Duplicity

by Sibel Hodge

  Everyone knew Wilmott was a sleaze when it came to women. Maybe sleaze was too harsh. Perhaps smarmy was better. Trouble was, he loved himself too much to ever fall in love with someone else. It was all about the conquest for him. And the shag.

  Becky opened her mouth as if to say something else but closed it again, throwing the chocolate bar at me instead.

  I caught it and began unwrapping it. ‘How are you getting on?’

  ‘Not much to report at the moment, I’m afraid.’ She dunked a finger of chocolate in her coffee and swallowed half of it in one bite. ‘There’s no CCTV in the village. I’ve managed to contact some of the property owners nearby to see if they have private camera systems, but so far nothing helpful. Ronnie’s doing house-to-house.’ She demolished the rest of the finger and said, ‘The Burbecks’ phone and financial records should be coming in soon. I’ve just been down to the tech team to see if they’ve found anything interesting to go on yet on the laptops or phones. It’s going to take them a while, but they gave me a heads up that there are a lot of recent texts on Alissa’s phone from a guy called Russell, who seemed to be stalking her.’

  I filled her in on what Alissa had said about Russell. ‘What did the texts say?’

  ‘I only saw a few, they’re going to print them off for us. But what I did see backed up what you’ve just told me. He wanted her back after they split up. Didn’t seem to take no for an answer.’

  ‘That tallies up with what Alissa told us. She said he made a veiled threat to Max at their wedding reception.’

  ‘Interesting.’ She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘And according to Alissa, there were some customers of Max’s company that were complaining about something to do with a development he built. I’ll need to take a trip up to their head office to find out more. Apart from that, there are no recent threats or suspicious people making a nuisance of themselves. Can you check out whether Max and Alissa used social media – Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, et cetera. See if you can build up a picture of them or if there’s anything of interest on there.’

  ‘Will do.’

  I took another swig of coffee and clicked my mouse to wake up the laptop on my desk, entering Russell Stiles’ name in our databases.

  There were no incidents logged to his address, but he was known to the police. He’d been charged with affray when he was eighteen, following a fight in a pub with another man, as Alissa had said. He’d been given a twelve-month community service order, so he hadn’t served any time. Five years later, he was caught poaching rabbits and given a three-hundred-pound fine.

  I chewed on my pen, watching Stiles’ name jump even higher up my mental persons of interest list. He had a history of violence. Because of the poaching, it was likely he knew how to skin and dissect game, which would make him handy with a knife. He’d harassed Alissa following their breakup, and had started again when he’d found out about their wedding. He appeared to still be in love with her, and seemed to harbour a grudge against Max Burbeck. But was it big enough for Russell to kill him over?

  THE OTHER ONE

  Chapter 7

  There were two Dads. The one who thought I was the devil, and the one who was friendly and jokey with the customers and suppliers, who went to church on Sundays, smiled and sang hymns and held tight on to Mum’s hand while chatting to the vicar like he wasn’t really a raving lunatic.

  But as soon as we got back to the farm, the nasty Dad would appear again, like an invisible button in his head had been pressed. I’d have to help him with the animals while Mum made his favourite roast dinner. I had no free time myself. Not that it mattered much. I didn’t have any friends, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have been allowed to have them at the house. Dad hated children. And he would never have let me play at their houses because every spare minute I had to work with Dad, whose favourite saying was The Devil finds work for idle hands.

  At first, I liked stroking the cows and helping Dad with the milking machines. But as time went on, I saw how he kicked them and hit them and forced them into tiny stalls for most of their lives, living in their shit and piss and stink, barely able to move. And I’d look into their huge, watery brown eyes and see my own eyes looking back at me. They were trapped. They were scared. They were in pain. Just like me.

  I’d talk to them, kiss the fur between their eyes, rub their backs – try to let them know they weren’t alone. Even at that age I understood what they felt and thought because I felt it, too. If I cried about the cows, Dad laughed at me, calling me a ‘Useless, snivelling bastard.’

  When I was locked in the cupboard, I’d dream up ways to let them all out. They’d be free to escape then. Free from all the horribleness and misery my dad inflicted on them. Free from his poisonous mind that lashed out at the weak, the ones who couldn’t answer him back.

