A Killing Resurrected (28 page)

‘What time was that?'

Vi pursed her lips and frowned in thought ‘Couldn't've been long after I'd put the kids to bed. Half nine, ten o'clock, something like that.'

‘Wasn't it dark?'

‘There was still a bit of light in the sky, and the street light's just across the road. It was him all right.'

‘This is your house?' Molly asked, pointing to the one next door.

‘That's right.'

‘You saw him through the front window?'

‘Bedroom window,' the woman said. ‘Slammed the door so hard when he left I went to the window to see what was happening.'

‘You didn't go round, then, to see if Sharon was all right?'

‘None of my business, was it?' Vi said flatly.

‘Who found Sharon this morning?'

‘I did when I took the kids round. I mean I'd had 'em all night; I reckoned the least she could do was give 'em breakfast.'

‘Where was she in the house? And what state was she in?'

‘On the floor in the kitchen, and she was unconscious. She'd been bleeding, but it had stopped and I knew it had been there a while, 'cause it was dry. Face was all beat up and it looked to me like one of her arms was broken, the way it was bent back. The kitchen looked like it had been hit by a bomb, cupboard doors open, stuff dragged out all over the floor. Don't know what the rest of the rooms were like, but they'll probably be the same. I got out of there right quick, I can tell you, and called the ambulance.'

‘So who called the police?'

‘Wasn't me,' Vi said emphatically. ‘Must have been them, 'cause the police didn't come till after the ambulance got there.'

‘Where are the children now?'

‘Called her dad at the pub, didn't I?' said Vi. ‘Came over here right sharp, he did, and took 'em back with him.'

‘Did you speak to the police this morning?'

She nodded. ‘Told 'em the same as I told you.'

‘Have you heard anything since? How Sharon is doing?'

Both women shook their heads.

Molly thanked them and got back in the car. ‘Looks like I can say goodbye to an early night,' she muttered beneath her breath as she left the street and headed for the hospital.

‘I
think we should be digging deeper into the relationship between Barry Grant and David Taylor,' Paget said after giving a brief summary of his visit to Cambridge on the weekend. ‘If George Taylor knew about Sam Bergman's “secret knock”, then I'm sure the boys knew about it as well, and there could be others. According to Loretta Bergman, both boys were bullied by their father, so it's possible that it was David who George Taylor recognized when he pulled the mask off, bearing in mind that Barry did mention David by name.

‘So, Tregalles,' he said, ‘I want you to find out everything you can about David Taylor and any other friends he had back then, and the same goes for Kevin Taylor as well, since he was still seeing his girlfriend after being told by his father that he had to drop her if he wanted his financial support to continue.'

He turned to Ormside. ‘Anything on the car or the people Whitfield saw leaving the Corbetts' house?' he asked.

‘Nothing yet,' the Sergeant told him.

Paget scanned the whiteboards once again. ‘We need to get more people out to canvas the area around the Unicorn to see if anyone remembers seeing Corbett or his car. And since Charlie's people didn't find Corbett's mobile phone in the pond, the sooner we get those phone records, the better.

‘Now,' he continued, ‘what about this attack on Sharon Jessop?' he asked Molly. ‘Do you see it as having anything to do with the Grant investigation?'

Molly shook her head. ‘Not if what one of the neighbours told me last night is true. She claims to have seen Al Jessop leaving the house between nine thirty and ten. And Sharon's father told us the other day that Jessop is in the habit of coming round to sub off Sharon whenever she gets paid. Except this time the cupboard was bare because she'd just lost her job.'

‘Has Jessop herself said anything about who it was?' Ormside asked.

‘No. She was in no condition to talk when I saw her last night, and they're keeping her more or less sedated until they're sure there isn't any pressure on the brain. She has a broken cheekbone, bruises all over her face, head, and upper body, a fractured collarbone, three cracked ribs and possible internal injuries – they're doing more tests today. There are bruises on her throat that suggest her attacker also tried to strangle her. You can see the condition she was in from these pictures.'

Molly produced a large envelope and slid half-a-dozen glossy pictures on to Ormside's desk, where she spread them out for the others to see.

