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

by Gretta Mulrooney

  Siv thanked Esther and headed outside to Ali. ‘How did Hemmings seem?’

  ‘Same as last time. Adamant that he’s never met Stafford. I’m not sure I believed him, but he wasn’t giving anything away. How did you get on?’

  Siv told him. ‘From what Esther Walsh said, Hemmings could be telling the truth. Now we hear that Posy had a male friend.’

  ‘Any identification?’

  Siv’s headache had almost gone and it was as if a mist was clearing. She paused for a moment, reordering her ideas. ‘Posy told Esther about this man shortly before she died in 2012. She said she’d met him because of Clive Hemmings, even though Hemmings didn’t know about him. Hemmings was tutoring Grant that year, in Bywater, and Lewis Haddon once gave him a lift home. Let’s drive back via there. I want to see where the Haddons live.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m hoping that the house is on a steep hill.’

  As Ali started the engine, Siv received a text from Patrick: Guv, Tim Stafford’s DNA confirmed on mattress and two mugs at Steiner’s. She read it to Ali.

  ‘So Stafford could well be our killer,’ Ali said.

  Siv sank into silence. Adam Dimas was on her mind. She rang the station and checked in with the duty desk.

  ‘They’re dropping the charges against Adam Dimas,’ she told Ali. ‘Small mercies.’

  ‘That surprises me. No love lost between him and Aston, is there?’

  ‘Maybe Aston has enough on his plate, or he sees it as a way back into Lily’s good books.’

  ‘Surely she won’t take that waster back!’

  ‘Not if she’s got any sense.’

  She imagined that Lily, like her dead mother, would take no prisoners once slighted.

  Chapter 25

  Siv spent an evening designing and making origami acorns for her own amusement. She incorporated metallic paper for the tops, her mind roaming over the investigation and timelines. The Haddons lived in a detached house in Bywater, set up a steep road. It would be a nightmare in icy weather. But plenty of people lived on hills. If Lewis Haddon had killed Lyn, proving it would be difficult.

  The next morning found her in front of the incident board, correlating dates.

  ‘A number of events pertaining to this case happened in 2012,’ she said to Ali. ‘We’ve got a general picture of them and to some degree, how they interconnect. Lyn and Pearce Aston had an affair, Grant had Clive Hemmings as a tutor and Lewis Haddon might have met Posy Hemmings because of that arrangement. Tim Stafford was thrown out of home in May, and at some point that summer met up with Posy Hemmings, who died in December. I want to talk to Grant Haddon again.’

  Ali sounded confused. ‘What can he tell you?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I want to see if he’s heard of Tim Stafford or Posy Hemmings, for starters.’

  * * *

  Patrick fetched Grant from university that afternoon and brought him to the station ‘just to check a few things out’. Siv took him round to Gusto to get some drinks — coffee for her, fruit tea for him — and then back to an interview room. She’d said that she would talk to him on her own, keep things low key.

  She watched him put down his rucksack and cup his tea in his hands. His black-and-white jumper was emblazoned with a silhouette of a man wrapped around a microphone and the legend, Eat. Sleep. Performing Arts. He wore a red-and-gold plaited wristband and played with it as he relaxed in his chair. That was good, because she reckoned that the next half hour or so might increase his stress levels. She pulled a spare chair over and put her feet up on it. ‘How is it, being a student?’

  Grant sank back, stretching his legs out. ‘Great, thanks, full on. I’ve signed up to loads of societies.’

  ‘I can imagine it’s exciting. Thanks for coming to see me. We’ve made some progress with the investigation about Lyn Dimas, and I need to ask you a few more questions.’

  He sipped his tea. The steam from it filled the room with a raspberry aroma, a big improvement on how it usually smelled.

  She showed him Stafford’s photo. ‘Do you or your dad know this man? His name’s Tim Stafford.’

  ‘No. Who is he?’

  ‘A homeless man, originally from Berminster. He was attacked on the beach at St Leonard’s and he’s in hospital with serious injuries.’

  ‘Well . . . that’s horrible. I don’t recognise him, and Dad’s never mentioned him.’

