by David Beard
‘The computer has been wiped, sir. All things have been erased from the hard drive.’
‘Is that it, then?’
‘Well, thankfully, most people, including the guy who did it, don’t realise that removing a file from the hard drive only removes its address: if you can find its whereabouts, you can recover it.’
‘And can you?’
‘Yea, I have. We have good software for this sort of thing and I have found a file and a huge spreadsheet. I reckon it will have just about everything on it. Trouble is both the file and the spreadsheet are password protected. I know what is there but I can’t get to it. His emails too are protected.’
‘Has it been checked for fingerprints and such?’
‘Yes, it was well looked over before it was handed to me. I think you will find it has been wiped inside and outside as well.’
‘OK, Barry, good work. Keep at it and we will be back later.’
Sheldon’s problems signalled to Smalacombe and Corndon that their itinerary should begin at Rosten House. They found Geraldine Crossworth much more composed and self assured than at their previous visit. Once again she was accompanied by her two well-behaved dogs and she was similarly dressed as before but the colour of her outfit was a light fawn.
‘I like your pictures, Mrs Crossworth,’ he pointed to the Stanhope Forbes, which depicted a Cornish coastal scene with two young figures sitting on rocks by a passive sea.
‘Henry loved that period of art. We have quite a lot of it around.’
‘I’m sorry I upset you yesterday, madam,’ Smalacombe decided to conclude the pleasantries and it was time for business.
‘I understand, Mr Smalacombe. There is no half way house with such matters is there? All I know is that you have to resolve it for us.’
‘With your help.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Let’s clear up one problem first. You weren’t keen for us to take your husband’s computer yesterday.’
‘I was totally confused; I just couldn’t face an upheaval. They had my cooperation this morning.’
‘Look, I’m a copper and I have to be suspicious on all fronts. It’s not easy, for either of us but I can’t waste time beating about the bush.’
‘I understand.’
‘Do you?’ Smalacombe answered with some force. ‘We began to check the computer this morning and it has been wiped of all documents.’ He waited and eyed her intently to ensure she felt uncomfortable.
She quickly realised the inference of his comment. ‘Are you suggesting I stalled to give myself time to doctor it last night?’
‘I like your directness, Mrs Crossworth, so, did you?’
‘I most certainly did not. I never touch the damn thing: it’s Henry’s. OK, if you want my finger prints to check it out, I won’t resist.’
‘Oh, it’s been cleaned.’
‘I hope you are alert enough to guess that I did not do it. I don’t have the competence anyway.’
‘Then Henry must have done it himself. We will be able to check the exact time that it was carried out by the way. So, if you do know something about it, now is the time to discuss it.’
‘But, wiping that computer was a futile gesture,’ Emily Corndon began to collect her thoughts, ‘Henry has an office elsewhere. All this stuff will be there anyway, won’t it?’
‘He does virtually all of his work at home, but he does attend his office in Bristol. It must have been Henry. Who else?’ she added defiantly.
‘Well, this is why we’re here but it’s for us to ask the questions.’ Smalacombe hesitated and the three of them sat in silence for a while, contemplating their next move.
‘Yesterday, you said you had a premonition,’ Emily felt it appropriate to continue the interview and on a different tack.
‘He’s been very edgy, short tempered and even depressed this last month or so. I knew something was wrong, but, and you can believe this or not, I had no idea what it was.’
‘He didn’t confide in you?’
‘Henry was his own man; he never tolerated anyone making decisions that would affect him. I couldn’t even guide him on what shirt to wear.’
Smalacombe had picked up the threads again, ‘Was it personal or business do you think?’
‘Both,’ she answered emphatically, ‘the two are intertwined, I think.’
‘Only think? Not know?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Mrs Crossworth, we can recover the files on your husband’s computer,’ he paused in order to check her body language, ‘and after we have studied them, maybe we can have a more productive discussion.’
