What They Knew

by Marion Todd

  Clare acknowledged this with a nod then she glanced at Chris. He opened the door for her and they left the room.

  As they walked through the concourse Clare said, ‘I want her DNA taken then a SOCO team to take swabs from the bathrooms at Ruth and Alison’s houses. Also John Mason’s phone.’

  Chris stopped in his tracks. ‘Clare, will you stop this? Take a bit of time, for God’s sake! You could have died tonight, if they hadn’t warmed you up quickly enough. You could even have drowned in that harbour. Who knows what’s below the water level. So, for once in your life, will you let Sara and me take up the slack? You’ve an excellent team back at the station. For the love of God, trust us to do our jobs.’

  Clare stared at him. ‘Okay, calm down, Sergeant.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Sara said. ‘You need to take it easy for a few days.’

  Clare shook her head. ‘It’s just as well you two are getting married. No one else would put up with you.’

  * * *

  Moira had switched the heating on full blast and it hit Clare as she opened the door to Daisy Cottage. She thanked Chris and Sara, promising to return Sara’s clothes, duly laundered, then she closed the door on them, so glad to be home. She would never have admitted how wobbly she felt and the enormity of what had happened just a few hours ago at the harbour was beginning to dawn on her. She was too tired to switch the heating off and she climbed the stairs, weary to her very bones, hot tears pricking at her eyes. In the bathroom she switched on the shower and began removing the unfamiliar clothes. Then she submitted herself to the stream of hot water, head bowed, and she watched as the mud washed off her skin and down towards the drain. And as the tension began to leave her body she sank down into the corner of the shower, clutching her knees. The tears she had held back since being hauled out of the water began to course down her cheeks and she gave way to choking, convulsing sobs.

  Saturday, 16th January

  Chapter 56

  Clare wakened to a long message from the DCI. She glanced at it then put her phone down. The fluids that had been pumped through her body meant she was bursting for a pee and she rose unsteadily from her bed and padded through to the bathroom. Sara’s clothes lay in a heap on the bathroom floor where she’d stepped out of them and she saw that the bottom of the shower tray had traces of silt from her shower the previous night. She examined her face in the bathroom mirror and noticed a bruise on her forehead. She’d no idea how that had happened. Maybe she’d collided with the car as she fought to secure it with the tow rope. She had colour back in her cheeks though and she was suddenly aware of how warm the house was. Then she remembered the heating had been left on all night. Probably not a bad idea, given how cold she’d been.

  She went back to the bedroom, missing Benjy but also glad that she didn’t have to deal with him. She still felt curiously tired and sank back into her bed, taking up her phone to read the DCI’s message. Sandra Holt had been released from hospital not long after Clare. She’d been taken back to the station in St Andrews and arrested. Her solicitor had arrived and after consulting with him she had agreed to her DNA being taken but had exercised her right to silence.

  She’s been sent to the cells at Methil, the message said.

  Going in to interview her this morning.

  It’s likely we’ll charge her.

  She’ll be up in court on Monday and we’ll oppose bail. Given the seriousness of the charges I reckon she’ll be remanded in custody.

  Clare felt a vague sense of disappointment. She’d like to have been in at the end, been the one to charge her with the murder of John Mason. But, with luck, they’d amass enough evidence for Clare to charge her with the other three murders too. She wondered if Sandra might talk – might tell them why. Was it to do with her young brother’s death? It surely had to be. But, in Clare’s experience, defendants like Sandra never talked. She’d go to trial, pleading self-defence against John Mason. Probably contrive some story about being in touch with the other three women for old times’ sake, thus explaining away her DNA in their houses. Clare wanted justice for the three women too. But she might have to settle for John’s murder. Her phone buzzed with another message. Chris.

  Hi Clare.

  Hope you slept well and feeling better.

  Just to say, don’t worry about the party tonight. Not expecting you to come. Will fill you in later. My dad’s going to video Sara when she arrives so I’ll show you that.

  Take care.

  Maybe see you next week.

