SHADOW CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  ‘Coincidence, surely. By the way, there’s some interesting stuff in a wardrobe in the second bedroom. I’ll leave it to you to form a judgement.’ He picked up his bags and hurried out to his car, followed by the other two forensic officers, who’d finished packing away.

  Sophie followed them out and spoke to the constable on duty. ‘Listen, I’ll be here for about half an hour, so go and get yourself a cup of tea in that cafe along the road. Just make sure you’re back here in about twenty minutes.’

  He smiled at her gratefully. ‘Thanks, ma’am.’

  Sophie watched him drive his squad car away. She remembered the unmitigated boredom of standing guard at a crime scene from her days as a young uniformed constable in London. She would take the opportunity, now she was alone, to have a good look around, starting in the front hallway. The walls were painted a pale lemon colour, with white skirting and doors. Two brightly coloured prints hung on the walls. She took a closer look. They had a Spanish feel to them, particularly the one of a white villa basking in sunshine. Interesting.

  The other rooms on the ground floor yielded little of interest. The woman of the house clearly liked light romance fiction, judging from the small number of books on the shelf of the lounge and the magazines in the rack beside the large television. Actually, large was a completely inadequate description for the monster that dominated that part of the room. A few football magazines lay on a shelf beside it, but no other reading matter that would give an insight into the dead husband. The room lacked character, as did the garden, visible through the patio door.

  Sophie walked through to a neat kitchen/diner. It had all the expected mod-cons and looked relatively new. As in the lounge, the decor and fittings looked recent. She knew that the couple had lived in the house for almost two decades, so had all of this obviously recent refit been paid for out of Quigley’s retirement lump sum? Sophie finished in the kitchen and returned to a small drawer unit in the sitting room, flicking through the contents that she’d spotted earlier. She quickly found some invoices and receipts that suggested a complete refit of the house a year or two before Tony had retired. Moreover, there were a stack of receipts for trips to Spain, some dating back almost a decade. Surely the amounts shown here were beyond the salary of an ordinary prison officer? Sophie laid the bundle aside and, having finished looking through the ground floor rooms, climbed the stairs and started on the bedrooms. She found little of interest in the main bedroom, but in the fitted wardrobe of the second bedroom were those “interesting items” Dave Nash had mentioned. A real mink coat worth, she guessed, almost a thousand pounds. Then a small jewel box that was half hidden on the shelf below the coat. It contained a selection of gold jewellery, probably worth another few thousand. This was puzzling. Although she hadn’t met Laura Quigley, the report from the local CID had suggested that she was a rather timid, nondescript woman. It didn’t add up.

  When Sophie was in the bathroom, working her way through the contents of the medicine cupboard, she heard a noise from the ground floor. Was that the sound of something being moved in the room below? She listened carefully. There it was again. It sounded as if someone had pulled a chair aside to give easier access to the shelves behind, something she herself had done no more than ten minutes earlier. Who could it be? She tiptoed back to the front bedroom and peered out. The uniformed officer had not yet returned, his squad car was nowhere to be seen, as she’d expected. He still had half of his allocated twenty minutes to go. Someone must have come in while she was working her way through the contents of the cupboard in the back bedroom. But she’d locked the door behind her, hadn’t she? The person below had now moved to the kitchen at the back of the house. Sophie could hear the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing. What could they be looking for? Could it be Laura Quigley, back home for some reason? But the duty constable had told her that the widow was staying with her sister in the Midlands for a couple more days at least.

  Sophie pondered. Should she call for backup? But how would she explain the missing duty officer at the front gate? Her decision to give him half an hour off was strictly against the rules. There was probably a sensible explanation for the presence of someone below. Maybe it was one of the forensic team returning to collect a forgotten item. But she couldn’t recall seeing anything out of place during her own search a few minutes earlier.

  She picked up a heavy ornament from a window shelf on the landing, then made her way to the top of the stairs and started to creep slowly down. She arrived at the turning point, near the bottom of the stairs and heard a creak nearby. Someone was approaching, creeping along the hallway from the kitchen. Sophie raised the bronze figurine above her head. As long as the intruder wasn’t armed, she stood a good chance of coming out on top in any struggle. She slid around the corner and gasped.

