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

by Gretta Mulrooney

  ‘How come you didn’t mention this in 2013?’

  ‘I don’t . . . I wasn’t sure that it had been Pearce at the door and I didn’t want to cause trouble.’ She worried at her watch strap again. ‘I suppose I am now, aren’t I? Will Lily find out that I’ve told you this?’

  ‘I can’t comment on that at present. Are you frightened of her?’

  Izzie blinked. ‘She’s forceful, and I like my friends . . . the Damsels.’

  Siv judged she’d be better off finding herself some new friends, but gave her a moment. ‘So, back in 2013, you were unsure about saying anything regarding Pearce.’

  ‘That’s right. We all believed that Lyn must have committed suicide, because Lily seemed so sure about that. Then Pearce and Lily were getting married and I didn’t want to spoil that for them.’

  I bet you feel safer coming forward now, because Lily’s status has wobbled. ‘I’ve got a question for you. Did Lyn Dimas have a period the day of the prom?’

  Izzie squeaked, ‘A period? What a funny thing to ask!’

  ‘There’s nothing funny about murder.’

  ‘No, sorry . . . Of course not. I didn’t mean . . .’ She paused. ‘It’s unlikely, because Lyn had said she might be having an early menopause.’

  ‘She told you that?’

  ‘Yes, one night when I was round there, about a fortnight before she went missing. We had beans on toast together after Adam went to bed. Lily was out with Pearce. Lyn was worried that she might never have another relationship. She told me she hadn’t had a period for a couple of months and if it was the menopause, she’d be over the hill and no one would want her. She was ever so upset about it. I said that it might just be stress and anyway, there are all kinds of things that can help with the menopause these days.’

  Siv couldn’t help picturing Mutsi, who must be postmenopausal. It didn’t seem to cramp her style. Maybe she was pumped full of artificial hormones. ‘Thanks. I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone that you’ve been to talk to me, or give any details about that prom night and what you saw.’

  ‘What I think I saw,’ Izzie protested, but she was clearly relieved at the instruction to stay quiet.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Why did you ask about Lyn’s periods?’

  ‘It’s a detail.’

  ‘You’ll find who killed her, won’t you?’ She stood, clutching her slim briefcase with a trembling hand.

  ‘We aim to, yes.’

  ‘I miss Lyn. She was lovely. I don’t understand why she got mixed up with Pearce. She didn’t value herself enough.’

  Chapter 18

  Ali was back from seeing Justin Desmond.

  Siv told him what Izzie Sitwell had revealed, including Lyn’s concerns about the menopause. ‘So, if Lyn hadn’t menstruated for a while, that blood on the mattress might have been from her meetings with Aston earlier that year. If Izzie is right about seeing Aston arriving at the prom, he’d just about have had time to kill Lyn and get there. He’s such a bloody liar. If he didn’t kill Lyn, I hope he gets at least a couple of years for perverting the course of justice. What’s Desmond like?’

  ‘I saw him at home. He was so jittery I was worried he might have a heart attack. He confirmed Barnwell’s account of the meeting at the Flare Bar. Said Barnwell took him home and stayed with him for a couple of hours. He was dead worried in case we’d come after him for previous drug use. I told him it was the least of our concerns. He was scathing about Scott Darnley, said he’s pathologically jealous and clingy and won’t accept that their relationship is over. He had the cheek to ask me if I’d tell Darnley to back off. I told him I don’t work in personal protection. So, Barnwell’s in the clear, but not Dimas, who was either home alone or out strangling his wife. Are we getting Aston back in?’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘Yes, right now. Can you go and get him? Where’s Patrick this morning?’

  ‘He rang in, said he needed to deal with some urgent personal stuff and he’ll be here asap.’

  ‘Problems with Noah?’

  ‘Not sure. Something about his bank.’

  * * *

  Patrick knocked on the door of the mobile home. He didn’t understand why he was so nervous, except that Melinda Foster was the kind of confident older woman who always made him feel as if he was still in short trousers. He’d been trying to remember how they’d come by her as a cleaner. Maybe Noah had met someone during one of his brief forays to a day centre who’d recommended her. Patrick rarely saw her. She had a cocky, shrewd manner that he didn’t much like, but Noah had always sung her praises.

