by Sally Rigby
He needed a more effective weapon than an ornament. Not a knife. That would mean getting up close to them. He remembered the walking stick in a bucket by the back door and grabbed it.
He pulled the phone out of his pocket, hit the record button, and then replaced it. Whatever happened, he wanted to make sure that Dunkley would be caught.
He stood stationary in the middle of the room.
Waiting.
The only sounds were his ragged breaths.
He was about to move, when footsteps pounded on the wooden floor in the hall.
His grip tightened around the stick and he sucked in a breath.
Two men burst into the kitchen, narrowly avoiding Elsa. No hoodies this time. He could see as clear as day that one of them was Dunkley.
‘Don’t you ever learn your lesson? You were warned to keep away,’ Dunkley said. ‘And did you? No. Well, now you’re gonna regret it.’
‘What warning?’ Seb said. ‘You beat me up, without saying a thing. What was I being warned about?’
‘Don’t play dumb with me. You couldn’t leave her alone, could you? You’re going to pay for that, make no mistake.’
‘What are you going to do about it?’ Seb said, standing his full six feet six inches and staring down at the pair of them.
‘What are you going to do about it? Old bean.’ The guy with Dunkley, who was stockier and shorter than his colleague, said imitating Seb’s voice.
Normally, Seb could take on the pair of them, as he worked out on a regular basis, but he wasn’t fighting fit. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t put up a good fight if he had to. His phone rang.
‘Don’t answer it,’ Dunkley said.
He hadn’t intended to in case they spotted him recording the conversation. He had to get them to admit to the murder.
‘Did Andrea Wood put you up to this?’ He locked eyes with Dunkley. ‘Your old school friend …’
Dunkley stiffened. ‘How do you know?’
‘It doesn’t matter. The fact is, I do. And I’m not the only one. I also know you used to be called Ross Burns. So, whatever you think you can do to me now isn’t going to change that. Did Andrea ask you to attack me and come here today?’
Dunkley, clearly agitated, hopped from foot to foot.
‘She knows nothing about it, so don’t try to frame her.’
‘Why don’t you tell me everything. I know you murdered Witherspoon. You’ve been identified as being in the pub at Foxton Locks on the day he died. Why did you do it?’ Because he was blackmailing Andrea? Were you protecting her? You’ve always had a thing for her, haven’t you?’
‘You know nothing,’ Dunkley snarled.
‘I know you’ve been in love with her since school and she used you to do her dirty work.’
‘You call it dirty work. I call it helping a friend.’
‘A friend who you happen to be in love with. Except she didn’t love you back, did she?’
The lines tightened around the man’s eyes. He’d touched a nerve. ‘I look after her so she ain’t bothered by the likes of you.’
Under her authority?
‘Is Andrea happy with you interfering in her life like this? Because even if she wasn’t physically involved in what you’ve done, you do realise that she’s an accessory and will go down for a long time.’
Fear flashed in his eyes. ‘What I did was my decision and not hers. It’s my job to protect her and I decide how.’
‘Even if that protection involved murdering Donald Witherspoon. Don’t deny it. You’ve been identified and we know you had lunch with him on the day he died and were pretending to be interested in investing with him. You might have thought you’d made his death appear a suicide, but he tricked you. The note he left. The one you forced him to write, was full of clues.’
‘You’re bluffing. What clues?’
‘Clues that his wife was able to spot a mile off. Admittedly, you had the police and coroner fooled, but not now. We have all the evidence we need to prove that you’re guilty of Witherspoon’s murder. And the expression on your face is an acknowledgement of that fact. Admit it. You murdered him, didn’t you?’
Seb stopped talking. He’d learnt long ago that after giving enough information to draw a suspect in, the best course of action was to wait for them to speak.
‘It was his own fault. I don’t care if he needed money, he shouldn’t have gone after Andrea like that. She’s been through enough over the years. If he’d have kept his nose out he might still be alive.’
‘Did Andrea tell you about the blackmail?’
‘I overheard a conversation between her and Witherspoon and realised what was going on. She’d given him money once and he was after more. I had to save her.’
‘Do you know what she was being blackmailed over?’ he asked, curious as to how much he actually knew.
‘No, and I don’t need to. All I knew was that he’d blackmailed her once and wanted more money out of her.’
‘So you went in on your white charger, like you did at school because you were in love with her. You sorted out anyone she didn’t like. She knew how you felt about her, and used you, just as she’s using you now, even if she isn’t aware of exactly what you’ve done.’
‘You bastard. You’re dead.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Dunkley lunged towards Seb, and he pulled back the walking stick and swung it hard into the man’s face. His nose cracked and blood came pouring down. His hand flew to his face, and he groaned.
‘You’ll pay for that.’
The other guy ran from where he’d been standing close to the door and Seb stuck out his foot and tripped him. While the man was righting himself, Seb grabbed his arm and twisted it up his back and held him so he couldn’t move.
‘Get off me.’
The front door opened, and Birdie ran in, closely followed by three other officers holding Tasers.
‘I’ve got it under control,’ he said, grinning at Birdie.
‘Arrest him for murder.’ He nodded at Dunkley. ‘And this one for GBH.’
