by Nic Roberts
“There’s been an incident!” he said quickly. “An ongoing incident. Can I...?” He gestured to them to step out of the room.
Olivia stood up, followed by Dean.
“Excuse us for a moment,” she apologised to Francesca before they left. “You’ve done so well, already.”
Outside in the hall, Lawrence pressed his hands into his pockets and raised his brows. The winter sun burned the imprint of the window onto the wall beside him.
“What’s this about?” he asked.
DC Harris looked at his notepad.
“Um, dispatch had a concern for welfare call come through,” he answered quickly. “It was called in by a Lydia Fisher. Your widow.”
“Fuck!” Lawrence growled. “Who is it for?”
“Margaret,” Tim sighed. “Officers and paramedics have been dispatched, but apparently she’s asked for... you.” He turned to Olivia.
“Me?” she asked incredulously. He nodded. “Damnit. You don’t think this is due to our visit, do you?”
Lawrence jangled the keys in his pocket.
“Who cares,” he replied. “We need to get down there now. Harris, give our apologies to Francesca. We’ll get her statement later.”
“On it.” He tore out a page of his notepad. “Here’s the info. All we know is she left the house and could be heading for the cliffs at Huers Hut. We’re waiting for more information, though. I’ll text you en route.”
That was all they needed to hear.
The duo left the station and ran to their car. Olivia could feel the adrenalin coursing through her veins as they weaved amongst the traffic.
“Maybe she would rather die with her secret than confess?” Lawrence assumed. “Any more details, yet? We can go to Huers Hut, and if she’s not there, circle back along the coast until we hear something?”
Olivia’s phone pinged, and she found a message from Tim.
“Tolcane Beach confirmed,” she read. “Officers and HART in attendance. Cliff side of the fence. Shit, she’s really thinking of jumping, Dean!”
Lawrence, pulled the car over, turned around and put his foot down. The beach wasn’t far from the police station, but with the constant stream of tourists whenever the sun shone, it took them longer than usual to drive the short distance.
Once there, they pulled up and parked amidst a sea of commotion. Bystanders hovered, eagerly awaiting any kind of drama that presented itself, and Olivia got a sudden sense of dread.
“Police, coming through!” she called over the crowd until she reached the cordon.
To her surprise, PC Andrew Shaw was stood here, all formal looking in his uniform. He saw her but kept his professional posture apart from a brief wink.
She could almost feel the smirk on her back from Lawrence as they ducked under the tape, her heels instantly sinking slightly into the mud.
Up ahead, she could see Lydia being comforted by an officer, and further on, Margaret stood, her back to everyone, clad in the same clothes she’d been wearing earlier, but this time coupled with a billowing blonde wig. Possibly the hair found in Fisher’s wound?
A paramedic incident commander appeared at their side.
“Detective Inspector Olivia Austin?” he asked, his face grave. She nodded. “Over here.”
She followed him along the grass until they reached Lydia.
“What happened?” she asked. “How did it go from Darjeeling to this?”
Mrs. Fisher seemed distressed, her face pink and swollen from worry and crying.
“When you left, she couldn’t settle,” Lydia answered. “Pacing the room. Wondering what you were called away for... I’ve never seen her like that before.”
Because she’s guilty, that’s why. Olivia thought to herself. Margaret must have panicked when the call came through. She probably thought it was evidence against her, that she was about to be pounced upon.
“Liv.” It was Lawrence’s voice, urging her to wrap it up and see to the woman at hand. After all, that was the reason they were there, and they’d both agreed in the car not to mention Simon or their suspicions that she was the one who’d killed him.
She approached the fence slowly with the paramedic incident commander.
“Margaret, it’s DI Austin,” she offered smoothly. “But you can call me Liv.”
There was silence for a moment, and the terrified woman didn’t at first acknowledge that she was being spoken to.
“Margar—”
“I know you’re there,” she interjected, her icy tone settling on Olivia’s ears. It was no match, however, for the coldness she already felt despite the sun.
