Shattered: a gripping crime thriller

by Heleyne Hammersley

  ‘We really can’t give you any details at the moment. Mr Houghton and his wife were found dead in their vehicle early this morning.’

  ‘In their vehicle? It was a car accident?’

  Barratt didn’t respond and O’Connor just sniffed loudly and stared at the manager.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Sims continued. ‘Eleanor as well?’

  ‘Did they have any family?’ Barratt asked. ‘Children, nieces, nephews?’

  Sims shook his head. ‘No. That’s one of the reasons that I ended up managing the company. They married late in life – I think they were both in their fifties – and neither had been married before as far as I know. I don’t know about extended family, though, but I’ve always assumed that there wasn’t anybody.’

  ‘Okay,’ Barratt said, taking out his notebook. ‘I’m going to need your details. It’s possible that you may have to formally identify the bodies if you can do that?’

  Sims nodded shakily.

  ‘I also need to know if Mr Houghton had any enemies. Business rivals, disgruntled ex-employees, that kind of thing. Any arguments about how the company was being run?’

  ‘Enemies? You think somebody killed them?’ His eyes widened with incredulity.

  ‘It’s one line of enquiry,’ Barratt said. ‘Can you think of anybody with a grudge?’

  Sims’s eyes drifted as he seemed to be considering the question. ‘I can’t think of anybody,’ he said. ‘As far as I know, Peter was well respected.’

  ‘What about you?’ O’Connor asked. ‘Do you have any enemies? Anybody who might want to send you a message?’

  ‘Of course not! I run a haulage business – it’s not the Mafia. It’s not like me and the boss of Eddie Stobart go around letting each other’s tyres down and decoupling rigs.’

  Barratt slipped his notebook into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and stood up. ‘Thanks for your time, Mr Sims. If we need anything else, we’ll be in touch. And I’d appreciate it if you’d think about helping with the ID of the bodies.’

  Sims nodded. ‘Of course, anything I can do to help.’

  Barratt followed O’Connor back to the car but wasn’t surprised when the other man continued towards the yard where the lorries were parked.

  ‘Still want to have a look around?’ he asked.

  O’Connor’s moustache twitched. ‘Obviously.’

  ‘You saw it as well?’

  ‘Couldn’t miss it.’

  Barratt was glad of the confirmation that what he’d seen wasn’t his imagination. When O’Connor had asked Sims about arguments within the company, the man had flushed slightly and couldn’t look at either of them. He was lying.

  12

  ‘It’s a bit posh round here,’ Hollis said as Kate pressed the doorbell of the Houghtons’ nearest neighbour. The house, like Peter and Eleanor’s bungalow, stood on its own plot but this one was smaller, and the gates were waist-high rather than over six feet. Built from the same red brick as the council estate five miles away where Kate had grown up, the two-storey building was double fronted and well set back from the road that passed through the village. As a child, Kate had occasionally walked to Turton with her parents on long summer days. One of the local farmers grew strawberries in the fields surrounding the television mast and they were cheap and plentiful enough to be worth the two-hour walk in the heat and humidity.

  Later, in her teens, Kate had cycled the roads around the village, stopping often on the motorway bridge and musing about the destinations of the increasing number of cars using the newly built M18. Home to ex-footballers and at least one star of a daytime soap opera, Turton had always seemed like somewhere that would always be just beyond her reach, just a bit too exclusive for a girl from the Crosslands Estate.

  ‘Always was,’ Kate said. ‘One of my school friends lived here. Snobby cow.’

  Hollis barked a laugh, whether at Kate’s comment or from surprise that she was sharing details of her childhood, Kate didn’t know.

  They both stepped back as the door was opened by a tall woman in her late twenties or early thirties who could have just stepped off the set of a television programme about perfect people and their perfect homes.

  ‘Can I help you?’ the woman asked, looking from Kate to Hollis as though unsure which of them to address. ‘If you’re Jehovah’s Witnesses I’ll tell you straight away that I’m a Satanist and I drink the blood of puppies.’

  The comment was so unexpected that Kate couldn’t suppress a grin. ‘We’re not. But we might have to arrest you for animal abuse,’ she said, flashing her warrant card.

