Kiss Me, Kill Me

by Mullins, Louise

  He retrieves a piece of A4 from the back of his notebook, held between printed pages of damning files copied from the Disclosure and Barring Service. The small print on the lower right-hand corners of each are dated last Tuesday. He pushes the handwritten document across the narrow table and observes my reaction.

  ‘Doesn’t data protection law prevent you from accessing sensitive information about an individual without their permission, or that of the police?’

  ‘Humphrey recently informed a dear friend of his that, “in the event of my death please consider my wife. She’s trying to kill me.” What do you have to say about that?’

  I strongly suspect that Derek is ‘the friend’.

  ‘It’s bullshit.’

  ‘At the very least the Crown Prosecution Service can charge you with identity fraud and bigamy.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You claimed to be someone else to marry another man despite the fact Garrett hasn’t officially been declared dead and won’t be until either you tell the police where to find his body or seven years have passed since he was officially reported to have disappeared and the police consider applying for a death certificate.’

  ‘You have no proof.’

  ‘Gerald told PC Malone he came across your photocard driving licence.’

  ‘He just happened to find it, did he?’

  ‘Where’s Humphrey?’

  ‘Away on business.’

  ‘His passport hasn’t been used to vacate the country for eleven months.’

  I shrug. ‘He told me that he had to go abroad to sort out the contract for a property he sold.’

  ‘He was admitted to Ysbyty Gwynedd Hospital’s A&E department a fortnight ago with a dislocated shoulder after a vehicle collision in Llanberis. The mechanic called Gerald – as he was listed as Humphrey’s next-of-kin – informed him the car had been written off and that it had been released to the insurers for third-party inspection. You’re driving around in Humphrey’s hire car, which means you were in Snowdonia with him when he had the accident.’

  This is my get-out-of-jail-free-card.

  ‘You know I was. We spoke about it during our last dinner party. We went to his holiday cottage for a break. And yes, Humphrey had a car accident. And he did suspect someone of wanting to harm him. He told me. The garage called him while I was driving. I heard half the conversation. Humphrey told me the mechanic said he suspected someone had tampered with his car.’

  He nods. ‘The fuse modulating the ABS had blown and the TCS was switched off. The brakes failed and the wheels lost traction, causing him to crash. But he got medicated, had his arm bandaged up, returned to the cottage in the early hours of the morning via taxi, his hire car was delivered to the cottage at 9 a.m. – you signed for it because he’s right-handed and couldn’t do it himself with his dominant hand in a sling – then he vanished.’ He pauses, narrows his eyes. ‘What did you do to him, Kirsty?’

  ‘I didn’t d—’

  ‘Where did you kill him?’

  ‘I didn’t k—’

  ‘You wanted him out of the way.’

  The door handle comes down. I glance over to it.

  ‘So you could continue screwing around with my wife.’

  Derek knows about me and Kim.

  ‘Why would you want to represent me if you think that?’

  ‘I was instructed to.’

  By Kim no doubt, which means she must care for me as much as I do her.

  I’m still gawping at him when a casually dressed man appears in the doorway.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Jones,’ he says, entering the room.

  DS Jones tells me to sit, take a breather, and asks if I’d like a hot drink.

  I point to Derek. ‘Only if I can throw it at that prick!’

  ‘No, you can’t. And if you threaten him or anyone else a second time, I’ll add affray to your charges.’

  I snap my mouth shut so fast I bite the inside of one cheek. Though I’m too numb with anger to feel it I can taste the metallic tang of blood.

  ‘Are you ready to answer our questions?’

  ‘Get him out of here,’ I say through gritted teeth.

  ‘Do you wish to seek alternative legal representation?’

  ‘Yes. Call his wife, Kim.’

  ‘She’s no longer practising,’ says Derek.

  I turn to DS Jones. ‘It’s a shame she gave up a career in law, but I suppose she must be grateful to her husband for providing her with, quote unquote, an allowance.’

  ‘You’re entitled to legal counsel from someone still registered with the Solicitors Regulation Authority,’ says Derek, ignoring my sarcastic remark.

  I aim my words at the detective. ‘I’ll represent myself.’

