TWISTED CRIMES a gripping detective mystery full of suspense

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  ‘Which is why we take it carefully. It goes a lot wider than this, particularly with Rae’s discoveries of last week. Frimwell? That name still makes me shudder.’

  * * *

  Sophie walked into the medical centre and asked to speak to Sharon Giroux. It was after midday, and morning surgery had finished, so Sophie was asked to go directly to Sharon’s consulting room. Pete had been accurate in his description of his niece. She looked even more tired and drawn than the previous week.

  ‘You can relax, Sharon. Everything you told me on Thursday checks out.’

  ‘But I knew it would. I was telling you the truth, Chief Inspector. I just can’t believe I was being so stupid as to try and rekindle a romance that ended over a decade ago. What was I thinking? Most people would give an arm and a leg for the kind of marriage I have with Pierre. It’s shaken me almost as much as Mum and Dad’s deaths. What kind of person am I?’

  ‘An absolutely decent one, I expect. So many of us think we should aim for perfection all the time and it just isn’t possible. We’re human beings, not some kind of divine incarnation. We all make the occasional mistake. Try not to let it get to you, particularly if no harm was done, which was true in your case.’ Sophie sipped a glass of water that Sharon had poured for her. ‘I’ve come about something else. You said early on that Morden Bog had a special significance for you as a family, because of your picnics there when you were small. Apart from the four of you, who else knew?’

  ‘Uncle Pete. He came with us once or twice. I think Mum used to feel sorry for him because he was a bachelor and didn’t have a family of his own, so she’d sometimes involve him in our trips out. Mum’s sister, my Aunt Phyllis, knew. She liked looking at the photos we sometimes took. She died about ten years ago. I don’t think anyone else was aware of how often we went there.’

  ‘That’s helpful.’

  Sharon picked up a pen and started tapping it against the desktop, then suddenly put it down. ‘I read that the body of a man was found in Wareham Forest at the weekend, near the nature reserve. Is it connected?’

  ‘I can’t comment in any detail, Sharon. If it is, it’s opened up a whole new angle. If it isn’t, it’s really muddied the water. That’s why no one’s dropped in to see you over the last few days. As you can imagine, we’re working like stink.’

  ‘You look tired too.’

  ‘It goes with the job. When we’re in the middle of something like this, I grab a few hours of relaxation when I can. And there are occasional moments that cheer us up and make us realise that there is a life outside of the case. Barry, my sergeant, got engaged yesterday and told us this morning. That provided us with quite a boost. Those are the moments to treasure, Sharon. You’ll get some good times back, trust me.’ She smiled. ‘Maybe I should have been a doctor.’

  Sharon seemed amused by this.

  Sophie had a brainwave. ‘My daughter, Jade, is in the sixth form at school and plans to study medicine. She’s wanted to be a doctor for some time. Would you be able to give her a little bit of time and talk things through with her?’

  ‘Of course. It’s the least I can do.’

  CHAPTER 29: Snubbed

  Monday Afternoon & Evening, Week 3

  Rae had finished looking through the internal information on the person they suspected of being the police mole. Sophie had managed to negotiate temporary access for her to parts of the personnel database, and this had helped with some aspects of her investigation. But she needed more personal information, to flesh out his character and personality. But how to do that without alerting him? Every method she thought of would set alarm bells ringing. Was it worth trying social media again, in more depth? All serving members of the county police force were warned about the dangers of using online forums, but Rae knew that a few did so using false identities, creating additional accounts in an attempt to keep some of their activities hidden. Rae spent hour after hour googling and networking, and every attempt led her down cul-de-sacs and blind alleys. Then, finally, she spotted his photo on a forum for pub pool-playing enthusiasts from Hampshire. He was masquerading under the name “Hampshire Wolfman.” Clever. He lived and worked in Dorset, but he’d found a way around the police guidelines by pretending he was a Hampshire man. Once she had a name, even though it was a mere fictional handle, she was up and running. And, slowly, a picture of the man began to emerge. He had more than a little vanity, and clearly imagined that his own opinions counted for a great deal. A bit of a self-indulgent narcissist, he offered boastful accounts of his sexual exploits and conquests. He was a misogynist to boot. Unfortunately there was nothing that could be counted as evidence of criminal intent, but Rae hadn’t expected that. Most importantly of all, she discovered where she might find him that evening.

