Bloodline

20

I lay in the semi-darkness of a hospital room in utter despair.

It was my fault.

I should never have placed Emily in such danger.

It was true that I’d known her for only two days, and maybe there had been something of the ‘rebound’ about our coming together after my break-up from Sarah, but, even so soon, I truly felt that I’d finally met someone I would have been happy to live with, someone with whom to share the rest of my life.

And now she was gone. Snatched away in an instant.

Why?

It was me who should be dead, not her.

But why would anyone want me dead? There was no question that they did. Attempted strangulation on Friday, and now a hit-and-run in a darkened pub car park on Sunday. But why?

Everything in my head came back to Mitchell Stacey.

Who else was there?

That is what Detective Chief Inspector Perry had asked me just as soon as the doctor decided I was well enough to be interviewed by him and another plain-clothes policeman.

‘You told me I’d be perfectly safe,’ I’d said to him in an accusing tone.

‘I thought you would be,’ he had said in reply. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘How about Mitchell Stacey?’ I’d asked. ‘What did he have to say?’

‘Mr Stacey was interviewed by officers from Thames Valley Police early yesterday morning and he provided an alibi for his whereabouts on Friday evening. He could not have been the man who tried to strangle you.’

‘But he could have arranged it, and it might have been him in the pub car park tonight,’ I’d said.

‘That will now be up to the Cambridgeshire force to determine.’ He’d indicated towards the other policeman. ‘DCI Coaker here is dealing with the enquiry into the murder of Mrs Lowther. I’m assisting him only because of last Friday’s incident.’

I had spent the next two hours answering the two policemen’s questions in increasing frustration and anger.

‘Could you identify the car?’

‘No.’

‘Could you identify the driver?’

‘No.’

‘Do you know why anyone would want you dead?’

‘No — other than Mitchell Stacey.’

They asked me at least ten times about the sequence of events in the pub car park and, each time, I gave them the same answers.

I continually asked them how Emily had died and, in the end, they told me that her neck had been broken. She must have been rolled under the car for ten or fifteen yards. It would have been enough to break anything.

Now, alone at last, I grieved for her, and also for me, and for what we might have been together.

The morning brought little or no relief from my pain, or my misery, and Detective Chief Inspector Coaker came back soon after eight o’clock with more questions.

‘Who knew you would be at the Three Horseshoes pub?’

‘No one. Going there was a last-minute decision.’

‘Were you followed there from Huntingdon?’

‘We must have been but I didn’t notice. Emily was driving.’

Even I could tell that my answers weren’t very helpful. But that didn’t stop him asking the same things over and over and over again.

‘How about my phone?’ I said, during a lull in his questioning.

‘What about it?’

‘It’s in Emily Lowther’s car,’ I said. ‘Along with a leather bag containing my laptop computer, a pair of binoculars and a few other things. I need them for my job.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said the chief inspector.

Eventually he had to leave while a doctor came into the room to examine me, placing his stethoscope all over my chest and back while I had to breathe in and out.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked finally.

‘Medically or emotionally?’ I replied.

‘Both.’

‘Considering I was convinced last night that I was dying, I’m feeling pretty well on the medical front. My side is still very sore down here.’ I placed my hand gingerly on my left lower ribs. ‘But I can breathe all right.’

‘How about deep breaths?’ he asked.

‘Very painful,’ I said. ‘As is coughing.’

He nodded. ‘But you must try to use all of your lung capacity if you can. It will help prevent complications.’

I didn’t like the sound of complications so I breathed deeply, trying my best to ignore the stabbing pain in my side.

‘How long do I have to stay here?’ I asked.

‘There’s no medical reason why you shouldn’t go home. Your left lung reinflated of its own accord and the function of both lungs is now good, and there has been no recurrence overnight of fluid build-up anywhere in your chest.’ He smiled at me. ‘But you must take things easy. No heavy lifting. It will take six weeks for those ribs to heal properly and they’ll give you some considerable discomfort for most of that time. I’ll prescribe you something for the pain.’

‘Can’t you strap them up to stop them hurting?’

‘We don’t do that any more. Strapping the chest is no longer advised because it’s constrictive and prevents you taking those necessary deep breaths. Let me tell you, a bit of pain is far preferable to pneumonia.’

It certainly was, I thought. I took yet another deep breath.

‘So I can go now?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But seek medical advice immediately if you become even the slightest bit out of breath.’ He paused. ‘How are you feeling in here?’ He tapped his head.

‘Pretty bloody,’ I said. ‘But staying in bed won’t help that.’

