Under Parr

by Andrea Bramhall

  Gina stared at her, not quite ready to let go of the anger. The anger felt good. It felt warm. It thawed out the cold fear and dread that seemed to settle in her soul.

  “Honestly. I’m sorry I offended you.”

  Gina closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. “No, I’m sorry for flying off the handle. That was uncalled for.” She smiled. “Did I also mention that I’m angry all the time?”

  Jodi chuckled. “I’d be more worried if you weren’t angry. It’s a natural and understandable reaction to what’s happened to you.”

  “Were you angry?”

  “Some days I still am.”

  Gina was surprised and it must have shown on her face.

  “Like I said, we’re all human.” She shrugged. “I spent a long time being angry, and some days it’s hard to shake. In many ways, I found the anger helped me. At first, anyway. It let me function and make it through the pain. It gave me the drive I needed to get through another day filled with painful surgeries or the trial. But then it got to the point where it was holding me back. While you are angry, rightfully so, it doesn’t seem to be the prevailing emotion you’re suffering, Gina.”

  Jodi was right and Gina knew it. It wasn’t anger that made her want to stay in bed and let the rest of the world pass her by. It wasn’t anger that made her cry in the middle of the night. It wasn’t anger that made her freeze when Kate touched her.

  “So what is it?”

  “I’m scared,” Gina whispered and let the tears fall. She cried for the pain she could still feel from each of her healed wounds. Imaginary pain that never seemed to go. Pain that ate at each nerve like a flame devouring it. She cried for the vision of herself that she would never see again. She cried for the mother she could never be again. The more carefree Gina who had never seen anything to make her question everything and everyone around her. She wept for the loss of innocence—both hers and Sammy’s.

  Jodi held her, whispering soft noises meant to soothe her.

  They didn’t. They reminded her of the way she held Sammy when she cried, and she wept harder.

  “Let it out, Gina. Let it all go then we can get to work on getting you back to normal.”

  Gina wished it were that simple, but she knew she’d be doing a lot more crying before she was normal again. If she ever got there at all.

  * * *

  Gina didn’t remember finishing the session with Jodi or walking out of the hospital. She didn’t remember getting back into Kate’s car or taking hold of her hand. But she must have done. After all, they were sat quietly together, side by side, holding hands, watching a small bird hop across the grass picking up leaf litter and hunting for worms. She tried to remember what kind of bird it was, with its small, dark brown body and yellow beak. Starling? Wren? Did it matter?

  She felt heavy. Numb. As though her limbs belonged to someone else. The only thing she could feel was Kate’s thumb, stroking the skin at the back of her hand softly. Backwards and forwards in a steady circle. One inch in one direction, then the same back. It was hypnotic. Grounding. Something nice to focus on in a world that was ugly and hurt.

  “You okay?” Kate’s voice was barely above a whisper as she continued to stare out of the window.

  Gina shook her head and swallowed.

  Kate squeezed her hand gently then continued to rub with her thumb. “What do you need me to do? How can I help you?”

  The bird dipped its head quickly and snapped up a tiny worm, gobbling it back in one before it carried on scratching at the ground with its claws. It lifted leaves with its beak and continued its hunt for the next morsel.

  “Just be you,” Gina said quietly.

  A second bird joined the first, scraping at the ground, worrying the decaying debris, and the territorial hunter. The first bird squawked loudly and flapped its wings to scare away the interloper, but it seemed not to care. It merely turned its head from side to side and scuffed the ground.

  “Is that enough?” Kate’s voice was thick with emotion. She was clearly holding back tears, and Gina was grateful for it. She wasn’t sure she could handle Kate’s emotion on top of her own right now. As selfish as that sounded—as it felt—she knew she was at her limit for the moment, and any more could send her into meltdown. Kate’s tender show of support was what she needed. No overly emotional displays, no overt PDAs; just holding her hand and showing her that she would be there. Always.

  “It will be.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Kate stared out of the windscreen. The field ahead sat fallow; the few geese still around feasted on the grubs and worms hiding amongst the rotting wheat stalks. The wind rustled slightly, making the hedges rattle their bare twigs, and the December sun sat low on the horizon, weak and watery, but just enough to make her squint.

  “You okay, sarge?” Gareth asked.

  Kate glanced at him then looked down the road to check the junction. “Yeah, why?”

  “You’ve been checking this empty junction for three minutes now.”

  “Fuck off.” She looked at him and clocked the raised eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Bollocks. Sorry, Gareth. Million miles away.” She pulled out into the junction and headed for South Creake.

  “I figured that out. Want to talk about it?”

  Kate shook her head. She knew Gina wouldn’t want her discussing things between them with someone else, especially not someone she worked with. “I’m just thinking about this case. Something about Mr Parr and this fraud stuff seems off.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, think about it. If we go and see Mrs Temple and she tells us that this Alan Parr is the mysterious 3840 that the government is paying a subsidy on, then not only is someone at the nursing home lying about not recognising him, but they also know what happened to him.”

  “Or they killed him,” Gareth said.

