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

by M. L Rose

  “Answer the question please.”

  He pressed his lips together and his nostrils flared. “This bullshit has gone on for long enough. Instead of looking around for the real criminal here you are, trying to allege that I touched David’s wife.”

  “Are you denying that you assaulted her?”

  A look of disbelief rippled across his face. Either he was speaking the truth, or he was a very good actor, Arla thought. But she didn’t believe Cherie was lying, not for a second.

  “Of course I’m denying it,” he said, teeth clenched.

  Arla said smoothly, “What about the two women who accused you of assaulting them in your office? Are you denying that as well?”

  Simpson leaned forward. His tanned, brown forehead was drawn into knots. An ugly scowl was spreading on his face.

  “That’s all water under the bridge. It was all a pack of lies. Do you know what damage that did to my reputation? How dare you try to link that trash talk to something like this?”

  Arla leaned back in her chair, satisfied. “They say you’re the man who can get young actresses a BAFTA award.”

  “What?” The scowl deepened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Arla shrugged nonchalantly. “So all these women are lying are they? You’re pure as driven snow, in all your life you’ve never molested a woman.”

  Simpson shook his head. “Believe what you want. Honestly, you guys are a joke. Why don’t you do your job and stop wasting the taxpayer’s money? Catch the guy who did this!”

  Arla said, “Cherie Longworth has accused you of attacking her in her own house. The last time you went to see her husband.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Arla raised her voice and leaned forward. “What happened, Mr Simpson? Did you have an argument with David? Was he not giving you enough money for the film? Is that why you decided to come down and assault his wife? For you, it’s a power trip isn’t it?”

  Simpson stood up, jaws churning, eyes filled with hate. “Shut up! Just shut up! How dare you…”

  “And then what happened? You didn't get your own way. Not with Cherie. David told you not to come back. You drove off in a huff that day. The neighbours saw you. So you came back and killed him. Didn’t you?”

  “Fuck you!” Simpson bellowed. His chest was heaving, sweat pouring down his face, dampening his shirt. “You think I did that to David? I was the animal who gutted him and strung him up like a…

  Simpson stopped suddenly. His face blanched white and fear spasmed across his eyes.

  Arla and Harry glanced at each other. Very quietly, Arla asked, “How did you know he was strung up?”

  Simpson’s mouth was open. His eyes were wild and dilated. His hands were knotted into fists, knuckles white.

  Arla said, “Not a single newspaper or media outlet reported on the mode of death. No one knows apart from his wife and the murderer. And we know his wife didn't speak to you. We checked her phone log, and her voice calls.”

  Simpson staggered back till he was leaning against the wall. He looked like he was about to vomit. His voice was faint. “I want a lawyer.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Later that evening

  Emily Harman, the family liaison officer, watched as Cherie Longworth poured two cups of coffee from the mixer. She slid one over to Emily.

  “Thank you,” Emily said. Although there wasn’t a child involved, her presence was reassuring to Cherie. She felt sorry for the woman. She never had makeup on and her hair was always pulled in a tight ponytail. Despite that, her appearance was striking. Emily had heard that she was an actress, and had looked her up in IMDB, but not found anything. She asked Cherie about it now.

  Cherie smiled wanly. “When I did those TV serials, they didn't have IMDB. But I can show you something else.”

  “Oh no,” Emily protested as Cherie slipped off the breakfast bar stool. “You don’t have to trouble yourself.”

  “No trouble.”

  Cherie went upstairs and returned with a paper box. She took the lid off to reveal cuttings from showbiz magazines. Most of them were photos, some with written pages. She showed them to Emily.

  “Look, there’s me with Derek Hutchinson. He was a well-known film producer at the time, who later went to Hollywood.”

  Emily looked through the photos. Most of them were taken in film studios and photo shoots. They seemed genuine. At the bottom there was a pair of DVDs’. Cherie took them out too.

  “You can see these if you want. Digitally re-mastered from old VHS tapes.”

