Chapter 46

Baxter takes the phone.

“Hey, Tom-Tom,” he says. “Spectre here. I love those green fingers you sent me. Cool. And that movie they made about Leyhill and the flower show. Not very cryptic though, I found the movie straight away. Not like the mugs with the arrows. They fooled me for ages.” He listens. “OK, great. I’ve been helping everyone here to get clear on what you want. Am I right that the arrow on the mug was pointing to the DNA on the edge? That’s what convicted you?” He listens. “Yeah, you told me that when I was in the tree.” More listening.

“You know it was a mistake because you didn’t trash that house. Got it. So we have to find out who really did it and that starts with reviewing the evidence. I asked for Dr Loxton the forensic scientist and she’s agreed to review it. She’s here now to speak to you personally and make that promise. But you know what you have to do.” Listens.

“You think it’s Paul,” Baxter continues. “I get it. But do you want them to do the same thing to him that they did to you? Like, just saying he did it isn’t evidence. This case has already had too many mistakes. Like, no more mistakes, agree?” Listens. “OK, I’ll put you onto Dr Loxton and she’ll promise to review the evidence in front of a bunch of people, including me and a reporter from the Echo. Lots of witnesses. Then they’ll come and get Paul and …” Listens. “I know Paul had a knife. I saw him holding it. It looks a bit like a sword. Show them where it landed. Don’t touch it! Then they’ll have to take you into custody.” Listens. “It sucks. I know! But you absconded then took him hostage!” Listens. “It’s the law. I like laws. You too? As long as they don’t nab the wrong bloke and throw him in the slammer.” Listens. “OK. Here’s Dr Loxton.”

Baxter passes her the phone.

“Hello, Tim. Helena Loxton here. I’m a forensic scientist. The Detective Chief Inspector has asked me to review the DNA found at the scene of the burglary.” She listens. “We’ll take a new sample from the broken mug and see if there was an error in matching it with your DNA on file.” Listens. “If we don’t find an error? That’s a good question. How else could your DNA get on that broken cup?”

Baxter butts in. “Excuse me Dr Loxton but did the police check that the mug with the saliva belonged in the house that was trashed? Could the collected pieces have been mixed up and contaminated?”

Helena stares at him for a moment as if she’s trying to remember. “That’s a good idea, Baxter. We’ll ask the family to come in and identify any pieces that they don’t think belonged to them. If they can remember. It was two years ago.”

“And the knife Paul was holding,” Baxter says, “needs to be checked for … traces of blood.” He’s remembering my father’s comment about Paul’s stained glove.

“That’s routine,” says the senior detective. “Let us do our job.”

Helena hands the phone to the negotiator and Ben is suddenly beside us. He guides Baxter, Raider and me back towards my car. We watch from a distance as both Tim and Paul emerge, each flanked by two uniformed officers. Paul screams out, “Call my grandfather! You know who he is!” He goes into an ambulance and Tim goes into a waiting paddy wagon.

Then the negotiator is striding towards us.

“Great cut-through, Baxter,” he says. “Rapport. Active listening. Reframing and getting agreement. Have you trained in hostage negotiations?”

“No. While I was waiting I read the five steps the FBI use.” He waves his phone.

The negotiator chuckles at his level of training. “You’re a natural. Let me know if you’d like to get work in this field.” He passes Baxter his card. “Neurodiverse people are over-represented in these situations. They’re usually frightened and everyone gets confused.”

Baxter can’t stop grinning. “Thank you. I’ll send you my professional profile tomorrow.”

In the car, Baxter says, “Porkie-Paul called out for his grandpa just now. Like calling for your Mummy if you fall over.”

“I wonder who his grandfather is. A lawyer?”

I haven’t heard of a lawyer named Pigford in my research. But Tremayne Templeton comes to mind. Now that would be interesting.

I’m exhausted but hyper. After dropping Baxter home, I call into Punt Lane to update Rupert on developments. Raider goes straight to his armchair as if he needs grounding too.

I tell Rupert about the siege and he’s not surprised that Baxter is a star negotiator.

“I doubt Tim expected the knife,” he says. “Lucky he knew how to disarm his hostage. Learnt a few tricks inside.”

“Baxter said it looked like a short sword and I wonder if it was one of Ambrose’s antiques. Valuable.”

“Paul might have been nicking it today when Tim grabbed him.”

“They’re still going to test it for blood.”

Rupert’s shocked to hear about Ben and Electra.

