In the run-up to the launching of Delilah’s venture, Cleo
Hartley took a long look at the contents of her wardrobe and decided it was
time to replenish them since she had simply nothing to wear at the event.
But what really annoys Cleo is that smaller sizes cost less.
As one helpful shop assistant had only recently explained with an unfortunate
lack of diplomacy, larger girths require more material. Clothes are bought by
the inch. With those words ringing in her ears, Cleo had gone home that day
determined to shed half her body-weight, but two days later, tempted by her own
and Robert’s delicious cooking and a look of genuine puzzlement on Robert’s
face, she abandoned her good intentions and settled for investment in new
clothes.
After all, Robert liked Cleo the way she was. He was another
of the oversize variety. Together they made a handsome couple and Delilah, her
best friend, was another xxl lady who had never had the slightest problem with
her weight and was considered by many to be outstandingly attractive.
“We cannot all be underfed dwarfs,” she had said.
On Delilah’s advice, Cleo went to Milton’s, Middlethumpton’s
only fashion emporium that stocked anything remotely big enough. It was a quiet
afternoon. Nothing much was going on at the library that needed two assistants
and Clare was happy to hold the fort for a couple of hours. Nothing much seemed
to be going on at Milton’s, either. Loud jingles and intermittent announcements
assailed the ears of any customers who happened to wander in.
Cleo marched straight up the escalator to the jacket
department. A nice blazer was the target of today’s mission and sure enough, on
the first floor, carpeted, perfumed and dedicated to women’s raiment, there
were long rows of jackets in every conceivable shape, colour and size. She
chose a few to try on.
In the absence of any sales staff, Cleo followed the arrow woven
into the fitted carpet and pointing to the fitting-room. The cubicles had heavy
velvet curtains rather than doors. Only one of them was occupied: the one at
the far end of the row on the left, judging by the drawn curtain. Cleo went
into the first one on the right and decided to invest in the only jacket that
actually fitted her, though they had all claimed to be her size, rather than
starting her search all over again.
As Cleo opened the curtain of her cubicle, she noticed that
the one in the far corner was still occupied. She supposed that someone else
had even more difficulty finding something to fit her than she did, but it was
rather odd, all the same.
Cleo walked away from the fitting-room then hesitated. Reading
all the whodunits on the library shelves had left its mark on her. Would Miss
Marple have ignored the closed curtain and left? Cleo thought not. Depositing
the jackets on one of the chairs provided for the weary and husbands, she
walked back through the fitting-room to the last cubicle and listened.
There was complete silence behind the curtain. It was
probably still closed without someone behind it, Cleo decided. Some people
forgot to leave a dressing-room curtain open or were reserving the cubicle on
the quiet. The latter was unlikely since all the other cubicles were vacant
anyway.
Cleo grasped the side edge of the curtain and gave it a
gentle tug or two. The gap revealed a figure sitting on the little chair
provided. The figure did not react. Cleo took a closer look. The woman was
wearing black and her head was propped up by her hands with her elbows resting
on her knees.
The woman did not react to Cleo’s intrusion. She could not
react to anything. She was dead. Cleo wondered why she hadn’t fallen to the
floor. She felt the woman’s cheek. It was cold. Cleo shuddered.
I’ll have to raise the alarm, she muttered before closing
the curtain and hurrying to find someone who could be of assistance. That
proved difficult. A notice at the unattended cash desk stated that all garments
were to be paid for downstairs. There was no one to be seen anywhere.
Forgetting all about her blazer, Cleo rushed down the
escalator and asked a little girl spraying perfume all around her if anyone was
in charge. No point in alarming the girl. She was not competent to deal with
the situation.
“Over there, Miss. Would you like a spray?”
“I’d rather not. Do you mean the man in the dark suit?”
“Yes, Miss. He’s the manager.”
Cleo thought he looked more like a funeral director, which
under the circumstances would have been appropriate, but if he was the only
person of authority around he would have to do. She walked resolutely up to
him.
“Excuse me, but something terrible has happened upstairs,” she
began.
“There should be someone up there dealing with things.”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
The manager didn’t seem very interested. In his view
customers were a nuisance most of the time.
Cleo raised her voice.
“The only person I saw upstairs was dead.”
“Not so loud. I’m not
deaf. What did you say?”
“Dead. A female corpse. Would you like to see it, or shall I
call the police?”
Now the manager was attentive. Having the police on the
premises was not good for business.
“No. Wait. Where did you say the corpse is?”
Corpses were not good for business, either.
