by Adam Croft
‘Blimey, Dex. Didn’t realise you had such a literary bent. Wouldn’t have had you down as a Dickens man.’
‘Jonathan Swift, boss.’
‘Hmm?’
‘Gulliver’s Travels. It was Jonathan Swift.’
Caroline shook her head and smiled. ‘Well, well. Aren’t you a box of surprises?’
‘When you grow up in a house with three sisters hogging the bathroom and playing loud music, escaping into books seems pretty appealing. Especially when your dad’s an English Literature professor.’
‘Seriously? You kept that quiet,’ Caroline said, internally admonishing herself for assuming a black kid from an estate in Leicester wouldn’t be a reader of classics.
‘Yeah, seriously. Only at De Montfort, mind, but still.’
Caroline laughed. She wasn’t one for having work colleagues become friends, but even she had to admit she was becoming rather fond of Dexter Antoine.
Before Caroline left work later that day, Dexter pointed out that a few of them were going to the pub after work and asked her if she’d like to join them.
‘It’s only at the Wheatsheaf,’ he said. ‘Not really got to go far.’
It took Caroline a moment to place the pub — it seemed that every other pub in Rutland was called the Wheatsheaf — but all she wanted was to go home and curl up in bed.
‘I’ll pass if that’s alright,’ she said. ‘But thanks for the offer.’
Dexter seemed to recognise there was no point in protesting, so he didn’t.
When Caroline got home, Mark was waiting in the kitchen with a bottle of wine, pouring her a large glass as he heard her open the front door.
‘Good day?’ he asked, aware that she’d been called out on a major incident but without any information as to what had happened.
‘Not sure that’s the word I’d use,’ Caroline said, eyeing the wine glass with unease.
‘Big one?’
‘Looks like it. A murder.’
Mark raised an eyebrow. Although he didn’t work for the police, he knew what the expected procedure was, and he also knew how his wife would react to that. ‘I don’t suppose I need to ask if you’re taking it on or handing it over, do I?’
‘Why would I hand it over? I’m the on-call DI, I’m the assigned Senior Investigating Officer, I’ve got a brilliant team of detectives and — above all else — it’s on my patch. What’s the point of Rutland even having a police force if it’s just going to roll over and phone EMSOU whenever there’s anything trickier than a lost cat?’
Mark put his arms around her and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I knew the answer already. There was never any doubt in my mind. Just like there’s no doubt in my mind that what you need right now is that large glass of red.’
Caroline looked at the wine. ‘Thanks, but I don’t think that’ll help. I need a clear head for work.’
‘One won’t hurt. They won’t call you out again until tomorrow. They can’t. And if they do, everything’s walkable. I was thinking we could sit down and watch a film or something. We kind of lost our Sunday. Not complaining, by the way. Just thought it might be nice to spend the evening together, at least.’
‘I know, but honestly, I’m knackered. I’d love to, but all I want to do is curl up in bed.’
‘It’s still early. You can at least stay up for an hour or so. You need to unwind anyway. It won’t do you any good to go to bed while you’re still stressed.’
She knew he needed the closeness right now — even if she felt dead on her feet. She picked up the glass and sniffed the wine. It smelled like vinegar. In that instant, she regretted letting Mark do the shopping last week.
‘You know, that off-licence on Mill Street’s pretty good. They’ve got some decent wines in there,’ she said, as tactfully as she could.
‘Yeah, I know. That’s where I got this one.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. What’s wrong with it?’
Caroline forced a smile, before taking a sip and swallowing it, doing her best to hide her natural reaction. ‘Nothing,’ she said, rubbing his arm. ‘It’s lovely.’
Fifteen minutes later, Caroline and Mark were sitting on the sofa in their living room. Mark had lit a couple of candles and put on a romcom film he thought Caroline might enjoy. But as he looked over at his wife, he could see she’d already fallen asleep.
7
The gentle buzzing of the phone alarm wrenched Caroline from her sleep, and she rolled over and looked at her bedside clock. Unfortunately, the alarm was right yet again. It was time to get up.
She blinked a few times as she recalled the previous evening. She didn’t remember coming up to bed. The last thing in her memory was sitting down in front of the TV with a glass of wine that smelled like vinegar.
She got up, put on her clothes and went downstairs. Mark was in the kitchen getting the kids’ stuff ready for school while they ate their breakfast.
‘Morning,’ he said, noticing her come in. ‘Sleep well?’
‘I think so, yeah. You?’
‘You were dead to the world last night. Didn’t even wake up when I carried you upstairs.’
‘You carried me up?’
Mark laughed. ‘Just about. Thought I was going to drop you at one point. You mumbled something about a flood, then started snoring again.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. You clearly needed the sleep. Listen, I’ll walk the boys to school. You take the extra time to wake yourself up.’
