Death's Privilege (30 page)

Sarah opened the case file. ‘That’s a heartbreaking story. But that’s all it is, isn’t it? Just a story.’ She took out the business details for The Candy Club and pointed to the registered owner: Mr Richard White. ‘Who is that?’

Leilani stayed silent.

‘Well, it’s not your sister, is it? At The Candy Club, they call you boss for a reason, don’t they? It’s time the stories stopped.’

‘Oh, please. She manages it. I’ve no idea who owns it.’ Leilani was floundering.

‘Moretti gave me your real name, Taryn. Taryn White. You’ve never been poor a day in your life.’

‘Well, Sally-Anne has told you a pack of lies then, hasn’t she?’

‘You’re trying to tell me you’re the only honest one in the bunch? That’s something I find hard to believe.’

‘You can believe what you want, I’m not saying anything else.’

‘This has all gone too far, hasn’t it?’ Sarah knew she had her beat. Leilani had spent her life making up lie after lie, being allowed to get away with it simply because nobody had asked her enough questions.

‘You sound like my dad.’

‘And how does he sound?’

‘Like a patronising arse. Look, I don’t want to talk anymore. You’ve got enough to do what you need to do. You think you’ve got it all worked out. I’m not saying anything else.’ Leilani looked exhausted.

‘Why me?’ Sarah needed to know. The investigation wasn’t over. Leilani would be interviewed again, but given her performance in this one, Sarah was sure she wouldn’t be the one to conduct it. There was far more work to do prior to any trial, but this was the last time she’d be face to face with Leilani Hayes, or whoever the woman in front of her was, if she even knew herself.

‘Why you?’

‘Why make the false report? Why taunt me with the bank details?’

‘Don’t take this as me caring about your emotional wellbeing, but as I have a favour to ask you, I’ll give you the chance to forget you asked that question.’ Leilani smirked.

‘I’ll pass.’

‘Okay. It’s your funeral. He was on the site. Fair game in his ridiculous Mexican hat. We met. He went to the bathroom, I looked at his wallet and saw you. The picture of you in your uniform with your girls. Then you walked into the Oxlaine. Fate, I guess. I needed something on him and there you were. Sorry if you thought you were anything special. The idiot thought I was going to invest in his company. His dream come true was nothing more than my way of getting to him. Expose his infidelity to you, yours to him, and take him for all he was worth. He didn’t budge. You can be proud of the fact he didn’t give me a penny. The others caved. That’s about all you can be proud of him for, by the way.’

‘And the bruises?’ Despite their previous encounters, Sarah had a feeling this was the first actual conversation she’d ever really had with her.

‘The bruises? They were all for show. He doesn’t have it in him to hurt anyone.’

‘Why?’ It was the shortest question, but the hardest to ask. Sarah felt herself welling up, a lump growing in her throat as images of Leilani Hayes and her husband on a hotel bed flashed in her head. Hoping Leilani wouldn’t notice was pointless. They were both adept at noticing the slightest emotional tick. One used it to harm; the other to heal. ‘Why do all of this?’

Leilani laughed. ‘No one ever told you ignorance is bliss?’

Sarah felt Leilani wanted her to ask again, and again and again until she satisfied her lust for misery. She wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. Leilani had ruined lives and taken others. She’d tried to murder Sarah’s husband and take her family away, but she wasn’t going to make her beg.

‘Fine. Be stubborn.’ Leilani pouted in disappointment. Sarah got the impression her admissions were more for her own benefit than anything else. A cleansing before the cell door slammed and she took on her next role—an inmate at Hallswell Prison.

The detailed questions would have to be asked, but Sarah had all she needed for now. She was exhausted. The basic account was completed, albeit in an unusual fashion. She’d played on Leilani’s desire to trigger an emotional reaction and now she knew why it worked so well. People’s reactions to Leilani, be they jealously, anger or lust, told her she was needed. Feedback from the world that she mattered, in whatever form it came.

‘We’ll take a break for now. There will be more questions though and it may not be me asking them.’

‘I know you don’t owe me anything, but I have something to ask you.’ Leilani looked humbled.

‘Go on.’

‘When I go, you will look after Poppy, won’t you?’ Leilani’s face fell and, although Sarah could no longer tell whether anything thing woman said or did was genuine, she looked upset and a little nervous.

‘She’ll be well looked after.’

‘Thanks, I mean it. In return, I’ll offer you some advice.’

