by Diane Saxon
‘So, he didn’t make a pass at you?’ He gave a childish nudge of her shoulder as she indicated to come off the dual carriageway. ‘Did you want him to make a pass at you?’
‘Certainly not.’ Again, too quick to answer, Jenna’s cheeks scalded as she hit the Greyhound Island and took the first sharp turn up the hill into Ketley Bank avenues where she pulled over. Leaving the car in gear, before she switched off the engine, she notched up the handbrake a little harder than normal so the car didn’t roll back down the steep incline.
Jenna leaned over and plucked her handbag from the passenger footwell where she’d tucked it beside Mason’s feet. With a quick glance in the rear view mirror she checked her face, smoothing the fine lines under eyes swimming with regret, then ran a swift hand through her hair.
With a low grunt, Mason grabbed the file and gave it a quick scan. ‘Bob Mills.’ He peered out of the window through the thin wisps of fog layering the street. ‘Yeah, this is the right address.’
Jenna cruised her gaze over the three bedroom rabbit hutch of a house with its neat patch of Astroturf grass and one foot white plastic edging fence available from Home Bargains, a pound for five lengths. It must have cost at least three quid.
The chime on her phone sounded again just as she picked it up from the console. She tilted the screen away from Mason. One dark eyebrow lifted at her and her stomach lurched as she glanced at the name on the screen. She slipped her phone into her pocket and locked away her thoughts. She’d deal with Adrian later. Much later. Possibly never.
She stepped from the car, shutting the door with less ferocity than when she got in, and flicked the lock on, checking the doors just in case. They’d be lucky if the wheels were still intact when they got back if the neighbours got wind of a police car in the vicinity.
They took precisely four steps along the pathway up to the front door. Mason rapped his knuckles against the wood and stood back for Jenna to take the lead.
Silver eyes turned to ice as the man who opened the door grazed his gaze over the pair of them. Jenna took a step back as she reached for her ID, having already learned the hard way not to get her face too close to a cornered man.
She tipped her lips in a friendly smile, already alerted to his defensiveness by the way he shot his hip forward and leaned against the doorway, effectively barring their way.
‘Mr Mills?’
‘Yeah.’ Aggression pulsed from him.
‘Hi. I’m Detective Sergeant Jenna Morgan and this is Detective Constable Mason Ellis.’
‘And?’
She kept her smile in place. ‘Would it be okay to come inside, Mr Mills?’
‘Why? I’m a busy man.’
Pushed to the point of arresting him without the required initial questions, Jenna made one last-ditch attempt at niceties. ‘We’ve had some information regarding the Mervyn Lucas Charity that we hope you may be able to help with.’
His lips pursed.
‘You are the treasurer, aren’t you?’
‘I am.’ He nodded, his mouth turned down at the edges, but he stepped back, extending his arm in an invitation for her to enter. ‘If you wouldn’t mind taking your shoes off.’
Relief flooded her. Half the battle was to get in the front door. She kept her smile benign and slipped her shoes off, leaving them on the brand-new hallway carpet. It was only polite to do as he asked. Doubtful that he would strike out, her muscles tensed nonetheless in readiness as she slipped past him through the close confines of the hallway.
‘Where would you like us?’
‘Outside, but, failing that, the door on the left.’
Mason stepped between them, his hulking presence dominating the small space to give her the safety net she required.
Jenna walked through into a small living room with a round, extendable dining table and four chairs on the right and an ‘L’-shaped floral patterned sofa on the left. All brand new. She curled her toes into the plush pile of the carpet, inhaling the scent of new wool. No synthetic polymers in this house.
‘Bob?’ The soft tones of a woman’s voice sounded. Jenna turned as a petite blonde woman came into the living room, her face wreathed with concern.
‘It’s okay, Julie. The police are here to chat about something at work. It’s nothing for you to concern yourself about.’
‘I don’t understand. What have you done, Bob?’
‘Julie.’ Steel edged Bob’s voice. ‘I’ve done nothing. The police are only asking for my help.’ Face frozen in hard lines, he turned to Jenna. ‘Isn’t that right?’
