by JANICE FROST
Paul sat down. He needed to think. Items had disappeared from time to time. It wasn’t inconceivable that Dana might have been stealing from them. And Gail was careless with her jewellery. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d had to unscrew the S bend on the sink in the en suite to retrieve an earring, or a ring that she’d left balanced on the edge of the bowl when she took off her make-up. Rings, gold chains had gone up the vacuum cleaner. He’d found Dana going through the contents of the dust cylinder one morning looking for a lost gold bracelet. But no. He shook his head. It wasn’t believable.
“Why the hell would Ruth Marsh and her partner lie for you?” A chill ran through him. “You didn’t threaten to harm—?”
“No, Dad! What do you take me for? Look, I know something about Ruth, that’s all. She did something years ago. That’s what could harm her, not me.”
“So you blackmailed her?” What, Paul wondered, could Hector possibly have on Ruth Marsh that would induce her to lie for him on such a scale?
Paul sensed that he was no longer in control. It wasn’t a familiar feeling and he didn’t like it. He had come here to confront Hector over the drugs in Dana’s room, to tell him how he intended to manage that fiasco. Instead, Hector was telling him.
He stared at his son. “I can’t even begin to tell you how badly you’ve fucked everything up.” He wasn’t simply referring to this whole mess over Dana and the drugs. Now wasn’t the time to take Hector into his confidence over Cornish’s and Marsh’s — or should that be Cornish’s? — wider concerns. Hector had no idea of the potential mess he’d created for his father.
“This stupid story you’ve got Ruth feeding the police. Do you think they’re going to believe a word of it?” He mimicked Ruth’s voice. “Oh, Detective. My boyfriend thinks Dana Schell’s dealing drugs because he used to do that himself and he’s got some sort of magic radar that tells him when he’s near a fellow pusher.” Paul slammed his fist against the wall. Rubbing his knuckles, he said. “Just . . . promise me you won’t do another thing until I’ve had time to think?” Hector gave an uncertain nod. He looked at Paul almost shyly.
“You didn’t have feelings for Dana, did you, Dad?”
“No. Did you?”
“No. Good fuck, though, wasn’t she?” Their eyes met again. This time Paul felt a stab of recognition.
* * *
“Has PJ told you about Steve’s, er, problem?” Tom asked.
Ava had just arrived at the station. She gave a sigh, dropped her handbag to the floor and began unwinding her scarf. “He’s got to have an ultrasound scan,” she said. “Apparently they can tell from that whether it needs to be investigated further.” Tom grimaced. “If a tumour is indicated, he’ll need to have a biopsy and blood tests to assess whether the cancer’s spread.”
“Shit. Poor bloke,” Tom said. His voice was full of sympathy.
“Yeah, well, let’s try to be positive for PJ’s sake.”
“Is she coming in?”
“She’s going to be a bit late, but, yeah, she’s coming in.”
“Should I . . . you know . . . mention it to her?” Tom asked. Ava shrugged. “Is that yes? Or no? I’m confused, and I want to get it right.”
“Bloody hell, Tom. Of course you should mention it to her. Just . . . don’t go over the top. Or maybe you should just wait and see if she brings it up. She’s gonna want to talk about it, but just maybe when she’s ready.”
Tom’s mouth gaped. Muttering something like, “Mixed messages,” he stood up and offered to make some coffee.
“Wrong mug,” Ava growled at him when he returned after a couple of minutes. “And I don’t take milk.” She stood up and walked into the kitchen where she poured the weak, milky liquid down the sink. When she turned around, Neal was standing in the doorway.
“I’ve arranged for us to speak with Hector Cornish this morning at his father’s penthouse in that poncy new development, Marton Tower. Can you be ready in five?” It wasn’t really a question.
Ava’s stomach growled. She’d been hoping to grab a sandwich. She’d skipped breakfast. Her younger brother, Ollie, had been running late and she’d spent her eating time proofreading an A-level history essay for him, which was due to be handed in that morning.
PJ was standing by Tom’s desk when Ava emerged from the kitchen.
“Thanks, Tom,” she heard PJ say. Evidently Tom had decided to speak to her about Steve’s ‘problem.’
