by Vic Marelle
‘Have you still got any of them?’ added Davies.
‘Were they on contracts or pay as you go?’ continued Lescott.
‘Hey, what is this? Why the preoccupation with my phone? I thought you were trying to find my Dad’s murderer.’
‘We are Mr Archer. But this is relevant. Now, will you please answer the question?’ pressed Davies.
‘I can’t see the relevance. This is potty.’ Then, after pausing and looking quizzically at the two officers in turn, continued, ‘OK. I’ve had several mobiles over the years. Mostly I’ve broken them at work. You know, dropped them onto some stonework or smashed them while repairing something. It’s a physical job. I’ve not kept any. I did have pay as you go at the start but I’ve had a monthly contract for two or three years now.’ Then, fixing eyes with Davies, ‘So, what’s this all about?’
‘We’ll get to that in a moment Mr Archer,’ replied Davies. ‘Did you ever lend your phone to your father?’
‘And who did your father go to see in London?’ added Lescott.
‘You’re a bloody double act you two aren’t you? Why can’t you give me time to answer the first question before hurling the next one at me?’
‘Well Mr Archer?’ pressed Davies.
‘There would be no point lending Dad a mobile because he doesn’t know how to use one. And I’ve no bloody idea who he went to see. There. Will that do?’
‘No, but it’s a start,’ said Davies with a sly grin. ‘Now Mr Archer, when you told my colleague that your father had gone to London, it seemed that you knew who he was going to see. Why don’t you now?’
‘Dad told me but I didn’t make a note of it. I’d never heard of the guy before so it meant nothing to me. All I know is what Dad told me. He said he was going to see the bloke he bought the caravan site from. He said that the bloke moved into a house near here for a while but then moved down near London. That’s all I know. Please Inspector, what’s this all about? Why the interest in my phone and where Dad went?’
‘Mr Archer,’ intoned Davies. Some of our enquiries may seem repetitive or even not relevant but we have to be very thorough. For your information, we found a mobile phone in your father’s van so we are assuming that it was your father’s phone. As for whom your father went to meet, don’t forget that he didn’t get to London so he didn’t meet anyone. He only got a few miles down the road didn’t he?’
‘And he met somebody for a chat and a coffee – presumably by prior arrangement,’ added Lescott.
‘So nothing can be taken for granted and much of what we were told earlier doesn’t hold water,’ concluded Davies. ‘Now then lad, I’m asking you again, what did you do with your old mobile phones and did you lend one to your Dad?’
‘No!’ exclaimed Kevin. ‘No, I never lent my Dad a phone. I replaced mine when they broke. It wouldn’t be any use lending a bust phone would it? In any case, he didn’t know how to use one.’
‘Well clearly, that’s not right,’ commented Lescott. ‘The phone we found in his van was charged and had been used. We are checking its call history now.’
‘So if your dad wrote letters, perhaps he made a note of who he was going to see somewhere. Where did he keep his business diary?’ asked Davies.
‘He wasn’t that organised. I started keeping some records when I bought the computer and we got the Internet connection. But that was just what I did, not Dad’s things. He tended to make notes on a spiral calendar sometimes and on bits of paper otherwise. They’re still in the office.’
‘Well let’s have a look at them shall we?’
The office turned out to be a dismal room adjacent to the equally dismal reception area, with once trendy rustic décor that matched the reception area; dated, old fashioned and in desperate need for a refurb. At one end of the room, two old metal filing cabinets stood in the corners flanking an equally old wooden desk that would not have looked out of place in a TV period drama. Its surface was completely covered with piles of papers, overflowing tray systems for ‘in’ and ‘out’ and an old fashioned receipt spike held a wad of small papers, their age betrayed by their yellowing colour that gave the spike the look of a kebab skewer. At the other end of the room and with access to the area behind the reception desk was what Davies had earlier believed to be a self-contained, though rather scruffy kitchen.
Moving over to the desk, Kevin moved papers around and sorted through piles of notes. Drawing a blank, he turned to the wall next to one of the filing cabinets and lifted a spiral bound pad off a hook.
