Cavendish & Walker Box Set

by Sally Rigby

  ‘Yes. We all went. Why?’ Rachel asked.

  She debated whether to mention all the other victims had been there. It wasn’t something they’d publicised, but she was on such a short time frame she had no choice.

  ‘We’ve discovered the other victims were there. Who else were you with at the party?’

  ‘I was with my boyfriend,’ Rachel said.

  ‘Me, too,’ Gemma added.

  She looked at Becky. ‘You?’

  ‘No. Poppy and I spent most of the time together.’

  ‘Did Poppy have a boyfriend?’ She cringed internally, knowing that she’d totally fucked up by not even covering all of this earlier, at the time of the death. But rehashing her mistakes wasn’t going to help them now.

  ‘Not really,’ Rachel said.

  ‘Not really? What does that mean?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘She had the hots for Henry.’

  ‘Henry Spencer?’

  ‘Yes. But most of the time he wasn’t interested.’

  ‘Most of the time?’ She frowned.

  ‘One night she went out with him, but it didn’t go well,’ Rachel said.

  ‘In what way?’ she asked, her senses on full alert, and her heart pumping.

  ‘They went back to his house, and they were—you know—kissing and stuff. Then he suddenly told her to leave. Said he didn’t want to take things further,’ Rachel said.

  ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘He said he couldn’t do it because he had feelings for someone else,’ Rachel said.

  She shifted awkwardly in her seat. This was her daughter’s boyfriend they were talking about. She flashed a glance at George, who was sitting on the edge of her chair, no doubt having similar thoughts to hers.

  ‘What happened then?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing. He was still nice to Poppy. Like he is to everyone.’

  ‘Becky, did you notice anyone paying particular attention to Poppy? Did anyone proposition her? Anything you can think of that might help us,’ Whitney asked.

  Becky was quiet for a few seconds. ‘Not really,’ she finally said. ‘Although she did say something about Henry and the way he couldn’t keep his eyes off a girl who was there. I don’t know her name. She’s in the engineering department, I think.’

  Did she mean Tiffany? She pulled out her phone, calling up a recent photo of her. ‘Is this the girl?’

  ‘Yes, that’s her,’ Becky said.

  ‘Can you think of anything else?’ she asked as she popped the phone back into her pocket.

  ‘Actually, now you ask. I do remember Poppy commenting on a guy who was sitting on one of the sofas in the corner of the lounge. He was on his own. I didn’t see him, though.’

  ‘Can you remember her exact words? Did she say anything at all about him? His name. What he looked like. Anything?’ This could be the lead they were searching for.

  ‘She said to me there was this guy, who was sitting holding a can of beer, and he kept looking at her. She said he was kind of cute but seemed out of it. Like he was drunk or high. That’s all. I got the impression she didn’t know him. She’d have mentioned his name if she did. Do you think he’s the killer?’ Becky’s hand flew up to her chest.

  ‘We don’t know. But we’ll investigate further. Thank you. I appreciate your cooperation.’ She pulled out a card from her pocket. ‘Give me a call if you remember anything. However inconsequential you think it might be.’

  ‘Okay,’ Becky said as she took it from her.

  ‘Before we go. What was Poppy’s favourite food?’

  ‘Sushi,’ Rachel replied. ‘Why?’

  ‘We just need it for our records. We’ll see ourselves out. Thanks for your help.’

  They had very little time left, so it was important for them to speak to Henry and Harriet straight away to see if they could remember the guy Becky mentioned. As they left the flat and walked to the lift, she turned to George.

  ‘We need to find this young man. Let’s go back to the twins’ house.’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  George leaned back in the car seat while Whitney put her foot to the floor and flicked the switch on the siren. She’d never been in a police car with the siren blaring, and despite the situation, adrenaline spiked at her pulse points.

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ Whitney grinned at her.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘The look on your face. Everyone has it the first time they’re speeding in a police car.’

  ‘It is sort of exciting,’ she said, feeling stupid for having such a juvenile reaction.

