by Sue Fortin
Once everything was completed, Steph leaned back on the sofa and let out a whoop. All done and – she checked her watch – well within the deadline. She rolled her shoulders and then her neck; both felt stiff and she wasn’t sure if it was from the car accident earlier or from being hunched over the laptop on her bed. A nice walk to clear her head and to loosen up her joints would do her the power of good, she decided, but before that she wanted to take a quick look at the notebook Sonia had given her.
Steph made herself comfortable on her bed and began flicking slowly through the pages. On some of them Elizabeth had jotted down a date, her writing bold and rounded with long tails and carefree dashes. Steph was no handwriting expert but the fluid and confident strokes across the page didn’t give her the impression that Elizabeth was a shrinking violet. Her handwriting appeared to match up with the picture of Harry’s wife she was now building in her mind.
Steph looked closely at the dated pages and realized these were the weeks leading up to her death. Surely, she wouldn’t have given it to Sonia unless it held significant information and maybe something that someone else didn’t want to be revealed. There must be something in amongst all the notes, the names, the phone numbers and the things to do that was important. Steph spent the next twenty minutes scouring through the pages. Elizabeth Sinclair had seemed to live her life by appointments at the hairdressers’, the spa and dinner dates, the latter usually with Harry.
Steph drummed her fingers on the notebook. Sonia was convinced it was important and that someone was trying to get their hands on it. That made sense to Steph in light of what had happened on the road with the 4x4.
She shivered involuntarily as she replayed the whole car-ramming incident in her mind. It wasn’t until now she could fully take on board exactly what had happened. Her stomach clenched and bile rose in her throat. She dashed through to the bathroom and retched over the toilet bowl. When she was convinced she wasn’t going to be sick, Steph slumped on the floor, all her energy zapped from her. She cowered in a ball as first her hands, then her arms and finally her whole body began to shake violently for several seconds.
Shock. She knew it was delayed shock. And who could blame her? She made a conscious decision not to fight the physical reaction and waited for the shaking to subside. Carefully, holding on to the sink for support, she got to her feet. Her legs felt wobbly, but she made her way back into the bedroom and flopped down on her bed.
She lay there for some time, allowing her thoughts to wash over her. She wished she could work it all out. This incident had only served to convince her someone out there didn’t want her at Conmere. They were trying to frighten both her and Sonia Lomas off.
Admittedly, it was tempting to pack her bags and head off back to the security of Brighton and her undemanding job at Vacation Staycation, but Steph knew she couldn’t. There was no way she could let this go now. She felt some deep-rooted loyalty to Elizabeth, which was strange, considering they had never known each other. Maybe Sonia was the connection? Steph gave a half-laugh. God, a psychologist would have a field day with her. They’d say she was imprinting on Sonia, that Sonia was the mother she had always craved and now she didn’t want to disappoint her or let her down.
Steph sat up and let out a sigh. The sad thing was, there was probably some truth in that self-analysis.
Steph’s gaze rested on the notebook. She picked it up, more for a distraction than anything else, and thumbed through it again. The last page was dated 30 August, not long before Elizabeth’s death. Steph scanned the handwritten notes.
Saturday 8.00 Dinner with Harry, Owen & Natalie
Tues, 10.15 Nails
Cam … 230 … 2206
01228 404404
Pick up dry-cleaning
Email re massage
Check out flights to Italy & villa
One entry in particular had been circled several times in red biro: Cam … 230. She couldn’t quite read the word, as the handwriting was a little messier than Elizabeth’s usual style. She studied it again. Cameron? Wasn’t that the name of the man from the pub whom Elizabeth was supposed to be having an affair with?
She flipped the notebook shut with a frustrated sigh. She needed to be proactive. Cameron seemed as good a place as any to start. She’d drive down to the next village and see if she could speak to him. He might be able to give her an insight or some useful bit of info about what had happened when they’d met up that day. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was going to ask him, but she’d work on that on the way. At least she was doing something now, and it was certainly better than sitting around, getting herself all worked up over the incident earlier. She needed to toughen up if she wanted to be an investigative journalist.
