What Lies Beneath (Rutland crime series Book 1) Page 12

  ‘It’s a bit odd, but not suspicious in itself.’

  ‘I dunno. We need to find out when Roger filed those documents leaving the company to Arthur. And we need to know for sure if Arthur knew about it. See what we can find out about his financial situation, too. If it turns out he knew he’d be left the company and was in financial shit of his own, we’ve got a perfect motive.’

  ‘What, you think Arthur could be responsible?’

  Caroline cocked her head and narrowed her eyes as she focused on the road in front. ‘Who knows? Suspect everyone, Dex. Always a good general rule.’

  Before she could put the car into gear, her phone started to ring. She answered it through the car.

  ‘DI Hills.’

  ‘Hi, it’s Aidan. I’ve got something,’ Aidan said. ‘I’ve been onto the airlines, trying to find out when Arthur Clifton came back to the UK. He’s been back in the country for three weeks.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yep. He was here a whole week and a half before Roger died.’

  ‘Shit. He told us he came back when he heard the news.’

  ‘Then he lied. And that opens up the question of what else he’s been lying about.’

  Caroline closed her eyes and sighed. ‘He’s got no reason to lie otherwise. But why try and get away with it? He must know we can check passenger lists and get the evidence.’

  ‘Yeah. It doesn’t sound right.’

  ‘Right. Well, we know he’s been staying at the Wisteria, so we’ll head over there and speak to them. Maybe they’ll be able to confirm how long he’s been there.’

  ‘Good stuff, I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.’

  Caroline ended the call, then jumped at the sound of someone tapping on her window. She turned to see a man in a hi-vis vest, and rolled her window down.

  ‘Hi. Sorry,’ he said, noticing he’d made her jump. ‘You the police?’

  ‘Yes, DI Caroline Hills. This is DS Dexter Antoine. And you are…?’

  ‘Uh, do I have to give my name?’

  ‘Well, no. Why? What’s up?’

  ‘I just wanted to say I saw something which might be useful, that’s all.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  ‘Well, heard it, mostly. Arthur was here a couple of weeks ago, back when Roger was still around. They were having this almighty barney in the office. I know I should’nt’ve, but I got a bit closer to see what it was all about, like. We’d never seen Arthur before and we didn’t know who he was till he took over the company, but then it all made sense. They was arguing about money and stuff.’

  ‘He was here? What day was this?’

  ‘Couldn’t tell you. But yeah, I remember hearing Arthur say he was out of money. “Totally fucked” was the words he used. He was telling Roger how he was entitled to a share in the company and all that. Then we heard someone coming, so we scarpered.’

  ‘I’ll need to get all this down in an official statement from you,’ Caroline said.

  ‘Oh. Uh, I dunno. I mean, I don’t want to rock the boat or nothing…’

  Caroline and Dexter shared a look. They knew where to find him if they needed him. She handed the man her card. ‘Alright, well this is my number and my email address. If you think of anything else, get in touch, alright? You never know. It could be the key to catching whoever killed Roger.’

  34

  Caroline and Dexter drove back into Oakham, skirting the town centre to head to the Wisteria Hotel. They parked up in the hotel’s car park, having stopped momentarily to let a fire engine with full sirens leave Oakham Fire Station, which was directly opposite.

  Having manoeuvred her Volvo into a spot she was almost certain she wouldn’t be able to get out of again, Caroline and Dexter got out of the car and headed for the hotel’s reception desk, smiling and nodding at the doddery old gardener as they passed.

  The woman on reception — Katie, according to her name badge — smiled as they entered and welcomed them.

  ‘No reservation, I’m afraid,’ Caroline said, showing Katie her badge. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Caroline Hills, and this is Detective Sergeant Dexter Antoine. We’re looking for some information about a guest who’s been staying here.’

  ‘Okay… Is there a problem at all?’ Katie asked.