  “Oh no, that’s alright. I mean, I would like to.” She looked up at Cherie, afraid of being rude, but Cherie was smiling.

  “Don’t worry. It was a while ago and you might find them boring.”

  Cherie’s phone beeped. She picked it up and her face went pale. Emily put her cup down.

  “What is it Mrs Longworth?”

  Cherie put the phone down and stared around her like a trapped animal. “That was Luke. He wants me to meet him outside.”

  Emily walked over to Cherie. “Outside where?”

  Cherie had put the phone on the counter and the screen was blank. She picked it up and the text message appeared.

  “He didn't say.” Cherie looked at Emily, her eyes wide and nostrils flaring. “What should I do?”

  Emily considered. She wasn’t a police officer, but she had enough experience of working with distressed families to know she had to do something. If she called in PC Darren, parked at the front, then that would be warning Luke, who was probably watching. He wouldn't be texting to meet unless he was very close. This was an opportunity to grab him. Excitement gripped Emily.

  “Wait a minute, let me speak to Darren.” She took her radio off the breast pocket and turned the knob. Static crackled through it. Emily called Darren who answered immediately.

  “It’s the son,” Emily said breathlessly. “He’s shown up here. No, he’s not inside. But he’s not far off, as he wants to meet Cherie outside.” Emily listened for a while then hung up.

  “Anything?” she asked Cherie.

  Cherie’s cheeks were sucked in, hollow. She was breathing heavily. Emily put a hand on her arm and she startled.

  “Here,” Emily said, “Sit down. Can I take the phone?”

  Cherie hesitated for a few seconds then gave it to her. Emily said, “Is this a new number? There’s no name on it.”

  “Yes, it must be. I have his number stored on my phone.”

  Emily said, “Can I text him back?”

  Cherie looked fearful. “What will you say?”

  “Now don’t get concerned. This is what Darren told me to do. I will text back as you, saying that you are going out to meet him. But you won’t. You stay here. Do you have an anorak or coat that Luke might find familiar?”

  Cherie frowned. “Yes, maybe. I have a red coat that he has mentioned looks nice. But that was a while ago, last year.”

  “Do you have still have the coat?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK. So, I’m going to go out when he replies. But Darren and another police constable will be right behind me. We’ll try to catch him.”

  Alarmed, Cherie grabbed Emily’s hand. “No. Don’t do this. You’re putting yourself at risk. And I’m worried of being on my own.” Her hand went to her mouth. “I don’t think I can live here anymore.”

  “Mrs Longworth don’t worry,” Emily said soothingly. “There’s two units of uniformed police here. Four of them in total. One unit will keep an eye on you.”

  Cherie sat back down. Emily picked up the phone and texted back.

  Are you OK, Luke?

  He answered a few seconds later.

  I’ll tell you more when I see you.

  OK. Where shall we meet?

  Tell the police you’re going to the supermarket to buy food. I’ll meet you in the Tesco carpark. Near the cash machine on the side.

  Emily got up and showed the messages to Cherie. She nodded. “The cashpoin
t has a light over it, but that corner of the car park is dark. The wire fence is right behind the cash point. Maybe he’ll come over that?”

  “We’ll see. Can I get the red coat please?”

  Cherie said. “Fine. But I’m not staying here. I’m coming with you.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Luke Longworth stared at the messages on his screen. The last one said that Cherie was on her way. Luke had a handheld drone that was hovering high in the air above Cherie’s house. His father’s house. Even the words filled Luke with bitterness. Bile rose in his throat.

  Father. How dare he call himself that.

  The grainy black and white image on his hand-held device showed the front door of the house open. A woman in a dark coat stepped out. Luke recognized the coat. It belonged to Cherie. She lifted the hood before he could zoom in. Luke watched as one of the policemen stepped up and spoke to her briefly. They had a long chat, and the policeman seemed unhappy.

