DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 2

by Phillip Strang

  ‘McIntyre’s daughter?’

  ‘That’s it. And the man doesn’t need proof, not like we do.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s much I can do,’ Vincent said. ‘Charles Stanford, from what we can see, hasn’t got anything to do with this.’

  ‘Talk to the man, explain the situation. He hates McIntyre. We need to know if there’s anything else that he may have missed, something that will give an insight into McIntyre; a reason to meet with the man again.’

  ‘I thought you were going to do that anyway.’

  ‘We’re looking for Palmer at the present time. The man’s been hanging around in London, nearby to where his brother lived, but now he’s disappeared, and we’re worried.’

  ‘We’re not the only ones in this street keeping a watch on Palmer’s house,’ Wendy said. ‘Do you see the Mercedes over there?’

  ‘I see it,’ Isaac said. ‘I even know whose car it is.’

  ‘McIntyre’s?’ Larry said.

  ‘It’s the same registration number. We can’t see the driver from here.’

  ‘You know what that means?’ Wendy said.

  ‘Bob Palmer is in serious trouble. McIntyre’s out to get the man.’

  ‘He’ll protect her at all costs,’ Larry said. ‘Bob Palmer is a dead man if we don’t get to him first.’

  ‘Samantha is at greater risk. McIntyre, or whoever is in that car, will value their own life, Palmer won’t.’

  ‘Do we have anyone keeping a watch on her?’ Isaac said.

  ‘Not round the clock,’ Larry said.

  ***

  Wendy saw the Mercedes pull out from the kerb. Quickly, she started her car and drove into the driveway of a nearby house.

  ‘It’s a cul-de-sac; he’ll have to come back this way. I don’t want us to be seen,’ she said.

  ‘Keep a watch on him in your rear-view mirror,’ Isaac said. ‘See if you can see who the driver is.’

  Inside the house where Wendy had parked, a face peered out. The front door opened soon after. ‘You can’t park there,’ the occupant of the house said.

  Isaac wanted to get out of the car and show his warrant card, but he didn’t want the driver of the Mercedes to see him.

  Wendy waved to the woman, tried to let her know to hold on for one minute, but she wouldn’t be quietened.

  Isaac smiled at the woman, said nothing.

  The Mercedes drove by, both Wendy and Isaac looking in the rear-view mirror. Wendy glanced around, trying to get a better view. There was only one thing they were sure of through the tinted windows of the other vehicle: Gareth Armstrong was driving.

  Isaac got out of the car and laid on the charm.

  ‘Sorry about my outburst’ the woman said. ‘We get a few hooligans around here, blaring music, causing trouble. Only the other week, they had a massive party up the road, the police came. We didn’t get much sleep that night.’

  ‘How long have you lived here?’ Wendy said.

  ‘Twelve, going on thirteen years. It was a good place back then, but it’s gone to the dogs now.’

  ‘The house at the end of the street, the one with the yellow front door. What can you tell us about it?’

  ‘Not a lot. Keeps to himself. My husband uses him to do his tax returns every year. He’s self-employed. Bob does a decent job, doesn’t charge too much. There’s always some money to come back to us. Apart from that, there’s not much I can tell you about him. He doesn’t talk a lot, polite when you see him, which is not that often.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Not really. We know he had a brother, but he died some years ago. He mentioned it to my husband once when they were over at his house.’

  ‘Have you seen him lately?’

  ‘He was here the other day. I could see the light on in his house, but I didn’t see him. His car was out on the street, not sure why, as he’s got a garage to one side; but as I said, he minds his own business, we mind ours. The ideal neighbour if you ask me. It won’t take long to put the kettle on.’

  ‘We’ll take you up on your offer,’ Isaac said. Wendy was surprised, as she thought he would be keen to get back to London, to follow up on the Mercedes. But then a local woman with local knowledge might know something useful.

  Inside, the house was neat and tidy, nothing out of place, but otherwise not a lot of charm. On a sunny windowsill in the kitchen, a cat was curled up. A dog, initially excited to see visitors, sat in an old cane basket.

