…
“We’ve got a difficult one this time.”
It was the message left on my cell phone from Detective Inspector that sometimes threw work my way, usually difficult cases that didn’t have the usual clues leading to a resolution.
I’d been lucky in an old case I’d been researching for a mystery novel and discovered a pattern that, in the end, led to the discovery and resolution of seven other cases spanning thirty years.
It got me into Detective Inspector Clarissa Menzies’ world of criminal investigations, which benefited my research and writing, as well as provided her with another perspective on some of her cases.
I met her at the hospital and was surprised that it was outside a psychiatric ward.
“A little background first. The person you’re about to meet, Angela O’Brien, found herself in a relationship with a criminal, James Dyson, who was portraying himself as a businessman. Things were fine until she discovered who he was, and then, finding herself in too deep asked us to help find a way out. Unfortunately, the best of intentions didn’t quite go the way we planned it.”
“Don’t tell me. You recruited her to get the information you could use against him; you couldn’t resist having someone that close and not try to use it.”
Her expression told me that was exactly what happened. “It was not what I wanted, but to get our help, they wanted something in return.”
“Let me guess. Once she realised who he was and how dangerous he was, she changed. He noticed the change, and when she tried to get the information, he caught her.”
“She was lucky. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and didn’t get to see or take anything. He was just overly suspicious, realising that sooner or later, she would find out.”
“I’m assuming she is in the psych ward, which means…”
“The Barnsdale warehouse fire. He was using it as a processing centre for stolen goods inside the legitimate organisation trading in second-hand goods and claimed, out of spite, she burned the place to the ground. We found her there, covered in incriminating evidence, unconscious from a beam that fell on her as a result of the fire. The thing is, she has no memory of the night, how she got there, or anything. He’s made all the running in this case, accusing her of arson and demanding we charge her. The only problem is that there was another body in that fire, one of his associates, and we think he murdered him, and the way it’s going, if she can’t remember anything, she will end up paying for his crime. All she can remember is the word Kaleidoscope.”
“How will my talking to her make a difference if her memory is gone?”
“You will no doubt have a completely different perspective on the whole affair, especially since I’m not going to tell you anymore. Treat her as a suspect in one of your stories and ask questions. All you need to know is that it was a crime scene, a man was murdered, the fire is covering that up, and she has been set up to take the fall. It might end up being your next novel.”
“Will you be staying?”
“No. I’ll tell her you are helping us with the case and you have some questions.”
For a victim found in a burnt-out building, she seemed remarkably untouched. Except for bandages on her head and some red welts on her hands, there was little other evidence of her ordeal. She was middle-aged and had the appearance of a woman who had devoted herself to the job, forsaking marriage and children. Larissa hadn’t told me her circumstances, but I suspect she may have worked in his organisation, and he had targeted her. Or the circumstances might be totally different.
Clarissa introduced me and then left. I sat down, aware she was giving me the once over, her expression conveying curiosity and wariness.
“The detective says you might be able to help me remember. Are you a doctor?”
“No, but I do have a degree in psychology, not that I ever wanted to be a psychologist. It sometimes helps analyse people, more to put me at ease in their company than anything else.”
“You’re going to analyse me then?”
“Do you want me to?”
“If it discovers how I could have made such a stupid mistake, yes. I mean, I’m sure I knew there was something about him, but I just ignored it until it was too late.”
“We are either willing to compromise in order to get what we want or not, and finish up becoming old and bitter. The fact that it turns out to be the wrong one, it’s just a mistake we learn from and generally move on from. Rarely does it end up like your current situation. But, in your favour, the Inspector doesn’t believe you are either a murderer or an arsonist, despite the circumstantial evidence. However, it would help if you remembered something, anything from that night. So, tell me the last thing you remember?”
“Getting ready to go out.”
“Was this when you realised, he was on to the fact you knew who he was.”
“It wouldn’t be hard, try as I might, I couldn’t get over the horror and knowing I’d been with such a terrible man.”
