‘Inspector Sharp?’
‘No,’ said Matthew. ‘Chief Inspector Larch. He said he wanted us to invite some of his officers to Sophie’s funeral.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, he said he felt it might be prudent, in case anyone there wanted to speak to you, in case anyone had remembered anything.’
Diane sighed loudly, and flapped her hand. ‘Of course, we told him that wasn’t necessary. It’s going to be bad enough as it is with the local media being there, but when he heard that he was most insistent – said at least you would be able to keep them from approaching us.’
‘Local media?’
‘Somehow, they found out about the funeral arrangements,’ said Matthew. His face flushed with anger. ‘I don’t know how, but they did.’
‘Well, I suppose when one’s family has been in the area for centuries, it is a bit of a shock for the locals to take in,’ said Diane. ‘I would imagine as they can’t all go to Sophie’s funeral, at least they’ll be able to see it on the television.’
Kay bit her lip. She didn’t trust herself to speak, despite the words that had immediately formed in her head. No doubt Diane Whittaker had tipped off the media – anything to draw attention to herself.
‘We had best be off,’ said Matthew.
Kay watched as the couple walked across the car park away from her, and then waited as the car pulled away from the hospital grounds before turning towards her own vehicle.
The last thing she wanted to do was attend another funeral, but it seemed Larch had his own plans for her and the team.
Plans he hadn’t seen fit to share with her that morning.
She sighed, and turned the key in the ignition.
It was going to be a long week.
Thirty-Seven
When Kay returned to the incident room, a sullen atmosphere hung in the air, and the door to Sharp’s office was closed.
‘What’s going on?’ she said to Barnes as she typed in her password for her computer.
‘Jude Martin from the CPS has been over,’ he said. ‘They’ve recommended we drop all charges against Peter Evans. Larch went ballistic.’
‘I’ll bet.’
Kay could well imagine the DCI’s wrath at the turn the investigation had taken. She had little sympathy for his motives though – all Larch would be concerned about was his performance targets and his political standing within the community. He tended to show none of the dedication the investigating team had, despite the frustration at the twists and turns it had taken.
‘Next steps?’ she asked.
‘Sharp’s got us going through the financials for Matthew Whittaker’s business again, to see if that sheds any light.’ Barnes sighed. ‘Although why a bloke would kill his daughter, just because his business is going down the shitter is anyone’s guess. We’re going around in circles, Kay.’
‘Hmm. You’ve got that right. You know, considering she was taking a purity pledge, Sophie didn’t seem the most chaste of teenagers, did she?’
‘You think she was stringing someone else along?’
‘Apart from Peter Evans and Josh Hamilton?’ She shrugged. ‘Who knows? Gavin and Carys spent two days at the school interviewing her classmates – they didn’t even know about Peter so I’m guessing if there was anyone else, she wasn’t telling anyone.’
‘What made Eva Shepparton so different, then?’ said Barnes. ‘Why tell her?’
‘Desperation? Eva told Carys that Sophie had only found out she was pregnant the day before the party – maybe Sophie blurted it out, when she didn’t mean to.’
‘And her killer overheard her and acted on impulse?’
Kay rubbed at her eye. ‘We’re going to have to go through all the statements from the guests at the party again, aren’t we?’
‘I’ll get the coffee.’
‘Thanks.’ Kay glanced as Gavin approached her desk. ‘What’s up?’
The probationary detective constable held up a printout from the HOLMES2 database. ‘I was going through the list of items the crime scene investigators compiled from this search of the Whitaker’s house. There was a small key found in the bedside table in Sophie’s bedroom.’
Kay frowned and took the pages from him. ‘Any idea what it’s for?’
‘No. I think everybody’s been so busy with other aspects of this case, it hasn’t been properly looked into yet.’
‘Right, send out descriptions and photographs to all the local banks, check with the school to see if it’s a match for her locker there, and phone the local post offices, too. Might be for a post office box or something like that.’
‘I hope so. We could really use a breakthrough.’
* * *
‘Duncan? What are you doing here?’
Courtney Hamilton held on to the front door, blinking in the bright sunlight.
‘Is Blake here?’
He tried to peer around the door, but she remained standing in the way. ‘What do you want?’
‘I need to speak to Blake. It’s urgent.’
‘He’s only just got home,’ she said. ‘Can’t it wait?’
‘No.’
‘Who is it?’
She glanced over her shoulder, and then the door opened fully. ‘Duncan.’
Blake stood at the bottom of the staircase, his hair dishevelled, and his shirt untucked from his trousers.
‘We’re not due to meet again until next week, are we?’ The American frowned and ran his hand through his hair, tried to flatten a tuft that stuck out from behind his ear, and then gave up. ‘I’ve got this, honey – go and make yourself busy in the kitchen.’
‘Are you sure? I—’
‘Go.’
Duncan waited until she’d disappeared from view, and then turned back to Blake. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘The police took me and Josh in for questioning.’
‘Questioning? Why?’
‘They found something. Here. They thought it was the murder weapon.’
