MURDER IN THE VILLAGE a gripping crime mystery full of twists Page 2

  It brought Frank, who’d been back in the main office drinking coffee and trying to flirt with the still weepy secretary, outside to see what all the fuss was about. Hillary got there first, and looked down to where the excited youngster was pointing.

  ‘Oh shit,’ she sighed. ‘Another one.’ The revolver, which like the others had been wrapped in a piece of old towel, looked smaller than the rest to her. Why it hadn’t been stashed in the locked filing cabinet along with all the others, she had no idea. Perhaps this was the gun Adam Fairway had intended to sell to Verney? It would make sense for him to keep the hiding place of all the other guns a secret from his customers. Unlike popular belief, there was no such thing as honour among thieves. ‘Take some pictures,’ she said curtly to the uniform who’d found it. I’m not calling Tactical back again just for this. Frank, you can take it back to the evidence locker. Make sure you sign it straight in and give DI Dobson a call. He might want to keep the haul together.’

  Frank gave her a two-fingered salute behind her back. She knew he’d done it by the look one of the young coppers gave him. She shook her head wearily. There was no point reporting Frank Ross for insubordination. He’d only deny it, and she was not about to ask a uniform to back her up at a disciplinary hearing. It would blight his career for years to come.

  No, thanks to her late hubby Ronnie Greene, she was stuck with Frank. Her husband had died before he could be brought up on corruption charges, but everyone and their granny knew that Frank Ross had been in the mire up to his neck too.

  She made her way back to Greenfingers Inc. offices and noticed the secretary had gone missing — probably headed for home and a stiff gin. She hoped the constable questioning her had made sure of her address before he’d let her go.

  She turned on Fairway’s computer and stared at it glumly for a few moments, then reached for her phone and called Detective Constable Tommy Lynch back at HQ. ‘Tommy, it’s me. I need you in Bicester,’ she said cheerfully. One day she was going to have to take an advanced computer course. One day she was going to have to do a lot of things.

  * * *

  Back in Kidlington, DC Tommy Lynch took a deep breath and wished she wouldn’t say things like that to him, especially without warning. ‘On my way, guv,’ he responded calmly, then glanced across at DS Janine Tyler, sitting at the desk opposite, and shrugged.

  Everyone on Hillary’s team knew about the raid, and Janine Tyler in particular had been furious to be left out in the cold. But it had been DCI Mallow’s call that only Hillary and Frank Ross need be present. After all, it had been the TFU’s show, and they didn’t need everyone else there as well.

  Tommy Lynch whistled as he drove to the small market town in the north of Oxfordshire. He was getting married in June, and didn’t think it was a good idea to be thinking so much about his governor, but since there didn’t seem to be a damn thing he could do about it, he supposed there was no point in tying himself up in knots about it either.

  Hillary and the evidence officer were still poring over the inevitable paperwork when he arrived. Hillary pointed him in the direction of the perp’s computer and told him she wanted its every secret. ‘And see if he’s got a safe hidden anywhere, will you, Tommy,’ she added.

  She had a gut feeling that Adam Fairway was the sort to keep records. Detailed records. And she wasn’t wrong. But even she was amazed when Tommy called her over about an hour later to show her what he’d found. Hidden in a file under a separate password were records that would make Dobbin’s mouth water. A list of weapons bought and sold going back nearly seven years.

  A lot of people were going to be very happy about this — and it always paid to keep the brass happy. And the press liaison officer would be ecstatic. More than that, it was yet another good collar that would liven up her CV no end when a chief inspectorship came up for grabs. And all because Mavis Verney hadn’t liked the thought of her Gary going out tooled up when he went out to nick CD players from the local Curry’s.

  Some days Hillary really liked her job.

  * * *

  Back at HQ, Hillary parked up and sighed. It was nearly three o’clock but she had hours of work ahead of her yet, and since it had turned overcast, it wouldn’t be long before it got dark. She’d be glad when the clocks went on next week. Another hour of daylight at the end of her shift would come in handy.

