A Long Shadow, page 4
Sophie shrugged. “Maybe or something bigger—like I said, I’ll know more when I get back to the lab. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
“Okay—thanks, Sophie.” Shadow shook her outstretched hand again. Even with the gloves removed, he didn’t like to think about what it may have been touching previously. He motioned for Jimmy to follow him and made his way over to the archaeologist, who also looked to be busy making notes.
“Mr Stather, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Shadow. May I ask you a few questions?”
“Of course, of course it’s quite the exciting night for you I imagine, but disappointing for us. Oh, and not to be pedantic, Chief Inspector, but it’s actually Doctor Stather.” He gave a small, self-conscious laugh.
Shadow smiled tightly, as Jimmy hid his face behind his notebook.
“I understand the last time this area saw any excavation work was about thirty years ago?” Shadow continued.
“That’s correct, thirty-two years ago to be exact. I’ve just checked my records. If you look down by the river, you’ll see what remains of an old boathouse. It used to belong to St John’s School. They used it for their rowing club and wanted to make improvements, add showers and so forth. As the builders started work, it became clear that the boathouse was built on top of what used to be the water gate for the Hospitium. There was a tunnel that led directly to the Hospitium. In those days, we only had a couple of weeks to excavate, before it was bricked up again.”
Dr Stather spoke smoothly as if giving a lecture, while Jimmy dutifully took notes. Shadow thought there was something about this doctor that reminded him of Donaldson. He didn’t want to prolong their meeting.
“Well thank you, Dr Stather, and I’m sorry your evening has been wasted.”
*
Shadow and Jimmy waited for the remains of the victim to be removed, before they also made their way out of the Museum Gardens.
“Tomorrow get on to the main records office at county and ask for the details of any female missing persons from around thirty-two years ago,” instructed Shadow as he waved his thanks to the constable, who opened the gate again. “Then get back to the Fay Lawton case. That has to be our priority. If there is a batch of dodgy vodka, we need to make sure nobody else drinks it.”
Suddenly Jimmy stopped in his tracks and pointed across the road towards Library Square.
“Look who it is, sir.”
Shadow looked over and saw Ryan and Kayleigh sprawled together against the library wall, their rucksacks next to them. Both were well known to the police. They had been in and out of prison for everything from shoplifting to assault. Ryan was a thin, skinhead with arms covered in tattoos. Kayleigh was equally skinny and tattooed with long dark hair, scraped back into a high ponytail.
“What do you want?” she asked aggressively, as Shadow and Jimmy approached.
“To offer our condolences,” replied Shadow, easily. “We understand a close friend of Ryan’s died last night.” Kayleigh scowled.
“What’s it got to do with you?” asked Ryan, with a sneer.
“We think the vodka she drank killed her. We’d like to know where she got it from.”
“Not us.”
“Then who?”
Ryan shrugged his bony shoulders.
“How should we know? We were at Ted’s all night.”
“Where you argued with Fay?”
“We didn’t argue; she just got upset when I said I was back with Kayleigh.”
He threw a scrawny arm around his girlfriend, who slumped closer to him with a broken-toothed grin.
“Do you know if she had any money with her when she left?” Shadow persisted.
“She better not have done,” snarled Kayleigh. “She said she was skint. Me and Ryan was subbing her all day.”
“I see, well thank you for your time.”
Shadow and Jimmy turned away, leaving Kayleigh and Ryan sniggering behind them.
“He wasn’t exactly heartbroken was he, sir,” observed Jimmy, after a few minutes of silence.
“No,” sighed Shadow, “but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s guilty.”
Shadow wished his deputy goodnight and headed back to the river. Several questions bothered him. Why was Dr Stather, who clearly considered himself an important man, still in Museum Gardens long after it had been established that the body was of no archaeological interest? If Fay really didn’t have any money then someone must have given her the vodka, but who? And why did Susie keep chickens if she was a vegan?
*
The next morning, Shadow managed to enjoy his breakfast uninterrupted, and had been at his desk, with his crossword, for half an hour before the Minster bells struck nine. He was on the cusp of completing the next clue, when Jimmy knocked and then put his head round the door.
