The clock on the mantelpiece chimed nine. He switched on the television, waiting with held breath for the news. It was about the third item: a picture of King Street — funny, seeing it on the telly — and that building he’d run into.
The announcer was saying, ‘The murdered man, Neil Crawford, was the son-in-law of the detective inspector who was murdered in the nearby town of Lethbridge last Saturday, and police are considering the strong possibility of a link between the crimes.’
Bennett’s son-in-law? Dean’s eyes were starting out of his head. Of all the bloody people in the bloody world to have found the ring, it had to be the copper’s son-in-law! That’s why he’d recognized it! But why should the cops think there was a connection? They didn’t know about the ring; he’d bloody killed the man so they wouldn’t get it. They couldn’t link it to him without it — could they?
Slowly he bent forward until his forehead was resting on his knees and began, despairingly, to weep.
13
After the press conference the next morning, Webb rang through to Lethbridge to let them know he’d be spending the day in Shillingham on the Crawford case. Jeff Carter asked to speak to him, and was put on the line.
‘You know I was going to the Oliver Cromwell last night, sir, to track down Kevin Baker?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m sorry to say there was no sign of him. Might be lying low after the latest raid — always supposing he was involved. Still, we’ll keep looking.’
‘Did you have a word with Don about Clark and Cooch?’
‘Yes; so far, they’ve not admitted to knowing anything about the raids or anyone called Kevin. But DS Partridge says Clark’s showing signs of strain; he’s still hoping to get something useful out of him.’ He paused. ‘Too bad about Mr Crawford.’
Webb smiled wryly. ‘Your prime suspect gone for a burton, Jeff ! Any other ideas?’
‘I still think it’s family rather than job based.’
‘After this one, I’m coming round to agreeing with you. It mightn’t be a bad idea to keep a discreet eye on the house; Mrs Bennett will be there alone at night, and we don’t want any more fatalities.’
‘Right, sir. I’ll be in touch if anything else comes up this end. And we’ll give the pub another try tonight.’
‘All in the line of duty?’
‘Of course, sir.’
Webb put down the phone with a grin, which faded as he dialled the National Bank and asked to be put through to the manager.
‘Mr Latimer? DCI Webb; I think we have met.’
Latimer murmured some reply.
‘You know why I’m phoning, of course. It seems you’re in the unfortunate position of being the last person to see Mr Crawford.’
‘It’s quite appalling, Chief Inspector — I can’t believe it.’
‘Could you tell me the nature of the interview he had with you?’
Latimer hesitated. ‘Do I assume confidentiality is waived in a murder case?’
‘You do indeed, sir.’
‘Then I must tell you he was in financial difficulties. He requested a loan, which I wasn’t able to agree to.’
‘What frame of mind was he in when he left you?’
‘Disappointed, bitter, even a little desperate, perhaps.’
‘Did he mention going on anywhere? To see his stepmother, for instance?’
‘No; in fact, I had the impression that he’d as little as possible to do with his in-laws.’
‘What time was his appointment?’
‘Three-thirty.’
‘And he left when?’
‘About fifteen minutes later.’
Webb thanked him, told him someone would call to take a formal statement, and put down the phone.
‘Exactly what time was that raid at the supermarket?’ he asked Crombie.
The inspector flicked through some papers. ‘The call was logged at fifteen-fifty.’
‘That’s what I thought; Crawford would just have left the bank, and it’s only a few doors from the supermarket. He’d have been right on the spot. Suppose he recognized one of the gang?’
‘Seems unlikely,’ Crombie said, unimpressed. ‘For one thing they were wearing balaclavas, and for another they’d hardly move in the same circles, would they? Even if he did recognize someone, it wouldn’t have been worth killing him for.’
Webb grunted. ‘What time did the squad car get there?’
Crombie’s finger ran down the report. ‘Just after sixteen hundred.’
