“The only thing we can do,” she said with a gulp. “We go to the police.”
Chapter Thirteen
Janet drove them up to the station, and for once she actually put her foot down on the accelerator.
“I don’t get it,” Ryan said as they pulled up outside. “How did the knife that killed Mark end up in your parents’ bin?”
“Because that’s where I took her after we found Mark’s body.” Claire climbed out and slammed the car door. “I’ll give it to her, she’s a good actress, but I knew there was something different about the way she cried over Taron in the hospital. She was constantly wiping her tears away. Now that I think about it, I don’t remember seeing any tears with Mark.”
“There wasn’t!” Janet exclaimed as she climbed out of the car. “I knew there was something fishy about all that wailing. It felt so . . . put on.”
They hurried down the short path to the station door. Nestled on the corner, Northash’s police station blended in with the surrounding cottages, and if not for the row of police cars and the tiny blue ‘POLICE’ sign above the door, it would have been easy to mistake it for just another house. Inside, Sergeant Maggie Morgan sat behind the front desk, a pen in her mouth as she stared at a crossword.
“‘Ello, everyone,” she said, nodding at each of them in turn. “‘Ello, Janet. How’s your Alan doing? We’re all still missing him like mad ‘round here.”
Maggie Morgan had begun her policing career in the same year as Claire’s father. According to Alan, she was always the first to chase on foot. Now in her mid-sixties, she’d spent the last decade behind the front desk, although she always seemed quite happy there. They’d offered a similar role to Alan, but he’d reluctantly taken retirement over being put out to pasture.
“Alan is doing just fine,” Janet replied stiffly. “All the better for the rest.”
“Aww,” Maggie beamed. “Glad to hear it. Salt of the earth is Alan Harris, and a fine detective.”
“Speaking of detectives,” Claire said, leaning against the desk. “Is Ramsbottom in?”
“He’s in the middle of interviewing a suspect.” She snapped her fingers together and filled in one of the crossword rows. “Been quite the night, what with the big arrest. Things really got exciting when that dishy solicitor turned up shouting the odds.”
Claire was glad to know her phone call had worked.
“It’s rather urgent.” Claire pleaded with her eyes. “Please, Maggie. He’s got the wrong person.”
Maggie huffed and wheeled the chair across the desk. She gave the door behind a few bangs with her fist before rolling back to her crossword. DI Ramsbottom peered through the window, clearly annoyed. His eyes scanned the room, softening when they landed on Claire. He yanked open the door.
“What do you have on Sean?” Claire asked, pulling the detective into the corridor behind the door; it was meant to be for staff only, but she’d been down it more times than she could remember. “Whatever it is, it’s not what you think.”
“You’re sounding like that solicitor,” Ramsbottom hissed, clenching his eyes. “I’ve just figured it all out, Claire, and I’ve proved it! The boy was furious at his best friend for pulling out of their house plans, and the other one was bullying him! I have statements from all over confirming it.”
“And I thought the same,” she pleaded, “but don’t let his awkwardness fool you into thinking he’s guilty.” She paused and took a deep breath. “What do you have on him?”
Ramsbottom pushed open one of the doors and went into a bare office. He fell into a chair behind a laptop, hit the spacebar, and spun it around to show Claire. The scene was familiar: the mini supermarket down the lane. Sean walked through the doors and bumped first into a rack of sunglasses and then into a display of crisp packets, knocking them over. He kept his head down as he paced the aisles, obviously on edge. After grabbing a large tub of chocolate ice cream from the tall freezers at the back, he took it to the self-service machine, paid, and left, bumping into a fellow shopper on the way.
“A nervous man shopping?”
“A nervous man shopping right after we’re estimating the victim was killed a stone’s throw away.”
“Estimated based on what?”
“Statements!” he snapped, pulling the laptop back. “Eyewitness reports! Damn you, Claire, you sound just like your father! What are you on to that I can’t see?”
“Is the autopsy back yet?”
