The Corfe Castle Murders (Dorset Crime Book 1)

by Rachel McLean

  Dennis looked from the man to the boy, to whom he reluctantly gave a stern smile. “You need to be careful.” The dad’s grin morphed into a frown and he pulled the child away.

  A woman in her sixties with the look of someone about to impart bad news was waiting for Dennis behind the counter. “Takeaway only right now, my dear. Unless you don’t mind waiting.”

  He showed her his ID and she stood almost to attention. “Oh I’m sorry, officer. Wait, I’ll...” her gaze darted around the café, no doubt assessing which table she could remove the occupants from for him.

  “Don’t worry, madam,” he said. “I don’t need to sit down.”

  “Is this about that” – she lowered her voice and brought her hand to her mouth as if sharing a secret – “murder at the Rings?” She blinked, her eyes damp. “So sad. That poor man.”

  “I need to speak to one of your employees. Karen Dawes.”

  “I don’t see what Karen’s got to do with it.”

  “Please. I won’t keep her long.”

  The woman wiped her hands on her apron and disappeared through a door behind her.

  The café had gone quiet, all the customers listening in. Dennis turned, careful not to make eye contact, but knowing they’d all be averting their eyes anyway. The toddler squawked and his mum shushed him. Conversation resumed at a couple of the other tables.

  Dennis turned at the sound of the door opening behind him. A young woman with brown hair tied back in a ponytail and an acne-scarred complexion looked at him nervously.

  “Sheila says you need to talk to me.”

  He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I won’t keep you long. It’s about Laila Ford.”

  A nod. “How is she? She must be...” Karen shook her head.

  “She told me she was on here on Saturday morning, that she spent some time with you.”

  “She was.”

  He brought out his notepad. “Can you tell me what time?”

  “Err... she got here at about quarter past, half past ten. I went on my break and sat with her for a bit. Then she hung around.” She glanced towards the door, behind which Sheila would no doubt be listening to the conversation. “She made a pot of tea last until a bit after midday, then Sheila kicked her out. Needed the table.”

  “Were you here the whole time?”

  “Yeah. I work eight till three on a Saturday. She sat at that table there.” She pointed to the table where the toddler was now standing on a chair, dancing – at least, Dennis thought it was supposed to be dancing. “She had to pop out at one point, go to the cash point. But other than that, she was here.”

  “She went out to get money?”

  “She needed to pay for her tea. I said I’d lend it to her, but she insisted. She was a bit…” The young woman frowned and stopped talking.

  “She was a bit...?”

  “She was upset.” She squared her shoulders. “He was a bastard, you know. Treated her like shit. Maybe she’ll be better off wi—” She caught his frown. “Sorry. But that’s just the way it was.”

  “How long did she go out to the cash point for?”

  “It wasn’t working so she had to go into the National Trust shop, get cashback. They made her buy jam.”

  “How long?”

  A shrug. “About half an hour, I guess? It was early on, before eleven. Or I’d never have been able to save the table.”

  “Thank you, Karen. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “I haven’t got her into trouble, have I?”

  “Don’t worry. I appreciate your help.” He noted her look of dismay as he left the cafe.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Department of Archaeology and Anthropology was housed in a grand Victorian building in the centre of the university. The reception was staffed by a young man in a rainbow tie and black shirt.

  “Doctor Alman is with students right now, but she’ll be available in fifteen minutes.”

  “We’ll wait,” said Lesley. “Tell her not to go anywhere.”

  “I don’t see why she would.”

  Lesley wandered to a row of low chairs next to a vending machine. Johnny took the seat next to her.

  “I’ll call Dennis while we’re waiting,” she said. He nodded and she headed outside.

  “Boss.” Dennis sounded out of breath.

  “Have you been running?”

  “I’m walking back to the house from the café where Laila spent Saturday morning.”

  “And?”

  “She left for about half an hour. She was on edge, apparently. And her friend said she’d be better off without Archie.”

  “That doesn’t mean she killed him.”

  “With respect, Ma’am. The girl has been lying to us. She pretended not to know the victim was married, she’s been throwing accusations at Patrick Donnelly, and she didn’t tell us that she wasn’t at the café the whole morning.”

  “And she was alone during the afternoon,” Lesley added.

  “You’re coming round to my way of thinking.”

  “No, Dennis. Not yet. A flimsy alibi and an argument or two with the victim isn’t enough evidence.”

  “But the lies…”

  “We need concrete evidence. Forensics. And where’s the bloody murder weapon?” She ignored his tut. “Has she consented to a search of her room?”

  “Gail Hansford is in there right now.”

  “Good. Let me know if you get anything useful.”

  “I’m back now. If you wait a moment.”

  She heard him banging on the cottage door, then silence. More banging.

  “What’s going on, Dennis?”

  “There’s no one here. I told Gail to make sure the girl didn’t go anywhere.”

  “That’s not her job, Dennis.”

  “I gave her clear instructions.”

  Lesley sighed. She heard a woman’s voice on the other end of the line: Gail. So she hadn’t deserted her post. Dennis was talking to her, his words muffled. It sounded like they were arguing.

