A Taste of Honey Read online

  Maria met her gaze and nodded before turning to face front again. She didn’t speak. Maria decided that nodding didn’t constitute a lie.

  They drove on in silence again for many miles.

  For her part, Kimberley didn’t see the scenery, the traffic, or the miles pass. She set the air-con rather than opening a window, and her thoughts were of the past and her sister. Harriet was a stunning 17-year-old, who was genuine and caring. All the guys loved her, and all the girls were jealous of her, but everybody liked her. She was a bubbly blonde, but with intelligence to spare.

  At their mother’s funeral only a few months before, Harriet had confided in Kimberley that she wanted to go to the police academy too. Kimberley tried to put her off and said if she didn't intend to use her brains, she should consider fashion modeling or advertising cosmetics. Typically, Harriet had laughed. The sisters were as close as two people could be, and understood each other well.

  *

  As the car cruised along the highway, Maria respected her friend’s silence and took the opportunity to catnap. There were many hours of driving to do, and she wanted both herself and Kimberley to be ready for whatever awaited them. She still hadn’t fully made up her mind about leaving her friend on her own, but she would leave that decision until later.

  During the journey, there wasn’t much to see, but it didn’t matter, neither of the women took any notice of their surroundings; only the rate at which they could cover the distance. There was no music playing, and there was little conversation. The long hot strip of tarmac simply continued to unwind ahead of them, mile after mile.

  In the solitude as her friend slept, Kimberley tried to organize her thoughts, but she couldn’t erase the conversation that she’d overheard on Harriet’s cell. More than once she found herself sniffling and wiping silent tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  When the road ahead was clear, and there was no risk of being pulled in, the pedal had been pressed a little harder. A couple of hours had passed before Kimberley pulled into a gas station northeast of Cincinnati. At higher speed, the big car had become thirsty.

  As before, the pair re-fuelled themselves too. They had a light snack and coffee; both aware of the dangers of a large meal when driving a long way. Apart from the knowledge of traveling on a full stomach, Kimberley had little appetite and ate because she was told to, rather than from a desire.

  As they sat with a second coffee, Kimberley stared straight ahead. She looked down only when Maria pushed a sheet of paper and a pen towards her.

  Kimberley said: “What’s this?” She glanced at the paper and then her companion before reading aloud. “A Bill of Sale?”

  “You sold me your Harley for $3000,” she paused and pointed to the paper, “three days ago.”

  “I don’t understand-,”

  “I need to be able to sell it for you if you end up in a tight situation. Right now, you are gonna’ need cash more urgently than you need your bike.” She maintained eye contact. “We also need to make sure it looks like it was sold prior to today.”

  “Three grand is a bit more than it’s worth,” Kimberley said as she lifted the pen.

  “You would have gotten more if I had more stashed in the apartment,” Maria said and produced a manila envelope from her purse. She dropped the package on the table and lifted the signed document. “Don’t worry about losing the bike. This agreement is just a precaution.” She folded the freshly signed paper and slipped it into her purse.

  “You are priceless,” Kimberley said and tried to force a smile. “I don’t even know what I’m going to find. What would I have done without you?”

  “Well, I reckon you’d have wrecked your bike and ended up in an ITU, or you’d have been pulled over on the highway for doing a ton.” She winked, and the conversation ended.

  When they went outside, Maria took over driving duties, and they set off west once again. Once they reached cruising speed; Kimberley distributed the large amount of ready cash she now had. She dispensed with the envelope as wads of bills were squeezed into jacket pockets, jeans, and purse. She didn’t notice Maria smiling and nodding to herself.

  Spreading the money over her person was preparation, and preparation meant planning. It was at last an outward sign to the Italian that her partner was coming around to the reality of the situation. Kimberley’s proactive senses were working which was good for her, but bad for anyone who chose to cross her. Maria was happier; not much, but happier.