With a search warrant in her file, it was difficult to agree with the man, but Jenna forced a smile and chose neutral. ‘Mr Mills is helping us with our enquiries.’
Thin, plucked eyebrows raised to wrinkle the woman’s forehead. Her lips pursed as she took in both Jenna and Mason. ‘I’ll stay, if you have no objection.’
Bob’s lips quivered for a brief moment before they settled into a straight line as his wife perched on the edge of an armchair and folded her hands in her lap, gazing around at the other three expectantly while she waited for the story to unfold.
As they took their seats, Jenna glanced around at the other items of expense dotted around the room but kept her thoughts to herself. ‘Mr Mills’ – there was no way, it appeared, he was about to invite her to call him by his first name – ‘we have been alerted to a few anomalies at the charity you work for.’
‘Oh, Bob.’ Mrs Mills touched her fingers to her mouth as she sighed out her husband’s name.
Bob sniffed, linked his hands loosely and settled back in his chair, remaining silent, his steely eyes never flickered, and Jenna knew in that moment that the man was guilty of the crime. She just needed to prove it.
‘Can you tell me how long you’ve worked for the organisation?’
He poked out his bottom lip and rolled it over the top one. ‘Probably two and a half years.’
‘Mmm-hmm.’ Jenna opened the file and stared blind at the information in front of her. She didn’t need to see it, it was already etched in her mind, it simply gave her control and time. ‘And you are responsible for the accounts?’ She glanced up, met his gaze.
‘I am.’
‘Good. And with regard to the money, donations and so on, can you tell me who handles this? Is it direct into the account, cash, cheque?’
He shrugged. ‘All of those.’
‘Right. And what do you do when you receive cash?’
He linked his fingers together. ‘I write a receipt. Give it to the person who makes the donation.’
‘Good. Is it possible to see these receipts? Where do you keep them?’
‘I scan them onto the laptop.’ As he twisted his fingers, the knuckles turned white. ‘Enter them into the accounts.’
‘Okay. Can I take a look?’
He ducked his head and blew out a breath as he squeezed his fingers even tighter into each other. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Is there any reason why you wouldn’t want me to look at the receipts?’ she glanced back down at her notes, the three receipts for cash which had been produced from donors. Close friends of the president of the association, they’d raised concerns that the full amounts hadn’t been declared once they’d queried their tax relief in preparation of their accounts. These were only three of possibly dozens.
‘It’s none of your business.’
Jenna chuckled. ‘Mr Mills, I think you’ll find that fraud is our business.’
He jerked upright, offence written all over his face. ‘There’s no fraud. No one mentioned fraud.’ He came to his feet while his wife stared up at him, eyes wide, mouth open. ‘I think you should leave now. I want you out of my house.’
Jenna closed the file and smoothed her hand over it. ‘Mr Mills, I believe we have enough evidence to arrest you and I have a warrant to search your premises and…’ she pushed herself to her feet to look him in the eye, ‘… seize your company laptop and any other computers you have access to with
in the premises.’ She slipped the warrant from the file and held it out to him.
He shook his head, taking a step backwards to bring the back of his knees up against the chair he’d just vacated. ‘You’ll find nothing on those computers, there’s no evidence. I’ve taken nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘Bob?’ Mrs Mills voice cracked as she fluttered a delicate hand to her chest.
Mason rose slowly to his feet, tension pulsing from him. Jenna sent a subtle hand movement to keep calm. She had the situation under control. Things would be fine. The guy might be a major prick, but she was convinced he wasn’t about to assault anyone. Fraud was one thing, assault another. She wasn’t stupid enough to take her attention from him though.
‘In that case, Mr Mills, you won’t mind if we take a look.’
‘You can’t look unless I give you the password.’ His tone turned belligerent.
‘No, indeed.’ Jenna sighed. ‘But I can hand it over to our IT experts who will bypass your password and get into the accounts anyway. It would make it easier if you co-operate.’
