MURDER IN MALLOW COTTAGE an addictive crime thriller with a twist you won’t see coming (Detective Inspector Siv Drummond Book 3)

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  ‘You’re close to Henry, but he didn’t tell you he’s lost his job?’

  They’d walked near the water’s edge. Damian’s red-and-yellow trainers were a flash of colour in the bleak day. He jumped back as a wave surged in.

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Henry’s employer. They’re making him and some other people redundant at the end of this month.’

  Damian shook his head. ‘Oh, poor bloke, that’s rough. He didn’t say. Viv and me knew he was worried and was scanning other jobs. When did they tell him?’

  Ali ducked as a gull screamed over his head. He’d been nervous of the things since one whipped an ice cream from his hand. ‘Last week.’

  ‘I don’t get why he didn’t say something. Maybe he didn’t want to spoil our engagement with bad news. Henry’s kind like that. Or maybe he just needed to process it before he told us.’ He sighed and stared out to sea. ‘This has turned out to be such a shitty week, and it was supposed to be fun. Saffie spends all her time in tears, Viv’s really cut up and Henry’s mum keeps making us meals we don’t want.’

  ‘And you? How are you coping?’

  ‘I’m gutted, mate, all adrift. We’ve been driving all over the place, hoping we’ll spot Henry.’ He gripped the edges of his hood as a sudden breeze snapped at it. ‘What a fucking mess. Can we go back to London soon? I can’t see that there’s anything we can do here, and I’d rather be at work than hang around.’

  ‘We’ll inform you when you’re free to return home. Is Henry happy with Saffie?’

  ‘Very. Ready to settle down, I’d say.’

  ‘Did you see her when you came back in the early hours of Tuesday morning?’

  ‘She was in bed, so no. Saffie’s a clean-living, moderate kind of person. She’d bore me stiff with her quiet, virtuous ways, but they suit Henry. She likes early nights, compared to us. That’s why she’s good for Henry. She keeps him in line and, of course, she’s gorgeous.’

  They were approaching a café, a low timber building with blue window frames and two sets of solar panels. The scent of coffee wafted their way on the breeze.

  Damian pointed at it with his thumb. ‘I’m going to that café for breakfast, if that’s all?’

  Ali had another fag after Damian had gone. The man’s account of the days after the group arrived at Driftwood sounded straightforward enough, but he needed to compare notes with the guv. He eased a finger into the nipping waistband of his trousers and tried sucking in his stomach. He let it out again with a sigh. No matter what he did, the weight crept on. He’d be one on those middle-aged men with protruding bellies that made them look pregnant. Then Polly would leave him for some slim, fit guy, brimming with energy, who didn’t smell of fag smoke. He saw him in his mind’s eye, one of those carefree, hale-and-hearty types who could eat what they like without gaining an ounce. He was sickened by the thought that the picture fitted Tommy Castles. He took a last, panicky gasp of his Gitane before stubbing it out on the edge of a nearby bin.

  It started to rain again and by the time he made it back to his car, the downpour had drenched him. The SOCO colleagues working at the crem would be fed up, plodding around in this.

  * * *

  Siv sat on the end of the bed. Saffie was dressed but lying against the pillows. Her face was gaunt, and she was sipping through a straw from a carton of fruit juice. Siv took in the Bulldog face scrub, copy of Canoe and Kayak magazine, mouth guard and Ian Rankin paperback on what was clearly Henry’s bedside cabinet. It was hard, when someone had gone, to see their everyday bits and pieces waiting for them. She knew from experience.

  ‘This is difficult for you, but I need to ask you for more information.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Thank you. First of all, did you hear Damian and Viv come back in the early hours on Tuesday?’

  ‘No. I was asleep.’

  ‘We’ve been informed that Henry was being made redundant at the end of the month. It’s odd that he didn’t tell you.’

  Saffie froze, the straw in her mouth. Her hand trembled as she put the juice down carefully. ‘He was really losing his job?’

  ‘Yes. I can see that you’re shocked. Viv said he had worries about his employment.’

