A Darker Place

by Rachel Amphlett

  A blackboard next to the door greeted patrons with a note of that day’s specials.

  ‘£9.99 for a bowl of soup?’ Barnes muttered under his breath. ‘We should have them for daylight robbery.’

  ‘Good luck getting that past the Crown Prosecution Service.’ Kay elbowed him in the ribs and nudged him inside. ‘Behave, or else I’ll tell Pia you’re bringing her here for her birthday.’

  He led the way, grumbling under his breath, and after passing through a hallway with wooden panelling to the walls, Kay found herself in a front reception room of the old vicarage that had been turned into a welcoming space for guests awaiting a table.

  The original plaster cornices had recently been painted off-white, and a soft green hue covered the walls. Her heels resonated across a parquet floor until she reached a thin patterned rug that led to a reception desk.

  A young woman appeared through an open doorway off to the right, smiling while she held a pair of leather-bound menus in one hand.

  ‘Good afternoon, can I––’

  Kay flashed her warrant card. ‘DI Hunter, and my colleague DS Barnes. Could we have a word with Mr and Mrs Peters, please?’

  The woman’s jaw dropped, and then she placed the menus on the desk. ‘They’re both in the kitchen at the moment, prepping for the evening service.’

  ‘It’s urgent.’

  Blushing, the woman nodded before scuttling away.

  Barnes checked his watch after five minutes. ‘It’s half past four. How much time do they need to prep?’

  ‘We always insist on preparing our food the day it’s served, detective. It means some extra work but it’s worth it.’

  Kay turned at the sound of the voice to see a large man enter the room from the hallway beyond the reception area.

  His height caused him to stoop under the door frame before he held out his hand. ‘I’m Tom Peters. Zoe’s got her hands full at the moment in the kitchen but if I can help you while she’s finishing up…’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Peters. Have you got somewhere private we could have a chat?’

  ‘Sure. Why not come through to the restaurant? We’re not expecting our first guests until six-fifteen.’

  With that, he turned on his heel and led them out across the hallway and into a dining room that Kay realised stretched from the front of the property right the way through to the back.

  Decorative glass doors at the rear of the room overlooked a lawn that tumbled towards a river, the landscape beyond basking in the late afternoon sun.

  ‘This is quite a place you’ve got here, Mr Peters.’

  He shrugged. ‘Thank you. It needed some work when we first took over but we’re getting there.’

  Kay took a seat at the table beside the window he indicated and waited while Barnes got out his notebook. She admired the cutlery that had been polished to a high sheen then leaned back in her chair, unwilling to crease the freshly folded polyester napkin in front of her.

  ‘Mr Peters, we’re currently in the middle of a murder investigation and we’re hoping you might be able to help us with our enquiries,’ she began, ‘with particular reference to Mike and Ann O’Connor who sold this place to you last year.’

  Peters rubbed his chin and leaned forward, straightening a small posy of flowers in a glass vase in the middle of the table. ‘Is this about the dead man found at Mike’s garage we heard about? What do you want to know?’

  ‘Have you spoken to Mike or Ann O’Connor since the sale?’

  ‘No – no reason to, really. Once the stock-take’s been done on the day of handover that’s pretty much it – we were all set to open that evening.’

  ‘Were there any issues during the purchase of the restaurant that gave you cause for concern?’

  Peters shook his head. ‘Not that I recall. I mean, every owner has their own way of doing things. We made some immediate changes based on what myself and Zoe wanted to achieve with the place long-term, and other changes were more gradual, such as redoing the decor in here. There’s always a danger when you take over a place that you might upset regulars so it’s best to take it easy to start with. Mind you, it’s a lot easier with a place like this than, say, an established pub business.’

  ‘Where were you before?’

  ‘We had a hotel in Totnes.’ He gave a small smile. ‘This is better though – at least the clientele go home at the end of the day. It was always Zoe’s dream to have her own restaurant, and the hotel sale went through quickly so we decided to go for it.’

