NEVER CAME HOME an addictive crime thriller with a twist you won't see coming (Detective Inspector Siv Drummond Book 2)

by Gretta Mulrooney

  Eventually, she couldn’t take the boredom anymore and jumped ship to the new McDonald’s, where she flipped burgers and was run off her feet. Rik had become a vegetarian by then, so there was no danger of her loitering amid the meaty feasts and causing a nuisance.

  Ali pulled in outside Haddon’s as rain cascaded, firing off the tarmac like bullets. They hurried into the squat building and announced themselves. They waited a few minutes, while Ali did his usual scan of wall notices, arching his back, jaw jutting forward, hands in pockets. Siv picked up a glossy brochure and flicked through.

  Welcome to Orford End, an exclusive new development in the historic and popular town of Berminster. Just eight houses, built to a high specification and boasting solar heating, en suite to every bedroom and fully integrated luxury kitchens. Convenient for the station and excellent local schools.

  Reserve your plot now to avoid disappointment.

  Siv wondered if buyers would still be queuing if they heard about the discovery of a body on the site. Those with an interest in the macabre might be attracted.

  A tall, well-built man with a shock of sandy hair and a lively expression appeared, bringing a buzz of energy to the room. He introduced himself as Lewis Haddon in a strong, resonating voice.

  ‘Come on through, sorry to keep you waiting. Grant will be along in about twenty minutes.’

  They followed him into a long office. It held a large blond wood desk, filing cabinets, wall charts, a computer, printer, and a scattering of unmatched chairs around a low coffee table.

  ‘We can sit down here.’ Haddon indicated the table. ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Siv took one of the grey fabric-covered chairs and Ali sank into another.

  ‘Well, this has all been something of a shock to everyone at the firm,’ Haddon said. ‘Terrible about that poor woman. How anyone could do that is beyond me. My lad Grant still hasn’t got over it. He’s had some nightmares.’

  ‘It was a shocking sight. Maybe your son should see a counsellor,’ Siv said.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, that’s not necessary. He’ll get over it. The young bounce back, don’t they?’

  ‘It depends on the person,’ Ali told him. ‘Your son struck me as sensitive. He might dwell on what he saw.’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on him,’ Haddon said. ‘He’s at uni now, so he’s excited about that and busy with all the schedules and timetables. It amazes me how much bureaucracy he has to wade through. I prefer dealing with bricks and mortar.’

  ‘It was unfortunate for Grant that he didn’t make it to London that day, as planned,’ Siv said. ‘The idea that he might have avoided the discovery could prey on him.’

  Haddon shifted in his chair and grimaced. ‘I don’t understand why he just didn’t go ahead to London on his own. I’d no idea that he was at Steiner’s until he rang to tell me what had happened. I was stunned and terribly worried, of course. Well . . . no good crying over spilled milk. Have you any idea who killed that woman? Some maniac?’

  ‘We’re investigating, that’s all I can say. Did you know Lyn Dimas or her family?’ Siv asked.

  ‘I’ve never come across them. I read about her going missing at the time. When Grant saw that she’d been identified, he told me that he’d been at school with Adam, although Grant was three years ahead of him.’

  ‘You were at Steiner’s in April, with Ivor Bass,’ Siv said. ‘Had you been there on other occasions?’

  ‘Yes, once, just to assess the area. That was external. It was early last December, when Building Blocks contacted me to say that they were hoping to buy it and if they were successful, they’d like me to take on the work. I was there for about half an hour, just scoping the land. Depressing place, especially on a freezing winter’s day, but I could see the potential and it was exciting. I told them that.’

  ‘This company, Building Blocks. Have you done projects for them before?’

  ‘Just one before, outside Brighton. That’s how they operate. They’re a big outfit. They scan for opportunities all over the UK, and when they saw that the Orford End land was for sale, they put in a sealed bid and it was accepted.’

  ‘Would anyone from Building Blocks have visited the site?’ Siv asked.

  He shook his head. ‘They don’t operate like that. They collect data about an area and get an architect to consider the possibilities. Then they make a decision based on that.’