  She made her way through the lobby, where somebody had placed a tub of flowering daffodils, and accepted the good-natured congratulations and ribbing from the desk sergeant. News of the gun haul had gone before her, of course, and it was always nice to come back to the nest a conquering hero. At her desk, she slumped down in her chair and ignored her rumbling stomach. She’d missed lunch, but doubted that her middle-aged spread would notice. That was another thing she’d have to do one day — join a gym.

  Yeah, right.

  Frank Ross walked in, a suspiciously heavy bulge in his overcoat pocket. Hillary opened her mouth, about to blast him about not checking the gun into the evidence locker the moment he arrived, then got distracted as DCI Philip ‘Mel’ Mallow came out of his office and walked across the open-plan office towards her.

  Mel was an old friend of nearly twenty years standing, and her immediate superior officer. The fact that he was nearly a year into a sexual relationship with her pretty blonde DS, Janine Tyler, was still something of a matter of contention between them. Still, she was grateful he’d kept Janine out of her hair this morning. Although a good cop who would no doubt go far, Janine tended to be too hungry for promotion and too ambitious for good sense to always reign supreme. She also suspected that Janine had applied for firearms training and had been turned down. Hillary could well imagine that her sergeant had come across as too gung-ho to be a serious contender. Still, a lot of cops saw weapons training as a way to get ahead, and Janine had certainly been keen to be in on the raid, even though the chance of any gunfire being exchanged had been judged as very low.

  Mel Mallow glanced across at Frank as he spoke, reluctantly including him in the equation. ‘The super wants us in his office for the latest update,’ he said flatly.

  Hillary groaned. ‘The Fletcher thing again?’

  Luke Fletcher was Thames Valley’s biggest thorn in the side, and had been for many years. He ran both prostitution and drug rackets, and was suspected to be behind at least three murders, though nothing had ever been pinned on him. Last year, Superintendent Marcus Donleavy had been kicked upstairs, and a man from the Met, Jerome Raleigh, had been brought in. And the new broom seemed determined to sweep up Luke Fletcher.

  Frank Ross grinned. ‘About time.’ For some reason, Frank, who could be guaranteed to hate the top brass simply as a matter of principle, had become a big fan of the new super, and that alone was enough to make Hillary uneasy. And the fact that Raleigh was insisting on keeping Frank in the loop made her uneasier still. The Met man must know of Frank’s reputation, so why was he keeping the oily little oik so close to the superintendent bosom?

  Still, as she gathered up her bag and notebook and followed the other two out of the room, she had to admit that, lately, the super’s intelligence on Fletcher had been impressive. It also made her wonder how a man from London had managed to get so many fingers into so many of Fletcher’s pies, so soon. And was this the reason why the Met man had got the job? Had he been gathering evidence against Fletcher for far longer than just a few months?

  Mel led the little cavalcade up the stairs to the super’s office, but let Frank get ahead as they reached the landing. He laid a quiet hand on Hillary’s arm, holding her back. ‘You have any idea who his source could be?’ he murmured quietly as the super’s civilian secretary buzzed them through.

  ‘Nope,’ she murmured back. Like herself, Mel was intrigued, not to mention narked, at the new super’s impressive dedication to nailing Fletcher. It was no secret that Mel had secretly been hoping to get Marcus Donleavy’s old job, and that his nose had been well and truly put out of joint at being pipped at
the post by an outsider was understandable. She only hoped her old friend’s jealousy wouldn’t make him do anything stupid. Nailing Fletcher, no matter who got the credit for it, would be many a copper’s dream come true. Including her own.

  Inside his office, Jerome Raleigh got to his feet as they trooped in. There were two men from Vice, DI Mike Regis and Sergeant Colin Tanner, already present. Mike Regis’s eyes went straight to Hillary, and she felt her pulse rate thump, just a little. A while ago, she’d thought that she and Mike Regis might just have things to talk about. But that was before she’d found out he was married. Now, or so she’d heard, his divorce was imminent.

  Would they have things to talk about then? She hoped so. ‘Philip.’ Superintendent Raleigh held out his hand to the man who’d hoped to have his job, nodded blankly at Frank, and smiled at Hillary. ‘You know DI Regis and Sergeant Tanner, of course. Sit down, please. Help yourself to coffee.’

  Hillary did the honours, without making a fuss. She never turned down good caffeine, and certainly not in the name of sexual equality. The only one she didn’t hand a cup to was Frank.

