The Forgotten Mother: A spine chilling crime thriller with a heart stopping twist (Detective Arla Baker Series Book 3)

by M. L Rose

  “No, he’s not,” Arla said, ignoring the warning movement from Harry. He was fidgeting, which meant he wanted her to shut up. “He has no reason to be here, unless you’re not telling me something.”

  Johnson opened his mouth to retort, but Nixon spoke over him. “DCI Baker, we just want this case brought to a speedy, but fair, conclusion. As you know, David Longworth was well known to the secretary of state.”

  “What about Luke? Was he well known to him as well?”

  Nixon hesitated, and Arla caught the way his eyes gleamed once, then faded. “Yes, he was. Luke had also been to the secretary’s house with his father on certain occasions.”

  So what? Arla thought silently.

  Nixon appeared to read her mind. “Look, DCI Baker, we just want minimal involvement of the family. David Longworth had many friends in Westminster. No one wants the publicity. I will follow up the line of inquiry with regards to Luke Longworth.”

  “What?” Arla was taken aback. She fixed her eyes on Johnson. “I am the SIO in this case, sir. Is that right?”

  Johnson glanced between them. He licked his lips. “That is right, Arla, but as this is a sensitive matter, MI5 are involved now.”

  Arla shook her head in disbelief. “So you want me to disclose our case files to them? Are they running the investigation now?”

  The jibe hurt Johnson, and it was meant to. The corners of his eyes narrowed, and his face went a deeper shade of mauve.

  “No, we are. And I’m telling, no, I’m ordering you to stay away from the son’s house and focus on Mike Simpson instead.”

  “You make me the SIO because I get results. And yet now you stop me from going after the right suspect.” Arla’s voice was hard like a shard of ice.

  “I’m only stopping you from barking up the wrong tree.”

  “Wrong tree?” Arla knew she shouldn’t lose her temper. But she couldn't help it. “What is this really about, sir? Your friends in Westminster helping you get the Commander post?”

  A vein bulged in Johnson’s head. He slammed his fist down, making the table and floor shake.

  “That’s enough!” he shouted. The boom of his voice echoed around the room. He wagged a finger at Arla. “I’m warning you, Arla. Disobey my orders and I remove you as SIO. Is that what you want?”

  Harry shifted closer to her. “Let it go,” he whispered. Arla hadn't taken her eyes away from Johnson. She wasn’t scared of him. She knew the man behind the bluster. He was concerned with one thing only - rising up the greasy pole.

  But he was her superior. And her future rank was in his hands.

  Without looking at all contrite she said, “I’m sorry sir. I’ll look into Mike Simpson today.”

  Johnson relaxed. “You do that now, Ar...I mean DCI Baker. I want answers later this evening.”

  Arla and Harry rose stiffly. Without a glance at Nixon, Arla left the room.

  CHAPTER 38

  Harry swung the black BMW through the serpentine inner-city streets. It was raining again, that grey whispering rain that slanted morosely against the brown bricks of the council blocks, an early morning dreamy landscape of hollowed hopes and forlorn promises. Ponderous, slow moving people marched to that invisible tug and pull of London’s perennial life current. Arla watched as a drunk in an army coat begged beneath the awning of a supermarket. His eyes met Arla’s as they drove past slowly.

  “Damn it,” she whispered. “Luke’s crooked Harry. I can feel it.”

  “I know. But you’re going too hard at this. Like you do. There’s a break coming, I can feel it. Don’t lose it now.”

  Things were easier between them after her unexpected outburst in the office. Arla said, “I’m not losing it. But you have to admit, this Nixon guy being there is downright annoying. I bet you it was him who leaked my name to the press.”

  It took them almost an hour to hurdle through the traffic. Harry parked in an underground garage opposite the massive corner plot that was Liquid Dream Media’s HQ. Harry stopped as they were walking towards the elevator. They were standing in front of a silver Bentley with the licence plate MS100.

  “Shall we slash the tires so he can’t get away?” Harry asked.

