What Lies Beneath (Rutland crime series Book 1)

by Adam Croft

  ‘We’ll need to look deeper into the financial affairs of the company,’ Caroline said as they left the site and got back into the car. ‘There’s always a good chance money’s at the root of this. It tends to be, more often than not.’

  Dexter wanted to point out that EMSOU had dedicated financial analysis units which could look into precisely that sort of thing, but decided against it. He didn’t know a huge amount about Caroline, but he did pride himself on being a good judge of character. And he’d judged that once Caroline made her mind up about something, there would be no consideration of turning round or going back.

  He felt he got on with her, but he was aware this was probably more down to his own relaxed attitude and people skills than hers. He could see she wasn’t a bad person; she just had a lot to learn if she was going to get on in a place like Rutland.

  ‘A few of us are going for a couple of drinks after work if you want to join us,’ he said.

  ‘What, again?’

  ‘Yeah. No harm in it. Nice chance to wind down after a long day.’

  ‘Not tonight,’ Caroline said, keeping her eyes on the road. ‘Thanks for the offer, though,’ she added a little while later, as if the thought had only just occurred to her.

  Dexter smiled to himself. He could see he had work to do.

  8

  They arrived back at the station to find Sara Henshaw waiting for them with news.

  ‘I’ve been doing the family liaison bit with Roger Clifton’s wife,’ she said. ‘She’s not keen to come in for an interview, so I said we’d look to send a couple of officers round. She specifically asked for non-uniformed officers and an unmarked car.’ Caroline raised an eyebrow. Sara smiled. ‘I know. I said we’d see what we could do. I tried to get her to talk, and she mentioned something interesting. Apparently Roger has a brother living in Spain. Arthur, his name is — after the grandfather. Just to confuse things. I’ve put a request in with the Spanish authorities to locate him and get hold of him.’

  Caroline looked at Dexter and smiled. They could have come back to the office with the killer’s name and photographic evidence of them doing it, and the ever-efficient Sara would’ve already had them arrested, charged and wallowing in HMP Whitemoor.

  ‘Good work, Sara,’ Caroline said, choosing not to burst her bubble. ‘What about links with religion or the church? Anything on that front?’

  ‘Not that she mentioned, no. But I can do a bit more digging on that front if you think it’d be useful.’

  ‘I think it’d be handy to know, considering the circumstances. Sonya Smith, the office manager at Arthur Clifton Construction is going to send over a list of their recent jobs. There’s a half-decent chance Roger could’ve pissed someone off that way, but Sonya said nothing sprang to mind. At least if we’ve got a list, we can look into it and cross-reference any names that crop up elsewhere.’

  ‘I don’t suppose we can discount the possibility that he wasn’t specifically targeted, can we?’ Sara asked.

  Caroline swallowed before answering. ‘Well, we can’t discount anything at this stage. But everything points to a targeted attack, so it’s probably best we channel most of our resources in that direction. It wouldn’t be helpful to make other assumptions, I don’t think.’

  And there it was again: the ruthless efficiency of Sara Henshaw. It had, of course, been at the back of Caroline’s mind that Roger Clifton’s murder might not have been targeted at all, and that it might not be the last, but that wasn’t a thought she wanted to entertain.

  ‘Have we found anything on CCTV?’ she asked, directing her attention to Aidan Chilcott.

  ‘Nothing yet,’ Aidan replied, his face almost a grimace. ‘It’ll take a while to go through everything. It’s possible the killer could have got onto the water from anywhere on the perimeter and rowed over to the causeway, so there’s a huge amount to check.’

  ‘Difficult, though,’ Sara said. ‘That’d carry its own risks. The body was laid out pretty neatly on the rocks. That’d be almost impossible to do from a boat, especially without mooring it.’

  Caroline snapped her fingers and pointed at Sara. ‘Yes! And anyone who tried mooring their boat on those rocks would’ve scraped the bottom of the boat. There’d be paint transfer of some sort, without a shadow of a doubt. Let’s get that checked out forensically.’

