0A Jess Bridges Mystery
***
Cycling home through dark streets, trying not to slide on the slick of leaves heaped in the gutters, I told myself there was nothing to worry about. Paul was just working off his anger at being passed over for a role he wanted. I made a bet with myself that he had complained at primary school if he were made a shepherd rather than a king. Habits formed in childhood were remarkably persistent.
Turning into my dark drive and using the bike light to work the combination on the gate, I stacked the bike against the garage. I was supposed to keep the passageway clear, but what the owner didn’t see, wouldn’t bother him. I’d been placed here by an agency who looked after houses for overseas clients, reference provided by Cory. My mansion was owned by an absentee billionaire from Central Asia. Putting the key in the lock, I opened the side door.
‘Hey, Flossie, I’m home.’
There was no reply of frantic barking and eager tail wagging.
‘Flossie? Flossie!’ I wandered through to the kitchen, switching on lights and trying not to worry. The bed by the Aga was empty.
Then I saw the note on the counter from the contract cleaner, Mrs Pettifer, who was my sworn enemy. Let dog out into the garden but she wouldn’t come back inside. She needs training.
Thank you, Mrs Pettifer, for stating the obvious. So what had she done? From the evidence, she’d given up and gone on to her next client.
I opened the backdoor and peered into the dark garden. There were many places for a dog to hide, due to the flower beds and vegetable patches the householder had proudly maintained. The place was stuffed with Victorian whimsy as they had gone for an Alice in Wonderland theme, dotting statues of the characters in different parts. The Cheshire Cat, for example, sat on the wall and smiled scarily at me as I checked by the outhouse. The caterpillar curled on a bird bath in the shape of a toadstool in the middle of the vegetable patch. It was my job to maintain the gardens but winter was letting me off easily. I’d merely had to harvest what others had planted. The last house-sitter had even made jam. Were they expecting me to do that too? The potential for disaster was huge.
‘Flossie?’
There was no answering woof.
Taking a torch from a drawer, I made a quick circuit of the garden and paused by the drunken panel in the wooden fence at the bottom. It had blown down in a storm some time ago and needed mending. I’d been meaning to mention it to the nice gardener of that property so she could pass on a message to the owner as I was told by my predecessor that it was their fence, not ours. I’d have to find a diplomatic way of saying that the householder really had to do something about it if he didn’t want my dog getting into his immaculate garden. She liked to bury bones; the owner of that house liked lawns like Centre Court on the first day of Wimbledon. You see the problem?
Lights were on in the house which was unusual as it was normally empty. If I were going to go hunting for Flossie in the neighbour’s garden, I’d better get permission. My predecessor had warned me that the owner sometimes had formidable-looking security people in tow. Russians. Possibly with guns. It sounded very exciting but not if I became target practice.
Going back through my house, I grabbed the keys and a leash and went out onto the street to walk the long way round. My house was a late Victorian gothic castle of a place built from red brick, complete with turret and arched windows. If Hollywood was looking for a location for a live-action Scooby Doo haunted house, they need look no further. The one we shared a boundary with, in the next road, was more classically North Oxford, built from the golden bricks that were common round here. I pulled on the metal bell which, rather pleasingly, rang a three note chime.
After a short wait, the door opened. Detective Inspector Leo George stood in the doorway.
There was a very long pause as we took in the fact that we were unexpectedly thrown together after over a month of radio silence. I thought we had been heading for a date after the White Horse cult killings, but he’d stood me up at the last moment and not been in contact since. I’d been so hopeful but that too had died a death, like a cutting planted out too early and caught in a late frost. I’d not chased him as I couldn’t stand the idea of being in a relationship that blew hot and cold.
‘Jess? What are you doing here?’ he asked, finally finding his voice.
‘Same question back at you.’ But then I noticed he wasn’t alone. Other officers were searching inside the property. The penny dropped. ‘Don’t tell me: someone’s dead?’
He nodded. ‘And you?’
‘I’m living at number thirty-seven, Howell Street. House-sitting actually. It backs on to this place.’
Realisation dawned for him too. ‘You’re the nice house-sitter.’
‘Glad my Yelp reviews are positive.’
‘The gardener here told me about you – not you specifically but she said she chatted to the friendly house-sitter.’
