Hushabye (13 page)

“Although several people did report seeing a tall man in a Barbour jacket walking towards the house that night,” said Theo. “Not actually in Gemma’s street, but in the street leading to it. It’s probably nothing, but we’ll chase it up. Unfortunately it was a bad night, lots of rain and cold so everyone was indoors with the curtains closed.”

“We need more background on Gemma Phillips,” said Anderton. He turned to Kate. “Would you talk to the people who knew her best? The Fullmans to start with. I’ll come with you.”

“Yes sir,” said Kate, inwardly cheering. Perhaps Anderton had forgiven her for her outburst the previous day.

Nick Fullman opened the front door to them himself. For the first time since Kate had met him, he was dressed casually, in jeans, socked feet and a grey sweatshirt, his dark hair unbrushed, his jaw dark with stubble. He looked stunned, bludgeoned by the knowledge of his assistant’s death. Kate wavered a little in her suspicions of him. He looked truly
shocked,
and that was something that was very difficult to fake.

In the kitchen, Nick sat down at the kitchen table. Casey was nowhere to be seen. After a moment, he collected himself and asked whether they wanted coffee.

“I’m not sure where it all is,” he said, gesturing to the cupboards. “But if you want one–”

“No, thank you, Mr Fullman.” Was the man so babied, so pampered, that he’d never made his own coffee? “We wanted to talk to you about Gemma Phillips, if you feel up to answering some questions? I can see that you’ve had a shock.”

“I have. I can’t take it in. Not after everything else. Gemma – I mean, why? Why would someone kill her?” He looked up at them. “She was killed, wasn’t she? I mean, I was told she was but – “

“But what, Mr Fullman?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I thought, it’s stupid but perhaps she’d taken Charlie and she – she was so remorseful she’d – you know, killed herself.” He looked at their faces. “No, okay, it’s a stupid theory.”

“I’m afraid there’s no doubt that she was murdered, Mr Fullman. Did you really suspect her of having something to do with Charlie’s abduction and Dita’s death?”

“Well, no – it’s just that your mind comes up with all these strange ideas...” He trailed off, running a hand through his messy hair. “I trusted her. I really did trust her, I had to. She had access to everything, all my accounts, business dealings. Like a PA does. That’s what I couldn’t understand, that I trusted her and yet I still thought – thought she might have done it.”

Olbeck and Kate exchanged a glance.

“When did these…suspicions first arise, Mr Fullman?”

“No, you’ve got it wrong. They weren’t really suspicions. I was just thinking – you know – forget I said it. It’s really not important now, is it? Not now that this awful thing has happened.”

“You weren’t angry at her? When you had these ideas?”

“No, and I just said, it wasn’t important. It was a throwaway comment, that’s all. Just a theory and a pretty stupid one, I know that.”

“That’s fine, sir,” said Olbeck smoothly, as Kate opened her mouth to ask another question. “We’re just trying to establish what happened on the night Gemma died. You said she’d asked you for a few days holiday, is that right?”

Nick nodded.

“Yeah. She rings me up and asks for a few days off, doesn’t give me any kind of excuse except to say that she just needs a bit of time off after all that’s happened.”

“Was she in the habit of asking you for time off at short notice?”

“No, she wasn’t. She took the odd sick day here and there but she’d never really asked for time off out of the blue for no good reason.”

“She’d worked for you for quite a long time, hadn’t she?”

Nick shrugged.

“I guess so. A few years.”

“So would you say you were close friends? Close colleagues?”

Nick stared as if they’d asked him the name of Gemma’s first pet or favourite shade of blue. “I suppose so,” he said, after a moment.

“Can you tell us about her? One of the things we try and do is construct a picture of the victim, their likes and dislikes, their history, family and friends and so forth. Can you help us with that sort of thing?”

“Well…”

“It would be a great help to us if you could.”

“Well, I’ll try,” said Nick Fullman. His mouth twisted. “I need Gemma for this. She’d know what to do.” His voice thickened and he stopped talking for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose hard. “Sorry, I just–”

“Take a moment if you need one, sir,” said Anderton. Kate drummed her fingers on her knees impatiently.

Nick took a deep breath and sat back. “Gemma’s thirty-five, I think.
Was
thirty-five. She didn’t like celebrating her birthday much, I can’t even remember when it was, around June, I think.”

