by Faith Martin
‘Guv, what if she wants to walk?’ Gemma asked in alarm. They both knew that unless a suspect was actually under arrest, he or she could leave at any time they liked. ‘Do I charge her?’
‘Hell no,’ Hillary said forcefully. ‘We don’t have anything like the evidence for that yet. Just get a feel for her. See if you can draw her out.’
Damn it, Hillary fumed. This was going to be a difficult interview, even for a seasoned veteran like herself. She shouldn’t be putting it all on Gemma and running off after Janine like this, she should be doing her job, damn it.
‘Just think of it as a chance to perfect your technique,’ Hillary said, somewhat desperately, and gave Gemma a brief smile.
She wasn’t surprised to see her savvy sergeant give her a searching look in return. But she also knew that she could rely on Gemma’s ambition to smooth things over. This was a big chance for Gemma to show what she was made of, and Hillary knew she’d grasp it with both hands.
‘Guv.’ Gemma gave a dutiful nod.
She leaned forward and pressed a button, which sounded a buzzer inside the interview room. Barrington looked up, briefly surprised by the summons, but came out obediently. He was just in time to see Hillary disappearing down the end of the corridor.
In the observation room, Gemma told him of the change of plans. She listened carefully as Keith gave her the full rundown of what they’d learned at Phipps, Brown & Greengage, and Gemma felt her heartbeat rising.
Even so, as she pushed open the door to the interview room, and felt a rush of power wash over her as Martha Hepton watched her nervously, she wondered what could be so important as to make Hillary Greene leave such a crucial interview up in the air like this.
And she only hoped that Danvers, or worse yet, Superintendent Vane, didn’t get to hear about it. There was growing scuttlebutt going around that Vane and Hillary were not seeing eye to eye. And if that was the case, then the last thing Hillary could afford to do was give the new superintendent ammunition with which to blast her.
* * *
Janine jumped as the door to her car opened, then she swore softly as Hillary Greene slipped in beside her. ‘Damn, I was sure I hadn’t been spotted,’ Janine said ruefully.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Hillary demanded, her tone making it clear that she was in no mood for the softly-softly approach.
‘I heard that Gary Firth’s whereabouts have been traced to a caravan in Wales,’ Janine said, a hint of defiance in her voice.
Hillary almost groaned aloud. ‘I know. I gave them the bloody tip.’
‘But did you know that they can’t find Firth at the site? Oh, there’s plenty of evidence that he’s been there. But of the boy himself — not a dicky-bird.’
Hillary frowned. ‘So? He’s probably somewhere in the nearest town getting drunk in a pub.’
‘Nope.’ Janine shook her head. ‘Apparently, the caravan’s in the middle of nowhere — literally. No bus routes, no taxis, nothing. And the little scrote who drove him down there had already come back on his bike. He was due to fetch Firth more supplies today. Word has it they were probably planning some rural post office job. And I doubt Gary Firth’s the kind to hike for miles — lazy little scrotes won’t walk for a hundred yards if they can ride. So where is he?’
Hillary ran a hand through her hair, trying to get a grip on what Janine was saying.
‘So they think — what, exactly?’
Janine shrugged. ‘They’ve asked for cadaver dogs,’ she said. ‘And guess what? Clive Myers wasn’t seen in his house all day yesterday.’
Hillary chewed her bottom lip angrily. ‘So, you think sitting here, watching his house, is going to help how exactly?’
Janine swore loudly. ‘I can’t just sit at home all day. I’m going bloody insane.’
Hillary closed her eyes and took a long, slow breath. Yes, she knew all about how that felt. Hadn’t the same sensation of agonizing helplessness been driving her similarly insane all these weeks?
‘I know Myers killed Mel,’ Janine said now, her voice hard and tight and about to break. ‘He’s taken out Firth, he’ll take out the other two lads, and maybe even go for DI Gregg. It was no sniper killer copycat, Hill. It was that bastard in there. I know it. And you know it too.’
Hillary looked numbly out of the windscreen. It had begun to rain: slow, fat, heavy raindrops that made her vision of the street outside shimmer.