  “Or they killed him,” Kate conceded.

  “Which gives them a very good motive to lie to us about not recognising him.”

  “It does.”

  Gareth grinned. “It also explains why they put his body in the bunker.”

  “That’s the part I can’t get my head around.”

  “What do you mean? It’s simple. The bunker kept the body hidden and the guilty party can go on claiming the benefits and reap the rewards. It was a good plan.”

  “Hm. Except for the obvious flaws in it.”

  “What obvious flaws?”

  “Well, there are two flaws with that plan.”

  “Two?”

  “Make that three.”

  “Three?”

  “Yes. One, how did they get the body there?”

  “Car?”

  “The road flooded right after Malcolm Slater checked the bunker was empty. So no car could get down there.”

  “Carried it?”

  Kate shook her head. “No way. That’s a half-mile walk, maybe a bit more. No way could someone have carried him all that way to the bunker in the wind and rain that was coming off the sea that night. We were looking at ninety-miles-an-hour winds at some point. Have you ever carried a person?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well trust me, trying to carry a hundred and eighty pounds of dead dude into that wind is not going to happen.”

  “Dragged him through the water, then.”

  Kate tittered. “Clutching at straws now, Gareth.”

  “Fine, I don’t know.”

  “Me neither. Then we have issue number two.”

  “Which is?”

  “How did this person know the bunker would flood and get blocked off?”

  “Locals maybe would know that.”

  Kate shook her head. “And the third one. How would they know, even if it did flood and get sealed, that it would be left sealed?”

  Gareth frowned. “Ah, I get you. Otherwise the body would be found, identified, and they wouldn’t be able to claim the money anyway.”

  “Exactly.”

/>   “Then how did it happen?”

  Kate shook her head. “I haven’t the foggiest right now.” She indicated right and pulled up outside a small cottage.

  A creek ran through all the gardens of the row of cottages, and they all had small bridges from the road to their front doors. The one they approached was a very pretty cottage, with climbing roses going up trellises outside the front and in an arch over the yellow front door.

  “Quaint,” Gareth said.

  “Yeah.” Kate knocked and waited for an answer. Gina’s question played on her mind as much as the questions she needed to ask about the case. Were Alan Parr and the mysterious 3840 one and the same? If so, either someone was running a big gamble on Alan Parr’s body never turning up, or there was a lot more going on in Brancombe House than Diana Lodge knew about.

  “Hello.” A woman in her mid to late forties opened the door, wiping her hands with a dish towel. Her dark hair was shot through at the temples with grey and tied back in a ponytail. Her eyebrows arched elegantly over azure blue eyes that looked just like Gina’s. Even if she hadn’t been expecting to see Gina’s mother today, Kate would have picked this woman out in a room full of people. Their build and height were the same. The way she stood, with her shoulders slightly drooped forward, was the same.

  “Mrs Temple?” Kate asked politely.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “I’m Detective Sergeant Kate Brannon, and this is Detective Constable Collier.”

  “Of course. Diana said you needed to speak with me. Yes, I’m Alison Temple. Come in.” She ushered them through the door. “Can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee?”

  “Coffee would be good, thanks,” Gareth said.

  “Only if you’re making one. Don’t go to any trouble on our account,” Kate added.

  “It’s no trouble. It’s nice to have bit of company, truth be told.” Mrs Temple fussed with the kettle, mugs, and the milk before setting cups in front of them at a pine, country-style kitchen table. “I don’t get many visitors, and I live alone. It’s nice to be able to fuss once in a while.”

  “Oh, I thought you were married.”

  “I was.” She glanced out of the window. “Still am I suppose. Separated.” She sighed. “Three years now. But it’s not common knowledge.”

  “That’s unusual for a small village,” Kate said with a smile.

  Mrs Temple smiled cautiously. “We can keep a secret or two. When we have to. Speaking of secrets, you want me to tell you more about 3840.”

  “Please.” Kate moved with the change of subject.

  “Where would you like to start?”

  “How long have you been working on the accounts for Bramcombe House Nursing Home?”

  “About four, maybe five months. Diana Lodge is an old friend of mine. She asked me to take a look and see if I could help her sort out the mess that the previous accountant had made of them.”

  “Do you know who the previous accountant was?”

  “I believe it was Viv.”

  “Viv?”

  “Peterson. She worked for the big accounting firm in Fakenham, but did the nursing home books for a bit of extra cash in what little spare time a full-time worker and mother of four children has. Off the books too, from what I can tell. That should give you an idea of what we were looking at. Records were sloppy, to say the least. Downright fraudulent would be another. The VAT and PAYE payments were screwed up so royally that I’ve had to negotiate repayment plans with HMRC to prevent them from going after the nursing home for the outstanding amounts. It’ll be years before they’re up to date again, but at least they’re getting there now. The only thing that seemed to be correct were the wages paid to the staff. One assumes that was to ensure Viv was paid correctly. I’ve passed on her details to HMRC and I’m sure they’ll be pursuing her. It may yet cross your desk, Detective.” She shrugged. “But that’s a decision for better people than me to make.”

