by Sally Rigby
‘I forgot my purse. Can you buy something for me, please?’
‘That’s a new one. How many more excuses do you have lined up to get me to pay for your meals?’ He arched an eyebrow.
‘Shut up,’ she said, flicking him on the arm. ‘You can charge it to expenses.’
‘You do know that I’m not being paid, so who exactly will be paying these expenses?’
‘Details. Come on, we don’t have much time.’
He strode off in the direction of the café and she tried to keep up, but with his long legs it was impossible. She ended up jogging to catch him up. They went in and she picked up a bag of crisps and ordered a hot sausage roll. She caught the look in his eye.
‘Don’t tell me you had muesli with skimmed milk, topped with a couple of strawberries,’ she said, tilting her head to one side. He looked away. ‘Ha. You did, didn’t you?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with fruit and muesli. Although I have to admit, it does smell good.’ He nodded at the sausage roll which she was now holding.
They headed over to the platform. ‘I’ll eat it on the train,’ she said, more to herself than to him.
She didn’t want the other travellers staring at her chewing, not least because she was bound to make a mess. Eating a sausage roll wearing decent clothes probably wasn’t the best of ideas. She’d have to cover herself with serviettes while eating.
The train came in on time, and when they got on it was full, as it had come from Nottingham via Leicester.
‘Let’s find a seat,’ Seb said, as they walked through the first carriage but finding no empty seats.
‘I have to sit facing the way the train is going, or it makes me feel sick.’
They ended up walking through three further carriages until finding two seats facing the front.
‘This will do,’ he said, stepping to the side so she could sit by the window. How did he know she wanted to sit there?
Once seated, Seb pulled out a book.
‘You’re going to read the whole journey?’
‘Do you object?’
‘I don’t mind what you do. What book is it?’ She peered at the book in his hand.
‘The latest Harlan Coben. What about you, are you going to catch up on your sleep, as you had to get up early on your day off?’
‘I might just do that. But first of all, it’s breakfast time.’ She held up the paper bag containing her sausage roll, pulled out the three serviettes she’d taken from the counter and covered herself with them.
They sat in silence while she ate, and he read. The journey into St Pancras took just over an hour, and from there they took the Tube to Sloane Square and then walked the fifteen minutes to Battersea, on the south bank of the Thames.
‘We’ve still got plenty of time, let’s go for a coffee,’ Seb said.
‘That works for me. The more caffeine the better.’
They found a small café close to the studio and ordered two coffees.
‘Why are you always late?’ Seb asked once they’d found somewhere to sit.
She was always getting bollocked for being late, but he was the first to ask why it happened.
‘Habit. Leaving everything to the last minute. I don’t know. It just happens. I don’t deliberately do it.’
‘What time did you get up this morning?’
‘Eight forty-five. Why?’
‘Even though you knew I was picking you up at nine-thirty? No wonder you missed breakfast. If you set your alarm half an hour earlier than you really need you’ll never be late,’ he suggested.
What he said made perfect sense. Except, knowing her, she’d sleep through the alarm.
‘It’s not such a big deal. I was ready on time, today, wasn’t I? What’s a few minutes, anyway?’
‘I’m only trying to help. You’ve been getting in trouble at work for being late, don’t you want to fix it?’
‘It’s just a thing. It doesn’t affect how I do my job.’
She couldn’t explain it, but she’d always been like that. When she did reflect on it, she’d decided it could be because her parents were always on time for everything, often early. In fact, they were obsessive about it. She wanted to be different. And it wasn’t as if she could have inherited the we-must-always-be-early gene because she was adopted. Her timekeeping was proof.
‘That’s debatable. It might not have affected the way you do your job, but it’s certainly affected you being allowed to do your job.’
Right again.
‘It’s something I do. Let’s leave it at that.’
‘I’d hate to see your talent go unnoticed because of this one issue.’
‘I never miss anything, I’m just a bit late, sometimes.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘Okay, most of the time,’ she acknowledged.
‘It can be frustrating for people. Take today, we only have fifteen minutes to interview Andrea Wood. If we’re late for that, by even five minutes, that would cut down our time with her by thirty per cent. We could lose valuable information.’
‘But we won’t be late.’ She tipped her head back and drew in a frustrated breath. ‘We’ve got plenty of time. We’re actually way early.’
‘You’re deliberately being obtuse.’
‘Whatever.’
She folded her arms and looked away, not wanting them to fall out over her timekeeping as it was going to be a fun day. Informative, obviously, because they were working on the case, but as she’d never been to a TV studio before, or spoken to a celebrity, still fun.
At ten minutes to twelve they left the café and walked around the corner and into the studio.
‘My name is Sebastian Clifford, and I’ve got an appointment with Andrea Wood at midday. It was arranged by Rob Lawson.’
‘One moment, please,’ the receptionist said. She made a call announcing their arrival. ‘If you take the lift up to the fifth floor, it’s the third room on the right. The Edison Suite. They’re expecting you.’
She swallowed hard. ‘Do you have stairs?’ Birdie asked the woman.
‘Yes, you’ll find them just before the lift, but they’re very steep.’
