“I received a community order for eleven months. It’s been the longest months of my life, Mr. McLaren.”
“I believe you.” He refrained from saying it was a better sentence than serving time in jail. Verity knew that.
“I’m assigned to a homeless shelter. I do some cooking and cleaning there. Kind of fitting, don’t you think?”
“In what way?”
“Marta and I worked in an animal shelter, taking in strays and unwanted pets. I’ve just moved up a notch in the chain, looking after stray and unwanted people. Though some might call it a step down, I suppose.”
“Tough work, that. And your sentence was due to your conviction of theft from the animal shelter.”
“Yes. A stupid mistake, that, stealing the money for Marta.”
“Money she didn’t pay back.”
“She told me she would return the money the following day.” Her words came louder and faster now that the painful subject had been opened. Her hand holding the cigarette fell onto the chair’s arm and she leaned forward. She practically shook as the pitch of her voice rose. “But she didn’t! That’s how the discrepancy was discovered. The organization’s financial officer came by and checked the books.”
“You didn’t know he was coming?”
“No. It’s always unannounced.”
“To keep everyone on their toes.”
“Or keep us honest.” She colored and paused, and McLaren realized her verbal slip referred to her. “Anyway,” Verity continued, “I was caught with my cash drawer short, the money missing and unexplained.”
“What are we talking about? How much?” He knew from the case report, but he wanted to hear it from her, to see if she’d try to sugarcoat her guilt.
“£1,000.”
“Damn.”
Verity nodded and took a drag on her cigarette. “My sentiments exactly, Mr. McLaren. And I was damned. In the eyes of the financial examiner, the animal shelter higher-ups, the police, and the court.”
“You said you took it.”
“Stole it.” Verity corrected his word choice and sat up straighter. It looked like she defied McLaren to challenge the truth. “Marta took it. Supposedly for twenty-four hours so she could go to the casino. Roulette was her weakness. She played fairly frequently but she usually won. She’d make incredible winnings. So when she asked for the money, I really didn’t think we’d get into trouble. If she didn’t win, she’d go back the following day or so and play again. She’d wind up with enough money to repay everyone’s loans.”
“Everyone? She’d done this before, this taking cash from friends or from the animal shelter’s till?”
“From friends, yes. There were three or four she usually touched. But from the shelter? No. That’s why I hesitated to give her the money at first. Yet, she had such a good record of winning and prompt repayment, so I finally gave it to her.”
Again he asked a question he could have answered, but he wanted Verity to tell him. “Gave it to her. What does that mean? Did you have access to the office safe?”
“No. Just my own cash register. I work one specific register. The one in the gift shop. That money is my responsibility. I have the key to unlock it in the morning and then, when the day is over, I relock it. I also count up the day’s transactions and balance the drawer at the end of the day.”
“So, because you had this particular cash register under your jurisdiction, you could get her the money.”
“It never dawned on me that we’d be caught!”
“That seems like a huge amount of money to have in a charity agency, if you don’t mind me saying so. Is £1,000 normal, or were you about to deposit it in the company’s bank account?”
“It was a lot, which is why Marta knew to ask me. Usually all our tills carry £300. That’s to make change in the store and for customers who might adopt the animals.”
“Where does the other £700 come from?” He looked at Verity as though he expected her to say she always carried that amount in her handbag.
“From the back room. We hide that amount back there in case there’s some emergency. It’s come in handy more than once.” Her voice drifted off, as though recalling her court testimony.
“How many people know about that £700? All of the staff, or just a few? Did that reserve amount ever vary?”
“I think we all knew about it. Well, all the clerks, I should say. And our boss.”
“Marta’s brother-in-law.”
“Yes. The directive came from him. He trusted the employees and didn’t want financial problems to arise. Well, you know what I mean.” She colored as she looked at him.
“Did Mr. Clark mention why he set it up this way?”
“Just that he’d been in a similar situation when he first started work as a teenager and he didn’t want his employees to panic as he had.”
“Thoughtful chap.”
“I doubt if the vet knew about the stashed money, though. He really has no need to know. He’s just concerned with the health of the animals. He doesn’t come out into the main area unless he takes in a sick animal.”
“How many clerks are there? Exactly how many people would know about the cache?”
Verity screwed up her lips, mentally ticking off the staff. The ash from her cigarette dangled precariously over the arm of the chair. “Six, I think.”
“Including Marta and you?”
“Yes. We didn’t talk about it during our breaks, of course, but I think we all did. Mr. Clark made sure we all knew. For an emergency.” She repeated the phrase again, as though to convince herself she hadn’t actually stolen the money.
“It is always kept in the same place, I take it. Well, it would be. How else would you know where to find it if you needed it?”
“Yes. Mr. Clark had debated about the whole thing for rather a long time. He felt uneasy keeping £700 in the shelter, but he’s a person who likes to be prepared.”
McLaren refrained from calling him a Boy Scout and instead asked where the hiding spot was. Verity paused, mouth open, and looked at him.