‘Nothing’s going to make this easier for me and my wife. We’ve police officers in the front room.’ He flung his arm outwards. ‘A police car outside. For God’s sake, what will the neighbours think?’
Willing to pacify him, Jenna stepped forward, her hand outstretched. ‘It’s an unmarked car. We could be anybody, Mr Mills, not necessarily the police.’
‘You couldn’t be anybody. It’s bloody obvious who you are. In your suits. Fucking pigs.’
On high alert, Jenna jerked her chin up so Mason got the message. His cool blue eyes turned to ice as every sense in Jenna went flat and she gave Bob Mills her full attention. ‘We’re not here to entertain the neighbours, Mr Mills, we’re here to conduct an investigation into serious allegations of fraud. Neighbourhood gossip is not my concern.’ With no other alternative, Jenna looked Bob Mills in the eye. ‘Robert Mills, I am arresting you on suspicion of—’
Mason took a step forward, his hand outstretched to take a hold of Bob Mill’s arm. An ear-piercing shriek tore the air and a raging, screaming virago hurtled into Jenna, Julie Mill’s slight weight enough to make Jenna stagger sideways. Jenna whipped her head around to meet the venom in the other woman’s eyes as her clawed hands reached for Jenna’s hair. Julie yanked and tore at Jenna’s tender scalp. Pain screamed through her and burst from Jenna’s lungs.
‘You fucking bitch!’
Julie’s long nails grazed barely an inch from Jenna’s face. Pure instinct and reflexes kicked in and Jenna snaked her hands around the other woman’s wrists. She squeezed until Julie’s angry scream turned into a pained yowl.
Jenna twisted one arm behind Julie’s back and put the woman on the floor, face into the new shagpile. ‘Julie Mills,’ she spat out, ‘I’m arresting you for assaulting a police officer.’
Before she could complete her recitation of the Miranda act, Julie shrieked, ‘He did it for me. He did it for me.’ Eyes crazed, Julie bared her teeth, with no sign of remorse.
Not affording her any benefit of the doubt, Jenna whipped out her restraints and put them on her assailant, reciting the rest of the Miranda act without stopping.
Her breath heaved in until her lungs burnt. She hauled the slight woman to her feet. ‘I don’t care who the fuck controlled who. You’re both under arrest.’
Bob stood defeated, eyes dull as he looked at his wife with something bordering on revulsion. ‘She’s right. I did it for her.’ His lips rolled in on themselves. ‘Nothing is ever enough for her. She wanted it all. A better house, a new kitchen, a bigger bathroom, a holiday. She was never satisfied.’ He stared at his wife. ‘Nothing was ever enough. I was never enough.’ He shook his head in defeat before he spoke to Jenna. ‘You’ll find all the evidence on the computer. I’ll give you the password, show you where it all is. I accepted cash donations, gave a receipt for the full amount, but changed the receipt before I uploaded it onto the computer and took the difference. It wasn’t difficult. I didn’t think anyone would notice. They have so much money, why would they check their tax situation?’ He ended on a small sob. ‘Twenty-four thousand pounds doesn’t go a long way towards what she wanted. There would always have been more.’
Cold from the inside out, Jenna met his pathetic gaze. ‘Twenty-four thousand pounds would have gone a long way to helping a child with leukaemia, Mr Mills. Possibly even saved lives, and that’s what you’ve deprived someone of.’ She waved her hand, encompassing the whole room. ‘For this. To keep your wife happy.’
She unclipped the radio from her belt and called for assistance as she considered it may be better to separate the two of them in case Julie decided to kill her weak husband before they arrived at the station.
It didn’t take long for two patrols to arrive as they’d both been in the area.
Jenna closed the car door on Bob Mills as her backup took him to Malinsgate. She glanced at her watch, relieved it was almost time to go home. She’d give Bob Mills time overnight before she questioned him again. His harridan of a wife already despatched.
She slipped into the driver’s seat of her own vehicle and massaged the back of her neck. ‘Tell me, Mason, why is it I’m always the one to get attacked?’
Mason’s lips twitched up. ‘Fuck knows. But I’m the good-looking one and you’ve got a face that obviously deserves to be smacked.’
