by Michael Wood
Matilda smiled. The old Rory seemed to be back. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘There was a consultant who knew Serena Mercer. I thought it better to chat to him in person rather than over the phone.’
Matilda immediately thought of the detectives in Barnsley. She wondered how long it would be before Valerie clamped down on the cost of petrol and wear and tear on the pool cars.
‘And?’
‘Fancy treating me to a coffee?’ He smiled.
They went to the canteen, where Matilda bought them both a coffee and a chocolate chip muffin. She rarely claimed money back on expenses for little things like coffees. Matilda was in the fortunate position of having a comfortable bank balance. James had left her very well off, and he had a good insurance policy which paid out upon his death. The house she sold went for more than she expected, and she didn’t spend much as she was always either working or at home reading a book. She understood times were difficult for people like Rory and Scott who were trying to get a foot on the property ladder. Matilda remembered saving up two thousand pounds for a deposit on her first flat. She would be laughed out of the estate agency now if she offered such a little amount.
Rory bit off a large chunk of muffin and washed it down with a slug of tea. ‘Lovely.’
‘How do you stay so slim with all the crap you eat?’ Matilda asked.
‘I go to the gym five times a week.’
For such a small word, ‘gym’ frightened the life out of Matilda. She couldn’t think of anything worse than being in a room full of sweating poseurs.
‘So, this consultant,’ she prompted.
‘Mr Edward Hillier‑Pendleton, to give him his full name,’ Rory said.
‘Very posh.’
‘Well, he tried to act posh. He had the pinstripe suit and everything, but I saw The Sun in his top drawer,’ he laughed. ‘Anyway, he’s worked with Serena Mercer on and off for about twelve years. He said she was a lovely woman, brilliant at her job, couldn’t fault her professionally, but he went to a party once where Serena was there with Clive and it changed his whole view of her.’ Rory paused while he had another bite of muffin.
‘Go on,’ Matilda was on the edge of her seat. She hadn’t even touched her muffin, or the orange tea.
‘When she went to these functions on her own, she was always laughing and joking, joining in, had a few drinks, but as Clive was there, she was very withdrawn. She constantly kept looking at him as if for his approval before she said or did anything.’
‘That’s not so unusual; a lot of people behave differently when their other half is around. My dad can hardly get a word in edgeways when my mother’s with him.’
‘He said that after that night, he picked up on things he’d never noticed before. If she was asked anywhere she’d say she’d have to ask Clive. Or it was always Clive’s booked us to go here, Clive says we should go there. Everything was always about Clive. And,’ Rory leaned forward and lowered his voice, ‘he’s not sure, but he got the impression that Clive used to hit Serena.’
‘Why did he think that?’
‘He had no proof, but it was all in her behaviour.’
‘So what are we saying; Clive was a bully and Serena was abused?’
‘It looks that way.’
‘But that doesn’t help us. If it was just Clive who was killed, then maybe, but why was Serena killed?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘The crime was frenzied, savage. I can just about get my head around Jeremy and Rachel being in the way but someone hated Clive and Serena. If abuse was the motive, why kill Serena and Jeremy? No. The killer hated the whole family.’
Matilda sat back in her seat and looked around the canteen. The more people they spoke to about this case, the more confusing it became. The neighbours thought they were perfect, but now it appeared Clive may have abused his wife. There was a hair found at the scene but it belonged to a man whose most heinous crime was burglary. Leah’s mental state seemed to be all over the place, and goodness knows what Oliver was hiding.
‘Are you eating your muffin?’ Rory asked.
‘What? No, take it.’
‘Thanks. I missed lunch.’
‘Lunch?’ She looked at her watch. It was almost four o’clock.
Matilda caught a lift back to the station with Rory. He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other stuffing his face with chocolate chip muffin. Matilda gazed out of the window. It was starting to rain, only a fine drizzle, but enough for people to put umbrellas up. It was dark outside, but it was still early, still plenty of the working day left. However, Matilda was looking forward to getting home, lighting the fire in the living room and curling up on the sofa with a good book.
