Windows For The Dead: Chief Inspector Allison Murder Mystery Book 5

By Elizabeth Revill

DS Mark Stringer’s girlfriend is missing and DI Allison has ordered him to leave the investigation.

With the threat of disciplinary hearings hanging over his head, Stringer dives into series of racially motivated killings, while helping a German woman who is being hounded by a criminal gang and he tracks the Chameleon who has returned to the world of assassinations and paid hits.

Meanwhile, DC Ronnie Soper’s fallen for a woman he shouldn’t have done and it’s bordering on a fatal attraction. He’s drawn into the unsavoury, illegal but hidden realms of honour killings.

The terrible events that all the men are trying to put behind them continue to haunt the harried police officers, and as these crimes begin to weave together, everything becomes darker.

Book 5 in the DCI Allison detective series, set in the Midlands, continues on from where the last one, ‘Would I lie To You’ finished.

Intimate and realistic, readers will be on the shoulders of the police as they are followed into every corner of their lives which show work pressures don’t end at the station door.

If you are a fan of gritty thrillers like ‘Missing’ then this series is for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mirador Publishing
• Release date: Mar 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781910105689

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Lose your mind

Beth felt her body rolling. She cautiously opened her eyes a crack and peeped at her surroundings. She seemed to be alone but was not prepared to take the risk of showing she was awake by fully opening her eyes. Her mind was clouded with a fog like syrup that clung to her eyelids. Her mouth was as dry as parchment and she felt like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer. Her head pounded and an uncontrollable craving, for what she didn’t know, set her limbs twitching spasmodically.

Beth’s normally lustrous long blonde hair was slick and damp falling in rats’ tails around her head on the pillow and she moaned softly as she felt the sickness rising up inside her. Still in a confused state she finally braved opening her eyes and stared at her surroundings.

She was lying on a bed in a dimly lit room. In fact, there was no electric light but the curtains stretched across the narrow windows on elastic, which were secured both top and bottom, allowed some seepage of light to creep in from outside. The windows were set at an angle so she was either in Alice in Wonderland’s house or on a boat.

Shadows lumped in this macabre ‘house of fun’, which rocked and swayed.

Beth could see she was alone so she shifted her position slightly, not wanting to make any noise that might alert her captors. She slowly sat up. She was still in her red evening dress from the club. How long she had lain here she didn’t know but she was aware that she desperately needed a shower. The bed was sweat soaked. Beth peeked under the curtain on the window and she could see water. The boat lurched again.

She lay back down trying to think. The way she was feeling she knew she’d been drugged. There were track marks up her arm and apart from feeling woozy she was now beginning to shiver. Beth knew enough to realise that she was coming down from something; what, she hadn’t a clue, but the shaking jitters and the fact her stomach was cramped in knots told her it was bad. This was worse than anything she had ever known. She didn’t do drugs, never had, apart from a stint at uni where she had experimented once with smoking pot, which did nothing for her. This was all alien to her but she knew that drugs could make her compliant and take away her free will. She knew she had to contain the terrors rising within her and gain control and that she had to get away, but how?

*

Takagi sat with three of his men on deck. He was exceptionally tall for a Japanese man. He was a sharp dresser and wore expensive well-tailored clothes. He examined his perfectly manicured nails and listened to his men’s childish banter before slapping his hand down on the table almost knocking over his glass of Doppio Passo Primitivo. The men jumped nervously and fell silent.

I didn’t call you here for idle chatter. I want some answers. Whose idea was it to send Beth comatose? The men exchanged glances. It’s one thing drugging her to get her here and subdue her; it’s quite another to reduce her to an unkempt junky whore.

But, Sir, she was fighting us all the way. We had to do something.

Then use your brains. Sedate her safely. Don’t make her a dependent addict. Now we have to bring her out of it, and control her withdrawal gently. She must be unmarked. No one wants to pay for a slovenly druggie. If we have her clean and dressed alluringly she will attract many bidders. See to it. Takagi downed the rest of his glass and held it up to be filled once more.