  ‘Have you experienced any trouble here since?’

  ‘No, not at all. It’s just doesn’t attract that sort of crowd, I suppose.’ Peters frowned. ‘A couple of Mike and Ann’s suppliers weren’t impressed that we stopped using them and tried to cause a few minor issues – trolling us on social media and leaving spurious reviews, that sort of thing, but they soon stopped once they realised it wasn’t making any difference. Our service to our customers speaks for itself.’

  ‘Who––’ Kay paused as a broad woman appeared in the doorway to the restaurant and, spotting the three of them sitting at the far end table, wandered across while she wiped her hands on her apron.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she breathed, pulling out a chair next to Peters and easing into it with ill-disguised stress. ‘One of our kitchen porters called in sick half an hour ago so it’s bedlam out there. I’m Zoe, by the way.’

  ‘Thanks for taking the time to speak with us,’ said Kay. ‘I was about to ask your husband about the suppliers he said were leaving bad reviews about the business – who were they?’

  ‘Oh, them.’ Zoe chuckled. ‘Mike and Ann… for the past couple of years they were here… decided to cut some corners, shall we say. I mean, nothing untoward – it’s becoming more popular, and let’s face it, they were looking to sell anyway.’

  Barnes looked up from his notebook. ‘What sort of corner cutting are we talking about? Health and safety?’

  ‘God, no. Just on the food side of things. They were using a company on the other side of Maidstone to provide the restaurant-style takeaway food service and catering for events that was an element of their business.’

  ‘What was the name of the company?’ said Kay, blinking when Peters told her. ‘And you say you’ve never used them?’

  ‘When we took over, we severed the contract with the caterers straight away,’ said Peters. ‘They weren’t happy about it – even went as far as sending someone over here to have a word.’

  Kay straightened. ‘Are you saying you were threatened? Did you report it?’

  ‘No, we didn’t report it.’ Peters shrugged. ‘It wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle, and besides – we had security cameras put in the day after we moved in, so if anyone did try anything we’d know about it.’

  ‘What about your customers? Didn’t they mind the change?’

  ‘We lost some money to start off with when we took over and closed that part of the business but it was worth it in the long run,’ said Peters.

  Zoe nodded at her husband’s comment. ‘We prefer to do things ourselves – we owe it to our customers to be honest about where our food comes from. If they thought we were farming out the work they think goes on out there in that kitchen, they’d be mortified. I’m surprised Mike and Ann did it for as long as they did without anyone finding out about it, to be honest.’

  Kay narrowed her eyes. ‘But Ann won awards for their catering and takeaway service, didn’t she? Wasn’t that the basis of that cookery book she published – something about quick meals for busy people?’

  Zoe glanced at her husband before turning back to Kay, a mischievous glint in her eye.

  ‘It’s probably why her publishing deal hasn’t been renewed. They finally found out that she can’t cook.’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Kay eyed the picture-perfect cottage that squatted amongst a pretty garden set behind a privet hedgerow threaded with honeysuckle, her hand on the car door handle.

 
‘Okay, before we go in there, what do I need to know?’

  Laura shifted in the driver’s seat, pulled the keys from the ignition and peered over her sunglasses at the property.

  ‘It must have cost her three quarters of a million, I reckon – and wait until you see the inside. Original flagstone flooring. The living room’s ama––’

  ‘I meant Ann O’Connor.’

  Her colleague’s lips quirked. ‘Sorry, guv. I mean it, though. It’s gorgeous inside. Ann, though… I’ve been thinking about her since you phoned last night and although she seems successful on the outside, I think she’s one of those people who’s afraid she could lose it like that.’

  She clicked her fingers.

  ‘Hanging on by a thread, you mean?’ said Kay.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s go and see what she’s got to say about this catering company, then. Maybe she can explain why they threatened the Peters after they bought the restaurant.’