“Yes,” he said, pursing his lips slightly. “How do you know that?”
“Because it’s been over twenty-four hours and the cause of death was too obvious to raise questions that would make it take longer.” She closed her eyes so as not to roll them; how much had she absorbed from her father over the years? “Is there an estimated time of death?”
“We already know it’s half past nine.”
“What does the autopsy report say?”
“I haven’t looked.” He dragged the laptop close. “It came through just as we got Sean back here. It’s not like we needed to confirm the cause of death. I saw it with my own eyes. I’m telling you, Claire. It’s going to confirm my theory.”
Ramsbottom typed for a little while, followed by more reading and scrolling. When he slapped the laptop shut and pushed it across the table, Claire knew what it confirmed.
“Based on the level of blood loss, they’re putting it between seven and seven thirty in the evening.”
“Which knocks Sean out of the picture,” she said, relieved, “because he was with me in the pub just then. If you want an overlapping statement, he was with Damon right up until the recording from the shop. There’s no unaccounted-for time in which he could have gone and murdered Mark in the park.”
“That rhymes.”
“Detective,” she said with a sigh, “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but let Sean go. You know you can’t charge him now. He’s sensitive. I doubt he’s coping with any of this well.”
“Who did it then?” he asked, narrowing his eyes on her. “If you know so much, tell me who I need to be questioning.”
“I will, after you let Sean go.”
Ramsbottom stood, his belly pushing the table away. He held open the door for Claire and looked in the other direction until she walked through it and back into the public area out front. The very last person Claire expected to see was sitting in the corner, beside the television and coffee machine, on one of the many mismatched chairs. Damon, Ryan, and Janet were all sitting across from her, none seeming to know what to say.
“Rina?” Claire said as she approached the woman with tentative steps. “What are you doing here?”
“The right thing,” she said, eyes going to her hands in her lap. “Sean is an innocent, and he’s innocent of the crimes they’re accusing him of. I don’t think the man has ever liked me, but this isn’t the way to get away with this. Not that I ever expected . . . I am doing the honourable thing. I’m turning myself in.”
Claire could hardly believe her ears. After so many lies and so much running around trying to figure out the truth, there it was in front of them.
“You killed Mark,” Claire said as she approached. “When I found you at the park, you weren’t waiting for him, you were leaving because you’d just gone back for the knife, which you dumped in my bin.”
“My bin,” Janet interjected.
“It’s true,” Rina said, her bottom lip wobbling. “I will not deny it. I stabbed Mark. I was so angry.”
“Angry because he wouldn’t leave you alone?” Claire took a seat a couple down from Rina, not too keen on sitting next to her in case she had another knife. “And you stabbed Taron at the convention because you knew he was going to propose to you, and that’s the last thing you wanted. Unless what you told me about your parents was a lie too?”
Rina looked up at Claire with such a pained expression she immediately regretted her last statement.
“I wouldn’t lie about that,” she said, her brows creasing into a frown,
“and you’ve got it all wrong.”
“But you said—”
“I killed Mark, yes.” She nodded. “But I did not stab Taron. I love Taron. I didn’t want to marry, but it didn’t mean I didn’t want to be with him. And I did not know he was going to propose. I never thought he would.”
Her bottom lip wobbled again, and this time she looked up at the lights with tears in her eyes. “After I heard what happened to Taron, I felt my life crumble around me, but I never suspected one of my friends was behind it until you.” She fixed her watery gaze on Claire. “In the bathroom of the pub, you put the idea in my head. Until then, I believed what the police said. I thought the attack was random. We left the pub and went back to the B&B, but I couldn’t shake it.” When she clenched her eyes, tears tumbled down her cheeks. “I confronted Mark. I asked if he had done it, and he didn’t try to deny it. He said with Taron out of the way, we could finally be together. Even at the end, he didn’t see the truth. I didn’t love him. I didn’t want to be with him, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was owning me. We argued and argued. He left the B&B, and I went after him.”