‘I’m in training.’ They walked away from the reception and when they reached the stairs, she turned to Seb ‘I’ll meet you up there.’
‘It’s five flights. Surely you don’t have to train now.’
She sucked in a breath. ‘I get a bit claustrophobic and only go into a lift if it’s absolutely necessary.’
‘You were fine on the tube.’
‘Because it’s more spacious. It’s really lifts I can’t stand. We don’t have time to discuss this now. I’ll meet you there.’
She jogged up the stairs. The woman wasn’t wrong, they were steep and she had to stop several times before her legs gave way. When she reached the top Seb was waiting for her.
He knocked on the door, before she even had time to catch her breath, and a woman answered.
‘Mr Clifford?’ she said.
‘Yes, and this is B … Lucinda Bird.’
Seriously? She glared at him, but he didn’t seem to notice.
They were ushered into a large room with a black leather three-piece suite on one side and a circular table with chairs around it on the other side, next to the window.
Andrea was seated alone at the table and standing in the corner was a thickset man dressed in a dark suit, with a shaved head, who stood with his arms folded. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. Was he security? He’d picked the wrong people to try to intimidate, if so. She’d handled much worse.
‘This is Sebastian Clifford and Lucinda Bird. They’ve an appointment with you,’ the woman who brought them in said.
Was she even aware they were going to interview her?
‘Come and sit down,’ Andrea said, flashing a set of perfect white teeth as she smiled and looked directly at Seb, totally ignoring Birdie.
‘It was good of you to spare the time,’ Seb said, as they sat opposite her.
‘It’s my pleasure. How may I help you?’ Andrea said.
‘We’d like to ask you about Donald Witherspoon.’
She cleared her throat, panic etched across her face. ‘Who?’
‘You know who I mean.’
‘Are you from the press? I wouldn’t have agreed to speak to you if I’d known.’
‘No, we’re not the media.’
‘Aaron, I’m worried that the alterations on my dress for tomorrow won’t be made on time. Could you go to wardrobe and check with Annie?’
‘Okay.’
He scowled at Seb and Birdie before leaving the room. What was that all about?
‘I don’t know what you have heard, but my connection with Donald Witherspoon isn’t public knowledge,’ she said.
‘I’m investigating his death, on behalf of his wife.’
‘He committed suicide. What’s there to investigate? He stole all that money and took the coward’s way out rather than facing everyone.’
‘His wife isn’t convinced that’s what happened, and I’ve agreed to investigate.’
‘What do you want from me?’
‘At the beginning of the year, you invested some money with him and we wanted to discuss it with you.’
‘How do you know about this?’
‘I’ve examined Witherspoon’s financial records. How much money did you invest in his scheme?’
‘A hundred thousand. It was what he recommended.’
‘Why so much?’
‘I’d decided to diversify and believed investing with him would be a good idea.’
‘Did you take any financial advice before investing?’ Seb asked.
‘No, I decided not to involve my business manager in this particular investment.’
‘Why not?’
‘I wanted it to be kept under the table, in case my soon-to-be ex-husband got wind of it. We’ve separated and divorce proceedings have been decidedly acrimonious. I wanted this investment to be kept out of the equation. It’s not like I have the money now, anyway.’
Something wasn’t adding up. Unless …
‘Did you already know Mr Witherspoon before investing?’ Birdie asked.
‘Vaguely,’ Andrea answered, her cheeks flushing.
‘When you say vaguely, what do you mean exactly?’ Birdie pushed.
‘Our paths crossed a long time ago, and when I was looking to invest the money and his company’s name popped up, I decided to go with him. That’s all.’ She waved her hand dismissively.
There had to be more.
‘How did your paths cross?’
‘We met at a charity event, if I remember correctly. It really was a long time ago and I can’t remember exactly.’
‘Between first meeting him, and then investing at the beginning of the year, did you see each other at all?’
‘I meet a lot of people in this job. I really can’t tell you.’
‘Although it was because you knew him that you decided to invest on the side and not involve your business manager.’
‘Partly. But I fail to see why this is relevant.’
‘And—’
‘How often did you receive your dividend payments from him?’ Seb asked, interrupting Birdie.
Why? What was wrong with her line of questioning?
‘Quarterly. I only received the first quarter because he’d died before the second was due.’
‘There was no record of that. How much did you receive?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘What was your reaction when you learnt of his death and that you’d lost your money?’
‘What do you think? I was furious. It was a lot of money to lose.’
‘Where were you on Saturday 10 April?’
‘I’d have to look in my diary.’ She reached for her phone, which was on the table, and unlocked it. ‘I was doing a personal appearance in Bath and decided to make a weekend of it. I went there on Friday night and returned to my flat in London on the Sunday afternoon.’
‘Can anyone vouch for you?’ Birdie asked.
Andrea frowned. ‘What’s this? A police interview? I’m talking to you as a favour. I wasn’t alone, and that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.’
The door opened and Andrea’s assistant entered the room. Andrea made a show of looking at her watch. ‘Time’s up. I’ve been up since two and want to go home to get some rest. Yvette, see these people out.’
