by D. S. Butler
Karen could see his point. She sat back in her chair, crossing her legs. She was missing a connection. It was infuriating. She needed to step back and look at the case objectively. She checked her watch. It was almost five.
There was no point staying here and getting nowhere. She needed to do something proactive. She stood up and grabbed her jacket. ‘I’m going out for a while. I won’t be long.’
Stuart Bennett couldn’t stop shaking. He’d forgotten to put his jacket on when he went outside, so he was shivering from the cold as well as trembling from fear. He raked a hand through his blond hair and scrolled through the contacts on his mobile phone. He paused at the one he was looking for, and hesitated with his thumb over the screen.
How had it come to this? It wasn’t fair. All he’d ever wanted was to be normal. He didn’t want to be singled out. He hadn’t wanted to be one of Oliver Fox’s special students. He hadn’t wanted any of this.
He pressed dial and held the phone up to his ear, looking around to make sure nobody could overhear him.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s me. Did you tell them anything?’
‘No, of course not, I stuck to what we planned. You?’
‘Yeah, the same, but I’m really freaking out.’
There was a pause. Stuart closed his eyes and looked up at the cloudy sky. ‘We need to meet,’ he said.
Another pause, and then, ‘Same place as last time?’
‘All right. I’ll be there in half an hour.’
Stuart hung up and looked at his phone. The screensaver was a picture of his wife and daughter. Somehow he was going to have to hold it all together for them. Would he go to prison? He didn’t know. Maybe. He’d been a minor at the time. Surely they’d take that into account.
He tried to imagine what the expression on his wife’s face would look like if he explained what had happened all those years ago. She’d be angry. Furious. Not because of what had happened in the past, but because he’d never told her.
But how could he?
Some secrets were better buried deep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Karen sat in the car park at Pennells, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. It was almost five thirty, but Michael Simpson’s car was still in the car park. She’d pulled into a space beside a large 4 x 4 some distance away, so he wouldn’t spot her waiting for him to leave work.
She was being overly cautious. He was unlikely to notice she was there, and he hadn’t seen her car when they’d visited earlier. She could be wasting her time, which was why Karen hadn’t told the rest of the team what she was planning. This way, if nothing came of her following Michael, she wouldn’t look like an idiot.
She kept her eyes trained on the exit as she reached over to turn up the radio. Lincs FM was playing ‘Killer Queen’. He should be out by now. Perhaps he’d got a lift home, Karen thought. Was he already having a nice cup of tea with his family while she was sitting alone in her car? She sighed. Was she doing this so she had a good excuse not to go out on the date her sister had set up for tonight?
Then she spotted him, striding through the sliding doors and jogging down the steps.
Karen smiled and leaned forward, turning on the engine.
He could be going straight home. If that was the case, she would follow him there and then go back to the station. No harm done.
She could be reading too much into things, but she couldn’t shake the feeling they’d only scratched the surface of this investigation. It wasn’t that she thought Michael or Stuart had been lying to them, but there was still so much she didn’t understand. Michael had known they were coming to talk about Oliver Fox, and that meant either Stuart or William Grant had given him a heads-up. Perhaps the men were still very close. Maybe they’d agreed on a story and were sticking to it.
As she left the car park she allowed another car to pull in front of her, so he was less likely to notice her tailing him. Then she indicated left just after he did and pulled out on to the A46. He hadn’t travelled far when he turned right. Karen slowed and pulled into the filter lane, hoping he wasn’t paying attention to who was behind him.
He’d turned on to a country lane, and Karen followed, but kept well back to avoid being seen. She continued on the long, winding road, swearing under her breath when a tractor pulled out in front of her, causing her to brake.
She edged sideways, looking past the tractor, checking Michael was still in front.
At least the tractor was good camouflage, she thought with a wry smile, before braking again as she saw Stuart turn off and park outside The Fox and Hounds pub. She drove around to the back of the pub, then waited a minute or two before following him in.
The pub was quiet. A few locals were gathered around the bar, and a couple of tables were occupied by families taking advantage of the early-bird special. Karen walked up to the bar, scanning the area for Michael. It only took a moment to find him. He was sitting on the other side in the restaurant section. Opposite him was Stuart Bennett.
They were deep in conversation and didn’t notice her. She walked up to them slowly and paused by their table.
Stuart looked up and did a double take.
‘Hello, gentlemen. You don’t mind if I join you, do you?’
They both looked horrified.
Karen didn’t wait for an invitation and slid into the seat beside Stuart. ‘Are you getting your stories straight for tomorrow?’
They looked at each other rather than at Karen, and then Stuart groaned.
Michael turned to her. ‘It’s not like that. We just needed someone to talk to. Someone who understood.’
‘You’ve stayed close friends all this time?’
Michael nodded. ‘Yes, we did. James went off to university, so it was never really the same with him, but we kept in touch.’
Karen could understand their need to turn to each other for support. Guilt weighed heavily on her as she thought about her next question. Was finding out the truth really worth digging all this up? If these boys got charged for the murder of Oliver Fox, would that be justice?
