Two Feet Under (Lindenshaw Mysteries Book 3)

by Charlie Cochrane

  “He says that was Sian’s idea, sir. Or the girl he thought was Sian. He wanted to keep her sweet, so he said he’d see what he could do. He liked her idea about digging the banjo enclosures, anyway.”

  “So much so he claimed it as his?” Robin gave his boss a shrug; more muddying of the waters, more He did it, she did it. “You can’t tell where the truth ends and the embroidery starts with him.”

  “Too right.” Cowdrey shook his head. “Still, I think that if he knew where Pippa was, he’d tell us. He wants her safely locked up, where he can be sure she’s not waiting for him in a dark alley.”

  “It certainly focusses your mind when your own neck’s on the line.” Or that of your loved ones. Robin learned that lesson with Adam and would never forget it. “Although if he had suspicions, chances are he guessed the truth before we did. Why not shop her to us yesterday, or whenever? If he had an inkling about what she’d done, why not get her into custody as soon as possible?”

  “And when do either witnesses or suspects act in an entirely logical or sensible manner? It would make our lives a damn sight easier if they did.” Cowdrey opened his crisps by bursting the packet, oblivious of making everyone jump at the noise. “What about Becky Bairstow?”

  “No bloody joy,” Robin confessed. “I couldn’t get her on her mobile, so it was panic stations for a moment or two, but we managed to get hold of her mother. Becky and her father are out at the rifle range—he’s a bigwig in local shooting circles, apparently—and she won’t answer her phone when they’re practicing. The mother’s not daft; she said she’d get a message down there just in case there’s any danger from our runaway pair, but to be frank she felt nobody was going to mess with a club full of retired men bearing firearms, albeit ones intended for sport.”

  “I don’t think I wanted to hear that.” Cowdrey laid down his crisps, only half eaten. “I want that pair banged up ready for interviewing, not splattered all over some rifle-club car park.”

  The call from Norfolk Constabulary came mid-afternoon. The retired couple who lived next door to the Wheatstones’ holiday flat—and who’d been worried about such a desirable property being left empty for so long—had become suspicious when a young couple they didn’t recognise arrived and made their way in. Even though the pair had keys, they’d struggled with the lock and showed other signs of unfamiliarity with the property; the neighbours were also sure that they’d not seen either of them visit when the flat had still been in regular use.

  For what appeared to be the first time, somebody had instantly seen through Pippa’s impersonation.

  The local officers, who’d soon found the address and had been keeping a surreptitious eye on the area, didn’t have the manpower to cover it at every moment so had missed the couple’s arrival, but they’d moved in as swiftly as they could to make the arrests. They’d only succeeded with one, though, their arrival having been clocked. Warnock had exited at the back of the block and legged it up the road with a turn of pace the officers couldn’t match. They’d got backup from another patrol car, but he’d managed to go to ground among the residential streets, probably reappearing at a walking pace half a mile away, en route for the train station and who knew where afterwards.

  Pippa wasn’t quite so quick off the mark, running down the stairs straight into the arms of one of the officers. She’d apparently appeared less bothered about being arrested than about her boyfriend not having given her sufficient warning when he’d realised what was going on. At first she’d not answered to her real name, but had pretty soon appreciated that the game was up. The arresting officers said she’d be on her way back to Abbotston as soon as they could arrange secure transport, but Robin forestalled them; he and Pru would make the journey to Norfolk—even if that meant contending with the bloody M25 and arriving late evening—right away. He asked them to arrange suitable accommodation in Norwich, where they’d conduct the interview. That would most likely be on Tuesday morning, unless the motorways were particularly quiet; they didn’t want to risk an accusation of interrogating a witness who was too tired to give a sensible answer, let alone do the questioning when they were dog tired.

  They had to get this right, the evidence being as yet so thin. By the time they commenced the interview bright and early on Tuesday, Greg should be able to say—from the dental records—whether the body discovered at the villa was that of Sian Wheatstone.

