by David Beard
‘Who was this chap?’
‘I can’t give you a name; it was unusual, that’s all I can remember but Manik would know.’
‘Why was Samantha sacked?’
‘Scapegoat. I challenged Conrad and he denied all knowledge of the account. He insisted that Samantha was the one lying and I was not in a position to challenge him either. So, Conrad sacked her.’
Smalacombe summed it up, ‘To save his own skin, he passed the blame on to Samantha. Can you be sure of this? Might it have been the other way around and Rollisade was right?’
‘I can be sure. I think the operation with the Luxembourg bank was too sophisticated for Samantha to set up on her own. Besides, why would she want to rip off the firm which was providing her with a good living? And, before you ask about the living Rollisade was getting from it that was coming to an end. He was going and Henry was preparing to purchase the outstanding twenty six per cent.’
‘Let me tie this up,’ Smalacombe began, ‘you and Crossworth concluded that Rollisade was responsible for the hacking and he was paying someone from his company’s funds, probably Sable, to dismantle A Gate Services.’
‘Yes, but certainly it was Sable. On that Friday lunchtime we were preparing to bring it all to you, probably on the Monday, but, of course, Henry was no longer there to do it.’
‘Do you think Rollisade was aware of how close you were to this?’ Emily asked.
‘I have no idea. Are you suggesting this would be a motive for him to…’
‘I’m just trying to clarify what you have told us.’
All of this was a revelation and the two officers were somewhat bemused. Smalacombe had so much more he wished to discuss but this had thrown his train of thought. ‘Mr Whitecroft, this information is very important to our enquiries and it has changed the complexion considerably. I think it would be in all our interests to abandon this interview now. If you provide us with the details you have of the Luxembourg account I am sure we can find someone with the power to discover who it belongs to. I don’t think we can make much more progress until it is resolved, as we may continue going in the wrong direction.’
‘I understand, Chief Inspector, and I take it you will want to see us again,’ Whitecroft made reference to his solicitor. ‘We have the account’s details here,’ and his solicitor handed them over.
‘Indeed. As soon as we can make sense of this, we will call you in and I’m sure you will be able to help us more.’
As soon as the two men left, Emily and Smalacombe could not wait to discuss how things were. They hurried back to his office, he dished out the peppermints and Emily began the conversation.
‘Dexter, this has completely thrown me. After my meeting with Olivia I turned away from Rollisade as the culprit. An hour ago I was really sure Lynley was behind it.’
‘Me too! We had both come to that conclusion. Of one thing we can be sure, Sable is the computer whizz but can we nail him before tomorrow afternoon? If he opts for no comment, we’re stuffed. I am not sure how to handle it at the moment.’
‘Whitecroft said three invoices at three eight. That’s eleven thousand four hundred. That fits with the twelve grand Sable has salted away.’
‘We’ve got to sort this bank account. Get Sheldon onto it. Trouble is, from my experience, we will be faced with stalling and bloody fudging and it could take weeks.’
‘If Rollisade has covered himself properly, maybe never.’
‘Oh come on, be positive. We can’t put it off again; I’m really worried he will do a runner.’
*
Sable appeared very relaxed but his solicitor was not happy with the police report. She was sure there was more than they had detailed. However, after a few awkward moments, she agreed for the interview to begin.
Smalacombe laid a small plastic sachet on the table and in it was a key ring with the keys spread. ‘Do you recognise these keys, Mr Sable?’
‘Of course I do; you planted them in my front room.’
Smalacombe was greatly relieved that Sable was not in a no comment mode and, although his answer was challenging, he was at least delivering one.
‘We didn’t, I assure you. So, where did you get them from?’
‘I don’t know. Why would I keep keys under the sofa? Just think for a moment, if that is not beyond your ability, I had no idea you were arriving with a search warrant, so why would I hide the damn things? I have no idea whose they are or where they came from.’
Emily spoke up, ‘I have been able to think and I will identify them for you. They are the car keys stolen from Henry Crossworth two days before he was murdered.’
Giles Sable looked genuinely surprised, ‘Then, what the hell were they doing in my front room?’
‘Funny thing, we were hoping you could tell us that,’ Smalacombe remarked.
‘Mr Sable, in the days leading up to that dreadful weekend, can you remember who came to visit you? If you are really not sure about these keys then this is very important for you.’
Sable looked to his solicitor; she shrugged and squeezed her lips together. Emily pressed on, ‘Let us narrow it, did anyone visit you on the Friday afternoon?’
‘That’s my business.’
‘Look, this is in your interests. If you claim the keys were planted then a visitor could have done it. So, did you have visitors?’
‘No comment.’
‘It appears that you are not denying you were at home but you told us you were in Brittany over that weekend.’
Giles Sable was furious with himself and he felt himself redden. He couldn’t answer the question of visitors without revealing other problems and now he was in a fix because he had overlooked his earlier alibi. He mused over the axiom that a good liar had to have a good memory.
‘We have you on CCTV at Plymouth disembarking from the Roscoff ferry on that Friday morning. We also know that you returned to Brittany on the Monday.’
