When the Stars Kill

When the Stars Kill.
Something was wrong about the circumstances surrounding Barbara Lane's
suicide.
DI Rachel Denny smoothed an unruly wisp of fair hair back from her
forehead and frowned at the Pathologist's report, which lay on her
desk, next to a half-eaten cheese salad roll. Rachel never could think
and eat at the same time - and now she had lost her appetite
completely.
'&;#8230;.overdose of amphetamines.'
There had been enough of them in her system to kill a horse - and
Barbara's fingerprints had been found on the empty pill bottle and the
suicide note propped against the bedside lamp. Bizarrely she had staged
the whole event so that she would appear in death as she did when she
worked at her job as a glamour model. After manicuring her long nails,
she had washed her magnificent mane of blonde hair and had applied make
up before stripping naked and arranging her beautiful body artistically
across the pink satin sheets that adorned her bed. When her husband had
found her on his return from a business trip he had thought at first
that she was asleep. But her stillness soon alarmed him and it wasn't
long before he discovered the grisly truth. His beautiful young wife
was dead - and was lying now, spread-eagled on the bed - appropriately
like the Centrefold of the Month.
Rachel shook her head sadly. Such a waste - and for what? Barbara had
everything to live for. Thanks to her profession she had been rich, had
a handsome husband, a Mercedes, a big house - everything. According to
the Pathologist she had been in perfect health and, in the opinion of
most of the world's press, had ranked amongst the ten most beautiful
women in the world.
Rachel picked up the letter that Barbara had written in the hours
before her death and read it for the twentieth time, trying to make
sense of it all.
'Dear Mark,
I'm so very sorry. I can't bear the thought of being pitied. I am too
vain - as you know. I am ending it all so that you can remember me as I
am now - beautiful and unblemished. Don't be sad. Be happy because I
will remain young and lovely for eternity.
I love you.
Your adoring wife, Barbara.'
Rachel rubbed her temples. What did it all mean? Why should Barbara
think that she was going to be pitied? The question had kept Rachel
awake for the past three nights and with each morning it seemed to grow
more important. She felt the prickling sensation on the back of her
neck that meant only one thing - that she wouldn't be able to rest
until she had the answer. Something had caused Barbara to kill herself
and Rachel was determined to find out what.
She would start with the person most likely to enlighten her -
Barbara's husband Mark Lane. Or more precisely - the soon-to-be
extremely rich Mark Lane.
'Sergeant Cross! We're going to pay a little visit to a grieving
husband!'
'Yes Ma'am.' David Cross swore under his breath. His trip to
Eastbourne with Louise would have to go on hold for a week or so - and
he had so been looking forward to it. Personally he couldn't see the
need to interview Lane again. If his immoral, empty-headed wife had
chosen to make a dramatic exit from the world then so what? One less
porn queen in a city full of vice wasn't worth bothering about. But
orders were orders and, rolling his eyes in exasperation, he followed
his superior to her car.

'You were in the army, I believe?'
Mark nodded.
'Until ten years ago.'
'A Captain in the Gulf war?'
Mark nodded again and looked around uncomfortably reluctant to
expand.
'Did your wife keep a diary?'
The question took him by surprise.
'Um&;#8230;I don't - I&;#8230;,' he stuttered.
'Do you mind if we take a look in her desk?' Rachel rose and stood
expectantly at the door. Mark shrugged.
'Go ahead.'
'See if you can find anything here,' ordered Rachel, passing a sheaf
of papers to Cross.
'What exactly am I looking for?'
'Anything interesting. Anything that gives us some clue as to why she
did it.' Rachel stared helplessly at the papers in the desk - and then
her lips curved in a smile. Tucked in the corner was a leather-bound
address book.
'This will do nicely!' she murmured, flicking through the pages, on
which - listed alphabetically - were the names and addresses of about
two hundred people. One of them might just provide the answer.
'We'll interview all of them,' she told Cross, whose face had paled
with shock at the thought of overtime. He sighed. There was no point in
complaining. Rachel Denny could work twenty hours a day to unravel a
mystery - and she expected her subordinates to be equally dedicated to
duty.
'Yes Ma'am,' he muttered through clenched teeth.