  C x

  The party! She’d forgotten all about it. The problem with working on a major investigation was that one day merged into another. Weekends became meaningless. Tonight was the surprise engagement party for Sara. A smile spread across her face when she thought of them. Her joke last night about them being suited was quite true. They were a perfect couple – just enough differences for them to complement each other.

  A second message from Chris arrived and she clicked to read it.

  PS the guys searching Sandra’s house found another mobile hidden in a wardrobe.

  I’m guessing she forgot about it in her rush to leave.

  Hoping it’ll be the one she used to pose as Jessica Peters.

  Clare hoped so too. If it was the same phone it might be enough to charge her with all four murders. She stretched her legs and yawned, thinking again about Chris and Sara. She decided then that she’d make an effort to attend the party. Maybe not stay late but she wanted to be there to see her young PC’s face when she walked into that function room. And it would be a chance to catch up with some of her colleagues without the stress of the investigation.

  Downstairs, she made breakfast, amazed at how hungry she was. It was odd not having Benjy to feed and walk and she wondered what she might do with her day. Moira had texted again to say she was taking Benjy down to Elie, a popular seaside town south of St Andrews. It had a broad sweep of beach and Benjy loved it. Give you a proper break, Moira had said.

  Clare rose from the table and washed up her breakfast things. She felt better for the long sleep and the food. She switched the boiler back to its normal setting and went to dress. The sun was up now and the frost from last night was starting to melt. It would be a lovely day for a walk but she was vaguely unsettled. She’d worked this investigation for the past two weeks and now she felt as if it had all been taken away from her. Like leading a race from the start only to be overtaken at the finish line. She stood looking out of her bedroom window across the fields opposite, still frosty in places where the sun hadn’t penetrated. And she thought about the case, about all the hours she and Chris had put in – the whole team.

  ‘I’m damned if I’m going to be edged out now, just as it’s all coming together,’ she said aloud.

  Fired with an energy she hadn’t felt for some days she opened her wardrobe and took out the first work suit she could see.

  * * *

  ‘Clare!’ Jim’s face broke into smiles as she pushed open the station door. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you.’ He came out from behind the public inquiry desk and, unusually, held out his arms, to embrace her in a hug. She allowed herself to be hugged then pulled gently back.

  ‘You scared the bejesus out of young Chris,’ he said. ‘How are you? The DCI warned us not to let you over the door. But I’m guessing…’

  ‘Just you try and stop me, Jim. And I’m fine – thanks so much for asking.’

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Go on then.’

  As they wandered towards the kitchen Clare asked, ‘Anything doing?’

  ‘Not much. Sara’s off today. Chris is doing a half day. He’s around somewhere.’

  They made their coffees and Jim indicated a Tupperware box next to the fridge. ‘Mary’s sister brought us some homemade shortbread.’

  Clare took a piece and bit into it, licking the sugar off her lips. It was buttery and delicious. ‘Oh Jim,’ she said. ‘This is wonderful.’

  ‘Aye. She makes good shortbr
ead.’

  ‘Fancy taking these into the incident room?’ Clare said. ‘See who’s around.’

  Jim hesitated. ‘I – er, I wouldn’t, Clare…’

  She scrutinised his face. ‘Eh? What’s up? What’s going on in there?’

  ‘Clare…’

  But she had gone, walking quickly towards the room. She pushed open the door to find them all gathered round the whiteboard. Chris was standing in the centre of the group, pinning a pair of bright orange water wings to a large poster for Finding Nemo. As she drew nearer she saw that Nemo’s face had been replaced with Clare’s photo. The group broke apart and Chris glanced round. His expression changed from mirth to horror as Clare slowly approached the board. The laughter had died and the room was silent now, no one daring to speak. Clare stood, looking at the board, at the water wings, then she spun round to face them.

  ‘You bunch of bastards,’ she said, and she started to laugh. They joined in, doubtless relieved at the break in tension and she was glad to see it. They’d been working so hard without a break for two weeks now and it was good to see them relaxing, even if it was at her expense. ‘But if anyone starts addressing me as Inspector Nemo…’

  Chapter 57

  Clare wandered through to her office and switched on the computer. As she began typing in her password the door opened and Jim came in. She glanced at him. He seemed to be struggling for the right words.

