by Jo Allen
‘So it fits. Doddsy, I want you to put that charge sheet together for me.’
‘Jude. Wait. Stop and think for a moment. If you arrest the wrong man—’
‘I’m 100 per cent certain he did it. He’s lying through his teeth.’
‘Yes. I agree with that. He’s lying. But I don’t know why.’
‘It’s obvious. He’s lying to cover his tracks.’
‘Jude. He didn’t do it.’
He turned towards her, his face in a scowl. ‘I rely on my interpretation of the facts, not on some touchy-feely spiritual crap. He had the chance to do it. He had the motive. He hates Max Sumner.’
‘Do you think so? Why would he? He seemed insufferable and intolerable, but he didn’t seem full of hate. Certainly not enough to kill the woman the two of them loved, and who loved him. Did he really strike you as a man who needs revenge?’ Max was such a man. His rival in life and love was not.
‘So maybe he’s an excellent actor. If we don’t charge him we have to let him go, and who knows who’ll die after that? Every single thing in this investigation points to him and to him alone.’
‘Yes. Absolutely everything. So much so that I can’t help wondering if that’s what we were meant to think.’
Doddsy was looking at her enquiringly. ‘You reckon?’
‘Yes. Jude. Think about it. All that effort to send us to find the van. And when we found it, the couple were so quick to identify him, and it was so obviously him? And then there’s the money. Why go and set up a new bank account in your own name for the sake of five hundred pounds, when you could have found the cash easily enough elsewhere without drawing attention to yourself? What would be the point of that?’
‘But who else? There’s no reason that I can see why anyone else would want to kill that child. I might accept there’s a case to be made for Max Sumner murdering his wife out of jealousy, but what about Greg? I don’t know the answer. I’m only looking at the facts.’ Jude’s expression was flinty, that of a captain facing down a mutiny.
‘So am I. But I’m looking at them in a different way, and I don’t think we have anything other than circumstantial evidence.’
‘The most damning fact of all,’ observed Doddsy, into the silence, ‘is surely that there’s absolutely no forensic evidence – not a hair, not a print, not the tiniest piece of DNA – that places him anywhere he hasn’t admitted to being.’
‘But the car—’
‘We haven’t heard about the car, but I think we can reasonably suppose that his DNA would be on it, if any is. Because it was his car. And that won’t help us either.’
*
Max had got rid of the two security men, or at the very least they were no longer in evidence. Nicole heaved a sigh of relief. That must mean he believed there was no longer any threat to them and they could go out. ‘Sophie. Leave your music, sweetheart, and we can go for a walk. It’s a beautiful afternoon.’
Sophie was a good kid – spoiled, of course, but that was to be expected, and now she’d lost her mum Nicole was going to spoil her even more, to prove to her that she was never going to be unloved. Hell, if Max didn’t show her enough love, he’d be answering to Nicole and her mother and the two of them would soon show him the error of his ways.
She looked at the hall table where she was sure she’d left her purse, and sighed. There was always something. God knew where it was. ‘Have you seen my purse, Sophie?’
‘I tidied it up, to help Daddy,’ the girl called down the stairs. ‘Mummy always tidied up. I’m doing it now.’
Nicole quelled a tear. ‘That’s angelic of you, darling. Your mum would have been so proud of you. Where did you put it?’
‘I put it in Daddy’s desk drawer. Because I could see there was a lot of money in it and I wanted it to be safe.’
Max’s study was completely off limits, the place where he incarcerated himself, she suspected, to avoid the company of those he had no time for, herself included. That being the case, the no entry rule couldn’t apply when he wasn’t about. And anyway, it wasn’t as if she were a woman to snoop into other people’s business. With brisk steps, trying to persuade herself that she wasn’t just a little bit afraid of her brother-in-law, Nicole went into his study and opened the drawer. Her purse was there. She picked it up, smiling.
The smile froze. Standing still, she blinked in case she was mistaken, then opened her eyes and looked again. Underneath her purse, nestled in Max’s desk drawer as if it were a precious memento, was a photograph of Dawn and Randolph.
