The Playground Murders

by Lesley Thomson

  ‘Perhaps he expected you to tell them, but no reason why you should,’ he hastened to reassure her.

  ‘Danielle has already been found guilty of murder. She can’t be tried twice, double identity or whatever.’ She gave a sudden laugh. ‘Freudian slip. She does have a double identity! What do I mean?’

  ‘Double indemnity. But that’s being tried for the same murder twice. Hindle was never charged with Robbie’s death.’ Jack wanted to snatch at the glimpses of Nicola as a happy humorous woman. He hoped that Dominic loved her.

  ‘Lee made me promise not to say.’ Nicola wandered restlessly around the room. Her grandsons watched her as they might a play they made no sense of. ‘He gave me that bracelet. I couldn’t say no.’

  ‘Bracelet?’

  ‘Lee reckoned it was bad luck. I was so relieved when she took it to charity. His wife didn’t want it either or he’d have given it to her.’

  ‘Do you mean Sarah’s charm bracelet?’ Jack wanted to halt her perambulations and demand she be absolutely clear.

  ‘Lee made me have it.’ She sounded aggrieved.

  ‘Can I see it?’ Best Sister.

  ‘I said it’s gone to charity and good riddance.’

  ‘Were all the charms on it? Like, um, Best Sister?’ So near and yet…

  ‘Lee bought that for her. To please Alan as much as Sarah, I always thought. His stepdad still hated him.’ She paused by the trunk and took out a doll. It was missing a head. Crispin’s work. ‘His poor family, his wife. It’s Cathy I feel for. She didn’t deserve that.’

  Driving away, Jack felt for the broken woman who, medicated, nipped and tucked, meandered through each day. All the same, she’d fairly whacked that ball against the wall, so she had fight in her. He couldn’t see her committing a frenzied killing. Even getting herself to Winchcombe. Then there was the Best Sister charm.

  He only had Nicola’s word for it that she’d taken the bracelet to charity. Had she worn it when she went to find Hindle? Perhaps to mock. Look what Lee gave me. In the struggle Rachel had ripped off a charm. Except Nicola had brought up the bracelet and had needlessly tied herself to a crime scene. If only they had access to the police files.

  Nicola had recognized Lee after decades when she wasn’t expecting to see him. She’d know Danielle Hindle too.

  Nicola had probably imagined she’d seen the Best Sister Charm. She’d been keen to get shot of it. He’d suggest to Stella that they take her off the list.

  *

  When Jack arrived at the Clean Slate office he was surprised to find the children with Trudy in the reception office. They didn’t greet him. Suzie, deep in her database, didn’t look up. No sign of Stella.

  Justin was cross-legged in Stanley’s bed reading a book that Jack didn’t recognize as one of Justin’s stories. Stanley was on his lap. Milly was engrossed in a game on the spare computer. Bella didn’t approve of them using computers. Jack generally argued that technology was integral to the world in which Milly and Justin were growing up. Today it annoyed him. ‘Where is Stella? And Beverly?’

  ‘Stella had to pop home for a file then she called in saying she’ll be in later. Beverly’s upstairs. She’s trying to get you a prison visit with Christopher.’ If Trudy took offence at the inadvertent inference she wasn’t up to childminding, she didn’t show it. She was all smiles. ‘Would you like a drink of anything, Jack?’

  ‘You’re all right, thanks.’ Right now he could fancy something stronger.

  ‘I’ve done a sheet!’ Milly jabbed at the screen. Jack saw the remains of an iced doughnut in the post tray. The kids weren’t allowed sugary food. On that he and Bella agreed. He was about to say so when Milly’s next comment mollified him. ‘Stella made it change colour when you tap it. I can count my toys.’ She was filling in an Excel spreadsheet. Now he’d seen it all. Jack examined the chequered grid. Nearly three years old. Milly was a genius!

  ‘Stella did the cal-coo-lashon. She’s going to put us in the cleaning man-you-well.’ Seated on two reams of paper, Milly spun in the chair.

  Jack realized that Justin’s ‘book’ was a copy of the Clean Slate staff manual. Bliss.

  ‘Justin and Milly have been helping Stella clean her house,’ Trudy said. ‘Milly has been deep cleaning. Justin polished. Isn’t that fantastic?’

