Her Sister's Secret

by E. V. Seymour

  No way would I tell him about Charlie Binns. “I visited Heather Bowen,” I said, fudging it.

  He looked genuinely impressed. “Was this before you found out about the lawsuit against your brother-in-law, or after?”

  “Before. She’s no longer going after Scarlet’s estate.”

  “That’s quite a turnaround.” Suspicion narrowed his eyes, but I wasn’t going there. “Even so, doesn’t talking to the opposing side complicate things?”

  “Maybe. I’d hoped she’d tell me something new.”

  “And did she?”

  I revealed highly edited highlights of the conversation. “What do you think?” I finished, shamelessly fishing.

  He didn’t speak for a moment.

  “Heather might be right about how they met, in a professional capacity.”

  “Might have started that way.”

  “But you think it developed into something more. Like this. Us. Naked. Having sex.” Rocco’s eyes locked onto mine. Searching. Urging. “And that’s why she—”

  “I’ve been through this a hundred times. The lovers’ scenario doesn’t stack.”

  “No?”

  “Scarlet wasn’t sentimental. She wasn’t dramatic.”

  “Wasn’t it Sherlock Holmes who said, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth?”

  I twisted round, pinned down by Rocco’s searching gaze. “Huh?”

  “Conan Doyle,” he said, with a ‘where have you been all your life’ expression.

  As I thought about the quotation, a blade of fear shot along my spine, making me gasp with sudden knowledge. “She acted in cold blood.” Isn’t that what contract killers did? I sat up straight.

  “To shut him up.”

  There was a lot of shutting up going on. Someone had wanted to shut Binns up, me too. “She hired the Jeep days before the accident.”

  “For the job.”

  Coming from Rocco’s mouth, it gave it more weight somehow. I baulked at his uncanny ability to say out loud what I most dreaded. “If she’d driven her own car, Bowen would have seen her coming. He would have recognised her. A surgical strike,” I murmured, ignoring the obvious medical pun.

  “Still comes back to the same question,” Rocco said.

  “Yeah” I said, wide-eyed and not a little excited.

  He pressed a knuckle under my chin and tilted my head. Have you spoken to Zach?”

  “Zach?” I shook my head. “My brother isn’t into conspiracy theories.”

  Rocco’s expression sharpened. His mouth twisted, as if I’d insulted him. “You think that’s what it is?”

  “I don’t know.” I spoke quietly. Why was Rocco narky? This wasn’t his problem, wasn’t his brother. “As yet, I don’t have a shred of evidence to support any particular theory.” I realised that I was parroting my father’s words.

  “Then find it.”

  I glared at him. He made something difficult sound easy. I was mourning. I was confused. “Heather said there were no texts, no emails, no phone conversations between my sister and her husband so how did they communicate?”

  “Maybe they used dead drops.”

  “Dead what?”

  “Spies use them.”

  I jumped up. “For goodness’ sake, Rocco. This isn’t a game or an intellectual exercise. I can’t think straight with all your crazy suggestions.”

  “Please don’t get angry, Molly.”

  “Well, shut up then.” I was too rattled to cut him slack.

  Cool and composed, he pulled me back again, ran his fingers lightly down my arm. “Dead drops are messages in hidden places.”

  Like hotels in London? “Next, you’ll be talking about secret codes—”

  “And cut-outs?”

  “As in cardboard?’ I was bewildered. A big grin broke out on his face. It took all the heat out of me. “I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about.” I settled back into him, the shadow of a forgiving smile in my expression. He sneaked an arm around my shoulder.

  “Third parties. So-and-so gives a message to someone who then gives a message to someone else.”

  I had a little think about it, tried the messenger idea out for size, wasn’t sure either way. “Do you really work for MI5?”

  “I wish; simply an interest in espionage. It’s a boy thing.”

  I didn’t know any men like that. Zach wouldn’t— Oh goodness, had Zach acted as a go-between? Is that why Scarlet saw him before she died? “Even if I could establish that they were actively communicating, how am I supposed to find out what Scarlet was allegedly protecting?”

