The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1) Page 16

  “Who is it?”

  “A fussy buyer.” She put the mobile back in her bag. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about the meal.” She took the marrow from him and put it in the trolley. “Let’s hurry. I’m ravenous and a bit testy.”

  They finished their shopping without deep conversation. Sophia knew his silence meant that something bothered him, but she was afraid to ask.

  When they arrived at the checkout, Marc turned to her, took her hands, and asked, “Why are you with me?”

  She had asked herself that hundreds of times. Even though she thought she had the answer, the question still took her by surprise. Because the government is convinced a bomb will detonate in three days and believes you’re behind it. Because I don’t believe it. Because I love you. Because, for once in my damn life, I want normality. Because. Because. Because.

  She dropped her hands from his and asked, “You’re not dumping me in the Sainsbury, are you?”

  “What? What are you on about?” He held her cheeks in his hands and kissed her nose.

  The cashier glared at his display of public affection. Sophia took her Nectar card back. “Why did you ask that?” she asked Marc.

  “I can’t imagine why a woman as beautiful and smart as you, who has everything, would want someone like me.”

  “Who should I be with? If you can find me someone better, let me know.” She laughed his questions away. “What time is it?” She grabbed at his watch.

  He pulled his arm away. “The stupid thing stopped working last week; I haven’t had the opportunity to replace the battery.” Instead, he reached for his mobile and informed her it was close on six.

  “Why do you wear a watch that doesn’t work?”

  He shrugged. “Habit, I guess. Reminds me that I need to get the battery replaced.”

  Sophia took her re-usable carrier bags and headed toward her Mercedes. Though she’d felt relief that the questions had stopped, she had to know what was eating him. “You’re not married, are you?” she asked as she put the bags in the boot.

  “Married? No,” he said and sat down on the bumper.

  Sophia stepped back from the car. She’d never seen him this distant and sullen before. She placed her right hand on his cheek and rubbed her thumb against the soft stubble.

  He took her fingers softly and held them in front of his mouth, warming them with his breath. “There’s something I have to discuss with you.”

  “What?” Sophia kissed his hand.

  Marc paced in front of her. “I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks, but I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.”

  Sophia’s heart sank. She slammed the boot closed. “You have to tell me now. Get in the car.”

  She got behind the wheel and stared out the windscreen. As much as she wanted to be angry with Marc, she hated herself more. Liam held out hope that Marc would someday tell her about his activities, invite her to join his animal activist group, explain the code key; but until now, he hadn’t.

  “I should’ve told you straight away,” he said when he sat down beside her. “I feel so bad.”

  She turned to him. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  His reply just confirmed her suspicions. “I never meant to hurt you.” He looked out the window and didn’t elaborate. “Let me gather my thoughts.”

  The bastard. The bloody bastard.

  The fifteen-minute trip to Marc’s home felt like torture. She didn’t want to see him again. For her, it ended there—he didn’t get another chance. She wanted to get out of the car, leave it there, keys and all, and just leave everything. Just walk away. Damn you, too, Liam. Everyone can go to hell.

  When they arrived at his flat, she pulled into a large space in front. He reached for her hands that tightly gripped the wheel.

  “No.” She took her hands away. “Just get out.”

  “I have to explain… I want to explain.”

  “Just answer me one thing—are you a bastard?” Sophia turned and looked him in the eyes. “I don’t care that you’re not expecting the question. Are you a bastard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then if you love me, you’ll get out of my bloody car.”

  He didn’t move. Sophia reached down and pulled the lever for the boot. She got out, took his bags and placed them on his step. He still sat there. Her mobile rang, and she answered it before she thought.

  “Hello?”

  “What the hell have you done?” the chipper voice on the other end asked.

  “What the hell are you on about?” Sophia asked Liam.

  “We’ve got him. He’s thirty seconds from telling you everything. What are you waiting for? I doubted you, but you’re brilliant. You’ve—we’ve got him.”

  Sophia listened to his words, but the meaning didn’t register. She didn’t care that he’d planted listening devices in her car, she didn’t care that he listened to her private conversations, she wouldn’t even care if the next bomb sat under her car. What did it matter? What did anything really matter anyway?

  She shut her mobile, opened her car door, sat down beside Marc, the terrorist, and banged her head against the wheel. The loud horn made her jump, scaring the shit out of her. “So tell me then, Marc,” she said as tears ran down her face. “Tell me so I won’t spend the rest of the next miserable months wondering what I did wrong.”

  “I regret not being forthright with you from the beginning. But it was the right thing to do. We only live a few years on this world. We have to take the chances for things we believe in, for people we love.”

  At the flat across the street, Sophia knew that men stood inside the window with recording equipment and cameras. The bastards better be recording this conversation, because she planned to go through it only once.

  “I had to do it,” Marc said. “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “When I met you with your father and then you asked me for coffee. I couldn’t believe my fortune.”

  “What does my father have to do with this? What have you done?”

  “The medication wasn’t working for my brother; this was an opportunity for him to get different treatment. Treatment your father said would show a marked improvement.” He stroked her hand. “And it has. We tried getting him into the autism trial a different way. As soon as your father found out we were dating… I know it’s unethical, but you can’t blame him. He would do anything for you.”

