by P. F. Ford
* * *
‘There’s a message on the answering machine,’ said Norman as he opened the office door.
‘That’s something we need to figure out if we’re going to move forward,’ said Slater. ‘I still think we need a receptionist or something.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Norman, grumpily, as he headed for his desk. ‘If you know someone who works for nothing, maybe you can put me in touch with them. In the meantime, we’ll have to make do with the machine.’
Slater didn’t think there was any need for Norm to get the hump but decided that if his friend felt like that, he would be better left to his own devices. He made his way through to their ‘incident room’ and opened his laptop.
It was Norman’s habit to make a peace offering in the form of tea if he felt he had been unnecessarily tetchy. Sure enough, ten minutes later he wandered in carrying two steaming mugs.
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of Eddie Smith,’ he said.
Slater raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘Eddie Smith,’ Norman repeated, and then rolled his eyes. ‘You remember, Steve Harris was having an affair with his wife, Jackie, the weekend Julie Harris was killed.’
‘Ah, yes, him. Pretty nasty character from what we’ve heard about him so far, if I recall,’ said Slater. ‘Go on.’
‘I’ve left messages for him at home and got nowhere, so before we came out this morning, I called his work and left a message. They just called back. Apparently, Smith has taken a week off to go to some football match in Spain. He’s not due back at work until next Monday.’
Slater took the mug Norman offered. ‘Yeah, that figures. I used my Sunday afternoon to look at the football connection. By some miracle, Newcastle are playing in Europe this year. I believe they’re playing in Madrid on Tuesday night. He’ll probably be back before the weekend.’
‘That’s a pity. I would have liked to see what he had to say about the bullying allegations.’
‘It’ll keep until he gets back. It’s not as if he’s gone on the run. He doesn’t even know we’re looking for him yet, and it just so happens I’ve already checked out a few facts without his input.’
‘Like what?’
‘Steve Harris said Smith liked his football and rarely missed a match. I thought it might be an idea to check out where Newcastle were playing on the weekend Julie died, so I did a search. It turns out that was an FA Cup weekend, and Newcastle were at home to Manchester United.’
‘But according to the alibis, he was at home with Jackie all weekend.’
‘Yeah, that’s what they said,’ said Slater, doubtfully, ‘but I can’t believe any self-respecting Newcastle United season-ticket-holder would have missed a game as big as that!’
‘Maybe we can find one of his friends that Harris mentioned,’ said Norman. ‘Perhaps they can remember what happened that weekend.’
‘Yeah, but don’t be surprised if they’re in Spain with our friend Eddie right now.’
‘Crap! I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Norman.
‘I’ll give it a try, you never know, we might get lucky,’ said Slater. ‘Guys have been known to grow up and move on. Maybe, ten years on, one of the other guys has found something more important than football, like a wife and kids.’
‘I guess we need to track them down anyway.’
‘I’ll do it next. What are you up to?’
‘I know this priest who took the confession is supposed to be missing, but I’m going to see if I can find him,’ said Norman. ‘It would help if he could explain why Jackie Smith suddenly decided to confess.’
‘Didn’t Debbie say she wanted to clear her conscience before she died?’
‘I’m not sure I buy that. Jackie had lived with the lie for years,’ said Norman. ‘Why tell the truth now? Why not take her secret with her?’
‘If she was a devout Catholic, maybe she believed all that stuff about confessing and receiving absolution. Personally, I don’t see why that should make everything alright, but then what do I know?’
Before Slater could answer, the telephone began ringing.
‘I’ll get that,’ said Norman, ‘I was going back to my desk anyway.’
As Norman left the room, Slater turned back to his laptop and opened up his web browser.
Two minutes later, Norman popped his smiling face around the door.
‘Cancel tomorrow’s trip to the beauty salon,’ he said, ‘you’ll have to do as you are.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Amy Pritchard, the widow of the dead partner at Pritchard and Harkness, has agreed to speak to us.’
Chapter 20
Slater walked into the front office, where he found Norman hunched over his laptop. ‘I found one of Eddie Smith’s mates. It seems Kenny James has outgrown being a football fan. I thought we could go and see him this afternoon.’
‘Yeah, why not?’ said Norman. ‘There’s only so much online research a man can take.’
‘I’ve also been taking another look at Pritchard and Harkness,’ said Slater. ‘They must be pretty good at what they do; they make shedloads of money.’
‘That would explain the plush offices then,’ said Norman, over his shoulder, ‘and how Harkness can afford to keep his wife in such luxury.’
‘She lives so well because she owns twenty-five percent of the company, as does Amy Pritchard.’
‘And does Harkness own the rest?’
‘Not quite. He owns forty percent,’ said Slater.
‘Who does own the rest?’
‘I haven’t found that out yet.’
‘No wonder they all live so well.’
‘Yeah, Harkness might be an arse, but he obviously knows how to run a successful business.’
Norman turned from his desk. ‘You’ll be pleased to know I finally tracked down the priest.’
‘Great! Is he very far away?’
‘Southampton.’
‘Can we go and see him? We can be there in an hour.’
‘Well, yes, we can go, but I don’t think there’s much point.’
