Dirty Secrets

by JANICE FROST

Val took the question head on. “We all have demons, Sergeant.”

  “Do we?” Ava asked.

  “Are you always so literal, Sergeant Merry? I was just stressing the point that it wasn’t Russ’s way to run away from his problems.”

  “Problems, then. Did your husband have problems?” Ava said.

  Lizzie’s grip on her shoulder visibly tightened.

  Val gave a thin-lipped smile, shrugged off the throw and covered her sister’s hand with her own. The gesture seemed to reverse their roles of comforter and comforted. “Russ was a successful businessman. He had plenty of problems.” She sighed. “But, yes. The whole week before I left he’d been brooding, and he finally admitted to me that it was something to do with the business. We’d arranged to sit down and talk it over, and then Ruth called me asking for help, so we had to put our talk on hold.”

  Permanently, as it turned out, Neal thought.

  “I . . . He was definitely distracted, I’ll say that much. And I know he’d been spending a lot of time looking over the accounts. I’m sorry I can’t provide you with more information. I’m afraid I didn’t take much interest in the business.”

  “What exactly was your husband’s business, Mrs Marsh?” Neal asked.

  “Russ and his business partner, Paul Cornish, are financial advisers. They’re also investors. They give money to young entrepreneurs and struggling businesses. They invest in them and turn them around, make them profitable.”

  So-called ‘angel investors.’ The investors became shareholders in the businesses they supported. Val made it sound as if they were doing the small business owners a favour, but you only had to take a look around the house to see who was making the profit. Instinctively, Neal’s thoughts turned to money as a motive for murder.

  “Were your husband and his business partner on good terms?”

  “On the whole,” Val said.

  “Meaning?”

  Val sighed. “They’ve had their differences. But Russ and Paul go back a long way. They met at university and then they both worked in the City. They’re friends as well as business partners. We often used to socialise with Paul and his wife, Gail.”

  Used to. Did that mean the socialising stopped before Russ’s death, or that Val didn’t see it continuing afterwards? Neal let it go for now.

  From somewhere on Val’s person came the sound of Led Zeppelin’s ‘Whole Lotta Love.’ Neal was a fan. The sisters exchanged worried looks.

  “Ruthie,” Lizzie said.

  “Ruth,” Val added.

  “Do you want me to tell her?” Lizzie said.

  “Of course not. I’m her mother, for God’s sake.” There was a hint of acrimony in Val’s tone. Neal heard the slight emphasis on the word ‘I’m.’ He exchanged a glance with Ava. She hadn’t missed it. Val shrugged off the throw and stood up. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’d like some privacy to speak with my daughter.”

  “Of course,” Neal said. Ava stood up immediately. Lizzie sat where she was. Val glared at her. There was an awkward moment, and then Lizzie led Neal and Ava from the room. In the hall, her eyes darted to the door of the study, then quickly away.

  “We can wait in the other reception room,” she said, and led them to the other side of the sweeping staircase. She opened a door leading to another large, tastefully furnished room with more views of the landscaped garden. The spires of Stromford Cathedral were just visible in the far distance.

  “Are you okay?” Neal asked. All at once, Lizzie seemed at a loss.

  “I . . . It’s Ruthie. She’s had enough upset recently, and now this.”

  “Ruth is Val’s daughter? The one she was visiting in Cambridge?” A nod. “What kind of upset?”

  “She and her partner, Fin, have been unwell. Val went down to look after them and their son, Cam. Cam’s eighteen months old.”

  Neal suspected that the word ‘upset’ meant more than a bout of illness. He was right.

  “Ruth’s going to take it badly. She adores her father. Despite . . .”

  “Despite what?” Neal felt no guilt at being intrusive. Family stresses often lay at the heart of a murder enquiry — and its resolution.

  “Oh dear. I suppose it’ll come out anyway, I just wish I hadn’t been the first to mention it.” A sigh. “Ruth and her father haven’t spoken since before Cam was born. Russ never saw his grandson.”

  “Go on."

  “Russ didn’t approve of Fin, Ruth’s partner. He had him checked out by a private investigator, who found out that Fin had served some sort of sentence when he was a teenager. It was something to do with drugs.”