“I’m not going to burgle the place, Ms. Dwyer.” McLaren smiled at her apparent judgment of his honesty and need to know. “If there’s any hesitation on your part, you needn’t tell me.”
“Don’t take it personally, Mr. McLaren, but I’d rather not.”
“That’s fine. The place was easy to get to, though.”
“Yes, but not obvious.”
He thought about people hiding money beneath their bed mattresses or inside biscuit jars, and wondered briefly if the back room had an unused teapot.
“So, you see, Mr. McLaren, it all pointed to me. Oh, the backroom money could have been stolen by any of the other clerks, but the cash from the till…”
“Pointed directly to you, yes. When was all this? I know you said you’re serving an eleven month sentence, but when did you give Marta the money?”
“Third of May last year. The examiner came the 10th of May, as it turned out, and found the discrepancy in the drawer.”
“But a week!” McLaren couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. “If Marta had a week to replace the money”
“She got ill two days after she took the money, on fifth May. She had said on the third when she took the money that she’d go back to the casino in two days to play the wheel again if she didn’t win that night. I remember we laughed about that because she hardly ever loses.”
“And she became ill before she could return to the casino.”
“Yes.”
McLaren grimaced, mentally picturing the women’s panic. “So Marta finally returns to the casino in June and makes her big win. And you were arrested…when?”
She smoothed the wrinkle from the sleeve of her blouse. “Fifteen June. The company’s director had given me four weeks to come up with an explanation and to return the money. Of course I couldn’t come up with £1,000. Not in four weeks. I barely have anything in the bank, and I’d just spent a large sum on a new roof.
” She flicked the ash into the ashtray on the coffee table. Some of the ash fell onto the ashtray’s lip and over the edge, onto the tabletop. Verity didn’t seem to notice. “I could ask anyone for the money. It was tempting, and I toyed with the idea for a while, but it was too embarrassing. What was I to say to them? I couldn’t say a friend of mine had taken the money from our work place and I was covering for her.”
“So you took the blame,” McLaren suggested. If it were true, Verity was an exceptional friend.
“I did all the usual stuff people do when they need money. I tried to sell some things, such as my good silverware and a rare book, but it wouldn’t have been enough. I suppose I should have sold my car, but…”
“They’re hard to part with once you’ve become used to independent travel.”
“Not that so much, but yes, they are nearly essential. I had a friend who was interested in it, and he came one evening to look at it. But he took nearly two weeks to give me a definite answer. By the time he refused, it was too late to advertise or find another interested party.”
“You didn’t tell your boss about all this? If he had known your efforts, wouldn’t he have extended the payback period, especially if his sister-in-law was involved? Surely he’d know her character, which might help your defense.”
She took another puff on the cigarette. “I honestly don’t think it would have made any difference. Mr. Clark was bound by the board’s decision. Besides, it might have added fuel to the office gossip that Marta got special treatment from him. I do admit I was fairly frantic by then. It felt as though the walls were closing in on me and I would never survive a prison term. I was more scared of the prisoners than of standing trial and the remainder of my life, being branded a criminal and not knowing how friends and acquaintances would greet me once I finished my time. Part of it’s the fear of the unknown, I realize. And seeing what hard prison time has done to people. Many come out bitter and angry, having no faith in anyone or anything, finding no joy in the simple things they once did. But part of it was the complete feeling of being alone that never left me, day or night. I’m a rather timid woman, as you might guess, Mr. McLaren, and I’ve never been particularly outgoing or joined many groups. As a consequence, my friends number a mere dozen or so. And of those, I have only one or two really close friends.”
“And they couldn’t help you raise the money.”
“I didn’t ask. They didn’t know about any of this until the trial began. You think it’s funny, I know. Strange that I wouldn’t talk to a friend. I learned early, Mr. McLaren, to keep my hurts and disappointments to myself. No one likes a whiner.”
“Hardly whining, Ms. Dwyer. This was your reputation, the rest of your life.”
“Even so, I told no one other than my brother.”
“And he didn’t help.” He said it more harshly than he intended, his voice cracking from the stupidity of the entire episode.
“No, he didn’t.” She raised her hand, the cigarette smoke curling above her head. It drifted on the faint breeze coming through the open window, catching the sunlight before fading against the blue-gray backdrop of the room’s walls. “I know you’re already judging him, Mr. McLaren, but please don’t. You’re wrong.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pronounce a verdict against your family, especially when I don’t know him.”
“It’s natural, I know. As I said, you’re wrong. My brother couldn’t help simply because he’s in prison.”
The surprise registered on McLaren’s face. He blinked and opened his mouth slightly.
“Wealstun.”
He cleared his throat. “West Yorkshire.”
“Yes. I won’t bore you with his crime, sentencing, or history. They’re public record and can be looked up. But now perhaps you’ll understand why I couldn’t ask him.”
Or your friends. The newspapers would have had a feeding frenzy if word leaked out that a convicted criminal’s sister was charged with theft. And from a charity!
“In spite of how this all turned out, the company’s director is a kind person. I think he didn’t want to go through the arrest and trial rigmarole, but he was being pressured by the board.”