“And you just happened to have a knife on you?” Janet asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“I took one from the kitchen.” She roughly wiped her tears away before tucking her silver hair behind her ears. “I didn’t know what I was going to do with it. Scare him, maybe? But I was so angry. I was so in shock. I could not believe that he would do something so cruel to try to get me back. He said he was glad he stabbed Taron, and he’d do it again if he had the chance, only this time, he wouldn’t miss. I lunged at him. I didn’t think it would be so easy.”
“So, you went back for a few more to make sure?” Janet muttered in a mock-whisper as she fiddled with her diamond earring. “I hope none of you are buying this routine?”
To Claire, it didn’t feel like an act. Rina had lied about so many things to protect herself and others. She’d lied about not attending the convention to protect Damon’s feelings, and she’d lied about why she was at the park to protect herself. Everything since then had been lies to keep up that protection. Claire knew what a lifetime under her mother had been like. She’d learned to fib quite well too, just to keep the arguments at bay. Given how strict Rina’s parents sounded, she wasn’t surprised falsehoods fell so easily out of Rina’s mouth. But now, at the end, when someone else was about to take the fall for something she’d done, the truth came out. Claire was seeing the real Rina for the first time. She was a woman in the middle of a mess she never wanted, far from everything she knew.
“I was upset,” she repeated, “so angry. I kept going and going, and then I ran back to the B&B and scrubbed myself in the bath until the water was red. I realised I’d left the knife, so I went back for it. A moment of madness, maybe. When you showed up, I panicked.”
“There was no phone call.”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I expected . . . I thought his body would have been discovered. But he was right where I’d left him. In the bushes. I took the knife, I tucked it into my jacket, and then I bumped into you and made up a story.”
“What about Mark stabbing Taron at the convention?” Damon stepped forward. “Did he plan it? Was it random?”
Rina closed her eyes. “That is not my story to tell.”
The door behind the desk opened, and DI Ramsbottom walked out wearing a sour expression. Sean left the room next, guided by Paul’s hand on his shoulder. The solicitor was smiling, but the expression vanished when he saw Claire. She thanked him with a slight nod, which he returned. Knowing what he’d done to Sally, she hadn’t wanted to call him, but he’d been the only solicitor in her phone.
“My client deserves an apology for the way you’ve treated him tonight,” Paul said, his usual arrogance suited to his present role. “Maybe next time, Detective Inspector, establish your timeline before arresting innocent people.”
“Yes, yes,” Ramsbottom replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I got it wrong. I’m sorry. I had my facts muddled.” He spotted Claire, his brows turning down. “Are you going to tell me? I’m back to square one.”
“I can do you one better, Detective,” she said, stepping to the side to reveal Rina. “I think you two need to have a little talk. She came here of her own free will, so go easy on her.”
“Claire?”
“You’ll find out.”
Claire gave Rina a final smile before leaving the station. Though she felt sympathy for the woman, nobody had held her hand when she’d plunged a knife repeatedly into a man’s stomach. Rina knew that; she wouldn’t have come to the station if she wasn’t ready to face the consequences.
“I’ll be sending you the invoice,” Paul said coldly into her ear as he pushed past her. “Oh, and tell Sally—”
“I’m grateful for what you did tonight,” Claire cut in, her jaw clenching, “but I’m not telling Sally anything. If you have something to say to her, you say it yourself. Stop with the dirty tricks and show that woman some respect. She is the mother of your two children, and she’s given you every chance under the sun. I know she isn’t perfect, but she’s a good woman. You’ve put her through the wringer this year, and considering how much I love her, you’re lucky we’re at a police station. Anywhere else, and you’d be walking away from me with a broken nose.”
Paul’s jaw dropped, and Claire half-expected him to launch into a rant. He’d talked enough about ‘fat lazy people’ over the years; she knew exactly what that look in his eyes every time he saw her meant. She raised her eyebrows, daring him to say a word, but his gaze darted to the four people behind her. He forced a dry, breathy laugh and left through the gate in the direction of his house in the middle of ‘Upper Northash’.
