A Killing Resurrected

by Frank Smith

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Wednesday, July 22nd

  When Molly Forsythe arrived at work the following morning, the first thing she did was seek out PC Gordon Fry. She found him filling his mug with coffee from the machine in the hall.

  ‘Want some?’ he offered, reaching for a styrofoam cup.

  Molly shook her head. ‘No, thanks, Gordon,’ she said, ‘but I do want to talk to you about the statement you took from Sharon Jessop’s neighbour, a Mrs Martin. When, exactly, did you take that statement? It has yesterday’s date on it.’

  PC Fry moved away from the machine to let others in. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Took it yesterday lunchtime. First time I’ve been able to catch her in. Been back there several times, but she was always out. Likes her bingo games does Mrs Martin.’

  ‘I thought everyone played bingo on line these days.’

  ‘A lot do, but the old church hall in Portland Road runs games six days a week, and it’s well attended. Mostly seniors, but there are some younger ones as well.’

  ‘And when did you put her statement in the file?’

  ‘Yesterday afternoon,’ he told her. ‘You weren’t there, so Sergeant Ormside took it and put it in the file. Why? Something wrong?’

  ‘There could be,’ said Molly slowly. ‘Oh, not with what you did, but I’m having trouble with what Mrs Martin told you. You say she saw Al Jessop come “storming out of the house” with Sharon screaming after him before she went back in the house and slammed the door. Were those her words or yours?’

  Fry grinned sheepishly. ‘Her actual words, as I recall, were: “Al came flying out of the house with young Sharon chewing on his arse and screaming at him.” I thought “storming out of the house” was a reasonable interpretation, but I can change it if you want.’

  ‘No, no, that’s not what I’m after,’ Molly told him. ‘And this would be between nine thirty and ten on Saturday night?’

  ‘That’s right. She said she was standing in the open doorway taking in a last breath of fresh air before locking up for the night.’

  ‘And it was definitely Sharon who slammed the door?’

  ‘That’s right.’ PC Fry looked puzzled. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Why all the questions? I’m sorry it took so long to get Mrs Martin’s statement to you, but as I said, I called back several times before . . .’

  ‘No, no, you did nothing wrong,’ Molly assured him. ‘But if what this woman told you is right, then it wasn’t Al Jessop who beat up his wife as she said. I suppose he could have come back later, but knowing there was no money in the house, why would he?’

  Molly reached for a styrofoam cup. ‘I think I will have that coffee now,’ she said. ‘I think I’m going to need it.’

  Sharon Jessop was propped up in bed trying to drink orange juice through a straw. Her lips were less swollen than they’d been the day before, but the skin around the eyes was still puffy, and the bruises were even more colourful than they’d been on Sunday night.

  A very bored looking PC put down the morning paper and got to his feet and stretched. ‘Nothing to report,’ he said, and yawned. ‘Mind if I go and get myself a coffee while you’re here?’

  ‘No, go ahead, but don’t be too long,’ said Molly. ‘I don’t expect what I have to do will take very long.’ She turned to the woman in the bed. ‘Did you get much sleep last night, Sharon?’ she asked solicitously. ‘No nightmares about being attacked by your husband?’

  ‘No, thank God! They gave me something to help me sleep.’ Sharon shivered. ‘Have you caught him yet?’ Her words were slurred, but clearer than they had been.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Molly. ‘But we will.’

  ‘So . . . why are you here?’

  ‘I need to ask you again about what happened last Saturday night, when Al came looking for money. Take me through it again from the time Al arrived at the house.’

  Sharon winced as if she were in pain. ‘I don’t even want to think about it, let alone talk about it,’ she said. ‘Besides, I told you that already and you wrote it down, so why do you want me to go through it again?’

  ‘Just bear with me, Sharon. We can’t be too careful if we want to put Al away for a long time for what he did to you. Assault and battery, maybe even attempted murder – they both carry a stiff sentence, but the way things go in court, it will be your word against his, so let’s just go over it once again. You do want him put away, don’t you, Sharon?’

  ‘’Course I do.’ Sharon eased herself down in the bed and pulled the covers up under her chin.

