Her Final Hour

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘But he was definitely interested in what our young Jessica was doing, wasn’t he?’ Kennedy pulled out a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and moved closer to the images, running his gaze over each in turn. ‘He’s not waiting for anyone else. What happened after this was captured?’

  ‘The queue began to disappear, and he left,’ said Jan. ‘Which makes me wonder whether he wasn’t there to speak to Jessica – perhaps he went there to intimidate her.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree with you,’ said Kennedy. He glanced over his shoulder as the rest of the team began to pull across chairs and form a semi-circle around them. ‘All right, let’s get this briefing done. There’s going to be a lot to do tomorrow, and I want you lot rested. We’ve got a long way to go yet.’

  Turpin wandered across to a space against the wall and leaned into it, Jan at his side while Kennedy brought the others up to date with the CCTV findings.

  ‘Moving on,’ he said. ‘Witness statements from the pub – are they all done, Tom?’

  The police sergeant nodded. ‘They are, guv. All in HOLMES2 as well. Nothing untoward in what people have told us. The last two regulars to leave said that they were out the door by ten past eleven that night, and neither of them reported seeing anyone hanging around in the lane outside the pub.’

  ‘Guv?’ Caroline raised her hand. ‘We’ve finally got the records from the company who leases the ATM to Collins, and there are a couple of transactions there I’d like to look into.’

  ‘Oh?’ Kennedy held out his hand for the report the detective constable held. ‘Which ones?’

  She joined him and pointed at the page. ‘There’s one here for three hundred and fifty pounds at five past nine, and then one hundred and fifty pounds at ten twenty-two.’

  Kennedy handed the report back to Caroline. ‘Can you and Alex take a look at Jessica’s bank statements to see if either of those transactions show up? Mark and Jan – get yourselves back to the Farriers Arms when it opens in the morning. Find out if Collins recognises the bloke in these pictures, and see what he might know about these two transactions in case neither of them match Jessica’s statements.’

  ‘Will do, guv,’ said Jan.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Nigel White lowered the pint glass to the bar and glared at the caramel-coloured liquid that remained.

  The Cornish ale probably tasted fine in the town where it was brewed, but it travelled poorly and a sickly aftertaste clung to his tongue.

  ‘Noah,’ he called out. ‘Make it a Jack and coke for me.’

  The landlord of the Farriers Arms looked up from his conversation with one of the other regulars further along the bar, then heaved his bulk away and reached up for a clean glass hanging above the beer pumps.

  ‘When’s the regular stuff back on?’ Nigel slid the empty pint glass across the polished wooden surface. ‘Can’t drink that.’

  ‘We’ve got a delivery on Thursday as usual,’ said Noah. ‘Last night was busy – it caught us by surprise.’

  Nigel’s heart lurched, his eyes locking with the man on the other side of the bar. ‘Did I miss something?’

  ‘No.’ Noah passed him the drink, then leaned his forearm on the beer pumps and lowered his voice. ‘People being nosy, that’s all. Bastards. Never drank in here all the time me and Sonia have lived here, then Jess is killed and suddenly we’re the most popular pub in the area.’

  ‘Anyone I know?’

  ‘Not by name, I don’t think. Couple from up the road, Harton Wick way. They looked familiar, but, like I said – not regulars. I don’t think they’d even been in for a meal.’

  ‘Bastards,’ Nigel agreed, and tipped his drink towards the publican before taking a sip. He smacked his lips before setting down the glass. ‘Did you tell them what happened?’

  ‘No, I bloody didn’t. Gave them their food and made sure they left without bothering the real customers. Bet we won’t see them again, either.’ Noah winked, and then glanced over his shoulder as his name was called from the kitchen. ‘Got to go – food order.’

  ‘Oi, Nigel. What happened to your man at the races last night? I had ten quid on him to win.’

  Nigel took another sip of his drink and then swivelled on his stool until he faced the pensioner who leered at him from a table off to the right of the bar.

  ‘I’ve got no idea, I wasn’t there, but I’d imagine he was still upset about his girlfriend being found dead last week, wouldn’t you, Sam?’

