“Friday Fiction” Series: Mrs. Blake, Chapter Four…
Mrs. Blake
Copyright 2021, Steven M. Moore
Chapter Four
The tall man sitting across from Clarke’s DCI turned and smiled at her.
“He’s Agent Bishop,” said Clarke’s boss, looking about as happy as Clarke.
The tall man nodded but extended no hand to shake.
“I smell a government rat,” Clarke said. “I’m the SIO for a murder investigation. I don’t have time to waste on agents of any type—literary, arts, insurance, whatever—they’re all pariahs.”
“Um, Mr. Bishop is requesting that we release Mr. Chernoff.”
“Immediately,” Bishop said.
“Go to hell,” said Clarke. “He’s a suspect.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Bishop. “The Home Office wants him released.”
“At your recommendation, I’m guessing. And I don’t give a rat’s arse if the king himself wants him released. He’s a suspect in a murder investigation. We just interrogated him. Still are in the process of doing so, to put a fine point on it.”
“Are you charging him?” said the DCI.
“There are gaping holes in his story. We can keep him here for the allotted time while we check them out. And he’s got a lot of form.”
“We don’t care,” said Bishop. “You must release him.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You can claim his cell. Or one elsewhere that’s less comfortable.”
“That’s a bit harsh,” the DCI said. “DI Clarke is one of my best investigators. I don’t think MI5 can do that without a hell of a lot more paperwork. Why don’t you let her keep him here until she follows up on the interrogation?”
“Because I don’t have to do that. You people have zero leverage when it comes to national security.”
“I get it,” said Clarke. “You clowns are using him to grass others. Always the same old story. You and your other agents wouldn’t know how to solve a crime if the criminals bit you on the arse.”
The DCI smiled as the agent turned red. “I guess I’ll have to be Solomon here. Patty, if you get evidence on this guy, we can charge him, unless MI5 hides him or takes him out of the country. If he has anything to do with this murder, he will be punished for it, I guarantee it.” The DCI eyed Bishop. “And for your information, Agent Bishop, I have friends in the home office with a lot more weight than you have.”
The agent frowned. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that threat.”
“On the contrary, broadcast it anywhere you like and to whomever. All the better, I’m thinking, so that everyone knows what meddlesome plods are in charge of national security. I know your type too, low-level paper pushers that should be emptying rubbish bins instead of hindering honest policework. I’d love to take you down a notch.”
Bishop stood, his face still red. “I’m going to collect Mr. Chernoff. Just try and stop me.”
“I’m not stopping you, but I’ll register a protest with the home office.”
Bishop nodded and left.
“Why are you smiling?” the DCI asked his DI.
“Thank you for the support, sir.”
He shrugged. “Don’t get used to it. But he was an obnoxious prat, wasn’t he?”
“So who was that well-dressed gentleman?” Blake asked when Clarke returned to her desk.
“Some arse high enough in the pecking order that he can make us release Chernoff.”
At that moment, Bishop appeared again, guiding Chernoff by the elbow. After the two left the station, all the detectives, like Blake, wanted to know what had happened.
“We can still arrest Chernoff if we find contradictions in his story. Blake—” Her mobile interrupted Clarke. After listening a bit and then ringing off, she turned to her group. “Okay, back to work, everyone. We have another murder. Basically the same MO. Blake, you’re with me.”
***
Two hours later the new victim was on her way to the morgue and SOCOs were still investigating the crime scene. The dead woman had been found at the wheel of an old lorry that was rusting away in a junkyard. The Fred Flintstone look-alike who’d been ready to crush it and end its days on Earth was still shaken when Clarke and Blake left. Blake and a few others had gone to inform and interview both women’s flatmates, something they hadn’t got around to doing with the first victim. The rest were staring at the murder board that now had two victims. The silence was oppressive.
“So we have some perverted scrote who makes a move on a waitress, gets rejected, and then follows her when she leaves work and kills her?” one DC said.
“One theory,” Clarke admitted. “The first was a college student trying to make a few extra quid. The second was a blackjack dealer at night, hair stylist in the day. The first was two years younger than the second, but no one could tell the difference even with the garb they wore. At least we know the second’s name and other details right away.” She looked around the group. “Looks like we’ll need to interview some of the gambling customers. Chernoff couldn’t have committed the second murder because he was here. Let’s sort that out once we have the results from the search of their flats and interviews with their flatmates.” She now looked at her watch. “Where are—”
At that moment, Blake and others walked in with two women. He asked two uniformed constables to take them to interview rooms and get their statements. They would be the station’s guests for a while.
‘Want to give us an update?” Clarke said to Blake.
“SOCOs are still at the flats. I’m thinking too much time has passed, but who knows?
“And those scratches on your face?”
“Bunny doesn’t fancy coppers,” he said. “Jenny’s flatmate is an escort.”
The others laughed and Clarke smiled. “Yet you got her to come in to make a statement.”
He shrugged. “She was worried about Jenny. Now she wants to help find her killer.”
Beyond their statements, the flatmates had nothing to offer in the interview. After another short meeting, Clarke and Blake ordered the vicar brought in.
