by Iain Cameron
‘You do take me to all the best places.’
‘This robbery isn’t one of ours so I guess I can make an exception. A word of warning; on no account touch anything. If I see something dangerous or threatening inside, if I tell you to get out, I don’t want a big discussion. Ok?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said saluting. ‘Don’t worry H, I’ll be on my best behaviour.’
Henderson, with Rachel behind, stepped over the threshold of the open door, taking note of the smashed door frame where the robbers had forced their way in using something heavy. They made their way through a storeroom and then into the shop.
A copper turned and spotted them.
‘Hey! You can’t come in here. This is a crime scene. No members of the public are allowed in here.’
Henderson pulled out his ID. ‘DI Henderson, Serious Crimes.’
‘Apologies sir, I didn’t realise.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘PC Bennett, Phil Bennett, sir.’
‘How many of you guys are here?’
‘There’s only myself and PC Hodges.’
‘Where’s PC Hodges?’
He turned and called, ‘Andy!’
Seconds later, a big guy appeared, at least six foot six or more.
‘Andy,’ Bennett said, ‘this is DI Henderson from Serious Crimes.’
PC Hodges nodded.
‘What have you guys noticed in the time you’ve been here?’ Henderson asked.
‘We only got here a few minutes before you.’
‘Were you on crowd control, or did you come here by squad car?’
‘Crowd control. We’ve been told no vehicles are getting through yet.’
‘It should free up soon,’ Henderson said, ‘the parade is moving down the road towards the bonfires. So what can you tell me about what’s happened here?’
‘The chain on the gate out there’s been cut by bolt cutters and they forced the door with, I guess, sledgehammers. They came into here and smashed the glass on just about every display and took everything in the cabinets except these big items like the plates and silver cups.’
‘Yeah, cleaned them out,’ Hodges said in a deep growl of a voice, ‘hardly a bloody stick left.’
‘PC Bennett, I’d like you to stand outside the gate and let no one in until the burglary team or owner gets here.’
He nodded. ‘Yes sir.’
‘And you, PC Hodges, I want you to go up to the High Street and nab at least two of your colleagues and start house-to-house in the lane and the streets at either end. Ask if they have seen anyone acting suspicious these last few days and if they’ve noticed anything unusual this evening. If the robbers banged in the door with sledgehammers they must have made some noise.’
‘Not many of the houses face into the lane,’ Hodges said, ‘and it’s getting late.’
‘I know they don’t, but we need to ask. Don’t worry about waking them up, they’ve either been out watching the parade or can’t sleep for all the racket.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Off you go then Hodges, the quicker you start, the quicker it’ll get done. You too, PC Bennett, and remember, let no one through except our people or the owner if he turns up.’
They disappeared out the door and down the path, Bennett’s cocky walk suggesting a man happy with something to do, while Hodges walked with slouched shoulders, a man uncomfortable at using his own initiative.
Rachel came up behind him, put her arm through his and pulled him close. ‘Oh, you’re so masterful when you get going.’
‘Get away, woman,’ Henderson said extracting himself, ‘or I’ll give you something to do.’
He walked slowly around the display cabinets in the middle of the room, showcasing nothing more than broken glass, velvet ring holders and watch stands all carelessly discarded. It was the same for the glass-fronted units at the side of the room, the empty stands indicating they once held earrings, watches and necklaces; all of it gone.
He hadn’t investigated a burglary since his days as a young DC in Glasgow, but this had to be one of the most comprehensive robberies he’d ever seen. It didn’t look like a clumsy smash ’n grab with a quick getaway leaving jewellery scattered over the floor and cabinets untouched, but a systematic emptying of every piece of the jeweller’s stock.
The gang knew they had time as the police couldn’t respond to an alarm call with such large crowds outside, and they had no fear of being spotted as the metal shutters blocked all light from the street. Coupled with a deserted alley at the back, it would be a surprise if the shop hadn’t been burgled before.
