She tugged down her jacket and followed him across the road. The sun was still pounding down and she sweated in her heavy uniform. Dennis wore the tweed blazer she’d seen him in almost every day since she’d joined the team. She wondered how hot he was in it. Sweat beaded his forehead and his hair was plastered down at the back. She grimaced.
He walked ahead of her and rang the front doorbell. Ameena Khan had lived in a pleasant-looking detached house on a wide street, not too far from the centre of Christchurch.
Tina wondered how much houses like this cost. Prices fluctuated around the county. Sandbanks was reputedly one of the most expensive pieces of real estate on the planet, while there were parts of Poole that were run-down and as cheap as anywhere in the north. But here in Christchurch, prices would be high. Wealthy, elderly people from inland retired here, bumping up house prices along with the second homers who gobbled up properties and left them empty most of the year. Locals like Tina didn’t stand a chance; she still lived with her mum and dad.
A uniformed constable opened the door. He nodded at DS Frampton. “Sarge.”
The DS frowned. “PC Hughes, what are you doing here?”
“I’m the family liaison officer, Sarge.”
DS Frampton peered at him. Tina could read his mind. What’s a man doing as an FLO? But PC Hughes was a good liaison officer, as skilled as any of the women at putting families at their ease and at becoming invisible when they were at their lowest. He was the only man doing this job, and he got his fair share of ribbing from the other male PCs.
“You going to let us in then?” asked the sarge.
PC Hughes stood back. He shared a knowing glance with Tina, who’d worked with him before. She and the sarge filed past him and into a large open plan space at the back of the house. A man sat at a long dining table, his fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee.
PC Hughes followed behind them. “That’s Tom Holroyd,” he muttered. “The victim’s husband.”
Tina nodded. “Cheers, mate.”
DS Frampton approached the man, holding up his ID. “My name is Detective Sergeant Frampton,” he said. “I’m sorry to have to bother you.”
The man looked up at him. His eyes were red-rimmed and his face grey. His jowls looked like they might drop down into his chest.
He shrugged. “Who are you?”
“Like I say, DS Frampton. This is PC Abbott. We’re from the Major Crime Investigations Team, hoping we can find out more about your wife.”
The man’s mouth dropped even further. “Major crimes? So she was definitely…”
“We can’t be sure just yet,” said the sarge. “But DCI Clarke, she’s the senior investigating officer on this. She wants to get things moving as soon as possible, just in case.”
The man lifted his mug to his lips and then placed it back down again. “I think I met her. Tall, blonde?”
The DS nodded. PC Hughes approached Mr Holroyd. “D’you want a top-up, mate?”
Holroyd looked up at him. “Whatever.”
PC Hughes took the mug off him and made for the sink. He filled the kettle and turned to look at Tina. “You want one?”
She looked back towards the sarge. He shook his head.
“Not right now, sorry,” she said to PC Hughes. “Not for us.”
“Fair enough.” He filled the kettle.
The sarge sat down at the table, at an angle from Mr Holroyd. Tina rounded the table and sat opposite the sarge, so the two of them flanked the man.
He stared down at his hands, which he was turning over on the table, peering at the fingernails. Occasionally he would lift one to his lips, and nibble at it.
“Where are your children?” DS Frampton asked.
Holroyd looked up. “With their Gran.”
The sarge nodded, relieved they wouldn’t be interrupted. “You spoke to my boss last night, I understand,” he said.
“Yeah, she wanted… I can’t remember what she wanted. She told me about Ameena.”
Tina curled her toes in her shoes. No matter how many times she’d sat with people like Tom Holroyd, it never got any easier.
“We just need to know if there’s anything going on at work or in her personal life, that might mean somebody wanted to hurt your wife,” the DS asked.
Holroyd looked at him “Hurt her?”
The sarge nodded.
“Kill her, you mean?” said the man.
The sarge stiffened. “Possibly,” he replied, his voice gentle.
The victim’s husband shook his head. “I can’t believe anybody would be that angry with her. I mean, she’s a lawyer. You make enemies, don’t you, as a lawyer? I don’t know, it’s not my bag. I never bothered with it, wish I had now.”
“You didn’t talk about work? She didn’t discuss cases with you?”
Holroyd shook his head. “Good God, no. She was adamant on confidentiality. She was a criminal lawyer, you know. Dealt with… Well, I don’t know who she dealt with, but you can imagine, can’t you?”
Tina nodded. She could imagine indeed. She wondered if Nevin, Cross and Short dealt with the kind of criminals she was used to. Low-level crimes, burglaries, petty assaults. Or whether they were more accustomed to the criminals that the MCIT tracked down. The DCI was going to the law firm; she’d find out, if anybody could.
She stretched out her hand on the table, leaving it close to the man’s but not quite touching. “Could there be anybody who might want to hurt you?” she asked.
The sarge flashed her a look.
Holroyd stared at her. “I’m a head teacher. I work at a primary school. No, of course not.”
“No parents, no excluded children?” the DS asked.
Mr Holroyd turned to him. “It’s not that kind of school. It’s just a little place. A community, a happy family, we get along. I mean, of course there are some kids who are naughty. But nothing serious. I haven’t had to exclude a child for years.”