“But of course, £1,000 is a lot of money to come up with. Not just for you, Ms. Dwyer, most people.”
She nodded and exhaled slowly. “It was a nightmare. I was guilty of theft, I assumed the rights as owner of the money when I gave it to Marta, but I couldn’t tell my boss or the director about it.” She rotated her cigarette, as though looking for something. “I just remember vividly when the police came and handcuffed me. God!” She avoided his eyes, even now humiliated by the event.
“And the date of your trial and sentencing?”
“In July. I am grateful for the community order instead of jail time, of course, but…”
“Of which you got eleven months. Yes, it’s better than breaking rocks.” He realized rather belatedly that he broke rocks nearly every day. The difference was that he was a free person and chose to break rocks to repair stone walls, whereas Verity…He coughed, trying to gloss over the verbal faux pas. “Where was Marta through all this? I assume she knew about your arrest and the trial. It must have gone on for a bit. Why didn’t she speak up?”
“That was one of the things I had to work through emotionally. I still have to work through. I felt betrayed at first. Marta was my friend. She should have spoken up, but she didn’t.”
“Because…”
“Marta’s husband is a big man in the community. He holds some senior management position at National Westminster Bank. She didn’t say anything because she didn’t want the story to get out.”
“Wife of bank vice president, or whatever, involved in stealing money.”
“Exactly. It would have ruined his reputation.”
McLaren blinked. “Never mind yours, right?”
“I guess husbands are more important than friends.”
“Or at least the truth.” He shifted his position in the chair, feeling uneasy with the bent of the conversation. It echoed the tragic event that forced him from the police force. “So where in this timeline is Marta killed…or, at least, disappear?”
“I’ll never forget. A Friday night, 11 June.”
“And you were arrested on 15 June.”
“Yes.”
“Damn.”
“Exactly. I had four days to get even with Marta for her silence, to kill her and hide her body.”
Chapter Nine
“Why weren’t you arrested for murder, then?” McLaren let the tension relax between them before he spoke. “Seems like you had motive. Look what she did to your life.” He paused, his eyes again on the calendar in the kitchen. Of all the tales of injustice he’d heard, this was close to the top. His gaze sought her face again and he asked rather hesitantly, “Or did something happen later?”
“No. Besides, I had an unbreakable alibi the night of Marta’s death.”
“Glad to hear it. What was it, if I may ask?”
“I was in church. Mending hymnals. There were about a dozen of us, I guess. Anyway, the vicar was there, too. They all swore in court that I was there.”
“But if Marta wasn’t found until ten days later, how did your one evening’s alibi serve you?”
“Linnet had gone with her to the casino in Nottingham. Oh, do you know Linnet?”
“Yes. I’ve spoken with her.”
Verity nodded and took another drag on her cigarette. She exhaled into the air above McLaren’s head. “It took Marta a while to get over her illness in May. I never did know exactly what she had. But she didn’t just bounce back like you do with a sore throat. So it wasn’t until 11 June that Linnet and Marta found the time to go back to the casino. Of course the police were interested in when they both left. They were trying to set up some sort of time schedule for that night. Anyway, Linnet told the police the night’s events. The time was confirmed by the CCTV tape in the car park. It shows Marta’s and Linnet’s cars leaving
.”
“That establishes she was alive then. But what about the time of her death? If her body wasn’t found for ten days…”
“She never made it inside her home that night. Alan rang up the police after he had found the car in their drive. He then rang up Marta’s brother-in-law to see if Marta had stopped overnight there, for some reason.”
“But the car.”
“I know. But Alan didn’t know if Marta went off with someone, or someone followed her and kidnapped her. So Alan called Neal. At least he could start eliminating possible places to check for her.”
“Neal lives in Matlock and is her brother-in law,” McLaren said his thoughts aloud, getting the timetable and people straight in his head.
“Yes. Of course, Marta wasn’t there. That’s when Alan got very worried and phoned the police.”
“And since the pathologist cannot possibly establish time of death from her body condition, being outside for ten days or so…”
“That’s all the police could really go on, having no witnesses. At least none who came forward. We just had that rough timetable of when she was last seen. You see.” She leaned forward slightly, tinting her conversation more as a confession than as information. “They couldn’t prove I killed her because they couldn’t establish when she died. It could have been 11 June, the night she disappeared, or 16 June, or any date in between. And by then I’d been arrested.”
“15 June.”
She leaned back, looking sad. “Exactly.”
“Five days is more than enough time to murder someone.” He said it rather apologetically, as though he wished he could alter the facts.
“The police tried to say I could have met up with Marta somewhere later that night and killed her, but they had no evidence. It was all just speculation.”
“Where was her body found?” McLaren had the information from the inquest report, but he wanted to see if Verity’s account was the same.
Her voice timber changed and the words came slower and softer, as though she were again feeling the pain of her friend’s death. “Near Elton. In a ditch near the road. It was awful. She was pretty badly decomposed by then. The weather and animals…” She broke off, her face devoid of color.
Cold Revenge Page 8
