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Grimstead was a bastard, but I hadn't thought him capable of murder. Locking me up with three thugs was nothing less than killing by proxy.
"The inspector doesn't like you." By the cut, this was Crush. It suited him, as he was bear-sized. As he got to his feet, breathing whiskey all over me, the bright blue eyes narrowed. "I don't like you much, either."
I could take him, especially as he was pie-eyed. But his pal Kraken was also large. And by the way lean, mean Rex stood back and flexed, he was a trained fighter. Despite the hundred percent proof breath and swaying forms, all three looked ready for business.
"If you're up for being a plod's patsy, go for it," I invited.
The eyes narrowed. "That's clever."
Kraken was covered in tats, all of them dancing as he bunched his still-bleeding fists. "Patsy or not, taking out scum who kill women is a hobby of mine."
"There's CCTV," Rex observed.
"So what?" Kraken snapped.
Rex shrugged. "I'm saying he'd better trip."
Scottie huddled in a corner, trying to be invisible. But seeing me, a few neurons fired. "You're him," he slurred. "Fuck, I thought you got yours in Iraq."
Crush's laser eyes beamed on him instantly. "Iraq?"
But Scottie was too scared to hear the question. "I didnae do it," he mumbled. "I dunno who took it. It wasnae me."
As the biker was about to grab him and shake the answer out of him, I stepped up. "Leave him alone."
All three Disciples bristled.
"Who are you to order me around?" Crush grumped.
"Just back off."
Rex lifted his chin, muttering, "Sod the CCTV."
In for a penny, in for a pound. I squared up, ready to sock it to them. "I'm Cullen, Trigger Cullen."
"So fucking what?" Kraken was swaying on his feet, but belligerent.
"Fair warning, pal. Come on, let's be having you."
But Crush frowned. "Hang on. Trigger Cullen. I've heard of you."
"Right. The Bridgton Mob. Come on."
"No, not that." He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of booze. "You took out a dozen ISIS terrorists. Blew up their camp."
That opened my eyes! "How the hell did you find that out?"
But the Disciples crowded around me, slapping my back and wringing my hands.
"Proud to meet you."
"Good man!"
Crush waded right in. "So who's the dead bint? And why does that frigging plod have it in for you?"
As I didn't know the answer to the first question and I wasn't going to tell him about the Bridgeton Mob, I kept mum.
The Disciples took it well.
"We've a contact in National Crime Agency," Rex whispered. "He told us about your desert jaunt."
"You were just south of al-Qaim," Crush nodded. "Wild story."
That was a bugger. "It's not a story I want going around."
Rex nodded. "Right. Those bastards are nutters."
"And you have family." Kraken was on board, too.
"Not a word from us," Crush confirmed.
"Thanks."
"You Cullens are a force here," Crush paid proper respect. "But if you need help, reach out."
"Or just come for a beer," Kraken invited. "We have the best parties in the country."
"I was at the Indie Music Fest three years ago. Totally awesome."
"That's us. You've got good taste," Rex agreed.
And just like that, it was all smiles.
"What brings you to Ringmere?"
Crush sat down, "We were just passing through, but Kraken's brakes went. While we waited for the repair, we had a beer in the Spinnaker."
"That's Razor territory."
"So they said." Rex grinned. "They're not much to shout about, are they?"
Crush propped his head up on his jacket. "Silly bastards challenged us to a fight."
"You wiped the floor with them?"
Rex yawned. "There were just ten of them. And the boys in blue broke it up before we got properly settled in."
"Grimstead will press charges."
"No worries." Crush closed his eyes. "Our solicitor will fix it."
As all three of them zonked out, no doubt hit by the boatload of booze, the nervous sergeant crept back. At the lack of blood and guts, she gulped with relief. "You wanted a phone call?"
I rang Quentin at the pub. "Hold the fort, will you? I'm in jail."
He just laughed. "So much for going straight. Want me to come and bail you out?"
"Don't bother. They'll have to let me go in the morning."
I called the hospital, but got no information beyond, "Ms Fox is in ICU." After that, I spent some time mulling over what might have happened at Rachel's. But as I had too little information, that proved a waste of time. So, I followed the example of the Disciples, stretched out on a bench and took a kip.
"Trigger!" A rattle of the gate woke me out of a deep sleep. The drunk tank was empty. From the skylight, the sun was up. I'd slept the night through. Donovan stood in the doorway, waving his briefcase. "Didn't I say you'd need a lawyer?"
Grimstead was nowhere to be seen, and the sergeant ducked out at a trot.
"Dreadful business. Lucian asked me to come down straight away to help you."
The mayor knew his psychology: if you want to create a feeling of debt, rally round in a time of crisis.
Donovan handed me my watch and phone. "You didn't see who did it? That's damn unfortunate."
He sounded sincere. I wondered if he knew about DeVere's chat with the Razors.
"You're in the clear," he murmured. "Mandy Owens was killed around four."
I'd been at the bank. "Percy vouched for me?"
Donovan grinned. "He wasn't enthusiastic, but the bank has CCTV."
I'd walked in on the killer at five fifteen or later. "He hung around?"
Donovan shrugged. "The place was tossed. Maybe he was looking for a safe? Or jewellery?"
