A Price to Pay

by Paul Gitsham

  ‘After a few years working at different parlours, I really wanted to set up my own business. Ten years ago, my husband was offered redundancy, and we took the plunge. He did the accounts and that side of it, and I did the massage. We were a really good team.’

  She cleared her throat. ‘And then three years ago he died suddenly. No warning.’

  Warren gave her a moment to compose herself.

  ‘You said that Biljana and Malina are your nieces?’

  ‘Yes, I have a big family back in Serbia. I haven’t lived there since I left as a young woman to join the NHS. Then I met my husband and stayed. But recently, my nieces and nephews have started coming over to England to learn to speak English or go to college. My husband and I owned a small flat, and so I can put them up. I only charge enough to cover the mortgage. It works out very well for all of us.’

  ‘Do you have anyone else staying at the flat?’

  ‘No, just Billy and Malina at the moment. It only has two bedrooms, so there isn’t enough space for anyone else.’

  By now, Wilson had relaxed somewhat. Her indignation had largely subsided, and so Warren decided to move on.

  ‘You said that you were looking after your mother-in-law, the day of the attack. Where was that again?’

  ‘My father-in-law and he lives in a hospice in Stenfield.’

  ‘I apologize. Did you visit him on your own?’

  ‘Yes. My husband didn’t have any brothers or sisters, and his mother died many years ago. His father is all alone.’

  ‘And how long were you with him for that day?’

  Wilson frowned in concentration. ‘I went there after the bank run, then stayed until mid-afternoon.’

  ‘According to Malina, she called you just after half-past three. Yet you didn’t arrive at the massage parlour until twenty-to-five. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive, why did it take so long?’

  ‘I had taken my father-in-law out for the day. I had to return him to the home. And then I got stuck in traffic.’

  ‘Forgive me, Mrs Wilson, but I’m a little surprised that you didn’t drive immediately to the massage parlour and bring your father-in-law with you.’

  ‘My father-in-law has dementia; he gets confused very easily. I couldn’t really bring him to the massage parlour after what had happened, could I?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Warren. ‘What do you know about the events that took place that afternoon?’

  ‘Only what the girls have told me.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That Mr Cullen arrived just before one p.m. Billy gave him his massage, then went upstairs. Whilst upstairs, she heard him scream. She and Malina then raced into the massage room and saw a man dressed in black stabbing Mr Cullen.’

  ‘What happened after that?’

  ‘The man jumped out of the window. They tried to stop the bleeding, then called an ambulance.’

  ‘Do you know if they called anyone else before the ambulance came?’

  Wilson shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Do you know what time they heard Mr Cullen scream?’

  ‘A little after half-past one.’

  ‘So, the massage had finished, and Biljana had gone back upstairs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was Mr Cullen doing at this time?’

  ‘I believe he was resting after his massage.’

  ‘Is that normal? I assumed he had paid for a full hour?’

  Wilson paused. ‘It depends on the type of treatment he paid for.’

  Warren nodded understandingly. ‘I believe that Mr Cullen had been for treatments before?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he always asked for Biljana?’

  ‘I believe so.’ Wilson’s tone was wary.

  ‘Do you know if the girls knew Mr Cullen on non-professional terms?’

  Wilson scowled. ‘They are not prostitutes. They told me what you asked them the night that you interviewed them. I don’t run that sort of establishment, and I certainly don’t pimp out my own nieces.’

  Warren held up a placating hand. ‘Of course, Mrs Wilson, I never meant to imply otherwise. I meant socially, outside work?’

  ‘No, I do not believe so.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘No.’

  Warren thought about what he wanted to ask next. It was tempting just to dive in and ask her about why Stevie Cullen seemed to be receiving his massages off the books, but he knew he had to be careful. There was no evidence that Wilson was involved in the events of that afternoon, but if she was, the last thing he wanted to do was tip her off. Similarly, asking her about Ray Dorridge might alert her to the direction that their investigation was taking.

