“Lou,” he said, testing the word, still holding the handshake, maintaining eye contact in a way that, in another place and time, might have been flirtatious.
She let him hold it until he relaxed his grip, and gave him another of her bright, slightly vacuous smiles. “Take care of yourself, Brian. Hope they let you home soon.”
“Goodbye.”
Lou juggled her bag and her coat, and together with Yvonne Sanders made her way back along the endless corridor to the front entrance, where they parted company.
“Thanks,” Lou said. “Really appreciate your help.”
“Anytime,” Yvonne said, shaking Lou’s hand. “I’ll send the statement through as soon as it’s done. If there’s anything else you need, please give me a shout.”
Lou drew in deep lungfuls of cold, clear air. The sun was about as high in the sky as it was likely to get, and still not a cloud to be seen. She hadn’t realized until she was out in the grand space of the car park, cars circling slowly, competing for the next vacant space, just how stifled she’d felt in the dayroom of Stuart Ward.
12:16
Brian watched Lou’s arse appraisingly as she walked to the door of the dayroom. Nice girl, he thought. Brighter than she pretended to be, just as he was brighter than she gave him credit for. She knew he hadn’t told her the full story, and yet he felt like she’d believed him, which had been the key to it. Of course he remembered every single detail of what had happened that night, had gone over it a million times, lying here in the hospital.
From the pocket of his bathrobe he pulled out the mobile phone that Suzanne had slipped him when she’d visited. He turned it on, waited, then hit the speed dial that she’d programmed in.
“It’s me. Yes, they’ve just been. A female inspector and another one who just took notes.” He listened to her voice, relishing how she sounded, just a voice, a long way away, but next to him in the room.
“It all went well, I think. She didn’t ask me anything I couldn’t handle. No, nothing. Well, she asked if I noticed any blood. I said no, it was dark. It’s all right,” he said, trying for reassurance. “I’ll be home soon, and then we can . . .”
He listened to her telling him what he had to do. Finally, he chanced his luck and asked: “When will you come in?”
Then, a pause. “I love you. Goodbye, my darling. See you soon.”
12:19
Ron’s phone rang when they were still some way away from Lorna Newman’s house. He put his hand over the phone and mouthed “It’s the boss” at Sam before pulling his notebook out of his inside jacket pocket, biting the top off a pen, and scribbling something down. “Right. Gotcha. Uh-huh.”
He shut the phone with a snap. “Apparently Brian’s memory has come back. Quite a lot, by all accounts.”
Sam raised an eyebrow.
“Seems he remembers Barbara coming back into the house all hysterical, late that night. Then she disappeared off again and he went to bed.”
“That’s a bit odd.”
He nodded. “Boss thinks he’s not lying exactly, but not telling the full story either. She’s going to have another go, maybe when he gets out of the hospital.”
“She’s not treating him as a suspect, then?”
“Nah. More likely it’s her, isn’t it?”
“You mean Barbara?”
He gave her a look which said of course fucking Barbara, but simply nodded. “You can’t tell me she went and topped herself covered in Polly’s blood because she was a bit depressed. She went over there to confront her husband’s bit on the side, got the red mist on because she was half cut, and then took herself off over the quarry because of what she’d done.”
Case closed, Sam thought to herself. He had a way of simplifying things that was by turns deadly accurate and horribly misplaced.
“What about if Brian did it—killed Polly—and Barbara saw him?”
“What—and then she topped herself?”
“No, he pushed her over the cliff. Might explain the heart attack. That level of stress.”
He shook his head. “The woman was depressed, suicidal. You’ve got to stick with the evidence, Sarge, don’t go off half-cocked with complicated theories. It’s usually the most obvious explanation. Sometimes people just act funny, don’t they?”
You got that right, Sam thought, putting her full concentration back to the road.
12:41
Lou parked in the station car park, pulled out her job phone and checked for messages—nothing—and then, on a whim, found her personal phone. It was turned off, as it often was, since nobody ever used it to phone her. She turned it on and sent a text to Jason’s number.
