by Ann Cleeves
‘What was the phone call about?’ That was Ross, impatient, jumping in. Jen wanted to know about the day the two men had been drinking, but Springer had already started his answer.
‘I wanted my money back. Needed it back.’
‘The money you’d invested in the restaurant?’
He nodded. ‘I went to see Kate, but she said they’d sold the business and the house and split the equity. She refused to pay me, said Simon had the cash, that it had been a private arrangement between me and Simon.’
Jen thought that explained how Walden had been able to pay his rent for twenty Hope Street. She wondered where he’d stashed away the rest of the money, but one of the team would be already checking the bank accounts. They’d soon know.
‘How did you track him down?’
‘That was through Kate too. She said she’d heard from him. He’d rung from a landline and she’d made a note of the number. Worried about him, maybe, or wanting to keep track.’ He paused. ‘She’s found another man. More her kind. Runs his own software business, big flat in Clifton. Mummy and Daddy would approve.’
‘Her family didn’t approve of Walden?’
Springer shrugged. ‘That was the impression I got. Si always felt he had to prove himself. He was never quite good enough.’
‘Did he call you back after you left the message for him?’
‘Yeah. A little while later.’ Springer snapped his mouth shut.
‘And did you get your money back?’
Another silence. ‘He promised he’d get it to me, but there was something about the way he spoke … I wasn’t sure I believed him. He said it was tied up in a project. Something he really had to do. I’d get it back but I might have to wait.’ He paused. ‘I told him I couldn’t wait. My wife wants a baby. I mean, we both want a baby, but she’s desperate and it’s just not happening. We only get one shot at IVF on the NHS. I’ve told her we’ll go private, but she’s a teaching assistant and I work in a gym and money’s tight.’ He looked up at them. ‘We were mates, served together. He knew how much I needed that cash back. He knew what my marriage means to me.’ He paused. ‘He said he’d get it back. That he understood.’
‘But he didn’t deliver?’
Springer shook his head. ‘No, he didn’t deliver. At least he hadn’t. Not before he died and I guess I’ll never get it now.’
‘Did you go and see him? Kate will have given you his address.’
He looked up. ‘You think I killed him? For twenty grand?’
It was Jen’s turn to shrug. ‘People have killed for less.’
‘But I haven’t got the money.’ He stood up, finally exasperated. ‘I have no idea what he did with it. And now I’ll never know.’
* * *
Walden’s wife Kate had never taken her husband’s name. The flat where she lived with her new partner was one of a number in a grand stone crescent in Clifton. She stood at the door and held out her hand.
‘Kate Dickinson.’ Cool and polished. Long legs in skinny jeans, a white linen shirt. Her hair looked polished too. It was hard to imagine her hooked up with the itinerant cook.
Bedminster had been busy, the pavements crowded with shoppers, pushchairs, cycles ridden illegally to avoid the busy road. Express supermarkets and pound shops. Chuggers and buskers. This seemed like a different world. Calmer. Lighter. The apartment was on the first floor, and the living room spread the width of the house, with views of the Downs to the front and over the city roofscape at the back. Polished hard-wood floor and classy furniture. Little colour and no clutter. The palette various shades of grey.
‘You’re here to talk about Simon.’ She offered them coffee and Jen caught a glimpse into the kitchen, which was just as she would have expected. Granite and chrome, without a mucky pot in sight. Again, as different as it was possible to be from the arty house in Hope Street. Or her house in Barnstaple. The coffee came from a machine that hissed in a genteel, upmarket sort of way. Jen felt an overwhelming desire to scribble on the wall with wax crayon.
‘When did you last hear from him?’
She and Ross were on a sofa and Kate sat in a chair opposite, legs curled under her.
‘Months ago. Before Christmas, certainly.’
‘Could you be more specific?’
She looked up with a little triumphant smile as she remembered. ‘Yes! It was the end of October. There are Americans living in the flat next door and they’d put pumpkins outside for Halloween. I remember seeing them on my way out. I was going to the theatre with Guy, my partner. I’d not long moved in.’ She paused. ‘Then my mobile started ringing. It was Simon, in a dreadful state. Pissed of course. I was used to that, but he was distraught. Suicidal. I didn’t know what to do or how I could help.’
