She nodded and bit her lip before glancing over her shoulder at the door.
‘Guess I’d better get back out there, huh? Can’t stay hiding in here forever, can I?’
‘Are you going to be all right?’ He rose, and placed his hand on the doorknob, his eyes not leaving hers.
‘This is probably going to be the shittiest day I’ve had for a while, but I’ll live.’
He sighed and opened the door for her. ‘Next time, try talking to me, okay?’
She didn’t reply and instead concentrated on leaving his office with her head held high and made her way across the room to where she’d left her bag on the desk.
Flinging the strap over her shoulder, she checked her security pass was clipped to the waistband of her trousers and stalked out of the room, ignoring the embarrassed glances from her colleagues.
‘Kay, wait!’
She paused halfway along the corridor and stared at the faded blue carpet while footsteps approached, before turning around at the last moment.
Carys held up her hands and lowered her voice, her face stricken. ‘It wasn’t me, Kay. You have to believe me. Whoever started this rumour – it wasn’t me.’
Kay pursed her lips. ‘No-one else knew, Carys. No-one.’
She spun on her heel and hurried down the stairwell, ignoring the strangled cry her colleague emitted in her wake.
Twenty-Two
Kay turned down the radio and indicated left into the car park behind the three-storey building that housed the county’s forensic science services.
She’d spent most of the journey swearing under her breath, cursing Carys and everyone else who had gossiped about her miscarriage.
Her initial horror about her private life being laid open had led to embarrassment, and then anger. She’d kept her foot pressed to the accelerator along the motorway, weaving in between traffic and cursing slower drivers that hogged the overtaking lane.
She exhaled as she steered the car into one of the few remaining parking spaces and dropped her hands from the wheel.
It wouldn’t do to walk into Harriet’s office in the mood she was in. She needed to calm down, to be objective if she was to understand why Sophie had been murdered, and getting emotional wasn’t going to help anyone.
She’d deal with her colleague’s treachery when she returned to the incident room.
She climbed from the car and slammed the door before making her way through the door to the building and taking the stairs to the floor where Harriet was based.
By the time she reached the woman’s office, her mind was refocused and she managed a smile as she greeted the crime scene investigator.
‘Good to see you, Kay. Have a seat.’
Kay dropped her bag to the floor next to one of the visitor chairs opposite Harriet’s desk and sank into it. ‘How are things progressing?’
‘Slowly.’ Harriet shuffled paperwork into a folder at her elbow before sliding it out of the way and selecting another from a tray on the corner of her desk. She opened it, and then spun it round so Kay could see the contents.
‘Lucas Anderson conducted the post mortem late yesterday and emailed it to Sharp and me, so I’m guessing you haven’t heard Sophie Whittaker was pregnant when she was murdered.’
Kay didn’t tell the crime scene investigator that she hadn’t hung around for the morning briefing. Instead, she cleared her throat. ‘So, her friend Eva was telling the truth.’
‘Right. Lucas gave me some samples, which we’ve expedited this morning, given the circumstances. The paternity results came back inconclusive. I’ve asked them to run them again.’
‘Is that normal?’
‘It can happen. Nothing to worry about. We’ll have an answer for you as soon as possible.’
‘But we can’t say for sure at the moment that Peter Evans is the father?’
‘Not yet. Not definitely, no.’
Kay flipped open her notebook and wrote a reminder for herself before continuing. ‘What about other findings at the scene – anything to tie Sophie’s murder to Evans?’
Harriet flipped the documents over until she found the one she sought. ‘We’ve been struggling, to be honest. By the time the first responders were called, several people had traipsed all over the crime scene – we’ve got traces from both of Sophie’s parents, two of the men from the same church congregation, and her friend of course.’
Kay grimaced. Trying to establish a crime scene and maintain it was hard at the best of times; when it involved a party and several people that would all have been panicking and drunk, the result was disastrous for the likes of Harriet and her team.
