by Carol Wyer
Corby International’s headquarters were surprisingly modest for such a successful business. Situated on a small business park, with eight other similar buildings, the unprepossessing two-storey brown-brick building, the nerve centre of a multimillion-pound corporation, seemed more suited to an accountancy firm. This was, as Kate knew, not where all the action took place. Corby owned several huge warehouses outside Stafford, where all the packaging and processing of orders were carried out.
Kate paused by the entrance and peered through the glass door into a narrow reception area furnished only with circular leather pouffes or large footstools. The door was locked, and a note below a buzzer informed her she needed to ring for entry.
‘Let’s try the car park,’ she said, making her way around to the side of the building and into a wide tunnel that led down a floor. Their footsteps rang as they marched down the tarmac and into a garage, or car park as Lisa had called it, lit by automatic strip lights and large enough for up to twenty vehicles. There were only two cars parked up; Kate assumed most of the staff had been instructed to take the day off.
The staircase Lisa had mentioned was at the rear of the garage and Kate paused briefly by a space next to the stairs reserved solely for Alex Corby’s use before ascending the stone steps and exiting through a heavy door. This opened out on to a carpeted corridor and a six-panel mahogany door, containing no identifying plaque. Beside it was a lift.
Morgan was incredulous. ‘A lift! Just for one floor. We could do with one of those at the station, save running up and down those rickety stairs all the time.’
Kate turned the key and the door sprang open to reveal a comfortable office, covered in the same wool-rich Axminster with a tartan yellow and grey pattern as the corridor. It was furnished simply with a half-moon wooden reception desk on which stood three metal document trays and a computer. On the wall was a mural, a map of the world, in which the countries were not drawn out and coloured but created with their names in various font sizes.
Morgan headed for the desk and opened the drawers, one after another. He pulled out a book and held it up so Kate could see the title. It was a well-thumbed Mills & Boon entitled The Boss’s Inexperienced Secretary. ‘See! She’s a die-hard romantic. Found this at the back of the bottom drawer.’
‘You found anything else?’
‘No, the other drawers are empty. I’ll take a look at her computer.’
He began typing while Kate looked around the room. The filing cabinets Lisa had mentioned were in the far corner. The drawers were labelled alphabetically and Kate unlocked the top one, riffling through letters A to F and finding only information about food suppliers. Morgan gave a small grunt, indicating he was making progress. Kate left him to it and unlocked the interconnecting door to Alex’s office. She drew a breath as she stepped inside, and wrinkled her nose in surprise. It was more sitting room than workspace, with two black leather settees set at right angles to each other and a marble-surfaced coffee table sitting between them. A cabinet in black wood stood against the wall behind one of the settees. She opened it and marvelled at the impressive array of bottles there, including a bottle of Bruichladdich Black Art 1992 whisky and, one of her personal favourites, a Talisker 10.
Box files on the shelf near his desk yielded nothing helpful. Nor was there anything other than stationery in his drawers. Behind the seating area was a plain ebony desk. Kate ambled over and looked at the photograph placed on it. It wasn’t of his family but of Alex with a group of five friends, taken in front of a ski chalet, a layer of snow like thick icing sugar on the roof. The men, appropriately clad in thick ski jackets and woollen hats, with teeth on display and arms round each other’s shoulders in familiar camaraderie, looked like a group of young students rather than the thirtysomethings they were. The man on Alex’s left looked familiar. She lifted the frame and peered more closely. It was her superior, Superintendent John Dickson.
As she studied it, Chris’s angry words boomed in her mind: ‘John Dickson insisted you take extended leave? I admit you made a bad call on the train, but to be forced to take leave for at least three months is crazy! He has an agenda, Kate. I don’t trust him one iota.’
She believed him. It was almost as though he were beside her at that moment.
‘Got something!’ Morgan’s voice was loud to her ears, making her jump. She’d been lost in thought again.
‘What is it?’
‘Lisa uses this computer to check her Facebook account.’
Kate replaced the photo, hastened back to Morgan and looked over his shoulder. ‘You got into her account? How?’
