by Sibel Hodge
Mr Knowles was older than the Porters, maybe in his early seventies. He had watery eyes and saggy, sallow skin. The stress of the situation had obviously taken its toll on him, too.
‘I’m conducting an investigation and I have some routine questions for you,’ I said after I’d introduced myself.
He sighed. ‘Well, you’d better come in.’ He shuffled down the hallway, which was just as shabby as the exterior. The once-pale apricot carpets were smudged in places with darker stains. Wallpaper curled at the edges of the walls.
‘I’m here about Max Burbeck,’ I said, perching on the end of a sofa. ‘He was murdered in the early hours of this morning.’
‘What? And I’m supposed to feel sorry for him?’
‘I know about the situation with this site.’
He looked down at his thighs and rubbed arthritic, gnarled hands on them. Another sigh. ‘It’s a good job my wife’s not alive to see what’s going on. She died of bowel cancer, you know, a couple of years ago. Even though I can’t prove it, I know, I just know that it’s this house that caused it. And it was my idea to move here.’ He pointed a finger at his chest. ‘Me. She didn’t even want to leave our old house. I thought it would be a nice place to retire. And now look. She’s gone, and I’m stuck in this big house all alone and I can’t even sell it.’ He fixed his watery eyes on me. ‘I’ve got nothing now. Nothing. So, no, I’m not going to feel sorry for that bastard after he’s taken everything away from me.’
THE DETECTIVE
Chapter 12
It was 6 p.m. by the time Ronnie and I got back to the office. We’d compared notes on the way from the interviews we’d carried out. All the owners were angry, and rightly so, but none of them matched the description of the offender given by Alissa Burbeck, and most seemed to be in no fit state to kill anyone. There were a few more avenues to check: people who weren’t home and children of the owners who might harbour a grudge, and there were some alibis to look into, which I asked Ronnie to deal with, but I thought these would be dead ends. In theory, one of them could’ve hired a hitman, but in my twenty-eight years on the job I’d never known anyone to have done so. In movies, yes. But in real life? No. And these were families or elderly people, not gang members or people involved in the criminal underworld. Plus, a hitman would cost money, and I very much doubted these people would want to spend their non-equity on killing Max Burbeck, when they’d need to use it for decontaminating their land (or maybe even buying a new property), a court case, or possible medical bills borne of the toxic chemicals in the soil. It’s one thing to say you wished someone was dead, but acting on it – that was something different entirely. I was gutted for their seemingly hopeless situation, but none of them struck me as killers.
Becky was working the phone as I sat down. Ronnie busied himself making coffee, humming away enthusiastically. He presented me with my mug and a look of expectancy, as if waiting for a pat on the head.
‘Thanks.’ I examined my copy of the list of the Burbecks’ wedding party guests on my desk, waiting for Becky to finish and cross-check who she’d already called. When there was no sign of the conversation ending, I mulled over the day so far and stared at the photos of Max and Alissa on the whiteboard.
‘Sarge?’ Becky’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts a few minutes later. ‘Some of the guests on this list couldn’t attend the reception. Most of the ones I’ve spoken to so far didn’t see the altercation happen in the rear garden because they were inside the marquee or in the lounge at the front of the house. They’ve all described the Burbecks as a happy couple; it was a beautiful ceremony; a lovely day – all the usual wedding reception stuff. But I did just speak to a Vicky Saunders, who’s friends with Alissa, and she witnessed it.’
‘Right, I’ll go and speak to her,’ I said. ‘You and Ronnie can split the rest of the list. If you speak to anyone else who saw something, give me a ring.’
Ronnie walked to Becky’s desk and she handed him a photocopy of the list.
‘Which ones have you done?’ Ronnie asked.
‘Everyone on the last two pages. About half of the guests.’
‘You’re working backwards?’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s the Chinese in me. They write backwards, don’t they?’
‘You’re not even Chinese.’ Ronnie frowned, confused.
