by Carol Wyer
Jamie swatted her words away with a dismissive ‘Nah. That’s guesswork.’
Emma scowled at him. ‘It’s called discussing theories.’
‘Whatever you call it, it isn’t proper policing.’ Jamie swung back to his computer screen.
They were disturbed by a knock at the door. One of the forensic officers who had accompanied Kate to Laura’s house was holding up an evidence bag.
‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. We’ve just found this hidden between the folds of a book at the property we searched. We weren’t sure if it was significant or not.’
Kate took the bag and studied the contents: a small photograph of Laura, another woman and two men, all wearing rainbow-striped party hats and pulling faces for the camera. She passed the picture around.
‘It’s been taken in one of those party photo booths you can hire,’ said Jamie. ‘We wanted to hire one for my mum’s sixtieth party but it cost a fortune. Well out of our price bracket.’
‘What book did you find this in?’ Kate asked the officer.
‘A book of Shakespeare’s sonnets, bookmarking the poem Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’
‘Okay. Thanks for this. It might well be useful.’
Once the officer had left, Jamie piped up. ‘You think the boyfriend gave her the book, guv?’
‘I was thinking along those lines, yes. And, if one of the men in this photo was her boyfriend. It would help if we could identify them.’
Emma tapped at her keyboard. ‘I’m going to test out my theory and check her work colleagues.’
From where Kate sat, she could see the Tomkins Solicitors’ website and various profiles of the employees. Jamie scooted into position behind Emma, who clicked the mouse over and over again, pausing at a photo of the senior partner, Geoffrey Tomkins.
‘You honestly think Laura would date any of these fossils?’ said Jamie.
‘Don’t be so ageist,’ snapped Emma.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m only making a perfectly reasonable point.’
‘Stop!’ Kate’s voice was loud.
Jamie caught sight of the photo displayed on the screen. ‘Fuck me!’
The picture was of a dark-haired, strong-jawed man in his late thirties. Emma read out the caption below: ‘Christian Laurent, Head of Matrimonial Finance and Collaborative Law Department.’
Kate got to her feet to take a closer look. It was definitely the man in the photo booth picture. Emma continued through the profiles of the other partners, but there were no images of either the woman in the photo or the other man. ‘There’s only one way to find out if they were dating and that’s to ask him. Jamie, find out everything you can about him, and Morgan, talk to Heather’s colleagues. See if she had any dealings with Tomkins Solicitors or, more specifically, Christian.’ She turned around at the sound of her name being spoken. William was at the door.
‘The super wants a quick word,’ he said.
‘Sure.’
William vanished from sight and Kate checked her watch. It was a few minutes after midday. She steeled herself for the meeting. It would never do to show John Dickson any emotion. Given he could get a progress update from William, there had to be an alternative reason for wanting to speak to her face to face. As she bounded up the staircase, Chris’s voice was loud in her ear. ‘Be careful of what you give away.’
‘Oh, I shall. I’ll be very cautious indeed.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
A motionless silhouette, framed in light from the window, Superintendent John Dickson did not turn immediately to face her. It was probably part of his game to destabilise her, make her feel inferior or, in some way, at fault. She wouldn’t buckle. He’d have to try harder than this. Kate remained with her legs planted, back straight, head lifted, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. When he finally turned around, she was surprised to see anxiety etched across his features. His voice was gentle.
‘Thank you for coming in. Please sit down.’
She took the proffered seat. This wasn’t what she expected. She couldn’t guess what he was up to.
He joined her, relaxed into his large chair, one leg over the other, hands draped over the leather armrests. ‘We haven’t chatted in quite a while, have we?’
‘No, sir.’
‘That’s been my fault. There’ve been many pressing matters to deal with. Actually, I’ve been meaning to have a talk with you for some time.’
His soft smile didn’t fool her, and hairs on the back of her neck rose like hackles. His insincerity was evident, exposed by a coldness in his eyes. She played along.
