What Lies Beneath (Rutland crime series Book 1) Page 10

  ‘Right. And the library’s IP address could be that last machine involved? Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, absolutely. We don’t think that’s the case. But there’s still a chance the sender wasn’t even in the library.’

  ‘What? How?’

  ‘They could’ve got onto the network from outside. Could be as simple as connecting to the wifi from a car parked up by the building. We won’t know until the CCTV comes back.’

  Caroline nodded and thanked her. Sara was always one step ahead, constantly on the ball. At a time when it seemed the investigation was finally getting its first real breakthrough, colleagues like Sara were gold dust.

  28

  The wait for the CCTV footage from the library seemed interminable. For all Rutland’s differences compared to London, it seemed they had one thing in common: waiting for councils to act.

  Caroline felt surer than ever that Patrick Walsh was their man. She’d come across enough shifty people in her time to know when someone was playing her and trying to hide something. And although that wasn’t enough in itself, as far as she was concerned there was more than enough linking him to Roger Clifton’s murder.

  Even more frustratingly, someone appeared to have replaced the coffee granules in the kitchenette with a different brand. She sipped the murky brown liquid, trying to ignore the taste and focus on the caffeine hit, when Sara Henshaw came in.

  ‘Sara, you’re smiling. Please tell me it’s because the CCTV footage has come back, and not because you’ve got shares in whoever makes this godawful piss.’

  ‘Wrong on both counts. But it’s either going to throw us a massive bone or put an even bigger spanner in the works. Remember Roger Clifton’s brother, who lives in Spain? The present-day Arthur. He’s back.’

  ‘Back? In the UK?’

  ‘In Rutland. It looks like he’s going to inherit the company. Apparently, there was a cloak and dagger meeting with a solicitor earlier this morning. Alice Clifton got wind of it and phoned the police. She was going apeshit, apparently, screaming that Arthur had killed Roger to get control of the company.’

  ‘On what basis? He wasn’t a shareholder or director, was he?’

  ‘Something to do with the will. Reading between the lines, Roger had cut Alice out of it and there was some sort of extra documentation leaving the business to Arthur.’

  ‘Christ. Okay, well that gives him a motive. Means and opportunity, not so much. Bit difficult to kill someone who’s in another country.’

  ‘Could have hired someone to do it.’

  ‘Then turn up within a few days to claim the money? Something doesn’t feel right there.’

  She opened her office door and called over to Dexter. He stood up and walked towards them.

  ‘Got a little job for you, Dex. Can you pop over to Alice Clifton’s in Empingham and speak to her please? It looks like Roger’s brother’s back on the scene. We’ve had a call from her, kicking off about some secret meeting between Arthur and a solicitor over him inheriting the company.’

  Dexter cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. ‘Right, I see.’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking. Don’t. These things happen all the time when people die. There’s always someone who crawls out of the woodwork wanting money. It’s rarely a reason for murder.’

  ‘Could be a starting point, though.’

  ‘It could. But we’re a small team and we need to make sure we always focus on our strongest line of inquiry. We don’t have the resources to be doing a full-on Sherlock Holmes reconstruction of every player’s movements and motives. We’re police officers. We look at the evidence and work backwards from there.’

  As she said this, she realised how hypocritical it could sound. Had she really focused too heavily on Patrick Walsh and the religious aspect? No. Definitely not. The religious connections were clear and there for all to see. And Walsh’s links were numerous. He’d been having his way with Roger Clifton’s wife, was known to have had violent disagreements with Roger and had been acting suspiciously. He also fitted perfectly into the religious connection.

  ‘Alright,’ Dex said, clearly not in the mood for a disagreement. ‘Anything else?’

  Caroline shook her head. ‘No, that’ll be all,’ she muttered.

  29

  Caroline arrived home that evening feeling as though she’d been hit by a ton of bricks. Mark had forgotten to switch the outside lights on — odd, as he was always the one reminding her to switch them on, then off again in the morning. It was on his to-do list to wire light sensors into them so they’d go off and on automatically with sunrise and sunset, but he hadn’t got round to it yet. Still, it was unlike him to forget to switch them on.

  There was a light on in the living room — the distant glow of the sideboard lamp, accentuated with the flickering colours of the television, which played off the walls.

  She switched off her engine, grabbed her bag and got out of the car. She was sure this place would feel like home at some point. It was much bigger than the place they’d had in London, and had left them money in the bank. It was a lovely house — no doubt about it — but she didn’t yet feel that connection, the sense of returning where she belonged. She wondered how much of that Mark felt, too. It would go some way to explaining the frosty atmosphere around the place. She wasn’t blameless in that regard, but she wasn’t about to take full responsibility either.

  Her instinctive reaction was to believe things had been simpler in London. But had they really? There’d still been other complications, but they were largely different ones. Still, she’d been able to be honest. She’d been open — at least with Mark. And she hadn’t had to feel the guilt of holding back. At least, that’s what was on the surface. That’s what she could tell herself. It was safer than facing the truth. Safer than admitting — to herself — all of the secrets and things she’d been hiding. Suppressing. She’d hoped the move to Rutland would give her the fresh start she needed. She’d had visions of feeling freer, more able to open up and release herself from everything that had been holding her back. Time hadn’t helped, and she’d banked everything on physical distance. So far, at least, one hundred miles didn’t seem to be cutting it.

