Dead Money (A Detective Inspector Paul Amos Lincolnshire Mystery) (11 page)

Jason controlled himself with difficulty. Amos was aware from past experience that it was best to let nature take its course. Then the torrent began.

"She wasn’t back until gone 11 last night it’s the third time this week I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing or when she’s coming home there’s no food in the place I can’t manage without her."

The words tumbled out as if in one sentence. Jason took his first pause for breath. A moment later he was on to the earnest pleading.

"Why does she have to be on this case? Why can’t she just do burglaries and come home at a proper time? It isn’t safe for a woman. You work her too hard. You expect too much of her."

It was time to pause for a second breath. Amos wished the young man was less fit so that he would have to breathe more often. The momentum was building again.

"She had left already when I woke up this morning. I can’t live without her, I can’t sleep without her, I can’t eat without her."

Not much more to go, thought Amos.

Jason slumped over the desk again and shook violently. More sobs, this time without tears, emitted from his body.  After a few moments he was still and drained.

Amos walked found the desk and helped him to his feet. Then he gently escorted the young man out through the back entrance in silence and watched him shuffle forlornly out though the gate that the police cars used.

The inspector had not been in his office long before Det. Sgt Swift, who had been out interviewing a couple of possible, though not particularly promising, leads burst into his office without knocking. She looked flustered.

“He’s gone,” Amos said simply.

“They told me at the front desk he was here,” Swift said with embarrassment. “I’m terribly sorry, sir.”

Chapter 20

If the owners of the Killiney Arms hoped that they were off the hook, they were disabused of the notion at 10.45 that morning. Swift had informed Amos of the suspicious behaviour of Jim Berry and the allusion of the landlord to his knowing about the murder.

“It isn’t much to go on,” Swift confessed at the regular morning meeting of the murder team, “but I really did feel there was something going on there. And Berry did figure in all the Jones files we looked at.”

Amos was equally frank: “We haven't got very far in any other direction so we might as well give it a try.”

Amos was now hammering on the closed, solid front door of the pub. A vacuum cleaner was buzzing away in the background.

Amos knocked again, louder.

“We’re not open until 11,” came the reply. The face of the landlord’s wife appeared at the lounge window. Amos swiftly flashed his warrant card in front of her face. She grimaced.

A few moments later heavy bolts could be heard being withdrawn behind the barricades and the door was opened to reveal the figure of the landlord.

“Thanks,” said Amos perfunctorily as he pushed his way past the startled figure and into the pub. Swift followed, leaving the landlord to close the door and follow them.

This time the landlord's wife was in close attendance to protect her husband from over-indulgence in providing unguarded information.

“I understand you have reason to believe that one of your customers knows something about the murder at Killiney Court,” Amos said without embroidery. There was a pause. It was the woman who replied.

“All our customers claim to know something about everything,” she said tartly. “Not many of them know anything about anything, but it is our job to humour them.”

“But Jim Berry seems to know something the others don't,” Amos persisted.

The landlord's wife stuck stubbornly to her line. “We don’t talk about our customers to strangers. We talk to them, not about them.”

“Would you like a drink… or a coffee,” the landlord butted in, hoping to defuse the increasingly frosty atmosphere.

"The coffee’s not on yet,” responded his better half. “And I'm sure the officers don't drink on duty.”

“I would prefer to complete this conversation before your first customers of the day arrive,” Amos ventured. “No doubt you would prefer not to have police spoiling the congenial atmosphere, either,” he added.

The landlord shot a glance at his wife, who went “hmmph,” threw her head back and walked out through the door to the private quarters. A moment later the vacuum cleaner could be heard in the drawing room.

“All I’m saying is this,” the landlord conceded, “Jim Berry knew Ray Jones, the dead man. Jim did work for him. Odd jobs. He often left here to go across to see Mr Jones in the early evening, get his orders for next day and come back here. Mr Jones rang him in the afternoon so Jim knew if there was anything doing. Jim hadn't had a call that Friday. Well, there was nothing unusual in that. There wasn't work every day and Jim wouldn't expect anything for a Saturday. But he still went across on the Friday evening, and much later than usual.”