  * * *

  Rae walked into the pub and took a long look around, fixing the layout in her head. Not bad. A fairly upmarket place with a comfortable feel to it. Clean. Small vases of flowers on the larger tables. She walked to the bar and ordered a small glass of lager, needing a clear head. It was a Monday, not a night for raucous merrymaking. She took her drink to a small table and sat down, choosing a corner seat that gave her a good view of both the room and the pool table, which was set in an alcove to her left. She took a sip of her drink, extracted her Kindle from her bag and settled back, moving her eyes between her book and the room in front of her.

  Rae had taken a taxi from the station to get to the bar, had tipped the driver generously and booked him to collect her in good time to catch the last train back to Wool from Bournemouth. She didn’t want to find herself stranded, particularly in an area that she didn’t know well. She’d taken a lot of trouble over her makeup, with good results. Smoky eye-liner, dark plum shadow and matching mascara. Her blusher blended well with the foundation, and the mulberry lipstick looked lovely. She’d curled her hair for the very first time, and it really altered her appearance. She liked the new look. Maybe she should consider making it permanent. She stretched out her slim, denim-clad legs and checked her high-heeled ankle boots. No scuffs yet.

  After twenty minutes, a young man who’d been playing pool came across for a chat. She spoke amiably for a while about the pub (very nice), her reason for being here (new to the area) and her interests (music and reading). Then the conversation turned to the young man (Craig), his interests (darts and pool), his job (warehouse manager for a local electrical store) and his upcoming holiday plans (camping in Wales). Even if Mole failed to appear, the evening wouldn’t have been wasted. When he did turn up, Rae couldn’t help feeling mildly disappointed — she’d been enjoying her chat. Craig was obviously a friend of her quarry, even though he was a good few years younger. Rae wondered if the friendship was just down to spending time at the pub playing darts and pool. She noticed that Craig’s attitude seemed to change once Mole joined them. He’d been amiable and open, but now he was more macho. Typical bloke, she thought.

  She reached across to shake Mole’s hand. ‘Hi! I’m Rachel.’ She noticed the wariness in his eyes. It was common to many of her fellow cops in social situations.

  Craig invited her to join them for a game of pool, and she saw a look of irritation flash across Mole’s face. She ignored it and followed them to the table.

  ‘I’ve only played a little before,’ she said, truthfully. What she didn’t say was that she’d spent much of her teenage free time playing snooker. She waited until she’d won the first game before telling them that.

  Craig laughed. ‘That’s unfair. Come on, the way you said it we took it at face value. I wasn’t even trying and now you’ve humiliated me!’

  She smiled. ‘No I haven’t. True humiliation would have been if we’d played for money. Anyway, what’s humiliating about losing to me? Is it because I’m a woman? Are you stuck in the middle ages or something?’

  Craig grinned back, but Rae noticed that Mole remained silent. She waited until he’d gone up to the bar and asked about him.

  ‘Your friend is a bit
moody. Is it just tonight or is he always like it?’

  ‘He’s normally okay, but he’s been like this since last week. Something’s bugging him. We don’t talk much. I don’t even know what his job is. We just talk football, darts and booze. Oh, and women.’

  ‘What about women? Go on, tell me.’

  He shrugged. ‘The usual. Who’s really hot. Who’s got good legs. What they might be like in bed.’

  ‘Well, thank you for being honest with me. And how do I do on the Craig rankings? For looks, I mean. Don’t even try to guess the last one.’

  He grinned again. ‘Pretty good, I’d say. But you’re not his type. He’s into slim blondes. I’ve never seen him with a brunette.’

  Mole returned with the beers, one each for himself and Craig, but nothing for Rae. She would have felt humiliated if her reason for being there had been purely social. Was this some kind of test? She decided to act that way. She stood up and glared.