‘No. I’m sorry.’

So was I.

My sister Angela came to collect me from the hospital around ten thirty, and we were both in tears.

I’d called her earlier on a hospital pay phone to tell her about Emily but she already knew; it had been reported on the radio.

‘Where to?’ she asked.

‘Clare’s cottage,’ I said. ‘I need to collect my stuff.’

She drove in silence, too shocked even to ask me what had happened.

I was glad. I’d done enough answering questions for one morning. But I was sure none of my answers had been of any use to the police, or to me for that matter. Nothing helped to make sense of Emily’s death.

But I hadn’t said anything to DCI Coaker about blackmail. I couldn’t see how it might have been relevant.

Now I wondered if I should have done. But that would have surely opened a whole new can of worms and sent the likes of Austin Reynolds and Harry Jacobs running for the hills. Then they would, of course, deny everything and I’d be left with egg on my face. And did I really want to expose my sister as a cheat and a race fixer if I didn’t absolutely need to?

But why else did someone want me dead?

According to Chief Inspector Perry, Mitchell Stacey had had an alibi for Friday night, but he had also once threatened to have my legs broken, and he would have needed some help to do that. Did he have some ‘heavies’ he could call on for a bit of garrotting to order, or was I being just fanciful, and also guilty of confusing television drama with real life?

Oh, Emily!

How I wished this nightmare was nothing more than a fictional storyline from some screenwriter’s imagination.

‘I need to get the key from the stable office,’ I said to Angela as she turned into the driveway of Clare’s cottage.

But I was wrong.

The front door to the cottage was wide open, and a key hadn’t been used to open it. The frame had been splintered all around the lock and there were six overlapping two-inch-wide round impressions in the wood of the door. Someone had clearly used brute force and a sledgehammer to simply smash their way in.

‘Oh, shit!’ I said with feeling. ‘It’s been burgled.’

Angela stayed in the car while I moved forward warily to the door. I thought it unlikely that any burglar would still be in the cottage at eleven o’clock in the morning, but I didn’t particularly want to disturb some crazy knife-wielding drug addict who was searching for the wherewithal for his next fix.

‘Hello,’ I called. ‘Anyone there?’

I stood in the doorway listening for any movement, or for the sound of someone escaping out the back. There was nothing.

‘We should call the police,’ Angela shouted at me through the open car window.

I’d had enough of the police for one morning.

‘I’ll take a look first,’ I shouted back.

I stepped inside expecting to discover that the place had been completely ransacked, but was pleasantly surprised to find that nothing much looked out of place. The bags of Clare’s clothes were still stacked under the stairs, and the cardboard boxes I’d filled with the contents of her desk remained where I’d left them on the floor of the sitting room.

Indeed, the only things I could see that had been shifted were some of the papers that had been in the boxes, which were now strewn across the carpet.

However, there was something missing.

Not the fancy television set. Not even Clare’s collection of silver racing trophies that were still lined up on the mantelpiece.

It was the white envelope containing the two thousand pounds in cash that was missing — gone from the cardboard box where I’d placed it, along with the blackmail note that I had carelessly left in full view on the desk.

Austin Reynolds, I thought.

Who else would only take those items and leave the silver?

Austin Reynolds removing any evidence that could incriminate him. And this time he would have worn gloves.

I went upstairs to have a quick check around, and then went back out to Angela.

‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘There’s no one here and nothing seems to be missing, not even Clare’s trophies. Perhaps the burglar was disturbed as soon as he broke down the door.’

‘Maybe someone heard the noise,’ Angela said, ‘and investigated.’

Possibly, I thought, but the bangs made by a sledgehammer on Clare’s front door could have easily been mistaken for a horse kicking the wooden wall of his box not ten yards away. Racehorse stables were never silent places, even at dead of night.

‘Do you think we should still call the police?’ Angela said.

‘What for?’ I asked.

‘If only to get an incident number, for the insurance.’

‘But nothing is missing.’

‘The front door will need replacing, and that must cost something,’ Angela said. ‘When we got burgled two years ago we needed a police number before the insurance company would pay for anything.’

‘Much too complicated,’ I said. ‘The insurance will be in Geoff Grubb’s name, and there’ll probably be an excess on it that’d be more than the cost of the door anyway. Much easier if we just fix it ourselves without involving the police. For a start, we’d be here all day waiting for them to turn up.’

Angela shrugged her shoulders. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

We went inside.

‘It’s really strange being here,’ Angela said, standing in the middle of the sitting room. ‘You know, without Clare.’