“In one of the cubicles in the fitting-room upstairs.”
“I’d better see for myself. But just wait a moment while I
get my mobile. I don’t like to be without it when I’m doing my rounds.”
He sounded more like a caretaker, but Cleo had no choice. A
full 10 minutes elapsed before he reappeared.
“Sorry about that. I hadn’t forgotten you It was important.”
Cleo wondered why a corpse would not take priority over everything
else, but refrained from commenting. She led the way back up the escalator and
to the fitting-room. The corner cubicle still had its curtain closed. The
manager now burst into action, pushed past her and flung open the curtain.
The corpse had gone.
If looks could kill, Cleo would have been next on the list.
“Are you quite sure it was a dead corpse?”
The manager looked even more disbelieving than he had a few
minutes earlier. His heavy emphasis on the word ‘dead’ sent a shiver down
Cleo’s spine.
“Quite sure. It was not even breathing.”
“Well, it must have got its breath back for long enough to scarper,”
jeered the manager.
Cleo drew herself up to her full height. She was almost a
head taller than the manager and her eyes glinted dangerously.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Someone, possible the killer, took it
away while I was waiting for you downstairs.”
That’s what Miss Marple would have said. The manager looked
aghast.
“A killer? Did you say it was murder?”
Cleo was sorry she’d said that. She didn’t actually know
that the woman had been murdered. There was no knife sticking out of her back
or anything.
“Just a slip of the tongue. The woman probably died of heart
failure and a good friend carried her away while I was waiting for you.”
That put the onus of doing something about the corpse
squarely on the manager’s shoulders.
“Let’s hope so, always assuming you aren’t making it all up,”
he said, hoping this large coloured lady was just touting for attention.
Cleo realised that the manager was anxious not to believe
her, since repercussions would be quite dramatic if it became public that
Milton’s was so deserted that people could die unnoticed in the changing
cubicles. On the other hand, a murder would be more acceptable than someone
just falling down or sitting down dead, since murder involves secrecy, so none
of the staff could have seen anything. But then, that would be assuming that
the murderer was not in Milton’s employment, as Cleo pointed out. And there
again, an employee was more likely to know where a corpse could be hidden.
Seeing symptoms of apoplexy developing in the manager, Cleo
decided to leave him pondering on the implications of any cause of death and
pursue her own enquiries.
“I’ve got to get back to the library now. Let me know if
there are any developments,” she said.
“Library?”
“I work there.”
“Oh.”
Just then, the manager’s mobile phone rang and he hurried to
a window to get better reception, leaving Cleo standing. She made her escape. It
would have been pointless to prolong the interchange with this pompous little
man.
Outside the store, Cleo wondered what to do next. She hadn’t
been daydreaming. She would go to the back of the store and look around. She
was sure the corpse could not have disappeared into thin air, but someone might
have thrown it over his shoulder and carried it down the fire escape, which
ended at the back of the building, or even thrown it onto the yard.
Something told her that whoever had removed the corpse had
probably watched her discovering it. She could have ended up just as dead. And
of course, the corpse could have been dumped in the boot of a car and whisked
away. That is what she would have done in such a situation, but it would make
it hard to prove her story.
Cleo was in luck, however, which is more that can be said
for the poor woman she eventually discovered hidden behind a recycling
container in the corner furthest from the gate. Now she would have to ring the
police. So she did.
Cleo knew that she could do nothing for the dead woman lying
discarded in the back yard of Milson’s, which claimed to be a fashion store
with a difference that surely didn’t include itinerant corpses. Cleo explained
the situation to the cop, who said he was D.I. Gary Hurley. She remarked that
they had already met on the phone. Gary Hurley had tried to firm a mental
picture of her then, but had failed. She was pert and direct and also a private
eye, he remembered. He did not like or trust private detectives but he was
fascinated by this one and found it hard to take his eyes off her. Cleo thought
he was taking too much interest in her and too little in the dead woman. His
parting handshake was warm and a shade longer than necessary.
Cleo made her escape before someone leaked the incident and the
press turned up. She had no desire to be connected with the case since that
would mean press publicity and a resulting barrage of questions from all and
sundry at the library.
It was now late and she was only just in time to get a lift
home with Clare, who was very curious to hear what Cleo had bought, but instead
got to hear about the reason Cleo had not got round to buying anything after
all.
Clare had a mission of her own that day. She had to break
the news that she wanted to stop working at the library sooner than expected.
She was expecting twins. Cleo was happy for her, but the vision of that poor
dead woman huddled behind the container had shaken her.