  Furthermore, even if she wasn’t involved, she clearly cared deeply about her two nieces. The last thing the investigation needed was her trying to protect the two sisters by destroying evidence or muddying the waters with lies. He thought briefly about chancing his arm and arresting Silvija Wilson as a precaution, but he knew that they had no compelling evidence to suggest that she was in any way involved. Even if the custody sergeant agreed to her initial detention, they’d never get an extension beyond twenty-four hours.

  Besides which, after his sudden realization the previous night, the massage parlour remained sealed as a crime scene and the girls’ flat was still being searched. On balance, there was probably little that the concerned aunt could do to interfere with the investigation.

  ‘Thank you for coming along today, Mrs Wilson, you’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘When can I see the girls?’ Her lip trembled, and Warren was reminded of the reason she had turned up that day.

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible until we’ve completed our inquiries.’

  Wilson looked as though she was about to object, until her shoulders dropped, and she nodded quietly.

  Warren felt a flash of sympathy, quickly suppressed. Silvija Wilson was clearly worried and upset about her two nieces. But that was nothing compared to the agony being experienced by the family and loved ones of Stevie Cullen.

  Warren had finished for the day. It was a little later than he’d intended, but as soon as he finished filling in Grayson on the day’s events, Susan would be picking him up.

  There was a quiet knock at the door.

  Ruskin. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Sirs, but I thought you’d want to see what I’ve found.’

  ‘That’s a bright lad; he’ll go far,’ opined Grayson after Ruskin had left.

  Warren agreed, although he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. With a cast-iron alibi, Rimington was no longer a suspect. He made a note to ensure that somebody warned Vicki Barclay that her potentially violent ex was no longer a person of interest. He hoped that she was right about Rimington not knowing where her cousin lived.

  Ruskin had recalled Rimington’s friend saying that the two men had drunk the house dry Sunday night. Yet Rimington had found something else to drink on Monday. A quick trip to the small shop a five-minute walk from the flat had yielded CCTV footage of Rimington buying cheap cider and cigarettes at almost exactly the time that Stevie Cullen had been bleeding to death on the other side of Middlesbury. Furthermore, Rachel Pymm had yet to uncover any overlap between Rimington and Barclay, and Ray Dorridge.

  Ruskin had also eliminated Harry and Teri Raynor, the married couple that Ray Dorridge had suggested Cullen might have come between. It would seem that Benny Masterson was wrong, and despite Cullen’s best efforts, the couple were still together – they were currently enjoying a two-week cruise in the Caribbean. As alibis went, that was even stronger than Rimington’s.

  Chapter 24

  The past forty-eight hours had been a challenge for Warren and Susan. As a rule, Warren was a private man; yet it had taken all of his willpower not to announce to the world that after years of trying, he was finally going to become a dad. Despite the all-consuming nature of the investigation, Warren found his mind drifting at quiet moments. More than once, he’d
had to force a smile off his face. It was all he could do not to pull out his phone and stare at the black and white image.

  As for Susan, she’d already had to confide in her lab technician, Janina, the first week of the school year. That way she could avoid some of the more toxic chemicals used in school science practicals. At least it got her out of teaching radiation to a rather challenging year eleven group; demonstrating the differing properties of the school’s radioactive sources was a definite no-no.

  Janina had also discreetly placed metal wastepaper bins behind the fire exits on all of Susan’s teaching labs, and even briefly covered her class for her a couple of times as Susan felt the physical effects of her pregnancy.

  However, Susan had resisted the temptation to announce her good news to the rest of her colleagues and friends. They had long ago decided that one special person needed to know about the pregnancy before anyone else.

  The car scrunched up the drive to the small visitors’ car park at the rear of the home. Saturday night traffic on the M6 hadn’t been as bad as it could have been, and they’d made good time once Susan had picked Warren up immediately after finishing work.

