Detective Sophie Allen Box Set 2

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  She reached across and took his hand. ‘But why would that be a problem? You could do it if it was necessary, Gordon. It would only be a year or two, and we could make ends meet for a while. Maybe you could get a job locally while you did the college course. Or I could, once the baby’s here.’

  ‘Even if I got some qualifications I could never earn as much as they pay me. And that worries me.’

  ‘Do you think that really matters to me? I hate to see you as unhappy as you’ve been in recent months. I want my happy, contented husband back, and I’m willing to make sacrifices to do it. Can I make it any clearer to you?’ She leant closer and kissed his lips, curling her fingers around the back of his neck. ‘It might be now or never, Gordon. I’m worried that things are going to get worse for you while you’re with them. I can see that you’ve been worried sick for the last few weeks. Can you talk about what’s bothering you?’

  ‘Tony’s manoeuvring to take over. He doesn’t trust Wayne’s judgement. He says that Wayne can veer between being ultra-cautious one day and a real loose cannon the next. Tony wants things tidied up so we know where we are. If he succeeds in his expansion plans, then it’ll be more money for all of us, he says, but a helluva lot more work too. It worries me. I was getting sick of all the in-fighting before this latest business, and I feel even more negative now.’

  Marilyn felt the baby move, and stroked her stomach. ‘It’s different now, Gordon, with this one being a girl. I keep thinking that when she’s born it will mark a turning point for us, and I want it to be the right kind of change. I want you to feel proud of who you are and proud of us. And I want her and the boys to be proud of you, and none of this can happen while you’re with the Woodruffs and that man Sorrento. Please, for my sake, start planning the break. I’ll help in any way I can. Trust me.’

  CHAPTER 16: Sleepover

  Wednesday Evening, Week 2

  Barry Marsh, the detective sergeant in Sophie’s unit, had a cautious and careful approach to his work. He took some time to assimilate new ideas, particularly when they had the potential to derail a line of inquiry that he’d spent some time working on. Sophie’s suggestion that someone might have leaked the news about the missing reel of tape had really shocked him. His first thought had been, surely not. But he’d come to see that the only other explanation was coincidence, that the killer had realised the error on that precise day, having forgotten about it for more than two weeks. How likely was that? Coincidences happen for sure, but in this particular case the chances were slim. Which left him with the unpleasant alternative. Someone with access to the incident board from mid-afternoon on Monday was somehow involved and had passed the vital information on.

  He glanced again at the list he’d constructed and thought through the possibilities, weighing up the people involved. Sophie, himself and Rae — not unless the world had gone mad. The chief superintendent, Matt Silver, and DS Bob Thompson — certainly not. Blackman and McCluskie, somewhat slapdash detectives — unlikely, although McCluskie could have an axe to grind, and the duo certainly seemed to operate in a world of their own. A couple of local officers, but they all seemed so reliable. The dead man’s brother, Pete Armitage — he’d been around the station, but no one had seen him enter or leave the incident room unaccompanied. But even if he was involved, what would he gain? Barry had already spoken to the member of the cleaning staff responsible for the incident room and felt fairly sure that she wasn’t the type to gossip.

  His mood wasn’t helped by the fact that he still hadn’t remembered why the name Woodruff seemed to stir up something in the dusty recesses of his mind. It was something from long ago, he was sure of it. But he just couldn’t come up with anything. He’d just have to wait and hope that he would remember at some point. He needed an evening off, just to relax. He sent a quick text message to his girlfriend, Gwen, who lived in Southampton, suggesting a meal out. Her reply was quick in coming. ‘Curry,’ it read. ‘And stay over please.’

  He relaxed. He’d been working nonstop on the case since the discovery of the bodies, and a short break would be very welcome, even if it was just a single night. Was curry a good precursor to sex, though? Maybe he should forego his usual chicken madras in favour of something a bit milder.

  * * *

  ‘That’s not your usual choice, Barry. Lamb bhuna? What’s come over you? Should I be worried?’ Gwen Davis took another bite out of her crispy popadum, lavishly covered with mixed pickle.