“Sorry. Bad timing,” said Clare.
“I expect the dead woman thought that, too, Clare. You must
look after yourself. Having even a baby is special. Having two is even more
special. I’ll manage, whatever you decide.”
“I’ll sort something out at the job centre, Cleo. Leave it
to me.”
“I may have to. This week is going to be dreadful. I can
feel it in my bones.”
Now it was Clare’s turn to shudder.
Robert had cooked the evening meal. After hearing about the
dead woman, he was extremely relieved that Cleo was not anxious to investigate
the case. He did not really approve of this streak in her personality. Quite
apart from the danger she might get into, any case she had been involved in up
to now had proved very time-consuming and his shop left him no time to help
her.
Once Cleo had told Robert of the event, she was going to
leave it to the police to get at the truth. Since it was probably a murder case
it was the most sensible solution. And anyway, the cop in charge had been
over-friendly, she told Robert. He thought she was probably imagining things
since she was in an emotional state after finding the dead woman. Cleo thought
otherwise, but did not argue. The cop’s black eyes seemed to be still following
her. He was also of mixed blood, she decided, but spoke with a public school
accent.
Unfortunately, the police had no immediate success with the
identification of the corpse, so Bernie Browne’s Gazette was to be allowed to
publish a very sharp likeness of the dead woman on the front page of the next
issue of that freebie. But a photographer from a national daily jumped the guns
by getting a photo published the very next day. At about half past seven in the
morning, the phone rang and a very agitated Gloria shouted “Have you seen the
paper?” down the line.
“No, mother, not yet. I’m just getting up, and Robert has
only just come back from the wholesalers.”
“Well, look on the front page because the woman in the photo
is, or rather was my neighbour.”
Cleo’s heart sank. She had made a big effort to put
yesterday’s events out of her mind, but it was not to be. If Gloria had
recognized the woman, she would have to identify her and Cleo was sure she
would be expected to provide moral support. Robert handed her the newspaper.
Sure enough, yesterday’s corpse was spread over half of page one.
“You could be mistaken, Mother.”
“No way. She lived directly opposite in that old house. It’s
divided into apartments and she lived on the ground floor.”
“Are you quite sure? What was her name?”
“I dunno. I never saw her with anyone and the few times we
talked together she was quite unfriendly, as if she would have preferred not to
talk to me.”
“I know exactly how she must have felt if you accosted her
with what you think is friendliness.”
“This is serious, Cleo. I always had the feeling she was
looking around, like she was afraid of something. Before you ask, Mrs Cop, I
did take a look at the names on the mailbox flaps and there was none on hers.”
“I’m not a cop, mother. How did you know it was the right
one?”
“Doesn’t the bottom mailbox flap always belong to the bottom
apartment?’
“Not necessarily.”
Gloria persisted.
“There was no name on it because the woman did not want
people to know she lived there. She was scared of something, Cleo.”
Gloria was interpreting the situation to suit herself and probably
imagining things, but telling her that would be sure to make her mad. Cleo was
not anxious to have to deal with one of Gloria’s tantrums. She could still
remember the way her mother had championed Jay.
“She probably had good reason to be, considering what
happened to her. The cops need to know all of that, Mother. You’d better go
there right away.”
“On my own?”
“Sure.”
“Can’t you come with me?”
“Do I have to?”
“You could remind me of what I’ve just told you.”
“Are you scared, too, Mother? If I tag along, that will only
make things worse. After all, I did spot the corpse first.”
“You did? You didn’t tell me that.”
“I didn’t want to bother you. The police came and I left.”
“Can we go now?”
“OK. If Clare can manage at the library I’ll be glad to come
with you. I’ll ask her and phone you back. We can meet inside the police
building.”
So much for not getting involved, thought Cleo. Robert, who
had gestured to Cleo to switch the speaker on and been rewarded with Gloria’s
show of panic, just shook his head. Gloria had a talent for getting into the
thick of things. Cleo might just be able to prevent events escalating. After
all, Gloria had no evidence and certainly no proof that the dead woman was
anything other than a harmless citizen. Cleo wondered if the well-spoken cop would
be there.
“I’ll run you down to Headquarters.”
“You need to open the shop, Robert. I’ll take the bus.”
“I insist on driving you.”
“OK, Robert, but don’t be concerned. I’ll go shopping later
and get home by bus. I might even get the jacket I never got round to buying
yesterday. I don’t anticipate a brawl at the police station so I expect to get
away fast.”
