by Sally Rigby
‘Is the pub likely to busy at this time?’
‘I’ve no idea. In the summer, when the weather’s good, it is. People sit outside watching the boats go by.’
‘Let’s hope it isn’t, or the staff might be too busy to talk to us. Where exactly were the parents parked when the body was found?’ he asked, scanning the deserted car park.
‘It would have been close to where we are, if they could see their sons playing over there. I’m not sure exactly. Does it matter?’
‘Most likely not. It helps to get a complete picture in my mind of everything that occurred. Especially if it turns out that the time at which Donald died there were other people around. Although, one would assume that if there had been, someone would have reported hearing shots. But at the moment we don’t know because there’s nothing recorded in the file about that.’
‘Look, the investigation deemed Donald’s death to be suicide from the start. If there was anything suggesting otherwise it would have been investigated. Twiggy did his job the best he could.’
Had he touched a nerve?
‘He’s your partner, and you’re bound to feel protective of him. All I’m doing is getting an overview, I’m not here to apportion blame.’
‘That’s all right then,’ she muttered, scuffing her shoes on the gravel.
He drove them to the lower car park, and they walked to the pub, an attractive building overlooking the water. As they entered, he glanced around; it was much larger than it appeared from the outside, and not as quaint as he’d imagined. There was a group of men in suits standing beside the bar, and several couples sitting at tables.
‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked.
‘I’m starving. I haven’t eaten for hours.’ She stared longingly at the bags of crisps hanging behind the bar.
‘Is this going to be a theme of us working together? Everywhere we go you need feeding?’ He arched an eyebrow.
‘I did come straight from work, remember, and it’s way past six,’ she said, an incredulous expression on her face. ‘What do you expect me to live on? Thin air?’
‘Fine. Food it is.’ He laughed to himself as they headed to the bar.
‘Can I help you?’ the man serving said as they approached.
‘I’m Sebastian Clifford, and this is DC Bird from the Market Harborough police. We’d like to speak to the landlord, please.’
He hadn’t intended pulling the police card, but decided it might help speed things along.
‘We have a manager. Will he do?’
‘Yes, he would, thank you.’
‘I’ll fetch him. I won’t be long.’
They stood to the side and waited. After a couple of minutes, a tall, overweight man, who looked to be in his fifties came over to them. He wore a red Foxton Locks polo shirt which pulled tightly across his stomach.
‘I’m Freddie Evans, the manager,’ he said in a broad Welsh accent.
‘Sebastian Clifford and this is DC Bird. We’d like to speak to you about this man.’ He held a photo out of Donald. ‘Do you recognise him?’
‘Yeah, course I do. He’s Donald Witherspoon, who screwed everybody out of their money and then decided to commit suicide on our doorstep. How could I forget him?’
‘Did he ever come in the pub?’
‘He was a regular over the years. To be honest, I’d always thought he seemed a like decent bloke. Friendly, chatty. Never rude to the staff. But what the hell do I know? He had us all fooled. I’ve been managing the place for twenty years, and we’ve never had a suicide here before. It played havoc with our business. Plenty of press around, but the locals kept well away. Why are you investigating now, after everything has settled and things are going back to normal?’
‘This isn’t a police investigation.’
‘You said you’re police.’ His brow furrowed as he glared at Birdie.
‘We’re looking into his death on behalf of his wife,’ Seb said.
‘I have nothing else to tell you. I’m busy with admin and only came out because I thought you were police. I don’t like being lied to.’
‘I am an officer, Mr Evans,’ Birdie said, holding out her warrant card. ‘Off duty.’
‘What does that mean? That I don’t have to answer your questions?’
‘It wasn’t my intention to mislead, but would you have spoken to us otherwise?’ Seb said.
‘I suppose not.’
‘So you understand our dilemma. We didn’t lie to you, but maybe we were a little economical with the truth.’
‘You can say that again. I’m going back upstairs to my work.’
He’d risk asking some more questions, as he suspected he wouldn’t get another chance.
‘Before you go, when Mr Witherspoon visited who was he usually with?’
‘Clients, I believe.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because he’d ask for somewhere quiet in the restaurant, and often there were documents spread out on the table.’ He pointed to the large dining area over the far side of the pub.
‘Did he ever come in with his wife?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t keep track of the man. I wasn’t his keeper.’
‘When was the last time he was here?’
‘The day before his body was found, he was here for lunch with a man who I assumed was another client.’
‘Did the police question you about this?’
‘No. We didn’t have a visit from your lot.’ He nodded at Birdie. ‘But why would they if it was suicide? The top car park isn’t exactly on the doorstep.’
‘Would you recognise the other man again?’
‘Possibly. He was tall, stocky build, shaved head. Looked a bit rough. I’d probably put him in his late thirties, or early forties.’
‘What sort of mood was Mr Witherspoon in that day? Did he seem different?’
‘Come to think of it, I remember serving him and he didn’t seem his usual self. He wasn’t rude, he was never rude, but he did seem a bit not with it, if you know what I mean. I didn’t read anything into it. Sometimes people are friendlier than others.’