It didn't sound likely. As the police don't even attempt to solve burglary cases, thieves work hard to avoid house owners. Only an idiot would escalate a zero-risk crime into an assault. As for murder, only jewel thieves and bank robbers risk that. To hang about was sheer lunacy. Unless, of course, they were high. Drug addicts are notoriously unpredictable.
Donovan handed me a witness statement. "Rachel had a private show at five thirty. The neighbours saw her enter the building just a minute or two before you. She must have walked in on him."
Another minute, and she would have been dead.
"She wasn't even supposed to be there," Donovan informed me. "It was a last-minute booking."
"And Mandy? Was she supposed to be there?"
"I don't know," Donovan shrugged. "Look, Lucian wants to see you."
"Is Rachel still in the hospital?"
"Probably."
I checked my watch. It was almost nine. "I'll go and see her."
"But Lucian is expecting you!"
"He's a big boy. He'll live with the disappointment."
As I left, Donovan called after me, "I'll tell Lucian you'll see him later."
They had let Rachel out of intensive care, but she was not well. Overnight, the bruises had darkened and spread. Her neck and collarbones were deep purple, and they had shaved a bit of her hair so they could stitch the gash on her temple.
Her arms were dappled with contusions, but it was her swollen wrist that made me wince. "Poor Red." I leaned over her, dropping a kiss on her forehead, one of the few unbruised bits of her.
Rachel burst into tears. "Oh, Max! He killed Mandy!" She was wracked with misery. "Why would he do that?"
Why indeed? "Who was it?"
"I didn't see him."
"He grabbed you, tried to garrotte you. Was he short, tall? Did he speak?"
Rachel wept. "It was all so fast!"
"Try to think, love. Close your eyes."
She shut her eyes, frowning. "Uhm, he was strong, like Hercules powerful. Huge, I think. Maybe bigger than you. He swore at me. And there was blood. Oh, poor Mandy."
I held her while she cried again, thinking it was typical. Rachel's terror had magnified her attacker's size and strength. As the kitchen window was small, the man must have been half a head smaller than me, if not more.
Rachel dabbed her eyes. "Grimstead said it was you," she sniffed. "He was yelling, trying to make me say it was you."
"He saw you last night? In ICU?"
Rachel chewed her lip. "They kicked him out. He was raging."
Grimstead had definitely gone off the deep end. Aiming at me was par for the course. But to harass a woman in hospital was beyond the pale. Red-hot anger ran through me.
"He said he'd arrest me for obstruction of justice."
"That's not happening. Don't waste another second worrying. I'll fix him."
She dabbed her eyes. "Thanks, Max. Sorry to be such a drip."
"Don't be silly. You've had a nasty shock."
She took my hand. "Max, did Mandy suffer?"
I answered from the instinct to protect. "Absolutely not. It looked like she tripped, smashed the glass table and bled out. It would have been fast. Seconds."
"Thank God." Rachel took a shuddering breath. "Mandy had no family. There's nobody to claim her or bury her."
"She had no one?" The thought appalled me.
Rachel was crying again. "Her dad left before she was born and her mum died a while back."
"What about aunts, uncles and cousins?"
"None."
The poor kid. My fists balled with fury. Fucking murderer.
"She's gone, it's not like she'll know, but I don't want her dumped in a pauper's grave," Rachel confided.
"I'll see she isn't. Don't worry, love. I'll go straight to Clouds. They'll do all the necessary."
Rachel wiped her eyes. "Grimstead said that if I don't talk, he'll block me from burying her."
Fury turned to ice. "Leave it to me." A cricket bat and five minutes of quiet communication would fix the shit. "We'll see Mandy off properly."
It took another hug, but I was glad to see that Rachel was comforted by knowing I was on it. Settling the paperwork was familiar territory. Jade Willows, the local coroner, was a busy woman and very efficient. A quick check confirmed she was still in the job. Another call to Clouds, the local funeral parlour, got it sorted.
"Rachel, they'll release the body in a few days. Clouds will take care of everything."
That settled, Rachel went back to trying to figure out what had happened. "Why would anyone hurt Mandy?"
My gut said the attack was linked to DeVere's blackmail. Still, the sex trade attracts a lot of freaks. It was possible this was unrelated. I usually dive right in, but Rachel's misery had me adopt a sideways approach. "She used to run a boutique, right? She joined you when it folded?"
"Yes. She was doing really well."
"Did she have any enemies? A difficult ex? Did she have a habit? Any quarrels with anyone?"
"No, I asked her to join me because she was easy-going and fun."
Strangers rarely commit murder. "Did she see clients at the flat?"
The scarlet curls tossed. "How many times do I have to say this: we cam! We're not tarts!"
I went back to my gut feeling. "The entire pub knew about Lucian DeVere."
Pursed lips and narrowed eyes. "It's not a crime to have a fling."
"There's trouble between you, though."
Talk about a match to a powder keg. Rachel sat straight up in bed, spitting with rage. "Do you know what that tosser did?"
"Tell me."
"He didn't have the balls to tell me it was over. He just ghosted me."
"I see."
"And then he sent his toady to accuse me of blackmail! Can you believe it?" The curls flipped about as she quivered with rage. "And after that, I had Percy at the bank telling me that my account was flagged for money laundering."
