One to Watch

by Rachel Amphlett

  Fifty-Three

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Diane Whittaker’s biting tone cut through the cold air of the second interview room the moment Kay and Sharp opened the door.

  ‘A moment, please, Mrs Whittaker,’ said Kay. She pressed the record button and formally cautioned the woman, including the charges that had been laid against her.

  ‘I’d prefer to be called by my proper title,’ said the woman officiously.

  ‘And we prefer to call you Mrs Whittaker,’ said Sharp.

  Kay didn’t wait for her to respond. ‘Tell me about your arrangement with Blake Hamilton.’

  ‘That was a business transaction between Mr Hamilton and me,’ sniffed Diane. She waved her hand. ‘I don’t have to discuss private business matters with the likes of you.’

  ‘Mrs Whittaker,’ said Sharp. ‘At the present time, you’re under arrest. I’ll remind you of the caution that was just read out to you.’

  ‘What was the arrangement you had with Hamilton?’ Kay repeated.

  ‘Blake Hamilton was our saviour,’ said Diane. ‘He was only trying to help us.’

  ‘Did your husband know his daughter was entering into an arranged marriage?’

  ‘It’s all his fault we’re in this position in the first place!’

  ‘Tell us about that.’ Kay opened the folder under her arm and peeled back the pages until she found the financial statements. ‘From what I can see, when your father died he left a considerable number of gambling debts. Substantial losses that resulted in him re-mortgaging the house prior to his illness. Your husband has been using every spare penny from his business to maintain the upkeep of Crossways Hall, is that correct?’

  Diane scowled. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right. So perhaps you could enlighten me as to why you believe this is his fault?’

  The woman sighed, tried to cross her legs and then realised the table was too low for her to do so. She shifted in her seat. ‘He’s never amounted to anything, Matthew. He tries to be an entrepreneur, but he’s not really cut out for it. Not like Blake.’

  ‘So, I’ll ask you again. What was the arrangement you had with Mr Hamilton?’

  Diane tutted, before clasping her hands in front of her as if in prayer. ‘Blake noticed that his son had taken a liking to Sophie at one of our church meetings. He happened to mention to me that it had always been his dream to be part of the English aristocracy.’

  ‘Josh’s dream?’

  ‘No.’ Diane waved her hand as if a bad smell had wafted in front of her. ‘Boy wouldn’t have a clue. Blake. Blake loved his history – had done since he was at university here, apparently. Well, as soon as I heard that, I thought perhaps I could turn it to our advantage.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Diane leaned forward, warming to her story. ‘It was delightfully simple. After the engagement, Blake was to hand over a sum of money that Matthew and I could then use to get some of the more urgent work done to the house. Once Josh and Sophie were married, we wouldn’t have to worry – they would live at the Hall, and Blake would provide us with a stipend. He was even going to pay us a bonus when we had our first grandchild,’ she beamed.

  Kay fought down the anger and frustration that was boiling inside her.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Well, I’d only received part of the dowry of course.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Six thousand pounds.’

  ‘Why did you decide to blackmail Duncan Saddleworth?’

  Diane’s jaw dropped open at the sudden change of direction to Kay’s questioning, but didn’t answer.

  Kay shrugged. ‘It’s because you overheard Sophie telling Eva she thought he was the father of her baby, wasn’t it?’

  Sharp stiffened next to her, but she ignored him and continued. ‘I figured you were going to keep quiet about it until after the engagement and purity pledge ceremony before you confronted Sophie, but you couldn’t help yourself, could you? That’s what Josh Hamilton saw the two of you arguing about on the terrace, wasn’t it?’

  Diane sighed. ‘The stupid girl. Couldn’t keep her legs closed by the sounds of it. Of course, I’d already made some discreet enquiries that day with a doctor regarding a termination.’

  ‘Is that what you were arguing about?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Except, with her death, you’d have forfeited any money due to you by Blake Hamilton. Instead, you thought you’d blackmail Mr Saddleworth to make up the cash deficit, isn’t that so?’

