Swindled (The Sandlin PI Series Book 1)

by S. E. Shepherd

  ‘Well, yes, there is. But, to be honest, there’s sailing all around the coast, and that sort of life isn’t cheap.’

  Cristina nodded. ‘I know. Since we got the internet at home, I’ve often searched on-line for properties in England. I can tell you, without any doubt, Vincent would not have been able to afford much. Even given the increase in prices, I can guess what things must’ve cost back then, and he was extremely naive to think the small amount of money he got for Nonna’s house would buy him anything over here. He’d never been outside Italy – what did he know about British property?’ She tutted. ‘He was such a little fool; he thought he was going to live in a mansion.’

  ‘He does sound naive, yes.’

  ‘I expect all the money went years ago.’

  ‘Can I ask you a slightly personal question, please, Cristina?’

  ‘Yes, no problem. Whatever you need to know.’

  ‘If you detest him as much as you say you do, and don’t get me wrong, I understand your reasons.’ Hannah was determined to show she was completely on Cristina’s side. ‘But, nevertheless, considering what he did to you and your family, why are you hoping to find him now? After all this time.’

  Cristina took a deep breath, before saying, ‘Our mother is dying.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She nodded. ‘I thought about letting her go without him knowing. I fantasised that one day he would come home and ask for her, and I would have the satisfaction of telling him she’d died, and he would never get the chance to speak to her again. But I just couldn’t do it.’

  ‘You’re a good person.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She shrugged.

  ‘You are. What you’re doing is very generous.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. It’s probably foolish. She doesn’t have long. She may even die whilst I’m over here, chasing after that selfish boy.’ She corrected herself. ‘I mean “man”.’

  ‘So, time is of the essence.’

  ‘I’m sorry? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I mean – we need to get a move on. Can I assume your brother has the same surname as you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘He’ll be just into his forties now.’

  Hannah made a note on her phone – Vincent Rocchino, aged approx. 40.

  ‘It’s hard to imagine him that age. I wonder if he has any grey in his hair.’ Cristina patted her own messy bun, which was streaked with grey.

  ‘Do you have a photograph of him?’

  ‘I searched through all our photos. I think one of my sisters threw out all the ones that included him. She was angry. It wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘So, you’ve nothing?’

  ‘Well … there was just this one. My sister must’ve missed it; it’s not a good picture of him. He’s facing towards the left slightly and he’s squinting. I think the sun was in his eyes. He’s so young, not even twenty yet. That’s Nonna’s house in the background. How ironic.’ Cristina handed the faded photograph to Hannah.

  Immediately Hannah’s heart beat faster in her chest. Cristina was correct; the photo wasn’t great, the man’s face wasn’t all that clear, but there was no doubt about it: this was the same Vincent who had married Lottie’s mother.

  ‘This is your brother?’

  ‘Yes. That’s him. That’s my nonna’s little Vinnie.’

  38

  Vincent – 2018

  Aware of sirens in the distance, Vincent sped up. He didn’t want to block the road if it was an ambulance or a fire engine. And if it was a police car … well, he couldn’t help it; despite being a wealthy, upstanding citizen for the last three years, the sight of a police car still sent him into fight or flight mode. Getting into his own driveway and out of the road seemed to be the best plan. He swung into his usual parking space, right in front of the house, next to his Merc. Lottie’s car was also parked up. That was annoying; he much preferred it when she was out for the night. Her mother worried that perhaps she might be sleeping with boys. What a stupid woman his wife was. Of course Lottie was sleeping with boys, and why not? She was hot. She was a nosey little cow, and a complete inconvenience, but there was no denying it – she was fucking hot.

  As he put his key in the door, the sirens grew louder. He expected them to shoot past the driveway any moment. Pushing the front door open, he called out, ‘I’m home.’

  The sirens followed him. One second they were in the lane, and the next … bang! The driveway was full of noise and lights.

  Lottie came running down the stairs, her face like porcelain. She had a wildness around her eyes. Her expression of fear and panic was not dissimilar to the one she’d worn when she’d found her father dead in the stream.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Vincent moved towards his stepdaughter.

  ‘Get out of my way. I need to get to the paramedics.’

  ‘I asked you what’s happened. Is it Catherine?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Catherine. Like you didn’t know that!’

  ‘What are you talking about. What’s happened to my wife?’

  ‘Your wife – has killed herself!’

  ‘What … but I … she can’t have.’ Vincent shook his head.

  Ignoring his confusion, Lottie approached the first paramedic as he came through the large ornate front door. ‘She’s upstairs, on her bed. But I think maybe it’s too late. She’s very still.’

  Lottie and the paramedic made their way at speed up the large staircase, closely followed by the second paramedic. Vincent brought up the rear.

  He stood outside his wife’s door just for a moment. Lottie was sobbing. He took an extra second to compose himself, before gingerly pushing the door and entering the room. His wife was on her bed, just as Lottie had described. She was dressed as she would normally be at this time of day. Her hair was the same as it would normally be. The only thing that was different was her face – which was waxy. He approached the bed just in time to hear the paramedic confirm Lottie’s fears. ‘I’m sorry. She’s definitely dead.’

