A Well-deserved Murder (Trevor Joseph Detective series) (19 page)

‘Even if the axe is lying to hand?’ Trevor raised his eyebrows.

‘Stop playing Devil’s Advocates and open your minds.’ Peter left his chair, paced to the window, turned and faced Trevor and Dan. ‘Imagine you’re the Red Dragon. You’re making money supplying drug dealers, not as much as you’d like because the price on the street is falling – just as it was before Alan wrote his article. A rival supplier is undercutting your merchandise. What you’d really like is a monopoly on supply, then you can fix the price at a level of your own choosing. So you look to one of your men and instruct him to shop the White Baron to a journalist. You give that journalist enough information to put the White Baron in the dock plus a number of leads that helps to pile up the evidence against him. But when your man goes to see the journalist – unannounced and late at night – he discovers a neighbour eavesdropping. Has she heard and seen enough to finger him …’

‘Him being the henchman?’ Dan checked.

‘Alan insists he doesn’t know the identity of the Red Dragon.’

‘And you believe him?’ Trevor asked.

‘Yes, I believe him.’ Peter answered irritably.

‘Does that mean that you think Lofty killed Kacy on his own volition, and not on the orders of the Red Dragon?’ Dan asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Peter shrugged. ‘But if he did kill Kacy Howells, which I think he did, he didn’t keep his mouth shut about it because Snaggy got wind of it.’

‘There’s not one shred of physical evidence to connect Lofty to the murder scene,’ Trevor pointed out.

‘There might be. Alan said that he found Lofty sitting on his patio at midnight. He knew the path and found his way to the back of Alan’s house in the dark. That establishes that Lofty knew his way to the Howells’ garden. He could have killed her and changed and disposed of his bloodstained clothes on the way back to his car.’

‘Which he’d parked in the lane that leads to the farm,’ Trevor murmured.

‘Think about it,’ Peter pressed eagerly. ‘Lofty was in Alan’s garden. He went there without anyone – even that village gossip who sits in her front window all day – seeing him. He could have taken the tissue and a piece of Alan’s discarded chewing gum from Alan’s bin bags and planted them on the Howells’ deck alongside Kacy Howells’ body. And he could have planted that axe in front of Alan’s car …’

‘When it was in the street in full view of the gossip?’ Dan observed.

‘He could have put the axe there early in the morning before the gossip was up, or late at night under cover of darkness.’

‘There’s still no forensic evidence,’ Trevor reminded.

‘Every idiot who watches crime shows on TV these days knows how to fudge forensic evidence,’ Peter said dismissively. ‘Besides there were smudges on the decking that could have been down to gloves and paper over-shoes.’

‘Why would Lofty frame Alan?’ Trevor questioned.

‘Because Lofty or the Red Dragon was afraid that Alan was talking to us about Lofty’s tip-off. I’ve been around there a fair bit since Joy died. Perhaps one of them thought that I was collaborating with Alan and he didn’t stop at passing on the information Lofty gave him, but had started digging for more and got closer than he realised.’

‘You think Lofty was watching Alan – and you?’ Dan asked.

‘I don’t know. He could have been.’

‘There’s a lot of supposition in your arguments,’ Dan said shortly.

‘Supposition that’s worth investigating,’ Peter challenged.

There was a knock at the door. Dan shouted, ‘Come in,’ and Sarah Merchant opened it.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but I have some information Inspector Joseph asked for.’ She gave Trevor a computer print-out.

Trevor read it and looked up at her. ‘You’re sure about this, Constable?’

‘As sure as I can be, sir. Whoever is paying the Walshes to store cleaning materials in their garage, isn’t operating a contract cleaning business within a two hundred mile radius of this town.’

‘Thank you, Sarah.’

‘Sir.’ Sarah hesitated for a moment before leaving.

‘That girl is curious and curiosity makes for a good copper,’ Dan held out his hand and Trevor passed him the print-out.

‘The path at the back of the Howells’ house is all yours, Peter.’ Dan rose to his feet. ‘Take a good look at it in the morning.’

‘I will.’ Peter smiled.

Dan looked at Trevor. ‘That search warrant you wanted?’

‘Yes.’

‘Use it with care and make sure you get the goods when you do.’

