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 swallowed the last of her croissant and picked up the thread. ‘Saul Robbins’s account confirms what Diane has told us and fills in other parts of the story. As we know, last year, Warren visited Greene at the jail. He told Greene about what had happened with Freya and Kilgore at Mallow Cottage. What Greene omitted to tell us was that Warren also mentioned his job at Pie Mad. That man has lied through every interview with us. I’m glad we finally pinned him down.

  ‘When Greene was released in November, Robbins helped him with a few things in his new flat,’ she continued. ‘They spent an evening drinking. Greene told Robbins all about Warren’s visit to him in jail. Greene was unaware that Robbins had been keen on Freya when they were teenagers — held quite a torch for her, in fact. They went out for a while, but then Freya lost interest in him because, unknown to Robbins, she’d fallen into Warren’s orbit. Robbins was devastated. Seems to have seen himself as her champion, and being with her had boosted his self-esteem. Then Freya died. Robbins attributed his failure at school and being in a dead-end job to the impact of losing her—’

  ‘Fertile soil for grievance to take root in,’ Mortimer interrupted, ‘albeit many years later.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Siv agreed. ‘After listening to Greene’s ramblings, Robbins knew who’d been responsible for Freya’s death, and he’d also learned that someone called “The Wheel” had supplied the drug that killed her. It tormented him. He brooded about it and he started to nurture the idea of identifying “The Wheel” and making Warren and Kilgore pay for what they’d done. He went to London and followed Warren home from Pie Mad. He got Albie Bailey to write on the brochures and sent them to Warren, and a while later, he also sent a note with his phone number, saying that they needed to talk about Freya Blewitt. Warren did call him, according to his account.’

  A shower of rain rattled noisily against the windows, making Patrick jump. The slats on one of the blinds clicked together in the draught.

  Siv turned to her laptop and read aloud. ‘“Eugene rang me. He was very agitated about the brochures and my note and asked what I wanted. I wouldn’t tell him anything about myself, just that I lived in Berminster and I’d heard the whole story from someone. It was good hearing him squirm. He was very keen on owning up, but concerned that he’d get Henry and ‘The Wheel’ into trouble as well. He said he’d met Henry in London. Henry had come to his place and pleaded with him not to stir up the past. Henry was happy now. He had a partner, and it would ruin everything for him. I told Eugene I wanted to know the identity of ‘The Wheel’. He hedged about that. Finally, he told me who ‘The Wheel’ was. I was stunned when he said it was Yaz. I couldn’t sleep, thinking about it. Couldn’t believe it.

  ‘“I contacted Yaz, said I knew about the drug dealing. We talked for ages. She told me that she’d stopped dealing years ago. She knew she’d done wrong, but she explained she hadn’t intended to hurt anyone and she’d mainly stuck to selling weed. When she was young, she took a wrong turn, got caught up in that world. She didn’t know Freya, had no idea that she’d died, or why. She got really upset and tearful. I could tell she was genuine. I wanted Eugene and Henry to pay for what they did, but I didn’t want to mess up Yaz’s life. She’s been kind to me and generous with her time and expertise. She and Diane have been my two angels, guiding me on. Eugene was completely different. He didn’t care who he damaged back then. If it came to it, I’d stop him destroying Yaz. I already had the germ of a plan.”’

  Siv stopped, looking around the room at her team. She drank coffee, pausing to allow for questions, but they were all just gazing at her, as if mesmerised by Robbins’s story.

  She carried on. ‘So, we don’t know who Yaz is. And we’ve been mistaken in referring to “The Wheel” as male. Robbins describes more phone conversations in December, with Warren agonising about what to do. He said Kilgore wasn’t returning his calls. I imagine that Kilgore was avoiding him, hoping it would all go away, and he’d plenty to think about already with his job under threat. Robbins was still trying to steer Warren away from naming Yaz. Then in January, Warren made the call that clinched his and Kilgore’s fates.’

  Mortimer’s phone rang. He got up and stepped away to take the call. Patrick clicked his fingers together, impatient to hear the rest. Ali finished his porridge and smiled at Siv as if to say, There, haven’t I been good?

  Mortimer ended the call and sat down again. ‘Sorry about that. Do go on, DI Drummond.’

