The Playground Murders

by Lesley Thomson

  ‘A rehash? Maybe the pilot was charged with careless driving. Flying.’

  ‘That wrecked Cessna is old news, done and dusted. ABC is twenty-four hours, that’s a live rolling banner on her screen. As if it just happened.’

  ‘It’s a recording!’ Jack got there.

  ‘Why would Joanne Marshall play a recording?’ Dale was patient.

  ‘Dale, you’re a wonder-horse!’ Jack punched the air. ‘Marshall played a clip of Australian TV to make us think she was in Australia!’

  ‘Is she a prime suspect for this murder?’ Dale asked.

  ‘She is now.’

  *

  ‘Stella, call when you get this!’ Jack panted as he took the stairs to reception. ‘Now!’

  The door was locked. Through the wired glass pane he saw that the room was empty. Trudy had settled the children in Stella’s room beyond. He had a text. Stella. No, it was Lucie.

  Tell Detective Stella we’re at the playground. I bet Monster PA didn’t pass on the message. She hates me!

  Jack was fumbling with his keys when Beverly came down the stairs.

  ‘Bev, are the twins with you?’ Beverly was great with the kids.

  ‘No. Why should they be?’ Beverly appeared puzzled.

  ‘Fair enough.’ Silly question. Trudy was minding them. That was fine, Jack told himself. The key was jammed in the ring.

  ‘Here let me.’ Beverly took the keys off him and deftly untangled it. She unlocked the door.

  ‘Milly, Justin? It’s me, Daddy.’

  ‘They won’t be here on their own.’ Beverly was looking at him strangely.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dread blossomed in his solar plexus.

  ‘Trudy’s out. The phone’s on divert to me. Justin and Milly aren’t here. She’d have said.’

  Jack strode across the office and barged into Stella’s room. He reeled backwards. The scene was crazy, he made no sense of it.

  Beverly was on the floor at his feet. She was administering CPR. A woman lay on her back by Stella’s desk. Blood glistened on Stella’s new carpet. As the scene took shape Jack saw a deep gash across the woman’s throat.

  Jack forced himself to be objective. The amount of blood suggested that the attacker had severed the carotid artery. A paired scissors had been plunged into the woman’s chest. Right where her heart was. When Beverly got up, Jack saw the woman’s face.

  ‘It’s Nicola Walsh.’ He hit the numbers on his phone. Nine. Nine. Nine.

  Sitting back, Beverly gave up her revival efforts. ‘What a terrible way to die.’ She gave a deep sigh and got up. ‘This is a crime scene. We’re contaminating it.’

  ‘Police. Ambulance. A woman’s been hurt. She may be dead.’ Gripping the receiver, Jack barely took in his own words. Next he rang Bella.

  Bella’s phone was off. Silently Jack cursed her. Typical of her to collect Justin and Milly and not tell anyone.

  ‘I didn’t hear Nicola arrive.’ Good in an emergency, Beverly was containing her emotions. ‘Trudy called my extension. She said she was going out to meet a client. She didn’t mention Nicola or the twins.’ The colour completely drained from her face. ‘Maybe Trudy never left.’

  ‘Where are my babies!’ Jack shouted.

  On the half landing, Beverly tipped open the toilet door with her fingertips. The two cubicles were empty.

  Jack willed Justin and Milly to burst on them, ‘Boo!’ Panic engulfed him. Beverly sensed this. She whispered, ‘If Trudy has them, she’ll have taken them to the playground for a go on the swings or something. They’ll be fine.’

  If.

  Jack went icy cold. Trudy had killed Nicola.

  ‘Nicola could have arrived after Trudy left; you said the door was on the latch.’

  They heard the door buzzer. Beverly ran downstairs.

  ‘Where’s the body?’ Martin Cashman demanded. He was clad in plastic overshoes and gloves, his hair awry.

  ‘Through there.’ Never in his life had Jack been pleased to see him.

  ‘Great, and you have tramped everywhere.’ Cashman broke his stride. He looked at Jack, suddenly stricken.

  ‘It’s not Stella,’ supplied Jack.

  Cashman teared up with relief.

  ‘It’s Nicola Walsh.’ Jack saw this sink in. Cashman had known Nicky as a child.

  ‘I tried to resuscitate her,’ Beverly said.

  Cashman went into Stella’s room.

  Janet, another of Terry’s protégés. The police must have flagged up Stella’s address and sent in the big guns – indicated they sit. She took their names. ‘Tell me what happened. Who found the body?’

