Cause of Death (6 page)

The public footpath. Of course.

‘Would it be possible to get your security people to set up a permanent station that side of the fence to keep an eye on anyone coming down from the coastal path? We can arrange a cordon, but having someone on site would be really helpful. Unless this escalates into a murder enquiry, I don't know how many extra bodies I can call upon.'

Edward de Freitas nodded and Andy felt a glow of satisfaction that he'd not had to be prompted further. ‘I'll go and see to that now,' he said. ‘Let me know if there's anything further I can do.'

Andy watched him go and felt oddly lonely. He was aware of several pairs of eyes – Elodie, Joe and the archaeologists among them – watching and waiting to see what would happen next and what he was going to do.

Statements, he should get that under way. Find out who had been where and when and construct a timeline for yesterday and this morning.

One of the other workers called out to him. ‘Boss says you can use that Portakabin,' he said. ‘We're just clearing you some space and getting the kettle on.'

Welcome news, Andy thought. He was lucky this was de Freitas's land. Edward considered that he owed Mac big time and therefore, by extension, was willing to be helpful to his deputy and make sure everything went smoothly.

Deputy, Andy thought. That had a good ring to it.

He knew there were time constraints: the formal opening was only a couple of weeks away, all of the publicity was out and there was a general buzz in the Frantham community about this new boost to the local economy. Andy felt the implicit pressure to get things cleared up quickly, but was relieved not to be reminded overtly for the moment.

‘I'll need statements from everyone,' he said. ‘And do you have CCTV on site?'

‘Not over this side,' Joe told him. ‘There's a couple of cameras keeping an eye on the heavy equipment and so on, they feed into the security cameras on the airfield, but there's nothing to look at here. Or there wasn't.'

Andy nodded, slightly disappointed. But, he thought, you never knew, the camera might have caught someone coming on site. He led everyone back to the designated Portakabin. Two tables were covered in plans and maps and the walls decorated with paperwork. A young woman in a high vis jacket was unpinning some kind of schedule and moving it, page by page, to a pinboard close to the stacked tables while her colleague fiddled with a computer set on a now empty desk.

‘Boss says you can use this,' he said. He didn't look particularly pleased.

‘And there's tea- and coffee-making stuff there,' the woman added. ‘Will this give you enough room? Only we're a bit pushed for space.'

Andy assured her it was more than enough. Everyone seemed to have crowded into the doorway behind him and he saw the look of amusement on the woman's face.

‘If you could all, um, wait outside,' Andy said, ‘I'll get sorted out and get the statements done.'

The man left and the woman drifted off to sort out papers down at the other end of the cabin. After a moment she departed too, awkwardly clutching a rolled up chart, a large hammer and a can of spray paint. Andy wondered what she was planning to do.

Then he was alone. Desk in front of him, computer waiting expectantly and – he could see through the half-open door – an orderly queue of would-be witnesses waiting outside.

Andy's heart suddenly sank. He wished Mac were here to tell him what to organize first, or the round, comfortable presence of Sergeant Frank Baker. What would Baker do?

Come on, lad, he'd say, call the first one in. Start with them as can tell you least on account of them not being around. Get their statements and get rid, then focus on the important folk.

Right, the important folk would be Elodie and Joe, so deal with the archaeologists first, maybe see them as a group and get their take on things, and then take proper statements from Joe and Elodie and have a chat with the site foreman and find out who was last on site.

Happy that he had a plan, Andy found his notebook, opened a file on the computer and called his first witnesses to order.

H
aines did not like Vashinsky, but that didn't stop them talking business, even operating together when the situation demanded it. The phone call had come as something of a surprise though; Haines had not expected to hear from his potential business associate for another week or so.

‘I hear you had trouble,' Vashinsky said.

‘A little.'

‘You lost two men and a couple of million dollars. I think that qualifies as trouble. Tell me, Haines, why do you insist on trading in dollars? What is wrong with pounds sterling?'

Haines frowned but did not rise to the bait.

‘I've got some information for you,' Vashinsky told him. ‘I know who tipped off the French authorities. Turns out it was an old acquaintance of ours.'

