‘Yeah, well, some people like to settle in cash,’ Terry muttered as he stuffed the roll into his jeans pocket.
‘Very true,’ Castle agreed, adding casually, ‘and I believe some people like to be paid in cash – something to do with income tax.’
‘Here, what are you suggesting?’ This time, Terry’s indignation was spontaneous and genuine. He knew that robbing banks wasn’t the only thing a bloke could be sent down for and ever since he started his one-man business he’d done his best, with Rita’s help, to keep his accounts in some sort of order. ‘You’re welcome to check my books any time,’ he said huffily.
‘I assure you, Mr Holland, I’m not accusing you of tax evasion.’
‘I should bloody well hope not!’ Terry looked Castle straight in the eye and saw the hawk-like features relax into something approaching a smile. As he told Rita afterwards, it made the guy look almost human.
Nine
Sukey was alone in the SOCOs’ office when DI Castle looked in and asked, ‘Did you find anything interesting in the van?’ She took a heavy-duty envelope from her pigeonhole and handed it to him. He ran his eye down the list of exhibits written on the outside in her neat printing. ‘Gravel from the tyres… did you take a sample from Chant’s drive?’
‘Sure – all in there. They look the same to the naked eye, but I understand the owner of the van went to the house on legitimate business quite recently.’
‘Over four weeks ago, according to his own records.’
‘It’s hardly likely to have remained in the treads that long. We had some quite heavy rain towards the end of May.’
‘What do the shoeprints tell us?’
‘The ones we found in the house gave traces of white powder. There was white powder on the floor of the van and on some of the tools – probably plaster or paint particles. I took samples of both. This is interesting.’ Sukey held up a brown paper bag. ‘Terry Holland’s overalls. I’m almost a hundred per cent certain our man was wearing them. There’s all sorts of dust on them – a lot of it sawdust by the looks of it – but see here.’ She pulled the garment out and pointed to a tear in the fabric. ‘Remember the scrap of green cotton that I found outside the window? That little tear is on the seat… and you see these yellowish smudges? There are more on the legs. Where the intruder entered there are roses up to window height and yellow lichen growing on the concrete sill. The tear and the marks suggest he scrambled to a sitting position on the outside sill, catching his overalls on a thorn in the process. Then he probably swung himself round and jumped down into the room, leaving the prints we found on the carpet.’
Castle gave a grunt of satisfaction. ‘It fits so far. What else?’
‘Fingerprints galore, of course. Probably mostly Mr Holland’s, although on things like tins of paint there’d be others from the place where he bought them. Unless we can match any of them with prints found in the house, they won’t tell us much. And then there’s this.’ She placed a plastic envelope containing something that glittered on the desk.
Castle held it up to the light. It was a pendant earring set with diamonds; through the clear film, the stones flashed with myriad bright colours. He gave a soft whistle. ‘That never came out of a Christmas cracker,’ he observed.
‘No chance,’ Sukey agreed. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘At the bottom of the toolbox. It must have fallen out of the bag where our man put the rest of his haul.’
‘No surface large enough to get a print, but if Mr Chant recognises it as belonging to his wife—’
Castle put the earring aside. ‘Anything else?’
‘When Janice checked the van after it was recovered, she found a partial thumb-print on the rear-view mirror. Holland was quite definite that when he adjusts it, he holds it by the frame the way most of us do.’
‘You reckon it was left by whoever nicked the van?’
‘Looks like it, don’t you think?’
‘I have my doubts.’ Castle frowned and drummed on the desk with the long, sensitive fingers that Terry Holland had mentally compared to talons. ‘Is that it?’
‘There’s the trainers DC Hill brought back after taking Holland home.’ Sukey indicated a second brown paper bag. ‘From a visual comparison of the soles with the photos of the shoeprints in the house, they could be the same, but obviously they need going over in the lab.’
‘Right. Get that lot on its way first thing in the morning and ask for it to have priority treatment.’
