Road Closed (12 page)

The sergeant gave her a quizzical look as he rose to his feet. ‘Work always comes first, is that it then?’

‘I mean it’ll help to take your mind off – other things.’ They exchanged a brief glance, a flicker of understanding, before they turned away.

20

Candle Sticks

Geraldine spent the rest of the morning reading through statements. In five reported break-ins the burglars had stolen just under £2,000 worth of valuables and cash. No doubt they were congratulating themselves and laughing at police incompetence. Geraldine tried to ignore her irritation with Bennett. Half-hearted officers made life more difficult for everyone.

‘How goes it, gov?’ Peterson asked as she emerged from her office. Geraldine pulled a face. He glanced down at the report she was holding. ‘Busy, aren’t they?’

‘Not as busy as we’re going to be.’

‘Now why don’t I like the sound of that?’ he smiled. He seemed to have regained his usual good spirits. ‘Come on, then, gov, let’s go get ‘em.’

‘If only,’ she said, looking down at the list in her hand. ‘No luck tracing any of the stolen property I suppose?’

‘Now that’s where you’re wrong.’ The sergeant had been on his way to tell her that the owner of a local junk shop had called in. ‘He saw the pictures in the paper and thinks he’s got the silver candle sticks from the first break-in. We’ve got to go and check it out.’ He grinned and Geraldine felt her bad mood lift. Keeping on top of the paperwork was vital but, like the sergeant, she was happiest when she was out and about and doing something.

The name of the High Street changed to Lower Lane as they reached the East side of town where the streets narrowed and house fronts opened straight on to the road. An occasional tree drooped over the pavement. Starbucks in the centre of town
gave way to JOE’S CAFE, Marks and Spencer changed to BEE’S BOUTIQUE with a handwritten sign in the window: EVRYTHING UNDER £5.

They drew up in a narrow side street, outside ALFIE’S ANTIQUES. The dimly lit interior was crammed with junk: tall lamps, ornate carriage clocks, chipped vases and glass ornaments, lone teapots and jugs, a wooden coat stand and a large black and gold china spaniel. A white haired man emerged soundlessly from the shadows. He wore a threadbare cardigan patched at the elbows, and corduroy trousers. Shrewd eyes sized them up over the top of rimless glasses.

‘Police?’

Geraldine held out her identity card, and asked to see the candle sticks. The shopkeeper shuffled forwards, rubbing his hands together. He mumbled something incoherent about a reward. A retort about fencing stolen goods sent him scurrying to the back of the shop.

He returned with a pair of wrought silver candle sticks which he held up, turning them to catch the light. ‘Beauties,’ he said. ‘Worth a bob or two.’ He handed them over with an air of regret. ‘I get nothing for them, then? Is that right? Nothing at all? I mean, I could’ve kept them, couldn’t I? Kept shtum.’

‘Stolen property,’ Peterson reminded him and the shopkeeper sighed.

Geraldine promised the owners would learn how their property had been recovered. ‘I’m sure they’ll want to show their appreciation.’

The shopkeeper raised his shoulders in resignation. ‘Archie. Tell them to ask for Archie.’

The candle sticks secure, Geraldine quizzed the old man about how they had come into his possession. He said a man had brought them in.

‘Can you describe him?’ The sergeant squinted at his notebook in the poor light.

The junk dealer told them a young man in a grey hoodie had brought the silver candle sticks in about a week before. ‘Seemed like he was in a hurry.’ Archie paused to cough. Phlegm rattled in his throat. ‘Of course I asked him where he got them,’ the old man went on. ‘I don’t deal in stolen gear, I told him straight, but he said the candle sticks belonged to his grandmother.’ Geraldine nodded impatiently. They all knew his lies fooled no one.

Archie told them he had offered the man fifty pounds for the pair. ‘He tried to haggle. Said the candle sticks were worth more. He wanted two hundred pounds.’ The sergeant snorted. Archie ignored the interruption and described how he had laughed in the young man’s face and stood firm when the young man grew angry. ‘You can’t browbeat me, I’ve been at this game too long.’

Geraldine asked him to describe the man.

‘Tall, ugly looking bloke, wearing black gloves. He was a big guy, a real bruiser, built like a boxer. There’s many would be intimidated by a big bloke like that, but I’m no patsy. I may look like I’ve seen better days, but no one pushes me around.’ He gave a hollow laugh that degenerated into another bout of coughing. ‘It’s fifty quid or nothing,’ he resumed hoarsely. ‘I told him. Take it or leave it.’

