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

  Ali said, ‘Tell us about Freya Blewitt.’

  Grenville stiffened a little. ‘She was my half-sister. She died.’

  ‘Yes, from an adverse drug reaction. Were you aware that she took drugs?’

  ‘No. We didn’t live in the same household or have a relationship. Why are you asking me about Freya?’

  Ali rocked forward in his chair. ‘We believe that Freya was mixing with Eugene Warren and also with Henry Kilgore. They might have had a connection to her death.’

  ‘I’ve never heard that. Do you mean they gave her drugs?’

  Siv didn’t respond but showed Grenville a copy of the note they’d found at the back of the textbook in Kilgore’s flat. ‘Do you recognise this? It’s to Henry Kilgore, issuing a warning to his friend. It has the initials “GG”. DC Patrick Hill rang you about it.’

  He half smiled. ‘Gosh, yes. I explained to DC Hill that I gave it to Henry Kilgore. That seems such a long time ago. Where on earth did you find it?’

  ‘In his possessions. I’d like you to explain again what it’s about.’

  Grenville traced a fingertip across the note. ‘It’s about Teagan. I’d seen her terribly upset a couple of times when Warren had behaved badly or stood her up. She was worth ten of him anyway, and I’d told her he’d mess her about. But she was taken with him, so, of course, she ignored me. I’d warned Warren to treat her right and he’d laughed in my face. Then I saw him on the beach with that other girl. Teagan dropped him, thank goodness, but it took her a week of agonising to tell him. I was furious with Warren. I wrote the note just before Teagan ended it, to warn him off.’

  ‘Why give it to Kilgore and not to Warren?’

  ‘There was no point in talking to Warren. He was such a weasel. Kilgore was basically a decent bloke. I’d sailed with him once or twice in the town regatta. He hung out with Warren, and I reckoned he might have some influence on him.’

  It sounded reasonable, but Siv wasn’t convinced. ‘The way it’s written, it could be referring to Teagan or Freya, or maybe both of them.’

  Grenville’s expression darkened. ‘I don’t understand you. I told you, I had no idea that Freya was mixed up with Warren. Why do you keep asking me about her?’

  ‘She’s relevant to our investigation and you were related,’ Ali said sternly.

  Grenville squared his shoulders. ‘Let me make something clear here. I didn’t even know that Freya existed until I was in my teens, and she wasn’t aware of Teagan and me. Teagan was a nosey parker with a dramatic streak, always poking about in other people’s stuff. I learned to keep anything personal locked away. She was going through our dad’s things one day and found a letter that Julie Blewitt had sent to him. It talked about Freya. Teagan produced the letter over dinner with one of her theatrical flourishes, and my dad admitted reluctantly that we had a half-sister. That was quite a meal. He told us that he’d had a brief affair with her mother. Our mum knew about Freya, but there was no contact. When my dad confessed, it was one of the conditions my mum laid down.’

  Ali asked, ‘What ages were Teagan and Freya at that point?’

  ‘Teagan was thirteen, Freya was twelve. My dad was clearly a busy man when they were conceived.’

  ‘What happened then? Did you meet Freya?’

  ‘Just once. We sat in a café with our fathers — our dad and Freya’s step-dad. It was horribly awkward. Freya was a dull, shy sort of girl. She seemed bewildered and a bit nondescript. We didn’t have anything in common and I couldn’t think what to say. Teagan chatted on. She’s never short on conversation, but Freya hardly said a word. That was it. We were told that there wouldn’t be any more meetings, and that Freya had been upset and didn’t want to see us again. I’ve no idea if that was true — it was probably more that our mothers didn’t want the families linked. Don’t ask me why. I suppose there were wounded feelings. I was relieved. I didn’t want to repeat the experience in the café. I had a sister and didn’t need another. When we heard that Freya had died, it didn’t really affect us. I hope that doesn’t sound insensitive.’

  ‘It sounds very strange,’ Ali told him. ‘You and Teagan never saw Freya again?’

  ‘I didn’t and I doubt that Teagan did. Our paths didn’t cross, and the Blewitts lived on the other side of town. All Teagan said after that meeting in the café was that Freya was a drip.’

  If he wasn’t telling the truth, he was an accomplished liar. Siv showed him the photo of Freya in the strawberry-blonde wig.