This is my pers number FYI. All good here. Hows your weekend going? Quiet without you. Lou
Almost immediately a reply bleeped.
Hockey this morning. Bored now. Could meet 4 lunch . . . ? X
Lunch—what a great idea. And it gave her another idea. She sent a reply:
Great. Meet you in the Lemon Tree? Soon as?
* * *
5X5X5 INTELLIGENCE REPORT
Date: Sunday 4 November 2012
Officer: PC 9921 EVANS
Re: Op NETTLE
ECHR Grading: B / 1 / 1
Phone call received from Mr. Dean LONGFORD, DOB 27/01/87, address 15 Castle View, Briarstone.
Caller states he was the person who phoned Crimestoppers last week having seen two people arguing in a vehicle in Cemetery Lane on the night of the 31/10.
States he has seen the police appeal for him to come forward with further information, although he hasn’t got anything further to add. Is willing to make a statement but is going on holiday next week.
In case the statement doesn’t get taken, he gave the following details:
Small car, dark in color, like a Peugeot or a Fiesta size.
Parked in a lay-by or driveway entrance in Cemetery Lane, right before a sharp bend.
There was a lorry sticking out of a driveway on the opposite side so the inft had to slow down to pass—hence noticing the car.
Female with long fair hair in the driver’s seat
Male figure (larger) in the passenger seat, no description
Couple appeared to be arguing, lots of finger-pointing etc.
Interior light was on but headlights off
Definitely Halloween night as Tuesday night is when the inft works in town
No idea what the time was exactly but inft left work at 2315hrs and arrived home around 2345hrs.
* * *
13:24
Number 11 Downsview Road was a smart bungalow, set back from a quiet road by a long, open driveway. The front lawn, along with all the others on the road, was neatly trimmed.
It was the sort of silence that indicated an elderly population, cars put away in garages reserved for that purpose, smells of dinner cooking from somewhere.
Ron and Sam parked against the curb opposite the house and got out. Sam resisted the urge to have a good stretch. It had been a long drive, the last part especially tedious.
The door was opened almost immediately.
“Mrs. Newman?” Ron asked of the woman who answered the door. Her dark hair was cut neatly in a bob, and gray eyes examined his warrant card closely.
“I’m Detective Constable Ron Mitchell. This is my colleague Detective Sergeant Sam Hollands.”
“Come in,” she said. Her voice was clear and steady. “I’ve got the kettle on.”
She showed them into a large front room which was rather more modern than either of them had been expecting. Two huge leather sofas dominated the room, matching the cream which covered three of the walls. The fourth wall, mainly an archway into the dining room, was painted a color that might have been purple.
On one wall a handsome gas fire played pretty flames over realistic-looking bricks of coal. A low hiss from the gas flame could be heard above the noise of the kettle rattling into a boil from the kitchen.
Sam perched on the edge of one sofa. Ron
sat next to her and sprawled backward into the leather, knees apart, displaying hairy white calves above the diamond-patterned gray socks and pale brown loafers.
Sam looked elsewhere.
Lorna Newman brought a tray through from the kitchen. A cheerful brown teapot, large enough for them all to have at least two cups, with three small mugs—Denby, Sam thought—a milk jug, and a sugar bowl. Matching.
“Thank you for seeing us, Mrs. Newman. I’m sure you must be busy.”
“Oh, not really. Andrew’s playing golf. My husband, that is. I do all of my chores in the mornings. Usually by now I would be either visiting friends or at the shop.”
“The shop?”
“I volunteer at a charity shop in the town. Closed on Sundays, though.”
“Mrs. Newman, I wanted to thank you for calling us,” Sam said. “I’m sure you might be able to help us build up a clearer picture of what Barbara was like, which will be of great help to the inquiry.”
“Which inquiry would that be?”
