by Carol Wyer
‘You had no idea he’d come into money, then?’
William’s forehead creased heavily. ‘Of course I hadn’t. I’m totally gobsmacked by the news. I can’t believe he kept it quiet. As far as I knew, he received a paltry pension from the prison service. I mean, look around you. Who’d want to live in a hole like this? It was all he could afford after his wife left him and fleeced him for all he was worth. He used to live in a decent bungalow in Yoxall before that. This place was a right come down for him. An old friend lets him live here on the cheap. I’d have offered to let him move in with me but fraternal love has its boundaries, and we’d have fallen out pretty quickly.’
‘Could he have inherited the money from any other relatives?’ Robyn asked.
William snorted. ‘I’m his only relative. I was his only relative. That’s why I made the effort to visit him at Christmas. I had a few days off work and thought I’d come and keep him company. Pretty shit time of the year if you live alone. He spent the Christmas before that with me, so it was my turn to come here.’
‘And was he in good health when you saw him?’
‘Sort of. He was drinking heavily, as usual – mostly cheap supermarket whisky. It’s come as no surprise to me he’s had a heart attack. I warned him about that. It was the stress that drove him to it and stress is a killer. Stress was one of the reasons he gave up his job as a prison warden. He couldn’t find another job and then he and Sandra started having marital difficulties until, finally, she ran off with his best friend. Poor sod. He was devastated. I didn’t think she’d be such a bitch about the divorce. How wrong I was. She took him to the cleaners. He had to sell his house, give her half of the proceeds and move away. He’s been struggling ever since. I told him not to lose heart but he never seemed to make the interview stage let alone a new job. That’s what happens when you get to a certain age. You can’t find employment.’ He took a sip of his tea and lifted his mug. ‘Sure you don’t want one?’
Matt and Robyn declined the offer.
‘I seem to exist on tea,’ he replied, patting his rotund belly with a beefy hand. ‘That and biscuits.’
‘What do you do, sir?’
‘I’m a lorry driver. I mostly deliver into Europe. I’m based in Leeds at the moment, but I’ve lived all over the country and on the Continent. I got back Saturday night from a seven-day haul. Got the call that Tony had died on my way up the M42.’
‘You last saw your brother at Christmas?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did you meet any of his friends? Did he talk about anyone in particular?’
‘Don’t think he had too many friends around here. Most of his old friends live in Yoxall, and given they were also Sandra’s friends, it was a bit awkward for him to carry on seeing them – besides, they’re nearly all couples.’
‘Did he mention Henry or Lauren Gregson?’
William shook his head. ‘He brought a young woman home while I was here. I don’t think she was called Lauren. Goodness knows what she saw in Tony, although he could be suave when he tried. They’d met at the pub in Yoxall. I wasn’t feeling too well that day – bit of a cold. Tony went out to some quizzing event – they bore the shit out of me, so I stayed here and had an early night. I bumped into her the following morning coming out of the bathroom. She was wearing one of his shirts. I didn’t say much. Bit shocked really. I said hello and told her I was Tony’s brother and she smiled and said she knew who I was, then slipped back upstairs with the old fox. Blonde, wavy hair, green eyes. She had a nice face – cheery – and a great smile. He refused to talk about her after she’d gone, even though I pulled his leg about it. Dark horse, my brother. More so than I even thought. Have you seen that brand new car outside?’ He shook his head in disbelief.
Robyn rummaged through her folder of photographs and pulled out one of Tessa Hall.
‘Mr Hawkins, was this the woman you saw?’
‘That’s her!’ he said. ‘Is that Lauren Gregson?’
‘No. It’s one of the women he knew from a quiz team.’
‘He was always good at quizzes. Used to spend a lot of time watching daytime television and endless quiz shows. He always said that one day he’d go on one of those television programmes and win a fortune. Maybe that’s what he did! That would explain the money.’ William’s eyebrows had lifted high.
‘If he did, sir, we’ll be sure to find out.’
