The Corfe Castle Murders (Dorset Crime Book 1)

by Rachel McLean

  “That’s my business, Dennis. But don’t worry about it. You came to see me. You found my house. You followed me to the pub. You were obviously pretty keen on apologising. I’m assuming that means you truly regret what you did.”

  He nodded.

  “And that you won’t do it again.”

  He looked down. “That depends.”

  She laughed. “Oh, on what?”

  He looked at her. “If I’m worried that your health is impacting on your ability to do your job, and on your welfare, I can’t ignore it.”

  “You’re worried about me?”

  “You might say that.”

  “Despite the fact that I’m a mardy old bitch who swears too much and refuses to work the way you want to?”

  “I think you’re very good at your job, no matter how much you try and hide it.”

  Lesley was as surprised as if he’d slapped her.

  “Well, thank you, Dennis. I’ll take the compliment. But I do want to talk to you about the way you addressed PC Abbott in that meeting.”

  His face darkened. “She did an illegal search, boss.”

  “She also uncovered a crucial piece of evidence. And the shed door wasn’t secured.”

  “She’s not trying to make out that she spotted the axe through the shed door when she happened to be passing it?”

  “She wouldn’t insult my intelligence, nor I yours. But if needs must, that’s what we’ll say. Or something along those lines.”

  “With respect, boss. I thought you were all about doing things by the book.”

  “I am. This is a final resort, Dennis. I don’t want to use this evidence. I wish I damn well could, but I can’t. It’s the most important item we’ve got and because of the way it was found, we can’t give it to the CPS. But that doesn’t mean it won’t help our investigation. If Gail finds DNA on that axe…”

  Dennis shrugged. “Can’t deny that. I just think PC Abbott should have been told not to go poking her nose into the investigation.”

  “By whom?”

  He reddened. “Ma’am.”

  She let it drop. “I see it differently. I see it as a young constable using her initiative. I see it as a woman who went over and above to help us crack this investigation.”

  He stared at her. “You’re joking?”

  “No, Sergeant. PC Abbott shows potential. She’s keen, she’s bright, and she’s damn good with the public.”

  His left eye twitched.

  “I said ‘damn’, Dennis. I could have said ‘bloody’, I could have said worse. But I didn’t. I said ‘damn’. Can we compromise on that at least?”

  He shuffled his shoulders. He was itching to look back at his desk, where the swear box sat in proud isolation. She wouldn’t be putting any coins in it. But at the same time, she didn’t want to offend him.

  “I’ll try not to blaspheme,” she said. “I can’t promise, but I’ll do my best. And I’ll keep the swearing to the kind of words you might use in front of your Great Auntie Mildred.”

  “Not my Great Auntie Mildred,” he muttered.

  “You’ve got a Great Auntie Mildred?”

  “I was talking figuratively,” he replied.

  She laughed. “Me too. Right, come on then. We’ve got work to do. Two suspects, one weapon. Let’s narrow it down, eh?”

  Lesley’s phone vibrated on the desk. She glanced at the display. “That’ll be all, thank you Dennis.”

  He looked down. Even if he could see the name upside down, he wouldn’t recognise it.

  He left the room and closed the door. As he approached the bank of desks, the two DCs looked up. Johnny spoke to him. Dennis shook his head. He picked up the swear box, opened a desk drawer and placed it inside. He closed the drawer, saying something curt to Johnny.

  Lesley smiled. She answered the phone. “Zoe, good to hear from you.”

  “I’ve got some information on your DCI Mackie.”

  Lesley crossed to the door of her office and made sure it was firmly closed. She walked back to the window and stood against it, anxious for nobody in the next room to overhear her.

  She cupped her hand around the receiver. “Go on.”

  “OK,” Zoe said. “He was a DCI in Dorset Police from September 2003 to just two months ago. He retired early, age of fifty-eight.”

  Lesley raised an eyebrow. “How did he manage that?”

  “Not sure yet. I can keep digging if you want?”

  “Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

  “I won’t.”

  “No idea why he retired early?”

  “Not yet. But what I can tell you is that within a week of retiring, he died suddenly.”

  “Ill health retirement?” Lesley asked.

  “No,” Zoe replied. “He killed himself.”

  “What?”

  Lesley ran over the few conversations she’d had about DCI Mackie since joining the Dorset force. Nobody had mentioned suicide.

  “Maybe he was terminally ill?” Zoe suggested. “And decided to end it himself before it got too bad.”

  Lesley leaned against the cold glass at the window. “Poor man.”

  Suicide was frowned upon amongst police officers. They saw at close hand the impact it had on the people who discovered the body and those closest to the deceased. She wondered what level of desperation would have made DCI Mackie want to inflict that on the professionals who would be left to clean up the mess.

  “So where was he found?” Lesley asked.

  “Near Swanage, on the beach. Below the cliffs.”

  “He threw himself off a cliff.” Lesley shuddered.

  “Yeah.”

  She looked out through the glass separating her office from her team. DCI Mackie had only been dead for two months. She didn’t know how close they’d been to him, but they would still be grieving.