Slater thought Norman should have been looking more pleased with himself. ‘What do you mean there’s not much point? He could be the star witness.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘I think you’ll find a star witness has to be alive to be believable.’
Oh, crap,’ said Slater. ‘Really? What happened?’
‘According to the retirement home, he had a heart attack.’
‘Anything suspicious about it?’
‘No, I don’t think so. The person I spoke to said he was never in the best of health. It was natural causes.’
‘Dammit!’ said Slater. ‘If we could have persuaded him to make a statement, we might have made a good case for Harris’s innocence.’
‘You really don’t think he did it, do you?’
‘The guy’s obviously no saint, but I’m not convinced he’s capable of murder.’
Norman swivelled his chair from side to side as he thought. ‘Okay,’ he said after a few seconds. ‘How about this? Let’s assume the alibi is sound, and Steve was with Jackie Smith that weekend. In that case, the way I see it, the most damning piece of evidence against him is the witness who claims he saw the car.’
‘You’re right. And it was very convenient the way the guy remembered the number plate. I mean, do you recall the registration number of every car you see?’
‘No way.’
‘Exactly. If something happens, and then you see a suspicious car, you might recall it, but to recall it several weeks after the event? I’m not sure I buy that.’
Norman was sorting through the pile of evidence. ‘I’ve got the guy’s details here somewhere. Yep, here you go. His name is Rhodri Evans.’
‘Rhodri? That’s Welsh isn’t it?’ asked Slater.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Norman reading through the file. ‘Crap!’
‘What’s up?’
&nb
sp; ‘We could have killed two birds with one stone when we went down to the caravan park.’
‘Don’t tell me, he lives near there, right?’
‘Near? He was living on the site at the time of the murder. It says here he was one of the staff who was resident on site. I’m sorry, I should have noticed that before. We could have saved ourselves some time.’
‘Don’t blame yourself,’ said Slater. ‘There are two of us, don’t forget. I didn’t see it either.’
‘To be fair, you do have other things going on to distract you,’ said Norman.
‘How about we agree we missed it, and we shouldn’t have.’
Norman swivelled his chair and reached for the phone. ‘I’ll get hold of Ivor Jones and see if he knows where we can find the sharp-eyed Mr Evans.’
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Norman joined Slater in front of their evidence wall. His partner was reading through one of the files. He looked up to acknowledge Norman but carried on reading as he listened.
‘Rhodri doesn’t work at the caravan park any more,’ said Norman.
‘Yeah, well, it would have been a bit too easy if he had been there waiting to talk to us, wouldn’t it?’ said Slater. ‘Did they say where we could find him?’
‘Apparently he bought himself a house in a small town called Llangwelli.’
‘That caravan park must pay better than I thought.’
‘No, I don’t think so. Even Ivor Jones admits the pay’s crap. He also said he was glad to see the back of Evans, who was so lazy he couldn’t be relied on to do anything. In his opinion, the man will never amount to anything.’
‘Well, he got that wrong if the guy’s gone on to buy a house.’
‘But he didn’t get the house through hard work,’ said Norman. ‘He won a hundred grand.’
‘Won it? On what?’
‘He told them it was on the lottery.’
An expression of disbelief crossed Slater’s face. ‘Doesn’t it piss you off when people like that win big? Think of all the people who work their nuts off and get little or no reward, and then a waster like that wins a fortune. It’s not right.’
‘I might be just a bit over-suspicious,’ said Norman. ‘But it may be even more “not right” than you think.’
Slater’s head snapped up from his reading. ‘Go on.’
‘It turns out the big win happened just after Evans testified at Steve Harris’s trial.’
‘That’s interesting.’
‘You think?’ said Norman. ‘Then wait until you hear the next bit. According to Ivor Jones, Evans never mentioned to anyone at the caravan park that he’d seen the car. No one knew anything about it until he asked for time off to appear as a witness at the trial. And then, immediately after the trial, he quit his job. Doesn’t that seem a bit strange to you?’
‘From what we’ve heard so far, I would expect him to be the sort of guy who would brag about being a witness,’ said Slater.
‘That’s how I see it too,’ said Norman.
‘What was the name of that town again?’
‘Llangwelli. It’s about twenty miles beyond the caravan park.’
‘Well, now we’ve got my comfy car back, I suggest we use it to get there if that’s okay?’ said Slater.
‘Do you really think I’m going to refuse to be chauffeur-driven each way after all the driving I’ve been doing?’
‘When do you want to go?’
‘We’ve got Amy Pritchard lined up for the morning.’
‘Wednesday then?’
Norman pondered. ‘Why don’t we take a leisurely drive down tomorrow afternoon? I’m sure we can find a small hotel or a B&B, and then we’ll get a full morning down there on Wednesday and be back by dinner time.’
‘Would I be right in thinking you have a date on Wednesday night, but you don’t have one on Tuesday?’ teased Slater.
‘I don’t usually see them on Wednesday, but this week the kids have got something on at school and they want me to go and watch.’
‘I’d better make sure I get you back home in time, then, hadn’t I?’
