The Recoverer (12).
by
Angharad.

The dinner I cooked that evening was spag bol, it's easy and apart from being messy to eat, everybody loves it. I'd got some Parmesan cheese, already grated, so all you had to do was sprinkle it over the bolognaise sauce. I don't bother trying to twiddle the pasta around my fork I just cut it up small and eat it normally with a knife and fork - works for me.

We had a pleasant enough evening and I'd bought some profiteroles for desert, again everyone loves the chocolate drenched choux pastry with fresh cream filling, so that went down well, too. So much of the evening was actually just digesting the riches we'd enjoyed for dinner and I'd managed to save some of the mince and bolognaise sauce and that went in the freezer in an airtight container. I remember as a kid it was all Tupperware but you don't hear it now and the parties that ladies used to host. Things change and I suspect much of the plastic pots and cookware now originates in China, because nobody makes anything anymore. All thanks to Maggie Thatcher who destroyed the British manufacturing economy which was supported by the bosses, who made even more profit by sending it all to China for manufacture while we ended up with more unemployed people who didn't have experience of computers or robots. We have never recovered probably because it's still too expensive to make things here unless they are very specialised and equally expensive. I suspect we all pay ourselves too much, the higher the post the more overpaid it is. I've always thought we could do without most chief executives because the work is done by middle managers and the actual shop floor. The big bosses just cream off the profits before it goes to the share holders. They have also had about twelve pay rises to the workers eight, so the inequity continues as does the disgruntlement of the ordinary people. Government add extra complications too and Nigel Farage sells his snake oil and the people buy it. Are they as stupid as they seem, possibly not, or at least some of them aren't, they just want to shake up the complacency and corruption in government. It's likely to be worse with Farage and his coterie of incompetents.

Enough of all that, my job is always precarious and depends upon my reputation and is only as good as my last case. My reputation is by word of mouth amongst those most likely to be defrauded, like finance companies and insurers, my name rarely gets in the press and then it is a generic, the insurance investigator proved the fraud happened and the police then prosecuted. I do the things that the police don't, they don't have time and government has them doing silly things like arresting pro Palestinian demonstrators upset at the carnage in Gaza, where no one is stopping the genocide there and Trump seems to condone it - yet another reason to despise him. Why is no one stopping the massacres?

It was the next morning my attention was taken by a particular case and that was because the general manager phoned me about a claim they had received, about which he was not happy, but I decided not to do the Snow White joke about the names of the dwarves.

While much of our paperwork is done via computer and internet, for some things it isn't safe or appropriate, this was one of them and I was asked to call at his office asap. If you want to ensure you impress the industry, you don't need to piss off the people who pay you. Brown-nosing, some may say so, I call it being tactful, he's important as he pays me at the end of the day, and this one if successful sounds like an expensive one, 20% of a lot of money is also a decent amount. Who knows, I may want to fill the tanks of the Jag this week.

The next train to the city was in half an hour and would have a few less commuters on it. When I boarded it, I had my newspaper to read for the half hour journey. It should be half an hour but with industrial action and breakdowns and people stepping in front of the train - that causes the longest delays while British Transport Police investigate. Some one's life has ended so they have to be meticulous and I was very glad that I didn't do suspicious deaths. Looking at my paper I saw that some bloke had had his wife die on their honeymoon - talk about bad luck, I hoped they'd had some of their conjugals before it happened. I read a bit more and saw that she was drunk and had fallen off a balcony on the seventh floor, that would kill you unless you were Spiderman. Poor woman, I shouldn't be so flippant and was again glad I didn't do suspicious deaths, that was for the police and I was quite happy about that.

I was wearing a good skirt suit designed by one of the Beatles offspring, though I couldn't see her sitting up all night sewing it somehow, still it cost a small fortune and it felt pretty good, I hoped showing I was a successful businesswoman, as did the hand embroidered top which plunged to show my assets, in a matching shade of plum - the suit not my assets. My high heels weren't Jimmy Choo or Manola whatever, but they were quite expensive, but relatively comfortable if you can ever say that about high heels.

By the time I had made my way via two tubes and a bit of walking, my toes were telling me how much they liked me wearing trainers, but I stuck to my task and a few minutes later entered the insurance company's headquarters. The thick carpets were much nicer to walk on than the flagstones of the London pavements. I could just visualise Dick Whittingdon's cat complaining to its master that the pavements weren't made of gold and that his feet hurt.