She turned away and the assistant who’d let them in showed them to the door and out into the corridor.
Birdie glanced at Seb.
‘What the fuck …’ She mouthed.
Chapter 20
14 May
They left the studio in silence and once they were in the street Birdie turned to Seb.
‘Well?’ She hadn’t liked to say anything until they were well out of the way in case they were overheard. ‘A bit up herself if you ask me. But I suppose that’s what famous people are like. You know plenty of prominent people. Is that how they all act?’
‘I don’t frequent red-carpet events, nor do I have celebrity friends, contrary to what you believe.’
He said that, but surely he must know some of the rich and famous. She’d get it out of him. Perhaps after a few drinks he might spill the beans.
‘If you say so.’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘On the telly, Andrea Wood smiles all the time, but apart from when she first saw you, she didn’t smile once. Especially after we told her why we were there. Did you notice that? I suppose we weren’t important enough to have the special treatment.’
‘How would you feel if you were hoodwinked into an interview about something you thought was a secret?’
‘True. If I’d lost a hundred grand I’d be crying non-stop for the rest of my life.’ She pulled a face.
‘We weren’t there to be liked, or to like her. What we wanted was information about Donald. What did you deduce from that perspective?’
‘She was certainly hiding something. All that business about keeping everything on the down-low so her ex didn’t find out and also not wanting to involve her business manager. Why not? She was fobbing us off.’
‘My sentiments, exactly. She said she’d only met Donald once before deciding to invest with him on the side. That doesn’t ring true, not when there’s so much money involved. The question we have to ask is, why?’
‘Do you think she was having an affair with Witherspoon and he persuaded her to invest because he needed the money? That would give her a reason to be so secretive.’
‘It’s one avenue of thought, but are we making a big leap? And even if she was, then why would that lead to his death? As we’ve discussed before, why would anyone who invested with him want to see him dead? It would mean they’d lost their money forever.’ Seb’s brow furrowed.
‘We should still look deeper into Andrea. Actually, we need to investigate all of his investors. There’s got to be something that will help us.’
‘Agreed,’ Seb said nodding. ‘We’ll split the research. Can you check criminal records for all of Donald’s investors? Say no if it might get you into trouble. I don’t want that to happen.’
‘As I’m the only one in the office most of the time, it won’t be hard. I’m a dab hand at closing a screen if anyone gets too close.’
She’d had a lot of practice.
‘Unless the IT department track what you do.’
She laughed. ‘This is Market Harborough, not the Met. It will be fine.’ She didn’t bother to mention that she knew more than the IT person assigned to work with them and was well able to cover her tracks.
‘I’ll do more research into Donald, and identify which of his other investors were friends, and then take a look at them. Can you get your bit done by Friday?’
‘Yes, boss,’ she said, saluting. ‘By the way, who’s this guy we’re meeting for lunch?’
‘A friend of mine from the Met.’
‘Not another aristocrat.’ She smirked, and he rolled
his eyes. ‘I suppose that was a bit stupid. I mean, how many of your lot are going to be in the police?’
‘He’s a friend and ex-colleague. We trained together.’
‘Was he in the disbanded squad with you?’
‘No, he’s a DI in the Homicide and Serious Crime Command Unit.’ They headed into the pub. ‘There he is, at the bar.’ They walked over to him. ‘Rob.’
The guy turned around and gave Seb a bear hug.
She stared at the pair of them, open-mouthed. She thought Seb was large, but his friend was even larger. Was that even possible? She’d need to stand on a box to even be heard.
‘Drinks are on you, mate.’ He glanced down at her. ‘I’m DI Rob Lawson and you must be DC Bird. I’ve heard all about you.’
‘Yes, that’s me.’ She held out her hand, and he clasped it so tight she had to fight the urge not to scream. ‘Call me Birdie. Anything else and I won’t answer.’ Crap. He was a DI. Maybe she should change her tone. ‘I’m off duty at the moment,’ she added as if to excuse herself.
‘It’s okay, Birdie. I’m not going to pull rank,’ he said, as if reading her mind.
‘What would you like to drink?’ Seb asked.
‘Half a cider, please.’
‘Half a cider and two pints of stout,’ he asked the guy behind the bar. He turned to Rob. ‘I take it you haven’t changed in your choice of beer.’
‘No. Nor you, by the looks of things.’
‘Are we going to eat?’ she asked.
Seb laughed. ‘What you need to know about Birdie is she’s obsessed with food. Wherever we go, she has to eat. And if you’re the person with her, you’ll most likely to be the one paying.’
‘I couldn’t help forgetting my purse this morning,’ she said.
‘And the other times?’ he asked, handing her the menu.
‘I’m a lowly DC, hanging out with the higher-ups, so you’ve got no chance of making me feel guilty. I’ll have fish and chips,’ she said.
‘Another thing you need to know is a salad would die alone on her plate.’
She elbowed him in the ribs. ‘If you’ve quite finished, I don’t recall ever seeing your plate covered in lettuce leaves. You’re not giving a very good impression of me here. What if I decide to apply for a job at the Met and Rob here is on the interview panel, how’s that going to look?’