‘I can’t find any letters or notes,’ he said to the two officers. ‘Dad never filed anything so I clear his desk every couple of weeks. Dad only used that filing cabinet to store the tea bags and sugar but I’ve tried to keep things fairly straight in this one. Since he died I haven’t had the heart to touch anything so it’s even more of a mess than usual. There doesn’t seem to be anything on the desk though and I know I haven’t filed anything.’ Holding op the spiral pad he added, ‘This calendar’s the last chance Inspector.’
A standard WH Smith calendar showing one week to each page, Davies could see that although entries had been scribbled in ballpoint pen, the small space for each day did not allow much detail. Flipping back to the week of his father’s death, Kevin scanned the entries then looked up at Davies.
‘I think this is it inspector,’ he said. ‘Dad said he was going to see a bloke in Skelmersdale. Look here. Dad’s written Cars Skem, then on the same day, Arthur Jarvis Tonbridge.’ I’ve no idea where Tonbridge is. Isn’t it in the Midlands? I thought he said he was going to London. But if I remember rightly, the guy he was going to see might have been this Arthur Jarvis. It rings a bell.’
‘Can I see that please?’ then, taking the calendar, ‘yes, cars Skem is a reference to Skelmersdale but it is a pity he didn’t write the name of who he was going to see. The Arthur Jarvis name might be more useful though. Tonbridge isn’t in the Midlands son, it is a suburb of London. Lots of people live there and commute into the City every day. We’ll keep this for a while if you don’t mind. It could give us more clues. The sergeant will give you a receipt before we leave.’
Taking her cue, Lescott asked Kevin, ‘Where will we find Caroline Burton?’
‘Caroline? Why do you want to see her? She’s nothing to do with this. She is just one of our tenants. She has a caravan on the park. What’s the interest?’
‘We just need to speak to her and it makes sense to do that while we are here rather than make another visit don’t you think Mr Archer?’
‘Well, if you put it that way, I suppose so. I didn’t mean to be so snappy. I just don’t know what to think at the moment.’
‘That’s understood Mr Archer. Don’t worry about it. But does Caroline get involved with anything here?’
‘Not especially. She’s one of three women that tend to chat together a bit. We call them the Three Musketeers. As well as Caroline there’s Jackie Jessop and batty old Phyllis Weston. The Weston woman is a resident. She is as nosey as hell and away with the fairies half the time but Mrs Jessop and her husband only come at weekends because they work. She is a bit of a fancy piece with a high-powered job in Liverpool. Caroline is different altogether. She’s a bit younger for a start, and a bit timid too. She wouldn’t say boo to a goose. They are just three busybodies tittle-tattling. There’s no harm in them Sergeant,’
‘Thanks for the character references Kevin,’ responded Davies. ‘Did any of them have any special contact with you or your dad?’
‘Not at all Inspector. Caroline was quite cut up when Dad died, though I don’t know why. Actually, the less contact we have with them the better. They are like a load of old washerwomen and once they start talking you can’t get away. I try to keep out of their way except for making sure their site fees are paid.’
Having taken their leave, Davies and Lescott followed Kevin’s directions to Caroline Burton’s caravan. Though with numerous potholes and poorly maintained, the asphalt site access roads were an improve
ment on the pitted gravel car park. Overall, a lack lustre image prevailed over the whole site; some caravans were well past their prime, what once had probably been landscaped communal garden areas were reduced to just grass and hedges, while road names and signposts to the various areas of the site were so weather beaten as to be unreadable. There was the potential for the site to be a smart, relaxing away-from-it-all hideaway but in its current state, dilapidated would be a better description.
‘Do you know Debbie,’ said Davies as their shoes crunches on the gritty roadway, ‘I used to fancy one of these as a weekend retreat.’
‘It doesn’t look like somewhere I would like to retreat to,’ she replied. ‘And it’s only fifteen minutes from Albert Road Nick, you wouldn’t feel that you had gone anywhere would you?’