It was with this thought that I used the lift, or elevator if you're 'Merican, though I always thought elevators were instruments used by surgeons and dentists. I reached the top floor and stepped out into the holiest of holies. It was expensively furnished but I felt I could have done better for the same money, it was okay rather than impressive, unlike my suit. I identified myself to the receptionist, was told to go through to his p.a who thanked me for coming and told me he was expecting me.

I knocked and he bid me enter. I'd met him a few times but we still shook hands, well, my fingers, and he told me to sit down and enquired if I'd like tea or coffee. I've had coffee there before and it is delicious, so that's what I opted for and wasn't disappointed.

He saw my newspaper and asked if I had read about the honeymoon death and I said I had. "That is the case you're going to be investigating."

"But I don't do suspicious deaths, that's for the police to investigate, they have the experience and resources to do it."

"How much is 20% of three quarters of a million?"

"A lot."

"It is, prove he killed her and we'll throw in a nice bonus."

"I'm sure there are better qualified people to investigate her tragic death than me, Sir Roger."

"There are, but I want you to do it, Eve."

"How much time do I have?"

"Take as long as you need to get an accurate result. The police abroad are all bloody muppets and ours are all corrupt, so get what help you need. Remember a bonus of ten K, plus your fee of £150,000, are you going to turn all that down."

"You really think he did it, don't you?"

He handed me a file, it was nearly ten years old and the insurers involved were a different one. His wife died on honeymoon - she drowned at an isolated beach in Greece. "He's done it before and got a hundred thou for his efforts, now he seems to want enough to retire on. Get him, Eve, never mind the money, that bastard has killed two women for their life insurances, go and get him and prove the local police are inefficient, make a case that even the Met can't screw up, get a prosecution, but get him, that first wife was my niece and a nicer girl you'll never meet, present company excepted." I blushed but accepted the job, telling him I'd need other staff with me on this one, he nodded, "Use what you need, just get him." The audience was over and I saw myself out of the office with a copy of the file he showed me, his niece eh, poor kid. So did he drown her? I think I would have say, very possibly and the same for this latest case. I'm trying keep an open mind but it does look suspicious to say the least.

My return journey was spent re-reading the notes, particularly those of the investigator and pathologist. A post mortem in Greece found nothing except a small quantity of alcohol in her bloodstream. The UK home office pathologist also found minute quantities of sedatives in her nasal cavities. An open verdict was given by the coroner but she had expressed some doubts about it. The insurance was paid and apart from some celebrity for five minutes in the tabloids, it all seems to have been forgotten. I'd certainly have my work cut out for me and no protocol to follow. Oh boy I was real rookie at this type of case, you could say an absolute novice or virgin, but if I do it the way I usually work, follow the evidence and my gut reactions when I think people are lying, then I should be heading in the right direction, or I think I will be. I've worked for bigger amounts but I had something to look for, property of some sort not a recently buried or cremated body. I have a copy of the post mortem, perhaps I should try and see a pathologist and get their opinion and advice.

I felt quite unsettled as I picked up my car from an office near the station. I pay them a fee of a bottle of something for Christmas, and it's parked off the road and hopefully safely. Stephanie and Mike were both there as I arrived. She asked me outright, what was so important that I had to go up to town for. I handed her my paper and pointed at the honeymoon tragedy, "Yeah, it's very unfortunate but what do they want you to do?"

"That," was all I said.

"What a fatal accident?"

"The insurance don't think it was an accident and want me to investigate. The payout for her is three quarters of a million. He did it before but got away with it, about ten years ago. Turns out the woman he killed, or was alleged to, was the niece of the CEO."

"Oh," was all she said.

"If he's right, then it's an insurance scam, and we investigate insurance scams." I said this more confidently than I felt.

"I suppose we do, it's just usually someone hasn't had to die for us to get involved," she replied.

"I don't feel like cooking tonight, so how about you pop down the chippy and get fish and chips for the three of us." She pulled a jacket on and held out her hand for the money, it's now an expensive meal and I gave her forty quid, and she went off after asking Mike if he was staying for a takeaway dinner. He decided he would, I thought so, he loves anything with chips.

