Death is a Service Rendered

"We've spoken."

"What about"

"None of your... well, nothing much. We talked about what we had seen. I might have shouted a little. All on the phone. Made up afterwards. Probably going to meet up for a drink when I have the time." He looked, if anything, embarrassed.

"Sorry he dragged you into it. I mean, he shouldn't have gone to the warehouse. Should have called us first, maybe?"

"Not his style. Not mine either. I was curious, I mean, the work we did for that bastard."

"Sorry, who do you mean..."

"That John bloke. One who was killed. We sweated blood over that order, and there it all was; ruined in a sodding warehouse and him bleeding all over it."

Paula spoke up; "He wasn't exactly bleeding over..." She was ignored.

"And the worst part of it was the smell you know. I mean he must have been dead for weeks."

"About four weeks we think" said Ross. "And that takes me to my next question. Are you certain about the date that the goods left here."

"Whatever you might think," Chaz looked meaningfully at Paula, "we run a proper business here. You just saw what we do. I keep good records."

"Yes, we could see that. And so it must have occurred to you that our man must have died soon after it was delivered."

Chaz looked puzzled.

"I mean, you saw how the equipment had been unpacked and then altered. That must have taken time. How could our man have done that and be dead, suppurating and lying in the middle of the room?"

"What are you getting at?"

"What I'm suggesting is that either there was someone else there who did the killing and altering of the equipment whilst entertaining a rich smelling body a few feet away... or... the equipment had already been altered before it left this workshop. Eh?"

As it dawned on Chaz that he was being accused of something, his face turned to thunder and he straightened up with clenched hands. Ross immediately stood up unashamedly trying to put himself in harms way. Paula also rose and stepped to the side, ready to restrain someone: preferably Chaz despite their relative sizes.

But then Chaz relaxed his hands and spoke with unconcealed fury instead.

"I don't do that kind of work my friend. I know better than you what those changes would have meant to anyone using... no, being used by that altered stuff. And I would never allow that to happen. If I found anyone changing my stuff that way, and I will find that out by the way, I wouldn't be bothering any police. I would be right over there with my lads to give them a right telling to."

"A telling to?"

"With my number 4, the Black Bess!" Chaz glanced up at the wall where a bullwhip hung proudly as a prized exhibit rather than an item of stock.

Ross accepted this. After all, they couldn't inreality time the murdered man's death, and the conversation they had just had, clearly showed that Chaz didn't realise the body had been moved there from another crime scene. So Piers hadn't told him that detail.

"Did you ask Piers why he wanted to see the warehouse?"

Puzzled by the change in tone and question, Chaz sat back against the workbench and scratched the back of his thick neck.

"None of my business. I only went because later that night when we met, he asked me to come along?"

"Why?"

"For protection."

"Did he say that?"

"Well, yes, he said he wanted to be sure that he wasn't going to meet the guy the police were after."

"So, why not ask him to talk to the police, why go it alone, with you?"

"I suppose he wanted to do it himself. Maybe didn't trust you, I don't fucking care."

"So why did you agree to go?"

"It was my stuff. If it was mixed up in anything illegal, I needed to know about it. And I trust Piers. If he said he needed me, I would go just like that." Chaz clicked his fingers.

"Yes, I bet you would."

"What's that supposed to mean." Chaz tensed again. "Hey, why haven't I been read some rights, or get to call a solicitor or something?"

"Because you're not arrested Sir, we're simply making some enquiries." Paula said this with all the forceful formality she could muster.

Chaz looked bleakly at the wall for a minute and then went to the other side of the room, pulled across an oil-stained and threadbare canvas chair and sat opposite them. He seemed much calmer and he clasped his hands to his knees. He spoke, carefully as if the words had been composed well beforehand.

"Piers said he was looking into a murder for you guys. I didn't ask anything about it. I know he works for you sometimes. I told him before loads of time he shouldn't be doing that."

"Why?"

"Never mind that."

"But."

"But?"

"But, I had another feeling as well that night. You know, later he, I and the missus got a little drunk. Like old times. He didn't tell me what he was working on, but I was watching him. He raised his glass and said, "to absent friends" and he blinked a couple of times, like he was holding back, you know?"

