by Anita Waller
It was a miserable looking room. It had no atmosphere, no colour, no warmth, and Rosie knew why Melissa was usually to be found with her grandparents.
‘Lynda,’ Will Brent said. ‘Perhaps Mrs Latimer might like a cup of tea.’
‘Oh, no…’ Rosie started to say.
‘Mrs Latimer, have the cup of tea. You will need it, I’m sure. We have some news.’
‘Philip? Is he…’
‘No, he isn’t.’ He waited while Lynda went in search of the kitchen, and then took out the letter from his jacket pocket. ‘The man who murdered Gareth Chambers and Sadie Fremantle, and who currently is holding your husband and baby Jake, committed suicide. It’s Oliver Hardwick. He left a note.’
Brent handed the letter to Rosie. Oblivious to the sound of the rattle of cups and saucers, the kettle as it boiled, she was lost in the words of a dead man. She read it in its entirety once, then read it again as if unbelieving of the contents she had read the first time around, before handing it back to Brent.
‘Pure, pure evil.’ She took a tissue from her sleeve, and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Do you have any idea…?’
Brent shook his head. ‘We have a couple of leads, that are really nothing much more than ideas, but other than that, we’re struggling. He hadn’t even come on to our radar as a suspect, he was a clever man. I must ask you not to leak any of this, we don’t want the investigation jeopardising by any information being out in the public arena. Did you know Oliver Hardwick?’
She nodded, her face a picture of misery. ‘I did. I went to see him. Prior to that we had only dealt with Liz Chambers, throughout our compensation claim. She handled all of it. When I found out about Phil and Liz, and that the baby was his, I was so angry I went to see Mr Hardwick. I told him. This would have been June or July. Shortly after that, Phil disappeared.’
‘Did you tell Phil you had been to see Hardwick?’
‘I did. It’s really the reason I didn’t report him as a missing person. I thought he had simply left me, that what I had done, in trying to get Liz the sack, was the final nail in our marriage’s coffin. It was only when Liz started making waves, wanting to know where he was, that I realised that something may have happened to him. He hadn’t contacted us in any way, not even Melissa. I can cope with him having stopped loving me, but he adored our daughter. He wouldn’t have walked away from her.’
Lynda came back into the room and handed Rosie a cup of tea. Rosie raised her head and thanked her. ‘You two aren’t having one?’
‘Our bodies won’t take any more,’ Brent smiled at her. ‘During investigations, we drink so much tea and coffee we become waterlogged. It’s the go-to thing to do, and I bet you feel better for simply holding that cup, yes?’
Rosie nodded. ‘Yes, I do. I’m not eating properly… I just want to know he’s okay. If he wants Liz, that’s fine. I don’t want him to be dead.’
‘We’re doing our best, Rosie. We won’t let this go. You stay there, we’ll see ourselves out.’
She heard their car pull away, and stood to lock the door. She walked into the kitchen, went into the cupboard and took down a chunky candle. She placed it in a storm jar and stood it on the windowsill of the bay window, before lighting it.
‘Come home safe, Phil,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll keep this lit until you do.’
He went on his own to see Christian, and handed him the letter.
‘Oliver Hardwick, the solicitor Liz works for.’ Christian frowned. ‘This man, this upholder of the law, he killed my mother, without any thought as to the consequences.’
‘He did. It seems his somewhat unfounded hatred for Liz was what drove him to it; he was quite deeply mentally ill, Christian. No excuses, he knew what he was doing, but I think his entire view on his life, at that moment, was well skewed.’
Christian repeated the actions of everyone who had seen the letter; he read it through once, and then, as if unable to truly believe what he had seen, he read it once more. ‘He’s a fucking maniac. I lost Mum cos he couldn’t hang on to his wife?’