‘Was he genuinely suicidal?’
‘I think so. He said he was weighed down with guilt and he couldn’t live with himself. The only way to stop the pain was to kill himself. I tried to talk to him, but he wasn’t listening. I knew I wasn’t doing any good.’
And your flash new partner was waiting for you. You wouldn’t want to miss the first act.
Then Jen told herself that was unreasonable. What could Kate have done? And what right did Walden have to guilt trip her?
‘So that was the last time you spoke to him?’
‘No!’ Kate said. ‘No! I should have explained. He phoned a few weeks later. I’d been trying to get in touch with him on his mobile, but he said he’d lost it that night when he was on a bender. He called me from a landline.’
‘And that’s the number you passed on to Alan Springer when he came to you for money?’
The question seemed to throw her. Perhaps she didn’t want to be seen as mean or uncharitable. Not in this grand apartment, with its spectacular views. ‘You know about that? Yes. Simon got a very good deal out of the divorce. I thought it was his responsibility to pay back his friend.’
‘Even though he’d invested in your joint business?’
‘It wasn’t like that. There was nothing formal. It was a loan to a former colleague, a mate.’
‘Tell me about that second phone call. The one from the Ilfracombe landline.’
She paused for a moment. ‘It was as if I was talking to a different man, the man I first fell for. He sounded well. Peaceful. He said he’d started to put his life together. No more self-pity or anger and he’d pulled back on his drinking. He’d found somewhere to live. Nowhere grand, but it would be fine until he got himself sorted. He was cooking again, volunteering in a cafe in a community centre.’ Another pause. ‘He said I wasn’t to worry about him.’
‘Quite a transformation.’
‘Maybe. Though, like I said, it was almost as if he was himself again and the angry, self-loathing Simon was the man who’d changed.’
‘Where did you first meet?’
‘At school. We were childhood sweethearts. He was a couple of years older than me and I fell for him. Worshipped him from afar for a while and couldn’t believe my luck when he noticed me.’ She sipped her coffee, seemed lost in memories. ‘There was something frail about him even then. Emotionally, I mean, not physically, but I thought it was attractive. That vulnerability. I felt that I was strong enough for the two of us. I thought I could look after him.’ She looked up. ‘The arrogance of youth, right?’
Somewhere in the distance, schoolboys were playing a ball game. It would be rugby probably, here in Clifton. Jen could hear cheering, boys’ voices shouting. She waited for Kate to continue, glared at Ross so he wouldn’t jump in. Sometimes people had to tell their stories in their own time.
‘Simon joined the army straight after school. I couldn’t understand it. I mean, he was never a macho kind of guy. But I can see now that he was probably looking for security, a family. His mum was on her own, pretty dysfunctional. She died a couple of years ago. He and I kept in touch, though, and I saw him whenever he was home on leave. I started at uni, dropped out after a year. My parents blamed Simon for that, said it w
as an infatuation, but it was nothing to do with him. He was encouraging me to stay and complete the course. The academic life just wasn’t my thing. I got a management trainee post with a boutique hotel chain and worked my way up. Then Simon asked me to marry him. It was what I’d been dreaming of since I was sixteen. Of course I said yes.’
‘But it wasn’t quite what you expected?’ Jen knew about marrying too young, what it was like to be caught up with the romance of the idea, to blink away the solid reality of the man.
‘Not quite.’ Kate gave another little smile. ‘Simon was an officer in charge of catering for his regiment. He was sent to war zones, went with the men when they were away on exercise. They have to be fed wherever they are. He was often close to the front line. He might be chatting to a fellow officer one day, drinking to him the next because he was dead or invalided home. And while he was away, I wasn’t there to support him. I had no role in his life. I couldn’t be the dutiful army wife, staying in quarters, waiting for my man. I carried on working. It was no wonder we drifted apart.’ She paused. ‘We hadn’t actually spent very much time together since we were at school. It’s hardly surprising he seemed like a stranger when we did meet.’