  Kay picked up a manila folder from the footwell and climbed out. Checking the lane for traffic, she crossed the road and followed her colleague through a gate in the hedgerow and along a path that needed weeding.

  The garden might have been landscaped to within an inch of its life, but the cracks were starting to show.

  She paused while her colleague rang the ornate iron bell fixed to the wall beside the door.

  After dropping Barnes back to the station, she’d caught Laura as she was leaving the incident room for the day and corralled her into a spare pool car.

  Reasoning that the young detective constable had already met and interviewed Ann O’Connor last week, and keen to engage the woman without having to start building a rapport from scratch, she was glad that Laura had leapt at the chance to visit the woman’s home once again.

  Now, lifting her gaze, Kay noticed thick cobwebs under the thatch and paint peeling away from the wooden window frame to her right.

  Her colleague might be enamoured with the place, but Kay’s impression was of a once-successful businesswoman living beyond her means.

  She wondered how long it would last.

  Turning as the door opened, she listened as Laura made the introductions.

  Ann O’Connor’s face was lined, with the features of a woman who had spent too much time in the sun over the years, the skin at her throat twisted and sagging. Despite the heavy make-up, Kay could see stress emanating from the woman’s eyes.

  ‘I don’t understand why you need to talk to me again,’ she said to Laura, stepping to one side and waving them in. ‘Hasn’t Mike explained that I’ve got nothing to do with his business?’

  ‘This is about the restaurant,’ said Kay. ‘I have a few questions I’d like ask you before I speak to your husband again.’

  Ann arched an eyebrow, then gave a slight shrug and gestured to the living room. ‘In you go, then. Although I’m not sure what help I’m going to be after all this time. It’s been a year since we sold to the Peters, after all.’

  She didn’t wait to see if they followed and padded across the stone floor in bare feet before curling up on one of the two-seater sofas in the room, pulling a cushion into her lap and picking at a seam while Kay sat opposite.

  Laura remained by the hearth, out of Ann’s line of sight but positioning herself so she could watch the woman’s reactions to Kay’s questioning.

  ‘We understand that you contracted out the catering side of the restaurant business to another company,’ Kay began. ‘Which one was that?’

  Ann snorted. ‘It wasn’t a company per se. More like a one-man band with a few spotty teenagers working for him out the back of Sandling somewhere. He was hardly ever there. Whenever I phoned, it was always one of the workers that answered.’

  ‘What sort of arrangement did you have with them?’

  ‘It was all above board.’ The woman pushed the cushion aside and swung her feet onto the floor, her eyes pleading. ‘Mike recorded all the sales and receipts and everything in the proper way. We always did when we paid with cash – a lot of food businesses don’t, you know. You can ask our accountant.’

  ‘Did you pay the caterers in cash?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  Ann shrugged. ‘It’s just the way he wanted it.’

  ‘Who? The owner, or Mike?’

  ‘The owner – Alan Trentithe.’

  Kay waited while Laura jotted the name in her notebook, then turned her attention back to Ann.

  ‘Who approached Alan about providing the catering for the restaurant?’

  ‘Oh, we didn’t – Alan came to us.’ Ann’s brow puckered once more. ‘Must’ve been a couple of years ago, at least. He said he was just starting out and was looking for a high-quality establishment to work with. He said he wanted to turn the local takeaway reputation around, and offer something for more discerning clientele. Of course, that was perfect for us.’

  ‘And what happened when you sold the restaurant business?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We understand Tom and Zoe Peters weren’t interested in continuing that arrangement with Trentithe. How did that go down with him?’

  Ann reared back as if she’d been struck. ‘How do you know about that? Did Zoe say something?’

  Kay said nothing, and kept her gaze on the woman.

  Eventually, Ann sighed and gave a slight shake of her head. ‘If I’d known at the time… Alan didn’t take it well. He said we were making a mistake selling the business, and that he could make it worth our while if we stayed. Of course, we weren’t interested. I think Mike and I knew our marriage was over – we just thought if we could get out of the restaurant and spend some time together that we could make it work.’

