Chapter 24 #2
I smothered a smile. Darcy was a generation younger than me and it showed. “Coke. Probably dandelion and burdock.”
“What’s that?”
“A bit like coke.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Herbal tea?”
“No chance.”
“He won’t have any milk alternatives, will he?” she asked, wistfully
“I don’t think Colin knows what that is.”
“I’ll have a tea then please. I think this coffee should be declared a health hazard. It isn’t even a latte.”
“The hardship. I’ll get you a tea.” I headed over to the counter where Colin was surveying his kingdom, ordering for Darcy and opting for health hazard coffee. I added a sandwich, my usual choice to the extent where Colin didn’t ask for any details.
“He’s bringing them over.” I sat down facing Darcy. “Next time we’ll meet somewhere trendy.”
“It’s okay. I feel like I’m in a spy movie in here.” Wide eyes scanned the room. “A nineteen-forties New York detective movie, maybe.”
“Maybe you should go into screenwriting.”
“Trust me, the truth is far more fascinating than fiction. Anyway, thank you.” She gave me a beam that should’ve been on morning TV.
“What for?”
“You’ve given me a lead that’s been picked up by one of the broadsheets as a freelancer.” Her previously buried enthusiasm started to reverberate.
“What do mean?”
“I’ve found a whistleblower. I started asking a few questions about The Holding; unsurprisingly, it was the pub landlord in Wethersett who had a lot to say, and he mentioned Graham Mercer being part of it.
Told me a few rumours about Andrew Smith and how he skimmed off the accounts – turns out there were a couple of Holding members who weren’t so keen on him and one of them was Peter Goodhew.
They spoke to Mercer about it to take some advice on what to do.
The rumour then went that Mercer basically started to blackmail Andrew Smith and told Peter that he’d sorted it.
” She sat back as Colin put our drinks on the table, followed by my sandwich which was a visual interpretation of a heart attack, complete with extra cheese and crispy salted bacon.
Darcy’s nose really wrinkled when she saw it.
“You’ve got evidence that Mercer’s corrupt?”
“Yes, and more by the day. I’m working with one of the senior investigative reporters, which is amazing, and she thinks we’ve almost got enough to take it to the police and then publish.
” She added a little milk to her tea and stirred, ignoring the sugar.
“It’ll really get my name out there, even with my podcast.”
I just loved journalists.
“What else did you find out about Andrew Smith?”
She was eyeing my food like it was about to jump up and grab hold of her face, which would certainly not be pleasant experience.
“He wasn’t as clean as his image made him out to be.
He used The Holding’s money like it was his personal bank account, and there are rumours that he strongarmed people into naming The Holding in their wills or signing the houses over to The Holding and then were allowed to live in them rent-free.
” She tapped a long nail on the Formica table which looked like it should’ve been a piece of art in the Louvre.
“I spoke to a woman called Janette Fields who knew Andrew Smith fairly well and for a long time. She wasn’t a member of The Holding because she found it a bit – in her words – weird.
She said that Andrew’s son, Stefan, was a handful.
He was always in trouble and had been with the local police when he’d been staying with his father.
” She eyed my food again. “Are you really going to eat that?”
“Yep. What else did she say about Stefan Smith?”
“Oh, his surname wasn’t Smith. He had his mum’s surname.”
My heart skipped a couple of beats. “And what was that?”
“Taylor. Stefan Taylor. He was a pupil at Calderwick Manor, but he was permanently excluded when he was seventeen, and she wasn’t sure what happened to him after that.
He was suspected by the locals of a few crimes and they provided evidence to the police – minor things like keying cars, graffiti – things like that, but they said the police always turned a blind eye, or they were told to.
” She gave a little shrug. “I couldn’t eat that. ”
“No one’s asking you to.” I sunk my teeth into it and gave her room to talk some more while I chewed.
“I think Mercer was being paid by Andrew Smith to look the other way. No one has any evidence or anything concrete – yet; but if I keep digging, I think I’m going to find more.”
I put the sandwich down, enjoying it far too much, and dabbed at the corners of my mouth. “What do you think you’ll find?”
“Local corruption, mainly historic. There was talk of local garage dealing in stolen cars, but the police turning a blind eye to it. That’s been linked to Mercer anecdotally, but I think that’s where I’ll find some hard evidence.