‘I know this is a horrible time for you. It must be awful to be reminded of everything that happened, but it’s better to be honest now. You were both minors. That will be taken into consideration. If you killed him because of what he was doing to you—’
‘Honestly,’ Michael said, looking at Karen earnestly, ‘we told you the truth. We found him like that . . . covered with blood. We have no idea what happened to him.’ He turned to his friend. ‘Do we . . .’
Stuart shook his head. ‘No, we don’t know what happened.’
Were they covering for each other? Or covering for James? Karen couldn’t tell.
‘You mentioned you kept in touch with James?’ she said.
They both nodded.
‘Do you think he committed suicide?’
Michael swallowed. ‘Well, yes, that was the verdict, wasn’t it? We went to his funeral. They said it was suicide.’
‘If he’d received the same letter as you, could that have driven him to suicide?’
‘Honestly, if you’d asked me that a few years ago, I would have said no. But something must have driven him to it.’
She talked to them for a little longer, trying to worm the truth out of them, but they stuck to their story. Neither of them admitted to hiding anything.
Were they lying? Karen wished there was some kind of litmus test to find out. She never held much stock in lie detector tests, but right now she wouldn’t turn one down.
Karen left Simpson and Bennett at the pub after reiterating how important it was to be completely honest when they made their statements tomorrow. She travelled back to Nettleham HQ thinking how odd this case had been so far. It was nothing like any of her previous investigations. So much time had passed since Oliver Fox’s death. The suspects were now forty-three years old, but at the time they’d only been thirteen. There wasn’t the urgency there would usually be in a murder case, and de
spite the fact the top brass liked to say they treated every murder case equally, no matter how historical, it wasn’t true. Karen wouldn’t have left two murder suspects chatting in a pub in any other case. She’d be bringing them in.
She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. She still had time to go back to the station, file some paperwork and then go home and get ready for this date, although she was tempted to cancel.
She flicked the indicator and turned right on to Deepdale Lane, and sighed. Her sister was right. She needed to start living again. Besides, it was just a date. How bad could it be?
Sophie was working hard. It felt good to have the wind back in her sails. They now had a puzzle to solve, and that was the part of the job Sophie loved and excelled at. Karen was right. She just needed to give herself time. Impatience wasn’t a good trait in a police officer. The job involved lots of methodical work and required reports and forms to be filled in for nearly every task. It wasn’t all action and chasing criminals down the street. At the end of the day, she loved her job.
Sophie’s trouble was, she wanted everything yesterday and couldn’t help measuring herself against other people’s career trajectories.
Who needed Monaco and swanky parties with glamorous guests when she could be here, working on a case and strategising with the rest of the team? She was doing something that really made a difference, and she should be proud of that.
She was transferring files into a designated folder on her computer when Karen came striding into the office.
‘Any luck, Sarge?’ She wasn’t sure where Karen had rushed off to earlier and was intrigued.
Karen paused by her desk. ‘I waited outside Pennells and followed Michael Simpson. He met up with Stuart Bennett after work.’
Sophie raised an eyebrow. ‘Were they discussing the case? Getting their stories straight?’
Karen shrugged. ‘That was my first thought, but I think they’re just scared and needed some support. They still insist they didn’t kill him.’
Sophie found that very hard to believe. She thought the best option for the men was to tell the truth. They’d only been young at the time, and the courts would take that into account and be very sympathetic. By lying about it, they would only make the police dig further into the past and unearth more secrets, causing their families more pain.
She supposed there was still a slim chance they hadn’t done it. She tapped her pen on the desk. Theoretically, the person who’d attacked Oliver Fox could be any one of a hundred other students, or an outraged parent . . .
She watched as Karen stuffed some paperwork into the drawers beneath her desk and then switched off her computer.
‘Are you going home, Sarge?’ Sophie asked, surprised. Karen was usually one of the last to leave when they were working on a big case.
‘I’m going on that date tonight. I have to be there at seven thirty.’ Karen grimaced, making it quite clear she wasn’t looking forward to it. ‘I’ve told DI Morgan, but if I’m needed, I can come back in.’
Sophie brightened. ‘Oh yes, I forgot about that. Have fun. And if you do need to make a quick getaway, send me a text and I’ll ring you.’
‘Thanks.’ Karen picked up her handbag and keys. ‘Are you doing okay, Sophie?’ she asked, pausing by her desk on the way out.
‘Much better now, thanks,’ Sophie said. ‘I’m just going to organise the information I collected on the old students of Greenhill Academy. Hopefully it won’t be needed, but it’s good to be prepared.’
Karen smiled. ‘It is. But don’t work too hard. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a very long day.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
Karen made it back home in record time. She was getting out of the car when her neighbour, Christine, waved to her over the fence. ‘I’m just off to the pub for dinner with Pam and wondered if you fancied coming along?’
‘I can’t tonight, I’m afraid,’ Karen said, grabbing her handbag from the passenger seat and then shutting the door.
‘Is work keeping you busy?’ Christine asked.
