by Sally Rigby
Using only two fingers and stabbing the keyboard, Frank called up the footage. ‘This is from last Thursday. Here’s Armstrong driving out of Pennington Grove and turning left. Look to the right and you’ll see the other car pulling out of a parking space and starting to follow him. Now look at the next day, Friday, in the afternoon. Armstrong is out again, and he turns right into Mercia Road. See behind him? It’s the same car. I found other sightings, too. Several near the snooker club.’
‘Have you traced the car?’
‘Not yet because the number plate was partially obstructed.’
‘On every camera angle?’ Brian asked.
‘It could be dirt. Possibly done deliberately. I know the last two letters are WW. Also, there’s a sticker in the left corner of the back window and I could make out the word ‘rent’. The car could be a rental. I’ll check it out.’
‘Brian, did you locate the stalker?’ She turned to her sergeant who was standing next to her.
‘Yes, guv. Her name’s Deborah Radley and she lives in Warwick.’
‘Take Meena and bring her in for questioning.’
‘Ellie, what were you looking into?’
‘The victim’s financial situation, guv. He’s got plenty of money. Earnings from tournaments, advertising, endorsements and also the snooker club, which he owns in partnership with Scott Marshall.’
‘Have you checked his social media presence?’
‘Armstrong has a fan page, with over a hundred thousand followers, but he doesn’t post much himself. I think maybe it’s run by someone on his behalf. I’ll find out who. He also has a manager, Dennis Blaine from DB Promotions, who’s based in London.’
‘Thanks. We need to interview him, although it’s quite a distance and I can’t afford the time at the moment.’
‘We could use Zoom, guv,’ Brian said. ‘I can set it up for you.’
‘Good idea. Where are we on tracking down Armstrong’s friends who were at the house on Saturday night?’
‘Tyrone Butler’s in London at a funeral and will be back in Lenchester first thing tomorrow morning,’ Ellie said. ‘I’ve asked him to come into the station as soon as he returns. I know it’s not ideal, but because it was a funeral I didn’t insist on seeing him immediately. I did confirm that he was telling the truth about where he was. Kurt Kastrati and Rory Clarke are both coming in this afternoon. I haven’t managed to get hold of Scott Marshall yet.’
‘Okay. Someone contact forensics and see if there were any of the victim’s possessions in the car. In particular, his phone and keys. Dr Dexter didn’t see them but she didn’t search everywhere. I’m going to interview the wife now she’s had time to get over the initial shock.’
‘It wasn’t a shock if she was the one to have killed him,’ Brian said.
‘True. I’ll try her parents’ house first as she may still be there. I don’t want to phone first. Forewarned is forearmed and all that.’
She went into her office and called George.
‘I’m going to see Naomi Armstrong. Are you free?’
‘Give me half an hour and I’ll be with you.’
Chapter 7
George pulled into the station car park and spotted Whitney waiting by the side of the building, moving impatiently from foot to foot. She drew up beside her.
‘Are you in a hurry?’ she asked as the officer jumped into the car and fastened her seat belt.
‘We’ve got a lot to do, so I thought I’d wait for you out here to save time.’
‘How’s Tiffany?’ George asked as she pulled out into the traffic.
‘Apart from the odd burst of hormones when she gets a bit snappy, she’s doing really well. She’s getting larger by the day. If I hadn’t seen the scan myself, I’d swear she was having twins.’
‘Do they run in your family?’
‘Not that I know of. I’ve no idea about Lachlan’s, though. Mind you, Tiffany weighed in at a little under nine pounds when she was born.’
‘That’s a lot for someone of your size,’ George said, wincing.
‘You’re telling me, it’s making my eyes water just thinking about it. It was why I ran the gamut when it came to pain relief, finally ending up having an epidural. It was bliss, I couldn’t feel a thing.’
‘Has Tiffany decided on the type of birth she’d like?’
‘Not yet. She’s still got another twelve weeks to go, so there’s plenty of time to work it out.’
