Sometimes, she dreamed she was back at home. Her mum busying herself about the house, organising some committee thing or talking to the staff, her dad arriving home from a shoot, the cleaners scurrying around, keeping things spick and span, Dixie asleep in her basket. Lottie would glance down and see that she was in her jodhpurs, just back from a ride. She’d open the fridge to find copious bottles of Moet chilling nicely. She’d pour herself a glass and head to her private bathroom to freshen up. The dreams were heartbreakingly real, and it was only when she woke up to find herself in her uncomfortable narrow bed, staring at the peeling olive-green paint that adorned every single wall of her ugly flat, that she remembered that that life was gone. Her fridge now contained a tub of cheap margarine, some wafer-thin ham and half a carton of concentrated orange juice.
Those dreams made her cry. Long after she awoke, she would press her now short nails into her palms and breathe deeply as she tried to control her rage.
She’d had one of those dreams just that morning, and the bitter taste was still in her mouth as she headed into work. Met by Hannah at the door, she knew her sadness was obvious.
Hannah confirmed it. ‘What’s up with you?’
‘Nothing new.’
‘Still want to get your hands on that Robinson bloke?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Thought any more about letting me help you find him?’
Lottie hesitated. ‘I … it’s just that …’ How to tell Hannah she couldn’t afford to pay her? It was embarrassing enough to have to tell her about Vincent and all the things she’d lost in the first place. But to admit she had absolutely no money, not even enough to pay for a couple of hours investigating, now that was truly embarrassing.
‘Is it the money?’
‘What?’ Lottie blushed. With her back to Hannah, she grabbed her tabard and passed Hannah hers.
‘If it’s the money that’s stopping you, I did have a thought after we spoke.’
‘What thought?’
‘How about you let me help you search for him. I’ll do it for nothing. God knows I need the experience, but …’
‘Yes?’
‘If we find him, and you get all your money back and become rich again, you have to pay me top dollar. How does that sound?’
Lottie sighed. ‘He’s not going to be easy to find, you know. I mean, I have looked.’
‘Maybe you have, but you didn’t have Sandlin Private Investigation with you, did you?’
‘I most certainly did not.’
‘So? Come on, like I say, I need the practice. Just think what an endorsement from someone like you could do for mine and Vinnie’s website.’
Lottie tutted at the name, but agreed to the plan. ‘Okay. Let’s give it a go.’ She had nothing to lose. But the truth was, an endorsement from her meant nothing now. She was a nobody. Just another person who was eking out a life, attempting to keep everyone paid with only a living wage to rely on. Her name no longer meant what it had. When that man had taken her money, he had taken her dignity too.
The night before, with one ear out for Mr Bale, Lottie had given Hannah the bare bones of her story. Deciding not to go into much detail, she’d only gone as far as to explain how her family had originally had money, and owned a country estate, which included a vast property named Mulberry House. With a lump in her throat, she’d mentioned the stables and the beautiful wildflower meadow. Then, she’d told Hannah that five years ago, a conman named Vincent Robinson had come into her life and systematically robbed her of everything. She’d explained that now she was short of cash, but had played down just how bad things were. If Hannah saw the place she lived in, or opened her bare cupboards, Lottie would die of shame. She’d only disclosed enough to put Hannah in the picture; she hadn’t found it necessary to rub salt into her own wounds.
However, she suspected that Hannah had not been entirely truthful either; her story about being asked to leave the police had also been brief and full of holes. Lottie couldn’t help wondering why the other police officer hadn’t been in more trouble. He was the one who’d driven right past a crime in progress. She was desperate to hear more, but she understood that Hannah needed her privacy as much as she did. They were like two wounded animals, reaching out for help, but just not trusting enough yet to reveal how messed up things had become.
21
Hannah – 2018
Waiting for news on Dawn’s condition was practically killing Hannah. No matter how she looked at it, it felt as if she were to blame.
If only they’d stopped the car and gone to break up the argument when they’d first spotted it.
Chippy was choosing to remember it all a bit differently. He told her his statement to Inspector McAlpine suggested they must’ve driven past the scene only seconds before the argument, and as soon as they heard it on the radio, Barton had claimed it. He encouraged her to say the same.
‘But we didn’t miss the argument by seconds. We saw it. We should’ve stopped. You know that.’
Hissing under his breath, Chippy replied, ‘Shut up, Sandlin. You think they’re going to just accept that we drove past an argument in the street and left a PCSO to deal with it alone?’
‘But we did! That’s exactly what happened. Thanks to you.’
Chippy shot her a look. ‘You’re not getting it, are you? We made a bad decision. But we don’t have to suffer because of it.’
‘We?’
‘Yes, we. I mean it; if you tell them we saw those two fucking dykes arguing in the street and we didn’t stop, I swear to God, we’re both for the chop.’
‘Will you stop using the term “dyke”? I find it very offensive.’
Chippy gave a hollow laugh. ‘You being offended by my language isn’t high on my list of worries right now. Just say the same as me. Tell anyone who asks, all we saw was an empty street. Whatever kicked off between those two useless scumbags happened after we’d driven past. Have you got that?’
