‘I understand. I want to support you, but dropping the ball that night was really bad. I needed to be at that meeting; I’ve got sole access to the business account. I tried to get a sitter, with no luck. And the kids felt like you’d just forgotten about them. I tried not to let on that anything was amiss, but they’re growing up fast and pick up on these things. You need to apologise to them too.’
‘I know, I’ll make it up to them. How’d the meeting go?’
‘The boys nailed it. We’re getting the full amount we were hoping for, so things are looking up. We’re not moving to Beverley Hills just yet, but this is the boost we need.’ It should have been a moment of celebration: champagne popping, wild plans for the future and gratuitous Facebook updates. Instead, she’d muted his feeling of success by forgetting all about the meeting and, in doing so, caused her husband to miss the moment he’d worked towards for years.
‘That’s great. I’m sorry you couldn’t be there. It’s amazing how quickly you’ve done it all. I’m so proud of you.’ Sarah hadn't been entirely convinced by Mark's business ideas, but her faith in him had grown over time. Watching him patiently work to grow his company reaffirmed the answer she'd given when he'd proposed all those years ago.
‘The money is one thing, but if we’re going to make it to the next level, I’m going to need to spend a lot more time at the office. Expansion means more clients and more clients means longer hours. If it’s going to work, we’re going to have to ask your sister to look after Soph and Ellie a little more often.’
‘Mark, I can’t do that. I’m pushing my luck as it is. Heather’s been amazing for us and hasn’t ever asked us to return the favour. What about your mum? I don’t want to ask, but if we ask a few people to help out, it’d be better than lumping Heather all the time.’
‘Mum’s too frail for it. She’d love to see more of the girls, but she’s not doing too well. It’s okay from time to time, maybe the occasional thing.’
‘Listen to us trying to palm off our kids,’ said Sarah.
‘I know. Anyone listening to this would think we were savages. I’ve been looking at childcare services, but there’s nothing out there we can really afford at the moment.’ Mark opened the fridge door, had a quick glance and promptly closed it.
‘I’d avoid those if we could. I’d rather have someone we know looking after our kids than a total stranger.’
‘Most of them come vetted; I’m not suggesting we answer an ad on Craigslist. Failing that, we’re back at square one with friends and family.’ He undid the knot on the bread bag and lifted the lid from the butter tray.
‘Oh, I’ll make you something, you go and sit on the sofa.’
‘It’s fine, I’ve got it.’ Mark slapped the top slice of seeded bread over scrunched lettuce, thick-cut honey roast ham and a dollop of garlic mayonnaise.
‘Mayonnaise? Thought that was banned on your new health drive?’
He shrugged his shoulders and munched through a large bite of the sandwich. ‘I’ve hit the big time. A high-pressure lifestyle requires high-calorie sandwiches.’
‘Don’t. You’ll end up like the old gits at work.’ There was little chance of her husband turning out in any way like Hayward, but she liked him to know she cared about his health. He was no Adonis; he worked out now and again, had the occasional pie and a pint and sometimes spent days on end sitting on his backside watching the rugby, but he was one of those lucky ones with the metabolism that seemed to process it all effortlessly.
‘So, what’s this important case that’s been keeping you from your loving family?’ They walked through into the living room. Mark sat on the sofa, half-eaten sandwich on his lap, and Sarah curled up next to him, leant her head on this shoulder and turned on the TV. They’d got it all out in the open, made their apologies and now had some precious quiet time together before the twins came home. The ability to talk, forgive and forget in the time it took to make and devour a coffee and a sandwich had kept them together through thick and thin over the years.
‘It’s an odd one. Started out as a drugs overdose in a hotel. Woman in her forties, looked like she’d been out on the town, had come back and snorted one too many. In between her coming home and taking the coke, some woman turns up at the hotel asking for Roxy. Our body's name is Sheila by the way, which we think are the same person.’
‘Roxy. Sounds like a stripper.’
