NEVER CAME HOME an addictive crime thriller with a twist you won't see coming (Detective Inspector Siv Drummond Book 2)

by Gretta Mulrooney

  Theo poured himself a glass of wine and took a long gulp. He heard Monty come in and went to greet him, relieved that he’d be able to talk freely about what had happened. Monty was pale and tired. He stood against the living-room door, staring blankly at Theo. He had a large plaster on his right hand.

  ‘I’ve been such a fool, but I had to do something,’ he said. ‘Get me a huge brandy, will you?’

  * * *

  Patrick sat in the car with his phone, puzzled. He’d signed into his bank app to check his salary payment and the balance on his current account. He saw that five hundred pounds had been withdrawn from the account four days ago with the code ‘ATM.’ He hadn’t made any withdrawals recently. In fact, he couldn’t remember when he’d last used his card. He’d been too busy and had used cash for any small purchases. He checked his wallet, relieved to find that his bank card was there.

  He rang the bank, and a cheery woman confirmed that the withdrawal had been made with his card and PIN number at an ATM at Wesley’s garage near Minster Beach. Did he want to enquire further about this transaction? He was about to say yes, when an unpleasant idea snaked into his head. Only one other person had his PIN — Noah. He said he’d leave it for now. He sat, tapping his phone. Noah had his own bank account for his disability benefits. Occasionally, he used Patrick’s card details if he was buying things for the house online. A couple of times recently, he’d asked for a sub until he could withdraw cash himself and that was unusual. When Patrick was at home, he usually left his wallet on the kitchen counter. A number of carers came and went from the house, but he honed in on one person in particular who lived in a mobile home near the beach.

  His phone rang, making him jump. It was Vi Finch, the estate agent.

  ‘I’ve gone through our old records, like your inspector asked me to. It took me ages! They’d been archived on our server.’

  ‘Have you got a name for me?’

  ‘Yes, I showed a gentleman called Barry Marlin around Steiner’s.’

  ‘Date, please?’

  ‘Hang on. It was on the twentieth of May 2010. Mr Marlin made an offer, which was accepted, but then he pulled out. I can’t remember why. People do. They’re always messing us around.’

  ‘Have you got an address for him?’

  ‘No, afraid not. We’d have got rid of the paperwork when he dropped out of the purchase.’

  Patrick ended the call and made quick notes. He needed to get to the hospital and catch up with Trudy Kemp, before the guv chewed his ear off. On the way, he stopped at his bank ATM and changed his PIN. He had no idea how he was going to broach the subject with Noah, but he couldn’t leave it. In the meantime, his wallet would stay in his pocket.

  He found Trudy Kemp sitting beside her bed, pale but snug in a dressing gown patterned with roses, and marking a pile of exercise books. She raised her red-and-purple glasses when she saw him.

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t make me laugh. It’s unlikely, but the wound hurts like hell.’

  ‘It wasn’t indigestion, then.’

  ‘No. More like exploding guts.’

  ‘When are you going home?’

  ‘Tomorrow, I hope. I’ve walked up and down for them satisfactorily and my temperature is okay.’ She pointed at the cabinet next to her bed. ‘I’ve got something for you. I’d found a folder about that trip to Steiner’s. A colleague brought it in earlier. It’s got the date and a list of the pupils who came along. Can you get it so I don’t have to twist around?’

  Patrick took a buff-coloured folder from the cabinet and glanced through. There were lesson plans, photos and drawings of the exterior of Steiner’s and a sheet of lined paper with a list of names, dated 14 February 2010. He scanned them but they meant nothing.

  Paul Bison

  Bethany James

  Nat Olawego

  Karim Patel

  Tim Stafford

  ‘Would Lyn have known any of these pupils?’

  ‘Doubt it. Can you make sure I have all that stuff back when you’ve finished with it? I was going to photocopy it but then my abdomen went into meltdown.’

  Patrick assured her that he’d keep the contents safe. ‘One other thing. Lyn used to work at a place called Foot Heaven in Seaford, before Adam was born. Did she ever mention having problems there?’