  ‘Obviously I have to buy my own drink. While I’m at the bar, would you two gentlemen like anything? Nuts, perhaps?’

  Craig came to the bar with her. ‘I don’t know what’s got into him. That was way out of line. He was like it on Saturday night too. Sorry. Let me get this.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. He’s got a huge attitude problem, though. That was quite deliberate.’

  As they turned away from the bar, she saw Mole leaving by a side door, with a mobile phone clamped to his ear. She turned to Craig.

  ‘I need the loo. Can you take my drink? I’ll be back in a tick.’

  Rae hurried out past the toilets. A path led around the building to the rear garden, and here she spotted Mole. He was deep in conversation with another person. No one else was around. Rae crept closer, keeping behind a line of shrubs. She switched her phone into record mode and held it out towards the two men.

  ‘Are you fucking mad? This is my place and you shouldn’t be here. I told you, don’t bother me. I’m out of it. Can’t I make it any clearer?’ Mole hissed.

  ‘I need to know what your lot are up to. Find out for me. I need to know we’re in the clear before I sign on the dotted line for Frimwell’s places. That’s all I want. But it needs to be quick.’

  ‘Jesus. You’re unbelievable. You fucking come here without warning and expect me to jump through hoops for you? Listen. I won’t do it. It’s too risky. This is way beyond the few favours I did for your dad.’

  ‘Ten grand. Just for this. Then it ends and you won’t hear from me again.’

  The ensuing silence seemed endless. Rae could feel her heart beating hard in her chest.

  ‘Okay. Then I never want to see you again. If I do, I’ll fucking slam you in the clink. Understood?’

  The other figure moved off towards the car park. Rae slid silently back around the building and made her way to the toilets. She washed her hands, patted them dry with a paper towel and checked her makeup. Still passable. She thought she looked quite sultry. She made a face at herself in the mirror and returned to the bar. Craig and Mole were arguing. Craig was making it clear that he was annoyed by the earlier snub to Rae.

  ‘Oh, fuck off you wanker.’ Mole finished his pint of beer in one swallow, pushed Rae aside and walked out.

  Craig shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen him this bad. Maybe I’ve never seen the real him before. Or maybe something’s really worrying him. Whatever it is, there’s no excuse. I’m really sorry.’

  Rae smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got the hide of a rhino. It all just bounces off me. How about another game of pool? I’ve got another couple of hours till my taxi comes. How about playing for a fiver? I might manage to pay the fare back to the station then.’

  CHAPTER 30: Taking the Bait

  Tuesday Morning, Week 3

  Sophie Allen and Barry Marsh walked up the steps of Bournemouth’s ornate town hall and entered the lobby. They were both in business attire, Marsh wearing a blue suit and Sophie in powder grey. The receptionist looked up from her desk and smiled.

  ‘We’d like to see Councillor Blythe, please,’ Sophie said.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  Sophie held out her warrant card. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Allen. No, I don’t have an appointment, but I know he’s in this morning. No need to let him know we’re here. Just point us in the right direction.’

  ‘Ah. Second floor, turn left and look for the third door. I’ll have to log your visit.’

  The door opened into a small secretarial area, where a member of staff was working behind a desk. She didn’t look up. Sophie waited a few seconds then said, ‘Councillor Blythe, please.’

  With her eyes on the screen in front of her, the secretary held up her hand, as if stopping traffic. Sophie pushed her warrant card wallet into the outstretched fingers and the woman looked up. ‘Oh,’ she said, then, ‘He has someone with him. I’ll phone through that the police need to see him.’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘Phone, but don’t tell him we’re police. Just say he has very urgent visitors who can’t wait more than two minutes.’ She smiled coolly at the receptionist.

  ‘Would you like to take a seat?’

  ‘No, we’ll wait right here.’

  Looking perplexed, the receptionist phoned, using Sophie’s precise words. The two detectives waited at the desk for exactly two minutes, walked to the door bearing Blythe’s nameplate, opened it and walked in.