  *

  Greensburg, Indiana

  Due to their brief stops and having to deal with diversions around construction works, it was 8:15pm when the pair took the exit for Pinewood in the suburbs of Greensburg, Indiana. On the journey, both women had found themselves dozing off for short periods when the other was driving. They were both partly rested on arrival.

  Kimberley had dozed off because of the journey and the exhaustion of the recent clandestine operation. Maria had catnapped along the way, knowing that she would have to be ready to take over driving, and still be alert. She was worried about Kimberley, but she was also worried about what they might find in a small community outside Greensburg where her friend had grown up.

  There were small groups of houses starting to appear on either side of the road. In the middle distance to both sides, there were areas of pine forest, and there were foothills in the far distance. A road sign indicated that Greensburg itself was two miles further. There was no scenery to speak of, unless the nearby woodland and the distant hills counted.

  Pinewood was no more than a village-sized community. A large group of houses to the left and another small group about 200 yards along the main road were a sign that a town was nearby. Close to the second group of buildings were a couple of stores, a gas station, a diner, and a bus stop. A church with a spire was visible further ahead on the right. The late evening sun reflected from the roofs of buildings in Greensburg. It served to make the place look closer than it was.

  “Okay,” Kimberley said, “this is close enough. Take a left and stop over there.” She paused and turned. “What will you tell Kelly?”

  “You leave Captain Kelly to me,” Maria said as she checked the rear-view, flicked the indicator and slowed the car for the turn. “It’s the weekend and we’re not on call until Monday. How far away is the house?” She pulled over beside a small area of woodland, after leaving the main road.

  “About 200 yards along there on the right side,” Kimberley said and nodded across the road to a narrow avenue. “It’s that place with a white picket fence and the black pickup parked in the drive.”

  Kimberley unclipped her safety belt, lifted the shoulder holster from her pack and slipped it on. A quick tug on the automatic assured her it was safely in position. She lifted her leather jacket and pulled it on.

  Maria squinted along the road. Pinewood was a quiet-looking neighborhood; she thought. There were no more than 100 houses within a half-mile radius, and they were all smart looking with large gardens to front and rear.

  Maria said: “It looks like there’s a lamp on, but there is still some daylight. Perhaps it’s a lamp in the hallway.” She looked at Kimberley. “Does the pickup belong to your stepfather, that Detective Morgan?”

  “Yeah, he likes to go off into the mountains on hunting trips with his friends.”

  “Right,” Maria said. “What’s with the light on a summer evening?”

  “It’s probably not a lamp; it’s the way the setting sun shines into the hallway from the kitchen, which is to the left of the hallway.” Kimberley reached out her left hand and held her friend’s hand. “Thank you, Maria, now get the hell away from here.”

  “Have you put a round in the chamber?” Maria asked, practical as ever.

  Kimberley lifted the Walther 9mm from under her jacket and pulled back on the action. It was a small, compact weapon, but the grip was comfortable, and the working parts felt solid. When the pistol was ready for use, she slipped it back into the shoulder holster a
nd lifted her jacket over it. She turned to look at Maria again.

  The automatic was Maria’s secret handgun, but it provided Kimberley with a strange confidence, in that she could use it without a trace if she had to use it at all. The pair looked at each other again, both fearing what the very near future might hold.

  Maria leaned forward, and they hugged as best they could in the front of the big car. Kimberley pressed the door handle and felt Maria grip her other arm. She looked around.

  “Use the back door honey,” Maria suggested, “and be fucking cautious.”

  Kimberley nodded and tried to force a smile, but it stopped too quickly and looked more as if her lips had merely twitched. She opened the door, and the smell of pine wafted inside. Kimberley lifted her backpack from the foot-well and then closed the car door quietly. She glanced in both directions before crossing the road. A moment later she strode along the sidewalk towards the houses.

