Faithfully: Chase & Halshaw #1 (10 page)

“That’s the lot,” declared PC Neville.

“OK, thanks,” replied Halshaw. She held the door open as the
tall black constable struggled out with the last two boxes of documents, then
closed it behind him and ambled back into the dungeon.

She sat on the bed and looked around. In daylight the room
seemed as tawdry as a disused cinema, although she supposed that at night, with
the right lighting and a few running repairs to the drapery, it could still
inspire the necessary terror and thrill.

In the corner she noticed a pile of document boxes, left
behind by Constables Neville and Blackaby. Cursing, she walked over and lifted
the lids, but soon realised they were empty.

As she turned back, she noticed a plastic crate under the
bed. She pulled it out and snapped off the lid. The crate was full of chains
and manacles, some covered in padded leather, others in harsh bare metal.

She opened the wardrobe and gazed at the collection of
costumes and high-heeled boots and shoes, the stench of leather and PVC
overlaid with traces of an expensive perfume she didn’t recognise. What would
Tobe make of all this? she wondered. Would it turn him on if I dressed like
that? Would it turn me on? That long sable coat, for instance. Or those red
leather thigh-boots...?

After a few moments’ pleasant daydream, she shook herself,
reached into the wardrobe and lifted out two large black cardboard boxes. The
first one contained an untidy tangle of black lingerie, the second two vicious
corsets. She replaced the lids quickly, and placed both boxes on the bed.

She returned to the wardrobe. She lifted out the large metal
toolbox, and laid it on the bed, flipped the catches, and opened the lid.
Inside was a collection of gels, lotions, and sex toys. It was only after she’d
started rummaging through that the purpose of some of the toys occurred to her.
She grimaced, wishing that she’d remembered to put gloves on first, and closed
the toolbox quickly.

She walked back across the room, picked up an empty document
box in each hand, and laid them on the bed. Then she scooped up the clothes and
shoes and stuffed them into the boxes. She went to close the wardrobe doors,
spotted the bullwhip hanging on the inside, and added it to one of the boxes,
together with the riding crop and the cane.

Satisfied, she looked around the room. Then she noticed the
block and tackle hanging from the ceiling. She sat on the side of the bed,
unzipped her ankle boots and slipped them off, then picked the bentwood chair
from behind the ornamental screen and positioned it under the block and tackle.
She climbed up and attempted to unhook the upper pulley. At the third attempt
she succeeded, by dint of standing precariously on tiptoes. She jumped down,
coiled the rope neatly, and tucked the rope and pulleys into the plastic crate
of chains.

She replaced the chair in the far corner and sat on the edge
of the bed. Then she remembered the red thigh-boots. How would they feel on?
she wondered. There’s no-one around to see. Neville and Blackaby must be well
on their way back to River Road by now. And God knows where DI Chase is.

She took the lid off the box and lifted the boots out
carefully. The leather felt expensive, soft and buttery in her hands. They look
about my size, she thought, with a sudden surge of anticipation. She laid the
boots on the floor and began to work her foot into the first one. She had just
manoeuvred it over her instep when she heard a loud creak from outside.

She froze.

Another creak, louder this time.

Her head snapped up. Heart thumping, she whipped her foot
out of the boot and kicked them both under the bed, just as the bedroom door
began to open.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” grinned Blackaby.

Halshaw sighed in relief. “Oh! You scared the life out of me!”
she laughed, hoping her cheeks hadn’t turned too red.

“Everything all right?”

“Oh yes,” she replied, stuffing the boots back into the box
quickly. “I was just thinking it wouldn’t be fair for Mr Kelmarsh to find all
this stuff. Can you imagine how he’d feel?”

“I know how I’d feel if I discovered my girlfriend was a
dominatrix,” he chuckled. “Not that she’s leading a double life, I know,” he
went on, with a broad smile. “She spends all her money on the life I do know
about. And mine too.”

Halshaw smiled politely and said nothing.

His grin faded. “But you’re right, of course. And there’s
not many coppers who’d think of that, either, DC Halshaw.”

“Lauren, please.”

Blackaby smiled pleasantly. “Brian. Nice to meet you,
Lauren.”

She leant forward to refasten her ankle boots. “Would DI
Chase think of that, do you think?”

“Not sure. He’s a deep one, he is.”

“How do you mean?”

“You can never tell what he’s thinking, can you?”

“No...”

“I sometimes think he doesn’t know himself until he opens
his mouth. You know?”

