Remember, Remember

by Lisa Cutts

  I opened the door that I remembered led to the study. Panic subsiding, thinking more clearly, I was sure I had seen a phone on the desk the day we’d arrested him. I was right: an old-fashioned black telephone with gold trim sat on the leather top of the enormous oak desk in the centre of the room. I ran over to it and put my hand out to pick up the receiver, but my attention flew to something else beside it. Something that hadn’t been here before when we searched.

  Everything stopped.

  When we’d come to arrest Rumbly, I’d watched him from the door of the study as he looked towards a stack of paperwork. But I’d been wrong about his concern. It had had nothing to do with papers.

  I was staring at an old-fashioned wooden police truncheon. A truncheon that had been hit against a surface with so much force, the wood had cracked.

  I heard a moan from the kitchen which jolted me back to reality. Rumbly was scum and deserved to die alone, in pain, on a cold, tiled kitchen floor. But I didn’t get to be judge, jury and executioner. What if I was wrong and this wasn’t, as I suspected, the weapon that had killed Lea?

  My hand was still hovering above the telephone. I could go back into the kitchen, talk Wingsy into leaving with me, take the passport and paperwork back to the station and pretend Rumbly hadn’t been in. We couldn’t say we hadn’t been here at all, because of the black box in the police car.

  Then I did the right thing and called an ambulance.

  76

  Once I had the emergency services on the phone, I shouted to Wingsy to run to the front door and prop it open. I took the phone to the kitchen but the lead was too short and made it impossible to hear what the operator was saying to me. Having only recently assisted with Tommy’s CPR, though, Wingsy knew what he had to do, but he drew the line at mouth-to-mouth.

  Relief flooded every part of me when I heard an ambulance approaching along the nearby streets before coming to a stop on the gravel outside. Two paramedics arrived and took over. Wingsy and I gave them a rapid explanation of what had happened, got out of their way and then I called Harry’s mobile.

  From the kitchen door, I watched them working on him. It took a few seconds for it to register that his blood was seeping across the floor. Initially I thought it had come from his head where he’d hit it on the tiles, but I soon realised from its flow that it was from the veins in his arms. They’d injected him at speed with various drugs so his blood was spreading out over the terracotta flooring. I stood uselessly by while they took him to the front of the house, leaving the paper wrappings from their disposable equipment, and the clothing they’d cut from him, upon the bloodied tiles.

  I’d declined their offer of going with them to the hospital, insisting that I wait for my supervisor. Wingsy had gone out through the front door when the ambulance crew arrived and seemed to be staying clear for the time being. I started to explain that it was our duty to make sure his house was secure and that, once I shut the door, we’d have to force entry. They weren’t listening: my legal powers of search and entry were as interesting to them as Rumbly’s vital signs were to me.

  I wasn’t sure how long I stood in the open doorway. I looked out on to the street, keeping an eye on Wingsy, as well as impatient for Harry to arrive. I didn’t want to go into the empty house with its bloodied kitchen tiles. I also didn’t want to go into the study again on my own. I needed a witness, and it was clear to me that Wingsy wasn’t himself.

  The sound of a cheap, high-mileage diesel car heading my way snapped me to attention. I watched Harry turn into the road and speed towards us. He was out of the car and coming towards me almost before the engine died.

  ‘He’s gone,’ I said.

  ‘What, you mean…?’ said Harry.

  ‘No, no,’ I said. ‘At least, I don’t think so. Come inside. I have something to show you.’

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Harry asked, pointing at Wingsy. ‘Wingnut, stop moping around and get over here.’ Wingsy ambled towards us.

  I led them to the study and turned to face them. ‘Lea Hollingsworth was hit on the head with something like a baseball bat.’ I stepped away from the desk and watched them both as their eyes rested on the police truncheon. Harry’s stubble-covered jaw tightened. Wingsy’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Normally I would tell him how simple he looked. It wasn’t the right time.