  The woman’s mouth dropped open. ‘How did you—’

  ‘Saddleworth received a letter after Sophie’s death. The other two people Sophie was blackmailing didn’t receive any correspondence. It was because the blackmailer – you – didn’t know about them. You only knew Saddleworth was being blackmailed by Sophie because you heard her tell Eva about her plans to run away, didn’t you?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘On the contrary, Mrs Whittaker. You told your husband that you’d been shopping in Tunbridge Wells recently, and he mentioned you’d bought new diamond earrings. Given the state of your finances, how on earth could you have afforded those otherwise?’

  Diane glared at her.

  Kay turned the page and held up a document so Diane could read it. ‘This is the inventory for the safe deposit box we emptied at the bank. Duncan Saddleworth was ordered to pay an additional fifteen hundred dollars by cash to a post office box in Tunbridge Wells. None of Sophie’s entries in her notebook tally with that amount, and all of the cash she received went to a post office box in Maidstone town centre.’

  ‘The bitch deserved to die,’ Diane suddenly spat. ‘Dirty little whore, sleeping around like that. I hope she rots in hell.’

  The solicitor beside her choked and spluttered, his eyes wide.

  Kay folded her arms across her chest and sat back in her chair, before turning to face Sharp.

  He raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.

  She nodded, and faced the woman in front of her once more.

  ‘Diane Whittaker, we’ll be seeking authority from the Crown Prosecution Service to charge you with blackmailing Duncan Saddleworth…’

  Fifty-Four

  DCI Larch paced the corridor outside the interview room but stopped as Kay and Sharp emerged and closed the door behind them.

  Kay ignored him for a moment and handed an envelope to Carys. ‘We need to speak to the housekeeper. Can you take this in and show Diane Whittaker? I didn’t want to use it during the interview.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Kay turned to Larch.

  ‘What the hell?’ he began. He stabbed a finger towards the interview room. ‘I thought you said she killed her daughter?’

  Kay brushed past him and knocked on the door to the next interview room, then winked. ‘No, I didn’t. Matthew Whittaker did.’

  ‘Excuse me, guv.’ Sharp edged round the DCI and followed Kay into the room, quickly straightening his face as he settled into the chair next to hers.

  Kay closed the door behind him as a loud wailing began from the room next door.

  Grace Jamieson sat next to the young duty solicitor who had been appointed for her.

  ‘What’s going on?’ She rose from her chair, her eyes wide. The duty solicitor reached out and placed his hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off. ‘What’s all that noise? Is that Lady Griffith? What have you done to her?’

  ‘Sit down please, Mrs Jamieson,’ said Sharp.

  She sank into her seat, kneading her hands together. ‘She sounds distressed. Are you sure I can’t see her?’

  Kay leaned over, switched on the recording machine, and then formally cautioned the housekeeper whose eyes widened as the charges were read out to her.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Please roll up the sleeves of your cardigan.’

  ‘Why?’ Jamieson turned to the solicitor. ‘Why she asking me to do that?’

  The solicitor’s eyes found Kay’s
. ‘My client has a point.’

  ‘Every time we met, you’ve worn long sleeves, Mrs Jamieson. At first, I put it down to the fact that the Whittakers’ house seems to be cold all year round. However, when I last saw you, and despite it being a warm morning, you still wore long sleeves. I’d like to know why.’

  The woman jutted her chin. ‘I fail to see what that’s got to do with anything.’

  ‘Mrs Jamieson,’ said Sharp, and leaned forward in his chair. ‘This interview is going to go faster if you help us with our enquiries. Roll up your sleeves.’

  She glared at them both then wrapped her fingers around her sleeves one after the other and tugged them up to her elbows.

  ‘There.’

  Kay’s eyes fell to the woman’s forearms. Faint scratches could be seen above her wrists, with one large scratch on her left arm.

  ‘How did you hurt yourself?’

  ‘I was gardening. Until recently, we had George to help, but Lady Griffith had to let him go.’

  ‘When did he leave?’