  Beverly told her that Trudy had left an hour ago. Possibly with Jack’s children, that was unconfirmed.

  ‘Why do you think Trudy Wates has your children, Jack?’ ‘Was Jack already here when you came downstairs, Beverly?’ ‘Who is the client – address?’ ‘How long has Trudy Wates worked here?’ ‘How old are your children?’ ‘Have you tried their mother?’ ‘Are you saying that you both discovered the body?’

  ‘We’re wasting time.’ Jack smashed his fist down on Trudy’s desk and knocked something onto the floor. A black stiletto shoe. Trudy wore flat shoes. ‘Whose shoe is this?’

  ‘Don’t touch. Please.’ Janet bagged it. ‘It’s not a shoe, it’s a bottle of perfume.’

  ‘It’s Trudy’s,’ said Beverly. ‘Good Girl. My sister wears it too. Apparently, Trudy’s husband gave it to her before he died. Suddenly of cancer. Or in an accident. Whatevs.’ She batted away the pointless perambulation.

  ‘What is Trudy’s husband’s name?’ Janet asked as if it was not pointless.

  Beverly shook her head.

  Nicola had met Lee’s wife. Upset over the fallout with Stella, he hadn’t asked Nicola when she’d seen Joanna Marshall.

  ‘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.’

  ‘Her husband jumped in front of a train.’ Mentally, as Penelope Philips had done, Jack snapped the jigsaw pieces into place. When Stella and he had debated who could have stolen the letter to Terry in which Hindle gave her address, they’d forgotten Stella’s mystery break-in months ago. Trudy had discovered it and called the police. Trudy had been in the house.

  ‘Like Lee Marshall,’ exclaimed Beverly. ‘Oh, you mean—’

  ‘Yes! Trudy is Joanne Marshall. She found Hindle’s address from…’ Jack remembered that no one but himself and Stella knew about the letters to Terry.

  ‘Good Girl, Rachel said… Carrie…’ The words Christopher said Rachel had uttered on her last breath. Jack’s mind raced as myriad clues slotted into meaning. Agnes Cater told them her daughter had to buy Christopher’s presents for his family. ‘It must have been torture, but she never complained.’ Rachel had known exactly what perfume Carrie Philips wore. She’d been trying to tell Christopher that she recognised her killer’s perfume. It was same as Carrie’s. And Trudy’s.

  ‘Are you saying Trudy killed Rachel?’ Beverly was there with him. ‘I get it. Trudy goes to Winchcombe intending to kill Hindle because she killed her husband’s sister. Course she only knows her from childhood photos so when Rachel answers the door she flies into a frenzy and kills her. Then she makes a run for it.’

  ‘Nicola Walsh met Lee’s wife. When she came here she recognized Trudy as Joanne Marshall. Trudy – Joanna – hated Nicola because Lee loved her all his life.’ Jack crashed open the door. ‘Trudy has killed two women. She has taken my children. She will not hesitate to…’ He couldn’t finish his sentence.

  ‘Hindle’s in a safe house. How could Trudy know where that is?’ Beverly was behind him on the stairs.

  Jack got the answer as he stepped out onto the street. ‘She checked Stella’s satnav.’

  Beverly grabbed his arm. ‘Jack, why would Trudy harm the twins? Joanne Marshall told Stella she’d wanted children. It was Lee who didn’t. Leave it to the police. We’ve no idea whe
re to start looking.’

  ‘You said,’ As he recalled Lucie’s text, Jack quoted Beverly. ‘“She’ll have taken them to the playground for a go on the swings.” Come on.’

  Chapter Fifty-One

  2019

  ‘Do you know how much time and money you’ve cost me?’

  Stella saw it was ridiculous to think Kevin Hood dangerous. Hunched on the settee beneath the lounge window, pinching at his nose as if trying to pull it off, he looked miserable.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Even the most sympathetic witness can be a good liar, Terry’s voice reminded her. Stanley continued to sleep at the other end of the settee. So much for canine protection.

  ‘We’re investigating a murder.’

  ‘My wife said to keep my chin up, one job leads to more. She said you coming was the start of things. Except it wasn’t, was it!’ Hood dashed at his eyes with his sleeve. The nose-pinching had been to stop himself weeping.

