Shadow in the Smoke Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Praise for Jo A. Hiestand

  Shadow in the Smoke

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Cast of Characters

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ennis,

  but even if I did take on your case, I don’t think you could afford my fee.”

  “You haven’t told me what it is.”

  He named his price, watching her intently.

  “I’d double that if you could find Janet’s killer.” His right eyebrow rose in skepticism but she rushed on as he opened his mouth. “I’m serious. I’ve got the money. I can give you a check for the amount and you can cash it today, so you’ll know it’s good.”

  Recovering his composure, McLaren leaned back again. “It means that much to you, then.”

  “Yes. And it will to you, too.”

  “The money’s nice, I admit, but—”

  “Oh, I’m not referring to the money, Mr. McLaren, though I suppose that will be welcome.”

  “Then, what?”

  “I meant coming up against your nemesis again and proving him wrong after all these years.”

  “My nemesis…”

  “Yes. The man you tangled with, the man who’s responsible for you leaving your police job last year. Charlie Harvester.”

  Praise for Jo A. Hiestand

  With hints of the 1940s movie Laura, Michael McLaren is drawn with haunting music into the intricate path of attraction for a dead woman. It is easy to get caught up in the wonderful descriptions written by author Jo Hiestand, and then suddenly realize she just gave us a clue. Jo leads us along, following twists and turns, making us guess who the murderer is. I was so sure I knew who did it, and in the end, I was so wrong! SHADOW IN THE SMOKE is an excellent mystery and well worth reading.

  ~Ann Collins, Librarian, Webster Groves Public Library

  ~*~

  LAST SEEN is another victory for Jo Hiestand. Well constructed, this murder mystery has all the twists and turns of a really good novel whilst managing to catch the very essence of Tutbury Castle and the area. Jo even manages to capture the competitive edge that can exist between Curators — sometimes!

  ~Lesley Smith, Curator, Tutbury Castle

  ~*~

  COLD REVENGE is a mystery to sink your teeth into. Not only was the murder investigation top notch but also the peek into the life of the investigator added another layer to the mystery. A mystery worthy of sinking your teeth into; Cold Revenge is a keeper. This is my first Jo A. Hiestand book but it will not be my last.

  ~Delane, Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More

  Shadow

  in the Smoke

  by

  Jo A. Hiestand

  The McLaren Mysteries

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Shadow in the Smoke

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Jo A. Hiestand

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History: previously published by

  L & L Dreamspell, 2012, as Torch Song

  First Mainstream Mystery Edition, 2015

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0362-8

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0363-5

  The McLaren Mysteries

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Don and Chris,

  the photographer and the photographed.

  Hope this continues to be fun for you both.

  ~*~

  SHADOW IN THE SMOKE has a companion song. “Never Leave My Side” is available on a single-song CD recording. This torch song—lyrics by the author, melody composed and performed by Lola Hennicke Toben with piano, drums, and upright bass accompaniment—is available through the author’s website:

  http://www.johiestand.com/shadowinthesmoke.html

  ~*~

  McLaren has his own website! Log on to learn about quirky British customs, interesting places to visit in the UK, cooking recipes, music anecdotes, and a calendar of appearances by the author.

  http://www.mclaren-mysteries.com

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Detective-Superintendent David Doxey (ret.), Derbyshire Constabulary, who cast his eye upon the entire manuscript, correcting procedural problems and McLaren’s tendency to wander at times; Detective-Sergeant Rob Church, Derbyshire Constabulary, who answered questions while anxiously awaiting Australia time; and long time St. Louis area Police Sergeant Paul Hornung, for suggesting sensible tweaks and catching the historical inconsistency.

  A hardy handshake to Paul and Liz Davenport, who walked around Haddon Hall on my behalf. Thank you for the descriptions.

  Thanks also to Arthur Oestereich, St. Louis-area Fire Marshal, for his help with fire properties and arson investigation. Also to Alison Moss, Head of Corporate Administration for the Derbyshire Fire and Rescue Service, for answers about legalities, firefighters’ housing, shifts and service response time.

  I thank Cindy Davis and Lori Graham of The Wild Rose Press for permitting a third McLaren case into the world.

  Errors, if any exist, are solely mine.

