Faithfully: Chase & Halshaw #1 (7 page)

She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, that’s Dave’s desk.”

“Dave Kelmarsh, you mean?”

“That’s right, Inspector.”

Chase studied the collection of family photos on the desk.
They were all of two small children, together or separately, and at various
ages. The elder child was a girl, with jet black hair: the boy was fairer and
younger. In one photo a smiling, dark-haired young woman in sunglasses had her
arms around the two children. Her face was largely hidden, but something about
her struck him as familiar. A shoplifter, maybe, or a witness? After all his
years on the force, it was something that happened more and more often.

 “Amy doesn’t have a meeting at the moment,” Dinah
said, inspecting Amy’s electronic diary on her LCD monitor. “But she can’t be
far away, I’m sure.”

“Thanks,” replied Chase, his mind already elsewhere. He
looked at the text message again, as if trying to divine some meaning from the
words. But there was none.

Idly, he pressed the call button. A few moments later he
heard the tinny jangle of a ringtone. He ended the call, expecting the ringtone
to continue. But it stopped. He pressed the call button again. The same
ringtone rang out. This time he let it ring. After a few rings the ringtone
stopped as the voicemail service clicked in.

“Hey!” said a female voice in his ear. “This is Amy. Please
leave me a message...”

Edna
Gartside
tucked Sniffles’
lead under her foot and bent stiffly to pick up his poo, her hand in a Tesco
carrier bag.

Sniffles, an overweight and rather elderly West Highland
Terrier, waited placidly as she fastidiously placed the bag in one of the
special red bins, before cocking his leg against the supporting pole and
tugging determinedly on the lead in the direction of a new and interesting
smell.

“What is it now, Sniffles?” sighed Edna, as she released the
catch on the retractable lead. Sniffles immediately waddled towards a line of
privet bushes that marked the edge of the ornamental gardens. Not that Edna
thought much of the ornamental nature of the gardens. Six out of ten, perhaps,
on a good day, and even then they were rather untidy. Still, she supposed that discarded
Greggs bags, KFC wrappers, and the occasional used condom made it more
interesting for Sniffles.

Poor old Sniffles! He had been a good friend for many years,
as one by one her friends and family had died or moved away. When he was a
puppy he would charge about everywhere, getting into all kinds of mischief.
Gambolling, as George used to say. But now Sniffles had become a sedate old
gentleman. The only traces of the cheeky puppy that remained were an overly
healthy appetite and a wide-eyed, sidelong glance that seemed to say “I am
adorable, aren’t I?”

Walking Sniffles had always been her husband’s job, until
the second of his three strokes had left him unable to walk. A few months later
he was gone. Peacefully, in his armchair in front of the TV. A blessed relief,
in many ways. George always disliked fuss of any kind, and he hated being
housebound and an invalid. Edna still missed him desperately, but she was
relieved she had been spared the burden of being his
carer
.
Not that she would ever admit it, of course. Not to her one remaining school
friend Agnes, certainly not to Father Madden, and never, ever to her niece. She
wondered whether Sniffles remembered George at all now.

“Come on, Sniffles,” she sighed, tugging on his lead.
“Breakfast time.”

Sniffles took no notice, as always.

She tugged on his lead again, harder this time. “Come on,”
she pleaded. “Mummy needs a cup of tea.”

Sniffles began to reverse out from under the bush where he
had been foraging, then stopped.

“What have you found this time?” she asked, indulgently,
squatting down to take a look.

To begin with, she couldn’t see what the dog had found. A
white paper bag, perhaps? A piece of cloth? No, whatever he had found was
heavier. She could see that from his movements. But the shadows were too deep
for her glaucomatous eyes to make out any detail.

After a few moments, she felt her hip begin to stiffen, and
knew that if she didn’t stand soon she would be stuck down there all day. Then
Sniffles turned towards her, and she saw what he had found.

“There’s a good boy, Sniffles,” she said, tickling him
behind the ears. “Good boy!” She straightened up laboriously. “Let’s go home
now and have our breakfast. And afterwards, we’ll take this straight down to
the police station. Some silly girl probably dropped it on the way home from
the pub last night.”

Ten minutes later, Chase was back in the meeting room, a
fresh cappuccino to hand, when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in!” he called.