Sarah was tired of talking to Leilani. She wanted to close the interview and get back upstairs to unleash an expletive-packed, stress-relieving rant at Joel, Dales or whoever would listen. She looked at Leilani and waited for whatever life-changing suggestion she had to offer.

‘Save those tears, Detective. Save those tears.’

Twenty-Eight

Leilani Hayes was charged with the murder of Sheila Hargreaves, the murder of Scott Enderson, the attempted blackmail of Joel Johnson and causing a minor to engage in sexual activity. The Crown Prosecution Service deemed there to be insufficient evidence to support a charge of conspiracy to murder in the case of Valerie Goddard, Mark Gladstone and his colleagues. Without Moretti to give evidence, the threats to kill her weren’t pursued.

The prosecution painted her as an ungrateful child, who’d run away from the perfect home to live a life of crime and manipulation. Sarah had contacted her father. He wouldn’t provide a statement, understandably, but told her how his daughter had left home at eighteen. She’d been a troubled teen who always had something to argue about or a reason to scream, slam doors and storm off somewhere. She hadn’t said where she was going, and due to her age there was nothing the police could do, but they kept in touch for a few months at least. He pleaded with her to come back and all would be forgiven, but she refused. As a last resort, he looked for a way to secure her future, financially at least, and bought her The Candy Club. She still refused to see him. She still refused to tell him what he’d done wrong.

When her address was searched, officers found bottles of strychnine hidden in a compartment in the back of a kitchen cupboard. She hadn’t taken great lengths to hide it, something Sarah put down to arrogance. Sheila’s drugs were clean, well as clean as cocaine can ever be. Sarah, with Semples’ help, had frank, honest chats with the Oxlaine staff resulting in Margaret providing a statement to say that on the morning of Sheila’s arrival, Leilani Hayes, or rather Naomi as she knew her, had prepared the welcome package for Room 334. The wine bottle hadn’t been found, but the jury were able to put two and two together.

The search team found more than poison. Leilani’s computer was examined, and hidden in the depths of her junk mail were
Warcraft
emails addressed to Jaina Wilde and emails from True Connections suggesting various potential dates she thankfully never got the chance to follow up on. MCT trawled Enderson’s road and found an elderly neighbour who identified a woman matching Leilani’s description as visiting him on two occasions in the weeks preceding his death.

Leilani pleaded guilty to the blackmail of Joel Johnson and causing a minor to engage in sexual activity. For all she’d done, for all the lives she’d ruined, she couldn’t bear to face her sister in the box. Joel was relieved at not having to give evidence and Sarah was glad Poppy wouldn’t have to go through any more trauma than she already had. The footage of Joel was retrieved and destroyed. He was admonished by the Professional Standards Department for allowing himself to get in that position, and received his first, and final, written warning. One step away from dismissal.

When the time came for him to give his evidence, Eric Semples struggled to stand in the box. He struggled to keep his answers short and to the point, as the witness care officer had told him was best practice, and wandered off on tangents about Valerie’s life. The judge found his anecdotes endearing, as did members of the jury, but nudged him back on track when he veered too far from the questions.

Sarah felt Semples used his time in the box partly to give evidence and clear his friend’s name, and partly as a eulogy, giving the jury an insight into her life. She heard him talk about their trips to Africa and Europe, picnics in the sunshine and her love of dogs. All in complete contrast to the woman Sarah had met back at the Oxlaine. He spoke with clear disdain about her husband and with sheer vitriol about Leilani Hayes, calling her Naomi on occasion before being reminded of her agreed name by her defence counsel.

The jury deliberated for three days before convicting her. Leilani Hayes was sentenced to life imprisonment.

Twenty-Nine

‘A lot of people were opposed to this programme, mostly old fuddy-duddies like me.’ The DCI held two certificates in his ruddy, tanned hands. Sarah wore the grey business suit she saved for special occasions and the courtroom. Joel sat next to her looking exquisite in his blue pinstripe with yellow pocket-square. Of course, Joel Johnson would look exquisite in socks, sandals and a string vest. She blocked the image from her mind and tried to focus on what the DCI was saying. ‘Many would say three months and an exam does not a detective make, but in truth, being a DC is a little like driving. You take your test, get your licence and only then do you really start to learn. Don’t forget that. There are always new laws coming in, new policies to adhere to and, of course, inventive new ways for the criminal fraternity to ruin our day. The challenges you’ll face will be very different to those I had to. You’ll be working through the most dramatic changes in the history of the service.’

