For Better, For Worse

by Jane Isaac

  ‘You think. You don’t know exactly?’

  Beth ignored her chipped tone. ‘We didn’t hear it arrive. Didn’t see anyone. I inspected the front and rear of the property every half an hour, throughout the night, and it was clear every time. The last time I checked, before it arrived, was 4 a.m.’ She read out the Latin version, followed by the generic translation. ‘“Justice renders to everyone his due.” We’ve had it examined for fingerprints and also DNA, but it’s clean. There’s no stamp or postmark, confirming it was hand-delivered. I tried to source the paper and envelope, but there’s nothing remarkable about them. They’re a brand stocked in thousands of outlets across the country, including supermarkets. The font on the letter is a standard one too, readily available on Microsoft.’

  ‘What about Gina Ingram?’ Andrea snapped.

  ‘She’s been quiet for most of the day,’ Warren said. His West County accent sounded musical in the large room. ‘She hasn’t used the phone or shown any interest in leaving the house.’

  Andrea let out a long sigh. ‘Okay, Shaun Nash’s alibi has been confirmed and he’s been released on bail while we look into his background. The surveillance crew have only been watching Gina for eight hours, so we’ll keep them in place for a while longer. From her neighbours’ accounts, we know the Ingrams argued a lot over the past few weeks, including on the day of the murder. There was clearly some animosity between the two of them. We can’t ignore the possibility that she and Nash may have colluded and planted the note to divert our attention elsewhere. I’m going to request surveillance on him too.’

  Andrea pressed another button. The screen behind her went blank. ‘Right, let’s step things up a gear now. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that we’re up against the clock. The press are clambering at our door. Let’s get every lead, every note, every comment from the public appeal followed up, and quickly. In view of the history and press interest, the chief constable himself is showing a personal interest in this one. We can’t afford for anything to be missed.’

  18

  Beth clicked the back gate closed behind her and wandered into her sister’s kitchen.

  It had been a frustrating evening. The camera footage clearly showed it was neither Gina Ingram nor Shaun Nash driving the Jaguar and inquiries into their personal affairs hadn’t, so far, thrown up any inconsistencies that might suggest guilt. They were nearly forty-eight hours into a murder investigation with no clear motive or suspect in sight, just a grainy CCTV image.

  ‘Auntie Beth!’ Lily shrieked. Milk slopped over the top of her mug, spilling onto the tabletop as she cast it aside and rushed over to her aunt.

  ‘Hey,’ Beth said, folding her niece into her arms. ‘That’s a lovely welcome.’

  ‘You’re late,’ Eden said, grabbing a cloth and wiping up the spilled milk.

  ‘I couldn’t get away.’ She ruffled Lily’s hair. ‘There was no answer at the front.’

  ‘We were about to give up on you.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She directed the apology at her niece.

  Lily looked up at her. ‘Are you finished work now?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Yay!’ Lily grabbed her aunt’s arm and led her across to the table.

  ‘I love those jammies,’ Beth said, tugging at the cuff.

  Lily ran her hand over the dolphin on the front. ‘They’re my favourite.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. They’re gorgeous.’ A member of the local swimming club, Lily was a competitive swimmer, like Beth had been in her younger years, and was drawn to anything remotely connected to water. ‘When do your galas start again?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Not for another couple of weeks.’

  Eden, who was now wiping down the kitchen side, stopped to scrape at a mark. ‘How are you?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘How was your day?’

  ‘All right. The usual.’ Eden continued to wipe down the side, moving across to the drainer. The cloth squeaked as it slid back and forth against the gleaming surface.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No.’

  Beth heaved a sigh. She’d grown accustomed to her sister’s irascible mood swings. Her gaze rested on a pile of yellow cards on the corner of the table. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It’s a pyramid for my Egypt project at school. Mummy’s helping me. But we can’t get the sides to stick.’