  He flicked a smile. “Allegedly – I use that word all the time at work.” I wasn’t sure what he meant or whether he was taking the piss. He waited a beat. “From what you’ve told me,” Rocco said, “seems the cops are doing a good job of whitewashing. You should talk to your father.”

  Caught up in Zach, I blinked. I already had. It hadn’t ended well. My laugh was as dry as it was cynical.

  Chapter 39

  “What’s that?”

  “Huh?” Consumed by my conversation with Rocco the night before, I’d mentally gone off the reservation. How could I find out more? Wasn’t as if I could give the SIO in charge of the Binns murder case a ring.

  “On you neck?” Lenny said. “Looks like someone tried to throttle you.”

  “It’s nothing.” I’d attempted to disguise the bruising with make-up, obviously not very well.

  “MOL-LY.” Lenny dragged out each syllable. “You’re such a crap liar.”

  “We got a bit frisky.”

  “Frisky?” Lenny’s top lip curled. “Looks more like armed combat. I hope you gave as good as you got.”

  “Yeah. Probably. How did you get on with my aunt?”

  Lenny shot me a ‘we’ll return to this later’ look. “She’s a laugh and drinks like a witch. Travelled to so many interesting places. I hope when I’m her age I can look back on a life like hers.”

  “Glad she has a fan. She’s been driving my parents insane.” To be fair, I had a sneaky admiration for my aunt with her wayward ways and outspoken words.

  “Dusty told me how relieved your parents are now the police have concluded the criminal side of the investigation.”

  I made a non-committal sound.

  “Is it me or do I sense you’re not satisfied?”

  “It’s not you.”

  Lenny frowned big time. “But isn’t this what you wanted? Scarlet in the clear?”

  “What I want and what I need are two very different things.” I told her what Rocco suggested about the police whitewashing.

  “He said what?” Anger lifted off her in lots of tiny sparks.

  “Don’t be like that. He has a point.”

  “He has an opinion and one he is not entitled to have.”

  “Lenny, the police enquiry was rushed as hell.”

  “This guy rocked up like yesterday and now he’s putting a warped spin on a family tragedy. He might be magnificent in the sack, but it doesn’t make him an authority. He didn’t know Scarlet. He hardly knows you.”

  “I get it, but I really—”

  “And you don’t know the first thing about him.”

  “His mother’s dead. I know that much.”

  “Only because he told you.”

  “Oh, so now he’s a liar?”

  “He’s trying to win your trust.”

  “Lenny, that’s paranoid garbage.” Even as I said it, I recognised the several grains of truth in what she said. Did Rocco have a borderline mental disorder, or an unhealthy interest?

  “Is it?” She looked very pissed off indeed. Hurt, too.

  I glanced anxiously towards the front of the shop, noticed a man studying a rather fine clock through the window. I prayed he wouldn’t come in.

  “You’re vulnerable, Molly. It makes me mad to think of him taking advantage of you.” Her eyes locked on to my neck. Automatically, my hand shot
up to shield it. Lenny wasn’t done. “It’s despicable.”

  I stood mute. Lenny shook. The door clanged open. The clock-seeking customer. Underneath slicked back hair; acne scars covered his forehead and cheeks. He had a short blocky, powerful build and a flat head you could land a helicopter on. Grey-blue eyes, the colour of wet Welsh slate met mine. Although I didn’t know him, I nodded back. Somehow it seemed important. He didn’t speak. He wasn’t a browser. The way he picked up one item and then another spoke of someone that understood what he was doing and was possibly involved in the trade. Normally, I’d have ventured over and made nice, but a force field of aggression surrounded him and a deep dark part of me registered that an approach was not advisable. Fortunately, he didn’t stay long, and I was relieved to see the back of him.