“Was she a good secretary?”

“Pretty good. I mean, she could be a little bit lazy sometimes, and she clearly didn’t have anything like I do invested in the business – by that I mean it wasn’t important to her, not really. I could see that it was just a job to her, but she was okay.”

“You two spent long hours working together, didn’t you?” asked Kate.

Nick looked at her narrowly.

“Yes.”

Kate hesitated, not sure whether to get this personal just yet. Would Anderton head her off? She made up her mind to go ahead. “Long hours and close working conditions can mean that people get, well, more involved with one another than they might do normally.”

Nick was still staring at her.

“And?” he said.

“Was there ever anything more between you and Miss Phillips than an employer/employee relationship?”

“Why the hell would you ask that?”

“Could you please answer me, sir?”

Nick dropped his eyes to the table.

“Of course not,” he said. “I’m a married man, for a start.”

So what?
Since when had marriage vows ever stopped anybody? She thought for a second of a name she’d left in the past long ago, the silly sixteen-year-old it had belonged to. Had marriage vows stopped that teenager from doing what she did? She cleared her throat.

“There was never anything between you at all?”

“I said no, didn’t I?” said Nick, irritably. He looked at her and she realised he disliked her as much as she disliked him. Anderton raised a placatory hand.

“Thank you, sir. My colleague is just trying to ascertain the facts. One thing we do need to know is what you were doing on the night of Gemma’s death.”

If the question about an alleged affair hadn’t shaken Nick Fullman, this one did. He sat back in his chair, blinking.

“You can’t seriously suspect me of – of this. What are you saying?” He was gripping the table with both hands. “You’re not serious?”

Anderton attempted to soothe him. “It’s routine, Mr Fullman, you must know that. We have to ask everyone connected with the case to establish their whereabouts at the time of the crime.”

Slowly, Nick relaxed his grip on the table. He sat back, flexing his fingers a little. His hands shook.

“Fine, fine, I see that,” he muttered. “It just gave me a shock.”

“So can you confirm your whereabouts between the hours of seven pm and one am on the night of January twenty-fourth?”

“I was…” he began, and then apparently had to stop and think. “I was at the office. I had to work late. It was flat out, particularly as Gemma hadn’t been there that day. I couldn’t believe she’d just left me to get on with it. I couldn’t
believe
it. Oh God–” He clearly recollected what had happened to his absent assistant. “I didn’t mean…anyway, I was at work. In the office.”

“Can anyone corroborate that? Did you speak to anyone? Did anyone call in to see you?”

Fullman thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. I – wait, I did make a few phone calls. I–” He stopped talking suddenly.

“Who did you speak to?” There was silence. “Mr Fullman?”

“No one in particular,” said Nick, reluctantly.

“Come now, Mr Fullman. Who did you speak to?”

“Um, a friend of mine on the Council. We’re friends...”

“Would this be Councillor Gary Jones?”

Fullman looked shocked. “Yes, how did you know?”

“Never mind that now. You spoke to Gary Jones at what time?”

“I don’t know, I can’t remember. It was late, after nine.”

“A strange time to be making a business call,” said Kate, earning herself a glare from Nick Fullman.

“It might be to you, Sergeant, but not to me. Besides, it was a personal call, not a business call.”

“That’s fine, said Anderton, seeing that Kate was about to speak. “The telephone company can provide us with details of your calls.” Fullman shifted in his seat again. “We can also confirm your conversation with Councillor Jones himself.”

There was a moment of silence in the kitchen, an oddly loaded period of quiet. Then Anderton spoke again. “If you have anything else to tell us, Mr Fullman, I suggest you do so now.”

Nick Fullman looked frightened. Kate was reminded of what Rebecca D’Arcy-Warner had said.
Underneath it all, he’s just a scared, uncertain little boy...

“Is there anything you have to tell us, Mr Fullman?” repeated Anderton.

“No,” said Nick Fullman, almost inaudibly. Then he said it again, in a firmer voice. “No, there’s not.”

Chapter Fourteen

Olbeck was surveying the slipping piles of paperwork on his desk with dismay when the desk phone rang, almost hidden under a pile of reports. He pushed the paper to one side, cursing as several folders crashed to the floor, and lifted the receiver.

“DS Olbeck.”

The voice on the other end of the phone was quiet.

“I don’t want to give my name.”

