The Colour of Her Hair

By Mike O'Sullivan

Lauren Canning hair stylist sitting in Emma’s Café in Ross on Wye is curious about a redhead who is nervously looking out down the street. Lauren is fine tuned in the art of detecting moods after her experiences with the Special Police Unit in Hereford. Suddenly the redhead leaves. Within seconds there are police sirens all over town and Chief Inspector Worcester is looking in the window of the Café at Lauren.

The Chief Inspector is chasing a blackmailer. The victim Lady Jane Adare is a relative of the Chief Constable. She suspects one of her lovers. Worcester includes in his list of suspects her City banker husband Josh who Lady Jane knows is having several affairs himself.

The investigation draws in a number of City bankers who are embroiled in their own corporate battles. Then one of them is murdered. Lauren is involved because she is dating one of the suspects.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike O'Sullivan
• Release date: Nov 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370490608

Mike O'Sullivan

Mike is an Irish novelist and poet, married and living in Herefordshire England. He was born in Dublin and spent his school years in Cork. In primary school Mike needed to get by the eagle-eyed headmaster who looked hard at his long essays designed to hide the words he could not spell. This carried on further up the line when at UCD the Professor of English likened Mike to another who could not spell, George Bernard Shaw. But Mike made the connection, he did not have to be a genius at spelling.He moved to London in his twenties and has worked in a wide range of industries – music and cosmetics, in oil exploration, mining, insurance, catering, City Finance and Management Consultancy. Mike uses that experience in his novels. When he first arrived in London Mike fell in with a group of three other Irishmen debating the philosophical process of making a million or finding a job that was more like pleasure. Mike found the job, but it would take too long to explain his philosophy here. Mike says that in a sense he had a plan for life and so far it has been working out.His novels often start with an individual battling the system but without a plan of how he or she will cope. Mike believes that social systems and institutions are usually rigid when it comes to change or quick decisions and therefore the individual can become trapped. It takes effort, some courage and guile to walk out into the wider world of individual thinking. He shows that an individual can focus enough to even the odds and come out on top. He often uses humour and comedic situations to make his point leaving the reader to consider the underlying philosophy if they wish. A key element of Mike’s writing is the Irish skill of fast paced conversation as Mike’s overall aim is to entertain his readers.

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The Colour of Her Hair

By

Mike O’Sullivan

Copyright © 2017 by Mike O’Sullivan

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by photocopying or any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher of the book.

This is a work of fiction based upon an actual event. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

The right of Mike O’Sullivan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 and any subsequent amendments thereto.

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Chapter 1

The nervous redhead sat down at a window table in Emma’s Café two places away but opposite Lauren Canning. Emma’s Café was on the hill that was Broad Street, Ross on Wye. What’s the story there Lauren thought. She had been involved in three police investigations already this year and was getting highly tuned to the unusual.

The redhead was a flustered beautiful woman of about thirty in black polo neck and tight black jeans stuck into long boots. She was fit and could be a model. The boots were a bit warm for a twenty degree September afternoon. By comparison Lauren felt a little underdressed in a green top, blue jeans and red shoes. But she at least felt comfortable. Red dropped her black leather shoulder bag to the floor beside her and commenced to look out the window. Well, she was looking quite intently down the hill. Lauren had been catapulted into the rich side of Ross by a series of good fortunes over the past five months and was familiar with the sometimes weirdness of rich women who found themselves in a pedestrian environment like the café. Was the redhead trying to establish an alibi? Now that’s what police would think Lauren reflected. Surely she, a simple hairdresser, could move outside this formula of suspicion. But there was something about the edgy redhead. Emma was just delivering the redhead’s coffee as Lauren’s friend Claire walked through the door.

‘Did you notice anything unusual out in the street Claire?,’ Lauren enquired of the hotel receptionist, a woman who was so used to eyeing up people she might even be prepared to take an educated guess at what colour underwear the redhead was wearing.

‘I noticed the redhead but she isn’t out on the street,’ Claire reported smugly and having looked at Lauren to see how her observation was taken added ‘not on the street I know. The street looks normal to me except for the group of naked zombies dancing around the Romanian with the accordion. There’s a mad tank commander taking aim at the clock on the Market Tower…..’

‘I only asked,’ Lauren interrupted.

They were talking quietly. Emma arrived with coffee for Claire. The café entrance obscured Lauren’s full view of Red as it swung in from the pavement in a U shape. They were both sitting in bay windows with the rounded glass of two windows between them. Lauren found this a little irritating. Even so she was able to establish that Red’s hair didn’t suit her skin colour. So Red had dyed hair. It was a little annoying to Lauren that because of the shading caused by the windows she couldn’t establish to her satisfaction that Red might have been wearing a wig. Clair interrupted her thinking.

