For Better, For Worse Read online

  She pulled the tie out of her hair, combed her fingers through her unruly curls and shouted across to Pete, who was working through a pile of bank statements at a desk nearby. ‘I’m going home to get some kip. Give me a call when the DCI surfaces, will you?’

  Beth collected her jacket and left the office, rubbing her dry eyes. She was wrestling her jacket on when she turned the corner and collided with Sergeant Nick Geary.

  ‘Oh, sorry, Beth,’ he said. ‘You all right?’

  ‘It was me, I wasn’t looking.’ She brushed herself down. ‘You okay? I heard there was another incident last night.’

  He paused, leaned against the wall and dug his hands in his pockets. ‘We were called to a suspicious death on Scotter Walk in Corby. A man named Richard Moss. Strangled at home.’

  ‘Is he known to us?’

  ‘He served time for robbery and handling stolen goods some years ago. Nothing recent. Intelligence links him to one of the smaller cannabis gangs. Could be drugs-related.’

  ‘Is it linked to our Operation Redwing?’ She cringed at the nonsensical names given to investigations. Stuart Ingram had been killed in a hit and run, his body thrown up in the air by the impact, and the case was named after a breed of bird.

  ‘Doesn’t appear to be. Different MO. But Freeman’s carrying it for the moment, so we’ll be managing two murders.’

  15

  Beth slowed at the lights, caught sight of her reflection in the rear-view mirror and winced. A layer of concealer had done nothing to hide the thunderous shadows beneath her eyes. It was 1 p.m. After less than three hours’ sleep she’d torn herself from her bed in an effort to break the cycle of daytime sleeping and made for the office. But the lack of sleep was taking its toll.

  The lights changed. She taxied forward a couple of hundred yards before braking again. The road through Northampton was more congested than usual for this time on a Saturday. When she’d roused herself that morning, Gina’s request for her to check on Phoebe was the first thought that entered her mind. Forensics hadn’t finished with the note when she reached the office and, with most of her colleagues out on inquiries and no sign of Freeman or Nick, she decided to duck out of the way before Andrea had a chance to collar her. She wasn’t officially due in until 4 p.m. and could visit Phoebe and pass on her mother’s message about how to contact her, then hotfoot it back for the afternoon briefing. After the debacle with Shaun Nash that morning, it was the least she could do for the family.

  An engine revved a few cars behind her. A man in a silver Lexus was getting restless. She spotted intermittent beams of light in the distance, alerting her to an accident, the reason for their delay. She cut the engine and climbed out to get a view over the line of cars in front. It was a three-way collision, closing one of the lanes. She pitied the officers on scene, trying to direct the traffic. An hour of waving signals like that and their arms would be heavy, leaden for the rest of the day.

  A horn sounded down the row of traffic behind her. And another. She suppressed a yawn and jumped back into her car. The row started to move once again. There was a cafe on the road through town; an espresso might wake her up a bit.

  She finally reached the collision and was manoeuvring around it when she heard another horn. It was the Lexus. Somebody was in a hurry. If they weren’t careful there’d be another collision. She checked her rear-view mirror when they stopped again. The visor was down, masking her view of the driver’s face. She was considering getting out and giving words of advice when the car in front of her moved onward.

  A few minutes later, the peaks of the cafe rose into the pearly grey sky in the distance. Beth pulled off the main road, navigated through the drive-through and placed her coffee in the holder to cool. As she did so, a car approached at speed. Its brakes screeched as it made a sudden turn into the entrance. It was the Lexus from earlier. She watched it, making a mental note of the number plate, when a familiar figure climbed out. It was Jason Carter.