  ‘I still love it, after all these years. Even though most of the time I’m heading into an unknown situation which could be potentially dangerous,’ Whitney admitted in a confiding voice.

  It was the friendliest Whitney had been the whole time since they’d met. Had working together to such a tight deadline brought them closer? What she liked most about Whitney was she had none of the academic pretensions that existed at the university. Most of the time it didn’t bother her, but occasionally she wished her colleagues stop trying to outdo each other. Especially when it came to research. A research conference, where academics tried their utmost to discredit other presenters, had to be seen to be believed.

  ‘How long have you been a DCI?’

  ‘Less than a year. It still hasn’t sunk in, especially as it wasn’t an easy journey.’

  That piqued George’s interest even more. ‘In what way?’

  ‘I made it to sergeant without any problems, then the wheels started to come off.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘In case you haven’t noticed, I do have a tendency to do things my way and worry about the consequences later.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen the way you work.’ George laughed.

  ‘Well, the trouble with the police is they expect you to do everything by the book. I agree. But sometimes the book, or should I say the way some of my superiors view things, isn’t always the best way to proceed. Especially the likes of Jamieson, who has zero idea about the real nature of the work.’

  ‘But I thought he was new?’

  ‘He is. I was just using him as an example. When I was thinking about applying for DI, I was involved in a case which took me in direct opposition to my DCI, and he blocked my promotion.’

  ‘But you proved him wrong by solving the case?’ George asked.

  ‘It didn’t matter to him.’

  ‘That must have hurt.’

  ‘It wasn’t just that. He didn’t like I was a single parent with a young daughter. Though he didn’t actually say so, I know it went against me.’

  ‘What about Tiffany’s father?’ she asked.

  ‘Tiffany’s dad was a little shit who I hooked up with one night after too many vodkas. I didn’t even tell him I was pregnant. His name isn’t on the birth certificate.’

  ‘That can’t have been easy.’

  ‘It wasn’t. I dropped out of my A-levels to have her and applied for the police when I was eighteen. I couldn’t have done it without the help of Mum and Dad.’

  ‘How does Tiffany feel about everything?’

  ‘She’s never been interested in finding out about him. I told her it was a one-night stand, and she accepted it. Do you think I was wrong?’ Whitney glanced at her, as if expecting to be judged.

  ‘Not at all. It was your decision. Nothing to do with me, or anyone, other than you and Tiffany.’

  ‘Agreed. I don’t even know if he still lives in the area.’

  ‘But you could find out.’

  ‘We’re not allowed to use the system for our own gains,’ Whitney said.

  ‘Like that would stop you,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘You know me well.’

  ‘Getting to. Have you ever been married?’

  ‘No. I’ve never been interested. My job takes up most of my time. Plus, looking after Tiffany and spending more time with Mum and Rob. It’s hard for Mum now she’s getting older.’ Whitney’s voice
tailed off.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘Not wrong exactly. Mum’s memory seems to be going. She’s started to repeat things and occasionally gets confused. I’m sure she’s fine; she’s probably just tired. It’s tough having to look after Rob at her age. I help where I can. She’s not well off financially, so I give her money each week.’

  ‘Maybe you should ask her to go to the doctor and mention what’s been happening,’ she suggested. It could be early signs of dementia.

  ‘I doubt she’ll listen to me. But once the case is over, I’ll see. Do you think it could be serious?’

  ‘I don’t know. But any change in behaviour should be investigated, to put your mind at ease.’

  ‘Okay. Will do. Now it’s your turn.’ Whitney flashed a smile in her direction.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘You know all about me, and now I want to hear about you. You said you’d broken up with your boyfriend. Why? Were you together for long?’

  She bristled. Talking about herself was something she went to great lengths to avoid. Especially to someone she didn’t know very well. It looked like she wasn’t in charge of her own life. Then again, Whitney had just confided a lot, so perhaps she owed her.

  ‘We’d been together for about fifteen months. Six of which he lived with me.’ She made it sound all matter of fact.

