The Playground Murders

by Lesley Thomson

  ‘That’s not how it seemed.’ Jack split open the crisp packets. ‘Don’t forget she’s on CCTV. It seems that Christopher killed her. He had motive and means. Like you said, our job is to undermine the verdict if we can. From her comments I’m wondering if Danielle was with Maxine in London that afternoon. Or could that be Maxine on the CCTV covering for her sister? Mrs Cater said that Rachel expected Christopher to leave Danielle. Did Rachel force his hand so he killed her?’ Jack snagged a crisp and popped it in his mouth. ‘And there’s a fourth possibility.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘A stranger murder. A random motiveless killer with no previous connection to the victim. The detective’s nightmare.’

  ‘Let’s keep it simple. I know Dad threw the net wide in the hours after a murder and drew it in as evidence dictated. The police have done the legwork. We can start tight and work outwards. So for now, no wild card. Agree?’

  ‘Agree.’ Jack gave Stanley an illegal crisp.

  They fell silent while a man brought their food.

  ‘I should have given that charm to Penelope.’ Stella nibbled a crisp. ‘Or photographed it in situ and left it in Penelope’s spare bedroom. If she misses it she’ll link it to me.’

  ‘It’s good you took it.’ Jack was tucking into his beef and ale pie. ‘It might be relevant. Didn’t Sarah Ferris have a charm bracelet?’

  ‘Yes, but charm bracelets aren’t rare.’ Stella placed the charm on the table.

  ‘If the Best Sister was Sarah’s – it doesn’t look new – then it proves Penny Philips is Danielle Hindle. How else would it be there?’

  ‘We already know she is.’

  ‘Yes, silly me! I meant that it links Danielle to Sarah Ferris.’

  ‘We knew that too.’ Stella was cross with herself. ‘I should have confronted her with it.’

  ‘Perhaps Rachel’s killer dropped it. The house has been cleaned and redecorated since Hindle lived there.’

  ‘The police would have found it. And if not, then we would have when we were cleaning.’

  They contemplated the Best Sister charm, wondering if it told them anything new. Into the silence, Jack fed Stella a mouthful of his pie and mash.

  If a previous partner had done that Stella would have dumped them for force-feeding. With Jack she loved him even more.

  ‘Sarah Ferris lost her charm bracelet. Derek Parsley found it and put it on her wrist after she was dead. That was why Dad charged him with murder.’ Stella trawled through her notes.

  ‘Who has it now?’

  ‘Presumably the police kept it as evidence.’ Stella wiped tomato sauce off Jack’s chin. Any previous partner she’d have passed them the napkin. Love was the weirdest thing.

  ‘We could ask Kevin Hood. Or the Hindles.’ Stella felt no more keen to see any of the suspects again than she did Penelope Philips. ‘Theory two.’

  ‘Mistaken identity. Hindle as intended victim.’ Jack pronged a strip of chicken from Stella’s Caesar salad and ate it.

  ‘Cathy Ferris is in her seventies. Finish it.’ Stella slid her plate across to Jack. This case had sapped her appetite. ‘Cathy’s slight, but it doesn’t require strength to stab someone. She had the advantage of surprise. Rachel wasn’t threatened by her killer, she turned her back on him or her.’

  ‘Cathy and Alan have enough anger,’ Jack agreed. ‘But as for Maxine, wouldn’t Cathy have recognized Danielle? Indeed, if any of the friends and relations had found out Danielle’s new identity they could have found out what she looked like. I don’t credit Cathy with thinking to frame Penelope. She’s an honest soul.’ He sprinkled vinegar over the garnish that came with his meal. For Stella vinegar was a cleaning agent.

  ‘The killer wasn’t cool. Besides, they’d likely anticipate that Penelope looked different,’ Stella argued. ‘There’s only been one photo of her. With a prison officer on a street in Islington when she was rehearsing for release.’ Hindle had gone unrecognized by passers-by. Except for a Sun photographer. Lifer Luxury. Child-Killer on Shopping Spree. Cathy Ferris had handed in a petition to Downing Street of a quarter of a million signatures demanding Hindle never be released. Soon after, Danielle Hindle was out. Armed with a new identity she had melted into anonymity. Had someone found her out?

