Dirty Secrets

by JANICE FROST

  “Mr Hamilton, is there somewhere private we can talk?” Neal asked.

  “Would you mind going out for an hour, Lorna? Take an extra half-hour’s lunch,” Stephen said.

  Lorna looked as though she’d much prefer to stick around and hear what Neal and Ava had to say to her boss, but she gathered up her things and headed for the door.

  Stephen pulled up a couple of chairs and placed them in front of his desk. He retreated to the other side, regarding Ava and Neal with suspicion.

  “Mr Hamilton,” Neal began, “as part of our investigation into Russ Marsh’s death, we’ve been looking into the financial affairs of Cornish and Marsh. Our financial investigator has uncovered a report into a construction contract that Russ’s partner, Paul Cornish, financed, independently of him.”

  Stephen’s foot tapped against the floor. He placed a restraining hand on his knee.

  “Mr Hamilton, we know that you blew the whistle on certain practices that you observed while working as a sub-contractor on the Marton Tower development.”

  “I were told my anonymity would be protected.”

  “It has been disclosed only to us, as an item of interest in a murder investigation.” Stephen’s eyes widened. “Paul wasn’t found guilty of any wrongdoing, but . . .” Neal paused, watching Stephen closely, “do you have any reason to believe that Paul Cornish is corrupt, or that Russ Marsh might have found out?”

  They waited for Stephen’s response. Minutes seemed to tick by.

  “I . . . I wanted to tell you last time we spoke. If it hadn’t been for Lizzie . . . I didn’t want her worrying about it.”

  “Go on,” Neal said gently.

  “I didn’t think it were that relevant, anyhow. Even though Paul Cornish invested in the project, he weren’t to know what were going on at the site.” Stephen sighed deeply. “Site foremen got the blame, didn’t they?”

  “I believe so,” Neal said. This was what Lesley Curran had told them. There had been no wider investigation into Cornish and Marsh’s business affairs at the time, because those responsible for corruption on the site had seemed to fall out of the woodwork, and were speedily arrested and convicted. Now that Lesley was on the case, a more rigorous investigation would proceed, leading into who knows what labyrinthine tunnels of deceit and corruption. Even so, there was no guarantee that Paul would be linked to any of it.

  Financial crimes required exhaustive investigation and could become mired in detail. As Lesley had hinted, it would be easier to put Paul away for murder. Had Paul murdered Russ? Neal thought him the most likely suspect. Then again, he must have known that killing Russ would bring an investigation down on his head. Still, it would have taken care of the immediate danger of disclosure, and bought him some thinking time.

  “You haven’t answered my question, Mr Hamilton. Do you believe Russ Marsh was aware of, or involved in any corruption? Did you suspect Paul Cornish of corrupt practices?” He paused. “Did you tell Russ you were the whistle-blower on the Marton Tower affair?”

  Stephen shook his head. “I don’t think Russ were involved. He were a good sort. And no, I never told him about Marton Tower. But I know he had some worries about his business. So Lizzie told me anyhow. Val mentioned it to her. I can sympathise with anyone who worries about business matters. I keep this place ticking over, but I’d just as soon be a jobbing sparky.”

  Neal felt like they were wading through treacle. Their interview with Stephen, though necessary, was proving to be a waste of time. And then, out of nowhere, he threw them a golden nugget.

  “I tell you what though, that affair between Russ and Gail Cornish were far from over.”

  “What do you mean?” Ava asked.

  “I stopped by the house to drop off a pie that Lizzie had made one night when Ruth were away in Cambridge, and Gail Cornish were there.”

  “Why didn’t you mention this before?” Neal asked

  “I never thought. And I didn’t actually see her. I could smell perfume in the air. I noticed because it’s the one Lizzie wears. Coco Chanel. Val can’t stand it. And I saw a pair of shoes in the hall. Them ones with the red soles. I told Lizzie when I got home, and she said Val never wears shoes like that.”

  Neal stood up. “Thanks, Mr Hamilton. That’s all for now. We’ll be in touch if there’s anything else.”

  Back in the car, Neal and Ava pondered this latest piece of information.

  “He never thought to mention it.” Neal shook his head.