  ‘So once they’d acquired Steiner’s they contacted you to confirm that you’d subcontract for the building work?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘And before then, had you ever had any business at Steiner’s or anything to do with the premises?’

  If he understood why she was asking, he gave no sign of it.

  ‘It had been left empty for years,’ he replied. ‘Quite a few people in town would have known that. There’d been stuff in the paper about it being a shame that Steiner’s was an eyesore, left empty and deteriorating. People living around there worried that it attracted rough sleepers and vandals. You’d see reports from council meetings now and again, where people complained about it. I never had any business with Steiner’s when it was still operating.’

  Ali sat forward. ‘How come you never wanted to buy it when the Steiner family still owned it and had it on the market?’

  Haddon seemed surprised at the question but answered readily. ‘We usually specialise in larger projects. Demand for those has dwindled in recent years, but there’s always a need for housing. When Building Blocks came calling with money to spend, I decided to branch into that whenever I could.’

  Ali asked, ‘How many staff do you employ?’

  ‘We have a core of twelve. Then we contract out as we need to electricians, carpenters, plumbers. Depending on the size of the build, we can have up to thirty people on a site,’ Haddon told him.

  ‘We need a full staff list of your core staff. Can you give us one to take away?’ Ali asked.

  ‘I can print one out before you go. Was that poor woman actually murdered in there?’

  ‘We can’t share that information,’ Ali said. ‘Where were you on the night of the twenty-eighth of July 2013?’

  ‘I was expecting that question, so I checked my diary,’ Haddon said promptly, as if he was a pupil who’d done well in a test. He picked up an iPad and made a show of scrolling through, taking his time. ‘I was visiting a site at Bexhill during the afternoon. Then I had a meeting here at four. It finished about five thirty. I worked late, until around eight. I live in Bywater, so I got home about eight fifteen. Grant was out, staying over at a friend’s. I had a shower and something to eat. Then I just watched TV and went to bed, probably about half ten, my usual time.’

  ‘And your wife or partner?’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘My wife died years ago. It’s just been me and Grant since then.’

  ‘Did you talk to or see anyone between five thirty and ten thirty?’

  ‘Afraid not. We have a part-time admin — Jenny, who greeted you — and she’d have gone home at four. You’ll have to take my word for it.’

  ‘We rarely do that,’ Ali told him. ‘We’ll need details of who was at your four o’clock meeting.’

  Haddon frowned. ‘Surely you can’t imagine that I had anything to do with Ms Dimas’s death? I didn’t know her.’

  ‘You don’t have to be familiar with someone to kill them,’ Siv said. ‘We would like to take DNA samples and fingerprints from you as part of the investigation. I assume you’ve no objection?’

  ‘Okay with me,’ he said. ‘I understand that you have your work to do, but have you any idea when we can take back the site? We’d like to progress with the project as soon as you give us the nod. I’ve got timescales and wages to pay. You’ll appreciate that delays cost us. I expect Jenny could tell you down to the last penny.’

  ‘Murder has its own timescale. It’s still a crime scene,’ Siv said.

  ‘Right. But you will contact me as soon as?’r />
  ‘We’ve just started the investigation,’ Ali said coolly. ‘You’ll have to raid your piggy bank if necessary.’

  Just as Haddon pursed his lips to retort, Grant came in with a hefty rucksack slung across his narrow shoulder, earbuds looped about his neck. He smiled at his son. ‘Hi, how was your day?’

  ‘Great, yeah.’

  ‘Come and sit down, take the weight off.’ Haddon turned to Siv. ‘I’ll stay while you chat.’

  ‘We’d rather talk on our own, Mr Haddon. Grant’s an adult, he doesn’t need you to be present. Unless you particularly want your dad to stay with you, Grant?’

  Grant shook his head. ‘No, I’m fine on my own.’

  His father hesitated, but got up and reached for his phone on the desk. ‘Right then. I’ll be in the outer office. I’ll give you a lift home, son, if you can wait until about six.’

  Grant nodded to his father. He was still pale but appeared more relaxed today.

  ‘How are you doing now, Grant?’ Siv asked.