  ‘Let me see.’ She pulled the pieces towards her and turned them over in her hands, praising their efforts. ‘It only needs a little trimming and maybe some dots of that superglue Mummy has on those corners.’ The child beamed at her. They worked together, cutting the card to size and pairing it at the corners. Eden joined them with the glue. Before she knew it, an hour had passed. It reminded Beth of when they were young and they used to sit at the kitchen table and help their mother bake. Opaque images of a woman bustling around the kitchen, checking the oven while they stirred mixtures and licked out bowls at the table drifted into her mind. Always the three of them. And since her mother died, they were three again: her, Eden and Lily.

  Beth let go of the last edge she’d been squeezing until the glue dried and the structure stood firm.

  ‘That’s great!’ The child climbed down from her chair and enveloped her aunt into a hug. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ Eden said. ‘Art was never my forte.’

  For the first time in ages, Beth noticed Eden’s face slacken.

  ‘Well, you guys had already done the groundwork. Anyway,’ she said, looking at her sister. ‘What did you want to see to me about?’

  ‘We wanted to talk to you about Mum’s birthday next week,’ Eden said. ‘Lily was thinking of having a picnic if the weather’s okay, perhaps at the graveyard. If not, we could visit Mum’s grave, leave some fresh flowers for her and eat back here.’

  ‘That’s a lovely idea,’ Beth said. The child beamed as she placed an arm around her shoulders.

  ‘It would need to be about four o’clock though. Lily has a party in the evening.’

  Freeman’s statement, cancelling all leave, and Andrea’s earlier demands pressed on her. But the birthday was several days away. Things could be so different by then. ‘I’ll see if I can get a couple of hours off.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ Eden said with a faint smile.

  *

  Remembering she needed milk, Beth stopped off at the shop on her way back home later that evening. The wind had picked up, injecting an icy chill into the evening air as she left the car. She tugged her jacket across her chest and strode across the car park.

  Mawsley Store was one of those village shops that stocked a wide variety of those last-minute essentials residents might run out of. Beth wandered past the shelves stocked with tins and preserves, past the shampoos and household wares, and halted at the fridges at the back of the store. She was about to pull a container of milk down from the shelf when a familiar voice sounded behind her.

  ‘No, get me two bottles. I might have company.’

  She’d recognise that steely tone anywhere. The fridge door juddered to a close as Beth swung around and came face to face with Kyle Thompson.

  He’d aged a bit since she’d picked him up in her early days in the force for handling stolen goods, his frame thickened. Kyle had started his affair with the criminal fraternity when he was young: shoplifting and stealing cars to order. By his early twenties he’d served several prison sentences, the most recent of which was for aggravated burglary when the eighty-seven-year-old woman was beaten over the head and her life threatened. Since his release, he’d purportedly managed Starling’s Bar in town and was connected to the local casino, although he’d recently been linked to a gang leader and reams of intelligence suggested he was also heavily involved in a drugs ring.

  He’d also been the object of Eden’s recent affections.

  Beth’s stomach dropped. Her sister had broken up with Kyle a little over a month ago, a decision forced upon her by Eden’s ex-husband, al
so a cop. When he’d discovered their association, he’d threatened to fight for full custody of Lily unless she ended the relationship. It was understandable: if their intelligence was to be believed, Kyle Thompson was spreading his wings in the criminal fraternity and could only be a negative influence on Eden and Lily. Eden was indignant when Beth found out about the relationship and challenged her, claiming it was all over, affronted at Beth’s intrusion. But Eden was deep, she’d kept her personal life close since she was a child, never sharing who she was with and where she was going, a fact that had driven their late mother to distraction. It was impossible to be certain whether or not they were still seeing each other, and Kyle’s presence here, in their local shop, unnerved her. Last she heard, he was living on the other side of Northampton.

  Kyle Thompson stood tall. There was none of the low-slung jeans and logo’d hoodies of his younger years. He was dressed in dark denims that hugged his thighs. A crisp white shirt was open-necked beneath a navy jacket; shiny brogues clad his feet.

  ‘Hello, Beth,’ he said.

  Another man, dressed similarly, stood beside him wearing sunglasses, despite the darkness outside.

