by Nell Grey
Trust Me
Nell Grey
Copyright © 2020 Nell Grey
Trust Me
When your whole world crumbles
The person you trust least is yourself
All the characters in this book are formulated solely from the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. All incidents are pure invention and no characters or events have been inspired by individuals known or unknown to the author.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
Books In This Series
Books By This Author
Praise For Author
CHAPTER 1
---------✸---------
His feet, one slippered and one covered in a grey sock, swayed pendular in the icy January wind that whipped mercilessly around the old three-walled stone barn.
The medical examiner moved methodically, photographing each angle and every detail of the corpse hanging from the ancient pitch-pine beam.
The body.
The stepladder kicked flat below it.
The black rope tied efficiently with a knot, which would later be identified as a double running bowline.
“Any idea on time of death?”
The medical examiner turned to face the detective.
“He’s stiffened up. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say he died twelve, thirteen hours ago. But don’t quote me.”
Detective Ellis Roberts edged himself beneath the eaves; sheltering from the stinging rain, but keeping out of the way of forensics. That would make it seven or eight o’clock last night.
“Anything else?”
“Ligature marks. Probably a fractured hyoid and thyroid. I’ll need to confirm that when I get him on the slab.”
Ellis could see inside the building now. The daylight lit up the shadowy corners that lay beyond the weak halo of the naked light bulb, hanging like the body from the beam.
In a couple of months, this shed would be full of new life. Nursing ewes and new-born lambs. This morning though, there was only death here. Empty pens and a swinging man.
The face was reddened and bloated. The eyes bulged from the pressure of the drop and the snapping of the neck.
“Definitely suicide, then?”
The medical examiner pointed with his camera towards the toppled stepladder below the corpse, alongside which the other slipper lay.
“Looks that way.”
Ellis studied the rocking body. This was the third farmer suicide he’d seen in as many years. At least this one hadn’t decided to splatter his brains across the shed. Those were the worst.
“You talked to the Missus yet?”
Ellis snapped back to attention.
“Uh… briefly. Diane from Family Liaison’s with her.”
The wife had raised the alarm at around six a.m.
“Thought he’d be downstairs sleeping it off on the sofa after coming back from The Cross Keys. Instead, she found him in here. Looks like he never made it there, after all.”
“If he was off to the pub, why was he in his slippers?”
The medic raised an eyebrow.
“And why check the outbuildings in the dark? Did she suspect that he might’ve topped himself?”
He paused, and Ellis chewed his lip thoughtfully.
“Hey, you’re the detective, I just cut ‘em open. Is there a note?”
“No. Nothing so far.”
◆◆◆
Inside the farmhouse, Ellis and Diane sat across the kitchen table from Maureen, wife of Glyn Evans, the deceased.
She looked drawn, the detective thought. There wasn’t much of her, and her face had a pearl-like translucence, no doubt from the shock.
Sat alongside her was a male, who Ellis estimated to be around thirty, and who he quickly established wasn’t Maureen’s son. Six foot, lean and muscular. He looked like he could handle himself.
“I called Jac after phoning you.”
She stuffed the crumpled tissue she was holding, up the sleeve of her cardigan.
“He’s my nearest neighbour.”
“I’m renting the farm,” he added by way of introduction.
The detective jotted it down. Jac Jones lived in the white cottage, around a half a mile away in the direction of the pub.
“Where were you last night?”
“In The Cross Keys.”
“All evening?”
“Pretty much. Played pool with a couple of the boys.”
He’d check that later.
“Was Glyn there?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
Ellis studied Jac steadily.
“Certain.”
“Do you still need me, or can I get on? I’ve some silage to put out for the sheep in the top fields.”
“If we need you, we’ll be in touch. Got a mobile?”
“Yes, but you’re best calling the landline. There’s no signal around here. If I’m not in, leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
He gave the detective both of his numbers, then touched Maureen’s hand.
“I’ll be back ‘round in a bit. See how things are.”
“He’s a good lad,” she mouthed to Diane, the family liaison officer after he’d disappeared to the porch to put on his boots.
She fished out the tissue from her cuff and dabbed away another tear.
The detective’s eyes strayed towards the porch.
“‘Scuse me a sec.”
Thankfully, the rain had stopped, but the bitter winter wind still sliced into his cheeks as he raced onto the yard.
“Hold up!”
Jac turned around as Ellis jogged over to him.
“Detective?”
Ellis shivered. In his rush, he’d left his coat on the chair.
“Glyn?” he asked, catching his breath.