  Dennis was at his desk, talking on his mobile phone. He’d found it so hard to accept her. Maybe it wasn’t because she was a woman, or because she was from the city. Or even because she swore.

  It was because she wasn’t DCI Mackie.

  “Thanks for this, Zoe,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

  “Do you need me to do any more digging?” Zoe asked.

  “Not right now,” Lesley replied. “Let’s just leave it.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Jade Ford got off the bus and yanked up the hood of her hoody, wishing she’d worn something better than a denim jacket over it. Did it always rain in this godforsaken place?

  She’d been warm on the bus, at least. The heating had been right underneath her seat, blasting through her legs and making her sweat. Her limbs felt stiff after being cooped up on a total of three buses. Five hours, it had taken.

  She was in a square. A monument in front of her, the castle to the side.

  She checked Google Maps. Laila had lived up to the left, in a row of cottages. Jade sniffed. She didn’t like the countryside. Her sister loved it, yomping around in muddy boots, digging up pieces of history.

  But Jade was a city girl. She’d moved to London after graduating, and hardly spoke to her family these days. But Laila had sent her the parcel that was burning a hole in her rucksack, and she needed to know why.

  She hauled her way along the narrow lane, her legs stiff. The houses were tiny, with low windows and doors made for gnomes. God knows how people lived here.

  At last Jade found the right address.

  A man was outside, unlocking the front door. He held a blue and white golfing umbrella which he shook out before stepping inside. He was old, older than her dad.

  Was this the right house?

  She double checked then walked to the house, her senses tingling. She knocked.

  She pulled her shoulders back, trying not to look as if she’d spent five hours sitting on buses. Trying not to look like she’d barely slept for the last two nights.

  The door opened. The man wore a threadbare grey jumper and a pair of jeans with mud on the hems.

&
nbsp; “Who are you?” he snapped.

  She stared back at him. “My name’s Jade. I’m Laila’s sister.”

  His nostrils flared. She felt a shiver run down her back. Dirty old man. She knew the type.

  Laila had told her about him, and now here she was, turning up on his doorstep. Was this wise?

  You can do this.

  “Can I come in?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re her sister?”

  She nodded, slowly. “Please, let me in.”

  He stood back, not leaving quite enough space for her to pass him.

  She shrunk away as she squeezed through. If it wasn’t for her damn rucksack, she’d have turned her back to him. But she didn’t want him anywhere near that.

  The parcel inside it was like a beacon, itching for her to open it again. She’d read the contents. She’d called Laila about it.

  But it had been too late. And none of it made any sense.

  Bringing it here might be a bad idea, but it was all she had.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Tina Abbott sat at her desk, thanking the heavens that Lesley Clarke was the forgiving type.

  The DCI had given her paperwork to run through. She hadn’t kicked her off the case, despite everything. She’d been taken off the FLO assignment and she wasn’t exactly a core part of the team. But here she was, still working through evidence, still involved.

  She liked the DCI. The woman was abrupt, her language made DS Frampton bristle. Tina enjoyed that. It was like a breath of fresh air in the office, better than DCI Mackie. He’d looked at Tina in a way that made her flesh crawl. He’d made comments about the way her uniform fitted. She shuddered at the memory.

  She opened another file, evidence that had been sent through from one of the universities, Bournemouth or Bristol. She was losing track. But DI Goodall had shared his files with her, she’d managed to win his trust.

  She scanned the document in front of her and sighed. Nothing useful. She closed it down and opened another.

  Three documents came and went. Nothing relevant, or at least nothing she could see. Maybe she should talk to one of the DCs. Check she wasn’t missing something obvious. But they were busy, each assigned their roles. The DCI had made it clear what people were supposed to be doing.

  Mike was working on some of the documents, too. She’d conferred with him before she started. But Mike was OK. He wasn’t old-fashioned like DS Frampton, or standoffish like Johnny. He was a misfit too.

  She opened a fifth document and ran her eyes down the screen.

  She stopped. She scrolled back up again.

  Tina shook her head. She put the document to one side and opened another one. They were similar. She brought the two up next to each other and flicked her gaze from side to side.

  She opened a third.

  This one corroborated the first two. She felt her breath catch in her throat. She looked over at Mike, who was on the phone. She glanced over towards Dennis Frampton. The DS was looking at her, a question in his eyes. Tina felt her limbs stiffen.

  “Sarge,” she said. “I think I’ve got something.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  “You’ve come a long way,” the man said.

  Jade shrugged.

  “Her funeral won’t be till next week, the police have still got her body.”

  “I didn’t come for her funeral.”

  He sat down in an armchair. It was green and threadbare, and it sagged as he sat.

  Jade stood behind the sofa. She eased the rucksack off her back and held it in front of her, like it was made of precious metal.

  “So what are you here for, then?” the man asked.

  “What’s your name?” she asked him.

  “Patrick,” he said. He had an Irish accent. “And you’re Jade. You don’t look like her, you know.”

  Another shrug. She wasn’t about to tell him they had different dads.

  “She was pretty, your sister,” he said.