  Arla ignored him, heading for the elevators. At ground level, they crossed the busy intersection and headed to the magnificent red brick Victorian mansion style building. The ground floor was a wrap round glass affair, with sliding doors that opened soundlessly as they arrived. An immaculately coiffured woman sat in the otherwise bare reception and she looked up as they approached. The smiled faded when Arla held out her warrant card.

  “Michael Simpson,” Arla said. “We know he’s in.”

  The woman spoke furtively on the phone below the counter, turning her back to them. Harry took his chance to look around. He stood in front of a photo for ages, checking out the women in it. Arla pretended not to notice.

  The receptionist turned finally and gave them directions to the sixth and top floor. The elevator doors opened into a busy office corridor. The carpets were purple, the walls yellow and the ceiling blue.

  “Rainbow office,” Harry muttered. Arla didn't mind it in fact. It livened up an otherwise drab space. They walked past a room with desks, chairs and a pool table in the middle. Everyone was busy at work and Arla wondered who had the time to play pool during a work day.

  Mike Simpson’s office door was a deep shade of pink. The name plate read “Boss Mike.”

  Arla looked at Harry and raised her eyebrows. Harry was grimacing, and she guessed he didn't like the door’s colour.

  She raised her hand to knock but the door suddenly flew open. There stood a well-dressed man in his fifties, wearing a white shirt with the top three buttons undone, showing a generous amount of hairy chest. A red rose was stuck to the left breast pocket of the shirt. His skin had seen too much sun. It was leathery and hung off his cheeks. The sparse hair was long and slicked back. His eyes were dark, and a lecherous smile adorned his lips. He reminded Arla of Peter Stringfellow on steroids.

  “Well, you must be the police officers, is that right?”

  The grin didn't falter. Arla wondered if this was an act. He must know what they were here for. After all, even if he wasn’t involved, surely he read the papers. And she knew deep in her gut he was involved, somehow.

  They walked into the sumptuous office. It was very post-modern like the rest of the office. A gleaming white table rested on one round leg sprouting from the hideous purple carpet on the floor. There was a bank of screens on the wall, and most of them showed TV channels. But Arla also noticed two camera feeds, looking out at the corridor. So, that’s how he knew they had arrived.

  A cloud of expensive aftershave brushed past them as Simpson walked across to his high-backed, red leather chair with MS embossed on it. He moved his laptop to one side. His face was now serious, the smile gone.

  “You’re here about David, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Arla said. He was a good-looking man, despite his age. She guessed late fifties or early sixties. The tanned skin made him look older. He shook his head.

  “Awful thing to happen. Any idea who did it?”

  “We are exploring multiple avenues in what is a fast-moving investigation,” Arla said, reciting a stock phrase. “And we need to ask you some questions. Would you mind coming down to the station?”

  A gleam came into his eyes, and they narrowed. “What for?”

  Arla decided not to waste time. She was sure he would get a hot shot Queen’s Counsel lawyer, so she might as well be frank.

  “You had considerable financial dealings with David Longworth, right?”

  Simpson blinked. “We were in the middle of a film financing deal, yes.”

  Harry asked, “And you went to his house the week before he died?”

  Now Simpson frowned, his early joviality completely gone. “To talk to him about the film deal yes. I’ve known David a long time. He was making a comeback with this film and wanted to put his own money into
it. Look, what is this about?”

  In the ensuing silence, his eyes moved slowly from Harry to Arla. A scowl came on his face, then his jaw went slack.

  “You must be bloody joking.”

  Arla said, “It would be better for you if you came to the station with us of your own volition.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “No. But if you don’t come with us, then we have sufficient grounds to arrest you.” Arla was on a fine line, and all of them knew it.

  “What if I answer all your questions here?”

  “They will not be recorded, in case they need to be produced in a court of law. Which they most likely will be.”

  Simpson ground his teeth together. “You think I did it? I killed him?”

  Arla stood. “We need to carry on this discussion at the station, Mr Simpson. Will you cooperate, or do I have to arrest you?”

  His leathery face turned beetroot red. He stood as well. His chest heaved and a snarl came on his lips. It wasn’t that different from the lecherous grin he had earlier, Arla mused.

