Where There’s A Will

by Coles, Linda

“Something is extremely important to them. Why else would you risk it? They didn’t need to send the images. The documents on their own would have exposed the corruption side of things.”

  “I agree. They wanted to make sure the world knows what he is responsible for. He could have stopped the deaths and what better way than to publish such graphic images?”

  “The newspaper won’t print those, will they?”

  “Well, which family members are going to complain? There’s no identifying features on either, they could be anyone, and since nobody has come out of the woodwork, despite us trying to trace any loved ones with so little to go on…”

  “Somebody is pretty upset about something and prepared for the fallout should they themselves be exposed, that’s for sure.”

  The two sat in silence while they thought through what was being said. Will’s comment about seeing Katherine and Veronica at the hospital with two young girls… Could there be a connection?

  “You have children, don’t you?”

  “I sure do, why?”

  “What would you do for them? How far would you go if their world was in trouble, say?”

  “In trouble? In the worst possible way, do you mean?”

  Rochelle nodded.

  Flint answered almost immediately. “Cliché, but I’d go to the ends of the earth. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them if I had too, and I’d suffer…”

  “The consequences afterwards,” she finished with him.

  Realisation dawned on them both. “It’s a parent, and I think I’d go out on a limb to say she’s a parent, which fits with the victims being drugged before being smothered. Both Katherine Spencer and Veronica Lauder have children with walking difficulties. We need to find what connects those two children with the corruption aspect, because it could be they’re linked. Add that to the extra CCTV footage and hopefully we’ll get a clearer picture of just who was involved in that call.”

  It was around 8 pm that evening when they drew a little closer to knowing who the killer was. After hours of trawling through footage from various cameras in the town, it had been a chequered coat that had got them that bit closer. DC Flint had spotted it again. Though the wearer no longer had long dark hair, and while it could well have been someone else with the same coat, the ANPR data had shown which of their two female suspects had driven their vehicle into town that day and within the time frame they were looking at.

  “Bring her in,” DI Mason instructed.

  “It will be my pleasure,” said Flint.

  Eighty-Three

  Mason and Flint were glad to be following the case through as the local detectives. Even though the EMSOU team were running things, it was a privilege to work alongside them and be involved. It wasn’t often the town had murder investigations to work on and the experience for them both would not harm their careers. Since their discovery from ANPR that Veronica Lauder had been in town that morning, they had picked her up from work and she was waiting for her solicitor so that they could begin a formal interview. DI Mason had a few harder questions for the woman to answer this time around. While she waited, she called her acquaintance at the paper in the hope that she’d change her mind and wait to print the story.

  “Not a chance,” Gillian reiterated once again.

  “Thought not, but I had to ask. Now I need something from you, if you want to help.”

  “What’s that?”

  “All hypothetical, of course.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

  “Right. Well, hypothetically, what do you know about children with walking disabilities?”

  “Nothing at all,” Gillian said. “But it’s a lead you’re following up on.”

  Gillian’s light laugh filled Rochelle’s ears loud and clear. Obvious, yes, but worth a try. Sometimes a reporter knew a lot more about the town’s goings-on and Rochelle wanted to tap into that knowledge vein.

  “Okay, I know, I know, pretty obvious,” Rochelle admitted. “Tell me.”

  “You’d have to ask Stuart, he’s our local hive of information, but I’m afraid he’s up to his eyes in it. I believe there’s a big story about to break anytime now.”

  Rochelle wanted to jump down the phone and slap some sense into the woman, but cooled her temper.

  “I’ll take my chances. Kindly put me through.”

  Rochelle heard the phone click and wondered if she’d been cut off. Just as she was about to toss her own phone to one side, a male voice finally came on the line.

  “Stuart?” she asked hopefully.

  “Yes, DI Mason, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m told you’re the fountain of knowledge and I need to hear what you know around children’s disabilities – maybe walking disabilities, locally.”

  Silence replaced their words, and after several beats, Rochelle checked they were still connected.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m still here, just thinking. Give me a minute.”

  She could hear a tapping sound as his fingertips flew across a keyboard, and she hoped that, instead of focusing on his scoop, he was finding what she was after.

  Finally, he said, “Here we go.”

  She waited, refraining from letting out the screaming fit she was holding inside.

  “Sunny Nook is closing down.”

  “The care home?” Suddenly it seemed so obvious. “Tell me what you know.”

  “Since paid placements were scrapped and personal budgets were issued directly to the families with kids in need, the home is no longer viable. They can’t plan ahead any more because they’ve no idea how many weeks families will book their services for. They’ve been used to having core regular residents, but the ‘less desirable families’, shall we term them, would rather have that money paid directly to them so they can go away on holiday, for instance, instead. Not what it’s intended for, but that’s the less motivated of society for you. The disabled child goes without their support, and the family go to Spain off the back of it. The home can’t balance its books and the casualties are the legitimate residents that need the support the home offers.”

  Rochelle digested what she was being told. Was it reason – personal enough, perhaps – to make the mayor pay? For three innocent young men to die?

  “I’m guessing you think that’s the link?” Stuart asked.

