MURDER AMONG FRIENDS a totally gripping crime thriller full of twists Page 3

  Tim wiped a dribble of tomato ketchup off the sleeve of his uniform. “We received a complaint from the staff that you’ve been verbally abusing them, assailing them with missiles and refusing to leave the shop when asked.”

  “Not me. You’ve got the wrong person. All I’ve got is chips. I haven’t got any missiles.”

  Together Jane and Tim helped him to his feet. But he seemed to think they were assaulting him. “Get your bloody hands off me. I’m innocent.” He lashed out in all directions, and Jane took a blow to the chin.

  Tim had had enough. “Right, that’s it. I’m arresting you for being drunk and disorderly, and for disturbing the peace. Hands against the wall.” To Jane, he said, “Call for back-up and then help me cuff him.”

  “What are you arresting me for? I told you I haven’t done nothing.” He pointed at the manager, emerging from the kitchen. “He’s the one who started it. He called me a bastard. That’s a hate crime that is. It’s him you want to be arresting.”

  “Shut it,” Tim said. “As far as I’m aware, being illegitimate isn’t protected under the Equality Act.”

  They grappled with him for the best part of ten minutes before they managed to cuff him. By then, a police van was pulling up outside the shop.

  He continued to protest, loudly and obscenely, as they led him outside. Jane and Tim accompanied the van to the station, where the man was breathalysed and put in a cell to sober up.

  “What gets me,” Tim complained to Jane when they were back on patrol, “we could have been responding to a 999 call, a genuine emergency in the past hour, and instead we’re tied up with an arsehole like that.”

  Jane sniffed her sleeve. “Fancy sharing a bag of chips? I can still smell the vinegar on my uniform. It’s making me hungry.”

  Tim grinned. “Go on then.”

  The chip shop manager was so grateful for their intervention that he wanted to give them the chips for free. Jane shook her head “Thank you but we’re not allowed.” She searched her pockets for some loose change.

  “Well, in that case.” The manager shovelled another scoopful of chips into the carton. He also slotted the money she gave him into the charity jar on the counter.

  Contrary to what the chip-thrower claimed, the chips were moreish. Maybe she’d keep using that fitness tracker after all.

  The chip shop incident set the pattern for the rest of the shift. Jane and Tim dealt with one drunk and disorderly incident after another. At least the others were less troublesome: a middle-aged woman squatting on the Steep Hill to urinate, while her companions howled with laughter, a man who’d literally walked into a bar and required medical assistance, a group of lads brawling outside a club.

  “When I said I volunteered because I wanted to help people, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” Jane said, holding a young woman’s hair away from her face while she vomited into the gutter.

  “I don’t know,” Tim said. “Think how long it’d have taken her to wash the puke out of her hair in the morning if you hadn’t been on hand tonight. Great public service you’re doing there I reckon.”

  At seven in the morning, her shift over, Jane couldn’t wait to crawl into bed. It felt like she’d slept for only five minutes when she awoke to the sound of her alarm, accompanied by the cathedral bells chiming the hour. Normally she didn’t work on Sundays but she’d missed a lesson with one of her tutees during the week because she’d had to wait in for a delivery. It didn’t really matter, but Jane hated letting people down.

  Her student, sixteen-year-old Thea Martin, had missed some weeks of school the previous term and was having a bit of extra tuition to help her catch up. When Jane first met Thea back in November, her parents had been around but Jane hadn’t seen them since the end of December. They were staying in their London home, apparently, and would be gone for some weeks. It wasn’t Jane’s business, but she considered sixteen a little young to be left alone at home for weeks on end. There was supposed to be an older brother looking in on Thea from time to time, but his visits were few and far between.

  Still, Thea seemed pretty self-sufficient. She ordered her shopping online and appeared to be fairly adept at cooking. “I can always call my parents if anything comes up that I can’t deal with,” she’d assured Jane when she asked how she was coping. Jane couldn’t help but feel a bit motherly towards her.