“I’ve got news on the vodka, Chief.”
“You’d better come in and sit down then,” said Shadow, reluctantly folding his newspaper away into the desk drawer. Jimmy quickly slipped into the chair opposite him and began reading from his digital notebook.
“Well it’s not cheap stuff. It’s a premium brand called Holy Cow and it’s distilled on Lindisfarne, you know, Holy Island, up in Northumberland?” Shadow raised an impatient eyebrow, as Jimmy continued, “I’ve just been speaking to the owner of the distillery. It’s fascinating what they do. They use milk from local cows. You see the curds go to make cheese, but the leftover whey is normally thrown away, so instead…”
Shadow held up his hands in protest. “All right, all right, I don’t need a lesson in vodka production. It sounds disgusting.”
“Well actually, it’s meant to have a smooth vanilla taste,” continued Jimmy, then saw the look on Shadow’s face, “but the main thing is, it’s only produced in seventy-centilitre and five-centilitre bottles. The bottle Fay had was fifty-centilitres and the label was a photocopy stuck on. By the way, forensics said no fingerprints except Fay’s.”
“Is it sold wholesale or retail?”
“Both, but they just supply one shop in York.”
Shadow waited expectantly, his fingers drumming his desk.
“Am I meant to guess, Sergeant?”
“Sorry, Chief.” Jimmy brushed his floppy dark fringe out of his eyes, as he searched down the page of his notebook. “It’s Bacchus, that posh wine shop on Shambles.”
Shadow stood up and retrieved his wax jacket from the back of his chair. “Then let’s head to Shambles.”
*
York’s oldest and most famous street was packed with tourists as always and the two detectives could only shuffle along behind the crowd. Norman was once again slumped at the top of the street, a stained sleeping bag over his knees despite the warm weather. As Shadow passed the ladies’ boutique, a furious tapping on the window caught his attention. He turned to see the equally furious face of Mandy Morrison mouthing and pointing at Norman, then back at Shadow. Shadow inclined his head politely and kept walking.
“Wow, what have you done to upset Mrs Morrison, sir?” asked Jimmy, trying his best not to smile. Shadow scowled.
“We had a slight disagreement last night, over the problem of homelessness in the city. How do you know her?”
“Everyone knows Mrs Morrison—she complains about everything.” Jimmy laughed. “The noise from the buskers, the bins not being emptied often enough. When one of the shop windows got smashed, she came down to the station and demanded a twenty-four-hour police presence on Shambles. Didn’t you see her in the Herald the other night?”
“I make a point of never reading that rag,” grunted Shadow. Instead, he always bought the Yorkshire Post, particularly since the city’s own paper had employed Kevin MacNab, a new, pushy young crime reporter, whom Shadow found particularly irritating.
“Well, there was a picture of her handing a petition in to the council,” explained Jimmy. “It said the local traders wanted them to take action against the beggars and cancel the soup kitchen in Kings Square.”
“The soup kitchen Susie Slater and Luke Carrington run?”
“Yes, Chief. Remember Susie said it’s on every Tuesday and Saturday evening. According to Mrs Morrison it attracts ‘undesirables’ to the area.”
Jimmy paused to allow some Americans to take a group photo.
Shadow turned to him. “Get hold of a copy of that petition. Let’s see who else wants to get rid of the homeless.”
*
Bacchus was housed halfway down Shambles, in a building that used to be one of the medieval butchers’ shops. It still had the meat hooks outside and the wide wooden benches under the window, that gave the street its name. However, instead of rancid meat and bits of offal, it now sold expensive and rare wines and spirits. Inside, the lighting was soft, the wooden floor and shelves were well polished and classical music played quietly in the background.
Bacchus was owned by Oliver Harrison, who had a neatly trimmed grey beard and wore a multicoloured bow tie with his well-cut navy suit. His charming and welcoming smile barely flickered when he heard who the two men standing in front of him were and what they wanted to talk to him about.
“Holy Cow is one of our best sellers, Chief Inspector,” he explained, smoothly. “Here, why don’t you and the sergeant have a taste? Just a small one, I know you’re on duty.” Oliver took a bottle of the vodka from under the counter and splashed a measure into two of the shot glasses neatly lined up on a tray in front of him.
