Burn the Evidence

by Keith Nixon

  Gray called Hamson, told her what little he knew, and agreed to meet her outside the Lighthouse as soon as he could get there.

  Chapter 41

  “What the hell is going on, Sol?” asked Hamson as soon as she got out of her car. She’d parked on double yellows right out the front, the same as Gray. Before Gray could answer, the front door to the Lighthouse opened. Natalie beckoned them, turned, and went inside.

  “I guess we’ll learn in a minute,” said Gray.

  They found Natalie in the refectory, standing beside one of the long tables. Rachel was already seated and looking uncomfortable. It couldn’t be easy perching on the hard surface while heavily pregnant. Natalie sat down too, pointing at the space opposite.

  “Sergeant Gray said you wanted to tell us about the circumstances of William Noble’s death,” said Hamson as she settled.

  “William Noble was killed for what he knows about Millstone,” said Natalie. "They’re at the centre of everything.”

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning,” said Gray.

  Natalie straightened her back, keeping her forearms on the table. She said, “This is where Rachel should speak.”

  Gray and Hamson switched their attention to the younger woman. However, Rachel was staring at Natalie, who put her hand on Rachel’s arm. “It’s time,” said Natalie.

  “Over a decade now since they died,” said Rachel. “It seems like yesterday.”

  “Who?” asked Hamson. But Gray knew. He was hearing echoes of his own past.

  “My family.”

  “The beginning, Rachel, as Sergeant Gray asked,” said Natalie gently.

  Rachel gathered herself, took in a deep breath, let it out. “We used to live in Hackney. Me, my younger brother, mother, and father. Jonathan, Felicity, and Dean they were called. We weren’t allowed to call her Mum, just Felicity. Dean was just, well, Dad. Rachel glanced at Natalie who lowered her eyes and stared at the table top.

  “I remember being happy, until my parents split up. Felicity said that Dad was holding her back, that she needed space as an artist. The three of us moved out, leaving Dad behind. After that, it was a carefree existence shifting from house to house. Sometimes staying for a day, or a week, or a month. For us kids it was fun at first. Felicity made it into a game. Finding food, staying up as late as we wanted, meeting other interesting, sometimes crazy people. Living, she called it.

  “But it wasn’t long before the experience became a lot less enjoyable. My mother, she was flaky. It was Dad who’d kept her together, and once he was gone … She hid it well at first, and we were too young to know any better. Until the money ran out, and the paranoia crept in.”

  “Felicity began saying she was a free spirit, as if she was some ’60s hippy. She’d dress up too, wearing outrageous clothes, altering her hair. It was like she was trying to be someone else. We kids were a drag.”

  Natalie stood up and went to look out of the window.

  “Until one day she just upped and disappeared, leaving behind most of her stuff. My brother and I woke up one morning in a bedsit, and we were alone. She’d left a note saying she loved us, but we were better off without her.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was thirteen, Jonathan was nine.”

  “You must have had to grow up quickly,” said Gray.

  Rachel emitted a sharp, humourless laugh. “You have no idea. School? We never went near the place. Mum had claimed we were home tutored when anyone bothered to ask.”

  “What happened when your mother went missing?”

  “I took Jonathan to the nearest police station. At least we got a hot drink and some food there. We were put into care for nearly a week. Jonathan and I were split up. It took them that long to find my dad. When he turned up to collect me, it was the best day ever. He gave me a huge hug. He was crying. Said he’d been searching for us for ages. Then we went home.”

  Gray felt a sharp pang of envy. A father reunited with a lost child. It was everything he had wanted for the last ten years. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hamson glance over at him.

  “That must have been an amazing feeling,” said Gray.

  Rachel smiled briefly. “It was, for a few years. We went to school, made friends, had some stability. Dad was a taxi driver, did all hours just to make ends meet. We had a happy life, heard nothing from Mum. One day Dad told us we were going on holiday. To Margate, every Londoner’s dream. We were so excited.

  “He booked a B&B not far from here. Sunset, it was called, small, clean, and near the beach. We had a room on the top floor, up some narrow stairs. Only a handful of residents. And it was run by a lovely old lady, Mrs Renishaw. Just a few days to get away, that’s all.” Rachel paused, staring down at the cuticles on her left hand, her eyes seemingly focused on them.

  “It was the last night of the holiday; I’d spent so much time awake looking out for Jonathan while we were with Felicity that I was used to getting by on only a few hours, still am. My dad tried to stop me leaving, but I got past him and ran out the front door, down the narrow stairs. There was nobody around. The sea, it drew me. I sat on the harbour arm for an age, just listening to the beat of the tide. It was mesmerising. Until the sirens. Fire engines and police cars racing along the road and up the hill.

  “I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I can remember it still. A wrenching and twisting as if there was a big hand inside me, squeezing.” Rachel paused for a moment — zoned out and in the past — until she shook her head and came back. “I forgot the waves and followed the light. There was an orange glow over the town, as if the sun was rising even though it was the middle of the night.

  “When I got back to the B&B, fire engines were spraying water on the blaze. The flames were leaping out the windows. Mrs Renishaw was crying. I ran through the small crowd of onlookers, looking for Dad and Jonathan.”

