by Sibel Hodge
‘Now!’ Greene commanded.
I let Wilmott go, pushing him against the wall as I did so in a final act of defiance. One of Wilmott’s shirt buttons slipped through my hands and bounced to the floor.
‘Wait for me in my office,’ Greene snapped at me.
My jaw tightened as I walked through the now empty CID office. Clenching my fists, I headed up the corridor to Greene’s office and paced the floor, fuming, taking deep breaths as I tried to calm down.
A few minutes later, DS Greene walked in. He closed the door, rounded his desk, and sat down. ‘Have a seat.’ He nodded towards the chair opposite him.
‘I’d rather stand, sir.’ I had too much adrenaline flowing through me to sit still like a good boy.
‘Sit!’
I stared at the chair. Clenched my fists again. Then did as I was told.
‘I can’t believe what I just witnessed. What the hell was that all about?’ He gave a furious shake of his head.
‘He provoked me.’
‘How?’
‘He was disrespecting Denise.’
He sighed. ‘Obviously, you have my deepest sympathies about Denise. Her death has affected you very badly in the last year, and I fear that the stress and grief is also affecting your rational—’
‘Of course it’s affected me!’
‘And you’re not thinking clearly.’
‘With all due respect, sir, I’m thinking perfectly clearly.’
‘I disagree. This is impinging on your judgement now.’
‘My judgement is fine. It’s everyone else’s that’s the problem.’
‘Do you know how paranoid that sounds?’ He gave me an exasperated look. He pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. ‘DI Wilmott has told me that you’re doing everything you can to undermine his promotion. And that you’ve become obsessed with the Burbeck case. By Alissa Burbeck in particular.’
‘I’m sure he has. Actually, he’s the one who can’t seem to keep away from her. In work time, too. Maybe you should ask him about that.’
He ignored my tone and said, ‘He was also concerned that it was affecting your other work, and that your actions seem to be becoming increasingly inappropriate and erratic. And I have to say I agree after what’s just happened. Look, you can’t go around assaulting other officers, flying off the handle and acting like a loose cannon, questioning things that are above your rank, trying to sabotage DI Wilmott’s authority, and looking for things that don’t exist! I know working so closely with people at times means things can be frustrating, but that kind of behaviour is completely inexcusable.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose, giving me his this-will-hurt-me-more-than-you look. ‘I think you need some help, Warren. Professional help to deal with the grief and depression that is clearly—’
‘The only help I need is being allowed to actually do my job and ask the right questions.’ I blew out a sharp, frustrated breath. ‘First the Mackenzie case, and now this. What’s the point of policing if you’re not allowed to actually police?’
‘We’ve been over the Lord Mackenzie case before,’ he snapped, picking up a biro from his desk and fiddling with it. ‘You know the way things work. It was a direct order from the top to stop the investigation. My hands were tied. And besides, there was no evidence that he was involved in the theft.’
‘And fraud. And if I’d had time, I could’ve found the evidence that connected him to it.’
Greene threw the biro on to his desk. He probably wanted to throw it at me. ‘This isn’t a discussion; it’s an order. Your standard of conduct, job performance, and mental well-being have been called into serious question. I have no choice but to suspend you from duty for your own welfare at this time, pending an investigation into your conduct. You will receive a letter in due course calling you for a meeting to discuss this further. You will continue to receive full pay. But in the meantime, I would strongly recommend you contact occupational health and make an appointment to see the force psychologist, because I’m sure that’s what will be recommended anyway. Now go home, calm down, and try to get yourself together until then.’
‘What?’ I stared at him. ‘You can’t do that.’
‘I’m doing it for your own good.’ He pointed a finger at me. ‘I can’t have detectives with their own agendas on my team. It puts too much pressure on the other officers at a time when we’re desperately short-staffed. And it could be dangerous, too – a serious health and safety risk for everyone. So take my advice and—’
I didn’t want to hear the rest of the bollocking. I’d heard enough. I stood up and walked to the door, cutting him off mid-rant.
