by Robert Innes
Nicola bit her lip in annoyance, starting to regret agreeing to the bet in the first place. “There’s loads of reasons why a straight man might say that.”
Dominic snorted disdainfully. “Yeah. Of course there is.”
Before Nicola could argue, Alex was walking towards them, his man bag over his shoulder. “Shall we go then? We’ll go in my car. No offence, but I’m not entirely sure I trust you driving me anywhere yet.”
Nicola was too distracted by an idea that had just landed in her head to be insulted. “That’s fine,” she said sweetly. “I’ll direct you.”
***
Alex’s driving was far too slow for Nicola’s tastes. It took them ten minutes to get out of Eventide Bay, and that had only been because Alex had point blank refused to overtake a tractor that was blocking their way.
Once they were on the open road, Nicola had opened a maps app on her phone, having typed in the address that she was planning on Alex driving her too.
“How far is this market?” Alex asked.
“Oh, not far,” Nicola replied, watching the flashing blue dot on the phone. “Take the next left.”
Alex frowned as they passed a sign in the opposite direction for the market. “Is that not where we’re supposed to be going?”
“Trust me,” Nicola insisted. “We’re just making a tiny detour.”
Alex shrugged and switched on the radio. It was coming up to six PM and the local hourly news was just beginning.
“…I’m Rowan Simpkins. Police in the Devonshire area have released details about an elderly woman found hanged in her greenhouse five nights ago. Dorothy Fountain, who was in her early seventies was found by her neighbour on Wednesday night, just before ten PM. It comes after a similar incident when Dennis Tate, a man in his sixties was found hanged in his living room. Local authorities are now calling for government to offer more help in the issue of suicide in the over sixties…”
Nicola stared at the radio, her mouth open.
“Poor woman,” Alex said solemnly. “To get to that time of life, and feel like that.”
“Dorothy Fountain?” Nicola repeated. “Is that what he just said? Dorothy Fountain?”
“Yeah, I think so. Why?”
“She was on the jury with me! She was absolutely loving it. Acting like she was the actual hammer of justice!”
“Wait, are you serious?” Alex asked her. “First the prosecution barrister, then a member of the jury? Both found hanged? That’s a hell of a coincidence.”
Nicola continued staring at the radio, as if it was going to bring her answers, but the newsreader had moved on to a story about a breed of jellyfish that had been found on the coast. “Yeah. But that’s all it can be, isn’t it? I mean, it can’t be anything else. They weren’t murdered. Were they?”
“I wouldn’t like to say,” replied Alex. “But it’s certainly weird.”
A few minutes later, they arrived at the street that Nicola had been misdirecting them towards. Alex stopped the car and looked around them, confused. “Where are we? I thought you said the market was round here?”
“I just wanted to call in on someone,” Nicola replied delicately. “It won’t take long. Well, it might. I’m not sure.”
“Call in on who?”
Nicola paused while she tried to think how best to word her answer. “The two kids of Rebecca Winters.”
Alex stared at her in disbelief. “Her kids? Are you insane? Why?”
Nicola sighed and explained in as sparse terms as she could about her blog and her unwavering conviction that Rebecca was innocent. When she had finished, Alex appeared even more perplexed. When he did not answer, Nicola pushed on. “So basically, I’m going to pretend to be an investigative journalist, which I don’t think technically is a lie because I think that a blog does count as a type of journalism, and that I’m looking into the possibility that their mum is innocent. Now, if you were to help me, pretend to be my associate or something, then we could make it look doubly convincing. What do you say?”
Again, Alex just stared at her, looking bewildered. After a moment he finally said, “What about the potatoes?”
Nicola rolled her eyes impatiently. “Oh, we’ll grab some from ASDA on the way back, Kath will never know the difference. Now are you with me, or not?”
“But it’s none of our business! Why would you want to get yourself embroiled in a murder investigation?”
“Because an innocent woman may have gone to jail!” Nicola insisted.
“And because you want to bring attention to your little blog,” Alex clarified. “Actually, that’s really the only reason, isn’t it? How very noble of you. How are there films and books about Ghandi, when they should have really been focussing their attentions on Nicola Golding, the vigilante from Devonshire?”
Nicola glared at him. “What’s your surname?”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll need to introduce us! What’s your surname?”
Alex sighed, resigned to his fate. “Silverstone.”
Nicola was delighted. “You’re kidding me? That’s perfect! This was meant to be!”
“What are you –”
“My surname is Golding, yours is Silverstone! Gold and Silver! It’s a great name for a journalistic duo. Now, remember. You’re my assistant and we’re trying to investigate their mother’s wrongful imprisonment.”
With Alex out of arguments, Nicola took a deep breath to get herself into character, then got out of the car. “Just let me do all the talking.”
“I had every intention of letting you do the talking,” Alex replied flatly. “This is madness.”
“Just go with it,” Nicola insisted as she studied the door numbers. “We could be saving a woman from imprisonment here.”
And before Alex could say another word, she knocked sharply on the door to the Winters’ house.
