Dead Woman's Shoes: 1 (Lexy Lomax Mysteries) (12 page)

Within minutes the dusk was suffused with blue flashing lights as three police cars bumped up the lane and stopped behind DI Milo’s white estate. A four-by-four and a large van completed the cavalcade.

Uniformed officers spilled out of the first car, followed more sedately by plain-clothed policemen and a man carrying a black briefcase, whom Lexy assumed to be the police surgeon.

Milo left Lexy and went to meet a short, slight man with darting eyes and a sharp suit.

“Bernard,” said the newcomer, briskly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“On my way to another call, sir.” DI Milo sounded as wooden as a Chippendale cabinet.

Lexy started. Another call? Bit of a coincidence.

But if it wasn’t another call, what was he doing there? For a brief moment her mind freewheeled as she remembered his sombre grey eyes boring into hers and his question. “Did you see the attacker?”

But it was only a brief moment. DI Milo was driving his own car when they had almost collided minutes after the murder, not a blue Volvo. And he hadn’t been spattered with blood.

She studied him, standing lanky but alert in front of his senior officer.

“Another call?” the other man snapped. “I thought you were…”

“I got flagged down by this lady, sir,” Milo cut in, steadily. “She found the body.” He jerked his head at Lexy.

The sharp-suited, sharp-eyed policeman turned and gave Lexy the once-over, clearly disliking what he saw. She could almost see his mind working: if anyone had cracked Avril over the head, this scruffy little itinerant had to be a front runner, probably to get money for drugs.

“DCI Andrew Jameson, Lowestoft CID,” he said, tightly. “And you are?”

Lexy met his gaze. “Alexandra Lomax.”

“Are you local?”

“I moved down here two days ago. And…”

“I see. Well, this is an unfortunate start to your stay. We’ll need a statement from you. Wait there, please.” He turned to DI Milo. “I assume you’ve done the preliminaries and secured the scene, Bernard, seeing as you appeared to be here first.”

They began walking away from her. “I’ll set up an incident room at Fenmere,” she heard the DCI say. “I’ll be based there for the duration of the investigation. Now, what the f…”

Lexy stared at the ground, trying to steady herself for what promised to be a long night ahead.

After a few minutes the man with the black briefcase left, speaking to another detective. Lexy overheard him as he passed.

“…initial impression is that death was caused by a blow to the left temple with a long, heavy object with a blunt edge – like a baseball bat…”

“Like a baseball bat…” Despite her state of nervous alarm, Lexy filed this piece of information away.

In the lane, the officers who had arrived in the van were pulling on blue coveralls, gloves, caps and large blue bootees. They looked like overgrown babies.

“This the witness?” one of them called, pointing at Lexy.

DI Milo turned. “Yes. This is Ms Lomax,” he said.

“Did she go near the deceased?”

“Yeah, I did,” said Lexy, before Milo could reply for her again.

“Need to take some samples from you then, love. Is that OK?”

The giant baby approached and grinned at Kinky, sitting at Lexy’s feet. “Is that a dog, or a rat in a hat?”

Both Lexy and the chihuahua gave him a weary look.

He used a complicated camera to photograph the soles of Lexy’s trainers, then bent over and twanged a couple of hairs out of her head.

“Just to eliminate you,” he reassured her.

She’d eliminate him if he did that again, Lexy thought, rubbing her head.

“And you.” He turned to Kinky and snipped his tweezers.

“He hasn’t been near the body,” Lexy said, quickly.

“Only joking, love. I’d be a bit surprised if Fang here went in for murder and mayhem.”

He obviously hadn’t met Kinky before.

“How long’s she been here?” One of the other SOCO guys was squatting by Avril Todd’s head. Two more were starting to put up a tent behind him.

Lexy squinted at her watch through the semi-darkness.

“About half an hour?” She looked at Milo, who was also submitting to the tweezers, for confirmation. He nodded. “I attempted resuss, by the way,” he added, stonily.

“So the body’s been disturbed?” The SOCO team exchanged frustrated glances.

“I wasn’t just going to assume she was dead, although I realise now that was probably an inconvenience to you.”

