by Sally Rigby
‘What are you going to do now?’
‘Like I said, the kids will be leaving their current school and we may have to sell the house, but we’ll try to avoid that if at all possible, as by the time the mortgages are paid off it won’t leave us with much. Celia’s looking for a job in the interim, which will help with day-to-day expenses. I shouldn’t be saying this, but we’ll be sitting pretty once her parents kick the bucket because she’s in for a hefty inheritance.’
‘Why don’t you ask them for help?’ It seemed the most logical thing to do under the circumstances.
‘And admit what I’ve done? What do you take me for? I do have some pride.’ He shook his head.
‘No one could blame you if you did go to them.’
‘You don’t know her folks. They’ve always thought she could do better for herself. They were probably right.’ He picked up his drink and finished it. ‘I’ve got to go. Things to do.’
‘I appreciate you sparing the time to see me.’
‘I’m not sure what good it’s going to do.’
‘If he didn’t commit suicide and his death was suspicious, then there will be an investigation.’
‘And I’ll have to find an alibi because I’ll be a suspect, no doubt. Not that it matters because I’m sure he did commit suicide. You know what he was like, he wanted everyone to like him. This would’ve destroyed him. I hope you don’t discover that it’s murder. Enough damage has been done from this.’
‘Sarah needs to know the truth, so she can get on with her life.’
‘But it’s not going to make any difference, is it?’
‘It will to her. What she really needs right now is some support. It’s hard being ostracised for something she didn’t do.’
‘I hear what you’re saying, and I’ll think about it.’
They left the pub together, and Seb had just got into his car when his phone rang.
‘Clifford.’
‘It’s me, Birdie. Where are you?’
‘I’ve just had a drink with Donald’s brother, Edgar. He was one of the investors.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? I could have come with you.’
‘Because I know him, and he wouldn’t have opened up with you there. He’s much better on a one-to-one basis.’
‘Did he tell you anything useful?’
‘He’s angry and blames his brother for what’s happened to him. He thinks Donald committed suicide because he didn’t want to face the fallout that would have happened when his financial losses and the Ponzi scheme came to light.’
‘Good point. While I remember, there’s no CCTV by the top car park at Foxton Locks, so we can’t check who was there on the day Donald died.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
‘Where are you going next?’
‘There’s a retired couple, Bert and Pearl Black, who were Donald’s clients from a long time ago and were the ones who reported him to the FCA, who then uncovered the Ponzi scheme. They live in Marston Trussell, a village on the outskirts of Market Harborough.’
‘I know where it is.’
‘I was going to phone and see if they’ll see me this afternoon.’
‘Let me come with you. Give me an hour to get ready as I’ve just got up.’
‘It’s nearly two o’clock, how come you’ve only just arisen?’
‘I went to bed late.’
‘I’ll call them now and get back to you.’
He phoned and Mr Black answered. Seb explained why he wanted to visit the couple and the man was amenable, so after making the arrangements he got back to Birdie.
‘They’ve said we can see them at four, so I’ll pick you up at three-thirty. Where do you live?’
‘Gardiner Street. You’ll see my car parked outside the house, behind a Citroen which belongs to my mum.’
‘You still live with your parents?’
‘Yeah. So what?’
‘No reason, you just seem to be the sort of person who would’ve flown the nest a long time ago.’
‘I have lived away from home, but … you know … circumstances. Anyway, this isn’t about my living arrangements. When you get here, you’re to stay in the car and not knock at the door. I don’t want anyone thinking we’re going out on a date. I don’t date older men.’ She paused. ‘Or women, for that matter.’
‘I’ll wait outside your house. Shall I put a hood over my head?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
Chapter 12
8 May
Seb checked his watch for the tenth time. If Birdie didn’t hurry up, he’d go to the door and knock, despite her insistence that he didn’t. He was parked outside the front of the detached Victorian house where she lived, which wasn’t far from the house he was renting. It was half-brick and half-rendered and had ivy growing around the front door.
He placed his hand on the door handle, ready to get out of the car when her front door opened, and she came tearing out of the house. She ran around the front of the car and opened the passenger door.
‘Don’t say anything. I know I’m late. We’ll be there on time.’ She jumped into the car, pulled down the seat belt and clicked it in place.
‘My lips are sealed,’ he said, before starting the engine and driving away.
‘Is there any chance we can stop off somewhere to pick me up something to eat? A burger from the drive-through would do the trick.’
‘We’re expected at the Blacks’ house at four.’
‘It’s only a slight detour and won’t take long. I can eat it on the way. Please.’
‘Okay.’
He drove them through the town centre and stopped at the first fast-food restaurant they came to. Luckily there wasn’t a queue.
He ordered her a burger, which she wolfed down in a couple of bites, and a coffee.
‘Thanks, I needed that after the night I had.’ She rested her head on the window.
‘What happened?’
‘I was out with friends clubbing, that’s what young people do on a Friday night.’
‘But we were together last night.’