Haines's frown deepened. ‘Who?' he demanded.

Vashinsky laughed. ‘Young Karen Parker,' he said. ‘Oh, and I believe she is heading your way.'

Haines lowered the receiver slowly, face like thunder. Jerry, who'd been sitting close enough to hear both sides of the conversation, was wise enough to say nothing.

Not the police, he thought again. He knew that for certain now. So who?

Vashinsky. He knew about the deal, he knew what had gone wrong. What if he'd set it up? If it had been his people that night?

Haines got stiffly to his feet and left the cabin calling for Santos. Next thing Jerry knew they were headed for port and he'd been tasked with booking a suite and two rooms in some posh hotel he'd never heard of.

‘What's going on?' he asked Santos first chance he got.

‘You know as much as I do. But he's got the bit between his teeth over something or other. Just remember not to get in his way.'

T
wo things interrupted the afternoon routine at Peverill Lodge. One was welcome: Rina's antique dealer friend happened to be passing and dropped off the boxes of memorabilia. The other was not so welcome.

The doorbell rang just as the household was preparing for afternoon tea, a ritual of cakes and tiny sandwiches over which the Peters sisters presided with due ceremony.

‘Who on earth could that be?' Eliza wondered. ‘Rina dear, are you expecting anyone? Should I get an extra cup?'

Telling her that she was not, Rina went through to the hall just as Matthew and Stephen appeared, carrying trays of cakes and tea through to the dining room. She let them pass before opening the door. The woman standing on her doorstep was not anyone she recognized. Plump, dark and dressed in a navy skirt and pastel shirt, she looked hot and out of sorts. No tights, Rina noted, but what she always classed as office shoes – black patent courts – on rather swollen feet. She was lugging a rather large briefcase.

‘Can I help you?'

‘I'm looking for Stan Holden,' the woman said. ‘I'm Tina Marsh, his probation officer?'

She made a question of that last statement, as though there might be some doubt about it.

Rina processed that information and drew interesting conclusions. She could hear the conversation in the dining room come to a halt and Matthew and Stephen come back out into the hall.

‘Everything alright, Rina?'

‘It's fine, thank you, Matthew. I'm afraid he's not here, Miss Marsh. He's gone to see about a job.'

‘Oh.' The woman looked momentarily nonplussed. ‘Do you know how long he'll be? I really do need to check in with him and –' she struggled to glance over Rina's shoulder – ‘I need to make sure the accommodation is suitable . . .' She trailed off, withering under Rina's stony glance.

‘I can assure you,' Rina said, ‘Peverill Lodge is eminently suitable.'

Tina Marsh gathered up her job description and wrapped it around herself. ‘I'm sure you think that, but you must understand, I am Mr Holden's probation officer and I do need to speak with him.'

‘Of course you do,' Rina agreed. ‘But as I said, he isn't here and I'm not sure what time he may be back. If you'd give me your number then I'll be sure to get him to ring you. Does it have to be in office hours? Or would you like to give him a mobile number too, seeing as it's quite late in the afternoon?'

The woman scowled at her and produced a card from the depths of the overstuffed briefcase. ‘Office hours will do,' she said, then turned on her heel and left.

Rina closed the door and set the card down on the telephone table.

‘You lied to her,' Matthew observed curiously.

‘Not a lie, Matthew,' Stephen contradicted, ‘merely a pre-emptive statement. If Stan told his probation officer that this was his address, then he obviously intends to come here. He's just not arrived yet. When he does, it will no longer be an untruth, will it?'

Matthew nodded. ‘It's as well we baked,' he said.

They retreated to the dining room and Rina reflected that she could not recall a time when cake had not been available at Peverill Lodge. She was concerned, though. Stan had spoken to her just before his release and at that point had not been sure what he wanted to do. He'd called her the day he'd been released too and she'd reiterated her offer of somewhere to stay. He'd promised to get in touch but she'd not really been surprised when the promise had not been kept. Stan was not exactly socialized.

It seemed, though, that he'd made up his mind to accept her offer. So where was he?