  Chapter 5: Tears of Laughter

  Monday Afternoon

  The two women sat at the kitchen table, tears of laughter running down their cheeks.

  ‘I think I’d have stood a good chance with anyone else,’ Sophie said. ‘Even with the knife you were carrying. But you’re some kind of black belt, aren’t you? I’d have come off worse for sure. Christ, what a scare you gave me.’

  Lydia was indignant. ‘Think I wasn’t scared too? It’s been a recurring nightmare of mine, being in a house alone with a deranged killer. I watched too many horror movies when I was a teenager. I was convinced the creaking on the stairs meant only one thing. Someone with a huge knife was coming for me.’

  ‘We’re both bloody mad, Lydia. But it’s lovely to see you, even in these crazy circumstances. I need a cup of tea. Do you think the widow Quigley would object?’

  ‘Not if she doesn’t know, ma’am. I’ll do it and tidy everything away afterwards.’ Lydia got up, filled the kettle and pulled a couple of mugs from their hooks.

  ‘Where did you say Jimmy was?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘He dropped me off and went to the local nick. I thought one of us should find out what we could from the squad car crew who were first on the scene a couple of days ago. He’s coming back a bit later to collect me.’ She popped a tea bag into each mug.

  ‘So why are you here exactly? I was too hysterical a few minutes ago to take in your explanation.’

  Lydia poured the tea, then turned to face her erstwhile boss. ‘I’m not surprised. I wasn’t exactly coherent. It’s this initiative to reduce smuggled stuff going into prisons.’ She described the weekend’s events and the reason for her visit to Dorchester.

  ‘So,’ said Sophie, ‘our Mr Quigley, the victim here, was some kind of police informer, according to your contact? What was her name again?’

  ‘You mean Andrea Ford? She’s one of the local DCs in Weymouth. Haven’t you ever come across her? Middle-aged, a bit sassy, bottle blonde?’

  ‘I think she might have worked on one of my early cases in Dorset. She wasn’t blonde then, but she was a bit full of herself if I remember rightly.’ She looked at Lydia. ‘Have you got some doubts about her?’

  ‘Let’s say I’m a bit uneasy. And I’m pretty certain Kevin feels the same, though he wouldn’t say so. You pick up on these things, don’t you? Sort of spotting the things that have been left unsaid.’

  Sophie smiled wryly. ‘Oh, yes. It’s one of the things that make a good detective into an outstanding one. I always thought you had it, Lydia, and I’m so glad you haven’t lost it.’ She paused. ‘There’s something that doesn’t quite make sense, you know. In what you’ve told me.’

  Lydia looked blank. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Well, if Quigley was the informer and was due to meet you both, what was he doing in bed? I know he was unwell but, from the wife’s and the neighbour’s accounts, he seemed to be making “a something” out of “a nothing.” So, was it an excuse to get out of the meet-up? Even then, surely he’d have tried to get a message to Andrea Ford? And if he didn’t, shouldn’t she have been a bit more concerned about his absence than she appeared to be?’

  Lydia f
rowned. ‘What are you suggesting, ma’am?’

  ‘I don’t really know. It just seems so peculiar. I’ll need to mull it over for a while. I probably need to see the delectable DC Ford myself sometime soon, now she’s admitted to knowing Quigley. I may just throw that into the conversation and see what ripples it creates. That’s if you don’t mind me trampling in your muddy puddle.’

  Lydia shook her head. ‘No, of course not. You’re the boss. Always were, always will be. And it means I can get on with my real task, sorting out this prison problem. The thing that worries me, though, is that I seem to have crash-landed into the middle of your murder investigation. Is it going to be a problem?’

  Sophie looked at her and smiled. ‘Hardly. We may have to share information, but I don’t see how it affects your current role. Anyway, I handpicked you all those years ago when I was setting up the unit. We’ve always been a great team.’ She paused. ‘Lydia, isn’t it about time we put the past behind us?’

  Lydia eyed her warily, and then returned the smile. ‘Of course. Water under the bridge and all that. I wonder how Kevin’s going to take it though. My guess is that it’s the one thing he’s uneasy about, the fact that you and I used to work together so closely. It’ll be worse now with your promotion. Congratulations, by the way. I always knew you’d be a chief constable one day. You’ve only got a couple more promotions to go.’