  ‘Jim?’

  He came right into the room and sat down opposite her. ‘Bit awkward, Clare…’

  ‘Go on. It can’t be that bad.’

  ‘Sandra Holt’s just arrived…’

  Clare pushed back her chair and made to stand but Jim put a hand out.

  ‘Wait – please. Just hear me out.’

  Clare relaxed back into her seat again. ‘This had better be good.’

  Jim sighed. ‘It’s like this: the DCI has said, if you are in the station when Sandra Holt’s being interviewed, you are not to go near her. He wants Chris and Janey to conduct the interview.’

  ‘Just let him try and stop me.’

  Jim shook his head. ‘He’s concerned that her solicitor might view your presence in the room as putting additional pressure on his client, with you saving her life, you know? And he doesn’t want to lose her at this stage.’

  Clare was silent for a moment. She’d seen enough defendants wriggle out of a conviction, thanks to a clever advocate, to recognise that the DCI was right. She didn’t want to lose the case either. But she also wanted to see Sandra Holt put through the mill.

  Jim went on. ‘I was thinking… maybe if you briefed them on the important points then you could watch it by video link. And, if it’s not going the way you want, let me know and I’ll interrupt the interview.’

  She glanced at Jim then away again.

  ‘Trust your officers,’ he said. ‘They know what’s needed for a conviction. And it would be great experience for them.’

  Clare shook her head. ‘Do I even have a choice?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Go on, then. Stick them in Room One and I’ll watch by video link.’

  * * *

  The interview began half an hour later. Clare and Jim watched as Chris repeated the caution which Sandra acknowledged. Clare sat forward and studied her. There wasn’t a trace of emotion on her face and, as Chris began running through the evidence against her, she either made no response or muttered, ‘No comment.’

  It was only when Chris mentioned Sandra’s little brother, Sam, that her demeanour changed. Her shoulders seemed to sag and her head drooped a little.

  ‘I’m going to suggest to you, Dr Holt,’ Chris went on, ‘that you recently learned your classmates were responsible for the death of your little brother.’

  Clare moved closer to the screen, watching Sandra for any sign of a reaction. Sandra’s eyes flicked left and right.

  ‘She’s weighing up her options,’ Clare said softly, and Jim nodded. ‘She knows we’ll find enough prints and DNA, and she’s probably realised she left that mobile phone in her wardrobe. She’s trying to decide how to play it.’

  ‘Dr Holt?’ Chris prompted.

  ‘Perhaps I might have a few minutes with my client?’ the solicitor said.

  But Sandra waved this away. She raised her eyes to meet Chris’s. ‘I recognised him straight away,’ she said. ‘John Mason. When I walked into Pitlethie. He hadn’t changed much over the years. Still the same dullard.’ She shook her head. ‘He didn’t know me, of course. But I knew him all right.’

  ‘Did you make yourself known to him?’ Janey asked.

  Sandra shook her head. ‘No. I didn’t. He’d avoided me at school. After the party. Never came near me again. Nor did the other three. Little bitches,’ she spat, suddenly.

  ‘Did you believe John Mason to be responsible for Sam’s death?’

  She was quiet for a moment, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off her sleeve. Then her face softened and she raised her eyes to meet Chris’s. ‘He was so little – Sam. And such a sweet boy.’ Her eyes were bright now and she seemed to be trying to compose herself.

  ‘Let her talk,’ Clare whispered, her eyes on Chris and Janey and Janey flicked a glance in the direction of the camera, as though she understood.

  After a few moments, Sandra gave a slight nod. ‘I always knew there was something, you know?’ She nodded again. ‘The way they were at school, when I went back – after the funeral.’

  ‘How were they, Sandra?’ Chris said, a gentle note to his voice.

  Clare felt a lump in her throat. This was so important and he was handling it beautifully. He could be gruff and tactless at times but she’d never been more proud of her DS than she was right now.

