by Anita Waller
‘But all of these people are in danger,’ Kat protested. ‘It seems whoever did it is taking them out one by one. He or she has clearly found out they witnessed it, and if we don’t tell the police, they’re unprotected.’
‘Let’s get our stories right. Let’s go through these photos, and I mean scrutinise everything carefully because there may be something in them that will ring bells with us. Now, what about Leon? Will he walk in on us if we utilise this table?’
‘He’s away overnight,’ Kat said. ‘Let’s get going with this, because I’m feeling a real sense of urgency in it.’
Mouse handed out the files, and the three women began their epic bout of scrutinising every picture, making notes rather than interrupting the others; it would be easier to discuss when they all reached the end.
It was as Kat reached the spray of flowers sent by Sarah Hodgson that she remembered the photos she had on her phone from the funeral.
‘I have some pictures,’ she said, and Mouse looked up.
‘Of?’
‘Of people I believed were these friends. There’s no guarantees I got the right ones, because those pictures we saw that you downloaded were from when they were younger. You want to see them?’
‘I’ll go and print them for us. You two carry on here, I’ll only be a few minutes.’
She ran upstairs, and Doris topped up the wine glasses. ‘We’re going to need this,’ she said.
23
Two hours later, they were ready to talk. They had moved on to coffee, recognising that maybe the wine might fudge their thoughts a little.
‘So, first thoughts. Nan?’
Doris turned to Kat. ‘The main thing to strike me was that the flowers from his friends of old all mentioned the past. Without exception. And to me that means they think Anthony died because of what they shared. So why is nobody talking? They must be scared. Or do they think that Anthony is somehow involved deeply in a criminal life and asked for it? That he had done something that merited being punished that they haven’t done?’
‘I couldn’t agree more with that. Let’s look at Caroline’s wreath. RIP Anthony. A life ended much too early. You didn’t deserve this, we stuck together. We would have worked. All my love, Caroline. Xxx. To me, this is saying the group stuck together. The second we is personal, she means her and Anthony. Was there something between them?’ Kat queried.
‘I can partly answer that,’ Mouse said. ‘Caroline was Anthony’s escort a couple of times. If she came on to him a bit heavy, he would back off. I wouldn’t mind betting she used their long-term friendship to try to snare him properly. He must have asked for a different escort, because the agency tend to use the same ones if the client says they’re happy with the arrangements. Enter me. And that night he said he wanted to use me as his escort as a permanent thing, circumventing the agency and just ringing me to book me. That is most unusual. That tells me he was wanting to be well away from Caroline.’
Doris nodded. ‘So what do you think to Peter Swift’s card?
Kat pulled the picture towards her. ‘We kept the faith, Anthony, we kept the faith. RIP, mate, till we meet again. If you didn’t know, or even didn’t guess, at the circumstances, you would gloss over these words assuming they were personal between sender and recipient. I wonder if DI Marsden is mulling over these cards just as we are.’
Mouse laughed. ‘She might be, if she knows about the connection between all of these people and Anthony. Bet she’s found out the legal way though.’
‘I can vaguely remember this Craig Adams murder happening,’ Kat said. ‘They found him in the river Wye, but he didn’t drown. He was shot. We couldn’t go near the river for ages, they had it cordoned off. But that’s as much as I remember.’
Mouse smiled at her. ‘That’s what the Internet’s for, Kat; you no longer have to remember things. It’s all on there for the taking. Let’s have a quick look at these pictures you took at the funeral, make sure we all know what they look like now.’
It seemed Kat had picked out the right people, and once they’d agreed on that, the pictures were stuck into the book they had set aside for information collated that was accurate.
Doris said she would take charge of their murder book, and did they think DI Marsden would give her a job because she was quite enjoying doing this research.
‘Nan, you’re in your sixties, I think it’s a bit late to be looking at a new career.’ Mouse laughed. ‘I think we need to look more into Craig Adams, find out his background and why somebody would want to kill him. I know it’s not definite he’s the link, but the date of his death and the date of that birthday where they all met up suggest they’re connected.’
