Web of Lies

by Sally Rigby

  ‘Could you be more specific?’

  ‘I’m not denying it was his handwriting, but there were issues with the wording that made it not ring true. For a start, he didn’t put an ‘h’ on the end of my name, he wrote Sara. He’s hardly going to forget how to spell my name.’

  ‘He could have missed that off by accident, in his hurry to write to you. It’s easily done.’

  ‘He also referred to the boys as the twins.’

  Seb frowned. ‘But they are twins.’

  What was he missing?

  ‘But he never called them that. He was obsessive about wanting to differentiate between the two of them and not act as if they were one person, like so many people do with twins. If he wasn’t using their names, he only ever called them the boys or the children. Never the twins. Surely that’s got to mean something.’

  That piqued his interest. Could Sarah be right about this? One questionable thing in respect of the note could be explained. But two? Had there been something suspicious about Donald’s death?

  ‘You have to understand, I can’t interfere in a police investigation especially as I’m no longer a serving officer.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to do it as a police officer, but as a civilian.’

  ‘Investigations like this are delicate and complicated, Sarah. I haven’t worked suspicious death cases, and I’m not a private investigator.’

  Nor did he have any desire to be one.

  ‘Surely you’ve got contacts you could use. I just want to know whether he committed suicide. Please, Sebastian. I need somebody to listen to me. You’re family, and I thought out of everybody you’d understand.’

  Her pleading eyes locked with his and tugged at his heart. He wasn’t normally swayed by emotion, but after everything she’d been through, how could he let her down? And there certainly were some unanswered questions.

  ‘Okay, I’ll take a look. I’ll need to check all of Donald’s files. Do you have them here?’

  ‘Everything’s in his study, including his laptop which the FCA also returned.’

  ‘Is it password-protected?’

  ‘Yes, but I know his passwords. He kept them in a notebook in his office. Hardly secure, I know, but he said he didn’t have the capacity to remember them. Not everyone can have your memory.’

  ‘It’s overrated,’ he said, shrugging. ‘You get back to your guests and I’ll return first thing in the morning. I don’t want you to get your hopes up because I might find nothing to indicate that the police and coroner were wrong.’

  Chapter 4

  5 May

  Detective Constable Lucinda Bird tore into the police station car park in her old Mini and came to a screeching halt in one of the empty bays. She was half an hour late for work, which meant the morning briefing would have already started and she’d be getting her arse kicked. Again.

  She grabbed her bag and jacket from the passenger seat and charged into the station, a 1960s three-storey building in Fairfield Road, in a mainly residential area which, in her opinion, was way past its sell-by date. Why couldn’t they have a brand new, swanky building close to the town centre and all of her favourite cafés?

  ‘Late again, Birdie,’ the desk sergeant called out as she passed him.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ she muttered, making sure he didn’t hear as he was her superior officer, and wasn’t averse to calling her out on her behaviour.

  She ran along the corridor until she reached the CID office. The door was open, and she tiptoed in hoping no one would notice. She could pretend she’d been at the back of the room the whole time, if anyone asked. Although as there were only five of them in the team, not counting Sarge, she doubted she’d be able to get away with it.

  ‘You decided to grace us with your presence today, then,’ Sergeant Jack Weston said, arching an eyebrow.

  Crap. Now she was for it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sarge. The traffic was ridiculous this morning,’ she lied pitifully, knowing that he’d see through her excuse. This was Market Harborough. There was no such thing as a rush hour, just a rush five minutes.

  ‘Sit down. I’m giving out today’s duties.’

  She hurried over to her desk and pulled out a chair next to another DC, Neil Branch, aka Twiggy, and dropped down on it, dragging in some much needed breaths. She glanced around at everyone else in the room. Tiny, Rambo and Sparkle. All their eyes were on her, too. They’d no doubt have something to say once he’d finished. Being the youngest on the team meant they didn’t hold back on the teasing. Not that it bothered her. She’d been a member of the team for two years now and was well able to give as good as she got.

  She was silent while Sarge continued until, finally, he stared in her direction.

  ‘Birdie, you’re on desk duty.’

  He’d got to be kidding. How long did he intend to make her suffer for one tiny mistake?

  ‘Come on, Sarge. You can’t be serious. Not still.’

  ‘I had been thinking of sending you out today, but you were late. Again. It’s desk duty for you for the foreseeable future. You need to pull your socks up. And I don’t want to hear any complaints, or I’ll make sure you’re stuck in here until the end of the year, at the very least.’

  Ten days ago, she’d had an accident in the police car she was driving. It was totally her fault, she hadn’t been paying attention. She’d got so many things on her mind that she’d run into a skip on the side of the road, beside a construction site. It had totally wrecked the car and landed her in a load of trouble.

  It wasn’t like she hadn’t told the truth, though. She could’ve said she was swerving to miss a car or cyclist. But no, she’d told Sarge exactly what had happened and was now being punished for it. If only she’d lied, she wouldn’t have found herself in this crap situation. It wasn’t fair if Sarge added being late today as a reason for keeping her chained to her desk.