  A phone rang, and Sara got up to answer it.

  ‘Are we checking the boats or the rocks?’ Dexter asked.

  Caroline thought for a moment. ‘The rocks. Anyone can hire out a boat, so I imagine ninety percent of them will have all sorts of scratches and scuffs. We’d be there forever. And we can’t discount someone having brought their own boat along for the job. I think it’s safe to say we’ll find fewer scuff marks on the rocks at Normanton than we will on the bottom of hire boats, so let’s go for that.’

  ‘Won’t the water have washed it all away, though? I can’t imagine many paint flecks sticking around,’ Aidan said.

  ‘Quite possibly. But if we don’t look, we won’t find. And as things stand, we have no idea how our killer managed to reach the causeway, but if we can either rule a couple of things out or prioritise more likely scenarios, we’ll get much closer. As far as I understand it, there are some “official” entrances to the water, some of which are covered with CCTV and ANPR, but there are a million ways to get there by foot. Of course, the fact our suspect was likely carrying a dead body does reduce the likelihood of that. Early signs are that Roger wasn’t killed where he was found. There’s no blood spatter, no sign of a local scuffle. So he’s been brought to the site already dead. If you had an accomplice you could probably jump a wall, use a wheelbarrow, even carry a lightweight boat to the edge of the water. An accomplice makes things difficult in other areas, though. It means our killer is relying on someone else keeping quiet. That takes a huge amount of trust.’

  ‘Unless two people wanted him dead,’ Aidan said.

  ‘Well, indeed.’

  Sara Henshaw walked back towards them, looking a little sheepish and awkward after ending the incoming phone call.

  ‘Okay. That was a message to say we’ve found a potential point of entry for our killer.’

  Caroline’s ears pricked up. ‘What? Where?’

  ‘There’s an official service gate for Normanton Church at the junction of Wytchley Road and Normanton Park Road. It’s usually locked and chained, but it’s just been reported that the padlock appears to have been removed with bolt cutters.’

  ‘Sorry, “just been reported”?’ Caroline said, incensed. ‘Did nobody think to check? We’ve spent god knows how long trying to come up with theories about how our killer got access to the causeway, and no-one thought to check the bloody front gate?’

  The assembled officers shuffled uneasily, avoiding eye contact with Caroline.

  ‘Right. Perfect. Thank you, Sara,’ she said, rubbing her head. ‘You and Aidan can follow that one up. Dex, with me. Let’s go for a bit of light stress relief by spending an hour talking to a grieving wife.’

  9

  Caroline and Dexter drove out to Empingham, a village on the eastern side of Rutland Water — and home to Alice Clifton.

  Dexter looked over at Caroline a couple of times as she drove, prompting her to ask him if something was on his mind.

  ‘No, nothing,’ he said. ‘Just I’ve got a couple of interesting facts about Empingham and I was trying to work out if you were in an “Oooh that’s interesting” mood or a “Piss off and leave me alone” mood.’

  Caroline chuckled. ‘Fire away, Dex. I’d love to hear them.’

  ‘Alright. Well, first up, Empingham’s protected from certain destruction only by a wall. To be more specific, a dam. It forms the eastern edge of Rutland Water. You can walk along it. If it wasn’t there, the Empingham valley to the east would flood, along with the village.’

  ‘Very good. Already knew it. What’s the other one?’

  ‘One of the battles of the Wars of the Roses took pla
ce there. The Battle of Empingham, believe it or not. Closest you’ll get these days is some bloke getting an uppercut outside the White Horse.’

  Caroline smiled. ‘Where does it all come from, Dex? The trivia. The joy for learning. The boyish enthusiasm for just about everything.’

  Dexter shrugged. ‘I dunno. I just sort of enjoy it, you know? I think it’s a rebellion thing.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, when I was a kid my parents really pushed me to do well at school. They wanted me to be a doctor. Thing is, the harder they pushed, the more I rebelled. So, I just about scraped through. Enough to make sure I’d be able to get a job and not totally screw my life up, I mean, but there was no way in hell anyone was going to let me study Medicine at Cambridge.’

