Kill Shot: A Cavendish & Walker Novel - Book 10

by Sally Rigby

  ‘I want to go back to Saturday night. In our previous interview you mentioned getting a taxi and leaving before twelve, but you don’t remember which taxi firm you used because someone else called them for you.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Does the firm Westfield Taxis ring a bell?’

  ‘Um …’

  ‘Were you picked up by one of their taxis?’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘He’s hiding something,’ George said. ‘It could be that he drove and doesn’t want to admit it because he was over the limit.’

  ‘How much did you have to drink?’

  ‘The same as everyone else. Some beer. A couple of whiskies. We usually have a skinful, which is why none of us drive.’ He leant on his elbow, partially shielding his mouth with his hand.

  ‘And you definitely got a taxi and didn’t drive.’

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you? One of the guys phoned for me.’

  ‘Was it Rory Clarke?’

  ‘It could have been. Yes.’

  ‘When you returned home, was your car there?’

  ‘Yes. Of course it was.’

  ‘Did you take it out for a drive?’

  ‘No. No. No.’ He thumped the table. ‘I’ve had enough of this. I’m saying nothing more without my solicitor present.’ He folded his arms across his chest and scowled in her direction.

  ‘Do you think you need one?’ Whitney gave her stock answer.

  Marshall turned his head and stared at the window.

  ‘We will end this interview now and you’re free to go. But know that we’ll be speaking to you again.’

  Chapter 19

  Whitney opened the door of the incident room, and the sound of laughter echoed in the hallway. Seated on a table between Frank and Doug, with her legs swinging, was Tiffany. Her hand covering her mouth as she was laughing.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, walking over.

  A raft of guilty expressions stared back at her.

  Tiffany grinned. ‘I was bored at home and decided to come and see you as it was getting late. I caught the bus in and thought maybe we could go out for dinner, if you’re not finishing late. What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. I have to eat sometime.’

  ‘Awesome. It was a right mission getting here, it’s quite a walk from the bus stop. When the woman on reception phoned upstairs to speak to you, Frank took the call and came to fetch me.’

  ‘It was my pleasure. I’ve been telling Tiffany what it’s like to be a good parent,’ Frank said.

  ‘And I’ve been warning Tiffany not to listen to him,’ Doug added. ‘We all know the hassle he’s been through with his kids.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean I can’t offer some good advice,’ Frank said, feigning a hurt expression. ‘I want Tiffany to make the most of the time before her children have minds of their own and stop being affectionate and compliant.’

  They all knew how difficult it had been for Frank and his wife with their daughter, who wouldn’t leave home for years and then ended up moving back complete with husband and children in tow. She’d moved out again, but for how long remained to be seen. Whitney suspected he exaggerated how bad it was for effect, though.

  ‘Thank you, Frank, for your input,’ she said.

  ‘Do you know whether you’re having a boy or a girl?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Yes, but we’re keeping it a secret.’ Tiffany looked over at Whitney conspiratorially.

  Whitney turned to Clifford, who was standing beside George a few feet away. ‘This is my daughter. Tiffany, this is DI Clifford, from the Met. He’s come to help us with a case.’

  ‘Call me Seb,’ Clifford said, striding over and holding out his hand for her to shake.

  ‘Go and sit in my office, I’ll be in shortly,’ Whitney said.

  Tiffany hoisted herself down from the table. ‘No one warned me I’d be getting this big.’ She laughed, and walked towards Whitney’s office, with one hand massaging her back.

  Whitney waited until her office door was closed. She trusted her daughter, but it wouldn’t look good for her to be discussing the case with her there, especially with Clifford around.

  ‘We’ve questioned Scott Marshall, who certainly has a temper, which he showed when provoked. He claims he was at home at the time of the murder, but there’s no one to corroborate that. He maintains he was drinking on Saturday night and wasn’t capable of driving. George believes he’s hiding something, but we’re unsure whether it’s anything to do with Armstrong’s murder. He remains a person of interest, but as we don’t have sufficient evidence to hold him, we need to keep on digging. Tomorrow morning we’ll visit the snooker club again with a view to asking more pointed questions.’