‘Are there any members of staff or customers who could give us a bit more information about him?’
‘I doubt it. He didn’t mix with people when he was here.’ He held his hands up. ‘You’ve had more than enough from me. I’m going.’
‘Thank you for your help.’
‘Do you have a menu?’ Birdie asked.
The manager picked one up and handed it to her. ‘They’ll take your order at the bar,’ he said and walked away.
‘What do you think?’ Birdie asked.
‘We need to find out who Donald was with on the Saturday.’
Chapter 11
8 May
Seb had met Donald’s brother, Edgar, on several occasions at family gatherings, usually weddings and funerals, and the brothers had always appeared close. Should he phone or email to ask if Edgar would speak to him? Seb had no idea what reception he’d get. He’d phone. It was more immediate. Fortunately, he had his number stored in his mobile.
‘Witherspoon,’ the soft voice echoed in his ear.
As comfortable as Donald had been in the company of others, Edgar was the opposite. A pleasant enough chap when talking on a one-to-one basis but put him in a group and he would hardly ever contribute.
Edgar had always seemed to live in his outgoing older brother’s shadow. It reminded Seb of his older brother, Hubert, who was the more outgoing of the two of them.
‘Hello, Edgar. It’s Sebastian Clifford, Sarah’s cousin.’
‘I know who you are. How are you?’
‘Well, thank you. I came down for Donald’s funeral the other day but didn’t see you there.’
He didn’t reply for a while, and if it wasn’t for his breathing Seb would have thought he’d ended the call. ‘I thought it was best to stay away, under the circumstances,’ he eventually said. ‘How did it go?’
‘Not many people turne
d up. It was a simple service. Adequate.’
He’d be lying if he said it was anything other.
‘I’m not surprised people kept away after what my brother had done. He was certainly persona non grata in every circle I know of.’
‘I’d like to speak to you and wondered if you were around sometime today so we could get together.’
‘What about?’
‘Sarah has asked me to look into the circumstances of Donald’s death, and I thought that as you’d invested with him, and were also family, I’d approach you first. Not only do you have first-hand experience of his business practice, but you knew Donald better than most.’
‘You’re not the first person to ask me for an interview for that very reason. The press has been hounding me ever since he died. As soon as I think it’s dying down, something else crops up and they’re at my door again. The funeral being a point in question.’
‘I’m very sorry, it must be hard.’
‘That’s an understatement. But, in case you wondered, I don’t hold any malice against Sarah. I’m pretty sure she knew nothing about his activities. Donald told me that he rarely shared business matters with her. He often joked that the less she knew the better, so she couldn’t incriminate him. I’ve got a lot on today, but have an hour free at one. Let’s meet for a drink at the pub in Guilsborough.’
Seb sighed with relief, as he’d been bracing himself for a no.
‘Thank you. It’s much appreciated. I’ll see you later.’
He ended the call, surprised that Edgar had agreed so readily to see him. It was only eleven-thirty, and he had an hour before he needed to leave for the meeting so after he’d done some research on Edgar, as he had no knowledge of what business he was involved in, he called Linda Stallion from the FCA to see if he could ascertain who it was that had reported Donald’s financial irregularities.
‘It’s Sebastian Clifford, Ms Stallion,’ he said when she answered the phone. ‘Sorry to bother you on a Saturday but I was given your card by Sarah Witherspoon as you dealt with her regarding the investigation into her husband Donald’s company.’
‘How may I help?’ Linda Stallion replied, sounding puzzled.
‘Sarah’s my cousin and she’s asked me to look into the nature of Donald’s death. I’ve gone through his business records and wondered if you could tell me which one of his clients contacted you and reported him? I’m assuming it was a client who hadn’t been paid their dividends.’
‘That is correct, but I’m not at liberty to give you an actual name. All I can tell you is they were long-time investors and lost their life savings.’
‘Was it the Blacks?’ he asked remembering some media coverage which had featured them.
‘What makes you ask that?’ The pitch of Linda Stallion’s voice increased. Was he correct?
‘They were prominent in the press and from my research, I discovered they’d invested with him before he began the fraudulent scheme.’
‘You didn’t hear it from me,’ Linda said.
He left Market Harborough at twelve-thirty, not wanting to be late, and headed for the pub. He’d been there fifteen years ago, when he was in town for a party Sarah had given to celebrate her parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. When he arrived, he was surprised that the 16th century pub was exactly as he remembered it and hadn’t been updated.
He walked in and, even though he hadn’t seen him for many years, he straight away recognised Edgar, sitting in the corner with a drink on the table in front of him. There was a definite family resemblance between him and his older brother. They both had a full head of thick grey hair, were stockily built, and around five feet nine inches in height.
He stopped at the bar, got himself a pint, and then headed over.
‘Good to see you,’ Edgar said, standing.
‘You too, despite the circumstances.’ Seb shook his hand and sat opposite.
‘How’s Sarah coping?’
‘Haven’t you been in touch with her?’
