‘Yes, yes, of course. I’m not being insensitive, but we haven’t seen Meg in fifteen years, not since our wedding. Harold didn’t come; I never met him.’
‘I understand. Nevertheless, Meg would love to see her daughter. By the way, the police will be calling today, too.’
‘The police? What have they got to do with it? Wasn’t it a heart attack or something?’
‘They don’t believe Harold died of natural causes, Mr…?’ Sophie lowered her voice.
‘Winslow. What was it, then?’
‘You’ll have to ask the police that question.’
Sophie put the phone down and watched the colour drain from Meg’s face.
7
Carlos arrived back at Sophie’s and let himself in using the spare key. Lady threw herself at him as soon as the door opened. He knelt down and gave her the affection she craved before making his way to the kitchen. A note waited for him on the breakfast bar.
‘Meeting friends for Christmas shopping.
I’ll fill you in on this morning when I get back.
Be home around five, help yourself to food,
Love Soph xxx’
He sighed, disappointed again that he hadn’t been able to be next door when the police arrived. He’d found it difficult to concentrate on the job he was being paid for after meeting Masters last night. It had unsettled him in every way possible – the deep-seated memories resurfaced, along with the possibility… no, probability that Masters would dismiss the murder of the neighbour’s husband as some random robbery or any other simplistic resolution without following due process. The man was lazy but ambitious, making it highly likely he would arrest a poor, unsuspecting minor criminal and fit him up for murder. That was Masters’s modus operandi.
Lady gazed up at him. ‘You’re right, girl. I should forget it, but you know what? I just can’t. I was a coward last time, but never again. That woman next door deserves justice, and so what if I get revenge at the same time?’
Carlos had decided to investigate whether Masters liked it or not and felt better for having made the decision. He would quietly dig around, even though he had no idea where to start. He needed information, but Sophie would be gone for hours yet.
He smiled, wondering whether the police had managed to find the wallet yet. The hidden wallet puzzled him. The only conclusion he could come to was that it had been hidden to make the murder look like a robbery.
‘But why didn’t the killer take the wallet and dispose of it later?’
Lady whined in answer.
Deciding there was nothing for it but to wait until his sister came home, Carlos set about transcribing audio notes from the morning’s investigation. At least he’d made progress with the case and should be able to close it and contact his client with the evidence that his son was embezzling money from the family firm. His client would not be happy and Carlos hated these kinds of jobs, but they paid the bills. They also gave him time to do his unpaid or low-paid work for those who couldn’t afford his fees, but needed help.
He was busy transcribing when he heard a car pull up outside and a door slam. Going to the window to see if it was the police returning to Meg Sissons’s house, he saw a familiar figure walking up Sophie’s driveway. He raced to the door just as the bell rang and beamed at the woman standing on the step.
‘Fiona! Great to see you. I forgot you worked in these parts. Come in.’
He hugged the large-framed woman who kissed him on both cheeks, Italian style.
‘Carlos Jacobi, I heard you were here urinating in our pond!’ The familiar belly laugh filled him with hope while Lady danced excitedly around the new visitor’s legs. She bent to stroke the excited dog. ‘And this must be the Lady I’ve heard so much about.’
‘Yes, that’s Lady. I’m not deliberately getting in the way, but yes, I guess I am now. Do you work for CID?’
‘Yeah. DS Fiona Cook at your service. I’ve been assigned to work with DCI Masters on this one.’
Carlos couldn’t help frowning. ‘What about that McDonald chap I met last night?’
‘This morning was his last shift. He’s on holiday over the Christmas season, on his way to Scotland. Lucky beggar.’
‘Wonderful news! I’m really pleased to see you. Come on through, I’ve got the percolator on. I remember you like it black and strong.’
Fiona followed him through to the kitchen and sat on a barstool with difficulty.
‘These things aren’t made for people my size.’
Carlos loved the way she could laugh at herself and didn’t take life too seriously. Her attitude was the thing that had drawn him to her when they met while he was working a case in London.
‘Here, bring your coffee. Let’s go through to the lounge where we can both sit comfortably.’
‘Working?’ Fiona nodded towards the open laptop on the breakfast bar before they moved.
‘Just finishing up a case and combining it with a visit to my sister. Rachel’s working nights over Christmas.’
‘Me too – not nights, but covering the whole festive season. Someone’s got to do it. I met your sister Sophie this morning. I like her.’
Carlos smiled, proudly. ‘I haven’t seen her since I got back so don’t have an update. I take it the dead man’s the neighbour’s husband?’
‘Yeah. We have confirmation now. I’m going next door in a bit, I was hoping to take your sister with me. And catch you, of course, once I heard you were here. Be careful. I don’t know the history, but the DCI doesn’t like you at all.’
‘Feeling’s mutual.’ Carlos glared into his coffee mug. Fiona clearly accepted he didn’t want to talk on the topic.
‘I have to be loyal; you know that, don’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t expect anything else. Are you happy to tell me where you’re at?’
‘As far as the boss’s concerned, it’s an open and shut case of a mugging gone wrong. There was no wallet on the body—’
Carlos laughed. ‘What did I say, Lady? Robbery or some such thing.’ He stroked Lady’s head.
‘I assume it was this wonderful Lady who found the body?’
‘Yes, she’s an ex-police dog.’
Lady walked over to Fiona and lay on her feet. ‘Clever girl,’ said Fiona, stroking her.
‘She likes you.’
‘Good with animals, hopeless with men, that’s me. Anyway, back to next door. Harold Sissons was killed by a blow to the head with a blunt instrument. The pathologist believes it may have been a spade; he found mud in the wound that he thinks came from the blow, not just the fact he’d been buried. Something to do with the depth.’
Carlos raised an eyebrow.
‘I know. How can they tell? The mud in the wound was fertilised topsoil whereas the burial site is, I guess, just mud! Occasionally, according to a PC who lives in these parts, people go metal detecting in the woods and dig up their finds. I need to check whether next door’s spade is missing. The boss believes the old boy stumbled across someone in the woods and was hit with his own spade, then robbed. It’s plausible.’