"Sorry, Chaz, I'm not sure what you're getting it."

"That other murder, the one he was working on. Was it a friend of his? And why wouldn't he tell me who it was. Do I know them?"

DS Grave smiled broadly which told Paula to say and do nothing, not even move her face.

"No, nothing like that Chaz. Well, thank you, you've been very helpful. Can I say that I'm sorry if I've disturbed you and we will leave you to get on with the... work." Ross stood up and Paula followed.

Afterwards, a thoughtful Chaz waited by the door for the police car to leave the street. After a few minutes, he reached into his shirt pocket for his phone.

*

Paula waited until they were out of sight of the house and watched the road as she drove. Then she had to ask.

"So, what are you thinking, our Mr Fellowes not been telling us everything? Do you think he knows our victim? Did he know Alice?"

"I've known Piers for a few years, he has always come across as one of the good guys."

"No you don't, if you'll forgive me, Sir. No you don't know him. He has you, us, running around for weeks like his own personal investigation service and we get precisely nowhere as a result."

"I know. And it's the reason we have just spoken to Chaz. He does know Piers and what he has, Piers induces it in everyone he meets. Blind loyalty."

"Even you Sir?"

"No Detective Sergeant Morris, definitely not blind."

Chapter 15

Piers stared at his phone for a minute and sighed. He had run out of options as he knew he would eventually. He had been waiting for over an hour for his second appointment with Cally who hadn't arrived and then he received the text message to say that she had cancelled it. And now he had just spoken with Chaz.

He had no choice, he had to implement his contingency plan. No one could accuse him of not being prepared at least.

First, he opened the phone and took out the small plastic chip card. He snapped it in two and walking to the bathroom, flushed it down the toilet with a wad of paper to help it along. Later the phone itself would end up in several skips. All that Chaz had said was that he had a visit from Ross and they were asking questions about him. Oh, it had taken Chaz a few minutes of righteous indignation first before he said that. Accusing him of this, and that. But eventually it was clear that Chaz had said enough to cause Ross to leave suddenly. Piers didn't have much time.

At his open laptop, he pressed a button and a series of pre-prepared emails and texts were sent out. Taken together they would ensure that his business would be put in safe hands, that a few friends would have reasonable explanations of why he was away for a while and some money would be transferred to various accounts. Another button was pressed and the laptop's memory and disk were efficiently obliterated. He doubted that all of this insurance would work, so he went to the room safe, opened it and retrieved a small doctor's briefcase and a paper package. This, he emptied into a larger prepared rucksack. He would dispose of the contents of the briefcase more securely than the phone: in the river probably. The package, necessary cash. He then changed his clothes, covered the casualwear with a waterproof countryman's jacket and pulled out a small cap.

As he left his apartment, he glanced in the mirror. Nobody would have seen Piers looking like this before: like a country hiker perhaps. He sighed.

"Well Piers, it looks like the game is about to start. It's time to sort it all out I think young man."

He looked once again, old in the mirror.

*

By the time Ross turned up, there was nothing to be done. Chaz had been brighter than he had given him credit for. Despite coming straight to Piers' apartment, Piers had been warned. He looked mournfully at the laptop skewed on the table, the open safe, the pile of clothing on the floor and the neatness of the study.

"Not only did he know we were coming Morris, he knew we would be coming for some time. Get the team over to go through the rooms, but I seriously doubt we will find anything of use."

"What are we looking for?"

"Contacts, family addresses, known associates, everything that might tell us where he might go. Have we alerted the usual airports and everything?"

"All in hand Sir. Contacts Sir?"

Ross grimaced, yes I know. Piers' list of people he knows would fill a very large encyclopaedia. But I want him found."

*

Piers' first approach was to the street where Brian's club lay discreetly amongst the shops and bars. He leant in a shop doorway nearby and phoned him from a pre-paid mobile phone he had just bought for the purpose. To his relief, Brian answered straight away and with some bad grace, agreed to come outside. As soon as the call was finished, Piers threw the phone in a bin and pushed the chip card down a street drain.

Brian arrived and Piers immediately took him by the arm and led him away into a quiet side alley.

