Under a Silent Moon: A Novel (4 page)

“Thanks. Right. Pin your ears back, chaps. We’ve got a witness who thinks he saw a car going over the cliff last night. That came in on the box while you were talking, ma’am. And something from Crimestoppers. An anonymous caller saying Polly Leuchars was having an affair with someone in the village. Another Crimestoppers call suggesting we might want to look closer at the Fletcher-Normans—well, we’re ahead of the game on that one. Mrs. Maitland says that Polly went on a shopping trip to Briarstone yesterday lunchtime, was gone three hours or so. We’ll get CCTV, see if we can track her movements. I had a look on ANPR for Polly’s plates—no results unfortunately, but then the back road into Briarstone isn’t covered unless the mobile camera unit happens to be there. We’ve got a sighting of Polly in the Lemon Tree last night. She left before closing time, so we’ll need to interview the regulars, see who she was meeting. And two reports of a car revving and driving away at speed during the night not far from the cottage. We’ll get more tomorrow morning after the press conference.”

“Right.” Lou had almost forgotten that she was going to be broadcast to the nation tomorrow morning and felt a lurch of nausea at the prospect. It would be nice to be able to go to the press conference with a firm picture of what had happened to their victim.

“Can we see what the latest is on Nigel Maitland?”

“Already checked that,” Barry said. “Nothing recent. I’ve got a source tasking in.”

“What about the house-to-house?”

“Jane Phelps is organizing that; she’s still out there with Les. I spoke to her before we came in, and it’s all village gossip so far, no dramas. She said she’d ring in when they’re done. Patrols did most of it this morning before we got there, anyway. She’s going round again to make sure.”

“Thanks. Well, that’s about it for now. Any questions?”

Murmurs, everyone itching to get on with it.

“Right. Next briefing tomorrow morning, eight sharp. I’m talking to the press at nine, so let’s see if we can stay ahead of them. Okay. Let’s go.”

A moment of quiet, and then the shuffling of chairs, rustling of papers, laughter, voices. A few handshakes, people who’d been off working other areas and found themselves back on the team together.

Lou let out a long, slow breath, dealt with the few people who came up to her afterward with comments, suggestions, or ideas that they hadn’t felt brave enough to pipe up with in the briefing.

Then there was only one person left, someone she didn’t know, leaning casually against the back wall, arms crossed, giving her his complete and undivided attention. He had dark hair, broad shoulders, and—most disconcerting of all—a black eye.

“Can I help you?” she asked, wondering with a snap of fear if someone had been in the briefing who shouldn’t have been.

“I’m Jason Mercer.”

She’d forgotten the name but there was no mistaking that accent. Shit! Had she been really rude to him on the phone earlier? A warm flush spreading across her cheeks, she decided there was only one way to play this: pretend it never happened.

“Hi. Did you have any luck finding me an analyst?” she asked, shaking his hand. His was warm, his grip firm. He looked her in the eye, held her gaze. The dark bruise, a smudge across the bridge of his nose, made the green of his eyes more striking.

“Yes and no—I’m afraid you’ve got
me
.”

“Well, thank you. I’m glad you’re here. Did you get everything you needed from the briefing?”

“I think so. Presumably you want a network, timeline, that sort of thing?”

“Yes, please.”

“What about the phones?”

“Jane Phelps is going to be the exhibits officer. When she’s back later I’ll get a list of them for you. She’s already put the applications in for the records of all of the phones we have. We didn’t find Polly’s phone at the cottage, unfortunately, but we’ve got the number from the Maitlands.”

She led him out of the briefing room, stopping at Barry Holloway’s desk to introduce them. But they had worked together on a case before and shook hands briefly.

“We’ve got you a desk sorted out and the workstations all loaded and ready to go,” Barry said.

“Can you brief me tomorrow morning?” Lou asked. “Before the press conference?”

Jason looked her straight in the eye once again. “Sure. I’ll see what I can do.”

Turning away, walking back to her poky little office, Lou wondered why her heart was pounding and her skin felt as if it were on fire.

