What They Knew

by Marion Todd

  C

  Clare found she was smiling. She was so happy for Chris and Sara. They’d been through a lot together and now they were settling down for a lifetime of happiness. She sat up on the sofa and swung her legs round to stand.

  In the kitchen she took a bottle of Chianti from the wine rack and uncorked it. She poured herself a large glass and drank half of it down then checked her watch. It would be mid-morning in Boston. She picked up her phone, swiping until she found Geoffrey’s number and she clicked to dial. He answered after a few rings, full of bonhomie. She listened to him for a few seconds then she said, ‘Geoff, I think it’s time we talked properly. About us…’

  Tuesday, 5th January

  Chapter 9

  Clare arrived at the station just after half past eight to find it full of chatter. A small group had collected round Sara who was proudly showing off a diamond solitaire ring. She did her best to look surprised and gave her PC a warm hug.

  ‘Oh Sara! What a wonderful start to the new year. I’m thrilled for you both.’ She had obviously done a good job of hiding her knowledge of the engagement, earning a grateful smile from Chris. ‘So when’s the wedding?’ she went on.

  ‘No plans yet, boss. We just want to enjoy being engaged, don’t we?’

  In the midst of all the excitement, Clare didn’t notice the front door opening and a young woman walking in. Suddenly the hubbub died down and Clare turned to see her. She was about twenty-five with curly hair, as red as a postbox. She wore false eyelashes and killer red lipstick, and was swathed in a pink faux-fur coat. In the sober surroundings of the station, the only other spark of colour Chris’s green tie, she cut a striking figure. The crowd round Sara melted away and Gillian, at the front desk, smiled at the woman.

  ‘Hi there. Can I help?’

  The woman looked round and flushed a little, no doubt conscious that she had interrupted something. ‘Zoe McManus. I’m starting work here today.’

  Clare regarded Zoe with something approaching dismay. She had hoped for someone older with a couple of decades’ clerical experience behind them. Zoe seemed as if she might be more interested in having her nails done. But Clare wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. ‘Hi Zoe, I’m Clare – the DI here. Let’s grab a hot drink and we can chat in my office.’

  Over mugs of tea Zoe told Clare she’d worked for Police Scotland for the past two years. ‘And in a solicitor’s office before that.’

  ‘And you’ve used the online systems before?’

  ‘Oh yeah. They’re fine. Pretty easy once you get to know them.’

  ‘Are you living locally, Zoe?’

  ‘Yeah, flat in town. Just renting.’

  They exchanged a few more pleasantries then Clare said, ‘If you’ve finished your tea I’ll take you to meet Jim Douglas. He’s the station sergeant and he’s been here for ever. Anything you want to know – just ask Jim.’

  Having left Zoe in Jim’s capable hands, Clare sought out Chris. ‘If you can tear yourself away from your lovely bride-to-be, we have a call to pay.’

  Chris picked up his coat and followed Clare out to the car. After the early frost it had clouded over and it looked as if it might snow again. ‘Bloody January,’ he said, climbing into the car. ‘Where are we going anyway?’

  ‘Crossford Financial,’ Clare said, turning up the fan heater to clear the windscreen which had started to ice up again. ‘Alison Reid’s employer.’

  The windscreen cleared and Clare turned the car north, heading for Market Street. The roads had been gritted but the pavements were still icy. As they drove up the gentle incline on Bridge Street she saw more than one pedestrian stagger as they lost their footing. ‘Can you message Jim and ask him to get onto the council about the pavements please? Before the hospital’s queued out the door.’

  While Chris sent Jim a message Clare scanned Market Street for a parking space. Crossford Financial was a small office next to a gift shop and she managed to squeeze into a space just a few doors further on. The pavements in Market Street were well-trodden and some thoughtful shopkeepers had attacked the ice with snow shovels.

  ‘Sara seems happy,’ Clare said as they walked back towards Crossford’s office.

  ‘Well of course she is. She gets to spend the rest of her life washing my socks.’

  ‘You wish!’

  ‘Good reaction to her news, by the way,’ Chris said. ‘Remind me never to play poker with you.’

