by Lou Peters
‘It’s only what I’d expected. I’ll be out for the rest of the morning Cooper. I’d like to have a chat to the waitress at the Rainbow and then I’m going to call in on Johnson’s girlfriend, see if anything has turned up. I’ll be on my mobile if you need me. I’d like us to get our heads together later, say about three thirty.’
‘Alright sir, I won’t be late... Oh by the way, we managed to talk to young Private James Malone. Not in person he’s serving out in Afghanistan, poor bugger. But we did manage a link up and surprise surprise, he confirms what a nice guy Richard Johnson is. Paid him a fair wage and always let him have time off when he needed it. Reading between the lines, sounds like he wishes he was back here digging up sods of earth instead of dodging mines.’
‘Did you ever get around to checking the old girl’s bank statements for unusual activity?’
‘Yes, it was a bit of a performance getting access to Ruth’s account, but we got there in the end. Nothing out of the ordinary there, though. It looked like the old girl was a bit of a saver. There’ll be a few grand passing over to the Harrisons, by the looks of it.’
Walters sneered, viciously grabbing his coat from the stand he stormed out of the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Monday Morning 14 December 2009
The awning over the café was as brightly coloured as its name suggested. Managing to avoid the life-sized cartoon characters guarding the entrance, Walters entered. As he’d anticipated, being a Monday morning, the place was fairly quiet. There were a couple of people seated at separate tables getting their daily caffeine fix. One with a mobile glued to her ear, the other with the racing pages of a tabloid spread out, picking the losers of the day. The over eager attendant at the counter dropped his plastic smile when Walters flashed his card.
‘Not one of your busiest mornings.’ The inspector commented.
‘It’s early, always like this to start off with, but by eleven the punters will start coming in and then by twelve we’ll have a nice crowd in here.’ The man in his twenties brushed away the long greasy strand of hair that had flopped over one eye, as he spoke.
Walters hoped the guy was going to wash his hands before he started serving food. ‘I’d like to speak to Brygida Jasinski.’
‘You and me both, pal.’
‘I gather from that, she’s not here?’
‘No, didn’t turn up for work this morning, leaving me right in it. I’ve tried her mobile endless times, but the silly cow’s got it switched off. I’ve had to call for reinforcements.’
Here was a caring employer, Walters could see. Or perhaps he was just another lackey.
‘When did you last see her?’
‘Saturday, we don’t open on a Sunday, God’s day.’
Walters knew he wasn’t going to like this creep as soon as he set eyes on him. ‘Where can I find her?’
The man unhelpfully shrugged his shoulders
‘You must have an address for her, for the girl’s National Insurance contributions, if nothing else.’
The young man significantly paled in front of his eyes, suggesting to Walters that he was perhaps the employer after all, and not paying his part towards the compulsory contribution scheme. He’d lay bets the waitress was being paid below the minimum wage threshold.
‘Hold on mate, I’ll just nip in the back, see if I can lay my hands on it.’
The man returned minutes later, all smiles revealing his uneven yellowing teeth. A scrap of paper held out in his hand. ‘Here you are number forty six Benny Spires. Can I get you a cup of coffee, while you’re here? Free of charge, like.’
‘No thanks.’ Walters rebuked the youth’s clumsy attempt to ingratiate himself with the detective. He took the address. Placing into his pocket he left the establishment. Making a mental note to himself, to contact the Health or Hygiene Department, or whatever they were called these days, recommending they give the unsavoury premises the once over.
Walters knew St. Benedict Spires. He doubted any police officer, in the Boynton area hadn’t heard of it. The proprietor of the café had made the name of the building sound like one half of a popular American ice cream brand. Built on the old ecclesiastical site, it had retained the title of the ancient, now demolished, church and the expanse of land it had once stood on. Any trouble and you knew where to start your search. It was difficult to believe this area had once been deemed as consecrated ground. As the number suggested, Brygida’s flat was half way up the tower block. The only high rise in the locality, caused Walters to wonder how this monstrosity of a building had ever got passed the planning stage. Especially in this area where it wasn’t known for heavy industry and so was at odds with the surrounding countryside.