  “So, how did you find the anomaly in all that mess?”

  “With great difficulty, I can assure you. That’s why it took so long.”

  “So it was Viv who buried it—”

  Mrs Temple shook her head. “No, she wasn’t doing the books in 2013. I’m afraid I don’t know who that was, but it wasn’t her. She just didn’t help me locate the issue.”

  “Can you explain what the exact issue is? I’m afraid accounts are not my strong suit.” Kate smiled self-deprecatingly.

  “You’re not alone there, Detective. After all, if everyone were good with this sort of thing, I’d be out of a job.” She crossed her arms. “I take it you’re aware that the NHS subsidises the care of each person who needs residential or nursing care up to a certain amount each week?”

  “Yes. Unless they have their own means, right? Then they have to pay for themselves.”

  “Yes. If a patient has no means, then the government pays the whole amount of their care, but they are put in whichever place will provide the care they need for the cheapest price. The nursing homes then have to go through a process to claim the payments or subsidies for each resident.”

  “I’m with you so far.”

  “Good. So once a resident is set up, it just ticks along, like a direct debit. Automatically deposited into the account of the nursing home until the nursing home files an update to the NHS database to change those details. Either to claim an increase for increased care needs or to notify of death. Sometimes a change of account details if a nursing home is taken over, etcetera. Still with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, all of the residents that Bramcombe House Nursing Home claims for are done by surname. Except for this one claim—3840. But the payment for 3840 isn’t even going into Brancombe’s bank account. It’s going to a different account number all together.”

  “So if it isn’t going into your account, how did you find out about it?”

  “Oh, right. Well, while I was sorting out the tax issues, we came across a discrepancy. The NHS claimed to be sending 400 pounds a week more to us for resident care than our income showed we were receiving. Yesterday I finally received a breakdown of the accounts payable from the NHS accounting department and found the 3840 record. I managed to trace that back then to the eighth of December 2013. That’s when this payment was started. Before that, it was all names, surnames.”

  “Do you have a record of all the payments that were being made prior to that date?”

  “Yes, it’s all in the data I gave to Diana. Didn’t she give it to you?”

  “She did. It just takes a while for us to go through so much information.”

  “Did you happen to notice if there were any names from before that went missing from the claim after the eighth?” Gareth asked.

  “Unfortunately, there were several changes around that time and the records don’t appear to have been made at the correct times,” Mrs Temple replied.

  “How do you mean?” Kate frowned.

  “I believe someone wasn’t declaring the dead as dead until they had another person to take their place in the home. Dates don’t match up exactly as they should. So on the eighth of December there were a number of changes made. Annie Balding, Edward Bale, and Alan Parr all disappeared off the records.”

  Bingo. “So Alan Parr was a resident at Brancombe House Nursing Home?”

  “Well, yes. He had to be for them to have completed the forms correctly. He or a next of kin would have had to sign them when he was first admitted to the facility.”

  “There’s no other way around it? He had to have been there at that point?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “But no one recognises him,” Gareth interjected.

  Mrs Temple shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t help you there. All I know is that according to the NHS’s records, he was a patient registered in the care of Brancombe House Nursing Home until the sixth of December 2013. You’ll need to get the records of claimant 3840 to find out what’s going on from there.”

  “No
problem,” Kate assured her. I hope. “We will need you to make an official statement about all the data you’ve passed on at some point. Would you be able to come to the station?”

  “Of course. Now?”

  Kate shook her head. “It might be better if you give us a chance to go over the data first.” She smiled. “Hopefully we’ll have better questions to ask about it all then.”

  “Just let me know when you need me to come in.”

  “Thanks. Would tomorrow afternoon work for you?”

  “Yes, that would be fine.”

  “Thanks.” Kate took a card from her pocket. “In the meantime, if you think of anything else you think we need to know, give me a call.”

  “Of course.”

  “We’ll let you get back to your day, Mrs Temple.”

  “Alison. Mrs Temple was the wife of my bastard of a husband.” She smiled brightly. “Fortunately, I don’t have to play at being her any more. Now everyone just calls me Alison.”

  Looks like we have a pretty good idea about the answer to your question Gina. “Very well, Alison.” She walked to the front door. “We’ll see you at the station tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow, sergeant.” Alison nodded and closed the door behind them.

  “Someone’s got some balls then, sarge.”

  “Big brass ones by the look of it.”

  “You don’t think it’s a coincidence?”

  “What? That our victim disappears at the same time as 3840 turns up, and no one recognises our victim?” Kate shook her head as she climbed into the car. “Nah.” She started the engine. “There are coincidences and then there are criminals. They start with the same letter of the alphabet, Gareth, but they aren’t the same thing.”

  He snickered.

  “One is a random thing, my friend. While the other is just a coincidence,” she said with a wink.

  “Careful, sarge. Your cynical side is showing.”

  “Stick with this job long enough and yours will too.”

  “Humph. Guess we’ll have to see about that.”

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “Tell me something, Gareth. Why you became a cop.”