‘I can see it must be hard for you,’ Ali agreed. ‘We’re investigating the murder of Lyn Dimas, and talking to anyone who might have visited Orford End.’
‘Gosh, yes, I read about that. Poor woman. Her family must be in bits. You found her at that deserted place, didn’t you? Steiner’s. It used to be a removals firm.’
‘That’s right. Had you come across her or her family? Ms Dimas was a podiatrist in town. Did you ever have treatment at her clinic?’
‘No, I never met her or her family. I’ve had trouble with my teeth — bloody painful wisdom tooth that’s given me awful jip — but so far, my feet have been fine, which is just as well as I’m on them all day. I read that Lyn Dimas had two children. It must be terrible for your mum to vanish and then her body to be found years later. I hope you find the scum who did it and put him away for life. They never do get life these days though, do they?’
Ali avoided opening up any discussion of the penal system. It was a favourite with the public and a minefield. ‘Ms James, we’re trying to find out where Lyn Dimas went on the night she died in 2013. Some years ago, you visited Orford End on a school trip with your geography teacher, Ms Kemp. Can you cast your mind back to the other pupils you visited with that day? We’ve talked to some and we found out that Paul Bison died. We’d like to speak to Tim Stafford.’
It was chilly in the shop, and Bethany had a trembling drip at the end of her pudgy nose, which she brushed away with the back of a mittened hand. Within seconds, a new one appeared. They stood among the buckets of blooms, trays of pot plants and ready-made bouquets while she talked away in a circuitous monologue. Ali liked interviews where you pressed someone’s button and set them off, but he could see that Patrick was wide-eyed at her dripping nose as she rattled on.
‘I really liked Ms Kemp. She was a good teacher and keen on her subject. Fire in her belly, that one. I got a B in Geography A level, thanks to her. She comes in now and again for flowers and we have a chat. She tells me about the economies at Minster Academy, and how it’s all about records and league tables these days. Asters and freesias are her favourite flowers. That was terrible about Paul Bison. Goodness knows why he went out in a boat without a life jacket when he couldn’t swim. Mind, he was always larking around and a risk taker. One risk too many. The lifeguard tried to save him, just off Minster Beach, but it was too late. He should have been more careful. We’ve been warned all our lives that there are strong currents there, but some people never get any sense.’ She gazed into the middle distance, shaking her head.
‘And Tim Stafford?’ Patrick prompted. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets to try to keep warm.
‘Oh, he was such a sad boy, was Tim,’ she said, trimming rose stems. ‘We used to call him “Staffy,” after the dog breed, because he had a habit of hanging his tongue out. He had a funny home life. It was a private fostering situation. I’d never heard of one of those before he told me. His foster dad was his uncle. Tim always put me in mind of that Keats quote — “alone and palely loitering”. He was a weedy, bony kid and he never seemed to have any friends. He’d just hang around. He wasn’t too bright and he struggled with schoolwork. He could be a troublemaker, too, and sneaky with it. He had a talent for telling tales, starting arguments between people and then standing back to watch the fallout. I heard that his foster parents kicked him out soon after we left school. I saw him sleeping rough in town a couple of years ago. He had a sort of makeshift camp outside the empty BHS store on the parade and he was begging. He had a bedside table by his sleeping bag and a bookshelf with a reading lamp on it. That was bizarre because he’d no electric supply. I remember how sad it was, like a pretend bedroom in the street. I gave him a fiver, but he didn’t recognise me. He was sort of skeletal. I haven’t seen him around for a while. It crossed my mind that he might have died. People do, don’t they, when they live on the streets. They get TB, hepatitis and all sorts, and a strong breeze could have blown Tim away.’
‘Any idea where his foster parents live, or their surname?’ Ali asked.
‘Their name was Stafford, too. Not sure of the house number, but I remember it was on Chiltern Drive, near the park end.’ She sniffed and dabbed again at her nose. ‘Sorry it’s cold in here. I’m used to it. I try to keep the heating bills down and the flowers stay fresher for longer in a cool environment.’
Ali bought a bunch of chrysanthemums, gerberas, orange lilies and mixed berries for Polly. Bethany threw in extra free foliage, ‘Because I wouldn’t want to do your job for all the tea in China.’
