Her Final Hour: An absolutely unputdownable mystery thriller

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Her Final Hour: An absolutely unputdownable mystery thriller Page 9

by Carla Kovach


  All she ever wanted to be was a wife with a lovely home and two lovely children. She had been a true success.

  ‘Two it is. Enjoy your teas. I’ll be in the sewing room if you need me. Got a bit of work to do.’

  Rob sipped from his teacup. ‘Thanks, love. We’ll be fine for now. You can go.’

  She leaned over him and kissed the side of his head before she left. Once again she leaned against the door, listening in. If they wouldn’t tell her, she’d have to keep sneaking around.

  As she listened to their muffled voices, she could hardly understand a word they were saying, but she definitely heard one name repeated over and over again.

  DI Harte. That was who her husband was obsessing about. She heard the sofa creak as Dan rose. Within seconds, she was back in her sewing room, re-hemming one of her dresses.

  Twenty-Two

  Gina placed James Phipps’s key in the keyhole and Jacob, O’Connor, Wyre, and two other officers followed her in. ‘At least he gave us his door key,’ she said as she entered the pitch black hallway and slipped on a pair of blue gloves. She felt along the wall, finding the light switch. A worn brown carpet covered the hallway. Phipps certainly didn’t have the money that Darrel Sanderson had. A scratch in the woodchip wallpaper showed that the wall had been painted over several times. A slight bit of blue came through, then a speck of peach before the magnolia that covered the walls at present. She pushed the first door open. It led to a small store cupboard containing the boiler, an ironing board and a vacuum.

  She continued, opening the door to the next room. ‘We have the bedroom,’ she said as she entered.

  ‘We’ll take a look in the other rooms,’ Jacob said as some of the team followed him. Wyre remained behind Gina.

  The bedroom was sparse. A double bed and two bedside tables were all that filled the room. To their left was a built in double wardrobe. The large window was covered in condensation and mildew. She tried to imagine what Melissa had been thinking. Maybe she was fond of him but maybe there is no way she could’ve existed in these conditions. Melissa had been used to a life of money, one of luxury. Her house had four bedrooms and three bathrooms. Jimmy could only offer her a one bedroomed, mildew filled flat, with draughty window frames. She listened as the gentle breeze whistled through the broken air vent in the corner of the bedroom. He had no curtains and while his cream quilt cover had a freshly washed fragrance, it was crumpled and ill fitted. His mattress protector had come away from the mattress. She stared at the bed. He’d arranged a row of pillows on one side of the bed. Had he slept at night, imagining that the pillow wall beside him was Melissa?

  Taking a step forward, she unravelled a screwed up photo that had been discarded on his bedside table. A close up of Melissa brandishing a slight smile with a healthy glow to her face, brushing her fingers through one side of her hair. She looked content lying in his bed. Gina imagined it to be the photo he’d see every night as he closed his eyes and thought of her at home, in bed, next to her husband. Had it all got too much for him? Knowing she was still with her husband at night, while he festered here alone.

  ‘That’s a rather intimate photo, guv,’ Wyre said as she stood next to Gina.

  ‘It is, and she once looked so happy to be in this confined, damp room. That was the look she was giving at some point while lying beside him, in this bed. She’s clothed too.’ Gina took a closer look at the photo, searching for something in the background, that wasn’t there now. The same magnolia woodchip that continued from the hall was all she could see. The crumpled cream quilt cover was the same, but Melissa was not like she’d last seen her, insides out, during the autopsy. A flash of Melissa’s body, tied to a chair in the kitchen, the life removed from her, with a blue cord looped around her body, sped through Gina’s thoughts. ‘We’re looking for blue cord, denim or jeans, especially ripped ones, anything that suggest he’s forensically aware – forensic suits, gloves, hair covers, boot covers, his phone.’ As she poked around the drawer, she found his phone on top of a packet of open condoms. She grabbed it, dropped it into an evidence bag and sealed it up along with the charger.

