To the regulars and drop-in customers who had come to the pub during the course of the day, it appeared that it was business as usual at the Farriers Arms.
It was a different matter upstairs.
While Bethany ran the downstairs operations, Jan had remained in the flat above, able to act as soon as Mark phoned her after concluding the interviews that morning.
The living quarters above the bar had been taken over by a team of uniformed officers and forensic investigators who had arrived mid-morning, ferried from their vehicles to the pub by minibus after parking at Morgan Drake’s property so their presence remained unseen.
The lunchtime shift had been a quiet one for the teenager, with only one regular turning up – the man with the Jack Russell terrier – and a couple visiting family in the area who had wrinkled their noses at the prospect of no food, and left soon after.
With the pub closed as usual for three hours during the afternoon, Bethany stayed on and watched with growing shock as the team worked through each of the rooms and a steady collection of evidence in relation to the poker games was set aside as evidence.
Now, Jan could hear the murmur of voices through the floorboards, the clink of glasses, and laughter joining in the general hubbub of a country pub winding down for the night.
A bell rang out for a second time, followed by Bethany’s voice calling time on the day’s trade.
‘How long do you think it’ll take her to empty the place?’ said Mark.
‘She said there are only a couple of stragglers when I spoke to her a moment ago. One’s a retired engineer who lives in the Hazelthorpe direction, and the other is an older bloke who lost his wife a few months ago. She said they tend to drink up and go as soon as the bell rings.’
On cue, she heard the front door to the pub close, and crossed to the window in time to see the two men stride across the car park to the lane, turn right, and disappear from view.
Adrenalin surged as she watched the lane for signs of activity and strained her ears for the sound of approaching vehicles.
‘Best sit down, in case they arrive early,’ said Turpin. He took another sip of the sugary drink.
‘I don’t know how you can drink that stuff. I’ve banned my boys from going near it.’
‘Coffee wasn’t working.’
‘Your teeth will fall out.’
He grinned, and she choked out a laugh.
‘God, I always turn into my mother when I’m worried.’
‘I haven’t met her, but yes – you do tend to mollycoddle when under pressure.’
‘Mollycoddle? Which century were you born in?’
He winked in response, then reached out for the earpiece that snaked over his shoulder and picked up a radio from its position on the low table in front of him.
‘That was Force Control,’ he said. ‘They’ve confirmed there are unmarked patrol cars either side of village, which will move into place and form roadblocks once all players have arrived.’
‘Okay. Hang on.’ Jan left the room and walked to the top of the stairs. ‘How’re you doing down there, Bethany?’
‘I’m all right. Don’t worry. I’ve switched off most of the lights – I figured Noah would do the same so the place looks closed. I’ve locked the front door, too. Anyone coming here this time of night would probably use the side entrance.’
‘Good idea.’
‘First car is here.’ Turpin’s voice carried from his position at the window, and she hurried back to a room in darkness.
She swore as her leg caught the edge of the table, and then joined him by the window after checking the time.
‘Eleven forty-five. He’s keen.’
‘Business as usual, then.’
‘Lucky for us. Do you recognise the driver?’
‘No. Not enough lighting out there for a start.’
They fell silent, and she listened while the figure drew closer and the sound of a man coughing floated up to where they stood.
Bethany’s hunch proved correct – the figure disappeared around to the side of the pub, and moments later Jan heard the door open.
‘Evening,’ said Bethany, a forced cheer to her voice.
Turpin swore under his breath as the response was lost to them.
‘They’ve been out all day – a family emergency or something,’ said Bethany. ‘Noah phoned to ask me to stay on. They’re only twenty minutes or so away, and he didn’t want to cancel.’
The till drawer pinged open, coins rattled, and then a chair scraped across the parquet flooring.
‘First player’s settled in, then,’ said Jan.
‘Good. If he hasn’t suspected anything, his presence will serve to convince the others to hang around.’ He turned at the sound of a car engine, followed by a second vehicle. ‘Here we go.’
One by one, they watched as vehicles pulled in and drove as far back in the car park as they could before the drivers made their way to the side door of the pub. Murmured greetings were made as each player joined the others in the bar, and the sound of conversation grew louder.
‘All right. Let’s get uniform to block off the road, and then we’ll make the arrests,’ said Turpin. He picked up the radio, relayed his instructions, and then signed off and strode to the door.
‘Mark – wait.’ Jan spun around, her heart racing. ‘We’ve only got five cars. Five players. Morgan Drake said that both Jessica and Nigel told him there were usually half a dozen players. We’re missing someone.’
He paused, his hand on the doorframe. ‘Shit, you’re right.’
Jan crossed the room, snatched the radio from him and murmured into the microphone. ‘Cancel that last command. Maintain your positions. Repeat, maintain your positions. One player hasn’t arrived yet. We’re missing a car.’
She handed back the radio, and exhaled. ‘Christ, that was close.’
‘Good call, Jan.’
In the glow from the light at the bottom of the stairs, she could see the colour had drained from her colleague’s face.
‘I might be wrong.’
‘Even so, we’ll give it ten minutes,’ he said.
They didn’t need that long.