  ‘I’m fed up having to answer the phone and do all the filing. Why can’t I go out with Twiggy today?’

  ‘Because I said not. If you want to get back to proper duties, then start acting responsibly. And that means arriving at work on time and not looking like you had a skinful last night and are nursing a hangover.’

  How did he know? She’d piled on the make-up this morning, being particularly heavy with the under-eye concealer.

  ‘Sorry, Sarge. I promise to be on time tomorrow.’ She made a cross sign over her heart, to emphasise she’d meant it. Not that he’d take any notice. Her timekeeping had always been poor, despite her best intentions.

  He’d been right about her having a hangover, though. She had a massive one. But in her defence, she’d a genuine reason for going out last night and getting totally wasted.

  ‘You’d better be. Right, the rest of you continue with your duties and keep in touch.’ He turned and walked out of the room in the direction of his office.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Twiggy said, turning to her, shaking his head.

  They’d been friends ever since she’d joined CID after her apprenticeship as a police constable in Oadby, near Leicester. He was in his late forties and had been there forever. He’d taken her under his wing and showed her the ropes. He was a good mate.

  ‘Nothing. I just think it’s unfair being left here on my own for another day. You could’ve stuck up for me and suggested I went out with you.’

  ‘Why would I do that? Look at the state of you. Do you think Sarge is the only one to notice? Why were you out drinking on a Tuesday night when you’d got work the next day? What the hell was going on that head of yours?’ He folded his arms over his well-rounded belly.

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘It’s always complicated with you.’ He gave an exasperated sigh.

  ‘Look, I’m good at my job and I help solve crimes, don’t I?’

  ‘Yes. But you also crash police cars and get up the sarge’s nose. You’ve got a lot to learn if you want to make something of yourself in CID. Having a natural instinct will o
nly get you so far.’

  ‘It’s not like I turn up with a hangover on a regular basis. It was a one-off, that’s all. That’s the trouble with you being old and married. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to go out and have fun.’

  Except that wasn’t the reason why she’d been drinking. Last night, she’d spoken to her parents about searching for her birth mother. It had been on her mind for a long time, but she was worried over how to broach the subject. Rightly so because when she mentioned it to her mum and dad, they took it the wrong way. It wasn’t what they said, but the hurt in their eyes was evidence enough of how upset they were.

  She’d hated herself for hurting them, so instead of staying in and talking it through, she’d gone out for a drink. A group of her friends were in the pub, and one drink led to another. It wasn’t helped by seeing her ex-girlfriend, Shelley, out with her latest who was tall, blonde, elegant, and nothing like Birdie.

  Maybe she’d talk to her parents this evening and explain that searching for her birth mother was nothing to do with them. She’d never told them, but growing up she’d always felt like there was something missing. There was a burning need inside her to find out where she’d come from. It wasn’t going to change how she felt about her mum and dad. She’d always love them. They were the best parents in the world and had always supported her.

  Finding her birth mother was just something she had to do. She hadn’t told anyone else. Not Twiggy, or her friends. She was going to do it alone, but not behind her parents’ backs. She’d already started making enquiries about how she should go about it.

  Her parents had adopted her at six months, after being told they were unable to have children. Except then her mum became pregnant. Twice. Birdie now had two younger brothers. They’d never treated her any differently from the boys. They were one big happy family. Until you looked at them. She was the only one who was short with a mass of red curls, green eyes, and pale freckled skin which turned pink as soon as the sun even dared to show its face. The rest of the family were tall, had dark hair, dark eyes and skin which tanned easily.

  ‘You can’t do both,’ Twiggy said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I’m not that ancient. I do remember what being single is like. If I was you, I’d get on with my work and show more commitment by being here on time, or even early, and staying late. Then the sarge might let you out with the rest of us.’

  ‘Has he said anything to you?’

  ‘Not in so many words. But if you carry on like this, you’ll be stuck on desk duty forever, even if you are a great detective.’

  ‘We could do with a juicy murder to work on. Sarge would let me out then.’

  ‘I’d rather not, thanks, as it would play havoc with my home life. When we get big cases regular hours go out the window.’

  ‘Think of all the overtime you could earn though, enough to pay for your next holiday abroad.’

  ‘True. But if you’re looking for more action then apply to a larger force. What about Lenchester? It’s like the murder capital of the world over there. Certainly enough to keep you occupied.’

  ‘How can I move somewhere else? It’s cricket season and we’re going to win the league this year. There aren’t many of us left-handed bowlers around and it makes a big difference, believe me.’

  Plus her attention was now focused on finding her birth mother.

  ‘I’m sure Lenchester has a team.’

  ‘I couldn’t leave you, you’d miss me too much.’

  ‘You think about it. In the meantime, have fun answering the phones and dealing with irate members of the public who’ve had their washing pinched off the line, or distraught grannies whose cats are stuck up a tree.’ He grinned, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and headed to the door.

  ‘Piss off and leave me alone.’ She threw a pen which hit him on the back of his head as he left the room. ‘Come on,’ she said, glancing upwards. ‘Bring me something big so I can show Sarge what I’m made of.’