‘He really
did
do a job on her,' Tregalles muttered as he bent closer to study one of the pictures. ‘What are those marks around her mouth and on her neck?'

Ormside picked up a magnifying glass. ‘Looks to me as if he was wearing gloves with a coarse weave,' he said. ‘You can see a faint pattern.'

Paget studied the pictures. ‘It may be a while before Mrs Jessop can talk to us,' he told Ormside, ‘but let's have her husband in for questioning. And we still need to know the name of the man Mrs Jessop claims whispered to her during the robbery at the pub, so, since she knows Forsythe, I want her to monitor Mrs Jessop's condition in hospital, and question her on both counts as soon as possible. Do we have anything on Jessop's husband?'

‘Not really,' the Sergeant said. ‘He's been involved in a couple of pub brawls, and Uniforms responded to a domestic back in February, but his wife refused to lay charges, and that's about it. He doesn't have a regular job, but he's licensed to drive large goods vehicles, and he sometimes fills in when a driver is off sick or away for any reason. But with yesterday being Sunday, we didn't get very far with our enquiries. We should have better luck today with everyone back at work.'

‘You might see if you can find any connection between Jessop and Barry Grant thirteen years ago,' Paget said. ‘He sounds like the sort of person who might be up for a robbery.'

He looked at the time. ‘In any case, I'd better be on my way,' he said. ‘I'll be in Mr Alcott's office for about an hour, but then I'm off to Worcester to talk about the introduction of a series of new courses in next year's training programme. Today is just the preliminary round, but I'll be asking for your input in the next few weeks, so give it some thought.'

‘Right,' said Ormside perfunctorily as his gaze swept the office, his mind already focused on what needed to be done, and mentally assigning the individuals who would be best suited for each task. Training was something he could think about later – much later.

The garden appeared to be well tended, but the house in Whitecross Lane was old, small, and in serious need of repair. But that was on the outside; inside, it was clean, airy, and comfortable. Apart from her other talents, it was clear that Irene Sinclair knew how to make the best of small spaces.

‘I know the place looks as if it's falling down,' she told Molly as if reading her mind as she ushered her inside, ‘but it's rented, you see, and I'm afraid my landlord is a bit slow to respond to my constant reminders. However, the roof doesn't leak, and the windows don't rattle in a storm, so I'm grateful for small mercies. And the rent isn't bad either, so that helps.

‘But you didn't come to talk about my house, did you,' she said. ‘You want to ask me about Roger and our relationship, don't you? Can I offer you some tea? I should warn you it's Chinese and it's black.'

‘Yes, please,' Molly said. ‘If it's anything like the tea they serve at the Golden Dragon, I'd like to try it.'

Irene smiled. ‘I think you'll like it,' she said. ‘Anyway, come through to the kitchen and we can talk while the kettle boils. Is it too early to ask if you know what happened?' She used her foot to hook an old-fashioned bar stool from beneath a high counter, and nudged it towards Molly, then proceeded to fill the kettle and plug it in.

‘It is, yes,' said Molly as she sat down. ‘Sorry.'

Irene remained standing, arms folded as she leaned with her back against the edge of the counter. ‘Is there any way I can help?' she asked.

‘As you said when I came in, one of the things we would like to clarify is your relationship with Mr Corbett,' Molly said. ‘He was married to Lisa, but he seemed to be equally at home with you, and both you and Mrs Corbett appeared to be quite happy with the arrangement. Would you mind explaining that, Miss Sinclair?'

‘Irene, please. And as for our “relationship”, it's quite simple: Lisa was Roger's wife and I was Roger's mother. Not literally, of course,' she added quickly, ‘but that was the role we played. Although,' she continued thoughtfully, ‘I think it would be safe to say that our roles were changing, possibly reversing in fact, because Roger was spending more and more time with me than he was with Lisa.' She shrugged. ‘Hardly surprising, I suppose, considering her involvement with her dancing partner, Ramon.'

‘Involvement . . .?' Molly queried.

‘Lovers, then,' Irene said. ‘Have been for years, although Roger didn't twig until fairly recently.' The kettle began to boil, and Irene turned her attention to preparing tea. ‘I presume you know she was planning on divorcing Roger?'

