BURIED CRIMES: a gripping detective thriller full of twists and turns (24 page)

Pauline turned to face Sophie, tears still running down her pale cheeks. She nodded slightly. ‘He was so unhappy at what she’d become. She’d turned into a first class bitch, he said. She’d changed completely from when they first married. She treated him like dirt and the children not much better. He couldn’t put up with it any longer.’

‘So what happened? Was it him in the car that night?’

Pauline turned to face the dark clouds, scudding in from the west. ‘We never talked about it. Just the fact that she was dead made everything right for us. Why would I want to find out the gory details? And he didn’t want me involved, I could sense that. If I came to know anything I’d become an accessory, so I didn’t ask and he didn’t tell.’

‘But you picked up clues? You guessed it was him driving the car that killed her?’

Pauline took Sophie’s arm away. She seemed to draw herself together and stared coldly at her. ‘Do you really think I’m going to tell you anything that would confirm that my only true soul-mate was a murderer? Do you really think I’m that feeble-minded? I loved him. I still love the memory of him. I loved those two children of his. That’s all you need to know, and that’s all I’m telling you. If you want to interview me under some kind of caution then that’s your choice. But don’t expect me to surrender up my pride either in myself or the man I adored. Because that’s all I’m left with, and I’m not letting it go.’

There was a long silence. Sophie asked, ‘what happened that night last week between you and John after you left the Italian restaurant? Is there anything you want to add to what you told me last week?’

Pauline took a breath. ‘John finally realised who I was. We’d been talking about our backgrounds. He already knew I worked for the Arts Council, but no more than that. I let slip on our way out that I used to be an actress. It took him a moment or two to twig. I was amused that it took so long. We’d spent a couple of hours or so together when we first met on the walk, I spent the night with him at his flat, we’d just spent a couple more hours talking at that restaurant, and he still hadn’t caught on. I thought I was famous. Clearly not. Well, not among hardware shop owners, anyway.’

Sophie was exasperated. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this at our last interview? I could charge you with wasting police time.’

‘But you won’t, will you? Because you, Detective Chief Inspector Sophie Whatnot, are too much like me. Manipulative and devious maybe, but not bloody-minded, not evil. I wish you were the sister I never had, not that selfish, murdering, child-killing waste of space, Dorothy fucking Kitson.’

Sophie stood up. She was beginning to feel cold and the air was becoming misty. They’d need to start walking back to the car park soon. ‘So you did target John deliberately? Despite your denial last week?’

‘I wanted to find out what had been going on at Finch Cottage. I wanted to know whose bodies they were, and what had been going on. He’d been the gardener there for yonks, for Christ’s sake. The first press reports didn’t say they were children, just that bodies had been found.’

‘Why didn’t you ask your sister? She still had a connection because of her cleaning work.’ Sophie held out an arm and helped Pauline to her feet.

‘I did and she told me she’d heard they were the bodies of two teenagers, probably tramps. Anyway, it’s been an absolute rule of mine since we were children. Never ask Dorothy for a favour of any kind. It’ll just get thrown back in your face when you least expect it. Never ask her for information. It’ll be twisted and bent. I wish I’d spat in her ugly face back there in Weymouth, but I was just too shocked by it all.’

Sophie took out her mobile phone and called Rae. ‘We’re just starting back,’ she said. As the two women climbed back up to the footpath, a light rain began to fall.

Chapter 36: Money Matters

Monday, week 4

‘The facts are, Barry, that both sisters did very well financially at that time. Pauline would have inherited the property in Bristol after her husband died. Assuming he had life insurance, she’d have no mortgage repayments to make, so she’d have got the lot. She and Dorothy jointly owned Finch Cottage which was sold soon after our assumed date for the death of the twins. Pauline had also completed a long stint on Broadway which would have earned her a tidy sum. They’d have been swimming in money. And this was at the time that Wethergill got this mysterious deposit in his account, the one that allowed him to buy his shop. But it doesn’t stop there. That flat of his was worth a lot and if you think about the quality of the furniture and fittings, it doesn’t add up. His shop wasn’t doing that well, not according to the figures I’ve seen. And we’ve been puzzling for days about how he got the money to start up his business.’

Rae looked at her boss. ‘What are you suggesting, ma’am?’