  ‘I won’t be with you,’ Clifford said.

  She turned to him. ‘Why? I’d have thought visiting the club would have been a useful exercise for you?’

  She was more than happy for it to be just her and George, but was surprised that Clifford didn’t wish to be with them. What was he planning? Going back to the Met and leaving them to get on with solving the case themselves? Wishful thinking.

  ‘I’ll be visiting, but not with you. I’ll pretend to be a customer.’

  ‘You won’t get in, it’s a members’ only club?’

  ‘Trust me, it won’t be a problem. If you see me, don’t speak. Act like you don’t know me.’

  Whitney flashed him one of her looks. ‘I’ll pretend you didn’t say that as I’m fully aware of the need for your identity to be kept secret.’

  He bowed his head. ‘Understood.’

  ‘I want everyone in early tomorrow morning.’ She turned to George. ‘Do you fancy grabbing a bite to eat with me and Tiffany, if you’re not seeing Ross?’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  As they headed towards her office, Whitney glanced over her shoulder. Should she have invited Clifford to join them, as he’d probably be spending the evening on his own. They couldn’t talk freely when he was there, so he could entertain himself. He wasn’t her responsibility.

  ‘Are you ready to go,’ she said to Tiffany, who was sitting behind the desk, playing on her phone. ‘Do you have any preferences on where we should eat?’

  Tiffany looked up and smiled. ‘I’ve had a craving for fish and chips all day. Soaked in vinegar.’

  ‘Shall we eat in or grab a takeaway and go home?’

  Whitney would prefer the latter, as all she wanted to do was put her feet up with a glass or three of wine.

  ‘I want to talk to you anyway, so let’s get a takeaway.’

  ‘Do you mind George coming?’ Whitney assumed not, but thought she should check.

  ‘Of course not. George is one of the family.’

  ‘My sentiments exactly.’

  ‘I’ll go in George’s car if that’s okay? It’s a lot more comfortable than yours.’

  ‘It’s fine with me,’ George said.

  ‘It looks like that’s sorted then. I’ll get the fish and chips and you two go back home and warm the plates. I’ll see you back there.’

  It took Whitney longer than expected as there had been a queue at the takeaway. As she walked in the house she could hear George and Tiffany talking. It was funny how George was more relaxed with Tiffany than anybody else. Whitney wasn’t jealous. She loved the bond between the two of them.

  ‘I’m back,’ she called as she headed into the kitchen.

  The table was set, and the plates were warming in the oven. Whitney dished out their dinner, opened some wine for her and George, and gave Tiffany an apple juice.

  Halfway through the meal, when there was a lull in the conversation, Tiffany rested her cutlery on her plate. ‘I’ve made a decision,’ she announced, her eyes on Whitney.

  ‘What about, the colour of the nursery?’ she asked, as they’d been discussing it in depth recently and couldn’t decide.

  ‘Don’t be daft. This is something serious. I’ve
decided that I do want to meet my father.’

  Whitney coughed violently, almost choking on the chip in her mouth. She grabbed her glass of wine and took a large gulp.

  ‘What the … Don’t do that to me.’

  ‘Sorry. But I thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘Of course, I do, but not when I’ve got a mouthful of chips.’

  After their most recent conversation about Martin, she wasn’t convinced that Tiffany would agree to seeing him. Martin would be delighted. But was she?

  Yes, in principle, but once it happened it could change everything.

  She’d spent all these years as the only parent Tiffany had. Now her daughter had two. Would that make a difference?

  ‘What made you finally decide?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve been thinking of the baby and how Lachlan is the father. I’m not going to hold it against him that what we had wasn’t the real thing and that he wanted to go back to Australia. Once the baby is born, they should know each other, if it’s what Lachlan wants. It would be unfair of me to exclude him.’

