The Clifftop Murders (Dorset Crime Book 2)

by Rachel McLean

“Is anybody hurt?” he asked. “Did he get anybody on the beach?”

  PS Wright shook his head. “Too busy running away from us.”

  “Good,” said Dennis. “Can you take these two? Put them in your cars, take them to the nearest station.”

  “No problem,” replied Wright.

  He took the man from Dennis. One of the PCs went to take Priscilla Evans out of Lesley’s hands. Lesley was staring at Priscilla, saying nothing. Her hand kept going to the back of her neck. Dennis watched her, wondering when she was going to come back.

  The uniformed officers bundled the arrestees into two of their cars and drove away. Dennis breathed a sigh of relief and bent over, prodding at his shin.

  “That damn well hurt,” he muttered.

  Lesley’s head went up. “Dennis,” she said. “You swore!”

  He gritted his teeth. “I’m in pain, boss.”

  She smiled at him. He started to smile back then grimaced.

  “Do you need an ambulance yourself?” she asked.

  “Of course not. It’s just a kick.”

  She blinked at him. “Will she be OK, do you think?”

  Dennis nodded. “She’ll be fine.”

  “Yes,” the boss replied. “She’s made of stern stuff, Elsa.”

  He raised an eyebrow. He wondered what had happened inside that building. How Elsa had managed to avoid meeting the same fate as Ameena Khan and Harry Nevin.

  “Reckon she is,” he said.

  Lesley sighed. She looked at him, as if noticing him for the first time.

  “Come on, Dennis,” she said. “We’ve got interviews to do.”

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Elsa woke to an unfamiliar smell, disinfectant mixed with a perfume she didn’t recognise. She put her hand out, only to grab at air.

  Where had they taken her? Was she in that flat still, or somewhere worse?

  Did she dare open her eyes? Were they sitting nearby, watching, waiting for her to wake up?

  There was breathing nearby.

  Oh, God.

  It was the woman. Or maybe the two men.

  Elsa still didn’t know who that woman was. Was she an employee of Arthur Kelvin? Kelvin was a hardened criminal, but he’d never threatened Elsa. She was his lawyer, for God’s sake. What had the woman said about him? Elsa had asked her, but she couldn’t remember the answer.

  She couldn’t lie here all day, giving them the upper hand.

  She blinked her eyes open. Her head hurt and her ankle felt like it was pinned down.

  She was lying on a soft bed. Not on the floor, at least. She closed her eyes again.

  Slowly, she turned her head towards the source of the breathing and readied herself.

  She opened her eyes.

  The woman sitting next to the bed was plump with grey hair piled on top of her head and thin lips painted a bright pink.

  Elsa frowned. “Aurelia?”

  Aurelia Cross put a hand over Elsa’s. “Elsa, thank God, you’re awake. What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” said Elsa. “I don’t remember.”

  “It was Priscilla Evans,” Aurelia said. “Harry’s girlfriend. She attacked you. You were at her flat.”

  “Harry’s girlfriend?” Elsa’s throat was sore. Her face hurt.

  “Priscilla Evans,” Aurelia repeated. “What were you doing there?”

  Elsa turned and looked up at the ceiling. It had tiles and fluorescent lights. It was dull and institutional. Where was she?

  She tried to remember, but her brain felt thick, the memories indistinct.

  Aurelia patted her hand. “It’s OK. You don’t need to remember anything right now. There’s plenty of time. The police will be wanting to talk to you, though.”

  Elsa nodded, then regretted it. Her head pounded. Her hip was sore, she remembered hitting it falling down stairs.

  “I need to report an assault,” she croaked.

  Aurelia leaned over her. “Not just an assault, Elsa. She killed Harry. Ameena too, I expect.”

  “What?” Elsa turned towards the other woman. She couldn’t remember any of it, it was all too hazy.

  Aurelia squeezed her hand. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

  Elsa closed her eyes. She lay in silence for a few moments. The light was red behind her closed eyelids. She wished she could close the curtains, but she didn’t have the strength to even sit up in bed.

