by David Beard
‘And the rest is history as they say.’
‘Not exactly, Chief Inspector. He was charming, considerate, loving, all of those things and always has been, to me at any rate, but I wasn’t interested in settling down with someone who would be missing for years on end. We’d all seen too much of that with Kelvin.’
‘Classic Hollywood tale then: strong woman reforms her man, gets him in a suit, a collar and tie, gets him a job and sees that he goes to church on Sundays.’
‘Something like that. And, for what it’s worth, it worked and for quite a long time.’
‘You ran a pub in Wiltshire with him, Mrs. Wright,’ Tiley prompted.
‘It’s Miss, for the record and I much prefer Mavis if you don’t mind. I’ve always been in the pub business and it was a good way to get him away from the likes of Kelvin, who I banned from our premises incidentally. Brian was a great partner there; we worked hard, built up a good business.’
‘So, why did it go wrong when you came down here?’
‘The lease ran out in Wiltshire. We could have renewed it but we thought we would try something different, so we came down here. Everything was fine for a while and then one day I returned from a shopping trip to find Kelvin here.’ A passing lorry distracted her and she turned to look out of the window as it flashed by. She paused for a moment and fiddled with a beer mat in front of her. ‘I was bloody furious, as I guessed there was something afoot.’
‘And was there?’
‘Kelvin was besotted with this pro.’
‘Anna Turle,’ Smalacombe interrupted.
‘Oh, you know about that?’
‘Too right we do and there’s a lot more besides.’
‘Well, Anna and her mate were doing business with these people at the Longtor Manor. You know all about that of course and so does everyone else who reads the papers. But, what you may not know is that Kelvin saw his chance, too. He was supplying Hillman with his drugs.’
‘You don’t think much of your brother do you Mavis?’
‘He’s a shit, Mr. Smalacombe. As far as I’m concerned he’s nothing to do with me. He killed my mother with the worry of it all and the only time I’m relaxed is when he’s inside and out of harm’s way. In this case, blood isn’t thicker than water.’
‘So, where does Constance fit into all of this?’
‘Kelvin suggested he supply them with all the booze. Now, it was a big deal; I mean, we’re not talking half pints of pale ale and a packet of crisps here. It was a dozen crates of Moet and Chandon, a van load of Chivas Regal and the like.’
‘I guess you weren’t keen to take it on, despite the fact that it was probably good business.’
‘I wanted nothing to do with it, especially as Kelvin was involved. I knew, in the end it would all blow up in our faces. It was a lot of money to turn away, but in my view it was all on the slippery slope again.’
‘So, Mr. Constance wouldn’t take no for an answer?’ Tiley suggested.
‘We had a huge row about it and I told him if he took it on he was on his own and I would leave.’
‘So, you did. But, what did you do about the business, dealings with the licensing authorities, signing cheques and the like? All of that was in your name wasn’t it?’
‘I came back every so often and dealt with it. He could sign the cheques anyway and deal with the money. I didn’t really care, if it went to the wall, well, it went to the wall. It may sound smaltzy but it was my relationship with Brian that mattered, not the bloody business. It was good up to that point, very good, and now I’d lost it.’ There was a hint of a tear and she bit her lip and looked away. For the first time during this whole investigation Smalacombe realised he was talking to someone who was genuine. This lady was a decent sort who had made a go of her life when surrounded by idiots and thugs.
‘Are you saying, because the Longtor thing was over, you thought Brian was returning to the fold? Is that why you decided to come back?’
‘Perhaps! I assumed, when he rang, that he just wanted a week or two away, but now I’m not so sure.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I came back two days ago and what I have found is mind blowing.’
‘There are a lot of debts, we know that,’ Tiley said quietly.
‘That’s the thing, there aren’t,’ she answered.
Smalacombe was puzzled; he’d seen the court orders. ‘There is something like fifteen grand in small claims outstanding.’
‘There was, Chief Inspector, but not now.’