‘We’ve taken hair samples, clothing, footprint casts, the lot,’ Harriet continued. ‘It’s going to take us a while to work through all of it.’
Kay knew there was no sense in grumbling – Harriet’s department had been affected by ongoing government budget cuts, and the woman could only demand so much from her team. If they rushed, there was more likelihood they’d miss something.
Instead, she flipped the pages until she came to Harriet’s copy of the post mortem report. A sequence of photographs depicting the blow to Sophie’s face had been included, and her lips thinned.
‘Any more thoughts about this?’
Harriet sighed and leaned back in her chair. ‘We’re still working through the evidence Lucas passed to us. It appears the weapon was wooden in nature; at least, the part that impacted with Sophie’s skull was. You saw he found splinters in the wound?’
‘Yeah.’
‘We’re going through the contents of what was left in the braziers at the moment, in case our murderer tried to burn the evidence. We’ve got the added problem of some of the partygoers treating the fires as rubbish bins, so each brazier is being processed separately to ensure we don’t miss anything. It’s a mess, Kay – not to mention the problems caused by the mud at the bottom of that slope.’
Kay spun the photos back to face Harriet, who leaned forward and traced her fingers over the images.
‘This was driven by hate, wasn’t it?’ she said.
Kay leaned down and picked up her bag. ‘I think so, yes.’
‘That was one strike to the face. Poor kid didn’t stand a chance.’ Harriet raised her gaze to meet Kay’s. ‘I’m short-staffed, Kay, but I’ll do everything I can to help you bring her killer to justice.’
‘Thanks, Harriet. I know you will.’
Twenty-Three
‘What’s the angle we’re going with here?’
Kay glanced up from her notebook as Barnes slowed the car to a standstill on the driveway outside the Hamiltons’ extensive property and turned to face her.
They hadn’t spoken during the drive over from Maidstone. Kay had returned from Harriet’s office mid-morning and studiously ignored the atmosphere in the incident room around her while checking her emails and phone messages.
Carys had passed her desk a couple of times, but hadn’t raised her head and had scuttled past, her face red.
Eventually, Kay was satisfied she’d caught up with her workload enough to keep any impending emergencies at bay and had asked Barnes to accompany her to the Hamiltons’. She’d stalked from the room, ignoring the hurt expression on Carys’s face.
‘The paternity results have come back inconclusive,’ she said now. ‘So, we don’t know for sure yet that Peter Evans was the father of Sophie’s baby.’
‘Well, he obviously thinks he is – that’s why he tried to kill himself, right?’
‘Maybe. Or, maybe he realised he wasn’t and that someone else is.’
She followed Barnes to the front door and hovered on the step while he rang the bell, the peals sounding through the house.
She rubbed at her right eye. She hadn’t told Barnes or Sharp what she intended to discuss with the Hamiltons. Barnes, to his credit, hadn’t asked.
At least one member of the team still trusted her.
She hoped.
Blake Hamilton answered the door, his eyes failing
to mask his displeasure at seeing them again.
‘Detectives. What do you want?’
‘A quick word with Josh, please,’ said Kay, stepping over the threshold before he had time to react.
‘He’s studying.’
‘This won’t take long.’
Blake sighed, slammed the door behind Barnes, and then led the way through to the living room. ‘I’ll go get him.’
The teenager appeared moments later, closely followed by Blake and his wife.
Kay waited until Courtney had stopped fussing over who should sit where, and then leaned forward. She wasn’t in the mood to waste time with niceties.
‘Josh, I have to ask a very personal question. Were you and Sophie having sex?’
‘What the hell?’ Blake leapt from his armchair. ‘What sort of question is that? How dare you!’
Kay ignored him, and kept her eyes on Josh. ‘Answer the question, please.’
‘I— er, no. I didn’t. I mean— we weren’t, no.’
The teenager blushed.
