by Mona Marple
“Or he could be being framed.” Sandy said, thinking back to her own experience of Reginald Halfman being murdered.
“If he’s being framed, he has to have a motive to make it realistic it could be him.”
“The motive’s easy on this.” Sandy said with some confidence. “Someone wants to get rid of the squatters.. and, it’s mission accomplished.”
“I don’t think that’s the motive.” Tom said. They were driving through country lanes, looking out for a crowd of homeless people, but the streets were deserted. “And I don’t think we’re going to find anyone now.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Sandy agreed. “But how can you think that isn’t the motive?”
“Well, it is part of the motive, but it’s not all of it. Yes, someone wants to get rid of the squatters - but why?”
“Well…” Sandy said but stopped herself.
“Go on, you can say it.”
“Well, if it is Gus, it’s revenge.”
12
“Ah! Here she is!” Sandy exclaimed as Dorie Slaughter barged back into the cafe. It was several hours after she had left in a hurry to attend the police station, and in that time the wind had begun to howl and the sky had darkened. There was a storm on the way.
“I’ll take that tea you promised,” Dorie said, taking a seat at the table closest to the counter. The cafe had grown quiet in the last half an hour. Parents had looked at their watches and left to do the school run.
“Coming right up,” Sandy said, turning her back on Dorie to make the drink.
“Shall I package you a slice to take home?” Coral asked as she rang in Elaine Peters’ order in the till. “You enjoyed it last time, didn’t you?”
“Go on then, Coral,” Elaine said with a smile. “I’m not sure how good for my waistline it is coming in here.”
“You need to be careful too,” Dorie called. “My Jim likes a slim woman.”
Elaine’s cheeks flushed.
“Dorie! I’m sure Jim likes Elaine exactly as she is.” Sandy said, realising after she’d finished that it was perhaps a back-handed compliment.
“He’s got a few pounds to lose himself, anyway. That police uniform’s getting tight on him.” Coral said, with a wink.
“He’s a perfect specimen.” Dorie cried. “And anyway, it’s a woman’s job to feed her man. He should be putting weight on if Elaine is doing things right.”
“I’ll be going now,” Elaine said, without waiting for an extra slice of cake to be cut. “Nice to see you all.”
Sandy watched her leave, the wind blowing her hair in all directions as she raced across the High Street. “You should be nice to her, Dorie, she’s a lovely match for your Jim.”
“Hmm,” Dorie grumbled. “Do you know she buys grated cheese?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Coral asked.
“Grated cheese!” Dorie repeated as if that would make things clear.
“We buy grated cheese here,” Sandy said.
“Why am I not surprised,” Dorie said, with a roll of her eyes.
“You know, Dorie, Mr. Potter told me you’d been looking at moving,” Sandy said, taking the strong-smelling tea across to Dorie’s table and sitting down next to her. “You know we’d all miss you if you left, don’t you?”
“Of course I do!” Dorie exclaimed. “But I can’t spend my whole life pleasing everyone else.”
“No, no, of course not. What does Jim think of the idea?”
“How would I know? I never see him anymore.”
“I bet he’s busy with the murder case,” Sandy said, deciding to flatter the woman’s ego to get her on side. “You’ve done such a good job raising our best police officer, it’s not surprising he’s in demand.”
“Well, maybe it’s time he flew the nest,” Dorie said, as she lifted the mug to take a sip of tea. Sandy had been serving her so long, she knew exactly how strong to make the drink for her. Dorie Slaughter was a Waterfell Tweed institution, and with Benedict and Penelope Harlow away, Sandy realised that the thought of losing Dorie as well made her sad.
“Don’t make any rash decisions, hey. You’re my best customer, remember.” Sandy said, giving the woman’s hand a squeeze as she stood up and returned to the counter.
The noise of the wind could be heard even in the cafe, and Sandy’s thoughts turned to the group of people who would be searching for safe cover for the night. She wished she had been able to give more of them a hot meal earlier.