Chapter 21
Kenny James’s workshop was tucked away in the corner of a small industrial estate. It was quite easy to find as there were several cars in varying states of disrepair crammed onto the tiny forecourt. Norman and Slater made their way through the roller door at the front of the building. In the background, an almost-tuned-in radio distorted a song so much as to make it unidentifiable.
‘How the hell can anyone listen to that din, Norm?’
‘Beats me. Maybe they have special hearing that distorts the distortion and converts it back into music.’
‘I think I’d settle for earplugs.’
‘I think I’d throw the radio in the bin,’ said Norman, ‘but that’s because so much of this modern music sounds like crap whether it’s distorted or not.’
‘Can I help you guys?’ called a voice.
They spun round to see a man sliding out from under a car on a trolley.
‘We’re looking for Kenny James,’ Norman said.
‘That’s me,’ said the man, as he climbed to his feet. ‘What can I do for you? We can do servicing, repairs, and bodywork.’
‘Sorry,’ said Norman. ‘We’re not here to have a car fixed. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you can spare a few minutes.’
‘Questions? About what?’
‘Ten years ago, a man called Steve Harris was sent to prison for murdering his wife,’ said Slater. ‘Some new evidence has come to light that makes the verdict questionable, and we’ve been asked to investigate.’
James narrowed his eyes. ‘You mean you’re the police?’
‘No, Mr James, we’re not the police. We’re private investigators working for the convicted man’s sister.’
‘I don’t have to speak to you?’
‘No, you don’t have to speak to us.’
‘So why should I?’
‘Wouldn’t you want to help a man who is in prison for something he didn’t do?’ asked Norman.
‘Well, yeah, but what’s any of this got to do with me?’
‘Do you remember the case?’
James gave a hollow laugh. ‘Blimey, everybody around here remembers the case. It’s not every day someone who lives not half a mile from you gets murdered by their husband, is it?’
‘Did you know Steve or Julie Harris?’
‘I think I might have come across him in the pub once or twice, but I never really knew him.’
‘How about a man called Eddie Smith, d’you know him?’ asked Slater.
James’s eyes narrowed again. ‘Yeah, I know him. I used to be mates with him back then, but I don’t see him these days. We used to go to football together, but I stopped doing that when I met my missus.’
‘Some things are more important, right?’ asked Norman.
‘You grow up and your priorities change, don’t they?’
‘That must be an expensive pastime,’ said Slater.
James smiled. ‘What, having a wife? You’re not kidding. That’s why I needed to stop going to football and start working hard. It was worth it, though.’
‘Can you remember anything about the time Julie Harris died?’ asked Norman.
‘I don’t understand why you’re asking me these questions. I told you, I hardly knew this Harris bloke, and I don’t think I ever knew his wife. Anyway, wasn’t she killed in some caravan place in Wales? I’ve never even been to Wales.’
‘We wanted to know what you could tell us about Eddie Smith,’ said Slater.
‘Eddie? What do you want to know about him?’
‘Like where he was the weekend Julie died.’
‘You think Eddie killed her? Why would he do that?’
‘Harris was a ladies’ man. Eddie’s wife was his sister-in-law. There’s been a suggestion they may have been seeing each other.’
‘And you think Eddie killed Harris’s wife to get his own back? On a weeken
d during the football season? You must be joking.’
‘Do I look like I’m joking?’ asked Slater.
‘No, I suppose you don’t,’ said James, ‘but you obviously don’t know anything about Eddie Smith. He wouldn’t miss a football match if his house were burning down.’
‘What about if his wife was spending the weekend with Harris?’
‘He’d want revenge, alright, but he wouldn’t miss the match. He’d sort the pair of them out when he got back.’
‘The pair of them?’ asked Slater. ‘He wasn’t averse to giving his wife a bit of a slap, then? That’s what all you tough guys do, is it?’
James turned to face Slater. ‘Hey, wait a minute. Don’t you try to pin a label like that on me, mate. Just because I used to waste my time with a thug like Eddie Smith doesn’t mean I’m one too. I’d rather die than hurt my wife.’
Slater put his hands up, palms facing James. ‘Sorry, no offence intended. But you admit Smith is a thug?’
‘Eddie was alright if you didn’t cross him, but he had a real mean streak in him, and he was bloody unpredictable, you know? You could take the piss one day, and then make the same joke another day and find yourself pinned up against the wall.’
‘We’ve got compelling evidence to suggest he used to beat his wife up. Do you know if it’s true?’
‘There was a rumour,’ admitted James, reluctantly, ‘but I never actually saw him hit her or saw her with bruises or anything like that.’
‘But you think it could be true?’ asked Norman.
‘I know for a fact the man was a bully and a thug, so it wouldn’t be a great surprise.’
‘Can you recall the weekend in question?’ asked Slater.
‘It was how many years ago? Ten, did you say? Jesus, I can’t remember that far back, but I can tell you for sure, if it was in the football season, we would have been at a game, no question.’
‘How about if I said it was an FA Cup weekend?’
James thought for a moment. ‘That was the year we played United, wasn’t it? Yeah, I’m sure it was. We were there all weekend. Got there Friday afternoon and didn’t leave until sometime on Monday.’