That took me aback. I'd have expected him to dump her, not give her a heads-up.
"If Percy and I weren't mates, I might have been in real trouble," Rachel chuntered. "And immediately after that, the web host flagged three of my personal videos as revenge porn."
"You think it was DeVere."
"Damn right!"
"But you texted him, didn't you? To tell him about Jaffa?"
Rachel blushed. "I thought about it but I didn't. Because I was mad at him. But when he turned up, I thought he'd heard."
Poor Rachel. "Sorry, love. That must have hurt."
"Lucian DeVere is a complete pillock and I hate him!"
The fury spelled out her innocence. "Look, love, I'm not prying, but DeVere is in hot water and Mandy was murdered."
Rachel blinked. "You think he sent someone after me? And he killed Mandy? Surely not!"
"He's being blackmailed. And angry men are dangerous."
"But Max, Lucian is a nasty piece of work but he isn't a gangster. He's the mayor."
It seemed unlikely. Still. "He got in unopposed. His opponent withdrew after his family was threatened."
Rachel swallowed. "Lucian says he didn't know till after."
"I spotted him with Masher and Jaffa yesterday."
Her jaw dropped, and her eyes were huge with fear. "Oh, dear God. You think he set them on me?"
"Is he capable of it?"
She swallowed nervously. "I don't know. Max, tell him I don't know a thing about this. Whoever's behind it, it's not me."
Before I could speak, the door banged open. "Rachel! How are you this morning?" He wore scrubs complete with a stethoscope. Taking me in, he blinked. "Oh, hello."
I didn't know him, but he definitely knew me. He looked appalled and then he stepped back as if to call for help.
"Max is an old friend. From school," Rachel blurted. "And yesterday, he saved my life."
"Oh, I see."
"Cullen. Max Cullen."
He had warm brown eyes, shiny black hair, bouncing energy and a deep tan that suggested fishing or golf. A slight hesitation, and then he held out his hand. "Steve Galen."
"Very apt."
He grinned instantly. "Isn't it? But it's Irish, not Roman."
"Either way, you're a healer."
"And a terrific one," Rachel said softly. "Thanks for last night, Doctor."
"Enough already. You thanked me last night, remember? And call me Steve." Then, gently examining Rachel's wrist, "How about we fix this up? You skipped breakfast, right?"
It was a rhetorical question because a nurse bustled in with a wheelchair.
"Max?" Rachel glanced nervously at the doctor and at me. "Will you send that message for me?"
"Absolutely. I'm going there right now."
She exhaled with relief. "Thanks. You're a regular lifesaver."
Her faith warmed me. "Off you go, Red. Go get that pretty wrist set."
"I'll see you in pre-op," Galen waved them off and handed me his phone, showing an x-ray. "As you can see, the bone is a mess. I'll pin it in three places."
"Will she recover full use?"
Galen nodded. "They called me in because it's my speciality. I've a practice in Pagan Cove." Then he cocked an eye at me. "Ah, you didn't realise? I got a call from his lordship."
"My grandfather?"
"The mayor," Galen explained. "I was at school with Lucian."
"I see."
"He calls me whenever there's a complex case. The last one was an old dear who tumbled down her kitchen steps. Fractured her arm in two places."
As the doc had already said Rachel would heal, he was bothered about something else.
Finally, he got to it. "There was a policeman here last night, an Inspector Grimstead."
"I heard."
Galen fiddled with his stethoscope, definitely embarrassed. "He gave Rachel a hard time."
"I'll settle him."
He had very clear brown eyes. "Not with violence, I hope."
"Of course not."
"She's a sweet girl," he said warmly. "I'm glad you're taking good care of her."
"We've been friends forever."
"The Cullens are known to be generous employers."
I took it at face value. It wasn't until after he rushed off that I realised the doctor had taken Rachel for a Cullen escort and assumed that I'd been there on official business. Which made me a pimp.
That pulled me up short. But then I decided it didn't matter. Rachel would set him straight soon enough. It was a consideration that made me smile.
Exiting the hospital, my mood soured. I didn't care about the mayor's troubles or Alex's; they could take care of themselves. But I had to make sure that Rachel was safe. And from the way the killer had lingered, he had unfinished business.
I wasn't letting a girl I'd known forever be picked off at leisure by some murderous bastard. Also, I hadn't known Mandy, but I raged at her death.
The next step was obvious. I would gather information. Once I got to the bottom of it, I'd make the killer pay, whether it was Jaffa, Masher or both of them. They'd be six feet under and good riddance. And if DeVere had ordered a hit, he'd be with them.
But then my common sense kicked in: it was unlikely for a politician to order a murder. However, it was common for rich men to threaten women, especially inconvenient exes.
Reconsidering, I decided DeVere might think himself above the law. His messing Rachel about by falsely accusing her of money laundering and sharing revenge porn was textbook. Politicians smear their opponents all the time, just as we crooks do. But proper villains draw the line between business and personal. Only scum treat their exes as if they're the enemy.
DeVere had crossed the line, and if he had set the Razors on the girls, I'd see he paid for it. A punishment beating, one that would put him in hospital for a month, would be the least of it.