  Lenny and I didn’t talk for two hours. No sooner than the shop emptied, it filled back up. Irony of ironies, Lenny sold a couple of pieces from Rocco’s collection, a small side table and jardinière. I racked up an old school trunk, a music stand and ‘Boris’ the bear; a middle-aged man wanted to put him in the foyer of a restaurant.

  “Sad to see him go,” Lenny said as Boris was carted unceremoniously out on a sack truck.

  “Yeah.”

  She pulled at a thread on her T-shirt. “About earlier.”

  “It’s forgotten.”

  “It’s only—”

  “You don’t need to spell it out or apologise.” My smile was feeble. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, Lenny.”

  Chapter 40

  Both Mum and Dad’s cars were in the drive, together with a black BMW I didn’t recognise. It had black tinted windows, seemingly impenetrable. Steeling myself to go inside, I called Zach.

  “Hi, Molls.” Typically, he’d forgotten our spectacular fallout.

  “You sound up.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s a lovely evening and I’ve spent a nice day with Chancer.” Music with a grinding beat pummelled through the phone line.

  “Hellooo,” Chancer boomed. “Or rather goodbye. Kiss. Kiss.”

  “Daft fucker,” Zach said.

  “Is he drunk?”

  “Hang on, Moll.”

  There were lots of muffled noises, which I equated to manly hugs, back slapping and ‘See you laters.’

  “That’s better,” Zach said. “He’s gone.”

  Good. This wasn’t the kind of conversation I wanted to have with Chancer earwigging. “Are you up to speed with the police investigation?”

  “Spoke to Mum last night. Sounded a bit tiddly.” Did she sound anything else after 8 p.m.? “Seems the pigs have called a halt.”

  “Don’t refer to the police like that, especially not in front of Dad.”

  “But I’m not talking to Dad. I’m talking to you.”

  I scratched my chin. Zach could be so maddening. “What else did she say?”

  “That it was all over and the funeral is planned for end of next week.”

  I blinked. It was rare for Zach to have the drop on me when it came to family information. I took a huge breath, as if wading out into a cold sea. “What if it’s not all over?

  “I don’t follow.”

  “What if the police got it wrong?”

  “Molly,” Zach snorted.

  “What if Scarlet knew Bowen.”

  “We’ve been through all this.” He gave an irritated sigh.

  “Please, Zach, listen.”

  He paused for a few moments, thinking how to slide out of the conversation. I pounced before he had the chance.

  “What if Bowen had something on her? What if she wanted to shut him up?” Stealing a line straight from the Rocco Noble school of vocabulary.

  “Are you cracked?”

  This was good coming from my brother. “Hear me out.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “You don’t want to understand what made our sister do what she did?”

  “If she did. And if you’re right, I definitely don’t want to know.”

  “Coward.”

  “Drama Queen.”

  “Talking to you is like talking to a pile of bricks.”

  “Ditto.”

  I glanced across, caught sight of Mum, standing close to the window. She looked angry and was jabbing the air with a finger, mouthing words I couldn’t read to someone I couldn’t see. When she turned on her heel, a man’s hand, not my Dad’s, caught her arm, which she wrenched away.

  “Are you still there, Molly?”

  “Sorry, yeah. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “Curiosity killed the moggy.”

  Everywhere I turned I came up against invisible walls. The only person who took me seriously at the moment was Rocco Noble. And Lenny was right. That was worrying.

  “Speak to you later.” I hung up, my gaze fused to the window and whoever was in the room with my mother, but out of view. Concerned, I opened the car door, my eyes never leaving the curious story unfolding in front of me. That’s when I saw Dad. He was patting the air with his palms in a calming gesture. He didn’t seem angry and I got the impression that Mum was standing in between him and someone else. I wondered if it was a police officer.

  Dad said something over Mum’s head to whoever was in the room and then addressed her directly. I blinked, stared harder. Dad seemed to be remonstrating with my mother. I didn’t know what to make of it, other than it was nothing good.

