by Vicky Jones
“We’ve spoken to the locals, but to be honest we’re struggling. Everyone we speak to is saying this is totally out of character, but there is no suicide note, no use of her mobile phone, her bank card hasn’t been used, there’s no CCTV of her catching a bus or a train, nothing. There’s not even a ransom demand, so we’re at a bit of a loss working out what’s happened to your mother. Amanda, is there anything you can think of that will help us?” Rachel said, stepping closer to Amanda.
Closing her laptop, Amanda shook her head. “Only the things I’ve told you already.”
Michelle glanced at Rachel who gave her the merest flick of her eyes. “Poppy, could you show me where the loo is? I’m bursting.”
When they were out of earshot, Michelle stopped and turned to Poppy. “I know Amanda is probably worn out with all the stress, so I was wondering if you could think of anything at all that might help us find Mrs. Walker.”
Poppy shook her head and folded her arms. “If I could think of anything, believe me, I would tell you. I can’t bear seeing Amanda in this state.”
“You two close?”
Poppy shook her head and blushed. “Oh, not like that. She has a boyfriend. They only got together recently, though.”
“Did you know her mother well?”
“We’ve been friends since Amanda moved here. I think Diana liked me being friends with Amanda. Said I was a calming influence on her.”
“Really? In what way?”
“Well, when Amanda lost her father, it hit her hard. When she moved here, she started having therapy to get through the grief. So her mother was grateful when I came along to be her friend.”
“I see.”
“Well, I’d better let you…” Poppy nodded to the bathroom door.
“Oh, right. Yes.”
“So, if it’s OK, Amanda, I’d like to take a look at your mother’s will. It might give us some more names to investigate.”
Amanda’s eyes twitched at Rachel’s question. “Umm…I think it’s in the safe. But I don’t know the combination. Mum never told me.”
“Oh, right. No matter. What’s the name of her solicitor? They should have a copy.” Amanda fell silent. “So, how did you find out your uncle was due to get a lot of money from your mother’s estate if anything happened to her?” Rachel stepped forward and leaned against the counter.
“Mum told me. A few wee…months ago.” Amanda shook the fog from her brain as she tried to remember.
“Did she tell you specifically that your uncle would inherit?”
“Yeah. He’s such a freeloader. He’s never made anything of himself.” The tone in Amanda’s voice was impossible to ignore.
“OK, well, that gives us a good reason to want to speak with him again then.” Rachel turned to leave. “Are you sure you can’t remember the code to the safe?”
“It’s probably your birth date,” Poppy piped up from the doorway.
Both Rachel and Amanda stared back at her, their eyebrows arched.
“I mean, that’s what I’d think Diana would use,” Poppy said, as if a bit embarrassed for speaking out of turn.
“It’s not. I’ve already tried that,” Amanda replied. “I’ll see you out.”
At the front door, Rachel met with Michelle. “Thank you for your time, Amanda. We’ll be in touch,” Rachel said, before leaving.
Closing the door behind them, Poppy let out a sigh of relief. “Phew, that was close.”
“What was? You’re acting like we’ve got something to hide,” Amanda replied, her face stony.
“I don’t think what you’ve been researching on the internet will do you any good. The police wouldn’t want you putting yourself in danger looking for shady types around this town. I’m only thinking of you. You shouldn’t try and solve this yourself, Mand. If you’re planning on meeting up with these people, for God knows what reason, you could get hurt. There are some nutters in this world. Let the police do their job, OK?” Poppy reached out for Amanda’s wrists and stroked them with her thumbs.
“Why did you say that about the combination to Mum’s safe, Poppy? Have you been poking around?” Amanda asked.
Poppy let go of Amanda’s wrists and took a step back. “No. I…I didn’t mean anything by it. I just figured that’s what your mum would use, so she wouldn’t forget. You’re the most important person in her life, so I just assumed she’d use your birthday.”
Amanda couldn’t help but frown.