Hannah shook her head. ‘It doesn’t feel right. I don’t like lying about it. I want to—’
‘What you want to do is keep your mouth shut about seeing that fight. Stick to our story and we just might keep our jobs. Do you hear me?’ Chippy’s face was uncomfortably close.
Taking a step back, Hannah mumbled, ‘I need to think.’
Chippy’s face took on a snarl. ‘You stupid—’
One of their colleagues entered the room, and straight away Chippy’s expression switched to one of concern. ‘Yeah, I know. I’m worried about her too. But I’m sure there’ll be news soon.’ He placed his hand on Hannah’s shoulder and gave what appeared to be a supportive squeeze.
She took the opportunity to leave the room, still undecided about her next move. What would her mum and dad say if they knew she was thinking about lying?
An hour later, news arrived.
Gathering all the available staff together in the canteen, Inspector McAlpine’s expression was grave. ‘I’ve just heard from the hospital. They … they …’ He faltered. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, he steadied himself and restarted. ‘They weren’t able to save her. Dawn’s dead.’ His voice broke again.
Cries of ‘No fucking way!’ echoed around the canteen.
‘They assure me they did everything they could. But it was that damn rain. It was just impossible to know how much blood she’d already lost before help arrived.’
‘But she was breathing. When they put her in the ambulance, she was stable!’ Hannah heard her own voice call out.
‘She was always critical. We knew that.’
‘But …’
‘If someone had just got there sooner, maybe they could’ve prevented it, or at least stemmed the flow of blood a bit earlier.’ McAlpine added.
Hannah couldn’t stop the tears.
One of her colleagues hugged her. ‘Don’t blame yourself. You and Chippy were the first there. You did well to respond so fast. You were her best shot. You guys did all you could.’
All ar
ound her there were cries of anger. Every officer in the canteen wanted to be the one to interview Bev Collins. How had this happened? How had one of their colleagues been killed in the street? What had possessed that woman to stab a young officer in the belly with a broken bottle? Half the work force was out searching for Bev’s partner. Forensics were looking for every drop of DNA they could find on the smashed bottle and in the street, although the rain had made the investigation difficult. Everyone involved had given a full statement to Inspector McAlpine. Except for Hannah. She’d managed so far to dodge him, but now he was staring her straight in the eye. ‘Right, Sandlin, I was hoping I’d run into you. I need your statement. Come on, let’s get on with it.’ He took her by the elbow and guided her towards the canteen exit.
As she left, Hannah caught sight of Chippy. He was consoling one of his female colleagues. Holding her as she sobbed, he appeared to be caring and kind. Hannah squeezed past them. The look he gave her over his colleague’s shoulder said it all.
22
Vincent – 2014
Catherine had taken to her bed. Against his better judgement, Vincent had decided not to leave. Instead, he and Lottie were strolling through the meadow. Like her mother, Lottie was a bit drunk and Vincent was finding the whole situation rather surreal.
‘So, this is all part of your family estate?’ He asked the question with an attempt at casual interest.
‘Yes. It’s five and a half acres, if you include all the woodland.’ Lottie smiled at Vincent. ‘Our own little New Forest, complete with ponies.’
Her manner continued to confuse him.
‘Sadly, there are hardly any Mulberry trees left, and what there are rarely bear fruit. The birds always get there first.’
Vincent brushed over this comment. It seemed to be of no use to him. Instead, he returned to the size of the land, asking, ‘What on earth do you do with five and a half acres?’
‘Oh, we find things to do in it.’ She smiled again.
‘Such as?’
‘Well … we have a summer fete here, alternate years, all organised by Mummy.’ She tilted her head and gazed down into his eyes.
‘That sounds like fun.’
‘It is. The whole village comes, and everyone takes part.’
‘Splendid.’
Lottie continued to gaze into his eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘Anything else?’
‘The lads from the boys’ youth club used to camp here.’
‘Youth club?’
‘Yes. A bit like Boys Brigade. You know, little boys wearing woggles.’
‘Umm … woggles?’ Vincent couldn’t picture such a garment.
‘Only, now I come to think of it, these boys didn’t actually wear a uniform.’
‘I don’t think I understand.’
‘Dib, dib, dib and all that.’
‘Now you’ve completely lost me.’ Vincent laughed.
‘Boys came and camped here. Similar to Boy Scouts.’
‘Ahh yes, I see. In Italy we called them the Federazione Italiana dello Scautismo.’
Lottie gave a little shiver. ‘Yum. Nice accent.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘So, you were saying, the children – they used to come here and camp?’
‘Yes, throughout my childhood, there were always tents here in the summer. If it wasn’t the boys’ youth club, it was groups from the local schools. They always got Daddy’s permission first.’
‘Daddy’s permission. Hmm …’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I was just wondering …’ Vincent took a seat on a log placed in a fire circle, hoping she would join him and make the difference in their heights less obvious.
She did. ‘What were you wondering, Mr Robinson?’ She was being cheeky with his name, he could tell.
‘What else do we need Daddy’s permission for?’
