PI Kate Brannigan Series Books 1-3: Dead Beat, Kick Back, Crack Down

‘Why? Where did you think it had happened?’

‘I don’t know. She said something earlier about going down to the village to see someone. I suppose I assumed she was attacked on her way back or something. Oh God, poor Jett. He must be in a hell of a state.’ At last, someone had finally spared a thought for the boss. Neil jumped to his feet and pushed past me to the door. ‘The blue room, you said?’ he demanded as he pulled it open.

‘That’s right,’ I replied as I followed him.

As I re-emerged in the hall, a plain clothes policeman pounced. ‘Kate Brannigan?’ he demanded.

That’s me,’ I agreed.

‘You didn’t tell us you’re a private investigator,’ he accused.

‘No one asked me,’ I replied, unable to resist. I don’t know why I get this urge to be a smartass round coppers.

‘The inspector wants to see you right now,’ he told me, steering me down the hall into a smaller room next to the blue drawing room. It was wood panelled and stuffed with leather chairs. It looked like I’ve always imagined a gentlemen’s club to be. A small writing desk had been moved away from the wall, and behind it sat a slim, dark-haired man in his mid thirties, his eyes indistinct behind a pair of glasses with tinted lenses. He was the last man in England wearing a pale blue shirt with white collar and cuffs under his dark blue suit. His striped tie was neatly knotted. He didn’t look as if he’d been called out of bed in the middle of the night, but equally, he didn’t look crumpled enough to have been on duty.

‘I’m Inspector Cliff Jackson,’ he introduced himself. ‘And you must be our elusive private eye.’

‘Good morning, Inspector,’ I replied politely. ‘I’m Kate Brannigan, of Mortensen and Brannigan.’

‘I know exactly who you are, Miss Brannigan,’ he countered, a note of irritation in his gravelly Lancashire voice. ‘What I want to know is why you felt it necessary to go round interfering with witnesses.’

‘I haven’t been interfering with anyone,’ I returned. ‘If you mean rounding up the inhabitants, I was simply doing what your sergeant asked.’

‘As you well know, he wouldn’t have let you near one of them if he’d known the way you earn a living.’

‘Inspector, if anyone had bothered to ask what I do, I’d have been happy to tell them. Don’t give me a bad time because one of your lads didn’t do his job properly. I really don’t want to fall out with you.’

‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said so far,’ he grumbled as he made a note on his pad. We went through the formal routine that prefaces the taking of a statement, then he pushed his glasses up and massaged the bridge of his nose with surprisingly well-manicured fingers. ‘So, what were you doing here tonight?’ he asked.

‘It was a social call. We did a job for Jett some time ago, and he told me to drop in whenever I was passing. So I did.’ It sounded thin, even to me, but I could only hope he thought I was a bit starstruck.

‘You were just passing at this time of night?’ he challenged sarcastically, letting his glasses slip back into place. ‘You normally drop in on people this late?’

‘Of course not,’ I countered. ‘But I knew Jett keeps late hours. I’d been working and I was wide awake, so rather than go home and bounce off the walls I thought I’d stop off for a coffee. Besides, it wasn’t that late when I got here. It can’t have been that much after midnight.’

He clearly wasn’t happy with the scenario, but he didn’t have anything to contradict it yet, so he let it go for now. I outlined the version of events I’d agreed with Jett, hoping he’d remembered what he was supposed to say. I had plenty of time to think between sentences, since the detective who’d collared me was carefully writing it into a statement.

After we’d exhausted the subject of the discovery of the body, Jackson asked plenty of questions about the household and their movements, but I didn’t have any answers. Frustrated, he gave up on that line and asked, ‘What was the nature of this job your firm did for Jett?’

I’d hoped we wouldn’t get to that till I’d had a chance to discuss the matter with Bill. I took a deep breath and recited, ‘The nature of our business is confidential. I am afraid that is a private matter between Mortensen and Brannigan and our client.’

Jackson pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose again. It looked like he had a sinus headache, and I began to feel the slight stirrings of sympathy. He wouldn’t be getting much sleep over the next few days unless they got a very lucky break. However, my sympathy didn’t override my professional ethics.

‘You are withholding information that could be material to a murder inquiry,’ he sighed.

I was waiting with bated breath for him to say something, anything, that wasn’t a cliché. I was destined for another disappointment.

‘I don’t have to tell you that it’s an offence to obstruct the police. Frankly, I could do without the hassle of charging you, Miss Brannigan, but you make it very tempting.’

‘I could do without the hassle too, Inspector. If it’s any help, the answer will be the same whether you charge me or not.’ I tried not to sound as defiant as I felt. A night in the cells would be both uncomfortable and bad for business.