  Robin informed the team of what was going on, sent Pru home to get an overnight bag, then got on the blower to Adam.

  Adam, checking his phone for messages at the end of the school day, found one asking him to ring Robin when he got the chance. Either there had been developments in the case or Robin had heard about Adam’s machinations behind the scenes. Please God it was the former. Robin’s chipper tones on answering the returned call brought reassurance. “Hello, my favourite teacher. I just rang to say I’m nipping home.”

  That sounded odd. “I’m still at school. What does ‘nipping’ mean?”

  “It means it’s only a fleeting visit. Got to grab an overnight case.” Robin gave a brief résumé of the day’s events and explained why he and Pru would be making an unplanned overnight stay.

  “Okay.” Adam had to be pragmatic. “I’d offer to go home and get a case packed for you, but by the time I got back it would be pointless.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I appreciate the offer, though—thank you.”

  “Make sure you pack extra. Overnights can turn into days.”

  “Yes, mother.” Robin sniggered. “And you brought all this disruption on yourself. Seems like your daft idea wasn’t so daft.”

  “You’d have got there at some point.” Adam, delighted, attempted not to sound too smug. “Just a matter of time.”

  “Maybe it would have been too late by then, though. Right, got to go. Don’t forget the milk.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  Adam ended the call, then eyed a note he’d found in his pigeon hole. Baxter was meeting the local radio researcher at the pub that evening; Adam resisted the temptation to go along and earwig. That would be courting trouble, and he’d have the answers he needed by the morning, anyway. Now his only concern was whether Sophie really believed the to and fro of letters was simply about metal-detecting business.

  Tuesday morning, Robin contemplated his face in his hotel bedroom mirror, trying to focus on the day ahead. This wouldn’t be the sort of interview that he relished.

  He was still tired from the previous afternoon’s journey, and unexpectedly aching for Adam in a way he hadn’t ached for him since they’d first met and the policeman-witness protocol had made all interactions awkward. Especially when they’d been charged with sexual tension. They’d spoken on the phone that morning, and Adam had wished him luck, but it wasn’t the same as being sent off to work with a kiss and a hug.

  You’re turning into an old married man.

  The unsettling jolt his inner voice gave him with that notion would have to wait to be dealt with; he wasn’t going to think the idea over until he’d completed what needed to be done here.

  Pippa Palmer presented a real challenge. She was clearly an accomplished actress, and somebody for whom dissembling had become almost second nature. Clever, resourceful—a formidable opponent and one he’d soon be squaring up to. Surely between him and Pru they’d be able to spot where acting kicked in?

  When they got to the police station and were led to the interview room, Pippa was already waiting, looking clean and neat as though the night in the cell had been no worse than one spent in a budget hotel. Expression calm, she had a solicitor—the family’s, not the duty one, according to the local coppers—at her side. Robin couldn’t help but wonder if this was the same man who’d been involved with handling the uncle’s assault case.

  They began by clarifying, for the purpose of the record, that she was indeed Philippa Palmer, and once that was done, Robin could ask the key question.

  “So why have you pretended to be Sian Wheat
stone?”

  “It’s a long story, Chief Inspector, and one I’m not that proud of.” Pippa gave her solicitor a rueful smile and a shrug. “I got tangled up in a chain of events that I should have broken free from but couldn’t.”

  The same excuse the others had used. Had they planned it in advance?

  “And you expect us to believe that?” Pru cut in. “After what you did to Sian herself.”

  “That was an accident. I swear.” Pippa, face ashen, fiddled with the cuff of her blouse. “She’d asked me to her house, to talk about the fakes business, because she’d got it into her head that it was starting up again and she was livid about it. I took Jamie with me—Jamie Warnock—for backup, although he stayed out in the car. At first.” A hint of a nervous glance came at the mention of the boyfriend.

  “Why did you take the risk of going to her house if she’d made violent threats to you previously?”

  “She’d offered to clear the air. She was as tired as me of all this stuff. At least that’s what she told me beforehand. She said she wanted to talk matters through like adults and make an end of it.”