  If Dad caught me talking to the cows, he’d silence me with a look or threaten me with his fists, so we worked in silence, even though I’d chatter away to them in my head. I knew they could secretly hear me, and it was my private act of defiance.

  One time, after the cows were milked, we went back into the house, and I caught a waft of burning smells, which became more pungent with each step we took towards the kitchen. Mum looked harassed and anxious, the bun she’d worn at church now loose and hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. She pulled a very crispy-looking piece of meat from the oven, wafting smoke all over the place, which set Dad off.

  ‘What have you bloody done?’ he boomed at her as she set the roasting tray on the worktop. ‘Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know, and you’ve just ruined a perfectly good bit of meat! How am I supposed to eat that rubbish? It’s burnt to a crisp!’

  Mum blinked away the tears in her eyes, cowering in front of him. ‘I’m sorry, love, I . . . I don’t know what happened. I got distracted making the apple pie.’

  ‘Why can’t you do anything right?’ He sneered in her face, a fleck of spittle flying on to her cheek and making her flinch.

  I hid under the table, crouching into a ball, knowing something bad was going to happen.

  I saw the roasting tin skitter across the floor, bouncing meat and juice everywhere. Heard the slaps and the crying and pleading and whimpering. Then I saw Dad pick up a bottle of cooking oil from the worktop and pour it all over Mum’s head.

  THE DETECTIVE

  Chapter 8

  I sat in the interview room across the desk from Russell Stiles. He had short brown hair, a stud in his right ear, tattooed sleeves on both arms, and broody dark eyes. He wore ripped beige combats and an old, faded T-shirt. He was probably as different from Max as you could get.

  ‘Thank you for coming in to see me, Mr Stiles.’

  He frowned, and leaned his elbows on the desk. ‘Look, I know I’ve got a couple of speeding tickets, but this is a bit much, isn’t it? I just haven’t got round to paying them yet.’

  ‘Firstly, I need to inform you that this interview is being recorded and videoed. Present are Russell Stiles and DS Carter. The time is . . .’ I glanced at the clock, then added the time and date for the benefit of the tape . . .

  RUSSELL STILES: What’s going on?

  DS CARTER: There was a serious incident last night at The Orchard, and we think you may be able to help us with our enquiries.

  RUSSELL STILES: What? That’s . . . Is Alissa OK?

  DS CARTER: An intruder broke into Max and Alissa Burbeck’s house and stabbed Max to death.

  RUSSELL STILES: What?!

  DS CARTER: Sit down, please, Mr Stiles.

  RUSSELL STILES: Shit . . . I . . . Is Alissa alright? Where is she? I have to see her!

  DS CARTER: Alissa mentioned you’d had an altercation at their wedding reception two weeks ago. Is that correct?

  RUSSELL STILES: (Inaudible)

  DS CARTER: For the benefit of the tape, Mr Stiles, is that correct?

  RUSSELL STILES: Well, yes, but that was . . . What’s going on? Is she OK?

  DS CARTER: Can you tell me
what happened that day?

  RUSSELL STILES: I haven’t done anything! Why are you asking me? Please, just tell me if she’s OK.

  DS CARTER: Just answer the questions, please.

  RUSSELL STILES: Am I under arrest or something?

  DS CARTER: No. You’re here voluntarily and you can leave at any time. But we believe you may have information that might help us.

  RUSSELL STILES: Umm . . . I don’t know what to say.

  DS CARTER: Just start by telling me what happened at the party. Did you threaten Max or Alissa?

  RUSSELL STILES: Of course not! I . . . look, I was a bit pissed. Well, more than a bit. I don’t remember a lot of it. I was . . . upset that she’d married him. And, it was a stupid thing to do, but I turned up at their house and then . . . Shit, is he really dead? I can’t believe this. (Inaudible)

  DS CARTER: What happened at the party?

  RUSSELL STILES: I just went to their house and . . . this is way out of proportion. It was nothing. I admit I shouldn’t have gone there, but I just wanted to make sure she knew what she was doing.

  DS CARTER: How did you get on to the premises?

  RUSSELL STILES: Their house backs on to the woods, like most of them in the village, and they’ve only got a post-and-rail fence. I was . . . this is going to sound . . .