After a fist-clenching silence, Milo left Lexy abruptly and began conferring with DCI Jameson again, his pale face almost luminous in the dusk. Within minutes, there was a heated debate going on, although Lexy could only catch the odd word. “…fit enough…” “…got this far…” “patronising…” After a few minutes Milo wheeled away and returned to Lexy.

“The DCI would like you to give a statement down at the station,” he said stiffly.

“Can’t I do it here?” she said, alarmed.

“No.”

“So am I under arrest?”

“Not if you co-operate.” He glanced back at the DCI, who was bearing down on them.

“Bernard, you might as well escort Ms Lomax to Fenmere yourself. Then I want to see you there, in the incident room.” He consulted his watch. “At twenty-two thirty hours. On the dot.”

They went back into the lane, Lexy practically having to run to keep up with DI Milo’s angry strides. He paused by one of the police cars, his bleak face turning blue sporadically in its silently rotating light. Officers were clambering back and forth over the stile, organising floodlights and scene of crime tape. In the field, the SOCO team moved stiffly around inside their illuminated tent like Egyptian mummies in an old horror film.

“Best if we go in your car,” Milo said. “I’ll get uniform to bring mine back.”

He hailed one of the officers.

The man, breathing heavily with exertion, came over to them. “Sir?” He peered through the gloom. “DI Milo?”

“Correct, PC Cartwright. I have to escort a witness to Fenmere. Would someone kindly do the honours with my car?” He held up the keys.

“No problem, sir,” said the officer. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here, sir. Are you… back?”

“Looks like it, Rob.”

Lexy listened to this exchange in some confusion. Perhaps DI Milo hadn’t been on duty when she’d run into him. But he said he was on another call. She rubbed her cropped hair and glanced helplessly down at Kinky. He gazed imploringly back at her; she knew this was only because he wanted his dinner, but told herself he was urging her to hold it together.

They walked towards the lime green Panda, and Lexy unlocked it wordlessly. DI Milo squashed himself into the passenger seat, his knees somewhere up near his nose.

“You can push it back,” Lexy told him.

Kinky was relegated to the rear seat.

Lexy turned the ignition key and the Panda spluttered indignantly into life.

“It’s going to be impossible to turn around with that lot blocking the way,” said Milo abruptly, gesturing at the line of police vehicles. He had obviously remembered Lexy’s earlier three-point turn. “We’d better carry on up the track.”

Lexy let out the clutch. It would probably be curtains for the Panda’s suspension, but that was the least of her worries.

10

From time to time Lexy eyed the fuel indicator as she negotiated a series of lanes, guided by the detective’s muttered lefts and rights. Tonight’s little escapade would take her down to less than a quarter of a tank.

Fenmere was a small, sleepy town, about three miles away from Nudging. The police station was original Victorian with a blue lamp over the door like something out of
Dixon of Dock
Green
. Lights blazed in all the windows and police vehicles were parked haphazardly along the road. Murder was obviously a big deal in this neck of the woods. Lexy backed the Panda awkwardly into a corner of the small car park.

Dogs weren’t allowed in, so Lexy had to leave Kinky in the car. “Won’t be long,” she lied to him through the window. Kinky stared incredulously at her through the funnel, clearly not believing she was going to leave him locked in the car in the dark, after the night he’d had.

DI Milo escorted Lexy through the reception area and ushered her into a small room with a table and two chairs. “Wait here and I’ll get someone to come and take your statement.”

“Why don’t you do it?” Lexy asked.

“I’m off the case,” said DI Milo.

“Why?”

“I think that’s my business, don’t you?”

He turned and left.

While she waited, Lexy studied the wall posters fretfully. Drugs, theft, guns, prostitution. Nice. Why was DI Milo off the case?

Her nemesis reappeared shortly with a uniformed policewoman in tow.

“This is WPC Lamb.” The policewoman gave a thin smile.

“She’ll take down your statement and read it back to you. If you’re happy with it, sign it and then you can leave, although the investigating officers will probably need to speak to you again in the next day or so.” A narrow flash of ice-grey. “You’re not planning to leave your current address at present, are you?”

Lexy shook her head. With twenty pence to her name and a quarter of a tank of fuel? She’d be lucky.

The detective inspector left the room without a backward glance at her.

“Want anything to drink before we start?” WPC Lamb asked, unenthusiastically.

