In Too Deep (Knight & Culverhouse Book 5) (6 page)

A
lthough Culverhouse
usually liked to station himself at a desk in the main incident room with the rest of his team, there were times when he didn’t want to be amongst the hubbub and instead retreated into his own office. This was one of those times.

The situation with his wife had, of course, been playing on his mind for years. He’d gradually managed to deal with it and push it to the back as time had gone on, but since her return and subsequent re-disappearance, it had been eating away at him again. And this time it wasn’t showing any signs of going way.

He picked up his mobile phone, scrolled through the contacts list, and tapped on the screen to call Antonio García. García was an Inspector with the Spanish police in Alicante, on the eastern coast of Spain. After Culverhouse had worked with him on a cross-border case a while back, the pair had struck up a friendship. The last time they’d spoken wasn’t too long ago, when Culverhouse rang him to try and get some information on his wife’s whereabouts. After all, the last he’d heard, she’d been living in Spain. It was García who’d told him he could find no record of Helen, and that he thought it very unlikely she’d been out there at all.

Culverhouse, however, wasn’t giving up that easily. He didn’t want odds or degrees of likeliness — he wanted cold, hard facts. It was something he needed in every area of his life.

‘Jack, what a pleasant surprise,’ came the greeting of Antonio García as he answered the call. ‘I hope the weather is nice in Mildenheath.’ The constant jibes about comparing Mildenheath’s weather to that of Alicante were something García took enormous pride in.

‘Yeah, lovely. I’m sitting here in my Speedos eating a Solero. I hope it’s pissing it down over there.’

García laughed. ‘Blue skies, my friend. Beautiful weather. So what can I do for you? You want a holiday?’

‘Too bloody right I do,’ Culverhouse replied, ‘but not on the Costa del Crime. Talk about a bloody busman’s holiday. No, I need another favour from you, Antonio.’

‘Another one? I should start charging.’

‘Yeah, sounds about right,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘Even the poxy taxi driver wanted a five-Euro tip for chucking my suitcase in the boot last time I was over. I was half expecting a surcharge for breathing in the front seat.’

García let out a big belly laugh. ‘Still, where would you rather be?’

Culverhouse chose not to answer that question. ‘When I called you last time, you said you couldn’t find a record of a Helen Culverhouse living in Spain.’

‘That’s right,’ García replied.

‘And you said you didn’t
think
she could have stayed in Spain for long.’

García was silent for a moment before he spoke. ‘Yes.’

‘What did you mean by that?’ Culverhouse asked.

‘What did I mean? I meant that I didn’t think she could have stayed in Spain for long.’

‘But it would be possible?’

Culverhouse could hear García sighing at the other end of the line. ‘Anything is possible, Jack. You know how it is. People have ways and means. There was no record of a Helen Culverhouse on social security or any government records, but that just means she never saw a doctor, never earned a wage, never drove a car, never rented or bought a property, never opened a bank account... Do you see what I’m saying?’

‘Yeah, I see exactly what you’re saying,’ Culverhouse replied, knowing full well that there was no way Helen could have lived off cash in a foreign country for eight-and-a-half years. He knew that Helen would have needed to renew her driving licence within two years of moving to Spain, and that she could only have renewed it with the Spanish authorities, which she clearly hadn’t. And there was no way she would have had enough cash to buy a place or rent for that long. She hadn’t touched their joint bank account before or after she left, and Jack very much doubted if she had any secret accounts of her own.

How she’d managed to do it was a complete mystery to him, but then again, Helen had always been an enigma. He’d never doubted the fact that she was alive and well — the note she left him had said that much. Somehow, Helen always had a plan up her sleeve and she always came up smelling of roses, no matter what. It was just her way.

‘So, what are the options?’ he asked García.

‘How long is the piece of string?’ the Spaniard replied.

Culverhouse was always tickled by García’s usage of English idioms, but today he wasn’t in the mood for laughing. ‘What are you saying? She was living under a false name?’

‘That’s not so easy,’ García replied. ‘It’s possible, but very difficult. It all depends on who she knew. If she didn’t know any — let’s say, shady — people in Spain, or any people who had links to Spain, it would be almost impossible for her to do that.’

