Murder in the Village (DI Hillary Greene)

by Faith Martin

  ‘Yes, thank you, Constable,’ Janine snapped.

  Hillary managed a rather sickly grin at Tommy, who quickly looked away when Janine shot him a killer glance.

  ‘Well, I’m back. On desk duty,’ Hillary said, before Janine could interrupt. ‘So, I take it another lead just bit the dust?’

  Janine could feel the blood draining from her face and quickly turned away, pulling out her chair and sitting down. ‘Yes, boss,’ she said. So Hillary was back heading the case. Perfect. Just bloody perfect. Angrily, she opened a file on her computer and began to type out her request for a transfer.

  She’d had enough of this!

  Hillary, even with her mind elsewhere, could easily guess what she was doing, but before she had a chance to say anything, her phone went. She picked it up, then froze as she recognised the voice of Marcus Donleavy’s secretary on the other end.

  ‘DI Greene? Can you spare a few moments for Chief Superintendent Donleavy? He’d like to see you right away.’

  Hillary took a quick breath. Damn, that was quick! She’d needed time to mull over these latest developments. But it didn’t look as if she was going to get it. ‘Certainly, Mrs Oliver,’ she said flatly.

  Ross’s head jerked up at the name of Donleavy’s girl Friday, and a look of real fear crossed his face as Hillary got up to go. The look she gave him did nothing to relieve it. Mel, who’d been coming out of his office to intercept Janine, sensing that a massacre might be in the offing, also caught the name. As he drew nearer, he gave her a reproachful look.

  So something was up, and Hillary was in on it.

  ‘Do you know what Donleavy wants?’ he asked sharply, but Hillary shook her head.

  ‘No idea, guv,’ she lied carefully. But as she walked up the stairs to the chief super’s desk, her legs felt as if they were made of water.

  It didn’t surprise her that Donleavy knew she was back at work. And it didn’t really surprise her that he’d guessed at once who’d written the anonymous report.

  But that didn’t mean that she was looking forward to the next few minutes. And if the investigation team had found that bloody gun, she was well and truly up the Swanee with paddles in short supply.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  When Hillary knocked on the door to the chief super’s office, her poker face could have cracked concrete. Donleavy’s muffled voice called for her to come in, and she opened the door, trying not to give images of Daniel, lions and dens free rein. His office wasn’t large, but it had a window with a view over some residential houses; the walls were plain and white and the hard-wearing carpet was a standard beige. Someone — his wife, perhaps — had given him some large greenery in pots to brighten the place up.

  Donleavy pointed to the chair in front of his desk, and she sat. On his desk was a photograph of his family, the usual array of pens, desk diary, phone and pile of reports. And, sitting right in the middle and facing her, was an open copy of her report.

  Hillary barely glanced at it. She knew it was arranged to draw her eye, and to deliberately not look at it would be a dead give-away.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I thought I’d give you an overview of where we stand in the Fletcher case,’ Donleavy said casually, turning a pen, end over end, on top of the table. It was a casual gesture, but Hillary knew Donleavy only ever did it when he was either agitated or thinking furiously. Or both.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Forensics are finally finished. There was evidence that Fletcher and Fletcher alone hid in the kitchen on the night of the shooting. He had a hiding space made to look like kitchen cupboards with a false back. It was next to the bolt-hole behind the Aga.’ He paused, and Hillary waited. The silence lengthened. Then she got it. So this was how he was going to play it. Tit for tat — and see what turned up. Hillary cleared her throat, trying to pretend she couldn’t hear her heartbeat thundering in her ears, and swallowed hard.

  ‘I see, sir. You say there was evidence that Fletcher hid there.’ Briefly she had a flashback to that night, and Jerome Raleigh making a brief phone call on his mobile just before setting off for the first checkpoint. Had it been to Fletcher, to warn him that he was about to be raided, and that he’d better hide, pronto? It made sense. His source must have told him where Fletcher’s hiding place was, or how else would the super know just where to find him?

  She gave a mental head-shake, and brought her mind back to the present. Donleavy was watching her like a hawk. ‘Does that mean there was no evidence of any other suspect in there with him?’

  Donleavy nodded, his level grey gaze fixed on her face. ‘It does.’