  ‘Of course not,’ he replied indignantly. ‘Worried about what, anyway? I just fancied a change.’

  ‘That’s what I mean. Does this mean the writing’s on the wall for us as a couple? I mean, where’s it all going to end, this strange wish of yours for new experiences?’ She looked across at his perplexed face and winked at him.

  ‘Don’t do that, Gwen. It worries me. The boss winks at me sometimes, and I never know what it means.’

  Gwen laughed again. ‘I bet you do really. It just signifies a bit of gentle teasing. What confuses you is that it’s coming from a woman, and that’s the bit men find hard to deal with. It’s okay for men to wink at women, but you can’t cope when it’s the other way round. You’re a sorry lot, perpetually hung up on your lost power. It was all fine when you men had the upper hand, as if it was yours by some god-given right, but it’s not so easy now, is it?’ She winked again.

  Barry sighed and took a swig of lager. ‘Can we talk about something else now?’

  ‘I like your new shirt. Very sexy. Good choice of colour for you.’

  ‘But you chose it, Gwen. It was one of your Christmas presents to me.’

  She giggled again. ‘Did I? That’s good. I was worried I might be losing my sense of style.’

  She slid her right foot out of her shoe and started to run it up his leg, but Barry’s embarrassment was cut short by the approach of a waiter bringing their starters. ‘Onion bhaji. Bliss,’ was all Gwen said for the next five minutes.

  ‘How long have you been a curry fan?’ he asked, as Gwen laid down her fork.

  ‘Centuries, I expect. I must have had several previous incarnations in Indian palaces, being fed fine food by my own personal slaves. I just love it. What about you?’

  ‘It was when I was a beat copper in Bournemouth. Bob Thompson and I used to get a takeaway sometimes when we finished our shift. Only once a week, mind. I suppose it was a bit of a bachelor thing. Curry and beer. To be honest, I never enjoyed it much then, but our local takeaway was pretty crappy, though we didn’t realise it at the time. It’s only when you’ve been to a few good places that you realise how good curry can be.’

  ‘It’s like everything else, Barry. Quality matters. Too many people stuff themselves stupid with cheap junk and then feel bloated for days afterwards. It’s much better to come to a place like this that doesn’t overfill your plate but gets the taste right. So you never went to a restaurant?’

  ‘No, not often. We’d have a couple of pints in the pub and then go to the takeaway next door. We shared digs only five minutes away, so we’d go home, put our feet up, switch the telly on and tuck in. The takeaway lost trade when an Indian restaurant opened in the area which served up better food, and it finally closed. The place is an organic cafe now, and it’s meant to be pretty good. The pub’s still there. Interesting name — the Rising Moon.’

  ‘I was never into takeaways,’ Gwen replied. ‘I like the whole experience with the music and the decor. It’s even better when the staff are in authentic dress.’ She waited. ‘Barry? Are you okay?’

  His mind was elsewhere. The Rising Moon pub. That was it! It had been owned by someone called Woodruff. What was the first name? Phil? A slightly dubious character, who used to boast about his over-ambitious plans for expansion. Pie in the sky, that’s what he and Thompson had thought. He felt a sharp kick on his leg.

  ‘Barry. For goodness sake! Either put that forkful of food in your mouth or back on your plate. It’s not a pretty sight hovering halfway, with your mouth hanging
open.’

  ‘Sorry. Just thought of something.’

  ‘You don’t say? I’d never have guessed.’ Gwen rolled her eyes.

  CHAPTER 17: Follow the Money

  Thursday Morning, Week 2

  Marsh was whistling a tune as he made his way up the stairs to the incident room next morning. As he entered the office, he saw that most of the occupants were looking at him. He blushed slightly as he made his way to the incident board.

  ‘Whatever that was, it sounded cheerful,’ was Sophie’s comment. ‘It’s not often we hear whistling around here. Do it more regularly, Barry. It helps break up the morbid atmosphere. Did you recognise it, Rae?’

  ‘Auld Lang Syne? God Save the Queen? The Ace of Spades? Can’t be sure.’ Rae kept a straight face.