‘Did – did you—’
‘Of course not.’ Blake studied a fingernail. ‘It simply took a while to convince them of that.’ His eyes met Duncan’s as he dropped his hand. ‘What’re you doing here, anyway?’
‘I need to speak to you.’
‘About?’
In reply, Duncan withdrew the white envelope from his shirt pocket and held it up to the other man.
Blake ignored it, refusing to take it from him, and so Duncan opened the envelope and withdrew the single page it held, waving it in front of the other man’s eyes.
‘It didn’t stop. You killed her, and it hasn’t stopped!’
‘I didn’t kill her,’ Blake hissed. He checked over his shoulder, and then pushed Duncan into the room he used as an office at the front of the house.
Sunlight bathed the space, the vertical window blinds creating a striped silhouette across the opposite wall, which was home to a large collection of certificates and awards, interspersed with photographs of Blake smiling at the camera while shaking hands with various dignitaries, politicians, and the occasional B-list celebrity.
Duncan ignored all of it. ‘Who else knew about the letters, Blake?’
The American shook his head. ‘No-one. Only you and I, and whoever this is.’
‘You said it was Sophie Whittaker.’
‘No, I said I thought it might be Sophie Whittaker.’ His eyebrows shot up. ‘Jesus Christ, you didn’t kill her, did you?’
Duncan shot him a pained expression. ‘Blake, please – don’t take His name in vain. Of course it wasn’t me! How could you even ask that?’
‘Well, you sure as hell have motive.’
Duncan swallowed. Hamilton didn’t know the half of it, and he certainly wasn’t going to provide enlightenment. ‘That’s not true.’
‘Oh, come on, Duncan – you’d think the same if you were in my shoes.’
‘You know, if you changed your mind and wanted your money back, you could’ve asked. You didn’
t have to do this.’
‘It’s not me.’ Blake shrugged. ‘I’d written that money off, anyway. I know it didn’t turn out the way we planned, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. Water under the bridge.’
‘I wish it had never happened.’
‘It’s a bit late for that.’
‘It could damage my career if this gets out!’
‘It can’t be about us. Otherwise, why haven’t I been targeted this time?’
Duncan pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to concentrate, fighting down the sense of panic that was threatening to overcome common sense. ‘Maybe whoever it is doesn’t know about you.’
Blake moved to the desk at the far end of the room, and trailed his fingers over the polished surface. ‘Then, how did they find out about you?’
Duncan sank into one of the armchairs that faced the desk and ran his eyes over the single slice of tree trunk that Blake had ordered especially from a Canadian lumber yard, the whorls and gaping eyes of the natural surface left in place and polished to a high sheen.
He tore his gaze away. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, I suggest you have a long think about what it might be,’ said Hamilton. ‘I haven’t got a clue.’
Duncan shoved the page back into the envelope and shoved it into his pocket. ‘It didn’t stop. She’s dead, and it hasn’t stopped. She must’ve been working with someone else, Blake!’
‘Or it was never Sophie Whittaker that was blackmailing us in the first place.’
Duncan leaned forward, his head in his hands.
‘What have I done?’
Thirty-Eight
Kay bit the skin around her thumbnail and tried to concentrate on what was being said on the television news.
Instead, her thoughts turned to recent events at work and the fact that she wasn’t sure who she could trust anymore. She felt let down, especially as the small team had gelled so well over the past months.
She couldn’t understand how news of her miscarriage had come to light if it wasn’t Carys gossiping. She didn’t want to believe that Carys was the source of the leak, but how else would anyone find out about it?
And then there was the business with the newspaper article. She knew full well that Barnes would never speak to the press – after an incident involving his daughter the previous year, he avoided the media wherever possible, often delegating phone calls to and from the local newspaper to Gavin or one of the administrative staff rather than speak to them himself.
It was almost as if someone was spying on her.
She leaned forward, picked the television remote control off the coffee table and muted the newsreader’s voice.
A thought crossed her mind, a fleeting moment that she tried to grasp at, a frown on her face.
Upstairs, Adam’s footsteps moved from the bathroom to their bedroom as he used the toilet and then changed into the old jeans and sweatshirt he used for outcalls to farms.
After what seemed an age, he returned downstairs, sat on one of the bottom treads to pull on his work boots and called through the open door.
‘Don’t wait up for me. Higgins is notorious for talking and he’ll probably insist I stay for a cup of tea before I leave, so God knows what time I’ll get back.’
Kay pushed herself up from the sofa as he straightened and joined him in the hallway. ‘Do you think everything will be all right?’
‘I expect so. This mare of his had a foal eighteen months ago, so she’s used to it now. He probably wants me there as a precaution more than anything else.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t mind. He knows his horses better than I do. I’d much rather he was paranoid and it turns out he doesn’t need me.’
He moved to the cupboard under the stairs and pulled out his go-bag containing everything he might need for a visit to the stables, and checked his pockets. ‘Okay, I think I’ve got everything.’
‘I’ll leave the porch light on for you. Can’t have you stumbling about in the dark and waking me up.’
‘Very funny. You in early tomorrow?’
