by Sally Rigby
‘Doug. Frank. Stop it,’ Whitney shouted. She was in no mood for their antics. ‘Brian, tell me the truth about Clifford.’
‘It’s true. Google Sebastian Clifford and you’ll see all about him and his family.’
‘He’s right, guv,’ Meena called out. ‘I’ve got him up here on the screen. He’s the second son of Viscount Worthington. The title was created in 1754 and it passes to the eldest son, who is Clifford’s brother Hubert.’
‘Can you imagine being called Hubert at school? You’d get the piss taken out of you big time,’ Frank said.
‘So, DI Clifford himself isn’t actually a viscount,’ Whitney said.
‘Semantics, he’s still from the aristocracy and different from the rest of us,’ Brian said.
‘What’s he doing on the force then?’ Whitney shook her head. It was weird enough getting to know George and her background, which was totally alien to her. But this took it to a whole new level. Not that she was going to have anything to do with the man. It wasn’t like they worked together.
‘No idea. It’s not something I remember having been talked about. Or, if it was, nothing was mentioned to me.’
‘Do you know him personally?’
‘I never worked with him. I only know of him because having an aristocrat working at the Met went around like wildfire.’
‘Well, I don’t care who he is. The fact is, he fobbed me off and wouldn’t give me any information. Just let him try it on with the super and see how far he gets. Aristocrat or not.’
‘He’s a good guy,’ Brian said. ‘There must have been a genuine reason for him not helping us.’
‘Wait a minute. You just said that you hadn’t worked together, but now you’re defending him. What am I missing?’
‘Nothing. I’m just repeating what I heard from people who knew him well. I’ll be honest, there was never a bad word said against him.’
‘Does he know of you?’
‘I doubt it. We never came in contact with each other.’
The door to the incident room opened and Whitney’s attention was diverted as she saw the super heading towards her. It was still weird to have her boss regularly coming to see her, rather than the other way around. When Jamieson was in charge, he rarely set foot in the incident room and if he did, she always went on full alert as it invariably meant she was in for a bollocking.
‘Whitney, can I have a quick word in private?’ Clyde asked, as she walked over to the board.
‘Of course, ma’am.’
They went through to her office and Whitney closed the door behind them. They both remained standing.
‘I’ve spoken to my counterpart at the Met and then to DI Clifford. He confirmed that he does know Ryan Armstrong and that he did meet with him, as you discovered.’
‘That’s fantastic. Thanks, ma’am. Is he going to cooperate with us?’
She knew her boss would deliver the goods. Nice guy, or not, DI Clifford wasn’t going to get in the way of her operation.
‘It’s a little more complicated than that. It’s linked to a long-standing investigation, and Clifford wasn’t prepared to jeopardise the progress they’d made so far. He—’
‘That’s ridiculous. This is a murder enquiry and has to be more important. Surely—’
‘Whitney, stop.’ The super held up her hand. ‘I’m fully cognisant of the priorities necessary for solving this case, and so is DI Clifford. He acknowledges our need to have as much information as possible, and with this in mind I have arranged for him to come to Lenchester to assist you with the case.’
Assist. What the hell did that mean?
‘In what way will he be helping us, ma’am?’
‘An assessment of how it’s going to work will be undertaken when he arrives. It’s hoped that working together will be mutually beneficial.’
Whitney sucked in a long breath. The one thing she didn’t want was some jumped-up officer from the Met trying to muscle in on her case.
‘Who’s going to be in charge?’
‘Obviously, you are, Whitney. You’re the SIO and senior officer,’ Clyde said, an incredulous expression on her face. ‘I’m relying on you to make this collaboration work, as it will be in both of our interests. I also don’t wish it to get back to the Met that we were being deliberately officious in any way.’
‘No, ma’am. You can rely on me. When’s Clifford going to be here?’ She hoped it wouldn’t be for a few days so they could get stuck into more investigating without him there.
‘First thing tomorrow morning.’
Damn.
‘I’ll look forward to it.’
The super opened the door leading into the corridor. ‘I expect to hear from you regarding progress.’
Whitney marched back into the incident room.
‘Everything okay, guv?’ Frank asked. ‘You’ve a face like thunder.’
‘I’m fine. Wanted to let you all know that we’re being joined tomorrow by DI Clifford from the Met. We’re going to work together on the case.’
She glanced around as all eyes were on her. They had to be professional about this.
‘An extra pair of hands will be useful. He’ll have a different perspective,’ Brian said.
‘Yes, I’m sure it will be most useful.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Whitney noticed a look pass between Frank and Doug. They most likely knew her exact her thoughts on it.
‘Guv, Deborah Radley’s here,’ Meena said.
‘Who?’ She frowned.
‘Armstrong’s stalker. You wanted to interview her.’
‘Oh yes. Brian, you can come with me.’
They walked in silence to the lift and then to the interview room, Whitney engrossed in her thoughts and Brian texting. When they entered the interview room, Deborah Radley looked up at them, her body tense and her eyes rimmed red. Her hands were clenched on the table.