‘Come on, Janine, they’ll get him,’ she said, but without much conviction. The truth was, the investigation into Mel’s murder was showing all the signs of stalling and winding down, and Hillary knew it. But she had to convince Janine otherwise. ‘Look, I want you to promise me you’ll follow me back to Kidlington. If you don’t, you know Evans doesn’t have any option but to have you removed, so save yourself the hassle, yeah?’
Janine turned and stared at Hillary out of dead-looking eyes. The lack of expression in them made Hillary’s hands go cold.
‘Sure, Hill,’ she said. ‘I understand perfectly. You’ve given up. But just because you won’t do anything to avenge Mel, don’t think that I won’t.’
She started the car engine, and revved the accelerator, forcing Hillary to get out of the car quickly.
She’s coming unravelled, Hillary thought helplessly, as she watched Janine Mallow’s car pull out on to the road with a noisy squeal of rubber. She felt a huge wave of guilt and panic wash over her. First she’d had to watch as her best friend was killed in front of her, and had then been forced to take a back seat whilst someone else investigated his case. Without any tangible results.
And now his widow was headed for disaster.
Well, nothing she could do would bring Mel back or put that situation right, but Janine was not yet beyond help. And Hillary owed it to Mel to see that she looked after Janine, and that unborn baby of his. Somehow.
Grimly she walked back to Puff the Tragic Wagon and headed back to HQ. On top of everything else, she still had a murder case on her hands. She could only hope that Gemma had managed to get somewhere with Martha Hepton.
As she drove, she had no idea that the officers in the car in front of the house had noted Janine’s tyre-squealing exit from the scene. Or that they’d run the number plate of her car, and had already informed DCI Gawain Evans of Janine Mallow’s unauthorized presence at their suspect’s house.
And that of one DI Hillary Greene.
CHAPTER TEN
Once back at HQ, Hillary went straight to the observation room to try and get a feeling for how things had gone in the interview.
Martha Hepton was sitting in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest in a classic protective/defiant gesture. So whatever stance Gemma had taken had certainly rattled her. But from the stubborn look on her face, Hillary doubted it had netted results.
‘Miss Hepton, Mr Greengage told DI Greene not two hours ago that he wrote and sent you a letter telling you that Mr Philpott was not going to renew your lease. He’ll be sure to have kept a copy of it. Do I really have to send for it for you to see?’ Gemma asked. Her voice, although calm enough, had a sharp edge to it, and her words, all too grimly, confirmed Hillary’s pessimism.
Things had not gone well.
Martha Hepton shrugged petulantly. ‘He may have sent it, Sergeant, I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean to say I received it, does it?’ she asked, sweetly and reasonably. ‘I mean, the post office is hardly infallible, you know. Things do go missing.’ Hillary had heard enough. She quickly stepped through and pushed open the door.
‘The firm of solicitors that Edward Philpott used always send their important mail by registered post, Miss Hepton,’ she said tightly, even before she’d sat down.
Gemma glanced across at her, and muttered into the tape, ‘DI Greene has just entered the room.’ She cited the time and then took a mental step back. Although her face wore a blank look, Hillary was sure that she could see relief glimmer in those cool grey eyes of hers.
‘That means you must
have signed for it,’ Hillary continued, fixing her gimlet eyes on Martha, who flushed. ‘Which also means that there will be a record of it at the post office. All there in black and white, with your signature on it.’
Hillary took a seat, and got out a pen and a notebook from her bag. ‘Now, I suggest you stop being so silly and start co-operating, or you’ll find yourself charged with wasting police time and trying to pervert the cause of justice. And that’s just for starters.’
Hillary pressed the top of her pen down with a decisive snick and glowered at the woman opposite. Her message was loud and clear. She was in no mood to play silly buggers. Martha Hepton bit her lip, no doubt trying desperately to remember whether or not she’d signed for the solicitor’s letter on the day it came. Hillary was banking on her not being able to, and she thought her chances were fairly good. No doubt the arrival of an official letter had come as a shock, and a barrage of emotions would have followed — rage, disbelief, fear. All of which were pretty good for clouding the memory about other, specific details.