Tapping her card against the contactless machine in Starbucks, Michelle looked at Rachel, who had been quiet all the way over there from Amanda’s house.
“Penny for them.”
“Hmm?” Rachel replied. “Oh. Just thinking about our visit just then. What do you think of the friend? Poppy. Bit too good to be true, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I thought that too. When we spoke outside the loo, she seemed like every bit the perfect friend. But you know as well as I do, nobody’s perfect. I can always sense something’s amiss.” Michelle tapped her nose knowingly. Rachel’s phone rang.
“Shit. Hargreaves,” she said before pressing the answer button. “Ma’am?”
Michelle watched the expression change on Rachel’s face. When the call was over, she waited for Rachel to speak.
“Fuck.”
“What is it?” Michelle replied.
“Anderson has just called into the station to complain. He’s in bits, apparently.”
“Why?”
“His fiancée lost the baby. On the same night we visited.”
“Oh, Christ,” Michelle gasped.
“Shit. That poor—.” Rachel’s eyes looked glassy as she smacked the steering wheel with her palm, causing the car to swerve momentarily.
The conversation back to the station was stilted, with Rachel and Michelle each feeling the stab of pain and guilt at Becca Anderson’s tragic loss. Deciding to take an early finish, so as not to face the wrath of Hargreaves, Rachel asked Michelle to drop her off back at the station so she could get her bike.
“Shit!” she exclaimed, narrowly avoiding being knocked off her bike by a Mercedes. “Come on, Morrison. Get your shit together.”
After locking her bike in the lean-to, she trudged up to the front door of her end-terrace house and fumbled in her bag for her keys. Her phone rang just as she poked the correct key into the hole.
“Mum, it’s not a good time right now. I’ll call you back, sorry.”
“But you won’t, though, will you? I’m worried, darling. You’re not resting. You’re hardly at home.”
“Mum, I’m fine. I’ll rest once this case is wrapped up. I promise. I’ve got to go.”
Once inside her living room, Rachel collapsed into her armchair, the emotions of the day taking their toll on her. It was dark when she woke, her phone lighting up the living room.
“Hello?” Rachel croaked, before clearing her throat and sitting up.
“Boss, it’s Michelle. I’ve been doing some digging on the uncle. Eddie Green? Turns out he’s in shitloads of debt. He likes a bet or three. And get this, two of his businesses have recently gone tits up and he had to sell his house last year. Lives in a tiny cottage now over near Church Cove. Not only that, his wife left him and, well, I’d say that was enough of a reason to try and get hold of some money really quick, if you catch my drift?”
There was a long pause on the line. Michelle’s buoyant tone dipped.
“Boss? You there?”
Rachel sniffed and wiped her face. “Yeah. Good work, Michelle. Tomorrow we can get his call data and cell site and see if his movement or contact history sheds any light on his sister’s disappearance. Now go home to that boyfriend of yours. It’s late.”
“I know. I guess I felt so shit about what happened to Becca Anderson, I just wanted to make some headway. Maybe even take the heat off Toby?”
“I get that. But you need rest too. Go home now—that’s an order. We’ll go and visit Green on Monday.”
“OK, boss. Night.”
“Night, Michelle. And well done. Excellent work. We’ll make a detective of you yet.”
Rachel clicked the end call button and pressed her face back into the damp, tear-stained cushion.
Chapter 9
“Good morning, Mr. Green. I’m Detective Inspector Rachel Morrison and this is PC Michelle Barlow. Can we come in, please?”
Eddie Green, wearing a crumpled grey shirt and black faded jeans, stood at the shabby front door of his cottage looking stony faced. He ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Took your time, didn’t you? I expected you last week.” He stroked his unshaven chin.
“Yes, well, we’ve been looking at any potential leads as to the whereabouts of your sister. Shall we?” Rachel nodded in the direction of his hallway.
“Sure.” He stepped back and allowed them into his home.
