The Clifftop Murders (Dorset Crime Book 2)

by Rachel McLean

  She nodded at him. “Follow me, please.”

  He swallowed and followed her inside the house. They were in a wide hallway, broad stairs rising up in front of them. Double doors on both sides, a living room on the left and a study on the right.

  Instead of leading him through either of those doors, the woman continued towards the back of the house. She opened a door and they came out into a modest sitting room with vast windows overlooking the sea. Dennis stared at the view. This was why these houses were so valuable. It wasn’t the bricks and mortar. It was the view.

  “DS Frampton.”

  He turned to see a man behind a desk beside him. The desk was positioned in the corner along from the door, angled so as to get the best view for whoever was sitting behind it. The person sitting there now was a man in his fifties, slim, athletic. His dark hair showed the first signs of greying around the temples.

  Dennis recognised this man. He remembered his father, Sydney. Sydney Kelvin had had a scar running right from his temple all the way down his cheek to his chin. He wouldn’t have blended into the millionaire’s playground that was Sandbanks. But his son, Arthur, the man sitting in front of Dennis right now, fitted in here like a glove.

  “I wondered how long it would be before one of you lot beat a path to my door,” Kelvin said. “I wasn’t expecting you, though.”

  Dennis straightened. “Who were you expecting?”

  “That woman, the brummie. Your new DCI. Did you know she used to work for a man who’s disappeared under the witness protection scheme?”

  “No,” Dennis replied. He had no desire to talk about his boss with Arthur Kelvin.

  “You should know,” Kelvin told him. He stood up and rounded the desk. He leaned against its front, only a couple of steps away from Dennis. Dennis held his ground, not wanting to be seen backing off.

  “His name was David Randall, it’ll be something else now,” said Kelvin. “He was in cahoots with organised crime up in Birmingham. Rumour is your new boss took him down, and the guys he worked for. He had to disappear, gave evidence against them. Typical bloody copper, can’t be relied on for anything.”

  Dennis raised an eyebrow.

  “Maybe she’s not as squeaky clean as she makes out, though,” said Kelvin. “After all, takes a thief to catch a thief.”

  Dennis thought of his new boss. Her insistence on procedure, on building a case, gathering evidence, doing everything by the book. Maybe the lady doth protest too much, he thought.

  No, she was clean. He could sniff out a bent copper a mile off.

  “I only let you in because you’re an old hand,” Kelvin said, leaning backwards, his hands gripping the front of the desk. “You know how things work. Mackie thought you were good.”

  “How do you know what DCI Mackie thought of me?” Dennis asked before he could stop himself.

  Kelvin laughed. “So naive, Sergeant. Anyway, I know why you’re here.”

  “You do?”

  “I do, and I’m not telling you anything.”

  “Telling me anything about what?” Dennis asked.

  Another laugh. “Nice try, Sergeant. What have you got on me? Nothing, I bet.”

  Dennis met the man’s gaze. “I’m not here to tell you about our investigation. I’m here to ask you questions.”

  Kelvin pushed himself away from the desk and approached Dennis. Dennis flinched.

  Kelvin stood a pace in front of him, staring into his eyes. He stayed there for a few moments, smiling. Dennis felt his heart race.

  Kelvin laughed and turned away. He approached the window and leaned against it, placing his fingertips on the glass.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said. “It cost a bloody fortune, but it’s gorgeous.” He turned to Dennis. “Impresses the women.”

  Dennis cleared his throat. He wasn’t going to comment on that.

  “Anyway,” said Kelvin. “You can bugger off now.”

  “We’re working a murder case,” Dennis told him. “Two. I’m sure you know about them. Ameena Khan and...”

  “I know what you’re working on, Sergeant. Half of fucking Dorset knows what you’re working on. You think I’ve got something to do with it, but you’re barking up the wrong magnolia. You need to look closer to home.”

  Dennis raised an eyebrow.