“This doesn’t mean I approve of you getting mixed up,”
Robert told Cleo as they drove down Thumpton Hill into Middlethumpton.
“I know that. But what else can I do?”
“At least you’ll get to know more about the case. Just promise
me you won’t delve deeper.”
“I don’t want to delve deeper. This is in a different
category from donation box theft and lost umbrellas, Robert. I just want to get
Gloria out of that police station as fast as I can.”
Robert dropped Cleo off and HQ and drove away satisfied that
he had said the right thing about getting mixed up in things that don’t concern
you. It was high time he opened the shop. His day had started at three in the morning.
Monday was his usual wholesale market day, but he did sometimes have to make
extra trips there, for instance, if there was going to be a special event
somewhere and he had a big order to deliver.
***
Between serving his customers in the shop, Robert prepared
big platters of ready-to-grill steaks and other cuts he could deliver at
lunchtime. Today a local golfing hotel was holding a tournament and barbeque. He
would be hard put to get everything ready in time. A lunch break was not on the
cards.
What is more, Robert’s emotions were awry. It didn’t take
much to remind him how Gloria had almost destroyed his relationship with her
daughter. Even if she had in the end helped to smooth things over, his heart
jerked when he remembered how badly he had behaved. He wished that episode had
never taken place and he wished he could stop feeling distraught about it.
When Cleo arrived at the police station, her mother was
waiting impatiently at the information desk. She was clutching the newspaper.
“Thanks for phoning,” said Gloria. “You took your time.”
“I had to square it with Clare. Did you tell the officer why
you’re here?”
“Not yet. I thought I’d wait for you.”
Detective Inspector Gary Hurley chose that moment to come up
to Gloria and Cleo. He speculated that It might be a serious claim made by
Gloria on the subject of that press photo, but quite different claim shot
through Gary Hurley’s head when he again set eyes until the previous day. So
this black woman with the big smile was Cleo Hartley mother. Cleo had made a
lasting impression on Gary. Was he crazy? She was a tough negotiator and blunt.
He had not even liked her on the phone. Now he had difficulty in listening to
what she had to say. She explained briefly, disconcerted by the inspector’s
gaze. Gloria showed the officer the newspaper.
A few minutes later Cleo and Gloria were sitting in the
inspector’s office.
Gloria was impressed with Gary’s good manners and swarthy
looks..
“Hi!” she said flirtatiously.
“Nice to see you again,” Gary said to Cleo, taking her hand,
which he again held in a firm grip for just a little too long so that she gazed
at him questioningly. Gloria witnessed the gesture with alarm.
“I know it’s a huge coincidence,” Cleo said, disconcerted,
but my mother saw the photo in the newspaper this morning.
“It’s a small world,” said Gloria.
Gary Hurley turned to her.
“So you know the woman, do you?”
“Not really. The way neighbours get acquainted.”
“But you recognized her on the photo.”
“Yes.”
“You’d better look at the corpse, just in case.”
“I was afraid of that,” said Gloria. “I’m not good at
corpses.”
“Nobody’s good at corpses, Mrs Hartley, but this one is in
good condition. You won’t have nightmares or anything.”
The two women followed Gary Hurley to the lift and they went
down into the bowels of the earth to the pathology lab. Gary moved to Cleo’s
side and put his hand on her shoulder, ostensibly to guide her. The gesture was
not spontaneous. Gary had had the urge to touch this woman.
A rather cruel looking young pathologist in a white overall
with a lethal looking scalpel in her hand wanted to know why they felt that they
had to take up her valuable time.
“It’s all right, Grace. This won’t take a minute. Where did
you put the Milton corpse?”
“On the slab, Gary. I’ve only just started my examination.”
“If you’ve been chiselling away, can you go first and cover
the body except for the head?”
“I didn’t know you were squeamish.”
“I’m not,” fibbed Gary, “but these witnesses might be.”
“OK. OK. Give me a few seconds.”
Grace marched ahead and moments later shouted the all clear.
Gloria looked briefly at the dead woman’s face then nodded.
“That’s her, for sure. She looks older dead.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Her name?” stammered Gloria. “I can’t remember.”
Gloria did not know the woman’s name, but she was rather
fascinated by this tall, thin, attractive officer of the law. What a pity he
was only about Cleo’s age.
“Can’t remember?” said Gary, realizing that Mrs Hartley
wanted to make herself interesting despite her lack of knowledge. ”It’ll come
back when you’re over the shock, but at least we now know where she lived.”