  ‘About a week ago.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Lady Griffith’s husband has made a mess of his business and she’s in danger of losing the house. Mr Whittaker decided we couldn’t afford a gardener full-time anymore.’ She pulled a tissue from the box on the table and dabbed at her eyes. ‘It’s the end of an era, Detective – do you realise that? Lady Griffith’s house has been in the family for years. My mother was employed by her mother.’

  ‘How did that make you feel, when your husband lost his job?’

  The woman recoiled. ‘I didn’t say he was my husband.’

  ‘No, but he is, isn’t he?’

  ‘It’s all Mr Whittaker’s fault.’ The woman pouted. ‘We’d never be in this mess if he ran his business properly.’

  ‘You have a knack for eavesdropping don’t you, Mrs Jamieson?’

  The woman dropped her hand to the table, the tissue scrunched up in her fist. ‘Whatever do you mean by that?’

  ‘You have a tendency to hover at closed doors, hoping to hear gossip,’ said Kay. ‘When my colleagues and I have visited the Whittakers at home, you’ve been close by, listening in, haven’t you?’

  The woman’s cheeks coloured and she jutted her chin at Kay. ‘It’s a housekeeper’s business to know what’s going on in the household.’

  ‘When did you find out about Mrs Whittaker’s arrangement with Blake Hamilton?’

  ‘It was a good arrangement.’

  ‘Answer the question.’

  The woman glared at her, then lowered her gaze and plucked an imaginary piece of fluff from the thin gold band of her wristwatch.

  ‘He came to the house when Mr Whittaker was out at a meeting with his bank,’ she said eventually. ‘Lady Griffith met with him in the conservatory and they spoke about the purity pledge then. Sophie had already mentioned it to her parents, and Lady Griffith knew she’d taken a shine to Josh, so she proposed the arrangement to Mr Hamilton and he agreed. It suited them both very well.’

  ‘How did you find out Sophie was pregnant?’

  The woman sneered. ‘She always looked down her nose at me. The years I’ve tidied up after her, ironed her clothes, cooked for her. She was insolent, disrespectful. She ignored me most of the time unless she wanted me to do something for her. I was invisible to her. She and that trollop of a friend of hers were talking on the terrace outside the dining room after breakfast the day of her engagement party – it was easy to hear what they were saying. I was shocked to hear she was pregnant. I didn’t take her for the type.’

  Kay pushed her chair back at a knock on the interview room door.

  Carys stood in the corridor, and handed a plastic evidence bag to Kay. Kay thanked her, and closed the door before returning to the desk and placing the evidence bag on it.

  ‘While you were waiting for us to speak with you, one of my colleagues has been speaking to our crime scene investigators.’ Kay pushed the bag towards Jamieson. ‘Luckily, on the night of Sophie’s murder the first responders at the scene had the sense to smother the flames of the braziers around the terrace. The remains are all that are left of a rolling pin.’

  Jamieson paled, and lifted a shaking hand to her mouth.

  ‘The reason why old rolling pins like this are passed down through families is because they’re made of a hard wood,’ said Kay. ‘It makes them difficult to destroy.’

  ‘I-I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You were expecting caterers the morning of the party. While they were busy working in the kitchen, you took the rolling pin from the kitchen drawer and hid it amongst the rhododendron bushes beyond the terrace. That’s how you got scratches on your arms. You heard Sophie talking to Eva Shepparton earlier that day. You heard her tell Eva she was pregnant and who she thought the father was. As far as you were concerned, it ruined your plans to help Mrs Whittaker keep her ancestral home, and put your position in the household at risk. There’s not much of a requirement for housekeepers these days, is there?’

  Jamieson made a small noise at the back of her throat.

  Kay ignored her and continued. ‘Later that day, after the speeches finished and the disco started, you lured Sophie into the darkness beyond the terrace and you struck her so hard with the rolling pin, she was killed instantly. You must have been covered in blood.’

  Jamieson whimpered.