A pleasure boat passed by them and the sparkling ripples from its wake pitched the cabin cruiser in the water. To outside eyes they looked like a group of friends on a boating trip. Passengers on the holiday boat waved at the men, as was the norm when craft passed each other. Takagi responded with a friendly smile and gesture. He urged the others to follow suit so no suspicions would be aroused.

Takagi’s men became more guarded in their chatter. The Japanese boss clicked his fingers at one Asian man, in his thirties, with huge dark eyes, whose gaze snapped onto Takagi who now eyed him threateningly. Ashok, it will be your job to get her clean and obedient. You have one month.

But…

One month, Takagi said emphatically. Gain her confidence, be her friend. Make sure she’s ready for the sale.

The sun shone down benignly on the deck of evil.

*

DCI Allison thumped his desk hard making his cup of now stewed tea, which had skinned over, bounce in its saucer and slop over the side. What are we missing here, Mark?

Mark said nothing but stared back at the Chief. He shrugged, his eyes were underlined with dark shadows and he was giddy from lack of sleep. It was clear he wasn’t taking care of himself, as he should. Finally he spoke, The trail’s gone cold. Takagi’s vanished.

Someone must have seen something, growled Allison. He stood up and lumbered to the window to gaze at the scene below. Storm clouds had chased away the temporary sunshine. Thunder black cumulous-nimbus clouds were rolling in and the sky was leaden and grey. We’re missing something. We have to be. Get Holly in again. We’ll take her to the club. See what she picks up. Do you have anything belonging to Beth?

Mark shook his head and then snapped his fingers, There may be something at the club, like in the dressing room, her cosmetics, toiletries, her towel and wrap.

That’s great. Make a call. Tell them not to touch anything belonging to her. We don’t want someone putting her stuff away or washing her clothes. Understand?

Mark nodded, What do we do until then?

Allison crossed back to his desk and indicated his in-tray. We’ve plenty to get on with for now. Take your pick. Allison paused as he rubbed his grizzled chin, I don’t know how to say this so I’ll just do it. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to work on this. You’re too close. It’s too dangerous.

But, Chief. Seven girls have gone missing in the last six months. Those are just the ones we know about. I bet there’s more that haven’t been reported, lost girls with no one to care what happens to them are not a high priority and would escape reporting.

Allison grunted his acknowledgement, I know you’re right. But your obsession with Beth could cloud your judgement. You’re better taking the lead on something else.

But, she was instrumental in helping us take down Billy Boyle, finding the missing schoolgirl, Janna and for stopping a major bomb plot. She deserves our help, he protested.

I’m not denying that. But, we have other cases, he lifted some files from his desk, "Take your pick, Timbrells, the Chameleon… Remember we still haven’t found the hit man who killed young Gary Watson. The bastard took Morris Martin, Pamela DeVere, and God knows how many others… Although the body above the flower shop could be him, we have no concrete proof and I don’t like loose ends."

And the only ones who could possibly identify him are Holly and Chrissy Stephens.

Allison rubbed his huge hand across his time-ravaged forehead. We’re not procrastinating anymore.

I hardly think we’re procrastinating, Sir, objected Mark.

Well, it feels like it, grumbled Allison reaching into the drawer for his Mars Bar before sitting behind his desk and paging his secretary, Maddie, cup of tea in here. I need to think. Mark, I want you to get a team assembled first thing Monday morning for a briefing. Give them tomorrow to finish off their current workload. Oh, and we’ve had another racially motivated stabbing in Handsworth. That makes three in the last year. This sounds like a pretty nasty case but the locals are handling it for the moment unless they decide to call us in. I dare say they will if they get stuck. Allison stared at Mark who hadn’t moved. What is it?

Who? Who do you want? For the briefing?

Taylor, Pooley, Soper and Woodward… I have an idea.