  ~Jo A. Hiestand

  St. Louis, June 2015

  Cast of Characters

  Michael McLaren: former police detective, Staffordshire Constabulary

  Jamie Kydd: friend and police detective, Derbyshire Constabulary

  Dena Ellison: McLaren’s girlfriend

  Gwen Hulme: McLaren’s sister

  Janet Ennis: singer, artist, caterer

  Nora Ennis: Janet’s mother

  Stuart Ennis: Janet’s father and Nora’s ex-husband

  Tom Murray: Janet’s former boyfriend

  Myles Tyson: Janet’s fiancé

  Dan Wilshaw: pianist in Janet’s music trio

  Ruth Wilshaw: Dan’s wife

  Ian O’Connor: bass player in Janet’s music trio

  Bruce Parrott: former drummer in Janet’s music trio

  Helene Brogan: Janet’s catering business partner

  Sean Fallon: Janet’s former catering help

  Kathryn Fallon: Sean’s wife

&nb
sp; Eva Lister: catering client

  Corey Chappell: firefighter from Matlock Fire Services

  Cheryl Kerrigan: Home Office forensic pathologist

  Charlie Harvester: McLaren’s former colleague, Derbyshire Constabulary

  Chapter One

  “I’ve explained to you several times—each instance you’ve been to see me, in fact—why your daughter’s death is classified as an accident. I don’t see what more you can accomplish by these semi-annual, if not more frequent, appeals.” Charlie Harvester leaned back in his chair, signaling the end of the woman’s visit. He glanced at her once more before gathering up the notepad and pen. Each occasion it was the same thing, and each conversion convinced him she was a mental case. Bonkers. No other word for it.

  A sigh slipped between his lips. In all his years as a police officer, and even more so now as a detective-inspector, he’d never been subjected to such a leech. Or perhaps the better word for the woman was lunatic. She had to be, harping on about murder and arson and mysterious assailants. Sounded more like a movie than real life. The woman needed Pinewood Studios or the BBC film unit. Or a suite at the closest insane asylum. He sighed again, this time more audibly and conscious that she heard it. He made a habit of hiding his personal thoughts and feelings from the public, but he didn’t care this time. He doubted if she’d remember the sigh or this visit by the time she got home.

  Harvester closed the notepad cover and held it shut, tapping its bottom edge in a great show of Impatience and Dismissal. He looked at the woman now, his lowered eyelids conveying both boredom and distain in one glance. Her face seemed to age more with every visit, the creases etching deeper into her pale skin, the gray streaks nearly engulfing her dark hair. She sat up straighter, as though it would show her determination more effectively. Harvester was not impressed. He stood up. If this didn’t give her a nudge out the door he’d have to escort her.

  “I don’t come to harass the police,” she said, her voice taking on a tinge of frustration. “I have the utmost respect for the Derbyshire Constabulary.”

  In spite of his feeling toward the woman, he couldn’t keep a hint of a smile from turning up the corners of his mouth. He inclined his head toward her, as though he embodied the entire police force.

  She continued, the gesture having no effect on her. “I’m here because I’m a mother who wants answers about my daughter’s death. You can understand that, I’m sure.”

  “Mrs. Ennis.” Harvester exhaled and looked at the wall clock opposite his desk. “I don’t know what else I can say. You’ve visited the police stations in Buxton, Matlock, and Ashbourne. You’ve talked to inspectors, constables, and detectives so you know why we don’t label her death as murder. I would think you would be happy to accept that. A murder has…well, it’s much more upsetting than an accident.”

  “Upsetting is hardly the word I would have used, Mr. Harvester. Anyway, it’s a matter of justice, isn’t it? Someone killed my daughter and he should be made to pay for it. It’s not so complicated.”

  “Look, Mrs. Ennis, I don’t think this rehashing of the case is doing you any good. Besides wasting everyone’s time, keeping it a matter of constant conversation prevents you from healing. Now, why don’t you toddle off home, make yourself a nice hot cuppa, and let the matter lie.” He bent forward, smiling, and patted her hand. It shook uncontrollably.

  She removed her hand. “I may be an old age pensioner, Mr. Harvester, but I’m not senile.”

  Harvester shrugged and thrust his hand into his trousers pocket. “I didn’t say that, Mrs. Ennis. I’m merely concerned for your emotional welfare. This can’t be healthy, going over and over the case every few months, dredging up old memories. Five years is a long time to pursue an accident case. Why don’t you give it a rest?”

  “Five years is a long time, yes, but when it’s murder”

  “This isn’t doing either of us any good. We rehash the same things every time you come in. Look.” He tapped the notepad as he brought it to his chest, cradling it. “Your daughter had been burning trash in the incinerator in the back garden of her house. People had been warned for months about the dangerous conditions for fires, ever since the drought began. It was a windy day but your daughter, evidently, had decided not to heed—” He stopped, deciding to rephrase the perceived slur. “She forgot about the high fire risk warning and the burn ban. No one is faulting her, Mrs. Ennis. It was an accident.” He was aware of the word, the conclusion of the fire service report and the coroner’s verdict at the inquest.

  The thing is really the woman’s problem, Harvester thought. How does she get the verdict overturned or the case reopened? It usually was a hell of a fight to get it done. He sniffed and wondered if he were getting a cold. Wouldn’t doubt it. The woman increases my stress level every time she shows up, and stress triggers the onslaught of a cold. He glanced at her as he grabbed his handkerchief. What else could it be by an accident, the incinerator so close to the wooden outbuilding, the wind, the items within the structure that fueled the combustion? Plain as a pikestaff to anyone looking at this from a logical, unemotional viewpoint.

