A Killing Resurrected

by Frank Smith

  ‘George was all right,’ her husband protested. ‘I know you thought he was a bit coarse at times, but he was a good friend.’

  ‘I’m not denying that, Sam,’ Loretta said softly, ‘but you have to admit he was pretty hard on the boys; they could never live up to his expectations, and he was even harder on them after Lydia died.’ Loretta saw the question in Grace’s eyes. ‘Lydia Taylor, George’s wife,’ she explained. ‘She was the buffer between George and the boys, and I think it literally wore her out in the end. She died when they were in their teens. Cervical cancer.’

  ‘You knew the family well, then?’ said Grace.

  Loretta shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ she said, ‘but I lived just up the street from the bakery. After my husband died, I sold the house and Tony and I moved into a flat above the tobacconist’s on the corner. I first met Lydia at an art course we both attended when the children were small, and we became quite friendly. But then Lydia stopped coming, which was a pity, because she had talent. Apparently George thought it a waste of time and money, so he told her to drop it, and she did. I used to talk to her in the shop quite regularly, but it was never the same after that. It was almost as if she was afraid to spend time talking in case George disapproved. And George was just as hard on the boys after their mother died.’

  Sam was shaking his head. ‘Be fair, Loretta,’ he said. ‘It can’t have been any picnic trying to raise two teenage boys after their mother died, and run a business as well, especially a bakery. He told me Lydia had always been too soft with them, and they needed discipline.’

  ‘Discipline is one thing, Sam,’ Loretta said, ‘but those kids worked hard in that bakery, and yet he was never satisfied. You know how he used to yell at them, Sam. We could hear him out there in the lane when they were loading the vans. It didn’t seem to matter what they did, he would always find something to grumble about. And the way he went on and on about Kevin when he took up with the Bradshaw girl because of her father . . . I mean it really was ridiculous!’

  ‘What was that about?’ asked Paget before Bergman could reply.

  Loretta looked to her husband, silently passing the question over to him. Sam shrugged. ‘It was just that he felt Ed Bradshaw had betrayed him,’ he said.

  ‘Betrayed him in what way?’

  ‘George and Ed had been friends ever since they were kids, so when Ed took on a case for the owner of a café who was taking George to court over some tainted Cornish pasties he’d received from George’s bakery, George was furious. And when he lost the case, that was the end of their friendship as far as he was concerned. So, you can imagine how he felt when he found out that Kevin was going with Ed’s daughter.’

  ‘But he should never have—’ Loretta began heatedly, only to be cut off by Paget.

  ‘Can either of you think of any other friends of David and Kevin Taylor and Barry Grant?’

  Sam shook his head. Loretta thought for a moment, then shook her head as well. ‘I’m sure there were others,’ she said, ‘but I can’t remember anyone in particular.’

  ‘Right, then,’ said Paget, glancing at his watch. ‘I know you have a busy day ahead of you, and I do thank you both for your patience, but before we leave, I must ask you, Mrs Bergman, about your hours of work in the shop back then. I know you worked there part-time, but I’m told that you normally worked there on Saturdays, and yet you weren’t there on the day the robbery took place. Would you mind telling me why?’

  TWENTY-ONE

  Sunday, July 19th

  They left Cambridge early the following morning, deciding to take the scenic route back to Broadminster.

  They stopped for an ice cream and a leisurely stroll down the mile-long High Street in Henley-in-Arden, admiring the timbered houses and shops that lined the street. But the sun was almost at its zenith, and the street was filling rapidly with cars and tourists, so they decided it was time to leave.

  ‘I suppose they could have been telling the truth about why Loretta wasn’t there that morning,’ Paget said as they got in the car. ‘But there’s no way of checking their story now.’

