He shook his head. He couldn’t hear her. He beckoned for her to come out.
She let the curtain fall closed. “I won’t be a moment, Millie love. I just need to go and talk to somebody.”
Millie looked up at her, her face creasing.
Susan felt herself crumble. Millie had slept badly last night, she’d woken three times, calling for Susan to join her in her bed, to hold her while she cried. God knew how long she would be like this. Maybe Susan should get professional help, speak to the GP.
“You want to come with me, sweetie?”
Millie looked towards the window. “Who is it?”
Susan considered telling her. Millie loved Tony, but she didn’t want her saying anything to that damn family liaison officer.
“It’s just a friend, Mils. I won’t be a minute.”
Millie swallowed and nodded slowly. Susan gave her an apologetic look, and scooted out of the room.
She glided through the hall to the front door in her socks, careful not to make a sound. She eased the front door open and slid through it, pulling it closed behind her.
Tony was in front of the garage door, out of sight of the windows.
“I thought you weren’t going to come back?” she whispered.
“I just wanted to tell you something.”
“What?”
“The police came to see me.”
“What, that DCI?”
He nodded. “It’s fine. I told her where I was on Saturday, nobody suspects a thing.”
“Why should they?” she asked.
He looked at her. “Well, now they know that we’re planning on marrying, I guess they might think I wanted Archie out the way.”
She looked at him. “But you’re not that kind of man.”
“I know I’m not that kind of man, and you know I’m not that kind of man.” He pulled her to him.
She buried her face in his chest, wishing she could invite him inside.
“But,” he said, “I know how they think. I know how I’d think if it was me. I’m just damn glad I was at work on Saturday. Although I am sorry I wasn’t with you.”
She pulled back and smiled at him. “We can be together more in the future.”
He blinked down at her. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah. I’m not saying I’m glad Archie’s dead. I’ll miss him. And Millie…”
“I know.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Millie’s lost her dad.”
She nodded. “I do love you, Tony.
He smiled at her. “I love you too, Susie.” He put his hand on the back of her head, and pulled her towards him.
She let him kiss her, wishing life could be simple. Why the hell hadn’t she just divorced Archie years ago when she found out about the first affair? That damn Crystal Spiers. Susan was convinced she’d been the first.
Stop thinking, she told herself. Just relax.
She pulled away from Tony. “We don’t need to hide the fact that you and me are together now, but I don’t want to make this harder on Millie. We have to take it slow. We have to go at her pace.”
“I know,” he said. “You call me when you’re ready, yeah?
She nodded. “Thanks, love.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Dennis and Mike had been waiting in the lobby area at Bournemouth University for two hours. Waiting to see if one of these academics would stoop so low as to speak to a couple of coppers.
Dennis was fed up. He was hungry, his skin itched and he wanted to give up. He checked his watch for the hundredth time.
“You thinking what I’m thinking, Sarge?” Mike asked.
Dennis nodded. “Maybe we should give up. The boss needs to contact them, set up something official.”
“That’s not like you, Sarge.”
Dennis grunted. He wasn’t used to dealing with these academics. The people at the dig weren’t so bad, a bit odd perhaps. Patrick Donnelly seemed friendly enough. Crystal Spiers was remote, but not snooty.
But the woman he’d spoken to on reception here had looked at him like he was smut on the bottom of her shoe.
He leaned back on the stiff bench they’d been told to wait on. “I’m going to take a walk, call the boss and find out what’s going on in Bristol.”
Mike nodded. “I’ll wait here.”
As Dennis stood up, the woman who’d been so dismissive of them earlier approached him.
“Sergeant?”
He turned to face her, expecting the inevitable rejection.
“Mr Sidhu says he will see you now.”
He raised an eyebrow. “At last.”
The woman sneered at him. “Follow me.”
Mike scrambled up from the bench, gathering up their things. Dennis’s coat, the one Pam had bought him, was on the bench beneath where he’d been sitting. Anything to get comfortable.
They followed the woman along corridors, passing lecture theatres full of students. Young, confident bodies, passing in the opposite direction, brushed against them, not stopping to get out of their way.
“Kids,” Dennis muttered.
At last they arrived at a door. The nameplate said Tim Sidhu, Administrator. Dennis sighed. They were being palmed off with the office lackey.
The woman pushed the door open and ushered them inside. A slim Asian man sat behind a desk. He stood as they entered, gesturing for them to take a seat.
He was about Dennis’s age, greying hair that was thinning on top. He smiled at them. “Come in, Detectives., I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Dennis heard Mike grunt. He took the chair the man had offered and pulled out his ID.
“I’m DS Frampton, this is DC Chiles. We’re here in connection with the murders of Archie Weatherton and Laila Ford.”
The man nodded. “Such a tragic business.” He bowed his head, his hands clasped together as if in prayer.
Dennis watched him, wondering how much of this was genuine. “Did you ever meet either of the victims?” he asked.
The man looked up. “Never. Doctor Weatherton was seconded from Bristol University. Miss Ford… Well, she was recruited by Professor Spiers.”
