by Alison Bruce
‘Where are they?’
Marks’ eyes met Goodhew’s, and his expression had brightened. ‘What about . . .?’ A half-smile flickered. ‘Good . . . Excellent.’
Goodhew dug his hands into his pockets and did his best not to fidget.
Marks snapped his phone shut. ‘Riley’s safe.’
FORTY-SIX
As far as police activity was concerned, Parkside Station was as quiet as it could be. Most spaces in the car park were empty and the corridors were deserted. An ambulance had pulled into the closest available bay, its lights on and the doors open, but without a paramedic in sight.
Goodhew followed Marks to the farthest and most spacious of the interview rooms. It was kitted out with the usual Government-issue furniture but had also been equipped with a junior-sized table with matching chairs, two beanbags and a box of random toddler toys.
DC Charles was waiting just inside the door and, aside from him, there were five people in the room. A man in his late forties, who Goodhew recognized as Dr Gregor, was kneeling in front of a little boy who stood next to one of the children’s chairs. Behind him a female paramedic was sitting on the floor. The boy had been crying and looked up at Goodhew and Marks as they entered the room. Then his face fell again.
Goodhew smiled, for beyond any shadow of a doubt this was Riley Guyver. Riley had only a vague physical likeness to his mother but his expression, as he glowered at the doctor, was totally Kimberly’s.
Marks addressed Charles. ‘Is he all right?’
Charles nodded. ‘The doctor’s checking him over, but no sign of any problems for the moment.’
‘How about her?’ The second paramedic sat alongside Tamsin Lewton at the full-sized table, and the resemblance between her and Riley was startling. She took no notice of any of the officers, but continued talking quietly to the paramedic, with her gaze firmly fixed on her little nephew.
‘Sir, I’m sorry if I’ve done the wrong thing, but I wasn’t quite sure how to handle this. I thought maybe they should be held separately, but I wanted to keep Riley as calm as possible.’
Marks waved this concern aside. ‘Least of our worries. What can she tell us?’
‘Not much, I fear. Tennison borrowed her car earlier then returned it about an hour ago. Just after that she had a call from him, telling her to look in the boot. That’s when she found Riley.’
‘Where is Tennison now?’
‘She says she doesn’t know, but I didn’t question her for long. I was more concerned with getting the little boy checked over.’
‘Do we have a Child Welfare officer on the way?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Find out how long until he or she arrives, also get me the latest update on the mother’s condition. If she’s conscious, she should be told that her son is safe, but no more than that. Oh, and is Miss Lewton a key holder for the Celeste?’
‘No. That’s in hand, though. I’m expecting a call back from one of the security staff at any minute.’
‘Well, let me know as soon as.’ Marks turned his attention to Goodhew. ‘I need to speak to Dr Gregor and while I’m doing that, I want you to start questioning Tamsin Lewton. She can stay in here for now, but get shot of that ambulance crew.’
Tamsin wore jeans and a chunky sweater, and even in winter she should have found the room uncomfortably warm, but her shoulders were hunched as if freezing and, beneath her tan, the blood had drained from her face.
While the paramedics were leaving, Goodhew visited the drinks machine and returned with two teas. He slid into the chair opposite her, and she reached for the plastic cup before he even had a chance to set it down.
‘I can’t stop shivering.’
‘It’s shock.’
‘I know.’ She scowled at him. ‘Of course I know that, but it doesn’t make me any warmer, does it?’
‘That’s what the tea’s for.’
She blew steam from her cup and took a couple of sips. ‘Riley doesn’t even know who I am.’
‘He looks like you, though, doesn’t he?’
‘He looks like Nick. And Nick never even knew she was pregnant.’ She shivered. ‘I opened the boot and he was just lying there. What if I hadn’t checked? He could have died in there, couldn’t he?’
‘Maybe.’
‘What was Craig trying to do? He must have flipped or something.’
