Destruction of Evidence (6 page)

‘You were expecting them to meet you?’

‘Not meet me in town, stupid…’

‘You can stop playing the hard man, Larry. I’m not impressed,’ Carol cut in flatly.

‘Can’t blame me…’

‘Oh, but I do. Everyone has to take responsibility for what comes out of their mouths. Why didn’t you expect anyone from your family to meet you in town?’

‘Because they wouldn’t have known what time my bus got in.’ Larry tried to look subdued but Carol read sly defiance in his eyes. ‘I thought they’d be home – waiting. I phoned Mam last week to let her know the day I was coming out. Paid for the telephone card with my last couple of bob. She said she’d be there. But there was no answer at the house and it was locked. Sharon Thomas…’

‘Who’s Sharon Thomas?’ Carol interrupted.

‘The bitch next door to Mam. She told me Mam had gone to Carmarthen for the day. Hadn’t even left me a bloody key so I could let myself in. I wasn’t going to hang about where I wasn’t welcome so I went to the pub.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Dunno.’

‘You must have some idea.’

Larry shrugged.

‘What time did your bus get in from Bridgend?’

‘Midday.’

‘How long did it take you to walk home?’

‘Didn’t walk. Got my discharge grant, so I was flush. Got a taxi.’

‘How long did it take to drive?’

Reggie was watching and listening in through the viewing window. For once Frank was silent, although he was clenching and unclenching his fists under cover of the table. If Carol’s patience was wearing thin it wasn’t showing.

‘Twenty minutes or so.’

‘And you stayed outside your house, how long?’ Carol knew she had the advantage and she wasn’t about to relinquish it.

‘Five… ten minutes. What does it matter? I wasn’t clocking myself in and out. I had enough of that in the nick.’ Larry’s voice rose precariously.

‘How did you get from your mother’s house to the pub?’

‘Walked.’

‘How long did it take you to reach town?’

‘Didn’t go to town. Went to the Bush and had a couple of jars. They have a snooker table and a darts board…’

Carol didn’t allow Larry Jones to digress. ‘What time did you leave there?’

‘Dunno. I met a mate. We went to the caff.’

‘Name of this mate of yours?’ Carol took a notebook and pencil from her pocket.

‘He’s a good mate. I don’t want to get him into trouble.’

‘Name?’ Carol wasn’t to be dissuaded.

‘Mushy Lewis,’ Larry mumbled.

‘What cafe did you and this Mushy Lewis visit?’ Carol asked.

Larry sat back in his chair. ‘Just a caff.’

‘It has to have a name.’

‘I don’t know it. It’s on the Carmarthen road out of town. Does all-day breakfasts.’

‘Pete’s Fry Up?’ Carol ventured.

‘All I’ve ever heard it called is the caff.’

‘How did you get there?’

‘Mushy’s bike. I rode on the back.’

‘What time did you and Mushy get to the cafe?’

‘Dunno.’

‘This is getting monotonous, Larry. What time did you leave the Bush?’ Carol demanded.

‘When we were hungry.’

‘Four – five – six o’clock?’ Carol ventured.

‘Maybe sixish.’

‘What did you eat in the cafe?’

‘I dunno. Our usual.’

‘What’s your usual?’

‘Can’t ’member.’

‘You haven’t a good memory, have you?’ Carol snapped.

‘Told you before we started I can’t ’member nuffin.’

Carol leaned across the table. ‘I suggest you start trying, Larry. Where did you and this Mushy Lewis go after you left the cafe?’

‘Dunno. To a pub I suppose.’

‘Which pub?’

‘Dunno. Maybe lots of pubs.’

‘Did you and Mushy Lewis stay together?’

‘Couldn’t have. He wasn’t with me when you found me, was he?’ he challenged.

‘Where does Mushy Lewis live?’

Larry turned to the solicitor. ‘I don’t have to answer that, do I?’

‘No you don’t. But you heard the officer’s caution same as me, Larry.’ He sounded half asleep. ‘You don’t have to answer any questions, but if you refuse it could go against you in a court of law.’