“And no parents who have taken against you for any reason?” the sarge asked.
Holroyd shrugged. “Why would they? Of course not.”
Tina clenched her fists on the table. She could feel grief and despair shining out of this man. Right now, he didn’t know how to get from one day to the next, or even one moment to the next.
“How did she seem in herself?” she asked. “In recent days and weeks?”
He looked at her. “She was stressed, I guess. Worried about something. A case, she told me, didn’t say what.”
“She had a difficult case on right now?” DS Frampton asked.
Holroyd nodded. “I think so. God, you must think I’m a terrible husband. I never talked to her about her work, even when it was stressing her out.”
“We don’t think anything of the sort,” said Tina.
PC Hughes placed a full mug in front of Mr Holroyd. Holroyd grabbed it and drank, long and slow. The three police officers watched him. Finally, he placed it back down on the table and closed his eyes.
“I can’t help you,” he said. “There’s nothing. She was a happy woman, we had a happy marriage, and two beautiful children. She didn’t do this to herself and if someone else did it to her, I’ve got no idea who.”
Chapter Eight
Lesley drove towards Bournemouth, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel. Ironically, the traffic grew thinner as she neared the town centre.
Away from the ‘grockles’, traffic was more predictable, less seasonal. Here she knew how long it would take to get from one place to another. On the Isle of Purbeck, in contrast, it could take anything from ten minutes to an hour and a half to get from Wareham to Swanage.
Even so, there were signs she was in a tourist area. Adverts for ice-cream stood outside shops, people wore shorts and t-shirts and there was an atmosphere of relaxation and cheer.
Nevin, Cross and Short was in the city centre. Lesley spotted a sign for Boscombe, where Elsa lived, and wondered if Elsa would be at work. Would she admit to knowing the senior investigating offi
cer on this case? Did her colleagues in the law firm even know she was gay?
Lesley wasn’t sure how she felt about it herself. Part of her hoped Elsa wouldn’t be there, that she’d get to speak to one of the other partners. It had only been yesterday that she’d even discovered that Elsa was a partner at all.
She’d known Elsa worked for a criminal law firm in Bournemouth. She’d known Elsa might confront her one day on a case, but neither of them had talked much about work. It hadn’t occurred to her that Elsa would be one of the most senior members of her firm.
Lesley parked in the underground car park in Hinton Road. Bournemouth was part of an urban sprawl, beginning with Poole and stretching into Hampshire. But as she left the car park, she found herself surrounded by low buildings and with a view of the sea. Sprawl or not, it certainly wasn’t Birmingham.
She walked to the offices of Nevin, Cross and Short and pressed the buzzer outside. The firm was unprepossessing from the front. Just a darkened glass door in between shops and a sign above announcing the name of the firm.
“Can I help you?” came a voice over the intercom.
She peered in and spotted a camera. She held up her ID. “DCI Clarke, Dorset Police,” she said. “I’d like to talk to a senior partner.”
“One moment, please.”
Lesley stood back. Was this the kind of firm that would instantly admit a police officer, or would they make her wait?
A moment later, her question was answered when the door buzzed. She leaned on it to enter the building. Ahead was a flight of stairs, plaques on the wall telling her that three firms occupied these offices. So Elsa’s firm wasn’t as big as it seemed.
She hurried up the stairs and found a woman in a crisp black trouser suit waiting at the top.
“My name’s Amanda,” she said. “I’m Mr Nevin’s PA. Can I help you?”
“Is Mr Nevin a partner?” Lesley asked.
The woman nodded.
“In that case, I’d like to speak to him.”
“It’s not as simple as that. He’s got a court case later this morning.”
“I’m senior investigating officer in the suspected murder of one of your lawyers. This takes priority.”
The woman tugged at her fingers and pointed to a bank of velvet-upholstered chairs. “Please wait here.”
Lesley grunted and headed towards the chairs. The woman disappeared through a wooden door. Instead of sitting down, Lesley approached the door and stopped to listen. There was no glass, no view through. She wondered what was beyond. A large open plan office or a warren of pokey corridors? What kind of firm did Elsa work for? Gleaming glass, modern desks, the highest of high-tech, or one of those old-fashioned firms that she’d dealt with in Birmingham city centre? Tiny little rooms up narrow stairs, sitting in the same pokey upstairs offices as they had for decades.
The door opened and Lesley almost fell through. The PA, Amanda, put out a hand but Lesley righted herself before she had to catch her.
“I didn’t know you were there.” The PA glanced towards the chairs. “I did ask you to…”
Lesley gave her a smile. “He’s ready for me?”
The woman looked at her, her eyes full of doubt and distrust. “Follow me.”
Beyond the door was a vast open plan office. This space must span three or four shops below, Lesley thought. She wondered how much crime took place in Bournemouth to justify law firms this grand.
She followed the woman through the open space and towards a glass office in the corner. A broad-faced man with greying hair and an orange tan sat inside, bent over paperwork. His ornate oak desk was the only thing here that didn’t shine.
