by Faith Martin
‘Who’s he?’ she demanded at once.
She had her long dark hair swept up in a complicated chignon and was wearing well-tailored black trousers and a crisp white blouse. As before, she wore no make-up or jewellery. She’d never looked more severe, or more oddly attractive. Her eyes, though, looked manic, almost ablaze, and Hillary didn’t like the look of them one little bit. She was also all but fizzing with some kind of suppressed emotion that didn’t bode well for a well-conducted, text-book interview.
Hillary unhurriedly took a seat, set the tape rolling, and introduced herself, Mia, and the superintendent for the benefit of the tape, hoping that her slow, deliberate actions would calm her witness down a little.
Mia looked at the tape deck, frowned, then gave a slight shrug.
‘Dr de Salle,’ Hillary began pleasantly. ‘You wanted to see me?’
‘Yes. I know who killed Michael, and I want to tell you.’
Hillary saw and felt Rollo jerk a little in his chair. She was feeling a mite surprised by the boldness of the statement herself.
‘I see,’ she said cautiously. ‘And how do you know this, Dr de Salle?’
‘Because I saw it happen. Well, not literally with my own eyes, but I know it must have happened, because later I heard that Michael was dead.’
Hillary bit back a groan. If this was an example of what was in store, then this was going to take some time. Before, this woman had been almost monosyllabic. Now she was clearly going to be all over the place.
‘Perhaps we should start at the beginning,’ she tried gently. ‘Let’s go to the day that Michael died. Where were you?’
‘Watching him, of course,’ Mia said. ‘Where else would I be?’
Hillary smiled. Having had some experience of this witness before, she was not quite so surprised by this admission. But she suspected that her superintendent’s mind was probably boggling right now.
‘You were — what — parked in your car a little way from Michael’s home?’ Hillary asked.
‘Yes. I saw him leave on his bicycle and waited a bit and then followed him, as usual. He drove to this field the other side of Islip.’
Michael had been killed close to home after all, Hillary thought, momentarily distracted.
‘That’s where he met up with him,’ Mia informed them dramatically, sharply focussing Hillary’s mind once more.
‘And who was that exactly?’ Hillary asked, making sure she sounded unimpressed. She needed to keep this woman’s feet on the ground, not indulge her self-aggrandisement.
‘My soulmate, of course,’ Mia said impatiently. Then cocked her fine head to one side, and made an obvious mental adjustment. ‘Although I didn’t know that at the time, naturally,’ she felt compelled to point out. ‘I thought, at that point, that it was still Michael.’
‘I see,’ Hillary said, although she didn’t — not yet. ‘So you saw Michael meet up with your soulmate. We’ll need his name for the tape, Dr de Salle,’ she said prosaically.
‘Kevin Philpott.’
Hillary sensed Rollo perk up at that.
‘He’d arrived in his van?’ Hillary asked, very conscious of the tape recorder, and her need to try and keep this interview on as even a keel as possible. If this interview was going to be used as evidence, all sorts of legal experts were going to study it. And the more calm and rational she could keep her witness, the better.
But she had a sinking feeling that she was on a hiding to nothing as far as that was concerned.
‘Yes, yes,’ Mia said impatiently. ‘He’d parked it on the grass verge. I watched through my binoculars as Michael got that silly metal detector thing off him, and they set off over the fields towards the river.’
Hillary nodded. She was used to watching Michael through binoculars and following him without drawing attention to herself. No doubt about it, she’d definitely been stalking him.
‘I see. And then what happened?’ Hillary asked calmly.
‘Well they were in the field for hours. I could see them, crossing and re-crossing, quartering the ground with the detector. It’s what they always did when they met up in the countryside somewhere. And then they went behind some trees and I couldn’t see them anymore. They were there for so long that I eventually had to move the car to a different spot in order to try and get a different view of them. But I just couldn’t find them again, and then I saw Kevin’s van driving away down the road about a quarter of a mile in front of me.’
‘How long were they out of your sight do you think?’ Hillary asked, hoping none of her tension showed in her voice.
