by JANICE FROST
“Should we?” Neal asked. The mere fact that Stephen Hamilton had received a sum of money from his brother-in-law didn’t make him a potential murderer. Cornish was the one making suggestions.
“Oh no, no, no. Never in a million years. Stephen Hamilton may be a total disaster as a businessman, but the man doesn’t have a bad bone in his body.”
“Couldn’t Russell have just given Stephen the money as a gift or a personal loan?” Ava asked.
“Stephen would never have accepted it on that basis. He’s a proud man.”
“You have a generous as well as a forgiving nature, Mr Cornish.” Neal commented.
“Actually, not as generous as you might think. Russ gave me his word that if Stephen’s business went pear-shaped, he’d shoulder the loss himself.”
“I see. We’ll be needing a list of your clients, Mr Cornish. And you’ll be hearing from one of our financial investigators, Lesley Curran.”
Cornish gave a curt nod, as if to say he’d expected nothing less. He glanced at the clock. “Are we nearly finished, officers? I have an important meeting in twenty minutes.”
Back outside, Ava said, “He was rattled when we mentioned the FIO, but he managed to hide it well.”
“I noticed.”
“Probably fiddling his taxes. They’re all at it, aren’t they?”
Neal didn’t comment. Ava was probably right. People like Cornish knew all about how to operate just within the law, with the help of an unscrupulous accountant.
“Did you hear him boasting about ‘foresight?’” Ava said. “Bloody lucky, more like. He and Russ have been making money since the eighties. You’d think they’d slow down a bit. How much money is enough?”
“Actually, I think Russ Marsh has stopped.”
Ava stared at him. “Did you just make a joke, sir?”
“I’m not completely devoid of humour, Sergeant.”
“Okaaay.” Ava didn’t sound entirely convinced.
Chapter Four
Stephen Hamilton was having a hard time coming to terms with the news of his brother-in-law’s death. He hadn’t been particularly fond of Russell, but the fact that his modest electrician’s business was doing well was all down to a generous investment from Russ and his partner, Paul Cornish.
He’d listened to Lizzie’s account of Russ’s murder with mounting unease. Lizzie hadn’t been a big fan of Russ either — she’d hardly spoken to him since the tragic fire that had led to her son’s death and her first husband’s suicide.
“Val wouldn’t entertain the idea that it might be suicide. You should have heard her, Stephen. Anyway, before I left the house, it was confirmed. They’re treating his death as suspicious. Can you believe Russ is even dead, never mind murdered?”
She must have wished it often enough after the fire. All Stephen could manage was to keep nodding in agreement with his wife. He didn’t trust his voice to be steady. When she told him the news, his heart had pounded alarmingly, and his palms prickled with sweat. Fortunately, Lizzie was too excited to notice his distress.
“I mean, why would he commit suicide? I know the business over Ruth upset him but it made him angry, not depressed. Did you think he seemed suicidal at Val’s birthday party last month?”
Stephen shook his head. At least he could agree with that. Why was Lizzie banging on about suicide anyway? She’d just said the police had already established it was murder. That hadn’t taken them long either.
Stephen was worried about the fallout from Russ’s death. Would he be questioned by the police? He was Russ’s brother-in-law. Close family members always came under scrutiny, didn’t they? The police coming here, asking questions, poking their noses in . . . It didn’t bear thinking about.
He wished he hadn’t accepted that money from Russ. Stephen was a grafter. He’d puttered along steadily for years as a self-employed electrician. He’d never been ambitious, and as long as he made enough to live on he was content. Then he’d met Lizzie.
At the time, he’d been overwhelmed by her fortitude, when his own strength was sadly depleted. Like Lizzie, he’d had his share of tragedy in his life. He’d lost his wife, and then his beloved twin sister within a month of each other. But Lizzie had lost a child. A child!
