Blood Feud (7 page)

“I didn’t steal the car, Officer Tess,” Martin objected, hurt. “I
borrowed
it. I always return it, except when you arrest me. Chad Bycraft doesn’t do that.”

“I’ve never arrested you, Martin, and I’m not arresting you today either. I’m taking you back to the clinic.”

“You should arrest me. I want you to arrest me.”

“I know. That’s why I don’t.”

“Is this man staying in town?”

“No. He returns to the city tomorrow.”

“Oh, good.” He switched his attention to Kevin and enquired politely, “I hope you’re enjoying your stay. What do you think of Little Town?”

“Weirdest place I’ve ever been,” mumbled Kevin under his breath, but loud enough for us both to hear, strangely articulate again now it was someone else besides me talking to him.

“It’s true there are some eccentric people living around here,” said Martin, as if he wasn’t one of the main culprits. “But all in all, it’s a pleasant place to live.” Spoken as if he was one of the town’s leading citizens. “Except for the Bycrafts, of course. They’re horrible and spoil the whole town for the rest of us. Every single one of them is horrible.”

“Except Jakey,” I countered automatically.

“Every single one of them,” Martin repeated deliberately.

We wasted the next thirty minutes tracking down the director of the clinic to hand over Martin, reminding that man – yet again – of his duty of care towards his patients. But without the Sarge present, he was much less inclined to listen to my reprimand, instead spending the few minutes while I lectured him letting his eyes roam over my body. As we left, he wolf-whistled softly under his breath, something he hadn’t dared to do since the Sarge arrived in town.

“Did he just whistle at you?” asked Kevin, his face burning red, not with embarrassment this time, but with anger. “I’m going back to tell him a thing or two about respecting a female police officer.”

Though surprised at how being riled suddenly made him eloquent, I restrained him with a hand on his arm, something that made him blush again. “Forget about it, Kevin. He’s a sexist jerk and always has been. I just ignore him. I don’t intend on giving him the satisfaction of knowing he bugs me.”

He fumed silently all the way back to town. Almost there, my phone rang. It was the Sarge.

“Just had a phone call from Mrs Villiers. She’s complaining about her neighbours. Again.”

“Oh, great. The one person I want to see more of today,” I moaned.

“Have fun,” he laughed.

I changed direction from Pine Street to Silky Oak Street. At this rate we’d never make contact with Miss G. But thinking of that, I risked Kevin’s frown and pulled out my phone again, ringing her number. It rang out. She definitely wasn’t home. After we’d dealt with Mrs Villiers, I’d ring Miss G’s best friend, Bessie, who lived in Big Town with her daughter. Miss G often went to visit them for a few days as a bit of a treat. She was probably there now, enjoying a cup of tea and Bessie’s country fair award-winning fluffy scones that deserved every accolade they’d won.

I parked in front of Mrs Villiers’ house, the town’s previously most grand residence until Teddy and Lee started to build theirs. She lived here with her four unpleasantly malicious cats and her meek husband who never uttered a word. Three huge election signs filled her front yard, each featuring a rather large photo of the lady herself. And if I remembered the local bylaws correctly, I believed that was at least two election signs more than her own Council allowed on a residential property. I wasn’t sure why she thought photos of herself enhanced her re-election prospects. Personally, having that imperious, censorious face thrust in front of me for weeks automatically inclined me towards voting for her opponent, no matter who it was.

Two of her cats – Miranda and Carrie, I think – lazed in the sun on the stairs, swiping out at Kevin and me with their sharp claws as we made our way to the front door.

“Get out of it,” I warned them, and they watched us pass, their eyes unblinkingly hostile.

I rapped on the door and waited while the thunderous thumps of Mrs Villiers’ footsteps approached.

“Oh, it’s you, Senior Constable,” she said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm in her tone that probably matched the lack of enthusiasm in my face. “I was hoping for Sergeant Maguire to attend.”