‘Well, talking of Chinese, who fancies one?’ Becky grinned. She could eat for England and never put on weight. I’d piled on the pounds since Denise’s death. As old-fashioned as it was, she was the one who’d cooked in our relationship. Now I made do with microwave meals and takeaways. I’d become a walking cliché. ‘I’ll get it delivered to the front desk. I’m starving and it looks like we’re on overtime.’
‘I’ll have a chicken chow mein and barbecue sauce,’ I said. ‘I’ll pick it up later. Actually, make that two.’
‘Two?’ Becky said, trying not to eye my stomach but making a bad job of it. ‘They’re massive!’
I sucked in my gut. ‘I’ll drop one round to DI Nash on my way home.’
‘Ah. Nice thought.’ Becky scribbled my order down. ‘I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.’
I doubted it. She hadn’t even picked up or returned any of my calls. She was in a bad place. A place I’d been in for a long time after Denise died of breast cancer. A place I was still in most of the time. I missed my wife more than I could ever express in words.
‘Ronnie? What do you want?’ Becky shouted over to him.
‘Boiled rice.’
Becky waited, pen poised, for the rest of his order. When he went back to his laptop she said, ‘And what else?’
‘That’s it.’
‘You just want boiled rice?!’ She scrunched her face up as if swallowing a mouthful of vinegar.
Ronnie rubbed his stomach. ‘Chinese is too greasy for me.’
‘You can order something else, if you like.’
Typing away distractedly, he said, ‘No, boiled rice is OK.’
I left the office and drove to Vicky Saunders’ flat. It was a new build in a modern block in the Old Town area of Stevenage, six miles from Waverly, with an intercom entry system. She opened the door, red-faced and wet-eyed. Her hair was cut in an edgy style, chin length at the front on one side and shorter on the other. She reminded me of a horse, coltishly long limbs and a long nose.
I introduced myself and she started crying.
‘It’s terrible. I can’t believe it! How’s Alissa?’
‘She’s obviously very distressed. Can I come in?’
She sniffed and stood back. ‘Sorry. I’m all in a daze since that policewoman told me on the phone.’ She led me into a small but tidy lounge, the black sofa covered with pink fluffy scatter cushions. She slumped down on to the sofa, grabbed one of the cushions and held it to her stomach. ‘Where’s Alissa? And why didn’t she call me? I’ve tried to ring her mobile, but it’s just going to voicemail. I’m her best friend! She has to come and stay with me!’
‘Don’t worry, Alissa is safe, but we don’t believe it was a random attack, so we’re keeping her location under wraps until we know more. I’m sure she’ll contact you as soon as she’s able to.’
‘Oh. God, I bet she’s devastated. They were only married, like, two months! It’s just awful. Awful!’
‘That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. You mentioned to DC Harris that you’d witnessed an altercation between Max and Alissa and Russell Stiles at the wedding reception?’
‘Yes. I mean, they got married in Australia. They wanted a simple ceremony, just the two of them, barefoot on the beach – so romantic – and a couple of witnesses arranged for them. Alissa didn’t like to be the centre of attention, although it’s hard sometimes not to be when you look like her.’ She said it without a trace of malice. ‘But they’d organised the party for a couple of weeks after they got back.’ She sucked in a breath, eyes wide. ‘Do you think Russell killed Max, then?’
‘We’re not making any assu
mptions at this stage, but we have to follow all leads, and apparently there was some kind of argument between them.’
‘I . . . I mean, Russell is a bit of a rough diamond, but . . . to kill someone! I’ve known Alissa and Russell since primary school. We all went to the same one, you see.’ She picked at a long piece of fluff from the cushion, rolling it in between her forefinger and thumb as she looked at me.
‘What’s Russell like?’
‘Um . . . he’s a landscape gardener now. He’s a bit intense. Kind of broody. A loner, he never really had many friends. But he was always nice to me and Alissa.’
‘Can you tell me what happened at the reception?’
‘Well, a couple of hours after it started, Alissa wanted to go out of the marquee to get some air in the garden. I got chatting with another friend, and when I looked around for her a while later she still wasn’t back, so I went to find her to see if she needed me to help do anything. Anyway, she was standing by the fence at the bottom of the garden, talking to Russell. I stayed just outside the marquee, watching in case she needed any help.’