  There was no traffic and no pedestrians around. Kimberley crossed at the intersection to the avenue where she’d grown up. She walked past the family home and took the next right which took her to the narrow lane that went behind the row of houses. The young detective stopped briefly and looked back up the road. Maria remained at the wheel of the car, observant and alert as ever.

  ***

  Chapter 2

  Death and Discovery

  .

  As Kimberley approached the house from the back, she slipped out her cell, double-checked that it was switched off and then packed it away into the backpack that she had slung over her left shoulder. Before she reached for her weapon, she pulled ultra-thin latex gloves from her pocket and pulled them on tight.

  The high hedgerows preferred in the community were perfect because nobody could see the woman in the narrow lane between the houses. When Kimberley drew the pistol, it took less than a minute to screw the suppressor onto the end of the barrel. She had no qualms about putting a bullet into somebody if it was necessary, but she didn’t want to broadcast it to the entire neighborhood.

  The weapon was twice the original length once fitted with the sound-deadening device, and she held it in a two-handed grip, the business end pointing upright and kept away from her face. The fences along the back of the houses were over six feet high with very few gaps between, so without the need to creep along the fences, the off-duty officer made good progress.

  When she arrived close to the back of her parents’ house, she peered through a small knothole in the fence. There was that same light showing which Kimberley was now able to confirm was the reflection of the setting sun through the kitchen onto a large hallway mirror.

  She eased the back gate open silently and went forward, staying close to the tall hedgerow that continued halfway to the back door. Harriet shared their mother’s love of flowers and thanks to the teenager’s efforts; there was a variety of fragrances drifting across the garden from herbs and blooms alike.

  Kimberley crouched at the end of the hedge and surveyed the house, lips slightly parted as she listened intently and gazed at each window in turn. There was no movement, so she stepped forward quickly to the door and turned to stand with her back to the wall. She retained a grip of her pistol with her right hand and reached the door handle with her left.

  It was a metal handle, and even though she was wearing the gloves, she first touched the handle with the back of her hand. If it was wired to a live circuit inside she would merely be burned and pull her hand away, instead of being electrocuted, causing her fingers to grip by reflex. There was no sensation, so she took hold, turned it, and pushed the door open, staying to one side as she did so. There was no reaction.

  Once inside, Kimberley discovered that the key was inserted on the inside of the lock. She left it there so as not to forewarn anybody that she’d made an entry. From the kitchen to the hallway, dining room to lounge, she brought the automatic down into the aim as she stepped into each familiar doorway. Kimberley moved with the accustomed stealth borne of practice at armed house clearance. The rooms were tidy and well kept; almost too tidy. It looked as if nobody was living in the place.

  When satisfied that the ground floor was unoccupied, she moved close to the staircase and checked the basement door. Although locked, the key wasn’t in the lock, which for that door was unusual. She dismissed the basement with the intention of checking it last. She made her way upstairs, pistol once again at the ready, business end leading the way.

  On the upper floor, there were three large bedrooms and a small room that was long ago converted into a study by her natural father. Each of the bedrooms had en-suite facilities, so Kimberley was careful to ease each door open, but stay back and to one side. Apart from the kitchen and the basement, the entire house was carpeted with deep pile rugs, so the only sound came from a large clock in the hallway. It uttered a barely discernible tick-tock.

  The bedroom that had once belonged to her was immaculate and kept like a shrine. Sports trophies, pendants, and certificates still adorned the walls. The bed was made up, but it had been six months before when she’d last slept there on a week-long visit. She moved on and checked her parents’ room. Her mother died in a road traffic accident in December 2002, which was why Kimberley had returned home on that most recent visit.

  During that week, Harriet had confided that she intended to leave home as soon as she got a place at university. Neither of the girls had liked Tony Morgan, their stepfather. Like Bill Forest, the girls’ natural father, Morgan was a police detective with the local force, so had known the family for many years. He’d always been known to have a soft spot for their mother even when their natural father was alive.