She looked at him from under her lashes and laughed. ‘You crack me up. I didn’t go out until eleven. I know in your day people would go out early, but they don’t do that now.’
‘What do you mean my day? I’m not a geriatric.’ He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been dancing at a club, but he wasn’t going to admit that. He much preferred concerts or the theatre.
They arrived in Marston Trussell with time to spare, and stopped outside a semi-detached, cream pebble-dashed house with a white door and a gravel drive.
At exactly four, they walked up the short drive to the front door and, after knocking, an elderly man in his seventies appeared. He was wearing a shirt and tie, with a pair of suit trousers. The only concession to him being at home and not in an office was his tartan slippers.
Had he dressed up to meet them?
‘Mr Black? I’m Sebastian Clifford, I phoned you earlier. This is my colleague DC Bird.’
‘I’m always happy to help the police.’ He smiled at Birdie.
‘I’m not actually on duty today, sir. I’ve come with Sebastian to talk to you.’
‘Oh. Never mind. Come on in, my wife’s in the lounge.’
They walked into the nicely decorated house and followed him to a small living room with a brick-built fire in the centre of the wall facing them. His wife stood up from the sofa and smiled. She too was dressed nicely in a floral print dress which buttoned up the front.
‘Hello, Mrs Black. It was very kind of you and Mr Black to agree to speak to us,’ Seb said.
‘Please, call us Bert and Pearl.’
‘Are these all your family?’ Birdie said, gesturing to the walls which were covered in mounted photos.
‘Yes they are. We have four children, twelve grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. They’re scattered all over the world, as far away as New Zealand. We had planned to travel overseas to see them all, but �
�’ Her voice fell away.
‘We can still speak to them on the computer. It’s amazing what you can do nowadays. You can actually see them, and the picture is so good you feel like you can almost touch them,’ Mr Black said, putting his arm around her shoulders.
‘Except we can’t.’ She gave a sigh.
‘Please sit down,’ Mr Black gestured to the two rust-coloured easy chairs which were either side of the sofa. ‘You want to talk about Mr Witherspoon?’
‘Yes, if you don’t mind. Please could you tell us how you first got involved with him,’ Seb said.
‘We invested all our money with him after seeing his advert in the paper. We wanted to make sure we had enough money once we’d retired to do all those things we’d planned. Like travel. We’d sold our house when we downsized after the last of the children left home and had a large amount of money. The bank rates were appalling, so I contacted Donald to find out more.’
‘Did you know him before this?’ Seb asked
‘He was a member of the Rotary club I belonged to. We were acquaintances. He came around to see us and talked about investing and what we could do with our money, to give us the best return. He suggested we reinvested our dividends, to build up our capital sum, and said that we could change that at any time and also take out the lump sum we’d put in once the initial investment period was over.’
‘How much did you invest?’
‘A hundred thousand pounds. It was the money we had left after selling our house and buying this one. At first, we reinvested the dividends and when we retired we changed and received an income every month which we used to top up our state pensions.’
‘He seemed so nice,’ Mrs Black said. ‘He took us out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate when we signed all the papers. The Elm Tree, in Husbands Bosworth. I don’t know if it’s still there because we haven’t been since. He was charming, and we trusted him.’
‘Did you take any other financial advice?’ Birdie asked.
Mr Black hung his head. ‘I wish we had. But he was reputable, we knew him, and for years there were no issues at all, until …’ He paused.
‘What happened?’ Seb asked.
‘Six months before he died the payments stopped. He said there was a financial crisis in the Middle East and that we shouldn’t worry. He was working hard to sort out the situation.’
Seb shook his head. ‘And you believed him.’
‘Yes, we did. We then left it for a couple of months and after there were still no payments, I contacted him again and left a message on his voicemail. He didn’t call back. I tried several times with no joy, so in the end I sent an email saying that we want all of our money back. After that, he called. He apologised profusely and promised our money within two weeks. It didn’t happen. So, I contacted the FCA and told them what had happened. They said they would investigate and let me know what they’d found. They reported back that there were some anomalies … that was the word they used, and they would be taking matters further. But then he died.’
‘And we lost our money,’ Mrs Black said, a single tear rolling down her cheek. ‘All we have is our pension to live on, which barely covers the bills. God help us if something big needs replacing like the boiler. We don’t want to bother our children because they have their own families to care for. We’ll probably have to sell the house and move into a small flat, or a care home. All thanks to that man.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Seb said. ‘You should consider telling your family, though. They might want to help you.’
‘We got ourselves into this mess, and we’re not going to ask our children to help us out. Nobody, apart from you, knows exactly how much we’ve lost, and that’s how it’s going to stay,’ Mr Black said, banging a fist on the arm of the sofa. ‘All they think is that we’d invested a small amount with Witherspoon. We had to tell them that because our names are out there on a debtors’ list. Although we didn’t expect anyone to notice, we wanted to cover ourselves just in case.’
‘Why are you investigating him now, isn’t it all over?’ Mrs Black asked.