CHAPTER TWENTY

‘You’re setting up a stake-out in the cul-de-sac, aren’t you?’ Peter followed Trevor down the corridor to the incident room.

‘You’re working on the drugs war murders,’ Trevor reminded him.

‘It’s the same case.’

‘No it’s not.’

Dan opened the door to his office. ‘We need to discuss Snaggy and Lofty’s PM reports, Peter.’

‘We have,’ Peter retorted.

‘Not the injuries they received before they died.’

‘So – they were beaten up.’

‘So – they were beaten up somewhere – there could be witnesses. But first we need to find out where it happened. And, if there’s no physical clues, we can start by making lists of their known associates.’

Peter watched Trevor disappear into the incident room.

‘If the cases converge, we’ll be the first to know,’ Dan consoled him.

‘By working on different aspects of it?’

Dan chose to ignore the scepticism in Peter’s voice. ‘The sooner we begin on those lists, the sooner we finish. And if your lady love hasn’t returned I’ll buy you a pint in Platform 10. In return you can stand me a curry.’

Peter faced Dan. ‘Daisy won’t be home until tomorrow,’

‘That should put a smile on your face.’

‘I’ll have a bigger one when Alan walks free.’

‘Which is why you’re working with me and Trevor is working with Sarah and Chris.’

‘No personal involvement,’ Peter recited.

‘Let’s make a start.’

Peter glanced back at the closed door of incident room before entering Dan’s office.

Trevor stood in front of his assembled team, who were at their desks. ‘Four personnel will go into the Howells’ house tonight. They will take it in shifts to watch the street and monitor activity around the Walshes’ garage and on the Walshes’ property. Constables Brooke and Baker will take the first shift, Constable Merchant and Constable Harris the next. One person monitoring the front of the house and the street, the other the back. Shift changes every six hours. You’ll be armed. I’ll arrange back-up on standby. Keep outside contact and conversation among yourselves to a minimum. You don’t know who might be listening in. We’re not expecting a pick-up of materials from the Walshes’ garage at any specific time. It could happen tonight, tomorrow or the day after so prepare for a surveillance of 48 hours plus. When it happens we won’t move in until at least two boxes have been moved out of the garage into the pick-up vehicle. Surveillance to be carried out in darkened rooms, no lights to be switched on. No noise of any kind to be made that could be picked up by Mrs Walsh. That means no flushing of toilets and no turning on taps. Any questions?’

‘How do we get in and out with Mrs Walsh watching the street?’ Sarah Merchant asked.

‘Shortly after sunset I will visit Mrs Walsh to ask if she, as the Howells’ other immediate neighbour, had any problems with Mrs Howells concerning the boundary line between their gardens. I’ll park my car in the Howells’ drive, which I’ve done before, backing in close to their garage and halfway across the gate that leads into their garden. I will open the hatchback, lift out my briefcase and leave the door ajar. The four operatives will be crouching low in the back of the car below the window line. As the Howells’ house is set back slightly from the Walshes’ and Mrs Walsh can’t monitor that side of the Howells’ house she won’t see the operatives move out of the car and into the alley between the house and the garage. But, to be on the safe side, no operative will leave the car until I have signalled from the Walshes’ house by text to Sarah’s phone.’

‘What about people in the street, sir?’ Sarah asked.

‘I will park the car at an angle in front of the garage; if you’re quick you shouldn’t be seen in the darkness. After parking the car I will check the gate between the garage and the house and the back door, and leave both unlocked. You’ll have to carry everything you need, including food, water, night goggles and sleeping bags. You have twenty minutes to make your preparations and any personal calls. Any other questions?’

The four officers who’d been chosen looked at one another. Sarah was the first to shake her head.

‘The van will be here in forty-five minutes. I suggest you start packing.’

‘Will you be overseeing the operation, sir?’ Chris Brooke asked.

‘From inside the house. I’ll drive off after I leave Mrs Walsh, but arrange for someone to pick up the car and drop me off on the farm track. I’ll walk down the path to the back of the house and enter through the back door. I should be with you within an hour of leaving Mrs Walsh. Any other questions?’ He looked around. ‘See you in the car park, in …’ he glanced at his watch. ‘Forty-one minutes.’