  The man let out a squawk, his cheeks reddening. ‘Adams shouldn’t have put him on the horse if he knew he was going to lose.’

  ‘He didn’t lose, he came fourth.’

  ‘Fourth’s no good to me, is it? The missus has been nagging me about that lost money all bloody day.’

  ‘Poor you.’ Nigel turned around, ignoring the choked response over his shoulder.

  MacKenzie had been furious when he had arrived back at the stables the night before. His mood had tempered the celebrations for Paul’s win, and Will had skulked back to the cottage without a word once the horses had been stabled for the night.

  The morning hadn’t brought a respite from the atmosphere that hung around the place, which was why he and Paul had headed for the pub as soon as it had opened.

  He glanced back at the sound of the front door swinging open, a stiff breeze clawing at his heels before it shut and Bethany Myers stalked towards the bar.

  ‘Nigel.’

  ‘Evening, Beth. All right?’

  She gave him a weary smile as he pulled out the stool beside him for her and she sank onto it, looping her handbag strap over a hook under the bar.

  ‘Noah – vodka tonic for Beth, when you’re ready.’ Nigel waved a ten pound note at the landlord as he walked past carrying empty plates.

  The man nodded before disappearing into the kitchen.

  ‘You don’t have to do that,’ said Bethany.

  ‘But I’d like to. Besides, I haven’t seen you since… since Jess was found.’ He fell silent as Noah returned, then picked up the conversation once she had her drink in her hand and the publican had moved to the far end of the bar.

  ’To Jessica,’ he said, touching his glass to Bethany’s.

  ‘To Jess.’ She took a sip, re-crossed her legs, and leaned closer. ‘Have the police been to see you yet?’

  She may as well have punched him in the stomach, such was the rush of air that left his lungs at her words.

  Nigel peered over his shoulder.

  Old Sam might have been staring at the crossword on the back of the free newspaper, but his ears were almost flapping in anticipation.

  He wheeled around to face Bethany again. ‘Keep your voice down in here,’ he hissed. ‘This ain’t the time or the place.’

  She frowned. ‘I only asked. They interviewed me – here – when I got back from Wales on Sunday.’

  ‘What did they ask you?’ he said, beckoning her closer until their voices were no more than murmurs.

  ‘Whether she was worried about anything.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘That she seemed fine, but that the last shift we worked together, I thought she’d seen someone at the petrol station who’d frightened her.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I dunno. It seemed important at the time because Jess had mentioned it to me.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I don’t know – she never told me.’ Bethany shrugged before casting her gaze around the pub. ‘I thought I’d ask around, find out if anyone else knew anything.’

  ‘Leave it to the police, Beth. That’s their job.’

  ‘Yes, but people know me, don’t they? I mean, bloody hell, some of the stuff I get told by the regulars when they’ve had too much to drink. I could end at least three marriages in this village.’ She laughed, throwing her head back before reaching out for her drink and drowning half in three gulps.

  Exasperated, Nigel straightened and eyed the drink in front of h
im, then took a deep breath.

  ‘I’m only going to say this once, Beth, but keep your nose out of it. You don’t want to end up like Jessica, do you?’

  She froze, the glass held halfway to her lips. ‘You what? Are you threatening me?’

  He patted his hands in the air. ‘Keep your voice down, girl.’

  ‘What the hell––?’

  ‘Just don’t. Don’t start asking questions.’

  ‘Or else, what?’

  She glared at him, and, when he didn’t answer, she slammed her glass down on the bar and snatched up her bag before lowering her mouth to his ear.

  ‘Don’t threaten me again, Nigel. I know things about you as well. Remember – me and Jess were best friends.’

  She straightened, a triumphant expression flashing across her features, and then spun on her heel and marched from the pub.

  ‘Shit.’ Nigel slurped the last of his drink, ignoring the stares from the regulars as he hurried past and pushed open the front door.

  ‘Bethany!’

  A figure on a moped pulled out into the lane, and he swore under his breath.