Hurley wondered if Gloria was a little senile. He wasn’t
good at guessing people’s age, especially if they were coloured, though he had quickly put Cleo’s age as
much the same as his own. He nodded briefly to the pathologist, who was dying
to get on with the job, and gestured to Cleo and Gloria to move away from the
slab.
“We’ll go back to my office for a moment, shall we?’”
“I really should be at library now,” said Cleo. The smell of
formaldehyde was assailing her nostrils. What a place to work in all day every
day.
Gloria marched on ahead, back down the long corridor that
led to the central lifts.
Gary tugged at Cleo’s hand. Cleo wanted to withdraw it, but
couldn’t because Gary was asking her if they could meet somewhere else. A
little nod of assent was all Cleo could manage before Gloria turned round.
“Hey, you two! What’s the problem? Come on!”
“Do you have to go to your job, Cleo?” said Gloria when they
reached the entrance hall.
“Yes, Mother.”
“But we could have a late breakfast together. You have a
canteen here don’t you, Gary?”
“No, mother, not now,” Cleo interrupted. “And don’t call the
detective by his first name, for heaven’s sake!”
“Grace did.”
“Who is Grace, Mother?”
“The woman with the scalpel and sour face.”
Gary smothered a smile. The description fitted. Grace was
graceless and bad-tempered.
“She’s a colleague, Mother. You’re a stranger. We don’t get
familiar quite as fast here.”
Cleo looked at Gary as she said that. A fleeting smile
crossed both of their faces.
“Oh, I’m so sorry if I was rude, Mr Hurley, but Gary’s such
nice name.”
Gary was anxious to see the back of this rather gushing
individual. Cleo looked daggers at her mother. Gary thought Cleo was thinking
along the same lines.
“I’ll show the main exit, Mrs Hartley.” he said. “Wait here,
Miss Hartley. You should not be seen leaving together.”
Gloria seemed rather put out that she was being virtually
thrown out of Police Headquarters. But quite apart from his desire to separate
the two Hartley, Gary was no fool. Witnesses sometimes made things up if they
thought it would make them more interesting. The detective was sure that Mrs
Hartley was like that. Rather garrulous, even theatrical, he conjectured. She
enjoyed putting people down, as she had just done to her daughter. Cleo had
rolled her eyes in his direction when her mother had pushed herself forward. He
thanked Gloria profusely for her help and mused that Cleo had probably got used
to being upstaged by Gloria, but in fact, Gloria had been quite deferential by
her standards.
“Are you attached?”
he asked Cleo when Gloria had left.
“Sort of. Are you?”
“Divorce pending. Are you glued to your partner?”
Cleo laughed. A date with this dish of a man would be a refreshing
change.
“No,” she retorted, surprised at herself for flirting,
however attractive the target was. She had given up flirting long ago.
“Lunchtime free today for instance?”
“Why not? I’m free every second weekday. The library closes
over midday and we take it in turns to go out for lunch.”
“Romano’s at one then? It’s just down the road from here.”
“OK, I’ll be there.”
“Don’t forget, will you?”
“Of course not.”
When they parted Gary raised Cleo’s hand to his lips and
planted a kiss on it. Cleo was amazed. As she walked back to the library her
hand almost felt scorched from the heat of that gesture. I hope you know what
you’re doing, Cleopatra Hartley, she told herself.
***
Gary should have spent the whole day processing the Milton
corpse. He was sure that Mrs Hartley had not told him everything. But his
thoughts were elsewhere. He wondered if it was wise to get mixed up with
Gloria’s daughter except that he had seemingly already decided. He had sensed
the physical attraction between him and this voluptuous coloured woman, but felt
drawn to her in a way he could not describe as purely physical.
Gary organized a forensic team to visit the dead woman’s
flat that was, according to Gloria, directly opposite her own. He might even go
along there himself, but not before lunch.
At one o’clock he and Cleo met at Romano’s. They stood
outside like two teenagers on their first date.
“I’d like us to make love,” he said. “Do you think…?
“It’s moving too fast for me,” said Cleo.
“Too fast? You feel the same as I do, don’t you? That’s why
you came.”
“I’ve never double-crossed a man before,” said Cleo.
“You mean the man you presumably live with, I take it.”
“He’s a nice guy.”
“Loving two people doesn’t hurt.”
“I don’t think I love him the way you mean.”
“What is the way I mean, Cleo?”
“I mean the love that often accompanies physical desire,”
she said.
“Physical intimacy is often a great start to a
relationship.”
“There are others.”
“I prefer this way.”
“I’ve never tried it.”
“No one will find out unless you tell them, Cleo.”
