Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
I left the Fishbowl for Andrew Smith’s house just before lunchtime on Monday, content in the knowledge that I now at least had a working toilet on the first floor, thanks to a photo from Taz.
We were also sure that Roselea had been visited by at least one other person than Cade after combing through his videos.
There were five in total of Roselea, not all covering the same rooms, but most areas were filmed at least three times.
I doubted Cade had noticed it, but some of the objects still in the house looked like they’d been moved, the ones on the sideboard where there’d still been the remnants of mail.
Jenna’s team were paying another visit in the afternoon, but my main task was speaking to The Holding’s senior leader.
Verity was with me, riding shotgun and gawping at the houses we were passing. They were mainly detached with kerb appeal, the area one of the more expensive to buy in, although they were still in a different league to the houses on Damien’s road.
“We haven’t found what his main job was,” she said. “How could he afford to buy a house on here?”
“He’s owned it for fifteen years, so it wouldn’t have been as expensive then, but I imagine we’ll find out how he afforded it when we go through The Holding’s accounts in more detail.
” We’d brought in a civilian worker who specialised in forensic accounts to make sense of the pages and pages of invoices.
It was likely it’d transfer over to white collar crime, as there were already discrepancies in the accounting around tax, which was one less headache for us. Our job was just to catch the killer.
I pulled up outside Smith’s house, noting the neat garden, pots at the front of the house containing herbs. There was a car on the drive, a blue Lexus that was registered to Andrew Smith, so I was hoping he would be in.
He was and he answered the door before I could knock.
“Hello.” He looked puzzled, glancing from me to Verity. “If you’re selling something - ”
He stopped talking when he saw my ID. “I’m DS McAllister and this is DC Verity Golding. I’m here to ask you some questions about The Holding and two of its members who died last week.”
“Oh. Right. You’d best come in then.” He opened the door and stepped out of the way so I could enter.
The house was a complete contrast to Damien’s. Inspiration had been taken from the nineties, or maybe it hadn’t been decorated since then. We were led to a lounge with a brick fireplace, a definite relic from a few decades ago, a set of money bank pigs on the mantlepiece.
I sunk into a patterned sofa, worn but clean and cushion free.
“Can I get either of you a drink?” Andrew Smith hovered above us, his face pale.
“We’re fine at the moment. We just have a few questions and then we’ll be out of your way.” It was falsely reassuring because I doubted it would be this quick.
“Okay.” He sat down on a chair, holding on to the arms. “What can I help you with?”
“As I’m sure you’re aware we’re looking into the murder of Amanda Goodhew and Micky Mulligan. The Holding is the beneficiary of both estates - ”
“You can’t possibly think we’d do anything to get hold of those estates, Detective? That’s not how The Holding works.” His face reddened.
“I’m not suggesting that, Mr Smith. We are looking into the Holding’s accounts, which you may be aware of?
” We’d made a request to the bank for current and historic statements, with a warrant on its way.
Wrigley hadn’t been too keen on the idea until Nick had really gone for it with what he’d found in the ledgers.
Numerous cash withdrawals once a month, the fees to the boarding school, and other payments that didn’t align with any of the invoices Amanda had so carefully filed.
“I was aware. My bank notified me.” The redness of his face concerned me.
“Would you like me to get you a drink?” Verity said, pushing herself off the sofa.
“No, it’s fine. Like you said, you had a few quick questions.” He took a long breath and seemed to steady himself. “Ask away.”
“How long have you been the sole director of The Holding?” I asked, an easy warm up question.
“Twenty-three years, since The Holding was two years old and we were looking at how to become more self-sufficient. I was heavily invested in the plight of the group; looking after each other, putting the value back into farming the land and living off it. There’s a lot to be said for the old ways. ”
I wasn’t going to get drawn into that. “When did Amanda Goodhew become treasurer?”
“A few years after that. She’d maybe been doing a bit of bookkeeping for a couple of years before the fire, and obviously had time off while she recovered.
She remained a member of our community and we are grieving both her and Micky.
They’ll be very much missed.” He sat back in his chair, more relaxed and clearly upset.
“The police asked for anyone with information about the fire to come forward, but you didn’t. Why was that?” I asked, noticing a sharp spring through the sofa padding.