  Well, there were limits.

  Raleigh hid a smile as Frank Ross heaved his bulk out of his chair to get his own. After that bit of entertainment, the meeting passed swiftly, and it was clear that the intelligence on Fletcher was building. Hillary could tell that Mike Regis, for one, was delighted. For the first time in what seemed like a long, long wait, it appeared as if Fletcher might actually be touchable after all. As a Vice man, Regis harboured a particular animosity towards Fletcher. Mel too was impressed, but careful not to show it, and asked several clever and cautionary questions. Hillary listened carefully and said nothing.

  A small-time dealer, one of Fletcher’s minnows, had been caught with enough dope on him to merit a five-year stretch. According to Raleigh he might be persuaded to talk. There were also rumours that Fletcher was about to take possession of a big and experimental shipment of drugs. Nobody knew if that was true, or just rumour. Twice Raleigh led them over to a board on the far side of the room to check out the latest intel posted up there. Twice Hillary wondered how the Met man had got so close, so quickly, to Oxford’s kingpin.

  It was already gone five, and was dark and raining, by the time Raleigh let them go. Hillary watched Frank Ross retrieve his overcoat and hurry away. Ross, a deceivingly benign-looking man with rounded cheeks and a chubby figure, never did overtime if he could help it. For herself, she’d be lucky to get off by nine.

  ‘So what do you think?’ Regis’s voice behind her out on the landing made her turn and smile briefly.

  ‘About what?’ she asked. Us?

  ‘Getting Fletcher. We’re close to it this time. I can feel it. You must be glad to have a super so hellbent on it.’

  ‘Marcus Donleavy was never slack either,’ she said sharply, then bit her lip as Regis gave her a quick look. Damn. The truth was, she missed having Marcus Donleavy in charge. She both liked and trusted him — as opposed to the man from the Met, whom she simply couldn’t get a handle on. She’d have to be careful not to let her loyalties show though. Not that she was worried Mike Regis would shaft her. Still. Office politics was like dynamite. It needed to be handled carefully. ‘Long day,’ she excused herself briefly.

  ‘Fancy a drink?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘Sorry, not tonight. Still got a lot to do.’ She briefly told him about the raid — all cops liked to hear a success story — and by the time she’d finished, she noticed that Frank Ross was coming back up the stairs. Odd, she’d have thought he would be well on his way by now. He practically supported his local boozer single-handedly. ‘Another time, maybe?’ She turned back to Regis, trying not to sound too eager. Or too pathetic.

  Mike shrugged. ‘Sure, why not.’

  Hillary watched him go and sighed. She wasn’t sure why she was so attracted to him. He was nearing fifty and had thinning dark hair but very attractive green eyes. Perhaps it was because he thought the same way she did, and she liked the way he was at ease in his own skin. But then again perhaps she was fooling herself. After slapping him down in no uncertain terms just a few months ago, he’d probably already found someone else.

  * * *

  Frank Ross waited until Raleigh’s secretary had gone, then slipped quietly into the super’s outer office. He went straight to the coat rack and squatted down. Shit. No sign of it. He crouched down and looked under the heating unit. He was sweating, but that had nothing to do with the hot air blasting from the painted radiator.

  ‘Lost something, DS Ross?’

  Frank jumped, inwardly swore, then got up with as much dignity as his well-padded frame would allow.

  ‘No problem, guv. Just lost my car keys. Thought they might have fallen out of my pocket up here.’

  Detective Superintendent Jerome Raleigh looked at Ross and smiled thinly. ‘I can hear them jangling in your back trouser pocket from over here, Frank,’ he said flatly. And opened the door behind him. ‘Come on through.’

  Frank gulped and followed, frantically thinking up a good lie. One thing was for sure: no matter what, he was not about to tell the super that he’d misplaced a gun.

  * * *

  Hillary filled in the last form and shook her aching fingers. Her only consolation was that, somewhere, Dobbin was suffering from the same plight. Paperwork was the bane of every copper’s life. She glanced across the open-plan office and saw that the light was still on in Mel’s cubicle. She wondered if Janine was in there with him, or if she’d gone home. Word had it she was almost living permanently now at Mel’s des res in ‘The Moors’, Kidlington’s answer to Belgravia.