  Warren hated leaving in the middle of a case, even for short periods of time, and so he’d sat in the back of the car, juggling his smartphone and printouts, whilst Susan drove.

  ‘If we do this again, I’ll have to get you a chauffeur’s cap like Parker out of Thunderbirds,’ Warren suggested.

  ‘I’ll dress like Parker if you dress like Lady Penelope,’ had been Susan’s response.

  After an hour or so, Warren had given up trying to read, mild travel sickness making him feel nauseous. He wondered if that was how Susan felt first thing in the morning. He decided it probably wouldn’t be wise to ask.

  The Fir Tree Terrace Respite Home was intended as a stopgap. A step on the way back to the home he’d lived in since he’d married his sweetheart seventy years ago. Granddad Jack had made it clear that he intended to live out his final years at home, dying in the same bed his beloved Betty had passed away in just a few years earlier.

  Eyeing up the frail ninety-one-year-old, Warren had no idea if that would be possible.

  The broken leg that Jack had suffered back in March was healing remarkably well, and he’d avoided any of the potentially fatal complications, such as pneumonia, that long-term bed confinement could result in.

  Nevertheless, Jack looked even smaller than the last time Warren had seen him, barely a fortnight previously. As before, he was sitting in the wing-backed chair next to his bed, fully dressed. A copy of the Coventry Telegraph lay open on his lap, although Jack’s eyes were closed, his reading glasses hanging from a thin chain around his neck.

  ‘Jack, Warren and Susan are here to see you,’ the carer announced loudly.

  Jack’s eyes opened immediately, a smile spreading across his face. ‘Just resting my eyes.’

  Despite his appearance, his voice was strong, and clear of any confusion. According to the staff, he’d been in the common room playing cards with other residents earlier in the day. Next week, they were hoping to take him for a short walk around the gardens with his new walker. Nevertheless, progress was slow and there were concerns that Jack’s heart wasn’t really in it.

  An active man all of his life, he’d eventually got over the death of Nana Betty by lavishing his attention on the small garden at his home. Now even that would be taken from him. Jack was no fool. Although the specialists spoke of him living independently again, they all knew what that meant. Sitting in his house, alone, waiting for his visits from the carers or whoever else was able to stop by. On a nice day, he may be able to sit in his beloved garden, but its upkeep would now be somebody else’s job.

  Aside from Jack, Warren’s closest living relative, who he was in touch with, was his cousin Jane, yet she had her own family and had recently moved to Nottingham.

  After the death of his father, Nana Betty and Granddad Jack had become Warren’s de facto parents. In his later teenage years, he’d probably spent more time around theirs than he’d spent with his mother and his increasingly absent older brother.

  Moving to Middlesbury to further his career hadn’t been an easy decision, and now Warren wondered if it was time to contemplate a move back to West Midlands Police. Susan’s parents still lived in Warwickshire; they’d be delighted if she moved closer to them. With Susan’s impending maternity leave, maybe now was the time to consider a change?

  After handing over some mail that they’d picked up from Jack’s house on the way over, Warren looked at Susan. It was time to reveal the real purpose of their visit.

  Jack stared at the black and white photograph for almost a minute. When he finally spoke, the tears clogged his voice.

  ‘Is this …’

  ‘Yes, Granddad.’

  ‘Oh, my. I never thought I’d see …’

  He stopped, unable to speak any further.

  Warren and Susan took one of his hands each, the three of them crying freely now.

  ‘When?’ His voice was a croak.

  ‘May,’ said Warren.

  Granddad Jack squeezed his hand tightly and Warren felt the surge of resolve from him. They’d just given him a reason to fight.

  ‘It gets better,’ said Warren. ‘There’s going to be two of them.’

  Visiting hours at Fir Tree Terrace finished at nine. Normally Granddad Jack was beginning to flag by that point and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open as he bid them farewell. It was after nine-thirty when a member of the care team chased Susan and Warren out. Granddad Jack was more chatty than Warren had seen him since before the death of Nana Betty.