  She walked around to the other bedside drawer, the one that sat next to the pillow mountain in the bed, while Wyre began bagging as many pairs of Jimmy’s jeans as she could find. ‘I can’t see tears in any of these,’ she called back.

  ‘Keep looking, it could be tiny. Bag them all anyway.’

  As she opened the drawer, she spotted a couple of boxes and a little teddy bear with I love you sewn onto its belly. The boxes contained a gold necklace, a pair of earrings and a bracelet. ‘She could never take his gifts home. She left them safely in Jimmy’s bedside drawer. Could you bag and tag these when you’re done over there?’

  ‘Will do, guv. He has lots of denim. Six pairs and I’ve barely touched the surface.’

  Gina kneeled on the floor and looked underneath the bed. Nothing. It was as tidy and sparse as the rest of his bedroom. She headed out of the room and into his lounge-come-kitchen. This small flat was his world. A worn but comfy looking two-seater sofa almost filled the lounge area. The one wall was covered in posters from his past theatrical productions. Waiting for Godot, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Pygmalion, Talking Heads, and many more. He’d had a steady career in the big smoke. Why had he come back to rural Warwickshire after spending so long building a career in London? Had he come back to search for Melissa? Had he come back to stalk Melissa after reconnecting with her on Facebook? Had he been a poor artist, struggling to survive and starving between each job? He’d spent over twenty years there and one day decided he was moving back to little old Cleevesford. He’d be lucky to even find an am-dram group to involve himself with in this town. Maybe he sought change and teaching provided another challenge in life. Maybe he sought closeness to Melissa, knowing she would never leave her husband unless he was around to influence her. She refused to leave Darrel Sanderson. Had that tipped him over the edge?

  His coffee table was marked with coffee rings and his small television was a little dusty, but apart from that, the rest of the room was fairly clean. Basic, but clean. She watched as O’Connor rooted through his cupboards that were filled with the most basic of plates and food stuffs. He had a few tins, and few cup noodle meals. She walked over to his drop leaf table and spotted the script and production plans that he’d mentioned to them in interview, the production plans he’d supposedly been working on during the night of Melissa’s murder.

  She flicked through the pages and spotted Melissa’s name written over and over again, then scribbled over. She turned the page. He’d scribbled so hard, the pen had gone through four sheets of paper, damaging the table underneath. Had he left his flat, watched until Melissa’s husband had left for the pub? Had his hands been shaking with jealousy as he was about to bring his plan of killing her to fruition? After all, they had argued the day before. He also knew a lot about creating a scene. He lived for drama. Did that need for drama spill over into his personal life?

  ‘Bag this,’ she said as she pointed to the paperwork. Had Jimmy hidden a forensics suit and the washing line cord in his car? Maybe they’d had more arguments and he’d planned this to happen all along if she were ever to declare that she no longer wanted to be with him. So many thoughts ran through her mind. She reminded herself that Phipps had a motive, he had the opportunity, he was clever – he’d probably researched many roles in his career, maybe he’d written his own script, thinking of himself as the actor when he came into the station and gave a statement. There was no evidence as yet of a spherical object, washing line cord, forensic suits or torn jeans, but he was clever. He wouldn’t screw up on continuity.

  Smith entered. ‘Anything in his car?’ Gina asked.

  ‘Nothing out of place.’

  She held up the bagged phone. ‘I need this analysed as soon as possible,’ she said, passing it to O’Connor. They only had until nine the next morning to keep Jimmy, without asking Briggs to contact the Superintendent for
a twelve-hour extension. She wanted to have the case nailed before then.

  ‘Guv, I found another pair of jeans in the corner of the airing cupboard. There’s a tear in them.’

  Gina’s heartbeat quickened as she glanced at the jeans that Wyre held up, a smile almost emerging. ‘Prioritise them. Bag them and get them across to Keith immediately. They could well be a match to the sample we found close to Melissa’s body.’

