It had been a hell of a day already, with no sign of the building catalogue of horrors abating any time soon. DC Dave Wheeler was glad to be back at his desk, his much-maligned Norwich City mug of coffee beside him and the familiar hum of the CID office soothing his ears. Even if today it was muted, it was home. He’d weathered countless storms from his desk in this office: this one might be longer and heavier, but it too would pass.
Right now, this was the only certainty keeping him going.
He glanced at the half-open door to DI Joel Anderson’s office. His superior and close friend was bearing the brunt of everything as usual. No change there, except Wheeler worried for him. Every kick and knock in recent years had hit a little deeper with Joel, and now, with a detective down in his team and the caseload mountainous, the damage was starting to show.
He listened for any sounds of Anderson on the phone, but all was quiet save for the distant thrumming of angry fingers on a keyboard that probably needed counselling, given the amount of fury it faced daily from the detective inspector.
Slipping away from his desk, Wheeler headed over and gave the door a gentle knock.
‘Yes?’ Anderson’s frown softened the moment he looked up. ‘Ah, Dave, it’s you.’
‘Fancy another coffee?’ Wheeler asked.
Anderson held up a mug. ‘Still got one, thanks. Come in, eh?’
Closing the door behind him, Wheeler entered the office and took a seat at Anderson’s desk. ‘How goes it?’
‘Shitshow, as ever.’ Anderson’s wry smile was a balm to his words. ‘How are you holding up?’
‘Oh, you know.’ Wheeler hoped his shrug was a sufficient reply.
It wasn’t, of course. ‘Listen, if you need a break…’
‘I’m good.’
‘But that crime scene was a bastard, right?’
Wheeler deflated a little. ‘Worst I’ve seen for years.’
‘I’d say it gets easier, but we both know that’s bollocks. Anything more from the SOCOs yet?’
‘Still waiting. Should get an update soon.’
Anderson nodded. ‘I know they’ll be doing all they can. Bet it’s the worst Brian’s seen for a while.’
‘Worst of his career, he reckons.’ Wheeler took the opportunity of being away from his colleagues to press his friend. ‘So what did Sue Taylor say?’
The instant grimace on Anderson’s face bore testament to many years of fruitless battling with their superior. ‘Wouldn’t budge on a temp DC. I half-wondered whether to get Steph Lanehan seconded to us seeing as we had her before with the Hannah Perry case. I was hoping precedence would be in our favour. But by the sounds of it, Steph has enough to deal with.’
‘Tim Brinton can’t spare her?’
Anderson shook his head. ‘She apprehended Lingham, along with Rilla Davis, so she’s too important to the ground operation. Brinton wants to keep her there for the foreseeable. Which I understand, but it doesn’t help our staffing issue.’
‘Probably for the best, Guv, given what Steph’s had to deal with this morning.’ Wheeler remembered the state of his colleague when he’d arrived on the scene and shuddered. ‘Proper shaken, she was. Steph’s seen most things, but that bloke was something else.’
‘She’ll deal with it, I’m sure.’
‘Oh, she will. But still, I worry for her sometimes.’
Anderson acknowledged this. Wheeler knew he understood. You looked out for your colleagues, no matter what. Despite the jokes and supposed rivalries across the divisions, when it came down to it, you were one family. That was how it always had been – and how it should remain.
‘How was Lingham when you interviewed him?’ Wheeler asked, secretly glad that he hadn’t had to be part of the suspect’s interrogation.
‘Changeable.’
‘Lying?’
‘Who knows? His solicitor’s one of the keen ones. I reckon he’ll have him no comment-ing in the next round.’
‘Do you think he did it?’
‘According to Minsh, he was the only one who could have done it. Door to the back of the unit locked with no key, only one entrance onto the street that was busy with Monday morning shoppers. It’s unlikely that anybody could have dashed out before Lingham emerged and not have been seen.’
‘But not impossible?’
