Murder on the rocks, p.28
Murder on the Rocks, page 28
part #1 of Jordan Jenner Series
He looked around him and spotted Vanessa’s black Mercedes. She had cut the engine and the lights, and because of the streetlamps being turned off, she was cast in shadow. But Jordan knew her car, and knew she was nearby.
He got out his phone and texted her. They were not going to interact.
If Vanessa was here, it meant other officers were here, too, all awaiting the signal.
Jordan got out of his car and locked it. He took out his phone and walked casually across the road, then stopped on the pavement. He looked up and checked that there was no one around, not daring to even glance at Vanessa, and then he slunk through the bushes onto the pathway that he had discovered weeks before.
He crouched down, walking as quickly as possible, until he got to the gate that gave way to Joseph’s garden. He peered at Joseph’s house.
The lights were on in the kitchen, and Jordan began to imagine the night of the murder. Had the killer looked up at a scene similar to this? Had their heart been beating heavily, so fast it was as if they had run a marathon? Jordan felt his own heart thudding and wondered what he was going to do.
He couldn’t be seen walking up the garden, and this time, glancing at the security light, he didn’t think it would conveniently be cut off for him. He imagined the killer being flooded in light, panicking that they had been seen.
But the conveniently timed cut-off of the light told Jordan there was a possibility of an accomplice.
Someone inside had assisted with the murder.
Jordan walked to the gate, still unlocked, and pushed it. He imagined just the slightest movement would trigger the security light. But there was nothing, only darkness and warm glows coming from the rows of houses.
Jordan checked his phone was on silent and then walked up the garden, keeping to the edge. He made his way slowly, pausing in the cold breeze and remaining in the shadows. He couldn’t see anyone inside, but there could be someone watching him in one of the blacked-out rooms upstairs.
Finally, the ground underneath him became stone. He was now walking around the corner of the house. Still in shadows, Jordan pulled the coat up over his head. He could never be too certain that he wasn’t being watched.
He thought of the scene inside. He pictured the writers gathered, talking about their work but also reminiscing on their past members, finally talking about Kim. He briefly thought of Graham, who had asked for a change in his drink, causing the drinks to go unattended. He thought of Joseph, being unable to see the killer leave.
Jordan pictured the kitchen. Big enough for space, but not big enough to be so far away one was indistinguishable.
Now he was at the front of the house, the street appearing so innocent, the neighbours unaware a murderer was nearby. He clocked the CCTV cameras, no doubt picking up his frame, and lumbered up to the door, not wanting to have security raise the alarm.
He knocked, once, twice, three times.
He waited, his hood still up, his back against the billowing wind.
The door opened. Joseph, holding a bottle of Budweiser, and wearing a pair of glasses, stood there.
At first, he seemed confused, and then as Jordan removed his hood, he smiled. “Jordan. Hi! What are you doing here?”
Jordan smiled back. “I just had a few more questions.” Checking the time on his wristwatch, Jordan looked worried. “Oh, is it too late?”
Joseph checked his own watch, considering what to say. Jordan prayed for politeness. “No, not at all.” But now Joseph’s polite smile seemed strained, as if he suspected something. “Actually, the writers are here. We’re having a little…memorial.”
Jordan pretended to be surprised. “Oh!”
“But it’s fine. No, they’ll be glad to see you.”
Joseph stepped aside, and Jordan walked in. He thought of security and hoped that if they had been suspicious of him, that now they would know he was a guest, a potential new writer in the folds of Joseph’s mentorship.
Jordan could hear music coming from the kitchen, but the voices were coming from the dining room. It was the room where James had been found, and Jordan thought it possible that it was the room where Annabelle and Sally had argued.
Joseph walked in and Jordan followed. All of the writers were gathered around the table. It was as if it hadn’t been the scene of James’s death. There were half-finished glasses mingled with empty bottles and stacked plastic cups, telling Jordan that the party had been in swing long enough for the writers to at least get tipsy. Jordan could smell cigar smoke again, and the light only came from the tripod lamp in the corner of the room, just like it had done on the night of James’s death. Jordan briefly looked at the books in the bookcase, still undisturbed and gathering dust.
