Death at Hazel House

by Betty Rowlands

  ‘That’s the snag, there’s no proof either way. What we need is a witness who can identify the driver. Hill’s pressing on with the house-to-house enquiries, but he’s had no luck so far.’ In a fit of frustration, Jim thumped the steering wheel with his fist. ‘It’s all so bloody circumstantial at present. We’ve no hard evidence that Holland was actually there and yet everything else seems to fit.’

  ‘What sort of a guy is he?’

  ‘Fairly tall, just under six feet and heavily built. Londoner, by his accent. Now, that’s interesting—’ Jim broke off as if a thought had struck him.

  ‘What is?’ Sukey asked.

  He turned to look at her. ‘Remember that anonymous tip-off I told you about? The officer who passed the message to me mentioned that the caller “seemed to be putting on a Cockney accent”. She thought he might be trying to disguise his voice.’

  ‘Well, that’s not unusual.’ Sukey could remember occasions when informants had taken extraordinary measures to conceal their identity. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That he’d seen Terry Holland’s van in Marsdean, heading in the direction of the Chants’ place.’

  ‘Which you already knew from the house-to-house enquiries.’

  ‘Yes, but the caller might not have been aware of that. He also hinted that Holland had a record.’

  ‘And has he?’

  ‘We’ve got nothing on him. My first reaction was that the suggestion was malicious – we get quite a lot of that, as you know – but if that accent wasn’t assumed, then maybe the caller is someone from Holland’s past, someone who knows his background.’ Jim gave the steering wheel another thump, but this time it was prompted by excitement rather than irritation. ‘We’ve got a spot on the TV news this evening… I’ll put out an appeal for this man to come forward… promise absolute confidentiality, the usual stuff.’

  ‘If he knows Holland from way back he may have form himself, in which case he’s hardly likely to—’

  ‘It’s worth a try.’ Jim glanced at his watch. ‘I ought to be getting back – the Super wants a progress report. Sorry about the coffee.’

  ‘Can you spare another couple of minutes?’

  ‘Something on your mind?’

  ‘Yes, Fergus.’ Briefly, she told him of her discovery. Jim’s pragmatic, down-to-earth response to the situation gave her considerable comfort – and food for much heart-searching.

  Eleven

  Leaving Detective Inspector Jim Castle to report to his superiors, Sukey went back to her ten-year-old Astra, which she had parked a short distance from the tearooms. It was overdue for servicing and not entirely reliable, so she was using it as little as possible until she could afford to have it seen to. Money again! It crossed her mind that it had been rash to promise Fergus that he could go on that trip. Still, there was always the chance that Paul would help with the cost, if Fergus managed to find the right moment to tackle him. And tomorrow she had the photographic assignment from Gary, whose actual identity according to his business card was Hugo Bayliss, Managing Director of Bodywise Systems Ltd, and on whom she was counting for a substantial contribution.

  Sukey drove slowly, hoping that the rattle from the engine didn’t mean that something expensive needed doing. Reaching home without mishap, she parked outside the house and went indoors. She tried to concentrate on rehearsing what she would say to Fergus that evening – assuming she wasn’t landed with a job that would carry over into the small hours, as occasionally happened. Her son had taken a significant step forward into manhood, a step which could have an effect on her own future as well as his. It was a situation that demanded her full attention and yet, despite the fact that her part in the hunt for Lorraine Chant’s killer was over – at any rate for the time being – it was to that case that she found her mind constantly harking back. On the face of it, it was a pointless exercise. Within a couple of hours she would be busy on fresh assignments, helping her police colleagues to track down other villains – small-time burglars mostly, breaking into houses while the occupants were out at work, leaving a scene of damage and disorder for them to face on their return home. More often than not it was an opportunist burglary, with entry effected through a door or window carelessly left unfastened. At this point Sukey stopped short, the egg she had been about to crack for her lunch poised an inch above the rim of the frying pan.

  Jim had mentioned in passing Arthur Chant’s passion for order and neatness, and his apparently high regard for security which, presumably, had been shared by his wife, since she kept her car locked even when it was inside a locked garage. When the house was checked after the discovery of the body, every door and window had been securely fastened except the one through which the intruder had entered. The fact that the burglar alarm system had not been set was not significant, that was something one normally did just before leaving the house, but to leave a ground-floor window open was not the sort of thing a security-conscious person would be expected to do, even when at home and especially when alone in the house.

