by Marion Todd
Somehow, Clare couldn’t imagine the Sharps carting bags of recycling to the supermarket on a Saturday morning. But she nodded in agreement. ‘And did you speak to Alison?’ she asked. ‘At the recycling point?’
Miles spread his hands. ‘I’m sorry – I really can’t remember.’
Clare tried another tack. ‘Did you share this house with Alison when you were married?’
Miles nodded, on surer ground now. ‘Yes. We bought it together. Pricey, mind you. But we were lucky. Got in early with a decent offer.’
‘And when you divorced,’ Clare went on. ‘You stayed?’
‘Yes. Alison – she seemed less bothered about it. Just wanted it all signed and sealed. So I offered to buy her out. All legal and above board, of course. Half the market value.’
‘And you were seeing Mrs Sharp at that time? You were in a relationship?’
Miles shifted on his seat. ‘Well…’
‘I don’t see why this is such a big deal,’ Cheryl interrupted. ‘They were married and now they’re not. She was dead boring, if you must know. She was boring, and he was bored with her. There’s nothing wrong with realising a relationship is dead and moving on to a better one. So yes, we had an affair while Miles and Alison were still married. It happens, Inspector. Get over it.’
Clare felt Chris shift in his chair beside her but she continued to smile. ‘And how did Alison feel about it?’
Miles shot a glance at his wife. ‘What Cheryl means, Inspector, is that Alison and I, we knew we weren’t happy. That it wasn’t working. And sometimes it takes something – or someone – to force you into facing it. Cheryl – she did us all a favour, Alison included.’
Clare doubted Alison Reid had seen it that way but she simply smiled at him. ‘That’s fine, Mr Sharp. I’m just trying to build up a picture here. And we won’t keep you much longer. Just a couple more questions, then we’ll be on our way.’
Miles put a hand on his wife’s shoulder and squeezed it. ‘We’ll help in any way we can.’
‘When did Alison leave the firm?’
‘Pretty much as soon as we started divorce proceedings,’ Miles said. ‘Five or six years ago.’ He put a suntanned hand to his chin and rubbed it. ‘It was awkward, you know. I offered to help her find something but she said she’d manage. She had holidays to take and I wanted to make things easy so I gave her two months’ salary and she left that day.’
‘More than he needed to,’ Cheryl said. ‘Really generous.’
Clare nodded. And then she turned to Cheryl. ‘And you, Mrs Sharp, when did you last see Alison?’
The hesitation was just long enough. Cheryl looked down at the dog on her lap and began fondling Pixie’s ears. ‘Oh, I’m not sure. I mean it’s not like we were friends.’
‘But you have seen her recently?’
Cheryl had gathered her wits now and she lifted her gaze to meet Clare’s. ‘I really can’t remember, Inspector. Like Miles, I probably met her in the supermarket. It’s not like there’s lots of choice in St Andrews. We all tend to shop in the same places.’
Clare rose and fished a card from her pocket. ‘We won’t keep you any longer then. Thank you for your time and, if you do remember anything else, please call me.’
Cheryl remained seated with the dog while Miles showed them out, closing the sitting room door behind him.
‘Erm, I don’t suppose you know anything about the funeral, Inspector?’
‘Sorry, I don’t.’
He rubbed his chin again. ‘I wonder if I should be doing something about it – I mean with her mother’s dementia…’
Clare smiled. ‘We’d better get on, Mr Sharp. Thanks again for your time.’
They walked towards the car and Clare knew without looking that he was watching them leave. As they pulled on seat belts, Chris glanced back.
‘Still watching,’ he said.
‘I bet he is.’ She threw the car into reverse, backing up until she could swing round and out of the drive. ‘He’s torn between not wanting us to know he’s seen Alison recently – ’cause I’m pretty sure he has seen her – and wondering if she’s left him anything in her will. That house in Lindsay Gardens isn’t a patch on the Sharps’ house but you know what prices in St Andrews are like.’
‘You reckon he might fall heir to the house?’
Clare pulled out into the road and turned the car back towards the town centre. ‘Not a hope. The care home will swallow up anything that’s left.’