‘You can’t put me in no court… I done nuffin…’

‘Do you remember being in the Angel?’ Carol broke in.

‘Tim Pryce’s Angel?’

‘If there’s another pub called the Angel in town, I don’t know it, do you?’ Carol gazed coolly at Larry.

‘No. Was I there?’ Larry Jones’s nervousness escalated into fear.

‘You don’t remember being there?’

‘No.’

‘You arrived drunk and demanded to be served.’

‘Who says so?’ Larry demanded truculently.

‘Several eye-witnesses.’

‘Eye-witnesses! You mean bloody lying Tim Pryce and his lying barmaids. Stuck-up bitches, they don’t like me. . . ’

‘They’re not the only ones who saw you there, Larry. Do you remember asking Tim to serve you?’

‘No, but he wouldn’t have. He banned me.’

‘So why go there when you know he isn’t going to serve you?’ Carol questioned.

‘Told you, I can’t remember nuffin about yesterday.’

‘For someone who said he couldn’t remember anything, I think you’ve done very well, Larry.’

‘I don’t remember being in the Angel. And that’s gospel.’

‘You don’t remember Tim Pryce asking you to leave?’

‘Nope.’

‘You don’t remember him escorting you to the door?’

‘Nope. But he wouldn’t “escort me”. He’d kick me out into the street. That’s how the bastard behaves.’

‘We have witnesses who say that you were drunk.’

‘There you are then,’ Larry snapped triumphantly. ‘If I was drunk, I wouldn’t ‘member, would I?’

‘You walked out of the pub on your own two feet.’

‘I can’t ’member doing that.’

‘What can you remember between the time you left the Angel and waking up in the building in the Pitcher’s yard.’

‘I keep telling you, I can’t remember going into the bloody Angel.’

‘Do you remember waking up in the building at the back of the Pitcher house?’

Larry nodded.

‘You remember being searched.’

‘Robbed more like. I want my things and my money back. I know what you lot are like for thieving…’

‘Larry, making accusations against the police won’t help you,’ the solicitor warned.

Carol sat back in her chair and stared at Larry for what seemed like a very long time, although the clock in the interview room only ticked off two minutes. Finally, she reached down besides her chair and lifted a cardboard box on to the table. She opened the lid and removed a clear plastic bag. The gold, emeralds and diamonds glimmered through the plastic sheath.

Carol’s voice rang loud and clear. ‘What do you know about these?’

‘Nuffin.’ Larry’s voice dropped to a whisper.

‘You’ve seen them before?’

‘Only when the bloody copper…’

Carol rapped her pencil on the table. ‘You mean the officer…’

Larry’s voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. ‘When the officer showed them to me.’

‘Where did he find them?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Did he, or did he not remove them from your pocket?’

‘He said he did. But that’s what the coppers do round here, innit, they drop stuff in your pockets so they can stitch you up.’

‘Are you accusing a police officer of planting evidence on your person, Mr Jones?’ There was frost in Carol’s voice.

‘He said them jewels was in my pocket. I didn’t put them there.’

‘Yours were the only fingerprints on the bag.’

‘I never touched it…’

‘Would you like to make a formal complaint against the officer who arrested you Mr Jones?’

Larry shook his head. ‘I feel sick. I…’ He retched and turned, emptying the contents of his stomach on to the floor.

Carol had the last word. ‘Interview with Mr Laurence Jones terminated at 8.46 a.m.’

CHAPTER FIVE

‘No! No! Absolutely not! I will not go back to Wales,’ Peter Collins declared vehemently.

‘The sheep have missed you.’

‘If that’s your idea of a joke, Dan…’

‘Inspector Evans, to you, Sergeant Collins, this is a formal meeting,’ Superintendent Bill Mulcahy admonished Peter.

