Faithfully: Chase & Halshaw #1 (9 page)

Faith is no
irresponsible shot in the dark.

Robert
Schuller

The Chiltern View Estate lay next to the leafy streets of
Chiltern Park, separated only by a disused railway line and £50,000 average per
capita annual income. As Chase drove slowly through the estate, Halshaw noticed
the dilapidated cars, the weed-ridden pavements, the plastic bags blowing like
tumbleweeds, the cramped, pinched houses. Most of all, though, she noticed the
children. There were children everywhere, riding bikes, kicking balls around in
the cul-de-sacs. Many were little more than toddlers, but quite a few looked
significantly older. It can’t be half term already, surely, she thought.

The Green Parrot was a two storey weather-boarded building,
with a timber loggia to one side. The stained white weather-boarding was rotten
at the edges; the loggia wasn’t in much better condition. Chase swung his
Mondeo into the pub car park and parked well away from the abandoned Sierra and
the burned-out Transit van, both tagged by multiple graffiti artists. No sooner
had he set foot on to the cracked tarmac than a gaggle of small children
clustered around him.

“Mind your car, sir?”

“Two quid to you, mate!”

“Watch it for you, sir?”

“Only a pound!”

“Want it valeted?”

Chase waved the children away as if they were midges,
plipped the central locking, and marched towards the pub. At the door he looked
back, and was surprised to see a crouching Lauren Halshaw deep in conversation
with two of the smallest boys, one white, the other Asian. Both appeared to be
about six years old.

“Hurry up, Halshaw!” he snapped.

Unhurriedly, she straightened, smiled graciously at the two
boys, and strolled over to where Chase waited.

“Nice of you to join us at last,” he grumbled, flinging the
pub door open and gesturing her inside impatiently.

Halshaw smiled at him sweetly and slipped past him into the
pub.

The inside of the pub was no more appealing than the
exterior. In the early seventies, when the pub was built, it was probably
daringly minimalist. After the better part of forty years’ hard use, it looked
battered and bare. The floor was covered with discoloured red linoleum, with a
dozen or so small tables around the edges. An abandoned dart board took pride
of place against one wall. An unattended fruit machine chirruped dejectedly.
The few drinkers, all men, stared indifferently at Halshaw as she strode
smartly towards the bar.

A weary-looking girl in a low-cut pink blouse appeared in
front of the row of spirits and looked at them expectantly. “What would you
like?” asked Chase.

“Oh, just a Diet Coke, thanks,” replied Halshaw. She turned
to the barmaid. “Ice and lemon, please.”

“No lemon,” grunted the barmaid.

“Ice is fine,” smiled Halshaw.

“And a pint of Fosters for me, please,” added Chase.

Halshaw raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

The barmaid was working on their drinks when Chase leant
forward confidentially, a £20 note in his hand.

“Is the manager in this afternoon?”

“Yeah,” replied the barmaid. “What of it?”

“I’d like a quiet word, please.”

“What for?”

“Look,” said Chase, lowering his voice still further. “I’m a
police officer. But I’m not here to make trouble. I just want a quiet word with
the manager. OK?”

The barmaid plonked their drinks down on the bar, snatched
the note out of his hand, and stomped off.

Chase and Halshaw took their drinks and settled themselves
at a table by the window. He craned his neck, but couldn’t see the side of the
car park where he had left the Mondeo.

“Why is this place called Chiltern View, Sir?” she asked.
“You can’t see the Chilterns from here, can you?”

“That’s a good question, Halshaw. You could. Once upon a
time.”

“Once?”

“Yes. In the sixties the council built four blocks of deck
access flats here.
Ashridge
,
Berkhampstead
,
Chesham, and Denham Courts. On a clear day, you could see the Chilterns from
some of the balconies on the top floors.”

“Wow!”

“If you stood on one leg, leant over the parapet, and used
your imagination,” Chase added, grinning.

Halshaw smiled tolerantly. “What happened to them? The
flats, I mean.”

“Knocked down. Or blown up, rather. In the late eighties.
Quite an event, it was.”

 I didn’t think you were from round here.”

“Whatever gave you that idea, Constable?”

