Destruction of Evidence (15 page)

‘I know what you’re thinking, Inspector Joseph. But I knew the Pitchers,’ Frank interposed. ‘Michael was devoted to his parents and brothers. He can’t bear the thought of what’s happened to them and that’s the only reason he’s had a breakdown. We’ve the right man in custody and we need look no further.’

‘There’ll be no conviction without evidence and aside from the jewellery found in Larry Jones’s pockets which he could have stolen before the fire was set – or picked up outside the house after it had been discarded by a thief…’

‘Or been planted on him,’ Peter interrupted Trevor.

‘Are you suggesting…’

‘Not suggesting, just thinking out loud,’ Peter parried Frank’s glare.

Trevor glanced at his watch. ‘As there’s no chance of interviewing Michael Pitcher at present, can we discuss your interview with Larry Jones, Inspector March?’

‘You’ve seen the recording?’

‘Yes.’

Reggie broke the impasse between Frank and Peter. ‘Sergeant, check on forensics’ progress at the Pitcher house?’

‘Yes, Super.’ Resentful at being dismissed Frank picked up the tray of teacups and rattled and clunked his way out of the room.

Trevor waited until Frank closed the door. ‘Have you had occasion to interview Larry Jones before yesterday, Inspector March?’

‘Several times when I was a constable and again after my promotion to sergeant but I’d have to check the records to find out exactly how often.’

‘Have you known him to lie?’

‘Often and brazenly.’

‘Did you believe him when he insisted he hadn’t seen the emerald and diamond jewellery found in his pocket before it was shown to him?’

‘No, but I accept it’s possible he was so drunk he can’t remember how he came to be in possession of it,’ she said cautiously.

‘Given your previous knowledge of the suspect do you believe him capable of arson and murder?’

Carol hesitated. ‘Given Larry Jones’s previous convictions for GBH, most of which were down to consumption of alcohol or illegal substances, he’s proved himself capable of mindless violence. If no one was around to check his behaviour, yes, I believe him capable of murder. He has no record of arson that I’m aware of.’

‘So you think he did murder the Pitchers?’

‘In my opinion,’ Carol laid stress on the last word, ‘he is capable of murder. But I have a few problems equating the murder of Pitchers with Larry’s movements that night.’

‘Such as?’ Trevor sat back in his chair.’

‘All four Pitchers were fit healthy people, especially the two sons and Alun. They were used to lifting and moving heavy furniture. James and Lee Pitcher exercised frequently at the gym. I’ve seen them there myself. The pathologist confirmed there are marks on all the victims that suggest they were beaten, if not to death, then severely before death. A person who is being assaulted cries out in pain or for help. The noise would have brought the other occupants of the house running to the scene. And, even if the one who was being attacked had been taken by surprise and was too badly injured to fight back, the other three would have had no problem overpowering Larry. Three against one are good odds. Especially if the one is drunk.’

‘Three of the bodies were in the attic,’ Trevor reminded her.

‘The strongest three of the four. I don’t believe Larry could have beaten two let alone three simultaneously. If he was beating one, surely the others would have overcome him. And, even without the cries, the sound of a single body – let alone three – falling to the floor would have alerted Gillian Pitcher who was almost certainly in the master bedroom on the floor below.’

‘The bodies were trussed up,’ Peter mused.

‘You think they entered attic one at a time so he could tie them up individually and gag them so they couldn’t alert the others?’

‘We have to consider all possibilities.’ Peter raised his eyes to Carol’s. She looked away.

‘A drunk would have difficulty moving around quietly.’ Trevor played devil’s advocate. ‘Was Larry breathalysed?’ Trevor asked Reggie.

‘When we got him to the station,’ Reggie answered. ‘He had 90 micrograms of alcohol to 100 millilitres of breath.’

‘So, basically he wasn’t in any state to plan the perfect crime or tiptoe silently around the Pitcher house,’ Peter contributed.

‘Are you saying you don’t think Larry Jones acted alone?’ Trevor aimed his question at Carol but looked to Reggie.

