These Little Lies

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  ‘And how about the other committee members? Did they agree with you or with Lauren?’

  ‘There are six of us on the committee and I’d say most of them agreed with me. Lauren could be very persuasive and she worked hard so she was well respected. But I think my lead on our strategy was weightier, given my expertise. Plus I’ve put massive effort into cultivating media outlets to get our message out there, and I’ve built up valuable contacts. Overall, the committee members recognize my background and my CV. We agreed to take a final decision on the issue next week.’

  He hadn’t said and Lauren was only a nursery worker with limited talents but he might as well have. ‘Did Lauren seem worried or upset in any way the last time you saw her?’

  He glanced at her and then back out of the window. ‘Not that I noticed. But I didn’t actually know her that well. I wouldn’t have chosen to socialize with her. She’ll be a real loss to us though. She certainly grafted.’

  Siv wasn’t sure if he’d added that at the end because he’d revealed too much dislike of Lauren. She showed him photos of the child and Matis Rimas but he said that he didn’t recognize them.

  ‘Have you got a car, or do you borrow one?’

  ‘No. I have a licence but I don’t drive. Carbon footprint — I practice what I preach. I cycle or walk around here or take the train.’ He gestured to a fold up bike propped by the door to the stairs.

  She left him, reflecting that he and Lauren seemed to have been polar opposites in terms of personality and style. They must have clashed more than he was willing to acknowledge. She drove away, unsure of what she thought, except that Granger was full of self-importance.

  * * *

  Patrick was driving the lanes around Harvey Seaton’s route. He’d downloaded a photo of him from the country club website to prompt people’s memories. He’d stopped at a couple of farms with no luck, but he’d been thrilled when the woman at Honeywell House had asked him if he knew the detective who was on Twitter. He’d confirmed that it was him, and she’d told him that she thought what he wrote was terrific. It was good to see the police being proactive and getting positive feedback instead of being criticized. He’d got her permission to quote her and left with a swollen head, wishing that the guv could have heard her. In the car, he’d tweeted:

  @DCBerminsterPolice. Thank you to lady @ Honeywell House who’s just told me we’re doing a terrific job. Good to get public support when we’re busy fighting crime.

  #keepingberminstersafe.

  His phone rang. Jerry Wilby, returning his call. He pulled over to take it, nodding as he took notes, feeling increasingly deflated. The man had little more than a vague recollection that didn’t amount to much. Patrick drove on to Halse woods, wishing they had more leads. He wasn’t sure where this case was going with no forensics. His money was on the husband or this Seaton bloke, but it seemed messy. Patrick liked things cut and dried, which was why he preferred working burglaries. Burglars were usually stupid enough to leave DNA or repeat known methods. Or there’d be witnesses, descriptions. Driving around the countryside tracking a bloke on horseback was weird.

  Patrick entered the woods through the main entrance, a pair of tall iron gates that led into a car park with several timber huts, including a warden’s office and toilets at one end. He parked by the warden’s office and knocked on the door. There was no reply and it was locked. One of the windows was covered in notices and posters about the woods: seasonal bird visitors, a pond called Frog Central, the butterfly haven, the sensory garden and various flora and fauna. There was a Minstergreen poster advertising activities over the bank holiday. He walked around the back of the office and stood watching the sun playing on the leaves. He’d never been much of a lover of the great outdoors and disliked getting wet and mucky. When had he last been here? Probably on a school trip, eating soggy sandwiches amid drizzle and wasps and avoiding the boys who liked to find branches to use as weapons. One of the reasons he was wary of Steve Wooton was because he would have been one of those in your face, aggressive boys, jamming sticks in your ribs.

  Hearing a rattling sound, he walked towards it. A woman in jeans, wellies and a denim jacket was moving around a copse of trees, filling bird feeders. He called to her and showed his badge. She stopped and shaded her eyes. She was one of the most attractive women he’d seen in a long time, with long russet hair framing an oval face and a curving mouth.

  ‘I wonder if you can help me, Ms . . .’

