The Island Murders (Dorset Crime Book 3)

by Rachel McLean

  Carpenter winced. “Not surprised she snapped after that.”

  “Her colleagues worked it out,” Lesley said. “They confronted him, that's why he killed them.”

  “And this BBC reporter woman, was she in on it?”

  Lesley shook her head. “He contacted her after Simone's death, thought he could make a name for himself by getting on the TV.”

  Carpenter grunted. “Well he's certainly made a name for himself now.”

  Lesley picked up her cup and took a long sip.

  “I need to talk to you about my team,” she said.

  Carpenter raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were all getting along better?”

  Lesley flinched. She hadn’t realised Carpenter knew they’d had teething problems. But then, the bush telegraph in this place was more efficient than she gave it credit for. She wondered if Carpenter had spoken to Dennis directly, or if he'd just put out feelers amongst other teams.

  “What's the problem?” he asked her.

  Lesley placed her hands on her knees. Her palms were sweating.

  She hated doing this. Dennis had explained what Johnny had told him, about being blackmailed because of his brother. Dennis had told Johnny that his brother had committed a crime and should accept the consequences. Not that Johnny should commit more crimes in order to protect him.

  Lesley was trying to understand what would bring a person to do what Johnny had done. She caught glimpses of it from time to time when she tried to put herself in his shoes. Especially when she thought of his wife, and the baby on the way.

  “I'd like to request a change of personnel.” She looked Carpenter in the eye, making an effort not to blink.

  “You would?”

  “I think the team needs a bit of a shake up.”

  “OK.”

  “PC Abbott,” she said. “She's doing a good job. I think without her, Natasha Williams might have killed her husband. She reacted quickly, her first aid probably saved the man's life.”

  “Saving the life of a murderer.” Carpenter sighed. “I guess that's what we do.”

  Lesley swallowed. “I'd like PC Abbott to be put through the CID training. If she passes the exam, she can join my team as a DC, replacing Johnny Chiles.”

  “Replacing DC Chiles?” Carpenter looked surprised.

  “Johnny needs broader experience. He's been in the major crimes investigation team for eight years now, he needs to broaden his CV. Possibly work in another force for a while.”

  “Is there a problem?” Carpenter asked. “Has DC Chiles done something wrong?”

  “I just think he needs more experience.”

  Lesley hoped to hell this wouldn't backfire on her. She knew she should report Johnny. She knew she should tell the Super what he'd done.

  But she wanted to give him another chance. And if she could wrangle a transfer to another force then he'd be away from Arthur Kelvin and the temptation to continue with his corrupt activity.

  And then there was Dennis. Dennis had known about Johnny, but he'd hidden it from her. Again, she should report that. But Dennis, although annoying at times, was solid, trustworthy. The kind of man who would never actively get involved in corruption. The kind of man who’d done what he could to bring it to an end, and finally, belatedly, told her about it. And he was a good DS.

  “I think DC Chiles would benefit from it,” she told the Super. “And I think the team would benefit from having Tina as a full member.”

  He put his cup down. “Very well. There's a CID course scheduled next week.”

  “I know.”

  “Good.” Carpenter stood up. “Is that everything?”

  “It is.” Lesley stood with him.

  He put out his hand and she shook it. She gave him a nervous smile. He gave her a broader smile in return.

  “Well done,” he said. “You're clearing up these cases faster than your predecessor did.”

  Lesley faltered, taken aback by the comment. For a moment she considered asking about DCI Mackie’s death. She thought of the conversation she’d had with Carpenter a month earlier. If you find anything else, you bring it straight to me.

  But this wasn't the time. She wanted to get out of here, and tell the team what was about to happen to them.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Frankie flinched as she heard a knock on the front door of her house. Adam looked up from his computer.

  The two of them were sitting together at the kitchen table. He was looking at his laptop screen again, not checking the news this time, but scrolling through RightMove. She was staring into space.

  “I'll get it,” he said.

  She shook her head. “It's alright.”

  It wouldn't be Natasha, she was on the mainland being questioned. It certainly wouldn't be Bernard, he was still in Poole hospital.

  Frankie hauled herself up and dragged herself to the front door. She'd spent most of the weekend sleeping. Memories of Friday’s events kept flashing through her head and she'd woken twice last night from dreams that featured blood and knives.

  She opened the front door, her skin tightening. It was Ed. Frankie forced herself to breathe.

  “Ed,” she said. “Good to see you.”

  He gave her a concerned look. “How are you?”

  She shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. Come in.”

  She pulled back from the door and let him pass her and walk through to the kitchen. She realised Ed had never been inside her house before. She hadn't had much direct contact with him, everything going through Natasha. But he'd been supportive since the attack on Friday, making it clear that nothing was too much trouble for the National Trust. That they would let her do whatever she wanted now.

  She and Adam had talked late into the night on Saturday, and they'd come to their decision. She'd be surprised if Ed had an answer already.

  He gave Adam a nervous smile as he stepped into the kitchen. Adam stood up. He put his hand out and Ed took it nervously. The two men shook hands, both looking as if they wished they hadn't.

