0A Jess Bridges Mystery
Knowing when to steer clear of Sanyu’s chaos, Errol gave me a little nod and disappeared into the organ loft. I chuckled softly and started unpacking the crib animals. Soon our decorating was accompanied by the flow of silver and gold tones from the famous instrument. The notes glided up to the filigree stonework on the ceiling, a gorgeous display of carving that reminded me of palm trees. The chapel was a gem of Tudor craftsmanship and I told myself never to take any of this for granted, no matter how familiar it became as a place of work.
Errol ran through a complicated organ voluntary, the sort of piece that accompanied the arrival of Dracula in a horror flick. It was always a puzzle to work out how such powerful music could come from the hands and feet of such a small bespectacled guy. Poor Errol: he still had the looks of a much younger lad, not having yet hit on the growth spurt. He must be worried, having reached eighteen. Where was an ‘Eat Me’ cake when you needed it? Or was it ‘Drink Me’ that made Alice grow? I couldn’t quite remember, though it had been one of my favourite children’s stories. That was fitting as I was now living in my very own kind of Wonderland.
‘Sanyu, I think you should know that Jess is threatening not to celebrate Christmas,’ said Jennifer, the rat.
‘I did not say that!’ I protested. Sanyu would never stand for it. ‘I just said I might not decorate the house this year.’ My latest attempt to make the finances for my private investigations business stack up involved being the live-in caretaker of a large detached house in north Oxford. These were the tree-lined streets where old academics mouldered in properties too big for them, and new Russian oligarchs prowled, looking to buy up the houses to put in their double basement garages and swimming pools. My employer fell in the latter category, though I’d never met him, everything having been arranged through an agent. It was quite a change, I can tell you, from the attic room in my friend Cory’s family home in Summertown.
‘Come and help at the homeless shelter on Christmas Day. That’s where I’ll be,’ said Sanyu. ‘All my children and my wife will be there. It is great fun.’ He put a tinsel crown on his head.
I had a brief image of the church hall in the centre of town populated by the fragile blanket-wrapped souls who found their way to the city streets and the robust Masane clan. ‘Thanks, I’ll think about it.’ I knew I’d be a better person if I did sacrifice a sofa and telly day for something less selfish but the problem was I just didn’t want to be around people, more specifically the happily married sort and their offspring.
‘There’s no need to be alone for Christmas,’ continued Sanyu. ‘Everyone is welcome.’
But what if you wanted to be alone? ‘I know. Thank you.’ I avoided a commitment by showing him Jesus in his wrappings. ‘Where do you want the baby?’
‘Hide him round the back of the stable. I’ll only lose him if I take him.’ Sanyu knew himself well. He was a man whose family brought him a whistling car key as he was forever misplacing things.
‘OK. There you are, Jesus.’ I put the little wooden baby under a pile of straw. It felt wrong, like I was leaving a child in a shoebox on an orphanage doorstep. I felt a sentimental tear well but I could blame the supermarket adverts for that as they had started with their A Christmas Carol/Oliver Twist vibe of Victorian orphans and Dickensian feasts and I had been feeling guiltily that I might be a Scrooge ever since.
‘Jess, I wanted to ask you,’ said Sanyu, reaching up to loop the new strand of lights over the top of the Christmas tree. ‘Would you read the sixth lesson in the Nine Lessons and Carols Service? It’s the one traditionally read by a member of the college staff. The head porter did it last year.’
‘Me?’ I had only been a member of the college admin staff for a month or so, having taken the job to cover someone’s maternity leave. I’d just finished a stint in a wacky commune so needed some nine-to-five work to steady my somewhat erratic life. So far so good but realistically I expected my impulse-driven nature would see me out of the door before my term was up.
‘It’s your office’s turn and you’ll help the gender balance. The BBC will be there and we don’t want to come across as an old-fashioned institution stuck back in the past.’
But that’s exactly what we are! I wanted to protest. ‘What about Jennifer?’
‘I did it in 2004 and 2015.’ Jennifer’s voice came from deep inside the Christmas tree. Was she actually under it?
‘Third time lucky?’ I suggested.
Jennifer wasn’t to be moved. ‘Do it for the team, Jess. We can’t ask Paul; he’s the wrong gender.’