  ‘When we were here to arrest Rumbly, I saw him looking over in this direction,’ I said. ‘The truncheon definitely wasn’t here then or we’d have seized it. It must have been concealed in this desk somewhere. And take a look in the fireplace – it looks as though he was about to light a fire.’

  ‘Do you reckon it could be?’ said Harry in hushed tones I’d never heard him adopt before. ‘What connects him to Lea Hollingsworth? Other than possibly her blood all over that.’

  ‘I’m not sure, Harry, but when I was speaking to Joe Bring in prison he told me that her boyfriend owed money for drugs. I’m seeing a very unpleasant pattern emerge with people who upset Leonard Rumbly in some way.’

  He stared at me. I could see him digest the magnitude of what I was saying: there could be more victims. Rumbly had been untouchable for so long, he thought he could act with impunity. That was about to change.

  Then Harry had his phone out of his pocket and was striding to the front door to get a signal in the street. I heard him talking to DI Hammond as he got outside, telling the DI that he wanted a warrant as soon as possible, as well as a search team and an officer with a video camera to film the whole thing, including the fireplace. I heard the beginnings of a row over how we missed it the first time around and Harry hollering that it must have been hidden somewhere, and then the tone changed as Harry began to explain about our earlier requests for information on bodies found in 1964.

  I turned my attention to Wingsy. ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘You look beside yourself.’

  He glanced in the direction of Harry in the doorway, now launched into a conversation about warrants, scene preservation and getting an officer to the hospital as soon as possible. He ran a hand through what was left of his hair.

  ‘We knew we were on a hiding to nothing with Rumbly before today.’ He paused as if unsure whether to carry on. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘the only thing that stopped me talking you into leaving him to die on the floor was the fear of getting caught.’

  I couldn’t look him in the eye.

  Wingsy sighed. ‘Yeah, I know, Nin. I’m ashamed of myself.’

  I couldn’t let him carry this on his own. I took a deep breath and, putting my hand on his arm, said, ‘If you hadn’t been with me, I think I would have done just that. You’re no worse than me. We did the right thing, though, and that’s what matters. If he lives and that truncheon has been used to kill Lea, he’ll probably spend what time he has left in prison. Let’s agree that we don’t ever admit this again. Not to anyone.’

  The last thing I wanted was another secret, but I knew it was safe with Wingsy.

  ‘You two,’ said Harry, having ended his call, ‘when you’ve finished consoling each other, I’ve got some news. I may just make your day.’

  We waited.

  ‘While you two were getting your beauty sleep last night, some of us were working. The DI’s had a call about a woman who went missing in 1964. She was last seen with her boyfriend, according to what’s been uncovered.’

  ‘And?’ asked Wingsy.

  ‘The boyfriend’s name was Withey. Martin Withey. Mean anything to you?’

  77

  Back at the police station. Wingsy and I spent hours putting together our statements about what had happened. We were warned by everyone from Harry to the superintendent that we wouldn’t be working on anything to do with Rumbly and we would be formally spoken to about what had happened in his house. It wasn’t the first time he’d collapsed in my presence, so I was feeling particularly nervous.

  Twice Bill called me to find out what time I was coming home, and twice I told him that I didn’t know.
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br />   Just as I finished the last signature of my statement, the tannoy announced that I had a visitor at the front counter. Wondering why everyone wouldn’t simply leave me alone, I grabbed my pen and notebook and went downstairs to find out who it was.

  The front counter assistant was on the telephone when I poked my head around the door to the station’s foyer. She gestured to a tall, good-looking man standing just inside the main entrance.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, ‘I’m Nina Foster. Can I help you?’

  He looked familiar, although I didn’t think we’d met. I tried to place him but he was like another version of someone else. Other than his looks, I couldn’t fail to notice that he was wearing an expensive blue suit with very shiny shoes.

  ‘I’m Liam Fitzhubert,’ he said. ‘Marilyn’s son. I think you know my half-brother Joe.’

  Hiding my surprise, I said, ‘Let’s go into one of the interview rooms,’ and pointed to the door to his left. We shook hands and sat facing each other at the desk strewn with blank statement sheets and crime prevention leaflets.

