“Then you should thank the cops, because if you did, you’d be hearing from my solicitor. Now do us all a favour, Ian, and get off my back.” Joe killed the connection and glowered at the chief inspector. “Well?”
Vickers held his thumb and forefinger a few millimetres apart. “You are this close to being arrested, Murray.”
“Then get on with it,” Joe challenged. “Because the moment you do, my lawyers will be all over you like a cheap suit, too.”
Refusing to rise to the bait, Vickers rounded on Gemma. “As of this moment, Sergeant, you are off the case.”
“Sir—”
“Don’t take it out on her,” Joe interrupted.
“I’m not,” Vickers insisted. “The investigation is already compromised and I won’t have it dragged any further down into the mud.
“I think it might be more to the point, sir, if we found out who told Rosemary Ecclesfield that Joe is my uncle. It’s not common knowledge, other than in the family and at the station.”
“And I don’t see what difference that makes,” Vickers retorted.
“Angela Foster is who told her,” Joe replied. “Remember, you let it slip when we were speaking to her.”
Gemma blushed. “I’m sorry.”
“Angela Foster is also the one who gave Ecclesfield the bottom line on Mort Norris and George Robson.”
“You can’t know that,” Vickers argued.
Joe nodded. “You’re right, but it’s reasonable to assume it. When we spoke to her, she was at pains to point out that she only makes pennies on the dating agency. She’d do anything to hype the name a little, and that’s just what she has done. She knows Mort Norris – or, at least, Mort knows her – and as for George… well, he’s so busy with the women of this town, that it wouldn’t surprise me to learn he’s been a member of the Sanford Dating Agency at some time or another.”
“And Gillespie letting you off with a parking ticket?” Vickers demanded. “I suppose Angela Foster told Ecclesfield about that, too, did she?”
“No,” Joe replied. “Rosemary saw it happen. She was parked a little further up the road… on double yellow lines. And she didn’t get a ticket, either.”
There was another knock on the door. Vickers barked a command and Des Kibble entered, still clad in his white, forensic coveralls. Vickers raised eyebrows at him.
“Very little, sir. No prints other than Rosemary Ecclesfield’s anywhere on the car, other than his on the drivers’ window.” Kibble jerked a thumb at Joe.
“Where I rubbed the frost off,” Joe said before Vickers could take any satisfaction from the announcement.
Kibble nodded confirmation, and Vickers asked, “Doc have anything to say?”
“She was strangled from behind,” Kibble said. “Whoever did it was sat in the rear seat.”
The chief inspector swung his attention on Joe. “You said you’d seen her out there all night? Did you see anyone else in the vicinity?”
“No.”
“Then she must have invited the killer into the car.”
Joe shook his head. “Not necessarily. Think about this, Vickers. I had a call from Mick Chadwick at the Miner’s Arms last night. Rosemary Ecclesfield had been in there asking about me. It’s half a mile up the road. I never saw her car move, so she must have walked it. Mick rang me at ten. Suppose, while she was gone, someone got into her car and lay low on the back seat?”
“You’d have seen him,” Vickers objected.
Joe fumed. “I wasn’t watching her every minute of the night, for God’s sake. And from across the road it wouldn’t be too difficult for anyone to work out whether I was at the window. They would have seen me.”
Vickers rounded on Kibble. “And there are no other traces in the car?”
“Not from my point of view, sir. I dunno if Scientific Support will turn up anything. They’re waiting for the wrecker to come and take the car away.”
Vickers stood, tucked Joe’s signed statement and the press sheets into his briefcase and locked it up. “I don’t have enough evidence to arrest you, Murray, so for the time being, you’re in the clear. But I may be back. Don’t go anywhere without letting me know. Sergeant Craddock, I repeat, you are now officially off this investigation. I’ll call a press conference for this afternoon and see if I can’t salvage some credibility.” He glared down at Joe. “And if Scientific Support find one trace of you, even a drop of cigarette ash, I’ll be back mob handed.”