‘Do you think Larry Jones was the fall guy for an accomplice, Inspector Joseph?’ Carol showed her training by answering his question with one of her own.

‘You know the Pitchers, the town and Larry Jones. I don’t, which is why I am interested in your opinion.’

‘If it’s opinions you want and not hard facts, I have a few more,’ Carol added. ‘The landlord of the Angel, Tim Pryce and Ken Lloyd, the fisherman, stated that Larry Jones was comatose at midnight. If Larry did manage to break in and kill all four Pitchers, was he capable of exercising sufficient rational thought to cover his tracks only three hours later? And, did he have the knowledge needed to destroy all the physical evidence linking him to the crime? The one thing all the technicians working in the Pitcher house agree on; is that the perpetrator or perpetrators did a first-class job of scouring the crime scene. Take the sink traps. It would take a steady hand to unscrew those. Would a drunk have a steady hand?’

‘That’s a valid observation.’ If Trevor had already thought of it, he gave no indication. ‘Superintendent Moore?’

‘I’ll wait until all the forensic reports come in before venturing an opinion.’ She read her watch. ‘It’s the tail end of a long day and I doubt tomorrow is going to be any shorter. I suggest we adjourn until first thing in the morning when hopefully we’ll be in possession of some new evidence. Do you know if accommodation has been found for Trevor and Peter, Carol?’

‘Yes. There’s been a glut of cancellations in the town’s hotels, guesthouses and holiday cottages.’

‘I wonder why,’ Peter stared at the ceiling.

‘Tim Pryce said they could have one of the stable cottages in his yard for a month, or longer if needed.’

‘We won’t be needing it that long,’ Peter commented acidly.

‘They are reasonably comfortable,’ Carol assured Trevor, ‘with two en suite double bedrooms, kitchen and sitting room.’

‘Fine, as long as we’re not expected to do our own cooking as well as work on the case.’ Peter left his chair.

‘You can eat in the pub or Tim will send food in if you prefer.’ Carol also rose to her feet. ‘The pathologist and most of the people from the outside forensic teams are also staying at the Angel.’

‘Great, we get to eat and sleep this case nights as well as days,’ Peter said.

‘You did say Larry Jones was still here?’ Trevor checked with Reggie.

‘In the cells, yes,’ Reggie informed him.

‘I’d be grateful if you’d ask his solicitor if I can talk to him either before or after he appears before the magistrate tomorrow.’

‘Judy Howell is his solicitor. She’ll want to be present,’ Reggie warned.

‘I assumed she would,’ Trevor replied.

‘Is this the cottage Goldilocks broke into or the one obsessive compulsive Snow White cleaned when the dwarves were busy mining? No, don’t tell me, I’ve just hit my head on one of the damned beams, so it must have been the dwarves.’ Peter dropped his bags and stretched out on the sofa in the living room.

Trevor looked around. ‘We could do with a couple more inches clearance on the ceiling.’

‘Short people the Welsh.’ Peter rubbed his head.

Trevor went into the kitchen. ‘At least this is full height. It’s a fully fitted modern extension. Oven, microwave, fridge, freezer…’

‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to live with my love than set up home with you.’ Peter interrupted.

‘If we’re here any length of time, the girls could come down and stay for a few days.’

‘That wouldn’t be a bad idea, if we were going to be here for any length of time.’ Peter stretched his arms above his head and yawned.

‘You’ve solved the case?’ Trevor asked.

‘I’m relying on you to do that.’ Peter left the sofa, picked up his bags and headed up the stairs. ‘Bloody swining bastard…’

‘The ceiling on the stairs is low too,’ Trevor called after him.

‘Thank you very much for that information after I’ve discovered it.’

Trevor picked up his case and briefcase and followed Peter, but he was careful to duck. He found Peter staring through the open doors of both bedrooms.

‘Have you ever seen so many Laura Ashley chintz frills out of a shop before?’ Peter asked in disgust.

‘You take the pink, I’ll settle for blue.’ Trevor walked past him into one of the rooms. He opened the door to the en suite bathroom. ‘The good news is a power shower as well as bath.’