  “I heard you put up a hell of a fight,” said a woman’s voice.

  Elsa opened her eyes. She smiled: Lesley.

  Lesley bent over her. She was smiling, looking into Elsa’s eyes. “How are you?”

  “My ankle feels like shit and I’m… Have they put me on painkillers?”

  Lesley nodded. “Morphine.”

  “That explains it. I feel like someone’s put my brain through a car wash.” Her voice was breathy.

  “You broke her leg, you know,” said Lesley.

  “What? Whose?”

  “Priscilla Evans, when you kicked her.”

  “What? How…?”

  “We’ve interviewed her, Elsa. Twice. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the last two days.”

  Elsa squeezed her eyes closed. “Who was she? Is it true she…?” Her voice tailed off.

  Lesley sat down in the chair that Aurelia Cross had vacated.

  “She was Harry Nevin’s girlfriend. So was Ameena Khan. Priscilla was the jealous type, it seems.”

  Elsa, puzzled. “That’s why she…?”

  “She thought you were sleeping with him, too,” said Lesley.

  Elsa could remember someone else asking her about that. She closed her eyes, she needed sleep.

  “You weren’t, were you?” Lesley asked.

  Elsa shuddered. She opened her eyes. “No. Of course not.”

  Lesley nodded. “We found images of you and him meeting at a café on Sandbanks beach.” She looked worried. She cocked her head, looking into Elsa’s face as if trying to read her mind.

  Elsa shook her head. Ouch.

  “Business,” she muttered.

  “But you worked in the same office.”

  “Confidential business. Can’t talk…”

  Lesley squeezed her hand. Elsa turned to her and wiped her eyes. Lesley could see through her, she knew it. She was a detective.

  She should never have got involved with a detective.

  Lesley let go of her hand. “I’ll let you sleep.”

  She kissed her fingers and placed them on Elsa’s forehead. Elsa felt warmth radiate through her skin.

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “What for?” said Lesley.

  Elsa remembered hearing Lesley’s voice when the men were dragging her out of the apartment block. Seeing her appear over her, when she was slumped on the ground.

  “For doing your job,” she whispered.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Lesley walked into the living room of her house in Wareham. At some point, she would stop thinking of this as a temporary base and start thinking of it as home. Elsa and Sharon were on the sofa, playing a game of cards. Elsa had her leg in plaster, resting on the coffee table. Her ankle had been broken in two places, and it would be weeks before she could walk again.

  Sharon looked up. “We’re playing rummy, Mum. D’you want to join in?”

  “Let me make a coffee,” Lesley replied. “Then I’ll be in.”

  She walked into the kitchen. Sharon came in behind her. “Can I have one?”

  “Since when do you drink coffee?”

  “Since you’ve started drinking that decent stuff your friend Zoe bought you.”

  Lesley poured coffee grinds into the machine. “She’s not my friend, she’s my colleague.”

  “You don’t work with her any more.”

  Lesley turned. “I will, though.” She glanced past Sharon, towards the living room. “It’s been a month. I’ll be back in Birmingham in five.”

  Sharon nodded. “You’ll have to buy a hou
se.”

  “Who says?”

  Lesley already had a perfectly good house. She’d paid half the mortgage. She’d decorated it.

  Sharon shrugged. “Did you know Julieta has a kid? She’s moved him in.”

  Lesley felt her stomach dip. She put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, love. What’s he like?”

  Another shrug.

  The coffee bubbled behind Lesley and Sharon indicated it with a nod of her head. “It’s ready.”

  Lesley noticed that Sharon hadn’t answered her question. “How old is the kid?” she asked.

  She turned to pour coffee into a mug.

  “He’s three,” Sharon said.

  Lesley turned back to her.

  “Three!”

  “Yeah. Wakes up in the night crying, gets up at half past five. Dad hates it.”

  “How old is Julieta, then?”

  “Late thirties, maybe? Not sure.”

  Lesley poured a cup of coffee for herself. She poured half a cup into a mug for Sharon and topped it up with water from the sink.