Anderson chuckled. ‘Nothing ever is, is it? Lingham’s van was parked at the back of the unit, but he insists it’s a local parking spot. There are other vehicles there, which backs him up.’
‘Are we taking the van in?’
‘Aye.’ Anderson rubbed his temples. ‘Whenever that’s likely to happen. Our forensics bods are busy assisting with a bad house fire over the border in Norwich, apparently. Whole family died.’
Wheeler winced. ‘Norfolk’s resources low again, then?’
‘As ever. It’s only a matter of time before they merge the services, and then we’ll be in for endless fun.’ Anderson glanced at a list on the notepad beside his poor, beleaguered keyboard, his shoulders stiffening. Wheeler knew what was coming. He’d long learned the signs with his friend. ‘I had word from Control that they’d received a call from relatives of Otto Wragg…’
Of course. Everyone else would have calls like these today; Wheeler wouldn’t be an exception.
‘I can’t do it alone, Guv. Not if it’s a death notice.’
‘I know. I’ve asked Tim Brinton to release someone from uniform to accompany you. They’re on their way up now.’ Apology folded into the creases on his brow. ‘Sorry, mate.’
‘No worries,’ Wheeler replied brightly, though his tone fooled nobody in Anderson’s office. ‘Just grab a load of those maritozzi buns if you’re going to Tutti’s, yeah? I could use something to look forward to.’
Twenty minutes later, Wheeler was driving a pool car towards the village he’d been only too happy to leave earlier, the comforting presence of PC Margi Hickman in the passenger seat.
‘Fancy a mint, Dave?’ Margi asked, producing a packet of extra strong mints from her pocket.
‘Don’t mind if I do, Marg,’ Wheeler accepted, the ordinariness of the exchange soothing. Hickman had been at the station forever, and nobody was quite sure how close retirement might be for her. But it was good to be with someone who knew the job inside out. Especially for this one. ‘Thanks for coming on this shout.’
‘Uniform to the rescue of you soft CID-ers, eh?’ the PC laughed, her gentle jibe no more than a good-hearted nudge. ‘Happy to help, DC Wheeler. Now if you need me to butt in at any point, just give me the nod. Otherwise, I’ll stay the strong, silent type.’
‘Type I like best,’ Wheeler grinned, his smile feeling alien. ‘We’ll play it by ear, okay?’
The Wragg family occupied a large farm about half a mile outside Evernam. According to Control, it had been Otto’s mother-in-law who had placed the call, as her daughter had become concerned when her husband failed to arrive to collect his children. The couple were estranged, although some contact remained. They currently shared the school run and other parental duties, their three young children staying alternate weekends with their father in a cottage on the edge of the family land.
Otto Wragg’s wife and her mother were waiting in the open doorway of the farmhouse when Wheeler arrived, the older woman’s expression grave beside her daughter’s tear-stained concern. A tall man stood between them, his eyes trained on the CID car as Wheeler parked. Wheeler’s heart sank when Otto Wragg’s wife stepped forward, revealing the unmistakable bump of an advanced pregnancy.
He remembered watching his own wife, Sana, like a hawk during her two pregnancies. She’d brushed off his concern, as she always did, but Wheeler had patrolled their home for danger like a prowling cat. He’d been determined to protect Sana from any adverse news. How would Otto Wragg’s clearly distraught wife take the news he was bringing? Who would protect her as he’d vowed to protect Sana?
‘Is there news?’ the older woman demanded the moment Wheeler and Hickman left the car.
Wheeler walked over as quickly as he could, not wanting to shout his reply across the wide paved driveway. ‘Good afternoon. I’m Detective Constable Dave Wheeler from South Suffolk CID, and this is my colleague, PC Margi Hickman. Can we—?’
‘It’s bad,’ Wragg’s wife wailed, clamping a hand to her mouth too late to catch her words. ‘Two coppers always means bad news.’
