Too Close For Comfort (6 page)

DS Frank Vine
grabbed a file from his desk and took out his notes.

“Yes, guv.
Nicole Bryant, aged seventeen. It seems as though she was a college
student.”

“Same MO as the
previous two?”

“Identical,
sir.”

“So we’re
looking at another prostitute, then?”

“There’s no
evidence to say so, guv.”

“I don’t need
evidence to say so, Frank. Have the next-of-kin been informed?”

“A liaison
officer’s with the family as we speak, guv.”

“Right, well
I’m going to go round and have a word with Mr and Mrs Bryant
myself.”

“Are you sure
that’s wise, guv?”

“Why would it
not be?”

“Well, I mean,
if you’re going to be following this bee you’ve got in your bonnet
about her being a prostitute...”

“Detective
Sergeant Vine, I am perfectly capable of exercising tact. Now,
whether you like it or not, I’m going to visit Little Miss Secret
Hooker’s parents. If it helps you sleep at night, I’ll take DS
Knight with me. Knight – get your coat.”

A wolf-whistle
emanated from the direction of DS Steve Wing. Fortunately, it went
either unheard or ignored by Culverhouse.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

Wendy could
hear the breath rushing through Culverhouse's nostrils as they
approached the Bryant household on Mayfield Avenue that afternoon.
She decided an element of tact was required.

“Guv, please
tell me you're not planning to bring up this whole prostitute thing
with her parents.”

“I think they
have a bloody good right to know, Knight.”

“But even
we
don't know at the moment. Just because the other girls
were prostitutes doesn't mean that Nicole Bryant was one too. It's
perfectly common for a serial killer to deviate from his M.O. as he
gets more and more confident with his killings.”

“I've made my
own mind up about what's
perfectly common
, thank you very
much, Knight.”

Wendy sighed
and shook her head as Culverhouse plunged his finger into the
recesses of the Bryants' doorbell. Moments later, a sombre looking
man with wispy grey hair—although one could tell from his face he
was no older than 60—opened the door. Immediately, Culverhouse's
attitude changed.

“Mr
Bryant?”

“Yes.”

“Detective
Chief Inspector Culverhouse and Detective Sergeant Knight. We're
here about your daughter. We're terribly sorry for the shock you
must have had.”

The man seemed
somewhat subdued and numb. “Oh. Oh, right. Yes, come on in.”

As they made
their way into the living room, Wendy observed that it probably
hadn't been decorated since the mid-1970s. If it had, perhaps
browns, purples and swathes of filigree were back in fashion again
and it was
her
that was out of touch.

“Mrs Bryant,
hello. I'm DCI Jack Culverhouse and this is DS Wendy Knight.”

“Please, call
me Patricia. This is Gerry, my husband.”

Different
people deal with grief in different ways, but Wendy noticed that
Patricia and Gerry Bryant seemed somewhat emotionless that
afternoon. It's not that they weren't sad: they weren't
anything
. They were numb – almost like plastic figurines or
the subject of a government drug experiment.

“Mrs Bryant, I
realise it must be difficult for you but we need to ask some rather
direct
questions about Nicole.”

Before Mrs
Bryant could comprehend Culverhouse's remark, Wendy placed a
controlling hand on his arm and took over the lead of
questioning.

“I think what
my colleague is trying to say, Mrs Bryant, is that there are some
links between Nicole's death and that of some other girls in the
area recently and we have to investigate a possible connection as a
matter of course.”

“Links? You
mean... a serial killer?”

“It's far too
early to say at this stage, but we do need to investigate the
links.”

“What sort of
links?” Gerry Bryant interjected.

“Well, what
sort of insight did you have into your daughter's social life?”

“We didn't see
her all that often, if I'm honest. Patricia and I have never been
to her current home as I don't drive and Patricia finds it
difficult to walk long distances with her knees.” Wendy mentally
adjusted her calculation of the Bryants' ages. “Nicole is... was...
always too busy with work to be able to pop over much so we more or
less conducted most of our relationship over the telephone.”