As Rachel scanned her eyes around the living room, with its dated beige wallpaper peeling around the damp and mouldy windows and mismatched late-nineties mahogany furniture, Michelle took out her notebook.
“So, Mr. Green, when was the last time you saw your sister?” Rachel asked.
“A few days before she went missing. I was surprised you didn’t ask me to be on the press conference, to be honest,” he replied, a tinge of spite in his voice.
Michelle noted this.
“We thought it would make a stronger impact if we just had Amanda there,” Rachel replied. “Where were you the morning she was reported missing?”
“Lakeside Golf Club. I can’t afford the green fees anymore, but they still let me drink in the lounge. There will be CCTV of me there, and the barman will remember me. I used to be a good tipper.” Green half smiled.
Rachel nodded to Michelle, who wrote down Green’s alibi.
“How would you describe your relationship with your sister?”
Green narrowed his eyes. “Am I a suspect?”
“We’re asking everyone that question, Mr. Green. Nothing personal. So?”
After a pause, Green shrugged. “It was OK. Strained at times, but what family doesn’t go through hardships?” He looked between Rachel and Michelle, his eyes softening. “She’s been distant lately. Worried about Amanda.”
“Worried?” Michelle said.
“Amanda’s struggling still. With losing her dad all them years ago. Suicide.”
“Yes, we know,” Rachel replied.
“Well, after it happened, Amanda felt abandoned. She was really close to her father. Diana thought it best when they moved here to send her to a therapist, see if he could help Amanda deal with everything she was feeling.”
“Are you close with Amanda?” Michelle asked.
“Close? No, not really. Never have been. Closed book, that girl.” His look hardened once again. “Are we done here?”
“Almost,” Rachel said. “Just a few more questions, Mr. Green, then we’ll leave you to get on with your day. Did your sister ever help you out financially?”
Green recoiled ever so slightly. “What are you getting at?”
“Did she ever give you any money? Help you out?” Rachel watched his reactions carefully.
“Well, sometimes. I mean, she’s my sister.” He licked his dry lips.
“How much? A tenner here, a tenner there?” Rachel pressed.
Green threw his hands into the air. “Alright, alright. If you really have to know. You’ll work it out eventually anyway. She sends me a direct debit every month.” He looked Rachel in the face. “I’m not proud of it, you know. Needing help. But I got myself into a bit of trouble and Diana offered to help.”
“How much?” Rachel asked, unmoved.
“A grand.”
“Per month?” Michelle blurted out. She looked around the poky cottage, then towards Rachel, who remained concentrated fully on Eddie Green.
“Do you know anything about her will?” Rachel asked, her stare unblinking.
“Why would I? Amanda will get everything when Diana dies. Won’t she?” He took a step towards Rachel. Michelle watched with keen eyes. “Look. If you think something bad has happened to my sister, then I suggest you get out there and find the person who did it. You’re looking in the wrong place here. Why would I do anything to hurt the one person who’s getting me out of debt right now? Think about it.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Green. We’ll see ourselves out.” Rachel nodded to Michelle, who followed.
Once sat in their car, Michelle read back through her notes. “So, Amanda inherits the lot if Diana Walker turns up in a ditch somewhere?” She blew her cheeks out. “What did you make of him…the brother?”
“His reasoning sounded plausible. Get onto the solicitors, will you. See if what he says about not inheriting checks out.”
“Roger that.”
Rachel started the car. “There are so many holes in this case. I mean, why would Amanda be so sure her uncle was going to inherit her mother’s estate? What daughter hits that conclusion first?”
“I know. If it was me, I’d just naturally believe it would be me if I was an only child, like her,” Michelle concurred.
“When we get back to the station, you can check out the golf club alibi. That grand must be going somewhere. Perhaps he’s paying off debts. It isn’t going on air freshener for that shithole flat, that’s for sure,” Rachel said, wrinkling her nose. “Used to be a good tipper, eh?” she added, shaking her head.