  ‘We don’t know yet. Do you have a man by the name of Arthur Clifton staying here?’ Caroline could tell by the look on her face that they did, but she made a show of checking the system on her computer anyway.

  ‘Yes, we do. I don’t know if he’s here at the moment, though. He tends to leave after breakfast and doesn’t come back until late, from what I can tell.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Caroline said, smiling. ‘We don’t need to speak to him. Can you tell us how long he’s been a guest here, please?’

  ‘Well, on this particular stay it’s only since Monday night, but he did have another stay with us very recently.’

  ‘How recently?’

  ‘He was with us for almost two weeks, then checked out for a few days, before coming back on Monday.’

  ‘I see. Do you have dates for that first stay, please?’ Caroline jotted down the dates that were on the screen, knowing she now had evidence that Arthur Clifton had been less than honest with them about his whereabouts. ‘That’s brilliant. Thank you. You’ve been more help than you can possibly know.’

  Caroline and Dexter left the Wisteria a few minutes later with a spring in their steps, giving an even bigger smile to the doddery old gardener as they headed back to the car.

  35

  Arthur Clifton looked downtrodden but determined as he sat opposite Caroline and Dexter in the interview room. Caroline had ordered his arrest, now knowing he’d been in the country far longer than he’d admitted — and was in Rutland on the night his brother was murdered.

  She’d decided against conventional interview technique, and was instead going for the jugular. They already knew Arthur had lied to them, and she wanted to catch him off-guard from the start.

  ‘You told us you came back to the UK because you heard Roger had died. Is that right?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So why were you seen at the yard, arguing with Roger, days before his death?’

  The colour began to drop from Arthur’s face. ‘Well, I dunno. Someone must be mistaken.’

  ‘Okay. So why does the Wisteria Hotel have a record of you being in the country and staying with them before Roger died? In fact, you were here on the night he was murdered, weren’t you?’

  ‘Umm. Look, this isn’t what it seems, I can promise you.’

  ‘You might as well just tell us the truth, Arthur. It’s much quicker and cheaper than me having to pick up the phone to UK Border Control.’

  Arthur let out a huge sigh. ‘Alright. Yes, I was here. But that still doesn’t mean I did anything. Look, I didn’t know I was going to inherit the company. I had no clue about that at all until the lawyer got in touch. I don’t even want the bloody thing, anyway. What do I know about construction? That’s not my game.’

  ‘On that note, why did you come back to the UK?’ Caroline asked.

  Arthur closed his eyes. ‘Because I’d run out of money. The bar business went tits up. I thought I could rely on my family for a bit. Thought they might at least be willing to help me out. But Roger pretty much told me to piss off. Said he had no intention of helping me out. That’s what he was like.’

  ‘But you’re financially stable now you’ve got the company, aren’t you?’

  ‘Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. But I swear, I had no idea I was even in line for it.’

  ‘So why would Roger leave you the business but not want to lend you any money when things went sour for you in Spain?’

  ‘I have no bloody idea. I wish I knew. The only thing I can think of is he was respecting the family’s wishes. Grandad’s wishes. He wouldn’t have wanted the business to leave the family, and he definitely wouldn’t want it going to a leech like Alice.’


  ‘The leech whose house you chose to stay at?’

  ‘Briefly. Like I say, I’m brassic. The hotel bill’s going on what’s left of my credit card, and even that’s creaking.’

  ‘I’ve got to say, Arthur, it’s not quite adding up. Pardon the pun. Did you kill Roger in a fit of rage? You’d had to leave Spain when your business went to the wall, and your own brother wouldn’t lend you a helping hand.’

  ‘No. We argued, yes. But no, I didn’t kill him.’

  ‘Where were you on the night he died?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘Asleep. I was staying at the Wisteria, wasn’t I? I was in bed.’

  ‘From what time?’