‘You’re looking straight through me,’ she protested. ‘Do you fancy the redhead?’

‘You know Claire for the sophisticated woman you aspire to be you sometimes can be so insensitive to what is going on, especially with your friends. I simply feel that Red is uncomfortable about being here. And I wonder why. You can sometimes tell by looking more closely. You should be open to such views given the work you do.’

‘And you have so much experience of dealing with the police that you are beginning to sound like them. Get a grip.’

‘If Red is still here when we are leaving Clair can you take a look and tell me whether she is wearing a wig. I can’t make it out with the windows in the way. And I reckon I’ve possibly been looking at her for too long already.’

‘Lauren, at the hotel we have security people to look over suspicious patrons. I am the pretty one who adorns the foyer.’

‘And dreams about the hunks walking by.’

‘That’s a different kind of scrutiny Miss Canning.’

‘So I’m right you do notice things that go on around you,’ Lauren responded triumphantly.

‘Anyway why do you think the redhead doesn’t fit in?’ Claire asked the hairdresser.

‘She’s not comfortable. It may be the hard chairs though they all have cushions. She would be more comfortable in soft armchairs. She is not happy being in the window even though she could have sat further in. I think she is looking out for something or someone while not wanting them to notice her.’

‘Sounds like a comprehensive picture to me. If you’re that suspicious why don’t you call up your favourite Chief Inspector?’

‘He’s not my Chief Inspector.’

‘All right then the young good looking one. I’m sure he’d rush to help you out.’

‘Last I heard he was on Hope Island the all inspiring Caribbean paradise and Anna reported he’d found a beautiful Hope Island woman. Hope Island women are known for their ability to keep their men on a tight lead,’ Lauren commented with the sort of insight that might not be challenged successfully. ‘Her name is Melanie if I remember right. Anna says she’s stunning.’

‘But,’ Claire felt there was a but.

‘According to Kelly there is a very noticeable lack of men on the island. So the women have over the years found comfort in each other.’

‘And Anna would know all about that,’ Claire smirked. ‘Still I could possibly learn something from them,’ she sighed.

‘Steve playing away again?’ Lauren enquired.

‘Truth is Lauren he’s never really played much with me, hence my interest in Hope Island.’

‘Well Kelly isn’t saying much. I think the Hope Island women might take to Anna more.’

‘Being pretty with long blonde hair would be attractive to a closed community if that is what it is,’ Claire suggested.

‘When I was left the island by my client,’ Lauren told her ‘I never thought much about it. When I went there I was amazed by such exotic beauty. There’s a mysterious story behind the reason for so many women and so few men. The women have learned over the centuries to defend themselves by cleverness and their beauty. Also by a special kind of poison arrow and a form of karate.’

‘They seem deadly to me,’ Claire responded.

‘My own impression is that they have organised themselves in such a way that they survive on the few men who they have. Men from other nearby islands have a healthy respect for Hope Island women.’

‘And you’re responsible for all of them Lauren?’

‘I wonder myself Claire.’

Emma arrived with their sandwiches. ‘I have noticed your interest in the redhead Lauren,’ she bent down to speak softly, ‘be careful in case she notices. I smell trouble there. I don’t know why.’

‘Thanks for the observation Emma,’ Claire responded.

Emma left them.

‘Gosh,’ Lauren exclaimed ‘I knew there was something. I’m glad I’m not the only one to notice. I hope this does not become more involved, more intimate and more dangerous.’

‘More of an interest in life,’ Claire smirked.

‘I’m just a simple hairdresser Claire. I can’t deal with mad or disturbed redheads.’

‘Not so simple,’ Claire confirmed ‘and probably richer than Red.’

‘Red’s on the move,’ Lauren announced as she tried to judge how tall Red was by measuring her against the frame of the café front door.

Claire had to turn around to view the walk up the hill Red was taking. She stopped beside a red Mini slowly opened the door, threw her shoulder bag in and bent down to lower herself in. She carefully pulled out and started down the hill passing the two friends in the Café who had half expected her to look at them as she passed but she looked straight ahead. Then she was gone.

‘So the excitement is over,’ Claire remarked as Lauren was still looking in the direction the Mini had gone. ‘I didn’t notice anything unusual,’ she added.

‘You’d thought I’d ask?’ Lauren smiled.

‘I’m getting use to police procedure,’ Claire responded.

‘I think she’s blonde,’ Lauren concluded.

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Claire replied. ‘Now what Lauren? Do you make notes in your police note book? Her bad points, good points? What made her arrive, what made her leave? Is she on holiday? From Hereford? What does she do for a living, nothing strenuous I’d say? And I’d say you’d think she has good taste in cars. Not so good in hair colour, but you’d be able to help her there. That’s if you could dismiss the dangerous aspect you see in her.’

Just then they heard police sirens at the top of the hill.