Morgan grinned. ‘She made it easy for me. She did what most people do when setting a password. She used her cat’s name, Butterscotch, as her computer password, and the Facebook account is set to be permanently logged in from this terminal. She obviously doesn't worry about anyone using her computer.’
Kate made a tsk-tsk noise.
‘The email account is also password-protected but under a different password, and I can’t crack it,’ said Morgan.
‘Anything interesting on her Facebook page?’
‘Lots of stuff about going off on jollies with her boss, photos of hotel rooms . . . and this,’ he said, pointing at one of Lisa’s status updates.
Kate read it out loud. ‘“So lucky to work for one of the best-looking men on the planet and to be spending the weekend with him in a five-star hotel in Thailand. #bestjobintheworld #sexyboss.”’ She screwed up her face. ‘I think she had a crush on him and she was willing to admit it publicly. Alex could easily have found out about it. Still doesn’t prove a lot. Have a quick check through and see if you can find anything else.’
She watched as Morgan clicked the mouse repeatedly and navigated the pages.
‘It’s full of the usual sort of stuff you’d expect to see,’ he said.
Kate took in the cat photos, selfies with mates and online quizzes. ‘Yes, nothing too weird. She definitely enjoyed her job.’
Morgan continued past updates about choices of outfits for important meetings and business travel with Alex.
‘She’s got hundreds of friends. Seems to spend loads of time online,’ he observed.
‘What about these private messages to several friends? Samantha Granger?’
‘Might be that friend she mentioned? Sam?’
Kate nodded. ‘Could be her. Is there anything in their messages about Alex?’
Morgan scrolled through them so quickly, Kate had no time to pick out any information. He returned to one sent to Sam at 9.30 a.m. on Friday, 28 May. ‘Only this one.’
Kate read, ‘“Alex’s in a totally shitty mood. The Bitch has been giving him a hard time about not going on holiday with her and the sprogs again. He’s shut himself in the office and told me to take the day off when I’ve finished with the post, so I’ll be free if you fancy going out to town for a coffee. Love these sudden days off. Three in the last two weeks. Might do some shopping. You up for it, babe?”’
‘I couldn’t spot anything else that rings any alarm bells,’ said Morgan.
‘That’s okay. You’ve done well. This suggests she doesn’t like Alex’s wife, in spite of what she told me, and that Alex was in the habit of giving her days off for no good reason. I think we’ll leave it here for the time being. Best to talk to Fiona Corby.’
Morgan closed down the computer and stood up. ‘Where to next, boss?’
‘Blithfield Reservoir. Fiona’s staying with her parents, who live on the other side of it, somewhere along the main road towards Uttoxeter, near Bagot’s Wood. Place called Pine Trees. We’ll drop in at the Corbys’ house after we’ve spoken to them.’
‘Do you think Lisa could be involved in this?’ Morgan asked, as he selected drive mode and pulled away smoothly.
‘We’ve come across crimes of passion before, yet this seems a truly brutal way to dispatch a lover, or a love interest. I can’t marry up the big hearts-and-flowers romantic we assume she is with somebody
who’d tie up a lover, torture him and steal his eye.’
‘Me neither. It’s difficult to associate somebody who likes fluffy kittens and films like Notting Hill with stuffing food down somebody’s throat until they gag and die.’
Kate mused again over the possibility that Lisa was in love with her boss. Could there be more to the woman than they first thought, and might she have been driven to murdering Alex?
Her mobile buzzed in her pocket. She withdrew it and stared at the screen. Her stomach lurched at the name: Tilly, her stepsister. It was five thirty in the UK so it would be the early hours of the morning in Australia, only half-past three. Tilly was becoming more persistent. This was the second time in the last three days that she’d tried Kate’s number. Kate declined the call and rested her head against the seat back. Tilly would have to join the queue of those who claimed to be concerned for her well-being. Kate wasn’t ready to talk to any of them.
