“Wouldn’t that have made him the potential victim, in that case? Osment wouldn’t have wanted his part in the matter exposed, especially if Cooper could have persuaded us that it was Osment who was behind the deer story.” Every time they got a lead, it seemed to evaporate in a haze of unbreakable alibis or illogical behaviour.
“Does it make more sense if Osment wrote it? He knew he couldn’t come to us because his own part in it would be exposed but it nags at him. Maybe Cooper even threatens that if Osment brings it into the open, he’ll say that he knew he’d hit someone and was all for dialling 999 but that Osment insisted they drove off. No, that’s too weak.”
“Cooper might have used a bigger threat. What if he said he’d swear to us that he’d had to go out again—back to the Tuckton ground because he thought he’d left something there—and saw Osment driving along that road? Or was out near the waste ground and saw Osment trashing his own car. The guy had a near miss previously, whereas Laurence has confirmed that Cooper’s driving record is clear apart from the close encounter with the gatepost he admitted to. Who would people most likely believe to have done it? Preese already thinks it was Osment’s fault and he’s hardly been Mr. Popular.”
“That might still make Cooper the potential victim, though. What’s changed to make Osment vulnerable?”
“What if he found something that could put Cooper in the frame? I know—” Robin sighed “—it’s a long shot, but if Osment turned up some proof, then he’d have grounds for blackmail and he’d give Cooper reason to kill him.”
“What kind of evidence did you have in mind? I—” The sound of Pru’s phone cut her off. “I’ll take this now. It’s Laurence.”
Robin, torn between driving the unfamiliar roads and working out what the conversation was about from the snatches he caught, decided to focus on the car. There was plenty of Stratford-bound traffic, and not all the drivers were paying as much attention as they should. Once the call ended, he asked, “What’s he turned up now?”
“Mrs. Weatherell. The late Mrs. Weatherell, to be exact. Laurence didn’t talk to the groundsman—he managed to find his sister-in law, so asked her. Apparently, Jamie was an only child and his mum never really recovered from his death. The sister reckoned she’d had a weak heart since childhood, and about a year after her son’s death she suffered a massive coronary embolism. Everyone said it was losing Jamie brought it on, although whether that’s possible, I don’t know.”
“Neither do I, but his death won’t have helped.”
“Agreed. Something interesting turned up, though. Joe Woakes was her cousin.”
“What?” Robin slowed to a speed at which he could concentrate on what he was being told but not risk the ire of the Saturday morning drivers.
“Bit of a stunner, isn’t it? Joe Woakes—and therefore Sam Woakes—are first cousins to the late Mrs. Weatherell. Quite a difference in age between them, clearly, but it makes Jamie their second cousin. Or cousin once removed. I get those confused.”
“So do I. Whatever it is, that’s close enough to make me question why nobody’s bothered to mention it, even in passing?” The sorry, didn’t think it was relevant excuse would no doubt get aired again and, in this instance, it was wearing thin. “No wonder Joe got so upset about the hit-and-run. Did he explain his relationship to the victim at the time of the assault charge being dropped?”
“Not that I remember, but you know what it’s like reading about a case at second-hand. Something might have been mentioned that didn’t make the written record.” Pru glanced into the side mirror. “The bloke behind’s right up our backside.”
“Let him be. I’m only just below the speed limit, and if he wants to overtake me on a dangerous bend, I’d be happy to play traffic cop.” Maybe he’d gain some temporary satisfaction at having an easily identifiable culprit to deal with.
“I’ll keep an eye out for people using mobile phones at the wheel. Sitting ducks.” Pru snorted. “Joe Woakes, though. That relationship probably takes away any credibility of him being the one who ran Jamie over unless he’s a totally heartless bastard, and he didn’t strike me that way. Gives him—and Sam—a better motive for wanting Osment dead if they thought he was responsible.”