  ‘Good,’ said Molly briskly. ‘I don’t want to tire you out, so let’s get on with it, shall we? You say Al came round somewhere between nine thirty and ten o’clock that night, right?’ Sharon nodded. ‘So tell me, how did you know he was coming? Did he phone you ahead of time?’

  Sharon frowned. ‘No. Why would he? He never phones. He just comes when he feels like it.’

  ‘But you were expecting him, weren’t you? I mean you did send the children next door so they would be out of harm’s way.’

  ‘I just knew he would be round, that’s all. He knows when I normally get paid. But they paid me in lieu of two week’s notice on Friday, so I kept thirty quid and took the rest round for Dad to keep for me, because I knew if Al got wind of it he’d be after it.’

  ‘But why were you so sure he would be coming on that particular night?’ Molly persisted.

  ‘Oh, God, does it matter?’ Sharon asked wearily. She buried her face in the crook of her arm as if to blot out the sight of her questioner. ‘I knew he’d be round,’ she continued with exaggerated emphasis on each word, ‘because he didn’t come round on the Friday like he usually does, OK? Maybe he was doing a run out of town or something on Friday, I don’t know, but I did know he’d be round the minute he got back. That’s why I sent the kids next door.’

  ‘All right, let’s leave that for now,’ said Molly soothingly. ‘So he came round and you let him in. Why did you do that if you knew there’d be trouble?’

  Sharon uncovered her face. ‘Easier than having him kick the door in and have half the street out watching,’ she said wearily. ‘Look, Molly, I’m tired. Can’t we just let it alone?’

  ‘I wish we could,’ Molly said, ‘but it is necessary, so I’ll try to be brief. Now,’ she continued quickly before Sharon could object, ‘according to your statement, Al came in, you told him you’d lost your job and there was no money in the house, but he didn’t believe you. He searched the place, didn’t find anything, and that was when he came back and really went to work on you. Is that right?’

  Sharon nodded, touching the bruises on her face as if to make sure that Molly got the picture.

  ‘So you didn’t see him leave?’

  Sharon rolled her eyes. ‘How could I, for Christ’s sake?’ she snapped, and winced. ‘I was unconscious, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Were you, Sharon . . .?’

  Sharon’s eyes slid away. ‘’Course I was,’ she said truculently. ‘It’s a wonder I’m not dead.’

  ‘True,’ Molly agreed quietly, ‘but, you see, Sharon, I have a problem with that. Because if you were lying on the floor after being beaten unconscious by your husband, how do you account for the fact that someone saw you at the door, screaming at him as he left?’

  ‘She’s lying, of course,’ Molly told Ormside later, ‘but she wouldn’t admit it. And she’s scared. First she said whoever had said they saw her at the door must have been talking about another time, and then she said her head was hurting, and she’d been having trouble remembering things, and if it had happened that way, then Al must have come back a second time, and so on and so on. Then she rang for the nurse and complained that I was upsetting her and she had these awful pains in her head . . .’ Molly shook her head. ‘I didn’t have any choice; I had to leave.’

  ‘But she still insists it was Al who beat her up?’

  ‘Oh, yes, she’s sticking to that, no matter what anyone says, but I don’t think it
was Al at all. Oh, he was there all right; the neighbours saw him, and he probably slapped Sharon around, but I think she was expecting someone else that night. The woman next door said that Sharon had acted as if she were scared but excited at the same time when she brought the children round.’

  Ormside sighed. ‘So it’s back to square one,’ he said. ‘Which means we’ll have to canvas the street again to find out if anyone saw any activity around the Jessop house later on that night or early Sunday morning. When do you think Sharon can be questioned again?’

  ‘Depends on how long she’s able to convince her doctor that she’s having memory problems. I doubt if she’ll be able to keep it up for long, but it could be a few days.’

  ‘Any thoughts on who this second person might be? Assuming there was a second person.’

  ‘I was thinking about that on my way in,’ said Molly. ‘Remember I said I had the feeling that Sharon was holding out on me? Well, I can’t help wondering if she remembered who the man was who held her during the robbery of the Rose and Crown, and tried to contact him.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Ormside neutrally.