  ‘Luck can turn on a sixpence.’ Where had she got that from? Stella ripped a tissue from a box by her bluetooth speaker and gave it to him. If Hood was faking tears, he was a good actor.

  ‘Danielle Hindle.’ Hood blew his nose with a trumpeting snort. ‘I saw her in Winchcombe. I recognized her immediately. I never forget a face.’

  Stella nodded.

  ‘I mean never. I’m what they call a super-recognizer. I have to stop myself greeting people – in a supermarket, on the street – as I don’t actually know them. If a woman has sold me a train ticket or rung up my shopping they’re seared into my memory. They’d think I was mad if I said hi when I saw them somewhere else. But when I saw Danielle, I couldn’t stop myself. Penny as she is now, could have blanked me, but she said, “Hi, Kevin, it’s lovely to see you.” She even remembered my name. She invited me back to hers for tea.’

  ‘She lives in the house where Rachel Cater was murdered.’ Time to stop Friends Reunited.

  ‘Oh. My. God. That murder!’ Hood bunched up the tissue in a fist. ‘You think Penny killed her husband’s mistress? No way!’

  Stanley raised his head and gave a low growl.

  ‘You told the police you were with your mother-in-law on the day that Rachel Cater was killed. She vouched for you.’ Keeping an open mind had let facts escape. Stella had entirely forgotten this. ‘It would have been easy to slip out for a few minutes.’

  ‘Penny can’t remember what went on in the playground. It was long ago,’ he said. ‘I was with my mum-in-law until we returned to London. She was staying with us. Ask her? Ask my wife.’ He checked himself. ‘Please don’t ask my wife. For heaven’s sake, Penny didn’t know her husband was playing away, how could I know?’

  ‘Why are you seeing her now?’

  ‘We’re friends.’

  ‘Is that all?’ This was a permutation that they hadn’t considered. Kevin and Danielle disposed of Rachel and then Christopher.

  ‘Yes, that’s all.’ Stella had no idea why she believed he was telling the truth. Perhaps she could read people after all.

  Kevin picked up a sheet of paper from under the coffee table. It was the Skype printout of Jo Marshall. Stella had put it down when she’d come to turn down the heating and forgotten it was there. In the meantime, presumably thinking it a good game, Stanley had taken a bite of it. One of Jo’s hands was missing. It occurred to her to ask. ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘Yes.’ Hood pulled a face. ‘She was outside Penny’s flat. She pretended to be her friend. That got me suspicious.’

  ‘You saw her here? In the UK! When?’

  ‘Yesterday. I was in Winchcombe doing chores for my mum-in-law. I diverted to Broadway to see how Penny was dong. This lady was sniffing around. I sent her packing.’ He examined the photo. ‘That must be a wig. Her hair was a kind of blondish colour, highlights like my wife has. She wasn’t wearing glasses.’

  ‘Yet you’re sure it was her?’ Stella was suspicious. Was Hood trying to put her off the scent?

  ‘I would know her anywhere.’

  Stella’s phone rang.

  ‘Stella, it’s Martin. I’m at your office. We need to find Jack Harmon. Is he with you?’

  ‘Jack? No.’ Stella looked at her watch. Jack should be back by now. ‘What for?’

  ‘Murder.’

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  2019

  The towers of Wormwood Scrubs prison loomed tall above the rooftops. Crows soared overhead like paper cut-outs, stark against the sky. It was meteorologically Spring but a damp low grey cloud hung low over London.

  In the playground, the jungle climbing frame and chute were deserted. The only people there were two middle-aged women. The younger of the pair sat on the swing, the other was taking her photograph.

  ‘Clutch the chains,’ Lucie instructed. ‘Smi-ell.’

  ‘I know what you’re doing.’ In sunglasses and scarf, Danielle Hindle glared, stony-faced. ‘You’re making it look like I’m happy those kids died here. That’s not what we agreed.’

  ‘We must show readers your softer side.’ Lucie considered this a big ask. ‘You think they’ll get that from you looking fit to kill?’

  ‘They need to think I’m sorry.’ Hindle scowled. Lucie pressed the shutter.

  ‘Are you?’ Lucie lowered the camera.

  ‘I told you and I told Terry. I’m a different person. Readers need to see that. They want Danielle Hindle dead. Well, she is.’ She folded her arms. ‘This will show Carrie what it was like for me.’

  Good luck with that. Lucie swiped through her photographs. They showed a grim woman with granite features, an unbending Tory Councillor or sadistic games mistress past her prime. Or a retired child-killer. Perfecto.

