Her Final Hour

by Rachel Amphlett

  Noah’s jaw clenched.

  ‘Why kill Nigel White?’ said Mark.

  Hawsey placed a hand on his client’s arm, but Noah shook it off.

  ‘It was pretty obvious by then that he wouldn’t be able to keep quiet for much longer. He’d already been in the pub asking Sonia if we knew anything about Jessica’s death. Maybe it was the guilt at being overheard arguing with her. It was both their fault, after all.’

  ‘Did Sonia kill him, too?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. She wouldn’t be able to lift him.’

  ‘Did you kill Nigel White?’

  Noah ground his teeth together, the sound grating with the ticking clock on the wall for a moment. Then he shrugged.

  ‘He’s got no family. He didn’t have much of a life working for MacKenzie Adams.’ Noah shrugged. ‘No-one’s going to miss him, are they?’

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  ‘How are you getting on with the others we picked up last night?’ said Mark as he and Jan passed Caroline in the corridor outside the interview rooms.

  ‘Singing like birds,’ she said, and winked. ‘One of the blokes we spoke to earlier is a retired judge, and has been most helpful in return for what he and his solicitor are calling an understanding with regard to privacy. Alex is doing the paperwork after the last interview with a…’ she paused, checking her notes, ‘…here we go – a Mr Montague Stanley. Turns out he knows Morgan Drake through a mutual contact in the City, called in to the pub one night on the way back from dinner at the Drake residence and got talking to Noah. Next thing you know, he’s back at the Farriers Arms every Monday night.’

  ‘Have any of them given any indication as to an involvement with either of the murders?’ said Mark.

  ‘No – Alex had a chat with Kennedy an hour ago, and the DI reckons we’ve only got enough on them to charge them with participating in the illegal poker games – if that.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Are you two having better luck?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just one revelation after another,’ said Jan. ‘I can’t wait to hear what Mrs Collins has to say for herself.’

  With that, Mark opened the door into the interview room where Sonia and her solicitor sat.

  The change in body language between the two women since last night was telling; Michelle Yates kept her gaze on her notebook, flicking through the pages, feigning busyness, whereas her client sat beside her with her arms across her chest, a defiant glare in her eyes as the two detectives sat down and began recording.

  ‘Tell me about Annie Hartman,’ said Mark.

  ‘She works at the supermarket in town. Manages it, I think.’

  ‘Would you say she knew Jessica Marley quite well, then?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ The glare remained.

  ‘Did Annie ever give you any indication that she could be violent?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you ever see her arguing with Jessica?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And yet Annie Hartman waited up the lane from the Farriers Arms when your husband closed down the poker tournament early, decided to smash a streetlight because she knew the lane wouldn’t be in darkness by the time Jessica walked past, and then killed her.’

  ‘Did she?’ Sonia’s hands fell to her lap and she turned to Yates, her mouth open. ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘More to the point, Mrs Collins, why would you then agree to help her to move Jessica Marley’s body to the gallops?’

  Sonia’s eyes snapped back to his. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘We have a statement from your husband who says that after Annie hit Jessica with a wheel jack from the boot of her car, she realised she couldn’t lift her body on her own. So, she phoned the pub and asked one of you to go and help her.’ Mark paused. ‘You went. Between you, you lifted Jessica into the back of Annie’s car. Why didn’t Annie drive her to the hospital?’

  The familiar blankness clouded Sonia’s eyes, and she held up her hands. ‘What was the point? She was dead.’

  ‘She wasn’t dead, Sonia,’ said Jan. ‘She had a life-threatening head injury. Why didn’t you tell Annie to drive her to the hospital?’

  ‘Annie wasn’t capable of driving,’ said Sonia, sneering. ‘She was bawling her eyes out, saying she didn’t mean to kill her. I knew we had to move before any of the residents along that stretch of lane wondered why a car engine was idling outside their houses at that time of night, so I drove to the gallops.’

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘Why not? It was far enough away from the pub to avoid us being suspected, and it was on land that belonged to Morgan Drake. It’s all his fault Jessica was poking her nose in anyway. Him and Nigel White. Wish I could’ve been there to see his face when he found out. Besides, all the stable lads fancied her. You all suspected that lot at MacKenzie Adams’ yard, didn’t you?’

  ‘Is that why you tried to remove her underwear?’ said Jan. ‘To make it look like a sexual attack?’

  ‘That was Annie’s idea. She was huffing and puffing by the time we’d carried her that far and was worried our footprints might show up in the grass in the morning. She said if we did that, the police wouldn’t look for a woman. She was right, wasn’t she?’

  Astounded by the woman’s tone, Mark ran a hand over his jaw. ‘Again, why didn’t you take her to hospital? Why dump her on the gallops? She died out there, Sonia – from the head injury, from exposure. She didn’t stand a chance. She might’ve lived if you’d acted differently.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. She’d changed, though. Since Will came back down south. Used to look down her nose at me and Noah, like her job with us wasn’t good enough anymore. Of course, he was talking about his racing career, and how he was going to become one of MacKenzie Adams’ star jockeys and she reckoned she’d be hitting the high times with him.’