He shook his head. “Because we didn’t have any information about the fire. The Holding stays off the radar; we don’t like to draw attention to ourselves, and on this occasion, there was no need to. It’s a huge tragedy, but as the world knows, life goes on.”
“Do you have anyone lined up to take over from Amanda as treasurer?” We were edging closer to what I needed to get to.
He coughed, raspy and persistent. “There are a couple of members who have an accountancy background, but for the time being, I’ll oversee it myself.”
“Is there any particular reason for that, Mr Smith? The Holding appears to have a significant sum in its accounts and will no doubt accrue more because of what’s been bequeathed by Amanda and Micky.
It’s going to be fairly complicated with tax, I would think.
” My foster father used to get me and Heidi to use one big word a day.
He’d have been impressed with bequeathed.
“We do everything in house. If we don’t know how to do something, we learn how to. Being reliant on anyone outside of the group isn’t self-sufficient.” He sounded like he was telling off a naughty schoolchild.
“What are the outgoings for The Holding?”
“I don’t quite see what this has got to do with Amanda and Micky, Detective.” He sat further up.
“Why were there regular payments to Calderwick Manor, Mr Smith.” The question hung in the air like chlorine gas.
His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. “I’ve never heard of Calderwick Manor.”
“Then who authorised the payments from The Holding’s accounts?
Regular amounts over a number of years to an all boys’ boarding school near to Skipton.
Did The Holding have a scholarship, maybe?
Was Amanda paying fees for another child?
It’s one of the anomalies so far.” I sat back, watching his discomfort, seeing his shoulders sag and his eyes close.
“I still don’t understand what this has to do with Amanda and Micky, Detective.” His words were quieter, less assertive.
“We’re looking for a motive. Money is often a motive.
The Holding and Amanda’s daughter are the only two recipients in her will.
We have a duty to explore all avenues. We’re looking at expenditures that Amanda carefully recorded as well as income, and the school fees are a curiosity, given what The Holding is about .
My next stop will be to the ex-accountants of Calderwick Manor to see which pupil the cheques linked to.
If you can save me the trip, I’m sure the taxpayer will appreciate it. ” My tone was firm, cold even.
Andrew Smith sighed, staring ahead at nothing in particular, maybe the ghosts of bad decisions.
“Then you’ll find out anyway, but it isn’t relevant to your investigation so hopefully, you’ll leave it be.
The fees were for one of my children. I had given up my own business for The Holding; I needed it to support my family. Amanda was aware of it.”
“And did she approve of this use of The Holding’s funds?”
“You are very judgmental, Detective. I can hear it in your voice.”
I was under his skin. “I’m afraid that I can’t see the justification in your usage of monies that didn’t belong to you to send your son to a private boarding school at such an expense. That’s potential fraud. Was that how Amanda saw it?”
“No. She understood. My son struggled, and that was my fault. His mother fell pregnant by accident, and we weren’t in a secure relationship.
We never lived together and I wasn’t around as much as I should’ve been.
That’s all on me. His mother couldn’t cope and I didn’t have the skills or time to be a good parent, so we agreed I’d pay for him to have a good education and be looked after somewhere there was more routine.
Then I didn’t have to worry so much about him and could focus on The Holding.
It suited all of us.” He stood up, worryingly stiff.
“I don’t know about you, detectives, but I could do with a cup of tea.
” He left the room and headed back into the hall.
“Shall I go with him?” Verity said. “He doesn’t look great.”
“I think so. Play good cop.”
She smiled at me, heading out with the grace of a gazelle and the energy of one too. I looked around the living room, the space empty of personal effects, not a single photo anywhere. Andrew Smith had a son, which tallied, his explanation understandable, if not moral.
I thought back to the safeguarding lead at Lily’s school, talking about the kids Lily had been running wild with, Scarlett and Adele, although we hadn’t been able to speak to either yet.
There’d been mention of kids who went to other schools, a private school had come up.
Was Andrew Smith’s son one of those teenagers?
He returned with Verity and a tray with three mugs of tea. “I assumed Amanda and Micky were killed by chance; someone had broken in with intent to steal.”