‘Why? Did you think Russell might get violent?’
‘No. No, nothing like that. He did hit someone once who was being rude to Alissa, but from what I heard, the guy deserved it. And Russell would never hurt her, I’m sure. But . . . well, Russell was a bit obsessed with her. They went out for four years and he was still in love with her. And . . . it’s hard not to love Alissa. I mean, obviously she’s gorgeous-looking, but she’s just a really, really nice person, too. She’s loyal and kind, funny, considerate, sweet. It’s tragic what’s happened.’ The piece of fluff she was picking at came away from the cushion, falling on to the carpet. She smoothed the material of the cushion down with her fingers repeatedly as if it was giving her some comfort.
‘Did you hear what they were talking about?’
‘No. I was too far away. I saw Alissa smile a few times, so I didn’t think it was anything too heavy. But he hadn’t been invited, for obvious reasons, and Max would’ve been pissed off to find him there, so I was hoping it didn’t escalate into something else. Anyway—’ She broke off and sniffed loudly. ‘I’m sorry. This is just a shock. Who would do something like this? I can’t take it in.’
‘I understand this is difficult, but we really need to find out as much as possible so we can catch who’s responsible.’
She sniffed again. ‘I know. Sorry.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Um . . . Russell was staggering a bit, he looked pretty drunk, and then he grabbed her arm and it looked like he was pleading with her. She tried to shrug him off but it didn’t work, and then the next thing I knew, Max was storming down to the end of the garden from the kitchen, and I did hear a bit of what he said because he was shouting, telling Russell to fuck off and that he wasn’t welcome and wasn’t invited and if he didn’t leave Alissa alone he’d get the police involved.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Max was waving his hands in the air and kind of motioning Russell to get off their property, and Russell said something I didn’t hear, but whatever it was, it set Max off and Max made a move towards him, as if he was going to hit him. Alissa stepped in front of Max to try to diffuse the situation, and Russell climbed back over the fence and stumbled away into the woods. Then Max and Alissa were having a bit of a discussion about it and Leo came out from the house to speak to them. Then Leo climbed over the fence after Russell. I slipped back into the marquee then to give them some privacy since it was all under control.’
‘Leo?’ I took the guest list out of my pocket and scanned it, looking for the name.
‘Leo Smithers. He’s Max’s best friend.’
‘And how was Max and Alissa’s relationship?’
Vicky seemed surprised by the question. ‘What do you mean? They’d just got married.’
‘Was he jealous of her, was she jealous of him?’
‘No, they were really happy. And . . . and so in love.’
‘Were there any money issues? Debts, maybe?’
I knew for a fact from the Mackenzie case that appearances could be deceptive. On the outside, people could seem flashy and rich, but they could be hiding loans or debts behind their leased cars and mortgaged-to-the-hilt property.
‘No, absolutely not. Max was loaded.’
‘Any other problems you can think of?’
‘No, none at all.’
‘How long had Max and Alissa been in a relationship?’
‘About three years. I was there when they met each other. Alissa and I were in a club and Max sent over a bottle of champagne to us. Then he came over with Leo and we all started chatting.’
‘But Alissa was still seeing Russell at the time?’
‘Yeah. But I think Max just swept her off her feet. He was obviously a lot older than her, but she liked that. He made her feel protected, I think. She was very close to her dad, but he died when she was fourteen and I think she just . . . well, she thought Max was more mature than Russell. So she ended things with Russell before she started actually seeing Max.’
‘And how did Russell take it?’
‘He kept turning up at her house, where she lived with her mum before her mum went into a nursing home. And he kept texting and stuff. Sometimes he turned up at the same places she was, like he was following her, but eventually it all petered out when he went travelling for a year. Then, when he heard she was getting married, the texts started again. She showed me a few, but they weren’t threatening or anything. More kind of pleading, really, wanting to meet her to talk, saying Max wasn’t right for her, that she was doing the wrong thing and that he wanted her back and was still in love with her. Alissa is just a really sweet person and she didn’t want Russell to be hurt or upset. She still wanted to be friends with him – he was her first love, after all. So she kept things polite and cool, but she didn’t encourage Russell. Max wanted her to report Russell to the police, but she said no. She felt guilty about breaking Russell’s heart.’