The doorbell rang and Jim Slaughter didn’t so much walk in as get thrown in by the gale.
“Hello, Jim,” Sandy said to him quietly. “We’ve just been talking about you. I think your mum’s missing you a bit.”
Jim glanced across in his mother’s direction, smoothing his tie down over his protruding stomach. “Ah, thanks. I guess I have been neglecting her a bit.”
“Jim!” Dorie called, spotting him. “Come and sit down, Sandy can get you a drink. Sandy, bring a hot chocolate for my son.”
Sandy smiled at Jim. “Hot chocolate?”
“Sounds good.” Jim said, grinning. He smelt sweaty, and Sandy wondered how he had managed to sweat on such a cold day. “It’s been a mad day.”
“At least you managed to take your mum’s statement.” Sandy said. “She meant to give it days ago.”
“Well, that was a waste of time,” Jim said. “Decision’s been made just now on it.”
“What decision?”
Jim looked behind him to the door. “I shouldn’t say but you’ll hear all about it later. Ignatius Potter has been charged with the murder of Anton Carmichael and the attempted murder of Derrick Deves.”
Sandy dropped the cup she was about to fill with hot chocolate, and the white ceramic smashed into small slices across the floor. The noise brought Coral from the kitchen, where she and Bernice were trying to keep up with the dishwashing in Derrick’s absence.
“That’s impossible.” Sandy said.
“DC Sullivan made the call.” Jim said with a shrug. It was clear he was being shut out of yet another Waterfell Tweed case by the city police.
“But Mr. Potter didn’t even have a car when Derrick was run over. He couldn’t have done it.”
Jim shrugged once more.
“This is ridiculous,” Sandy said, opening the counter hatch and grabbing her coat from the stand.
“Where are you going?” Bernice called.
“I’m going to sort out this mess.”
**
In just the few moments it took Sandy to walk from her cafe to the police station, she was frozen to the core. The wind was bitter, hitting her bare face and feeling like punches to her skin.
She stomped into the police station, which was empty.
“Hello!” She shouted, pacing the length of the reception area for a good few minutes until she heard movement from behind the desk.
“Sandy Shaw, well hello.” DC Sullivan said, standing with his arms crossed. “Have you brought a cake?”
“No, I have not. I need to speak to you, now.” Sandy said, her firmness surprising even her. DC Sullivan raised an eyebrow and disappeared, appearing from a door in reception a few moments later.
“Does this need to be on record?” DC Sullivan asked. “Shall I set up the recorder?”
“No, I need to speak to you about Ignatius Potter.”
DC Sullivan sighed and opened the door to a small, informal room. There were two settees with a coffee table in between them, and a vending machine in the corner.
“Drink?” DC Sullivan offered.
“Not from there,” Sandy said, turning her nose up as DC Sullivan pressed a button on the machine and it spat out a weak coffee for him.
“We don’t all have the luxury of artisan coffees.” DC Sullivan said, collecting his polystyrene cup and sitting on the settee opposite her.
“What is this room?” Sandy asked.
“It’s where we speak to victims. It’s meant to put people at ease, feel
like a living room. As much as anywhere can in a police station.”
Sandy nodded. “Well, I’m not a victim. I know that you’ve charged Ignatius Potter…”
“How did you hear that?” DC Sullivan asked. A burst of lavender scent wooshed out of a plug-in air freshener.
“That doesn’t matter,” Sandy said, not wanting to get Jim Slaughter in trouble.
“I’m guessing you’re not here to congratulate me on solving the case?” DC Sullivan said with a sigh. He leaned back into the settee and took a slurp of his coffee, pulling a face as he swallowed.
“You’ve got the wrong man.”
“We’ll let the Court decide that.”
“No!” Sandy cried. “This is a man’s life! Will you at least hear me out?”
“Go on then.” DC Sullivan said, crossing his legs and revealing striped socks underneath his trousers.
