Strictly Murder (4 page)

"Perfume."

"Perfume?"

"Mmm. Estée Lauder's 'Youth Dew'."

Inspector Farish raised an eyebrow while behind me Sergeant Stott's pen scratched rapidly across the pad.

"You're sure?"

"Umm?" I dragged my attention back from considerations of perfume to the man across the table. "Not a hundred percent, no, but fairly sure."

"Anything else you noticed?"

I shook my head.

“
What do you do, Miss Long?” He changed tack.

“
I work for Kathleen Davenport.”

Sergeant Stott looked up quickly from his notebook.

“
The writer?” he asked.

“
Yes. Have you read her books?” I
swivelled
in my chair to look at him but it was his boss who replied.

“
I'm too busy dealing with crime fact, Miss Long, to have time for crime fiction.”

Maybe, I thought. He still knew KD was a crime writer, though.

“
What is it you do for Kathleen Davenport? Secretary?"

"Yes, I'm her PA and researcher.”

He nodded as Stott made an entry on his pad

“
All right, Miss Long. I think that's it for now though we may need to question you again. If you think of anything in the meantime please get in touch. Leave your name and contact details with Sergeant Stott, will you?"

He rose and strode to the door.

"Oh and by the way …" he paused in the doorway.

"Yes."

"Given your job, please don't be tempted to try a bit of amateur sleuthing. Leave it to the professionals."

"I'm a PA not a private detective," I snapped back.

"Yes, please remember that. The last thing I need is some star-struck typist getting under my feet because she thinks that working for a crime writer qualifies her to do so. It doesn't. Stay out of this."

I was so stunned that by the time I thought of an answer, he had already gone.

I drove home in cold fury. Slamming the door shut behind me I headed straight for the wine rack. Bloody Inspector Farish. I unscrewed the top off a bottle of red as if I were unscrewing his head from his neck and grabbed a glass. Bloody, rotten, stinking Inspector Farish. My hand shook so much I overfilled the glass, wine spilling onto the table. I cursed. What about me? I'd found her, for goodness sake. I'd found the body but did Farish care? Did he hell. I lowered my head to the glass, slurping at the wine until the level dropped. I was almost tempted to lick the spillage off the table. Damn Farish. I reached for a cloth. Damn all policemen. I'd have kicked the cat if I'd had one.

Instead, I marched through to the living room. I swept the books and paper work off the settee and plonked myself down in the cleared space, took another good swig of wine, and promptly went to pieces. I sobbed for twenty minutes, probably as much in shock as in anger. I might work for a crime writer but finding real corpses was hardly part of my job description. I sobbed for myself and for the luck of the Longs that dictated I'd been the one to find her. I'd been the one on the end of the Inspector's grilling, his callous, thoughtless treatment. Then I cried for JayJay. For a young life, a life that already held fame and wealth, cut short so brutally.

When my tears finally stopped, I traipsed through to the bathroom and splashed water over my face. My fit of the
vapours
had ravaged my make-up. I repaired the damage as best as I could then went back to the kitchen, picking up my wine en-route.

It was nearly seven o'clock, my baguette was a distant memory and my stomach was starting to complain. I took a pizza from the freezer and threw it into the oven while I prepared a small green salad and sat at the kitchen table to eat. Normally I would cook for myself and read whilst I was eating but I needed a calm mind to do both those things and calm was the last thing I felt at the moment. I spent the entire meal thinking about Jaynee Johnson.

What had she been doing in a three up three down Victorian villa? Why had she gone there? And in evening clothes. How had she, and her killer, got in? Was there any significance to the smell of Estée Lauder in the bathroom? I'll bet Inspector bleeding Farish is asking himself exactly the same questions, I thought as I carried my empty plate to the draining board. Despite the Inspector's parting shot, I couldn't help but be interested, given my involvement so far, in what the press would soon be calling 'the JayJay murder'.

I poured more wine and fetched my notebook then, for an hour or so, I wrote down everything that had happened since young Tom and I had left the estate agent's office. I made lists. Lists of people, lists of known 'facts' and most importantly, lists of questions. This alone covered two pages. I leaned back in my chair, arching my back, arms stretched above my head.

