Dead Money (A Detective Inspector Paul Amos Lincolnshire Mystery)

by Rodney Hobson

  “All I’m saying is this,” the landlord conceded, “Jim Berry knew Ray Jones, the dead man. Jim did work for him. Odd jobs. He often left here to go across to see Mr Jones in the early evening, get his orders for next day and come back here. Mr Jones rang him in the afternoon so Jim knew if there was anything doing. Jim hadn't had a call that Friday. Well, there was nothing unusual in that. There wasn't work every day and Jim wouldn't expect anything for a Saturday. But he still went across on the Friday evening, and much later than usual.”

  “Berry said he was going across to see Jones on the night Jones was killed?” Swift asked.

  “No, he didn't say anything. As a matter of fact, he was quiet and moody. But I came out collecting glasses just as he left and I saw him turn into Killiney Court from the window.”

  “Where does he live?” Swift inquired.

  “He lives just down the road,” the landlord said sullenly. “It’s the only house with a red door.”

  “Thank you,” Amos said graciously, rising from his perch. “We will trouble you no further.”

  Then after a pause: “For now.”

  Chapter 21

  Jim Berry was shifty, uncomfortable and defiant as he sat across the interview room table from Amos and Swift.

  He presented a curious picture with ginger eyebrows that twisted up to a point on the edge of his ruddy face. His tweed jacket was old but clean and leather patches adorned the elbows to protect against wear. His checked shirt was beginning to fray at the collar.

  The neatest part of him was his goatee beard, ginger to match the eyebrows but showing more white. His hair was greying and receding and was a week or so overdue for a trim.

  At a nod from her superior officer, Swift switched on the tape and went through the routine of stating date, time, and those present.

  “Can you confirm, Mr Berry, that I have offered you an opportunity to contact a solicitor and you have declined,” Amos asked in a matter-of-fact way.

  “What do I want with a lawyer?” Berry asked peevishly. “I can't afford one. They're not interested in the likes of me. I don't need one, anyway. I've done nothing wrong. I'm the victim here.”

  “As you wish,” Amos replied smoothly. “I am investigating the murder of Raymond Jones, which took place last weekend. What were your movements between 5pm on Friday and 10 am on Tuesday?”

  “Blimey, I can't remember every single minute,” Berry exclaimed. He had, however, lightened noticeably.

  “I can't remember off-hand where I was earlier on, but I was in the pub all Friday evening - the one opposite Killiney Court, as if you didn't know. Then I went home at closing time and went to bed.

  “I'll have to think about the rest of the weekend. I don't think I know what I was doing most of the time. But I did pop into the pub once or twice on Saturday and Sunday. I stayed in bed all day Monday. I felt poorly.”

  Swift was surprised that Amos did not immediately press him further on his movements, particularly on the Friday evening when the murder, as they now knew, took place. However, Amos was pursuing a different tack.

  “Jones bought your company,” the inspector said. “Had you known him before that?”

  Berry was relaxing further.

  “Nope,” he said simply.

  “So you were not aware that he already had a reputation for aggressive dealing? You weren't worried that he might swindle you out of your business?”

  “Mr Jones was a gentleman,” Berry blurted out with surprising indignation. “He always played fair, kept his word. He always,” Berry put great stress in the word, “had done.”

  “I thought you said you didn't know him before he took over your company.”

  Berry was flustered. Amos now discovered why the eyebrows were twisted up to a point. Berry twirled them whenever he got nervous.

  “Well, I didn't really know him,” he floundered. “We'd done business with him, him being in the same line of business. I didn't actually know him.”

  “You speak very highly of him,” Amos proffered, “Considering what he did to you.”

  Berry was thrown again.

  “What d'ya mean?” he demanded gruffly.

  "Your business," Amos said. "Swindled you out of your business."

  “He did no such thing,” Berry came back indignantly. “It was my partner Dick Wardle who cheated me. If it hadn't been for Mr Jones I'd have been left with nothing. Wardle took the lot and cleared off. But Mr Jones was a gent like I told you. He gave me a bit of cash.”

  Amos picked up the papers in front of him. "For the purposes of the tape. I am showing Mr Berry documents relating to the takeover of Mr Berry's company by Raymond Jones."

  Amos selected several papers, passing them one at a time across to Berry, who glanced up and down them but said nothing and passed them back.

  "So?" he asked Amos.

  "So, you can't read," the officer announced. "You've no idea what those documents say, have you?"

  "Course I do," Berry persisted but he was looking round wildly as if he hoped a door would suddenly open up along one of the bare walls surrounding him.

  "Then tell me," Amos suggested quietly, "which of these papers has nothing to do with you and Mr Jones."

  Berry sat sullenly, refusing now to even look at the papers.

  The point established, Amos moved on: "So you couldn't read the details. How do you know whether the deal was fair or not?"

  "Mr Jones explained it all to me. Wardle had taken all the money out of the business. It was hardly worth anything. In fact, Mr Jones said I would be liable for debts that Wardle had run up without me knowing it. He did his best for me like I told you."

  Amos pondered this touching declaration of faith for a few moments.