  ‘Did Alan threaten you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say threatened. He got angry, yes. I suppose he was frustrated – I mean, he was doing very well out of us, what with the events catering––’

  ‘And the takeaway service,’ said Kay.

  Ann blushed. ‘Yes. That, too. Of course, that all backfired on me, didn’t it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Kay kept her tone light, watching the woman’s face for a reaction.

  ‘I suppose it’s all going to come out now anyway. I used a lot of the recipes for food they provided in my first cookbook, you see. Of course, I put my own twist on them – you can’t copyright an idea, and Alan had never thought of writing them down, let alone publishing them. By the time the book came out, the sale of the restaurant was agreed and Tom and Zoe were about to take over.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I suppose they didn’t tell you that they had the best three months of that business when the book came out? I know – I do all the hard work, and someone else reaps the benefit.’

  Kay ignored the self-pitying remark and instead flipped open the manila folder.

  ‘What did Alan have to say about the book?’

  ‘I don’t know – we never heard from him again after we left the restaurant. I suppose he has other clients and simply continued to work with them.’

  Kay lifted two photographs from the pages within, then held them out. ‘Do you recognise either of these two men?’

  ‘Who are they?’ Ann reached across to an occasional table beside the sofa and slipped on wire-framed reading glasses.

  ‘We were hoping you could tell us.’

  ‘Are these from security cameras?’

  ‘If you could just answer the question.’

  A silence descended on the room, broken only by the sound of Ann O’Connor flicking from one A4-sized photograph to the other.

  ‘Huh,’ she said, holding up one copied from the antiques shop CCTV. ‘That looks like Barry.’

  ‘Barry who?’

  ‘I don’t know his surname. He used to turn up to collect Alan’s cash every Monday.’

  ‘What did he drive?’

  ‘God, some beat-up looking car. I can’t remember the make or model.’ Ann frowned, and then her face brightened. ‘I do remember it was burgundy-co
loured, though.’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  ‘How the bloody hell did we not know about this Barry character owning the burgundy car?’

  Kay marched into the incident room, ignoring the heads that turned at her barked question, and stalked towards the far end.

  A freshness had clung to the early morning air, while in here the sound of car horns and hydraulic brakes from larger vehicles filtered through the front windows that overlooked the main road outside the town police station. The stench of burnt coffee beans mingled with the fat from hurried breakfasts eaten on the move, and an exhaustion emanated from her colleagues as she swept past them.

  She paced the thin carpet tiles in front of the whiteboard, glaring at the notes that covered the shiny surface before turning to face the room once more.

  ‘Come on – one of you must have found out something, surely. It’s been over twelve hours since we interviewed Adrian Whitely and Ann O’Connor. You’ve all read their statements.’

  Parker hurried towards her, his mobile phone in his hand.

  ‘I’ve been onto the woman who reported the car as stolen, guv. She says she bought it for cash from a bloke twelve months ago. He told her he hadn’t bothered registering it as he only had it for a few days and changed his mind about keeping it.’

  Kay rolled her eyes. ‘And she didn’t think that was suspicious?’

  ‘She said she was broke at the time and just needed a car to get to work at the hospital, guv.’

  ‘What about a phone number for the bloke she bought it from? Has she still got that?’

  ‘She did, but it’s out of service, guv. I’ve checked and it was an old pay-as-you-go number, not a contract, so I can’t find an address for him that way, either.’

  ‘Okay.’ Kay sighed. ‘Gavin – what’ve you and Laura found out about this catering business?’

  ‘The lease was taken out through a local commercial agency by Alan Trentithe two months before he started operating the business from the industrial unit,’ said the detective constable. ‘We interviewed the manager of the agency late yesterday but he wasn’t the one who leased it – the bloke who did was taken ill last year and died so all the manager’s got to go on is the paperwork on file.’