  ‘She told me that yesterday. Henry hadn’t said anything to me.’ She pulled herself up a little. Her voice was quiet. ‘He asked me to marry him on Sunday afternoon. We said we’d keep the engagement to ourselves for now and not take the spotlight off Viv and Damian. Why wouldn’t he tell me something so important?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Did he tell his mother?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That surprises me.’ Saffie shook her head, closed her eyes.

  Siv gave her a few moments. She wondered how much Saffie was Henry’s trophy, in his life to be paraded about but not really part of it. Perhaps he’d proposed marriage because he was seeking security in another area of his life while his job disappeared.

  When Saffie opened her eyes again, Siv continued. ‘Can you talk me through your movements from when you got here on Saturday?’

  Saffie spoke dully. ‘We arrived about half one, and Viv and Damian turned up just gone two. We all went to the beach, had a drink in the Three Swans and we had fish and chips here in the evening and watched films. We all just hung out or sat out on the porch on Sunday morning. I was reading, Henry was on his laptop. Damian and Viv never get up much before eleven. I expect they watched TV in bed. They spend a lot of time doing that. We went to Henry’s mum’s for lunch. Then Viv and Damian went off in their car. They didn’t come back until much later, not long before I headed to bed. They’d been to the cinema.’

  ‘And what did you and Henry do after Sunday lunch?’

  ‘Henry checked out the kayaks he keeps in his mum’s garage. Then we walked on the beach and went to a café — that was when he proposed.’ She trailed off and took a sip of juice before continuing.

  ‘After that, we came back here. We had a snack and we sat out on the porch for a bit. Henry got a phone call. He said it was about work and went off to deal with something. Then he popped out to have a drink while he was waiting for another call.’ She gazed at Siv, her eyes wide, demanding honesty. ‘Was that call about work? Why would he need to deal with work issues if he wasn’t going to be there much longer?’

  ‘Good question,’ Siv said bluntly. ‘Maybe Henry was tidying up things. Did his mood seem different?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How about Monday?’

  ‘Henry, Viv and Damian went kayaking. That’s not my thing, so I walked into town mid-morning, did a bit of window shopping. I bought gloves in Zara. I wandered around the harbour and had a coffee. I came back here and read. The others got back around four-ish. Then, Monday evening, we had a meal at the Three Swans. They carried on, but I kissed Henry and came home because I had a headache.’ She started to cry very quietly.

  Siv stood, turned away, observing the white spray on the choppy sea.

  ‘Did Henry ever mention a woman called Etta Parton? He went out with her in his teens.’

  Saffie wrinkled her brow. ‘I don’t remember that name.’ She fiddled with a tissue. ‘He had a thing with Viv at Reading, before she got together with Damian.’

  ‘Were they together long?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  Siv showed her a photo of the brochure with the handwriting on her phone.

  ‘I told your DC Hill, that’s not Henry’s writing. I wish you’d stop asking me the same things, again and again.’ She said in a little voice, ‘I hate it here. Imelda doesn’t like me and the only thing I have in common with Viv and Damian is Henry. I’ve been out searching and I’ll carry on for now, but I want to go home soon. I rang my mum and she wants me to stay with her.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Acton, West London.’

  Siv felt Saffie’s pain, but she couldn’t agree to anyone leaving the area yet. It bothered her that they’d found no trace of H
enry Kilgore. She’d been hoping that the publicity in town would produce results, but to date it had brought no reliable information, just the usual timewasters, cranks and lonely people who wanted a chat. She needed time to compare the details that Damian, Viv and Saffie had given them. ‘We’ll let you know when you can go back to London,’ she said finally.

  Siv left the young woman in her room. As she shut the door, she couldn’t help but hear Saffie’s sobs.

  Imelda Kilgore came through the kitchen door as she was putting her coat on.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s any news?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  Henry’s mother looked weary, but her mood was pugnacious. ‘How can someone just disappear? There are cameras everywhere these days. Are you checking them all?’

  ‘Where we can. There are none in the residential back streets that Henry took to Mr Greene’s.’

  Imelda clawed her hair back. ‘I hope you’re questioning him closely. He’s been in prison. He’s clearly untrustworthy.’