‘With complimentary lavender- and rose-scented toiletries?’ Peter suggested caustically.

Trevor examined the contents of a gingham-lined basket. ‘Royal Jelly, actually and locally made aromatic pine candles.’

Peter leaned against the door. ‘You can’t seriously expect me to sleep in that room?’

‘Why?’

‘I’m allergic to pink roses.’

‘The best way to deal with an allergy is to build immunity. Close the door, I’m about to phone, Lyn.’

Peter didn’t attempt to move. ‘Do you think Daisy will drive here and rescue me if I cry help?’

‘No, she’s a sensible lady. Give her my love and commiserations.’

‘For having to live without me?’ Peter suggested.

‘For having to live with you.’

‘You could have refused to bring me.’

‘I need my official goader.’

‘You accusing me…’

‘As goader you have your uses. You’ve annoyed most of the locals already, and angry people make mistakes.’

Peter closed the door.

‘A cottage, how lovely…’

‘Don’t get too excited, darling,’ Trevor warned Lyn. ‘I have a feeling this case is going be a difficult and time-consuming one.’

‘So, even if we drive up you won’t be able to spare Marty and me any time.’

‘Give it a couple of days, and I’ll be better able to gauge it. But if I put in for some leave, you could come up when we’ve wrapped the case. The countryside is pretty and the cottage comfortable, if not to Peter’s taste.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘Low ceilings and girly furnishings.’

The sound of Lyn’s laughter echoing down the line made Trevor even more homesick.

‘Poor Peter.’

‘Poor me, having to live with him. Is Daisy with you?’

‘Coming round in an hour.’

‘Have fun.’

‘You too, darling. Marty and me miss and love you.’

‘Me too.’ Trevor ended the call, went into the bathroom, stripped off and stepped under the shower.

Half an hour later, he went downstairs. Peter had already foraged a bottle of malt and poured two measures.

‘Saw Patrick and Jen when I picked this up in the pub. I said we’ll eat with them in ten minutes.’ Peter handed Trevor a glass.

‘Since when do you volunteer for shop talk over dinner?’

‘The way I see it, the sooner we get started the sooner we finish and go home.’

‘How’s Daisy?’

‘Desolate at my absence.’

‘Really?’

‘Is she hell! She was waiting for a delivery of Indian takeaway when I called, preparing for a night of slushy weepy DVD’s with your missus.’

‘Nice to know they can survive without us.’ Trevor sipped his whisky.

‘You may think so, I don’t.’

‘If you don’t mind, I’ll stash this in the fridge until later.’ Trevor carried his glass into the kitchen. ‘I’ve eaten with Patrick before. It’s not a good idea to drink beforehand.’

‘Comes to something when the pathologists can out-drink the coppers.’ Peter emptied his glass in a single mouthful.

‘I’ll have the garlic mushrooms followed by the T-bone steak, rare. So rare the outside has just brushed against a hot frying pan,’ Jen ordered. ‘A vodka tonic to begin with and a bottle of Rioja with the food.’

‘It’s easy to see who you’ve been working with for the past year,’ Trevor scanned the menu.

‘You saying I don’t give my staff time to read the menu, Trevor?’ Patrick challenged. He barked his own order. ‘Fricassee of liver in wine cream sauce with shiitake mushrooms.’

Trevor looked at the waitress and recognised her from that morning. He recalled the name Reggie had given her. ‘Pamela George isn’t it?’

‘You’ve a good memory, or have you?’ she added suspiciously. ‘I don’t remember telling you my name.’

‘Beautiful girl like you, we made enquiries.’ Peter eyed her breasts, shown off to full advantage in a blue silk top, even lower-cut than the red one she’d worn earlier.

‘You’re the coppers who are in one of the stable cottages, aren’t you?’

‘That’s right, darling,’ Peter winked at her. ‘And mine’s smoked salmon pate, with a T bone to follow with chips, and I don’t want mine well done, I want it cremated.’