“Then come over and let’s talk about this,” she offered. “You wanted to speak to me. Am I correct?”
Margaret looked over her shoulder briefly.
“I don’t want to put Lydia through any more of this craziness,” she answered wearily. “She’s been through enough already! We both have!”
The incident commander gave her a nod to keep going. She hadn’t been trained as a negotiator, but being called for by name meant something at least.
“What else do you think she’d go through if you jumped?” Olivia asked. “She’s distraught. She needs you. You don’t want to cause her any more pain, do you?”
Margaret shook her head. The comment struck her deeper than intended because it caused her to almost launch herself off the cliff. There was mini outcry of panic as everyone braced themselves.
“Stop! Wait, stop!” Olivia called out. Always saying the wrong things, she thought to herself. She could feel Lawrence watching her closely, seeing what she would say and do next, and he had every reason to be concerned. This next question was going to go deep and against everything they’d discussed in their mini briefing on the way over, but it had to be said. She had to touch on her suspicions.
The slight wind whipped around them, and the voices of bystanders stilled into the distance.
“Is all of this because of Simon?” Olivia’s words hung in the air despite the weight of them. “Because he’s dead, or because you killed him?”
At the sound of his name, Margaret’s body tensed, and slowly she stepped back, much to Olivia’s relief and surprise.
“Don’t say his name,” she called over her shoulder, her voice still just as dead as before. “He doesn’t deserve to be remembered. Not anymore. Not to me!”
Lydia appeared at Liv’s side, the coat in her hands held up to cover her quivering mouth.
The incident commander put a hand on Olivia’s elbow and leaned into her.
“I’ve been informed by the Coastguard that wind speed is picking up,” he whispered into her ear.
She hummed her acknowledgement and glanced over at Lawrence. He looked concerned, rubbing at his chin in deep contemplation.
There was one part of her theory that she hadn’t gone over with him. In fact, the idea had seemed so incomprehensible at first that she hadn’t allowed herself to explore the magnitude of her thoughts.
She cleared her throat, aware that a crying Lydia was still by her side. It would be a shock to her too.
“You loved him, Margaret, didn’t you?” Olivia asked against the strengthening wind. It was clear now. The whole rigmarole of being the overprotective sister, the façade of anger that she forced everyone around her to believe. She cared more than she let on. And this? This show on top of a cliff had passion written all over it.
Beside her, she heard Lydia’s sharp intake of breath at the enormity of the revelation.
Margaret covered her face in her hands and shook her head.
“It’s not true, is it?” Lydia asked, her voice wavering ever so slightly and was that a hint of anger she detected in it? “Tell me it’s not true!”
It was that question that caused Margaret to look back over her shoulder fully for the first time. Her eyes locked with Olivia’s, full of desperation and anguish.
“How would I have ever told you?” she snapped, this addressed to her sister. “It was be
fore you met him. Before you knew he existed!”
Lydia wailed loudly.
“I married him!” she shouted. “You could have told me then! Stopped me from making the biggest mistake of my life!”
Olivia stepped back slightly to allow the sisters space to express themselves.
“I saw how happy you were with him,” Margaret responded, her voice more hurt than defensive of her actions. “Despite how I felt about him, he made you smile again.”
Lydia walked right up to the fence and pressed her body against it.
“I could have been happy with somebody else.” She sighed and hung her head. “That wasn’t your choice to make.”
Her sister poised herself for jumping again, and two uniformed officers lifted themselves over the fence to make their way toward her, as did some of the Hazardous Area Response Team. She was crying now, more so than before, and the Incident Commander pulled Lydia back. She’d done enough.
Keep her talking though. Olivia thought deciding to take over and bring her line of question onto the murder. She was almost certain now that the woman standing in front of her looking down the side of the cliff face was responsible for the death of Simon Fisher.