‘I’ll need your warrant card before you leave!’ His voice drilled into me from behind.
I strode back to the desk, pulled it out of my pocket, and slammed it on top of a pile of files. Then I stormed into the men’s room and splashed cold water on my face, catching my reflection in the mirror – the bloodshot eyes, the untucked shirt, the skew-whiff tie. Was I losing it? Looking for things that didn’t even exist? I didn’t know any more. So what if I was about to flush my career down the toilet? I wasn’t even sure I cared.
I ran a hand through my hair. Adjusted my tie and tucked in my shirt. I left the nick, to give the semblance that I’d taken on board what Detective Superintendent Greene had said, and then completely disregarded him. Protocol was the last thing on my mind. I knew Alissa was the real killer. Now all I had to do was prove it.
THE DETECTIVE
Chapter 37
The adoption social worker looked young enough to be my daughter. If I’d ever had one. Denise and I had tried for years, but it wasn’t meant to be. There was a lot that was never meant to be. I thought things were supposed to get easier with time, but they seemed to be getting worse. Maybe it was Spencer’s death that had brought all the emotions back. I tried to blank out the thoughts of Denise and concentrate on Tina Bell’s red hair as she perused the file in front of her.
She glanced up nervously and smiled. ‘I’m afraid I can’t let you take copies. I’ll, um . . . need a warrant from you for that. Or a judge’s order.’
‘That’s OK. I just need the information at this stage. We’re making preliminary enquiries on a possible murder suspect.’
‘Of course.’ She nodded emphatically, trying to appear knowledgeable and professional when it was obvious she’d only been doing the job a short while. Still, that helped me. If she’d been a more experienced social worker, she may not have given me anything without a warrant or a look at my warrant card, which was probably currently locked in Greene’s office drawer.
‘There was an adoption order for Alissa on the twenty-fourth of April, 1992. She was adopted by . . .’ She read a few more lines. ‘Rita and Bernard Stanhope. I have details of the birth mother, although it’s noted that she expressed a wish for her information not to be revealed should anyone try to locate her in the future. That’s not unusual.’
‘That’s OK. It’s not her I’m interested in at the moment. Is there any mention of another sibling?’
‘Um . . .’ She bent over, perusing more of the document in front of her, then tapped the page. ‘Yes.’
I leaned forward expectantly.
‘The birth mother had twins. Alissa, who was adopted by the Stanhopes.’ She looked up and smiled awkwardly. ‘Sorry, I just said that, didn’t I?’
I smiled politely, willing her to get on with it.
‘And then there was Samantha, who was adopted by John and Elizabeth Folds on the thirteenth of March, 1992.’
My heart rate kicked up a notch. ‘Do you have the Folds’ details?’
‘Um . . .’ She read through more papers, running her finger down the pages. She flipped through another couple of documents and glanced up again, squinting apologetically. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s OK, take your time. It’s good to be thorough.’
‘Ah! Yes, I’ve got something here. The address at the time of the adoption order was Dentonbrook Farm.’
I
wrote that down in my notebook. ‘Can you tell me anything else about the Folds?’
She perused a few more pages. ‘John was thirty and Elizabeth was twenty-five when the adoption took place. John was a farmer. Elizabeth was listed as a housewife. It would appear that they couldn’t have children of their own and desperately wanted to adopt a baby. They obviously passed all of our screening methods at the time. There’s not much more I can tell you, really. A social worker visited them several times at the farm before the adoption, and also a couple of times after the order was granted. Everything appeared to be in order and our involvement ceased twenty-three and a half years ago.’
‘Why weren’t Alissa and Samantha adopted by the same family?’
‘We have to work with what we’ve got at the time. Not many prospective adoptive parents are looking for twins, especially with their first child. It can be a very demanding and stressful situation caring for two babies right off the bat. So it’s not uncommon for twins that young to be separated.’
I stood to leave. ‘Great, thanks, you’ve been a big help.’
She blushed.