As expected, the lift was out of order. Not that it would have made any difference to Walters. He was always going to take the stairs. He knew you’d be easy prey in the electronic box, where wires could be cut, leaving you at the very least stranded. He’d also had the forethought to ring in and let the desk sergeant know where he was and that he would call in again when he’d finished his business there.
Walters knew someone was at home. He’d seen the fleeting shadow of a figure through the ragged nets, strung unevenly at the window as he’d passed by on his way to the door. At least the bell worked. After he’d gained no response from its first ring, he let his finger remain depressing the button in a continuous loud drone. Finally, sounds from within and the door opened. Brygida Jasinski looked liked she’d been in a boxing ring and had lost the bout. He flashed his magic card in front of her one open eye.
‘You’d better come in,’ she said.
Brygida was above average height, slim, perhaps a little too much, with long natural blonde hair that she wore loose around her shoulders. Dressed in a short tartan skirt, that made the most of her long curvaceous legs and a clinging, ribbed black sweater. Her face was a mess. Bruised and swollen; even her good eye had been blackened.
‘You do realise you being here not doing me any help?’
‘I’m sorry, but there are things I need to ask you. I went to your place of work, but obviously you weren’t there. Would you like to tell me what happened to you?’
‘Not really, it private.’
Her English was heavily accented, but comprehensible. ‘I’m investigating the murder of an elderly lady.’
‘Yes, I see you on TV.’
‘You’ve already spoken to a colleague of mine, Police Constable Travis... Do you mind if I sit down?’
‘Pleese.’ She gestured with her hand, to a shabby armchair. Stuffing protruded from the torn fabric, in a mass of coarse hair like fibres. Despite that, the chair felt relatively comfortable as Walters settled into it. He ignored the temptation to stuff the escaping innards of the chair arms, back where they belonged. Not wanting to dwell on the cleanliness of the item, he pushed the unwelcome thought to the back of his mind.
‘You know you should really have medical attention. I have a car outside. I could take you to the hospital.’
‘No. Not necessary.’
‘If you’ve seen me on the television, you will also have seen the man we want to interview, Richard Johnson. You’ve already told PC Travis the man we need to question helped the old woman to her feet after she’d fallen. Can you tell us anything more about that morning? Was there anyone else hanging around, maybe acting suspiciously prior to the incident?’
‘It was very busy outside in market, plenty people. I already say. Old woman with white hair fall back, man you want rush to help her, his girlfriend...’
‘What about his girlfriend?’
‘I don’t know didn’t look for long, but she seem frightened.’
‘Of what, of something, or someone she’d seen?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you think she could have seen the person who pushed the old woman? She was after all, in the right place. If the old woman fell back towards the couple they may have seen what was in front of her. It’s possible that
was the reason she was scared.’
‘I think not. She was not with her man when he went to help old woman. She came and stood nearby, after woman had fallen.’
‘How can you be sure the woman you saw was his girlfriend?
‘Because she linked arms with him afterwards and they walked off together.’
‘Do you think it’s possible, the girlfriend could have pushed the old lady?’
‘Maybe... I don’t know. I already explain, very busy in market. From café window can only see in front. Old woman see someone she know. She wave, lift up her arm. Next thing, she fall back hard, man came to her side. Girlfriend came to stand out of crowd nearby, but not look at woman on floor.’
‘Why do you think that was?’ Walters was wondering, why PC Travis hadn’t gained this information from the witness.
She shrugged her shapely shoulders. ‘I cannot say.’
‘Have you ever seen Mr. Johnson prior to that day?’ Walters placed the photograph they had of the man, in her hands.
‘He has happy face.’
‘That’s only because he’s smiling, and it doesn’t answer my question.’
‘No, I never see man before that day in market.’