  Grace smiled to herself as she buckled up. ‘I wondered how long you could go without talking about the case,’ she said. ‘For what it’s worth, I thought she was telling the truth. She said she’d worked more than the usual number of hours that week, because they were taking inventory, and she’d worked late on Friday, so she was taking Saturday off, and I imagine Rogers would have checked her story at the time. As for the idea that the target could have been Emily, and the robbery was staged to cover the killing, I can’t see it, myself. First of all, how would someone like Sam Bergman or Loretta go about finding someone willing to do all that? Secondly, even if they did, they would be laying themselves open to blackmail for the rest of their lives, and I certainly didn’t get the impression that they were being bled dry. Did you?’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said as he started the car and set off. ‘But I would like to know what their relationship was before the robbery. I mean for Bergman to marry again so soon after his wife was killed in such a brutal way . . . I just don’t understand how anyone could do that.’

  Grace remained silent. It had taken Neil a long time to come to terms with the death of his wife, Jill, who had died a violent death herself, and it had taken him even longer to allow himself to love and be loved again without feeling guilty, so she could understand why he felt as he did. But not everyone would react in the same way. Sam had lost his wife and Loretta had lost her husband and her only child. And working together every day in the months following the robbery, it wasn’t hard to imagine why they might decide to marry and begin life again in a new place.

  Driving back from Leominster that evening, where she had spent the day with her lifelong friend, Jane Thomas, and Jane’s five-year-old daughter, Melissa, Molly had all the windows open, but she still felt as if she were burning up. She slid her fingers under the shoulder-straps of her sundress to ease them away from her skin. She should have known better than to spend so much time with her god-daughter, Melissa, in the large inflatable pool in Jane’s back garden, and now she was paying the price. She’d worn a floppy hat to shield her face, but her neck, shoulders and upper arms were a fiery red by the end of the day.

  Young Melissa, slathered in sunscreen, didn’t seem to be bothered at all. But then, she’d been playing outside all summer, and neither she nor her mother seemed to be much affected by the sun.

  Molly winced, and tried not to think what her shoulders and neck would be like when she returned to work in the morning. Better stop and try to find some soothing cream on her way home, and get an early night so she would be ready to tackle Sharon Jessop once again tomorrow.

  She hadn’t really thought about it before, but it suddenly occurred to Molly that Sharon would be at work tomorrow, and it could be awkward trying to talk to her there. Which meant she would have to wait until tomorrow evening to talk to Sharon. Or she could get it over and done with tonight by stopping in Peel Street on her way home.

  Twenty minutes later, Molly was knocking on Sharon’s door, conscious that three women two houses down had stopped talking, and were watching her. Molly knocked again, harder this time, then stepped back into the street to look for movement at any of the windows.

  ‘She’s not there,’ one of the women called, then turned to listen as one of the other women tugged on her arm and said something. The woman nodded, then left the others to approach Molly. ‘You the one who was here before?’ she demanded as she drew near.

  ‘That’s right. You say Sharon’s not in? Do you know where she is or when she might be back?’

  The woman sniffed. ‘If she comes back,’ she said. ‘She didn’t look too good to me when they carried her out this morning, and I wouldn’t give much for her chances. Face all battered, bones broke. He did a right job on her.’

  ‘Who did a right job on her?’ asked Molly sharply.

  ‘That husband of hers. Always has been
handy with his fists, that one. Always coming round for money, but with Sharon losing her job and all, she wouldn’t have none to give, would she? So he beat her up.’ She took cigarettes from her apron pocket and lit one. ‘It’s a good job the kids weren’t in the house at the time, is all I can say. So what do you want?’

  ‘I did want to talk to Sharon,’ Molly said. ‘But tell me more about what happened. You say she was taken to hospital this morning, and the children weren’t in the house. Why weren’t they there?’

  ‘You’re a copper, aren’t you?’ the woman said, ignoring the question.

  ‘That’s right, but . . .’

  ‘So why don’t you know about this?’ the woman demanded. ‘We had the other coppers round.’

  ‘I was away over the weekend,’ Molly explained. ‘I just got back. Now, about the children?’

