by David Beard
‘What! We do it twice?’ The laughter continued.
‘How are you getting on with your new sergeant?’
‘OK. Two bloody brains.’
‘And two something else?’
‘I haven’t noticed,’ he lied
‘I bet you have.’
‘Are you feeling neglected?’
‘Sometimes; you get so immersed in things.’
‘You are not showing signs of insecurity as well are you?’
‘I look in the mirror, Dex, there’s grey hair, wrinkles now…’
‘They add to the fascination,’ he interrupted. ‘It doesn’t affect your attraction I assure you. I love a lived in body; it has character. In any case, attraction isn’t anything to do with what shows outside there,’ he pointed to her head, ‘it’s what goes on inside that counts.’
‘So, where does that put me? She’s one and a half brains better off than I am.’
‘Guess which I can handle best?’ They both laughed once more. ‘So, that’s it! It’s all about my new sergeant, isn’t it?’ Freda didn’t respond. ‘So, it is insecurity. Oh come on, you know me better than that. I get on really well with her, and yes, she is something else, but that is as far as it goes. My goodness, I still fancy you – wrinkles and everything. Look, I just can’t manage you and breakfast at the same time any more: these are my failings, not yours.’
‘Problem is, Dex, you say it’s about what goes on inside but that’s the same for me too, you know. I haven’t got a bloody clue what’s going on in there.’ It was her turn to point the finger, ‘This last week, nothing has come out, has it?’
‘I’m really sorry, I’m just overwhelmed with all the information coming in and as yet I can’t put it all together. We’ve got to catch this bugger and soon.’ He closed the laptop. ‘It’s a bank holiday this weekend. I will try to put it to one side and…’
‘Don’t say we will take a bloody walk on Dartmoor.’
‘Definitely not! This case has extended there anyway, so it would mean more work. No, we can get down to the beach perhaps. Budleigh?’
‘At the nudey bit? You have got to be joking.’
‘You said that, I didn’t. I must confess, I don’t think I can take the Monday off. I will work from here but hopefully we will be able get away at some time.’
The door bell rang. Freda jumped up and made to go upstairs to dress. ‘See you later, better get dressed. I will be late for work if I’m not careful.’
*
As the two officers drove to Rollisade and Sons, they both considered how best to tackle the interview.
‘Sheldon has done well with the Bristol photos, Emily. I studied them this morning. Trouble is I don’t know what Whitecroft looks like. Is he there?’
‘I didn’t know either, but I know somebody who does. I emailed her copies last evening and she came back to me. He is the overweight, big bloke with the grey beard. Samantha has also identified the two blokes we are concerned about and he is in one photo with them.’
‘If you knew all of this then why did I ruin my breakfast trying to work it all out?’
They sat in Whitecroft’s office and their reception was distinctly better than the one they received from his boss, but it quickly became apparent that getting the truth from him was going to be no easier than drawing teeth without an anaesthetic.
‘Mr Whitecroft, you received a visit last week from two men, I think unannounced. Did you have a row with them?’
‘I have visitors every day and I don’t make a habit with falling out with people.’
‘Let me warn you, I am a very easy person to fall out with,’ Smalacombe goaded.
Emily selected a photo of the two men alone and placed it in front of Whitecroft. ‘Do you know these men?’ she asked.
Whitecroft pulled the sides of his mouth down, which was hardly visible beneath his beard and shook his head, ‘No.’
The sergeant looked across to her superior, raised her eyebrows and put her head to one side.
‘Mr Whitecroft, what pisses me off about this job is I need a tape recorder to repeat the same old things time after time to interviewees.’
‘What I hate about this is your bad language. Anymore and I will make a complaint.’
Smalacombe decided to ignore the intimidation and he also resisted the temptation of telling him to fuck off. Common sense took over. ‘As I explained to your boss the other day, these are not cold calls. We know what we are doing.’ He nodded to Emily, ‘You know these people?’
