MURDER IN MALLOW COTTAGE an addictive crime thriller with a twist you won’t see coming (Detective Inspector Siv Drummond Book 3)

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  ‘I can imagine.’

  Keyes had a scrape of stubble on his chin and he rubbed it. His hands were veined and cold. He needed the gloves to match his hat and scarf.

  ‘Warren was putting the key in the key safe at the side of the house. It struck me as a bit odd, because they were so young and she was a local lass, so she’d hardly be renting somewhere. I’ve always been a postie, and you get to be alert to anything unusual, particularly places where old folk live. I’ve had a couple of instances where I’ve noticed curtains not drawn or lights left on, and it’s turned out someone’s been taken ill. So, I asked them if they were staying there, if they had the owner’s permission.’ He rubbed his hands together.

  ‘How did Warren respond when you questioned him?’

  ‘He was very rude, I recall. Told me to mind my own business and get on with my job or he might contact the Queen and tell her the Royal Mail was being abused. The girl said nothing. I suppose she was embarrassed. I said something like, he should mind his manners, and he laughed and told me to eff off. Then they walked away. My son was in the van. He heard Warren using foul language and he wanted to have it out with him, but I told him not to get involved.’

  ‘What was the girl’s name?’

  ‘She was called Freya. I don’t recall her surname. Sadly, she died that year. Drugs, I believe.’

  Freya? Siv’s day lifted. Was she the missing link after all? There it was, a significant connection between the murdered men, the dead girl and Mallow Cottage. ‘Thank you so much, Mr Keyes. Can I take your details, in case we need to come back to you?’

  He gave her his address and number. ‘Have I helped at all?’

  ‘Oh yes, definitely.’

  ‘Better than being a hindrance, anyway. I’m sure you get plenty of time- wasters.’

  She smiled at him. ‘You’re certainly not one of those. What’s the logo on your hat and scarf?’

  ‘Queen of the South, my football team back in Dumfries. Usually called the Doonhamers. They play in the Scottish Championship. Whenever I can, I go up there to cheer them on.’

  ‘You’d better get on now, before you get chilled. Your hands are frozen.’

  ‘You’ve heard the saying — cold hands, warm heart.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll head home now and have a drop of soup. Have a good day, Inspector.’

  Back at the station, Siv updated the incident board and then sat studying it. Freya Blewitt had been at Mallow Cottage with Warren, and probably in the cemetery with him and Kilgore. Kilgore must have given Warren the code to the key safe at the cottage. Surely, Kilgore and Warren had been with Freya that night she took the Ecstasy. They’d panicked when she became ill and left her near the hospital. That’s what the second message on the brochure had been about: Funny how fun suddenly isn’t funny. The two men had been summoned or drawn back to Mallow Cottage a week ago because of Freya’s death. The central question was, who else had known about that terrible event and why wait more than ten years before exacting punishment?

  She kept returning to the belief that Bertie Greene must be keeping back information. The way he was acting, something wasn’t adding up. His weasel tactics, the way he tried to say as little as possible. She went back to his file, reading through each page slowly. Then she clicked her fingers, as she came upon a name. Ian Keyes. He was the prisoner who’d been Greene’s downfall. Keyes, that was the surname of the surprise witness who’d interrupted her al fresco lunch. Could they be related?

  She rang the prison and confirmed that yes, Ian Keyes was the only son of Mr Jock Keyes, who was named as his next of kin. That meant it had been Ian Keyes in the van with his dad that day. It also meant he’d witnessed the incident when Warren and Freya Blewitt were leaving Mallow Cottage. Maybe he’d written on the brochures. She urgently requested an emailed sample of Keyes’ handwriting.

  Time to lean on Greene again. The threads were all starting to come together, she could feel it. She found Patrick, brought him up to speed and told him to bring Greene in.

  * * *

  Greene brought a pungent whiff of curry to the interview room.

  ‘I was in the middle of making a chicken madras,’ he complained.

  Siv said, ‘Nice to have time for cooking, isn’t it, DC Hill?’ She’d instructed Patrick that she needed a pacey, pressurised interview, the kind that Ali easily raised his game for. She hoped Patrick was up to it too.

