by Clare Revell
“What baby?” Mrs. Darley’s head flipped from him to her daughter.
“My baby.” Doris put a hand protectively over her stomach.
“Your father’s baby,” Zander insisted.
“Yes.”
He pulled out the cuffs. “Turn around.”
“You can’t,” Mrs. Darley protested.
“Yes, I can. Turn around.” He slapped the cuffs on the teenager’s wrists and recited her rights.
Isabel looked at Mrs. Darley. “Did you know what was going on? That your husband was not only having an affair with your daughter but Orla as well?”
“No…”
“Mrs. Darley, I have to place you under arrest as well, pending further investigation.” She pulled out her phone and placed a call for two marked patrol cars to attend as fast as possible.
~*~
Back at the station, Zander placed a large box of cakes on the table by the kettle.
“What’s the occasion?” DI Holmes asked.
Isabel grinned. “Well, the Cake Act, which we backdated several years to give it some authenticity, is now in effect and printed up,” she pointed to the sheet on the wall. “Zander and I worked on it over lunch to polish it. We bought cakes. I got two arrests this morning and he got one. Thus, cakes.”
DI Holmes frowned. “Arrests?”
“It’s a mess, Guv, but the report is typed and on your desk. The short story is we went to where Orla Arkwright lived to do the notification. Turns out that not only was the husband of her employer sleeping with Orla, but also with his seventeen-year-old daughter. Orla was about four months pregnant when she passed, and Mr. Darley’s daughter is pregnant as well.”
“And that’s the short story?”
“Oh, and guess whose prison ministry Orla was converted under?”
DI Holmes rolled his eyes. “Hit me.”
Zander laughed. “As tempting as that sounds, I’ll pass. I don’t want to be up on an assault charge today. Even if it does mean more cakes when someone has to arrest me.” He laughed harder as the Guv just shook his head in dismay.
“Rev. Eke,” Isabel told them. “Yet when Orla was released early on parole, he threw her out of his church because he didn’t want an ex-con there.”
“He’d better not meet Pastor Carson then,” Zander said bluntly. “Imagine what he’d make of an ex-con being a pastor. So, we have cakes by the kettle. The case files are ready for the CPS as he admitted the charges, but I figured he could sit in the cells here until tomorrow lunchtime. We’ll call the CPS in the morning and get him remanded into custody. The daughter and mother are also downstairs, being interviewed by vice.”
“Sounds good.” DI Holmes took a cake and inspected it. “I want you both to go and talk to Rev. Eke. I’ll attend the postmortem myself.” He headed back to his office.
Zander turned to Isabel. “We’d better go talk to the Rev. Eke then.”
She groaned. “Must we?”
“We must. The boss has spoken, and it didn’t sound like a suggestion.”
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up outside St. Crispin’s Church. The afternoon service was just ending. They headed inside as the congregation left.
Rev. Eke was tidying the hymnbooks. “Sergeant, how nice to see you again so soon. How can I help?”
“Orla Arkwright. I believe you knew her.” Zander wasn’t bothering with niceties or beating around the bush.
“Yes, we met in the prison she was serving time in.”
“And you threw her out of St. Crispin’s when she began attending after her release. Was that the reason?”
“I did ask her to find another church, yes. One I felt she’d be more suited to.”
“Because of her skin colour or her past?” Zander said bluntly. He didn’t care how uncomfortable this conversation got. “We’re all sinners saved by grace, Reverend. Some only think murder, others commit it. It’s all the same to God. ‘Red, yellow, black and white, all are precious in His sight’ as the old children’s hymn goes. When did you last see her?”
“Not for a few months. She came here the Sunday after her release. We had words, I asked her to find somewhere more suitable. I suggested Headley Baptist, but I think she ended up attending Moor Street.”
“Thank you. We’ll speak with the pastor there. And you’ve had no contact with Orla since? You haven’t seen her, spoken to her, passed her in the street?”
The man shook his head. “No. Why?”
“She’s dead.”