‘He kept his paperwork here,’ said William, walking over to a scruffy wooden cupboard and opening it. He extracted a pile of papers. ‘I’ll leave them to you, shall I?’
Matt and Robyn glanced through the piles of receipts, utility bills and bank statements. They couldn’t find the most recent bank statement and there was nothing to indicate he had received a large injection of money on those they uncovered. According to his January statement, Anthony Hawkins had less than a hundred pounds to his name.
‘We’re missing February’s statement. Take down the bank account details, Matt. We’ll look into this back at the station,’ said Robyn.
‘I’d like to go home for a day or two, if that’s okay,’ said William. ‘I’ll be back to sort out his affairs and I’ll leave my details if you need them.’
‘Thank you. That would be helpful. We’ll let you know when you can make arrangements for Anthony’s funeral.’
William nodded sadly. ‘And I’d like to know how he got his money. I’d like to know if he did get lucky in the end. That would be good to know.’
‘Of course.’
* * *
Robyn left Matt with instructions to question Anthony’s friends in Yoxall and his ex-wife, and she left Brocton. Morning had turned into afternoon and she rang Harry McKenzie as she drove back to the station.
‘Just finished with Anthony Hawkins, Robyn. There’s absolutely no trace of potassium chloride in his system,’ he said. ‘I examined his skin for puncture marks or evidence it might have been administered, and there’s nothing. There is, however, significant evidence of coronary atherosclerosis. His arteries are very restricted, and checking through Ed’s findings, I’ve also concluded Anthony Hawkins genuinely died of a heart attack.’
Robyn was irked by the news, but now she’d established a connection between Anthony and Tessa, she wasn’t too thwarted by it. ‘Thanks, Harry. I have another favour to ask you. Can you run a paternity DNA test on Tessa’s baby or is eight weeks too soon to establish paternity?’
‘I can do that. I think Tessa was almost nine weeks pregnant, so we can definitely run a DNA test on the foetus.’
‘I’ve asked Anna to send you DNA samples from Tessa’s sexual partners for comparison to determine the father of the baby. Start with Justin Forrest, but if that comes up negative, I’d like you to compare the DNA with samples from Anthony Hawkins to see if he is the father of Tessa’s baby. And can you lift his fingerprints for me and have them sent across to Connor Richards?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Oh, and if both DNA tests are negative, run one against Henry Gregson’s DNA.’
Harry didn’t sound the slightest bit surprised at her request. That was Harry all over – practical and accommodating. ‘Sure. I’m still at the lab so I’ll do it now.’
Robyn now had to work out how best to proceed with the investigation, and she still had one more person she was very interested in interviewing – Roger, the other male member of the team. Juliet had been sure Tessa had slept with at least one man from their quiz side, and Liam had been adamant he’d kept well away from Tessa. She now knew about Anthony, and that only left Roger. She put her foot down to get back to Stafford. There were still questions to be answered.
Thirty-Six
DAY SIX – SUNDAY, 19 FEBRUARY, AFTERNOON
* * *
Robyn’s desk was in disarray as she tapped her teeth with her pen, deep in thought about Lauren and Henry Gregson. Having spoken to Lauren that morning, she was feeling less inclined to believe she could possibly be behind her husband’s mur
der. All she knew for definite was that Henry Gregson had been shot in cold blood, possibly because he was about to reveal a secret. What if the secret was about him fathering a child with another woman? What if Lauren had found out he’d done so? Would that tip her over the edge? Could Henry be the father of Tessa’s baby? She’d know soon enough. Her gut feeling that Lauren was innocent tussled with her detective brain that told her she should wait for evidence to support her hunch and not jump to conclusions.
She rubbed the back of her neck. The tension was rising into her skull. She tidied the notes before jotting down three questions:
What time did Gregson leave home?
What time did he text his wife to say he was at work?
What time did he die?
