by Ted Tayler
“Ah, you’ve been to Ormrod’s. I don’t class him as a colleague. My father started this shop a century ago, and we’ve always strived to maintain a reputation for honesty.”
“We did wonder,” said Neil.
“Ormrod served time for handling stolen goods,” said Dillon. “I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
Neil wondered how that slipped through the net, but it explained why Ormrod smiled when asked if he’d seen the girl again after that day.
“I need not tell you why we’re here, Mr Dillon,” said Luke. “My colleague and I are taking another crack at the Ursula Wakeley murder case. The sale of her jewellery was one instance where the original investigation hoped to unearth suspects. If they identified the two people who had the jewellery so soon after the murder, it might have led to an early arrest.”
“Five years is a long time,” said Dillon, “I barely remember what happened now.”
“You suspected you were getting offered stolen goods by the young lady straight away, is that right?” asked Neil.
“You get a sixth sense,” said Dillon. “She was furtive, in a hurry to make a deal. It didn’t feel genuine. I didn’t dare take the risk. She left at once.”
“Can you recall anything that stood out?” asked Neil.
“It was so long ago,”
“Let’s do this another way,” said Luke. “Take a seat. Close your eyes. Think about those few minutes she was in your shop. I’ll fire questions at you, and I want you to say the first thing that comes into your head.”
“If you’re sure,” said Bartholomew Dillon, sitting on a chair by the counter.
“Age?”
“Sixteen to eighteen.”
“Tall or short?”
“Tall.”
“Hair colour?”
“Brunette. Long hair, but stylishly cut.”
“Winter coat?”
“Full length, designer label, or an excellent copy.”
“Voice?”
“Educated.”
“Gloves?”
“Yes, but…”
“Something else?”
“When she stretched out her hand to collect the jewellery, I saw a watch. It looked to be an Omega Seamaster. Again, it might have been a copy.”
“The young man who waited outside the shop. Tall or short?”
“I never saw anyone.”
“Okay,” said Luke, “that’s better. Thank you, Mr Dillon. Just one more thing. Did the girl look familiar?”
“I couldn’t say,” said Dillon. “I get people of all ages through my door. I might have seen her before, but it’s difficult to place the sighting in context. If she walked through the door now, I might recognise her, but with a different hairstyle, summer clothes, high heels instead of boots, I couldn’t swear to it.”
“So you never saw her again?” asked Neil.
“Definitely not,” said Bartholomew Dillon, “people can come to Ringwood from a wide area, Detective. Your colleagues believed she came from Mere. I’m no expert, but she might not have lived in that small town or the Ringwood area. Thirty miles is no distance by car these days. You asked me how old I thought she was. I said between sixteen and eighteen. I don’t believe she was older than that, so I’m not surprised I haven’t seen her in the past five years. She was an educated young lady, of that I’m certain. So college, university, a gap year, and full-time employment would inevitably follow. I wouldn’t expect to see her in the area ever again unless her parents came from around here. That’s the way of the world these days, isn’t it? I left school at sixteen and started here to learn the trade from my father. I’ve lived nowhere else but in Ringwood. Times have changed, Detectives. Times have changed.”
“Indeed, Mr Dillon,” said Luke. “You’ve been most helpful. Thank you for your time.”
Neil and Luke left the shop with a reassuring jingle of the doorbell.
“We keep finding little clues, don’t we?” said Neil, rubbing his hands.
“I didn’t think we’d learn much from Ormrod, but when he mentioned the girl seemed classy, I realised that helped explain the quality piece of cloth they used to protect themselves from glass shards.”
“Good thinking, on two occasions,” said Neil. “Dillon was drifting with the ‘couldn’t be sure, it was a long time ago’ scenario. Sitting him down and firing questions at him got him remembering far more detail. One of those Omega watches has to cost two grand, doesn’t it?”
“Who are we looking for, then?” asked Luke. “A rich girl that got mixed up with a local hooligan; or two kids from well-to-do families? We need to get this information back to Gus.”