‘Shh, now,’ her mother snapped, turning back to the officers. ‘I’m Sheila Kersey. This is my daughter, Susannah, and Otto’s brother, Aldo. Please come in.’
Wheeler and Hickman followed the family into the farmhouse, its low beamed ceilings clearly a challenge for Otto Wragg’s brother. He hid his frustration badly, the smile he wore tightening with each wooden beam and low doorway navigated. Wheeler wondered if Aldo Wragg lived here: he couldn’t imagine the constant irritation avoiding concussion around the house would bring.
They entered an open-plan kitchen and living area that traversed the back of the house. Aldo leaned against the kitchen island with visible relief, while Sheila and Susannah shared a sofa near the large bifold garden doors. Evidence of a young family littered the room – a scattering of crayons on a stack of paper across the coffee table, floppy cuddly toys strewn over the floor and across the back of the sofa, and a sole striped sock dangling listlessly over the arm of the chair in which Wheeler sat. It warmed his heart and chilled him at once. Familiarity in the face of oncoming pain.
Hickman settled on the chair next to Wheeler, her brief smile in his direction a signal of her readiness to support him. He gave a slight nod and turned to face the family.
‘Thank you for seeing us. I’m afraid I have some news that will be difficult to hear.’
Wragg’s wife crumpled into her mother, who faced Wheeler like flint.
‘This morning, a discovery was made in an empty shop unit on Januarius Street in Evernam. There are four bodies. We have reason to believe that Otto might be one of them.’
The news punched the air from the room, Susannah Wragg’s wail filling the space as her mother and brother-in-law stared numbly back.
‘How do you… What makes you think Otto is there?’ Sheila managed, a tremor in her question at odds with her highly controlled demeanour.
‘His driving licence was found at the scene. My colleagues are still investigating, so we’ll know more when we can move the deceased. But it’s important that you know it’s a possibility.’
‘When will we be able to see him?’ Aldo asked.
‘Not for a while yet, sir. The scene has been secured, and our duty pathologist is present, but there’s much to do while everything remains in situ.’
Wheeler opened his notebook slowly, careful not to let his hands betray any of the stress he felt. At times like these the needs of loved ones of the deceased were paramount: nobody wanted to see a police officer struggling to deal with their emotions. It was part of the job: professional coolness in the face of unimaginable horror. That didn’t make the masking of your own feelings any easier to accomplish, mind, but you did it because the families deserved respect.
‘Can you tell me how Otto has been lately? Has he mentioned any problems, any issues that might have been causing him concern?’
‘Nothing,’ Sheila rushed. Wheeler caught the flash of a stare she sent across the room towards Aldo and the rush of air from the tall man in response.
‘Anyone he’d had problems with? Disagreements?’
‘Otto gets on with everyone,’ Sheila returned – quick, again, Wheeler noted. ‘That’s part of the problem.’
‘Mum…’ Susannah Wragg’s sudden interruption appeared to take her mother by surprise.
‘What? It’s not a secret.’
‘It’s private…’
‘Anything you can tell us will be in complete confidence, Mrs Wragg,’ Hickman soothed. ‘It helps us build a picture…’
‘He’s estranged from my daughter because he was spending far too much time getting on with a young woman in the village,’ Sheila declared, ignoring the protests that immediately followed from Susannah and Aldo. ‘It’s important they know.’
‘It isn’t why he didn’t show up to get the kids,’ Susannah bit back, her anger tripping over her sobs. ‘That woman means nothing to my family!’
‘That woman is the reason my grandchildren have a part-time father!’
‘Okay, if we can all take a moment?’ Wheeler interjected. A full-on brawl wouldn’t bring him any closer to establishing the circumstances surrounding Otto Wragg’s disappearance. The calmness of his tone stole the thunder from the room, Susannah and Aldo retreating to stung silence while Sheila glowered back. ‘It’s important we get as much information as possible to help us work out what may or may not have happened. I sincerely wish I didn’t have to bring this to your door, but it’s vital we gather as much information as we can, as soon as possible. We’re treating the deaths as suspicious, which means there’s a person or persons at large who should be brought to justice. The sooner we can do that, the sooner you can start to deal with this horrible situation.’