*

The Chameleon in the guise of Alex Wallace sat in Riverside Cottage with Snooks on his lap who was purring contentedly. Things were going well. He had eliminated the link to all of his hits and he was no longer interested in tracking DCI Allison now that Pamela DeVere was dead. He did, however, worry about Chrissy. At the moment she wasn’t a problem. He reasoned that she was somewhere in a Witness Protection Programme and well away from his current locality probably based in or around London. London was a big place, in which it was easy to get lost and easy to hide. Now he’d safely concealed the tools of his trade and was enjoying the anonymity of his new life as an aspiring writer, he saw no reason to execute her as long as she stayed away.

Then there was Holly. Not a problem yet, but she could be.

For some reason Alex couldn’t settle. Ever since he’d seen the photo in the paper of the dead man found in a sack of soot above that flower shop, Timbrells, in which he’d purchased a wreath for Marjorie Wallace, he’d been jumpy. How ironic. He was hoping the cops might believe it was him, and then he could well and truly relax.

The phone rang. Alex had to rise amidst complaints from Snooks who reluctantly sat on the settee with her ears drawn back, glowering at her master for putting her aside. Alex’s voice filled with pleasure as he recognised the person on the other end of the line, Jane! Lovely to hear from you… What? ... Um… I’m not sure… when did you say? ... Let me check my diary and I’ll get back to you… Yep … Okay. Bye. He replaced the receiver thoughtfully, ‘was he ready for this? How dangerous could it be?’

He strolled back to his seat but Snooks was sulking. She had settled on the cushion next to her master but had turned her back on him in a huff.

Come on, Snooks, he reasoned. I had to answer. It was Jane, you like Jane. Remember? The cat turned her head and blinked looking silently inscrutable. I have a problem… she wants me to be her partner at her brother’s wedding. Am I ready for that? To meet her family? And what if that cop is there? Then what? Oh, Lord, I don’t need this…

Alex sighed heavily. He would need an excellent reason to duck out of this invitation … but what?"

***

A young Asian man sat strapped in a chair, bound with leather straps, and a black cloth bag tied over his head. The cellar room had no windows. He screamed again. A bass male disembodied voice spoke icily with unnatural calm, No one can hear you scream. No one. Save your energy. You’ll need it for what I have planned. Won’t he, Petal? There was no response. The man urged again, more vehemently, Petal?

Eventually, a reluctant but soft female voice added to the menace suffered by the man, You better pray you die quickly, Tariq. I hope you go before he’s finished with you. There was something in the woman’s voice, uncertainty, reluctance, and to anyone listening it was clear from her tones that she was not a willing participant.

Tariq blustered, his voice muffled by the cloth, But I’ve done nothing wrong. Hurt no one… please let me go. I have a wife and child; my little girl’s just been born… please.

I had a wife, my daughter had a mother and I had a son, she had a brother. We were put through torture, after one of your lot took her life and my son was murdered in Iraq. He was patriotic, a fighter and she… He stifled a sob, A vibrant woman with her life ahead of her, snuffed out in the name of religion.

But I’ve told you, I am not a terrorist, I am not Muslim. I am Hindu….

Maybe we should let him go? said the woman whose voice was tremulous and filled with more doubt.

Oh, yes. The relief in the man’s voice was evident. Please…

His last word was cut off with a gurgle as a knife ripped across his throat and a fountain of blood spurted and sprayed into the thick air.

The male voice threatened, You were too soft on him, Poppet. I know this is your first time but I could have played with him for hours. Instead I had to finish him quickly.

But he hadn’t done anything wrong. Her voice revealed her shock and revulsion. I didn’t think you were serious, thought it was just bravado … talk. When you told me you would exact revenge. I didn’t envisage this.

But I couldn’t afford to let him go. And whether you like it or not you’re part of this now, as involved as me. Next time, it will be your turn. I can watch while you have your fun.

There was the sound of someone retching.

***

Mary fussed around Allison as he finished his breakfast, Are you sure it’s the right thing to do? she asked, whisking away his cereal bowl and plonking a plate of hot buttered toast in front of him.

He needs something… said Allison gruffly his mouth full of toast. The melted butter dribbled on his chin and crumbs spotted his front.

