by Carrie Marsh
She shook her head. It seemed really far-fetched. But it was a possibility that was worth investigating.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
NARROWING IT DOWN
NARROWING IT DOWN
“I don't know, Howard,” Laura said quietly. She set down her knife and fork and sighed. They were sitting in her kitchen eating fish and chips, the sky dark outside and the scent of salt and vinegar warm on the cool air of her kitchen. She sighed and reached for a drink.
“I don't either,” Howard admitted, sipping his white wine appreciatively. He pushed himself back from the table and rested his hands on his belly, sighing contentment. “The point is, though, that you do. I think if you have a feeling, you should follow it. You have an instinct for these things now. After all, you've solved two mysteries here in Millerfield. I think you should keep going.”
Laura sighed. “Don't remind me,” she added, rolling her eyes and reaching for some lemon. “But thanks,” she added warmly. “I'm glad you at least think I'm not insane. I was worried.”
Howard looked at her seriously. “You're never insane, Laura,” he said firmly. “If you think there's a connection between this murder and this millionaire, I think there's something in it. You wouldn't just imagine that out of nowhere, you know. If you think about it, you'll remember the reason.”
Laura nodded. “I suppose so,” she added, sounding half-convinced. She heard Monty come in and stood to check he still had water in his dish. As she did so, a thought occurred to her.
“Oh,” she said. She dropped the dish and it clattered on the floor, ringing in the sudden quiet of the kitchen.
“Laura?” Howard was standing beside her in an instant, taking her hand and leading her to sit down at the table. He pulled out the chair beside her and sat down, still holding her hands. “What's the matter?”
“I just remembered something,” Laura said, shivering. She felt cold all over. She didn't think she would feel warm again. “I think I know why I suspect him.”
“Why?” Howard asked. His fingers worked at her wrists, massaging blood into her hands gently.
“When he checked in, he was late. He was supposed to be there the day before. The day Mr. Hugh was killed. Why couldn't he be there that night? Where else was he?”
They stared at each other.
“You don't think...” Howard trailed off.
“Howard, I don't know what to think,” Laura said quietly. She felt a deep sense of calm suddenly descending, and a growing certainty. “All I know is that the man was here at the time of the murder. He has motive – tax evasion – and he had an opportunity. It could be him. He also has access to an unlimited number of bicycle spokes.”
They stared at each other.
“Oh, my...” Howard said.
“Quite.”
He and Laura stared at one another. It seemed stupid, it seemed ridiculous. But they had suddenly stumbled on a path that could just lead them to the truth.
They just had to decide how to follow it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
A MEANINGFUL DISCOVERY
A MEANINGFUL DISCOVERY
There is a particular smell old documents have. Laura breathed it in where she sat in the village library.
She looked out of the window to where Howard had parked the car. He would be returning any minute now, by bus. They had decided to split up: He would go to the police to find out anything he could about the murder-weapon. She would come here, to the village library on the edge of Drayton, to try and find out anything she could about Anthony Morrison.
So far, she had not found out a lot. She had asked to look through all the old copies of the local newspapers, and the old lady who worked as the village librarian had agreed, somewhat bemusedly. There was almost no-one who ever looked at them, she had said, and Laura, leafing through the piles of yellowing, ink-scented pages could understand why.
She stretched out the cricks in her back and reached for her notebook, which lay beside her on the desk, open at a fresh page, on which she had already listed what she had found out. It was not a great deal.
Birth notice: 25 July, 1978. The man was about ten years older than Laura herself. She smiled at that. He was young to have so much money, especially when she compared it to her own meagre savings.
“Oh, well – different lifestyles,” she sighed, reading the next note. This one mentioned his win at a prominent national bicycle race – the London Nocturne – in 2008.
The last piece of information she had found for Anthony Morrison was about the start of his cycling company – Fastwheels cycle importers. He had opened the first branch in Bracewell, another small village that was about ten miles from Millerfield. Since 2010, according to what Laura had heard from Janet, his franchises had spread across Kent and to neighboring areas, even as far as York.
“I wonder,” Laura sighed, reaching for the last stack of newspapers – the ones from the last five or so years. She checked her watch, expecting Howard to come in at any minute to fetch her. She would probably have to come back to finish the work.
She lifted the first newspaper and started to read.
About three into the pile, she stopped.
Local millionaire in tax scandal.
“No!” Laura covered her mouth, surprised. She lifted the paper to her eyes and read the article underneath.
Local franchiser and owner of the bicycle-importing chain Fastwheels, Mr. Anthony Morrison, has recently been implicated in a scandal involving tax-evasion. The company was alleged to be using bank accounts in the Netherlands – their chief source of bicycles – to conceal undeclared revenue. The CEO, Mr. Morrison, has declined to comment and investigations are currently underway.
Laura shook her head. Tax evasion! Here in the local village. What if Mr. Hugh knew about it? What had happened to the charges? Had they been dropped? She reached for the next newspapers in the pile.
“Laura..?”