‘How did he seem?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘He posted the keys through the letterbox, but I heard them drop so I went to the door. He was already walking away, I called to him and he spun round, seemed agitated, said nothing until he was almost on top of me. He came right up close,’ she raised the flat of her hand to her face, ‘uncomfortably close like he was really angry. For a moment I felt threatened, but then he just thanked me for the use of the car, and he walked away.’
Tamsin stared beyond Goodhew, as though she was still watching Craig Tennison stride into the distance. She then swung her attention back to him, a small sad smile playing on her lips. ‘He phoned a few minutes later and told me to look in the boot. I asked him why, but he just hung up.’
‘It’s vital we find him as quickly as possible.’
Marks was standing within earshot. He’d hovered in the same position for the last couple of minutes, facing Dr Gregor and Riley, but it was obvious that Goodhew’s boss was currently tuned into Tamsin.
‘I don’t know where Craig went, I’m sorry. If I knew I’d say so, but I don’t.’ She ran her fingers through her hair, as if smoothing out a non-existent tangle. ‘I don’t understand any of this, and I’ve known Craig since I was just a kid. All I can think is that he’s cracked up, and was getting his revenge on Stefan for Nick and Rachel . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
Marks raised one eyebrow and gave Goodhew a small nod before turning his back on them. It meant an OK to follow the conversation wherever it led.
‘Tamsin,’ Goodhew lowered his voice, which alone was enough to focus her attention, ‘Craig Tennison is our main suspect for both those murders.’
She stiffened, and he thought he discerned a slight hardening in her expression. She said nothing, however, just spent what seemed like several minutes staring directly into his face. It felt like she was trying to read something deeper into his words, maybe to find a hidden truth lurking behind them or decide whether he was bluffing. Then she turned to look at Riley again and, without warning, her eyes welled with tears. ‘I don’t know anything about children,’ she said finally. ‘I thought two-year-olds were still babies. I’m sure they are in many ways, but when I first saw Riley he seemed terrified. Craig did that too.’
Riley was holding two Mega Bloks, one in each hand, but wasn’t attempting to construct anything, just gripping them like two batons. Goodhew knew nothing about children either, but understood that this was a small but symbolic marking of territory.
She shook her head. ‘This is going to stay with him always, even if he doesn’t remember what happened. He’s learnt more than he should know at his age, hasn’t he?’
‘Probably,’ Goodhew conceded. He had no idea what children might learn in the years before they could articulate properly or reason fully, nevertheless he held the belief that some babies were born with character traits and knowledge already hard-wired into their brains. And, whatever else had happened, Riley was still Kimberly’s son. Then he added, ‘but I believe he’ll be OK, especially once he’s reunited with his mum.’
Tamsin pressed the back of an index finger to each eye, pushing back the tears. Her voice sounded thick with emotion: ‘I can see that.’
‘Tell me how you feel about Kimberly.’
‘In what way?’
‘She was your brother’s girlfriend right up to the time of his disappearance, so it would have been natural for you to stay in touch with her once she returned to England, wouldn’t it?’
The threat of tears vanished so fast that he wondered if there had been any genuine emotion behind th
em. The hard edge now returned to her voice. ‘Nick’s girlfriends were his business, some I liked, some I didn’t. Kimberly lasted longer than most and, yes, we rubbed along well enough for a while. When she and Rachel first started work at the Rita Club, they both attracted plenty of attention, but they kept their work and partying quite separate. I assumed she’d be just another of Nick’s one-week wonders, but it wasn’t that long before she moved in with him. I doubt he’d suddenly discovered monogamy, but she hadn’t either.’
‘Meaning?’
‘There was something about her that made me always suspect she was seeing other men.’
‘Based on what?’
Tamsin grunted. ‘You’re a man, so you won’t get it.’
‘Try me.’
‘She looks like that in the way she moves,’ Tamsin curled up her nose, ‘in her body language.’
‘Because she’s very attractive?’