Smalacombe stood and made ready to go. Corndon wanted to clear up another avenue before they left. ‘It seems your husband was a workaholic,’ she commented.
‘He certainly was.’
‘Did he have any pastimes, any recreational activities?’
‘Away from his business he worked hard for the community, but that sometimes created more strife than his company’s responsibilities. He belonged to the local gun club. He delighted in pheasant shooting and such like, which horrifies me, incidentally. But, as a major pastime he was besotted with Bristol City.’
‘Nice place,’ added Smalacombe, deliberately missing the point.
‘No, the football club, sir,’ Emily explained as she was not yet fully aware of Smalacombe’s techniques in these matters.
‘That’s right,’ Mrs Crossworth confirmed. ‘He had a hospitality suite at Ashton Gate. He never missed a game. He had even been known to fly back from Hong Kong for the weekend, if they were playing at home. Frankly, Sergeant, it kept him sane. He always put himself under great pressure. Saturday afternoons got him back on track – especially if they won.’
‘Not very often, though.’
‘You are being very unkind, Chief Inspector. Henry would have given you a lecture and statistics for the next hour if he was here.’
‘What exactly were Mr Crossworth’s business interests?’
‘I’m not really sure; he made a point of never discussing it with me. He was a financier; that’s all I know. His company is A Gate Services.’
Smalacombe decided to investigate on another avenue before he left. ‘Mrs Crossworth, I don’t know how much you know of all this, as we have released very little to the press but do you know there was a second murder over the weekend?’
She hesitated and, as always, it was something the chief inspector noted and very carefully. ‘Yes…, is there a connection?’
‘Well, it looks like it. The body of a lady was found on Dartmoor and her car was left at Ebear where your husband’s body was discovered.’
Geraldine Crossworth looked at both officers in turn but was unnerved by their unremitting stares. ‘Who was the lady?’
‘She was Heather Lynley. Did you know her?’
‘Well, I’ve heard of her, yes. She is something to do with local charities. Look. I can gather your inference, but I can’t help I’m afraid. Is that all?’
Smalacombe’s assessment of her reaction meant that he didn’t believe her, but he decided there was one more thing to investigate. ‘Did you know he had a problem on Friday and contacted the local police?’
‘How could he? He was abroad on business.’
‘He was in the Dog and Bone having lunch actually, and with a friend.’ Smalacombe paused to watch her reaction. Whatever she felt, she covered it deftly.
‘Where were you on Sunday evening?’
‘I was here, by myself – no one to corroborate it I’m afraid.’
‘We will be visiting you again, Mrs Crossworth; there is much more we need to know.’
*
As they drove back to the office, Smalacombe was surprisingly upbeat.
‘Bit short, Dexter. But, I have some good ideas.’
‘I think we’ve solved one mystery, Emily,’ he glanced across to her and smiled. ‘Car keys!’
Emily looked puzzled, ‘I don’t follow?
’
‘Mrs C is not telling the truth. I’m pretty sure Crossworth didn’t wipe the computer. Why the hell would he want to create chaos for his business?’
‘So, where do the car keys fit in?’
‘Show me yours.’
She hesitated and looked at him with eyes and mouth wide open.
‘Oh bloody hell, I’m talking car keys,’ he said in mock anger, which complemented her mock surprise.
She shook her head and although she tried hard to suppress it, she then burst out laughing. ‘The last time I was asked that, I was eight. He was the same age by the way.’ She fished in her pockets and dangled her keys in front of him.
‘And, what is the big shiny one?’
‘It’s my front door key.’ As she spoke, so she unravelled his train of thought. ‘Oh, Dexter…that’s what we all do isn’t it. I am so annoyed; why didn’t I think of that?’
‘When you have been doing this as long as I have, then you will. So, who wiped the computer?’
‘The guy with the keys?’
‘He wouldn’t even have had to break-in, would he? It wasn’t the car keys he wanted or the car would be gone by now, but the front door key was the goal. It’s reasonable that Mrs. C wouldn’t know that it had happened. We are going to have to look a bit more closely at her home though.’
