A Price to Pay

Chapter 6

From the outside, the White Stag looked like a typical country pub. Within walking distance of the Cullens’ farm and several local houses, the small front car park was nevertheless full, although it was too early for the two-for-one offer on pub grub. The chilly November air meant that the weathered picnic benches were unoccupied, save for one middle-aged man puffing on a pipe whilst he read the newspaper and supped a pint of bitter.

Jorge Martinez parked his Audi TT in one of the few spaces left in the overspill car park to the rear, locked the doors, and followed Moray Ruskin into the crowded bar.

Despite the relatively early hour, there was little space. Immediately inside the doorway, a group of men stood in a loose circle, staring into their pints.

‘Speak of the devil,’ muttered one of them, scowling at the new arrivals. Clearly, news of Stevie Cullen’s death had made it to his local.

‘Ignore him,’ said the woman serving behind the bar.

As always, Ruskin was surprised at how he was immediately identified as a police officer. He supposed he shouldn’t be; he and Martinez were the only people in the bar not dressed in work clothes. Several of the men wore mud-stained jackets and boots. A black and white Border collie looked over, yawned then rested its head back on its paws.

‘I guess you’re here about Stevie,’ she continued. It wasn’t a question.

‘That’s right, Ms …’ confirmed Martinez, introducing himself and Ruskin.

‘Gweneth Rain. I’m the landlady.’

‘I understand that Mr Cullen was a regular drinker here,’ continued Martinez.

‘When he wasn’t barred,’ called out the same man who’d spoken as they entered. The smattering of chuckles were muted and half-hearted.

‘That happen very often?’ asked Martinez.

‘No, not really,’ she replied, glaring at the man who’d called out. ‘He could be a little argumentative after a few, and I told him not to show his face for a week a couple of times.’

‘Did he have run-ins with anyone in particular?’ asked Ruskin.

‘He’d argue with anyone and everyone, but nobody for a while,’ she said. Ruskin couldn’t decide if she was being evasive or not.

‘Hell of a bloody shock,’ she said. ‘They say he was stabbed in some massage parlour. Any idea who did it?’

‘Investigations are ongoing,’ said Martinez. ‘We wondered if any of his friends or other customers could suggest why he was killed?’

‘Probably some pissed-off husband or boyfriend,’ interjected the man again.

Turning to him, Ruskin could see that it was obvious that the nearly empty pint of lager in the man’s hand wasn’t his first of the day.

‘Why do you say that, Mr …?’

‘Benny.’ The man shrugged. ‘Common knowledge. Stevie was a complete fanny rat; ’scuse my French, Gwen.’

‘Is there anyone in particular who may have been upset with him?’ asked Martinez.

Benny looked at him blearily. ‘Take your pick; any new bit of skirt came in and he’d be after her like a rat up a drainpipe. More than a couple of blokes have told him to piss off and leave their missus alone.’ His voice cracked. ‘Stevie reckoned it was a just a bit of fun …’

Elbowing past Martinez, he placed his pint glass on the bar with the exaggerated care of the habitual drunk.

‘I’m going for a fag.’ He turned and headed towards the door.

‘Don’t pay too much mind to Benny.’ Rain lowered her voice slightly. ‘He and Stevie have been best mates since primary school. He’s pretty cut up about it.’

‘If you could give us his full name, we’d be grateful,’ said Martinez. ‘I’d like to talk with him again when he’s in a fitter state.’

‘You’ll be waiting for a long while,’ she warned, as she wrote his name down in Martinez’s notebook. Ruskin didn’t doubt it; even if he and Stevie had been in different years at school, Benny looked a lot older than he should. Ruskin suspected that the lunchtime drinking wasn’t just because his friend had died.

‘Does anybody else have any ideas about why Stevie was killed?’ asked Martinez.

With Benny gone, nobody else seemed willing to contribute.

Martinez fished out a stack of business cards and handed them around to the group; everyone took one, although judging by the lack of eye contact, Ruskin suspected they’d end up in the bin after they left.

‘I appreciate that this has all been a big shock to you,’ he said, raising his voice slightly, ‘but if any of you have any information – no matter how insignificant it seems – please don’t hesitate to call. We want to bring Stevie’s killer to justice, and we need all of the help you can give us.’

Still none of the men made eye contact, but at least a few of the cards made it into trouser pockets.

Thanking the landlady for her time and securing a promise that she’d also call if she heard anything, the two police officers headed outside. Neither Benny nor the pipe smoker were anywhere to be seen, and there was no trace of tobacco smoke in the still air. Ruskin hoped Benny hadn’t driven himself home.