  She’d just slipped into her coat when she heard the phone ring in Mel’s cubicle, then his voice answering. She grabbed her bag and was walking fast to the door when she heard him call her name.

  Damn. Not fast enough.

  She turned and tried to look interested. Mel smiled wearily, hardly fooled. ‘We got a call from a village called Lower Heyford. Know it?’

  Hillary did, vaguely. She’d visited it once on a previous case.

  ‘Looks like a suspicious death — almost certainly murder. A local would-be politician. Want it?’ Mel asked, this time with a genuine grin. Hillary nodded, all sense of tiredness abruptly gone. In truth, it had been a stupid question.

  She always wanted murder.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DCI Mel Mallow watched Hillary head for the door and smiled grimly before turning back into his office and reaching for the phone. He called his own number first, and waited. As he did so, his eye fell on one particular photograph standing on his desk. It was not of his ex-wife, or even of his son, but a picture of himself and Detective Chief Superintendent Marcus Donleavy. It had been taken many years ago now, right after a police rugby match, after their division had just knocked seven bells out of those gits from St Aldates nick.

  His fingers tightened around the telephone receiver as Janine Tyler’s voice suddenly sounded in his ear. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Janine, it’s me. I’ve just sent Hillary off to Lower Heyford — Tangent Hall. There’s been a suspicious death — almost certainly murder. Can you reach Tommy for me and get on over there right away?’

  ‘Sure, lover, consider it done.’ She hung up abruptly, and Mel winced. No loving words for him tonight, it seemed. He put the receiver down and walked restlessly to the window. Orange-coloured streetlights reflected the large car park and the surrounding environs of Kidlington. In the big pane of glass, his reflection showed him a handsome man, dressed in an impeccable suit. A man who should be superintendent himself by now.

  Marcus Donleavy had made no bones about why the man from the Met had been chosen over him to get the job Donleavy’s promotion had left vacant. Oh, the brass had made all the usual noises about wanting a fresh eye to look things over, and how new blood brought in from outside could only benefit them all, yada, yada, yada. But the truth was, they were uneasy about a DCI being shacked up with a DS in his own
team. How could it not affect his decisions when assignments were being meted out, they wondered. And did it really show good judgement on his part to get tangled up with a woman a good ten years his junior in the first place, especially with two divorces already behind him. What did it say for his professional conduct when his private life was such a mess?

  Mel sighed and leaned back against his desk. The simple truth was, if he’d known getting involved with Janine would have blighted his chances for promotion so damned effectively, he’d never have taken that first step and invited her out. But he also knew that he’d been lonely, and that Janine had filled a dull gap in his life. And yet another hard, ugly truth which had to be faced was the fact that he was going to have to dump her. And soon. With Jerome Raleigh proving to be so popular, it was almost a certainty that he’d never get promoted now, if he stayed at Thames Valley. Especially if the high-flying bastard actually succeeded in nailing Fletcher. He’d be the golden boy for now and evermore.

  No, he was going to have to move on — maybe down south somewhere. Sod going north. Devon was nice, or so he’d been told. Hampshire too was possible; Dorset maybe. But wherever it was, he couldn’t arrive at a new nick with a liability like Janine in tow. Not that she’d want to move anyway.

  Mel reached up and pulled off his tie. He didn’t particularly want to go home to an empty house, so he might as well make himself comfortable here. Besides, Hillary would be calling in with a preliminary report soon. He poured himself a coffee, and sat down wearily in his chair.

  He didn’t really want to move, and he resented having to. Thanks to the divorce from his wealthy second wife, he had a beautiful house in an upmarket area in town, and was well liked and well respected where he was. He felt settled, and until recently, well on the way to climbing the career ladder.

  His chief investigator, Hillary Greene, was a good friend as well as a gem to work with — her success rate was second to none, and he knew for a fact that Marcus had always rated her too. He could leave her to handle this latest murder investigation without a worry, even if the political angle turned it into a hot potato. An old pro, she also knew not to make any office goofs that might land him, Mel, in the shit. Hell, he could even foist that pain in the arse Frank Ross on her and know she’d cope. But who could say who he’d end up with if he moved?