  ‘Wow. How’d they take that?’

  ‘They switched their energies to my younger brother instead. He’s training to become a gynaecologist. And yes, he’s heard all the jokes.’

  ‘There must be a deep love of learning in there somewhere, though. You certainly seem keen enough to me.’

  ‘Oh yeah, definitely. I just like doing it on my own terms, you know? I think joining the police was a bit of a rebellion, too.’

  ‘What, you didn’t actually want to do it?’

  Dexter shook his head. ‘Not really. But I didn’t know what I wanted to do, and I figured this’d piss my parents off the most.’

  Caroline laughed. ‘Well, it was a good move on all counts. You’re not too bad at it, you know.’

  They arrived at the address in Empingham, greeted by an elaborate set of cast-iron gates. The house that stood at the end of the driveway beyond was impressive, to say the least. It was clear Roger Clifton had earned some money in his time, especially if he was happy to live elsewhere and leave this place to his wife.

  ‘Blimey. Who’d have thought it?’ Dexter said. ‘You’ve got wankers putting signs saying “Elm Cottage” and “The Willows” on their two-bed semi, then you run into a mansion like this — house number 27. Crazy.’

  Before Caroline could get out of the car, the gates clicked and whirred open, allowing them to coast up the long gravel driveway towards the front of the house. As they reached it, the front door opened and a woman stepped out.

  She was clearly younger than Roger had been — forty, tops. Her body language made it seem more like she was welcoming an old friend, as opposed to the police officers investigating her husband’s death.

  ‘Hi, Alice Clifton. Pleasure to meet you. Come on in,’ she said, her voice like velvet.

  The hallway was more akin to the lobby of a posh hotel than someone’s actual house, and there was a clear rivalry between marble and gold leaf for the title of Most Overused Material. Alice led Caroline and Dexter through to a large kitchen diner, seating them at a long, ornate counter — marble, naturally. It occurred to Caroline that marble wasn’t the ideal choice of stone in a kitchen and wondered what Alice Clifton did about the inevitable staining, but quickly realised she’d probably just shell out a few grand on a new one.

  Once the formalities were cleared, Caroline decided to get down to some more detailed questioning.

  ‘Can you describe your relationship with your husband for me?’ she asked, before taking a sip of the hot black coffee Alice had placed in front of her.

  She looked at Caroline for a moment before speaking. ‘That’s an odd way of putting it. Who’ve you been talking to? Oh, I guess it doesn’t matter. Everyone’s relationship is different, isn’t it? Roger and I weren’t the conventional couple, if that’s what you mean. I think “estranged” is probably the word you’d use.’

  ‘Can you elaborate please?’

  ‘Well, Roger hadn’t lived here for a while. He had other properties and had been living between those. We were still married, officially, but I think we both knew deep down that was only the case on paper. If you catch my drift.’

  ‘I think so. Had you spoken about divorce at all?’

  Alice shook her head and made a face that looked as if Caroline had just asked her if she’d ever considered fellating a horse. ‘Absolutely not. That’s not the sort of thing we do.’

  ‘I see. But did you still get on?’

  ‘We didn’t hate each other, if that’s what you mean. I was probably the only one who didn’t despise him.’

  ‘Go on,’ Caroline said, leaning in.

  ‘Roger didn’t exactly make friends easily. He found enemies came much more naturally. But I guess that’s the nature of business and local politics, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’d hope not, but maybe so.’

  ‘Do you have any examples?’ Dexter asked.

  ‘Oh, he used to get plenty of angry and threatening emails. Usually over planning applications of one sort or another. If he wasn’t connected with the development or construction in a business sense, he almost certainly would be in a political sense. People get angry about those sorts of things round here. They don’t like change.’

  ‘These emails,’ Dexter said, trying to get the conversation back on track. ‘Where might we be able to find them?’

