No Going Back (The Kent Fisher Murder Mysteries Book 7), page 12
“You didn’t die because it wasn’t your time. You’ve still got work to do, a job you love. It’s in your DNA.” I pass her a tissue from a box on the desk. “Why would your boss want to lose the most dedicated, tenacious and gifted officer he has?”
She dabs her cheeks. “What if I have to do more counselling?”
“You need to talk to someone who can help you through this.”
She shakes her head. “You help me through this. Being with you means more than you’ll ever know.”
Her phone buzzes, distracting her. “The list we wanted. Now we can work out who Harry might have gone to see at Rathbone’s party.”
She turns to the whiteboard, back in work mode, as if nothing happened. It’s not long before she’s on her laptop. She’s still hunched over it when I go to bed at midnight, the mug of tea I made her untouched.
When I wake at six thirty on Friday morning, Columbo’s not lying on the bed as usual. Ashley hasn’t slept in the spare bedroom. She’s not in the study, though Columbo’s lying behind the desk. He raises a sleepy head and yawns. I sit in the chair and ruffle his fur, wondering if he spent the night here.
On the desk I find a list of names from Rathbone’s party. A separate sheet of paper contains three names – Gregory Rathbone, Sarah Wheeler and Harry Lawson. Sarah and Harry were once cautioned for possession of cannabis. Rathbone was charged with supplying cannabis and other Class B drugs, but never prosecuted.
Ashley rings while I eat breakfast. She sounds bright and confident, like her old self. “This is about drugs, Kent.”
“I saw your notes. Did you work through the night?”
“I had to contact a former DI to get the lowdown. The main prosecution witness was one of Rathbone’s accomplices. She disappeared a week before the trial. As her evidence was crucial, the CPS couldn’t proceed. Rathbone walked, along with his partner in crime.” She pauses for a breath. “Harry found the witness, though not in a conventional way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her name was Mary Collins, but she’d changed her name to –”
“Miranda Tate,” I say, joining the dots. “So, that’s why he called off the wedding. He found out she was part of Rathbone’s drug dealing network.”
“Now Rathbone needs her out of the way so she can’t give evidence against him.”
“Your guvnor should be impressed.”
“I hope so. Have I missed anything?”
“I don’t think so. Why didn’t Harry take his evidence to someone like you?”
“He was a reporter.” She says it as if it explains everything that’s wrong in the world. “He wanted the story and the glory.”
“It’s hardly a major scoop. Rathbone’s a local councillor, not some government bigwig or celebrity.”
“Harry was an alcoholic, Kent. His liver was shot. His days were numbered. He wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, righting a wrong.”
“Showing the woman he loved what he could do,” I say.
“I didn’t peg you as a romantic, Kent. Anyway, I think Harry had more than Rathbone in his sights.”
“The partner in crime you mentioned? Who is it?”
“You’re not going to like this. Rathbone’s partner in crime and co-defendant eighteen years ago was Kira Novik.”
“As in Katya Novik – Rathbone’s fiancée?”
“No, as in Katya’s sister. But you know Kira as Kelly Morgan, your former PA.”
Thirty
I’m still struggling to believe the news half an hour after finishing the call with Ashley. Kelly Morgan is Kira Novik, accused of helping Rathbone deal drugs. At least it explains Kelly’s recent behaviour. It doesn’t make me feel any better though. For ten years, I’ve trusted her. We’ve laughed and joked our way through three heads of service, including me, constantly belittling and taking the piss out of councillors like Rathbone. We’ve shared secrets, covered up mistakes, and heaven knows what over the years.
Now I know why Rathbone was always one step ahead of me. Danni too. He knew what we were doing, what we were thinking, what we were planning. And he never did anything to make us suspicious. That took some skill, especially for someone who likes to show how clever he is.
I can’t afford to underestimate him.
Was that Harry’s mistake?