  Strictly speaking, Thea wasn’t alone. There were the dogs, Buddy and Pearl, brother and sister labradoodles. But Jane couldn’t see a breed with such a silly name being much use as guard dogs.

  There was a chorus of loud barking when she rang the bell. She wasn’t great with dogs, having been bitten on the arm at the age of ten by a vicious Yorkshire terrier. She still had the scar to prove it. It annoyed her when people laughed when she showed it to them. Okay, it was a bit on the small side, but Yorkies have teeth like vampires.

  Jane heard Thea shush the dogs. She’d try to restrain them, but Jane knew they’d break free and jump all over her as soon as she crossed the threshold.

  “You’re late.”

  “Am I? I thought I was right on time.”

  “Joke. You’re never late. Hey, how did it go then? Your special policing? Catch any bad guys?”

  Jane felt a flutter of affection for Thea. Neither of her kids had bothered to text or phone to ask how her first shifts had gone.

  “Not how I expected, if I’m honest.” She told Thea about the body on the bench.

  “Noooo! You’re kidding me! On your first shift?”

  “It’s true. I couldn’t make that up.”

  Thea whipped her phone out of her jeans’ pocket. Within seconds she had a picture from the Lincolnshire Post’s website on her screen. “This the guy?”

  “Yes, that’s him. Twenty-three. Such a waste.”

  Thea didn’t answer. She was staring at the screen, frowning. “He looks familiar.”

  “His name’s Mark Ripley. He had his driver’s licence in his wallet. That’s how we were able to identify him so quickly.” It felt fraudulent to include herself in the identification process. All she’d done was stand and watch Warwick and the CSI from the opposite pavement. “Do you think you’ve come across him somewhere?” She thought it unlikely that Thea knew Mark socially, given the age difference.

  “Not sure. Maybe he’s just got one of those faces. What did you think of my essay?”

  Thea had emailed Jane her essay on Measure for Measure two days previously. “It was excellent.” Of course it was. As far as grades were concerned, the alphabet stopped at A for Thea. Nevertheless, Jane had spent a little time going over the essay, highlighting some areas for improvement. Really it was just nit-picking, for there was little Thea could have done to make it any better, and they both knew it. “It should have been an A* really,” Jane conceded when Thea asked why she hadn’t given it the top grade. “I just didn’t want you to get too big-headed. Here. Give it back.” She changed the grade.

  They spent the rest of the session analysing some poems. Thea’s comments were less insightful than usual and she seemed distracted, restless. Finally, Jane gave up ten minutes early. “I don’t think your head’s in this today.”

  “I keep thinking about Mark Ripley, and where I might have seen him. I’ll call my friend Stacey later. Maybe she’ll remember. If she does, I’ll text you.”

  Jane hoped Thea’s friend would remember Mark. It might not lead to anything, but DI Warwick’s remark about her being ‘only a special’ had jarred. It would be gratifying to prove her wrong.

  Chapter Five

  Phil Lavin was waiting for his mate, Adam Eades, to join him in the Cardinal’s Hat, a popular pub in a Tudor-framed building at the top end of the High Street. It was reputedly named for Cardinal Wolsey, Bishop of Lincoln from 1514 to 1515. The building had housed a wool merchant’s family, a fishmonger’s and a bank in previous incarnations before being restored as an inn the 1990s. But Phil wasn’t interested in the history of the establishment. His main concern was
the urgent business he needed to discuss with Adam.

  He’d ordered a platter of cold meats to share and there was a bottle of craft ale waiting for Adam on the table. Phil was already on his second bottle. He’d been feeling tense all day. He’d gulped down his first drink in seconds, hoping it would calm his nerves. While he waited, his attention strayed between scrolling the pages of the local newspaper on his phone to staring out of the window.

  At last, he saw Adam striding up the High Street. Adam fancied himself a dead ringer for the actor Cillian Murphy. With his sculpted cheekbones and cool, blue-grey eyes, along with brown hair styled in a Tommy Shelby, he certainly looked the part.