According to Lauren, her husband had departed at about 9.30 a.m. and texted her at just before 10 a.m. to say he’d arrived at work. Robyn’s shoulders drooped as she admitted the futility of these questions. Wherever Henry was when he texted his wife, he wasn’t at MiniMarkt. Then, almost instantaneously, realisation struck, and she slapped the desk with the palm of her hand. Of course! This sloppy policing wasn’t like her at all. She should have jumped on this before.
‘Anna, get hold of Henry Gregson’s phone provider and ask them to triangulate a location for him at the time he rang that pay-as-you-go phone. There’ll be an emergency number to call.’
‘No problem.’
Matt, whose forehead was shining damply, interrupted any further ruminations. Back from his interviews, he crashed into the office, bent forwards to catch his breath, hands on hips.
‘Couldn’t get a space in the car park… Raining… so jogged from car… Bad idea,’ he said, in between breaths.
‘You should give up the biscuits and sugar,’ said Anna, glancing across at the commotion.
‘It’s not that. Ever since Poppy arrived, I’ve had to cut back on my training. Missus insists I do my fair share of parental duties. There’s simply not enough time to fit in trips to the gym any more. I hadn’t realised I’d got so out of condition. Geez. I need to watch it or I’ll end up like Anthony Hawkins.’
Robyn digested his words and wondered if Anthony had known that he had any heart disease or health problems.
‘Did Anthony have any medication at his house, Matt?’
‘Only a box of paracetamol and some cough mixture.’
‘Find out anything else interesting about his sudden windfall?’
‘He bought the car outright with a banker’s draft and had been looking to buy a new house. He’d got a couple of brochures for some very expensive places near Hoar Cross circa £600,000 each.’
‘How much money did he have?’ Robyn asked.
Mitz called across. ‘The bank details you requested for Anthony Hawkins have arrived.’
She crossed the room and read Mitz’s screen. A hundred thousand pounds had been deposited into his account at the beginning of February from a unit trust bond. The familiar tingling, a sign she was getting close to uncovering something of importance, began in Robyn’s scalp. She marched to the window and stared outside to gather her thoughts once more.
‘Okay, folks, time to gather round.’ She waited until they were all in position, recapped on all their findings to date and brought them up to speed with regard to Tessa’s friend, Justin. ‘Anna, did his alibi check out?’
‘It does. I spoke to his neighbour and the people he contacted via Skype. He was captured on CCTV footage on the high street at the times he specified, and his car was captured passing through two ANPR points at eight forty and eight fifty-five which was when he told us he did the school run. He wasn’t in Barton-under-Needwood. Unless he hired somebody to murder her, he isn’t our killer.’
‘Another dead end. We’re running into a few of those. The Henry Gregson investigation appears to be stalling too. We still haven’t found our jogger spotted on the Chase, have we?’
‘We’ve tried every avenue on that score. We’ll have to go public and appeal for help.’ David looked as fed up as Robyn felt.
‘I’ll talk to DCI Flint about that then. Okay, let’s look at Tessa Hall and Anthony Hawkins. Harry’s confirmed Anthony died of natural causes, so we’re not dealing with his murder, but we’ve established a significant connection between him and Tessa Hall.’ Robyn paced in front of the whiteboard that had been scrubbed clean.
‘We know they had a relationship, played on the same quiz team and, more importantly, both mysteriously came into money. How have they got this money? Were they killed because of it? Or is there another reason? I think the money is relevant. It might even be the key to Tessa’s murder.’
Mitz, tilting back on his chair, raised a point. ‘Tessa could have given Anthony the money.’
‘Why would she do that?’ Anna asked. ‘That’s a ridiculous amount to give somebody you hardly know.’
‘Because she really cared about him?’ David said. ‘She slept with him. Maybe it was more than a one-night stand.’
Mitz spoke up again. ‘Or to buy his silence. He might have known about the baby and tried to blackmail her.’
Robyn agreed all scenarios were feasible. ‘We have to keep digging. Talk again to those people who knew them both. Find out if they had any idea where the money came from. What did her parents say about the offshore account, Mitz?’