Trevor left the incident room, and went into his office. Closing the door he dialled his home number. Lyn answered on the second ring. He pictured her curled up in a corner of the sofa, the phone, a cup of coffee and a bowl of her favourite cheese biscuits at her elbow as she watched an old film.

‘I wish I was there with you and Marty.’

‘No you don’t,’ Lyn teased, ‘you know he’ll be up again in two hours.’

‘He’s not settling?’

‘He needs his father’s firm hand. You’re not coming back tonight?’

‘You have second sight.’

‘We’ll miss you, but breakfast will be special.’

‘It might not.’

‘How long?’

‘Not sure. This one could take a couple of days.’

She failed to keep the concern from her voice. ‘You will be careful?’

‘I will. I have a lot to live for these days.’

‘Marty sends his love, as I do.’

‘Take care of yourselves. Love you.’ Trevor fought a lump in his throat as he hung up. Less than half an hour left before he would drive out of the car park. He tried not to think about the body count in the Drug War murder cases that Dan was investigating. If he was right, he – and all his team – would be in the firing line. There wasn’t much time left to check out his gun and get his bullet-proof vest.

Peter unlocked the door of the flat he shared with Daisy shortly after midnight. He dropped his keys on the silver tray on the hall table, opened the door to the living room and looked around. The flat was tidy – he was good at keeping mess at bay – but every surface was grey with dust, the carpet could do with a good hoovering – and a change of bedclothes might be appreciated by Daisy, even if he slept in them that night.

Trevor had often mocked him for what he had christened “his over-developed domesticity” but Peter found it therapeutic to set a place to rights. An hour later, every work surface was gleaming, the floor hoovered and the air filled with the scent of beeswax polish. The kitchen took longer because the fridge was packed with out of date food that he hadn’t got around to eating – or throwing out.

He cleaned the bedroom, changed the bed linen, and scrubbed the bathroom. The last thing he did was use the shower before cleaning it. Dressed in a robe he took a can of beer into the living room, set it on a coaster and picked up the paper to see if there was a late-night film worth watching. He knew he should sleep, there weren’t many hours left until the dawn rendezvous he had arranged with Dan, but he also knew he was too restless to sleep. There was nothing worse than spending the night tossing and turning.

He scanned the TV listings without reading a word. Instead his thoughts turned to Snaggy and Lofty’s corpses tucked away in drawers in the mortuary. Lofty was vicious, Snaggy devious, both were somewhere around his age and both had squandered their lives. Where did that leave him?

Daisy was right. It was time to make a commitment. Buy a house with a garden, a cat – and one up on Trevor – a dog – and start the family Daisy wanted. And him? What was so terrifying about the thought of having children? Especially with Daisy. Could something as small and instantly loveable as Marty really drive him and Daisy apart and destroy their very special relationship?

Trevor walked up to the Walshes’ front door and rang the bell. Mick Walsh opened it immediately. Trevor wasn’t surprised as he had seen Mrs Walsh’s shadow behind the blinds as he had driven up the cul-de-sac.

‘I’m sorry, I know it’s late. I should have telephoned, Mick, but I’ve just spoken to an officer who interviewed Alan Piper today, and I wanted to check something with you and your mother.’

‘You’re not disturbing us. I haven’t taken Mum up to bed yet.’ Mick Walsh opened the living room door. Two lamps had been lit but as they were both placed on table behind Mrs Walsh, the light from them didn’t interfere with her view of the dusky street.

‘You’re working late, Inspector. Would you like a brandy?’ Mrs Walsh lifted her glass and Trevor saw an expensive bottle of Hennessy Cognac on a side-table beside a silver bowl of grapes and an antique salver of marzipan petit fours.

He recalled what Bob Guttridge had said about the Walshes’ finances. Mother and son were certainly living well now. Making up for penny-pinching times?

‘No, thank you,’ he refused politely, moving in front of her and blocking her view of the street. ‘I’m on duty.’

‘I thought policing was a nine till five job for officers of your rank, Inspector.’

‘Unfortunately not, Mrs Walsh. As I was saying, I only called in to check something with you. Did you ever have any trouble with Kacy Howells over the boundary between your two properties?’

‘Of course, Inspector. Did you think she reserved her anti-social antics for the Pipers? Haven’t you noticed the fast-growing conifers Mick planted along the hedge line between us?’