  “You come into my office and dare threaten me? Do you know who I am?!” His last words were a shout.

  Someone used to getting their own way, Arla thought. Aloud she said, “What is your answer, Mr. Simpson? The choice is a very simple one you can see. The office is full. Your employees will see you handcuffed as we walk down…”

  “Alright, alright, alright!” Simpson shouted. He put his hands on the table and leaned forward, head lowered. Beads of sweat trickled down his scalp.

  Harry said, “We will leave now and wait for you outside the office.” Arla frowned at Harry. She wanted to make this as uncomfortable for Simpson as possible.

  Simpson lifted his head. “Yes, I would like that.” His voice was quieter. “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “As you are only giving a statement, not really,” Arla said. “But it’s up to you entirely.”

  CHAPTER 39

  The drive back to the station was deathly quiet. Harry handed Simpson over to the duty sergeant at the desk and joined Arla in the office. An excited Lisa got off her chair and walked over to them.

  She beamed at them. “Rita worked hard with the Bahamas Tax Office. The NCA authorised us to be in touch with them. The Bahamas office didn't want to disclose information, but the threat of sending details of Blue Horizon to HMRC, and for the NCA to open another case for tax fraud investigation seemed to do the trick.”

  Rita waved at them from behind her desk, then rose, swallowing the last of the croissant she was eating. Arla beamed at her. “Well done Rita.”

  Rita said, “That’s not all, guv. The coroner’s report for Laura Douglas came back.”

  Arla was momentarily nonplussed. Rita said, “You know, David Longworth’s ex-wife. The one who died in Bournemouth.”

  Arla was impressed. “You have been busy.” They sat down, and Rob appeared, only to be promptly dispatched by Harry to get coffee.

  “Tell me about Blue Horizon,” Arla said.

  “Well,” Rita picked up a folder from Lisa’s desk and gave it to Arla. “It’s an EIS, enterprise investment scheme, as we know. It’s an offshore company, and the board of trustees is this law firm in the city called Cholmondeley St John.”

  “That’s a mouthful,” Lisa grinned.

  “Wait till you hear who set the board of trustees up.”

  “Go on then.”

  “Mike Simpson. He’s the client of the law firm and basically runs Blue Horizon. The government can’t touch him as he’s not directly involved.”

  “Interesting. What about the ex-wife, Laura Douglas?”

  Rita crossed her arms across her chest. “Poor woman. She was found at the bottom of a cliff overlooking the beach. Lethal amounts of diazepam were found in her toxicology reports.”

  Arla frowned. “Hang on. She died of an overdose or due to the fall?”

  “Both. The coroner’s verdict was death by overdose. The Bournemouth CID reckoned she was drugged up to the eyeballs, went wandering round the cliffs and fell to her death.”

  Arla sat back, lips pursed. She found Harry’s eyes. He nodded slowly, and she knew he was thinking the same as her.

  Harry said, “What if she was pushed off the cliff?”

  Rob had returned with the tray of coffees. Lisa brought him up to speed. Rob sipped his coffee and said, “The report said Laura Douglas left the apartment and went out on her own. Her husband was in the bathroom at the time. She never came back.”

  There was silence for a while as everyone sipped their coffee. Thoughts rose and mingled like smoke with the coffee fumes.

  Arla said, “What if she was going to meet someone? Hang on,” she clicked her fingers. “The son was there as well, right? Luke. Does the report mention where he was at the time?”

  “Yes,” Rita said. “He was out of the apartment. Apparently he went for a run. There wasn’t any mention of a witness.”

  Arla said, “So potentially, Laura could have been off to meet Luke. Her son.”

  “Why,” Harry pointed out, “When they were living in the same apartment. This was their holiday, right? He was with his parents.

  “I don’t know,” Arla conceded. “But I think it’s important that when Laura was out of the house, Luke was too.” She glanced at her watch, then at Harry.

  “Time to interview Mike Simpson.”

  Rob said, “Have you heard the latest about him?”

  Arla raised an eyebrow. “About Simpson? No, I haven’t.”