  He decided to laugh it off. ‘To be honest, I don’t know what it was. I was just feeling a bit more cheery than normal. I remembered where I’d come across the name Woodruff before, ma’am. It was ages ago when I was a beat cop in Bournemouth. Phil Woodruff ran a pub in the Pokesdown area called the Rising Moon, and it’s still there. I passed it on my way in this morning and took a look. The Woodruff name is still above the door, but with a different initial. It’s probably run by someone else in the family, now that he’s dead.’

  Rae looked puzzled. ‘But it must be coincidence, ma’am. It’s been niggling me since we made the link. Why would the fact that the Armitage couple mistakenly went into the wrong funeral have caused them to be murdered? This isn’t the backstreets of downtown Chicago. It’s too bizarre. There must be some other connection, surely?’

  Sophie was still looking at Marsh. ‘You passed Pokesdown on your way in? To Blandford? Where were you coming from? Ah, now I know why you feel like whistling. I’m not a detective for nothing, you know.’

  Rae looked from one to the other. ‘I don’t understand this conversation.’

  Barry opened his mouth to reply, but saw that his boss's attention was elsewhere. Was it his imagination, or did she look a little on edge?

  ‘I want to bring Blackman and McCluskie in closer,’ she finally said. ‘I know it seems to go against my previous decision, but I want them where we can keep our eyes on them. And we don’t post anything else on the incident board about the Woodruffs or anyone connected to them. We’ll keep that line to ourselves. Agreed?’ They all nodded. ‘Rae, remove that second reference, the one about the car I saw. That’ll leave just the one, the funeral mix-up.’

  ‘Why, ma’am?’ Rae asked.

  ‘I want to see if its disappearance causes either of them to comment. Tell me if that happens, won’t you?’

  * * *

  Blackman and McCluskie appeared in the incident room mid-morning, sober and smartly dressed. Marsh met them and took them into Sophie’s office. Both seemed slightly nervous.

  Sophie’s tone was cool. ‘I need someone to log and crosscheck all of the forensic details, so that’ll be your job. Barry here is my second, so you report to him. I want to know all there is to know about the car, the crime scene and how and when they might have got there. You might need to cross check with the uniformed squad that found the car, Rose Simons and George Warrander. Don’t contact the family in any way without my say so. I have Rae Gregson from my own team liaising with the two of them, and I want it to stay that way. You’ll need to get up to speed with what we already know from the forensic team, but more information will trickle in on a daily basis and we’ll adapt what we’re doing accordingly. You’ll work from here, in the incident room.’

  Blackman frowned. ‘Do we have to, ma’am? I mean we have our office downstairs. Can’t we just use that, as normal?’

  ‘Why would you want to do that? The whole point of a murder investigation is that you keep abreast of what’s going on, so I want you in here. We work from eight to eight. And every time you go out it gets logged on the system. Time out, time back in, where, what and why. Check with Barry before you go anywhere. Have a rundown ready for me at the end of each day. Clear?’ She smiled thinly.

  Marsh showed them their work desks and went to have a chat with Rae.

  ‘Christ,’ was all Blackman could manage.

  ‘Ditto,’ McCluskie replied. ‘Welcome to the workhouse.’

  * * *

  The full autopsy report arrived mid-morning. Sophie sat down with Marsh and ploughed through the details. There was nothing new, and they weren’t expecting anything, but they still had to double check.

  ‘It doesn’t make sense, ma’am. The deaths, I mean. I still can’t imagine any scenario that would justify murdering that couple in such a calculated, planned way. It’s just so weird.’

  Sophie finished reading the final page and looked up. ‘I know what you mean. We’re missing something. Whatever it is, it’ll be some little snippet that will make everything fall into place. The family are all mostly sensible people. I even wonder if Rod isn’t more capable than he appears to be. Okay, so we haven’t had time to make any real progress yet on the possible link to this Woodruff person, whoever he was, but I still can’t see how a mistaken visit to a funeral could end up in a double murder. It’s what Rae said earlier, we’re not in gangland Chicago. Even there, I doubt whether a couple like the Armitages would ever find themselves victims of violence as senseless as this. So it isn’t senseless. It can’t be. Someone, somewhere, either gains a lot from their deaths or was in danger of losing a lot with them alive.’