‘I know. Murders are often committed for far milder reasons than that, trust me. You know as much as anybody else with close links to this case, and if you want to talk at any time, you have my number. You’re a bright lad, Christian, and this is a tragedy. But don’t let it stop you living the rest of your life to its fullest. I’ll be saying the same to Dan. You’ve both got a lot of living to do yet.’
‘Unless we come up against another Oliver Hardwick.’ The scorn was evident in Christian’s voice.
‘Not likely, believe me.’ He stood. ‘I’ll be at your mum’s funeral on Wednesday. You’ll have people there to support you?’
‘Mum’s parents, and her sister and brother, are all coming the day before. They live on the south coast – one of the reasons I chose Solent. I guess from now on, my life will be with them. I’ll sell this place as soon as possible.’
Brent held out his hand. ‘Good luck, Christian. I’ll see myself out.’
He was halfway to the station when he realised he had forgotten to pick up the letter from the coffee table. He turned the car around and headed back.
Christian saw him pull up, and went out to meet him, holding the letter.
‘Guessed you’d be back,’ he said with a smile.
‘Thank you,’ Brent called, and set off for the second time.
He headed along Birley Lane, and thought about the two young men involved in all of this. Both Dan and Christian were good lads, and he wondered how the hell you simply ‘got on with your life’ after nightmares of the sort they were experiencing.
Christian went inside, and picked up the copy he had run through his printer. He didn’t know why he’d done it, just that he had. It might come in useful, at some point. He hadn’t written his eulogy for the funeral yet…
They finished checking the files at 10.23pm. Tom pulled the list towards him and sighed. ‘I’m knackered.’
‘My bum’s numb,’ Karen countered.
‘Shall we ring Brent now?’
‘I think so, and tell him I’ll email them in about ten minutes. I need to learn to walk again first, so I can get up those stairs.’
‘And I don’t want to see you in work, tomorrow. What you’ve done tonight is way beyond your job description.’
‘I’ll be in. He may need additional information. Don’t argue, Tom. I’ll come in a bit later, but that’s all. Now come on, let’s get back in the office, and get this sent off. You ring him, while I’m typing up the list of houses.’
They checked that all the cabinets were locked, before unlocking the door. The stairs leading up to the offices were steep; to Karen, they felt like a mountain. She waited halfway until Tom had locked the door behind him, and then continued up.
There was a ping as Tom picked up his receiver, and pressed for the outside line. Powering up her computer, she typed from the list in front of her.
She heard Tom confirm that they had six addresses, all owned by Oliver Hardwick. They were scattered in various parts of the city, and yes, Karen was typing them on to an email as they were speaking.
Karen was also praying that in one of those addresses, a small baby was sleeping, waiting to be reunited with his mummy. She double-checked the list, then hit send.
‘It’s gone,’ she called through to Tom’s office.
Tom repeated the phrase, and then put down the phone. ‘He says thank you. And he realises it’s an inadequate word. Now, I’ll drop you at home. Let me ring Chloe, she’s a bit frazzled by everything that’s happened. I can tell her I’m on my way, she’ll maybe stop worrying, then.’
Half an hour later, he went through his own front entrance, threw down his briefcase, and pulled Chloe into his arms. ‘What a shitty day,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Do not, under any circumstances, offer me a cup of tea or coffee, I want the biggest glass in the house, and I want it full of whisky.’
She held him tightly. ‘Or do you want to cut out the middle bit and g
o straight to bed?’
He thought for a second. ‘A smaller glass of whisky, and straight to bed.’
She smiled. ‘It’s already waiting on the bedside table. You go up, have your shower, and I’ll lock up. And do me a favour, don’t mention Oliver Hardwick again tonight.’
Will Brent stared at the emailed list. Six addresses, different areas of the city – where to start? He didn’t have enough manpower to have one search team per property, so he needed to prioritise, and go for the most likely, first.
He had organised search warrants for all the properties already, and had contacted every member of his team to tell them it would be an early start; he wanted everyone there by 5.30am. Nobody groaned, nobody queried it, they all said yes, sir, and he knew they would be there even earlier. This case had touched everyone’s heart; it felt as though it was coming to an end, and it would be a good result.