  ‘Are we done?’ Hindle snapped.

  ‘Not quite.’ Cackling, Lucie bent down and fiddled with the catch on a large box at her feet. The yellow of the lid was answered by the giant yellow chute a few metres from them.

  Lucie had known that Hindle was too smart to spill for cash. But at their first encounter decades earlier, she’d rooted out Hindle’s Achilles’ heel. Danielle Hindle craved attention like a thirsty person in a desert. Since her release from prison over a quarter of a century ago, Lucie had looked for her. Out of the blue, Terry’s daughter had handed Hindle to her. With triple A availability. In hours of (mind-numbing) monologue Hindle had said nothing new. ‘…Danielle hated her family. She was top of the class at school. Terry shouldn’t have arrested her. It wasn’t fair what the papers said. Sarah Ferris was no angel…’ That didn’t matter. Lucie had enough. A story that had begun with the horrific murders of two innocent children in a playground would end today. A born theatrical, she’d shoot the photo to end all photos.

  For Lucie the Cater murder was a sideshow. Very sad, obviously. She had the scoop of the century.

  Child-Killer Is Unrepentant.

  If only Terry could read it.

  ‘After this, Jack and Stella will post you back to Gloucestershire.’ Lucie made no bones about her relief. Murderers weren’t great company.

  ‘Lucie!’ Two childish voices rang out across the playground.

  A woman holding two children by the hand was coming towards them.

  ‘Did you arrange this?’ Hindle continued to swing.

  Lucie wished she had. Two kids playing in the background was genius. Except they were Jack’s kids.

  ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘Stella’s PA. I’ll get rid of her.’

  ‘I saw you here before on that chair,’ Milly told Hindle. She tried to point at Robbie Walsh’s bench, but Trudy tugged her away. ‘You were nasty.’

  ‘You tried to steal someone’s sweatshirt. That’s wrong,’ said Hindle.

  ‘We’re not meant to talk to strangers,’ Justin reminded his sister.

  ‘Shut up,’ Trudy told the children.Then to Hindle. ‘You are seriously talking about right and wrong? It was wrong to end the lives of those children.’

  ‘Listen, Trudes, take them away, yeah?’ Lucie knew that Stella h
ad got her PA typing up case notes. The woman was working outside her remit. ‘Don’t be a vigilante. I’ve got this.’

  ‘You go. There’s no story here. It’s nothing to do with you.’

  ‘These kiddies are to do with me,’ Lucie said sweetly. ‘I’m friends with their daddy.’

  ‘And with us,’ Justin said.

  ‘And you, yes,’ Lucie melted. No one had ever called her their friend.

  ‘You shouldn’t have brought them,’ Hindle said.

  ‘You’re hot on child safety now?’ Trudy sneered. ‘Shame you didn’t think that when you had Robbie and Sarah at your mercy. Danielle.’

  ‘The parole board ruled that Danielle was a substantially changed character. She did not pose a significant risk to the public.’ Hindle sounded like a public announcement.

  ‘It’s not about what you might do. That’s where they get it wrong. No amount of good behaviour can make up for what you did. Lee will never breathe free air, he’ll never bring our kids to play on that swing,’ Trudy said.

  Something flashed in the failing light. Her arm across Milly, Trudy Wates held a knife in her left hand. She was Stella’s PA. Why she was batting for the wrong side? Beware pissing off your typist.

  Lucie recalled the pathologist’s report for Rachel Cater. A minimum of four inches. Gripped in the left hand. She flipped through her mental Rolodex. And found the answer under M.

  ‘Joanne Marshall. All the way from sunny Sydney.’ Lucie was triumphant.

  ‘Got there in the end, old lady.’ Marshall dismissed Lucie with a glance.

  ‘She’s called Trudy,’ Milly said. ‘She’s nice.’

  ‘No, darling, she’s not,’ Lucie smiled at Milly. ‘Milly, Justin, come here to me.’

  ‘Quite the reporter, aren’t you.’ Joanne Marshall tilted the blade. ‘Give me Hindle then the kids can go. Otherwise, there’ll be two more benches in this playground.’

  ‘That’s blood on your shirt!’ Lucie went cold. ‘If you’ve hurt them—’

  ‘The lady who came to see my daddy at Stella’s job cutted herself with the very sharp sizz-ers.’ Justin was helpful. ‘Trudy did stop her.’