  Hillary kept her hands perfectly still, although, like Donleavy’s compulsive pen manipulation, her nerves were screaming at her to fiddle with something. ‘That seems to make a second shooter rather less likely,’ she said neutrally.

  ‘It does.’

  Hillary nodded. ‘You said that his hiding place was next to the bolt-hole?’ Donleavy nodded. ‘Was it accessible from Fletcher’s hiding place?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘So Fletcher chose to hide, rather than make a run for it?’

  ‘It seems so.’ Donleavy reached forward and pulled her report towards him. He turned it round, read a few lines, then looked up at her. ‘There’s something else about Fletcher’s bolt-hole that isn’t general knowledge yet.’

  Hillary licked her lips, which felt as dry as sandpaper and said, ‘Is there, sir?’

  ‘Apparently, it’s a bit of a fiddle to put the Aga back in place once you’re inside.’

  Hillary had to think about that for all of two seconds, then nodded. ‘I see. It’s hardly likely that a perp, having just shot Fletcher and wanting to make a quick getaway, would bolt down the hole, then stop to try and put the Aga back in place.’

  ‘He’d have to have nerves of steel, I’d say,’ Donleavy agreed. ‘What with Tactical stamping around, voices out in the hallway, knowing he was surrounded. It would take a cool customer indeed to take the time to put the Aga back before legging it. Human instinct being what it is.’

  Hillary watched him turn a page of her report and read it. She let her gaze wander to the window. The silence was almost deafening.

  ‘Our enquiry into Fletcher’s death was about to wrap up,’ Marcus carried on, almost conversationally. ‘The consensus of opinion is that Fletcher was shot by either one of his own, or a mole in Fletcher’s gang, possibly loyal to the Scousers who were trying to peddle the squaddie, then slipped out via the bolt-hole when attention was focused on you. Do you think that’s viable, DI Greene?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Marcus nodded. He looked at her thoughtfully, then said quietly, ‘Who else have you talked to about this?’ As he spoke, his pen was casually tapping the top of the report.

  She knew what he was asking, of course. He was asking if she’d told anyone about Raleigh, or made a copy of the original report. But the conversation was such that they could pretend they were talking about something else. If they ever needed to.

  Hillary met his gaze calmly. ‘No one, sir.’

  Marcus Donleavy nodded. He pulled the folder closer to him, then slowly shut it. ‘That’ll be all, DI Greene.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Hillary got up on legs that felt distinctly iffy, and walked to the door. Outside, she managed a smile for Mrs Oliver, then walked through the small outer office and out into the corridor. There she leaned against a wall and took long, deep breaths. That had to qualify as one of the most surreal interviews of her life. But it had got the job done. Donleavy had learned that she’d kept it all to herself, and that, if asked, she would keep her mouth shut. And she’d learned that Donleavy had had doubts about the Fletcher killing long before her report had crossed his desk. What she didn’t know, yet, was what Donleavy was going to do about it. Or, if he took the report higher, what those who were above Donleavy would do about it.

  But Hillary suspected that most of the brass would argue that nothing at all be do
ne. After all, Fletcher was off the streets, and there was very little real evidence that could convict Raleigh of murder in a court of law. Far better to let sleeping dogs lie.

  * * *

  As she walked into the office, she was aware that many people were watching her. Janine with the usual resentment, of course, and Tommy with puzzlement. Mel looked a little put out, but then he knew that she knew something that he didn’t, and wasn’t going to tell him. And Frank looked positively terrified.

  Just then the phone went on her desk and Janine reached across to answer it. She spoke a few words, then said, ‘Frank, they want you in Donleavy’s office.’

  Mel shot a quick glance at Hillary and swore under his breath. She’d gone chalk-white and looked scared. Mel had seen her look scared before, of course, but never like this. Perhaps it was just as well he didn’t know what was going on.

  Ross, trying to look casual, shrugged and got up. He walked across the now very quiet open-plan office and Hillary reached out to take his arm as they passed. ‘Keep your mouth shut,’ she whispered. ‘Play dumb.’

  Frank nodded, looking a little less terrified, and walked on. He had no idea what was going on, what his DI knew or what was going to happen next, but he knew how to do both of those things all right.

