The Lost

by Mari Hannah

  ‘The manager has CCTV showing my van entering the garage at two fifteen. He copied it for me. I tried to hand it in up there – the polis station is only a few hundred yards away. They wouldn’t take it. They’re Police Scotland, so I guess they have a point. Anyway, it has your name on it. It’s as plain as day, I promise you: clear-cut proof that I was where I said I was when . . . when Justine died. All you need to do is pick it up. Cameras don’t lie.’

  ‘Unless they’ve been tampered with,’ Frankie said.

  ‘Gimme a break.’

  ‘OK, Mr Hamilton. I’m prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt for now. Thanks for doing my job for me. Right now, I need all the help I can get.’

  ‘You’ll check it out?’ He sounded hopeful.

  ‘I will indeed. Where will you be this afternoon?’

  ‘At home in Carlisle. You already have the address.’

  ‘Fine, send me a jpeg of the receipt and hold on to the original. It might be your passport out of our investigation. One of my officers will be in touch with you and the garage.’

  ‘Thanks.’ There was a beat of time. ‘DS Oliver?’

  ‘No, Mr Hamilton. I won’t say a thing to your other half. No letter will be sent to your home address.’ Frankie wished she had a quid for every time she’d said that this week. ‘I assume you have email so I can get in touch?’ She scribbled it down as he reeled it off. ‘If your receipt corresponds with the timing on the petrol station’s CCTV, you’ll hear no more from me. I have one further question: has your new-found alibi jolted your memory any? If you’re out of the frame, you can be honest. Don’t be shy.’

  ‘I hate to speak ill of the dead.’

  ‘Oh, go on. Everyone else has.’

  Hamilton paused a second, as if uncertain whether Frankie was being serious. ‘Justine was great, don’t get me wrong, but she was always pleading hard up, wanting me to bring her stuff, tip her a few quid. I reckon it may have got her into trouble.’

  As soon as he was off the line, Frankie made a call, putting the job out to one of her team, then turned to face Stone. ‘It seems we’re down to three.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard. Who do you fancy seeing next?’

  ‘Let’s give the loser a whirl.’

  The loser?’

  ‘Not-So-Wise.’

  Robson Wise was understandably nervous about meeting the police. They met him in the Bay Horse public house in the quiet Northumberland village of Stamfordham, around eleven miles west of Newcastle upon Tyne. Ironically, it was the same establishment where he’d met Justine for the first time, allegedly. He was sitting waiting when they arrived, his expression downcast. A solicitor by profession, married for fifteen years, father to three children, he looked nothing like Frankie imagined he might. The man was unshaven, casually dressed in jeans and a pink polo-shirt. At forty-four years of age, it had to be said, he was not wearing well.

  Stone took soft drinks over to where he was sitting, introduced himself and took the lead as bad cop. ‘Mr Wise, when you and I spoke on the phone, you indicated to me that you’d met Justine Segal in this very pub purely by chance.’

  His nod was almost imperceptible. ‘That’s correct.’

  Stone sat down. ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, that poses a problem for us. Before we continue, let me give you a piece of advice. Don’t be wasting our time. This is a murder enquiry we’re dealing with. We’re extremely busy and haven’t the energy for games.’

  Wise glanced at Frankie, prompting her to intervene.

  ‘Mr Wise, we’re coppers. It’s not the first time we’ve come across men in your predicament in our line of work. For that reason, we understand where you are coming from. It’s only natural for you to be secretive when it comes to your private life. DI Stone and I are willing to listen, but we require honesty and it’s clear you’ve not told the truth so far.’

  He didn’t answer.

  Stone tried again, this time more forcefully. ‘If you were a criminal lawyer rather than one concerned with property, you’d understand that detectives have ways of finding things out. My colleague here,’ he nodded in Frankie’s direction, ‘is about as good a detective sergeant as I’ve come across. Within seconds of talking to you the first time around, she discovered that the oldest of your children attends the same school as Daniel Scott, the young man Justine Segal was employed to look after, so my question to you is: who was stalking who?’