Alarm spiked. ‘Marigold? Is she OK?’
‘Yes, she’s fine. She just found – something.’
‘A body. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.’ I then worked out where it must’ve been. ‘Oh yuck.’
Leo now noticed the leash and the door opened wider. ‘Come in. I think we’ve kidnapped your dog.’
‘Flossie?’
‘Is that her name? I didn’t even know you had a dog.’
He wouldn’t, would he, not having taken his chance to get to know me?
He closed the entrance behind me. ‘She got in the way this afternoon so we took her inside, not knowing where she’d come from. She’s with the team in the kitchen. We had a scare about possible hazardous waste but we’ve been given the all-clear, so she’s free to go.’
‘Hazardous waste? What, like asbestos?’
‘Not quite.’
I didn’t get a chance to ask him what he meant as he’d already led me into a huge kitchen-dining room. The house might’ve been built by nineteenth-century architects but it was definitely someone from the twenty-first century who had been let loose in here. The steel grey units and marble counters were spotless. An elegant single orchid sat on the windowsill, white blossoms trembling. Flossie leapt up from the blanket under the table and came over to greet me, abandoning the police officer who had been looking through paperwork at the counter.
‘You might remember DS Suyin Wong,’ said Leo.
The sergeant looked up, then quickly at her boss.
I held up both hands. ‘The body had nothing to do with me. I’m here for the living.’ I knelt down and clipped on the leash to Flossie’s collar.
The other sergeant I had also met before, Harry Boston, ambled in from another room, a box of computer gear in his arms.
‘Gawd almighty, if it isn’t Miss Trouble herself! How’ve you got yourself involved in this one?’
I think I amused and annoyed Harry Boston in equal parts, but as he’d once bought me a drink when I most needed it, I was trying to think charitable thoughts about him. ‘Not involved. My dog got through the fence at the end of the garden. I’m just rescuing her.’
‘Blame the forensic guys. They fed her pizza,’ said Suyin.
‘I was wanting to ask about the fence. It’s the only part of the garden that isn’t smart. How long has the panel been down?’ asked Leo.
I felt oddly annoyed he’d gone straight into questioning mode without stopping to explain why he stood me up. It was like we were strangers again.
‘No idea.’ I kept my tone clipped. ‘I’ve only had the job since the end of October. You’ll have to ask my predecessor. I was told the fence belonged to this house so wasn’t my employer’s responsibility to mend.’
‘And who is your employer?’
‘A Mr Akmal Gulom. He’s from Uzbekistan. I had to look it up on a map. It’s a big place. The Silk Road. Samarkand.’
‘But you haven’t met him?’
‘No.’
‘So how …?’
‘An agency.’
‘Let me guess: Glass Tower Services?’
‘Been checking up on me, have you, Inspector?’
He had the grace to look a little flustered by that accusation. ‘No, Jess, they manage this property too, so it was an educated guess. Who do you deal with at the agency?’
‘A woman called Heather. I met her once when she interviewed me. That’s all I know, apart from the fact they pay well.’ Flossie was pulling on the leash. ‘Can I go now?’
‘Yes. I’ll see you out.’ Leo guided me to the door.
‘Bye, guys,’ I said cheerily to the sergeants. That was my philosophy: pretend like everything is fine and one day it will be.
‘Bye, Jess,’ said Suyin. ‘If you hear from Heather, will you let us know?’
‘Sure.’
‘And try to keep your clothes on this time,’ called Harry, chuckling at my expense. Just because I ended up naked at two crime scenes, some people would never let me forget!
Leo stood at the front door. I noticed how his smart lace-up shoes sank deep into the white pile carpet.
‘Who puts white carpet in a hallway?’ I asked.
‘Someone with more money than sense.’ He glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen. ‘Jess, I want to apologise. For what happened in October.’
‘Oh? For what exactly? For standing me up or for not getting in contact to explain?’
He looked down, a hank of black hair falling forward. It was tempting to push it back but we didn’t have that kind of relationship, not Mr Gorgeous Unattainable Policeman and me. ‘Both, I suppose.’
‘It’s OK. You’re a busy guy. Work takes over, I expect.’
Flossie was sniffing the leg of a side table with rather too much interest. I’d have to get her out of here.