“Why did you do it?” She pushed her voice to carry over the sound of the waves below them. “Were you genuinely angry at what he did? At his affair? For hurting your sister? Or was it jealousy?”
Margaret shook her head vigorously.
“I despised him in the end,” she spat. “For what he did to me and my sister. The betrayal of our love.” she paused, turning to look at one of the officers approaching her. “For what he did to that young girl.”
Lawrence stepped forward, unable to resist.
“Then why didn’t you call the police?” he asked. “Why not report him? Why take matters into your own hands and risk all of this?” He gestured around them to the scene that had been created—at the throng of spectators that had gathered on top and below the cliff to witness her fall to her death.
She was silent for a moment, looking out to the clear sky with the hem of her dress flapping in the wind. The blonde wig she had on was dishevelled and sliding to one side slightly. Despite all her misgivings, she looked like a small, weary child at the end of a meltdown.
She turned toward Olivia and slowly walked back up to the fence. Her eyes were swollen from crying.
“I... I saw red,” she whispered. “I saw my sister broken at my door, and it took me back...”
“Margie no!” Lydia hissed, but the woman wouldn’t be silenced.
She shook her head.
“Our dad used to.... he used to, with Lyds, he would...” She could barely form the words, but Olivia knew what she was trying to say. The sick, fucking bastard.
“It’s okay,” she soothed.
“But it’s not okay, is it?” Margaret sobbed. “I followed him and his student to a carpark, and what I watched him do... What he did to her... I saw red and then, well... I wasn’t supposed to kill him. I just wanted to teach him a lesson. You know that men like him are sick. It went too far. He knew I saw him. He knew that I knew, and when I was beating him, I just saw my dad. I saw that evil man creeping into Lyds’ room. The things he did to her... and I just couldn’t stop. Simon betrayed both of our trust. He...” She broke down into body shaking sobs.
Lawrence groaned beside her, his hate for any domestic violence or abuse against women brimming to the surface.
Olivia reached out and put her hand on Margaret’s, squeezing it to reassure the woman that she understood her hurt and the delicate nature of the information she had provided.
“There’s help available for the both of you,” she soothed. “You don’t have to suffer through years of grief alone. Left raw, this is what it can turn into.”
Take heed, Liv, she told herself.
Lawrence, however, watched the woman crying, his brow furrowed, and once a few moments had passed, he turned to the widowed sister.
“What was your role in your husband’s murder?” he asked, their tale of woe not quite pacifying him.
“I had no part in any of it!” Lydia assured firmly. She seemed surprised at being addressed. “I hated him, yes, but he was still my husband, Detective. My job means I help keep people alive, not kill them!”
“Then why lie to us?” Olivia added, remembering Francesca’s words. “You told us Simon drunkenly confirmed the affair?”
She nodded, defeat weighing her shoulders down.
“I was in shock,” she breathed. “And I knew how it would and did look. My husband was sleeping with a young teenager, and then the day after he confesses and I ask him for a divorce, he’s found dead. You would have pinned it on me. I’ve seen what happens when the police believe you’re guilty.”
The detectives exchanged pointed looks.
“That still doesn’t explain the murder,” Lawrence noted. This time, he turned to Margaret, who had managed to ease her sobs. Her head was hung low, and for the last part of the conversation, she’d been starting at the grass that framed the fence. “If you were alone, how did you manage to throw Simon over the balcony? How did you overpower a man as big as he was with barely any injury?” He gestured to her bruised wrist.
The woman looked up for the first time in minutes, her eyes finding each of theirs in turn.
“Adrenalin,” she answered, her voice no higher than a whisper. Olivia squinted against the wind to hear her better. “When he first saw me, he fell, and I seized the opportunity to get him while he was down.” She swallowed back more tears. “I panicked when I realised how far I’d gone, and I wanted it to look like suicide. Then I threw up in the toilet twice at the sight of all the blood. I just... I can’t... I’m so sorry!”