Kat stood. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea. We got any buns?’
‘Butterfly buns in the blue box,’ Doris said. ‘Made them this morning.’
Kat blew her a kiss. ‘Doris, when Mouse finds her new home and leaves us, will you stay on here please?’
‘With pleasure. Having that hunk of a Leon pottering around the house is a bit of a bonus.’
Kat grinned. That was exactly how she felt.
Isla headed downstairs after reading to the children, trying to put her tongue and brain back into English after reading Dr Seuss yet again. The children loved the books, but after reading them many many times, they became a little tedious.
Reuben, at nine, was old enough to appreciate Harry Potter, and she couldn’t wait for Nancy to reach eight, when Isla felt she would be ready to tackle the villainous Malfoy. One more year…
She headed for the kitchen, glad that Gerry’s trip to Southampton had merited a night out. The whole bed to herself, utter luxury. She loaded the dishwasher, tidied away the children’s paints – the pictures they had created were nothing short of wonderful, if you liked Picassoesque paintings – and bagged up the garbage to take out to the wheelie bin. She looked around the kitchen, checking there was nothing else to go in the black bag before tying the drawstring, then placed it outside the back door. The bin would be emptied just after seven, so it had to go by the roadside before she went to bed.
She watched the last half hour of a documentary about Chester Zoo animals, and decided to have an early night.
The garbage bag was heavy and she threw it in the already full black wheelie bin, pressing down hard on the lid to try to flatten the contents. The darkness engulfed her, and she glanced up at the stars, so many in evidence on such a clear night.
It took considerable effort to get the bin to the pavement; it meant crossing the yard that lorries continually ploughed up then flattened, and the terrain was anything but smooth. She reached the road, stood the bin by the wall that marked the boundary of their property, making sure it didn’t block the pavement, then turned to go back inside.
She saw nothing, she felt nothing. The bullet exploded into her brain and she dropped to the floor.
The shadowy figure, dressed in black, followed the wall around, and headed across the spare land, hugging the stone wall as closely as he could.
PC Ray Charlton had called to the pub for just one pint after driving home from work. He lived with his wife and son, but he was considering suggesting a house move, and he thought things through better with a pint in his hand.
He was considering selling up and moving nearer to Chesterfield; he couldn’t see himself changing stations, he enjoyed working under Marsden even if she did knock him a bit for his timekeeping, but his timekeeping depended a lot on traffic. If he didn’t have that lengthy journey, he would be there on time. Perhaps.
He had a lot to consider. The house in Stoney Middleton had been his parents and his grandparents, and they’d done a lot to it following his mum and dad dying within a year of each other. They would get a tidy sum; not enough to buy a helicopter to make travelling to work easier, but definitely enough to not need a mortgage for a property in Chesterfield. The biggest issues were it would make his wife’s commute to the library for work about ten minutes longer, and Ben would have to cha
nge schools. That wouldn’t be easy for him as he approached GCSE time. Ray definitely needed thinking time.
He’d been tied to a computer all day, following links to the people who had left wreaths, reviewing the video of the funeral that showed all the mourners, and his eyes ached. He was ready for bed. He downed the last of his pint and stood, his thoughts still no clearer.
‘Quiet tonight, Margaret,’ he said to the landlady. ‘You on your own?’
‘Yes, I’ve enjoyed it,’ she smiled. ‘The darts team are playing at Bakewell, and I think all the customers must have gone to support them. You any closer to finding out who killed Anthony?’
‘Getting there,’ he said. ‘Getting there. You knew him?’
‘A little bit. He was in the Bradwell cricket team, along with Sam, the husband who was on bar duty tonight until he decided he couldn’t miss the darts tournament,’ she said with a wry grin. ‘There are three of our regulars in that cricket team.’
‘Good bloke, was he? Jackson, I mean, not your missing Sam.’