‘So you think Alissa and Max were happy together?’
‘Of course! They never even argued.’
I doubted that very much. Even the happiest couples argued. I could remember some humdingers between Denise and me over the years after which we didn’t speak for days. You’re never going to agree with your partner one hundred per cent of the time. Unless you’re a Stepford wife or husband.
‘Apart from Russell, do you know of anyone who might’ve been jealous of Alissa or Max? Or upset with them for some reason?’
There was silence as she thought about that. ‘Maybe some people were envious. She’s stunning, after all. You’d think it’d be easy being as pretty as her, but she had a hard time. All through school, groups of girls would be jealous of her because of how she looked. She got bullied a bit and became more introverted and shy, less confident. Because of that, she didn’t really hang around with other women much, and I was her closest friend. They had a fairy-tale romance. They were totally in love. He was loaded. And some people don’t like that, do they? Sasha was a bit strange with Alissa. I’m sure she was jealous of her.’ She hugged the cushion tighter towards her.
‘Who’s Sasha?’
‘Sasha Smithers. She’s Leo’s sister. Leo and Max have known each other since uni, so Sasha was friends with Max a long time before Alissa came on the scene. Sasha thinks she’s better than everyone else, and she’s got a bit of a nasty streak. She liked putting Alissa down, making snide comments and things, but Alissa was too soft to make a fuss over it. You never know what’s going to come out of Sasha’s mouth. Because Sasha was Max’s friend, Alissa just put up with it, but it pissed me off, so of course I’d always stick up for Alissa. Sasha says things to purposely upset people, and when you call her up on it, she makes out like it’s all a big joke. She loves being the centre of attention, even if she has to shock you with inappropriate comments.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I’m pretty sure Sasha fancied Max and hated it when Alissa started seeing him.’
/> ‘And what was Max like?’
‘Charming. Generous. Good fun. He was a nice guy.’
I thought about the homeowners at The Goldings and doubted they’d describe him the same way. I wondered about the different sides of our personalities we show people. ‘Did you know anything about Burbeck Developments? Or about any problems with it? Any complaints against the company?’
‘No. Alissa didn’t have anything to do with his business, so she never told me anything.’
‘Did Alissa talk to you about any problems they were having?’
‘No, she was completely happy, I told you. They didn’t have any problems at all.’
Until now. Now there was a big problem.
I parked outside Leo Smithers’ million-pound barn conversion in the village of Benington, not far from Waverly, noting the 1964 Aston Martin DB5 parked outside with the personal plate ‘Money1’. He was obviously doing well for himself.
I knocked on the door and waited, looking at the car. It was one of the same models that Lord Mackenzie reckoned had been stolen from his mansion, with a price tag of about seven hundred grand. That familiar flash of anger rippled through me again at the thought of Mackenzie getting away with it all.
A tall guy in his thirties opened the door wearing neatly pressed pin-striped trousers, a white shirt undone at the neck, and shiny shoes.
‘Leo Smithers?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
‘DS Warren Carter. You might’ve already heard on the news about an incident at The Orchard last night? I need to speak to you about it. You may be able to help us.’
‘An incident? At Max and Alissa’s house?’ he said with a slight Australian accent. He raised concerned eyebrows at me. ‘I’ve been up in London all day at meetings, so I haven’t seen the news. What kind of incident? Is everything OK?’
‘I think it’s best if we speak inside.’
‘Of course.’ He led me through a large open-plan lounge with wooden beams everywhere into the kitchen area at the end with top-of-the-range appliances. A heavily made-up stocky woman with a black bob sat on a stool at an island in the middle of the room, swinging her purple pixie-booted foot back and forth and sipping red wine.