“Fine. How can I help you?”

It was a man’s voice, oddly furtive.

“Did you get my note? About Councillor Jones?”

Olbeck mentally sat up straighter.

“We did. Do you have some further information for us, sir?”

There was a moment’s hesitation. Then the anonymous voice spoke again.

“Ask Councillor Jones about contaminated land and building on it. Ask Nick Fullman about his new development.”

“Can you be more spe–” began Olbeck and then there was the click and burr of a broken connection. He regarded the buzzing handset for a second before replacing it.

“What is it?” said Kate, who had been listening alertly from the other side of the desk.

“The plot thickens. I’ll tell you in the car. Come on, we’re going to do some digging.”

Kate raised her eyebrows.

“Not literally, I hope.”

“You never know.”

Olbeck drove to Wallingham, pulling up on the edge of a building site. Kate stared through the windscreen at the activity going on: the hauling of bricks, the earth movers, the scaffolding.

“I didn’t think you were serious about the digging.”

Olbeck grinned. “Don’t worry, I just wanted to have a look.”

“What is this?” asked Kate, pretty sure she knew the answer.

“Nick Fullman’s new development,” said Olbeck. Kate nodded.  “This is the main project he’s working on at the moment.”

“Right,” said Kate. “And your anonymous caller believes that this land is actually contaminated?”

“That’s what they said.”

“Contaminated with what?”

“I have no idea.”

“Where’s their evidence?”

“For all I know, they have none. It could be complete fantasy. Or a personal vendetta against Gary Jones. Or Nick Fullman.”

Kate sighed. “So where do we go from here?”

Olbeck took his notebook out of his pocket and started writing.

“We get samples taken for evidence of contamination. If there’s something dodgy, then we’ve got something to go on. We can start questioning people.”

“We need to question them anyway. Gary Jones, Nick Fullman and those brothers. How do they tie up with this?”

Olbeck tapped his pen against the steering wheel. “They freely admit to
knowing
Nick Fullman. But I agree with you. They’re in this somewhere. The question is, is it actually relevant to the kidnapping and the murders? Or is it just coincidence?”

Kate put her hands in her pockets, hunching her shoulders against the chill wind. She watched the excavators pushing mounds of earth up from a gigantic hole dug in the ground. Pallets of bricks and concrete blocks were stacked up against the chain link fence, and she saw the yellow mass of a digger move slowly along behind the makeshift barrier.

“Let’s organise the samples,” she said, eventually. “And see where that takes us.”

“I’ll get Theo to do it. Come on, it’s freezing, let’s go back.”

*

The next day Kate found herself driving towards Essex, visor tipped down against the winter sun. She found Mr Fullman Senior’s place without much drama, pulling into the driveway of a much-extended Thirties house and slotting the car behind a large, black Range Rover.

The woman who answered the door was the person she’d spoken to on the phone. Evie Fullman was John Fullman’s second wife, a fact she appraised Kate of almost as soon as she was in the door.

“Oh, no, I’m his step-mother, love,” she said, ushering Kate though to the kitchen and perching on one the stools by the breakfast bar. “John’s first wife died young, not long after Nick was born, poor soul. He felt it, you know. Well, you would, wouldn’t you?” She hopped off her stool and stood poised by the kettle. “Tea?”

“Yes, please. Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Fullman.”

“Ooh, call me Evie, please. It’s no problem. Anything I can do to help. I can’t sleep for thinking of poor Charlie, you know. That poor little mite.” She turned her head away sharply, looking at the boiling kettle as if it fascinated her. “Anyway, what was it you wanted to know?”

Kate had heaved herself rather awkwardly up onto a stool.

“I wanted to know about Nick, Mrs Fullman – Evie. Nick and Casey. Presumably you’ve known Nick for some years? When did you and Mr Fullman marry?”

Evie pursed up her lips, pouring the tea with skill.

“Now that would be telling. All of – ooh, twenty years or so, now. Gawd, doesn’t that make me sound ancient?” She handed Kate a mug of tea and hopped up onto her perch again. There was something very birdlike about her: she was a small woman, bosomed like a pigeon, her hair teased into a brittle beehive. Kate felt there was something familiar about her and after a moment, it came to her. Evie reminded her of her mum, except with an added dash of vigour and intelligence and, let’s face it, she probably wasn’t a piss-head.