‘Right.’ Tamsin waved away this observation. ‘Put it this way, I wouldn’t ever trust her around any boyfriend of mine.’
‘I see, but apart from that suspicion you don’t actually know that she was unfaithful to your brother?’
‘She screwed her ex, isn’t that enough?’
‘Nick told you?’
‘No, I could see what was going on, and I told him.’
‘And how did he react?’
‘Thrilled, how do you think? Probably would’ve beaten the crap out of her if he hadn’t disappeared first. And I, for one, wouldn’t have blamed him.’
‘Wow, that’s a really enlightened attitude to relationships.’
‘It’s my attitude, full stop. Why the fuck would I treat other people’s relationships differently?’
Goodhew leant back in his chair.
He ran his finger tips along the plastic trim running round the edge of the table. Something flat and sharp had been used to gouge it, leaving it feeling gnawed. A little further to his right the moulding had been broken off, leaving a two-inch gap that exposed the chip-board cross-section of the table top. He would have guessed that, under its bland grey veneer, there was nothing more substantial in its construction than the compressed wood shavings, just as he would have assumed the missing piece of moulding had been identical to the surviving section.
Maybe it had been once, but another maybe was that it was so chewed and damaged by the time it broke away that it had been barely recognizable.
‘So,’ he said, ‘you’ve known Craig since you were very young?’
She nodded.
‘Has he always worked for your father?’
‘For as long as I can remember, and he also moved out to Spain when we did.’
‘What reason did he give you for borrowing your car?’
She shrugged. ‘Said he needed it urgently. It’s hired through the Celeste’s business account, so there’s no reason he shouldn’t use it, I guess.’
‘And you trusted him?’
Again she nodded.
‘Until when?’
She looked puzzled. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t . . .’
Goodhew rewound. ‘You didn’t keep in touch with Kimberly when she left Spain? You didn’t know she was pregnant, never mind giving birth, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So learning that Nick has a son – that you therefore have a nephew – comes as a shock to you?’
‘Of course.’
‘But the family resemblance is unmissable, and as soon as you took a good look at Riley you would have known. And then you would have realized that Craig would have known too.’
She leant back in her chair then, mirroring his posture. She, however, didn’t fiddle with the edge of the table; instead she steepled her fingers and seemed to be using their apex as a gunsight. Her expression suggested she was capable of doing damage with a single shot.
‘Tamsin,’ he kept his tone even, using the words alone to prod her along, ‘for over two years he’s been keeping that knowledge from you, denying you information that could have helped your family at the time they were dealing with the loss of their only son.’
She didn’t react.
‘He was harbouring a grudge for that entire time.’
‘Not possible.’
‘What if it is, though? What’s his motive, then?’
Her gaze fell on to the desktop and seemed to settle on the cluster of mug stains just in front of her left elbow. She seemed as absorbed by them as he’d been by the damage on his side of the table.
He waited.
Her thoughts stretched out until he knew she was no longer even in the room. He waited some more, wondering where they had taken her, wondering whether she had a more vulnerable side to her nature, and whether she was prepared to visit it even on behalf of her brother.
Then, with nothing more than a quick double blink, she was back with him in the room. She mumbled something he didn’t catch, the word or words blocked by her hands in front of her face. When he didn’t reply, she slapped her hands, palms down, on to the table. ‘I said “Money”. Craig’s been loyal to my dad but there’s always been money involved too. And money’s behind everything – it always is. After Nick went missing, we found a gaping hole in the accounts.’
‘I read that in our notes, about three hundred thousand euros.’
‘At least, but could be much more. If Nick had done a runner, he would have taken some cash. That was a possibility, he loved our family but not the responsibility of the club, and he’d taken off for a month or two in the past. But when his car was recovered and there was no sign of the money, it made me wonder . . .’
‘What exactly?’
‘Nick was sharp, and that much money would have taken months to siphon out of the club, so there wasn’t much chance that he didn’t know about it. I thought maybe he’d blown it on something, feeding a gambling habit – or drugs, maybe. He’d dabbled with both. But, even when we found out he’d been murdered, I never considered it was about that money.’