  She looked down, continued reading.

  ‘“Eugene rang me again. He said he’d decided that he was going to go to the police. He’d managed to get hold of Henry, who was furious and said that if Eugene went ahead, he’d deny everything. Henry told him that there’d be no evidence to back him up after all this time, but if he wanted to be a martyr, so be it. Henry said he had a lot going on in his life. He’d be in Berminster for a week in January and asked Eugene to leave his confession until after then.

  ‘“I talked to Yaz. She was really worried and she said if Eugene went to the police, it would destroy her. I told her I wouldn’t let that happen. She said I was her knight in shining armour.

  ‘“I didn’t want to take lives. It’s not who I am, but I couldn’t see any other way. Eugene and Henry would bring Yaz down with them. They deserved to die, both of them, for what they did to Freya. Even if there was enough evidence to put them on trial, what sentence would they get? Something nonsensical.’

  ‘He had a point,’ Ali said. ‘I see where he was coming from.’

  ‘An eye for an eye,’ Patrick added.

  Mortimer gave them both a pained look. Siv hurried on.

  ‘“I put my plan to Yaz. She agreed to help me and we split the tasks. She’d contact Eugene from now on and I’d talk to Henry. She called Eugene, told him that I’d spoken to her and if he was going to go to the police, she’d like to meet him and Henry first to discuss it. She piled on how sorry she was about what had happened, and pitched the idea that she wanted to help him persuade Henry that it would be best to own up. The three of them should go to the police together and make a clean breast of things. Eugene bought into it. He sounded relieved and agreed to a meet in Berminster. He gave her Henry’s number.

  ‘“I rang Henry, said I was a friend of Yaz. I told him that Yaz wanted to meet him and Eugene so that they could try and persuade Eugene not to go to the police, or at least to leave them out of his confession. He hesitated, but finally said yes to a meet.

  ‘“I bought myself one of those all-in-one suits. Ran through it all again with Yaz. She thanked me for looking out for her and promised she’d keep making amends for past mistakes. She’d already made a big contribution to a charity that helps young drug addicts. The plan felt right. It brought justice for Freya. Henry and Eugene would die at Mallow Cottage, where they’d drugged her. Henry would stay there, because he provided the location for their crime. I’d lay Eugene out at the crem. See if he’d think it was such a great place for party after all. Yaz suggested I buy wreaths online as a nice touch. She’d pay me for them. I loved imagining the shock the old staff die-hards would get, how much it would put Toby’s sharp nose out of joint and how angry Andy would be when he found out about his prized wheelbarrow.’

  ‘What a piece of work this young man was,’ Mortimer said, wiping a flake of croissant from his chin. ‘I’m only sorry that he escaped justice by killing himself. Carry on, carry on.’

  ‘Almost finished now,’ Siv told him, picking up from where he’d butted in. ‘On the Monday, Yaz rang Eugene and told him to come to the garden of Mallow Cottage at half ten that night. She said that she and Henry would be there. I wasn’t a bit afraid. I was full of energy. When Eugene arrived at Mallow Cottage, I told him I was Saul and that Yaz and Henry would be along any minute. He sat in the chair like a little lamb. I strangled him from behind with a belt. He struggled but it was remarkably quick, and I took the belt off and left him sitting there. Then I rang Henry and told him where to come. It was so dark when he arr
ived, he didn’t realise that Eugene was dead. He sat down and I stabbed him in the neck and shoved him behind the summerhouse. I drove Eugene to Emmeline’s Gate in his car and used Andy’s wheelbarrow to take him and the wreaths to the chapel steps.”’

  Siv said, ‘For Robbins, these crimes amounted to the perfect box ticking. He dispensed justice to Warren and Kilgore, protected his friend “Yaz”, and he got his own back on the staff he despised at the crematorium. There are just a couple of paragraphs after that, some of it self-justification. Robbins notes my interview with him and says he invented the woman in the cemetery who asked him about the wheelbarrow, just to confuse matters. It amused him to give me a description of myself. I’ll read you the last lines.

  ‘“Maybe you won’t get to Yaz. She’s clever. If you do, tell her I’m sorry. I tried hard to protect her, but it didn’t work out. In the end, I want Diane to have the truth.”’

