A Well-deserved Murder (Trevor Joseph Detective series) (13 page)

‘But you had an open relationship?’

‘I suppose you could call it that although it was more open on Kacy’s side for the last ten years we were together than mine, which is why I fell head over heels in love with Emma. She’s the exact opposite of Kacy. Sweet, loving and faithful. Just being with her made me want to settle down and have a family. Something I never wanted to do with Kacy.’

‘When was the last time you saw Kacy?’

‘Last week in the office.’

‘You spoke to her?’

‘I haven’t spoken to her since she moved into George’s house.’

‘Were you surprised when she married George?’

‘Again yes and no. As I said she was vindictive. We both knew, in fact the entire office knew, George was a closet gay. Not that anyone gives a hang about sexuality these days. But George had been brought up by elderly parents whose ideas were fixed in the last century. And George had a bigger house than me and more money, that he’d inherited from his parents. Kacy is obsessed with money and possessions. She went after him and like a ripe plum he fell into her hand.’

‘Is Kacy’s eldest child yours?’

‘She told me he was after he was born. She wanted me to pay her maintenance for him. A thousand pounds a month.’

‘What did you say when she asked you for the money?’

‘I offered to have a DNA test and make the results public but only because I knew she’d back off. George was already showing baby photographs around the office and receiving congratulations. It was the ultimate proof he’d been searching for to announce his masculinity to the world.’

Sarah looked down at the notes she’d been making. ‘How long did Kacy stay in your house after you asked her to leave?’

‘Two years?’

‘That’s a long time not to get along with someone.’

‘As I said our relationship broke down years before that. I suppose the best you could say about us was that we were still living under one roof. And occasionally sharing a bed. Looking back I realise now, I never loved Kacy. But Kacy knew everything there is to know about sex and exactly how to use that knowledge. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do and she was good at inciting others to join in with her. In the end her antics sickened me, especially after I fell in love with Emma. I hated the hold Kacy had on me and I hated myself for going along with the things Kacy did,’ he confessed. ‘Two years before she finally left my house I moved into a separate bedroom and put a lock on the door so she couldn’t get in. I was determined to get away from her. I used to get up ridiculously early in the morning to drive to work to avoid giving her a lift and stay behind late in the evenings until she’d caught the bus home.’

‘And during this time she went out with George Howells?’

‘No.’

‘Did she have any boyfriends that you knew of?’ Sarah asked.

‘Boyfriends? I wouldn’t say that, but she’d sleep with anyone. She also worked for some agency or other. A woman used to call and ask for her. That in itself was strange. In all the time we were together, Kacy never went out with the girls in the office. In fact she had no female friends. I think she saw them as competition.’

‘How did you know that Kacy was working for this woman?’

‘Because she would leave messages on the answer phone.’

‘What kind of messages?’ Sarah probed.

‘Something along the lines of, “Hi Kacy, Susie here. I have a job and a party right up your street if you’re interested.” The mention of a job made me think it was an agency.’

‘You didn’t ask Kacy about it?’

‘No. By that time we’d stopped talking.’

‘You can’t remember the name of the agency?’

‘I don’t think I ever knew it. I’m sorry,’ John apologised. ‘I wish I could be more help. To be honest my break-up with Kacy was so acrimonious, there were times when I wished her the other side of the world and not the nice side. Siberia or the Gobi desert comes to mind. But dead?’ He bit his lip. ‘I never wished her that ill. It had been good between us in the beginning when we were both young and sex-crazy. And then there are her kids. I have two of my own …’ he continued to fight his emotions.

Sarah thought back to her first love affair when she felt as though she had just invented sex, and knew exactly what John Evans meant.

‘Just one more thing, Mr Evans, where were you last Monday between four o’clock in the afternoon and nine o’clock in the evening.’

‘Clearing out my uncle’s house. He died last month.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘He had dementia, it was a blessing.’

‘Did anyone see you?’

‘I doubt it. Although my car was parked in the drive, you can’t see his house from the road. My uncle planted trees when he moved in. He would never cut them.’

‘The address?’

‘Park View, number nineteen. Surely you don’t suspect that I had anything to do with Kacy’s murder?’

‘We’re checking the movements of everyone who knew Kacy on the day of her murder, Mr Evans.’ Sarah made a note of the address. ‘Thank you. You have been most helpful.’

He reached for a tissue as he rose to his feet. ‘I hope you catch the bastard who did it.’