  “What are you doing that for?” Sharon asked.

  “Doing what?”

  “Watering down my coffee.”

  “I don’t want you getting addicted to it.”

  “I’m fine, Mum. I’m sixteen.”

  Sharon grabbed the mug. She poured half of it into the sink and topped it up from the coffee machine.

  “Are you OK with me and Elsa?” Lesley asked her.

  Sharon grinned. “I think she’s OK. It’s cool, my gay Mum and her glamorous girlfriend.”

  “It’s not the fact she’s a woman I’m worried about,” replied Lesley. “Me and your dad have both brought new people into your life. It can’t be easy.”

  “I’ll get used to it,” Sharon said.

  Lesley gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Talk to me, yes? If you’re finding it hard. You’re my priority, you’ll always come first.”

  Sharon shook her off. “That’s not true and you know it.”

  Lesley froze. “Sharon. You have to understand, you’re more important to me than Elsa is.”

  Sharon averted her eyes. “I’m not talking about Elsa, Mum. Or Dad, when you two were together. I mean properly together.” She sipped her coffee. “This is good stuff. You’ve always loved your job the most, though.” She walked out.

  Lesley stared after her. Was Sharon right? Did Lesley put her job first? She’d taken this secondment to Dorset for her mental health. Sharon was sixteen, busy with her friends and her exams, and Lesley hadn’t had much choice in the move.

  She walked into the living room, her nerves tingling. Sharon looked up and smiled. Lesley gave her a sad smile in return.

  Elsa raised her eyebrows: You OK?

  Lesley nodded. She sat between the two of them. “So,” she said. “Tell me the rules.”

  “Mum!” Sharon said. “You know how to play rummy.”

  “Nope, never played it. Never had the time.”

  “I bet,” Sharon said.

  Too busy with work, she thought. She should do something about that.

  “Then we’ll teach you,” Elsa said. She started dealing cards onto the coffee table.

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Lesley looked up from her desk to see Dennis walking into the outer office. Johnny got up to help him to his chair, but Dennis waved the younger man away. Lesley walked out and leaned against the door post.

  “Dennis,” she said. “Good to have you back.”

  “It’s a big fuss over nothing,” he said. Then he smiled. “Still, it’s nice to have Pam looking after me at home.”

  Lesley nodded. “You pulled a cruciate ligament,” she said. “Not nothing at all.”

  Dennis straightened up and winced. He leaned against his desk. “I did no such thing. The suspect did it to me.”

  He smiled. He was right, she thought. Assaulting a police officer didn’t make much difference to a murder conspiracy charge. But it didn’t hurt.

  Mike appeared with a mug of tea and put it on the desk in front of the DS. Johnny fussed around his boss: arranging his chair, moving files around his desk, turning his computer on. Tina watched in silence, her body language stiff. She needed to stop telling herself she was an outsider.

  Lesley walked past the desks. “I have to go and see Superintendent Carpenter. I won’t be long.”

  “Nothing to worry about, I hope?” Dennis asked.

  Lesley eyed him. How much did he know about what she was about to discuss?

  “Just routine,” she said. “Wrapping up the case.”

  Mike looked up. “Boss, I finished checking out that bloke for you, the one Ameena’s PA was so scared of.”

  “Danny Rogers. And?”

  “She knew him. They worked together six years ago.”

  “What did he do to her?”

  “Nothing, she says. But the place they worked….” He rubbed the side of his nose.

  “It’s one of Kelvin’s places?” suggested Tina.

  Johnny looked at Dennis. “I thought this was all about Harry Nevin and his sex life.”

  Dennis returned the look. “It is.” He turned to Lesley. “All done and dusted now, boss?”

  “Pretty much.” But Lesley shelved the names in her memory, just in case. Sam Chaston, Danny Rogers. Not to mention Steven Leonard and Arthur Kelvin. “Thanks, Mike.”

  Mike gave her a shrug. Dennis was watching Johnny. Lesley could only hope those two had resolved their differences.