  He knocked again more loudly. The curtains were drawn. He saw one twitch and caught a glimpse of her maroon hair. When she opened the door, she was tying the belt on a frilly lemon dressing gown. A stale wave of fug, beer and tobacco fumes hit him, along with the distinctive, salty smell of sex. Without her make-up, she seemed older, worn. Her hair was flat and tangled.

  ‘Yeah?’ she said.

  ‘We’ve met a couple of times. I’m Patrick Hill, Noah’s brother.’

  ‘Right, hun. Noah okay?’

  ‘He’s fine. Can I have a word?’

  She looked behind her and shrugged. ‘Hang on a minute.’

  She closed the door. Patrick waited, listening to the rhythmic wash of the sea. These seaside caravan parks always seemed ugly, desolate places, perched by the coast as if they were clinging onto dry land. Someone nearby was frying breakfast and the scent of bacon made his stomach rumble. After a couple of minutes, the door opened and a ferrety-faced man came out, yawning and pulling on his jacket. He avoided Patrick’s eyes and hurried away.

  ‘Come on in, hun,’ Melinda said.

  Inside was hot, cramped and messy. Bras and pants were drying on an electric heater and dirty crockery was piled high in the sink. A radio was on, a chat show with music. Melinda sat on the unmade bed and gestured for him to sit on a window seat. She’d put on a slash of lipstick and a pair of furry slippers decorated with spaniel faces and brown bobbles for noses. She lit up a king-size cigarette and smiled at him.

  ‘To what do I owe the pleasure, hun? Hat-trick’s your nickname, that right? According to Noah, you’re a smart detective.’

  He noted the mockery and decided to cut straight to the chase. ‘Someone took five hundred pounds from my bank account a couple of days ago. They used an ATM at Wesley’s garage, just over the road from here.’

  ‘That’s rotten.’ She took a long pull on her cigarette and hooked an ashtray nearer. Then she cocked an ear at the radio, where two men were cutting across each other in a heated discussion about parking restrictions. ‘Parking in Berminster is a bloody nightmare! What’s my council tax paying for? If I had my way . . .’

  Patrick interrupted her. ‘Yes, it is rotten that someone stole from me. Thing is, Melinda, Noah’s the only person who has my PIN and it wasn’t him.’

  ‘Okay. So?’ She rolled her cigarette end on the ashtray and ran a hand through her hair. Her gaze was hard and unflinching.

  ‘I reckon it was you. You took the card from my wallet and Noah gave you the PIN, although why he’d do that . . . Maybe you persuaded him.’

  ‘That’s quite an accusation. Although, being a cop, I suppose you’re used to barging into people’s homes and accusing them.’

  ‘I didn’t barge in.’

  She scratched a shin with the toe of a slipper. The spaniel nose waved in the air. ‘Hmm, okay. I’ll give you that. You and Noah have nice manners. He’s always a gent.’

  ‘Was it you?’

  She laughed. ‘Oh come on, hun, you can’t be that green behind the ears.’

  Patrick sat forward on the narrow brown seat. ‘If it was you and you give me the money back, I won’t take it any further. But I don’t want you working for us.’

  She pursed her lips, her face sagging. ‘What does Noah say?’

  ‘He said he doesn’t know anything about it.’

  ‘Well, then. There you go.’ She crushed
her cigarette end and lit another.

  ‘I can take this through official channels,’ Patrick said. ‘I’ve checked and there’s CCTV by the ATM. It can all get formal and nasty. If you’re going to steal, best not to target a cop.’

  She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘If I’m guilty, then Noah must be, too. Complicit, isn’t that the word?’

  She’d have prepared for this. ‘Not if there was coercion.’

  She laughed, throwing her head back and then glanced at him with something approaching sympathy. ‘Coercion!’ She pulled her dressing gown around her neck. ‘You are so, so green,’ she said softly. ‘Haven’t you ever wondered why I don’t get time to do much cleaning at yours?’

  ‘Judging by this place, you don’t seem too skilled at it,’ he said.

