“You’d better get that,” he said. “I’ll see you later, Louisa.”
He kissed her again, quickly, fiercely, and then opened the door and got out.
She pulled the phone out of her bag and looked. There was a text from Sam. They were on their way back from Norfolk. And a voice mail from Paul Harper, the CSI who had been at the quarry yesterday.
It was time to head back to the real world.
* * *
5X5X5 INTELLIGENCE REPORT
Date: Sunday 4 November 2012
Officer: PC 9921 EVANS
Re: Op NETTLE—Liam O’TOOLE
ECHR Grading: B / 1 / 1
Database searches, employment records and Voters indicate the former tennis coach at the Morden Golf and Country Club was Mr. Liam James O’TOOLE DOB 1/5/1980.
Andrew HART, General Manager at the club, confirms Mr. O’TOOLE had been employed as a tennis coach at the club, from June until he left unexpectedly last week. He was expected to turn up for work on Thursday, but failed to put in an appearance. A letter of resignation was received on Friday morning, postmarked Briarstone. Letter has been seized for forensic examination, special property number CL/0004562/12.
Mr. HART confirmed that both Mr. and Mrs. FLETCHER-NORMAN were members of the club. Mr. FLETCHER-NORMAN regularly played golf. Mrs. FLETCHER-NORMAN had previously been an enthusiastic golf player, but in recent months had switched to playing tennis. She had been having tennis coaching sessions with Mr. O’TOOLE (at a cost of £45 per hour) twice or three times per week. Mrs. FLETCHER-NORMAN had a scheduled coaching session with Mr. O’TOOLE in the afternoon of Wednesday, 31 October, and this was the last appointment that day.
Mr. HART would not discuss rumors relating to the relationship between Mrs. FLETCHER-NORMAN and Mr. O’TOOLE. He did, however, say that Mr. O’TOOLE was particularly popular with female members of the club and he had received numerous complaints about his sudden and unexpected departure.
* * *
From: PSE Paul HARPER, Crime Scene Investigation Team
To: DCI Louisa SMITH / Op NETTLE MIR
Subject: Ambleside Quarry scene
Date: 4 November 2012
Grading A11
Full forensic report to follow.
Re: Shot put found at bottom of quarry, SP number CL/00003889/12
Forensic examination of scene suggests the shot put was thrown into the quarry after the vehicle containing the deceased Mrs. Fletcher-Norman went over the edge. This is indicated by an indentation in the sandy base of the quarry followed by a second length of indentation. The first indentation occurs about 20m from the car park level, on a small ledge. Distance approx 2m out on a horizontal plane. Circular indentation in sandy soil, partially obscured by a plant growing to the left which has been squashed slightly. Smaller indentations around the area but NOT within the bowl-shape of the indentation suggest that the anomaly was caused after the period of heavy rain which took place on the night of 31 October. Bowl-shape of the indentation is consistent with the size and weight of the shot put being thrown from the car park area above, and is likely to be the first place the shot put came into contact with the quarry floor.
Second indentation occurs approximately 8m further down the slope and forms a track approximately 2m in length, through a patch of sand and light shingle, ending in a patch of scrub grass/weeds. Approximately 2m further from this in the direction of travel indicated by the track is the patch of gorse bushes/dense grass in which the shot put was found. This indentation is light and easily missed, indicating the force of travel of the object was much reduced and was effectively coming to rest.
Of interest is that the indentation CROSSES a larger indentation made by debris (namely the rear bumper) of Mrs. Fletcher-Norman’s vehicle. This substantiates the premise that the shot put was thrown from the car park AFTER the vehicle had gone over the edge. Due to the lack of heavy rain since 31 October, I would suggest this occurred after 0100hrs on 1 November and before 0915hrs which is when the scene was identified and effectively sealed. Will require Met Office confirmation as to exactly when the rain stopped in the area, but from personal recollection I believe it was dry when I was driving to work that morning.
Scene photographs have been taken and recorded, submitted to the Incident Room under separate cover.
* * *
5X5X5 INTELLIGENCE REPORT
From: PC David EMERSON, Tactical Ops
To: Op NETTLE incident room
Subject: Ambleside Quarry
Date: 4 November 2012
Grading: A/1/1
Searches continuing at Ambleside Quarry. A suitcase was located in undergrowth not far from the car park. Unclear how long it had been there. No identifying features but suitcase is full of clothes, including female underwear and a sponge bag containing toiletries. Suitcase looked to have been thrown into the undergrowth from the car park area.
CSI Paul HARPER in attendance, has removed same for forensic examination. SP number CL/0005682/12. PSE HARPER will submit further intel in due course.
* * *
* * *
5X5X5 INTELLIGENCE REPORT
From: Karen ASLETT—Source Coordinator
To: DCI Louisa SMITH
Subject: Nigel MAITLAND
Date: 04/11/12
Grading B / 2 / 4
Nigel MAITLAND has been organizing regular shipments of illegal immigrants from Iraq/Kurdistan via Europe. On 31/10/12 a Lithuanian-registered lorry came through Dover. 14 illegals were concealed in a compartment between the cab and the main cargo area. These illegals were unloaded at MAITLAND’s farm in Morden and transferred to a minibus.