Giving the mayor his due was bound to cause trouble, but I wouldn't let it deter me. There was no point in leaving the authorities to handle it. Grimstead was worse than useless. Putting me in with the bikers proved the plod was a few bricks shy off a load. But with him on my tail, I'd have to be careful administering justice. Going behind bars myself wasn't part of the plan.
The prospect of being in the thick of it again pissed me off. In addition, there was my lack of finances. I wanted to be back in the pub, getting the regulars to set me up with plumbing jobs. It would take a lot of work to make that monthly payment.
Still, there was no sense in moaning. When life kicks you in the arse, you just get on with it. As for that, my good sense told me that the mayor was dying to talk, so I would start with him. So, wishing myself back in Iraq, I entered the town hall and made my way to the top floor.
In times past I had visited the mayor's office often, either to drop off brown envelopes stuffed with cash, to do some arm twisting, and sometimes both. The last mayor, Gus Bignall, had a penchant for blondes and coke, and the one before that, Siggy Maynard, favoured Cuban cigars and muscular lads. They had different vices, but both had hidden behind a phalanx of secretaries, officials, and advisors.
Lucian DeVere had kept the oil paintings, thick carpets, and massive potted plants, but the outer office held just one buxom brunette and his office door stood wide open.
"Max! Great to see you." The second he spotted me, he was on his feet, waving me in and settling me in a leather wing chair. "Coffee? With a scone? They're fresh."
As DeVere fussed, the brunette bustled in with a tray. The warm welcome was unexpected. Either DeVere was a sociopath and immune to conscience or I had misinterpreted his chat with the Razors.
DeVere chatted happily. "As you can see, I'm blessed with riches. Roxanne knows I have a weakness for scones and she kindly picks them up for me on her way to work." He beamed at her. "These are still hot from the oven. I'm so grateful."
The severely cut dress, high collar, long sleeves and discrete gold cross were belied by the worshipful glow. Roxanne had a huge crush on her boss. She touched his hand and murmured, "The coroner is on the line. Also, the Rampage are on the way."
It didn't surprise me. Well-known for being the country's nastiest tabloid, the Rampage would give the murder of a cam girl a front-page teaser followed by a double spread in-depth piece.
DeVere didn't turn a hair. He whipped out his phone, and a moment later, he was pouring sugar down the line. "Jade, hello. Lucian here."
Jade Willows, the local coroner. I remembered her: uncompromising, virtuous and thorough. She'd follow protocol, which would mean weeks if not months of hanging around until the inquest. Pushing her was a waste of time; it would just have her dig in her heels.
DeVere didn't even try. "Jade, I'm calling to give you a heads-up: the Rampage are on the way. I expect they'll set up outside your office and your home."
I heard the squawk of horror.
DeVere laid it on thick. "The press has a job to do, but I have to say that I'm not fond of the Rampage, either. Muckraking is so difficult to counter, isn't it? Especially in jobs like ours where so much comes down to judgement and experience."
By the shrieks, Jade was not amused at the thought of being hauled over the coals by the yellow press.
"Your friends will know it's all lies," DeVere sympathised. "I'm really sorry. All this antiquated red tape is so distressing. If I could change it, I would."
There was urgent talking on the other end.
"Order 23? Really? You can push it through on paperwork?" DeVere was surprised and careful. "You're sure? I mean, it would be wonderful for Ringmere if we could stymie the gutter press, but only if you're dead certain this is the way."
The crafty sod. My appreciation for him surged. He knew fine well there was an order on the books that could speed through the red tape. He'd just scared Jade Willows into suggesting it so that if anyone ever asked, he could claim innocence and dump it all on the coroner.
"Well, if you're sure, then I will support you." DeVere had what he wanted. "Talk soon, Jade."
The PA was all over her boss. "How wonderful, Lucian. I'm so glad."
He patted her hand. "I'm not worried because you look after me so well, Roxanne."
She was in love with him, and he knew it and used her. Our virtuous mayor was a manipulative shit. I was well on my way to liking him.
When DeVere switched to praising Roxanne for the coffee and scones, I examined the office. It had changed little: the oak furniture and portraits of mayors of times past came with the job. But the large framed religious painting was new. It was a decent copy of de Vinci's Last Supper that hinted subtly at DeVere's faith. It might impress naïve voters, but knowing what DeVere was like in private, it bugged me.
The other personal touches were standard. Golf clubs in a corner and the obligatory framed photos. Mrs DeVere was a glam blonde, and the kids were a perfectly matched set, one girl, one boy, both baring their teeth with studied docility.
It took a full five minutes before DeVere shut the door and settled down. "This is a dreadful business," he frowned. "We were appalled when we heard. I've prayed for her, poor soul."
We were back at the official party line. I drank the coffee, wondering how long it would take him to get down to brass tacks.
"You were at the scene," DeVere said delicately. "You saw the killer?"
"No, he was out the window when I broke the door down."
"Yes, of course. But Grimstead thought you might have caught a glimpse."
So, he'd spoken to the inspector. "He accused me."
"CCTV proved him wrong."
The mayor was up to speed, all right. I wondered how much he knew. "Meeting the Disciples was different."
"They made a right mess of the Spinnaker. I hear you got along well."
Interesting. He knew Grimstead had tried to kill me. It didn't bother him, either. The man played hardball. "I liked them. I'm sure the inspector will find it disappointing."