Sam looked up from her pad, where she had written the date and time but nothing else. “We need to gather evidence for the coroner’s inquest into Mrs. Fletcher-Norman’s death,” she said. “The inquest is due to be held next week. That will determine the cause of death, so it’s important we are able to present any evidence that might be relevant. Particularly if the evidence you have supports or refutes the theory that Mrs. Fletcher-Norman might have taken her own life.”
Lorna nodded. Looking directly at Sam, she added: “But you are working on the murder case, aren’t you? That Polly—what’s her name?”
“Polly Leuchars,” Ron said helpfully.
“Yes, Mrs. Newman,” Sam said. “We’re both working on that case. However, we also work on other unexplained deaths in the Briarstone area, one of which is that of Mrs. Fletcher-Norman.”
“So you’re not linking them, then?”
“We don’t have any direct evidence to support a link.”
Lorna was silent for a moment. “That’s good. I’d hate to think of Barbara mixed up in all that. She was a good girl, you know. We’ve been friends for years.”
“Can you tell me how you met?” Ron was having another go at conducting the interview.
“We were at school together. Kept in touch ever since, although there were long periods where we didn’t write. Not for any bad reason.”
“And you visited them recently, in Morden?”
“Beginning of August. Spent a week there.”
“What was your impression of Mrs. Fletcher-Norman at that time? Did she seem in good spirits?”
Lorna hesitated before replying. “I think so. There were a few times—we went out for dinner, and she’d had a few drinks. Got a bit overexcited, I think. On the last night we were there, she and Brian had a stinking row. We had gone to bed and you could hear them shouting from downstairs.”
“What was the argument about?”
She shook her head. “Couldn’t tell you. Just a lot of shouting and banging. She didn’t seem depressed, although I know she had been. The doctor had her on medication. She used to tell me about all the various pills she had to take.”
“I gather she was hospitalized in September?” Ron said.
“Yes. She took an overdose. I think she had had a particularly difficult week with Brian.”
“They argued often?”
She nodded. “Brian had had a number of affairs going back over the years, always with women he’d met through work, usually while overseas. Barbara tolerated those because she could pretend to herself that they weren’t really happening. A friend of mine—Andrea—her husband used to work with Brian, years ago. Apparently they got up to all sorts when they were on their overseas trips.”
Sam was scribbling furiously.
“She’d always been quite a jealous woman,” Lorna said. “She was quite nasty to Brian’s daughter, saw her as a threat, I believe.”
“So when Brian semiretired . . . ?”
“Barbara believed he was having affairs closer to home. First of all it was some physiotherapist woman at the health club they belong to. That was just after they moved to Morden. Then it was all about the stable girl, Polly Leuchars.”
“Mrs. Fletcher-Norman mentioned Polly in her letters to you?”
Lorna nodded. “Yes, and over the phone. At first it was just a suspicion, but Barbara has a way of latching on to an idea and going over it so many times in her head that it becomes the same thing as a truth. She said Brian was having an affair with Polly. Other women in the village had confirmed it to her.”
“Did she confront Brian?”
“Yes. He denied it, of course. Even stopped having riding lessons to appease her. I felt quite sorry for him, really. I think going riding had been doing him some good.”
“Do you know when it was that Barbara confronted her husband?”
“It was around the beginning of September. On the Monday before she was admitted to hospital she said he had denied it. She sounded very low about it. It was as though his denial made it worse—if he’d owned up to it, she might not have felt so bad. He’d admitted his foibles in the past, so it felt to Barbara as though he was really lying to her as well as cheating.”
“You seem doubtful that he was having an affair?”
She thought about this, and nodded slowly. “I just can’t see it somehow. I’ve seen pictures of that Polly on the television, what was she, twentysomething?”
“Twenty-seven,” Ron said.
“And pretty, too. Forgive me for saying so, but Brian’s not usually the sort to appeal to young girls. And I don’t think he would be so foolish as to do it right under Barbara’s nose like that. Far more likely he was seeing someone else and using Barbara’s suspicions about Polly to cover up the real mischief.”
