by Gayle Curtis
‘Back to your parents, if you don’t mind. One quick question: what was it that made you suspect they’d been murdered?’
‘It was the cat. The cat made us suspicious,’ Rita said.
Lester laughed, but abruptly stopped when he realised she was being serious.
‘The cat would have died from the carbon monoxide fumes in the back of the house. Someone had let her in afterwards. Jan Bakker from the Drum and Monkey thought he saw Jody walking towards the back of their house when he was putting the bins out. He thought it was odd because he knew she went there after school and not before but he didn’t take any notice until he discovered they were dead.’
Lester nodded, and she could see he was distracted by something she’d said.
‘Just a moment, did you say Cara’s murder? So you do believe she was killed?’ Lester said, leaving Rita wondering why he was asking questions he knew the answer to. She guessed it was dramatic effect for the benefit of the programme.
‘We found her clothes on Adrian Player’s property, and also traces of blood.’ Rita looked down at her lap.
‘Adrian Player’s property wasn’t the only place you found traces of Cara’s blood, was it?’
Rita looked up at Lester, knowing he wanted her to say it out loud.
‘That’s correct. As I said before, traces of blood were found at Kristen Hammond’s house.’
‘Within a week, you had three dead bodies in the same area,’ Lester said. ‘Blue Green Square had once been an exclusive area to live in, and people were on waiting lists with estate agents for properties there. But, almost overnight, it became the most undesirable place to live.’
Rita took a deep breath. ‘Oh, it was still exclusive, Lester. You market a house where there’s been a murder or suspicious death and you’ll have swarms of people wanting to take a look and make a bid. It’s a constant money-spinner: magazine and newspaper articles, documentaries, TV dramas. People love the macabre element of it. I remember dealing with another murder many years ago, when I was first in the police. A woman had killed her husband, made a right job of it too – she’d stabbed him, shot him, used a hammer . . . Anyway, some time later, the family put the house on the market. A woman purchased it and turned it into a guest house, spinning some ghost story about the place and using the gory details to garner custom. It worked, too.’
‘Interesting. In any event: three bodies in one week. Could hardly be more high-profile than that. How did you cope, being the Senior Investigating Officer?’
‘It took a lot of organisation. Force numbers were low, so we brought in officers from other areas within the county. At that time, we didn’t know if my parents were anything to do with the case. We were still trying to ascertain if they’d been murdered or if it was misadventure. I decided we needed a separate SIO for that case – it wouldn’t have been ethical for me to be involved with it – but we still merged information during the briefings, so we were completely aware of everything that was going on.’
‘I can’t imagine you would have wanted to, anyway,’ Lester said, frowning.
‘Of course not, but I did want to know my parents’ deaths were being dealt with in the correct way.’
‘Wasn’t it true during this investigation that you discovered something very painful about your mother?’
Rita could feel tears burning the back of her eyes, the betrayal still raw even five years on. ‘Yes. My mother had been involved with Adrian Player when I was a child.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The lock on the caravan door dropped with a clunk, and after a good shove with her shoulder, Jody managed to push it open. Before she closed it behind her, she took one last look down the track to make sure her dad wasn’t on his way back.
Jody turned a full circle where she was standing, surveying everything. She unzipped her rucksack while she was thinking, and began searching for anything incriminating that could get her father into trouble. She found his laptop and placed it on the table, so she could have a quick look at what was on it. Then she opened the cupboard beneath the sink, where she’d seen her dad putting things. Reaching behind the pipes, she had a good rummage but there was nothing there.
Pulling back the curtains, Jody checked the path leading to the static caravan to make sure again that her dad wasn’t on his way back. She’d watched and waited for him to leave that afternoon, having visited him earlier. She’d been following him after her last visit, wanting to see where he really went, knowing he’d lied to her about his group meeting – but each time she’d seen him entering a block of flats, and she presumed he was visiting a friend. Her main concern was that she kept him away from the police station.
Jody opened her dad’s laptop. There was nothing on there – no files, no internet history – and then she remembered he’d told her he wasn’t allowed to go online. She’d seen him using a memory stick a couple of times, removing it when she walked in and casually placing it on top of the kitchen cabinet.
Jody hitched herself up on to the worktop but strained to reach the top of the cupboard; so, heart pounding, she carefully pulled herself on to her knees, giving her enough height to reach. Her fingertips brushed something, but the more she stretched, the further away she pushed the stick. Using her phone, she managed to drag the fob towards her, wobbling precariously on the single piece of worktop.
She jumped down and shoved it into the computer. Her plan, should she find anything, was to take it home and destroy it. If her dad asked about it, she’d let him think someone had broken in.
As she waited for the memory stick to load, she spied the strap of a bag just peeking out from the door of one of the cupboards, which she must have dislodged trying to reach the memory stick. Grabbing it, she managed to pull it down, quickly throwing the rucksack on to the floor at the all-too-familiar sight of it. Hands shaking, she unzipped the top and peered inside, where she found the DVDs she’d given Raymond that Sunday night.
Movement outside raised her already pounding pulse and she quickly threw the bag back inside the cupboard. She slammed the lid of the laptop closed and shoved it in her rucksack.
