“Do you think she was involved from the start?” Nish scratched at a mark on the knee of her jeans. She was sitting at Murray’s kitchen table, a mug of tea beside the pile of paperwork Murray had accumulated.
“Her statement says she was at a conference the night Tom supposedly ‘went missing.’” Murray made quote marks in the air. “The organizers confirm she was there for registration, but can’t say if or when she left.”
“So her alibi’s shaky.”
“She didn’t fake their deaths.”
Nish and Murray looked at Sarah, who—up until now—had been silent, listening to the two colleagues go over the case.
“What makes you so certain?” Nish asked.
“Because she asked you to reopen the case. It doesn’t make sense.”
Nish picked up her mug to drink and then put it down again as a theory took shape. “Unless someone sent her the card to let her know they were onto her. And her husband saw it, so she brought it to us because that’s what an innocent person would do.”
“He was at work. He didn’t see it till later.”
Nish flapped a hand at Murray, as though the point were immaterial. “Or the postman. A neighbor. The point is, the police report was a double bluff.”
Murray shook his head. “I don’t buy it. It’s a massive risk.”
“When did she tell you to back off?” Sarah said.
“Boxing Day.” Murray looked at Nish, who hadn’t been privy to this piece of the puzzle. “She hung up on me. Twice.”
“Then she found out sometime between the twenty-first and the twenty-sixth.” Sarah shrugged. “S’obvious.”
Murray grinned. “Thanks, Columbo.”
“So, what now?” Nish said.
“I need hard evidence. A phone purchase isn’t enough—especially when, as it stands, Anna Johnson was miles away from Eastbourne at the time of the offense. I can’t start claiming two dead people are alive, or storming down to Cleveland Avenue to arrest Anna, without proof the Johnsons are alive and well, and that she knew about it.”
“We need to think logically,” Sarah said. “Why do people fake their own deaths?”
Nish laughed. “Do a Reggie Perrin, you mean? You make it sound like it happens all the time.”
“There was the canoe man,” Murray said. “That was an insurance job. And that politician in the seventies—what was his name? Stone something.”
“Stonehouse. Left his clothes on a beach in Miami and ran off with his mistress.” Years of watching daytime quiz shows had made Sarah an expert in trivia.
“Sex and money, then.” Nish shrugged. “Same as most crimes.”
If only one of the Johnsons had disappeared, Murray might have placed more importance on the former, but as Caroline had followed in Tom’s footsteps, it was unlikely that Tom had run off to be with a lover.
“Tom Johnson was worth a lot of money,” Murray reminded her.
“So Caroline stayed to claim the life insurance, then joined Tom in Monaco? Rio de Janeiro?” Nish looked between Murray and Sarah.
“She claimed the life insurance all right, but she left Anna the lot. If she’s living the high life somewhere, she’s doing it on someone else’s dime.”
“Either they wanted to escape for some other reason,” Sarah said, “and Anna’s reward was the money, or the three of them agreed to split the cash, and she’s just sitting tight till the dust has settled.”
Murray stood up. This was pointless—they were going around in circles. “I think it’s about time I paid Anna Johnson another visit, don’t you?”