  Kelvin licked his lips. “Go back to that firm, Sergeant. Nevin, Cross and Short. They’re a nasty bunch. Hate each other, all of them. That’s why they’re such good lawyers. But you’ll find your killer there.” He stepped away from the window and made a shooing gesture. “Run along then, Sergeant. You’re done here.”

  “I wanted to ask you about the Steven Leonard case,” Dennis said.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Steven Leonard worked in one of your businesses. Ameena Khan was his lawyer.”

  Kelvin shook his head. “You expect me to know the name of every little scrote who works in my businesses? I don’t have a clue. Now, go away.”

  Dennis heard the door open behind him. The aproned woman was there again. She looked like something out of a film. Neat, perfectly pressed, not a hair out of place.

  “Come with me, please,” she said.

  Dennis looked back at Kelvin.

  He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t want to generate a complaint.

  He followed the woman out of the house and walked to his car. He turned the ignition and started reversing, turning his car in the wide driveway so that he was facing the gates. As he did so, a flash of red caught his eye. He jabbed the brakes and turned to look.

  Parked up by the side of the house was a red Corsa. Four years old with a scratch down the side. Not the sort of car Arthur Kelvin would keep.

  But Dennis knew that car.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Lesley got into her car. It was six o’clock. Dennis would be finished at the post-mortem. Why hadn’t she heard from him?

  She grabbed her phone and dialled his number. No answer. She frowned and called the pathology lab.

  “This is DCI Clarke here, is DS Frampton still with you?”

  “Sorry, Ma’am, no.”

  “Has he left?”

  “I’m not sure, let me check.”

  Lesley tapped her fingers on her knees as she waited.

  “I don’t think he was here, Ma’am.”

  “Has the post-mortem been finished on Harry Nevin?”

  “That was delayed. It’s happening tomorrow morning.”

  “Sorry?” Lesley said.

  “Dr Whittaker couldn’t do it, he’s put it back to tomorrow morning.”

  Damn. “OK, thanks.”

  Lesley looked out of the window. Today Dennis had kept information from her. And now he’d disappeared and wasn’t answering his phone. What was going on?

  She dialled his number again. Still no answer. She sighed and turned the ignition. She’d deal with this tomorrow.

  As she drove towards Wareham, her phone rang: Gail.

  “Hi, Gail. Any news?”

  “This is a bit of a weird one,” Gail said.

  Lesley felt her flesh chill. “What kind of weird?”

  “I know this is odd, but can you meet me at Ameena Khan’s crime scene?”

  “Ameena Khan, not Harry Nevin?”

  “Ameena Khan. I’m heading out there now, it’s not far from where I live. Can you meet me up at Old Harry Rocks?”

  “Have you got new evidence?” Lesley asked.

  “Not quite. Just meet me, I’ll explain when we get there.”

  Lesley hung up and continued driving. She’d already passed the turn-off for her own cottage. Studland was through Wareham, past Corfe and out towards the coast.

  She parked her car in the same spot she’d used last time, grabbed her boots and waterproof from the boot of the car, and set off along the path.

  When she arrived, Gail was standing near the spot from which Ameena Khan had gone over the cliff, staring out to sea. The sun was setting, illu
minating Gail from behind. A soft breeze ruffled her hair. If you didn’t know a woman had died here just days earlier, it would look idyllic.

  Lesley called out to Gail as she approached, not wanting to startle the other woman.

  Gail turned. “Thanks for coming. Follow me.” She gestured with her head and started walking towards Swanage, away from Studland.

  “What’s going on?” Lesley asked as she struggled to keep up.

  “Just come with me.”

  They walked along the coastal path, following the headland until they reached a point where another path came in from the right-hand side. Gail stopped walking. She turned and looked out to sea.

  “What’s up?” said Lesley.

  “This is where Mackie died. Your predecessor.”

  Lesley followed Gail’s gaze over the cliff. “He killed himself.”

  Gail shrugged. “That’s what the coroner said.”

  “It’s not what you think?”