She looked discomfited. “Well, your accent, Sir. I mean....”

“Here’s your change, officer,” said a soft voice behind
them.

Chase and Halshaw both turned sharply. The man facing them
was slight and wiry, with a shock of wavy grey hair and watery, sorrowful eyes.
He looked from one to the other uncertainly.

“Thanks,” said Chase, holding out a hand.

The landlord handed over a £10 note and a handful of coins,
and pulled up a stool. “Michelle said you wanted a word,” he murmured
confidentially.

“That’s right. Do you know a man by the name of Dmitri?”

What little colour there was in the landlord’s face drained
away. “I don’t want no bother...”

“Don’t worry, sir,” Halshaw interjected. “We only want to
talk to him. A few questions, that’s all. Somebody told us that he was a
regular in here.”

The landlord relaxed fractionally. “Yeah, he’s in here most
evenings.” He paused for a moment. “What’s he supposed to have done this time,
anyway?”

“Has he been in today?” asked Chase, trying to reassert
control over the conversation.

“No.”

“Expecting him in later, are you?”

“No, officer. Look. Dmitri’s on holiday. Taken his aunt and
uncle to Corfu for a week, he has.”

“When did he go?” asked Halshaw. Chase glared at her.

“Last Saturday, I think,” replied the landlord.

“Where does he live? On the estate somewhere?”

“Used to, years ago. Not any more. He’s shacked up with some
bird over Acton way now.”

“What’s her name?”

“Dunno.”

“Address?”

“Dunno. Sorry.”

“What does she look like?”

“Little. Red hair, last time I saw her. Pretty enough, I
suppose.”

Chase downed the last of his lager. “Thank you very much,
sir,” he said.

“Just a moment,” Halshaw butted in. “We’ve been told Dmitri
used to drive a taxi. Is that right?”

“Minicab, you mean? Yeah. Dmitri drove a minicab. For a few
weeks, anyway.”

“What happened?”

“He thought it’d be easy money. But he soon found out it
wasn’t.”

“Which company?”

“Chiltern Cars.”

“That’s the firm that operate out of Chiltern Park tube
station, isn’t it?” asked Chase.

The landlord nodded. “His uncle still works there,” he
added.

“What’s his name?”

“Andy.”

“What’s his surname?”

The landlord shrugged. “Everyone just calls him Andy.”

“Is he the one who’s gone to Corfu with Dmitri?” asked
Halshaw.

“Yeah.”

Chase stood and handed the landlord his empty glass. “Thank
you very much once again, sir,” he said. “You’ve been very helpful.”

The landlord stood too. “No problem, officer. Happy to
help,” he replied, with what Halshaw thought was transparent insincerity.

As Chase opened the door to leave, he realised that Halshaw
wasn’t with him. He looked round, and saw that she had gone back to the bar. As
he waited impatiently, he saw Michelle the barmaid hand her two items wrapped
in plain white paper bags.

“Sorry, Sir,” she smiled, as she hurried to join him. “I
almost forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“I told Jake and Ahmed I’d let them mind the car.”

“You what! You didn’t give them money, did you?”

“Of course not. I told them I’d buy them a filled roll each
instead. But on one condition.”

“What was that?”

“They promised faithfully to go to school tomorrow.”

“And did they?”

“Promise? Of course they did.”

“And will they go, do you think?”

“God knows!” She glanced inside the first paper bag. “Is
this the cheese one, I wonder?”

“Mr
Felstead
? This is Detective
Inspector Chase speaking. Have you got a few moments, please?”

“Just a moment,” replied the gruff voice. Chase heard a
series of crashes and bangs in his earpiece, along with a couple of muffled
oaths. “Right. How can I help you?”

Chase braked, looked to his right, and then pulled out on the
roundabout. “I can call back later if it’s a bad time.”

“No time like the right time, officer. I’m off my ladder
now, so fire away.”

“Thank you. This shouldn’t take too long. You’re coach of
Chiltern Park Rangers, I gather.”

“That’s right.”

“How long for?”

“Oh, pushing ten years now. Used to play too, till my knee
gave out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Now then. I want to ask you
about last Monday evening’s training session.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Were you there?”

“Yes.”

