by Lou Peters
Walters was desperate to get the autopsy results. He’d rung the pathology lab first thing that morning to check the daily work sheet. He’d been gratified to learn the murder case was taking, as it should, top priority and the old lady’s name was first on the list to go under the knife. Judith Sage, the pathologist’s assistant, had answered the phone, advising Walters that Doctor Morris hadn’t yet put in an appearance, but was due at any moment. They’d engaged in casual chit chat for a couple of minutes. Walters had enquired after the woman’s family and what she was doing for the holidays, until he was able to guide the conversation towards the old lady’s death.
‘I expect you’ve looked over the body, as well as old Morris.’
‘Yes, of course I’ve had a look. I do work alongside him, you know.’
‘Sorry Judith, I didn’t mean to cast aspersions over your professional capabilities. So, do you agree with Morris’ estimation of the time of death?’
‘It’s impossible to be one hundred percent accurate, of course. However, noting the state of rigor and algor mortis and the signs of lividity bruising when the body was first brought in. I’d be inclined to say around eight or nine Wednesday evening,’ she replied. Suddenly suspicious Judith asked, ‘why, what time did Doctor Morris say?’
‘Same,’ Walters responded, ‘more or less.’ He’d put the phone down with a smile, after wishing the medical technologist a Merry Christmas, even though the event was still a couple of weeks away.
Judith had the feeling she’d been conned. She resolved not to let George Morris know of the conversation, in case she landed herself in it. Knowing how protective the doctor was of his cases.
Walters knew it would be a few days before Morris’s findings would be made available and copies of the report distributed. At least now he had a more precise time of death to go on. While in the North West they would question Mrs. Montgomery’s former neighbours in Upton by Chester. Ascertain recent movements, or any out of the ordinary behaviour. Route out the so called gold digger, Charlie Coventry and hopefully more leads would spread out from these interviews like a family tree blossoming with potential suspects. Once they had a full list of names in their grasp, the process of elimination could begin. Crossing off each name one by one, until only one name remained, and that hopefully would be the name of the killer. It sounded so simple when he thought about it like that, but Walters was a realist and doubted it would prove to be quite that easy.
A press conference and TV appeal had been arranged for after lunch, and Rowena and Malcolm Harrison had given respectable performances as the grieving relatives. Appearing inconsolable, Rowena constantly dabbing at her dry eyes, as she’d pleaded for witnesses to come forward in emotional tones nothing like her own abrasive pan-scourer of a voice. Walters didn’t hold out much hope of the success of the appeal. He was sure it would create more work for the already overstretched department. Man hours would be wasted separating the wheat from the chaff. But the media was king and it was a route they had to follow to be seen to be doing everything they could to try and track the killer down. At the hour between seven thirty and eight thirty Wednesday evening, the soaps would have been in full progress. Generally, people would have already eaten. Would be now relaxing, sitting back to enjoy the continuing sagas of Coronation Street and Eastenders. Curtains drawn closed against the black night and the sub zero temperatures outside. The investigations only hope, was for someone to have been out in the street at that time, possibly walking their dog, maybe even kids carol singing. Walters was sure if that was the case and somebody had seen something then they would have come forward already, but then again, the incident had only occurred a couple of days ago. Perhaps the relevance of what people had seen hadn’t hit home yet. But that was the whole point of this television fiasco.
Walters had felt uncomfortable as the girl had fussed over him before the transmission. Applying tinted powder to his face to eliminate the sheen and give his face more colour. A glance in Cooper’s direction retold the same story. Although Arnold had a glint in his brown eyes, as the attractive assistant had leant over him in her scooped neck t-shirt, powder brush in hand.
‘Detective Inspector Walters can you tell us are you any nearer in solving this vicious crime?’ A voice of one of the congregated reporters called out.
