Her interest sharpened. ‘You’d better sit down, Martin, and tell me all about it.’
The young constable perched on the edge of the chair, looking as if he’d rather turn tail and run.
‘I feel terrible, in a way, coming to you like this. I mean, what’s going to happen to Jilly if her father is in serious trouble? But I couldn’t - I couldn’t stay quiet and say nothing, not after what I’d seen. And anyway, he’s not Jilly’s real father, and he’s behaved very badly to her and . . .’
‘Get to the point,’ said Boulter. ‘The chief inspector hasn’t got all day.’
Denby gulped. ‘I was off duty yesterday and I met Jilly at lunchtime. I’d bought some sandwiches, and we drove round to the park and sat in my car eating them. Jilly’s still terribly upset about Knox getting killed and his body being dumped like that. She wasn’t in love with him and she didn’t want to marry him, but she was still fond of him in a sort of way, and this whole thing has been really traumatic for the poor girl. But on top of all that, she told me yesterday that her father has been absolutely horrible to her. When they first heard that Knox had been found dead - murdered - Mr Murdoch, instead of trying to comfort Jilly, turned really nasty and started shouting that it was all her fault and it would never have happened if she hadn’t got involved with Slater in the first place.’
‘All Jillian’s fault that Knox was killed?’ Kate queried in astonishment.
‘He went nearly berserk, apparently. As if he hardly knew what he was saying. Jilly’s mother was crying and everything, but he just kept on shouting and yelling like a raving madman. That’s what Jilly told me. And ever since then he’s been really unpleasant. Jilly didn’t want to tell me, but yesterday it all came pouring out. She was in no fit state to go back to work, but she insisted on going. She said there was an auction being held that afternoon, and she mustn’t let people down. So after I’d dropped her off, I decided to go and see Mr Murdoch and tell him he’d got to lay off Jilly, and stop thinking he can rule her whole life. Jilly and I love each other. We both know that now, ma’am, and we want to get married. And I’m not going to let Murdoch ruin things for us when we could be so happy.’
Kate heard Boulter growling with impatience, but she gave him a tiny shake of the head. Martin was volunteering information he thought was important, and he must be allowed to tell his story in his own way.
‘Go on, Martin.’
‘Well, ma’am, I drove straight to Murdoch’s wine warehouse over by St Agnes-in-the-Wold, but he wasn’t there. His secretary told me she was expecting him back any time, though, so I thought I might as well hang about for him. I’d left my car in a lay-by across the lane. I decided to wait for him there, where I’d get a clear view of him driving in in his Jaguar. I was stuck there for ages, and I was wondering if Murdoch had changed his plans and wasn’t coming back after all. Then suddenly the Jag swept past me and turned in at the entrance gates. Murdoch wasn’t alone, though. There was another man in the car with him.’
‘Who was that?’
‘I didn’t recognise him, ma’am. It threw me a bit, Murdoch having someone with him. While I was making up my mind what to do, the staff started knocking off for the day - I hadn’t realised it was getting so late. Several of them were in their own cars, and then a minibus drove out with about eight other people inside. I thought that Murdoch and the other man might be leaving, too, so I decided I’d better go inside and confront him while I had the chance. I got out of my car and walked along to the entrance gates. I could see Murdoch and this other man over by the loading bay, and his Jag was backed right up to it. The two of them were stacking wine cases into the boot.’
‘A customer?’ Kate suggested. ‘And Murdoch was making a special delivery as a favour?’
‘That’s what I thought, ma’am, at first. So I reckoned it might be worth following the Jag when it left and tackling Murdoch on his own after he’d dropped the other man off.’
‘Which you did?’
‘No, ma’am, because I didn’t get the chance. I felt a bit daft when they got on to the by-pass and I realised they were probably going some distance. But I’d worked myself up into the mood for a showdown with Murdoch, and I wasn’t going to give up easily. They finished up in Fordingham, in a narrow mews behind a row of shops. Murdoch had a key to one of the back entrances, and he and this other man unloaded the wine cases and humped them inside. Then they locked up again and drove off.’