‘You mean you’ve paid it off.’
‘What? Not me! Where would I get fifteen grand?’
‘I don’t follow this at all,’ Smalacombe said and rubbed his forehead as he spoke.
‘I found the court orders in a drawer, the day I came back. I was nearly beside myself with worry. So, I checked the bank balance on the Internet and it was nearly ten grand in credit.’
‘You mean, he had the money but wasn’t paying up?’
‘No, I don’t mean that at all. It was ten grand in credit, after all the orders were cleared. Look, I came down here on Tuesday evening. All of the debts were cleared on the Monday.’
All three looked at one another. There had to be an obvious explanation to such an absurd position.
‘How did such a small business run up such large debts in the first place?’
‘Oh, that’s easy to explain,’ she said with great assurance, ‘Hillman didn’t pay his bills. We’re talking four or five grand a shot, it soon adds up.’
‘So, your assumption about Kelvin and his business deal was right.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘So, when did the money come into the account?’
‘Last week sometime, I can’t remember the exact day. Funny thing though, I rang the bank and checked. It was all in cash, untraceable notes.’
‘It couldn’t have been paid from Winsom’s estate, probate hasn’t been granted, nor is it likely to be for a while yet and as Hillman is in custody…’
‘It doesn’t add up anyway, Chief Inspector. Hillman owed around fifteen, this deposit was twenty-five,’ she interrupted following Smalacombe’s line of thought.
‘Twenty-five thousand?’ Smalacombe was incredulous. ‘Jesus!’
Clive Tiley’s mobile sprang to life. He walked from the table and answered it. When he returned he spoke to Smalacombe. ‘That was DC Crabtree, sir, he’s got something for us; he hopes we can get back before he leaves.’
‘Of course we can, he bloody stays ‘til we get there.’
‘I think he’s been reading the internal mail sir: restrictions on overtime and all that.’
‘Bloody woman,’ Smalacombe spat it out and realised that two deep brown eyes were studying him closely. ‘No, not you, Mavis,’ he said apologetically, ‘it’s someone else I have to deal with on a regular basis.’
As they drove up the outside lane of the A38 towards Exeter, Smalacombe and Tiley were still at a loss to explain all of Mavis Wright’s revelations. However, of one thing they were both sure; Derek Ricket alias Brian Constance had done a runner.
‘There’s no doubt in my mind, Clive, that Constance isn’t coming back, unless we drag him. He’s in this up to his neck.’
‘It’s the money thing I don’t understand. Why leave twenty five grand in notes behind and where did it come from in the first place?’
‘Parting shot maybe! He’s let her down and it’s his way of settling things.’
‘That’s not how the criminal mind works Clive. They don’t give up that sort of dosh that easily. If he was planning to do a runner, he would have taken the lot with him.’
‘Are you saying we got another murder on our hands?’
‘She gave him the only secure time he has had in his life. There’s no doubt in my mind that they had a really good thing going and he fucked it up. He’s shown he can lead a normal life with her. I don’t think he would walk out on her and leave her with bankruptcy proceedings.’
‘Well, you’ve seen her, what do you think?’
‘A beautiful women no doubt, stunning in fact; I can quite see how she could change a life with the old come on. She’s also got a hell of a lot of drive. Perhaps there is something in your assessment. But, what I don’t understand is, where did the money come from?’
‘Goodness knows but I have a funny feeling that Crabtree might just lead us there.’
Detective Constable Crabtree was still at his desk when they breezed in. As he passed, Smalacombe tapped him on the shoulder, ‘You wanted to see me, son,’ he said and marched on to his office.
Crabtree followed them in and found himself a spare chair. Smalacombe moved the in-tray to one side in order to put his feet up. He sat back and handed round the peppermints.
Crabtree opened the proceedings. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ he began.
‘No bad news today, lad, only good and very good, I’m sure of it.’
‘OK, well in that context, the good news is that there’s nothing to connect Budge with the shotgun.’