MAITLAND prefers to conduct business off his regular premises but something went wrong with the shipment on this occasion.
* * *
From: CE Paul HARPER, Crime Scene Investigation Team
To: DCI Louisa SMITH / Op NETTLE MIR
Subject: Ambleside Quarry scene
Date: 4 November 2012
Grading A11
RE: SP number CL/0005682/12
Item received in labs yesterday. Good set of latent prints inside and outside case belonging to Mrs. Barbara FLETCHER-NORMAN (found deceased Ambleside Quarry 01/Nov/12). Interior may well reveal DNA.
Contents of suitcase include clothes (mainly size 12), shoes (size 5), underwear, toiletries, and makeup. No identification or anything else to indicate who it belongs to.
To confirm—handle of suitcase has NO prints, likely to have been wiped. Location of suitcase was well-sheltered within thick undergrowth, despite recent rain the outside was still quite dry so unlikely that prints were washed off, particularly as latents found on outside of case (consistent with lid being pushed down to close the case).
16:12
Andy Hamilton let himself in to the MIR to find it empty, the only light from the dwindling day outside making the untidy space and the mismatched desks look forlorn. He had just come back from a fruitless trip to the Computer Crime Unit in the hope of finding out if there was anything of interest on Brian Fletcher-Norman’s laptop computer. There was nobody there.
Nobody in the MIR meant he didn’t have to worry about accidentally giving something away, by smiling or looking like he’d got some action, or by looking overtired. In years past he would have ended up telling someone about it, maybe Ron, or more likely Les Finnegan, whose tastes ran to the distinctly perverse. He remembered one occasion—was it in the King Bill?—and everyone was pissed and having a laugh, right up to the moment when Les Finnegan started telling them about a warrant he’d been on where they’d found a fully equipped dungeon in the basement. They’d all been on warrants like that—Christ, these days it was unusual not to come across some sort of sex toy in the process of executing a search, but Les seemed to be particularly relishing the description of the room and what it had contained. Andy must have failed to express the right level of disinterest, because half an hour later he’d been calmly having a piss in the gents’, when Les ha
d taken the urinal next to his and told him more than he ever wanted to know about what went on in the dungeons of the rich and famous.
Andy wasn’t going to tell anyone about Suzanne.
He made his way to the desk he’d been using, turned on the workstation. He had reports to write up, statements and other things to catch up on, leave to authorize, emails to delete.
His head was still spinning with it all.
Communications with Karen had been tentatively resumed. She had never locked him out before, and for no apparent misdeed: he had been busy at work, and neglectful, which was bad, but surely something that she should be used to by now? Locking him out was an extreme reaction, and by rights he should now have moral supremacy—she owed him an apology. She had making up to do.
This morning it had crossed his mind that something else might have prompted her to lock him out. He considered that she might have found out something about one of his previous misdeeds, but then the first text came:
Hope u OK. Where did u sleep x
He replied when he pulled in to get petrol:
Went to Johns. U OK?
No “x” to his reply. That would show that he was still offended, and hopefully lead to her trying a bit harder to make up. A few minutes later:
We need to talk. Try to get home on time tonite OK x
That was fair enough. And he needed something to stop him going back to Waterside Gardens. He felt like he’d had some kind of drug there, something that made him think about nothing else, want nothing else. He felt the pull of her like a physical bond.
He spent ten minutes deleting emails before he was distracted again. He looked at the clock on the computer—ten to five already. He could drive back to her place, spend an hour with her, and still get home to Karen and the kids at a reasonable time. After all, he didn’t want it to look like he was dropping everything to get home to Karen because she’d told him to, did he? Especially after she’d locked him out. He needed to time it right—to prove to her that he was busy, that he was working on something really important, and that no matter what tantrums she felt like throwing, he had other demands on his time. But he wasn’t a quitter. He wasn’t going to give up on his marriage, on principle if nothing else—she was stuck with him, for better or worse.
18:17
Lou had never been one to talk about breakthroughs, but this Sunday, this incredibly long Sunday, had that breakthrough feeling about it.
Paul Harper, the CSI at the quarry, had spoken to her briefly on the phone and referred her to the report he’d emailed over. Apparently he was on his way to church.
Reading the report was like throwing a bucket of cold water over the investigation, Lou thought. If the shot put had gone over the edge of the quarry after the car, which is what Paul Harper seemed to be convinced of, then who the hell had thrown it? And why was Barbara’s suitcase apparently hidden in some bushes at the top of the quarry and not in the boot of the car? Nothing was making sense.
And to top it all, just in case she’d thought about going to see Jason after all, he’d sent her a text:
Hey beautiful. Forgot my brother was coming to visit. Wd still be great to see u wd love for u to meet him. X
Yeah. She had no desire to spend the evening listening to two Canadians talking about ice hockey.
In the end, desperation and the need to think things through led her to phone Hamilton’s mobile.
“Hey, Boss.” From the sounds of it, he was in the car.
“Are you on the way home?”
