No Escape (The Kent Fisher Murder Mysteries Book 8), page 9
“That’s why I don’t go round, telling people about my past.”
“No, you wouldn’t want to send people to sleep, would you?” She grins and shuffles to the front of the sofa. “Come on, Kent, when you’re formally interviewed, how do you think it’s going to look, not knowing about Gemma’s past?”
“Don’t you believe me?”
“Your wife disappeared after a string of texts that suggests she did something that would destroy your relationship. Why didn’t she take her mobile phone with her? Doesn’t it strike you as odd?”
“What do you mean?”
“Wake up and smell the coffee, Kent. You have her phone. You read the text messages. You could have read them before she disappeared.”
“I didn’t.”
“Can you prove it? What if you found out what she did? All you had to do was wait for Halliday-Jones to show at the house and ...”
“You think I bumped them off?”
“She lied to you, Kent. She was about to humiliate you on your honeymoon.”
I’m on my feet now. “That’s nonsense, and you know it.”
“How do you think it’s going to look to an investigating officer? You didn’t report her missing until the following day, giving you time to dispose of them.”
Nineteen
“You’re suggesting I drove from Stratford to Sussex with their bodies and set fire to the car?” I shake my head in disbelief. “How did I drive back to Stratford? I didn’t get the hire car till Saturday morning. Where was Columbo while I did all this?”
“I wasn’t saying you did it, Kent. You need to realise how it could appear to an investigating officer.”
I nod, aware of how suspicious my actions might look.
“When the detectives ask you why you didn’t contact the police straight away, what will you say?
If I tell them I didn’t think she was in any immediate danger, they’ll ask me why I thought that.
“I didn’t know anyone would wind up dead.” I drop back into the sofa, aware it’s no defence. “Then there’s the note.”
“What note?”
I pull out my wallet and remove the fragment of toothpaste packaging.
Country house with studio.
Ditchling? Dad played there.
No police!
Ashley holds it by the edges and places it on the table. She takes a photograph and then fishes in her jacket pocket for an evidence bag. “Why didn’t you hand it to the police?”
“They’d already left. I found it when I was packing to leave.”
“You should have rung them. You could have told me when we spoke on the phone.”
“It says no police.”
“You’d already reported her missing.” She looks at me as if I’ve lost the plot. Maybe she’s right. “Gemma was telling you where she was going, Kent. We could have found her by now. Or were you planning to find her yourself, so you could keep her secrets from us?”
I wish my friend wouldn’t judge me so harshly. Since Gemma disappeared I’ve struggled to keep my emotions in check.
What if I never see her again?
“I’ve let Gemma down, haven’t I?”
Ashley’s voice is gentle. “Let us handle it, Kent. It’s what we do. If Gemma’s nearby, we’ll find her. You know we will.” She grabs her phone and rises. “I’ll ring this through so we can identify the studio near Ditchling.”
She heads outside.
What am I going to tell Sarah if anything happens to her daughter?
How am I going to live with myself?
With a sigh that’s as feeble as my excuses, I push the negative thoughts away. I’ve screwed up, but I have to believe Gemma will be found. Then we can sort out whatever mess she found herself in. I don’t care what she’s done or why. I never did. I want her back, safe and unharmed. Nothing else matters.
Ashley returns five minutes later, Columbo trotting beside her.
She stops in front of me, nibbling at her lower lip. “When I was in a bad place, you were there for me, Kent. Now I’m here for you. My guvnor won’t let me investigate, but I’ve persuaded him to let me act as liaison. In English, it means I’m here to stop you playing the hero and compromising our investigation.”
She pauses, looking more relaxed now. “DC Foster and DC Penn will be along shortly to interview you. Answer them truthfully, Kent, no matter how awkward you might feel. They have a job to do. It’s not personal.”
During the hour it takes for the officers to arrive, Ashley helps me write a concise and accurate statement of my actions and why I took them. Writing them out makes me realise how skewed my thinking was at the time. She reassures me the police wouldn’t automatically have sent out a search party to find Gemma, not without evidence of a threat to her life.
“At the time, I had no reason to think she wouldn’t return,” Ashley says, dictating the words for me. “That’s what you believed, wasn’t it?”
“It’s what I told myself.”
The aggressive rapping on the door sends Columbo racing down the stairs. His barks echo around the flat as Ashley follows. She scoops him up and lets them in.
“Kent has prepared a full statement. He’s helped me and the police in the past, so the guvnor agreed to let me assist. Has he spoken to you?”
They both nod, but remain tight lipped, not looking happy.
Thankfully, Columbo eases the tension. Foster breaks into a huge grin as he licks her hand when she fusses him. He stretches to lick her face, much to the disgust of her colleague, Penn, who looks like he swallowed a wasp.
Young, keen and dressed to impress in an immaculate suit and shiny shoes, he almost races up the stairs. He looks too young to have spent much time in uniform, which suggests a post graduate entry. Either that or he’s discovered a wonder moisturiser. Whatever the reason, he’s not quite mastered the neutral look that makes everyone uneasy and feeling guilty when a police officer turns up.