‘That is bad,’ Smalacombe said adding some confusion to the discussion.
‘However,’ DC Crabtree said hurriedly before Smalacombe could continue, ‘the cartridge box has his and Constance’s prints all over it.’
‘That means Budge was sourcing the ammo and Constance was delivering it,’ Tiley reasoned.
Smalacombe looked thoughtful and nodded slowly. ‘And Crouche was providing the meat for the kitchen. I’ll go along with that.’
‘The very good news is, we’ve identified the prints that are on the gun,’ Crabtree pressed on with his discoveries.
‘Eli Crouche’s, that’s obvious.’
‘His are all over the place, that’s true, after all it’s his gun. The key on his key ring fits the lock, so that confirms it without a doubt, but he wasn’t the last one to fire it. Derek Ricket was.’ Tiley whistled through his teeth at this revelation.
‘Let’s call him Constance. What with Winsom and Cooper, Hillman and Piggman and now Constance, I don’t know who we’re dealing with half of the time,’ moaned Smalacombe. Suddenly all the loose ends from the afternoon’s conversation began to fit into place. ‘Tell me, can they connect the gun with the murder?’
‘Well, shotguns aren’t like rifles sir, but there’s little doubt that the pellets came from the spent cartridges. They’ve got more work to do on it but they are ninety nine percent sure at the moment that this is the murder weapon. I’m sure it will be confirmed shortly.’
‘I reckon, sir,’ Tiley said, slowly, ‘that Constance killed Winsom because it was she and her old man who cocked up his business and probably ruined his relationship with Mavis as well.’
‘It’s a good enough reason and I expect there’s some substance in it, Sergeant but there is more to it isn’t there? What about the money? We’ve got a contract killing on our hands. Somebody paid him to do it and he had good reason to oblige.’
‘That means we’ve been on the right track all along. It can only be Golding or Hempson.’
‘Right, but which one?’ He looked across to the detective constable, ‘Is Barry Sheldon still in?’
‘He was when you came in, sir.’
‘Get him up here quick.’ Crabtree left the office and Smalacombe helped himself to another peppermint. Tiley looked on longingly. Smalacombe made a big play of putting them back in his pocket.
‘Looks like Budge is off the hook, Dexter,’ Tiley said with a note of disappointment.
‘The Met won’t be too pleased, but if Mavis is right they can get him for dealing, so it’s not all bad news and there’s the cartridge thing. Make sure they know.’
Smalacombe once again fell into deep thought and Tiley knew it wasn’t just that he was waiting for the constables to return. Smalacombe was off on a train of thought that didn’t fit with the conclusions that had been presented.
‘I sense you’re unhappy about this Dexter,’ Tiley said.
‘It seems to fit Clive, except for one thing. We still haven’t resolved what the earring was doing lying in the pool. If it was Constance, then where did he get it from?’
This comment reduced Tiley to silence also. DC Sheldon was opening the door before Tiley had worked out his response. ‘We’ll have to sort it with Eli Crouche.’
‘Some hopes!’
‘You wanted to see me, sir,’ Barry Sheldon loomed in the doorway with DC Crabtree close behind.
‘I want you to find out everything you can about the finances of Johnnie Hempson and Rita Golding. Somewhere along the line one of them will have used up twenty-five grand in the last two weeks or so. Now, neither will have been so stupid to have gone and drawn it out over the counter from their deposit account. This money found its way into the Dog and Rabbit’s account and I want to know how it got there and who provided it. It’s a tough one lad, but you’ve got ten minutes.’
Crabtree looked to each person in the room in turn. ‘But Sir, I…’
Smalacombe grinned broadly, ‘I’m only joking Barry, when you can, but it is urgent. And Tony, will you send out an alert to all ports and airports and all other forces to pick up Derek Ricket alias Brian Constance on suspicion of the murder of Rebecca Winsom.’
‘What about the press, sir?’