Chapter Ten
With Vickers gone, Gemma smiled wanly at her uncle. “I’m sorry.”
He snorted softly. “Yeah. Me too. Vickers is determined to see me swing for this.”
Gemma moved to the table and joined him. “That’s not strictly true. You had an argument with her yesterday; you were heard to threaten her… I know, I know,” she pressed on before he could interrupt. “It was only temper talking, but just the same, if Vickers didn’t follow it up, he wouldn’t be doing his job.”
“He’s enjoying his job,” Joe pointed out.
“That may well be, but he has to follow it up. I don’t believe he seriously suspects you. He wouldn’t have ordered me to let you see those photographs last Friday if he did. As for me…” She sighed. “I should never have been on the investigation in the first place.”
“It won’t affect your job, or your, er, promotion prospects?”
Gemma laughed cynically. “Hmph. What promotion prospects? I have to leave Sanford if I want to get on. No, no, it won’t affect my job. It might affect his, or it would have done if he hadn’t dropped me from the team. But he’s right, Uncle Joe. I’m your niece. I’m too close to it all.” She grinned slyly. “That doesn’t mean to say I can’t find out what’s going on, though.”
Joe laughed for the first time in what seemed like days. “You’re a good girl, Gemma, I should have married your mum instead of her sister, then you’d have been my little girl.” He checked the time and collected his tobacco tin. “Come on. The morning rush will be over. Let’s go downstairs and get a brew.”
Joe was only half right. The morning rush of lorry drivers was over, and usually the follow-on of shoppers from Sanford Retail Park would be done, too, but when they passed through the kitchen, they found the café as crowded as ever, most of the customers watching events over the road where Rosemary Ecclesfield’s car was being cranked onto a flatbed salvage truck.
“Tell you what, Joe,” Brenda said, “a murder across the road isn’t half good for business. I’ve never seen it so busy.”
“Nowhere to sit,” Gemma said. “I’d better get back to the station, Uncle Joe. I’ll catch you all later.”
“Yeah, sure, Gemma. Let me know if you hear anything.”
With her gone, Joe found himself superfluous to requirements.
“Best thing you can do is clear off, Joe,” Brenda suggested. “You’re just getting under everyone’s feet here.”
“Maybe you’re right. Think I’ll have a ride into town.”
“And do what?” Sheila asked.
“Talk to Mort Norris… again.” Joe threw on his coat and made for the back door.
In direct contrast to his journey to Gale Street on Friday, Joe was well-rehearsed by the time he parked in the multi storey car park, and made his way through the cold, near-empty streets of Sanford to the market, where he found Mort in the same mufti as he had been the previous day.
“You’re in trouble again, I believe, Joe.”
“Word spreads quickly.”
Mort agreed. “Gets round this town faster than the flu, mate. I knew this reporter bird was dead ten minutes after I got here this morning.”
“Yep, and you know something, Mort. Through all this talk, one name keeps cropping up. Yours.”
Mort looked convincingly shocked. “Mine? Come on, Joe I didn’t kill neither of ’em?”
“No, but you’ve been telling tales outta school, haven’t you?”
“I—”
“You spoke to that reporter yesterday, didn’t you?
No point flannelling, Mort. I know you did.”
Mort shoulders sagged. “Yeah, I talked to her.”
“And dropped me right in it.”
“It wasn’t like that, Joe. Come on, pal, I’m like you. A businessman. The way things are, I need all the help I can get, and she promised to identify me as what I am.”
“A big mouth?”
“A market trader. Jeez, Joe, it amounts to free advertising. She just wanted to know about you and Letty Hill, so I told her.”
“And dropped me and George in it. She identified him in her piece.”
Mort frowned. “I ain’t seen anything in the Gazette.”
“Because the police pulled it. She told a pack of lies about me, and George, and she got them from you. George never scored with Letty.”
“He coulda lied to you,” Mort said hopefully.