Karen wished it was work. She would rather face a lock-up full of drunks tonight than go on this date. Why had she ever agreed?
She locked the car and said, ‘No, it’s not work. I’m going on a date.’
The look of surprise on Christine’s face made Karen feel even worse. Was the fact she was going on a date really such shocking news?
‘You look a little startled,’ Karen said with a laugh.
‘Ignore me, Karen. I’m pleased for you. You go out and have fun. You don’t want to be stuck in the local with us oldies.’
Christine gave a cheerful wave, opened the gate and walked off along the pavement.
Despite the fact she was running late, Karen paused to watch her go. Right now, she’d give anything for a night in the local with a bunch of oldies, as Christine called them.
Her phone beeped, and she yanked it out of her pocket and saw that it was a message from her sister.
What are you wearing for your date?
Oh, she hadn’t even thought about that yet.
She raced inside and called for a taxi before heading upstairs. She was in and out of the shower within five minutes, feeling grateful her short hair didn’t require much attention. She selected a pair of straight-cut trousers and a black blouse from her wardrobe.
After looking at her reflection in the mirror, she worried that the top might be a bit too low-cut. No time to change now, though. She grabbed a necklace from the jewellery box on top of her dresser and then paused.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and fought back tears. It was a simple chain with a star-shaped pendant. Josh had bought it for her when they’d visited Switzerland before Tilly was born. With a shaking hand, she put the necklace back in the box and shut the lid. She’d do without jewellery tonight.
She turned around, looking for her perfume. A quick spritz of Chanel Allure and she was almost good to go.
Shoes . . . She looked at the bottom of the wardrobe, her gaze lingering on a strappy pair of heels and then an elegant pair of court shoes with a high heel, but finally she decided to opt for boots. They had a small heel and were relatively smart, but far more comfortable than the others. She wasn’t sure how much walking she was going to do, and in Lincoln it was best to be prepared.
A beep from outside told her the taxi had arrived, so she grabbed her jacket, shoved her feet into the boots and rushed downstairs, grabbing her handbag on the way out. Her hair was still damp, but it should dry on the drive to Lincoln.
The traffic was bad, due to a lorry that had double-parked on Lindum Hill, so Karen asked the driver to drop her outside the bingo hall. She passed the library and the Drill Hall, and made her way towards the alleyway that ran down the side of Pizza Express and would bring her out at the bottom of Steep Hill.
As she walked, she pulled out her mobile and called DI Morgan.
‘Have you been running?’ he asked after Karen breathlessly filled him in on her conversation with Michael Simpson and Stuart Bennett at the pub.
‘No, I’m walking uphill, and I haven’t even got to the really steep part yet. Anyway, what are you doing tonight?’
‘I’m doing some more unpacking and then getting a takeaway,’ he said.
‘Sounds good to me,’ Karen said, doing up her coat as she walked. And it did sound good. A nice takeaway with someone she knew sounded far more appealing than sharing drinks with someone she’d never met.
‘Well, if the date goes badly, you can always join me later. I could do with some more help, so long as you hold back the comments on my music collection.’
Karen laughed. ‘I’ll let you know.’
God, she was shattered. This hill seemed to get steeper and steeper every time she came to Lincoln.
‘You all right? You sound like you’ve run a marathon.’
Karen pulled a face at the phone. ‘It’s really steep.’
‘Yes, well, you better hang up before you run out of
oxygen.’
‘Ha ha, speak to you later.’
She put her mobile back in her bag and moved out of the way for a couple walking past her, arm in arm.
Why was she being so negative? All she had to do was stay for a couple of drinks. The White Hart did excellent cocktails, so that was a bonus. Even if the date was terrible, at least the drinks would be good.
After his conversation with Karen, DI Morgan spent a moment staring down at the screen of his phone. He felt bad lying to her, but it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t explain what he was doing right now without getting into a whole load of background information that he wasn’t ready to share.
He turned back to look at the house he’d been watching. Louise Jackson’s house.
It was dark now, but the curtains were still open, and the lights were on downstairs.
She’d been home for over half an hour, and DI Morgan had been watching and waiting.
He’d seen a man he didn’t recognise let himself into the house, but still he did nothing but watch.
A few minutes later, when his phone buzzed in his pocket, DI Morgan thought it might be Karen calling to tell him about her disastrous date already, but it wasn’t.
Rob Miller’s name flashed up on the screen.
As Karen approached the White Hart, her footsteps slowed. Did most people feel like this before they went on a date? Karen couldn’t honestly remember. She’d met Josh when she was nineteen, and hadn’t dated much before she met him.
She took a deep breath and walked into the pub.
She recognised Tom Prentice from her sister’s description, and it seemed he recognised her. He was standing close to the bar, nursing a pint.
He walked towards her. ‘Karen?’
She nodded and tried to produce a friendly smile.
‘I’m Tom.’ He held out his hand.
‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Likewise. Emma’s told me a lot about you. I went to their house for a dinner party last week. Lovely couple.’
‘Yes – yes they are.’ She glanced at the bar. ‘Shall we get a drink?’