CHAPTER FIVE
FRIDAY, 4 JUNE – LATE AFTERNOON
Fiona Corby was in her forties, but with her flawless tanned skin and full lips she could easily pass for a woman in her early thirties. She wrapped elegant fingers around a Villeroy & Boch NewWave porcelain mug covered in emerald butterflies. Her engagement ring clanged lightly against the side of it, drawing Kate’s eye to the enormous diamond cluster, and she unconsciously felt for her own sapphire band, far more modest in price but extremely precious to her.
Fiona’s lips trembled, but there were no tears. Alex’s wife was either in deep shock or not as upset by the revelation her husband had been murdered as one might have expected. She perched on the kitchen stool in her parents’ farmhouse kitchen in a pair of faded jeans, fashionably ripped at the knees, and a Dolce & Gabbana T-shirt with a heart detail and printed logo in Italian, a look she succeeded in carrying off well. Her mother, Gwen, had taken the two boys to the sitting room. Her father, Bradley, stood propped against the range cooker, his brow low and his head turning left and right pendulously in disbelief.
Morgan sat quietly with his notepad while Kate spoke to Fiona. ‘Did your husband tell you he was expecting any visitors?’
Fiona continued to stare at her mug. ‘No, he didn’t.’
‘Have you any idea what his plans were for yesterday?’
Fiona glanced over at her father for help, but his eyes remained fixed on the floor. ‘I . . . we . . . I didn’t ask . . . things weren’t great between us.’
‘Were you experiencing marital difficulties?’ Kate asked, as kindly as possible.
‘Not exactly. We argued before I went away and I was so pissed off with him I didn’t phone him all week. I neither knew nor cared what his plans were. I never knew what he was up to anyway. Alex was a businessman. First and foremost, he was a businessman. His family came second to the bloody business.’ She stared at the mug, as if it held all the answers to her problems. ‘Alex is . . . Alex was a kind man, but he wasn’t great at emotional stuff. Don’t get me wrong. It worked for us. I did my own thing and he did his, and we had some good times together when he broke away from work.’
‘Which wasn’t often enough.’ The gruff voice surprised Kate. Bradley Chapman had been quiet up until that moment. ‘He was a cold fish. Didn’t appreciate what he had in my Fiona and the lads.’
‘Dad!’
‘I speak as I find, Fiona. I understand this might not be the right time or place, but that’s how it is. You know how I feel about him. I said from the off he wasn’t right for you.’
Fiona flinched as if she’d been struck. ‘He should have been with us at the villa. If he’d come as planned, he wouldn’t have been killed.’
‘Was Alex supposed to have been in France yesterday?’ Kate asked.
‘He didn’t always manage to get away for holidays because of the business, but this time I’d persuaded him to join us. We’d had a rocky few months and I wanted us to try harder, for the boys’ sake. I thought it would do us all good to spend this holiday together – after all, it was only a week. Alex promised he’d take time off. He even talked about chartering a boat for a couple of days. Then, the day before we were due to leave, he told me he had to pull out because there was a major deal to be sorted. I offered to cancel the travel plans and stay behind with him, but he wouldn’t entertain the idea.’
‘Did he seem more anxious or worried than usual?’
Fiona shrugged. ‘No more than normal. There are always concerns when running a business, especially one like Corby International, but he didn’t confide in me because I’m not part of the great Corby Empire. In fact, I have no dealings with it, other than to arrange the occasional soirée or attend a function.’
‘Who, other than you and Alex, has keys or access to your house?’
‘Our cleaner, Kelly Innes.’
Morgan looked up from his notes. ‘How do I write Innes? Is it one or two “n”s?’
Kate waited while Fiona gave him the cleaner’s details, then continued, ‘And which days does Kelly work?’
‘Mondays and Thursdays.’
‘Then she would have been at the house yesterday?’
‘No. Because we’d planned on being away for half-term, she took the week off too, to visit relatives in Ireland.’
‘And she’s the only other person with access to your property?’
‘Yes. No. Well . . . there’s Rory, too, our gardener, but he doesn’t have a house key – only the keys to the shed and garage. Rory Winters,’ she added, searching for his contact details on her phone. Morgan again took them down.
