Where Secrets Lie

by D. S. Butler

  When Karen got back to the station, she saw Rick and Sophie huddled around Rick’s desk talking quietly. As she approached, they looked up, their expressions sombre.

  Sophie was first to speak. ‘It’s just awful. I can’t believe it.’

  The way they watched her, expecting her to say something reassuring and inspiring, made Karen’s chest feel tight. She didn’t feel capable of making the two junior officers in the team feel better about what had happened. She took a moment, trying to gather her thoughts, trying to think of something to say that would console them, but she was coming up blank. All she could think about was how this could have been prevented.

  In the end, she decided to be honest.

  ‘It was awful,’ Karen said as she wheeled over a chair to sit down beside them. ‘His throat had been cut as his family slept upstairs. The scene was one of the most bloody and disturbing I’ve ever seen.’

  Rick looked away, and Sophie raised her hands to her mouth before saying, ‘I dread to think what would have happened if his daughter or grandchildren had woken up while the killer was there.’

  Karen nodded. The same thought had crossed her mind, too.

  ‘We’re going to need to work quickly on this,’ she said. ‘It’s my fault for treating this as a cold case, and not seeing how quickly it could escalate. We need to locate Stephen and Martin Fox as soon as possible. We have to talk to them and find out whether they have alibis for last night.’

  It was possible the crime had been committed by an outsider, but Karen thought that was very unlikely. And top of her list of suspects were Oliver Fox’s sons. Somehow, they must’ve found out how their father had died, and the fact that William Grant and Albert Johnson were involved.

  ‘What about DCI Fox?’ Rick asked.

  ‘What about him?’ Karen snapped, a little more harshly than she’d intended.

  ‘He was Oliver’s brother. Maybe he wanted revenge.’

  ‘Possible, but unlikely. He likes to be in control, and I can’t see him doing something so risky. As an officer, he knows forensics will find a ton of evidence at the scene. He’d have been more careful, but we should still look into his whereabouts last night.’

  ‘He phoned and left a message a little while ago,’ Sophie said. ‘What do we tell him?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She’d had enough of pandering to the Fox family. She had a strong suspicion that Robert Fox had covered up his brother’s crimes back in the eighties, although she couldn’t prove it.

  Karen leaned back in her chair. ‘I should have anticipated this. I should have asked for some protection for William Grant, or kept him in custody overnight.’

  She noticed Sophie gazing over her shoulder. Karen turned and saw Superintendent Murray standing behind her.

  ‘It’s not your fault, DS Hart. If anyone should take the blame, it’s me. I’m in charge of the investigation, but I don’t believe we could have seen this coming.’

  ‘But we’re going to bring in Stephen and Martin Fox now, right?’ Karen said, daring the superintendent to deny her request. She wanted an argument, a confrontation.

  But that was unfair. Superintendent Murray didn’t suffer fools gladly, but she’d always been supportive, and no one could ever accuse her of being part of the old boys’ network.

  ‘Yes, we need to bring them in. I don’t care how close retired Detective Superintendent Fox is to the assistant commissioner, Stephen and Martin Fox are our prime suspects for William Grant’s murder.’

  ‘What do you want us to say to Detective Superintendent Fox, ma’am?’ Sophie asked. ‘He’s phoned twice already this morning.’

  The superintendent narrowed her eyes. ‘He must have got a tip-off from someone about William Grant’s death.’

  ‘He didn’t mention that on the phone, and I’m not sure why he would assume it was related to his brother’s death. We haven’t kept him in the loop on that,’ Sophie said. ‘He wanted to know why we were hassling Elizabeth Fox yesterday to find out where her sons were. He was very irate, and said he was going to make a formal complaint about DI Morgan’s harassment.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with Robert Fox personally.’

  ‘What do we do about Bennett and Simpson?’ Karen asked. ‘They could be in danger. They also received those letters.’