‘Yeah, suppose.’
‘Fancy some lunch?’
‘Definitely.’
They drove along in silence for a few minutes then Chris said, ‘Shifty pair, aren’t they?’
‘Yeah. And he seemed to know about Alison’s mum’s dementia.’
‘You did mention it.’
‘Nope. I said she was ill. I didn’t say what was wrong.’
Chris thought for a moment. ‘Neither you did. You reckon they’re lying about when they last saw Alison?’
‘Definitely. The question is: what are they hiding and how do we find out?’
Chapter 7
They stopped at a sandwich shop to pick up a quick lunch.
‘No mayo on mine,’ Clare called as Chris jumped out of the car. While she waited, she took the chance to call Jim. ‘How are things, Jim?’
‘All fine, Clare. The body’s been removed now and SOCO reckon they’ll finish by the end of the day.’
‘Okay but I want a cop on the door, day and night. Just until we have the result of the PM.’
‘Will do.’
‘Anything else I should know?’
‘SOCO are asking if you want Alison Reid’s laptop and mobile.’
‘Yes please. I’m just grabbing a bit of lunch just now. If you could let them know I’ll pick them up shortly?’
Chris opened the car door and a blast of cold air came in with him. Clare started the engine again, turning up the heater.
‘Chicken satay or brisket with cheddar?’ he said, pulling on his seat belt. ‘Both no mayo.’
‘Ooh they sound amazing.’ Clare pulled the car away and headed down towards Golf Place and turned into the car park in front of the Golf Museum. This early in January, with snow still on the ground, it was almost empty and she drove to the far end, parking in front of a shallow inlet, bounded by rocks. The tide was out and the wet sand was dotted with little birds rushing about the water line.
‘Sanderlings,’ Clare said, killing the engine.
‘I’ve never heard of them. How do you know? Oh wait – don’t tell me: Geoff was a twitcher as well as an expert on fake 1920s houses.’
‘Why do you always assume I learned everything from Geoff?’ She reached across him into the glove box and took out a folded tea towel. She spread this over her knee, protecting her work suit from the sandwich. ‘I knew stuff before I met him, you know.’
‘You’re a dab hand with a knife and fork now, though,’ Chris said. ‘Give the lad some credit.’
Chris dodged the back of Clare’s hand and reached into the brown paper bag for the sandwiches. ‘Chicken satay?’ he said.
‘Mm. Please. My shout next time.’
‘Aye, so you say.’
Clare bit into the sandwich and almost as soon as she did a large grey and white herring gull appeared in front of them, perched on the railing. It looked pointedly into the car, as the wind ruffled its feathers, its yellow beak a splash of colour in an otherwise grey vista.
‘Not a chance,’ Chris said to the gull, biting into his brisket and cheese roll. The gull was not deterred and continued to scope him out, shifting occasionally on its feet.
‘You’re not doing Veganuary, then?’ Clare asked.
Chris shook his head, his mouth full of sandwich. ‘Sara is, though,’ he said wiping a smear of relish off his chin.
‘Ooh, lucky you.’
‘No milk for the coffee. She’s bought this oat milk instead. It’s okay but I miss the real stuff.’
; Clare laughed. ‘Are you sure you two are compatible?’
Chris hesitated and Clare put down her sandwich. ‘Oh no, Chris. I’ve not put my foot in it, have I? You two are okay…’
Chris’s face began to redden. ‘Actually, we’re more than okay…’
Clare waited, unsure what was coming.
‘I’m not supposed to tell anyone – but we’re engaged!’
‘Oh, wow, Chris. That’s wonderful news. When did this happen? Did she say yes right away? When are you going to tell everyone? When’s the wedding?’
‘Godsake, Clare – calm down! Okay, I proposed on Hogmanay but we don’t have a date yet. She said yes right away and she’s going to announce it tomorrow; and if you let on I’ve told you she’ll kill me.’ He smiled. ‘Satisfied?’
‘Yes, thank you sergeant. But, seriously Chris, I am so happy for you both. It couldn’t happen to a nicer couple. Well, Sara’s nice, at least…’
Chris ignored this. ‘I’ve booked a party but it’s a surprise so you mustn’t tell her.’
