Dubious Justice (8 page)

The woman threw open the front door, turned, and walked back into the house. Once they had joined her in the living room, which was nicely furnished in muted brown tones, Lorne cleared her throat and asked the woman to take a seat.

Sensing that she’d misread the situation, the woman sank into the sofa and clutched her shaking hands together. “Now you’re beginning to worry me. Please tell me why you’re here.”

“Well, it’s with regret that I have to inform you that your husband’s body was found this morning.”

The woman’s hand covered her mouth for an instant, then she found her voice again. “You said
body
. What do you mean by that? Just to clarify something, my husband and I are currently separated.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. We’re treating your husband’s death as suspicious.”

“Death? How? My God, Jeff is dead!”

“Have you been separated long, Mrs. Whitmore?”

“About a month. He works long hours,
very
long hours, and our relationship has suffered because of that.” Her eyes misted up as she clarified things for them.

“Hence you having to find a job, I gather?” Lorne asked.

“Yes. Good heavens, what am I going to do now? If I don’t turn up for the interview, they’ll think I’m not interested. If I do turn up and people find out I went for the job after you giving me this devastating news, I’ll be deemed as heartless. I’m between a rock and a hard place. My Lord, should I even be thinking about getting a job at a time such as this? My God, I’m so confused. Poor Jeff. Poor, poor Jeff.”

“I can understand your confusion, Mrs. Whitmore, and I appreciate you talking to us. I have to ask if you knew where your husband was working last night?”

She shook her head, and her gaze drifted off to the left, to the wedding photo on the oak sideboard. The picture was taken on a white sandy beach. Mrs. Whitmore was dressed in a stunning white off-the-shoulder wedding dress, while her husband wore a black tuxedo. “We got married in the Caribbean. Forty of us flew out there. It was one of the best days of my life.”

“When did the wedding take place?” Lorne asked.

“Ten years ago,” she replied, sadness emanating from her voice. “We were so in love back then.”

“What happened? Sorry if that sounds too personal. I’m just trying to build a picture of your husband.”

“The hours, his overtime hours. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve been a housewife for years now. At first, I loved being at home, but then he was leaving me alone in the house longer and longer each day. Yes, I know how selfish I sound, especially as he was only working the long hours to make our lives easier. The thing is, the loneliness eats away at you in time. Nothing is really worth being left alone to stare at the walls for thirteen to fourteen hours a day.”

“What about the weekends? Did he have time off then?”

“No. After years of putting up with the solitude, I’d eventually had enough. We agreed to separate, but he cut my money off, forcing me to go out and find a job of my own. I don’t blame him for his callous behaviour—I’d do the same if I were in his shoes. Now you’re telling me he’s dead. Was it some kind of accident at work? I said he should rest from time to time. It’s not good working all the hours he does. His concentration is bound to slip now and then.”

“No. it looks like your husband was murdered, though that’s yet to be confirmed by the pathologist.”

“Why? Who would kill Jeff? He’s hardworking, mate to all and sundry, and never really has a bad word to say about anyone. Why on earth would someone kill him?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. It looks like we have a few other deaths in the area that could be linked. We’re just trying to find the connection between the three victims.”

“Three victims?”

“Yes. All the victims were tradesmen, like your husband. The first victim was an electrician, the second a plumber, and then your husband was found this morning. He’s a plasterer, right?”

“Yes. One of the best in the area. He’s never short on jobs because he takes pride in his work.”

“Do you know where he has been working recently?”

“Not really. I know he was working on the side, if that’s what you’re insinuating. His boss didn’t know, so I wouldn’t bother asking him, either.”

“That was going to be my next question—whether his boss was aware of his work on the side. Okay, then my next logical question is, did your husband know either Paul Lee or Victor Caprini? Did he ever mention either man’s name?”

Mrs. Whitmore searched her mind but ended up shaking her head in response. “He might have known them, but I can’t seem to recall their names. Why?”

“They’re the names of the other victims. Are you sure your husband hasn’t hinted at the work he’s been doing lately? You know, something along the lines of it’s an old house that has been gutted by the owners?”

“No. I’d tell you if I thought it would help, I swear.”

“Does your husband have a close friend he confides in? Goes out drinking with?” Lorne glanced over at the wedding photo, hoping to see a best man in the picture. There wasn’t one.

