by Gwyn GB
'I do hope you're careful with these people,' her mum interjected.
'It's fine mum, I wouldn't be allowed to put myself in danger.'
'You think he murdered both those men?' her dad questioned.
'He certainly didn't do the deed himself, we are convinced that's a professional job, but too early to say yet if he's our man.'
'Anyone I know?' her dad continued, 'there's a fair few scoundrels from the old days who are still around.'
'Dad you know I can't discuss a case with you.'
There was a moment's silence and as usual her mum filled the void.
'So Theresa is going to take me out for a drive Saturday and I'm going to show her all the places we used to go to. Do you think you'll get any time off to join us love?' Her mum looked at her with hope.
'I'm so sorry mum but not this weekend. We've got to crack on with this. I'm not likely to get any time off until next week.' Claire felt awful having to say no to her mother constantly. 'I promise, I'll make sure I get some time off and we'll do stuff before I go back.'
Her mum nodded and gave her a smile.
For a few moments they sat in silence while Claire finished her meal. It was cottage pie, one of her favourite childhood dinners. She hadn't had a good cottage pie since she was last home.
Claire put the plates into the dishwasher and took the Pyrex dish that had contained the cottage pie, to the sink. She started to wash that and the pan her mother had cooked the potatoes in.
'You don't have to do that love,' her mum came up behind her. 'You've had a long day at work, I can do that.'
'It's alright, it's quite therapeutic really.' Claire paused for a moment, 'How have you been feeling lately mum?'
'How have I been feeling? Why do you ask love?'
Claire didn't know quite how to put it, she felt awkward, didn't want to suggest to her mother that she thought she might be getting dementia. 'I don't know, you seem a bit... tired sometimes,' she suggested.
Her mum looked down at the pan she was drying in her hands.
'Yes, I saw Dr Fitzwilliam a couple of weeks ago...'
Claire's dad arrived back into the kitchen with his mug and headed to the dishwasher. Her mum clammed up. He started to bang around and then took things out of the dishwasher and moved some of the plates and cups.
'Who put that there? Why is it I seem to be the only one who can load this dishwasher properly?' He pushed the dishwasher door shut and glared at them both, then walked out.
'Well, it's the only thing he does do round the house so he should do it properly,' her mum smiled at her.
It's the first time Claire had seen her mum say a word against her dad and she smirked back at her.
'Sorry you were saying about the doctor?' she prompted her again.
'Oh not now, I'll tell you about it another time.'
Claire didn't get a chance to argue because her mum headed out the kitchen to the sitting room. She was sure she had been going to tell her something important.
There was something else Claire was sure about. When she got into the sitting room, her handbag was on the chair where she'd dumped it as she’d walked in. However, the reports she'd printed out were no longer tucked neatly into the back pocket, they had been hastily shoved in. She looked at her dad. He was staring at the television, refusing to look at her. She couldn't believe he would do a thing like that, but there was no way those papers had been there when she’d left them. What had he read? Surely he wouldn't do anything to compromise her case?
Claire waited for her mother to go to bed, she didn't want to upset her. By the time her mum climbed the stairs, her anger had increased in intensity – would he really break her trust like that?
'You read my papers,' she accused him.
Her dad turned round from the TV to look at her, 'I was a police officer before you were even born.'
'That doesn't matter, you are not a police officer now and you are not working this case. You know you shouldn't have read these papers. You could compromise a conviction and lose me my job. I can't believe that you did that.'
He said nothing for a few moments. 'Well maybe you need a good dose of common sense in that team of yours because there is no way James Parkin is the man you're looking for. He's a well-respected man, the former Captain of our golf club and it's ludicrous that you think he's involved in insider dealing. Why would he do that? He's got money, what would he risk it all for?'
'Oh my God, can you hear yourself? You are going to get me sacked,' Claire's heart was thumping in her chest and her head throbbed. Visions of her father giving James Parkin a call or pulling him aside in the golf club, flashed through her mind.
'Give me some credit,' her dad snapped, 'I'm not going to go and tell the man. I'm just letting you know that you've got it wrong. There is no way he's guilty. All your modern technology isn't doing you any good what so ever. Common sense would tell you it's not him.'
Claire was still glaring at him, speechless.
'I am an adult, you have completely over-stepped the boundaries here. I'm not a child anymore and those papers were confidential police information in my private bag.'
'I told you, I won't say anything to him - or anyone else.' Her dad got up now and flicked the TV off. 'Just take note of what I've said and stop looking at me like that young lady. Now get to bed and maybe in the morning you'll see some sense.'
With that he walked out of the sitting room and up the stairs leaving Claire open-mouthed. How could he talk to her like that? What right did he have to pry at papers which he knew were confidential and to then tell her what to do? She was fuming. Tired though she was, there's no way she could possibly get to sleep feeling this angry and wound up. She wasn't even sure she could stay in the house anymore, but if she left it would really upset her mother.
A million scenarios were flashing through her mind. Bob had arrived tonight and if her dad said a word to James Parkin, or any of their friends, then it was going to be obvious it had come from her. She could not only kiss goodbye to her promotion, but she could kiss goodbye to her job in Serious Crime. If she was really lucky they'd just put her back in uniform, but there was a chance they could even charge her.