‘Scout’s honour. Where is it?’
‘The Kenlybank Hotel. Saturday the sixteenth. You’ll come, yeah?’
‘You bet. The Kenlybank, eh? Very posh.’
‘Nah. It’s their smaller function room. Still big enough for a ceilidh though.’
Clare hesitated, then Chris spoke again.
‘I know what you’re thinking. You’re remembering that murder at the hotel. With the Land Rover.’
‘It had crossed my mind.’
‘Clare, we’re police officers. If we avoided everywhere there was an incident we’d never leave our front doors. It’s a lovely hotel and we’ll have a great night.’
She smiled at him and gave him a gentle punch on the arm. ‘Yes we will. Just try not to have any of your guests killed. It does put a damper on things…’
They gathered up the rubbish and Chris went to put it in a nearby bin, followed a little too closely by the hopeful gull. Clare started the engine and put the heater up to high again. The snow was certainly melting but it was still bloody cold.
‘Where now?’ Chris said, jumping back in and rubbing his hands together to warm them up.
‘I want to go back to Lindsay Gardens. They’ve got Alison’s laptop and mobile. Might be something that helps fill in the gaps.’ Clare pulled on her seat belt. ‘Then you, Sergeant West, can run them down to Tech Support for me.’
He sighed. ‘It’s always me, isn’t it?’
‘I know. Aren’t you lucky?’
Chapter 8
It was growing dark by the time Chris returned to the station. Clare had arrived just before him and was in the kitchen making a coffee when he appeared.
‘Laptop and mobile dropped off okay?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. Skeleton staff at Tech Support until tomorrow but they’ll check them as soon as they can.’
Clare nodded. ‘I managed to track down Alison Reid’s solicitor. So at least he can take charge of the funeral, once we release the body.’
‘Suppose that’s something,’ Chris said, rubbing his hands together. ‘The temperature’s fairly dropping out there.’
Clare glanced out of the window. The sun was low in the sky now, casting an orange glow out to the north-west. ‘Yeah,’ she agreed. ‘Going to be another cold one.’
‘So,’ Chris said, hovering in the kitchen doorway. ‘What now?’
Clare sipped at her coffee. ‘Not much more we can do until we have the post-mortem report.’
‘Does that mean…’
‘Go on,’ Clare said. ‘Get off home. But in early tomorrow, mind.’
Clare took the mug into her office, flicking on the light. The cold hit her and she bent to turn her radiator up high. Then she sat at the desk and switched on her computer. As she waited for it to warm up she leafed through the mail on her desk. There was nothing that looked like it couldn’t wait until tomorrow and she turned to her monitor, clicking to check her emails. As she waited for her Inbox to load she felt vaguely unsettled. Perhaps it was the cold – she wasn’t sure. But, after two weeks away, the station seemed a strange place. Almost as though she didn’t belong here. Maybe she’d feel different tomorrow. The holiday would be properly over by then.
Her Inbox finally stopped loading and she ran an eye idly down the messages looking for anything that needed her attention; but it was mostly requests for crime statistics and reports that were now overdue. There was one that caught her eye and she clicked to read it. The subject was:
Admin Assistant: Zoe McManus
‘Yippee,’ Clare said to herself. She’d been asking for a civilian member of staff for months and her request had finally been granted. She read,
Zoe McManus will be attached to St Andrews station for an initial period of twelve months, from Tuesday, 5th January.
Zoe will report at 9:00 a.m. She has already undertaken the Civilian Induction Programme. Please ensure she also receives local orientation training, as appropriate.
Things were looking up. She scanned the rest of the emails and, finding nothing urgent, closed down her computer. She rinsed her cup in the kitchen then walked back out to the front office, stopping only to ask Gillian, one of the uniformed PCs, to have the car park gritted. That done, she emerged into the dying January light. It hadn’t been a long day – not by major enquiry standards – but it had been mentally exhausting. The circumstances of Alison Reid’s life and death, her poor mother, lost to dementia, and the mean-spiritedness of Cheryl Sharp – it all felt a bit overwhelming now and she was surprised to find tears pricking her eyes. Maybe it was the come-down after Christmas, or perhaps it was the knowledge that, before the night was out, she was going to end her relationship with Geoffrey Dark. Geoff, the man who at one time she had thought was about to propose. But instead he had gone off to Boston, leaving Clare to wonder if she’d ever really known him at all.