  Unless it had been done deliberately. Several possible scenarios raced through Sukey’s mind as she fried her egg, made coffee and toast and settled down to a hasty lunch. She found a sheet of paper and made notes while she ate, becoming so absorbed that her coffee grew cold and she forgot about the time until a glance at the clock reminded her that unless she left the house within ten minutes she would be late reporting for duty. She hastily took a casserole out of the freezer, scribbled some instructions for Fergus about supper and set off.

  Her first assignment was at a flat on a council estate. The policewoman who opened the door in answer to her knock greeted her with a cheery, ‘Hi, Sukey!’ and a welcoming gesture with the teapot she held in her other hand.

  ‘Hi, Maddy. What have we got here?’

  ‘Domestic. The kids’ father – or rather, the father of the two eldest – has just come home after eighteen months in the slammer to find he’s got a six-week-old baby. He gave the mother a going over, smashed the place up and scarpered. A couple of officers are out looking for him.’

  ‘He didn’t touch the kids?’

  ‘No, thank God, they’re all OK.’

  ‘So what am I doing here, if you know who’s responsible?’

  ‘We want evidence of the damage and the injuries… a few of his prints on stuff she bought or had given to her while he was inside… the kids’ toys maybe – anything else you can find to pin it on the bastard. You know how things are nowadays, the bench doesn’t take our word for anything. I’m just making a cup of tea. Julie’s in there.’ Maddy gestured with the teapot towards the front room, from which came the sound of a baby’s fretful wailing. She disappeared into the kitchen and Sukey pushed the door open and went in.

  The victim was a young woman barely out of her teens, wearing a shabby, sleeveless and none too clean cotton dress. She was thin and pale, with lank, mousey hair badly in need of a wash, and bruises on both cheeks and on one arm. She was seated on a rickety settee, which appeared to be the only undamaged item in the room, making half-hearted efforts to comfort the baby on her lap and seemingly oblivious to the activities of two toddlers, a boy and a girl, who were exploring the wreckage of ripped-down curtains, trampled clothing, scattered toys, overturned furniture and smashed ornaments that surrounded them.

  ‘Julie?’ The girl raised her eyes and nodded. ‘I’m Sukey. I’ve come to take some pictures. Is that OK with you?’

  ‘You the police?’

  ‘No, a Scene of Crime Officer.’

  Julie gave a faint, cynical smile. ‘A SOCO. I know all about them. They helped to put Clyde away last time – only not for long enough.’ She spat out the final words through clenched teeth as she surveyed the ruins of her home.

  ‘Have you got anywhere else to go?’ Julie shrugged and shook her head. ‘What about the baby’s dad?’

  ‘Dumped me, didn’t he?’

  ‘How about a cuppa?’ said Maddy breezily, entering with three chipped mugs
on a battered enamel tray. Somewhat reluctantly, Sukey accepted one, only partially reassured by Maddy’s whispered, ‘It’s OK, I washed ’em first.’

  ‘What about a drink for the kids? Have you any more milk?’

  Julie shook her head, sipping her tea with a blank, hopeless expression in her red-rimmed eyes. ‘Fruit juice?’

  ‘There’s some Coke in the cupboard out there.’

  ‘I hope she means the stuff you drink,’ Maddy muttered as she went off on another foray in the kitchen. By the time she returned with a can and a couple of plastic beakers, Sukey had unpacked her camera and started work. After taking shots of the damage, she went over to where Julie was sitting with the baby.

  ‘I’d like some photos of those bruises,’ she said gently.

  Julie gave another shrug. ‘If you like. Won’t do no good, he’ll be back.’

  ‘Not if we can help it,’ said Maddy. She had given a half-filled beaker of Coke to the three-year-old, who was slurping it with every sign of enjoyment, and was now sitting on the floor with the little boy in her lap, holding the second beaker to his mouth. Despite the surrounding squalor, the children looked healthy and were reasonably dressed.