  ‘Kitty. Kitty Fairway. I’ll try, DC Hill.’

  ‘Were you here on Monday morning?’

  ‘Yep. I’m the warden.’

  ‘What time did you get here?’

  ‘Around seven. Loads to do at this time of year.’

  ‘Did you see this man? He was riding through the woods around that time.’ He showed her the photo on his phone.

  She scratched her nose. ‘I saw a guy riding up by Bluebell Corner, where the bridleway tracks the edge of the woods. I can’t tell you if it was this man. He was in the distance. Biggish guy, big black horse with hooves like white socks. Reminded me of a cat I had once with white paws.’

  ‘Do you know what time that was?’

  ‘Not exactly. That’s one of the nice things about this job. I don’t have to clock watch. I expect you do.’

  ‘Too right.’ She was flirty, smiling at him. He wondered fleetingly if he might ask her out for a drink, but something was bound to happen at home with Noah and he’d almost inevitably not be able to make it. She’d be pissed off with him before they even got started. That had happened with Lisa Flore a couple of times and she’d finally told him he was a nice bloke but not her type. He smiled back. ‘Rough time, then?’

  ‘Say about half seven. Why are you asking?’

  ‘It’s an ongoing investigation. Sorry, I can’t tell you anything more.’

  She was looking past him and tapped his arm suddenly. She put a finger to her lips and pointed, whispering, ‘Look, over there! A willow tit!’

  He followed her finger and saw a small bird with a white breast and greeny-yellow plumage. It busied itself at a high feeder before fluttering away. He was aware of her soft breathing. She smelled like the woods: fresh and grassy.

  ‘That’s terrific,’ she said. ‘I must record seeing it. It’s become rare, the numbers have declined dramatically.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Us, probably. Humans. Mucking around with their habitat. But seeing that one gives me some hope. These woods go back centuries, you know. There are over thirty ancient plants and trees here.’ She bent to pick up a bag of bird food, and then looked up at him again. ‘Is this about Lauren’s murder?’

  ‘You knew her?’

  ‘I met her quite a few times. She was in Minstergreen, and they do a lot of conservation work with us here. Like me, she was passionate about these woods and maintaining the legacy we’ve been left. She’d have been absolutely thrilled to see the willow tit. So sad, all that youthful energy and promise ended. You know, I saw her here once with a big guy who might have been the one in that photo. Must have been last winter. They were walking along one of the paths, deep in conversation. Holding hands. Is he her husband?’

  ‘The man in this photo isn’t, no.’

  ‘Oh. Must have been someone else then. I wonder if that’s who she was waiting for last Sunday.’

  This was one of the things he loved about police work: the casual remark that pulls at a thread. ‘Lauren was here on Sunday? Did you talk to her?’

  ‘I saw her late afternoon, about four, in the sensory garden. It’s a secluded area with high hedges, all little nooks and cosy corners. I was cutting through. She was sitting on one of the benches, just staring into the distance. I wasn’t going to disturb her because people go there for peace and quiet but she heard me and looked over. I said I was on my way to fix some fencing. She told me she was waiting for someone but she reckoned they couldn’t make it and she might as well head home.’

  ‘How did
she seem?’

  ‘A bit flat. I thought she was disappointed because she’d had a wasted journey. She started off to the car park after we spoke.’

  ‘Where is the sensory garden?’

  ‘That way, five minutes’ walk.’

  ‘I’ll take a look. Thanks for your help, Ms Fairway.’

  ‘Any time, officer.’

  He felt himself blush. She had a direct, teasing look. He turned to glance back at her as he headed up the path, but she was busy with the bird feeders, standing on tiptoe to fill one. For a moment, he envied her her job. It seemed straightforward, stress free. Though he’d die of boredom here in the woods with just a willow tit for excitement.

