by David Beard
Smalacombe interrupted, ‘Also, mam, why go to all the trouble to destroy him and his business if he wasn’t around to witness it and suffer from it?’
‘This doesn’t work. It was pointless because by messing up his business they ran the risk of messing up their own,’ Milner reasoned.
‘No,’ Emily hurriedly interjected, ‘they had already lost their businesses. He had taken them.’
‘I see. There are two separate strands then.’ Milner thought for a while and the pair waited for her summary. She stood, once again looked out of the window and played with her lips. ‘You’ve no suspects yet?’
‘I haven’t sent you a progress report because until this morning there was no progress. I have just managed to set the scenes and I hope now we can move forward.’
‘And keep me up to date. That’s it.’ She ended the meeting brusquely, looked to her computer and reached out for the mouse.
The two moved back to Smalacombe’s office. He adopted his usual position with his feet on the corner of his desk. Their repartee of a few days ago amused him and he had bought some more peppermints. As Emily sat so he threw her a tube. ‘They’ll help you to concentrate.’
Emily laughed, ‘They won’t. On the contrary, they’ll blow my brains out.’
Smalacombe noted it was brains; plural.
‘Dexter, I’ve been trying to piece that together but I couldn’t get the final bit in the jigsaw. There is one more thing, as you know, Geraldine Crossworth did wipe the computer because her husband contacted her and told her to do so.’
‘And she knew about the car keys.’
‘Yes. She lied and held back because she hadn’t done it by the time we arrived on the Monday morning. She felt understandable loyalty to her husband and needed to carry out his instructions. It doesn’t implicate her; she just did what he requested. I think she may have been concerned because Crossworth was all over the place in his last few days as it was all coming to a head and he wasn’t in a position to resolve it.’
‘The main problem for me is that the damned computer wipe just doesn’t fit in with any scenario,’ Smalacombe smacked his palm on the desk in rhythm with each syllable.
‘I agree! I can’t see what purpose Crossworth thought it would serve. He was up in the air because of the hacking but then he decided to make matters worse.’
‘But he had back-ups. Was he planning something else?’
‘We’ll never know.’
‘Oh yes we bloody will. That’s what we’re here for.’
‘Point taken!’ Emily noted that every so often Smalacombe aired his determination and even if it meant a week of sleepless nights he would finally work it out. This was what separated him from all others she had worked with. She had learnt from his attitude that a good detective had to be single minded and totally committed to the job.
It worried her, as she had followed the same pattern, under Smalacombe’s guidance, and Hector was being neglected. If it wasn’t for him there would have been very few cooked meals for them during the last week. She was also aware of his plans in the sand dunes at the end of the cycle ride and her carelessness had killed that off. He was very kind about it all she reasoned but she knew he was disappointed beyond belief. Is this how things will be forever, she wondered?
‘Good!’ Smalacombe had to move on, totally unaware of his assistant’s concerns. ‘We have to continue with the Lynley side of things and the parish council I think. However, we can’t neglect the business stuff either. Bring Barry Sheldon in; he must have a lot more to tell us by now.’
Emily ushered in Detective Constable Sheldon to the office. He had a large file in his hand and he knew his superior would be pleased with a host of information he and the team had mustered from dedicated research and reports from forensics.
‘I can tie up a lot of loose ends, sir.’
‘I bloody hope so,’ Smalacombe answered balefully, reflecting on his recent meeting with Sheila Milner.
‘Firstly, the tyre tracks at the murder scene match those on Mrs Lynley’s car. Secondly, where it turned there were also footprints, of which we have taken moulds. There are two different sets; one a size eleven and the other a size eight. Both men, it has been assessed.’
‘The area had been contaminated before we found it. I don’t think we can take much credence from this,’ Emily interjected, ‘We walked all over it.’
‘Well, the size eights are mine, the elevens are yours, of course,’ Smalacombe added with a wry smile.