  ‘In the twenties photographers made a living out of photographing pedestrians. There’s one of my father’s parents in Bond Street, my grandmother in her trademark fur coat, him in a top hat. Nowadays it’s celebrities walking dogs or falling out of a nightclub into a cab with the latest date,’ Jack said. ‘And notorious prisoners trying on life outside for size.’

  ‘Jason Hindle was specific that he’d stab Danielle. Cathy said Alan would stab her in the back. Just how Rachel Cater died.’

  ‘A knife’s an obvious weapon. Jason acts tough, but I doubt he’s got a Glock in his bedside drawer. And I bet he still wets the bed. His mother, on the other hand, could head a drug-dealing gang no trouble.’ Jack stacked their plates. He captured one of Stella’s feet between his own. Their eyes locked.

  ‘We have to work,’ Stella said as if he’d suggested going to bed out loud. ‘Maxine and Jason could have done it together.’ She drew a dotted line between the names.

  ‘True. The police found only one set of new prints, Rachel’s. The others belonged to all of the Philips family.’

  ‘Alan Ferris’s dementia might be faked,’ Stella said. ‘He has a history of violence, the dent in their wall proves that. If not, he’d forget why he’d left the house as soon as he shut the front door. Joanne Marshall wanted to get far away from her husband’s family. Why return to kill the woman who killed her husband’s sister?’

  ‘Revenge. Lee killed himself and Joanne Marshall blames Hindle. Not difficult to whiz back to the UK under a false name, commit the murder and be at Heathrow that evening,’ Jack said.

  ‘Quite difficult. Anyway according to one of these cuttings, Marshall was with a friend on the Manly ferry the day after the murder,’ Stella said. ‘Pretty hard to fake that. Cathy didn’t like her, but I suspect that no woman would have been good enough for her boy. Don’t forget that postcard too.’

  ‘My mum would have been like that. Except she’d have loved you.’ Jack corralled emptied condiment sachets onto his plate.

  ‘OK, she goes on the list.’ Stella moved swiftly on. She was sure that Jack’s mother would not have approved of him being with a cleaner older than him. Despite this, Stella was sorry not to have met her.

  ‘Let’s go to yours now and Skype Joanne Marshall. It’s morning in Australia.’ Jack buttoned up his coat.

  Now was the time to tell Jack about the letters. She pictured the envelopes, flat and smooth as if Terry had ironed them.

  ‘I can’t!’

  ‘I thought you had the afternoon free?’

  Stella felt shame that Terry had kept letters from a killer. Why had he?

  ‘Let’s split resources. I’ll Skype Joanne Marshall, you find Nicola Walsh.’

  ‘We’re better together,’ Jack said.

  ‘From what I’ve gathered about Nicola she probably prefers men.’

  ‘How did you gather that?’

  ‘Danielle told us that Nicola liked Lee better than her.’

  ‘I’m sure I’d have preferred Lee too. It’s as likely Nicola would relate better to you.’

  ‘Haven’t you got Justin and Milly this afternoon?’

  ‘Yes!’ Jack cried. ‘Bella will kill me.’

  ‘Not if you leave now.’ Stella shovelled the other bag of crisps into her rucksack. She had a long journey ahead.

  Chapter Thirty

  2019

  Jack revelled in the squeals of laughter punctuated by furious instruction (Milly) and querulous protests (Justin), backed by Stanley’s barks. All three creatures were in their element.

  The box maze was at the children’s nose height. Milly waving a stick that for the purposes of her complicated game was a witch’s wand, tore along the paths bellowing when (agai
n) she hit a dead end. Jack heard the clink of Stanley’s dog tag as he cantered beside her. Justin had been made invisible, instructed to wait until he came ‘back as a horse’, a fate that had befallen Jack. Stamping and puffing by the back door, Jack did feel equine.

  Although Robbie and Sarah’s murders were decades ago, now that he knew about them Jack would never again take his children to the playground. Watching Milly, he fretted. Why had Stella split their tasks? She liked them to be a team. Had she found out that Bella had lifted the embargo on Stella seeing Justin and Milly and was hurt that Jack hadn’t told her? Worse, was she reluctant to be a stepmother and was pulling back while she had the chance?