  The word drugs was uttered in a hushed tone. “Russ was overprotective. He wanted Ruth to leave Fin and move back home, especially when he found out she was pregnant. But Ruth was just as stubborn as him. She was furious when she found out her father had had Fin investigated. She refused to take another penny from Russ, and moved out of the flat he’d rented for her while she was at Cambridge.”

  This Fin would certainly need to be checked out. Still, it was the money and the business angles that interested Neal more at this point.

  “Are you and your husband involved in your brother-in-law’s business in any way, Ms . . . er?”

  “Hamilton. My husband’s name is Stephen. And to answer your question, no. Stephen’s an electrical contractor. I’m a yoga instructor.”

  “What about Ruth Marsh? Is she involved in the business?”

  “No. It’s really not a family business.”

  “Your niece went to Cambridge?” Neal asked.

  “Yes. Ruthie got her father’s brains.”

  Neal tried not to think of his recent sighting of Russ Marsh’s brains.

  “But apart from the brains, Ruthie’s like me. We’re very close. It’s me she comes to when she’s got a problem. Val hates that Ruthie and I are so alike.”

  Neal remained silent. Interesting family dynamics.

  “Do you have children, Mrs Hamilton?” Ava said. A shadow passed over Lizzie’s face.

  “I had a son. Will. He died in a fire when he was fourteen.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Ava said. Neal nodded, thinking, inevitably, of Archie. How do you cope with losing a child? How do you come back from that?

  “You and Mr Hamilton must have been devastated,” Ava said.

  “Will wasn’t Stephen’s. I was married before. My first husband, Craig, never got over our son’s death. He took his own life six months later.”

  Neal and Ava exchanged glances. This woman had been dealt more than her share of tragedy. And now fate had dealt her sister a blow too.

  PC Solway gave a polite cough. “Mrs Marsh has finished on the phone.” They followed him back to the first reception room.

  “How is Ruthie? How did she take the news?” Lizzie asked anxiously. Val, hunched on the sofa, throw around her shoulders, seemed to have aged in their absence. The flash of steeliness she’d shown earlier seemed imaginary now.

  “Badly,” she said, dully. “She wants to come here straight away, with Cam. I told her to wait until . . . until the police were finished and Russ’s body’s been . . . taken away.” Val glanced nervously at her watch. “You know what Ruth’s like. She’s packing right now, and she could be here in three or four hours. I . . . I don’t want her seeing her father like that.”

  “She shouldn’t get in a car and drive when she’s upset. Not with Cam.” Neal nodded. Lizzie was right. No one should drive after a shock like that.

  “Forensics are here,” PC Solway said.

  Neal turned to Lizzie Hamilton. “Would it be possible for your sister and your niece to stay with you for a couple of days?”

  “Of course.” She turned to her sister. “Val?”

  “You’ll love that, won’t you, Lizzie? Having Ruth under your wing.” A bitter sigh. “Oh, go on then. Ring her and tell her to go to your place. Tell her the police have forbidden her to come here. I’m not going anywhere, though.”

  “Mrs Marsh. It’s
not a good idea for you to stay here tonight,” Ava said. She didn’t add that if Russell Marsh hadn’t taken his own life, the house would become a murder scene and would need to be processed as such.

  Val relented. “Oh, alright. But I’m not leaving until you people accept that my husband was murdered.”

  They did. Within one hour of the arrival of the forensics team and Dr Ashley Hunt.

  Chapter Two

  Ruth Marsh’s mobile phone clattered onto the tiles of her kitchen floor. Immediately, a tiny hand shot out and picked it up. Tears in her eyes, Ruth prised her phone out of Cam’s chubby fist before he could damage it the way he had damaged so many of her things. The resulting screams of protest brought tears of another kind to Ruth’s eyes. Why was he always so difficult?

  Ruth felt a pang of guilt. Motherhood wasn’t coming easily to her. She had done everything by the book, but whereas other people’s babies seemed to sleep and gurgle and smile and steal their mother’s hearts, Cam cried all night, vomited up her milk, and screamed and wriggled when she tried to comfort him. Bonding had become a game of nerves. She was convinced at one point that there’d been a mix-up at the hospital, and she’d brought home the wrong child.