‘She’s broken the speed limit,’ Claire declared.

‘Claire I think I should be getting back. I have a client in ten minutes.’

Two squad cars passed slowly and stopped three shops away down the hill.

‘It’s close Lauren. I can feel it. But I must miss all the excitement I suppose.’

‘Too late for that Claire. The excitement is already upon us. Don’t look.’

But Claire turned around to see Chief Inspector Worcester looking in the window.

‘He must fancy you Lauren. That’s all I can say. Any trouble in the town and he’s calling on you.’

‘Well he’s normally very protective of me Claire, like a caring uncle. But now that you mention it I do seem to be in the firing line far too often. Maybe it’s a courtesy call. Or he could just need a coffee.’

‘He didn’t need to bring half the police force of Herefordshire with him,’ Claire moaned. ‘And I must get off soon.’

‘Stay until I see what he wants.’

‘Good afternoon Miss Canning. I would not intrude except that I spotted you as I drove by and I thought how come this woman is always near the point of an investigation?’

‘I suppose I’m just the unlucky sort Chief Inspector.’

‘I can’t believe that Miss,’ and turning to Claire beamed ‘Claire isn’t it?’

‘I was in your Cayman Island investigation Chief Inspector.’

‘I remember,’ he recalled. ‘May I sit?’

‘Be my guest Chief Inspector,’ Lauren responded.

‘Miss Canning we are following up a rather serious criminal case that centred on this street a few minutes ago. Well the main point of the investigation was centred just outside Sainsbury’s supermarket. This street could have been used by the criminals. I was wondering if you spotted anything unusual that might help us?’

Lauren looked at Claire and smiled. ‘There was a nervous redhead seated over by the other window who left in a red Mini just before we heard the police sirens.’

‘Except Lauren thinks that she may have been wearing a wig and that she was a blonde,’ Claire volunteered.

‘I knew I could count on you Miss Canning. If there were ten more of you in Ross there would be no crime.’

‘You would be out of a job then Chief Inspector,’ Claire laughed.

‘No chance of that,’ he assured her.

‘She didn’t look like a criminal,’ Lauren stated. ‘She may have felt uncomfortable and nervous. But I didn’t put her down as a criminal.’

‘It could be a complete coincidence Miss and have nothing whatever to do with our investigation. But it’s worth checking out all the same. Was the Mini all one colour?’

‘Yes Chief Inspector,’ Claire responded. ‘I think the upholstery might have been cream leather. It’s just the impression I got. And Lauren thinks she was rich, maybe a model, didn’t you Lauren?’

‘Only an impression. And I could see that if she was rich she might well have cream leather seats,’ Lauren confirmed.

‘And she was looking down the street,’ Claire added. ‘As far as I could see there was nothing unusual in the street.’

‘That’s very helpful Claire,’ Chief Inspector Worcester acknowledged.

He looked up as Emma was serving someone on the next table.

‘She paid in cash Chief Inspector,’ Emma advised. ‘And just in case it’s useful we haven’t washed up her cup yet. You can have it if you think it would help.’

‘Thank you so much,’ he replied, ‘it would be a terrible mistake for me to overlook a piece of evidence of that sort if the redhead had any involvement with our investigation. I’ve got something to put it in.’ He turned around to Lauren and Claire. ‘You have been very helpful thank you. If I need could I contact you again,’ he was looking at Lauren.

‘Certainly Chief Inspector, you know where I live and work.’

He took out a plastic bag from his jacket pocket and went to the kitchen with Emma as Lauren and Claire got up and left the Café.

As they walked up the hill Claire remarked ‘Honestly being around with you Lauren is like being in a movie. There is always something happening. And it’s never something ordinary.’

‘I was wondering about that myself Claire. This year has been eventful enough so far. At least this time it’s not a murder.’

‘Not yet,’ Claire smiled.

‘I don’t suppose the Chief Inspector would tell us what he was investigating, would he?’ Lauren wondered.

‘You know him better than I do,’ Claire replied ‘but if he wanted to spread the details of his case around town, talking to a hairdresser would be a good way to do it.’

‘So he won’t tell me anything,’ Lauren concluded.

‘Police are not the confessional types Lauren. They are so tight lipped they would need an extreme laxative to move them.’

‘I’ll try to get that picture out of my mind before I approach my client. She’s a talker and a half.’

‘I think I can see the association Lauren but I’d rather get back to my gentle reception role and dishing out advice like lovely dollops of cherry ice cream.’

They parted at the top of the hill.

Earlier that day Chief Inspector Worcester had been summoned at 8am by his Chief Constable to their usual meeting place the car park at the Dark Horse a few miles from Hereford. He had been warned that the case might be an excruciatingly difficult task with many tight corners.