‘How often does Rory visit?’ asked Kate.
‘Once a week, depending on the weather.’ Fiona placed the phone in her lap, shoulders drooping.
Kate would find out when he’d last mown the lawns and visited their house. Having not spoken to her husband all week, Fiona probably wouldn’t know if or when Rory had last visited. ‘What about your financial situation? Did Alex have any debts or concerns about money?’
‘I don’t think so. He never divulged exactly what he earnt, but there’s no mortgage on our house, or the villa, and he paid for everything: cars, school fees, household expenditures, everything, and gave me a generous monthly allowance.’
‘You don’t have a joint bank account?’
‘No. Separate ones.’
‘And do you have any income of your own, other than what you receive from Alex?’
Fiona flushed. ‘You make me sound mercenary. No. I don’t work. I’ve been a full-time mother and homemaker for the last ten years.’
‘That’s a job in itself, and a worthwhile one,’ said Bradley.
‘I’m certainly not implying otherwise, merely fact-finding. It’s important to understand why this has happened to Alex, and I’d be grateful if you’d agree to us accessing his private bank and savings accounts,’ said Kate. ‘To see if there are any discrepancies, or if he had any debts he didn’t tell you about.’
Fiona traced the outlines of a painted butterfly on the side of her mug. ‘When can we go home?’
‘I’m sorry, but it won’t be for a few days yet.’
‘But I have to collect the boys’ things. They’ll need their school uniforms . . . sports kit . . . backpacks and books. They’re due back at Gilmore High School on Monday. They’ll need everything ready for their return. Matron is strict about that.’
Bradley strode towards her and put a beefy hand on her shoulder. ‘The lads don’t have to go back to school, sweetheart. They’re going to need some time to get their heads around this.’
She looked up in confusion. ‘But . . . they’ll miss lessons and their friends.’
He squeezed her shoulder. ‘Alex is dead, Fiona. You can’t pack the boys off to boarding school and expect them to carry on as if nothing’s happened. I know this is difficult, love, but you have to be strong.’
Fiona gave a dry sob and rested her head against her father’s chest. He stroked her hair, making soothing noises. ‘Best if you leave us for a while,’ he said.
>
‘I understand. It’s a tough time for you all, especially with your son-in-law being as well known as he was. We’ve been trying to keep it from the media, but they’ll soon find out. You might want to unplug your phone, or even go away for a few days.’
Bradley grunted. ‘I have no doubt it’ll be challenging. We’ll look after them. They’ll stay with us until the commotion dies down. The dogs will keep any nosey buggers at bay.’
The two German shepherds he referred to had barked wildly at Kate and Morgan when they’d rung the bell and were now shut in a room at the back of the house.
‘I have to ask you this, sir. It’s standard procedure.’ Kate prepared to be shot down by the solid man with wide shoulders whose craggy face was etched with sorrow. ‘Can you tell me your movements for yesterday?’
‘After breakfast, I took the dogs for their regular hour-long walk, then left for work. My first pupil was in Abbots Bromley at ten.’
Kate had spotted the white Mini with a red, white and blue flash down the left-hand side and logo and company name emblazoned on the bonnet – ‘BKC Driving Tuition’.
‘Could you give me the name of the pupil, sir?’ asked Morgan.
‘Sierra Monroe. Lives in Yeatsall Lane.’
‘Thank you.’
Bradley continued, ‘I took Sierra out for an hour’s lesson and then I was free for a while, so I drove to Lichfield and stopped at Brown’s Café for a mug of tea and a read of the newspaper. My next lesson was in Cannock at one thirty, so I left about one to get over there.’
‘Who was your pupil?’
‘Charles Seagar.’ Bradley gave Morgan the address. ‘My last pupil, Roberta Bird, had a two-hour intensive lesson that was due to end at five thirty, but I received a call from Staffordshire Police around four fifteen to tell me Alex was dead, so I abandoned it and came home.’
‘And what about your wife – was she at home all day?’
‘Gwen went to a leisure centre with friends for a couple of classes and lunch. She was at home when I rang her with the terrible news.’