‘Una Bennett says she saw it arrive, which, if true, means that by walking at a normal pace she’d have reached Lowther Building at about five past four and the second floor shortly after. You know, Alan, in view of the fact that the lift was already jammed — which was confirmed by the support group — I honestly don’t see how she could have done it.’
‘No, I agree it would be too easy. Not many killers are obliging enough to hang round waiting to be discovered with the weapon in their hands.’
‘If we agree it’s a family thing, who else have we got?’
‘Well, it’s unlikely to be an actual member. Probably just someone that hates the lot of them.’
‘Why?’
‘You tell me.’
Webb sighed and stood up. ‘All this idle conjecture is simply to delay going to see Sally. But it’s no good, I can’t put it off any longer.’
‘Is there such a thing as bereavement fatigue?’
‘If there is,’ Webb said over his shoulder as he left the room, ‘that poor girl is a prime candidate.’
When Webb and Jackson reached Chedbury, however, it was to be told by a drawn-looking Barbara Wood that Sally was sleeping.
‘I’ll wake her, of course, if it’s necessary, but she hardly slept last night and she does need some rest. The trouble is, the baby senses something’s wrong, and has been playing up. I’ve only just got him settled.’
She glanced out of the window at the pram in the garden.
Webb’s eyes fell to the newspaper on the coffee table, with its lurid black headlines MURDERED POLICEMAN’S SON-IN-LAW FOUND SLAIN.
Following his gaze, Barbara said quietly, ‘I hid it from Sally, but when she went upstairs I took it out to see if there was anything new.’
‘Not so far,’ Webb told her.
‘Do you think it was the same person who killed Malcolm?’
‘It would be an odd coincidence if it weren’t, and I tend not to believe in coincidences.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s just possible someone has a grudge against the whole family. Without wanting to be alarmist, it wouldn’t hurt to take extra care for the moment. See that no one goes out alone, and so on.’
She regarded him with horror. ‘You mean we might all be targeted?’
‘It’s only a possibility, but better safe than sorry. In the circumstances, we’re having to delve even further into family history, which, of course, includes yours and your late sister’s. Are there any members of your own family who might have resented Mr Bennett marrying again, for instance?’
‘Certainly not. We were all happy for him.’
‘I’m sure you speak for yourself, but others might not have been so understanding.’
‘But Carol died, Chief Inspector. It’s not as though he left her for someone else.’ She paused. ‘Surely it’s more likely to have stemmed from Malcolm’s job?’
‘After this second killing, we’re not so sure.’
‘He sometimes discussed his cases with me, and I’ve been torturing myself, wondering whether I could have prevented his death.’
‘I’m quite sure you couldn’t.’ Webb looked at her reflectively. ‘What cases did he mention lately?’
‘Well, there were the shop raids, of course, especially the one when the assistant was injured. He was afraid someone might be killed if they went on much longer. Then, going back a few weeks, there was that man who hanged himself in his cell — Lennie someone. Malcolm was quite upset about that.’
‘Unfortunately such things
happen.’
‘The man was claustrophobic, he said, so prison was worse for him than for most people.’
‘We’re not inhuman, Miss Wood,’ Webb commented. ‘Arrangements would have been made—’
‘Yes, but even if he was given more space, there was still the prospect of being locked up for several years. Malcolm said that’s what got to him.’
‘The facile answer is that he should have thought of that before. He knew the risks he was taking.’
There was a sound behind them, and they turned to see Sally in the doorway. She was wearing an old towelling robe, her hair was tousled and her swollen eyes gummed with sleep.
Webb and Jackson got to their feet. Webb said quietly, ‘There’s very little we can say, Sally.’
She nodded. ‘Who was it? The same person who killed Dad?’
‘Very probably.’
Her mouth trembled. ‘I’d like to get my hands on him.’
‘Is there anything you can tell us that might help? Anyone your husband had had a row with, or who held a grudge against him?’