“It sounds like Ben should have absented himself from all these crimes involving the Loxtons. It’s five years ago but you don’t get over something like that. Ever.”

“His superiors may not know,” I say. “They weren’t officially engaged. And Ben’s probably using his insider knowledge to make an impression with his new team.”

“At what personal cost? He’s not a machine. And it might explain why he finds you so challenging lately.”

“Except I’ve always looked like Electra and he’s known me for two years.”

“Her father’s murder might have triggered emotions he hasn’t dealt with.”

I tell him about my trip to London tomorrow morning and he offers to drive me to the station.

The train journey starts at 9.30am. When I’m seated, the sudden rush of relief to be getting away from Serpentine Crescent and its dramas relaxes me. I take out my laptop and get down some words.

I’m meeting Calista Faulks for coffee at All About the Bean in Covent Garden, then Tremayne Templeton for lunch at the Punch Pub in Whitehall. He suggested an after-work time-slot but I said it was lunch or nothing.

The walk from the old brick art nouveau building at Covent Garden station takes me along wide footpaths lined with elegant shops and cafes with outdoor tables even in October. After a couple of quick detours down cobbled pedestrian side alleys, I wish I’d planned to stay longer so I could explore.

The facade of All About the Bean is painted matte black, with a row of arched windows perched on mullioned windows underneath. Calista and I have both reviewed our online mugshots. As I enter and spot her seated at a table along the back wall, she waves to me at the same time.

“Thank you for making the trip,” she says as I sit down.

“It’s good to check out the big smoke occasionally. Is the coffee good here?”

“The best. I wouldn’t take you anywhere else.” She signals to a waitress.

“Really? My nuisance value obviously needs a serious reboot.”

She laughs. “I’ve bought your first book. I can see why it’s witty. And Piper’s my new favourite heroine.”

“Thanks.”

This love-fest isn’t what I expected. Time for me to shut up and find out why we’re here.

“If you hadn’t bothered me, Tiggy,” Calista says. “I’d never have found out. And I’m not sure what would have happened if I’d stayed ignorant.”

“I’m in the dark too.”

“You got me thinking back to when I finished school. It was about the time Dad confessed to murdering Alex Loxton. My local high school had zero status and I walked away with O levels that would have had me pulling beers forever. Then Dad surprised me. He said he’d applied for a scholarship for me at the Powderhill Art and Design School. A whole four-year degree all paid for. Way more prestige than I’d ever aspired to. I was smart, though. I knew a gift-horse when I saw one and I wasn’t about to check its teeth.”

“You’ve turned it into a successful career in advertising.”

“As long as it doesn’t come out who really paid for it.”

Our coffees arrive. I take a sip and wait.

“The scholarship was a lie,” Calista says. “I checked with Powderhill. Someone paid for the whole degree up front, in cash. Eighty thousand pounds.”

I feel sick.

“I’ve been in touch with the one person I still remember who knew Dad. His barrister.”

“What did he say?” I ask.

“He invited me for a cocktail. I’d already checked the dates after you called me and I told Tremayne I’d worked it out and rung the college. He didn’t try to bluff. He just confirmed it. It’s why Dad pleaded guilty to Alex Loxton’s murder.”

“Milton Faulks took a bribe.”

“He was going down for other murders so he knew he was going to die in jail. After I lost my mum, Dad had never given me anything but grief. They wanted something from him and he wanted something too. To do one last thing for me, something that would make people forget my name is Faulks. He told Tremayne he’d do it but only after he had proof that my whole degree was paid for.”

I reach my hand across the table and squeeze hers. We’re both crying.

“Thank you, Tiggy. I didn’t ever want to know this and it feels important that I do. But what happened to little Alex Loxton? They covered something up and I benefitted from it. I feel responsible. Did the real murderer go free? Or did he die another way that had to be hidden?”

I remember Lou-Lou’s photo of the paved courtyard of Number 24 and the abandoned werewolf mask. Was it Perry Windermere who said Helena’s lived with the guilt of taking her eyes off him for a few minutes? But if Milton Faulks didn’t abduct him, does she feel guilty for another reason?

“Tremayne wouldn’t tell you?” I ask.

“He said those who don’t know aren’t complicit and can’t tell.”

“I’m having lunch with him today. I haven’t met him before.”

“He won’t tell you anything.” She notices her coffee and takes a sip. “He’s looks younger but he’s about sixty. He tried it on with me back when I first met him, but now I’m over forty he’s quite respectful. And charming. He’ll put the hard word on you, though.”