by Frank Smith
Tuesday – 21 May
Despite the best efforts of the doctors, Lenny Smallwood died at 4.32 a.m. No one knew how much cocaine he’d stuffed into his mouth – just that it was a lot, and there was little they could do. And that, together with his other injuries – made worse by his diving out of bed – had finished him.
Sergeant Ormside gave Paget the news when he arrived that morning. ‘I don’t think there’s any doubt that the girl was Tania Costello,’ he said. ‘The description fits.’
Paget grunted. ‘Better make sure that Mrs McLeish is informed,’ he said. ‘Poor woman came down for one funeral and now she has two.’
‘Right, sir.’ Ormside picked up a report and handed it to Paget. ‘It looks as if your instincts were right,’ he said. ‘It seems that Miss Fairmont has a gentleman-friend who visits her regularly two or three nights a week.’ He grinned crookedly. ‘Descriptions vary, depending on who you talk to, but most of them agree the man is middle-aged, and he drives a Rover – a dark red Rover – which he parks in the next street beside a butcher’s shop. We haven’t found anyone who can confirm the car was parked there last Monday evening, but chances are we will if we keep at it.’
Paget skimmed through the notes and nodded with satisfaction. ‘Rachel Fairmont is a good-looking woman,’ he observed. ‘I couldn’t see Gresham keeping his hands off her for long. But she plays her part well at work. Not one of the girls I questioned even suggested that there was anything going on between them.
‘Which accounts for how he knew about Beth Smallwood’s call to Rachel. He was there with her in her flat when Beth rang. He visited his father for a few minutes earlier in the evening, then went on to the flat. Now we know why he has been visiting his father so regularly. He uses that as an excuse to visit Rachel.
‘If Beth did mention going to the police,’ he continued, ‘and Rachel told Gresham what she’d said, he was almost bound to draw the wrong conclusion. He would have insisted on Rachel telling him everything that Beth had said, so he would know that Beth would be alone in the church. He had more than enough time to drive over there to try to dissuade her or try to buy her off. What happened then is anyone’s guess. Perhaps Beth did try to explain but he didn’t give her a chance.
‘And when Gresham arrived at the pub that night, he was so preoccupied that Trent suggested they meet again the following day.’
Paget handed the notes back to Ormside. ‘But it’s all conjecture at the moment, isn’t it? What we need is proof. I think it’s time we had another talk with Gresham and Miss Fairmont.’
* * *
‘We’ll walk,’ said Paget as he and Tregalles left the building. ‘Fresh air will do us good. Besides, parking is impossible over there.’
He needed to walk; needed to get rid of some of the tension. He’d spent at least half the night lying awake thinking and worrying about Andrea. He wished he could have done more, but comforted himself with the thought that she was in capable hands.
He’d left the house half an hour early and gone straight to the hospital before coming in to work, but Andrea was not in her room. She’d been taken down for ‘tests’, whatever that might mean. When he tried to press for details, the staff nurse took pity on him.
‘Believe me, Chief Inspector, there’s no need to worry,’ she assured him. ‘It’s simply routine work. Dr McMillan will be back to work in a couple of days, I’m sure. But I’ll let her know you were here when she returns to this floor.’
* * *
It seemed to Paget that Rachel Fairmont looked apprehensive as he and Tregalles approached her. She smiled mechanically, and after checking with Gresham via the intercom, ushered them into his office before retreating to her own desk.
Arthur Gresham was at his most affable. He came forward to greet them, and waited until they were seated before returning to his own chair.
‘This is a coincidence,’ he told them. ‘I was just about to ring you, Chief Inspector.’ He removed his glasses and began to polish them. ‘Miss Fairmont told me yesterday that you had been to see her. She said you were puzzled by the fact that I knew about Beth Smallwood’s call to her on that tragic evening. I meant to call you yesterday to clear the matter up, but I’m afraid I became busy and it slipped my mind.’
Paget doubted that, but decided to remain silent and listen to what Gresham had to say. The man might hang himself yet.
