The photographer was a woman, still quite a rarity these days, Amos thought to himself as he took his place. She took a few shots of him sitting at a desk in front of the almost empty rows of chairs. Swift stood against the left hand wall near the door.
“Thank you for coming,” Amos began in a somewhat apologetic tone of voice. “I have to tell you that the inquiry into the murder of the businessman Raymond Jones has come to a dead end.”
Amos stumbled as he realised the bad taste of the unintended pun. Swift was startled. She had never seen Amos so ill at ease. Normally he exuded confidence, at least in public, no matter how unforthcoming an investigation was.
There was an audible gasp from the journalists, few though they were in number. One of them half stood up to ask a question but Amos recovered his composure and continued as the reporter sank back into his seat.
“I have to be realistic. There is no new evidence, nor are there any fresh leads. We do not have any genuine suspect with a real motive for killing Mr Jones. However, we are satisfied that there is no further danger to any residents in Killiney Court.
“The file will stay open, of course, but only two officers will officially remain on a case that is, frankly, going nowhere. Detective Sergeant Swift” - here Amos indicated the only other officer in the room with a short sweep of his left hand – “will continue in charge of the day-to-day conduct of the inquiry. She will be assisted by a detective constable. They will follow up any further information that comes in. I shall remain nominally in overall charge of the investigation and will again take control should circumstances require it.”
Amos had taken the precaution of warning Swift what was coming. She stood impassively at her post.
The middle-aged man from the Echo half turned.
“How do you feel about this?” he asked Swift, ignoring Amos for the moment. “How many murder inquiries have you been on? Have you ever headed one before? What do you propose to do next?”
It was, however, Amos who answered.
“Detective Sergeant Swift is a very experienced and reliable officer who has been on various major investigations, including murder, with me and is perfectly capable of running an inquiry which, as I indicated, is inevitably going to be low key.
“I also mentioned that she can turn to me for assistance and advice if and when required. I prefer not to give details of any further steps Detective Sergeant Swift may take.”
Amos was now back in control, speaking with an air of authority that discouraged further questions along those lines.
It was the young woman from the local radio station who asked the crucial question. She had the microphone to her tape recorder on the desk in front of Amos so she was not interested in what Swift might have to say.
“What about Joanna Stevens?” she asked sweetly. “Wasn't she supposed to be in danger? What about her police protection?”
“The police protection for residents of Killiney Court has been withdrawn,” Amos said simply. Far from being put out by the bluntness of this question, which carried more than a hint of accusation, Amos looked quite content to hear it posed.
“What does Miss Stevens think about that?” the third reporter butted in.
“She entirely understands our reasons and is quite comfortable with the decision,” Amos replied smoothly.
The reporters looked at each other slightly nonplussed. There really was little more they could think of to ask. They had come expecting to hear of a major breakthrough and here was Amos coldly calling the whole thing off.
The reporter from the Lincolnshire Echo suddenly looked at his watch, slipped his notebook into his jacket pocket and dashed off with the photographer. Unwilling to be scooped, the Lincolnshire Radio representative grabbed together her equipment, stuffed it quickly into her bag and gave chase.
Only the weekly newspaper reporter took his time. He looked at the figure of Amos leaning heavily on the desk, found nothing more to say, then walked unhurriedly past Swift and out of the door.
Amos glanced up at his junior officer.
“It could have been worse,” he said with a sigh of relief. “It could have been much worse.”
Chapter 36
It was mid afternoon and all was quiet as Amos pulled into Killiney Road.
“Glance up at the windows as we turn into Killiney Court,” he told Swift. “See if you can spot anyone at the windows.”
The guard did not recognise the car as it pulled into the drive so the barrier stayed firmly down as he got out of his box to investigate.
“That’s good, I suppose,” Amos remarked. “We’re not easily recognisable.”
He had deliberately used a different, unmarked car from his earlier visits to the block.
Amos waited until the guard was almost alongside the driver's door before he slowly wound down the window. He wanted to spin it out slightly so it looked as if it was an ordinary visitor coming in.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, officer," the guard blurted out. "Sorry, I didn't recognise the car."
"That's all right," replied Amos pleasantly. "Just give me the visitors’ book to sign. Then we're going to park up the back out of the way. Put the barrier down behind us and walk across to us casually. I want a quiet word."
"It's a bit awkward," the sentry stammered, looking round wildly for an excuse to refuse. "I'm not supposed to leave the post."
"Doesn't stop you from wandering round the back, does it?" Amos responded coldly as he started to wind up the window. "See you in a few moments."
The two stared at each other through the now raised pane of glass like two cats trying to outstare each other. The guard broke first.
As Amos drove down the side of the block, Swift reported: "There was no-one at any of the windows except that Norman woman. I had time to look at all of them while you were talking to the guard. Of course," she added hastily, "someone could have been watching from further back in the room where I wouldn't see them."
"That will have to do," Amos replied. "We're not dealing with certainties, just giving ourselves the best chance."