“No. he never had any spare time, Inspector. His work was his life. He very rarely had any downtime.” She nodded at the photo. “That was the last holiday we had. He worked seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year.”

“I see. The only other line of enquiry we’re following at the moment is, one of the men had gambling debts of sorts. Can you tell me if Jeff ever gambled?”

She frowned as she thought, then she finally shook her head. “Only on the Grand National, nothing more than that really. Mainly because he didn’t have the time to place any bets.”

“What about cards? Did he play cards at all?”

“No,” she replied more adamantly.

Lorne glanced at Sean, who shrugged in response.

Lorne stood up to leave. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss. We better get back to the station now and begin the investigation in earnest into your husband’s death. Will you be all right?”

“I’m not sure. I suppose I’m still in shock.”

Mrs. Whitmore showed Lorne and Sean back through the house to the front door, where she bid them farewell and closed the door behind them.

“What now?” Sean asked as they returned to the car.

Lorne threw her arms out to the side and let them slap against her thighs. “Get back to the station. I’m at a loss what to do next on this one. Three murders in, and we’re no nearer resolving the case than we were after the first death. What are we missing, Sean?”

“We’ll do some brainstorming when we get back over a coffee or two. You’re not alone on this one, Lorne. Don’t go thinking you have to punish yourself for not solving the case by yourself, okay?”

Chapter Eight

Tony and Joe began their investigation into Alec Edmond’s disappearance, by going through the list of people who’d attended the man’s stag party the night he went missing.

“This should be quite easy, as all the partygoers worked at the same factory.” Joe ran his finger down the list as Tony drove through the gates of the metal foundry works.

“It’ll only be easy if the boss gives us permission to speak to the men while they’re at work. If not, we could be in for a long night.”

Fortunately, once Tony explained who they were and what they were trying to achieve, Mr. Powell, the managing director of the factory, was only too willing to open up one of the spare offices so they could carry out the interviews there. He even insisted on putting himself forward to be the first in line.

“That’s terrific. Thanks,” Tony said, relieved.

Tony and Joe sat on one side of the desk, notebooks to hand, while Mr. Powell sat down opposite them.

“Can you tell us in your own words what happened that night, Mr. Powell?” Tony asked.

“Please, it’s Ian. Well, we had all arranged to meet up at the Swan just up the road from here at seven.”

“This was on Friday of last week, yes?” Joe was quick to ask.

“That’s right. We generally work a five-day week, six days when we have a crucial deadline to meet for one of our suppliers. It’s pretty slow right now. I specifically asked Alec to consider having the stag do on a Friday. Less likely to have numerous calls saying people are too ill to work the next day that way. Anyway, by seven thirty, everyone who was due to show up had arrived. We stayed at the pub for another hour and then moved on to Tiffany’s Club.”

“That’s the new lap-dancing club in town, right?” Tony clarified.

“Yes, not our usual hangout, I can assure you, but this was no ordinary night. Our mate was getting hitched, and we wanted to give him a good send-off. Anyway, everyone was enjoying themselves. The girls were gyrating their bits onstage even faster than the beer was flowing. We were all having a great time.”

When the man paused, Tony looked up from his notes. “I sense you’re about to tell us that something changed not long after that. Am I correct?”

“Yes. Well, two guys in the group, Dave and Sid, got a bit mouthy with some college kids sitting at the next table. One thing led to another, and fists soon started to fly.”

“Did the bouncers or security men at the club get involved?”

“Did they ever! Their punches turned out to be far harder than the other guys’.”

“What happened next? Did you get kicked out?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, the whole lot of us, plus the kids who started the ruckus in the first place. We sobered up pretty quickly once the night air hit us outside. We milled around the town for a while, singing and generally enjoying ourselves, until the small hours of the morning. Then the group dispersed, and we all went home.”

“Did you see much of Alec during the night?”

“Yep, he was the centre of attention at all times. We called in at an off licence and bought bottles of cider, vodka, and wine. Took it in turns to hand the bottles around, played a few games, and then went home when we’d had enough.”

“So what happened to Alec? Who saw him home?”

