Passion Killers Read online

  She stared miserably at her face in the kitchen mirror. She was thirty-seven years old and she looked fifty. Her skin was prematurely lined, her wild red hair was now colourless and dull and disgracefully cut with the kitchen scissors. Her tracksuit and trainers had more than had their day.

  And Olivia Stone and Katie Faye drove around in top of the range cars, and were groomed like Hollywood idols. They had been good to her; they’d kept her mum in gin and been very kind to Bernadette – but so they should. If Brian hadn’t done a nineteen year stretch and kept shtum, they certainly wouldn’t be living the high life. She and Brian deserved that hundred grand.

  But where was it? The police said the money was missing.

  Her hands were shaking. The police had promised twenty-four-hour protection, and she was glad, because she was very scared.

  She hadn’t really believed Shaheen’s death was anything to do with the club. They’d never got on anyway, and Shaheen was responsible for the whole thing kicking off that fateful night at the Scarlet Pussy Club. She had just walked away and let Brian take the rap; she hadn’t even done anything for Bernadette, who was born without a father because of her. Theresa had no intention of mourning her death.

  But Susan Rogers had remained a close friend all through those nineteen years. She’d visited Brian regularly, and had always looked after Berny, even when she had very little herself. And now she had been murdered! But by who? The young detective had said it had to be someone who knew about the club, and the dirty videos they made.

  The videos were here in the flat. She had kept them since Brian went down, as security, in case the flow of money from Olivia dried up. She was in two of them herself: in one she was giving Ahmed a blow job, and in the second she was sitting astride him while he smacked her bare bottom with a horse’s whip. She didn’t want Brian to see them, and she certainly didn’t want to explain why there was more than one.

  Perhaps she should dump them. The police had said Susan’s killer had taken the money, and it was unlikely Olivia and Katie would come up with another hundred grand.

  She knelt in front of the cupboard and reached into the back for the videos. If the police were going to be around she needed to get rid of them, and quickly.

  But where?

  9

  Banham was on his computer, searching the criminal records programme. Katie Faye wasn’t listed. He was pleased about that. Olivia Stone too was squeaky clean, and so were Shaheen Hakhti-Watkins and Susan Rogers.

  Theresa McGann was next. Banham wasn’t surprised to read she had been charged with shoplifting three times, and once with causing an affray. He double-clicked on her name for more details.

  She and her mother Sarah McGann had been in a fight with the manager of an off-licence. The police had been called, and the pair were arrested and charged after threatening the shop manager with a broken bottle.

  He was pretty sure Kim, the nervous, mouse-like girlfriend of PC Judy Gardener, would have previous. The list of petty drug offences proved to be as long as one of her skinny arms, right to the bird tattoo that decorated her shoulder. It was all very minor; it wasn’t as if she’d been a dealer.

  Banham pushed his fingers through the front of his curly, flyaway hair. It kept falling over his eyes, a reminder that Lottie had told him to get a trim. He should have listened; she knew that when his hair reached his collar it started to curl, reminding him of his hated school nickname – Girlie-whirly.

  Brian Finn was next. He had been in front of a magistrate many times for brawling, before he was found guilty of the murder of Ahmed Abdullah.

  There was a knock at the door. Colin Crowther stood there, looking despondent. Banham had to fight to keep a straight face; the turn-ups on Crowther’s sleeves really did resemble a roll of carpet.

  “Finn’s flat is clean, guv. We turned the fucker upside down. There ain’t a single pornographic video there.” He shrugged. “We’ve nothing to hold him on, and time’s pressing on.”

  “What about his DNA? That pubic hair?”

  “Not his, guv.”

  Banham rubbed his mouth. “Has Penny finished with the g-string that was left with Shaheen Hakhti’s body?”

  Crowther nodded. “It’s in a plastic exhibit bag in the incident room.”

  “Show it to Kim Davis when she comes in. See if she can tell us if it’s from the club.”

  “Guv.”