  ‘Okay. Well . . . I do worry about what happened. Dad’s been great but it’s all been a real headache for him. I mean, in terms of the business. It hits him financially if work gets held up.’

  ‘Of course. You could have counselling if you want to talk to anyone about the shock you had.’

  Grant shrugged. ‘It’s okay. But thanks anyway. Dad’s been really good about it. When I first told him what had happened, he was cross with me for being on site that day. I suppose he was shocked and worried for me. He calmed down after a while. Dad can be a bit overprotective. I . . . I had leukaemia when I was a kid. I had almost a year off school, what with being ill and the treatment. They cured me, I recovered and I’m fine, but Dad worries.’

  ‘Is that why you stayed at school until you were nineteen?’ Siv asked.

  ‘That’s right. The cancer set me back.’

  ‘I’m glad you got better, and that you’ve got a university place.’

  Grant smiled. ‘Yeah, it’s terrific. Dad said that getting stuck in at Rother College was a good distraction after what happened at Steiner’s and he was right. We went shopping for more stuff I needed and that was great. I can’t help remembering Ms Dimas though. And Adam . . . I can’t imagine what it’s been like for him.’

  ‘Thanks for contacting us about him,’ Ali said. ‘How well do you know Adam?’

  ‘Not well. He was in Drama club at school for a while. That’s where I used to see him. It was quite a big group — about thirty. We chatted now and again, that’s all. He was kind of shy. He never mentioned his mum, although I heard she’d gone missing. I can’t remember who told me that. It might have been a teacher.’

  Ali said, ‘So you never mixed with Adam outside of school, or with anyone else in his family?’

  Grant shook his head. ‘Just Adam, at Drama club. That’s all.’

  He was growing edgy, licking his lips and fingering one of his earbuds.

  ‘That’s fine, Grant,’ Siv reassured him. ‘It was very helpful that you got in touch with us. Ms Dimas went missing on the evening of the twenty-eighth of July 2013. You were thirteen then. Your dad told us that he was at home on his own that night, and you were staying at a friend’s.’

  ‘Dad said you’d probably ask me about that. I remember it because it was my friend Freddie’s birthday. We had a party with a huge bouncy castle in the garden — only time I’ve ever been on one — and then I stayed at his house for a sleepover. Freddie’s mum was my childminder back then as well. It was the summer holiday, so I stayed there the next day. Dad picked me up in the evening.’

  ‘You didn’t phone your dad at all that evening of the party?’

  ‘No, no reason to.’

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ Siv said. ‘That’s all we needed. I hope uni goes well for you.’

  Back in the car, Siv scratched her head. ‘Now we have Lewis Haddon with no alibi for his whereabouts that night. Forensics will be interesting.’

  ‘So far, there’s no trace connecting him to Lyn.’

  ‘No. Doesn’t mean it isn’t there, though.’

  * * *

  Noah was on the kitchen floor, wedged between the table and the cooker. He’d managed to pull himself up so that his head rested against the oven door. There was a smashed plate and mug, with bits of a cheese sandwich lying saturated in a pool of tea. He grimaced as Patrick came in.

  ‘I’m a klutz,’ he said indistinctly.

  ‘You certainly are. Is anything hurting?’

  ‘My pride.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s do the routine.’

  It wasn’t the first time he’d had to help his brother up. Noah fell regularly, attempting to reach for things, miscalculating distances, wanting to act independently, trying not to be a burden. Patrick understood his frustrations but it meant he was always on tenterhooks, wondering what was going on at home. Some days, he was resentful. Others, like today, he was overcome with pity and tenderness. He drew Noah’s wheelchair beside him and made sure the brake was on, then put his hands around his brother’s back, bent his knees and rocked and slid him to the wheelchair. He took a deep breath and lifted him in one go. Noah thumped down, grabbed the side of the chair with his good arm and Patrick sat down to get his breath.

  ‘Just as well you go to the gym.’ Noah gave his tentative, lopsided smile.