‘I understand.’
‘How have you been coping?’
She wasn’t fazed by the odd question. He was either feigning politeness or trying to unnerve her by reminding her of what had happened when she’d suffered a major setback and breakdown in March. Since her comeback in May, she’d been doing her job well and he knew it. Her success rate spoke for itself. ‘Fine, thank you, sir. No problems.’
‘Now, Kate, you don’t need to put on a brave face for me. It’s only been four months since you uncovered the truth about Chris’s death. You’ve been through hell this year and—’
She couldn’t contain herself. ‘As you know, sir, I was signed off by the psychiatrist and doctor, who both deemed me fit enough for duties. With respect, I don’t see what the issue is here.’
An edge crept into his voice. ‘There is no issue. I was merely ensuring you feel up to continuing with this case, especially as it has now turned into a double homicide.’
Again, she played along. ‘I appreciate your concern for my well-being; however, I see no reason for me to step away from the investigation. I’m most definitely up to the challenge and fully focused on bringing the perpetrator to justice.’
‘That’s good to hear. In that case, I’d like to discuss the latest, tragic development.’ He gave a sad shake of his head to compound his words. ‘It goes without saying that this investigation is likely to attract a great deal of interest from both the public and top brass, who want it to run without a hitch. Heather was a valued CIO and her death has affected us all.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The crawling sensation across her neck didn’t let up. He was hesitating, pretending to tiptoe in a pre-planned direction. The tiny cough, an apparent clearing of his throat, gave it away. It was the precursor to a punchline.
‘I’ll be frank with you, Kate. I still have some doubts about you. I worry you are not quite as mentally capable as you make out.’ He held up a palm to silence her and gave her a smile. ‘I don’t intend that to be construed in any cruel or derogatory way. Heaven knows you’ve made enormous strides and come back from a very dark place, and I applaud you for that. I should also explain at this juncture, that’s also one of the reasons I’ve denied your requests to lead your old team. I’m sure you’ve felt frustrated by my decision and I want to make it clear, it was down to genuine concern for your health. I don’t think you are quite ready yet. Maybe this investigation will give me a good reason to change my mind about you.’
She held her anger in check. He was not going to goad her into saying something she’d later regret. He didn’t care about her. This was no more than a false act to justify him keeping her shut away in the back office, unable to further her career, or even get back to where she was before Chris was murdered. Dickson’s lips were moving. She’d shut him out, mind on her own thoughts. She tuned back in.
‘Even though the investigation has, due to Heather’s death, become high profile, you will continue to act as lead officer.’ He looked away for a moment, pinched his nostrils between finger and thumb until his nose turned white then released a lengthy sigh. ‘My neck is on the line as much as yours. The chief superintendent wants results and I expect you and your team to be exemplary in every way. Make sure you don’t let me down. That will be all.’
They rose at the same time, face to face, the atmosphere tense. He held her gaze for the briefes
t of moments, but it was long enough for her to interpret it. John Dickson hated her.
‘We’ve got an address for Christian Laurent,’ said Morgan as soon as Kate stormed back into the office. Kate snatched up her car keys.
‘Come on. We’re going to talk to him.’
Jamie looked up. ‘Everything okay, guv? You look majorly pissed off.’
‘I just want to get on top of this as quickly as possible, so make sure you find out every minute detail about this Christian Laurent and gather every bit of information possible on Heather. Send it to our email address.’ She turned on her heel and marched out.
The journey to Hints, a small affluent village between Lichfield and Tamworth, was mostly quiet. Morgan spent the majority of the time checking his mobile for emails and reading out any useful information regarding Christian Laurent.
‘He was born in Lichfield in 1981. Married his partner, Sophie, eight years ago. They have a ten-year-old boy. Worked for a solicitor’s firm in Lichfield until 2019, then took up a position at Tomkins Solicitors in Stafford, and moved to Hints in the same year.’