Her mobile burst into life, shaking her from her reverie. Typical. She could never have a few minutes alone with a positive thought.
‘DCI Darke,’ she answered without looking at the display.
‘Matilda, Kate Stephenson. How are you?’
Matilda bit her tongue to stop herself from swearing. She was never any good at talking to the press, especially when it was the editor and not just a lowly journalist.
‘I’m fine thanks, Kate. Yourself?’
‘I’m well. Circulation is up slightly. You’ll be pleased to know Danny Hanson was named Young Reporter of the Year.’
‘Really? Well, that’s great. Tell him congratulations from me,’ she said, though it pained her to do so.
‘You can tell him yourself. You’re on speaker phone and he’s sitting right beside me.’
Matilda bit her tongue too hard and tasted blood. ‘Hello Danny. Congratulations. You must be thrilled.’
‘I am, thank you,’ came the cheerful reply from the young journalist. ‘It was my work on the Steve Harrison case that got me the award. I mentioned you in my acceptance speech.’
Why is there never anything around to kick the shit out of when you need it?
‘Glad I could be of service,’ she seethed. ‘So, Kate, did you ring for a reason?’
‘Yes I did. I had a call this afternoon from an anonymous source about the killing of the Mercer family. Is it true that members of South Yorkshire Police had the killer in custody and allowed him to escape leading him to commit his crimes?’
Matilda closed her eyes. She had a feeling Kate was going to ask that. Who the bloody hell had given her that information?
‘I’m afraid I can’t comment on that, Kate.’
‘Really? The source is reliable so we will be running the story. I wanted to offer you a right to reply.’
‘In that case I’d ask you to contact ACC Masterson’s office for an official statement. Goodbye.’ She disconnected the call before Kate could say anything else.
‘I’m guessing that was the press,’ Rory said.
‘It certainly was.’
‘Not good news?’
‘The press doesn’t deliver good news. They don’t know the meaning of the term.’
She turned to gaze out of the side window. The Sheffield scenery went by in a blur. Dusk was beginning to set. Another day was almost over and the case was still no closer to being solved.
Despite the forensic evidence telling her Keith Lumb was the killer, her instinct told her otherwise. She believed the truth lay closer to home.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sian had noticed TDC Finn Cotton was getting fatigued sitting at his desk staring at his laptop all day, so changed the appointment with the professional photographer. Instead of him coming into the station, they would go and visit him. When she told this to Finn, his face lit up. It would be his first journey out of the office since he started in HMET.
‘How are you settling in?’ she asked in the car as they drove through the busy streets of Sheffield towards Mansfield Road.
‘Great, thanks. I’m loving the work. This case is very interesting,’ he said with a smile. ‘Nice to get out of the office, though. I was getting a bit stiff sat at my desk all day.’
‘Not all cases are as interesting as this one. So, whereabouts do you live, Finn?’
‘Heeley.’
‘Still with your family?’
‘No, with my wife.’
‘Wife?’ She was stunned. Finn didn’t look old enough to shave let alone get married. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘Twenty-two and you’re married?’ She took her eyes off the road and had to brake harshly for a red light. ‘How long have you been married?’
‘About eighteen months.’
‘How old’s your wife?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘Oh.’
At twenty-two, the last thing on Sian’s mind had been marriage. She was too busy studying by day, partying by night and ignoring every word of warning her parents gave her.
She indicated left and turned into the industrial estate. She found the small unit the photographer worked from and parked in the visitor’s parking space. She would love to have continued chatting to Finn, get all the gossip on him and his wife. Maybe on the journey back.
Professional photographer, Peter Parker, didn’t match the image Sian had made of him from their conversation on the phone. His deep voice gave the impression he was in his forties, of a large build, and, for some reason, Sian expected a bushy beard. What greeted them upon arrival was a young man in his early-twenties with dark hair and piercing eyes; Elijah Wood but without the Frodo ears.