  The superintendent gave Karen a curt nod. ‘Put protective measures in place as you see fit, DS Hart. If you need any authorisation or assistance, come to me directly.’ Then she addressed the whole team. ‘This is no longer a cold case. We have an active killer, and all leave is cancelled until further notice. Understood?’

  They all nodded.

  ‘Good. I’ll see about getting some extra manpower. But for now, your top priority is finding Stephen and Martin Fox.’

  Karen put security measures in place for Stuart Bennett and Michael Simpson. She organised panic buttons to be installed in their houses and their families to be brought to the station, out of harm’s way, until they could organise a safe house. Plain-clothes units had been assigned to sit in unmarked cars outside both men’s homes. She’d also requested that they not go to work today, to minimise potential problems.

  She couldn’t force them to do as she asked, but she made sure they understood the risks.

  Both men agreed to stay off work, but refused the advice to accompany their families to the station. Michael Simpson was furious at the suggestion, and said he wouldn’t be driven from his home by anyone.

  Once her immediate tasks were dealt with, Karen’s mind travelled back to the scene at 82 Fallowfield. She had seen other dead bodies during her time on the force, but this was different. Seeing William Grant alive just the day before, and then witnessing the gruesome, sickening scene this morning, had made her mind and stomach rebel.

  She pressed a hand to her stomach and rushed to the ladies, along the corridor, barging her way into one of the stalls. Thankfully, the other toilets were empty. She waited, expecting to throw up, but after breathing steadily she slowly regained control. There was nothing in her stomach to throw up anyway. She hadn’t even had a cup of coffee this morning.

  She exited the cubicle, washed her hands, then splashed water on her face, trying to calm down. Why had everything escalated now, after thirty years of silence?

  It had all seemed to start with James Hunter’s apparent suicide six months ago. The letters had been received just after his death.

  Her hands were shaking, and she felt like she was vibrating with anger. How could anyone do that to a man in his family’s home, let alone an elderly, frail man like William Grant? It was sick. She tried to push away the guilt that niggled at her, reminding her she could and should have done something to prevent this.

  If only they’d paid more attention when Albert Johnson said he was pushed . . . but then Albert had been involved in Oliver Fox’s murder and had hidden his body for over thirty years. It hadn’t been beyond the realms of possibility to think he would lie about being pushed to try to disrupt the case against him.

  Karen glanced at her make-up-free face in the mirror. She looked terrible. She ran her hands through her hair and blotted her face with a paper towel.

  Not much better, she thought. But it was time to get to work.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  DI Morgan travelled straight from the murder scene in North Greetwell to Elizabeth Fox’s house in Skellingthorpe. There had been no answer at the addresses they had for Stephen and Martin Fox, and he’d called Stephen’s offices and found he’d not turned up for work today. DI Morgan was tired of being given the runaround, and if Elizabeth Fox knew where her sons were, he was going to get her to tell him.

  He jabbed impatiently at the doorbell, and an irritable Elizabeth Fox answered the door.

  ‘This is harassment,’ she said, raising her voice, making DI Morgan wonder who she thought was listening. Was her shrill accusation for the neighbours’ benefit?

  ‘May I come in, please, Mrs Fox? I have a few questions.
’

  He wondered if she’d already heard about William Grant’s death. The team tended to keep details back so they could judge how an individual reacted to the news, but with Detective Superintendent Fox poking his nose in everywhere and cosying up with the assistant commissioner, DI Morgan had no idea how much she knew.

  She stood there guarding the door for a moment, and he wondered if she was about to tell him to leave, but finally she opened the door fully, allowing him to enter.

  ‘Do you know where your sons are, Mrs Fox?’ DI Morgan asked as soon as he was inside.

  ‘I haven’t heard from them,’ she said as she plucked at the sleeve of her red jumper nervously.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ he asked, narrowing his eyes. ‘Hiding them won’t help. It will just delay the inevitable.’

  She drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t very tall, and said indignantly, ‘Are you threatening me, young man? I’m sure my brother-in-law would be very interested to hear that.’

