What They Knew

by Marion Todd

  She had an easy smile and seemed full of fun, and Clare’s heart sank to her boots. To add insult to injury, Benjy seemed to sense her disquiet and he jumped up to lick her hand, placing a pair of muddy front paws on her new red coat. She couldn’t remember off-hand if it was washable but, somehow, she doubted it. Maybe people who wore these coats didn’t have to worry about such things.

  The woman came over to Clare, smiling broadly, her hair blowing softly in the wind. Clare’s own hair, she remembered, needed washing and was scraped back roughly with an old hair tie.

  ‘This must be Benjy,’ she said, bending to rub him behind the ears. Benjy responded by wagging his tail furiously and licking her on the hand.

  Traitor, Clare thought, forcing a smile. ‘Hi,’ she said, ‘I’m Clare.’

  ‘Lesley,’ the woman said, passing the dog lead behind her back as Ralph made to investigate the husky. She glanced at Isobel who was herding a couple of German Shepherd owners into the ring then turned back to Clare. ‘It’s usually my husband who brings Ralph but he’s working today.’ She inclined her head slightly towards Isobel. ‘I think she’s a bit scary.’

  ‘Very,’ Clare said.

  Lesley laughed. ‘We can be bottom of the class together, then.’

  It was the longest dog training session Clare could remember and she escaped quickly at the end, the first to reach the car park. For once she made no attempt to clean Benjy’s muddy paws. He jumped up to the front seat, smearing it with mud and grass, and stood patiently while Clare strapped him into his harness.

  At home she settled him by the radiator and ran upstairs to change. Her red coat was streaked with muddy paw marks and she saw from the label that it would have to be dry-cleaned. ‘Maybe it’ll brush off when it’s dry,’ she said, more in hope than expectation. Then she changed into a work suit and, taking a bag of crisps from the kitchen, she headed for the station.

  * * *

  ‘Nearly finished checking the WhatsApp group,’ Chris said, as she shrugged off her coat.

  ‘Any likely suspects?’

  ‘Nope. And no sign of Jessica Peters, either.’

  ‘We have to find her, Chris. It’s important.’

  ‘Yeah, they are trying, Clare.’

  ‘Surely one of the group members is still in touch with her – or knows something about her?’

  ‘Good point,’ Chris said. ‘I’ll get the guys to ring back round and see if any of them can help.’

  ‘Fancy a trip into town?’

  ‘To do… what?’

  ‘I’d like to call in on our restaurateur. See what he has to say for himself.’

  ‘You’re not going to call him out on the Cayman Islands thing?’

  ‘Not yet. I just want to see what he says about that appointment.’

  Chapter 32

  The Heron’s Nest was at the far end of South Street, not far from the ruined cathedral. Clare pulled into one of the diagonal parking spaces near the close that led to the town’s Byre Theatre. They emerged from the car and stood looking across at the restaurant. It looked busy, from what they could see. There were a few aluminium bistro-type tables outside where the smokers sat chatting, cradling coffees.

  ‘Come on,’ Clare said. ‘Let’s see what he has to say for himself.’

  She pushed open the glass front door and a ding alerted a young man in dark trousers and a green shirt.

  ‘Bit of a wait for a table, guys,’ he said.

  Clare took out her warrant card. ‘Just a word with Mr Hamilton, please.’

  The young man looked at the card then back and Clare and Chris.

  ‘If you could let him know…’ Clare said.

  The man stood back to let a waiter with a tray pass then he turned and headed to the back of the restaurant. Clare took the chance to look round. The trademark herons were painted right round the walls and she wondered which of the tables Linda from Sharp and Lafferty had dined at. It was hard to say. There must be easily twenty tables, possibly more, and they were all full. A small bench to the side of the front door was occupied by a family of four, waiting to be seated. Looking round, it seemed as if everyone was having meals, not just coffee and cake. There was a specials board which was advertising smoked venison for twenty pounds a head and, as Clare read further down the board, a waitress in a black tunic rubbed the venison off. Another waiter went past bearing a large tray filled with plates of steak and hand-cut chips. The credit card machine was being passed from table to table and it was clear that The Heron’s Nest was doing very well indeed.