Mary sighed and grabbed a tea towel and brushed away the crumbs, But a dinner party, Greg when he doesn’t have a partner?

It’ll be fine. With Taylor and Judy, Holly and Paul, Soper can keep Mark company or maybe I could invite Beck?

Isn’t that asking for trouble? You said they liked each other and you specially requested he didn’t fraternise with a fellow officer, ordered him, in fact.

Allison took another bite of his toast and reflected, Maybe, you’re right. Perhaps it would cause more complications. Ditch that. Look, can you manage? It will be eight of us.

I’ll manage, said Mary. Actually it will be fun. I haven’t hosted a dinner party since … Oooh I can’t remember when. Think it may even have been one with Mark and Debbie

Mmm. Sad state of affairs. Such a pity her putting him through the ringer like that. Allison shovelled in the final mouthful and wiped his hands and mouth on a piece of kitchen roll that Mary passed him.

She sighed heavily as he handed it back to her and she tossed it in the bin. Allison came round to his loyal, long suffering wife and gave her a swift peck on the cheek. Thanks. See you later, and he shambled to the door.

*

Allison’s drive to Steelhouse Lane police station washed over him, so preoccupied was he with the many and varied cases on his list that he drove as if on automatic pilot. It was only when he reached the junction at Five Ways that he wondered where the rest of the journey had gone, so absorbed was he in planning the forthcoming Monday morning meeting and the brief. He didn’t want Mark to work alongside Beck on anything but then wondered if that really was the right thing to do. Although he was of the firm belief that relationships within the same station were to be avoided he also felt that Mark needed a distraction. He shook his grizzled head. It wouldn’t be right or accepted protocol but then again neither did he approve of Mark’s liaison with the missing hostess Beth.

Allison sighed heavily again figuring he just might have to leave Mark to his own devices, keep his big mouth shut and try not to drag him one way or the other. He hit the steering wheel in frustration and exclaimed aloud, Why do things have to be so bloody complicated? He believed Mark should be forced to work another case. This sex trafficking ring, of which they believed Beth was a victim, was just too close to his sergeant and when emotions were involved Allison knew that could lead to mistakes.

Allison was getting a headache and it wasn’t due to a return of his chocolate allergy that had deprived him of his special treat for a time. His Mars Bars, his daily fix, secret vice, call it what you will, helped him to think more clearly. Of this he was convinced. Greg knew it would be tough keeping Mark away from this one and feared if he couldn’t manage to do so then he was in danger of losing his sergeant to another unlikely alliance with Peter Sherratt, the ex-con, owner and manager of Kelly’s Wine bar from where Beth had been snatched.

He turned into the station car park and stopped in his reserved space.

Why does everything have to be so difficult? he groaned aloud as he locked his car.

Pardon? asked a young fresh-faced Stuart Wilson, new to the uniform and Birmingham.

Allison mumbled an apology, Sorry, just thinking aloud. He hurried across the concourse and dived into the red brick building. Uniformed men bid him good morning as he marched through the corridors to his office to which he grunted his usual replies.

He pitched into his outer office where Maddie was just removing her coat. She glanced up at him and smiled in her naturally cheerful manner, Morning, Chief. Tea?

Yes, please, Maddie, he answered as he rolled into his office where he took off his coat to hang behind the door. He heaved himself into his chair and stared at the pile of files, which seemed to have grown overnight. He grabbed his notepad and began to make notes prioritising work in hand. Never mind ipads and smart phones Greg Allison still believed in good old-fashioned lists.

The phone rang. Chief, there’s another. A body found floating in the reservoir. Same M.O. Locals are handling it but you need to be aware. Anymore, and it’ll be straight over to you.

CHAPTER TWO

Red, Red Wine

Much to Mary Allison’s delight the evening was going extremely well. Her warm tastefully decorated dining room was filled with happy chatter. The friendship between the guests was apparent and even Mark had relaxed enough to enjoy the gathering.