  The woman’s face relaxed. Not the most common reaction to finding police officers on your doorstep but Kate was glad of the suggestion of openness.

  ‘Ah, I should have guessed given the amount of activity around my neighbours’ house today. What’s happened?’ She held up a hand, palm outwards. ‘No. I know, you can’t tell me.’

  ‘Can we come in?’ Kate asked. ‘It’s probably easier than talking on the doorstep. And a lot more private.’

  ‘Of course.’ The woman turned and led them down a short hallway, painted a calming shade of pale blue. Kate appraised her as they walked. Lilac cashmere cardigan and black trousers seemed an unlikely combination for lounging around at home and a slightly odd choice for a young woman. Kate wondered if she’d been out somewhere special.

  ‘Through here.’

  The living room was painted in an off-white that Kate knew would have been called Calico or Barley and the leather suite was cream-coloured and immaculate. The carpet was a deep burgundy and held the shape of their footprints as they went to sit down.

  ‘Lovely home,’ Kate said, meaning it for once. ‘Have you been here long Ms…?’

  ‘Knowles, call me Adele,’ the woman responded. ‘And yes, you could say I’ve been here a while. I was born in the front bedroom of the house – thirty-four years ago.’

  ‘You’ve lived here ever since?’

  Adele nodded. ‘Apart from three years at university in Leeds. I came back to care for my mother, but she ended up caring for me – until she died a few years ago.’

  Kate waited for an explanation for the cryptic comment, but none was forthcoming. ‘Do you work or are you at home most of the day?’

  ‘Yes. And yes. I work at home. I’m a translator. Mainly technical journals. English to German.’

  ‘Sounds interesting.’

  Adele smiled. ‘It’s not but it pays well and there’s no commuting involved. I’m sorry, I haven’t offered you a drink. Tea? Coffee? A cold drink? I’ve got a lovely elderflower cordial that one of my neighbours makes.’

  Hollis asked for cordial, but Kate declined the offer, and both waited while Adele disappeared into the kitchen for a couple of minutes.

  ‘Sounds like she’s got a good life,’ Hollis said. ‘Nice house, decent job and hours to suit.’

  ‘You’d hate it,’ Kate responded. ‘Nobody to talk to. No reason to put a suit on and gel your hair. You’d be climbing the walls after a fortnight.’

  Hollis laughed. ‘You know me so well.’

  ‘Here we go,’ Adele announced, breezing back into the room holding a tray containing two glasses which rattled with ice cubes and dripped with condensation. Kate found herself regretting not asking for a drink as she watched Hollis take a large gulp. Despite the open windows the living room was getting warm as the midsummer sun moved round to the west.

  ‘Can I ask you about your neighbours?’ Kate began. Hollis carefully placed his drink on a coaster and took out his notebook.

  ‘I assume you mean the Houghtons,’ Adele said, taking a sip of her cordial. ‘As that’s where all the police activity has been focused.’

  ‘Did you know them well?’

  ‘Well enough.’ Something about the woman’s tone suggested that she didn’t like her neighbours very much. ‘They’ve lived next door since I was a teenager. They bought the plot and built their own home.’

  ‘What w
ere they like?’ Hollis asked. ‘Friendly, helpful? Were they an active part of the community?’

  ‘Were? You’re using past tense. Has something happened to them?’

  Hollis glanced at Kate.

  ‘A couple were found dead in their car this morning,’ she said. ‘It seems likely to be the Houghtons.’

  ‘In their car? That’s a bit odd.’ The woman didn’t seem upset or concerned about the deaths of her neighbours, more curious than dismayed. ‘Was it an accident? A car crash?’

  ‘We really can’t give you any details,’ Hollis said. ‘When did you last see your neighbours?’

  Adele shrugged. ‘Maybe last week when I was putting out the bins. I usually saw him on bin day. Can’t remember when I last saw her.’

  ‘Did you speak?’

  ‘No. I haven’t spoken to Peter Houghton for years.’

  Kate sat back in her seat, shocked. How could you avoid your neighbour in such a small community? ‘Had you fallen out?’

