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

  Siv was waiting by the reception desk when Viv hurried into the station at 9.15 a.m., hand in hand with Damian. They were both out of breath. She didn’t invite them to sit down.

  The reception area was empty, so she asked immediately, ‘Were either of you aware that Henry was in Berminster two weeks ago, Wednesday, lunching with a woman in the Three Swans?’

  They looked clueless and said they knew nothing about that.

  ‘Is that what you dragged us here for at this hour?’ Damian asked.

  ‘Partly.’

  Siv told Viv to wait in reception.

  ‘Why can’t I come with Damian?’

  ‘Because I want to check something with him, then I’ll speak to you.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Stay here, please. Shouldn’t be long.’

  Viv’s posture slouched, and she went to sit on one of the hard, plastic seats.

  Siv took Damian to an interview room. ‘I said nine o’clock, Mr Kyalo.’

  ‘We overslept, haven’t even had breakfast.’ He lifted his glasses and rubbed sleep from the corners of his eyes. ‘Got any coffee? I’m not really awake yet.’

  ‘No. Tell me again about Monday night in the Three Swans, when you were with Viv and Henry.’

  ‘Tell you what? We were drinking and chatting.’

  ‘Did you and Henry argue?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A witness says that you did, when Viv may have been in the loo.’

  Damian shook his head. ‘Don’t remember that. Mind you, we were pretty pissed, especially Henry.’

  ‘The witness said that you appeared angry. They heard you call Henry a “slimy bastard”, and you told him to “keep his hands to himself”. Why would you have been saying that to him? Had he been hitting on Viv, wanting to revisit an old flame?’

  ‘No way! You’ve got that all wrong.’

  Siv studied him. His voice trembled, the lie not quite working. ‘What was it about, then?’

  Damian scratched his stubbly chin and relented. ‘I wasn’t angry, just a bit annoyed at him. He started going on about some hot woman at work, and I didn’t want to hear it. He’s got Saffie. He needs to behave. I told him that as well.’

  ‘Did Henry mention this woman’s name?’

  ‘Nah. He changed the subject when I told him off. Then Viv came back, so we left it.’ He grew truculent. ‘Is this what you’re asking Viv about as well? I don’t want you upsetting her.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll tell you what we’ve spoken about afterwards. Is there anything you want to change regarding your statement of what you did and where you went on Monday night?’

  ‘It happened just like we told you. God, you do harp on.’

  ‘Mind your attitude,’ Siv bit back.

  She led him back to reception and watched Viv leap up and kiss him as if he’d been released from years in incarceration.

  ‘There’s a machine over there with coffee,’ Siv told him.

  ‘That’ll be crap,’ he whined.

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  In the interview room, Viv sat in the chair he’d just vacated, took off her white furry hat, then tucked her hands into it, like a muff. She looked flushed and anxious. ‘What’s this about?’

  Siv talked her through the argument between the men in the Three Swans. ‘Were you aware that they’d had a disagreement?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You didn’t sense an atmosphere when you came back to the table?’

  ‘They seemed fine. Who told you that they were arguing?’

  Siv sat back and folded her arms, pausing for a moment. ‘Were you and Henry having an affair?’

  ‘No! Absolutely not!’ She’d turned a deep shade of scarlet.

  Siv gauged Viv and Damian wouldn’t have had a chance to discuss their reactions. Viv was probably feeling guilty. Time to push.

  She adopted a chatty tone. ‘You’re getting married, Henry was building up to proposing to Saffie — which he did on Sunday, and she accepted, by the way. Sometimes, people revisit old flames before a wedding — last-hurrah territory.’

  It had happened to her before she’d met Ed. A man she’d gone out with briefly and hadn’t seen for over a year had turned up at her flat one night with a bottle of wine, expecting a fling before his nuptials. He was sorely disappointed.

  Viv had gone quiet. She was twisting her hands inside her hat. It was like a fluffy, snow-white kitten on her lap.

  She said, ‘I didn’t know Henry and Saffie had got engaged.’

  ‘They were keeping it under wraps so they didn’t crowd your moment. Aren’t you pleased for them?’

  ‘Course, yes!’