  ‘Ouch! You’ve got some claws after all, hun. That’s good. Maybe you haven’t realised this, but Noah gets ever so lonely on his ownio and he’s a young hetero man, after all. There’s only so much pleasure you can give yourself . . .’

  She winked at him and it dawned on him. ‘He’s paying you for sex?’

  ‘Well done. It’s more interesting than cleaning. Do you mind?’

  ‘Is that why he needed the money — to pay you?’

  She laughed. ‘Oh, no.’ She waved a finger from side to side and then hummed along with Dusty Springfield’s song, ‘You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me.’

  ‘I’m crazy about these golden oldies, could listen to them all day. Hun, I’m not talking about money. You’re not tripping me up that easily. But I can assure you, there’s been no coercion. Just a mutually beneficial bit of trade. Before you start chucking accusations at me, I reckon you need to speak to Noah again. Plus, you need to stop sticking your head in the sand, hun. There you are, off to work every day, suited and booted and my poor old panda is stuck in that house, sighing and wanking and bored out of his skull.’

  She put her head to one side, with an expression of genuine compassion. Despite the heat of the caravan, Patrick was chilled.

  ‘You see,’ Melinda carried on, sounding almost kindly, ‘Noah told me that he’s been depressed since he had that stroke. He reckons he’s cluttering up your life. He hates all the interference and pity. I get that — I couldn’t stand it myself, it’d drive me mental. I can see you don’t approve of me, hun, but at least I cheer him up and take his mind off his troubles for a while. I may not be much good with a hoover, but I have my talents. I’m a bloody social service, me! If you sack me, your brother’s back to having to please himself, all alone on his ownio. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve a living to make and another client to get to.’

  Patrick stood by his car, staring at the sea. Before the stroke, Noah had had lots of girlfriends. No one permanent, but he’d never been short of a companion. He’d been gregarious, fun and generous. Women liked him. Since the stroke, he and Patrick had discussed all kinds of subjects, but never sex. What could either of them say? It was difficult, embarrassing. No wonder Noah had been uncomfortable when he’d talked about the missing money. How much had his brother been parting with over the months? And how on earth was he going to broach this with him?

  * * *

  Pearce Aston was back with his solicitor. There was no prepared statement this time. Perhaps they’d decided it hadn’t worked that well before. He was unshaven and he’d abandoned the peaked cap today.

  ‘You didn’t waste any time ratting on me to Lily,’ he said as soon as Siv and Ali entered the room.

  ‘She turned up here to see me,’ Siv said. ‘What did you want me to do — lie to her? She’s been lied to enough, surely.’

  ‘She’s left me. She said she’s never coming back,’ he said, self-pityingly.

  In my opinion, that often happens when someone feels betrayed, Siv was tempted to say, but she needed to press on. She let Ali start the tape and the formal interview.

  ‘Mr Aston, we have new evidence about you on the night of the twenty-eighth of July 2013. Could you tell us again where you were that evening?’

  ‘With Lily, at the prom.’

  ‘What time did you arrive?’

  ‘Around a quarter to eight.’

  ‘Are you sure about that time?’

  Ms Cornlow butted in. ‘My client has already told you this, several times.’

  Ali said, ‘True. He’s told us lots of things several times, most of them lies. We have new information from a witness who says that Mr Aston arrived at the prom at just after eight thirty, forty-five minutes later than he claims.’

  ‘Who? Who’s this witness?’ Aston appealed to his solicitor. She put a restraining hand on his arm.

  ‘We’re not revealing that,’ Siv told him. ‘What’s your response?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘That’s a shame, because we can only be suspicious and assume you’re lying again. That’s right, isn’t it, Ali?’

  ‘Unfortunately, that is the case,’ he agreed.

  ‘You see,’ she continued, ‘Lyn Dimas might have been killed between seven thirty and eight thirty, when you were apparently not where you claim to have been. Are you sure you don’t want to add something?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘You leave me with no alternative but to charge you on suspicion of Lyn Dimas’s murder.’

  ‘No way! You can’t do that! I never touched Lyn!’

  ‘May I have five minutes with my client?’ Ms Cornlow asked.

  ‘Sure, but no more than that.’