The mayor put down his coffee cup with a snap. "It's a challenge to police Ringmere. John Grimstead always delivers."
That was plain enough. "The law can go hang as long as there is order."
"The voters want a peaceful town. They don't care how we get results."
Alex was right. This mayor was different. Unlike the usual snivelling politicians, he intended to deliver. I was borderline impressed. But all his grit wouldn't save him from retribution if he'd been involved in Mandy Owens murder. A picture of her wide, staring eyes flashed into mind. Those responsible would pay.
"You went to the hospital," DeVere got back to business. "Did the young woman say anything?"
The young woman. Our dear mayor was pulling as far back from the association as he could. "We didn't really talk. She's still in shock. And she has a broken wrist. "
"Yes, the charge nurse called. As we're school chums, Galen does cases pro-bono." The mayor was on autopilot. "We work together for the good of Ringmere."
"I'm sure Rachel appreciates it."
"I'm glad, of course. But I do the same for all my constituents."
He really was antsy.
DeVere frowned. "The killer must be caught, and soon. Ringmere depends on tourism."
"True."
"We can't have burglars running around, knocking off anyone they come across."
"You think this was a random killing?"
"Grimstead says so." The mayor twitched. "He says sex workers are magnets for trouble."
He would victim-blame.
"The newspapers will be on this like flies on shit," DeVere moaned.
"Yes, when a woman is murdered, it's the press that really matters."
DeVere glared. "After the Bridgeton Mob affair three years ago Ringmere can't afford any more bad press. Unless we fix this and fast, they'll scream gang violence, rake up the past and kill our reputation. It is essential we catch the bugger and bang him up, fast."
Although he was still pretending this was just about the killing, and avoiding mentioning his blackmail problem, his upset was genuine. So was his dislike of the criminal world. That made it less likely that he had confided in the Razors.
As for them, Jaffa and Masher would love a percentage of Mandy and Rachel's cam business, but it was peanuts compared to selling Colombian coke. They'd not risk murder for a petty grudge. On top of that, Masher knew I'd take instant revenge. No, the Razors weren't behind this.
I sipped my coffee and considered. Whoever had killed Mandy had then searched the flat. As he'd not found what he'd wanted, and attacked Rachel, this wasn't over. He'd be back, and he'd be after Rachel.
DeVere was thinking as well. "Look," he said abruptly, "you're not at all what I expected."
"Is that so?"
He leaned forward. "When I heard what you did to the Bridgeton Mob, I thought you'd be like that thug, Masher. But you remind me of my cousin, Will. His regiment is over in Afghanistan."
"I see."
"You're just as reticent," DeVere moaned. "It's like talking to a goddamn brick wall."
I'm a bastard, so I just eyeballed him.
"Right, if you're to help me, I have to trust you. I've a personal connection with this case too." He twitched a bit more and went for it. "I'm being blackmailed."
"So Donovan said." I sat back. "How did that come about?"
DeVere crumbled his scone but didn't beat about the bush. "Lara, my wife, goes to Scotland every August to see her mother. While she was away, I went about my usual work and that's when I met Rachel."
"A summer fling."
"Right, talk about cliché." He went to the office safe and produced an envelope. "A month ago, the day Lara returned, I got this."
There were half a dozen snapshots, blurred stills clipped from a video, showing him full frontal. Rachel's face was turned away in each but it was her signature scarlet hair and long, slender body. The note was crude, 10 thou, in cash, 11AM, laundry chute penthouse floor at the Towers or your video is #1 on Pornhub.
It was simple enough setup. The Ringmere Towers was centrally located, popular with the afternoon delight crowd, and known for not having CCTV. He'd drop the money down the chute, and they'd have a net on one of the floors below. He'd never know which, so they would go back to their room, stay the night and check out with his cash the next day. Efficient and professional.
"What did you do?"
DeVere shrugged. "Nothing. Once you pay, you're on the hook for life."
"Sensible. Did they publish?"
"No. I got a call, a burner phone, and one of those fake electronic voices. I told them to shove it."
DeVere had balls. I warmed to him. "What happened next?"
"Rachel left a message, calling me every name under the sun for dumping her."
"And you thought she was the blackmailer."
"Rachel has a temper." DeVere's face twisted. "And the photos were taken in her place."
He had some smarts, political life is not simple, but why he'd think Rachel would try an anonymous blackmail game on him and then call him in person when it had failed was beyond me. Then again, Donovan had spouted stupid stereotypes, so maybe DeVere shared them.
There was another anomaly. "How come you let this drag on for a month?"
"Because it stopped," DeVere said surprised. "I didn't hear a thing for weeks. I thought she'd given up."
"But you got another call?"
"Not exactly," DeVere grumped. "She sent a photo to Roxanne."
The loyal PA. "How did she take it?"
"She was shocked," DeVere admitted. "Roxanne is very hot about extramarital sex."
"Fond of it, is she?"
DeVere pulled a face. "Don't be a plonker. She almost quit."
The blackmailer was shrewd. With DeVere acting the pious man in politics, his PA's reaction to his perfidy would galvanise him. But as she was likely to keep her mouth shut, it wouldn't devalue the goods. Whoever it was, was brilliant or very experienced. "What happened next?"
