WOTR C1
CHAPTER ONE.
Hazel Louise Vernon had dinner with Anne McLeod the Friday after Hannah McShane was acquitted of murder.
The Mermaid Café had been one of her favourite haunts for as long as She could remember. The food was excellent. She was finishing off a beef teriyaki and Anne had opted for a vegetarian dish that seemed to feature a lot of flavoured rice and pasta. They were drinking green tea because Anne objected to both the look and smell of French coffee “I didn’t think you worked criminal cases.” Hazel said. She had known Anne for many years. Anne worked for Hawkins, Son and Harker. A pretty efficient legal firm who handled Hazel’s personal affairs. In the case of Anne McLeod a brief personal affair two years ago.
“I don’t normally.” Anne, like so many people in Temple Caneston, was of Scots descent. Though her accent was barely noticeable. She was about Hazel’s age, mid-thirties and had recently took to colouring her hair red. She wore a sensible dark blue business suit with a mid-length skirt and boots. Anne loved boots. She also liked pill box hats. It was rare to see her without one. “Mr Hawkins had the case and his assistant was down with the ‘flu. I stepped in to help.” She looked at her tea cup and swirled the liquid. “I didn’t enjoy it.”
“Your client was acquitted.” Hazel said. She had nothing to do with the original investigation. The local CID had deemed the case open and shut. Hannah McShane stabbed Gloria Kelsey to death in her own home and was observed running from the scene by three independent witnesses. There was other evidence, but no reason to bring in the crime squad. Which were having enough troubles at that time.
“She did.” Anne said, “Though I’m not sure she qualifies as my client exactly. She was Mr Hawkins client.” Anne sipped her tea, “Do you know why I don’t involve myself in criminal cases?”
“You find civil law enough of a challenge.” Hazel said. Anne had told her that herself. When they were in bed, discussing career choices.
“Yes, that. Also…” She sighed, “I never know who’s innocent and who isn’t.”
“Your client is. A jury said she was.” Hazel finished the last of the teriyaki off. The Mermaid was a curious restaurant. Despite the tacky plastic mermaid near the main entrance, the inside was very sophisticated. The lighting was subdued and the staff polite and efficient. There were other mermaids here. Paintings on the wall. Not of ghastly tourist trap mermaids such as the door guardian. These were powerful, dramatic images of what real mermaids would look like. Wild eyed, bare breasted, fang toothed women with tails that had more in common with dolphins than fish. In the pictures the skies were always stormy. Dark clouds swirled. The mermaids came in pairs. One black, the other white. All the ships pictured were picaroons. The skull and cross bones flying proudly. Hazel suspected this meant something but her limited knowledge of art didn’t cover symbolism in paintings.
“I believed she was guilty.” Anne said. “You do as well.”
“I don’t believe anything.” Hazel said, sticking with the official line. Even if She didn’t believe it. “All I know is the Elm Street CID mishandled the original investigation.” She had seen the paperwork. Murder investigation reports should never be that brief. Calling it an investigation was being generous. The investigating officer had his suspect and decided there was no need to do any real work. He just wheeled out his witnesses.
“This is it.” Anne said. “It’s a game. This time we won but I don’t feel good about it.” She pushed her plate aside. In all the time Hazel had known her she had never seen Anne completely finish a meal. “So what do you want to know?”
“Whatever you can tell me.” Hazel said, “I have to start somewhere.” She did not want to start with the Elm Street CID. Having lost the case they would not be in a good mood and would resent her investigation. Also, She knew the investigating officer, Detective Inspector Owen Winters. They had a mutual agreement going. Hazel detested him and his methods. He detested her and the way she worked. The less They saw of each other the happier they both were.
“I don’t know that I can tell you a lot. I only assisted Mr Hawkins and then for the time when his usual assistant was ill.”
“You met Hannah McShane though.”
“I did. She’s a brat. I can actually see her knifing someone I‘m afraid.” Anne said, looking depressed. “That’s another thing. I don’t like the effect dealing with criminals has on me.”
Hazel said, “I knew a Linda McShane when I worked for the vice squad.” That was going back a good few years. The two years Hazel spent in the vice squad had been the start of a series of bad moves she made in both her professional and personal life. “Are they related?”
“I don’t know. I never met any of her relatives. They might be.”
Hazel said, “Never mind, I can find out.” She had liked Linda McShane. She was a tralk, but a decent woman, all said. “Three witnesses claimed to have seen Hannah McShane run from the murder scene.” The scene in question was Keys Court, which wasn’t more than ten minutes steady walk from here. The Keys, as everyone but the residents called it, had been built about twenty five years ago. The idea being to provide high cost luxury housing for the sixteen families most able to afford the huge costs of the resulting houses.
That worked until ten years ago when Carandini Chase had been constructed and the eight most wealthy families in the city moved into that gated community, right next to the Elm Street police station.
The Keys would never become a slum but the house prices had fallen to a more rational level.
Gloria Kelsey, a forty eight year old photographer and divorced woman, had lived at number eight, Keys Court, for the past five years.
“The security guard saw her first.” Anne said. “He works from ten at night until six in the morning.”
Unlike the Chase, Keys Court was not gated. But the residents did chip in some of their hard earned money to employ a security guard at night. Shepherd Security Services provided the guard. Hazel knew a couple of former police detectives who worked for Triple S. The detective side of the company was well staffed, but the uniformed guards tended to be low paid, unskilled workers.
“Geoff Hope.” Hazel said. She might be over thirty, but she still retained the ability to memorize three names. “I’ll have to talk to him. What was he like?”
“He was very young for a security guard.”
“I know.” Hazel said, “The recruits the police are turning out all look about twelve years old. What did you make of him?”
“I think he was more worried about losing his job than anything else. He made a good impression in court though. He chased after Hannah but she out ran him.”
“A seventeen year old girl?” Hazel said, not believing that “He gave up once he reached Skeggs Street, didn’t he?” Skeggs Street was the access to Keys Court. Its main feature was a huge, funnel shaped junction wide enough to turn a forty tonne Euronaut lorry around in.
“Mr Hawkins brought that up at the trial.” Anne said. “If Hope had been injured outside Keys Court he wouldn’t be covered by the company’s insurance policy.”
That was the problem with private security people. They were limited and knew it. But liked to make sure their customers didn’t know things like that.
“He did positively identify Hannah, and said