“Why did Nicole
live away from home? I mean, seventeen is quite a young age to set
up on your own without any sort of boyfriend, isn't it?”

“She was in
independent woman.”

Culverhouse's
eyebrow rose at this last word.

“Yes,
Inspector. A woman. That is how I saw my daughter. She was very
mature and we had no qualms about helping her set up on her
own.”

“What sort of
work did she do, Mr Bryant?”

“I don't know.
She didn't say much to either of us about it. I think she was a
little embarrassed.”

Wendy's eyes
met Culverhouse's. As Culverhouse opened his mouth to speak, Wendy
decided it was best if she continued.

“Embarrassed
about what, Mr Bryant?”

“Please, call
me Gerry. I don't know what she was embarrassed about. I got the
impression she'd had to take up work in a shop of some sort after
she lost her office job. She was a very proud woman, Detective
Sergeant. It would have pained her to take any sort of menial
employment, never mind having to tell her parents.”

“Do you know
for certain that it was a shop job?”

“Not for
certain, no.”

“Did it involve
unsociable hours, do you know?”

“It's hard to
say. We used to speak to her at different times of day on the
telephone but I assumed it was because she was part-time or on that
flexi-hours thing.”

“Is it possible
that Nicole might have been mixed up in some sort of additional
work or something she might not have wanted to tell anyone?”

“As I said, she
wouldn't have wanted to tell anyone if she had a menial job. She
was very proud.”

“I'm not
talking about pride, Mr Bryant. I'm talking about whether her job
was socially or legally acceptable.”

Gerry Bryant
looked confused; Jack Culverhouse looked exasperated.

“I'm sorry; I'm
not quite sure what you mean.”

“Oh, for crying
out loud, man! Were you born with your head up your arse? Was your
daughter a prossie or what?”

“Jack!”

“I beg your
pardon, Detective Chief Inspector! Just what are you
insinuating?”

Patricia Bryant
showed the first signs of emotion as she began to howl with
tears.

“I am
insinuating, Mr Bryant, that your daughter was killed in a very
similar manner to – and very probably by the same person as – a
couple of prostitutes we've found dead round here recently. Now, I
couldn't give a rat's arse if your precious daughter was on the
game or not, but if it turns out to be the missing link that stops
us from catching whoever killed these three women, I'm not going to
be a very happy bunny!”

“Get
out
! Get out of my house! I won't have that sort of talk
around here!”

“Mr Bryant, I'm
sure DCI Culverhouse is very sorry. If we could just...” Wendy
tried to pacify the situation.

“Just
nothing
!
Get out of my house!
”

Although Gerry
Bryant was technically obliged to provide any evidence which may be
useful to the case, Wendy felt the safest option would be to head
back and see the Bryants once they'd had a chance to cool down –
and she'd had a chance to make sure Culverhouse wasn't within
twenty miles.

“Nice one,
Knight.”

“I beg your
pardon? What did I do wrong?”

“We need to get
evidence from that man to help our investigation. If we don't find
out whether or not Nicole Bryant was a hooker, we could end up
scraping another dead body off the streets tomorrow morning and
I'll be for the fucking chopping block when Commander Hawes finds
out!”

“Perhaps if
you'd managed to exercise a bit of tact, we might have got the
evidence we wanted. Unfortunately I don't have a time machine which
can stop anyone else getting murdered in the meantime, nor can I go
back to five minutes ago and put some sodding gaffer tape round
your mouth, so I'd appreciate it... no, I
demand
... that you
let me deal with witnesses and grieving families from now on,
Inspector.”

Culverhouse
stopped dead in his tracks.

“You
demand
, DS Knight?”

“Yes, sir. I
demand.”

“You kinky
bitch.”

***

After dropping
Culverhouse back at the station that afternoon, Wendy drove to the
hospital.

Her mind was
overflowing with mixed feelings as she walked towards Michael's
ward. Was it wise to bring a recovering addict back into her home?
What's to say he was even recovering? Was it really worth
jeopardising her career? The angel on her opposite shoulder kicked
the devil into touch, declaring that Michael was family and
families stuck together –
except when they go and die on
you
.

