MURDER IN THE GARDEN

by Faith Martin

  ‘She’s the daughter of the victim, I understand?’ Donleavy said calmly.

  ‘Yes, sir. She’s also dying of cancer.’

  Donleavy sighed heavily. Like Danvers, he hoped Hillary knew what she was doing. A successful conclusion to her latest murder case would do her the world of good right now. But another disaster could bury her.

  ‘The time is ten twenty.’ Gemma Fordham began to go over the ritual for the tape, intoning the names and ranks of those present, stating that Rachel Warner had waived the right to a solicitor, and adding that she could change her mind and have a solicitor present at any time. When she’d finished, there was a brief, almost sad silence.

  Hillary slowly leaned forward and smiled at Rachel wearily. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Warner,’ she said softly. ‘I know this must be an ordeal for you. Do you need a doctor present? We have one on call at the station.’

  ‘No, I’m fine for the moment.’

  ‘If you feel you want to have medical attention at any time, you only have to say,’ Hillary urged her seriously.

  Rachel Warner looked at her and shrugged, as if to say, What’s the point? It was then that Hillary knew this was probably going to be the shortest interview of her career.

  ‘Mrs Warner, I believe that you killed your father, Edward Philpott, on Monday last, the sixth of October. I believe you hit him on the back of his head with his spade, whilst he was working in his garden. Is this true?’

  Rachel Warner looked at Hillary. She felt tired, and for the first time in many, many weeks, faintly curious. It was as if dying had sucked all the minor, irritating emotions out of her. ‘How did you know?’ she asked.

  Hillary smiled briefly. ‘The watch.’

  Rachel frowned. ‘My watch?’

  ‘No. Your father’s watch,’ Hillary corrected. ‘Well, yours too of course. The first day we talked, you told me you were afraid you were going to be late taking your children to school. Do you remember?’

  ‘That’s right, I was,’ Rachel said. ‘But we weren’t late at all.’

  ‘No. Your watch was slow, and needed batteries. Remember?’

  ‘Yes. I still haven’t got around to it.’ Rachel stared down at the watch on her wrist, looking faintly puzzled.

  ‘That morning, when you took the watch and ring from your father’s body to make it look like a robbery, you automatically checked the time on your father’s watch. What you didn’t know was that that morning your father had put on his watch by half an hour in order not to be late for a meeting. That’s why you thought you’d be late for school.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘What did you do with his watch and ring by the way?’ Hillary asked casually.

  ‘I threw them in the river. When I went for my walk after dropping the kids off.’

  ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘Off the little redbrick bridge, just before Jackson’s meadow.’

  Hillary nodded. The police divers would find it.

  ‘I see.’

  Rachel looked at Gemma, then at Hillary. ‘Don’t you want to know why I did it?’ she asked, and for the first time since Hillary and Gemma had appeared on her doorstep to take her in, she showed signs of tension.

  Hillary rubbed a tired hand across her head and sighed heavily. ‘I’m sorry, Rachel. But we already know why.’

  Gemma shifted on her seat beside Hillary.

  Like the two men silently watching, Gemma had felt an enormous sense of relief when Rachel Warner had admitted to killing her father. It showed Hillary had got it right, yet again. And after telling them where to find her father’s watch and ring, there would be physical evidence as well.

  But Gemma had no idea why Rachel had killed her father, and she couldn’t for the life of her think why she should have. In fact, it made no sense to her, even now. Surely Rachel had needed her father to take care of her kids, who now faced an incredibly uncertain future?

  ‘It was because of Linda Quirke, wasn’t it?’ Hillary Greene said softly, and Gemma looked up quickly.

  Rachel Warner was staring, appalled at Hillary. ‘Please don’t,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears. Hillary made a small sound, quickly pulled a pack of tissues from her purse and handed them over.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, yet again. ‘I’ll make it as quick as I can, but it has to be done. You do see that, don’t you?’

  Rachel gulped and buried her face in a tissue.

  ‘I tell you what, let me ask the questions and you simply say yes or no. How about that?’ Hillary asked softly. Strictly speaking, this interview was breaking a few rules, but since Hillary knew the case would never come to trial — Rachel would be dead before that could happen — she knew that the CPS wouldn’t have any cause to complain about sloppy interview techniques.

