by Carol Wyer
‘I’m not stressed,’ she shrieked. ‘I’ve been getting calls about your affair for the last few days. I didn’t believe them at first but I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes. You and Zoe Cooper. I am not bloody well stressed. What about the night you were in Spain? How could anyone know about that unless they were watching you? They told me you spent the night at the Hotel Gran Melia Don Pepe with your girlfriend. I wouldn’t know that unless I had been told.’
‘Unbelievable. I didn’t spend the night at any hotel. I was at the airport just like I told you. Remember? If you want corroboration on that story, phone Gavin. You’ve got a mobile,’ he said, pointing to it. ‘Call him and ask. He’ll tell you we were both at the airport. I’ve never even heard of the damn hotel. Check it out. It probably doesn’t even exist. Maybe you should have done exactly that earlier. Then you’d have believed me. And while you’re at it, call Zoe. Get your head straightened out. I’m sick of listening to this shit.’
Abigail buried her head in her hands. ‘I don’t understand.’
His voice was cold. ‘I don’t either. When you find these mysterious, incriminating photographs, then bring them to me. I’d like the opportunity to verify my innocence.’
He shut the door quietly, leaving Abigail curled up on the settee, her hands wrapped in a tight ball, her arms hugging her knees. Her heart was racing. She had almost blurted out other things – secrets she had kept hidden for too long. She had messed this up. She shouldn’t have got so mad about the photographs. She had been blinded by anger and consequently had not been able to argue reasonably, and now she’d lost her opportunity to explain why all of this was truly her fault. The events of the last few days became jumbled up like tangled clothing in a washing machine and she could no longer think clearly. The note had been removed. The text and call log had been erased from her mobile and the photographs of Jackson and Zoe had gone. And, worst of all, sweet, gentle Toffee was dead. Her brain could not cope with it all.
She curled up on the settee, the sound of her own sobs drowning all noises until a sound she recognised penetrated her moans and she heard a whisper of noise.
‘Bye, bye, Mummy.’
She cried out and hurtled up the stairs, falling onto her knees in the nursery in front of Izzy’s cot. Her baby lay fast asleep, rag dog by her side. Above the bed, the mobile of gaily coloured aeroplanes rotated, music playing as they flew in never-ending circles. Someone had been in the nursery. Abigail sat propped against the cot, snuffling back tears, and wondering if she wasn’t losing her mind.
39
Then
It’s been quite easy to exact money from Lucas. He went running to his daddy who then gave him what he needed. I set the whole thing up beautifully. My destination for the exchange is Blithfield Reservoir, which happens to be adjacent to where Paul Matthews lives.
I leave my car in Abbots Bromley parked down a side street, well away from the reservoir car park. I’m not going to get caught out. I shoulder my backpack and take a route that walkers favour, heading north towards Uttoxeter. I don’t take the road that goes over Blithfield Reservoir but choose the second turning that after three quarters of a mile leads me into a drive signposted Blithfield Walks and Education Centre. I take the second longest of the three walks around the reservoir. This is the route Lucas will also have to take. I grin at that fact. I fancy making Lucas sweat a bit.
The reservoir is recognised as a premier trout fishery and is home to Blithfield Anglers as well as Blithfield Sailing Club. This time of the year lots of people visit but the place doesn’t officially open until eight o’clock in the morning, so I can put my plan into action without being spotted by anyone.
The instructions in my emails were explicit. One of the conditions was that he jacked in his job – I don’t think someone like him should be anywhere near children. He’s lucky I haven’t reported him to the police. I would but then that would ruin my other plans for him.
I have arranged for Lucas to go to the second of two bird hides on what they call the red route in Broompit Plantation, where there are also the remains of the old marl pits used in building the reservoir dam. I’ve walked the route myself several times to ensure I have chosen wisely. Lucas has to drop an envelope filled with used fifty-pound notes under the bench in the hide and leave. It is simple.