Dawn and Randolph?
How peculiar. But you never knew what was going on in Max’s head, except that it was bound to be shot through with jealousy. She’d never been able to understand why her loving, caring sister had chosen him, but some women were like that. They chose badly.
She closed the desk and walked away. ‘Come on, Sophie darling. We’ll go down into the town and get us both an ice cream. I think I need one.’
*
Neither Jude nor Ashleigh had made any progress in questioning Randolph Flett so Jude had applied for, and been granted, extra time. He’d gone home, late as always, in a sour frame of mind, to regroup and make the most of the next day. But if Flett wasn’t the killer – and Jude’s instinct was still to think he was because the man had been so obviously lying, choosing to answer some questions and refusing to answer others, in such a wild way that he almost thought it was a sign of madness – then the only other person in the frame was Max Sumner. And Max Sumner not only had no reason to do it, he physically couldn’t have done. Chris had narrowed down the time frame and in the window during which Randolph Flett’s car must have been dumped in Haweswater, Max had been at the house in Windermere with Nicole and Sophie.
He sighed. The clock had ticked on to nine o’clock at night and the streets outside were bathed in a late August darkness, but, nevertheless, he put on his running kit and set out into the warm night. Ashleigh and Dawn read the tarot cards. Randolph Flett took refuge in the hills and sought inner peace even as he waited for karma to come and punish him for follies someone else had committed on his behalf. Doddsy, no doubt, prayed for divine guidance. Everyone had their approach to enlightenment and his was rooted in fresh air and exercise. Something, surely, must settle his mind.
Turning right at his front door, he tackled the hill first, up Wordsworth Street and onto Beacon Edge. There were too many difficulties, and the most troublesome was the motive. Why would Max kill his own son – and why go to such lengths to do it? Why had Flett refused to answer questions about the camper van? Was it significant, or was he just so stubborn that Jude and Ashleigh, between them, had pushed him beyond the limits of co-operation?
Beyond the cemetery, down the hill, the running got easier. He had enough energy left to put on a spurt when he reached the chippy in Stricklandgate and found a couple of his former friends hanging around outside, though he wasn’t past them quickly enough to stop them recognising him.
‘Oi! Judas!’ one of them shouted, to the accompanying harmony of his mate’s laughter.
Jude ran on. He’d no time for people who glorified petty crime, or any other sort. They weren’t as important as they thought they were, but they were the ones who got others into trouble. Adam Fleetwood, his one-time best friend, had ended up in prison, but that was no one’s fault but his own. Jude had succeeded in keeping Mikey out of serious trouble, and at least as far as he knew the kid had never been tempted to try drugs again, so he’d done his job, and he was proud of it.
It was a pity Becca didn’t see it like that.
But he hadn’t come out to think of Becca. He pushed himself to go a bit further, up through Castletown and the industrial estate. Running along Norfolk Road, he crossed the street when he saw that the light was on in Ashleigh’s front room. He never knew what that woman was going to do next – if she saw him, she was equally capable of calling him in to discuss the case or shouting at him to go home and go to sleep. If he could only read
her as well as she read him.
Maybe, he joked grimly to himself, he should invest in a set of tarot cards.
A fortnight without a run had taken its toll, and he’d pushed himself too far. Slowing as he turned back down to the Ullswater Road, he jogged towards the town centre, stopping outside the station to stretch off a bit. His legs were heavier than he’d expected.
The London train, late, had just rolled in and the passengers were pouring off. Never one to miss an opportunity to watch his fellow mortals in an unguarded moment, Jude took a moment to get his breath back. A handful of tourists, looking for their taxis. Several businessmen, irritated to be staggering in so late after they would have expected to be home. And a group of young men, surely a stag party, wearing masks depicting the groom and mimicking him as they headed down into the town to find a pub that would let them in.
*
It wasn’t until he was in the shower the next morning that he realised how, and why, Greg and Dawn Sumner had been murdered.
