Enigma

  Chapter Thirteen

  08:57 hours

  Love was at DSBD within twenty-two minutes.

  He flashed his ID to the security guard. ‘Hi, Geoff, how are you this morning?’

  ‘Not too great, Love, I’m not sleeping too well lately.’

  ‘I know all about that,’ Love replied.

  ‘You too?’

  ‘Yeah, me too.’ Love grinned.

  He pushed his ID back into the pocket of his Austin Reed Donegal jacket. On his way to work, Love had dropped off his Samuel Windsor linen jacket at the dry cleaners down the road from his flat. Weather dictated it was time to put it away and replace it with his Donegal. At least for the moment he could still get away without his Peter Christian navy woollen Reefer jacket. Snow would have to be on the ground three inches deep before he wore his Reefer.

  Love was hard. Inside and out. Nothing would sway that, no woman, no assailant. Nothing.

  ‘I thought of taking a jog and going to the gym this evening. See if that helps.’

  ‘Well, good luck with that. Hope it does help.’ Love smiled at the guard before sauntering over to the lift. He pushed the button for up and stood back and waited. Behind him he heard the click-clack of high heels.

  He guessed to whom they belonged.

  A moment later the scent of a cheap and strong perfume, the latest moneymaking ploy by some celebrity, confirmed his thoughts.

  He turned his head to one side.’ Hello, Sophie, how are you?’

  Sophie flashed a look at Love. Petulant. Unforgiving. She raised her hand and in an effort to look cool and nonchalant, she flicked her long hair over one shoulder.

  It didn’t work.

  ‘Hello…’ she paused, ‘Dick.’ She said his name with some emphasis.

  Love smiled to himself and looked at the ground. He spoke quietly. ‘I’m sorry about that Sophie, maybe they do medication for it.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Sophie was staring at Love now. Confusion written all over her pretty and petulant face.

  Love looked up. ‘For memory loss. I told you I’m known as Love. The only person who gets to call me Dick is my mother,’ he said. ‘And that’s under protest,’ he added.

  Sophie glared at Love. Her mouth twitched as though trying to think of a suitable retort. None was forthcoming. The lift arrived, the doors swished open. Love stepped back to allow Sophie to get in first.

  ‘Forget it,’ she snapped. ‘I’d rather walk.’

  ‘As you like,’ Love said. He stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the seventh floor. The doors closed and Love let out a sigh. How immature, he pondered. He’d totally done the right thing there nipping that in the bud.

  Women! Damn women and their manipulative ways. Suddenly, the face of a certain doctor filled his mind. At least she was a real woman, intelligent, around forty years old he reckoned, and not some silly little actress out for what she can get.

  Yep! Now, Doctor Julie Cooper was one kind of woman… suddenly, he felt hot and agitated. His finger pulled at the inside of his shirt collar.

  ‘Morning, Love.’

  ‘Hi, Stuart,’ Love replied. He strode into his office, the door clonking shut behind him, undid his zip and shrugged off his Donegal. ‘When did you get in?’

  ‘About fifteen minutes ago. Kettle’s just boiled.’

  ‘Thanks, mate, maybe later.’

  Stuart looked up from his computer. ‘You look flushed… everything all right?’

  ‘Yeah, fine.’ Love pulled out his chair and sat down. Everything all right? His head was in turmoil! Doctor Cooper! That’s all he needed was for her to be on his mind or in his life to confuse things right now. Cloud his judgement. He snapped his attention to the folder on his desk. He flipped it open. He mentioned to Stuart about Julie Cooper coming over to the flat.

  ‘And how was your time with the lovely Doctor Cooper?’

  ‘Good. She was helpful and the meeting gave me food for thought.’

  ‘You want to share it?’

  Love thought back to the moment to when they said goodbye. ‘Yeah, I’ll fill you in… Stuart?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How do you know when it’s lust or something else?’

  ‘So it did go well then.’

  ‘There might have been a moment there… sort of, I’m not sure. I’m kind of out of practise.’

  ‘Love, it’s like riding a bike.’

  ‘I’m serious. It’s just that… I don’t know, mate… listen, forget it, it was nothing.’

  Stuart stared at Love. He didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe Love for one minute. ‘If you say so, listen, just hang cool.’

  ‘I hear you,’ Love said. He was abrupt, he felt awkward at momentarily opening up. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his drawer looked at them and put them back. ‘I’m going to go through the notes and photographs to see if we missed anything else.’