‘Obviously we’re still in the early days of our investigation, but we would like to trace the whereabouts of a Mr. Richard Johnson recently located to the area.’ A blown up image of the dark haired man appeared on the screen behind the inspector, as the camera angled away from Walters’ face to focus on that of Johnson’s. Walters’ voice continued, ‘if anybody knows of the whereabouts of Mr. Johnson, or has seen him since Wednesday morning please contact the number appearing on the bottom of your screen now. Any information we receive will be treated in the strictest confidence.’
‘Are you saying this man killed Mrs. Montgomery?’ A further voice called out.
‘No, not at all sir. That is the last thing we’re saying. We just need to speak to Mr. Johnson, in order for us to eliminate him from our enquiries. So please, if anyone has any information where Mr. Johnson can be found, or if they witnessed anything suspicious in the Brook Crescent area on Wednesday evening, dial the number on your screen, or contact any member of the police department. As I say, everything will be treated in the strictest confidence; you don’t have to leave a name if you don’t want. Just please call,’ Walters pressed the point home.
‘Is there a possibility Ruth Montgomery died as result of a bungled burglary and could it happen again?’ Another voice called out, ‘are elderly ladies living alone, more at risk than other members of the community? Suddenly there was a crescendo of voices in the room, all wanting answers.
‘Detective sergeant,’ Walters nodded to Cooper.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen please.’ Cooper raised his hands in the air. ‘We’re treating this as an isolated incident...’ his voice boomed out with authority, immediately subduing the chaos in the room, ‘…and I’m sure you can appreciate we’re not able to elucidate further at this time. We do however ask for the public’s co-operation. I can only re-iterate what Detective Inspector Walters has requested and that anyone with related information to the incident which took place in Brook Crescent, Rasburgh on Wednesday evening the ninth of December should contact the incident room.’ Cooper gave out the telephone number for the third time. The detective sergeant had wanted to add a note about securing homes against burglars as a matter of course, but thought that comment would’ve been ill advised. After all, he didn’t want to start a full scale panic.
Taking a few more questions, managing to side step the... ‘have you any further leads detective inspector?’ with the aplomb of a politician, the conference was wound up and Walters and Cooper after shaking the hands of Mr. and Mrs. Harrison left the room. However, not before Mrs. Harrison had once again lobbied for the release of her aunt’s body. Walters had given her a fixed smile and disentangled his arm from her claw like grasp. ‘We will let you know as soon as we’re in a position to Mrs. Harrison.’ The woman had harrumphed, but in the end there was nothing she could do about it. Walters was aware the body would be released for burial in the not too distant future. He was reticent however, to share that information with Rowena Harrison, just at that moment.
‘I’ve been wondering about Rachel Smith, sir. Do you think she could have done away with this Johnson bloke?’ The two men were walking along the corridor, back towards the inspector’s office.
‘I wouldn’t have thought so, but who knows.’ Walters responded, more or less dismissing the notion. ‘Why, what makes you think she could be responsible?’
‘Nothing really, it was just a passing thought.’
‘And if she had, as you called it, done away with Johnson, then who killed Mrs. Montgomery? Unless of course you suspect she was responsible for both murders?’
‘Not very likely I suppose, but stranger things have happened. Maybe the two
incidents aren’t related.’
‘It’s a possibility; it still doesn’t help us very much.’
Arnie Cooper wasn’t totally convinced. He’d witnessed too many times on the national news, similar police appeals. Watched, as distraught family members, boyfriends, or husbands emotionally begged for the return of their loved ones. The pleading person’s eyes wet with tears, only later to be revealed as the cold blooded killers. Why not a girlfriend this time? Granted, on this occasion she wasn’t the one doing the public appealing, but she’d done a fairly convincing job on Johnson’s behalf when the officers had interviewed her earlier. It was possible of course, the reason she’d been so convincing, was because Rachel Smith genuinely had no idea where the man had gone.
Walters opened his office door. ‘I think we can forget Rachel Smith for the moment, unless Johnson contacts her again.’
‘Do you think she’ll let us know if he does?’