“By the way, you are quite right to say it only comes in seventy-centilitre or five-centilitre bottles.”
“Isn’t five-centilitres a bit small?” asked Jimmy, cautiously sniffing the shot glass before knocking it back.
“We only sell those bottles in batches of a hundred. People buy them to include in a gift bag, say for a birthday party, a corporate event or wedding favour—that sort of thing,” replied Oliver, as he refilled the glass.
“I don’t suppose you keep a list of customers who buy Holy Cow?” asked Shadow, frowning at Jimmy, as his own shot glass remained untouched. He wasn’t a big fan of spirits.
Oliver laughed easily and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Chief Inspector, no. We sell, on average five bottles a day. Some are to local, regular customers, but most are to tourists. You can see for yourself we get visitors from all over the world.” He gestured to the crowds outside. “This morning alone, I have sold to two Chinese gentlemen, one Spanish lady and a French couple. The mini bottles of course are easier, because they need to be ordered in advance, so I can certainly give you a list of those customers.”
“Thank you, that would be very helpful. By the way, Mr Harrison, did you sign the petition Mandy Morrison organised, regarding the soup kitchen?”
“No, I didn’t,” he replied, then hesitated and nervously fiddled with his bow tie. “It was quite a tricky situation actually, Chief Inspector. I don’t know if you have met Mandy, but she’s not an easy woman to say no to and to be fair, I agree that perhaps having a soup kitchen in such a prominent position doesn’t do much to elevate the image of the city.” His hand moved from his bow tie to his glasses, which he removed and began to clean. “However, Susie and Luke are two of my oldest friends. Luke was in the year below me at St. John’s and Susie was my sister’s best friend when we were growing up. I wouldn’t like to do anything to upset her. I mean, after all, it is for a good cause isn’t it?”
He paused again and frowned. “Actually, Chief Inspector, now I come to think of it, both Mandy and Susie have ordered the five-centilitre bottles of Holy Cow.”
“Really? Recently?” asked Shadow.
“In the last couple of months or so. Mandy put them in gift bags for a fashion show she was holding and Susie wanted them for a birthday party she was throwing for Luke’s fiftieth. They were supposed to go in the party bags for guests. It caused a bit of a row actually. You see, Luke’s gone vegan and when he found out Holy Cow is essentially made from milk, he absolutely hit the roof.”
“So, what happened?” asked Jimmy, who had downed the second shot and was now tapping away furiously at his notebook.
Oliver shrugged. “Susie sorted it. She always does. Luke would be lost without her. The woman is a saint. That’s why I couldn’t possibly sign that awful petition, Chief Inspector.”
*
The two police officers left Bacchus and took a short walk to their next destination. Ted’s Bar stood on Colliergate, which ran parallel to Shambles, but instead of souvenir and luxury gift shops for tourists, it catered for local residents and was home to a hardware store, post office and chemist’s shop. Ted’s owner’s real name was Chris Barton, but he’d taken to dressing as a Teddy Boy when he was a teenager and the name had stuck. Despite the fact the style had not been fashionable for decades, he still maintained the look. His thinning hair was died black and shaped into a large quiff and he wore skinny black jeans and a brightly coloured, oversized jacket.
During the many years he had been proprietor of the bar, he had been in trouble with the police for various offences, from allowing underage drinking, to watering down spirits, but the authorities had never managed to close him down. He and Shadow knew each other well.
“What do you want?” he asked gruffly, when Shadow and Jimmy walked into the bar. It was just after opening time. The place was empty, except for Ted and a tall, thin barmaid. Ted sat in a corner, reading the York Herald with his feet up on a table. The barmaid had short, bleached-blonde hair and was busy restocking the shelf behind the bar. The walls were covered in black-and-white photographs of rock-and-roll stars from the 1950s and 60s. Underfoot, the wooden floor was sticky with spilt, stale beer and a jukebox in the corner was playing ‘Great Balls of Fire’. Shadow and Jimmy sat down opposite the owner.
“We wanted to talk to you about Fay Lawton,” replied Shadow, evenly.