  Instead of answering, the woman motioned for one of the other woman to come. ‘Over here, Vi,’ she called. ‘She wants to know about the kids and why they weren’t at home when their dad beat up their mum. You had ’em; you tell her.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the woman called Vi. ‘Came round yesterday evening. About nine, it was. Asked me to take the kids. Had ’em with her. Said it would only be for a few hours, but I told her they might as well stay the night.’

  ‘Did she say why she wanted them out of the house?’

  ‘Not really. She was sort of excited and maybe a bit scared, so I knew right away it would be Al coming round to take money off her again. Not that he would get very far this time with her being given her cards on Friday. She was in a right old state then, I can tell you. Crying, and going on about what she and the kids were going to do.’

  ‘So what happened after you took the children?’ Molly asked. ‘Did you see Al Jessop come to the house?’

  Vi shook her head. ‘Not when he arrived. Stay out of it is my motto,’ she said firmly. ‘But I heard his van start up and saw him leave.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  Vi pursed her lips and frowned in thought ‘Couldn’t’ve been long after I’d put the kids to bed. Half nine, ten o’clock, something like that.’

  ‘Wasn’t it dark?’

  ‘There was still a bit of light in the sky, and the street light’s just across the road. It was him all right.’

  ‘This is your house?’ Molly asked, pointing to the one next door.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You saw him through the front window?’

  ‘Bedroom window,’ the woman said. ‘Slammed the door so hard when he left I went to the window to see what was happening.’

  ‘You didn’t go round, then, to see if Sharon was all right?’

  ‘None of my business, was it?’ Vi said flatly.

  ‘Who found Sharon this morning?’

  ‘I did when I took the kids round. I mean I’d had ’em all night; I reckoned the least she could do was give ’em breakfast.’

  ‘Where was she in the house? And what state was she in?’

  ‘On the floor in the kitchen, and she was unconscious. She’d been bleeding, but it had stopped and I knew it had been there a while, ’cause it was dry. Face was all beat up and it looked to me like one of her arms was broken, the way it was bent back. The kitchen looked like it had been hit by a bomb, cupboard doors open, stuff dragged out all over the floor. Don’t know what the rest of the rooms were like, but they’ll probably be the same. I got out of there right quick, I can tell you, and called the ambulance.’

  ‘So who called the police?’

  ‘Wasn’t me,’ Vi said emphatically. ‘Must have been them, ’cause the police didn’t come till after the ambulance got there.’

  ‘Where are the children now?’

  ‘Called her dad at the pub, didn’t I?’ said Vi. ‘Came over here right sharp, he did, and took ’em back with him.’

  ‘Did you speak to the police this morning?’

  She nodded. ‘Told ’em the same as I told you.’

  ‘Have you heard anything since? How Sharon is doing?’

  Both women shook their heads.

  Molly thanked them and got back in the car. ‘Looks like I can say goodbye to an early night,’ she muttered beneath her breath as she left the street and headed for the hospital.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Monday, July 20th

  ‘I think we should be digging deeper into the relationship between Barry Grant and David Taylor,’ Paget said after giving a brief summary of his visit to Cambridge on the weekend. ‘If George Taylor knew about Sam Bergman’s “secret knock”, then I’m sure the boys knew about it as well, and there could be others. According to Loretta Bergman, both boys were bullied by their father, so it’s possible that it was David who George Taylor recognized when he pulled the mask off, bearing in mind that Barry did mention David by name.

  ‘So, Tregalles,’ he said, ‘I want you to find out everything you can about David Taylor and any other friends he had back then, and the same goes for Kevin Taylor as well, since he was still seeing his girlfriend after being told by his father that he had to drop her if he wanted his financial support to continue.’

  He turned to Ormside. ‘Anything on the car or the people Whitfield saw leaving the Corbetts’ house?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing yet,’ the Sergeant told him.