  ‘You know, they shouldn’t drink too much of this.’ Maddy indicated the Coca Cola can with the toe of her shoe. ‘Milk or fruit juice does them more good and they’re cheaper.’

  ‘That’s what the Social tell me, but the kids like it.’

  As if to confirm her statement, the two toddlers began clamouring for their beakers to be replenished. With a grimace of resignation, Maddy reached for the can while Sukey packed her camera away and got out her fingerprint kit. ‘Was Clyde wearing gloves when he did this?’ she asked.

  ‘You kidding?’ The suggestion brought another wan smile to Julie’s face.

  ‘That’s good. Makes our job a lot easier.’

  ‘They won’t give him bail, will they?’ A flicker of apprehension crossed the young mother’s face.

  ‘That’ll be up to the magistrate, but we’ll do what we can to protect you,’ Maddy promised. ‘Maybe we can fix you up in sheltered accommodation, somewhere he can’t find you.’

  When she had finished, Sukey repacked her equipment. ‘I’ll be on my way now,’ she said.

  There was no response from Julie. Maddy said, ‘I’ll see you out.’

  At the door, Sukey asked, ‘How long are you staying?’

  ‘Till her social worker gets here. Can’t leave her alone, just in case matey comes back for more.’

  ‘You reckon she’ll press charges?’

  Maddy shrugged. ‘You never know.’

  Sukey’s next assignment was an aggravated burglary. A pensioner and his wife had returned from a visit to their allotment to find a youth in their sitting room with their video and the wife’s handbag in his hands. The husband had tried to wrest the articles from him and been punched in the face; when the wife intervened to protect him she had been pushed to the floor, where she was still lying, obviously in excruciating pain, when Sukey arrived. The house was in a normally quiet neighbourhood, but the sound of police sirens as a patrol car attended the incident, followed by an ambulance, seemed to have brought every resident in the street out to stare. Two uniformed officers were in attendance; one urged the crowd to stand back while the injured woman was lifted onto a stretcher and put into the ambulance, accompanied by her badly shaken husband; the other was inside the house inspecting the damage.

  ‘Any idea how he got in?’ Sukey asked when the ambulance had departed and the sightseers persuaded that the excitement was over.

  ‘Back door, broken window. You should get some prints. The husband was too shaken to give much of a description, but he was sure the intruder wasn’t wearing gloves.’

  ‘Not very bright, are they?’ Sukey commented, and set to work.

  After a hectic four hours, during which all the SOCOs currently on duty were kept almost continuously busy, things went quiet. Sukey’s latest job was at a house only a couple of minutes’ drive from her own home so she decided to nip back to have a cup of tea and, if he was there on his own, a quiet word with Fergus. She was relieved to find him alone in the kitchen, about to sit down before a plate piled high with beef stew and vegetables. He greeted her with a cheery grin.

  ‘Hi, Mum! You’ve finished early!’

  ‘I haven’t finished – I just happened to be doing a job round the corner. You tuck in.’

  ‘Right.’ He set to as if he’d been starving for a week. Sukey made a cup of tea and sat opposite him. ‘Anything exciting happened today?’ he asked between mouthfuls.

  ‘Not what you’d call exciting, I guess. A couple of break-ins, one aggravated, and a young mother beaten up and her home damaged by her partner.’ A sudden vision of Julie, seated among the debris with the baby on her lap and a look of utter defeat on her young face, made Sukey pause with her cup halfway to her mouth. ‘She only looked about eighteen. She must have had her first baby while she was still at school.’

  ‘Umm,’ said Fergus, his mouth full of potato.

  ‘Younger than Anita,’ Sukey went on. ‘She’s sixteen already, isn’t she?’

  Her son’s eyes swivelled sharply in her direction, then dropped to his plate. His face reddened. ‘You know she is. I went to her birthday party a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘So you did. She’s hoping to go to university after doing her A levels, I understand.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Fergus’s blush deepened, highlighting the faint shadow on his upper lip.

  ‘Do you know,’ Sukey went on, ‘I thought of her when I was in that poor kid’s flat this afternoon. I was comparing her situation with Anita’s and thinking to myself what a tragedy that she’d allowed herself to be used and her life blighted by some yobbo who couldn’t care less about the consequences for her.’ She paused before adding softly, ‘It made me so thankful, and proud, that my son had more consideration for his girl.’

