A Dog's Life (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 4)

by Oliver Tidy

  ‘Stephanie Lather is dead, Inspector.’

  As Romney stood replaying what he thought he’d just heard, he suspected the hint of a satisfied smile teasing the corner of Boudicca’s mouth. He could have been mistaken. It could have been a trick of the light. He looked in Joy’s direction but she was pretending to be studying a piece of paper on the table in front of her.

  ‘How?’

  ‘It appears she took her own life,’ said Boudicca.

  ‘Leave a note?’

  ‘I understand none was recovered.’

  ‘How did she die?’

  ‘A cocktail of drink and sleeping pills and then she drowned in the bath. That’s the initial impression subject to a post-mortem.’

  Romney was made speechless for a long moment and Boudicca encouraged it, enjoyed it perhaps, before saying, ‘A bloodied weapon was recovered from the scene – an ornament with a marble base. My information is that it is not believed to have been involved in Stephanie Lather’s death. A room key with the logo of the Dover Marina Hotel was also found.’

  Romney looked astonished. ‘Rachael Sparrow’s murder weapon and the room key?’

  ‘Subject to forensic analysis.’

  ‘That’s good news. That’s better than good news. She might not have left a suicide note but if those two artefacts turn out to be the damning evidence they sound like she won’t need to have done.’ Then he said, ‘So why is everyone in on a Sunday? With Stephanie Lather dead there’s no one to interview and nothing to be done until the results of the post-mortem and forensics are in. She didn’t die on our patch so there’s nothing for any of us to do.’

  ‘Currently, we still have an open murder investigation from yesterday that won’t do its own paperwork,’ said Boudicca. ‘And you may remember I told you Joy was assaulted last night? There are things to attend to.’

  Romney wanted to punch Boudicca for that. Instead he turned to Marsh and said, ‘How are you?’

  She looked tired. ‘Fine thanks. A bit sore.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘At the big shelter near the sculptures of the swimmers I saw a body lying on the ground. I went to offer assistance and they jumped me.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Three, I think.’

  Romney sighed heavily and fought down the urge to blame her for it. He was also trying to keep a lid on his irritation with Boudicca for not telling him over the phone that Stephanie Lather was dead and so there was no reason for him to tear-arse around getting to the station. He could have stayed home and enjoyed his morning, maybe had a second go at breakfast.

  To no one in particular, he said, ‘So, Stephanie Lather takes her own life after murdering her sister. What was that all about?’

  ‘We don’t know, Inspector,’ said Boudicca. ‘You’re the detective; perhaps you can try to find out.’

  ‘If she didn’t leave a note, we’re not likely to, are we? And of course, we don’t waste time on suicides – never any one to charge at the end it.’

  ‘Perhaps the sister’s husband could help you with your enquiries. Maybe there was history there.’

  Romney had already decided he’d talk to Mr Sparrow again. ‘Maybe he can, but I’m not about to go bothering him on a Sunday. It’s not even twenty-four hours since I told him he’s a widower and a single parent. Time isn’t exactly of the essence on this one now. I’ll call him tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, there’s still police work to be done regarding the sister’s death,’ repeated Boudicca, with the sort of finality that implied he did have something to occupy his time.

  ‘Not until we have the results of her post-mortem and the forensic examination of the scene. So unless they are in yet – and I very much doubt it – and with our prime suspect dead there is nothing to do except sit around twiddling thumbs. That reminds me,’ he said to Marsh. ‘Someone still needs to take her agent’s statement. She said not to call on her before eleven.’ Romney left it at that. His meaning was clear enough.

  *

  Romney didn’t hang about the station. He took some small satisfaction from Boudicca’s obvious displeasure that he didn’t consider that seeing as he was there with no one to interview he might manage to complete a couple of forms she’d been asking him for.

  Unless there was something urgent on, he was not one for working weekends to catch up with paperwork, especially Sundays. It had nothing to do with religious conviction and everything to do with knowing that being a copper was just a job. One he enjoyed – he couldn’t imagine doing anything else – but just a job nonetheless. If he couldn’t manage the bureaucracy and endless forms and reports during a reasonable working week then they didn’t get done. It was something Bob Falkner had understood and tolerated. It was probably something else for him and the new incumbent to rub each other up the wrong way over given time.

  As Romney was in town and hungry he decided to treat himself to something to eat and proper coffee. He was returning to his car from the paper shop across the road from the station when Marsh walked out of the gate.

  ‘You off to see Mrs Allen?’ he said.

  She smiled tiredly and tolerantly at him. ‘No, sir. Mrs Allen has left the hotel.’

  ‘What? He checked his watch. ‘She told me after eleven. It’s not even midday. I told her to stay put until we’d had a chance to get her statement. You’re sure?’

  ‘Positive. I’ll chase her up tomorrow. I phoned Dover Castle and asked them to look out the CCTV tape for us. I said we’d be up to collect it. Now, I’ve got to see about getting my locks changed.’

  ‘On a Sunday? You’ll be lucky.’

  ‘I was hoping the Gateway’s super might have someone to recommend.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Romney. ‘I’m not doing anything much today now Stephanie Lather’s saved me a job. Why don’t I take a look?’