  ‘When I rang you, you told me that you’d been tutored by Clive Hemmings, in Bywater. Did you ever go to his home in Seaford for tuition?’

  ‘No. He came to our house. That was the deal.’

  ‘How did your dad find him?’

  ‘Sorry, no idea. A website, probably.’

  ‘So did Clive drive to your house?’

  ‘That’s right. He had a little Fiat. He’d got it second hand and it wasn’t that reliable.’ He laughed. ‘Clapped out, to be honest. Dad had to help him with it a couple of times. Like I told you, it wouldn’t start at all one evening when Grant was going home.’

  Siv said encouragingly. ‘That was when your dad gave him a lift. Did your dad mention meeting Clive’s sister, Posy Hemmings?’

  ‘It was a while ago, but I don’t remember that name.’

  The questions weren’t troubling him and his answers came easily, but he turned his wristband and looked at her curiously.

  ‘What have Clive and his sister got to do with Lyn Dimas?’

  ‘It’s a bit complicated. Just bear with me for now. You’re being very helpful. I suppose your dad’s had some women friends since your mum died?’

  Grant blinked at the change of direction. ‘Erm . . . yeah. Well, actually only one. He went out with Val, but that was quite a while ago. She lives in the village, runs the wine bar. They’re still friendly, but it didn’t last.’

  ‘I see. You don’t recall that he was seeing anyone around the time that Grant was tutoring you?’

  ‘No. But . . . Best to ask Dad.’

  ‘Of course, and I will. Lyn Dimas vanished on the twenty-eighth of July 2013. Your dad was home alone, and you were staying at your friend’s house.’ She pretended to consult her notes because she could see Grant tensing. ‘Freddie, that was it. Have I got that right?’

  ‘Yeah, like I told you before.’

  ‘Does Freddie live near your house?’

  ‘Five minutes away.’

  ‘And next evening when you saw your dad, how did he seem?’

  ‘Fine.’ Grant’s right heel was tapping the floor. ‘I don’t get why you’re asking me about this again.’

  She took her feet off the chair. ‘You said that your dad was very upset and angry after you discovered Lyn’s body.’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’

  ‘Not just because of that discovery. Because he hadn’t expected you to be at Steiner’s that morning.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘Grant, something doesn’t add up. You see, we believe that your dad might have met Posy Hemmings, Clive’s sister, and could have been seeing her. Posy killed herself. She was depressed because her mum had committed suicide, after Lyn Dimas was involved in her dismissal from her job. Your dad knew about Steiner’s and that it was an empty premises.’

  Grant was pallid.

  ‘Your dad has no alibi for the night Lyn vanished.’

  ‘My dad wouldn’t kill anyone!’

  ‘That would be for us to prove. I believe that Lyn’s death and the attack on Tim Stafford are connected. Are you sure that your dad didn’t seem upset in any way when you came home on the twenty-ninth?’

  ‘I don’t . . . I can’t . . .’ He was holding onto the sides of his chair.

  She took out her phone and showed him the photo of Stafford on the beach. ‘You saw Lyn’s body. You saw what someone had done to her. This defenceless young man was attacked. You must, Grant. You must tell me if you can help.’

  Grant flinched away from the photo, burst into tears and shielded his face in his hands. She placed a bo
x of tissues at his elbow and waited, disliking herself. The car park fence was being renovated and the man repairing it had a radio on, tuned to a classical station. Bach played while she waited for Grant to compose himself.

  At last he blew his nose and said, ‘I nipped back home the night Lyn went missing. I’d forgotten my iPad. Freddie was asleep and no one saw me go out. Dad wasn’t in.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘About half nine.’

  ‘You’ve never mentioned this to your dad?’

  ‘No. No reason to.’

  ‘But then it played on your mind when we came asking questions, and you realised that he’d told us he was at home that night.’

  He sniffed. ‘I didn’t get why he lied. I tried not to think about it. What are you going to do now?’

  ‘Speak to your dad and ask him.’

  ‘He’ll guess I dobbed him in.’

  ‘If he has nothing to hide, why should it matter that you told the truth?’ She could see that he was in shock. ‘I want you to wait in here. Not for long. I’ll send someone in to be with you and we’ll take you home.’