  As soon as he saw the sensory garden and its conveniently hidden corners, he reckoned that Lauren must have arranged to see Seaton. It figured. Her husband was away that day. But according to Kitty, Lauren’s expected friend had failed to turn up. He headed back for his car, calling the techie to ask what Seaton’s phone had revealed. What he heard made him smile.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Polska was a mixture of social and welfare centre run by older women, most of them volunteers. Siv reckoned that if every volunteer decided to stay at home, the social fabric of the country would begin to fall apart. She sat with Bartel Nowak in the bar at noon, drinking tea. He was downing a foaming pint of beer and making his way through a plate of pierogi. He was bald, with a long, reddish pointed beard and wore three earrings in each ear. He looked more like a biker than a roofer, rough at the edges and pugnacious, but on meeting her had kissed her hand and called her madame. That was a first for a police officer.

  ‘Did you know Lauren Visser and Matis Rimas?’ She showed him the photos.

  ‘I met Mat at the river and we had a drink in here sometimes.’

  ‘You didn’t think to contact the police when you heard Lauren and Matis Rimas been murdered there?’

  ‘I didn’t know they were dead until you told me. I’ve been working in Pevensey the last two weeks and staying there with a mate. Long days and I don’t watch much news. All too depressing. After work I have dinner, a beer and go to bed.’ He wiped froth from his lips and burped lightly.

  ‘You were in Pevensey on Monday morning?’

  ‘That’s right. I’m happy to give you a contact number for the friend I stayed with. I understand you’ll want to check up on me.’

  ‘Yes, I will. Let’s start with Matis. When did you meet him?’

  ‘Around November last. He was fishing, so was I. We chatted a bit. Very sad, what’s happened to him. He was a nice guy, straightforward. He was there at the river a couple of other times. We’d watch out for each other in case this old guy we called “Grandad” was around.’

  ‘Because you were trespassing on private land.’

  ‘Just catching fish, Madame. Not doing anyone any harm. No great crime.’ He looked at her mischievously. ‘Mat and I exchanged emails and met in here a couple of times for a beer. He was kind of naïve, always going on about extra-terrestrial life.’

  ‘Did he ever say he was in any kind of trouble?’

  He wolfed down his last pierogi and patted his beard delicately with a napkin. ‘Nope. He’d moved in with some Lithuanian family and he was happy about that. He seemed fine the last time I saw him, around mid-February. He emailed me to tell me that this woman, Lauren, was complaining about the notice at the river and crowdfunding about it. He knew I was angry about the notice.’

  ‘How did Matis know about Lauren?’

  ‘He spotted her poster on the wall here and emailed me a photo of it. I texted her to say if she wanted any support, I’d be happy to give it but I didn’t want to go public. I contributed to the crowdfunding.’

  ‘Did you meet her?’

  ‘No. She just texted me back, gave me a few updates on how the campaign was going. I didn’t know anything about her personally.’ He gave her a twinkling smile. ‘I keep my head below the parapet, don’t cause any waves. I’ve lived here for eight years and I find that’s the best way to get along.’

  She couldn’t help liking him. ‘Some people might say that illegal fishing wasn’t exactly keeping a low profile.’

  ‘Touché, madame, but we all have our little ways of rebelling, don’t we? I bet even “Grandad” is naughty sometimes.’

  ‘Perhaps, Mr Nowak. Have you ever seen this child?’

  He looked at the photo of the little girl. ‘I haven’t, no. Who is she?’

  ‘I wish I knew. Do you know if any other “rebel” anglers met Lauren at the river?’

  He threw his hands up. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t come across any. Matis was the only other bad boy I met down there. None of us stay too long at Lock Lane, because we’re not welcome. Quick and dirty fishing. Do you think they were killed because of Lauren’s protest?’

  ‘I don’t know at this stage. Thanks for your help. Here’s my card. Contact me if you think of anything else.’

  He tucked the card into his wallet, finished his beer and they got to their feet. ‘I suppose this is a horrible and very difficult time for you,’ he said.

  For a split second, she was nonplussed, wondering how he knew about Ed. She felt herself pale, touched the scar over her eye. Then she understood. ‘Investigating murder is always hard and it can be distressing, but it’s the job.’