“Yeah. I spoke to the manager of the country club where the tennis coach worked. Nothing too interesting, although it matches up with what we got from O’Toole himself earlier. Did you see that?”
“I’ve been at the quarry.”
“It’s on an intel report. How’s it going at the quarry, then?”
“Big development—it looks like the shot put went over the edge of the quarry after the car did.”
She let this information sink in.
“So she didn’t have it in the car with her? Ah, bollocks. Looks like my theory’s blown.”
“Someone wanted to use Barbara as a scapegoat for Polly’s death, do you think?” Lou asked. “To draw attention away from themselves?”
“So who would do that? Brian? Why would he want to kill Polly? It doesn’t strike me that he’d be that bothered about being blackmailed or something like that. Most of the village seemed to know he shagged her.”
Another theory occurred to Lou right at that moment. “Or maybe someone really wanted to kill Barbara, and Polly’s death simply gave them the opportunity they were looking for?”
“That would suggest Brian again,” said Andy.
“Or the tennis coach, Liam O’Toole.”
“He’d already got her money; I don’t think he needed to kill her too.”
“Did you get any more on him?”
“A fair bit, but most of it is still just more gossip. Half of the village thought he was God’s gift, the rest of them seem to think he was a wanker. Benefit of hindsight, there, of course. But they all knew Barbara was carrying on with him. Which means Brian must have known too.”
“Do we have any leads on where he might have gone?”
“His boss at the Golf and Country Club gave me some next-of-kin details for some woman in Ireland—they think it’s his mother. Tried to call, no reply. I’ll put it through the system in the morning. And I got his mobile number too, but it’s disconnected.”
Lou sighed. “This case is turning into one big tangled mess.”
“We’ve got plenty of evidence. I’m sure it will become clear. You know we always get there in the end.” His voice was soothing.
“What about Brian’s computer?”
“I spoke to the guy who’s on call. They expect to have some results tomorrow. He wouldn’t give me anything else. He said we could hurry it along but we’d have to pay for it.”
That was no surprise. “Oh, well, that’s not bad; usually it takes weeks.”
“Anything else you need me to do?”
“No,” she said. “Go home, I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”
When she disconnected the call she put her head in her hands. There was nothing else she could do this evening and yet she didn’t want to go home. She wanted to see Jason, despite how tired she was, despite the fact that his brother would be there. She could ask him to come round to hers—but that wouldn’t work either. His brother would think she was rude. To put an end to the matter, she sent Jason a text:
Going home now. Enjoy your evening. See you tomorrow. x
Seconds later, her phone bleeped with a reply.
You OK? X
For crying out loud! It was late, and she was going to get chips on the way home. Every second was interrupting that process. One last text.
Yeah fine, tired now. See you tomorrow. X
When she got home, an hour later, a small bag of chips was nestling in her bag. She was starving. And the chips kept her from driving round to Jason’s house. The thought of food, a soak in the bath, and an early night was all she could think about.
19:11
The studio was cold. Once the lights were on, Flora turned on the heating and put on the portable halogen heater to give the room an extra boost. She made a cup of instant coffee and, with the blanket from the sofa around her shoulders, studied her unfinished canvases.
The big one of Polly needed more work, but her mind was on other things.
She looked through the various canvases stacked against the wall, some of them long abandoned, some of them experiments, some of them useless—and yet she had learned at art college the benefits of never getting rid of anything, no matter how disastrous. Like drafts of a novel, her sketches and her failures plotted the path to whatever successes she enjoyed, which made them a part of the process.
There. Half stuck to a smaller canvas was a portrait she had done of her father. It was from long before Polly had arrived at the far
m, not long after she’d got the studio, which meant she was probably a year out of college at most.
Nigel’s blue eyes stared at her out of a roughly worked face—bold lines, dark colors. His features were angular, as they were in life, but this image, even more than the preparatory sketches and the other attempts, showed him as she knew him to be, with a vulnerability despite the coldness. Whatever it was that he did to earn his money, he did it not out of greed but out of a desire to succeed—in this as in everything else he tackled. She admired him for that, despite everything.
Maybe this was all because she had let him down. She was supposed to be a farmer’s daughter, wasn’t she? And since Felicity hadn’t managed to produce a son and heir, she should have been learning the business, ready to take it over one day. But her heart had never been in it. When she told her parents that she had a place at art school, they had reacted much as she had expected them to: Nigel could barely speak to her for months afterward. Felicity found things to worry about while trying to be supportive and encouraging in her own limited way. If it had only been the farm, Flora might have given up her flat and done what had been expected of her. But it wasn’t just the farm; it was the rest of it. The deals with those thugs he associated with. The drug imports that Felicity knew nothing about; the transportation of illegal workers from all over the world: people who’d traveled thousands of miles and ended up working in the shitholes of the U.K., with no rights and very little money.
Months after she had told them about her college place, Nigel had taken her into his office one afternoon and told her all about it. He brought everything out into the open: who he was working for, how he started off organizing the transport but then ended up taking over other parts of it, laundering some of the profits through the farm, handling cash and drugs and recruiting operatives because, at the end of the day, the rest of them were shit at it.