  The prickly exchange with my father remained fresh in my mind. I wasn’t sure I could take any more family drama. Although I longed to discover the identity of the mystery man and the reason for the row, cowardice got the better of me.

  Feeling exposed and as if I shouldn’t be there, I slunk back into the car, switched on the engine, turned around and drove back down the drive before anyone would notice. I needed my own space, where nobody could touch me, not even my own family and friends.

  Chapter 41

  “Will you do a Bible reading?”

  “No way.”

  “Please.”

  “Nate, I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t believe in God.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  I was in the car, on speakerphone, turning off the motorway at junction ten for Cheltenham. I glanced out of the window. Someone had messed with the sign again at ‘Uckington’.

  Last thing I needed was Nate cajoling me into doing something I shouldn’t. That slot was already bagged.

  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold it together. Ask Fliss. She’d be much better at that sort of thing.” More polished, more sorted, Fliss would do a brilliant job. I pictured her dressed in dramatic black, her dress designed to flatter her figure, long hair tied back, beautifully made up to achieve that no make-up, natural effect, a fine portrait of dignified and contained distress. I’d be lucky to get through the ceremony without bawling my eyes out, a shuddering red-eyed snivelling heap of humanity.

  He brightened considerably. “Not a bad idea. It’s been a nightmare to organise.”

  I understood what he meant but he sounded like a guy planning a team-building day. Bastard.

  “I’ve asked Zach to sort the music.”

  “Are you out of your tiny mind?”

  “I thought it would be nice to involve everyone.”

  Bringing along your mistress too? “As long as you don’t mind Babyshambles or, God help us, rap, I guess it will be fine.”

  “Hmm. Maybe I should have a word.”

  “Where’s the funeral to be held?”

  “I want it here. Your mum prefers Malvern.” Perhaps that explained the source of aggro last night, although it didn’t explain the presence of the BMW driver. “In fact, she wants to organise the whole thing. What do you think?”

  I crashed the gears and juddered from third to second instead of moving up to fourth. My nerves felt on fire. “You’re seriously asking me?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Let Mum have her wish and, don’t
forget, the second this is over you’re toast.”

  “Molly, for Chrissakes—”

  I hung up and drove through town, skirting the college and hospital and out towards Hales Road.

  “You, again.”

  It wasn’t the warmest of welcomes and I couldn’t really blame her. This time, Heather Bowen kept me standing on the threshold. With all the traffic whizzing past, it was difficult to speak and hear.

  “Why did you change your mind about suing my sister’s estate?”

  “Why do you think?” Her smile was thin. She glanced over my head at the houses opposite.

  “Someone warned you off?” My blood froze at the possible implications.

  “Not in so many words.”

  “Who?”

  “My family liaison officer and, off the record, your brother-in-law’s.”

  “Warren Childe?”

  “Correct.”

  “Not Roger Stanton?”

  “Stanton is Childe’s boss, but, no. I mean have you met the man?” she said with the faintest suggestion of a smile. “Never say never, but Stanton is a pedantic sod. Incorruptible,” she said, as if breathing new life into the word. A clammy hand of fear pressed against the lower part of my back. Whitewash was one thing, corruption another. Is this what we were talking about? I listened hard, waited for Scarlet’s ghostly breath on my face but there was nothing.

  “I was also told again categorically that the bracelet didn’t belong to your sister.”

  “Then who did they say it belonged to?” Without doubt, it was Scarlet’s. I’d recognise it anywhere.

  “I’m not sure they looked that hard.”

  Could the police have found a more compelling reason to act in this way, I wondered, one they were hiding from both families?

  “You said that Richard didn’t have close friends.”

  “Correct.”

  “But he got on fine with colleagues.”

  Heather shifted her stance. Her eyelids fluttered with impatience.

  “Did he have any contacts in the MET?”

  “One.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The best man at our wedding, but we haven’t seen him in years.”

  “His name wasn’t Neil Judd by any chance?” The officer and SIO handling the Charlie Binns murder investigation.