“I know. I picked up on that too. But all the same, he might be a bit of a tool, but that doesn’t make him a murderer. I do agree with him on one thing. Why would he do anything to his cash cow? Makes no sense. Diana Walker being around surely is to his advantage, no? She’s no good to him dead.”
Rachel thought about that fact for a moment, then shook her head. “Remember what he said? She direct debits him. So as long as there’s money in there, the payment goes out automatically.”
Michelle registered that fact. “Oh yeah, of course. But surely if her estate goes into probate that would be challenged by the solicitor, or whoever has the power of attorney. So he is a suspect then?”
“Too early to call anyone a suspect, but he’s definitely a Person Of Interest. I’ll take any leads at the moment.”
“Possibly Amanda, too? As a POI?”
“And you know who else I want to find out more about?” Rachel added, looking on sideways at Michelle.
“Who?”
“Poppy Lovell. She seemed very quick to assume the combination to the safe, don’t you think?”
Chapter 10
“Morning.”
Amanda almost jumped out of her skin when she saw Poppy’s cheery face peering through the kitchen bay window at her.
“Jesus Christ.” She walked over to the back door and let Poppy in.
“I had a hunch you wouldn’t have had breakfast. Like always,” she added. “So I brought round your favourites.” Poppy held up a tray of two Starbucks coffees and a brown paper bag. “Double chocolate chip.”
“You not in work today?” Amanda said, taking the bag and coffees from her and setting them down on the counter.
“Start at ten.” Poppy wrapped Amanda in a tight hug. After letting her go, she reached into the bag and passed her a muffin.
“Look, you don’t have to keep coming round here to check on me, you know?” Amanda said, taking the muffin.
A little deflated, Poppy forced a smile. “What kind of friend would I be if I left you all on your own?”
The front doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it. You drink your coffee. I got them to put a caramel shot in it for you,” Poppy said, darting off to answer the door.
Before Amanda had the chance to put in her second sachet of sugar, Rachel and Michelle appeared at the kitchen door.
“Hello, Amanda, how are you holding up?” Rachel said, her hands in her jacket pockets.
“I’m doing OK, given the circumstances. Poppy here’s looking after me, as you can see.” Amanda nodded down towards the coffee and muffins.
“Clearly,” Michelle said.
“I’m still in my pyjamas, though, I’m sorry. Maybe if you’d called first before coming round?” Amanda pulled her dressing gown around herself.
“Oh, yes. Sorry about that. So, we spoke to your uncle.”
Amanda’s eyes brightened. “Did he mention the will?”
Rachel nodded. “Yes, he did. According to him, he’s not a beneficiary.” She watched Amanda’s reactions carefully. Michelle’s keen stare was trained on Poppy, who remained impassive throughout. “He stands to get nothing from the will if anything bad has happened to your mother.”
“Really?” Amanda leaned back against the counter. “But why would Mum tell me otherwise?”
“That’s what we’ve been asking ourselves too.” Michelle’s stare was broken as something at the kitchen window caught her attention. Seconds later there was a knock on the back door.
“Fuck’s sake. Anyone else wanna pop in this morning?” Amanda exclaimed.
Rachel raised an eyebrow at her outburst. “Sorry?”
Regaining her composure, Amanda smiled. “Nothing.” She looked through the kitchen window and sighed. “It’s just Philippa, our resident nosey old neighbour. I can’t even deal with this.” Amanda rubbed her forehead.
Poppy walked over to the door and opened it. “Hi, Mrs. Beckett.”
“Oh, hello, dear,” Philippa said in a croaky voice as she stepped through the back door. She was in her late seventies, wearing a white knitted cardigan and a light blue blouse, with a silver brooch fastening the top two buttons together. A pair of beige trousers and brown loafers completed her outfit. Her long white hair was fixed in a tight bun on the top of her head. “I was just wondering if there was any news?” Her wrinkly grey eyes scanned each face in the room, then set upon Michelle’s police uniform. “It’s not bad news, is it?”
