The Corpse's Tale (Trevor Joseph Detective series) (7 page)

Trevor opened the book.

‘I put them in as I had them. They’re all jumbled but it’s easy to spot Anna’s. Her mam and dad used to go to the same place every year. In Spain.’

Trevor heard a car pull up outside. He left the sofa and looked above the board that covered the lowered part of the window. He was relieved to see Mike Thomas helping Mrs Morgan out of the passenger seat. If he was going to discover any new evidence, one thing was certain. He wasn’t going to find it in the Morgan house.

Peter Collins carried a tray of coffee and biscuits up the stairs of the pub into the makeshift incident room.

‘Glad to see you domesticated at last, Collins.’ Trevor glanced up from the notes he was making.

‘If I hadn’t gone down to get it, no one else would have.’ Peter glared at Sarah who was working on the computer.

‘Mine’s without sugar and a splash of milk.’ Sarah hit another button.

‘Brainstorming time.’ Trevor turned his chair so it faced the other two. ‘Caught up with the case, Peter?’

‘What I haven’t had time to read, Sarah’s filled me in on.’

‘Good.’ Trevor took the coffee Peter handed him. ‘Sarah, what do you think we need to do first?’

‘Interview Anna Harris’s mother, sir.’

‘Why?’

‘Two things. First, Anna’s watch. It has to be significant because of the injuries to her wrist beneath it. But I don’t understand why or how they were made.’

‘That makes two of us.’

‘Three,’ Peter added.

‘The watch looked unusual. I think it might be worth finding out where she bought it. Or, if it was a present, who gave it to her.’

Peter offered the plate of biscuits to Sarah. ‘Anna Harris’s mother said in her statement that Anna had several boyfriends. From the post mortem we know she wasn’t a virgin and had sex shortly before she was killed. If we are looking for suspects other than David Morgan, a jealous lover would be a classic.’

‘ You said t w o things, Sarah,’ Tr e v o r reminded her.

‘Her missing underclothes.’

‘Which could be burned or buried in a landfill site. Please don’t suggest we carry out a fingertip search for them after ten years,’ Peter groaned.

‘Suppose she wasn’t wearing any? Some girls don’t in summer, especially if they’re hoping to strike lucky.’

‘You’re saying she might not have worn underclothes because she intended to have sex that night,’ Trevor said carefully.

‘Yes.’

‘Why don’t I ever meet girls who do that?’ Peter complained.

‘I’ll have a word with your girlfriend.’

‘Don’t you dare, Joseph.’

‘Anything else we should ask Anna’s mother?’ Trevor looked from Peter to Sarah.

‘It might be worth making a list of all her boyfriends,’ Sarah ventured.

‘I agree. Peter, any theories, aside from the jealous lover?’

‘ We could ask if Anna had enemies. Someone who was jealous of her success. And her father was a wealthy antique dealer. Someone could have had a grudge against him for buying from them too low and selling on to someone else too high.’

‘Enough of a grudge to put an axe in his daughter’s head?’ Trevor picked up his pen. ‘Forget I said it,’ Peter said, ‘I was thinking out loud.’

‘I can’t see any woman in the village killing Anna so they could take over her role in The King and I,’ Sarah said.

‘Was that show ever performed?’ Trevor asked.

‘No, and the dramatic society was formally disbanded a month later. There was a notice in the local paper. I asked Mrs James if it ever started up again and she said no one had the heart to even try.’ Sarah bit into her biscuit.

“Had the heart.” Trevor tried to recall where he had heard that phrase. Then he remembered the vicar had used a similar phrase when he had been talking about keeping the churchyard tidy. ‘It seems to me that some of the locals think the heart was torn out of this village when Anna Harris was murdered,’ he added, thoughtfully.

Peter opened his notebook. ‘So when are you going to see Anna’s mother?’

‘I’m not.’ Trevor turned to Sarah, ‘you are.’

‘Me?’ She looked up in surprise.

‘I’m sure Mrs Harris would prefer to be interviewed by a woman. Can you imagine what her reaction might be if Peter or I asked if Anna was wearing underclothes when she was killed?’

‘Thank you for having confidence in me, sir. I won’t let you down.’

‘I know you won’t. If you want him to, Peter can accompany you. But it’s your call, Sarah. The interview is your responsibility. Set it up as quickly as you can. Today if possible.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Trevor scanned his notebook. ‘Hopefully Patrick will have some results for us soon from the samples Professor Robbins took. Which leaves the local police. Sergeant Thomas, who replaced Sergeant George when he retired, is coming here this evening to talk to us. In the meantime I’ll visit Sergeant, now Mr, George.’

‘Do you want me to make an appointment for you, sir?’ Sarah asked.

‘No thanks, Sarah. I have his address. I’ll take a stroll through the village and call in on him. That way I might even get to talk to one or two of the friendly locals.’

‘Friendly – some hope,’ Peter said sourly.

‘Sarah, do we have David Morgan’s arrest photographs?’

‘Yes, sir. In this file.’ She handed it to him. He opened it and looked at the picture.

Peter glanced over his shoulder. ‘He looks terrified.’

‘Probably because he was. There are no scratches on his face.’

‘Is that significant?’ Sarah asked.

Trevor closed the file. ‘I don’t know – yet.’

‘You going out as well, Inspector Joseph?’ Rita James asked Trevor when he ran down the stairs ten minutes after Sarah and Peter had left the pub.

‘Yes, Mrs James.’

‘Found out anything yet?’ she fished.

‘Give us a chance, Mrs James, we haven’t been here a day yet,’ Trevor pleaded.

‘You can have all the chances you want, Inspector. You won’t find anything different from what Sergeant George found ten years ago.’

‘So everyone keeps telling me, Mrs James. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t try.’