“Vodka and tonic, please.”

She gave Lexy a jaded look.

“Perhaps just some water, then.”

The WPC returned with two plastic cups, placed one in front of Lexy then pulled a lined form towards her and took a pen from her top pocket.

“Right, this will be your witness statement,” she informed her, in the lifeless monotone of officialdom. “You now explain to me what happened in your own words, and I’ll write it down. You read it over afterwards and sign it if it accurately reflects what you saw.”

“I can write, you know,” said Lexy.

“We have to do it this way,” she said, unsmiling. “Ready?”

Lexy went over her fabrication again. She finished by explaining how she panicked after finding Avril and went on a mad dash for help. “Which was when I ran into DI Milo, just up the road from the field.”

WPC Lamb looked up sharply.

“He was on another call, apparently.”

The policewoman pursed her lips but bent over the witness statement again. Lexy continued with her monologue, listening to the soft scrape of the biro. What was lying to the police called? Oh, yes – perverting the course of justice.

WPC Lamb finished writing. “Please read your statement, and sign it if you agree that it is a true account of the events.”

Lexy’s eyes roved unseeingly along the neat rows of capitals.

She felt herself shaking, and wished that Kinky was there, under the table, leaning companionably against her foot.

She turned to the end, scribbled her name and passed the witness statement quickly back to WPC Lamb.

“Thanks.” The police constable looked at her. “Are you all right?”

Lexy was aware that she was sweating, beads of the stuffstanding out on her forehead. “Yeah. It’s just been a bit of a shock.”

“Is there anyone you can call? Someone who can come and meet you?”

Lexy shook her head. “No – I’ve got my car here, and my dog. I’ll be fine. Er… wouldn’t mind going to the loo before I go?”

“There’s one just off reception. Follow me.”

Lexy got up, aware of how scruffy and grimy she felt. The WPC in her neat uniform only made things worse.

Lexy was directed to a door marked Ladies. She splashed cold water on her burning face, took several deep breaths, then let herself out, slipping across the empty reception area towards the front door.

Except it wasn’t completely empty.

“Do you know that it’s an offence to give false information to an officer of the law?” said DI Milo, quietly.

He had been leaning against the far side of a central pillar, reading through the statement. He must have taken it from WPC Lamb as soon as she’d let Lexy out.

“What?” Lexy blustered.

“Lomax? What’s all that about? Your surname’s Warwick-Holmes, isn’t it?

Lexy let her hand fly to her mouth, gave him a look of contrition. “Oops, I completely forgot.”

“Forgot?”

She forced herself to smile reasonably. “Lomax is my maiden name.” She hated that patronising expression, but now was not a time for foibles. “I’ve been using it for a while now. For personal reasons. Guess I just got used to it.”

His eyes were narrow slits of grey.

She thought for a moment. “How do you know my real surname, anyway?”

“I ran a check on your car index.”

The DVLA. At least he hadn’t recognised her from Gerard’s witless antiques show.

“Will my real name have to be in the papers, if this gets reported?”

DI Milo appeared to consider the question. “Why don’t you want it to be?”

He wasn’t making this easy. “I’ve left my husband, if you must know. He doesn’t know where I am, and I don’t want him to find out.”

“Why?”

DI Milo had obviously never watched
Heirlooms in Your Attic
. “Because he’s not a very nice man.” Lexy ground out the words. “I just want to live down here privately for a while until I decide what to do next. OK?”

“You picked the wrong place to take a scenic drive, then.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Your husband hasn’t been violent towards you, or threatened you at all, has he?”

“Nope,” said Lexy. He hadn’t had a chance yet.

“And you haven’t done anything illegal?”

“Nope,” she said again, looking him firmly in the eye. Apart from the odd five hundred grand she’d nicked. And a spot of perverting the course of justice.

He nodded. “All right. I think I can agree to keep your real name out of the press release.”

“Thanks,” said Lexy, quickly. That was easy.

“But there is a condition.”

Lexy froze.

“I want you to come out to dinner with me,” he went on. “Do you like Thai food?”

Lexy felt the colour rise in her cheeks. “Yes, I do like Thai food,” she said woodenly.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock on Sunday night.”