Lydia reached across the fence to pull her sister in toward her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders as they cried together, all feelings of hate and anger evaporating with each passing second.
The officers reached her side before she had a chance to move away, and along with HART they had her safe and secured.
For now, her ordeal was over.
23
The rest of the afternoon passed by in a blur, between getting Margaret to the custody suite for booking and having her mentally assessed.
Olivia and Lawrence had agreed that there was a good chance Margaret could and would plead temporary insanity in her case, and that they’d support the decision by her legal team if she did.
Olivia had also texted Mills partway through the day. Just wanted to say I love you. We should get a bite to eat soon.
I’d love that. Tough case? her sister had replied moments later.
I’ll tell you over lunch tomorrow, Olivia had shot back, quiet gratitude thrumming in her chest.
“This one’s been difficult,” Lawrence admitted quietly as they started on the mountain of paperwork back at the office.
Liv let out a long, slow breath and reclined her swivel chair a little. Her stomach grumbled, and she realised that in all the haste of the day, she’d forgotten to eat.
“You can say that again,” she agreed. A phone rang somewhere out in the main office, and the sound of laughter drifted in through the open window. She closed her eyes against the ceiling lights to allow herself a moment.
She couldn’t even begin to imagine the horror that those two women had to deal with growing up. The fear and pain of carrying that burden all these years didn’t bear thinking about, but the way Simon Fisher had been murdered and the injuries he’d suffered made her shudder. There were so many layers to the case that she knew the next couple of days would be hectic, to say the least.
Her silent reflection was broken by a knock at their office door, and Detective Superintendent Collins entered and stopped with his arm resting against the frame.
“You did a good job, guys.” He nodded once he had both of their attention. “Some officers on scene said you kept your heads throughout.”
“Thank you, sir,” Olivia smiled. “There were a few moments
where I thought she’d jump, but her background was...”
“Horrific,” he finished for her. Someone came up behind and tapped him on the shoulder. He spoke to them briefly before turning back to the detectives. “Epson went out and brought some snacky type things for the office.” He waved his fingers dismissively. “Have a quick break and a bite. All in the kitchen for you.”
He hovered in the doorway for a moment longer, his expression one of gratitude, until he nodded and excused himself.
“Well, can’t think of a better timing,” Lawrence said, the first to speak once their boss had disappeared back to his office. “I’m absolutely Hank Marvin! I know you are too! I’ve heard your stomach going ten to the dozen for the last fifteen minutes!”
Olivia stretched and stood up.
“Is it greedy of me to hope there’s an apple turnover with my name on it?” she asked, already at the door.
Lawrence laughed and made his way over to her.
“That’s wishful thinking,” he observed. “It was Epson after all. You’re probably looking at a multi-pack of doughnuts from Aldi across the road. Jam if we’re lucky!”
Olivia couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face at her partner’s words, and before they left the safe confines of their office, she put her arm out to hold him back.
“We’re okay, though, aren’t we?” she asked, offering him a hopeful smile that after their little fall out earlier they’d be able to go back to how things were before she let her anger and hurt get the better of her.
Lawrence squeezed her shoulder in agreement, returning her grin.
“More than okay,” he assured her. “Now, let’s get you fed!”
“You did not!” Clara gasped laughing, halfway into her second cocktail of the evening. Olivia swirled her own drink, glancing down at it with a smirk sprawled across her lips.
“Let’s just say, he stopped messing with me after that,” Olivia replied before tossing back a solid swig.
“Olivia!” Clara exclaimed, her eyes wide. “I never knew I needed stories from your uni days so desperately until tonight!”
The two had been at the bar for a couple of hours, swapping stories back and forth. To Olivia’s relief, neither of them even touched the comings and goings of work. It felt good to talk about something other than casefiles and work drama, and Olivia knew that the warmth kissing her cheeks was from more than just the alcohol. Clara’s company was easy and delightful.
