a nice, friendly chat with him to ask about his movements.”