‘I can’t think of any. My daughter wasn’t disliked by anyone. She had lovely friends and she was a good friend back. She never mentioned any relationships that had gone wrong or any friends that were fed up with her. She loved her work too.’
Gina rubbed her heavy eyes. ‘What did she do?’
Marianne flicked to another photo. ‘This is a photo of us. I met her for lunch in her dinner break. She’d started a new job for a microbrewery in Stratford-upon-Avon. She does accounts admin. I was so pleased for her. It was more money, better hours and they were going to pay for her to take some qualifications next year. She left school at sixteen and got her first job as an admin junior. Since then, she gained lots of experience but had no qualifications. She was so happy when she got the job.’
‘And can I ask where she worked?’
‘Furnace and Blower Ales.’
Silence filled the room and Gina was back to noticing the ticking clock. ‘Is there anything else you can tell us that you think might help us to catch whoever did this to Holly?’
The realisation of what had happened hit Marianne all over again. Talking about Holly had distracted her slightly. Tears welled in her eyes and her lips trembled. ‘No, I wish I knew more.’
Wyre topped up Marianne’s tea and gave a sympathetic smile.
‘I’m going to leave you with my card. If you remember anything, please call me straight away. No matter how small it is, call me.’
Marianne’s shaky fingers emerged from the cuff of her cardigan and she gripped the card, sniffing as she began to fill up again. ‘I think she’d had a bit of an argument with someone at work a few weeks ago. She said it was nothing and the air had been cleared.’
Gina leaned forward over the kitchen table. ‘Did she say who she’d had this argument with?’
‘No. She said it was nothing but I know my daughter and I can tell when something is troubling her.’ Marianne closed her eyes and swallowed her tears down.
‘We really are so sorry for what you are going through. If you need to be put in touch with bereavement services, please call me and I can help you.’
A tear streamed down her red cheeks. ‘Thank you.’
As Gina and Wyre scraped their chairs on the tiled floor, Beryl came back in and placed an arm around her friend. ‘Come on, love,’ she said as she hugged her friend. ‘Let it all out.’
‘We’ll see ourselves out.’ Gina nodded at Beryl as they left.
‘That was horrible, guv.’ Wyre closed her pad and popped it in her pocket.
‘I hated every moment of it. I suppose we really need to visit her workplace. What was it called again?’ As Gina opened the car door, a neighbour came out and got in his car. It was officially morning and neither she nor Wyre had been to bed all night.
‘Furnace and Blower Ales, in Stratford.’
Gina’s phone beeped. Briggs.
We’ve made an arrest. Remember the person you saw leaving the scene at the back of the garden? We have him. Uniform picked him up walking down one of the two roads.
‘We need to get back to the station, now.’ Gina started the car up and pulled away.
Chapter Eleven
‘Can you confirm your name?’ Gina’s voice echoed through the interview room, a tone of annoyance cutting the silence as she waited for Phillip Brighton to answer. Wyre stared sternly at the man as Mr Ullah, the duty solicitor, whispered in his ear.
Shrugging, his shoulders almost got lost in the material of his denim jacket. His belt had been removed when he’d arrived at the station, causing his jeans to slip to his thighs, exposing the grubby cream waistband of his boxer shorts. Spending an hour in a cell should have given him time to think, but he was still refusing to tell them who he was. The man barely blinked and this made Gina uneasy. His stare fixed on her, then across to Wyre as he scratched a few flecks of dried skin from his beard.
‘You have been charged with the supply of Class A and Class B drugs. What do we have?’
Wyre turned over the page in the file. ‘Twenty-five wraps of cocaine and a bag of cannabis have been seized, along with four hundred pounds in cash.’
‘Phillip Brighton. We have you on file and your fingerprints don’t lie. This isn’t your first offence. It isn’t even your second offence. You’re looking at a long custodial sentence so I suggest you start talking about last night.’
The suited solicitor whispered once again in his client’s ear and Phillip Brighton didn’t say a word.