Sally was in full conversation with Graham, clutching a glass of wine. Graham seemed surprised to see Jordan, managing a smile but avoiding his eyes. Margaret, her back turned, noticed the other writers looking and turned around to see her husband with the detective. The atmosphere in the room changed, as it always did whenever Jordan entered a room.
“We have another guest,” Joseph said.
“Get him a drink!” Franchesca called.
Jordan shook his head. “I’m fine, but thank you.”
Propped up on the bookcase was a photograph of Kim, candles lit around her. No one was paying the display any attention, but Jordan couldn’t help staring at her. She stared out at the crowd before her, as if watching her killer.
“So, what brings you here, Jordan?” Andy asked. His cheeks were flushed, and he smiled.
“Honestly, forget about me,” Jordan said. “Carry on with your night. I just wanted to speak to Joseph.”
It was hard to tell in the dim lights in the room, but Jordan thought Joseph seemed to pale ever so slightly. “Me?”
“Yeah. Let’s sit.”
“Shall we go to the kitchen?”
“No, it’s fine. We can sit here.” Jordan pulled out a chair at the top of the table.
Joseph, glancing at the other writers who were watching, offered a reassuring smile. “Carry on. This won’t take a minute. Then we can get the cake.”
Cake, at a memorial. Jordan almost laughed.
The other writers reluctantly began chatting again, but Jordan could tell now it was subdued.
He let Joseph sit next to him, head of the table, looking down at his protégés.
Joseph tilted his glass towards Jordan. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink?”
“No, no, I’m fine.”
Joseph nodded, drinking slowly from his own glass, attention over on the writers. The music managed to drift into their room through the doorway leading directly into the lit kitchen. It wasn’t loud enough to cover conversations, and Jordan listened the whole time.
“Weather has gone a bit shit, hasn’t it?” Joseph conversed.
But Jordan didn’t answer. He listened to Graham telling Sally about his desires to get a new job and kick-start a career, his passions not entirely in a career in writing or authorship. Franchesca leaned across the table to talk to Andy. Margaret was watching the writing group, but she was not saying a word.
“It was a tough decision, calling everyone here tonight. I knew it would be fun, but I thought it might be too soon,” Joseph said, his voice low and his gaze flickering to Jordan, as if trying to read the expression of the man next to him. “But it felt like the right thing to do.”
Jordan didn’t entertain Joseph’s musings. Sally laughed, Margaret laughed afterwards. Andy said something to her, but Jordan didn’t catch the words. Franchesca glanced towards them, and Graham was pretending to listen but staring at the floor.
“You say you wanted to talk, but you’re not talking.” Joseph half laughed. “Everything okay?”
Jordan remained mute, looking at the grooves in the table. His focus drifted to where James had lain slumped, his hands wrapped around the glass that had killed him.
Joseph lifted his drink to his lips, uncomfortable now, the sheen of sweat on his forehead giving him away.
Joseph swallowed. “We mentioned James tonight. We miss him too. Greatly. We miss them both. They were big characters in our group. And it just feels odd to only have us here. Our numbers have dwindled, and it’s noticeable. I sometimes think I see James…”
“Save it,” Jordan finally said. “I know what happened. I know you killed James Fairview.”
Sixty-Two
The man’s face before him stared dumbfounded. It was as though Jordan had lifted his drink and threw it all over him. The writers around them talked, drank, laughed as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Jordan stared directly at Joseph, watching him, reading the expression on the author’s face.
Joseph let out a loud bark, a mixture of laughter and something else. The writers quietened, looking at him. “Excuse me?”
Joseph looked old in this lighting, as if the world was catching up with him. Sleepless nights and consumption of alcohol had given him a blotchy complexion. He had dark circles underneath hooded eyes that had at first seemed kind, but now only seemed to be plotting.