  Twenty-Three

  After Gina finished relaying everything she knew to the team, Briggs nodded to Annie from Corporate Communications, as she made a note. He even smiled as he whispered something to her. Briggs almost looked happy and Gina was almost pleased for him. Annie was everything she wasn’t. She looked glossy, fit and was always well turned out. Her light brown hair was shiny and fell with a wave over her shoulders. Gina’s mop of unloved hair had never been shiny. She didn’t have time to style and straighten every day. Annie’s make-up took a few years off her, giving her a fresh look.

  She glanced at the email that came through on her phone. It was Devina Gupta. Darrel Sanderson’s little girl had been placed into the care of his brother, Alan, and his wife, Cerys, while further investigations took place.

  As Annie spoke, she commanded the room. She had decided that it was in the public interest to release a further statement to the press as they’d made an arrest. At this point, she knew if Jimmy’s name got out and there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him or if it began to look like he hadn’t done it, his name would forever be tarred but the press were hungry for further information, badgering them for more news of the arrest. A murder was huge news in Cleevesford.

  ‘Bernard, where are we with the evidence processed from the house?’

  ‘The washing line is a common type. It is found in just about every hardware store, supermarket and market stall in the country. It is mass-produced and repackaged to suit the retailer. As for the small sample of material that matches that of a forensic suit, again, these things can be purchased from many online retailers.’

  ‘But, finding a suspect with a history of that purchase on their computer or indeed the rest of the damaged suit would help pin a suspect down. We failed to find the object that Mrs Sanderson was initially struck with too,’ Gina added.

  Bernard hunched over as he glanced through his notes, his grey beard dangling on the desk. ‘No fingerprints were found, no footprints, no palm prints.’

  Gina’s shoulders slumped. She’d hoped for more. ‘So, the person who did this was more than prepared. They only have to watch an episode of any detective series on the TV to know what to do. We’re up against educated people. Anything else?’

  He leaned back and coiled the end of his beard around his index finger. ‘We removed a laptop and a personal computer. Both have been sent away for analysis. I know it’s costly but I’ve put a fast track on them with this being a murder and all. Be good to know what the Sandersons had been up to online, maybe what they’d been buying. The contents of their bed drawers were booked in and forwarded onto pathology. They’ve since been bagged and filed in evidence. As we already know, we have confirmed that the pliers were used to assault Mrs Sanderson. Alcohol was detected in Mrs Sanderson’s blood too, suggesting that she probably wasn’t on full form on the night of the attack. The semen samples have come back and there is no match to James Phipps from his DNA sample that we also fast tracked earlier.’

  ‘Mr Sanderson said in his statement that he and his wife had sex earlier that day. We have yet to take a DNA sample from him,’ Gina said.

  She listened as Bernard continued relaying what he knew. Wyre then spoke about her visit to the Angel Arms. There was no doubt that Mr Sanderson had been in the pub all night with his friend Rob – the CCTV had confirmed that as fact. It was also confirmed that Jimmy had slept in his car outside The Eagle on Crabbs Cross throughout the night of Friday the thirteenth of April. It had shown him staggering to his car late that night and remaining there until early morning. He still didn’t have an alibi for the night of Melissa’s murder.

  ‘Do we have Jimmy’s phone analysis back?’

  ‘We do, guv,’ Wyre replied. ‘On the Thursday evening he left a few missed calls, then messaged her. They started around nineteen hundred hours. The full transcript is on the system but I’ll read the last one. He wrote, “I can’t stand to see you living the rest of your life with that man!” That was the last one. He sent a couple more messages earlier that day that were similar in content. When we cross-checked Mrs Sanderson’s secret phone we couldn’t find them. She must have deleted them after she had read them.’

  ‘I’ll read the full transcript when I get home. Thanks for gathering that information. Anything else to add for now?’

  O Connor looked up. ‘Only that Mr Sanderson has called another three times. He wants to go back to his house and we can’t do much more to keep him away.’

  ‘Are you sure we have all we need, Bernard?’

  ‘Yes. All the samples have been taken to the lab and all the exhibits have been filed in evidence.’