Walters gave a short laugh, ‘what do you think, Arnold?’ He sat down at his desk, motioned for the sergeant to do the same on the opposite side. ‘Anyway, I want the two of us to head up North early on Monday morning. Get Ops to contact every name on the list Rachel Smith gave us. Find out exactly where these people will be on Monday and let them know we’re coming, so they can make themselves available. We’ll need to visit Johnson’s parents, but no need to pre-warn that particular couple. It’s probably better if we don’t. I just hope they don’t get wind of the appeal before we get there, but if they do, so be it. Probably won’t make that much difference anyway. Also get them to track down Jimmy Malone, the kid who used to work for Johnson. Find out where he is and what he thought of the man. We’ve got the address where Ruth Montgomery used to live, so we can ring a few doors nearby, see how we get on.’
Cooper hurriedly scribbled the inspector’s instructions in his notebook, knowing how Walters liked things in black and white to refer back to, if necessary.
‘Also get Ops to try and find out where Charlie Coventry lives. I don’t expect it’s a very common name. If the man’s not ex directory listed, chances are he’ll be in the phone book. I don’t want anyone to contact him, just an address. The man may not know Ruth’s dead, so I’d like to break it to him personally. If he was a friend of the woman, I feel it’s the least we can do. Oh, and Arnold we may be away for a couple of days, so you’d better bring a change of underwear and clean socks with you.’
‘Will do sir, I’ll get on to Operations now.’ He flipped his note book shut. ‘Will we be driving, or taking the train?’
‘Good point Cooper, Walters pointed his index finger at him. ‘Organise return train tickets for the first available train to Chester Monday morning.’
For a second, Cooper fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I don’t mean to sound presumptuous sir,’ the detective sergeant hesitated, uncertain of how to phrase the question, or what the DI’s reaction would be to his suggestion. Tentatively he continued... ‘But wouldn’t we be better going tomorrow? We surely have more of a chance of catching people at home at the week-end, rather than on a Monday morning.’
‘Of course you’re right Arnold.’ Walters let out a long sigh, slouched back into his chair, seeing his week-end disappearing in a puff of blue smoke. He’d been thinking the same thing himself. The only trouble was, Walters had spoken to his sister the night before, guilt winning the battle over better judgement. Stupidly, he’d made arrangements to go and see his mother with her on Sunday morning. Of all the times to choose, what had he been thinking? Even so Walters was hesitant to postpone the visit. If he didn’t go this week-end, God only knew when he’d get the chance over the coming weeks as the investigation intensified. His sister wouldn’t be too happy either. She’d invited him to Sunday lunch and because he hadn’t visited her and her family for ages, Walters suspected she would be making an occasion of it, especially as it was so near to Christmas. He wasn’t looking forward to the phone call he’d have to make. ‘You’d better book tickets for the first available train tomorrow morning, detective sergeant. Oh, and have a car waiting the other end for when we arrive.’
‘Won’t that eat into the “super’s” yearly budget sir?’ Arnie Cooper said with a grin, relieved on this occasion he wasn’t going to get a bollocking.
‘Bugger Bowden Smythe and his budget, we’re trying to catch a killer. Before you go detective sergeant,’ Walters’ called after the man who’d been heading for the door.
‘What is it, sir?’
‘Check the work rota and see if PC Travis is on duty today. If she is, find her and tell her I want an update in my office, now. I’m keen to know what she’s been able to find out about the incident at Boynton market on Tuesday morning, if anything. And while you’re at it take Brian Mellors with you and go back to River Cottage and have a scout around. There were a couple of buildings at the back, see if you can find anything of interest.’
‘Won’t we need a search warrant for that sir?’
‘We can get one if necessary, but if you roll up unannounced, an off the cuff visit might throw Rachel Smith and her friend off guard and they may not offer any objections. After all if she’s got nothing to hide, there shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘The friend seemed a little savvier, she might insist on the warrant.’
‘If she does, she does Cooper, but there’s no harm in trying.’