  Fergus looked up, his jaw dropping and the rich colour ebbing from his cheeks. ‘How did you—?’ he began, his voice thick with embarrassment.

  ‘You should have been a little more careful about flushing away the evidence,’ said Sukey drily.

  ‘Oh, Mum—’ He seemed to be unable to decide how to react. He put down his knife and fork and pushed his empty plate away, avoiding her gaze.

  ‘Was that the first time?’ she asked him gently. He nodded. ‘Will you promise me something, Gus?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That you will always be as careful as you were the other night. That you’ll never, ever, put a girl – or yourself – at risk.’

  This time his eyes met hers. He looked dumbfounded. ‘You’re not angry?’

  ‘No, just a little sad that you couldn’t have waited a bit longer.’

  ‘Are you going to tell Anita’s mum?’ His tone was sharp with anxiety.

  Sukey shook her head and saw the muscles round his mouth relax in relief. ‘I don’t think that’s up to me,’ she said. ‘Just make sure you don’t take any chances… you promise?’

  ‘I promise.’ He got up, went round to her side of the table and gave her a hug. ‘Thanks for being such a sport, Mum.’

  She put her hands on his shoulders, holding him at arm’s length. ‘I’m not being a sport and it isn’t a game,’ she told him earnestly. ‘Relationships are tricky things, Gus. It’s so easy to hurt someone badly, and to get hurt yourself. You’ve seen what happened to Dad and me… and now Dad and Myrna.’

  ‘Yes.’ His expression became sombre, then brightened. ‘That won’t happen to Anita and me… we care about each other.’

  ‘That’s fine. Keep it that way as long as you can. And Gus—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You know, don’t you… there hasn’t been anyone for me since Dad and I separated—’ She broke off, uncertain how to go on. It was her turn to feel embarrassed.

  His response, and the insight that lay behind it, took her by surprise. ‘You like Jim, do
n’t you?’ he said.

  ‘We haven’t… I mean, there hasn’t been anything between us,’ she blurted out, feeling as self-conscious as a schoolgirl.

  ‘But there might be?’ Fergus sat down again, facing her, his clear blue eyes, so like Paul’s, looking straight into hers. In these past few moments their relationship had changed forever. His first sexual experience, that could so easily have raised a barrier between them, had instead provided common ground where they could communicate, if not entirely as equals, at least without restraint. Some things would remain the same – there would still be times when she would have to scold him for coming home late, for not tidying his bedroom, for not doing his homework, for leaving toenail clippings all over the bathroom floor – but the one subject she had instinctively avoided could now be spoken of openly and honestly.

  ‘Mum?’ He was waiting for the reply to his question.

  She responded with one of her own. ‘Do you think you could handle it, if we – Jim and I—?’

  ‘I told you the other day, I reckon he’s tops.’ As if there was no more to be said, he got up and went to the door.

  ‘Are you going out? Don’t you want anything more to eat?’

  ‘Not now, thanks. I’m going to see Anita.’

  ‘OK. Enjoy your evening.’

  ‘Thanks. And Mum …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If you want my advice, and if that’s what you and Jim want, go for it.’

  It was Sukey’s turn to sit open-mouthed as her teenage son went clattering upstairs to get ready for his date with his teenage lover.

  Twelve

  Hugo awoke on Wednesday morning with the comfortable feeling that, after a brief period when things had been looking decidedly dodgy, they appeared to be back on the rails again. The unexpected appearance of Terry Holland on Monday evening had shaken him badly, but the report in Tuesday’s Gazette, that the police had been questioning the owner of a white van seen in Marsdean on the day of Lorraine Chant’s murder, had been reassuring. Obviously, his message had reached the right ears. He’d had a good laugh when the inspector assigned to the investigation had appeared on the telly, appealing for the anonymous caller to come forward. Barbie had forgotten her sulks for a moment out of curiosity to know what the joke was, but he didn’t dare tell her. She couldn’t be trusted to keep her stupid mouth shut, not any more.