‘Yeah. Half seven start. Fancy a Chinese takeaway tomorrow night?’
He kissed her. ‘Sounds perfect. Behave yourself.’
‘Will do.’
She waited while he disappeared out the front door, shut it behind him and then made her way to the living room. She hovered next to the coffee table until she heard his four-wheel drive start and creep down the driveway to the lane before it roared off into the night.
She checked her watch.
Half past ten.
She would need to get some sleep before leaving to attend the briefing in the morning, but calculated the least she’d need would be five or six hours. Adam wouldn’t be back until at least one or two in the morning.
She dropped her arm.
That left her with a space of two hours to get done what she needed to do.
She turned up the volume on the television and then, heart hammering, she set off for the kitchen and crouched beside the drawer next to the kitchen sink where Adam kept a small selection of tools for emergencies.
In the living room, the news ended and the theme music for a late night chat show began.
She rummaged through the drawer until she found a screwdriver and a small torch. She twisted the end of it until a pinprick of light shone across the worktop, then clutching both items in one hand she hurried through the hallway and up the stairs.
She stopped on the landing, and then raised her gaze to the covered hatch that led up into the attic. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead before reaching up and pulling the hatch open.
She tugged at the end of the ladder until it began to slide downwards towards her. Checking it was secure, she climbed up halfway and then felt around the edges of the square hole until she found the plug socket Adam had fixed there. She pressed the button, and the lights they had installed the length of the attic flickered to life.
She gripped the sides of the ladder and made her way to the top of it, clambered over the lip of the hatch and stood on the bare boards that lined the attic space.
She made her way along the attic until she was standing above their bedroom.
To her right, the light fittings lay amongst the insulation – an ugly electrical setup left over from some minor renovations she and Adam had undertaken a few years ago when he’d inherited the house.
They’d been so busy in the intervening years that they’d never found time to finish boarding up the rest of the flooring space.
Kay crouched down and shone the torch a little to the left of the electrical work, and frowned.
At the time, and because they knew they had a lot of work to undertake, they had bought extra wiring from the hardware shop. In fact, they had bought so much, at least half the reel still lay untouched in the garden shed. It had been a running joke at the time that Kay’s enthusiasm for red coloured wiring knew no bounds. Adam was still using the leftovers for tying back the tomato vines in the back garden.
Now, however, a length of blue wiring could be seen in the torchlight.
Kay held her breath and moved closer, careful not to lean on the insulation for fear of falling through the ceiling.
A black object sat above the light fitting, the end of the blue wire disappearing into the back of it, beneath which a green LED light flickered.
Kay sat back on her heels and swallowed.
She raised herself on shaking legs and squeezed past some old packing boxes until she reached the area above the room she used as a home office.
Once again, a blue wire had been added to the familiar red cabling.
Kay rose from the floor and hurried back to the hatch, climbed down the ladder and sank onto the carpet, her heart racing and an urge to be sick twisting her gut.
She’d worked in a support role on a number of observation postings and knew exactly what she’d discovered. It was why the thought had first crept into her mind.
Her thoughts spun as she tried to recal
l the conversations she and her colleagues had had in her house, the intimacy she’d shared with Adam, and the images the cameras had no doubt recorded.
Bile rose in her throat and, shaking, she staggered to the bathroom and vomited.
Flushing the toilet, she moved to the basin and turned on the tap, scooping cold water past her lips before she turned and sat on the edge of the bath, her head in her hands.
Her house had been fitted with miniature spy cameras and listening devices.
But, by whom?
And, why?
Thirty-Nine
Kay jumped in her seat at a tap on the car window, and then lowered it.
‘Are you coming, or what?’
‘Yeah, sorry – daydreaming.’
‘They’ll be here in a minute.’
She raised the window, ripped the keys from the ignition and then joined Barnes beside the vehicle. Her hands shook as she shoved the keys into her bag, and she turned slightly, so he wouldn’t see.
The occasion brought back too many painful memories that hadn’t yet had a chance to soften over time; a short ceremony, and then a small casket that disappeared behind a curtain while only she, Adam, and the nondenominational minister looked on.
‘Sarge?’
She blinked, and tried to concentrate.
‘You okay?’
‘I’m fine. Let’s go.’
The police rarely encroached upon a family’s grief to the extent of attending a funeral, but with a murderer still unpunished and a pressing need to serve justice, Larch had insisted that Sharp send his dwindling team there. Almost a week had passed since Sophie’s body had been released to her mother and father, and in that time, the investigation had slowed to a crawl. Administrative staff had been reassigned to other, more pressing matters, and the remaining team had been spending their days revisiting witness statements, trawling through Sophie’s history, while all the time fighting off a growing sense of desperation.
Sharp had made it clear to them behind closed doors that Larch saw the funeral as a way to assure the public that the police wouldn’t give up on the case. Sharp himself had other ideas. ‘Watch the congregation closely,’ he’d said at the morning briefing once the detective chief inspector had left the room. ‘Everyone is still a suspect. Someone at that funeral must know something.’
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