“We might be on the right track at last,” said Neil.
“Dillon was right, of course,” said Luke. “You and I showed today that a car could sit outside Ursula’s bungalow without raising suspicion. That was even easier in the dead of winter on one of the coldest nights of the year. The Hub will give us data allowing us to isolate names fitting the profile we have for the killer and his accomplice. If they drove to Shaftesbury Road, they could have come from anywhere.”
“Wherever they came from, they had met Ursula before that night. It wasn’t random.”
“Did they meet at the library? Who drives miles to visit Mere library if they had one on their doorstep?”
“A boyfriend might drive to meet a girl,” said Neil.
“That’s a possibility. We might still find the girl on the 2011 Census. Her partner may come from further afield. So, she was the one with the library card, and he got signed in as a visitor.”
“I wonder whether Monica Butterworth has a record of that?” asked Neil.
“Back to the office, and then we’ll see what Gus makes of what we’ve learned.”
When the lads emerged from the lift, Lydia was just placing the last pin in the map marking Ursula’s walk into town. Gus looked up from his computer.
“Blessing’s in the restroom wrestling with the Gaggia,” he said. “You might need to rescue her, Neil, she’s been a while. Get us a coffee, and we’ll run through where we’ve got to today.”
When everyone finished their refreshments, Gus listened to Luke and Neil’s report.
“Right, get everything updated on the files, and then you can read through what Blessing and I learned from our visit to the Methodist Church. Where’s Ursula’s TV?”
“Still in the boot of my car, guv,” said Luke. “We took it to Arthur Wakeley’s testing my theory, but I didn’t forward think. Glenda was adamant she didn’t want it, so I got stuck with it.”
“Store it in the restroom. When we return the murder file and the results of our review to Salisbury nick, the TV can get included to support our conclusions. With luck, we’ll have names to give them too. After that, it’s down to Salisbury to get the people charged and before a court.”
“OK, guv,” said Luke. “I’ll bring it up later. Has what we learned altered our opinions as to who was responsible, and why?”
“I’m happy to discount the robbery element now,” said Gus. “The revenge motive is still in the mix. The young couple trying to sell the jewellery could be the same kids tormenting Ursula by canoodling outside the café. They might also be the same two that had a stand-up row with her at the library. Identifying those two is a priority.”
“What’s the plan for tomorrow, guv?” asked Neil.
“The weather forecast is favourable, Neil. You can see Lydia’s handiwork on the street map. The four of you will carry out door-to-door enquiries. It’s a drag, I know, but we must check Ursula didn’t needle someone on her way into town so that they lashed out. We don’t get our data from the Hub until late tomorrow, so we’d be twiddling our thumbs. Is everyone happy?”
“Ecstatic, guv,” said Neil.
“It’s not all glamour and teacakes, you know,” said Gus, winking at Blessing Umeh.
“Can I recap something, guv?” asked Luke.
“Certainly, Luke, what’s on your mind?”
“We never found similar crimes in the region either side of Ursula Wakeley’s in 2013; therefore, you dismissed the thrill-seekers theory Blessing suggested. Why not spread the net wider? We have a better profile for our killer now, and of our victim. Perhaps the Hub can suggest similar cases elsewhere in the country?”
“Both jewellery shop owners mentioned the girl was well-spoken and dressed in stylish clothes,” said Lydia. “Dillon said he’d not expect to see her in Ringwood once she left the area for university or work. What if the killer was a well-educated young man? He could be anywhere in the country after 2013. If he spent three years at university, or more, it would switch his killing fields.”
“A tad dramatic, Lydia,” said Gus, “but I can’t deny I’ve not considered Blessing’s idea. We need to home in on this boy and girl, find out how they connected to Ursula, and then where they went after the murder. Put in a request for an urgent search routine with the Hub, Lydia. It wouldn’t hurt to remind them it’s vital we get that 2011 Census material tomorrow as well.”
“Will do, guv,” said Lydia.