  My husband is out and about a lot, busy, doing well for himself,’ Sheila Godfrey said.

  ‘We’re concerned about Mr Palmer,’ Isaac said. ‘He received tragic news recently, someone he was fond of.’

  Wendy wasn’t sure how much Isaac was going to reveal. She imagined it wouldn’t be too much as the woman was an unknown. Although she seemed trustworthy, gossip was gossip. The street reminded her of where she lived, and Wendy knew that behind the curtains, people with keen noses and even better eyesight were watching and waiting.

  She had had trouble once with a nosy neighbour complaining about her sons. She had given the woman a piece of her mind, not that the sons didn’t need a good talking to afterwards. Sneaking girlfriends in through the back window was definitely not on, although later on, when both of them were married, they had had a good laugh about that night, over a few drinks.

  There seemed to be no reason to stay longer. Wendy backed the car out of the driveway and drove up to Palmer’s house. She knocked on the door, went around to the back, saw nothing untoward.

  ‘No need to enter,’ she said on her return. Isaac had stayed in the car, making phone calls.

  ‘I don’t give Palmer much for his chances,’ Isaac said.

  Chapter 28

  ‘If I get this straight,’ Richard Goddard said, ‘someone’s going to die.’

  Isaac was in his chief superintendent’s office following his return from Oxford, updating him on progress. ‘It’s almost inevitable. If McIntyre’s got Armstrong hanging around Palmer’s house, it can only mean one thing, the game’s up. And McIntyre, if he believes his daughter murdered Liz Spalding, or even if he doesn’t, doesn’t take kindly to people getting involved in his business, and definitely not his daughter’s.’

  ‘A family affair, is that it?’ Goddard said. ‘Two brothers for the price of one.’

  ‘Either we give Palmer protection, or McIntyre will pick him up at some stage.’

  ‘Where’s this fool now?’

  ‘We’ve checked his house, he’s not there. He must be back in London somewhere, close to where his brother used to live.’

  ‘Larry Hill, out on the street?’

  ‘He’s in the area checking with a few of his contacts.’

  ‘The best you can do, if you see this Palmer character, is to bring him into the station, put him in a cell for a few hours, let him cool his heels.’

  ‘What charge?’

  ‘Wasting police time is as good as any.’

  Goddard understood the dilemma. Hamish McIntyre had no crimes outstanding against his name, none that could be proved. And now the man was, to all intents and purposes, retired.

  ‘We’re confident that McIntyre knew that Matthews was dead in that house,’ Isaac said. ‘Not that we can prove it.’

  ‘Any suppositions as to why he would have known the body was there?’

  ‘None that we can think of. If he didn’t kill the man, which we know he didn’t, he must know who did.’

  ‘A pointless exercise on his part?’ Goddard said.

  ‘McIntyre doesn’t do anything without thinking it through first. He knows the connection and the reason why. He must think we’re absolute dullards, unable to find the proof.’

  ‘‘He wants someone convicted for the crime, is that it?’

  ‘It has to be.’

  ‘Can you bring him to the station?’

  ‘He won’t come voluntarily. And his lawyer will be protecting him.’

  ‘Grantham?’

  ‘Th
e man’s got his feet under the table. On the one hand, he’s involved with the daughter; on the other, McIntyre relies on him for legal expertise.’

  ‘Any chance of proving the case against the daughter?’

  ‘Greenwood’s probably gone as far as he can in Cornwall.’

  Isaac’s phone rang.

  ‘A coincidence. It’s Jim Greenwood,’ Isaac said to Goddard. ‘I need to talk to him.’

  ‘Here is as good as anywhere else.’

  ‘What is it, Jim?’ Isaac said.

  ‘I’ve been following up on this car angle, trying to make sense of it. I phoned up a colleague in St Austell. It’s a thirty-minute drive from the village. Asked him to look around.’

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘I reckon so. Samantha Matthews’ car was there on the date of the murder. CCTV camera at the railway station.’