When they arrived at the Dixons’ house, Whitney knocked on the door. Mr Dixon answered.
‘Is Naomi here?’ Whitney said.
‘You’ve just missed her. She’s gone back home.’
‘Is she alone?’
‘She has her daughter with her. I offered to drive her back, but she said no. My wife’s arranged to see her later. Naomi said she wanted to be on her own, despite us not wanting her to. But we learnt long ago that Naomi gets what she wants. She’s very determined is our daughter.’
‘How was she?’ Whitney asked.
‘She’s coping, although I’m not sure it’s hit her yet. She wants to stay strong for little Sienna.’
‘Do you have CCTV here?’
‘Unbelievable! You actually think she had something to do with this, don’t you? Well, no, officer, we don’t have CCTV but I’m sure the Crawleys’ camera will have picked her up if she did leave, which I know she didn’t. They live at 154.’
‘I understand that this is difficult, Mr Dixon, but this is all part of our enquiries, and standard procedure. What car does your daughter drive, and also you and your wife?’
The tension eased a little from his face. ‘Naomi has a Mazda CX-5. I have a Ford Mondeo and my wife a Ford Fiesta. The Crawleys are in their seventies and retired, so you should find them home as they don’t go out often.’
‘Thanks, we’ll go there now.’ They headed down the path and turned left towards 154. ‘Any observations?’ Whitney asked.
‘Before he got angry with you, I could see by the tightness of the lines around his eyes, and the way he was standing with his arms folded like he had a barrier across his chest, that he didn’t agree with Naomi’s decision to go home, but he couldn’t do anything about it. There may be issues between her and her parents.’
‘What sort of issues?’
‘Difficult to pinpoint, but there was a certain unease about him. Obviously, in part, because of Ryan’s death, but I sensed frustration because he couldn’t look after her in the way he wanted to.’
‘Typical response, though. It’s hard to let go, however old a child is.’
‘That’s very astute of you,’ George said.
‘It’s what being a parent does to you.’
They walked down the drive to the Crawleys’ house. There was a camera above the front door. Just as Whitney raised her hand to press on the bell, the door opened by a tall thin woman, with grey hair piled up on her head into a bun.
‘Yes?’ she said, her eyes darting from Whitney to George.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Walker and this is Dr Cavendish. We’d like to speak to Mrs Crawley?’ Whitney held out her warrant card.
Startled eyes stared back at them. ‘That’s me.’
‘There’s nothing to worry about. We have a few questions regarding your CCTV.’
The woman exhaled loudly and clamped a hand to her chest. ‘Thank goodness. You had me worried for a moment. Come in.’ She opened the door fully, and they walked past her into a square hall, with textured wallpaper which was tinged yellow with age.
‘We’d like to see footage from late Saturday night into the early hours of Sunday morning from the camera that points towards the road. Are you able to show us?’ Whitney asked.
‘The computer is in the dining room. Our granddaughter set it up and showed us how to use it. I think I remember what to do.’
They followed her into a room which had brown curtains with orange and yellow flowers of varying sizes on them. The carpet, worn in several places, was red with brown diamo
nd shapes.
‘Have you lived here long?’ Whitney asked.
‘Fifty-five years, since we got married.’ She pulled out the chair at the head of the table, which was in front of the open laptop, and sat down. ‘Now, let me think.’ She stared at the screen and then hit some keys. ‘Done it,’ she said, looking at Whitney and George, a proud expression on her face. ‘This is from eleven on Saturday.’
Whitney peered over her shoulder. ‘Can you speed it up?’
‘I don’t know how.’
‘Allow me,’ George said, leaning across and pressing fast forward.
‘Stop there,’ Whitney said, as a car drove past at just after one. ‘Do you recognise this car, Mrs Crawley?’
‘Yes, it belongs to the young couple who live at 98.’
They continued looking through the footage, but there was no sign of any car belonging to Naomi or her parents.