  ‘I didn’t know who to call. I thought maybe you could …’

  ‘I understand, miss. It’s a massive shock. It’s not unusual for people to think that if they can just get an ambulance, they might be able to save the person. But, honestly, there was nothing you could’ve done. It would seem she passed away some time ago.’

  ‘What did she …?’ Vincent took another step towards the bed. ‘I mean, how did she …?’

  ‘She took a fucking overdose.’ Lottie’s hand flew towards the empty pill packet. ‘You must’ve made her miserable, you bastard. She was never suicidal before she met you.’

  ‘Catherine and I were happy. You know that. How dare you suggest—?’

  ‘Please, please, try to keep calm.’ The second paramedic stepped in. ‘There can be so many reasons for something like this. The last thing the person would want would be for the family to fall out.’

  ‘He is not my family!’ Lottie gave Vincent a look of disgust.

  Vincent attempted to keep up appearances for the sake of the paramedics. ‘This gentleman is right. We don’t want to fall out.’

  Lottie gave a manic laugh. ‘I rather think that boat has sailed, don’t you?’

  Vincent shook his head. ‘I just don’t get it. It makes no sense.’

  ‘She said she couldn’t live with the guilt.’

  ‘What guilt?’

  ‘I have no idea. I thought maybe you would know.’ Lottie picked up the suicide note and forced it into his hand.

  He read it in a second. ‘She says she loves me.’

  ‘Yes – she does!’ Reduced to tears once more, Lottie pushed past Vincent.

  Again, police officers roamed the house. Vincent was asked questions – where had he been that day? Who with? What time did he return? Then there were other questions, more probing, more personal – how was their marriage? Were there any secrets? Could he think of a reason for Catherine to end her l
ife? What did she have to feel guilty about? Finally, the police seemed content that he didn’t know her reasons; they released the body to the coroner and left the house.

  As soon as they’d gone, Lottie stormed out. Slamming the door behind her, she jumped into her Audi and sped off, sending tiny pieces of gravel in all directions. Vincent was worried one of the stones might hit his Mercedes or his new MG. It crossed his mind that she probably ought not to be driving; she was far too emotional and had had a few fortifying brandies, but then he realised it wasn’t his place to stop her. She was his stepdaughter on paper alone. In reality, she wasn’t important to him, and he no longer needed to pretend otherwise.

  Enjoying the solitude, Vincent strolled from room to room. Starting in the drawing room, he remembered all the cups of tea he and Catherine had shared when they’d first met. Through the kitchen, where he pictured them making pasta on that fateful day when Douglas had lost his head. On to the lounge, where his and Douglas’s wedding photographs glared at each other across the silence. Then he popped to the orangery to check out the view of the tennis court. Lastly, he stood in the grand entrance, staring up at the double height ceiling, marvelling at the mahogany panelled walls, the glorious chandelier, the finest hard wood flooring money could buy. He felt a laugh bubbling up in his chest, but tried to suppress it. Even he knew it was disrespectful. But it refused to be stopped. Again, it fizzed in his ribcage. Unable to hold it in any longer, Vincent let it out.

  With a hearty guffaw, he shouted, ‘All this is mine.’ His words echoed around the entrance hall.

  When he’d first suggested to Catherine that she write a new will, he hadn’t really expected her to agree. But choosing his words carefully, he’d mentioned how inexperienced Lottie was, and how carefree. He’d reminded his wife that his business had been finance. Investments were second nature to him. He’d promised her that if she made her will out to him, it would be better for everyone. Assuring her that whatever might happen, her daughter would be safe in his care, he’d reminded her that they were most probably both going to live to a ripe old age, and the will was a mere formality anyway. And she’d fallen for it. Just six months before her death, she’d made a will, leaving everything to Vincent.

  Vincent finally managed to control the laughter. In a calmer voice, he said, ‘I did it. Everything I can see is mine.’ With his arms outstretched, he spun around, surveying his property. He wished with all his heart that his nonna could be there. He would’ve liked to ask her if she was proud of him, but he knew he would never dare. Even if she were still alive, and able to be there, he knew, deep inside himself, the answer to his question. Nonna wouldn’t be proud. She’d be horrified. As would his mother and his sisters. What would Cristina say?

  Vincent stopped. What was the point in berating himself? It was helping no one. Besides, there was no time for sadness – he had another funeral to arrange, and then … well, then he planned to evict his infuriating stepdaughter from his house.

  39

  Lottie – 2018

  ‘You’re kidding me?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Vincent replied, calmly.

  ‘I don’t believe it.’ Lottie felt as if all the air had been punched from her lungs.

  ‘Whether you choose to believe it or not, the fact remains, this is my house now. Entirely mine!’

  ‘My mum wouldn’t do that to me. She would never …’

  ‘Call the solicitors. Speak to them. They’ll tell you the same as me.’

  Lottie wanted to slap him right in his stupid, self-satisfied face. How did this happen? Where was I when this new will was discussed? All the times she had gone to stay with friends or spent the night with a guy, she had thought she was just getting away from it all, taking time away from having to watch her mum fawn all over that awful man. Never had it occurred to her that she needed to keep a close eye on her mum. ‘What the hell did you say to her?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Crap. You must’ve persuaded her to do this. She wouldn’t have simply decided to leave everything to you off her own bat. She loved me. She would’ve made provisions for me.’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? And yet ….’ With sadistic glee, Vincent left the last part of the sentence hanging in the air.