“Where can we go? I’m not into hotel rooms that you hire by
the hour and I’ve never had a one night stand.” That would be the end of the
silly ideas that were rushing through her brain, she decided.
“That’s not how I tick either,” said Gary. “I know that
Romano has a guest room in his apartment above the restaurant. I’ve never been
there, but I could ask him.”
Since Cleo did not protest, he did just that. Within minutes
Cleo and Gary were alone in the well-appointed room.
“What now?” she asked.
“Do you mind if I just put my arms round you?” said Gary.
There was a short pause during which Gary thought Cleo would
announce that she had made a mistake and leave, but she didn’t.
“I’d mind more if you didn’t, Mr Hurley,” said Cleo, kicking
off her shoes.
It’s hard to say who really moved things along between them,
but Cleo and Gary very soon found themselves making love with an urgency that amazed
them both.
“Wow,” said Cleo finally.
“Has anyone told you that you are beautiful?” said Gary.
“Not recently. I’m too fat.”
“Not for me,” said Gary. “I assume that the guy you live
with already takes you for granted.”
“I’ve never thought of my relationship in that light. He’s
shy.”
“So how do you rate our relationship?”
“In one word?”
“Is there one?”
“Sensational,” said Cleo.
“I agree and we have a few more minutes. Don’t put your
clothes on yet.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I’ve fallen in love with you, Cleo.”
“That fast?”
“At first sight and the same happened to you, I’m sure.”
“It did and I’m not breakable.”
“Neither am I,” Gary said.
If Cleo was overwhelmed by what was happening she could not
have said so. Her body was reacting in a way it had never done. Is that what
had been missing in her life? She had never paid attention to her own desires
before and now she was with a man who paid attention to hers and his.
“This is truly a partner act, Gary.”
“I’ve noticed. You are sensational!”
“So are you,” she said.
It was with great reluctance that the lovers dressed and
made their way down to the restaurant.
Romano put his arm round Cleo.
“You are what my friend needed,” he said.
“He is what I need,” said Cleo.
Gary chose a table and they sat down, overwhelmed by the
intensity of their love-making. Later, when Gary had gone to the door to buy
all the roses the itinerary rose seller had to offer, Romano told Cleo that he
had been worried about Gary, but that he had known instantly that she was the
right woman for him.
“You are right. Nothing can compare with the feeling I have
for him,” Cleo had told. “But I don’t know how to extricate myself from my present
relationship with a good man, Romano. An affair is about all I can deal with
right now.”
“Take my word for it,” said Romano. “You will have to make a
choice and I know now what it will be, however long it takes.”
“Thanks for taking me on, Cleo,” said Gary as he handed her
the roses. “Every one of these denotes a tryst.”
Cleo found herself counting the blooms.
“But there are 28 of them,” she said, amused at the gesture.
“I’m courting you and you’ll get more roses when these are
finished,” he said. You will marry me one day, after all.”
“Wow,” was all Cleo
could say. “I’m speechless. I thought…”
“I’m serious,” said Gary. “Aren’t you?”
Cleo looked at Gary for a long time.
“Yes, I’m serious,” she said finally. “But I am promised to
another man.”
“That’s medieval.”
“I don’t think it’s forever, either.”
“That’s enough for a start. We could take another hour
upstairs to seal the agreement.”
Cleo and Gary shared a pizza because Romano brought them his specialty of the month just then. Their meal was followed by
another hour in Roman’s guestroom. Their appetite for food had been satisfied
by the pizza; their appetite for one another was not.
“When can we meet again, Cleo?”
“Soon please,” said Cleo. “You are a sensational lover,
Gary.”
“I could say the same.”
“I’ll phone you,” Cleo offered.
“Don’t leave it too long.”
Cleo could not say how she got through the rest of the day.
Confiding in Clare was something she did not want to do, but in the end she had
to tell someone. The library was quiet and there was time for a coffee and a
chat.
“Clare, have you ever fallen in love with a complete
stranger?”
“Not really. I’ve had a lot of men friends, but it never got
to the love stage. Sex and fun, yes, but I was really fixed on Karl and
probably always was, and now…”
“I thought I was fixed on Robert, Clare, but had sex with
someone at lunchtime and it was a revelation.”
“Lucky you, but sex is not love,” said Clare.
“The love came first, Clare. It hit me square on.”
“Does he feel the same?”
“Yes.”
“Are you quite sure, Cleo?”
“Positive.”
“Then don’t let him go.”
“But what about Robert?”
“Do you love Robert?” Clare asked.