Ella, that’s the senior reporter, has contacts in the police that she’s spoken to and she’s had some off the record statements that corroborate the local intelligence we’re getting.
” She tasted her tea and didn’t look like she was about to vomit.
“Any more about Andrew Smith?”
She didn’t miss the meaning behind the question. “Why are you so interested in him?” Her eyes narrowed, a hawk spotting a tasty morsel. “Is his death a suicide?”
“No. But that’s not in the public domain yet.” Darcy had proven she would hold fire on publishing anything until I gave her the go ahead, and she was useful to me. “As soon as it’s going to be, I’ll give you the heads up.”
“How did he die?”
“He was strangled from behind, then the scene was staged to make it look like he’d hung himself.”
Her mouth made an ‘o’ shape, but she stayed silent.
“It’s being treated as murder.”
“Is it connected to the deaths of Amanda Goodhew and Micky Mulligan?”
“Yes. Although there’s no evidence to link them, it’s too much of a coincidence. I saw Andrew Smith twice yesterday. He seemed pre-occupied and asked us to come back as he had something to tell us.” Which was still bothering me. What was it that he hadn’t said?
“Like he was getting something off his chest?”
“Kind of. Have you heard anyone mention Lily Goodhew?”
She shook her head. “Not so much. She was friends with Stefan, but you knew that anyway, I think. People felt sorry for her. They think she did set the fire though. Someone said that Amanda was trying to prove she didn’t, but no one really seems to believe that.”
“How did they know Amanda? She was from Thornley End?”
“Small villages. Everyone knows everyone in that neck of the forest - ”
“Woods.” I did wonder what had happened to the education system in the ten years between me and Darcy attending school.
“Woods, then. Although forest is more apt for round there. Those small places are toxic; everyone has an opinion on everyone, and everyone thinks they know what’s going on.” She sat back in her seat, checking her phone.
“Any speculation about the fire at Micky Mulligan’s? Harrowclough’s one of those villages too.”
“Some. Micky wasn’t well-known. He spent most of his time at The Holding and kept himself to himself otherwise.
There was gossip him and Amanda were having an affair; she was seen at his a few times and early in the morning too, so it looked like she’d stayed over.
” Her nose wrinkled again. “Do people that age have affairs?”
“Technically it wasn’t an affair as neither were married, and yes, age doesn’t necessarily stop people having sex.”
She looked like she was about to vomit. “Well, who knows? Oh, someone – Janette Fields again - did say they saw a man they thought was Stefan Taylor. He was on his dad’s doorstep.
She was driving past and noticed a man there having a heated conversation.
She thought she recognised how he moved as being Stefan. ”
“When was that?”
“Two nights ago. Do you want Janette’s number?”
“Absolutely.”
Darcy read it to me. “She’s away though now. Gone to France to see her sister and she did say that her phone doesn’t work abroad.”
“Fuck.” I put my phone back down. “She’d have been useful.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realise that Stefan would be such a person of interest.” Her interest was swiped from me to whoever had just entered the café.
I turned around and saw Lachy, dressed for an evening out already.
“I’ve come to get you, boss. We’re waiting for you to get a round in.” He stood over our table, exactly like a cop.
Darcy’s eyes widened at Lachy, the epitome of surfer-boy scruffiness with broad shoulders, a perma-tan he swore was real, and eyes as blue as the Med.
“Oh, no.” I shook my head and stood up. “No.”
She glared at me.
“Journalists and cops are not a good mix, so no. Just no. My round; let’s go. Darcy, I’ll text you. If you find out anything else about Stefan Taylor, you need to call me.” I left the remainders of my sandwich.
“What’s in it for me?”
“Exclusives. When this case is fully done, I’ll come on your podcast again.”
She nodded. “Fine. Let me know when I can get that other news up.”
“Will do. Right, Lachy, let’s get you out of here.”
He turned round to look at Darcy before the door hit him on the arse.
I could’ve done without this evening. I felt like I hadn’t been home for days rather than hours, and I wanted some time away from other living beings without being asleep.
Time just to stare at a newly plastered wall, or review the tiles Taz had sent me a photo of earlier, now back from wherever he’d been early.
But instead, I was in a pub that tried its hardest not to be trendy, cops and forensics spilling outside like an overflowing toilet.
When I’d first become a DC, this had been the dream; being part of a tight-knit team that looked out for each other, grabbing adrenalin-fuelled results and righting the wrongs of society.