‘Both of them drove off?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘It could still have been a favour to a customer,’ Kate said. ‘A special delivery of wine for a party, perhaps.’
But Denby was shaking his head. ‘It wasn’t, ma’am. I’m sure it wasn’t. I could tell by their whole manner. They were acting very suspiciously, sort of looking over their shoulders all the time. And they seemed relieved when they’d dumped the stuff and could make a fast getaway.’
‘Quite the detective, aren’t you?’ put in Boulter scornfully.
‘Hold on, Tim,’ said Kate. ‘Martin, can you give us a description of the other man?’
‘I can do better than that, ma’am. I had my camera in the glove compartment, so I took a couple of quick shots from the end of the mews. I used a zoom lens, and the light wasn’t all that good. But they came out fairly clear.’
‘Came out?’
‘I developed the film myself last night. I’ve got the prints here.’ Martin took out his wallet and extracted the small photographs. They were clear enough, as he’d said. Unmistakably clear. Two men were at the boot of the Jaguar. One of them was Clive Murdoch. The other, without question, was Heather Bletchley’s son, Vince Norden.
Kate pondered this new twist, asking, ‘What happened next, Martin?’
‘At first I started following the Jag again, but then I lost it in traffic at a roundabout. I was really mad about that, but a van cut right across my bows and stalled. And by the time it got going again, the Jag had disappeared. So I thought I might as well go back to that mews and take a closer look. The back entrance was securely locked. By counting off the numbers and then doing the same round at the front of the shops, I worked out that it belonged to a small jeweller’s called Allbright’s.’
‘Allbright’s!’ exclaimed Boulter.
That’s right,’ Kate said. The jeweller who identified Major Bletchley’s watch after it turned up on Barry Slater’s wrist. What the devil’s going on?’
‘The shop was all shut up,’ Denby continued. ‘I did think of reporting the incident as being suspicious. To Inspector Trotton, I mean. But then I thought. . . well, I knew that you and Sergeant Boulter were expected back from Lisbon very soon, ma’am, so I thought it might be better to wait for you rather than explain the whole thing to someone else and perhaps trigger off something you wouldn’t want.’
Kate caught a swift glance from Boulter, and knew that the implications of this remark hadn’t escaped him. Her problems with having Don Trotton in charge of the Incident Room had become common knowledge, and PC Denby was giving her a vote of confidence.
She said evenly, ‘You’ve done nothing about this so far, then?’
‘No, ma’am. I hope that was all right?’
‘It isn’t exactly by the book, Martin, but in the circumstances I think it will all have worked out for the best. Any hasty action might have alerted Murdoch and Norden.’
‘Then you do believe they were up to something crooked, ma’am?’
‘I haven’t a doubt of it,’ Kate told him. ‘The question is, what exactly? So we’ll get over to Fordingham pronto and see what we can find out. You too, Martin. Come on.’
* * * *
There was a mid-afternoon hush in the mews. The few people about took no notice as the car containing Boulter, Kate, and young Martin Denby drew up at a rear entrance halfway along, and all three got out. They found that the door in which they were interested was shut and padlocked.
‘You’re quite sure this is the place?�
�� asked Kate.
‘Dead sure, ma’am.’
Kate told Denby to stand guard, and she and Boulter walked round to the main entrance in the street.
It was a narrow, old-fashioned shop that had escaped the stylish updating of those on either side of it. The items displayed in the window - watches, rings and other jewellery - were clearly of good quality, and all were highly priced.
As they entered, an elderly man emerged from behind a curtained archway at the rear. He was thin and ascetic-looking, with white hair and a small white beard. The gentlemanly type.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said pleasantly. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Mr Lawrence Allbright?’ Kate enquired.
‘I am he.’
She produced her warrant card, and introduced herself and the sergeant. ‘We are interested, Mr Allbright, in a consignment delivered to your rear entrance yesterday evening by Clive Murdoch and Vince Norden. Perhaps we could see it?’
Kate had been expecting him to try and claim it was merely a delivery of wine. But instead, with a puzzled frown, he said politely, ‘I have no knowledge of any such delivery, madam . . . Chief Inspector.’