  Beth watched him stride into the cafe. He walked past the counter and crossed to a table in the nearside corner by the window. The man who sat there stood as he approached, jutting up his chin. His arms flailed about as he spoke. Jason Carter poked a finger at his face and responded. Beth couldn’t make out the words he mouthed but there was no doubt the exchange was agitated. Jason made to leave. The man yelled after him, waved an arm. Jason halted. When he turned, his body language relaxed. More conciliatory. Beth didn’t recognise the man meeting Jason, but something about the set-up, Jason’s erratic driving and the argument, intrigued her. She thought back to his behaviour on the night of his father-in-law’s murder, how he’d answered Phoebe’s questions for her. Was he simply an overprotective husband, looking out for his wife, or did he have another agenda? She held up her phone, zoomed in. She needed to be careful. Jason had an alibi for Stuart Ingram’s murder; her colleagues had visited, taken statements, corroborated his alibi. He wasn’t a suspect. The last thing she needed was to be accused of stalking a recently bereaved son-in-law, especially the son of a pain-in-the-arse news editor. But something about the situation made her want to take a record.

  *

  Phoebe Carter was in the driveway, unloading shopping bags from her red Jaguar, when Beth arrived at 22 Poppy Leys. It seemed odd for her to be doing routine grocery shopping, less than forty-eight hours after her father’s murder. But, still, she had a family to feed and care for. Two young boys were racing around the car, shrieking as they tried to lay their hands on one another.

  It wasn’t until Beth approached Phoebe that she noticed her pasty skin, her lank hair. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.

  The bag she was hauling out of the boot slipped to the ground when she saw Beth. Tins clattered onto the block paving. ‘Is there some news?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m here to give you an update,’ Beth said. ‘See how you’re all doing.’

  Phoebe ignored the boys who were now playing tag on the lawn. If they’d noticed Beth’s arrival, they didn’t acknowledge it.

  ‘How are you?’ Beth asked.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Phoebe emptied the rest of the bags onto the drive and slammed the boot shut.

  ‘Let me help you,’ Beth said as she watched her haul a bag to each side and walk them into the house.

  ‘Please yourself.’

  They carried the shopping into the kitchen and the boys ran into the front room. Minutes later, Beth caught the familiar sounds of an Xbox game filtering through.

  The cupboard doors banged and drawers slipped shut as Phoebe moved around the kitchen, putting away her groceries. Beth talked generally about discovering the car, following up on leads, carefully leaving out any specifics. She finished up, ‘I know you’ve given a statement and provided some contact details of your father’s friends and family. And we’re very grateful for everything you’ve given us so far. I just wondered if there was anything else you remembered?’

  Phoebe emptied out the last bag, folded it into a small square and placed it in a drawer. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Often people remember something after they are interviewed and don’t contact us because they don’t think it’s relevant.’

  ‘My father and I were estranged. There isn’t anything else.’

  ‘What about your husband?’

  ‘What about him?’

  Beth recalled Jason’s argument in the cafe earlier. ‘How is he dealing with everything?’

  ‘Jason’s fine.’ She gave a series of juddered nods, almost as though she was trying to convince herself. ‘He’s got viewings booked in all day on the other side of the county.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘He did offer to take some time off. In view of… well, you know. But it’s best if we keep going, stick to our routine. We’ve got the boys to think of.’

  ‘How are the children coping?’

  ‘I don’t think they understand. They hadn’t seen their grandad for over a year.’

  ‘We can arrange counselling if t
hat would help?’

  ‘No, thank you. We’re okay. Really.’ For a split second she was quiet. ‘How’s my mum doing?’

  ‘She’s okay, all things considered. You can call her, she still has her landline phone connected with the same number.’

  Phoebe looked away.

  The message had been conveyed, Beth didn’t want to labour the point. The clock on the wall read 3 p.m. If she left now, there’d still be time to make the afternoon briefing. ‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it,’ she said. ‘But remember, you have my card. Do get in touch if you think of something.’

  A thought plagued Beth as she wandered out to her car. Phoebe had distinctly said Jason was tied up with viewings ‘on the other side of the county’. Yet, she’d spotted him only twenty minutes earlier at the cafe in town. Perhaps his day had taken an unexpected turn and he didn’t wish to worry his wife. Phoebe had enough on her plate, after all. But the difference in their accounts left her uncomfortable.