Ian Powell shrugged and looked down at his clenched hands on the table. “I’m not sure, is the answer. I looked around for him and presumed he’d departed in one of the first cabs we stumbled across—I really wasn’t paying that much attention. It wasn’t until we all arrived at work on Monday that we heard he hadn’t returned home that night. We’ve all done our share. Once the guys have finished their shifts, they’ve all gone straight back out there to search for him. It was my suggestion to call you guys in—well, some form of PI anyway. The police just refused point-blank to investigate his disappearance; said it occurred all the time when men were due to get wed, not that I’ve heard of that many cases over the years.”

“To be honest, that’s our experience, too. I have to ask this—is there any way Alec would have gone off with another woman that night? Did he have a former girlfriend still on the scene, for instance?”

Ian shook his head. “Nope, he’s devoted to Beth. He’d never let her down, ever. Although saying that, just recently, Marissa has been pestering him at work over the last month or so.”

“Marissa? A former girlfriend? Does she work here?” Tony fired off the questions one after the other.

“Marissa Gormon. Alec went out with her for a couple of years, very possessive kind of girl. She heard that he was getting married to Beth and sort of went off the rails. She doesn’t work here, but over the last few weeks, she’s been showing up to see him, pestering him. I warned him to get rid of her once and for all. He told me that he’d tried, but she wasn’t prepared to let things drop. She’d become infatuated with him all over again, he told me. He was distraught about her hanging around here after work. He used to stay later at his station just to avoid being confronted by the bitch outside the gates.”

“I don’t suppose you have an address for this woman?”

“I haven’t, but I’m sure one of the other guys will be able to supply you with one. I definitely think someone should look her up and question her.”

“We’ll do just that. It does seem suspicious behaviour. Did you see her at any point during the course of Friday night?”

Powell’s mouth twisted as he thought. “Can’t say I did, but I was more than a tad drunk. Right, that’s all I can tell you about what went on that night, chaps. Do you want me to start sending the rest of the staff in to see you?”

“That would be great. Let’s hope the others can shed some light on this Marissa woman. It would be good to gather more background information about their failed relationship. Maybe once the stag night came around, the reality of the situation hit home to her, and she tried her hardest to put a stop to the wedding. Pure conjecture of course at this point, but her behaviour does sound as though it belongs in the stalkerish realms to me,” Tony admitted.

Mr. Powell left the room and showed the next man in. Fred Elmleigh was a rotund little man who came across as nice enough, if a little quiet. Tony struggled to believe the man had even gone out on the stag night with the other men.
Unless his quiet demeanour is hiding something?

“No need to be nervous, Fred. We’re just trying to figure out what went on that night. Have you heard from Alec since last Friday?”

“No, nothing at all. Not that we were that close, really. I think the guys only asked me to join them because they felt sorry for me. They didn’t want me to feel left out.”

“I see. So you don’t usually go out with the group then?”

“No. Never. I wish I hadn’t bothered this time, either. It’s shocking what’s gone on.”

“Did you see Alec get in a taxi at the end of the night, Fred?”

The man shook his head and avoided eye contact with Tony in reply.

Tony had a feeling they were unlikely to get anything useful out of the man and rushed his interview through to its conclusion. “Well, thanks for your help. Can you send the next person in on your way out?”

“Is that it?” Fred looked shocked at being dismissed so early.

Tony tilted his head. “Unless you can tell us anything more of interest, yes. We have quite a few other men to interview and only a couple of hours to do that in. Thanks, Fred.”

Disgruntled, the man stood and tucked his chair neatly under the desk before he left the room.

Joe leaned sideways and said in a low voice, “Funny reaction.”

“Let’s face it—he seemed a ‘funny’ kind of guy. Let’s not dwell on it. He came across as harmless enough.”

“If you say so,” Joe replied as the next interviewee joined them.

“Hi, I’m Seb. You wanted to have a word with me about Alec?”

“That’s right. Take a seat, Seb. Can you run through the events of last Friday for us? We’re trying to piece together Alec’s last-known whereabouts.”

“Sure.” Seb told the same story the other partygoers had already told Tony and Joe, adding nothing of any value.

Tony was beginning to think they were merely wasting time going over old ground constantly. That side of PI work didn’t really sit comfortably with him. He’d rather have been out there searching for the man the old-fashioned way than being forced to listen to the same words over and over again, like some kind of torture technique.

Another hour passed before they had interviewed all the men who attended Alec’s stag night. Frustrated, they left the factory none the wiser and made their way back to the car.