  Clare pushed open the door and approached the reception desk. She produced her warrant card and asked to speak to whoever was in charge.

  ‘That would be Mr Crossford,’ the receptionist said. ‘I’ll just see if he’s available.’

  While they waited, Clare looked round the office. It had clearly been part of a house at one time. There was ornate cornicing around the ceiling and in the centre was the original plaster rose. The skirting boards were deep too and a door behind the receptionist was panelled in the Victorian style. Then she gave herself a shake. She had to stop viewing everything through Geoffrey’s eyes. That part of her life was over now. The conversation had been less awkward than she’d expected. He had seemed surprised but not unduly upset.

  If you’re sure that’s what you want, Clare?

  I’m not sure it’s what I want, Geoff, but it seems the sensible thing to do.

  She tore herself away from analysing the architecture of the room and studied the posters on the wall. One said,

  Let Us Help You Find

  The Right Mortgage for You.

  She nudged Chris. ‘You two thought about buying somewhere?’

  He was prevented from answering by the panelled door opening. A man with wavy brown hair in a checked suit appeared. He smiled when he saw Clare and Chris and moved forward to greet them. He looked as if smiling came easily and Clare couldn’t help comparing him with Miles Sharp whose default expression, she suspected, was a scowl. She began to understand why Alison Reid had chosen to work for this man who, on first meeting, seemed warm and friendly.

  ‘Good morning, officers. I’m Derek Crossford. I understand you wanted to see me?’

  Clare noticed the receptionist had stopped typing and was pretending to arrange some papers on her desk. ‘Is there somewhere we could talk?’

  Derek Crossford led them through the door and down a short passage to his office at the back of the building. It was a small room but there were comfortable chairs and a mahogany side table with a coffee machine, kettle and an impressive selection of teas. Derek indicated the table. ‘Can I offer you something to drink?’

  Clare waved this away. ‘Thanks, but we won’t keep you long. It’s about one of your employees – Alison Reid.’

  Derek Crossford put a hand to his face and rubbed it. ‘She’s not turned up this morning. I’m guessing you’re here because there’s something wrong.’

  ‘I’m afraid I have some very bad news. Alison was found dead at home, yesterday.’

  The colour drained from his face and he seemed to be struggling to speak. Then, finally he said, ‘Alison? Dead?’ His voice was hoarse and the shock genuine. ‘But she’s so young…’ He looked from Clare to Chris. ‘I can’t take it in. Can… can I ask what happened?’

  ‘We’re still awaiting the outcome of the post-mortem but, for now, we are treating Alison’s death as unexplained.’

  Derek rose from his desk. ‘I think I’ll have that coffee, if you don’t mind. Are you sure I can’t persuade you?’

  ‘Actually,’ Clare said glancing at Chris who was doing his best puppy-dog eyes at her, ‘that would be lovely. Milk, no sugar for us both.’

  Over cups of coffee, Derek Crossford explained that Alison had been with them for around five years.

  ‘And how was she? As an employee, I mean,’ Clare asked.

  Derek almost seemed to be surprised by the question. ‘Oh, she was excellent. Hardworking, reliable – to be honest, Inspector, I was surprised she wanted to work here. She could easily have gone to one of the lar
ger firms for a far better salary.’

  ‘And yet she stayed five years?’

  ‘She did. I think…’ he broke off, apparently choosing his words, ‘…I think she found it – easy to be here, if that makes sense.’ He hesitated again, glancing down at his coffee cup, then raised his eyes to meet Clare’s. ‘I’m not one for gossip, Inspector. But St Andrews is a small town. And Alison’s ex-husband – well, he has a bit of a reputation, you know? With the ladies, I mean… and I think she found the divorce quite hard. Quite public.’ He glanced round the room. ‘We’re a small firm, you see. Here, she could slip under the radar. Come in, do her job, go home.’

  Clare studied Derek Crossford as he spoke. He had kind eyes and she could see why Alison Reid had felt comfortable working for him. He wasn’t as flash as Miles Sharp – probably drove an old Volvo – but perhaps that was why Alison chose to bury herself in this tiny business. Maybe you can have too much flash. ‘Did she talk about her private life?’