  Arthur sighed again. ‘I dunno. But it was a Saturday night. I was in the bar in the evening. I ate there and stayed for a few drinks, then went up. Look, why don’t you just check the CCTV? You’ll see me in the bar. Check the cameras on the front door. You’ll see exactly when I came in and exactly when I went back out again the next day. In fact, I’m pretty sure the next time I left was when I got the call to say he’d died. Check the cameras. You’ll see it all there.’

  Caroline was seething, but she didn’t show it. If Arthur was telling the truth, this would be another dead-end. In any case, she still felt sure the Patrick Walsh avenue showed more promise. Alice Clifton had blown a gasket when she found out Arthur would inherit the company. She’d clearly at least half-expected to get it herself, so potentially had that motive. If no-one else knew Arthur was in line to inherit the company, how could he have known himself?

  Her head pounding, she ended the interview and left the room, having decided there was only one option left. Arthur had to be bailed.

  36

  Once they got back to the incident room, Caroline took a few minutes to go through the evidence and information about Arthur Clifton with Aidan, then stepped out into the main incident room and briefed the rest of the team.

  ‘Either way,’ she said, ‘we need to gather as much as we can here. We can’t prove anything one way or another without more evidence. Aidan, get onto the Wisteria and pull the CCTV between Saturday evening and Sunday morning on the night Roger died. We need to track down his movements from when he came back into the country, too. We need CCTV from the airport. Find out if he gets into a cab, on a bus, train, whatever. From there, find out where he went. Trace his movements. Sara, I need you to get hold of the solicitor who’s been handling Roger’s business affairs. Find out for certain when Arthur first knew he was being left the company. If it’s before Roger died, we could be home and dry.’

  ‘Do you think it’s him?’ Sara asked.

  ‘Honestly? I don’t know. If it is, why the religious symbolism? Why go to all the effort of taking the body down to Normanton and placing it on the rocks?’

  ‘Diversion tactic? To be fair, it’s worked. We’ve spent a week and a half assuming it’s connected with religion somehow. What if it was all a massive red herring?’

  ‘Then why not use a more accessible church? Normanton’s got to be one of the most difficult-to-access churches in the country.’

  ‘Exactly. It looks like it’s been chosen specifically, and we’re running around like headless chickens trying to find out why. What if it wasn’t? Or what if it was, but purely for the purposes of throwing us off track?’

  Caroline stopped for a moment. She had to concede that it was, of course, possible. But something still didn’t sit right. The religious aspect wasn’t a hill she was prepared to die on, but she felt sure it fitted into the equation somewhere, somehow.

  ‘What if it’s all linked?’ Dexter said. ‘What if there’s a connection between the church, the history of the area and Arthur coming back to the UK a week and a half before his brother’s murder?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I don’t know. But it’s all too weird otherwise.’

  ‘It’s weird whichever way we look at it, Dex. Nothing about this case is normal. Have we had the library CCTV back from the council yet?’

  ‘Not yet, no,’ Sara said, looking a little embarrassed. ‘I’ve been on at them again this morning, but they’re dragging their heels.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, we asked for it two days ago. Get onto them again. Put a rocket up their arse. Tell them if it’s not here within the next few hours, we’ll get a court order.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘In the meantime, my brain is at severe risk of actually melting if I don’t take half an hour, so I’m going for a walk. Anyone need anything from town?’ Caroline was pleased to see heads shaking rather than shopping lists being thrust at her, and smiled inwardly as she looked forward to a break in the fresh air.

  A few minutes later she was strolling down Church Street, the warm sun on her face, a gentle breeze in her hair and the stunning Church of All Saints looming over her to the left. She couldn’t deny Oakham was a beautiful town to walk round, and she told herself she’d make much more of an effort to do this — daily, if possible — and not only when she’d come so close to a complete breakdown that she needed the air and the space. Mark was right. It’d be good for her.