The local chippy makes quite good chips and fish isn't too bad either, except the price of it, but we don't do it too often these days, so it wasn't too much of an ordeal to pay their prices. It was thirty quid I learned from Stephanie as she returned with our comestibles. They were good too and as soon as he'd eaten his meal, Mike shot off home. He'd left a pile of stuff for me to look through regarding other cases and while I did so, Stephanie looked over the documents I'd got from the insurance company, at the end she said, "There's no evidence of murder, but given his past behaviour when he seems to have got away with it, if he's guilty, then it's all circumstantial with a bit of forensic thrown in."

"I think I'm going to have to talk with a forensic pathologist."

"Why not the one who did the second post mortem, he seems to know what he's doing."

"Means I'll probably have to go up to town again."

"Take a book to read on the journey, I presume you'll be going by train?"

I sent the good doctor an email and received one back before I went to bed. I had to go to a London hospital where he was working tomorrow, and was I aware he charged a fee for his professional opinion.

I arranged a time and told him to send me a bill, that wasn't a problem. So for the second day in a row I was sitting on a train heading for London, carrying the file I had from the insurance company in my briefcase, along with my tablet and a book I was reading and a daily paper. I had plenty of toys with me and had arranged for the two of my employees to gather what information they could from wherever, including the foreign press. I pondered my meeting, what would this doctor be like, how helpful would he be and would he resent talking to a woman and an insurance investigator rather than a cop?

Even with the Tube, which had been on strike, it took me half an hour from the railway station until I stepped from the tube-station and made my way to St Thomas Hospital, it hadn't changed that much since I interned here as psychology post grad while doing my master's degree. I was told to make my way to the mortuary. Was it the dead centre of the hospital? "No," replied the receptionist, it was in the basement. She phoned ahead for me so I was expected.

Dr Stone was a very pleasant and quite good-looking chap in his early forties. His blond hair was beginning to recede but he was very helpful. He actually remembered the case and said he wondered if someone had got away with murder, but he only had a suspicion that the poor woman had been drugged and pushed, though he could find no sign of bruising other than the marks inflicted by the fall, from seven floors up - that's going to be somewhere between 20 and 30 metres. It would make quite a mess of the victim.

He wondered if she had been drugged with just enough for her not to realise what he was doing so she'd be compliant without much recognition of the risk. After all, on a honeymoon, probably she was more worried about becoming pregnant that being pushed off a balcony.

We discussed scenarios within the evidence we had and he said, he'd only seen a photo of the balcony and thought it looked pretty safe, unless you leant over and didn't hold onto the rail. We had lunch together in the hospital canteen as he was doing another post mortem that afternoon. It looked as if I was going to Greece to have a look at the balcony to see if it brought anything to mind, but then, if was a theft I'd be visiting the scene of the crime, so why not with this?

The next day I spent half an hour arranging a room in the same hotel and open return flights to and from Gatwick to Athens for Stephanie and myself. She was quite excited and I reminded her we were working not on holiday.

The Greek police were unhelpful, given I was an insurance investigator rather than a police officer. I was doing the same job, but they refused to see it that way. The hotel was equally unhelpful too. In fact, the manager was downright rude. Steph retaliated giving it zero stars on social media saying they were as welcoming as dentist's waiting room, although my dentist is rather dishy - the hotel manager wasn't, flabby, balding and had halitosis worse than my cat.

We had booked there, in the hotel, so they couldn't throw us out, but the manager said Mr Swinburne, him of the honeymoon tragedy, asked him not to let anyone else bother him. I did point out that the insurance company needed to see my report before they paid him anything, so he agreed to an interview with me, but away from the hotel. It was still very warm, so we were able to sit in a nearby botanic gardens which was more pleasant than Swinburne who was at best evasive and at worst lying his arse off. You get to tell when people are being truthful and he wasn't.

I asked him about the sedative found in his wife's body and he pretended he knew nothing about it. I asked him if he murdered his wife which he denied with indignation verging on outrage but he paled significantly when I asked him if he'd drowned the first one and again denied it, saying they were fully investigated, I asked him if that was the case why was the coroner unconvinced? His reply that she was an extreme feminist, left me scornful of the whole process of the law, which he seemed to know much more about than an ordinary person. He knew his way around the Greek law much more than I did, although Stephanie had downloaded quite a bit off the internet which I scanned before the interview and was rather glad I had.