  ‘You?’ said Marsh surprised on two fronts.

  Romney ignored it. He was feeling a little sorry for his DS. ‘Changing locks is a piece of piss. You walking?’ She nodded. ‘Jump in then. Quick brunch and we’ll see what you’ve got; nip up to B&Q, pick up a replacement. Shouldn’t take long.’

  Marsh was almost lost for words.

  ‘How’s your hand?’ she said, as he drove.

  ‘Sore. Did that dog look all right to you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She said that stuff round its mouth was soap. Did you believe her?’

  ‘It seemed plausible. We used to have a dog that ate through electric cables.’

  ‘And survived?’

  ‘Only twice. It wasn’t third time lucky for old Jimbo.’ Marsh noticed that they’d missed the turn off that would have taken them to Sammy Coker’s greasy spoon. She wasn’t sorry. ‘I thought you mentioned food, sir.’

  ‘I did. Thought I’d give that Premier Inn a try. Coffee was good last night and the grub didn’t look too bad. Besides, our friends might be around. Someone should break the news to them about Stephanie Lather.’

  Marsh looked out of the window and smiled to herself.

  *

  Romney’s body language adopted a thwarted look on learning that the three women had all checked out earlier that morning and were long gone. He ordered a sandwich and a couple of coffees and they took the same table they’d sat at the previous evening.

  ‘You look disappointed, sir,’ said Marsh.

  ‘I’d like to have seen how they took the news.’

  ‘You haven’t changed your mind about their involvement in yesterday’s events, have you?’

  Romney shook his head and made a face. ‘Seems like we have our murderess. Let’s just hope forensics don’t cock it up and go and lose something important, like the murder weapon. I do wonder what made her do it though.’

  ‘There’s talk that Stephanie Lather ended up being a single parent on the breadline because her sister couldn’t keep her hands off her husband and he couldn’t keep his trousers on.’

  ‘Really? Where did you
get that from?’

  ‘Online gossip column.’

  ‘I hope your police sources are a little more credible. What happened to him?’

  ‘I believe he still works at the docks.’

  ‘Here? In Dover?’ Marsh nodded. Romney’s interest perked up. ‘Does he now? Find out what you can about him when you’re back at work.’

  ‘Why? There’s no suggestion of his involvement in anything?’

  ‘That could just mean he’s clever.’

  Marsh did not believe for a second that Romney was of the opinion that Stephanie Lather’s ex-husband was involved in anything that had happened to involve the police. He was just being his usual awkward self.

  Through a mouthful of sandwich, Romney said, ‘You’ve got to admit, it’s a puzzle. I mean, why would Stephanie Lather, with the gods of fame and fortune smiling down on her, throw it all away by smashing in the brains of a sister she hasn’t seen for years after inviting her to her big day? And then running home and topping herself?’

  ‘No idea, sir.’

  ‘Well, like our dear leader said, we’re the detectives.’

  *

  Romney took a quick look at Marsh’s front door lock and, satisfied that it was a straightforward replacement job, went in search of the building’s superintendent to borrow a couple of screwdrivers.

  Romney knew Gareth Hedges from way back. The big Welshman had been a uniformed constable working out of Ladywell station when Romney had been a DC. When he’d retired he’d taken the job of super for the flats to subsidise his pension. The two men spent a friendly few minutes catching up and Hedges was surprised to learn that one of the residents was a DS. He was more surprised to learn what had happened to her the previous night and assured Romney he’d keep an eye out for a follow-up call. Romney left him his card.

  Romney nipped up Jubilee Way to the big B&Q at Whitfield, picked up what was needed and, despite the restricted movement in his hand, had the lock on the uPVC door changed with an ease and in a time that clearly impressed Marsh. She made him a tea by way of a thank you.

  ‘Does this hand look bigger to you than the other one?’ said Romney. He held both up and Marsh felt obliged to consider it.

  ‘A bit. It looks swollen. Maybe you should get a tetanus jab or something. Did you put anything on it?’

  ‘Dettol.’ Romney looked bothered.

  For as long as it took Romney to work his way through his tea, they spoke for a while about Bernie Stark and the history surrounding that episode of Dover’s crime and punishment story and chewed the fat over the previous day’s events. When Marsh offered to show him her ereader he looked at his watch and made his excuses.

  Marsh thanked him profusely for saving her the hassle and expense of having to get a locksmith out and Romney indicated that it was nothing. He seemed genuinely happy at having been able to help. When he’d left to return the tools and drive home she found herself thinking once again what a strange one he could be. He’d truly surprised her. At the station she’d felt he was blaming her for what had happened to her the previous night. He’d seemed disappointed in her, annoyed with her even. Then he’d changed completely and given up his Sunday afternoon to perform an act of genuine kindness. She unkindly considered whether her DI could be a little schizophrenic and then told herself not to be so mean.

  Joy had looked out her previous month’s itemised phone bill for Justin’s mobile number and, because she had hardly any credit left on the Pay-as-You-Go SIM card, she had rung him from the station. She told him she’d lost her phone and gave him her old mobile number. He had invited her to meet him and the girls for lunch but because of where her thinking had taken her the previous night when she’d lain in bed unable to sleep, she’d declined the invitation citing work commitments.