  ‘Like I did, you mean,’ Whitney said, picking up her fork and moving the food around her plate.

  ‘That’s not what I meant, Mum. Your situation was different. You mustn’t feel guilty for what happened all those years ago. Lachlan and I have been texting, and he’s going to come over for a visit once the baby’s been born.’

  Whitney swallowed hard. Please don’t let Tiffany decide to return to Australia with him.

  ‘Do you think you might get back together as a couple?’

  ‘No way. He’s going to visit, that’s all. Just because we’re not together doesn’t mean he’s not a nice guy. I want to do what’s best for the baby.’

  ‘When you were growing up, how did you feel about not having your father around?’ Whitney asked, holding her breath as she waited for her daughter’s reply.

  ‘It didn’t bother me. And I’m not just saying that. I had you, Granny, Gramps and Rob, we were a family. But being pregnant has changed my perspective on things, and I do want to meet Martin and get to know him.’

  ‘You’ll really like him. All my preconceptions about him couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s a nice man, and he’s not going to push you into any relationship if you don’t want one. He thought he couldn’t have children, as he wasn’t able to with his wife. He feels so lucky knowing about you. But I’ll leave him to talk to you about that. What’s your view, George?’

  ‘From a psychological point of view, in most instances it’s good for a child to have a good relationship with both parents.’

  ‘Even yours?’ Whitney quipped.

  ‘Mum,’ Tiffany said, frowning in her direction. ‘Leave George’s parents out of this.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. It was a stupid quip.’

  ‘You didn’t upset me. Tiffany, your mother’s correct, my parents are very different from most and had a strained relationship with their children, unlike the one you have had with your mother. I believe meeting your father will be a positive experience for you.’

  ‘So that’s sorted,’ Whitney said. ‘I’ll let him know and see when he’s free to meet. Possibly Saturday or Sunday.’

  ‘So soon?’ Tiffany said, a look of panic marching across her face.

  ‘Not if you’d rather wait. I thought you’d want to get it over with.’

  ‘I’m being silly. Let’s blame it on the hormones. Whenever he wants to visit is fine with me.’

  ‘We’ll make it very informal, no pressure. I’ll cook something.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Tiffany said, pulling a face.

  ‘I could always ask George to cook for us,’ she suggested, smiling in her friend’s direction.

  ‘I’m happy to oblige.’

  ‘I don’t think the three of us facing him is a good idea,’ Tiffany said.

  ‘I could make something for you and drop it over. I don’t need to be with you while he’s here. Or I could take your mother out for a drink and leave the two of you alone to get to know each other,’ George said.

  ‘I’m not sure about that, either,’ Tiffany said, biting down on her bottom lip.

  ‘Let’s wait and see what he says. Then we’ll make a decision. We don’t need to decide right now.’

  Whitney didn’t want to put Tiffany off meeting Martin. Although she did agree with George that leaving them alone might be the best thing to do. Even though she’d worry like crazy about what was going on if she wasn’t there to supervise. But Martin wouldn’t push it. He’d be sensitive to Tiffany’s needs and wouldn’t make it difficult for her.

  And just think, if they hit it off and Whitney and he carried on their relationship they could be a real family.

  She shuddered. Why did that scare her?

  It didn’t. It just made her nervous.

  Chapter 20

  George followed Whitney up the stairs to the snooker club entrance. In stark contrast to their last visit, when they reached the top the door was propped open, and they were able to walk in without having to obtain permission. There were people milling around everywhere.

  ‘What are all these people doing here? It wasn’t like this the last time,’ Whitney said.

  They stood beside the bar, both of them scanning the area, when Glen Tibbs walked out through the door leading to the bar. He glanced at them and frowned as it registered who they were.

  ‘I can’t talk to you today,’ he said, hurrying over to them. ‘At least not for a while.’