It was a long shot. The address for John and Elizabeth Folds was twenty-three years old. How many people stayed in the same house all their lives these days? I’d checked the electoral roll, directory enquiries, and other databases, but there were no listings for them.
Dentonbrook Farm was out in the sticks. Their nearest neighbour that I passed on the way up a single-lane track was half a mile down the road. A sign on the metal gates creaking in the breeze announced that this was the right place.
I drove over the cattle grid and up a concrete drive. When I got out, I was hit with the smell of manure, the sounds of frantic mooing filling the air.
I took a path forking away from a cluster of barns towards a whitewashed farmhouse at the side of the property. I knocked on the door and waited. Either no one was in or they weren’t answering.
Retracing my steps, I headed back towards the barns. On the way, I saw a few stalls with cows in, but the rest were empty. It looked a bleak and desolate place.
‘Hello?’ I called out. ‘Anyone around?’
A man in his mid-fifties appeared from one of the barns, dressed in wellies and a navy boiler suit. ‘Alright, mate? Can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for John and Elizabeth Folds.’
‘Nah, you’ve got the wrong place. I own this farm.’
‘They used to live here about twenty-three years ago.’
He scratched his head. ‘Well, I’ve been here fifteen years. Bought it off a bloke called Davidson, not Folds.’
‘I’m DS Carter, and I’m trying to trace the Folds. Do you have a forwarding address for this Mr Davidson anywhere?’
‘Afraid not.’
Bugger. ‘Did you buy the farm through an estate agent?’
‘Yeah, Barnworth & Co. were selling it for the Davidsons. They specialise in farms and smallholdings.’
‘OK, thanks.’
I trudged back down the path and got in my car, where the air was cleaner. I googled Barnworth & Co. on my phone, got the number, and gave them a call. Unfortunately, they hadn’t acted as agents for the Folds, but pointed me in the direction of the lawyer the Davidsons had used during their sale of the farm to see if they had any information regarding prior owners.
So an hour later I was sat in the office of Ian Dunn, waiting for him to finish trawling through his computer records.
‘I’m afraid there was no forwarding address given by Mr and Mrs Folds at the time the Davidsons bought it from them,’ he said. ‘They were emigrating to Australia, so they didn’t have one to give the lawyer who acted for them. Sorry I can’t be more help.’
I grinned. ‘Thanks, you’ve actually been a big help.’ As I walked out, I phoned Becky. ‘Is Wilmott still in the office?’
‘No, he left about ten minutes ago. Said he had a dentist appointment.’
‘Getting his teeth whitened again, is he?’
She laughed. ‘You’re not his favourite person right now.’
‘I’m deeply upset by that.’
‘Yeah, right. I can’t believe you’ve been suspended! Someone said you’d hit him?’
The station was already rife with Chinese whispers. ‘Unfortunately not. I just pinned him up against the wall. Maybe I should’ve hit him. It would’ve felt bloody good. Look, I’m obviously not supposed to be in the nick at the moment, so can you do me a huge favour?’
‘What?’
‘Can you get me something from the Burbeck file?’
She paused for a moment. ‘What do you want?’
‘I need copies of their bank statements.’
Another pause. ‘Are you sure about this? I don’t want you getting in any more trouble.’
‘Look, I know Alissa Burbeck killed Max. I just need to prove it. And I’m not backing down again like I did with the Mackenzie case. Will you do it or not?’
‘Only if you buy me lunch.’
‘That’s blackmail.’
‘Yeah, but you can’t arrest me now, can you?’
‘Ouch, that hurt. When and where?’
‘Pizza Express in an hour.’
Two and a half hours later, I was on DI Nash’s doorstep with a bag of cold beers and a hot pizza that I’d got to take away for her.
She looked a hell of a lot better. Her cheeks had colour in them for the first time in a long while, and her hair was glossy and sleek, as if she’d finally washed it.
‘So,’ she took the tops off two beers and handed me one, ‘what’s going on with the Burbeck case?’