  Trudy shifted in her chair and winced. ‘I don’t remember anything. Mind you, I took a sabbatical and went travelling for a year before she had Adam, so I might not have been around.’

  Patrick wished her a speedy recovery and headed home so that he’d be around to check on the plumber.

  At home, he was pleased to find that there was a new power shower. The evening carer was already in the wet room, helping Noah. He had a quick word with the plumber, paid her and put a pasta ready meal in the oven. The carer, a young man called Dmitri, stopped briefly at the door.

  ‘Is everything okay with Noah? He’s been very quiet the last couple of weeks.’

  ‘He hasn’t said there’s anything wrong.’

  ‘Okay. Well . . . we usually have a bit of a laugh, but not recently. Anyway, back tomorrow, got to rush.’

  Noah wheeled into the kitchen, damp and fragrant. ‘Thank goodness. I needed that. I was starting to hum. What’s for dinner?’

  ‘Pasta with meatballs. Remember I’m going out tonight.’

  ‘Oh yeah. You’re meeting Kitty-cat.’

  ‘I’ll help you to bed before I go, if you want.’

  ‘No, that’s okay. I’m going to watch a film.’

  ‘Dmitri said you’ve been quiet recently.’

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘That’s what he said. Ali mentioned it, too. He said you seemed a bit down when he called by.’

  Noah glared at him. ‘Am I supposed to entertain visitors, then? Is that my role in life now — the cheery wheelchair cripple who puts on a brave show, so that people can breathe a sigh of relief when they leave and say, “Isn’t he marvellous, the way he copes and never complains?” Or maybe I should be free amusement on demand. Why don’t we go the whole hog and get me a job in a freak show? I could appear with a bearded lady and juggling midget. At least I’d be earning a living.’

  Patrick choked up but he attempted a light tone. ‘Don’t be daft, bro. People are fond of you. They care.’

  ‘I’m grateful, I’m sure. So good to be patronised. I appreciate that people care.’

  When Noah was in this mood, there was no way through. Patrick needed to have a shower himself before they ate dinner. He set the timer for the oven. Noah was flicking through the free newspaper on the table.

  Patrick coughed. ‘Erm . . . bro, talking about funds for living — you’re not short of money, are you?’

  ‘Me? No. I’m not exactly a big spender, living large while you’re at work. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wondered if you’d needed some money from my account and forgot to tell me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I checked my bank account today and someone took five hundred pounds out at the beginning of the week. I can’t work out how that’s happened.’

  Noah glanced at him and then focused again on the paper, angling his wheelchair so that he was facing away. ‘No idea. Did you tell your bank?’

  ‘Yeah. Someone used my card and PIN at a garage near Minster Beach. I wondered about the carers, but even if one of them had lifted my card, they wouldn’t have had the PIN. You haven’t accidentally given it to anyone, have you?’

  There was a long, awkward silence, broken only by the hum of the oven fan.

  ‘How would I “accidentally” do that? You must take me for a complete moron,’ Noah muttered.

  ‘Of course I don’t. It’s a lot of money to lose. I can’t afford it.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that. Must have been a nasty shock. Will the bank reimburse you?’

  ‘I haven’t asked them to investigate it yet. I wanted to check with you first. I’ve changed my PIN.’

  ‘Right. That’s sensible.’
/>
  Patrick stared at the back of his brother’s head. He couldn’t grasp something here. He went to shower, worried and guilty, too, because he was going out on a date while Noah was stuck inside.

  * * *

  Siv found Scott Darnley in a cubicle in A & E, sitting on the side of a bed. Despite his battered appearance, she recognised him from his photos on Facebook. He had puffy lips, grazes on his chin, a cut over his right eye with stitches in, a swollen, bloodied nose and his right wrist was in a support bandage.

  She pulled a chair up beside him. ‘Hello, Dr Darnley. We’ve been trying to get hold of each other. You’ve been in the wars.’

  ‘Yes, Inspector, but I survived the ambush. I contacted you because I realised that I might have some important information that I should advise you about.’

  ‘Did that something lead to you being attacked or was that a coincidence?’