  ‘What?’ Wise was horrified by the suggestion. ‘Listen, I’ll put my hands up to having a brief encounter with Justine, but stalking? No. You’ve got this wrong. If anyone was doing the stalking, it wasn’t me.’

  Frankie had never seen a man so taken aback and, for reasons she didn’t entirely understand, she believed him. It was time to play the sympathy card. ‘Robson – can I call you Robson?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Stalking is perhaps too strong a word. I think what Detective Inspector Stone means is, your meeting in this pub was engineered. One of you made it happen. We really need to know which one.’

  ‘Not me!’

  ‘Was Justine here when you arrived?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘No, she followed me in. We got chatting at the bar and . . . well, you know the rest.’ He looked away, embarrassed. When he turned to face them, there were tears in his eyes. ‘I only saw her the one time, I swear.’

  ‘That much we are prepared to accept,’ Stone said.

  Wise was visibly relieved.

  ‘It fits with what we know,’ Frankie explained. ‘We examined Justine’s diary.’

  ‘To be perfectly honest, I wish I’d never set eyes on her.’

  ‘But you did,’ Stone said. ‘So, let’s start again, shall we?’

  Wise took a deep breath, hesitating as someone passed their table. ‘OK, I’ll be straight with you.’ He kept his voice so low it was hardly audible. ‘Justine was nice to me. I was flattered. She let it be known she was up for it. In a moment of weakness, I let my guard down. That makes me sound like such a dickhead. You’ll have heard it a hundred times but I’ve never done anything like this before in my whole life. I love my wife. My children, too. It will destroy my kids if this is made public.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘Because if I admitted seeing Justine, I’d have been forced to offer an alibi for the time of her death. I was with my wife for the period in question and I knew you’d have to corroborate my account with her. I couldn’t bear the misery that hearing it from you would cause her. I have since told her the truth and she’s heartbroken.’

  ‘I see,’ Stone said.

  ‘No, I don’t think you do. My wife, Margaret, is terminally ill, Detective Inspector. She has months rather than years to live. My confession has hurt her terribly. I knew it would, which is why I didn’t tell the truth initially. I couldn’t have you going to the house without giving her some warning. God knows I owe her that much. I don’t suppose it matters now I’ve finally plucked up the courage to tell her myself. If you must see her to verify my story, I beg you to make it as painless as possible.’

  ‘You said you were with Margaret when Justine died,’ Frankie said. ‘Were you at home?’

  ‘No. Margaret had an appointment with her oncologist at the RVI. I went along. It wasn’t good news I’m afraid.’

  Frankie’s stomach took a dive. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Stanley . . . that’s a surname.’

  ‘Then maybe we could get him to corroborate your alibi and not bother your wife.’ She glanced at Stone.

  He was nodding his approval.

  Wise thanked them, his relief obvious to both detectives. ‘If you could do that, I’d be forever grateful. Perhaps then she won’t think I’m a murdering bastard as well as a total sleazebag.’

 
‘Did Justine make any demands on you?’ Stone asked.

  ‘In what respect?’

  ‘Money . . . favours?’

  ‘No, as I said, I only saw her the once.’

  There was a flicker of something behind his eyes that was upsetting him. The entries in Justine’s diary popped into Frankie’s head – his name crossed through. She’d taken that to mean that he wasn’t a good screw, that he couldn’t get it up and Justine was writing him off as a no-hoper. Or maybe that wasn’t it. Frankie exchanged a brief look with Stone. She was going off-piste and didn’t want him to interrupt.

  ‘Where did you have sex with Justine, Mr Wise?’

  The solicitor blushed. There was fear there too. He was dying of acute embarrassment and clearly didn’t wish to answer. He wanted Frankie to stop. He hadn’t figured on such an in-depth line of questioning. He’d had sex with a woman who was not his wife and now he was paying for it. What more was there to say? What did she want, blood?

