The Playground Murders

by Lesley Thomson

  ‘Staring,’ Kevin mumbled. The boast had been in a moment of elation. He’d never beaten Jason at anything. The playground had returned to normal proportions.

  ‘That’s stupid.’ Danielle launched herself upward on a swing and scoured the park for Lee.

  ‘I said you’d win,’ Jason said.

  Danielle scrabbled the swing to a stop. When Jason was born Maxine had adopted their baby brother as hers. In fights and squabbles, the two rarely rooted for their middle sibling.

  ‘Go on then.’ World-weary.

  ‘I’m referee!’ Jason was mutinous as if there was anyone else there to claim the role.

  ‘It’s a stupid game.’ Kevin shuffled on the asphalt.

  ‘Which you thought I would lose?’ Danielle was icy.

  ‘Sort of.’ Kevin rubbed at his nose.

  ‘Loser has to stamp on three snails.’ Jason surprised himself with the brilliant idea.

  Kevin’s expression was unreadable.

  ‘Go!’ Jason yelled.

  All the children went still. Danielle and Kevin met each other’s gaze. Jason watched them.

  Danielle would not lose. Despite this conviction, she began to feel strange. Kevin’s eyes were an impassive blue. Like Maxine’s dolls. Like the dead cat. Kevin stared into her brain. Her eyes began to smart. Danielle fought the urge to look away. She would not lose.

  Kevin stared at Danielle.

  Danielle thought he was smiling. She blinked.

  ‘You’ve got to murder the snails now.’ Jason looked on the edge of tears. His sister knew that he’d never forgive her, she had let him down.

  ‘That’s easy.’ Danielle Hindle didn’t have to lie. Murder was easy.

  Neither of the Hindles noticed that Kevin was still staring at Danielle.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  2019

  ‘That’s her.’ Stella pointed at a figure passing the bandstand.

  ‘She came.’ Jack didn’t know if he was relieved or not. In her email, Carrie Philips had complained about meeting at the playground and hadn’t actually agreed. Oddly for him, who on his night-walks sought out murderers, Jack felt dread. Stella appeared calm. Intending to record the exchange, she’d placed her phone on the bench. She would tell Carrie.

  Seated beside her on Robbie Walsh’s bench, Jack reiterated their plan. ‘You do the talking. I’ll chip in. I’ll block her if she tries to attack you.’ He liked the notion of protecting Stella.

  ‘She won’t,’ Stella said. ‘If Carrie murdered Rachel, she’ll tough it out. If she didn’t, she’ll be upset that her dad thinks she did. Either way she won’t go for me. She’s a lawyer.’

  ‘Lawyers break the law.’ Despite Stella’s confidence, Jack slid closer to her on the bench.

  ‘Move away. She’ll think we’re together.’

  We are. Aren’t we?

  Carrie was upon them before he could speak.

  ‘Why are we meeting here?’ she demanded. Aquascutum- and Hermès-upped, she gripped a bulging Mulberry briefcase. Every inch the busy successful barrister.

  ‘Do sit.’ Jack offered his seat. ‘I never sit this close to Stella.’ Idiot.

  Carrie Philips remained standing.

  ‘Like I said in my email, this playground is the key.’ Stella’s hand took in the primary-coloured equipment. ‘The solution to the murder of Rachel Cater lies in the events that happened here in 1980.’

  Poirot incarnate.

  ‘Predictable!’ Carrie put down her bag. If she went for Stella, the case was in Jack’s way. ‘I deliberately didn’t tell you my mother’s identity because I knew you’d be sidetracked. It’s too bloody obvious. No one killed Cater by mistake for my mother. The murderer is my mother. That evil bitch found Cater in our house and dealt with her.’ Carrie Philips shot her coat sleeves. Jack circled her. But still, like a checkmating chess piece, the bag was in the way. ‘Anyone with half a brain can see that Dad’s protecting her. Not that he was ever going to tell you. He’s too damn loyal for his own good.’

  ‘Sit down.’ Stella dispensed with good manners.

  Jack was amazed when Carrie sat down. She fixed on the yellow chute which had replaced the tower slide. From which her mother had pushed Robbie Walsh to his death.

  ‘Christopher is protecting someone. It’s not your mother.’ Stella talked to the chute.

  Carrie’s face was expressionless. The tiniest movement of her right boot told Jack she was listening.