‘I don’t know.’ She came into the room and perched on the arm of her aunt’s chair. It was the one, Webb remembered, in which Crawford had sat during their last visit. Barbara’s arm went round her protectively.
‘He liked to stir things up,’ Sally was continuing, ‘but there was never anything serious.’
Just hints of public funds being misappropriated for Malcolm to give him lunch, Webb thought.
‘Why was he at Una’s place, anyway?’ she demanded. ‘He never went there! When I heard where he was found, I thought she must have done it.’
‘Have you remembered the name of the client he was seeing that morning?’
‘It’s not a question of remembering — he never mentioned it.’
‘There was also someone who came to look at the car; who was that, do you know?’
‘Neil just said “the friend of a friend”. He — wasn’t being very communicative, you see. Things had been a bit strained; he’d tried to borrow money off Dad, and I was furious. The terrible thing is we didn’t have time to make it up.’
She put her hands to her face and began to cry. Webb remembered dispassionately that Crawford hadn’t had an alibi for the time his father-in-law was killed. It was still possible he himself had been responsible; if so, had someone found out and avenged Malcolm? The permutations were endless.
‘About the family,’ he began diffidently. ‘Is it a large one?’
It was Barbara who replied. ‘Not really. As far as I know, Malcolm had only one sister, who lives in America.’
‘Married?’
‘Yes, I think there are four children. All grown up now, of course.’
‘We’ll need their names and addresses.’ And a lot of good that would do; still, it was a means of elimination if nothing else. He waited while Jackson jotted them down.
‘And on your side?’
‘There was only Carol and me. We have a few cousins, but we were never close. I doubt if they either know or care that Malcolm married again.’
‘I’m not saying that was the reason for his death, Miss Wood. I was only trying to think of some family-based motive.’
Sally looked up, wiping her eyes. ‘You think it’s to do with the family?’
‘We were just saying that with Neil’s death coming so soon after, it’s possible. In view of which, it would be as well not to go out alone for the moment.’
She stared at him speechlessly, and he hurried on: ‘I believe your husband worked with Mattison and Freebody in Silver Street?’
‘That’s right.’ Her eyes dropped.
‘Did he get on well with his colleagues?’
‘On a business level, I think, but he wasn’t specially friendly with any of them.’
‘Was he happy there?’
‘Not really; he was always wanting something better.’
‘I know about the financial problems,’ Webb said gently, ‘if that makes it easier to talk.’
She said quickly, ‘He didn’t mean to do anything wrong, you know. Everything would have been all right if the market hadn’t dropped.’
Which was something he didn’t know about. ‘Leaving him high and dry?’ he prompted.
‘Before he could replace the funds, yes. He was going to and if things had gone as he’d expected, he’d have made thousands of pounds. He only borrowed the money — you must understand that.’
So Crawford had been in deeper than he’d suspected. No wonder he’d urgently needed to get his hands on some money. But anything he’d hoped, via Sally, to gain from Malcolm’s death wouldn’t have come through in time to help him out of this predicament; which lessened the likelihood of his having killed him.
‘What about other contacts? At the golf club, for instance?’
‘He only joined because he thought it might be useful,’ Sally said sadly. ‘He’d no friends there.’
‘What about enemies?’
She looked startled. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. Nothing as strong as that.’
Webb stood up. ‘Thank you, Sally. I’m sorry to have to ask these things, but we need to have as clear a picture as possible.’
She nodded, her eyes full of tears again. ‘Basically, you know, he was just insecure. He thought if he had a lot of money and was successful, people would like him.’
Webb nodded and awkwardly patted her arm. ‘I know. Now, remember what I said about not going out alone. You’re probably not in any danger, but we don’t want to take chances.’
‘I’ll see you out,’ Barbara said. At the door, she asked in a low voice, ‘Should I arrange to stay with her indefinitely?’
