Chapter 17
PC Tom Chandler looks significantly less relaxed than in his Facebook profile picture. He sits in Lauren’s office, forearms heavy on his knees, fingers twisting around each other.
‘Money’s been really tight,’ he says, his eyes fixed on the floor. ‘Karen got Long Covid and had to stop work, and we had to take out a couple of credit cards just to pay the bills.’
‘Have you spoken to anyone about this?’ Lauren says. ‘HR? Your skipper?’
Tom shakes his head. ‘I’m on top of it.’
‘Stealing equipment from work is hardly—’
‘I don’t steal!’ Tom snaps his gaze on to Lauren. ‘It’s spare kit, stuff I don’t need—’
‘It’s not yours to sell, Tom!’ Lauren’s voice has risen, and she takes a steadying breath. ‘It’s not only an abuse of taxpayers’ money; you’ve got absolutely no idea who you’re selling to, or how they plan to use the kit.’
‘Some people are collectors, or they want it for fancy dress. One bloke was an extra. You know, in TV and films. Said he got more parts if he could bring his own uniform.’
‘And what about the ones who don’t tell you? The ones planning to pass themselves off as coppers?’ Lauren blows out her cheeks. ‘I mean, for God’s sake, Tom, have you seen the news recently? The Daily Mail would jump all over this one.’
‘Please don’t stick me on, ma’am. I’m begging you.’ His voice cracks. ‘We’re already behind on the mortgage. If I lose my job, we’ll lose the house.’
Lauren doesn’t respond. She’s been through Tom’s eBay transactions and she’s almost a hundred per cent certain nothing matches the uniform worn by the man Nadeeka saw in Cedar Walk; nevertheless, what Tom has been doing is a disciplinary offence.
In the current climate, it’s undoubtedly a job-loser.
‘I want every listing for police items deleted and the property in my office by tomorrow morning.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She looks at him for a second, then jerks her head towards the door. ‘Get back to work.’
‘Are you going to stick me on?’ He’s fighting tears, Lauren realizes.
‘I haven’t decided yet.’
But she has. She just hopes she won’t live to regret it.
‘You all right?’ Fraser glances at her before turning back to the road. They’re on their way to speak to Scott Hadley, who is steadily climbing higher up Lauren’s list of potential suspects.
‘I spoke to the lad who’s been selling kit online. Tom Chandler.’
‘Did you stick him on?’
Lauren doesn’t answer right away. She feels Fraser’s gaze on her; can sense his surprise when he realizes she’s gone against the party line.
‘Everyone makes bad choices sometimes,’ she says eventually. ‘It’s just that not everyone gets caught.’
‘That’s very reasonable of you.’ Fraser slows, held behind a line of traffic waiting to turn right. ‘I’d have stuck him on.’
‘Lucky for Tom Chandler you failed your inspector’s exam, then.’
‘I’ll have you know that was a strategic fail. All part of the big plan.’
‘What plan would that be?’
Fraser grins. ‘The plan for my high-flying wife to keep me in the manner to which I’d like to become accustomed.’ They follow the satnav directions into a narrow street, where Fraser slows the car and points to a terraced house with a blue door. ‘We’re here.’
In the bay window to the right of the front path they see a man sitting at a desk, partially obscured by two huge screens. He looks up at them and frowns, but gets to his feet.
‘Probably thinks we’re Jehovah’s Witnesses,’ Fraser says, as he rings the bell.
Lauren has her ID waiting. ‘Scott Hadley?’
‘Who wants to know?’ Scott’s wearing jogging bottoms and a tightly fitted top that shows the flex of his arm muscles. A -Gymshark gilet is zipped up to his neck.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Caldwell, major crime. This is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Hogan. Can we come in?’
There’s a pause, then Scott opens the door wider. He shows them into his office, which as well as the desk in the window contains a sofa, a wall-mounted television and an impressive gallery of framed awards.
Fraser nods to the certificates. ‘What is it you do?’
‘I work in IT, but my passion’s in the wellness industry. I help a lot of ladies, actually.’ He hands Lauren a flyer with a beaming woman on one side and a dizzying array of powders and supplements on the other.
‘NutriQuest?’ Lauren looks up. ‘Isn’t that a pyramid scheme?’
Scott gives her a patronizing smile. ‘There’s a lot of misinformation about multi-level marketing. Our products help people feel and look better, it’s as simple as that.’ He sits on the edge of his desk and folds his arms. ‘Now, what can I help you with?’
‘I believe you’ve been informed of the circumstances surrounding the death of your ex-wife’s partner, Jamie Golding?’ Lauren says. ‘We’d like to ask you a few questions about it.’
‘I don’t know anything about it, sorry.’ Scott picks up a paperweight from his desk; a glass sphere with a swirl of blue bubbles trapped inside.
‘Then this won’t take long, will it?’ Lauren sits on the sofa and takes out a notebook. Fraser’s still reading the certificates on the wall, which she imagines are worth about as much as the paper on which they’re printed. ‘Tell me, how did you get on with Jamie?’