  ‘Not to me, anyway.’

  ‘Did she socialise with the other members of staff? Go for drinks or have people to her house?’

  Derek spread his hands. ‘I really don’t know, Inspector. But I can ask Kathy on reception. She might know. Although…’ he broke off.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Now I come to think of it, I did go to her house once – Lindsay Gardens. Both houses actually.’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask why?’

  ‘It was a bookcase. Miles was getting rid of it and Alison decided she would take it. But she couldn’t get it in her car. I’ve a Volvo Estate so I offered to help her move it.’

  Clare suppressed a smile at the mention of Derek Crossford’s car. Maybe she was psychic! ‘So you went to Miles Sharp’s house in Buchanan Gardens?’

  ‘That’s right. He met us at the door. The bookcase was in the hall and he helped me carry it out to my car. Then I drove it round to Lindsay Gardens and Alison and I lugged it into her house between us. Pretty heavy but we managed it in the end.’

  Clare glanced down at the wedding band on Derek Crossford’s left hand. ‘I’m sorry to ask, Mr Crossford, but was there anything between you and Alison? More than colleagues, I mean?’

  He looked surprised. ‘Of course not. I’m happily married, Inspector, and Alison wasn’t that kind of person. I really liked her as a colleague and a friend. But that’s as far as it went.’

  Clare smiled. ‘Thank you. I don’t suppose you know if she had anyone else in her life?’

  He shook his head. ‘We never really had that kind of conversation. But Kathy – our receptionist – she might know. Would you like me to call her in?’

  ‘Please.’

  Derek Crossford picked up the phone to speak to his receptionist. A few seconds later the door opened and the woman who had greeted Clare and Chris entered.

  ‘Kathy, these officers are here to ask about Alison. Perhaps you could answer a few questions?’

  Kathy gaped. ‘Is something wrong? Is Alison in some kind of trouble?’

  Clare indicated a seat. Kathy hesitated then, with a glance at her boss, she sat down slowly, perching on the edge of the chair.

  ‘I’m afraid Alison was found dead yesterday morning,’ Clare said.

  Kathy gasped, and put a hand to her mouth. Her face drained of colour.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I realise it must be a dreadful shock. But we’re trying to get a picture of Alison – what her life was like,’ Clare said. ‘If you feel up to it, of course.’

  Kathy nodded mutely, and Clare went on.

  ‘Did Alison have any close friends? Or a boyfriend? Anyone she saw regularly?’

  Kathy shook her head. ‘Not that I ever saw, Inspector. I mean, she kept herself to herself here, but I think she was a bit of a loner anyway. Mind you…’ she broke off.

  ‘Yes?’

  Kathy glanced at her boss then said, ‘A couple of the girls were trying to get her to start dating again. I think they gave Alison a kind of makeover. In the lunchbreak, of course.’ She looked at Derek Crossford again and seemed relieved when he waved this away with a hand gesture.

  ‘Maybe we could have a quick word with them,’ Clare said, and Derek Crossford suppressed a smile.

  ‘I’m guessing it’s Fay and Kezia?’ he said, and Kathy nodded.

  ‘Did she talk about what she did away from the office at all?’ Clare went on. ‘Evenings? Or weekends? Holidays, even?’

  Kathy was quiet for a moment, then she said, ‘She read a lot. Always talking about books. And sometimes she mentioned a TV programme she’d seen. But never anything I was watching. She went on a river cruise once. Some historical theme, it was. Guest speakers and the like.’

  Clare smiled. ‘Thanks so much, Kathy. That’s really helpful.’

  Kathy glanced at Derek Crossford and she made to rise from her seat. ‘Well, if there’s nothing else?’

  ‘Perhaps you could ask the other two ladies to join us,’ Clare said. Kathy glanced across at her boss.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, and Kathy went to fetch her colleagues.

  There was a quiet tap on the door a few minutes later and two young women in their mid-twenties entered. They eyed Clare and Chris, then their boss.

  ‘Nothing to worry about, ladies,’ Derek Crossford said. ‘Inspector Mackay just wants to ask you a few questions.’

