Money, Mishaps and Murder

by David Beard

  She spent the evening with Google Earth investigating this theory. It helped and she became aware of an alternative way the perpetrator could have taken but it was necessary to go there and pace it out. She was also aware that she needed to do it alone and so she rose at five thirty and was driving to Dartmoor at just after six. Poor Hector she mused; no morning cuddle and no help in preparing the breakfast. How was she going to get this into balance? Even more specific, she felt like a cuddle herself. On that score she decided that much effort would be put in that direction when she returned in the evening.

  As it was so early in the morning it was no surprise to her that Two Crosses was deserted. She stopped to confirm her theory that the walk was exposed. She turned and drove down the hill to the point where the road left the open moor. There was ample space to park a car.

  Her ankle was better, she had no concern about a trek over the moors and she was keen to give it exercise. She began her walk, following the hedgerow between her and the three tors in the distance. The fresh morning air enlivened her and with the beautiful surroundings she decided how lucky she was to be doing this and being paid for it.

  Soon she came across another rough lane that rose up from the village. From her studies of the previous evening and her mobile phone tuned into Google, she knew it would meet the trail from Two Crosses close to the point where the car was manoeuvred according to the tyre marks.

  As she walked up to that area she observed that she would not be seen until she arrived there. She also calculated that from there on she would remain undetected because the two victims would have arrived at their destination and would have hidden themselves behind the rocks where they were indulging in their favourite pastime. But, she reasoned, how did the murderer know they were there? There must have been two people: an accomplice, probably remaining in the Two Crosses car park with binoculars and a mobile and the murderer in whose footsteps she was following. She concluded that whoever it was, he wasn’t alone; it made sense.

  She sat at the side of the lane, a short distance from the fenced off area where the car turned, took her flask from her rucksack, together with some toast and marmalade she had prepared and had her breakfast. A skylark serenaded her and a hungry buzzard hovered silently above her with an eye on an unfortunate creature. A pony was grazing close by and between times her foal was suckling. Warm toast is better she concluded, but where on earth is there a better place to have breakfast?

  When she finished her food she walked to the murder site and checked carefully the various points she had passed; stones, a patch of gorse, a stunted tree. When she arrived she stood just outside the fenced area and looked back to view it. After the point where she stopped for refreshment she was satisfied that it was possible to approach the area and be very close before being seen. In any event the victims may have been too preoccupied to notice any encroachment.

  The markers showing the extent of the forensic searches were still in place and she knew she would find nothing more in those areas but she did walk the perimeters looking further out in the hope that something had been missed. She found nothing and decided to retrace her steps. She passed the car turning area again and kept close to the hedge. She avoided the cow pats, the ponies’ piles and was amused by the similarity between the sheep’s droppings and the rabbit’s. Was it big rabbits or small sheep? She wondered; am I becoming an authority on shit?

  Her mission had achieved what she had planned but there were still anomalies that needed clarifying. Since her breakfast she had made a point of not being distracted by her surroundings and carefully looked at every aspect around her as she moved on slowly. She looked up into the hedgerow in front of her. It was originally a dry stone wall but over the years lichen, grasses and stunted trees had colonised it. Despite the density of the summer foliage a tiny glint of orange caught her eye. She looked closely; there were two spent cartridges. This was a long shot she thought and strangely she laughed aloud at the pun. She took photographs of them in situ, donned her gloves and took a plastic bag from her rucksack in order to retrieve them. At that point she had second thoughts and she rang her superior.

  ‘Where the bloody hell are you?’ was the response she received.

  She explained what she was doing and outlined her dilemma. The big question followed. ‘Can I remove them and bring them in or shall I wait for SOCO?’

  ‘Wait a minute, I will discuss it with the super and forensics and ring you back. My guess is it will be OK.’

  Shortly afterwards he returned the call and explained that providing she had taken sufficient photos as evidence it would be fine for her to bring them back. He also added, ‘How they will help without the bloody gun I don’t know.’