  ‘Very nice,’ Patrick agreed, unsmiling. ‘Wish we did, but we’re too busy trying to solve two murders.’

  Greene looked from Patrick to her uncertainly. ‘Why do you need to see me again? This is the third time.’

  Siv said, ‘Tedious, isn’t it? Of course, if you’d told us the truth the first, or even the second time, we wouldn’t need to keep questioning you.’

  ‘Who says I’m not telling the truth?’

  ‘I do,’ she snapped. ‘If you keep pushing your luck, I’ll arrest you. You’re on borrowed time after your previous lies, so don’t tempt me.’

  He asked quickly, ‘Arrest me? What for?’

  ‘Wasting police time, for starters. I’m tired of your evasions. You need to get real, Mr Greene. There’s a lot riding on this interview for you.’

  ‘You’ve no idea how much,’ Patrick added. ‘That’s why we double-checked if you wanted a solicitor.’

  At that, Greene rubbed his hands on his knees and blinked rapidly. ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘You knew Freya Blewitt,’ Siv stated.

  Greene licked his lips. ‘Yes. B–back when we were teenagers.’

  ‘And you were aware she went out with Eugene Warren.’

  ‘Eugene told me one time.’

  ‘She died. What can you tell me about that?’

  ‘Nothing, honestly.’

  Siv shook her head. ‘Not good enough. Let’s try, what did you suspect when you heard about her death? Clock’s ticking.’

  ‘I . . . I wondered back then if maybe Eugene or Henry had something to do with it.’

  ‘Yet you didn’t say anything.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to point a finger.’

  ‘You told me that they only smoked dope. Freya took Ecstasy.’

  ‘That’s all I took when I was with them, just dope, honestly.’

  ‘Honestly,’ she mocked. ‘Just because you keep saying the word like a mantra doesn’t mean you are honest. You said, “back then”. Did Eugene Warren talk about Freya when he visited you in prison, having his little trip down memory lane?’

  Greene hesitated. ‘Yeah. He told me that he and Henry were with her at Mallow Cottage that night. They had some Ecstasy tabs. Freya was fine one minute, then she collapsed. They put her in Henry’s car and left her by the hospital. He and Henry were amazed they’d got away with it. But Eugene said it had played on his mind ever since, and the memory got worse instead of better. Tormented him. He was guilt-ridden. It was like he wanted to make up for it in some way, but he couldn’t work out how.’

  Siv wanted to applaud. Finally, concrete, nailed-down information. Maybe that was why Warren had been drawn to Lockwood Reservoir, a place to quietly end his life. End all the torment over an innocent girl’s needless death.

  ‘And you still didn’t say anything,’ Siv probed. ‘Her parents still don’t understand what happened to their daughter that evening.’

  ‘I had enough on my plate,’ Greene muttered.

  ‘Was there anyone else with them that night at Mallow Cottage?’

  ‘Just the three of them.’

  Siv laughed. ‘Why should I believe that you weren’t there? Those three are dead, so that’s an easy fib for a practised liar like you.’

  Greene was sweating. ‘I wasn’t. Like I told you before, I didn’t actually mix that much with Henry and Eugene.’

  Patrick leaned forward. ‘You’d have liked to though, wouldn’t you? We’ve been told you were a bit of a hanger-on. They didn’t have much time for you, was the truth of it.’

  Greene r
eddened and cast his eyes down.

  Nicely done.

  ‘Ian Keyes. Tell us about him,’ Siv said briskly.

  It was the briefest of tells, but the slight widening of his eyes and the faltering gaze told Siv everything she needed to know. It was this name he’d been dreading, not Freya Blewitt’s.

  ‘He . . . he’s in prison.’

  ‘Yes. He’s one of the reasons why you ended up in prison, correct?’

  ‘Yeah. You can read all the details.’

  Patrick said, ‘We have. He had you over a barrel and threatened you with exposure about failing to report finding a mobile phone. Truth is, that was only half the story, right? I bet he’s still got you where he wants you.’

  Greene squirmed in his seat.