“Ignatius Potter has an alibi on the night of Anton Carmichael’s death. He was with Dorie Slaughter. He could not have killed Anton. And Derrick Deves was ran over. Ignatius Potter didn’t even have a car when that happened. You have his car!” Sandy said, gesturing with her hands. She had to get the officer to see that she was right.
“The fact that we have a person’s car doesn’t mean they can’t still drive.” DC Sullivan said.
“But you have his car!”
DC Sullivan smiled. A condescending smile that made Sandy want to scream. “Sandy, how many cars does Ignatius Potter have?”
“What?” Sandy asked.
“I thought as much. You’ve come in here, taking up my time, with your theories about what has and hasn’t happened. But you’re not a police officer. Why don’t you leave this to the professionals, hey?” DC Sullivan said as he stood up. Sandy remained on the settee, refusing to give up so easily.
“How many cars does he have?” She forced herself to ask.
“He has at least three.” DC Sullivan said. “He’s quite the collector. One of them, the one used to run over Anton Carmichael, was indeed seized by us. But only that one.”
“But I saw him, he was standing over Derrick Deves, there wasn’t a car in sight.” Julia said, hearing her voice become desperate. She had no idea that Ignatius Potter collected cars, but then why would she?
“His car was parked outside the chip shop.” DC Sullivan said. “He ran over Derrick Deves and then walked back to the scene.”
“But why would someone do that? Surely he’d get out of there as quick as he could?”
DC Sullivan shrugged. “My job isn’t to understand a crime, Sandy. It’s just to find the person who did it. And trust me, I have found the right man.”
“I just can’t…” Sandy began.
“Unless!” DC Sullivan exclaimed, pacing the length of the room. “Unless you know that it was someone else, of course.”
Sandy stared at the table in front of her, thinking of Gus Sanders. Thinking of his threat and his mysterious disappearance.
“I thought not.” DC Sullivan said, and Sandy stood up and allowed herself to be lead out of the police station.
“I’m sorry to take up your time.” Sandy said as she stood in the reception area again.
“It’s okay.” DC Sullivan said. “I actually kind of like it. In the city, nobody gets this involved with my cases. I wondered when you’d turn up. And hey, Sandy, next time you come, bring me a cup of proper coffee, yeah?”
Sandy gave a small nod, then braved the cold air.
She didn’t return to the cafe, not wanting to face anyone.
She considered the small amount that she did know about Ignatius Potter. Could DC Sullivan be right?
Tom’s words returned to her, his warning that she was only considering part of the motive for the attacks.
Why would Ignatius Potter want the squatters dead, she wondered, as she strolled through the village square. The Manor loomed ahead, elevated above the village. In the dark, without a single light on, it almost looked menacing.
And then, as she strolled slowly around the perimeter of the village square, it came to her.
Could Ignatius Potter, who owned a large proportion of the Waterfell Tweed buildings, have seen the departure of the Harlows as his chance to add the Manor to his portfolio? What a great addition to any collector’s collection.
Until the squatters had arrived.
13
As Sandy passed the library (closed as usual), an uneasy feeling settled in her stomach.
Ignatius Potter had acted innocent.
He’d discovered Anton’s body and called for help. He’s remained in the village while under suspicion. And even being the prime suspect hadn’t been enough to stop him calling for help for Derrick, something that Sandy hoped might save his life.
Surely a guilty person would run?
Like Gus Sanders, Sandy thought, and a chill ran down her spine.
She turned on her heels and crossed the road again, barging her way into The Tweed. Tom Nelson was clearing glasses from an empty booth table and smiled when he saw her. She tried to ignore the dimple in his cheek.
“Can we talk?” She asked.
“Of course, shall we sit down?” Tom asked. He placed the empty glasses on the bar and returned to the booth table, indicating for Sandy to sit down, which she did. “What’s happened?”
“Ignatius Potter’s been charged. Murder and attempted murder.”
“Wow,” Tom said, raising his eyebrows at the news.
“It doesn’t feel right,” Sandy said. “I still don’t think it’s him.”
“I admit it’s strange he hung around both times if he did it,” Tom said. “What are you thinking? What can I do to help?”