‘She didn’t look like a stripper.’
‘How would you know? Does my wife have a secret double life? Mumsy by day, sexy seductive siren by night?’ He waved his fingers in front of her face like a magician casting a spell.
‘Mumsy? Mumsy? I’m not mumsy, you cheeky git. I still turn your friend’s heads remember. Maybe one of them would appreciate this mumsy booty.’ She turned her back to him and hugged the cushion.
‘If your arse was the only the moneymaker in this family, we’d be out on the streets.’ She slung a well-deserved cushion at his face. ‘So, what’s the plan, Detective?’
‘Pole dancing lessons, it seems.’ She smiled, moved his plate to the floor, being careful not to get any mayo on the carpet, and laid her head on his lap. ‘Some guy was trying to get hold of her on the night. Called her repeatedly, so we’re going to hit the address first thing to see if we can locate him.’
‘You’re going to hit the address to locate him? Listen to you sounding all police-y.' Mark enjoyed teasing her about police-speak as much as she enjoyed pulling him up for sounding like an online entrepreneur.
‘It’s sad, she was only forty four. Far too young to go. Joel’s got the suicide of a twenty-two-year-old boy.’
‘Joel? I thought it was Steve?’
‘Steve Dales is my DS and tutor; Joel Johnson is another DC on the fast track scheme. We only properly met this week. He’s in the study group for the exam too. Seems nice.’ She sighed. ‘And on that note, I need to study. The girls will be back soon.’
‘Is it a bird? Is it a plane?’
‘Oh, shush you.’
Sarah disagreed with the superwoman analogy. She’d watched her mother juggle a full-time job, raise three kids and keep an immaculate home. Sarah didn’t feel particularly super, just like any mother who wanted the best for her children and for them to grow up with a positive role model. She wanted them to understand that life can be hard and the best things sometimes had to be worked at.
She planned her evening’s study, corporate manslaughter through to grievous bodily harm. She heard Mark pacing downstairs. He always paced when he was on the phone and it drove her nuts. She realised her mind was looking for any minor distraction to avoid studying, so she closed the bedroom door, put her phone on silent and went back to her books.
When Heather rang the bell, Sarah ran downstairs and opened the door. She thanked her sister profusely for picking up the twins and sat down in the lounge with her family. She told the girls censored details of the cases she’d been working on—Sophie was hooked, Ellie not so much—and they talked about their day at school.
When the twins went up to their room, she settled down to study again. The long hours had taken their toll and she took in far less than she read. Organised notes became scribbles she made to avoid reading anymore and would probably make little sense on a second read-through. The coffee lost its potency after the second cup and, with another early start in the morning, she decided to tactically withdraw from the textbooks and come back to fight another day.
Sarah knocked on the twin’s bedroom door. The girls were both on their single beds on opposite sides of the room. Sophie lay on her front watching a movie on Mark’s phone with her headphones in and Ellie was reading a book and writing on an A4 pad. Sarah sat down on the edge of Sophie’s bed.
‘I want to speak to you both about something.’ Sarah had a good relationship with her daughters. Ellie was the quieter of the two. She preferred sitting with a book, painting or some other solitary pursuit. Her introversion hadn’t suffocated her social development; it had j
ust led to smaller friendship groups with the more timid children. The early-years teachers had suggested she may have a retarded social development and even mooted a mental condition, but Sarah knew to just wait it out and eventually she’d find her place in the world. Ellie was growing into a thoughtful, considerate and mature young girl, in contrast to her sister, who was the mouthpiece of the pair.
‘Is it about why you don’t come home much anymore?’ Sophie asked, taking one headphone out and keeping her eyes on the screen.
‘I do come home, Soph, it’s just that sometimes it’s after you’re asleep.’ Ellie put her book down, giving her mother her full attention. ‘There’s a lot of work on in the office and I’ve been away a lot, so I haven’t been able to see much of you. I’ve missed you both and I’m going to make it up.’