“Kelly, you were a drug dealer.” Saying it doesn’t make it any easier to accept. “You were Gemma’s Maid of Honour. She confided in you.”
Columbo barks and paws my leg, hoping for the leftovers from my breakfast bowl – not that I’ve eaten much.
While I want to confront Kelly, she mustn’t know Ashley’s investigating her.
I can’t tip off Brenda Keegan at the call centre either.
On Monday morning, I’ll have to go into the office and pretend nothing’s changed. If Kelly suspects I know about her past...
But what do I know?
“I don’t know where she lives or what she does in her spare time,” I tell Columbo. “I’ve never detected a hint of an East European accent. I can imagine her lap dancing though.”
Kelly once told me she’d mentioned her time as a lap dancer during her interview. It sounded like the kind of joke she’d make. Now I’m wondering if she was an illegal immigrant, lured into the sex trade. It doesn’t explain how she hooked up with Rathbone or became involved in drug dealing.
Where’s the evidence Harry gathered about her?
Did he hide it somewhere for safe keeping?
My gaze settles on the puzzle book from his flat. It’s the one item that doesn’t sit with his direct, impatient character. “How am I going to find out, little mate?”
Columbo tilts his head from side to side, as baffled as me.
A knock on the front door sends him racing down the stairs, barking out a warning. Betty calls out. “Are you decent, Mr Fisher?”
“Come on up,” I say, sounding like a game show host who’s lost his way.
Columbo follows her up the stairs. She places her handbag on the worktop and studies the room for a moment. “Would you mind if I made myself a cup of tea before I start?”
“Start what?”
“You said I could clean for you, earn some extra cash. I can come back later if you’re busy.”
“No, carry on. And don’t bother with the study.”
She nods and picks up the crossword book, scanning the pages. “Inspector Morse was good at these. I used to love watching him.” She places the book back on the worktop and looks around once more. “Where do you keep the Dyson?”
I point to the utility room door. “It’s in a cupboard. Why don’t you have my tea, Betty, and I’ll get out of your way.”
I grab the puzzle book, collect the one from Miranda, and head downstairs, pursued by Columbo. Outside, he veers off to greet Frances, who’s on her way back from the kennels. Like almost everyone who knows him, she has a treat ready. If he didn’t have the free run of the sanctuary, he’d be overweight.
“I’ll be in the farmhouse while Betty cleans the flat,” I say as we walk. “Do we have any groups booked in?”
“No, you have plenty of time for your crosswords. Come on, Columbo.”
She heads off towards the paddocks. Columbo weaves through the grass beside her, sniffing the ground. I nod to Ollie, who’s emptying the rubbish bins in the car park, and continue to the farmhouse. Though Niamh left three months ago, her presence is still here in the furniture and in the kitchen where she baked before setting up a confectionery business.
I pick up one of her cake racks, realising how much I miss her and her exquisite tiffin.
As I settle at the kitchen table, hoping to make sense of the puzzles, my phone rings, displaying a number I don’t recognise. The woman’s voice sounds faint.
“Do you have the second puzzle book?”
“Yes. Is that you, Miranda? Where are you? We need to talk.”
She’s already ended the call.
A few moments later a text arrives.
Your fourth and final clue. Timing matters.
Thirty-One
I stare at Miranda’s text, wondering what happened to the previous three clues. My call goes straight to voicemail. My reply to her text isn’t delivered.
Either my number’s blocked or Miranda used a burner phone.
Unable to contain my frustration, I slap the puzzle books down on the dining table, creating a cloud of dust. Looking around, I realise no one’s been in here for weeks, maybe months. It needs a good clean. I leave a message for Ashley and go in search of cloths, dusters and Niamh’s old hoover.
A couple of hours later, during a break for a cup of tea, Ashley returns my call.
“That was a long meeting,” I say, sounding more sarcastic than jokey.