Must have found the right words, then. If only he’d stopped there.
“Remember, Hitler only had one ball and he conquered half of Europe.” Both women stared at him.
“Was that supposed to be a joke?” Ava asked, after a long silence.
“Actually, no . . . er, I was just saying to PJ that having only one testicle isn’t necessarily a drawback in life. I’ve just googled it and apparently it doesn’t affect your sex life and you can still have kids. And—”
“Tom?” Ava said, one eye on PJ who looked stupefied. Tom cocked an eyebrow. “Shut up.” She turned to PJ. “Sorry, Peej, I’ve got to go. Speak to you later, okay?”
PJ looked injured. “You’re not leaving me alone with him, are you?”
Ava glared at Tom. “Yeah, well, he can’t really say anything worse, can he?”
“That’s true,” PJ said. “He’s right about the kids though.”
Ava squeezed her arm and hurried after Neal who was waiting by the door.
“Oh, we’re walking, are we?” Ava muttered to herself on seeing him stride past the gap in the wall that led to the car park.
The hammering of a pneumatic drill as they turned onto the main road put paid to any conversation. Ava’s stomach grumbled in tune with the din from the roadworks. She gazed wistfully at a workman biting down on a tasty-looking bacon butty. When he gave her a wink and held the butty out, she was almost tempted.
Neal was in a hurry. If Ava hadn’t been so fit, she’d have been struggling to keep up. Come to think of it, since when had Jim Neal been so fit? He came to an abrupt halt, and Ava just stopped herself from walking into him.
They had arrived at Marton Tower. Another exclusive development. This case was certainly giving them a glimpse of luxury living. Ava had seen advertisements for Marton Tower in the Stromford Courier about six months ago, when the building works were nearing completion. Despite the exorbitant prices, every single apartment had been sold before the scaffolding came down.
The apartments weren’t even in the most prestigious location in town. That honour belonged to the Uphill district, the older part of Stromford, near the cathedral. But they were within striking distance of the town centre, and pleasantly situated overlooking the river and Stromford marina, with its strip of fashionable bars and restaurants. They were also a stone’s throw from the university, and provided an alternative to university accommodation for those staff and students who could afford a bit of luxury.
Out of interest, Ava had looked at some of the flats online. The fixtures and fittings looked bespoke and high end. She’d liked the open-plan living space and the floor-to-ceiling windows with their cityscape views. Still, even if she could afford it, she wasn’t tempted to swap the charm of her rented country cottage for the advantages of living in town.
The doors leading to the reception desk were glazed, giving a view of a spacious, carpeted entrance area. Ava followed Neal through the swooshing doors. A bored-looking concierge sat behind a polished desk, staring at a screen. Neal approached him, while Ava wandered over to look at a series of photographs on the wall near the lift. The pictures showed the transitional phases in the construction of the building from foundations to finished product. One picture showed a group of men and women in suits and hard hats. They were holding trowels and smiling awkwardly for the camera. One woman was laying a brick in a foundation wall.
One of the male members of the group looked familiar. It was Paul Cornish, she realised. Presumably Cornish and Marsh had been involved in the financing of the de
velopment. On the way up in the lift to Hector’s sixth-floor penthouse, Ava told Neal what she had seen.
“Well, we knew Paul Cornish owns the penthouse flat where Hector’s staying. I didn’t know he’d had a hand in the project itself.”
The lift doors slid open into a wide, bright corridor. A familiar figure stood before them. “Good morning, Mr Cornish,” Neal said.
“Good morning, Inspector Neal. Sergeant Merry.”
“Have you and your son resolved your differences?” Neal asked.
Paul Cornish shrugged. “Russ’s death has put things in perspective somewhat. What’s your business with Hector?”
“We need to ask him a few questions about his relationship with Dana Schell,” Neal said.
“What relationship? Hector hardly knew Dana.”
“Dana visited Hector in Cambridge,” Neal said. “Perhaps he knew her better than you thought.”
“Fine. Question him all you like. Then stop wasting everyone’s time and start looking for the real killer.”