‘How about I make everyone a cup of tea?’ Hickman suggested. It was met by muted ascent, enough to diffuse the tension. As the PC made her way to the kettle, Wheeler moved to less divisive ground.
‘What does Otto do for work?’ he asked.
‘He’s a developer,’ Aldo replied. ‘Before that, he owned a building company.’
‘What kind of development?’
‘Apartments, flats mainly. In here and in Spain.’
‘And how long has he been doing that?’
‘About eighteen months. He started with the outbuildings on a friend’s farm, turning them into holiday lets. Then he won the contract to develop a warehouse on the outskirts of Ipswich into an apartment complex. The work came in from there.’
‘Does he work alone?’
Aldo shook his head. ‘He has a small team. And a silent partner who helps with investment. Then he lets out the properties with a lettings agency his friend owns.’
Wheeler made notes. ‘Do you know the names of the partner and the friend?’
‘Tim Stapleforth is the investor. And Mark Lingham is the friend. Of Lingham-Quartermain? You’ll see their boards up all over this area.’
Stapleforth. The frantic councillor’s name. And Lingham, the suspect currently in custody. So they were connected. Wheeler pushed the elation at discovering a link far down within him. But as this could be a major step forward, and with everything at stake and his colleagues under intense pressure, he allowed himself a small swell of pride that he now carried information that could prove vital to the investigation.
Keeping his voice steady, Wheeler pressed on. ‘How’s Otto’s business been lately?’
‘Good.’
‘He hasn’t mentioned any problems with his team? Or Mr Stapleforth? Or the lettings people?’
‘No.’ Aldo let out a sigh. ‘But there were the threats…’
‘They don’t need to know that,’ Sheila Kersey snapped, causing Wheeler to look up from his notes.
‘They already know,’ Aldo fired back.
‘Know what, sir?’
‘Otto mentioned some threats he’d received at his office. Hand-delivered, typed, no indication of who’d sent them. I told him to report them to you guys, and he did.’
Wheeler frowned. ‘When was this?’
Hickman slipped between them, delivering tea. Wheeler knew she was listening: the smallest glance as she handed him a mug confirmation that she was ready to act if he needed her.
‘A few weeks ago.’
‘And Otto reported these threats to us?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’ Wheeler nodded at Hickman, who made her way out of the room. ‘Did he have any idea who might have sent them?’
‘It could have been anyone.’ Wragg’s brother glared into his tea. ‘People round here hate developers, despite being only too happy to palm off their land to the highest bidder when it suits them.’
‘So, it could have been someone objecting to a recent development?’
‘Who knows? There are enough nutters in the area who are desperate to make a point.’
‘Campaigners?’
‘Idiots. People with nothing better to do.’
Wheeler made a note, playing for time. Out in the hall of the farmhouse, Hickman would be checking with Control for Otto Wragg’s report of the threatening letters. He wanted to give her sufficient time. ‘Mrs Wragg, how did Otto seem to you in recent days?’
Susannah stared back. ‘Difficult.’
‘More than usual?’ It was a risk, but Wheeler saw the flicker of recognition in the young woman’s expression.
‘No,’ she replied, a sad smile briefly brushing her lips. ‘As bloody-minded as usual. Still insisting he’d done nothing wrong.’
‘And with your kids?’
‘His usual self. They love him, and he dotes on them. He’s a good dad.’ Her hand grazed her belly as she said this, quickly returning to her side.
‘Is that why you contacted us today?’
Her gaze dropped immediately to the tissue in her hands. ‘He may be a lying git to me, but he’s always there for the kids. Never misses a day when he’s having them. He’s spent ages getting the cottage ready for them to stay. He was excited about picking them up.’