“Since when did George keep his conquests secret?” Joe challenged. “Luckily for you, like I said, the law got the paper to pull the story, but all the bull you fed her is what got her killed. She was so obsessed with pinning it all on me, that she turned herself into a sitting duck. You wanna think about that before you go opening your mouth next time, Mort.”
***
When she stepped back into the station, Gemma found it a hive of activity, Vickers readying to leave with a small team of detectives.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“We’re recovering from your errors, Sergeant,” Vickers snapped. “If you’d done your job right, we could have been there a year or maybe two years ago.”
Gemma suppressed her immediate anger. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
Vickers led her across to his desk and a small stack of reports. “Lists of victims’ personal effects. Fiona Temple: a small white card. Thelma Warburton: plain white business card, printed SDA. Bridget Ackroyd: business card, no name. Letitia Hill: Sanford Dating Agency business card.” He gestured at Kibble. “When Des checked them, they were all the same type of card. Plain, white, printed with the letters SDA. The Sanford Dating Agency. Four different descriptions of the same item. No wonder we couldn’t find a link.”
“We may have logged the card the first time of asking, sir, but you took over the investigation after Thelma Warburton’s murder, and it was your people who didn’t do their jobs right.”
Vickers brushed off her objection. “Be that as it may, Angela Foster lied to you yesterday. All four women were members of her dating agency, and there was one name you didn’t check on.”
“Whose?”
“Joe bloody Murray.”
“He’s not a member,” Gemma replied. “He can’t be. He asked Foster yesterday and she wouldn’t have him.”
“You mean he’s not a member under his real name, but if Letty Hill could join under an Italian pseudonym what price Joe Murray could, too? And he asked her yesterday to throw you off the scent, knowing damn well she’d refuse. We’re going over there now and we’re gonna tear that database to pieces until we find him.”
Gemma fixed his gaze. “With all due respect, sir, I believe you’re wrong about Joe. You’re so obsessed with him that it’s blinding you to other possibilities.”
“And with the same respect, Sergeant, don’t tell me how to do my job, or you’ll find yourself working for the nearest security firm.” Vickers stormed from the office.
Gemma stared after his back, then, making up her mind, walked out of the station into the cold afternoon. Climbing into her car, she fired the engine, took out her mobile and rang Joe.
“Yeah, Gemma, what can I do you for?”
“Where are you?”
“Sanford. I was just gonna visit Angela Foster, but she isn’t in.”
“Get back in your car, go back to the Lazy Luncheonette and I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”
“What? But—”
“Just do it, Uncle Joe. Vickers is out to make an arrest and you’re the target. I need to speak to you if we’re to head him off.”
***
On the other side of Doncaster Road, aside from a few Scientific Support officers, there was nothing left of the murder scene and the Lazy Luncheonette’s trade had settled to normal levels, but when they met, the lunchtime rush was in full swing. Joe managed to find them seats in the window, where his niece outlined the situation to him.
“He’s barking up the wrong tree, Gemma,” Joe assured her. “Let him go through the database. He won’t find me on it. All he’s doing is wasting his time.”
Gemma was not so certain. “He’s determined to get you, Joe, and I wouldn’t put it past him to find something, anything that will help him pin you down.”
“What?” Joe was open-mouthed. “If he’s fabricating evidence—”
“That’s not what I meant,” Gemma interrupted. “He’s a good copper; an honest copper. He wouldn’t invent anything, but if he finds anyone who looks remotely like you, he’ll haul you in.” She tutted and cradled a beaker of tea in her palms. “If we’d logged this business card thing properly, we wouldn’t be in this position. We’d have been onto the dating agency a year, maybe two years ago. We may even have had the killer.”
Joe shrugged. “No point worrying about might have beens, but thinking about it, if you’re right about Vickers, he could get something. I have a Sanford Dating Agency card.”
Gemma’s eyebrows rose and a look of suspicion slowly spread across her face. “You do?”
“Yes. I took one the other day… yesterday, when we were talking to Angela Foster.”
Relief replaced the doubt. “Oh. Right. Well, at least I can account for that. Uncle Joe, you’re sure you’ve never used this agency.”