  In her office, she brought Ali and Patrick up to date. ‘Lewis Haddon lied about being at home all evening on the twenty-eighth of July. I believe that he’s the man Posy was seeing before she died. Esther Walsh said that Posy had told him all about her traumatic history. After Posy committed suicide, he could have been angry enough with Lyn to plan her murder. Steiner’s was standing empty, so handy. Haddon may well have met Stafford through his connection with Posy.’

  ‘We need to bring him in,’ Ali said.

  ‘Hmm, we do.’ She hesitated, tapping her fingers on the desk. ‘But what I don’t understand is if Haddon did murder Lyn, and then found some years later that he’d got the contract for dealing with Steiner’s, would he not have moved her body?’

  ‘Maybe he wanted her found,’ Patrick said.

  ‘Maybe. And he didn’t expect that his son would be working there that day . . . Even so, I’m not sure.’

  ‘We’ll get him in, guv.’ Ali stood and beckoned Patrick. ‘There’s only one way to find out. Search warrant?’

  ‘Let’s talk to him first.’

  She watched them go. She wasn’t getting that adrenalin rush that came when she sensed a case breaking.

  * * *

  Mortimer was cautious, conciliatory, even, when Siv briefed him in his office later.

  ‘We’ve interviewed Lewis Haddon, sir. He’s told us that he was seeing Posy Hemmings, and that he met her when he gave her brother a lift home in 2012. They’d seen each other a couple of times, and Posy had told him what had happened to their mother after Lyn reported her. Clive Hemmings wasn’t aware of their relationship. According to Haddon, he and Posy hadn’t yet slept together. He says he was devastated when Posy killed herself, and that he didn’t see it coming. He states that he’s never met Tim Stafford, although Posy talked about him and how she’d helped him now and again. He admits that he lied about being at home on the night Lyn vanished. He now claims that he went for a walk along a footpath across the fields near his home, to get some air on an oppressive night. He didn’t meet anyone. He said that he claimed to have been at home and denied knowing anything about Lyn because he didn’t want to bring trouble to his door. He didn’t see that what Posy had told him was relevant. He insisted that he’d needed to focus on his son, who’d had a terrible shock at Steiner’s, and if he’d talked to us about Posy, he’d have been getting in deeper for no reason.’

  Mortimer cracked the knuckles on his left hand. ‘What do you make of it? Truth, lies or something in between?’

  Siv recalled Haddon’s angst during the interview and the way his voice had broken suddenly when he’d spoken of his son’s distress. My God, how I wish I’d never taken that contract for Orford End, it’s brought nothing but trouble! She spoke firmly. ‘I’m sure he was telling the truth, and I keep coming back to why he’d have left the body there to be discovered by his own employees, let alone his son. He’s given us permission to search his house and garage. Unless we find any forensics there, we have no evidence against him.’

  ‘Better get on with the search, then.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  There was a pregnant pause. He’s the boss. It’s up to him to say something.

  He moved his laptop an inch and fiddled with the edges. ‘Well . . . regarding the party . . . clearly, we were both surprised.’

  ‘Yes, we were.’

  ‘Have you spoken to your mother?’

  ‘No. We don’t speak often.’

  ‘Yes . . . well . . . that’s as may be. Crista explained that she hadn’t told me about your family connection because there are . . . difficulties between you, and she didn’t want to contribute to any problems in the workplace. Understandably, she was anxious that it might cause embarrassment. She was terribly upset when she believed she’d done the wrong thing. I’ve reassured her that we’re all adults and not to worry about it. No one’s committed a crime!’ He gave a forced laugh.

  Siv almost pitied him, imagining Crista’s glistening tears and the wheedling, little-girl voice she employed when she was manipulating and web-weaving. Then she thought of Mortimer’s friendship with Castles and the awful possibility that he could become her stepfather, and steeled herself.

  ‘It did cause embarrassment,’ she said. ‘It certainly achieved that.’

  ‘Yes . . . Anyway, that’s over and done with. Crista . . . your mum, told me how close you and your husband were. She’s concerned about how you’re coping. She’s worried that you’re isolated, out where you live, and that you’re not mixing socially. If there’s anything I can do to help . . .’ He fumbled to a halt.