  Following the death of her husband in a police shoot-out, Linda Forest had taken a year to succumb to Morgan’s charms, even though her two daughters never liked him. Neither of them could pinpoint the reason. Harriet put it succinctly to Kimberley by describing him as a ‘lecherous slime-ball’. Harriet had witnessed him eyeing up her friends when they came to visit.

  Kimberley tried to leave thoughts of the past behind as she stepped into her sister’s bedroom. It was like her own; immaculate. The bed and the entire room was tidy and not an item out of place. To most people it wouldn’t ring any alarm bells, but Harriet was one of the most untidy people Kimberley had ever known. It was Harriet’s only negative trait. The hairs stood up on the nape of Kimberley’s neck. Unless Harriet had a character transplant, she could not have used this room for days. The detective’s heart raced as she headed back downstairs.

  *

  The upstairs and ground floor were too tidy and organized. Kimberley went back to the kitchen and looked around. There wasn’t a single item out of place. Work surfaces were immaculately clean, and there were no used coffee mugs or utensils lying around. The place smelled fresh, which was another strange sensation. There was no smell of coffee or food of any sort, and the normally well-stocked fruit bowl was devoid of any content.

  A show-home was what the place resembled. There was a subtle fragrance of cedar air-freshener both upstairs and downstairs, but no other aromas. There were no coats hanging in the hall and no shoes near the doormat. She went back to the kitchen.

  The key rack was a small wooden trellis with a variety of keys hanging from its eight hooks. It was mounted on a small section of wall just inside the large kitchen. Each key had a colored plastic fob. Kimberley lifted the basement key and realized that her breathing had speeded up.

  It was with some trepidation that she turned the handle and eased the narrow door open. It was a large basement. To the best of her memory the room was used to store disused items prior to donating them to charity, or throwing damaged items out for bulk garbage collection. Kimberley pulled on the old cord at the top of the staircase, and two energy-saving lights slowly began to glow down below in the expansive wooden paneled room.

  There was a reddish-brown glow due to the predominant color of the wooden walls. The temperature was unusually warm for a basement, and there were a mi
xture of aromas, some of which were vaguely familiar; while others were not. Kimberley took a breath and commanded herself to stay in control as she descended the wooden stairs.

  She was half way down, before it occurred to her that the staircase had been treated; there were no creaking noises. Even with a stealthy descent, the stairs should have made some sound. It was about halfway down that she stopped and sniffed the banister. At first she couldn’t place the slight fragrance and then as she set off it struck her; Linseed Oil. It was used on the wooden parts of some weapons to preserve them. Here it had been used to good effect to deaden the creaking of the wooden staircase.

  She became aware of the other strange aromas getting stronger as she neared the floor. To her front, like everywhere else in the house, the place seemed to be surprisingly tidy. A few old household appliances and a broken bicycle stood against the wall under a small window. The dull glow of the two bare bulbs was gradually increasing and illuminating most of the room.

  The narrow window to the front was just above ground level, and the thick growth of a fresh flowerbed could be seen. As she looked at the stems and bunches of leaves, it struck Kimberley that her mother had never planted flowers in that area so that the daylight reached the basement. It didn’t now. Nothing could be seen from the inside, and it would be impossible to look into the basement from the garden.

  As she looked around slowly and breathed in, Kimberley recognized the sweet aroma of marijuana, the sharp clinical bite of spirits, stale alcohol, and the stench of cigarette smoke lingering on the many surfaces. Some smells were stale, some recent; all repugnant.

  Nothing could have prepared Kimberley for the sight that greeted her when she turned to look around the remainder of the room. Along the length of the main wall, there were chains with lockable cuffs on the ends. Below these on the floor, were similar metal cuffs, on chains bolted to the wooden floorboards. Hanging neatly from hooks was an array of whips, canes, leather harnesses and other items. She’d seen similar accessories when she was attached to the vice squad. The sickening feeling in her stomach was returning with a vengeance.