Swindled (The Sandlin PI Series Book 1)

by S. E. Shepherd

  ‘You didn’t go anywhere near the stream?’

  ‘The stream? No.’

  ‘You’re certain about that?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t even know there was a stream until I followed the daughter to search for her father.’

  ‘When you arrived at the stream and you saw the young lady and the dead body, and you took the decision to call 999, that was the first time you’d been over that far?’

  ‘Yes. That’s correct. I’d never been right across the meadow before.’

  ‘And what time did you pick up your message, Mr Robinson?’

  ‘Just after 3pm.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  The police officer took his address and asked him not to go too far for the next few days. He also asked for Vincent’s address in Italy, assuming perhaps that he was about to flee. Vincent gave his mother’s address and assured the police officer he had no plans to leave Catherine’s side. ‘She’s a dear friend of mine and I intend to give her my full support throughout this tragedy.’

  The police officer nodded sagely. It was clear he had the measure of what Vincent’s support entailed.

  It was close to 11pm by the time the coroner and the police left, and Vincent, Catherine and Lottie took root in the lounge, drinking large brandies for the shock; all three dozed in their chairs and not one of them went to bed.

  At 6am Vincent was awoken by the sound of Catherine sobbing. Her cries also woke Lottie. Whilst Catherine and Lottie attempted to console each other, Vincent prepared a light breakfast and made sure both mother and daughter ate something. By 8am, Catherine began making calls to family and friends to inform them of the loss. Every time Vincent and Lottie found themselves alone in a room, she shot him an evil stare, which he chose to ignore. By 9am, the police arrived back on the scene, ready to inspect the fence, the stream and the bank that led down to it. Now it was morning, there was so much more to be seen. One unlucky uniformed officer had remained all night standing guard next to the cordoned-off area, his sole purpose being to stop anyone from tampering with evidence whilst they awaited daylight.

  ‘Do you want me to stay, my dear?’

  ‘No, no. You get off home.’ Catherine sounded exhausted.

  ‘I don’t mind. I’m happy to remain as long as you need me.’

  ‘Vincent, you must be so tired. We all need to rest now.’

  ‘I’m fine, Catherine. I managed a couple of hours last night.’

  ‘Sat bolt upright in a chair. Don’t be silly. You know as well as I do that doesn’t count as proper rest.’

  ‘I just feel bad about leaving you … and Lottie.’ He remembered at the last minute to add the daughter.

  ‘You’re so sweet. But I think it’s best if you go. We’ll be all right. We have each other.’

  ‘If you’re sure. You’ll call me if you need me?’

  ‘Yes.’ Catherine gave a sad smile.

  ‘Or if the police find anything.’

  ‘What could they find?’

  ‘Clues. If they work out what happened?’

  ‘Work out?’

  ‘If they piece together how the tragic accident occurred.’ God, she was being picky!

  ‘Oh right. Yes. Of course. I’ll let you know.’

  He placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘Get some sleep.’

  ‘I’ll try. You too, Vincent.’

  ‘It’s not going to be easy. What we saw … last night … it was …’

  Catherine cried. ‘Poor Douglas. Do you really think it was an accident?’

  ‘One can only hope.’

  ‘If it wasn’t an accident. That means … that means …’ She shook her head. ‘What kind of a person could do that to him?’

  ‘The worst kind, Catherine.’ Vincent decided to risk it. Pulling her to him, he held her gently for a couple of seconds. He’d timed it perfectly. She sank into him, too tired and shocked to uphold her usual refined demeanour. He heard her sigh.

  ‘Thank you. I needed that. You’re a good friend.’

  He let her go. ‘There’s more where that came from. Any time you need a good old fortifying hug you just say the word.’