  Milly sent up a spray of leaves with her wand. He should be there when Stella talked to Joanne Marshall. On a screen it would be hard to spot tics, impossible to glean clues from Marshall’s home. He was better at reading personalities than Stella. Jack shoved his hands in his coat pockets to keep them warm even though he’d been told that horses don’t have pockets. He was being unfair, Stella was observant. She would manage without him. Maybe that was the problem.

  ‘Can I have water, Daddy? I can’t get it cos you said not to climb up a chair for the tap,’ Justin whispered from the doorway behind Jack.

  ‘What? Of course, baby! Good for asking.’ Jack shot a look at Milly hurtling about the maze. ‘Does Milly know you’ve escaped?’

  ‘She can’t see me. I’m in-vis-a-bell.’ Justin was confident in his sister’s powers. ‘I don’t want to be a terror-ist. I’m thirsty.’

  ‘Is that what you were?’ Jack was aghast. He’d loved that his twins made up imaginative games. He saw himself at that age, crouched in the garden, his mother on a bench watching him build a city in the flowerbed. Emissaries of innocence, Justin and Milly hailed from a childhood world that for their father had been cut short. A world without terrorists. Bella would think it was his influence. It was Harry! He’d have words with Harry.

  Jack’s mobile phone rang as he handed Justin his giraffe beaker. He scrabbled for it amongst the debris of tea things (buttered bread and jam and milk like Jack used to have). The ringtone was Kate Bush’s ‘Running up that Hill’. It had been Bella’s and his song. Jack only thought to change it when she called and then afterwards, Bella having got him in a flap, he forgot.

  ‘Keep the children!’ she bellowed like her daughter.

  ‘What?’ Jack’s heart leapt. Bella was giving him custody. He’d never fight her on it, but to have his babies all the time was his dream. ‘For ever?’

  ‘Don’t be absurd, Jack. Until tomorrow. I’ve got a rush job. Cactus Man is a friggin’ mare. He tells me to do a longitudinal section and now wants a magni-bloody-fication of the developing ovules. The illustration is already crowded. I’ll be up all night on a redraw.’

  Bella was frequently infuriated by the botanists for whom she drew illustrations of plant elements. One – a world expert on cacti and succulents – often altered briefs as the job was nearing completion. Unavoidable if another plant specimen yielding new information was discovered. But Cactus Man was careless. A freelancer, Bella couldn’t charge more than the cost of the brief. She’d get no payment for her extra work. Jack felt for her.

  ‘What about Thingy?’

  ‘His named is Harry. He’s in the States closing a deal, he’s very successful.’ Bella was sibilant. ‘And in case it slipped your mind, you’re their father.’

  ‘No need for Harry to have them ever.’ Jack caught Justin scrutinizing him over his giraffe cup. Reaching down, he tipped the boy’s soft curls from his face. For a toddler, Justin had the perspicacity of a wiser adult than Jack often felt. ‘Always ask.’

  The door crashed against the wall. Milly materialized by the dishwasher, her eyes smouldered. Stanley her familiar. Mini Bella. Milly levelled her wand at Jack and Justin.

  ‘You are both naughty.’ If Milly zapped him with her wand, Jack knew that his little girl would wipe him from the face of the earth.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Bella asked in his ear.

  ‘The kids have a game going. In my maze.’ Jack saw no need to upset Bella with terrorists.

  He got Bella off the phone. ‘You’re staying the night!’

  The children’s shouts of joy were drowned out by the clatter of an underground train.

  ‘Daddy, it’s your telee-phone!’ Milly whisked over. ‘It says “work”. She prodded at the screen with her wand. She pronounced it ‘wauk.’ Jack must remember that Milly had the reading age of a twenty-five-year-old.

  ‘A train! That’s totally cool!’ Justin clapped his hands at the picture of the District line train on Jack’s screen.

  Totally cool? Harry the Deal Closer was a dead man. ‘I’ll have to answer. Then we’ll make plans!’ Jack promised the pairs of beady eyes.

  ‘Jack, old son, we’ve had a one under and what with the norovirus, soon the punters will be driving themselves!’ For the bearer of bad news, Marty Winton was upbeat. Jack knew what was coming. ‘We need you for tonight.’