  Siv leaned in. ‘We don’t have all the info, but we’ll dig and we’ll find out. If we need to, we’ll visit Ian Keyes. He won’t like the prospect of any additions to his sentence. Ian Keyes saw Warren and Freya leaving Mallow Cottage one morning, and having that kind of mind, he probably put two and two together when he heard that Freya had died. I’m sure he’s the kind of shrewd man that stores such information away for future use, plays the long game. He found a use for it when you turned up working at HMP Berminster. Keyes knew that you used to knock around with Warren and Kilgore, and no doubt, he was aware of their playing with drugs. Just like him, you’d had your suspicions about how Freya died, yet you’d withheld information about a serious crime. It was just another bit of leverage that Keyes had on you. If you tell us the truth now, we’ll see if we can make things easier for you.’

  Greene said nothing. He wiped his damp forehead. Siv gave a little nod to Patrick.

  ‘Let’s try going through other names and connections we have from back then, Mr Greene, see if anything jogs your memory,’ Patrick said encouragingly. ‘Leah Steele was Freya’s friend, but she’s told us she wasn’t aware of Freya’s relationship with Eugene. Then we have Gray Grenville, Teagan Grenville’s brother, who seems to have been pissed off with Eugene for the way he treated his sister.’

  Greene gulped like a drowning man seeking air. ‘Gray, yeah, Gray Grenville. He’s Freya’s sort of brother!’

  Siv and Patrick exchanged stunned glances.

  ‘Explain “sort of”’, Siv demanded.

  ‘Half-brother or whatever.’ He gripped the table. ‘They had the same dad.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  He mumbled, ‘Eugene told me at school. Thought it was hilarious.’

  At last, something to get our teeth into. Siv hurried on. ‘Back to Ian Keyes. I’m sure you can tell us more about him, now you seem to have found your tongue. You’ll feel better once it’s all out there.’

  Greene laid his arms on the table and rested his face on them. Patrick raised crossed fingers. After a long minute, Greene spoke. He sounded defeated and relieved. ‘OK, but I want three things first.’

  ‘That’s a lot considering how you’ve messed us around, Mr Greene, but try me. I’m in a good mood,’ Siv said.

  ‘A coffee and a solicitor. Also, I said I’d phone my girls tonight. I’d like to make that call.’

  ‘Fine. In the meantime, DC Hill is going to arrest you on suspicion of withholding information.’

  * * *

  Siv reached home after eleven, poured a glass of akvavit and texted Ali.

  Are you awake?

  The answer was immediate.

  Yes, binge watching The Crown.

  She rang him while a bowl of casserole spun in the microwave. ‘We finally nailed Bertie Greene. We have his statement that Warren, Kilgore and Freya Blewitt took Ecstasy at Mallow Cottage and they dumped her by the hospital.’

  ‘Yes!’ Ali whooped.

  ‘Greene spilled the lot, at last.’

  She explained her encounter with Jock Keyes and the hold that his son had over Greene concerning what he’d seen at Mallow Cottage. ‘Ian Keyes also threatened Greene’s kids. Since he was released from jail, Greene has been sending in drugs and phones to Keyes via a maintenance contractor. I hoped that Ian Keyes might turn out to be the writer on the brochures, but his handwriting’s nothing like.’

  ‘Shame. That’d have been a break.’

  ‘Yep. Greene really irritates me, but he’s a sad man. He’d have been in less trouble if he’d contacted us with his suspicions about Freya Blewitt in the first place, but he’s a limited sort of person and Ian Keyes had him backed into a corner. We’ve charged him and he’s in custody at present. But, even better, Greene gave us a gem of information when Patrick mentioned some of the names we’ve pulled together from back then. Hold on, I just need to stick some toast on.’

  ‘Don’t leave me with a cliffhanger,’ Ali pleaded.

  She put two slices of bread in the toaster. ‘Greene told us that Gray Grenville was Freya Blewitt’s half-brother. I checked with Ms Blewitt and she confirmed it. Freya was the result of a brief fling that she had with Grenville’s father. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the child, so when Julie Blewitt married, Freya took her stepfather’s surname.’

  ‘So, hold your horses,’ Ali said. ‘That note we found at Kilgore’s flat might have been about Freya, not Teagan?’

  ‘Exactly.’ She picked up her phone, scrolled to her photo of the note and repeated the message they’d found. ‘“Tell your prick of a friend to leave my sister alone. He thinks he can ignore me and take the piss, but he’ll be sorry if he doesn’t stop fucking about with my family.” If Grenville realised that Warren had moved on from Teagan to Freya, he might have been furious and he might well have suspected who’d been with her when she collapsed.’