And the office manager combined high-maintenance with being an insufferable bore. I would bet that his demands before he was prepared to perform would make a Hollywood A-lister blush.
‘Please, Jess, I would take it as a personal favour,’ said Sanyu.
At this moment, with impeccable timing, Errol moved on to play ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’ with its heart-wrenching lyric. ‘What would I give him, poor as I am?’ I knew my goose was cooked. Try as I might, I still was a sucker for the Christmas spirit.
‘Oh, well. OK.’
‘Excellent.’ Sanyu clapped his hands together and shook them overhead in victory. ‘Rehearsals start once we get rid of the students – I mean, wave a fond farewell to the undergraduates. It’s a ticketed event for alumni and locals. I imagine we will get a good turnout this year with the BBC deciding to feature us as part of their Christmas programming.’
I finally woke up to that part of the deal. I’d never heard of that happening before. ‘Why are they coming? Did King’s College Cambridge go offline for a year?’
‘Oh, hadn’t you heard? I thought it was all over the college.’ Sanyu draped a tree frond with a strand but it was too weak to hold the weight, so it bent and the lights tumbled to the next level where they looked perfect. He hummed happily at this fortunate accident. ‘The documentary makers are shadowing Errol, doing a series about how scholarship students sponsored by the rapper Fresh are faring at college. Errol is their Christmas episode, because of the music.’
‘No, I did not know that.’ Errol hadn’t told me. I wondered why? ‘So, not radio?’
‘No, television. To be broadcast on Christmas Eve.’
‘Really?’ My voice was a squeak.
‘Live.’ Sanyu beamed at me in his position as a super-large angel on top of the tree. Jennifer switched on the lights so the tree sparkled. ‘Isn’t that splendid?’
Chapter 3
Leo
The body had been removed for autopsy but there was still work to be done in the garden looking for traces of victim and killer. Leo divided the garden into sections, asking the search team in particular to look out for any tool that could’ve been used to dig the shallow grave. The gardener had said she always brought her own equipment so there was a chance some DNA or fingerprint evidence could be lifted from any tool used even after all this time. The householder hadn’t visited for over a year, nor had any guests used the property, so the only people in and out of the house had been staff, who could be identified as soon as the agency responded to their attempts to contact it. If the staff could be eliminated as suspects, then any other trace might well lead to the killer.
That was his theory. Life rarely proved so cooperative.
Leo had set up temporary headquarters in the kitchen. Mrs Green had access to the house to tend the indoor plants so at least there had been no delay in gaining entry.
‘Still no joy from Glass Tower?’ he asked Suyin.
The sergeant shook her head, neat bob of black hair swinging. Leo knew he could trust her to get the job done, and thoroughly. She was a very impressive officer, fast-tracking through the system. He tried not to think of it as breathing down his neck. He knew how unpleasant it was to have a colleague resent you.
‘The Oxford office appears to have closed up shop, sir,’ she said, eyes on her screen. ‘I’m just trying the London office now, but looking at their online presence, I can’t see any recent activity. The website is still up but there’re no updates to any of their social media feeds for several weeks, not since early November.’
‘Do you think they’ve gone out of business?’
‘That’s possible. If I don’t get any response from the London number, I’ll do a search and see if they’ve gone into administration.’
Leo moved away to allow her to get on with that. But maybe there was a quicker way to find out? Going to the window that looked out on the front garden, he dialled Marigold Green.
‘Mrs Green? Sorry to disturb you again. It’s Inspector George. Just a quick question: have you been paid by the agency recently?’
‘Inspector, funny you should ask – I was just wondering the same thing.’ He could hear the sound of birds in the background; she must already be at her next job. ‘I tried phoning them to tell them what happened and couldn’t get through. That’s not normal; Heather is always very responsive. I then checked my internet bank account and saw that they’re late with my November payment. That’s not like them either; I’d say that they were my most prompt customer.’
Glass Tower’s teetering status was looking increasingly fragile. ‘Right. That’s helpful.’
‘You’ll let me know if you find out what’s going on?’
‘I will. Thank you.’
Ending the call, Leo tapped his phone thoughtfully. ‘Harry?’