Tony placed his forearms on the roof of the car and let out a long sigh. “What a waste of time that was. Any suggestions what we do next?”

Joe unlocked the doors, and they both climbed into the vehicle. “Well, we do have that Marissa’s address now. Maybe we should consider paying her a visit? What do you say?”

Tony nodded. “With very few other options available to us, I say we should give it a shot.”

* * *

The address turned out to be a high-rise flat in a block on the outskirts of the city.

“Nice area,” Joe mumbled sarcastically.

Disappointed to see the lift out of action, they climbed the stairs to the twentieth floor, passing areas littered with defecation that the council obviously had no intention of cleaning up. The smell of urine clung to Tony’s nostrils during the ascent, and he suspected it had also wormed its way into the fine fibres of his suit and would prove near impossible to shift once they got home. At regular intervals, they passed by skinny dogs tied up on the concrete balconies. Tony cringed at the thought of Lorne ever seeing dogs treated like that. She would have let the owners know in no uncertain terms what she thought of them. He dipped his hand in his pocket and threw each of them a couple of chews, which he kept there for emergencies, just in case he needed to distract a guard dog. The dogs pounced on the meaty chews, devoured them, and raised their paws, begging for more.

Joe yanked on his forearm. “Come on, Tony. It’s not our responsibility, mate. You’re lucky a scrap didn’t break out.”

“All right. It’s not in me to see any creature go hungry.”

“Here we are.” Joe rapped his knuckles on the door of the flat’s filthy door then wiped his hand down the thigh of his trousers.

The door opened to reveal a woman in her late twenties with tousled blonde hair, smudged mascara, and remnants of fluorescent blue shadow around her eyes. She placed her hand over her eyes to block out the sun’s rays. “Yeah, what do ya want?”

“Marissa Gormon?” Tony asked.

“Who wants to know?”

“Do you mind if we come in for a few minutes?”

“Yes, I bloody mind. Who the fuck are you?”

“Sorry. I’m Tony Warner, and this is my partner, Joe. We’re private investigators.”

“Yeah, and? What are you investigating?” she asked, her lip curling up at the side.

Tony heaved a sigh. “If you’ll let us in, we’ll tell you.”

“No way, shitheads. No one comes in my flat uninvited. Say what you’ve got to say and then get out of my frigging face.”

“Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it. We’re investigating the disappearance of a former acquaintance of yours.”

She scratched her head with her scarlet-painted fingernail. “Acquaintance? Who?”

“Alec Edmonds, or should I have said your former boyfriend?” Tony asked.

“Call him what you like. He’s a total waste of space.” Her eyelids fluttered shut then flashed open again.

“Oh? That’s not the impression we got from his colleagues.”

“I couldn’t give a shit what they’ve told you. That bitch is welcome to him.”

“So, are you telling me that you haven’t contacted him in the last few weeks?”

Her feet shuffled, and she pulled her silky robe around her slightly bulging tummy. “I might have.”

“Can we ask why?”

“You can ask, but it don’t mean to say that I’m going to tell you. That’s my business.”

“Well, the fact is that our client, Alec’s fiancée, has employed us to look for him. So any recent involvement you’ve had with him automatically becomes our business.”

“That’s bullshit. Even if you were the boys in blue, I still wouldn’t talk to you about what went on between us. It’s
our
business. Got that?”

“I hear you, Ms. Gormon. There really isn’t any reason for you to shout at us like that. Have you seen him recently?”

“Nope.”

“You do know it’s an offence to withhold evidence in someone’s disappearance?” Tony bluffed.

The woman laughed in his face. “Bullshit. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to my beauty sleep.”

Tony stifled the grin that was keen to escape.
You’d need several years of non-stop sleep to obtain that, dear lady.

“Thanks for your time. We’ll be passing our findings over to the police investigation team soon, so expect a visit from them in the near future.”

“That’s another dose of bullshit, man, and you damn well know it. Never bullshit a bullshitter. Hasn’t anyone told you that before?”

Tony was about to hit her with a sarcastic retort about meeting plenty of bullshitters over the years in his role as a MI6 operative, but she slammed the door in his face.

“Nice lady.” Joe chuckled.

“Yeah, I suppose she feels well at home living in a dump like this. Nice lady, nice area, nice life. Come on. Let’s go back to the scene and see what we can find. We’ve wasted enough time around here as it is.”