  In the corridor, Ali said, ‘He did it. He’s lower than a snake’s belly. It would have solved a lot of problems for him and cleared the path with Lily.’ He’d used a new wax on his hair and was surrounded by a faint and pleasant aroma of coconut.

  ‘Anyone can kill if they’re desperate enough, but he just doesn’t seem the type. He’s well up himself but he doesn’t strike me as vindictive.’

  ‘Can’t wait to hear what hokum he comes out with next. Right, I’m away for a quick gasper.’

  Ali sauntered off to the courtyard and Siv rang Patrick.

  ‘Just on my way in, guv.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah. Just some financial stuff to sort. Be there in ten.’

  ‘Good, because I want an update on information from Trudy Kemp and Mr Marlin. You have got some for me?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ He sounded vague.

  Back in the interview room, Aston was perspiring and Ms Cornlow’s expression indicated that she was less than pleased with her client.

  ‘Mr Aston would like to change his statement.’

  Ali smiled. ‘Thank you. Mr Aston, can you take us through that evening of the prom, from when you left work.’

  He folded his arms and stared at the wall behind Ali’s head. ‘I left work at six and I went home, showered and got changed. I left home just before seven. I stopped on the way to the prom because I needed to visit someone. I have an Aunt Tammy who has severe mental illness. She’s schizophrenic and she lives in special accommodation. I’m her only close relative and I help her out a bit financially. Her support worker had called me that afternoon, saying Tammy had had a psychotic episode and she’d asked for me. So, I called in there to check on her. I was there for about half an hour. Longer than I’d expected. I headed to the prom and got there about half eight. That’s why I was late.’

  Ali stared at him. ‘Did you tell Lily where you’d been?’

  He shifted uncomfortably. ‘No. She doesn’t know about Tammy.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Lily’s . . . a bit funny about people with mental health problems. She doesn’t like talking about them. She finds the whole subject scary and she’d worry about genetics . . . if we have kids. And she’d object to me funding Tammy. So all in all, it seemed best not to mention her.’

  ‘Where’s this accommodation?’

  ‘Glenside House. Her support worker is Lou Bryant. She can confirm I was there.’

  Siv took over. ‘Let’s hope so. Why did Lily lie for
you, and tell us that you arrived at the prom at seven forty-five?’

  ‘When we found out about her mum, in my opinion it just seemed best to keep things simple. That’s what I told her and she agreed. She was a bit fed up when I got to the prom. I told her I’d been held up at work and then we were drinking and dancing and everything was okay.’ He put his hands out, palms up. ‘I had to fib about what time I’d arrived because I didn’t want Lily finding out about Tammy.’

  ‘So many things you wanted to keep from Lily,’ Siv said. ‘We’ll need to check this new version of events. You’re still on bail, Mr Aston.’

  When Ali had turned the tape off, Aston smiled at them.

  ‘I’m in the clear now, though, about Lyn, aren’t I?’

  Ali stood, pulling up his trousers. ‘Depends on what Lou Bryant has to say. If she doesn’t confirm your story, you might be right back in the murk.’

  ‘Nice one,’ Siv told him in the corridor.

  ‘Blokes like him, I can’t stand them. Always dodging and weaving and lying. Lily’s a lying wee toerag as well. Maybe that’s because she was worried about what he’d been doing.’

  ‘She was happy to live with the suspicion that Aston might have had something to do with her mother’s disappearance?’

  ‘Well — there was no love lost between her and Lyn.’

  ‘Hmm. I reckon she didn’t want to rock the boat of romance or lose face. What a pair. They deserve each other.’

  ‘Bit harsh. She’s younger and seems like she’s easily influenced by him, her family life had gone to pot and it sounds as if he’d hemmed her in. And she’s found out plenty about him now.’

  ‘You’re a softie,’ Siv told him, ‘and Lily’s tough as old boots. She’d have you for breakfast. Can you chase up this Lou Bryant right away and then at least we’ll be sure if we’ve got to the bottom of Aston’s lies.’

  Lily phoned her as she went upstairs. She launched in abruptly with no hello.

  ‘That bastard Pearce — he lied about the night of the prom and he made me lie too.’