She picked her way across the slushy car park towards her car. Chris was right. The slush was crisping up already and it would certainly freeze tonight. Pulling out of the car park, she felt the back wheels of the car slip, then the juddering of the ABS. As she turned onto Largo Road she saw the welcome sight of a yellow lorry heading towards her, spraying its mix of grit and salt across the road. She hoped it had come from the Craigtoun Road – her route back to Daisy Cottage. The slush she had driven through that morning would soon turn to ice. The car thermometer was reading minus one now and she felt sure the temperature would drop further as the night went on.
As she drove, her mind drifted back to Christmas. She’d been so excited about Geoff coming back from Boston and, unusually, she’d opted to take the full two weeks’ holiday. It was normally a busy time at work but she reckoned she deserved a proper break.
And it had been a break. She and Geoff had travelled through to Clare’s family in Glasgow on Christmas Eve, laden with gifts, crackers, an enormous ham – Clare’s contribution to the meal – and a bottle of Glenfiddich which Geoff had brought. Clare’s mother had been delighted with the ham, baked in a Cumberland sauce glaze and studded with cloves. Clare hadn’t the heart to tell her she’d bought it ready-baked from a deli in St Andrews. If it made her mother happy to think she was turning into a domestic goddess who was she to disabuse her of the notion? Geoff had been all charm and relaxed good humour. He had that happy knack of slipping easily into any gathering and Clare had basked in her parents’ approval. Even James, her little nephew, now formally diagnosed with autism, was mostly on good form and it had been the happiest Christmas Clare could recall.
Or at least that’s how she hoped it had looked to her family. She couldn’t put her finger on what the problem was but it was something to do with Geoff lending himself to her family for a few days. He wasn’t giving himself to them, or even to Clare – not in the way that Chris and Sara would when they stood up to make their vows. Rather, he was like one of those bright butterflies, touching down on a flower for a short time before fluttering away again.
>
After Christmas he’d come back with her to Daisy Cottage and spread himself around for a few days, as though it was the happiest place in the world for him. But, as the days wore on, she knew he would soon be off, just like the butterfly; off to another garden.
And now, it was time to stop dithering. Time to do what she’d known she must do for some time. She turned the car into her drive and killed the engine. She would tell him tonight.
Benjy was thrilled at her return, and he brought her a towel from the kitchen to demonstrate this, shaking it from side to side, as though it was a rabbit he was trying to stun. She retrieved the towel, earning herself a volley of sharp barks in protest.
‘Really?’ she said, in the sternest voice she could manage. ‘Is that any way to speak to your mother?’
She put the towel straight into the washing machine and opened the freezer to find something to defrost for her evening meal. Her mother, as usual, had sent her back with a dozen homemade meals that could be heated from frozen and she took out a chicken pie, topped with cheesy mashed potato. There was half a bag of carrots in the fridge and she laid these out beside the frozen pie to cook later. Still full of chicken satay from lunchtime, she flopped down on the sofa, kicking her shoes across the room. Benjy leapt up to join her and she lay there for a few minutes, going back over her day.
Had there been something iffy about Miles and Cheryl Sharp? Or was she looking for something that wasn’t there? Maybe her dislike of the couple was clouding her judgement. But then she thought back to the moment she had asked each of them when they had last seen Alison, and she felt sure one or both of them was hiding something. The question was what? Was marriage to Cheryl more than Miles had bargained for, causing him to seek tea and sympathy from his ex-wife? Or more than that? She couldn’t see Miles admitting to anything and Alison certainly couldn’t tell them. She had to hope the laptop and phone would yield something.
Her phone pinged, cutting across her thoughts. A message from Chris.
Forgot to remind you –
Not a word about U NO WOT!!!
See you tomorrow