  A man appeared at Clare’s arm. ‘Detective Inspector Mackay?’

  Clare took in Nicholas Hamilton. He wasn’t tall, about the same height as she was. A bit overweight, his trousers straining at the waist, but he was otherwise neatly dressed. Unlike the waiting staff, he was wearing a crisp white shirt, open at the neck. Clare formed her lips into a smile. ‘Is there somewhere we could talk, sir?’

  He hesitated. ‘As you see, Inspector, this is our busiest time. Maybe…’

  ‘I appreciate that, sir, but we’re investigating a murder so if we could go somewhere quiet…’

  His face gave nothing away. He motioned to the green-shirted man who had greeted Clare and Chris. He spoke quietly into his ear and the young man nodded. Then he turned back to Clare. ‘If you’d like to follow me.’

  He led them through the restaurant then held open a side door before walking down a short corridor to another door. ‘My office,’ he said. ‘Bit messy but you know how it is.’

  It was a small room, dominated by a cantilever desk with a melamine top, scuffed here and there with a ring where a coffee mug obviously sat. A white MacBook was open on the desk and he closed this, moving it to the side. He stepped round the back of his desk and indicated two chairs in the corner of the room. Then he sat down and waited while Chris pulled the chairs over to the desk. When they were seated he looked from Clare to Chris and back to Clare again. ‘So?’

  Clare decided she didn’t much like Nicholas Hamilton. She studied him for a few seconds, taking her time before she spoke. Then she said, ‘We’re investigating the murder of Alison Reid.’

  The colour drained from his cheeks and Clare wondered if it was shock or could it be guilt?

  ‘I… er, I didn’t know.’

  ‘I’m afraid so, Mr Hamilton. So I’d like to ask when you last saw Alison?’

  ‘Oh wait a minute,’ he said, sitting forward in his seat. ‘You surely don’t think I had anything to do with it?’

  ‘We’re just trying to find out as much as we can about Alison. I understand you were a client.’

  ‘Yes that’s right.’

  ‘Although,’ Clare went on, ‘I gather this is no longer the case.’

  Nicholas Hamilton’s hand went to his face and he rubbed his chin. ‘Well, no.’

  ‘Can I ask why?’

  He shifted in his chair and straightened his back. ‘Professional differences.’ He was recovering himself, Clare thought.

  ‘Can you tell me about the last time you saw Alison, please?’

  ‘Well I didn’t bloody kill her, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

  Clare smiled. ‘Of course not, sir. We’re simply trying to build up a picture of Alison’s life in the last few weeks. Personal and professional. So, if you could—’

  ‘At her office,’ he said, cutting across Clare. ‘I had an appointment, then I left. That’s all.’

  ‘Would I be correct in thinking the appointment ended early?’

  ‘Erm, probably.’

  ‘After fifteen minutes, I understand. And it was supposed to be an hour.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea how long her appointments are. I’m a busy man, Inspector. I said what I had to say, she made some comments and I left.’

  ‘So there’s no suggestion of an argument between you?’

  He paused for a moment, as though choosing his words. ‘If you insist on knowing, I wanted Alison to arrange some investment
s for me. She disagreed. Said they were risky and not a good move in the current financial climate. I told her it was my money and she said I was at liberty to take it elsewhere. So I did.’ He glared at them, his mouth set, defying them to challenge him.

  Clare, her eyes still fixed on Hamilton, sensed Chris sit forward and she reached out her foot to tap his ankle gently. She didn’t want to give away the contents of Alison Reid’s document. Not yet. Instead, she said, ‘Did you find another accountant?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Is that relevant?’

  ‘Probably not. But it might save us disturbing you on another occasion.’