“Can I ask Monica Butterworth whether she has visitor records going back before 2013, guv,” said Neil. “If the young girl is local, she could have signed in a boyfriend. We might get lucky and find two names.”
“Call Mrs Butterworth and check, Neil. Under General Data Protection Regulations, certain data is time-limited.”
Neil made the call. Monica wasn’t working this afternoon, but an assistant confirmed that contact details for library cardholders and visitors were recorded and held for up to seven years. They kept information regarding PC use, including browsing history for twelve months. That was to follow the Regulation of Investigation Powers Act 2000.
“We must get a wiggle on,” said Gus. “Did she say when they deleted these records?”
“At the end of each calendar month, guv. That means the library should still hold details from July 2011 onwards.”
“Right, Neil. That’s eighteen months before the murder. The jewellers both put the girl at sixteen to eighteen years old. That narrows our number of potential suspects. The Census covers the Community Area, which will prove useful. It increases the total number of residents from three to four and a half thousand.”
“So, we might get her even though she didn’t live in Mere itself,” said Luke.
“Drive over to the library straight away, Neil. Get a copy of everything available. We’ve lost the browsing history, but that’s tough luck. We would never have had that no matter how fast we found the connection.”
“OK, guv, I’ll see everyone in the morning. Evening all.”
Neil disappeared to the lift.
“Jefferson and Kite could have followed up on that information, guv,” said Lydia. “If they hadn’t focussed their attention on the robbery.”
“Spilt milk, Lydia,” said Gus. “It’s half-past four now. Why don’t we finish for the day? Luke, are you taking Blessing home tonight?”
Luke nodded.
“I’ll wait for Alex to get here from London Road, guv,” said Lydia. “It’s his physio again this evening, and then we’ll grab a bite to eat together before I head for home.”
“I aim to get to my allotment before six,” said Gus. “An hour’s work on the land will allow me time to think through everything we’ve learned. It feels as though we’re on the homeward leg now, doesn’t it? By the time we wrap things up for the week on Friday afternoon, I hope to have two names to pass to our colleagues at Salisbury.”
Gus left the others to finish up and headed for the lift. If he was quick, he could miss the worst of the traffic. He sailed through Seend and breezed along London Road. Someone up there was looking after him. Blessing Umeh must have put in a word on his behalf.
After a change of clothes, Gus left the car at the bungalow and walked to the allotment. Bert Penman and Clemency Bentham were hard at work. Gus acknowledged them and opened the shed. Five minutes later, he had identified four things that he could tackle that allowed him to switch off and collect his thoughts on the case.
Gus was drawing the soil up around the base of his Brussel sprouts to stimulate extra root growth while he considered the telecentre Neil described. What could explain the interest Ursula Wakeley appeared to show? Witnesses said Ursula loved to read. What did she read? Monica Butterworth implied it was mostly English literature, not books on how to hack into the Pentagon.
Every teenager Ursula came across in the library would have used smartphones to access their social media accounts. Ursula only had a landline at the bungalow, no mobile, tablet, or laptop. So, anything Ursula did got carried out inside the four walls of the telecentre. If she had any browsing history, then it was long gone.
“Hi, Gus. I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
It was Brett Penman.
“Hello, Brett,” said Gus, “good to see you. I suppose you’ve come to collect Bert. He and Clemency generally finish gardening by seven at the latest. Your grandfather likes to check the Lamb is still keeping his cider properly. How’s the job hunt going?”
“I’ve made a start, Gus, and secured an interview at the end of next week for a position in Wootton Bassett. I’m still waiting on replies from three others. I arranged to meet my grandfather and Clemency tonight. We’re dining together at the Lamb.”
“You don’t hang around, do you?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” laughed Brett. “Is Suzie around later?”
“Suzie is working in Swindon at present. We don’t have firm plans for tonight, but it’s Wednesday, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she dropped by the bungalow on her way home. Will you be dashing off as soon as you’ve eaten? If not, then maybe I can persuade her to come for a late drink.”