They’d met in a pub in Stromford. Both had been dragged out, reluctantly, by well-intentioned friends anxious to keep them in circulation, stop them brooding. Neither of them had been out much since their bereavements, and both had become socially isolated. By some twist of fate, they had ended up talking at the bar. For three hours, they’d told each other how much they missed their loved ones and then, in the heat of the moment, arranged to meet again.
It had taken many months and many meetings — neither of them had regarded these get-togethers as dates — for them to begin talking, occasionally, about other things.
“Do you realise, I haven’t mentioned Will or Craig once this evening!” Lizzie exclaimed one night. They were in their usual haunt, a pub on the Long Hill, the one where they’d met that fateful evening.
“And I haven’t even thought about Kim. Or Rosie,” Stephen said, in equal wonderment.
“Is that bad?” Lizzie had asked. “Or does it mean we’re coping better?” She put a hand to her breast. “I can still feel it, right here. A heaviness. But sometimes now it sort of fades into the background. Like my back pain did when I was taking those strong painkillers.” A sob. He’d covered her hand with his.
“I feel it too, Lizzie, that heaviness. It will never go away. The most we can hope for is that sometimes it will weigh less . . . heavily.” Stephen wished he was a more eloquent man.
After that evening, Stephen, at least, had felt lighter. Something incredible had happened. It was as though his wife, Kim, and his sister, Rosie, had given him permission to go on without them. At least, that’s what he’d told Lizzie. Deep down, Stephen suspected it was himself who’d granted that permission.
It took a bit longer for Lizzie to reach a similar place, but when she did, their relationship blossomed into love. It hadn’t been what either of them expected, or even wanted. It would almost have been easier for each of them to deny love’s existence than to risk losing it again. Funny the way life took you by surprise.
It was for Lizzie’s sake that Stephen had expanded his business. One of the qualities he admired in her was that she never envied her sister’s wealth. The first time Stephen visited Val and Russ in their house, he’d felt inadequate. He wanted Lizzie to have some of the luxuries her sister enjoyed. He’d found himself saying as much to Val as they did a tour of the garden, after he’d had a few too many glasses of Russ’s excellent Scotch. Next thing he knew, Russ was offering him a loan, or an ‘investment’ as he termed it, to scale up, take on a couple of employees, an apprentice. Faced with a beaming Lizzie, Stephen didn’t have the heart to refuse.
That had been five years ago. Stephen had used the money to update and buy more equipment, rent a small premises to work from and take on a couple of young lads. During that time a number of good opportunities had come his way, and he’d been awarded a couple of contracts. But he was under no illusions. He was never going to amount to anything more than a small businessman.
Money still wasn’t plentiful, but there was no doubt that his and Lizzie’s life had become more comfortable. There were the occasional holidays abroad and the conservatory Lizzie had always wanted. And a planned extension to the house. Not that they really needed it. Having money, Stephen was learning, created needs and desires you never knew you had.
Whatever the outcome of the police investigation, things were bound to change at Cornish and Marsh. The death of a partner was a momentous event. Paul Cornish was in his mid-fifties. One way or another, he was bound to look at Russ’s death as a turning point. What would he do? Carry on solo or with a new partner? Retire? Any of these scenarios would entail change.
But the possibility of change wasn’t what was at the root of Stephen’s anxiety. His unease was rooted in a
discovery he’d made some time ago, and which he now regretted never telling Russ about.
“Stephen! Are you even listening to me?”
“Sorry, love. I think I’m in shock. Russ dead. Murdered. I don’t have the words.” That, at least, was the truth.
“Bless you,” Lizzie said, giving him a hug. “Don’t look so worried. Nobody’s going to think it was you.”
That’s not what I’m worried about, thought Stephen. He drew Lizzie towards him and held her as if his life depended upon it.
* * *
Lesley Curran was hungry. The evening before, she’d consulted a carefully selected list of eating establishments and was now standing outside one of them, bracing herself to go in. It was Wednesday evening. Not the busiest night of the week, but she’d expected to see at least a couple of other customers when she walked in the door.
