“OK,” she said “We need to find out why those objects aren’t going over to Bournemouth University. Are they even being catalogued?”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” said Mike. “Not from what Tim Sidhu says.”
“Is he going to be following it up?”
“He’ll be the only person who knows whether they match up to what’s officially there,” Dennis replied. “He said he’d be over at the dig site, later today or first thing in the morning.”
Lesley nodded. “Good. So we need to find out who’s been hoarding items at the cottage, and whether the weapon is among them.”
“It’s not,” said Dennis. “I checked with Gail.”
“Damn.” She picked at her fingernails. How was she getting so dirty, since she’d come down here? “OK, so was anything missing from the official inventory? Our potential murder weapon?”
Mike looked down at his notepad. “All accounted for, boss. The administrator went through his records, he took us down to the storeroom. There was nothing missing. I don’t mind saying, that’s a damn good system they’ve got there.”
Dennis sucked his teeth.
Lesley covered a smile. “Anything else?”
Johnny coughed. “I think I might have a link between the dig team, and the DI who’s having an affair with Susan Weatherton.”
Lesley cocked her head. “Go on.”
“Well, I checked over that diary sheet he gave us, and I looked at the investigations he’s working on. I called a mate who works out of a local CID team in Bristol.”
Lesley frowned at him. She wasn’t sure whether this was good coppering, or over and above what he was authorised to do.
“You found something?”
“I might have done.”
“What kind of something?” Dennis asked.
Johnny glanced at him. “DI Goodall works in fraud, yeah?”
Lesley nodded.
“Well, he seems to be investigating the team that manages that dig. It looks like there might be something going on at the university.”
“Which university?” Lesley asked.
“I’m not sure. Bournemouth and Bristol are both sponsoring the dig. It’s officially Bournemouth’s, but Bristol have also been providing manpower and funding.”
“Archie Weatherton, for example?” she said.
“Exactly.”
“If Tony Goodall’s investigating it, it must be Bristol University he’s looking at.”
“You’d think so,” said Johnny.
“OK,” Lesley said. “I need you to look into that further. If there’s a link between Tony Goodall and that team, that might be why he’s befriended Susan Weatherton.”
Dennis shook his head. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Nor do I,” Lesley snapped. “But it’s a lead, so we follow it.”
“But for a detective inspector to do that to a—”
“It happens, Dennis. It’s not ethical. It might not be legal. But it happens. And it might fit with what we’ve been told about the financial problems. The woman we spoke to at Bristol University said they were having problems with funding for the dig. But the guy you spoke to at Bournemouth University, he said everything was in order.”
“Yeah,” said Mike. “He said they had money coming out of their ears.”
“So why would Archie have told his boss that they were short of funding?”
“Maybe that’s something to do with this fraud investigation?” Johnny suggested.
Lesley nodded at him. “We need to find the connection. We’ve got a fraud investigation going on at Bristol. We’ve got a dig that’s sponsored by Bournemouth University, that says there’s money pouring into it. We’ve got a professor at Bristol University, who says they’re short on cash. And in the middle, we’ve got Archie Weatherton and his wife.”
“I can look into it,” said Johnny.
“You do that,” said Lesley. “Mike, you work with him. I’ll follow up on the weapon.”
The two DCs nodded. Lesley turned to Dennis. “And the other thing I want to follow up on is this assault on Laila by Patrick Donnelly. I want you to check Donnelly’s past. Find out if he’s got form. Laila told her mate that he sexually assaulted her. With Laila dead it’s going to be difficult for us to prove that. But if we can find out that he’s done that kind of thing before…”
Dennis had his hands planted in his pockets. “I think it’s tenuous,” he said. “All he did was try and kiss her.”
Lesley glared at him. “I think he did a bit more than that, Dennis. The guy’s a sexual predator.”
Dennis laughed. “Have you seen him?”
“Yes, I have seen him, and you’d be surprised. Men like that, they present as one thing when they meet someone like you and me. But then when they’re with a young, vulnerable woman… Well, I’m sure you’ve come across them before.”
Dennis shrugged. “We’re not in Birmingham now, boss.”
She gritted her teeth. When were they going to stop throwing that at her?
“I just want you to investigate him, Dennis. Find out if he’s got a record, if he’s got form, if there have been any allegations made against him in the past. We’ve still got Patrick and Crystal. Crystal with the money. Patrick with the assault.”
The team murmured in response.
“Go on then,” she said. “Get on with it.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Gail held her phone to her ear, Tina Abbott watching her. The PC shifted from foot to foot, looking uneasy. Gail blinked at her, waiting for the phone to be answered.
At last it was picked up.
“DCI Clarke.”
“Lesley, it’s Gail.”
“Gail, where are you?”
“I’m at the cottage. With PC Abbott.”
“Has something happened?”
“You could say that.”
“Have Patrick or Crystal done something?”
“No, not that,” said Gail. Tina stared at her, cheeks flushed. They were in the kitchen of the cottage. Patrick Donnelly had been here when Gail had arrived. He’d been in the living room, giving PC Abbott a look like he wanted to hit her with something. He’d scuttled away when Gail had shown up, his body language furtive.