  Siv wasn’t so sure. ‘Was there a last hurrah? Perhaps you’re one of those people who quite like keeping a previous lover onside — having your cake and eating it too. It would add a certain frisson to life, no? From what I’ve heard about Henry, he’s fun and charismatic, whereas Damian strikes me as a bit of a whinger. You spend most of your time mothering him.’

  Viv flinched. ‘That’s really rude. You’ve no right to say that.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Viv. I’m right, aren’t I? I get it. You told me that you and Henry had been passionate at uni. More sex than chat. Maybe Saffie’s more . . . sedate. Maybe Damian is too. Not my business. But solving crime is. I’m not judging you, as long as you haven’t killed anyone. Have you or Damian killed anyone?’

  ‘No.’ Viv sighed and wriggled.

  ‘If you tell me the truth, I can get on with my job. This is time-wasting for me. We’ve got teams of police colleagues and volunteers combing this area, but every passing day the clock ticks against Henry’s chances of being found alive.’

  Viv peeked up under her lashes. ‘Will we get into trouble for not being truthful?’

  ‘No. I can’t be bothered.’ Siv sat back in feigned weariness.

  ‘Please, please, say you won’t tell Imelda or Saffie!’

  ‘Yes, fine.’ She waved her hand vaguely.

  Viv did a bit more hat wringing. ‘OK. Henry came round to our place one night just after Christmas. Damian was out. We had a couple of drinks. He was worried about his job and I was so sorry for him. Anyway . . . we ended up kissing and things got a bit steamy. I stopped it, though. I do love Damian and I didn’t want to hurt him. It was the only time that happened, honest!’

  ‘When did you tell Damian?’

  ‘A couple of days later. We talked it through. He was upset, but I promised him we didn’t actually have sex and it had been a stupid one-off. I begged him not to say anything to Henry about it and, in the end, he agreed. I suppose it came up in the pub because we’d all had quite a lot to drink.’

  ‘And you and Damian went back to Driftwood after you left Henry on Monday night?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Siv let her go and sat in the interview room a little longer. So Damian Kyalo did have a motive to remove his friend from the picture after all. But murder? And if he had killed Henry, surely Viv must know. Siv didn’t quite buy it.

  * * *

  There was a log cabin decked out as a play hut in a corner of the school playground. The head told them that it was also used for support lessons when the weather allowed. It wasn’t heated, but it was enclosed and dry and the school was pushed for space, so Siv and Ali had agreed to talk to Tara Warren in there. It had a fixed table, jolly cartoon cushions on the benches and the windows had curtains patterned with the planets.

  The narrow bench creaked as Ali had trouble fitting his considerable behind on the slim seat, which was made for neater bottoms. He pushed a Minions cushion aside and perched, tilted forward. Siv couldn’t help but marvel at his ample frame in the tiny space as he began to address Tara. ‘We’ve found the car your brother travelled to Berminster in. We believe that he may have been living in East London.’

  Tara had a grim expression. She was clearly put out that they’d turned up at the school. ‘That doesn’t mean anything to me. I’d no idea where he was
.’

  ‘You’re sure he never gave any clue over the years?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Ali wriggled. ‘We’ve been discovering a bit more about him. Apparently, as a teenager, he used to take girlfriends to the cemetery, which makes an interesting connection. Does that jog any memories for you?’

  ‘Nothing that Eugene did would surprise me.’

  ‘He must have said things to you. Boasted, maybe?’

  ‘Like I said before, he became a mystery to me. We didn’t have those kinds of chats.’

  She sounded almost bored, yet Siv was sure she could see anger in Tara’s eyes.

  ‘Come on, Tara, don’t mess us about,’ she urged. ‘You were what, just two years older than Eugene? This isn’t a big town. Teenagers gossip. When I was at school here, it was hard to keep a secret. You might be able to hide stuff from your parents, but it would be more difficult with your siblings or mates. In the end, Eugene was still part of your family, even if he was semi-absent.’

  Tara screwed up her lips. ‘I hate all this. Raking over stuff.’

  ‘It’s tough but necessary,’ Siv said briskly. She didn’t have the time or the inclination to spare Tara’s feelings.

  She replied angrily, ‘My parents should have done more to rein Eugene in, stop him destroying us. It was like they gave up. That meant they gave up on me as well.’