  * * *

  Janine Tyler watched DI Hillary Greene take the seat behind her chair and noticed that her hands were shaking. She looked a little green around the gills too. Something was up. Very much up. And the only thing she knew of that Donleavy might want to talk to both Hillary and Ross about was the Fletcher killing. Was it possible that Jerome Raleigh was gonna take a fall after all? Now that would be something — for a start, it would mean Mel might get promoted to Raleigh’s slot. And now he owed her big-time.

  Casually, she reached across the desk for her letter requesting a transfer and ripped it up. When she straightened up from dumping the bits into the bin, she thought she saw Hillary Greene give a wry smile. But when she looked proper, her DI’s face was as bland as milk.

  ‘Right, I want a full report on what’s been happening with the Dale case,’ Hillary said crisply, and Tommy reached for his meticulously kept books. It was his first time keeping the Murder Book current, and he wasn’t going to blow it.

  Mel, after a long look their way, reluctantly went back to his office and closed the door.

  * * *

  When Frank came back, they were almost through with the file and Hillary was once more up to speed on the investigation. Janine had worked hard, and had doggedly followed every lead. It was not her fault that the mystery fingerprints in the Dales’ kitchen had yet to be identified, or that no new witnesses had come forward, and that no viable prime suspect was in the frame.

  Hillary looked up from reading Marcia Brock’s second interview notes, and nodded to Ross. ‘Frank, I want a word. Janine, I want you to go back to Gemma Knowles and her husband. Interview them both together this time, see if you can trip them up on anything. Don’t be scared to shake them up a bit. Tommy, go back to McNamara. See if he’s thought of anything new.’

  She was getting them out of the way, of course, and they both knew it. Tommy, having picked up on the undercurrents as well, looked more concerned than anything, but Janine was merely resentful. When they were gone, she pulled up a chair right beside her, and patted it. ‘Sit,’ she said flatly.

  ‘I ain’t a bloody spaniel,’ Frank snarled, but sat.

  ‘A spaniel wouldn’t give me half so much trouble,’ Hillary spat back, then noticed several looks being sent their way.

  Working in an open-plan office had its good points, but it also meant people were quick to pick up on it when something was going down. ‘Let’s take a walk, Frank,’ Hillary said. As she walked across the office she heard Mel’s door open, then shut. She could also feel the curious eyes watching her as she went. No doubt, when the shit hit the fan, the rumour would go around that Hillary Greene knew about it first. Which wouldn’t hurt her rep any.

  Outside, she walked around the exterior of the building, to a small paved courtyard, where the smokers hung out. She stood in front of a forsythia bush, rampant with sunshine colour, and stared at it, sighing heavily.

  ‘OK, Frank, let me tell you a story,’ she said, and gave him a brief version of Jerome Raleigh and his daughter. Long before she’d finished, Frank was white and cursing.

  ‘Now, you tell me a story. It starts the moment you went inside the Fletcher farmhouse.’

  Frank rubbed the side of his face, and looked around as a DC and a WPC turned the corner, both already lighting up. One scowl from Frank was all it took to make them scarper.

  ‘Guv, I had no idea what he was gonna do,’ Ross began, staring down at his shoes. ‘Tactical gave us the all-clear to stay downstairs, and Raleigh went straight to the kitchen. I stayed in the corridor, then heard voices. I went to go into the kitchen, and then heard a shot as I was on the way. By the time I went in, Fletcher was on the floor and the super was putting something in his pocket. He looked up and told me to keep quiet, and let him do the talking. I was happy to, I can tell you! By then Tactical and Regis and everyone and their granny was coming in and swarming round, asking questions. The super said me and him had been in the room next door, heard the shot, come in and found Fletcher dead. I just went along with it. Later, the super told me to just keep schtum.’

  ‘Did you see the gun he used?’ Hillary asked flatly.

  ‘No. Why? What’s it matter? He’d have got rid of it the moment he left.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Hillary said wryly. ‘Tell me about the gun from the Bicester raid, Frank.’

  Ross jerked his head up, stared at her, opened his mouth, then closed it again. She could see him thinking furiously, and then the colour drained from his flabby face, leaving his deep-set eyes standing out as the only dark spots in a sea of dough. ‘Oh shit,’ he whispered.