8
The door opened to reveal a tall, black haired girl with heavy, dark makeup round her eyes. Nicola immediately recognised her as Estelle, Rebecca Winters’ daughter. She was wearing a dark hoodie, ripped black jeans and her hair was sticking up in an overdone perm at the back of her head. Nicola suspected by the smell of aerosol coming off her that her hair was spray painted jet black.
Estelle eyed the newcomers. “Who are you?”
“Oh, good evening,” Nicola replied cheerfully. “My name’s Nicola Golding, and this is my associate, Alexander Silverstone. We’re looking to speak to the Winters?”
Estelle groaned. “Oh, you’re not reporters, are you? Sorry, I thought my grandma had made it perfectly clear in her statement, that we don’t want disturbing by the media.”
She went to close the door, but Nicola put her foot in the way. “Actually, we’re not reporters. We’re investigative journalists. We specialise in cases concerning people being sent down for crimes they didn’t commit. We were hoping to talk to someone about Rebecca Winters?”
Estelle opened her mouth in surprise, but before she could say anything, an older woman appeared, who Nicola assumed must be the grandmother. She was wearing a white frilly blouse and her grey hair was tied up in a bun so tight that Nicola was surprised that she did not look to be in any pain.
“Estelle, who is it?” She opened the door wider and stared at them both. “And what can we do for you? My name is Sylvia Moorcroft. I’m Estelle’s grandmother. If you’re from the papers, I shall be calling the police.”
“They’re not, Gran,” Estelle replied. “They say they want to help us with Mum. They don’t think she did it.”
Sylvia eyed Nicola suspiciously. “And how do you expect to help us? My daughter has already been found guilty. Where were you before the trial?”
“Mrs Moorcroft,” Nicola said gently. “May we come in? We believe that evidence was discounted by the police at best, and not even investigated at the very worse. We suspect that you and your family were not listened to, because the police were under pressure from the media to bring this case to a close a
s quickly as possible. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
Sylvia’s eyes went from Nicola to Alex, who was standing somewhat awkwardly, giving her a weak smile. After appearing to weigh up her options, she sighed and opened the door wider to allow them both in.
“Thank you,” Nicola said. She glanced at Alex who looked horrified that they were being allowed to proceed any further. “You can take notes,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.
The interior of the house seemed lived in but cosy. While there was the odd bit of clutter here and there, the place appeared tidy and efficiently run, and while Nicola had not been expecting a chalked silhouette on the floor or bloody handprints dragging down the wall, it still surprised her that such a normal looking home could have been the location of a brutal murder.
As they walked into the living room, they were immediately greeted by the sight of a young man in a white vest, pulling himself up from a bar that was hanging from the top of the doorway. His considerable arm muscles bulged, and he was glistening slightly around his neck.
“Ross, that’s enough,” Sylvia said sharply. “We have company.”
Ross, who Nicola remembered as being sat next to Estelle in the public gallery, dropped down and turned to them, panting slightly. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Not at all,” Nicola replied, her eyeline drifting again to his muscles. Alex nudged her with his elbow and she was brought back down to Earth.
“Ross, make some tea,” Sylvia told him. “They are here to talk about your mother.”
Nicola and Alex sat down on the sofa, Alex looking at her expectantly. Nicola had rehearsed numerous questions in her head for this moment over the past couple of weeks, but now she was sat in the Winters’ house with them all staring at her, her mind had gone completely blank.
“Erm, why don’t you tell us more about Rebecca?”
Sylvia raised a disdainful eyebrow. For a moment, Nicola wondered if she was going to start asking her questions about the supposed investigative agency, but Sylvia instead sighed. “My daughter is one of the most caring, compassionate, loving and warm people you could ever hope to meet. She raised her children with all the love they could ever hope for. You can see how happy an upbringing they’ve had.”
Nicola glanced around the room. Scattered on different worktops and sideboards were various photographs captured throughout Estelle and Ross’ lives. She stood up at picked one up in a small gold frame that was sitting on the fireplace. It showed Rebecca and Simon with Estelle and Ross looking no older than about eight, smiling happily at the camera in the middle of a park. Nicola could not help but think of how little the four of them knew they would have to deal with in the coming years. “And she was happy with Simon?”
“Absolutely,” Sylvia replied. “Admittedly, there was probably more to it if he was out having an affair. I never said this to Rebecca, but it makes you wonder how many affairs he’d actually had.”
Nicola turned her attention to Estelle, who was sitting quietly in a chair with her hands clasped together. “One thing we never heard in the court case, Estelle, was how you found out about your Dad’s death? I imagine it was a terrible shock?”
“Of course it was,” Estelle said meekly. “I came home from the cinema and found Mum crying her eyes out downstairs, on the phone to the police. Gran was here. She tried to stop me going upstairs, but I pushed past her and just saw Dad…” Her voice trailed off and tears began to roll down her cheeks.
Sylvia sat on the arm of the chair and put her arms over her shoulders. “Can we do this without upsetting her? She’s already been through enough.”
“It’s only so we have a full picture of what happened,” Nicola said gently. “From the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Things that haven’t been stretched beyond all credibility via the papers.”
At that moment, Ross returned from the kitchen with a large tray full of steaming mugs, sugar and a small jug of milk. Nicola could not help thinking that his stature of muscle and brawn did not suit the image.