Rev. Eke didn’t react. “I see her past finally caught up with her. I’m assuming the Slayer. It must be ‘thou shalt not steal’ by now. I’d say kidnapping a child counts as theft.”
Zander scowled. “For a vicar you don’t show God’s love much. Perhaps you need to take a long, hard look at your own salvation. Come on Is, let’s go.”
Isabel followed him into the bright, warm sunshine. “Moor Street Baptist?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll talk and you can take notes.”
She glared at him. “Why me?”
“Please. Because you write faster than I do, no other reason.”
Twenty minutes later, he parked outside the manse next to the brick-built chapel. He walked up the path and rang the doorbell.
A tall, grey, balding man opened the door. “Hello?”
“DS Ellery and DC York. We’re looking for Rev. Lynton.”
“You found him. Please come in. Would you like some tea or a cold drink?”
Zander shook his head. “No, thank you.”
“Glass of water, please,” Isabel added quickly.
Rev. Lynton showed them into his study. “Wait here. I’ll be back directly with your water.”
“Thank you.” Isabel glanced around the room. “Lots of books and papers,” she said quietly.
“A nice, homely place. What I always imagined a pastor’s office to look like. Somewhere you can sit and write sermons, pray, reflect, and so on.”
“Did you miss your calling to be a pastor?” she teased.
“I’m no preacher, Is. I’m as fallen as the next person. I have no right to stand in a pulpit each week and correct people when I’m guilty myself.”
“But we all are,” Rev. Lynton said behind him. “Sinners saved by grace none of us deserve. Here’s your water, Constable York.”
Isabel took the glass and sipped it. “Thank you.”
“Please, have a seat. How can I help you?”
Zander sat. “Orla Arkwright.”
“Lovely girl. Tormented past, but she’s a ray of sunshine in our church. She has the most amazing singing voice. She does solos in the choir. In fact, you should have heard her sing “Amazing Grace” a couple of weeks ago. What’s this about? Is she in trouble of some kind?”
“She was found dead this morning. She’d been murdered.”
Rev. Lynton pulled off his glasses, leaning back in his chair as if punched. “Oh. Oh my. That’s awful. Was it the Slayer?”
Zander ignored the question. “When did you last see her?”
“Yesterday at the morning service. She led the choir as usual. She was a little upset and asked if we could talk. We had coffee after the service in the hall.”
“What was the problem?”
“I really can’t say. She spoke to me in confidence and I can’t break that trust.”
Isabel put the glass down. “With all due respect, Reverend, Orla is dead. So whatever right of silence you’re operating under doesn’t matter anymore. As I’m assuming confession over coffee doesn’t count.”
“Not exactly, but—”
“Reverend,” Zander began bluntly. What was it with these people today? Were they all being deliberately obstructive? “Orla is dead. Right now, we have no idea who killed her.”
“You said the Slayer.”
“Actually, you did. I didn’t confirm or deny it. Fact is, we have a small window to catch the bloke who killed her. Anything you can tell us, however small or however much you think it
’s irrelevant, could help and make all the difference.”
Rev. Lynton took a deep breath. “Very well. She was most upset. She’d become involved with her employer’s husband and found herself in a rather compromising situation.”
“We know about the baby.”
“She wanted my help finding employment elsewhere. Her record means any children’s work isn’t possible and social services would be involved the moment any child of hers was born.”
“That isn’t normal after a cot death,” Isabel said.
“It is when you kidnap a live baby and replace it with your dead one,” Zander said. “They wouldn’t take the child away from her, just make regular visits. It’s standard practice. So, what work did you find her?”
“She was coming to work for me as my administrative assistant and housekeeper. All above board, of course. I’d grown rather fond of her and hoped, with time, that she’d feel the same way about me.” He shrugged. “I guess the Lord had other plans.”
Zander tilted his head. “Were you in love with her?”
“I meant to make an offer for her hand, yes. Marry her, give the child a father and a name. She didn’t care for me, I know that, but there would then be no questions about her living here, even if she did have her own room. She was meant to be moving in on Friday. She’d left after church yesterday to go and visit her sister in Dorset…I really ought to call her and let her know.”