‘It wasn’t work. It was a family emergency.’ He met my gaze. ‘Ongoing emergency. I don’t have a social life at the moment.’
‘Ri-ight.’ I suppose as excuses went, it wasn’t bad. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Leo. It probably wouldn’t have worked, would it? Us, dating? I’m all over the place and you’re the straight arrow. I’d’ve driven you crazy after a few weeks.’
He shook his head in denial. ‘Jess, I really am sorry. I’d like to make it up to you.’
‘Sir!’ One of his officers was calling from upstairs. We looked at each other.
‘Work calls,’ I prompted.
‘Can I ring you? So I can make a proper apology?’
I wasn’t sure that I wanted that. There was a danger I’d like him too much and, when he decided he’d had enough of me, it would hurt like hell. I’d decided the near-miss had been the best thing that could’ve happened for my emotional survival. ‘Leo …’
‘You’re still on the same number?’
I nodded.
‘OK. I’ll call – arrange something.’ He opened the door so Flossie and I could exit. ‘It’s good seeing you again.’
I opened my mouth to say, ‘And you,’ but fortunately he’d closed it quickly. Idiot. I shook myself, much to Flossie’s bemusement, who wasn’t used to her human exhibiting such doglike characteristics.
‘OK, hound, let’s go for a quick walk then supper. How does that sound?’
That sounded fine to her so she led me off around her favourite circuit.
Chapter 5
Michael
Michael Harrison checked his tie in the mirror. It had been a while since he’d done this. After the accident that robbed him of his ease of mobility, Michael had shied away from the dating scene. The last year had been a slow but steady finding of his new identity: differently abled than he had been in the past.
Not content, he redid the knot. The easiest had been, in retrospect, his media image: the wheelchair psychologist, invited to comment on criminal cases involving psychopathic or particularly extreme behaviours, such as terrorism. Professionally, he’d had a successful book and a promotion to an academic job in Oxford. Icing to that cake had been when Inspector George in Thames Valley had brought him back into consulting with the police, which, to be honest, was the part of his job he enjoyed the most. That was when he felt most needed.
Now the tie looked right.
But his cufflinks were wrong. He’d better change them. He searched through his collection, looking for a pair his wife, now deceased, hadn’t given him. He couldn’t take memories of Emma on this outing. People – notably his ex, Jessica, his old friend Charles – had told him he’d got stuck in his grief, with few friends and a limited social life. They’d told him to chance a relationship again.
And so the bold move into dating. He backed away from the mirror to check his wallet had both cash and cards. He’d made himself fill out an application and pay the fee for one of those sites that matched university-educated professionals with each other. It had come as a surprise, but perhaps foreseeable in hindsight, that one of the local matches the website suggested was someone he already knew a little: Cory Reynolds, Jessica’s landlady until very recently, before Jessica moved to house-sit that incredible redbrick pile near the park. When Cory’s home had been invaded by a disturbed young woman, he had hosted Cory and her two children in the middle of the night, a safe place for them to go while the police (and Jessica as it turned out) dealt with the matter. That meant Cory had already met him and, if she agreed to date him, they could skip the whole ‘how did you end up in a wheelchair?’ conversation. She’d be seeing him because she was interested.
***
He arrived early at the restaurant in the Ashmolean Museum. The modern extension at the back of the old building had opened up new areas of the museum, including the roof, and this relatively new restaurant was one of the best in Oxford. With so much college dining every evening, the city was surprisingly short of decent places to eat – and college meals could be pretty dreadful sometimes. You had to pick your college carefully or you might end up with cold beans and wilted salmon. He’d asked for his table to be near the window so they could look out over the Randolph Hotel and the skyline of the city centre. Christmas trees twinkled on the restaurant terrace and in the windows of the five-star hotel across the road, reminding him he’d better decide what he was going to do this year for the holidays.
He ordered a cocktail and pondered his choices. Last year, he’d gone to his parents’ retirement place in France but had found the travel and moving around there a chore. He wondered what Jessica was doing. Would it be odd to ask his friend to spend the day with him? She might take it as meaning that he was angling for more than simple friendship. Christmas seemed so fraught with significance. Perhaps it was safer to spend the day alone?
Cory hurried in only a few minutes late and was steered to his table by a discreet waiter.