She smiled and nodded.

“So, Lauren,” he continued. “What are you going to do with
all this stuff, eh? Take it down the Oxfam shop or something?”

“I can’t imagine the old dears in the Chiltern Park Oxfam
shop knowing what to do with a selection of used cock rings and anal plugs. Can
you?”

“No, but the ones in the Soho branch might.”

“That’s true,” she laughed. “I hadn’t really thought it
through, I’m afraid. I was going to take them back to River Road and store them
in DI Chase’s office, just for the moment.”

“I’ll give you a hand.” He turned to his radio. “Nev, it’s
Bri. Can you come back down for a sec? Over.”

Crackle. “You all right, Bri? Over.”

“No problem, Nev,” chuckled Blackaby. “DC Halshaw’s found
some more stuff for us to take back to the nick, that’s all. Over.”

Crackle. “Just coming. Out.”

Halshaw smiled gratefully. “Thanks,” she said. “I owe you
one, Brian.”

“No problem,” Blackaby replied. “But don’t tell anyone
what’s in the boxes, whatever you do.”

“Why not? Will they make a joke about it?”

“Yeah. Before you know it, every randy copper in West London
will be beating on DI Chase’s door for a good look.” He grinned. “And maybe a
souvenir, too.”

“I’m so very sorry for your loss, Mr Kelmarsh,” Chase began.

Dave Kelmarsh looked back unseeingly for a moment, before
resuming his slow pacing up and down Chase’s office.

“Please come and sit down,” Chase continued. “I know this
must have been a terrible shock, but there are some things I need to ask you.”

“Can’t it wait?” pleaded Kelmarsh.

“I’m sorry,” replied Chase. “I’ll be as quick as I can, but
time is of the essence... oh, thanks, Bridget!”

Sergeant Baker reversed through the door carrying a tray.
She set two mugs of tea in the centre of Chase’s desk, plonked down a handful
of sugar sachets and two teaspoons, and went on her way.

Chase grabbed two sachets, tore them open, and emptied them
into his mug, then gestured Kelmarsh to do the same.

Dave Kelmarsh sat in the chair opposite and stared blankly
at the steaming mug in front of him.

“Right, Mr Kelmarsh,” began Chase, stirring his tea
vigorously. “When did you last see your wife?”

“Yesterday morning, Inspector. It was her turn to take Emily
to school, so I left the house first. She kissed me goodbye, and... oh God!” He
buried his face in his hands.

“Take your time, Mr Kelmarsh,” soothed Chase. “When you’re
ready, please can you tell me when you realised your wife was missing?”

Kelmarsh looked up, his eyes full of tears. “This morning.”

“Not last night?”

“No. She was going to have dinner with a prospective client.
Then she was going to go to her office for an hour or two. To catch up on some
paperwork, she said.”

“Did that happen often? Her working late, I mean?”

“Yeah. She always kept our home life separate from her work.
So she never brought papers home, or anything like that. She even kept her work
computer locked away at her office.”

“Any idea who the prospective client was?” Chase asked,
innocently.

Kelmarsh shook his head. “Sorry. She didn’t say.”

“Do you go to her office often?”

“No, never. Well, not since she first got the place.”

“Go on.”

“It was her Uncle Adrian’s house. When he died he left it to
Lucy.”

“Very generous. Was she the only beneficiary of the will?”

“No. He had a wife and a couple of children. They went to
court to challenge the will, but without success.”

“And when was that?”

“Six, maybe seven years ago I think. Yeah, that’s right.
Lucy had invited him to our wedding, but he died a few weeks before we got
married. So that would have been seven years ago last month...” His voice began
to crumble.

“Was it split up into flats when she inherited it?” asked
Chase, quickly.

Dave Kelmarsh wiped his eyes and blew his nose loudly. “No.
She did that herself. The plan had been to rent the flats out, but it was too
much hassle so she decided to sell them.”

“When was that?”

“Over the last three or four years, as the tenants moved
out. She sold the last one about eighteen months ago, I think. Obviously she couldn’t
do much with the basement, so she kept that for herself as an office.”

“Why obviously?”

“You’ve been there, Inspector. You’ll have seen the old
studio. Converting it back into a flat she could rent out or sell would have
been too much trouble. And having it as an office meant she didn’t have to
bring her work home.”

Chase frowned. “Who was her uncle? I mean, why did he build
a studio in his basement?”

“He was Adrian Balfour. Ever heard of him?”