The flowers sat on the back seat of his car now, filling it with a sedgy, fresh scent and moistening the air. Patrick looked up Stafford and found the address in Chiltern Drive while Ali leaned out of the driver’s door, puffing on a cigarette and phoning the St Helen’s soup kitchen. Berminster didn’t have a homeless shelter, but the vicar at St Helen’s had started the kitchen a couple of years ago, and she allowed rough sleepers to stay in the church overnight.
‘They’ve met Tim Stafford,’ he told Patrick, ‘but they haven’t seen him for months. The woman I spoke to said Tim sometimes goes on the road, moves on to check the pickings in other places.’
‘If he’s been homeless for a while, he might have kipped at Steiner’s.’
‘That’s true, or he might have been hanging out there as a teenager and seen Lyn there with Aston. We could do a trawl of rough sleepers in town, but it might be quicker to talk to the Staffords first.’
‘Okay. Chiltern Drive’s south-east of town, near Stoneydown Park.’
Ali glanced in the rear-view mirror as he started the car. His hair was straggly and needed replaiting. ‘I’m like an owl peeping out of an ivy bush,’ he muttered.
Patrick rubbed his chilly hands together. ‘It was bloody freezing in that shop. No wonder she doesn’t have many customers. They’d get frostbite.’
‘I didn’t notice it that much. Mind you, compared to you, I’m well-padded. There are advantages to carrying some heft instead of being a skinny-ribs. Did you see Tommy Castles at the station?’
‘Yeah, just to say hello. He said he has a few days off and he’s walking the coastal path. He’d been hobnobbing with Mortimer.’
‘Hmm. Probably arranging lunch at the yacht club. I wonder if the guv saw him.’
‘Would it bother her?’
‘I’d say so. It’d bother me if the bloke who’d wanted the job I’d got was sniffing around his old hunting ground, and hanging out with my boss.’ Ali glanced across. ‘What are you wearing for the Halloween do?’
‘Skeleton costume for me, and Noah’s planning to be a bat. How about you?’
‘Haven’t decided yet. Maybe a púca. It’s an animal from Irish folklore, a bringer of bad or good fortune. So I might go as an evil hare.’
Patrick laughed. ‘You’d better get a wiggle on, it’s next weekend.’
‘That’s what Polly keeps telling me. Been meaning to ask, how’s Noah doing?’
‘Yeah, okay. He’s just had a bit of a blip.’
Ali started humming in his melodic voice, one of those sweetly haunting Irish airs that he liked. Patrick watched the flying grey clouds, glad that he’d asked for the guv’s help but worrying that it would make Noah even madder when he found out. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
Chapter 20
Lily Aston had perked up and was firing on all cylinders. She was out of place in her grandfather’s dim living room, her skinny ripped jeans and low-cut, tight T-shirt at odds with the sacred icons and formal, religious ambiance. Joe Dimas was dressed in black again, but with a dark-grey polo neck. He seemed somehow frailer and his shoulders sagged inwards. He sat perched close to and just behind Lily, his hard eyes glinting back and forth between her and Siv.
‘Let me make sure I’ve got this right,’ Lily said. ‘Now you’re saying you don’t suspect Pearce of killing my mum?’
‘That’s right. He has a verified alibi for his whereabouts before he turned up late at t
he prom.’
‘So, where was he? Shagging someone else after he moved on from Mum?’
‘That’s for him to explain. You’ll have to talk to him.’
‘Not bloody likely!’ Lily folded her arms. ‘How come it took all this fuss and aggravation for you to find he had a proper alibi?’
She made it sound as if the police had been harassing an innocent man. ‘You’ll find it was Pearce who caused the aggravation by lying consistently and repeatedly.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Joe Dimas said. ‘What’s this about Pearce being late at the prom? That’s the first I’ve heard of such a thing.’ He tapped Lily’s shoulder but she shifted away from him.
Siv didn’t see why she should withhold the truth. He’d have to find out, and Lily clearly didn’t want to tell him. ‘Both Pearce and Lily lied to the police in 2013 and during this investigation. They said he arrived at the prom at seven forty-five but in fact, he turned up at gone eight thirty. When we found out from another source that he’d lied, we were suspicious. After wasting a lot of our time, he told us that he’d had to see someone after he left work and before he arrived at the prom.’
