Murder in the Development Read online

  Hitting a menu, Diane forwarded the image to Inspector Crothers with a small note about who and what this image was associated with.

  The response was nearly immediate as Diane’s phone began to ring with the Inspector’s number.

  “What’s going on?” said the Inspector curtly.

  “That’s a popular question today,” replied Diane. “I wish I had answers for you.”

  “This picture is from Monique Carstairs?”

  “Yes, she came to see me after you sent her here and I packed her off home to wait for her husband. That’s what she found when she arrived.”

  “And her husband?”

  “No word at all. But Monique seems to think that the person that did this to her house lives in the neighbourhood with them.”

  The Inspector was silent, and Diane could almost picture the quizzical look on his face. He would be trying to puzzle through Monique’s assertion about the culprits.

  “Where is she now?”

  “I’ve told her to come to my house. I’ll let her stay here for a while if necessary.”

  Crothers grunted his approval.

  “Have you seen or heard of anything else like this recently, Inspector?”

  “No, nothing like this. It seems very personal though, not someone that was just breaking in for the kicks.”

  “Indeed it does, Inspector.”

  Albert returned to the room and gave Diane a thumbs up. The bedroom was ready. Diane smiled in return, and Albert nodded before heading into the kitchen. Putting the kettle on, thought Diane. The cure for all ills: a cup of tea.

  “Is there anything else I can do, Inspector?”

  “I don’t think so. This just got serious very quickly. This bumps her missing husband up a whole lot on our radar. There're no coincidences in situations like this.”

  “So true,” replied Diane. “Everything is evolving far too rapidly for my liking. We need to find Jonathan Carstairs.”

  “Leave that to me,” said the Inspector. “You make Monique as comfortable as you can, settle her nerves. I’m going to head over to you as soon as possible. There are too many questions that need answers, and she is the only one that can come close to answering them.”

  “Albert is already preparing the tea,” said Diane. “She should be here in about twenty minutes.”

  “Tell her that I am contacting the Shrewsbury station and I’ll make it clear that we need a scene of crime team at the house ASAP. I have a couple of friends there that should be able to get things moving.”

  “As you wish, Inspector. I will text you when she arrives.”

  Diane picked up her notebook again and began making notations as her printer sprang into life to make a copy of the photograph from her phone. Her hand wrote quickly in the barely legible cursive of someone whose thoughts are coming too fast for their pen to keep up.

  A series of boxes appeared on a page with text in them, arrows pointing back and forth between them. Angry employee? Traitor? Neighbour? Jonathan? Monique? More and more boxes appeared as Diane filled the page with suspicions and very little actual information. Her frown grew deeper as the depth of her ignorance became clearer and clearer.

  “Going to be a busy few days, eh?” yelled Albert from the kitchen.

  “Looks so,” replied Diane quietly, distractedly.

  “You might need these,” said Albert as he stepped into the room.

  Diane looked up, still frowning, and looked at Albert’s hands. In one, the ever-present soothing tea, and in the other were two of her tiny white blood pressure pills.

  “To prepare you for battle,” said Albert with a soft smile. “Once more unto the breach.”

  Chapter 3

  The silence between the ticks of the clock stretched ever longer for Diane. She looked from her chair to the mantelpiece where an ornate golden clock sat shielded beneath a thin glass dome. Diane peered closely at the mechanism, concerned that there had been a malfunction and the almost imperceptible movement of the hands had ceased. Small balls rotated back and forth under the clock face, the light from the window flicking towards Diane as they marked the progress of time.

  “Stop looking at the clock,” said Albert from his position by the window. His hand lifted the net curtain over the window, and the same front garden image appeared that he had seen every other time he had looked.

  “She’s taking too long,” replied Diane as she balled a hand into a fist on her lap. “Much too long. Something may have happ…”

  “Now don’t go thinking like that,” chided Albert. “You’ll get yourself all worked up for nothing.”

  Diane looked at Albert as he leaned against the wall. His foot tapped rapidly, a clear sign of his own agitation. Inhaling deeply, Diane closed her eyes and with a conscious effort relaxed the muscles across her body, starting from her feet and legs and progressing upward, branching along her arms and up her neck. She exhaled the stress and immediately the clock resumed its usual rhythm, the ticks coming in a steady stream.

  “I wonder what is keeping Monique?” Her tone was without the panic that had started to creep upon her unwittingly. “And the Inspector is running late too.” She detected a note of impatience when mentioning the Inspector. He was the police; he should be the very essence of urgency in a crisis. Diane knew she was being hard upon him, yet the thought made her gently smile.

  Albert pulled the curtain aside again, and only the shadows had moved with the progression of the autumn sun. He bit down on his molars and let the curtain drop back into place.

  “Come and sit down,” said Diane. “You won’t make anything happen more quickly hovering there.”

  Albert looked over at Diane and realized that he had become the tension in the room. He had never quite understood how she could change frames of mind so quickly. It was most definitely a skill he had not acquired through his proximity to her. If he stilled his tapping foot, his fingers would take up the beat. If he gained control over his fingers, his jaw would start working his teeth together. He could not remove the tension once it was in him; he just shifted it from one spot to another until the nervous energy dissipated through friction.