Chase shook his head.

“He was a rock drummer, back in the seventies. Used to be in
a band called The Balfour Doctrine, whoever they were. Look, Inspector, I don’t
know where you’re going with this, but I need to collect Emily from school and
Josh from the child-minder’s...”

“Of course, Mr Kelmarsh. I understand. Just one last
question, if I may.”

“OK.”

“Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt your wife?”

“Nobody, Inspector. Everyone loved Lucy. She wouldn’t hurt a
fly... hold on! Are you telling me this was deliberate?”

Chase nodded gravely.

“It wasn’t just some random break-in?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr Kelmarsh. I’m afraid not.” 

Scepticism is the beginning of Faith

Oscar Wilde

“Sorry about the room, Inspector,” smiled Dinah
Rodway
. “We’ve got the auditors in today and they’ve taken
over the room you had before.”

Chase looked around the cubicle. It was exactly the same
size as the room he’d been given before, and furnished identically. The only
differences were the lack of an outside window, and the fact that it looked out
over the lobby and stairwell rather than the open plan office.

“This will be fine, I’m sure,” he replied. A buxom brunette
strode past and disappeared into the Ladies. “Who have we got today?”

“Lorna Hilton’s up first,” she said. “Then Justin Hargreaves
and Priyanka Shah. Bryn wanted a word at some point. And Dave Kelmarsh might be
coming in today, just for a short while. If he does, do you want to see him?”

“Yes please.”

“Leave it with me, Inspector. Can I get you some coffee?”

“Yes please.”

“A small cappuccino?”

He smiled. “Well remembered, Ms
Rodway
.
Di, I mean.”

She turned to Halshaw. “How about you?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied. “I’ll come down with you and
see what they have, if that’s OK.”

“Fine.”

Chase sat back in his seat and sighed contentedly. This case
has its compensations, he said to himself. Comfy chairs in warm offices, no-one
trying to hurt you, polite people who buy you excellent coffee, attractive
women passing by. Particularly on dress down Friday, when the attractive women
all seemed to be wearing extremely tight jeans...

“Hello again, Inspector,” said Bryn Lewis, almost bouncing
into the room.

“Good morning, Mr Lewis.” Chase turned to face him. “You’re
in good form today.”

“You’ve got to make an effort, haven’t you?” answered Lewis,
sinking into the adjacent chair. “Any news?”

“Not so far. We’re making progress, of course, but no
dramatic breakthroughs so far.”

“That’s what you’d say at a press conference, I bet,” Lewis
chuckled. His smile vanished and he leant forward intently. “So come on. What
more can you tell me? In confidence?”

“Nothing much. Truly.”

“Who killed her, Inspector? That’s what I want to know. And
why? For pity’s sake, why?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

“But you must have some clue. Some inkling, surely?”

“All right,” Chase sighed. “I can tell you we’re pursuing a
couple of leads.”

Lewis leant forward intently. “What are they?”

“Well, we have witnesses who say they saw a woman leaving
the scene, carrying a white handbag.”

Lewis groaned. “Her white Gucci handbag, you mean?”

“Yes. A member of the public found it in the park. Or
rather, her dog did.”

“Have you managed to find out anything from it?”

“Nothing yet, I’m afraid. Forensics are still looking at it,
although it’s badly contaminated.”

“And the other lead? You said there were two.”

“Her mobile phone and computer are missing.”

“Oh,” replied Lewis, thoughtfully.

“I wondered whether you could describe them for me.”

“Her phone was an ordinary Blackberry. Like this one.” Lewis
held up his own phone.

“And her computer?”

“A Toshiba laptop. Quite new.”

“What colour?”

“Black, I think.”

“Any idea what she kept on them?”

“Contacts. Photos. Letters and emails. Music. What everybody
keeps on their phones and laptops, I imagine.”

“Anything anyone might want to steal? Blackmail material, perhaps?”

“I doubt it. My Lady was very discreet.”

So much for that theory, Chase thought. Then he noticed
Lewis looking at him quizzically. “What is it?” he asked.

“I was just wondering, Inspector. Would it help if I offered
a reward?”

“For information, you mean?”

“Yes. What do you think? I could offer five grand. Would
that be enough?”

Chase hesitated.

“Ten grand, then,” Lewis persisted. “I could probably...”

“It’s not the money, Mr Lewis,” Chase said. “I was just
wondering whether it’s such a good idea, that’s all.”

“How do you mean? Surely if it helps to catch her
killer...?”