‘To be honest, no. We kept away.’ He couldn’t meet Seb’s eyes.
Feeling guilty? He should be.
‘She could do with some support, Edgar. Especially from family who are likely to be more understanding of the situation, and you’ve already told me she knew nothing about what Donald had done.’
‘I’ll mention it to my wife, Celia, and see what she says. She might agree, but I wouldn’t bank on it. We’re still reeling over what has happened to us. He’s left us virtually penniless.’
‘Do you mind if I record our interview?’ He could remember it all verbatim, but Birdie might like to listen to what Edgar had to say.
‘For what purpose?’ he asked, frowning.
‘It’s for my partner. I wanted to speak to you alone as we know each other. I can assure you it won’t be used for anything else. I’ll delete it once she’s listened.’
‘Okay, you have my permission.’
Seb took out his phone, clicked on record and placed it in the middle of the table.
‘You invested a lot of money with Donald. How did you first get involved?’
‘He was doing really well at a time when the bank interest rate was heading towards zero. After discussing this with Donald, he suggested I invest with him as he could get me a good return on my investment. I trusted him, so I did. Each quarter I received a healthy dividend.’
‘According to his records, you invested another large amount with him at the beginning of this year.’
Edgar picked up his glass took a long drink. ‘That’s correct. He asked me to invest some more … because he had this big deal coming up and he wanted to include me as family.’
What wasn’t he telling him?
‘And you agreed to do it?’
‘I’d have been foolish not to and at the time I was still getting my quarterly returns.’
‘What happened?’
‘A couple of months in, the dividend from my existing investment didn’t appear and there was nothing coming from the new one, so I asked for my money back. He said no, because it was all tied up. What I didn’t know until after his death was that he’d lost all my money.’
‘How much did you invest with Donald in total?’ Although he knew from the records, he wanted to double-check everything had been recorded.
‘Three hundred and fifty thousand. One hundred thousand initially and then a further two hundred and fifty. The dividends from the original investment have always gone towards the children’s school fees, and I thought the additional dividends would help, as their fees increase annually.’ He bowed his head. ‘The children have to leave their school at the end of this academic year. I could just about manage to scrape enough money to pay for the last term, but not now. We’re in dire straits.’
‘What about your house?’
‘I have a large mortgage on it which I’m struggling to service. I took out a second mortgage to cover some renovations a couple of years ago. We’ve always lived well. We’d go skiing twice a year and take a holiday in the Caribbean. Without my investments, I don’t earn enough to cover our expenses. Celia is barely talking to me at the moment.’
‘Why? It wasn’t your fault. You can’t be held responsible for Donald’s actions.’
‘She … she … didn’t know about the latest investment.’
Ah ha … that’s why he was acting strangely.
‘Why didn’t you discuss it with her?’
‘Donald wanted a decision immediately, and she was away with some friends on a no-contact spa week. He was most insistent.’
‘May I ask where you got the money from to invest? Two hundred and fifty thousand is a lot of money to get your hands on at short notice.’
‘A variety of places. I had money in savings accounts, and I sold most of my share portfolio.’
‘You work as an accountant in Leicester, I believe.’
How could someone with such financial acumen find themselves in a situation like this?
‘
Ironic, isn’t it? No one understands how I managed to get caught out.’
‘Did you have any idea at all that Donald was operating a Ponzi scheme?’
Edgar frowned. ‘You think I’d have given him all of my money if I had? That’s ridiculous.’ He waved his hand in the air.
‘He didn’t start the scheme until after your first investment.’
‘I’ll take your word for that. He didn’t share business decisions with me. We used to be close, but not so much recently.’
‘Why’s that?’ Seb asked, honing in on the hostile tone in his voice.
‘No reason. We just seemed to drift apart.’
That was a cop-out answer, but he wasn’t going to pursue it now, as he didn’t want the man to totally clam up.
‘Where were you on the day Donald died?’ he asked, deciding to move on or they’d end up going around in circles.
‘I was at home with Celia when they found him. I remember getting the call from Sarah.’
‘He died the day before on the Saturday. Can you remember your movements then?’
‘Not without my diary. Most weekends, if we don’t have any functions, we spend relaxing.’
Seb wasn’t going to push him. This wasn’t a police investigation, after all.
‘How did you feel when he died?’
‘What a stupid question. He was my brother, of course I was devastated.’
‘Even though you’d drifted apart?’
‘That didn’t change the fact that he was my brother and he was dead.’
‘When his financial mismanagement came out in the open, how did you feel then?’
Edgar glanced either side of him, as if checking that no one could hear. ‘I hated him for what he’d done to my family.’
‘Didn’t you suspect anything was wrong before it all came out in the media?’
‘At the back of my mind there were some niggles after I’d asked for my money back. But Donald was a great salesman. When he said the money was tied up and it would be there by the next dividend payment, I believed him. I had to believe him. Then he died, and the truth came out. Celia can’t bear me to even mention his name, but he was still my brother, despite him screwing us over and losing everything we have. That’s what makes everything so hard to deal with.’