The door opened and a tall, sandy-haired man appeared, his prominent
chin only partly disguised by a thick ginger beard. “Are you ready for me yet,
Inspector?” he asked, in a soft Scots accent.

“Mr McKinley?”

“That’s right,” the man replied, with a diffident smile.

“Come on in,” said Chase. The two men shook hands, and Paul
McKinley took a seat at the table.

“You work for Portage, don’t you?” Chase began.

“That’s right.”

“What’s your role?”

“IT Delivery Head. I’m responsible for delivering all our
projects, to time, quality, and budget.”

Chase nodded. “How do you feel about the proposal Sandersons
presented on Monday?”

“It’s pretty inevitable, I suppose,” said McKinley, calmly.
“Personally, I hate the idea, but I can see the logic.”

“Why do you hate the idea?”

“Because we’re giving up something that makes us special.”

“You mean your IT system?”

“Not so much the system itself. It’s a third-party package,
anyway. No, it’s the people, the knowledge, that’s what we’ll lose.”

“I see,” replied Chase. “So, where were you last Monday
evening?”

“What time?”

“Between seven and ten-thirty, let’s say.”

“Football training, Inspector. I play for a local team,
Chiltern Park Rangers. We train on Monday evenings.”

“Where do you train?”

“On the all-weather pitch at Chiltern Park.”

“What time did you finish?”

“Nine-ish.”

“And can we check that?”

“Of course. Talk to Mike
Felstead
,
our coach.”

“Do you have his number?”

“Yes.” McKinley produced his mobile and dictated the number
as Chase wrote it in his notebook.

“Thank you, Mr McKinley. What happened after football training?
Did you go straight home?”

“No. After we’d showered and changed, some of us went to The
Bend Over for a few beers. I was there until about eleven, I guess.”

“The Bend Over?”

McKinley smiled. “The Wendover Arms,” he explained. “The pub
just across the road from the park. We call it The Bend Over. Bit of a joke
among the lads, you know.”

Chase nodded. “Was Mr
Felstead
with you at the pub?”

“Yes, he was. Then he gave me a lift home. About eleven
o’clock, like I said.”

“Where do you live?”

“Greenford.”

“Address?”

“34 Broomfield Close.”

“And where was he heading for?”

“Gerard’s Cross.”

Chase sat back in his chair and snapped his notebook shut.
“Right. That’s it for now. Thank you.”

McKinley ran both his hands through his fine sandy hair and
sighed.

“Was there something else, sir?” asked Chase.

“No... well, that is, I thought you were going to ask me
about Amy.”

“What about her?”

“Amy and me. I suppose Frank’s told you all about it
already.”

“Why don’t you tell me your version of events,” replied
Chase, neutrally.

“Well, Amy and I were together for a few months. Almost a
year, in fact.”

“Recently?”

“Not that recently, no. We split up a year or so ago.”

“Why?”

“Work, mainly. We both went for the same job. Amy got it,
and, well, let’s say I didn’t handle the disappointment very well.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I was better qualified, more experienced. Everyone
said I was the ideal candidate. But Bryn’s got an eye for the ladies, and Amy
used that to her advantage.”

“You mean she slept with him to get the job?”

“God, no! Even Amy’s not that obvious. But within weeks she
was working late, going on business trips with him. It wasn’t hard to guess
what was going on.”

“Was that why you split up?”

“Yes, Inspector.”

“How do you get on with her now?”

“We stay out of each other’s way as far as possible.
Obviously we sometimes get invited to the same meetings, though.”

“Like the big meeting on Tuesday morning?”

“Yes.”

“How often does that happen?”

“Every couple of weeks, now. It’s getting more frequent.”

“And how does she behave towards you?”

“She’s polite enough, I suppose. But I can’t forget what
happened. Or forgive. Even though I got this job a few months later. It’s a
better one, at least on paper, but the days of Portage’s IT department are
numbered. That was why I wanted the job working for Bryn.”

“How do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to be on the winning team, I
suppose.”

Chase smiled amiably. “Thanks, Mr McKinley. That’s all for
the moment.”

McKinley stayed rooted to his seat. “Can I ask you a
question, Inspector?”

“Of course.”

“Who was Amy with on Monday night?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, she wasn’t at home when the burglar came, was she?
Who was she with? Bryn Lewis?”