  ‘I can confirm that we’re following up with everyone we need to. We’re doing everything we can, I promise you. We’ve publicised Henry’s disappearance widely.’

  ‘The police always sound so reassuring, so why aren’t I comforted? Have your people finished with Mallow Cottage yet?’

  ‘No. These things take time. Ms Kilgore, what do you recall about Henry’s school friend Etta Parton? She went out with him for a while.’

  ‘Ah, Etta!’ Imelda said wistfully. ‘She’s lovely. So pretty, well-mannered and sensible. Intelligent too. She’d bother to hold a conversation when she came to the house. Her parents were both barristers. I had hoped that she and Henry would stay together, but it didn’t last. Henry moped for a while after they finished.’

  ‘Why did they? Was it Etta who ended things?’

  ‘I wasn’t told. But what does Etta have to do with anything?’

  ‘Probably of no relevance, Ms Kilgore.’ Siv’s thoughts went to the abandoned car and the brochure found within. ‘Are the brochures for Berminster Breaks widely available?’

  ‘They’re in all the holiday lets, and in the library, museum and various shops around town. Anyone can print one from the website as well.’

  ‘Thanks. That’s helpful. We’ll be in touch.’

  The woman didn’t reply, just shrugged her jacket off and donned some rubber gloves. She was spraying the cooker hob when Siv left, rubbing it with a cloth as if her life depended on it.

  Chapter 11

  Viv Carpenter needed to go to a chemist, so Siv had arranged to meet her in the harbour café. She was late. Siv sat with her hot chocolate, stirring the froth. She used to come here sometimes, after school and on Saturdays. Then it had a cosy seafaring theme, with fishing nets draped from the ceiling, shells decorating the walls, wooden floorboards and pictures of sailing boats. Rik had pursued her pastime of petty crime in the café. Siv had given it a wide berth after her sister took off without paying a couple of times. Now, there were new owners, who’d gone for a pared-back look of pale pastels, black vinyl flooring, silver spotlights and metal tables and chairs. It felt hygienic but not that comfortable.

  ‘Siv! Siv Drummond! How amazing!’

  She looked up, pleased, startled, to see a woman with a mischievous smile and riot of hair the colour of mulled wine standing near her.

  ‘Hope! Hello!’

  ‘Hello yourself.’ Hope Merrick balanced her coffee and a bulging leather bag. ‘My goodness, where to start! Are you visiting?’

  ‘No, I live here now. Moved back from London.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last year.’

  ‘Are you still in the police?’

  ‘That’s right. How about you?’

  ‘Social worker. God, it’s been how long?’

  ‘Must be fourteen years.’ Hope had been a school friend, and the sight of a familiar face was more comforting than she’d expected.

  ‘Well . . . we’re a bit older. Are we any wiser?’ Hope laughed, a throaty chuckle that Siv remembered well.

  Siv grinned in response. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘You should have got in touch when you came back to town.’

  ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit preoccupied. New job and everything. Lame excuse.’

  ‘Never mind, fate has intervened. And Rik, what’s she doing now?’

  ‘Rik’s in Auckland. I’m not sure what she does.’

  ‘She was always a riddle hidden in a mystery. Listen, I’m late for a meeting, but I’d love to catch-up.’

  ‘That would be great.’

  Hope put her coffee down and fished a card from her pocket. ‘That’s my work email, contact me there and we can do phone numbers.’ She gazed at Siv for a few moments, picked up her coffee, then hurried away.

  Siv read the card.

  Hope Merrick

  Berminster Social Services

  Adult Community Care Team

  Hope Merrick. They’d been such good friends at school. Correction: Hope was her only real female friend ever. For so long Siv had looked up to and trusted no one but Rik, her big sister and protector. They’d been a tight unit for many years, and Siv had loved, admired and possibly been a little frightened of wayward, difficult Rik. So, when Siv had landed as a newbie at yet another school in mid-term, Hope, with her open and engaging nature, had been hard to resist. They’d had a few adventures together, dating twin brothers at one point, and sneaking out to parties their parents didn’t know about. In the summer, they’d swum in the river. It really was good to see her — Siv felt cheered by the encounter. She tucked the card away for safekeeping — she would follow up on that drink with Hope, she’d make sure of it — as she saw Viv arriving.