He elicited a reluctant smile from her. While she waited for the car heater to warm up, Jenna scrolled through the texts on her phone. One from Fliss. Jenna grinned. As if Fliss needed to remind her they were out tonight. A date. With a Sainsbury’s shared trolley and the nightmare of food shopping with her sister.
She glanced sideways at her partner. Had Mason asked Fliss out on a date? He hadn’t mentioned it, but then again, she’d told him in no uncertain terms she didn’t want details. He’d let her know in his own sweet time. It wasn’t for her to push.
She tapped onto the messages from Adrian.
Good to see you today.
* * *
Did I do something wrong?
* * *
What about that coffee? I’d like to talk again but I’m only here until tomorrow evening, then I have to get back to London.
They’d had a moment, just a brief flicker of attraction, and if he’d not been married, that flicker could have flared into an inferno, but Jenna squelched any further thought of the very attractive Chief Crown Prosecutor. Avoidance was probably her best form of protection.
She closed the app, slid the car into gear and headed back to the station.
24
Saturday 8 February, 11:25 hours
Disappointed, Ryan checked the time on his phone, saw there were no messages and sipped at his flat white while he gazed out of the coffee-shop window. He’d not been able to convince himself to try another caramel latte since he’d thrown it up in a wave of humiliation. The mere thought of all that sweetness curdled his stomach in an oily glut and the vision of the slaughtered girl flashed into his mind.
With a deliberate turn of his head to disperse the image, he watched an old lady struggle with the heavy door, a slight wince passing over her features as it knocked her shoulder. He lurched to his feet, but by the time he’d crossed the room to help, she was through and he stood for a moment, lost.
He’d almost cancelled the coffee date himself, his heart not quite in it after Marcia had been killed. But he hadn’t known her. There was no connection apart from one encounter with her. Jenna was right. He needed to move on. It wasn’t his fault. Pure coincidence. That was all. And if he was truthful with himself, he’d have never pursued another date with her. Visually, she may have been his type, but nothing else fit.
It didn’t really matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the memory from his mind. Poor woman. Slaughtered. Literally like a pig. Throat slit.
The Shropshire Star’s freelance journalist, Kim Stafford, hadn’t hesitated to throw the ex-boyfriend, Ray, to the wolves in the
first instance. They had no idea where he got his information, but he appeared to be back-pedalling and hinting at something more sinister.
Ryan tipped his head back to rest it against the seat and the image of Marcia flashed in his mind.
Heat travelled up his neck and he tugged at the hoodie he wore to let some air in. A quick change of direction was what his mind needed. He glanced at his phone to check the time.
Carla wasn’t coming. He’d been stood up. They were supposed to meet at 11.00 a.m. He’d even managed to change his shift to accommodate her day off, otherwise it would have been another four days before they’d be able to meet up. He’d put himself out and now he had to work Saturday night instead of going for a drink with the lads. It rankled.
If she couldn’t find a second to drop him a quick text, then maybe she wasn’t the right one for him anyway. It wasn’t as though she was the only woman he’d arranged to date.
He’d set himself a goal. Two coffee or drink dates a week for the next three weeks. Six nurses. He was bound to click with one of them. If not, it was back to the drawing board. He was sick of the pokes and jibes the others made about him being too young to shave, too sweet to date. He wasn’t sweet.
He slipped his fingers over his smooth cheeks, rubbed his whisker-free chin. He couldn’t help it if he had a baby face. His dad said it had taken him until he was thirty before he needed to shave on a daily basis. Christ! Why couldn’t he be like Mason? The guy always had that cool, five o’clock shadow going on. By the time a twelve hour shift was finished, you could grate cheese on his face. Not that Mason appeared to have any more success in dating than him.
At least Ryan was making an effort.
The young nurses didn’t appear to have a problem with him. He’d had a pretty high success rate online. Carla was only the second one he’d asked out, and the second one to accept. Most would consider it a 100 per cent strike rate. A success.
If he could count one dead and being stood up by another any kind of success.