  He cradled his wrist. ‘I can’t say, in all honesty, but I don’t believe that the two things are connected.’

  First lie. Some people started fibbing early, some waited until the going got trickier. ‘You’d better tell me what happened to you.’

  He spoke nasally. ‘Someone attacked me this afternoon. I was putting my bin out. There’s a communal, fenced area behind my house. I’d just unbolted the gate to it when they came at me. I didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Just after two thirty.’

  ‘So, broad daylight. Did you see your attacker?’

  He shook his head and touched his nose gingerly. ‘No. It all happened so fast. It was a man, but he was wearing a balaclava so I couldn’t tell you anything about him. He was there and then he was gone.’

  A man with a balaclava in the middle of the afternoon. She didn’t believe a word of it. ‘What did you do after your attacker left you?’

  ‘I managed to get indoors and clean myself up, but I needed stitches and an X-ray on my wrist. I called a cab to bring me into A & E.’ He sounded impatient and moved on the bed so that he was directly facing her. ‘But this isn’t why I asked to see you.’

  ‘Okay. I can get a constable to take a report about the attack.’

  ‘No! You’re not listening. Don’t they teach you listening skills in police training? They must be crucial.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I can’t be bothered reporting the attack. Probably just some lowlife on the prowl. I wanted to speak to you about the evening Ms Dimas went missing.’

  She sat back. ‘I’m all ears, Dr Darnley.’

  The whites of his eyes were bloodshot and yellowy. He blinked rapidly. ‘I read about Lyn Dimas’s body being found. I know Theo Dimas slightly, and also Monty Barnwell, his partner. Monty works here. There was a press report online about Lyn, recapping the night she went missing and saying that she and Theo had separated and he was at home with his partner. Then I saw the police appeal for information on Twitter. It’s a very good way of engaging with the public, by the way.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll pass that on to the detective who runs it. So did the appeal help to jog your memory?’

  ‘It did, yes. I recalled that I saw Monty and Justin Desmond, another doctor who works here, that night in 2013. I was driving past the Flare Bar in town and I saw them outside, on the pavement. Monty had his arm around Justin’s shoulders. Justin looked upset and he was holding his chest, as if he’d been sick or maybe hurt.’

  The Flare Bar was the oldest and still the most popular gay bar in town. ‘What time was that?’

  ‘I was off on a date, and we met up about eight thirty, so it must have been just after eight.’

  ‘Did they see you driving past?’

  ‘I doubt it. Monty had his head bent to Justin and as I said, Justin seemed unwell.’ He coughed and held his jaw, wincing.

  ‘Why didn’t you come forward and tell the police this in 2013?’

  ‘I’d forgotten all about seeing them outside the bar that night until a couple of days ago. You see, I wasn’t that friendly with them at the time so they didn’t really register with me. I noticed them in a corridor here together a couple of days ago, and I suppose that jogged my memory, as well as the online stuff.’ His manner was meek and mild now, but he couldn’t conceal a mean edge to his voice. ‘Is it useful information to you?’

  ‘Possibly.’ She wondered what his angle was. ‘Are Mr Barnwell and Dr Desmond aware that you’re telling me this?’

  ‘I haven’t mentioned it to them,’ he said.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to report this serious assault?’

  ‘I’m quite sure, thank you.’

  ‘You should, and I’d urge you to, but it’s your decision. If you change your mind, contact the station. Also, as soon as you’re better, I’ll need you to make a formal statement about what you’ve just told me.’

  ‘Of course.’ He placed a finger on his chin. ‘I hope I haven’t got Monty and Justin into any trouble. I’d hate for that to happen.’

  From his sugary tone, she reckoned that was exactly the outcome he wanted. ‘You’re right to have given me this information.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s reassuring. Can you keep me updated about what’s happening regarding this?’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that, Dr Darnley. I’ll be in touch with you again if I need to clarify anything.’

  When the inspector had gone, Darnley sat back on the bed and smirked, even though it hurt his jaw. Despite his injuries, it had been a worthwhile and satisfying day. He flicked open his phone and emailed Justin.