“I’m not sure I can answer that, Mr McKinley.”

McKinley’s eyes flashed angrily. “Or is some other poor
bastard rogering her now?”

Chase stared at him, lost for words.

“She spent the night with somebody, didn’t she? Some man.
You only had to look at her on Tuesday morning to see that.”

“Yes,” Chase replied, evenly. “She did.”

“What!” retorted McKinley, failing to notice the dangerous
glint in Chase’s eyes.

“She spent most of Monday night with a man. And her mother
was there too.”

“A threesome! I might have fucking known, the bitch! Who was
he, then?”

Chase tried not to smile. “Ken Thomas. His name is Ken
Thomas.”

“Who is he? He doesn’t work here, does he? I’ll find the
bastard and...”

“His name is Detective Sergeant Ken Thomas.”

“A copper! Where do I find him?”

“In the intensive care department at West Middlesex hospital.
He was hit by a car two nights ago, while chasing a suspect. And you, Mr
McKinley, are in a great deal of trouble.”

“Why?” demanded McKinley, defiantly.

“Because you trashed Amy Birkdale’s flat, didn’t you?”

“I did not! How could you possibly think...?”

Chase fought to control his temper. “Because you’ve made it
very clear that you have a motive. Because you’ve admitted to being in the
Chiltern Park area on Monday evening, and you could easily have slipped away
for a few minutes. I bet you even helped yourself to a bag of dog muck from a
bin in the park on your way.”

McKinley stared at him, open-mouthed.

“But mostly, it’s because you’re a nasty, jealous,
vindictive bastard, Mr McKinley.”

McKinley seemed to shrink inwardly.

“Go back to your desk, get on with your work,” Chase
commanded.

“But...”

“We’ll send someone round later to take fingerprints and a
DNA sample. And don’t get any ideas about doing a runner. Now get out!”

McKinley’s lower lip began to quiver. “But...” he sobbed.

“Out!” bellowed Chase.

*

A few moments after Paul McKinley left, the door opened
again. Chase looked up and was startled to see Bryn Lewis stumble into the
room.

Lewis slumped in the chair facing Chase and buried his face
in his hands.

“She’s gone, Inspector,” he mumbled.

“Who has, Mr Lewis?”

“My Lady.” He looked up, his formerly cherubic face ashen.
“What am I going to do, Inspector? She was everything to me.”

“What about your wife?” asked Chase, and then wished he
hadn’t.

Lewis grasped Chase’s wrists and stared into his eyes
intently. “Listen, Inspector,” he said. “I’ve lived my life on the edge. I have
to be so careful with everything I say, everything I do. One slip, one false
move, and it’s all gone. At work, at home, in the car, everywhere. And the one
place, the only place I’ve ever felt totally safe was with My Lady. Do you
understand?”

“Not really,” Chase replied, gently.

Lewis buried his face in his hands for a moment. “You see,
that’s the point, Inspector. Nobody does. Not even my wife. She doesn’t realise
the stress I’m under, the pressure not to make a mistake.”

“Don’t you feel safe with her?”

“She feels safe with me. Or so she says, anyway. But that
just piles on even more pressure. And that’s why I used to love it when My Lady
summoned me. For a couple of hours, I would be totally safe, free from the risk
of making a catastrophic mistake. I was hers, to do with as she pleased.”

“When did you last see her?”

“Yesterday afternoon, Inspector. Or early evening, rather.
We met at a hotel near here at five, and she left at about quarter past seven.”

“Which hotel?”

“The White Hart.”

“Who paid for the room?”

“She did.”

“Did she always pay, or was it just her turn?”

“She always paid, Inspector.”

“Did anyone know about your meeting? Ms
Rodway
,
for example?”

Lewis shook his head emphatically.

Chase thought for a moment. “What did you do after Ms Faith
left you?” he asked.

“I went home, Inspector. My wife and I had dinner together,
and we spent a quiet evening watching a film on TV.”

“Did you go out again that evening?”

“No. Why should I? I was utterly content, in every sense.
And I’ll never, ever feel that way again, Inspector. Never!”

Chase shook his head slowly.

Lewis leant forward. “Who did it, Inspector?” he demanded.
“Who? Tell me!”

“I’ve no idea,” Chase replied. “Not yet. Can you think of
anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?”