“We had a lot to discuss. My guvnor thanked me for uncovering Rathbone’s drug dealing and the connection to Harry’s death.” She pauses for a slurp of something. “I’ve seen the post mortem report. Harry’s clothes reeked of alcohol, but he hadn’t had a drink that evening.”
“But everyone said he was drunk.”
“We need to wait for the toxicology reports to see what else was in his system. At least my guvnor now accepts Harry was murdered. He wants me to liaise with CID to find Miranda Tate. I’ll have to continue counselling, but I’m back on the team.”
“That’s brilliant news.”
“I’m more relieved than excited. From the look he gave me when I entered his office, I thought I was finished. When he went through the things I shouldn’t have done, I was ready to resign. Then he told me good officers always showed initiative.”
“Let’s celebrate at the Bells tonight.”
“I’d love to,” she says, sounding uncomfortable, “but you’re strictly off limits. It’s a condition of my return to duty. I shouldn’t really be talking to you now. So, what’s this about Miranda’s text?”
I tell her about Miranda’s phone call. “Do you want me to forward the text she sent?”
“Sure. Why didn’t you mention the previous three clues?”
“I didn’t know there were any clues.”
“There are hundreds in those puzzle books. When you find the three that matter let me know.”
Ashley ends the call, sounding like a detective rather than a friend. I shrug, knowing she needs her job. I can’t blame her for that.
Turning to the puzzle books, I wonder if she’s right. Maybe the three clues are in there. If only I knew what I was looking for. Tired of cleaning and staring at clues that make little sense, I drive to Sunshine View Caravan Park, hoping to catch the people I missed yesterday. When I climb out of the car, Blossom waves me over. She points to the home next to Miranda’s.
“Jeremy West spoke to her last week. He owns the van and rents it out. He pays me to do the cleaning between guests, but he’ll have to pay me double to clean up the mess in there. It looks like someone went berserk.”
I thank her and head for West’s home, skirting around the Nexus SUV, parked outside. The timber steps lead to a lavish decked area that runs along the side of the home and wraps around the front. Potted plants, burdened with flowers, burst out of ceramic pots and troughs, drawing the bees, butterflies and ladybirds from the nearby hedgerows. Several tomato plants, attached to canes, rise up through the flowers.
“The tomato’s Moneymaker,” West says, stepping out onto the deck. “Highly appropriate for a wealth advisor, wouldn’t you say?”
Unlike a mobile home, I’m tempted to say.
He’s tall, slim and looks more like an athlete than a financial adviser with his toned muscles and short cropped hair. Dressed in shorts and vest top, his flip flops slap the decking boards when he approaches, hand outstretched, smile revealing Hollywood teeth. He raises his Ray-Ban sunglasses to reveal intense hazel eyes. His accent lies somewhere between Jack the Lad and senior civil servant.
“Did you call yesterday, looking for Miranda?”
I nod. “Kent Fisher.”
“You’re the guy who solves murders. So what happened over there? Looks like a bomb hit it. Was Miranda hurt?”
“I don’t think she was there when it happened.”
“Have you any idea who trashed the place, or why?”
I shake my head. “When did you last speak to Miranda?”
“She rang me on Friday morning to let me know she was leaving early. Ironic, considering she only stopped by twice – the day she arrived and last Friday when she left the key in the key safe.”
His ushers me into a home larger than Blossom’s. It has a separate kitchen and lounge area, all tastefully furnished and decorated in pastel tones. The tan leather sofa faces a huge TV, currently tuned to Bloomberg. A couple of fans move hot air around, helping it back towards the open windows. On a table in the corner, a laptop nestles among broadsheet newspapers. With no photos on display, no pictures on the walls, and not a hint of anything decorative, I suspect West spends his time making money.
“Did Miranda say anything about where she was going?” I ask.
“No. I imagine she was returning home wherever that is.”
“Don’t you take people’s addresses when they book?”
“She didn’t make the booking.” He gestures towards the sofa and takes a seat in a matching armchair by the window. “Why are you interested, Mr Fisher?”