Outside the night was filthy. The blustery wind blew rain clouds in from the West. The guests were delighted to escape from the rain into the cheerful ambience of the Allison’s.

David and Judy Taylor had relished the food and the company; Holly and Paul had entertained and Ronnie Soper had fitted in surprisingly well. He was the newest member on the team and had been lucky enough to be fast tracked to detective after his successful undercover op at a Young Offenders’ Prison.

Police psychic, Holly, was in the middle of telling a joke, her huge dark eyes widened as she performed the lines, So he says… What have you come as? The bloke says, ‘A snail.’ So, he points at the female draped around the bloke’s neck and says… ‘Well, if you’re a snail, who’s that?’ The chap answers… That? Oh that’s Michelle.

There was a collective groan from the assembled company, followed by more laughter and chatter. Clearly, folks were comfortably full; merry from the wine and in the mood for being silly, so much so that Judy, David Taylor’s wife, couldn’t help but giggle and once she started she couldn’t stop. Her chuckles were so infectious that soon the whole table was rocking with laughter amid Judy’s protest, It wasn’t even that funny! before she hooted again.

Allison raised his empty wine glass and waggled it at Mary, I think I’d better get another couple of bottles.

Mary nodded, In the fridge and our guests came bearing gifts. I’ve put the red on the rack.

Allison grunted as he heaved his huge bulk from his seat and lumbered into the kitchen. David Taylor watched his boss go; I’ve never seen him like this before…

Yes, said Mark. Puts him completely in another light.

Mary defended her big bear of a husband, He does have another side. He’s not always dour talking about work and cases. We should do this more often lest we forget.

Judy turned to Holly with a cheeky smile on her face, Say, what was Michelle wearing?

A shell suit? offered Ronnie.

You’re too young to remember those, said Paul, Holly’s partner, a Viking of man with close-cropped blonde hair.

I’ve seen pictures! laughed Ronnie. I had to brush up on my history before I came. Didn’t want to feel out of place.

You just watch it young, Soper, warned Holly playfully. And to answer your question, Judy… She was like Monroe, wearing nothing but a smile, she said dramatically.

The company dissolved into more laughter as Allison re-entered brandishing an open bottle of red and a chilled white and placed them on the table. Help yourselves. None of you are driving and it’s the weekend, not that work stops for us. There, and he refilled Mary’s glass with her favourite, Pinot Grigio before topping up his own with a choice red Merlot."

*

In stark contrast the street was deserted outside. Rain was tamping down, bouncing like ball bearings on the pavement before splashing open and collecting in puddles where the camber of the road sloped to the gutter. Swollen misshapen clouds bowled in, to hide the face of the leprous moon.

An elderly woman with silver grey hair now drenched and stuck to her face in a myriad of tiny wet curls stumbled around the corner and began hurrying down the empty road. She was dressed only in her nightclothes, wearing slippers now muddy and sodden, from the deluging rain.

She raced frantically along the pavement. Her breathing was laboured and harsh. Her face filled with fear. In her panic she splashed through the surface water that pooled on the asphalt. She stopped. Tears mingled with the rain that streamed down her face and she clutched her side from the painful stitch that had manifested. A small cry escaped her thin wizened lips as she tried to regain her breath before hurrying onward.

A sinister four by four turned into the street. Its headlights caught the fleeing woman. As if held in a spotlight she stopped and turned. Her hand flew to her throat as her terrified face was illuminated in the car’s glaring lights. She muffled a scream as she focused on the approaching car that had begun to speed up and murmured prayers to her God in her obvious distress.

The woman stared in horror at the vehicle but she didn’t see a BMW X5. To her the car appeared as an armoured SS vehicle with its red and black Nazi motif, which moved slowly along the blitzed streets of night-time Berlin. In her mind, flares and flashes from incendiary devices rained from the heavens matching the lightning and rumbles of thunder in the storm-ridden night.

She whimpered and ran in desperation up a driveway to an elegant house and hammered on the door. The curtains at the front twitched and fell back as the resident caught sight of the ‘mad’ old woman. No one answered.