"I got another one of those electronic calls. They wanted to know who had won the city street repair contract." DeVere shifted uncomfortably. "As the news was slated for public release the following day, I saw no harm in telling them."
The fool. This is exactly why amateurs should never conduct negotiations. "At which point they had you spilling local government secrets on tape."
"Oh, come on!" DeVere burst out. "It wasn't a big deal. And Johnson's Construction is a fine local company, perfectly capable of completing the contract on time and within budget."
I set him straight. "That street repair company is public?" It had to be, because city contracts are big business.
DeVere shrugged sulkily. "Yes."
The blackmailer would have bought shares cheap, ridden them up a day later, and sold them for a sweet profit. And if anyone found out, the mayor would be liable for insider trading.
Whoever he was, the blackmailer was a pro. He had manoeuvred the tough, uncompromising mayor into a corner and now he had him by the short and curlies. "What did you do?"
"With Lara back in town, I couldn't see Rachel, could I? And Donovan was on holiday in the Seychelles. He's only just back."
"I see."
DeVere leaned forward, putting on a sincere face. "You and Alex say she's straight, but she acted hostile when Donovan visited her."
"You had an affair, ghosted her, accused her of blackmail and she's the one with the issues?"
"That's unnecessary." DeVere drew himself up. "I admit I acted out of character. I regret my actions. But I am human, after all. We all stumble."
"Nice campaign speech."
DeVere bit back a hot answer. He really needed me. Sucking in a deep breath, he forced a smile. "It's difficult for me to admit this, but I really am ashamed." He frowned. "In fact, I don't understand how I got into this."
Eying the Last Supper, my cynicism rose. "Is that so?"
DeVere shrugged. "I do a lot of shitty things because my line of work demands it. But my faith is genuine. I talk it up a bit because it's part of my public image, but it's the one thing I don't lie about."
"We're all sinners." But I didn't say it sarcastically because I believed him. Despite the swearing, adultery and all round fuckery, that was the one thing he'd said that came across as genuine. "Right. So, Rachel's a one-off. You were caught the only time you slipped off the pedestal."
A tide of puce swept up the handsome features. "Let's stick to the issue at hand."
He'd been in and out of the studio and I remembered Mandy's inscrutable gaze. "You had a fling with Mandy too?"
He chewed his lip. "That's one hell of an accusation."
"You're not denying it, then."
He dropped his eyes. "It was just the one time. I left my wallet on the dressing table. When I went back, Mandy was camming. I watched for a while and when she finished-" He shrugged helplessly. "I know how it sounds."
"Yeah, like a good time, mate."
"You'd think so, but it creeped me out," DeVere admitted.
That was interesting. "How come?"
"I don't know," he frowned. "Her show was a real kick. And when she turned off the camera and invited me into her bed, it was like a porno come to life. But then it felt wrong just as quickly. Afterwards, I just couldn't get out fast enough."
"And Mandy isn't in these photos."
"No, I never told anyone. I don't think Rachel even knows about it."
I leafed through the stills again.
DeVere rambled on. "I'm a damn idiot, getting involved in this shit show."
"Yes. When this fucker calls and tells you to jump, your only option is to ask how high."
"Don't I know it," DeVere moaned. "If I weren't up shit creek, do you think I'd be talking to you?"
Charming. "You have a gift for motivation, DeVere. I'm dying to help you."
The grin flashed. "Sorry."
I was seeing a pattern in the stills.
DeVere continued explaining himself. "I've known since I was fifteen that being in the public eye would mean being careful. At school I didn't smoke pot, and I stayed off social media. I just can't fathom why I got into this."
A man with long-term ambition. Checking out the details again, I sorted the photos into three groups. "These were taken over three separate occasions."
"How can you tell?"
"Different sheets, and in these two you have a bruise on your inner arm."
"That must be after I gave blood."
"No pictures of Mandy. Were you in the same room?"
DeVere shrugged. "Yes. I told you, she'd just finished camming. Does it matter?"
"How many bedrooms?"
"Three. The girls have their own rooms."
"How often did you spend time in Rachel's private bedroom?"
"Never. I like the four-poster. Does it matter?"
"Maybe. The more information we have about How, the easier it is to figure out Who."
"Yes, but as I told you, I'm certain it was Rachel. Mandy hasn't come near me or even texted me. And when I saw her in the Lion and the Unicorn, she acted like she'd never seen me before."
He'd taken Rachel's frankness as guilt and Mandy's blank-faced innocence at face value.
"You think it was Mandy?" DeVere frowned.
"It's a possibility. She had access, and she didn't have a lot invested in her career yet."
"I didn't even consider her."
"It might not have been."
"Trigger, I really need your help," DeVere was back making his pitch. "I'm aiming for the top and I can't have this dragging me down. With the murder, every paper and nosy parker will dig for dirt. If it comes out that I was involved with this, I'm toast. I want you to fix this. Find the blackmailer and destroy those videos."
The mayor was focussed on the priorities: himself. "I thought you wanted the murder cleared up."
"Well, it's all the same thing, isn't it?" DeVere huffed. "The man who made those calls must have done it."
"Why?"
DeVere shrugged. "Maybe they fell out? I don't know how criminal minds work."