  Rufus strolled casually into the room having decided that his people had been left to their own devices for too long that morning. The small dog sidled across the carpet, stopped alongside a sideboard and surveyed the room. The look was critical of the lack of response his arrival had garnered. He could tell something was amiss with his people and it displeased him, so much so that he decided to remove his presence from them to teach them a lesson. His claws clicked disapprovingly across the kitchen floor as he went to find a late breakfast.

  Albert’s fingers drummed against his leg through the lining of his trouser pocket. Does it really take this long to get from Shrewsbury? He wondered if he should call the police to see if there had been an accident on the road somewhere. She’d said that she had been close to causing one when first coming to see Diane and she had to be as upset this time. His free hand reached for the curtain again, as much for something to do as to check the street. He barely lifted his eyes to the bright gap, expecting a repeat of the scene he had been looking at for the previous half hour.

  Standing at the threshold to the garden behind the small gate stood the slim figure of Monique Carstairs. She paused before pushing through and along the garden path. She had a grip on the handle of a stubby dark suitcase that trundled behind her on wheels. A pair of dark sunglasses was the only addition to the outfit that she had been wearing when she had left.

  Albert dropped the curtain and turned to inform Diane but was too late. Diane’s chair was empty, and she was moving rapidly through the doorway to the hall beyond.

  “How-“, started Albert.

  “Your fingers stopped tapping,” Diane said over her shoulder as she reached for the front door.

  Diane did not say a word as Monique stepped into the house and pushed her case into the hallway. Peering through the closing slit of the doorway, Dian
e looked over the garden and the street beyond. Nothing leapt to her attention at her as out of the ordinary, but she had to be certain that no-one had tracked Monique to the house.

  Guiding Monique into the living room to the sofa, Albert asked if she wanted a tea, a coffee, water, something to eat. Diane wondered if he saw a little of his own daughter in Monique and his protective instincts were being triggered.

  “Albert,” said Diane, “Would you take Monique’s bag to her room and then keep a lookout for the Inspector?” While she had worded it as a question, she knew Albert would do as she asked without response and understand the subtext of being the lookout.

  Patting Monique gently upon her hand, Albert said with a reassuring smile:

  “You’ll be safe here.”

  Albert made his way past Diane, checked the front door was locked, and picked up Monique’s case with a huffing breath. Diane heard his heavy footsteps stomp up the staircase and along the short landing to the guest bedroom.

  “How are you doing?” she asked Monique, who pulled off her glasses to reveal red-rimmed eyes.

  “I still don’t know what to make of all this. I just don’t understand what’s going on.” There was a quiver in her voice, the sound of not-too-distant tears lurking.

  Diane nodded slowly.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it. Inspector Crothers is a good man and he’ll have this under control in no time flat.”

  There was a certainty to her tone that seemed to put Monique at ease a little, a certainty that Diane did not actually feel herself.

  “It’s so kind of you to put yourself out like this. I’m sure you don’t take in everyone that comes to you for help.”

  “Not often,” replied Diane. “Though I helped a poor young boy a few years ago that had seen something that put him in quite some danger. The Inspector, well he was Sergeant then, he helped on that case too. Or I helped him. It depends on who you ask. Anyway, you’re in good hands.”

  Monique looked at Diane hopefully.

  “What happened to the boy?”

  “I don’t know for sure. He got a new identity and a new life somewhere. I get a postcard from different parts of the country every now and then, just thank-yous and best wishes, no details. But I think that shows he is doing well, and being smart about staying hidden.”

  Monique nodded and sat back into the sofa, placing the glasses upon the padded arm.

  “I can’t thank you enough either. If Inspector Crothers hadn’t suggested you, I don’t know where I would be right now. You’re so kind to take me in after we just met.”

  “We try to do our part. A kind deed today can be the key to a successful tomorrow. I always used to try to impress that upon the children at my school. You can never tell when it is you that will need that helping hand.”

  Diane heard feet on the staircase followed by Albert poking his head around the door.

  “Inspector Crothers and another fellow. Probably police too, I’d say. Same taste in haircuts.”

  “Now we’ll get to the bottom of this,” Diane said as she rose from her chair. Monique made to rise, but Diane waved her back. “Stay here and we’ll be right in. Try to relax, they’re here to help.”

  Diane arrived as Albert was welcoming the Inspector and his friend into the house.

  “Is she here?” asked Crothers abruptly.

  “In the living room,” responded Diane who turned to the unknown guest.

  Taking a cue, the stranger said:

  “I’m Detective Inspector Mills, Shrewsbury C.I.D.”

  Oliver Mills was as tall as Inspector Crothers though broader across the chest and his hands, which he offered to shake Diane’s, had thick, stubby fingers. His nose matched his chest, spreading a little farther across his face than was usual, and gave him the appearance of a boxer that had taken many a blow to the head.

  Diane introduced herself and Albert and turned back to Inspector Crothers.

  “Do you have any news of her husband?”

  Crothers shook his head but replied, “I can’t discuss that. This is an ongoing investigation now.”