“Sorry, Mrs Villiers,” I replied politely. “It seems you’re stuck with me today. What can I do for you?”

She drew herself up, her lips pinching together in irritation. “It’s my neighbours. And it’s not the first time I’ve had to complain about them.”
No
, I thought dryly,
this complaint made number thirteen
. “I want you to
do
something about them this time.”

“What are they up to now?” I’m sure she noticed the weary indifference in my voice because her lips compressed even further.

“Aren’t you going to take details?”

Sighing, I pulled out my notebook and pen and flipped over to a clean page, writing the date, time, the address and her name, underlining them all three times. It was merely busy work, but it seemed to make her feel as if I was taking her seriously. “And what’s your complaint this time?”

Her tone was frosty. “Senior Constable, I hope you’re not implying that my complaints are numerous or vexatious in any way.”

“Of course not, Mrs Villiers,” I assured hastily. And I plastered on my listening face, not wanting her to go running to the Super again. Fiona might start asking some real questions then – and even stay on the phone long enough to expect real answers.

“Those . . .
people
. . . have been cavorting around their backyard
in the nude
!” She gave me a few seconds to absorb the scandalous shock of that announcement. When I continued to stare back at her, no change in my expression, she continued coldly. “I could clearly see them when I stood at my office window. And Vern could see them from our bedroom if he stood on the dresser, held onto the curtains and leaned over to the far right. Those people are disgusting! And you should hear what that man says to me when I go over to complain in person. He’s unbelievably impertinent.”

I jotted down a few notes. “I’ll go speak to them now and advise them to cover up in future. I hope that’s a satisfactory outcome for you.”

“Aren’t you going to arrest them?”

“No. What would I arrest them for?”

“Lewd behaviour in public.”

“But they’re not in public. They’re on their own property. And just being nude doesn’t necessarily constitute lewd behaviour. Were they engaged in any sexual activity?”

“Not that I saw!” she spluttered with indignation. “Do you think I would stand there and watch sickening things like that? But bless his soul, Vern made that sacrifice and watched them for hours to gather evidence for me.”

“That was very noble of him,” I said, somehow managing to keep a straight face. “Did he notice anything untoward in that respect?”

“Apart from people parading around in the nude where decent citizens can see them? No.” She said that as if it almost caused her physical pain to have to admit it.

“Okay, Mrs Villiers. I’ll look into it.” And I planned to be quick about it too as I wanted to move on to Miss G’s place.

“And why haven’t I heard any further about the complaint I lodged last week?”

“Which one?” I asked rudely.

“The theft I reported.”

“It was a relatively trivial matter, Mrs Villiers, and –”

“Somebody trespassing into my yard and stealing a blanket that I was airing on my clothesline is most certainly
not
a trivial matter to me, Senior Constable.”

“I’m just not sure what you expect us –”

“What I
expect
is for the police officers of this town to take their jobs seriously.”

“Of course we take our jobs –”

“It wouldn’t appear so from my point of view.”

“I’ll speak to Sergeant Maguire about it.”

“Tell him I expect him to contact me personally.”

“Oh, I will, don’t worry,” I smiled insincerely.

“I want him, not you. Do you understand? I won’t be fobbed off with a junior officer any longer.”

“I understand perfectly.” And without another word, I spun around and stomped downstairs, dodging cat scratches and muttering under my breath about her, Kevin trailing after me.

It would be my pleasure to hand her over to the Sarge.

Chapter 5

At the neighbouring house, we tramped up the stairs to the veranda. I had to knock a few times before the door was opened.

“Officer Tess!” exclaimed the occupant with startling exuberance, as if I was the very person he’d longed to see all day. And believe me when I say that a police officer didn’t often receive such a reception when they came calling. Especially in this town.

“Hello, Mr Whittaker. How are you today?”

“Fine, fine. Even more so now that you’re here. And please, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Len?”