‘Some slag, I expect,’ Lily said. Then she worked out what she’d heard. ‘Hang on, you mean someone else told you he arrived late?’
‘That’s right.
‘Who was it?’
‘I can’t divulge that and it’s not relevant to our inquiry now.’
Joe Dimas was frowning. ‘But why did you lie for him, Lily? You shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Oh, leave me alone, Papu. I’ve got enough on my plate without you on my case. Like she said, it doesn’t matter now.’
‘Lying to the police is a serious matter,’ Siv said. ‘If I didn’t judge it to be a waste of time and resources, I’d charge you with perverting the course of justice. Pearce still faces that charge and he could go to prison. I’m only letting you off because I believe he put pressure on you.’
Lily flushed. ‘I don’t care what you charge that fucking prick with. You can bang him up for ever, for all I care. I never want to see the lying shit again.’
Dimas flinched as his granddaughter swore and glanced at the Madonna. ‘Tcha, Lily, language! Our Lady is listening.’
‘Lily, language!’ she mimicked. ‘Our Lady had better get some ear muffs. I’ll call him worse than that before this is over. I’m going to a solicitor tomorrow. I’m going to get every penny I can from him, the house, and half the business. Tasha read up about it and her mum’s a solicitor so I’m up to speed with my rights. And he can fuck off out of the house that Papu’s money helped buy and find somewhere to stay while I divorce him.’
Dimas muttered to himself, ‘Theé mou, voítha me,’ and closed his eyes with an air of defeat. He must be crushed by what he’d been hearing about Pearce, the man he’d respected and chosen to favour over his own son. It might be best if Lily went home and her husband camped elsewhere. This setup couldn’t last for long and Siv suspected that there’d be no flaounes baking for some time.
‘There’s another reason why I wanted to see you, Lily. Ever met any of the people on this list?’ She scrolled to Trudy Kemp’s list on her phone and showed it to Lily. Her grandfather peered at it over her shoulder.
‘Nah. Who are they?’
‘This is a photo of one of them, Tim Stafford. How about him?’
‘Nah.’
‘How about you, Mr Dimas?’
Joe Dimas shook his head.
‘They’re a group of pupils who once visited Orford End with their teacher, Trudy Kemp.’
‘Auntie Trudy?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, they mean nothing to me. She’s a right bitch anyway, siding with Dad and Monty and betraying her own sister. She’s got no loyalty, has she, Papu?’
Her grandfather shook his head and reached out to touch the feet of St Nicholas.
‘Your aunt’s been very unwell and in hospital,’ Siv said. ‘Ruptured appendix.’
Lily’s mouth turned down. ‘Who gives a fuck?’
‘Lily, please, I must beg you, don’t speak like that. Have some respect,’ Dimas urged.
‘Oh, stop banging on, Papu. Get off my case. My life’s turned to shit, okay?’ She sprang up and left the room, leaving the door swinging. The sudden draught caused a dense billow of sickly incense from below a triptych. Dimas rose, leaned against the back of a chair, and then saw Siv to the front door. He put a hand to the frame, as if needing support.
‘I’m sorry about Lily’s bad language, Inspector. I’ve never heard her talk like this before. She’s not herself at all. She’s had a succession of terrible shocks. First her mother’s body was found, and now Pearce’s appalling betrayal has been revealed. I’m in shock myself, discovering that Lyn was having an affair and meeting Pearce at Steiner’s. I can’t believe it. I’ve always held that young man in such high esteem, supported him both emotionally and financially. I worry about what will happen to Lily. Anything I say, she snaps at me.’
‘Murder invades and taints the lives of all those associated with the victim. As you say, Mr Dimas, Lily’s had a number of shocks. It will take time. She still has her mother’s funeral to come. I’m sure your support is invaluable to her, whatever she says.’
Ali phoned with an update as she got into her car, saying that he and Patrick were about to call on the Staffords. Hassan Kibet called her back as she reached the main road and she pulled in to speak to him.