  That’s better — real emotion. ‘You must have had some awful times, and I’m sorry for that, but we have to find your brother’s murderer. I’ve been told that Eugene and Henry Kilgore took drugs. Correct?’

  ‘Probably. I heard that, yes.’

  ‘And you were aware that they went drinking and partying in the cemetery?’

  Tara seemed to decide that she might as well get this over with. She took a breath and straightened up. ‘I only heard about that because of what happened with the caretaker. His daughter was in my class and made a drama out of it.’

  Siv glanced at Ali. ‘Do you mean Andy Smeaton?’

  ‘Yes. He found Eugene in there one night with Henry and some girl and threw them out. He was ranting on about it when he got home. His daughter thought it was highly amusing.’

  Siv said more gently, ‘You gave us Teagan Grenville’s name. Do you remember any of the other girls that Eugene went out with?’

  ‘I got the impression there was a stream of them.’ Her distaste was apparent.

  ’Is there anything else you can tell us?’

  Tara flashed straight back. ‘What’s there to say? Eugene made our lives shitty, then he vanished. My mum died of a broken heart. Then I lost my dad. That’s it. An average tale of happy families.’ She put her hands to her face. ‘I’m sorry, that was rude. Are you anywhere near finding who killed Eugene? I just want this to be over.’

  ‘So do we, Ms Warren. We’re doing our best. I appreciate that this is a very difficult time for you, but it doesn’t help when people keep information back or forget to tell us things that might be helpful.’

  Tara nodded. ‘Yeah, OK. I take your point. There’s nothing else I can tell you.’

  Siv had a spring in her step on the way back to the car. ‘This could give Smeaton a motive.’

  ‘Aye, especially as he’s forgotten to mention that he’d met Warren and Kilgore,’ Ali said.

  ‘We’ll talk to him straightaway.’

  ‘I’ll ring him now, shake him out of whatever corner he’s in.’

  * * *

  Within fifteen minutes, they were sitting with Smeaton in the small room in Bere Lodge. He wore hi-vis orange waterproof trousers and jacket, a ribbed, hand-knitted hat and thick but slightly holey socks.

  ‘Excuse the get-up, I was in the middle of sorting out the patio at the back, and what with all this wet weather, I didn’t want to risk traipsing mud through the place. Phoebe would be on my case!’ he said. ‘What can I help you with? Is it more about that blasted wheelbarrow?’

  Siv said, ‘It’s about Eugene Warren, the man whose body was left on the steps here. We’re also searching for an old friend of his who’s gone missing, Henry Kilgore. I’m sure you must have seen the publicity about him.’

  ‘Right, I did see something,’ Smeaton said.

  ‘You’ve lived and worked in Berminster all your life.’

  ‘Right again. I was born here.’

  ‘Have you ever met Eugene Warren and Henry Kilgore?’ Siv asked.

  Smeaton’s jacket crackled as he moved. ‘Don’t think so. But I meet lots of people, so can’t swear to it.’

  ‘We’ve been informed that you once found them in the cemetery and threw them out. This is going back some years, when they were teenagers. They liked to climb over Emmeline’s Gate with booze and girls. Your daughter talked about the incident at school.’

  Smeaton gave a rumbling cough. ‘Did she? I suppose I must have, then.’ He scratched under his hat. ‘Hang on . . . yes, I do remember something. It was summer. A long time ago now, though.’

  Siv wasn’t convinced that he was struggling with recall. Judging by the look on his face, Ali didn’t believe it either.

  ‘I reckon you’d remember something like that, Mr Smeaton,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose it happens regularly. Try harder.’

  Smeaton said indignantly, ‘No need to take that tone with me, young man. Wait until you get a bit older. See if you’re as sharp as you used to be.’

  Ali said, ‘You strike me as perfectly alert.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I suppose that’s a compliment. Let me think, then. Yes . . . It’s coming back to me now. I did deal with some yobs. I was here later than usual. There’d been a leak, and I had to wait for the technicians to leave. There are taps up in the cemetery, so I’d gone to check them. I heard laughing and such. A girl giggling and glass breaking. There were three of them messing around. Disgusting behaviour. I marched them to the gate and gave them a piece of my mind. They were all plastered.’