  I hope you weren’t in on it, but Monty Barnwell attacked me today. I’m not a pretty sight. A detective inspector, no less, came to see me in A & E. I told her I didn’t recognise my attacker, and I don’t want to report it. I did tell her about seeing you and Monty that night in 2013. I had to do the right thing about that, because Monty and Theo lied to the police back then. Justin, I’m doing all of this for you, for us. I love you so much. So much that I’m willing to let your friend beat me up. I don’t even care if you planned it with him. That’s real, selfless love, Justin. You’ll never have anyone else who’d do that for you. Please, just talk to me. We can sort things out. I don’t want to have to change my mind about reporting a crime. I don’t give a damn about Monty, but I honestly don’t want to get you into any trouble. You’re a terrific doctor and you don’t need Monty jeopardising your career.

  You can rely on me to have your back, always.

  Love and hugs, Scott.

  Chapter 17

  Siv drove straight to Theo Dimas’s house to challenge the broken alibi and see if Barnwell bore signs of a fight. Her throat ached for a glass of cold akvavit but she had to make do with a dubious coffee from a machine at a garage. She phoned Ali en route and told him what she’d discovered.

  ‘I don’t recall that a Dr Justin Desmond has been mentioned before. Does the name mean anything to you? Did Barnwell refer to him when you talked to him?’

  ‘No. Seems like Dimas or Barnwell, or maybe both of them, could have killed Lyn if they hadn’t been together watching footie.’

  ‘It opens up their account of the evening.’ She just couldn’t see Dimas as a killer and if Barnwell had been with Justin Desmond, that didn’t place him at Steiner’s. ‘Darnley’s got an agenda regarding Barnwell and Desmond. I’d say that Barnwell attacked him because he told them that he’d recalled seeing them in 2013.’

  ‘Medics having punch-ups? That’s a new one on me.’

  She was amused at his naivety. He was in awe of the medical profession, probably because his health needed regular monitoring. ‘They’re just human, and subject to the same emotions as the rest of us. Maybe you imagine they’d be more likely to inject each other with nasty drugs when they fall out.’

  ‘Well . . . just saying. Want me to meet you at Dimas’s?’ He sounded eager.

  She could tell that he must be home alone and keen for company, but she wanted to tread carefully with this situation. Adam would
be at home and he’d already had to deal with his father’s arrest. Ali could sometimes be a bull in a china shop — or, as Bartel would say, an elephant in a porcelain factory. ‘It’s okay. I’m going to go in softly to start with.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll call if I need back-up.’

  When Theo Dimas opened the door, he seemed unsurprised to see her late at night.

  ‘I need to speak to Mr Barnwell. Is he in?’

  Dimas led her through. The living room was subtly lit with two lamps and cosily warm with the heady scent of brandy. Monty Barnwell seemed anything but cosy. He was a big man squeezed into a small armchair and his nose dominated his strained face. There was a hum of tension in the air — the two men had been arguing.

  ‘Is Adam in?’ Siv asked. She didn’t want him involved in this conversation.

  ‘He’s upstairs, plugged into his headphones,’ Dimas told her.

  She sat in a chair opposite Barnwell. ‘I’ve just come from the hospital, where I spoke to Dr Scott Darnley. I believe you’re both acquainted with him.’

  They murmured in agreement. Dimas crouched back into a cushion on the sofa.

  ‘Dr Darnley was attacked earlier today and had to be treated in A & E. Do either of you know anything about that attack?’

  They both shook their heads.

  ‘Is he okay?’ Barnwell asked, his voice sounding forced.

  ‘Walking wounded. Rather like you, Mr Barnwell. What happened to your hand?’

  ‘I hurt it in the kitchen when I was cooking.’

  ‘Did Scott recognise his attacker?’ Dimas asked.

  ‘That’s an ongoing inquiry,’ Siv lied. Let them fret about that. ‘I’m here because of other information that Dr Darnley gave me. Mr Barnwell, do you know Dr Justin Desmond?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We both do,’ Dimas said.