‘You don’t need his permission for anything. I’m over eighteen. You can’t get into trouble.’
‘Ahh, my dear girl. If only that were true.’
‘I hadn’t finished my list. I’ve done other things in this meadow. The long grass is … concealing,’ she giggled, ‘and we can’t be seen from the house, because of the dip in the land. Like I say, you won’t get into trouble.’
‘I sense that if I were to kiss you right now, right here on this log, if I were to take you into my arms and kiss your eager mouth, that I would most definitely get into trouble.’
Giving him no further chance to speak, Lottie moved her head towards his and their lips met.
Forcing her mouth open, Vincent released all the pent-up passion her ridiculous flirting had created.
They kissed intently for a minute before his hand ventured inside her t-shirt. Cupping one of her breasts, he marvelled at the fact she was not wearing a bra and yet her flesh was still so firm. As his fingers brushed her nipple, he heard her gasp. When it suited him, Vincent could be a skilled lover.
Within seconds, Lottie was panting and ready to move on. ‘You can make love to me if you want to. It’ll be fine,’ she whispered.
Reluctantly, he pulled away. Removing his hand from her t-shirt, he shook his head. ‘I think we both know that’s not true.’
‘You can. It’s okay. No one ever comes out here.’
‘What about the youths? The school children?’
‘Don’t be a tease. You can see they’re no longer around.’
‘Even so, I think my answer is a definite no.’
She looked confused. ‘What are you …?’
‘I think there would be huge consequences if I allowed myself to be tricked into making love to you, young lady.’
‘Tricked?’
‘Yes, tricked.’
‘What the fuck?’
‘Mind your language. I don’t think your mother would like to hear your dirty mouth.’ Vincent stood up.
Lottie also rose from the log. ‘My mother? As if you know what she’d like.’
‘She’s a good friend of mine. I believe I do know what she’d like.’
‘You bloody creep. You come here sucking up to her, flashing your big brown eyes in her direction. You’re a scheming bastard.’
‘I’m scheming? What about you? Did you really think I was that stupid? Did you think you could lure me out to the meadow and persuade me to have sex with you? Did you not think I would get wise? I know a honey trap when I see one.’
‘You wanted me. I know you did. It was obvious.’ Her glance moved to his crotch.
‘A few moments of pleasure with you out here, and then what? You would’ve gone back to Catherine and told her what we’d done, and boom! That would’ve been the end of my friendship with your mother. Or perhaps the plan was to tell Daddy. Oh yes, you would like to see your father tear me apart. No, thank you. I will not be taking you up on your offer to make love.’
‘You’re playing my mother and she’s too infatuated to realise it.’ Lottie’s hand shot out, ready to slap him across the face. ‘I just wanted to show her—’
Vincent grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. ‘You want to know something? There was no way I was ever going to make love to you. Not today, not ever. You want to know why? Because I have a rule. I don’t stick my dick in crazy, and you, Lottie Thorogood, are one crazy little puttana.’
‘Fuck you!’ Lottie pulled her arm away. Heading back to the house, she called over her shoulder, ‘You’ll get nothing from her. Not whilst my dad is here to protect her. Not ever. I can promise you that.’
As Vincent brushed down his trousers and made his way towards the gate at the side of the meadow, a thought struck him – perhaps he wouldn’t get anything whilst Catherine’s husband was around to hold on to the money, but he might not be around forever.
23
Lottie – 2014
In the month since she had tried and failed to seduce Vincent, Lottie had mulled over the whole sorry incident more times than she cared to count.
She asked herself repeatedly what the hell she’d been thinking. Mostly annoyed that her attempts to reveal the true Vincent had failed, there was also a horrible lingering sense of embarrassment, because she knew, with stomach-churning sickness, that Vincent Robinson had turned her on. Despite his diminished height, the way he’d kissed her and fondled her so expertly had aroused her far more than she’d planned. The idea had been to sleep with him, no strings attached, and then to reveal this to her mum. This would ensure that Catherine would wish to have nothing further to do with Vincent. But it had all gone horribly, and pathetically, wrong.
If anything, Vincent and Catherine’s friendship had shifted up a notch. Catherine had invited him for dinner on a couple of occasions, and today Lottie had come home to find them wearing matching aprons and making fresh pasta together in the kitchen. Catherine was laughing at some stupid joke he’d made, her hair had come loose from its usual confines, and there was flour on her cheek. Lottie was shaken, not just by how much younger her mum looked, but also by how incredibly happy she seemed.
‘Where’s Daddy?’ She knew, as she asked the question, that she sounded like a spoilt child. But, truth be told, wasn’t that exactly what she was?
‘Oh, hello. I didn’t hear you come in. Vincent was just telling me—’
‘I don’t care what Vincent was just telling you. I asked where Daddy was.’
‘Sorry. I … I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since lunch.’ Catherine checked her delicate gold watch. ‘That was hours ago.’
Avoiding eye contact with Vincent, as she had done ever since the incident in the meadow, Lottie helped herself to an apple and asked, ‘Does he even know your “friend” is here making dinner with you?’
Swindled (The Sandlin PI Series Book 1) Page 7