Emily thought for a while. ‘There is a flaw.’
‘Surprise, surprise!’
‘If a hacker wanted something from that computer he wouldn’t need to access it physically. Whatever he wanted to do he could have done remotely.’ She paused and studied her boss who looked ahead and concentrated on his driving. ‘I am sure you are right that it was the house key he wanted. After all, the car still remains at the pub. The real issue is what was it he wanted at the house? I don’t think it was the computer.’
‘Good point,’ Smalacombe added laconically and a little miffed that she had challenged his reasoning but he wasn’t prepared to abandon his supposition. ‘Wiping the hard drive is different to messing about with other people’s files. If the computer was switched off there would be no remote access to it.’
She continued, ‘OK, I agree with that. On the other hand I can’t understand why Crossworth would want to destroy all his files? He has an office in Bristol; it will all be there anyway. They will certainly have backups. And, in any event, I think he would only be likely to do such a thing if he was considering suicide. Baffling! The other thing is we have found no backups at Rosten House. Has he hidden them? Maybe they are all at the Bristol office.’
‘So, Mrs C is telling lies; not so baffling. This also means that he had a stalker.’
‘From when to when? If we can find that out we will be nearly there.’
‘I agree with most of this but his personal stuff won’t be at Bristol,’ Smalacombe added.
‘Maybe there is other stuff he was dealing with that he didn’t want his office to know about. I don’t believe that his wife is so ignorant of what he does, sorry did.’
‘Wealthy lady, with a very protected lifestyle. Why would she want to interfere, providing the money keeps rolling in? Different world, Emily.’
Back in the office they went to Sheldon, who was still struggling to find the password.
‘Barry, try Robins,’ Emily advised.
‘What the hell is that?’ Smalacombe queried.
‘Try it, Barry.’
‘Bingo, Sarge, you’re a bloody genius.’
‘Fuck me! Where do robins come from? Is he a bloody ornithologist or something?’ Smalacombe expressed with confusion.
‘Bristol City, sir: nickname. Look at the company’s name: A Gate Services; City’s ground is Ashton Gate.’
‘And I thought you were wasting my time being friendly just now. Ten out of ten, Sergeant.’
‘We’re not out of the woods yet, sir; the spreadsheet is also password protected,’ said Sheldon as he tried various words he thought may be connected with Bristol.
‘Atyeo,’ she said.
‘Nope!’
‘What the fuck is Atyeo?’ Smalacombe felt very irritated for reasons he couldn’t comprehend.
‘Have you spelt it right? Don’t forget the y.’ She looked angrily at Smalacombe to show disapproval of his language.
‘You’re good, Sarge, it bloody works as well.’
Smalacombe looked bemused. At this point he had worked out that it was his sergeant’s progress in these matters that angered him. He had not made assessment of how to get into Crossworth’s files and he didn’t like playing second fiddle. On the other hand it saved him agonising on how progress could be made.
‘Atyeo was City’s greatest player, sir; they even named a stand after him.’
Smalacombe was a rugby man but he knew quite a bit about football, although the Bristol stuff had escaped him. He remembered the City’s great side of the late seventies. ‘No, you’re wrong, Emily. That accolade should rest with Norman Hunter or Joe Royle. Anyway, I don’t think we have the time to discuss these technicalities. Well done! Is there anything you don’t bloody know?’
‘My father played for them in his youth, sir. It’s a family thing.’
‘I’m going to need a lot of time with this, sir,’ Sheldon announced. ‘There are no less than twenty eight worksheets on here and they are big. It doesn’t make sense at the moment.’
‘OK lad, we have much else to do. We will be back. Good stuff!’
‘Wait a minute, you have backed a winner as well, sir. I am into his emails – Norman Hunter.’
Smalacombe pulled a face and waggled his head, ‘Football historian, Barry!’