  “All right, mate?” Adam greeted him with a broad smile. He eased into the seat opposite Phil and reached for his bottle of ale. “Cheers.”

  “You know why I asked you to meet me, don’t you?” Phil said, his voice low, despite the fact that there was no one nearby.

  “I think I can guess but I don’t know why we couldn’t just talk about it back at the house.”

  “This is serious, Adam.”

  “I never said it wasn’t.”

  “This is Mark. We knew him. How can you sit there and act like it doesn’t affect us?”

  “Because it doesn’t. No way was Mark killed because of anything to do with the group.” Adam emptied his bottle and waved it in front of Phil’s face. “Same again?”

  Phil grabbed his wrist. Adam shook him off. “Drinks first, then we’ll talk.”

  Waiting for Adam to return, Phil chewed his fingernails, a habit he’d managed to quit three years ago after a lifetime of biting them to the quick. Then, realising what he was doing, he folded his arms tightly across his chest, hands tucked out of sight.

  He caught a glimpse of his pinched face in a mirror on the wall beside him. Maybe he should try to relax, believe Adam when he said Mark’s murder wouldn’t have repercussions for them. Adam was right about most things.

  Phil thought about the first time he met Mark Ripley. He’d been waiting for Adam in a bar on the Brayford. A couple of attractive girls were sipping cocktails at a table near his. Phil glanced at them, furtively from time to time, hoping they wouldn’t notice.

  Adam turned up with a companion whom Phil recognised from one of their seminar groups. “Phil, my man! This is Mark Ripley. Okay if he joins us?”

  Mark didn’t wait for a reply. “Hi, Phil. I saw you looking at those girls. Fancy your chances? Did you know that around eighty per cent of hot women are attracted to only around twenty per cent of the best-looking guys?”

  “Yeah, that sucks.” Phil had heard this before and wasn’t entirely convinced it was true. Still, what did he know? His own record on picking up women was dismal.

  “What can you do if you’re not a hot guy that every woman lusts after?” Mark flexed his arm muscles. So, you’ve both heard of The Game, right?”

  “The Neil Strauss book?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Phil was unimpressed. “Everybody knows about that, dude. It’s way old.”

  “Then you know that what it boils down to is most of us guys just want to get laid, right? I mean, look at us! We’re young, hot-blooded males. We’re not looking for romantic love or a meaningful lasting relationship. We’re not ready to commit.” He spat the final word out as though it had a bad taste.

  Phil looked around, hoping the women couldn’t hear. Mark was one of those people who spoke to be heard.

  “Why should men be denied sex because most females are too picky, or are looking for long-term commitments?”

  Phil didn’t think most of the young women he encountered were after that at all. Mostly they seemed to want to get a good degree and a foot on the job ladder. He hadn’t heard any of them talk about marriage and kids. He didn’t say this to Mark.

  A trio of attractive young women walked past their table, all long hair and bare legs. They left a citrusy fragrance in their wake.

  “Like what you see? Any of those gorgeous girls could be yours for the taking. All you need is confidence and a few handy techniques that can be learned easily.” It sounded like he was talking about commodities, not human beings.

  Phil snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  Mark inclined his head. “You’re sceptical, I know. But believe me, I can teach you techniques and strategies that will guarantee you success with the ladies every time. You’re a reasonable-looking guy, right?” Phil didn’t answer. He’d noticed Adam hanging on Mark’s every word. Didn’t he find it irritating the way Mark was dominating the conversation?

  Mark sighed. “Oh dear, oh dear. How can you expect women to like you if you don’t like yourself? You need to acquire some self-belief.”

  He went on repeating his claims, like some professional pick-up guru. Or someone reciting a well-rehearsed script. “Believe me, learning about the art of seduction and how to practise it successfully will enhance your chances of getting women to have sex with you beyond your wildest dreams. If you’ll let me, I can show you how to apply some simple strategies from the world of marketing to help you overcome any woman’s resistance to your sexual advances.”

  Phil still had his reservations. It all sounded slightly off. “Sounds like you want to turn us into sexual predators.”