Laura jumped. She was up to the newspapers from 2011 when Howard walked in. “Howard!”
“You look happy,” Howard commented. “You've got some color and your eyes are sparkling. You found something out.” He put his hands on her shoulders, behind her.
“I think I have, Howard,” Laura said, reaching for her pencil and her notes. “I think I have enough to go on for the moment, too. Can we go?”
“Okay from my side,” Howard confirmed. “In fact, I could do with some lunch. It's Saturday and the Saddler is open. Should we go?”
“Yes, please,” Laura agreed. She picked up her things, put the pile of papers back where she found them and walked out. On the way she thanked the librarian and she and Howard headed into the street.
“What is it?” Howard asked, as she fastened her seat-belt in his car. “Is it okay to tell?”
“I think so,” Laura nodded briskly. “Anthony Morrison was involved in a tax scandal. Did you know?”
Howard stared. “No.”
“Yes,” Laura confirmed. She thought of something. “He was never convicted, was he? You must have been here in 2015. Can you remember?”
“No,” Howard admitted. “I had just got here then. When was the scandal.”
“In 2010.”
“Oh.” Howard frowned. “Ask someone more local, maybe?”
“I will,” Laura nodded. Janet would know. She knew everything about village life. And this was the kind of information she would have.
They headed into the village, Laura's mind racing.
“Did you find out anything?” she asked after a moment.
“Not a lot, no,” he admitted. “I asked Mason if it would be possible to tell where the spoke had come from. He said he'd look into it.”
“Good,” Laura said firmly. “If it's from a European bike, we'll know we're onto something,” she added.
“We will indeed.”
They looked at each other.
“Where to now?” Laura asked.
“Lunch first,” Howard said firmly. “Then...I don
't know? Do you have any ideas?”
“I think I'd like to visit Judy,” Laura said, thinking aloud. “I think we should find out how deeply her husband was involved in that scandal. I'm sure Judy would remember something like that.”
Howard nodded. “Good thinking.”
He put his foot on the gas and they headed into the village for lunch. After that, they would tackle Judy. To find out all they could about bicycles, taxes and bank accounts while there was still time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
BINDING LOOSE ENDS
BINDING LOOSE ENDS
The delicate clink of china and the scent of cake should have meant that everything was pleasant and calm. Laura, sitting stiffly on the sofa in Judy's elegant house, did not feel that.
“Judy?” she asked, trying not to sound impatient.
“Yes?”
“I wanted to ask you something. About Albert's work. If you don't mind?”
Judy sat down opposite her, looking worried. “Okay,” she said dubiously. “I trust you. But I might not be able to answer – Albie kept quiet about most of it. Didn't want me included in it,” she said. She looked sad. Whatever Albert Hugh had done in life, he had tried to shelter his wife from it, and that renewed Laura's respect for him again.
“Did you know if he handled the tax of a man called Anthony Morrison?” she asked carefully.
“Anthony Morrison? The local millionaire?” Judy recognized the name at once and Laura nodded.
“That one.”
“I'd be surprised if he did,” Judy frowned. “He might live around here, but I think his company headquarters are in Liverpool. They get the bikes delivered there from Europe by ship,” she explained.
“Okay,” Laura frowned. “So his tax is probably done there?”
“I think so,” Judy shrugged. “Why?”
“Nothing,” Laura bit her lip. She wondered if she should tell Judy what she suspected. She decided to take a risk. “It's just that...you know the man was involved in a tax scandal about five years ago?”
“No,” Judy frowned, thinking. After a moment she added, “Actually, now that you say it, I do remember something like that. It was in the local paper. Don't think it came to anything, though,” she added, frowning.
“Did Albert know anything about it?” Laura asked carefully.
“I don't think so,” Judy frowned. “Though, now that you mention it...Danton used to work in the offices up in Liverpool – I think he did, anyway?” she shrugged.
“Danton?”
“Friend of Albert's,” Judy elucidated. “Also in tax.”
“Oh?” Laura asked. This was interesting. If Albert Hugh, who everyone knew was crooked, had heard about a tax-scandal from his friend in the Liverpool offices, would he have wanted to act on that? Laura filed that information in the back of her brain. “Your husband was a close friend of his?”
“I suppose,” Judy admitted thoughtfully. “Well,” she demurred, “you know Albert was a difficult sort. Difficult to get along with. Kept himself to himself. Brad Danton was one of the only people he knew who I would actually count as a friend,” she explained.
“Oh,” Laura blinked. That was very interesting. If the two men had discussed the case, perhaps Albert Hugh had somehow got involved. “Is this man still in touch with you?”
“Brad? No,” Judy laughed. “Left the country, years ago. Probably in New Zealand by now, settling down and forgetting all about taxes and that sort of thing.” she chuckled.
Laura mentally crossed him off the list of people she could interview. The facts were starting to form a picture in her mind. It was a picture she was not sure she wanted to look at – one which painted Mr. Hugh in a somewhat unflattering light – but it did have the advantage of lifting the blame squarely from Judy, which was good.