  Sandra’s brow creased, as though she was trying to remember. Then she said, ‘They wouldn’t look at me. Everyone else was kind, you know? Really kind, but the four of them – John and those girls – well they avoided me.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘My mum said it was because they were too young to understand. That’s why they didn’t know what to say. But I wasn’t sure. And then, one day, Ruth came up to me in the school cloakroom and said she was sorry.’

  ‘Did you ask what she meant?’ Chris said.

  Sandra shrugged. ‘I didn’t care, to be honest. Not at the time. But later, I started thinking about it. And then I remembered their faces that day. When Sam was found.’ Sandra’s eyes narrowed. ‘All the other party guests, well, they were shocked, you know? Some of the girls were crying. But those four, they looked guilty. At the time I didn’t understand. Not really. But it must have lodged in the back of my mind.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone?’

  She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t think how to explain it. And then Mum and Dad were talking about moving away. They had pictures of new houses and it was something to look forward to. I think I sort of forgot.’

  ‘And then?’ Chris asked.

  ‘And then I met John Mason at Pitlethie Care Home. And, as soon as I saw him, it all came flooding back.’

  ‘Did you ask him about it?’

  ‘Not at first,’ Sandra said. ‘Not directly. But it didn’t take much to get it out of him.’ She nodded, as if recalling. ‘I’m a psychiatrist, you see? I know how to work people. And I wanted to know the truth. So I started making an effort to speak to him, anytime I was at the home. Sought him out, you might say. Asked how he was, struck up a friendship, that sort of thing.’ She leaned forward and picked up a cup of water, drinking from it. Then she went on. ‘A few stray remarks about childhood trauma, the importance of adults revisiting past events and he was singing like a canary.’

  ‘To be clear, Dr Holt,’ Janey said, ‘John Mason admitted to you that he was responsible for Sam’s death?’

  She nodded. ‘Him and those girls. Obviously it took a few chats before he trusted me enough to tell the whole story. I fed him a line about not being able to reveal anything he told me, even in court. Stupid man believed it.’ She smiled again. ‘S
o I took him for a coffee. Said it sounded like he really needed a counsellor but that the waiting lists were so long. I said I’d do it as a friend.’ She shook her head. ‘He was pathetically grateful.’

  ‘And what did he tell you?’ Janey asked.

  Sandra Holt looked down for a moment and Clare held her breath. Then she raised her head and Clare saw her expression had changed. Hardened.

  ‘They didn’t much like me, those girls: Alison, Ruth and Ingrid. I knew that. But they were popular, you see? And I wanted to be their friend. So I asked them to the party. They said John had to come too so I asked him as well.

  ‘They came, of course, and they loved the garden.’ She nodded. ‘We had a great garden. Lots of grass and trees. Places to hide, you know? Anyway, they were the last to come in for their pizzas. My mum called us but they said they wanted to play a bit longer.’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t care. They were at my party and they were enjoying themselves. And I thought maybe they’d like me a bit more after that. Pathetic, really.’

  She paused for a moment then went on. ‘We had a swing on one of the trees. Near the gate. Just a couple of ropes and a wooden seat my dad made. He put it there because the ground sloped down and you could get a better swing. Anyway, John Mason told me he’d put Sam up on the swing and told him to hold on tight. Sam was laughing and laughing and John began to push him. Gently at first then more and more. The girls were urging him on. Push him harder, they were saying. And then Sam started to cry and said he wanted down but John just kept on pushing and pushing. Suddenly, Sam wasn’t there.’ She broke off, swallowing again.

  Janey glanced at Chris, and Clare willed them not to interrupt. Chris gave a slight shake of his head.

  ‘Good lad,’ Clare whispered. ‘Let her talk.’

  Sandra cleared her throat then continued. ‘The swing had taken him over the gate, and he must have fallen down the bank. John said they thought they’d get into trouble if they told anyone about putting Sam on the swing. My mum and dad had warned us that Sam was too little for it. But I think John was showing off – to impress the girls. And then the girls warned him not to tell or they’d put all the blame on him.’ She shook her head again. ‘He wasn’t the sharpest lad, John. So he did what they said and went into the kitchen to make his pizza.’