‘I’ve accessed the complaint record,’ he told her. ‘Lyn Dimas made an allegation about a colleague. It’s quite complex and, of course, there are confidentiality issues. I wondered if you might be able to meet in person to discuss it. Our office is in Islington.’
She deliberated. She’d finished folding her kusudama model and needed to take the piece to the architects in Ealing. She always took completed work in person, not trusting the risk of damage to delicate sculptures by delivery drivers. If she went to London to see Hassan Kibet, she could also make her delivery. She agreed to meet Kibet the following morning and drove on as the heavens opened, heading for the coast road. She’d rather speak to Noah while Patrick wasn’t around. She’d also rather interview the most hardened criminal than make this visit, but she’d agonise over it if she didn’t try to help and she wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.
* * *
Clement Stafford had died a couple of years ago and, from the offhand way his widow told them, she wasn’t too sad about his demise. Esme Stafford sat opposite them in her bright living room. The beech-framed sofa and easy chairs looked new, as did the pale apricot paint on the walls and the leaf-patterned window blinds. She was in her sixties, with a heart-shaped face and trim figure, and she wore a purple tunic over black leggings. Her silvery hair was cropped short and her large hoop earrings were inset with tiny diamonds. Her manner was frosty. She didn’t offer drinks and made it clear that she couldn’t tarry.
‘I have a t’ai chi class at four. I don’t see how I can help you about Tim. I haven’t seen him since just after Clem died. Tim didn’t come to the funeral, which was no surprise and a huge relief, but he called here afterwards, asking if Clem had left him anything. I didn’t want to let him in, but he was unusually meek and mild, it was pouring rain and I had a friend here. I told him Clem hadn’t left him any inheritance. I’ve no idea why Tim had got it into his head that there might be one, not after what he’d done to us. He hung around for about an hour, asking if I had any photos of his mother. I gave him an album with a few in. We never had many — she wasn’t the type to send photos. Then I gave him a hundred pounds to get rid of him and one of Clem’s winter coats, a handsome woollen Burberry. He took off and that’s the last time I saw him, thank goodness.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I worried I’d have to fumigate the place after he’d gone.’
Ali had told Patrick to lead on this interview. He smiled, hoping to mellow the atmosphere a little. ‘Do you have any idea where we can contact Tim?
’
His attempt failed. She gave him a cold stare. ‘Are you really old enough to be a police officer?’
‘Just answer the question, please.’
‘No. He could be anywhere. He’s probably in a squat or sleeping in a doorway. Tim is a mass of self-destructive impulses and if anyone tries to help him, he’ll bite the hand that feeds. He made my life miserable for years. I don’t want to see him or have anything to do with him.’
‘What did he do to you?’ Patrick asked.
‘What didn’t he do, more like,’ she replied tartly. ‘Clem persuaded me to let Tim come and live with us when he was ten. He was Clem’s sister’s kid. She wasn’t married and never named Tim’s father. She was a hopeless woman, always in and out of jobs and in debt. Then she got a job as a travel rep, based in the Greek islands. She couldn’t have Tim with her — or so she said — so she asked Clem if we’d take him in. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement but of course, she was just trying to find a way to dump Tim, and Clem was soft as butter. I wasn’t keen. Tim was a strange, morose boy, sort of detached and slow on the uptake, but Clem wanted to give his sister a chance so Tim landed here. His mother visited now and again, but more and more infrequently. She sent dribs and drabs of money towards Tim’s upkeep, but then that dried up, just as I’d predicted. She died of a pulmonary embolism on Rhodes when Tim was fourteen. He was uncommunicative and difficult to get on with, never showed us any affection but he became impossible after that. He was a slow learner at school and he truanted regularly. There were lots of rows and he’d stay out late, or not come home at all for a couple of nights. The rows continued and then on his eighteenth birthday, he blew a fuse with me when I told him he needed to pull his socks up and find a job. He started throwing stuff. Clem stepped in and Tim punched him in the face. That was it. I told Clem he was an adult and he had to go, so we gave him his marching orders.’
NEVER CAME HOME an addictive crime thriller with a twist you won't see coming (Detective Inspector Siv Drummond Book 2) Page 25
