Swindled (The Sandlin PI Series Book 1)

by S. E. Shepherd

  ‘He wanted fancy clothes. He was trying to get her to buy him more of those fucking suits, about a week before she …’

  Hannah tapped away at her phone, making notes as always. ‘Right. That ought to be enough to get us started.’

  ‘Oh, one last thing. I remember once catching him reading a brochure for some yacht place on the coast.’

  ‘Of course. His sister said he hoped to sail. What was the yacht place called?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just remember him drooling over the pictures, and later telling Mum that he learnt to sail in a little dinghy in Italy. And I smugly thought he’d never get a yacht, because my mum didn’t like the water, and I knew she wouldn’t buy him something as extravagant as that. How stupid was I? Turns out he didn’t need her to buy it for him.’ Lottie took a gulp of her wine.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard to think about those times. But I honestly think this might be the way to find him. He’s a show-off. He must be itching to spend all that money. We’ll catch him out. I know we will.’

  ‘To be fair, it does sound like a good plan.’

  ‘Yes, it does. Fancy another?’ Hannah gestured towards the dregs of wine her friend was trying her hardest to make last.

  ‘I can’t. It ought to be my round.’

  ‘I have a feeling you’re going to be rich again soon. You can buy me a drink then.’ Hannah winked.

  ‘It’s all well and good you saying that. But … I mean, I’m not going to be rich, am I? Even if we find him, even if we pop down to Saville Row and he’s there getting measured for a suit, or we waltz into Grosvenor Yachts, and they say – yeah, sure, we know him, it doesn’t mean that—’

  ‘That’s it!’

  ‘What’s it?’

  ‘Grosvenor Yachts. You remembered the name.’

  ‘Shit! I can see it now, as clear as day on the cover of that glossy brochure.’

  ‘I knew you could do it! You’re like me, you have a great memory for detail.’

  ‘So, are we going to call them?’

  ‘Better still, let’s pay them a visit.’

  48

  Hannah – 2019

  Stopping off at the graveyard on the way to collect Lottie had seemed like a good idea. But now Hannah was here, it felt all wrong. What if some of Dawn’s family were around? Guilt still gnawed at her insides whenever she thought about the funeral. Dawn’s parents, younger even than Hannah’s own mum and dad, had been visibly devastated. As had her two younger brothers, one of whom had been planning to join the police. Everyone had seemed so immersed in their grief, and all the time a voice in Hannah’s head had constantly reminded her that she could’ve stopped and broken up the fight right at the beginning. She and Chippy had left Dawn to handle it alone, like a lamb to the slaughter.

  Chippy hadn’t come to the funeral. His name had been mud. If she was honest with herself, she shouldn’t have been there either; she was only a fraction less responsible than him. But she had gone, and she had kept her distance. And as soon as possible, she’d left. No tea and sympathy at the wake for her. Oh no, Hannah had headed home for another sleepless night, still disgusted at the part she’d played in it all.

  And yet, here she was, exactly a year after Dawn’s death, flowers in hand, seeking out her grave.

  She found it quite easily, not just because she remembered its position, but because it was newer and better attended to than the others. Also, because Dave Chipperton was kneeling on the ground next to it.

  Her first thought was to leave. She didn’t want to talk to him. Not today, not ever. But she deliberated for a second too long, and his gaze lifted from the grave, and he saw her.

  She wasn’t sure what to expect. Would he be rude? Was he still the same old Chippy?

  She made her way over to the grave and placed her flowers on the grass. A closer inspection told her that no, he most definitely was not the same old Chippy.

  Chipperton had been a tough guy; strong, fit and fond of the gym. He’d enjoyed using his size to intimidate the odd scrote, as he called them. But that had been before. He appeared to have shrunk considerably since those days. In fact, there was no muscle left on him. He was a bag of bones, covered in newspaper-grey skin. Where he had once been clean shaven, he now had black stubble all over his chin. But not in a planned way, not like the days when George Michael had made stubble so cool. Chippy’s beard was unruly, and clearly there due to neglect. His clothes appeared dirty, and his blue eyes had lost their sparkle. Hannah had seen this look before; he was obviously spending far more money on alcohol than he was on nutrition.