29
‘I’ve applied for a search warrant for the Sumners’ house.’
Doddsy sucked in his teeth, a long breath that implied he thought Jude guilty of misjudgement. ‘The top man will have something to say about that.’
Jude’s scowl deepened. ‘What, because some millionaire bully who once made a lot of money off a corrupt policeman is threatening to sue us? Doesn’t that man know when someone has something to hide? Or is it that he doesn’t trust me?’
‘Keep your bad temper to yourself.’ No one but Doddsy would ever dare speak to Jude like that, let alone with such a pained expression to back up the words. ‘Don’t take it out on us. We’re doing our best.’
‘I’m not taking my bad temper out on anyone.’ A long night and a lack of sleep, perhaps, but not his temper. ‘If it wasn’t Flett, it was Sumner. It has to be one or the other. And as it seems my detective sergeant won’t let me charge the one, nobody – not even Superintendent Groves – is going to stop me looking a little more closely at the other. I just need to know the details of why and how he did it, and we’re away.’ He paused to scan the room. ‘Where is Ashleigh, anyway? She’s usually in by now.’
‘She’s been in and gone out. She’s arranged a meeting with Nicole Underwood for this morning.’
‘Why didn’t anyone tell me about that?’
Doddsy’s patience was exemplary, but he permitted himself a shrug. ‘It was arranged quite late. I believe Nicole called her last night and asked to see her.’
Jude picked up his pen and tapped it on the desk. A chill broke over him, even in the stuffiness of the office. If he was right – if Ashleigh was right – then Max Sumner was a man driven by so strong a motive of hatred and revenge that he hadn’t hesitated to kill his own son. Bearing that in mind, who was to say he wouldn’t attempt to do the same to his daughter? And what would that mean for anyone who got in the way?
He calmed himself. If Max’s motive, as he now suspected it must be, was Dawn’s infidelity, then her punishment was complete and there was nothing left for him to gain by murdering his one remaining child. But if Ashleigh was thinking along the same lines as he was, if she started asking the wrong questions of the wrong people, then she risked putting herself in danger as Max strove to save himself. He considered. Was that likely? On balance he thought not. She wasn’t a novice and she knew the rules. The only way any of them would knowingly put themselves at risk was if it was the only way to save someone else. ‘Do you know where they were meeting?’
‘Yes. Nicole had suggested a cafe in Ambleside. I think Ashleigh has enough sense to stay in a public place if she’s on her own, Jude. You don’t need to worry on that account.’
He breathed out. ‘Okay. That’s fine. But call her and tell her that she’s to stay in public, even if Nicole wants to go somewhere else. And she’s to call me directly as soon as the meeting is over.’ And in the meantime, regardless of the consequences, he would have the house in Windermere searched. If his instinct was right, he’d find the motive there and then all he had to do was work out how Max Sumner had managed to deposit the car in Haweswater – a task which he couldn’t have accomplished on his own, even if he hadn’t been at home at the time.
The rest of it was clear to him. The trail had been laid so deliberately, every clue pointing to Randolph Flett – too obviously so. Flett hadn’t helped himself by refusing to answer questions, but someone who knew him well might be able to predict that reaction and gamble on it helping them. Ashleigh had pinpointed the key mistake Max Sumner had made. He’d tried too hard. The bank account in Flett’s name was an unnecessary detail. ‘I’ll tell you how he did it, shall I?’
‘Astound me.’
‘Sumner’s a planner – maybe too much of one. He’s patient, too. He’s waited a long time for his revenge. I don’t know when he realised his wife loved someone else. My guess is that Flett’s telling the truth when he said he believes his marriage to Dawn never really ended. They’ve probably been seeing each other in secret for years.’
‘She still loved Max, by all accounts.’
‘But that isn’t good enough for him. He might be able to share her with someone else, but not when that man’s his biggest enemy. I think he’s watched Flett for years, planning, and waiting for the opportunity.’