  ‘What are you doing here, Kyle?’ Beth asked.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  She scrunched her eyes. ‘In Mawsley. It’s not your regular haunt.’

  He took his time to reply, licking his lips, rubbing them together. He was clearly enjoying the conversation far more than Beth. ‘I live here.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes. On the main road. Moved in a week ago.’ He spread his arms out wide. ‘Meet your new neighbour.’

  Beth’s stomach plunged to new depths. Kyle Thompson living in Mawsley Village, around the corner from Eden and within a stone’s throw from her own house, was the last thing she needed right now. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Believe what you like. I’ve got a nice place. Detached. You’ll have to come by some time.’

  His friend sniggered. Beth glared at him, her reflection staring back at her in his mirrored shades.

  ‘So, you’d better be all nice and neighbourly,’ Kyle said. He leaned in close. ‘Oh, but you can’t, can you, Detective? Because you’re not supposed to be near me.’

  Beth reeled. When her sister’s association with Kyle broke, it sparked an internal investigation into her conduct by Professional Standards. It was routine in the police; they needed to confirm she hadn’t been compromised. But the investigation was confidential to the force. How the hell did Kyle know about it?

  His gaze was fixed on her. What had Eden seen in him? Beth gritted her teeth. Stood her ground. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘No? I doubt that.’

  Seconds flitted past. Neither moved. ‘Let me give you some advice,’ Beth said eventually. ‘Stay away from my sister. And stay away from me.’

  He pulled back and laughed. ‘Well, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?’ he said.

  Beth watched him at the till, all swanky, as if he owned the entire village, and felt an urge to go over and sink a fist into his gut. She’d heard him and his team were the target of a new operation, concentrating on reducing drug-related crime in the county. But he was slippery, careful to keep himself from the frontline, and, so far, he’d evaded arrest. Her chest heaved. She was about to turn back to the fridge to collect the milk when Kyle’s friend lifted his glasses onto his head and flicked through the notes he took from his pocket, tearing off a couple. Beth peered around the end of the aisle. His friend looked familiar. She was convinced she’d seen him before. But where?

  19

  Beth cradled the warm mug in her hands and stared out of the kitchen window into the murky darkness. It was nearly 5 a.m. and she’d been awake for the past two hours, stuck somewhere between Saturday night and Sunday morning, her body clock confused after switching from nights to days.

  The chance meeting with Kyle yesterday evening slipped in and out of her mind. Did Eden know he’d moved to their village? Were they back together? It would explain her edgy attitude when Beth arrived at her house yesterday, but then Eden was often difficult. If she didn’t know, she’d certainly find out soon and, with him living close by, the possibility of them bumping into each other on a regular basis didn’t bode well for a future of keeping them apart.

  But there was something else about the exchange with Kyle that was niggling her. The man with him. Where had she seen him before? She grabbed her phone and opened the photos.

  She bypassed the pictures of Lily, proudly holding her finished school project earlier that evening, and scrolled down. The next images were of Jason Carter at the cafe yesterday afternoon. She worked her way through and rested on the person he met, enlarging the picture. It was taken off-centre and only caught Carter’s associate’s profile. The next picture was clearer. She slid her fingers across the screen, made it larger and sat back in her chair. She knew she’d seen him before. Kyle’s friend was the same person who’d met Jason Carter in the afternoon. Phoebe said Jason was doing viewings on the other side of the county, yet he’d met this man at a cafe, only twenty minutes from his home. Who was he, and why was Jason meeting him?

  She was still holding onto her phone, mulling this over, when her mobile erupted into a ring, startling her. She clicked to answer.

  ‘Don’t you sleep?’ Nick’s voice sounded louder than usual at that time of the morning.

  Beth couldn’t resist a chuckle. ‘Looks like I’m not the only one. Are you at the station already?’

  ‘I haven’t left. I’ve been poring over the Moss file.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There’s been a development. It’s directly linked with the hit and run incident on Stuart Ingram.’

  ‘What? I thought the second murder was drugs-related.’