Gresham pursed his lips and moistened them. ‘To tell you the truth,’ he said in a confidential tone, ‘Miss Fairmont is more than a little embarrassed about it. It’s not like her at all. I think it must have been the shock of hearing about poor Beth that drove it completely out of her mind. You see, she simply forgot about my call to her that night. She was extremely upset when I reminded her of it, and as I said, embarrassed.’
‘What call was that, sir?’
Gresham slipped his glasses back in place. ‘The one I made to her after talking to Ivor Trent in the Three Crowns that night. You see, we’d agreed to have a meeting in his office first thing the following morning, and I rang Miss Fairmont to let her know that I’d be late. It was then that she told me about Beth telephoning to say she wouldn’t be in the following day, but as I say, it completely slipped her mind. I’m sorry if it’s caused you any inconvenience, Chief Inspector, although, quite frankly, I can’t see what it has to do with Beth Smallwood’s death.’
Tregalles spoke up. ‘But I understand that you cancelled that meeting with Mr Trent,’ he said. ‘Why was that, sir?’
‘Ah! Yes.’ Gresham pursed judicial lips once more and clasped plump hands across his stomach, and when he spoke again it was to Paget rather than Tregalles.
‘You see, I’m afraid I wasn’t quite straight with you the other day, Chief Inspector,’ he said apologetically. ‘In retrospect, it was foolish of me, I know. But when Miss Fairmont told me about Beth, I was concerned about her. It sounded as if she had taken a nasty tumble, and I wanted to make sure that she was all right. It was getting late and I didn’t want to disturb her if she was already in bed, so I decided to go out there first thing the following morning. I rang Trent and explained the situation, and we set up another time.’
‘And did you go out the following morning?’ Tregalles asked.
Gresham was forced to face him. ‘Yes, I did, Sergeant,’ he said brusquely, ‘but I couldn’t get through because the road was cordoned off by your people.’
‘I see. And what time was it when you rang Miss Fairmont?’
Gresham frowned his irritation. ‘I don’t know exactly,’ he said. ‘Ten o’clock or thereabouts, I suppose.’
‘And you rang Miss Fairmont from where, sir?’
Gresham snorted. ‘Oh, really, Sergeant! Does it matter?’
‘We won’t know until you tell us, will we, sir?’
Gresham looked to Paget, but found no comfort there. He sighed resignedly. ‘There’s a public telephone outside the Three Crowns,’ he said. ‘I rang from there.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Tregalles made a note in his notebook. ‘You say you found Farrow Lane cordoned off when you tried to go down there on the Tuesday morning. Did anyone tell you why it was blocked off?’
Gresham looked disconcerted, and a slow flush began to rise above his collar. ‘Actually, it was mentioned by one of your men at the barrier,’ he said, ‘but I had no idea that the person who had been attacked was Beth Smallwood.’ Gresham turned to Paget and spread his hands. ‘I’m sorry I misled you when you came to see me later that morning, Chief Inspector, but I really didn’t see any point in mentioning I’d been out there, since it had absolutely nothing to do with your investigation. Now, of course, I see I should have said something, and I do apologize.’
Paget’s grunt was non-committal. ‘Could we have Miss Fairmont in?’ he asked.
Gresham pursed his lips again. ‘I do hope you won’t be too hard on her, poor girl,’ he said. ‘She feels terrible about her lapse of memory.’
‘I don’t think there is any fear
of that, sir,’ said Paget.
Rachel Fairmont entered the office in the manner of a schoolgirl summoned to the headmaster’s office, fearful of the consequences. In a voice barely above a whisper, she verified in every detail what Gresham had just told them about the telephone call to her. ‘I simply don’t know how it could have gone so completely from my mind, Chief Inspector,’ she ended distractedly. ‘I should have remembered when you asked me on Sunday, but by then I’m afraid I was so confused…’ The words seemed to catch in her throat, and she looked as if she might cry.
Paget looked at Gresham. ‘Do you have anything to add to that?’ he asked.
The manager sat back in his chair, folded his hands over his stomach once more and returned Paget’s gaze. ‘I think we have covered everything, Chief Inspector,’ he said. ‘I do apologize again. I hope we haven’t caused you too much inconvenience. Now, what was it you wished to see me about?’