“Give me the details and I’ll get the local officers to see to that,” Zander said.
Rev. Lynton wrote quickly and handed Zander the paper.
Zander rose and went into the hall, dialling as he walked. “Hi, this is DS Ellery, Thames Valley Police. I need to speak to someone regarding a notification, please.”
“One moment.” There was a pause and a few clicks.
“Sgt. Wilson speaking.”
“Yes, this is DS Ellery, Thames Valley Police. I need someone to do a next of kin notification as soon as possible. Before they find out on the evening news.” He gave the details and hung up. “Sometimes I really hate my job,” he whispered. Then taking a deep breath, he went back into the study.
~*~
Isabel tossed her bag to her desk. It was almost five, and she reckoned it had been the longest Thursday on record. At least it was nearly home time. “Did we miss anything?”
DI Holmes turned from the incident board. “The fibres on Orla’s body are black, not blue, yet still from the same type of car as before.”
“Oh.” She swallowed, turning it into a cough.
“You OK?” Zander handed her a bottle of water.
She sipped it. “Fine. Thank you.”
“There were fingerprints on the duct tape and they’re being run now. Arend confirmed that Orla was four months pregnant. The DNA test is also being run.”
“So sad,” Isabel said. “She was finally getting her life back in order and this happens.”
“We’ll get him,” DI Holmes said. “Other than that, the autopsy showed the same as usual. Same dress, lingerie, mark at the base of the skull.”
Zander rose. “Guv, can I have a word?”
“Sure, my office. The rest of you go home. See you tomorrow. Not you, Isabel. I’ll drive you myself.”
“Sir.” She sat in her chair, twiddling her thumbs and swinging her feet.
Zander snorted. “What are you doing?”
She twirled the chair in circles. “I’m waiting patiently for my lift home.”
DI Holmes gave a short laugh. “Do some work. Make the place look tidy.”
Isabel gazed at him in mock shock. “I thought sexist comments were banned, sir.”
“Stop turning circles in your chair. Your desk, woman, is a mess. Tidy it.” DI Holmes pointed.
“I don’t stand a chance with a neat freak like Zander next to me. But OK.” She paused. “There is one thing, Guv. When we went to talk to Rev. Eke, there was a red sedan on his drive. Do you want me to run the plates?”
“Yes.”
Isabel turned to her computer as the two men vanished into the office on the other side of the room. It didn’t take long to access the files and pull up a complete history of the car.
Fighting her reactions, she printed off the details and rose. Trotting to the office, she tapped on the door and opened it without waiting for permission. “Sorry, Guv, this can’t wait.”
“Go on.”
“The car is registered to Rev. Eke. It was put in for repair following an accident on the night Esther Leaney was murdered. The same night Will’s car was written off and his wife killed. The car was serviced last week, and the broken rear number plate was repaired. The blue boot carpet was replaced with a black one.”
DI Holmes held his hand out for the report. “I’ll get uniform to go and arrest him now. He can stew in the cells until morning. We’ll impound the car and get SOCO to go over it with a fine-tooth comb.” He smiled tightly. “Well done.”
“Maybe this is it,” she said. “Maybe we’ve got him.”
19
Isabel and Zander arrived for work early. And not just because it was Friday. DI Holmes was already in and the squad briefing was short and to the point.
Isabel raised a hand. “So, what’s the plan of action, Guv?”
“Busy day for everyone. Barney Terrance was arrested last night by traffic for a DUI. He’s downstairs waiting for us. So are Rev. Eke, and the Darleys.”
Zander looked at Isabel. “We also need to finish decorating my dining room and sort the furniture. Gramps is definitely coming out next week as the physios are pleased with him.”
DI Holmes sighed. “But none of that matters right now.”
“I know. Who did you want us…?” He paused as the phone rang. “DS Ellery. Seriously? Yeah. I’ll be there.” He hung up and rose. “You won’t believe this. There’s been a break-in at the Abbey Gate Gallery. They’ve had a painting stolen.”