  “Can I get you a coffee?” Adam said.

  “It's OK.” Ed looked at Frankie. “I've got news. Good news.”

  Frankie gestured towards the table and Ed took a seat. Adam closed his laptop and sat down next to him. Frankie sat at a right angle to her partner, clutching his hand.

  “They're letting us move off the island?” she asked.

  Ed nodded. “I spoke to head office first thing this morning, and they were more than happy to do whatever you needed. You've been through a lot, and it was at the hands of your line manager.”

  Frankie shook her head. “It wasn't Nat's fault. He was controlling her.”

  Ed looked into her eyes. “Try not to worry about all that now.”

  “I can't help it,” she replied. “Natasha was my friend. Why didn't I see what he was doing?”

  Ed gave her an embarrassed look. As a man, he wouldn't understand. And as Natasha's line manager, he would feel awkward about the fact that he too had failed to spot any problems.

  “Anyway,” he said. “I've arranged the transfer you requested to the Isle of Wight. There's some work going on at the Needles, trying to attract more purple herons. I thought it would be your kind of thing.”

  Frankie sighed. The thought of moving filled her with heaviness. But purple herons would be a challenge. And it would get her away from here.

  “Where will you live?” Ed asked her.

  Adam opened up his laptop. “We're looking for places to rent. It’s harder, what with there not being houses there for staff.”

  Ed nodded. “I'll talk to head office and see if I can arrange anything for you. There are a few properties on the Isle of Wight. We can't give you one permanently, but it might be possible as a temporary measure.”

  “Thanks,” Frankie breathed.

  Anything to get her off Brownsea, and soon. She didn't want to leave the house, couldn't face going to the lagoon, where images of Anya crowded her mind. C
ouldn't stomach the beaches where all she could think about was Simone's body in the darkness. And she couldn't go into the woods where Bernard had tried to strangle her.

  Ed stood up and gave her a tight smile. “I'm so sorry about all this, Frankie. Anything we can do to help, just tell me. Yes?”

  She nodded. There was nothing he could do, the problems weren't just practical. It would take time.

  “Thanks, Ed,” she said.

  Adam put a hand on her shoulder. “I'll see him out. You stay here.”

  Frankie nodded thanks and slumped down into her chair.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Lesley sat behind her desk, watching through the glass partition as Johnny left his own desk and walked towards her. He glanced back at Dennis, his expression nervous.

  You've got a right to be bloody nervous, she thought. She'd saved his skin, not telling Carpenter what he'd done. Now he was getting a transfer, instead of a sacking.

  She couldn't have done that to the baby.

  He knocked on the door and looked at her. She nodded. He opened the door, entered and closed it behind him.

  “Ma'am,” he said. “You wanted to see me.”

  Lesley didn't comment on the ma'am.

  “Sit down,” she told him.

  He took one of the two chairs opposite her desk, pulling it slightly back as he sat. He shuffled in the chair and looked at her.

  “I owe you an apology, Ma'am. DS Frampton told me…”

  She raised a hand. “I don't want your explanation, Johnny. Dennis has told me what you told him. You lied to him, you made him lie to me. I've set things up so you won’t be able to work with Arthur Kelvin anymore.”

  He paled. “How?”

  She gave him a stern look. “The superintendent has approved a secondment for you. Six months working in the Met.”

  “The Met?” he breathed. “How the fuck am I going to…?”

  Lesley gave him a warning look. “Consider yourself lucky, Johnny. You've still got a job, you'll still get paternity leave. And most importantly, you won't be going to prison.”

  Johnny swallowed. They both knew what prison would be like for a corrupt police detective.

  “Thank you, boss,” he said.

  I should bloody well think so, she thought.

  “Your secondment starts in two weeks,” she told him. “I know the baby hasn’t come yet, but I want you to take your paternity leave now.”

  He nodded, his face drawn.

  “Clear your desk,” she said. “I don't want to see you in here again.”

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Elsa was sitting at her desk when her phone rang: AK. She grabbed it and stood up.

  “You're not supposed to call me here,” she said.

  He laughed. “How am I supposed to know where you are?”

  She said nothing. After the conversation in her car, she realised he had more awareness of her whereabouts than she'd suspected.

  On Friday night she'd gone to his house, relieved that Lesley had still been busy on Brownsea Island. He'd given her instructions for dealing with Steven Leonard's latest arrest, told her which judge she needed to speak to.

  She hated doing this. She'd hoped that her firm would close down after Harry Nichol died, and she'd be set free. But no, Aurelia Cross wanted to keep things going. She wanted to remain at a distance from their shadier clients, but enjoy the money they brought in. Elsa was stuck in the middle.

  She turned to the window and drew close to it. She placed her fingers on the glass, pushing so the skin of her fingertips turned white.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Have you spoken to that judge yet?”

  “I put in a call,” she said. “I'm waiting for him to get back to me.”

  “Don't wait too long. Steve is an important part of my team.”

  “I don't need to know that.”

  She didn't need to know anything more than what was necessary for her to do her job. What would Lesley say if she ever got wind of what Elsa was doing?