  Once he was back in his flat, on the far less salubrious side of town, Vincent knew he’d be able to sleep properly. Attempting to rest in that uncomfortable Chesterfield chair had been a nightmare. Still, it was worth it. He’d needed to be right there at the heart of the disaster. It was imperative that he be seen to be caring, and also that Catherine be made to feel she could trust him to take charge. Lottie was absolutely doing his head in, and it was most unfortunate that Catherine had mentioned the fact that he’d left the kitchen to check his phone. But, all in all, it had gone well. Actually, it couldn’t have gone better.

  He made himself a coffee. ‘A toast,’ he raised his mug, ‘to the clever bastardo who shoved that stupid old git into the stream. Whoever he may be!’ He laughed.

  26

  Lottie – 2014

  Lottie had thought that Vincent was at their house a lot before her father’s death. Now, with Douglas gone, he rarely left. He popped home to change clothes and ‘rest’, but apart from that, he was by Catherine’s side all day. Lottie was not convinced he was resting when he left. She presumed he had at least one girlfriend on the go. He was probably off shagging some young woman. Then, when he’d finished, he would rush back to play the supportive friend.

  During some rare time alone, Lottie and her mum tried to plan the funeral. As always with a sudden death, there was an unreal quality to everything. Just a week ago, Douglas had been alive and well, and the thought that decisions about flowers and hymns might need to be made, could not have been further from anyone’s mind.

  Catherine said, ‘I never even asked him if he wanted to be cremated or buried. We just didn’t talk about things like that.’

  ‘Why would you? He wasn’t old. He had years left.’

  ‘So we presumed.’

  ‘Exactly.’ A thought occurred to Lottie, ‘Did he make a will?’

  ‘Yes. We each made one a few years ago. But only because of what happened with Mrs Delamont.’

  ‘Mrs Delamont? In the village shop?’

  ‘Yes. Jean. Such a lovely lady.’

  ‘What happened with her?’

  ‘They had no will. Her Arthur was only a little older than Daddy. They didn’t think they needed to worry. It seemed obvious that everything they owned was shared, so when he had that stroke in the middle of the clay pigeon shoot, she thought the house and shop would be hers, and so would all the money.’

  ‘But … it wasn’t?’

  ‘No. What a palaver. It takes so long to sort out, you know. Even if it’s clear who everything should go to. They had no children. It should’ve been obvious.’

  ‘But she didn’t lose the house, or the business.’

  ‘No. Thankfully, common sense prevailed, and she did inherit. But it took so much more time and a lot of sleepless nights. That’s when Daddy decided we had to do wills.’

  ‘So, in his will, everything goes to you?’

  ‘Yes. I think there’s a small bequest to you. About ten thousand pounds.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Daddy said …’ Catherine choked on her words. ‘He said – if I’m dead, she’ll need cheering up. That’ll get her a holiday or some new clothes.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness, what a silly thing to say.’ Lottie welled up. ‘As if a holiday could fix this!’

  ‘I think, to be honest, in Douglas’s scenario, he had just died peacefully of old age. He couldn’t have imagined in a million years that we would have this awful shock. He would never think he was going to lose half his brains …’ She was unable to go on.

  ‘Shush, shush, don’t say any more.’

  ‘Well, anyway.’ Catherine blew her nose. ‘Thank goodness we learnt from Jean and Arthur’s mistake.’

  ‘Yes. The last thing you need right now is money problems.’ Lottie hugged her mum. �
�And I’m sure I’ll find a little something to treat myself to in his memory. Perhaps something for the horses.’

  ‘That’d be nice.’

  ‘Yes. It would. Anyway, what about this decision?’

  ‘Decision?’ Catherine seemed confused.

  ‘Cremation or burial?’

  ‘Oh, right. Well, we don’t have a family plot or anything, not like your grandparents. But I was thinking maybe I could get a double plot and then, when it’s my turn, you can bury me next to him.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘How about a triple plot? Room for you too. Not for a long time, naturally.’

  ‘Bugger that!’ Lottie laughed for the first time in days. ‘It sounds like an awful idea.’

  ‘Yes, you’re probably right. Besides, you’ll have your own family one day and you’ll want to spend eternity with them.’