  Derek snickers and I shoot him a venomous look.

  He moves towards the door. ‘Then on your head be it.’

  DI LOCKE

  Now

  I re-read the transcript of the interview Jones conducted with Kirsty this morning. There’s nothing within it that screams guilty, but…

  We have a possible motive for her wanting rid of her first husband, Garrett. The original team proposed a case against Kirsty for the false imprisonment of her children to avoid them being removed from her care. Though that doesn’t explain why she’d want to kill them after going to so much trouble to keep them away from their father. And according to Derek – the legal representative no longer acting as her solicitor who’s now turned character witness for the prosecution – a motive for the murder of her missing husband, Humphrey. Because, he says, she was ‘munching’ his wife, Kim.

  But conjecture is not strong enough to convict, and without forensic proof, we don’t have enough evidence to charge her with Humphrey’s murder as well as Garrett, Alfie and Leo’s, nor the disappearance of her friend, Melanie Driscoll.

  The wind outside my office is howling, and leaves and the occasional bit of bracken pelt the window. Kate knocks on the glass-fronted door. I look up from my computer, smile as she enters the room and drops a coffee on my desk.

  ‘We’re out of sugar,’ she says apologetically, though her eyes suggest the bag hasn’t been replaced due to budget cuts.

  ‘No problem,’ I whisper.

  ‘What’s not a problem?’ comes a voice from the other end of the line I have on speakerphone.

  Kate turns and leaves the office.

  ‘My apologies, I was talking to a colleague.’

  ‘Right, well, you’ve called Ebury & Stott Insurance Limited. Noah speaking. How can I help you?’

  Hopefully, a lot quicker than your automated voice recording service and subsequent music-free hold time of seventeen minutes.

  ‘Detective Inspector Emma Locke. Your website doesn’t appear to have an email address I could have used to request the information I need on a tight timescale.’

  ‘I’m afraid if it’s data protected then I can’t help y—’

  ‘Here’s where I’m at, Noah. I need a one-syllable answer to the question I’m going to pose to you so that I can continue to hold the individual I have in custody, who without forensic evidence to prove they have committed the crime we strongly suspect they have will be released on police bail pending further enquires. And we don’t want that because we believe they are a risk to public safety.’

  Noah checks the legitimacy of my phone call by having a supervisor dial through to the main number the police website publicises while we continue to talk, and three minutes later – a lot sooner than if I’d have scanned and emailed through a warrant or sent a locally based officer from outside the county to hand deliver one to the man – I have the reply I was hoping for.

  ‘Lord Humphrey Eustace Philips’ life insurance policy was renewed prior to the first working day of last month to include his wife, Mrs Bethan Philips, as his sole beneficiary. Although you haven’t specifically asked, I am willing to voluntarily inform you that should Mr Philips die, she stands to inherit a one-off payment of one and a half million pounds. Ho
wever, this amount is subject to inheritance tax.’

  ‘Thank you, Noah. You’ve been very helpful.’

  According to Gov.co.uk Bethan Philips pays a tax rate of 40% on the £1,175,000 inheritance remaining from the £325,000 allowable amount, meaning she’s eligible for approximately £705,000.

  Enough to kill for.

  I’m typing this newfound knowledge up when Jones steps into the office looking smug. He darts a side-eye glance at my monitor. ‘His will was amended last month too. Bethan inherits his estate, which is also worth approximately one point five million quid, give or take.’

  ‘Nice one.’

  It’s a shame it’s not enough to prosecute her with.

  I scan the MG3 where Jones has collated everything that we have on Kirsty so far. ‘I can’t authorise a request to refer with this. We have four bodies unaccounted for.’

  ‘What do you want me to do, find them, dig them up and conduct autopsies on them myself in order to quicken the process?’

  I struggle to disguise the fact I’m unimpressed with his attempt at gallows humour. ‘I want blood. Even trace fibres or DNA isn’t going to suffice in this instance because we expect—’

  ‘Hairs, skin cells and saliva to be distributed between all the individuals who at one time lived with each other, I know,’ he interrupts. ‘I have done this before, Emma.’

  ‘What about the hire car that Kirsty drove here from Llanberis in?’

  ‘It’s clean.’