‘Flett goes away every year, you say?’
‘Yes, at the same time and to the same place, since his business crashed. Taking the business might have been enough for most people, but not for Sumner. When he has a grievance against someone, he’ll take it as far as he can, much further than he needs. He’ll have known what Flett does every summer. He’ll have known he had two clear weeks when he could pretend to be him – steal his car, drive around in it, even set up a bank account in his name, for God’s sake.’
‘How did he manage that? It’s not easy to open a bank account in your own name, let alone someone else’s.’
‘I’d like to know for certain. But my money says that when Flett gets back home he’ll find he’s had a break-in. Nothing will have been taken, but his personal documents will have been taken away, used to open a bank account and then returned.’ In front of him, the pieces fell into place and the picture made sense. And do you know what? If it weren’t for the beard, he and Flett are quite alike.’
‘Dawn obviously had a taste for a certain type of man.’
‘Yes, and it cost her.’
‘What about Harriet Martin and her boyfriend?’
‘This is the clever bit.’ It was what he’d learned from the stag party, aping the groom. ‘Think of that picture we had from the CCTV in Windermere. He had the hood up against the rain, but you could see the beard, and that was confirmation of what we were looking for. Then when he spoke to Harriet and Karl. The accent. The limp. There was just enough to suggest to us that it was Flett, and enough circumstantial evidence to confirm it. Maybe he was too clever, trying to point us so obviously towards Flett. It was an unnecessary detail, especially because the timing didn’t fit.’
‘The timings couldn’t have fitted. Then they’d have seen him and he couldn’t take that risk.’
‘True. And you were right on the key thing.’
‘No DNA.’ Doddsy nodded. ‘No forensic evidence. Nothing.’
‘No. And so. Sumner steals the car. I don’t know how he took it, or where he left it when he wasn’t pretending to be Randolph, but we’ll find out. He drives it around, making sure it’s spotted where he wants us to think Randolph Flett is. I presume he dumped it in the lake to cover up any forensic evidence that linked it to him. And then there’s Greg.’
‘Poor kid.’ They shared a silence, thinking of the boy slaughtered on the brink of manhood, hero worshipping his father even as Max led him off on an adventure that would end in death.
‘He takes Greg out for a walk at Howtown and of course the kid isn’t going to argue. He’s the adventurous sort. He loves the outdoors. And he loved his dad.’ Just as Jude himself had love
d to walk the fells with his own father, only to be let down, though nothing like so disastrously. ‘Of course, he wouldn’t object. And after the deed was done Sumner could get back over the hill pretty quickly on his own, and get back to Dawn to find that Greg had disappeared.’
‘And Dawn’s murder? What about that?’
‘He had time to kill her. Just.’ Jude reached for the file with his copious notes in it, and flicked through to the timetable he’d drafted of Max’s movements. ‘He left for Preston immediately before she went to meet Flett, as she thought he was. And I’m going to guess that the last lot of messages she exchanged with the man she thought was Flett were all sent by her husband, too. Flett says he left his phone in the car and that it was an old, cheap one. It had no security on it and all Sumner had to do was switch it on and he’d be able to see all the messages they’d exchanged.’
Doddsy nodded. ‘Texting her while she was on the phone to him was a stroke of genius, because it made her – and us – think she was talking to two different people at once.’
‘Yes. Whereas, in fact, it’s easy to text someone on one phone while you’re talking to them on another.’
‘I’ll think you’re a genius if we find the phone.’ Not a man who was easily impressed, Doddsy was nodding at that.
‘I think we will. He lures his wife to a meeting on the pretext that he’s her lover. He kills her, taking care not to leave any traces but knowing that if he does slip up, he can claim that any DNA was there because he was with her so much. Then he makes his escape. He claims to have been caught in heavy traffic, and there was plenty of it around on a Bank Holiday weekend in the Lakes, so we can’t disprove it. And I think we’ll be able to verify that he did arrive at the function in Preston after a slightly longer journey than usual.’