  ‘Robson?’ Frankie waited.

  ‘In my car.’

  ‘In what location?’

  He hung his head, then raised it again, terror in his eyes. ‘A quiet spot she knew, close to where she was killed. I swear I was not there on the day she died.’

  ‘And then you drove her back here?’

  He nodded. ‘Her car was parked right outside.’

  ‘Was there any chat between the two of you?’

  There it was again, that same despairing look. He turned his head away, blew out a breath. ‘I got upset after we’d, y’know . . . To be honest with you, I was distraught, feeling like a shit for having cheated on my dying wife. I shared that with Justine. When we arrived, she just got out of the car and walked away.’

  And crossed him off her list.

  40

  It was getting on for three o’clock. Frankie called the incident room, asking someone to contact Margaret Wise’s oncologist urgently, then hung up and put the phone on the dash. Her thoughts were with the victim as Stone drove towards Parker’s business premises. He and Curtis could both be there – only one, or neither. The element of surprise was what the detectives were after. As the countryside flashed by, Frankie shut her eyes, feeling the cool draught from the vehicle’s air-conditioning caress her skin. It was one of the hottest days of the year so far, set to reach the mid-eighties in Northumberland. The rest of the country was experiencing a washout, as it had done for most of the month.

  Crazy.

  ‘What’s going on in that head of yours?’ Stone asked.

  ‘Currently, it’s a toss-up between the weather and Justine.’ Frankie opened her eyes, turned the fan up to maximum, directing the stream of cool air to her upper body. ‘It’s too damned hot to think.’

  ‘What about Justine?’

  ‘She’s a split personality, don’t you think? Leaning on weak married men by night, using her sexuality to get what she wants. A fun-loving, caring au pair by day, adored by the children she helped raise, liked by almost everyone with whom she came into contact, except you – I know you had your misgivings.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘“Pleasant enough” were your exact words, as I recall. What woman, or man for that matter, wants that written on their tombstone? You may as well have called her invisible—’

  ‘That’s deep for you, Frank.’ He reached across and placed his left hand on her forehead, his brow creased in concern. ‘You sure you’re feeling OK?’

  Frankie laughed.

  It was good to see him on form, no easy task given that his brother’s funeral hung over his head like a dark cloud. The thought made her sad, even though she’d never met Luke except in conversation with David. She thought she’d have liked him a lot.

  ‘You’ve gone all melancholy,’ Stone said.

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘Justine isn’t the only woman of two halves I’ve encountered recently.’

  Frankie acted as if there had been no break in her thought pattern. ‘Don’t you find it fascinating the way she crossed Wise off her list, just like that, as if the man was of no consequence?’

  ‘Nice sidestep!’

  She ignored the remark. ‘He was an obvious target. Dying wife. Sex-starved. A worried man who needed, if not tenderness, then the physical release she was able to provide. He was easy pickings, David. Justine could’ve been in there had she played her cards right, and yet she chose to walk away. There was a lot of good in her, don’t you think?’

  ‘You make her sound like Maria to his Captain Von Trapp. You’ll be breaking into “Edelweiss” next. I prefer Knopfler myself.’

  She punched his arm. ‘You’re a cheeky git sometimes.’

  ‘I had no idea you were so cerebral.’

  ‘Er, what does that mean again?’

  James Curtis didn’t seem surprised to see a police presence at his business premises, or that they were double-crewed. His office overlooked reception. Even through the reinforced glass wall, Frankie could tell that he was nervous. The lad with the floppy hairstyle took one look at her and decided not to argue. He glanced over his shoulder, a hint to his boss that his attendance was required. The executive got to his feet. Seconds later, the door opened and Curtis walked through it, confirming that he’d see Stone and Oliver without an appointment.

  Big of him.

  The alternative was worse.