  ‘Have our North Wales policing division swabbed the E-Class yet?’

  He nods. ‘Her fingerprints aren’t on the fuse-box of the Merc, so we can’t even charge her with vehicle tampering.’

  I direct him to the screen of my monitor, to the photographs taken during the search on the house she shared with Humphrey I’d snap up in a heartbeat if I ever won the lottery.

  ‘Their property is a bombsite. Half the floorboards upstairs have been ripped up and most of the paintings that Gerald says he saw hung on the wall a fortnight ago at their second-to-last soirée are gone. I want to know what she was looking for.’

  MELANIE

  Then

  I didn’t recognise the man who stood on the front step because I hadn’t seen his face before. ‘Mel,’ he said, as if we were old friends being reacquainted.

  I took a step back, groped behind me for something to swing at his head, knock him out with.

  He didn’t need to barge his way into the house, kick the front door shut and trap me after introducing himself. His presence was all that sufficed to know how much danger I was in.

  The fact Garrett was there meant Kirsty and the boys had escaped his clutches. Meaning she must have feared for their lives to betray me as she had. But at least she hadn’t killed her family as the newspaper article had suggested.

  I smelt the vodka on his breath before he gripped my waist like a belt with one of his muscular arms, forcing my spine against his stomach as he led me down the hall and into the kitchen.

  I felt his cock straining against his jeans and stiffen as he pressed his crotch against my arse. I winced and tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he held me firm. Though thankfully he tired quickly of his clothed assault and shoved me off him and into the empty wine cabinet that was built into the wall at the far end of the kitchen, several feet away from the units and the door.

  There was no way out.

  ‘Have you got any booze?’

  He didn’t wait for me to reply before he opened the fridge, the cupboards, and pulled out drawers looking for a hidden bottle I’d assured him wasn’t there.

  ‘You know where Kirsty is,’ he said, matter-of-factly, darting his eyes around the room with increasing desperation. ‘Tell me where she’s taken my kids.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  And I didn’t. But if he didn’t either, that meant they were safe – for now.

  ‘A dishonest whore, how original,’ he said, finding a can of lager that had been hidden behind a large jar of Nescafé parked to the side of the built-in cooker. ‘Who saves one of a four-pack?’ he laughed, opening the can and bringing it to his mouth.

  ‘I really have no idea where they are.’

  Garrett had his back to me a second long enough for me to withdraw a knife from the rack and plunge it into his neck.

  DI LOCKE

  Now

  J. T. Hughes, Humphrey’s accountant, is no less forthcoming than his clients and business associates who all but one refuse to entertain the idea their close and dear friend is gone. And after I’ve spoken to him, I’ve got to contend with Jones’ moodiness.

  ‘You’ve sent me on some wild goose chases in the past, Emma, but scouting the cliffs of Seawall for a corpse during high-tide in winter must be the finest example of an unattainable goal I’ve ever had the displeasure of hoping to execute.’

  I give Jones a look so sharp it hurts my eyes too much to hold it.

  ‘While we’re almost certain we’ll find Humphrey’s decaying remains buried in the garden of his holiday cottage in Snowdonia we have to eliminate the possibility Kirsty told us the truth, and that her husband returned home with her, lied to her about having to go away on business, and instead of booking a plane ticket jumped into the ocean.’

  Protocol.

  Suicide among men is one of the least talked about global crises to date. Yet despite what little attention it gets, alongside heart disease and cancer, it is one of their commonest killers.

  ‘Besides, I thought you could do with a trip to the Welsh countryside, inhale some salt air into your lungs.’

  ‘In golf-ball-sized hail and fifty-mile-an-hour wind?’

  ‘It’s brought colour to your cheeks.’

  ‘My face is red from windburn and numb because it’s minus two degrees out there.’

  ‘Alright, don’t twist your knickers over it. I’ve had a rather productive morning while you’ve been working outbound. It’s amazing how much can be done in this office when you’re not gracing us with your noisy tea slurping or pen-over-desk rolling.’

  He has the decency not to disagree with me about his annoying habits. Though he can’t help but remark on the fact I’m usually chewing nicotine gum and like to snap it against my teeth to annoy him.