“What is it, then?” Lesley sounded impatient.
Gail took a breath. “We think we’ve got the murder weapon.”
Lesley sucked in a breath. “You think?”
Gail looked at the box, sitting on the kitchen counter. Tina had brought it out after Patrick had gone. The lid was off and she could see the cloth inside that surrounded the weapon.
“It’s an axe,” she said. “The handle is severely degraded and there’s corrosion on the head, but I’m confident it’s the same one.” She’d lifted the cloth briefly, protective gloves on. The shape of the blade fitted with Laila’s injuries.
“So it matches the fragments of metal you found?” Lesley asked her.
“I’d have to do a lab analysis to know that, but it’s likely.”
“Where did you find it?”
“PC Abbott found it in the shed out the back of the cottage.”
“I thought you’d already searched that?”
“I did. This wasn’t here when I searched.”
“Hang on,” said Lesley. “So who’s had access to that shed, between you finishing your search and PC Abbott finding it?”
“Well, we know Patrick Donnelly was here. Not sure about Crystal Spiers.”
“Right,” said Lesley. “And why hasn’t PC Abbott called me?”
Gail eyed the PC. Tina leaned against the other kitchen counter, her breathing shallow.
“There might be a problem,” said Gail.
“What kind of problem?” asked Lesley.
“I’d finished the official search of that shed. It had been locked again, or at least I thought it had. PC Abbott tells me that the padlock wasn’t bolted. As far as the occupants were concerned, it wasn’t going to be searched
again.”
“So that means…” said Lesley.
Gail felt her shoulders slump. “It might have been an illegal search. Even if it wasn’t, I’d say a half-decent lawyer would squash it flat.”
“In which case, it’s not evidential.” Lesley’s voice was clipped.
PC Abbott’s cheeks reddened further. Gail gave her a look that was partway between reassuring and irritated.
“OK,” said Lesley. “So, have you dusted it for prints yet?”
“Not yet,” said Gail. “I want to get it to the lab. I want to see if it’s got prints, and if there’s any DNA on it. Check the materials against the fragments we found.”
“Do that, as soon as you can.”
“What about the legality of the search?” Gail asked.
“Let me worry about that,” said Lesley. “Even if we can’t use it as evidence, it’ll give us what we need. We then just need to back it up with legal evidence.”
Gail looked across at PC Abbott, who was twisting her hands together in front of her.
Oh, do calm down, Gail thought. At least they had the weapon.
“Will do,” she said to Lesley.
“And let me know as soon as you have a result.”
“Of course I will.”
“Oh,” said Lesley. “And tell PC Abbott to come into the briefing first thing tomorrow morning, won’t you?”
Gail nodded. She hung up.
“Well,” breathed Tina. “How did she react?”
Gail cocked her head. “She’s already told me she’s a stickler for procedure. Find evidence, build a case by the book. She won’t like this.”
“Is it certain that it’s not a legal search?” Tina asked.
“The DCI will know that better than me,” said Gail, although she had a pretty good idea what the answer was. “Anyway, she wants you in the briefing tomorrow morning, first thing.”
Tina’s eyes widened. “But I’m needed here. I’m the FLO.”
“I think the DCI needs you more.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
There was a pile of letters waiting on the mat when Lesley got back to her house. Two of them were junk mail, straight into the bin. Another was addressed to somebody she didn’t know, presumably a previous tenant. The final one had a Birmingham postmark and was handwritten.
She gripped it, recognising the writing.
She wandered into the kitchen, delaying the moment when she would have to open the letter. It couldn’t be anything but bad news. She put it down on the table.
She flipped the kettle on, grabbed a mug from the top shelf and fumbled around in a cupboard for a tea bag. She had a feeling that after she’d read this letter, she’d need something stronger.
Reluctantly, she picked up the letter. She slid her fingernail into the envelope and pulled it open. Two sheets of paper were inside: lined, handwritten. So he’d decided to wax lyrical.
She took a breath as she unfolded the paper, her mouth dry. She’d been trying to call him for the last two days. The toad didn’t even dare speak to her. He was going to do this by post.
She read.
Lesley, I wanted to send you this before you receive the official documentation. I’m genuinely sorry you had to find me with Julieta the way you did. I’ve been meaning to tell you for weeks. But there just hasn’t been the chance. You’ve been so busy with work, and then when you do get home, you seem too tired for us to talk properly.
Lesley licked her lips. So he was blaming her, claiming she was too busy for a proper conversation.
Too busy, my arse, she thought. Too busy to know he was shagging some Spanish woman while she was away working.
She carried on reading.
I met Julieta in October, at a university event. We hit it off immediately. You and I hadn’t been talking very much at that point. I tried to address things with you. Do you remember that conversation we had early in October? It was around the time your Canary investigation ended. I thought things might calm down at that point. But then the Assistant Chief Constable was killed, and I lost you again. I always felt that you loved your work more than you loved me.
Lesley sneered. Of course she loved her bloody work. For a woman to climb the ranks to DCI was more common now than it had been when she’d started in the force, but it still wasn’t easy. She’d had to put up with the likes of Bryn Jackson, with his antediluvian attitudes towards women.