  ‘Did you take their names or report it?’

  ‘Nah. Just kids messing. I didn’t recognise them. The boys were Warren and this Kilgore, you say?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ali said. ‘And Warren came to the cemetery a number of times, we believe. Are you sure you never saw him or Henry Kilgore here again?’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t have, would I, if they came here at night to mess about? I’m not usually around after eight.’ He wagged a finger at Ali. ‘I’ve always said that they should put spikes on top of Emmeline’s Gate, but the suggestion’s fallen on deaf ears.’

  Siv asked, ‘Can you remember where they were in the cemetery?’

  ‘Now you’re asking!’ He took off his hat and spun it in his hands. ‘Not exactly, but it was the older part, where the nineteenth-century graves are.’

  ‘Have you been to that section recently?’

  ‘No, we check it twice a year, in the spring and autumn, and remove bindweed and anything that’s started to look dangerous. It’s a deliberate policy; let nature have its way. A sort of wildlife haven. You’ll notice the guide warns visitors to take care if they go there.’

  They let him go and watched him through the window as he resumed his work outside.

  Siv said, ‘He has no alibi, but he’d hardly murder Warren for larking around years ago.’

  ‘Aye, seems unlikely. Although he’s kind of proprietorial about this place and he’s strong enough to heave a body around.’

  ‘Hmm. We need to go into his background again. Patrick can contact the local council about him.’

  There was a tap on the door and Diane Lacey slipped in. Her brown coat had a deep, ribbed collar that buttoned up to her chin.

  ‘I saw that you were here. Can I have a quick word?’

  ‘Of course,’ Siv said. ‘Take a seat.’

  Diane perched, fingering her collar. Her expression was grave. ‘There’s an issue I need to tell you about. I was hoping that Mr Foxwell would, but I’m sure he hasn’t.’

  ‘What is it you have to tell us?’ Siv asked.

  She wri
nkled her brow. ‘When you asked if there’d been any problems here, I said no, but that wasn’t right. Someone stole . . . Oh, heavens, this is difficult. Toby will be mad at me for telling you. This is the only thing I’ve ever disagreed with him about, you see. It’s just that Phoebe’s come to me again, fretting about it, and I reassured her that I’d inform you.’

  ‘Take it from the top,’ Ali said easily.

  ‘OK, right. We have a bereavement fund. It’s for people who are hard up and struggling to pay for a funeral. The council contributes a grant to it every year, but we also have a collection box on the desk at Bere Lodge reception. Visitors are invited to contribute if they’d like to, and they’re pretty generous, slot quite a few notes in. Staff often put spare change in there. Phoebe Palmer empties it each evening and gives the money to Toby. He puts it in the safe in his office.

  ‘Last autumn, there were a number of times when the box was empty, or almost empty in the evenings, yet Phoebe had seen visitors put money in the very same day. She mentioned it to me, but she didn’t want to approach Toby. He can be a bit impatient with her and they haven’t always seen eye to eye. I told him about it. He said to leave it with him.’ Diane looked out of the windows, craning her neck as if to check around.

  ‘You’re not doing anything wrong by talking to us,’ Siv told her. The woman seemed weighed down with responsibilities. ‘What did Mr Foxwell do?’

  ‘That’s just it, he didn’t take any formal action. I assumed he’d report it to the police — that he’d have to. When I asked him about it around November, he said that he’d spoken to staff and no one knew anything. Then he said that there was no proof that anyone had stolen money and Phoebe could be a terrible fusspot. If anyone had been stealing, it had stopped. I could tell that he was annoyed that I’d raised it. Toby doesn’t like anything that might affect the reputation of the crematorium. He’s highly regarded by the council and he wouldn’t have wanted his manager to hear that there was a problem. He won’t like it that I’ve told you. I wouldn’t have, but Phoebe came to see me about it yesterday and she’s been bending my ear. She’s annoyed that the culprit was never found. I said I’d speak to you.’

  ‘Leave it to us,’ Ali said.

  Diane hugged her collar. ‘I don’t suppose it has anything to do with this murder, but I was uncomfortable not telling you, and Phoebe gets herself terribly worked up over such things. I’d better get back. I’ve left Saul in charge of the retort.’