  ‘Your father is protecting you.’ Stella turned to her.

  Carrie didn’t move. Stella had read her right. She was playing it cool. Not guilty.

  ‘You were due that evening. Did you arrive early and find Rachel and—’

  ‘No.’ Carrie picked Stella’s phone off the bench and hurled it at the jungle frame. Falling short, it skittered across the ground. ‘Daddy knows that if I’d seen Cater I’d have gone nuts, but I would not have hurt her. Why would I be trying to save him if it was me? I’d say so.’

  ‘Why would Rachel’s dying words be that it was you?’ Stella might be chatting in a teashop. Philips hadn’t actually said that, but Jack wouldn’t correct her in front of Carrie. If it was a shock tactic, it was a good one.

  ‘He couldn’t have.’ Carrie retrieved Stella’s phone. ‘Shock and awe might have been your old man’s crappy technique, but I’m a prosecution lawyer. Your tricks are water off a duck’s back.’ She spoke into the phone. ‘For the benefit of the tape, you’re sacked.’

  They watched Carrie Philips speed-walk towards Dalgarno Gardens.

  Stella sniffed as if she was getting a cold. She examined her phone. ‘Lucky this playground is rubberized.’

  Still sniffing, Stella was like Stanley on a scent.

  ‘How her father could say Carrie was a good girl beats me.’ Jack was still unnerved. ‘She must always have been a handful.’

  ‘I don’t think he said that.’ Nose to the air, Stella gathered up her rucksack. ‘I know her perfume.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Jack had hoped Stella was going to crack the case.

  ‘Someone I know wears it. These days my memory’s rubbish. I can’t think who it is.’

  ‘It’s nice.’ Jack was endlessly impressed that Stella could name a smell at fifty paces. If she did remember, perhaps he’d get it for her birthday.

  ‘Good Girl.’ Stella swung open the playground gate.

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘It’s the brand of Carrie Philips’ perfume.’

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  2019

  ‘Clean Slate for a fresh start, Trudy speaking, how—’

  ‘—and the rest! Lucie May speaking and I’m way beyond a fresh start. Listen, Trudes, patch me through to the boss, would you?’

  The reporter. It had been hate at first sight. Lucie May was one of those women who only lit up when a man was there. She was a troublemaker. Although, Trudy grudgingly had to admit, she was good at what she did. Trudy knew that it was May, not Stella’s father, who pointed the finger at the Hindle girl.

  ‘Stella isn’t here. Can I pass on a message?’ She would not tell Lucie May where Stella was. In fact Trudy was annoyed, Stella hadn’t told her what she was doing this morning. That was becoming a habit.

  ‘I’ll call her mobile.’

  ‘Stella doesn’t want to be disturbed. She and Jack are incommunicado. Her phone is on divert. To me,’ Trudy lied.

  ‘In flagrante delicto, do we think?’ May cackled. Then, extra slow as if speaking to a child, ‘Tell. Stella. We’re going to the ground zero.’

  ‘You can tell me.’ Pen poised. ‘It’ll be easier for Stella.’

  ‘She’ll know what I mean. Grazie. Ciao!’

  As Trudy slapped a note on Stella’s desk, she too knew what May had meant. We’re going…? Frowning, Trudy returned to her desk.

  ‘Where’s Stella?’ A woman in voluminous black, a long skirt and blouse, scarf trailing, stood in the middle of the room, her hands on her hips.

  ‘How did
you get in?’ Trudy kept her nerve.

  ‘I’ve started coming in through doors, windows are so unreliable.’ If Trudy was meant to laugh, she didn’t. ‘Jack gave me a key. He’s my ex.’ She didn’t meet Trudy’s eyes.

  ‘I doubt that.’ One thing about Jack was he’d never give his ex the key to his present partner’s work place.

  ‘I have a copy. For emergencies. Like this one.’ The woman pointed at Stella’s office. ‘Could Stella mind my two for an hour? Jack’s not picking up. He wants to be a father, but where is he when he’s needed? The kids asked for Stella. Sooo…’ The woman’s expression suggested that the notion was preposterous, but what could she do?

  So, this was the infamous Bella who kept Jack on a tight rein. Trudy looked around. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Boo!’ Justin and Milly flew out from behind their mother’s skirts.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Trudy did a shocked face. Then to Bella, ‘Stella isn’t here.’

