Shattered: a gripping crime thriller

by Heleyne Hammersley

  ‘I just feel that there’s something there…’

  ‘Feel? I know we all go with our gut sometimes, Kate, but I’m just not seeing it. DCI Thornbury had no known connection with Eleanor Houghton or Julia Sullivan, and I don’t think the tattoos are anywhere near good enough. I know a labrys is an odd choice for a seemingly heterosexual, elderly woman but who knows what she did in her past. Same for Sullivan. People change, Kate. I’m not the same person I was in my twenties – thank God – and I doubt you are.’

  Das was right about that. Kate had floundered a bit after university and her father’s death. She’d been quite anti-police during her teens but much of that was connected with the miners’ strike and the opinions of her friends. If she were honest, she’d suffered more from the families of other miners calling her dad a scab because he was in a different union than she had from police or media perception of the industry. After a year of working in a pub in the evenings and a grocery shop at the weekend, Kate decided that she needed a career and the police force appeared to offer everything she wanted. She’d removed all but one of the piercings in her ears and let her short, platinum, bleached hair grow back to its natural blonde – relieved that she’d always resisted the lure of a tattoo – and, apart from the years when she was at home with her son, she’d fitted in and progressed.

  ‘I think you’d be better off looking at Peter Houghton. In my experience cases like this are about money and his company made him a wealthy man. Perhaps he’s connected to Julia’s husband in some way. I don’t want a respected police officer like Thornbury under investigation based on your hunch.’

  Kate tried not to react to Das’s comment about her experience. Kate was at least ten years older than her superior and had been doing the job since the DCI was a teenager. Instead, she gave a reluctant nod.

  ‘I’ll send O’Connor and Barrett back to the haulage yard,’ she conceded. ‘Cooper’s still working on the Houghtons’ finances. It looks like their solicitor is the executor of their wills so we should be able to find out who benefits from their deaths fairly quickly. We’re still waiting on some tests from the Sullivan house.’

  ‘And DCI Thornbury?’

  Kate sighed. ‘On the back burner.’

  ‘We’re not pursuing the Thornbury case,’ Kate said to her assembled team. O’Connor smiled broadly but the others simply nodded. They understood the constraints that budgetary matters placed on investigations and they also knew that Das tended to favour Kate. If the DCI had told Kate to drop the case, there would have been a good reason.

  ‘So, what now?’ Barratt asked.

  ‘We’re going to have a good look at the haulage business. And we need to know who benefits from the deaths of Peter and Eleanor Houghton. I’m also curious about Eleanor’s history. That tattoo doesn’t tally with who she appears to be. If this isn’t to do with the business, I don’t want to risk overlooking something from her past. And we’re still trying to link the Houghtons and the Sullivans.’

  ‘I’ll get on to the Houghtons’ solicitor,’ Cooper said. ‘See what we can find out about the will. I’ll also do a bit of digging into Eleanor’s background – there might be something on social media. And I know there was a laptop taken from one of the bedrooms; I’ll see if the contents have been accessed.’

  Kate knew she could count on Sam Cooper’s loyalty, but she also knew that the DC was inclined to dig deeper than the parameters she was set. The Thornbury element of the investigation wasn’t dead until Cooper came up blank.

  ‘Steve, Matt.’ O’Connor and Barratt fixed their eyes on hers in anticipation. ‘Back to Houghton Haulage in Thorpe. I want you to find out how the operation works, who’s really in charge and who might be keeping secrets.’

  The two men stood up and pushed their chairs under the table.

  ‘What about me?’ Hollis asked.

  ‘You’re still owed a day’s leave. How about you take it while I go through some paperwork? Tomorrow we’ll work through what these three have turned up.’

  Hollis looked disappointed at being given the day off and Kate didn’t blame him. He’d already gone to the effort of getting ready for work and driving into Doncaster from his flat in Bentley, but Kate didn’t want to drag him into her plans for the morning. If she ran into trouble with Das it wasn’t fair to have Hollis involved.