A little anxious now, she called Mac. He listened as she told him about the call from the probation service and then relayed what Kendall had told him that morning.

‘No doubt he'll turn up,' Rina said. ‘The question is—'

‘What's he been up to in the meantime?' Mac agreed.

It was late when the front doorbell rang. Rina, in pink dressing gown and comfy slippers, had sat up watching a late film. Matthew and Stephen sat with her. Matthew was reading and Stephen lay back on the sofa with a pair of very large headphones clamped to his ears, listening to Bruch.

Rina opened the door, Matthew hovering protectively behind her.

Stan stood sheepishly on the doorstep. ‘I know it's late—' he began.

Rina stood aside. ‘You'd best come in then,' she said. ‘Your bed's made up and Matthew has saved some dinner for you.'

‘How did you know I'd be here tonight?'

‘Because your probation officer called round this afternoon. We didn't think you'd risk going missing for long.'

Stan stepped into the hall. Last time he had been here, Rina thought – the first time he had been inside Peverill Lodge – he and Joy had been on the run from some very dangerous men. They'd been wet and cold and desperate for friendly faces.

He wasn't cold this time and he wasn't wet, but one look at his face told Rina that the rest remained the same. He clutched a shopping bag in his hand and wore the same clothes he had been arrested in, but he looked older and more tired.

‘Come through to the kitchen,' she said. ‘I'll make some tea and you can get some hot food inside you. You need to call this Marsh woman in the morning, get her off your back. I told her you'd been following up a lead on a job, so we'd best get our stories straight on what that might be before you do.'

She saw his shoulders sag slightly, a mix of relief and exhaustion, she thought. He followed her through to the kitchen and settled down in one of the wooden chairs set beside the scrubbed deal table.

‘I don't want to bring trouble to your door,' he said.

‘Do you think you will?'

‘If I stay I might.'

‘So might anyone.'

‘Rina, I—'

She held up a hand for silence. ‘Tomorrow,' she said. ‘Tonight you eat and get some sleep, in the morning we'll have a family conference and you can tell us what your worries are. We'll tell you what we plan to do about them.'

Matthew set a plate and cutlery down in front of him. ‘I hope it isn't spoiled,' he said. ‘I've kept some pudding for you too. What Rina is saying, Stan, is that we don't turn friends away just because they may have brought their problems with them. That isn't what we are. Now eat before it goes cold and I'll see to that tea.'

Stan wolfed the food set before him and they waited until he'd devoured pudding before saying much more. Stephen joined them and they drank tea and chatted about the box of memorabilia they had been sorting through. Easy, contented conversation between friends. Rina could see that Stan was greedily absorbing that too. She wondered what exactly was on his mind and was surprised when he blurted it out.

‘I saw Karen,' Stan said.

‘Karen?' Stephen recoiled in horror.

‘Yes, but don't worry, she's got no intention of coming here or of trying to speak to George. She said she wants to check up on him, but she knows she's got no place in his life now.'

‘And you believe her?' Rina asked.

Stan nodded, slowly. ‘I do,' he said. ‘I think Karen has unfinished business here, but she knows George has to make his own way now. She still loves him though, so she wants to know what he's up to and such.'

‘And this business is?'

Stan hesitated and took another massive gulp of tea. ‘Haines,' he said at last. ‘Rumour said he was back this way, now I know he is. Karen wants him, and so do I.'

Matthew picked up Stan's plate and took it over to the sink. For a minute or so there was silence, broken only by the sound of running water and the overviolent scrubbing of a china plate.

‘He's a dangerous man,' Stephen observed at last.

‘Like I said, I don't want to bring trouble.'

Matthew turned from the sink. ‘He'll know you're out, I suppose.'

‘He will, yes.'

‘So you think he's a threat. To yourself, I mean?'

‘I've been thinking about that,' Stan said. ‘I think he's just been waiting until I came back into focus. He's known where I am, known I couldn't do anything to hurt him where I was, and I think he viewed it as a waste of energy and resources to have me hit inside. Now I'm not sure. If I went away, kept clear, then maybe he'd, well, not forget about me, but put me at the bottom of the list.'