  16

  Gina blinked and opened her eyes, slowly taking in the soft apple-green walls, the family photographs. After a night of virtually non-existent sleep she’d fallen into a deep slumber on the sofa. The television prattled from the corner of the room, an American chef extolling the virtues of marinating chicken. There was a time when Gina loved the cookery channel. It babbled in the background most of her day with ideas for new dishes to prepare. But that was before everything changed. It had been difficult enough to stay motivated for everyday meals over the last year. With Stuart gone, it seemed rather pointless spending a couple of hours in the kitchen, preparing dinner for one, even if she did regain her appetite.

  Oscar snored softly at her feet. Yesterday, in the police cell, surrounded by graffiti scratched into the whitewashed walls, with the smell of bleach making her nose raw, she’d been desperate to get home. A place where she could disappear from the speculation, the whispers. A place where she could order her thoughts and try to face her loss. But, as she glanced around her front room afresh, little changes began to distress her. The angles of the photographs on her dresser were off. Ornaments sat slightly askew. The fire tools had been plunged haphazardly in their stand and leaned at an odd angle. The magazines on her coffee table were stacked up in a pile whereas yesterday, when she’d left, they’d been fanned out neatly. Before the search. ‘Routine,’ the detective had called it. But however routine a search was for them, these little changes, upsetting the quirks of her home, were disturbing; a constant reminder that her life was still under the microscope.

  Last night she’d had to endure a stranger in her house. The female detective had been nice enough, unobtrusive even, but she’d prised details of her friendship with Shaun out of her. And now she had no idea where Shaun was or what had happened. ‘He’s helping us with our inquiries,’ was all Warren would say when she’d asked him earlier. Shaun didn’t deserve any of this.

  Warren did share that they’d found Stuart’s car, abandoned in Merry Tom Lane. Stuart and she had walked down Merry Tom with Oscar the summer before the charge, paused at the bridge and watched the river gush beneath. It was such a pretty spot, it seemed incongruous to plant a murder weapon there. Shortly afterwards, she’d seen footage on the local news, the Jaguar burned to a cinder. Poor Stuart. He’d adored that vehicle. It would have crushed him to see it reduced to a mottled shell.

  Gina hauled herself up. All was silent. Maybe the officer had given up on her and gone back to the office. But when she wandered into the kitchen she saw Warren hunched over his laptop. He looked up as she approached, smiled. He had a nice smile. Good teeth. But he was another stranger, another relentless reminder of the murder investigation, and his presence wrenched at her.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he said.

  Gina answered with a quick headshake. ‘Is there any news?’

  ‘Why don’t you sit down?’

  The softness of his tone rankled her. She gripped the back of the chair, her knuckles whitening. ‘Have you arrested somebody?’

  ‘Not yet.’ A gentle voice accompanied by kind eyes. ‘But we are working on lots of leads.’

  Leads. Witnesses. Appeals. She’d heard those words so many times over the past couple of days.

  ‘There are some issues I would like to talk to you about,’ Warren continued.

  ‘What can you tell me about the note?’ Gina said, sliding into the chair opposite. If they were going to talk, then she was determined to ask the questions rattling around her head and the arrival of the note was bothering her.

  ‘We’ve examined it for prints, but unfortunately it’s clean.’

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘It translates to “justice renders to everyone his due”.’

  ‘What does that even mean?’

  ‘We’re looking into it.’

  They didn’t know then. ‘Why send it now?’ she said. ‘I mean, if it’s some vigilante, taking the law into their own hands, they’re too late. Stuart’s dead.’

  ‘It’s possible they wanted to send a message of some sort.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We don’t know. As I say, we’re still investigating.’ Warren’s Adam’s apple wobbled as he cleared his throat. ‘My colleague, Beth, has been out to visit your daughter and wants to let you know that she’s doing okay. She passed on your message.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  An awkward silence hovered. ‘Are you convinced nobody else has access to the keys to your garage?’ Warren said eventually.

  ‘Not this again. I told the officers the other day, no.’

  ‘And nobody else apart from either you or Stuart drove the car?’

  ‘No. Why are you asking me again?’