“Help yourself to sugar and milk,” Sylvia said as Ross sat down.
“What about you, Ross?” Nicola asked as she poured a splash of milk into her mug. “I was just asking your sister about the day of your dad’s death.”
Ross glanced at Sylvia, who nodded as if to give him permission to speak. “I was at work. I do shifts at a DIY shop in town. The police turned up, took me out the back and told me. To be honest, I thought it was some sort of sick joke. Then I was taken to the police station and they told me that Mum was in custody. It’s nuts. Mum would never do something like that.”
Nicola turned to Alex. “Are you getting all this?”
Alex sighed and then nodded. “Could I ask one question?”
“That’s what we’re here for!” Nicola exclaimed, a little too enthusiastically. It was not shared amongst the other people in the room.
“If it wasn’t your mum, then who else could it be? I take it that it is true that nobody can get into this house when the door is closed, as it only opens from the outside?”
“Yeah,” replied Ross. “I mean, it’s not that solid. You could probably force your way in pretty easily, but the police said there wasn’t any evidence of that.”
“Which means that Simon must have let whoever it was into the house,” Sylvia added. “Because my daughter would not do that. She loved him too much. Why else would she have fought to keep him here?”
“If that’s what she was doing,” Alex said. There was silence in the room for a few moments. Nicola stared at him, her eyes wide. “I’m just trying to put all the options out there,” Alex added hastily. “Who would he have let into the house who would have killed him?”
“That’s easy,” Estelle said, her expression darkening. “Bernice.”
Nicola’s stomach flipped. “Yes, now – what can you tell me about Bernice? She’s the one who Simon had the affair with?”
“She pursued him,” Sylvia said sharply. “And like any man, Simon was flattered. A pretty blonde tart tottering around in her high heels, he couldn’t believe his luck.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘like any man,’” Alex replied. “We don’t all just shrug and let it happen when a woman throws themselves at us.”
His words took Nicola’s mind briefly to the bet she had made with Dominic, and she glanced at him, with a raised eyebrow before turning back to Sylvia. “I’ve spoken briefly to Bernice, and she said that Simon wasn’t planning on leaving Rebecca for her?”
“Simon knew where his bread was buttered,” Sylvia replied. “He’d have never left Rebecca. She was far too important to him.”
“You seem to know a lot about what Simon was thinking,” Alex told her. He appeared to have completely abandoned his intention on letting Nicola doing the talking and was now leaning forward and gazing at Sylvia intently. “Did he confide in you about anything?”
Sylvia’s eyes narrowed, and she shuffled in her seat. “Of course not. Would you confide everything to your mother in law? They’ve been together ten years, you get to know a person.”
“You were saying about Bernice,” Nicola pressed. “Do you think she could have killed Simon? There’s no reason why he wouldn’t let her into the house.”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” Sylvia replied. “She’s a money grabbing leech. Only out for what she can get. She doesn’t love people. She doesn’t even know the meaning of the word. I wouldn’t put it past her to come here, expecting Simon to drop everything and run away with her, only to find that he’s patched things up with Rebecca and never wants to see her again.”
“So, she sees red and stabs him, running out of the house before Rebecca got back from the shop?” Nicola murmured. “It could be. It would make sense.” She thought for a few moments, taking a big gulp of tea, her excitement causing some to spill down her front. “Do you think it would be possible to speak to Rebecca? Get a visiting order or something?”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good i
dea,” Sylvia said. “She’ll be in a very delicate and brittle state of mind right now.”
“Gran, it could help,” Estelle said, looking at her intently. “If Mum thinks there’s a chance of getting her out of there, it could spur her on!”
“Do you really think you could get her out?” Ross asked Nicola, looking intensely hopeful.
“If we could prove that Rebecca didn’t kill him, then of course.” Nicola replied, her mind whirring furiously. “You need to persuade her to let me see her. I think it’s high time we started putting our own case together.” She stood up and turned to Alex. “Let’s go.”
Alex drained his mug of tea and stood up quickly, looking keen to get out of there. “Thanks for the tea.”
“We’ll be in touch,” Nicola said as they made their way towards the front door as Sylvia showed them out.
Once they were on the doorstep, Sylvia made sure they were out of shot of Ross and Estelle before saying quietly “Do you really think that you can make a case for my daughter?”
“I’m confident,” Nicola replied. She was surprised that she genuinely felt self-assured. She scribbled her number down on the back of a receipt she had in her pocket and passed it to Sylvia, making a mental note to get cards printed. “Give me a call when you’ve heard from Rebecca. The faster we go with this, the sooner we can get her out of there.”
“I will,” Sylvia replied, looking more optimistic. “Thank you. Truly.”
She closed the front door and Nicola turned around to Alex looking cheerful. “Perfect. Now we wait. We should really try and speak to Bernice Stockport again.”
“Excuse me?” Alex replied, staring at her in bemusement. “What’s all this ‘we’ business? I’m not getting involved, are you mad?”
“Oh, come on!” Nicola whined. “They think you’re helping me now! And those questions you were asking her, they were brilliant! Go on. Gold and Silver has a rather nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