‘Get her out of my sight, Sergeant Bradley,’ Jackson said, getting to his feet. ‘Get her to sign her statement first,’ he continued as he crossed the room and left.

The sergeant proffered the sheets of my statement and I read through it quickly. It never ceases to amaze me that no matter what you actually say in a police statement, it always comes out in a strangulated officialese. In spite of the jargon, Sergeant Bradley appeared to have got the gist of what I’d said, so I signed dutifully.

I was escorted back to the hall, where Jackson was earnestly talking to the uniformed sergeant. When he saw me, he scowled and said, ‘Miss Brannigan’s leaving now, sergeant. Get one of the lads to see her off the premises. And I mean right off.’ Then he turned to me and said, ‘I don’t want you discussing the circumstances of this case with anyone. And I don’t just mean the press. I mean you are not to talk to anyone about the method or timing of this incident. Is that understood?’ I nodded. Then he added, ‘We’ll let you know when we want to see you again. And keep your nose out. Leave this to the professionals.’

I’d be only too happy to do just that, I thought as I drove down the drive. But somehow, I had the feeling Jett wasn’t going to give me that option.

It was just after three a.m. when the electronic gates opened silently before me and I drove out into the lane, waving goodbye to the patrol car that had followed me down the drive. I slowed down as I approached Colcutt village, searching in the glove box for something more soothing than Tina Turner. As I hit the bend, a figure appeared in my headlights. It froze momentarily, then disappeared into the darkness of the verge.

I braked the car to a halt and jumped out. I ran back the few yards to where the figure had disappeared. There was no trace of anyone. The only sound to break the silence of the night was the soft mutter of my engine. I might have been dreaming, but I didn’t think so. I had only seen Moira’s lover once, but I’d have recognized Maggie Rossiter anywhere.

Chapter 15 (#ulink_147845bf-f4ae-5e75-b7c4-60ee400a27af)

When people find out what I do for a living, they always ask if it’s dangerous. They usually seem disappointed when I confess that the hardest thing to deal with is lack of sleep. I get very ratty if I’m kept away from my bed. I’d been asleep for a mere four hours after my run-in with Jackson when the phone rang insistently.

I picked up the phone. ‘Who is it?’ I growled.

‘Good morning to you, too,’ Shelley replied. ‘Bill wants to talk to you. Are you coming in or do you want to speak to him now?’

‘Both,’ I replied. Bill’s no stickler for regular office hours, and he knows me well enough to know that if I’m not in the office at nine there’s a good reason. So for him to get Shelley to roust me out of bed, it had to be important.

‘Kate,’ his voice boomed in my ear as Shelley connected us. ‘What’s this you’ve been up to now?’

‘How did you get to hear about it?’ I asked wearily, climbing out of bed and heading for the kitchen.

‘The news about Moira was on the radio this morning, and I got into the office to find a string of increasingly hysterical messages from Jett and a demand for a meeting from a pompous asshole called Inspector Cliff Jackson. It didn’t take a lot of working out,’ he reported.

‘What did Jett want?’

‘You, basically. A lot of moaning about why did you run out on him when he needed you and instructions to get yourself back over there asap. I think you’d better come in and brief me on what’s been going on before we decide whether we want to have any further involvement. OK?’ It was the nearest Bill was ever going to get to a direct order.

Twenty minutes later, I was filling him in. When I got to the bit about the story I’d concocted for the police about the body’s discovery, he shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘I don’t think that was one of your brightest moves, Kate,’ he complained.

‘I know. But anything else made Jett look like the killer.’

‘And how do you know he wasn’t?’ Bill challenged me.

‘I saw the state he was in. It wasn’t the kind of reaction I’d expect from a man who had just killed his so-called soul mate. It was more like he couldn’t believe it till someone else had confirmed it. Besides, if I’d told the truth, Jett wouldn’t have been cluttering up our answering machine all night. He’d be down the nick in an interrogation room.’ I knew it sounded weak even as I told it, but the strength of my own gut feeling about Jett’s innocence didn’t allow for compromise.

‘I trust your instincts, Kate. But the cops sure as hell won’t. We’ll have to make damn sure they don’t find out the truth. And I suppose that means you’ll have to stay close to whatever’s going on,’ he added. He chewed his beard restlessly, a sure sign that he’s worried.

‘At least Jett seems to want that,’ I tried. It wasn’t much of a consolation, but it was the only one I could see right then.

‘Jett might, but I don’t,’ Bill flashed back. ‘We don’t do murders, Kate. We do white-collar crime. We’re not geared up to compete with the police on something like this. Besides, I’m not happy about putting you in the front line when there’s someone out there killing people.’

‘I can handle myself,’ I replied huffily.