‘Damn you, Joseph, you brought this on us,’ Peter Collins turned on his long-time friend and colleague, Inspector Trevor Joseph. ‘You know I hate the bloody place. There’s nothing there…’

‘The countryside’s pretty. I miss it,’ Dan interrupted. He spoke slowly, as always, in the Welsh lilt he hadn’t lost in fifteen years of exile in England. It was never easy to gauge Dan’s mood. But Trevor saw his colleague’s mouth twitch. Dan was amused by Peter’s anger and determined to milk it for all it was worth.

‘You brought this on yourself as much as Trevor,’ Bill insisted. ‘If you two hadn’t done such a good job of solving the Llan case, this…’ Bill consulted the e-mail printout in his hand. ‘Superintendent Reggie Moore wouldn’t have heard of you. He appealed to upstairs for your help as soon as the forensic team made their preliminary report. Said he didn’t have any officers experienced enough to tackle a high-profile case of this complexity and his entire force admired you for the professionalism you exhibited while working in difficult circumstances the last time you were in Wales.’

‘Of course the circumstances were difficult; we were in the middle of nowhere surrounded by bloody Neanderthals who wanted to lynch us.’

Bill allowed Peter’s swearing to go unchallenged. ‘Naturally, upstairs were only too delighted to acknowledge your superior talents and comply with Superintendent Moore’s request.’

‘I am not flattered and more than happy to go on record as giving Trevor all the credit for Llan. He is the senior officer. Inspector to my mere sergeant.’

‘Humility doesn’t become you, Collins,’ Bill snapped.

‘I take it we have no choice in the matter?’ Trevor enquired.

‘None,’ Bill answered shortly. ‘The locals are out of their depth and upstairs are forecasting flak from the media until the case is wrapped. Multiple murders of an entire family are rare and this is a particularly nasty one. Everyone wants a quick, clean, open and transparent investigation and an iron-clad, unshakeable conviction.’

‘I’ve said it before, Joseph, and I’ll say it again. Shovelling other people’s shit is all you get for being good at your job.’ Peter only resorted to using Trevor’s surname when he was angry.

‘What do we know about the case, sir?’ Trevor bowed to the inevitable.

‘Not much more than the reports on television and in the press. A witness spotted a fire in the family home around three o’clock in the morning four days ago. Firemen arrived at the scene and eventually managed to bring the fire under control. The first forensic teams went into the building around midday on the second day. It took that long for the building to cool and be made safe. The teams found the corpses of four adults. They were still in situ this morning, pending further tests, but the pathologist is hoping to move them later today or early tomorrow. Initial reports suggest they were killed before the fire took hold. It’s probable the fire or fires were set to destroy evidence. One person was taken into custody at the scene and is helping the local police with their enquiries. The names of the victims are being withheld until relatives have been informed.’ Bill left his chair.

‘The media statement is “arson and murder”. Did the Superintendent say how they died?’ Trevor enquired.

‘All he says in his e-mail is he’ll brief you in full when you get there.’

‘Why not e-mail us everything he has now?’ Peter growled.

‘Security.’

‘Security!’ Peter exclaimed. ‘It’s a bloody multiple murder. Given the gossip machine in small towns – particularly Welsh ones – that means that right this minute every resident within ten miles of the victims’ house knows more than the locals.’

‘Possibly, possibly not.’ Bill commented airily. ‘The superintendent will meet you at the police station at two o’clock. Addresses of station and crime scene are on the e-mail.’ Bill handed Trevor his copy.

‘I’ve never heard of locals crying for help before an investigation gets underway,’ Peter continued to grumble. ‘The bodies can’t be cold yet… no pun intended. In my book that makes it a local affair.’

‘Didn’t you hear me say that Superintendent Moore has admitted the locals are out of their depth?’ Bill questioned tersely.

‘Out of their depth,’ Peter mocked. ‘I bet you fifty pounds to a penny it’s a political case. The locals know more than they’re letting on and don’t want to upset any big cheeses in the town with criminal tendencies so they’ve called in the fall guys to take the heat. And we’ve drawn the short straw.’