  ‘I really don’t see why…’

  ‘It’s entirely up to you, of course, sir. But if we find it has no relevance to our investigations then the information will be disregarded. Or is there some reason you prefer not to tell us?’

  He looked at Clare for a minute, his gaze stony.

  She stared right back, waiting.

  Finally, he broke the awkward silence. ‘Sharp and Lafferty, if you really want to know. And, now, Inspector, if there’s nothing else, I’ve a restaurant full of hungry punters to feed.’ He rose from his chair, indicating that the interview was at an end.

  Clare sat on. ‘Actually, Mr Hamilton, there is something else you might be able to help us with.’

  He sighed and sat down again. ‘I very much doubt it, Inspector. But go on.’

  ‘I wonder if you might have had an approach from a customer. A potential booking for a school reunion.’

  ‘I suppose this has to do with your enquiries as well?’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘We are governed here by GDPR, Inspector. I’m obliged to respect customer confidentiality.’

  Clare nodded. ‘I do realise that, sir. But, in the case of a murder enquiry, GDPR doesn’t apply. We could of course get a warrant for the information. But it would mean a further visit…’

  Nicholas Hamilton opened the laptop and wiggled a wireless mouse. ‘Name?’

  ‘Jessica Peters.’

  ‘Any idea when the booking’s for?’

  ‘Not really. But I’d guess sometime in the spring. Easter, maybe.’

  He began typing into the search box then clicked with the mouse. ‘Got it.’

  Clare glanced at Chris. Was this it? Had they tracked Jessica Peters down at last? ‘I don’t suppose you have a phone number for her?’

  He peered at the screen. ‘No,’ he said, ‘she sent a couple of emails. One to ask for menus, the other to say she’d be in touch.’ He looked up from the MacBook. ‘No firm date yet.’

  Chris leaned forward. ‘Could we see the emails please?’

  Nicholas Hamilton raised an eyebrow. ‘Is this really necessary?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ Clare said. ‘And we will be back with a warrant, if you don’t feel able to let us see them today.’

  He turned the laptop round to face them. ‘Go on, then. I’ve nothing to hide. But if she raises hell because I’ve shown you…’

  ‘Don’t worry, sir,’ Chris said. ‘We won’t mention it – unless of course it’s germane to our enquiries.’

  Chris took hold of the mouse and began scrutinising the first email. Clare watched as he clicked and the screen filled with what seemed to be random strings of text.

  ‘Header info,’ he muttered. ‘Is there a printer I can use?’ he asked Nicholas.

  ‘Sure. It’s switched on.’

  Chris took a screenshot then sent it to the printer. Then he repeated the process with the second email and the printer came to life once more. He turned the laptop back round and returned the mouse. ‘Obviously, if Miss Peters gets back in touch you’ll let us know?’

  ‘Mind if I ask why?’

  ‘Just routine.’ Chris rose to retrieve the printouts and Clare followed suit.

  ‘Thanks, Mr Hamilton,’ she said. ‘We appreciate your help.’

  As they walked back down the short corridor, Clare said, ‘Business is booming, then?’

  ‘Sunday’s always busy.’

  ‘Well, good luck with those investments.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Those risky investments. I’m sure Sharp and Lafferty will look after you.’ And before he could reply Clare opened the door which led back into the restaurant area. The hubbub prevented him from replying and they made their way quickly to the front door and back out to South Street.

  ‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ Chris said as they walked back over to the car.

  ‘It’s always fun to put the wind up a smug bastard.’

  ‘And you do it so prettily.’

  Clare clicked to unlock the car. ‘So, what’s with the emails? What’s all that…’ she waved a hand at the printouts Chris was holding, ‘…that stuff?’

  ‘Header info, like I said.’

  ‘Which is?’

  Chris climbed into the car and turned to pull on his seat belt. ‘I’m buggered if I know. But what I do know is that near the bottom, somewhere, it’ll show Jessica Peters’ IP address.’

  ‘So we can find out her location?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Detective Sergeant West, sometimes I remember why we pay you.’