  Chapter 5

  5 May

  Following a leisurely walk through the town, stopping at a café on High Street for a late breakfast of bacon and eggs, Seb collected Elsa, and they drove out to East Farndon to see Sarah.

  After he’d left Sarah’s the day before, he’d spent time googling Donald and his Ponzi scheme. There were thousands of results. He started at the top of the first page. It was an interview with some of the hundreds of people who had lost all their money after investing in Donald’s schemes.

  Those interviewed talked about him as being charming, friendly and, so they believed, trustworthy. That was the Donald Seb remembered, too. He’d been well liked, and the family had approved of him. He’d never asked Seb to invest, probably because he thought being a police officer, he wouldn’t have money to spare. He was right.

  He’d read several more articles, and they were more of the same, saying that Donald had operated one of the worst Ponzi schemes in UK history and how he’d destroyed the lives of so many. Sarah had been right about the scheme coming to light after one of Donald’s clients had alerted the FCA, the independent regulator in the field, that they were owed several interest payments.

  Many people were calling for the family to make some sort of recompense, but he knew they couldn’t do that. People automatically assumed that because Sarah and the boys lived in a big house, and were related to a viscount, that they were wealthy. The articles did make mention of Sarah, pointing out her connection to Viscount Worthington. But other than that, there wasn’t much about her and the twins. A small blessing.

  Sarah’s house was only ten minutes away and, when he arrived, he turned up the long drive and parked in front of the house. He knocked on the door, expecting it to be opened by one of her staff but, instead, it was Sarah.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, staring at his cousin, pleased to see the tight lines were a little less accentuated around her eyes. He hoped she was feeling less stressed than the previous day.

  ‘I was wondering what time you were going to arrive. I didn’t want to go anywhere in case I missed you.’

  ‘I thought you wouldn’t appreciate me arriving too early in case you wanted a lie-in this morning, after the difficult day you had yesterday.’

  Elsa poked her nose around Seb and rubbed against Sarah.

  ‘Oh, you’ve brought your dog. Hello.’ She leaned down and patted her on the head. ‘Let’s go for a walk in the grounds and she can have a good run. Then I’ll show you Donald’s study.’ Sarah held open the door for them to head into the house.

  ‘How are you doing after yesterday?’ Despite there being less tension on her face, there were dark circles under her eyes. He suspected she’d hardly slept.

  ‘It was a long and strenuous day and I was glad when it was over. The boys are still here, but they’re in bed. I’m not going to disturb them as they need their rest. It’s been so hard for all of us.’

  ‘Yes, I could see how on edge they both were, yesterday. Understandably.’

  ‘Like me, finding out what their father had done shocked them to the core. They’d always got on well with him and held him in high esteem. Now, everybody in the country, probably the world, knows what he did to all those people, and that the boys are his sons. It’s hard when you love someone to find out what a monster they’d been. But it’s not like there’s a switch inside of you to turn off the love you had for them. It’s just …’

  Her face crumbled, and he drew her into a reassuring hug.

  ‘It’s only natural for you to have these feelings,’ he said softly. ‘You have to give it time. It will get better, I promise.’

  She pulled out of his arms and stood up straight, giving a sniff. ‘I know. Less of me going silly, it’s not going to help anyone.’

  He followed her into the kitchen and out of the back door, unhooking Elsa’s lead as they went. She charged off into the garden. Unlike the day of the funeral, it was warm, and the sun was shining through the few fluffy clouds. ‘Do you mind Elsa running here
or should we go into the woods?’

  ‘She’s fine. It’s nice to have a dog around. I’d been saying to Donald about getting another dog after we lost Mitzi, but he didn’t want a puppy because they’re hard to train at our age. He didn’t want a rescue dog either because he said he didn’t know where they came from. Some of them can turn nasty. So, we were left dogless. Now I’m on my own …’ She shrugged, letting out a long sigh.

  ‘You should get one, they’re splendid company,’ he encouraged, convinced it might help her get over her loss, and give her something to focus on other than questioning Donald’s death.

  ‘Tell me more about Donald’s business. Are you familiar with what he did?’

  ‘More so now than when he was alive. I’d always believed that he gave people financial advice and helped with their investments. That’s all he ever told me. I know more now, having read the papers and seen on TV what he’d done to his investors.’

  ‘So, you understand that for many years he operated a Ponzi scheme. He persuaded people to invest their money through him, only instead of investing it into a particular scheme which gave a return, he kept the money for himself and used money others had invested with him to make their interest payments.’

  ‘A bit like using Peter to pay Paul,’ Sarah said.

  ‘In a simplified way, yes. This went on for more than ten years. Think back to then, can you remember whether something specific happened around that time which made him change from being a legitimate financial adviser to doing this?’

  ‘He didn’t ever say anything to me. I’d always thought his business was doing well, and he was making a success of it, even during the recession.’

  ‘He took people’s money for himself. What did he spend it on?’

  ‘Us. The house. In recent years, the house has started eating money. We’ve had to replace the roof. The boiler – which was as old as the hills – stopped working. The grounds take a lot to maintain. We also had school fees to pay and now we’re supporting the boys at university.’