He reached the pub at 8.20 and switched to the Chief Constable’s blue Jaguar the cigar filled death trap where Worcester insisted on opening the window. Newbelands was dressed in his habitual grey flannels, blue shirt and navy blazer. It seemed he had deposited his cigar out the window before Worcester arrived. Was this an offence the Chief Inspector wondered? And if it was who would make the arrest?

‘Morning Chief Inspector, I’m in a rush. Got a meeting at nine. Lady Jane Adare who is married to Sir Joshua Adare, it’s a hereditary title, is being blackmailed we think by one of her lovers. Lady Jane is a well known interior designer. I don’t know how many lovers she has. Her sister Lady Henrietta St Ledger is the one who contacted me. She says that Jane only told her because she had to tell someone for support. And she trusts her sister. You may read into the names a circle with clout who understand cheating, the delicate process of getting by without creating waves, and the skill to cover up the most outrageous carryings-on for the sake of the family and their position of power. Your first port of call will be Henrietta St Ledger. I have told her we can’t put a better man on the case. She believes me. If you look at Who’s Who you will discover that between them the family is related to everyone in the establishment elite. I don’t know who the lovers are related to but I suspect they may have a friend or two in high places. Apparently Jane’s husband doesn’t know about her affairs. It seems he has enough of his own to worry about. According to Henrietta, Jane may want to divorce Joshua but the position has become tricky with the blackmail.’

‘Could it be her husband?’ Worcester suggested.

‘I’m pleased you are going into this with an open mind Chief Inspector. They are all capable of anything. Oh one other thing. I am distantly related to Jane and Henrietta. Their family name is Grey as in de Grey. You wonder how they all have the time to fit in several lovers as well as holding down jobs. I wonder whether they are balancing life or throwing it away.’

‘Very profound Sir. I’d say they are living it to the full.’

‘Until they come to a sticky end.’

‘With all the sex involved I’d say it might certainly be sticky Sir.’

‘Here’s Henrietta’s address and phone number,’ the Chief Constable passed him a piece of paper that seemed to have been part of an invoice for repairing his sit-on lawn mower. Worcester hadn’t thought his boss so active. He wondered if the Chief Constable had sent his gardener to the filling station for petrol. He just couldn’t see Chief Constable Newbelands putting a petrol can in the boot of his Jag to mix with the smell of cigar smoke.

‘Any hints as to how I should play it Sir? I wouldn’t want to go against any of your principles or procedure.’

‘I am out of my depth here Chief Inspector. I would not know which way to turn and that might be after a period of trying to guess who was with who.’

‘Right Sir. I’ll see what I can do. Would I get into trouble if it turned out your distant relatives were in fact dishonest?’

‘The trouble with dishonesty Chief Inspector is that the higher the social circle the less relevance there is to matters of dishonesty. Small distinctions in deception are par for the course and may even gain applause. And while we are talking trifling sums of money to particular social circles we could be looking at vast sums of money to the likes of us. The same principle goes for the moral consequences. It would appear we are reviewing a sense of morality that does not apply to ourselves, only to our better off relatives. I am loathe to even think about the kind of minds that produce this level of deception, if they recognise it as such. Maybe they don’t. You could see it as a challenge. So I think it would be unfair of me to attribute any blame to you on what you might find out even before you have started. I could anticipate the worst if I knew what that was.’

Chief Inspector Worcester switched cars. He put the high volume air conditioning on to root out the smell of cigar smoke from his clothes. But not content with that he opened the windows. He wondered if tossing the Chief Constable’s nearest and dearest into the mix didn’t carry with it a sense of danger no matter how Newbelands expressed himself to be on the sidelines. After all the one he was to investigate was apparently cheating as much as everyone else.

He rang the blackmail victim's sister Henrietta St Ledger to make an appointment. Then he rang Constable Cunningham at the office and asked her to dig out all she could on the Adare family, especially their finances. He reached Crompton Parkway Court ten minutes later. The wide electronic gates had been opened for him and he sailed up the long gravel drive to the front door, or rather the double royal blue doors. He was in the grounds of a mansion, or was it a Court, that was set in parkland and he seemed to remember a Court had higher status than a mansion. The red brick edifice seemed to have hundreds of windows and was at least five stories above ground. He wondered if there were dungeons. A woman of about thirty opened the door as he exited his Audi. She was wearing riding gear. He could see that she was a beautiful woman. Her long dark hair had been braided into plaits and fixed in the nape of her neck. As he walked up to her he could tell that she hadn’t been riding yet, no sweat, no hair out of place.

‘Lady Henrietta St Ledger I hope,’ he called out ‘Chief Inspector Worcester sent by Chief Constable Newbelands to help you and your sister. Can we talk here?’

‘Certainly Chief Inspector. My husband is away and Jane is on her way over. Come inside.’

He followed her through the entrance closing the