His small, untidy office was full of Spider-Man memorabilia (obviously). He made them both a coffee from an expensive-looking machine and loaded up his bank of large computer screens. As she looked around, Sian wondered how a man of such young years could afford a set up like this.
Peter seemed to have read her mind. He placed his left leg on the desk and pulled up his trousers showing a titanium leg. ‘Roller coaster crashed at a theme park in Germany. I got a good solicitor and a hefty compensation pay out,’ he said with a smile on his face. ‘My footballing days are over but I’m doing a job I love, and I’ve got a great life attending weddings and parties.’
Sian found his positive attitude, his confidence, to be infectious. What an admirable young man.
‘Is Peter Parker your real name?’ Finn asked.
He chuckled. ‘Yes it is. I hated it when I was at school. I lost count of the amount of times I was asked if my spidey-sense was tingling. However, now I use it to my advantage. The kids at parties love it.’
Finn looked around the office, wide-eyed. Obviously, a Marvel fan.
‘First of all, I’ve got to say, I’m loving being involved in police work,’ Peter said. ‘I know it sounds ghoulish, but who doesn’t fantasize about detectives needing your help in a big murder case?’
‘You have some strange fantasies, Mr Parker,’ Sian said, sipping her coffee.
‘Call me Peter,’
‘Do you get many bookings based on your name?’ Finn asked, looking at a wall of photographs.
‘I get a lot of kids’ parties. I’m sure some of them think I am actually Spider-Man. Still, if it helps business.’
‘What can you tell me about the Mercer wedding on Sunday?’ Sian asked, getting on topic.
Peter’s smile dropped in respect for the dead. ‘One of the better, classier weddings I’ve attended. It’s difficult to believe how it’s all turned out. Frightening. Life’s fragile. I know that more than most. We have to get what we can out of it while we’re here. Anyway, it was a brilliant day, bloody cold, but the sun was out so I got some amazing pictures.’
He turned to the bank of computers and brought up a slideshow of the Mercer wedding photographs. ‘Now, these are all in a raw state. I don’t want you thinking I’m shite at my job,’ he said. ‘I haven’t had a chance to play around with exposition and editing yet, you understand.’
As he spoke, the photographs changed at two-second intervals. Leah looked completely different from the emotional wreck in the interview rooms. The dress was elegant and figure-hugging. Oliver was very handsome in his three-piece suit. Serena beamed with pride in a lilac dress and matching hat. Clive and Jeremy wore grey suits and the same coloured tie. Then there was little Rachel as a bridesmaid. In every picture her smile spread across her face. It was the happiest day of her life and she looked like a princess. Peter was right, life was incredibly fragile.
‘Did anyone stand out as being especially awkward, or like they didn’t fit in?’ Sian asked, not taking her eyes off the display.
‘No. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. Look at this one of the bride with the bridesmaids. The little girl was loving it. Is she OK?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘Did you go back to the house?’
‘Yes. I was booked to take pictures of them cutting the cake, having their first dance.’
‘Can we have a look at those ones?’
‘Sure.’
In the next series of photos, the atmosphere was less formal, as the reception began. Coats and hats were removed, ties loosened, and bouquets of flowers abandoned. The drink was flowing, and food was being consumed. Leah smiled into the centre of the camera as she and Oliver held the knife to cut the cake. As they danced, Oliver held his wife by the waist. She looked up to him, their eyes locked, smiles almost painfully sweet.
‘How long did you stay at the reception?’ Sian asked.
‘Not long. Once the formalities were over with, I shot off a few casual pictures, had a glass of champagne then left.’
‘Did anything out of the ordinary happen?’
‘Not that I can remember. Oh, hang on a minute, yes. I was in the kitchen putting my camera away and Mrs Mercer – Serena – was talking to this other woman. I hadn’t seen her at the church or during the reception, but she was apologizing to Serena. She said she was sorry and hoped she hadn’t hurt their friendship.’
