by Mari Hannah
‘Check it out,’ the DI said.
‘What she couldn’t do is make her son disappear,’ Dick said. ‘That’s where all this started.’
‘Unless she was the one who hacked Tim Parker’s phone,’ Frankie added. ‘An action I initiated but then cancelled when the boy was returned.’ She glanced at Stone. ‘Blame Windy.’
David was nodding. ‘Parker did say he was set up.’
‘If that’s true,’ Frankie said, ‘his wife’s the one doing it.’
‘Revisit the service provider, Dick. We haven’t one shred of evidence against her otherwise.’
Frankie couldn’t agree more. ‘Then we’ll have to find it. The more I think about it, the more pieces of the jigsaw fall into place. Alex jogs. She could’ve been the jogger Marjorie Smith saw running past her cottage – or the cyclist for that matter. Justine and Alex are about the same stamp. Alex could’ve done the deed, then disposed of Dixon’s bike in the lake.’
Dick was shaking his head. ‘Not before our guys got their act together. The area was flooded with police vehicles within minutes of Justine’s death. Alex would’ve been seen.’
‘Dick has a point,’ Stone said. ‘And didn’t she pick Daniel up from school that day?’
Frankie wasn’t put off. ‘So she rides home through the woods, hides the incriminating evidence in the back of the car and gets rid on the way to pick up Daniel. It’s a small window of opportunity, but doable.’ Her eyes found Stone. ‘We’ve been played, boss.’
‘We need more than the testimony of an old lady. Something concrete to tie Alex to the crime scene. It’s one thing knowing she did it, another matter finding proof.’
Frankie’s eyes lit up. ‘And I know exactly where to find it.’ She paused, several pairs of eyes staring at her. ‘All of Alex Parker’s problems began while she was away on holiday in Majorca. This morning, I asked Kyra to AirDrop me the photographs from Kat’s mobile phone – several thousand of them. I studied them for hours and found something I hope will convince you.’
‘Like what?’ David was intrigued.
‘The villa Kat booked for their holiday last month wasn’t new to her. She’d been to the very same villa four years ago – four months before Ali Irwin was born.’
‘You have confirmation of that?’
‘Kyra is on it. The evidence is there for the taking, boss. We can be there and back in twelve hours.’
The DI considered this for a moment. ‘OK, we’ll give it a go. Nothing ventured, as they say. The rest of you: no tipping her off. If Alex is our target and is trying to frame her husband, with him in custody she’ll think she’s achieved her objective. She doesn’t know we’re on to her and I’d like to keep it that way.’ He focused on Frankie. ‘Good job, Frank! Shame you’re not fit to travel. I’ll take Dick with me.’
‘Over my dead body.’
Everyone laughed.
Concerned for Frankie’s welfare, Stone insisted on consulting the force medical officer before allowing her to take the flight to Palma. Post-concussion, she was advised that she could travel so long as she stayed hydrated. Long haul might have been a different story. Having been instrumental in the search for the truth, no one deserved to close the case more than she did. Digital images backed up on Kat Irwin’s iCloud account had provided a link between the present and the past. Whatever it was, Frankie was convinced that the trip had sparked a devastating chain of events, destroying a family who, on the face of it, led a perfect life.
Before boarding at Newcastle International, Frankie and David put their heads together. Clues on Timothy Parker’s phone provided further insight into his double life with Kat Irwin and, later with his daughter, stolen periods when he was on business trips the team hadn’t been able to corroborate. Golfing with other entrepreneurs was the only way to do business in his world, a fact of life for Alex who never questioned a prolonged absence.
Using this information, Frankie had done the maths. Ali Irwin was three years and eight months old, born 8 November 2012, a fact confirmed by her birth certificate. Guessing that her mother might have booked through the same travel agency for both trips, Frankie contacted Kyra, who had the details to hand, documents retrieved from the IP’s flat, then emailed the company using her work address, explaining that hers was an urgent enquiry.
Minutes later, a reply pinged into Frankie’s inbox via the incident room. Taking a deep breath, she opened it and found the confirmation that Kat had booked the villa twice before, the first time in May 2011 and again in July 2012. It was a starting point, nothing more.