‘They were openly shocked. Her mother broke down and burst into tears. Neither had a clue about Tessa’s overseas fund.’
‘Have you found out who set it up for her? You have to have an official financial advisor for such accounts. It’s not like going to a bank and opening an account.’
Mitz shook his head. ‘I’m on it. No news yet.’
‘I want to talk to Roger Jenkinson now. What have you found out about him?’
Mitz spoke again. ‘Got his contact details. Rang him earlier but he didn’t pick up. Tried his ex-wife, who said he used to spend weekends out walking in the Peak District or similar. He would sometimes overnight there. That would explain why his phone is ringing out.’
‘In February?’
‘I said that too. She said he’s an outdoors type and heavily into survival skills. He’s a market trader. Sells home-grown produce at local markets. Hates being indoors.’
‘David, find out the name of Roger’s girlfriend and talk to her about him. Juliet Fallows might know who she is. If not, try Liam Carrington. He might be able to help.’
‘Got Tessa Hall’s phone record here,’ said David. ‘I looked specifically at those calls made since December last year. There are numerous ones to her parents, and after the end of December to this number, which belongs to Justin Forrest, Tessa’s journalist friend. She rang him almost every two or three days. The last call was on Monday the thirteenth of February, three days before she was killed. There’s not a lot that stands out, and I’ve still got to identify some of the numbers, but these three were all rung on the same day – thirtieth December, one after the other, from 11 p.m. onwards.’ He pointed at the highlighted phone numbers. ‘They belong to Anthony Hawkins, Juliet Fallows and Roger Jenkinson.’
‘That’s curious. I wonder why she rang them all that day and at that time of night. They’d stopped quizzing by then.’
The ping of an email alert sent Anna scurrying back to her desk, where she checked her computer screen. ‘Just received the information from Henry Gregson’s phone provider. They’ve used triangulation to pinpoint where he was when he phoned the pay-as-you-go phone that morning and texted his wife. He was on the main road, somewhere near Barton-under-Needwood.’
‘Where Tessa Hall lived,’ said Matt. ‘Reckon he was visiting her?’
‘We’ll show his photograph around the village and ask about to see if he or his car was spotted.’ Robyn looked thoughtful. If the DNA test proved he was the father of Tessa’s baby, they’d have made a breakthrough.
Robyn glanced at the faces of her eager officers and hoped this time they had, then thought about Lauren Gregson’s pale, haunted ex
pression, and hoped for her sake they hadn’t.
Thirty-Seven
THEN
* * *
Johnny’s a complete muppet. He’s been caught selling a strip of E tablets to a sixth-former outside the school gates. A plain-clothes officer carted him off to the local police station. Johnny isn’t one for dropping his mates in the shit. Johnny won’t squeal. If he does, he knows what’ll happen to him.
The boy’s got no income now, which is a pain in the arse. The money he received for being Johnny’s minder, even though it was only a fraction of what Johnny took, has been useful. With a sigh, he slumps in front of the television. His mother is at work at the pub. She does four evening shifts a week, along with her day job, in the office of a building company. He’s no idea what she actually does there, but she always looks shagged out when she gets home and has no time to cook or clean. The house is a pigsty again.
His mother went off on one earlier. ‘Clean it up before I get in. It’s about time you pulled your weight. You do nothing but loaf about all day.’ That’s true, but he can’t be bothered. It’ll only get messed up again.
He settles on an episode of Brookside about a bloke’s body being found under a patio. He wonders if his dad would be missed if they shoved him under the patio. His father will be getting out of prison soon. There’s no way he’ll be allowed back into the house. His mother’s started seeing a bloke from the pub. The boy doesn’t know much about him but hopes he’s decent. For a brief second he thinks about Clark the lodger, then, as always, blocks it from his mind. Some things have to stay buried, and memories of Clark are too awful to recall. His sister still has nightmares about the man. Nobody is taking either of them down that route again. As for his father, it’s best if he stays away. Things have changed in the five years he’s been gone, and he might find himself getting the good kicking he deserves.