  ‘Well, Sharon is desperate for money. She’s just lost her job, and if she had remembered who it was, and that person is still living here in Broadminster, she may have attempted to blackmail him.’

  Ormside looked sceptical. ‘And invited him to her house?’ he said. ‘The woman may not be very bright, but I can’t see her doing that, can you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Molly slowly. ‘There has to be a reason she sent her children out of the house, so it seems reasonable to me that she was expecting someone, or she was going out to meet someone, and I don’t think it was Al Jessop. Jessop did seem to be genuinely surprised when he saw the pictures of her injuries. I thought it was an act at the time, but now I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Assuming for a moment that you’re right, why didn’t he finish the job and simply kill her?’

  ‘Perhaps he thought he had.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Ormside conceded sceptically. ‘Still, I suppose it’s a theory, and God knows we’ve got nothing else to work with, so write up your report and put it up on the boards as a line of enquiry. And take a look at her phone records,’ he called after her as Molly moved away.

  ‘Oh, God, not you again?’ David Taylor groaned as the bell clattered and Tregalles stepped into the shop and closed the door behind him. ‘So what do you want this time, Sergeant?’

  ‘I thought you might like to know that Barry Grant didn’t commit suicide after all,’ Tregalles said. ‘He was murdered, and the killer set it up to look like suicide. But perhaps you knew that already, Mr Taylor?’

  David’s face darkened. ‘If you’re suggesting that I had something to do with it, you are very much mistaken,’ he said heatedly. ‘If Barry was murdered, this is the first I’ve heard of it, so why accuse me?’

  ‘I don’t believe I did,’ Tregalles said, ‘but as you told me yourself, you were the person he called only a few hours before he was killed, and yours is the only name Barry mentions in the notes he left behind. And you knew the code Sam Bergman used when he wanted his wife to open the back door.’

  David bristled. ‘Everyone knew that code,’ he shot back. ‘Dad knew it, Kevin knew it, we all did, and I’m sure every one of Sam’s cronies knew it, so don’t try to make it look as if I was the only one.’

  ‘Tell me again about that call you received from Barry that Sunday evening following the death of your father. What exactly did he say?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Sergeant!’ said David irritably. ‘You can’t expect me to remember something like that after all these years. I told you—’

  ‘You told me the other day,’ Tregalles cut in sharply, ‘that every word of that conversation was burnt into your brain, so don’t give me that. Tell me.’

  David sucked in his breath. ‘You’re right,’ he conceded, ‘I must have gone over that conversation a thousand times since that night, and when Claire came by to tell me that you’d reopened the investigation, suddenly that was all I could think about.’

  He pushed a couple of cardboard boxes aside and wiped his hand on a cloth. ‘Care for a coffee, Sergeant?’ he asked. ‘It is made. I’ve probably had more than I should today, but I could still use another one.’

  A few minutes later, with a large mug of coffee beside him, Taylor sat on the counter, legs dangling. Tregalles, seated on an upturned wooden crate and holding an equally large mug of coffee, waited for Taylor to begin.

  ‘As I told you,’ David began quietly, ‘it was the Sunday night after Dad was killed. We were all there in the living room, and Aunt Edith was trying to discuss funeral arrangement with us, but the trouble was neither Kevin nor I had a clue about what Dad would have wanted, and to be honest, I don’t think either of us wanted to talk about it at all. Dad had never said anything about what sort of funeral he’d like – he always shied away from things like that – so we weren’t much help, and tempers were getting a bit frayed on both sides.

  ‘Then Barry rang.’ David sipped his coffee and stared off into the distance as if recreating the scene in his mind. ‘I think his first words were, “David, you’ve got to help me. You’re the only one I can trust.” Then he said, “Please, David, I’m in trouble and I really need to talk to you. Please come.”’

  David grimaced guiltily. ‘And I said something like, For Christ’s sake, Barry, get lost. I haven’t got time for you and your games. Don’t you know my father was killed yesterday? I’m sitting here trying to sort out funeral arrangements, and the last thing I need right now is you and your problems, so call someone else, because I don’t want to hear from you again!’