Sophie tapped her fingers on the desktop. ‘I wonder if he was blackmailing Dorothy, and over a long time period. She’s not got a huge amount in her bank account and her home is very threadbare. What did she do with that cash? It’s not obvious at the moment.’

‘So Wethergill seems to have much more disposable income than he should have, and Dorothy had much less? And blackmail would give Dorothy enough motive for killing him, if that’s what you’re suggesting? It’s a highly plausible theory. But do we have any evidence for it?’ Marsh was being his usual pragmatic self.

Rae shook her head. ‘Not yet. But once we get her financial records sent through, we should find out, one way or the other. But if it did happen that way, ma’am, shouldn’t something have turned up at one of the flats, either Wethergill’s or Dorothy’s? Or even at both? I mean something that suggests murder rather than suicide?’

Sophie nodded. ‘So let’s go back over everything to see if we’ve overlooked something vital.’ Her phone rang. It was Dave Nash. She listened to his message with barely concealed excitement.

‘Thanks, Dave. Very timely.’

She sat back in her chair, eyes closed, making the most of the warm glow of satisfaction that spread through her body.

‘Don’t keep it to yourself, ma’am. You look like the cat that’s got the cream,’ Marsh said.

‘That’s exactly what it feels like. Those bank notes? The ones that Wethergill supposedly set out for his cleaner’s wages? They’ve got Dorothy Kitson’s prints all over them. Do we have a list of all her cleaning jobs somewhere?’

Marsh nodded. ‘I think it’s complete. She worked in about half a dozen places.’

‘Okay. We have some checking to do. One of the fivers is defaced with a "Free Palestine" message. It’s fairly noticeable, according to Nash. Let’s go through the list and check to see if any of Ms Kitson’s employers remember it.’

It was almost inevitable that it would be Tony Younger, the vicar of St Paul’s, who could identify the banknote in question. He knew the banknote instantly when Rae phoned him about it.

‘It was the only five pound note I had available at the time,’ he said. ‘I felt a bit guilty about passing it on like that but decided not to tell her in case she made a fuss about it. She can be a bit awkward at times. I’d have changed it later if she’d had any trouble using it. Is she alright, by the way? I’m a bit concerned about her heading off like that. She seemed very anxious about something when she told me about her break on Monday, but she wouldn’t offer me any explanation.’

‘She’s safe, Mr Younger. I think you’ll have to speak to the DCI for more information about her. It’s all a bit sensitive at the moment. Shall I ask her to call you?’

Rae then put a call through to the IT forensic team, asking for the examination of Dorothy’s laptop to be upgraded to top priority. Things were beginning to come together rather nicely, she thought.

Chapter 37: Funeral

Friday, week 4

St Paul’s Church was packed. Sitting silently in the pews were neighbours, current and past, medical staff, police officers, past Finch Cottage residents, staff from the school the twins had attended all those years ago, and Dorchester residents, confused and ashamed that such a thing had happened in their town. The two small coffins, layered with wreaths of every colour, were carried in and set down in front of the altar. The Freeman family sat in the front left row. The front right seats were occupied by Pauline Stopley, sitting alongside Sophie, Barry Marsh, Rae and Theresa. It was rare for police officers to find themselves so prominently on display at a victim’s funeral, but the twin’s stepmother had insisted. She had no one else to sit with her.

Tony Younger looked around him as he spoke, seeming to fix his eyes momentarily on each person in the audience as if he acknowledged the part each had played in uncovering the tragic story. This included at George Bramshaw, during the introduction to one of the music items chosen: an extract from Mozart’s flute sonata in C Major, the very piece played by the twins in that school assembly of so many years earlier.

* * *

The drive to the local crematorium, situated ten miles away in Weymouth, passed in silence. Only Pauline, Sophie and Tony Younger were in the official car. As they entered the reception hall they were unexpectedly joined by a fourth figure who’d driven, unseen, behind them on the short journey from Dorchester. She slipped into the seat beside Pauline and held her arm tightly during the committal, then led her outside once the short ceremony was over. Sophie saw Jill Freeman embrace her ex-lover, weeping openly as she pulled Pauline’s head close. Tony Younger stood by, looking awkward as he waited for his lift back to Dorchester.

Sophie stepped forward and touched Pauline’s arm. ‘Time to go,’ she said.