‘So, he decided to leave the army.’ Jen thought she’d misjudged this woman when they’d first met, had her down as hard and cold because she had a smart home in a classy neighbourhood. People were always more complex than she realized and she was always too quick to jump to conclusions.
‘Yes, we decided to set up in business together. A little restaurant. Simon’s cooking and my admin skills. Where could we go wrong? I’d saved a bit and we found nice premises in Redland, here in Bristol. Perfect, we thought.’ A pause. ‘And it was at first. Bloody hard work, mind, but we were in it together. It was only when we started to get successful, the reviews and the queues at the door, that the splits started to show. Simon couldn’t handle the stress. As I said, he’d always been a bit emotionally frail.’
‘But this time you couldn’t fix it?’
Kate looked up at her, hollow-eyed. She wouldn’t be used to failure. ‘No. He tried to fix it himself. He self-medicated with drink. Easy enough in our business.’
‘And then he killed a child.’
‘Yes!’ Now there were tears in her eyes. ‘I’ve never felt the slightest bit maternal. But a child like that. So helpless and young.’ She fumbled in her pocket for a tissue. ‘It was Simon’s decision to leave. I would have stood by him. I went to see him in prison. But as soon as he came out, he disappeared. I don’t know where he went.’
‘To North Devon to work in the hotel?’
Kate shook her head. ‘No. That came later. Like I said, he disappeared for a while and I had no idea where he was. He did come back to Bristol briefly while we sorted out the separation. The restaurant had still been a going concern and we got a reasonable price for it. I didn’t want to run it on my own; I’m in corporate hospitality now. My own little business. I sold our house.’ She looked up. ‘Then I met Guy. He hired me to run a party for his clients. He hasn’t swept me off my feet, but he’s kind. Reliable.’
‘And you shared the profit on the house and the business with Simon?’
‘Absolutely. Fifty-fifty.’
‘How much would that come to?’
‘Well, the house was still mortgaged, so it was just under two hundred grand.’
‘Between you?’ Jen wondered what on earth Simon Walden had done with his hundred thousand pounds. How was it tied up, so he couldn’t give Alan Springer back the money he was owed?
‘No!’ the woman said, as if that was a crazy idea. ‘Each.’
* * *
Jen pulled Ross across the road so they could walk on the Downs with the elderly dog-walkers and the runners. She needed fresh air before they started the drive home, and the air here was fresh, westerly with the smell of rain in it.
‘So, what do you think?’
Ross looked at his watch. Jen thought he’d probably promised Mel he’d be back at a reasonable time. Then she thought again that she should be more tolerant. Ross was young and keen and happy. When she spoke her voice was more joke than recrimination.
‘Your attention, please, DC May. This is a murder we’re investigating.’
He had the good grace to look sheepish. ‘We need to find out where all his money’s gone. If he really meant to pay his mate back, where has it disappeared to?’
She gave a little clap of her hands, mocking him. ‘So, get on that phone of yours and call that in. Let’s get someone at the station to push for an answer. Find out why they haven’t already tracked it down.’
Chapter Seventeen
WHEN MATTHEW LEFT HIS MOTHER AND Susan in the damp little cottage by the marsh, he drove back to Barnstaple and parked outside the police station. Inside, he checked the progress the team had made in their initial attempts to trace Christine Shapland.
‘It’s important. She’s a vulnerable adult, she has a learning disability and the mental age of a child.’ He thought Christine was different from Lucy, less confident and more sheltered. ‘She’s been missing for at least one night. And her disappearance might be linked to the Crow Point murder.’ He added the last sentence to make them take the matter more seriously. The young officers saw murder as exciting, sexy. In their eyes, a middle-aged missing woman with a learning disability certainly wouldn’t be. ‘She lived in one of the cottages on the marsh, not far from where Walden’s body was found. She wasn’t there that day – she was with her aunt in Lovacott – so perhaps that’s a coincidence, but I need to find her.’