After another glance out of the window, Jody was about to leave when she was startled by the door opening and a tall man peering in.
‘Detective Sergeant Winterton,’ he said, showing Jody his warrant card. ‘What’s in your rucksack there?’
Jody looked behind her, even though there was clearly no other way out. There was nothing for it but to hold on to the rucksack and step brazenly towards the police officer.
‘Are you Jody Brunswick?’
She ignored him and made a run for it, attempting to shove him from the doorway, but he was far too quick for her and he grabbed her, leading her down the steps. Outside, she was faced with two other police officers.
‘Jody Brunswick?’
Jody continued to struggle, believing she still had a chance to do a runner, but the police officer’s grip on her arms tightened and she was cautioned, although at first she didn’t take in the explanation of what she was being arrested for.
Moments later she was sitting with one of the officers in the back of a police car, banging on the window. ‘It’s got nothing to do with us! Why can’t you leave me and my dad alone!’
DS Winterton turned in his seat to look at her. ‘Jody, if you don’t calm down, I’ll have to cuff you and I don’t want to do that.’
‘You can’t do that anyway, I’m only fifteen.’
‘Oh, I can. I’m just giving you the benefit of the doubt that you can behave.’
Jody grinned, leant her head back and spat in the officer’s face.
Silence momentarily fell in the car as they all looked at one another.
DS Winterton wiped his face with a serviette from some sandwiches eaten earlier. ‘That was really classy, Jody, thank you very much.’
The officer next to her took firm hold of her arms and cuffed her. ‘You’re not doing yourself any favours, Jody. That’s assault on a p
olice officer.’
‘I didn’t know there was an offence for assaulting a pig.’ Jody smirked. ‘Do you think I give a shit?’
DS Winterton spoke into his radio then pulled away in silence. For all her bravado, deep down Jody felt sick now the adrenalin had worn off. It had only just dawned on her that she hadn’t been cautioned for theft, as she’d first assumed, but for murder. The murders of the Mackenzies.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The house didn’t feel the same when Gloria and Adrian were allowed back in. It was almost like they’d moved and someone had dumped all their belongings in the wrong place. Everything was organised into precarious stacks, but nothing had been put away. All the books in their beloved library had been pulled down and were piled up on the floor like giant beehives.
Gloria ventured up to the third floor and into the guest bedroom that now seemed so strange to her. The fourth mirrored door at the end of the fitted wardrobe was wide open. It seemed to be making a point that she hadn’t paid attention, hadn’t ever wondered about the footprint of the house, why the bedroom didn’t match the dimensions of the rooms downstairs, where she had spent almost a quarter of a century. Letting go of the bedroom door handle, she boldly walked across the thick cream-coloured carpet and pushed the mirror closed. Clunk, click. She couldn’t work out why she’d always assumed it was a blank wall behind there. Click, clunk. She opened it and stepped into the large void.
‘What are we having for dinner?’ Adrian’s sharp voice pierced the atmosphere, startling her, as he pulled her back into the bedroom and closed the door.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about the room? Why was it a secret if you had nothing to hide?’
‘It wasn’t a secret – I just didn’t tell you about it. I haven’t used it for years and I sort of forgot about it. Don’t worry yourself, love.’
‘What did you use it for?’
‘For watching a few films, you know. Stuff men like to watch in private.’
Gloria looked at Adrian, seeing someone different, a stranger, much like the house.
‘How did you meet Jason Brunswick?’
Adrian stared at her, his fingers still touching the mirrored glass, leaving oval-shaped smears on the shiny surface. ‘I barely know the man.’
‘Not according to the papers. He’s a coach at your gym.’
‘Oh, that’s right, the bloody tabloids know it all, don’t they?’
‘Adrian, I need you to tell me the truth. The police have found a connection between you and those children. You knew them. You know the girl that’s missing.’
‘Obviously I do, you stupid woman. I own all the sports clubs in the area, including the football team. I see children all day – I’m a talent scout, as well as all the other stuff I do. Don’t you think anyone else has links to them? The police have found no evidence connecting me to their deaths, none whatsoever.’ Adrian grabbed Gloria’s forearms and she flinched. ‘Hey, look, they’re just covering all bases. It’ll all blow over and they’ll be pestering someone else next week. We’ve just got to sit it out. And, when it’s over, I’ll be suing the bastards for defamation of character, and you and I will have a nice holiday while it all gets sorted.’
Adrian pulled Gloria into his arms and squeezed her hard. ‘You can be sure of one thing. That Rita Cannan won’t have a job by the time we get back.’
‘Why her in particular? She didn’t make the arrest.’
‘No, but she’s running the investigation. She’s got previous for pissing me about . . .’ Adrian kissed Gloria on the forehead, a false show of affection, warning her not to ask any more questions. When he left the room and she heard his soft footfall on the stairs, she realised he hadn’t answered her question about Jason Brunswick.
Gloria reached for her phone on the dressing table and sat down on the edge of the bed. She remembered the children who had visited the house, and how Adrian always took them upstairs and into his office, saying he had some sports footage to show them. She’d never questioned it, regardless of what Emma may have said when she was a child. Gloria closed her eyes tightly as her stomach turned, recalling how angry she’d been with Emma.