Sandy’s stomach flipped at his offer and she reminded herself again that his interest was in catching a killer in the village, not in her.
“Did Gus turn up?” Sandy asked, lowering her voice as a couple walked in the pub hand in hand.
Tom frowned. “Last I heard, no. I asked Poppy to let me know as soon as he turns up.”
“Did you tell the police?”
Tom looked down at the table. “No.”
“Tom!”
“I know I’ll have to, Sandy, but he’s family. I can’t do that to Poppy unless I have real proof.”
“Right,” Sandy said, standing up from the plush maroon leather of the seat.
“Where are you going?” Tom asked.
“To find proof. Nobody around here seems to care that the wrong man is being charged!” Sandy shouted, as she spun on her heels and walked out of the pub. She was trembling with anger as she walked. In the few minutes she had been in the pub, the skies had finally opened with the storm that had been threatening all day, and heavy rain soaked her skin.
“Wait!” Tom called, and she heard him running behind her. She slowed her pace but didn’t stop. He caught up easily. “Where are you going?”
“To see if he’s back yet.” Sandy said, walking past the police station and turning right on to Water Lane. The Sanders terraced house stood in complete darkness, but then it had the last time they had visited. “Why are the lights never on?”
Tom sighed. “No reason. It’s not because there’s a fugitive hiding in there if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Sandy’s cheeks flushed. The thought had crossed her mind.
“Shall I?” Sandy asked, gesturing to the door with an eyebrow raised. Tom groaned and knocked at the door himself.
They stood at the door for almost five minutes before Poppy opened the door. Her hair was scraped back from her face and she wore casual fleecy joggers and an oversized t-shirt.
“You’ve been crying?” Tom asked, giving her a hug as she held the door open for them.
“Do you two come as a pair now?” Poppy asked, and Sandy watched as Tom’s cheeks reddened.
“Your brother’s helping me try and solve the murder case.”
“What do I have to do with that?” Poppy asked, her voice shaky. The three of them stood in the hallway.
Poppy made no suggestion that they move through into the living room.
“We need to tell the police at some point that Gus went missing on the night of the murder. I wanted to come and check he hasn’t got home yet.”
Poppy swallowed and looked down at her outfit. “Do I look like a woman whose husband is home?”
Sandy tried not to smile at the question. It was such an old-fashioned idea, that a wife should always look her best for her husband. Poppy Sanders was traditional, though.
“Where do you think he is?” Sandy asked.
“I don’t want to know where he is.” Poppy said, and Sandy realised she was a woman choosing to live in the dark in more way than one. “He’ll be back, he always is.”
“He’s never stayed away like this before,” Tom said.
Poppy laughed. “I don’t tell you everything Gus does wrong, Tom. Why would I, when it’s so clear you’ve never liked him.”
“I don’t dislike him,” Tom muttered. “I just don’t think he’s right for you.”
“He’s been away for nearly a whole day now, Poppy. Aren’t you worried?” Sandy asked.
“He’s a grown man.” Poppy said. “He’ll be fine.”
“Ok,” Sandy said, realising they were unlikely to find anything else out from Poppy. “Well, if he turns up, will you let us know?”
“Of course.” Poppy said. She watched from the hallway as Sandy and Tom let themselves out of the house, leaving her in the darkness.
They stood on the pavement outside for a few moments.
“You know, if we are working together on this, I should probably get your number,” Tom said, flashing her a nervous smile.
“Of course,” Sandy said, pulling her phone from her bag. A message flashed on the screen and she read it. “Oh my goodness!”
“What is it?”
“Derrick’s woken up!” Sandy said, surprised to feel tears prick at her eyes. She decided not to fight them and allowed herself to sob. Tom wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a hug.
“That’s amazing. Do you want to go to the hospital?”
Sandy pulled away, wiped her eyes and shook her head. “He’s got Cass and Olivia there at the moment and his mum’s on her way. I’ll go later. Come on, we have somewhere else to go now.”