  Viv opted for coffee and a huge cheese scone. She slathered it with creamy, golden butter that was the same colour as her hair. Siv regarded her robust frame and fresh complexion. She was the hearty type who’d have been chosen as team captain in PE lessons.

  Siv took her through her itinerary since Saturday. Viv responded easily, without hesitation.

  ‘We had a terrific time kayaking. I really needed the exercise. I wasn’t sure that we should leave Saffie on her own for the day, but she doesn’t like outdoor stuff so . . .’ She crumbled a piece of scone. ‘There are times when I struggle to understand why Henry got together with her. I mean, she’s not that sociable, whereas he’s a party animal, and they don’t share many interests.’

  Siv decided to keep back the information about Henry’s and Saffie’s marriage plans. ‘Henry might like coming home to peace and quiet, a calm island in the storm of modern life.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘You and Henry were an item at university.’

  ‘Did Saffie tell you that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No surprises there. She’s the type who broods and makes mountains out of molehills. I went out with Henry during the first term. It was lust at first sight, but it didn’t last. Soon as I met Damian, I knew he was the one.’

  ‘The prior relationship never causes any discomfort?’

  ‘No. Why should it? These things happen.’

  Siv found that a tad blasé but let it pass. ‘You met Henry when he was fresh from school. Did he talk to you about his friends here in town? We’ve asked you about Eugene Warren before, but are you sure you’d not heard of him?’

  ‘We did a bit of that background stuff when we got together. I’ve been trying to remember. To be fair, we mostly had a lot of sex and didn’t do that much talking. Hope that doesn’t shock you.’

  ‘I could tell you a few stories about police college. Anything about Henry and his life is helpful.’

  ‘He may have mentioned Eugene when we first met. He said someone had gone a bit weird and fallen off the radar. I honestly can’t be certain it was this Eugene guy, though. Henry definitely did drugs as a teenager, because he said he’d had to wean himself off them. He realised that he had an addictive perso
nality, and he was determined to try and limit his dependency on alcohol. He was clean when I met him — as far as I could tell.’

  ‘What types of drugs did he take?’

  ‘No idea. I’ve always been terrified of them, so I didn’t ask.’

  ‘Henry was informed last week that he’d be made redundant at the end of the month.’

  ‘Yeah, Damo said your sergeant had told him. That’s hard.’ Viv bit her lip. ‘It probably didn’t come as a surprise, though. D’you think he’s gone off somewhere to lick his wounds?’

  ‘Would that be like him?’

  ‘Hard to say. Thing is, Henry’s always been successful, so I’ve never seen him deal with something like this. He’s a buoyant, glass-half-full type, though. Usually, anyway. Maybe coming back here affected him.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Viv chased melting butter around her plate with the last wedge of scone. ‘It’s a lovely town and it must have been a great place to grow up, but after living in London, it’s sort of slow and provincial. It can be difficult, returning to the place where you were young. I grew up in Leicester and when I visit, it reminds me mainly of my teenage dissatisfaction and heartbreak. After a day or two, I’m ready to leave. Did you grow up here?’

  ‘I moved here when I was a teenager. It was something of a haven for me.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude about your hometown.’ Viv smiled the cheerful smile of a person who doesn’t really believe they’ve given offence. ‘I reckon Henry has the best of both worlds, with London as his base and free accommodation by the sea a couple of hours’ drive away.’

  This conversation was frustrating. It wasn’t leading anywhere. They knew all this, and it wasn’t getting them any closer to finding Henry, Siv thought. She finished her coffee. ‘Picture Henry as he walked away from you on Monday night. Did he seem his usual self?’

  Viv narrowed her eyes. ‘Absolutely,’ she said firmly. ‘Just merry with booze, that’s all.’

  This is pointless. Siv gave up. She left Viv buying postcards in the newsagent’s next to the café.