“D’you think he was depressed?”
“You mean, were there any signs he’d do this?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Everyone knows he’s gotta…,” Jac corrected himself, “He had a problem with the drink.”
Ellis noted the slight emotional crack in his voice.
“That’s why I’m renting the land, it had gotten too much for him… But, yeah, I’d say he had his ups and downs. Maureen can tell you more. She was a nurse.”
Ellis scribbled it down. He’d check out Glyn’s medical records later.
“Anything else? Money worries?... Marriage issues?”
Jac coughed.
“I dunno.”
“And Glyn definitely wasn’t in The Cross Keys last night?”
“No. I told you.”
“D’you think it’s odd that he w
as wearing his slippers to go to the shed?”
“It’s bloody odd, if ya ask me, that he’s in there hanging off a beam.”
“They’ve taken him down now.”
Jac nodded grimly.
“Any other next of kin, apart from his wife?”
Jac looked down at the concrete.
“There’s a daughter. Annie.”
Ellis got out his notepad and scrawled down her name.
“Where’s she?”
“London.”
◆◆◆
“Stace, tell me I’m not being a total fool.”
We’ve slipped out to a popular Italian coffee shop near the office for a morning catch-up. Tongue-in-cheek, I call it our weekly one-to-one, as I’m technically Stacey’s line manager. But that doesn’t get in the way of us being mates.
She’s been there for me through thick and thin since I got back from New York. We meet up on the weekends, go shopping or out for drinks, the usual stuff.
She contemplates my dilemma, spooning the top off her cappuccino.
“The best bit,” she grins, savouring the chocolate-sprinkled froth. “You were a fool, Annie, but honestly, hun, you’re doing the right thing now.”
“Hmm, you’re probably right.”
“Definitely. Remember last week, yeah?”
Thinking about that again makes me cringe.
I was convinced that everyone in the restaurant was pitying me as I played with my phone for a whole hour, until he finally answered my numerous texts to tell me he wasn’t coming.
“But, what about New York? It was so much fun at the start.”
Stacey rolls her eyes at me.
“Don’t give me all that New York rom-com crap. Ice-skating in Central Park, listening to jazz, eating cream-cheese-bagels, bollocks.”
She yawns.
“It was exciting ‘cos Seb breezed in from the London office for a couple of days, took you out and banged you senseless… Honey, he was on a mini-break from his marriage, and you were his New York office fling.”
“Sounds kinda sleazy when you put it like that. But it wasn’t, Stace, honest.”
The company we work for has a strict ‘no relationships’ policy, and there is no doubt that this has added to our affair. The thrill of forbidden fruit.
“Sorry if I’m being a bit brutal.”
She smiles at me apologetically.
“D’you love him, Annie?”
That was quite a question.
“No.”
The answer flies out of my mouth without hesitation or consideration. The truth.
“I was smitten, but I was never in love. I thought he was cool… He wore good clothes.”
“As do lots of men who aren’t married, and who isn’t now your line manager.”
I drain my espresso.
“Argh… Moving back to London, it’s made everything so complicated.”
“At least, now you see it as it really is.”
“Yeah… That he’s a married man and I’m his booty call, you mean?”
I can’t begin to tell her how awkward it is working with him every day.
I hide my head in my hands.
“Stace, I need to end it. Before someone finds out.”
“They won’t. Trust me, babe. Go call him.”
“What? Right now?”
“If not now, when will you?”
Blowing out a deep breath, I realise she’s right.
“Crap! My phone’s on five percent battery.”
“Just do it, alright?”
“Okay!”
I roll my eyes at her for being so pushy.
“I’m going outside so you can’t eavesdrop or pull faces at me.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll actually be doing some work. I’ve got our monthly customer survey stats for you to look at, when you get back.”
I squeeze out from our table, and Stacey produces a paper report from her bag.
“We can add it to this meeting’s agenda.”
I push past queuing customers to the pavement outside, where I make the call.
“Annie?”
Seb’s got a phone especially for me. And I can tell immediately, from the curt way he says my name, that he’s irritated that I’ve called him.
“Is this important? I’m going into the boardroom in ten.”
“It is actually, Seb.”
I’m trying not to lose my nerve.
“I’m sorry, but it’s over between us.”
The phone line is silent for a second or two.
“Just like that? Look, Annie, let’s discuss this later, after work? We could go for a drink? Or, how about we meet up in the archive room again?”
Very classy.
I shudder with the realisation that I’m not even worth a hotel room, these days.