‘Anna was such a nice girl. I can’t get the last night she was here out of my mind.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘She was so happy. Pleased as punch because she’d got into Drama College and was starring in the local musical. I remember standing by the kitchen window putting glasses into the sink and watching her cross the road after she left here. She was as pretty as a picture and looked as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She stopped by the church notice board, took out her hanky and polished the corner of the glass. There must have been a spot of dirt there but that was the kind of girl she was. Do anything for anyone. And she did like the village to look nice. When she was little she used to spend hours in the churchyard with Dai Helpful, picking flowers for the graves that didn’t have any. Who would have thought that a few years later Dai would axe her to death and we’d be putting flowers on her grave?’

Trevor couldn’t wait to get into the fresh air. He ended the conversation and walked briskly down the street, past the shops. They all had customers and every one of them stared at him. A couple of women even pointed, but he pretended not to see them. He looked straight ahead and kept walking. Retired police sergeant Stephen George lived in the last cottage on the left-hand side of the road through the village.

The “Churchyard Murder” had been Stephen George’s last case. The sergeant had taken early retirement at the age of forty, three months after David Morgan’s conviction. None of the files had any details as to why Stephen George had left the force so early. Trevor was looking forward to finding out.

C H A P T E R E IG H T

T
O
T
REVOR
’
S SURPRISE
, S
TEPHEN
George lived on a working farm, complete with yard and livestock. Stephen was unloading bales of hay from the back of a trailer and carrying them into the barn when Trevor appeared. He dropped a bale and walked to the gate to meet him.

‘I can guess who you are.’

Trevor held out his hand. ‘Inspector Trevor Joseph.’

‘I suppose you want to come inside the house to talk?’ Stephen said ungraciously.

‘It’s a fine day, we can talk out here.’

‘You dowant to talk?’

‘Yes.’

‘Now?’

‘If it’s convenient,’ Trevor didn’t want to appear too pushy.

‘I’m about due for a break. And you never know who’ll walk past. So you may as well come inside.’

‘Thank you.’ Trevor opened the gate and stepped warily into the yard. A goat was tethered in the corner but two kids were running free. Flocks of chickens and geese were pecking in the dirt in front of the barn and ducks were swimming on a pond just beyond a side gate. There were pigs in the nearest field and cows in one behind it. ‘Is this your farm?’

‘Smallholding more than farm. It was my father’s. When he had a stroke, I left the force to take over from him. He passed away eight years ago.’

‘Nice place.’ Trevor meant it. He recognized well-tended stock and an efficiently run farmyard. He’d enjoyed growing up on his parents’ farm in Cornwall, but it had been a relief when his younger brother had offered to take over when their father had died. Farming was in his blood but it had never been his ambition.

‘The land’s good and I get by. It’s also why I left the force early.’ He eyed Trevor. ‘Don’t tell me you weren’t curious?’

‘It’s always good to know how a fellow officer managed to get out before time.’

‘The next thing you’ll be telling me is that you’re only doing your job.’

‘I am.’ Trevor stepped sideways to avoid two cocks who were sizing one another up. ‘And, in case you’re interested, I didn’t ask for this one.’

Stephen George gave a grim smile. ‘Knowing the force, I didn’t think you did.’

‘I would appreciate some background to the David Morgan case.’

‘You have the files.’

‘In my experience the files only ever give half the story. There’s always something left out of official paperwork.’

‘Want a beer? It’s homebrew, but I can’t be bothered to make tea during the day.’

‘I’m on duty.’

Stephen kicked his boots off on a stone step. ‘You’re not one of those straight-laced teetotal coppers, are you?’

‘No.’ Trevor smiled.

‘We’ll sit here, in the lean-to.’

Some people might have called the glassed-in area that separated the farmhouse kitchen from the yard a conservatory. “Lean-to” suited it better. It was wooden framed and most of the glass panels were cracked. It was also overflowing with the paraphernalia Tr e v o r associated with farming. Feed invoices, bits of string and strong paper bags, bowls, buckets and shelves full of dusty packets of animal wormers, vitamins and patent medicines.

Stephen lifted a cat from one wickerwork chair and pushed a dog off another. He handed Trevor a glass and opened a flagon.

‘We got the right man. That judge must have been senile to let Dai Helpful out.’

‘So everyone in the village keeps telling me.’ Trevor sat in the chair the cat had occupied. It promptly jumped on to his lap and curled up c o n t e n t l y. He stroked it and it purred, reminding him of home and childhood. ‘I met your wife.’

‘Ex-wife.’ Stephen filled Trevor’s glass, then his own. ‘This,’ he waved his hand in the direction of the yard, ‘was to be a fresh start for us. You married?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you know how hard it is to make time for your family when the force expects you to cover 24/7. And we’re stretched thinner in the sticks than you are in the towns. I hardly ever saw Angela and the kids. My father had the stroke and she gave me an ultimatum, the force or her and the kids. I took her and the kids and this place. My father needed twenty-four-hour care, and had to go into a nursing home. We moved in here. Then Angela and I discovered that after ten years of living separate lives we had nothing in common. Shortly afterwards she moved to her mother’s. Then she took up with the geography teacher from the comprehensive. They’re getting married on the first of August.’

‘That must be tough.’ Trevor was suddenly very grateful for his own domestic happiness. It had come as an unlooked-for and astonishing surprise after years spent wondering if he’d ever find a woman who would put up with him – and his job. 

‘At least she lives close enough for me to see the kids every day. They still come round after school although they’ll be off to college soon.’

Trevor sipped the beer. It was warm and tasted foul but he didn’t complain. He took his notebook from his pocket. ‘Anna Harris’s mother made a statement saying Anna had boyfriends. Did you interview any of them?’

‘Three or four from the sixth form college.’