Caroline smiled and kissed her husband. He had an uncanny way of knowing when she needed him to step up to the plate. She watched as Josh quietly ate his cereal, hyper alert to any early-morning anxiety that might show on his face. He’d improved immeasurably since the move to Rutland, each of the family able to put their London troubles behind them, but she knew she would always be extra vigilant when it came to her eldest son. The bullying he’d suffered at his Cricklewood comprehensive would, she knew, cause him long-term damage. There was no doubting he was a different boy now. Quieter. More private. More reserved. She silently grieved his lost innocence and the carefree charm he’d always exuded, but which now lived on through his younger brother.
Archie was blissfully oblivious to all that had gone on. To him, this was an adventure. Caroline loved Archie’s outlook on life, and wished it was one she could have herself. But what was most painful was that this had been Josh just a couple of years earlier. She’d fight with every bone in her body to make sure Archie didn’t lose his innocence in the same way.
Once Mark had left to take the boys to school, Caroline gathered her stuff and decided to head straight to work. There didn’t seem much point hanging around an empty house, and in any case there’d be plenty for her to do once she got in.
The police station on Station Road — named for the trains, rather than the police — was only a ten-minute walk from home, but she could drive it in five. She still hadn’t got over the novelty of being able to drive somewhere quicker than she could walk it. In London, that was almost unheard of. Besides, she didn’t feel like walking today. She hadn’t felt like walking any other day either, but she felt sure her time would come.
She climbed into her car, backed out onto the street and headed towards town.
Although most of Oakham’s population knew the location of one police station next to the council offices on Catmos Street, many were unaware it was only really an enquiry desk and that the main police office was tucked away on Station Road, behind and within the grounds of Oakham School. In true austerity style, the original police building had been sold to the private school, and the current police office had been built on its own former car park.
The town was heaving with students, which charged boarders more than £11,000 a term, and whose campus was spread across all corners of Oakham. Caroline waited patiently with her indicator on until a group of students noticed her and waited for her to pull across the footpath and into the grounds of the police station.
<
br /> The difference between her last workplace and this one could not have been starker. Caroline had been used to modern glass buildings and tower blocks in her time with the Met, and now she was working in a glorified hut in a school car park. If anything, for her it highlighted the continuity and immovability of policing. Two completely different locations, but much the same job.
‘Morning, Dex,’ she said as she opened the door to the CID suite and headed for her office. ‘No-one else in yet?’
‘Not yet. Still early, though. And there might be traffic.’ Caroline raised an eyebrow. These people didn’t know traffic. The closest she’d seen to rush hour carnage in Rutland was a queue of three cars waiting to cross the railway line while the barriers were down. ‘Although, if you’ve got a couple of minutes, I’ve been doing some research. A couple of things which might be of interest.’
Caroline went over to Dexter’s workstation, tugging a chair along with her, and sat down beside him.
‘Right, so I’ve been digging deeper into the history. I think you’re right. This is symbolic in some way. The church, the crucifixion pose, the Sunday morning. But I don’t think it’s a religious thing. I think it’s a history thing.’
‘Go on.’
‘So the church isn’t a church anymore, right? That kind of wipes out the religious aspect in my mind. There are a ton of churches in Rutland, and loads of them are pretty isolated at night so it’d be much easier to dump a body at one of those. Our killer, though, chose this location. Even though it’s bloody impossible to get into overnight and it’s a tourist hotspot. They went to a lot of effort. That tells me this place is symbolic. I think the choice of location and the crucifixion pose, the timing — all that — was symbolic of what this place was rather than what it is.’
Caroline blinked a couple of times. ‘Right. Now bear in mind I’ve only had two cups of coffee this morning.’
Dexter smiled. ‘And you’re getting on a bit.’
Caroline laughed. ‘Piss off. Now, tell me in English.’
‘Alright, so basically I think we need to look more closely at the history. There’s a ton of it round that area. The lost villages, the deliberate flooding, the public opposition, deconsecrating and saving the church, all of that. It totally divided opinion back then. I think it’s probably safe to say it’s been good for the area in the long run because it’s brought tourism and stuff, but there’s still a generation of people who are a bit sore about it all.’
‘Wasn’t this in the early seventies?’ Caroline asked.
‘Late sixties, early seventies, yeah.’
‘That’s fifty years ago. If we’re looking for someone who was old enough at the time to still hold a grudge now, then by your logic our killer is a pensioner who fills his spare time between episodes of Homes Under The Hammer by carrying dead bodies halfway across Rutland in the middle of the night. Besides, why wait until now if they’ve been holding a grudge for fifty years? I’m not sure I buy it.’
‘Me neither. And that’s why we need to look further into it. Get a bit of context, if nothing else.’
‘I get that, Dex. And I appreciate it. But we have to prioritise. We need to speak to Roger Clifton’s staff and colleagues. And the council. And his family. We’re far more likely to find motives there than we are reading history books. Know the victim, find the killer. That’s my motto.’
‘Totally agree,’ Dexter said. ‘Which is why I’ve arranged to visit Arthur Clifton Construction at midday today. The office’ll be closed for a few days, but I got hold of his office manager and she’s agreed to meet us. I also left a message with two councillors this morning and I’ll ring the main council office as soon as it opens at nine.’