  As Crowther turned to go Banham’s face broke into a grin. “Alison and Isabelle rang in,” he said. “They’re running a bit late. They’ve got a puncture, and Alison isn’t in a good mood.” He became serious again. “They had a wasted journey too. Kenneth Stone wasn’t at home.”

  Crowther smiled back but made no comment. Banham knew he was on his best behaviour at the moment; a sergeant’s post had become vacant, and Col was taking great care not to fall out with anyone.

  “Stone did ring Alison,” Banham added. “He said he’d been in a meeting and was on his way in to give us his DNA sample, as are his wife and Katie Faye.”

  Crowther scratched the back of his gelled hair. “Let’s wait and see if he turns up. If he doesn’t, can I arrest him, guv?”

  “You can certainly have that pleasure,” Banham told him. “And if he comes of his own accord, I can’t think of a better person to interview him.”

  The smile that lit up Crowther’s face was shortlived as Banham added, “And when Isabelle and Alison get back, you and Isabelle can take Olivia Stone’s statement. And yes, I know you and Isabelle aren’t exactly best buddies at the moment.” Crowther said nothing. “But if you’re going to bed all the women on the team then drop them, you have to learn to work with them afterwards.”

  “Not all of them, guv. Only two,” Crowther said quietly. “Isabelle was a moment of madness. I’m back with Penny now.”

  Banham studied his favourite DC. “Can’t have moments of madness if you want to be a sergeant, son. Patch up your differences. We’re a team, remember.”

  “I’ll remember, guvnor.” Crowther turned to leave. “You’ll be interviewing Katie Faye, will you, guvnor?” he asked casually, his back to Banham.

  Banham wasn’t aware anyone had noticed that he was attracted to Katie Faye, but Crowther obviously had. “Yes,” he said curtly.

  “What about Finn, guv?” Crowther turned back to face him, the remnants of a smirk on his lips.

  “What time is the twenty-four-hour protection for the women scheduled to start?” Banham asked.

  “I’m told around lunchtime. But we don’t know to the minute.”

  “OK.” Banham nodded. “After Katie and Olivia and Kim have given their statements, check none of them will be on their own, then let Finn go.”

  As Crowther left the room, Banham enjoyed a few seconds of amusement at the thought of Alison’s reaction when she got the puncture. He half-wished he had been with her to change the tyre, but she was too independent to allow that. She was a stubborn Taurean, and never gave in. He was afraid that same stubbornness would work against him; now that counselling had given him hope and things were finally beginning to work for him, he wanted nothing more then to take her to dinner again and ask if they could start over. But that stubborn streak would never let her agree.

  He reached for the phone and dialled his sister’s number. Engaged again. He picked up his polystyrene cup of sweet, muddy coffee and walked to the window sipping from it. A dark blue BMW pulled up with Kevin Stone in the driving seat. He watched him drop his parents and Katie Faye, then drive off to park.

  Banham drained his cup and tossed it in the bin.

  “Crowther!” he called as he passed the incident room.

  They were at the front desk to meet them as they walked in.

  Crowther took them all to separate interview rooms. As Banham stood at the front desk leaving word for Alison, Kevin Stone walked in. “I’d like to speak to someone about a domestic violence issue,” he said to the desk sergeant.

  “I’ll deal with this,” Ban
ham interrupted. He put his hand out to shake Kevin’s. “Shall we go somewhere more private?”

  Kevin refused tea or coffee and sat opposite Banham looking very nervous.

  “You saw my mother’s face, Inspector,” he said hesitantly. “The bruises, and the cut on her forehead. Mum wouldn’t admit it for the world, but I’m sure my father did it.”

  “Has it happened before?”

  “They’re always rowing. Mainly when he’s been drinking, though it seems to have got worse recently. I suppose it’s the stress – these murders are a bit too close for comfort.”

  “And he’s often violent, is he?”

  Kevin didn’t reply.

  “I know it’s difficult, but if I’m going to help you…”

  “OK, OK. Yes, he gets violent.”

  “With all of you, or just your mother?”