For a moment the only sound was Sam’s pen moving across the notebook. Ron seemed lost in thought.
“More tea?”
The mugs were duly topped up and Sam paid a visit to the bathroom. It was light and airy and she washed her hands with a purple soap that smelled of lavender, and dried them on a white fluffy towel. The bathroom was spotless. She wondered whether they employed a cleaner or whether Lorna did the housework herself.
Ron seemed to have found a way in. When she found her way back to the living room, both of them were chortling with laughter. She wondered what it was that had got him into Lorna’s good books, but it seemed the joke wasn’t going to be shared.
“Right,” he said with a deep breath. “Where were we?”
Sam retrieved her notebook and flexed her right hand which had started to ache.
“You mentioned a phone conversation with Mrs. Fletcher-Norman on Monday last week. Did you phone her, or was it the other way round?”
“She called me,” Lorna said. “It was about Liam O’Toole.”
Ron said, “This was the man she was seeing? The tennis coach?”
“Yes. She’d written me a few letters about him, and the last one had indicated that they were planning to run away together. She’d been saving up money for years, money Brian knew nothing about. She called it her Rainy Day Fund.”
“Do you have any idea how much money we’re talking about?”
Lorna gave a little shrug. “Thousands. Every time Brian had an affair she used to get jewelry from him—keep her sweet, I suppose. She sold it all, as well as creaming money off the housekeeping allowance he gave her.”
She took a drink of her tea, then went on. “I’d written a letter to Barbara in which I’d asked her to be careful. I asked her if she knew everything about this Liam, whether she was certain he could be trusted. She phoned me to give me a telling off.”
“You thought he was going to do a runner?”
She nodded. “It just always seemed too good to be true.” She gave a rueful smile. “You must think me terribly critical of my friends to not see them as attractive to younger people. But I’m afraid the same thing applies. He was only about twenty-e
ight, I believe. Handsome, fit, reasonably intelligent. And yet he falls in love with a fifty-nine-year-old housewife? I don’t think so.”
Sam couldn’t decide if Lorna was just a straightforward person who didn’t believe in glossing over the issues, or if she was somehow slightly jealous of what Barbara had had. In either case, she looked defiant, as though challenging the officers to disagree.
“Mrs. Fletcher-Norman was angry with you, when she phoned?”
Lorna softened a little. “Not angry, exactly. She was just trying to persuade me that I was wrong about Liam. She was utterly convinced he was genuine. In fact, she said when they did make their escape, as she called it, she would bring him here for a visit so that I could see for myself.”
“What did you make of that?”
“I told her she’d be welcome.”
“So you parted on good terms?”
“Yes. Although I did post a letter to her on Wednesday morning to tell her not to rush into anything and obviously she hadn’t got it by the time she rang me that night.”
Ron nodded. “What time did she ring you on Wednesday?”
“It was about half past nine. I was just putting the dinner plates in the dishwasher. Andrew was watching some documentary on BBC Three. I had to take the phone upstairs because I couldn’t hear what she was saying properly.”
“She was incoherent?”
“She was drunk.” She said it with an edge to her voice that suggested disapproval.
“When I eventually got her to make sense, it seemed that Liam had run off with all her money. She said she had given him access to her savings account so that he could get some money for a deposit on a flat. I don’t know where. She’d gone to the bedsit he had in the village, an annex off one of the bigger houses. The place was cleared out. She had been trying his mobile, but it was turned off.”
“What did you say?”
“Well, I certainly didn’t say ‘I told you so,’ although perhaps I should have. I asked her where Brian was. She said he’d gone out with his fancy woman.”
“‘His fancy woman’?” Ron repeated.
“I assume she meant Polly Leuchars. I suggested she should phone him and ask him to come home. She was beside herself. I was concerned for her state of mind, particularly given her setback just over a month before. I thought she might try to harm herself.”
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