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘It’s the start of the East Midlands tournament. The finalists will qualify for the world championships. It’s the last chance for those who haven’t already qualified. It’s on for seven days.’

  ‘Tournament aside, we’re investigating a murder, and have further questions to put to you. It can’t wait,’ Whitney said.

  He gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Give me ten minutes and then I’ll be with you, but not for long. I’ve already got problems. The first two matches start in thirty minutes and one of the referees hasn’t turned up. And on top of that I’ve got a player claiming that table one hasn’t been ironed properly. It has, as I supervised it myself. There’s no time to do it again.’

  ‘Ironed?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘After a table is brushed it’s ironed to make sure the nap of the cloth is flat.’

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘Tables have to be perfect to ensure positional ball control and speed.’

  Although she knew nothing about snooker, George found all these details fascinating.

  ‘And do you iron every day?’ she asked.

  ‘Daily during a tournament. Normally we only iron three times a week and on the other days we block the table. That’s where we take a specially made block of wood, cover it with some cloth and run it along the table.’

  ‘I had no idea it was so involved,’ she said.

  ‘Our tables are the best on the market and covered with Strachan cloth. The man we employ to look after them has worked on the tables used at the Crucible in Sheffield during the world championships. I’m putting this player’s complaint down to nerves. Anyway, as you can see, I’ve got my hands full.’ He gestured at the people milling around. ‘And you’re not here to learn about how we care for our tables.’

  ‘We’ll wait for you here,’ Whitney said. ‘Are you open to the public or are all these people part of the tournament?’

  ‘At the moment it’s mainly players and the media who are here. The public will be arriving any time from now. We have a seating area and matches are televised so people can watch in the lounge area.’ He pointed to the wall where there was a large screen.

  ‘Does anyone monitor who comes in? Surely—’

  ‘I’m sorry to be rude, but I’ve got to go.’ He pointed at his watch. ‘I’ll catch up with you shortly.’ He rushed away before Whitney had time to respond.

  ‘Perhaps
we should come back when he’s not so busy,’ George suggested.

  ‘The tournament’s on all week and we don’t have time to wait until it’s over. I’m going to have a word with the man behind the bar. He wasn’t here the last time we visited.’

  George glanced at the young man. He had a tea towel slung over his shoulder and a cloth in his hand which he was using to wipe down the bar.

  ‘Good morning, ladies. What can I get you?’ he asked as they approached.

  Whitney showed her warrant card. ‘DCI Walker and Dr Cavendish, we’d like to talk to you about Ryan Armstrong.’

  He tossed the cloth he was holding into the sink at the back of the bar and moved closer to them.

  ‘I’m not allowed to leave in case someone needs serving, but I can answer some questions here if you like. Can I get you anything? Tea. Coffee. Something stronger.’

  ‘Coffee would be good, thanks.’

  He poured them two coffees from the jug on the rear counter and passed them over, with some long-life milk capsules and sugar on the side.

  George grimaced. ‘Do you have real milk?’

  ‘No, sorry, this is it.’

  ‘Hey, Joe,’ a voice called out from beyond the end of the bar. ‘Can you put the lights on above the pool table?’

  ‘Sorry, mate.’ He headed over to a bank of switches and turned one on. ‘This is going to be a crazy week.’

  ‘But that’s good for business. Do you often have tournaments here?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘Fairly regularly, but this is the first time we’ve held the East Midlands qualifier. It was because of Ryan that we got it. It’s bloody tragic that he’s not going to be here to see it. Bloody tragic.’

  ‘Were you surprised they decided to go ahead with it after what happened to him?’

  ‘This tournament is a big deal. I don’t see how it could be cancelled because the winner qualifies for the worlds.’

  ‘Could it have been held at another club?’

  ‘Not at such short notice. We’ve been planning this for months.’

  ‘The time leading up to Ryan’s death, did you notice anyone suspicious hanging around especially when he was here?’