“As much as I disapprove of the violent threats, dear,” Janet said, squeezing Claire’s hand from behind, “good for you for standing up to him. I’ve always thought Paul was a bad egg. I don’t know what Sally saw in him.”
“Sally would be proud,” Ryan said with a wink.
“Sally would have had a glass of wine in her hand,” Damon said as he opened the gate, “and she would have thrown it in his face.”
Once they were all buckled in, Janet drove them back to the square, pulling up outside of Claire’s Candles.
“Well, that was all rather anticlimactic,” she said as she yanked up the handbrake. “Your father isn’t going to believe how easily she just gave up her confession.”
“What else did you want, Mother?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She pulled down the visor mirror to mess with her perfectly blow-dried hair. “Some excitement, maybe? A car chase or two. It was all rather . . . ordinary. I mean, she just turned up at the station. You don’t see that on the telly.”
“After everything that has happened lately,” Claire said, leaning it to kiss her mother on the cheek, “I’ll take a bit of ordinary.”
They all climbed out of the car. Claire offered to take Damon and Sean up to her flat, but they were rightly exhausted and chose to go to Damon’s to get an early night. Ryan, however, did accept Claire’s invitation upstairs.
“Excuse the mess,” Claire said as they walked up the dark staircase. “I’ve had a bit of a houseful lately.”
But the mess had gone, and the flat was sparkling clean. The lights weren’t on, but pink rose petal candle jars lit the room with a soft amber glow. A bottle of red stood on the counter next to two empty glasses. There was even a cheeseboard. On the fridge, Sally had left a note telling her to enjoy the rest of the evening.
“This isn’t a setup, I promise,” Claire said as she kicked off her shoes and flicked on one of the lamps. “It’s Sally’s idea of being helpful.”
“It’s fine,” Ryan said, turning off the very same lamp. “It’s nice.”
Claire gulped. There was the look in his eyes again.
“Wine?” she announced.
“Sure,” he said with a chuckle as he toed off his shoes. “And then I th
ink we need to talk.”
Claire hurried into the kitchen. Cheeks on fire, she was glad of the semi-darkness. She uncorked the wine and filled the glasses almost to the brim. Feeling like Sally, she took a deep swig, hoping the alcohol would steady the squirming inside her stomach.
“Cheese?” she called.
“Sorry?”
“There’s a cheeseboard,” she replied. “That burger barely touched the sides.”
“Sure.”
Claire turned to the wooden block of knives next to the microwave. When she grabbed for one of the small ones, she noticed a gap where the largest knife should have been. She checked the cutlery drawer and the sink, but the knife was gone. She turned, surprised to see Ryan on the other side of the counter. The soft candlelight brought out the red in his hair in a way she’d always liked, but she was too distracted to focus on it.
“I’ve lost a knife,” she said.
“You’ve got more knives.” He nodded at the block. “I can see them.”
“No, but I’ve lost a knife I’ve never even used.” She dragged open the cutlery drawer and took out the plastic organiser to look underneath. “It was a housewarming present from my mum. Expensive, according to her, but you know what I’m like with cooking. I haven’t got around to using them yet.”
“Maybe Sally did?”
“Sally’s a worse cook than I am.” She put the organiser back and started digging through the Tupperware drawer. “Knives don’t just go missing.”
“It’ll turn up.”
“But what if it’s not here?”
“Why wouldn’t it be here?”
Claire turned and stared at the sofa where Taron had sat the morning of the convention. He’d been so tired. Too nervous to sleep, he’d said.
Nervous about what?
The tournament?
By his own admission, he’d been playing the game for years, and Damon had even called him their best player.
And then she remembered Rina’s final words to her.
“‘Someone else’s story to tell’,” Claire murmured, already on her way to the door. “She wasn’t talking about Mark. We need to get to the hospital, and fast.”
Rose Petal Revenge: Claire’s Candles - Book 4 Page 15