Birdie turned to Dunkley who was still clutching his nose. ‘Aaron Dunkley, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murdering Donald Witherspoon, and for grievous bodily harm to Sebastian Clifford. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’
He grunted his reply.
She turned to the other one and arrested him.
‘Take them away,’ she said to the officer with her. ‘Where’s Elsa? Did they hurt her?’
‘She’s behind you,’ he said, nodding at the floor. ‘They sedated her. I found a half-eaten piece of meat in the hall. They must have shoved it through the letter box before breaking in, to make sure she wouldn’t attack them. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.’
Birdie rushed over and bent down beside her, pulling her into her arms. ‘Elsa, wake up. It’s okay. Those arsewipes have gone.’ A tear rolled down her cheek and she sniffed.
‘She’ll be okay,’ Seb said, squatting down beside her. ‘Won’t you girl.’ He stroked her head and Elsa stretched her legs out. ‘See, she’s coming around already.’
‘Thank goodness,’ Birdie said, smiling through her tears.
He stood, as his eyes had begun to fill up, too and he didn’t want Birdie to see.
‘How did you get in without breaking down the door?’ he asked, as he replayed the scene in his mind.
‘You left the keys in the lock.’
He smacked himself on the head. ‘I was so busy looking for Elsa I forgot them. I’m such an idiot.’
‘You’ll get no argument from me about that,’ Birdie said. ‘I’m going back to work. You stay here with Elsa and come in to the station tomorrow morning to make a statement.’
Chapter 41
21 May
Seb arrived at the station first thing in the morning. He glanced
around the interview room where Birdie had left him as she went to track down her sergeant and, he hoped, a coffee. The room was basic, with a table, four chairs, and some recording equipment. None of the fancy stuff they had at the Met.
Being at the station the last hour had highlighted to him that he didn’t miss police work, despite him thinking that he would. He hadn’t realised how constrained he’d been at work until undertaking this investigation for Sarah. He’d been able to make his own decisions without having to report back to a superior officer. There was a lot to be said for that sort of autonomy.
The door opened and Birdie walked in carrying two plastic cups, which she placed on the table. She pulled a packet of biscuits from her pocket and sat opposite him.
‘Machine coffee only, I’m afraid, but it’s drinkable and better than nothing. With a bourbon biscuit or three to help wash it down. I keep asking for an espresso machine, but you can imagine the response I get to that request.’ She opened the packet and took out a couple of biscuits. ‘These will have to do until lunchtime. Though God knows what time that will be. Want one?’
He shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. Warm, and just about passable. ‘Did you find Sergeant Weston, is he going to be long?’
He really wanted to get back to be with Elsa. When he’d left the house she was fine, and had suffered no ill-effects from the sedation but the whole scenario kept playing around in his mind. What if Dunkley hadn’t sedated her and instead put a bullet in her head? He shuddered at the thought.
‘He’s on his way. Be warned, he—’ The door opened, and she clamped her mouth shut, pulling a face which only Seb could see.
‘Clifford,’ he said nodding, and sitting beside Birdie. ‘Is one of those for me?’ he asked, looking directly at the cups on the table.
‘Sorry, Sarge, I could only manage two. But help yourself to a biscuit.’ She slid the packet towards him.
He ignored the biscuits and stared at Clifford. ‘You have some explaining to do. Why wasn’t this handed over to us as soon as you suspected foul play?’
Seb had no idea what Birdie had already told him, so he had to be careful. If he kept his eyes on her, she might give something away. He didn’t want to land her in trouble, and not just because Twiggy had threatened him the other day.
‘It was mentioned to you at the time of my attack, but you insisted it was a mugging, if I recall correctly.’
Birdie grimaced. That hadn’t come out exactly as he’d planned.
‘That was a mistake,’ the sergeant admitted. ‘But once you knew about the blackmail, you should’ve come to see me and explained.’ He turned to Birdie. ‘You should’ve insisted that’s what he did.’
‘It’s what I had planned to do, but first I needed to connect the dots. It wasn’t until I saw the tattoo on Dunkley’s hand two days ago that I realised he was one of my attackers. That was the only clue I had to his identity. I wanted to make sure all the evidence stacked up in case they slipped through the net. You know what barristers are like, they’ll get people off on the most ridiculous technicality.’
Sergeant Weston nodded. ‘You can say that again.’
‘I want to make it clear that DC Bird had nothing to do with any decisions made during this investigation,’ Seb continued. ‘Once we’d confirmed with the manager of the Foxton Locks pub that Dunkley had been with Witherspoon on the day he died, I intended to share with you everything I had. Birdie wanted us to go straight to the station after I thought we were being followed, but one they disappeared it seemed I’d been mistaken. I didn’t expect them to turn up at the house. But it did mean I was able to record our conversation and we have a confession from Dunkley.’
The sergeant clenched his jaw. ‘You were bloody lucky not to have been killed. What would you have done if they’d been armed?’
‘Luckily for me they weren’t.’
‘But it still could’ve turned out very different.’
‘Actually, Seb had it all under control by the time we got there, Sarge, as you saw for yourself,’ Birdie said.