Upstairs Claire heard her dad slip into sleep and start to snore. Despite her eyes feeling like they could fall out of her head she was buzzing with anger, a tornado of frustration inside of her. She picked up the reports and started to read them herself. See exactly what information her dad now knew, and do what she’d originally intended to do, which was to get up to speed on all areas of the case. Sleep would be a long time coming for Claire.
28
Claire, Friday 10th November 2017, Jersey
Claire didn't sleep well, not surprisingly. She went to bed absolutely fuming, but felt stuck between trying to keep her mum happy and telling her dad what she thought of him. She toyed with the idea of just having it out with him, saying things which she'd been wanting to say for years. Her mum might be upset for a bit, but maybe she'd be OK about it, maybe she'd even agree with her.
When she got up at six thirty the next morning, her dad was still in bed. Claire's mum met her on the landing as she came out the bathroom, still in her nightie and dressing gown.
'Are you going off to work love?' she asked her.
'Yes, 'fraid so mum. I need to get in on time as my boss from the UK is over.'
'How about I make you a nice omelette to get you going?'
'That would be lovely actually, thank you.' Claire smiled at her mum. She did fancy an omelette and she also knew that her mother enjoyed fussing over her a bit. If she was going to cause a big rift with her dad, then maybe she should smooth the waters with her mother first.
'Come down now then and I'll put the kettle on too.'
A few minutes later, Claire found her mum in the kitchen standing staring at the frying pan. On the worktop was a box of eggs, some flour, milk and butter. She didn't react when Claire came into the kitchen.
'You alrigh
t mum?'
Her mother turned, and Claire was instantly worried by the look on her face. She looked like she was about to burst into tears, a mix of fear and confusion taking it in turns to wave across her features.
'Mum? What's wrong?' Claire crossed to her, touching her on the arm and looking around for what might have caused her distress.
'I was going to make an omelette wasn't I?'
'Yes,' Claire answered, not quite sure where this was going.
'I can't remember what goes in it. Do I put flour in?'
'No, that's pancakes mum,' Claire's voice softened. 'Why don't we do it together?'
Her mother looked at her and nodded.
If she wasn't sure before, Claire was definitely sure now. Her mother wasn't right, could it be dementia, or something else? Right now wasn't the time to ask as she was already upset, but it was clearly something that needed addressing asap.
Together they beat the eggs and a little milk, and Claire grated in some cheese for extra flavour. Mushroom omelette was her favourite, but she couldn't see any mushrooms in the bottom of the fridge and besides, she didn't want to complicate things.
Once her mother was cooking the omelette, the confusion and upset seemed to fade away and she started to chat about inane things as though some weird fugue had just lifted from her. Claire decided that although, right now, she could kill her dad, she was going to have to park telling him what she really thought of him and instead go and warn him that her mother wasn't herself and he needs to keep an eye on her.
When Claire got back upstairs she found her dad coming out of the bathroom, already fully dressed as though he was going out.
'I think mum's not very well,' she said to him, completely monotone. She tried to remain polite while inside she was busting to have a go at him.
'She seemed fine first thing,' he said to her, a defiance in his tone.
'Dad she just got confused about how to make an omelette, I'm worried about her.'
'She's absolutely fine, just a bit of old age forgetfulness in the early morning that's all.'
'I don't think that's just it, I think you need to keep an eye on her.'
'Can't today, I've got things to do,' he replied curtly. 'She'll be fine.'
With that he went downstairs and Claire was left throwing daggers in his back. Another thing to add to her responsibilities now, she could worry about her mother as well as whether her dad was going to blurt out or do something that would ruin her career.
Claire picked up Bob on the way into the office. He was staying at the Pomme d'Or Hotel, just across from the Royal Yacht. It brought back memories of just a couple of evenings before.
'How's it all going?' he asked.
'As well as can be expected. Annoyed we couldn't prevent Terry's death but he was adamant that he'd be fine. There were a few who thought he was our perp, not the next victim. The team here are doing all they can to support.'
'Good, let's hope the financial trail will lead to our killer, although we still don't have a clear motive.'
'No. We've been building up a picture of David's life, still going through the list of clients. We know Terry was a link, but so far there's no other obvious leads besides James Parkin.'
'And how are you doing?' Bob asked.
'I'm fine.'
'Good to be back and see your parents?'
Claire's heart froze, she knew he couldn't know anything about what happened last night, but she was terrified her dad would say something.
'Yes,' she lied, 'although I'm not sure my mum is all that well. It will be good to have a couple of days off once we've closed this case. Spend a bit of time with her.'
'I'm sure that will be no problem at all,' Bob smiled at her now, warmly.
Claire left Bob to meet the team at the Jersey police headquarters. She'd got two appointments booked that morning with Melanie's friends from the school ball committee who were meeting at the Parkin's house the day of the phone call. Perhaps one of them could explain why Terry was called that morning.