Frankie took the opportunity for some shut-eye during the flight, emerging from sleep none the worse for her trip. The villa was a forty-minute taxi ride from the airport. The family staying there were very gracious, allowing the Northumbria detectives to look around and, for that, they were grateful. With a four-hour window before turning around and heading back to the UK, Stone and Oliver had to move fast.
The villa was sublime with a view of mountains they had no time to explore. The house was timeless, an old building, in traditional Majorcan style, surrounded by olive groves, a herd of goats grazing in the field beyond, bells tinkling as they moved to pastures new. Stone looked on as a little boy was taught to swim by his dad. It woke a memory of Luke and four-year-old Ben, one of the few holidays the DI had shared as the lad grew up. It was hard to imagine a more intoxicating scene.
Frankie too was taken by the scenery. She imagined Alex and Kat here, relaxing on sun loungers, reading books, a glass or two of wine, wonderful food and long conversations. Trying to second-guess what had gone on during their vacation was proving more difficult. Frankie wasn’t yet sure what they were looking for: a carving on a tree, perhaps. There must be something, a sign that had triggered such destructive behaviour from Alex Parker.
As Frankie reread the email from the tour operator, the penny finally dropped. It took no time to locate what she was after, documentary evidence of the villa’s history spanning five years: a visitors’ book. Frantically, she checked the May dates. No joy. She flicked forward to July 2012 and found what she was after – a short and happy account.
74
As a victim in the ongoing investigation, Frankie could play no part in the interview of Alex Parker and was forced to observe from the viewing room at Northern Command HQ as Stone cautioned her and began his questioning. The evidence against the suspect was watertight. Once they had identified who the perpetrator was, the rest fell neatly into place. The DI’s interview method was sound. Alex couldn’t fail to notice his confidence going in. She had a fight on her hands and was probably banking on his evidence being circumstantial. The visitors’ book retrieved from Majorca gave her motive, but nothing Stone had said so far physically tied her to a crime scene.
As Senior Investigating Officer, Stone had no choice but to conduct the interview, even though it was difficult for him to be in the same room as Alex. Without Frankie by his side, he felt like he’d lost his right arm. He had to admit, it left him slightly vulnerable. Dick was an exceptional DS – procedurally no one could touch him – but he wasn’t a patch on Frank. She looked at things from an oblique angle. Her instinct was spot on. Throughout this case, she’d shielded David from Alex. Now that layer of protection was gone.
He forced himself to meet her gaze. ‘On Wednesday, June twenty-ninth, I received a telephone call from your sister, Kathryn Tailford Irwin. She told me that while on holiday with you in Majorca, you claimed that your husband was being unfaithful. Is that true?’
‘I’ve been over this with Detective Sergeant Oliver and I don’t intend repeating myself.’
‘OK, let’s stick with DS Oliver for a second. You told her that you had pushed your husband away during your pregnancy. Is that correct?’ His question spoke to motive. The suspect had been dropping her husband in the shit. It was time to bring this to the fore.
‘I fail to see how my marital relationship is relevant to your enquiries.’
‘Are you refusing to answer?’
‘No. I did push him away. He didn’t complain. Why would he, when he was getting it elsewhere?’
‘You blamed him for the death of your child, didn’t you?’
‘No comment.’
Frankie looked on as David presented a printout from Tim’s service provider, proof that someone had set up his Twitter account on another device. Whoever owned it had sent a series of direct messages in his name. Maybe that’s all Alex planned to do at first – to punish him for the death of her second child – and the rest came later.
‘I’m not the first wife to spy on a husband,’ she said. ‘I doubt I’ll be the last.’
‘Nice sidestep.’ Frankie glanced at Mitch in the darkened viewing room. As his direct supervision, the young detective was her responsibility. She’d been taught by the best and passed on her father’s wisdom to the young detective at every opportunity. ‘She’s avoiding the implication that she used his account to arrange Daniel’s disappearance. I doubt she’ll admit anything unless we can prove it.’