Steph was about to put the notebook safely away in her case, when she changed her mind. Someone might be desperate to get hold of this and if they managed to steal it she’d have no record at all.
It was a laborious task, but one that needed to be done, as Steph methodically took a photograph on her phone of each page and, one by one, emailed them to herself, then opening each email and downloading the contents to her drop box. That way she would still be able to access a copy. For good measure, she also copied them onto a memory stick.
‘Talk about covering all bases,’ she muttered to herself as she then hid the memory stick in the bottom of her case.
Before she left her room, Steph made sure her laptop was back in its bag and tucked away in the wardrobe. She took her handbag and her memory stick with her. She could easily replace the laptop if it was stolen, but not the work. Although, tucked away up here in the staff quarters, anyone trying to break into her room would have to be pretty brazen, she thought as she locked her door and tested the handle several times. She put the key into the inside pocket of her bag and zipped it up.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Nag’s Head Pub, Sunday, 12 May, 6 p.m.
The pub had that lazy Sunday evening atmosphere to it. The hustle and bustle of the lunchtime trade was now over and a more relaxed feel had settled, with the quiet conversation of a few customers mingling with the sound of the background music. It was comfortable and welcoming, Steph thought as she picked up a bar menu, not because she was hungry but to give her a little longer to take in her surroundings and suss out the bar staff.
There was a man and a woman serving behind the bar. The woman looked to be in her mid-twenties and the man older, possibly late thirties. They didn’t look like a couple and Steph wondered if the man was Cameron. She had no idea what a typical pub landlord cum yoga instructor was supposed to look like. The man looked up and gave her a nod of acknowledgement as he pulled a pint and placed it on the bar for a customer.
‘Cheers, Cam,’ said the customer, taking a £5 note from his wallet and passing it over.
So he was Cameron, Steph thought. He was good-looking, she decided as she took a closer look at him; his blond hair was cut short at the sides and a little longer on the top. He had good cheekbones and, as he turned back from giving the customer his change, he smiled at Steph, giving her the full benefit of his white teeth and notably green eyes.
‘What can I get you?’ he asked, coming over, fixing his gaze on her in such a way that Steph could feel herself almost blush and was then immediately annoyed with herself for such a reaction. She wondered if Elizabeth had been flustered at just the sight of Cameron. It probably hadn’t been difficult to flirt a little and then for one thing to lead to another. In that one look, Steph got the distinct impression that Cameron, or Cam, as the man had called him, was permanently on the prowl.
‘Diet Coke, please,’ she said, realising he was waiting for her response.
‘Ice?’
There was that smile again; it was almost cheeky. How could anyone make a simple question seem as though they were already sharing a private joke?
‘Please,’ Steph replied, hoping her flush hadn’t reached her face.
He placed the drink in front of her. ‘What e
lse can I do for you?’ he asked, resting an arm casually across the pumps. He now somehow managed to add a mischievous twinkle to his eyes.
Get a grip, girl, Steph scolded herself. She took a sip of her drink. ‘Actually, I’m looking for Cameron,’ she said, realising she had no idea of his surname. She gave a smile, hoping it would have the same hypnotic effect as his.
Cameron raised an eyebrow. ‘Who’s asking?’
‘I’m a friend of Elizabeth Sinclair,’ said Steph carefully, and instantly registered the slight change in his demeanour. The muscles in his jaw twitched and his shoulders tightened.
‘And?’ he said after a long pause.
‘And I wondered if I could talk to you about her? You are Cam, aren’t you? You look the way she described you,’ she said, hoping flattery was his Achilles heel.
‘How might that be?’
She’d guessed right. She gave a small giggle and dropped her gaze briefly, while simultaneously running her fingers through her loose hair. God, she was making herself cringe, but Cameron seemed to be buying into the act. ‘Blond. Good-looking. Great eyes. She also mentioned other attributes, but I can only go by what I can see.’