‘You know, I really don’t like to leave you here like this. I’m presuming you know the guy who did this to you?’
‘Yes... that’s all I want to say. As soon as get money from job, will go back home.’
‘To Poland?’
‘Yes, Brzeziny.’
‘Do you know your surname means son of John, like Richard Johnson’s?’
‘No, I didn’t know that.’
‘You’re not married to him, are you?’
‘No.’ The woman finally smiled, wincing with pain for her effort. ‘I not married at all.’
A group of young boys were kicking a ball around with some aggression when Walters returned to his car, splattering mud up the paintwork. He could already see the ball had hit the car twice and bounced off again, leaving circular imprints on the bonnet.
‘Can’t you boys read?’ He called out, pointing to the sign, ‘strictly no ball games.’
‘Fuck off mister,’ one of the elder looking lads responded with a scowl.
Walters admonished the boy for using the foul language. He was met with the expected response, peals of derisive laughter and further taunts using the same four letter word. Walters left them to it. Turning on his heels, he strode away. Giving the station a call to advise he was back in his car in one piece, and was on his way to River Cottage, he enquired if there had been any new developments. There hadn’t been and Walters pulled away from the Spires with some relief. It was such a depressing hole. The place should be razed to the ground and individual dwellings built in its stead. Perhaps then people would take more of a pride in where they lived. But who would be able to afford the rent on such individual properties. It was a sobering thought and meant places like St. Benedict Spires would remain around for the foreseeable future.
Why hadn’t Rachel Smith told him she’d not been standing by her boyfriend when he’d gone to the aid of the old lady? Chances were she was browsing one of the other stalls. It wasn’t a crime, so why hadn’t she admitted to it? Also Brygida had told him Smith had looked frightened and hadn’t wanted to look at the woman as she lay on the floor. What was all that about? The only way to find out would be to ask Rachel Smith herself and that’s what Walters intended to do. He was trying to weigh up in his mind which scenario would be more conducive for the interview, the relaxed atmosphere of her home, or the more sobering interview room at the station?
He pulled his car up outside of the cottage and walked towards Rachel’s front door. After the brief mild spell the skies had cleared and the temperatures had again plummeted. Walters felt a chill run through him and he didn’t think it had anything to do with the weather. In the absence of a door knocker, Walters gave it an authoritative rap with his knuckles. There was no response. He waited, listening for sounds behind the door before knocking again, louder this time. Still no-one came to the door. He was beginning to have a very bad feeling. Perhaps the bird had already flown the nest. Deciding to try his luck at the rear of the property, he encountered the same reaction, nothing was stirring. There were no lights on in the property and Walters turned the knob; however, the door was secured. Then he noticed the wooden entrance of the makeshift garage was open wide confirming his instincts. A brief glance inside was enough to tell him, Rachel Smith had indeed, left the building. The garage floor was relatively dry and frost free. If the doors had been open since the previous day he would’ve at least expected some damp patches to be visible on the inside. Especially near to the entrance. Swearing softly to himself that he should have brought her in for questioning earlier, Walters beat a hasty retreat to his car.