He printed off the email, closed his computer and left the building. It had been a long day, and his hopes for the morning were high.
Sleep was intermittent for all the team; adrenalin was coursing through them when they assembled by five at the station. DI Brent gave them a briefing on the work that had been done at Banton and Hardwick the previous evening, and then he hand out photocopies of the lists.
‘I’ve split us into three teams, so each team will have two properties to search. Tanya has photocopies of who you’re with. Team 1 will take properties 1a and 1b, team 2 will take 2a and 2b, team 3 will take 3a and 3b. We have three minibuses outside. If you receive opposition from whoever is living in it, don’t mess about, bring them in. A few hours in a cell should sort them out. However, I don’t really expect Philip Latimer and Jacob Chambers to be held in an occupied property. I think it will be an empty one. If they are in an occupied one, it would suggest Oliver Hardwick was paying his tenant to take care of his prisoners. If that were to be the case, our victims could be in considerable danger, so anybody kicking up a stink, arrest them. Any questions?’
He glanced around the room, and was impressed by the quiet determination present on all their faces. Tanya handed out the team listings, and they left the room, heading for their designated minibuses.
Ten minutes later, the station car park was back to normal, not a minibus in sight.
Brent had four people with him. He had included Lynda in his unit, aware that she hadn’t been on an operation like this before. He had also included Steve Peters; he liked the lad, and, as with Lynda, could see him climbing the ladder before much longer. Once this case was put to bed, he would have a chat with them both.
Their first address was at High Green. He had checked on Google Earth during the long sleepless hours of the previous night, and it appeared to be a detached property. He could find no evidence that anyone lived there, and he was hopeful that this first address would be the right one.
The minibus pulled up a short walk away from the house, and even in the dark of the winter’s morning they could see it was empty. The windows were boarded, and the grey stone walls seemed to be blackened by soot.
‘Looks like a fire-damaged property,’ Lynda whispered. ‘We need to be really careful in case floors are damaged.’
Brent nodded. ‘Hold back, everybody. Let me see if I can get any information on this before we go in. If it is fire-damaged too badly, we may need the fire service here to get us in safely.’
He thought for a moment. ‘Let’s go to our second property. Everybody back on the bus.’
Two minutes later, they were heading for a small village on the outskirts of Rotherham. Thorpe Hesley boasted a mix of old and new properties, and it was one of the older ones they were heading towards. Brent spent the journey on the phone to the fire service, who confirmed it had been badly damaged some eight months earlier. They arranged to send out a team of firefighters, who would lead the way if it was deemed to be safe to venture inside it.
Brent felt frustrated by the situation, but knew he couldn’t take risks; if the two missing persons were there, the fire service would soon find them, and much more efficiently than his own team.
They reached Thorpe Hesley, and the sky was beginning to lighten. The house was set back from the road, and appeared to be empty. It had a sold sign in the garden, leaning precariously against a privet hedge, obviously forgotten by the estate agents. The five officers approached with caution, and then spread out as they looked through ground floor windows. There were no signs of life, so after two banging rattles on the door, and shouts of open up, police, Brent ordered that the door be opened.
The team poured through the door, and began the search. Every room was empty, not even carpets were in existence. They clattered around, shouting Phil’s name, but there was no reaction.
Eventually, Brent called a halt. ‘Okay, everyone, there’s nothing here. Let’s go back to the first one, the fire service people are at the scene.’ Two maintenance men were already outside the door, summoned by Brent, and they were boarding up the door by the time everyone was back on the minibus.
They returned to Thorpe Hesley, and en route Brent took messages from the other two teams that their first properties were checked and clear. They were down to three possibilities only.
They could enter the property at High Green, but only accompanied by fire officers. The cellar was reasonably untouched, and they searched it thoroughly before progressing to the other two levels. Nothing.