  Running towards her, his gait unsteady after so many drinks, he waved his hands above his head in the hope she would spot him in her mirrors, but his efforts were in vain.

  He stumbled to a standstill. ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Nigel – you having problems with the ladies again?’

  Paul Hitchens wandered across the car park towards him, cigarette in hand.

  ‘It’s nothing. Thought you’d left.’

  ‘Having a ciggie first. D’you want a lift back to the cottage? I’m going in a minute.’

  ‘Might as well.’ He peered once more into the darkness, the red tail light from Bethany’s moped disappearing around the bend. ‘There’s nothing here for me anymore.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Mark hunkered into the collar of his woollen coat while Jan reversed into the last narrow space in the car park of the Farriers Arms late the following morning.

  A chill wind coursed from the Berkshire Downs, and he scowled at his phone when he saw the weather forecast for blustery showers later that day.

  The scowl faded as a message popped up on the screen.

  Got the wine. Looking forward to dinner later this week xx.

  He grinned, then raised his gaze to see smoke from the pub’s chimney blowing across the length of the roof. The promise of a warm fire sent him walking towards the front door while Jan locked the vehicle and hurried across to join him.

  ‘Okay, let’s see what Noah Collins has to say about these ATM transactions,’ he said. ‘There can’t be many customers around here who withdraw that sort of money.’

  He wrenched open the door and held it open for Jan before following her over the threshold.

  Although the pub had only been open for twenty minutes, half a dozen middle-aged people sat on one of the tables nearest the window, their brightly coloured clothing identifying them as a fitness group of some sort.

  The bitter aroma of freshly made coffee wafted on the air, and he glanced across to the bar as a woman emerged carrying a tray laden with cups and saucers.

  ‘Be with you in a minute,’ she called as she crossed the room to the group and began to serve.

  Mark led the way over to the bar and leaned against an enormous supporting beam that bisected the arrangement of bar stools and rose from floor to ceiling. Notches and old bolts protruded from it.

  ‘Old ship?’ said Jan, running her hand over the painted surface.

  ‘An original from the old forge, I think.’ He broke off as the woman returned to the bar and smiled at them.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Mark flicked open his warrant card and kept his voice low. ‘Is Noah around?’

  ‘Out this morning. Wednesdays are his days for doing the banking and the cash ’n’ carry for the kitchen. He’ll be gone for at least three hours.’

  Mark turned and eyed the ATM machine in the corner, and wondered exactly how much money Collins was banking. ‘Sorry – you are?’

  ‘Cheryl Matthews. I spoke to the police last week when they were in here. Are you still trying to find out who killed Jessica?’

  ‘It’s an ongoing enquiry, yes.’

  Her jaw set hard. ‘I hope you find the bastard.’

  Mark raised his gaze to the low-beamed ceiling and squinted into the gloom of the corners. ‘Does Noah have CCTV in here?’

  ‘No,’ said Cheryl. ‘Those little cameras you can see in the corner are fake. He won’t put real cameras in – says he can’t afford it. The other things up there are for the burglar alarm system. Infra-red, something like that.’

  ‘What about the ATM machine?’

  ‘No, it’s not like the ones the banks use. They just rely on us to keep an eye out for anyone acting suspicious.’

  ‘And no cameras outside?’

  The woman smiled. ‘It’s not that sort of pub. No – as far as I know, he and Sonia have never had any problems with locals or anyone else, so I guess they reckon they don’t need to worry.’

  ‘How are things here, since Jessica’s death?’ said Jan. ‘Have you noticed anything unusual or has it been quiet?’

  Cheryl glanced over her shoulder to check on the group near the window, then turned back to them. ‘It’s been quieter. A few of the locals haven’t been in since but they’re the sort who only come in for a meal once a fortnight. The usual people have been in for drinks in the evening.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘No offence, but the sooner you find who killed her, the better. Noah reduced all our hours last week.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Mark. ‘Is he losing money with the downturn in trade, then?’