If this was his investigation, his first instinct would be to check the whole place for fingerprints and interrogate the CCTV cameras dotted all around the room. However, if the gang were smart enough to know the police response would be limited on Bonfire Night, they would also be smart enough to wear gloves and to cover their faces. No, he didn’t look back on his early police career with rose-tinted nostalgia or hanker for a return to the Robbery Squad. The Marc Emerson murder enquiry had enough blind alleyways for anyone.
NINETEEN
Henderson filled his cup with coffee in the Brew Room, and walked over to join the Marc Emerson murder team in the corner, the windows partially blocked by three whiteboards covered in writing and photographs.
He moved to the front and took a seat on the edge of a desk. ‘Before we start, did anyone attend the bonfire celebrations in Lewes last night?’
‘Me,’ DC Sally Graham said.
‘Were you anywhere near Fenton’s the Jewellers?’
‘Not too far away. I heard they got burgled on the news this morning. As I was watching the parade, I noticed the alarm light flashing. I assumed it was a false alarm due to the noise of the procession or people leaning against the shutters. When the crowds thinned, I walked over and tried to look inside but I couldn’t see a thing because of the shutters.’
Henderson went on to explain about the call from Edwards and how he and Rachel didn’t get relieved for over an hour. When they did, they were met by an irascible prat from the Robbery Squad who didn’t sound too pleased to be called out.
Henderson turned to the board where he’d written up the names of their five suspects in the Marc Emerson murder enquiry:
Guy Barton
Jeff Pickering
Josh Gardner
Christine Sutherland
Kevin McLaren
‘This is the start of the third week of this investigation,’ Henderson said, tapping the board with the marker pen for emphasis. ‘Despite a load of legwork and dozens of interviews, why don’t I feel able to name our prime suspect?’
‘I think we’ve succeeded in eliminating a couple,’ Harry Wallop said.
‘Who?’
‘I think we should take out Jeff Pickering and Kevin McLaren. We’ve analysed Pickering’s alibi to death. Maybe a good lawyer could still pull it apart, but it convinces me. He’s told us he didn’t like Marc but I don’t think he’s got it in him to kill someone. He’s all mouth and no trousers, in my opinion.’
‘I think you’re right, Harry,’ Carol Walters said. ‘He’s loud and aggressive but too fond of the booze to step out on a cold night and murder Marc, and why go to all that trouble when he’d already left home? Quite frankly, I don’t see a strong enough motive.’
Henderson thought about it. Pickering had done jail time and was a man hard to like, but he came clean about his antipathy for Marc. DS Walters was right, why would he bother killing his step-son even if at one time, he might have considered doing so?
‘I agree,’ he said putting a line through Pickering’s name. ‘He’s not a pleasant man, but after Marc left the family home he wasn’t in Pickering’s face any more and therefore no longer an irritant. Also, I don’t think setting a victim on fire is his style. If Marc had died from having his head bashed in with a brick or was stabbed with a kitchen knife, Pickering’s name would still be there. One down. Why not Kevin McLare
n?’
‘When we first saw him at the crime scene,’ Walters said, ‘he was an emotional wreck. When we went to his house just over a week later, he looked a different person; all confidence and questions.’
‘I’ve been thinking about his behaviour,’ Henderson said, ‘and you’re right, it was quite the transformation. He also took a keen interest in the police investigation, too keen maybe.’
‘Aye,’ Harry Wallop said, ‘but it might be because he felt vulnerable. Being a close friend of Marc maybe he’s concerned that whoever killed Marc might be someone he knows or might come for him next.’
‘Maybe, but there’s something steely and resilient about him I can’t put my finger on. I think he might be hiding something, or he’s the vigilante type, hoping to identify the killer before we do. I want to leave him on.’
‘Fair enough,’ Harry Wallop said.
‘Now to Christine Sutherland,’ Henderson said. ‘In my mind, she’s less of a suspect than McLaren because we’ve got nothing on her other than she hassled Marc.’