Brent felt frustrated, and when the other two teams reported they had drawn blanks at their second properties, he ordered them all back to the station.
They sent out for bacon sandwiches, and everyone had breakfast in the briefing room. Will took them through all the details of the morning, confirming that there had been no signs of occupation at five of the properties, with the second house allocated to team 3 the only one to have a tenant.
Tanya filled them in on this residence, said the tenant was happy to cooperate, handing them keys to three outbuildings as well as a key to the cellar. They had found nothing, except a bit of a mini-brewery in one of the outbuildings. It was clearly for personal use, and they had thanked the man and his partner for his good humour so early in the morning, before leaving.
Bacon sandwiches finished, they looked to Brent for instructions. He had none to give them.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Thank you, everybody, for your work this morning. While it may not have proved to be the answer, at least it’s ruled Hardwick’s properties out. Steve, how did you go on with tracking the brother down? And that construction company in Chesterfield. Did that throw anything up?’
‘Yes, sir, it threw up a lady owner, a Patricia Hardwick. And that’s as much as I know about her, but now this morning’s exercise is over, I’m back on to it. Update as soon as I know anything further.’
Brent nodded. ‘Thank you. Thoughts, anyone?’
It seemed the team were devoid of ideas. The adrenalin rush of maybe finding Latimer and the baby had seemingly dissipated, and the air of gloom felt all-pervading.
‘Okay. Every witness statement, every report, in fact any damn thing, I want re-checking. Even the tiniest snippet may give us the answer we’re looking for. Come on, team, we’re so close to cracking this, I can almost taste it. Further briefing with any thoughts at 4.30, then if there’s nothing to chase up, we can have an early night.’
They drifted away to their desks, and Brent knew he could do no more to lift them. It would simply take a comment by one of them to lead them in a different direction; they would bounce back.
Chapter 50
Jake had been crying constantly for a long time. Phil knew what was wrong, and the baby couldn’t be distracted. He was hungry. Not even Peppa and George could help with that; it would take more than two little pigs to comfort Jake.
Phil had tried giving him a bottle of warm milk, and that had appeased him for a while, but the cries were becoming frenetic.
Finally, he gave in. He handed one of the dessert pouches to his son, and watched as he gul
ped it down.
When it was empty, fully drained of the sweet tasting pear, apple and banana, Jake threw it to one side. ‘Da,’ he said.
Phil had no idea what da meant, but Jake seemed to say it a lot. He changed his nappy and put him down to sleep. The crying had tired him, and Phil guessed this was his night time sleep, a little earlier than normal, but Jake was ready.
He was worried. His plans for making the baby food last for both of them, had survived one day. He couldn’t expect Jake to live on one pouch a day, it simply wasn’t enough.
Phil had had his pouch, some revolting stuff that said it was Shepherd’s pie, and he vowed that if he ever got out of that place, he would ring up the manufacturers and tell them they had branded it incorrectly. His stomach was rumbling, and he nibbled on a small square of chocolate. There were only three pieces left. He had a tiny sip of milk, and then climbed into bed. Jake was asleep, and even Phil felt more comfortable, warmer. He wondered if the weather outside was turning milder, heralding the return of spring. He hoped to God they would both see summer.
Chapter 51
Julia arrived at Liz’s home unannounced. Liz didn’t feel particularly warm towards her, and simply wanted the visit to end. With the funeral the next day, she could have done without having to be polite and welcoming to visitors. Especially Julia.
‘I had to come,’ Julia tried to explain.
‘Why? Because the man you married killed the man I’m burying tomorrow?’
Liz knew she sounded harsh; she watched as Julia’s face crumpled.
‘I’m so so sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘I’d do anything to change things…’
‘Get me my son back home,’ Liz snapped. ‘Think, Julia. You must know somewhere else that Oliver could have hidden them. Surely he didn’t keep everything from you.’