  ‘When will she be back?’ Justin jammed the knuckle of his forefinger into his mouth.

  ‘When will she be back please,’ Trudy told him.

  ‘Please can I have Stella?’ Milly chirped.

  Ground zero. Trudy knew who Lucie May was with and she knew where they were going.

  ‘I have to go out.’ Trudy snagged her coat from the stand by the photocopier.

  ‘Take them with you. They need fresh air.’ Bella sailed to the door.

  ‘A good idea.’ A very good idea.

  ‘They’re sharp. Put them down.’ Trudy gestured at the pair of scissors peeping from Milly’s fist. ‘Come on, we’ll go and play.’

  Minutes later, as they were leaving, another woman appeared. Trudy tutted, Bella had left the door open. The woman wore a leather jacket, hair up in a French knot.

  ‘I need to see Jack… Oh.’

  She exclaimed, ‘What are you doing here? Are they after you too?’

  ‘Wait downstairs and don’t go outside,’ Trudy told the twins. ‘Come with me.’

  Trudy steered the woman into Stella’s room. Passing her desk, she picked up the scissors with which Milly had been playing. The woman stopped on the threshold of Stella’s office.

  ‘Jack’s not here.’ The last words that Nicola Walsh would ever say.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  2019

  After Jack had left Stella cleared up the kitchen, sluicing their cereal bowls, drying and putting them away. Bella had called. She had left the children with Trudy at the office.

  ‘I thought Bella didn’t want them near me.’ Stella had been astonished.

  ‘She changed her mind, I was going to tell you. The children see Harry so Bella could hardly stop them seeing you. Now she’s gone and landed them on you without warning.’ Jack had looked sheepish. ‘Like I did.’

  ‘She hasn’t left them with me.’

  ‘She should not have landed them on Trudy. I’m really sorry, I’ll have to get them. Justin at least will play quietly while we talk.’ Jack had grabbed his coat and run from the house.

  Good Girl.

  Hearing was supposed to be a dying person’s last sense. Stella suspected that hers would be her olfactory faculty. As she was dying, Rachel had perhaps managed to articulate the last thing she had smelled. The name of the perfume of her murderer.

  Good Girl was the perfume that Stella had sniffed on Carrie Philips in the playground. She and Jack had agreed that Carrie’s outrage was genuine. The perfume should have shored up their suspicion, a clinching piece of the jigsaw.

  The email awaiting Stella was also genuine. Carrie requested they send a bill for expenses incurred. She ordered Clean Slate ‘to cease and desist further investigation’. Stella told Jack that her agreement would be binding. They could hand their findings to Martin Cashman and leave it to him to pass on to the Gloucestershire Constabulary. Jack had looked mutinous, but he had agreed.

  Yet a niggle lurked. Who else wore Good Girl perfume? Stella couldn’t bring it to mind. (Lucie would call it the menopause.) Stella should have pinpointed the answer in seconds.

  Jack hadn’t wanted to leave Stella alone in the house. Carrie could be the murderer and even if she wasn’t, she’d been blisteringly angry and there was always a first time to kill. Stella assured him her doors and windows were locked.

  She snapped off the Marigolds and fitted them on the ‘glove puppet’ (one of her favourite objects). Upstairs, she switched on the computer. Dale had tried to Skype three times. She was startled by loud knocking.

  Jack had been quick.

  Leaving her phone on the desk, Stella ran down and opened the door.

  It was Kevin Hood.

  ‘Oh. Hi!’ Her mind raced. Hood was near the top of her suspect list. Mother-in-law in Winchcombe. Creepy. He wasn’t wearing perfume. Stella forced a smile.

  ‘You played me.’ Hood stepped into the hall and closed the door. ‘You’re not a cleaner, you’re a detective.’

  Chapter Fifty

  2019

  Jack slotted the BMW into a tight space behind Shepherd’s Bush Green. All the way he’d cursed Bella for leaving their children with a virtual stranger.

  He’d kept it to himself that he didn’t believe that Carrie was the killer. It was too much of a stretch that Rachel had recognized the perfume and that Christopher knew it was the brand that his daughter wore. But Stella trusted him to know a killer when he saw one so he must trust her skills too. That was what made them a team.

