Shadows and Sins (The Falconer Files Book 13)

by Andrea Frazer

  ‘Carmichael, will you print out the list that Jefferson Grammaticus sent through for me, please? I need to check it.’

  ‘But it’s a huge list, sir.’

  ‘That’s immaterial. I have to search for something on it.’

  Finally, he telephoned Araminta Wingfield-Hayes in Stoney Cross, who confirmed what he had begun to suspect. His checking-up being finished, and his theory more or less confirmed, he rushed out of the meeting room, leaving everyone gaping in his wake, and immediately sought a couple of search warrants before selecting his officers. He’d also requested a man experienced in the art of detecting old blood stains invisible to the human eye.

  ‘What’s got you so fired up, sir?’ asked Carmichael as they got out of the car.

  ‘I don’t want to explain in case I’m wrong, and Jelly will have my danglies for earrings,’ he replied. ‘But a dream I had last night might have proved to be a message from my subconscious that I simply hadn’t been able to listen to before.’

  ‘Wossat, sir?’ asked the sergeant confused.

  ‘Just do as I request, and I’ll explain everything later,’ he clipped. ‘Tomlinson, get that door open. I expect the man’s out at work. All the better for us, if we don’t have him around whining. I just hope no one’s seen us and we can get in and out without him being tipped off.’ As he gave this instruction, he took a set of lock picks from his pocket which he had temporarily and unofficially liberated from the evidence room. ‘Here, use these.’

  ‘What are we looking for, sir?’ asked Tomlinson.

  ‘Anything that looks like a work diary. Where’s the man with the blood detection equipment?’

  ‘I’m here,’ announced a deep bass voice from behind them.

  ‘OK, do your stuff on the interior, then I want you to follow me if you don’t find anything. Pay particular attention to the bathroom.’

  That search ended fruitlessly, but they pressed on to the second address that Falconer needed to check. A sideboard yielded a large diary which detailed jobs for the last twelve months, now discarded in favour of one for the current year, and it didn’t take long for him to find what he expected to, in an entry a year ago. It was to supply and fit a new gate for the front of Robin’s Perch, Shepford St Bernard.

  As the search was continuing, the unexpected arrival of Mortimer put a temporary halt to their progress – and he was in quite a temper. ‘I thought we’d tidied it up pretty well,’ commented Carmichael inappropriately, while Falconer made apologetic noises about having to disturb his private living quarters. He then went on to explain to him what they were looking for, and he seemed to understand the importance of them finding evidence, so he turned to go away, temporarily satisfied, and even offered to help at one point.

  ‘Do you happen to know where Mr Perkins is working at the moment?’ asked Falconer.

  ‘I think he’s on that big job at Ford Hollow. You do know that he’s been working away, though, don’t you?’

  ‘I had no idea,’ replied the inspector. ‘Can you give me any details?’

  ‘It was somewhere in Lincoln, I think. He was going up early Monday mornings and not coming back until the Friday nights. He’s only just started on the Ford Hollow development.’ So, he was there when Marilyn Slade’s body had been found. That must have shaken him up a bit.

  ‘And how long was this for?’

  ‘I think he started about the end of last spring. Why?’

  ‘Just curiosity, Mr Mortimer,’ hedged Falconer, flicking through the man’s work diary again. Yes, Mortimer had been spot on. There were only a couple of references to where the site was, but he saw a few mentions of Lincoln that were more than confirmatory. ‘Man-with-techy stuff, please,’ he called, thinking that he really should have introduced himself properly.

  ‘Interior, please,’ he requested, and the man began to draw the curtains and spray Luminol around the room in which they were standing. Having uncovered nothing incriminating, he was directed, first to the kitchen, then upstairs. ‘With special attention to the bathroom, again, if you’d be so kind.’

  ‘You’re too polite for your own good,’ commented Tomlinson, but Falconer was too busy staring out of the kitchen window. There was a fair-sized shed at the bottom of the narrow garden, and he was suddenly desperate to have a look inside it.