Her mobile interrupted his monologue. Emma’s name flashed up on the car display. She hit the speakerphone button on her steering wheel.
‘Go ahead, Emma.’
‘Heather’s mobile provider has finally stumped up the information we requested. I’ve not had long to go through the list of numbers called, but a pay-as-you-go phone rang her, the morning before she died. I flagged it because there were a few calls between the two phones during August and it was also the last number Heather rang, about an hour before she left Trentham House. I’ll message the number across to you. I’m about to chase up Laura Dean’s phone provider again. They’re dragging their heels. Some crap about being short-staffed.’
‘Okay. Thanks for the update.’
They pulled onto a large roundabout.
‘Not far now. You need to get into that lane,’ said Morgan, pointing out the road markings.
‘You know your way around here?’
‘Not really, but there’s a Michelin-starred restaurant at Hints.’
Kate snickered and apologised. ‘Sorry, it’s the idea of you eating in a Michelin-starred restaurant.’
‘Yeah, I know. Not my usual pint and a curry night out. I went under protest. An ex-girlfriend’s parents invited us both there to celebrate her birthday. I made a total dick of myself, didn’t eat with the correct knife, swigged the red wine like it was lemonade. In my defence, I was nervous as hell. Anyway, we split up a few weeks afterwards. Not because of the meal,’ he added.
‘Her loss.’ The comment earned her a smile.
Hints initially appeared to be a one-street village, with properties set back from what had been the main A5 route until a dual carriageway bypassed the place. The other side of the road consisted of nothing but vast fields, used for cultivating strawberries. Turning onto School Lane, they found themselves travelling alongside stone walls, steeped banks and tall, thin trees lining the narrow thoroughfare, their shadows darkening the way. The route twisted past farms and grand properties with stable blocks, paddocks and lengthy approaches. They crossed over an ancient hump-back bridge and descended into the heart of the village. Morgan let out a low whistle.
‘Look at that house. Tasty! These places must cost at least a couple of million each.’
‘Uh-huh. I guess so.’ Wealth didn’t impress Kate. She’d come from humble beginnings. Hers was a modern, two-bedroomed detached property, simple in design, but homely. It couldn’t compare to the grand designs along this road but she’d never hankered after bigger or swankier. All she’d ever wanted was somewhere for her and Chris: a house that would one day become a family home.
‘This is it! Oh my freaking days, look at this pad!’
An architect-designed, bold, two-storey structure came into view. Although it was in the shape of a traditional house, that was where all similarity ended. It was as if the entire building had been chopped in two, with one half pushed back a metre before being reattached to its twin, so it didn’t realign correctly. The roofs were offset and the entire frontage, top to bottom glass, was interspersed with metal panels. An attached, single-storey wing, which appeared to also serve as the entrance, was set at an adjacent angle in between each half.
‘Is this some sort of squashed gravel?’ asked Morgan. The minuscule, pale grey stones, the length of the driveway, resembled polished marble.
‘No idea. But whatever it is, there isn’t a weed in sight,’ she replied with little interest. Morgan might be blown away by the weird, glassy drive and the identical squares of lawn, interspersed with more squares, alternately filled with late-flowering red and white roses, yet there was something lacking in this picture-perfect set-up.
‘I’d love a gaff like this. It’ll have cost a fortune.’
‘He’s a lawyer. Probably pulls in a decent salary each year.’
‘It’s like the glass pyramid outside the Louvre, except not a pyramid, only glass: stylish, tasteful. Really out there. You know what I mean?’
‘I get the idea. You like it. A lot.’
He gave her a sheepish grin. ‘My bad. I don’t normally get carried away. This is kind of my dream house. Modern. Different. Okay. I’ll stop. I’m over it now. So over it.’
‘You sure?’
‘Sure.’ He flicked her a smile again. ‘Might need to check out the bathroom though and go for a wander around while we’re here . . . you know? To gather inspiration for my own future-build.’