The sergeant placed another photo in front of him of a party of people at Ashton Gate, which included the two men and Whitecroft. He made a point of only glancing at the photo cursorily and lent back in his chair.
‘Just because I was there, doesn’t mean I know them.’
‘These are the men who visited you last week.’
Whitecroft became testy and quite short with his interviewers. ‘All right, all right! They barged in on me last week.’
‘Why?’
Whitecroft gave a big sigh and thought. Smalacombe and Corndon waited patiently. ‘They sacked me,’ he finally said with a note of resignation, which Emily found ironic.
‘So they work for A Gate Services?’
‘They do.’
The two officers looked to one another, both with puzzled expressions. This was not an answer they expected. ‘Can you enlarge upon that? Tell us about these photos too, perhaps?’
Whitecroft swung his office chair left and right and looked upward to the ceiling. He was faced with an important decision as to how he should conduct himself for the rest of the interview. Of one thing he was sure, intimidating these officers or being angry was not going to work. He had just experienced an odd week and he concluded that if he played this interview badly it would only make things worse. He decided to cooperate. ‘No doubt you know of the financial arrangements here: Conrad was given notice a while back and now it has been decided I should join him.’
‘Mr Crossworth was not happy with the company’s performance?’
‘What do you expect from people like that? Their expectations, fuelled by greed, are unrealistic. Either they strip the assets and bleed you to death, or if they see real potential, they get rid of you and bring in their own team. I’m the chief accountant here and I can tell you that we are running a very successful company but Crossworth wanted more for his money. I will rephrase that, Crossworth wanted it all for his money. Oh, and before I forget, one doesn’t kill people to solve such problems.’
‘Then what do you do?’
Whitecroft felt angry with himself, as he should have resisted making the last comment. He was now faced with enlarging upon it. ‘That’s how business works: you have got to live with it. Look, I am well qualified and I have had an offer already. So, I just shrug my shoulders and get on with it. In the long run it may well work out much better.’
‘If things were so successful, then why did you seek Crossworth’s help in the first place?’
‘With hindsight it was a big mistake. Conrad needed capital to expand the business and the bank wouldn’t play ball. One problem all businesses have is that you can’t stand still. It is forward or back; there is no other option. At the time, Crossworth seemed the best way to do it. Unfortunately, once he got his foot in the door, he gradually took us over. The business is mostly his now.’
‘Can you tell us about the photos?’ Emily asked. ‘We know about the Bristol City connection.’
‘When Crossworth was looking to invest in the business about four years ago, he wooed us intensely. Conrad and I were invited to Ashton Gate on a number of occasions and it was all very relaxed and friendly. Sort of, we were dealing with a good bloke, type of thing.’
‘Forgive me, you were only an employee; you may have been an important one, but it wasn’t your business.’
‘No, but I handle all the finances. Conrad knows very little of that side of things: his expertise is elsewhere. They knew that I would guide all the decisio
ns and it would be me who would do all the sums. As soon as the deal was done, the atmosphere changed dramatically and we were made very aware who was running things. We never got to Ashton Gate again.’
‘Why did you sack Samantha Peckham?’ Smalacombe decided to change course and once again Whitecroft hesitated for a long while as he decided on his answer.
‘I didn’t, Conrad did. Apparently, she was a liability.’
‘Is that all?’
‘You know it isn’t. I’m saying no more.’
Smalacombe stood up, which prompted Emily to follow. ‘This means we will need to speak to you again. Is Mr Rollisade around?’
‘I don’t know where he is.’ The answer was not unsuspected but it angered Smalacombe.
‘Where were you on the Sunday when Mr Crossworth was murdered?’
‘At home. My wife and family can vouch for that.’
*
The two sat in the coffee bar at a motorway service station and discussed who they needed to interview regarding the other side of the dead man’s life.
‘What’s best, Dexter, this place or the cafe at Dartmeet?’