‘Okay sir, I’m on my way.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Friday Afternoon 11 December 2009
The incident room was buzzing as Arnold stepped through the door. He was certain the live appeal, broadcast less than an hour before, was the reason. He knew the majority of calls would be prank motivated. People with nothing better to do than to waste police time. Some he realised would be from the lonely in the community, grateful for someone to talk to. Each call had to be logged and treated seriously. Who knows, that little old lady with the shaky voice might not just be phoning in for a chat, she may have legitimate information that would help the investigation progress forwards. Arnold was just about to call to Brian Mellors across the room, when the uniformed man looked up and motioned enthusiastically for the DS to join him.
‘What’s up?’ Cooper asked, joining Mellors at his work station.
‘Just thought you should see this sarge.’ Despite the age difference, Mellors had no problem showing the younger man the deference his title commanded. ‘Just in from Liverpool, John Lennon Airport. A Richard Johnson was on the passenger list boarding one of the low cost airlines Wednesday evening, bound for Paris, Charles de Gaulle.’
‘What time did the flight take off?’
Mellors referred to the details in front of him. ‘Plane was on time. Departed Liverpool twenty two forty five, about an hour and half later, landed at Paris one fifteen, Thursday morning. The French are an hour ahead of us, aren’t they?’
Cooper nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s right. Richard Johnson is quite a common name though, and I don’t really think it’s the Johnson we’re after. He wouldn’t have had enough time to commit a murder at eight in the evening here, and still manage to be at check in on time, over two hundred and fifty miles away. Still it’s worth checking out, Mellors. Good work.’ Cooper slapped the man’s back in a congratulatory fashion. ‘But before that Bri, you and me are heading over to River Cottage, to have a little nose around.’
Mellors raised his eyebrows in surprise, but was grateful to be leaving the hubbub of the incident room. The intense background noise was already beginning to give him a headache.
*
‘Come.’ Walters responded to the confident rat a tat on his door.
‘You wanted to see me sir?’
‘Ah PC Travis, come in, take a seat.’
Marie did as instructed crossing one leg over the other once she was seated. Spiral bound notepad open on her lap. She thought she already knew the notes word for word; she’d been practising them enough. But she wanted to make sure they were accessible in case she needed to refer back to
any salient points. First time in the spotlight, she was desperate to make a good impression on the detective inspector.
‘Did Sergeant Cooper tell you the reason I wanted to see you?’
‘I didn’t see Sergeant Cooper, sir. He left a message on reception. Duty Sergeant Grimes informed me when I arrived back at the station. I presume it’s in connection to my enquiries at Boynton market, sir.’
‘You presume correctly, Travis. I hope you had some success. Perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’ve learnt, if anything.’ Walters remained straight faced. He’d never paid much notice to the female constable before, but now all of his attention was keenly focused on her and what she was about to tell him, good or bad, he saw what an extremely attractive woman she was. Even with minimal make-up applied and copper hair scrapped back, couldn’t diminish the young woman’s beauty. Those stunning green eyes, framed with long dark lashes. Her full, sensual mouth was dressed with a shadow of a smile and a smidgen of lip gloss, which Walters found vaguely disconcerting. ‘When you’re ready constable,’ Walters prompted; his hands forming a steeple in front of him pressed against his lips.
Travis cleared her throat before commencing with her report. ‘As you’re already aware, sir, the open air market at Boynton only takes place once a week on a Tuesday and I presumed that it would be...’
Walters cut her off almost before she’d started. ‘I don’t wish to be rude Constable Travis, but I don’t wish to hear your presumptions or conjectures. Just stick to the facts of what you’ve been able to find out. I’ve still got a hell of a lot to do this afternoon.’ He wasn’t sure why he was being so off hand with the young PC. Perhaps it was because he found her physically attractive and subsequently felt he was betraying his wife’s memory. Watching the colour flood into her cheeks, Walters experienced a stab of remorse. Her vulnerability only heightened his attraction. Why did people have to have all these feelings inside of them to complicate things? It would be far better if people were emotionless, like robots.