I hide in the woods an hour before he is due. I want to make sure he or that father of his doesn’t set me up. The woods are calm apart from the occasional tapping of a nuthatch or a greater-spotted woodpecker. I sit under a tree, camouflaged against it, and watch the bird feeder station as various tits alight on the nuts and fly off again. A sight of a roe deer oblivious to my presence rewards me. Somehow this makes me feel important and accepted at the same time. I feel I belong here in this wood. The peace seeps into my soul and warms my heart. I could live here. Forever. The thought appeals hugely and I fantasise about having a small wooden house hidden away from everyone.
No one else is in the woods and at seven-thirty on the dot, I spot the figure of Lucas as he checks his map, looks about furtively and enters the hide. I leave it a good twenty minutes before I stroll into the hide, slide onto the bench and pull out the envelope marked ‘Zoe’. I give a smile, tuck it into my backpack and disappear into the woods again.
40
Robyn drew up outside the house at Mulwood Avenue. The gate was open and the BMW cabriolet was parked outside, as it had been the first time she had visited Mary Matthews. Her officers were waiting for her beside Mitz’s car. Anna Shamash was deathly pale, her face an unreadable mask.
‘You up for this?’ she asked the girl. Anna nodded. ‘Chew this,’ Robyn went on, throwing Anna a piece of gum. ‘Concentrate on your breathing and remember it is just a body. No more than that. Pretend it is made of rubber or some other material. Best not to focus on it being a human. If you feel sick at any time, come outside. Remember, we’ve all been there. The first body is the worst. It gets easier.’
She rapped on the open door to alert her colleague inside and entered.
‘In here,’ said PC David Marker. He stood next to the sitting room door where Robyn had interviewed the woman only a few days earlier. She followed him into the room, pursued by her officers.
She glanced around the fussy room with its Spanish fans on the wall and its surfaces cluttered with ornaments. The settee was empty, one cushion plumped up, the other on the floor. On the coffee table stood a cup, teapot and plate, and lying between the settee and the table was the body of Mary Matthews, eyes wide open, her face a twisted mask of fear. Robyn heard a noise behind her. Anna had rushed outside.
‘What do we have?’
‘Not much. Looks like a heart attack or convulsion of some sort, stroke maybe. Time of death approximately twenty-four hours ago. She’s still showing signs of rigor mortis. No evidence of a third party. There are remnants of cold tea in her cup and crumbs on the plate. Nothing suspicious, although her face is unusually pink.’
‘It is, isn’t it? Only one plate and cup?’
‘She appears to have been alone.’
‘That’s a large pot of tea for one. Surely, if you’re alone, you tend to make a cup or a mug and this is expensive china she’s using.’ Robyn picked up the cup with gloved fingers and examined the base. It was like the one she had drunk from. ‘It’s Villeroy & Boch. You don’t ordinarily use your best plates and cups for a mid-morning cuppa. Something doesn’t add up here. This is the sort of crockery you get out when you have a guest – a special guest, or someone you want to impress. And cake? Do you cut yourself a piece of cake and sit and eat it alone, using your best china set?’
Mitz shook his head. ‘I only have mugs. They came from Argos. My gran has a best set of china. She used to use it when she had visitors. Mum doesn’t. She uses whatever cup comes to hand. It’s an old person’s thing, isn’t it? Or someone posh. They’d have posh crockery.’
Robyn agreed with him. ‘Can we check to see if there’s any more of the ca
ke she was eating? See if there’s empty packaging or a cake tin out? If she baked it herself, there’ll be a cake tin somewhere. Mitz, check the pantry.’
Anna came back into the room, a little colour in her cheeks. Robyn gave her a nod of approval. ‘Help Mitz look for a cake tin or Tupperware tub or anything that contains cake. Check the wastebin for packaging or a cake box. Something isn’t right here.’
Robyn swept the room with her eyes. The guitar that had been in the corner of the room now lay on the floor, its fretted neck broken in two. She couldn’t imagine Mary Matthews destroying it, no matter how angry she was with Lucas. It meant too much to her.
‘Take that guitar in for fingerprinting, David,’ she said. ‘Where’s the dog? There should be a Scotty-type dog.’