I suppose I’d become a little used to it. I went over and gave her a hug while she sobbed gently on my shoulder.

The tears also welled in my eyes. First Clare, and now Emily. Was there any limit to grief?

I sat at Clare’s desk making some phone calls on the landline while Angela cleared out the kitchen. I tried to tell her that she didn’t need to bother but she’d simply said that being busy would help take her mind off Emily.

I suppose she was right but a renewed lethargy had come over me. That feeling of ‘what’s the point?’ had returned.

After a while, I pulled myself together and rang DCI Coaker.

‘Any news about my phone and computer?’ I asked him. ‘I’m desperate for them.’

‘They’re here at police headquarters in Huntingdon.’

‘Can I come and collect them?’ I asked.

‘I’m just waiting for clearance from my superintendent,’ he said. ‘He may decide that they are evidence.’

‘How come?’

‘Computers are routinely investigated for evidence in all crimes.’

‘You won’t find much on mine,’ I said. ‘I only use it to access horseracing data as part of my job. And, occasionally, for making bets.’

‘Nevertheless, it will need to be checked.’

‘How about my phone?’ I asked. ‘I need one of the numbers on it.’

‘I’ll see what I can do. Call me back in twenty minutes.’

I spent the time using the Yellow Pages to find a local builder who could send someone round as soon as possible to fix the broken door, and then I called a Newmarket car-hire company and arranged for them to deliver a car to the cottage.

I didn’t know yet how I was going to replace my old Ford but, in the meantime, I urgently needed some wheels, not least to get to Brighton races the following afternoon and Kempton Park on Wednesday and Thursday evenings, not that I really felt like going back to work.

I was completely wrung out, both physically and mentally.

‘What shall I do with all the pots and pans, and the crockery?’ Angela asked, putting her head round the door. ‘Were they Clare’s? Or did they come with the cottage?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ I sighed, dragging myself reluctantly to my feet. ‘I’ll go and ask in Geoff Grubb’s office. I need to go in there anyway and they might know.’

Better than that, Geoff’s secretary had a full inventory of what was in the cottage when Clare had moved in.

‘Don’t worry too much if it doesn’t match what’s in there now,’ she said, handing me a copy of a printed list. ‘It’s years since Clare moved in.’

I gave the list to Angela, who eagerly disappeared with it back into the kitchen.

I checked that twenty minutes had passed and then again called DCI Coaker.

‘My super says you can have all your stuff back.’

‘Great. How do I collect it?’

‘The forensic computer guy is just finishing examining your hard drive.’

I thought it was a gross invasion of my privacy, and I said so.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘But the items were in Mrs Lowther’s possession at the time of her death and therefore they have to be checked.’

‘So when can I collect it?’

‘Where are you now?’ he asked.

‘Newmarket,’ I said.

‘I’m going to Cambridge shortly. I’ll take everything with me. You can collect it anytime after one o’clock from Parkside police station on the eastern ring road.’

‘Good. Thanks.’

‘And I’ve got your phone here for that number you need.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ I said. ‘I need the number for Detective Sergeant Sharp. It should be in my contacts list under S.’

I could hear him pushing the buttons of my phone.

‘Here you are.’ He read out the number and I wrote it down. ‘Can I ask why you want to speak to DS Sharp?’

‘He’s the Metropolitan Police officer who’s investigating my sister’s suicide. She fell to her death in London last month.’

‘Clare Shillingford,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Of course, the jockey. Now I recognize the name. I’m sorry.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘It’s not been a great couple of weeks.’

‘No,’ he agreed.

‘What news of your investigation of last night?’

‘None that I can give you, I’m afraid. How are you feeling?’

‘Rather sore,’ I said, ‘but I’ll live.’

Unlike Emily.

I used the number DCI Coaker had given me to call Detective Sergeant Sharp, but he was unavailable. I left a message on his voicemail asking him to call me back as soon as possible. ‘I’ve got some fresh evidence about my sister’s death,’ I said, ‘from the hotel.’

Angela brought me in a cup of coffee.

‘I’m afraid we’ve only got powdered milk,’ she said.

I smiled at her. ‘Fine by me.’

Angela sat on the arm of the sofa, the same sofa where Emily and I had snuggled down together on Saturday evening.

‘Oh, God!’ I said, sighing again. ‘Life is so bloody at times.’

‘You really liked Emily, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And I feel it was my fault she was killed.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I didn’t take enough care. I should have seen the car sooner.’

‘You can’t blame yourself,’ Angela said, trying to comfort me.

‘But I do.’

‘Have the police any idea who was driving?’ Angela asked.

