Flawed Beauty Read online

  For a moment, Edgar Balmain appears to be retaking his seat, but at the last moment, he straightens up again and says, “Sorry, Chief Inspector. There was one other thing I wanted to ask. Is it true that the words ‘Flawed and Beauty’ were scrawled in blood across the top of Shreya Singh’s breasts?”

  Shocked by this latest revelation and almost without thinking, Erin finally loses her cool and exclaims, “How the hell did you know about that?”

  “I’m an investigative journalist. It’s my job to know things like that.” Balmain sneers again as he says, “And it’s your job as a senior detective to make the connections between cases.”

  To her side, Terri urges Erin in hushed tones not to take the bait and to calm down, but her words go unheeded.

  “And what exactly do you mean by that, Mr. Balmain? Please, enlighten us, if you will?”

  The words are barely out of Balmain’s mouth before an icy blast of realization sends a shiver down Erin’s spine. Cursing her own stupidity for goading him and not picking up on the link sooner, she nervously interrupts him mid-sentence.

  “You’re… you’re referring to the words scrawled across Darren Pope’s chest, aren’t you?”

  Balmain sarcastically claps his hands together. “Finally, the penny drops. I’m not just referring to Darren Pope, though. If you bother to investigate the Shelley Wilton case, you’ll find out that she also had something scrawled across her chest in blood. I’ll excuse you for not knowing that, Chief Inspector. But what about you, Detective Inspector Marchetti? Weren’t you based in Manchester at the time of Shelley Wilton’s murder?”

  Caught completely off guard, Terri is slow to respond, and Balmain abruptly and dramatically cuts her off before she can say anything. “It looks like the lack of communication is not just a problem from force to force, Chief Inspector Blake. No matter, though. In the interests of all, I’m happy to fill in the gaps for Merseyside Police and for my esteemed colleagues from the press assembled in the room today.”

  Under normal circumstances, Erin would be well within her rights to ask Balmain to retake his seat and not to share confidential case information, but to stop him now almost seems pointless when he has revealed so much already. With the damage already done, she gestures for him to continue.

  “Thank you,” he smirks. “In both the cases I’ve mentioned, obscenities were daubed across the victims’ chests using their own blood.”

  He deliberately over-emphasizes his next statement to provoke a reaction. “Just like Shreya Singh, Chief Inspector!”

  Brushing aside the obvious provocation, Erin remains stoic and Balmain continues. “The body of Shelley Wilton was in the water for almost eight hours before being discovered. Although faint, the words ‘Dyke and Bitch’ had been daubed across her breasts. In the case of Darren Pope, the phrase of choice was ‘Dirty Faggot.’” Trying a second time to provoke a reaction, Balmain smirks and asks, “Why ‘faggot,’ do you think, Inspector?”

  Although she doesn’t need to answer the question, Erin is now more concerned with looking weak and losing face in front of the Merseyside journalists. She slowly takes a sip from a glass of water before saying, “Darren Pope was openly homosexual and was known to be involved in the sex trade on Merseyside.”

  Feeling like he has the upper hand, but disappointed with Erin’s less than emotional response, Balmain dispenses with her official title and ups the ante to make his next point. “Let’s not beat around the bush, Erin. Darren Pope was a raving queer and a rent boy who plied his trade in and around the Anfield area. An obvious target for those in the more bigoted section of society, wouldn’t you say?”

  Ignoring the question, Erin responds simply by saying, “We’ll agree to differ on the terminology. I suggest, though, that you show a little more respect and allow us to move on if you feel that you’ve made the point you came here to make?”

  For a few seconds, Balmain says nothing. He instead stares intently at Erin as she waits for his response. She is about to ask again, when he smiles and takes his seat.

  “Thank you, Chief Inspector. I’ve made my point. It’s over to you now.”

  Relieved to be off the hook, Erin is considering asking for final questions when she is distracted by movement to the side of the stage. Out of sight of the journalists, DC Alice Thorne is frantically gesturing to Terri to check her phone. She glances down, then turns to Erin and whispers, “Give me a minute, boss. Something new has just turned up.”