‘How old are your children?’
‘Four, two and eleven months.’ Susannah Wragg took a deep, shaky breath.
‘Where are they now?’
‘My husband’s taken them out,’ Sheila said. ‘We didn’t want them here when you visited. They’ve seen enough…’
‘Good idea.’ Wheeler looked up as Hickman returned, a single shake of her head, the signal he was waiting for. He turned to Aldo Wragg, who was now seated on a stool at the end of the kitchen island. ‘Mr Wragg, how certain are you that Otto reported the threats to us?’
‘He said he did.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘Of course.’
Wheeler nodded. ‘My colleague has just checked with the station. No such report was made.’
‘What? But he said…’
‘He says a lot of things.’
‘Not helpful, Sheila.’
‘Do you know why he would say he’d contacted us when he didn’t?’
Aldo stood, narrowly missing a beam. ‘That makes no sense. He assured me he’d sorted it.’
‘And by sorted it, did you take that to mean he’d reported the messages to the police?’
‘He said he did.’ He glared at the kitchen worktop. ‘I don’t know why he’d lie.’
‘Because it suited him.’
‘Sheila, please…’
‘No, Aldo, it needs to be said. All of this started when that woman got involved.’ Sheila glared back. ‘You want a name, officer? Mattie Kemp.’
‘Mum!’
‘Mattie Kemp got her claws into Otto, and all hell broke loose. Ten months ago. Plenty of time for him to make…’
‘Sheila, enough!’ Aldo glared at Sheila, the tension crackling between them.
‘We’ll take it into account,’ Wheeler interjected, the tension around him becoming worrying. The last thing anyone needed was an all-out war. ‘Do you think Ms Kemp could be responsible for the threatening letters?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised…’
‘Mum, shut up!’
Everyone turned to look at Susannah Wragg.
Tear-stained and red-faced, she kept one hand on her belly as she faced the warring factions of her family. ‘I don’t think Mattie would have threatened him. She had him already.’ Pain was etched into her words as she spoke. Wheeler felt for her. ‘He said there was a deal he’d been banking on that had turned sour. He wouldn’t go into details, but it was causing him concern.’
‘When did he mention this, Mrs Wragg?’
‘Last week. He said he hadn’t slept trying to work it out.’
Wheeler made a note, keen to wrap things up before the battle recommenced. ‘Do you have access to any of Otto’s business things?’
Susannah Wragg shook her head. ‘But I can give you the number of his assistant, Hugo. He should be able to help.’
‘Bloody Nora, that was intense,’ Hickman breathed when they were back in the safety of the pool car, driving away. ‘I wouldn’t like to be in that house any longer than I had to be.’
‘Me neither.’ In the rear-view mirror, Wheeler caught a glimpse of a stony-faced Sheila Kersey staring after them from the doorstep of the farmhouse before the bend in the track hid her from view. ‘Odd about the threats. Why say he’d reported them if he hadn’t?’
‘With that lot?’ Margi chuckled in the passenger seat. ‘Easier to get them off your back than tell the truth. I don’t imagine it’s a bundle of fun having that mother-in-law on your case.’
Wheeler was inclined to agree. ‘So, we need to talk to Otto’s assistant regarding the threats. If he kept any of the letters, that would be great.’
‘And the link with Lingham and Stapleforth was interesting. Might they have been threatened, too?’
‘Who knows, Marg? It’s a link, though. That’s something.’
‘What about this Mattie Kemp? Did Otto leave Susannah for her? Or did she threaten him to keep him from going back to his wife?’
‘Both decent possibilities. Call it in, would you? The link with Lingham and Stapleforth, too. See if we can find an address for Ms Kemp. Makes sense to try and catch her while we’re on the road.’
As Hickman placed the call, Wheeler stared at the road ahead. Why had Otto Wragg lied about reporting the threats? And had that decision cost him his life?