Perfect Crime by Helen Fields

Author:Helen Fields [Helen Fields]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2019-02-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

12 March

Callanach rose early and boxed the objects Ava had discovered in his bathroom cabinet. He left the paperweight at Elaine Buxton’s parents’ house, where she’d returned to live after her kidnapping ordeal had left her law career in tatters and her confidence destroyed. The globe keyring was small enough to slip through the Reverend Jayne Magee’s letter box in an envelope. She’d managed to return to work a few weeks after Luc had found Elaine, Ava and her locked in a secret basement.

Other women had died. The memories – and the thought of what would have happened if he hadn’t got there when he did – still left him feeling nauseous. Slipping a note into each box, he’d white-lied about the evidence store finding a few items that had slipped the net after the investigation. It wasn’t great, but it would have to do.

It was still only 8 a.m. He would have to make his way into the station sooner or later, but right then later seemed like the preferable option. Lance rang as he was sitting in his car, sipping espresso and contemplating the fact that at least his day couldn’t get any worse.

‘Just catching up,’ was Lance’s opener. ‘How’re you doing?’

‘I screwed up,’ Callanach said.

‘Everyone screws up. Anything specific?’

Callanach sighed. ‘Yes, but nothing that I want to talk about now.’

‘I could cook you dinner tonight, 7 p.m. at mine? I know it’s fashionable to eat later but at my age, eating late in the evening is about as comfortable as having sex when your mother-in-law’s visiting.’

‘I don’t think so, Lance. I’m not in the mood to socialise. Was there anything else?’

‘Isn’t there always? Raincheck on dinner then, but I still need to call in one of those many favours you owe me. A young Japanese man died under strange circumstances, only there’s not been much information released to the press yet, at least not by the police. The man’s widow, however, possibly less than sober, decided to make an impromptu statement during a lock-in at her local pub at about midnight last night. Her version of events is disturbing, to say the least. I was wondering if you could maybe shed some light on what she’s claiming?’

‘Oh hell.’ Callanach crumpled his empty cup and wondered if Ava had found out yet. She would be at her desk by now – 8 a.m. was late by her usual working standards. ‘What did Mrs Shozo say?’

‘From what I could gather, she was hoping to raise funds to cover the expenses she was incurring by being locked out of her flat which is still a crime scene and then she elaborated with a few almost unintelligible sentences about her husband being killed with a toaster. Most of what she said made little sense, but she managed to get her account details correct several times while she was speaking. She also referred any questions about how people could help, to someone she called her manager; although it looked to me as if his management style was at the personal rather than professional end of the spectrum.

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