She was driving towards Trinity, where Deborah and Chris Lawson lived, heading up towards the Durrell Zoo site, when a blue Ford Focus hire car pulled out from one of the side roads in front of her. She was like a terrier dog with a squirrel, all thoughts of her current case went out of her head. It was the same type of car she thought she saw Rachel driving. Claire strained to see the driver, but their head was blocked by the seat head rest. Someone else was in the car too, front passenger side. She had to follow her. Claire glanced at the car clock, she was due at the Lawson house in ten minutes, she'd just have to be late.
The blue Ford Focus carried on along the winding road until it got on the straight towards the Zoo entrance. Result, it indicated left and drove into the zoo. Claire followed, holding back a little way so she wasn't seen. If this was Rachel she could finally find out what happened back in London, discover why she was drugged, why she didn't seem to want to be found.
The car park was relatively quiet, a week day off-season, so the car slowly headed up towards the zoo entrance and parked. Claire stopped a row back and waited, holding her breath, for the occupants to get out. She saw a flash of pale hair as the door swung open, an arm, and then the elderly, grey haired driver stood up, stretched his back and spoke to the woman passenger who looked the same age and was presumably his wife. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t Rachel. Claire's stomach plummeted, disappointment knocking the wind from her.
Of course there were lots of hire cars like this in Jersey, the hire companies even sold them on to locals after they'd done a few seasons. She thumped the driver's wheel and pulled off. This obsession with Rachel was driving her crazy. She had to stop it, had to get her out of her system.
The Lawson house was a big granite farmhouse, renovated for modern times. A sanitised farm, neat lawns, sand blasted granite and a hay barn turned into a double garage. A farm like this would have probably had Jersey cows grazing in the fields surrounding it. Now the fields awaited the Jersey Royal planting season in January or February. Silent, odourless plants which don't require milking twice daily.
Claire pulled up next to a black Range Rover, got out of her car and headed towards the front door. It opened before she'd rung.
'Hi,' said the pretty blonde woman in front of her. She was incredibly thin, Claire would say her jeans were teenage girl size, and although at a guess she'd be in her late thirties still, she had clearly already resorted to Botox. The woman smiled at her, but her face didn't move. Rubber lips in an emotionless mask. Claire guessed that the days she'd spent toasting herself in the Jersey sunshine, had taken their toll on her skin.
'DI Claire Falle,' she showed her ID and extended a hand.
'Deborah Lawson, come in.'
Claire entered the hallway. Straight ahead she could see into a beautiful kitchen which looked bright and welcoming even in the November gloom. Deborah showed her to the right and a large sitting room. At one end was a desk and Apple Mac computer, and at the far end were patio doors which looked out on to a large back garden. The patio led to a pool with a white marble surround and a marble bust at each corner. The pool was covered over for the winter and a few autumn leaves were scattered on its surface. Off to the left was a pool house, BBQ area and what looked like one of those fire pits. She could appreciate what a great entertaining space it must be in the summer.
Deborah went off to fetch a latte, leaving Claire to guess if she had a matching machine to Melanie's. While she'd gone, she wandered around the room. Here there were plenty of family photographs. Deborah with a young girl, two much older children and an older man. He looked to be in his fifties, the other kids well into their teens. She'd bet that Deborah was the second marriage. She wondered what happened to the first, traded in for a younger model possibly? Perhaps that explained why Deborah was already on the Botox, she didn't want history repeating itself. There were endless photos of the little girl, or just the three of them, Deborah, husband and daughter. Maybe the older kids h
ad flown the nest, maybe the cuckoo had pushed them out. Anyone could be excused for having a complex if there were that many photos of your younger sister and so few of you.
'I won't keep you long,' Claire explained to Deborah when she returned.
'That's OK, I've never been questioned by a police officer before,' her lips smiled back at her.
'I wanted to ask you about last Tuesday, when you were round Melanie Parkin's house for one of your school committee meetings.'
'Oh yes, we're organising the ball this year, it's going to be so exciting. We've managed to persuade a famous comedian to come and entertain us, we've got to pay him of course, but the money we raise in the auction will be worth it.'
Claire wondered what an expensive private school might need to raise funds for, but she said nothing about that.
'During that morning, somebody telephoned a Terry Morgan, could that have been you?'
'Terry Morgan, I don't think so. Not sure I know any Terry's. We called the marquee hire company and the wine shop, does he work there?'
Claire shook her head.
'No, he's a stockbroker.'
Deborah almost recoiled at the notion.
'Oh no, then absolutely no idea sorry. Wrong number maybe?'
'Could you tell me exactly who was there that morning?' Claire wanted to see if her list tallied with Melanie's.
'Oh yes, there was me, Melanie of course, Anna Scott, Suzette Major and Jane Carter.'
'No one else?'
'Nope, we're the ball committee.'
'Could any one of the others have made that phone call without you knowing?'
'Well yes I guess. You'd have to ask them, we weren't always all together every second.'
Claire realised that piecing together the whereabouts and therefore opportunity to make that phone call, was going to be tricky. She'd have to interview every one of them and see who could have had the best chance and the motive.
As Claire got up to leave, she looked once again at the photographs all around the room. 'You have a lovely family,' she said to Deborah, fishing.