Within two minutes, the engine noise from a sixth vehicle ebbed into the car park as its driver eased into a space beside an expensive-looking sports hatchback, switched off the headlights and opened the door.
Jan’s sharp intake of breath was echoed by the grunt of surprise from her colleague.
‘Shit,’ said Mark. ‘That’s Annie Hartman, isn’t it? Jessica’s manager at the supermarket.’
Chapter Fifty-Five
‘How the hell did we miss that?’
DI Kennedy paced in front of the whiteboard, his tone incredulous. ‘How is she funding a gambling habit?’
‘We’ve been onto the supermarket’s head office as soon as they opened,’ said Jan. ‘It turns out they’ve had their own suspicions for a few months about funds going missing from the petrol station and store that Annie manages. An internal investigation was launched eight weeks ago, and the bloke I spoke to said they’re concentrating on the cash transactions in particular. Most people use a debit card these days to pay, and they think Annie has been able to siphon off the cash because it would be harder to trace. As manager, she has the ability to override the stock records in the main database to adjust the balances, and she was in charge of ordering new stock – so no-one suspected anything.’
‘What changed?’ said Kennedy.
‘The head office received an anonymous tip-off three months ago,’ said Turpin. ‘They might never have found out otherwise.’
‘Any suggestions as to where this tip-off might have come from?’
‘Might have been Jessica. We’ll cover that in the interview.’
‘Make sure you do. Speaking of which, get yourselves downstairs. You’ve got a busy morning ahead of you.’
Ten minutes later, Jan and Turpin entered interview room two.
Annie Hartman sat alongside a
duty solicitor who had been appointed for her, and kept her gaze lowered to the pockmarked surface of the table while Jan began the recording and recited the formal caution.
The woman in front of her seemed broken, her body language unchanged since uniformed officers had swept into the Farriers Arms the night before and made the arrests.
Perhaps a night in one of the cells in the station’s large custody suite had given her a taste of what her future held.
Turpin made the introductions, and turned his attention to Annie.
‘How long have you been participating in illegal poker games, Ms Hartman?’
Annie wiped at a stray tear that streaked down her cheek. ‘About five months.’
‘How did you get involved?’
‘I went to the Farriers Arms at Easter for a party. It was Jessica’s idea – she was working that night because they needed extra staff to work, and she invited me and Isaac. He couldn’t make it because his wife had bought tickets to a gig in Oxford, but I decided I’d go along. I don’t get out much.’
‘What happened?’
‘It got late – I wasn’t drinking. I had to drive back home and then open the store the next day. It must’ve been just before last orders when I overheard Noah Collins talking to someone about an event happening on Monday night. I was surprised – there were no posters up in the pub. Being at the party made me realise I’d been missing out. I was enjoying myself for the first time in ages. My husband left me two years ago, and I guess I became a recluse. I’d forgotten how much I relied on him to boost my confidence.’
Jan rested her pen against her notebook and raised an eyebrow, wondering if Annie was hoping for sympathy.
After a moment, the woman shrugged, then continued. ‘Noah introduced me to the man, and said that it was a private party. That I probably couldn’t afford it, and that’s why he wasn’t advertising it – he didn’t want to make people feel bad if they couldn’t join in. I told him I’d done all right out of the divorce, and that I’d had a good time that night so would he mind if I came along.’
‘What did you do when you found out what the private party really was?’ said Turpin.
A flash of excitement flittered across Annie’s face. ‘I thought it was great. When my husband was still around, we’d spent a couple of holidays in Las Vegas. I knew how to play poker, and Sonia said she thought it was good that they finally had a woman playing.’
‘Did Sonia ever play?’
‘No. She never joined in.’
‘How much did you have to pay to play each time?’
‘Two hundred and fifty pounds. But that included food and any drinks we wanted.’ Annie straightened, her tone eager as if to justify the expense.
‘Did you know your employee, Jessica Marley, would be there?’
‘No, but it didn’t matter. The first time I went, Noah made me sign a confidentiality agreement.’
Mark paused, and wrote in his notebook.
‘So you went along to the first tournament,’ said Jan. ‘What happened next?’
‘I had a good time,’ said Annie, her chin jutting. ‘A really good time. I won a bit, lost a bit – and it was exciting. They were serious players, just like some of the tournaments I’d watched in Las Vegas. Noah spoke to me afterwards and said that I’d have to keep quiet, and I agreed. I didn’t have a problem with it – it was harmless. I asked him to let me know when he next organised a match, and he told me then that it was a weekly occurrence.’ She dropped her gaze. ‘I just didn’t realise how addictive it would be.’
‘So you started stealing from your employers,’ said Turpin.
Annie widened, and then she cleared her throat. ‘Yes.’
Jan managed to avoid rolling her eyes as the woman burst into tears, and Michelle Yates held up her hand.
‘I’d like to give my client a moment before we continue the interview, please,’ she said.
‘Interview paused at nine thirty-three,’ said Turpin, and jabbed his finger on the “stop” button.
Chapter Fifty-Six
When Mark walked into the interview room next door, it was obvious from the dark circles under Noah Collins’ eyes that he hadn’t got much rest in the cells since he was first interviewed on Sunday night.