She blundered back down the path, through the hedge, and tried another house and screamed to be let in, her voice choked with sobs. Her knuckles now grazed and bruised began to bleed. Again there was no response and she staggered back to the road continuing to run from the tormenting cruising vehicle, which seemed now to be playing with her.

The old lady dived up another path and seeing the house in darkness dived through a succession of hedges until she saw a chink of light emanating from another property.

*

Back in the house Mary had served coffee, even though they were still drinking wine, this seemed to add to their puerile chatter as more jokes were told, each one more risqué than the last. The giggles and laughter grew. They were having an excellent time.

The woman rushed up the next path, which led to Allison’s house. The soft light spilled through the crack in the curtains. The malevolent car unable to see where she had gone continued to cruise slowly and menacingly toward the property. It seemed to pause at each driveway as if searching for the fleeing fugitive.

Hearing the frivolity and laughter the old lady beat frantically on the front door and in a last ditch attempt to be heard screamed out; Help! Help me.

The guests fell silent as her voice filtered through to them inside. A car door opened and slammed. The woman wailed in terror and banged again, daubing her blood on the wood veneer. In her frenzied state she heard the door of an army jeep bang shut, a soldier shouting and the sound of feet, a troop of marching feet, which assailed her ears.

By this time Allison had reached the front door and opened it. The others followed him curiously. The woman fell inside and collapsed in a heap babbling incoherently and with a slight German accent, God… Oh, God, please… don’t let them take me… God… Please… Oh God… Sweet David… Lord.

Mary Allison held onto the old lady trying to soothe her and get her inside whilst Allison looked out down the path into the driving rain and road, which was almost deserted except for a large black car now moving away. Allison screwed up his eyes but couldn’t identify the make or number in the blinding rain.

He returned, firmly closed the door, effectively shutting out the menacing storm. Mary had wrapped the old lady in a blanket. She wiped the woman’s rain drenched face with a towel dabbing gently at her cracked parchment skin, which was bruised and cut around her temples, and finally Mary resorted to holding her close in an attempt to quell her pitiful sobbing.

The dinner party forgotten, the atmosphere shattered, the team suddenly sobered up as they tried to work out what to do.

Call the station, suggested David.

You’re not on duty now, reminded Judy.

It’s the only sane thing to do, said David.

No, not yet, said Mary. Look at her, she’s petrified.

She’d be better off in hospital, said Judy remembering her own experience of being lost on the city streets with no memory. At least get her checked over.

I still think we should call the police, said David.

But we are the police.

At the mention of the word ‘hospital’ and ‘police’ the woman became even more hysterical and tried to wriggle free. The faces around her swam before her eyes as their words drifted in and out of her head and tears continued to stream down her face.

Allison took the frail old lady into his arms and carried her into the lounge depositing her on the settee as the others crowded around.

I thought it was too good to be true, muttered Mary. No one has talked shop all night but now… see how trouble follows you around. She sighed, I’ll get her some dry clothes.

Mary left the group who stared in shocked silence at the old lady. The woman’s eyes rapidly flashed from side to side as if she was seeing some vision. She raised her thin pale arms in supplication and whispered pitifully, Help me! Her dressing gown sleeve fell back revealing a tattooed number branded on her forearm.

Holly kneeled down beside her, It’s all right. No one’s going to hurt you. As she took the woman’s arm the shock of a memory waved over her. She saw the woman’s visions and whispered in fear and pain, Jesus Christ!

Paul kept the rest of the company back as Holly received images. She murmured aloud, SS, police… Oh, Lord… Barbed wire, razor wire … Concentration camp… She’s in a concentration camp… Arrgh… This is hideous… Experiments on screaming children … Sadistic men in sterile white coats. Holly saw the bleak sign with white painted letters, Oh my God… Auschwitz. She was in Auschwitz. On her arm… That’s her number.