  And now this. Her father. Dead. And she hadn’t spoken a word to him in over a year. Had he died thinking she hated him?

  Loudly, Ruth hummed a tune trying to block out the image that had begun forming in her head. Her father, face down on his desk. Did a person have a face after they’d been shot in the head? “La la la . . .” At least the humming shut Cam up for a moment. He stared at her, wide-eyed.

  Fragments of skull and brain matter and . . . “La la la.”

  Cam was imitating the sound, grinning all over his dirty, tear-stained face. Ruth gathered him up in her arms and hugged him to her. For once, he offered no resistance.

  Aunt Lizzie. Why couldn’t Val have let Aunt Lizzie break the news to her? Auntie Lizzie would have known the right words. She wouldn’t have just blurted out, “Your father’s dead. Someone shot him.” Actually, Val had been quite tactful. “I’m sorry, Ruth. I have some bad news . . .”

  “La la la.” Cam had taken over the tuneless tune.

  “My daddy’s dead,” she told him. “Not your daddy, Cam. Mummy’s daddy. Grandpa Marsh.” Cam gave her a quizzical look. He had never met his grandfather. Now he never would, Ruth realised, tearing up.

  Ruth had been furious when she learned that her father had hired a PI to check Fin out. He had confronted her with the PI’s report on one of her trips home. Fin, thankfully, hadn’t accompanied her. Her father really believed that she would walk out on Fin, just like that. He refused to listen when she tried to tell him that Fin wasn’t that person any more. But worst of all had been her father’s cold insistence that she get rid of the baby.

  “You arrogant, controlling bastard!” she shouted at him, and slammed the door of his study. She left the family home, never to return. The words he’d called after her still echoed in Ruth’s head.

  He opened the door to his study and stood in the hall. “He’s no good, Ruth, dammit. He has a past. People don’t change.”

  “I have a past too. Or had you forgotten our little secret, Dad?”

  That had shut him up.

  If she had known her father would be dead before Cam’s second birthday, would she have done things differently? Would he? Would they have reconciled? How could he be dead?

  Suicide.

  If it were suicide, was it her fault? And if it wasn’t? Had the last minutes of his life been filled with despair and regret, or had they been lived in terror? Had he thought of her at all? Or of the grandson he’d never seen? Had he thought of their secret? Worse, had he somehow died because of it?

  So many questions. Ruth’s head buzzed with anxiety and grief. Where were her pills? She was suffering from post-natal depression, as almost everyone who knew her said she would. Ruth’s mental state was fragile at the best of times. She’d lurched along for years now, only half functioning, a tiny boat tossed about in a hostile sea. Ever since . . . “La la la.”

  “La la la,” Cam echoed. His voice sounded glorious and funny and grating and Ruth wanted to both hug and scream at him.

  She needed to pull herself together before Fin got home. He’d never let her drive if he saw her in this state. She’d called him after her mother rang with the news, and he’d said he was coming straight home. She’d go upstairs and pack now. Doing something practical would focus her thoughts.

  Halfway up the stairs, she broke down. She was going home. Cam stared at her in confusion, and she smiled at him through her tears. Her father was dead, but she was going home. To Stromford. To the house she grew up in and where she felt safe. But her father had died a violent death within its walls. Would it now be the sanctuary it had been in the past? Still, she was going home.

  Somehow Ruth managed to drag herself up the last few steps and stumble into her bedroom. There, she let go of Cam and began pulling clothes out of the drawers. Cam got hold of a hairbrush and began banging it against the wardrobe, yelling, “La la la!” at the top of his voice.

  * * *

  Ava and Neal were waiting for DS Tom Knight and DC Polly Jenkins to arrive for the morning briefing. Not having seen Maggie since her engagement meal some weeks ago, Ava risked a question.

  “How are the lovebirds?”

  “Never better. It’s grand to see the people I care about so happy.”

  Ava was slightly taken aback. She wasn’t used to her boss displaying so much enthusiasm. Was he beginning to let his guard down?