  Excusing herself, Terri leaves the stage and Erin announces a five-minute break. Dismissing the expected barrage of questions with a wave of her hand, Erin also leaves the stage to join DI Marchetti and DC Thorne.

  “Well, what is it?” Erin asks.

  Alice hands her two photographs. “One of my search team found these ninety minutes ago in the rose beds of the house two doors down from the crime scene. He found the hammer first, and DI Gladwell has just confirmed that traces of DNA on the head and the claw are a match for the DNA samples taken from Shreya Singh.”

  Erin can hardly believe what she is seeing. The first picture is of a well-used Makita-brand claw hammer. The hickory wood handle is darkened with age and there is a deep gouge on one side. Most significant, though, is a faded blob of blue paint on the end of the handle. The second picture is of a single clear vinyl disposable glove.

  DC Thorne mentions that the glove was found a few minutes after the hammer and that it was found hanging in the branches of one of the rose bushes.

  “This looks similar to the type of gloves we use,” Erin says with a questioning look on her face.

  “It’s exactly the same type, ma’am,” DC Thorne comments. “I checked, though. They are freely available to buy online and in a few stores across the North West.”

  “Any DNA evidence recovered from it?” DI Marchetti asks.

  Alice Thorne shakes her head. “No. Nothing at this stage, ma’am, which makes no sense if the glove was dropped or discarded in a hurry.”

  While Erin is deciding what her next move should be, DS Bolton joins them backstage. “What’s going on, boss? The natives are getting restless out there.”

  Erin quickly brings Tony up to speed and then turns to Alice Thorne. “Okay, they don’t need to know about the glove for now. But upload the pictures of the hammer to the media player. Message DI Marchetti when it’s ready, please. Oh, and great work, Alice. Please pass on my thanks to the guys in the search team. Well done.”

  The three officers retake their previous positions on the stage and Erin calls the room to order. “Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for your patience. I’m pleased to inform you that there has been a significant discovery made within the last hour very close to the crime scene in Rushcroft Lane.”

  Turning to Terri to confirm she is ready, Erin nods for her to proceed and the first image of the claw hammer appears on the screen. Its appearance and obvious significance elicit a completely expected and renewed onslaught of questions and photographs. Ignoring the demands for answers, Erin patiently waits for the noise in the room to abate before she turns towards the screen. Using a laser pointer, she highlights and describes the unique characteristics of the hammer.

  “I particularly want to draw your readers’ attention to the Makita brand and the distinct blue paint on the end of the handle. Ask them, do they recognize this hammer? Have they seen this hammer before? Perhaps it belongs to a family member or a work colleague or even someone that may have done work in their home. If we can find the owner of this hammer, then we have a fighting chance of solving this case.”

  While the members of the press digest this latest piece of information, Terri quietly suggests to Erin that they call it a day. “You’ve just given them something juicy to work with. Let’s quit while we’re ahead, boss?”

  Covering the microphone with her hand, Erin nods. “Yes, I agree. And I think we’ve all got what we came for.”

  Removing her hand from the microphone, she addresses the audience, “Ladies and
gentlemen, that concludes this press conference. Thank you all for your attendance and please don’t forget to pick up your press packs on the way out.”

  Surprised at the abrupt ending, a few of the journalists try to ask more questions, but Erin is already heading towards the steps at the edge of the stage. Close behind her, Terri advises that it would be better to leave from backstage to avoid the press pack, but Erin is having none of it. By the time she catches up with her target, he is almost at the exit. “Mr. Balmain, a moment of your time please, if you don’t mind?”

  Stopping dead, then turning slowly with an obviously fake look of surprise, Balmain offers Erin an equally fake smile and asks, “Of course. How can I be of assistance, Chief Inspector? I hope there are no hard feelings about me putting you on the spot like that?”

  “No, no hard feelings,” Erin replies. “I am interested, though, to know where you’ve been getting your information from.”