  “Not predators,” Mark corrected. “Seducers. Think Casanova, Don Juan.”

  Phil laughed. “Machiavelli more like.” But he had to admit he could use a bit of advice on how to get a girlfriend. It was all right for people like Mark and Adam. They were easy on the eye, confident. Even with Adam as his wingman, he’d never had much success.

  “All right then,” he said. “What are these techniques you’re on about?”

  Adam spoke up for the first time. “Actually, Mark’s been talking to me about a business proposition and I suggested that you could come on board.”

  Phil thought it an abrupt change of direction, until, suddenly, he got it. “A pick-up coaching group. Is that what you’re on about?” He realised Mark had been selling him the idea for the past ten minutes.

  “Got it in one.” Adam grinned at Mark.

  “Adam told me you were smart.”

  Phil couldn’t tell if Mark was taking the piss. “Are you asking me to join your business? Come on, Adam. You know my success rate with girls.”

  “You can help with other stuff, like recruiting clients, if you don’t want to do the actual coaching. How about it?” Adam was obviously keen for him to say yes. Phil suspected Mark was only offering to include the geeky-looking friend to keep Adam on board.

  “I don’t know. It all sounds a bit dodgy.”

  “Not at all,” Mark said. “You wouldn’t be doing anything illegal. We talk about consent as much as we talk about seduction. We’re not in the business of coercion.”

  “I don’t think . . .”

  Adam patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, Phil. What have you got to lose? You’re a good-looking dude. We just need to work on your confidence. We’re going to make a lot of money for minimum effort. You don’t need to do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing.” He looked at Mark. “Right, Mark?”

  “Right.”

  Phil thought for a moment. He was twenty years old and still a virgin. And, he had debts. Where was the harm?

  Adam returned with the bottle of beer. Back in the present, Phil decided to drink this one slowly. He needed to keep a clear head.

  “I can tell you’re stressing out big time over this but there’s really no need,” Adam said. “Sure, the police will probably question us. We’re Mark’s mates. It won’t take them long to establish that and, naturally, they’ll want to talk to us. But not as suspects. We’ve done nothing wrong. I know you’re worrying about what Mark was getting up to, but we weren’t involved.”

  “The coaching . . .”

  “Is not against the law. It was a business venture. One we tried out and decided not to pursue.”

  Phil relaxed for the first time, even managing a smile
. “Because we were crap at it.”

  “Yeah, well. Wasn’t as straightforward as it appeared, was it?”

  “The police aren’t stupid. They’re trained in how to trip people up, how to manipulate them. And what if someone else tells them about the group?”

  Adam’s eyes flashed with sudden anger. “For fuck’s sake, Phil. Grow a pair, will you? We did nothing wrong. It was all perfectly legal. And, yes, they’ll probably find out about it but like I said, there’s nothing wrong with teaching people useful skills.”

  “I know, but . . .”

  “No buts.”

  “I was just going to say, what if they suspect us?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Apart from, why would we, we have a sound alibi, remember?”

  “I know . . .” Phil bit back the ‘but.’ Adam was right. He was overreacting. This whole affair had him on edge.

  Adam lifted a hunk of ham from the platter, tore it in two and offered the smaller piece to Phil, like he was the dominant male indulging a weaker member of the pack. Effectively that’s what he was, an alpha. Just like Mark had been.

  “So,” Adam said with a slow smile. “How was the redhead?”

  Adam was talking about the girl Phil had left the club with the previous evening. “Was she compliant? Any last-minute resistance? Did you talk her round?”

  Phil kept his tone neutral. “Good. You were right about her tits. They were definitely on the small size.” Small but perfectly formed. Like everything else about Melissa. Though of course he didn’t say that to Adam.

  Adam held up his bottle. “To Mark! He’d be proud of you. Onwards and upwards, mate. I reckon it’s time you tried a blonde.”

  Chapter Six

  Jane thought she’d be more at home in her uniform after her first couple of shifts, but she still felt like an imposter. She wondered if that feeling would ever go away.