I steel myself.
“No, Seb. We’re through.”
Stace studies my face as I squeeze to sit down at our table.
“It’s over.”
CHAPTER 2
---------✸---------
Diane was on the farmhouse telephone, trying to get family liaison officers in London to pay the daughter a visit. This Annie wasn’t answering her mobile.
The body had been removed, and Detective Roberts had gone. She’d stay another hour and then go too, she decided, as she returned to the kitchen.
The wife was doing fine; considering. As a nurse, she'd no doubt seen a dead body or two. But still, she couldn’t imagine how terrible it must have been, to find him hanging like that.
She was still ghostly pale.
“Do you have anyone who can stay with you tonight?”
“Annie’ll be coming home soon.”
“Hmm… D’you have a sister, or a friend who could stay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
The hard edge in her voice told Diane not to push it.
“Alright. But, I’m giving you my number. Call me anytime. I mean it. Day or night.”
The officer handed her a business card.
“Maureen?”
Diane watched as Mrs Evans got up from her chair to greet another young man who’d strolled into the kitchen without knocking.
“Sion.”
“Jac told me. I’m sorry for your loss.”
He embraced the grieving widow, holding on to her when she let out a loud sob.
“Sorry.”
“Hey, it’s okay.”
She dabbed at her face with her tatty tissue, recovering her composure.
“He’d been threatening to do it for years. But still, I’m not gonna lie, Sion. When I saw him hanging there, it was still a terrible shock, it was.”
She had told the detective all about her husband’s manic depression. Apparently, she’d talked him out of it before. Ellis had taken down the details of his condition and medication. They’d be checking that now, back at the station.
Maureen started moving towards the kettle.
“Cup of tea?”
Sion stepped around her and guided her back towards the chairs.
“No. No. You go sit down. I’ll do it.”
He pointed to her mug, “Wanna fresh one?”
“Oh, yes please, love.”
Who was this other young man to Mrs Evans, Diane wondered?
He was about the same age as the other fellow, Jac, and had a similar confident air about him.
He waved a mug at Diane and she nodded back.
“Bet you get through some tea, in your job?” he said casually.
“Occupational hazard. But I’ve made a pact with myself never to touch the biscuits.”
“You still haven’t got hold of Annie yet?” Maureen cut in.
“No. The officers are going over to her workplace and her flat. There’s no answer on her mobile.”
“I’m not sure I can tell her.”
Maureen’s voice cracked.
Diane went over, sat beside her and held her hand as Maureen whimpered quietly, fighting back her tears.
“Hey, that’s perfectly understandable. Would you like anyone else from the family to call her?”
Sion handed Maureen a box of tissues.
She took a fresh one and blew her nose.
“What about Jac?”
“What about me?”
Jac stood in the kitchen door jamb with a casserole dish in his hand.
“For your tea,” he said, placing it on the worktop near the stove. “It’s still frozen.”
Maureen stared uncertainly at him.
“Jac, would you mind calling Annie for me? The police haven’t had any luck so far.”
“She’s not answering her phone,” Diane chipped in. “Can you keep trying through the day? Or try social media? Or text?”
“I dunno if she’ll speak to me.”
It had been twelve years. She hated his guts. But, who else was there?
He rubbed his hand across his stubbled chin and exhaled.
“Give me her number.”
Maureen rose and shuffled over to the antique dresser drawer. Opening it, she took out a large address book and wrote Annie’s mobile number carefully on a scrap of recycled envelope.
Her eyes teared up again as she handed it to him.
“Tell her to come home, Jac.”
He nodded solemnly and stored the number safely in his shirt pocket.
Diane looked puzzled as she struggled to work things out.
“So, how exactly do you two lads know each other?”
It was a thinly disguised cop question.
“From our army days,” Sion answered. “I’m a contractor now.”
“Where?”
“All over the place.”
“Doin’ what?”
“Computer networks. IT security, mainly.”
Sion gave her a disarming smile.
“Jac lets me stay at the cottage between jobs. Saves me renting, and this part of the world is heaven for adrenaline junkies like me.”
“Really? What kinda sports d’ya do?”
“Kayaking, mountain biking, coasteering...”
He took in her blank expression.
“Y’know? Jumping off cliffs into the sea for the fun of it.”
Diane pulled a face.
“Not sure that’s my kind of fun. Sounds cold, wet and dangerous to me.”
“He’s a handy man with the plumbing tools, too.”
Maureen pushed a plate of biscuits towards Sion, urging him to take one.