  ‘Seems like Kilgore was probably heading to Bertie Greene’s on the Monday night to offload about the situation with Warren,’ Patrick said.

  ‘He must have been sick with worry. He did well to conceal it,’ Siv agreed.

  ‘What a messy, shabby, sordid tale,’ Mortimer said. ‘At least Freya Blewitt’s mother will have some closure.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘Also . . . when Ms Kilgore hears what her son was party to, she might well reconsider her complaint about us. Yes, I’d say that’s almost a certainty. She’ll hardly want to draw adverse attention to herself. Where’s Diane Lacey now?’

  ‘We sent her home after this morning’s interview,’ Siv said. ‘She was in pieces over Robbins’s suicide. She failed to report that Robbins had confessed to being the crem thief, but I’ll wait and see if her employer wants to make anything of it. She might lose her job when Toby Foxwell finds out. I dread to think what she’ll do if that happens. That cemetery is her life.’

  Mortimer stood. ‘She drew a short straw when she took Robbins under her wing, didn’t she? I’ll leave you to get on and establish Yaz’s identity. Make sure that’s quick, so there are no loose ends. Good work, everyone.’

  ‘Every cloud has a silver lining for Mortimer,’ Ali said when he’d gone. ‘Imelda Kilgore will be devastated.’

  Siv stood up, stretched, leaned forward and picked up the last croissant. She noted Ali watching as she tucked it back in its bag, but she didn’t want him to be tempted. ‘We urgently need to track down this Yaz. There are no clues, other than that she was “The Wheel” in her younger life and she offered Robbins support with his studies.’

  ‘Do we think she’s local?’ Ali asked.

  ‘Hard to say,’ Siv replied, putting the bag down beside her. ‘The confession indicates phone calls, so possibly not. She must have been reasonably local when she operated as “The Wheel”. Between you, can you ring Foxwell and Tony Prudence? Ask if they have any idea about Yaz and tell Foxwell that his deputy manager won’t be at work. Check Robbins’s call and email history. Then contact Diane Lacey and ask her about Yaz. I’ll visit Ms Kilgore and Ms Blewitt, and then I’ll enjoy myself trawling through the folders on Robbins’s memory stick.’

  She sat at her desk after her team had gone, marshalling her resolve to see two grieving women. She’d add to one’s agonies and perhaps relieve the years of anguish for the other. And then there was Saffie. She’d feared that her fiancé had been having an affair. Siv couldn’t even begin to imagine how she was going to cope with the news that Henry had once left a girl to die.

  Chapter 24

  Siv woke at six in the morning, one of those abrupt starts from sleep. A wrenching into the world. There was a rustling and scratching in her brain, like a mouse behind a skirting board. She reached out to switch a lamp on and stared into the darkness. They’d had no luck establishing Yaz’s identity the previous day. Diane Lacey had declared she’d never heard of her. No one with a similar name was in Robbins’s phone or email contacts. The last number he’d called was listed just as Y and it looked as if the SIM card on that phone had been destroyed. Trying to get any trace on it would take time.

  Yet she knew she had a hint of something. She lay very still, clearing her mind and then visualising the incident board.

  She sat up. She had it, surely? Was it all in a surname? Was it really that simple? She threw on a dressing gown, perched on the side of the bed and reached for her laptop. She’d copied Robbins’s folders and she looked through several of his essays again, knowing that she’d spotted something. Fifteen tedious minutes later, she saw it, in an essay titled, ‘The challenges of entrepreneurship’. She seized a pillow, threw it in the air and punched it when it landed.

  She donned jeans and her purple sweater, made coffee, then pulled her boots on. There had been a hard frost overnight, and when she stepped outside with a torch, the ground was cold and dry. She paced in the dark by the river. It was covered with a thin glaze of ice. The snowdrops looked bedraggled. The sky was scattered with fragments of fast-moving clouds, the moon scudding between them. The coffee was strong and bracing. She’d need to be fortified for what lay ahead.

  She was impatient, but there was nothing she could do just yet. Back in her wagon, she poured more coffee, sat at the little table and worked on folding a dark green coracle. She shaped the central seat across the middle. The chest strap and the oars would be in black. The work calmed her, allowed her to control her urge to act.