“You know my grandfather. Unless they bring in a curfew, he’ll be in the Lamb until its regular closing time. Maybe we’ll see you later.”
Brett walked over to join Bert. Clemency pretended to continue with her hoeing, but she cleared the weeds from the same piece of ground several times before Brett gave her a wave. The church clock struck seven, and his three friends made their way towards the gateway.
Ten minutes later, Gus realised he couldn’t get his head back into the telecentre mystery without food and drink. It was ages since he’d had that toasted teacake. He cleaned his tools, replaced them in the shed, and after checking the lock, he made his way along the lane to the bungalow.
Suzie’s GTI was in the driveway. The living room window was open, and sounds of Fleetwood Mac drifted over the lawn. Gus walked into the hallway and recognised a familiar smell from the kitchen.
“Sweet and sour chicken,” he sighed, “perfect.”
The chef appeared in the doorway.
“Did you have a good day?”
“We made progress,” said Gus,
“Me too,” said Suzie, “but that was because Gareth was off today.”
“Brett’s treating Bert and Clemency to a meal at the Lamb tonight,” said Gus. “We’ll be welcome for a drink if we wander along later. What do you say?”
“It sounds like a plan,” said Suzie. “Why are you dubious about your progress?”
Gus explained over dinner, which they ate in the living room accompanied by Fleetwood Mac.
“Very Agatha Christie,” said Suzie, “but with computers instead of poison pen letters.”
“Which one was that?” asked Gus.
“The Moving Finger,” said Suzie. “A brother and sister arrived in a small village and soon received an anonymous letter accusing them of being lovers, not siblings. More letters get delivered to other villagers. Someone of importance is found dead, and a letter lay beside her body.”
“Were the accusations false,” asked Gus, “or did any have the ring of truth?”
“They were false. The police concluded the letter writer was a middle-aged woman, but Miss Marple proved it was the husband of the first victim. The letters were a diversion. Do you have an adulterer in
the town whose lover has two of his children running around?”
“Not as far as we know,” said Gus, “Ursula Wakeley accused someone of adultery in church after a Sunday morning service. It seems too far-fetched to me. We have zero evidence Ursula was computer literate. The anecdotal evidence suggests she had a wicked tongue and whispered her accusations behind people’s backs.”
“She sounds an unpleasant woman,” said Suzie, “but as you say it’s a stretch to imagine she could wage an online smear campaign against people she disliked.”
“That gives me an idea,” said Gus. “I’ll get Blessing to search for Ursula online.”
“Are you serious? If Ursula sent disparaging comments to people, she wouldn’t log on under her name. Anyway, none of the town’s teenagers would accept a Friend Request from a seventy-eight-year-old woman with her reputation. They would block her after the first time she tried to contact them. If she spent a fair bit of time in that computer room and nobody came forward to complain, then she was doing something normal like researching her family tree.”
“If Ursula attacked people who attended the library, surely they confronted her, either while she still worked there, or on one of her many visits after she retired. I don’t know enough about these different sites. I’ll let Blessing look. We’ve got nothing to lose.”
“I hope you’re not going to the pub in your gardening clothes,” said Suzie. “I had a shower and changed as soon as I arrived here. Time for you to get moving.”
“Yes, boss,” said Gus.
They found Brett, Bert, and Clemency sat inside the bar.
“Not used to the heat, Brett?” asked Suzie.
“You wait until the winter,” he scolded, “you Brits complain at a dusting of snow. We keep going regardless of how much the skies throw at us.”
“Who’s ready for a drink?” asked Gus.
“You timed your arrival to perfection,” said Bert, emptying his glass.
Nothing changes thought Gus. Thank goodness.
Thursday, 5th July 2018
Gus was up with the lark. Suzie was still asleep. His assumption that Bert Penman wouldn’t leave the Lamb until last orders were correct. When Gus and Suzie walked along the lane to the bungalow, Bert had ambled along beside them. Brett and Clemency were five yards ahead.