Ted swung his legs down and spread the newspaper open on the table, pointing to the article he had been reading. “It says in here you lot are investigating. What’s to investigate?”
Shadow glanced down. The photograph accompanying the article was of Fay smiling in a garden. Shadow thought it could be The Haven garden.
“She was poisoned.”
“Not in here she wasn’t,” Ted shot back, quickly. “Some of your lot have already been on the phone. Giving me a lecture on not buying cheap vodka. Well, you’re not pinning any of this on me.”
“But Fay was drinking in here the night she died?”
“Yes, and so were plenty of others, but none of them dropped dead. Look, she was in here with Ryan and Kayleigh. They were having quite a session, then there was a row and Fay ran off.”
“What did they row about?” Shadow asked, but Ted simply shrugged.
“How should I know? Lover’s tiff maybe.”
“And the other two?”
“I let them have a bit of a lock-in as they were celebrating. Kayleigh had only got out that morning. I went to bed, but they were drinking ’til the early hours. Isn’t that right, Cristina, love?”
“Yes, they passed out at about two o’clock,” agreed the blonde girl behind the bar. She was now polishing glasses and spoke with a heavy Eastern European accent. “That is when I went to bed. Ted was already asleep upstairs. I woke them up when I came down in the morning and they left.”
Ted leaned back in his chair and grinned at the two policemen.
“Who would have thought it, Shadow? I’d turn out to be the Good Samaritan in all this. Giving two pissed-up vagrants a bed for the night, when goody two shoes Slater and Carrington turned away that poor young girl! She should have come back here—she might still be alive.”
“Fay was a good girl,” said Cristina suddenly from the other side of the bar, as if this was the final word on the matter.
The two policemen got up to leave. When they had almost reached the door, Jimmy turned back. “If they were all homeless, how could they afford to be drinking here all night?”
Ted had already returned to his newspaper and didn’t bother to lower it when he replied, “I’m not their bank manager, lad. As long as they can pay, what do I care?”
Shadow and Jimmy both blinked as they stepped out from the dingy bar into the bright sunshine.
“Sorry, Chief, it was a stupid question to ask,” Jimmy said, looking embarrassed.
In an unusually understanding gesture, Shadow patted him on the back. “Not really. I have plenty of stupid questions of my own that he wouldn’t have answered either. I’m sure he knows what the argument between Fay and Ryan was about and I’d also like to know the real reason he let Ryan and Kayleigh sleep here that night?”
“You don’t see Ted as a Good Samaritan, then, sir?”
“If he’s the Good Samaritan, then I’m St Peter, Sergeant.”
Suddenly there was a crash behind them. They turned to see Cristina tipping a box full of bottles into the recycling bin in the alleyway next to the bar. When she saw she was being observed, she tossed her head defiantly and stalked back inside. Shadow and Jimmy watched her go.
“Even if Ryan and Kayleigh really did spend the whole night here, one or both of them could easily have slipped out, found Fay and given her the vodka,” Jimmy suggested.
Shadow shook his head.
“Ryan might be a nasty piece of work, but if he really wanted to get rid of Fay, I don’t see him going to all the trouble of buying an expensive bottle of vodka, getting hold of some cyanide and then pouring the whole lot into another bottle. No, Ryan’s more the type to smash the bottle over her head.”
“Look over there, sir; that might help.”
Shadow turned to look where Jimmy was pointing across the street to the post office. Above the door was a CCTV camera facing Ted’s Bar.
“Go and see if it’s recorded anything. And when you are done there, see if there are any cameras on Goodramgate near where Fay was found. I think it’s time I had a chat with Luke Carrington. Ted made a point of mentioning his name to us. If I know Ted, he wouldn’t have done without a reason.”
*
As Shadow left Jimmy, he called The Haven, and Jess told him that both Susie and Luke were at home. Since they had turned the Carrington house into The Haven, Susie and Luke now lived in an apartment in Granary Court, off St Andrewgate. Fortunately, it was merely a short walk from Kings Square. He was about to make his way there when someone tapped him sharply on the shoulder. He turned around to see the unwelcome sight of a shock of bright ginger hair and Kevin MacNab’s freckled face grinning at him.