  ‘Your half-sister went through a phase of wearing wigs. Could she have been the girl you saw on the beach with Warren?’

  ‘I suppose . . . Where did you get this photo?’

  ‘From Freya’s mum. Given that Leah Steele wasn’t with Warren, he might have found it amusing to swap between one sister and another. Are you sure you didn’t realise that it was Freya that evening?’

  He said angrily, ‘Of course I didn’t! I wouldn’t have kept quiet about that. If it’s true, Warren was even more of a shit than I thought.’ He stared again at the photo and then handed it back.

  Siv asked, ‘Can I confirm that you were on your own on the night of the twentieth of January? That’s what you told DC Hill.’

  ‘Let me check.’ He picked up his phone. ‘I had a work appointment in Bognor Regis. I got back here about half seven, had a meal and dealt with emails. I didn’t go out again.’

  ‘Can anyone verify that?’

  ‘I live alone.’ His phone vibrated and he checked it. ‘Sorry, I’ll have to answer this email. I’ve a busy day, I really must get on. I can’t tell you anything about these two murders, or Freya’s death. I wish you well with your investigation.’

  ‘He’s not the sentimental type,’ Ali said in the car. He took a packet of pecan nuts from his pocket. ‘Want some?’

  ‘Please.’

  He tipped some nuts into Siv’s open hand. ‘Should we have asked for a DNA sample?’

  ‘What’s the point? The only DNA we have for a match is from Saffie. Her back-scratching story rings true.’ She wiped condensation from the windscreen with her glove. ‘I couldn’t find any obvious holes in what Grenville told us. We’ve got a number of people without confirmed alibis, but I just can’t see that any of them have a strong enough motive for murdering these two men.’

  ‘Let’s head back to the station and go through everything again,’ Ali suggested.

  ‘That’s the only plan I can come up with. Give me some more nuts.’

  Her phone rang as she was chewing. It was Julie Blewitt.

  ‘Inspector, it occurred to me that I should get in touch, because you and your colleagues seem interested in Freya. I told DC Hill about her biological father.’

  ‘That’s right. We’ve just spoken to Gray Grenville and he gave us more background. He said that he and his sister only met Freya once, in a café.’

  ‘Well . . . that’s it, you see. Freya told me that Teagan Grenville met up with her a couple of times after that. She warned Freya not to tell anyone, because it would cause trouble. Then Teagan seemed to have got bored and she told Freya there was no point in meeting. Freya was upset by that and confided in me. As an only child, she liked the idea of having siblings. She was rather taken with Teagan, who was a year older and obviously more mature and into clothes and make-up. The secret meetings had been fun.’

  ‘What did you do when Freya told you?’

  ‘Nothing. I was annoyed with Teagan Grenville and I didn’t like seeing my daughter upset, but to be honest, I was glad. We were getting on fine without the Grenvilles in our lives, and I preferred it to stay that way.’

  Siv thanked her for the information and relayed it to Ali. ‘Teagan Grenville’s a piece of work. I wonder what else she’s not telling us? Call Patrick and get him to invite her to the station straightaway. No delays or excuses.’

  * * *

  They kept Teagan waiting for half an hour while they had coffee. Siv said that she could kick her heels. Ali offered to lead
on questioning and Siv agreed. When they entered the interview room, Teagan was stabbing a message on her phone with long, glistening red nails. She’d slipped her coat off and wore a grey pleated shirt tucked into a short black skirt, with a leather belt. Her customer service badge hung around her neck.

  She asked, ‘What’s with the delay? I’m supposed to be at work, I’ve left them short-handed.’

  ‘Never mind that and put the phone away,’ Ali told her, yanking out a chair. ‘Now, we’ve been talking to your brother and to Julie Blewitt. Fascinating stuff about your half-sister, Freya. You seem to have been a bit of a troublemaker where she was concerned.’

  Teagan’s false eyelashes swept up and down, and she tossed her hair back. ‘Oh, her. What are you getting at?’

  ‘Tell us how you found out that Freya existed.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I found a letter from her mum to my dad. That’s how it all came out. Then we met her, just once. We didn’t start playing happy families. That’s it. Anyway, what’s she got to do with anything? Is that why you’ve dragged me away from work?’

