Page 96 of Worse Than Murder
‘What’s the date?’
‘August the eighth. Three days before Celia and Jennifer went missing.’
‘Why send it to you?’
I don’t say anything. I look at Gill. ‘Why didn’t you tell me Inspector Bell is your father?’
‘Ah.’
‘Are you embarrassed? Ashamed?’
‘Of course, not.’
‘Then why lie?’
‘I… I didn’t want him drawn into this. Not again.’
‘Into what?’
‘This!’ she exclaims. ‘This nightmare of the Pembertons. It almost killed my dad. He couldn’t solve it, and he had an entire village looking at him for answers.’
‘And the money placed into his bank account?’
‘He did not steal that money,’ she says, slowly.
‘Are you talking as a daughter or a police inspector?’
‘I know my dad. He’s not a thief.’
‘But someone made him into one, and I think I know why.’ I hold up the statement. ‘Someone clearly told your father to remove this statement from the records. They used the stolen money as a way to blackmail him into doing it. It didn’t work as the news about the money got out anyway, but by then it was too late for your father to do anything. If he spoke up about the statement, he would have looked guilty for removing it in the first place.’
Gill’s face bears an expression of sadness. She looks down. ‘My dad did not take that money,’ she says, though her words lack conviction now.
‘There are only three people who could have sent this statement to me. One: your father. He’s tired of having this hanging over his head and wants me to break the silence and expose the blackmailer who is very likely the killer of Celia and Jennifer. Two: Tania Pritchard. She’s held a torch for your father since before your mother died. He could have given the statement to her, and she could have sent it anonymously to me so that I’ll do the digging and the dirty work and have the population of High Chapel hate me when I expose a beloved member of this community as a killer. But I don’t think it was either of them.’
‘No?’
‘No. I think it was you.’
Gill looks at me. ‘Me? What makes you think it was me?’
‘Firstly, because when I told you what was in this envelope, you didn’t ask to look at it. That tells me you already know what it says. Secondly, you know I went to see your father today and you’re trying to protect him from any awkward questions I might have. And three, there is no way this could have been left on the mat because the restaurant doesn’t have a letterbox.’
‘Doesn’t it?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. I thought…’ She seems to collapse in on herself. ‘I’d make a terrible detective, wouldn’t I?’
‘Not terrible, but not great.’ I sigh. ‘I have a splitting headache, and I need a drink. Care to join me?’
‘I don’t usually drink scotch,’ Gill says as she looks at the golden liquid in the glass. She takes a sniff and recoils.
‘Neither do I.’ I take a sip and wince. I wait as the alcohol burns my throat. It’s a new sensation, and I like it. I take a longer drink. ‘I think I could get used to this.’
Gill pulls a face after taking a mouthful. ‘I don’t think I could.’
‘How long have you had the statement?’ I ask.