“Get over there,” DI Holmes said sharply.
“Sure. Coming, Is?”
“Not Isabel. The PIN is still in effect until she takes it down.”
“Which will be never,” Isabel said. “I like not being bothered by him.”
DI Holmes nodded. “Frank, go with Zander.”
Frank leapt to his feet. “Yes! Can I drive, Sarge?”
“Be my guest.” Zander scrunched his nose at Isabel. “I’d love to be driven for a change.”
“Oh, my days, are you really going there?” Isabel threw her pen at him. “I would drive, but it’s illegal. Although I do have my L plates. Let me stick them on the service car, and then I’ll gladly drive you there and back again and around the bend for good measure.”
“Enough.” DI Holmes wasn’t impressed. “Zander go. Isabel, I’d like you and Austin to go downstairs and talk to Barney Terrance. Then take Rev. Eke. I’ll deal with George Harmon myself.”
“Sorry, DI Holmes. What about the Darleys?” she asked.
“Later. We’ll do the others first as we have a confession from one of the Darleys. I’ll ring the CPS and get someone over here now. Hopefully we can get them all in court this afternoon and away before the weekend.” He handed her a pile of files. “Here, all yours.”
Isabel grabbed her pink paper and headed from the room, Austin by her side. Once in the custody suite, she smiled at the officer behind the desk. “Hi, we’re here for several, but we’ll start with Barney Terrance.”
“Sure. Room one is all yours. Who else are you after?”
“Rev. Eke and the Darleys. DI Holmes will be down himself for George Harmon.”
“Could you interview Mrs. Darley first?” the sergeant asked. “She’s been going on and on about a hospital appointment.”
“Sure.” Isabel headed down to room one. She laid Mrs. Darley’s file onto the table in front of her, shutting the others in the drawer and locking it. As an officer wheeled Mrs. Darley in, Isabel started the tape. “Interview with Karen Darley. Present are DC York, DC Lexington, and PC Trafford. Mrs. Da
rley, do you know why you’re here?”
“Because my husband is a cheat and a liar,” she said angrily. “I swear I didn’t know about him and Doris. If I had done, I’d have stopped it, because that’s just sick. I did know about him and Orla. He doesn’t think I do, but I did. She told me. Asked me if I minded. I said I did, that he was still married to me even if I can’t be the wife he wants or needs. I also told her that she wasn’t the first.”
“He’d cheated before?” Isabel asked.
“Since the honeymoon, but what’s a girl meant to do? Marriage is for life.” She shrugged. “But if I’d known he was hurting Doris, I’d have left him and taken her far away. And reported him.” She twisted her hands. “You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Didn’t Doris tell you?”
“Maybe she felt I wouldn’t believe her, but I would have. She’s my baby, and he hurt her.” Mrs. Darley looked at the clock. “Please, my hospital appointment is in an hour. If I miss it, I’ll have to wait a month.”
“OK. You can go but we’ll be in touch. Please don’t leave town. Interview terminated at 9.03AM.”
PC Trafford moved to the wheelchair.
Isabel glanced at him. “Please arrange a taxi for Mrs. Darley.” She waited until they’d left before turning to Austin. “Believe her?”
“Not sure. Let’s just do the daughter and then him. Whilst we have this one fresh in our minds.”
“Sounds good to me. Go get the daughter.”
Austin rose. “Yes boss.” He headed out of the door, laughing.
Isabel’s phone beeped. “What do you want, Zander?” She glanced down at her phone.
This is a right royal mess
Is it really that bad? She quickly texted back.
You have no idea. be very grateful you stayed behind. Tell you later.
~*~
Zander put his phone away, irritated more than he would admit. “Frank, wait in the car. I am not telling you again.”
“Yes, Sarge.” Frank stomped outside, sulking.
Zander turned back to Farrell who stood against the counter, hand still clamped to his nose. “You OK?”
Farrell removed his hand and checked the handkerchief. “Yes, it doesn’t appear to be bleeding anymore. I want to make a formal complaint. He had no right to do that.”