“I’ve never used any agency, chicken. The few dates I’ve had since your Aunt Alison left have been, er, engineered, let’s say, in the normal way. I asked women out, or in the case of Letty Hill, Brenda asked her out for me.” Joe stared moodily through the window at two Scientific Support officers making a fingertip search of the pavements. “He’s gotta be on the right, track, though, Gemma. There must be some connection between the four women.”
“And dating agencies are the only lead we have. Slim, but we’ve nothing else.”
They fell silent for a moment, watching events outside.
“Nothing else happened?” Joe asked.
“Hmm? What? Oh. No… well, Tim Hill turned up.”
Joe frowned. “Tim Hill? Oh, Letty’s son?”
“Yes. Flew in from Brussels first thing. He’s at her bungalow now. He’s a bit to get through. Furniture and stuff to get rid of, house to put on the market. You know the script.”
“Yeah. Poor sod. Must be terrible…”
He trailed off at the sound of a sudden furore from the kitchen, which silenced everyone, including the diners.
“I don’t give a damn who you are or what you want,” he heard Brenda shout. “You can’t come through here. It’s a hygiene area. Go round the front.”
Muffled, male voices bit back.
“Lee, throw ’em out,” Brenda snapped.
Joe got to his feet and hurried to the kitchen door, where he found Brenda and Lee confronting Chief Inspector Vickers and two CID officers.
“What’s going on?” Joe demanded.
Vickers pointed a shaking finger at him. “You’re under arrest, Murray.”
“Am I? Well Brenda is right. This is a hygiene area, and you’ll be getting a bill for the cleaning and any food we have to waste. Now bugger off and get some people to find your brain. I’m sure they’ll figure out where you’ve left it.”
Gemma arrived behind him. “What’s going on, sir?”
The chief inspector glared. “I thought I might find you here. As of this moment, Sergeant, you are suspended from duty pending an internal inquiry.” Drawing in his breath, he concentrated on Joe. When he spoke, his voice was calm, mechanical. “Joseph Murray, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you fail to m
ention when questioned something which you intend to rely on in court. Anything you say may be given in evidence.”
“Anything I say? How about, Vickers, you’re a damned idiot.” Joe signalled to Sheila at the counter, and passed his keys to her. “When they need to search my apartment, Sheila, let them in and make sure they don’t steal anything.” He glowered at Vickers. “Or plant anything.”
***
Joe declined legal advice. “I don’t need some high-priced legal eagle to tie you in knots, Vickers,” he said.
In the presence of the chief inspector and a bulky detective constable, the interview room felt even more cramped than when he had faced Vickers and Gemma.
Vickers began the interrogation while the DC took notes. “We’re questioning you on the four killings which have become known as the work of the Sanford Valentine Strangler. In the past two hours, certain facts have come to light which indicate a connection between the four victims and you. First, let me ask you, have you ever been a member of the Sanford Dating Agency?”
“No. Never.”
“Not under your own or any other name.”
“Not under any name.”
“In that case, Murray, how do you explain your address and a photograph of you appearing in the Sanford Dating Agency database?”
“I can’t,” Joe replied. “Someone else must have registered me without my knowledge.”
Vickers harrumphed. “How would that be possible?”
“The way Angela Foster works, anything is possible. Show me this entry.”
Vickers reached to the floor and from a folder took a sheet of A4. He turned it to face Joe.
The name on the entry was Murray Josephson, but the address was Doncaster Road, Sanford, and the picture was undoubtedly him, even though his eyes were shaded by the peak of his flat cap.
“Very interesting,” Joe said and pushed the sheet back, “but it’s nothing to do with me.”
“You insist someone else has set this up?”
“I do, and for very good reasons.”
“And those are?”
Joe pointed to the sheet, now the wrong way up. “My address is not Doncaster Road, but Britannia Parade.”
“A simple enough ruse,” Vickers observed. “One which you could have thought of.”
My Deadly Valentine Page 12