His sergeant came in with a mug of tea. ‘Inspector?’ Reluctant to give him respect, the older sergeant was still avoiding calling him ‘sir’.
‘We need to find out everything we can about Chernov, in particular where he is now. Maybe he can tell us who’s been to the house in the last eighteen months.’
‘Yeah, I can see the Russian mafia boss really being open with us about who he decided to plant under his roses.’
Sarcasm aside, Leo could see that Harry might have a point but it was dangerous to assume anything so soon in an enquiry. ‘We still need to find him. He has to be informed what’s going on here.’ They had a warrant to search the premises but it was usually executed in the presence of the owner or their representative. ‘See what you can find out about him from the house – any other addresses or information about his businesses. While you’re doing that, I’ll look him up online.’
Leo sat down opposite Suyin and pulled one of the laptops towards him. Anatoly Chernov. Fifty-five. Two marriages, both ending in divorce, three children from the first, now in their late teens and early twenties. From the social media profiles of the two youngest, both daughters with that overgroomed look many girls had these days, thick eyebrows, long fair hair, lots of mascara. Girls attempting to be Barbies, which seemed a retrograde step for equality. The oldest child, a son, kept a low profile online. From his sisters’ posts, Leo was able to learn that Alexei appeared to be very much a chip off the old block, a younger, fitter-looking version of his father with a penchant for thick gold jewellery. His business listings involved some Russian power companies and he seemed remarkably senior for such a young man. Of his father, there was no mention in any of the family postings. He hadn’t been on the Swiss skiing holiday the girls had bragged about, but then the senior Chernov’s ex-wife had been there so that wasn’t surprising. Going further back, there had been no sign of him on the yacht around the Greek islands in the summer or at the villa in Northern Cyprus. Leo began to wonder. Buying a house near the children’s school suggested an involved father; absence from any family events would indicate either a policy of not being pictured online or … something else.
Putting the computer to sleep, he walked around the house, examining the family photos that did show Anatoly. The man always seemed to stand a little apart from the others, either in a seat in the middle like a king on his throne or to one side like a director guiding his actors. The children would have their arms around each other or be goofing around while Dad would look on with a perplexed expression. Maybe he just didn’t like cameras but Leo got the distinct impression the man wasn’t socially at ease in these relaxed situations. From the pictures Leo had seen of him in the press or at formal events among business colleagues, Chernov found that his natural milieu.
Upstairs in what looked like one of the girls’ rooms, thanks to the proliferation of sparkles, Leo found what he’d been hunting for. It was a photo of Anatoly at a school barbecue, trying to look as though he enjoyed the slightly drizzly weather that accompanied the summer celebration. But more importantly, he was wearing jeans held up with an eagle buckled belt, the Chernov off-duty look.
Taking the photo with him, Leo went down to the kitchen.
‘I think we may have just identified our victim.’ He placed the picture where Suyin and Harry could see it.
‘Is this …?’ asked Suyin.
‘Anatoly Chernov, oligarch, friend of the Russian President.’
‘Christ! Who would take out the big boss?’ said Harry, looking spooked. ‘If this was a political hit, do we have to worry about radioactive substances?’
Leo went cold, his mind suddenly sharply focused. They would have to entertain that possibility, wouldn’t they? After Salisbury, it would be stupid not to check, no matter how unlikely. ‘We’d better warn the pathologist and the gardener and get ourselves checked out. Call the team in from the garden. No more digging until we’re sure what we’re dealing with.’
Harry went out to summon the scene of crime officers inside.
‘What do we do, sir?’ asked Suyin. She looked very pale.
‘Let’s keep our heads about this. It’s just a precaution. The chance that this is a Russian secret service hit is slight. Until we know either way, we minimise exposure and keep working.’
By the time he’d called it in and set the wheels turning with his superintendent, a rather chastened team had gathered in the kitchen. Leo decided that the advice of keep calm and carry on would work here.
‘OK, everyone. I have to stress that there is no evidence yet that we’re facing anything other than an ordinary crime of violence. We are taking sensible precautions due to recent events but there is absolutely no need to be concerned at this point. Let’s keep the enquiry moving along. Did you find anything that could’ve been used to dig the grave?’ he asked Trevor Kent, the seasoned uniform he’d put in charge of the search.