  Sophia sat speechless.

  “I’m sorry I used you like I did Sophia. It ate at me and ate at me. I thought that I could date you to get my brother the help and eventually break it off without you being the wiser. I didn’t know I’d fall in love with you. I can’t lie to you anymore.” The last words were muffled as he rubbed his face in his hands. “I guess you’ll tell your father what I’ve done.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not that person. I wouldn’t hurt your brother just to spite you.”

  He wiped a tear from her cheek. “No, I know you wouldn’t. That’s why I love you.”

  “Is there anything else you want to tell me? Now would be an opportune time.”

  He dropped his hand from her face. “No. No, that’s it. I feel so relieved to finally get that out. I’ve been under a great deal of stress. I couldn’t go on keeping that secret from you.”

  “Marc, I don’t like secrets. How do I know anything you tell me from now on will be the truth?”

  “I will never do anything to hurt you.”

  Sophia sighed. “Your groceries are on your doorstep.”

  “So that’s it. You’re not going to speak to me?”

  “Marc.” She turned to him. “I—I need to think. I need to sort some things out in my head, to evaluate the last five months of my life. Look, I’ll ring you tomorrow. I’m tired.”

  He opened his mouth but then shut it again.

  “Tomorrow, all right?” she asked.

  Marc nodded and stroked her arm. “Okay.” Without another w
ord, he left her car, gathered his groceries, and entered his house.

  Sophia drove off, ignoring the mobile ringing in her pocket. She knew who it was and what he would say to her. She had failed. Everything in the last five months was a failure.

  At this point, the only thing she knew for sure was that she knew nothing at all. Who was the serial killer? What did the code mean? Where was Lorna? Who would be the next target of the bomb? Was Marc a terrorist and a lying bastard? If not, who was behind it?

  Her mobile went off again. She answered, “Leave me alone!”

  Silence met her on the other end.

  “Who is this?” she asked and looked down at her caller display. “Theo?”

  “Sorry to bother you,” Theo finally replied. “I just thought you might want to know another body was found. I’m heading there now. Do you want to come?”

  “Is it Lorna?”

  “No. It’s a bit different, this one. I can text you the address.”

  “I don’t know what help I can be to your investigation,” she said.

  “Well, I don’t seem to be going anywhere either. Look, I’ll send you the address. Come if you want.”

  She nodded at her mobile and hung up.

  Chapter 21

  All the houses on Stamford Brook Road near Ravencourt Park looked the same to Theo. The double story brick house was dark inside when he pulled up in front. He grasped the file containing the case notes and got out of his car. Sophia pulled in behind him in her Fiat.

  “Have you ever lived here?” Theo asked as soon as she stepped from her car. Though her brown hair flew out in all directions and her light paisley top carried wrinkles, she looked stunning.

  “No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “I did sell a house a few streets over.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As an estate agent, I sold a house. I know it’s only my cover, but I have all the qualifications to go with it. I sold five houses this year. I think my income is higher from those sales than with the government.”

  “You never cease to amaze me.” Theo opened the case file in his hand. “This is not my case, but they suggested I look at the scene. There are similarities. For instance, they found rose petals similar to the ones found near Margaret Hill. Also, strangulation. The body’s gone, but photos and details were copied and put in that file. Do you know anyone named Helena Smithwick?”

  “Is that the name of the victim?”

  Theo nodded.

  “I don’t think so. How do we get into the house?”

  Theo pointed to a car in the drive. “We’re supposed to meet an officer, Detective Constable Hardcastle. He should be able to fill in the blanks. I’ll go get him.” Theo was about to examine the photos when he caught Sophia heading toward the front door. He closed the file, went over to the car in the drive and knocked on the car window. The surprised officer woke up immediately.

  “Hardcastle?” Theo asked, flashing his warrant card.

  Immediately, Hardcastle opened the car door and got out. “DI Theo Blackwell. It has been a long time, too long.”

  Theo gave him a hearty handshake and bumped shoulders. Theo knew Hardcastle well and found him, in one word, reasonable. He met him at police charity night, early in his career. They shared a common source of angst—wives—and used to spend many hours in the pub discussing it. After his wife’s accident, it didn’t seem appropriate somehow.

  “Heard you were coming here tonight and thought, why not stay and help you get your bearings,” Hardcastle said.

  “Thank you.”

  Hardcastle said, looking around, “They think this is the work of a serial killer, do they? I thought the crime scene was odd but at the same time, planned well.” DC Hardcastle glanced at Sophia who was peering in the windows beside the front door. “Who’s your new partner?”

  Theo walked with Hardcastle to the front door and introduced Sophia who shook his hand. “We would like to see the house,” she told him.

  Hardcastle unlocked the front door. When Theo entered, he expected the strong smell of death, but it was only the scent of cinnamon that greeted him.

  “Was she baking at the time?” Theo asked.

  Hardcastle looked confused. “No, why do you ask?”

  “Cinnamon. Don’t you smell it?”