  ‘You remembered then?’ Chippy’s voice was croaky. It had also lost its strength.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Hannah noticed he’d been crying. ‘How’re you doing?’ She knew it was a thoroughly stupid question, but what else could she say?

  He stood up. ‘I wish I could turn back the clock.’

  ‘You and me both.’

  ‘I should’ve stopped. You were right, Sandlin.’

  Hannah hadn’t been called by her surname like that for months. She replied, ‘I should’ve made you stop.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. I honestly thought she’d be all right, you know?’

  ‘On her own!’

  ‘Those two dykes were …’ He corrected himself. ‘Sorry, I mean those two women – they were rough, yeah, no doubt about it. But they’d never done anything like that before. I didn’t think …’

  ‘No, neither of us did.’

  ‘I mean, for Christ’s sake, what was that Sandy thinking? She didn’t need to fucking stab Dawn.’

  ‘She was out of it. Off her face on drugs,’ Hannah replied. ‘Dawn got too close.’

  ‘That bitch was going to let her girlfriend go down for it.’

  ‘Only in the beginning. Once she knew we had Bev, and we were charging her, she came forward, didn’t she? She admitted everything.’

  ‘She didn’t get long enough.’

  ‘Chippy, she got life!’

  ‘If she keeps her head down, she’ll be out in less than twenty. You know it.’

  ‘Maybe, but what a horrendous time she’ll have.’

  ‘Not as horrendous as Dawn.’

  ‘True,’ Hannah agreed.

  It was obvious they were both thinking about Dawn’s death, lying on the cold pavement with the rain pouring onto her face. Then, after almost a full minute of total silence, Chippy said, ‘It was my last chance.’

  ‘What was?’

  ‘Relate. I kept not turning up. Shelley kept making the appointments and I kept going to the pub instead. Anything rather than discuss “our relationship”.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘That day, before I left for work, Shelley said – if you don’t want to lose me, if you don’t want to lose Noah, you’ll be there, and you’ll be on time.’

  ‘That was why you didn’t stop?’

  Chippy began to cry again. ‘I was fucking stupid. She would’ve understood. If I’d just told her we had to attend an argument in the street, instead of letting a young female PCSO go there alone. She wouldn’t have taken Noah.’

  ‘But you weren’t thinking straight.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t. I thought it would just be the usual Sandy and Bev crap, and we’d be delayed, and by the time I got out of work I’d have missed the counselling thing, and Shelley would leave me, and …’ He was really crying now. Great wracking sobs that took over his whole body and left him unable to speak.

  Hannah didn’t know what to do; they’d never been close. Should she hug him? Comfort him in some way? Would that embarrass him further? She watched as he dropped back to his knees. Wrapping his arms around his chest, he squeezed himself tight. He rocked backwards and forwards, repeating, ‘I’m so sorry, Dawn. I’m just so sorry, sweetheart.’

  ‘I wish you’d told me.’

  ‘About Shelley?’

  ‘Yeah, about Shelley and Noah, about all of it. If I’d known why you were so determined not to deal wit
h the fight, I could’ve made the decision for both of us. I would’ve happily spoken to Shelley for you. For fuck’s sake, Chippy, I could’ve helped.’

  ‘Like I was going to tell you. Miss bleedin’ prim and proper. Miss “I’ve always wanted to be a police officer.”’ He imitated her voice. ‘You never put a foot wrong. How would you have understood my fucked-up life?’

  ‘Never put a foot wrong! Well you sure saw to that, didn’t you? I may well have been miss prim and proper or whatever you choose to call it. I may have had a great career ahead of me. But I lost it all that day. I nearly ended up in prison, because you wouldn’t stop!’ Realising she was shouting, and that shouting in a graveyard was a definite no, no, Hannah lowered her voice. ‘I worked hard. It’s not fair that I lost it all.’

  Chippy nodded. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’

  She knelt and joined him on the grass. Putting her arm around him, she said, ‘There’s nothing we can do now. Nothing will change what happened. We have to learn to live with what we did.’

  ‘But I can’t!’ His face was wet with tears.

  ‘Do you ever see Noah?’