‘I trust it won’t be “indefinitely”, Miss Wood. Just about the entire force is working on Malcolm’s death, and the inquiry will now expand to include Neil’s. We should collar our man soon. For the moment, though, I’m sure your presence is a comfort to Sally, quite apart from adding to her safety.’
*
‘Where now, Guv?’
‘The solicitors, I think. Parking’s tight in Silver Street, so when we get back to Shillingham, we’ll dump the car at the station and walk round.’
Silver Street was the small road that connected the two busier thoroughfares of Franklyn Road and Duke Street. Its buildings were mainly offices, in particular those of building societies, accountants and solicitors. There was also a coffee shop, which vied for the inhabitants’ custom with the Red Lion pub on the corner. The smell of baking wafted out enticingly as they passed and Jackson’s footsteps flagged.
‘Not now, Ken,’ Webb said. ‘Perhaps when we come out.’
This was a more recently established firm than many which Webb visited in the course of his duties, with modern furnishings and a less forbidding atmosphere. Chester Freebody, the senior partner, was a tall, lanky man in his forties, with bony wrists protruding from his cuffs and a prominent Adam’s apple.
‘This is all very distressing,’ he commented, as Webb and Jackson were shown into his private office. ‘Angie, bring some coffee, would you?’
‘How long had Neil Crawford been working for you, Mr Freebody?’
‘Four years now. We had high hopes of him.’ His voice tailed off, as though he’d intended to add more, then thought better of it.
‘Was he popular among the staff ?’
Freebody paused, then said, ‘Oh, dear! I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but since you ask, Chief Inspector, no, he wasn’t. An eye to the main chance, if you know what I mean. It doesn’t go down well.’
There was a tap on the door and a girl came in with three cups of coffee. Webb waited until she left before asking, ‘Was there open hostility towards him?’
‘Not really, just the odd dark mutters.’
‘He spent some time out of the office yesterday, I believe, both in the morning and afternoon?’
‘I couldn’t say; I’ll get his secretary.’
A subdued young woman, summoned by the i
ntercom, came into the room with a desk diary.
‘Can you tell us, Linda, what Neil’s movements were yesterday?’
She glanced down at it. ‘He’d an appointment with Mrs Berryman in Hatherley at ten o’clock, and he said it wasn’t worth coming in before that.’ Trying to sell his car, Webb remembered. ‘I suppose it was about eleven when he got in, and he went to lunch at one.’
‘Any clients call during the morning?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Did he meet anyone for lunch?’
‘Not according to the diary.’
‘Do personal appointments go in it?’
‘If they’re during working hours. It does say, “Bank: 3.30”.’
‘This Mrs Berryman; what would he be seeing her about?’
‘Oh, nothing spectacular,’ Freebody put in. ‘She wanted to make a new will. She could quite easily have come here, but she’s a wealthy client and likes us to dance attendance.’
Webb turned back to the secretary. ‘And after lunch?’
‘He came back about two-thirty and went out again at three-fifteen, to the bank.’ She bit her lip. ‘That was the last time I saw him.’
‘Thanks, Linda.’ Freebody nodded to her, and she left the room. Webb’s mobile phone shrilled in his pocket. He excused himself and moved to a corner.
‘Spider?’ demanded a voice, before he could speak. The Chief Super, checking up on progress.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Wonder if you could look in at Stonebridge later this morning? I’d like a word.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Where are you at the moment?’
‘At the solicitors’ where Crawford worked.’
‘Right. See you in an hour or so.’
Webb returned to his chair. ‘Sorry about that.’ He turned back to Freebody. ‘Was there anyone Mr Crawford was particularly at odds with? Who might have resented him more than most?’
Freebody raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you asking if a member of my staff is a potential murderer?’
Webb smiled ruefully. ‘I suppose I am.’
‘Then I’m glad to say, no, there wasn’t. I keep an eye open for anything of that nature; in a small office, petty animosities can quickly blow up if they’re not stamped out.’
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