Paul made to brush past, but Neal and Ava were blocking his way. He shifted from foot to foot, looking over their shoulders towards the lift. His whole demeanour suggested that he had better things to do than talk to them.
“I see Cornish and Marsh have links with this building,” Ava said chattily, as she and Neal finally stood aside to let him pass. Paul’s eyes narrowed. “The photos, downstairs?”
“We invested some money in the construction company, Ballgreen Construction, yes,” Paul said.
She smiled. “Well, you must have made your money back on that one. Every flat was sold ahead of the completion date, so I read in the Courier.”
“It was a successful venture for Cornish and Walsh, yes.”
“Must be great to have your talent for spotting a lucrative investment,” Ava said. “Hector’s a lucky lad to live in a place like this.”
“Yes, well, it’s temporary. Hector won’t be needing it much longer. He’ll soon be moving to London to start his career.”
“In the City, is it?” Ava said.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Look, I have to be in a meeting in half an hour . . .”
“Oh. Sorry to keep you, Mr Cornish. You have a nice day,” Ava said.
“Sergeant. Inspector.” Paul Cornish stepped into the lift without a backward glance.
“Now for junior,” Ava said. The concierge had contacted Hector and obtained permission for Neal and Ava to have access to the narrow corridor leading to his flat. Neal used a fob to open the door.
“They take their security seriously,” Ava observed, thinking of Kingfisher Lodge.
The sight of a grown man dressed as Spiderman didn’t faze Ava, but Neal wasn’t quick enough to suppress an exclamation.
“What the—?”
“Yeah?” Hector said. His gaze flickered from Neal to Ava, and stayed there. “Can I help you?”
“Police, remember? You just spoke with the concierge?” Ava reminded him politely, flashing her ID. “Can we come in?”
“What’s this about?”
“We’d like to ask you some questions about Dana Schell.”
“Oh, yeah. Shit. Poor Dana.” Hector ran long fingers through his floppy hair. He repeated her name, shaking his head.
“So, okay if we come in?” Ava asked again.
“What? Sure.” He drew in a whistling breath through his teeth. “Place’s a mess.”
“Don’t worry, we’re not here to judge how you live. Hey, we just met your dad out in the corridor,” Ava said.
“What? Really? No shit. Do you want to sit down or something?”
Ava sat on the sofa, Neal at a table.
Ava looked around. “Nice place.”
“Yeah, not bad, is it?”
Neal evidently considered the small talk had gone on long enough. “Tell us about your relationship with Dana.”
A guarded look entered Hector’s eyes. “She was my parents’ live-in help.”
“She was a bit more to you than that, wasn’t she? We know you were seeing her,” Neal said.
“Okaaay,” Hector admitted, “Yeah, we were together for a bit, but it was nothing serious. Dana wasn’t really interested in a proper relationship. She was planning on going off travelling. We enjoyed each other’s company, but we both knew it wasn’t going anywhere.”
“When we searched Ms Schell’s room at your parent’s home, we found a kilo of cocaine in a tin under her bed. That’s a sizeable quantity. More than someone would normally keep for personal use. It suggests that she was either looking after the drugs for someone or involved in dealing. Did Dana ever use cocaine when she was with you?”
Hector’s eyes had widened when Neal mentioned the quantity of drugs involved. “Jeez, yeah, my father told me about it. I’m pretty sure he would have killed her if he’d known she was hiding drugs in his house . . . Oh shit. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I didn’t mean he’d literally kill her. Oh, man . . .”
Cut the act. Ava knew Hector Cornish wasn’t stupid. Despite the performance, there was no disguising the flash of intelligence in his eyes.
She said, “Ruth Marsh came to the station yesterday with a story about her partner, Fin, catching Dana doing a line of coke in their bathroom. Ruth also told us you knew that Dana was dealing.”
“Okay. So, I wasn’t going to dump Dana in it but she’s dead and I’m not, so I’ll be straight with you.”
I doubt that.