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake, what does it matter anyway?’ Martha huffed, caving in. Beside her, she felt Gemma relax.
‘So you knew your lover was intending to make you homeless?’ Hillary stated baldly.
‘Don’t be so dramatic, will you?’ Martha asked with an unconvincing laugh, looking at the tape recorder nervously. ‘So he wasn’t going to let me stay on at the cottage. It’s hardly the end of the world, is it?’
Hillary allowed herself a bleak smile. ‘So you had no problem with it then?’
Martha, realising how absurd that sounded, shifted uncomfortably on her chair. ‘Well, I can’t say as I liked it, no. But so what? Things happen in life.’
‘It must have made you very angry. I mean, you’d been intimate with this man for years. And after all that time, you must have come to look on the cottage as your own. And then Mr Philpott turns you out without a qualm,’ Hillary pressed on.
‘Hey, you don’t know that!’ Martha objected. ‘And as it turns out, Eddie was really cut up about it. But he said that with his daughter like she was, and with the kids to think about and all, he needed to have capital. Just in case, like. He said family came first. And he’s right — family always does,’ she added with false piety.
‘A pretty speech, Miss Hepton. But don’t you count as family too? After twenty years?’ Martha flushed hotly and opened her mouth, no doubt to say something rather pithy in the affirmative, then caught herself just in time and closed her lips with a snap. She gave Hillary a tight smile.
‘He wasn’t going to just abandon me, was he?’ she said with a bright smile. ‘He was going to help me find a new place — he said so. Put some feelers out, find a little part-time job for me. He even offered to loan me some money, if I needed it.’
She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest a little tighter. It was all lies, of course, and Hillary knew it. And Martha Hepton knew that Hillary knew it. But with Eddie Philpott dead, who was left to gainsay her? ‘So I had no reason for wanting Eddie dead, did I?’ Martha swept on breezily. ‘He was going to help me, so he was. And now he’s gone, I’ve lost everything.’
She even managed to shed a few tears.
Hillary watched her silently for a few moments, then closed her notebook with a snap. ‘That’ll be all for the moment, Miss Hepton,’ she said briskly. ‘DC Barrington will drive you home.’
Gemma followed her glumly out of the interview room. Once on the stairs, she sighed slightly. ‘She’s a tough old bat.’
Hillary nodded.
‘And she won’t budge?’ Gemma tried again.
‘No.’ She saw her sergeant shoot her a quick look, realised what the problem was, and smiled briefly. ‘Some interviews are just a waste of time and effort. It’s not anybody’s fault. You did fine.’
Gemma nodded, but her lips felt tight and stiff. Hillary was right, she knew. And not even the boss herself had been able to do much more than get Martha grudgingly to admit to knowing about the eviction notice. But still, a sense of failure nagged at her innards.
‘It’s a good job that solicitors’ outfit uses registered mail, guv,’ she said thoughtfully.
Hillary shot her a blank look. ‘Do they?’
Gemma felt her mouth drop open, and then she gave a reluctant laugh. And made a mental note to herself: never play poker with Hillary Greene.
Back at her desk, Hillary sat down with a sigh. She reached for Edward Philpott’s biography, now as up to date as modern technology and records could make it, and began to read. She’d barely read a few paragraphs, however, when something leapt out at her.
Edward Philpott’s marriage date. To one Frances Gaye Miller. Shit! The ex-wife. She’d never given her a thought! But why hadn’t she? It was standard practice always to check out the spouse.
‘The ex-wife,’ Hillary said guiltily to Gemma, who nodded. She picked up her notebook and began to riffle through it.
‘Divorced when the daughter was thirteen, guv,’ Gemma said calmly, totally missing Hillary’s relieved gasp. ‘She moved back to Leicester, her home town, and married again to a man called Bruce Lorrimer, but he died four years later. She then moved again, to Weston-super-Mare. I tracked her down to a hospice there. Cancer. Probably runs in the family, guv, that’s why her daughter is like she is. I didn’t interview her over the phone, but spoke to the matron on duty there. She went in on the fourteenth of August this year. They don’t think she’ll see Christmas. According to her, there’s no way Mrs Lorrimer was strong enough even to catch a train, let alone bash someone over the head. Besides, I had her check her records, and Mrs Lorrimer never left the hospice.’