  “Boss?” Johnny was behind her. “Doctor Alman is ready for us.”

  “Dennis, I’ve got to go.” Lesley wasn’t sure if he could hear her.

  She pocketed her phone and followed Johnny back inside. A tall woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a bun was waiting for them.

  “Doctor Alman?”

  “I thought you’d buggered off.”

  Lesley smiled. She pulled out her ID. “I’m DCI Clarke, this is DC Chiles. We need to ask you a few questions about Archie Weatherton.”

  “Of course. We’re all devastated.” The woman ushered them into her office. It was long and narrow, lined with books. A window filled one of the narrow ends and the contrast in light levels between each end of the room made Lesley’s eyes hurt.

  “Take a seat. I’ll get someone to bring us coffee.”

  “We’re fine.”

  “I insist.” Doctor Alman picked up the phone on her desk and barked an order for three coffees and a jug of milk. Smiling, she joined them in a low seating area. Three well-worn sofas squeezed around a coffee table.

  “Sorry it’s a bit cramped. My tutorial groups have eight students in them, hence all the sofas. Makes things cosy.” She sat back. “So, what can I do for you?”

  Lesley attempted to sit back in her own sofa, but it had dreadful back support. She sat up straight, her knees at an awkward angle to avoid being squashed by the coffee table.

  “You’ve been informed that Archie was murdered on Saturday?”

  “Local police came round yesterday afternoon. His wife must be in pieces.”

  Lesley wasn’t sure whether in pieces was the phrase she’d use, but then everyone experienced grief in a different way.

  “We need to get as much background information on Mr Weatherton as we can,” she said.

  “Dr Weatherton.”

  “Yes. Anything we can find that might give someone a motive for killing him, would be useful.”

&nb
sp; “So it wasn’t a random attack?”

  “It took place in Corfe Castle, a village with fifteen hundred inhabitants. Random attacks don’t happen in a place like that.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Doctor Alman, you’ll understand that I can’t give you all the details of what happened to your colleague. But the evidence doesn’t indicate a random attack.”

  “But who would want to kill an archaeologist, for God’s sake?” The doctor shivered. “We’re not exactly attention seekers.”

  “How much did you know about Archie’s personal life?”

  Doctor Alman nodded. “Now I get you.”

  Johnny leaned in. “Now you get us how?”

  “He had… he had a reputation. Young women, colleagues on digs. Never went near any students as far as I’m aware, thank the Lord, but I imagine he thought about it.”

  “You knew he had multiple affairs?” Lesley asked.

  “Archaeological digs can get claustrophobic, Detective. Especially when people are living on site. And gossip travels. I imagine half the bloody university knew about Archie’s exploits.”

  “Including his wife?”

  “Now that, I wouldn’t know. Most faculty social events are partner-free. Those that aren’t, well, let’s just say the conversation is more circumspect.”

  “Might there have been a woman who wanted revenge? Or a husband?”

  The doctor laughed. “Quite a few, I’d imagine. But I don’t see them travelling to Dorset to finish him off. I suspect you’d need to look closer to home.”

  Lesley and Johnny exchanged a look.

  “Can you explain what you mean by that?” Lesley asked.

  “Well, seeing as he was killed in Corfe Castle, shouldn’t you be interviewing his colleagues on that dig? Especially any young women.”

  Another glance: Laila.

  “We already are,” said Johnny.

  “Good.” The professor made to stand up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a seminar to prepare for.”

  “How was Archie’s relationship with the other members of the dig team?” Lesley asked. “Any tensions?”

  “I don’t even know who half of them were. The project was run by Bournemouth University. Archie was drafted in for his experience excavating jewellery and other delicate items.”

  “Did you know the woman in charge?”

  The doctor nodded. “Crystal Spiers. Yes, I know her. Plenty of history between her and Archie.”

  Lesley raised an eyebrow.

  “Crystal and Archie go way back, Detective. I’ve no doubt they slept together, when she was young enough for him to be interested. But I do know he wasn’t happy with her management of this project.”

  “Why not?”

  “He reckoned she was too close to it. It was her baby, her life’s work. She couldn’t see past that. And she was bloody awful at managing the finances.”

  “In what way?”

  “He told me she’d lost a major backer. She had no control over the budget. He had to keep bailing her out, finding alternative sources of income. He talked to me about some of it, probably kept quiet about the rest.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  The doctor stood up. “I’m not sure it’s my business to speculate. And I really do need to bid you farewell now.” She nodded towards the door: a group of students was visible through the glass. “Sorry I can’t be more help.”

  Can’t, or won’t? Lesley gritted her teeth as the professor half-ushered, half-shoved them out onto the corridor.

  “Not much use, eh boss?” Johnny said as the students shuffled past them.

  “You don’t think so, Constable? I think that was very useful indeed.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Gail opened the door to find Dennis Frampton outside, looking like he’d swallowed half a beehive.

  “Where is she?”

  “Come in, why don’t you? We’re nearly done.”

  He stormed past her. Gavin was coming down the stairs, stooping to avoid hitting his head.

  “What did you do?” Dennis snapped at him.