Sian frowned. ‘What did Serena say?’
‘Nothing. She wasn’t really paying that much attention to her. When I was pulling out of the driveway, I saw this woman running down the road, crying her eyes out.’
‘Does she appear anywhere on your photographs?’
‘I doubt it. Like I said, it was the first time I’d seen her. She would have stood out too; she was wearing something very old-fashioned. She didn’t fit in with the rest of the guests.’ He studied Sian and Finn’s strained expressions. ‘Have I given you a massive clue?’ He smiled.
‘You may just have, Mr Parker. Thanks for your time.’
‘No worries. Here, take a couple of cards, hand them out at the station. I do all formal parties and gatherings. Or, if you ever need some artistic crime scene shots, I do excellent black-and-white noir effects.’
Sian took the cards and smiled. She had a mental image of him running around a crime scene asking for the body to be posed in different positions. ‘I’ll keep you in mind, Spidey.’
Chapter Thirty
Scott had been complaining of a headache, so Sian sent him home. Ranjeet was still at the hospital with his wife, so by the time the evening briefing was due to start there was only Matilda, Sian, Aaron and Christian remaining. Matilda told Rory and Finn to go home too, leaving only the senior officers hanging around. The briefing was to be an intimate affair so they convened in Matilda’s office.
Sian entered with her snack drawer and placed it on Matilda’s desk, telling everyone to help themselves. Meanwhile, Aaron and Christian went about making everyone a much-needed coffee.
‘Who the hell put cereal bars in here?’ Christian complained as he rooted around in the drawer for something chocolatey.
‘I did,’ Matilda said.
‘Oh. I’m sure they’re lovely,’ he said with a fake smile.
‘They’ve got chocolate chips in.’
‘But it’s a cereal bar. The name alone tells you it’s going to be good for you. I like something to dunk in my coffee.’
‘Bloody hell, it’s like being in charge of a creche sometimes with you lot. Here,’ she said, handing him a Snickers
from the bottom of the drawer.
His face lit up. ‘Lovely.’
‘Are you sure the nuts won’t count as a health food? I don’t want you wasting away.’
‘This will do perfectly, thank you.’
Aaron entered, kicking the door closed behind him, carrying a tray of coffees and placing it on the desk. ‘They’re all the same as we’re out of sugar.’
‘Typical,’ Christian moaned.
‘I’ll bring some in tomorrow,’ Sian said.
‘Sian, look at the back of my head,’ Christian said, turning around. ‘Do you think I’m going bald?’
‘No. Why?’
‘I just wondered. I feel like I’m thinning on top.’
‘Oh dear. You’re not entering a mid-life crisis are you? Please don’t come to work in a convertible.’
‘Or dye your hair,’ Aaron chipped in. ‘Go grey naturally.’
‘Grey? Am I going grey?’ Christian panicked and tried to look at his reflection in the back of a teaspoon.
‘OK everyone, let’s settle down. We can talk about Christian’s descent into old age another time,’ Matilda said with a smile. ‘On the way over here, I had a call from Kate Stephenson at The Star. She told me that a reliable source has told her all about Keith Lumb escaping from a police station and going on to commit three murders.’
‘Jesus,’ Sian uttered. ‘Who’s blabbed?’
‘Nobody’s mentioned a call from the press, today,’ Aaron said.
‘I don’t think it’s anyone from here, don’t worry,’ Matilda placated. ‘I’ve had a word with the ACC. The only press contact has been through official channels. No, I think it might be someone from Barnsley.’
‘Really?’ Christian asked. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’ She frowned. ‘There’s something about that place that didn’t seem genuine. Remember the duty sergeant, Bella Slack? She couldn’t do enough for us.’
‘And the “if there’s a whip-round to be done, it’s always down to me to do it”. She did seem a bit too good to be true, didn’t she?’
‘Exactly.’
‘I wouldn’t have her down as the type to feed the press information, though.’