The company remained silent and hushed as the memories continued to roll through the woman’s mind and transferred to the police psychic. Holly watched as if an observer in a scene played out in 1942 at the horrific death camp known as Auschwitz. She watched as two eight year old Jewish girls were hiding behind a prison hut in the concentration camp in the dead of night. One was keeping watch, whilst the other was searching for something on the ground. She was poking around in recently defecated stools. Something sparkled in the debris and she retrieved a number of jewels, loose precious stones.

The lookout, the much younger version of the old lady they had brought in, hissed a warning, Look out! Flat face is coming. She ran to the other girl’s side as a guard approached and screeched in German. The girl urged, Quick! Hurry.

The guard yelled again, Oi! … You two… Halt!

Take them, Hilda. You know what to do, stressed the other child.

Come on! pleaded Hilda.

I can’t… We’ll have more chance if we split up. Go!

The girl passed the stones to Hilda who made a dash for it. She looked back to see that the guard had reached her friend and was now dragging her away by her hair.

Hilda dodged between the huts and hurriedly washed the gems in a muddy puddle before stopping and swallowing them. She shuddered as she tried to stop herself from regurgitating them and took another mouthful of muddy water to help ease their passage.

Holly dropped the old lady’s hand and the violent images stopped. She turned to the others and relayed what she had seen, Hilda… her name is Hilda.

Hilda what? asked Paul.

I don’t know… just Hilda. She doesn’t know who she is. She’s in a deep state of confusion these shocking memories are from her time in Auschwitz. Holly shuddered. Never, ever, should anything like that happen to anyone ever again.

What’s that around her neck? asked Mary.

Allison grunted momentarily bewildered, Looks like a key to something…

What now? asked Mark.

You can’t send her away. She needs to feel safe. Going to the station or taking her to hospital won’t do. At least wait until morning, urged Holly.

She can stay here, said Mary. At least until you decide what you need to do.

It may be best if she comes with us, said Paul. Holly has a connection with her.

Yes, agreed Holly. She’ll be fine with us. You want us for briefing in the morning, don’t you, Chief? We may have a better idea of how to proceed then.

Allison nodded, I don’t like it but…. He thought a moment longer, That may be best… Right, let’s get her into those dry clothes, Mary. She’s freezing.

*

A taxi pulled into the road near Allison’s driveway and was passed by the BMW from earlier, which moved slowly past the Chief’s house and cruised stealthily around the block like a marauding panther. The lashing rain finally stopped allowing the cabbie to get out and search for the right house number.

Paul and Holly helped a confused Hilda, now wrapped in a borrowed coat and blanket, into the cab. Holly sat in the back with her and tried to comfort the shivering woman. The others watched as Paul got in the front to direct the taxi to their home on the outskirts of Worcester.

As the taxicab accelerated away the black BMW turned back into the end of the road having travelled around the block and paused. It moved out of the shadows and followed. Hilda’s frightened face could be seen as she turned and looked out through the rain spattered back window. Her tears mingled with the raindrops until the rear wiper blade wiped away what was left of the rain.

*

A petite elfin faced blonde danced happily on the dance floor of the club in Broad Street. She moved as if no one was watching like she didn’t have a care in the world. An attractive looking Asian man watched her carefully and whispered to his friends, who laughed.

At the end of the band’s set she flopped into a chair puffed out. Her friend, a bubbly brunette joined her and giggled, I’m pooped. Don’t know where you get your energy from?

I’ve been off the scene for too long. ‘Bout time I put myself out there again.

Yeah, I was sorry to hear… you know…

I don’t want to talk about it. She swallowed down her drink.

That’s okay. I didn’t know what to say, anyway.

Good. Don’t. My glass is empty… it’s your round, Emily.

Yeah, okay. Don’t look now but we’re attracting some attention.

Where?

Over there.

The blonde peered across the club at the man who raised his glass to her in a mock toast and she said dismissively, Not my type. I’m going to the loo to empty the tank and make way for some more. Her friend sniggered. Now go and get that drink. I intend to get rat-arsed tonight.

Her companion sighed, picked up their empty wine glasses, Think I’ll get a bottle. It works out cheaper.

Good idea, and she watched her