I took a long swig. ‘Apparently, Alissa knows I’ve been keeping my eye on her. She told her little lapdog Wilmott, who told me to leave it alone. I kind of lost it when he brought up Denise and, well, the short version is DS Greene suspended me.’
Her mouth fell open. ‘He suspended you?’
I filled her in on exactly what had happened.
She shook her head, eyes narrowed. ‘This is really about Lord Mackenzie, isn’t it? They want to keep you in line. If I’d been there working on that case, I wouldn’t have bowed down to pressure like Wilmott would. He’ll do exactly what they tell him to.’
‘Then you probably would’ve been suspended, too.’
‘It’s all wrong. We risk our lives every day doing this job. Spencer died, and what for? So influential people like Mackenzie can be protected? We can’t even bring him to justice because of who he knows?’
‘Well, I did bow down then because I thought I had too much to lose. It was the job that kept me getting out of bed every day, putting one foot in front of the other. I thought if I lost that, there would be nothing worth living for. But I won’t back down this time. This isn’t the police force I joined, and I don’t want to be part of that. You’ve got me thinking about giving it up, too. After this case is over, I’ll go quietly. Retire. Maybe go away somewhere. Spain or something, I don’t know. I could sell my house, get a nice apartment and have some money in the bank. It’s not like anyone’s going to miss me, is it?’ I rubbed my hands across my face.
‘I’d miss you. And I definitely can’t see you in the Costa del Retirement, taking up golf and lying on a beach. You’d go mental within a week!’
She was right. But it was tempting to just pack up and go somewhere else. Even as the thought formed, I realised all I’d really be doing was trying to outrun myself. How far would I have to go to do that? And if I did retire, it would mean even more time on my hands to think about what was missing. Catching criminals was far easier than confronting reality.
She gave me a concerned frown. ‘Don’t let my situation influence you.’
‘It’s not you. It’s everything. I’ve had enough.’
‘You’re worrying me now. You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?’
‘Define stupid.’
‘You know what I mean.’
I shrugged off the question. ‘Apparently, I’m not a team playe
r,’ I said, just for something to say to change the focus of the conversation.
‘Depends whose team you’re on.’ Ellie grabbed a slice of pizza and shovelled it into her mouth, chewing vigorously.
‘Hungry?’ I eyed her.
‘Actually, it’s the first time I’ve felt hungry since . . .’ She trailed off. No words were needed. ‘So what else did you find out about “Alissa Burbeck” before you were suspended?’ She made quote marks in the air with her fingers when she said Alissa’s name.
‘I thought you didn’t want anything to do with the job, either?’
‘What else are we going to talk about? Death? Dying? Being depressed?’
I told her about the adoption of Alissa and Samantha, and how the Folds had apparently emigrated to Australia. ‘Which is where Max and Alissa just happened to have come back from.’ I raised an eyebrow.
Ellie finished chewing, swigged some beer, and regarded me thoughtfully. ‘So, Alissa is really Samantha?’
‘Yeah.’
She whistled.
‘None of Max’s or Alissa’s friends have mentioned a twin, so I don’t think anyone else knew about her, which also makes me think they’ve only just recently found out about each other. And it makes sense that Alissa met her twin in Australia, because if they’d met here, someone would’ve noticed them together, and they must’ve spent a lot of time in each other’s company for Samantha to thoroughly get to know Alissa and step into her shoes so easily that she could pass herself off as the real deal.’
‘OK, so if Samantha came back to England with Max, pretending to be Alissa, how come no one has noticed any significant changes in her? I know they’re identical, and since you told me about this case I’ve been researching identicals. It would be easy to pass for the other visually, but what about voices? They’re not always the same. Surely Samantha would have a different accent if she was brought up in Australia, too. And there can be other things, like birthmarks – one could have one, one might not.’
‘What do actors do when they’re preparing for a role?’ I took a swig of beer. ‘They mimic voices and mannerisms, don’t they? Samantha could be very adept at that.’
