by D. S. Butler
‘I’m afraid I don’t have any answers for you yet. We do need to talk to your sons, though. We’ve contacted Stephen, but I’d appreciate it if you could give me Martin’s telephone number. The number we have for him hasn’t been answered.’
‘Oh.’ Elizabeth turned away to look at the fire. After a moment, she turned back to DI Morgan. ‘Martin’s been a bit out of sorts lately. He doesn’t always answer his phone.’
‘I see.’
DI Morgan checked that the telephone numbers and addresses he had for Martin Fox were current. Elizabeth confirmed that they were correct and then wrung her hands. ‘Please promise me you won’t talk to them about the allegations unless you have to. I really don’t want them getting involved in all this.’
DI Morgan could understand Elizabeth’s protective instinct towards her sons, but the boys had been eight and ten when their father went missing. It was possible they’d heard conversations, either between other children or by overhearing adults talking about the situation and Mark Bell. He didn’t want to upset the two men unnecessarily, but he couldn’t rule out the need to talk to them in the course of the investigation.
‘We won’t mention the allegations to your sons unless we have no other choice.’
Elizabeth didn’t look particularly reassured, but she nodded and stared into the flames. ‘Poor Oliver,’ she murmured. ‘He did so many good things with his life, but now this is how people are going to remember him.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Back at the station, Karen was still looking through files when her phone beeped. She picked it up, checked the screen and groaned. It was a cheerful message from her sister reminding her about her date that evening.
Don’t forget, seven thirty tonight at the White Hart!
‘Bad news, Sarge?’ Rick asked as he walked towards Karen’s desk holding a pile of paperwork.
‘It’s nothing,’ Karen said, locking the screen and putting the phone in her pocket. ‘What have you got?’
‘I think we’ve identified all three boys,’ Rick said. ‘They’re men now, of course. All older than me.’ He handed Karen a file. ‘This is the report on James Hunter’s death.’
As she opened the file and flicked through it, Rick described what had happened. ‘He’d been alone, drinking heavily, and at just after ten p.m., he fell from his eighth-floor balcony. His body was discovered by a neighbour. He shared the apartment with his wife, but she was away on a business trip in London at the time.’
‘And there was no sign of foul play at the scene? No signs of a struggle?’
Rick shook his head. ‘No – no signs anyone else was there.’
‘What did his wife say?’ Karen asked. ‘Was he suicidal?’
‘She told the investigating officers he’d suffered from periods of depression in the past, but he’d never talked about suicide.’
‘Do you have her current address?’
Rick handed Karen another piece of paper. ‘As far as I know, she’s still living in the same apartment. It’s registered in her name and she’s on the electoral roll. The apartment building is right in the centre of Lincoln, by the wharf. She hasn’t responded to my call, but her office said she’s working from home today.’
Karen looked at her watch. ‘I think we should talk to her now.’
‘I’ll come with you, shall I?’
Karen nodded. ‘What about the other two boys?’
‘I’m pretty sure we’ve identified the right men. One still lives in Skellingthorpe, and the other lives in Hykeham. Sophie’s waiting for a phone call from Greenhill Academy to confirm the details. They keep records of all previous students, so we can crossmatch their dates of birth.’
‘Excellent. Hopefully that won’t take too long.’ Karen smiled. It looked like the case was slowly coming together.
Before they left the station, Karen caught up with Sophie. She pulled over a chair and sat down beside the young officer at her desk. ‘How’s everything going?’ She was asking about the case, but also wanted to find out how Sophie had been coping since their chat.
‘Good,’ Sophie said, pausing with her fingers above the keyboard.
‘Rick told me you’re tracking down home addresses for Stuart Bennett and Michael Simpson?’
‘Yes. I have addresses already, but I’m just waiting to crosscheck our information with Greenhill Academy.’
‘Great work,’ Karen said. ‘Rick and I are going to go and talk to James Hunter’s widow. Are you okay here?’