  DI Morgan shook his head. What was wrong with this family? Did they think because retired Detective Superintendent Fox was friends with the assistant commissioner that they were above the law? Still, he hadn’t been called a young man for a while. Maybe he should take that as a compliment.

  She led the way into the small sitting room, and DI Morgan followed.

  ‘It’s better for them if they speak to us now. This situation isn’t going to get swept under the rug.’ He fought back the urge to add: this time.

  Elizabeth Fox fiddled with the gold rings on her fingers as she looked at the framed family photograph on the mantelpiece.

  ‘They’re good boys. They don’t deserve to be hounded like this.’

  ‘They aren’t being hounded, Mrs Fox. We want to talk to them.’

  She crossed the room to the drinks cabinet, took out a crystal decanter, poured herself a large drink and downed it in one.

  She was scared. Why? Did she believe that one of her sons had done something wrong? Did she know about William Grant and believe one of her sons was capable of murder?

  He sensed she was weakening.

  ‘I think you should sit down, Mrs Fox,’ he said. ‘I need to tell you something.’

  Her gaze flew up to his face and then she did as he asked, slowly lowering herself into one of the high-backed chairs. Her face grew pale as DI Morgan told her about William Grant’s murder.

  After he’d finished, it was some time before she could formulate a sentence. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she finally said, ‘That couldn’t have anything to do with us. Are you saying somebody is murdering old teachers from Greenhill Secondary School?’ She frowned and shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘We think it’s related to the death of your husband.’

  ‘But that happened thirty years ago. Why now?’

  That was a very good question. ‘It’s possible someone could be looking for revenge for what happened to Oliver. Is there anything you can tell me about that?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You can’t possibly think that I had anything to do with it . . .’ She trailed off and then shook her head. ‘You think it’s Stephen and Martin.’

  DI Morgan said nothing, waiting to see what Elizabeth Fox would say next. A mother’s love went a long way, but would she lie to protect them if they’d committed such a heinous crime?

  She clasped her hands and leaned forward, breathing heavily.

  ‘Do you think Stephen and Martin could be involved?’ DI Morgan asked softly.

  She shook her head.

  ‘If you don’t talk to me, Mrs Fox, more people could be in danger.’

  ‘More people?’ Her head rose sharply. ‘This is unbelievable. There’s no way Stephen or Martin could be involved. Martin’s had his problems, but he’s on medication now. He’s much better.’

  The words leaving her mouth were delivered in a confident tone, but DI Morgan saw the fear in her eyes.

  Sophie and Rick were working hard to track down Stephen and Martin Fox. They had some help from DI Freeman’s team, but tracing the brothers was proving difficult. It seemed as though they’d vanished. In Karen’s eyes, that only made them look more guilty.

  The knife from the murder scene had been rushed through forensics but there were no prints on the handle. It had been wiped clean, and as Karen had suspected, William Grant’s daughter identified it as one from her kitchen.

  Officers were conducting door-to-door enquiries, asking residents in the immediate vicinity if they’d seen or heard anything unusual last night. So far, they had nothing, which wasn’t surprising, as most people would have been tucked up in bed at the time the murder was committed.

  Feeling frustrated at their lack of progress, Karen told the team she was going into Lincoln, back to James Hunter’s flat. Sophie shot her a confused look but didn’t question her motives. It was a good job she didn’t, because Karen couldn’t really have explained the reason she felt compelled to go back. All she knew was that everything had started six months ago, when James Hunter died.

  She parked in the same car park as last time, but rather than heading into the apartment block, she walked into a Costa Coffee, bought a breakfast muffin, hot chocolate and a fruit pot, then walked back towards the car park’s pay machine.

  The girl they’d seen last time was sitting on a folded-up sleeping bag, her cardboard sign propped up against her leg. She had a different paperback today, Val McDermid’s The Wire in the Blood.