  The truth followed her everywhere. She swallowed hard as the realisation struck her that she could never escape it, because escape wasn’t possible. You can’t escape what’s inside you. It comes with you, wherever you go, spreading its trail of destruction further. Sooner or later she was going to have to face up to that.

  She stepped into the house and closed the door behind her. She could see Mark in the living room, but he hadn’t called out to her in his usual way. Even though they hadn’t made eye contact or said a word to each other, the atmosphere was clear. She put her bag down and walked into the living room, keen to clear the air in the simplest, most painless way possible.

  ‘Alright?’ she said, sitting down on the sofa.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ Mark asked, not taking his eyes off the screen.

  ‘You know where I’ve been. I’ve been at work.’

  ‘I know where you said you were going to be, yeah.’

  ‘Oh come on, Mark. We’ve been through this. I can’t give you every detail of my schedule, especially not when I’m on a major case. You know why I had to bend the truth the other day.’

  ‘So why didn’t Dexter tell me that? He specifically said you had the day off. He would’ve known that I knew that wasn’t true. He would’ve said something along the lines of not being able to say anything, maybe a little white lie in telling me he wasn’t sure where you were but he’d check and get you to give me a call. But no, he said you weren’t in that day.’

  ‘I wasn’t. I was out of town. I told you that.’

  ‘This isn’t a game of word play, Caz.’ There was a moment of silence before Mark spoke again. ‘Who’s the guy in the photo?’

  ‘What guy?’

  ‘There’s a photo of you with your arm round some guy in the p
ub on Wednesday night. The night you got home late.’

  ‘Where did you get that idea from?’

  ‘It’s on your phone. You left it unlocked last night when you went to get a drink. It was right there on the screen.’

  Caroline closed her eyes. Her brain hadn’t been functioning properly for a while, and yesterday was when she’d started to really feel the tiredness kicking in. In her defence, there hadn’t been anything to hide. Walsh was a witness at best, suspect at worst. She had no reason to keep the photo from Mark, but she knew exactly how he’d react if he saw it, and now she’d been proven right.

  ‘You shouldn’t have been looking. You’re meant to trust me. And if you must know, he’s a suspect in the case I’m working on. But you didn’t hear that from me.’

  ‘I’m meant to believe that, am I? You’re having midweek drinks, smiles and hugs with a suspect?’

  Caroline sighed. ‘Mark, I’m really tired. There’s a lot more to it than that. At the moment he’s a sort of witness, but we’re trying to get close to him to get more information.’

  ‘Yeah. Very close, by the looks of things.’

  ‘Look, it’s policing. There’s a lot of stuff I can’t talk about and a lot of strategies that probably don’t make sense if you’re not involved.’

  ‘And cuddling up to your suspects in the pub is one of them?’

  ‘I wasn’t cuddling up to him. He used to be a professional rugby player, I pretended I was a supporter and wanted a photo. What you’re seeing there is me doing a bloody good job, might I add, of being an enthusiastic fan of his and nothing else. What, did you think I was having an affair and getting people to take photos of us together in public? Is that really what you take me for?’

  ‘Caz, I don’t know what to think anymore. You’ve changed so much recently.’

  ‘Mark. Please. I’m so tired. I’m exhausted. I’m not doing this right now. All you need to know is I’m not having an affair, alright? Not with that bloke, not with anyone. I’m going to bed.’

  30

  Far from feeling refreshed after a night’s sleep, Caroline somehow woke even more drained than she had been the night before. She’d planned to head out and speak to Arthur Clifton, but didn’t feel she had the physical or mental energy to deal with it. The easiest and most sensible option would’ve been to send someone else, but that wasn’t an option. Caroline liked to see the whites of people’s eyes for herself.

  She headed to the office’s kitchenette and made herself the closest thing to a double espresso she could muster — two teaspoons of coffee granules and a couple of splashes of hot water. She downed it in one go, then made herself a full cup of strong coffee. Before she’d finished, Derek Arnold poked his head around the corner.

  ‘Ah, Caroline. Can I have a quick word if you’ve got a sec, please?’

  ‘Yeah, course. Here, or…?’ She had a feeling she knew what the answer would be, and that she was about to find herself called into the Chief Superintendent’s office for the second time in a week.

  She was right, and followed Arnold back to his office, clutching her hot mug of coffee. She sipped at it as Arnold spoke, now safe behind the comfort of his desk.

  ‘I’ve had another complaint from Reverend Peter Tottman,’ he said, folding his arms.

  ‘An official one? Or another little word in your ear?’

  ‘He says you were harassing his wife at the Empingham church fete.’

  ‘Harassing? Is that his word or yours?’

  ‘His.’

  ‘Right. Well obviously that isn’t the case. We were in the same room as each other, so naturally we spoke.’

  ‘What were you doing there?’

  Caroline shrugged. ‘It’s a local church fete. I live locally, I decided to go along.’