“Did he change in any way towards you?”
“Not that I could tell, but then he was a good actor.”
“Do you know where he was taking you?”
“No.”
“Was there a place you’d normally go?”
“Yes. A small restaurant owned by a friend of his. When things were good, we’d all dine together and talk about the future. He had been talking about spending a few months in Sorrento, Italy. He had relations there, he said. It would have been nice.”
I’d been there once. The place was nice, but the circumstances were not. I’d gone there to try and patch up a relationship, but it only made matters worse.
“It would be reasonable to assume he knew you were gathering information and was distancing you from his friends.”
“Do you remember him coming to get you?”
“No.” Then she closed her eyes and had the look of a person trying to squeeze those memories out of their hiding place. After a minute, and then two, with various pained expressions on her face, and then she opened her eyes and looked at me. “He looked worried, even frightened. I can see his face, whether it was that night or not, he was standing in the doorway. It might have been when he found out I had been to the police, it might not. Now that I come to think of it, he did mention once to his friend at the restaurant, that a certain other person was trying to move in on his business.”
“Which might mean that someone else burned down the warehouse and you were there by coincidence.”
“Perhaps. We often dropped in after hours and looked at the new stock that came in that day. I had no idea at the time that any of it was stolen goods, but a lot of it was high quality and worth a lot of money. It seems that he was filling orders; someone would come in and ask for a particular item, and he would go find it. Or, as I know now, steal it. Some of the people who worked for him didn’t look like nice people, and when I asked about them, he simply said he was doing civic duty, giving ex-prisoners a second chance. Oh, another thing I remember, he had a register where everything that passed through the warehouse was kept, including where it came from, who bought it, and how much. I saw it once; showed it to me and then put it away in a large safe. I knew the combination; I’d seen him open it. All I can remember now is that I was going to steal it. Somehow.”
“You had a plan?”
“No, it was going to be based on opportunity. But it was dragging out, because he never let me out of his sight, not after I think he realised what I was doing.”
“Any other places he would take you?”
“Little cafes, another restaurant run by another friend, not as good as the other, and several nightclubs. He would sit with other business owners, he called them, and the women, well in most cases girls that look like they still went to school, were shunted to one side. We didn’t want to hear about boring commerce. I didn’t want to listen to girls who could easily be my children, and they thought it strange he would date me, after his last girl, about 20 they said, had more class than I ever would. When I asked where she was, they didn’t know.”
“You told Clarissa this?”
“Yes. After seeing all of them for the first time, I had to wonder why he was dating me. If I was cynical, I’d say it was to make me a patsy. My guess is the guy they found dead in the ruins was the guy trying to buy him out.”
“What were the nightclub names, do you remember?”
She did, in part, but it was enough. If that was a usual haunt, maybe they’d gone to one first. It was a lead worth following.
When I suggested Clarissa and I go to a few nightclubs, I was not sure what her first thought was, but I hastily added that Angela may have visited one before she ended up in the warehouse inferno, she looked relieved. Perhaps she thought I might be trying to get a date with her, an idea that had passed through my mind, but I knew that would be impossible. Work, for the moment, was her priority, and trying to move up the ranks.
The first two had little to offer, and showing each of the bartenders Angela’s photo did not rouse any signs of recognition. I could tell, even if they were lying.
The third and last were bigger, brighter, and full of people. Clarissa recognised a few, from the other side of the law, as well as a few colleagues mixing with people they should not. It was called Axiom and had continuous blinking coloured lights, like, Clarissa suddenly said, a Kaleidoscope.
“Did you know she was referring to Axiom when she mentioned the word Kaleidoscope?” She had to yell about the white noise all around us, and the thumping music in the background.
“It was a long shot at best. When she mentioned he had taken her to places like this, it gave me the idea.”