‘Will do.’ Sukey glanced behind her to make sure the door was closed before adding, ‘If that’s all, Jim, I’d like to get home. I haven’t eaten yet and—’
‘Nor have I. Why don’t we both grab something now?’
It was tempting, but… ‘Not this evening, thanks all the same. Fergus is on his own.’
‘Oh, right.’
It always seemed to be like this. They were seldom free at the same time and when they were, other responsibilities got in the way. Sometimes Sukey felt resentful and, because she made no attempt to kid herself that she wasn’t attracted to Jim Castle, frustrated. At others, she was grateful for an excuse to avoid situations that might lead to a commitment. Her love for Paul was long since dead, but the sense of betrayal remained and the memory of the pain made her shrink from the possibility of repeating the experience. Once you let yourself care for someone, you handed them the power to hurt you.
Castle was staring out of the window. He had taken his car keys from his pocket and was holding them balanced on his palm. Several times he tossed them an inch or two in the air and then caught them again. It was a habit of his when he was concentrating. If it wasn’t keys, it was whatever else happened to be around: coins, an apple, a pencil sharpener or an eraser from his desk, anything to occupy his hand while his brain wrestled with a problem.
‘Is something bothering you?’ Sukey asked.
He swung round to face her. ‘A couple of things. One, Chant told us none of his wife’s jewellery was missing. If he’s telling the truth, where did that earring come from?’
‘He could have been mistaken. Or maybe his wife was wearing the earrings when she was attacked and this one fell off in the struggle… no, come to think of it, she was wearing gold ones and they were still on the body.’
Castle put the keys away, sat down at one of the empty desks and took out his notebook. ‘Maybe there were some loose pieces lying around that she hadn’t bothered to put back in the safe. I’ll call on Chant tomorrow and ask if he recognises the one you found, and also whether he’s done the complete check he promised. He said he had photographs of all the valuable items, so it shouldn’t be difficult.’
‘You said there were a couple of things,’ Sukey reminded him after a pause during which he appeared deep in further thought.
‘So I did. Chant insisted no money had been taken. Now, it may be a coincidence, but Holland had a wad of notes in his overall pocket. Ten or a dozen fifties, much more than you’d expect a self-employed handyman to be carrying.’
‘Did he say where it came from?’
‘He claims he’d been collecting payments owing to him from people who preferred to deal in cash.’
‘That could be true. I assume you let him keep it?’
‘I didn’t have a valid excuse to hang on to it.’
Sukey sat down again, her brain busy with various possibilities. ‘Just supposing Chant did have money in that safe that he wouldn’t like us – or the Revenue – to know about, and assuming the safe was locked, is there any way Holland could have got into it?’
‘He’s the one who installed it… he told us so quite openly. But he could have had an extra key cut beforehand that he didn’t bother to mention.’
‘In which case, the story about the van being nicked could be a fake?’
‘It’s not the most original of alibis, is it? I got the impression, and so did Radcliffe, that he wasn’t entirely comfortable answering our questions – although to be fair, he seemed quit
e anxious to help us find Mrs Chant’s killer. I’d still like to know how he came by that cash, though.’ Castle yawned and got to his feet. ‘That’s enough for one day. I think I’ll sleep on it.’ He took Sukey’s camera bag from her and opened the door. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you to the car park.’
It was getting on for ten o’clock when Sukey got home. She found Fergus watching a film on the television in the living room, slumped low on the couch with his back to the door so that all she could see of him was the top of his head with its crown of glossy fair hair. His father’s had been like that when he was in his twenties, thick and silky under her caressing fingers. For a long time after Paul left home, when Fergus was still young enough to be shampooed and bathed by his mother, she had found something almost unbearably poignant in the sight of his curly, golden mop. It had been short in those days; now, like so many of his peers, he wore it long and it wasn’t always tidy. She had given up nagging him about the tidiness, so long as he kept it clean.