  ‘I doubt it. Eternity with anyone sounds a little heavy duty for my liking.’

  ‘I’ll ask about the plots tomorrow. I just can’t face it today.’ Catherine sighed.

  ‘Okay.’ Lottie decided to leave it there. She didn’t want to upset her mum any more than was necessary. ‘Do you fancy going out for supper? You’ve hardly eaten a thing all day.’

  Catherine checked her watch. ‘That would be lovely. But I’m expecting Vincent back any minute.’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ Lottie rolled her eyes. ‘Doesn’t he realise he’s outstaying his welcome?’

  ‘I don’t think he is outstaying his welcome. I like it when he’s here.’

  ‘Yes, Mother, I’m rather afraid you do.’

  ‘Anyway, he’s being helpful. He said he’ll be there when I speak to the solicitor about the will and everything.’

  Lottie couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Do not let that man sort out anything. And I mean anything. Even if he offers to rearrange Daddy’s fucking model train collection, you need to be suspicious.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. And don’t swear like that. Vincent is a good friend. He means well and he’s happy to help.’

  ‘Happy to help himself to Daddy’s things more like,’ Lottie said. ‘Oh, please yourself. You won’t be told. But I mean what I say. If it was up to me, he’d touch nothing. Nothing!’

  27

  Hannah – 2018

  The investigation into Dawn Barton’s death continued. Hannah asked herself every day why the hell she hadn’t had the guts to tell the truth. In hindsight, she knew it was selfish Chippy and his desperation to knock off work that had caused all the problems. She should’ve simply told Inspector McAlpine that Chippy had refused to stop, and it would be him alone who would be responsible. But, no, she’d allowed herself to be controlled by Chippy. Still in shock when interviewed, she’d been persuaded by his evil glare, and stupidly feared that if the truth came to light, they might both be for it.

  She’d sat opposite Inspector McAlpine in that airless office, her face burning with shame, and she’d lied. Agreeing with Chippy’s story that, yes, they had driven down Cranmore Road on their way back to the nick, and yes, it must’ve been only a minute later that the couple’s argument had spilled out into the street – the argument that had led, so devastatingly, to Dawn’s death. She’d even added in a comment that if only they’d driven past a few seconds later they might have been able to deal with it themselves, and Dawn need not have attended the scene at all.

  Hannah had spent many nights since that interview unable to sleep, wracked with guilt due to that sentence. She frequently saw the image of Dawn lying on the pavement, pale and so obviously dying, and considered what it must be like to know that the life was draining out of your body. She cursed the rain; somehow the fact that Dawn had to suffer all that whilst lying in a pool of icy cold water made it seem worse. Mostly though, she cursed Dave Chipperton. He was still giving it the biggun around the station, consoling all the women and accepting slaps on the back from fellow officers, who all wanted to say what a great bloke he was for keeping a clear head at such a difficult time. Everyone knew that he’d administered CPR to Dawn, and they felt bad for him that he hadn’t managed to save her. He made Hannah sick. His stupid, arrogant face. All she could hear whenever she saw him was, “I have somewhere to be. We’re not stopping. It’s shit on shit!”

  She’d been offered some time off and counselling, but she’d refused both. She had, however, requested a change of partner, stating that Chippy reminded her too much of the incident. Thankfully, the powers that be had agreed, and she was now paired up with an older guy, who seemed pretty diligent. She often wondered how Chippy’s new partner found him. Was he still in a rush to get off work? Was his mind constantly elsewhere with them as it had been with her? On the odd occasion that she bumped into him, she tried her best to be civil. He seemed to have forgotten how economical they’d been with the truth. The more he embraced the lie they’d invented, the more he appeared to believe it. His tales of being first on the scene and simply doing what anyone else would’ve done could be heard most days in the canteen. And all the time, Hannah knew the truth.

  The interview with Bev had been heart-breaking. Hannah had watched on the video screen in the room next door, half expecting Bev to somehow know she was there, and imagining she was about to stand up and point at the wall, declaring, ‘She drove past. She could’ve stopped it!’