Only then did I think of Inspector Farish's questions to me and what lay behind them. Why had he asked if I'd removed anything? Why search my bag? Did he think … Of course! Realization hit me like a house brick. Where was Jaynee's handbag? It would be a flimsy affair, made of fabric to match her dress or, maybe, white leather and holding no more than a lipstick, comb and mobile phone and, yes, it would be small enough to fit inside my voluminous carry-all. As I worked through the implications of this the Inspector's questions began to make more sense - not that I liked him any better for it.

Suddenly, feeling bone weary and ready for bed, I thought of KD. I ought to call her, let her know what had happened. For all I knew, the police might have called her to check my story by now and she would know already. I gave this idea a moment's thought before dismissing it. No, KD would have phoned me if that were the case.

With a sigh I walked through to the living room and picked up the phone.

"You should stay out of it, Verity. Leave investigating JayJay's death to the police. Don't get involved," said KD the next morning when I got into the office and informed her of my decision to do a little sleuthing.

"But I am involved," I cried. "I found her body."

"That's no reason for you to get any deeper in than you already are. The police won't thank you."

No, they wouldn't. Which was one of the main reasons for doing it, of course.

"Why don't you take up a hobby? Line dancing, for instance."

"Line dancing! Bloody line dancing! Believe me, KD, I haven't needed anyone to tell me where to put my feet since I was two years old and I don't need instruction now from some prat in high heeled boots, a check shirt and a stupid hat. Line dancing is just another witless American import along with trick or treating, canned laughter and Scientology. And you can add to that burger bars, life coaches, drum majorettes, skinny lattes, diet cola, lifestyle gurus and euphemisms like 'friendly fire'."

KD regarded me impassively for a moment after this outburst.

"So, not line dancing, then."

I laughed and turned back to my computer. My employer copes as well with my self-opinionated rants as she claims I do with her little foibles.

"How could you investigate anyway?" she asked now.

I swung round to face her and pulled my notebook from my bag. I'd been considering this very question since I'd got into bed last night.

"Well, it strikes me there are three main questions." I counted them off on my fingers. "Firstly, what was she doing there? Secondly, how did she get in? And, finally, who did she know that would want to kill her?"

"Hmm, means, motive and opportunity."

KD always put things so much more succinctly than I did.

"Actually, Verity, there are several question you haven't thought of."

"Very probably," I agreed.

She got up and paced back and forth behind her desk.

"Still, for the moment, let's consider the questions you have identified. Why was she there? We can't say much about that at the moment."

'We', I thought. What's this 'we' business all of a sudden?

"She was hardly likely to be at the house with a view to renting it," KD went on, "so, she either went there to meet someone or was taken there by someone."

"Agreed."

"Unfortunately we don't have enough to go on to answer that question at the moment. So, let's turn to your second point."

I glanced down at my scribbled notes.

"How did she get in?"

"Yes. To me this is a far more interesting point. And it's the one question that, with a bit of judicious ferreting, we might actually be able to answer."

"Judicious ferreting? Really KD, you do have a way with words."

I was laughing but she took stopped tramping up and down the carpet, looking at me sternly.

"Naturally, dear. I'm a writer. Now, if you really want to get involved, I suggest you pump your spotty, young estate agent friend..."

"He's not spotty and he's not my friend."

"Whatever." KD ignored this protest. "Ask to view another property with him and then pump him hard about those keys. Where are they kept, who has access to them and so on. That's the best option, Verity. Because without knowing more about her private life we have absolutely no way of answering question three."

No we hadn't but, unknown to KD, I had phoned Silverton Studios before I left home that morning and made an appointment to see JayJay's producer later that afternoon. I'd meant to tell KD when I arrived for work but there had been so much else to impart I had forgotten that bit. Her negative response to my sleuthing idea deterred me from doing so now.

Still, her suggestion about talking to Tom Powell was a good one and I said I'd give him a call.

"Good. Now where are you with your current workload? When are you going to the library with your reporter friend?"

"Tomorrow morning, so I probably won't be in until after lunch time."

She nodded acceptance. Working time was always flexible with KD.

"How many possible cases do you think you'll need?" I asked.

"How long is a piece of string? If you start, say twenty five years ago and work forward a few years, that should be enough. It really depends on how many usable crimes you find, of course."

I nodded, I knew what KD meant by 'usable crimes'. She had a preference for something nice and domestic, no big business, no robberies and no drug related crimes. At times it was a tall order. People aren't constantly bumping each other off in quaint English villages, for all you might think so from the book store shelves, but so far I'd always managed to find something KD could work with.