‘Thank you for your assistance,’ Whitney said as they left the Crawley house.
‘I’m glad to have helped. I didn’t like to ask before, but is this to do with Ryan Armstrong being killed? His in-laws live at 160.’
‘I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to discuss ongoing investigations.’
‘I understand,’ the elderly woman said, tapping the side of her nose.
They returned to George’s car. ‘That rules out his wife,’ she said, pulling out into the road and heading in the direction of the Armstrong house.
‘Maybe,’ Whitney said. ‘But she could’ve been involved, even if she didn’t actually pull the trigger. I still have plenty of questions to ask her.’
When they arrived at Pennington Grove, there were three cars parked in the drive of Marsden House, including the CX-5. ‘She must have visitors,’ George said, pulling up behind the white Range Rover.
‘Hello, Chelsea, we’ve come to see Mrs Armstrong.’ Whitney said when the cleaner answered the door.
‘I’ll go get her.’
Chelsea ushered them into the hall where they waited until Naomi came out of the room on the right. She walked with purpose until getting closer to them and then slowed down, dragging her feet slightly. Was she putting on an act?
‘We’d like to ask you a few more questions about yesterday if we may, Naomi?’ Whitney said.
‘I don’t know whether I’m up to it.’ She gave a sigh.
Again, forced?
‘It won’t take long. I noticed two other cars in the drive. Do you have someone with you?’
‘Yes, Scott Marshall. He was my husband’s partner at the snooker club and they were best friends. He came over to see how I was coping. Is it okay for him to be with me while we talk?’
‘Yes, that will be fine,’ Whitney said, nodding.
George frowned. Wouldn’t it be best to keep them apart at this stage, considering they could both be suspects? Unless Whitney wanted to gauge their reactions to her questions and whether there were any undercurrents between them.
‘Would you like me to make coffee, Mrs Armstrong?’ Chelsea asked, as she hovered in the background.
‘Would you like some?’ Naomi asked.
‘Yes, please.’ Whitney and George both replied.
‘Coffee for four, Chelsea.’
They followed Naomi into the lounge. The man sitting on the sofa jumped up. He looked to be in his thirties, and was tall with dark blonde hair that curled around his ears. His grey eyes were a little close together and darted from Whitney to George. What was he on edge about?
‘It’s the police, they want to talk to me about what happened.’
He walked over to them and held out a hand. ‘I’m Scott Marshall. Ryan and I were friends and business partners. I was stunned by the shooting. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.’
Interesting. He managed to pull himself together quickly.
‘Thank you,’ Whitney said, after shaking his hand. ‘Please, sit down.’
Naomi and Scott sat on the sofa and George and Whitney on the two easy chairs opposite.
‘Had you noticed anything different about Ryan’s behaviour recently?’
‘He was the same as usual,’ Naomi said.
‘Do you know whether he was worried about anything? Finances, maybe.’
‘Why would he worry about that?’ Scott said. ‘The club’s doing well. He was at the top of his game in snooker, and was inundated with sponsorship requests. Life couldn’t have been better for him.’
There was an edge to the man’s voice. Was his life different from his partner’s?
‘Naomi, do you agree?’ Whitney asked.
‘Yes, I do. We didn’t have money troubles.’
‘Did Ryan have any habits? Gambling. Drinking. Drugs.’
‘Not that I know of.’ She turned to Scott. ‘He wouldn’t have done any of that in front of me, what about you, Scott? Did you see anything like this when I wasn’t around?’
‘Absolutely not.’ He shook his head. ‘He never gambled or drank heavily and he definitely wouldn’t have taken drugs. It would be too risky with random drug testing. Anyone found positive can virtually kiss their career goodbye.’
There was a knock at the door and Chelsea came in carrying a tray, which she put down on the coffee table and hurriedly left.
‘Do help yourself,’ Naomi said, to Whitney and George.
‘How was your relationship with your husband, Naomi?’ Whitney asked, as she passed a coffee to George and took one for herself.