‘We’ve missed you too, Mummy.’ Sophie spoke for the both of them. Sarah looked at Ellie in anticipation of a response, but only saw a half-forced smile.
‘It won’t be forever. In a couple of months, it’ll settle down a little and things will get back to normal.’ For now, it was the only card she had to play: One day, things will be fine. It wasn’t a lie, it was just part of the constant appeasing and placating she’d have to get used to. ‘I know it’s not brilliant. It’s just that sometimes I have to work hard and that means being away from the people I love. What’s your book about, Ellie?’
‘Spiders, Mummy.’ She raised the book. The front cover was full of pictures of spiders of all shapes and sizes.
‘Spiders?’
‘It’s for a school project. We each got different animals from all over the world.’
‘And you got the scary ones?’
‘They’re not scary, Mummy. You just have to be careful around them. Some are poisonous.’
Soph shivered. ‘Ellie’s only friends are insects.’ She laughed at her own joke.
‘Be nice. That sounds like an interesting project, how about I help you with it tomorrow night?’
‘It’s okay, I don’t need any help.’ Ellie missed the point of her mother’s offer. ‘You’ve got that important test to study for anyway.’
‘Your schoolwork is important to me too. Maybe I’ll check it when it’s done?’ Ellie was already back to reading her book. ‘Soph, want to help me make your lunches for the morning?’
‘Done it, Mum. Me and Dad made them while you were studying. Lots of mayo in mine and we got some chocolate biscuits from the shop the other night too.’
‘Oh, okay. Next time then.’
Eric Semples brewed a pot of tea. English breakfast—Valerie wouldn’t abide any other kind. He felt the family teapot, white ceramic with bluebirds surrounding the base and matching cups, was the best set to use given the circumstances. The biscuit wasn’t optional. One malted milk on the side of the saucer opposite the handle. He picked up the tray and carried it into the living room, where Valerie received it in silence.
Semples sat down on the deep-red wingback chair opposite Valerie Goddard. Valerie’s living room had an opulence he’d never have known had their paths not crossed. His army-brat upbringing had afforded him a simple life, in the material sense at least. His father, an RAF pilot, had instilled a sense of hard work, duty and loyalty that he wouldn’t have traded for any riches.
‘Please, Valerie, some tea might help.’
She looked down at the tray. He wondered if he’d chosen the wrong set. Or was it the wrong biscuit. She was possibly in the mood for a digestive, but it was impossible to tell and asking would have resulted in that disappointed look he desperately wanted to avoid. Maybe the gold tea set they’d bought on their trip to Marrakesh would have been more fitting. She’d hated the heat and the sweetness of the mint tea, but loved the aesthetic. Back then, she freely expressed her love for things. Now, she expressed only disappointment, regret and, more increasingly, acute anger and bitterness.
‘Your sister called. She wants to visit. I told her I’d let you know.’ Semples didn't like being the go-between for Valerie and her family, but found himself in the role far too often.
‘I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to talk to any of them.’ Valerie glared at the wall as she spoke.
‘That was all years ago. In times like these, it can be good for families to come together again. It can make people think about their lives. How short they can be. Maybe it’s an idea to return her call?’ Semples persisted, knowing it was a lost cause. Reuniting Valerie and her sister would help her health. Valerie’s family had cut her off after the divorce and he’d watched as she’d retreated further and further away from the world as the years went on. He’d only recently convinced her to leave the house and go to the hotel from time to time. It was a start, but it wasn’t the reconnection with society he’d hoped for. If anything, for this week at least, she’d have been better off at home.
‘I’ve made my decision, Eric. Keep that woman away from me. And while we’re on the subject of things you shouldn’t ever do again, don’t you dare involve the police in my personal affairs. I’ve seen all the police officers I can stand this week. Snooping into this and that.’
‘I was concerned. Concerned someone was stealing from you.’