  ‘You must have lied to her. You told her you’d share it with me, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did nothing of the sort. She decided that as you were now a grown woman, you ought to be able to support yourself. She wanted me to have everything. I wasn’t about to stop her. She was determined to change her will.’

  ‘No, no, no!’ Lottie placed her hands over her ears. It wasn’t possible. Could it really have been her mother’s idea? Just for a second, she allowed herself to imagine such a conversation. Her mum declaring that she, Lottie, was old enough to go it alone in the world. No. Even in her grief-stricken state, she knew it wasn’t possible. ‘You did this!’ She jabbed her finger in his face. ‘You. Not her. You persuaded her to change it.’

  ‘Please don’t point in my face. It’s rude. You can think what you like. The will is perfectly legal. Your mother was of sound mind when she made it.’

  ‘That’s debatable.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of this discussion now. If you’re not happy with how things stand, do as I say and speak to the solicitors. I can’t spend any more time talking about it, I have things to do.’ Vincent began to walk away.

  ‘Not happy? I think that’s something of an understatement. You stand here in my parents’ house, telling me that you now own it and all the land around it, and I am not welcome to stay here, and you think that makes me unhappy.’

  ‘Correction – it is not your parents’ house. It’s my house. It is my land. I’ve given you a week to find a new home. I can’t say fairer than that. Oh, yes, and do feel free to go through Catherine’s personal belongings and see if you’d like to keep anything. Not the jewellery though; that counts as part of her estate and is therefore mine.’

  Lottie had never known a rage like it. Launching herself at Vincent, she pounded at his body with her fists. When that seemed to have no effect, she turned her attention to his hair, pulling it hard, all the time screaming that she would kill him. Vincent fought back. Trying his hardest to remove her hands from his hair, he repeatedly shouted, ‘Don’t make me hurt you!’

  ‘You couldn’t hurt me any more than you already have.’ Lottie dug her fingernails into his right cheek, leaving deep ridges that swiftly filled with blood.

  ‘Get off me. You’re crazy. I’ll have you committed if you don’t stop.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ Lottie’s hands fought their way back to his hair. With a yank, she almost removed an entire clump.

  He cried out in pain. ‘You little bitch. How dare you!’

  Even with her slight deafness, the commotion was enough to rouse Dixie from her slumber; leaving the comfort of her basket, the little dog crept into the entrance hall to investigate, and attempted to warn Vincent off with her usual high-pitched barks.

  Vincent was shorter than Lottie, but he was stocky, and despite her years spent horse riding, he ultimately had more upper body strength. With a loud shout of, ‘I said get off me!’ he threw her to the floor.

  Lottie landed in a heap. Drawing Dixie to her, she continued crying and screaming hysterically. She honestly thought it might be better to simply die right there on the floor. This man, this utter bastard of a man had somehow taken everything from her. How had she allowed this to happen? Was she blind? Exhausted, she remained on the floor and heard him walk away, his footsteps loud on the hard wood flooring.

  Wiping his bloodied face with the back of his hand, Vincent called back, dismissively, ‘Forget the week’s notice. I want you gone today, and take that fucking yappy dog with you.’

  40

  Hannah – 2019

  Sandlin Private Investigation had a proper paid job. A missing person. Not only that, but Hannah now knew Lottie’s stepdad’s real name. Hopefully, the correct
surname was going to be a great help. Of course it wasn’t difficult to change your name. It was all a matter of knowing the right people. He might even have changed it legally; statutory declaration was an easy and cheap way for someone to renounce their old name and embrace a new one.

  Hannah had an ex-colleague, Paul, who thankfully had believed her side of the story about Dawn’s untimely death, and they had remained friends. For a small fee, he was happy to log into the police computers and search for Vincent Rocchino. The data Paul shared, added to the information Hannah herself was able to find out, confirmed everything she’d suspected. He was definitely a person of interest to the police. There were a number of fraud cases still outstanding. From what Hannah could glean, all his misdemeanours had taken place in the northeast of England. Then, when it had suited Mr Rocchino, he had simply vanished.

  She and Paul also searched for Mr Vincent Robinson. There was plenty of evidence on-line to show him living at the house that Lottie used to call home. But then, within six months of Catherine Robinson’s suicide, the house was sold, and just like Mr Rocchino before him, Mr Robinson disappeared into thin air.

  Like the most amazing conjuring trick, first he was there, and then – gone! The bank account he’d been using when he’d relied on hand-outs and gifts from his wife had become engorged with money, and then a couple of months later the money had been moved and the bank account closed. Someone had clearly taught Mr Vincent Robinson about offshore bank accounts and how to move large sums of money without detection. Perhaps he’d bought a property with cash, but that wasn’t easy to do these days. With all the money laundering going on, it wasn’t a case of simply walking into an estate agent and buying a house with a load of grubby readies. But it wasn’t totally impossible either.