“Not the way I love this other guy.”
“Then you have a problem you’ll have to solve one way or the
other.”
***
Cleo hoped that Gloria would keep on patronizing the
line-dancing, but she would guess what was going on between her and Gary and
might even tell Robert. Cleo had not given more than a passing thought to what
would happen to her relationship with him. She had told Gary that he was a nice
guy. What she had omitted to say was that he was hell bent on marrying her. Her
only hope would be for Robert to fall for someone else, but that was
unrealistic.
As far as the dead woman was concerned, Gloria had made
plans of her own to find out her name and be her friend, though friendship with
a corpse was one-sided. Deducing that the police would soon move into the dead
woman’s flat to find clues to her identity Gloria thought she should get in
ahead, not least to contradict what she thought Gary Hurley was rightly
thinking – that she did not actually know the woman but wanted a little
excitement in her life.
Gloria sat at her own window observing the house opposite
and wondering how she could get in. An hour later a van drew up and a forensic
team went into the house. Gloria decided that she had one more chance to get in
the house. She threw on a coat and dashed across the road. The forensic guys
had left the front door open. She could get into the house and maybe even into
the apartment. What would she do then? Could she get out of the apartment and
house unnoticed?
Gloria had thought of an excuse. She would say that she had
been invited to coffee, seen the door open and wondered if something had
happened. As luck would have it, the door of the woman’s flat had also been left
open by the forensic team.
While the clue-seekers sang along to a pop song that was
blaring out of a radio in the front room, Gloria was able to go into the
bedroom at the back, where she searched through the drawers of a little bedside
cupboard, the place she thought most likely to contain something personal belonging
to the dead woman. She did not know what she was looking for, but she was spurred
on by curiosity and guided by the countless crime series she had viewed on TV
in the old days in the USA.
Maybe there would be a diary. Lots of people kept diaries or
agendas and most of them wrote them up at bedtime. She was in luck. She
pocketed a small notebook just in time before one of the forensic team entered
the room and got the fright of his life.
“I expect you’d like to tell me what you’re doing here,” he said.
“The door was open. I came for coffee,” Gloria improvised.
“Oh really? In the bedroom?”
“Sometimes my neighbour gets up late.”
Since the investigator had no reason to suspect Gloria, he
accepted her explanation at face value. After all, the forensic team was called
to the scene of any crime after it had happened, when anyone involved would
probably have already got away.
“I’d better take your fingerprints, Miss. If you’ve touched
anything, we’ll need to rule them out. Apart from which, you are loitering
under suspicious circumstances. Who are you, anyway, and where do you live?”
“I’m Mrs Gloria Hartley and I live just across the road,
Mr.”
Gloria was alarmed. She hadn’t given a thought to the
legality of her actions. Her handbag was at home. She told the investigator
that she had been concerned for her friend because she hadn’t heard from her
for days and they had arranged for her to go for coffee that morning. That’s
why she was there. That explanation seemed to satisfy the forensic guy. Actually,
he didn’t want to waste time on this flustered intruder. He had a date that
evening, so the sooner he finished the job here, the better.
“Gary Hurley will be here any minute,” he said. “You’d
better wait for him, tell him all you’ve told me and take him to your flat.
That will verify the truth of your story, Mrs....”
Gloria felt a rush of panic.
“Gary Hurley?”
“Homicide squad, Lady. I’m not in charge of the
investigation. I’m just a scientist collecting the evidence here. “
“Oh.”
“Do you know Gary?”
“Only in passing,” said Gloria. It was the best she could think
of saying. She was already in hot water, she reflected.
Gloria’s fingerprints were still being taken when the
detective arrived.
When he saw Gloria, he froze.
“Why, Mrs Hartley. I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“The door was open. I just thought...”
“....you’d do a bit of investigating?”
“I suppose so.”
“You are trespassing, Mrs Hartley.”
“Don’t be hard on her, Gary. She was anxious about her
friend,” Chris told him in her defence, or was it because the whole team had
not seen her entering the flat.
“Don’t make me laugh, Chris. How did she get in?”
“The doors were open,” Chris had to admit. “She had a coffee
date with her friend.”
“Some friend! She doesn’t even know her name.”
“Yes, I do, Gary, I mean Mr Hurley. It’s Sandra Rossi.”
“So why didn’t you say so at the station, Mrs Hartley?”
“I was upset when I saw her lying dead like that. My mind
just went blank.”
Gary did not believe her. Witnesses could be really
obstructive sometimes. He wouldn’t accuse her of lying, however. After all,
something else might occur to her that was important for his case.