  Rachel fell silent, her hands at rest.

  “When the fire was out, they found them in the bedroom. The fire caught quickly. I learned later it was because Mr Renishaw, the old man who owned the guest house, had flammable materials lying around. They gave off toxic fumes. I blamed myself for years.”

  “Why?” asked Gray.

  “I should have been there. If I’d have stayed, maybe I’d have been able to raise the alarm.”

  “You don’t know that,” said Natalie. “I’ve told you a thousand times.”

  “And afterwards?” asked Hamson.

  “I was in care again until Dad’s sister, my aunt, took responsibility for me. I went back to school, worked hard, and got good grades. What else was there to do? Then to University to do a teaching degree. Rather than working in London, I applied for a job here in a small school, and I got it. It felt right to be in Margate, because I’d never really left. How could I?

  “Then my life took another unexpected turn. Some people came in to speak with the children. They were from a charity called the Lighthouse Project. In walked Felicity.” Rachel turned to Natalie and touched her hand. “My mother.”

  Gray struggled to make sense of what she’d just said. Natalie was the mother from hell? The one who’d abandoned her kids. The same as he effectively had.

  “How could you?” he asked. Then Gray wondered what his daughter might say about him.

  “I take after my father,” said Rachel. “It was Jonathan who was like Mum.”

  “What happened to Felicity?” asked Gray.

  Natalie shook her head. “She’s gone, I made sure of it.”

  “What happened when you met again?” asked Gray.

  “I couldn’t believe it,” said Rachel. “She’d been missing from my life for so long, and then she was there. By pure chance. It didn’t matter what wigs she wore, what make-up she had on; I always recognised my mother. And I didn’t think she recognised me. I couldn’t stay; I kept my head down, turned around, and walked out.”

  “And I ran after her,” said Natalie. “I tried to tell her everything, but she didn�
��t want to know.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  Gray heard the anger in Rachel’s tone and saw her shoulders tense.

  Natalie reached out and took Rachel’s hands in her own. “Of course not.”

  Rachel visibly relaxed. “It took months of persistence on my mum’s part before I could bring myself to see her again. When we did finally meet, I was glad.”

  “Catching up on all the lost time?” asked Hamson.

  “Not at first,” said Natalie. “Before seeing Rachel at the school I’d no idea she’d come back to Margate. Maybe part of me hoped she had. If I’d known for sure I’d have tried sooner. I had to explain to Rachel who actually killed our family. Even if it meant she never spoke to me again it was imperative I tell her it was because of that bastard, Jake Armitage.”

  The silence was utter; the accusation swinging in the air like a body on the end of a hangman’s rope. Twisting, turning, demanding attention.

  “That’s a very serious allegation,” said Hamson. “Do you have anything to back it up?”

  Natalie stood up and left the room briefly. Within a minute she returned, dropped a folder onto the table. She sat back down, opened the folder, and pushed it over to Gray and Hamson. She said, “William gave me these. It was another of his projects. One which got stopped.”

  Gray spread out the contents which were mainly neatly cut newspaper clippings, from a variety of sources. The locals were prevalent — the Thanet Echo and the Kent Herald. Each was cut so the date at the top was visible and ordered in a chronological review of the fire and its aftermath. The bodies discovered, the speculation that it was for financial gain, the denial from Jake, the lack of evidence which meant it never got taken any further, a case dropped by the CPS much to local outrage, the subsequent development of the dilapidated site from which Jake apparently profited. Gray noticed the article written by Noble that he’d read last night wasn’t present.

  “Why didn’t Noble go to the police?”

  “He tried, but your lot wouldn’t touch it.”

  Hamson frowned. “We would have at least looked at it.”

  “You point-blank refused. Told William to take a hike or he’d be arrested for wasting police time.”

  “Do you know who told him that?” asked Gray.

  “Jeff Carslake.”

  Chapter 42

  Hamson was nursing a coffee at a table in the corner of the staff canteen where it was slightly less noisy. A cup of coffee and a bacon roll awaited Gray at the adjacent space. He sat and put Natalie’s folder between them. He reached out for the roll and took a bite.

  “Did you believe any of that bullshit from those two?” asked Gray, the food sticking in his throat. “How could Rachel possibly forgive Natalie so easily? She walks out, leaves her kids, the whole family dies, and suddenly it’s okay?”

  “Natalie is the only relative Rachel has left, and she’s pregnant. Wouldn’t you want your mother at a time like that?”

  “And Natalie isn’t even her real name. What else has she been lying about? I’m going to have another talk with Rachel on her own. She mentioned Felicity or Natalie, or whatever her name, was wearing wigs.”

  “Frankly Sol, I’m more focused on our boss, your friend, possibly being involved in covering up — or even committing — a crime.” Hamson reached over for the folder, opened it, and flipped through the articles.

  “That’s probably a lie too.”

  “What do you remember about the Sunset fire?”

  “Not much, I wasn’t in the best of places at the time. Jake vigorously denied the accusations. He went so far as to take out an injunction against both The Echo and The Herald. The Echo, where Noble was the editor, went into administration as a result. It didn’t do Noble’s career much good. He never forgot it. Everything was different. Carslake was a sergeant, McGavin was just a bit-part player in those days. The big dog was Duncan Usher, he ran everything.”