  ‘I’ve been to see Joe,’ he began. ‘In prison.’

  ‘I’m glad you added that last bit.’ We both smiled at each other.

  ‘He told me about you and that you’d been to see him a couple of times,’ said Liam.

  I wasn’t going to discuss with a stranger what Joe had told me. I only had this man’s word for it that he was Liam Fitzhubert, although the Bring likeness was most definitely there.

  ‘Yes, I’ve visited him.’

  Liam looked down at the table and thumbed the curly edge of a statement form. ‘He also told me that he was going to give you some names – names of people who may help you prosecute Leonard Rumbly. Joe mentioned something about this man’s criminal past and the stuff he’s still involved in now.’

  He took a deep breath and met my stare.

  ‘No one likes a grass. I don’t move in the same circles as Joe, but I know it won’t make him any friends passing you a list of names. But he’s told me who you need to speak to.’ He paused and reached inside his jacket pocket. ‘I have a list here. How about we say they came from me?’

  He held the list towards me. It was within my grasp. I wanted to shake my head and tell him no, this was a murder enquiry. Instead I took the paper from his hand and unfolded it.

  My eyes ran down the handwritten list. Five names. Joe had told me that he had five or six names to give me. Some were probably dead, but this was more than we’d had moments earlier for the train crash.

  ‘Thank you, Liam. Did Joe offer these names freely?’

  He gave a small laugh, unnatural compared to the rest of him. ‘I had to promise him that I’d take his son away for a week or two. Some sort of boot camp. He told me that Luke doesn’t have any other relations, so I suppose I’m lucky to be able to spend time with him. I thought I might even be able to offer Joe some sort of work when he comes out of prison.’

  I heard this comment with a mixture of surprise and concern. Liam was apparently a successful businessman, so I had been under the impression that he wasn’t a fool when it came to who he employed. ‘What sort of work?’

  ‘Who better to test my security systems than a very successful burglar?’

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him.

  78

  Completing everything I needed to before I went home for the day took much longer than it should have done. Liam and I talked for a while and then I made sure I got a statement from him before he left the building. I knew that I was being overly fastidious in everything I did, but I wanted to hand over properly.

  I was about to leave when I had another call from Bill.

  ‘Hey, hon. You any closer to leaving work?’

  ‘I’m about done. In fact I’m heading out of the door now.’ I grabbed my jacket and bag, fiddling for my car keys as I trotted downstairs, phone held in place by my shoulder.

  ‘You’re definitely coming straight home, though?’

  ‘Yes, I am. Where are my bloody keys? Oh, got them. It’s been a very interesting day. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home I’m so shattered, I’ve taken tomorrow off. We could do something together.’

  ‘OK, then. See you in twenty minutes or so.’

  Outside, it was getting dark. As I drove home, I thought how good it was at the end of the day to be able to talk to someone about my job, the strange things I often dealt with and, most importantly, to be understood. That made me smile. I wasn’t sure what Bill would make of Liam Fitzhubert visiting his half-brother in prison and then coming to see me with evidence against Rumbly, or of the fact that, if we hadn’t investigated a train crash from 1964 with only a shred of evidence, we wouldn’t now be getting closer to charging Rumbly with Lea’s death, plus another from 1964. This was all down to Marilyn, who had told us that the conversation she overheard in Deptford fifty years ago involved the concealment of a woman’s body with head injuries.

  Harry had been right: Leonard Rumbly was getting what was coming to him. Everyone had turned on him, and his empire would be no more.

  I pulled up on the drive and saw movement behind the front room curtain. I got to the door, went inside and called out, ‘I’ve had the strangest day. Wait until I tell you what’s happened. The arrogance of Rumbly, chatting to me and Wings with the murder weapon in the next room and about to burn it. The man is unbelievable.’

  I hung my jacket on the bottom of the banister, dropped my bag and kicked my shoes off. Bill wasn’t in the kitchen so I headed to the living room.

  He was standing in the middle of the room, arms by his sides, chewing the inside of his mouth.