Emily shook her head and hastily thought of a reply, ‘Only one foot is a size eleven and when the swelling goes down it will be back to five again.’
‘You are in the clear, Sergeant as both feet were elevenses.’
‘Elevenses? Are we now into cannibalism? Feet aren’t good food.’
‘Can’t we ever have a conversation without confusion?’
‘Can we move on?’ Sheldon suddenly realised he was dictating the meeting but he considered with these asides it was necessary. ‘There are drag marks around the area where the car turned and small fragments of clothing, which indicate that the bodies were brought down to this point. Thirdly, you identified the murder scene correctly and the bodies were hidden beneath gorse bushes before being moved. When the bodies were put into the car, Lynley’s body could have been covered with the rug on the back seat but it would have been difficult to properly conceal it. We assume that is why she was dumped in the car park.’
‘Whoa, Barry! She wasn’t dumped,’ Emily began, ‘she was carefully placed; this is another conundrum. The murderer didn’t want her tossed into the canal and displayed but he did want her to be found and quickly.’
‘I am sorry; I meant it was where she was left. We are sure the remains of the mobile are Lynley’s, the sim card was destroyed. They were her knickers. There was only picnic stuff in the rucksack, which Samantha Peckham has confirmed was her mother’s. There are lots of unidentifiable fingerprints on it: probably nothing to do with the murder but the contents have Lynley’s on them but not Crossworth’s. There are unidentified prints on a used cup and they are checking traces of DNA on it. They are still working on that.’
‘So, she made the tea. Sounds reasonable.’
‘There’s more. One other thing, sir; we found a large stone with Crossworth’s blood stains and it does have partial prints on it, but they are also unidentifiable. The surface is very rough and I doubt it will be possible to identify a match.’
‘That fits with the PM. What about the left luggage?’
‘They are still looking into it. So far they have found nothing of importance: it is just clothes, some dirty of course, a book, newspapers, other things,’ Sheldon was keen to move on, ‘we haven’t got the DNA results for Samantha Peckham yet, but I have been promised them tomorrow. Sir, I have done a lot of research on Giles Sable and,’ he offered a limp hand in Emily’s direction, ‘Sergeant, this is interesting stuff. Firstly, he isn’t destitute.’
‘What about all the cardboard boxes and stuff? He claimed to be just about paying his way and no more.’
‘It gets worse. They sold their house in two thousand and eleven because of the divorce, when everything was at a standstill. They had taken out a hundred percent mortgage a few years earlier before two thousand and eight, so there was no equity. Indeed, the price had fallen and it was sold at a loss. He was left with nothing; indeed he was in debt. But, times are changing.’
Smalacombe was irritated with the way he was spinning his story out but he understood just how pleased Sheldon was with what he had uncovered. ‘Go on.’
‘He has five grand in his current account and he recently transferred another twelve thousand from it to a savings account.’ Sheldon waited for a response but none came. ‘The money arrived from a foreign account, which as yet we have been unable to identify. And, there is still more.’
‘I can’t wait.’ Smalacombe’s feet had long since been removed from the top of his desk and he was now perched o
n the edge of his seat and holding his thighs.
‘He wasn’t in Brittany over that weekend.’ This was a revelation and both Smalacombe and Emily straightened up and looked across to each other.
‘But the flight checks show when he went and came back,’ Smalacombe explained.
‘Yes but they don’t show what he did in between. He came back on the Friday morning: we have CCTV footage of him disembarking at Plymouth from the Roscoff ferry and returning to board it on the Monday morning. He flew home later of course.’
‘What size shoes does he wear?’
‘I didn’t notice, but I don’t think he is the killer,’ Emily replied. ‘He’s a computer whizz, so I reckon it is probably him who has been hacking into the A Gate Services’ records.’
‘But why did he secretly have to be back here when the murders took place? It sounds ominous to me.’
‘I don’t think he is a murderer, sir. There is something else to all of this that we can’t get to the bottom of. I think you are probably right, Barry; Sable has been doing the hacking,’ Emily spelt out her observations.