  Luke watched with bated breath. Finally, the policeman let Cherie go reluctantly. Luke released a sigh. Cherie got into the car and drove away. The cops didn't follow. So far this was going to plan. Luke lowered the drone, but kept it hovering over the house, high enough for the cops not to notice.

  He was positioned behind the parked media vans, and around the corner from the house. A clump of trees hid him from the vans as well as the property. Luke was in his car, a black VW Golf with tinted windows. He watched as Cherie’s car disappeared around the bend and waited. The police cars still didn't make a move. The media van guys either hadn't noticed, or were napping.

  Six minutes went by, and still the police car stayed put. Luke flew the drone over the trees, bringing it back down to his level. He got into the car, and drove in the opposite direction, following the route to the back of the retail park that housed the massive Tesco supermarket and other stores.

  Luke had been here several times. It was a quiet place. Strange, as it was surrounded by roads and a busy intersection. But no one bothered about this grassy knoll that rose between the roads and the rear of the retail park. Tall trees stood at its peak, and it was bordered by a small wire fence that was easily breached. Luke had seen discarded needles and used condoms up here. Sometimes he heard sounds as well. But he kept himself to himself, slinking between the shadows.

  He waited till the road was clear, then sprinted across and climbed the fence, dropping lightly to his feet on the other side. The backpack on his shoulders contained the drone. He got up to the peak, and the glittering lights of the industrial park came into view. Luke didn’t activate the drone. For his plan, he needed free hands.

  He scampered along past the trees and heavy undergrowth till he was directly above the cash machine. Cherie’s BMW convertible was visible, parked alongside the machine. He could see her inside the car. She opened the door and stepped out. She had her back to Luke. She put the hood on and lowering her head, walked to the cash point.

  Luke watched her carefully. Something about the way she walked bothered him. There was almost a spring in her step. She didn't walk as slowly like she normally did. And neither did she move the hood from her face, or look up.

  Hairs stood up at the back of Luke’s neck. His heart thudded faster against his ribs. He stared closely at the other parked cars, of which there weren’t many this close to the cash machine. Most the cars were parked closer to the main supermarket entrance.

  Then he saw it. An unmarked dark blue Volvo. It didn't look like a police car, but he guessed that was the whole point. Inside, he could see two men in the front, and another shape at the back. The two men wore chest rigs like uniformed police officers.

  Within seconds, the realisation flashed through his brain like lightning. He was set up.

  Cherie, you bitch…

  A sudden snapping sound came from behind him. Luke didn't think, he moved. Rising swiftly, he dashed to his right. He knew the terrain well, better than those chasing him. Luke flitted between trees, then jumped over a fallen trunk as he heard a thud and muffled shout behind him.

  Within minutes he was climbing the fence. He ran like a hare to the end of the road, then around the corner. He didn't pause to look behind him. He was in the car and roaring away when he allowed himself to look in the rear-view mirror. The road behind him was empty.

  CHAPTER 43

  It was almost 21:00 hours. Arla was exhausted, and she knew Harry was as well. She drained the rest of her coffee and threw the paper cup in the bin. She came out of her office and Harry stood from his desk.

  “He’s ready,” Harry said in a quiet voice. He meant Simpson’s lawyer, QC Jermyn Hardwicke. An appropriate name for a Queen’s Counsel lawyer, Arla thought to herself. Hardwicke had just finished his confidential briefing with Simpson, who had been arrested on the charge of murdering David Longworth.

  They barged into a red-faced Andy Jackson, running in from the corridor. If Harry hadn’t been walking in front to absorb the blow, Arla would have been hurt. Andy used to be a rugby prop, and was built like a beefcake.

  “Whoa easy,” Harry exclaimed.

  “Sorry guv,” Andy wiped the sweat from his head. “There’s been a development. We almost caught Luke Longworth. But he gave us the slip.”

  Breathlessly, Andy told them the story. Arla hardened her jaw. “Where is Cherie now? I can’t believe Darren allowed a civilian to be dragged into this.”