‘That was a waste of time,’ said Ruskin, as they headed back to the car park at the rear of the pub.

‘Maybe not,’ said Martinez. ‘It confirms what his dad told the boss last night. It could just be a jealous spouse.’

‘Seems a bit extreme, and yesterday was hardly a crime of passion,’ countered Ruskin.

Martinez shrugged. ‘I’ve seen worse done for less,’ he said opening the car door.

He paused. ‘Hold on.’

A black wooden door marked ‘staff only’ had opened. A flash of blue hair was visible above the pale white face of the teenaged girl who’d been collecting glasses as they’d spoken to Gweneth Rain.

The girl looked nervously around, before glancing one more time over her shoulder and coming out. Ruskin strolled back across the car park.

She swallowed, before clearing her throat, and introducing herself as ‘Selina’.

‘I saw Stevie arguing with someone a few weeks ago.’ Her voice was timid, and she stared at her feet.

‘Can you be any more specific?’ asked Ruskin quietly.

She looked around again. ‘It was a weekday lunchtime. I don’t know the name of the man, but he comes in here quite often for a bite to eat. He runs one of the local farms.’

Even without a name, that narrowed the pool of suspects.

‘Do you know what they were arguing about?’

She shrugged. ‘I only heard some of it, but the farmer was unhappy with a bill that Stevie had charged him. He said something about not paying for work that had only been half-done. Stevie said that was bollocks and that everything had been finished.’

‘Any idea what the work was that Stevie was charging him for?’ Martinez had now joined the two of them.

‘I don’t know exactly, but he said something about the job taking twice as long as necessary and then he said, “Where was that bloody brother of yours?” and something like “I don’t have time to keep on chasing and nagging.” That’s all I can remember.’

Her piece now said, Martinez gave her one of his business cards, telling her to use his direct number or email address if she had anything else to share.

Back in the car, Ruskin mulled over what the girl had told them. ‘It could be a business disagreement,’ he suggested. ‘Do the Cullens organize labour for other farms?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Martinez, ‘but I’ll look into it.’

‘It’s also a bit premeditated, don’t you think?’ said Ruskin. ‘I can see them getting into a disagreement that gets out of hand, but tracking him down to a massage parlour weeks later … that doesn’t seem right.’

‘I’ll see if I can locate this farmer and have a word,’ said Martinez, ‘but I doubt he’s linked.’

Chapter 7

The interviews with Stevie Cullen’s immediate family took up most of the afternoon, so Warren called a late briefing to share the findings.

Rachel Pymm went first, having interviewed Saffron, the sister closest in age to Stevie.

‘She was absolutely broken,’ said Pymm. ‘She could be acting, but if she is, she deserves an Oscar.’ She took a sip of her drink – an evil-smelling brew that reminded Warren of the mess he’d cleared out of a leaking gutter the previous weekend – and flipped open her notepad.

‘She said that she was nine when Stevie was born and that she fell in love with him immediately. She used to pretend he was her own baby and would dress him up and carry him around with her wherever she went. She claims to have been in town delivering vegetables to a local grocery at the time of the murder and says that her husband was at the doctor’s with their youngest, at that time. We’ll check it out, of course, but I can’t see it being her.’

‘Could she shed any light on a possible motive?’ asked Warren.

‘No. To hear her speak of him, he was universally loved by everyone he met. A bit of a rogue, but nothing too serious. I’ll be honest, I can’t work out if she really did see him that way, or if she’s hiding something.’

‘OK, we’ll interview her again in the future and see if she’s changed her tune,’ said Warren. ‘Hutch, how did your interview go?’

‘Not much better. Paddy was less effusive in his love for his brother, but he just shrugged when I asked him about a motive. He was shifty, but with his past record that could just be because he was in a police station. Given the lack of detail from the two masseuses about the appearance of the attacker, we can’t rule him out, but it’ll never stand up in court.’

‘What about an alibi?’

‘None. He claims to have been working with his dad all day, cleaning the pigs pens out and doing chores around the farm. He just laughed when I asked about any CCTV footage or other witnesses.’

‘Not too surprising,’ said Warren. ‘Unfortunately, given what we know about the family dynamics, I can’t see his old man admitting it, even if he did disappear during the day. He’s never going to rat him out.’

‘There was one interesting thing, which may or may not be important.’

‘Go on.’

‘When I asked him if anyone had threatened his brother, he shrugged then said, “Just the odd jealous husband.” He made like it was a joke, and wouldn’t elaborate, but I think there may have been something in what he said.’

