“But you didn’t know that Rachel had been there earlier?”
“Not until she came into the station yesterday.” He laughed. “It was a bonus. Like the argument at the Kettle on the Hob.”
Sam felt the time was right to start taking him down. “And like us, you also didn’t know Rachel had moved the night before, did you? She had a cast-iron alibi, so killing Shawforth made absolutely no difference. If anything, it would have confirmed Rachel’s innocence. And what about Larne and Pearson?”
“Well again, they were largely your fault. When you asked for someone to take a statement from James Killeen, I sent Larne with instructions to alter the statement. But, as I said, he wasn’t noted for his intelligence. I meant for him to alter it after he left Killeen’s company. It would have been easy to fake the alterations and forge Killeen’s initials.” Trentham’s sighed. “That’s the price you pay for relying on idiots like Dominic Larne. When you suspended him, I knew I would have to deal with him. And, of course, once Pearson learned Larne was dead, he would have panicked and told you everything. He would have preferred a prison term to trying to negotiate with me. So he had to be killed. Simple as that.”
“You didn’t know he was videoing the people he was blackmailing, and it never occurred to you that he might have videoed you murdering Barbara Shawforth, and you and Hacton moving Kylie’s body, or Walston and Rachel having sex the day before you murdered Barbara.”
Trentham’s brow creased. “That was a bit of a shock, I must admit. He was a lot smarter than I thought. I gave him the forensic coveralls I’d used when I killed Barbara Shawforth. I told him to wait forty-eight hours, and then dispose of them in the wheelie bins in Harbour Passage. I never guessed that the little pervert might keep them. In fact, I didn’t know about his third-floor secret room, until you told me earlier today. I was convinced I had him right where I wanted him.”
Trentham’s face split into a broad smile.
“I’ve enjoyed watching you and Drake running around in circles this week. I loved some of his stupid theories and the way you clung to his coat tails.” He chuckled again. “But I think that’s about it.”
Sam terminated the interview, stopped the recorder, and faced him with her lip curling. “You disgust me. You wear a uniform which is supposed to give reassurance to the public, but you used and abused your position for your own ends, and you don’t give a damn, do you?”
“No, I don’t think I do.” He narrowed his eyes on her. “I’m certain that the courts will decide that I am of unsound mind. I’ll go to prison, obviously, or perhaps a mental institution, but I’ll be out one day. And from then on, Ms Feyer, you will have to keep looking over your shoulder.”
Chapter Forty-Six
The door opened, flooding the outside with light.
James Killeen offered a weak smile. “Chief Inspector Feyer, Mr Drake.”
Sam smiled by return. “Mr Killeen. May we come in?”
Killeen stood back and let them pass. Closing the door behind him, he led the way into the living room, where Hayley sat in one chair, facing the television, and Rachel, her arm encased in purple plaster bandages, sat opposite.
Sam had finished with Trentham at about three o’clock, and once back in her office, after receiving the congratulations of her team, she had rung Drake – who had been absent all day – and arranged to meet him at Landshaven House, where they decided they would have dinner at the Captains Table.
But first Sam had to call on the Killeens.
Hayley greeted them with a weak smile. “Good afternoon, Chief Inspector, Mr Drake. Do you bring good tidings?”
Sam agreed that she did. Her gaze fell on Rachel. Saturday afternoon. Rachel had been back in Landshaven a little over a week, and throughout the last eight days, Sam had compelled herself to bury any sympathy she might have for the woman. From the outset, Drake suspected that she had been framed, but the lack of evidence had compelled him – and Sam – to remain aloof, distanced from the personalities, possibilities and probabilities. Now, with Trentham’s confession, they could relinquish their control.
The generous smile on Sam’s lips was not forced. “It’s over, Rachel. All of it.”
Rachel looked up expectantly, her pained features still tinged with a hint of concern.
“Neville Trentham confessed to everything, including the murder of Barbara Shawforth. You’re a free woman.”
Rachel’s reaction surprised everyone. Her features wobbled for a moment, and then she burst into tears, burying her face in her undamaged hand, her body racked with sobs. Hayley rushed across the room to comfort her, and Drake took a seat on the settee close by, reaching across to take a light hold of her fractured hand.
“I’m sorry,” she wept. “Four… Four years I’ve waited for this moment, and I… I don’t know how to deal with it.”
Drake squeezed her fingers gently. “It’s what you wanted, Rachel. Trentham stole those four years from you, but your remaining years, and there’ll be many of them, are yours. No suspicion, no policemen lurking in dark corners, waiting to arrest you, no scum reporters looking to blacken your name further. You’re free of it all.”
She squeezed her eyes tight shut, brought her emotions under control, and clenched her good fist. “The bastard. I hope he rots in hell. I hope he’s never released, because if he is…”
Once again, Drake sympathised, but it was Sam who spoke.
“You have every right to be angry, but he will pay for it. He’s going to prison, probably for the rest of his life, and even if they take some pity on him, by the time he comes out, he’ll be too old to trouble anyone. Take it from someone who knows. Don’t let your anger and bitterness eat away at you. It was the mistake I made after my husband was revealed as a gangster. You don’t have to let it do the same to you. You’re entitled to one hell of a lot of compensation. Use it. Enjoy it. Go on a world cruise. Milk the newspapers for every penny you can get out of them. You deserve it after the way they harangued you. Find another man, or go back to Middlesbrough with John. Settle down, write your memoir, and lead a long and happy life.”
Drake released her hand, and got to his feet. “Sam thought you’d like to hear it from her rather than listen to it on the radio.”
Sam agreed with his conclusion. “And for once I can genuinely say that it’s a pleasure to speak to you people, to deliver the news.”
To everyone’s surprise Rachel pushed Hayley away, moving quickly towards Sam, and hugged her tightly. “Thank you.”
***
The wind whipped up spray and hurled it at them as they ambled along the landward pavement of the seafront, Sam leaning into Drake, allowing his tall frame to keep some of the weather at bay.
The manager of The Captain’s Table greeted them and showed them to a window table. After a quick scan of the menu, Drake ordered a mixed grill and a pint of lager, and Sam settled for her favourite fish and chips, and a half of lager to wash it down.
While they waited for the food to arrive, Drake stared morosely across the seafront to the dock sheds, the scene of so much activity over the past five days.
“Hey. It’s over.” Sam’s words brought him back from his moody thoughts, and she reminded him, “We can talk about us… If there is any us.”
He chuckled as their drinks were delivered. “Sorry. Force of habit. And it’s not quite over. I have a full report to write for Iris Mullins, and that’ll take most of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.”
She laughed. “Whatever.”
He narrowed pleasant eyes upon her. “Still thinking of giving up the police?”
Sam chuckled. “I’m taking it under advisement. What about you? You have been missing all day. What were you doing?”
“I put a deposit down on a cottage. The rent is a bit extortionate, but what the hell, I can afford it… I think.”
Sam burned with enthusiasm. “Where?”
“Castle Cottages. On the other side of the road from my hotel. Furnished, a wond
erful view from the back garden, where it looks out over the bay and the sea, and the master bedroom has a huge double bed.”
She giggled. “Sounds great. We can sit in the garden, sip wine on the long summer evenings, and then, as the night closes in, you can take me to heaven.”
Drake screwed up his face. “Wine? Make it beer”
She laughed again. “All right then. But be warned. I’m very demanding. I might have to lace the beer with Viagra.”
THE END
By the same author:
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