  “Sorry, mate.” Gav looked past Dennis at Gail, who shrugged.

  “We had no legal right to detain her,” she said.

  “Where did she go? I told you to keep her here.”

  “And I told you that’s your job. Are you planning on arresting her?”

  He looked like he wanted to hiss at her. “Not yet. But I have my suspicions about that young woman.”

  “Has the DCI authorised an arrest?”

  “I already told you, not yet, “he snapped. “But I wanted to see her reaction to whatever you found.”

  “Oh, we can help you with that.” Gav sounded amused. Gail bit back a smirk. “She stayed down here the whole time we was up there. Hovering around the door, I reckon. She wanted to know what we were doin’.”

  “And?” Dennis balled his fists on his hips.

  “And what, mate?”

  Dennis rolled his eyes and crossed himself. “Sometimes I wonder why we bother with you lot. What did you find? How did she react?”

  Gail stepped in. “In answer to your first question, we found three distinct sets of prints.”

  “Whose?”

  “We still need to establish that. Archie’s we can get from the pathologist. The others in the house, we’ll have to take elimination prints. One set will be Laila’s, of course.”

  “So you took her prints?”

  Gail shook her head. “Didn’t get a chance.”

  “Why not? What were you playing at?”

  “Sarge.” Gav put a hand out.

  Dennis brushed it away. “Where did she go?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Sarge,” Gail said. “But I can tell you she grabbed something out of that drawer,” she pointed to a chest of drawers crammed in next to an easy chair, “and took it with her.”

  Dennis crossed to the chest of drawers.

  “I looked,” said Gail. “There’s nothing in there except a stack of board games.”

  “She can’t have taken a board game with her.”

  “Unlikely.”

  Gail looked at Dennis. His colour had dropped, the tension in his face loosened. Dennis had been like this when she’d first joined the team; she’d avoided him as far as possible. DCI Mackie had calmed him, had managed to rein his temper in. But then DCI Mackie had committed suicide. Gail couldn’t imagine Dennis was too pleased about his old boss and mentor being replaced by a woman from the big city.

  “We’ll dust that chest,” she told him. “Technically we don’t have permission, but…”

  “Do it,” Dennis said. “If we don’t know what she got out of there, I at least want to know who else might have had it.”

  Gail gave Gav a nod and he took out his fingerprinting kit.

  “You going to go looking for her?” she asked Dennis.

  His cheek twitched. “Of course.”

  Gail turned at the sound of the front door opening. Laila stumbled in, looking shocked to see them all. Quickly, Gail stepped in front of Gav, who was already shoving his equipment back into a bag.

  “What’s happened?” Laila’s gaze flew from Dennis, to Gavin, to the chest of drawers and back to Dennis.

  “Nothing.” Gail gave her a smile. “We’re just finishing up.”

  Laila nodded. She didn’t ask what they’d found in the bedroom.

  Dennis flexed his fingers at his sides. He was itching to arrest Laila, Gail could tell. He didn’t approve of women like Laila, and the threshold of evidence became lower for him when he was dealing with them. Or at least it had done, until DCI Mackie had worked his magic.

  “Come on, Sarge,” she said. “The DCI is expecting us all back at base.”

  He stared at Laila for a moment. The young woman blinked back at him. He pursed his lips then followed Gail and Gav out of the house.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Welcome back, everybody,” Lesley said. “I hope w
e all had productive days.”

  The team murmured assent as they shuffled into her office. Johnny yawned. The drive back from Bristol had been grim: the beginning of the rush hour as they left the city, and then half an hour stuck in a long line behind a tractor as they’d approached the office.

  She pointed to the board. “Let’s start with Crystal and Patrick. How are their alibis looking?”

  “Not brilliant for either of them,” said Mike. “The barman at the Greyhound said he spoke to Patrick a couple of times, but can’t vouch for him being in the pub the whole time. And Crystal has already said she was out walking alone. I asked around to see if anyone in the village had seen her heading out. Nothing.”

  “What about motive? Either of them got a reason to want Archie dead?”

  “There were those financial problems Archie’s boss told us about,” said Johnny.

  “Fill everyone else in, will you?”

  “Yeah. Course.” He turned to the room, his eyes on Dennis. “Archie and Crystal had known each other for years. His boss reckons they were an item, when they were younger. But they didn’t see eye to eye on the way this project was being run. There were financial problems, and Archie reckoned they were Crystal’s fault. Then there was what Doctor Alman told us about Archie’s sex life…”

  Lesley stopped him. “We’ll come to that when we look at Susan. We’re going to need financial forensics. Accounts for the dig, budgets, however it is these things work. Johnny, you get onto Bournemouth University about that tomorrow.”

  “Boss.” Johnny eyed Dennis, who frowned.

  “OK,” said Lesley. “What about Laila?”

  “She said she was at a café in the morning,” replied Dennis. “But the girl working there said she had to go and get cash around eleven. Apparently she took a while.”

  “Long enough to get to the dig site and back?”

  “Half an hour.”

  Lesley took one of her Mars bars out of her pocket and unwrapped it. “So none of them had alibis. We’re missing something.”

  “The blood,” said Gail.