Clarissa brought out the photo and went, one by one, to each of the bartenders showing the photo of Angela. Three recognised her, but it was east to see they were lying about it. The fourth said she had been in the night of the fire, with the man, and there had nearly been a ‘set to’ as she called it, resulting in the other man being thrown out.
That was when I discovered Clarissa had had dealings with the owners before, and she picked one out, sitting over the back of the club, surrounded by young women, and went straight over to him. He tried to distance himself from the girls, some of which looked underaged but failed.
“Phillip,” she said. “You do not appear to have learned anything since I was last here, have you?”
He glared at her, then stood. “What do you want, Clarissa?”
“CCTV for the night of the 3rd. There was a scuffle and an ejection. Show me, and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“You know I can’t do that. Privacy and all?”
“Then how about I arrest three of these girls and take them down to the station and find out how old they are?” She pulled out her cell phone and brought up the station house number.
“You look, then you go?”
“Of course.”
He took us out the back to a small room with a lanky young man named Wally lounging in a comfortable chair, watching half a dozen screens. He was, according to Phillip, watching for drug transactions. He ran a clean club wherever possible. Any perpetrators and buyers were instantly removed.
He told Wally to bring up the feed from the night in question, and the scuffle in question occurred about an hour and a half before the first report of the warehouse fire. Dyson was there, pushing and shoving back, he didn’t start the altercation, and then the bouncers moved in. Two takeaways from the footage, the other man was someone both of us had seen before, and Angela appeared to be very drunk. Only it looked more like she had been drugged.
Ten minutes later, both were caught on CCTV, leaving by the front entrance, Dyson supporting her as if she had too much to drink. Clarissa got copies of the footage for both events. Then we left.
Clarissa had what she believed was enough probable cause to bring Dyson in for an interview.
I was allowed to observe from a room where I could see him but he couldn’t see me, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know others were nearby. He loomed over at the window and it was an eerie feeling.
He was in a jovial mood because he obviously thought that he had left no evidence behind. He hadn’t mentioned an altercation at Axiom with the business rival, now identified as Roger Davies’ and the dead man in the burnt warehouse.
Perhaps Dyson was hoping the body may have been incinerated, but it wasn’t.
Clarissa and her partner came in a sat down. She had a small file with her, perhaps deceptively so to make him think their evidence if any wasn’t enough to worry about.
His lawyer sat silently, like a man who didn’t want to be there. Did he know the truth?
“Mr Dyson, let’s go through your movements on the might of the warehouse fire.”
She glared at him, or perhaps it was a half grimace. He was, she had said privately to me, an obnoxious little toad.
“‘We’ve done this. If we’re going to rehash what non-evidence you’ve got…” he stood. “Then we’ve got better things to do.”
She shrugged.
“Then try telling us the truth, Mr Dyson. I rarely asked questions in a third interview when I don’t already know the answer, so I suggest you sit down.”
“You’ve got nothing…”
She pushed a button on her phone and the screen directly in his line of sight started with the altercation at Axiom.
“Sit down Mr Dyson, and while you’re doing so try not to conjure up any more lies.”
So I had an argument with some loudmouth fool.”
“The loud-mouthed foil that ended up in your warehouse, very dead, Mr Dyson.”
“Angela’s Co-conspirator perhaps I don’t know maybe they conspired together to burn the place down.”
His eyes didn’t leave the screen though because I was sure he knew what was coming next.
“About that Mr Dyson. How did the woman you see, quite obviously the so-called arsonist, completely out of it, and remain so even after she left the club? Not someone who couldn’t strike a match let alone perform the perfect set-up that would need the skills of a seasoned well-trained arsonist. Oh, and something else you need to consider. She was drug tested when she was brought in. A complete panel. The doctor in the hospital she was taken was overzealous in doing her job. Didn’t know until an hour ago. Rohypnol Mr Dyson. Now, let’s forget the histrionics, and blame others for your problem. From the top, let’s go through your movements on the day of the fire.”
…
© Charles Heath 2023