  ‘Did you find it hard?’

  ‘Why?’ Was Whitney pointing out how difficult she could be? Stuck in her ways and resistant to change.

  ‘I’m curious. I haven’t lived with anyone before, but I’m sure it would drive me crazy.’

  Okay. So, she’d totally misinterpreted the question.

  ‘Well, yes it was hard. I have my routines and he had his. But they often didn’t coincide.’

  ‘Is that why you finished it?’

  ‘No. He was seeing someone else.’ The words struggled to come out, but once they had, it was like a weight was lifted.

  ‘What a bastard. How did you find out?’

  ‘Remember the other night at the Black Swan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I saw him leave with her. They’d been in the dining room having a meal. He didn’t even notice me. I confronted him about it earlier today.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He tried to put the blame on me. Told me I was boring and predictable, and he wanted someone more passionate.’ The words stuck in her throat.

  It seemed like a dream. A bad dream. But one she was glad she’d had. It had only been a short time, but she didn’t miss him. Stephen who? And it wasn’t like she’d be bumping into him all the time at work. Not if the previous few months were anything to go by. Sometime soon, everyone in the department would find out, and then she’d sit back and watch the students and staff start making a play for him.

  ‘Take no notice of him. He just said it to make himself feel better. He’s not worth the shit on your shoes. You’re much better off without him.’ Whitney banged the steering wheel for emphasis.

  She laughed. Whitney had him nailed, and she wasn’t even the one who’d studied psychology.

  ‘You’re right. I’m better off without him, the prick.’

  ‘You know what? He didn’t deserve you. So what if you like routine and predictability? I’d kill to be like that sometimes. All I manage to do is lurch from one situation to another. I go off on one when I should keep quiet and think things through. It’s like there’s something missing between my brain and my mouth. It’s got me in trouble on so many occasions. Whereas you. You always seem so in control. Calm and controlled. I envy you.’

  ‘I like being in control,’ she admitted. ‘Most of the time. Sometimes, though, I wonder what it would be like to take each day as it comes. To do things on the spur of the moment, instead of planning to the nth degree. But I can’t change who I am.’ She shrugged, trying to make light of it.

  ‘Seriously? I’d have thought being a psychologist you would assume people could change who they are. Don’t you work with people to help them get over their problems?’

  Whitney’s insight surprised her. She’d definitely misjudged her. Assuming because of the way she talked, and the job she did, she couldn’t put forward a rational argument. How could she have been so narrow-minded and judgemental?

  ‘You’re right. Sorry. I’m not thinking straight.’

  ‘That’s got to be a first. You’ve been hanging around with me for too long.’ Whitney chuckled. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Before long you’ll be getting all hot headed and emotional.’

  ‘At least you recognise your traits and how they manifest. I hadn’t realised how boring and predictable mine make me.’

  ‘You’re not boring or predictable.’ Whitney paused. ‘Well, most of the time you’re not.’ She grinned. ‘Don’t let the arsewipe get under your skin.’

  She stared out of the window. This was all too much for her brain to process. She watched the trees flash by as they turned into the street where the twins lived. ‘I won’t. I assume nothing’s changed and we’re operating as before, when we get to the twins’ house. You talk. I’ll listen and watch.’

  ‘You really needed to ask?’ Whitney replied.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  George stepped out of the car and shivered, wrapping her arms tightly around her. It had been dark for a while now and the icy wind whistled past. She cursed herself for not bringing any gloves. While Whitney was finishing the call she was on, she stared at the house the twins lived in. A typical end terrace in Lloyd Road, dating back to the nineteen thirties. Solid brick with a single bay window overlooking the street.

  ‘Let’s go.’ Whitney’s voice distracted her from her thoughts.

  They walked down the short concrete path, and Whitney knocked on the door. After waiting a while, she knocked again. Finally, Harriet answered, her eyes red and swollen.

  ‘Hello, Harriet. Do you mind if we come in? We’d like to talk to you again,’ Whitney asked.

