“It’ll be part of the same investigation as Mr Weatherton, so yes. But come to me until she gets back, yes?”
“Will do.” Gail returned to her work.
Dennis emerged from the tent only to have the wind slam into his face. He suppressed a yell. Johnny was talking to one of the CSIs.
“Has Mike managed to speak to her yet?” Dennis called as he started walking towards the path down into Corfe Castle.
Johnny jogged to catch up. “His mobile’s engaged, Sarge. Hopefully that’s good news.”
“Good.” Dennis picked up pace, anxious to be out of this dreadful wind.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Susan was woken by banging on her door. She groaned and checked her alarm clock: nine o’clock. She had a brief moment of panic before she remembered why she hadn’t set it last night. Archie was dead. Millie had the week off school, and her boss had told her to ‘take as much time as you need.’
She slumped back onto the pillows, gazing at the ceiling. She wanted to sleep for a week. Until the funeral, at least. God. She had an appointment at the undertaker’s today, with her mother-in-law. They hadn’t released Archie’s body yet. But in her usual efficient way, Rowena Weatherton had insisted they should start getting things organised.
The door banged again. Susan dragged herself out of bed and picked up her dressing gown – pink towelling, faded and grubby at the cuffs – from the floor. She tied the belt as she opened the front door.
“Are you OK? You didn’t take sleeping tablets, did you?” Her sister Fiona stood at the door. At the far end of the path, beyond Fiona, a police car was pulling up.
“What’s going on?” Susan asked.
Fiona bundled her inside and closed the door. “They’ve assigned you a Family Liaison Officer. They’ll tell you she’s here to look after you, to keep you updated on the investigation. But her real job is to spy on you.”
“There’s nothing to spy on. Fi, please stop being so paranoid.”
“What about Tony?”
“I’m going to tell them about Tony.”
“You should consult with Jacinta, before you do that.”
“Jacinta?”
“Your solicitor.” Fiona went into the kitchen. Millie was at the top of the stairs.
“Mum?”
Susan hurried up the stairs and folded her daughter in a hug. She wished to God the girl didn’t have to go through this. Bloody Archie, what had he done to get himself killed in a place like Corfe Castle?
“Come on, sweetie. I’ll get you some breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.” Millie’s voice cracked. Susan thought her heart would crack with it.
The door banged again.
“Oh, just go away,” Susan muttered. She and Millie needed to be left alone.
She bent down and smoothed Millie’s hair away from her cheeks. “You’re always hungry.”
A sniff. “Not today.”
Susan pulled Millie to her and guided her down the stairs. Fiona was at the door, a uniformed policewoman on the doorstep.
“Let her in,” Susan told her sister. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
The policewoman gave Susan a sad smile as she entered the house. Susan would have to get used to people looking at her like that.
“Come in the kitchen,” Fiona said.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” the policewoman suggested. Fiona rolled her eyes.
Susan steered Millie into the living room at the front of the house. The curtains were still closed. She would leave them that way, what with old Mr Gill sticking his nose in day and night.
She flicked the TV on and navigated to CBBC. She gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead. “I’m going to get you some breakfast.” And find out what the FLO has to say for herself, she thought. She would get a quick update, then return. She planned to spend the day in here, cocooned in the dark with her daughter. The undertaker could wait.
She closed the living room door gently and hurried to the kitchen. More knocking at the front door. Impatient, she threw it open.
A middle-aged woman with curly blonde hair wearing a tailored olive green suit stood on her step. She held up a business card.
“Jacinta Burke. I hope Fiona’s told you to expect me.”
Susan frowned. “No.”
Fiona appeared behind her. “Sorry Suze, haven’t had the chance. Jacinta’s your solicitor.”
“I don’t need a solicitor.”
Jacinta ignored that. “The police have told me they want to interview you. You’re a witness, they’ll do it in a special interview room with what they think of as comfortable furniture.”
“Why not here?” Susan asked.
“They want to show you some photographs,” Jacinta said. “They said it would be better at the station.”
“But Millie...”
“I’ll look after her.” Fiona squeezed her shoulder. “Best to get it over with.”
Susan stared at the lawyer. She should have answered their questions yesterday. “One of them is already here.”
“That’ll be the FLO,” Jacinta said as she stepped inside the house. “Bloody FLOs. Don’t say anything to her.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Who’s up for a brew?”
The three women turned to see the policewoman in the doorway to the kitchen, teapot in hand. Jacinta muttered under her breath.
“I can do that,” Susan said.
“It’s OK. You take it easy. I’m here to look after you.”
“She’s not,” Jacinta whispered.
The living room door opened. “Mummy, where’s my breakfast?”
“I can do that, love,” the FLO said.
Millie’s face creased. “Who are you?” She turned to Susan. “Mum?”
Susan glared at the FLO, wishing the woman wasn’t so damn chirpy. “I’ll have a cup of tea, please. Milk, no sugar. And my daughter will have a bowl of Weetabix.”
She ushered Millie into the living room and sat next to her on the sofa. Watching Millie’s face, she reached out for her hand. Millie stared blankly at the TV.