  ‘Pah,’ Sophie snorted. ‘You can wipe that thought from your mind. My original plan stays in place. Five more years, then it’s back to university for me. I’ll complete my doctorate, then take up a post in criminal psychology at Oxford. Maybe six years, I don’t want to overlap with Jade. It would be a bit much for her to have her mum at the same university, so I’ll wait till she’s finished.’

  ‘That’s great news. I didn’t know. What’ll she be doing?’

  ‘Medicine at Keble, though it’s not a foregone conclusion — she’s still got to get the exam results they want.’ Sophie took a sip of tea. ‘Are you happy, Lydia? In your new role, I mean?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s a dream come true being back to Dorset. You were right. It was good experience for me in the fraud unit in Bath, but ordinary CID work is really my thing, and Kevin’s great. I worry a bit about him though. His wife’s really not well.’

  ‘Laura’s cancer is terminal, and she’s only been given until the summer. It’s so sad. She’s a lovely person. I worry that Kevin will go to pieces, so you need to keep me posted. We can all chip in if the worst happens.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’d better be off. I was finishing when I heard you prowling about. Maybe we ought to have an official joint meeting. Can you mention it to Kevin, and sort something out for a couple of days’ time? There’s no point in us going over the same ground twice, so we ought to plan ahead. Okay?’ She finished her tea, stood up and made for the door, before turning. ‘It’s lovely to have you back on board, Lydia. I’ve missed you.’

  * * *

  ‘So, do we have a case, ma’am?’ Barry Marsh, Sophie’s second in the Violent Crime Unit, pulled his chair closer to the table. ‘Rose Simons thought so when she called me on Saturday, but I did tell her that the final decision would come after the autopsy. What did Dr Goodall have to say?’

  The core team of three detectives were sitting at the round table in their main office, sipping mugs of tea. It was Sophie’s rule — coffee in the morning but tea in the afternoon.

  ‘No doubt about it,’ she answered. ‘Apparently Benny made his mind up within a few seconds of seeing the corpse. Our Mr Quigley had a lot of health issues, but they didn’t kill him. He was smothered. Probably a pillow or something. I’ve asked the forensic squad to prioritise a check on the soft furnishings in the bedroom. But there may be a lot more to this than meets the eye.’ Sophie told them about her unexpected meeting with Lydia Pillay at the Quigley house, and what it might mean for their murder investigation. She looked across the table at the Violent Crime Unit’s junior detective. ‘Rae, you get an incident board set up, then find out what you can about Tony Quigley and his wife. All we know so far is that he was a prison officer at Portland until he took early retirement two years ago. Maybe someone bore a grudge against him from back then. But he and his wife seem to have been living a lifestyle beyond what I would have expected. Barry, can you contact the prison governor at Portland and fix up an appointment for us tomorrow? Don’t give too much away but let him know we want to find out all we can about Quigley. Let’s get busy.’

  Rae Gregson returned to her desk. She’d become used to this kind of research in the time she’d been with the unit. It had become one of her key specialities — seeking out background information on suspects, victims, family members and contacts. And with such an unusual name as Quigley, it shouldn’t be a difficult task. As the afternoon wore on, the bank of information grew. Tony Quigley had been born in the mid-fifties in Kent to a local Gravesend father and a Polish mother. His marriage to Laura in 1983 was his second, but her first. Neither of his marriages seemed to have produced any children. He’d joined the prison service in his thirties, a year before marrying Laura and they’d moved to Dorset in the late 1990s, presumably because of his posting to Portland prison. Tony had obviously been a keen darts player, his name appeared regularly on team sheets for the Highlander pub in Weymouth, although that appeared to have stopped shortly after his retirement from the prison service two years previously, in 2014. Surely stopping work meant that more time was available for hobbies? Most people were looking for extra activities to fill the void, not cutting back. Maybe it was the start of Tony’s health issue showing itself, when his liver disorder began to make itself felt. Rae would need to check with his doctor.

  Quigley had always owned a car, right from his early years in Dorset, when he’d had a small hatchback. But later this had changed to a series of upmarket Mercedes saloons. Rae frowned. Not your average vehicle for a bottom-rung prison guard. Maybe he’d done a lot of overtime and anti-social shifts, or he’d inherited some money.