  ‘Well, you’d have to check his work laptop. He didn’t really use it much, though. His office manager used to deal with most of that stuff. Sonya, her name is. Sometimes he’d get them on his personal account too, but not that often.’

  ‘And how did this affect family life?’ Caroline asked. ‘You have a daughter, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Hannah,’ Alice said, smiling.

  ‘And she’s how old?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  Caroline did a quick bit of mental maths. If Alice was around forty, she must have had Hannah quite young. It also meant Roger Clifton was around forty when he fathered a child with a woman not long out of school herself. ‘Does she live with you?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘She does, but she’s not in at the moment. She’s popped out to see some friends. You know how they are at that age.’

  Caroline smiled and nodded. She did. She also knew there was no way a nineteen-year-old girl would leave her mobile phone on the kitchen work surface, and that it was very unlikely her mother would own the latest iPhone with a pink sparkly protective case that said Glamour Bitch.

  ‘I don’t suppose you happen to be religious, do you?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wondered. You seemed to imply that divorce wasn’t an option,’ she said, thinking on her feet.

  ‘Well that has nothing to do with religion. I’m a Methodist.’

  Caroline tried not to show too much of a reaction to this news. ‘Oh? And Roger too, presumably?’

  Alice laughed. ‘No. Not Roger. Not by a long shot. He used to call it a load of old hogwash. I go to church every Sunday, but I think the only times Roger set foot in a church were on our wedding day and when Hannah got baptised. He wouldn’t even come to events there with me. The couple of times he did, he always rubbed people up the wrong way.’

  Caroline nodded as she pretended to jot down a few things in her notebook. In fact, there were only two words, which she left in full view of Dexter.

  Told you.

  ‘Well, this is all very helpful, Mrs Clifton. Thank you. Would you mind if I used the bathroom, please?’

  ‘No, of course,’ Alice said, gesturing in the general direction of the hall.

  ‘Thanks. Still getting used to the Indian takeaways around here. Bit different to London.’

  She smiled inwardly to herself as she thought of Dexter being left in the kitchen with Alice Clifton on the back of that little comment. At least it’d give her a good few minutes to do what she’d really come here for.

  10

  The upstairs of Alice Clifton’s house was still palatial, but less ornate and tacky than much of the downstairs had been. Caroline wondered to herself whether downstairs had been styled for other people to see, whereas the upstairs had been purely for Alice and her daughter.

  She wandered into the main bathroom and splashed some water
on her face. She supposed she should at least make a show of having actually been in the bathroom.

  Caroline prided herself on having a good eye and ear for detail. It was something that had been pointed out to her early on in her career, and was what had made her first consider a route to CID. It was that eagle eye which had spotted the mobile phone in the kitchen downstairs, and her keen ear that made her sure she’d heard someone shuffling around as she came up the stairs.

  She walked back across the landing, taking slow steps, and saw a slight shadow moving in the gap underneath one of the bedroom doors. She moved towards it and whispered.

  ‘Hannah?’

  There was a brief moment before the door opened and Caroline came face to face with a beautiful young woman she assumed to be Hannah Clifton. ‘Can I come in?’ Caroline mouthed, gesturing towards the room. The girl nodded and stepped to the side, allowing Caroline to enter before closing the door quietly behind them.

  ‘I’m guessing you’re from the police,’ Hannah said, her eyes red. ‘You’ve got that look about you.’

  ‘I’m not quite sure how to take that, so I’ll just say thanks. I’m sorry about your father,’ she said, noticing that Hannah had clearly been crying. It seemed odd that her mother appeared to have no such remorse about her husband’s death.

  ‘Thank you. He was an amazing man.’

  ‘Can you tell me a little bit about him?’

  ‘I don’t really know what to say, to be honest. He was… strong. He didn’t take no for an answer. Never. He always knew what he wanted and he made damn sure he got it. I hope I can take after him.’

  Caroline didn’t particularly fancy the idea of her children turning out like either Roger or Alice, but having spent some time with the latter she knew which she’d choose if push came to shove.