Susan resisted an urge to squeeze her daughter’s hand tighter. She wanted to wrap Millie up in her love, to shield her from the outside world. But for now, all she could do was hide with her in a darkened room.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
A squad car was waiting for Lesley at Bournemouth Station. She’d planned to get a cab home and change her clothes before going into the office, but the message she’d picked up from Mike on leaving the interview with West Midlands Professional Standards Department had put paid to that.
She sat in the back of the car, aware that she smelled musty. Her suit had got damp in last night’s rain and never fully recovered, and her shoes had lost all shape. Zoe had tried to help her pad them out with newspaper, but it had only made things worse. When she’d walked into that interview room with Superintendent Rogers watching, the man must have thought she was already turning into a country bumpkin.
The car pulled up outside the office and Lesley jumped out. She ducked into the ladies to straighten up her appearance. At least her blouse, safely protected by the overnight bag, was safe. And Zoe had lent her a hairdryer, so she didn’t look too much like she’d been dragged through one of Dorset’s many hedgerows.
After a long moment staring at herself in the mirror and trying not to think about Terry and that woman, she marched up to her office.
Her team were at their desks, all on their phones. She gestured for them to wind up their calls and join her in her office.
The board had been added to. Crime scene photos of poor Laila Ford that made Lesley shudder. The girl’s face was a mess, her features barely recognisable. Lesley didn’t envy the next of kin having to confirm identification.
Mike came in first, followed by Dennis, then Johnny. They were all subdued.
“Close the door,” she said. Johnny obliged. Lesley leaned against her desk and nodded for her team to sit
down. They did so, reluctantly in Dennis’s case.
“Bring me up to speed,” she said.
“A couple out walking found Laila’s body under the mast on Rollington Hill at eight thirty this morning,” said Dennis.
“Where’s that?”
“The hills between Corfe Castle and Swanage,” Johnny said. “Just east of the village.”
“When did she die?” Lesley asked.
“Pathologist reckons late last night,” Dennis replied.
“Any clues as to who might have been up there with her? Anything left behind, defensive wounds?”
“A couple of her fingernails have split,” Dennis told her. “Nothing else left behind as far as we’re aware. No sign of a weapon.”
“Could it have been the same one?”
“It was blunt. We can’t say much more right now. But pathology and forensics will—”
“Yeah, yeah. Gail’s got it covered.” Pathology, she wasn’t so sure.
“Has anyone spoken to the other two? “she asked. “Find out when she left the cottage. Or if she was taken.”
“I went to the dig site, boss,” Johnny said. “They were both there working. Didn’t seem too bothered when I told them.”
Lesley frowned at him. “Either of those two, or both for all we know, could be the prime suspect. Please tell me you took a verbatim note of your conversation.”
“I did, boss.” He pulled out his notepad.
“Well that’s something, I suppose. Did you tell both of them together?”
“I did. Crystal wanted to know why Laila hadn’t turned up for work, and Patrick…”
Lesley gripped the edge of the desk behind her. “Next time you inform two potential suspects of a murder, how about separating them first? At the very least, they’re witnesses. Now they’ll be chatting to each other, getting their stories straight.”
“I doubt it,” said Dennis.
“You do?”
“That pair don’t strike me as particularly friendly. Crystal seems to—”
“OK. However friendly they may or may not be, we need to talk to them before they have much longer to confer. And I want to keep an eye on them. Hell, one of them might be in danger. We need to appoint an FLO.”
“There’s a couple of girls from Poole nick who normally do that,” Johnny said.
Lesley folded her arms. “How old are these officers, Johnny?”
“I don’t know. I…”
“Adults, anyway. Kindly refer to them as women.”
“If they were blokes, I’d call them lads.”
Lesley wasn’t in the mood for this. “Refer to your colleagues with respect, please Constable.”
“Boss.”
“But anyway, I want someone closer to home.” She pushed herself away from the desk and went to the door. She opened it and leaned out. Thankfully her target was at her desk.
“PC Abbott, can you spare a moment?”
“I’m doing more paperwork, Ma’am. I…” The PC looked from Lesley to her computer screen and back again. “Of course, Ma’am.”
“Good. I’ve got a job for you.” Lesley retreated into her office. PC Abbott followed.
Lesley turned to the detectives. “PC Abbott will be stationed in the cottage. She’ll be our FLO.”
“I will?” the PC asked.
Lesley nodded. “You’ve already been there, you clearly know the village. I want you to keep an eye on Crystal Spiers and Patrick Donnelly. We’ll be interviewing them, but I want to know if either of them does anything odd.”
“Like what, Ma’am?”
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
PC Abbott looked very much as if she had no confidence that she would. “Ma’am,” she muttered.
“Should Johnny or Mike accompany her?” Dennis said. “This is a job for a detective.”
“The FLO job is well established,” Lesley reminded him. “She doesn’t need babysitting.”
He grunted.
“So.” Lesley clasped her hands together. “Anything else to report?”
“Not yet.” Dennis’s expression was tight.
“Fair enough. We’ve got a lot to do. Two witnesses to interview. Have we got a statement from the couple who found her?”