  Rae then turned to his passport usage. This generated some really interesting information — twice-yearly trips to Malaga in Spain. These weren’t always at the same time of year, so it didn’t look as though he and Laura owned a time-share apartment. Worth further investigation? She noted it down, and moved on.

  Chapter 6: At a Low Ebb

  Monday Night

  Sergeant Rose Simons slammed the rear door of the scum-wagon, the secure van used by the local uniformed police to transport drunks, drugged-up yobs, pimps and thieves to the local cells. She looked at her watch: only another three hours until the end of their shift, and then it was home for the night, and a soft bed. She yawned and tapped the driver’s door.

  ‘Okay, sunshine. Take it away.’

  She watched the van drive off in the direction of Dorchester’s police station, and turned wearily to her sidekick, George Warrander. ‘Come on, young George. Time to get back to work. There’s still an hour or so before the pubs shut, so let’s go walkabout. I caught sight of you on Saturday evening, by the way. Were you trying to hide? You seemed to dodge out of the way pretty quick.’

  George laughed nervously. ‘Not really, but I did see you in that curry place.’

  ‘Were you doing what I think you were? Patrolling about outside to keep the area quiet for me?’

  He was trying to look as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but Rose knew him too well. ‘Sort of, in an indirect way. It was the usual Saturday night and I was just keeping an eye on things. There was a group of about eight men wandering around the area. I thought they were looking for trouble, but nothing much came of it. Odd, because they looked like real tough nuts, out for a rumble. Maybe they spotted that we were monitoring them, so they didn’t push their luck. They weren’t our local yobs, but I sort of recognised one or two of their faces. I wonder if some of them were from Weymouth?’

  ‘So, were they up to something?’

  ‘It was odd. They’d go into one of the bars, talk t
o a couple of the locals, then head off somewhere else and do the same thing. They ended up in the Highlander Bar and a bit of an argument started but we were nearby and calmed things down. They did as they were told, and there were no more complaints. But I really didn’t like the look of them. There was something a bit strange going on, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. How did your date go, by the way?’

  His boss grinned broadly and tapped her nose. ‘That’s between me, him and the bedpost. Definitely not for public consumption, though I have to say, Georgie, your chocolate trick worked a treat. I’m gonna put you in for promotion as soon as I can. You deserve some kind of a reward. Now, let’s get moving.’

  They meandered slowly through the town centre, following a route that took them past most of the pubs, bars and clubs, not that Dorchester had many of the latter.

  ‘So, this group of men that caught your attention on Saturday night. Should we be worried about them? Or are you just being a teensy bit paranoid?’

  George didn’t answer immediately. ‘It’s hard to say. There was something different about them, they weren’t just your usual run-of-the-mill yobs and they didn’t get drunk. Now I think about it, it was almost as if what they did was planned. We watched them go into three bars, and the pattern was the same in each, as far as I could see.’

  ‘Have you had a look at any mug shots since?’

  He shook his head. ‘Am I allowed to? They didn’t commit a crime.’

  ‘You have reason to suspect that they were up to no good. I’m happy with that, so when we get back to the station, indulge that curiosity of yours and look at a few faces. Weymouth, you say? There’s a good few rogues down there.’

  * * *

  At the same time, Andrea Ford was sitting by herself in a secluded alcove in a Weymouth wine bar, sipping at her drink. The large glass of sauvignon blanc wasn’t unusual, but the fact that she’d opted for a table in the shadows was most uncharacteristic. Normally she’d have been perched on a bar stool, on prominent display, chatting to staff and fellow customers alike, but not tonight. She’d been feeling at a low ebb all day, just as if some life force had been sucked out of her by a hungry insect that feeds on emotion rather than blood. Maybe that wasn’t far from the truth. Fucking Lydia Pillay. Miss Perfect, Miss Nosey, Miss Bloody Ethnic Minority. Plus a newly appointed detective sergeant with a reputation for efficiency and a point to prove. No, she, Andrea, should have seen the trouble coming. Too many balls kept in the air for too long. Was her whole life about to go tits up? Well, at least she had tits. Not like that skinny Asian bitch, with her boy’s body.