‘That agrees with what Moray and Jorge heard from the staff and customers at the White Stag. It’s certainly something we should check out,’ said Warren. ‘If Stevie was in the habit of hitting on other men’s partners, that might be a motive. People have certainly killed for less, although it seems a bit of an elaborate method.’

‘It also fits in with what the eldest sister, Lavender, told me,’ said Richardson. ‘Lavender said that Stevie was a real charmer. She said that he’d been doing it since he could talk. She claims that as the youngest, he was rather spoilt and that “as far as Mum and Saffy were concerned, he couldn’t do any wrong”. I tell you, there’s a lot of pent-up resentment there. Once she started talking, I didn’t think she was going to stop. I felt more like a counsellor than a police officer. She was obviously very jealous of the attention Stevie got.’

‘How old was she when he came along? Sixteen, seventeen?’ asked Rachel.

‘About that,’ said Richardson.

‘My cousin was about that old when her little brother was born,’ said Pymm. ‘She was a full-on teenager at the time. She used to claim that the baby crying all night was why she did so badly in her exams. It had nothing to do with the fact that she spent every evening hanging around the local park drinking cheap cider when she should have been revising.’

‘That’s a long time to hold a grudge,’ said Hutchinson.

‘Not for a teenage girl,’ said Richardson, ‘but to be fair, she still seemed really cut up about his death. My gut tells me she wasn’t responsible.’

‘What did she say when you asked her about motive?’ asked Warren.

‘Not a lot, she sort of clammed up. Again, I can’t tell if she really has no idea why someone would kill him, or if that’s just how she is around the police.’

‘She doesn’t have a record,’ pointed out Hutchinson.

‘No, but given the track history of the rest of her family, it’s hardly surprising that she is uncomfortable cooperating with us.’

‘What about an alibi?’

‘She claims to have been working at home and looking after her two kids. She runs a small business and says that she was on her work phone all day, a landline. I’m going to put in a request for the phone records. She lives miles away, so we can probably rule her out if she was at her desk making a call around that time.’

‘What about her husband?’ asked Hutchinson.

‘Doing a shift in their local Sainsbury’s – he’s a manager. I’ll send someone over to check that out; he’d need to have been absent for a lengthy period of time to get to the massage parlour, commit the murder and then come back.’

‘What about Paddy’s twin, Frankie?’ asked Hutchinson.

‘I didn’t get anything out of him,’ admitted Warren, ‘unless he too is a skilled actor, he’s got serious learning difficulties. He came with his mum, Rosie, but he was absolutely terrified. Every time I asked a question, he looked at his mum and started to cry. I wonder if he even really understands what’s happened. Besides, he’s absolutely huge; if he wasn’t Paddy’s twin brother you wouldn’t think they were even related. There’s no way he could fit the description of the hooded attacker that the sisters gave us. Come to think of it, I doubt he could have even climbed through that window.’

‘That matches what Lavender told me,’ said Richardson. ‘I think another reason she resented Stevie when they were younger was because she was already playing second fiddle to Frankie. She said her dad spent all of his time looking after Frankie. He still works with him all day now. I think that may have been why she left the farm to set up her own business.’

‘Speaking of business,’ interjected Warren, ‘DCI Bergen and Moray and Jorge suggested that Stevie might have interests outside of his parents’ farm. Could anyone shed any light on that?’

‘I asked,’ said Pymm, ‘but Saffron said that he was just a farmhand, working with his dad and his twin brothers.’

‘Same here,’ said Hutchinson.

‘Lavender said the same thing,’ said Richardson.

‘Which sounds suspiciously like they are all toeing the party line on this,’ said Warren. ‘I want to know more about why he spends so much time travelling to other farms. Hutch, can you organize some bodies to interview the local farmers in the area, and see if they can shed any light on what he was up to? See if any of them are known to Organized Crime. DCI Bergen promised us full cooperation; let’s test that, shall we?’

‘Will do.’

‘What a family,’ said Warren. ‘The youngest brother has just been brutally murdered. Either they know who did it, and they’re covering for him, or they don’t want to help the police as a point of principle.’

He looked at his notes. ‘Right, well we’ll see if they become more cooperative as time goes on. We also still don’t have a definite motive. I want to know more about his business dealings and I also think it’s interesting that his brother Paddy suggested that he might be a bit of a ladies’ man, which chimes with what was said down the pub. His father mentioned last night that he might have been seeing someone. His mother seemed surprised, since she thought that woman was already engaged. I think a visit to this lady friend might be in order.’

