“DCI Miller is following up a lead,” Riddle lied. Truth be told, he had no idea where his boss was at the moment. He’d had a message on his phone that morning asking Riddle to meet him at the station around 10. It was now 10.30.
Davies grunted. It seemed his repertoire of noises was extensive. “Tell Miller I want an update ASAP.” With that he turned on his heels and left Riddle to contemplate the weather.
*
Riddle was reading through the pathologist’s report for the third time when DCI Miller appeared in the door. “Morning, sergeant.”
Riddle tried not to glance at the clock. If it was still morning, it could only be by a matter of minutes. “I’ve a question for you.”
Riddle sat up. “All right.”
“Let’s say there was a job down in London that was at least three steps up from where you are now. It was a nice comfortable job with good hours. No late nights, no weekends.”
“Sounds great,” Riddle said. He had no idea where this was going.
“There would also be more money,” Miller said. “What are your – or anyone else in your position – chances of getting the job?”
“Three levels up? Sociable hours? More money? Next to zero,” Riddle said.
Miller smiled. “Indeed. So let me ask you another question. Let’s say you got that job. How would that be possible?”
“It wouldn’t,” Riddle said. “The competition would be fierce so however suited I was, there would be bound to be any number of people further up the career ladder.”
“True,” Miller said. “But for the sake of argument, let’s say you did get that job. Under what circumstances would that be possible?”
Riddle thought for a moment. “If I was a mason?”
Miller laughed. “OK, that’s possible. Any other scenario?”
Riddle looked out of the window. Across the car park he could see the backs of a row of Victorian houses. Christmas lights were shimmering in the gloom. In one house he could see a couple of children – he guessed aged seven or eight – chasing each other around the dining room.
Riddle turned back to face Miller. “You knew the person responsible for allocating the job?”
Miller walked over to his desk and sat down. “Exactly,” he said. “But where does that leave us?”
Riddle shrugged his shoulders. He had absolutely no idea what Miller was talking about.
“Right,” Miller said as if he had suddenly come to a decision. “Go and find Samantha Thompson’s boss – David Higgins. I want him here in the next hour.”
“You’re arresting him?” Riddle asked. He had not seen that coming. “But he has an alibi.”
“I don’t care if he was drinking holy wine with the Pope when Samantha Thompson was murdered. I want him here within the hour.”
Riddle walked towards the door. “And you, Sir? What are you going to do?”
“I have a couple of phone calls to make. Close the door on your way out.”
Riddle did as he was told. As he was walking towards the car park he saw the Chief Constable walking towards him. With the dexterity of a professional dancer, he stepped to the side and left by the fire exit.
*
David Higgins was not happy. It was just before one in the afternoon and he was closing the office up for Christmas. The rest of the staff were on their way to the Shambles bar for a memorial drink in honour of Samantha and he was eager to join them. “He wants me to do what?”
“Detective Chief Inspector Miller would like you to accompany me to the station,” Riddle said, aware he was sounding like a cross between Dixon of Dock Green and a Monty Python sketch.
“Do I have a choice?”
“We would be very grateful for your assistance,” Riddle asked, sidestepping the question. “After all, I’m sure you are as keen to catch Samantha Thompson’s killer as we are.” It was a cheap shot, but it was the best he could manage, especially considering he had no idea what Miller was up to.
David Higgins sighed. “Fine. I just hope it won’t take long,” he said, with a wistful glance at the door through which the rest of his staff had left for the pub.
The drive to the police station took longer than usual, as the streets seemed to be full of a mixture of last minute Christmas shoppers and early afternoon revellers. As Riddle waited for a group of women festooned with reindeer antlers and tinsel cross in front of the car, the first snowflakes began to fall. They were light and danced in front of the windscreen, but Riddle did not doubt that they were just a precursor of what was to come.
Finally, Riddle pulled into the police station car park and led David Higgins up the main steps and inside.
The desk sergeant looked up as Riddle approached. “DCI Miller is in Interview Room 1,” he said. “He’s waiting for you.”
Riddle nodded and led the way through a pair of double doors and down a long corridor. They passed a door that was slightly ajar. Riddle caught the strains of Paul McCartney’s Wonderful Christmastime seeping from inside.
“I saw him live once,” David Higgins said. “Although I always preferred John.”
He’s nervous, Riddle thought. But that was hardly surprising. He’d be nervous if he’d been summoned to the police station in the middle of a murder inquiry.
At the end of the corridor they turned right and then stopped. “Here we are,” Riddle said. He knocked a couple of times on the door and went in.
Miller was sitting behind a desk with an A4 pad of yellow paper that he had scribbled all over and three cups of coffee. He stood up. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you too much,” he added, sounding to Riddle as if he hoped no such thing.
“I’m happy to help,” David Higgins said as he sat down opposite the detective, “but I’m not sure what else I can tell you.”
“Well,” Miller said, “you can start by telling me why you murdered Samantha Thompson.”
Chapter 17
David Higgins’ mouth dropped open. He stared blankly at Miller, barely registering the words as Miller cautioned him.
“I…I…” he stuttered.