  "Mr Jones gave you odd jobs to do, didn't he?" Swift took up the questioning.

  "It was nothing much. I didn't have to declare it to the social services, did I?" Berry asked in desperation. "Look can I have a drink? A cup of tea?"

  Swift had the bit between her teeth and was all for turning the rack tighter. She was disappointed when Amos demurred without hesitation.

  “Of course you can,” he responded sympathetically. “Sergeant Swift and I will organise it. We'll be back in a few moments.”

  Chapter 22

  The two officers left Berry alone while they sent for tea and took stock in the corridor out of his hearing.

  "I am convinced," Amos said after a few moments thought, “that Berry genuinely believed Jones. He really believes it was just his former partner who swindled him and that Jones actually came to the rescue. Then he relied on Jones for cash handouts to supplement his state benefit."

  "If that is right," Swift butted in, "then what motive has he got for murdering Jones? Surely he wanted Jones alive, not dead."

  Amos shrugged his shoulders.

  "You could be right," he admitted. “Unless Jones had decided not to use him any more. But I must admit that doesn’t ring true.”

  They stood in silence until tea was delivered and the interview was resumed.

  "I don't see any reason to involve social security if you cooperate," Amos said smoothly. "I'm not putting the tape back on so nothing you say now can be used against you."

  Berry seemed mollified.

  "Now tell me about the work you did for Mr Jones."

  Berry was wary but he decided to take his chances with Amos.

  "Well, they were just odd jobs. Mr Jones needed information before he did his deals and I just made a few inquiries. Asked around, that sort of thing. I had a lot of contacts from my days in business."

  "And you were good at it," Amos suggested in a kindly way. "You couldn't write it down but you could keep it all up here where it was a lot safer,” he added tapping his head.

  "That's right," Berry replied enthusiastically, feeling that Amos understood him after all. "Up here. Mr Jones was very grateful. He said I had a real head for business."

  "So you must have visited Ray Jones's flat quite frequ
ently?" Amos prompted. Berry looked shocked.

  "Good Lord no," he answered in astonishment. "Mr Jones wouldn't let me visit his flat. Not that you could blame him," Berry added hastily in defence of his casual employer. "His neighbours are a right stuck-up lot. He couldn't have them seeing a scruffy down-and-out like me turning up at his door."

  "Are you saying you never visited Killiney Court?" Swift asked.

  "Not since they were fitted out. I did a lot of the electrical work while they were being done up but that was early days. The flats were just shells then. It was the last proper job I did,” he added wistfully.

  “Mr Jones would ring me when he wanted to see me. He’d ring the pub and leave a message. We sometimes met in the pub. None of his snobby neighbours ever went in there.

  “They all thought they’d gone up a rung when they moved into Killiney Court.”

  Berry gave a sardonic laugh.

  “So they had. Up one rung in more ways than one.”

  Amos looked at him curiously. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m saying no more,” Berry suddenly clamped up. “You’ve got nothing on me. I had no reason to kill Mr Jones. Now can I go home?”

  Amos rose wearily to his feet.

  “Yes, Mr Berry. Thank you for your cooperation. You may go home.”

  Chapter 23

  Amos and Swift stood gloomily watching Berry walk down the corridor to freedom.

  “It can’t be helped, Sir,” Swift remarked. “There’s no real evidence against him and he had no reason to kill Jones – quite the opposite.”

  Detective Constable John Clarke was coming towards them and brushed past Berry, turning to stare at him after they passed each other.

  He hurried up to Amos.

  “You’re not letting him go, are you?” he demanded impertinently. “It’s obviously him.”

  Amos and Swift stared at Clarke blankly.

  “He’s left handed,” Clarke explained opaquely with an air of triumph. “So was the murderer.”

  “How do you make that out?” asked the baffled Amos.

  “The murderer struck from the left hand side of the bed. Think how you would hold a cricket bat, A left handed person would hold the bar with his right hand at the end, with his left hand further up the bar, the opposite way to a right handed person. He would strike naturally from the left of the bed. That’s what the murderer did.”

  Then, conspiratorially, he added: “Did you notice Berry’s face? His beard was trimmed better on the right. And he had shaved better on the right cheek, too. He had cut himself two or three times on the left cheek and there was more stubble. That’s because as a left-handed person he has more control reaching to the right side of his face.”

  Clarke stood beaming at the other two offices. He was somewhat deflated, and a little disgruntled, when Amos replied: “The murderer struck from the left side because that was the side nearest the bedroom door. He would hardly have walked round the bed in the dark and risked bumping into it.”

  Nonetheless, Amos was slightly uneasy. There was no way of knowing if Berry wrote left handed as he did not write. The inspector turned brusquely to Swift.

  “Let’s visit the estate office,” Amos suggested. “That last remark of Berry’s puzzled me. What was he on about? Why did he suddenly clamp up?”

  Amos expected the estate manager to resent police intrusion into his office in addition to his block of flats. The manager, however, took a refreshingly pragmatic line.

  “It’s as much in my interests as yours to get this matter cleared up as quickly as possible,” he told the two detectives.

  “Am I right to think, sir, that just one of the former residents of Killiney Court went back in after the refurbishment?”