“Berry said he was going across to see Jones on the night Jones was killed?” Swift asked.

“No, he didn't say anything. As a matter of fact, he was quiet and moody. But I came out collecting glasses just as he left and I saw him turn into Killiney Court from the window.”

“Where does he live?” Swift inquired.

“He lives just down the road,” the landlord said sullenly. “It’s the only house with a red door.”

“Thank you,” Amos said graciously, rising from his perch. “We will trouble you no further.”

Then after a pause: “For now.”

Chapter 21

Jim Berry was shifty, uncomfortable and defiant as he sat across the interview room table from Amos and Swift.

He presented a curious picture with ginger eyebrows that twisted up to a point on the edge of his ruddy face. His tweed jacket was old but clean and leather patches adorned the elbows to protect against wear. His checked shirt was beginning to fray at the collar.

The neatest part of him was his goatee beard, ginger to match the eyebrows but showing more white. His hair was greying and receding and was a week or so overdue for a trim.

At a nod from her superior officer, Swift switched on the tape and went through the routine of stating date, time, and those present.

“Can you confirm, Mr Berry, that I have offered you an opportunity to contact a solicitor and you have declined,” Amos asked in a matter-of-fact way.

“What do I want with a lawyer?” Berry asked peevishly. “I can't afford one. They're not interested in the likes of me. I don't need one, anyway. I've done nothing wrong. I'm the victim here.”

“As you wish,” Amos replied smoothly. “I am investigating the murder of Raymond Jones, which took place last weekend. What were your movements between 5pm on Friday and 10 am on Tuesday?”

“Blimey, I can't remember every single minute,” Berry exclaimed. He had, however, lightened noticeably.

“I can't remember off-hand where I was earlier on, but I was in the pub all Friday evening - the one opposite Killiney Court, as if you didn't know. Then I went home at closing time and went to bed.

“I'll have to think about the rest of the weekend. I don't think I know what I was doing most of the time. But I did pop into the pub once or twice on Saturday and Sunday. I stayed in bed all day Monday. I felt poorly.”

Swift was surprised that Amos did not immediately press him further on his movements, particularly on the Friday evening when the murder, as they now knew, took place. However, Amos was pursuing a different tack.

“Jones bought your company,” the inspector said. “Had you known him before that?”

Berry was relaxing further.

“Nope,” he said simply.

“So you were not aware that he already had a reputation for aggressive dealing? You weren't worried that he might swindle you out of your business?”

“Mr Jones was a gentleman,” Berry blurted out with surprising indignation. “He always played fair, kept his word. He always,” Berry put great stress in the word, “had done.”

“I thought you said you didn't know him before he took over your company.”

Berry was flustered. Amos now discovered why the eyebrows were twisted up to a point. Berry twirled them whenever he got nervous.

“Well, I didn't really know him,” he floundered. “We'd done business with him, him being in the same line of business. I didn't actually know him.”

“You speak very highly of him,” Amos proffered, “Considering what he did to you.”

Berry was thrown again.

“What d'ya mean?” he demanded gruffly.

"Your business," Amos said. "Swindled you out of your business."

“He did no such thing,” Berry came back indignantly. “It was my partner Dick Wardle who cheated me. If it hadn't been for Mr Jones I'd have been left with nothing. Wardle took the lot and cleared off. But Mr Jones was a gent like I told you. He gave me a bit of cash.”

Amos picked up the papers in front of him. "For the purposes of the tape. I am showing Mr Berry documents relating to the takeover of Mr Berry's company by Raymond Jones."

Amos selected several papers, passing them one at a time across to Berry, who glanced up and down them but said nothing and passed them back.

"So?" he asked Amos.

"So, you can't read," the officer announced. "You've no idea what those documents say, have you?"

"Course I do," Berry persisted but he was looking round wildly as if he hoped a door would suddenly open up along one of the bare walls surrounding him.