‘Thank you for coming in to see us,’ Whitney said, as she pulled out a seat opposite and sat down. ‘I hope you’re feeling better after being in hospital.’
‘It was a false alarm. I was rushed in with severe abdominal pains, but it turned out to be irritable bowel syndrome and they let me go home.’
‘We’d like to talk to you about Ryan Armstrong and the restraining order against you.’
‘It’s not as bad as you think. I love Ryan. Loved. It’s like a bad dream, knowing he’s dead. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t threaten him or his family. They told the police I was a stalker, but that’s not true.’
‘Weren’t you found in his garden taking photos of his wife and child?’
She blushed. ‘Yes, but not for the reasons you’re thinking. I’m writing a biography of him and thought I’d get some photos for the book.’
‘Did Ryan authorise this book?’ Whitney asked.
‘No, he didn’t. It was going to be a surprise.’
‘Are you still writing it?’
‘I’ve completed the first draft. But now he’s dead … I …’ A sob escaped her lips. ‘I’m never going to see him again. My life’s over.’
Whitney reached over for the box of tissues and slid it in front of the woman. She took one out and wiped her eyes.
‘Why didn’t you explain about the book when the injunction was taken out?’
‘It was a waste of time. Ryan wouldn’t have listened. His partner, Scott Marshall, had it in for me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one to suggest it to Ryan, just to get his own back on me.’
‘For what?’
‘One time when I was at the snooker club watching Ryan play, I went to the Ladies’ and when I came out Scott Marshall was waiting for me. He trapped me in the corner and …’
‘Did he assault you?’
‘Not exactly. He said that if I was good to him, he’d get me some time alone with Ryan.’
‘Did you take him up on the offer?’ Brian asked.
‘No, I did not. Do you think I’m a slut? It’s only Ryan I want.’
‘How does this relate to the injunction?’ Whitney asked.
‘I think Scott sowed the seed in Ryan’s mind to get back at me for turning him down.’
The evidence against Marshall’s character was adding up. But did that make him a killer?
‘According to our records, you were following him all the time and the fact you went to his house was bound to be worrying.’
‘With hindsight, I shouldn’t have gone there. But you know the reason why.’
‘Since the injunction, did you continue to follow Ryan, keeping your distance?’
‘Not all the time.’
‘Did you notice anyone else following him, or acting suspicious around him?’
‘No.’ She shook her head.
‘Presumably you have photos and notes that you used when writing your manuscript.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’d like copies of everything you have. You may have recorded something of use.’
‘I’m sure there’s nothing, or I’d have spotted it.’
‘Not necessarily. Email everything you have to this address.’ Whitney handed over a business card. ‘You may go now.’
After seeing Radley out of the station, they returned to the incident room.
‘Ellie, what have you turned up on Scott Marshall?’
‘He’s married with one child, in a house worth over a million which is owned outright by his wife. She’s the only daughter of Gordon Elliot.’
‘The Gordon Elliott, millionaire businessman who somehow manages to avoid paying any taxes, if the media is to be believed,’ Doug said.
‘That’s the one. Marshall is active on social media, usually posting photos of himself with the victim playing snooker. I’ve done some research into the family finances, and his wife is the one with the money. Shall I go deeper?’
‘Keep it on the back-burner. Brian, I want Marshall in here tomorrow. Arrange it, please.’
Chapter 15
Detective Inspector Sebastian Clifford drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He’d left London at six, hoping to avoid the traffic, especially as he was heading away from the city, but it had been nose to tail the whole way and he was now stuck on the M1. It was gone eight and he hadn’t even reached Milton Keynes, where he’d intended stopping for breakfast. His stomach grumbled in response to the thought.
Although he’d been in contact with Ryan Armstrong over recent months, he’d never been to Lenchester, keeping their meetings away from there to prevent being spotted. It appeared that he’d failed and that was unacceptable.
Was it his fault Armstrong had been shot?
The thought had been plaguing him ever since he’d heard the news of Ryan’s death on the TV. Their next meeting had been planned for the day after the shooting, prior to the tournament due to be held at the Palace Snooker Club that week. Would it still go ahead? It was prestigious and had players from all over the country attending. He’d hoped it would provide them with some good leads. He was banking on it, as his investigation had stalled recently.
Had Armstrong confided in anyone about his arrangement with the special squad? Was that why he’d been shot? At their last meeting he’d assured Clifford he hadn’t and that not even his wife knew about their meetings. Clifford had no reason to doubt him. He’d been cultivating Armstrong for some time before getting him to come on board to help with the case. In particular, before they could move forward he needed to be confident that Armstrong was clean and not involved in any illegal activity.
So much money was lost nationally and internationally from match-fixing. Not just in snooker, the area Clifford was currently focusing on, but in all other sports, which other members of the special squad he belonged to were concentrating on.
He wasn’t naive enough to believe he could clean up the whole snooker industry, but he could do something about it. Make it much fairer for the public who paid to watch, and also for the players who were often in vulnerable situations. It wasn’t unusual for players to have death threats made against their family if they didn’t comply with throwing games, or making certain errors at a particular time. And they weren’t idle threats. The mother of a player from Thailand was threatened with having both legs broken if he refused to comply with a request made of him. He wouldn’t agree, and she ended up in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. He never played snooker again.