“No-one, Inspector. Truly. No-one would want to hurt My
Lady.”

Chase raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

There was a tap at the door, and a cadaverous young man in a
sharply tailored suit appeared.

“Are you ready for us now, Inspector?” he asked.

“Who are you?” Chase demanded.

“Justin Hargreaves,” said the thin man, evenly. “Managing
Consultant, Sandersons. This is my colleague Joe Li. Dinah
Rodway
said you wanted to see us.”

Lewis stood. “I’ll leave you to it, Inspector,” he muttered,
and blundered out of the room, avoiding eye contact with the two new arrivals.

Justin Hargreaves settled himself in the chair Lewis had
vacated and crossed his legs. Joe Li, a square, well-upholstered man in a
slightly too tight suit followed Justin into the room and pulled up a chair
next to him. The two men looked at Chase expectantly.

Chase looked back at them. Both wore monogrammed oxford
weave shirts, the cutaway collars buttoned, with broad, understated ties and
plain cufflinks in the double cuffs. Their watches provided the only flamboyant
touch: Hargreaves’ was a silver Tag Heuer, Li’s a gold Rolex Oyster. Everyone
wears a uniform, Chase thought wryly. Even Management Consultants. Especially Management
Consultants, perhaps.

 “You wanted to see us,” prompted Hargreaves, after a
minute’s awkward silence.

“Yes, yes,” said Chase. “I just wanted to check a few things
about the break-in at Amy Birkdale’s flat. How well do you know her?”

“Not very well at all,” replied Justin. “I’ve worked here
for a few weeks and we’ve spent quite a bit of time working together, but she
seems a very private person.”

“What about you, Mr Li?”

“We’ve spoken a few times, exchanged emails, that’s all.”

“OK. Do either of you know her from outside work.

“No.”

“No.”

“All right,” said Chase. “Where were you both on Monday
evening?”

“Priyanka and I went to dinner with some guys from the City
branch,” said Joe.

“Mr Hargreaves?”

Justin hesitated. “I went home for the night,” he said at
last, in little more than a whisper.

“Home?”

“Yes. In Chichester. My partner had just got back from a
trip: we hadn’t seen each other for three weeks.”

“Where had she been?”

“He’d been in Thailand, Inspector.”

“Sounds entirely reasonable to me, Mr Hargreaves,” replied
Chase, hoping his embarrassment didn’t show. “But you seem uncomfortable about
it. Why?”

Hargreaves ran a finger around his loose-fitting collar. “I
kept my hotel room on,” he murmured.

“To bill to the client, eh?” smiled Chase.

Hargreaves blushed.

“And your colleague?” Chase continued. ”Isn’t she with you
today?”

Hargreaves smiled. “No, Inspector. Priyanka’s working
offsite. She’ll be back in tomorrow. Want to see her then?”

“Yes please.”

“OK. I’ll sort out a time with Di.”

“Thank you.” Chase thought for a moment. “Last question,” he
continued. “Where were you both last night?”

“At home,” Hargreaves replied immediately.

“In Chichester again?”

“Yes, Inspector.”

“And you, Mr Li?”

“At home with my girlfriend.”

“Where’s home for you?”

“Docklands. Heron’s Quay.”

“All evening?”

“Yes.”

“What time did you get home?”

“About seven o’clock, I think.”

“And what time did you go out again?”

“I didn’t, Inspector. Not until this morning.”

Chase snapped his notebook shut. “Thank you both very much,”
he smiled.

“No problem,” murmured Li, as he left.

Justin Hargreaves hung back for a moment.

“Yes, Mr Hargreaves?”

“That business about Chichester, Inspector, I’d appreciate
it if you didn’t mention it to anyone from Sandersons. Or Logistical, come to
that.”

“I can’t promise,” replied Chase. “But I won’t mention it
unless I absolutely need to.”

“I quite understand,” sighed Hargreaves, as he turned to go.
“Thank you.”

*

“Any sign of Ms Birkdale?” asked Chase.

“No, Inspector,” smiled Dinah
Rodway
.
“I’m sorry.”

Chase pulled out his mobile phone and called the number on
the text. Again, he heard the ringtone emanating from the bag tucked underneath
Amy’s desk. And again, he heard her recorded voice in his ear. This time, he
didn’t hang up immediately.