He craned his head when she entered and raised a hand to greet her. ‘Have you had anything to eat?’ she asked.
‘I took a chicken pie out of the freezer. There’s some left if you’re hungry.’
‘I’m starving. D’you want tea?’
‘I’ll come and make it.’ He switched off the television and stood up.
‘Weren’t you watching that?’
‘It was a load of rubbish, really.’
They went into the kitchen together and Fergus filled the kettle while she took the remains of the pie from the fridge. ‘This was supposed to last us two days,’ she said accusingly, staring at the microscopic portion that remained.
‘Ah, well, Anita came round to ask about our science homework and, er, I said she could stay for supper.’ Fergus turned away to reach the tea caddy down from the cupboard, but not quickly enough to hide the wave of rich crimson spreading over his face. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind,’ he said, his voice squeaky with embarrassment.
Sukey put the pie in the microwave and set the timer. This was one of the occasions when a mother’s role was to sound laid back and unconcerned. Resisting the impulse to enquire how long the girl had stayed, she said, ‘Of course I don’t mind. I hope you saw her home.’
‘Sure.’ He spooned tea into the pot and poured on boiling water. ‘What kept you so late?’
‘Something came up. I left a message on the machine – didn’t you get it?’
‘Yeah, we… I got it. What job was it?’
‘Checking a van we think may have been used in a crime.’ The pinger sounded and Sukey brought her supper to the table and sat down.
‘What sort of crime? Was there any blood?’ The lad’s eyes lit up in anticipation of gruesome details.
His mother grinned at him over a forkful of pie. ‘No blood, I’m afraid, only a load of boring old prints and a torn pair of overalls.’
Fergus put two cups of tea on the table and sat down. ‘Mum,’ he said after a pause, ‘you are free this Saturday, aren’t you?’
‘Hopefully, yes. Why?’
‘There’s a home match against New Park and I’ve been picked for the school team. Will you come and watch?’
‘Of course I will. Morning or afternoon?’
‘Afternoon.’ There was a pause, then he said, ‘D’you think Jim would come as well?’
Sukey cocked an eyebrow over the rim of her teacup. ‘Jim who?’
‘Your policeman friend. He said I could call him Jim, when I met him that time at the football match. That’s what you call him, isn’t it?’
‘When we’re off duty.’
‘Anyway, d’you think he’d come?’
‘Oughtn’t you to mention it to Dad first? You know how keen he is on your school sports.’
The lad’s face clouded. ‘Used to be. He hasn’t watched a match in ages. Petal thinks cricket’s a stupid game anyhow.’
And what Petal says, goes, Sukey thought. Aloud, she said, ‘OK, I’ll ask Jim if you want me to.’
‘Great. Perhaps you could invite him back for tea or something. Then you wouldn’t be on your own all evening.’ The last two sentences tumbled out in a rush.
‘Do I take it you’re going out on Saturday?’
‘Anita and I are going to a party.’
‘Where?’
‘At Maisie Evans’s house. It’s her birthday. She’ll be seventeen.’
‘Well, that’s nice.’ Was it? Sukey wondered. Would I like to be seventeen again? Not unless I could keep all the wisdom I’ve acquired during the past twenty years. She got up from the table and carried her empty plate to the draining board. ‘These can wait till the morning. I’m going to bed.’
‘Yes, why don’t you? I’ll do this bit of washing up.’ Fergus squeezed his mother’s shoulders and gave her a peck on the cheek before running hot water into the sink. ‘Goodnight, Mum.’
Halfway up the stairs, she remembered something and went back to the kitchen. ‘By the way,’ she said, ‘I’ve been thinking it over… I reckon it’ll be OK for you to go on that trip.’
‘Really?’ He swung round, his expression a mixture of surprise and delight. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I can just about manage it, even if Dad won’t contribute, but I think he probably will. You’ll have to pick the right time to ask him.’
‘Brilliant!’
