Kill Shot: A Cavendish & Walker Novel - Book 10

by Sally Rigby

  ‘Before we end this session, we suspect that the organisation you’re working for was keeping tabs on Ryan for a couple of weeks before his death. Do you know why?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Unless they wanted to recruit him. Or had already recruited him.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s not likely though, when you consider how squeaky clean he was.’

  Could they have been following Armstrong as part of a regular check up on Marshall?

  ‘I want you to continue with your normal behaviour. Don’t make any changes and I’ll be in touch.’

  Walker arranged for Marshall to be taken to the snooker club as that’s where he’d been heading when he was brought in for questioning, and then Seb met up with her and Dr Cavendish.

  ‘He could be a useful informant,’ Walker said.

  ‘Yes. And more help than Ryan, who was reporting on what he’d seen but, as he wasn’t a part of the match-fixing, his information was limited. Marshall, on the other hand, can give us a way in. But it’s still unclear as to why Ryan was being followed by Palmer. What prompted that?’ He turned to George. ‘Thanks for your input by the way, it was extremely useful.’

  ‘I told you,’ Walker said. ‘You may not agree, and we have more digging to do, but I’m even more convinced that this affair might be at the heart of Armstrong’s killing and not your syndicate.’

  ‘Not one of your gut feelings?’ Dr Cavendish said, shaking her head.

  ‘I take it you don’t believe in that,’ he said.

  ‘Do you?’ Dr Cavendish said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You two would stick together,’ Walker said.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Whitney, leave it,’ the doctor warned. ‘The DCI and I don’t agree on certain things, this being one of them.’

  He looked from Walker to Dr Cavendish and shook his head. Whatever he was missing, he could live with, especially as it appeared he’d now got himself a way into the syndicate.

  Chapter 27

  ‘Now you’ve enlisted Marshall to help with infiltrating the syndicate, does that mean you’re going to leave and return to London?’ Whitney asked Clifford, after George and she had met him heading towards the incident room the following morning.

  Despite his intrusion not turning out to be as bad as she’d imagined it could have done, she’d still be happy to see the back of him, so she didn’t have to consider anything other than her team solving Armstrong’s murder. Not to mention his link to Douglas. Even if Clifford didn’t like him, it wouldn’t stop Dickhead sticking his nose in the incident room again to suck up to Clifford because of who he was.

  ‘Not yet. I’ll run my plans for Marshall’s input into my operation past my boss and get her approval. Without it, it’s a non-starter. Plus I’d rather we were further down the track with discovering Ryan’s killer before totally dismissing the syndicate’s involvement.’

  She tutted. ‘If you’d let us interview Jad Tan, it might help move things forward.’

  ‘You already know that’s not possible as it could jeopardise everything I’ve worked on so far.’ He gave a frustrated sigh. ‘This is why it’s so much easier working alone.’

  ‘Well, we’re a team, and I think you’re being overcautious. It stands to reason that during our investigation we would have spotted anyone following Armstrong and pulled them in for questioning. Palmer could have told the syndicate we’d questioned him.’

  ‘I doubt he’d do that,’ George said. ‘He wouldn’t want them to know his fake identity had been compromised in case of repercussions.’

  ‘You’re not helping,’ Whitney said scowling in George’s direction.

  ‘Palmer could also be a useful contact for you, DI Clifford,’ George said.

  Was she totally oblivious to Whitney’s annoyance?

  ‘Agreed. I may interview the PI again at sometime,’ Clifford said.

  They reached the incident room, and he held open the door for Whitney and George to enter.

  ‘Guv,’ Frank called out the second she was in there. ‘Perfect timing. While I was going through some CCTV footage looking at Marshall’s and Mrs Armstrong’s cars, to see if I could work out the times when they’d met, I spotted a car following Marshall on a couple of occasions.’

  Was it this Jad Tan? Had he been following Marshall as well as Armstrong? Where would that leave Clifford’s plans?

  ‘Good work. Have you been able to identify the car?’