‘Michael, sorry to keep you waiting. The children were playing up, knowing I had to get out.’ She hovered, evidently wondering what was the correct greeting, then decided on a quick kiss to the cheek. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to this all day.’
That made Michael relax. ‘Me too.’ He smiled up at her, appreciating that she had put a great deal of effort to polishing up her usual mumsy vibe to smart thirty-something who looked like her photo on the website. Attractive rather than ravishing, she had styled her hair, put on more make-up than usual, and was wearing a pretty matching earring and necklace, little blue chips of some semi-precious stone. Ah, something neutral he could pick on. ‘I like your jewellery.’
She touched her necklace self-consciously. ‘Oh, thank you. I got them in a market in Beirut on my last visit to the Lebanon. I can’t remember if I told you, but I assess development projects for DfID, specialising in refugee access to education.’
He’d known she worked in the aid sector but had assumed that meant a desk job at one of the big charities, not going abroad for the Department for International Development. ‘That sounds very interesting. You must tell me more, but what about ordering a cocktail first? I can recommend the Ashmolean Gin Fizz.’ He toasted her with the drink he’d already ordered.
She gave him a teasing frown. ‘You started without me?’
‘I was worried you might stand me up, so I decided to look as though I was meaning to dine alone.’
She shook her head, smiling. ‘I’d never do that to a date. One of those sounds lovely.’ She leaned forward a little. ‘The advantage of travelling by bike, I don’t need to worry.’
He gave her a conspiratorial smile. ‘And I was planning on taking a taxi home. So tell me about Beirut.’
***
By the end of the meal, Michael was feeling a little drunk. Not because he’d had more than was good for him, but because he’d forgotten what it was like to enjoy a meal in a clever woman’s company. Cory reminded him of a toned-down version of Jessica: a little reckless at times, wanting to live life at full throttle, but she took more care with herself as she had her children to consider. He had been missing … what was it? Liveliness? Yes, that was a good word. All his colleagues at Magdalen seemed so serious and staid. It was a gift to laugh with someone and relax.
‘You mean the computer geeks think that you can help them achieve near-human intelligence in AI?’ she asked on hearing at his newest role in the artificial intelligence institute that had just opened in Hay Road.
‘I’m not a numbers man myself, but apparently one of the approaches to programming is algorithms that mimic the synapses in the brain, and there I can help with my understanding of psychology. At least that’s the theory. I’m coming in under a big grant from the Chernov foundation, so I won’t be the only one. It’s all very cutting edge.’ In fact, he now put it first on his CV as it was where so many academic disciplines were moving.
‘That sounds … scary,’ said Cory, pushing her empty coffee cup away. ‘I’ve just watched Blade Runner.’
‘Ah. We’re a long way off androids who can pass for human. At the moment robots have even more trouble negotiating stairs than I do.’
At the end of the meal, they split the bill.
‘I really enjoyed myself,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
‘I did as well.’ She looked down a little shyly. ‘Would you like to do this again? It’s really freeing seeing someone who already knows I come with baggage.’
‘Baggage?’
‘Two children.’
Michael had managed to forget about them during the meal. Not that he disliked children, but he wasn’t at ease with them usually. Cory’s two had been sweet, though, when they’d stayed, enjoying riding on his motorised armchair and pretending to blast into space. Maybe he could learn to cope?
‘I don’t see them as baggage, but as assets.’ He hoped he was telling her the truth. He wanted to mean it.
She beamed. ‘That’s so sweet of you.’
‘And yes, I’d very much like to do this again. It’s been a while for me, a bruising few years you could say, but tonight was the first time in a long while I’ve felt really off-duty.’
‘Excellent.’ She reached out and took his hand. ‘Just one thing: I didn’t tell Jess we were meeting. Did you?’
‘No. I didn’t want to land you in an awkward situation with her. I know you’re friends.’
‘Maybe we could keep this to ourselves, just for the moment, see how things pan out? No point having a big heart-to-heart with her if we only go on a couple of dates.’
Did she not like him? ‘I’m hoping it might be more than that.’
She smiled reassuringly. ‘So am I, Michael.’
‘But you’re right. Jessica would find it odd maybe. I’d find it awkward explaining us to her. Let’s wait until we know where we’re going with this.’ The secret felt a little thrilling, bringing them closer.