‘We’ll do our best, Mr Evans.’

‘I’ll send the next one in, shall I?’

‘If you should happen to remember anything more about this Susie who used to call Kacy, please give us a call.’ Sarah handed him a card with the station telephone number printed on it.

He hesitated, his hand on the door handle. ‘I think her surname was Cleopatra.’

‘Cleopatra?’

‘I know it sounds strange, but it was either Susie Cleopatra or Susie from Cleopatra’s, I’m sure of it.’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘What time did the elders’ committee meeting finish?’ Trevor asked Matthew.

‘As I told you I wasn’t wearing a watch. It could have been any time between four and six o’clock.’

Trevor tried not to allow his irritation to show. ‘Let’s try another approach. Where did you go after the elders’ committee meeting finished?’

‘As I’ve already told you, I stayed in the chapel.’

‘The elders met at two o’clock; you had a meeting which lasted until?’ Trevor looked at Matthew enquiringly.

Matthew clutched his head theatrically. ‘I remember now, it was four o’clock. I recall the secretary noting the time and putting it on the report before he handed it to the chairman.’

‘And then?’

‘As I said, a few of us stayed in the chapel.’

‘Why? And please don’t tell me, “to paint it” when there’s no evidence of paint in tins or on the walls.’

‘To discuss serious chapel matters.’

‘What kind of serious matters?’

‘Do I have to answer your questions?’

‘Not if you are prepared for me to draw my own conclusions as to why you don’t want to answer them.’

Matthew slumped. ‘I feel ill …’

Trevor left his seat. ‘Escort Mr Clarke to a cell, Constable Brooke, and ask the duty officer to call the police doctor. When you return we’ll drive to the chapel and see how the search of the premises and Mr Clarke’s house is progressing.’

‘You can’t search the chapel or my house,’ Matthew protested.

‘The searches have already begun, Mr Clarke. I requested warrants when I brought you here. I can and I will do anything to further this investigation. I have already questioned Mr Jenkins and your accounts of the events of that night vary considerably. I will warn you as I have warned Mr Jenkins, wasting police time and giving false statements are serious charges.’

‘We didn’t do anything illegal.’

‘What did you do, Mr Clarke?’

The old man clamped his lips shut.

Trevor’s patience finally deserted him. ‘Take Mr Clarke to the cell and arrange for him to see a doctor. I will speak to you again, Mr Clarke, after we have visited the officers conducting the searches of the chapel and your and Mr Jenkins’s houses.’

The officer standing guard outside the Jenkinses’ house looked bored but he stood a little straighter when he saw Trevor approaching.

‘Is the search still going on?’

‘Yes, sir. I saw the sergeant walking up the stairs an hour ago.’

Trevor found the sergeant directing the four officers assigned to him in a search of the bedrooms and bathroom. ‘Have you found anything?’

‘Nothing you wouldn’t expect to see in your average house lived in by elderly people, sir. But Mrs Jenkins wasn’t very keen on allowing us in. Neither was Mr Howells. They both wanted to stay while we conducted the search but Mr Mark Jenkins persuaded them to go next door until we’d finished.’

‘Have you much more to do?’

‘After this floor, the attic and the garden, sir.’

‘Telephone me when you’ve done.’

‘Even if there’s nothing to report?’

‘Especially if there’s nothing to report.’ Trevor walked down the stairs to where Chris Brooke was talking to the duty constable. He hated wasting time. Officer man-hours were costly and the search had done nothing to further the case. He looked through the open door and saw Mark Jenkins standing in the wasteland of his parents’ “garden”, arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring belligerently at him.

‘Mr Jenkins,’ Trevor stepped through the door to meet him.

‘My mother is in a terrible state. You’ve arrested my father and you won’t say what you suspect he’s done. None of us can see how he could possibly have had anything to do with my sister’s murder. He was with the elders of the chapel all that day …’

‘Was he?’ Trevor asked.

‘Of course he was. He said he was and I’ve never known my father tell a lie in his life. You’ve sent police officers into my parents’ house to search through their private property without reason …’

‘The investigation we are carrying out into your sister’s murder is reason enough.’

‘You can’t possibly believe my father killed her?’

Given Mark Jenkins’s previous honesty Trevor was reluctant to resort to the standard police line. But given the stage of the investigation and the lies Sam Jenkins had told them about his whereabouts on the day of the murder, he had little choice. ‘I can’t say any more at the moment than your father is helping us with our enquiries, Mr Jenkins.’