‘Then she tried to take some of your land too?’

‘I contacted our solicitor as soon as she started.’

‘They sent the Howells a letter?’

‘I believe he sent someone around to their house. Afterwards I hired a surveyor to plot the boundary and Mick planted the conifers.’

Trevor’s phone vibrated, signalling the alarm he’d set earlier. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Walsh, Mick.’ He removed it from his pocket and checked that the street was deserted before pressing “send” on the text he’d prepared for Sarah. He returned his phone to his pocket. ‘When was this, Mrs Walsh?’

‘Within two months of Madam moving in next door. Unlike Alan and Joy, I could see she was trouble from the first day George brought her back to his house.’

‘And you had no trouble with the Howells after Mick planted the hedge?’

‘I called the social services on a few occasions when her children were left out to wander in the rain all day without suitable clothing.’

‘Did they follow up on your information?’

‘I believe so. I saw social workers visit the Howells.’

‘Was Mrs Howells aware that it was you who telephoned the authorities?’

‘If she was, she never spoke to me about it. In fact she never spoke to me about anything after our solicitor sent someone round there to explain the exact location of our boundary line.’

Trevor’s phone buzzed again. He opened the message box and he read
OK
. ‘Thank you, Mrs Walsh, you have been most helpful.’

‘I fail to see how, Inspector.’

‘You have helped establish Mrs Howells’ behaviour pattern.’

‘In my opinion Alan Piper deserves a medal for killing Kacy Howells. If he needs a character witness to speak on his behalf or against Kacy Howells, tell him I’m ready, willing and waiting.’

‘I doubt I’ll be speaking to Mr Piper’s defence team, Mrs Walsh. I’m sorry for interrupting your evening.’

‘No need to apologise. Mick, show the inspector out.’

‘Yes, Mum.’ Mick opened the door to the living room.

‘Enjoy what’s left of your evening, Mrs Walsh.’ Trevor picked up his briefcase.

‘There isn’t any of it left, not for me, Inspector. It’s past my bedtime. It’s not easy living like an invalid.’

‘I’m sure it’s not. Good night, Mrs Walsh. Good night, Mick.’ Trevor walked through the front door and went straight to his car. Trusting that his team had latched the hatchback closed, he locked and unlocked his car – just in case someone was watching him, climbed into the driving seat, and drove off.’

‘Any further and your lights will be seen. Drop me off here.’

‘Yes, sir.’ the constable stopped the car in the lane.

Trevor picked up his briefcase. In it he’d packed the emergency kit he kept in his office. A spare toilet bag that included a toothbrush and razor and a change of clothes. He stepped out of the car and into the shadows that shrouded a recessed gate.

Trevor waited until the constable reversed the car and drove away. It was a moonless night. Shadows lay thick and deceptive around him. He felt as though the trees and the hedge were closing in on him. He leaned against the gate, acclimatising himself to the darkness and the sounds of the night. Sounds that reminded him of his childhood in Cornwall. The screech of a night owl as it swooped low seeking food. The scuttling of small creatures in the undergrowth. The crack of twigs and branches as cats – or foxes – stalked their prey.

He set off down the lane, walking close to the hedge. There were no lights visible in the farmhouse or the outbuildings. He would have been surprised if there had been. Animals woke at dawn and no farmer could afford to waste daylight. Bob Guttridge had probably been tucked up in his lonely bachelor bed for hours.

He made his way to the crest of the ridge with no problem and started down the hillside, feeling his way and clinging to branches and tree trunks on the steeper parts of the slope. Lights shone from the back of the Walshes’ house. If the layout was the same as that of the Howells’, the illuminated windows were the kitchen, upstairs bathroom and a back bedroom. He continued making his way downwards, treading slowly and carefully.

Any hopes he’d had of sneaking up to the back of the Howells’ house dissipated when his foot squelched into a rotten log and he slid the final forty feet to the valley floor, dropping his briefcase in the scramble.

He lay on his back, panting, until he regained his breath. His back hurt. Had he bruised or wrenched it? When he tried to move agonising pains shot down his legs. He braced himself for more pain and rolled over. Crawling on hands and knees he patted the ground looking for his briefcase. It had slid further than he thought, almost up to the Walshes’ fence.