  A one under. Every driver’s dread. A member of the public had jumped onto the rails in the path of a train. Jack thought of Lee Marshall. A suicide had untold ramifications. The event – not always fatal – cast a pall over the team; some drivers gave up the job. When it happened to him, Jack had appreciated the support from drivers, trackside staff and the office where the suicidal ‘passenger’ had bought their ticket. ‘I’m on my way.’

  Pulling on his Transport for London jacket, Jack trawled his mind for someone to look after the children. He could only think of one.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  2019

  ‘I’ve seen the letters that you sent my father.’ Tearing the paper, Stella underlined the already underlined heading in her notebook: Meeting with Penny Philips. Without meaning to, she’d added Terry’s phrase, A murderer is capable of murder.

  Philips had shown her into the lounge of her safe house, actually a flat, in Broadway, a village twenty minutes from Winchcombe.

  Decorated in safe beige and magnolia, the room contained two armchairs and a table and chair for eating. The radiator was off or broken. Afternoon sun streaming in through the window offered no warmth. Stella huddled in her Barbour.

  ‘Terry believed me.’ Penny had invited Stella to sit. She had remained by the door, blocking the exit. Perhaps she intended to make Stella ill at ease; Stella tried to hide that Hindle had succeeded.

  ‘He arrested you for murder. He’d never have let an innocent child get life imprisonment.’ Stella felt an icicle of doubt. She often heard Terry’s advice worming in her ear. He’d said nothing about what to do if a murderer wrote to you. He’d never told her about Hindle’s letters. After her teenaged vigils outside Hammersmith Library when she’d seen that he was well enough to work, but not to see her, Stella had stopped asking Terry how to be a detective.

  ‘I was nine, for God’s sake. They stole my childhood!’ Hindle was outraged.

  Stella’s memories of her childhood were isolated incidents with the equivalent of cliff-hangers. What happened after the man chased her at the river? Had Terry arrested him, or was that wishful thinking? The family dog ran away. Who found him? She did know that if she’d murdered a child – or two – it would be burnt into her brain. Prison wouldn’t lessen her guilt. Stella repeated the question that had brought her there. ‘Why did you write to Terry?’

  ‘Terry listened. He said I was on his team. Chrissakes, they let me do all that studying and they wouldn’t let me be a lawyer. They’ve spent taxpayers’ money keeping me behind bars and educating me. I can’t pay them back. How mad is that!’

  ‘I suppose they’re worried you might kill again.’ Stella said it.

  ‘I’ve brought up a child, they should have taken her away if they thought that. She’s gone anyway.’ Sitting in the other armchair, she tapped at her front tooth as if checking it was in place. ‘Terry was pleased when I got pregnant, he’d be a grandfather.’ Penelope sat in t
he other armchair. ‘Him and me, we had a telepathic thing.’

  Stella was stumbling in a fog. Her mum kept grumbling that Stella would never give her grandchildren. Had Terry felt that too? What did she mean, ‘telepathic thing’?

  The sun went behind a cloud. The room darkened. The flat was off the main street in Broadway, the window faced the back of an Indian restaurant. On a previous visit, Stella and Jack had bought a map from the bookshop. Although Stella had a satnav, she’d wanted tangibility so had used that map today.

  ‘Terry didn’t believe in that stuff.’ Stella had a flash vision of being in Jack’s arms, smelling him, soap, apple shampoo…

  She should have asked him to come with her. He’d have put a stop to talk of telepathy.

  ‘Is that right?’ Hindle dabbed her lips with gloss.

  ‘Your daughter is convinced you killed Rachel Cater.’ Stella made herself focus on the case. ‘Is that just based on your, um, your history?’

  ‘I have an alibi. The camera never lies.’ Hindle’s expression was stone.

  ‘Actually it does. That might not have been you in Dalgarno Gardens.’ Stella was more forthright as the idea took hold. ‘You told the police where you were that day and they found your image. Maxine was also out that afternoon. She left her hairdressing salon for half an hour. Not enough to get to Winchcombe so she was discounted as a suspect, but enough to wear your coat and hat and be seen on CCTV in the area where you…’ she couldn’t say murdered, ‘near the playground.’

  ‘Maxine doesn’t know where I live.’

  ‘She told us that you have a big house, a child and husband. She knew what car you drive.’ Stella was pushing it. The woman had a history of cold-blooded violence. Was she reformed? She could think nothing of crushing Stella’s neck as she had Sarah’s.