  Now, alone again in the empty living space, her spirits sank. Inevitably, she found herself replaying the assault, what she could have done to avoid it, how much worse it could have been. And then she was thinking back to when her life had been almost ended by a former work colleague and how that still plagued her sleep patterns. Joy began to shake. She slipped down the wall she had her back to and crumpled on the floor. With her knees pulled up under her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs, she waited for it to pass.

  Her phone shattered the quiet, making her start with its ringing and vibrating on the table. She realised it was getting dark. She took a deep breath, got up and went to it. Justin. She stared at the screen for four rings more and then answered it. His soft, cultured tones were as welcome as anything she could have heard. He’d taken the children home to their mother. He missed her. He’d like to see her. Would she like to see him? He could come round. That would be wonderful, she said.

  *

  Grimes was not in when Romney arrived back home. He had been back and he’d left a note. The handwriting was awful. Like a drunken spider had fallen in an ink well, broken a couple of legs and dragged itself across the paper. He’d returned in the afternoon, the note said, and collected his important stuff because he’d moved back to his sister-in-law’s to be with the family. Over the weekend they’d rearranged things and now there was room for him. The note said that he had the kids and Maureen outside in the car and so was in a rush. He claimed to have called Romney’s phone. Romney looked and saw the missed call. Grimes would see him tomorrow at work and thanks for everything. There was no affectionate signing off. Romney didn’t care about that. He was smiling broadly. That was one thorn out of his side.

  ***

  13

  Romney pushed through the double doors into CID the following morning talking loudly on his phone. He crossed to his office carrying his little paper bag from the delicatessen around the corner from the station. Marsh noticed he was wearing the same bandage as the previous day. It looked grubby. The trained observer in Marsh could see that he was not in a great mood. With what he had shared the previous day regarding what was hanging over him in the form of the Bernie Stark business, she wasn’t surprised.

  When he’d shut the door and couldn’t hear her, she turned to Grimes and went fishing, ‘How are things at home?’

  Grimes was staring at his computer monitor with his features scrunched up. It made him look piggy. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Why don’t you get your eyes tested?’

  ‘Nothing wrong with my eyes.’

  ‘So why are you about six inches from the screen and squinting?’

  Grimes eased back. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘I said, how are things at home this morning? You and him ironed out the little difficulties in your living arrangements?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Good. I’m relieved to hear it. Should make life just a little more bearable around here for the rest of us. You toeing the line then? Stopped shitting on his toothbrush?’

  ‘I’ve moved out.’

  ‘What? When? Why? Please, don’t tell me you two had a fight.’

  Grimes looked strangely at her. ‘What are you on about, Sarge? I’ll have you know we got on very well together.’

  Marsh doubted that the DI saw it that way. ‘So why are you out then? You said your place would take ages yet.’

  ‘It will.’

  ‘I’m confused. Your place isn’t ready but you’ve moved out of somewhere that according to you only a few days ago was somewhere you were enjoying being – a cushy little number and free.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Where are you now then?’

  ‘Maureen’s sister’s.’

  ‘I thought there wasn’t room.’

  Grimes looked around before answering. ‘You won’t say anything?’

  Marsh shook her head and adopted a quizzical look.

  ‘I’m in the garage.’

  ‘What?’ Unable to stop herself, Marsh spluttered into a fit of hysterical laughter at the images created in her mind. The revelation was the trigger for a release of her pent-up, suppressed emotion and was something she was comp
letely helpless to deal with. It doubled her over and it just had to run its course, despite the pain it caused her damaged side.

  Grimes sat and watched her collect herself and wipe at her eyes. She had gone very red.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  And she was off again. Perhaps two minutes passed before she was able to speak.

  She hugged herself and said, ‘I’m so sorry, Peter. It’s not you, it’s me.’

  ‘Oh, that old chestnut.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Why are you sleeping in the garage like a vagrant?’

  ‘Keep your voice down. It’s not that bad. We’ve got our bed in there. All we do is sleep in it.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Maureen’s in with me.’

  She collapsed into yet more fits of hysterical laughter.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I really am sorry.’ She took a couple of very deep breaths and grimaced with them. ‘Why? Why did you leave him?’

  ‘Don’t say it like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like we were lovers.’

  Marsh let out a peal of amusement.

  Grimes checked to see that Romney’s door was still shut. ‘He’s unbearable, if you must know. Always nagging, always complaining about the mess. I can’t even watch the telly in the morning without him getting moody. And after what the new super said about me needing to lose a couple of kilos, he was threatening to have me out on his early morning run with him. Living with the DI was worse than being married. I’ve gone back to my wife for a break.’

  Marsh was crying now. The tears streamed freely down her reddened cheeks.

  ‘Well I’m glad you think it’s funny, Sarge. It wasn’t an easy decision. I think he liked having me around. Some male company. I feel a bit bad about it, to be honest. Like I’m letting him down. But it was depressing me.’

  When she managed to get herself under control, Marsh tried to appear earnest. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ve got your reasons, Peter. And I’m sure he’ll get over it. What did you tell him?’