"What's up Piers and for christsakes have you had an accident in a hiking store," said Brian looking askance at the clothes.

"Shut-up Brian, I don't have much time." Brian immediately looked very worried.

"It's that damn case you're into, isn't it. It'll be your own fault you know?"

"Look, in a few minutes, you're going to get a visit from the police. I want you to deny ever seeing me today, but I need another favour."

"I can't do anything illegal Piers, you know that.. I mean, what's the problem here."

"I'm going to be accused of murder Brian. And I promise you I didn't do it. But there are reasons why they will think I did. Reasons that will look convincing. I need you to believe me rather than them."

"Murder Piers? Or maybe you have had an accident. A scene go wrong, I know that happens. Tell the police, please Piers for my sake at least!"

"Stop panicking Brian, I really need you to focus here. No, I didn't kill anyone, but I haven't found out for definite who did it yet. But I have an idea and I need to be free to find out. No Brian, don't interrupt, I KNOW the police won't help here."

"Ok, ok. So what is it you want from me?"

"Remember my avatar. The one who sent emails on my behalf? You still have the records?"

"I meant to delete them, you know I would have if..."

"Doesn't matter now. I know you didn't. And it's useful. I want you to send my doppelganger a message. From Alice's account to my account. I want you to tell him that I, Piers, know who he is."

"Won't the police be monitoring?"

"Yes, that's why you are going to have to use some of those skills of yours. It can't be traced to you. It must look as though I am definitely the author."

"And then what?"

"The police will probably ask you to set up a message board to ask people to contact them if they come across me. Co-operate with that. I want them to think you are helping them out in any way you can. But, what I also want you to do is insert a line into Alice's email to whoever is reading my account. It must say, - I'll need 20k or wheels will be set in motion. Wait for my call -."

Brian looked across the street and pinched his cheek in nervous thought.

"Ok, ok, I'll do it. When will the police come?"

"You have minutes my friend, do it now, And remember EXACTLY as I've said."

Brian nodded and hurried away. He paused at his café entrance to look back, but Piers was gone. He too made a call.

*

Piers didn't have any choice but to use his own car. He turned up at his London garaging company and as fast as he could manage, booked out the less obvious BMW rather than his usual sporty Jaguar. Neither was often used. Hopefully, it would take the police a while to realise he owned them and where they were kept.

It was getting dark and he consulted his maps for his destination. It looked like it was going to take him a good couple of hours to get there.

It had been several years since he had last visited the Mill, but it was the sort of place that didn't change much. And there it was, Quinn's inheritance, the old Brookford Mill. Piers could see straight away that Quinn wasn't there. There wasn't a lot of room for cars to be parked; most of what could be used was at the front, the rest of the land around the tall stone building was marshy meadow or else the brook lapped against it. There was no car to be seen and no obvious garage. And yet there was a light in the wheelhouse.

Piers had assumed he would find Quinn, confront him and then call the police and hold him there until they arrived. He needed to see inside the Mill, see what else he had equipped it with. That would at least confirm his suspicions enough to convince the police that he, Piers, didn't kill Alice.

Stepping out the car, he walked over the stone covered yard to the side of the building. The recently restored wheel protruded from the building and dipped into the empty weir and so remained still in the gloom of the evening. He could see the light in the window to the adjacent wheelhouse room, but it was placed above eyelevel. A short flight of stone steps led up to an ill-fitting door. He tried the handle, but of course it was locked.

Looking around the area lit by the glow from the window, Piers spotted a collection of packing crates. He pulled one over the beneath the window and unsteadily climbed on. He was able to peer into the wheelhouse and looked around. The room was bare except for a long old oak table, a couple of chairs and of course, the half shape of a millwheel. It looked like new wood and recently installed.

Just like he said, thought Piers. And right in front of bloody Ross Grave! But it wasn't the wheel that caught his attention. Strapped across the wooden slats and so bent into an arc lay a nude girl. Piers from his angle could only see the edge of the naked form and not much else. But one thing was certain, she was alive and obviously in some distress as she occasionally stretched against the restraints.