“But people will wonder why you’re offering the reward. Do
you really want people to know about your connection with Ms Faith?”

“I don’t care
any more
! I just
want you to catch the bastard who murdered her!”

“But what about your wife, Mr Lewis? Or Ms Faith’s husband?
Her family? I bet none of them know about her, er, activities, do they?”

Lewis seemed to deflate. “No, Inspector,” he sighed. “You’re
probably right. It’s just that I feel so helpless. I want to do something!”

“I quite understand,” replied Chase, hoping he sounded
suitably sympathetic. “Tell me about being with her. What was it like?”

A faraway look spread across Lewis’ face. “Unbelievable,
Inspector. Honestly.”

“How often did you see her?”

“She summoned me once a month, roughly. Quite honestly, I
don’t think I could have handled it more often than that.”

“Did she hurt you?”

“Oh yes. Intensely and exquisitely. But that was what we
did, Inspector.”

Chase frowned.

“You wouldn’t understand. My Lady and I had something
unique, something special.”

“There are several other men who would say the same thing,”
Chase retorted.

Lewis looked back at him searchingly, before his manner
suddenly changed. “I just came by to apologise for my outburst yesterday,” he
said briskly, as the door swung open. “It was quite unnecessary...” His voice
trailed away as he looked up and noticed Halshaw standing in the doorway, a
cardboard coffee cup in each hand. Chase watched with amusement as Lewis carefully
scrutinised the contours of her chest, the fit of her jeans.

She placed the cups on the table and turned to face him.
“You must be Bryn Lewis,” she smiled.

“That’s right,” he replied, transfixed by her bottle-green
eyes. “And you are?”

“DC Lauren Halshaw,” she answered. “I’m assisting Inspector
Chase on the case. Just temporarily.”

“Detective Constable Halshaw is on secondment from the Avon
and Somerset force,” Chase added, as they shook hands.

“Come to learn all about the evils of the big city, have
you?” smirked Lewis.

“Something like that, yes,” said Halshaw, evenly. She turned
to Chase. “Ms
Rodway
says that Lorna Hilton is on her
way, Sir.”

Lewis scrambled to his feet. “I’ll leave you to it, then,”
he said. At the door he stopped and turned. “Any news, Inspector, please let me
know. Night or day, I want to know at once. You’ve got my number.”

“I won’t forget,” Chase replied, noncommittally.

Once the door had shut behind him, Halshaw sat at the table
and lifted the cup lids experimentally. “This one looks like yours,” she said,
handing one to Chase.

“Sugar?”

“Two sachets, stirred not shaken,” she grinned. “What did Mr
Lewis have to say for himself?”

“Not a lot, really. He was fishing, more than anything. He
did give me a description of Ms Faith’s mobile and computer, though. Other than
that, I don’t think he knows any more than he’s told us already.”

*

“This is utterly pointless,” declared Lorna Hilton, as she
bustled through the meeting room door.

“Why’s that?” replied Chase.

The solid, mumsy woman settled herself in the chair facing
him. “Because you and Dolly Dream here should be out on the streets, looking
for the gang of thugs who broke into Amy’s flat, not hanging around here
drinking coffee and gassing.”

Chase decided not to react to either of her provocations.
“We have reason to believe that the break-in at Ms Birkdale’s was connected
with her work in some way…”

“Nonsense!”

“…so I’d appreciate it very much if you could answer a few
questions for us.”

She looked back at Chase belligerently.

“If that’s not too much trouble,” he continued, blandly.

“Go on,” she replied. Her manner was stern, but Chase was
sure he detected a twinkle in her eye.

“OK. First thing. How well do you know Amy Birkdale?”

“Not that well, to be honest. She came from Frank’s organisation,
as you probably know.”

“Impressions?”

“Bright, capable, hardworking, confident. A bit too
confident at times, perhaps.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, just that she’s young and keen. Impatient, sometimes,
if you know what I mean.”

Chase nodded thoughtfully. “Any enemies? Anyone want to hurt
her?”

“Can’t think of anyone. Well, other than Paul McKinley, of
course. They went out together for a while, before it ended in tears. His,
mostly. But that was ages ago.”

Chase nodded again. “Anybody else?”

“Not that I’m aware of, no.”

“Did she have any particular friends? Admirers?”

“Dave Kelmarsh, of course. They’ve been good friends for
ages. Purely platonic, as far as I know.”

“Anyone else?”