And she’d proven herself. She’d worked hard, she’d kept her nose clean, and she’d succeeded.
Terry should be pleased for her. He should have been celebrating the end of the Canary case with her, commiserating with her when only one of the bastards they’d arrested had gone down.
But, no. Instead, he was blaming her for working too hard, and running into the arms of another woman.
She turned the page.
I’ve tried to engage you in a conversation on a few occasions. But you don’t seem to want to listen to me, so I’ve instructed a solicitor. I think our relationship has run its course. I don’t think there’s anything we can do to rectify things now. We’ve hardly spoken since you made DCI. I don’t want to drag this out.
The solicitor reckons that you were absent from our relationship, that you weren’t a full participant. He says that constitutes unreasonable behaviour. He also says that your working hours mean I’ve got a good chance of getting custody of Sharon. Obviously that’s helped by the fact that you’re two hundred miles away right now, and will be for the next six months.
Lesley felt heat rise through her body. No way was he taking her daughter from her. She clenched her fists, wanting to thump something. Preferably her husband.
She couldn’t read any more. She threw the sheets down, her hands shaking. She plunged her hand into her pocket and grabbed her keys. She needed a drink. She marched along Church Street, into East Street, and shoved open the door of the Duke of Wellington.
The woman she’d spoken to last night was behind the bar. Elsa. She was a lawyer. Lesley needed a lawyer right now, but Elsa was a criminal lawyer.
She’d know family lawyers, though.
Lesley slung her keys onto the bar, prodding them with her fingers.
Elsa raised an eyebrow. “You OK?”
“Fine,” Lesley snapped.
“You look like you need a drink.”
“You could say that.”
“Whisky?”
Lesley wasn’t habitually a whisky drinker. She’d been about to ask for a gin and tonic. But she needed something she could throw down her neck fast. Something to soften the jangled nerves.
“Make it a double,” she said.
Elsa nodded and turned to the optics.
Lesley felt somebody behind her. She shifted her weight, willing them to go away. Some bloke about to make a smarmy comment. Alright, love? You don’t look very happy. God, she hated men like that.
She wondered what line Terry had used to coerce Julieta into bed. How did a man like Terry get a woman like that to sleep with him in the first place? What sob story must he have told her?
Elsa placed the glass on the bar.
“Thanks.” Lesley downed it in one, coughing as she placed it back on the bar. “That’s better.”
Elsa smiled and her eyes darkened. She had beautiful eyes, unlike Lesley whose eyes were small and blue-grey. “Want to share your problems?”
Lesley shook her head. She heard somebody clear their throat; that man was still hovering behind her.
She turned to him. She was about to tell him to bugger off when she recognised him.
“Fuck. What the hell are you doing here?”
His face paled. It wasn’t the time or the place for her to be apologising for her language. If he only knew…
“Boss,” Dennis said, his eyes not quite meeting hers.
“What is it, Dennis? Did I forget something in the briefing?”
“I came to your house. I saw you leave, I followed you here.”
“Well, congratulations
on making detective of the year.”
He looked from her to Elsa. Elsa shrugged. Lesley knew what they were thinking. Mouthy old bitch from the city, come down here to throw her weight around and swear at everybody. Well, she didn’t give a fuck right now.
“What do you want, Sergeant?”
“I came to apologise,” he said.
“What for?”
He swallowed. “I think you know what for.”
“I want you to say it.”
Lesley was in a shitty mood, she knew. She also knew she shouldn’t take it out on Dennis. But he’d made that complaint to Carpenter. Maybe he deserved everything he got.
“What for, Dennis?” she repeated.
“You were summoned to the Super’s office, weren’t you?”
Elsa was making for the other end of the bar, serving another customer. She knew when she wasn’t wanted. The woman had discretion, an important trait in a lawyer.
“I was, Dennis,” she said. “You know anything about it?”
He blinked. “I want to say I’m sorry.”
“Why did you make a complaint about me? You only gave me a few days, and already you’re judging me.”
He paled again. “I was worried about you.”
“Worried, my arse. You don’t like me. You don’t like the way I talk. You don’t like being bossed around.” She leaned in. The whisky was kicking in. “You don’t like having a woman as a boss.”
“That’s not true,” he said. “I’ve worked for plenty of women.”
“Yeah? You worked for a bloke before me.”
His face darkened. “I’d rather not…”
“What is it about Mackie?” she said. “What is it everybody’s not telling me?”
“Please, boss. I don’t want to talk about it.”
She sighed. “Come and sit with me.”
She took her empty glass and led him to a table. The table was small and round, with a slight wobble. She leaned on it, trying to steady it, and then realised she was a little unsteady herself.
“Let’s hear it,” she said. “Your apology.”
He placed his hands on the table, holding it still. “I made a complaint. It wasn’t so much a complaint, as a registration of concern. I know you had health problems up in the West Midlands, and I know that’s why you were sent here. I was worried that getting landed with a double murder case so quickly, might impact on those—”
The Corfe Castle Murders (Dorset Crime Book 1) Page 21