by Ted Tayler
“The police are a broad church too these days, Mr Plant,” said Blessing. “Diversity is a necessary element in our armoury when we’re dealing with a wicked world.”
“Did Ursula quote the scriptures in this church, Mr Plant?” asked Gus. “Was there anyone, in particular, she attacked for their shortcomings? If there were, then they’re people we need to interview. The police might never have tested their alibis for that Wednesday night five years ago.”
“Ursula didn’t stand in the middle of the church and point the finger at an adulterer, Mr Freeman. Ursula made her comments in passing, or as the congregation left the premises. Frequently, the man or woman she accused never heard what she said. It would be wrong of me to suspect someone of murder on that basis.”
“I get it, your church would be empty if you accused everyone you suspected of not living up to Ursula Wakeley’s high standards,” said Gus.
“You might say that, but I could not possibly comment.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr Plant,” said Gus, “as always, if we have further questions, we’ll get in touch. If you hear something that might help our investigations, then please contact us. I don’t intend to quit on this case until we find Ursula’s killer.”
Gus and Blessing left the church and headed for Castle Street.
“You didn’t tell me whether I should take part in the interview, guv,” said Blessing. “I hope I didn’t do wrong by speaking out.”
“Not a problem, Blessing,” said Gus, “we learn more about each other every day. I should have briefed you on how I wanted the meeting to go. I remember telling Lydia I wanted her to observe and not contribute to one interview we did together early on. Lydia ignored me, and her questions threw the case wide open.”
“Andy Carlton used to tell me to start with a plan and then forget it if the witness takes you in an unexpected direction. He said I would soon know if they were leading me away from the truth. If that were the case, I had to get my planned questions back on track.”
“Andy and I use the same approach. I let Horace fill in the history of the Wakeley family. Part of it I knew after speaking to Arthur, and I guessed the rest and Horace didn’t disappoint.”
“I thought my childhood was strict, but it was heaven compared to what Arthur and Ursula endured. My father has never raised a hand to me.”
“Did you placate your mother when she rang last night?”
“It was a close-run thing, guv. I kept my fingers crossed when I mentioned you and Suzie.”
“That’s hard when you’re holding a mobile phone,” said Gus, “well done.”
“Where do we go next, guv?” asked Blessing.
“Back to the office, why?”
“They do great toasted teacakes in a place on the corner over there.”
“Lead on, DC Umeh, but you’re paying, as it was your suggestion.”
Luke and Neil left Lydia in conversation. She’d finally located Fabian Kite. Lydia gave them a wave as they entered the lift.
“Are we making progress?” asked Luke as they left the lift and walked to the cars.
“I think so,” said Neil. “It’s hard to tell. Whoever killed Ursula hasn’t made catching them easy, that’s for sure. Where does Matthew Wakeley work?”
“A wine merchant,” said Luke, “we’re meeting him near the Old Brewery. Have we got time to drop these keys back first?”
“We do, but I want to hang on to them for another hour. Gus and Lydia looked around the murder site yesterday. It can’t do any harm for us to see whether we can find something they missed.”
“You’re taking a chance, Neil,” said Luke, “Gus will blow a fuse if he thinks you’re checking his work.”
“Leave no stone unturned, Gus said. Something puzzled me from the outset on this one. Why didn’t Ursula realise someone had broken in through the kitchen door? Perhaps another person distracted her at the front window, giving the burglar a chance to creep up and whack Ursula over the head. We assumed that Ursula tried to draw the curtains but failed. Why? Not why did she do it, but why did she fail? Her blood was on the carpet close to her fireside chair, so she moved back from the window because of what she saw outside. I want to check the distances and time involved in each of the steps. You’ll be the burglar, and I’ll be Ursula.”
“The mask that the man outside was wearing frightened her,” said Luke. “The girl broke in, and she was smaller, light on her feet. Ursula just didn’t hear her.”
“We’ll see,” said Neil. “Who’s driving?”
“I’ll drive,” said Luke.