  “An end of it?” Pru queried.

  “Yes. An end to the niggle from her side, so long as there was an end to our artefact selling.”

  Robin was trying to keep an open mind about what had happened in Sian’s house; they’d made assumptions on this case before, and if they went down another blind alley, it could prove as disastrous as when he’d taken a wrong turn and ended up clobbered. Only this time it might be his career rather than his head that suffered. “So she asked you over, but things turned out different than expected when you got there?”

  “Yes. She started off polite, made me a cup of tea and all that, although I only pretended to drink it.” Pippa gave Pru a knowing We’re all girls together glance. “You’ll remember all that stuff at uni about watching out for spiked drinks.”

  “I do,” Pru admitted. “I also remember being advised not to meet up with strangers in their houses. Don’t you think you were being unwise?”

  “I know that now, of course.” Pippa, hackles clearly rising, paused to compose herself. “I realised as soon as she started ranting at me. About how we’d killed her father as surely as if we’d pushed him over the cliff ourselves. I tried to argue that we hadn’t knowingly sold him anything fake—we always made certain we were covered on the caveat emptor bit—but Sian wouldn’t have it.”

  And who could blame her? That would have added insult to the original injury.

  “So, what happened?” Pru asked calmly enough, although Robin recognised the hard edge in her voice.

  “I got up to go. Said I wouldn’t stay to be insulted. That if she wanted to take her accusations to the police, she was free to do so.” Pippa nodded earnestly at Robin. “You’d have known if there were charges to bring. You’d have dealt with it properly.”

  He ignored the attempt at flattery. “What did Sian think of that suggestion?”

  “She just laughed. Like you see in a film, where there’s a maniac on the loose.” Pippa shuddered. “She started pushing and shoving me, trying to force me against the lounge wall. I shoved back, but I underestimated my strength and she hit her head on the end of the hearth. I didn’t mean to hurt her; it was nothing more than a freak accident.”

  Robin recalled a vicious-looking iron trim round the old-fashioned fireplace in the lounge, although the area of carpet which had been cleaned was in the hallway. That didn’t make sense. “So why not report it to us? If it was a genuine accident and you’d been acting in self-defence, we’d have been sympathetic.”

  Pippa’s eyes flashed as a spark of anger flared, quickly suppressed. “Yes, I now realise you might have been, Chief Inspector, but I didn’t know that at the time. Anyway, I panicked. We found we had a body to dispose of.”

  “We?”

  “I texted Jamie to get him to come into the house. I didn’t dare go out to the car in case I was seen. It was like living in a nightmare.”

  “These things do happen,” Pru remarked in a deceptively calm voice. “You make one wrong decision and the longer you leave it before rectifying the situation, the worse it gets. What I can’t understand is why you carried on living at Sian’s house, pretending you were her.”

  “I didn’t plan to. At first it seemed like a smart way to cover up what had happened.”

  “Smart? Why didn’t you just wash up the cups, clean the fireplace, and then leg it?” Pru sounded as unimpressed with the story as Robin was.

  Pippa sighed. “Because of Jamie, of course. He was worried that someone had spotted us. He was banned from driving, as you’ll well know. He didn’t want to get caught at the wheel.” She sighed again, no more convincingly. “That made us panic like mad. I should have been the one to drive to Sian’s, but I had a terrible headache and couldn’t see straight.”

  The excuses were building to the point of stretching everyone’s credulity. Robin, tapping the table, said, “You were either having the worst imaginable day or you’re lying to us, time and again. Do you expect us to believe such an implausible catalogue of events?”

  “It’s not a lie.” Pippa looked helplessly around the room. “Haven’t you ever had a day where everything went wrong, where you wished you could rewind time because it’s been a total disaster?”

  “I have,” Robin admitted, “but I’ve also learned to take some responsibility for events. If it was an accident, then you owed it to Sian Wheatstone to ensure she got a proper burial. Not steal her life in every way.”

  Pippa flinched. “You make me sound like a heartless cow. It wasn’t like that. I swear.”