‘When will he be home?’

‘I can’t tell you that either, Mr Jenkins.’

‘Look here …’

‘Mr Jenkins, I will update you and your family as soon as I am able. The team should finish in your parents’ house in the next couple of hours, then your mother will be able to return home.’

‘And what about the damage they will have done to my parents’ home in the meantime?’ Mark demanded.

‘Our search teams are trained to handle people’s property with respect. However, should there be any inadvertent damage, compensation will be paid.’ Trevor glanced at Chris.

‘Time to move on, sir?’ Chris asked perceptively, with a sideways glance at Mark who was obviously having difficulty reining in his temper.

‘Yes. We have several more visits to make before we can finish for the day.’

* * *

‘The chapel was clean, sir. There are very few places to hide anything in a building like that,’ the sergeant overseeing the search of the chapel and Matthew Clarke’s house said in response to Trevor’s query. ‘We checked behind the wall panelling and found bare brick walls. But we did find a metal crucifix hidden in the pulpit.’ He held up a foot-long cross that bore an agonised figure of Christ.

Trevor took it from him. It was surprisingly heavy.

‘Personally, I thought it a bit odd to hide something like that in a chapel.’

‘Depends on the denomination of the chapel.’ Trevor rubbed the surface of the metal to try and determine what it was made of. ‘Most Protestants regard crucifixes as Catholic artefacts. The only Christian symbol you’ll see inside most chapels is a plain cross. Generally made of wood.’

‘We found soft porn DVDs and magazines locked in this suitcase. It was on top of a wardrobe upstairs, sir.’ The officer opened the case that had been lifted onto a table in Matthew Clarke’s living room. The covers look racy but there’s nothing illegal in them that I can see. Although I thought you might want to turn them over to the Vice Squad for closer examination.’

Trevor picked out three DVDs at random.
The Three Libidos, Fly Virgin Fly, Ten In a Bed.
He studied the boxes, and found what he was looking for. A seller’s sticker.

‘These could explain why Mr Clarke and Mr Jenkins won’t tell us their exact whereabouts after the meeting, sir,’ Chris suggested. ‘If it became generally known that chapel elders watched porn films after their committee meetings, it might ruin their reputations.’

‘Would, not might. And looking at where these were bought they could be into more than just watching porn films.’ Trevor returned the DVDs to the suitcase. ‘I’ll take them down the station. Have you found anything else?’

‘These in the recycling bin.’

Chris picked up one of half a dozen empty bottles of vodka.

‘How often are the bins emptied in this street?’ Trevor lifted the box from the table.

‘Every fortnight, sir,’ the sergeant replied. ‘Next collection is due in four days.’

‘So either Mr Clarke has been collecting these for a while or he drinks. Thank you, Sergeant, most helpful.’

Chris followed Trevor out to the car and unlocked it so Trevor could stow the case in the boot. ‘What about the other eleven elders on the committee, sir?’

Trevor glanced at his watch and shook his head. ‘We can’t hold Sam Jenkins and Matthew Clarke much longer without either charging them with wasting police time or releasing them with a caution. We’ll return to the station and see how much luck the team has had in contacting the other elders by phone. Sarah should be back and I want to look over her interview notes.’

‘And the farm, sir?’

‘Like Scheherazade’s head in the Arabian Knights, it will have to wait another day.’

Sarah was thumbing through her notes when Trevor arrived back in the incident room. A bright young constable had put a sheet of the elders’ telephone numbers on his desk and the responses she’d received when she’d asked if they could be interviewed the following day. Six had consented; five had stated they were too busy.

Trevor picked up the internal telephone and ordered the duty officer to move Mr Jenkins and Mr Clarke back into adjoining interview rooms. Chris was already playing one of DVDs they’d picked up in Matthew Clarke’s house on a computer.

‘It’s low-quality soft porn, sir,’ he said when he saw Trevor watching the screen over his shoulder.

‘So I see. Which reminds me. Vic,’ he called to a sergeant who was working at a desk on the other side of the room. ‘Susie still in business?’

‘Cleopatra’s going from strength to strength, sir.’

‘Did you say Cleopatra’s, sir?’ Sarah flicked through her notes until she found John Evans’s interview.

‘I did.’