  ‘I do my best.’

  As she pulled out of the parking space, Clare said, ‘Germane to our enquiries? You swallowed a dictionary or something?’

  ‘English is a beautiful language, Detective Inspector. You oughta try it sometime.’

  Clare was prevented from replying by her phone ringing. She glanced at the display and saw it was Sara.

  ‘Boss, I’m at The Harvest Moon pub. Checking the CCTV. Looks like Ingrid was there on the twenty-eighth, right enough. Clear footage of her at the bar and heading into the loos.’

  Clare pulled the car into the side to focus on the call. ‘What about the door, Sara? Do they have a camera there?’

  ‘Yeah but it’s not too clear. The bar was busy and I can’t find a clear shot of her arriving or leaving. There was a steady stream of folk going in and out. Smokers, probably. But the barmaid remembers her now. Once I pointed her out on the CCTV.’

  ‘Are you still there, Sara?’

  ‘Yes. Just about to leave.’

  ‘We’re just along the street. Can you hold on?’

  Chapter 33

  The Harvest Moon wasn’t busy, compared to The Heron’s Nest. There were a few tables occupied by people having sandwiches and toasties, and a couple of barflies nursing half pints. Sara introduced Clare and Chris and the barmaid indicated the office.

  ‘Help yourself,’ she said. ‘Just shout if you need anything.’

  Sara led them into a small room at the back and closed the door behind them. Clare looked at her surroundings without enthusiasm. The room was badly in need of decorating. A grubby net curtain hung limply over the window and the walls were yellowed, perhaps with age but, judging by the musty atmosphere, more likely from years of cigarette smoke. The carpet on the floor was worn and the skirting board was coming away from the wall. Having seen how quiet the pub was on a Sunday Clare wasn’t surprised there was no money to spend on the back rooms.

  An old office desk stood against one wall with a typist’s chair in front. The fabric on the seat was worn and the foam padding was starting to escape. A bulky monitor sat on the desk alongside a computer tower which was humming loud enough for Clare to be concerned it might be overheating.

  Sara sat down on the typist’s chair and took hold of the mouse. ‘I’ve taken some stills,’ she said, clicking to bring up the files. ‘So this,’ she pointed at the screen, ‘is Ingrid at the bar, ordering drinks.’

  ‘Drinks?’ Clare said, ‘As in for more than one person?’

  ‘Yep. If I click on a few frames… see there? She has a wine glass in one hand and a tall glass in the other.’

  ‘Does she sip from either at all?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Not that I can see.’

  ‘So we don’t know which glass w
as her drink?’

  Sara shook her head. ‘And here she is again, at the Ladies. See, she goes in and…’ Sara clicked the mouse again, ‘…she comes out five minutes later.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Clare said, and she went back through to the bar where the barmaid was polishing glasses.

  ‘Think I might die of boredom today,’ the barmaid said, indicating the now almost empty bar.

  ‘Can I ask you about the woman in the CCTV please?’

  The barmaid shrugged. ‘I don’t remember much…’

  ‘It looks like she was buying her drinks two at a time,’ Clare said. ‘She’d a wine in one hand and a tall glass in the other. Was she with someone?’

  The barmaid’s forehead creased as she tried to remember. ‘It’s so long ago now,’ she said.

  Clare waited and then the barmaid’s face cleared. ‘Now I come to think about it, she was drinking white burgundy. I remember that because I couldn’t find the bottle at first. Somebody put it behind the Chardonnay.’

  ‘And the other drink?’

  ‘I think, to start with, she was only buying single drinks. I’m sure I served her a couple of times and she was drinking by herself. I got the impression she’d been stood up, poor thing. Embarrassing, you know. Especially with the place so busy.’

  Clare nodded. ‘But later she buys two drinks?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. In fact, I’m sure of it. I think she met a friend. She said something about her night turning out better than expected.’

  ‘Did you see this friend? What he looked like?’