“I take it I can sit anywhere?” she asked the waiter. He was a thin, wiry-looking lad, who seemed to be skulking in the shadows, as if hiding from potential customers.
“Is it always this quiet?” she asked.
His accent was indeterminate. “Is early. Busy later.” Lesley wasn’t convinced. She ordered a steak, and washed it down with a glass of red wine. The restaurant remained eerily empty.
In the next day or two, she intended to eat at different times at another couple of restaurants in Stromford and Nottingham. She was expecting a similar absence of customers. Maybe she’d invite that good-looking Tom Knight sometime, so she didn’t look like such a saddo eating alone.
The restaurants she planned to visit were all located in the less fashionable areas. They all had some potential, yet none of them seemed to be trying very hard to attract customers. Some clever marketing and a bit of a facelift would surely help draw the punters in.
Lesley wasn’t choosing these seemingly unpopular restaurants at random. She knew that when she eventually got her hands on their financial records, they’d probably tell a different story. One that showed up to fifty per cent profit margins in a trade where that sort of achievement relied on a footfall far higher than these restaurants had.
Successful restaurants served exceptional food, or were well-established and popular. That certainly wasn’t the case with this place. The food was mediocre, the service grudging, the décor unremarkable. She guessed the experience would be replicated over the coming evenings.
Lesley already knew that other restaurants in this area had fared quite badly of late. Two well-established family restaurants had gone out of business in the past six months. Yet this place was still open.
Lesley couldn’t wait to get her hands on those accounts.
* * *
While Lesley chewed on her steak, Ava was drinking coffee with Maggie Neal. Maggie had asked if they could meet, so Ava guessed there was something she wanted to talk about.
“What’s Jim been like at work in the past few days?” Maggie asked.
Ava thought about this. He’d been fine at the beginning of the week, but yesterday he’d seemed a bit off. “Bit distracted. Why? Is something up at home?”
Maggie looked around as though expecting her brother to be hiding under a table. “It’s Myrna.”
“His ex?” Ava was all ears.
“She contacted him the night before last and asked if she could come and see him.”
Ava’s heart missed a beat. “Oh? What does she want?”
Maggie hissed. “I don’t care what she wants. All I know is that Jimmy and Archie are doing just fine without her.”
“Has she asked to see Archie?”
“I don’t think so. I asked, but Jimmy was evasive.”
“When’s she coming?” Ava asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Maggie scowled. “He’s agreed to meet her.”
“What’s she like?” Ava asked.
She had looked Myrna up, of course. Myrna was fairly well known in the world of musical theatre but she wasn’t yet a household name. Apparently she’d once wanted to be an opera singer. Maybe that was still on the cards. Ava had a vague notion that opera singers’ voices needed time to mature.
Maggie grimaced. “She’s clever. Manipulative.” Maggie sighed, and began counting on her fingers. “Attractive, talented, beguiling, voice of an angel . . .”
“Yup. I’ve heard it,” Ava blurted out.
Maggie gave an amused smile. “You’ve looked her up? On YouTube?”
“Out of curiosity. I swear I haven’t told anyone else that the DI’s got a famous ex.”
“She’s not that famous.”
Ava leaned forward. “Why now?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m sure it’ll be okay.” Ava meant to reassure, but she didn’t even manage to convince herself. “Well, it’s going to be difficult for the DI to take time off. We’re in the middle of a murder investigation.”
Maggie shrugged. “Good. The less he sees of her the better.”
Ava hesitated, then came out with it anyway. “Do you think she wants to get back together with your brother? Is that what you’re worried about?”
Maggie frowned. She gave Ava a searching look, followed by a long sigh. “Och, I don’t know. It’s just, well, he was always such an idiot when it came to Myrna. She could twist him round her little finger. To tell the truth, what’s really buggin’ me is that I don’t know what she wants.”
You and me both, Ava said to herself.