  ‘We’re getting closer. That proves we can place her in the vicinity. Can we tighten it even further?’

  ‘We’re working on it. We’re not sure how she would have got to the village if her car was parked some distance away. There’s a bus service, but it’s not very regular, and she would have been visible. A taxi we’d rule out for the same reason.’

  ‘How else would she have got there?’

  ‘Too far to walk.’

  ‘If she hadn’t taken public transport or a taxi it can only mean one thing, she drove,’ Isaac said.

  ‘No cars were reported stolen during the period,’ Greenwood said.

  ‘How long would she have needed to get to the village, commit the murder and get back to where her car was?’

  ‘Two hours, maximum of three.’

  ‘Any chance she could have stolen a car, committed the crime, and brought it back before it had been missed?’

  ‘People daily commute from St Austell, leave their car at the station. It’s possible.’

  ‘If you find the car she took and prove that it was in the village, we might have a case against her.’

  Isaac ended the call and looked over to Goddard. ‘The case against Samantha Matthews is looking stronger.’

  ‘Conclusive?’

  ‘Not yet, but give us time. We’ll get the woman yet.’

  ***

  After the phone call from Wolfenden, McIntyre knew he needed to act. Palmer was causing trouble, ruffling feathers, getting closer to Samantha.

  Wolfenden, not comfortable to be involved in something he knew was dangerous, followed instructions. He kept back from Bob Palmer as he walked down the street, followed him as far as the train station, and got on two carriages behind him. At each station, he got off, looking for Palmer, getting back on if he couldn’t see him. Uncomfortable as he was, given the precarious situation he was in, he had to admit to a sense of excitement, a sleuth stalking his man.

  At the third station, Palmer got off, Wolfenden in pursuit. He saw him enter a rundown, flea-bitten hotel two minutes from the station. He phoned McIntyre who phoned Armstrong.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ McIntyre said. ‘Keep a watch on that place and if Palmer comes out, follow him. And don’t lose him, not this time.’

  ‘I didn’t want to be involved,’ Wolfenden said.

  ‘You’re not. Gareth will be there soon enough, leave it to him.’

  ‘Once he’s here?’

  ‘Make yourself scarce. I’ll see you right, mark my words. I look after my friends, you know that.’

  Jacob Wolfenden knew that well enough but was he regarded as a friend or a threat. Bob Palmer had been a nuisance, but he had had to tell McIntyre about him. Even now he wasn’t sure of the truth. Had Samantha been responsible for the death of this other woman? He supposed he could check, but ignorance was safer.

  Armstrong arrived an hour later. ‘Is he still inside?’ he said.

  ‘No one’s come out, not yet.’

  ‘You’ve not been in?’

  ‘Hamish told me to stay outside. What do you intend to do?’

  ‘That’s not your problem.’

  ‘I don’t want to be involved.’

  ‘You’re involved whether you like it or not. Either you’re with me on this, or you’re not. Which is it?’

  ‘I just want to go back to the pub, have a drink, mind my own business.’

  ‘Don’t we all. Sometimes a man has got to stand up for what’s right.’

  ‘Not me,’ Wolfenden said. He no longer felt the excitement that he had experienced earlier. He knew now that he was inexorably involved and he didn’t like it. A lifetime of minding his own business down the drain, purely because he had tried to protect his own skin.

  ‘Wait here,’ Armstrong said.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘What needs to be done. Here are the keys to the car. When I come out the front door of the hotel, make sure you’re there with it.’

  ‘I have no option, have I?’

  ‘None at all.’

  Armstrong crossed the road and went into the hotel. At the reception, a downcast woman in her fifties, a cigarette drooping out of her mouth, the ash about to fall on to the desk. She looked up. ‘You want a room?’ she said.

  ‘One of your best,’ Armstrong said.

  ‘Best, we don’t have. It’s either a view of the street, not that there’s much to see, or else a building site out the back.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Out the back, it is,’ the woman said. She continued to look at the television raised high in one corner. Not looking up again, only seeing the hand pass across the money for the room.