  ‘Nothing up here,’ declared the man with the spray as he trotted down the stairs, and the inspector explained about the wooden structure outside. Leading the way, Falconer almost ran towards the outbuilding, only to be temporarily thwarted by the large padlock that secured the door.

  ‘Carmichael, heavy metal implement, if you would be so kind.’

  ‘They’ll all be in the shed, won’t they, sir?’

  Tomlinson had headed off, however, and returned a couple of minutes later with a crowbar. ‘In the cupboard under the stairs,’ he stated by way of explanation, and the inspector used it to prise off the clasp that held the padlock secure.

  As he threw open the door he thought he must be wrong. There were no visible signs of a body having been dismembered in its interior. In fact, the whole interior was coated in a dark creosote-like substance and the concrete floor looked spotless. Oh God, maybe he had been wrong after all. He felt a great wave of failure and foolishness wash over him until the man with the spray asked them to leave while he covered the window. When he’d done his stuff and reopened the door, there was all the evidence they needed to make an arrest.

  When they had all squashed inside to witness it, he sprayed again, and almost the whole of the floor showed traces, glowing blue in the semi-darkness, of having had blood splashed about liberally. Although a dead body might not spurt arterial blood, it certainly gave off a lot of the red stuff if it was cut up, and this was clearly where Bonnie Fletcher had been dismembered. Further forensic tests would prove it. ‘And I suppose no one would think anything was wrong if they heard a handyman using an electric saw in his shed. No neighbour would suspect anything. They’d just think he was making something,’ the inspector whispered, almost to himself.

  ‘These walls look newly painted,’ said the techy, ‘we’ll bring in the new infra-red camera which can detect blood traces through several layers of paint.’

  Tomlinson had temporarily wandered off, but he now came racing down the garden waving his arms. ‘Perkins is back,’ he hissed.

  ‘Great,’ said Falconer, ‘At least we don’t have to go find him. Are there any cuffs in the car?’ he asked, as they were not in his inconvenient two-seater.

  ‘There are indeed. I made sure of it before we left.’ Tomlinson was turning into a very satisfactory officer.

  ‘Right, Tomlinson, to the car to get them. I’ll go back and cover the rear, you, Carmichael, go to the front door and get his attention. We’ll have him in custody between us.’

  The three men separated, and in a short time they had their bird in handcuffs. He had submitted with only token resistance, as if he had known the game was up. Granted, he had submitted while yelling for a solicitor, and with a little light persuasion from the sergeant, but it wasn’t long before they had him back in Market Darley police station, booked in by the custody officer and waiting in a cell.

  ‘But how did you know it was him, sir?’ asked Carmichael, when the man was safely locked away. ‘I mean, apart from the presence of blood. How did you know to go there?’

  ‘Telephone,’ one of the DCs called across the office.

  Slightly annoyed at his big moment being interrupted, the inspector took the handset and found Timothy Driscoll on the other end of the call.

  ‘You told me to get in touch if I remembered who did those estimates for me,’ he stated. ‘I’ve actually come across them in a box of papers I brought back with me. Do you want me to bring them in?’

  ‘Who were they submitted by?’

  ‘A bloke called Perkins – general building and decorating work undertaken, according to this paperwork.’

  ‘I’ll get someone right over t
o collect them. Thank you, Mr Driscoll, for taking the time to find them.’

  ‘The box needed sorting through. You gave me the extra push. It’s a lot better than being a suspect in a multiple murder case.’

  ‘You’re right there, sir. And in any case, as you weren’t in England when the first two women disappeared, we didn’t seriously consider you,’ replied Falconer, his fingers crossed behind his back because, of course, they had done. ‘I’ll dispatch an officer straight away to collect those estimates from you.’

  ‘What was that all about?’ asked Carmichael.