By now Amos had parked in Ray Jones's slot and the three occupants were getting out of the car.
"Next stop Nick Foster. You two wander up and engage him in idle chitchat for a couple of minutes. He's not down here so I assume he is in his room."
Swift and Martin set off up the stairs to the mezzanine floor. The guard peered through the back window of his box, saw Amos nod, slid uncertainly out of his shell and approached the police officer.
Amos looked at the floor and drew patterns with the toe of his shoe in the dust that accumulated unremittingly despite Foster's best endeavours. He did not look up until the guard was alongside him.
At last Amos looked him straight in the eye. "I want to keep my job and you want to keep yours," the chief inspector remarked simply.
The guard said nothing. It was his turn to stare at the floor.
"You will go back to your post and wait there. Operate the barrier as usual if anyone wants to come in or out. You will do nothing that arouses suspicion. In a few minutes Nick Foster will come down and speak to you. When he does so, you will leave the barrier up, walk round to the back of the lifts and stay there until we give you the all clear. Then you go back to your post and carry on as normal. Understand?
"It's not for me to report you to your employers," Amos added. "Not unless I feel vindictive."
"Thanks," said the guard with relief and gratitude in equal measures.
"Back to your post," bade Amos.
The guard went with measured stride. He did not look back. Amos was up the stairs two at a time. He found Martin standing lazily in the doorway of the caretaker's office, blocking Foster's exit.
Amos peered past Martin and saw Foster sitting at his little desk. Swift, hidden from view in the cramped space, could be heard going over Foster's story again. Foster looked relaxed. He had gone over his version of events of the murder weekend often enough to have it off pat.
Amos nodded to Swift, whom he could now see and who broke off from the half-hearted interrogation and slid past him out of the room. Amos stepped neatly inside and closed the door behind him.
"I don't have time to mess about," he said briskly. "I want the set of keys you have to all the flats."
Foster was visibly taken aback. "What do you mean? What keys? All the residents have their own."
"But you keep a set from the days when this block belonged to the council. Are you going to hand them over or do I have to take them?"
Foster stood up.
"Where do you think you're going?" Amos demanded sharply.
"For the keys," Foster replied simply. "They're hidden in my bedroom."
Thank goodness, Amos thought to himself, Foster didn't try to call my bluff. Getting a search warrant would have left him the inspector too tight for time.
“You don’t normally keep them in your bedroom, do you? Where are they normally kept?”
By way of answer, the caretaker pulled open the top right hand drawer of the desk then closed it again.
Foster pushed back his chair and squeezed out from behind the desk. A door to his right led through into the tiny rooms that formed his modest living quarters. A few moments later he returned dangling the precious keys from one hand. It was a heavy bunch held together on a length of grubby string.
Amos had taken a plastic bag out of his pocket and indicated to Foster to drop the keys into it. It might be vital to know if there were any prints on them other than Foster's. Amos slipped the bulky bag into his pocket with some difficulty. It left quite a bulge.
"Thank you," he said, "for this evidence."
The accent was on the word evidence. The officer was trying not to betray the haste with which he needed to move. He didn't want Foster dragging his feet on purpose.
Amos continued, "now you will take your brush and mess about near the bottom of the stairs. When my constable comes to the landing and signals to you, you will tell the sentry to leave the barrier up and to go round the back for a smoke. Tell him those are my orders."
Then the next bit deliberately, "you will go round the back with him and stay out of sight. Neither you nor the guard will tell anyone we have been here this afternoon. Is that all clear?"
Foster grunted grudgingly. Amos left the room satisfied that the caretaker would follow.
"This way," the inspector said to his two accomplices. "One more visit."
Swift and Martin glanced at each other but neither guessed where they were going. Amos led them up to the first floor of flats, now numbered level three, and pressed the lift button. They could hear the lift whirr into action.
When the doors opened Amos was inside in a trice and pressed a button even before Swift or Martin could see which one. Martin, the last one in, was almost caught by the closing doors. The sensors picked up his movement and the doors opened again.
Amos stabbed the "close doors" button two or three times impatiently. There was no immediate response. Then suddenly the doors jerked and started to close. All three officers watched the strip of numbers over the lift door that indicated which floor they were at.
As the lift moved up, 3 went dead, then 4, the floor where Joanne Stevens lived, lit up. This was not, however, their destination for the lift continued to rise: 4 went out and 5 came to life.
This time the lift did stop. Amos stepped out and purposefully headed for flat 5B. He rapped sharply on the door, following this with a ring on the door bell. There was silence.
Elsie Norman, they knew, had seen them come in and clearly did not wish to receive them.
"Open the letterbox, Martin, and tell her we saw her at the window," Amos ordered wearily. Martin bent forward and did as he was asked.
Amos's patience snapped and, bending to the letterbox himself, added coldly: "Do you want us back with a search warrant?"