  Emily’s views on that issue were quite different as she gradually put together an idea of the horrible scene.

  Back at the station, it was clear that there were many finds in the morning’s search at Sable’s property. Not only were there paper files but his desktop computer and laptop contained an enormous amount of data that couldn’t be fully understood without more research. Nevertheless, Smalacombe was confident that there was sufficient evidence to charge Sable. Furthermore, Crossworth’s fingerprints were on a key ring found under the settee in Sable’s front room.

  *

  Eventually Emily arrived and breezed into the office with a big smile. The limp had gone and her ankle had responded well to her activity. Oddly she had her right hand behind her back.

  ‘Have you got them?’ Smalacombe asked testily.

  She brought her hand forward and dangled a small plastic bag in front of him with two small orange cylinders inside it. ‘Dan da da!’ she chanted, ‘I couldn’t rest so I went down there first thing.’ She dropped it on his desk.

  Smalacombe relaxed immediately. She had started work before he had. ‘Long shot!’

  ‘I’ve already considered that pun,’ she answered with a broad smile. ‘They may just be what we are looking for. Probably not, but it is worth a try.’

  Smalacombe pointed to a set of keys on his desk. ‘Here’s another dan da da! Do you know what these are?’

  ‘You bet and look at the tag,’ she pointed to it. It was a shiny silver disc with a picture of a robin attending to its nest made from an old kettle.

  Smalacombe immediately calmed down and felt embarrassed at his initial response when she rang. ‘I didn’t realise you were working when you rang, Emily.’

  ‘I just couldn’t rest. I should have kept you up to date anyway.’ She pulled up a chair and sat. ‘I’ve been thinking, Dexter, with the money stuff and his expertise, Sable is the one who buggered up the computer system, but he didn’t need to do it on Crossworth’s home computer. According to what Mr. Tagore told you someone, almost certainly Sable, had been hacking into their system for some time but he had no need to leave his house to achieve it.’

  ‘So, why steal the keys then?’

  ‘Oh come on, Geraldine wiped the computer. So, the murderer wanted access to the house for other reasons. Frankly, the computer wipe has nothing to do with it. It is a separate issue.’

  ‘So what the fuck is that issue? What was Sable doing there? Indeed, we have no evidence that he did go there.’

  ‘True! But, think on this… Geraldine also told us Crossworth loved pheasant shooting and such…’

  ‘What the fuck has that to do with anything?’ Smalacombe was aware that he was getting irritated; his language was slack, which always happened in such a situation but he could not see where she was taking the debate.

  ‘This crime stinks of retribution and unbelievable nastiness. What is that key for?’ she pointed to a particular key on the ring.

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘It’s a locker key. What if it is for Crossworth’s gun cupboard?’

  Smalacombe began to see her train of thought but in his mind it was too great a jump from reality. ‘Are you saying…’

  ‘Was Crossworth killed by his own gun?’

  ‘Fant
asy now, Emily. Doesn’t work, does it. Mrs. C said that she was aware of intruders on the Sunday evening, after the killings.’

  ‘That’s right, but she was out on Friday evening.’

  ‘What has that got to do with anything? Oh come on, this is unbelievable.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t agree with that. We know from the house search his double-barrelled shotgun is at home and it is empty. I am now convinced that the gun was taken on the Friday and what she heard on the Sunday was it being returned. We need forensics to check the weapon and these cartridges and see if there is a match. It can be done: marks on the detonator for instance.’

  ‘But, why remove the cartridges?’

  ‘Because they were thinking they could be matched with pellets and the gun. In fact they have done exactly the opposite to what they intended and they have compromised themselves, if, of course, these were fired from Crossworth’s weapon.’

  Smalacombe sank back in his chair and pressed his thumbnail against his front teeth. ‘It’s a chance in a million, Emily, but we must check it out.’ He calmed down; she had a point. ‘Well done! What a turn up if you are right. Crossworth killed by his own gun? Bloody hell! But who did it?’

