by Penny Grubb
‘Really, why’s that?’
‘Nicole’s more upset about all this than I am. I mean it was awful to come back and find him like I did, but … well … she sort of expects me to be really upset all the time, and I’m not. Well, I am, of course. I want Michael’s name cleared. Of course, I do. The thing is that we wouldn’t have lasted much longer, me and Michael. For heaven’s sake, don’t breathe a word of this to Nicole, but I was holding back before, because if we’d started up the business with Michael in the driving seat and then we’d split up, it would have scuppered it. I wanted to do it differently without Michael, but Nicole wanted him on board. She really believed in him.’
‘Why would it have been Michael in the driving seat?’
‘Oh … Money and things,’ Charlotte said vaguely, tipping her cup towards her and staring into its depths. Then she looked across at Annie. ‘D’you want a refill?’
‘No, no. I’m fine. So what happened?’
‘We still hadn’t committed to anything when Michael was killed. I can’t tell Nicole why I was holding back before, it seems so heartless. See, we hadn’t talked about splitting up; I just knew we were close to it. And Nicole was ready to put everything into the business. And just imagine if me and Michael had split up and Nicole had lost everything. How was I going to feel when I’d seen it coming? Now, without him around, we could really make a go of it, but it sounds so callous to say it. I’ll do anything I can to prove that madman was wrong about him. He didn’t deserve any of that, but the thing is, business-wise, I’m better off now he’s dead.’
Annie toyed with warning Charlotte against that sort of talk. She was close to giving herself a motive for her partner’s murder, but she said nothing. The identity of Michael’s killer was not in doubt. Instead, she asked Charlotte about the embryo business and whilst listening to her talk, took a gulp of her drink and swallowed the mouthful straight down, because she wanted to leave an empty cup, and she would have to go soon.
The detail of Charlotte’s proposed business did not interest Annie. It revolved around life-coaching in which apparently both she and Nicole were well qualified. She half listened as Charlotte talked about the needs of the corporate world and how she intended to build an enterprise that would ultimately pull in huge sums of money from the work of others. What caught Annie’s attention was Charlotte’s account of the creative way in which she, Michael Walker and Nicole Perks had gone about raising capital. There were ideas here she could explore for herself.
But this was not relevant to the case. It was time to make a move. Charlotte had given Annie a push forward on the allegations against Michael Walker, but the real story was back with Donna Lambit. It was not an easy option, but Annie hoped Donna had more to tell, because otherwise the truth was likely to be in the grave with May Gow.
Chapter 10
Annie mulled things over as she left Charlotte’s house. Donna was the key to this, but her next approach must be just right. She headed for a general-purpose store, its open door angled at the corner of the street, and bought a flat, dry-looking cheese sandwich and a can of lemonade, an antidote to the pallid fake coffee taste that hung in her mouth.
She and Pat had well-practised tactics for awkward people. Good cop, bad cop; one of them fake-apologizing for the other’s behaviour; appearing to take sides, any ploy that would extract the information they needed. They were a good team. Annie would miss it when she broke free. But this job needed speed, not haste. She would touch base with Pat later this afternoon and work out tactics for a new assault on Donna tomorrow morning.
Chewing on her sandwich, Annie considered her options. She had Pat’s car and might as well drive out to the Morgans to wrap up the case for Ron and Sheryl Long. Her discarded sandwich wrapper bounced into the foot well in front of the passenger seat as she set off, winding the car through the back roads, cutting as direct a path as she could towards the dual carriageway that ran from one side of the city to the other, following the course of the Humber.
It would have to be Donna. Tracking down May Gow’s family and friends would take too much time.
She slowed the car as she passed the prison and looked across curiously. Sturdy high walls faced her, their bulbous roll-topped peaks with high-tech alarms that heavy-footed pigeons could set off. They looked impossible to climb, although she supposed it had been done in the prison’s history. And anyway, twenty-firstcentury breakouts must be more sophisticated than makeshift ladders slung over walls. It was grim and packed to overflowing, she’d heard. High security. High risk guys. She wondered if the flap Jennifer had mentioned was over.