  The question causes Balmain to shake his head and chuckle to himself. “Really, Chief Inspector, you know as well as I do that no decent hack is ever going to divulge the source of their information. That would be akin to a priest or a doctor spilling the beans on a patient or a sinner.”

  “I could bring you in and ask you formally,” Erin says completely straight-faced.

  Nodding thoughtfully, Balmain says, “Yes, you could.” Then smirking, he shakes his head again. “But you won’t because you’re not actually as incompetent as I’ve just made you look.

  I know all about you, Chief Inspector Blake. You have an outstanding record of achievement, and you know as well as I do that bringing me in for questioning won’t get you anywhere.

  On the contrary, it will only serve to distract you from what you should be doing.”

  “Which is what exactly?” Erin asks.

  “Which is focusing on finding the killer of Shreya Singh, Darren Pope and Shelley Wilton, Chief Inspector.”

  “Okay,” Erin concedes. “Supposing these three murders are linked, why would you want to share your information so publicly? If this information does turn out to be true, then why not keep it to yourself or publish an exclusive? Isn’t that what all journalists want?”

  Balmain laughs again and then shakes his head. “Despite what you may have heard about me, my number one priority will always be the same as yours, Erin. Getting the scoop is important to me, but in a case like this, the most important thing is catching the bad guy before he can kill again. Knowing what I know about your career, I’m sure you would have connected the dots soon enough anyway, but if sharing this information today allows you to catch this guy before he kills again, losing my exclusive will have been a small price to pay.”

  Unsure if he’s being completely sincere or not, Erin hesitates a moment before saying, “Well, if that was your intention, then I think perhaps it might have been better for you to have provided us this information in a less public forum.”

  Balmain nods. “Yes, you’re probably right. But I couldn’t have been sure that you would have taken it as seriously. By sharing it openly this morning, there is no possible way that you can sit on it or put it on the backburner, at least not if you want to remain in charge of this investigation.”

  Feeling that she may have pre-judged him unfairly, Erin smiles and offers her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Balmain. I appreciate you coming and for pointing us towards the possible links between these three cases.”

  Handing him her business card, she adds, “If you do hear anything else from any of your sources, I’d appreciate being the first to know.”

  “You can be sure of it,” Balmain says. “Good day, Chief Inspector.”

  He turns to leave, but then stops and turns back around. “Don’t you think the hammer suddenly turning up like that was all a little too convenient, Chief Inspector?”

  “I’m sorry? In what way?” Erin asks.

  “The hammer suddenly showing up like that, just before the press conference. Was that the first time that garden had been searched? Because if it wasn’t, then the officers involved probably need to have their eyes tested. It’s hardly an inconspicuous item in the context of a murder inquiry, is it?”

  The same thought had crossed Erin’s mind when Alice had shown her the photograph earlier, but now something else piques her curiosity again.

  She agrees with Balmain that the sudden discovery of the hammer this morning is odd, but then adds, “I never said it was found in a garden, though?”

  Realizing he has slipped up, Balmain feigns innocence. “Oh, really, I thought you did. But it was found in a neighboring garden, correct?”

  “It was,” Erin confirms. “But then I suspect that you probably knew that before I did. Who is your source, Edgar?”

  Chuckling to himself again, Balmain shakes his head and says, “Have a good day and good luck, Chief Inspector. I’ll be in touch if I get anything new.”

  He turns to leave again and, unhappy with his response, Erin tries to follow until Terri’s strong hand on her shoulder and whispered warning stops her. “Not a good idea, boss. Your little intervention has already drawn quite a crowd. Best not to make it any more interesting than it already is.”

  A dozen or so eager faces have been quietly watching the exchange between Erin and Edgar Balmain. They are now anxiously awaiting Erin’s next move and are no doubt hoping to witness some additional drama or to pick up some new tidbit of information for today’s front page.

  Leaving them disappointed, Erin wisely heeds Terri’s advice and simply watches until Balmain has left the room before she angrily turns back towards the stage with DI Marchetti close behind.

  . . . . . . . .