  ‘Sable is still in the frame, I think. He has been paid well for something and this could be part of it.’

  ‘Can we put our trust in Mrs C?’

  ‘She had everything she wanted. Why on earth would she want to rock the boat?’ Emily reasoned.

  ‘You have still not faced the flaw in your argument. The computer wipe! Where the hell does it fit in with all of this?’

  ‘Why would Geraldine lie and put herself in the frame? That is the issue. The murderer wanted something else from the house. He didn’t want the car; it’s still at the pub. How long before we discard this scenario?’

  ‘We’ll wait for the forensics. But you still haven’t answered the question of the computer. It just doesn’t fit in with anything we have discussed. Why did Crossworth want to do that?’

  ‘As you have said, there is more than one strand to these crimes and I can’t work that one out either. There is also the business of murdering Lynley,’ she began to extend her new theory. ‘It may be less complicated but more horrible. It doesn’t necessarily follow that the murders were about personal things. If they were stalking Crossworth and found him, they couldn’t just say to her, “Excuse me, madam, whilst we kill your partner.” She was a witness, so she had to go as well. Just bloody unfortunate! Maybe the laying out thing was a sort of apology?’

  Smalacombe guffawed, ‘So, when we find the guy, we tell the judge how polite and considerate he was?’

  Emily smiled, ‘Got that wrong didn’t I? But look! How Lynley’s body was left is also very significant. Actually, something has just occurred to me. I will have to think it through before I say more.’

  ‘Why are there so many oddities: the sacking of Samantha or the fact that Lynley was at the Woodland on her own that weekend?’

  ‘Bringing Crossworth’s body all the way back to the canal is weird.’

  ‘They could have left her under the gorse bush if your point is correct. Why take the bother to move her and then lay her out as well?’

  ‘I think we’ve answered that, but it is all very odd.’

  Smalacombe was uneasy with future arrangements. ‘We’ve arranged to interview Sable this afternoon. After your pronouncements I think it might be a bit premature.’

  ‘We’ve found the keys at his home; we know he is receiving money and he is a computer expert…’

  ‘I know, but we haven’t got watertight evidence yet. His prints are not on the key ring for instance. Crossworth’s prints were the only ones there.’

  ‘The key ring was found in his front room for fuck’s sake!’ Emily was now getting as frustrated as her boss and she responded forcibly holding her palms upward in front of her. ‘He probably wore gloves. What about the hacking?’ She realised she had raised her voice a couple of octaves and took pains to calm down.

  ‘We are sure he has contravened the Data Protection Act but we don’t have enough evidence yet to be sure we can make it stick. There are still too many gaps. I can’t confront him with no escape routes.’

  ‘We can hold him for twenty four hours. Surely by then we will have evidence from his computer.’ She answered more reasonably and with a calmer voice.

  ‘What if we don’t?’

  ‘Shall I cancel it then?’

  ‘Rearrange it for Friday. I think we will have more by then.’

  ‘Police bail? The trouble is, Dexter, he could be off and we won’t see him again.’

  ‘We could bail him and I think you are right, so we will hold him. It will focus our minds to get it sorted and quickly. Tell the team the deadline to the minute. Check with the CPS first as I’m worried they won’t agree to a charge at the moment. If they are with it then get the uniforms to bring him in. We will want a thorough report for Sable’s solicitor and the CPS. Make sure that is done. I would rather use this afternoon to interview George Counter.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The farmer who lost out on the solar panel installations.’

  *

  It was midday when the pair arrived at the Counter’s farm. It was another property close to Rosten House and its ethos was much the same as Jimmy Wilde’s but a little tidier. There was a turn of the twentieth century house but all the barns had been renovated and were of nondescript design with steel girders and modern, brown corrugated metal panelling. Two large tractors were at the entrance to the biggest barn and a man was attending to one of them. He was wearing the usual farmers’ uniform of overalls, green wellington boots and a flat cap that had seen better days. He walked across to his visitors.