‘We could remedy that,’ he said, moving to the side of the pumps and resting both arms on the bar.
Steph smiled and took another sip of her drink. If he thought this was going to go any further, he’d be disappointed, but until then she needed to capitalise on her position. ‘Look, I’ll be straight with you,’ she said, acknowledging that she actually wasn’t going to be. ‘Elizabeth did talk to me about you, told me you were her yoga teacher, but she also said she knew you well, if you know what I mean – that you two were close.’
‘It was a couple of years ago now. I’m really sorry about what happened to her but …’ He paused and lowered his voice. ‘Yes, we were close, but it was just a bit of fun. It certainly wasn’t worth all the hassle it caused.’
For some reason it annoyed Steph that Cameron was dismissing Elizabeth so easily, as if she wasn’t very important. ‘She thought it was a bit more than that. She risked quite a lot.’ OK, she didn’t know that for a fact, but Steph had an overwhelming urge to fight Elizabeth’s corner, and a little liberty with the truth wasn’t the end of the world.
Cameron straightened up. ‘Why are you asking all this?’ A frown creased his forehead. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘I’m Steph. I’m asking because I miss her, that’s all. I came up here with the intention of going to see her husband, Harry, but I know they weren’t getting on that well and I’m not sure I’d be welcomed by the Sinclairs.’
Cameron gave a snort. ‘Yeah, they’re not exactly the most welcoming bunch.’
‘I tried to phone Harry but he didn’t want to speak to me. I just wanted to talk about Elizabeth, that’s all.’ She ran her finger around the edge of her glass. ‘You don’t sound like you’re their biggest fan.’
Cameron eyed her, this time without his Casanova gaze. ‘Not exactly. Now, do you want to cut the bullshit and tell me what you’re really doing here?’
Steph knew the game was up and kicked herself. She might as well come clean. She had nothing to lose and so much to gain. Cameron was hardly likely to go blabbing to the Sinclairs either. ‘OK. Elizabeth’s mother, Sonia Lomas, asked me to do some digging. She’s not convinced her daughter’s death was an accident. I’m sure you know that anyway.’
‘I’d heard.’
‘Well, I’m here to report on the reopening of the Sinclair resort and Sonia convinced me to have a look into Elizabeth’s death.’
‘You’re a reporter?’
‘Travel reporter. I’m just doing this for Sonia. I’m not working for a newspaper or anything.’ She took out her Vacation Staycation identity badge and showed it to Cameron. ‘Your name was in Elizabeth’s notebook and really I’m just trying to get another opinion on what happened, or what you think might have happened, or what sort of people the Sinclairs are.’
‘A bunch of bastards, that’s what sort they are,’ said Cameron. He glanced back at the bar. ‘Holly, look after the bar for ten minutes?’ He nodded towards a booth on the far side. Steph noticed he walked with a slight limp.
‘Thanks,’ said Steph as she sat down in the booth opposite him.
‘I haven’t got much to say,’ began Cameron. ‘But those Sinclairs think they’re above the law. I’ve never come across such an arrogant family.’
‘All of them? Even Harry Sinclair?’
‘Him especially. They’re a bunch of control freaks for a start. Dominic makes out he’s all for the community and giving something back to the local economy, but that’s only when it suits him. Yeah, he’ll scratch your back and all that, but you have to give the biggest scratch – it’s not a fair exchange.’
This wasn’t a particular surprise to Steph. She’d already decided Dominic was the most scheming of all the brothers. She hadn’t quite worked out Owen’s angle, but he was an instantly dislikable character and she was certain drugs were only the tip of the iceberg. Harry, though … she was surprised he was being tarred with the same brush. ‘Harry Sinclair didn’t much like you, from what I hear,’ she said, steering the conversation.
Cameron gave a laugh. ‘You can say that again. He thought there was something serious going on between me and Elizabeth but like I said, it was just a bit of fun.’
‘That’s not what she said.’ Steph was beginning to feel a little frustrated at the lack of forward motion in the conversation.