They saw Matthew Wakeley standing outside the gates of the Old Brewery as they pulled up and parked.
“Fifty-seven, married with grown-up children,” said Neil. “He doesn’t look like a Wakeley, does he?”
“Matthew must take after his mother, Glenda,” said Luke. “He’s put weight on in middle age, so there’s a warning for you, Neil.”
Thirty minutes later, they let Matthew get back to what remained of his lunch hour.
“Well, that was a waste of time,” said Neil, “and he never asked us if wanted to taste the product he sells.”
“Look, his alibi is still good, Matthew wasn’t involved, but we learned something. Arthur and Glenda often met Ursula in that café you visited yesterday. Perhaps a month before her death, Matthew wanted to speak to his father urgently. As he was in town, he dropped by the café to have a word. Matthew approached their table near the window and looked at Ursula. Even though he was only a yard away, she didn’t notice him, as she was watching Glenda so closely. He thought that odd.”
“We’re back to the question I posed days ago,” said Neil, “was Ursula hard of hearing.”
Luke drove them across to Shaftesbury Road and parked outside the bungalow.
“It’s remote, alright,” said Neil, “we’d have to be right out of luck for someone to report seeing strangers.”
“The quicker we get inside, the better, just in case,” said Luke.
They stood in the hallway and listened. There wasn’t even a dripping tap.
“Right,” said Neil, “You go to the kitchen door. I’ll stand by the fireplace facing the window.”
“I’ve got a flashlight app on my mobile phone,” said Luke. “thank goodness.”
“Me too,” said Neil. “Let me know when you’re in position.”
“Ready.”
Both detectives played out the events from the murder file.
Luke tapped Neil on the shoulder.
“Thirty-two seconds,” said Neil. “Do you think she had folded her square of cloth to speed up entry? How many drawers were there in the kitchen?”
“Three,” said Luke, “and the panes of glass look solid. The stone from the rockery must have been heavy to break in with less than three blows.”
“So, it could be closer to forty seconds. While I was waiting for you to get here, I hurried to the window, and half drew the curtains. Then I walked backwards, not taking my eye off the window. If Ursula had turned, she would have seen the burglar.”
“How long did you have to wait before I tapped your shoulder?”
“Eight seconds,” said Neil, “it felt a lifetime.”
“If the girl took longer to get inside and went to the third kitchen drawer before finding the knife, Ursula stood there, terrified, for up to twenty seconds.”
“There was more terror to follow in the bedroom before the killer blow,” said Neil. “I’m even more convinced now that Ursula didn’t hear her attackers, whether they were inside or out.”
“Hang on, look, the television plug is still in the wall socket,” said Luke. “We could check the volume setting if we had power.”
“My flashlight app’s draining my battery. I vote we take the TV to Arthur’s house and ask if we can try it out. Any sign of a remote over by that chair?”
“Found it,” said Luke. “I wonder whether anyone removed the batteries? They did, okay, we need to put the TV in th
e car's boot, phone Arthur to say we’re coming. We have to drive through town to reach their estate. We can pick up batteries on the way.”
Twenty minutes later, Neil rang the front doorbell at Arthur’s house. Glenda answered the door.
“DS Neil Davis, Mrs Wakeley, we rang you earlier.”
Glenda looked over Neil’s shoulder at Luke carrying a TV.
“You only needed to drop the keys back,” she said. “We don’t want that old thing.”
“We want to try an experiment, Mrs Wakeley,” said Luke. “We suspect your sister-in-law was deaf but hid it from you.”
“What nonsense,” said Glenda. “What will you think of next?”
Luke carried the TV into the kitchen, placed it gently on the marble worktop and plugged it in. He attached the indoor aerial he’d brought from Shaftesbury Road.
Luke fitted two new batteries into the remote control and pressed the ‘On’ button.
“TURN THAT DOWN!” shouted Arthur Wakeley walking in from the hallway, “What’s going on? Who are you?”
“It’s the police again, Arthur. I told you less than half an hour ago that they were coming.”