Culverhouse was fairly sure Helen hadn’t built up any links with Spain. They’d been there on a couple of holidays a few years back, but that was about it. No more so than anyone else. He felt guilty at not being able to be sure about this, though. The more he thought about it, the more he realised he’d known hardly anything about his wife. She’d just always been there, ready and waiting at home while he focused entirely on his work.

García continued. ‘I didn’t want to get your hopes up, Jack. And I still don’t. It
is
possible she was here, but there’s nothing we can prove. You need to keep all of your options open. Of course, you also have to think about the other alternatives.’

‘Like what?’ Culverhouse asked.

‘Like did she ever come to Spain in the first place? Or was she trying to make you focus here, and not on the place she really went?’

‘You mean, did she lie to me?’ he asked, not liking where this was going.

García made a noncommittal noise. ‘It’s not for me to say.’

‘No, but if you were in my shoes, what would you do?’ Culverhouse said.

García was silent for a couple of moments.

‘How well do you really know your wife, Jack?’

S
hortly after lunch
, Culverhouse reassembled the team for an update. By this point, most of them had completed the preliminary stages of their investigation.

‘Knight. News from the husband?’ he said, sitting on the edge of a desk and crossing his arms across his chest.

‘Not a whole lot, to be honest,’ Wendy replied, looking down at her notebook. ‘Tanya never told him much about her work. She didn’t tell anyone who didn’t absolutely need to know, apparently. We’ve got her laptop and an external storage drive, which we believe has her files on it. Her husband, John, reckoned she used some pretty hefty encryption on it, though. I’ve passed it on to my tech contact at Milton House and he’s having a look at it.’ She somehow managed to say this last sentence with a completely straight face.

‘What are the chances of us finding something?’ Culverhouse asked.

‘To be honest, guv, slim. If she used a level of encryption that’d stop the sorts of people she was investigating from getting their hands on it, I’m not massively confident that we’ll be able to crack it.’

‘That’s what I don’t get,’ Ryan Mackenzie interjected. ‘Why didn’t the attacker nick the laptop and storage drive as well? If their aim was to stop her investigation, why would they leave all the data there?’

‘Probably because they were spooked by the daughter,’ Wendy said. ‘I imagine their intention was to kill if not seriously harm Tanya, then take the laptop and storage drive. It just didn’t play out that way.’

‘In which case we’re not looking at serious players, are we?’ Ryan continued. ‘If we were, they would’ve finished the job properly, surely?’

Steve Wing looked askance at Ryan. He was pretty sure he’d heard these words somewhere before.

‘That’s not a bad point,’ Wendy said. ‘Either that or it was nothing to do with any of her investigations.’

‘So what other reason would someone have to try to bludgeon a young mother to death?’ Culverhouse asked.

‘Some sort of affair?’ Frank Vine piped up. ‘Might be the wife of someone she’d been sleeping with. Happens all the time.’

Culverhouse shook his head. ‘I dunno. That doesn’t seem right to me. Women tend to react differently when it comes to revenge. Out and out violence against the person isn’t what I’d expect.’

Ryan raised an eyebrow, though she didn’t say anything.

‘Might explain why the attacker legged it when they saw the daughter, though,’ Frank replied. ‘Mother’s instinct and all that. Maybe she suddenly realised what she’d done.’

‘Still doesn’t quite sit right,’ Culverhouse said, after thinking about it for a moment. ‘We’ll see what we dig up when the techies have gone through her phone, but I wouldn’t expect much on that front either.’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if it was connected with her work in some way, though, sir,’ Ryan said, picking up a selection of printed papers. ‘I mean, she’s done some pretty decent hatchet jobs in her time. She’s single-handedly ended some pretty prominent careers, by the looks of it. She’s investigated government corruption, misappropriation of charity funds, public finance scandals... All sorts of things. What’s to say someone didn’t get wind that they were being looked into and decided to put a stop to it? If they acted on their own, or if they weren’t big players, it fits the cocked-up MO.’

‘Doesn’t really help us get any closer, though, does it?’ Culverhouse said. ‘Until we know
what
she was investigating it doesn’t tell us anything.’