Pauline stood back, and then smiled at Jill. ‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘You should go back to your family. They need you.’

Once Jill Freeman had left, Pauline breathed deeply, then turned and slipped her arm through Tony Younger’s. ‘That was a wonderful ceremony,’ she said. ‘You judged it just perfectly.’ She paused. ‘Do you fancy a meal out this evening? I just couldn’t bear to be alone, not after this.’

The minister nodded, a look of mild surprise on his face. ‘That’s understandable. Why don’t you come over? I cook pretty good casseroles.’

‘I’d prefer to be out, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to brood inside a house, even if it’s yours. Maybe you can cook for me next week? When I’m feeling a bit more human? It’ll be my treat tonight.’

He smiled gently. ‘Of course. Whatever you prefer.’

Sophie was dumbfounded. Pauline was just amazing. Would a mere vicar be able to cope with what might be in store? Then again, maybe he could provide some stability, an answer to the actress’s constant emotional restlessness.

Chapter 38: Licked Lips

Friday, week 5

The atmosphere at Finch Cottage was tense. Jill had told Philip about her short, torrid affair with Pauline Stopley. He’d been shocked at first, but once he’d taken the time to think things through he’d decided to stick by her, to give their marriage another chance. Both knew that it wouldn’t be easy. From Philip’s point of view he’d been made painfully aware that there was a side to his wife’s sexuality that he could never satisfy. Jill was now aware of a hitherto unknown kind of pleasure. Could she forget it? Only time would tell. Jill had also sat down with Karen and tried to explain something of the emotional whirlpool that had swept her along in its flow. The girl had claimed that she thought she understood some of what her mother was telling her, but Jill was doubtful. Jill didn’t fully understand it herself. The good thing was, though, that the family was still together, and there had been no vicious arguments. There was total family agreement about one thing: the need to move away from Finch Cottage.

* * *

Theresa Jackson relayed this information to the team of detectives while they were marking the closure of the case with a celebratory pub meal in Dorchester. The key investigators were joined by Matt Silver and Harry Turner, who had come from London for a second visit. The atmosphere was more muted than that of past celebrations. Sadness at the children’s fate still hung over the team.

‘Did you ever discover where the jar of cyanide came from?’ Turner asked.

‘It was decades old,’ Sophie replied.’ We think he had it in his possession for a long time, probably back before his time as a gardener at Finch Cottage. We don’t know how he’d avoided having it logged on a poison register somewhere. Clearly he’d obtained it illegally, but for what purpose we don’t know. What has become clearer is that our speculation about possible blackmail is looking stronger as each day goes by. We’ve got more evidence piling up that shows large sums of money leaving Dorothy’s account and being deposited in his.’

‘So she’s been living for twenty years in fear of discovery?’ Turner said. ‘No wonder she was a bag of nerves. And once you discovered the twins’ bodies, she knew that time was running out.’

‘Maybe he let slip at some time that he kept cyanide somewhere, or she spotted it.’ Rae added. ‘It gave her a neat solution to the problem, didn’t it? Removing her co-conspirator, her blackmailer and throwing suspicion onto him because it looked like suicide. All in one go. You’ve got to give it to her, she was clever. The only problem for her was that she’d left the record of her search history on her laptop. Loads of stuff on cyanide poisoning, telling her everything she needed to know. And us.’

‘Do we know how long it will take for the Bristol team to reinvestigate the hit and run that killed Li Hua?’ asked Marsh.

‘Don’t hold your breath,’ Sophie replied. ‘My guess is months rather than weeks. Polly phoned and said they were snowed under at the moment. She’d have pushed for an immediate start if it could provide vital evidence in our case, but now we’re largely wrapped up there’s less perceived need to hurry. I’m afraid it means that we haven’t seen the last of Pauline Stopley. There are still too many unknowns. But she’s out of our hair for a while. I hope.’

* * *

On the other side of town Pauline was ringing the doorbell of St Paul’s Church manse. Underneath her coat she was wearing a short black dress with a full-length gold zip up the front. Her shoulder bag was rather larger than might be expected for a simple evening visit. She breathed deeply, savouring the cool evening air. Tony Younger opened the door and invited her inside, the smell of venison and red wine casserole drifting out into the night air. Pauline licked her lips in anticipation.

THE END