  She looked up when Karen paused next to her, then took the cup of hot chocolate from Karen’s outstretched hand.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said with a smile, pushing back her tangled hair from her forehead.

  Then she took the paper bag and peered inside. ‘Appreciate it.’ She put the paper cup of hot chocolate down on the ground and unwrapped the muffin.

  Karen sat beside her. Without the protection of a sleeping bag, the concrete was bloody freezing, but she put up with it. ‘I’ve seen you around.’

  The girl took a bite of the muffin. ‘Yeah, it’s a good spot,’ she said with her mouth full.

  ‘I wanted to ask you a question,’ Karen said.

  The girl’s chewing paused as she waited to hear the catch for her free breakfast.

  ‘Were you in the same spot about six months ago?’

  The girl shrugged. ‘Might have been.’

  Karen pointed up to the eighth-floor balcony of the apartment block in front of them. ‘A man jumped off of that balcony. Did you see it?’

  To Karen’s disappointment, the girl looked away and shook her head.

  ‘All right, thanks for your time,’ Karen said, getting to her feet and brushing the dirt from her trousers.

  She’d taken a couple of steps when the girl said, ‘He didn’t jump. He was pushed.’

  Karen turned slowly. ‘He was pushed? Are you sure?’

  The girl put the rest of the muffin back in the brown paper bag. ‘Yeah, there was another man with him, and he was thrown over the edge.’

  ‘Could you describe the other man?’

  The girl’s expression grew guarded, and she didn’t reply.

  ‘It’s important,’ Karen said. ‘Anything you tell me could help. Didn’t the police ask you questions at the time?’

  She looked at Karen as though she were crazy. ‘I didn’t stick around after it happened. I stayed away from here for at least two months. I was sure he’d seen me . . .’ She shivered. ‘He walked right past me when he left.’

  Karen sat down beside her again. This girl had seen their killer. ‘If you were so close, you must be able to remember what he looked like.’

  The girl pulled a face. ‘It was dark.’

  ‘Please, try,’ Karen said.

  ‘He was quite tall and had short hair.’ She scrunched up her face as she tried to remember. ‘He was wearing a suit.’

  Karen smiled at her. ‘Great. That’s a really good start. Look, why don’t you come back to the station with
me. It’s not safe out here. How old are you?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘Do you have any family or friends who could help you? I could contact them for you.’

  She shook her head firmly.

  ‘What about getting into a programme?’

  The girl hesitated, and Karen waited to see if she was going to lie and deny she was an addict, even though Karen could see the swelling on her right arm where a puncture wound had become infected.

  ‘We could get a doctor to look at your arm,’ Karen said, flicking through her wallet to pull out a card and then handing it to the girl. ‘And I could get you into a programme.’

  The girl looked away. ‘They never work.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Sam,’ she said.

  ‘Come on, Sam, take my card, at least.’

  Reluctantly, Sam took the card from Karen and then shoved it in the top pocket of her shirt.

  ‘Even if you don’t want to get into a programme, why don’t you come to the station with me? You can use the facilities there. Have a shower. I’ll buy you a nice lunch, and all you have to do is give us a statement and description.’

  The girl licked her lips and thought it over.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Karen said, ‘but you’ll be back straight after lunch, and you’ll have plenty of time to earn some money.’

  Karen had forty quid in her wallet. She wanted to help, but she drew the line at giving the girl money to get high.

  Finally, the girl grinned and scrambled to her feet. ‘Okay. Just wait for me to stash my stuff.’

  As they walked back to Karen’s car, the girl chatted away as though she’d known Karen for ages. ‘I know you probably think I’m horrible for running off and not saying anything. I did think about telling the police what I’d seen, but I told myself they must’ve caught whoever did it without my help.’

  ‘I understand,’ Karen said as she pressed the fob to open the car. ‘You were scared.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m unprotected out here. I didn’t come back for ages in case he’d seen me, but it’s a prime spot, and people always have their wallets and purses out ready to pay for their car parking.’