‘And now?’
‘I don’t understand, why would Craig hurt Stefan and Rachel? And Nick was supposed to be his friend. But if I had to think of one motivation, I can see that money might be it.’
Her voice trailed off and was overtaken by the dour three-note ring tone sounding from Marks’ mobile. A few seconds later he called Goodhew over.
‘We’ve now found a key holder for the Celeste. I’ve asked Charles to come and take the statement from Tamsin Lewton. I want you to come with me.’
FORTY-SEVEN
It took just five minutes to reach the Celeste. Marks parked on the pavement nearest the club, then he and Goodhew walked side by side down Market Passage. The doors were unlocked but the building was quiet. A lone bouncer came to the top of the stairs as they were halfway up. Goodhew recognized him as one of the body-pierced doormen he’d seen on his previous visit.
‘You the police then?’ he demanded.
‘Cambridge CID. We’re looking for Craig Tennison.’
‘Rob,’ he introduced himself, shaking hands with both of them. ‘Not in yet. Ironic’ – he said it as if ‘I’ and ‘ronic’ were two separate words, ‘I-ronic, the one day he’s late is the day you lot decide you need to come in. I wasn’t due here for another couple of hours.’
So Rob clearly hadn’t been anywhere near a TV or radio for the last few hours.
‘When would you be expecting him?’ Marks asked.
‘Any minute – he’s usually in by now. Is there anything I can help with? And if Craig don’t show up, the boss’ll be here in a bit.’
Goodhew blinked. ‘Dougie Lewton?’
‘Yeah, coming from Spain, flight landing in about two hours. Obviously it’ll take him a bit of time to get through Customs . . .’ his voice trailed off, like he’d already said enough and couldn’t be bothered to reach the end of the sentence.
Marks adopted his formal voice. ‘Mr Tennison is wanted for questioning in relation to the murder of Rachel Golinski, as well as several other serious
offences. We’re currently searching his home address, but do you know of any other locations that might be of interest to us?’
‘Nope, don’t know a thing about him outside work – except that he spends most of his time here. My missus would kill me if I clocked up the hours he does.’
‘Can you find me Dougie Lewton’s contact details?’
‘I guess.’ He turned back.
‘We won’t be opening tonight, will we?’
Marks shook his head. ‘We have a team coming who will make a thorough search of the building, but right now we’d like to take a look at your CCTV footage for the last twenty-four hours.’
The doorman raised one studded eyebrow. ‘Yeah, sure. It’s in Craig’s office. I’ll take you through.’ He paused, then added, ‘I’ve worked here three years, so if there’s anything else you want to know . . .’
‘Thanks,’ Goodhew replied, guessing that Rob was quietly thrilled to be swept up in the drama of a murder investigation.
Like most nightclubs Goodhew had ever visited out of hours, it looked run-down and grubby without the distraction of lights and noise and punters. They followed Rob up to Craig’s key-coded door, where he punched in five digits and waited for the click of the locks releasing. There was no sound, however, but he pushed at the door in any case, before trying the same number two more times. ‘That’s a bit odd,’ he muttered, and ran his eyes around the door frame, as though he expected to find the answer there.
‘Can it be overridden?’ Marks asked.
Rob shrugged. ‘I guess. You want me to try?’
‘As quickly as possible, please.’
Rob shrugged again, stepped back, then with a single kick sent a foot-sized panel of the door flying through into the office on the other side. He reached through the hole and released the lock. ‘That’s called manual override,’ he grinned. His expression transformed as the door swung open. ‘Holy shit,’ he breathed.
Craig Tennison’s body hung from one of the air-con pipes by an extension cable. A chair lay on its back, near his feet. The ceiling had never been high enough to guarantee an instant death, and in his last moment he had fought against the cable, the first two fingers of his left hand still trapped between the knot and the skin of his neck.