  ‘I’ve been asked to double check. In case there was something else you’d remembered.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Anything out of the ordinary.’

  This conversation was heading nowhere and his criss-cross answers were making her giddy. But… if they were still asking questions about the car, perhaps they’d disregarded Shaun as a potential suspect. ‘How is Shaun?’ she pressed.

  ‘My colleagues have questioned him. That’s all I can tell you.’

  The chair leg scraped across the floor as Gina stood. ‘I’m going upstairs.’

  She ascended the stairs to her bedroom quickly. This was the only place in the house where she truly felt alone, where she could retreat from all those banal questions and politic answers.

  She approached the window, peered around the edge of the curtain, careful not to show herself to the crowd of journalists, stood with their microphones and cameramen at the end of the driveway. Stuart was gone and now Shaun, one of her only friends, was being questioned. When would this nightmare end?

  17

  Back at the office, Beth sauntered into the conference room in readiness for the afternoon briefing. Chairs that were normally haphazardly arranged into rows had been thinned out to a single line, an arc, all facing the front. She took a seat at the end beside Pete.

  ‘This is a bit formal,’ she said.

  Pete raised a knowing brow. Other officers shuffled in and soon most of the seats were taken. Beth looked back towards the door, craning her neck for the DCI and DS, but there was no sign. Her eye caught a new photo pinned to the board of a balding man with sunken cheeks. The label beneath read Shaun Nash. For some reason, he didn’t seem like the sort of person Gina Ingram might have an affair with. He didn’t exude confidence like the sharply dressed Stuart Ingram. His wiry shoulders were curled forward, the top button of his polo shirt undone.

  Andrea Leary appeared and marched to the front. ‘Right, everyone,’ she said. ‘The DCI and the DS are tied up with this new murder. I’ll be running the briefing this afternoon.’ She was dressed in one of her tailored trouser suits, the jacket nipped in flatteringly at the waist of her slim frame. Her cropped hazel hair seemed shorter than usual, accentuating brown hawk-like eyes. This was the first time Beth had seen her since their disagr
eement that morning, and the anger of the inspector’s decision still bubbled inside her.

  ‘What do we know about the other murder?’ Pete asked.

  ‘The victim was a Richard Moss of Scotter Walk in Corby. Found strangled at home by a neighbour. Possibly drugs-related. There’s nothing to suggest it’s connected to our Operation Redwing,’ Andrea said dismissively. ‘Now, let’s focus on what we have.

  ‘Right, we’ve put together the CCTV footage taken of the Jaguar in Rothwell last Thursday night and this is the best shot we have of our driver.’ Andrea pressed a button on her laptop. A grainy image of the front of the Jaguar filled the screen behind her. ‘The driver’s face was partially obscured by a baseball cap, no doubt to mask his identity, but it’s clearly not Gina Ingram driving.’ She clicked another button and a profile shot came up. Beth took in the suspect’s dark close-cut beard, the small ring in his left ear. It wasn’t Shaun Nash either. ‘Our techies are working on the images to see if we can enhance them, and then we’ll put them out on another appeal to see if anyone recognises him.’ She turned back to the room. ‘Anything back from forensics on the car yet?’ Heads shook around her. ‘Okay, let’s get that chased. What about Stuart Ingram’s recent movements over the past few weeks and the public appeal?’

  Pete raised his hand. ‘He was home most of the time with his wife, apart from a couple of outings. He and his wife met with his solicitor and barrister at their solicitor’s office in Northampton town centre on Wednesday. His solicitor said it was an update meeting, to prepare for the court case, and he appeared quite normal. He also went out to the bowls club meeting on Thursday evening which we’ve already covered. We’re still going through all the calls from the public appeal. Nothing of interest there so far.’

  ‘Right. Where are we with the note Gina Ingram received?’ she said to Beth.

  Beth drew a breath, pleased that she’d taken the trouble to check in with forensics when she’d arrived back at the station. ‘We think it arrived at the Ingrams’ home between the hours of 4 and 4.30 a.m.’