  Jack could have punched the air. Stella had welcomed his children into her world. He loved her.

  ‘I did went to Out of Bounds!’ Justin gave a start as the words popped out by accident.

  ‘Where is out of bounds?’ Jack imagined a magical country full of light and beautiful music invented by Stella.

  ‘You shouldn’t have gone there!’ Milly nosed the mouse at her brother. ‘Stella said no. I didn’t go.’

  Jack had a bad feeling.

  ‘Stella must have kept them out of one of her rooms,’ Trudy said.

  ‘The person was nasty,’ Justin admitted. ‘I did polish. For Stella’s surprise.’ He confided in Stanley, ‘The person said go away.’

  ‘What person?’ Jack asked.

  ‘What did we say earlier, Justin?’ Trudy arched her eyebrows.

  ‘We. Must. Not Tell. Lies!’ Justin was obedient.

  ‘Good boy!’

  ‘He doesn’t lie.’ Jack defended his son.

  ‘There was no person in the room was there, Justin?’ Trudy smiled encouragingly at Justin.

  ‘He makes persons up.’ Milly did a ‘what can you do?’ face. ‘They make a lot of talking at bedtime. Mummy says they must quiet down so we can sleep.’

  Jack knew that Justin had countless imaginary friends. The main ones being the Bluebell Family who drank milkshakes and lived in a cave. Jack fretted that the Bluebells were Justin’s perfect family. He and Bella fell far short. Did his little boy want his parents to live in the same house? Jackie had assured him that Justin was simply imaginative. Both his children were level-headed and secure. Jack wished that when he was little he’d invented friends. After his mother’s murder, he’d been alone.

  The door opened and Stella came in. She saw Jack and hesitated as if displeased. A fleeting impression. She pecked him on the cheek and went into her office. That bit was usual, Stella never showed affection at work. She reappeared with a sheaf of opened post that Trudy had left for her.

  ‘What file did you forget?’ Seeing another cloud pass across Stella’s face, Jack was cross with himself. She didn’t want to say what it was in front of everyone.

  ‘Portus Teddy is in the van,’ Stella told Justin who, Jack was troubled to see, also seemed shifty. Was he scared of Stella? ‘I’ll be back in a minute. Then I’m going to Skype Joanne Marshall.’

  ‘I’ll get it.’ Before Stella could object, Trudy took Stella’s keys and left the office.

  ‘I’ll go too.’ Jack wanted to thank Trudy for looking after his children.

  When he came out onto Shepherd’s Bush Green, he couldn’t see her. He went to the side road where Stella usually parked her van. It wasn’t there. Then he recalled that Stella was renting hardstanding outside a house near Uxbridge Road.

  Jack saw Trudy in the driver’s seat. The engine was running. Trudy was going to drive off. Jack broke into a run. By the time he reached her, Trudy had switched off the ignition and was getting out.

  ‘What’s the matter, Jack?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing!’ he reassured her. ‘I wanted to say you’ve been great with my two scraps. Way beyond the call of duty!’

  ‘I don’t call them a duty. Your children are delightful.’

  ‘Oh… I’m glad you think so.’ Jack was incoherent with happiness.

  ‘You and your partner are doing a splendid job! Here, take Portus Teddy, I have a dentist appointment. Tell Stella it’s in the diary.’ Jack was charmed that Trudy had taken the trouble to learn the bear’s name.

  A slip of paper lay in the gutter. It had rained earlier, an April shower. The paper was dry, so it couldn’t have been there long. ‘Trudy, did you drop this?’


  ‘What is it?’

  Jack unfolded the paper. ‘GL54… that’s Penelope Philips’ postcode. We don’t need it now.’ He shoved it in his pocket.

  ‘Careless of me. It must have fallen from Stella’s van as I got Mr Portus.’

  They parted outside Clean Slate. Trudy asked Jack to tell Stella that she had another dentist appointment. With Stella not having been there, she had no chance to tell her. Jack felt like telling Trudy that she didn’t need to justify herself, and certainly not to him. Stella wasn’t a dragon, she expected her staff to have lives.

  When he returned he found Stella leafing through the message book.

  ‘Thanks for stepping in last night.’ Jack was suddenly awkward.

  ‘No problem.’ Stella shut the book. ‘Did you see Nicola Walsh?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll come round later for a debrief.’