  Adele Knowles answered the door with a bright smile. ‘Detective Inspector Fletcher. Back again so soon?’

  ‘Just a couple of follow-up questions,’ Kate said, looking round to make sure the uniformed constable stationed at the gates of Peter Houghton’s home hadn’t recognised her. ‘Could I come in?’

  Adele held the front door open and ushered Kate into the hallway. ‘That looked a bit cloak and dagger,’ she commented. ‘Not supposed to be here?’

  She’s observant, Kate thought. Which might not be a bad thing given the questions Kate had. She followed Adele through to the lounge where they’d spoken two days ago and took a seat opposite the picture window.

  ‘Drink?’ Adele asked.

  Kate shook her head. ‘I don’t have much time. Just a couple of quick questions and then I’ll be out of your hair.’

  Adele sat on the edge of the sofa and leaned forward eagerly. ‘I’m intrigued. The Houghtons’ apparent suicide is the talk of the village, but I doubt I’ll be able to help.’

  Taking her phone out of her pocket, Kate scrolled to the image of Eleanor Houghton’s tattoo and passed the device to Adele. ‘Do you know what this is?’

  The woman took the phone and studied the screen. ‘It’s a labrys. An Amazon axe.’

  ‘What does it represent?’

  ‘Strength, I suppose. It’s a popular symbol with lesbians. Is that why you’re asking me – as a representative of the LGBTQ community?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Not exactly. Do you know anybody with a tattoo like this?’

  ‘Nope. I’ve seen it on posters but never on flesh.’ She passed the phone back to Kate. ‘I don’t see where you’re going with this.’

  Kate paused, trying to work out how to get the information she needed without giving too much away about the owner of the tattoo. Adele Knowles was bright; she’d start making connections as soon as Kate mentioned Eleanor Houghton but there was no other way to get the answers she needed.

  ‘When we last spoke, you mentioned that Eleanor Houghton might have been frightened of her husband. Can you give me a specific example?’

  Adele sighed and sat back. ‘There were a couple of times I saw them coming home in the car and the way she got out to open the gates, she seemed mousy, scurrying around like she was in a hurry. As if she’d be in trouble if she wasn’t quick enough. I know, it’s not much. Oh, and there was a time when she was posting leaflets for some sort of church thing – not that I’d be interested – but she was going door to door in the village. He was doing the houses on the opposite side of the road. I opened the door before she could post her flyer to tell her not to bother and she was smiling, pleasant. She greeted me quite warmly and asked how I was. I was so surprised I spluttered something unintelligible and by the time I’d got my head around her change of attitude, he’d crossed the road and started dragging her away.’

  In the absence of Hollis, Kate took out her notebook and jotted down the gist of Adele’s account, underlining dragging. ‘Physically dragging?’

  ‘He grabbed her upper arm and pulled. Eleanor didn’t have much choice other than to go with him.’

  ‘And they were working for the church?’

  Adele nodded. ‘I think they were both involved with St Peter’s in the village. As I said, I never went. I’m sure I’d have been seen as some sort of abomination if I’d rocked up one Sunday.’

  Kate made a note of the name of the church. This wasn’t getting the investigation much further but it was shedding light on the relationship between the Houghtons and adding to her feeling that there was more to that relationship than she’d first thought. She remembered the se
parate bedrooms in their house and wondered if she’d been wrong to dismiss their distance as solely due to their advancing age.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the Church of the Right Hand?’

  Adele shook her head. ‘I still don’t get what that tattoo has to do with all this.’ Adele’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘Unless…’

  ‘It’s hers. Eleanor’s,’ Kate confirmed.

  ‘You think she had some sort of secret lesbian past?’ The other woman’s mouth hung open. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Kate admitted. ‘I just got the impression from our last conversation that you had a particular view of the Houghtons and I wondered if the tattoo would tie in with that.’

  ‘Do you think Peter killed his wife and then himself? Is that it?’