‘I interviewed her,’ Walters said, ‘and got the impression she is a normal, well-balanced lady. Sure, she went through a hard time when she split with Marc, but she’s over it now and getting on with her life.’
‘I agree with Sergeant Walters,’ Seb Young said. ‘I can’t see her killing anyone, far less tipping petrol over them.’
‘Did she seem sad or remorseful when talking about Marc?’
‘Not at all. I think she’s moved on.’
‘It seems odd that at one time she couldn’t leave Marc alone, and now she isn’t bothered that he’s dead.’
Walters shrugged. ‘Time’s a great healer. Some people, mentioning no names Phil Bentley, completely wipe their exes from their memory as if they didn’t exist.’
Henderson was about to say, ‘it was different in my day’ but no, he knew plenty of people who behaved in this way, even with ex-wives.
‘I’ll take Christine off the list unless anybody else has got something to add?’ He glanced around and, seeing nothing, drew a line through her name. ‘This leaves three: Barton, Gardner and McLaren.’
‘Barton’s top of my list,’ Phil Bentley said. ‘I think he found out about Marc’s on-going affair with his wife and snapped.’
‘Yeah and there’s been violence between those two in the past,’ Walters said.
‘Plus, his alibi’s been corroborated by his wife,’ Henderson said. ‘He could have left the pub earlier than suggested, as not many people would have noted the exact time, and may have come home later than his wife said. Or she could be lying to protect him.’
‘Why would she?’ Walters said. ‘If he killed her lover?’
‘Perhaps she’s involved in the plot too,’ Harry Wallop said, ‘and wanted to get shot of him.’
‘Either way,’ Henderson said, ‘it wouldn’t take long to motor over to the warehouse, sneak in at the time when Marc would be packing up and then attack him.’
He looked around and saw many nods of agreement.
‘Right. Guy Barton is about to receive a royal shake-down. Sally, prepare a warrant for a search of the Barton household; we’ll arrest him on suspicion of murder. Then, we’ll leave him to stew in the cells for a spell while we wait for Pat Davidson and his SOCO boys to take his house and back garden apart and find some forensic evidence to link him to the murder.’
He looked at his watch. ‘It’s too late in the day for a search warrant and we don’t want to bring Barton in without it. He would be sitting in the cells running down the clock on the limited time we can keep him in custody. First thing in the morning we pay him a visit. Ok?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Sally Graham said.
‘What about the other two names on the list; Gardner and McLaren?’ Walters asked.
‘Neither of them sticks out as much as Barton. If we find nothing on him, then we’ll go to town on the other two.’
**
Henderson walked downstairs and out of the building in confident mood. Guy Barton looked the part, sounded it and of all the suspects, had the best motive. The only difficulty was finding the evidence to prove it. Henderson knew with only supposition and suspicion there was a chance the investigation, despite expending much time and energy, could grind to a halt, and leave several people tainted with doubt and no conviction.
Their only hope would be if a house search found traces of the substance used to incapacitate the victim, a receptacle that once held petrol, or some items of clothing bearing relevant chemical residues. He didn’t think a confession would do it. He believed the CPS would refuse to prosecute if Guy Barton professed remorse and blurted out a heart-wrenching story of hate and jealousy, no matter how complete and detailed. They would only proceed if they could produce the items he used in the murder. When the SOCOs entered the Barton household in St John’s Terrace tomorrow, he would need all his fingers, and everything else, crossed.
He pushed open the door of a squat, three-storey building at the back of the Malling House complex and after showing his pass to the desk sergeant, climbed the stairs to the top floor. His contact in the Robbery Squad, Detective Sergeant Steven Rhodes, the grumpy git he’d met last night at Fenton’s, was at the back of the room, surrounded by desks with various bits of stolen kit heaped upon them. To some people, it might look like a treasure grotto, but to Henderson it resembled the inside of a house clearing company’s warehouse.
A smile crossed the lips of DS Rhodes as Henderson approached.