  Neither of them knew if the next people they told would be as excited.

  It was after ten p.m. when they finally arrived at arrived at Susan’s parents’ house. Warren squeezed Susan’s hand.

  ‘They’ll be over the moon, you’ll see.’

  ‘I know. It’s just Mum was so set against us having IVF … She still thinks it’s a sin.’

  ‘Then we don’t tell her,’ said Warren firmly.

  Susan snorted. ‘And what about when she asks? Do we lie?’

  Warren opened his mouth, then closed it again. Susan was right. Lying to Susan’s mother, Bernice, was a non-starter. Susan had a reputation in school for being able to wring the truth out of even the most skilful liars. Warren had no idea if such a thing could be passed down genetically, but there was no doubt Susan had acquired the skill from her mother.

  Despite the late hour, the living room lights shone through the thick curtains. Since Susan’s father had finally taken full retirement, the couple were now busier than ever, with Dennis regularly marvelling that he couldn’t figure out how he’d ever had the time to work. The couple’s sole concession to their new lifestyle was a shifting of their sleep patterns; gone were the six a.m. starts, with them now regularly staying awake until midnight or later, and enjoying a more leisurely morning routine. Typically, when staying over, Susan and Warren went to bed well before her parents.

  The security light over the front door gave away Susan and Warren’s presence as soon as they pulled up and Dennis was by the car boot lifting the couple’s overnight bags out before Susan had even managed to say hello properly.

  ‘Come in, you’ll catch your death,’ admonished Bernice, silhouetted against the open doorway.

  ‘You’re later than usual. Is everything all right?’ she asked. ‘Jack seemed a bit tired when we saw him earlier in the week.’

  ‘Everything is fine,’ Warren reassured her, as he gave her a hug. ‘Granddad was in good spirits, so we stayed a little later than usual.’

  On the way over, Warren and Susan had discussed at length when to break their news. Should they wait until the morning and spend all night worrying about it, and risk offending Bernice and Dennis who would wonder why they hadn’t been told about it immediately?

  Or should they tell them immediately and risk a big row with Bernice right before go
ing to bed?

  In the end, Susan had decided to play it by ear.

  Ushering the two of them into the living room, Bernice picked up the open bottle of red wine on the coffee table. ‘Would you like a glass?’

  Susan shook her head. ‘Not for me thanks.’

  Bernice turned to Dennis and smiled in triumph. ‘See, I told you so. A mother always knows.’

  Sunday 08 November

  Chapter 25

  In all the years that he had been married to Susan, Warren couldn’t recall a time when he’d been more reluctant to leave his in-laws’ house. Bernice was, to be charitable, hard work, and as much as he loved her, he was usually rather relieved to bid his farewells.

  But this time, their brief overnight stop had been different. Despite the couple’s exhaustion, they had stayed up late, the copies of the black and white ultrasound image sitting pride of place on the dining table as they discussed the future.

  Bernice and Dennis were already grandparents several times over, yet they were as excited as the time Susan’s sister, Felicity, had first announced her good news, years before. Bernice had insisted on sending a picture of the ultrasound to Felicity, and it was all that Warren and Susan could do to stop her from announcing it to the rest of the family.

  ‘What are you hoping for, Warren? Boys or girls?’ asked Dennis over breakfast the following morning.

  ‘I’ll be honest, I don’t really mind,’ admitted Warren. Truth be told, the ups and downs of the last few years had left him doubting if they would ever become parents, and he’d shied away from thinking about it too much. He guessed he was just superstitious. Over the past couple of days though, it had suddenly become real and now he was starting to realize how much his life was going to change.

  ‘If they are boys, I hope you’re going to bring them up as Coventry City fans,’ teased his father-in-law, knowing that Warren’s understanding – and interest – in football was limited at best.