  ‘I really can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.’ The words were a formula to ward off nosey witnesses and journalists, but Adele Knowles was still in full flow.

  ‘Because she was having an affair with a woman?’

  ‘Ms Knowles,’ Kate’s voice was quiet but firm, ‘this sort of speculation is not helpful. I genuinely can’t tell you anything else and I’d rather you didn’t share your speculation with anybody else.’

  Adele nodded, contrite. ‘Of course. I’m sorry – I just got a bit carried away. There’s not much excitement in Turton. I was serious when I said I don’t go in for local gossip, don’t worry.’

  The two women parted on the doorstep, Adele still trying to make up for her earlier ebullience and apologising for not being more helpful. Kate assured her that her insight might be of use, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She checked her phone before getting back into her Mini. A text from Sylvia Kerr.

  We need to talk. I’ve had a look at Liv’s climbing equipment.

  17

  O’Connor’s mobile vibrated as he pressed the key fob to lock the car. Barratt watched as his colleague dug the phone out of the pocket of his leather jacket and used his thumbprint to open it to the main screen.

  ‘Text from Cooper.’ He read the contents then turned to Barratt with a grin.

  ‘Guess who’s going to inherit a controlling share in Houghton Haulage…’

  Barratt shook his head. ‘No idea but you look chuffed about it. Is it you?’

  ‘Tony Sims. All that stuff about being treated like family and Peter being his mentor looks like it was true. Gives him a great motive for murder – this lot must be worth well into seven figures.’

  Barratt looked at the row of trucks parked in the huge, fenced yard and the cluster of smaller lorries off to one side. Just this collection of vehicles would be worth a small fortune; combine that with the ones out on the road, the contracts and the good will and it was quite an inheritance.

  ‘Do you think he knows?’ Barratt asked over his shoulder as he pushed open the door to reception.

  O’Connor smiled. ‘If he doesn’t, he soon will. Have a good look at his reaction when I give him the news that we know.’

  The woman behind the reception desk looked up as they entered.

  ‘Maggie!’ O’Connor greeted her like an old friend as he marched towards her, making Barratt cringe inwardly. It was one of his colleague’s less endearing habits – and there were many – that he remembered names and used them to create a false sense of bonhomie.

  Maggie Richardson gave them an obviously fake smile, her eyes wary, her hand hovering next to the telephone on her desk. ‘What can I do for you gentlemen?’

  ‘We’d like to speak to Mr Sims,’ Barratt said. ‘It’s urgent.’

  ‘I’m afraid that…’

  O’Connor took a step forward, his smile widening. ‘Don’t finish that sentence, Maggie. We need to see Tony now. We have a lot of questions to ask him and I’m sure he’d rather answer them here than at Doncaster Police Station. If we have to go into his office and drag him out, I doubt he’ll be very impressed with your skills as a receptionist.’

  Eyes fixed on O’Connor, Maggie Richardson picked up the phone receiver and tapped on the keypad. She turned away as the call connected. Barratt couldn’t make out what she was saying to her boss, but her posture suggested it wasn’t positive.

  ‘Go through,’ she said, her expression blank as she turned back round. ‘You know the way.’

  Sims was sitting at his desk and didn’t get up as Barratt and O’Connor entered his office. Instead, he scowled at them, pushing his chair back slightly so he could cross his legs. ‘To what do I owe the honour of this intrusion? I’m very busy. I could do without interruptions.’

  O’Connor pulled out a chair and sat down, leaving Barratt lurking near the door. It was meant to confuse the man – two places to look; a two-pronged attack when the questions got intense.

  ‘My colleague and I feel you were less than candid when we last spoke,’ O’Connor began, leaning forward and grinning as though inviting Sims to a cosy chat. ‘And now we think we know why.’

  Sims paled but his expression remained defiant. He stared at O’Connor, his expression set, giving nothing away.

  ‘You’ve inherited the company.’

  Sims shook his head. ‘That’s not true.’