  A fleshy man in his late forties was talking to a young couple. All three looked up in surprise. ‘I’m sorry, but you can’t just barge in here like this,’ said Blythe. He had probably been handsome a decade or so earlier, but now the years were beginning to take their toll. Sophie would have bet that his red face was due to more than annoyance, and the heavy jowls and bulbous nose indicated years of rich living.

  ‘Oh, but I can. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Sophie Allen from Dorset police and it’s very important that we talk. Right now. So if these two people wouldn’t mind waiting outside for a few minutes, please?’ She smiled brightly at the couple, who stood up in some confusion. ‘The receptionist outside will make another appointment for you if you need one. I really do apologise.’ She waited until the couple had left and sat down opposite the scarlet-cheeked councillor. He looked as if he wanted to explode in anger, but there was wariness too.

  ‘I’d better explain,’ Sophie began, smoothing out her skirt. Marsh sat down in the other chair and took out his notebook.

  ‘Yes, you’d better,’ Blythe hissed. ‘This is unacceptable. Why didn’t you let me know in advance?’

  ‘It’s a murder inquiry. A triple murder inquiry, in fact. I see people when I’m good and ready, and I don’t give them warning.’ She paused. ‘Phil and Wayne Woodruff, Councillor Blythe. Tell me about them.’

  ‘But Phil Woodruff’s death wasn’t murder, not as far as I know. I thought his death was down to a stroke.’

  Sophie nodded. ‘Yes, it was. Left hemisphere. Fatal. But it isn’t his death we’re investigating.’

  ‘So whose is it?’

  ‘My question first, please. Tell me about your relationship with the Woodruffs.’

  ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’

  ‘You were at Phil’s committal at the crematorium. A committal usually involves family and close friends only, unlike the main funeral service, which is often open to anybody who wants to come.’

  Blythe visibly relaxed and sat back. ‘I couldn’t make the main service because of an important council meeting here. I told the family and they suggested I go to the committal instead. That’s all there was to it.’

  Sophie nodded. ‘Why were you there at all? They don’t live in the ward you represent. No other councillors attended either service.’

  Blythe leaned forward again, stabbing the air with his finger. ‘Why is this of any importance? I can go to funerals if I want to. We don’t yet live in a police state, despite what you may wish. What’s it got to do with you? Why are you here? All I have to do is lift my phone, cal
l the Chief Constable’s office and complain about your heavy-handed approach to whatever it is you’re investigating, and you’ll wish you’d been a bit more careful.’

  ‘Go ahead. I’ll wait.’ The air almost crackled with tension.

  Blythe sat poised, then relaxed back into his seat. ‘Never let it be said that I refused to help the police go about their work.’

  ‘Good. Now tell me how you come to know the Woodruffs.’

  ‘They own leisure properties in the area. Leisure and tourism is this region’s lifeblood. As a councillor, it’s my job to keep a finger on the pulse.’

  Bloody timewaster, thought Sophie. ‘Well now, Councillor. We could sit here all morning playing silly games, but it will just end up wasting time for both of us, so let’s just get down to the nitty gritty, shall we? Two elderly people were found dead nearly two weeks ago. They’d died in extremely suspicious circumstances. Their bodies were found in their abandoned car, hidden deep in a nature reserve in Wareham Forest. You’ll know all this from the press coverage. What interests me is the fact that they were at Poole Crematorium to attend a funeral directly after Phil Woodruff’s committal. You bumped into them when you came out in rather a hurry and, apparently, in a bit of a temper. You scowled at them. A few days ago the body of a senior employee of the Woodruff organisation was found only a mile or so away from where we found the bodies of the couple a week earlier. He too had been at that same committal. Coincidence? It’s possible but unlikely.’

  ‘I thought the couple’s death was down to suicide. That was the press line.’

  ‘We always wait for detailed forensic evidence before drawing conclusions, Councillor. We get facts from the post mortem, from searching the immediate scene, from sifting through anything we find. It’s only then that we make a judgement.’

  She waited.

  Blythe took the bait. ‘I heard the search was rushed.’

  ‘What do you mean?’