‘Oh, it had to be nearly an hour, all told.’
Hillary made some swift calculations. That was enough time for them to get a big hit on the detector. And if the treasure had been confined to one spot — say in a now rotted-away wooden casket or a leather bag of some kind — and hadn’t been buried too deep, just how long would it have taken them to unearth it? Another ten minutes? Twenty at the most? Then say five to ten minutes for Kevin to passionately argue that they keep the find for themselves, and lose that argument.
Hitting someone over the head in sheer frustration would take mere seconds. Then what — a few more minutes of dithering as Kevin realized his best friend was no longer breathing? A few minutes to panic. Then he’d have to gather the gold in whatever receptacle they used for keeping their finds in.
Then he’d have the task of getting the body into the water. And how long that took would depend on how near they’d been to the river when Michael was killed.
But Kevin was a hefty lad, and desperate to get away. He’d have been motivated to dump his friend’s body and scram with all possible speed.
Yes. It was enough time.
‘What did you do when you saw Kevin’s van?’ Hillary asked next.
‘I waited for Michael to come along, of course. But Michael didn’t appear. I thought he must have gone on somewhere else, or perhaps got in the van with Kevin, so I went back to work. It was only later, when I heard Michael was dead, and where he’d been found, that I realized what must have happened.’
‘That Kevin had killed him and put him in the river, you mean?’ Hillary asked curiously. And when Mia nodded emphatically, said carefully, ‘But that’s a bit of a leap, isn’t it, Dr de Salle? How do you know that Michael didn’t go on somewhere else and was killed later?’
‘Because I figured it out.’
Hillary went very still. ‘Figured out what, Dr de Salle?’
‘That Kevin had killed him for me.’
Hillary took a long, slow breath. ‘Killed him for you?’ she repeated carefully.
‘Yes! Don’t you see? Kevin knew Michael had treated me shabbily, so he killed him for me. Michael had wronged him anyway, by coming between us in the first place. Kevin knew that it should always have been him and me, though I hadn’t realized it before then. I felt so ashamed, and still do, that I made such a mistake!’
At this point, Hillary reached for a piece of paper and wrote the name of the psychiatric doctor the police used whenever they needed someone to assess a suspect or a witness’s state of mind. She pushed it towards Rollo, who read it, and nodded in agreement. He got up, walked to the door, and left.
Hillary stated that fact for the tape.
He came back less than a minute later and resumed his seat, and again Hillary stated that out loud. Mia de Salle had remained silent throughout this, apparently without any curiosity about it, but she was shifting on her seat and impatient to continue.
‘So you believe Kevin Philpott killed Michael Beck because . . .’ Hillary paused, knowing that she would have to jump in.
‘Because he was my soulmate,’ Mia said angrily. ‘Please, try not to be so unintelligent.’
‘My apologies, Dr de Salle,’ Hillary said. ‘Let’s move on. Did you tell Mr Philpott that you, er, saw him meet with Michael that day? The day Michael was killed?’
‘Of course not!’ Mia sighed impatiently. ‘Really, you are being
so dense!’
‘Why not?’ Hillary asked, ignoring the insult.
‘There was no need! He knew. He must have known. He always knows when I’m close.’
Hillary nodded, but in truth, she was beginning to feel as if she was in danger of going down the rabbit hole along with Mia de Salle. Trying to sort out fact from fiction was fast becoming impossible.
Then she remembered Kevin saying how he’d often seen Mia around town. Hillary thought she knew the real reason behind that now.
But did he?
To hear Mia talking now, you’d assume that she and Kevin had become an item soon after Michael’s death. But had they, Hillary wondered? Or was it all just in Mia’s head? She knew that lots of stalkers believed they had a relationship with the object of their affections when, in reality, none existed. This was especially true when it came to film stars or other famous personalities. Some fan would become obsessed and begin stalking them, always trying to catch sight of them, and would eventually believe that they were a couple. Of course, they self-rationalized away any inconsistencies. Their relationship had to be kept secret, so the press didn’t find out, for instance. But in their own mind, the object of their affection would call them up and talk to them, or send them Valentine’s cards, take them out for secret romantic dinners or what have you. The celebrity being stalked didn’t know they even existed.