  “The angle’s all wrong. Look down there.” Gail pointed down the cliff.

  Thick shrubs were gathered on the edge, blocking the view down to the sea. Lesley could hear the waves but she couldn’t see the spot where the sea crashed onto the rocks. She leaned over, trying to get a better view, but it was impossible.

  “I presume there was less vegetation when he died,” Lesley said.

  Gail shook her head. “It’s always been like this, for as long as I can remember. I can’t understand why somebody would throw themselves off here. There’s a chance you could catch in those shrubs, and even if you didn’t, you’d have to take a hell of a running jump to get over the edge with the angle it’s at here.”

  Lesley looked out to sea. “So you’re saying he didn’t kill himself?”

  Gail sighed. “He left a note. It was genuine. We got a graphologist in, it was certainly his handwriting. And we analysed the style too, the language he used. It was definitely him.”

  “So what are you saying?” Lesley asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gail said. “I raised it at the time. I said I wasn’t certain about the conditions on the cliff, on whether it would be an ideal place to jump.” She pointed back towards where Ameena Khan had died. “If you were going to kill yourself, it would make much more sense to do it up there. The cliffs there are so dangerous that people have gone over by accident. It would be easy.”

  “Do you think somebody killed him?”

  “I don’t know,” Gail said. “He was found at the bottom of the cliff. The forensics showed that he had gone over the cliff. There was damage from the shrubs and the rocks. The minerals on his clothes were consistent with the cliff face here.”

  “So he wasn’t just dumped down there?” Lesley said. “Somebody didn’t bring him in on a boat?”

  Gail shook her head. “If they did, they did a damn good job of faking it.”

  Lesley put a hand on Gail’s shoulder. “Do you want me to reopen the case?”

  “No.” Gail turned to her. “I don’t think so.”

  Lesley tried to imagine how Carpenter would react if she asked him to re-examine the suicide of his previous DCI.

  “It’s just a feeling,” said Gail. “It’s not enough, I know. None of my doubts are forensic, it’s not my place. This is for your guys.”

  “But they aren’t interested?” Lesley asked.

  Gail waved a hand to bat away a swarm of flies. “He was their DCI. The thought of him being murdered...”

  “It seems to me the thought of him killing himself is bad enough.”

  Gail’s shoulders sank. “It hit them hard. Especially Dennis. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  Gail started walking back the way they’d come. “Ignore me,” she said. “I’m talking nonsense. We’ve got a case to focus on.”

  “Still,” Lesley replied. “If you think there’s a genuine reason to doubt that Mackie killed himself, maybe we should do something about it.”

  They were nearing the clifftop where Ameena had died. Gail stopped, staring towards it. “Let’s not stir it up. Forget I ever told you this, forget I brought you here.”

  She turned away and started walking towards Studland.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Dennis drove out of Kelvin’s driveway and parked across the road. He was on double yellow lines, something that made him uncomfortable. But if he parked further away, he wouldn’t be able to see when the red car left.

  After fifteen minutes the gates opened and the Corsa emerged. It turned away from Dennis and headed back towards Bournemouth.

  Dennis followed. Once they were safely out of view of the house, he approached the car and flashed his lights repeatedly. He could see a silhouette inside the car, the driver looking in his mirror, trying to work out what was going on. The car pulled over and Dennis stopped behind it.

  A man got out. He slammed his door and strode towards Dennis’s car. He stopped when he recognised the car, his jaw falling. He continued towards the car, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket.

  Dennis wound down his window.

  “Sarge,” Johnny said.

  “Johnny, what are you doing here?” Dennis asked.

  “What are you doing here?” Johnny threw back at him.

  Dennis shook his head. “No, son. I need to know why you’re here.”

  Johnny’s body deflated. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “Look, Sarge. We’re both on double yellows. Let’s drive up to the car park past the roundabout, we can talk there.”

  “Don’t you drive off,” Dennis said.

  Johnny looked into his eyes. “I won’t.”