‘Sounds like you’re looking forward to retirement, Sir.’ Joel smiled. He spoke with the confidence of a colleague rather than a junior officer. Sarah had a deep-rooted reverence for rank, something that had been drummed in at school and, although subtle and sometimes ignored, remained firmly in place.

‘Very much so. It’ll be a sad day in many ways. The job’s been good to me over the years, but it’s a good time to go. I must say, in the nicest possible way, I don’t envy you.’ He laughed and stood up. ‘Well, let’s not keep the two of you here any longer. I’m sure there’s a bar somewhere you should be propping up this afternoon.’ They stood. Sarah straightened her blouse and couldn’t keep from grinning. ‘You should be very proud of your achievement. From what I’ve heard from your tutors, I have every confidence you’ll both be a successful part of our proud investigative tradition.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’ Sarah hadn’t got her hands on it yet, but was already wondering where she was going to hang the certificate.

‘Congratulations, DC Sarah Gladstone and DC Joel Johnson.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’ Sarah took the certificate. It was now official. The training wheels were off and there’d be no one looking over her shoulder. She shook his hand and looked at the certificate.
The lounge. Next to the photo of Dad.

‘Have you been told your postings yet?’

‘We’ve got an MCT attachment first of all. After that, we’re not sure,’ replied Sarah.

‘MCT will be a good experience, but Mavenswood...is a little sleepy. That poisoning case was about as exciting as it'll get for quite some time. Don't go expecting any serial killers or anything. Same team?’

‘Same team.’

‘Joining a new team can be intimidating, knowing each other going in will be an advantage. Teamwork is fundamental to everything we do. You’ll be working very closely together. Look after each other. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’ The DCI laughed. Sarah and Joel smiled awkwardly. She noticed a lighter rim of skin where the DCI’s wedding band once was.

They left the room and walked along the corridor to the front door. A painting to the right of the exit detailed the history of the police uniform, stretching back to 1829 with the top hats and tailcoats of the first ‘Peelers’.

‘Well, it’s official. We’re detectives. Feels strange, doesn’t it? We’re a part of that history.’ Joel pointed to the painting and opened the door. He stood to one side as Sarah led the way into the car park.

‘Let’s not get too carried away.’ She couldn’t help but feel a little proud, but wasn’t about to succumb to any illusions of grandeur. ‘Have you heard from Hayward?’

‘He called this morning to congratulate me. He’s been posted to the Intel department at Hallswell.’

‘Bet he’ll love that. I can’t imagine he’ll be volunteering for another round of tutoring. Imagine him tutoring Alison. Do you know if she passed the exam?’

‘Yep, she’ll be a TDC soon enough.’

‘Joy. Joel, listen. I want to clear the air. We’re going to be working together and I don’t want what happened to affect us.’

‘Yeah, sure. I’m sorry. I should never have let it get that far. Next time, I’ll be sure to tell you sooner when there’s a crazy stalker who wants to know your every move.’ His perfect teeth showed as he smiled and raised an eyebrow in a plea for forgiveness.

That smile’s gotten you out of so much trouble, but it’s definitely not going to work on...oh okay then.
‘I’m glad you find it all so funny, young man.’

‘The more you say it, the older you sound.’

‘And there won’t be a next time. Visiting The Candy Club is on my list of things never to do again. Like a reverse bucket list.’

‘Isn’t that called a fu—’

‘Language,’ said Sarah.

‘I’ll put fifty pence in the pot. Fancy a celebratory drink?’

‘Thanks, but I’ve made plans to see another man.’

Whatever remark prompted Joel’s smile stayed behind his lips. ‘In that case, see you back in the office. Joel stepped into his black VW Golf. ‘We’ve arrived. Our desk-sharing days are over.’ He waved as he pulled out and drove out of the car park.

Semples sat in the study. She’d held her secrets in this room. He hadn’t been allowed to enter when Valerie was alive and wouldn’t have dared to ask. Not out of fear, but from respect for her privacy and a desire not to add to her misery. None of the rooms were off limits now; she’d left them all to him. The house, the Oxlaine, all her worldly wealth. He couldn’t bear to live there, and had already made plans for what was to be done with it. It was an overwhelming gesture, but he’d melt it all down for one more moment by her side. He'd taken the ghastly photos down from the walls, and now all that remained of his love lay on the table in front of him. An unopened letter simply addressed to 'Eric.'