  “Why didn’t Lizzie Hamilton tell us? Surely she must have realised it was relevant to our investigation?”

  The answer was obvious. “To protect her sister,” Neal said. “Val Marsh had just found her husband in his study with his brains blown out. Lizzie probably wanted to spare her the upset and embarrassment of finding out that her husband was still carrying on an affair with Gail Cornish. No doubt she’s been biding her time, waiting for the right moment, or wondering whether to let on at all. And, perhaps she just didn’t regard Gail Cornish as a potential killer.”

  “And, as Stephen Hamilton pointed out, he didn’t see Gail in person. A lot of women wear Coco Chanel. Including me,” Ava said. “Well, Val’s going to have to learn about it now. Unless . . .” She considered the possibility. “Unless she already knows? A jealous spouse — one of the oldest motives in the world for murder.”

  “Except she was in Cambridge the night her husband died. Bit of a stretch to believe she could travel to Stromford, shoot Russ and travel all the way back without being missed.”

  “But not impossible.”

  “Highly improbable. Let’s bear it in mind, if it comes down to eliminating the impossible,” Neal said, but his feeble homage to Sherlock Holmes fell on deaf ears.

  * * *

  PJ left Steve and made her way through the labyrinth of corridors to the children’s wards. She eventually found Cam in a private room, Ruth keeping watch at his bedside. PJ sat down on an empty chair next to Ruth, and laid her hand on her shoulder. To her surprise, Ruth collapsed against her, weeping.

  At first, PJ thought she was crying with relief. Cam’s drip had been removed, and she thought he looked a healthier colour. For a few moments, PJ comforted Ruth, gazing over her shoulder at the gentle rise and fall of the infant’s chest. Her own sadness over Steve mingled with Ruth’s, and she was glad of the contact. Finally, Ruth shifted, and raised her head. “Sorry.”

  “What for?” PJ said. “How is Cam doing?”

  “He’s much better. Sleeping it off, it seems. He just looks so fragile lying there.”

  “He’s very lucky to have such an attentive mum.”

  “I know I should be glad, but I can’t stop thinking about what might have happened. He might have—”

  “He didn’t. He’s here, and the two of you are going to be together for a very long time.” PJ choked back a sob.

  “Are you okay?” Ruth looked at PJ with concern. “You’re a kind person. There aren’t many genuinely kind people around.” PJ managed a weak smile and pushed her own problems aside.

  “Fin’s been here,” Ruth said. “He’s just gone off to get a few things from the shop.”

  They sat quietly for a while. The ward was strangely peaceful, despite the constant hum of the monitoring equipment and the voices at the nursing station in the corridor outside.

  Ruth cleared her throat. “What you said just now about there being nothing to be sorry about. You were wrong.” A prolonged silence followed.

  PJ waited. Her grandmother had told her to always be a good listener. Granny never knew just how useful her advice would be.

  “I was fourteen years old . . .” Ruth began.

  PJ held her breath. She had long believed that Ruth was key to this whole mystery. Ruth would have been fourteen when Will died in the fire. Was this what she was on the point of telling her about?

  “My mother and my aunt had gone away for the weekend to a health spa. Aunt Lizzie couldn’t afford luxuries like that, and my mum was tre
ating her. I was supposed to be spending the night at a friend’s house. Dad . . .” Ruth’s voice trembled, reminding PJ that Cam’s sudden illness was not the only trauma Ruth had suffered recently. Ruth had also just lost her father.

  “My dad was supposed to pick Will up and take him to a football match. They were going to grab a burger on the way. Then Dad phoned and said he was going to be held up at work. Will wasn’t answering his calls and Dad wanted me to go round and give him the message. I was annoyed because I had plans of my own for the evening.” There was self-disgust in Ruth’s tone.

  “I knew Dad would lose track of the time. He always did when he was working. I remember I was in a bad mood after he called. I hadn’t told my parents, but I wasn’t really staying at my friend Bea’s that night—”

  A frantic beeping started up from a room further down the corridor, followed by a burst of activity and voices speaking in urgent, subdued tones. PJ and Ruth exchanged looks. They both glanced at Cam, and a lump rose to PJ’s throat. Minutes passed, the corridor now ominously silent. And then, nurses’ voices again, sounding cheerful. Crisis over, PJ hoped.