‘I did, but it was sod all to do with Crossworth’s death. I didn’t murder them.’
‘You had reasons though,’ Emily took up the vanguard. ‘Heather Lynley had ruined you and Crossworth was around to see it happen.’
‘I didn’t murder them.’
‘Why did you return?’
‘No comment.’
Smalacombe realised they had progressed as far as they could on this issue and it was time to sew up the things he was sure about.
‘Mr Sable, we have analysed the hard drive on your desktop computer and there is much evidence to show that you have been regularly hacking into the account files of A Gate Services for some months. The sergeant will take you down to the desk where you will be charged with contravening the Data Protection Act.’ He looked to the solicitor, ‘And before you ask, we will raise no objections to an application for bail but there will be conditions. We have given you all the details of the evidence we now have.’
*
They returned to their desks but Smalacombe was confronted once more by Sheldon. ‘We have been very lucky, sir. We have had help from the Luxembourg police and Interpol.’
‘Already?’
‘I can’t believe it. The last time we had something like this it took three months. Once again, I have a big surprise for you.’
‘Before you speak, call in the sergeant as I can’t take another surprise without her support.’
Emily came in and Sheldon dropped his bombshell. ‘The Luxembourg account has one signatory only: Mr Conrad Rollisade.’
‘Oh bugger, why can’t we ever have something easy and straightforward?’
‘This is easy, sir,’ Emily interjected, ‘Rollisade was embezzling the money. It was his way to get his own back after losing his business and his job to mister you know who. It’s a clever wheeze; he will claim the consultant was advising him personally and it would have been hard to crack without this extra info.’
‘Of course, Sergeant but it wasn’t Sable’s account. Have we fucked it up?’
‘I’m sure we haven’
t. He did the hacking but he wasn’t working for Rollisade. It’s back to Lynley again.’
‘I thought we would now be able to sew it all up. Anyway, we now have a good reason to find Rollisade and we can arrest him. Two bits achieved at last but sod all to do with the murders. It has been a most unsatisfactory day.’
‘It has been a good day. I’m going to have to shut myself away, sir. I am beginning to see a pattern now. I think I can come up with an answer. We are back to where we were before we interviewed Whitecroft.’ Emily remained positive.
Smalacombe’s phone rang and it was the desk sergeant, ‘There is someone here to see you, sir, in connection with Mr Crossworth’s murder. He is Mr Gregory Macine.’
‘Take him to interview room two and we will be down.’
Gregory Macine stood when they entered and he shook hands with Smalacombe. He was a small man with dark receding hair and a beard that needed shaving every hour if his face was to remain tidy. Smalacombe reckoned he was a little ferret and as his occupation emerged it was an apt assessment.
‘Chief Inspector, I have been in touch with Manik Tagore and he made it very clear to me that I should come and see you. I am a private detective and as you will understand I have to keep my client’s confidentiality.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand that!’
‘Mmm. That was Mr Tagore’s attitude as well and why he had a go at me.’
‘Where does he fit in?’
‘I have done a great deal of work recently for Henry Crossworth and there is quite a large outstanding bill. I know of his murder of course but it doesn’t alter the fact that I’m still owed so I rang Tagore to find out if I could be paid through A Gate Services. Anyway, we finally agreed that he would pay provided I come to you with the information I have discovered.’ Smalacombe reasoned that the ferret’s integrity took second place to money and his opinion of Manik Tagore rose even higher.
‘Why did Crossworth hire you? From what you say, this was a private arrangement, not with his business.’
‘Well, it was private but everything about Henry was business. He had a visit from the CEO of the local district council. Apparently someone had accused Henry and a member of the council with corruption and said that when they had finalised their investigation, they would be handing over their findings to you lot.’
‘We never had anything. And, who was this?’
‘That was the big deal. It was all interrupted by the murders. Henry had plans too, but the same thing. What is also clear is the council kept it tightly under wraps. I am pretty sure no one, other than Henry, the CEO and then me were aware of it. I spoke with the CEO, I saw the letter and here is a copy of it.’ He handed it over to Smalacombe. It was word processed, it had no signature at the end or address at the top but it was dated.
‘Did you trace it?’
‘I did because, although great care had been taken to conceal the identity, the letter writer made an error that revealed who it was. Read the second sentence in the third paragraph.’
Smalacombe studied it and passed it over to his sergeant. Emily read aloud, ‘I have family who have suffered great losses this month over a planning application you have rejected for which there is no justification because similar applications are now in the offing.’
‘The thing is,’ Macine continued, ‘there were only five applications rejected that month and one was the Counter’s solar panel farm.’
‘Heather Lynley!’
‘Yes. Who else? The other four applications had no connection with Henry, weren’t in his parish and there were no similar parallel applications to match them.’
‘We were right all along, Emily. So, what was Crossworth’s take on all of this? No doubt you know of his relationship with Lynley and the big falling out.’
‘I do; need I say he was bloody furious? As you know, no one was ever allowed to put one over on him. He told me he would sort it.’