Behind him, Riddle’s face betrayed a level of surprise that almost matched that of the surveyor.
“I’ve fetched you both a coffee,” Miller said, seemingly unconcerned at the effect his words had made on his sergeant and Higgins. “So shall we begin?”
“A lawyer,” Higgins said. “I should have a lawyer.”
“You’re not under arrest,” Miller said. “But I’m willing to take that step. Alternatively, we can have a quick chat.”
There was something in Miller’s voice that seemed to focus the surveyor’s mind. It was as if he had suddenly glimpsed a way out of the nightmare he found himself in. “OK,” he said weakly.
“So why did you kill Samantha Thompson?” Miller asked.
“I didn’t,” Higgins said. “I couldn’t have.”
“Why?”
“Because I was in love with her.”
“In my experience that doesn’t preclude murder. Just the opposite.”
“I didn’t kill her,” Higgins said, tears forming in his eyes.
Miller sat back in his chair. “OK. So why don’t you tell me what did happen?”
“It all started a year ago,” Higgins began. “It was at last year’s Christmas party. Samantha had been with the firm for a couple of years and I had been attracted to her from day one. But I’m a married man so I don’t play away.”
Miller clearly didn’t believe him, but he let it go for now. He took a deep breath. “Go on.”
“You have to understand that although we’re quite successful, we’re only a small firm. Apart from the office staff there are only three surveyors. We each have a specialist area: I tend to deal with proposals for new buildings; Tim deals with newer buildings that have already been built; and Samantha specialises in old buildings, which in practice tends to mean Victorian and earlier. But because we’re a small firm sometimes we have to cover for one another. O
ver the last 18 months I’ve worked on a couple of projects with Samantha. You know what it’s like,” he added.
Miller gave the impression that he had absolutely no idea what it was like, but he remained silent.
“To cut a long story short,” Higgins said, “working together made me realise how much I was falling for her. I flirted a little – nothing inappropriate you understand – but I flirted a little and I think she liked it.”
“You’re saying that Samantha Thompson fell for you?” Riddle asked.
Higgins smiled sadly. “If only. If I’m honest, I think she may have quite liked the fact that she was getting some attention.”
“Why do you say that?” Miller asked.
“It’s only an impression, but I got the feeling that things weren’t that great between her and her boyfriend.”
“What makes you think that?” Riddle asked.
“Well, I assume you’ve met Tommy Gregory. He’s good-looking, but there’s not much else to him. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a decent enough kid, but she deserves someone a little more mature. Someone who doesn’t spend their time meddling with weird religions.”
“Like you?” Riddle asked.
“You can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Miller shut his eyes and took another deep breath. He thought he might be clinically allergic to the use of the word “guy”.
“Then what happened?” Miller asked.
“Like I told you before, we slept together a few times. But she put a stop to it. I had to respect that, even if I didn’t like it.”
“So what happened last month?” Riddle asked.
Higgins’ face broke into a sad smile. “It was the Christmas party – we’d hired a room in the Shambles pub and everyone was having a good time. The firm had been very successful over the past 12 months and everyone had received a Christmas bonus. It was late, everyone was dancing and I danced over to Samantha. She seemed to be having a great time and before I knew what was happening, she had her arms around me and we were slow dancing to some Michael Buble song.” Higgins closed his eyes as he relived the moment.
“And then?” Riddle prompted.
“Then she kissed me,” Higgins said with a crooked smile. “It seemed to come out of nowhere and I certainly didn’t instigate it, but right there she kissed me for the first time in a year.”
Miller narrowed his eyes. He had interviewed many people in his career and he felt that he could detect when someone was genuine. As much as he had developed a strong dislike to David Higgins, he had to admit that he seemed, however misplaced, to have formed genuine feelings for Samantha.
“So what happened after that?” Miller asked.
“That night? Nothing. She went home an hour or so later.”
“And when you were back at work?”
Higgins sighed. “Nothing. It was obvious she didn’t want to talk about it. I got the impression she thought she had made a mistake. It’s just…”
“It’s just what?” Miller asked.
“It’s just if it had just been a drunken kiss at the Christmas party she would have laughed it off and we would have all just carried on. But it was the way she refused to even discuss it that made me think that it might have meant something to her. But she was too guilty or too loyal, or both to her boyfriend.”
Miller nodded. He didn’t want to admit it, but he thought the surveyor might be right. When he had spoken to Samantha he had the impression of someone who was lost and adrift. Or did he? Was he projecting something he would have liked to have been the case now that she was dead? Whatever the truth, Miller could understand Higgins falling for his colleague. Miller had only spent one evening in her company and he had felt an attraction.
“And nothing else happened?” Miller asked.
“No. That was it. Although,” Higgins added, “I always hoped that something would. Which is why I could never harm her.”
“And what project was she working on when she was killed?”
The abrupt change of tact momentarily confused Higgins, but he soon regained his composure.
“She had a couple of projects on the go. She was overseeing the renovations to the parade of shops in Sleights and she was working with the local authority on Curlew Chapel to ensure it was safe until its closure next summer.”
“Did you work together on that?”