  ‘You’re home,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking… You said you were going to visit your sister soon and I really want to come with you. Why don’t we go tomorrow? Please, don’t say no.’

  I was stuck to the spot. This wasn’t what I’d expected to come home to. I had pictured a night with my boyfriend, explaining all about a murder enquiry and my part in it, how Wingsy and I had saved a man’s life, why Liam Fitzhubert had been to see his half-brother in prison, how I was going to be busier than ever on Cold Case. I hadn’t imagined this when I’d walked through the door. I could see how on edge it was making Bill, and it hit home: perhaps it was time I stopped being so defensive about everything, and tried to put it behind me.

  Morning came round before I knew it. I was dreading taking Bill with me, letting him see the full extent of my misery. I still had to gear myself up to visit my sister every time, and I was aware that, as the journey to the clinic went on, I was saying less and less in reply to Bill’s questions. Eventually, he gave up. I was used to driving over by myself and practising looking pleased to see Sara without really letting on how I was feeling.

  Not today though.

  Bill and I walked towards the home, across the pathway cut through the neat garden. I supposed that I always felt the same way, but now it was different. Despite the warm feelings I had about Bill’s company, they couldn’t completely chase away the chill I felt. I would always have bad memories to keep me company. I lived with the fact that, one day, prison would no longer hold the person responsible for those memories and he could come looking for us. At work I had thousands to watch my back, but, out here, I had got used to feeling lonely.

  Not today, though. Today I wasn’t alone.

  Acknowledgements

  Once again, I’m grateful to everyone at Myriad Editions for their never-ending enthusiasm, encouragement and expertise. Vicky Blunden’s editing and Linda McQueen’s copy-editing skills are truly amazing, although many others at Myriad, especially Candida Lacey, have helped me so much in getting to the final stage. Thank you all.

  Thanks too to my agent, Cathryn Summerhayes at WME, for having so much faith in me.

  There are many others to thank for their assistance with some of the details in the book. PC Adrian Parsons, drugs guru, for his knowledge of all things drug-related, and for steering me in the right directio
n on a couple of technical matters. As they say, any mistakes are definitely mine and not his. I’m also grateful to Caroline Noyes for her assistance with medical procedures and an understanding of liver cirrhosis and its treatment. Again, if I’ve misunderstood her explanations, that is all down to me. My thanks also to DS Andrea Richards from Kent Police’s Cold Case Team and DC Tara Melton for wading through an early draft – it’s much better now than when I subjected you to it, honest!

  And to my husband, Graham, for also reading through many drafts, and to Elizabeth Haynes for taking the time, as ever, to help me out by reading through the book.

  The fruit and vegetable theme in the book came about following a conversation with my dad over a couple of drinks, with him telling me how, before he joined the Metropolitan Police, he would travel with my grandad from the Elephant and Castle to farms in Kent. They’d pick up perishable goods and take them to markets, including the Borough Market. (Joe Bring’s description of the modern-day Borough is very like my grandad’s, except my grandad never swore.) My dad then later bought a greengrocer’s shop in Trundleys Road, Deptford, before joining the Met. All fruit and veg errors are my own, largely due to the conversation being over a fair number of pints.

  One of the best things about my job in Kent Police, other than the satisfaction of a successful investigation, is the team I work with. Apart from their professionalism, their sense of humour has been a sanity-saver on occasions too many to recall. A few of those funny moments and anecdotes have made it in here. I would like to thank DS Andrew Chapman (cat story), DC Chris Coddington (pumpkin poster) and DC Rocky Moan (Sellotape and many others!) for supplying me with a few of them. This is book two in a series, so you never know…

  If you enjoyed Remember, Remember,

  why not read the bestselling first book in the

  DC Nina Foster series, Never Forget.

  For an exclusive extract, read on…

  1976

  Later I would recognise the smell as blood. Much, much later. At the age of five, I had no idea what it was. The room was dark and I was scared. My sister wasn’t moving but her face and clothes felt sticky. I suppose I was panicking, but at that age, with no frame of reference, I wasn’t likely to know that.