“It does indeed. Assuming he was lying to us about not agreeing with Preese about Osment being the driver. It’s a matter of fact that witnesses never lie to us.” With a snicker, Robin sped up again and headed for the intricacies of the Stratford road system and the challenge of finding a parking space.
They’d parked, lunched, left a message for Joe—who was likely at work if what he’d said about his shift pattern was right—to contact them urgently about having another chat, and were walking along the riverbank when Ellie Harrison returned Robin’s call.
“I’m sorry I missed you, but I never take calls on a Saturday morning if my boy’s got a game. It’s only under elevens but he takes it very seriously.”
Robin explained who he was, while wondering if the younger Harrison took the game as seriously as the adults probably did. “I’m ringing to ask about the meeting you had at Banbury a few weeks ago.”
“Yes? At the Mercure?”
“That’s the one. Can you confirm when it was held?”
“The Tuesday and Wednesday. I’d need to check the actual dates but it would be three weeks ago this coming Tuesday.”
Robin did a quick mental tally. “That sounds right, although if you could double-check I’d be grateful.”
“Let me take the phone into the kitchen and have a look at the calendar. We’re very low-tech here.”
“Paper calendars can’t crash.”
“True. Yes, it was the fourth and the fifth.”
“Was Colin Cooper at the meeting?”
“He was. There might have been a dozen of us altogether, so if you need that corroborated, I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem. I could give you contact details.”
“Thanks, although we don’t need that at this precise moment.” It didn’t sound a promising enough lead yet. “Did you stay overnight?”
“Yes. Had a smashing meal the Tuesday night, although the people who’ve been in the company longer than I have say the hospitality’s nothing like it was in the past. I suppose companies have to consider cutting costs and getting rid of a huge jolly for the boys and girls seems an obvious place to start.”
“It’s the way of the world.” Robin waggled his thumb at Pru, trying to convey that he might be on to something at last. “Which nights did you stay at the hotel?”
“Oh, sorry. I was prattling on and didn’t really answer your question. Doh.” Ellie laughed. “We only stayed the Tuesday night. We went home—or wherever else people were heading—after the meeting ended on Wednesday.”
“What time was that?”
“It ended at about half past four, but I guess it would have been gone five by the time everyone got away. Some of the blokes went to the bar too. Said they’d not got away ahead of the rush hour so they might as well wait for it to clear. Just an excuse for having a couple of beers, I suspect. I hit the road.”
“Was Cooper amongst those who stayed on drinking?”
“He told me that he was going to stay on until the traffic had eased slightly, which was a surprise.” Ellie took a contemptuous sniff. “He’s known as a bit of a tightwad. Usually after a meeting he gets straight into his car and heads off home, although one of the guys who did go to the bar could verify that.”
“If you could give me a name and number, that would be great.”
Once he’d got the contact details and thanked Ellie for her help, Robin ended the call and brought Pru up to speed. “So, assuming he got away around five and the traffic wasn’t horrendous, he could easily have been at Hartwood in time to meet Osment.”
“I’ll call all the team in to start going through CCTV images. I made a note of Cooper’s registration. Assuming the car on the drive was his? They can check that too, and if it’s someone else’s, then they sh
ould follow it up with him to get the right motor.”
“Hold fire on that until we know for certain that he could have driven there. If we have three witnesses putting him in the Mercure bar ale-ing it up until ten o’clock, it’ll be pointless.” A waste of resources and the team’s goodwill too. “At present we’ve only got a tenuous motive, evidence that he’s stretched the truth about where he was on the evening of the fifth, and the fact I don’t like him.”
Pru kicked at a stone on the path, sending it hurtling into the river. “I didn’t like him either, although that’s no help.”
“Let’s see if . . .” Robin consulted his notebook, “Roger Crompton can shed some light on things.”
He could and did, answering Robin’s call at the third ring and confirming—somewhat long-windedly—that Cooper had been at the meeting and hadn’t stayed afterwards. Crompton also confirmed that the car they’d seen on the driveway was the one Cooper had driven to Banbury.