  “Where’s Usher now? Died in a fire by any chance?”

  “He’s in prison for murder.”

  Hamson closed the folder and looked at Gray. “When you met Noble he said nothing about all of this?”

  “No, it was all focused on Millstone.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Bloody hell, Von, yes. I’m sure.” Gray held back mentioning Noble’s story. Hamson would be all over it, focusing on Carslake instead of the case at hand.

  “Obviously we need to check into Natalie’s claim that Noble brought this in, and we ignored it.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Who else would have been here at the time?”

  “Fowler. He was a DC back then.”

  “Mike can’t have been involved.” Hamson dismissed the possibility with a wave of her hand. “Carslake, though …”

  “I was there Von, I heard it too. I can’t get my head around everything.”

  “I knew something wasn’t right with him.”

  “Von, I’ve got to say I think you’re seeing something which isn’t here. You and Carslake have never got on. You can’t be judge, jury, and executioner here. It’s one woman’s word against a career copper. A woman, I add, who we know for sure lies.”

  “There’s something Sol, I’m sure of it. We need to talk to Carslake.”

  “I doubt Carslake will take kindly to hearing this from me, never mind you.”

  “We can’t leave this.”

  “I’m due to go out with him tonight. Mike will be with us too.”

  Hamson blinked. “Mike’s going?”

  “Didn’t he tell you?”

  “No.”

  “He mentioned going out for a beer some time so I took him up on the offer.”

  Hamson stood up. “We’re not married. He can do what he wants. And you have to go, Sol.” She leaned over Gray. “Talk to Carslake.”

  Gray suddenly felt his stomach churn again and a burn in his throat. “Sure, whatever.” He walked quickly to the toilets, leaving a puzzled Hamson behind. Inside a stall he threw up, the coffee and roll he’d just consumed splashing against the bowl. He retched twice more. He felt drained, literally.

  At the sinks, Gray swilled water around his mouth and spat. He washed his face. He saw his reflection in the mirror. His face looked thin. All this bloody treachery was taking its toll.

  Chapter 43

  Gray glanced around the office. Nobody was paying him the slightest attention. He called up the HOLMES2 database, typed in “Sunset, fire”. He clicked through the reports and interviews. Carslake had been involved in many of them. A coroner’s investigation recorded accidental death.

  Mr Renishaw, it seemed, liked to tinker with motorbikes. The belief was he’d left flammable materials lying around in the garden and kitchen which had caught fire when someone threw a cigarette stub over the fence.

  The data Gray reviewed appeared perfectly reasonable. Evidence and conclusion neatly followed each other. Gray sat back, starting to feel perhaps Hamson’s suspicions were correct, though there was only Natalie’s word that Noble had been in. A hand slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Bloody hell, Sol, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” said Fowler.

  “You startled me, Mike.”

  “Just wanted to check we were still on for tonight.”

  “Nothing’s changed.”

  “Good, see you later.”

  Gray made sure Fowler was at his desk before he accessed the shared folder where all the information on the Regan Armitage case was stored. He quickly found Fowler’s CCTV footage. There was one marked “Seagram’s” and dated the night Regan had gone missing.

  He slowly worked his way through the footage, reviewing the external scenes first, then the internal ones. Fowler had been right: other than the time when the couple departed there was no clear image of the woman in the blue wig. When she appeared in the footage she kept her face away from the camera, like she knew it was watching.

  Finally, Gray carried out a database search of reported assaults in
connection with Seagram’s or Regan. There was nothing, not a single piece of documented evidence. So either Quigley was lying or Regan was simply a player.

  Chapter 44

  Then

  The interview room smelt of cigarette smoke. From a previous occupant, not William Noble. He held a plastic cup of something lukewarm from the vending machine. From the doorway Carslake watched Noble swirl the liquid around.

  Carslake wanted to leave the door open, to draw some fresher air in from the corridor, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want stray ears overhearing this conversation. The catch clicked shut. Noble half rose from his seat. Carslake waved him back down.

  “Good to see you, Sergeant,” said Noble.

  Carslake merely grunted in reply. Having the editor of the local newspaper turn up on your doorstep was never a positive sign. He had a nose for things, did Noble.

  “You asked to see me,” said Carslake. He remained standing, making it clear that the discussion would be brief.

  “I know you’ve been involved in the investigation into the Sunset fire, the guest house, right?”

  “What of it?”

  “I think it was deliberate.”

  “Arson, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not what the official report says,” replied Carslake.

  “I believe differently.”

  “I didn’t know you were an expert on fires and their cause.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why are we having this conversation? Conclusions were drawn, the investigation is closed.”

  “It’s Jake Armitage. He profited from the fire.”

  Carslake let gravity take hold, and he sat down. This needed handling. “It’s well known Mister Armitage owned the building. It’s also well known the land has since been developed.”

  “Yes, but did you know that until the fire, the Renishaws were refusing to sell to him? The whole redevelopment hinged on the guest house. If it fell through, everything did.”