‘No, but we might have a bit of a lead on that,’ Ryan replied. ‘Looking through the articles I found on the web, most of them were either published by or originated with the Inquirer. Tanya Henderson worked freelance, but she seemed to have pretty strong links to that paper and it looks like she gave all her big scoops to them first. Might be worth a trip down to their offices to see what they know.’

‘Agreed. I’ll give them a call and we’ll pop down later this afternoon.’

Ryan shifted her weight onto her other foot. ‘Ah. I can’t do this afternoon. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment at five.’

Culverhouse shook his head slightly. ‘And?’

‘And I was going to ask you if I could get off a bit early to get there.’

‘Fine with me,’ Culverhouse replied.

‘But I was just thinking about going to speak to the people at the Inquirer.’

‘What about it?’ Culverhouse said, coldly. ‘I never said you were bloody coming. I’ll take Knight.’

Wendy looked up at him. ‘Guv, I’ve got a long list of things here that I need to—’

‘Sorry, Knight, I don’t remember asking your permission.’

Wendy nodded, knowing from experience that it was best to leave Culverhouse to it when he was in this sort of mood.

‘Steve, what did you get from the door-to-door stuff?’ Culverhouse asked, overlooking Ryan Mackenzie once again.

‘No-one saw or heard anything, guv. The first person to know of anything was the next-door neighbour, Larry Aldridge. The first thing any of the other neighbours saw or heard was the police and ambulance turning up. One house over the road has CCTV on the front of the building, but unfortunately they’re too law abiding for their own good and it doesn’t record anything past the end of their own driveway.’

‘Brilliant,’ Culverhouse said. ‘Just brilliant. Why is it that everyone in this town seems to know everyone else’s business until it comes to finding witnesses, and then Mildenheath turns into the Bermuda fucking Triangle?’

He stared at his team, but no one answered.

D
ebbie Weston was not only
a fine Detective Constable, but she was also a trained Family Liaison Officer. She didn’t tend to do much FLO work nowadays, but she was still called on fairly often to speak to witnesses or other people where a certain level of sensitivity was required. When Jack Culverhouse was around, that was more often than not.

Although Steve Wing and Ryan Mackenzie had already been to Larry and Margaret Aldridge’s house, they’d only spoken fairly briefly to them and not at all to Tanya Henderson’s young children. That, for her sins, would be Debbie Weston’s job.

‘What have they been told so far?’ she asked Margaret Aldridge as she watched the woman’s husband making three cups of strong tea. Their father was still at the hospital, keeping a bedside vigil, and hadn’t yet seen his kids.

Margaret shook her head. ‘Not much. What can we tell them? Only that their mummy isn’t well and she’s being looked after by the doctors, and that we need to look after them until Mummy’s better.’

Debbie smiled. ‘That’s good. We tend to find it’s best not to give anyone false hope, but to keep things positive at the same time. It’s a tricky balance.’

‘Oh, I know,’ Margaret replied. ‘It’s been horrendous, not knowing what to say to the poor things. I mean, you just don’t, do you? It’s not something you ever plan for.’

‘No. And thankfully it’s not something that happens to most people, but I have to say you’re doing an admirable job.’ Debbie smiled at her, hoping to relieve at least some of the tension in the room.

‘Is there any more news from the hospital?’ Larry asked, handing Debbie her cup of tea.

‘Nothing yet. They reckon she’s stabilised, though, which is a good sign. She’s not getting any worse, at least.’

‘But she’s not getting any better?’ Larry asked, frowning.

Debbie paused for a moment. ‘Well, we don’t know. There are lots of different markers for improvement, I understand, but I do know that the doctors are keeping a very close eye on her. That’s the whole reason behind the induced coma.’

‘I just can’t stop thinking about it,’ Margaret said. ‘Those poor little blighters. Who on earth would do such a thing?’

‘That’s what me and my colleagues are trying to find out,’ Debbie said. ‘Is it alright if I speak to Archie and Lola now?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Margaret ushered Debbie through to the living room, putting on a rather unconvincing smile as she said, ‘Archie, Lola, this is Debbie. She’s one of the people who are helping your mummy. But she needs to ask you a few questions so that you can help her too, okay?’