Walking onto
the ward, Wendy noticed that Michael looked much better than he had
the last time she saw him. He looked fit, happy and healthy.

“Ah, my
chauffeur! Betty, this is my sister, Wendy.”

Wendy shook the
nurse's hand.

“You look much
better, Michael.”

“I feel better,
Wend. It's amazing how being forced into a situation forces you to
come to terms with the way you saw things before. Sometimes it's
only when someone forces you into that situation that you actually
see the world for what it really is.”

“Painkillers
talking?”

Michael smiled.
“Something like that.”

“Come on, then.
Let's get you out of here. I've got a lamb joint in for
tonight.”

“Lamb! You
remembered!”

“How could I
forget? You used to run around the house like a delirious lunatic
every time mum cooked lamb.”

“That was
probably a reaction to the foul smell it makes when it's cooking.
You don't mind if I keep well away from the kitchen before dinner,
do you?”

“As long as you
eat it all, I don't care, because you're not getting any pudding
unless you do.”

Michael
gestured a sarcastic salute. “Yes, ma'am!”

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

As the car
passed through Mildenheath and the formality of the hospital
setting faded into the rear-view mirror, a sullen air of silence
fell over Wendy's car.

“So, how's
work?”

“Yeah, fine.
Working on a big case at the moment so I'm glad to have you at home
where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Yeah? How
so?”

“Well, it's a
lot easier than trekking to the hospital all the time.”

“No, I meant
the big case. What's it all about?”

“Ah, you know.
Madman on the loose bludgeoning young girls to death — the usual
fare.”

“Just another
day in the life of Mildenheath, then?”

“Something like
that.”

“And how's the
love life?”

“You think I
get time for one of those with work?”

“Probably not,
seeing as you tend to be so obsessed with it.”

“I am
not
obsessed. Actually, I wanted to speak to you about that
very thing. As a matter of fact, I've met somebody.”

“Oh?”

“His name's
Robert.”

“Good
start.”

“Yes, well.
That's exactly what it is – a good start. It's still early days and
I don't know if anything will come of it but I thought you ought to
know.”

“I'm delighted
for you, Wend. Why don't you invite him over?”

“What, are you
sure? Are you ready for that?”

“I'll be
honest, sis – I've had bigger emotional shocks than my sister
telling me she's got a new boyfriend.”

“I didn't mean
emotionally, you berk. I meant physically.”

“I'm fine,
Wend. Physically, too.”

“Well, if
you're sure, that would be lovely. And I promise we won't have
lamb.”

“Oh, but I like
lamb. It's just the smell it makes when it cooks that I can't
stand.”

“Exactly.
You're cooking.”

For the first
time in as long as she could remember, Wendy truly felt as though
everything in her life was improving. Well, almost everything.
Although it was still very early to say, Michael seemed to be
getting better and she had met a truly alluring man in Robert
Ludford, she remained haunted by the prospect of there being
another girl murdered before the killer could be caught.

Someone,
somewhere, was killing these girls and she didn't know who or
why.

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

It was just
after 9am when the phone rang in the incident room at Mildenheath
CID. Culverhouse answered it.

“DCI
Culverhouse? It's Gerry Bryant, here.”

“Ah. Mr Bryant.
Listen, I...”

“Look, I wanted
to call and apologise.”

“
You
wanted to apologise?”

“Yes. I was
completely out of order yesterday. I should never have thrown you
out of the house.”

“No, well.
Let's... make sure it never happens again, yes?”

“Very well,
Inspector. To bring us back to your original question,
though...”

Culverhouse
racked his brain, but he couldn't remember having asked Gerry
Bryant any questions during their brief telephone conversation.

“My
question?”

“Yes. You
wanted to know if Nicole was a... was one of those. You know.”

“A prostitute,
Mr Bryant?”

“Yes. Well, no.
That's just it. I can absolutely categorically say she wasn't.”