‘Dr de Salle, after Michael’s death, you say you realized that Mr Kevin Philpott was really your soulmate?’ Hillary began carefully.
‘Yes. He killed Michael for me. He avenged my honour. He was my Heathcliff after all! I know he isn’t classically handsome, but what does that matter?’
Hillary swallowed and hoped that the doctor would arrive soon. She was getting well and truly out of her depth here!
‘Yes I see. And so you . . . er . . . began following Mr Philpott then?’
‘Yes! I just had to see him, you see. Oh, I knew we couldn’t acknowledge our love, not in the open. He was still in danger.’
‘Of being charged with Michael’s murder?’ Hillary hazarded.
‘Yes! They’d have thrown him in prison! We couldn’t have that. We had to be patient. I knew that. But it’s been so long,’ Mia wailed. ‘And now he’s abandoned me, just as Michael did. I’m here to betray him,’ she said. ‘It’s the only thing I can do.’
Hillary blinked. ‘Er, yes, of course. Dr de Salle, did you ever tell Mr Philpott of your devotion?’
‘I parked near his home and watched him walk by.’
‘Yes, but did you ever talk to him? Declare your love? Your devotion?’
‘No, I told you. We couldn’t be seen together. But he knew. Whenever our eyes would meet in the crowded street, we both knew.’
Well, Hillary mused, since Mia was in such a talkative mood, she might as well see if there was anything that was actually helpful that she could tell them. ‘Dr de Salle, when you followed Kevin, did you see him meet up with a man called Simon Newley, or go into his antiques shop?’
‘That horrible man in that dreadful shop? Yes, he would go and visit him about four or five times a year. I don’t know why though. He never bought anything in there. But it was an appalling place, full of old tat, so I’m not surprised.’
Hillary nodded. And although she knew her testimony would probably never be used in a court of law, at least it was helping to confirm her theories.
‘I don’t suppose you were watching him one night when he stopped at a house in north Oxford?’ She cited Lionel Kirklees’ address and the date of the night he’d been killed, but her luck didn’t stretch that far.
Regretfully, Mia de Salle told them that she didn’t ‘meet’ with Kevin in the hours of darkness. ‘I can’t see his face, you see,’ she explained simply.
‘I see,’ Hillary said blankly. Then gave herself a mental shake. Talking to this woman for any length of time could seriously play havoc with one’s mental wellbeing. ‘Well, thank you, Dr de Salle,’ Hillary said gently. Then looked across at Rollo. ‘I’m going to have your statement typed up. If you wouldn’t mind waiting, we’ll need you to sign it for us.’
‘Of course,’ she said calmly. ‘I understand.’
Hillary signed them off on the tape and they left in utter silence. Only once they were outside did Rollo allow himself to show any emotion.
‘Damn it, her testimony is going to be useless,’ he said bitterly. ‘A defence lawyer would rip her to pieces, even if we could get her signed off as competent to give evidence, which we won’t! In my opinion, I think that woman is going to be sectioned, and is probably due a long spell in an institution.’
Hillary regretfully agreed with this assessment.
‘It’s galling to actually have a witness at last, and not be able to use her!’ Rollo sighed. ‘If she was mentally stable, her eyewitness testimony putting Philpott at the scene of the crime, at the right time, would nail him good and proper. As it is . . . it’s useless!’
Hillary, feeling all in, leaned against the wall and then slowly began to smile. ‘Ah, but Kevin Philpott doesn’t know that, sir, does he?’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rollo, who had been pacing agitatedly up and down, immediately stopped and looked at her. He noted her smile and his eyes narrowed. ‘What are you thinking, Hillary?’
