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

fairly deserted, apart from two teenage girls, and a man in dark clothing on one side of the road. Was he one of the attackers? She peered closely at her screen but couldn’t make out his face. She then noticed that on the other side of the road there was a second man, also keeping his head down.

They both walked quickly and kept a set distance behind Seb. When he turned into The Square, one of the men crossed the road and joined the other. They followed Seb onto Church Street, and that’s where the footage stopped, because there were no more cameras. Damn.

It had to be them. There was no one else around, and Seb had said he thought he was being followed for a while.

She reran the footage to see if the weapon could be spotted. But they were both wearing hoodies. ‘Easy to hide a baseball bat in there,’ she muttered to herself.

‘What are you doing here?’ She started at the sound of Sergeant Weston’s voice. How long had he been standing there? ‘What are you looking at?’

‘There was an attack in town last night, which I’d like to deal with. With your permission, Sarge. It’s a bit complicated.’

‘I’d expect nothing less,’ he said, arching an eyebrow.

The door opened and Twiggy and DC Gemma Litton, aka Sparkle, walked in. ‘Can I talk to you in private?’ she asked quietly, nodding at the other officers, so he would realise she didn’t want them to hear.

‘Come with me.’

She followed him through to his office, sitting on one of the chairs in front of his desk while he sat behind it. The room was a mess. Folders piled high on every surface. Old police magazines in the corner on the floor. Several jackets were hanging on a peg on the back of the door. But no one would dare say anything. Crossing Sergeant Weston wasn’t advisable, as she’d found out to her cost on more than one occasion.

She cleared her throat. ‘Before I start, you’re not going to be happy with what I’ve done, but—’

‘What is with you? How hard is it to keep your nose clean? How many times have—’

‘Let me explain,’ she interrupted. ‘I’ll start at the beginning and it will make more sense. Do you remember the suicide of Donald Witherspoon?’

He frowned. ‘Yes, of course. Why?’

‘His wife didn’t believe the verdict and so she asked her cousin, Sebastian Clifford, who’s a former detective with the Met, if he’d look into it.’ She paused a moment, bracing herself. ‘I’ve been helping.’

‘Helping? How do you know him?’ He locked eyes with her, and she squirmed in her chair. She was convinced that he’d spent years perfecting that look.

She rubbed her hands down her trouser legs. ‘I don’t know him, exactly. Well, I do now. But we got to know each other after he phoned CID asking to see the police report, and I was the one to answer the call.’

‘Of course, you said no because you’re a stickler for rules and regulations.’

‘Not exactly. I talked to him to find out what he was doing, and why he wanted the report, and he seemed to have a genuine case. And, you know, he’s ex-job, and I was so fed up being stuck behind a desk doing nothing that—’

‘Whose fault was that?’

‘I know. Mine.’ She waved her hand dismissively. ‘Anyway, I told him that I’d get the police and coroner’s reports if he let me assist in his investigation. I did it in my own time, though. I didn’t do anything while at work.’

A slight distortion of the truth, but she wasn’t going to admit that. It was bad enough that Sarge now knew she’d helped Seb.

‘That makes it right does it?’ He leant forward on his desk and she, involuntarily, backed away.

‘No, Sarge.’

‘During this investigation into Witherspoon’s suicide, did you find anything other than what we already knew?’

‘Seb … I mean Clifford, was given access to Donald Witherspoon’s computer and files. After he’d examined them, he isolated several people to interview, including friends and family, who had invested money. And, by the way, he has this weird memory thing where he can recall everything that has ever happened to him.’

‘Like a photographic memory?’

‘No. It’s something else. He doesn’t like to talk about it much. But it’s bloody useful. Anyway, we met last night and decided that although Witherspoon was dodgy financially, which we all know, there was nothing that pointed to a suspicious death, and that it was most likely suicide.’

‘That the police and coroner were correct, you mean.’

‘Yes. But as Clifford was walking home last night, he was attacked by two men and badly beaten. He’s now in hospital with concussion. I think it’s related to our investigation.’

‘You just said that you’d both decided the death was suicide.’

‘So why was he attacked, then?’

‘Was anything taken?’

‘His wallet.’

‘Which makes it a vicious mugging.’

‘Clifford thinks they didn’t take his wallet until the end, you know, as an afterthought.’

‘How can he be sure of that, the state he’s in? Look, Birdie, I know you’re anxious to get back outside. I accept that. And I will let you out there. I think you’ve learnt your lesson and I’ve noticed you’ve come in early a few times, even if it was to work on this.’

She held up her hands in protest. She didn’t want to get in more trouble. ‘It wasn’t—’

‘We’ll park that for one moment,’ he interrupted. ‘You’re a good copper, no question about it, but this could have been kids on drugs. There have been some serious attacks recently, not dissimilar to this one. These attackers could have got carried away before taking his wallet.’

‘On the CCTV footage, there were two men walking separately and then joining up as Clifford walked into Church Street where there are no cameras.’

‘It could be coincidental?’ His tone wavered. Did he now believe her?

‘Maybe, but it still needs considering. Please may I be the one to investigate the attack? I already know the background on the case