  ‘You removed the cardigan you were wearing, wrapped the rolling pin in it, and on your way back up to the terrace you threw the two items into the first brazier you came to. The problem was, unknown to you, the wind had picked up and the brazier wasn’t burning as hot as it could have been. It was blowing mostly smoke at that point, stinking out the disco.’ Kay pointed at the burnt remains in the plastic evidence bag. ‘We have another one of those bags with the remains of your cardigan in.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘You’ve been employed by Mrs Whittaker all your adult life, haven’t you Mrs Jamieson?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ve been proud to serve Lady Griffith.’

  ‘Except of late, you’ve had to stand and watch as, one by one, all the other staff have been made redundant, ending with your husband, George Jamieson.’

  The woman glared at Kay. ‘If that stupid runt of a child of hers hadn’t got herself pregnant by that godawful priest, then none of this would have happened,’ she snapped. ‘She ruined everything.’

  ‘No, Mrs Jamieson, you did. You killed Sophie Whittaker, and you killed the baby she was carrying at the time. A baby whose father was Josh Hamilton.’

  Kay sat back in her chair, her palms on the table and watched as a look of absolute horror stole across the woman’s features.

  ‘No – no, that’s not right. Josh isn’t the father. It’s the priest. Or that Evans fellow. Not – not Josh.’

  ‘We’ve received the paternity results a moment ago,’ said Kay. ‘And that’s why you could hear Mrs Whittaker. One of our colleagues broke the news to her while we came to speak with you.’

  Jamieson’s eyes widened as realisation sunk in.

  ‘Grace Jamieson, we are now going to seek authority from the Crown Prosecution Service to charge you for the murder of Sophie Whittaker…’ Sharp edged forward on his seat and read out Grace Jamieson’s rights before setting out the formal procedures that would now take place.

  His final words were lost on Kay as she pushed her chair back, slipped through the door into the corridor, and walked out of the building.

  Fifty-Five

  Kay turned the key in the ignition and released her seatbelt as the car engine died.

  She leaned forward, resting her chin against her hands on the steering wheel while her eyes traced the line of gravestones beyond the car park.

  An emptiness clawed at her gut, a familiar sensation that she knew would never leave her, not completely.

  She leaned over, grabbed her handbag from the foot well and eased herself from the car, waving the key fob over her shoulder un
til she heard the thunk of the internal locking mechanism.

  Picking up her pace, she meandered between the headstones, breathing in the fresh summer air.

  A bumblebee hovered close to her face before sweeping away towards a patch of dandelions in the grass to her right while a wood pigeon cooed in the trees that lined the site to her left.

  She blinked, and glanced up as the breeze carried the sound of a distant siren towards her, before pulling her mobile phone from her handbag and switching it off.

  Someone else could be dragged from their late afternoon sabbatical.

  She tossed it back into her bag and slowed as she reached the next row of stones. Turning right, away from the grassy aisle she’d been following, she made her way halfway along the row, then stopped and placed her hand on top of the cool grey granite headstone, her eyes tracing the simple inscription.

  Elizabeth Hunter-Turner. Beloved daughter, taken too soon.

  ‘Hello, Elizabeth.’

  She dropped her bag to the floor and began to tug at the long grass that had already begun to encroach around the base of the stone despite Adam’s attendance to it only a couple of weeks ago.

  The light summer rains and bright days had caused the whole countryside to burst with life, and here among the monuments to the dead, it was no different.

  Lost in her work, she didn’t hear anyone approaching, and jumped at the sound of a man clearing his throat.

  She spun round on her toes and shielded her eyes from the sun at the figure towering above her.

  ‘Thought I’d give you a few moments to yourself before joining you.’

  Sharp shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and turned to survey the cemetery. He squinted in the afternoon light as his eyes roamed the landscape. ‘It’s a peaceful spot up here.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Kay straightened, threw the weeds to one side and brushed her hands together to lose the remaining leaves.

  ‘Do you visit often?’

  ‘We try to get here a couple of times a month. Adam will be here in a bit – he wanted to pick up some fresh flowers first.’