‘No? That’s very strange. One of my officers witnessed the delivery of several boxes to the rear entrance of your premises. You won’t object if we take a look around for this mysterious consignment?’
‘Have you a search warrant?’ he asked sharply.
‘No.’
‘Then I do object, most strenuously.’
‘In which case, Mr Allbright, I must ask you to accompany me to a police station. While you are there, I shall seek and obtain a search warrant.’
‘Are you arresting me?’
Kate thought swiftly. On the one hand, she had nothing on this man apart from a delivery of unknown goods that could still turn out to be perfectly legitimate. On the other hand, her every instinct screamed that she was on to something big.
Go for it, Kate.
‘Yes, Mr Allbright, I am arresting you on suspicion of receiving stolen property. Sergeant, will you caution him, please?’
Allbright’s lean face was inscrutable as he heard Boulter out. But Kate knew his mind was busy considering his options. She allowed him time to reach a conclusion.
‘Chief Inspector,’ he said finally, with a little bowing inclination of his head that conceded defeat, ‘I have had a long run, and all good things, alas, must ultimately come to an end. If you will follow me, I will show you what you have come to see.’
* * * *
Less than an hour later, two cars set out from DHQ. One headed for the Bletchley residence to bring in Heather and her son, the second car for the premises of Cotswold-Iberian Wines to collect Clive Murdoch.
The second car arrived back with the detainee in under thirty minutes. The other car radioed in to report failure. The birds had flown.
Kate swore pithily.
From the way the Bletchley house had been vacated, with the front door left wide open, it was clear that the departure had been made in extreme haste. This suggested an eleventh-hour tip-off. But how the hell was that possible, Kate fumed, when the two police cars had been timed to arrive at their destinations simultaneously?
It was later discovered what had gone wrong, a little incident that couldn’t have been foreseen. A schoolboy on his way home, wobbling on a bicycle too large for him, had been struck a glancing blow by an overtaking motorist, who’d ended up in the opposite ditch himself through swerving to avoid the lad. Luckily, neither of them had been seriously hurt, but the two officers in the police car had had to stop and take charge until other officers arrived to relieve them. Twelve vital minutes lost.
Kate swore again, even more pithily.
Both Vince’s red Alfa Romeo and Heather’s blue Cavalier were missing, but mother and son could well have joined forces by now. Kate set up a search for both cars and both persons. At the same time, she ordered a search of the Bletchley house, hoping to find some clue as to where Heather and Vince might be heading.
She took Boulter for a hurried visit to Cotswold-Iberian Wines where the staff, due to knock off for the day, had been detained at her request. Kate had all fourteen of them assembled in the warehouse, and addressed them.
‘I am anxious to know,’ she said, ‘whether anyone here telephoned either Mrs Bletchley or her son, after my officers had left with Mr Murdoch.’
There were mutters of denial, much uneasy shuffling of feet. Everyone was looking very glum. Not surprising, really. With one partner recently murdered, and the other just carted off by the police, they must be wondering whether they would now be out of a job.
At length, Murdoch’s secretary spoke up. She was a rather dumpy woman with ginger hair, and appeared to be suffering from hay fever. Her eyes were rather red and she kept dabbing her nose with a paper tissue.
‘I did telephone Mrs Murdoch,’ she said in a breathless little rush. ‘But that was not until half an hour later. I was so upset, I didn’t think of it before.’
‘But you definitely didn’t phone Mrs Bletchley?’
She sneezed a couple of times. ‘Not Mrs Bletchley, no. It never occurred to me. Anyway, her son knew all about what had happened.’
‘Her son knew? How did he know? Who told him?’
‘No one,’ she said, looking alarmed at Kate’s sharp tone. Clearly she was wishing now that she’d kept her mouth shut. ‘He was here, you see, when the police came to arrest Mr Murdoch.
Hell.
‘What was Vince Norden here for?’ Kate asked, in a gentler voice.
‘I don’t really know. Something to -’ She broke off to sneeze again. ‘Something to do with the buying out of Mrs Bletchley’s share in the business, I imagine. He’d only just arrived, and Mr Murdoch was on the phone. While he was waiting, the police turned up.’