  At the family meal, Ava had been embarrassed whenever Neal’s friend or sister teased him, addressed him as ‘Jimmy,’ or told some anecdote that showed a different side to him than the stern image he’d always presented.

  Neal had been easier-going too, laughing and chatting with his family. He’d made a big effort to include Ava, particularly when he and the others reminisced about their lives back in Scotland.

  “Let me just explain that one to Ava,” he’d said. As the meal went on, Ava began to wonder if she’d ever known this man at all.

  But the minute he walked into the office, it was business as usual. Back to the brusque, somewhat dour demeanour she’d come to expect of him. Just then, he’d permitted her a glimpse of that other Neal.

  Ava wanted to ask him whether he was happy — or had that ceased to matter to him? A father at nineteen, Neal had given up his place at university to join the police, so that he could support his son as a single parent. It had proved to be a shrewd move. Neal had made Detective Inspector at an impressively early age. He must derive satisfaction from knowing that he excelled at his job. But did it make him happy?

  “They’re going to be a great couple,” Ava said. “Have they set a date for the wedding?”

  “January,” Neal answered. “In Edinburgh.”

  Ava shivered. “You’ll all freeze! Are they going to live up there?” She hoped Neal wouldn’t think her too nosey.

  “Not sure,” Neal said, apparently unfazed by the approaching disruption to his personal life. “By the way, you’re invited. To the wedding.”

  “Oh.” Ava had no time to respond before Neal abruptly brought the conversation back to the case.

  “What did you make of Val Marsh?”

  Ava frowned. “Bit hard to read, wasn’t she? Seemed really upset when we first arrived. Her sister seemed like the strong one then, but after that they sort of reversed roles. She was pretty adamant her husband wouldn’t commit suicide, but most people would say that, wouldn’t they? And I couldn’t get a handle on the relationship between the two of them. Felt a bit like one of those love–hate things. Then there’s Ruth. Lot of undercurrents in this family, I reckon.”

  “Hmm. I agree.”

  PJ and Tom arrived. Ava noticed Neal glance at his watch, and then at the door, as if expecting someone else to arrive.

  “Let’s just give it five before we make a start,” he said. �
�Given that Russ Marsh is a businessman with substantial assets, we need to consider that there might be a financial angle to this case. So I’ve asked Lesley Curran to give us a hand with that side of things. She’s an experienced financial investigations officer.”

  Lesley arrived a couple of minutes later, sounding like she’d taken the stairs three at a time. Neal gave her a moment to get her breath before introducing her to the team. Lesley’s eyes lingered a little longer on Tom than on the rest of them. Interesting. She was one of those impeccably groomed people whose age is difficult to determine. Early to mid-forties, at a guess. There were no deep-set wrinkles, only laughter lines. She had very short, dyed blonde hair and elfin features. Her darting, amber eyes gleamed with intelligence.

  Neal gave her a brief smile. “Thanks for joining us, Lesley. A bit of financial nous could well be useful on this case. We spoke on the phone, but just to bring you up to speed, Val Marsh hinted that her husband was concerned about some aspect of his business. They were going to discuss it, but unfortunately he died before they got the opportunity. When wealthy people are killed, it’s automatic to assume that money is at the root of it, and it’s not a big leap to see how Russ Marsh’s line of work could make him enemies. A money motive is a possibility but it’s by no means the only avenue we need to explore.”

  He paused. “As Ava and I were just discussing before your arrival, there are tensions in this family that also need to be delved into, but, Lesley, I’d be grateful if you’d scrutinise Russ Marsh’s financial affairs. Business and personal. Check whether Cornish and Marsh or any of the business ventures their partnership is associated with have been suspected of any suspicious activity. Or whether Russ Marsh or his business partner have been involved, even peripherally, in any allegations of corruption.”

  As an FIO, Ava knew, Lesley would have access to specialist databases holding sensitive financial information. She would also have had training on the morass of legislation pertaining to obtaining information on business and personal finances. She was potentially a real asset, if Neal’s hunch about a money motive proved to be right.

  “It’ll take time,” Lesley pointed out. “As you know, I’ll need to go through the appropriate legal channels to obtain the information I need. Otherwise, anything I do come up with could be inadmissible as evidence in court.”