“Do you believe us now, Mrs Wakeley?” asked Luke. “Ursula’s hearing must have deteriorated. Her colleagues at the library mentioned nothing. Your son Matthew put us on the right track. He said she used to lip-read a month before she died. So, between when she retired, and the day of the murder, she heard less and less. The only way she could watch this TV was to have the volume on what to us is a painful level. We’ll take it with us to show Mr Freeman. Here are your keys. If we need to revisit the bungalow, we’ll call you.”
Glenda saw them to the door. Arthur returned to the living room without a word.
“I didn’t know,” said Glenda, “honestly, I had no idea. Why didn’t she say?”
“We can’t know that Mrs Wakeley. No doubt Ursula had her reasons.”
Luke drove away from the Wakeley house. In his rear-view mirror, he saw Glenda still stood by the front door.
“I know what she’s thinking,” said Luke.
“The silent terror her sister-in-law suffered,” said Neil.
“Onwards to Ringwood,” said Luke. “We’re cutting it fine for our two o’clock. But it was worth it.”
In the Old Police Station office, Lydia Logan Barre had completed the tasks Gus had set her. Fabian Kite had reluctantly given her a statement. The Hub promised her figures by the end of play tomorrow. Lydia glanced at the clock. It was past one o’clock. Neil and Luke would be en route to the jewellery shops. Gus and Blessing should be back by now.
Two minutes later, the lift descended to the ground floor. Gus and Blessing had arrived.
“I wondered whether you’d got lost,” said Lydia.
“I wasn’t driving,” said Blessing, “or we would have done.”
“How did it go?” asked Lydia.
“I can confirm that the toasted teacakes in Jenny Medcroft’s café are excellent,” said Gus. “They taste even better when you don’t pay for them.”
“I’ve got Fabian Kite’s statement, guv,” said Lydia, “and we can start work on the Mere census data first thing Friday morning.”
“Well done,” said Gus, “what did Kite have to say?”
“Ormrod was a dodgy character, guv. Kite believed Ormrod recognised the girl but pleaded ignorance when questioned. Ormrod got done for handling stolen goods a year later. It was a Category Three offence, for items between one and ten thousand pounds. He received a one-year sentence. His partner kept the shop open and Ormrod’s back behind the counter now. I mentioned the evaluation without revealing what Jefferson said, and Kite immediately told me the rings alone had to be worth five grand.”
“What is Kite doing now?” asked Gus.
“I asked, but he said personal security and volunteered nothing further.”
“Luke and Neil will go in cold,” said Gus, “which might be no bad thing. Ormrod will be evasive, but both Neil and Luke will spot it a mile away. I can’t wait to hear what they have to say when they get back.”
“Did you learn much from the Methodist minister?” asked Lydia.
“You must wait and see,” said Gus. “Blessing and I will update the Freeman Files with our impressions and observations. Horace Plant shared the same opinion of Ursula that people like Monica Butterworth expressed. She spoke up on matters that concerned her but never had a face-to-face showdown with anyone who took great exception to her views.”
“Careless whispers can often do more damage, guv,” said Blessing.
Not for the first time, Gus congratulated himself on listening to Geoff Mercer’s advice.
She might hold polar opposite views to him on religion, but Blessing Umeh could become a valuable addition to the Crime Review Team.
Life is all about balance, after all.
CHAPTER 10
Luke and Neil left the A338 Salisbury Road and wormed their way through the busy streets of the market town of Ringwood.
“This is a bigger town than I thought,” said Neil. “It’s bigger than Devizes.”
“Yeah, it’s closer to Warminster, I guess,” said Luke. “We’re heading for Southampton Road and the High Street. Where’s best to park?”
“There’s a car park on Southampton Road, one hundred yards from Ormrod’s shop. We can walk the rest of the way to the High Street for Dillon’s place. I wonder what that pub is like?”
“The Crown Tap,” said Luke, “we don’t have time, Neil. Did you see that house further along the road? Did some brickwork look newer to you?”