Caroline Wood absent-mindedly plucked at the fabric of her skirt as
she tried to decide whether or not to break her friend's
confidence.
'Well,' she began. 'Barbara asked me not to tell anyone -
but&;#8230;I suppose, since she's dead&;#8230;but
still&;#8230;'
'For God's sake! Just tell us what you know!' Rachel was becoming
impatient. The name 'Wood' was near the end of the list of people with
whom she had spoken over the last few weeks and so far none of them had
shed any light on the mystery. Caroline chewed her lip thoughtfully and
then said,
'I think she killed herself because of the - the - cancer.'
'What cancer?' Rachel frowned. 'Barbara was in very good health.' The
medical records had confirmed that she had been at the peak of physical
fitness.
'Her&;#8230;um&;#8230;breast cancer. She didn't want to worry
Mark you see.' Caroline paused and her eyes filled with tears. 'Her
looks were everything to her you know? It wasn't just the money -
although she really was scared that Mark would leave her if she lost
her income&;#8230;Anyway, when she found out that she was going to
lose her breast&;#8230;well&;#8230;I suppose that she just
flipped. Her career would be finished - and probably her marriage.'
Caroline shook her head sadly. 'Mark is rather materialistic I
think&;#8230;'
'I don't understand,' said Rachel. 'Who told Barbara that she had
breast cancer?'
'Oh - she didn't have it, not then - but she was going to contract it
very soon,' replied Caroline. Rachel stared uncomprehendingly at the
mousy, middle-aged woman who had been Barbara Lane's best fried.
'I'd better explain.'
'Yes. I think you should.'
'Barbara visited an astrologist some months ago. Maxwell Orion - or
some such daft name. Well - he told her that her husband was on the
verge of having a heart attack.' Caroline paused and shook her head in
disbelief. 'The thing is - the very next day Mark received a letter
from his doctor telling him that he had found that his cholesterol
level was way too high - and that he had to book himself into the
clinic straight away - or he'd probably have a heart attack. I tell you
- that really got to Barbara. But when she told Mark that Maxwell had
already predicted as much he was absolutely furious. He forbade her to
visit him again in fact.'
'And did it stop her seeing him again?' Rachel asked.
'No!' replied Caroline scornfully. 'If anything, it made her more
determined to find out what else the future held in store. And the
amazing thing is -- Maxwell was always right. He told her that Mark
would win ten thousand pounds at the baccarat tables - which he did.
Then he told her that Mark would meet an old friend from his army days
- which he did. You see&;#8230;everything that he said came
true!'
'I see. But so far he only seems to have predicted what would happen
to her husband,' said Rachel thoughtfully.
'Yes. Until her last visit to him - when he told her that she would
develop cancer of the breast - and that she would be forced to undergo
a mastectomy.' Caroline's face crumpled. 'And Barbara couldn't stand
the idea of it. She was so beautiful you see&;#8230;and so
vain&;#8230;'

'I think we'd better pay this Maxwell Orion a visit Sergeant,' said
Rachel as they pulled out of Caroline's driveway. 'I don't believe all
this astrology nonsense - and I want to know exactly what made him
think that Barbara was going to get cancer.'
'Yes Ma'am,' said Cross obediently. He hoped fervently that this would
be the final piece of the jig-saw and that things could return to
normal in his personal life. It had been weeks since he and Louise
had&;#8230;well - maybe the lure of Eastbourne&;#8230;?

'Sorry. Mr Orion has moved premises - and I've no idea where he's
gone.' Sabrina Kitten, the new tenant peered myopically through thick
spectacles. 'But if you're interested in a sauna and
massage&;#8230;'
'Er&;#8230;no - thank you,' replied Rachel as she hurried back to
the car. 'Sergeant! Find out all you can about our Maxwell Orion! I
want to know where he buys his Y-fronts and what he has for
breakfast!'
'Yes Ma'am,' sighed Cross. At least he could spend the next few days
in front of the computer instead of racing around all over the
city&;#8230;

'Maxwell Orion,' said Cross a week later, 'aka Private Leonard Fowles
- served in the same regiment as our Mr. Lane in the Gulf. Set up
premises as an astrologer a week prior to Barbara Lane's first visit.
But as far as I can tell he's completely unqualified in astrology. I've
e-mailed a few of his army colleagues and something rather interesting
has turned up.' A satisfied grin appeared on Cross's face as he
deliberately left the most juicy snippet until last.
'Well - get on with it!' snapped Rachel. 'What?'
'It seems that Maxwell was decorated with the George Cross for bravery
in the Field - and for saving the life of one of his officers!'
'Let me guess! Mark Lane?'
'Right in one!'
'So,' said Rachel thoughtfully. 'Our Mr. Lane owed our Mr.
Orion/Fowles a favour. And what better recompense than a percentage of
the insurance claim on the life of his very rich wife?'
'Exactly!'
'Well done Cross!' Rachel beamed her admiration and Cross, in spite of
himself, felt a blush creep through his cheeks. At last! The mystery
was solved! Barbara Lane had been set up right from the beginning
through circumstances that had occurred almost a decade earlier. 'Now,'
thought Cross, 'I can get back to working normal hours! Louise and I
can get off to Eastbourne and&;#8230;'
'Cross!' His thoughts were interrupted by Rachel's voice. 'Now we know
what happened - all we've got to do now is to prove it. Get onto it
straight away will you? I want that rat Mark Lane in custody by the end
of the week! You'd better cancel that week-end in Eastbourne.'

END

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