Kay waited a heartbeat. ‘If there’s something you need to tell me, we can discuss this in private,’ she said.
‘No you damn well won’t.’
Hamilton strode across the carpet towards her, and Barnes raised himself from the sofa, putting his bulk between Hamilton and Kay.
‘Mr Hamilton, sit down please. This isn’t helping.’
‘Get out of my way.’
‘Sit down, Mr Hamilton.’ Barnes’s voice was low, but Kay could hear the unspoken threat. ‘If you continue to act unreasonably, then we’ll have no choice but to question Josh at the station. Without you. Is that what you want?’
Out the corner of her eye, Kay could see Hamilton clench his fists, and held her breath, waiting for the explosion.
It didn’t happen.
He swore under his breath and spun away from Barnes, muttering as he stalked away.
She waited until he reached the window, then turned her attention back to Josh. ‘Is there anything you’d like to tell me?’
The teenager blinked, and then dropped his gaze to his hands. ‘No. No, there isn’t,’ he said. ‘I never had sex with Sophie.’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Courtney. ‘What’s this all about?’
Kay stood, straightened out an imaginary crease in her jacket, and lowered her gaze to where Josh sat, his eyes wide.
‘Sophie Whittaker was pregnant when she was murdered,’ she said.
Josh paled.
Courtney gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth.
‘Like I said, Josh, if there’s something you need to tell me in private, you can call me any time.’
Kay held out one of her business cards, and wasn’t surprised when Blake snatched it from her before Josh had a chance to take it.
She glared at him, and then stood. ‘Come on, Barnes. I think we’re done here.’
‘Damn right, you are.’
Blake stormed across the room and held open the door through to the hallway, and made no attempt to hide his impatience as they made their way to the front door.
‘Get out of my house,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll be speaking to your superiors about this.’
Kay bit her lip as the door slammed shut in their wake.
‘Did you see Josh’s face when you told him Sophie was pregnant?’ said Barnes, before steering the car award from the house.
‘Yeah. He definitely didn’t have a clue about that, did he? I think he’s lying about not having sex with her, too.’
‘Interesting. I wonder why Blake Hamilton didn’t want us to talk to him in private?’
‘Something else going on there, you think?’
‘Maybe. I want to go back and speak to Courtney Hamilton when Josh and Blake aren’t around. I got the impression she was bored out of her mind last time Carys and I spoke with her. She might be a bit more open to having a conversation.’
‘I don’t think we’ll be talking to the Hamiltons any time soon, if Blake carries out his threat and reports us.’
‘Why?’
When Barnes didn’t answer, Kay bit her lip, and then groaned. ‘Do you mean to say Blake Hamilton is also friends with the Right Honourable Richard Fremchurch?’
‘Yes.’ Barnes slowed as the car approached a T-junction. ‘I looked him up online before we came out here, to see if he’d been in the news recently. Looks like he’s quite a big donor to Fremchurch’s charitable trust.’
‘Larch is going to kick our arses.’
Twenty-Four
‘Shut the door, Hunter.’
Kay pushed the door into its frame, closed her eyes for a split second, and took a deep breath.
Sharp was present, at least.
She had a feeling she was going to need someone to fight her corner with her.
She turned back to the detective chief inspector, who leaned back in his chair, straightened his tie, and then clasped his hands together on the desk.
He didn’t offer her or Sharp a seat.
At least he’d waited until after the afternoon debrief.
At least no-one else would hear what was going to be said.
‘What part of “low-key” didn’t you understand, Hunter?’
‘Sir?’
‘When we opened this investigation, I specifically ordered you to keep your enquiries respectful. There’s a lot at stake here, Hunter.’
‘Yes, sir. I understand. We have a dead sixteen-year-old girl, a suspect in custody who’s attempted suicide, and several other leads we now have to follow up.’
Larch’s fist hit the desk so hard, his computer screen wobbled. ‘That’s not what I meant, Hunter, so don’t take the piss.’