  Johnny walked back to his car and slid back inside. He drove towards the car park, his driving slow and careful. He parked in a spot near the beach. Dennis followed and parked a few spaces away from him.

  Johnny got out of his car and made for the beach. When he reached the sand, he stopped and sat down. It was quiet here, the sun setting behind them.

  “What are you doing?” Dennis said, standing next to him.

  “I’m not staying in that car park,” Johnny replied. “I don’t want anybody overhearing this.”

  “Overhearing what?” Dennis asked. “What’s going on?”

  Johnny shook his head.

  “What were you doing at Arthur Kelvin’s house? I saw your car in the drive.”

  Johnny turned to look up at him. “I don’t get it, Sarge. Why were you there?”

  “I was following up a lead.”

  “I don’t remember the DCI saying anything about that.”

  “Don’t you dare,” said Dennis.

  Johnny looked away. “Sorry.”

  Dennis swallowed. He lowered himself to the ground and sat next to Johnny. His trousers would be covered in sand, Pam would complain. “Tell me,” he said, thinking. Johnny had been in the briefing, not long before Dennis had left the office himself. He’d have had to speed over here.

  But then, not everyone was as careful as Dennis. “Your car was in the drive,” he said. “It was hidden away. Were you hiding while I was there? Did you listen in while I was talking to him?”

  “No. I was... You don’t need to know where I was.”

  Dennis balled his fists in his lap. A couple walked past, chasing after a dog. The woman was laughing, the man running to keep up with her.

  Dennis’s throat was dry. “Tell me, Johnny. What were you doing there?”

  “I was following up a lead, like you.” Johnny tried to inject confidence into his voice but it didn’t wash.

  “Don’t lie to me,” said Dennis. “What’s he got on you?”

  Johnny’s head snapped round. “What d’you mean?”

  “Johnny, I’ve known you since you started on the force. You’re a good copper, a good man. You won’t have been there unless he’s got something over you.”

  Johnny looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Dennis put a hand on Johnny’
s shoulder. “I don’t want to have to report you. You need to talk to me. Confide in me.”

  Johnny wiped his cheek. “It’s my brother.” He closed his eyes. “He bought drugs off one of Kelvin’s guys. I got a call from them, said they were going to shop him.”

  Dennis felt his limbs soften. “Why didn’t you tell me? You should have talked to me about it.”

  “And then what?” replied Johnny. He opened his eyes, looking out to sea. “My brother buys drugs, I tell you. What would you do to a person who buys drugs? You’d arrest them.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  Johnny’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie, Sarge. You’d have treated him just like anybody else. And the thing is, you should do.”

  “So why didn’t you let them?” Dennis asked him.

  Johnny shrugged. “My brother’s, well, he’s different. He’s got learning difficulties. He can’t go to prison.”

  “He wouldn’t go to prison,” Dennis said. “Not if he’s got a mental illness.”

  “He’s never been diagnosed. They wouldn’t believe a word of it. I couldn’t let that happen to him.”

  Dennis nodded. He knew what it was like to feel loyalty to your family. He knew how it could conflict with your responsibilities as a police officer.

  “Johnny, you need to stop this,” he said.

  Johnny wiped his eyes. “I can’t, Sarge. If I stop then David goes down.”

  “Is David your brother?”

  Johnny nodded.

  “You do know that Kelvin’s linked to this case, don’t you?” said Dennis.

  Johnny nodded again. “That’s why he wanted to see me.”

  Dennis raised an eyebrow. “He wanted to know about the investigation?”

  Johnny lowered his head. “Sorry, Sarge.”

  “How much did you tell him?”

  “Not much. I don’t know much.”

  Dennis gritted his teeth. He felt loyalty to Johnny, affection. He’d known the man since he was young, he’d seen him develop as a police officer. He’d watched him join CID and blossom into a detective.

  If Dennis told the DCI what he’d seen, Johnny’s career would be over. He’d have no job, no pension, no future.