  Sonia crossed her arms once more.

  ‘Good bloody riddance, if you ask me. Annie did us all a favour.’

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  An exhausted investigation team sat in front of the whiteboard late that afternoon, a melancholy atmosphere settling on the detectives, uniformed officers and administrative staff who had worked together to hunt down Jessica Marley’s killer.

  Detective Inspector Ewan Kennedy handed a clipboard to Tracy, murmured some final instructions under his breath, and then turned to face them.

  Mark perched on a desk off to one side of the chairs next to Jan and put his phone away as Kennedy’s voice rang out.

  ‘I’d like to begin by thanking each and every one of you for your tenacity and effort in bringing this investigation to a successful conclusion,’ said the DI. ‘I can confirm that we’ve heard back from the Crown Prosecution Service and we will be bringing charges against Noah and Sonia Collins, Annie Hartman, and the five remaining players in the illegal poker tournaments held at the Farriers Arms.’

  He wandered closer to the whiteboard and rapped his knuckles against a photograph of the country pub. ‘An hour ago, Jasper Smith phoned from the car park to confirm that the wheel jack used by Annie to hit Jessica with was located in the boot of her vehicle. Some attempt had been made to wipe it clean, but traces of blood were found and have been collected for further analysis.’

  ‘Why didn’t she get rid of it?’ said Wilcox, his voice incredulous.

  ‘When we asked her, she said she was in shock, and then a couple of days after Jessica’s body was found and she thought about the wheel jack, she worried that if she did get rid of it, she’d need another one for the car in case she broke down. She said she didn’t want to raise suspicion by going into a car accessories store and buying a replacement,’ said Mark, and nodded at the murmured comments that followed. ‘I know. Callous.’

  ‘What about Jessica’s belongings?’ said Tracy. ‘Only her phone was found at the side of the road, wasn’t it? What about her bag and everything else?’

  ‘When the search team reached the pub garden, they discovered the remains of a fire that had been lit in one corner,’ said Ja
n. ‘Remnants of a leather handbag were found, together with an ornate metal clasp.’

  ‘When I showed it to her parents,’ said Wilcox, ‘her mother confirmed it matched a bag Jessica had had.’

  ‘And so far, neither Noah nor Sonia are taking responsibility for trying to burn the evidence,’ said Jan.

  Kennedy let the hubbub die down, and took a sip of his coffee before speaking again. ‘We have had some news – MacKenzie Adams has contacted me to say he will pay for Nigel’s funeral, given that the man had no family. And he tells me that Will Brennan has handed in his notice – he’s going to race for Dominic Millar in the New Year.’

  ‘I don’t blame him,’ said Mark. ‘Not after the way Adams has treated him during all of this.’

  Caroline let out a huge yawn, raising a laugh from her colleagues. ‘Sorry, guv.’

  ‘A timely reminder that you’ve all been working some long hours on this,’ said the DI. ‘And on that note, you’re all dismissed. You can head home once you’ve finalised any reports that need to be on my desk.’

  Mark eased himself to his feet as the noise in the incident room rose by several decibels, then wandered back to his desk.

  His phoned chirped, and he pulled it out of his pocket, glanced at the screen, then at his watch.

  ‘What’s up, Sarge – late for another hot date?’ Jan looked up at him from her computer screen, her pen twiddling between her fingers as she waited for the printer to churn out the paperwork requested by Kennedy and others. ‘You’ve been checking that phone non-stop since we got back from the interview suite.’

  He grinned. ‘With my daughters – it’s their parent/teacher night at school, and I don’t want to get caught in traffic. Louise is meant to be choosing her exam subjects for the next two years, and she doesn’t want to do that until she’s heard what the teachers think.’

  He lowered his gaze and typed in a reply to his ex-wife.

  ‘Sarge?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘If you need to go, then go.’ Jan jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the door. ‘Go on – you heard Kennedy. Early finish.’

  ‘What about the statements?’

  ‘I’ve nearly finished. I’ll be out of here in half an hour, max.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Go.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He tugged his jacket off the back of his chair, and switched off his computer.

  ‘You didn’t say how Anna is doing at school,’ said Jan. ‘Everything all right with her?’

  He winked. ‘Apparently, she’s already telling her classmates she’s going to be a detective like her dad when she grows up.’

  ‘What does Debbie think of that?’

  ‘I think she’ll be having words.’

  * * *

  THE END

  About the Author

  Before turning to writing, USA Today bestselling author Rachel Amphlett played guitar in bands, dabbled in radio as a presenter and freelance producer for the BBC, and worked in publishing as an editorial assistant.

  She now wields a pen instead of a plectrum and writes crime fiction and spy thrillers, including the fast paced Dan Taylor and English Assassins espionage novels, and the Detective Kay Hunter British murder mystery series.

  After 13 years in Australia, Rachel has returned to the UK and is now based in the picturesque county of Dorset.

  You can find out more about her writing at www.rachelamphlett.com.