‘So he took it?’

Archie shrugged. ‘He didn’t worry me but even so, in the end, I gave him what he wanted, he was making such a song and dance over it. He was getting impatient, I could tell. Kept looking over his shoulder like he was nervous.’ He paused to spit phlegm into a filthy handkerchief. ‘It was still a bargain. I did all right on the deal, or I would’ve done.’

Geraldine and Peterson exchanged a disappointed glance, frustrated that Archie couldn’t describe the man in more detail.

The sergeant read out his notes as Geraldine drove them back through town.

‘Wearing a grey hoodie, like a tracksuit top, youngish, built like a tank.’ He looked up. ‘Anyone would look well built next to Archie.’

‘And young.’

Peterson continued reading. ‘Tall, ugly looking bloke, wearing black gloves. He was a big guy, built like a boxer. He seemed to be in a hurry and looked nervous. Not much to go on, is it?’

It was unlikely forensics would find anything useful on the candlesticks. The owners would be pleased to recover them, but the visit to Archie’s Antiques had brought them no closer to identifying the gang of thieves.

‘We’ll find them,’ Geraldine said, noticing Peterson’s miserable expression. ‘Sooner or later, we have to find them.’

‘Let’s hope no one else gets on the wrong side of them before we do,’ the sergeant answered, with unusual pessimism.

21

Mother-In-Law

Their next visit was to Thomas Cliff’s mother. Mrs Cliff had called the station to say she had information for them, but wasn’t prepared to speak to the police over the phone.

‘Paranoid,’ the constable who had taken the call told Geraldine. ‘Said she didn’t trust the phone.’ Geraldine didn’t mind going to see her. Statements from family members warranted close scrutiny.

Mrs Cliff senior lived in a village not far from Harchester.

‘Pretty,’ Peterson remarked as they cruised past a village green. White yellow-beaked ducks scudded among rushes at the side of a pond. Geraldine grunted, remembering a victim who had been discovered naked in a pond on a previous case.

They found Mrs Cliff’s house easily enough, a few doors along from the village shop and past Ye Olde Bakery, a modern tea shop complete with mock tudor beams. Although she had requested a visit, Mrs Cliff kept them waiting. They understood why when she finally opened the door. She could scarcely walk on thin legs encased in elastic support tights.

‘Come in,’ she quavered, without waiting to see their identity cards. ‘I’ve got information for you.’ She tottered along the hallway assisted by a crutch.

They sat down in a living room furnished with chintz covered arm chairs and a glowing gas fire and waited while Mrs Cliff settled herself. Finally the old woman’s eyes glittered at Geraldine, sharp above raffish pink lipstick, an incongruous splash of colour in an otherwise dowdy outfit: grey skirt and cardy, brown slippers. Geraldine hoped the old
woman’s information would prove worth the wait. The tape was set up, the sergeant poised, pen in hand. Geraldine had her own note book open ready. After a while she put her pen down and listened, watching Mrs Cliff’s face closely.

‘It was her, all right,’ the old woman insisted, banging her crutch on the floor. ‘I always knew she was a bad one. I told him so, but he wouldn’t listen. She’s no good, I told him. She’s a bad lot.’

‘A bad lot?’ Geraldine repeated patiently.

‘My husband used to look after things. When he died, Tom was only young, but he understood things even then. He was a clever boy. Clever about some things. He knew how to deal with the bills: the rates, the electric, the phone. It was all too much for me. I never could understand how people manage. ‘Leave it to me mum,’ he used to say. ‘I don’t want you to worry about a thing. I’m here to look after you.’ And he did look after me. He was a good boy. So it made sense to put everything in his name. We talked about it, and we agreed it was best. It made life easier for both of us. He could sort everything out. He settled all the bills and paid off the mortgage, and I didn’t have to worry about a thing. So we put it all in his name, the house, the savings, even the pension. He took care of everything. I had my allowance, like before. It was as though my husband had never gone. I never thought Tom would leave me too.’ Her voice rose to a shrill whine. ‘And he never would’ve gone, not like that, if it hadn’t been for her. And now look what’s happened. She’s an evil woman.’ Her eyes shone with malice. ‘It was wicked, what she did. Now she’ll be after evicting me from my own home, and where am I supposed to go? It was an evil thing she did.’