  “Indeed,” said Diane with a raised eyebrow. “Then we won’t hold you up.”

  She motioned the policemen into the living room and made inquiries about beverages as they settled into chairs.

  “Come along, Albert. Let’s leave these gentlemen to their business.”

  Diane paced briskly into the kitchen closely followed by Albert. Behind them, she could hear Inspector Crothers making introductions between Monique and D.I. Mills. Leaning into Albert’s ear, Diane whispered:

  “Make enough noise for the two of us. Clink some cups and saucers for me.”

  Albert gave a quick wink and headed further into the kitchen, leaving Diane just inside the doorway, out of sight of the living room, but not out of earshot.

  “I’ve sent several uniformed officers to your house to make sure nothing gets disturbed. The scene of crime folks will be there shortly too.” Mills had a deeper voice than Crothers and spoke with a Welsh lilt.

  “Now, let’s start at the beginning,” said Crothers. “Describe your husband to me.”

  “I told you this earlier, Inspector,” said Monique, her voice betraying some agitation. “He works in Birmingham, he likes to play golf, he’s a good man, responsible, quiet, gentle, and loving. There’s nothing new, nothing alarming in his recent behaviour. And no, I don’t think he had a mistress.”

  “Can you think of anyone with a grudge against him?”

  “No, otherwise I would have told you already.” Exasperation sounded in her tone.

  “Alright, I just wanted to get Detective Inspector Mills up to speed,” placated Crothers. “He will be working the investigation on the Shrewsbury end, I’ll be working the Telford angle, and I’ve spoken to my counterpart in Birmingham, an Inspector Sturgess, who will be making inquiries there.”

  “I’m glad you’re all finally taking me seriously.”

  “Inspector Mills would like to talk to you about the incident at your house. It would be too much of a coincidence for the two events not to be connected.”

  Albert rattled a metal kettle even though the water was boiling in a plastic one. He looked over at Diane who gave him a thumbs-up and received a mug-on-mug clatter in return. Rufus, who had taken up an observing position near his water bowl, watched the antics with poorly disguised annoyance.

  “No-one I can think of. I thought our neighbours were friends. I mean, we’re all part owners of the company, so we have to get along, don’t we?”

  “What company is this?” asked Mills.

  “MizzenMount Property Management,” said Monique.

  “And that is…”

  “The company that owns all of the houses and property in our community.” There was a pause before Monique continued. “It’s the company that owns our houses, and we all have a partial stake in it. The company built the houses, and we repay the company back over time to cover the loan payments. Or something like that. Jonathan dealt with that side of it.”

  “So you all share the facilities, and you’re all stakeholders in each other’s properties?”

  “Oh yes. The swimming pool and tennis court and all that. We share it between us. And we pay the company every month for the houses and the upkeep.”

  Albert dropped a baking sheet on the floor and apologized loudly to no-one.

  “And how is the company doing?” asked Crothers. “Everything running smoothly?”

  “There’s been a bit of friction at the tenant meetings recently. Jonathan said it was something to do with some people not paying their share and it was putting MizzenMount in a difficult situation with its creditors. You don’t think that has anything to do with this, do you? I mean, it’s not like it was our fault.”

  “You never know what might be useful in an investigation,” said Crothers. “It could be the tiniest detail, so we have to ask about any tension or issues.”

  “Oh. But I can’t be muc
h help. Jonathan dealt with the business side of things.”

  “It’s a beautiful area that you live in,” said Mills.

  “It really is,” said Monique brightly. “We love it. There are so many trees and hills and little brooks. And so quiet away from all those big roads.”

  “How long have you lived in the community?”

  “Three years, roughly. We were one of the first people to sign up after we got married and MizzenMount was looking for tenants even before the houses were built.”

  “Did you hear of anyone else that MizzenMount might have beaten out of buying the property?”

  “I don’t know,” Monique’s voice sounded exasperated again. “We just live there and pay the company.”

  “But you are part owners, so you might be held responsible if MizzenMount annoyed the wrong people. You didn’t hear of any company that might want the property?”

  “Well, I hadn’t thought of it like that. Now that you mention it, there is someone trying to buy MizzenMount out now that there are finance problems. Some builder that wants a golf course and hotel. It’s been mentioned at tenant meetings too. But how could they be involved?”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “I don’t remember it; I was only half-listening at the meeting. They’re so dull. But Jonathan had some papers with the name on at home.”

  Albert coughed loudly, and Diane turned to see the drinks arrayed on a tray. He handed the tray to her, and she noisily made an entrance into the living room.

  “I hope everyone likes bourbon biscuits!”

  Inspector Crothers snapped his notebook shut and looked over at D.I. Mills.

  “Lovely,” said Mills as he turned from Monique.

  After handing out the drinks, Diane and Albert played host and steered the conversation clear of the case. Monique relaxed noticeably, sipping on her tea and lounging backwards into the cushions of the sofa. Crothers and Mills were amiable, but Diane noted a strain in their demeanour as if they would prefer to be elsewhere but were too polite to leave. She had seen it many times with parents of disruptive children who had little interest in their child’s behaviour or in correcting it.