‘Mr Brighton. You were picked up by officers on Blossom Lane, which runs along the back of Cleevesford Manor. We found you in possession of a substantial amount of Class A and B drugs, along with a wad of cash.’ Gina needed to prove to herself that he was the man running away from the building. ‘I saw someone who fits your build from the window of the manor, using a phone as a torch before disappearing into the woods.’ She couldn’t have identified him in a line-up. ‘You may or may not know that a serious attack took place last night resulting in the murder of a woman, so you need to start speaking. We are presently going through all the CCTV from the manor. If you were there, we will find out.’
She was bluffing. There was CCTV but she had no idea how good any of it was until they sat down and went through it. She knew that DC Harry O’Connor had arrived at the station a short while ago and she’d tasked him with that very job.
‘Okay. I was at the manor but I didn’t kill any woman!’ He kicked the leg of the table.
‘I’m not saying you did.’ He paused and twitched slightly, then again. Just a little shake of his neck. ‘I need you to tell me what you saw. Do you know Holly Long?’
‘Never heard that name.’
Gina pushed a photo of Holly across the table. ‘Do you recognise this woman?’
‘I’ve never seen her before. Look, if I tell you what I do know, will you drop the drug charges?’
Gina slowly shook her head. ‘I will make it known that you cooperated fully with our investigations.’ Phillip Brighton had been caught with the drugs and the cash and he was a known drug dealer in the area. She knew he was small fry in the big scheme of things but still, she couldn’t magic these charges away. ‘Phillip. Can I call you Phillip?’
‘Phil. I hate Phillip.’
‘Phil. A woman was murdered last night and we are interviewing everyone. Can you tell me when you arrived at Cleevesford Manor, how you got there and what you did?’
Mr Ullah whispered a few more words and Phillip nodded.
‘I wasn’t dealing, I just had some stuff on me for personal use. I heard that there was going to be a free bar and I turned up, taking my chances on getting a few drinks.’
‘Where did you hear about the free bar?’
‘The Angel Arms. I was in there having a quiet drink and someone let on that they were heading down to Cleevesford Manor.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know. I overheard some of the lads talking. They were joking about milking some geezer called Trevor for a few free drinks. He’s the bride’s dad, apparently. I headed over there about an hour later. That’s how long it took me to walk. I think the others caught a taxi. They said to climb over the stile on Blossom Lane. It’s a short walk through the woods and there’s a cut through at the back of the garden. I couldn’t exactly swan in through the front door, could I? I didn’t have an invite. The aim of the game was to guzzle as many drinks as possible before we got chucked out.’
Gina knew he’d gone there to sell drugs but now wasn’t the time to interrupt him.
‘Carry on.’
‘I got there about half nine or ten, I think. When I came out of the toilets, I saw that all hell was breaking loose when the father of the bride could see that we didn’t belong. Food started flying, a few shirts were ruffled and most of us were thrown out onto the terrace. I waited outside and had a smoke until things died down and then the cops arrived and I heard people saying something about a dead woman. I knew I needed to get out. I shouldn’t have been there
and I knew this would happen if I stayed. I ran to the back of the garden and I got a bit lost in the woods.’
Didn’t want to get caught with all the drugs in your possession more like, Gina thought. ‘You didn’t come when you were called.’
‘I fell asleep. Like I said, those drugs are for personal use. I had a smoke and I fell asleep in the woods.’
Gina didn’t believe any of it. ‘You went from running away in a panic to falling asleep.’
‘Yes.’
Gina cleared her throat and glanced across at Wyre who raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay, what happened when you woke up?’
‘I saw someone, but as I say, I was half stoned and it was dark but I know what I saw. He was feeling himself in the bushes.’
‘Feeling himself?’
The man rolled his eyes. ‘Wanking. He started to wank and I startled him.’
Something about what he was saying and the way he was saying it told Gina that amongst his lies, this was a truth. Even Phillip Brighton wouldn’t have embellished his story with something so bizarre.
‘You’re saying you saw a man masturbating in the bushes?’