  ‘I’ve not started yet,’ Ali said. ‘And before you tell any more lies about Freya or anything else, think carefully. It’s a crime to lie to the police.’

  Teagan bit her highly glossed bottom lip. ‘I don’t understand. What are you on about?’

  Ali smacked the table with the palm of his hand. ‘Ah, come on, Teagan. Don’t mess with my head. I’m just out of the hospital and I’m tired. Tell us about your secret meetings with Freya.’

  Teagan’s lashes went into overdrive and she picked at a nail. ‘Who told you about that?’

  Ali laughed. ‘Well, not Freya, obviously. Come on, come on, time’s a- wasting here.’

  Siv said quietly, ‘Just tell us, Teagan. It’s for the best.’

  Backed into a corner, Teagan took a combative stance. ‘What a lot of fuss about nothing! OK, OK, so I saw Freya a couple of times. We met in that café at the harbour after school. I didn’t see why we shouldn’t, just because our parents couldn’t be civilised. I fancied having a sister, but it turned out we didn’t have anything in common. She was a bit boring and hard work. Kept going on about how her mum wouldn’t like us meeting. In the end, I couldn’t be bothered with her.’

  You had to hand it to her for brutal honesty. ‘When did you last see Freya?’ Ali asked.

  ‘Must have been a couple of months after we first met. So like, years ago.’

  ‘Did your brother know that you’d seen her again?’

  ‘No way! He wouldn’t have been interested anyway. It’s ever so hot in here. Can’t you turn the heating down?’

  ‘It has a mind of its own,’ Ali told her.

  ‘Very funny — not,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll tell you what you won’t find funny. It turns out that you and Freya had more in common than you realised. He was called Eugene Warren.’

  ‘Oh, here we go. Not him again! How’d you work that out?’

  Ali said, ‘We believe that Freya was the girl your brother saw with Eugene on the beach. He was cheating on you with your own sibling. He may have had something to do with her death.’

  ‘You’re having me on!’

  ‘Afraid not.’

  Teagan rubbed under her right eye, leaving a tiny smudge of mascara. ‘But that can’t be right. Gray would have recognised Freya.’

  ‘Aye, you’d think so,’ Ali replied, ‘but he hadn’t seen her for a few years. She was older and wearing a wig.’

  Red weals flashed on Teagan’s neck. ‘That complete and utter bastard!’

  Siv got up and opened a window, but only a notch. It seemed the heat was working to their advantage. ‘Now, Teagan, this is important. Did you tell Eugene that Freya was your half-sister?’

  ‘Yeah. I told him all about it, how I found out and everything, but as I said, she turned out to be ever so dull. It gave him a good laugh.’

  ‘More than you knew,’ Siv said.

  Her eyes filled. ‘Now I remember . . . he said that poor, dreary Freya deserved a bit of excitement in her life. I never thought he meant anything by it. Oh God, what a mess.’ She clenched her hands and put them to her chin. ‘Did Eugene give her the drugs?’

  ‘Probably,’ Ali told her. ‘What’s it they say, guv? Careless talk costs lives.’

  Teagan wailed. ‘You can’t blame it on me! I never meant any harm!’ She tapped her nails together fast, making a sound like a clicking insect. ‘Listen, when I spoke to Henry in November, he said he’d seen Eugene, and Eugene said there were things he regretted that he needed to put right. Henry was a bit funny, said Eugene was like a hand grenade waiting to go off.’

  ‘Did Henry say when or where they’d met?’

  ‘No, no details. I should have told you that before, but I didn’t like the sound of any of it. I didn’t want to hear about Eugene.’

  Finally, they were getting somewhere. ‘Eugene sourced his drugs from someone called “The Wheel”. Can you help us with a name?’ Siv asked.

  ‘No, I never had anything to do with all of that. Like I told you, I just smoked a bit of dope with him now and again. I didn’t even like it much. Can I please, please go now?’

  ‘Yes, go on. DS Carlin will show you out,’ Siv told her.

  When Ali came back, Siv put her feet up on a chair. ‘I think the worst Teagan’s guilty of is carelessness and callousness,’ she said.

  ‘Aye. It amused Warren to go after Freya. What a nasty wee shite he was.’