His colleague, however, has more experience, using TV’s Vera Stanhope as a role model, if her well-worn raincoat is anything to go by. Though not overweight, she has a full figure beneath a loose sweater, pulled down over trousers that could use a press. A few strands of her dark hair have fallen over her pale, grey-green eyes. The crumbs at the side of her mouth suggest she’s eaten during the drive here. When I offer refreshments, she’s quick to accept.
“I’m gasping,” she says, her eyes on Columbo. “I know all about you,” she says, using the baby voice people often adopt when talking to dogs. “And your daddy. My daughters follow you on Facebook, Kent.”
As much as I’d like to tell her I couldn’t possibly father a dog, I don’t want to antagonise her.
She removes her coat and tosses it over the back of the sofa she plans to use. “I’m Detective Constable Naomi Foster and this is Detective Constable William Penn. He’ll take notes during the interview. As I’m sure you know, we work in the Sussex and Surrey Major Incident Team. We’re investigating the incident concerning your burned out Ford Fusion, abandoned on an industrial estate in Lower Dicker, Hellingly.”
“Is this the statement you prepared?” Penn gathers the Sussex Police forms from the breakfast bar and offers them to his colleague. “Do you want to read it before we commence the interview?”
Foster watches me make tea and coffee. “Why did you feel it necessary to produce a written statement, Mr Fisher?”
“I wanted to give you a detailed record of events while they’re fresh in my mind.”
She rests her elbows on the breakfast bar and leans forward, staring into my eyes. “Our colleagues in South Warwickshire felt you weren’t being completely open when they spoke to you yesterday.”
While it’s not a question, she clearly expects an answer.
“Were they referring to my wife’s mobile phone?”
“I wasn’t there, Mr Fisher. What about your wife’s phone?”
“My wife exchanged a series of texts with someone calling himself Halliday-Jones.”
“You’re sure it’s a man?”
The question knocks me out of my stride. “I thought the body you found in my car was male.”
“What makes you think it’s Halliday-Jones?”
“He drove off with my wife.”
“You saw them?”
“No, I was in a graveyard with Columbo.”
She gives me a faint smile. “Then how do you know what happened?”
If she’s trying to unsettle me, she’s succeeding. I enquire about milk and sugars, relieved to have a few moments to recover and gather my thoughts. “It seems a bit of a coincidence,” I say, “the texts, Halliday-Jones demanding to see my wife. If she didn’t drive off with him, who did she drive off with?”
“Why do you think Halliday-Jones is a man, Mr Fisher? Is it because you think he’s having or once had a relationship with your wife?”
“Until Friday, I’d never come across the name before.”
“But it didn’t stop you wondering how she knew him or why he’d sent texts to her, did it?”
She takes the statement and drops onto the sofa, sitting next to Penn, who seems to be enjoying my discomfort. Ashley’s expression remains neutral as she offers to help with the teas and coffees. When I don’t pull any cakes from the fridge, she’s looks disappointed. Once the drinks are set on the table, I sit opposite the detectives and wait for Foster to finish skimming through my statement. She pauses and runs a finger over several lines, drawing Penn’s attention to them.
“How did you feel about the texts, Mr Fisher?”
“What do you mean?”
“What was your reaction when you read them?”
“I wondered what Gemma had done in the past. Halliday-Jones thought it would have stopped me marrying her.”
Foster waits, hoping for more. As I’m not sure where she’s heading with her questions, I remain silent.
“Weren’t you concerned about her safety?” she asks.
“Gemma suggested they talk on Saturday when we returned home. She didn’t think it was urgent. There’s nothing in her texts to suggest she felt threatened.”
“Yet she returned to your holiday home to meet Halliday-Jones at nine. When you returned, there was no sign of her or your car. Weren’t you concerned, Mr Fisher?”
“At first, I thought she’d nipped out.”
“Did she have a habit of nipping out without telling you?”
“No.” I realise what Ashley meant by how Gemma’s disappearance could look to a police officer. “As she left her phone, I thought she might be back soon.”
“Where did she leave it?”
“On a coffee table, next to her camera.”
She pauses while Penn makes notes. “What did you think after you read the texts?”
“As I said, I was wondering what she’d done in the past.”
“You weren’t concerned she might have driven off with Halliday-Jones without leaving you a message?”
“She did leave me a message,” I say, gesturing to Ashley. She hands the evidence bag containing the message to Foster, who reads it and passes it to Penn. He places it on the table beside my statement.
“Did you show the message to the officers from South Warwickshire police?”
“I found it after they left.”
“You found it the day after your wife disappeared?” While her voice betrays little, she can’t quite keep the suspicion from her eyes. Or is it disbelief? “Did you ring the officers to let them know?”
“Gemma said no police.”
“Didn’t that concern you?”
“She knew where she was going.”
“Don’t you think that information would have been useful to us, Mr Fisher?” She uses my surname now she’s no longer impressed with me. “You might have helped us prevent a murder.”