  He smiled, trying to emulate the Constabulary publicity posters lining the lobby of the police station, the helpful, concerned bobby talking to the awestruck kid. Except Nora Ennis wasn’t awestruck. Rather, she was frustrated and skeptical, even if she was in her seventies. Still, her mental confusion was evident, classifying her as a kid in his book. He glanced again at her gray hair—no matter its contemporary, short style it still spoke Age to him. Trying a different approach, he softened his voice. “I’m sorry your daughter tripped and was knocked unconscious, Mrs. Ennis. Dying like that…well, I know how horrific you imagine it was for her. But the postmortem examination found she died of smoke inhalation. She was unconscious,” he repeated, hoping the finding would finally sink into the woman’s brain. “She couldn’t have known or felt anything. Now, I’m afraid I really must end our conversation. I have to meet with the Superintendent in a few minutes.”

  He flashed the smile again and he wondered if it would be more effective if his eyes showed some warmth.

  “I honestly don’t mean to belabor this,” she said as Harvester moved toward the door, “but that indentation of the brain tissue… Even the pathologist said—”

  Harvester pressed his lips together, as though mentally laboring over a response. Thrusting out his chin, he said rather slowly, “She tripped and fell, Mrs. Ennis. I’m sorry, but that’s how it happened. I don’t know why you’re so keen to prove this was a case of murder. There was nothing under her fingernails to suggest a fight so she wasn’t defending herself from your alleged attacker. There were no drag marks on the grass to indicate she had been taken to and shut up in her studio. She hit her head while trying to escape from the building when the fire got out of control. If you don’t like it, I can’t help it, but that is what happened.”

  “But the pathologist—”

  “I really have to go.”

  “But why won’t anyone look into this? Five years is a long time. There have been a lot of technical advancements, haven’t there? DNA testing and such? Can’t you look at the case again, sift through the fire debris?”

  “Really, Mrs. Ennis—”

  “Haven’t you ever loved someone so much, Mr. Harvester? If you have, you wouldn’t rest if this had happened to your family member.”

  Harvester’s lips pressed together and his fingers gripped the edge of the notepad. His breathing rate increased in a series of audible exhales. In a barely audible voice, he said, “If you feel so keenly about this, you can always go elsewhere, but frankly, I don’t see what that will gain you. The case is closed.” The slamming door underscored his anger.

  Chapter Two

  “Do you know what it’s like to lose a child to murder?” The woman sitting across from McLaren looked like she knew. Her wrinkled face held more than age; it appeared to hold defeat, grief and pain. And frustration. Her left hand shook slightly
as she raised the teacup to her lips, a gesture McLaren thought bought her time or distanced her from the upsetting subject.

  He shook his head, feeling inadequate. How could he talk to a parent about such a loss? He hadn’t any kids. He hadn’t even lost anyone in such a violent manner. Maybe she would do better going elsewhere, employing a real private investigator, someone with whom she might share a bond.

  He suggested it, with an edge of hesitation to his voice. A rumble of thunder overhead seemed to echo his unspoken grumbling and prodded many of the tearoom’s patrons to glance outside. “Not that I don’t want to help you, Mrs. Ennis.” McLaren watched her eyes for a glint of understanding. They were gray and lifeless, barely discernible against the tan curtains behind her. He let the waitress wheel the teacart past their table before adding, “I feel for you, for your loss. But five years—” He broke off, aware she was disappointed in his quick decision. Or was it cowardice? The thought shocked him, jolted him back to a scene last year when he had been a police detective. When he had wavered for a moment, the irreversible decision to quit his job suddenly screamed louder in his ear than his anger to stand up for injustice. Ideals were marvelous beacons and goals, but the fundamentals of earning a living threatened to outshine his principles.

  “Five years,” she repeated, her voice flat and tired and sounding beyond her patience. “Too long, you’re saying, however indirectly. Well, my daughter’s been dead five years 28th of September and that’s too long. And she was too young.” The teacup rattled as she replaced it on the saucer and her head twitched again in a hint of disagreement.

  Parkinson’s disease, McLaren thought, watching her left hand shake. On top of everything else she had to contend with that.

  “I sought you out on purpose.” Nora Ennis picked up her handbag. She placed her palm on top of the table, ready to get up. “I was told that you helped people, that you fought injustice.”

  “I do fight injustice, Mrs. Ennis.”

  “But only when you don’t have to work too hard.”

  McLaren reddened. Was the statement true? He didn’t think so, otherwise he wouldn’t have taken on the two previous cold cases of unsolved murders. But if he gave that impression now, to this woman who obviously needed him… Trying to patch up the misconception, he said, “Righting wrongs, however important that is, and however satisfying that is for me to accomplish, doesn’t keep the roof over my head, Mrs. Ennis. I’m not a licensed private investigator. Digging into cold cases isn’t my full time job. Please, sit back down. It’s still raining.”