  ‘Not much. I don’t blame her. I mean, look at me. I’m a mess. I wouldn’t let me near a seven-year-old boy. He needs stability; he needs a good role model. He doesn’t need to see me passed out on the couch, stinking of piss and crying because I let a young woman die.’

  ‘But he does need to see his dad. You just need to get yourself back to the dad he knew and loved.’

  ‘I can’t. I can’t be that man again.’

  ‘I think you can.’

  Chippy’s head snapped round. ‘Are you saying it didn’t change you too? Are you honestly telling me you’re the same person you were?’

  ‘Obviously not. I hugely regret what we did; I hate my part in it and I miss being in the police service, every day. But I may well have years ahead of me. I can’t let all that ruin my life.’

  ‘Noah’s going to be eight soon. I want to see him for his birthday, but Shelley says—’

  ‘You’ve got to get yourself together first,’ Hannah interrupted. ‘Get to AA, get some counselling, get whatever help you can. When you’ve got some support in place, when you know you can see Noah without drinking or feeling sorry for yourself, then and only then, you contact Shelley, and you ask to see him. You agree to whatever terms she wants. You just need to see your boy and have him see you. If you don’t sort yourself out now, a decade will fly by and your son will be an adult, and when you try to make contact, he’ll quite rightly accuse you of abandoning him, and there will be nothing to salvage. You still have time.’

  ‘I think Shelley has a new bloke; she doesn’t want—’

  ‘I’m not suggesting you try to get back with Shelley.’ Hannah refused to let him be side-tracked. ‘I’m talking about Noah, your son, the most important thing in your life. Maybe it’s too late for you to show Shelley that you can change. Maybe she has got someone new. But it’s not too late for you and Noah. Promise me you’ll get help.’

  ‘You really are a bossy cow, aren’t you?’ For the first time since she’d spotted him by the grave, Chippy smiled.

  Hannah took one of her business cards out of her bag and handed it to him. ‘Here, take this. Keep in touch. Let me know how you’re doing. Okay?’

  ‘Sandlin Private Investigation. No job too small.’ Chippy laughed. ‘Always resourceful, aren’t you? How’s this working out?’ He waved the business card at her.

  ‘Not too bad. I’ve got a misper on the go at the moment.’

  ‘Oh, have you now?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was great to be able to say she was working on a paid case, almost as good as being a police officer.

  Chippy took out his phone and rang the mobile number on the card. ‘There you go. That’s my number. Add it to your contacts and call me if you want to. Do me a favour though. Save me as Dave. I’m not Chippy anymore.’

  Hannah saved the last caller to her phone. ‘I might just call you. I can always use the help of a good copper.’

  He raised an ‘are you kidding me?’ eyebrow.

  Hannah continued, ‘Seriously. When I first got paired up with you, people were singing your praises. You just lost your way.’

  ‘I’ll never be a good copper again though.’

  ‘No. And neither will I. But we can be good at something else.’

  ‘I feel better than I have for a long time. I’ve not felt like this since before I got kicked off the force.’

  ‘Good. Then my work here is done, and I need to get going.’ Hannah stepped away from him, brushing down the knees of her jeans.

  ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘I have some detective work to do in Lynton Haven.’

  ‘Good luck, Hannah. Take care.’

  ‘You too, Dave.’ The names felt odd, but they also felt like a fresh start.

  Hannah walked away from Dawn’s grave with lighter footsteps. Nothing would ever make up for the death of her colleague. She would never truly forgive herself for not making Dave stop that day. But she understood his motives now. She genuinely hoped he would get help.

  Her phone rang as she was getting into her car. She answered it. ‘Hi.’

  ‘I thought we agreed half past.’ Lottie sniffed.

  ‘I know. I got a bit delayed.’

  ‘Okay. No worries.’ She sniffed again.

  Hannah was concerned. ‘You sound upset. What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing, really. I just heard an ambulance a minute ago. You know how I hate the sound?’

  ‘Oh no, sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. It’s gone now. Are we still going?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll be right there.’

  ‘We’re off to the seaside.’ Lottie began to perk up.

  ‘Yes. Are you feeling positive about finding him?’