  ‘Yep. It’s a Range Rover Evoque and belongs to Jessica Marshall. Scott’s wife.’

  What? She hadn’t expected that. ‘Did she know about the affair and had been following him? Or maybe she’d suspected he was having an affair and wanted to find out who the woman was. Either way, we need to look into her background. Ellie—’

  ‘I started digging as soon as Frank discovered the car, guv.’

  ‘But why would she kill Armstrong?’ Frank said. ‘It makes no sense. Surely if she was going to kill anyone, it would be Marshall or Mrs Armstrong.’

  ‘One step at a time. We don’t even know if she was involved. Have we found out when the victim’s phone was last used?’

  Whitney drew a line between Scott Marshall and Naomi Armstrong’s names on the board. ‘Let’s recap. We have an affair and the wife possibly knew about it. But did the victim know too? Could there have been an altercation between Ryan Armstrong and Scott Marshall? Was Naomi there? Could Marshall and Mrs Armstrong have been in cahoots and shot him? All this needs considering. But before we make further assumptions, we’ll pay Jessica Marshall a visit. George, you can come with me.’ She turned to Clifford ‘There’s no need for you to be with us as this line of enquiry clearly has nothing to do with your operation.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Clifford nodded. ‘I’ll settle down over there.’ He nodded at the desk he’d been using since being there, then tilted his head to one side. ‘Would you mind if I used your office? I have some private calls to make and would rather do it inside as it’s raining.’

  ‘Arranging an assignation, are you?’

  Why did she ask that? She couldn’t care less about his private life.

  ‘There are a few things going on at work that I want to know more about. If it’s a problem, then—’

  ‘It’s not. I was joking. Help yourself. And if you feel the urge to tackle the piles of admin on my desk, then knock yourself out. There could be a drink in it for you.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s appropriate …’ He paused and looked at her. ‘Another joke?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Clifford seems to have lost some of his laissez-faire attitude. Do you agree?’ Whitney asked George as they were driving out to the Marshall house.

  ‘I think he’s frustrated that after finally making some headway with the syndicate his informant could be our murderer.’

  ‘Don’t you find him being a viscount and a copper weird?’

  ‘As I keep saying, he’s only the son of a viscount. He doesn’t have a title or family money to fall back on. People from the aristocracy still have to work and earn a living.’

  ‘I get that. But as a copper? Surely, he’d be more suited to owning an art gallery, or working for a charity.’

  ‘You have stereotypical views. However, it’s unusual for an aristocrat to be a police officer, I’ll grant you that.’

  ‘Do you like him?’

  ‘I don’t know him well enough to form an opinion. From what I’ve seen, he is measured and takes pride in his work. Traits I admire.’

  ‘Is he married, do you know?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Why are you asking?’

  ‘We don’t know anything about him, other than he has a dog called Elsa. Actually, he can’t be married, because he leaves the dog with a neighbour. In which case does he have a partner?’

  ‘I neither know, nor care,’ she said, glancing at the satnav. ‘We’re almost here.’

  She turned into Favell Drive and three houses down on the right stopped at number seven, a large Vi
ctorian detached house with wrought-iron gates that were open. She parked on the street and they walked up the short drive.

  ‘Nice house,’ Whitney said. ‘Purchased by Daddy. Some people don’t know they’re born.’

  Whitney rang the bell, and the door was opened by a woman in her thirties, dressed in jogging gear, with her blonde highlighted hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her face was flushed and there were beads of sweat along her forehead.

  ‘Jessica Marshall?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Walker and this is Dr Cavendish. We’d like to come in and have a word with you about the shooting of Ryan Armstrong.’

  ‘I’ve been on my exercise bike, do you mind if I have a quick wash and get changed, I’ll only be five minutes?’ She opened the door and ushered them inside.

  ‘We’ll wait here,’ Whitney said.

  Mrs Marshall ran up the large staircase which dominated the hall.

  ‘She could be hiding something,’ George said.