  She took a breath. “Is that everything?”

  “No,” he said. “We've lost a key asset.”

  She didn't know why this was relevant to her. “And?”

  “He's connected to you.”

  She frowned, turning back towards the office and scanning the room. She'd taken over Harry's office after he died. A glass-walled box in a corner with sea views.

  “Who?” she asked.

  She'd had no idea that any of the staff here were working with Kelvin.

  “Not one of your lawyers,” he said. “A copper. DC Chiles. Do you know him?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  “He works for your girlfriend.”

  Elsa felt herself slump. So he did know about Lesley.

  She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing.

  “That's got nothing to do with me,” she said. “I'm your lawyer, let's keep things professional.”

  He laughed. “I think we've gone past that now, haven't we?”

  She counted to three, breathing in and then out again.

  “Arthur,” she said. “Everyone is entitled to a lawyer, no matter what their activity. The work I do for you is strictly related to your legal representation.”

  “Calling crooked judges for me?” he said. “Do you think the Law Society would approve of that?”

  She felt her throat tighten. “What do you need, Arthur?”

  “I need you to find me a new recruit,” he said. “If Johnny Chiles is moving to London, I need someone to replace him. And I reckon, who better than the big fish?”

  “What do you mean 'big fish'?”

  “DCI Clarke,” he said. “She'll know everything about what's going on in that unit. You can pass information to us.” He chuckled. “Pillow talk, even between you lesbos.”

  She bristled. “I'm not doing it.” This was a step too far.

  “Yes, you are,” he replied. “People don't say no to me.”

  He hung up.

  Elsa held the phone out in front of her, staring at the display. She threw it to the floor, hands shaking.

  There was no way she was going to pass information from Lesley to Arthur Kelvin. If she did that, she'd lose her job. She'd lose her licence to practice law. And she'd lose her girlfriend.

  But if she didn't, what else might she lose?

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Lesley turned into her old road in Edgbaston. Terry had gone away for the weekend with Julieta and her son, and Lesley was planning to spend it with Sharon. It was a good opportunity to pack up more of her stuff and take it down to Dorset.

  She pulled into the driveway and looked up at the windows. She couldn't tell if anyone was in.

  She hauled herself out of the car, eyeing the empty cardboard boxes she'd brought with her, and went to the front door. She hesitated before putting her key in the lock.

  The last time she'd done this, she'd walked through to the kitchen and found Julieta standing in front of the fridge.

  She shook herself out. She didn't care about that now, she had Elsa. Things were settling down with Sharon and she and Terry had finally managed to have a civilised conversation earlier in the week. They’d agreed on a new routine for Sharon, to ensure she spent time with both parents.

  Lesley drew in a breath and unlocked the front door.

  “Hello!” she called as she closed it behind her. “Sharon, I'm home. It's Mum!”

  Sharon came clattering down the stairs. She ran into Lesley's arms and gave her a hug. Lesley held onto her, taken aback. It had been years since Sharon had done this.

  “That was nice,” she said, holding her daughter at arm's length. “What have I done to deserve it?”

  “I missed you is all.”

  Lesley smiled. It was nice to be missed. She'd missed Sharon too.

  “How are things?” she asked. “Are you getting on better with your dad?”

  A shrug. “I s’pose so. He's changed hi
s arrangements with Julieta, she's not going to be here every night. It means we get some time just him and me.”

  “That's good.” Lesley put a hand on Sharon's shoulder. “That's what you need.”

  Sharon nodded. “Yeah. I think I can put up with Sammy in small doses.”

  “Julieta’s kid?” Lesley realised she hadn’t known his name until now. “I'm sure he's not all that bad.”

  Sharon pulled a face. “He's three mum, of course he's all that bad.”

  Lesley laughed and walked through to the kitchen. It was sparkling, clean as a pin.

  She wondered who'd done that, Terry or Julieta. She didn't like the idea of him taking up with a woman who cleaned her house.

  But then, it wasn't going to be her house for long. They'd agreed that he would buy her out, stay here with Sharon while she decided where she was going to live. This place had too many memories, and Lesley needed a fresh start. In four months’ time she'd be finishing her secondment to Dorset and would have to decide whether to stay with Elsa or come back to Birmingham.

  She opened the fridge to find milk along with fresh vegetables and what looked like home-cooked meals in plastic tubs. Lesley raised an eyebrow and turned to Sharon who was standing behind her.

  “Who made these?”

  Sharon blushed. “Julieta did. I helped her.”

  “That's good.”

  Sharon had never cooked with her, but then Lesley had never asked her to.

  “You and I can do some cooking this weekend if you like?”

  Sharon nodded. “Let's bake a cake.”

  Lesley laughed. “We'll make some scones, have a cream tea like we did when we first got to Corfe.”

  Sharon grimaced. “As long as nobody gets murdered.”

  Lesley stroked her daughter’s hair. It needed cutting. “I don't think they will, not this time.”

  Lesley's phone rang.

  “DCI Clarke.”

  “Lesley, I heard you were in Birmingham.”

  “Hello, Zoe. You heard right. What can I do for you?”