  ‘That’s what I’m doing,’ Stuart said. ‘By the by, will we be getting access to the security tapes anytime soon?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s on it,’ Love said. ‘She said anything they can do to help and told me to give her a call sometime this morning.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Stuart said. He was wearing his usual uniform of Hugo Boss suit and Antony Morato shirt.

  The jacket was hanging on the back of his chair. His tie was bold. A splash of vibrant colour usually found on the wall of a modern museum. Or in a young child’s art class.

  ‘Get anywhere with that character in Cornwall,’ he paused momentarily to glance at his computer, ‘Sven Stonehead?’

  ‘Stonehead?’ Love said.

  Suddenly, Stuart’s telephone rang. ‘Sorry, one moment, I’ll just get this.’ He picked it up, listened, said something in return and replaced the receiver. ‘Got to go,’ he said. He stood up, slipped on his jacket, grabbed a file from the top of his desk.

  ‘Where to?’

  Stuart patted his pockets found what he was looking for. ‘Fitch,’ he replied. He tapped a couple of keys on his keyboard. ‘I won’t be long. Ben from MI6 has some personal clothes and items belonging to a victim and needs the low-down on them. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ Love said, and watched him go. He turned back to face his computer. Glad to see the cat was asleep. He pulled a scrappy piece of paper from his wallet. It was yellow, lined and dog-eared. He glanced at one of the numbers scribbled upon it, placed the paper down on his desk and dialled the number using his landline, slipped the paper back into his wallet. He stared at the wilting spider plant through narrowed eyes. ‘Must remember to water that damn thing.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Miss Dixon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘DCA Love here. May I ask you a few further questions?’

  ‘Yes, of course. How may I help?’

  ‘I tried you earlier at your apartment but…’

  ‘After I saw Timmy yesterday I went home to my place packed a suitcase and here I am.’

  ‘And there you are, back at the old homestead,’ Love said, and chuckled softly. He wasn’t being insensitive. It was called communicating on any level. He was doing his job.

  ‘Yes,’ Ashley said. She smiled. Here she was. Back home again. ‘Have you found Monica’s car yet?’

  ‘Yes, we have. It’s currently being processed but we’ll keep you notified about that,’ he said. ‘Miss Dixon…’

  ‘Call me Ashley.’

  ‘Ashley, would you happen to know why Monica would be out at Primrose Hill on a Monday morning?’

  ‘I would say it’s to attend her weekly ballet class.’

  Love knew this but didn’t say anything. The police constables or PCs had approached the dance studio where Love had discovered Monica’s car a third of a mile from where Monica had been killed.

  ‘Appreciate that, Ashley, but surely there are studios closer to home.’

  ‘You make it sound like she was trekking halfway across the country.
’

  ‘Granted. As far as the crow flies it’s not a lot of mileage but we’re talking getting from Lee in Lewisham to the borough of Camden on a Monday morning. There must be easier ways of doing it.’

  ‘Perhaps, Detective Love, but for one thing.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Monica has been dancing all her life. We both have until I was accepted at EWA and had to stop and the reason why Monica goes…’ she paused and caught her breath before continuing, ‘the reason why Monica used to go to Two Left Feet in Primrose Hill was purely because of the teacher, a Mrs Adams.’

  ‘Is Mrs Adams particularly good then?’ Love glanced down at his report.

  Mrs Adams. Widowed no children. Sixty-seven years old. Danced first as a commercial dancer before becoming a teacher when she turned thirty. Lived all her life in and around north west London. Positive reports regarding her skills as a teacher, however, interviewing Monica’s fellow dance pupils was still ongoing.

  ‘She’s an excellent teacher,’ Ashley said. She picked up a cushion moved it from the telephone chair in the hallway and sat down with the cushion on her lap. ‘But that’s only part of it. Monica has known her for ooh… it must be going on for thirty-five years now.’

  ‘So she’s been teaching Monica pretty much since she was a young girl then.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I didn’t realise how much loyalty existed in the world of dance.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ashley said, and smiled. ‘Loyalty is alive and well in dance.’

  ‘I imagine competition can be fierce too. Amongst the pupils, I mean.’

  Ashley paused as if weighing up her answer. ‘But in Monica’s class not enough to kill anyone for, Detective.’

  Cute. Smart cookie. Love smiled. He liked this girl. She had guts, intelligence. ‘Always a pleasure to talk to you, Ashley, but again, I’m sorry it’s under such tragic circumstances.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure,’ Ashley replied. ‘Anything to help, anytime, you know where to find me.’ She murmured a goodbye and hung up the phone.