I smiled briefly at his patent smarm. A handsome man, at a guestimate I’d put his age in the late-fifties. He was tall with stylishly coiffed salt-and-pepper hair and a penchant for dressing like a younger man in jeans, sneakers and surfware t-shirts with unbuttoned, untucked shirts over the top. His eyes were intelligent, an unusual charcoal colour, complemented by a proud nose, a still firm jaw and a shapely mouth that was prone to secretly amused crooked smiles. He oozed charm from every pore on his body and his arrival a few months ago had caused quite a commotion amongst the more mature ladies in town, and not all of them single.

The Sarge and I had fun speculating whether part of Mrs Villiers’ issues with him sprang from her own attraction, which she was too repressed to acknowledge. She did seem to spend an extraordinary amount of time spying on him.

The fact that he was also one of the country’s more famous contemporary artists caused somewhat less of a stir. Not to cast aspersions, but culture wasn’t much of a priority for the good townsfolk and surrounding farmers of Little Town. Not many of us had ever heard of him.

The Sarge knew who he was though, reluctantly confessing that his mother actually owned one of Len Whittaker’s small watercolours. I’d looked him up in Wikipedia, learning a little about his unconventional life and his painting style. Though he occasionally painted landscapes, he was mostly known for his portraits, particularly a series of nudes he’d painted when he was in his early thirties and which now hung in the National Gallery. I received a shock when I looked up the price of his art work, leaving me wondering how anyone could afford to spend so much money on a painting.

“What can I do for you today, Officer Tess? Or have the fickle gods finally smiled benevolently down on me? Have you come to tell me that my heartfelt pleas have been answered, and you’ll agree to pose for me?”

I laughed at that. “Er, no thanks, Mr Whittaker.”

“Len, please.”

“I prefer to keep my clothes on.”

“And isn’t that the greatest of shames? A divine beauty such as yours deserves to be immortalised on canvas.” His eyes moved to Kevin and he smiled. “And why is this stippled young man so ablaze? Could it be the thought of his lovely colleague unclothed and draped over a chaise lounge, perhaps only the merest wisp of gauzy material preserving the modesty of her lush body from our prying eyes?”

My cheeks pinkened at his florid words, but poor Kevin looked as though he was about to burst into flames, he was so red. I felt as if I was losing control of the situation.

“Enough of this please, Mr Whittaker –”

“Len!” he chuckled with exasperation.

“Can we return to the matter at hand, please?”

He pulled a sad face. “Oh dear, Officer Tess. This sounds like an official visit, not a friendly howdy-do. Don’t tell me. The voluptuous Elenora has been complaining about me again?”

“Who?”

“Elenora. Our community’s curvaceous councillor, the luscious lady who conceals a seethingly passionate nature beneath her prim exterior.”

“Mrs Villiers?” I asked in disbelief. I wasn’t sure I even knew her first name before. She seemed the type to be born without one.

“Oh yes. The seductive temptress from next door. I told her the other day that she had the finest legs I’d ever seen that weren’t attached to a frisky filly.”

“Are we talking about the same Mrs Villiers?”
Maybe she had a more likeable, more attractive sister who coincidentally also happened to marry a Mr Villiers and become a councillor?

He laughed heartily. “Ah, I’m speaking with the authority of my artist’s eye now. I see women in terms of curves and lines and planes and shadows. You yourself, Officer Tess, have the most beautiful lines, of which you take no apparent advantage. Intriguing. I would like to paint you from behind, with your head and body twisted towards the viewer to show off your delicate profile and the soft, round curve of your –”

“Mr Whittaker!” I interrupted stridently. I’d had enough of this rubbish and there was no fire extinguisher nearby to put Kevin out if he spontaneously combusted as he was threatening to do at any moment. “We’re in a hurry, so can we please deal with this matter? We’ve had a complaint that there has been some nude ‘cavorting’ in your backyard which was visible to other people.”