“She was engaged to a friend of mine, who’s no longer with us. Can you tell me who made the booking?”
He leans over to the table and grabs a copy of the Argus. Harry Lawson’s on the front page. “It says police are treating his death as suspicious. Is he the friend you referred to?”
I nod.
“He paid in advance for two weeks. That’s all I can tell you.” West places the newspaper back on the table. “At least I know why he never showed. Do you think that’s why Miranda never showed?”
Was Harry planning to spend time here with Miranda? Had they patched up their differences? Was he trying to protect her?
I shrug and ease myself off the sofa, my head filled with more questions than answers. “Thanks for your time, Mr West.”
“Miranda had a visitor on Thursday morning,” West says as I open the door.
“Blossom never mentioned anyone calling.”
“Blossom goes shopping on Thursdays. She also dozes off most afternoons. I didn’t see the visitor, before you ask, as I was busy on the phone, but I saw a Land Rover pull away around midday.”
“Did you notice the registration number?”
“No, but the name on the back door was Sarah J Wheeler, Veterinary Surgeon.”
Why was Sarah visiting Miranda last Thursday?
What else hasn’t Sarah told me?
Thirty-Two
Sarah makes no effort to hide her displeasure before she lets me into her house. It’s a little after two thirty and she’s on a late lunch, if the half-eaten sandwich in her hand is anything to go by. Dressed in her white coat and smelling of disinfectant, she steps back into her hall, retrieving a cup of coffee from the phone table.
“I hope this isn’t a social call. I have dental surgery to perform at three.”
“You came to me about Harry,” I say. “You wanted my help. Yet every time I take a step forward, I find something else you haven’t told me. You called at Sunshine View Caravan Park last Thursday morning.”
“There was no one home. There’s nothing to tell.”
“Why did you go there?”
“I was fed up with Harry badgering me.” She takes a slurp of coffee to wash down the last of the sandwich. “He had a bee in his bonnet about Gregory and wouldn’t let it rest. Then Harry started telling me he’d always loved me and how he regretted not telling me all those years ago.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“I told him I’d never had any feelings for him, but he refused to believe me.”
“Did you tell him about Steph?”
“No, but he found out at Gregory’s party, didn’t he?” She laughs and heads into the living room. “When Steph spotted him badgering me, she came over and kissed me on the lips. You should have seen him squirm. He said I’d made the worst decision of my life.”
“Harry never struck me as homophobic.”
“I’d bruised his ego, that’s all. Would you believe me if I said I’d never looked at a woman until I met Steph? He didn’t. Neither does Gemma.”
Sarah passes me a photograph from the sideboard. She’s with Stephanie Richmond. Neither of them is aware of the camera as they gaze into each other’s eyes, clearly in love.
“I met Steph three months ago at some dreary local business function at the town hall. I’m not even sure why I went. One minute I’m eating canapes, bored rigid by some planning officer, the next I’m looking into the most wonderful eyes I’ve ever seen.” She shivers with pleasure. “I’d never felt so excited and so scared at the same time. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.”
I return the photo. She looks at it, a rare smile passing across her lips.
“Gemma was horrified when I rolled in with Steph and took her straight upstairs. Gemma thinks I’ve always been gay. She believes it drove her father away when she was a child, even though she knows he was gay. She forgets there’s been no one in my life since he walked out.”
“Why did you go to see Miranda?”
“I rang her and asked if she was in touch with Harry. She asked me to stop by Sunshine View Caravan Park, but she wasn’t there. I would have waited, but I had visits to make.”
“Did you tell her Harry was pestering you?”
“I had to tell her why I wanted to see her. She said Harry had always been obsessed with me. She knew about our EnvirAvengers group, our past together.”
“Why did she invite you over? Why couldn’t you talk on the phone?”
Sarah hesitates. “I don’t know. I never thought about it at the time. Do you have any idea?”