Caroline nodded her approval. ‘Nicely done, Dex. Much appreciated.’
A couple of hours later, Caroline and Dexter arrived in Burley for their meeting with Roger Clifton’s office manager, having driven the two miles from the office. When they arrived, a woman in her late forties was waiting for them at the gate. She wore a hi-vis jacket — something that struck Caroline as completely unnecessary if the yard was closed, but she supposed it was just habit. Grief did strange things to people.
‘Sonya Smith?’ Caroline called out the car window.
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ Sonya said, almost inaudibly, as Caroline parked her car next to a portakabin. They got out of the car and followed Sonya inside, noticing two large men leaning against a storage unit in the main yard, watching their every move.
When they got inside, Sonya sat down behind her desk, waiting for Caroline to speak.
‘Detective Inspector Caroline Hills. This is Detective Sergeant Dexter Antoine. First of all, can I just say how sorry we are for your loss.’
Sonya nodded. ‘Thank you. I know it sounds a bit weird, but we’re not really sure what we have lost. No-one knows what happens now.’
‘Who are those guys?’ Dexter asked, gesturing through the window to the two men leaning against the storage unit in the yard.
‘They work here. When we heard the news yesterday, I phoned round everyone to let them know. Said we’d be closed for a few days until we know what’s going on. Word must’ve got round that I was meeting you here today, because they rocked up at the same time, wanting to know if they were going to get paid or have any work in the future.’
‘A difficult situation, I can imagine,’ Caroline said. No work meant no money. ‘What’s the setup of the company like? Does someone else automatically take over?’
Sonya raised her hands in a shrug of futility. ‘Who knows? Roger ran everything on his own, pretty much. I did all the office stuff, but anything to do with the operation of the business was all down to him. I don’t have a clue what’s going on or who I can turn to. Those guys out there want to know when we’re going to be open and working again. I don’t know if we even can. What’s the protocol? I’ve put a call in to the solicitor, but I’ve got no idea if he’s ever going to ring me back. And with those two breathing down my neck and sending messages back and forth to the others, I feel like I want to scream.’
‘We can ask them to leave, if you like,’ Dexter said. ‘If the business is closed, they don’t need to be here.’
‘To be honest, I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now. I just need the space to digest things, work out what’s meant to happen with the business. Hopefully the solicitor can help me, because otherwise I don’t know what’s going to happen. I checked Companies House online, and Roger’s the only director of the company. I don’t know if that means it automatically passes to someone else, or who that person might even be. Or does it mean the company no longer exists? I don’t know. This is what I need to find out.’
‘Okay, let’s calm down and take a breath,’ Caroline said. ‘The solicitor will be able to help you with all that. For now, it’s best we focus on the questions we need to ask and the information we need to get to the bottom of what’s happened. That way we can progress the case and hopefully draw a line under that side of things for you.’ Sonya took a couple of deep breaths and nodded. ‘So, what can you tell me about Roger? Do you know any reason why anyone would want him dead?’
A look crossed Sonya’s face, almost as if it was the first time it had occurred to her that someone was actually responsible for this.
‘No, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s construction. There are always people for and against every project. But that’s just how it goes. There are tens of thousands of construction projects going on around the country at any given time. People don’t just go around murdering people because of them.’
‘Have you had any particularly strong opposition to any projects recently?’ Caroline asked. ‘Does anything spring to mind as having been abnormal?’
Sonya thought for a moment before answering. ‘No. Nothing. I mean, I can send you details of all our projects, if you like. You’re more than welcome to look through and see if anything jumps out at you.’
‘That’d be very
useful,’ Caroline replied, even though it was something she had intended to request anyway. ‘Thank you. And what about family? What do you know about the situation there?
Sonya thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘As far as I know, he’s lived on his own since his marriage broke down. His wife lives in Empingham with their daughter. He’s got a brother in Spain, I think, but he doesn’t really talk about family stuff all that much.’
Bit strange, considering it was meant to be a family business, Caroline thought to herself. ‘A brother?’ she asked.
Sonya raised her hands in mock surrender. ‘Don’t ask me any more than that. Honestly, that’s literally all I know. Just something he mentioned in passing once. I don’t know any more than that.’
Caroline and Dexter shared a look. Both seemed to realise the same thing at the same time. If the family business had passed down from Arthur to Roger Clifton, might this mysterious missing brother have had an interest? In any case, it was a new connection — one they’d only discovered by speaking to Sonya Smith.
‘You don’t happen to remember the brother’s name, I suppose?’ Caroline asked.
Sonya screwed up her face and slowly shook her head. ‘I don’t, no. I’ve never met him and Roger never talked much about him. Sorry. I genuinely wish I could be more help.’
Caroline and Dexter stayed at the site for another forty minutes, trying to extract as much information from Sonya as they could. But it seemed information was a scarce resource. It appeared Roger Clifton had run the company almost single-handed, with Sonya handling invoices, payments, rotas and the like. She claimed never to have been involved with any of the company administration, and that anything more than mild bookkeeping was handled by Roger and his accountant.