  Patrick fetched two glasses of water, putting a straw in Noah’s. The floor was sticky and the sink needed scrubbing. The house always smelled a bit ripe, like the niff from an animal’s enclosure in the zoo. They had a cleaner, Melinda, who came for a couple of hours a week but she seemed to skim the surface. Patrick suspected that Noah distracted her and got her chatting, because he seemed to have gathered a lot of details about her divorces, her internet dating and the kinds of manicures she liked — Sometimes she has a shellac but her favourite is paraffin wax.

  He put the water on the tray attached to Noah’s wheelchair. His tousled blond hair was dingy and was sticking up on the crown. Patrick guessed that the carer hadn’t had time to comb it. Noah smelled fusty because the shower was out of order, his breath was sour and there were tea stains down the front of his T-shirt. There’d been a time when he was always smartly groomed. He’d been the handsome one of the two brothers, toned and fit from running and surfing until the day a stroke felled him on the path to the headland. Now his body was slack and sliding to fat, his face chubby, his neck vanishing into folds of flesh. The right side of his face was askew, his mouth slanting.

  ‘I’ll make you another sandwich and tidy up. Then I’m going to ring a plumber.’

  ‘Do I pong?’

  ‘A bit. Want me to spray you with air freshener?’

  Noah gurgled a laugh. ‘Don’t you need to get back to work? Won’t they miss Hat-trick?’

  ‘It’s okay, it won’t take me long.’

  Noah took his state-of-the-art motorised chair to the living room. Patrick cleared up the spilled food, mopped the tea and wrinkled his nose at the full bin. He squirted bleach in the sink, opened the air vent at the top of the window, made a fresh sandwich and took it to Noah. He was watching a recording of University Challenge, pressing a pretend buzzer and calling, ‘Hill, Imbecile College.’

  Patrick checked the time. The guv must be wondering where he’d got to. He rang a plumber and left a message on voicemail, watching Noah as he answered the quiz questions. He was mystified as to how his brother could stand this existence, listening to the traffic grind its way to and from the coast while he read, tapped slowly on his iPad or watched TV. He’d gone to a day centre for a while, but then declared it was a waste of time and depressing — ‘I’m not a bloody vegetable.’ A few of his friends kept up contact but others had drifted away. Ali came round every couple of weeks and had a beer, played cards or just chatted, mainly about rugby. He was good at easy banter, ‘having a gas,’ as he called it, and he always made Noah laugh.

  Most of the time, Noah maintained a cheery front but lately he’d been quieter
than usual, and there were nights when Patrick heard him crying in his room. He’d knocked on the door, but Noah had shouted at him to fuck off. There were days when Patrick was panicky, picturing Noah in the half-light of the silent house, always waiting, waiting, for someone to relieve his isolation.

  His phone rang. The sarge. He hesitated, ignored the call, fetched a comb and the gel that Noah liked and styled his brother’s hair. His mind wandered to Kitty Fairway. He’d interviewed her back in May at Halse woods, where she was a warden. She’d been flirty as well as gorgeous, and he’d finally summoned the courage to invite her out. She’d said yes. He’d just have to keep his fingers crossed that there wouldn’t be a Noah-shaped emergency.

  Noah glanced up at him. ‘Can you lend me thirty quid until I get to the bank later this week?’

  ‘Sure, is that enough?’

  ‘Yeah. Just to tide me over.’

  The sweet cosmetic scent of the gel filled the room and Noah gave a thumbs-up, yelling, ‘The Balearic Islands, you idiots!’

  Chapter 10

  ‘Sivvi! Were you on your way to see me?’

  In the blinding sunlight, she hadn’t spotted her mother coming and wondered if Mutsi had been lying in wait in a doorway. She shielded her eyes, both against the glare and her mother’s vibrant outfit.

  ‘No, I’m going to see a podiatrist.’

  ‘At your age?’ Mutsi raised her Jackie O. sunglasses and gazed despairingly at her daughter’s sturdy black ankle boots. ‘It’s not as if you wear fashionable shoes. I have problems from years of wearing high heels but you . . .’ The way her voice trailed off spoke eloquently of how much her daughter’s lack of style pained her. She turned one of her long, elegant legs, showcasing a navy stiletto, pointing her foot like the dancer she’d once been in a hazy, distant past.