Web of Lies, Sally Rigby [list of e readers .TXT] 📗

The cleaner dusts every week, but other than that it’s as it was when he left home that day. Do you want to check? His room’s up the stairs and off to the left. It’s the second door on the right.’

Seb went upstairs and found the room. He pushed open the door. Anyone who didn’t know would believe that someone still slept in there. On top of the large antique chest of drawers was a black plastic bag. He opened it and the smell of dried blood and dirt wafted out. He felt inside, but it wasn’t there.

He returned to the kitchen, where Sarah was still seated. ‘I couldn’t find it. Let me know if it turns up. You need to dispose of the bag and its contents as it didn’t smell good. But not until I’ve completed my investigation in case, we need it for evidence if something untoward did happen to Donald.’

‘You mean … murder.’ She looked at him. ‘Of course you do. If it isn’t suicide, then what else could it be.’

‘Let’s take it one step at a time. There’s no point in second-guessing what I’m going to discover.’

‘You’re right. I’ll see you out.’

She went with him to his car, and he gave her a kiss on the cheek before leaving.

First thing in the morning, he’d contact the police and ask to see their report. He’d also like to view the coroner’s report if they could access it for him.

How would they take him wanting to investigate a case they’d already closed?

They could complain, but that wouldn’t stop him. He had questions and he wouldn’t rest until they were answered.

Chapter 7

6 May

Seb glanced up at the kitchen clock on the far wall. It was eight-thirty and time to contact the police. They had every right to refuse his request, although they might acquiesce and let him see it on the QT with him being an ex-officer. Unfortunately, he had no connections with the Market Harborough force and didn’t know the size of their CID. It was bound to be small, but that shouldn’t make a difference to their ability to assist him.

He googled the number and called it.

‘Good morning, Market Harborough police, how may I help you?’ a male voice answered. He had to be careful how he worded his response as the front desk acted as a gatekeeper. He wanted to keep quiet that he was investigating the case. In a small town like this, if it did turn out that the death was suspicious, he didn’t want to alert anyone unnecessarily.

‘I’d like to speak to someone in CID, please.’

‘May I ask what it’s about?’

‘An existing police matter. My name’s Sebastian Clifford.’

He doubted very much that they’d know him from working at the Met.

‘One moment, please, and I’ll put you through.’

‘DC Bird,’ the female officer answered. She sounded young. And bored.

‘Good morning, my name is Sebastian Clifford. I’d like to speak to you about the Donald Witherspoon case.’

‘There is no case,’ she answered, her tone flat and dismissive. ‘It was recorded as a suicide by the coroner.’

‘I’d like to view the police report, if I may.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m related to his wife, and she’s asked me to look into it.’

‘Why?’ the officer repeated.

This was going to be more difficult than he’d assumed. He’d have to tell the officer more than he’d originally intended.

‘Mrs Witherspoon believes that her husband’s death wasn’t suicide.’

‘Both the police and coroner’s reports would disagree, so what makes Mrs Witherspoon think she knows better?’ she responded sarcastically.

He could sense the rolling of her eyes. Didn’t they provide interpersonal skills training in Market Harborough? If she’d been one of his officers, she’d have been reprimanded for her manner.

‘Nevertheless, I would still like to read the police report,’ he cajoled, already having the measure of the officer. One word out of place and she’d most likely end the call.

‘So you can tell us how we got it all wrong?’

Clifford stifled a laugh at the continuing belligerence in DC Bird’s voice.

‘I also wondered if you could contact the coroner’s office for a copy of their report as you won’t have it on file as there was no prosecution involved?’ He chose not to respond to her comment.

‘You seem to know a lot, are you a lawyer?’

‘No, I’m a former officer.’

‘That explains it.’ Her tone softened a tad. ‘Where did you serve and what rank were you?’

‘I was a detective inspector at the Met in London.’

Silence hung in the air.

How was she going to deal with his reveal? Provincial forces often had a stereotypical view of officers from the Met, believing them to be full of their own self-importance. Some officers, maybe. But in the main it was untrue.

‘What? So now you’re here with your big city experience to tell us we messed it all up and us country bumpkins don’t know what we’re doing?’

‘Not at all. My cousin has asked me to look into the case while I’m here. I’d like to see the police report if there’s any chance that you could do that for me, please?’

‘What evidence does your cousin have for believing his death might not be suicide, bearing in mind both CID and the coroner’s office have investigated?’

Should he tell her? If it meant she’d let him see the police report, then he had no choice. He could threaten to speak to her DS, but he got the impression that it would have no impact. If anything, it might work against him.

‘If you could please keep this to yourself. My cousin doesn’t believe he would commit suicide and leave her and their children in such a dire financial situation.’

‘Despite what he did to all those people? That’s rich.’ He winced at her facetious tone.

‘There’s also the fact that he didn’t own a gun like the one he supposedly shot himself with.’

He waited for her next comment …

‘He left a note.’

She was only answering in the same way he had when Sarah had first approached him.

‘Which also had some anomalies.’

Was she going to ask