‘And that’s where the twelve thou comes from?’ Smalacombe asked.
‘He does do computer consultancies, sir. That is probably where the other money, the five thou came from. There is still something else…’ Sheldon waited and looked at both officers.
‘You should have been a bloody actor with your sense of timing.’
Sheldon gave a short laugh, ‘His sister works at the Dog and Bone.’
‘Now, that is good. He couldn’t have gone there himself as Lynley and Crossworth knew him too well. I think this confirms our views about the two arms to this case.’ Smalacombe looked to Emily, ‘Better bring him in tomorrow.’
‘Will do. What do we do now?’ Emily asked.
‘I’m very thirsty. I think a drink at the Dog and Bone would be a good idea.’
‘She’s called Theresa Wilde, sir.’
‘WHAT?’ Smalacombe’s response was an astonished shout. ‘Wilde, you say?’
‘Yes. She’s married to a local farmer I think.’
*
The Dog and Bone was a roadside pub on the A38 trunk road and thrived on much passing trade as well as a solid local one. It was not particularly prepossessing inside, there were no low ceilings or beams nor any nooks and private places. There was an area around the bar but most of the room was set out as a restaurant. Smalacombe noticed the coat hangers by the door, nudged Emily and pointed to them. He went to the bar. The landlord was managing it.
‘What can I get you?’
‘Well, drinks first. I’ll have a pint of that,’ he pointed to a pump displaying a sign of local real ale, ‘Emily, for you?’
‘I’ll have soda water with ice and lemon.’ Smalacombe screwed up his nose in a mild show of disapproval. The landlord quickly dispensed the drinks and took the money.
‘You said, first?’ he queried as he handed back the change hoping they were going to order a meal.
Smalacombe showed him his ID as discreetly as he could because he realised such things were not good for business in such an environment, either for the pub or for himself. ‘We’d like a word,’ he said quietly.
The landlord looked around. ‘I’m stuck here at the moment, as you can see. I’ll get some help. I take it this is about Crossworth’s bloody car that is still here.’ Smalacombe nodded. ‘Bear with me.’
Smalacombe enjoyed his first sup and Emily held her glass up before taking a drink. ‘I can’t say cheers with that bloody stuff,’ he moaned. ‘Still, I’m grateful, it’s cheap and you can drive.’
An attractive young woman in her late twenties came to the bar. Emily immediately recognised the family resemblance, ‘Theresa?’
‘Yes. Do you know me?’
Emily raised her eyebrows, smiled and walked away with Smalacombe who was now being ushered into a back room away from the bar. They sat in comfortable chairs in the living quarters of the inn. The landlord introduced himself as Gwyn Williamson.
‘What can you tell us about that Friday afternoon, Mr Williamson?’
‘Crossworth and Lynley came here quite often and usually on a Friday or a Saturday. By all accounts, it was the regular start of their illicit weekends. That Friday it was pissing down, as you know,’ he looked to Emily, ‘I’m sorry, miss, it was raining.’
Emily smiled, ‘No problem, sir, and it is Mrs. by the way. Better still, Sergeant and if this works well you can call me Emily.’
Williamson smiled, ‘Well, Sergeant…I haven’t got to the Emily bit yet,’ he began, taking up Emily’s riposte, ‘the thing is he wasn’t with Lynley on that Friday afternoon. He was with a bloke I don’t know. Big hairy fellow.’
‘Have you any idea who stole the keys?’
‘No idea.’
‘Were there strangers around? Maybe there were locals here who may have wished to do him harm.’
‘We trade on a main road; of course there were strangers here and locals. I have no idea.’
‘Could you give us a list of everyone you knew who was here at that time?’
‘I’ll do my best, but I don’t remember them all and in any event, one day merges into another. I will do it but I don’t think you could rely on it.’
‘Can we speak to Theresa?’ Emily asked.