  DS CARTER: Sound like what?

  RUSSELL STILES: Well, it sounds like I’m some kind of stalker, but I’m not. I’m definitely not!

  DS CARTER: OK, go on.

  RUSSELL STILES: Well, I sat up in the woods and I was drinking a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, just . . . um . . . watching. I saw the marquee in the garden and everything and I . . . look, it was a stupid snap decision. I just wanted to make sure she was OK. He’s not as squeaky clean as he looks, you know.

  DS CARTER: Who? Max Burbeck?

  RUSSELL STILES: Yeah.

  DS CARTER: What do you mean by that? Is there something we should know about Max Burbeck?

  RUSSELL STILES: Just something I heard.

  DS CARTER: And what was that?

  RUSSELL STILES: Apparently, Max bought some land quite a few years ago and developed it with houses, but recently the owners have found out it’s contaminated with asbestos from industrial waste. And that stuff causes cancer, you know!

  DS CARTER: And where did you hear this from?

  RUSSELL STILES: I don’t remember. But Max knew all along it was contaminated, but it would’ve cost too much to get it decontaminated, so he buried the findings of a report and paid some company to do a fake report that hid everything. And now the owners are obviously seriously pissed off and worried about it, and he’s refusing to compensate them. So he’s not exactly Mr Nice Guy. I bet he’s made a few enemies doing stuff like that.

  DS CARTER: Where is this land?

  RUSSELL STILES: I don’t know.

  DS CARTER: Do you know which companies were involved in making these reports?

  RUSSELL STILES: No. I think it’s up north somewhere.

  DS CARTER: Do you remember anything else about it?

  RUSSELL STILES: No.

  DS CARTER: But you just suddenly happened to find out this information?

  RUSSELL STILES: Look, I was worried Alissa didn’t know what he was really like. I wanted to warn her what a nasty bastard he was underneath all that charm.

  DS CARTER: And you thought she’d be better off without him, is that right? So you started digging up things about Max to convince Alissa to leave him?

  RUSSELL STILES: (Inaudible)

  DS CARTER: So what happened when you didn’t manage to convince her? Did you think about getting Max out of the picture some other way?

  RUSSELL STILES: I didn’t do anything to him! I didn’t kill him!

  DS CARTER: For someone who’s not a stalker, you seem to know a lot about Max Burbeck.

  RUSSELL STILES: I’m not a stalker!

  DS CARTER: OK, let’s get back to the wedding reception. So, you watched them from the woods and you were drinking. Then what happened?

  RUSSELL STILES: I could see Alissa, in the garden. She was drinking champagne or something at the edge of the pond. As I was climbing over the fence, I fell over it. I was pretty far gone by that stage. Then I got back up again and . . . well, I just asked her if she was OK and everything, and . . . I just wanted to make sure she was happy.

  DS CARTER: Then what happened?

  RUSSELL STILES: Max came over and asked me to leave.

  DS CARTER: And what did you do?

  RUSSELL STILES: I left.

  DS CARTER: Did you say anything to Max?’

  RUSSELL STILES: I said something, but I can’t remember what. I was really drunk.

  DS CARTER: So you don’t remember saying he’d get everything he deserved and he should watch his back?

  RUSSELL STILES: No! I’m sure I never said that.

  DS CARTER: You just said you can’t remember because you were drunk, so how can you be sure you didn’t say that?

  RUSSELL STILES: (Inaudible)

  DS CARTER: Did anyone else witness this exchange?

  RUSSELL STILES: I don’t know. Maybe. I wasn’t interested in anyone else.

  DS CARTER: Did the conversation get heated?

  RUSSELL STILES: Well, maybe.

  DS CARTER: Maybe? What’s that supposed to mean? Were you angry? Shouting?

  RUSSELL STILES: OK, I might’ve raised my voice. I don’t know what I said exactly. I know how it looks now, but I didn’t mean anything like . . .

  DS CARTER: Like what?

  RUSSELL STILES: I didn’t mean I’d come back and kill him, because I know that’s what you’re thinking.

  DS CARTER: So what did you mean?