  ‘Let’s take a rain check. I haven’t got hold of Joanne Marshall. When I do we can trade info.’

  ‘It should say, “Polish the wood so it is an apple!”’ Justin told Stanley.

  ‘That’s a good idea.’ Stella turned to him. ‘Like a Cox’s Orange Pippin with lines and specks?’

  ‘Yes. Like that,’ Justin agreed.

  Jack should have felt joyful that Stella was treating Justin with respect and not warbling nonsense at him, like some did. But she had put Jack off again. Heavy-hearted, he bundled the children into coats and ushered them out. Justin with a copy of the cleaning manual, Milly parading a printout of her ‘animals’ spreadsheet.

  He asked Stella casually, ‘Justin mentioned seeing a person in your study. Who was that? An imaginary friend, Trudy thought.’

  ‘Yes, probably.’ Too quick.

  Martin Cashman had stayed the night.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  2019

  Stella hauled down the loft ladder and, reckless of the murderer lurking there, clambered up. Terry’s files were back on the shelves. No sign of Danielle Hindle. She hurtled down again. She flew into every room. She checked under her bed and even in the basement although the door was locked and she had hidden the key. Only the drifting scent of Molecule One in her study said that Danielle Hindle had ever been there. Rational though Stella was, she was ready to decide it had been a nightmare from which she had woken.

  Once she was sure that Hindle had gone, Stella double-locked the door and slid across the chain. Her nerves jangled and despite her sweep of the house, Stella expected Danielle to walk in.

  She sniffed the air in her study. Cutting through Hindle’s perfume was the comforting tang of beeswax polish. The desk was shiny. Jack had asked her who Justin had seen in the study. Stella had told him there had been no one. A lie.

  Justin had polished in here. His person was Danielle Hindle. Justin had been alone with a child-killer. As the truth sank in, Stella gulped for air. Stella had liked the twins. She’d seen Jack in them and strangely – ridiculously – herself. Distantly, she appreciated Justin’s polishing, he’d made the wood gleam. Milly had got to grips with the sanitizer quicker than Stella. When she told Jack he’d side with Bella and stop her seeing his children again.

  The computer sprang to life. It was a Skype notification. Yes OK call. Jo.

  Joanne Marshall had returned her message. Stella had suggested they did the interviews separately because she’d wanted to tackle Danielle Hindle about the letters on her own. If she’d gone with Jack, Hindle couldn’t have stowed away in her van. He was always ferreting behind doors and into dark corners, he’d have found her. Stella wouldn’t have had to hide Hindle. She could have enjoyed having Milly and Justin to stay.

  She’d decided to give up the case, but now that Joanne Marshall was in touch…

  Stella texted Jack. Can you come over? Please x

  The ping of another Skype. Can speak now, bushed so heading for bed!

  Stella was stuck. If she put Joanne Marshall off, that could be that. Marshall’s time constraints could spell reluctance to talk. Fair enough. The woman had migrated to Australia to escape a tragedy. Stella must strike while the iron was hot.

  She pressed Marshall’s icon – the Sydney Harbour Bridge – and chose the video button, hoping that Joanne Marshall would use her camera too. Stella had to see her. Belatedly she realized that the computer had been in sleep mode. It should have been off. Hindle had been looking at her files. How had she got the password? Involuntarily Stella glanced up at the ceiling. She’d scoured the attic. Hindle was not up there.

  Stella had just decided that the line had dropped when a voice filled the room.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello! Hi! I’m Stella Darnell.’ Trundling the chair up to the desk, Stella raked back her hair with a hand and prepared a smile.

  A face appeared. Stella swept forward her notebook, keeping it out of shot. Marshall was partially in shadow, her background lit by a table lamp. Behind her was the picture of Sydney Harbour Bridge that she’d used for her Skype ID. In the blurred features Stella made out red plastic glasses matching red lipstick and a mass of red hair. Joanne Marshall looked like you didn’t mess with her. She could have golloped up Cathy Ferris for breakfast. A television flickered, the sound, too distorted to distinguish words, conflicted with Marshall’s voice. Stella could not ask her to mute it. A news programme showed the wreckage of a light aeroplane.