‘I’ll get back to serving the booze then.’
‘Before you go, where were you on the night of the murders?’
‘I was here. Seven days a week, remember.’
Theresa looked trim with her short dark hair and bright brown eyes. Her barmaid’s outfit of tight jeans and a low cut blouse emphasised her physical attributes. She sat quietly in the chair vacated by her boss and waited for the officers to begin the conversation.
‘Theresa, are you related to Jimmy Wilde?’
‘He’s my father in law, I’m married to Ian.’
Emily then questioned her concerning Giles Sable and she confirmed that he was her brother. Theresa decided, rather than remaining passive, to take the lead. ‘Look, I have no idea what went on that Friday afternoon. It was busy; I was serving behind the bar, waitressing in between, sorting out the dirty glasses. I had no idea what had happened until Mr Crossworth started shouting and saying someone had pinched his keys. It was bad for business so I called Gwyn and he dealt with it.’
‘Who did you see going to the coats?’
‘Just about everybody: it was a dreadful day, as you know. When people come to eat, they don’t like to leave their coat on the back of their chairs.’
‘Where were you on the night of the murders?’
‘I was at home with the family. It was harvest time and we were very busy. It was a lovely day and Ian and his dad worked until late.’
‘You live at the farm?’
‘We’re not cramped; it has five bedrooms.’
Smalacombe was clear that nothing much was to emerge from this interview and so he curtailed it, finished his drink and they left.
*
As Emily drove them back to the station Smalacombe sat quietly and deep in thought.
‘Dexter, I’ve been thinking.’
He wondered, with which brain?
‘All the cardboard boxes at Sable’s: is he clearing out and getting ready to move? Maybe it is his first upwardly mobile step with his new life. Barry has shown us the money is now available.’
‘I’m on the same lines. When we get back, check when the next rubbish collection is and get a warrant to search the premises. I’m sure he is involved in this.’
‘Will the magistrate grant it? Have we sufficient evidence?’
‘Difficult one I agree but I think we can put together a convincing case. There are motives: his disastrous break up with Lynley, Crossworth’s interference in it, his computer expertise and above all, why did he lie that he was out of the country when he returned for just that weekend? It may not be sufficient to charge him yet but enough for the search.’
‘The problem is w
e need to get our hands on his computer before we can put it all together.’
‘And before he does a Crossworth on it!’
‘What about the Wildes?’
‘Get Sheldon to check them out.’
Within a short period of their arrival back at the station, Emily went to Smalacombe’s office. He was sitting looking out of the window and deep in thought.
‘Bin day tomorrow, Dexter and they usually collect in that street at around nine thirty in the morning. I have organised the warrant so we’ll be in before then.’
‘Good. Arrange to see him here, in the afternoon, then. Also get the local station to be sure they don’t miss out on his black bags. If he puts them out before we get there, we need them.’
‘What are you hoping to find?’
‘I need a better key ring. How’s your ankle by the way? Has the WTFIT healed up?’
Emily smiled, ‘Actually, it is much better, Dexter. I am back to normal.’ She lifted her leg and wiggled it.
‘Looks good.’
‘That was my biggest worry,’ she admitted.
CHAPTER 12
Smalacombe arrived early at work on the Thursday morning. Emily Corndon had texted him to say she would be late and he thought it meant a few minutes or so. As he had made the effort his impatience whelmed up and he was anxious to get moving. It wasn’t like her to be late and he wondered why? To be left in limbo riled him, especially on a day that he felt was critical. Perhaps she has gone to the doctors at last to check out her ankle, he considered. Well no, he reasoned, she was confident it was better the day before and with all her knowledge does she need a doctor? However, she had every excuse to take a day off, so what was going on?
Emily had spent much time mulling over the peculiarities of the murder scene. She concluded that the murderer would not have parked at Two Crosses and walked up to the victims as it is completely exposed and he would have been seen. Clearly he approached them from a different direction.