16:10

When Flora got back, Miranda Gregson and Petrie were nowhere to be found. She began mucking out the stables, managing to hold herself together as long as she didn’t think about Polly doing this and now never doing it again. She kept her eyes on the wet straw and horseshit, shoveling it into the wheelbarrow and then over to the heap.

“Flora!”

Flora groaned. He was back. Connor-bloody-Petrie.

“Where have you been?” she said, not looking up until his green Wellingtons appeared in her line of vision, directly in her way.

He was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking casual and jolly as if he owned the stables and felt the need to supervise his own personal shit shoveler. “I was giving that nice police lady a tour of the farm,” he said. “None of you lot bothered to do that, did you?”

“Where is she now?”

“Back in the kitchen.”

“You’re in the way,” she said.

He didn’t move, but his weasel smile dropped from his face, making him look decidedly nasty—which he was. But as well as being an evil bastard, he was also a foot shorter than Flora and she wasn’t afraid of him.

“What you doin’ here, anyway? You don’t even live here.”

She put down the fork and leaned on it. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Looks like you’re taking your time about it, if you ask me,” he said.

“I’m not,” she said. “And you should be doing this. It
is
your job. Grab the barrow and give me a hand.”

“Not me. Your dad’s got important stuff for me to do today.”

“What important stuff?”

He tapped the side of his pointed nose conspiratorially. “None of your business, Flora. You keep mucking out like a good girl and I’ll come back later and check you done it right.”

That was it. Enough.

She dropped the fork. It clattered and bounced off the concrete yard, but Flora didn’t even hear the noise because by that time Petrie was facedown in the muck, Flora’s knee in his back. She had him by the scruff of his too big, hand-me-down waxed jacket that made him feel so self-important. He was shouting as best he could, calling out: “No, no! Lemme up! You stupid bi-bi-bitch!”

“Flora! Let him up.”

She took her knee off his back and turned to see her father in the yard.

“Nige!” Petrie was shouting, wiping his face and pulling bits of straw and manure from the front of his jacket. “You see what she did? Did ya see? Bitch!”

He made a move toward Flora, but Nigel stepped forward and Petrie backed off immediately.

“You’re fine, Connor,” he said, calmly. “Go and wash your hands and face.”

Petrie complied, looking daggers at Flora as he made his way round the yard toward the offices at the end. “Fuckin’ cow,” he muttered.

“Feel better?” Nigel asked, when Petrie was out of the way.

“He’s a piece of crap. Why do you bother with him? He doesn’t want to work, he’s a lazy little bastard.”

“I know. But he has his uses.”

“Polly hated him,” Flora said, and then stopped short.

“Polly tolerated him,” Nigel said.

A single tear fell, taking her by surprise. She turned back to the stables, wiping her face angrily. She wasn’t going to cry in front of him, that was for sure.

“Come on, Flora. Let’s go and have a drink. All right?”

“I need to get this done,” she said. “Nobody else is going to do it, are they?”

He stood for a moment watching her, haunting her peripheral vision, and then he turned and left her to it.

One more stable to do, and then she could go and walk. Clear her head.

17:54

Over the course of the afternoon, police came and went at Hermitage Farm. Flora finished at the stables and left Connor to bring the horses in. It was dark by that time, so she gave up on the walk and stayed in the kitchen, making endless cups of tea.

Felicity sat holding court as various neighbors came to call and talk about the trauma. Miranda Gregson loitered, making detailed notes of all the visitors, who they were, where they lived, taking contact phone numbers should the police wish to ask them further questions.

At a quarter to six the one Flora remembered as Sam came back again. She had an air of kindness about her, patient with Felicity despite all the dithering and rambling.

When the madness had isolated itself into the room that held her mother, Flora slipped upstairs to the bathroom and tried to phone Taryn. She wanted to tell her about Polly, but also that it seemed something was going on at the Barn too. None of the police officers had said anything, but there had been an ambulance and police cars over there since late morning. Maybe Polly had been the victim of a burglary or robbery that went wrong and the same thing had happened over at the Barn?