  ‘I’m the only one here. Hal has taken Tiffany home. She was very upset. We all are.’ She sniffed, standing back from the door to let them walk through, and closing the door behind them.

  They walked into the sitting room and sat down.

  ‘When did Henry and Tiffany leave?’ Whitney asked.

  George glanced at Whitney. It was obvious from her anxious tone she was worried.

  ‘Not long ago.’ Harriet looked at her watch. ‘Maybe ten minutes. Hal said he’d come straight back, once Tiffany was okay.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll call her after we leave. It’s a lot for all of you to absorb.’

  ‘Do you want to wait for Henry to come back?’

  ‘No. We can talk to you.’

  ‘Okay.’ Harriet leaned forward in her chair, looking directly at Whitney.

  It was a good chance to see the twins separately. When together, they were so close, it was like they knew exactly what the other one was thinking. But, without Henry, Harriet lost some of her charisma. Though that could have been down to her being so upset about Lydia.

  ‘I’d like to ask about your party,’ Whitney said.

  ‘Didn’t we discuss it before?’

  ‘Yes. But we’ve now discovered every girl who was murdered did attend.’

  Harriet’s hand shot up to her mouth. ‘That’s awful. Was the murderer here, too?’

  ‘Not necessarily. But we do have to consider it.’

  ‘But we don’t know everyone who was there, so how can we possibly work out who he is?’

  ‘Do you remember a guy sitting on his own, in here on the sofa?’ Whitney asked. ‘Maybe drunk or high.’

  Harriet frowned. ‘Not really. No.’

  ‘Think hard,’ Whitney pushed.

  ‘I’m trying.’ Harriet was silent for a few seconds. ‘I need the loo. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  As Harriet left the room, Whitney turned to her. ‘What do you think? Are we wasting our time here?’

  ‘Too e
arly to say. Give her time. Remember, she’s in shock.’ She wandered over to the shelf over the fireplace and looked at the ornaments, which she recognised as being from the Middle East and South America.

  ‘We got those on our travels overseas.’ She started at the sound of Harriet’s voice from behind her.

  ‘You’ve travelled a lot?’ George asked.

  ‘You could say. Not many continents we haven’t been to.’ Harriet went over to the sofa and sat down. She appeared calmer now. ‘I’ve been thinking about this guy. Do you know what he looks like?’

  ‘Cute. That’s the only description I have,’ Whitney replied.

  ‘Let me think. The sofa was moved over there into the corner.’ Harriet pointed over by the window. ‘Whenever I was in here, there were usually people sitting on it. Or on cushions on the floor. Or just standing around. But I can’t remember a cute guy sitting there alone. Unless—unless—’ Harriet paused.

  ‘What?’

  She became on full alert, praying Harriet would come up with something they could use.

  ‘I can’t be sure, and I’ll have to ask Hal. When it got to midnight, they sang happy birthday to us. We were in here, and everyone was on their feet except one guy who sat on the sofa. I’ve only just remembered. I’d had quite a lot to drink.’

  ‘Do you have a name?’

  ‘No. Sorry.’

  ‘Can you describe him to me?’ Whitney took out her notebook and pen from her pocket.

  ‘Not really. It wasn’t very light as we only had a couple of small lamps. Hang on. I do remember. Someone turned on the main lights and got shouted at, so they turned them off almost immediately. Yes. He was sitting in the middle of the sofa, holding a drink. A bottle of something, but I don’t know what. He had longish dark hair. Well, just to his shoulders, and it was falling in front of his face.’

  ‘What was he wearing?’

  ‘Jeans and shirt. I can’t remember the colour.’

  ‘And you’ve no idea of his name?’

  ‘I’ve already told you, I don’t know the names of half the people who came.’

  ‘Do you remember him arriving at the party?’

  ‘Around ten-thirty, loads of people turned up together. He could’ve been one of them. Before then, I remember seeing most people arrive, as Hal and I hovered close to the door to say hello.’