“All the time?”

“Yes.”

“OK. What about one of your players? Paul McKinley?”

“Yes, officer. He was there too.”

“He says you gave him a lift home.”

“That’s right. We went to the pub afterwards, as usual, and
I dropped him off on my way home.”

“Which pub?”

“The Wendover Arms. You know, by Chiltern Park.”

Chase indicated to pull out around a parked car, then braked
abruptly as a tatty blue pick-up truck barrelled past, two wheels on the wrong
side of the road as it took the racing line through the corner. He swore under
his breath. “What time?”

“We left the pub just after eleven, and I gave Paul a lift
home. It only takes about quarter of an hour to get to Greenford at that time
of night.”

“How did Mr McKinley seem that evening?”

“Why do you want to know about Paul?”

“His name has come up in connection with an incident, and I
want to eliminate him from our enquiries.”

“Well, you can certainly do that, officer. He was out of his
tree that evening.”

“Drunk, you mean?”

“Yeah. He was sticking it away like a good ‘un. And he’d had
a head start, don’t forget.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He only trained for about half an hour.”

“And then what?”

“Paul’s got an old Achilles injury. It flares up from time
to time. When it does, it’s goodnight Vienna.”

“So he’d have been in the pub by what time? Quarter past
eight?”

“I suppose so, yeah.”

“And the rest of you didn’t get to the pub until about
nine?”

“A bit later, probably, by the time we got there.”

“Was McKinley on his own?”

“No. He was with a couple of girls. From the office, he
said.”

“Any idea what their names were?”

“Sorry.”

“And you got him home about quarter past eleven, you said?”

“More or less, I guess.”

“Anyone able to confirm that?”

“Yeah. Glenda was there when we arrived.

“Glenda?”

“Yeah. Paul’s wife. She helped get him undressed and into
bed.”

Chase turned into Broomfield Close and parked the Mondeo in
front of a modern link detached house, with heavy net curtains and a brick red
front door. A brand new Audi A4 was parked in the drive.

“Thank you, Mr
Felstead
. That’s
all for now,” he said, turning off the engine.

“No problem, officer. My pleasure.”

*

Glenda McKinley was a dumpy, bespectacled brunette in her
early forties. She greeted Chase warmly, ushered him through into a
comfortable, homely lounge, and offered him a seat on the toffee-apple sofa.
Then she sat in the matching armchair opposite, legs crossed and hands folded
demurely, and looked at him expectantly.

“Has your husband told you why I’m here?” he began.

“No, Inspector,” she replied, with a distinctly Black
Country lilt. “Why? Should he have done?”

“Perhaps. I’m making inquiries into an incident last
Monday,” Chase continued. “Your husband’s name has been mentioned by a couple
of the people involved...”

“What kind of incident?”

“A hit and run, madam. I don’t believe your husband was
involved, but I need to eliminate him from my enquiries.”

She leant forward intently. “How can I help you, Inspector?”

“First of all, where were you last Monday evening?”

“At home, of course.”

“Alone?”

“Yes. I knew Paul was out for the evening, so I came home from
work early and blitzed my email.”

Chase made a note. “What do you do for a living, Mrs
McKinley?”

“I’m a Project Manager.”

“Who do you work for?”

“Myself, Inspector. I’m freelance. A hired gun, if you
like.”

He sighed patiently. “Who are you working for at the
moment?”

“BMF Healthcare. They’re about to relocate into a new
headquarters complex, and they’re taking the opportunity to introduce new
systems, new ways of working. It’s a big project.”

“Ever worked for Logistical?”

She smiled and shook her head.

“Or any of its subsidiaries?”

She shook her head again. “No, Inspector. They’ve never
needed to call upon my services.” A broad smile. “And even if they did, they
probably couldn’t afford me.”

“You’re expensive, are you?”

She glanced around the pleasantly decorated room and
shrugged. “It pays the mortgage,” she replied.

“OK, Mrs McKinley...”

“Oh, please call me Glenda, Inspector. Mrs McKinley’s my
mother-in-law’s name.”

Chase smiled tightly. “All right, er, Glenda. What time did
your husband get home on Monday evening?”