Twenty
“You don’t know that.” I can barely suppress my anger at Foster’s accusation. In truth, I’m angry with myself for the way I behaved. Maybe it was denial, believing Gemma could look after herself. Maybe I was afraid of what I might find. Maybe I was afraid I’d lost her, so soon after realising she was the only woman for me.
Foster sips her coffee, in no hurry to let me off the hook. “We don’t know much at all, Mr Fisher. That’s why we’re here.”
One glance at Penn, who’s not so accomplished at hiding his emotions, tells me all I need to know. My behaviour’s leading me deeper into trouble. Even Columbo’s deserted me, retreating to his favourite corner beside the fridge.
“Let’s go back to this note,” Foster says, picking up the bag. “It’s written on the back of some cardboard, torn from a toothpaste packet, I’d say. Where did she leave it?”
“Under the cap of her shampoo bottle. I discovered it when I couldn’t close the cap.”
“Why do you think she placed it there?”
“She didn’t want Halliday-Jones to find it. I’m guessing she went to the bathroom before they left to write the note.”
She points to my statement. “Then you went to the home of Richard Compton, a solicitor in Chipping Campden, who offered to put you up for the weekend. How do you know him?”
“He was once engaged to Gemma.”
“How would you describe your relationship with Mr Compton?”
“We get on well. As he was once close to Gemma, I thought she might have confided in him about her past.”
“You thought she’d told him what she wasn’t prepared to tell you?”
“I thought it was worth asking.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He didn’t know much about her past.”
While Foster drinks her coffee, Penn looks up from his notes. “Mr Fisher, you had a note from your wife, suggesting she’d travelled to Ditchling.” There’s an edge to his voice that matches the hunger in his eyes. “Why did you visit Mr Compton? Why didn’t you drive straight down here to find her?”
Ashley and Foster watch me, waiting for the answer.
“Like I said, I was hoping to find out what she’d kept from me.”
Foster stares at me, aware of my discomfort. “Was that more important to you than the safety of your wife, Mr Fisher?”
I shift, aware of the sweat on my palms and my forehead. What the hell is wrong with me? Why did I visit Richard when I should have raced down the M40 to find my wife?
No wonder the police are suspicious.
Foster leans forward. “Well, Mr Fisher?”
“Ashley, I mean DI Goodman, will tell you Gemma’s more than capable of looking after herself. We’ve been in plenty of scrapes before. Had she written help or something similar on the note, I would have ...” My voice fades. I falter, realising how cold and thoughtless I must seem. “At the time, I didn’t believe she was in any immediate danger.”
“Yet you drove straight here when DI Goodman told you about your burned out car.”
“I was coming back already. Richard couldn’t help me, so it was time to return.”
Whatever Foster is about to say, she changes her mind. She looks down at the statement, her fingers tapping on her thigh. “Your wife spent time in London, didn’t she?”
I nod.
“What did she tell you about her time in London?”
“We didn’t talk about it. I don’t talk about the time I lived in Manchester. We live in the here and now.”
“Well Mr Fisher, right here and right now, I’d say the present links directly to the past. So, let’s return to Friday morning. Where were you when your wife went missing?”
“In the graveyard of Holy Trinity church.” It takes me a few minutes to take her through the events of the morning, even though it’s in my statement. Penn checks the details against what I’ve written and gives his colleague an almost imperceptible nod, to confirm I haven’t deviated from my previous account.
“Can anyone corroborate where you were and what time it was, Mr Fisher?”
“You’re asking me for an alibi?”
“We like to confirm everyone’s movements as a matter of routine.”
“I’m sure people would remember me and Columbo if you asked around.”
“I’m sure people would remember your dog. He’s a cutie and your wife posts a lot of photographs and videos of him on Facebook and Instagram. Does she spend a lot of time on social media?”
“She’s not glued to her phone, if that’s what you mean.” I shake my head and sigh. “Maybe a little.”
“If she’s anything like me, she probably spends too much time looking at videos of cute dogs and animals.”
I find myself nodding.
“Weren’t you surprised when she left her phone behind?”
I pause, realising I walked into that one. “I wondered if Gemma, or Halliday-Jones, thought you guys might track her phone.”
“You don’t think they would have the nouse to turn it off?”
“I wondered if they wanted me to find the texts.”
“What, Gemma and Halliday-Jones?”
I shrug.
“Gemma didn’t need to leave her phone.” Penn looks pleased with his intervention. “She’d already left you a note.”
I take a sip of tea, realising he’s right. Why didn’t it occur to me? “You think Halliday-Jones wanted me to find the texts?”
“What do you think?” Foster asks.
“It’s clear he didn’t think she should have married me. Maybe he was in love with her once and wanted to break us apart, to spoil our honeymoon.”
“Is that why you didn’t show the texts to my colleagues in South Warwickshire? Were you concerned they might think you had something to do with your wife’s disappearance?”
“If that’s the case, why would I report her missing?”
“You waited until the following morning, Mr Fisher. My colleagues thought you reacted somewhat dispassionately when you learned your wife was missing. Did you know she was about to leave you?”