‘No brainer. Maybe, better here if it’s raining though.’
They decided they had to look at the other side of Crossworth’s life and the first person must be the parish clerk, who would not only know Crossworth well but would also be familiar with all local developments.
Debbie Sandcock was pleased to see them and welcomed them into her front room. Cups of tea were quickly brought, together with a selection of biscuits and she opened the conversation after the initial pleasantries. ‘I have been expecting you. I am surprised it has taken you so long. I must say, this is a terrible business and it has left me with a bit of a headache. Goodness knows who has the ability on the council to take over the chair. Frankly, it was a bit of a one man band thing.’
‘Bit of an autocrat?’
‘Not a bit - he was. But, before we go on, let me say, I found him a good bloke to work with. He never gave me any hassle, but he did expect a lot from me. If you delivered then everything was fine with him. I think my workload is probably more than the clerks in the neighbouring parishes.’
‘We need to know of the recent council business, in particular anything that was controversial and what contacts he had.’
‘How long have you got?’ Smalacombe raised his hands with open palms. She continued, ‘There are a host of people who crossed him, usually over planning difficulties.’
‘Surely, the district council rules the roost on that one,’ Smalacombe reasoned.
‘Not in this parish, they don’t. Clearly, you didn’t know Henry. I have anticipated all of this and I have prepared a list of all the people he has had differences with over the last two years. I must add there are hosts of people who supported him. If they didn’t, he wouldn’t have been re-elected would he?’ She handed Emily a file.
‘Thank you, this is extremely helpful,’ Emily began but she wanted more information that was probably not written down. ‘What can you tell us about his private life?’
‘It was a mess and very strange. Geraldine lives in another world; she doesn’t enter into village life at all and she doesn’t involve herself in his business. I think she cooked his dinner and did his laundry and that was about it.’ Smalacombe feigned a look of surprise and Debbie smiled broadly and took the hint. ‘Yes, my assessment is that there was nothing else he needed from her.’ She looked at both of them to confirm her opinion had registered. ‘He was astonishingly busy but he always found time for, how can I put this…, female company?’
‘That brings us to Heather Lynley.’
‘She was someone he couldn’t put down. I have worked with Henry for over ten years and she would disappear for a while but she would soon be back again. At one point I wondered why they didn’t get married but I later found out that she was even more fickle with these issues than he was.’
‘People knew of his philandering?’
‘Sort of open secret. Nobody talked of it but we all knew there was always somebody in tow. I have no idea how Geraldine coped or if she knew.’
At this point Emily knew there was an issue that needed to be broached and it would be far better coming from her. ‘Debbie, I have to ask, were you close to him? How did you manage with his womanising?’ Smalacombe felt a pang of relief; it was something he knew had to be asked but he didn’t know how he could do it, without giving offence.
‘You mean, did I succumb?’ It didn’t occur to her that this question would be asked. She had prepared herself for almost everything, but this was something not easy to answer off the cuff. If she wasn’t truthful, her information would lack credibility and she wanted them to find the killer. She took a deep breath. ‘Is this confidential? Why do you need to know such things?’
‘I can see no reason why we would need to publicise such information but we have to gather as much as we can regarding Henry Crossworth. Every snippet helps us.’
Debbie held her hands in her lap, considered her options and took a deep breath, ‘Early on, yes.’
‘An affair?’
‘No, a couple of moments of madness: he persuaded me. On my part I honestly think it was more to do with curiosity than lust. Big mistake!’ She raised the back of her hand to her cheek, turned to Emily and whispered behind it, ‘Despite all the practice, he wasn’t very good at it.’
She turned to Smalacombe and spoke up, ‘However, it didn’t damage our relationship; we had the common ground of a secret, which we both respected and I think it helped. I wanted no more of it and I presume neither did he. It was something we could both put behind us and it wouldn’t rear its ugly head again.’
Emily laughed raucously.