  “I wasn’t going to Bea’s. I’d arranged to meet Hector Cornish.” PJ gave a start. “Hector knew some older kids who were having a party. He’d got some booze and, well, some dope. I’d never had it before. Hector said it would be cool.”

  “And you were at the party with Hector Cornish when your father called you?” PJ asked.

  “Yes. We were out of our heads,” Ruth said. “Hector didn’t want me to go to Will’s to give him the message, but I was worried Dad would be angry if I didn’t, so I decided I must. I knew I’d have to go back to my house afterwards with Will, so Hector was pissed off about that. It spoiled all our plans for the evening.”

  “Did Hector go to Will’s with you?”

  “What? No, I mean, yes. He came as far as my aunt and uncle’s house and then he left. I knocked on the door and Will answered straightaway. That irritated me. I remember thinking if he could hear a knock at the door, why couldn’t he have answered his phone?”

  “What happened next?” PJ asked.

  “Will said he was sorry. He’d forgotten to charge his phone up, and he hadn’t heard the landline because he’d been playing a computer game and had his headphones on. I behaved like a spoilt brat, started shouting and screaming at him. I was still high, and drunk as well by that time. Everything was starting to spin, you know, the way it does when you’re that drunk.” PJ nodded.

  “I remember staggering into the sitting room and lighting a cigarette that I’d got from Hector. Will was a bit shocked — he wasn’t into smoking. He was really keen on sports. I kept saying he was boring, and trying to get him to have a ciggie.”

  Poor, naïve, sheltered Will. PJ thought of how that evening had ended for him and her heart ached for the boy.

  “It was about nine o’clock. My dad rang to say that he was going to be a couple more hours. I was going to go back to the party. I didn’t want my dad to find me at Will’s house in that state, but . . .”

  Up to that point, Ruth’s voice had been steady. Now it began to quiver. “Oh, Will, I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered. PJ held her breath. “I . . . I remember I was lying on the sofa, smoking one cigarette after another. Will kept lecturing me about how bad it was for my health. He was probably worried his parents would smell it when they got home, and think it was him. After a while he went upstairs to get some bits together. He was supposed to be spending the night at our house. I was going to go, but suddenly I felt really tired and a bit sick . . . I . . . must have fallen asleep.”

  Both of them looked at the sleeping Cam.

  “With the lighted cigarette in your hand?”

  Tearfully. “Yes.”

  This was the secret that Fin had alluded to when the DI and Ava interviewed him. The root of all Ruth’s sadness.

  “It must have fallen from my hand. The sofa caught alight. It was by the window and the curtains went up too. It all happened so fast. Within seconds, the room was full of thick, black smoke. I remember coughing and calling for Will. And then I managed to find my way to the door and into the hall. I felt sick and I went outside.”

  Oh, Will, thought PJ. She remembered from the reports that he had been found in the sitting room, having died from smoke inhalation. What no one knew was that he had also died a hero. He had heard Ruth’s cries for help and gone to her aid, thinking she was still in the sitting room.

  PJ felt a sudden stab of anger, then she was ashamed of herself. Ruth had been stupid and thoughtless but she had also been fourteen years old, and out of her head on drink and drugs. To her credit, Ruth hadn’t excused her behaviour. She didn’t claim it had been an accident — which it had. PJ was a bit hazy on the law concerning arson, but she had a fair idea that no judge would rule that Ruth’s behaviour had been deliberate, particularly given her age. Still, her sympathies were with Will.

  She asked, “Why didn’t you ever tell anyone what really happened?”

  “I . . . I told my father.”

  “Tell me what happened after you left the house.”

  “I was scared. I just wanted to get away from there. I . . . I couldn’t think straight.” Ruth looked at PJ, her expression full of self-loathing. “The worst thing is that I didn’t even give Will a thought until afterwards.”

  “When did you call your father?”