  Fay and Kezia confirmed what Kathy had said. They had persuaded Alison to let them do her hair and make-up for her dating profile.

  ‘She looked lovely,’ Fay said, and Kezia nodded.

  ‘Which dating site was it?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Attracto,’ Kezia said. ‘She was going to update her profile over Christmas,’ she added.

  ‘Do you know if she went on any dates?’

  The pair glanced at each other then back at Clare. ‘Don’t think so,’ Kezia said. ‘She told us she’d send a WhatsApp if she had a date.’

  They learned little more from Fay and Kezia and the pair escaped with evident relief.

  Clare waited until they had closed the door behind them then she turned back to Derek Crossford. ‘There is one more thing, Mr Crossford…’

  ‘Anything at all, Inspector. Under the circumstances I’ll be happy to help.’

  ‘Could we have access to Alison’s computer and her diary?’

  Derek looked doubtful and Clare went on.

  ‘At this stage we don’t have a warrant so you are within your rights to refuse. But we’re having difficulty piecing together Alison’s last movements. It’s just possible there might be something among her work files that could help us. If we can get into her account…’

  He was silent for a few moments, then said, ‘Of course. Everything we do here is above board, Inspector. We have nothing to hide. And if it helps you find out what happened to that poor lass…’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Crossford. We’re very grateful.’

  He rose and said, ‘Bring your coffees if you like. Her office is just next door.’ He led them into a room, similar in size but without the tea and coffee-making facilities. He went round the desk and switched on Alison’s computer. ‘I have Administrator permissions so I can access all accounts on our network. Obviously it’s rarely necessary but…’ He tapped at the keyboard then walked back round the desk. ‘I’ll leave you to it, officers. Just shout if you need any help.’

  Chapter 10

  They studied the desktop shortcuts on Alison Reid’s computer.

  ‘What are we looking for?’ Chris said, peering over Clare’s shoulder.

  ‘Anything personal, anything out of the ordinary and anything that includes that shifty pair in Buchanan Gardens.’ She opened Alison’s email and typed Cheryl into the search box. There were eleven results and Clare scanned them. None appeared to have anything to do with Cheryl Sharp. She repeated the search with Lafferty, then Miles but there was nothing that seemed to be connected to the couple.

  She tried again with Christmas and Weekend but, again, she found nothing to h
elp fill in the gaps in the weeks leading up to Alison’s death. She turned instead to Alison’s diary and navigated her way to the week before Christmas. There were reminders about clients’ tax returns and the January deadline, an entry on the eighteenth of December for the Crossford Staff Christmas Lunch and a series of appointments with names and phone numbers.

  ‘Check when her last day at work was,’ Chris suggested.

  Clare moved to the end of December and began working back.

  ‘Looks like the twenty-third,’ she said. ‘See?’ and she indicated the date.

  ‘WFH?,’ Chris said.

  ‘Working from home. See how she’s put AL against the rest of December?’

  Chris nodded. ‘Annual leave.’

  Clare moved to the documents folder and again performed a search for Miles and Cheryl Sharp but there was nothing. She spent a few more minutes browsing through the list of documents and finally she checked the Pictures folder. There were a few publicity shots of the Crossford staff, formal posed photos taken at desks, and a folder entitled Summer BBQ. Clare opened it to find a dozen or so photos of staff members, casually dressed in summer clothes, tucking into burgers, kebabs and plastic cups of beer. She recognised Kathy, Fay and Kezia in some of the photos but there seemed to be none of Alison. Maybe she had been the photographer.

  She rose from her chair. ‘Want a look?’ she said.

  Chris sat down and began scrolling through the files. After a few minutes he too rose. ‘Nothing here.’

  ‘I agree,’ Clare said. ‘Shut it down and let’s get back to the station.’

  * * *

  As they drove down Bridge Street tiny flakes of snow began to settle on the windscreen. Clare flicked the wipers on to clear them, but by the time they reached the station larger flakes were falling steadily, straight down, the black road surface gradually turning white.

  They ran across the car park, into the warmth and light of the station. Jim was settled at the public enquiry desk which, unusually, was absent of callers.