That did the trick, for Norman was immediately heard bustling up to the door. The clink of the chain being undone could be heard clearly and Norman pulled the door a couple of inches ajar.
Amos had his right hand on it, pushing Norman back until the gap was wide enough to slide through. He advanced on the helpless woman, forcing her to retreat so that the other two officers could gain admittance.
"Shut the door behind you," he instructed Martin curtly.
Norman was giving no more ground than she could help.
"What's the fuss?" she asked cantankerously. "I was coming. I was just in the kitchen making a cup of tea."
"Nice of you to offer," Amos remarked sardonically, "but we've no time for a brew."
Then he turned deadly serious: "Elsie Norman, I am arresting you in connection with the murder of Raymond Jones."
Chapter 37
Norman stared at Amos in silence for a few seconds before letting out a low gasp. Then, recovering from the momentary shock, she laughed mockingly into his face.
Amos could not return her stare. He turned away to the window and looked out.
“Read her the caution,” he ordered the constable without turning.
Martin supplied the necessary words but Norman was becoming increasingly truculent.
“You haven’t got anything on me,” she exclaimed scornfully. “Are you seriously arresting me? Come on then, let’s get down to the police station. We’ll see how long you can hold me.”
Amos glanced down at the chair and table near the window. A pair of knitting needles held three badly knitted rows. Progress seemed to be rather slow considering the amount of time she apparently devoted to the task.
Perhaps she spent all her time admiring the view. She could certainly see some way, into the entrances to buildings on either side of Killiney Court and those across the road.
Amos suddenly strode past Norman and flung open a bedroom door. He had moved to a second door before Norman had a chance to move or call out.
This room was in darkness except for the glow of a dim red bulb. Norman leapt at Amos, preventing him from opening the door more than a few inches. She slammed the door shut.
“What do you think you’re doing, poking round my flat?” she demanded angrily. “Have you got a search warrant? Well, have you?”
Instead of replying, Amos sent Martin off to remove Foster and the guard. Amos, Norman and Swift waited in silent until Martin returned to give the all clear.
“Let’s move quickly,” Amos said to Norman. “I don’t suppose you want to be seen being taken away by police officers.”
The small party quickly entered the lift and made their way to the ground floor. There was no-one around as they slipped into the waiting car and nipped out through the open barrier.
Chapter 38
Amos knew it was too much to hope that his luck would last all day. The Chief Constable was back sooner than anyone expected, the Nottingham meeting having found the four leaders in general agreement. To make matters worse, he had been listening to Radio Lincolnshire on the car radio on his way back to headquarters.
The sensational news about the murder inquiry was, not surprisingly, the lead item in the local news bulletin, pushing the collapsing price of pork and its disastrous consequences for local pig breeders into second place.
Fortunately Fletcher was chauffeur driven or he would have become one of the accident victims that caused him so much anguish. He stormed into the building, shouting for the wretched press officer as he came.
Poor David had been dreading this moment since the Lincolnshire Echo had arrived half an hour earlier and he had seen the front page lead. He had taken the evening newspaper into Fletcher's office half a dozen times, putting it on his desk, turning it round, straightening it, picking it up and taking it out again.
David met Fletcher in the corridor. The chief c
onstable wrenched the paper from the press officer's paralysed hands and marched without a pause into his office, reading the headline as he went. It confirmed the outrageous radio report.
Fletcher slammed the paper down on his desk.
"Where had they got all this from?" he demanded.
"I ... I d-don't know," stammered the quaking David.
"They can't both have made it up," snapped Fletcher. "Where's Amos."
"He's been out all afternoon, sir," David blurted out. "I've been trying to get hold of him."
“Ah, here’s Swift,” the chief constable interrupted. “Perhaps she can enlighten us.”
Swift had indeed been entrusted by Amos to head off wrath and interference. She smiled sweetly at Fletcher.
“Oh, good, you’re back Sir,” she remarked as if previously unaware that the officer had returned from Nottingham. “I was just coming in to brief David but I can give you the good news first hand.
“We have made an arrest in the Ray Jones case. Amos is interviewing her now and we should have everything wrapped up by tomorrow morning when she will appear in court. There’s tons of evidence in her flat and we expect to have a full confession when she is confronted with it. There’ll be no point in denying what she has been up to.”
“She?” asked Fletcher, taken by surprise at this unexpected but favourable turn of events.
“One of the women in the flats. Amos said to assure you he will fully update you personally as soon as he can. He can’t break off at the moment as he is at a crucial stage in the interview,” she added hastily.
Chapter 39
It was Amos who nearly gave the game away. The constant, intense pressure of the past few days, the lack of sleep, had finally caught up with him. Lulled by the boredom of waiting in the dark, unable to do or say anything, he dosed fitfully. A couple of times Swift had nudged him firmly but gently as he built up to a snore. Each time Amos awoke with a start then settled back again.
Dead Money (A Detective Inspector Paul Amos Lincolnshire Mystery) Page 13