Cory looked relieved. ‘Yes, let’s wait. Knowing her, she’d probably just be pleased for us.’
‘Yes, knowing her.’ The waiter signalled that his taxi was waiting downstairs. Michael pushed back from the table. ‘I’m heading down in the lift.’
‘I’ll ride with you.’
They left the restaurant together, her hand resting on his shoulder.
Chapter 6
Leo
Closing down the temporary incident room he’d created at the house, Leo was acutely aware that he hadn’t said even half of what he’d wanted to Jess. He was still cursing himself for that. Why didn’t life come with a rewind button? Maybe the strange rollercoaster day of considering radioactive poisoning then being given the all-clear was some excuse, but he knew it was more likely due to his inability to communicate with those he cared about. Given a do-over, would he manage any better?
Leaving an officer to guard the murder scene overnight, he called it a day at 10pm and ordered everyone to reconvene at Kidlington, Thames Valley Police HQ, at eight the next day. They had made some progress despite everything, tracking down the family solicitor and putting in a request for DNA samples from a blood relative or dental records. These were needed so they could confirm the theory that it was the householder himself who had ended up in the garden. Either that or Mr Chernov himself might turn up alive and well as a result of the outreach. The lawyer had been decidedly cagey though, refusing to say when he’d last had contact with the Russian.
Though it was not on the most direct route, Leo drove past the house where Jess was living. Suyin was fairly certain Glass Tower had shattered into a million pieces, so he’d also have to deliver the bad news to Jess that she might not get paid. But not tonight. He’d let her sleep undisturbed in that Victorian castle house she was inhabiting. There were no lights on, apart from one up in the turret room. Was she sleeping up there? He could see that appealing to her.
He turned the car for home, deeply dissatisfied with himself. Had it been a lie to say he’d stood her up for a family emergency? His mother was a walking, talking crisis, but couldn’t he have slipped away, kept some of his own life going even while she settled in his house like a plague of locusts? His problem was that he felt emotionally eaten clean away, leaving but a stick of a man going about his business. Maybe he wouldn’t feel like that if he’d had someone like Jess in his life to help share the load?
He slowed for a group of students weaving in front of him on their bikes, Father Christmas hats and tinsel giving them an early festive feel. At least they had bike lights, if not helmets; one out of the two was better than many students managed. He could tell them from experience at road traffic accidents that being brainy did not protect you from your own stupidity. But they wouldn’t want to listen: at twenty, they felt immortal.
They managed to peel off safely to their chosen destination, The Cape of Good Hope pub, so named because it formed a wedge between the two traffic currents of the Cowley and Iffley Road. At their age, he’d never had the illusion of invulnerability, thanks to his mother’s emotional vampirism. He’d wanted to die at eighteen; at twenty, he was only just recovering the will to live. His own university life at Durham had been a slow awakening from a bad dream.
Which had returned and was occupying his spare room.
No, it was better to make sure anyone he had feelings for stayed away from his mother. He mustn’t regret keeping Jess at arm’s length. Experience surely had taught him that. His mother would kill everything in her path, his own invasive species of ground elder.
He took the turn by the Peugeot garage into Iffley village where he had his little cottage with its big garden. The street narrowed and took on a village air. All the lights were on at his own house. This habit of his mother’s drove him crazy. Why had she even been in his bedroom to switch on the light in the first place? He sat in the drive, listening to the car clicking and settling into dormancy after the short ride across town. She would still be up, wouldn’t she? Having spent the day alone, she’d be waiting for him to tell him about her latest minor dramas and emotional crises. Leo wished he had siblings to help dilute his mother’s focus but she’d never had another child after him. Now she was getting too old to attract her preferred style of man to play the nurturing partner so was latching on to her son as her Plan B. This was the longest she’d ever stayed with him. A more ruthless person would’ve turned her out, Leo knew that, but he’d tried this a few years ago and it had backfired spectacularly. She’d started turning up at work and when he was out on dates, basically stalking him. No counter action on his part, from ignoring her to demanding she leave, had dented her confidence that she had every right to be there. He’d tried so many strategies that he felt like he was in the middle of his very own Groundhog Day where he hadn’t found the combination that broke the spell.