  Robin’s patience was wearing thin. “How was it?” When no response came, Pippa simply sitting tight-lipped, he raised his voice. “How was it?”

  He’d decided he had to shout it the third time when Pippa glanced at the door, then whispered, “Have you arrested Jamie yet? Is he here?”

  “Answer my question, please. We can discuss Mr. Warnock in a minute.”

  “We should discuss him now. He’s dangerous. Your officers should be told that.”

  “Are you saying Warnock’s armed?”

  “I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure. He might have picked something up after he ran off. He’s unpredictable.” Pippa’s eyes flickered around nervously. “If I tell you the truth, will you help keep me safe?”

  “Safe from what?” Pru asked.

  “Safe from Jamie. He’d go ballistic if he knew I wasn’t sticking to the agreed story.”

  “Agreed story?” Pru, leaning on the table, stared the witness out. “Let’s get this straight. What you’ve told us happened isn’t what actually happened?”

  “No. I’ve been too scared to tell.” Pippa compulsively rubbed her hands together. “You’ve seen what Jamie’s like. I gave him the push ages ago, but he keeps coming back. I can’t shake him off, unless it suits him—you saw how he ran away in Gorleston, leaving me to face the music. It was his idea to go there; I think I was actually relieved when you found us.”

  If somebody had put Robin’s brain in a tumble dryer, this was how it would feel. The story had flipped once more, and in a way which accorded with what Fiona Charles over the road at Merritt’s End had said, but was Pippa simply acting again, playing another role? He glanced at the solicitor, but he had his poker face firmly in place. Pru, however, wore a look of total disbelief.

  “In your own words, then. What really happened to Sian?”

  “It was like I said, honestly it was, up until the point where she started to get agitated. She was such a spiteful cow. And nasty with it. Do you know the detail she went into with those threats? It wasn’t a case of ‘I’m going to get you,’ but details of exactly what she’d do to us.” Pippa shuddered. “It was horrible. She started pacing up and down the room, ranting, so I had the chance to text Jamie without her noticing. Told him to come to the rescue. Now I wish I’d just got up and left.”

  “Go on,” Robin encoura
ged her.

  “He came to the front door and rang the bell. When Sian went to answer it, I thought I’d be able to simply slip out, but Jamie thrust her back into the hallway. She pushed at him, and then he had his hands at her throat and was shouting at her to leave off. I managed to pull him away, told him to calm down, but he’d gone mental.” She looked at the solicitor. “The rest of this isn’t going to look good. Should I carry on?”

  As always with the breed, the solicitor urged caution. “I wouldn’t advise it if you’re at risk of incriminating yourself.”

  “But I don’t think I’m incriminating myself about the murder.”

  “Murder?” Robin leaned forwards on the table. “You said Sian’s death was an accident. When did it become a murder?”

  “When Jamie killed her, of course.” Pippa shut her eyes, shivering, before recommencing the account. “I pulled him off her, but he shoved me away. I fell on the floor, with a hell of a jolt, and he made for Sian again—grabbing her, shouting and swearing. There was a big iron thing in the hall. A hatstand or something.”

  Robin glanced quizzically at Pru—he couldn’t recall seeing that in the house.

  “It’s not there anymore, Chief Inspector, if you’re wondering. We got rid of it. Anyway, he smacked Sian’s head against it, really hard. Said that was what she’d promised to do to us, so she was getting a taste of her own medicine.”

  “You didn’t try to stop him?” Pru asked.

  “I did, but it was too late. He’d given her such a wallop.” Pippa passed her hand over her brow. “I’ve never seen anybody so determined.”

  “So you’re saying that Warnock wanted her dead?”

  “He said he’d only meant to frighten her, but he didn’t know his own strength. He wanted her to back off and leave me alone. I’m not certain that’s true. I think he intended to hurt her from the moment he came into the house. That’s why I now wish I’d not texted him.” Pippa produced a hankie, then took an age to blow and wipe her nose.