It was pointless to speculate. Taryn’s phone number went unanswered, and her mobile phone was switched off.

“Flora? Flora?” shouted her mother. “Flora? They want to take our fingerprints—and our DNA!”

She returned to the kitchen, heart thudding.

“It’s fine,” said Sam, gently. It was as if she could tell that Flora was feeling the loss more than the rest of them. “It’s routine. We expect
your
prints to be in the cottage; it’s the ones we don’t expect to find that we’re interested in. We need to take yours for elimination purposes.”

And there, on the table, an ink pad, a roller, sheets of paper, plastic sealable bags. Her mother at the sink, already scrubbing at her fingertips with the Fairy Liquid and a pan scourer.

Nigel came in as Sam was explaining the process to Flora: fingerprints, then cheek swabs for the DNA.

“You can forget about taking mine for now; I want to speak to my solicitor first,” her father said and went to the office to make a phone call. By the time he came back Flora was washing her hands.

“I’d like it to be noted that I’m cooperating fully,” he said to Sam.

“I’m happy to note that.”

Flora watched her father as he allowed the officer to manipulate his fingers, one by one, against the ink pad. He must be hating this, hating having them here. He was hiding it well, though, and it was something she had always grudgingly admired—the more difficult the circumstances, the more he turned on the charm, the easy, relaxed confidence.

And the oddest thing: Flora, with nothing at all to hide, felt nervy and guilty and afraid, while Nigel, with the most to fear, was as relaxed and confident as she’d ever seen him.

MG11 WITNESS STATEMENT

Section 1—Witness Details

NAME:
Richard John HARRISON

DOB
(if under 18; if over 18 state “Over 18”)    Over 18

ADDRESS:
    
35 Priory Acre
                      Morden
                      Briarstone

OCCUPATION:
Retired

Section 2—Investigating Officer

DATE:
Thursday 1 November

OIC:
DC 8745 Alastair WHITMORE

Section 3—Text of Statement

I am a retired accountant and I live in the village of Morden. On the morning of Thursday 1 November I was walking my Jack Russell, Lima, on the Downs outside the village. Our usual walk takes us across the fields to the old quarry at Ambleside, skirting round the top of the quarry, and then back home.

I left home at around 6.30. It was still quite dark but by the time we reached the quarry it was fairly light. I estimate that we were there no later than seven.

When we reached Ambleside quarry Lima ran off into the bushes, barking. I believed she was chasing a rabbit and I followed her because I didn’t want her to go over the edge of the quarry. When I cleared the bushes I noticed that there was a car lying on its roof at the foot of the cliff on the far side of the quarry. I believe this is directly under where the car park is situated.

I could not see what make of car it was, except that it was silver in color. I do not believe the car had been there yesterday when we took our walk as I would have noticed it.

I called out in case someone was trapped in the car, shouting that I was going to get help.

I walked back to the path where I found Lima waiting for me. I attached her lead and walked quickly home, where I phoned for the police and an ambulance.

Section 4—Signatures

20:39

It was heading toward nine, and Lou was reaching the point where nothing more could be usefully done until the morning. She would grab a takeaway on the way home—her stomach was growling and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything since the Kit Kat she’d had in the morning.

“I thought you said the witness saw the car go over the cliff?” she asked Ron when the statement came back.

“Sorry, ma’am, it was third-hand info by the time I got it. We know it definitely happened overnight, though. The countryside warden says it wasn’t there at six the night before. PM on the body should tell us more.”

“Do we have any idea when that’s going to be?”

“I’ve asked for it to be prioritized and linked it to Op Nettle. Might have it by the morning if we’re lucky. They recovered the body and the car.”

Back in her office, she braced herself to phone Andy Hamilton’s mobile. Went through the motions of looking it up on the Force Directory, even though she knew it off by heart.

“Andy, it’s me,” she said when he answered.

“Yeah,” he said.

Of course. He knew her number as well as she knew his. God, this was so awkward; she was glad she’d managed to push him aside to the other body. With a bit of luck, the two cases would be completely unrelated and she could get another DI in.