  ‘That would mean Grenville lied about who he saw Warren with on the beach.’

  ‘If he’s our killer, he would lie about that.’

  ‘But if he did find out about Freya and Warren,’ Ali said, ‘why wait years to make a move?’

  ‘That’s a good question. But they do say that revenge is a dish best served cold. Maybe we’ll get the answer in the morning. Are you fit to come to Brighton with me tomorrow?’

  ‘Try and stop me. What are you eating?’

  ‘Tuscan bean casserole from Gusto. Toast with lots of butter.’

  Ali groaned. ‘I had fish stew earlier. I’m craving chocolate eclairs now but all I’m allowed is a handful of almonds.’

  ‘And that’s being generous.’ Siv heard Polly call faintly from the background.

  ‘Never mind, eh? You’ll feel virtuous.’

  It was chilly in the wagon, but Siv couldn’t be bothered to light a fire tonight. She downed her food, poured another drink and went to bed with it and her iPad. She plumped the pillows, pulled up the duvet and searched for Gray Grenville. He worked for a fire safety company called Ignis. The only social media hit was Facebook, but his page had scant information and no updates since 2017.

  Warmed through by the akvavit, she lay back and listened to the ripple of the river and the sound of foxes barking. Snug in the warmth of the duvet, she reached a hand out to the cold sheet beside her and realised that she hadn’t thought about Ed for a couple of days. Too busy, no headspace. He’d get it. He’d always understood when she’d been absorbed and distracted by work.

  Night. Sleep tight, she said to him. He didn’t reply.

  Chapter 21

  Gray Grenville had said that he’d be at home, writing reports. He lived on a long, terraced street that sloped down towards the flat, steely sea. The houses were painted in blues, pinks, greens, oranges and greys. A couple were a more mundane magnolia. All had tall chimney pots. Grenville’s was a rosy peach colour with window boxes packed with yellow violas and trailing ivy.

  ‘Very Mediterranean with these colours,’ Ali said to Siv as they parked. ‘Great view.’

  He was cheerful, although he still looked watery around the eyes. On the journey, he’d been full of good intentions about food and lifestyle, stating that he had to stick to the rules of DEP: diet, eating and physical exercise. S
iv had smiled in agreement, although she wasn’t convinced, especially as he’d been finishing a Gitane on his front path when she picked him up.

  Grenville was in navy jeans, a ribbed red sweater and despite the cold, brown flip-flops. He was boyish, with a smooth, fresh complexion and a side parting in his dark brown hair. The living room was on the first floor and they followed him up the hessian-covered stairs. His work desk was stationed by the back window. He seemed businesslike and at ease but offered no refreshments despite their journey.

  ‘I told your colleague, DC Hill, what I could on the phone,’ he said.

  Grenville’s voice was low pitched with a mellow timbre, and the moment he opened his mouth, Siv was struck by the uncanny similarity to Ed’s. It was like he was in the room with her. She struggled with the surprise. Keep it together, Drummond. She cleared her throat and concentrated on the pattern of his sweater.

  ‘We need to clarify a few matters. You told DC Hill that you saw Eugene Warren on the beach in Berminster with a girl. You said it was Leah Steele, because she had strawberry-blonde hair.’

  ‘That’s correct. I knew that Teagan was going out with Warren, so I told her that he was a two-timing sleazeball.’

  ‘Remind me again — how well did you know Warren?’

  ‘Mainly by reputation. He was a troublemaker. I didn’t mix in his company.’

  ‘Were you aware that he took drugs?’

  He said without hesitation, ‘No. But looking back, it wouldn’t surprise me.’

  ‘The thing is, Mr Grenville—‘ Siv looked up at him — ‘Leah Steele has told us that she never associated with Eugene Warren. But rather, we have information that suggests the girl he was with was someone else you knew.’

  Grenville maintained steady eye contact. Not even a flicker. His hands lay relaxed on his knees. ‘All I can say is that I thought it was Leah Steele. I wasn’t that near them and it was in the evening, but I was sure I recognised her hair.’