  “After about twenty minutes. He picked me up from several streets away. He tried to get to the house, but the police had already cordoned off the street, and a fire engine was there. Dad said the fire officers would get Will out, if he hadn’t got out already. He said there was nothing more we could do. He took me home, and then he went back. That’s when he found out that . . . that Will . . .”

  A neighbour had raised the alarm, PJ knew. None of the reports had mentioned a girl fleeing the scene.

  “Dad said he would take the blame for putting his work before picking up Will. He told me to stick to my story that I had been staying at my friend’s house. He said no one needed to know what really happened that night. He said there was no point in Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Craig finding out it was me that started the fire.”

  PJ was about to reach out and reassure Ruth, tell her it had been an accident, when they heard a gasp. They turned around to see Lizzie Hamilton standing in the doorway, a hand over her mouth. The other clutched a balloon and a teddy bear.

  “Aunt Lizzie!”

  Bear and balloon slipped from Lizzie’s fingers. The balloon bobbed just above the floor. The teddy lay splayed at Lizzie’s feet. Ruth got up and took a step towards her. Lizzie backed into the corridor, and then she was gone. As if on cue, Cam woke up and began to howl.

  * * *

  Fin left the hospital after seeing Ruth and Cam, love and anger roiling in his gut. He was afraid. He’d planned on just going as far as the shop but instead found himself walking in the direction of Hector’s apartment. He needed to be certain that Hector appreciated the urgency of their situation.

  Adrenalin coursed through him as he waited for the security guard to buzz Hector. “This isn’t bloody Trump Tower,” Fin said. The guard gave a shrug.

  Hector’s door was ajar. In any other tower block this would have put Fin on the alert, but in this guarded fortress he felt no sense of danger. He walked in. Hector was lying on the sofa, watching TV. His eyes flicked to Fin, then back to the screen.

  Fin erupted in rage. He strode across the room and grabbed Hector by the scruff of his neck, dragging him to his feet.

  “For fuck’s sake!” Hector exclaimed.

  “Have you spoken to your father?”

  At this, Hector’s fear seemed to vanish. “Is that what you’re all fired up about? Relax. It’s taken care of.”

  Fin didn’t know what to do with his anger. He stood there, trying to ratchet it down a few notches, when what he really needed to do was punch Hector in his already messy face. He counted to ten. “What do you mean, taken care o
f? How, exactly?”

  “My old man’s sorting it out.”

  Of course. Hector had a safety net not available to ordinary people. Ruth had one too, though she’d sworn off using it. As Ruth’s partner, Fin had experienced something of the security such a thing provided. He knew that his son would never go hungry, never be homeless. Because, despite Ruth’s protestations that she would never touch her father’s money, she would never put pride before her child’s needs.

  “He’s going to pay Liam for the coke?”

  “Yes. It’s all in hand. I rang him last night after you left. When I explained the gravity of the situation, he told me he’d take care of it.”

  Fin had what he’d come for. Nevertheless, he found that he wasn’t yet satisfied. He drew back his arm and drove his fist into Hector’s face. That was more like it.

  Hector staggered backwards, his nose spouting blood afresh, but he made no move to retaliate. “Feel better now, do you?”

  Fin wondered if Hector had any idea of the real danger Liam presented. Disgusted, he turned to go.

  “Say hello to Ruth from me,” Hector called after him. “Tell her not to play with fire again. Next time she might get burnt instead of screwed up to fuck.” A laugh.

  Fin’s hands balled into fists. He wasn’t satisfied after all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Neal stared at the email that had just arrived in his inbox. It was from a DI Gary Blunt of the Bethnal Green Met, sent in the early hours of the morning. Blunt had requested that Neal contact him urgently. Neal glanced at the time at the bottom of his computer screen. It was early, but he was at work. Chances were, Blunt would be too.

  Sure enough, Blunt picked up on the second ring. Neal had no clue as to what this man could be calling about. He was even more puzzled when Blunt launched into a story about a drug dealer that his team had had under surveillance. The dealer’s brother had put in a 999 call, reporting that he and his brother had been shot at in his brother’s flat. Liam had taken a shot to the head, but was still alive when Blunt arrived at the scene, ahead of the paramedics. There had been no sign of the brother, Darren.