Dennis raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t realised Crystal was a professor.
“She taught here? Professor Spiers?”
“Still does.”
Dennis glanced at Mike.
“Professor Sidhu, can I ask you a few questions about the dig? About the project at Corfe Castle?”
“I’m not a professor, Sergeant. I’m just a layman. Call me Mr Sidhu. In fact, call me Tim.”
“Fair enough, Mr Sidhu. Firstly, can I ask you about the artefacts that were uncovered on that dig? Whether there was anything specifically that might have been used as a weapon?”
The man’s eyes widened. “They used something from the dig site? That’s impossible.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, everything was labelled, catalogued, and then sent back here. I can show you. We have a store for it all.”
“But our forensics manager tells us she found a number of objects stored and catalogued at the cottage in Corfe Castle.”
Mr Sidhu shook his head. “No, no, that’s not how it works at all. They keep things for a few days, and then at the end of every week, Professor Spiers catalogues it, logs it all on the database, and then arranges for it to be sent here. Sometimes she brings it herself. Sometimes we send a member of staff down to collect it. Occasionally we’ll trust the job to a couple of students.”
Dennis narrowed his eyes.
It had been yesterday, a Wednesday, when Gail had found over thirty items in that shed. Surely they hadn’t uncovered that much in just two days? The site had been off limits on Monday.
Mike leaned forwards. “Is there any chance that with everything that’s happened, last week’s finds weren’t catalogued or transferred?”
Mr Sidhu frowned. “I’ll check.” He turned to his desk, and clicked his mouse a few times.
“No,” he said. “Friday afternoon, we had a box fu
ll of items brought in by two students.”
“Very well.” Dennis considered. “Are you aware that there are a number of items still at the cottage? They’re stored in the shed.”
The administrator turned to him. “You must be mistaken. It’s all here, on the system.”
Dennis met his gaze. Even if the four people in that cottage had planned on stealing some of those artefacts, theft was nothing compared to a double murder.
“I think you need to go down there,” he said. “It’s not for me to say what those items are, and whether they should be here at the university. But you might want to follow that up.”
Mr Sidhu nodded. “I will, thank you. Is there anything else I can help with? Do you need contact details for the next of kin?”
“We already have those. We’ve been in touch with Mrs Weatherton, and Laila Ford’s parents are coming down to identify her body.”
Sidhu winced. “I saw the news reports. I don’t envy them.”
“No,” said Dennis. Whatever kind of girl Laila Ford had been, she hadn’t deserved the manner of her death.
He took a breath. “Were there any financial or budgetary issues with this dig?”
“How do you mean?”
“Were there any challenges? Had you had funding withdrawn?”
“Quite the opposite. We’d just had a big donation from a, well, that’s confidential. But we’d just had a big donation, and we’d gained some international funding too.”
“So the project was in a good financial condition?”
“It certainly was. It was one of the most financially healthy projects I’ve administered in a while. Crystal Spiers was very good at raising funds. She’d spent sixteen years doing it, after all.”
Mike cleared his throat. Dennis’s mind was racing.
“It’s only,” he said, “we’ve been told that there were financial issues that caused tensions between the people in the group.”
Sidhu shrugged. “Well, that’s certainly not backed up by our data.”
Dennis could sense Mike scribbling furiously in his notepad. They’d have to report this to the boss.
“So was there anything missing, as far as you’re aware, from the dig?”
“Again, I’d have to check that on the database. Give me a moment.” For the second time, Mr Sidhu checked his computer.
Dennis and Mike exchanged glances. If there weren’t any financial problems, why had Archie told Bristol University that there were? And why had Archie been going to London for meetings to seek extra funding?
Was that really what he’d been doing?
Sidhu turned back from his computer. “Nothing missing as far as my records are concerned. We’d have to check the storeroom, but we have a pretty robust system. It’s actually modelled on the systems that you use for forensics in police inquiries.”
Dennis nodded. He had a feeling that if anything was missing, it wouldn’t have made it to the university in the first place.
“Thank you for your time,” he said, standing up.
“Is that all?” Mr Sidhu asked.
“For now.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Lesley hurried through the front entrance of Dorset Police HQ. She was anxious to find out whether Dennis and Mike had made progress at Bournemouth University. As she swiped her ID card at the turnstile, the woman on reception waved to catch her attention.
“Sorry, Ma’am! I’ve got an urgent message for you.”
Lesley nodded. “Yes?”
“Detective Superintendent Carpenter wants to speak to you right away.”
Lesley felt her stomach sink.
“Right away?” she said.
“That’s what this note says.”
“OK.”
Lesley made for the stairs and hurried up to Carpenter’s office. She knocked quietly on the door.
“Come in.”
Tugging down her jacket sleeves, she slid into the room.
“DCI Clarke. You got my message?”
“Is everything alright? I was just about to brief my team on—”
“I won’t keep you long. Sit down, please.”
He wasn’t meeting her eye. She took a seat opposite him at the desk. No comfy chairs in the corner this time.