This had been a regular journey once, when they first started up and worked from Pat’s place by the river. As she left the city behind, Annie clocked the road that went northwards, up towards the coast around Hornsea. That, too, had become a familiar drive when she’d been new to the area floundering to find her feet in her first proper case, the case that had brought her up close to the world of the Pony Club. It reminded her she hadn’t yet rung to decline the invitation to judge that fancy-dress competition. She’d do that later.
For today’s journey, she turned the other way, towards the village of Paull, screwing up her eyes against the iridescent sheen of the Humber as she drove through. But the lane out of the village didn’t turn as she expected and she cursed herself for not taking the trouble to make sure of the directions.
No choice but to follow the tarmac ribbon in a loop back towards the Withernsea Road. Sheryl had spoken with irritation about the circuitous route they had followed after missing their way. It was all too easy to do in this sparse network of lanes that accommodated the abrupt turns of the field edges, no concessions to vehicles that couldn’t bump their way across ploughed land.
Charlotte’s words played in her mind. The business she and Nicole planned resonated with her own situation and her relationship with Pat. Charlotte, like Pat, had some capital behind her. Nicole hadn’t, but had collateral enough to borrow her way into the deal. Nicole was where Annie should have been, with a real stake in the business, a right to determine its future direction. She supposed Nicole had family to back her, and wondered if the two women would make it; wondered, too, what Michael Walker would have brought to the venture. Nicole had seen value in his contribution, but Charlotte seemed to view him the way Annie saw Barbara, a millstone, a drag that would pull the whole thing to its knees.
On the right road at last, Annie saw the square shapes in the distance that made up the isolated dwelling that must be the Morgans’. But where on earth could the Longs be planning to stay? Within half a mile, they’d said. Did they intend to camp at the side of the road?
The property sat inside a tall boundary; the protection of a stout fence allowing a thick hedge to grow. This close to the sea, the branches could not grow tall and although the wooden gate was closed, there remained a clear view into the yard. She peered in curiously, taking in every detail as she drove by. She knew Sheryl had lied for her own ends, but the woman’s words floated through her mind.
They’re murderers. They bludgeon them to death.
She stopped the car on a grass verge and looked again at the house. Because of the alignment of the outbuildings, the marquee didn’t show from the road so her story was thinner than she’d realized.
As she walked towards the entrance, she replayed fragments from Ron Long. … coming to stay in the area … a lovely little spot … a holiday … need to relax… Their own agendas had shone out from the moment they opened their mouths. This was nothing whatever to do with the Morgans.
She paused before trying the gate and ran her gaze over the walls and paths inside the yard, looking for wires, conduits or insulated boxes. No obvious sign of security lights overlooking the place. Then she pulled at the latch and, as though she’d pressed an ‘on’ button, a cacophony of barking rang out, followed at once by a river of dogs that flooded round the corner of the big barn and headed for the gate.
Annie pulled i
t shut and took a step back. Dogs, all shapes and sizes, crowded the gate, making her suddenly aware of the flimsiness of the barrier between them. Some of the animals immediately lost interest, two of them diverted into a circular chase that raised dust from the gravel path, a couple more pushing their noses into the dirt at the hedge bottom following invisible scent trails. But the smallest three bounced up and down as though on springs, barking frantically and non-stop, their stares never leaving her face. Two outsize hounds stood foursquare, barking in intermittent deep-throated woofs.
As the immediate alarm for her safety subsided, Annie took in a mental image of Sheryl Long, teetering on spindly heels, making her way into this yard unobserved, and thought that if Sheryl hadn’t made it up, then she’d dreamt it.
She heard a shout and saw a man striding towards her across the gravel. He wore a grimy blue overall, smeared with dirt and carried a pitchfork.
They bludgeon them…
He yelled again, an indeterminate cry that caused the small dogs to stop bouncing and to race towards him.