  Siv was furious. Mutsi was busy with her spade, digging at the foundations of her life. If Mortimer was going to start being paternal and caring, she’d have a meltdown. Sod him and sod Mutsi. ‘I’m doing fine, thanks. I’m the best judge of that.’

  ‘Of course. I’m . . . well, I’m very fond of your mother and I hope that we can continue to work professionally. I can tell that she cares deeply about you.’

  Despite her anger, she had to suppress a grin. There he was in the web, dangling helplessly. She’d bet that his new glasses, hair shade and upgraded style were down to Mutsi’s influence. A Mortimer makeover. ‘I hope that I’m always professional at work, sir. Thank you for clearing the air. Now, I must get back to the team.’

  He coughed nervously and tapped at his laptop. On her way downstairs, she got a call from DS Shaw at St Leonard’s. Tim Stafford had regained consciousness. He’d named his attacker and had managed to give a few other crucial details. When she heard the identity, she was winded. She leaned against the wall and let out an exclamation of surprise. Then she hurried to her office, all plans about Lewis Haddon shelved.

  Chapter 26

  A storm was hurtling across the Channel. The wind was whipping the last leaves from the trees planted by Victorian builders at Poets’ Piece. Only the sycamores were holding on defiantly, with leaves that seemed to have been tie-dyed in yellows, reds and browns.

  ‘A sycamore can bleed to death if it’s pruned in the spring.’ Siv said.

  ‘Why’s that?’ Ali asked.

  ‘It’s when the sap is strongest.’

  ‘Aye, right. Polly says my sap is strongest in the spring.’

  ‘Too much information, DS Carlin.’

  They were both processing this latest development and attempting to defuse their tension. Ali turned into Chaucer Road and parked. They sat silently for a moment.

  ‘It doesn’t mean he killed Lyn,’ Ali said.

  ‘Oh, I think he did. Why attack Tim Stafford otherwise?’

  They’d been focusing on the wrong Dimas.

  Stafford had named his attacker as a man he called Papu.

  ‘When I first met Joe Dimas, a chill went through me,’ Siv said. ‘He’s a man who deals in absolutes. A fundamentalist. He places great faith in marri
age and in women as nurturers and caregivers, at the centre of family life. That’s why he was so keen for Lily to marry, and so scathing about his son abandoning the traditional family unit. When I came to see him, he was well prepared. He spoke about his admiration for Lyn and a woman’s role in her family. I can remember his words because he was so eloquent: he said that a woman, a mother, was “the backbone and the beating, constant heart of any family, the source of comfort and reassurance.” So he must have had a terrible shock when he found out that Lyn had sought her own comforts elsewhere. We still might not get him for her murder, though, with no evidence.’

  ‘And then there’s his alibi,’ said Ali. ‘We need Patrick to get back to us.’

  Siv had sent Patrick to St Demetrius, to speak to Pater Basil. He rang, sounding breathless, as she stepped from the car. She got back in and put him on speaker.

  ‘Guv, Pater Basil is an ancient guy, unwell and about to retire. I tried to talk to him about Joe Dimas, but I couldn’t get any sense from him and to be honest, I’d gauge he can’t recall what happened yesterday, let alone six years ago. I’ve spoken to a Pater Nicholas, who’s been brought in to work with him for a while at the church. He’s told me that Pater Basil has had memory loss for some time, going back years. Parishioners have been concerned about him. He had a diagnosis of dementia last year. Pater Nicholas knows Joe Dimas, says he’s a highly influential church member and that Pater Basil has been very dependent on him, relied on him for a lot of day-to-day decisions. Guv, it sounded to me as if Joe Dimas could have got the priest to agree to anything and if he’s confused, he might have believed the alibi he gave was correct.’

  ‘Thanks, Patrick. We’ll take it from here.’ She frowned at Ali. ‘We should have double-checked that alibi.’ This was exactly the kind of slip that worried her these days.

  ‘Even if we had, we couldn’t have proved it wasn’t tight. The priest only had the dementia diagnosis last year. Don’t sweat the small stuff, guv. We can still use what Patrick’s told us to rattle Dimas.’