“It’s fine. You can tell me now. I must admit you kept it cool, but you slipped up. I found out.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Joseph said, and he lifted a steady hand to drink from his glass. He glanced at the writers, who were listening. “I wanted you involved in this case. You think I…? Preposterous.”
“I have police officers waiting outside. We can do this the right way, to save the embarrassment, or you can continue to deny it.”
“What’s going on?” Margaret asked.
Jordan looked at her. “I think you already know.”
Her colour drained, and she scooted back in her chair to make a move. But Joseph held a hand, signalling her to stop, and she did, as if he had an unbeatable power.
“Jordan. I appreciate this has been a hard case for you. But you’ve got it all wrong.”
“What’s going on?” Sally asked.
“I haven’t got it wrong.”
“You have. My poor boy, you have.”
“Jordan, what’s happening?” Sally spoke again.
“Will you shut up?” Joseph ordered.
“Excu—”
“Shut up,” Joseph said again, a tone of finality. He looked at Jordan now, angry. “I won’t have you coming here, ruining our night, accusing me of something I didn’t do.”
“Oh, you didn’t do it alone. I know that.” Jordan looked at Margaret. “You helped.”
Franchesca, sitting next to Margaret, moved away, towards Andy.
“Joseph,” Margaret said. It was the first time that she looked afraid. Her steely exterior had been damaged.
“It’s fine,” Joseph dismissed. “He’s got it wrong.”
Jordan sat back in his chair and took out his mobile phone from his pocket.
Joseph watched him, trying to work things out.
“I was getting texts from Kim. I thought she was alive, threatening me, telling me to stay away from this case to let secrets die. I thought she was responsible at first, the way you were telling me about her hatred towards James. But then things linked my mother’s death to what happened to James, and then of course, Kim died. That really changed what I was thinking.”
Margaret looked at Joseph again.
“Jordan, what’s going on?” Sally repeated.
“Do we need to leave?” Graham asked.
“I’d rather you all stay,” Jordan said. “I won’t let these two hurt you like they did the others, but I’d advise you to stop drinking what they’ve supplied. You might find there is something deadly in it.”
The writers eyed their beverages, and Graham put his cup down on the table and wiped his mouth.
“I thought you were supposed to be a good detective,” Joseph scoffed. “Did that change when Annabelle died?”
“Oh, I thought you were innocent. Trust me, Joseph, your acting skills are impeccable with the dodgy eyesight, the hero that nurtured fresh talent, your whole sprightly personality. Why would you kill one of your own? It made no sense. But you slipped up.”
“I won’t hear this.” Joseph stood up.
“Sit back down, or I will signal the police officers surrounding this house to come in and arrest you,” Jordan said.
The smell of cigar smoke came drifting towards Jordan, and he noticed for the first time that Graham had been smoking one. It burnt brightly, held aloft, forgotten about now that something else had grasped Graham’s attention.
Joseph looked doubtful, and Jordan wondered if he believed him. After a few moments, Joseph sat but angled his chair away from Jordan.
“You told me, when we first met, that your wife wore Vivienne Westwood, and that’s how you recognised the perfume the killer left behind,” Jordan said.
“That’s right,” Joseph said.
“A very popular perfume, wouldn’t you say, Margaret?”
“I…”
“Oh, I know you’ve got it,” Jordan said. “I saw it in your bathroom.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed. “That proves nothing.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Jordan said. He looked at the female writers. “Do either of you own Vivienne Westwood?”
“I used to,” Franchesca said, whilst Sally remained silent.
“There we go,” Jordan nodded. “Proves that it’s a popular choice for perfume. But you said your wife, Joseph, and that wouldn’t have clicked if you hadn’t told us that you had just found out your wife had been cheating.”
Graham gasped. Sally was shaking her head.
Joseph glared at Jordan, not saying a word but breathing deeply.