  Five minutes later, she was standing in Carpenter’s office. He stood by the window looking out over the car park.

  “So,” he said. “Your second double murder case. I think we should send you home, you know. You’re not good for the death rate.”

  She gave him a tight smile. “Sorry, Sir.”

  “Anyway,” he said, “You’ve got enough of a case against Priscilla Evans? CPS happy?”

  She nodded. “Her and the two men. They were her cousins. They were all on that video, and we found Harry Nevin’s DNA in their van.”

  “And Ameena Khan’s too?” Carpenter asked.

  “It was Harry who killed her. His skin was under her fingernails.”

  “Motive?”

  “An old-fashioned crime of passion, Sir. She’d told his other mistress about their relationship. He’d never gone for a colleague before. And we think Priscilla encouraged him. Blackmailed him, possibly. Although we’re still working on that angle.”

  “Conspiracy?”

  “Possibly. We have her on his murder, anyway. As well as false imprisonment and assault of Elsa Short.”

  Carpenter sucked in a breath. “Nasty business. Not sure the firm will survive.”

  Lesley pursed her lips. She knew that Elsa was hoping it wouldn’t.

  “I’ve read your letter,” he said. “About your personal involvement.”

  She pushed her shoulders back. “I wanted to be upfront, Sir. At one point we thought Elsa Short might be a suspect. But she almost became the third victim.”

  “And you’re going out with her?” Carpenter said.

  Lesley nodded. “Four weeks now.”

  Carpenter raised an eyebrow. “I thought you had a husband, a daughter?”

  “We separated, Sir.”

  Lesley bit down the urge to tell him about Julieta, to pass the blame away from herself.

  Carpenter walked to his desk and sat down. He leaned back in his chair. “You’re not the first copper to be sleeping with the enemy. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Lesley felt her face heat up. “The enemy, Sir?”

  “Criminal lawyer,” he replied. He leaned forward. “I trust you to act professionally though, whoever’s on the other side of the table.”

  “Of course.”

  He gestured towards the seat opposite him and she took it.

  “You’ve got something else you want to talk to me about?” he asked.

  She swallowed. “Yes, Sir. Another matter
.”

  She glanced towards the window and then looked back at him.

  “A delicate one?” he asked, giving her a meaningful look.

  “You could say that.”

  “You’re leaving us?” he said. “Going back to West Mids?”

  “No, Sir. It’s about my predecessor, DCI Mackie.”

  Carpenter rubbed the bridge of his nose. He fixed her with his stare. “I was expecting this.”

  “You were?”

  He nodded. “There’s a DI from the West Midlands who’s been poking her nose into his records. Anything to do with you?”

  Lesley stiffened. “Entirely my fault, Sir. Not her idea. I had my suspicions and I asked if she could—”

  “Why not ask your team?”

  “With respect, I thought they would react—”

  He raised a hand to stop her. “If you have suspicions about officers in this force, DCI Clarke, current or former, you speak to me, understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Can she be trusted, this DI Finch?”

  “Absolutely. Zoe was one of my best.”

  “She won’t go gossiping to your old mates in Birmingham?”

  Lesley shook her head. “Never.”

  “That’s something, then.” He rocked his chair forwards and backwards. “So what have you got?”

  “I don’t think...”

  “What has she dug up? It must be something, or you would have dropped it.”

  Lesley looked at him. She pulled out her phone and flipped to the photo of Mackie and Kelvin. He leaned forwards to peer into the screen.

  “That’s all?”

  “And there’s the crime scene,” she said. “There’s reason to think he couldn’t have jumped off from that spot.”

  “So Gail Hansford’s been talking to you.”

  “I don’t want to…”

  Carpenter stood up. He walked around the desk and perched on its edge, right next to her. She could feel heat emanating from his body, hear him breathing. He glanced at the door, then bent down to look into her eyes.

  “You keep this between you and me, understand?”

  “Of course,” she replied. “Am I onto something, Sir?”

  “I’m not answering that question. And I’m going to pretend we never had this conversation. But if you do find anything else, you bring it straight to me.”