“Is he in trouble, then?”
“It’s simply routine enquiries. A matter of elimination,” Robin replied blandly, knowing he wouldn’t be believed.
“I bet that’s what you always say. Let me know if I can be of further help. I always try to do my public duty.”
“Thank you. Much appreciated.” Robin made three further attempts to end the call, each one stymied by Crompton wanting to chat about how important it was to aid the police. In the end, Robin had to risk further cooperation by being little short of bloody rude.
“Typical salesman,” he said when he’d eventually extricated himself. “Never use one word when six will do. Cooper didn’t stay at the bar, so he’s given us a flaky alibi. I wonder if he hoped Ellie had believed him about visiting the bar and that we’d believe her without double-checking.”
“He either thinks we’re gullible or he’s buying time. Do you want me to get the local police to nip round and see if he’s done a runner?”
“Might be worth it, even if that’s only to see whether the bird has already flown. We’ll also get your traffic-cameras plan into action with the team. See what we can find to put pressure on him.”
Pru halted to let a small child on a scooter get past without taking out anybody’s ankle. “Magic. There’s only one obvious route to Hartwood from the Mercure, so we’ll have to hope Cooper took that rather than some obscure rat run that only the locals know about. Although if we focus on the traffic cameras nearer the ground, we narrow the options—all roads must lead down to only one.”
“That sounds deeply philosophical. We should head back and give them a hand, unless I can get hold of Joe, in which case we’ll divert there. I’d like to talk to him, as soon as possible.”
“He’s probably at work now, given what he said about a new shift starting.”
“Then he can make a time to see us tonight. If I can’t be out on the razzle on a Saturday night, then he can’t either.”
Pru flicked him a quizzical glance. “Do you ever go out on the razzle on a Saturday, sir?”
“You’d be surprised.” Although in reality she wouldn’t. A wild Saturday night out for the Bright-Matthews household consisted of a few beers, a curry, and a taxi home.
And Robin would give almost anything to be doing that in a few hours’ time, rather than poring through traffic camera footage or pinning down Joe Woakes.
Back at the station, Robin made time to step outside and get far enough away to be able to ring Adam without the risk of being overheard. After letting the phone ring several times, he was about to hang up when a panting voice answered.
“Hello?”
“What have you been up to?”
“Took Campbell for a run. We’d literally got through the door and I was bursting for the loo—he’s okay, he can cock his leg against a lamppost anytime he wants to.” Adam chuckled, still a touch breathlessly.
“I wish I’d timed my call better. I now have visions of you all hot and sweaty, and it’s not doing anything for my sangfroid.” Thank God he’d got away from the station to make the call.
“And there’s me thinking you’d been tracking me on the Find My Friends app and deliberately chose the moment.”
“I’ve never thought of doing that. Ten minutes later and you’d be stepping out of the shower. I better get that vision out of my mind too.” That could have formed part of a wild Saturday night, as well. “I rang to give you a heads-up that I’m about to poke the Woakes wasps nest again. In case there are repercussions.”
“Been a development?”
“Yep. Turns out he and Sam are some sort of cousins to the lad who was killed in the hit-and-run. Not that Joe bothered to tell us.”
“It would explain why he got so worked up. I guess I’d better warn Martin that he might be getting another irate visit. Although I think he might be away this weekend at a family bash, so he’s probably okay.”
“Please make sure that if Sam comes around and bothers you that you slam the door on him and call the local police out.”
“Happy to do the first, but isn’t the second over the top?”
“Not while he remains a person of interest in this case.” They’d both been threatened before, and Robin was determined to do everything he could not to have Adam—or Campbell—put at risk again. “If you see him lurking around and want to decamp to your mum’s for the rest of the weekend, then do it.”
“Point taken and batted right back at you. Don’t put yourself at risk, either.”
Robin forced a laugh. “I’ve got Pru to protect me. Speak tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you too. So does Campbell.”
“Give him a hug from me.”