  At eight o’clock, she was dressed and ready to leave the wagon. She made a phone call, breathing deeply as she heard her questions answered, and instructed the person on the other end not to mention the conversation to anyone. Then she rang Ali.

  * * *

  The Generate offices were full and busy at eight thirty. Two young women pushed their fold-up bikes through the foyer. They still wore their helmets, emblazoned with the Generate logo of an upward-pointing arrow. The screen at reception showed an audience standing and clapping with the flashing message, We Make Magic Happen. The man behind the desk told them that Ms Ferris wasn’t in yet.

  ‘Nor will she be able to see you when she gets here,’ he said. ‘She’s already late for her 8.15 breakfast meeting, so she’ll have to go straight into that.’

  ‘Have you tried contacting her?’ Siv asked.

  ‘No. I’ve told Tessa, her PA.’

  ‘Get Tessa for me, please.’

  He blinked. ‘Sure. Take a seat.’

  Ali regarded the egg-themed sofa suspiciously. ‘Think I’ll stand.’

  ‘I spoke to Tessa when I rang at eight,’ Siv told Ali. ‘One of your shirt buttons is undone. You don’t want to frighten the PA.’

  He fumbled to do it up with his thick fingers. ‘Tessa’s the one who confirmed the name?’

  ‘Yes. Jane Yasmine Ferris, known generally as Yaz. I don’t like the fact that she’s late, doesn’t bode well. Tessa also confirmed that Saul Robbins once spent a couple of days here, observing the business for his MBA. I found a reference to Generate in one of his essays.’

  Siv tapped her foot, willing the PA to appear. The man at reception was on the phone, arranging a meeting, his fingers flying across his keyboard. He wore the kind of narrow-cut suit that Patrick liked. The audience on the screen beside him were applauding and whooping at a woman wearing a mike. Behind her was a presentation titled, Make Your Dreams Reality.

  A young woman with a moon face, plump knees and a too-tight skirt hurried up to them. She smiled cheerily. ‘Hi, I’m Tessa, Yaz’s PA. Can I help?’

  Siv showed her ID. ‘I spoke to you half an hour ago. We need to see Ms Ferris urgently. Is she due in?’

  Tessa’s smile dimmed. ‘She’s late, actually, which is really unusual. I was just trying to get her on her phone, but it must be switched off. There are a couple of people waiting for her.’

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘Yesterday evening. We left the building together. Is there something wrong? Why do you want to see her?’

  Siv asked, ‘How was Ms Ferris yesterday?’

  Te
ssa tugged at her skirt. ‘She was fine, fine.’

  Siv asked Ali to phone Yaz Ferris and to get Patrick to join them immediately. She turned back to Tessa, who was looking anxious. ‘We need Ms Ferris’s home address.’

  ‘Oh, right. She lives in Saltmarsh Court on Rosemount Avenue. Number five. But I’m sure she’ll be here any minute—’

  ‘And her car details. Do you have those?’

  ‘It’s a red Audi hatchback. I can get you the registration. We have to record them for parking.’

  ‘Great, thanks. Text it to me immediately. Our colleague DC Patrick Hill will be here shortly. If Ms Ferris calls you, you’re not to tell her that we’re here, and you must inform him immediately. Got that?’

  Tessa nodded. ‘But what’s this about?’

  ‘Thank you. You can get back to work.’

  Ali had finished his calls. ‘Patrick’s a few mins away. I couldn’t raise Yaz Ferris.’

  They hurried from the building to the car. The air was so cold, Siv caught her breath.

  ‘Looks like Yaz Ferris must have run after Robbins’s phone call last night,’ Ali said.

  ‘In her shoes, so would I. I feel in my bones that she’s already flown the nest.’

  ‘What led you to Jane Ferris being Yaz?’ Ali asked when they were headed for Rosemount Avenue.

  ‘Her name. Think about it.’

  Ali stared at her, fingering his scrubby beard. ‘Nope. Don’t get it.’

  ‘Her name was there on the board in front of us. Ferris. Ferris wheel. So obvious, we couldn’t see it. When you say “The Wheel” in the context of drugs, it sounds a tad sinister, but it referred to that least ominous of things, an amusement ride.’