According to Seamus Cullen, his son had been seeing Vicki Barclay, a relationship that his mother was apparently unaware of, and which she probably would not have approved of. That alone made Warren want to speak to her. Add to that the fact that she was supposedly engaged to somebody else, and there was already a potential motive that needed exploring.

Barclay had clearly been expecting a visit, answering the door to Warren and the family liaison officer within seconds of the first ring of the doorbell. Unfortunately, the make-up that she had clearly spent significant amounts of time applying was unable to entirely conceal the swelling on the side of her face, in the same way that the baggy cardigan she wore was unable to conceal the swelling of her belly.

Vicki Barclay came from Kent; her accent alone enough to mark her out as ‘posh’ in the eyes of Rosie Cullen. Up close, she looked even younger than her nineteen years.

Warren pointed to her face. ‘What happened?’

‘I slipped in the shower.’

The tone was defiant, but again her eyes filled with tears. She pulled a shredded tissue from her cardigan sleeve.

‘Do you know why we are here?’ asked Warren gently as the family liaison officer offered her a fresh one.

She nodded. ‘It’s about Stevie. Somebody killed him.’ She sniffed loudly. ‘I expect you’re visiting all of his friends.’

‘We are,’ confirmed Warren, ‘but you were more than just a friend, weren’t you?’

She opened her mouth, as if she was about to deny it, before closing it again. ‘How did you know?’

‘Things that people have mentioned.’

‘Oh, God …’

Warren chose his next words carefully. ‘I also hear that you are engaged to be married.’

She looked down at the large shiny ring on her left ring finger, as if surprised that it was still there. ‘Yeah.’

‘Vicki, who did this to you?’ He pointed to the bruising on the side of her face.

‘I told you, I hit my head on a cupboard.’

‘No. You said you slipped and fell in the shower.’

She paused. ‘I hit my head on the bathroom cupboard when I slipped in the shower.’

Warren said nothing, waiting as the tears started to gather again. He felt bad about pushing her, particularly given how heavily pregnant she was, but he knew that there was information she was holding back. Information that might be crucial to the investigation.

‘We both know that isn’t true, Vicki. Tell me what really happened.’

The pause this time was longer. ‘Anton and I had a row. It was my fault really, I shouldn’t have said what I said.’ She looked away. ‘He’s not a violent man. Not really. He’s never hit me before …’

‘What was the row about?’ Warren asked softly.

She shook her head. ‘It was silly really. I can’t even remember.’

‘When did the argument take place?’

‘Sunday night.’

Warren took a deep breath. ‘Vicki, is the baby Stevie’s?’

She let out a small gasp. ‘No!’

Warren waited.

‘No. It can’t be, we were careful.’ She looked down at her hands, her voice becoming a mumble. ‘The midwife must have got the dates wrong, that’s all.’

‘Vicki, look at me,’ instructed Warren, his voice kind but firm. ‘Please tell me what happened. Somebody killed Stevie and it was really brutal. He deserves justice. To get him that justice, I need to know everything about him. Even if you don’t think it’s relevant or important.’

She gave a tiny nod but said nothing.

‘Let’s start with Sunday night. What started the fight?’

She sniffed. ‘We were looking at the scans.’ She smiled. ‘We were trying to choose a name that fit the picture.’

‘Who’s we?’

‘Me and Anton of course.’

‘Sorry, carry on.’

Her face fell again. ‘The picture from the scan had the dates on. They calculate it from when you had your last period, but everyone knows it’s not accurate.’ She paused. ‘On the date it said I conceived, Anton was visiting his mum in hospital. He was away all week. But we had sex the night he came back, so you see it could be his …’

‘But Anton didn’t believe that.’

She shook her head sadly.

‘Did Stevie know about the baby?’

She nodded.

‘And what was his response?’

She bit her lip.

‘Vicki?’ Warren prompted.

‘He said I should pretend that it was Anton’s, and that we should still get married.’

‘But why?’

She looked away, suddenly becoming fascinated with her fingernails. ‘He said that once we’d been married for a few months, we could get a divorce. Then Anton would have to pay me child support.’

Warren could barely believe his ears. ‘But surely a DNA test would show if the child isn’t his?’

‘We didn’t think he’d ask for one. Besides, Stevie and Anton look alike They have the same-coloured hair and the same-coloured eyes … The baby would look just like him.’

Her tone was defensive, but he could see that she knew in her heart, that the plan had been crazy.