  ‘We don’t have a search warrant, and she clearly had been exercising, so I’m not concerned. If she takes longer than five minutes, I’ll go upstairs to find her. It’s not like she can escape from up there, unless she’s going to throw herself out of the window.’

  ‘She didn’t appear to be a person with tendencies towards defenestration.’

  ‘What?’ Whitney said, a blank look on her face.

  ‘Defenestration is the action of throwing someone out of the window. Although having said that, does it relate to oneself, or just the act of another? I need to check.’ She was distracted by the sound of Mrs Marshall coming down the stairs. She’d changed into a pair of slim fit jeans with a pale blue, mohair jumper over the top. On her feet were a pair of white tennis shoes.

  ‘Sorry to have kept you,’ the woman said. ‘We’ll go into the kitchen and I’ll make us a coffee, if you’d like one.’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Whitney said.

  They followed her through to a large open-plan modern kitchen, with chrome fittings, white cupboards and light-grey granite worktops. Not something George would like to have. She much preferred something in keeping with the age of the house.

  ‘What happened to Ryan was such a shock. I couldn’t believe it.’ She took three white china mugs from the cupboard and filled them with coffee from the jug sitting on the coffee machine. ‘This is fresh, made only a short while ago.’

  ‘We understand that on the night of the shooting you were staying with your parents. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes. Scott had gone over to meet up with the boys, and I knew he was going to come in drunk. I didn’t want him waking Leo, so we went over there. My parents love to see him, he’s their only grandson. They spoil him rotten.’

  ‘Where’s your son now?’ George asked.

  ‘He’s out with the nanny, they’ve gone to a local playgroup. He enjoys mixing with the other children, and I enjoy some time to myself. It’s true what they say about the terrible twos. As lovable as Leo is, he’s also quite a handful at times.’

  ‘Where do your parents live?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘In Hampshire Close.’

  ‘And they can vouch for you being there Sunday morning, between the hours of one and three.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Why do you ask?’

  ‘It’s a routine question. We ask everybody we interview what they were doing on the night of the shooting, in order to eliminate them from our enquiries.’

  ‘I understand. I left here at four on Saturday afternoon and went straight to my parents, to give them time to play with Leo before he had his tea and went to bed. Once he was asleep, we had dinner and then watched the telly. We all went to bed around the same time, I think it was half-past ten. My parents don’t stay up late. I can give you their number if you’d like to check my story with them.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Whitney said, as she handed over her notebook and pen. ‘Please jot it down for me.’

  ‘I’ve written down the landline and also my mum’s mobile,’ Jessica said, handing back the notebook which Whitney returned to her pocket.

  George scanned the room and noticed a certificate on the wall with an embossed silver gun in the top corner. She got up and walked over. ‘First prize in the East Midlands targeting shooting contest. You shoot?’

  Jessica cleared her throat. ‘Yes. I’ve been shooting since I was a child. My father used to go, and occasionally he took me with him to the club. One day he let me have a go and I didn’t miss a target. I was instantly hooked. My school also had a shooting club, which I joined, and we won the junior national shooting contest for three consecutive years. At fourteen, I was selected for England’s junior team. I’m still a member of the same club, and so is my father. It’s the Lenchester Shooting Centre and was where I met Scott.’

  She stared at Whitney, witnessing the surprise on her face. They hadn’t realised Scott Marshall shot.

  ‘Do you own guns?’

  ‘No. We use the club’s.’

  ‘What about your father? Does he own any?’

  ‘No,’ she said, biting down on her bottom lip.

  ‘How often do you go to the shooting club?’

  ‘Not as often as I’d like as there are always so many other things to do.’

  ‘What about Scott? Does he still go?’

  ‘Sometimes. He’s a very good shot, not in my league, but better than the average club shooter.’

  ‘Do you still shoot competitively?’

  ‘Occasionally, I’ll enter a tournament, like that one.’ She pointed to the certificate on the wall. But I don’t have time to practice. Having children changes things.’

  ‘During our enquiries we discovered several instances where you’d been following Scott in your car. Why?’