Trevor had the hangdog look of a man who had done too much overtime in wind and rain over his long career, the sort of face that in olden times would’ve suited a shepherd out on exposed hillsides. ‘No, sir. The place doesn’t have any tools lying about. The shed has a leaf blower but that’s it. That looks brand new and never used. We didn’t find a spade.’
‘So the killer took it away with him?’
‘And maybe didn’t get it from here, not unless he cleared the place of all gardening tools.’
‘Another thing we’ll need to follow up. Thank you, Trevor.’
‘God, I’m starving,’ said Harry, dumping a pile of household correspondence on the counter. ‘If it’s gonna be my last meal, I could do with more than a bag of crisps and a digestive biscuit.’ He caught Suyin’s expression. ‘I thought I’d be able to nip down to the pub, didn’t I? Not enter quarantine.’
Again, in his own blunt way, Harry was right: the team could do with a break. And wasn’t there something about an army marching on their stomach? Marching might not apply here, but police officers certainly worked better if hunger was kept at bay. ‘I realise it’s extraordinary circumstances,’ said Leo. ‘I’ll order some pizza, but get it left outside so we don’t come into contact with anyone.’
The atmosphere in the kitchen immediately improved.
‘The inspector’s getting out the old credit card. He must really think we’re done for,’ said Harry sardonically.
The best way to handle Harry was not to rise to his jabs. ‘Harry, could you get an order together? I’ll check in with the superintendent, see when the hazardous material team will be with us.’
Pizza arrived before the terrorist unit. Good to know that come the apocalypse, there would still be time for a margarita slice before dying, thought Leo. He was halfway through his second piece, when he glanced out the window and noticed a dog nosing around the grave site. A spaniel, clearly a pet rather than a stray as it looked well cared for and had a collar. It must’ve come in through the fence at the bottom of the garden. At least that answered the question as to what had been digging holes in the flower bed.
‘Team, we’ve been invaded,’ called Leo, dumping his slice.
They had a fun few minutes trying to catch the playful creature. It was only when one of the SOCOs tried the lure of pizza crust that it trotted happily into the house.
Leo knelt down and rubbed its chest. He liked dogs though his job meant he couldn’t keep one. ‘Sorry, dog, but you’ll need to stay with us and get checked out. Then we’ll see about getting you back to your owner.’ If they weren’t all in quarantine.
This was not how he’d thought this day would go.
Chapter 4
Jess
Paul Cook, Head of the Development Office at St Nicholas’ College, was not pleased.
‘Reverend Masane asked Jess to do the staff reading?’ he asked in that calm, quiet tone that was a cover for quivering anger. Now in his late middle age, sweep of greying fair hair brushed back from a high forehead, and always dressed in a three-piece suit, Paul gave the impression of a man who never relaxed. He also used his hobby of photography to provide photos for our college publications, which explained the camera he carried as his accessory.
‘That’s right, Paul,’ said Jennifer sweetly, ferrying the empty boxes that had held the tree decorations to the chapel door for collection by the porters. I kept silent, busying myself sweeping up the straw and pine needles we had scattered on the floor. I couldn’t afford to annoy Paul, not only because he was my boss, but also he lived in a flat not far from me and was a big presence in the neighbourhood association. He could make life difficult for me both at home and at work.
Paul stood in the centre of the nave and gazed up at the lectern, doubtless imagining himself there and delivering a reading in his plumy tones. ‘I believe it is my turn this year.’
‘Didn’t you do it in 2010?’ asked Jennifer.
‘You’ve done it twice.’
‘And Jess never. Besides, Sanyu is concerned about gender balance, Paul,’ said Jennifer reasonably. ‘With the Master, chaplain, head chorister and senior fellow all being men, he’s hunting for spaces for women on the programme. It’s the best look for St Nick’s.’
Crouching with the dustpan and brush, I was very tempted to say I didn’t want to do it and that I was happy to bow out and let Paul read, but something held me back. Dislike of Paul probably. The college Development Office was a fancy name for fundraising. My job was to milk the past students by appealing to their nostalgia for the best days of their life. I also helped Jennifer out with the admissions of new students at the busy times of year. Paul had a way of undermining his staff as if their success came at his expense. When he could put them down in some way, he felt he was winning.