Fingernails bitten to the quick, he scratched at the collar of his shirt and trousers that had been assigned to him by the custody suite sergeant, and shuffled on the plastic chair.
Beside him, William Hawsey rolled back his jacket sleeve, then wrote the time at the top of a new page of his legal pad and crossed his legs before giving Noah’s forearm a light tap with the end of his pen.
The publican straightened, brushed the sides of his thinning hair with his hand, and attempted to look complacent.
Mark was buying none of it. ‘Interview commenced at nine forty-five. Present are Noah Collins, William Hawsey of Hawsey and Wainwright Solicitors, DS Mark Turpin and DC Jan West. Mr Collins – we currently have six people in custody, all of whom arrived at your pub after closing time last night wondering what had happened to their regular poker tournament. Do you have anything you’d like to tell us?’
‘No.’
‘Annie Hartman was the last person to turn up. We’ve just spoken with her, and she says you invited her to join in with the poker games after Easter this year. Were you aware of her financial situation?’
‘None of my business.’
‘Except that by inviting her to those games, you made it your business.’
Noah smiled. ‘It’s not my business if someone has a habit they can’t afford.’
‘Did you give any of the participants the option to stop?’
‘Why should I? It’s their money.’
‘Annie is currently under investigation by her employers for embezzlement.’
To Mark’s surprise, Noah slapped the table with his hand and barked with laughter.
‘The stupid bitch,’ he said. ‘She told me she had money left over from her divorce. Life and soul of the party, she was.’
‘Annie also told us that you made her sign a confidentiality agreement and made threats to her about what would happen if she broke that agreement. Did Jessica have to sign the same document? Did you kill her after you overheard her talking to Nigel White about reporting the tournament to the police?’
‘Is that what Annie told you?’ Noah choked out a bitter laugh before shaking his head. ‘She probably wishes that was what happened.’
Mark frowned, glanced at Jan – who wore a similar perplexed expression he was sure matched his own – and then rested his hands on the table. ‘Well, what did happen to Jessica then?’
Noah glanced at his solicitor, who leaned forward.
‘Anything my client tells you should be taken into consideration by you when contemplating his actions,’ said Hawsey. ‘He is a hard-working member of his local community, despite any mistakes or errors of judgement on his part.’
Mark ignored him, and glared at Noah. ‘Get on with it.’
‘First thing we heard about it was when Annie phoned the pub ten minutes after Jess left at twelve-thirty. In a right state, she was.’ Noah gave a slight shake of his head.
‘Why did you end the tournament early?’
‘Because I overheard Jessica arguing with Nigel – he was telling her to keep her voice down, but I heard enough. She was going to report the poker tournaments to someone – I presume you lot – and I was worried we might get raided.’
‘What did Annie want when she called?’
‘What a fucking mess. I couldn’t help her – I’d had a few drinks while the match was on, so Sonia had to go.’
‘Go where?’
‘Up the lane. I don’t know whether Annie suspected Jessica was the reason I closed the game for the night or what, but when I called time on the night, she was winning. Handsomely, I reckon, by the look on her face when I wrapped things up at twelve-fifteen and kicked everyone out. They were still playing the first game, and I took a lot of fla
k for that.’
Mark bit back the surprised retort that attempted to pass his lips, and instead tried to keep up with Noah’s revelation. ‘Are you suggesting that Annie Hartman killed Jessica Marley?’
‘Well, she tried to. That was the problem, see. She didn’t hit her hard enough, despite using a bloody wheel jack. You’ve seen Annie – she’s not a big woman, and I don’t care how pissed off she was. She wasn’t going to be able to lift Jessica into the back of her car on her own. She needed help.’ He shrugged. ‘So Sonia helped. She and Annie put Jess in the car, covered her up and dumped her.’
Fighting down the anger that surged through him, Mark ignored the stunned expression on the solicitor’s face at the turn of events. ‘Why the gallops?’
‘I don’t know. Ask Sonia. When she came home later that night – early morning, I suppose – and she told me, I said to her it was a stupid idea. I think that’s when she realised she’d made a mistake.’
‘You mean helping Annie?’
‘No – leaving Jessica in the middle of the bloody field.’
Stunned at the man’s lack of remorse, Mark pressed on. ‘Why did Nigel White tell Bethany to keep her nose out of it? He frightened her.’
Noah leaned his elbows on the table. ‘Someone had to tell her to keep her mouth shut. If she hadn’t thought she was going to get away with coming into the pub that night and asking questions about Jessica’s death, she’d have been left alone. It was all Nigel’s fault we were in this mess in the first place, and I thought he had a vested interest in protecting our poker syndicate, so I told him to have a word with her. Didn’t expect him to lose his temper like he did, though. Turns out the guilt got too much for him.’
‘Except Nigel didn’t kill himself from remorse, did he?’ Jan slipped a photograph from the folder and turned it to face Noah and his solicitor. ‘This was taken at the post mortem. See the markings around his neck? That’s caused by someone strangling Nigel. That person then hanged him to make it look as if it was suicide.’
Her Final Hour Page 24