‘Geddown, dog!’ He waved the pitchfork at them, and they immediately turned and flew back to the gate to bark in Annie’s face.
The harassed and dishevelled figure was barely recognizable as the neat and suited father-of-the-bride she had seen in his daughter’s wedding photos, but when he came closer, Annie could see it was Tim Morgan.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Mr Morgan? Sorry to trouble you, but I wondered if I could take a look at your marquee. The man from the company said…’ It wasn’t difficult to let the sentence fade away under the earsplitting assault from the canine pack.
Tim Morgan, apparently unaware of the furore around his legs, frowned. ‘But we told him no.’ He shot her a glance through narrowed eyes. ‘He told us you’d seen it driving past. You don’t see it from the road. How did you know it was there?’
Annie was thankful she’d clocked this when she arrived, because now her subconscious was ready with an answer, and the fact he asked the question was reassuring. It was a legitimate reason for them to refuse her access. It strengthened her certainty that they were no more than innocent bystanders in Sheryl Long’s private agenda.
‘I saw it on Facebook in the wedding photos your wife put up there. The guy I spoke to must have just assumed I’d seen it from the road.’
Tim Morgan’s frown smoothed. ‘Oh right. Bloody internet.’
‘I’ve come quite a long way,’ she went on quickly, before it occurred to him to ask how she’d found the site. ‘Any chance I could just come in for a quick look?’ Annie had to ask the question twice as one of the smaller dogs, a wirehaired terrier, grew suddenly hysterical in its frantic yapping and bouncing.
‘The wife’s out.’ Tim was unsure, and Annie had an idea that if she’d been a man he would have invited her in without a qualm, but after a moment he stretched out his hand to unlatch the gate.
Annie fought down a surge of alarm. This man seemed completely unconscious of the danger his pack of dogs might pose to her, but she had to take on trust that he knew what he was doing as he swung the gate wide.
Tim’s irritable, ‘Geddown dog,’ had little effect and, as they crossed the gravel expanse, Annie had to bat her hand at the bouncing trio and fend off acres of soggy tongue from the bigger dogs who barely had to raise their front feet from the ground to be on a level with her face. She waded through the pack, trying to match step with Tim Morgan, who strode on oblivious to the mayhem. It was largely boisterous play, but several times Annie whipped her fingers away from white teeth that flashed too close.
The marquee flapped noisily in the breeze from the estuary and Annie had to strain to listen to Tim Morgan’s commentary and she trudged around it with him. The dogs stopped at the entrance. The small ones hung about and made little darts towards the canvas, without venturing in. Annie assumed someone – surely Tracey and not Tim – seeing the effect of their muddy feet on the white material had instilled discipline with a few serious thrashings.
They’d had the marquee for the wedding, Tim explained, but with a christening on the way, they’d asked to keep it up, because where else would they have the second do? Had she any idea how much it cost? He turned his cheerless gaze on her for a moment and answered his own question, ‘No, you won’t. Too young for kids that age. And all the bother of having it set up. Banging about, upsetting the animals. We weren’t going through that twice over.’
Annie nodded and murmured and took every chance to look through the gaps in the canvas at the house and buildings, particularly the one Sheryl had identified. She ought to find a way to get inside that one to do the job properly.
‘Take no mind of that,’ Tim said, seeing her lift a flap of torn canvas to look through into the yard. ‘They’re all fully repaired and cleaned up for proper customers.’
‘Aren’t you proper customers?’
‘Not really.’ He explained that the marquee company belonged to Tracey’s brother-in-law. They’d traded a less than perfect set-up for a good rate, and then traded further on the family connection to keep the whole thing up for the forthcoming christening.
‘Thank you,’ Annie said, as he led her back into the yard. ‘That’s been really helpful.’
She meant it. All the tiny anomalies smoothed out as the pieces fell into place. Their original mistrust of her was already explained by her claim to have seen the marquee from the road. And now she understood the marquee man’s irritation at them keeping the canvas construction beyond the agreed time. They’d played on family links and were probably costing the company money.