‘I didn’t mean here exactly,’ he responded. ‘I meant a caravan. I fancied one in North Wales or on the Fylde. Somewhere within an hour and a half drive but sufficiently away from work not to be available for a couple of days.’
Stopping at a junction, Lescott indicated a turning to the right, where according to Kevin Archer’s directions, the middle of three caravans would be that of Caroline Burton. The door was closed and there seemed to be no sign of life. Walking over to the bay windowed end of the caravan, Davies peered inside. A newspaper was laid out on a dining table but he could see no other sign of occupation. Having completed a circuit of the caravan and being about to leave, they heard a toilet flush and a door close.
‘Sounds like she was indisposed Frank,’ remarked Lescott as she made her way back to the caravan and hammered once again on the door.
A middle-aged woman opened the door. Attractive for her age and conservatively dressed, she looked at the two officers and asked what they wanted. After they had shown her their warrant cards and introduced themselves, she confirmed that yes, she was Caroline Burton, and stood aside while they climbed the two metal steps and entered her caravan. Settling themselves on the built-in seating that ran the full width of the caravan beneath the pseudo bay window, Davies and Lescott repeated some of the questions they had thrown at Kevin Archer; did she know either of the Archers well, did she get involved with any activities on the caravan park, did she have a mobile phone. Apparently the answer to most of their questions was negative. She didn’t know either of the Archers particularly well, she kept herself to herself and she didn’t have a mobile phone.
Davies wasn’t convinced. ‘But we understand that you were very upset when Peter Archer died. If you didn’t know him very well, why get so emotional?’
There was a flush of colour as she looked first at Davies, then across to Lescott, finally dropping her eyes and saying nothing.
‘It’s all a bit confusing,’ continued Davies. ‘You see, as well as your obvious concern, we found a mobile phone in Peter Archer’s van.’
‘And when we checked the numbers in its memory we found one that was most interesting,’ cut in Lescott, reading out a telephone number from her notebook as the woman’s colour deepened and her eyes welled up. ‘That’s your number isn’t it?’ she added.
‘Mine?’ she responded.
‘Look, Caroline,’ said Davies. ‘The phone we found in Peter Archer’s van was a pay as you go. There were only three numbers in its phone book memory. When we checked the call register, two of them had been called a number of times – one of them regularly. That number also featured highly in the incoming calls register and according to Vodaphone, the number is that of a monthly contract owned by a Caroline Burton.’
He looked her directly in the eye and held her gaze. ‘I’ll ask you again Caroline, did you know peter Archer well and have you got a mobile phone?’
Her deep beetroot colour had gone. Now she had become as white as a sheet. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks. Her shoulders sagged and she looked as though she was about to slide off her chair and into a heap on the floor. Slowly she put her elbows on the table, her arms straight out with her hands together clasping a now sodden handkerchief. She let her head drop, and with her forehead resting on the table she sobbed.
Lescott left her seat in the window and joined the distraught woman at the dining table, taking an adjoining chair and resting her arm on the sobbing woman’s shoulders in comfort. Several minutes passed before she regained her composure, her eyes now swollen and her makeup a sodden mess. Some colour had returned and her cheeks were now fiery red, accentuated by her otherwise pale complexion. Slowly she sat more upright and turned toward Davies.
‘Peter and I were very close,’ she said between sobs. My husband died many years ago in a car accident so when Peter’s wife died I knew what he was going through and I helped him come to terms with her death. Over time we became very close.’
‘Lovers Caroline?’
She looked at Davies and considered her answer before replying. ‘Not at first. No. I was just there for him to talk to. Kevin was a bit young and Peter felt that he shouldn’t burden him. Peter just needed to unburden himself. The rest came later.’
‘How much later?’