The phone was answered on the second ring. ‘Cooper?’ The signal strength outside of the property was negligible. Walters walked a little further away from the cottage and was rewarded with an extra bar on his mobile display. He spoke quickly. ‘It’s me, I’m at the Johnson place and there’s no sign of the girlfriend and her car’s gone. I might lose the connection at any moment so I want you to listen. Did you make a note of her registration number when you were here with Mellors...? Good, firstly I want it put out there. Send a transmission to all available cars and bobbies on the beat to look out for her. I want her found. Next get someone, or do it yourself, I don’t much care, but I want a check on all of the local garages in the vicinity. Ascertain if a woman fitting her description has filled up with fuel this morning. Yes, I know she could have just gone shopping, but it doesn’t feel right. The weather’s turned, but there’s no smoke coming out of her chimney. Which makes me think she’s not planning on coming back any time soon. Okay... I’m heading back in now, I’ll see you in about twenty and Cooper... didn’t your mother ever tell you, it’s rude to talk with your mouth full?’ Walters pressed the end of call button and tossed his mobile onto the car seat beside him. Slamming the car into reverse, he revved the engine and set off backwards up the narrow lane at full speed.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Monday Morning 14 December 2009
‘What have you got for me?’ Walters brushed passed the giant partially blocking the entrance to his office. He hung his coat on the clothes stand in the corner and sat at his desk. Opening the bottom drawer, Walters reached down retrieving a bottle of Grouse and two tumblers out of the otherwise empty space, he placed them onto the desk top with a thud. Unscrewing the bottle top he poured a couple of fingers into each glass. Walters preferred a Single Malt but he sure as hell wasn’t going to have that lying around for all and sundry to help themselves to. As it was it looked like the level of the bottle in front of him had gone down a little, since the last time he’d had the occasion to have a tipple while at work, but maybe he was just being paranoid.
‘Not a lot sir, you’ve only be gone a couple of hours.’
‘Well, tell me what you have got. Any news on Smith or her car?’ Walters’ agitation was clear.
‘No, not as yet sir.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Walters took a slug of the drink. Felt the familiar, reassuring sensation as it trickled down his gullet.
‘Are you alright sir, has something happened?’
‘Sit down Cooper, for God’s sake, and have a drink.’
The sergeant hoped his boss wasn’t sliding back into bad habits. Not being a whisky drinker, he thought he wouldn’t prolong the agony, taking a seat Cooper downed the neat spirit in one. The whisky caught at the back of his throat, making his eyes water. He tried not to let it show.
‘I’ve been in touch with Somerset House, sir and after pulling a few strings was able to have a copy of Johnson’s birth certificate faxed over. He was born on fourteenth of November nineteen seventy. His middle name is Harold, presumably after his father. Both parents are British. Mother’s maiden name was Bennett. On the face of it, no Polish influence. We would need more time to trace the
line back further generations.’
‘Don’t bother Cooper, I think we’re wasting our time on that one.’ Walters could see the look pass over the sergeant’s face as another of his proposed ideas was cast aside. ‘But that doesn’t mean to say you’re not right in thinking Johnson could have been in France at the time the girls were killed. How are you doing on his service record?’
‘I’m still waiting for the MOD to get back to me. As you would expect they’ve got a fair few Richard Johnsons on their books… Thinking Johnson maybe involved in their deaths, do you now think he could have killed Ruth?’
‘If things start to point in that direction then obviously he’d be the prime suspect in our enquiry and I’d have to revise my previous thoughts. At the moment I’m keeping an open mind to all possibilities. The more I’ve heard people speak of Richard Johnson the more I find myself liking him. But then I’m only getting somebody else’s opinion of the man. Before I meet him face to face I can’t properly formulate my own. Let’s for the hell of it detective sergeant, disregard Johnson completely for the time being. Pretend we’ve never heard his name. Now let’s see what we’ve got left. Here use this to make a few notes.’ Walters tossed over the A4 pad he’d bought in Chester.
‘We can forget about the Harrisons, unfortunately. Mavis Willoughby shouldn’t really be on the list, so I think we’re safe to keep her name off. And also Lucinda bloody Coventry. What a pain in the arse she was.’
‘How about her husband, Charlie?’
‘Mr. Charles Coventry can start the list off.’
Cooper as instructed wrote the name on the pad. ‘Do you really think at his age he would be capable of murder? He really seemed to care for the old lady.’
‘What you say is true Cooper, but love and hate are very closely intertwined and I’m not sure of the truthfulness of his alibi for last Wednesday. He was about to tell us something different, I’m convinced, only his wife jumped in. Thinking about it she could have had a motive herself. Could have been jealous of the previous relationship Ruth and Charlie had known before she came on the scene. Saying Charlie was with her not only gave him an alibi, but also her. Add her name to the list.’