  He takes a chair from an unmanned desk and brings it round to dump beside mine.

  ‘Before Humphrey bought and sold property developments, scammed people out of their savings for timeshare investments and dubious pyramid schemes he conducted business with some corrupt individuals. Some of whom dabbled in illegal enterprises.’

  Jones’ eyes sparkle.

  ‘One of them washed money through his mate’s car valeting business and received a percentage of commission for the risk. But money laundering is only as lucrative as you can afford for it to be, unless of course it’s procured through much more profitable means, so he also dabbled in unsecured loans. He’s got a vast criminal record and has spent a considerable amount of his life residing at various properties owned by Her Majesty’s Pleasure, making new friends to play pool with. One of whom has an auntie who suffers from bipolar disorder and has the tendency to purchase things on impulse, and whom, during one of her manic episodes decided to buy from one Lord Humphrey Eustace Philips some company shares which Humphrey sold knowing they would make a loss as they had already dropped to half their worth in just under a day. As you can imagine the woman’s husband was not impressed when he learned his wife had lost their entire savings and the man who’d taken their twenty-thousand pounds retirement fund had scarpered to Snowdonia with his wife to holiday on their money.’

  ‘He would have wanted payback,’ says Jones.

  ‘It’s possible Humphrey had a lot of enemies. But this one particular individual has a nephew with a much worse criminal record.’

  ‘Offences such as?’

  ‘Armed robbery and GBH.’

  ‘That could be why those floorboards got lifted and the manor was left in disarray,’ says Jones.

/>   ‘Kirsty was looking for something before her arrest. I want you to have a word with Patrick Daly and find out why his vehicle has been flagged up on ANPR cameras four times within four miles of the Goldcliff property in the past two days.’

  Jones’ eyes widen at the name. ‘Paddy Daly?’

  Ex-heavyweight, gangster and one of HMP Cardiff’s most regular residents since he lost his boxing licence for breaking the jaw of a potential opponent before getting in the ring with him.

  ‘That’s right. It was Paddy’s auntie whom Humphrey scammed, so you don’t need me to tell you how unlikely it is we’re going to find Humphrey’s body, nor how likely it is that Paddy is responsible for Humphrey’s disappearance.’

  Although it’s still possible Kirsty killed him, it means we now have two people with a motive to want Humphrey dead and both had the opportunity to take his life. Vincent, Paddy’s uncle. And Paddy himself.

  BETHAN

  Now

  I have two options. Neither of them good.

  If I come clean about Humphrey’s death, the police find his body and a post-mortem confirms it was accidental, I face a minimum custodial sentence of two years in prison: one year for obstructing a coroner and another for preventing the lawful and decent burial of a body. If they don’t find him, they’ll sentence me to twenty-five years in prison for his murder. I’ll be eligible for parole at the age of forty-eight. Unless I plead guilty to voluntary manslaughter, using loss of control as my defence, the maximum penalty for which is ten years. An unlikely conviction because, before Humphrey fell and hit his head twice and I attempted to conceal his body, I tampered with his car, which makes his death appear premeditated.

  Karmic law is working against me to ensure I cannot prove my innocence; I covered all bases to avoid getting caught when killing my husband only for him to die in an accident. An event he appears to have foreseen because he never submitted the prenup and he told Derek he thought I was trying to kill him. I suspect Humphrey did so after finding the driving licence that contains the photograph of me that I got Danny to sign to authorise, beside Kirsty’s name, date of birth and address, which I threw in the refuse bin a month ago during a spring clean, intending to shed myself of the weight of my old skins, but somehow Gerald found then showed Humphrey. I believe Gerald, suspecting I was cheating on his friend and having somehow recently discovered it was with Derek’s wife, then convinced Humphrey I intended to kill him to claim his life insurance policy, and insisted Humphrey name me as the sole inheritor of his possessions in case anything happened to him, as the police would then consider me a suspect in the event of his death. I’d bet my favourite pair of Louboutin’s Gerald also kept hold of the driving licence for safekeeping and was only too eager to produce it to the detectives when, after he deliberately named me as Kirsty to PC Malone, they began making enquiries into her family’s disappearance.