“Uniform took it,” Johnny said.
“Good. There’s forensics, and the post-mortem. Do we have a time for that?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Dennis said.
“Tomorrow?”
“Doctor Whittaker has private practice on Wednesday afternoons.”
“And he couldn’t do it this morning?”
“No.”
“God give me strength.”
Dennis straightened. A ripple ran through the room.
“What?” Lesley said. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Johnny was watching the DS. He cleaned his throat. “It’s not that, boss.”
“Well what then?”
“The Sarge. He finds blasphemy offensive.”
Lesley eyed Dennis. “What did I say wrong this time?”
“It’s alright, Ma’am. Let’s just leave it.” He was ma’aming her again. But they had a murder to investigate.
“And we still have the Weatherton investigation to pursue,” she said. “I’m going to put back the interview with his wife. Maybe we’ll squeeze it in later. But for now, we have to get what information we can on Laila’s last hours. Ask around in the village. Find anyone who saw her last night. Check bars, cash points, bus routes. Knock on doors. We have a good chance of piecing this together, but only if we get a bloody move on.”
She clapped her hands and people started to move. “Dennis, you take Johnny and Mike,” she said. “I’ll go with PC Abbott.”
“But boss…”
“I’ll see you in Corfe Castle.”
Chapter Forty
Lesley’s car was still parked outside Dorset Police HQ where she’d left it before catching the train the previous day. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
“I’ll drive,” she told PC Abbott as she pinged the remote locking. “You need to tell anyone where you’ll be?”
“Already done it, ma’am.”
“Course you have.”
They got in the car. “I still haven’t figured out this satnav,” Lesley said. “Tell me if I go the wrong way.”
But the route between Winfrith and Corfe Castle had imprinted itself in Lesley’s mind. As they approached Wareham, she relaxed into the driving. Sure, she missed Birmingham’s bustle and energy. But it was nice not to get caught in a traffic jam every five minutes.
“Hope you don’t mind me dragging you along,” she said to the PC as they left the roundabout for the Wareham bypass. “I couldn’t face being cooped up with a bunch of men.”
“Not a problem, Ma’am. Just tell me what you need from me.”
Lesley glanced over at the other woman. “How long have you been on the force?”
PC Abbott frowned. “Six years, Ma’am. Since I left school.”
“So that makes you what, twenty-two? Or twenty-four?”
“Twenty-four, Ma’am.” PC Abbott twisted her hands in her lap.
“Sorry. I’m being nosey. Remind me, what’s your name?”
“Err...”
“I mean your first name.”
“Tina, Ma’am.”
“Pleased to meet you, Tina. And you can relax, you know. I don’t need you to call me Ma’am every time you address me.”
Tina nodded. They drove in silence, through Stoborough and past the turning for Arne.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Ma’am, is everything alright?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Lesley tapped the brake. The Nissan up ahead kept slowing and then speeding up. She looked in her rearview mirror, wondering where the others were.
“It’s nothing,” said Tina. “Sorry.”
“If my behaviour worries you, I want to know. I’m sure Dennis reckons I’m off my rocker.” She turned to the other woman. “I�
�m not, you know.”
Tina smiled. “That’s obvious enough.”
“But still you think there’s something wrong.”
“I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn.”
Lesley tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel. There was a lot wrong. Her husband was sleeping with another woman, she was stuck in this dead-end county, and she’d realised overnight that she didn’t want to save her marriage.
But none of that should affect her work.
She stilled her fingers on the wheel. “I had a difficult meeting in Birmingham. I’m frustrated to be behind the curve on the Laila Ford murder. That’s all.” She smiled at Tina. “Normal service will be resumed shortly.”
Tina gave a nervous laugh. They were approaching Corfe Castle.
“Where will I need to go for the crime scene?” Lesley asked.
“Turn left under the railway bridge then drive up to the walkers’ car park. You can’t miss it. Could you drop me in The Square?”
“OK.” Lesley pulled up outside the National Trust shop, ignoring the man in the blue Audi behind her beeping his horn. Tina climbed out.
“Report back if there’s anything important. We’ll be over later for interviews, and I’ll send a forensics team to you as fast as I can. In the meantime, make sure they don’t go into Laila and Archie’s room and keep an eye out for them moving any potential evidence.”
“They’ll probably both be at the dig site, Ma’am.” Tina leaned in through the door. Another honk from the Audi. Lesley took a breath. Ignore it.
“True. Stick close to them. Pretend to be looking after them. You know the drill.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Lesley rounded the monument in the centre of The Square. She had to brake to avoid a young child dashing out in front of her car. His dad ran after him and scooped him up, waving an apology to Lesley.
“Will you bloody watch your children?” she muttered through gritted teeth.
At last she was heading out of the village. She was starting to find its uniform grey stone buildings and the ever-present looming bulk of the castle claustrophobic.
She followed Tina’s directions along a narrow lane under the railway bridge and to a walkers’ car park that Uniform had cordoned off for police vehicles. Two squad cars were there, along with a forensics van and two unmarked cars.
The Corfe Castle Murders (Dorset Crime Book 1) Page 14