‘Very pleasant. Never caused any trouble, bought rounds without expecting anything back. He once threw somebody out for me who’d had a bit too much, and Sam was out… again.’
‘We’re following every lead,’ Ray said. ‘There’s half a chance we’ll turn up here to talk to you and Sam.’
He placed his pint pot on the bar, and said goodnight.
The pub door closed behind him, and he stood for a moment looking up and down the road, the main one running through the village. It was eerily quiet. He stepped to the pavement edge and saw the clothing on the floor, half in the haulage yard and half on the pavement.
He knew it wasn’t just clothing; he knew there was a body inside the dress. He reached it in seconds. The blood and brain matter was scattered far and wide, and he didn’t need to check for a pulse.
He took out his phone and spoke to control.
Margaret could see the flashing blue lights reflecting in the pub windows, and she went to the door to look outside. Her hand went to her mouth as she saw the number of cars, the road block that had been set up, and the body lying on the ground. Isla Yardley. She recognised the blue and white spotted fabric of her dress that she had worn earlier in the day when they had bumped into each other in the Co-op.
She saw Ray looking towards her as she stood framed in the doorway, and he waved. He headed across the road.
‘You’d better contact the darts team, tell them not to come back to the pub. The road’s going to be closed for a while.’
‘It’s Isla, isn’t it?’ Margaret whispered. ‘That’s the dress she had on earlier. We met in the shop then went for a coffee. Is she…?’
‘She is. I’m sorry, Margaret. Did you hear anything?’
‘No, but you were in the pub anyway. Did you?’
He shook his head.
‘She’s been shot?’
‘Yes. We’ve got somebody in watching the children, but they say their dad is on an overnighter. They’re not sure where.’
‘Southampton. She mentioned it earlier. Said she was looking forward to an evening on her own. Gerry doesn’t do many runs these days, but they’ve two drivers on holiday, so he took this one. If you want to bring the children here, I can look after them until Gerry gets back. We’ve spare beds the grandchildren use and the kids know me. They’ll be very welcome, poor little mites. They must be scared, and it’s going to be a few hours before Gerry gets back.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell DI Marsden, when she… oh, she’s just arrived. I’ll let you know what she says.’
Within an hour, the children were sleeping at the pub, both too tired to take in what was happening, and both wanting their mum.
The CCTV from Yardley’s Haulage had been downloaded and would be checked back at the station, along with CCTV from the pub.
Gerry Yardley had switched off his phone when he went to bed, and saw the missed calls when he woke at five, ready to start the long journey home after he’d had a hefty breakfast in the truck stop.
He didn’t get his breakfast, set off immediately and arrived back in Stoney Middleton mid-morning. He couldn’t get near the yard, so left the lorry on the main road with hazards flashing. He hoped no speeding drivers would smash into it.
He gave his name at the crime scene tape, and the PC ushered him under it, and pointed out DI Marsden, who had settled for three hours of sleep in order to be back at the scene when Gerry Yardley arrived.
His wife’s body had been removed to the morgue, and a fingertip search of the yard was taking place, along with the field outside the yard, bordered by the stone wall.
Marsden accompanied Gerry inside his home, separated from the yard by a high fence. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr Yardley,’ were her opening words. ‘Your children are safe with Margaret, at the pub. We took them there last night.’
He nodded, the bleakness in his eyes heartbreaking to see. ‘Thank you. Why? Why would anybody want to hurt Isla? She hadn’t a nasty bone in her body.’
‘There hadn’t been anything unusual over the last few weeks then? Nothing to cause you worry? Your business doesn’t have problems?’
‘Nothing, as far as I’m aware. The only unusual thing has been Anthony Jackson’s funeral. We were there for that. But apart from them being old school friends, that was it. In fact, I knew him just as well as Isla, because we were in the same cricket team. I’ve known him for about five or six years. And that’s it. Our lives just go on, we don’t do anything different, rarely venture any further than Bakewell, we like… liked… the country life. We’ve never been abroad, don’t really have holidays, the business doesn’t allow it. So why did she deserve to die?’