  “She wouldn't stay in the house guv. Was too scared. Can’t blame her to be honest.”

  “Is she back in the house?”

  “Stu and Emily are staying with Cherie. Emily said Cherie doesn’t want to live in the house anymore. She wants to go back to the B&B.”

  Arla nodded. “That makes sense. Can you sort out the paperwork for that? I can authorize.”

  “Of course, ma’am,” Andy said.

  Arla frowned. “Don’t call me that, makes me sound old.”

  When they walked into the interview room, the first thing Arla noticed was how haggard Mike Simpson looked. His cheeks were sunken, along with his eyes which had receded deep into their sockets. He sat slumped in his chair. Next to him, Jermyn Hardwicke looked the epitome of class. His glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, Savile Row pinstripe suit neatly pressed.

  He nudged Simpson to sit up straight as Arla entered. Harry did the introductions and the camera came on.

  At the first interview, several basic questions had not been covered. Arla blamed herself for it. She knew the historical abuse cases against Simpson weighed heavy on her mind. That made him a despicable creature, but not necessarily guilty of murder. She had to keep an open mind.

  “Where were you the night of the 17th November?” Arla asked.

  Simpson looked weary. “At a work do in the evening. Lots of people were there. Ask them.”

  “How did you know the way David was murdered?”

  Simpson glanced at Hardwicke, who leaned over and whispered in his ear. Simpson sat up straighter.

  “I was sent a message.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Again, lawyer and client had a hushed conversation. “A photo was sent to my phone.”

  “Who sent it?”

  “An unknown number. No idea who.” Arla and Harry exchanged a glance. This was getting interesting.

  Simpson’s phone was in custody already, and a SOC team would be visiting his office tomorrow.

  “Are you sure you didn’t recognise the number?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any idea why someone would do that?”

  Simpson shook his head. Arla repeated her questions about assaulting Cherie and the older cases.

  Hardwicke’s features barely moved when he spoke. “I believe my client has answered these questions already. Can we move on please?”

  Arla shifted track. “How well do you know Luke Longworth?”

  She didn't miss the shadow that passed over Simpson’s face. It was brief, he composed himself quickly. She had asked the question deliberately.

&
nbsp; “Cherie said you knew him,” Arla said.

  Simpson’s voice was stiff. “He came to house with his father a couple of times. When he was younger mind you.”

  “So you’ve known him for a long time? As long as you knew David.”

  “I don’t know him well. He’s the son of a friend, not my own son.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  Simpson replied quickly. Too quickly. “Not recently.”

  “When, in that case?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe six months ago. When I went to David’s house.”

  Arla remembered what Cherie had said. Luke hadn't visited the house in the last year. Aloud she said, “Are you sure it was six months ago?”

  A look of irritation crossed Simpson’s face. “Some time around then. I didn't put it in the bloody calendar.”

  Hardwicke interjected, moving only his lips. “I believe he has answered the question.”

  “Not really,” Arla reposted, glaring back at the suave lawyer. She turned back to Simpson. “Do you have Luke’s number in your phone?”

  Simpson’s eyes narrowed slightly. He had a quick chat with his lawyer, then answered. “Yes. Why?”

  “So, although you knew him only as your friend’s son, and saw him rarely, you kept his number on your phone?”

  “He was in the same business as me. Occasionally he called me for advice.”

  “And the last time was more than six months ago?”

  “Yes.”

  Harry nodded at Arla and leaned in. “When you got the photo on your phone, why didn't you inform the police?”

  “I was going to. But I wasn’t sure if it was a fake. Like a sick joke. I rang both David and Cherie, but no one replied. So I forgot about it.”

  “You didn't think of it again when you saw the news?”

  “I did. But you guys were at my office before I could speak to you.”

  Harry said, “How did the murderer have your number?”

  Irritation swept over his Simpson’s face again. “Maybe he got it from somewhere.”

  “Like where?”