  Barratt took an opportunity to wrong-foot him. ‘You’ve inherited a controlling share. You can do what you want with it. Eleanor’s nephew has a decent-sized chunk of shares, but you can easily deny him a say in whatever you decide to do. Might that be a good enough reason for murder?’

  ‘Peter and Eleanor were murdered?’

  Neither of the detectives answered the question.

  Taking a deep breath, Sims placed his clenched fists on the desk as if he were struggling to stay in control of his emotions. Barratt half expected him to start banging them up and down like a frustrated toddler.

  ‘Okay,’ Sims admitted. ‘It’s true. But it doesn’t change anything. I didn’t kill Peter and Eleanor.’

  ‘But it’s handy to have them out of the way.’ O’Connor turned the screw further. ‘Nobody to argue when you want to make changes. Because you do want to make changes, don’t you, Tony? We had a poke around when we were last here and we saw the new fleet. Plain white – no mention of Houghton’s. What’s the deal there then? None of the mechanics were willing to talk – ditto the drivers. And you practically jumped in your seat when I asked if there had been any arguments or disagreements with Peter Houghton.’

  In truth they hadn’t asked the mechanics or the drivers. Barratt had commented on the new smaller lorries, recently registered, but nobody seemed to think there was anything unusual about their addition to the fleet.

  Sims stood up and wandered to the window that overlooked the yard where the vehicles were parked. He peered out and then turned back to O’Connor. ‘They’re mine. I wanted to incorporate them into the company fleet, but Peter wouldn’t let me. I’m only telling you this because if you start digging, you’ll see that they’re registered in my name. I have absolutely nothing to hide – they’re all above board – but I can’t use them for company contracts. I’ve been looking at alternative European routes, post-Brexit, rather than using the French ports to the south of England. I think there’s going to be a market for small European traders who want to export their goods further north, maybe even Scotland. Peter wasn’t convinced and wouldn’t invest. The best I could get him to agree to was that I could garage and service them here.’

  Barratt studied the man as he spoke, assessing, gauging his tone and his expression. There was nothing to suggest he was lying.

  ‘Why didn’t Mr Houghton want to use the lorries?’

  ‘They’re small. Seven-and-a-half tonnes. He didn’t think it was worth the diesel to take them over to the continent, but I wasn’t planning to run them empty. There are a couple of local companies who’re desperate to crack the European markets – one sells furniture, high-quality stuff and the other deals in plastics for the drinks industry. I’ve been taking their stock over one way and then we bring fruit and veg back the other. The vehicl
es are loaded with cargo for both trips – it makes good economic sense. We can’t use the usual rigs because the British companies don’t have huge volumes of product on a weekly basis – they’d be half full at best.’

  There was an earnestness in his expression as he spoke, almost as if he were trying to persuade O’Connor and Barratt to invest in his scheme. This obviously meant a lot to the man, but something was puzzling Barratt.

  ‘Where did you get the money? Eight new vehicles that size can’t have been cheap.’

  ‘I used some savings and borrowed the rest.’

  ‘Borrowed?’ O’Connor was quick to leap on the loan.

  ‘From the bank. There’s a paper trail. It’s all legit.’ Sims had raised his voice, his face reddening across his cheekbones as he allowed O’Connor to wind him up.

  The DS simply smiled and nodded which only seemed to add to Sims’s frustration. ‘So now you’ll be able to include your vehicles in the company fleet and, presumably, transfer the loan to Houghton’s Haulage at a more preferential rate given the profile that Peter built up.’

  Sims glared at O’Connor. ‘You already know I’m not the only beneficiary,’ he said. ‘Eleanor’s nephew has a lot to gain. If he decides to sell his shares, he’ll be a very rich man.’

  ‘And we’ll be looking into that,’ Barratt reassured Sims. ‘But, as he was at his home in Australia on the night that the Houghtons died, it’s unlikely he had anything to do with their deaths.’

  Barratt folded his arms and leaned against the door jamb. They seemed to have reached an impasse. Sims didn’t seem worried that they knew about his inheritance and they had no other information to present to him.