‘That doesn’t make it right. And you,’ he jabbed his finger in Birdie’s direction. ‘Should’ve known better than to engage in this investigation at all.’
‘What else was I to do? You wouldn’t listen to me about the mugging. I knew something wasn’t right. If I hadn’t helped Seb, then this murder could’ve gone undetected and—’
‘I think your sergeant understands,’ Seb said.
‘See what I have to put up with? If I had any hair, I’d be tearing it out by now. I swear I’ve aged twenty years since you joined CID.’
There was a twinkle in his eye.
‘What are your next steps?’ Seb asked Sergeant Weston.
‘Dunkley and his accomplice have been charged and, as we speak, officers are going to the TV studio to bring Andrea Wood in for questioning. Do you believe she was involved?’
‘It’s unlikely, for several reasons. First, she didn’t want to talk to me about the blackmail while Dunkley could hear, even though she’d known him for many years. Second, if you listen to the recording of my discussion with Dunkley before you arrived to arrest him, he specifically denied she had anything to do with it. He also had no idea of what Witherspoon was blackmailing her over. Any chance I can observe the interview with her?’
‘In what capacity?’ Weston asked.
‘Interest. To close my investigation and be able to report back to my cousin, Donald Witherspoon’s wife, who was the person who asked me to look into his death.’
Weston frowned. ‘You’re now a private investigator?’
‘No. Although in the spirit of openness, my cousin did offer to pay me, but I declined. Her situation is dire enough after what Donald had done, without me adding to it.’
He was about to say more, then realised he’d be doing Sarah a disservice by airing her dirty laundry in public, to quote one of his mother’s favourite sayings.
‘I don’t see why not, so yes, I will allow you to observe.’
Chapter 42
21 May
Seb sat on a stool in the observation area and leant forward, resting his arms on the bench. He stared into a room that was very similar to the one he’d been sitting in only a few hours ago. Andrea Wood was seated at the table with her hands in her lap, her face drawn and pinched. She stared ahead into space, looking nothing like the vivacious woman he’d interviewed a while ago.
Did she know why she’d been brought in for questioning? Had she any idea of what Dunkley had done on her behalf?
The door opened and Birdie, followed by DS Weston, walked in. He was holding a thick Manila folder which he placed on the table in front of him as they both sat opposite Wood. Standard procedure in investigations, to make the person being interviewed believe the police had lots of information on them. He’d done it himself, many times.
Weston pressed the button on the recording equipment which was mounted on the wall.
‘Interview on Friday, 21 May. Those present: DC Bird, DS Weston, and … please state your full name for the recording.’ He nodded at Wood.
‘Andrea Wood. Will someone please tell me why I’m here? And why I was escorted out of the studio immediately after my programme had aired, not even being given time to take off my TV make-up.’ She glared at both Birdie and Weston in turn. ‘In case you didn’t realise, I don’t usually go around with my face this orange colour.’
A slight exaggeration although he had to admit the make-up was a lot different in colour from the last time he’d seen her.
‘We’ll get to that shortly,’ Weston said.
‘Not only that, the officers were in uniform, so everyone knows that the police have arrested me. Can you imagine the headlines in tomorrow’s papers? It’s probably already spread over the internet. The paparazzi won’t leave me alone after this.’
That was going to be the least of her worries when she discovered why she was there.
‘You weren’t arrested,’ Weston
said. ‘You were brought in to help us with our investigation.’
‘Trying telling that to the public after they see photos of me with your PC Plods.’ She folded her arms tightly across her chest. ‘What am I meant to be helping you with? Do I need my solicitor?’
‘You’re welcome to call your solicitor, and you can remain here until they arrive, but as you’re only here to help us with some facts regarding the death of Donald Witherspoon you might decide it’s not necessary.’
‘If it’s only helping, and I’m not being accused of anything, then okay, as I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary.’ She stared directly at Birdie. ‘I know you. You came to see me at the studio with that other guy, really tall. Clifton.’
Was she pretending not to know his name as a way of distancing herself from the situation? She knew all about the investigation because he’d told her, but she might not realise the police were fully acquainted with all of the details.
‘Clifford,’ Birdie said.
‘When he was in my car he suddenly jumped out. It was it was all most strange.’
‘Back to the interview,’ Weston said. ‘You’re friends with Aaron Dunkley.’
‘I wouldn’t say it’s a friendship, he’s my employee and drives me around and does odd jobs for me.’
‘How long have you known him?’ Weston said.
‘He’s been working for me for two years now.’
‘That’s not what Sergeant Weston asked,’ Birdie said. ‘How long have you known him? We believe it goes back a lot longer than that.’
Wood flushed. ‘Um …’
‘To save time, I’ll tell you,’ Birdie continued. ‘You went to school with him in Coventry when you were known as Ann Smith and he was Ross Burns. Is that correct?’
The woman drew her lips into a thin line. ‘If you already knew that, why didn’t you say, instead of asking me? Are you trying to catch me out? Because if you are, you’re not succeeding.’
‘We want to establish the truth from your perspective,’ Weston said. ‘Tell us about your friendship with Dunkley.’