‘Who won the cup final in 1959?’ Emily asked with a big grin on her face. There was amusement all around as the two wandered off, leaving Sheldon to carry on with his investigations. Smalacombe gave up and shrugged.
‘Nottingham Forest,’ she confirmed.
‘Oh for fu……’
‘Yea, yea, OK. It’s a grandfather connection this time!’
‘We need to get to the PM, Emily.’
‘Could I go back to Mrs C and check out your theory?’ This placed Smalacombe in a dilemma. He felt uneasy about meeting with Angela Marriot alone, after her revelations at the canal side but Corndon’s proposal was sensible and it saved time. He pretended to busy himself at his desk, as he thought it through. Eventually, he concluded that he would have to face Angela at some time.
‘Good idea. I will see you back here and hopefully, by then, there will be lots to look at from Sheldon’s investigations.’
*
As was usually the case, by the time Smalacombe arrived at the post mortem, Angela Marriot had completed the autopsies.
‘Times never change, Dexter.’
‘I’m sorry, I have……’
‘Been distracted by more important things,’ she interrupted him. ‘I understand. Anyway, it’s good to see you.’ She noted her assistants had left the room. She came over to him and stood closely at his side waiting for an arm to be put around her shoulders. Smalacombe obliged.
‘How are you?’
‘All the better for seeing you,’ she answered. She turned and hugged him. Smalacombe could feel her body pressing against him, one of her beautiful thighs was thrusting against his groin. Her head rested on his shoulder and he sensed she was crying. He was desperately uneasy and hoped the door would open and someone would enter. Angela held her position for some time and remained silent until she finally broke the silence. ‘I am so unhappy; I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you once again.’
This was one of those rare moments in his life when he didn’t know what to do or say. Under the circumstances he didn’t want to give her the heave-ho, but he had long since resolved never to cheat on Freda again. Their brief affair was memorable but he was determined it was in the past. His present position and the perfume she constantly wore conjured up passionate memories but he knew he had to dismiss them. She eased back, held his hands and looked at him close
ly. He noted there were tears in her eyes.
‘Angela, you remain very special to me,’ he hesitated as he had not yet put the next few words together and he knew they had to be the right ones. He had no wish to make her more unhappy. ‘You are a very able, beautiful person and absolutely fascinating. I really want you to be happy once again…’
‘But, not too close to you,’ she interrupted. He nodded and she continued. ‘All I can say is that Freda must be a very special lady.’
That gave him the option to relieve the intensity.
‘She certainly is, I can assure you and before you answer, I am a rotten husband. With a job like mine, I’m never home. I don’t deserve her.’
Angela moved away and smiled, ‘I understand.’
Smalacombe was sure she didn’t. He moved away and prepared to turn to business. Angela felt it necessary to conclude the episode formally before she returned to the subject of the PM.
‘Bear with me a moment, I need to tidy up a bit.’ She left the room but returned soon after looking refreshed and her usual confident self.
‘Angela, I have very little time. I apologise but I must get back to the office as soon as possible.’ Her renewed approach immediately disappeared. He noted the change in her demeanour; her body seemed to sink from her usual fine, upright stature of a tall slim woman to one of a bag of beans.
‘So, what can you tell me?’
She collected herself together once more and addressed the work in hand, this time determined to put the recent past to one side. ‘Well, the autopsies are complete. There are still some things that will take a while, DNA tests and such like but, in general, there are few surprises. It is difficult with one body in water, and we’re not sure for how long, but I am sure they both died at the same time and on Sunday evening. Cause of death for both of them was severe trauma to the heart and lungs as a result of the gunshot wounds.’
‘Would it have been in daylight?’
‘Yes, by the timing.’ She smiled at him and carried on. ‘Lynley had recently eaten a snack of biscuits and chocolate. She had unprotected sex shortly before her death, just before the chocolates I would guess. Well, at her age……she was forty nine by the way. I assume it was with Crossworth, but I still have to check that out. It will take a while to get the DNA results back.’
