Chapter 23 #3
She cringed. “The night Sonia stayed over. She seemed so wretched. I told her, well, I told her to confront Dhapinder and Trevor if she couldn’t take it in any longer.”
My face fell. Oh, okay. So, a little bit her fault. “Arden, please don’t be mad. Please! I’m so sorry!”
The police took us to Sittingston station.
As usual, all I could see was how ugly it was.
And as usual, it took hours. However, Kennedy was a hit with the officers, so at least the goodwill from that got me a cup of tea and biscuits.
Also, the station had blessed air conditioning.
By mid-afternoon, when my phone told me that the temperature outside was in the high thirties, I was surprisingly comfortable on my leather chair in the waiting room.
Eventually, Lauren brought me through, and I gave my statement.
After I’d finished, she sighed. “Thank God,” she said.
“Dhapinder and Trevor have admitted everything. They’ve stolen nearly ￡50,000 over the past year.
Their plan was to announce they were leaving soon for Spain to set up a new agency, essentially bankrupt the business, let Sonia take the blame as an incompetent owner, and then buy it outright at a fraction of its original value. ”
I shook my head. “But Trevor’s wandering eye put paid to that.”
“Yup,” she said. “I can’t believe it. I go to Zumba with Dhapinder’s mum.” She sighed. “You’re free to go, Mr Forrest. DS Maslin said he’ll drive you back to your car in Compney.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said, confused.
I looked over and saw Jack Maslin waiting for me at the door. I nervously came towards him. He bent down and gave Kennedy a scratch behind the ears. “What is he?” he asked in thick cockney.
“Black Alsatian/Dobermann cross,” I answered. “Supposedly fearsome, but he’s scared of his own shadow.”
Maslin – Jack – scoffed. “Come on, the car’s out back.” He led the way, and we piled in. It was hotter than hell, and he turned up the AC.
He began his questions before we’d even left the car park. Kennedy, in the back, poked his head through the space between the seats and panted happily in our ears.
“You and Anson have been digging, I hear?”
I froze.
“Don’t worry, I couldn’t care less,” he said. “Frankly, you might have got further than us. Whoever killed Riz knew what they were doing and buried every piece of paper trail behind a wall of shell corporations and overseas bank accounts.”
“Though,” he added. “Errol Mottley coming to us last night and saying it was Suzy Rabbit who killed Riz was an interesting development.”
“What?” I squawked.
“Yeah, I don’t think he’s right.”
“Who do you think did it?” I asked as we left the village.
He shrugged. His shoulders were so broad that I could almost feel the movement as his bulk took up most of the car. “You know the stats on it being the partner?”
“You think it was Simon?”
Another shrug. “You know him better than me.”
“I don’t know him at all,” I said bitterly.
He gave a laugh. “I don’t think that’s true. I think you and Mr Anson know each other inside and out, even if you act like you hate each other.”
I glared at him. “Jealous?” I asked petulantly.
“Little bit,” he said, taking his eyes off the road and giving me a once-over.
Oh my God. Simon was right. Jesus, what a horrible thought. “Listen,” he said. “Whatever happens, you still have my number. If you find something, call me. This is my first big case outside of the Met. I want to nail them.”
“I have some theories,” I said after a while.
He stared at me as we waited for a tractor at a give way sign. “Go on.”
“I can’t say much. I don’t know much. But what I do know is that Simon didn’t do it. And if he did, he’s laid a very convincing path of breadcrumbs to someone else.”
“Who is this person?”
Hesitation ran through me. But fuck it. “Stuart Murray. He was an ex-boyfriend of Simon’s. I don’t know anything more about him. But he OD’d several years back and, well, it’s the only thing I can think of. His name keeps cropping up. I don’t know who is putting it out there.”
“You think that someone – wait, someone killed Riz to get revenge on Simon?” his voice was strained. Kennedy yawned loudly in our ears.
“Maybe,” I said, unsure. My brain was so foggy. Adrenaline was receding, and now I needed to sleep for a million hours. “A family member, another ex-boyfriend.”
Jack frowned. “I’ve left some ex-boyfriends pretty irate over the years, but none of them have shot anyone to get back at me.”
Oh. Pocket that information for later. “So, family?”
“Let me do some digging. But Riz’s killing was so carefully covered up. That breadcrumb trail was well hidden.” He gazed off into the distance as we turned the corner into Compney. “Give me a day or two. Then I need to speak to Simon. There’ll be more.”
“About that,” I said as we came onto the high street. “Don’t think you’ll get far. Simon’s job.”
Jack furrowed his enormous brow. “We’ve been shut down at every turn with information about Simon’s employment. Politely– and less than politely – told to drop it.”
Sounds like the same thing I’d been getting.
We pulled up near where I had parked my car several hours earlier. “Thanks,” I said, collecting Kennedy from the back seat.
“I’ll go back to the station and investigate this Stuart Murray. I’ll let you know what I find. It seems you have the ear of the right people, in this case. Something Neuberger doesn’t understand or like.”
“Small town politics,” I said.
“I wouldn’t know. I’m from Canning Town.” He grinned and then turned serious again. “But remember,” he said, leaning over to talk to me through the passenger-side window. “I only care about who did it. Nothing else.”
He drove off.
That night, they called Suzy’s victory at 1 a.m., with one of the biggest landslides in recent history. She was going to Parliament.