‘I’m fine. Once I have confirmation from the school, do you want me to contact Stuart Bennett and Michael Simpson?’
‘Yes. We need to speak to them as soon as possible.’
As Karen walked out of the office with Rick, she turned back to see Sophie furiously typing away. She definitely seemed to have more energy now, and Karen hoped she was feeling more positive about the job.
James Hunter’s widow, Diana, lived on the eighth floor of Mercury Apartments, a tall, modern block set back from the river. When Rick and Karen pulled up outside, Karen was surprised to see that the view of the river was almost completely blocked by a multistorey car park.
‘That sprung up out of nowhere,’ Karen commented. She’d always found Lincoln a pain for parking.
She drove into the car park, took a ticket from the machine and picked a spot on the first floor. After they’d walked down the stairs, Karen noticed a homeless girl sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor. She was bundled up, wearing a huge blue fleece jacket and a scarf. Propped up against her legs, next to a folded pink blanket, was a cardboard sign which read: Fifteen pounds will get me a safe bed for the night.
Rick pulled out some coins from his pocket and put them on the blanket.
‘Thanks very much,’ she said, smiling up at him.
It was a prime spot, right by the pay machine. She’d chosen it well. People would have their hands in their pockets or their purses out, but it wasn’t too far inside the car park, so it didn’t feel too dark or gloomy. She had an open paperback beside her, a Minette Walters psychological thriller, The Sculptress.
As they walked away from the car park and crossed the road to get to the apartment block, Karen turned to Rick. ‘You do know she’s not planning to put that money towards a safe bed for the night?’
‘Of course,’ Rick said. ‘I know what she’ll be using the money for, but I find it impossible to walk by and not give her anything.’
Karen couldn’t argue. But she’d seen signs of addiction on the girl, and suspected heroin. The sight of that young woman made her feel frustrated and angry. It was such a waste. Where were her family and friends? How had she ended up sitting in a car park, begging just so she could get her next hit?
Just before they reached the apartment building, Karen turned back and saw the girl had picked up the paperback and started to read.
Karen put her hands in her pockets and looked up at the building looming above them. There were two balconies on each floor. She counted up to the eighth floor and then shuddered. It was a hell of a drop. She looked down at the grey pavement and wondered where he would have fallen. Six months had passed, and there was no sign a tragic death had occurred in the vicinity. The area had been cleaned up and life had moved on.
There was no lock on the main door, so they walked straight into the lobby and stopped at the lift.
‘I hope she’s home,’ Rick said. ‘I’m surprised she still lives here. I wouldn’t have wanted to stick around after what happened.’
‘She’s still on the electoral roll, so if she has moved, she hasn’t told anybody.’
They travelled up to the eighth floor and stepped out into a hallway. There were wooden doors with brass numbers to each of the four apartments. Karen rang the bell of number 81.
They waited, but there was no answer. She rang the bell again and turned to Rick. ‘I hate to say it, but it looks like we’ve had a wasted journey.’
As they turned to head back to the lift, the
door to apartment 84 opened, and a woman carrying an infant looked out. ‘Are you looking for Diana? Or are you here to view the flat?’
‘We wanted to have a word with Diana,’ Karen said. ‘Do you know when she’ll be back?’
The woman shuffled the baby on her hip to the other side, and it began to cry. ‘I’m afraid not. She’s not here much at the moment. She’s got the flat up for sale, and they’ve had a lot of viewings. I think she might be staying with her sister.’
That made sense. It was understandable that Diana wouldn’t want to stay in the apartment after what had happened to James.
‘Do you have a contact telephone number for her?’ Rick asked hopefully.
The woman shook her head. ‘No, sorry. We’re not all that close. I just say hello whenever we run into each other.’
‘I’ll leave you my card,’ Karen said, reaching into her jacket pocket. ‘If you do see Diana, can you ask her to give me a ring? She’s not in any trouble,’ Karen added, seeing the woman’s eyes widen when she saw Karen’s card had Lincolnshire Police stamped on top of it.