  Inspector McAlpine was questioning Bev. A colleague sat silently beside him. She was clearly there to make up the numbers; McAlpine did all the talking.

  ‘You need to tell us where Sandy’s gone.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Bev’s voice was soft, it didn’t match her bulk.

  ‘You must see that running off like that, it doesn’t look good, does it?’

  ‘She’ll be back soon.’

  ‘Why did you stab the police officer?’

  ‘Sandy.’

  ‘You stabbed her because of Sandy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What then? What are you saying, Bev?’

  ‘Sandy will come back. She’s better at explaining things.’

  ‘Did Sandy stab the police officer?’

  ‘No. I …’

  ‘So, it was you, Bev?’

  ‘No.’ Bev’s eyes widened. She was an animal in the headlights.

  Inspector McAlpine became angry. Banging his fist on the table, he demanded, ‘It had to be one of you. There was no one else around. Which one of you did it?’

  Bev jumped at the sound of his heavy fist making contact with the Formica. ‘I don’t …’ Her chin began to tremble.

  At this point, the duty solicitor reminded Inspector McAlpine that Bev was a vulnerable person. Although well over the age of eighteen, there was documented evidence to prove that she had learning difficulties.

  ‘And I would like to remind you that Miss Collins has declined the offer of a responsible adult. She said she was fine to go ahead with just a solicitor.’

  ‘I just want Sandy. She should be here. She’s my favourite adult.’

  ‘Bev, Sandy’s done a bunk. She’s left you to carry the can.’

  ‘She’s what?’ Bev leant forward, folding her arms on the table.

  ‘She’s gone. And even if she hadn’t, you wouldn’t be allowed to have her as your adult.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Inspector McAlpine ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Bloody hell, she’s just not getting it.’ Speaking slowly, he tried explaining again. ‘She’s in trouble too, Bev. One of you used a broken bottle to stab a police officer. My officer has died. One of you killed her. Do you understand what I’m saying, Bev?’

  ‘She was going to get one of you lot to arrest Sandy. She said Sandy was threatening her.’

  ‘And you decided to stop her?’

  ‘She was going to take her. I didn’t want Sandy to go.’

  ‘Are you admitting you stabbed a police officer because she was about to take your girlfriend away?’

  ‘Umm …’

  The solicitor interjected, ‘You’re
putting words into her mouth. That’s not what she was saying.’ She reminded Bev that she didn’t have to answer that question.

  ‘Look, it’s only a matter of time before I’m able to confirm that the fingerprints on that bottle belong to either Bev or Sandy. Their DNA will be all over the scene. One of them did this, and I need to know which one.’

  ‘What will they do to Sandy?’ Bev asked McAlpine.

  ‘What will who do?

  ‘The court, the people who work there. What will they do to Sandy if they think she stabbed that policewoman?’

  ‘She’ll go to prison, Bev. But that’s okay. You and I know that people who kill police officers are bad, and they need to be punished.’ McAlpine’s tone softened. ‘You know that, right?’

  ‘Yes, but …’ Bev hesitated.

  ‘You need to tell us exactly what happened, so we can punish the right person. Do you understand, Bev?’

  ‘What about me? What will they do to me?’

  ‘The people who work at the court?’ McAlpine repeated her turn of phrase.

  ‘Yeah. Would I go to prison too? If it was me who did it?’

  ‘If it was you who stabbed the officer, then yes, you would.’ He nodded.

  The solicitor leant forward. ‘Can I just repeat that my client has proven learning difficulties. It’s possible there is a lack of understanding here. If my client is the one who stabbed your officer, I’d be looking at a plea of diminished responsibility and a reduced sentence.’

  ‘So, it would be worse for Sandy?’ Bev asked.

  ‘You just need to tell us the truth, love. Whatever happened in that street, you need to be honest.’ Again, McAlpine tried a bit of good cop.