The three small dogs bounded up to join them as they headed back towards the gate. The rest of the pack was nowhere to be seen. She looked across at the big shed, but couldn’t construct any subtle way to push Tim Morgan into inviting her inside. It was a full frontal assault or nothing.
‘Oh look!’ she cried, pointing at the big wooden doors. ‘That’s just like the barn where …’ She exclaimed with bouncy, ersatz enthusiasm, allowing her words to be smothered by the trio of yapping dogs. ‘Can I just have a quick look inside?’ She tossed the words behind her as she darted across the yard.
Tim Morgan was at the doors ahead of her. His expression hadn’t changed. She found herself struck by the immobility of his face, uncomfortably close to hers. Her hand rested on the metal catch; his was flat against the wood. The pitchfork in his other hand stood out in her peripheral vision. She became aware of the small dogs at her feet, their yapping silenced, as from behind her, a larger canine throat let out a low growl that ran shivers up her spine.
‘Best if you just leave now.’
Annie dropped her hand from the door, her gaze from his and murmured, ‘Yes, OK,’ as she turned and walked to the gate.
Whispers in the gravel surface told her the pack was right behind her, stalking her departure.
Chapter 11
Half an hour’s drive took Annie back to the office, where she found Pat leafing through files.
Tim Morgan’s face shimmered in her memory.
Best if you just leave…
Damn Tim Morgan and his lined, harassed face. It was too frayed a loose end to leave, but she shook him out of her head. The Michael Walker case was priority, and her first goal to find out what Donna Lambit knew.
She told Pat about Donna: about how the woman had warned her off, about her subsequent conversation with Charlotte and what she’d learnt of the six-year-old complaint and May Gow.
Pat digested the story, then said, ‘Sounds like I should go in heavy-handed. Apologize for the young kid overstepping the mark, but with a threat underneath it. What can I use?’
‘She complained about the guy without any evidence. Six years later he was killed. At some level she might blame herself.’
‘Did she know Yates?’
‘I didn’t ask outright.’
‘Worth a shot. I’m only after a veiled threat. And you reckon we’re on the clock?’
‘I’ll call in on her tomorrow,’ Pat said. ‘What’s the best time?’
‘She does early morning shifts. She’s back at home by about ten.’
‘OK, I’ll go straight round from home. See you back here when I’ve done.’
Annie nodded. ‘Anything new come in?’
‘No, but the files we did yesterday were well received. We’ll get more work from them. And Barbara’s put in an official request for a rather interesting document on the Mellors’ case.’
Annie listened, stony-faced, to Pat tell Barbara’s version, which was to take all the credit for ferreting out the existence of the document Annie had tipped her off about.
‘When did she send the request in?’
‘It must have gone in Friday morning’s post.’
Annie said nothing. If she knew no better, she might believe it. Barbara hadn’t been in the office since last Friday, and the post had been collected before she and Annie had spoken. By sneaking in late Sunday night, Barbara aimed to show that at worst her letter had lain in the post tray overlooked since Friday morning. Thoughts tumbled in of previous occasions when Barbara seemed to have pipped her at the post. Letters ready, documents in applepie order, notes on files showing – apparently – that Barbara had been more on the ball than Annie had given her credit for. Not only was Barbara stifling Annie’s ideas for the business, she also clung on her coat-tails, using the sleight of hand of her late-night visits to make herself look good at Annie’s expense.
She would regret leaving Pat, for all her prickliness, but this evidence of Barbara’s duplicity hardened her resolve to find a way out.
Nicole gasped as she recognized Annie’s voice on the phone. ‘What’s happened? What have you found? What’s so urgent?’
Annie hastened to reassure her. ‘We’re short of time,’ she said, ‘and it would help to iron out some background details before we meet tomorrow. I won’t bill you for the time. Come round to my place.’