  ‘Follow the money?’

  ‘It’s the best way. It’s what my gut instincts tell me. I’ve always said, Barry, there are crimes of passion, usually easy to solve, and crimes of greed and cover-up, often more difficult because they’ve been planned very carefully. This has all the markings of the latter.’ She paused. ‘Deep Throat deserves a medal for that phrase. It’s become a cliché, but a lot of the time it’s true.’

  Marsh shook his head. ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘All the President’s Men. My favourite film of all time. As far as I know, that was the first time it was used. Deep Throat was the insider, feeding information to the two investigative journalists, Woodward and Bernstein. He advised Woodward to “follow the money” at one of their secret meetings.’ She looked at the clock. ‘How do you fancy a pub lunch, Barry? Across in Bournemouth, maybe?’

  * * *

  The Rising Moon was a large, red-brick building dating back to the years after the Second World War. It had a car park to one side and a garden at the rear, surrounded by hanging baskets and small flower beds, all full of colourful blooms. Inside, the two detectives looked around them. The place was clean, carpeted and well furnished. A few people sat at the scattered tables, and two men propped up the bar.

  ‘Is it how you remember it, Barry?’

  ‘No, not at all. It used to be a bit of a dive, to be honest. It was split into two bars, as a lot of pubs were back then. This open-plan decor is much better, and the whole place has a more comfortable feel.’

  Sophie ordered a pint of ale and a glass of orange juice from the barmaid, and collected two lunch menus from the counter. As always, the fruit juice was put down in front of her and the beer pushed towards Marsh. She pointedly switched them over.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the young woman. ‘Unusual, though.’

  Sophie smiled. ‘I know I am. In lots of ways. Even so, you should have asked.’ She saw one of the men smirk. ‘I’ll have the chilli and rice. What about you, Barry?’

  ‘Ham, egg and chips, please.’

  The barmaid put through the order. The two detectives chose a quiet table set in an alcove that gave them a view of the room.

  Sophie sipped her beer. ‘Tell me what the place was like ten years ago.’

  ‘It used to have a dividing wall down the middle of this room. The bar was in the same place and served both rooms. We used the public bar. That was in the other section. This area was the lounge and was a bit nicer, but not that much. I never came in here if I was out with a girl. It was too naff. We used to go to the bars clos
e to the seafront. Much livelier. This place was convenient ’cause it was close to my digs. I never liked the staff very much either. Maybe they knew I was a copper. Let’s hope the food’s better than it was then.’

  ‘Pub food is always a bit chancy, isn’t it?’

  ‘They used to have curry on the menu, trying to compete with the takeaway, I guess. That place wasn’t great, but the curry here was total crap. They should have just stuck to sausage and mash. At least that was edible.’

  Sophie laughed. She looked up as a staff door opened on the other side of the bar. Three men entered, and made their way to the bar, where they helped themselves to some sandwiches laid out ready on a plate and sipped gin and tonics, which the barmaid poured as soon as she spotted them.

  ‘The shorter one reminds me a bit of old Phil,’ Barry said. ‘I wonder if it’s his son.’

  ‘I can top that,’ Sophie replied. ‘One of the others, the one with the scar on his face, is the man I spotted up at Morden Bog last weekend. Well, well. Aren’t things getting interesting?’

  They watched the men chatting to the barmaid until a bell rang behind her. She disappeared through a doorway and re-emerged with two plates. The group at the bar watched as she crossed the room and laid the plates down in front of the two detectives.

  ‘I think I’ve got it right this time,’ she said.

  ‘What is it about men and chips?’ Sophie replied. ‘A whole day’s calories on one plate.’

  The barmaid tilted her head. ‘Not so much the ones we serve. They’re cooked with just a spray of oil. Probably no more calories in his meal than yours.’

  Sophie smiled. ‘Well, that’s good to hear from his point of view, but you’ve got me worried.’

  The young woman looked her up and down. ‘I’m sure you don’t need to worry too much, with your figure. I only hope I’m half as slim at your age.’