  To the side of the stage, Tony Bolton is sharing a joke with DC Thorne. Clearly annoyed at being wrong-footed in the press conference and left hanging by Edgar Balmain, Erin unfairly vents her frustration on the two officers. “I’m glad you’ve both got time to make jokes. We’ve just been made to look completely bloody incompetent in there, so I could do with a good laugh. So, go on then – what’s the joke?”

  Embarrassed at being chastised in front of a junior officer, Tony blushes slightly, then says, “Sorry, ma’am. It wasn’t that funny.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t,” Erin grunts. Then snapping at Alice, she says, “Have you found that cell phone yet, DC Thorne? Because if you haven’t, I suggest you get back out there with your team to continue the search.”

  Apologizing, Thorne makes a hasty exit, and Erin wastes no time in laying into her two subordinates. “If I find out that someone on this team has been feeding information to Edgar Balmain or anyone else in the press, I will personally have their bloody guts for garters. I don’t give a damn who it is; I will fucking crucify them. You understand me?”

  Both officers nod and, slightly calmer, Erin adds, “You can both pass on that message to the rest of the team and feel free to put it across to them in exactly the same way as you’ve just heard it. This job is hard enough as it is without having the added burden of the gutter press being one step ahead of us.”

  Wisely keeping quiet, Terri and Tony simply acknowledge the last statement with another nod. With her rant over and done with, Erin refocuses on what needs to be done next.

  “Okay, change of plan for this afternoon. DI Marchetti, get straight back to the station and pull the case files for the Pope and Wilton murders. Chief Superintendent Anderson has requested a meeting with all three of us at five today to review progress.

  “By then, I want to know every single detail about both cases and what possible links there are to Shreya Singh’s murder. DS Bolton, you’re coming with me. We’re going to drop in on the sleazeball model agent, Derek Bannister.”

  Chapter Five

  Just less than an hour later, Tony Bolton pulls up and parks outside a nondescript grey-painted warehouse located on the far side of the Compass Industrial Park in Speke, Liverpool.

  The bright spring day does nothing to make it look any less grim, and Erin asks, “Are you s
ure this is the right place?”

  “Well, it’s the right address,” Tony replies. He then points out the fading sign above the door. “Unit 7a. Yep, this is the place, all right.”

  The windowless steel security door speaks volumes for the kind of operation that Erin is expecting to find inside. The original battleship-grey paint has, for the most part, worn away to reveal the darkened decay and bright orange rust beneath, and there is nothing on the door to remotely suggest what goes on inside.

  “It’s hardly the epitome of glamour, is it?” Erin comments.

  “Quite the opposite,” Tony says. “Let’s hope it’s a bit more welcoming inside.”

  Erin gestures towards the security camera looking down on them and then says to Tony, “Okay, do the honors and announce our arrival.”

  The sound of the intercom can be clearly heard on the other side of the door, and a few seconds later, a woman’s voice with a soft but distinct Eastern European accent announces, “Hello, Derek Bannister, Entertainment and Talent Services. Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. No appointment. We’re pol—”

  “I’m sorry. Mr. Bannister doesn’t see visitors without an appointment. Our number is 0151 4—”

  Annoyed at the interruption, Tony takes out his warrant card and ID and holds them up to the camera. “We can come back with a search warrant if you prefer, but I’m sure your boss wouldn’t be happy with that. Now, open the door, please.”

  Obviously unsure of what to do next, the woman remains silent for a few seconds before politely saying, “Wait, please.”

  When more than a minute passes without activity, Tony shrugs his shoulders and jokes, “He must be getting rid of the bodies, boss.”

  The comment doesn’t go down well, and Tony is rewarded with a scowl. Fortunately for him, a buzzer sounds and the door unlocks before Erin can properly reprimand him for his distasteful remark. The steel door opens into a short corridor that leads into a surprisingly well-lit, bright, airy, and tastefully furnished reception area. The walls are decorated with images of well-known supermodels and a low glass table in the waiting area is adorned with half a dozen glossy modeling and photography magazines that, judging by their pristine condition, are clearly there just for show.