  ‘Tell me, Frank,’ Hillary grated. ‘Why did you hand it over to him?’

  ‘I didn’t. I lost it!’

  Hillary gaped at him. Then she laughed. ‘Oh, come on, Frank. You lost it? Sorry, m’lud, I had the gun, but then I lost it. Honest. Come on, Frank, you can do better than that! Did he buy it off you, is that it? A couple of hundred backhander, no questions asked? And you thought it would be good office politics to have the super owe you one?’

  ‘No, guv, no, I swear,’ Ross pleaded desperately. ‘When we left Bicester I had it in my pocket. I made sure it was safe first,’ he said, flushing, as she shot him an incredulous look. ‘I meant to take it down to evidence the moment we got in, but we had to go straight to Raleigh’s office for a meeting. Remember?’ he asked, his voice whining now for her to believe him.

  Hillary’s eyes narrowed as she thought back, then she nodded. He was right. They had gone straight to Raleigh’s office. Suddenly it hit her. ‘Oh, Frank, please don’t tell me you told Raleigh you’d lost it?’

  ‘Course I bloody didn’t! I ain’t thick!’ Ross snapped. Then swallowed hard as Hillary gave him a flat stare. ‘No, guv. I meant, after the meeting, when I realised it wasn’t in my pocket, Raleigh caught me looking for it where I’d hung my coat. I tried to bluff it out, but it was as if . . .’ Frank’s voice trailed off as Hillary nodded knowingly.

  ‘As if he knew you’d lost something,’ Hillary finished for him, then exploded. ‘Of course he bloody well knew it! He was the one who took it. What then? Did he tell you what kind of shit you were in? Ask if you had another gun nobody knew about, maybe, that you could put into evidence as a substitute?’

  Miserably, Ross nodded.

  ‘And of course, you hadn’t got one,’ Hillary snorted, then slapped her forehead. ‘But wait a minute, what a relief, good old Superintendent Raleigh knew of an unregistered gun you could have? Is that how it went, Frank?’ Hillary was almost shouting now, and made a conscious effort to lower her voice.

  ‘Yeah. He had to go and get it, and come back with it. I waited in his office. Then I took it down to evide
nce and logged it in.’ Ross looked at her with a slightly more cheerful look. ‘So there’s a gun in evidence, so we’re clear, right? I mean, it can’t come back to us.’

  Hillary shook her head. ‘Frank, what the hell are you using for brains? Of course it can come back on us! Remember our little gardening friend kept detailed records? Including serial numbers? If the gun Raleigh used to kill Fletcher turns up, all they’ll have to do is run the serial number through the database, and up will pop our little Bicester friend. And the fact that that gun was supposedly retrieved by Tactical. Who will promptly remember that one gun was retrieved after they were gone. They’ll check the evidence books for date and timeline and guess whose signature they’ll find, logging in a rogue gun?’

  Frank sat down abruptly on the raised bed nearest to him, crushing some pink and purple polyanthus under his fat backside. He looked as if he were about to cry — a sight that would be enough to unnerve anybody. ‘He was going to set me up for it, wasn’t he? If it all went pear-shaped?’ Frank shook his head. ‘The bastard.’

  ‘Don’t have kittens just yet, Frank,’ Hillary said sourly. ‘What exactly did Donleavy ask you just now?’

  ‘Just the usual. Going over the night again. I told the same story Raleigh told. What does Donleavy know?’

  ‘Enough to put Raleigh in the frame. And you too, if you stick to the same story. Which is why you’re going to change it, right now. You’re going to go upstairs, tell Donleavy me and you had a chat, and that I recommended that you tell the truth this time. Then you tell him that you weren’t there when the shot was fired, but that Raleigh asked you to say you were. You agreed because he was your superior, and Raleigh gave you some cock-and-bull about how it would help speed up any investigation if you and he could back each other up.’

  Frank swallowed hard. ‘I’ll be suspended. Almost certainly fired. I’ll lose my pension for sure, maybe even be had up for aiding and abetting, and who the hell knows what else, if they charge Raleigh with it. Guv, I can’t go inside!’