‘Yes, Mrs Corbett told me herself the other day. How did Mr Corbett feel about that? I understand he found it hard to hold a steady job; in fact it's my impression that he was dependent on his wife for support.'

‘Oh, he was. Totally. But what you have to understand is that Roger was a child in many ways. He tried to shut things out. He knew Lisa was going to divorce him, but he wouldn't allow himself to believe it. He abhorred change, so he ignored it.'

‘Would you mind elaborating on this role of motherhood? I'm afraid I don't understand it. From what Mr Corbett told DCI Paget, he was sleeping with you the night someone tried to set the Grant house on fire.'

Irene set out two cups and saucers and poured tea. ‘That's true,' she said, ‘with
sleeping
being the operative word. Roger was impotent; had been for many years. And he had nightmares; terrible nightmares. He would often wake up in tears. We didn't have sex, if that's what you're after.'

‘But this back and forth business,' Molly persisted. ‘You and Lisa Corbett were both happy with the arrangement? You are actually friends?'

‘Good friends,' said Irene firmly. ‘In fact, while I know Lisa was very much in love with Roger when she married him, I think as time went on she was grateful for the respite when he came to me.'

‘Do you know what his nightmares were about?'

Irene shook her head. ‘He would never say. I asked Lisa if she knew, but she said he wouldn't tell her either. But that's why he drank; something happened in his past, but I have no idea what it was.'

‘Did he ever talk about the robbery and killings that took place here in Broadminster thirteen years ago? Did he ever mention the name of Barry Grant before it came up at the house-warming party?'

‘Chief Inspector Paget asked me that, and the answer is still no,' Irene said. ‘And I would tell you if he had. How do you like the tea?'

There was a ‘To Let' sign in the corner of the window of the Brush and Palette, and a larger, splashier sign pasted across the window, proclaiming: CLOSING DOWN SALE – 50% OFF! Hardly surprising, Tregalles thought as he switched off the engine. Sheep Lane was off the beaten track, and there were several other more accessible shops in town, where the same art supplies could be bought, probably for less than David Taylor could afford to sell them.

Sitting in his car outside the shop, the Sergeant ran his finger down the list of Roger Corbett's phone calls immediately following Paget's departure from Corbett's office the previous Tuesday.

Top of the list: David Taylor. The conversation had lasted less than a minute, but that would have been long enough to arrange a meeting. The next call was to Irene Sinclair's answering machine. Following that was a call to Kevin Taylor's office. His secretary remembered the call, because the caller had ‘muttered an obscenity' when she'd told him that Kevin would be out of the office for the rest of the day. Sixteen minutes later, Corbett rang Irene Sinclair, using his mobile, so presumably he had moved to the Unicorn by then. Four minutes later, he'd tried again and Irene had answered. She'd told Molly that he'd been almost incoherent at first, and he'd only just begun to calm down when he said he had another call coming in, and had cut her off. And that was the last she'd heard from him.

‘I was used to Roger's mood swings, and to the way he was when he'd been drinking,' she'd told Molly, ‘but it was different this time. Oh, there's no doubt he'd been drinking, but there was something else in his voice. Fear . . .? Desperation . . .? Perhaps a mixture of both. I can't describe it. It worried me.'

The next call Corbett had made was to John Chadwell's office at the town hall. Tregalles still had to check that one out, but it too was brief, followed by a call lasting six minutes to Chadwell's home.

Then nothing.

Tregalles folded the printout and slid it into his jacket pocket. ‘So, let's see what you have to say for yourself, Mr Taylor,' he said under his breath as he got out of the car. ‘Because I would like to know why you were the first person Corbett rang after Paget rattled his cage.'

‘Sharon? Sharon? Remember me? Molly Forsythe?'

The woman in the bed winced as she tried to open her eyes. Bruises covered three-quarters of her face; the flesh surrounding both eyes was swollen and puffy, and there were three stitches in the brow above the right eye. A momentary glint of reflected light appeared through narrows slits of swollen flesh, then disappeared again. Sharon Jessop rolled her head slowly from side to side on the pillow as if to say the effort was too much.