The PA knocked on the door and the man raised his hand and beckoned without looking up. The woman opened the door and ushered Lesley through.
Lesley approached the desk. “Mr Nevin?” she asked, raising her ID.
“The one and only.” He closed a file and looked up. His hair was slicked back with gel and his suit was tailored, expensive. This clearly wasn’t a firm that made its money from Legal Aid.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“You’ve not heard?”
He shifted his face into an appropriate expression of concern. “Of course I have, terrible business. Poor Ms Khan.”
Poor Ms Khan indeed, thought Lesley. She’d noticed a hubbub of activity as she’d passed through the office outside. Lively chatter and busy people getting on with their day. Nobody seemed to be mourning the dead lawyer.
She took the seat across from him, despite not having been invited.
“I’m here to find out whether Ms Khan might have had anybody who would wish her harm,” she said, getting straight to the point.
Nevin leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands beneath his chin. “You don’t mess around, do you? Have I met you before?”
“I’ve been in the MCIT for six weeks.”
“That’ll explain it. You’ve not arrested any of our clients?”
“That’ll depend on who your clients are,” she said.
“That’s our business,” he replied.
She’d find out soon enough who their clients were.
“So,” she said, crossing her legs. “Tell me about Ameena Khan. What cases was she working on? Who was she working with?”
Nevin glanced out through the glass towards the open plan office beyond. “She headed up one of our teams, had a team of staff working for her. Associates, paralegals, a PA, you know the kind of thing.”
Lesley didn’t, but didn’t say so. “So what was she working on?”
“That’s confidential information, I’m afraid.”
Lesley sighed. “This is a police investigation, Mr Nevin. If I need to get a warrant to extract that information from you, I will. But it would be much simpler for both of us if you just cooperated.”
He lowered his hands to his desk and leaned forward. “My team are going through her files right now, checking what’s outstanding. There will be loose ends to tie up, cases to assign responsibility for. I’m sure you understand.”
She did. This man was more interested in the smooth running of his firm, than the fate of one of his lawyers. She wondered what it would be like to work here.
She resisted the urge to turn in her seat and see if Elsa was in the office outside. She’d kept her eyes down on the way through, getting a feel for the place but not meeting any eyes.
“So who are the other partners?” she asked him.
“The other partners? Well, there’s me, Harry Nevin, I’m the managing partner. Then there’s Aurelia Cross, and Elsa Short. Why do you ask?”
“Where did Ameena Khan sit in the pecking order?”
“She was a junior partner,” he replied. “Name not on the door yet, but not far off. She was good. Efficient, ruthless, tough. Proper bloody bulldog, she was.”
Lesley noticed how easy he found it to slip into the past tense.
She put her card on the desk. “Here’s my email address. Where you can forward the details of her current cases.”
He sighed. “I suppose I have no choice?”
“Not really.”
He picked up the card, holding it between the tips of his finger like he might catch something. “I’m sure one of the paralegals can sort that. Is that everything you need?”
“Not quite,” she replied. “Did Ameena have any enemies? Any clients who thought she’d failed them? Cases she lost?”
He laughed. “They all get pissed off when you lose, you should know that. I’ve seen you lot getting pissed off in court when we win.”
“I need specifics,” she told him. “Any violent criminals that got sent down despite Ameena representing them.”
“They’d be in prison though, wouldn’t they?” he replied.
“Not necessarily. Not anymore. Or they might have friends on the outside.”
“You think a disgruntled ex-client shoved my lawyer off the cliffs?”
“I don’t think anythin
g yet,” she replied. “I just need to get what background information I can.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said, leaning back in his chair so far she thought he might fall out. He glanced at the card, now on his desk, which was clear except for that and the solitary file. “I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.”
“And meanwhile, you’ll send us over those files.”
He nodded. “Of course we will, I know the law.”
Yes, she thought. He knew the law all right, and he’d take care to make sure he only gave them what he was legally required to.
Lesley tried not to take against witnesses. But with Harry Nevin, she could tell that wasn’t going to be easy. She didn’t imagine working with him would be much fun. He didn’t seem the type to have given Ameena Khan any support, despite her supposedly being such a good lawyer. Could she have been driven to suicide? No. He’s not that bad.
“Is that everything?” he said. “I’m a busy man, you know.”
Of course you are, thought Lesley. They were all busy men.
She stood up. “If you think of anything, you’ll call me?”
He stared back at her. “Of course I will, Chief Inspector. What do you take me for?”
Chapter Nine
Johnny walked back to his car, his limbs heavy. The sun was still beating down, and his shirt stuck to his back.
The last two hours had been a waste of time. No witnesses, nothing to learn.
As he opened the car door, he saw Gail walking down from the headland. Her two CSIs, Gav and Brett, were already loading things into the forensics team’s van.
Johnny approached them. “You finishing up?”
“Yep,” replied Gail. “All done. We’ve taken the cordon down. We’ve removed all the evidence we could find, it’s all been bagged up and it’ll be going back to the lab. My report will be with your boss when we get back to the office.”
The Clifftop Murders (Dorset Crime Book 2) Page 4