  Adele snorted. ‘Fallen out? Not really. That would imply that we were friendly at some point. I couldn’t stand Peter Houghton, and his wife wasn’t much better.’

  ‘Was he not generally liked in the village?’

  ‘No idea. You might find it hard to believe but there’s not a lot of gossip in Turton. At least, not that I know of. If there is, I’m more likely to be the subject of it rather than sharing it. I’m sure Peter Houghton wasn’t one to keep his foul comments to himself.’

  This was unexpected. The woman’s vitriol was apparent in the way she spat Houghton’s name every time she said it.

  ‘Foul comments?’

  ‘Transphobic crap. At first he’d just dead-name me.’

  Realisation dawned on Kate, but Hollis was a bit slower on the uptake.

  ‘Dead-name?’ he asked, frowning. ‘I’m not sure…’

  ‘It’s when somebody calls a trans person by their birth name. Houghton’s known me since I was about fifteen years old. He insisted on using my birth name. Then it was loud comments whenever I went past. Freak, weirdo, that kind of thing. Always addressed to his wife, never directed at me, but loud enough for me to hear. He was a nasty old bigot and, while I’d never say I was glad somebody was dead, I can’t say I care.’

  ‘What about his wife? Did she make offensive comments?’

  Adele shook her head. ‘She hardly spoke. I got the feeling that she might be afraid of her husband – that she would never voice an opinion of her own and certainly not one that went against what he thought. I’ve got no evidence for that – it’s just a gut thing. She always struck me as meek, servile. He was just an arrogant sod. His attitude about the environment was pretty appalling as well – I suppose you’ve heard. Buying land that could have been used for conservation and laughing when the local paper asked if he’d be making his lorry fleet more environmentally friendly.’

  ‘Did other people in the village feel the same way about the Houghtons?’ Hollis asked.

  Adele took another sip of her drink, the musical tinkle of the ice cubes a torment to Kate. ‘No idea. Like I said there isn’t much gossip, as far as I know, and nobody said anything to me. You’ll have to ask the rest of my neighbours. I’m probably the person who liked the Houghtons the least though. It was more personal with me. I hope it isn’t a murder investigation because I’ll probably be your prime suspect.’

  Adele smiled, until she caught the look between Kate and Hollis.

  ‘Oh. Oh, shit.’

  1983

  Mum was crying in the back of the van after the women picked us up to take us back to the camp. She kept saying, ‘I can’t believe it.’ And ‘I thought they’d listen.’ The other women nodded in agreement, but I didn’t know what they were talking about. The driver seemed to be going faster than last time but her urgency didn’t seem to have infected the women in the back. There was a lot of sighing and shaking of their heads as they spoke in hushed voices. I couldn’t work out any of the details but there was something going on at the camp and it was something very important.

  It was dark when we arrived but there were lights everywhere inside the fence – really bright ones that hurt my eyes when I looked at them for too long. There were women everywhere, blocking the roads, clinging onto the fence, gathered around the tents and shelters. Mum ran straight up to the fence and started shouting swear words, really bad ones, and two of the other women from our van joined her. I wasn’t sure what to do. Part of me wanted to join in with the swearing – Mum was so worked up that she probably wouldn’t have minded – but I felt too small, too unimportant so I sat down next to one of the strange shelters that seemed to have sprung up since we were last here. The women make them out of branches and plastic sheets and old blankets.

  A young woman tumbled down from the fence and landed almost at my feet, laughing and crying at the same time. ‘Hey, kid. What’s up?’

  I just shrugged. I didn’t know who she was, but she seemed a little too friendly and that made me wary of her, at first.

  ‘I’m Taz,’ she said. ‘I’ve been here for a few months. I saw you get out of that van a couple of minutes ago. Are you new?’

  ‘No!’ I don’t know why I shouted but I didn’t want her to think I didn’t belong. ‘I’ve been here before. I came down with my mum a few months ago and we all held hands around the fence.’

  Taz smiled as though I’d said something funny. ‘That’s great. I was here for that too. We called it ‘Embrace the Base’. It was in all the papers. Did you have a good time?’