‘What’s Nads been saying?’
‘If you could answer the question, please, Mr Hadley.’
‘Did she tell you I had something to do with him dying?’ Scott passes the paperweight from one hand to the other. ‘Because I wasn’t anywhere near him.’
‘Where were you?’
‘Training.’ He holds the paperweight still, studying it intently as though he’s never seen it before. ‘I’m doing an ultra in a few weeks.’
‘I see you’ve done a couple of Ironmans.
’ Fraser points to a rack on the wall, from which at least twenty medals are hanging.
‘I did Tenby a few years ago – almost killed me.’ He gives a rueful laugh and Lauren mentally applauds his acting skills.
She’d been at the finish line when Fraser had crossed the line with a time that put him second in his age category, his former army training having powered him through the brutal course.
‘A lot of it’s in your nutrition, of course.’ Scott pats the pile of flyers on his desk. ‘I swear by our VitaFuel Pro. I can give you a couple of samples, if you like?’
‘Nice one, thanks. Was Jamie much of a runner?’
Seamless, Lauren thinks. God, Fraser’s good.
Scott snorts. ‘Bloke couldn’t run a bath. I don’t know what Nads saw in him. Obvious what he saw in her, of course. Free house, ready-made family . . .’
There’s bitterness in his voice and Lauren feels a dart of sympathy, in spite of Scott’s manner. It must be tough seeing your kids with another man.
‘You weren’t a fan, then?’ Fraser says.
‘Hated the bloke.’ Scott gives an exaggerated, overly defensive sigh. ‘There you go: I couldn’t stand him. Doesn’t mean I killed him.’
‘It’s funny, though,’ Lauren says, ‘because that’s almost exactly what your text to him said. You’re fucking dead, wasn’t it?’
There’s a beat, Scott’s face registering the information that what he’d assumed had been private is now in the hands of the police. Then he shrugs. ‘The bloke was pissing me off.’
‘So you threatened to kill him?’ Lauren says.
‘That wasn’t a threat!’
‘And now he really is dead.’ She holds Scott’s gaze. ‘You can see how it looks.’
‘I didn’t kill him!’
‘Right . . . you couldn’t have, could you?’ Lauren says. Scott stares at her. ‘You were out running,’ she reminds him.
‘Yeah.’ He looks at the paperweight again.
He’s lying.
‘Where did you go?’ Fraser’s being all matey again.
‘Castledean nature reserve.’
‘Oh, yeah, that’s a nice trail. You on Strava?’ Fraser puts on a terrible American accent and shoots his index fingers in Scott’s direction. ‘If it’s not on Strava, it didn’t happen, right?’
‘Right.’ Scott laughs, but there’s a nervous edge to it now.
‘So you track your runs on your phone?’ Lauren says.
‘Yeah.’
‘Including the Castledean one?’ She holds out her hand. ‘Can I take a look?’
Scott blinks. ‘Actually, I think I left my phone at Mum’s that time.’
Lauren exchanges a slow and deliberate glance with Fraser, letting Scott sweat before she continues. ‘That’s strange for someone so meticulous about their training, isn’t it?’
‘I used my watch,’ Scott says suddenly.
Lauren stands. ‘Show me.’
‘What?’
‘Show me the entry.’
‘I don’t have to,’ Scott says, but he doesn’t sound too sure.
‘No, you don’t have to.’ Lauren sighs. ‘We can arrest you and take you down to the station, then send your watch off to be analysed. It’ll take a few weeks, and you’ll be on police bail all that time, but then eventually we’ll see that you were at -Castledean nature reserve at the time of Jamie Golding’s murder, and you’ll be a free man again. ’
Scott looks up at the ceiling, then lets out a long breath. ‘I didn’t go for a run.’
Lauren keeps her expression neutral. ‘Why did you lie?’
‘Because . . .’ He crosses to the door and pushes it shut. ‘I was at someone’s house.’ He lowers his voice. ‘I’m sort of . . . seeing someone.’
‘Nadeeka mentioned a Spanish woman?’ Lauren says.
‘That’s Gabriela. My . . . er . . . girlfriend. This is her house. The girl I went to see is called Dani.’ He flashes Lauren a defensive look. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘It always is.’ Lauren turns to a fresh page in her notebook. ‘I’d like the name, address and telephone number of the woman you’re seeing, please.’
‘Gabriela and I haven’t been getting on for—’
‘Name. Address. Phone number.’ Lauren cuts him off. ‘I’m not here to judge your private life, Mr Hadley.’ Although I bloody well will, she thinks.
‘Men,’ Lauren says darkly, as they drive away. She dials the number Scott had reluctantly handed over for Dani.
‘Not all men,’ Fraser says mildly.
‘Present company excep—’ Lauren cuts herself off as a woman answers the phone.
In the three-minute conversation that follows, Lauren ascertains two things. One, that Dani didn’t know Scott already had a girlfriend; and, two, that the pair of them had indeed been together at the time of the murder.