Hillary let out a long slow breath. ‘Fine.’
So Gemma had followed up on her as a matter of routine. Of course she had. She probably hadn’t even given it a thought that Hillary hadn’t bothered to ask her to, but had taken it for granted.
It came to something when your sergeant was more on the ball than you were. And the irony of relying on Gemma Fordham, of all people, to stop her fumbling her own murder case was not lost on her.
But a cold feeling of unease was tickling her spine. She needed to get her mind off Mel and Janine and Clive bloody Myers, and concentrate on Eddie Philpott.
Just then her telephone rang.
‘DI Greene.’
‘Superintendent Vane. My office now, please.’
Hillary heard the dial tone in her ear and hung up. Gemma was looking at her curiously, and Hillary realised that the distaste must show on her face. ‘Wanted in the super’s office,’ she explained succinctly.
As she reached for her bag she saw that Frank Ross’s desk was still empty. Had he even been in today? But then, she thought, what did it really matter? And as she made her way up the stairs to the super’s office, she wondered if Ross wasn’t the only one who’d end up out of a job.
If she carried on like this, she might be leaving before he did!
The thought made her smile, and her grim smile was noted by a young male PC as she knocked on Vane’s door.
So the rumours were true, he thought, with a tinge of excitement. DI Greene and the super were at loggerheads already.
Nobody could understand why. It wasn’t like DI Greene to make trouble, and so far, nobody could find any faults with Superintendent Vane. Rumour and speculation were running wild. He hurried on down the steps to get back to the lockers and report the latest to his mates in Traffic.
Unaware of the interest in her, Hillary tapped on the superintendent’s door and waited for the summons to come in. When it came, she closed the door gently behind her and was careful not to sit.
Brian Vane finished scribbling on the memo he was reading and then looked up.
‘I’ve had a report from Thame that Janine Mallow was seen near Clive Myers’s house this morning. Do you know anything about that?’
Hillary nodded quickly. She was too canny to be caught out in a lie. ‘Yes, sir. I received an anonymo
us tip that she was there. I went there myself, and persuaded her to leave.’
Vane’s already thin lips tightened at the words ‘anonymous tip’ but he wisely let it ride. Every DI worth their salt had eyes and ears everywhere — both on the force, and in the criminal world. Besides, this was technically DCI Evans’s problem, and making a complaint about one of his men keeping Hillary Greene informed wouldn’t make him, Vane, popular with anyone.
‘I hope you aren’t encouraging Mrs Mallow in her understandable desire to keep tabs on the inquiry into her husband’s murder, DI Greene,’ Vane said bleakly. ‘Because if I find out that you have, I will take the matter seriously. Very seriously indeed. Do you understand?’
So Donleavy hadn’t told Vane that he’d given her instructions on the q.t. to keep a close eye on Janine, Hillary thought. Now that was interesting.
‘Yes, sir,’ she answered in a level tone. Vane nodded a silent dismissal and Hillary left. He could just as easily have said what he wanted to say over the phone, she knew. But that wasn’t the point.
As she walked out of his office and back down the stairs, Hillary knew that she was supposed to feel both chastised and uneasy for making it on to the super’s shit list. But that would require too much energy. Besides, Donleavy was looking out for her. It was not the same as having Mel watching her back, of course. Donleavy was very much the politician, and if it became politic to let her go, then go she would. But, in the absence of her oldest and dearest friend, Donleavy’s support was some small comfort.
* * *
When she got back, Barrington was pacing restlessly beside her desk.
‘Guv. Tom Cleaves was found collapsed on his allotment this morning. A fellow allotment holder, Jim Goulder, found him and called 999 thinking he’d had a heart attack. But when the medics arrived, it seems they found the old man was just drunk.’
Hillary slowly pulled out her chair and sat down. ‘Does he have a history of drinking? I think I asked you to do a background check on him, didn’t I?’