  ‘What put me on to it was the timing of your mother leaving your father. She left within two months of Linda Quirke going missing,’ Hillary began. ‘She suspected your father of having something to do with that, didn’t she?’

  Rachel’s eyes peered fearfully over the top of the tissue. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I heard them arguing one night, when they thought I was in bed.’

  ‘But you never believed it,’ Hillary said gently.

  ‘No, of course not! I loved my father.’

  ‘But, all these years later, when you were diagnosed with a terminal illness, you couldn’t help but begin to wonder,’ Hillary said gently.

  Rachel gave a reluctant nod.

  ‘And your circumstances couldn’t be worse, could they?’ Hillary carried on, and with genuine sympathy. ‘Your husband was dead, and you’d been living in your father’s house for the past three years. And after you were gone, your father would almost certainly be granted custody of your children.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rachel whispered, staring at Hillary with all the fascination of a rabbit for a snake.

  ‘And to make matters worse, your daughter, Julie, was the same age as Linda was when she went missing.’

  Rachel nodded and gulped.

  ‘Why didn’t you just have a word with the child welfare people, Rachel?’ Hillary asked with some reluctance. ‘If you’d explained your fears, maybe you could have come to some other arrangement. You didn’t have to kill him.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ Rachel said passionately. ‘I couldn’t tell the world that I thought my dad was some sort of pervert. A child killer! How would my poor Mark and Julie have felt, growing up with the world thinking their granddad was some foul thing?’

  Hillary took a long slow breath.

  ‘So you decided the only thing you could do was kill him?’

  ‘Yes. It happened just like you said. I made sure the kids were in the front room, then went out into the garden. I just waited until he had his back to me and then I hit him. I’m not sure how I got the strength. Then I took the watch and ring, took the kids to school, dumped his things in the river and called you. I never thought you’d figure it out,’ she added artlessly. Then she gave an exhausted smile. ‘But really, it doesn’t matter, does it? That you have, I mean?’

  No, Hillary thought sadly. I don’t suppose it does, at that.

  * * *

  It was a very sombre group of people that went back to Hillary’s desk. Donleavy congratulated her, very publicly, for another job well done, and went back to his room. Ever the politician, he’d wanted to be seen by everyone not to be tarred with the same brush as Vane.

  Danvers sat half on and half off her desk and swung a leg thoughtfully. ‘She won’t stand trial, of course,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ Hillary agreed. Normally, at this point, she’d suggest a celebratory drink at her local pub, but nobody was in any mood for self-congratulation.

  ‘So do you think he did it?’ Barrington asked. ‘Edward Philpott, I mean. Did he kill Linda Quirke?’

  ‘We’ll probably never know,’ Hillary answered. ‘But there’s bound to be a renewed investigation into the Quirke case. Who knows, the wife might have got it wrong? Personally, I th
ink she probably used Linda Quirke as an excuse to get out of an unhappy marriage.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ Gemma asked, aware that many ears were tuned in as others wondered the same thing.

  ‘Think about it,’ Hillary said. ‘If you thought your old man had had something to do with a young girl’s disappearance, would you then leave your child behind in that same man’s care?’

  Danvers blinked. ‘Not unless he terrified her into it.’

  Hillary shrugged. ‘Like I said, we’ll probably never know. Rachel Warner had a horrible fear that he was guilty, and in the end, that’s what counted.’

  Gemma shook her head. ‘Shit. I never thought the time would come when I’d feel sorry for a killer.’

  ‘She was on strong medication,’ Barrington put in tentatively. ‘That could have affected her judgement.’

  Hillary slowly leaned back in her chair.

  ‘You look like hell,’ Danvers said firmly. ‘Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I can organize the divers and do the paperwork.’

  Hillary nodded. ‘Thanks. I think I will.’

  * * *

  That afternoon, she lay on her narrow bunk, staring up at the ceiling of the boat.

  She supposed she should feel depressed, but for some reason she didn’t. Her murder case had been solved, but bringing in a dying woman desperate to save her children was hardly designed to make anyone feel good.

  Janine Mallow had yet to be questioned by anyone, but if she should break, both she and probably Hillary could end up serving time. As they would, if forensics threw their story a curve, or if Janine’s skell talked, or if any witnesses turned up.