* * *
Val Marsh was surprised they’d allowed her to move back home so soon. On the surface, the forensics team had left her house as they’d found it, but everywhere she looked, she could see their traces.
Despite the fairly recent addition of a conservatory, Lizzie’s house had seemed poky in comparison, but that wasn’t why Val was impatient to leave. Whenever the two of them were together, unresolved tensions from their past welled up to the surface.
When they were children, she and Lizzie had been inseparable. She’d looked up to Lizzie, and followed her around like a little dog. Only a year apart at primary school, they were often mistaken for twins. Later, though, they’d grown distant from each other.
Lizzie liked to say that she didn’t envy Val her wealth, but she brought the millionaire thing up at every opportunity. It was pointless for Val to remind Lizzie that she’d left school at sixteen, and worked hard for ten years before she married her millionaire. Lizzie stayed on at school, got good A levels and went to university. At twenty-one, she’d never had so much as a Saturday job. Val could still remember her first one, working in a fruit-and-veg shop at the bottom end of Stromford High Street. She’d been paid three pounds a day. Not a lot, even then, but it had kept her out of the house.
Val left home, and never saw her parents again. She went to London, enrolled on a secretarial course and landed a job in the City. She made good money and her looks served her well in the clubs and bars where the City boys partied and threw their money around. Val and Lizzie often compared their eighties’ lives. It was as if they’d been on two different planets.
Lizzie had only stayed with her once, and Val had been glad to see the back of her. She hadn’t stopped going on about how depressing everything was ‘back home.’ Their dad was out of work, their mum was out at bingo every night, and Lizzie, a year out of university and living back at home, still hadn’t managed to find a decent job.
Val had encouraged her to move to London, but for all her supposed cleverness, Lizzie seemed to lack initiative. And she’d been so tediously left wing. She supported the miners, she bemoaned the hedonistic lifestyle that the haves were leading at the expense of the have-nots, she criticised Val for lacking a social conscience, and so it went on.
Their father drank himself to an early death, and their mother died from a brain haemorrhage within six months of his funeral. The suddenness of it all came as a shock to Val, but she wasn’t saddened. All her parents had ever given her was an inferiority complex. They never seemed to stop as
king her why she couldn’t be more like her sister. Val could never understand what they meant. Was she so different from Lizzie? And if so, what was it about Lizzie that they loved so much and failed to see in her?
Val wondered what her parents would have made of Ruth. Probably the only thing they’d have found to praise was her resemblance to Lizzie. Not that Val would ever have allowed Ruth anywhere near her father.
Leaving Lizzie’s place that morning seemed to take for ever. Val almost cried with relief when she heard her sister declare, “That’s the last one.” She felt a bit guilty for sitting in the car, keeping Cam company while Lizzie helped Ruth with the suitcases and all the baby paraphernalia.
“How are you feeling?” Lizzie asked, her face full of pained concern.
“I’m fine. Can’t wait to get home, that’s all,” Val answered.
“Of course, but I meant how are you really feeling?” Lizzie persisted, the intensity of her stare making Val uncomfortable.
Not for the first time, Val wished she could summon up tears at will. She ignored her sister and turned to Ruth. “Ready, darling?”
Val started up the car and they waved to Lizzie until she was a tiny speck in the distance. “Did you mind staying with Lizzie and Stephen?” she asked her daughter.
“It was nice to get some sleep. Aunt Lizzie was great about getting up in the night.”
Val bristled. She’d spent a whole week in Cambridge getting up in the night. Had Ruth forgotten already?
“So, do you think the police will question Stephen?” Ruth asked.
“Stephen? You don’t think . . . ?”
“No, Mum, I don’t think Stephen killed Dad. It’s just that Aunt Lizzie said she was surprised how upset it made him, much more than she expected.”
“Well, your aunt was more upset than I expected her to be.”
Ruth didn’t comment. Predictably. Any reference to Lizzie’s dislike of Russ brought on a stubborn silence.
“I suppose she was upset on my behalf more than anything,” Val said.