‘Jess has no experience – and the BBC will be here.’ He lined up a shot of the crib, then lowered the camera. With a sniff of disapproval, Paul tried to adjust Joseph in the stable to a more prominent position and the figurine promptly fell over.
‘It’s not really our decision, is it? The chaplain organises the service.’ Jennifer buttoned up her cardigan, signal she was on her way out. ‘Is there anything else today, Paul?’
Our manager held up the camera to take a shot of the nave, then lowered it. ‘I’m not happy.’
Of course he wasn’t.
‘The decorations in here – they aren’t enough.’
‘It’s how we’ve always decorated the chapel,’ said Jennifer patiently. ‘You know that. We’ve used all we have.’
‘There seem to be fewer lights than in previous years.’
That actually was true. The tree looked a little under-powered, thanks to Sanyu’s misstep.
‘And everything appears so tired. Look at the crib: the figures barely stand up straight. What will the BBC make of that?’
I gazed up at the amazing ceiling, multicoloured stained-glass with its flights of angels, the ranks of tall white candles and brass fittings. Anything that came out of a cardboard box from storage was hardly going to compete with what was always here.
Paul rounded on me. ‘Jess, you’ve not shown much initiative since you arrived. The Master is already on at me to look again at our office, restructure some jobs to make us more efficient. It’s time you stepped up. I’m giving you this project as a chance to prove yourself.’
‘What?’ I’d only been here a few weeks and he was threatening my job? I wasn’t worried for me but I was covering a woman who was planning to return in six months. ‘Sorry? I don’t understand.’
Paul rocked up on his toes, an oddly gleeful gesture. ‘I’m putting you in charge of making sure the chapel looks perfect for Christmas Eve. I want something really impressive – something to blow the socks off the BBC producers and make them want to come here every year.’
‘But Paul …’ began Jennifer.
‘No, I’ve made up my mind. Seeing how Jess is taking such a big part in the service, she will have a vested interest in making sure the backdrop is suitable. Won’t you, Jess?’
This was payback. Did he expect me to say I couldn’t do it? Was he hoping I’d back out so he could step in?
A rebellious spirit sparked in my chest. I hated bullies. ‘Fine.’ I emptied the dustpan into the black sack.
‘Fine?’ Paul was surprised by my easy acceptance.
‘What’s the budget?’
‘Budget?’
‘You heard Jennifer say we’ve already used all the decorations we have in storage. If I’m going to do this, I’ll need some money as I’m guessing homemade decorations aren’t what you had in mind?’
Paul had become used to me shying away from him, keeping quiet during meetings, so to discover that I actually had opinions and a challenge for him was clearly a shock. ‘Budget,’ he repeated. ‘Of course, there’ll be a budget. I’ll discuss it with the Master tomorrow in our weekly meeting.’ Obviously, he hadn’t even thought of any of this before two minutes ago.
‘Do you want me to get some quotes before you do that?’ I asked. He looked at me blankly. ‘From events companies? They’re the only people who’ll have the resources to make the impact you have in mind.’ One benefit of my peripatetic life temping was I had a fair idea about lots of unusual things, such as how much it cost to stage an event.
‘The college is not made of money.’ Paul was now fuming and said it as if this had all been my idea in the first place.
‘Of course it’s not.’ I was enjoying seeing him squirm.
‘I’ll tell you how much you have to play with and you’ll then work with that. No blank cheques.’ With that, he marched from the room. If he could have slammed the ten-foot chapel doors, he would’ve done so, but they were too heavy and bound with iron.
‘What a …’ said Jennifer, biting her tongue in deference to the holy place. ‘Sorry, Jess. Neither Sanyu nor I meant to drop you in it.’
‘Paul is such an ass.’ I stood Joseph back up and leant him against the donkey and gave Jennifer a brilliant smile. ‘Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on doing my house so I can do the chapel instead. How hard will it be to add a few more lights? This place is a Christmas card even without that.’
Jennifer wrapped herself in a homemade scarf, a striped one-of-a-kind piece from her fashion designer son. ‘Let’s hope that doesn’t fall into the category of famous last words.’