  ‘You’m coppers ban’t ‘ee?’

  ‘We certainly are. Mr Counter?’ Smalacombe showed him his ID, introduced himself and Emily.

  ‘You’ve come about Crossworth I s’pose.’

  ‘We understand you had a falling out with him.’

  ‘Come inside an’ I’ll tell ‘ee about it.’ He led them to the back door and they entered a large farmhouse kitchen, which smelt of jam. A long row of full jars but with no tops was arranged neatly on the table and there were many large pans, dishes and wooden utensils waiting to be washed on the worktop by the sink.

  ‘Misses have bin busy today. Time of year,’ he explained. ‘Her’s off shopping now. Runned out of sugar I think.’

  The three sat around the table. Emily relished the aroma of the fruit and felt comfortable in what was a very homely environment. ‘Tell us about your photo voltaic cell application, Mr Counter.’

  ‘Didn’t get it did I. Cost us a lot of money.’

  ‘What sort of money are we talking about?’

  ‘Well, land rental would ‘ave bin about twenty five thou a year. T’would have made a lot of difference to this place.’ He paused, ‘I knows what you’m thinking. People kills for a lot less than that. I could have killed the bugger, but I didn’t. All right?’

  ‘So far, yes. So, you’re saying Crossworth stopped it, not the district council.’

  ‘Should ‘ave come from the district, but twas ‘ee right enough. I don’t know how he does it. It seems to me ‘ee got ‘em all over a barrel. If ‘ee says no, that’s what ‘appens round ‘ere.’

  Smalacombe leant across the table, ‘Why was he opposed to it?’

  ‘Cos ‘ees got ‘is own bloody firm heb’m ‘ee.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘I knows. I also knows that ‘ee was lining it up ‘ere for ‘isself. There’s another farm not far away an’ ‘ee was in discussion with ‘em. See, Crossworth knowed that the council could only agree to one construction around ‘ere.’

  ‘Can you tell us who that was?’

  ‘Tid’n so easy as that. I don’t want to fall out with neighbours.’

  ‘How do you know all of this?’ Emily asked.

  Her intervention and her educated tones annoyed him.
‘I might not talk like you but I don’t sit ‘ere chewing hay seed all day. I knows what’s goin’ on and I makes it my business to find out. You’d be surprised what you can find out on that one,’ he nodded to the computer in the corner of the room. ‘You can’t run a business these days without one of they. I knows what I’m doin’. Look, Crossworth ’ad money everywhere.’ He went to the computer table and returned with a brochure advertising a company dealing with photo voltaic cells, which he handed to them. ‘I printed this off. Have you checked out this ‘ere lot? You just see how much A Gate Services ‘ave got invested in ’em.’

  ‘You must tell us the name of your neighbour, Mr Counter.’

  ‘Wildey.’

  ‘But, he hated Crossworth, as much as you did.’

  ‘Don’t know. I don’t blame Wildey, ‘ees entitled to the money as much I be. Good luck to ’en, but Crossworth’s a different matter. Tid’n the first time he ’ave buggered me up.’

  ‘We will look into this. Where were you on the night Crossworth was murdered?’

  ‘I was ’ere of course. Misses ‘ll confirm that and so will the daughter. Her come round with the kids.’

  They drove back to the station and for a long time in silence. Much of Counter’s account had confused them and they were both trying to rationalise it. After a while Emily broke the silence.

  ‘You told me Jimmy Wilde hated Crossworth,’ Emily was confused.

  ‘He did. He hadn’t got a good word to say about him and, it seems from the parish clerk that she understood that as well.’

  ‘But, if Crossworth was going to line Wilde’s pockets…’

  ‘Perhaps it broke down and Crossworth was looking for someone else.’

  ‘And, more probably,’ Emily continued, ‘it was only Crossworth’s pockets that were going to be lined. Sounds like Counter had a good deal, but how about Wilde?’

  ‘Sod it! Back to square one.’