  Love’s thought process told him Timmy’s presence at the time of Monica’s abduction had been unexpected. He wasn’t meant to be there. Timmy being there had surprised the killer who’d acted on the spur of the moment. He’d compromised. He hadn’t only cleverly used Monica’s top as a blindfold but simply because he had nothing else to use. Love pondered, but if that was the case why did he have the Benzomenthapane on him.

  Five minutes later, Love picked up the receiver and dialled. It rang. It was answered after four rings.

  ‘Ashley, excuse me, but just one more thing.’

  ‘Certainly, Detective Love, what is it?’

  ‘Did Monica wear any jewellery?’

  ‘Yes, she sometimes wore a Victorian emerald ring that belonged to our grandmother and she also had a watch.’

  ‘Was it a retro Valkyrie LP101 Swatch?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  That tallied with the inventory of items taken at Monica’s house. The constables had listed one Victorian emerald ring and a Swatch as two of the items found amongst a modest collection of jewellery. This latest piece of information appeared to rule out burglary.

  ‘I only ask because your sister didn’t have any jewellery on her at the time of her death.

  ‘No, she wouldn’t. It’s common practice to remove all jewellery before dancing.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s not recommended as it can get in the way or you could accidentally collide with someone and a ring can do some nasty damage, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine,’ Love said. ‘Well, once again you’ve enlightened me in the world of dance.’

  Ashley smiled. ‘Glad to have been of some help, Detective Love,’ she said.

  ‘One last thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘As far as you’re aware did Timmy usually accompany Monica to the dance studio? I appreciate it’s half-term right now.’

  ‘No, not at all. Usually he’d be at school, as you say, or else Monica would get a babysitter in or failing that he would spend the morning with friends.’

  ‘Really? Well, thank you.’ Love balanced the phone on his shoulder as he jotted something down on another dog-eared piece of paper. He stuffed it into his trouser pocket, and said, ‘That’s very helpful. We’ll be checking up on that but I needed to hear it from you.’

  ‘Talk to you again soon.’ It was a statement not a question.

  Love smiled. ‘More than possible, Ashley, it’s more than possible.’ Love was lost in thought as he replaced the receiver.

  A sudden tap on the glass made Love look up. He smiled, picked up his wallet, got up from his chair and strode over to the door, pulled it open.

  ‘Your phone has a hands-free option,’ she said. ‘If you like I can show you.’

  Love shook his head. ‘You should know better than to ask me that,’ he said as he shoved his wallet into the back pocket of his chinos.

  ‘Not even hands-free?’

  ‘No, don’t want to go there. By the time I’ve pressed the buttons put the phone down done my song and dance act my line of thought has gone.’

  ‘And how is your line of thought coming along, Love?’

  Love turned and walked back to his desk. He sat down shifted a few papers and looked up at her. ‘Is this simply personal interest or are you acting on the commander’s instructions?’

  Jenny smiled. ‘Let’s just say it’s a bit of both.’ She took a few steps closer to Love.

  As he looked on questioningly she hitched up her skirt a few inches to perch on the end of his desk. She was wearing a lilac cashmere top. Skinny-ribbed, long sleeved V-neck. Her skirt was fairly tight. Cream. Wool. And on her shapely legs she wore hold-ups. Love knew she always wore hold-ups, never tights or stockings, always hold-ups. They were dark grey in colour. On her feet she wore pale lilac ankle boots. Soft, supple leather with a thick heel, medium in height. Classy and nicely put together. Jenny could wear clothes a woman even ten years younger might balk at putting on but Jenny had style. And she had confidence both in herself as a woman and in her looks. If she wanted to wear a potato sack she could probably get away with it.

  She smiled at him showing a row of even white teeth. Love stared at her mouth covered in its customary lilac lipstick.

  He smiled in return and shook his head. ‘Jenny, first of all, I’d go easy on the bleach your teeth are giving me snow blindness and second of all,’ he paused as he leant forward to rest his arms on his desk, ‘I know that’s not how the commander works, so what’s the real reason?’

  Jenny folded her arms.’ Well, Love, first of all, I’ll take that crack about my teeth only from you and no one else and second of all,’ she paused and raised her arms up in the air in a surrender position, ‘I admit I’m here on pretence.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Would you like to come to dinner on Saturday?’