‘Like I said, we were close. She was bored. Lonely. I was single. I didn’t go looking for anything; she came to me. I actually felt sorry for her.’
It was the first time anyone, apart from Sonia, had shown any compassion or empathy for Elizabeth. Not even Harry had said anything like this, and Elizabeth had been his wife. Steph wondered how close to rock bottom their marriage had sunk. ‘It can be quite isolating being up at Conmere day and night.’
‘Exactly. Elizabeth could go for days without speaking to anyone outside of that family. It’s like a fucking cult, that place.’
‘How long were you both close to each other?’ ventured Steph, clear they were both using shorthand.
‘About eight weeks. Personally, I would have been happy for it to be a few more weeks but I’m not young and naive enough to think it’s as easy as that. It wasn’t what Elizabeth really wanted. I was just an escape from it all.’
‘Did she call your … friendship off?’
‘Only because she had to. Harry wasn’t keen on her coming over.’
‘What happened with Harry?’
‘The bloke’s a bloody nutcase. It’s the quiet ones you have to watch.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really. He went ballistic. Came down to the pub – he’d obviously been drinking. He was shouting and a bit unsteady on his feet but it didn’t stop him trying to drag me across the bar. Grabbed hold of my shirt and punched me right in the face.’ Cameron touched the bump in his nose. ‘I have a permanent reminder.’
Steph looked at him in disbelief. ‘I can’t imagine him doing that.’
‘Then you don’t really know him.’
Cameron had a point, she thought, but tried to console herself with the fact that Harry might not be the same man now that he had been back then. It was supposed to be a comforting thought, but by the same token, it was quite possible, back then, that the ‘old Harry’ was capable of being more violent. ‘Did you fight back?’
‘What do you think? I was too busy trying to defend myself, and look at me – I’m not built for fighting. I’m not a muscle-bound gym junkie. I’m all about stretching and relaxation. Or as much as I can do these days.’ He patted the top of his leg.
It was true, Cameron was slight and flexible-looking, not really a match for Harry. ‘What happened to your leg?’ asked Steph, sensing it was relevant in some way.
‘Hit-and-run,’ said Cameron. He pursed his lips before speaking again. ‘Same night as
Harry Sinclair attacked me in the bar, as it happens. Funny, that. His brothers were there and they pulled him off me in the end and I thought that was that, it was all over. Harry’s ego had been restored. I had a bloodied nose, but nothing that wouldn’t heal.’
‘What happened?’ Steph’s arms pricked with goose pimples. She was sure she wasn’t going to like the next bit.
‘Locked up that night. Walked the barmaid home. Oops, sorry, I’m probably not allowed to say barmaid these days, am I? Anyway, walked my female colleague home, as I didn’t like the thought of her walking home alone in the dark and she didn’t have a fella. As I was coming round the corner of the lane, this car came from nowhere and mowed me down. Right in the middle of the street.’
‘Oh, my God. That’s awful. Did they stop?’ Steph swallowed hard. Despite the question, she was pretty sure she could guess the answer.
‘Nope. Drove straight off. Left me lying in the road with a fractured thigh. That was my warning to leave Elizabeth well alone.’
‘You think …’ She couldn’t bring herself to say out loud what she was thinking.
‘Yes. I do. And, just so we’re clear about this, I’m one hundred per cent certain it was Harry Sinclair, either directly or indirectly.’
Steph gulped down an eruption of fear at the thought of Harry committing such a horrific act of premeditated violence. If Cam was to be believed, then he could easily have been killed that night. ‘Did you go to the police?’ Her voice still harboured a note of incredulity.
‘They weren’t interested. Yeah, they made all the right noises but it was a half-hearted attempt at catching whoever it was. They said without a witness or registration plate they had no chance of questioning anyone.’
‘What about CCTV?’
‘Well, there’s the thing. Turns out the only CCTV in that part of the road belongs to one of the local residents, who has a camera angled at their garage. And that particular night it wasn’t working. Convenient, that.’