  ‘One flight up, second on the left. Room 14,’ she said. ‘You’ll find the light switch just inside on the right. One other thing, no women.’

  Armstrong knew that didn’t ring true. It was the sort of place where men brought women. The only issue was how much you slipped her to look the other way.

  ‘I’ve got a friend staying here, the name of Palmer. What room’s he in?’

  ‘Room 23, up one flight from you. He went for the deluxe.’

  ‘Deluxe, what’s the difference?’

  The same as yours, only the sheets are cleaned more regularly.’

  ‘Cheaper?’

  ‘They’re all the same price. And remember, no women.’

  Bypassing the first floor and the room he had just paid for, Armstrong continued up one flight. Outside Palmer’s room he paused, put his ear to the door. It was quiet. He knocked on the door.

  A voice from inside. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Room service.’

  ‘You didn’t see the sign on the door?’

  ‘I saw it, but it’s my job that’s at stake here. If I don’t check the minibar, I’m paying for the contents.’

  ‘Give me one minute.’

  The door opened; the two men stood looking at one another.

  ‘You’re not room service,’ Palmer said. ‘Not dressed in a suit.’

  ‘You and I need to have a little chat.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You’ve been asking questions.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I’ve got the answers.’

  Armstrong hesitated for a moment. Entering the hotel had been simple enough, so had finding Palmer. But now, with the man in front of him, he needed to make decisions. The man could remove the threat of Samantha, or else he could dispose of him that day.

  ‘What kind of answers?’

  ‘You’ve been looking for a woman.’

  ‘She was a friend of my brother’s.’

  ‘Liz Spalding?’ Armstrong said.

  ‘She was my brother’s girlfriend, a friend of mine.’

  ‘Do you believe the other woman murdered her?’

  ‘I need to talk to her. Maybe I’m wrong, I don’t know,’ Palmer said. The man who stood in his room looked hard and cruel. He wanted to trust him, to give him money for information in return, but why was the man standing there at his door?

  Since he had set out from the village, he had felt empowered. But now the
nervousness and the fear returned. One wrong word and this man would be violent. He knew that he wanted to get away, maybe to go back to his house, to forget everything.

  ‘I can give you her name, but I’m not sure how it’s going to help you,’ Armstrong said. ‘She comes from an influential family who don’t like people interfering. You’d be better advised to leave well alone.’

  ‘That’s what Jacob said, so did the barman. Liz didn’t deserve to die. It’s up to me to make it right.’

  ‘I thought we had a police force in this country.’

  ‘If she’s as influential as you say, there’ll be no proof, will there?’

  ‘You don’t need proof. But are you capable of action?’

  In that room, two men who had never killed discussed the possibility. Of the two of them, Armstrong knew that he was the one most likely to do so.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Palmer asked again.

  ‘I need to consider the options. Either I help you, or I let this woman’s family deal with you. What’s it to me?’

  ‘I don’t need help, just a name.’

  ‘You can’t stay here. Come with me, and we’ll find somewhere quiet and out of the way. You need protection; for now, that’s all I know.’

  ‘I can’t trust you,’’ Palmer said.

  ‘I can’t blame you. I’ll make it easier for you.’ Armstrong took out a heavy stick that had been in his pocket and smashed it down on Bob Palmer’s head. The man collapsed onto his bed.

  Armstrong looked out of the window, saw the Mercedes down below. ‘Come up here, the second floor,’ he said to Wolfenden on his phone.

  Wolfenden freaked out at the sight of Palmer slowly regaining consciousness on the bed, blood on his face.

  ‘Clean him up. We don’t want blood in Mr McIntyre’s car, do we?’

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Wolfenden said.

  ‘The man’s had an accident. We need to get him to the hospital.’

  Wolfenden was almost wetting himself with fear. He did what he was told.

  As the two men, one on either side of Palmer, helped him down the stairs and out past reception, the woman looked up.

  ‘He’s not feeling well,’ Armstrong said as he passed across four fifty-pound notes. ‘Keep the room for him.’