‘Afternoon sir,’ he said reaching out to shake his hand. ‘Sorry about last night. My wife made such a fuss about me going out and then it took me over an hour to drive a couple of miles.’
‘I can sympathise. It wasn’t the best night to try and go anywhere in Lewes.’
Aged around mid-forties, Rhodes wore a scruffy jacket on an overweight frame. He had a youthful-looking face, but the receding hair didn’t want to play ball. Rhodes did the only sensible thing he could in the circumstances, if he didn’t want to be known as the guy with the comb-over, and kept it short.
‘You can say that again. You’re in charge of the Marc Emerson murder case, aren’t you?’
Henderson nodded. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I knew him, well not so much me, my son played football with him. They got on well together and a few times Marc came round to our house after a match.’
‘What did you think of him?’
‘A decent young man, polite and happy to help. A good centre-forward according to my lad, and a good-looking guy if you believe Maddy, my fourteen-year-old.’
‘Did your son say anything about his state of mind close to when he died, you know, if he felt worried about anything?’
‘He said Marc was being hassled by an ex-girlfriend, someone he worked beside, I understand, but I expect you know all about that.’
Henderson nodded.
‘He said he didn’t get on with his step-father and had to move out otherwise one of them would have killed the other.’
‘His step-father is a difficult man for anyone to get on with, even with the patience of Mother Teresa. Did he say anything more?’
‘No, but I can ask him again if you like.’
‘Yes, if you would. It might twig something lurking at the back of his memory.’
‘So, I guess you’re here to find out what we’re doing about the robbery at Fenton’s?’
‘We didn’t have much of a hand-over last night when you and your guys arrived. I can answer any questions that might have occurred to you since then and, more for interest than anything else, I’d like to know how the investigation’s progressing.’
‘Fair enough.’
Henderson went on to explain how he and Rachel had been walking with the procession towards the bonfire when DS Edwards called him. He went into some detail about what he found in the shop when he got there, and what he’d asked the two uniformed officers to do.
‘They cleaned the place out, like you said,
’ Rhodes said. ‘It suggests to me they had plenty of time to do it. I shouldn’t let you see this but I will as you’re more or less involved.’
He turned to his computer and tapped the keyboard with a dexterity surprising for a man with such chubby fingers. ‘Take a look at this.’
Henderson wheeled his chair closer to the screen.
‘This is the feed from the cameras inside Fenton’s last night. There are four in the main part of the shop and one in the storeroom and any one of the shop cameras will show you what went on. For a change, we’ll look at camera two.’ He pressed a button and a colour image appeared. The picture wasn’t bad, lit by the shop’s security lights.
A clock on the corner of the screen read 21:40:50 and the seconds clicked by. The video had sound and Henderson could hear the noise of the procession outside, the dull thud of a bass drum and a tune being played by a brass band which he vaguely remembered.
‘Any minute now,’ Rhodes said.
On cue, the room filled with one, two, three individuals who began in an unhurried manner to smash the glass-covered cabinets with club hammers. It was like watching a group of mime artists, the thump of the hammer blows and the shattering of glass, drowned-out by the band as they walked past outside.
The robbers picked up rings, bracelets and necklace trays and unceremoniously dumped their haul into sport holdalls, before throwing the empty trays back into the cabinet. The three robbers wore black clothing, black balaclavas, and on their hands, surgical gloves.
‘As an experienced robbery detective,’ the DI said, ‘what do you see?’
Rhodes scratched his chin. ‘They came well prepared with the right tools, strong bags and dark clothing, suggesting a disciplined crew. They obviously knew about the Bonfire Night procession but then again, who didn’t? Our guys are shaking down a list of known felons to find if there’s any word on the street. Somebody should know them.’
‘You would think so.’
‘If you look at them closely, you can see differences. One is tall and skinny and as he comes near the camera, just about now, you can see his skin where the glove ends on his sleeve. He looks dark, maybe Asian.’