It wasn’t acceptable.
Clifford could do without having to involve members of another force, though. The more people who knew about his work, the less likely it was to succeed.
He worked best solo, but from his brief discussion with DCI Walker, he suspected there was little chance of that happening. As to how much he would share with the officer and her team … after discussing it with his boss, he would play it by ear. Give away as little as possible, without being seen to jeopardise their investigation.
But if there were any indications at all that the shooting was linked to his operation, he’d be taking the case back to London quicker than the DCI could say I’m in charge. Words he expected to be levelled at him on a regular basis if his conversation with Walker yesterday was anything to go by.
Finally, he made it to Lenchester, a location he knew little of, having never visited, and he drove through the city until reaching the outskirts and the new purpose-built station, which he’d researched online before leaving. He parked in the visitors’ car park and stared at the modern building. It looked impressive, with the sun bouncing off the thousands of large windowpanes. It wasn’t his cup of tea. He much preferred buildings with some history. But this was a workplace and with that in mind, he could acknowledge that it was impressive.
He strode in through the main entrance door and went up to the reception.
‘DI Clifford to see DCI Walker,’ he said, staring down at the civilian on the desk and holding out his warrant card.
‘Just one moment,’ the woman replied.
How was Walker, and her team, going to react to him? In his experience, the Met had an unjustified reputation for believing they were better than officers from other forces.
He’d have to take it steady and bring them on board, otherwise this would be a collaboration in name only.
Chapter 16
‘They’re sending a DI Sebastian Clifford from the Met to work with us on the case. He’s part of some special squad which I know nothing about,’ Whitney said to George, making quote marks with her fingers. ‘If he tries to take over, sparks will fly, I can one hundred per cent assure you of that. And you’ll never guess what. He’s one of yours.’
The psychologist had no sooner arrived in the incident room, a short while ago, when Whitney had whisked her away to the office so she could let off steam about their soon to arrive guest. It had been preying on her mind ever since she’d learnt about his visit. The more she thought about it, the more annoyed she got. He should have handed over the information they needed and not been so precious about it. She bet he thought it was beneath him to work at Lenchester, instead of his precious Met. Well, she’d show him. Just one step out of line … one step … and he’ll be sorry.
‘What do you mean, he’s one of mine? One of my what?’ George asked, frowning.
‘According to Brian, he’s the son of Viscount Worthington. You do know him, don’t you? Is he a friend of yours?’
A scowling face stared back at her. ‘Whitney, contrary to what you believe, there isn’t a club to which all posh people, as you refer to us, belong. How many times do I have to explain this to you?’ She released an exasperated sigh.
‘You are posh, though, aren’t you?’ Whitney pressed, ignoring the niggle at the back of her mind that she might be pushing George a little too far.
‘That’s the label you’ve given me. And in answer to your question, no, I don’t know him personally, although I have heard of Viscount Worthington and the Clifford family.’
‘Ha. I knew it. Did you go to school with this chap? Or did your brother?’
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‘Firstly, I went to an all-girl’s school, as I believe you already know. Secondly, I have no idea which school Clifford went to, so I cannot comment on whether my brother, James, is acquainted with him. If it was Eton, then James may know the man. Thirdly, I’d rather you ceased jumping to conclusions based on illogical assumptions.’ George folded her arms, her lips together in a flat line.
That told her.
‘Point taken. Anyway, whether or not you know him, he’s arriving today to help us on the case, so I’m glad you’re here.’ She was about to say, to explain his aristocratic behaviour, then thought better of it. She’d already overstepped the mark, and George might leave if she continued. She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s already nine-thirty, and he was meant to be here first thing. Where is he? Is Met time different from ours?’ The phone on her desk rang, and she picked it up. ‘Walker.’
‘There’s a DI Clifford here to see you.’
She’d spoken too soon.
‘Give him a visitor’s pass and I’ll send someone down to collect him. Also, arrange for a permanent pass, as we’ve no idea how long he’ll be here.’
‘Will do.’
‘Clifford’s arrived,’ she said, replacing the phone. ‘I’ll be back in a sec.’ She went into the incident room. Meena was closest, so she headed in her direction. ‘DI Clifford is here. Could you go downstairs and collect him? Please bring him straight to me.’
‘Yes, guv.’
She returned to her office and sat down at the coffee table opposite George. ‘Should I have gone downstairs to meet him myself?’
‘Is that appropriate behaviour?’
‘Not really, as I’m his superior officer, but it would have been more welcoming. Except, welcoming is not how I’m feeling at this precise moment.’ She wouldn’t have admitted her feelings to anyone other than George as she knew the psychologist would keep it to herself.
‘You’re not going to help the relationship with that attitude.’
‘He doesn’t know. I promise to play nice.’ Who was she trying to convince? ‘We’ll have a meeting in here first and then I’ll introduce him to the rest of the team.’