‘Mr Witherspoon’s wife doesn’t believe he took his own life, and she wants us to look into it,’ Seb said, hoping it wasn’t going to drag up too many awful memories for them.
‘Do you think he was murdered?’ Mrs Black asked, her eyes wide.
‘We haven’t got that far. I’m just taking an extra look to make sure nothing was missed during the investigation.’
‘I believe he committed suicide because he didn’t want to be seen as a failure. He always came across as being so proud of his success. He should have stayed and faced up to what he’d done to all of us.’
‘I expect you’re right, but we want to make sure.’ Seb stood. ‘Thank you for taking the time to talk to us. We really appreciate it.’
Seb and Birdie left the house and returned to the car.
‘This makes me so sick,’ Birdie said. ‘Witherspoon goes in there all smarmy and smiles and wanting them to trust him and then he takes the money, not caring what would happen to them. It’s a fucking disgrace. What’s gonna happen to those poor people? They’ve got nothing and are too proud to ask for help. It’s disgusting.’ She thumped the dashboard.
‘Remember that when they first invested with him, his business was above board. He didn’t start the Ponzi scheme until years later.’
‘I don’t care. He’s still a bastard.’
‘I knew Donald and there was nothing about him which made me think he would resort to this kind of behaviour. He always came across as being above board and genuine.’
‘Nothing? I find that very hard to believe. No one can be that perfect.’
‘Perfect he wasn’t, and I suppose he did smile a lot and maybe liked to ingratiate himself with people. But I never witnessed anything which gave me cause to believe that he was operating fraudulently.’
‘Did he ever ask you to invest in one of his schemes?’ Birdie asked.
‘Not once. I was a police officer, and he thought I had no money, as well as thinking I’d lost the plot by joining the force.’ He sighed as the familiar conversations he’d had with his family regarding his choice of career forced their way to the front of his mind.
‘What’s wrong with being a police officer?’
‘Nothing, as far as I’m concerned, but it’s different for my family. They’d rather I’d done something else, and now they’ve had their wish granted.’ He turned his head and stared out of the front window. He wasn’t prepared to discuss it further with her. With anybody, in fact, until he was clear about it himself.
‘What happened, do you think, for Donald to embark on this fraud, because surely something must have? And then what went wrong for it all to go to tits up?’ Birdie asked.
‘If I was to hazard a guess, I’d say he had a cash flow problem ten years ago and found himself short of money. At that same time, he signed up an investor, and instead of actually putting the money into the scheme it was earmarked for, he borrowed it, believing it would be like a short-term loan. It then snowballed from there, and he was continually borrowing money from new investors to pay the old. It worked well, for a long time, but Ponzi schemes can only flourish as long as there’s a steady flow of new investors. Problems arise when the money runs out and there isn’t any new money coming in. The house he lived in required upkeep and he took Sarah and the boys on expensive holidays. He wore bespoke suits and drove top of the range cars. It was a delicate balancing act, one which he obviously failed to keep going.’
‘If he was murdered, then there are a number of people with motives.’
‘We don’t know that he was, yet. Remember it was only reported to the FCA shortly before he’d died, and they didn’t get access to the records until after his death and following that it was announced.’
‘But if people like the Blacks wanted their money back, and he refused then they could’ve murdered him.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘Except that would make it even worse because they
’d never get their money back. Why didn’t he sell his house if times had got desperate?’
‘It’s in Sarah’s name and he couldn’t touch it. He’d have had to go to her and explain what was going on. He always kept Sarah well away from the business, and I imagine he was too proud to admit he’d failed.’
‘Maybe he did tell her, and she killed him. She wouldn’t be the first wife to murder her husband.’
‘Then why ask me to investigate his death after it had been classified as suicide? That doesn’t seem at all feasible.’
‘True. Is there any way people like the Blacks can get their money back?’
‘They could make a claim on the estate, except there’s nothing left. He was bankrupt.’
‘I wish we could do something to help that poor couple get their money back. Would they have a claim against Sarah and the house?’
‘I’m not a lawyer and can’t answer that. But Sarah shouldn’t be blamed, and I’m not debating with you if that’s right or wrong. Our job is to investigate Donald’s death, not worry about Sarah’s input or otherwise. Did the Blacks have reason to kill him? Yes. Except they didn’t know about the Ponzi scheme until after the FCA had investigated.’
‘Do you believe them?’
‘As much as I’d believe anyone in that sort of situation.’
‘You mean yes. And so do I. What are we going to do now?’
‘Continue interviewing investors, but first I want some more background on Donald and not just from his brother. I’m going to speak to Sarah tomorrow and get a list of his friends. I’d like you to take a look at his active investors. Another pair of eyes might spot something odd and worth investigating further. Check up on anyone who you think appears suspicious in any way. I’ll email the list to you later.’
‘Thanks. You might as well take me back home. I’ve got to get ready to go out.’
‘Again?’
‘Yes. Do you expect me to stay in on a Saturday night? Don’t answer that. A gang of us are going rollerblading at the leisure centre. You’re welcome to come.’ He turned to see the smirk on her face.