  “I’m not saying anything yet. When is it due to close, the home?”

  “End of next month.”

  Rochelle hung up without saying goodbye; he’d get over her rudeness, no doubt. DC Flint was at her shoulder and she turned to look up at him.

  “Did you catch that?”

  “Makes sense,” he said. “I’d be angry too if my little one counted on that type of support and it was suddenly taken away.”

  “Not in cutbacks, though.”

  “No, but it’s still a strategic local government decision. It will have been decided upon and signed off on by the mayor or someone high up in council, I’m guessing.”

  “Back to him again, another common denominator in all this sadness.”

  “If Veronica Lauder and Katherine Spencer have disabled children, do you think both women are involved in this elaborate plan?”

  “It’s a fair point, and one we should look into because it would explain a few things. Katherine Spencer could easily get access to the relevant documents, whereas Veronica Lauder has easy access to drugs, and both have access to a black Mercedes.”

  “First thing’s first: are both their children currently residing at Sunny Nook? Check that. Then let’s look at the crossovers, such as their vehicles, alibis, and see if they have the same coats even, and turn over every other piece of evidence, no matter how small. If they each have access to a black Mercedes, maybe the plates have been swapped at some time then back again. They could have done that to try to confuse us.”

  “On it, boss,” he said, half-sprinting back to his desk to make a start, leaving Rochelle deep in thought. She needed to update DCI M
iller with their latest theory, though she’d wait for Flint to confirm the connection first. It only took a moment before he had the answer.

  “Boss,” he shouted across the room. “Affirmative to both kids at the home.”

  All they needed to do now was bring in Katherine Spencer and let the two women know the other was also being questioned. There was no other tactic quite like it, each woman motivated to spill before they were stitched up by the other. Who was going to get in first?

  Eighty-Four

  Across town, Will was getting changed into his gravedigging clothes, which thankfully were still in the boot of his car. The image of the two women with their children outside the hospital doors had not left his mind. Was there anything in it? What he didn’t know, of course, was what was going on in the background, the evidence of the corruption that had been conveniently deposited at the newspaper’s offices, and what was now slowly unravelling back at the police station after he’d reported his observation of the two women and, more importantly, their two children.

  Approaching the small digger, he started the engine then paused in his seat for a moment as the gentle throb worked tiny ripples through his body like a decrepit massage machine. It was better than nothing, he mused, as he dropped his head back and leaned into the vibration. In a perverse sort of way, the motion eased his tired bones a little. He’d called Birdie on his drive over to the cemetery and updated her on events. She hadn’t offered much back by way of possible explanation and had vowed to fill Stanley in. They’d agreed to talk after he’d completed his work, but for now, he’d a grave to concentrate on digging.

  On the other side of the cemetery, making her way up the path with a small bunch of flowers in her hand, was Katherine Spencer. She made her way towards a grave she knew so well, the place where she often came to chat to her daughter. Oh, how she wished they could converse in person. What would she have to say about what had been going on? In another couple of weeks, she’d have been fifteen, had she still been alive, had the driver not taken her tender years and tossed them away as roughly as they’d tossed her body off the bonnet of their car. The coroner had ruled it an accident, and no charges had ever been brought, but Katherine knew differently. Amelia Spencer had lain in a coma for three days before finally passing away, and there wasn’t a day that went by that Katherine didn’t think about her. She removed the old brown stems and headed across to the rubbish bin to dispose of them before rinsing and refilling the stone vase with fresh water from the fountain. Once she was back at the graveside, she kneeled and tidied the edges of debris and replaced the vase by the headstone, which she wiped with a cloth from her bag. Satisfied everything was in order, she transferred a kiss, via two fingers, to the name carved into the marble. Amelia had only been eleven years old. She stayed and chatted for a few more minutes before making her way back down the path towards the entrance and back to work.

  That was when Will spotted her, or rather her coat. A closer look told him his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. Once he knew for sure she’d left the grounds, he turned the digger off and trotted across to the spot where he’d just seen her. Quickly, he scanned the headstones looking for the reason for her visit. It only took him a moment to find what he was looking for: Amelia Spencer. He did the rough date calculations, deceased at age eleven. Realisation hit him – he’d already been to the spot once before, and recently. It had also been the place where he’d found the blue pen, the one he’d dropped into the police station. He made the call without hesitation.

  “Yes, Will,” she said, short and exasperated.

  “The blue pen I dropped in.”

  “What of it?”

  “I’m at Towcester Road Cemetery and I’ve just seen Katherine Spencer visit a grave. She has a daughter buried here, and it was around the same spot where I found the pen.”

  All he heard before Rochelle rang off was: “Spencer has just left the cemetery on Towcester Road, find her!”

  Will went back to his digger, wondering what he’d just set in motion. By the time he’d reached it and turned it back on, blue lights and sirens filled his senses, and he could guess the rest.

  What he didn’t know, not for sure, was why.