Fucking Quinn. Just left her there without supervision! Where the hell was he? Piers scrambled off the crates and ran up to the door. As far as he knew, Quinn lived here alone. But he rapped loudly on the door anyway. He rapped again and then ran around the other corner of the building, stumbling in the dark, to the main door in an unlit porch. He knocked again and shouted. This time, he was certain that the girl was alone. He ran back to the car, fumbled for the release catch for the boot and brought out the jack handle from the tyre compartment. At the door to the wheelhouse, there were enough gaps in the wood to use this as a crowbar and with several painful yanks and a splintering of the wood around the lock, he was inside.

The girl was gagged but not blindfolded and when she saw Piers, she moaned some sounds and struggled against the straps that held her to the wheel. Piers could see that she wasn't physically harmed and it was unlikely that damage had been done. It was Cally and she clearly wanted out.

Piers smiled to re-assure her. "Hello my dear, I did wonder why you missed our appointment. May I help?"

Even before she nodded vigorously, Piers had reached out for the gag. As he pulled it away, a stream of invective was unleashed.

"Fucking moron. I mean just fuck... fuck..."

"Ok, ok, let me get these straps off you. Have you seen Quinn recently, how long did he leave you like..."

"Quinn, that bastard is going to get well stuffed, I can tell you. Bastard left me here without saying a word. I've been here for hours."

"Ok, ok, let me do this and you can tell me all about it. The last time I saw you, you were thinking of working with me, what changed your mind? You're the shy girl who asked me to help after all?"

"Yeah, well fucking Quinn said he would help instead. And he... and he..."

But as Piers undid the last strap on her foot, she descended into a fit of tears and wracking sobs as Piers helped her off the wheel and hugged her. She held him, a near stranger, as if she needed all the re-assurance of a parent.

"Ok, ok, you are alright with me. Believe me, I am no friend of Quinn's." At least, he thought to himself, not any more.

*

It took some time for her shock to wear off and eventually, she let him go so that he could search for her clothes. These found, he then left her to find the kitchen. She followed him in, not wanting to be left, still pulling on her sweater and stepping into her jeans. He made and handed her a mug of tea.

"So tell me what happened?"

Cally had had a busy week. Between anger and sobs, the whole story came out and Piers listened patiently, filing away the important bits and murmuring sympathetic noises at the right moments automatically.

After talking with Piers, she had called Brian who arranged for her to meet Quinn at the café to thank him for the introduction to Piers. Her first mistake was to spend a lot of time singing the praises about her consultation with Piers. Her second mistake was not to notice how Quinn was taking this praise. Thirdly, having no friends she wanted to confide in about her feelings and assuming Piers didn't need to know, she told no-one that Quinn had then asked her to come to his home.

He was charming to begin with and she felt comfortable in his presence. He told her, and she had no doubt from speaking with him, that he only wanted to show her; "what delights were possible if she placed it in the hands of a lover trained by him."

He explained that he was about to build a Club here at the Mill and, although delayed for some reason he didn't elaborate upon (Piers thought grimly of the reason) nevertheless, there were some techniques he could demonstrate. One thing led to another and eventually, she felt comfortable enough to try the wheel. Comfortable enough even to do exactly as Quinn asked.

"It was like a dream," she said, "Like it was the most natural thing in the world to be naked and in his hands."

Piers nodded. He knew what Quinn could do... just not what he was capable of.

"So what went wrong?"

"He took a call. His mobile rang and he apologised EVER so nicely but took the call anyway."

"And then?"

"He just looked at me, looked at the time, patted me on the cheek and then, the sodding bastard just LEFT!"

"How long do you think he has been gone."

She shrugged; "It felt like hours... but maybe it's only been an hour."

"So what do you want to do now?"

She broke into tears again and wailed; "Go home, just.. just take me home!"

Chapter 16

He couldn't take the risk of driving far and he certainly didn't want Cally to know the police were likely to be looking for him. It was a long drive back into London with all the risk of being picked up. She trusted him and he felt that another trust lost in one day would put her over the edge. However, before he had to make the decision, she had calmed down and as they were leaving in his car, she asked him to drop her off at a local railway station instead. She would make her own way home.