  Rob, Lisa and Rita exchanged a look. It was Lisa who spoke. “Simpson’s a powerful figure in the film business. He produces a lot of films, and in his offices, they do some shooting as well. Media figures say he’s the man who can get you a BAFTA award.” BAFTA stood for British Academy of Film and Television Arts, the English equivalent of the Oscars.

  Lisa carried on. “Last year, when the #Metoo movement started in America, there was a wave here as well. Two women accused Simpson of molesting them in his office when they came for an interview.”

  Rita said, “And that was probably the tip of the iceberg. We contacted these two women while you were at Simpson’s office. Both of them mentioned they knew of other women he had molested not just in his office, but in film studios, back of cars, virtually everywhere. But apart from these two, no other woman has come forward. Yet,” Rita added.

  Arla shook her head. “I knew he was a right piece of work when I laid eyes on him. Something icky.” She shivered, thinking of his sly, knowing smile and the leathered skin hanging off his face. A dirty old man. And a powerful one.

  Harry said, “Do we have PNC records?”

  “Yes. Both cases were filed, and then thrown out of court by his fancy lawyers. Not enough evidence.”

  Arla stood. “That might change now. Let’s get to it, Harry.”

  CHAPTER 40

  When Arla and Harry walked into the interview room, Mike Simpson was sitting there with his legs crossed and his right arm draped over the empty chair next to him. The insolent smile was back on his lips.

  “Well well, if it isn’t the famous pair,” he smirked. “Come on then, let’s get this ridiculous show over and done with. Shall I smile for the camera?”

  Both of them ignored him. Arla faced him, jaws flexed. Simpson had recovered his composure and she wanted to wipe that stupid grin off his face.

  Harry spoke for the recorder and activated the camera. Simpson stared at Arla. He had a blue suit blazer on, but the top three buttons of his shirt were undone. Curly chest hair was sticking out and Arla felt nauseated at the sight.

  “Could you please confirm that you are the owner of the EIS called Blue Horizon,” Arla said in a steely voice. It had the desired effect. The smile faded from Simpson’s lips.

  “Oh, I get it. Remarkable police work. Very commendable. You should be up for a promotion with that, Inspector Baker, right?”

  “DCI Baker actually. Can you answer the question please?”

  “
Let me guess. You’re looking into David’s financials, and saw that he transferred 100k into Blue Horizon. Is that right?”

  Harry said, “Mr Simpson, we are asking the questions here, not you.”

  Simpson gave Harry a withering look. “Oh yeah I forgot. That’s why you got me down here.”

  “Can you answer the question please?” Arla repeated.

  “Well, actually I don’t know who owns Blue Horizon. I appointed a board of trustees, and the company is held in a trust, managed by the trustees. So why don’t you ask them?”

  “The National Crime Agency are interested in offshore companies these days, and they spoke to the Bahamas Tax Office about Blue Horizon,” Arla said. “So, let’s not beat around the bush here. If you wish, we can let HMRC and NCA deal with this from now on.”

  Simpson yawned and stretched his head back, showing a sagging, tanned neck. “Another empty threat. Go ahead, let them investigate. All they’ll find is a legit company.”

  Arla tried a different track. “How well do you know Cherie Longworth, wife of the deceased?”

  Slowly, Simpson turned his eyes back to Arla. His face was impassive, but she could sense a stiffness in his posture. It was obvious in the tautness of his neck muscles as well.

  “I knew her as David’s wife, that’s all.”

  “You didn’t know her before she became his wife?”

  “No.”

  “She worked in TV serials in the 1980’s. David and you were friends at the time. Are you sure you didn't know her back then?”

  He paused before he answered, like he had to think about it. “No, I didn't.”

  “Were you attracted to her?”

  A frown appeared on Simpson’s face. “What sort of a question is that?”

  “Can you answer it please?”

  “This isn’t a court of law is it? I don’t have to answer anything I don’t want to.”

  Arla decided to go for the jugular. There was only one way to put lecherous bastards like Simpson into his place.

  “Have you ever assaulted Cherie Longworth?”

  Simpson’s eyes widened. “What? Is that some kind of joke?”