  David Taylor set his half-empty mug on the counter beside him, and his voice was husky as he said, ‘Barry didn’t say anything for a moment or two, and then he said, “You probably won’t, David, because there is no one else who can help me. Goodbye.”’

  He picked up his mug again, but sat holding it in his hands. ‘I told him not to be such an idiot, and slammed the phone down,’ he said softly, ‘and twelve hours later I heard he had shot himself.’ He paused to look quizzically at Tregalles. ‘But now you’re saying he didn’t shoot himself. That he was murdered? How do you know?’

  ‘Not at liberty to say,’ Tregalles told him. ‘But since we’re talking about that, I’d like you to take me back to the morning your father and Mrs Bergman were killed. You and your brother were on your morning rounds at the time, as I recall. Did each of you have a particular area you covered?’

  ‘That’s right. I did the shops, pubs, and cafes on the south side of town, plus the villages, Ardlington, Clapton Cross, and some of the others out that way, and Kev covered the north end, Little Stoneford, Winset, and Shebbington, although I did his in-town ones that morning, which is why I was a bit later than usual getting back and found the lane blocked off and police everywhere.’

  ‘Why did you do your brother’s rounds that day?’

  David looked at him blankly. ‘Oh, that,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I . . .’ He waved his hands as if trying to erase something in the air. ‘That was because Kevin was in l-o-o-v-e,’ he said, drawing the word out. ‘He had it so bad it was painful – more so for me, because I was living under the same roof with him and Dad, and I was always afraid I would say something that would set Dad off. Believe me, it was hard going that summer.’

  ‘You lost me,’ Tregalles confessed. He had an inkling about where the conversation was heading, because Paget had mentioned something of the sort on his return from Cambridge, but now that David Taylor seemed to be in a talkative mood, he wanted to know more. ‘What was so bad about your brother being in love?’

  ‘It was who he was in love with,’ David said, and went on to tell Tregalles what he had told Claire the week before. ‘And believe me, it was tricky with us all living under the same roof, because despite our differences, Dad was still prepared to hire us during the summer, because Kev and I would work for less
than anyone else. But it included bed and board, and that was a plus as far as we were concerned.

  ‘But as I said, it was tricky, more so for Kevin than for me because not only was he still dating Steph, he was working for Ed Bradshaw as well. You see, our work at the bakery and the deliveries took place in the morning, so we were free in the afternoon. Ed Bradshaw was quite taken with Kevin as a potential son-in-law, and he wanted him to join the firm once he was through in Leeds. So he offered Kev a job in the afternoons at the Ludlow office, where there was little likelihood of Dad finding out. It was mostly researching material for other solicitors in the firm, but it was valuable experience for Kevin, and it gave him and Steph a chance to be together.’

  ‘Pretty dangerous, though, wasn’t it?’ Tregalles observed. ‘I mean Kevin could have been up the creek if your father had found out.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ David said seriously, ‘and I didn’t want to be the one to blurt something out and wreck everything, so there were times when I was more than a little annoyed with Kev for taking so many chances.’

  ‘Let’s get back to why your brother asked you to do part of his rounds for him that Saturday,’ Tregalles said. ‘Are you saying that was something to do with Stephanie Bradshaw as well?’

  David set his coffee to one side and sat frowning as if at some unpleasant memory. ‘Steph and her father were leaving that afternoon for Amsterdam,’ he said slowly, ‘and Kevin just had to see Steph before they went. Ed’s family came from there originally, and Steph had a grandmother and a couple of aunts in Amsterdam, and she and Ed used to pop over to see them on a weekend every now and again. I mean Steph was only going to be gone for a couple of days, but even that was too long for Kev. But it was no good arguing with him, so I agreed to do some of his rounds for him while he went skiving off to see Steph.’

  Tregalles stood up and set his empty mug on the counter. ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ he said, ‘and thanks for filling me in on what happened that day.’ He walked to the door, then paused. ‘You said your father didn’t have a lot of money, but he still had the business, so it must have brought in quite a bit when it was sold. You and your brother share it, did you?’