  ‘We’ll have to allow him access. Smith, will you call off whoever’s on sentry duty at the moment and let Mr Sanderson know he can have access to his house?’ Smith nodded. ‘Now keep going over things. O’Connor, Wyre, I want you both to interview Jimmy again. Question him on the messages to Melissa. Take the rehearsal schedule with her name written all over it, press him further. If it was him, he went through a great deal of planning.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Wyre replied.

  The level of chatter increased in the incident room as everyone continued with their tasks. Briggs stood and led Annie out. She wondered if they were going to discuss the media, and then maybe have a drink or two. But it was no longer any of her business. She needed to go back to her office and delve into Melissa’s past.

  Twenty-Four

  Ellie zipped her coat up and pulled her black beanie hat just above her eyeline. It was going to be a long night. She darted across the back of the garden and slipped behind the tree at the back. Snuggling into a recess in the hedge, she tucked her body in and shivered. Although the sun had been warm during the day, the nights were chilly and damp. She gazed up at the stars and spotted the plough. It was the only constellation she knew. Becky had pointed it out to her when they were on holiday in Combe Martin a few months ago. At night, they walked to the top of the Hangman Hills so that Becky could take a time-lapse photo of the stars. She remembered shivering away, hoping she’d hurry. She had wanted to go back to the caravan they’d rented and warm up with a cup of hot chocolate.

  The living room light was switched on. A small tremble passed through her body as she watched him enter the room and sit in a chair, facing the television. Luckily for Ellie, the curtains were left open. She supposed he didn’t see the need to close them. His house was well secluded, surrounded by trees. The neighbours weren’t too close by and woodland covered the back of the house. She eyed the house in awe. He’d done well for himself over the years, not like her. Would she have done better in life had it not been for him? If she’d finished university, would people in the art world have taken her more seriously? Would she have got higher value commissions? Instead of pursuing her goals, she’d wallowed, trying to piece together the flashbacks and, after that, trying to get blind drunk to blot them out.

  Shivering, she edged forward so she could get a closer look. His wife walked into the room and sat opposite him. He beckoned her over. Her eyes were red, she’d been crying.

  Her phone vibrated as a call came through. She snatched her phone from her pocket. It was Becky. She ended the call and sent a text.

  I’ll be back soon. Just a little hold up. I’ll explain later. Xx

  She had to tell Becky that she’d found him. That she’d followed him home from the pub and knew exactly where he lived. Becky had been suspicious yesterday when she’d arrived home late but Ellie hadn’t found the courage to tell her what had happened. Becky could tell she was being evas
ive but she couldn’t tell her, not yet.

  His wife left, then came back with a shot of something in a glass. Ellie’s mouth watered. What she’d do for a shot of anything. The thought of something warm and strong sliding down her throat, relaxing her body as she slumped into a comfortable settee with Becky’s arms around her, was a vivid thought. Then she’d have another. One wouldn’t be enough. Then the staggered jigsaw pieces that were her memories would come back to confuse her further, until she needed another drink to blot them out. What had started off as an attempt to heal was now further opening the wounds. It wasn’t just opening them, it was prodding at the throbbing flesh, digging it away, until she could no longer take the pain.

  As her attacker turned around, she took a few steps further forward. The main advantage of having no neighbours close by was that she had no worries about being spotted. All she needed to do was remain hidden from him. She moved a little closer, watching as his wife tried to lean into him for some affection. He brushed her out of the way. As Ellie took another step, a bright security light came on, illuminating her as she stood in the middle of the lawn.

  She darted to the side of the building and doubled over as she gasped for breath. Blood whooshed around her body, pounding through her head. She was trapped between the front and the back garden. If she went back the way she had come, he would definitely see her. If she continued into the back garden, she could escape out of the gate and into the woods where she could run and run until she got away. Tears escaped from her eyes and dripped in abundance off her chin as she swallowed what she thought was her heart trying to make its escape through her mouth. A sickness washed over her and she fell to the ground, legs buckling under the stress of a panic attack that wasn’t easing away. She needed to get to the back garden – she had to make a dash for it.

 

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