‘I really hope you’re kidding me.’
‘Course I am.’
He got out and Kate quickly checked her phone, saw Emma had sent the phone number as promised, then jumped out to join him at the front door.
‘There’s no doorbell,’ he said.
‘Knock. Gently. In case you smash the glass.’
‘As if.’ All the same he curled his mitt before tapping it against the door.
A figure appeared, a mobile pressed to his ear. He frowned at the visitors then opened up, speaking to the person on the other end of the phone. ‘I have to go. Something’s cropped up. Catch you later.’ He ended the call and looked from Morgan to Kate. ‘Can I help you?’
They raised IDs in unison. ‘Mr Laurent?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m DS Morgan Meredith and this is DI Kate Young. We’re from Stoke-on-Trent Constabulary. Would it be possible for us to come inside?’
‘Not until you tell me what this is about.’ His eyes narrowed, lips compressing slightly.
‘Laura Dean.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m sorry to tell you she’s dead, sir.’
‘Oh. Oh, my Lord! That’s terrible news.’
‘Would you mind if we came in and asked you a few questions?’
‘What about?’
‘We’ll discuss that inside,’ said Kate.
‘Erm. Okay. I guess so, but I don’t know how much help I can be. I haven’t seen her in a long time.’
They followed him into what seemed to be a cross between a conservatory/living room and a botanical garden with wide-leafed cheese plants and potted exotic palms in huge grey pots, and an ornate cage where two yellow parakeets fluttered from perch to perch.
Christian offered them seats on a curved rattan sofa with duck-egg blue cushions and chose a matching hanging chair for himself. He dropped into it with practised ease. ‘I’m truly sorry to hear about Laura. What happened? An accident?’
Morgan replied, ‘She was attacked on Friday evening.’
He rested his hand against his throat. Kate, trained in body language, noted the automatic and involuntary gesture of vulnerability. Christian was anxious about saying the right thing. ‘That’s truly dreadful. And how can I be of assistance to you?’
Morgan continued with the questions, allowing Kate to observe mannerisms. ‘Firstly, can you describe your relationship with Laura, sir?’
‘As you probably know, she was a legal assis
tant at the practice where I work.’
‘Would you say you had a purely professional relationship with her, then?’
‘Yes. Yes, I would say that.’
‘Purely professional,’ Morgan repeated.
Christian rubbed his chin, backwards and forwards a couple of times before dropping his hand to his lap. With his large presence and stony gaze, Morgan was the right person to press him on the matter.
‘Sir, we need you to be open with us. If you were involved in more than a working relationship, we really need to know: to eliminate you from our enquiries. Do you understand?’
He nodded once, then twice more. ‘Yes, I understand. We might have met up a couple of times outside work.’
‘As work colleagues?’
‘We were most certainly colleagues. Nothing more.’
Morgan stared in silence at the man.
‘I haven’t seen Laura since the day she handed in her notice, or been in contact with her.’
Morgan handed across the photo booth picture. ‘Could you explain this, then?’
He gave a weary smile. ‘It was taken at a party, last summer. All the guests were invited to have their pictures taken.’
‘And you chose to go into the booth with Laura. Why her in particular?’
‘I went in with loads of people, not only her. My wife and I were hosting the party. I reckon I had my picture taken with almost every guest.’
‘The thing is, Laura kept this picture in a book of love poems. It obviously meant something to her.’
When Christian didn’t respond, Morgan pressed on with ‘Were you in a relationship with her?’
‘No.’
‘Yet she hung on to this photo for some reason.’
He levelled his gaze at Morgan. ‘Probably because of my sister, Ilsa. That’s her in the picture.’
‘Are you saying they were in a relationship?’
Christian looked away. ‘I don’t see what business it is of yours.’
‘Let me remind you, we’re conducting a murder enquiry. Everything we ask is relevant, so I suggest you assist us.’
‘I’ve told you what you need to know.’