‘Why did he come to you rather than report this to us?’
‘Do I have to spell that out?’
‘Well, yes!’
‘I’m pretty sure the letter writer had a point and Henry wanted that part of the proceedings covered up.’
‘OK. What followed?’
‘I moved on to investigating Rollisade and Sable. That was bloody difficult and I didn’t really get all that far; too many things I don’t have the authority to handle. It was clear that Sable was doing the hacking and I was pretty sure that Rollisade was financing it but I couldn’t get any proof of the second bit. That was Henry’s conclusion by the way.’
‘Just to recap; Henry knew that Sable was hacking into his business, he knew that Lynley was looking to get him charged with corruption and he assumed that Rollisade was financing Sable.’ Smalacombe decided to divulge nothing further.
‘That’s how I see it, yes.’
‘Mr Macine, thank you very much indeed. We may need to get back to you.’
‘That’s fine. Would you please tell Tagore I’ve been here and I think I will get paid then?’
‘Will do!’
Smalacombe returned to his office with Emily. ‘Well, well, well, where the hell do we start with all of this? First of all I’ve got to get on with this bloody thing,’ he pointed to his computer.
He drove home feeling exhausted. The weekend was a welcoming prospect.
On the Saturday morning he felt no better and he vowed to do as little as possible. He began with a leisurely breakfast and by ten o’clock he was still at the table reading his morning paper. Freda was busy; the washing machine and dishwasher were on, she was tidying up the kitchen and planning their evening meal. The family were returning home from their holiday in France and she was wondering if they would be organised enough to see them on the Sunday. She felt annoyed that she was using up her weekend with the chores and working around him whilst he sat reading the sports section. However, she did recognise that he was under great pressure and now was not the best time to complain. On the contrary, he desperately needed her support. She made them coffee and sat at the table with him.
Smalacombe checked his watch, ‘Bit early for coffee isn’t it?’
‘Thank you would have been a better response.’
Smalacombe sensed she was in a challenging mood and decided to return to his paper.
‘Dexter, how long can we put up with this? You are knackered, I can tell.’
‘I think we will clear this case up by next weekend.’
‘And then there will be another one. Why is it your responsibility all the time?’
‘Trouble is, in August and early September we are short staffed anyway. Just tell the bloody politicians.’
‘But running around like this isn’t your job is it?’
‘I know! I should be in my office telling other people what to do. Sheila isn’t happy either. Much of my work is on her table now. She’s giving me stick as well. I am surrounded by unhappy women.’
‘What about Mrs Two Brains?’
‘She hurt her ankle last weekend. It messed things up a bit.’
‘Poor thing. I am serious, Dexter, somehow you have to get yourself better organised. Can’t you say no?’
‘I am trying to answer that but I can’t utter the word.’
‘Please promise me that you won’t even think of work today.’
‘I’m struggling with that same word again.’
‘Why don’t you go out and tidy the garden? Shall we go somewhere, do something? What you must do today is occupy yourself and your mind will be on a different track.’
‘Chiefs are at home today. First match of the season.’
‘Then go along.’
‘Only if you come as well.’
‘Rugby is boring; big blokes running around knocking each other over. If they do that this evening outside a pub you’ll be arresting them.’
‘I put up with your bloody craft fair last weekend and with no moans.’
‘That’s different.’
&nb
sp; ‘Too right! It was your idea.’
‘Oh, Dex, don’t go on. I’ll come to the rugby with you and we can have a meal out somewhere.’
‘I will only return to thinking of work if they lose. I will promise that.’
‘In that instance you will be bloody miserable whatever you think about. Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea after all.’
‘Life is all about risk. I think they will win.’
‘I hope so.’
*
On the other side of town Emily was determined to devote her energies to her relationship with Hector but she was conscious of the fact that she kept slipping back to her case notes and the inexplicable events that confronted her and the team. The disaster of the previous weekend was still worrying and her stupidity in riding her cycle and looking for avocets at the same time made her angry. How could she make up for all of this and give Hector a memorable weekend but this time for all the right reasons?
She stopped off at the supermarket on her way home and stocked up with the best vegetables she could find, a cut of venison, a bottle of Bordeaux, a pack of Hector’s favourite blue berries and some Devonshire cream (prepared in Cornwall, which irked her). She had decided to make a big effort to provide Hector with a weekend of the best food she could muster. Kitchen skills were not her forte and she was determined to catch up on Hector’s expertise. She had found a recipe, which was a challenge but she was sure it would provide a banquet of which she would be proud.
By the Sunday evening she was feeling low. Hector cuddled her and pecked her cheek, ‘It wasn’t your fault, Emily.’
‘I am so upset; why does it all go wrong for me?’
‘This was because more powerful influences intervened.’
Emily began her cooking mission on Saturday afternoon in preparation for an evening meal. She had taken great care in setting the table. She had spent hours in the morning deciding on what clothes to wear. The cooking arrangements went smoothly to begin with, the venison and all the trimmings were in the oven, which filled the kitchen with an aroma that enhanced her hunger, not only for the food but also for success. It was going well.