“You don’t miss much, do you. Luke? Maybe someone tried to park in their front room; stranger things have happened. That car park is on our right in sixty yards. Time to get on our game head.”
Luke and Neil stood outside of Ormrod the jewellers and waited to gain entry.
“He’s upped his security since 2013 then,” said Neil.
When Luke heard the buzz, he pushed open the door, and they walked inside. William Ormrod stood behind the counter, watching them.
“How can I help you?”
“Sorry we’re ten minutes late, Mr Ormrod,” said Luke. “this case has taken a few unexpected turns since we reopened it. When we spoke on the phone to arrange this meeting, I told you that Gus Freeman might visit you, but he asked DS Davis and myself to do the honours.”
“You’re all coppers. It makes no odds to me. I can’t add to what I told the other lot five years back.”
“Who did you talk to?” asked Neil.
“His name was Kite, full of himself that one, he thought I had something to do with it somehow.”
“In what way, Mr Ormrod? You didn’t know the victim, did you?”
“Of course not. I’ve never been to Mere. Kite reckoned I knew the girl that brought me the jewellery, and she’d offered me stuff before. That was rubbish.”
“Are you saying you recognised the girl?”
“I’d never spoken to her, yet she looked familiar. Her scarf and hair hid most of her face. The quality of her clothes set her apart from most people who come here. We cater to the masses. The value of the items on display amount to a tidy sum, but you won’t find rings and necklaces in here where the price tag makes your eyes water. I reckon that girl and her family frequent a much more refined establishment.”
“I spoke to a colleague of ex-DI Kite yesterday,” said Luke, “he suggested the items were worth far more than your original estimate. You offered to take the goods off the young lady’s hands for a mere two hundred and fifty pounds. You must have licked your lips at what a profit you would make.”
“What if I did? She wasn’t interested in the money. I could have told her the lot was worth barely twenty quid and she would have still taken the money and left in a hurry. All she wanted to do was get shot of it.”
“You knew they were hot,” said Neil. “Why didn’t you ring the police?”
“You’re a comedian. My margins are small o
n the quality of the product I offer. You make it up on deals where the punter doesn’t have a clue what they’ve got. It’s not personal; it’s just business.”
“Did you ever see the girl again?” asked Neil.
“Hardly,” replied Ormrod with a smile.
“What about the guy she was with,” asked Luke, “was he from the same part of town as the girl?”
“I couldn’t tell from here. I don’t stand by the door to check where a customer goes to next. Once she was outside the door, I moved on to something else.”
“Did you have customers waiting?” asked Luke.
“No, I’d just got rid of two couples searching for engagement rings. The place was empty when the girl walked through the door. She was in and out in two minutes. Kite asked me that back then. He wanted to know whether anyone else could identify the girl. Before you ask, I put back the trays of rings I’d shown the ones that came in before her.”
Luke glanced over at Neil, and a quick nod confirmed his thoughts. They wouldn’t learn much more. Luke was happy that they’d found a useful lead.
“We’ll let you get on with your day, Mr Ormrod,” said Luke.
“Mind how you go,” said Ormrod as they left the store.
“I’ve not spent much time in jewellery stores,” said Neil. “Good customer service wasn’t high on his priorities, was it?”
“I reckon Ormrod is a rogue on the quiet,” said Luke. “I wonder whether Bartholomew Dillon got made from the same cloth?”
“If the name’s anything to go by, he’s different class,” said Neil.
The tinkle of the bell as they entered Dillon’s reminded Luke of an art gallery in Bath he’d visited recently. The shop looked quaint rather than functional, and its owner emerged from a back room. Bartholomew Dillon was seventy if he was a day, his round face topped with tufts of white hair. He wore a red cardigan over a white shirt with a button-down collar. His glasses hung around his neck on a gold chain.
“Good afternoon,” he said, “you must be the policemen I was expecting. You’re early.”
“We completed our business with one of your colleagues quicker than we thought,” said Luke.