  ‘Just another piece of the jigsaw falling into place. Anyway, I’ll have to go and interview Mr Perkins, as I’m quite sure his solicitor will have arrived by now. Carmichael, you come in with me. Tomlinson, you can stand duty at the door. That way you’ll hear a lot of the story, then I can return here to apprise the whole team of the outcome of these murders.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  In the interview room, Falconer faced his opponent. After starting the tapes and confirming the date and the names of those present, he began the questioning.

  ‘Can you confirm that you carried out estimates for refurbishment of flats at number seven King George III Terrace in Stoney Cross in spring 2009?’

  ‘Can’t remember; I do a lot of jobs.’

  ‘Did you meet any of the occupants of those flats?’

  ‘Don’t remember.’

  ‘Did you then go on to strangle a woman living in one of those flats, by the name of Suzie Doidge, and dump her body in a ditch in the vicinity of Market Darley on or after 10th April 2009?’

  ‘This is outrageous, Inspector. Surely this is not an approved interviewing tactic,’ stated the solicitor.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Mr Perkins, can you confirm that you carried out the redecoration of the cottage next door to your own, number two Drovers Lane, Castle Farthing? You will remember that you denied that you knew the tenant, Annie Symons, in a previous interview.’

  ‘No comment,’ replied Perkins.

  ‘I really must object to this form of questioning. Nothing has been proved against my client.’

  ‘Did you then go on to kill the tenant, Annie Symons, stabbing her with a blade, and concealing her body in the woods to the south of Castle Farthing on or after 17th May 2009?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Did you hang and fit a new front door at number six Prince Albert Terrace, in Steynham St Michael, in January 2010?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘And did you go on to kill the occupant of said property, Marilyn Slade, by stabbing her, and then burying her body in a shallow grave, on wasteland near the ford on the outskirts of Ford Hollow during or after January 2010?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I shall be making a formal complaint about your questioning technique, Inspector Falconer,’ interjected the solicitor.

  ‘Did you carry out duties in regard to the refurbishment of a country hotel known as The Manse, near Carsfold, in the late spring of 2010?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘And did you go on to conceal the body of a young woman by the name of Melanie Saunders, whom you had killed by cutting her throat, at said hotel, beside the recently turned-over land on which the new driveway was laid, sometime in May of 2010?’

  ‘Utterly outrageous and untenable.’ The solicitor was trying his hardest to throw Falconer, but he hadn’t exactly got up and left, or insisted that the interview be terminated.

  ‘No comment.’ This was said in the voice of a man not quite so sure of himself. Perkins’ solicitor gave him a sideways glance, his face a mask of dawning defeat.

  ‘Did you hang a new front gate at Robin’s Perch in Shepford St Bernard for a Miss Bonnie Fletcher?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘And did you then kill Miss Fletcher, the owner of the aforementioned property, dismember her body in the garden shed at your home, number three Drovers Lane in Castle Farthing, and dispose of the body parts in the septic tank while you were re-laying some of the drains at a house known as The Mill, in Stoney Cross, during February 2011?’

  ‘I think I need a private word with my client, if you’d be so good.’

  Perkins sat in absolute silence after this last question, and refused to utter another word for the rest of the time the three detectives were in the room, and totally ignored his legal representative.

  ‘I should like a little time to consult with my client,’ requested the stunned solicitor once more, and the interview was formally concluded.

  As Perkins, together with his solicitor, was led back to his cell to undertake the interview that the man’s legal representative so needed to have with his client, Falconer and his two colleagues returned to the rest of the team in the large room that they now considered their home office for the duration of this investigation.

  Calling for silence, he addressed all the officers who had assisted him with computer work and house-to-house enquiries, but before he could begin his explanation of how light had dawned on him of the probable culprit, a young DC at the back of the room shot to his feet, a hand in the air like an eager schoolboy. ‘Sir, sir,’ he exclaimed, ‘I’ve finally located that cousin in Australia!’ he yelled, a look of triumph on his face.

  With the slightest of smirks on his face, Falconer said, ‘How very satisfying for you, Constable.’ This was his show time and he’d run it his way.