‘Good. Our fifth wedding anniversary is next month.’
‘Did you argue much?’
‘Ryan grew up in a household where his parents were at each other’s throats most of the time. He refused to be like that, so no, we didn’t argue.’
‘That must have been frustrating for you.’
‘Not at all. I avoid confrontation when I can.’
‘Other than your husband’s stalker, who you mentioned yesterday, have you had further thoughts regarding anyone who might have held a grudge against Ryan?’
‘I can’t think of anyone. Everyone liked him. I mean, obviously, there must be people who were jealous of his success, but he was popular. I honestly don’t know.’ A single tear rolled down her cheek. She pulled out a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed it away.
‘And what about you, Mr Marshall, you spent a lot of time together. Are you aware of anyone who held a grudge against him?’
‘I’m not. As Naomi said, Ryan was very popular. People joined the snooker club in the hope of seeing him play.’
‘And did they?’
‘Yes, they did. We spent time practicing there, even though we both have tables at home. Members would watch and often ask us for selfies.’
‘Didn’t that interfere with his practice regime?’
‘Not really. Ryan practicing at the club was part of our marketing plan, to bring in the punters, as he was more of a draw than me. He also practiced for hours at home, so he wasn’t impacted.’
His body tensed slightly. Was he jealous of Armstrong’s success? It wouldn’t be unheard of in sporting circles.
‘Was there anyone in particular who pestered him on a regular basis at the club?’
‘Club members would come and chat for a few minutes and then leave him alone. He’d get messages on his social media page from fans all the time, but that goes with the territory. Nothing threatening, that I know of.’
‘Mr Marshall, you were here on Saturday night?’
‘Yes, at our regular monthly get-together.’
‘What time did you leave?’
‘I was the first to leave, I’m not one hundred per cent sure of the time. Before midnight I think.’
‘How did you get home?’
‘I called a taxi because I’d been drinking. And, before you ask, no one can vouch for me because my wife had gone to stay with her parents and taken our son Leo with her.’ He stiffened.
‘What’s the name of the taxi firm?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Show me your call log and we can find out.’
It was uncanny the way a person’s movements could be so easily tracked. It made the police’s job much easier.
He took out his phone and stared at it. ‘I’ve just remembered. I didn’t use my phone to call the taxi. I got one of the guys to do it for me.’
‘Why?’ Whitney asked, disbelief written on her face.
‘Because they knew a firm.’
‘Which one of the guys?’ Whitney pushed.
‘Um … sorry, can’t remember that either. I must have had more to drink than I remember.’
‘Was drinking to excess at these monthly get-togethers usual?’
‘Sometimes. That’s why we didn’t drive.’
‘Do you remember how much Ryan had to drink?’
‘No idea. I didn’t keep tabs on him. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t out of it. He couldn’t have been if he drove to the club.’
‘How do you know he drove himself?’
‘I-I just assumed he did as he was found in his car. That’s what the media said.’ He blinked several times in succession. Whitney’s line of questioning was making him extremely uncomfortable.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Favell Drive. It’s twenty minutes from here.’
‘Do you have a security system, so we can check your arrival time?’
‘We don’t. My wife has been going on about getting one, but we haven’t got around to it.’
‘What happens now in regard to the club? Does Ryan’s share go to you, Naomi?’ Whitney asked.
‘It’s too early to be discussing this,’ Marshall said, narrowing his eyes and giving a sharp nod in Naomi’s direction.
‘My solicitor will be dealing with it,’ Naomi said.
‘Do you have Ryan’s phone? He didn’t have it on him when he was found.’
‘He never went anywhere without it. Even at home he always had it in his pocket. Apart from when we went to bed, and he left it beside him on top of the drawers beside our bed.’
‘Please could you go and check if it’s there, as he might have gone out without it. I’ll come with you.’
George waited in the lounge with Scott until Whitney and Naomi returned a few minutes later. Whitney glanced at her and shook her head.