  “That’s right, inspector, as far as I know. The place had got pretty run down – in fact, some of the flats were uninhabitable. We spent a lot of money on the block and the apartments are quite exclusive.

  “I’m not being snobbish,” said the manager, who hadn’t sounded at all snobbish until he uttered the disclaimer, “but the sort of people who rent council flats are hardly likely to be in a position to buy at the upper end of the market. Some may well have bought elsewhere after they moved out but not in Killiney Court.”

  “Yet Miss Norman found the money from somewhere,” Swift returned.

  “You’ll appreciate I can’t go into client’s personal details but Miss Norman was a woman of comfortable personal means. She originally moved in, I think you’ll find, when the council block was in better condition and when she, perhaps, was not so well off.

  “Look,” he went on confidentially, “I don’t think I’m giving any secrets away when I say that Miss Norman came into some money. I believe a relative died some time ago. She probably just hadn’t got round to finding somewhere else when we stepped in and solved the dilemma for her.

  “She was very fond of her old home, you know. She moved back into the same flat, although of course it had a different number on it. That caused a bit of confusion. She thought we were trying to trick her into moving into the wrong apartment.”

  The estate manager laughed. Amos was not laughing. He was remembering the odd remark that Berry had made about the tenants moving up a rung.

  “Why was the flat number different?” he asked.

  “Didn’t you know?” came the slightly surprised reply. “Well, no, I suppose there was no reason for anyone to mention it to you. The development company renumbered the floors after the refurbishment. I suppose it was partly to make it clear that this was a very different apartment block from the old council estate.

  “I think, also, there was a certain cachet in going over to US-style numbering. So we made the ground floor one, the mezzanine with the caretaker’s flat became two and the old English-style first floor became three.

  “Miss Norman’s flat, formerly 4A, became 6A and so on.”

  Unaware of the bombshell he had just dropped, the estate manager continued: “Once Miss Norman looked out of the window she was quite satisfied. She could see at once that it was her old flat overlooking the front drive. I suppose she was a bit lonely and liked to see people coming and going.”

  Amos was already on his feet.

  “Thanks,” he said. “We might want to talk to you again.”

  “Is that it?” a startled manager asked.

  Amos was already making for the door with Swift in tow.

  “That’s all for now,” the inspector replied without pausing.

  “What’s the rush?” Swift asked as Amos strode for the outer door to the office car park.

  “Stevens,” came the sharp response. “Do you realise the implication of what he said?”

  They were at the car and Swift had to wait until they were seated in it and moving for the explanation.

  “Supposing the murderer made a mistake. Supposing he didn’t know the floors had been renumbered. Supposing he was looking for the old 4B.

  “Think about it,” Amos went on urgently as he drove off down the road.

  “All the floors look the same. The assailant comes up the stairs to avoid meeting anyone in the lift and counts out the floors. He comes out onto the landing and there are four doors, two on the left and two on the right. In front of him the far wall comes up to waist height, topped with railings. Every floor is identical.

  “He gets into what he thinks is 4B, makes for the bedroom – remember all the flats on top of each other are the same layout – sees the sleeping figure and beats it to death. The only trouble is, it’s the wrong figure.”

  “You’re forgetting something,” Swift pointed out. “Even if the murderer did break into the wrong flat he would have realised his mistake as soon as he entered the bedroom. Remember the table light was on. I know the bulb was fairly dim but you were there when we switched off the main light and closed the curtains. You could see Jones quite clearly.

  “The two flats below Jones were both occupied by women. The killer couldn’t poss
ibly have mistaken Jones.”

  “Not if he was the one who switched the light on – after the deed was done. If I’m right,” Amos declared, “then Jones was killed by mistake for the occupant two floors down. Joanna Stevens is in serious danger.”

  Chapter 24

  No-one but Amos was pleased about the 24 hour guard he put on Joanna Stevens, least of all the ungrateful recipient of his well meaning intentions.

  Swift could not accept Amos's theory. Martin, the first officer to take up the duty, and the other officers who followed him, accepted the inevitable boredom with a bad grace.

  The Chief Constable objected to the cost. He was, though, as Amos had expected, reluctant to remove the chaperone after Amos had set the arrangement in place. He did not want the responsibility if anything happened to Stevens.

  “Still,” he told Amos, “if she cooperates we need to put only one officer on duty at a time. And if she doesn't cooperate we can't do much to help her so we needn't bother trying.”

  For all this Amos was prepared. What he had not been expecting was the truculent attitude of Stevens herself. Amos and Swift, being close to Killiney Court, had dashed in vain up to Stevens' flat, just in case she had returned home from work.

  The lift had been ages coming to take them back to ground level. Amos paced impatiently.

  “It never struck any of us as odd that the first level of flats was the third floor,” Swift commented without realising that her attempt at calming Amos was only making him more agitated. “We were so busy getting a list of everyone who lived in the building and finding out where they were that weekend that the numbering didn’t seem important. I never gave it a moment’s thought myself.”

  The lift rumbled up and took the two officers back to the ground. The sentry unhelpfully said he had not seen Stevens leave that morning but he had not been on duty then.