‘It’s a decent guitar – an Alhambra Classical. My lad is learning the guitar. His isn’t as nice as this one.’
‘Where’s the dog, David?’ repeated Robyn.
‘Oh, it’s with the neighbour,’ replied PC Marker.
Robyn resisted tutting. David Marker could be quite frustrating at times. She pulled at her ear. On the surface, it appeared Mary Matthews had suffered a heart attack or similar, her face was contorted as if in agony. She would have to wait for an autopsy. This might be a horrible coincidence but Robyn did not believe in coincidences.
Anna Shamash appeared in the doorway. ‘I don’t know if this is significant,’ she said, ‘but I found this on the floor.’
She held up a toy rubber rabbit.
‘I understand why you picked up on it but the rabbit we found at Blinkley Manor School was large and fluffy. That’s just a dog toy.’
‘I’ve got a dog and I’d never buy a hideous thing like this for him,’ Anna replied. She brandished the toy that had a painted face and large blue eyes and eyebrows that gave it a surprised look. It’s the sort of toy you’d give a baby not a dog. Well, you’d have given it to a baby in the 1950s. It’s so kitsch,’ she said, wrinkling her nose at it. ‘I think you should look at the base.’
She passed the rubber rabbit to Robyn. It let out a squeak as Robyn took it. She grimaced at the sound and squinted at the base between the rabbit’s feet. Scratched onto it in capital letters were the words ‘RIP Mary’. Robyn felt an electric jolt. They were onto something at last. She pointed to the plate on the table. ‘Get those crumbs checked out. Find out what she was eating. Get the tea checked too. Mitz, go talk to the neighbours. See who visited yesterday morning. Get car number plates of any vehicles in the vicinity, anything you can. David, ask the boys in to clear up here. We need an autopsy on this as soon as possible. Anna, good job. You can come back to the station with me. I want you to find out what you can about this rabbit and where it might have been purchased. I need to talk to Mulholland.’
* * *
It had seemed like only a few days since Robyn had stumbled in to DCI Mulholland’s office to hand in her notice. Detective Chief Inspector Louisa Mulholland hadn’t changed much. She had a few more pronounced frown lines but apart from that she had the same dyed dark-blonde hair cut in a severe bob, the same dark-blue round-framed glasses that hid keen olive-green eyes, and the same warm smile.
‘If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. As I told you on the phone, we’re thin on resources at the moment but I still have no objection to outside help from Ross Cunningham for your investigation as well as officers Patel and Shamash. We should be through with Operation Goofy in the next few days and then you can have more manpower if you require it.’
DCI Mulholland rested her chin on her steepled fingers. ‘I’d rather like to wrap this one up quickly. Two murders on my patch are two too many. You’ve been tracking Lucas Matthews. Have you come across any suspects yet?’
Robyn gathered her thoughts. Mulholland preferred officers to be open and clear.
‘We’re checking out his work colleagues and people who have employed him as a tutor, but I believe his murder and quite possibly that of his wife’s are linked to someone in Farnborough. I have reason to believe he was hunting for a person there who could end up being our perp. I’d like permission to return to Hampshire to investigate it further rather than waste time here. I want to leave officers Patel and Shamash to do the follow-ups here and take my investigation to Farnborough.’
‘If you think it will lead to the discovery of his killer, then yes. I’ll talk to Hampshire police and let them know you are working on their turf. I don’t need to remind you that you have to play this one by the book. We both know you can be headstrong. It would be advisable to behave in a more conventional fashion, no dashing off on one of your famous hunches. Do we understand each other? You wasted one of my officer’s time, sending him out on a wild goose chase because you suspected Geraldine Marsh was murdered. You’re a very good detective but not all of your premonitions come to fruition.’
‘But can I say my hunches have helped solve many cases?’
‘I’m not questioning your ability, Robyn, I am merely requesting you keep your sudden urges to race off on a tangent to a minimum. I don’t like rattling cages and DCI Corrance at Hampshire Constabulary is a highly respected officer who likes to work by the book.’
‘Understood.’
‘Keep me informed then.’