  ‘With DS Antoine? On work duty?’

  ‘We were passing. There’s a line of inquiry we’re following up at present, which put a person of interest there, so we went along to observe and keep our ears to the ground.’

  ‘Who’s your person of interest?’

  ‘I’d rather keep that close to my chest for now, for operational reasons.’

  ‘Is the person a registered informant?’

  ‘No sir.’

  ‘I see. So are you going to tell me who it is?’

  Caroline knew she had to have a watertight reason not to tell him. Procedurally, she was out of her depth. If she refused, she’d be off the case.

  ‘Patrick Walsh. The rugby player. We knew he’d be at the fete, so we went along to have an informal chat. When we got there we bumped into the reverend and his wife, so we got talking. That’s it.’

  ‘In that case, I’m going to have to formally request that any interviews, whether with suspects or witnesses, are done through the proper channels. This is a murder investigation. We’ve got to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. No more off-the-record chats, no prancing about at village fetes. The next time I pull you into this office, it’ll either be to congratulate you for securing a charge, or to pull you off the case completely and hand it over to EMSOU. Do I make myself clear?’

  Caroline tensed her jaw. ‘Yes, sir. Perfectly clear.’

  She stood and left Arnold’s office and headed back to the incident room. Before she could reach the door, she started to feel lightheaded.

  Her vision seemed to close in on itself, dark edges appearing around the outside, as if she was reversing at speed through a tunnel. A wave of nausea flooded through her, followed by a sudden hot flush. It was as though someone had turned the temperature up twenty degrees in an instant. Before she could work out what was going on, she felt her legs buckle beneath her. Trying desperately to steady herself against the wall, she slid down it, feeling the cold of the plaster against her back before the taste of iron in her mouth as she hit the floor and felt the world close in on her.

  It felt as though she’d blinked. Her breathing was shallow and she could feel the beads of sweat running down her face as she struggled to sit up.

  ‘Alright, it’s alright,’ came the sound of Aidan’s familiar voice. ‘Let’s take it easy. Take small sips of this for me.’

  Caroline grasped the tumbler of water with shaking hands and did as he said. She felt weaker than she ever had before, and a thousand times as vulnerable.

  ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast and lunch. I didn’t get much sleep either.’

  ‘Sara’s called you an ambulance. They’re on their way.’

  ‘No. No. Cancel it. I’m fine. Please.’

  ‘At least let me take you in. You need to be checked,’ Sara said.

  ‘No. I don’t. I haven’t eaten, I haven’t slept. That’s all. There’s no point wasting their time. I just passed out, that’s all.’ She looked up at Aidan and Sara. ‘Seriously. Cancel it. I’m not joking.’

  Sara looked at Dexter. He gave a slight nod, and Sara walked away, mobile phone in hand.

  ‘Aidan, go and get another glass of water, will you?’ Dexter said, before watching him head towards the kitchenette. ‘You alright?’ he asked her.

  ‘I’m fine, Dex. Honestly.’

  ‘You don’t look fine. What’s been going on?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m just tired and I haven’t eaten.’

  ‘You know I don’t believe you, right?’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to.’

  ‘We should probably hand this case over. I don’t want to any more than you do, but we’re well out of our depth. If it’s having this effect on you, we can’t risk it.’

  ‘It’s not. The case is fine. I’m probably just coming down with something. It doesn’t mean we have to give in and let the big boys run the show.’

  ‘It’s not about giving in. It’s about knowing our limits and doing what’s best for everyone. For Roger Clifton.’

  By now, they could hear Aidan starting to return with the glass of water.

  ‘No, Dex. It’s not happening. I need your help and support ri
ght now. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll never forgive you.’

  31

  ‘Pull over here. I’ll take it the rest of the way.’

  Dexter gave Caroline the side-eye. ‘I think it’d be best if I drop you back at yours. You’re still not right. I wouldn’t feel comfortable with you driving.’

  ‘I’m fine. You’re overreacting. Anyway, I’ll be home in thirty seconds.’

  Dexter pulled over, bumping the car up onto the pavement on Ashwell Road. ‘Mark home?’

  ‘I imagine so.’

  ‘You going to tell him about what happened?’

  ‘Why, are you planning to check up on me?’

  ‘No, I just think he has a right to know, that’s all.’

  ‘And what makes you think he won’t?’

  Dexter pointed at the road in front of them. Caroline sighed.

  ‘I’ll take it from here, Dex. Thanks for dropping me this far.’

  ‘Alright. You’re the boss,’ he said, climbing out of the driver’s seat of Caroline’s car and walking round onto the pavement. ‘Listen. Before we speak to Arthur Clifton tomorrow, I just wanted to say something. I know you think there’s something there with the family, or that there’s some religious aspect. And yeah, there might be. But something Howard Smallwood said the other day made me think.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘About history. I’ve been doing a lot of reading up about it all, and it kind of makes sense. What if the church and everything else is religious symbolism, but not in the way we thought?’

  ‘Sorry, Dex. You’re going to need to start again and assume I’ve spent a portion of the day unconscious.’