  I didn’t know how to answer that. I’d enjoyed being part of a big gang, but I didn’t like all the cold and the mud. And I didn’t like the feeling of not really knowing what was going on.

  ‘It was all right,’ I said.

  Taz gave me a funny look. ‘You don’t want to be here, do you?’

  I shrugged again. I was scared to say no in case she got mad.

  ‘I get it,’ she continued. ‘I didn’t like it at first. It’s cold, and wet and muddy and there’s not much to do. But it’s so important that we stay. That we all stay. We’re trying to change the world for the better and we’re doing it for you, the kids.’

  I didn’t know what to say so I kept quiet. Taz sounded like Mum, like all the other women. They knew why they were here, and they seemed to have a plan. I just wished I knew what it was all about. Maybe, if I got to be friends with Taz she’d tell me.

  13

  ‘Other than Adele Knowles, the neighbours’ comments about the Houghtons were fairly banal,’ Kate said, opening the team briefing the next day. ‘Kept themselves to themselves. Nice enough. That kind of thing. There were a couple of mentions of the land that Peter Houghton bought but nothing especially resentful.’

  ‘Usual bland crap,’ O’Connor muttered. He was right. Kate had lost count of how many cases she’d worked where the neighbours were shocked to learn that the man opposite was a drug dealer, or the woman next door beat her children. For such a nosey society, it seemed most were still very quick to judge on appearances and keep themselves to themselves.

  ‘None of them saw anybody arrive at or leave the Houghtons’ bungalow the night before last and there were no reports of an unfamiliar vehicle parked in the village.’

  ‘So, our killer either arrived on foot, which seems unlikely, or was parked on the Houghtons’ property? That suggests it was somebody they knew or trusted,’ Hollis pointed out. ‘So far we’ve found no family–’

  ‘There’s a nephew,’ Sam interrupted as she entered the room with her laptop under one arm and a mug of coffee in the opposite hand. ‘Sorry I’m late. Got a bit distracted.’

  ‘A nephew?’ Kate prompted.

  ‘Son of Eleanor Houghton’s sister who died from MS. He lives just outside Adelaide.’

  ‘Australia?’

  ‘Unfortunately. That’s why I was late – I was chatting with him on Skype. He’s not been back to the UK for eight years – since his mother died – but he was in regular
contact with his aunt and her husband. He claims they were settled, comfortable. Neither was in especially poor health and, the last time he spoke to them, they were looking forward to a holiday in Greece later in the year.’

  ‘That just supports the theory that it wasn’t suicide,’ Barratt said. ‘But we already know that. Did the nephew know of any enemies, competitors, threats to the couple?’

  Sam shook her head. ‘Nothing. Eleanor always said that business was good – she wasn’t even worried too much about post-Brexit changes as most of Houghton’s business is domestic.’

  Kate held up her hands to silence the inevitable speculation between the members of her team. She could see that they were all eager to get started, to get digging into the details of Peter and Eleanor Houghton’s lives but she needed them to focus, to start at the beginning – the crime scene.

  ‘Right. I’ve got a preliminary tox report on Julia Sullivan which shows high levels of a benzodiazepine, I’m guessing Rohypnol but we need confirmation. I’ve also got all the Houghton images through from the SOCOs and the forensic team,’ she began. ‘I want to go through, photo by photo, and see what we’ve got before we go down the route of wild speculation and hearsay. Keep the Sullivan scene in mind as well. Look for similarities.’

  Four faces turned to the screen as she tapped a couple of keys on her laptop to project the first image. It showed the car with the doors open to allow the fumes to escape but with both bodies still in situ. Apparently, medics had established that both occupants of the car were beyond hope of resuscitation and so had left everything in place for the police and forensics teams.

  ‘They look relaxed,’ Sam said. ‘Both heads tilted back like they’ve just stopped to admire the view.’

  ‘All they need is a flask and a couple of sandwiches,’ O’Connor said.

  The next few images were close-ups of the couple from various angles none of which showed any marks or injuries on the bodies. Nothing to suggest that this wasn’t suicide. There were close-ups of the tubing taped to the exhaust pipe and the rear window where it entered the car.