  He nodded, took her hand and kissed it. ‘Madame, you are a fine woman. Your shirt is a beautiful colour. Is it that shade called coral?’

  ‘Quite possibly. I’m never sure if it’s orange or red.’

  ‘Would you care to take tea with me sometime?’

  He’d wrong-footed her a second time but she shook her head, smiling at him. ‘Perhaps. Not just now.’

  On her way out, she stopped at the help desk and showed her ID to the woman who was staffing it. Her lapel badge showed the name Julia.

  ‘I’m investigating the murders of Lauren Visser and Matis Rimas. Did you know them?’

  ‘That was dreadful news. We’ve all been so upset here. I knew Matis. He’d been in a couple of times when I was on duty. We gave him information about the area, how to find a GP and dentist, things like that.’

  ‘Did he ever seem troubled about anything, or did he fall out with anyone here?’

  Julia was long and lean, with a narrow face and large, soulful eyes. She reminded Siv of a greyhound. ‘Matis never looked worried and he got on well with people. He was quite shy. We get the odd troublemaker here but Matis was never involved in anything. He was a polite young man.’

  ‘And how about Lauren?’

  ‘I didn’t know her. She came in once when I had a day off and asked if we could put up a poster concerning a campaign she was running. She left it with the staff. I wasn’t sure about it at first because we don’t like to get involved in anything controversial. When I realized it concerned a discriminatory notice I was appalled, so I agreed to have put it up.’ She gestured to a pin board with the poster about the crowdfunding on it. ‘I think some of our visitors contributed. I suppose I should take it down now, given what’s happened.’

  ‘Do you know if Lauren came here at other times?’

  ‘I don’t think she did. I’m the salaried manager so I’m here most of the time and I didn’t see her. We have volunteers who help out. I can ask them, if you want.’

  ‘Yes, please, and can you ask them and your visitors about this child?’ She showed Julia the photo of the little girl. ‘This photo was left at the crime scene and we need to establish the child’s identity. Do you know her?’

  She held it up to the light. ‘No, sorry, I don’t. That’s very strange, surely — leaving it where people were murdered.’

  ‘Yes, very strange. You can keep that copy to put on your notice board.’

  ‘I might see you over the May festival,’ Julia said. ‘We’re running a stall with all things Polish, and there’s music, too. Do come along and say hello.’

  * * *

  Siv was parking at the station w
hen she glanced at the car next to her and saw Patrick. He was fast asleep, his head propped against the window. She knocked on the passenger side window, gently at first and then louder when she failed to rouse him. He started up and looked around. His eyes were heavy and puffy. She made a window down gesture.

  ‘Are you okay? You know we’ve a meeting due now?’

  ‘Yeah . . . sorry, guv, don’t know how that happened. Be with you in a minute. Got an update for you about Seaton.’ He grabbed a bottle of water.

  She went into the station, glancing back once. Patrick was combing his hair and yanking at his shirt. This wasn’t the first time she’d noticed that he looked tired and distracted. She wondered if there was a problem. She opened the cheese sandwich she’d grabbed on the way in and ate it while she examined the incident board. There were too many question marks. The others arrived and sat around, Steve Wooton clutching a box of tissues and a nasal inhaler.

  Siv chucked her sandwich wrapper away. ‘Right, let’s have an update. I spoke to Mason Granger, the guy who’s the chair of Minstergreen. He says he was home alone on Monday morning, working. He and Lauren disagreed on the direction Minstergreen should take. He’s so full of himself she might have got on his nerves big time. I definitely got the impression she was a thorn in his side, but I can’t believe it would be a reason to kill her. However, he has no alibi. He says he hasn’t got a car so we need to check that.’

  ‘We’ve spoken to all the Minstergreen members now,’ Ali said. ‘They all have alibis for Monday morning. No one seems to have had a beef with Lauren but a couple of them mentioned the tension between her and Granger.’

  ‘I tried Todd’s number again,’ one of the other officers said. ‘Went to message.’