‘Oh my God, what have I said,’ Debbie held her head in her hands and joined Emily with loud laughter.
For the first time in his life Smalacombe felt uneasy in the presence of two rude ladies and he couldn’t find a comment to top it. In any event, it was something he didn’t want to try in case it failed.
Emily composed herself. ‘By what you say, he often trailed more than one lady.’
‘Oh yes, that’s one of the host of reasons I backed off. I didn’t want to be part of a harem. In any event, it was sheer stupidity. It was before I was married thank goodness. I am happily married now, so please keep the secret. Mind you, the money and the life style could have been very attractive,’ she added with a smile.
‘Can you give us a list of names?’
‘Remember, I was never there to witness any impropriety,’ she added with another broad smile.
‘What about his wife, with all this going on?’ Smalacombe was composed once more and felt it was time to enter into this conversation.
‘As I have said, she seems immune from it all. I can’t get to the bottom of it. I’m married and I know there must be hurt and anger with Geraldine. She must know. Maybe, the security of being the wife of a multi-millionaire is all she wants; perhaps it is just a money thing for her. I don’t know. She’s not without intelligence or gusto. On the rare occasions she does mix she is good and humorous company and I can’t figure out why she doesn’t do it more often.’
‘You have been astonishingly frank, Debbie, so I must ask you one more thing. The councillors themselves: what were his relationships with them and in particular the women?’
‘There are two women but I don’t think he chased either of them: I could be wrong but they are both in their late sixties and I don’t think it would be on their agenda, let alone his. As far as the men are concerned, there is one that challenges him,’ she hesitated, ‘oh dear, did challenge him. I think too there were issues I don’t know about: Jimmy has a lovely wife, perhaps that’s it. I don’t know. He is Jimmy Wilde; he is a farmer. It’s all in my report. What I do know is there was a row still going on regarding solar panel farms, between Henry, Jimmy and the Counters, who are farmers almost next door to the Wilde’s place.’
‘Anyone els
e?’
‘Herbie Battle. He has been a councillor for a long time. He treads a very central path and I haven’t noticed great opposition from him. He knew Heather Lynley though.’
‘Is that the biblical interpretation?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘I think you have given us enough to last a couple of years, Debbie. We must go, but my guess is, we will be back later. I nearly forgot, where you on Sunday evening?’
‘Church, with my husband.’
‘Couple of witnesses then.’ They made their excuses and left.
They walked back to the car. ‘We need to get Sheldon and the team to check all of this out, Emily.’
Emily felt concerned. ‘I will do it as soon as we get back. Dear oh dear, Dexter, this has changed things and for the worse. There must be hundreds of jealous husbands around. Where on earth is this going to end?’
‘In court I hope!’
*
By late afternoon Smalacombe had arrived at the Wilde’s farmhouse, which was less than a mile from the Crossworth’s pile. Emily remained in the office to catch up on her paperwork and to carry out some more investigations.
The farmhouse was an old Victorian property, very sturdy and magnolia in colour. Like many farmyards it was littered with what appeared to be lumps of scrap machinery casually dropped here and there. What he knew was, that all of these seemingly useless pieces of iron had a purpose at certain times of the year, were overworked for a fortnight and then left to rot for another twelve months.
Jimmy Wilde emerged from a large shed on the opposite side of the yard to the house. He was a thin, gaunt man and wore a pair of blue overalls, green wellington boots and a decrepit flat cap with strands of grey hair straggling around its perimeter; he had not shaved for a few days. He was curious to find out who was the stranger in a suit and with a big car.
‘Can I ‘elp?’ he asked with a broad westcountry accent.
‘Mr Wilde?’ Jimmy nodded and Smalacombe showed him his ID. ‘Smalacombe,’ he added and offered his hand, which Wilde grasped and shook.
‘I’m dealing with the Crossworth and Lynley murders. I understand you knew Mr Crossworth.’