We spent ages discussing the case but without access to the crime scene, we couldn't say it was a thorough investigation. However, something unexpected happened that played into our hands. Swinburne had never seen Stephanie, he usually had his meals in his room, under the guise of working through his grief, though guilt was more likely, but he continued to stay there because the insurance company wouldn't pay up. This particular day, Stephanie had gone down to reception for something or other when Swinburne happened to call in to ask if any mail had come for him.

Now, Stephanie is a very pretty girl with a body that was growing in all the right places. She recognised him but said nothing when he asked her to dinner that night. When she told me I was astonished but she told me to let her do it because she might be able to get into his room and view the balcony, which was a level directly beneath ours. I only agreed when she consented to wear a wire - microphone, with wi-fi connection to my computer, which I would have just above them on the balcony.

She went on her dinner date, and I listened to the conversation, him claiming the grieving spouse and Stephanie expressing her sympathy, claiming not to have heard about it. He complained that the insurance company had sent some stupid bitch to interview him, but she didn't have a clue what she was doing, just asking irrelevant questions. Stephanie laughed at that, and continued to provoke more insults towards me. If she went on like that for much longer, she was going to find just how far it was to walk home.

Her girly skills had been developing and she sounded like an ingénue flirting with an older and thus more experienced man. I was quite impressed as the talk became more flirty as the night wore on. Eventually, he invited her up to his room for a nightcap, which she accepted and I was shaking my head no, don't do it. But she did and while he was making a drink, she wandered out on to the balcony, saying that it was such a beautiful evening. he hesitated suggesting that he didn't go out there since his wife's fall and Stephanie suggested she was sure that his wife wouldn't want him to live like a Trappist monk. He apparently, reluctantly agreed, even showing her where he thought she had fallen. Stephanie immediately examined the spot and looked down, saying that from this height it had to be instantaneous. Then she made me see red alarm bells, by suggesting that she felt rather woozy. He said it was probably too many drinks and she agreed. He told her to sit down and she asked him if he doctored her drink. He shushed her and told her in a little while she would sleep if off and have no knowledge that he'd made gentle love to her. Then Stephanie angered him by asking if that's what he gave his wife before he pushed her off the balcony. He yelled at her and I dashed down the stairs to his room and tried to smash open the door. It works in the movies but not for me.

I heard Stephanie scream and so did a passing rugby-player-type and together we smashed open the door and I ran through his room as he was holding Stephanie over the balcony. I ran to them and pushed him off her and pulled her back to terra firma. He came at me looking to hit me, realising we were together, "You bitch," he called at me and swung at me. What he didn't see was two hundred pounds of my escort who lamped him and he went down like a sack of coal.

The police were called and Stephanie's glass was taken for analysis and while Swinburne was incommoded as in dealing with a suspected concussion, I had a good look at the balcony and there was no way she could have fallen over it without help. I took several photos with my camera and spoke to the copper who had before spurned me, but now he was rethinking the case.

Stephanie recovered the next day and I treated my hunk to a dinner for playing my knight in shining armour and saving my niece. Swinburne was arrested for an assault on a woman and was kept in custody for a couple of days. They searched his room and found the drug he had administered to Stephanie and probably to his wife. He was charged with murder, the drug proving it was premeditated. After giving evidence which they showed Swinburne, he changed his plea to guilty, he also said he had drowned his first wife for the insurance. We set off back to Gatwick when it came up on the news that he had asked to go back to his hotel to collect his things and settle his bill, when they took their eye off him and he jumped over the balcony to his death, like he had killed his wife.

I was still shocked that he chose death to life imprisonment but from a technical aspect the insurance company were pleased, he'd confessed to the murder of both wives and they didn't have to pay out except to me, including the bonus they had promised. It was too late to reopen the murder of his first wife seeing as no prosecution could happen as the perpetrator was now also deceased, but the insurance company were going to see if they could recover the payout from his first wife's death.

I gave Stephanie a stern warning that he could have killed her but she just smiled at me and murmured, "It worked didn't it?". She was obviously far ahead of me in the use of 'sexuality to manipulate men' game but I did get to lay my hunk the next day, and he was as big somewhere else as he was muscled everywhere else. She can't do that yet, but I agreed to pay for her op as a reward for her help, without which, I don't think we'd have got Swinburne. C'est la vie.