“Yes, I knew Dana was doing drugs . . . dealing drugs. We bumped into Ruth and her partner in Cambridge. We chatted for a while, and at one point it was kind of like me and Ruth talking to each other about the old days. Dana was chatting with Fin, and later on Fin apparently told Ruth that Dana’d asked him where she could score. Then, like you said, he caught her doing a line in their bathroom. I was furious when I found out. I told her to give my parents notice or I’d tell them about her nasty little habit. I swear I had no idea she was hiding the stuff in their home.”
Hector ran the zipper of his onesie up and down, revealing a tuft of chest hair. He rolled his neck from side to side as if relieving some tension. “Are you thinking that Dana got herself mixed up in something and got in over her head, officers?”
“You mean, was Dana killed over her involvement with drugs?” Ava threw his question back at him.
He shrugged. “Isn’t that why you brought the drugs up in the first place?”
“We don’t even know if the drugs found at Kingfisher Lodge belonged to Dana. We’re having a hard time working out how she could afford to buy that quantity of coke on the minimum wage.”
“Seriously? Oh, I get it. You think I’m the one who could afford to have a habit.” A hurt look. “Dad’s right. Just because you have money, people make all sorts of assumptions.”
“With great wealth comes great responsibility,” Ava said, paraphrasing Spiderman’s uncle.
Hector didn’t appreciate the joke. “I don’t do drugs. I mean, yeah, maybe I did the odd line at a party in my first year at uni, but who doesn’t? It’s just everywhere. Dana probably got the money the way most girls like her do — prostitution, stealing. Come to think of it, my mum’s lost a few bits of expensive jewellery since Dana came to stay at Kingfisher Lodge.”
Most girls like her. Hector’s comment disgusted Ava.
Neal intervened. “The first time we spoke with your father, he mentioned that you’d ‘got yourself in with a bad crowd,’ and run up gambling debts. That you’d gone to Russ Marsh for a loan.”
“I know what you’re trying to say. That I was dealing to pay off my debts, but that’s bullshit. My father cut off my allowance. Why would I need to ask Russ Marsh for money if I were dealing?”
“Hector,” Neal said, “it would be easy enough for us to look into your affairs at Cambridge. Believe me, it wouldn’t take us long to establish what you’ve been up to. Unless you’d like to talk to us first?”
“Go ahead. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“How did you persuade Russ Marsh to help you out? That was a sizeable amount of money he gave you. Why would he do that and risk upsetting his business partner? Were you able to give him something in exchange?” Ava said.
“Like what?”
“You tell us.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re getting at.”
Ava was stabbing in the dark, but she sensed that her question had hit a nerve. Interesting.
Hector shrugged. “Russ is a friend of the family.”
“More your father’s friend, surely?” Ava said.
“I asked. He was happy to help me out.”
She frowned. “Hmm . . . He must have known it would piss your dad off.”
“Why can’t you just accept that Russ helped me out because he genuinely liked me and wanted to help? You know, it’s not easy being well-off, even at Cambridge, where a lot of people are from affluent backgrounds. People take advantage. They take the piss because they know you’ve got money. It’s not easy to tell who likes you for what you are and who likes you because of what you can give them.”
Neal felt no sympathy for the poor rich boy. “That’s life, son.”
“Yeah, well, I knew I could go to Russ and he’d help me without wanting anything in return. I offered to pay him back, by the way. I’m going to be working in the City soon.”
Ava doodled in her notebook. Did Hector really think they’d feel sorry for him? She knew it wasn’t always a good idea to have hunches about people in a murder investigation. Nearly everyone lied, or at the very least omitted certain things. But Hector was behaving like a person who had something to hide.
“So, returning to your friends. ‘Bad lot’ was just your dad’s way of describing the type of people who are after a free ride?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Ava nodded. “I get it. We’ve all had friends like that. The ones who expect you to run them around without contributing to the cost of fuel, or stand them drinks without ever buying you one back.” Hector was nodding enthusiastically. Never mind that he’d run up his debts playing poker with his wealthy friends.
She smiled. “They must have really been taking you to the cleaners. Mind you, I can see your dad’s point, docking your allowance. He was probably just concerned. How do you get through that much money anyway, Hector? I mean, your friends must have been partying hard at your expense. As well as thrashing you at poker.” Hector looked surly.