“That got me thinking. I had heard about a manuscript, something that James had managed to get published. You were all confused, and I sensed resentment. The writer you all hated had made it, and the rest of you hadn’t. Hell, it was going to be more popular than any of your books, Joseph. Or so you thought. Correct?”
Joseph refused to say a word. He lifted his glass, but his hand was shaking now, and he didn’t drink.
“Then, of course, you were all angry with James. He had insulted you all at one point or another. James, who was fucking Sally, Annabelle, and Margaret.”
“How dare you?” Margaret hissed.
“What? It’s true. You all found out he had been playing around. Joseph, you despised the man.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I’m not,” Jordan replied. “Jealousy and anger, plenty of motive, and Sally, I did wonder if it was you that had murdered him. You see, Kim left a DVD. Killing her may have been silencing her, but it was too late.”
“I didn’t kill Kim,” Sally gasped.
“No, I know you didn’t.” Jordan smiled at her. “She said on the tape that they were after me. She told me about your meeting. Kim, Sally, and Margaret. She mentioned the schemes to hurt James, and that one night you all joked and laughed about poisoning him. But she didn’t know then that she had given you the idea, Margaret. Did she?”
Margaret turned to her husband. “Come on. Are we going to let him do this?”
“Like I say, feel free to run, but you’ll come face-to-face with the police outside.”
Joseph held out a hand, and Margaret took it. It was his way of telling her to stay, that he had a plan, that nothing would happen to them.
Jordan had seen it all before.
“You killed Kim because she knew who had poisoned James. Unfortunately for you, Margaret, she had seen you that night.”
“No.”
“Yes. You were at the bottom of the garden on that pathway that I entered through today. Well hidden, Joseph, but now I know why it was there. Tell me, how long had you been plotting this scheme?”
Joseph laughed. “You’re ridiculous. You said yourself it was because I was angry that he was sleeping with my wife. I found out when you were here. Your logic is redundant.”
The writers looked at Jordan for answers.
Jordan smirked. “Sure. But like I said, you had discovered the manuscript. Jealousy gripped you, and you were angry he had managed to pull this off. You must have suspected it wasn’t his work, coming so soon after Annabelle’s death, and the hype around her manuscript, which was never published. Come on, Joseph. Isn’t it clear to you yet? It wasn’t your idea. It was poor old Kim’s, who never meant for it to happen. But it did. It got into Margaret’s head, who at this point had learned of his infidelity. A woman scorned. She wanted revenge, and it worked out well with what you were feeling. You couldn’t let her do it alone, so you helped her. You helped the woman you loved commit two acts of murder.
“There’s CCTV footage. Don’t you remember that camera outside your house? Now, security was reluctant in handing it over. It made me wonder how much you paid them, but that’s all speculation, of course.”
“How dare you?”
“Speculation.” Jordan held up his hands, one of which still held his phone. “But we finally got it, and the security light you have on outside conveniently cut out when the killer left. With Sally and Margaret not here, you hoped the killer would get away with it. Sally, did you wonder why Margaret was still befriending you, even though she had been cheated on too? It was because you had to be an accomplice, even though you didn’t know it. Margaret purposefully cut that meeting short that night. She couldn’t help but go through with it.”
Joseph was shaking his head, and Margaret was clenching her fists.
“Margaret came to the writing group that night, and Joseph saw the light go on. You offered the writers drinks, playing perfect host, and then you went to see her. Of course, by now you knew what the plan was. You knew she wanted to kill, and you didn’t mind helping. I don’t know where you got the poison from, but I suspect you had it at hand, waiting for Margaret to come. It’s unfortunate that a writer you had mentored had finally got a big break, and you couldn’t handle it, Joseph. But of course, I understand. Any other writer and you may have been different. But this was James. He didn’t deserve such success, did he?
“Graham, your call to Joseph came at the right time. No doubt Joseph was wondering how he could get away with this, but this was the perfect excuse. He could leave the drinks unattended, enough time for the killer to deposit the poison. Margaret had enough time to put the poison in and slink away unnoticed. As far as you were all aware, she was never here.”