She frowned. “I’m not sure exactly, I’m afraid.”

“Where were you when he got home?”

“In bed. When Paul’s not here, I usually go up about eleven
o’clock and read for a while. I’d just turned the light out when they arrived,
so I suppose it must have been about eleven thirty, maybe a bit after.”

“And how was your husband when he arrived home?”

She smiled affectionately. “A bit the worst for wear, to
tell you the truth.”

“Drunk, you mean?”

“Yes, Inspector. He was drunk. Very drunk, in fact.”

“Does that happen often?”

She shrugged. “Occasionally, I suppose.”

“How occasionally?”

“Not very often. Once, maybe twice a year.”

“And the rest of the time? Likes a drink, does he?”

“No more than the rest of us. Look, Inspector, what’s this got
to do with a hit and run? My husband was incapable of driving. And anyway, he
didn’t have his car with him that day.”

“Why not?”

“He always goes to work on the tube if he’s playing
football, so he can have a drink or two after the game.”

“But they didn’t have a game that evening, Mrs McKinley. It
was a training session.”

She waved her hands airily. “You know what I mean.”

Chase stood and tucked his notebook away. “OK,” he said.
“That’s it for now. Thank you very much for your time.”

She stood too, and opened the living room door for him.
“You’re welcome, Inspector. Though I don’t think I was much help.”

“Oh, you were, believe me,” he replied. He stopped in the
doorway and turned. “Oh, just one last thing. I don’t suppose you know a woman
by the name of Amy Birkdale, by any chance?”

She smiled broadly. “Of course. Paul had an affair with her,
a year or two ago.”

“Before you were married, you mean?”

“Of course not. We’ve been married for eight utterly
wonderful years.”

“I’m sorry, Glenda, but I don’t understand.”

She smiled patiently. “It’s very simple, really. I spent a
year or so in Chile, working on a hydroelectric project in the Andes. While I
was away, Paul had an affair with Amy.”

Chase smiled to hide his bewilderment. “You and your husband
have an open marriage, do you?”

“Not really. Emotionally, we’re exclusive. God, if he fell
in love with someone else I’d kill him! But sex? That’s different.”

“You mean you’re swingers?”

She chuckled. “No. We’ve tried it, of course. But it’s
really not our thing at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s more like an all-you-can-eat buffet than a
gourmet dinner, if you know what I mean.”

Chase nodded thoughtfully. “Is this the first time he’s had
a relationship with someone else?”

“Not the first, no, though there haven’t been many. But my
work often takes me abroad for long periods. And on this occasion I couldn’t
blame him at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve seen Amy, haven’t you, Inspector? She’s absolutely
gorgeous. I wouldn’t have minded myself, if she was at all interested. I did
suggest a threesome, more than once, but Paul wanted her all to himself.” She
smiled broadly. “Greedy bugger!”

“How well do you know her?”

“Not very. I’ve only met her once, briefly.”

“When was that?”

“Paul introduced me to her at a Christmas function, a couple
of years ago. All very prim and proper, of course, but there was no mistaking
it. She’s got that certain something, all right.”

“She’s very good looking, you said,” Chase prompted.

“Yes, but that’s not what I meant.”

“Please explain.”

She sighed. “OK. At any given time, over half the population
is off the market for one reason or another. Dead from the waist down, if you
like. Most of the rest are so obviously desperate it’s pathetic.” She looked at
him meaningfully.

It’s a fair cop, Chase thought. “Go on,” he said.

“But a very small number of people are neither dead nor
desperate. They’re comfortable in their own skin. They’re open to new
experiences and willing to share. And when they’re as stunning as Amy, well...”

“How do you feel about her now?”

“Just the same.”

“You don’t bear her any malice, any ill will?”

“None at all.”

Chase raised his eyebrows sceptically.

“Let me put it this way, Inspector. If she walked through
that door now, I’d want to rip her clothes off, not punch her in the face. OK?”

He smiled. “And what about you, Glenda? Have you had any
similar relationships?”

“Not really. Not that I’ve ever met anyone of Amy’s calibre,
unfortunately” She smiled distantly. “Having said that, though, there was this
Swiss girl in Chile. Ursula, her name was...”