  A little further down the road, she noticed an A-board outside Costa Coffee advertising the new Orbis restaurant and bar, reachable by a small passageway next to the coffee shop. She’d heard good things, and made a mental note to check it out. A moment or two after she’d walked past the sign, she stopped herself. No, she wasn’t going to make a mental note. She and Mark needed a night out together. She decided to bite the bullet and book a table for later that week.

  As she rounded the corner into the passageway, she noticed a couple standing a few feet short of the restaurant, locked in an embrace. It took a second or two before it registered, but once it had, she stepped back just as quickly as she’d gone forward. Edging herself slowly around the wall again to confirm her suspicions — and steadying her mobile phone to snap a couple of pictures — she tensed her jaw as she felt Operation Forelock move one step closer to closure. There was no mistaking it. The kissing couple were Alice Clifton and Patrick Walsh.

  37

  Back in the incident room, Caroline felt more energised and invigorated than she had in a long time. She now felt more certain than ever that Patrick Walsh was the key to unlocking what had happened to Roger Clifton. Until now, rumours of his affair with Roger’s wife had been just that — rumours. The Cliftons’ daughter had seemed a reliable enough witness, but now Caroline had incontrovertible proof that something was going on.

  She now felt sure they had enough to arrest and begin questioning Patrick Walsh, but she didn’t want to dive in. As things stood, all their evidence was circumstantial. The moment Walsh was booked into the custody suite, the clock would start ticking and they’d be given twenty-four hours to either convince the Crown Prosecution Service to authorise a murder charge, or they’d have to release him. Caroline wanted to get all her ducks in a row before they did that. She wanted to make sure there was no way the slimy Patrick Walsh could wriggle out of it. Once he was in, she wanted to be sure he wasn’t getting out again. She needed to place him at the crime scene, or at the very least get hold of that CCTV evidence from the library which could go some way to proving Walsh sent Roger Clifton the emailed death threat.

  Dexter knocked gently on her office door before letting himself in.

  ‘I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but I’ve been doing a bit more research and I think I might have something that could be useful,’ he said.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, I like to try and keep my ear to the ground. Not usually much call for it round here, but you never know, right? Anyway, I did a bit of digging and I found a Facebook group about local history stuff. One guy on there posted quite a lot of photos of the Hambletons and the area before Rutland Water was built. The way he was talking, he seemed quite nostalgic about it all. Seemed pretty negative about what had happened in the sixties and seventies. Anyway, I sent him a message saying I was new to
the area, interested in history and all that, and—’

  ‘You sent him a message?’

  ‘Yeah. Not as me, though. I’ve got a few dummy Facebook accounts in different names I use for stuff like this. Just in case, you see. As far as he knows, my name’s Nick Connor.’

  ‘Nick Connor?’

  ‘Character from a book I read. Wasn’t very good, but the name stuck with me. Anyway, we started chatting and I sort of played along, pretended I didn’t know the history but was shocked and thought it must have been horrendous for the families that lived there, all that sort of thing. At that point he started coming out of his shell.’

  ‘And what’s this guy’s name?’

  ‘Edward Picton. I don’t think that’s his real name, though. Apparently he’s got six Facebook friends and no pictures of himself. Couldn’t find a record of anyone living locally with that name, either, even though he claims to live in Rutland. Anyway, we carried on talking and I made it sound like I was on his side with everything, and before I know it he’s mentioned a private, hidden Facebook group he’s a member of. Apparently there’s a small handful of people who’ve never been able to let go of the past and who are still fighting the cause of the displaced families.’

  ‘Fifty years later?’

  ‘Exactly. It’s all very underground, if you’ll pardon the pun. I didn’t really get a proper sense of what its purpose was or whether or not they had an aim. Just seems to be a load of bitter old people whinging about the way things used to be. But the point is it just goes to show there are still people who think that way. It’s entirely possible the historical aspect might be a motive here. I’m looking into the members at the moment. I’ll see if any of them are using real names or if we can track down who they are. Could at least be names we can add to our list and see if they pop up on the library CCTV or appear anywhere else in the investigation.’