  ‘Thank you for talking to me.’ Stella’s image was in the corner of the screen. She hadn’t thought to plan a plausible impression. The window was a square of light. A morning dealing with a murderer had made Stella dishevelled. She pressed a button to delete it. There was a plunk like a pebble dropped into a pond. Her image remained.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Joanne Marshall leaned into focus.

  ‘I was trying to delete myself. It’s distracting,’ Stella admitted.

  Joanne Marshall gave her rapid instructions in a high voice. The sort that Lucie said would never do on radio. No gravitas.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Marshall, I’m not used to this.’ The deletion revealed a photo in a gold frame next to the table lamp. Stella thought it looked like Lee Marshall. His wife still had a picture of him in her front room. Not the act of a wife who is determined to put the past behind her.

  ‘Jo, please. Nor was I until I came here. It’s great for catching up with folks overseas. Bar my delightful mother-in-law who’s frightened of machines. She stopped at the Teasmade. We don’t talk.’ Joanne raised a glass of something, whisky maybe, to the camera. ‘Cheers!’

  Although she used Skype when her mum was visiting Dale in Australia, Stella was unsettled to be observed while you talked. Careful not to be seen, she consulted her notes from meeting Cathy Ferris. Cathy had claimed that Joanne wouldn’t speak to her. Jo Marshall suggested the impasse was due to technology. Who was telling the truth?

  ‘You don’t get on with Mrs Marshall?’

  ‘Cathy likes to keep busy, it drove Lee mad. She never sits still. I can lie on a sunbed from dawn to dusk.’ Joanne Marshall swilled her drink in the glass. ‘Cathy and Alan blamed Lee for Sarah’s death. How cruel is that? I blame them. What are parents for?’ Her expression darkened.

  ‘What made you move to Sydney?’ Stella indicated the picture behind Joanne Marshall then regretted the admission that she’d noticed it.

  Marshall angled her screen to show the television. It cut out the picture of the Harbour Bridge. A woman was reporting beside a heap of mangled metal. A banner ticker-taped at the bottom of the screen. Air Crash: Queensland landowner says, ‘miracle no fatalities, no livestock killed, crew walked away.’

  ‘Why did you want to talk about Lee?’

  Stella had wrestled with her story. Writing a book was a good one, but Jack had told Cathy Ferris that he was a friend of Lee. Jo Marshall didn’t talk to Cathy. Stella took the plunge.

  ‘I’m looking into the murders of Lee’s sister and the boy Robert Walsh. Lee may have said that the detective leading the case was Terry Darnell? He was my dad. I’m writing his biography. I’
m reading up on Dad’s investigations and this was his hardest case because it involved a child who murdered children.’ Stella had shut her eyes as she recited the story. Although she’d deleted the video of herself, she realized she was visible to Marshall. She opened them. If Skype was a lie detector test then she had failed.

  ‘You’re a cleaner. I Googled an interview about you following your father’s footsteps. Can you write?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bristling at the inference that cleaners couldn’t use a pen, Stella said the very thing that she had intended not to say. The truth. ‘I also solve crimes.’

  ‘Cleaning, detective, steering a mop and brush empire – hey, girl, I hope you’ve got a good PA! I asked because writing’s hard. Lee was offered six figures to spill the beans. He wouldn’t make money out of Sarah. I wasn’t precious. I had a go, but I couldn’t string a sentence. When Lee had his breakdown and couldn’t work, the cash would have been useful. He wouldn’t hire a ghost writer either.’ She fiddled with something off camera. ‘Lee always threatened to top himself. I stopped listening. More fool me! Now I’ve got his ghost!’ She didn’t smile.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ Stella heard the cliché although she was sorry. She couldn’t imagine what she’d do if Jack threw himself under a train before her eyes. Not that he ever would, he knew the pain it caused everyone at the scene. Except Jack said suicidal people could not be judged as selfish, it was unfair to treat them as stable. By definition they were not stable.

  ‘Some days I can’t imagine going on; others I get a glimmer of life beyond Lee. Then something happens to remind me and I’m back to square one.’

  Time was meant to heal. Stella hadn’t got used to her dad’s death. As years passed, she grew less used to it.

  ‘We can stop if you’d prefer.’ Stella’s instinct was still to drop the case.

  ‘You’re all right. Today was a good day. Your dad put away an evil monster. He deserves to go down in history. Where shall I start?’

  ‘Where you like. Is it OK if I make notes?’