  RUSSELL STILES: I don’t know. It was just heat of the moment stuff. I was angry, yeah, and upset. I shouldn’t have gone there at all. I know that now. If I did say that, I was probably thinking of that development site I told you about. I heard the owners were going to have to sue his company. And I hope they win, too. You can’t go round messing with people’s lives like that.

  DS CARTER: But you thought you’d mess around with Max and Alissa Burbeck’s lives, though, right? You stalked her and you threatened him. Have a look at these text messages. For the benefit of the tape, please note I’m showing Russell Stiles copies of text messages recovered from Alissa Burbeck’s phone. Please read out the messages, Mr Stiles.

  RUSSELL STILES: Do I have to?

  DS CARTER: I’ll read them, shall I? ‘I heard you’re marrying him. You don’t know what he’s really like! He’s a lying bastard.’ Here’s another one: ‘What are you doing with someone like that? I know I messed up, but I’ll always love you.’ And another: ‘I’m just trying to make sure you’re OK and you know what you’re doing. He’s not good for you. Come back to me. We can talk.’ And then they get a bit more pleading, don’t they? ‘Please just meet me for a chat.’ And, ‘Why won’t you meet me? Just five minutes. Just a coffee. I know we can make things work again.’ And, ‘I love you. Please just meet up with me!’ There are a lot more of a similar nature.

  RUSSELL STILES: So what?

  DS CARTER: This is harassment. Her replies are very polite, but basically saying the same thing – that she’s happy and she’s not coming back to you – but you repeatedly carried on. You stalked her at her wedding reception. You threatened Max Burbeck. You can see how this looks, can’t you?

  RUSSELL STILES: I didn’t do anything wrong.

  DS CARTER: But you do have a history of violence. You were convicted of affray six years ago.

  RUSSELL STILES: Oh, for fuck’s sake! It was a pub fight. It wasn’t anything serious.

  DS CARTER: Tell me about it.

  RUSSELL STILES: There was some drunk guy in the pub when I was with Alissa. He was making all kinds of inappropriate comments to her and I got angry with him and told him to shut up. He wouldn’t, so I hit him. That was it.

  DS CARTER: So you were protecting her?

  RUSSELL STILES: Yeah.


  DS CARTER: And were you protecting her again now by killing someone you didn’t think she should be married to?

  RUSSELL STILES: No!

  DS CARTER: You were also charged with poaching.

  RUSSELL STILES: I don’t do that any more.

  DS CARTER: What did you do with the rabbits you took?

  RUSSELL STILES: I gave them to my parents to sell.

  DS CARTER: Your parents?

  RUSSELL STILES: They’ve got a farm shop that sells meat and stuff.

  DS CARTER: How long have they had that?

  RUSSELL STILES: Since I was a kid.

  DS CARTER: Did you ever work there?

  RUSSELL STILES: When I was younger I helped out. Before I went to college. Just weekends and school holidays and stuff.

  DS CARTER: Did you butcher the meat?

  RUSSELL STILES: Yeah, Dad taught me.

  DS CARTER: So you know your way around a knife, and Max Burbeck was stabbed in the back of the neck.

  RUSSELL STILES: Jointing a slab of meat is a bit different from killing a person!

  DS CARTER: Did Alissa Burbeck ask you to murder her husband for her?

  RUSSELL STILES: That’s bloody ridiculous. Of course not! Why would she do that? And I didn’t kill him. How many times do I have to tell you?

  DS CARTER: After the threats you made to Max Burbeck at the party, did you contact either of them again?

  RUSSELL STILES: I don’t know that I did make any threats. I can’t remember what I said.

  DS CARTER: It’s very convenient that you can’t remember.

  RUSSELL STILES: Not from where I’m sitting.

  DS CARTER: Did you contact them again?

  RUSSELL STILES: Umm . . . I texted Alissa to apologise for making a scene. That text’s not there in your pile. Why not?

  DS CARTER: Did she text you back?

  RUSSELL STILES: No.

  DS CARTER: Did you go to the house after that incident?

  RUSSELL STILES: No.

  DS CARTER: But you were still in love with Alissa Burbeck?

  RUSSELL STILES: (Inaudible)

  DS CARTER: Mr Stiles?

  RUSSELL STILES: Yes! But it doesn’t mean I’d do anything like . . . like this! It’s ridiculous!