‘Inspector, when does somebody become close to somebody else? Is it when they share concerns? When one supports the other? When they make love the first time?’ The frail little woman of just a few minutes ago had changed. Gone was the tendency to burst into tears, the nervous disposition, the continual stretching of her sodden handkerchief. In their place, a more determined woman with a clear purpose – almost a philosophical outlook. It was clear to Davies that there were two sides to Caroline Burton. Two conflicting characters; the one a timid little woman who wouldn’t say boo to a goose, and the other a strong woman who would defend those near and dear to her to the utmost.
Allowing her time to consider what she herself had said, Davies remained silent for a while, then replied, ‘Caroline. Let’s start again. It is clear to me that you and Peter Archer were close, perhaps even what is called “an item” these days. It is also clear that you both had mobile phones and called each other regularly. But why all the cloak and dagger pretence? What is not clear to me is why Kevin did not know his father had a mobile phone, why you denied having one, or why either of you should conceal your friendship. It’s not as if either of you were married. Both of you were free to hitch up with whoever you wanted. So why the secrecy? Come on Caroline. If you were as fond of Peter as you seem to be, help us catch the person that murdered him.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on Inspector,’ she replied, easing herself up and moving over to the kitchen area. As she busied herself making them a drink, she settled into a steady review of her relationship with Peter Archer, actually going back to before his wife had died. Not that there had been anything between them at that point they should understand – she wasn’t like that at all.
Apparently, she had bought her caravan on the Green Fields site shortly after her husband had been killed in a crash on the Formby by-pass. Though only a fifteen minute drive from her house on the outskirts of Southport, spending weekends at the site enabled her to get away from old memories and live for today. She had enjoyed those weekends so much that after a while she had sold her house and become a permanent resident at Green Fields.
Of course it wasn’t as run down in those days. Everything was prim and proper and there were lots of activities going on. It was a fun place to be.
Then Peter’s wife had died. She was the one that had run the place really. She had been the happy face in reception, running it like a meeting place and coffee shop for the residents and organising events and activities. Peter did all the maintenance and with a teenage son to bring up and nobody to help him in the business he just went back into his shell. None of the things his wife had been responsible for continued. The site just deteriorated and the result is the current dilapidation.
At first she just befriended the newly bereaved man. She had gone through the same experience herself several years before and knew how desperate he would be feeling. Over time he started confiding his hopes and fears in her
. He had great hopes for Green Fields but with no activities and ever fewer caravans sited, funds to achieve them were non-existent. He feared that the whole thing would go down the tubes, taking both him and his son with it. That was his big fear.
As Kevin had become a young man, he had put more pressure on Peter. The lad had inherited his mother’s eye for business, her enthusiasm, her vision for the future, but Peter just did not have the funds to go ahead with any of his son’s ideas.
About a year ago, Peter’s own father had died and he had been really down. During the lean times when things had got especially tight, his father had always helped him with small loans or gifts. Sometimes that had been all that had kept the site open. He had believed that his father’s estate would be split between him and his sister but the sister had managed to grab it all and that had started a family feud. So Peter had started spending more time with Caroline and she had given him her old mobile phone so that he could call her. But just recently he had changed. He had regained some of his old enthusiasm, he seemed happier. She had thought, or hoped really, that he was happier because they were together enjoying each other’s company, but there was more. They were enjoying each other’s company of course, but he had a new project, something he didn’t discuss with her but referred to sometimes as something up his sleeve that would save green Fields. Sometimes he said his sister was about to get her comeuppance, whatever that meant.
And, yes, they had become an item. It hadn’t happened suddenly, there was no flash of light or love at first sight. They sort of grew together, and then fell in love gently. Peter had not wanted Kevin to know that he was discussing their personal family life with another woman, even less a tenant, so in the early days they just met quietly for a chat in her caravan. Just like the three of them were talking now. Later, when they had really become close, Peter didn’t think that Kevin would be able to accept another woman in his mother’s place; Kevin had been close to his mother as a child and Peter didn’t want to hurt him so they just continued as they were. That had made it all the harder when Peter had died. She had not been able to be open. She had not been included in any arrangements. She had lost one husband – now it was as though she had lost another.