Hillary took a deep, weary breath. ‘I think that Kevin Philpott lacks a backbone, sir. I think that DI Farrell is softening him up for you nicely right now, asking him all about his dealings with Larry Spence. Trying to dodge and dance around that is going to wear him out for a start. Then I think it’s only a matter of time before we find that safety deposit box or other hiding place that he must have somewhere or other, and when we find it, we’re going to find his precious Saxon gold. And when he learns that his nest egg is gone, he’ll be feeling really sorry for himself. And if we can prove that he bought a spud planter not long before the two recent murders, even better. And on top of all that, if you then let him know that we now have an eyewitness that puts him and Michael together at the time of Michael’s death, near the river where his body was later recovered, I reckon he’s going to crack.’
The superintendent began to look a little less angry, but not totally convinced.
‘Don’t forget, sir, he’s had ten years of thinking that he’d got away with it. That nobody even knew for certain the exact spot where Michael was killed. If you give him all the details Mia just gave us, he’ll know better, and I think it’ll be too much for him.’
Rollo leaned against the wall beside her, thinking it over, and then sighed. ‘I hope you’re right,’ he said at last.
Hillary laughed wearily. ‘So do I, sir.’
‘We still don’t know why he killed Newley and Kirklees though,’ he pointed out.
Hillary sighed. ‘Well, you can’t always have everything, sir,’ she said philosophically. ‘And, technically, that’s DI Farrell’s problem, not ours.’
* * *
But in the next few days, the joint CRT case and Robin Farrell’s double-murder case quickly resolved itself, with most of Hillary’s predictions coming true. They found Michael Beck’s hoard of Saxon gold when a careful search of Kevin Philpott’s house turned up documentation for a safety deposit box in a bank in Witney.
A clerk at a garden centre near Burford came forward after they ran a request on the local news channel, along with a photograph of Kevin Philpott, asking for anyone who’d sold him a spud planter to come forward.
Mia de Salle had signed her statement but was currently being treated at a mental facility. Luckily for her, she had a rich aunt who had died eight years ago and left Mia her entire fortune, so she could afford the best of care.
And Kevin Philpott, unable to withstand the stream of evidence being gathered against him, finally admitted his guilt.
He even told DI Farrell just why he’d been forced to kill Simon Newley and Lionel Kirklees.
Although Hillary hadn’t been able to sit in on that particular interview,
Rollo had, and had been more than happy to fill her in on all the details later.
Apparently, Simon Newley had hit a bad patch financially, and was being squeezed by Kirklees for repayment of a loan that Newley had unwisely negotiated with him. Finding himself unable to pay it off, the fence had instead tossed the client he referred to in his books as ‘Teddy Bear’ under the bus, by selling him out to Kirklees in lieu of paying the loan. Newley could prove that Teddy Bear (who’d probably earned the nickname due to his cuddly figure and deep-set dark eyes) was a regular client who always had very valuable items for sale.
Naturally, Lionel Kirklees had then put the frighteners on Teddy Bear, having him beaten up and telling him to hand over the gold, or end up floating face down in the Cherwell. Thus leaving Kevin Philpott facing the very unpalatable fact that his easy lifestyle was now over.
Unless he could get rid of Kirklees.
It was a bold move, for there probably wasn’t a crook in Oxford — save perhaps Larry Spence — who’d have dared to have a go at tackling a thug like Kirklees. But here, ironically enough, it was Kevin’s very innocence and lack of understanding at just how dangerous Kirklees was that allowed him to do something so dangerous.
Of course, before he could kill Kirklees, Kevin reasoned that he needed to get rid of Simon Newley first, since he felt sure that Newley would guess who was responsible when Kirklees turned up dead. He wouldn’t hesitate to give an anonymous tip to the police and drop Kevin in it, if it meant keeping himself safe from a murderer out for revenge.
So Kevin had bought the taser and spud planter, made a note of the men’s various habits, and then laid his plans. He killed Simon Newley the moment he opened his back door, and then killed Kirklees under cover of darkness in his front garden that same night.
As Kevin had told a gobsmacked DI Robin Farrell, he needed to kill Lionel before he got to hear about Newley’s killing. He didn’t want Kirklees being forewarned.
Rollo Sale had had to laugh out loud when he described Robin Farrell’s chagrin and disgust when he finally had to admit that Larry Spence had had nothing to do with their deaths after all.