"Then tell me," Amos suggested quietly, "which of these papers has nothing to do with you and Mr Jones."

Berry sat sullenly, refusing now to even look at the papers.

The point established, Amos moved on: "So you couldn't read the details. How do you know whether the deal was fair or not?"

"Mr Jones explained it all to me. Wardle had taken all the money out of the business. It was hardly worth anything. In fact, Mr Jones said I would be liable for debts that Wardle had run up without me knowing it. He did his best for me like I told you."

Amos pondered this touching declaration of faith for a few moments.

"Mr Jones gave you odd jobs to do, didn't he?" Swift took up the questioning.

"It was nothing much. I didn't have to declare it to the social services, did I?" Berry asked in desperation. "Look can I have a drink? A cup of tea?"

Swift had the bit between her teeth and was all for turning the rack tighter. She was disappointed when Amos demurred without hesitation.

“Of course you can,” he responded sympathetically. “Sergeant Swift and I will organise it. We'll be back in a few moments.”

Chapter 22

The two officers left Berry alone while they sent for tea and took stock in the corridor out of his hearing.

"I am convinced," Amos said after a few moments thought, “that Berry genuinely believed Jones. He really believes it was just his former partner who swindled him and that Jones actually came to the rescue. Then he relied on Jones for cash handouts to supplement his state benefit."

"If that is right," Swift butted in, "then what motive has he got for murdering Jones? Surely he wanted Jones alive, not dead."

Amos shrugged his shoulders.

"You could be right," he admitted. “Unless Jones had decided not to use him any more. But I must admit that doesn’t ring true.”

They stood in silence until tea was delivered and the interview was resumed.

"I don't see any reason to involve social security if you cooperate," Amos said smoothly. "I'm not putting the tape back on so nothing you say now can be used against you."

Berry seemed mollified.

"Now tell me about the work you did for Mr Jones."

Berry was wary but he decided to take his chances with Amos.

"Well, they were just odd jobs. Mr Jones needed information before he did his deals and I just made a few inquiries. Asked around, that sort of thing. I had a lot of contacts from my days in business."

"And you were good at it," Amos suggested in a kindly way. "You couldn't write it down but you could keep it all up here where it was a lot safer,” he added tapping his head.

"That's right," Berry replied enthusiastically, feeling that Amos understood him after all. "Up here. Mr Jones was very grateful. He said I had a real head for business."

"So you must have visited Ray Jones's flat quite frequently?" Amos prompted. Berry looked shocked.

"Good Lord no," he answered in astonishment. "Mr Jones wouldn't let me visit his flat. Not that you could blame him," Berry added hastily in defence of his casual employer. "His neighbours are a right stuck-up lot. He couldn't have them seeing a scruffy down-and-out like me turning up at his door."

"Are you saying you never visited Killiney Court?" Swift asked.

"Not since they were fitted out. I did a lot of the electrical work while they were being done up but that was early days. The flats were just shells then. It was the last proper job I did,” he added wistfully.

“Mr Jones would ring me when he wanted to see me. He’d ring the pub and leave a message. We sometimes met in the pub. None of his snobby neighbours ever went in there.

“They all thought they’d gone up a rung when they moved into Killiney Court.”

Berry gave a sardonic laugh.

“So they had. Up one rung in more ways than one.”

Amos looked at him curiously. “What do you mean by that?”

“I’m saying no more,” Berry suddenly clamped up. “You’ve got nothing on me. I had no reason to kill Mr Jones. Now can I go home?”

Amos rose wearily to his feet.

“Yes, Mr Berry. Thank you for your cooperation. You may go home.”

Chapter 23

Amos and Swift stood gloomily watching Berry walk down the corridor to freedom.

“It can’t be helped, Sir,” Swift remarked. “There’s no real evidence against him and he had no reason to kill Jones – quite the opposite.”

Detective Constable John Clarke was coming towards them and brushed past Berry, turning to stare at him after they passed each other.