Chapter Thirty-Three #2
Geoff was speaking again. ‘Elizabeth knew about my suspicions. If I was home, we always had dinner together and I remember discussing Armstrong’s case in front of the family. I didn’t know that Elizabeth was friends with Hannah Armstrong then, or I would have been more careful.’
‘You believe that Elizabeth told Hannah that her father might be a crook?’
‘No!’ Geoff was certain. ‘That would have been unkind. Elizabeth was gossipy and unreliable, but she was never unkind.’
‘But she might have told Lottie?’
The man nodded. ‘According to Karen, Lizzie and Lottie were best buddies. Never apart. Egging each other on. Hannah was a little quieter and more reserved, there on sufferance maybe.’
And as we’ve discovered, Matthew thought, Lottie wasn’t above a bit of blackmail.
Rumours of corruption could ruin Armstrong’s career, and Lottie would have enjoyed having that power over him.
Daniel had described Lottie as sad, but she was dangerous too.
Even if there were no concrete proof of Armstrong’s corrupt behaviour, the girl wouldn’t have had Geoff Kinzalow’s scruples.
She’d have been happy to distort rumour into fact, as she’d distorted the videos of the music festival.
That would give Paul Armstrong a motive for killing Lottie Cauldwell.
But surely, Matthew thought, he’d never have killed his own daughter?
Besides, the idea was ridiculous, impossible.
The Armstrongs were in a car on their way from London to North Devon when the girls were killed.
‘I’ve got nothing else to tell you.’ Kinzalow got to his feet, his eyes still on the riverbank. He seemed old and tired.
‘Thank you for your help.’ If it is help, and not a clever piece of misdirection.
‘Like I said, we got so angry, so fired up, because we felt guilty,’ Kinzalow said. ‘We should have kept our Lizzie safe.’ The dipper had flown off and the river was calm, drifting slowly towards the sea. ‘But the girls’ deaths haven’t made us feel any better. At least our daughter is still alive.’
‘You’ll be seeing her soon.’
‘Yes,’ Kinzalow said. ‘We’ll be seeing her soon.’
Matthew pulled away from the cottage. He’d shouted goodbye to Karen, who’d been standing in the doorway, waiting for the men to finish talking.
He hadn’t wanted to sit in his car to process his thoughts.
They’d think he was watching them, still suspicious, and his suspicions had faded now.
The tea shop in the village was just opening for breakfast and coffee and he pulled in there, ordered a coffee to take away, and phoned Appleyard from the car.
It was seven-thirty and he didn’t think the chief would be someone who’d sleep late.
The man answered almost immediately ‘Yes? What have you got for me?’ His voice hopeful.
‘I’ve spoken to the Kinzalows.’
‘Ah, you tracked them down.’
‘Karen came into the police station in Barnstaple, and I’ve just talked to the husband. We don’t have anything to hold them.’
‘You don’t think they’re involved?’ Appleyard was too professional to sound disappointed.
‘I’m not sure about the man. He’s angry enough to have done it.
He blamed Lottie and Hannah for his daughter’s accident.
He claimed he was in North Devon to find the truth, but he was already convinced that he knew what happened that night.
’ A pause. ‘Who was to blame, at least. I don’t think the wife is involved.
After all, with the girls’ murders, she’s lost the possibility of finding out exactly what happened the night that Elizabeth fell.
I have no evidence to hold the man, though. ’
‘So, we’ve lost our main suspects.’ Now, Appleyard did allow an edge of disappointment into his voice.
‘Unless you can come up with any evidence against Kinzalow in the next couple of days.’ Venn remembered the phone call from the Home Office civil servant.
Appleyard would be under even greater pressure than him to get the case sorted.
‘The husband did pass on a piece of information that might be useful. He claims that when he was researching his book on the new generation of British politicians, he came across rumours that Armstrong took bribes from a developer when he was a city councillor.’ There was no immediate response and Venn added, ‘I wondered if your friends in the Home Office knew anything about that?’
Now, Appleyard did come up with an answer, which was diplomatic and discreet. ‘I suspect that even if such rumours had flagged up on their radar, they wouldn’t have considered them relevant to this particular investigation.’
‘Except that Elizabeth Kinzalow was aware of her father’s suspicions, and he thinks she might have gossiped to her friend Lottie Cauldwell.
We’ve discovered that Lottie enjoyed a bit of blackmail.
Small scale. Nothing to suggest Armstrong was her target.
Interesting, nonetheless. We do know that Lottie was a pretty mixed-up kid, who enjoyed a little power. ’
More than a little power.
‘Ah.’ The silence stretched. Venn checked his phone to make sure that he still had signal. ‘I suppose you’re not suggesting that Armstrong killed his own daughter to save his reputation. That would be somewhat’ – Appleyard searched for a word – ‘gothic. In a rather gothic case.’
‘No,’ Matthew said. ‘The Armstrongs couldn’t have had opportunity. They were travelling from London when the girls died. The satnav on their car proves it.’
‘Who are we left with?’
‘The Hoopers at the Fisherman’s Arms, the Brennans at Millscombe Farm.
Daniel Miller is still in the mix, though I believed his explanation.
I’ve asked one of our officers to check online stalkers of Lottie Cauldwell.
You might get your people to do the same.
She was the sort of woman who might attract obsessives and anyone who followed her on social media would know where to find her. ’
‘So, you’re thinking someone random. Some screwed-up madman with an obsession or a grudge?’ Appleyard was sceptical.
‘Well, maybe someone so disturbed that he believed he had a real connection with the girl and would find it impossible to understand rejection.’
After all, Venn thought, there were those murderers. Psychotic men with violent fantasies. Mixed-up kids with delusions of fame. Venn wondered if they should have taken more notice of the group of rubberneckers who’d been hanging around Tide House with their phones and their cameras.
‘The press would, of course, love a random lunatic,’ Appleyard said. ‘Preferably one with an immigrant background.’
It was as close as he’d ever get to a political statement.
‘Of course,’ Venn said, ‘Vicki Robb has been checking seasonal casual workers with a record of violence or sexual assault. But by their nature, they’re not easy to track down. And there’s the usual gang of ghouls hanging round outside the house.’
‘Okay if I get my chaps on that too?’
‘We’d be delighted for any help you can give us.
’ Venn paused. ‘Could you look too at Jim Hooper, the landlord of the Fisherman’s.
No criminal record since he was a juvenile but he has a very short fuse and a definite antipathy towards the police.
I wondered if your friends might know something which would explain the hostility. ’
‘I’ll check it out,’ Appleyard said, ‘and get back to you as soon as possible.’
‘I’m taking some time off.’ Venn tried not to sound too apologetic. ‘An important family matter. I’ll have my phone with me, and I’ll be back on the ground by lunchtime tomorrow.’
‘Of course. You have a good team. None of us is indispensable.’
Venn finished his coffee and drove home through the early morning streets.