‘I’ll give you a cheque for the deposit tomorrow, all right?’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
He deserved it, she thought as she went slowly up to her room, her feet dragging a little with weariness. He was a good kid in so many ways. Unusually considerate for his age, too, especially so this evening. If he’d been a bit older, she’d have wondered what he’d been up to. She undressed, put on a robe and slippers and went to the bathroom. Here at least were all the normal signs of male teenage occupation: splashes on the mirror, a damp towel on the floor, the cap off the toothpaste. And, inevitably, the toilet seat left up. She gave a resigned sigh as she lowered it, then paused as her eye was caught by something lying in the water at the bottom of the pan. She drew a quick, startled breath of recognition. ‘Oh, Fergus,’ she muttered as she pressed the lever to flush the condom away. ‘I knew you were growing up, but I hadn’t realised how fast.’
Her mind went back to their conversation of a few minutes ago. Fergus had suggested that she invite Jim Castle for the evening on Saturday, knowing he would be out of the house. Was that his way of telling her that his own first experience of sex – she was certain from his demeanour that it was the first – had taught him that she was not simply his mother, but a woman who needed a life of her own?
Despite her tiredness, she lay awake for some time, wondering whether to speak to Fergus in the morning and if so, what she should say; whether it was her duty to tell Anita’s mother what her sixteen-year-old daughter was up to; whether to tell Paul and ask him to deal with it. She dismissed the last option out of hand. He would simply laugh and tell her to forget it, saying that all young people were at it nowadays. The final thought that drifted through her mind before she fell asleep was that asking Jim Castle for his opinion mightn’t be a bad idea.
Sukey was not the only one to whom sleep did not come readily that night. A few miles away, Rita Holland lay staring into the darkness. One of the bitterest quarrels she could remember had ended with Terry storming off to the pub on his own. It was after midnight before he came home and fell into bed without saying a word to her. Now he lay snoring at her side, dead to the world and heedless of the anxiety and foreboding that tormented her.
The trouble had started soon after his return from the police station. Having assured her that there was nothing for her to worry about because he’d done nothing wrong, that this time he was on the right side of the law and smelling of roses, he’d boasted about how he’d tracked down and browbeaten Charlie Foss into handing over five hundred pounds and promising more. He’d thrust the money into her hand, obviously expecting her to be thrilled to death and te
ll him how clever he’d been. Terrified at what might come of his determination to go after his share of the spoils from the bank robbery, her nerves further shaken by the appearance of the police, she had thrown the money back at him, accusing him of putting it before her happiness and Billy’s, saying that nothing but trouble could come from contact with Charlie. ‘Get mixed up with that snake and you’ll end up back inside,’ she had screamed at him, ‘and this time, don’t expect me to wait for you to come out.’ It had all ended in a slanging match that half the neighbourhood must have heard. Their lives could never be the same again.
Ten
After lying awake for what seemed a very long time, Sukey finally fell into a heavy sleep and knew nothing more until Fergus banged on her door shouting, ‘Mum, it’s half-past eight and I’m off to school,’ before clattering down the stairs without waiting for an answer. She was still trying to gather her wits when she heard the front door slam and by the time she had dragged herself out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown and gone to the window to draw back the curtains, he had wheeled his bicycle out of the garage and was preparing to ride off. She noticed with interest that he was strapping his school bag to the saddle instead of slinging it carelessly over his shoulder, something she had been nagging him to do for a long time in the interests of road safety. There was a subtle difference in his demeanour as well – less of the gangling adolescent, more the purposeful, self-confident young man. When she leaned out and called his name he looked up, smiled, gave a jaunty wave and pedalled energetically away. She made her way to the bathroom, a little relieved that she had not had to face him before deciding what to do about her discovery of the night before. She wondered if it had occurred to him that she might have guessed his secret. In any case, the half-hour before he left for school would not have been the best moment to raise the subject and it would have been difficult to appear relaxed and natural with that uncertainty hanging between them.
Death at Hazel House Page 9