"And I do."
He grinned. "I didn't want to insult you."
Two crimes might mean two criminals. The blackmail might have no connection to the murder. But my gut said they were linked. As for that link, the most obvious one sat before me.
DeVere was ruthless. As he was a politician, he was also devious and a practised liar. If he had killed Mandy, and Grimstead was on it, throwing me into the mix would muddy the waters. He might also think that if there was any evidence pointing to him, hiring me would uncover that. And as he planned to run me, I'd give him the heads-up. That would give him a chance to destroy it.
Time to test him. "I saw you talking to Masher yesterday."
"Yes, but we don't want the Razors involved," DeVere didn't hesitate. "Crime stifles development. We're hoping to persuade the Razors that going legit is safer and just as lucrative."
I watched him closely. "You weren't putting a hit on Rachel?"
DeVere gawped in shock and then reared up, snarling, "Are you out of your mind? For God's sake, Cullen, I'm a politician, not a thug!"
"The two are pretty much the same."
"That sounds like an exciting debate." Donovan walked in, a briefcase in one hand and a sheaf of newspapers in the other. "What's Cullen accusing you of?"
"Putting a hit on that young woman," DeVere spat.
Donovan paused and considered. "Extreme," he suggested.
"Damn stupid too," DeVere added. "Hiring the Razors would just be exchanging one blackmailer for another."
"Why would we hire the Razors?" Donovan asked. "Wouldn't the Cullens be more professional?"
I took it on the chin. "So what's a squeaky-clean politician doing talking to Masher and Jaffa?"
DeVere rolled his eyes. "That was me trying to keep the peace, not plunge us into deeper trouble. We've had two brawls this week. I asked them to clean up their act. For the good of Ringmere."
It might be true. Still, DeVere had been comfortable talking to Razors, and he wasn't bothered his senior police officer was capable of murder. There was gossip about his political career too. "You were elected unopposed. Your opponent said he stood down because someone threatened his wife and daughter."
"That was a campaign volunteer," DeVere said instantly. "For heaven's sake, I am NOT responsible for crazy shit other people pull!"
Donovan was all over it. "Someone threw a firework at Menzies' car. It was probably just some kids, but the Rampage talked it up."
"That rag is so shameless that it doesn't even qualify as gutter press."
Donovan nodded. "Exactly. But when they fanned the flames, it inspired a rather unbalanced woman to write some silly threatening letters."
"She almost killed my campaign," DeVere fumed.
Donovan glanced at him. "Grimstead investigated. When we realised what had happened, we made sure she got help. But in the media conference afterwards, Menzies let slip he'd hidden the threats from his wife."
"I guess she wasn't best pleased?"
Donovan grinned. "Complete hissy fit."
"Nathan Menzies valued his political career over his family, so she left him," DeVere shrugged. "He blamed me, but none of it is my doing."
We all sat back, considering. I wasn't taking their story at face value, but from DeVere's anger, he hadn't relished the events. I'd check it out with Menzies.
I moved on. "Both girls lived in the flat. Perhaps a visitor placed the camera." I thought aloud, trying it out. "Either for kicks, or to catch you."
"Nobody knew," DeVere said quickly.
I crushed that idiocy straight away. "People were gossiping the night you came to the pub."
Donovan was swift to point the finger. "Rachel bitched in public about Lucian leaving her. It was so disloyal. "
Both men had treated her poorly and still expected to be treated with respect.
I watched them closely. "Rachel was accused of money laundering and peddling revenge porn."
"We know nothing about that," Donovan snapped.
It sounded great but DeVere twitched and Donovan couldn't stop himself from a warning frown. They had tried to stitch her up, and by backstabbing too. Despite the suits and fancy education, they were lowlifes. I reminded myself there was a dead girl. And to be practical, pointing out they were scum wouldn't change anything, and there were questions to be asked.
"Not wanting to speak ill of the dead, but Mandy Owens was a bit of a goer," Donovan said. "If that camera was up in the studio for a while, there might be dozens of victims, including the school principal and the chief of emergency services."
"Christ, I hope not," DeVere blurted out. "We don't want a mega scandal."
"But perhaps we should leave it to Grimstead," Donovan murmured. "If it's random, it needs a lot of manpower to chase down leads. And although he's excellent, Trigger is just one man."
I didn't want this job. But ironically, I wasn't jumping at the out. Grimstead would bully Rachel, put her in the frame if he could, and the murderer might just vanish in the maelstrom. Also, if I was to sort this out, it would be easier with the mayor's backing, even if being in with politicians gave me the icks.
Donovan's phone buzzed imperiously. "I have to take this." He stepped out of the office, his voice an indistinct murmur.
DeVere abruptly returned to his original theme. "I want this fixed."
He was desperate, which gave me leverage. He'd pay well for service and my helping would piss off Grimstead too. I'd drive up my value by protesting, and then give in. "I'm just a plumber."
DeVere rolled his eyes. "You ran security for Cullen Enterprises. And we all know what that means."
I had to do the job, but I was still reluctant. Selfish, I know. I should just man up and do it. But I hesitated to involve myself. DeVere was scum, not giving a toss about anyone except for himself. That didn't bother me too much, but the easy way he tossed his friends aside did.