  Siv ran a finger across the fiery radiator. Her brain was cluttered and sluggish. ‘Kilgore’s and Warren’s paths crossed again after so many years, and Kilgore understood that Warren was feeling guilty about Freya’s death. I just have no idea who decided that their fun had to be paid for. I’m going to take a quick lunch break, then let’s meet with Patrick in my office and review. Can I get you anything? I can stop by Gusto.’

  Ali said in a tone of utter misery, ‘I’d love a huge slice of pepperoni pizza with garlic bread and a vanilla bombolone, but I’ve an avocado, walnut and apple salad to relish upstairs.’

  ‘That sounds like brain food, which is very much what we need right now.’

  Chapter 22

  Siv needed to speak to Janis, the museum curator, about her origami exhibition. Heading to the museum, she discovered that Janis was out and not due back for an hour or so. She decided to eat in the museum café and made her way through a plate of fish in a parmesan and herb crust with chunky chips. Poor Ali, with his virtuous salad. If she ate that in this winter season, she’d be hungry again in an hour. While she enjoyed her food, she thumbed idly through the well-stocked information rack on the wall beside her and saw flyers about guided cemetery walks, similar to the one Diane Lacey had given her. She took one down and read it.

  Conducted Tours of Berminster Victorian Cemetery

  By Diane Lacey, BA MA

  Diane is the senior retort technician at Berminster Crematorium. She has a master’s degree in death, religion and culture.

  Tours are on the fourth Tuesday of each month, 14.15–15.30

  Meet at the main cemetery entrance.

  The tour will trace the fascinating history of the oldest part of the cemetery. You will hear about burial customs and some graves of interest, including those of survivors of the Charge of the Light Brigade and the Crimean war, a Victoria Cross hero, burials from both world wars and the influenza epidemic in 1918, as well as many others. Your visit will end at the catacombs.

  Please take care on steps and keep to the paths.

  Please wrap up warm in cold weather.

  Admission: £4

  Except admission was no longer £4. Siv set down her fork with a clatter, the last chip still speared on it. The £4 had a single line through it and someone had written in black ink £5, or £3.50 for senior citizens. The handwriting was familiar. She searched in her bag for the forgotten flyer that Diane had given her. It was scrunched in the side pocket and was printed with the up
dated pricing, so from a more recent batch.

  She abandoned her plate and hurried to the reception desk with the altered flyer. The languid, rake-thin man in his twenties who was on duty grinned at her.

  ‘Hi, I’ve heard of you. I’m Albie Bailey. We’re really looking forward to your contribution to the exhibition.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d like to ask you about this flyer. Someone’s corrected the admission price by hand.’

  He cultivated an absent-minded professor look, round tortoiseshell glasses, flannel shirt, tweedy jacket with elbow patches and a wispy beard. He said cheerfully, ‘Oh yes, that was me. Diane phoned and asked if we’d do it. She’d just had a load printed when the council told her she needed to hike the price and include a concession for older people. She didn’t want to waste lots of paper, so I agreed to alter them. She does free talks for us here, so I was happy to return the favour. I did it over a couple of days. Boring, but we have to respect the environment, right?’

  ‘Of course.’ Siv returned his artless smile. He was around the right age to have been part of Warren and Kilgore’s world. ‘I need to speak to you as a police officer. Can we go somewhere private? This is urgent.’

  He stepped back. ‘Oh, crumbs. Hold on, I’ll need to get someone to cover the desk.’

  He dithered around for a couple of minutes and at last found a colleague. They met in a windowless back office. Bailey switched the strip light on. It buzzed and flickered. He had a dreamy air and seemed puzzled. He pulled the one chair out for Siv and perched against metal shelves stacked with labelled boxes.

  ‘This is a bit weird,’ he said. ‘What’s the urgency?’

  ‘Mr Bailey, I’m investigating the murders of two men, Eugene Warren and Henry Kilgore. Did you know them?’

  ‘I knew Henry. We were in the same cricket team for a while. I’ve seen the news about both of them being murdered.’

  ‘Did you attend Fulbrook Upper School?’

  ‘No, I went to Halse Grange.’

  ‘OK. This is your handwriting on this flyer. You altered a batch of them for Diane Lacey.’