  The woman blushed. ‘I-I … I don’t trust him.’

  ‘In what respect?’ Whitney asked, her voice gentle.

  ‘My husband hasn’t always been faithful. I was checking up on him. You probably think that’s stupid. But I’d rather know what he’s up to than be kept in the dark.’

  ‘What did you discover?’

  ‘Nothing. The times when I followed him he went where he said he was going. Maybe I was wrong this time.’

  ‘Had Scott been acting differently recently?’

  ‘Yes. More secretive. That’s why I thought he was seeing someone, but as I’ve just said, I didn’t find any evidence of that. I wondered if there was a problem with the business, but when I asked him, he said it would sort itself out soon. I didn’t push him on it.’

  ‘Do you have any idea what the problem could have been?’

  ‘Not really, but I got the feeling it was something to do with the tournament they’re hosting this week. He’d been on edge for a while, because it was such a big deal. But … he could be extremely secretive at times, so I could be completely wrong. Is there anything else I can help you with?’

  ‘Nothing further. Thank you for your time,’ Whitney said.

  They left the house and returned to George’s car.

  ‘Was this issue Scott referred to related to the syndicate blackmailing him, do you think?’ George said. ‘Except that had been going on for months, so why would it suddenly become an issue.

  ‘It could be the fact that Ryan Armstrong would soon be dead and things would change. Let’s go to the Lenchester Shooting Centre, they could have access to handguns. Then we’ll visit the snooker club.’

  ‘Should we let Clifford know we’re going to interview Marshall?’ George asked.

  ‘He doesn’t need to know. I don’t want him interfering and saying we can’t speak to him because he’s going to be an informant. The less he knows the better until I decide otherwise.’

  Chapter 28

  Lenchester Shooting Centre was situated on the edge of the city. Surrounded by trees, the club comprised two large warehouses and a brick-built building, looking as though it was built in the seventies, with Reception and
Clubhouse sign-written on the door.

  ‘Have you ever been shooting?’ Whitney asked George.

  ‘Many years ago, but it wasn’t something I wished to pursue. You?’

  ‘I keep up my firearms training as part of my job. I do enjoy target shooting, it’s a great stress relief, especially if you imagine the face of someone who annoys the heck out of you on the target.’ She grinned. ‘And I’m sure you know who I mean.’

  ‘Indeed, I do.’

  A man in his early forties, wearing a green polo shirt with the club logo embroidered on it, was sitting behind the reception desk. He glanced up and smiled as they approached.

  Whitney held out her warrant card. ‘Is the manager here?’

  ‘That’s me. Aiden Black.’

  ‘We’re investigating the shooting of Ryan Armstrong and would like to speak to you about his partner and wife, Scott and Jessica Marshall, who are members.’

  ‘Yeah. Sure. We’ll go through to the clubroom where we can talk undisturbed.’ He came out from behind the desk. ‘It’s through here, we finished refurbishing it this week.’

  He led them down a short corridor and pushed open the double doors into a well-lit area with floor to ceiling windows running along the back. There was a stage area at one end and the tables were a light wood, with matching chairs.

  ‘Very nice,’ Whitney said, as he stopped at one of the tables and pulled out the chairs for them to sit down.

  ‘We have a licensed bar, a restaurant where you can order snacks or a meal and over in the corner a pool table. We encourage social visits as well as people using the shooting ranges.’

  ‘Where do they actually shoot?’

  ‘We have two indoor ranges with ten firing points in each, you’d have seen the buildings on your way in. To the rear of this building, unseen from outside, we have two outdoor ranges.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw the Marshalls?’

  ‘Off the top of my head, a few weeks ago but I can check the records to confirm. They’re not regulars. Jessica’s an excellent shot and has been a member since she was a child when she came shooting with her dad, Gordon Elliott. He’s still very active here and donated a large sum of money towards the refurbishment which we appreciated as we wouldn’t have been able to have afforded it otherwise. We’re going to name the clubroom after him and have an official ceremony.’