  Love slumped back in his chair. ‘I didn’t see that coming,’ he said. He ran his hand through his dark blond fringe and stared up at her with a question in his blue eyes. ‘What’s brought this on?’

  ‘Don’t get any romantic notions, Love, it’s just that I’m one guest short and I wondered if you’d like to fill the spot.’

  ‘One guest short?’

  ‘Yes, I’m hosting a dinner party for eight but I only have seven due to one of my guests dropping out at the last minute.’ She shook her head. ‘So inconsiderate of him to get the flu.’

  Love chuckled and shook his head.

  ‘But can’t be helped I suppose.’

  ‘So I’m a last-minute gap-filler,’ he said. ‘And from anyone else I would be offended.’

  Jenny smiled. ‘Well, what about it?’

  ‘I’d have to decline, sweetheart, but thanks for thinking of me.’

  ‘You’re not going out with anyone on a serious basis a
re you?’ She creased her brow. That didn’t sound like Love.

  ‘No, not even on a light-hearted one. It’s just that dinner parties aren’t my thing and I’m too involved in this case right now to make plans I’d probably have to break.’

  Jenny jumped off his desk and nodded. ‘Hear you, Love, but I had to ask,’ she said, and smiled cheerfully. ‘It’s a shame. You’d have looked good at my table.’

  Love spread his hands open. ‘Get a sunflower instead.’

  She walked back over to the door and turned her head. Love was standing right behind her. He reached towards her grabbed the handle and pulled open the door.

  ‘Maybe I should do that.’

  ‘Good luck with it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, and saluted. She turned and strode from his office. By the time she reached the lifts, Love had already forgotten their encounter.

  Love was lost in thought.

  He was busy going over his earlier meeting with Doctor Cooper. The sort of person she’d described was clever, good at hiding himself amongst society. On the outside he appeared fairly normal.

  Or did he? Were there clues, Love pondered, clues to pick up on?

  The dance studio, the hospital, what did it all mean?

  He opened his drawer grabbed his pack of cigarettes looked at them put them back down, closed the drawer. He reached across his desk and grabbed a tube of mints. Tore the paper retrieved a smooth white mint and chucked it into his mouth. He crunched down hard. He pulled back his shirt cuff and looked at his Timex Sportster. It read 09:20 hours. He reached behind and slid his fingers into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, flipped it open and extracted a card. He grabbed his mobile from his jacket pocket, punched in the number and waited. It was answered on the seventh ring.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘You sound breathless,’ Love said. He’d got up from his desk and was standing at the window watching a stream of traffic drive by. ‘I hope I didn’t take you away from anything important.’

  She smiled. ‘I was about to ring you and no, not at all, I was just coming down the hall and into my office.’

  ‘So you didn’t have your cell phone, I mean, mobile phone on you.’

  ‘That’s quite correct.’

  ‘Excuse me, Julie, but there’s a reason why they are called mobiles.’

  ‘Detective Love…’

  ‘Just Love, remember?’

  She paused. ‘Love, I am well aware of the significance of having a mobile phone and although use is permitted in this area I refuse to take it…’ she paused.

  ‘Take it?’

  ‘Into the toilet with me,’ she said in a rush.

  ‘Good point,’ he said, and grinned. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yes, well, I presume you’re ringing about the tapes?’

  ‘Yes ma’am, and by the way, how’s Timmy doing?’

  They spoke momentarily of the boy’s progress until a moment later, she said, ‘Come by anytime. Just pop along to the security office they’re expecting you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Love said. ‘And Julie, I appreciate your help.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ she said. ‘Bye, Love.’

  ‘Goodbye.’ He closed his mobile and looked up at the sky. It looked like it wanted to rain. He didn’t mind the rain. The Brits loved to talk about the weather in general, moan good-naturedly about the wet, cold, or hot but it didn’t bother him. And tough if it did. Not a lot he could do about the state of the climate.

  He wondered if they would find anything on the security tapes. Anything that would give them a lead. The sooner they made a start and get down to viewing them the better.

  As he continued to stare out of the window the first drops of rain spattered down on the pane. He ran his hands through his hair. Christ, he was tired. He strolled back to his desk and sat down. Thinking. Wondering. His mind going round in circles. He leant his head back in his old leather and wooden chair. Outside, the buzz of London’s traffic filtered through the thick glass and the rain continued to fall gently hitting the window, but inside his office it was warm, he was comfortable, and the buzz soon turned into a soothing lullaby.