Paget rose to his feet and Tregalles followed. ‘I believe you have told us what we wanted to know,’ he said carefully. ‘Of course, I shall need revised statements from you both. Shall we say four o’clock this afternoon at Charter Lane?’
‘Ah!’ Gresham came out from behind his desk as Tregalles also rose. ‘I’m afraid that’s a bit awkward,’ he said. ‘You see, the auditors are presenting their report this afternoon, and a VIP from head office will be here. I have been instructed to attend, and Miss Fairmont will be required to take the minutes. Perhaps tomorrow morning…?’
Paget eyed the manager stonily. He hated to concede anything to this man, but there was nothing to be gained by making an issue over a few hours. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’
As they came out into brilliant sunshine, Tregalles blew out his cheeks and shook his head in wonder. ‘That’s the biggest load of codswallop I’ve heard in years!’ he declared. ‘Surely to God Gresham can’t think he’s going to get away with a story like that? And that secretary of his. She was lying her head off for him.’
‘I suspect that Arthur Gresham believes he can get away with anything if he puts his mind to it,’ said Paget. He remained silent for a moment. ‘But I’m not at all sure about Miss Fairmont. Perhaps we’ll find out tomorrow.’
* * *
The same staff nurse who had been on duty earlier in the day was still there. ‘I told Dr McMillan you were here earlier, Chief Inspector,’ she said as Paget approached the desk, ‘but I’m afraid you’ve missed her again. She’s been discharged.’
‘Discharged? Why? She isn’t fit. Who gave…?’
‘She discharged herself, Mr Paget,’ the nurse said flatly. ‘We would have preferred to have her stay another day, but she wanted to get home, and there was no reason for us to keep her here, provided she is careful for the next few days. Her injuries are by no means life-threatening.’
‘They looked pretty serious to me,’ said Paget bluntly.
The staff nurse’s lips settled into a thin line. ‘We do know what we’re doing here,’ she said stiffly, ‘and so does Dr McMillan. She was given a thorough examination before she left, and I’m quite sure she is capable of looking after herself at home.’
Paget felt chastened, and deservedly so. It was hardly the fault of the nurse that Andrea had insisted on leaving. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologized. ‘I wasn’t criticizing you. It’s just that, after seeing Dr McMillan’s injuries last night, I was concerned. I just want to make sure that she’ll be all right.’
The nurse’s face relaxed. ‘I’m sure she will be, Mr Paget,’ she said soothingly. ‘And I think it is very good of you to show so much concern.’ A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as if she found something amusing.
* * *
On his way back to the office, Paget took a detour through Market Square. Finding an empty parking slot seemed like a good omen, but still he hesitated. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea after all. But on the other hand, what was there to lose?
Still not quite convinced he was doing the right thing, he got out of the car and made his way to a small shop on the corner. He hesitated at the door, then grasped the handle firmly and went inside.
Chapter 28
Graffiti covered much of the walls and glass of the phone booth outside the Three Crowns. The bottom panels had been kicked out, and the floor was littered with broken glass, cigarette butts, chips, and crumpled newspaper.
Tregalles wiped the telephone earpiece on his sleeve before putting it to his ear. Dead, as he’d suspected.
Inside the pub, the landlord told him that he couldn’t remember when the telephone outside had not been like that. ‘I used to report it regularly,’ he said, ‘but even when they did come and see to it, it only stayed mended a couple of days. People are always coming in here asking to use the phone, but if you start that they’ll all try it on, so I say no to everyone.’
‘What about when you’re not here? Might one of the staff let someone use the phone?’
‘Not a chance. There’s only me and Flo – that’s the wife – and Ernie behind the bar of a night, and they know the rules.’
‘Any other phones round here?’
‘There’s one at the bottom of the hill outside the post office, but that’s out of order half the time as well.’
The local BT service supervisor admitted, reluctantly, that he had all but given up on the phone outside the Three Crowns. Yes, according to his records it had been out of order now for almost three weeks. ‘It’s a waste of time and money,’ he insisted. ‘It only lasts a couple of days at most if we do repair it, and we have more pressing priorities. Sorry, but that’s the way it is.’