“Not that I know of, Inspector. Frank and Paul are convinced
she’s having an affair with Bryn Lewis, though.”

“Frank Usher and Paul McKinley, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Any truth in it, do you think?”

“I very much doubt it.” She smiled wryly. “They think Bryn
and I have been getting it on for years, too.”

“And you haven’t?”

“God, no!” Another wry smile. “I’d rather shag Les Salter,
and that’s not saying anything at all.”

Chase chuckled. “What about Salter, anyway? I gather he’s
been around a while.”

“Poor old Les,” she sighed. “He’s having a bad time of it at
the moment, personally and professionally.”

“How do you mean?”

“His wife left him a few weeks ago. Finally. I mean, they’ve
been having problems for years, off and on. He had a girlfriend sometime last
year, but that didn’t last long.”

“Who was she? The girlfriend, I mean?”

“No idea. Not anyone from here, as far as I know.”

“Did his wife work here too?”

“No. She worked in a school, I think.”

“A teacher?”

“I don’t think so. She was an administrator, I think,”

“What happened to her?”

“Don’t know. Sorry.”

“Were there any children?”

“Two. Both grown-up now. The son’s a lawyer of some
description. He lives in Australia with his family. The daughter’s a surgeon.
She moved to the States about six months ago. Somewhere near Boston, I think.”

Chase nodded thoughtfully. “You said he was having
professional problems too?” he asked.

“Yes. He used to have a team, until Bryn centralised and
outsourced all the back office IT a year or two ago.”

“Back office?” interrupted Halshaw.

“Personnel, Payroll, Accounts. All the unglamorous but essential
stuff.”

“OK, thanks. Sorry. Go on.”

Lorna Hilton turned back to Chase. “So anyway, Les has been
a one man band for the last year or so. Now he’s not far off retirement, and
Bryn and Amy’s latest brainwave will wipe out his life’s work.”

“BRAHMS, you mean?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty upset about it. Have you spoken to him at
all?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Then you’ll know just what I mean.”

Chase tried to hide his puzzlement. “What do you think about
this project?” he asked.

She smiled tightly. “It’s a challenge, that’s for sure. But
it’s an opportunity too.”

“An opportunity for what, Ms Hilton?”

Her smile broadened. “I haven’t decided, Inspector. Not
yet.”

*

“What did you make of all that?” asked Chase, once Lorna
Hilton had departed.

Halshaw shook her head slowly. “I’ve absolutely no idea.”

“Amy did say she was a player.”

“A what?”

“A player. You know, in company politics.”

Halshaw smiled. “That I can believe. She didn’t give much
away at all.”

“What about what she said about Les Salter?”

“Classic misdirection, if you ask me. She didn’t want to
talk about her own motives or actions, so she tried to divert our attention on
to someone else.”

Chase smiled. “Why do you think she would do that?”

“I’ve not idea.”

“You don’t think she’s involved somehow, do you?”

“I don’t know. But she does have a motive, doesn’t she?”

“How do you mean?”

“Didn’t you tell me that she was one of the two big-wigs
whose jobs were threatened by this project?”

“I did, didn’t I?” Chase’s smile grew broader.

Halshaw finally noticed Chase’s grin. “You don’t buy it, do
you, Sir?” she asked. “You’ve spotted something I haven’t, I bet.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not that,” he replied. “I’m
just amused by the way you make rapid judgements about people.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” she demanded.

“Nothing at all, so long as they’re based on something
solid. Being right helps, too.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you may very well be right. We’ll have to
wait and see, won’t we?”

Halshaw glared at him, but before she could say anything
more the door opened.

Chase turned, and saw Justin Hargreaves ushering in a petite
Asian girl, dressed in a pinstripe trouser suit teamed with a white silk
blouse. Her dark, silky hair hung loose, like heavy curtains framing her
fragile face and shoulders.

“Good morning, Mr Hargreaves,” he said. “And you must be Ms
Shah?”

Priyanka Shah nodded, and held out a delicate hand for Chase
to shake.

“Thank you for coming in,” Chase continued. “I’d like you to
meet DC Halshaw.”

Halshaw shook hands with them both, fighting to swallow her
indignation.

“Take a seat, please, both of you,” Chase went on. “Ms Shah,
this won’t take long. I just need to ask you a couple of questions.” He turned
to Halshaw. “Do you mind taking a few notes, please, Constable?”

Obediently, Halshaw produced her notebook and pen, glad of
an excuse to avoid eye contact with Chase.