  ‘So did I, initially. But forensics found a note last night, mixed in with the victim’s post on the kitchen side. It matches the one sent to the Ingrams, same words, same font, same type of paper used. I need your help. Can you get over here?’

  ‘I’ll be with you in half an hour.’

  *

  Beth arrived at the car park and steered her Mini into a rare space beside the staff entrance. Inside the building, it was quiet and still. Freeman’s office was shrouded in darkness as she passed. She noticed a light in the next room and clocked Andrea Leary’s jacket slung over the back of her chair.

  Beth reached the incident room and was shrugging off her coat when she heard muffled laughter. She followed it back out into the corridor, turned the corner and spotted Nick and Andrea next to the water cooler. He was bent over, filling a plastic cup, and she was beside him with her back to Beth, her right arm leaning on the machine, oblivious to Beth’s presence. Andrea made a comment in a low voice and giggled. When Nick stood she could see he was smiling.

  He looked past Andrea and noticed Beth. ‘Ah!’ he said.

  Andrea turned and slid her arm off the machine. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ she said. She said a sharp ‘morning’ to Beth and retreated in the direction of her office.

  ‘The inspector’s in early,’ Beth said.

  Nick nodded and sipped his drink. Beth knew they’d worked together for a couple of years before Andrea went to region, although Andrea’s service in the job, let alone in homicide, was far less than his.

  ‘Why didn’t they offer you the inspector’s position?’ Beth said. ‘You’ve far more experience.’

  ‘She’s on the accelerated promotion scheme, keen to climb the corporate ladder.’ He moved off and motioned for her to join him. If he was aggrieved at being passed over for a promoted post, albeit a temporary one, he certainly wasn’t about to show it. She followed him into the conference room and paused beside a new board that had been added at the front. It was loaded with photos of Richard Moss’s body, before and after the murder, and pictures of the scene. A map with a green highlighted area marking the location of his home was placed at the side.
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br />   ‘Fifty-six-year-old Richard Moss of 134 Scotter Walk, lives alone, found dead by a neighbour walking his dog at 11.30 p.m. on Saturday,’ Nick said, tapping the photos. The victim’s face was so badly beaten that the photos of him after his death bore very little resemblance to the picture of the man beside it, taken several months before the incident, holding up a beer glass, a burning cigarette tucked between his fingers. ‘The neighbour was alerted because Moss’s front door was wide open. When he entered he found Moss on the floor of his front room. He’d been strangled.

  ‘When we tracked back Moss’s movements, we found he’d been in The Lincoln pub nearby, his regular hangout on a Saturday night, since 6 p.m. The bar staff said Moss was plastered when he left shortly after 11 p.m., although that was relatively normal apparently. It’s less than a five-minute walk from the pub to his house in Scotter Walk. Moss’s neighbour said it wasn’t unusual to find the victim’s door ajar. He often arrived home drunk and didn’t lock the door. Occasionally, it missed the latch and was left open. He’d even found him on the floor in the hallway a couple of times and had to help him to bed.

  ‘Moss was badly beaten before he was strangled. We had forensics in there all day yesterday. It wasn’t until late last night that we found the note, hidden in a pile of junk mail on the kitchen side.’

  Beth took a minute to percolate the information. The note found at Gina Ingram’s hadn’t been reported to the press. The only people aware of its presence were those on the investigation, Gina Ingram herself and the killer. ‘Why hide the note?’

  ‘Perhaps they wanted to delay us finding it.’

  ‘What’s the connection between Ingram and Moss?’

  ‘Warren’s going out to check with Gina this morning, but there doesn’t seem to be one. Not on the face of it. I dug a bit deeper into Richard Moss’s background. He grew up in Corby. He’s moved around a bit but hasn’t left Northamptonshire by the looks of it. Bit of a loner by all accounts. He’s registered as unemployed, doesn’t have any family, not that he is in touch with anyway. There’s a sister in Newcastle; they haven’t spoken in years. The local police went out to see her yesterday, to deliver the news.’