  His own prime suspect had not changed. Once a murderer always a murder. It was the return of Danielle Hindle to Stella’s that worried him. Before he’d got in the car he’d checked the grove of cherry trees opposite her house, bashing at the bushes to rout her out if she was lurking there. She was not.

  As he reached Clean Slate’s front door, Jack’s phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Jack, mate, Dale. How’s it going?’ The hearty voice boomed in his ear.

  When he’d first met Stella’s older brother, Jack had suspected he was a bounty hunter come to claim half her inheritance. Adopted at birth, he’d not been named in Terry’s will. Stella had never heard of him. As it turned out, Dale did get half of Terry’s house, but only because Stella had persuaded him to accept it.

  Dale had been the first to see that Jack’s feelings for Stella were not brotherly. In fact, before Jack himself. Dale had been pleased that they were an item as he called it, but promised Jack that, ‘if you hurt my little sister you’re dead!’

  Stella had told Dale that Jack had shouted at her. Jack dropped his car keys on the pavement. ‘Right, ah… Dale. Hi!’ He scrabbled for the keys. ‘I’m sorry, Dale.’

  ‘What for? Oh my God, is Stella OK? What’s happened?’ Dale shouted.

  ‘No. She’s fine.’

  ‘Stella’s PA said she was working from home. I tried her there and her mobile which took me back to the PA. I Skyped. Nada. It’s about Joanne Marshall. The woman Stella asked me to check out?’

  Stella hadn’t complained about him to Dale. Jack fitted his key in the door. It didn’t unlock. It was already open. Someone had left the snib down.

  ‘…I’m keen to do my bit,’ Dale said. ‘Is Stella with you?’

  ‘I’m about to see her,’ Jack said.

  ‘I headed over to Marshall’s apartment. To see if there was a fire?’ Dale had the Australian inflection of raising his tone at the end of sentences as if asking a question.

  ‘I don’t know about this.’

  ‘Stella Skyped me last night when you were asleep.’

  Maybe seeing Carrie Philips had pushed it from Stella’s mind.

  ‘She’d spoken to Marshall and the woman got antsy about her address. Then a fire bell went off and she vamoosed. Stella’s hunch was bang on. I found nothing. No emergency services and not a whiff of smoke.’

  ‘Meaning she gave us a false address.’ Jack would have kissed Dale had they been on the same side of the world.

  ‘Could be. I tr
ied the neighbours in case I’d got the address wrong. An elderly woman offered to do the rounds with me to see if someone had left an appliance on. I felt bad. I’ll stick a voucher for two through her door.’

  ‘Thanks for trying.’

  ‘I wasn’t keen to leave it there.’

  ‘No really—’ It was good that Stella had involved Dale, but now he was doing that thing people did, digging a role for himself. He’d fulfilled his remit. Now they knew that Joanne Marshall had lied about where she lived. It was likely that she was keeping her past at bay. In that situation Jack too had lied.

  ‘I’ve been looking at that snap that Stella sent through. The one of Joanne Marshall on Skype?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jack was in the passageway. Trudy could overhear. He must end the call.

  ‘There’s a date at the bottom of the screen?’

  ‘It’s when they talked.’ And the evening when Stella had admitted that Danielle Hindle had slept under the same roof as Justin and Milly.

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘…the date doesn’t match her telly.’

  ‘There’s no date on the screen.’ Jack recalled the image with a ticker-tape banner under the image of the wrecked plane. Queensland landowner says, ‘miracle no fatalities, no livestock killed, crew walked away.’

  ‘The Cessna came down by the ranch and missed the livestock. Insane! The farmer is one of our suppliers. Davey’s wife and kids could have been wiped out.’

  ‘Awful.’ Now Jack understood Dale’s concern. ‘Is Davey OK?’

  ‘As good as gold! He’s grown a beard for charity, looks like a settler!’

  ‘Amazing.’ Jack had grown a beard last year to cover a rash. Lucie May had said he looked like Abraham Lincoln and not in a good way.

  ‘You’re not getting it, Jack. Going back to that chat Stella had with Mrs M. It was this week?’

  ‘Three days ago.’ It hadn’t been a question and no, Jack wasn’t getting it. Why hadn’t Stella answered Dale’s call?

  ‘Davey’s beard is three weeks old.’

  ‘Well done him.’ Jack made more effort.

  ‘The crash was a couple of months back. Why was it on telly this week?’