  Paget scanned the whiteboards once again. ‘We need to get more people out to canvas the area around the Unicorn to see if anyone remembers seeing Corbett or his car. And since Charlie’s people didn’t find Corbett’s mobile phone in the pond, the sooner we get those phone records, the better.

  ‘Now,’ he continued, ‘what about this attack on Sharon Jessop?’ he asked Molly. ‘Do you see it as having anything to do with the Grant investigation?’

  Molly shook her head. ‘Not if what one of the neighbours told me last night is true. She claims to have seen Al Jessop leaving the house between nine thirty and ten. And Sharon’s father told us the other day that Jessop is in the habit of coming round to sub off Sharon whenever she gets paid. Except this time the cupboard was bare because she’d just lost her job.’

  ‘Has Jessop herself said anything about who it was?’ Ormside asked.

  ‘No. She was in no condition to talk when I saw her last night, and they’re keeping her more or less sedated until they’re sure there isn’t any pressure on the brain. She has a broken cheekbone, bruises all over her face, head, and upper body, a fractured collarbone, three cracked ribs and possible internal injuries – they’re doing more tests today. There are bruises on her throat that suggest her attacker also tried to strangle her. You can see the condition she was in from these pictures.’

  Molly produced a large envelope and slid half-a-dozen glossy pictures on to Ormside’s desk, where she spread them out for the others to see.

  ‘He really did do a job on her,’ Tregalles muttered as he bent closer to study one of the pictures. ‘What are those marks around her mouth and on her neck?’

  Ormside picked up a magnifying glass. ‘Looks to me as if he was wearing gloves with a coarse weave,’ he said. ‘You can see a faint pattern.’

  Paget studied the pictures. ‘It may be a while before Mrs Jessop can talk to us,’ he told Ormside, ‘but let’s have her husband in for questioning. And we still need to know the name of the man Mrs Jessop claims whispered to her during the robbery at the pub, so, since she knows Forsythe, I want her to monitor Mrs Jessop’s condition in hospital, and question her on both counts as soon as possible. Do we have anything on Jessop’s husband?’

  ‘Not really,’ the Sergeant said. ‘He’s been involved in a couple of pub brawls, and Uniforms responded to a domestic back in February, but his wife refused to lay charges, and that’s about it. He doesn’t have a regular job, but he’s licensed to drive large goods vehicles, and he sometimes fills in when a driver is off sick or away for any reason. But with yesterday being Sunday, we didn’t get very far with our enquiries. We should have better luck today with everyone back at
work.’

  ‘You might see if you can find any connection between Jessop and Barry Grant thirteen years ago,’ Paget said. ‘He sounds like the sort of person who might be up for a robbery.’

  He looked at the time. ‘In any case, I’d better be on my way,’ he said. ‘I’ll be in Mr Alcott’s office for about an hour, but then I’m off to Worcester to talk about the introduction of a series of new courses in next year’s training programme. Today is just the preliminary round, but I’ll be asking for your input in the next few weeks, so give it some thought.’

  ‘Right,’ said Ormside perfunctorily as his gaze swept the office, his mind already focused on what needed to be done, and mentally assigning the individuals who would be best suited for each task. Training was something he could think about later – much later.

  The garden appeared to be well tended, but the house in Whitecross Lane was old, small, and in serious need of repair. But that was on the outside; inside, it was clean, airy, and comfortable. Apart from her other talents, it was clear that Irene Sinclair knew how to make the best of small spaces.

  ‘I know the place looks as if it’s falling down,’ she told Molly as if reading her mind as she ushered her inside, ‘but it’s rented, you see, and I’m afraid my landlord is a bit slow to respond to my constant reminders. However, the roof doesn’t leak, and the windows don’t rattle in a storm, so I’m grateful for small mercies. And the rent isn’t bad either, so that helps.

  ‘But you didn’t come to talk about my house, did you,’ she said. ‘You want to ask me about Roger and our relationship, don’t you? Can I offer you some tea? I should warn you it’s Chinese and it’s black.’