‘Not that they’ll tell me.’

‘Maybe it was Emily’s ex husband. From what I hear he has a fiery temper. Perhaps he didn’t like her going out with somebody else.’

‘She told me at Tatiana’s party they were divorced,’ I said, ‘but they weren’t quite. No decree absolute apparently. Technically, she was still married to him.’

‘So he will still inherit her house. Now there’s a motive for murder if ever there was one.’

Angela, I thought, was also guilty of watching too much television, but it made about as much sense as anything else.

‘I am sure the police will have interviewed him,’ I said. ‘Or, at least, they will have inspected his car. There must be some damage to the roof where I hit it.’ And some blood underneath, I thought, where Emily had gone.

‘How are you getting on in the kitchen?’ I asked, changing the subject.

‘Done,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘At least, I’ve thrown away the food that was off and stacked up on the worktop everything that wasn’t on the inventory list. But we need some boxes to pack it into.’

‘I’ll get some,’ I said. ‘Just as soon as the hire car arrives.’

‘Do you need me any more, then?’ she asked, getting to her feet.

‘Not if you’d rather get off,’ I said, also standing up. ‘Thank you so much for coming to collect me. It’s made a huge difference.’

We both hugged each other again, neither of us seemingly wanting to be the first to pull back. I felt closer to my elder sister at that point than I had ever done so before.

‘Is everything all right in your world?’ I asked, perhaps sensing something.

‘Oh, yes and no,’ she said with a sigh. ‘We’re just desperately short of money, like everyone else, and that was not helped by that damn party. And then the bank keeps talking about making Nick’s job part-time, or even non-existent altogether, and where would he get another job at his age?’

‘But you and he are all right?’

‘We seem to argue a lot more these days, mostly about money, but I think we’re fine.’ She didn’t sound too convinced. ‘Though I don’t know how we’re going to afford Tatiana’s university fees next year.’

It was she who was now close to tears.

‘How about a student loan?’ I said. ‘Get her to apply now.’

‘But it would saddle her with so much debt for the future.’

‘Better for her to have a debt in the future,’ I said, ‘than to have her parents split up in the present due to worries over money.’

‘You make everything sound so simple.’

‘I’d happily talk to Nick if you would like me to.’

She laughed. ‘We always said that you couldn’t arrange the proverbial piss-up in a brewery, but now you’re more organized than the rest of us.’

Was I? I didn’t feel like it at the moment.

The telephone rang and I picked it up.

‘Hello,’ I said.

‘Mr Shillingford?’

‘Yes.’

‘This is Detective Sergeant Sharp.’

‘Oh, right. Thank you for calling back. Can you hold a second?’ I put my hand over the mouthpiece. ‘It’s the policeman dealing with Clare’s death,’ I said to Angela.

‘I’ll go,’ she mouthed at me. ‘Call me later.’

She gave me a peck on the cheek and left.

‘Sorry about that,’ I said to the detective sergeant. ‘Someone was just leaving.’

‘You said in your message that you have some new evidence?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It would seem that one of the Hilton Hotel staff believes that there may have been a man in my sister’s room when she fell from the balcony.’

There was a pause at the other end of the line.

‘Did you actually interview any of the hotel staff?’ I asked. ‘It seems that my sister’s arrival at the hotel caused quite a stir because she had no luggage.’

I could tell from his continued silence that the answer to my question was no, he hadn’t interviewed anyone at the hotel.

‘But the suicide note,’ he said.

‘I don’t care about the note,’ I said angrily. ‘I want to know why my sister died.’

‘The inquest will establish that in due course,’ he said formally.

‘But not if no one investigates anything first.’

‘It’s the coroner’s staff who are responsible for investigating the death,’ he said. ‘The police would only be involved if a crime had occurred.’

‘But I think a crime might have occurred,’ I said. ‘And, anyway, the coroner’s office hasn’t been in touch with me. I haven’t even had a copy of the report of her post-mortem.’

‘I did discuss the cause of death with your father, as next of kin,’ he said, somewhat defensively. ‘And it would not be usual for copies of a post-mortem report to be issued to the family prior to the inquest. That’s when the coroner will deal with any matters that might have arisen from the examination of the body.’

‘What sort of matters?’ I asked.

‘Any medical conditions that might have been present.’

‘And were there any medical conditions present?’ I asked.

‘Nothing pertinent to her death.’

‘Hold on a minute.’ I took in what he’d just said. ‘So there was something, then, but it didn’t have anything to do with her death.’

‘There was nothing,’ he said, ‘other than her being pregnant.’