  I know, she thought. She told me what you did to her.

  The man leaned back in his chair and plunged his hands into his pockets.

  “You gonna tell me what you’re here for, then?”

  “I’m tired,” she said.

  “Well sit the fuck down.”

  She bristled at the harsh language. “I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea.”

  He barked out a laugh. “So you turn up out of nowhere. A week early, at least, for the funeral, and you want me to make you a cup of tea?” He gestured toward the kitchen. “The kettle’s through there.”

  Clutching the rucksack to her chest, she shuffled through to the kitchen. Making herself a drink might calm her nerves. It might steady her unease at being alone with this man.

  What had she been thinking? She should have gone to the university, she should have contacted one of Laila’s bosses. But they didn’t know about Laila’s background. Not a graduate, but an undergraduate. And one who’d dropped out, at that.

  She jumped as she heard the front door to the cottage open. Voices, a man and a woman. She stepped back into the living room, the rucksack still in her arms.

  A woman stood in the doorway. She had short, messed up hair and her trousers were covered in mud.

  She looked at Jade. “Who the hell are you?”

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  The team stood in front of Lesley’s desk, their body language itchy and impatient. They were desperate to get out there, to make an arrest.

  “You’ve got enough, boss,” Dennis said.

  Lesley shook her head.

  PC Abbott stood next to her, her fingers brushing the desk. She’d printed out three documents and brought them in, Dennis trotting along beside her. Lesley was pleased with the young woman. She’d messed up at the cottage, the illegal search. But now, she’d made up for it.

  Lesley spread the documents out on her desk. “It’s not enough,” she said. “You know what I said. Dot the I’s, cross the T’s. We need everything. You guys know the leads you should be following. Mike, the funding. Dennis, the assault. Johnny, talk to Tony Goodall in Bristol. See what he makes of this.”

  Dennis sighed. “It’s plenty. I admit that—”

  She raised a hand. “I’ll tell you when it’s plenty.”

  “Boss?” Johnny said.

  “Get on with it then,” she said. “I need to talk to the Super.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Susan sat down on her bed as the call was picked up.

  “Tony,” she breathed. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you.”

  “Sorry, sweetie. Busy at work. How are you?”

  “Coping,” she said.

  Millie was downstairs with Fiona, the two of them making pancakes together. She’d seen Millie smile for the first time since the news about her dad.

  She clutched the phone closer to her ear. “I miss you.”

  “I know, Susie, but you asked me to stay away.”

  “I told them about you, remember? I don’t need you to steer clear anymore.”

  “It’s complicated, love,” he said. “And besides…”

  “Besides, what?” she asked him.

  He took a breath. “There’s something I haven’t been telling you. Now isn’t the time. I’ll come round later, yeah? We’ll talk tonight.”

  “No,” she said. “What is it?”

  “It’s a case I’m working on. It involves… Nothing. You don’t need all this.”

  “Tony.” Her heart felt heavy. “If there’s a problem, I want to know about it. I’m fed up with people tiptoeing around me. Fiona looks at me like I might break.”

  “But you might,” he said.

  “I was going to divorce him, wasn’t I? He was unfaithful for years. Why should I be grieving for him?”

  His voice softened. “You are, Susie. Despite what we have, you’re allowed to grieve for him.”

  “Tell me about the case,” she said.

  “I can’t, love. It’s confidential.”


  “So why did you raise it?”

  “We’re nearly done with it. Once it’s over, I’ll tell you.”

  “OK.” She sniffed.

  She heard Millie’s voice coming up the stairs. “Mummy! Pancakes!” Susan felt her heart lift.

  “I’ll speak to you later,” she said. “Love you.”

  “I love you too, Susie.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Detective Superintendent Carpenter gazed at Lesley over his desk. This was the third time she’d been in here and she still didn’t feel comfortable.

  The man leaned back in his chair, making it swivel from side to side.

  “So you want a warrant,” he said.

  “I’m not sure we’ve got enough yet. But my team is still working on it.”

  “What angles are they pursuing?”

  “We’re looking for more paperwork, more documentary evidence,” she said. “Dennis is looking into the suspect’s past and Mike has been liaising with the fraud team in Bristol.”

  “So you’re still investigating both of them?”

  “We can’t rule out the possibility they both might be involved, Sir.”

  “Hmm.” He looked down at the documents she’d placed on his desk. “But you’ve got one who you prefer?”

  She nodded. “I do, Sir.”

  “Do you think you’ve got grounds for arrest?”

  Her head was throbbing. She’d taken painkillers, but they’d hardly made a dent. “Not quite, Sir.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “I want to be ready. If one of them killed Laila and Archie, the other one is at risk.”

  “They’ve been at risk for days,” he said. “What’s all the urgency now?”

  “When you finally uncover the evidence you need, Sir, I believe it’s prudent to act quickly.”

  He snorted. “Prudent to act quickly? No, Lesley. You need more. Get back to me when you’ve got hard evidence.”

  She licked her lips. “In the meantime, I’ll head over to the cottage.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You won’t be making an arrest.”