Stone was talking. ‘And what did you find out by doing this?’
‘I waited,’ Alex said. ‘For weeks.’ The DI kept quiet, inviting her to continue and she obliged. ‘If you must know, I found nothing untoward. Not surprising. Tim is far too clever for that. He has several phones. He’d hardly use a device I could lay my hands on to carry out his sordid affairs, would he?’
‘And you went away with Kat to confide in her.’
‘The opportunity was there. I took it. What business is it of yours?’
‘DS Oliver said you felt desperately guilty afterwards. Can I ask why?’
‘Disrespecting him was unforgivable. As I told you once before, he rescued me from an abusive relationship with Daniel’s father, Rob Scott. I was drunk. I should never have said anything. Kat was unreliable, the wrong person to share a secret with. She broke my confidence when she contacted you.’
Frankie turned the evidence over in her mind. Just how Kat Irwin had found out that Parker had been sleeping with Justine was unclear. The e-voke dating agency was her best guess – maybe she’d never know for sure – but evidence had come to light that Kat did know and had immediately ended her long-term affair with Timothy Parker, only to regret her decision later. Met detective, Kyra Thakur, had documented the whole thing.
In the interview room next door, Stone pushed on. ‘When you shared your suspicions with Kat, she shifted the blame, didn’t she?’
Alex shrugged. ‘I don’t recall.’
‘I think you do.’
‘She does,’ Frankie whispered under her breath.
Mitch was nodding.
Stone again. ‘I have a theory about that—’
‘I’m not remotely interested in your theories,’ Alex said. ‘Perhaps you could get to the point and tell me why I’m here.’
If Frankie had to describe Alex’s expression it would be contemptuous. She was a clever woman who ran a multinational public relations company, so successful that she could afford to bankroll her husband without feeling the pinch. An interview with Stone wasn’t touching her.
‘She’s trying to undermine him,’ Mitch said.
‘It’s not working.’ Frankie glanced at him. ‘The boss is too experienced for that.’
Stone paused, placed his elbows on the table, linking his hands, his eyes firmly on the accused. ‘It is my contention that Kat offered Justine up as a scapegoat to deflect attention from herself without realising that she was effectively signing your au pair’s death warrant. Isn’t that the way it was?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not following.’
‘I doubt that. Let me enlighten you. What you may not know is that there was a time when Tim and Kat were very much in love. We found a series of text messages on a device he offered us following your arrest. Although she’d broken it off with him, she subsequently wanted him back in her life and Ali’s. Not a real family, but close enough. I gather the feeling was mutual, but then it all went pear-shaped – for her and for you.’
Frankie was getting excited in the viewing room. David was on a roll, taking the wind from beneath the wings of his prisoner, winding her up to the point that she might say something she’d regret.
‘Wait for it,’ Frankie said. ‘This is about to get interesting.’
‘He’s good,’ Mitch said.
‘You’re underestimating him. He’s wasted as a DI. Listen and learn.’
Frankie gave David her full attention as he continued to question Alex. ‘Following your arrest and detention and the immediate release of your husband, my team were quick to act. Aided by crime scene investigators, they have done an excellent job. A search of your home and your car was very productive.’
Frankie nudged her protégé. ‘You’re on, Mitch. Go!’
He got up and left the room.
Frankie kept her eye on the door to the interview room.
‘Come!’ Stone responded to a knock at the door. ‘For the tape, DC Mitchell has entered the room.’
The young DC handed over two evidence bags. It had all been pre-planned, beautifully choreographed by Stone. He was a born SIO. Alex Parker didn’t know what was coming. Frankie did and watched her carefully.
Not a flinch.
Mitch arrived at Frankie’s side, proud to have played a part in his first murder interview, albeit in a small way. In the interview room, Stone pushed one of the evidence bags across the table. ‘For the benefit of the tape, I’m showing the suspect exhibit LH1, a Lycra jogging suit similar to the one Justine Segal was wearing on the day she was killed.’ He fixed on Alex. ‘I can prove conclusively that this garment belongs to you.’ When she said nothing, a second evidence bag was produced. ‘I’m now showing exhibit LH2, a baseball cap. Mrs Parker—’
‘Ms.’