  And with Vane hovering in the wings, with nothing to lose if he could manage to stick the knife into her, she should be feeling as miserable as sin.

  So why wasn’t she?

  Although she was no psychologist, it didn’t take Hillary long to understand why, for the first time in months, she was suddenly starting to feel better.

  It was because, at last, the guilt she’d felt over Mel was lifting. She’d stood by whilst he died right beside her, then stood by again while a stranger investigated his case. But now, in saving Janine, albeit at the potential cost to her own career and freedom, she’d redeemed herself.

  It would have been no good saving Janine if she hadn’t had to risk something in order to do it. But now she could forgive herself at last.

  And with that thought, Hillary Greene rolled over on her bed, closed her eyes and fell deeply asleep.

  THE END

  DI HILLARY GREENE SERIES

  Book 1: MURDER ON THE OXFORD CANAL

  Book 2: MURDER AT THE UNIVERSITY

  Book 3: MURDER OF THE BRIDE

  Book 4: MURDER IN THE VILLAGE

  Book 5: MURDER IN THE FAMILY

  Book 6: MURDER AT HOME

  Book 7: MURDER IN THE MEADOW

  Book 8: MURDER IN THE MANSION

  Book 9: MURDER IN THE GARDEN

  Books 10-17 coming soon!

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  DI HILLARY GREENE BOOK 1

  MURDER ON THE OXFORD CANAL

  https://www.amazon.co.uk/MURDER-OXFORD-gripping-mystery-twists-ebook/dp/B0763RXLRV/

  https://www.amazon.com/MURDER-OXFORD-gripping-mystery-twists-ebook/dp/B0763RXLRV/

  MEET DI HILLARY GREENE, A POLICE WOMAN FIGHTING TO SAVE HER CAREER.

  Not only has she lost her husband, but his actions have put her under investigation for corruption.

  Then a bashed and broken body is found floating in the Oxford Canal. It looks like the victim fell off a boat, but Hillary is not so sure. Her investigation exposes a dark background to the death.

  Can Hillary clear her name and get to the bottom of a fiendish conspiracy on the water?

  DI HILLARY GREENE BOOK 2

  MURDER AT THE UNIVERSITY

  UK: www.amazon.co.uk/MURDER-UNIVERSITY-gripping-mystery-twists-ebook/dp/B076CQSYMM/

  USA https://www.amazon.com/MURDER-UNIVERSITY-gripping-mystery-twists-ebook/dp/B076CQSYMM/

  A pretty French student is found dead in her room at an exclusive Oxford college. Everyone thinks it is another tragic case of accidental drug overdose.

  But Detective Hillary Greene has a nose for the truth. She quickly discovers that the student was involved in some very unusual activities.

  With a shocking cause of death found, the case becomes a high-profile murder investigation.

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  A NEW CRIME THRILLER WITH A CO
MPELLING DETECTIVE WHO WILL STOP AT NOTHING TO AVENGE HER DAUGHTER

  Glossary of English Slang for US readers

  A & E: Accident and emergency department in a hospital

  Aggro: Violent behaviour, aggression

  Air raid: an attack in which bombs are dropped from aircraft on ground targets

  Allotment: a plot of land rented by an individual for growing fruit, vegetable or flowers

  Anorak: nerd (it also means a waterproof jacket)

  Artex: textured plaster finish for walls and ceilings

  A Level: exams taken between 16 and 18

  Auld Reekie: Edinburgh

  Au pair: live-in childcare helper. Often a young woman.

  Barm: bread roll

  Barney: argument

  Beaker: glass or cup for holding liquids

  Beemer: BMW car or motorcycle

  Benefits: social security

  Bent: corrupt

  Bin: wastebasket (noun), or throw in rubbish (verb)

  Biscuit: cookie

  Blackpool Lights: gaudy illuminations in seaside town

  Bloke: guy

  Blow: cocaine

  Blower: telephone

  Blues and twos: emergency vehicles

  Bob: money

  Bobby: policeman

  Broadsheet: quality newspaper (New York Times would be a US example)

  Brown bread: rhyming slang for dead

  Bun: small cake

  Bunk: do a bunk means escape