“Well, run along, then.”
Gloria was glad to get out without further questioning. She
made her way back to the flat in a deliberately casual way so as not to arouse
further suspicion. Gary watched her go. She had the dead woman’s diary in the
inside pocket of her coat. It had told her the woman’s name. Maybe it would
reveal other secrets. It did not occur to Gloria that she was already playing
with fire.
Gary didn’t feel the need to explain how he knew Gloria
Hartley. Forensic investigators did not need to know everything.
“Did she take anything?” he asked.
“I shouldn’t think so.”
“But you’re not sure.”
“Not really,” Chris admitted.
“‘You don’t even know how long she’d been here before you
caught her, do you?”
“We had the radio on.”
“And the front door open. Don’t you guys ever think beyond
your sticky tape? The woman lives across the road. I’d better follow it up.
Just carry on here, but behind closed doors, if you don’t mind.”
Gary Hurley crossed the road and rang Gloria’s bell. Gloria
had hidden the diary behind the dry goods in her kitchen cupboard as soon as
she got home. She wasn’t really surprised to see Gary at the door.
“What a surprise! Won’t you come in?”
Gloria hoped her voice sounded normal.
“Weren’t you expecting me?”
“I suppose I was,” said Gloria.
“I think you know more than you told me at HQ.”
“No, I don’t, but just now I was curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat, Mrs Hartley.”
“I just wanted to see how Sandra lived.”
“Why didn’t you tell me her name earlier?”
“It had slipped my mind.”
Gary Hurley did not believe Gloria. Was she involved in the
woman’s death? Surely not, but he’d keep an eye on her, he decided.
“Well, I won’t keep you then, but if anything else slips
back into your mind, I’d be glad if you called me.”
“Of course.”
“Here’s my card, Mrs Hartley.”
“Does Cleo have one,” said Gloria.
“Should she?”
“I can’t see why not,” said Gloria. “I saw you exchanging
glances, Mr Hurley, but Cleo already has a relationship. I hope you didn’t seduce
her.”
“Are you her guardian angel, Mrs Hartley?”
“No, but I don’t want to see her get hurt again.”
“Again?”
“She had bad luck with her marriage.”
“Oh. And you think I could bring her bad luck again?”
“Not if you leave her alone, Mrs Hurley.”
“I’ll think about it, Mrs Hartley,” said Gary, leaving
Gloria in no doubt that something had happened.
Gary would have liked to lead Gloria on to tell him more
about the guy Cleo now lived with, wanted to stay with, but did not love, but
Gloria was astute and that would have given the game away, so he didn’t. He
left with a dire warning to Gloria not to stick her nose into anything that
could be dangerous for her since the police did not know how or why she had
died.
***
Not until the forensic team had completed their
investigation, drawn the curtains behind the window facing the street and left
with all their equipment did Gloria stop observing the house opposite from her
window and risk taking Sandra Rossi’s diary out of its hiding place. She would
have to surrender it, she supposed, but not before she’d read it. She was sure
her fingerprints would be on the bedside table. It was only a matter of time
before Gary Hurley got to know about them and put two and two together. She
would ring Cleo for advice later. Cleo would know what to do.
There was very little to go on in the diary. Sandra Rossi
was not a writer. She had made notes of various appointments and there was
quite a long list of phone numbers at the back of the little agenda, some of
which were underlined or had initials next to them.
Gloria decided it might be better to simply dispose of the little book
rather than hand it in. When asked why her fingerprints were on the bedside
cupboard drawer, she would admit to looking inside but not to removing
anything. That way she would not be branded a criminal and risk being
extradited. That was the least she could do for herself. But what could she do
for Sandra Rossi? Follow up those phone contacts? Would Cleo advise her against
it? Better not ask. Cleo might say no.
Gloria fetched herself a cup of coffee, a pen and some paper
and dialled the first phone number on Sandra Rossi’s list. If the results of
that research were negative, she would follow it up by listening around for any
gossip that might be going locally. Although Gloria was coloured and therefore
rather conspicuous in a neighbourhood where almost everyone was a white
European, she was chatty and used to starting conversations with strangers who
invariably reacted in a friendly way to her wide smile.
No one would suspect such a conspicuous person of having an
ulterior motive for asking questions. She wished she had a dog she could take
for walks. Dog owners often talked to one another and usually had time to
notice what was going on around them while their dogs did what they usually do.
But first she would try all of the phone numbers in Sandra Rossi’s diary.