‘Is this to do with what happened to her husband?’
Karen gave a tight smile, not wanting to discuss Diana’s private business with a neighbour. But she didn’t want to put the woman off talking, either. If she’d seen or heard anything that night, it could be useful.
‘Were you here when it happened?’ Karen asked.
The woman nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, it was awful. Sirens everywhere, and police running up and down the corridor. I couldn’t believe it. He just didn’t seem the type.’
Karen had to wonder what the ‘type’ was. That was the problem when people were depressed. They didn’t show it to others until it was too late.
‘Did you hear anything before the emergency service vehicles got here?’ Rick asked.
‘No, nothing. I’m just glad I wasn’t outside at the time. It must have been awful for the person who found his body.’
Karen knew from skimming the report that one of the neighbours had heard a shout and found James soon after he fell. ‘Did James have any visitors that evening?’
‘I don’t think so, but I’m on the other side of the building, and fortunately the walls are quite thick here. This little one screams at the top of her lungs, so we need a bit of soundproofing.’ She smiled as she jiggled the baby in her arms.
Karen thanked her, and the neighbour closed her door.
Walking back to the lift, Karen sighed. Hopefully, Sophie had had more luck contacting Stuart Bennett and Michael Simpson.
As the lift doors opened, Karen and Rick stood back, seeing it was occupied. A short, blonde woman carrying a bunch of flowers stepped out of the lift and gave them a short, curt smile before striding towards the door of number 81.
‘Diana Hunter?’ Karen asked.
The woman turned with her keys in her hand. ‘Yes?’ Her gaze flickered between Karen and Rick.
‘I’m DS Hart, and this is my colleague, DC Cooper.’ Karen held out her warrant card. ‘We’d like a quick chat if that’s possible?’
Diana turned back to open the door. ‘Come in.’
She carried the bouquet of chrysanthemums out in front of her as she led the way into the apartment. Inside, the furnishings were neutral and warm. The main living area was all open-plan, and on the counter between the kitchen and the dining area sat a vase of flowers that had seen better days.
Diana dropped her handbag on the counter, tutted at the flowers and threw them in the bin.
She gestured at the new chrysanthemums. ‘I’m trying to sell the flat,’ she said. ‘It’s silly, I’m sure fresh flowers don’t make a difference.’ She shrugged off her coat and then gestured to the sofa. ‘Please, sit down. Can I get you a drink?’
Both Karen and Rick refused her offer, but went to sit on the sofa.
Diana pulled out a chair next to the dining table and sat down. ‘How can I help you?’
‘It’s about your husband,’ Karen began.
Diana gave a sad smile. ‘I thought it might be.’ She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. ‘I’m sorry it’s cold in here. I haven’t had the heating on. I’ve moved in with my sister for a bit. I can’t stay here. Not now. I can’t wait to get rid of the place, to be honest.’
Karen didn’t blame her. ‘It can’t be easy.’
‘No.’ Diana’s gaze drifted over to a framed photograph of her and her husband on their wedding day.
‘It’s just a follow-up visit,’ Karen said, not wanting to get into the whys and wherefores of Oliver Fox’s death. ‘What can you tell us about James’s state of mind before it happened?’
Diana’s lips tightened into a firm line, and she shook her head. ‘I’m perfectly aware that your report said he killed himself, but there’s absolutely no way.’
Karen leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. ‘What do you think happened?’
Diana blinked away tears. ‘It must have been an accident. He couldn’t have meant to do it. James was a practising Catholic, and he considered suicide a sin. He was drunk . . . He’d had a problem with drink for a long time, but he’d been sober for two years. He went to his AA meetings like clockwork, and he was fine when I left for London. Don’t get me wrong, he had his dark days. Sometimes he would go for weeks, barely talking to me. I suggested counselling, but he told me that wasn’t how he dealt with things.’
‘So you think he got drunk and fell?’ Rick asked.
‘That has to be it. There’s no way he would have deliberately tried to kill himself. We had plans. There were so many things we wanted to do. Just the week before, we’d booked a holiday to Prague . . .’