‘Yeah, well starting to. It was way after things had died down. I’d been out of it for a while. I don’t know what time it was but it was late or should I say early.’
‘What did he look like?’
He shrugged again and leaned his chin on his chest as he slouched back, his beard draping over his stained yellow jumper. ‘It was dark and I was a bit stoned. All I could see was his white shirt.’
‘Height? Build?’
‘Taller than me.’
Gina glanced at the file. Phillip Brighton was only five foot six. Most of the men there had been taller. ‘Much taller or a bit taller?’
His stare was so intense, his eyes looked as though they might pop out of his head. ‘How am I meant to know? The ground was uneven and as I said, I was stoned. Average, tall, not sure. Not fat. He had a suit jacket on.’
‘Hair colour, features?’
‘He had a nose, two eyes and a mouth. He could have had hair – I don’t know. It was dark. I couldn’t see. I. Don’t. Know.’
Gina dropped her pen on the desk.
‘I do have something.’
Gina and Wyre sat up a little.
‘He was smoking.’
They were looking for a smoker.
‘Can you tell us where you saw him?’ There was a chance he may have left something behind. A cigarette butt, a footprint, anything.
‘There’s a small clearing. You follow the trodden path through the woods from the cut through in the garden. When you reach the oak trees, there is a small clearing. I fell asleep behind one of the oaks, in a bush. That’s where he was. Are you going to put a good word in for me?’
‘That’s all for now. I will add in your file that you cooperated.’
‘You’ll tell them I wasn’t dealing, that my stash is personal?’
Ignoring him, Gina continued. ‘When you went to the toilet, was there anyone else in there who can corroborate your whereabouts?’
‘I was taking a dump and I was on my own in the cubicle. No, I didn’t take anyone in with me.’
‘Did you go upstairs at all?’
‘You’re trying to fix this on me. I didn’t go anywhere but the shitter. I didn’t go up no stairs and I didn’t do anything I weren’t meant to be doing.’
‘That’s not entirely true. You shouldn’t have been in the building.’
‘You know what I mean. Tell them,’ he shouted to Mr Ullah. The solicitor whispered once again and Phillip pointed his shabby boot at the table and kicked the leg again, almost losing his boot. ‘Bloody hell! And I want my laces back.’
‘You know the rules.’ Gina knew he’d get his laces when he eventually left but not while he was in custody. She doubted Phillip Brighton was a suicide risk but the rules were there for a reason. ‘Anything else you can tell us?’
‘My client has been most helpful in your investigations. He’s told you all he knows and has given his full cooperation. I insist on a break so that I can liaise further with Mr Brighton.’
The investigation had just notched up. She was considering Phillip Brighton as a suspect in the case. He was in the building at the time of the murder. He claimed to be in the toilet and no one saw him in there. They had his DNA and fingerprints on file. Question was, would they find evidence of him having been in Holly’s room?
‘Interview ended at ten thirty a.m. on Sunday the tenth of May—’ Phillip leaned back and stretched in the plastic chair. ‘What is that on your jumper?’
‘What?’
Everyone in the room spotted the tiny fleck of red on his yellow jumper. ‘That?’ Gina pointed to the bloody fleck.
‘How would I know?’
Gina leaned in a little closer. ‘It looks like blood to me.’
His eyes widened.
‘There’s no evidence for that,’ Mr Ullah said as he slammed his paperwork down on the table. ‘My client is here to answer to a charge of supplying drugs—’
‘And now I want him to tell me why he has what appears to be blood on his jumper when he was at the scene of a murder last night.’
Phillip Brighton stood and kicked the door. ‘I didn’t do anything. I want to go. Let me go. Let me out.’ He hit the door several times.
‘Sit down, Mr Brighton.’
The man stared as his shoulders dropped. He took two steps back and slumped into his chair.
‘I need your clothes.’ She was sure that Phillip Brighton was shaking in his denim jacket.
He trembled as he almost ripped the jacket from his own back before throwing it onto the table. ‘Have it. Have everything. Have it all!’