‘Good lad, get a mug shot for them as well.’
CHAPTER 20
Friday July 14th
Friday’s activities were the result of an event that took place on Thursday morning.
Eddie and Millie Entwhistle left their home in Doncaster early on Thursday morning to drive to a small village in the Kent countryside between Ashford and Canterbury to take a holiday with Millie’s brother and his wife. It was not a trip that either of them relished, as now they were retired, long car journeys were expensive, rare occurrences and something of an ordeal.
The preparation was meticulous; the car was serviced, the emergency repair kit checked, replenished and double-checked and a new map purchased from their local filling station just in case new roads had been built since they bought the last one a year ago. A picnic of substantial proportions was prepared on the evening before, packed in plastic containers and placed in the fridge. Two thermos flasks had been washed and sterilised and special plastic cups, plates, and cutlery had been bought when they did their last big shop at at their local supermarket. The AA had been consulted about road works en-route; engine oil and a full can of petrol had been deposited in the boot. Eddie had been to the library to investigate which radio station broadcast the most comprehensive traffic news and his insurance and driving licence had been checked for their dates of expiry. Antarctic expeditions had scarcely been planned with greater attention to detail.
Although it was Eddie’s express wish that the food was prepared, Millie was ambivalent about its importance, as Eddie was ever conscious of the distance remaining on the journey and was very reluctant to stop. The food, he reminded her, was there for emergencies. Stranded, isolated in the middle of nowhere, which most people would be hard pressed to find on the motorways between Yorkshire and Kent, was a recurring nightmare but with enough sustenance to last a fortnight Eddie felt able to cope. This took no account of Millie’s preferences, which included a regular rest to stretch her legs, browse through the service station shops and to have a cup of tea, which Eddie reminded her was a waste of money as there was more than enough on board.
In addition, now that she was older, her bladder was no longer capable of carrying out its function efficiently and the stops had now become essential rather than desirable.
His need to keep going had been a bone of contention between them for all of their married life and Millie knew that any hope of changing him was as remote as Doncaster Rovers winning the Champions League. The sooner we get there, the sooner we finish was his philosophy, despite the fact that fifty five miles an hour was his personal speed restriction. In consequence, the sum total of their c
onversation was of Millie dropping hints about what a nice place this looked or that a name on the road sign was a place she always wanted to visit. Age had softened Eddie a little and he did succumb and stopped, just for once he reminded her a dozen times, in a service station on the M1 south of Birmingham. However, by the time they reached the M25, Millie was desperately in need of another toilet break.
Eddie explained that there were no services on the stretch of the London orbital they were using but had he bothered to have read his map a little more thoroughly he would have seen that there was one just before the M26. It was possible, of course that he had done his homework but had no intention of stopping again. As he saw the signs as they approached it he detracted Millie’s attention and sailed past. By the time they were deep in Kent on the M20 to Ashford, Millie’s protestations were ignored, as in his view they would soon be at Sid and Elsie’s where she could relieve herself in comfort.
The truth was that Millie knew she could not contain it for that length of time. Her bladder was now so full that she was in considerable discomfort and by the time they left the M20 for the A roads she told her husband that he would have to stop at the next lay-by or deal with the consequences himself. After much acrimony, he finally gave in a second time and pulled in to a lay-by at the side of a wooden copse, which seemed an ideal place to solve Millie’s problem.
Millie rushed from the car; unable to stand upright and crouching, holding her abdomen she made her way through a broken fence and into the woodland. It was a wild unkempt place with mossy broken branches strewn about and covered in bracken and brambles. She followed a thin path that had been carved out by countless people on similar missions to herself, which was lined with the rubbish of the fast food devotee and soiled tissues. She took no notice, as she was too preoccupied with her own plight. All she wanted was to walk far enough to obtain the privacy she needed. She looked over her shoulder to check and was relieved to find that she could still see Eddie in the car but that the road was no longer visible to her.