‘No one is stealing from me, Eric. You’re concerned that I’m too old and too senile to handle my own money. Just say it. You pretend to be concerned, pretend to have my interests at heart, but you’re only interested in yourself.’
Her words hurt and he swallowed hard before replying. She put him in the same category as her husband, her father, her sister and all the others who’d let her down. ‘It’s not like that at all. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of you and nor does DS Dales or that lovely young DC. But I won’t mention it again. I’m sorry.’ He wanted to avoid confrontation. The outburst earlier today had been both embarrassing and a clear indicator of how volatile she’d become.
‘Thank you, Eric.’ She took the ceramic teacup by the curved handle, just big enough for her finger, and drank. Eric picked up his, as he’d been waiting to do since setting the tray down. ‘I don’t want to see that policeman again.’
‘Sergeant Dales?’
‘Or that policewoman.’
‘They may want to ask you some questions about Sheila.’
‘They won’t want to do that, I’m sure. I wasn’t even at the hotel that morning.’
‘Valerie, she was your niece. And you own the hotel she died in. Once they find that out, they’ll want to speak to you, I’m sure of it.’ Semples knew how these things went. He’d been subject to investigations in his military career. The redcaps didn’t leave a stone unturned and he doubted the domestic police would either. ‘It won’t be long, just basic questions about the family relationship, I expect. They know you weren’t there, so they won’t be putting you in the back of a van and carting you off to the station.’ The joke fell flat. His smile wasn’t returned.
‘No, they won’t, Eric. They won’t find anything untoward at all, will they?’
‘No. No, they won’t.’ He knew when it was time to retreat.
‘Do you plan on telling them, Eric?’
‘Certainly not me, Valerie.’
‘Good.’ She looked at the grandfather clock, put down her teacup and stood up. ‘Now, I must go to the study.’
‘I do wish you’d spend less time up there. It’s not good for you. Let’s go for a walk out in the real world, it’s an unusually pleasant day and there’s still an hour or so of light.’
‘I’ve got things to do, Eric. And so have you. I suggest you use that hour of light as best you can.’
Semples sighed. He put on his coat and driver's cap and headed for the door.
Eleven
Sarah came in early, filled out the section 8 warrant paperwork and went into DI Manford’s office to ask him to sign it. Search warrants had to be signed by an inspector before approaching a magistrate. Even though inspectors were generally supportive of their officers’ efforts to plan and execute warrants, it still f
elt like a sales pitch.
Manford looked through the paperwork. The first few pages were duplicate copies: one for the file, one for the magistrate and one for the occupant of the searched premises. ‘Not a drugs warrant?’
‘We’re not strictly looking for drugs. Just for the phone. The phone’s linked to the indictable offence of supply. Finding the phone may lead us to further drugs offences or to a witness who can fill in the gaps in her final night,’ said Sarah.
Manford rubbed his chin. ‘Section 8 works for that. What do we know about the address? Tower Road’s a well-to-do area, right?’
‘We were there yesterday. We spoke to the occupant, Sally-Anne Moretti, who showed us a phone, but not the one we were after. Sergeant Dales knows her from his days on the drugs unit. We could only nose around so far without a power to search the place.’
‘I doubt a magistrate would have authorised a warrant without you attending first, in any case. They’d be reluctant to grant the power to smash a door in for something this...speculative.’ Manford put the warrant application on his desk. ‘Right, talk me through it. Pretend I’m a magistrate that has already signed his quota of warrants this month. Sell it to me.’
Sarah was sure magistrates didn’t have quotas to hit, although some were definitely known for being stricter than others. ‘It starts with the drugs offence. Sheila’s body was found with a quantity of white powder on her bedside table. Whilst we were there, Sheila’s phone rang. She’d had forty missed calls from the same person. Her phone examination revealed the number belongs to someone called Eamon. There are numerous texts between them suggesting a romantic, and incredibly volatile, relationship.’
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