‘We’ve checked the hospital and her GP practice. Nobody’s heard from her.’ This was Gary Luke, the oldest member of the team, relaxed, fatherly.
‘Anyone been in touch with the Woodyard?’
‘Yes, Christine was definitely there all day yesterday. Her uncle dropped her off in the morning and they assumed he’d be picking her up. She wandered out with the others to the reception area of the centre and when she didn’t come back, they assumed she’d been collected or gone home with the minibus as usual. The centre’s trying to encourage a degree of independence, so they didn’t actually accompany her to the car.’ Vicki Robb was young, keen. Matthew was already impressed.
‘Has anyone spoken to the aunt and uncle?’
‘Not yet,’ Vicki said. ‘I could go if you’d like me to.’
‘No, I’ll do it. There’s another call I need to make in Lovacott anyway.’ It would be interesting to catch up with Dennis Salter after all these years. And this was a good excuse to leave the office. Walking back down the stairs to collect his car, he wondered if his mother would see his job differently if he managed to deliver Christine back to Susan. And if he failed to find the woman, would his mother see that as just another example of his failure as a man?
Matthew was on his way out when Oldham appeared at the top of the stairs and called him into his office. ‘If you’ve got a moment, Matthew…’
Oldham’s office was like its owner: shabby, untidy. Matthew had always been wary of the man. There was something about his attitude to Matthew that wasn’t dislike exactly, but more akin to distaste. Something Oldham couldn’t help and tried to control, but a prejudice that was always there under the surface. Matthew wasn’t sure if he was a homophobe or he just didn’t like the idea of a new inspector on his patch. He also found the DCI an object of pity. His wife had died of cancer a couple of years before and rumour had it that he’d started to hit the bottle then, that the beer with friends in the rugby club each evening had taken priority over work. They’d had no family. Ross, the son of a good friend, was the closest thing he had.
‘This Crow Point murder.’ Oldham leaned back in his chair. ‘I understand the victim worked at the Woodyard?’
‘He was a volunteer there.’
‘And your partner runs the place?’
‘My husband. Yes.’ A moment of silence. ‘And it seems that the woman with Down’s syndrome who’s missing
was abducted from there.’ Matthew took a deep breath. ‘I wondered if I should withdraw from the case. I obviously have a conflict of interest. Perhaps you should take over as SIO.’
Another silence. Oldham closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them very slowly. Matthew watched the lids slide up and was reminded of a lizard, or perhaps a crocodile. ‘No need for that,’ Oldham said at last. ‘I trust my team. Just keep me in the loop.’
So, Jonathan had been right and idleness and a need for a quiet life had won, but as Matthew was leaving the office, Oldham spoke again:
‘Just don’t cock up, eh? If you cock up, we’ll both be in the shit, and that’s the last thing I need.’
* * *
Matthew carried on down the stairs, collected his car and took the same route as he’d travelled with the bus the afternoon before. The light was fading and the weather was changing. It was still warm but the air felt heavy with rain. He arrived in Lovacott more quickly than he’d expected, surprised to be suddenly there, dropping down to the village. He hadn’t noticed any of the landmarks that he’d glimpsed from the bus. Christine’s aunt and uncle lived in a tall, straight, confident house right on the square. Once, Matthew thought, a merchant might have stayed there, trading in wool, spreading prosperity. Now it was the home of Grace and Dennis Salter, stalwarts of the Barum Brethren. He’d known them since he was a child. Salter’s rejection of Matthew, after his statement of independence at the final meeting he’d ever attended, had hurt. Before that, Matthew had liked the man. He’d been one of the few Brethren to take Matthew seriously when he was a child, to answer his questions. Grace he hardly remembered at all.
He hadn’t phoned ahead, but there was a light on in the front room and he stood for a moment looking inside. He’d been in that room with his parents. Occasionally meetings had been held there. Dennis had led the worship and Alice Wozencroft, the most elderly member of the Brethren, had played a squeaky keyboard so slowly that the singing was always a few bars ahead. There was dark varnished panelling on the walls, a long, polished table. His parents had always found it a little intimidating; it was also where the elders met and decisions were taken.