“Not really, it isn’t a particularly big job. She did ask my advice on a couple of things as I’d worked on the structural changes that were required a few years ago when the disabled ramp and access were built.”
“So what did she actually do at the chapel?”
“Basically she ensured it was structurally safe. She advised on what to do to prolong its life and most importantly, ensure that the foundations were still intact. That was what she should have being doing the morning after she was murdered.”
Higgins put his head in his hands.
Miller replaced the top on his pen. “Thank you, Mr. Higgins. What you’ve told me has been very useful. You’re free to leave whenever you want.”
Higgins stared at Miller. “But you accused me of killing Samantha.”
“Did I?” Miller shrugged.
*
“What was that all about?” Riddle asked as the two detectives stood in the corridor outside the interview room.
“We don’t have any evidence to issue an arrest warrant,” Miller said. “Or at least the only evidence we have is circumstantial. Not that it matters.”
Riddle was incredulous. “Why doesn’t it matter?”
Miller responded to the question by asking one of his own. “Why would David Higgins murder Jocasta Heath?”
Riddle was confused.
“Let me ask you another question. Do you think the murders of Jocasta Heath and Samantha Thompson are related?”
This question had been sending Riddle mad for the last few days. Every time he thought he had made his mind up, something else came along and he changed it again. “Honestly, sir. I just don’t know.”
Miller smiled. Riddle’s honesty and ability to readily admit when he was in the dark was just one of the reasons why Miller thought so much of him. “Let me put it another way. Can you think of any reason why David Higgins would have murdered Jocasta Heath?”
“No,” Riddle said.
“And why not?”
“Well, because they didn’t know one another.”
“Exactly,” Miller said. “That’s just the point isn’t it?”
Riddle shook his head. Instead of beginning to see chinks of light at the end of the tunnel, he seemed to be heading further underground. He didn’t see anything. “But you asked me to bring David Higgins in. Why did you do that?”
“I wanted to shock him out of his slimy complacency,” Miller said. “And I wanted to learn a couple of things that I would probably have had to wait until after the holidays to discover.”
“He could make a fuss about what happened,” Riddle said.
“He was never arrested,” Miller said. He knew he was on very thin ground, but he had gambled on Higgins being too relieved not to be charged to make much of a fuss. It was rash, he knew. But it had paid off. He would deal with any fallout later.
Miller glanced out of the window. It was already getting dark. The snowflakes that had lessened off over the past couple of hours were now large and more numerous. Miller glanced at the clock. The electronic readout flickered 14:55. He was almost there.
“I want you to meet me at the chapel in an hour’s time,” Miller said. “In the meantime I just need you to do one more thing. Go and see Dr Powell and ask him to stay put for the next hour. I know it’s Christmas eve afternoon,” Miller said in answer to Riddle’s impending protest, “but just do it. Tell him it’s urgent.”
Riddle looked confused. “But why?”
Miller ignored the question. “Meet me back here in an hour,” he said as he stood up and without another word left the police station.
*
The snow was thick in the air, but as of yet it wasn’t settling. Miller drove out of the police station car park and headed down the hill before turning right onto the main road. A minute later he crossed the swing bridge as he drove towards the headland.
The weather was predictably worse on the unshielded expanse of the east cliff. Parking the car next to the chapel wall, Miller opened the creaky gate and followed the path to the main entrance. The chapel was open to visitors during the day, but Miller had guessed correctly that it would be empty. He had telephoned the vicar from the car to confirm that he was at his home on Henrietta Street working on his Christmas sermon. That was exactly what he had hoped to hear. Miller wanted the chapel to himself.
He pushed the chapel door open and closed it behind him. Waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark, he headed to the far side where a wooden door was hidden behind a velvet curtain. Miller pulled a torch from his pocket and walked down the steps.
The vault was deathly cold. Shadows danced demonically as he passed his torch around him in a sweeping arc. Suddenly, Miller stopped. He had an overpowering sense of danger. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. For a moment fear rooted him to the spot. He was just about to turn around when he felt a searing pain at the back of his neck and everything went black.
Chapter 18
“You saved his life,” DS Riddle said to Luke Moore. “Thank you.”
The vicar waved Riddle’s thanks away. “It wasn’t me, it was my terrible memory. If I hadn’t left the notes for my sermon here, I wouldn’t have returned until much later.”
“Well I for one am very grateful for your forgetfulness,” Riddle said.
Riddle and the vicar were standing inside the chapel. Outside an ambulance’s flashing lights cast eerie shadows across the chapel’s graveyard.
“Could you just go over what happened one more time?” Riddle asked.
“Of course,” the vicar said. “DCI Miller called me at home around three this afternoon to see if I minded him taking a look around the chapel. I told him I couldn’t be there, as I had to finish my sermon, but as the chapel was open he was more than welcome to look around himself. Then about half an hour later I realised I’d left my notes here, so I made my way up the 199 steps. I’d picked my notes up when I noticed that the door to the vault was open. I went down and found DS Miller on the floor. There was quite a lot of blood. It was most distressing.”
Better the Devil You Know Page 13