The office was situated by the staircase leading to the loft conversion where she was now sitting, and Gloria was trying to think if any of them had been led up here instead. Her stomach twisted into a hot, sickly swirl. It didn’t bear thinking about.
‘I’m opening champagne!’ Adrian called up the stairs.
Gloria frowned at his inappropriate gesture as she looked down at the text she’d received from Emma that morning.
You know what he is. It’s time to tell the truth.
Placing the phone by her side, Gloria switched on the large flat-screen television situated on the wall and flicked it on to a news channel, turning down the volume in case Adrian heard.
The news was flooded with more details about the murder of Raymond Hammond. The police were asking for people to come forward with information about Cara Fearon’s disappearance. DCI Rita Cannan’s face filled the screen, and for a brief moment Gloria thought she recognised her, but couldn’t remember where from. It wasn’t her long, striking, dyed-red hair and the thick fringe framing her face; it was her bright-coloured blue eyes and freckled skin that seemed so familiar.
Gloria turned up the volume, distracted by a map that DCI Cannan was holding up to the camera. It was the old football ground, a place the police had now cordoned off and were searching. It was somewhere Adrian talked about a lot. He’d done his football training there as a child and it held special memories for him, so some years ago he’d bought it all. Gloria knew he liked to walk around that area when he was reminiscing.
‘Gloria!’ Adrian shouted up the stairs, making her jump. ‘Are you coming down, I’ve almost finished this bottle!’
Her skin prickled up the side of her neck as she realised the person she’d imagined in her head didn’t exist and had never been the person she’d married.
Gloria turned to see Adrian standing in the doorway. She knew that look. There had been a time when it had filled her with happiness, but now it just made her feel sick.
Adrian sat down on the bed next to her, grabbed her by the hair and shoved his tongue down her throat.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
When the call came in about Howard Fearon, Rita was sitting on the edge of her bed trying to pull herself together following yet another sleepless night. Her boss had told her to take some leave following the awful news about her parents, but Rita had convinced him the best thing for her would be to drown herself in the investigation. Eventually he had agreed, on the condition she concentrated on Operation Ladybird; there was a conflict of interest regarding her parents’ case, not that she wanted to work on it anyway.
‘Say that again?’ Rita mumbled into the phone. It was dutifully repeated for her. ‘On my way.’
Rita’s husband stirred and grumbled, moving across to her side of the bed, but he was gently snoring again before she’d finished getting dressed.
There had been an unexpected breakthrough and Rita needed to get into work. The cadaver dogs had failed to sniff out any bodies in the back garden of Rachel Fearon’s home, except for a beloved pet, but while they’d investigated this potential corpse and dug up the rockery, they’d found a tin box containing some fake passports with Howard Fearon’s name printed on them, along with various insurance documents. Rachel had nothing much to say about it when she was questioned, claiming ignorance as to her husband’s movements. But Rita had assigned an officer to scour the Fearons’ finances and he’d turned up something very interesting.
Rita called DS Nina Hall and, after telling her what had been discovered, arranged to meet her at the Fearons’ house. Rachel wouldn’t think there was anything suspicious going on – Nina was the family liaison officer. Rita grabbed the relevant documents from the police station and made her way over to Rachel’s house, a mild excitement beginning to rise in her stomach.
Slidin
g a copy of the bank statement across the table and allowing Rachel to look at the entries marked in red was wholly satisfying. She’d really grown to dislike the woman.
‘Can you explain to me how you managed to drive all the way to Swansea yesterday, draw out five thousand pounds from your bank account and return within the same day without anyone noticing?’
As expected, Rachel was quiet. ‘Obviously, someone has mugged my account.’
‘I thought you might say that. Can you tell me who this is?’ Rita pushed the tablet towards Rachel to show her a slightly grainy but recognisable photo of Howard staring up at the CCTV camera in the bank.
Rachel sat back in her chair and folded her arms defensively. ‘Don’t know, never seen him before.’
‘Quite a resemblance to your husband, don’t you think?’
‘I think I’d know if that was my husband.’
‘Well, it is your husband, Rachel. He was picked up last night.’
A split second too late for it to be convincing, Rachel clamped her hand over her mouth and screwed her eyes shut. Rita watched her pull a tissue from her sleeve and wipe at some imaginary tears.
‘My husband? You’ve found my Howard?’ Rachel stood up, grabbing the table to steady herself. ‘I can’t believe it. Where has he been all this time?’
It was a terrible display of dramatics.
‘I’m sorry, I need a moment,’ Rachel said. ‘This is too much.’ As Rita watched the woman search for her cigarettes, she glanced across at DS Hall and they simply stared at one another.
Rita followed Rachel to the back door for her smoke. ‘I’d like you to come down to the station to be formally interviewed. I need to tell you that Howard has admitted fraud.’
‘Fair enough.’ Rachel sniffed. When she’d lit her cigarette, she shot a plume of smoke over the garden and said, ‘If I tell you what I know about Adrian Player and Jason Brunswick, will you drop all the charges?’