  Eighty-Five

  It hadn’t taken long for Katherine to be swiftly picked up and driven to the police station for questioning. As she was escorted down a bland, concrete-walled corridor, she’d been shocked and surprised to see Veronica being escorted into a room not far ahead of her. The strategic move on the detective’s part had the desired effect and Katherine immediately called out to the other woman; the set-up couldn’t have worked any better. Both women now knew the other was in the building and helping the police with their enquiries. Who would crumble first?

  DI Mason started with Veronica Lauder. The woman, she had to admit, surprised her with such a stoic attitude and gave them precious little. Even when CCTV footage and ANPR data explained her movements, she sat stony faced and refused to answer their questions, but DI Mason was used to such behaviour. Time would see her relent eventually; it always did with those that were not hardened criminals. Being left to stew was also an opportunity to think of a way out – for themselves.

  After a full twenty minutes of getting nowhere, Rochelle swapped rooms to start the interview with Katherine Spencer.

  “We know you took copies of those documents,” DI Mason said, “so why don’t you tell us your side of the story? At what level was your involvement in the master plan, and the deaths of three young men?”

  Nothing.

  “They weren’t meant to die, were they, the three men?”

  Nothing.

  “Unless you start talking like your friend next door, you’re going to take the rap for this. How does that make you feel?”

  Nothing.

  “This isn’t the TV, you know. If you don’t speak, we’ll have no choice but to hold you, and what will happen to Saheli then?”

  At the mention of her daughter’s name, something flickered across her face. DI Mason knew she’d hit a nerve.

  “Look, think of your family now. Think of yourself and how you are going to support your daughter. The more you can help us sort this mess out, the better it will be for you in the long run. Don’t take the rap for something you didn’t do yourself. Murder is a serious offence and carries a heavy prison sentence.”

  “What will happen to her now?” Katherine asked quietly.

  It was a start and Rochelle knew she had to keep her talking. “That’s what you need to concentrate on, looking out for her, for her future. Wouldn’t you like to be a part of it?”

  Katherine nodded.

  “Then tell us your version of events.”

  And so Katherine was the first of the two to incriminate the other. An hour and copious notes later, DI Mason went through the same exercise with Veronica, who had since lost some of her stamina to stay quiet and eventually gave them her side of what had happened, incriminating Katherine to take the fall. By 5 pm, both women had told the exact same story almost word for word and the detectives were no further forward in making a charge stick. DI Mason sought advice from the SIO on their next move.

  “Stalemate,” she offered DCI Miller. Realising her choice of word, she added, “Huh, more bloody chess terminology.” Tiredness swept over her as the two women stood by the vending machine. She pressed for a Snickers bar and waited for it to drop. “They’ll both be charged with murder at this rate, which is stupid, though you can’t argue their loyalty to the cause and each other.”

  “Maybe a night in a cell will encourage one to start telling us what really went on. Unless, of course, they did in fact split the tasks and both committed the murders. In that case, nothing will change. Factoring in either stolen documents or illegally obtained drugs really isn’t going to add much to their sentences. They’re going down for fifteen plus either way, though if we’re talking two or more victims, my money is on a whole of life order,” said Miller.

  “I need t
o spell that out more. If they are each figuring that they’ll be sentenced to fifteen and be out in eight, say, a whole of life order might just be the ignition to start the fire under one of them. If either is responsible for none or one death, premeditated or not, that’s a huge difference in sentence. I know which I’d rather receive.”

  “Try it,” suggested DCI Miller. “Have another go at them both in a couple of hours, but don’t go on too late. We don’t want to fall foul of their eight hours’ uninterrupted sleep time and give the defence unnecessary loopholes.”

  “We might need an extension on this one, though let’s hope not.”

  “I think we might see some action from Spencer first. Lauder has shown no signs of giving, not yet. Mark my words, Spencer will be the first one to sing. She’s already lost one daughter; she’ll not want to lose another. With a fifteen-year sentence, the child will be in her thirties by the time she comes out.”

  “Let’s hope she sees sense, then. It can’t get more personal than this, it’s a sad state of events all round.”

  They were about to move away from the machine when DC Flint found them.

  “Boss!” he shouted, catching their attention as he approached. “Katherine Spencer’s daughter was killed while on a zebra crossing. And guess who was driving and got off?”

  “Don’t tell me our blasted mayor again, surely not.”

  “No, it wasn’t, this time. It was his wife, Barbara Hayhurst. The coroner put it down to accidental and so nobody was ever charged. A freak accident by all accounts.”

  “This really can’t get any more personal.”

  “It’s even more motive, though,” added DCI Miller.

  Eighty-Six

  It was Katherine Spencer that saw sense first. At close to 10 pm, she made a formal confession of her part in the plan and implicated Veronica Lauder as the one who had committed the murders. She told of meeting the woman at the support group and various specialist appointments both their girls had on a regular basis, as well as seeing her at Sunny Nook. They’d become close friends, their daughters and the church a common bond between them, until one day Katherine mentioned some of the dealings she was privy to at the council, the fictitious invoices and how she knew they weren’t right. When the personal budgets were introduced instead of the regular paid placements at Sunny Nook, and the home started to experience difficulties, as did others, the two women talked about getting revenge.