‘So what did Mr Norden do?’
‘I’m not really sure. There was a lot of confusion. After Mr Murdoch had been taken away, I realised that Mr Norden had gone. He just sort of ... vanished.’
And had then rushed back to his car and phoned a warning to his mother to get out fast.
Kate couldn’t blame the arresting officers for failing to recognize Vince Norden. He hadn’t been involved in the murder enquiry - except in Kate’s own mind. Nobody was at fault. It was just another piece of filthy luck that Vince had chanced to be at the wine warehouse at precisely the wrong moment. This, and the fact that the car heading for the Bletchley house had been delayed, added up to a monumental disaster.
Chapter Eighteen
Clive Murdoch was hunched in a chair when Kate entered the interview room with Boulter. He stared up at her haggardly.
‘Why have I been brought here? All this time I’ve been kept waiting, and nobody will tell me anything.’
‘One moment, please, Mr Murdoch. This interview will be tape-recorded. You understand?’
He nodded dumbly. While Boulter went through the required preliminaries, Kate took the seat opposite Murdoch and opened a file, spreading papers before her.
‘I have a number of questions to ask you, Mr Murdoch,’ she began. ‘But before I start, there are a few things I’m going to tell you. That way I hope we can save a lot of time, without having you making protestations and denials to no purpose. Earlier today, we arrested Mr Lawrence Allbright on a charge of receiving stolen property - to wit, the boxed items that you and Vince Norden were observed delivering to the rear of his premises in Fordingham last evening. These items have now been identified, with the co-operation of the Spanish and Portuguese police, as valuable church artefacts which had been stolen during the past few months from various churches and other religious establishments in those two countries. Mr Allbright has confessed to us that, over a span of several years, he has received a number of such deliveries from you and Major Bletchley. His role, he admitted, was to break up these items, to re-cut and re-set the precious stones, and to re-use what amounted in total to a considerable weight of gold. Altogether a
highly profitable operation. It is quite obvious, Mr Murdoch, that you have been importing all this stolen property under cover of your legitimate trading in Spanish and Portuguese wine.’
Unhurriedly, Kate turned a page and studied the next sheet before looking up again.
‘We also know,’ she went on, ‘that Sebastian Knox was another partner in this operation. Mr Allbright, however, was unable - or perhaps unwilling - to reveal the source of your supplies. So for a start, Mr Murdoch, I shall want you to supply me with names.’
Kate wondered if the man had taken in all that she’d been saying. He was sitting with his elbows propped on the table, his head in his hands, scarcely moving. Scarcely breathing, it seemed.
‘Well, Mr Murdoch?’ she said after a minute, when he had still made no response.
‘I had nothing to do with any murder,’ he burst out suddenly. ‘Nothing. You can’t pin murder on me. It was Vince who killed Sebastian, not me. I had nothing whatever to do with killing him. I don’t know who it was killed Slater, but it definitely wasn’t me. You’ve got to believe that. All the rest of it, yes, all right. But not murder. I couldn’t kill anyone. Not ever.’ |
Kate, shaken, didn’t allow her surprise to show. ‘You say that Vince Norden killed Sebastian Knox. How do you happen to know that?’
‘How? Because Vince told me himself. Well, he actually said it was an accident. But Sebastian’s death had nothing to do with me. I wouldn’t even go there, I told Sebastian that.’
Kate was getting very confused. ‘You wouldn’t go where, Mr Murdoch?’
‘To Heather’s house. Sebastian phoned me on the Friday afternoon and said he was going to have a showdown with Vince. He said Vince had to be stopped, and that I must go along too. Only I refused. I told him it was too risky. The next thing I knew was when Vince phoned me, on Saturday, and said I was to come at once because something terrible had happened. Sebastian had turned up and started threatening him, he said, and the two of them ended up coming to blows. Sebastian got knocked down and hit his head on a corner of the desk as he fell. He died instantly, according to Vince. There was hardly any blood.’
Deadly Deceit Page 20