To his surprise, Tregalles seemed pleased. ‘I think my DCI will like that,’ he told the man. ‘In fact I’m sure he will.’
* * *
Sandra Chandler looked thoughtful as she glanced at the clock. She gathered up her notes and put them in the drawer of her desk and locked it. She had promised to meet a colleague for lunch, but there was still time to pop in to see Helen Beecham on the way. Even a few minutes together could help to strengthen the bond between them; help build that fragile bridge of trust.
They’d already started serving meals down on C Ward, and she had to edge her way past several trolleys as she made her way down the corridor. The double doors were open. They shouldn’t have been, of course. They were supposed to be closed and attended at all times to comply with safety regulations, but it was almost impossible to manoeuvre the unwieldy trolleys back and forth at mealtimes without propping the doors open.
Deep in thought, Sandra Chandler was almost past the couple coming toward her before she realized that one of them was Helen Beecham. Her head was turned away, and a bony hand clutched claw-like at her dressing-gown, holding it tightly at the throat. Shuffling along in open slippers, she leaned heavily on the arm of the man beside her.
‘Helen?’ said Sandra gently. ‘Where are you going?’
Helen Beecham’s only response was to bury her head deeper into the shoulder of her companion. He was a small man; grey hair, small moustache, sallow skin.
‘And you are…?’ she asked pleasantly.
‘I’m her brother,’ the man said. ‘I came as soon as I heard. I couldn’t believe it … I mean I had no idea. We’re just going for a little walk while we talk. I do have her doctor’s permission.’
‘Do you really? That’s odd; I don’t recall giving it.’
Alarm flared in his eyes, swiftly replaced by a shrug of apology. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I was under the impression that the person I spoke to was Helen’s doctor. I must have been mistaken.’
Sandra planted herself in front of him. ‘You’re damned right you were mistaken,’ she said softly. ‘Now let go of Helen’s arm. You’re not going anywhere – Mr Beecham.’
Sandra Chandler had no fear of the man, but she was not prepared for what happened next. Face contorted, Harry Beecham pulled free of Helen’s grasp and slammed his fist into Sandra’s stomach. She gasped
and doubled up with pain. A fist smashed into her face, and she felt herself sliding to the floor.
Beecham grabbed his wife’s arm and dragged her with him as he made for the door, but the trolleys blocked his way. Behind him, Sandra Chandler struggled to regain her breath. She tried to call out but no sound would come.
A trolley crashed into the wall, spilling trays and dinners across the floor. Helen stumbled and fell amidst the food and broken crockery, but Beecham pulled her to her feet and charged ahead. A nurse came running down the hall, but Beecham shoved her out of the way and ploughed on.
‘Please! Harry, please!’ Helen pleaded feebly as she staggered in his wake, but Beecham paid no heed. ‘You’re coming home,’ he grated as he dragged her to a small side door marked ‘Exit – For Emergency Use Only’. Raw sunshine made her blink and turn her head away as Beecham dragged her to the car parked beside the door. He opened the rear door and shoved her inside. She sprawled across the seat, then fell to the floor as Beecham jumped in the driver’s seat and slammed the car into reverse. The tyres screamed. She could smell the burning rubber.
* * *
‘We’ve got the bastard!’ Ormside growled.
He greeted Paget with the words as the chief inspector walked through the door of the incident room. The sergeant was itemizing the information from Forensic on a blackboard.
‘Beecham,’ he elaborated. ‘The bloodstains on Beecham’s clothing are Group B, the same as Amy Thomson’s blood. Beecham is Group O. Now, Forensic warn us in their report that that in itself proves nothing, but they also point out that Group B is not all that common in this country, so it’s a step in the right direction. DNA tests will prove conclusively whether they are the same, but that will take quite a bit more time.
‘But there’s more. Samples of grit taken from the tyres of Beecham’s car are identical to those taken at the scene down by the railway sheds. And a metal bar found buried in one of the plant boxes in the greenhouse in Beecham’s garden has bloodstains on it. Group B again.