***
The most reverend James Townes, who was related to Chernoff, seemed nervous. During Clarke’s tea break from chatting with the flatmates, one DC mentioned to her that the holy man hadn’t wanted to lock eyes with anyone at the station. That had been her motivation to bring him in, although Reverend Townes had been on her list for more questioning later.
“Kind of embarrassing, reverend, to bring you in like this for a second time, but let’s get to it. We have a few more questions.”
He shrugged. “As I stated earlier, I like to gamble a bit. I suppose I should try online gambling. It’s been legal since 2005 and probably more discreet, considering.”
“I’m told some sites even have live female dealers,” Blake said with a smile. He had no use for hypocrites. “Although you probably prefer the real cleavage to virtual?”
Townes turned red. “I find that insulting. You don’t have to live with my wife. A complete prude that turns off the telly at even the hint of too much flesh from BBC.”
“Now we have that out of the way,” she shoved two photos to him, “please take a look at these two women. You’ve seen the first photo. Do you want to change your statement claiming you’ve never seen the first one, and now the second?”
He tapped the second. “The blackjack dealer. I played against her. A good dealer.”
“Let’s assume your eyes wandered a bit from her around that den of inequity,” Clarke said. “Did you notice anyone else there ogling her?”
“There was a tall, thin fellow who organized the gaming night. He watches all his employees. Probably doesn’t want them chinwagging with any of the clients so they take more money in.”
Chernoff, thought Blake. He doesn’t want to admit to knowing him! “Anyone else?” he said.
“Another fellow at the bar seemed to be very interested in the blackjack dealer. Not a real creepy fellow, but he never took eyes off her. Not ogling, I dare say, just frowning. Made me feel uncomfortable. He just seemed to be drinking. Whiskey, I think.”
The rest of the interrogation went downhill from there. After a DC escorted the vicar out again, Clarke faced Blake.
“We need that video footage. I’m talking to the DCI. Getting it shouldn’t be hindered by MI5’s protection of Chernoff.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Blake said.
***
The DCI came through for them. MI5 asked Chernoff to send them the video footage from their surveillance cameras for that evening. The victim Donna Simms had left early…for a gambling night…probably because the gamblers were more interested in other games, not blackjack. The vicar was Donna’s last customer.
“He wasn’t brought in on our sweep,” Blake told Clarke. “We don’t know who he is.”
“Let’s watch him at the bar a bit more.”
“There!” Blake said almost five minutes later. “Back it up a bit.” Clarke did just that until he said stop. He reached over and expanded the still to show their suspect’s left hand that held the whiskey glass. “First, he’s a lefty. Second, look at that ring. It has a crest on it. Let me copy that and do a search on the internet.”
“Don’t bother. United Grand Lodge of England. George Benford has a ring with that insignia, but he’s not tall and thin. I’d wager this drinker’s an important VIP from around here.”
“Too bad we can’t apply facial recognition.”
“George might be better than that software. I’ll send him a text message with this still attached.”
***
Peter Houghton hadn’t wanted to kill Jenny nor Donna. He’d wanted to cleanse their souls, save them from the immoral life they were leading. He’d figured they were young enough to change their ways. He’d grown tired of trying to convert older people—mostly women, of course, but some men too. He’d first thought the vicar might be his next target, but Donna was obviously causing him to sin. Besides, Reverend Townes seemed to be more interested in his blackjack game than the dealer, in fact.
“Will you need me anymore today?” Dave asked.
Their small Christian publishing company had fallen on hard times, although interest in religion had increased somewhat. Even some Oxford students and professors visited his gallery from time to time, an encouraging sign to be sure. Dave had shown him as well that not all young people had sold their souls to the Devil.
“Been a quiet one, hasn’t it?” Dave nodded. “Go home to your lovely family, David. Perhaps tomorrow will bring in some interested people. Our recent advertisement still has a few days to run.”
Dave was gone not five minutes when Peter heard the chimes sound at the entrance door to his gallery. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes to closing. Maybe this day could be saved? He walked out of the office to see two people, a woman and a man with police IDs displayed. He felt a frisson go down his spine turning into cold fingers that paradoxically made him perspire.
“What can I do for you, officers? Perhaps a history of the Bible? Or a biography of a saint?”
DI Clarke smiled. “Just admiring your ring, sir. A friend of mine is also a Mason.”
He put his hands in his pockets. “That’s nice,” he said.
He started to edge around the man, heading for the front door. DS Blake grabbed him.
“Peter Houghton, you’re under arrest for the murders of Jennifer Adams and Donna Simms.” Blake read him his rights.
***
Comments are welcome.
Extreme “evergreen books.” The “Clones & Mutants” series contains my first novel, Full Medical (2006, but it has an ebook second edition), where the reader meets the children cloned from important political and religious figures as part of their medical plans. In #2, Evil Agenda, one clone and one mutant battle the evil Vladimir Kalinin (he appears in two series, including this one, and two bridge books). In #3, No Amber Waves of Grain, the clones and mutant battle against a Korean industrialist out for revenge, with (surprise!) Kalinin helping. This sci-fi thriller series will leave readers wondering if some of the portrayed events set in America’s near future (2054+) might already be occurring! Available wherever quality ebooks are sold.
Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!