“New Zealand?”
“Mm,” Judy confirmed. “Sounds a right awful place to me – so cold down there, close to the pole,” she shuddered.
She and Laura talked about mundane, ordinary things a while longer, and then Howard called to tell Laura he was back from his rounds. It was seven o' clock. Laura smiled.
“I think I have to go now, Jude,” she said gently. “Thank you for the chat. It was really nice.”
“Not at all, Laura,” Judy said insistently. “It's always lovely to talk to you. And thank you for all you've done. I really appreciate it.”
Laura smiled and embraced her, and then walked lightly out of the door to her car. Her head felt light, her vision throbbing. She had so much to think about. Mr. Hugh could have been involved in the tax scandal. The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Now she only had two questions left. Did Mr. Hugh get involved in the scandal? And, did Judy know?
She had to find out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A DEADLY DISCOVERY
A DEADLY DISCOVERY
“Oh, heck.”
“What?”
It was Sunday, and Laura and Howard were sitting in her kitchen, enjoying the end of their meal. Howard had just received a message on his phone.
“It's Mason,” he said, tight-lipped. “He's just heard back from his friend in Materials Science. He was looking at our bicycle spoke for us.”
“And..?” Laura asked, heart beating faster.
“It's an aluminium spoke.”
“What does that mean?” Laura asked.
“There are not many companies that make them,” Howard explained. “They were a bit of a fad a few years ago, but they don't make much difference to your speed. Almost everyone forgot about them a few years ago. Our friend ran some more tests and found it's from a Remerx bike.”
Laura frowned. Howard had gone white.
“Remerx?”
“A Czech bike manufacturer. There aren't too many of them in England. In fact, there aren't many places you can buy them at all.”
“Except Fastwheel Bikes?” Laura suggested. She also felt cold all over.
“Exactly.”
They stared at each other. Now they knew. There was almost no question as to the identity of the murderer. There was only one place that spoke could have come from, and that was off his bike, or a bike from his company.
“We know they sell Remerx?” Laura asked. Her voice had a slight tremor. She shook her head at herself. Why, now that they finally knew, was she wishing she didn't? She desperately wanted them to be wrong. But she was sure they were right.
“I haven't checked, no,” Howard admitted. “But they are importers from Europe. If anyone did, it'll be them.”
Laura swallowed. “Who would know?”
“We could go to their shop and ask,” Howard suggested. “There's one in Bracewell, after all.”
Laura nodded. “There is.” She paused. “I have an idea. Maybe you should go to Bracewell and ask them about these bikes. I will stay here and find out about the tax scandal.”
“Okay,” Howard said dubiously. “How?”
“Janet.”
Howard smiled. “A reliable source,” he admitted. “If anyone knows anything about local gossip, it'll be her. But will you be okay?”
“I'm sure I will be,” Laura agreed. “I'll just call Janet and ask if she wants to meet up for a drink or something. You drive safely,” she added, as Howard stood to put on his jacket and fetch his keys.
“I will.”
They kissed at the door, and Laura had a horrible feeling that she might not see him again. She shook her head at herself. She was being silly. He was about to investigate a murder, yes. But no-one knew they knew anything about it. Or did they?
As she listened to his car drive away, she shivered. The policeman – the rude one – he knew about her interest in the case. Had he been watching the house? He knew where she lived.
Still feeling uneasy but trying to forget about it, Laura reached for her phone and called Janet.
Ten minutes later, with fresh makeup and a new hairstyle, she was heading to Janet's house for a drink and a chat.<
br />
Sitting on the terrace of Janet's elegant apartment, Laura felt herself relax slightly.
“...and so the wedding will be in London. Which is a pity – I'd like to be there,” Janet sighed.
“I'm sure you could still go, Jay,” Laura said gently. Janet had just told her that her cousin was getting married next month. It was comforting to be able to talk about non-murder things. But they were running out of time and Laura had no idea how to work the conversation round to anything about murderers or tax-scandals. As it happened, she didn't have to try.
“Not that I'll be going to Imogen's wedding,” Janet laughed.
“Imogen the actress?” Laura asked, wide-eyed. “She's engaged?”
“Yes!” Janet explained. “To Anthony Morrison. I don't know when they'll marry, mind.”
“Anthony Morrison?” Laura seized the opportunity. “I just heard something about him in the village,” she began.
“Yes?” Janet leaned in conspiratorially. Any news was exciting to Janet, particularly if it was scandal. It was what made her such a useful source of information for Laura.
“I heard he was involved in a tax-evasion scandal. A few years ago. Do you remember that?”
“Yes,” Janet said, frowning as she thought back. “I think it was in 2011, or something like that. Anyhow, nothing came of it. I'm sure it was all fake. You know how people get, just because people have money,” she said moodily. “Someone pitches up who has more than them and they automatically think they cheated. Beats me,” Janet sighed, sipping her spirit-cooler. “Not that it puts me off wanting money, mind!” she laughed.
“So the case was dropped?” Laura asked hesitantly.