  ‘I had a dream last night,’ he announced self-importantly, ‘about a giant red door, and I had no idea what it meant.’ A sea of quizzical faces turned towards him at this strange remark. ‘It recurred in so many of my dreams that I realised it must mean something. When it came to me, it was stunningly obvious what my mind had picked up without informing the conscious me.

  ‘On this investigation, we had come across a door that had been the latest piece of work done on the property in Prince Albert Terrace. This front door was only a couple of years old, whereas the window frames and the general state of repair on the outside of the house indicated that this had been a piece of work carried out on its own, and it got me thinking.

  ‘I’d been desperate to find a link between all these dead women. Just as an aside, I did at one point wonder if it might be the lonely hearts column of the Carsfold Gazette, but a couple of chats with the editor soon put me off that tack. Now, my mind also dredged up the unappreciated fact that Annie Symon’s cottage had just been redecorated before she disappeared.

  ‘We didn’t really make enough of the fact that Mortimer and Perkins could turn their hands to just about anything. It was only earlier today that I confirmed by telephone with Mr Bridger, the owner of the Drovers Lane property, that Perkins had done the decorating, even though he’d never volunteered this information or even admitted to having been in the house, let alone having known Ms Symons.

  ‘It had also come to our notice that Mr Driscoll had estimates done for the refurbishment of the King George III Terrace property. As luck would have it, after we had established that he couldn’t have committed the first two murders, he was rummaging through a box of sundries that he had brought back from France, when he happened to come across the estimates sent to him while he was out of England on his European adventure. What an act of serendipitous synchronicity that was for us. The estimates were done by Simeon Perkins.

  ‘Mr Jefferson Grammaticus, the owner of The Manse, sent a list of all the works done for the conversion of the country house into an hotel, and I was able to ascertain that Mr Perkins was working at the place both before and after the unexecuted job interview Mr Grammaticus had scheduled with Melanie Saunders. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to conceal himself on the property, or in the unsecured woods behind it, and drag in a body that needed disposing of, to the recently turned soil waiting for its topcoat of the drive.

  ‘So far, so good. Now we come to Bonnie Fletcher, whose disappearance from her home in Shepford St Bernard was the only one initially reported to us, and w
hom we didn’t realise was part of this killing spree. Miss Wingfield-Hayes, in whose septic tank Fletcher’s body parts were found, had had some work done on a partially collapsed drain pipe at about the time that the woman went missing. The workman was Simeon Perkins.

  ‘We now believe that he dismembered her body in his garden shed and disposed of the parts during his works at Stoney Cross. Forensics is gathering evidence not only from his shed but from his van. Miss Wingfield-Hayes has confirmed that she stayed with a friend locally while she was unable to use her sanitary facilities, and so Perkins would have had easy unhindered access to the tank.

  ‘Poor Suzie Doidge, that most difficult to locate lady, had had her body unceremoniously dumped in a ditch in a remote part of some farming land.’

  ‘When I put together the information that we already had, scant though it was, and made a few phone calls to confirm what I already suspected, I was proved right. I just needed to eliminate the other builder, Mike Mortimer, as they worked together sometimes. No need to cheer, lads,’ he said, giving a little bow. ‘But it was the only connection that could be established between all our victims.’

  ‘We just have to hope, now that Simeon Perkins knows that he’s been rumbled, without knowledge of the amount of solid evidence we’ve got, that he cracks and confesses all to his solicitor, then signs a full confession. I think I rattled him during our very one-sided “no comment” interview, during which his solicitor went from purple with rage to white with shock.

  ‘We’ve got him until tomorrow afternoon, anyway, and I want to set something up for the morning. I’m going to bring in someone who might be able to work on him from a psychological point of view.’ This produced not only a slight smile from him, but also from Carmichael.

  ‘It’ll be nice to see Dr Dubois again,’ the sergeant commented, seemingly in innocence.