“Sir, what do you need?”
“I’m afraid I’ve received a complaint.”
“Complaint?”
She’d only been on the force four days. She’d barely interacted with the public. How could there have been a complaint already?
Then she thought of Crystal Spiers. The woman hadn’t wanted them at her dig site. She’d been convinced they were ruining precious artefacts.
“If it’s Crystal Spiers Sir, I can...”
“It’s not a member of the public,” he replied. “I’m afraid it’s an anonymous internal complaint.”
“Oh.” She scratched the back of her hand.
“The complainant is concerned that your health is impacting on your ability to fulfil your duties.”
“My health, Sir?”
He eyed her. “You had a head injury back in March. You were diagnosed with a form of PTSD. I’m worried that it means you can’t—”
“I’m more than up to the task of managing this investigation.”
“You were sent here for a slower pace.”
“And that’s what I’m getting,” she replied.
He raised an eyebrow. “A double murder investigation in your first week? You’ve only been here a matter of days, and you’re already in the middle of our biggest case for months.”
“With respect, Sir, I’ve handled cases like this before, significantly more complex cases. I’m more than capable—”
He raised a hand. “You and I have hardly had a chance to get to know each other, something we should rectify. But this complainant has seen you in action. They’re concerned that your health issues are impacting on your ability to manage your team, to delegate effectively.”
She felt heat rise inside her. “That’s untrue. Delegation is something I—”
“I’m not making any judgments. Right now this is just an informal complaint. More of a warning, if you want to put it that way.”
She swallowed. She knew what a warning could mean. “Will this go on my personnel file, Sir?”
He stared at her, tapping his fingers together. He rocked in his chair.
It was an effort to keep calm. He was torturing her, deliberate or not.
“No,” he said finally. “It won’t go in your file. However, I want you to consider the way that you interact with your new team. They’re different from what you’re used to. Please take that into consideration.”
“Sir. I will.”
He waved a hand to dismiss her. She left the room, her heart racing. She knew damn well who’d made that complaint.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
The team were all at their desks as Lesley walked towards her office.
“My office, now,” she snapped. She tried not to let her gaze linger on Dennis, who wasn’t meeting her eye.
Bastard, she thought to herself. All because of that bloody swear box.
Once they were all gathered inside, she nodded at Mike. “Shut the door.”
Mike did so, looking nervous. He and Johnny sat down. Dennis stood behind them, shifting from foot to foot.
Oh, fucking stop looking so nervous, she thought. At least own up to your disloyalty.
She took a deep breath. She had no idea if the other two knew what had happened. Were the three of them discussing her? Were they speculating on the state of her health? Were they plotting to get rid of her?
She bit her bottom lip. She was their senior officer. She shouldn’t let this sort of thing get to her.
She cleared her throat. “Right. Let’s get the board out.”
Johnny dragged the board out from behind Lesley’s desk. He grabbed a whiteboard marker and looked at her, waiting.
“OK.” She could hear the irritation in her voice. Den
nis would be able to hear it too. “So. We’ve got Susan Weatherton and her fancy man, who’s a copper.”
Mike sucked in a breath. “Ouch.”
She looked at him. “It doesn’t make any difference, it gives her a possible motive. But her alibi seems sound.”
Johnny lifted a hand.
Lesley rolled her eyes at him. “We’re not in school, Johnny.”
“Sorry, boss. I made some calls. Susan Weatherton’s alibi checks out.”
Lesley nodded. She pointed at the board. “Even so, stick Tony Goodall’s name up there.”
“His alibi checks out, too,” said Johnny. “The diary printout you gave us?”
“I know that,” Lesley said. “But I just want to add it for the sake of completeness.”
Johnny nodded and wrote Tony Goodall’s name on the board.
“What else have we got?” Lesley asked. “How did you two get on at Bournemouth?”
Dennis still wasn’t meeting her eye. “It took us a while to get a meeting, but in the end we spoke to an administrator.”
“And?” she snapped.
“He told us they have a system, it’s modelled on the procedures used by our forensics teams. They log everything they find on that site, and then they transfer it to Bournemouth University at the end of the week.”
“But,” Mike interrupted, “not everything is accounted for. The CSIs found objects in the shed when they searched the house.”
Lesley nodded. “What kind of objects?”
“Piles of them, catalogued, in boxes. Looked very professional, apparently. But according to Mr Sidhu, the guy we spoke to, everything should be over at Bournemouth University. Nothing should be in that shed.”
“Not even the items they found this week?” Lesley asked.
Dennis met her eye finally. “They’ve only been working for two days, since we opened up the site again.”
“Yeah, and there was way too much stuff in that shed for it to be two days’ worth of work,” added Mike. “I mean, if they’d been uncovering finds at that rate, the forensics team would have been tripping over them when they were down there.”
Lesley nodded. “Have you got photos? Stick them up on the board.”
Mike pulled some sheets out of a folder.
The Corfe Castle Murders (Dorset Crime Book 1) Page 20