  ‘There’s no downturn, not really. I don’t know why. First thing I knew about it was when I turned up for work last Wednesday night and he said I was to finish at nine o’clock instead of after closing.’ Cheryl contemplated her nails. ‘He’s a good boss – I mean, he pays us a good hourly rate – so those two hours every shift means quite a chunk coming off my weekly wages.’

  ‘And he hasn’t given you a reason for that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s got your best interests at heart,’ said Jan.

  Cheryl rolled her eyes. ‘Well, I’m sure he’s pleased to be saving some money as well – I mean, by the time you count up everyone who works here, he must be saving a few quid every week now, right?’

  ‘How was business here before Jessica died?’ said Mark. ‘Any signs of it struggling?’

  The woman wrinkled her nose, and then leaned closer. ‘No, actually it does pretty well here. Mind you, it helps that Noah and Sonia run a tight operation. It’s better than the pub down at Hazelthorpe, you see. That place can get a bit rough, so anyone with money or who wants a quiet drink without fruit machines and football matches comes up here. I reckon they do all right. I just hope this whole business doesn’t affect them. They don’t deserve that.’

  A door slammed shut at the back of the pub, and Cheryl bit her lip, guilt flashing across her face before she reached out for a cloth and began polishing the bar. ‘I should probably get on.’

  ‘One last thing.’ Mark fished out a copy of the image captured from the CCTV camera in the garden centre. ‘Do you recognise this man?’

  Cheryl took the photograph and held it up to the bright lights under the bar, her brow furrowed. ‘I don’t know. He looks familiar, but I don’t live in the village, so unless I’m working I don’t really come over here. Sorry.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Mark thanked Cheryl for her time, then peered over her shoulder as a slight woman with short dark hair and wearing chef’s whites appeared from the kitchen.

  She jerked her chin at Cheryl. ‘Don’t forget there are sauce bottles that need cleaning and refilling out there as soon as you’ve finished serving.’

  ‘Sonia Collins?’ Mark flipped open his warrant card and introduced Jan. ‘We haven’t had the chance to speak with you yet
. Got a minute?’

  ‘I’m in the middle of preparing for today’s lunchtime session.’

  ‘This won’t take long.’

  She sighed. ‘All right, but out the back door. It’s too dangerous to stand around in the kitchen, and you’re already causing a distraction for the customers.’

  Sonia turned on her heel without waiting for an answer, and strode past a stainless-steel commercial oven and two chip fryers, her shoes silent on the linoleum floor.

  As Mark followed, he ran his gaze over the central worktop that gleamed under the strip lighting above, piles of plates in different sizes stacked ready for service that day. Two sinks had been built in under a window that overlooked a wood pile and a private yard, and off to his left a narrow doorway led through to where he assumed Sonia kept chest freezers and shelves stocked with food and ingredients.

  She stopped at the back door and held it open for him, then beckoned to Jan. ‘Don’t hang about – we don’t need flies in the kitchen.’

  The door swished closed on an automatic hinge the moment they were all outside, and then Sonia turned her attention to Mark.

  ‘All right, what did you need to know? I already spoke to a pair of uniformed coppers last week. Is there any news?’

  ‘I’m sorry, not that we’re able to share at the present time,’ said Mark. ‘Did you know Jessica well?’

  Sonia’s shoulders dropped. ‘I don’t know if I knew her well, but she was a lot of fun to work with. I miss her. She was one of those people who you could show how to do something once, and that was it. She had a lot of intuition about the business.’ She managed a smile. ‘Unlike some of our other staff.’

  ‘Cheryl mentioned that your husband has reduced her hours.’

  ‘Just as a safety precaution, so that they get home early. Some of them don’t like it, but that’s not the point, is it?’

  ‘Where were you at eleven-thirty last Monday night?’

  ‘In there, cleaning up. Jessica always used the front door to leave, so I didn’t see her go. The only way I knew she’d left was because Noah came into the kitchen to help me finish mopping up. We wanted to review the new menu before going upstairs as well, so that we could start ordering any special ingredients that we don’t normally keep in stock.’