“Will do. Once he’s had a bath. Eau de sweaty dog isn’t my favourite cologne.”
“Ugh.” At least the thought of that would act as a passion killer.
Once back at the incident room, Robin felt the buzz of excitement in the air.
“We think we have him, sir. Cooper,” Callum said. “About quarter of a mile from the ground, at four minutes past seven on the Wednesday evening. I’m not a hundred percent certain, so we’re tracking back to the next camera in the direction of Banbury.”
“Thing is,” Sally cut in, “he could have come in on one of two roads, and the camera on the probable one hasn’t got him at the right time. As well as checking other options, we’re scrolling back in case he parked up in between or went for a drive around.”
“Great work. Pru, have you heard from Joe?”
“Yes, five minutes ago. He can see us in between getting home from work and going out. Seven o’clock-ish.” Her pout showed her level of dissatisfaction. “I couldn’t resist saying I was glad he could make time for us in his busy schedule.”
“We’ll have to think of lots of questions and ask them very slowly.” As so often before, Robin glanced across at the incident board, to find a fuzzy picture of Colin Cooper there.
Laurence, who’d been hovering next to the display, said, “It’s the best we could find, sir. I know it looks like it could be almost anybody.”
“It’ll do for the moment. Although we’d need something better if he did a runner.”
“We’ll have to hope he takes it as a good sign that we’ve not been straight back round there.” Pru had come to join them. “I’ve asked the local beat officers to keep an eye, but we can’t justify keeping him under close observation. Yet.”
“With any luck we’ll get another sighting of his car before we go to see Joe. Then we can head back to Warwick and spoil his Saturday night too.”
Seven o’clock on the dot, Robin rang the bell of Joe’s flat. When Joe opened the door, his expression was neither welcoming nor happy. He ushered them in quickly, evidently trying to demonstrate just how much of a rush he was in and how he’d put himself out hugely to be able to see them. Robin guessed he was going out on a hot date, given the intense wave of aftershave—the classiness of the scent tones being counteracted by their sheer quantity—coming from Joe’s direction.<
br />
“We won’t keep you long,” Robin said, quite prepared to break that promise if the interview content reached a point where the standard caution needed to be given. “Why didn’t you tell us that you were related to the Weatherells?”
Joe, whose jaw had dropped at the word related, quickly recovered his composure. “I thought you knew. I’m sure I told the officers I spoke to when I got questioned about the assault.”
Robin was pretty certain Joe was either lying or stretching the truth to breaking point. Nothing said in their interview had hinted at such a familial connection, although he’d have to give Joe the benefit of the doubt in case a police officer back then hadn’t done their job properly. Discovering the extent of the bad practice—let alone the corruption—going on at Abbotston in the previous few years had been an eye-opener. “Be that as it may, we didn’t know. We could argue that you misled us with all the stuff about your soft spot for him. You can imagine how suspicious that seems.”
Joe shrugged. “What can I say? I’m sorry you’ve had to come back on a wild-goose chase, but I didn’t lie to you. I did fancy Jamie—I always had—and we weren’t so closely related that we couldn’t have had a relationship.”
Pru’s snort showed what she thought of the response.
“Look, I told you last time, I had no reason to murder Osment,” Joe snapped at them. “I didn’t think he killed Jamie.”
“Really?” Pru said, in similar tones to those Adam must use when one of his charges has been caught red-handed doing something and denies all knowledge of the offence. “Easy for you to say that. How do we know that’s true? Have you mentioned it to anyone else? Preese, for example?”
Touches of sweat were breaking out on Joe’s previously immaculate T-shirt. “You don’t argue with Coach. Everyone will tell you that.”
“We have been told. But that doesn’t answer the question.” Pru smiled patronisingly. Exactly the way to get the witness worked up. “What about Sam? Surely you’d have discussed Jamie’s death with him. And the rest of the family. You must have wanted to know who was responsible.”
A Carriage of Misjustice Page 19