‘Do you mean when she married your son?’ Geraldine enquired.

‘As soon as she had his ring on her finger she made him change his will. He did whatever she wanted. Had him right
where she wanted him. She could trick him into saying night was day. You tell me if it’s natural for a woman to control a man like that. He stopped listening to me. It was like I didn’t exist any more, he was so blinded by her. And he did it, too. Changed his will, leaving everything to her. Everything my husband worked for, he signed it all over to her, the house, all our savings. It would all be hers if anything happened to him. ‘Don’t you worry, mum,’ he said. ‘By the time she inherits we’ll both be gone.’ It wasn’t much of a comfort, knowing she’d get her hands on my house, but it never crossed my mind I’d be alive to see it, so I put it out of my mind, like he told me. ‘It’s not going to affect you,’ he said. I knew she was a nasty piece of work, but I never thought she’d finish him off like that. And now he’s gone and it’s all hers. That’s why she did it.’

‘She did what? What are you accusing your daughter-in-law of doing, Mrs Cliff?’

The old lady looked surprised. ‘Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? She killed him, to get her hands on my house. Now she’ll sell it and I’ll be left homeless and penniless. Look at her, Inspector. Those cold eyes. I knew she was an adulteress, but I never thought she’d go this far to get her hands on what’s mine.’

‘Are you saying your daughter-in-law was seeing another man?’

‘She had other men.’

Geraldine picked up her pen, interested at last. It seemed the old lady might have some explicit information for them. ‘What can you tell us about the man she was involved with?’

‘Men,’ Mrs Cliff corrected her. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Ask anyone. She went out at nights. Stayed out all night. He was too naïve to believe what was going on right under his nose, but I could tell right enough. She’s a whore. She’d do anything for money, that one. She’d stop at nothing. Only I
never thought she’d resort to killing him to get her hands on what’s mine. I knew there was something odd about her. I spotted it straight away.’

Geraldine put her pen down. ‘Odd?’

‘She’s got no friends. None. And she never talks about her family. Not a word.’ She sat back, triumphant, as though Sophie Cliff’s social isolation was conclusive. Geraldine had never felt close to her own family, and never talked about them. Apart from Hannah, Ian Peterson was probably the closest she had to a friend, and he was really just a colleague. She felt a stab of sympathy for Sophie Cliff.

‘So – she’s a shy person?’ Peterson asked.

‘No.’ The old lady gave an impatient shake of her head. ‘I’m telling you, she was odd. Tom was the only person she spoke to. If I asked her anything, she’d look straight at him when she answered. Never at me. Shifty. I told him, but he wouldn’t listen.’

‘Do you think there’s any truth in her allegations, gov?’ Peterson asked Geraldine on their way back to the station.

‘She couldn’t give us a shred of evidence to back up her claims. Chances are it was spite talking. Her daughter-in-law took away her son, and now the old woman thinks she wants to take everything else that’s hers. But Sophie Cliff was already comfortably off and she’d not long been married. She couldn’t have known for certain her husband would alter his will in her favour once they were married. Did he do that at her instigation, I wonder? Had she planned it all?’

‘No, because if it was all so carefully worked out in advance, persuading him to change his will and so on, she would have used a more reliable means of killing him.’

‘Yes, that really doesn’t stack up, does it? But we need to make sure she wasn’t having an affair, or had any financial problems we don’t know about. She’s a very wealthy woman now. People have committed murder for a lot less than she
stands to inherit. Plus she now has a hold over the mother-in-law who’s no doubt been giving her hell for the past year or so. I don’t suppose Thomas Cliff’s mother handed over control of her son without a fight.’

‘Sophie Cliff’s certainly a rich woman now.’

‘Yes. There’s no denying that.’ She thought of the young widow, sitting alone in her magnificent house, bitter and isolated. Like her mother-in-law. ‘But why would she want to kill her husband and have it all on her own, unless there was another man involved.’

‘Problems between her and her husband? Or just greed?’

Geraldine frowned. Sophie Cliff didn’t strike her as a woman who was interested in money.

‘Something isn’t right,’ she said. ‘And I can’t work out what it is.’

22

Son

Back at the station, Geraldine was soon engrossed in reading the detailed report on the explosion. By early evening she had almost finished when she was interrupted by a constable knocking at her door.