They asked Diana some more questions, but no matter how they pressed her, she still insisted James hadn’t been suicidal. She knew the signs, she told them. She knew when he was getting into one of his dark periods, and it hadn’t been like that. He simply must have been so drunk he’d done something stupid and leaned over the balcony railings too far.
It was an uncomfortable conversation. Nobody enjoyed questioning a distraught relative, but Karen felt the widow’s point of view was extremely valuable.
Perhaps something had happened after Diana left for London which prompted James to commit suicide. Maybe he’d received the same letter as Albert Johnson and William Grant. Either that, or something far worse had happened . . .
Maybe he hadn’t jumped or fallen. Maybe he’d been pushed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
After leaving Diana Hunter, they sat in the car and checked their messages. DI Morgan had sent Karen a text to say he’d spoken to Elizabeth and was now heading to Stephen Fox’s estate agency offices on Mint Street. So far, he’d been unable to track down Martin Fox.
Karen typed out a quick reply. Either of Oliver’s sons could have sent the letters to Albert Johnson and William Grant. Had they found out what had happened to their father and decided to send threatening notes as payback?
Karen slipped her phone back in her pocket as Rick said, ‘Sophie has confirmed home and work addresses for Stuart Bennett and Michael Simpson.’
She smiled. ‘Excellent. Where are they?’
Rick scrolled through the message on his phone. ‘Stuart Bennett works near Hykeham at a car showroom. Sophie called him and said we needed to speak to him, but she hasn’t told him why. And Michael Simpson works at Pennells, which is also in Hykeham.’
‘Good,’ Karen said. Her first instinct was to bring both men in for questioning, but there was no need to rush. They needed to take their time and do this properly. It wasn’t as if they had enough information to charge the men for the thirty-year-old crime, and Bennett and Simpson weren’t any risk to the public, as far as Karen could tell. However, she did want to speak to them as soon as possible.
‘Right, we’ll speak to Stuart Bennett first,’ Karen said as she began to reverse out of the parking space. ‘We won’t bring him in yet. Let’s see what he has to say for himself.’
; Fifteen minutes later, they turned left off the A46 at Damon’s restaurant.
‘There it is, just up ahead,’ Rick said, pointing out the large Volvo sign.
Outside the car showroom were dozens of used vehicles, polished and buffed with signs on their windscreens. Karen picked an empty parking spot beside an XC60. They got out of the car and strode quickly towards the glass building as it began to rain.
Inside, it was quiet. A young woman sat behind a computer at the reception desk, and five members of the public were milling around looking at the cars on display indoors. Karen identified two salesmen by their navy-blue suits and carefully combed hair.
As she walked towards the receptionist, Karen flashed her warrant card. ‘We’d like to speak to Stuart Bennett, please.’
The woman’s eyes widened and she put down her pen. ‘Oh, what’s he done?’
Some people had odd reactions when they saw the police, assumed they were either there to arrest somebody or to bring bad news. But, in reality, they usually just wanted to ask some questions.
When Karen didn’t give her an answer, the girl half-stood behind the desk and pointed towards a black Volvo V40 and a blond-haired man standing next to it. ‘That’s him,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ Karen said, and she and Rick started to walk over to Bennett.
He spotted them coming towards him from about ten feet away. He paled and put one hand on the bonnet of the car beside him to steady himself.
Sophie had phoned ahead, so he’d known they were coming, but Karen hadn’t expected a reaction this strong. Unless he knew why they were there.
‘Mr Bennett?’ Rick asked as they reached his side.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m DC Cooper, and this is DS Hart. Have you got time for a few questions? It’s quite important.’
Stuart blinked. ‘Of course . . . We can talk over here.’ He led the way to a small alcove, and then opened the door to a tiny room that Karen guessed they used as some kind of break room. It smelled of air freshener and stale coffee. On a bench set back against the wall there was a small coffee machine next to a kettle.