‘Kacy Howells’ ex, John Evans, mentioned Susie Cleopatra. Could there be a connection?’

‘That depends on what he said.’

‘He said that when he lived with Kacy, messages were left on their answer phone by someone called Susie Cleopatra who was offering Kacy work.’

‘Did he say what kind of work?’

‘He assumed agency work and given Kacy’s interests, something to do with sex for sale. Do you want me to sit in when you re-interview Mr Clarke and Mr Jenkins, sir?’

‘In ten minutes.’ Trevor went into his office and closed the door behind him.

It didn’t take Trevor long to track down Susie’s telephone number. If the telephone rang the other end of the line it could only have rung once. A deep throaty, sexy voice echoed down the line. ‘Cleopatra’s palace. What is your pleasure?’

‘Susie, please.’

‘Who shall I say is speaking?’

‘Trevor Joseph – inspector as in police.’

The voice became shriller and brisker. ‘I’ll see if she’s in.’ Seconds later she reconnected and said, ‘Putting you through.’

‘Trevor, darling, you warning me about a raid?’

‘Last I heard your place was legal and above board.’

‘And I’m making sure it stays that way.’

‘Of course you are.’ Trevor had known Susie for years. He’d arrested her for streetwalking when he was a rookie, only for his sergeant who’d considered her the proverbial “whore with a heart of gold” albeit a kid still in care, to let her off with a caution. When one of her “punters” died and left her enough money for a comfortable retirement – if it had been invested wisely – Susie had used it to buy and open a massage parlour-cum-brothel where young girls could ply their trade away from the street and, more importantly, the pimps who creamed off most of their “wages”.

‘If it’s not a raid, you must want a favour?’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because, despite all the social events I’ve invited you to over the years, the only time you ever ring me is when you’re conducting police business and want information.’

‘Do you know a Sam Jenkins or Matthew Clarke?’

‘Darling, where’s your discretion. We use nicknames in Cleopatra’s, remember?’

‘In their case, Zimmerman and Geriatricman might be appropriate.’

‘How unkind. You’ll be old one day.’

‘I’m getting older by the minute. These two are chapel elders,’ Trevor rattled off their addresses.

‘Means nothing to me.’

‘How about films, you still do rental?’

‘Sale not rental.’

‘And special shows for group outings?’

‘I warned you discretion is our keyword.’

‘These two old men would be extremely embarrassed if it became common knowledge they patronised your establishment.’

‘As would one hundred per cent of our happily married customers, and a fair proportion of our bachelors.’

‘I think they’re too embarrassed to admit where they were last Monday. As a result they’ve become suspects in a murder case. Suspects that are wasting police time. I’m tempted to throw the book at them. Whereas if I knew for certain they were at your place … you can fill in the dots.’

‘You’d let them go?’

‘After a dressing down for irritating and annoying me. And given the proviso that they haven’t committed any other crimes.’

‘Give me a time?’

‘As I said – last Monday, four-ish to ten-ish.’

‘You didn’t get this from me?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Swear on Peter Collins’ life, on second thoughts don’t. I don’t love him any more.’

‘What’s Peter done to you now?’ Trevor asked in amusement.

‘Arrested one of my best clients and sent him down for two years.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Receive stolen goods and screw the DSS.’

‘In which case he deserved to be sent down.’

‘He probably did but the four hundred pounds a week he spent in here isn’t easy to make up. Four-ish … old guys … Nothing at four.’

‘Try later.’

‘Six o’clock – seven o’clock –?’

‘Could be?’

Peals of laughter echoed down the line. ‘You must be talking about our fishing club.’

‘Fishing club – as in rods, lines and fish?’

‘I’ve never seen them hunched over a pier or a river bank. But seven old guys turn up in taxis once a month. They buy films, drink coffee and spirit chasers, see a live show and sometimes book girls, although according to the girls not one of them can get it up, let alone keep it up.’

‘And they book into your place as a fishing club?’

‘You don’t expect me to question punters or turn down business?’

‘Describe them?’

‘Old, grey and wrinkled and bald, what more is there to say?’

‘Names?’

‘How would you expect me to know that?’

‘Your girls would.’

‘Hang on.’

Trevor waited patiently while a hurried whispered conversation was conducted the other end. ‘We have a Sam, a Bill and a Cyril. Any use to you?’

‘Might be. Thanks, Susie, you’re a gem.’