The children nodded, smiling slightly. It always struck Debbie how the innocence of childhood seemed to work in situations like this.

‘Lola, do you want to go and help Mrs Aldridge in the kitchen for a couple of minutes? I’ll talk to Archie first, and then I’ll talk to you.’

Margaret took Lola through to the kitchen. She seemed happy enough to go.

‘What are you watching, Archie?’ Debbie asked, pointing to the television.

‘Spongebob Squarepants.’

‘Are you enjoying it?’

‘S’alright.’

Debbie gave it a moment before speaking again. ‘Archie, do you remember last night? Do you remember going to bed at home and then coming over here?’

Archie nodded.

‘What do you remember?’ Debbie asked.

‘Don’t know,’ came the shy reply.

‘Can you tell me about when you went to bed?’

Archie nodded.

‘Who put you to bed?’

‘Mummy.’

‘And did you go to sleep?’

He nodded again.

‘Okay. And do you remember waking up?’

Archie seemed to think about that for a moment. Then he nodded.

‘Where were you when you woke up?’

‘In my bed.’

‘Okay, great. And who was there?’

Archie looked up at Larry, who was sitting in the armchair with his cup of tea. ‘Mr Aldridge.’

Larry looked at Debbie and swallowed.

‘And then what happened, Archie?’ she asked.

‘He said I had to go next door with him because something had happened.’

‘Did he say what had happened?’

Archie shook his head. ‘He said he would tell me later, but we couldn’t stay in the house.’

‘Then what happened?’ Debbie could see Archie’s eyes narrowing. ‘It’s okay,’ she added quickly. ‘You aren’t in any trouble. We just need to find out what happened so we can help your mummy.’

Archie swallowed, then appeared to grow in confidence. ‘Mummy always says not to go with strangers, but Mr Aldridge lives next door so I think he’s okay. And I could tell that it was serious.’

‘That’s very sensible of you, Archie. Your mummy’s right, but you did the right thing. What happened next?’

‘We went downstairs and out the side door to Mr Aldridge’s house.’

‘Okay. Did you wake up at all before Mr Aldridge came in?’

Archie shook his head.

‘Did you hear any noises?’

There was a pause. Then he shook his head again.

Debbie thanked Archie, then got him to swap places with his younger sister. She smiled as she saw Archie walking back into the living room with Lola, holding her hand.

When Archie was gone, Debbie started asking Lola some similar questions. Again, Lola said that her mum had put her to bed earlier that night and that she’d fallen asleep soon after.

‘Do you remember waking up?’ Debbie asked her.

‘Yes,’ Lola said, quietly.

‘Can you tell me about it?’

Lola nodded.

‘It’s okay. Go on.’ Debbie smiled encouragingly.

Lola blinked a few times before speaking. ‘I heard the doorbell. I thought it might be Daddy.’

‘I see. So what did you do?’

‘I got out of bed and went to the stairs to look.’

Debbie steeled herself. ‘Okay. And what did you see?’

‘Mummy was lying on the floor,’ Lola said, matter-of-factly.

‘And did you see anything else?’

She nodded. ‘A person standing near her.’

‘Can you tell me what the person looked like?’ Debbie asked.

Lola shook her head. ‘He was wearing black. On his head and his legs and his... on everywhere,’ she said, gesturing towards her torso.

‘Okay. Did you see him doing anything?’

Lola shook her head again. ‘Just standing. And then he ran off.’

‘Did you see which way he ran?’

Again, a shake of the head.

‘Then what happened?’

Lola started blinking again, quite rapidly. ‘I went downstairs and I could see Mummy was hurt, so I went next door.’

‘That’s very sensible,’ Debbie said. ‘What did you do when you got there?’

‘I knocked on the door and then Mr Aldridge came down and Mrs Aldridge took me inside.’

‘Did you go back to your house at all?’ Debbie asked.

Again, Lola shook her head.

‘Thank you, Lola, you’ve been very helpful.’ Debbie smiled; she never ceased to be amazed at the bravery and innocence of children.

If only all adults were the same, she thought.