  “Carpet powder,” Hardcastle explained. “The victim had a tub of it above the fridge. I suspect the dog made messes on the carpets.”

  The house was quiet and dark. Hardcastle walked ahead and flicked on the kitchen light.

  “When did SOCO leave?” Theo asked him.

  “Two hours ago. They’ve been here since yesterday.”

  “Where’s the dog?” Theo looked around the kitchen as if expecting a canine to leap at him from behind a worktop or chair.

  “The victim’s sister picked him up from the neighbor’s. Some officers were afraid of getting near him because he wouldn’t stop growling. The poor dog was only hungry—the deceased woman was in the middle of fixing him some dinner when the killer attacked her. An officer coaxed the dog to the neighbor’s house with a can of dog food we found in the cupboard.” Hardcastle pointed to a cupboard door. “The Scene of Crime Officers collected a lot of evidence, but I’m not sure it will reveal much. There should be photographs in that folder.”

  “Can I see them?” Sophia asked.

  Theo handed Sophia a file folder.

  Sophia opened the file and leafed through the photos. The first photo showed a woman on a tiled floor. The kitchen? She laid on her stomach, fully dressed in a simple raspberry-colored tee and white linen trousers, no shoes. Her left hand lay at her side, but her right hand lay on top of a large kitchen knife. Her face looked toward the knife.

  The second photo showed the victim’s face, her eyes open and bulging. A scarf—sea blue with bright yellow and red flowers—was pulled tight around her neck. Her mouth lay open, as if in shock, screaming for help she would never receive.

  “I don’t see any similarities with the other murders at all. Strangulation, was that all?” Sophia looked at the third picture: a full view of the kitchen. Hundreds of rose petals were scattered around her feet and body. “This could still be a copycat,” she said. “The one detective, I think his name is Shields, mentioned in the briefing about the roses, and that the victims were strangled. What he didn’t mention was the composition of the blood and the wine glasses, neither of which we see here. Did they find a code?” She handed Theo the folder.

  “No,” said Theo. “That’s why I wanted to see the scene myself.”

  Sophia closed her eyes and remained silent for a moment. “I don’t know. Something is wrong with those pictures.”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Hardcastle, hopefully you’ll be able to answer some questions for us,” Theo said. “First, according to the case notes, there were rose petals on the floor. Where were they, just a few surrounding the body? Did they lead somewhere, for example, up the stairs?”

  “Not up the stairs, but they did lead here.” Hardcastle led them into a small office with a computer and pointed to a spot under her chair. “This was her writing room. You did know she was an author, right?”

  Both Sophia and Theo shook their heads.

  “She was famous,” Hardcastle said. “She had books on the bestseller list—according to her sister. I’ve never read any of them personally. They’re not my sort of fiction. I like intrigue, like Tom Clancy and such. She wrote romance.”

  “So the petals led here, to her computer. Was anything else in the room, anything unusual?”

  “The petals were the only things that didn’t belong,” said Hardcastle. “Her computer was on. That’s all I can tell you. I saw SOCO take the computer. She may have been murdered because the killer didn’t want whatever she was writing to get out.”

  “Perhaps,” said Theo. “We can find out from the publisher what she was working on.”

&nbs
p; Hardcastle nodded and yawned.

  “All right, the knife,” Theo said as he walked back to the kitchen. “What can you tell me about it? It looked staged.”

  “It’s really difficult to say.” Hardcastle led them to the sink. “We found dog food splashed all over the cupboards and into the sink. We found the can here.” He pointed to a clean round space at the bottom of the sink, near the drain. “I believe that means when the killer surprised her, she was holding the can, which she then dropped. Let’s say she was able to get to her knife drawer, which is unlikely,” he tapped the drawer farthest from the sink, “and managed to nick the killer with it, there would be blood. None found. There were no marks on the knife, not even a fingerprint. The victim was not wearing gloves, so there would be something like a fingerprint, but there was nothing. It was a clean knife.”

  “What if the knife was in the sink? What if she had used it earlier, and when she dropped the can, she picked up the knife?” suggested Theo.

  “Where are the fingerprints?” Hardcastle stated again. “Also, most likely it would’ve had dog food on it.”

  “She could have used it, and the killer wiped it off,” Theo said.

  “He’s right,” said Sophia. “The killer could have done that, but why would the killer clean the knife, leave it under the palm of her hand, then go about making it look like she was about to have a romantic evening? Why stage it that way? Who discovered the body?”

  “The neighbor called the police,” Hardcastle replied. “Apparently, whenever the dog barked, the victim would let the dog into the house. When the neighbor’s son noticed the light in the kitchen, the dog barking, and no movement, he became suspicious. His father came over and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he rang the police.”

  “There were no marks on the front door. How did the police get in?” Theo asked.

  “The neighbor had a key. He didn’t want to enter before the police arrived since he knew she was here alone. Maybe he didn’t want to be caught in a bad situation and thought he’d wait for the police.”

  “Was she married?” asked Theo.

  “She’s married, but her husband’s out of town. The husband’s a physicist or something. Right now he’s abroad, lecturing. He returns tomorrow. We only just got hold of him. He’s been in conferences all day.”