He stood and manically shouted and grunted as he began peeling his clothes off. His solicitor tried to whisper something to him but Phillip pushed him away. He pulled the jumper over his head and threw it onto the floor before finally kicking his boots off his feet at the wall.
If the blood on his jumper was a match for any blood samples taken from Holly’s hotel room, Phillip Brighton would have a lot of explaining to do. Gina pulled a pair of gloves from the draw next to the table and snapped them on. She picked up the jumper. ‘We’ll get these to the lab. Thank you for your cooperation. In the meantime, we’ll get you something to wear.’
Chapter Twelve
Cass’s fingers trembled as she opened the message.
Thanks for your thoughts, Cass. I can’t believe what happened. Poor Holly, and our reception was ruined. I don’t know what to do. My mum has barely said a word and my dad keeps telling me everything’s going to be okay. It’s not though, is it? Kerry.
The open message showed Cass that Kerry had begun to type another reply. Cass had to keep the conversation going. Now was her big chance. Kerry stopped typing.
For years, Cass had tried to strike up conversation with Kerry but nothing had worked. Once primary school friends, Cass had found herself dumped in favour of Holly. Timid, little Holly – the girl who would do anything Kerry asked of her. Cass had been the opposite. She was loud and clumsy. Now was the right time to be a friend to Kerry once again. She’d missed her for years. She’d missed having the fancy cakes her mum used to make and the fun sleepovers, when it was just the two of them. Everything was perfect until Holly came on the scene. Lilly and Francesca soon followed and they made up the popular gang. Cass had become history. Not for long though.
Cass twirled a strip of coarse hair between her fingers. She hadn’t fitted in with them all those years ago. Her freckly skin became a little spotty with the early onset of puberty. Her figure became more ample, setting her apart from her athletic peers. Now was her chance to make things right, to get her friend back. With Kerry on side, she could also probe her for information, find out if she knew anything about Elvis and Holly or, indeed, Elvis and anyone. Kerry knew everything, she always did.
Nothing changed with age, it just meant more candles on a cake at
the turn of another year. Right now, she felt like that dumped nine-year-old once again, but this time, she was going to fight to win back her friend. With Holly out of the way, she had hope. Gaining Kerry’s trust was a part of the new plan.
Cass hit reply and began typing her message in the little box.
Kerry, what happened was terrible and if there’s anything I can do, just ask. You’re one of my oldest friends and it hurt like hell to see you so upset yesterday. I know we haven’t spoken in a while but a friendship like ours never dies. I’m totally here for you. Just ask. Anytime. Shall I pop over to your house?
No response.
Don’t you dump me again! Not when I’d do anything for you.
She stared at the screen. Nothing. Kerry was now offline. ‘Dammit.’ She slammed her phone on the bedside table causing Elvis to stir. ‘Morning, sleepyhead.’
‘What time is it?’ he murmured as she wiped a trail of drool from his cheek and squinted at the ray of sunlight that had seeped through the gap in the curtains.
‘Nearly eleven.’
He fought with the sheets and tumbled onto the floor, dragging them off her. She knew he had to work and she’d let him sleep in.
‘My head hurts, bloody hell.’ He pressed his temples. ‘I didn’t even have a drink. I feel pissed.’ He stumbled to his feet and almost hit his forehead on one of the low beams by the window. Maybe she’d given him more to drink than she thought. His phone beeped. He grabbed it, taking it with him to the bathroom. It was obvious he was hiding something.
She followed him in and he placed the phone on the windowsill. ‘Why don’t you call in late?’ She pulled her nightshirt over her head and wrapped her arms around his naked torso, while inserting one hand into his jeans and caressing him. He had to want her. Whoever was messaging wasn’t important and she would show him just how unimportant they were. She began running her tongue over his shoulders, grimacing as her taste buds recoiled from the sweat and deodorant on his skin.
Her Last Mistake - Detective Gina Harte Series 06 (2020) Page 6