Mulholland picked up a report and began sifting through it. It was a sign that Robyn was dismissed. Mulholland didn’t look up as Robyn left. It was her nature. Her mind would now be on something else. Robyn wondered if she would turn into a Mulholland, focused full time on cases simply to stop the hurt getting to her.
Robyn marched into the office. Anna was hunched over a desk, staring at a computer screen.
‘How are you getting on?’
‘The remains of Mary Matthews’ tea and cake has been sent to the lab. Still waiting for the coroner’s report for both victims. I’ve requested they fast track them for us. PC Patel has written up the statements from Blinkley Manor School. They’re on your desk. No one saw anything strange. Waiting to hear if anyone was spotted at or near Mary Matthews’ house yesterday. I’ve been running through sites, looking for the squeaky, rubber toy rabbit. Most dog toys are balls or in the shapes of bones, not rabbits, besides, it looks old with its painted face.’ She navigated the sites expertly with her mouse and suddenly exclaimed. ‘Got it! I thought it was unusual. It’s a vintage rabbit from the 1960s, originally made in Italy. Not sure how much that tells us for the moment.’
‘I don’t think we’ll be able to narrow down where it came from,’ said Robyn. ‘It could have been recently purchased or in a family for years.’ She flicked through the Lucas Matthews file that was on Patel’s desk. It was open at the photograph of Lucas lying on his back, a toy rabbit under his arm. The rabbit was the sort you would give a baby or a small child. It was a cuddly soft-furred toy with very long droopy ears. It was folded into Lucas’s body and looking up at him. She put the file down and surveyed the plastic evidence bag containing the rabbit.
‘I’ve also begun looking at local toy shops in search of a toy rabbit similar to that one,’ said Anna Shamash. ‘There are rabbits at Toys R Us but they’re patchwork and not furry. There are plenty of toy rabbits online,’ she added, scrolling down the list to show her superior who moved across to join her. ‘That one’s nice,’ Anna said, pointing at a long-eared soft toy with a bashful look on its face and twinkling ears. ‘I might buy that for my niece’s birthday.’
‘This isn’t the shopping channel, PC Shamash,’ replied Robyn, a small smile playing on her lips. ‘I’m returning to Farnborough to see if I can pick up where I left off. I want to interview Zoe Cooper. Not only does her name keep cropping up but also she was spotted leaving the Aviator hotel a few nights ago with Lucas Matthews. The timing corresponds to when he was murdered. She’s denied knowing him but something isn’t right there. If you need me, I’ll be on my mobile. Do we know Nick Pearson-Firth’s movements for the week?’
‘Spent most of the week with his family at their cottage in
Devon but came back two days ago as he had interviews lined up all day yesterday. After interviewing three people for Lucas Matthews’ old position, he took his dog for a walk. The dog ran off into the wooded area and didn’t return when he shouted, so Mr Pearson-Firth followed it. The dog was snuffling around the body. He pulled the dog away and rang the police. He said he’d seen enough television dramas to know not to disturb the scene.’
Robyn nodded. ‘When Mitz returns, ask him to check up on all of Lucas Matthews’ work colleagues. See if anyone had a grudge against him. Lucas gave private music lessons too so check out those families. And let me know when you’ve uncovered where the rabbits were purchased. There was no mobile phone on Lucas Matthews’ body. The killer might have appropriated it. See if it has been used or if we can track it down. And, find out where Lucas Matthews was staying in Farnborough. It wasn’t the Aviator hotel.’
‘Anything else, boss?’
‘Find out what you can about Natasha Matthews, including an address for her. She ought to be told that her brother and father are dead. I can’t think of anything else for the moment. That lot should keep you out of mischief for a while.’
Robyn left the young woman bent back over the computer, scrolling through pages. Her gut told her the answer to this was in Farnborough.
41
Then
I had enough. It was time to kill Paul. After I obtained another fifteen thousand pounds from Lucas, Dad pointed out that the Matthews family owed me far more than money. He was furious that they thought they could pay me off so easily and expect me to drift away into the background without causing them any more grief.
‘People like them get away with everything,’ he grumbled.