‘Ha!’ Frankie said. ‘There she goes again.’
Stone wasn’t put off. ‘I can prove that this is also yours. I have photographic evidence to that effect.’
A shrug from Alex. ‘So? I wear a hat and I jog. Most people do.’
Stone began to relax, knowing that he had in his possession the most damning piece of evidence of all. ‘I apologise, I should have made myself clear. This is no ordinary baseball cap, Ms Parker. It has been forensically examined.’ He opened the file in front of him. ‘Traces of green fibre were found on the peak of your cap and in the boot of your car, linking it and you to the burglary of a shed and, more importantly, to a weapon used in the assault on Justine Segal. A weapon we later retrieved from Bolam Lake, along with a bicycle used to transport you home within minutes of your crime.’
‘Yes!’ Frankie punched the air.
She couldn’t have been prouder had she been sitting by his side. In Sharpe’s absence, Stone was about to nail a suspect, clearing up murders at both ends of the country, which would please the SIO no end when he returned from holiday, not to mention David’s former Metropolitan Police guvnor, Detective Superintendent Sinead Friel. Windy might even crack a smile . . .
Or maybe not.
Stone ploughed on, taking his case to Alex, in possession of facts that would ultimately convict her. ‘By your own admission, you have never visited the row of cottages marked on this map . . .’ He held up the map. ‘Let alone East Cottage, rented by Mr and Mrs Dixon. For the record, I’m showing Ms Parker exhibit RM1.’
‘That’s me!’ Mitch grinned.
‘How old are you?’ Frankie was smiling and shaking her head at the same time.
Next door, Stone was indicating the point on the map where the burglary had taken place. ‘Both tenants have confirmed independently that you have not visited them at any stage, and yet the fibres lifted from your hat match, in every respect, the green felt-like shadow board
in their shed. Do you have anything more to say?’
Alex shook her head. ‘Do you?’
‘Yes, as it happens. The fibres I mentioned are very old. They’re also very unusual; forensic experts were unable to trace anything similar, neither is there anything of the kind in the comparison tables on our database.’
‘You’ve lost me, Detective Inspector. Maybe my husband can help you with that.’
‘C’mon, Alex, I know exactly when you made the decision that would affect the lives of so many, including my DS.’
For much of the interview, Alex Parker had shown no emotion whatsoever. She’d sat impassively, careful not to incriminate herself while the SIO pulled it all together, each piece of evidence furthering his goal. She was done for now. To give Alex her due, she didn’t try to resist when he pushed the Casa Pegueña visitors’ book across the table to shake her confidence further. ‘I’m now showing the suspect Exhibit FO1: a visitors’ book.’
‘FO is Frankie Oliver, I presume.’
‘That is correct, the same DS you assaulted on your driveway when she was examining the milometer on Justine’s car, the same police officer you attempted to murder in woods near your home. Did I mention that we have CCTV of your return trip to London in Justine’s Clio? You do like that hat!’
Alex dropped her eyes to the visitors’ book. It was open at the correct page, inside an evidence bag. She could see text through a viewing window . . . and it shook her to the core.
Another superb week in Casa Pegueña . . . perfect escape . . . thunderstorms and torrential rain didn’t spoil our trip this time. We call it our secret hideaway, just right for two – and a five-month-old bump! Kat and I will be back. Tim.
When Alex looked up, there was no defeated expression on her face. The trigger moment for the killings would be etched on her memory for ever more. Sitting poolside in Majorca with the visitors’ book on her knee, she’d read an entry about ants, shuddered and turned the page. The next scribbled note – the one she’d looked at a moment ago – had come as a body blow. Recognising the artistic handwriting produced a panic attack. She’d checked the calendar on her phone while Kat slept soundly on her sunbed, the words poking fun at her. It answered so many questions, not least of which was Kat’s familiarity with Casa Pegueña. She had always been an impulsive airhead.