Marsden let him talk, sensing this was a man who didn’t let his feelings show, and the talking was the result of hours of silent driving from Southampton, knowing what he had to face when he arrived home.
He frowned. ‘Was she putting the bin out?’
‘We think so. We’ve had to turn the bin lorry around, couldn’t let him by, and we’re going to go through yours before it’s emptied anyway. Just in case.’
‘Can I see the children?’
‘Of course. I have no more questions for now, but we will find this man.’
‘You think it’s the same man who killed Anthony?’
‘Yes, I do, but we have no proof, not yet. We’ll know more after the autopsy. We will need you to formally identify your wife. The landlady at the pub recognised her dress because they had been for a coffee together, and Isla had been wearing it then.’
He nodded slowly. ‘This is a nightmare.’ He stood abruptly. ‘I’m going to get my kids.’
Marsden watched him walk across the road, and saw Margaret enfold him into her arms. The children squeezed around her and he gathered them tightly to him. He could say nothing to them, not yet; he didn’t know what to say.
With Leon back home, Kat had put everything away in the top drawer that held quite a lot of paperwork and photographs.
He had offered to take them all out for a meal, and Kat booked a table for half past six, so that Doris wouldn’t become overtired.
The first item on the local news was the murder of Isla Yardley, wife of the managing director of Yardley’s Haulage Ltd.
Kat’s eyes were huge as she turned and looked at Mouse. ‘Oh my god! Now we have to tell Marsden what we’ve worked out, these other people need to be protected.’
Mouse held a finger to her lips. ‘Sssh,’ she whispered. ‘Leon’s coming downstairs. He’ll panic that we may be in danger.’ She picked up the remote control and switched off the television.
Doris came downstairs five minutes later, and they set off for the restaurant, Kat and Mouse unusually quiet in the back, and Doris in the front, casting admiring glances at the impressive man by her side.
24
Marsden faced the room, and everybody stopped talking. ‘Good morning, everybody. This investigation has stepped up another lev
el. Isla Yardley was shot and killed outside her home yesterday, and the list Caroline Boldock gave us is now down to five remaining people. I have spoken with Sydney police and asked them to contact Keith Lancaster and give him protection. We now need to secure the other four, Michael Damms, Caroline Boldock, Peter Swift and Sarah Hodgson. Sarah Hodgson is already in a safe house somewhere in Herefordshire, and is being interviewed by police there. Michael Damms has stated that he does not require babysitters, he can handle himself, and we have yet to contact Caroline Boldock. She doesn’t appear to be at home. Penny, can you contact the agency please, and find out if she had an escort job last night.’
Penny held up a thumb in acknowledgement.
‘Ray, thank you for everything you did at the crime scene yesterday, exemplary work. Can you have a look at Oliver Merchant’s death for me. I know he crashed on a bend, but interviews suggest he was a safe and careful driver who valued the Ferrari too much to risk damaging it. Did something happen to cause him to lose control? I don’t know how we’ll ever prove it, but I’m thinking maybe somebody stepping out into the road causing him to swerve. We know the car hit the stone wall and overturned. Why did it swerve so much that it hit the wall? Anything at all, Ray, find me anything at all.’
‘Yes, boss.’ This made a change to punishment duties for being late for work.
‘I’m going to organise a patrol car to go past Michael Damms’s house at odd times during the day, take note of car registrations near his place, that sort of thing, but if he doesn’t want to move to a safe house, I can’t force him. It’s a priority to find Caroline Boldock, and trust me, that young lady will be going to a safe house. And that leads us to Peter Swift. I need somebody to go to Stoke City Football Club and…’ Seven hands shot into the air.
She looked around the room, grinned and said, ‘Right, I’ll go then, in the absence of any volunteers.’ There was a groan that reverberated all around, and she closed her notebook. ‘Let’s get on with it, I want information on absolutely everything.’