"If you don't take it on, I'll set Grimstead on Rachel," DeVere threatened. "It was her studio, after all."
Letting the threat wash over me was second nature. "If it makes you happy." But if he did, I'd fix him. "The voters will love it."
"Don't you threaten me!" His fists balled with rage. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
Donovan popped up, oozing calm. "All this trouble is very upsetting. Let's remember what matters most. We need to sort out this terrible tragedy. For the sake of Ringmere."
DeVere remembered he was mayor. He smoothed back his hair, fighting for cool. "I want this resolved. Find out who's behind this blackmail racket and stop it."
"And we'll let the murder drop?" I should just have negotiated. But I couldn't help myself. "What's one more dead woman, right?"
"For fuck's sake," DeVere snarled. "She was just a slut."
"So are you, mate. She was just more honest about it than you."
We were both on our feet, ready to let our fists do the talking.
"Uhm, Lucian?" Donovan's obvious concern stopped the fight in its tracks. "When I was on that call, this arrived in your private donor's message box."
When he tried to keep the phone away from me, I clutched his wrist and looked. There was a text, talk soon and another photo, one with DeVere wearing a basque and stockings. I had the impression there were more, but DeVere hung on to the mobile with an iron grip.
I let it go. "Rachel didn't send this. She's having her wrist operated on. This clears her."
"I'll double-check," Donovan was on to the hospital a heartbeat later. We waited in tense silence until the advisor nodded our way, saying out loud, "Thank you, matron. Yes, let me know when she's out of surgery. We're all very concerned. Such an appalling thing to happen."
DeVere sighed. "Okay, I agree. It's not her."
He was a hard man, focussed on results, and as crooked as us Cullens, but a lot less honest about it. Even so, I would work with him and sort this out. Grimstead would mess it up, there was a dead woman to avenge, and as the killer had unfinished business, there was Rachel to consider too.
But before I could deliver the glad tidings, Donovan opened his big gap. "You can't refuse. Alex will block your plumber's licence if you do."
My temper flared. "You better fucking watch yourself!"
But DeVere yapped. "Maybe I'll withdraw the licences for the Lion and Unicorn. Your mother will lose her business."
My fist landed square in the gut. He went sheet white, but before he could throw up, I had him by the neck. "Never threaten my family."
To his credit, Donovan tried to jump me. I saw him coming a mile away. A swift kick to the balls put him down.
DeVere didn't even try to fight. All his focus was on trying to breathe. To ensure he'd not get fancy ideas about revenge, I grabbed his chin. "This is your only warning." Another punch in the gut, one that went nice and deep, made my point. I took in the gurgling squeals. "Good, I take it you get the message."
In the films, a fight takes forever and is noisy. When you're a pro, it's fast and merciless. Yelling and running around is strictly for amateurs. So when Roxanne popped her head around the door, her big smile faltered and the coffeepot in her hand shook. "Lucian! What's wrong?"
DeVere clutched himself, the pain keeping him fully occupied, while Donovan yakked up on the carpet.
"I'll call security!"
"Roxanne, no." DeVere's moan stopped her in her tracks. "Close the door. Please."
She mouthed a bit, but then the loyalty kicked in. "All right." She shot me an evil glare. "But Lucian, I'm here if you need me."
As my message had hit home, I was on my way out as well.
"Trigger, wait!" DeVere got to his feet and fell into a leather chair, still hugging his belly. "Jesus, man. Don't you know how to hold back?"
"I don't do well with threats to my family."
"Point taken." DeVere made a mouth. "I guess that's why they call you Trigger."
"Well done."
"Look, I need you."
"You've got to be kidding me." Stuff him and stuff his problems. I wasn't working for the fucker. "Sort out your own problems, mate."
"Rachel is next."
Straight for the jugular.
DeVere kept talking. "The blackmailer killed Mandy Owens because she had the goods on him. He couldn't find what he needed, so he'll try again. If it were me, I'd look to the flatmate."
Precisely my take.
"Grimstead will fuck this up," DeVere complained. "He is convinced you did it."
"CCTV shows I didn't."
"You took out the Bridgeton Mob. And here you are, free as a bird."
In the corner of the office, Donovan stopped heaving. The way he curled up, whimpering, he was no longer tracking.
DeVere glanced over but kept on point. "Grimstead has lost it. Why do you think he tried to get the Disciples to kill you?"
The plod would set his sights on me, and not even look elsewhere. The implications were crystal. Without protection, Rachel was a dead duck.
"You and Rachel were at school together," DeVere urged. "You've known her forever."
The mayor was showing off exactly what got him elected, the blackmailing fuck. I couldn't watch Rachel go down. All those years ago, I'd not been able to walk away either.
DeVere knew he had me. "Ten thou, in cash."
"Thirty, but not cash. I want a bank transfer." If I was going to sell myself, I'd be a classy whore. It would piss off Grimstead too.
"That's steep!"
I shrugged and moved towards the door.
"Wait!" DeVere tried to stand up and failed. "Okay-okay-okay, thirty thousand."
"I sort this out, and I do it my way."
"I don't want details. Just fix it."
He wanted plausible deniability. I'd make him pay for that, too. "For that, you pay all expenses."
"Deal," DeVere groaned.