  ‘I was expecting you.’ Curtis shook hands with both officers. ‘Come through.’

  They all took a seat in the boardroom, Frankie taking care of the introductions. This was the first time that Stone had met Parker’s business partner. For a moment there was silence, two professional males checking each other out, forming impressions, getting ready to do battle, or so she thought. What happened next was gratifying. Life was good sometimes.

  ‘I assume you’re here about Justine Segal?’ Curtis said.

  ‘Yes,’ Stone said. ‘And we expect your full cooperation.’

  ‘And you’ll have it.’ Curtis linked his hands in front of him, elbows on the table. For a man under suspicion, he appeared relaxed. ‘I began seeing her in February. Once a week, once a fortnight. Nothing heavy. What can I say? She was fun and unattached. I was neither of those things.’ He caught Frankie’s bored expression. ‘Don’t concern yourself, DS Oliver. I won’t trot out the sob story that my wife doesn’t understand me. She understands me perfectly – if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  Frankie held his gaze. ‘DI Stone and I are grateful for your honesty, Mr Curtis. It makes our job easier.’

  The man sighed. ‘I was saddened to learn of Justine’s death, of course. More so when I read in the newspapers that it was murder. I knew you’d get to me eventually, given that I couldn’t account for my whereabouts at the time of her death. Fishing is a solitary pursuit mostly. No CCTV on the riverbank that would let me off the hook. No pun intended.’ He smirked.

  ‘A woman died,’ Frankie said. ‘There’s no room for humour here.’

  Stone cut her off. ‘What was Justine like?’

  ‘Didn’t you meet her while investigating Daniel’s so-called disappearance?’

  ‘Yes, but not in the same context. I never saw, shall we say, the side of her that you did.’

  ‘She was unlike any woman I’ve ever come across.’ In terms of eye contact, Curtis was favouring Frankie. ‘She understood the difference between raw sex and commitment. I liked that she wasn’t needy and felt safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t grass me up to my wife. Justine was after a good time, not love.’

  Ignoring his rhetoric, Frankie said, ‘Think carefully. Are you absolutely sure of your dates?’

  ‘Of course, or I wouldn’t have said so.’

  Curtis had no idea where Frankie was heading or, if he did, he didn’t show it. Stone’s words arrived in her head: I want you to study that diary forensica
lly and find out exactly when she first mentioned him. He’d been talking about the possibility that Justine had met Parker before she came north to work for him. That theory could equally apply to the man they were interviewing now. There was no evidence to that effect in her diary. Her enquiry needed answering.

  ‘Perhaps I’m asking the wrong question,’ Frankie said.

  ‘Only you would know.’

  ‘When did you first meet her?’

  ‘Sometime in early January, shortly after she began working for Tim.’

  ‘Are you certain about that?’ Frankie wanted to know. ‘We have a strong suspicion that she may have chosen to come north for more than employment with your business partner. I thought perhaps it might have been you.’

  ‘It wasn’t.’ Curtis dropped his hands into his lap. ‘Though I’d have been flattered if that had been the case.’

  Frankie ploughed on. ‘Were you aware that she was seeing other men?’

  ‘I’d be surprised if she wasn’t. I never asked and she didn’t tell me. It was not my business.’

  ‘She never talked about it?’

  ‘Why would she? There was nothing complicated about Justine. When you were with her, life was simple. She had the knack of making you feel like you were the only man in the world. Our meetings were about freedom of expression: good food and wine, sparkling conversation, great sex.’

  ‘In the woods in the back of a car? Do me a favour.’

  Curtis’s lip curled.

  The arrogant prick thought he was so cool. Frankie wasn’t buying his bullshit. Even in clandestine relationships, there would be something about the other party that got up your nose, if only occasionally. She needed to exert pressure on the businessman but wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it. As he carried on talking, she listened. It was all too pat, as if he’d rehearsed it over and over. Well, Frankie wasn’t into amateur dramatics.