  ‘I know it’s a long shot. He could be anywhere. But it does feel like we’re getting close, you know?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Hannah started up the car.

  ‘Watch out, Vincent. We’re coming for you!’ Lottie ended the call.

  49

  Vincent – 2019

  Vincent read the text again. Just as he was digesting the terrible news, another text from Abbie pinged in. It was a photograph of her with a man. If he was in any doubt as to who the man was, he only had to read the caption she’d added: ‘Me and Dad!’ Vincent felt acid flood his guts.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Sss … orry?’

  Grace repeated her question, ‘Are you all right? You’re very pale.’

  ‘I just …’

  ‘Is it bad news?’ She looked at his phone, clenched tightly in his sweaty little hand.

  The worst! ‘It’s …’ He knew he needed to think of something. But his mind had gone blank. All he could see were the words, ‘And my dad says if you don’t marry me – he’s gonna fucking kill you!’ People didn’t get married just because they’d got someone pregnant! Did they? What was this – the 1940s? He looked again at the image of Abbie’s dad. There was no denying it, he was a thug. His head merged seamlessly with his body, and around the place where his neck should’ve been, he wore a collection of chunky chains. He also had a rather prominent gold front tooth. Almost filling the photograph, he was absolutely huge. The words ‘meat-head’ sprang to Vincent’s mind.

  He vaguely remembered Abbie talking once about how her dad made his money; she had referred to a couple of dodgy businesses. Well, something had to pay for her expensive boob job, didn’t it? The truth was, she’d mentioned that her dad sold drugs, yes, but she and Vincent had been shagging at the time, and he’d chosen to block out the sound of her squeaky voice. What was it with these women who thought he wanted them to chatter away endlessly during sex? So close to climaxing, Vincent hadn’t really taken in the full content of Abbie’s conversation. Besides which, he was only ever with her for the kudos of bagging a woman half his age; he hadn’t thought it mattered what her parents were like
or what they were in to. So what if her dad dealt a bit in drugs and did a bit of money lending? He hadn’t planned to stay with her for any length of time, and he’d certainly never wanted to meet her family, so none of that had mattered.

  But it sure mattered now! Oh my God, what have I done? I’ve knocked up some fucking drug baron’s daughter! ‘My friend is … unwell. I’m sorry, Grace. I need to return.’

  ‘Oh no, Vincent. What a shame. And just as I was ready for bed.’ Grace looked down at her chemise.

  Vincent wished with all his heart that he didn’t have to stop things there. He would’ve liked nothing more than to take her down into his cool, dark bedroom with its duck egg blue, Egyptian cotton sheets, and make love to her. It would undoubtedly have been the start of something idyllic. But, right now, he couldn’t find his dick with both hands. So awful was the news that Abbie was expecting his baby, that he honestly believed his manhood had folded in on itself. The wonderful stirrings of an erection he had experienced a few short minutes ago were gone for the night. ‘I’m so sorry, Grace. You’re adorable, exquisite. I can’t tell you how much I want to stay here with you. But …’ He gave an Italian shrug.

  Vincent remembered this feeling. When he was about five or six, he had gone for a day out at the beach with his family, and his mum bought them ice creams. It was a rare treat. So, so rare. He’d chosen chocolate flavour. He’d waited, watching as the old man in the booth scooped out the rich brown velvety ice cream and placed it on the cone. Handing it to Vincent, he’d explained in a cranky voice that he must hold on tight. Vincent could already taste the chocolate. He could imagine the cold creaminess on his tongue. Before he’d even taken his first lick, he knew it was going to be amazing. His sisters had begun choosing their flavours – Vincent had gone first, as always; he was the special boy. Without waiting for the girls to get their ice creams, he’d decided to try his. Sticking out his small tongue, he had taken a lick. And somehow, without meaning it to, that lick had sent the whole thing tipping off the cone. He had watched the scoop fall and land at his feet, only to be instantly gobbled up by a passing dog. Vincent had the tiniest drop of chocolate ice cream on the tip of his tongue. Pulling it back into his mouth as quickly as possible, he had tasted that drop. Sure enough, it had been delicious, just as he’d known it would be.