  “Put it this way – I failed my A-levels last summer. I didn’t dare pass, because that would have meant going away to university and leaving Mum and Ianthe alone with him. Ianthe’s having nightmares again. Dad picks on her, and Mum sides with Dad because she’s afraid of him. If I’m not there, Ianthe will have no one. He doesn’t have a go at me any more – not now I’m taller than him.”

  Banham’s jaw tightened. Kenneth Stone had a wife and two children, and this was the way he treated them. He studied the nervous eighteen-year-old boy, who was trying hard to be grown up. His features were so like his mother’s; his eyes were the same unusual violet as Olivia’s. He had fine-boned artist’s hands, with long nails that looked dirty against his bright white shirt.

  Banham leaned his elbow on the desk, and chose his words carefully. “You’re saying he’s always been violent?” he asked Kevin.

  The boy shrugged. “It goes in phases. It had stopped recently. A couple of months ago he went too far and knocked Mum unconscious. But then it started again this morning.”

  “This morning?”

  “Dad was upstairs in the bedroom with Mum. He saw your two women detectives coming up the drive and told me to say he wasn’t in. I did as I was told and they left. After they’d gone I heard a thump, and Mum cried out. The door was locked and I couldn’t get in to help her.”

  The boy grew more and more distressed. “Did he hit her with anything?” Banham asked him.

  “No. I don’t think so. He’s always been jealous because Mum is so attractive. And he doesn’t want the press to find out she was a whore.”

  “A whore?” This was news to Banham.

  “Well, a stripper. A club hostess. It boils down to the same thing.”

  “I see.” Banham interlocked his fingers under his chin. “Who told you that?”

  “What, that Mum was a stripper? Dad did. And he calls Mum a whore every time he hits her. Ianthe and I try to stop him.” The boy was clearly traumatised. He dragged his hand down his face. “He keeps on about Mum working at that club. Says it could ruin our lives.” He looked at Banham. “But if it was such a dreadful place, why did he go there? That’s what Mum always shouts at him.”

  “What do you want me to do, Kevin?”

  “Stop him hurting my mother and sister.”

  “Will your mother back you up, do you think?”

  “No, never. She’s much too loyal.”

  Banham lowered his eyes, trying to stay calm. He would have liked to get hold of Kenneth Stone and knock him senseless. He abhorred men who hit women – and as for hitting children, Banham couldn’t allow his mind to go there.

  “Can you persuade your sister to give me a statement?”

  “I can’t.” Kevin leaned across the desk. “He’d really hurt us. This has to be in confidence. I can’t write anything down, or sign a statement. And you can’t ask Ianthe. She’s only thirteen – she’d never sleep again.”

  A muscle in Banham’s face began to twitch. “What about Katie Faye? She’s your mum’s friend. Would she make a statement?”

  Kevin shook his head. “She’d never go against Mum’s wishes. They’re really close. Mum and Aunt Katie used to do a lesbian act. Not that they’re… you know. It was only an act.”

  The feelings aroused by the thought of Katie Faye and Olivia Stone together took Banham by surprise. But that did nothing to dampen his anger. “Kevin, I’m glad you’ve told me all this,” he said, getting to his feet. “But I have to work within the law. I can’t do anything unless one of you is prepared to make a statement.”

  Kevin stayed in his chair. “I can look after myself,” he said, “but I won’t put my little sister or my mother at risk.”

  There was a notepad on the table. Banham took a pen from his pocket and put it in front of Kevin. “You’d be protecting them in the long run,” he said, walking towards the door. “Think about it. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  Alison was back at her desk drinking black coffee by the time Banham returned to the incident room. Her eyes had that close-set, squirrelly look, and her eyebrows seemed thicker than ever. She was dressed in brown corduroy trousers and a short tan calfskin jacket, and both bore evidence that she’d been lying in the wet road. Her khaki scarf was wrapped around her neck several times. Her feet were bare, and her boots and thick socks stood by the radiator drying out. There were small bits of twig in her loose, wild hair.

  Banham had trouble keeping a straight face when he saw her, although he knew she would be in one of her famous tempers. She looked up, the black flecks shining out from her eyes. This wasn’t the time to enquire about the health of her car.

  “I hear you’re releasing Finn,” she said.