‘Sir.’
He stabbed a forefinger at her. ‘You may have redeemed yourself in your colleagues’ eyes, Detective, but you’ve still got a long way to go before you convince me you take your career seriously. If you honestly thought you stood a chance in hell of becoming Detective Inspector, you’d understand that.’
Kay swallowed, but refused to lower her gaze. Her throat constricted, her eyes stinging, but she wouldn’t let him see her reaction. She couldn’t let him know how his words frustrated her. She clenched her fist so her nails dug into her palms.
Sharp shifted his weight from one foot to the other beside her, his arms behind his back, but he remained silent.
She was suddenly reminded of the fact he came from a military background; his whole stance reflected a soldier standing at ease, but within Larch’s office it carried almost an air of defiance.
She took strength from it, knowing that he too had to tread carefully. If he attempted to rebuff Larch’s accusations, it could earmark him for problems, too. And she would never forgive herself if that happened.
Larch leaned forward and opened a file in front of him, swept his reading glasses from the desk surface, and perched them on the bridge of his nose.
He picked up a page and ran his eyes over it before tossing it to one side. ‘Blake Hamilton has lodged an official complaint about your line of questioning in relation to his son and Sophie Whittaker,’ he said. He peered over his glasses. ‘Care to elaborate?’
‘It’s the twenty-first century. Sir.’
‘These people have standards, Hunter! You have to learn to be more diplomatic!’
‘Sir, my sole focus is finding out who killed Sophie Whittaker. If that’s Peter Evans, so be it. But I can’t rest until I’ve exhausted every angle of this investigation. It would be unprofessional of me.’
‘Stay away from the Hamiltons, Hunter. That’s an order.’ He turned to Sharp. ‘In future, you handle all interactions with that family, is that understood?’
‘Sir.’
‘In the meantime, get on to the CPS about charging Peter Evans with the murder of Sophie Whittaker.’
‘Sir, with all due respect – and given the other leads we’re continuing to follow up – that could be hasty.’
‘Do it, Sharp.’ Larch slapped the fold
er shut. ‘Dismissed.’
Kay spun and wrenched the office door open, furious. She strode along the corridor back to the incident room muttering under her breath, cursing Larch for his narrowmindedness.
‘Kay? Kay!’
She stopped, and turned.
‘Don’t let him get to you, Hunter.’ Sharp moved closer. ‘Hang in there.’
She blinked, hugged her jacket to her sides, and raised her chin until she was looking at the ceiling tiles. She blinked again, and tried to fight down the urge to completely lose control of her emotions, before she took a shaking breath.
‘I’m just trying to do my job,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘I know. We all know.’
‘So why—’
‘I don’t know. I’m doing what I can. You have to trust me.’
‘Thanks, guv.’
He nodded, and walked a few paces past her before he stopped and turned.
‘You’re a good detective, Kay. Don’t ever forget that.’
Twenty-Five
Matthew Whittaker tracked the mouse across the screen and began to type the numbers into the squares in the spreadsheet, his hand shaking.
It was worse than he thought.
Especially now, after having to pay for the caterers, marquee hire and everything else for a ceremony that had proved to be pointless.
And, soon, a funeral.
He eyed the spirit bottles in the mahogany cabinet, and then refocused on the screen.
He didn’t dare start drinking yet. He didn’t know if he’d be able to stop.
His vision blurred as tears stung at his eyelids, and he clenched his fist.
I’d have been a grandfather.
He shoved the pile of receipts to one side and rested his elbows on the desk, his head in his hands. He couldn’t comprehend how everything had gone so wrong.
He’d agreed with Diane that the private church group would be a good thing for them to do as a family. After all, it ensured that they could worship with their peers, not the usual rabble that filled the pews on a Sunday morning out of duty rather than a need to prove their devotion. Those other people seemed to treat the whole business of worship as an excuse to catch up with one another and gossip, not celebrate their belief.
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