  “We have to. Nothing to hold him for, all the forensics came up negative on him.”

  Crowther appeared in the doorway. “Katie Faye and Olivia Stone are waiting to be interviewed,” he told Banham. “Isabelle and I have taken a statement from Kenneth Stone. He was with friends at the time of Susan’s murder. It checks out, if you believe anything a politician says. The FME took a hair sample from him.”

  “I’ve just been talking to his son,” Banham said. “He’s too nervous to put it in writing, but he says Stone is violent to his wife and children. He’s terrified for his mother and sister.”

  “They’ll be under twenty-four-hour surveillance before long,” Isabelle reminded him. “If he gets violent, he’ll be arrested.”

  Banham picked up Kenneth Stone’s statement and read it. He put it on his desk, and rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Right, Alison, you might want to put something on your feet. We’re going to take Katie Faye’s statement. Crowther, you and Isabelle can interview Olivia Stone.” He looked at Isabelle and back at Crowther. “And since you’ve got such a way with women, try and persuade Mrs Stone to tell us about the bruises on her face. Ask her what Ken Stone is really like to live with.”

  Alison was trying to flick twigs out of her hair and slide her feet back in her boots at the same time. “Katie Faye,” she said, her tone a mixture of ice and venom.

  Crowther was making the most of the moment. He was pleased that Isabelle was sitting beside him, even gladder that her face was like thunder, as they watched the lovely Mrs Olivia Stone remove her elegant faux-fur coat and hang it over the back of the chair. Her scarlet nails and shiny red mouth matched her silk blouse, and strands of her glossy, perfectly cut page-boy style hair stuck to her glossy lips. Crowther watched as she fiddled with it and flicked it back, then tilt her head and sigh heavily.

  Crowther sat back in his seat. He could read these signals. The woman was trying to hide her uneasiness.

  “Can I smoke?” She fumbled at the buckle of her leather handbag and brought out a gold lighter followed by a packet of Dunhill Menthol.

  “Course.” Crowther picked up the lighter and held it out, ready to light her cigarette. “You’ll be under police protection from this afternoon. We’re going to keep you safe,” he assured her, watching her ample bosom rise as she inhaled deeply on the smoke.

  “Thank you.”

  “And we will catch this killer,” Isabelle added
, though not very reassuringly, Crowther thought.

  One of Olivia’s eyes was swollen and puffy; she noticed Crowther looking and gave a small smile.

  “Your husband must be nervous too,” he said.

  She nodded, and flicked the tip of the cigarette over the ashtray he had taken out of the drawer. “If this gets into the papers he could lose his job.”

  “At this moment we’re more concerned about your life,” Crowther said.

  “So, as precisely as you can, can you tell us your movements last night, until you discovered the body of Susan Rogers,” Isabelle said.

  “I’ve been through all this with Inspector Banham.”

  “We know,” Crowther said sympathetically. “But you’re a material witness. And you’d had a bad shock last night; things might have come back to you since then. So as much detail as you can give us. Every moment you can remember. Please.”

  His eyes dropped to her bosom, which rose with another nervous sigh.

  Alison felt like a scarecrow. When she flicked her hair behind her ears, a puff of dust flew out and a small twig fell free. She shook her head as discreetly as she could. Her clothes smelled of rubber and oil from the tyre she had changed, and more tiny particles of evidence were distributed about her hair.

  Banham’s full attention was on the lovely Katie Faye, who sat opposite them looking fresh and pretty and smelling of expensive perfume.

  On the table in front of Katie lay a transparent plastic evidence bag containing the stained, torn remnants of the g-string left in Shaheen Hakhti’s mouth. Katie pushed her knuckles against her mouth and stared at it. Then she looked up, and those huge, wideset blue eyes stared helplessly at Banham from under her fringe.

  His voice was gentle as he asked, “I realise how difficult this is for you, but do you think this is one of the g-strings from the club you worked in?”

  Katie swallowed hard and nodded. “They look the same.”

  “There’s an initial on this pair. We think it may be an S. Would that be S for Susan?”