David Webb 10 - Three, Three, the Rivals

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘You know you’re welcome,’ she said.

  *

  The graveyard lay silent in the pre-dawn hush, the only sound the rhythmic thudding of spades hitting the clogged earth. The air was chill, and a heavy dew covered the grass. Screens, unnecessary at the moment, had been erected against later sightseers, and arc lamps created a small, brilliantly lit oasis.

  On the fringe of it a group of men huddled together in atavistic comradeship, the living among the dead; though in fact death was no stranger to any of them. They included the superintendent of the cemetery, Dr Stapleton the pathologist, Fred Furlong from the undertakers, a police photographer and half a dozen constables who were taking turns in the digging.

  ‘Go carefully,’ Webb had instructed them. ‘What we’re looking for is an extra body dumped on top of the coffin, but we don’t know at what depth it might be. When you get down a couple of feet — carefully, mind — I want you to abandon the spades and use trowels. We can’t risk damaging any evidence.’

  The Broadshire soil was light and loamy and once the turf had been removed the work was not too strenuous. Large plastic sheets had been spread on the ground to receive all the earth removed from the grave, and two men were engaged in sifting the spadesful as they fell. The sky was fading to a soft turquoise, and already pink and gold strands were appearing to the east where the sun would shortly rise.

  Furlong the undertaker had lit a cigarette and a spiral of pungent smoke drifted over them, marring, to Webb’s mind, the freshness of the morning. To escape it, he moved a few feet to one side. And suddenly a vivid memory, long forgotten, flooded his mind: a picture of his father sitting across the hearth in the Lower Road house, eyes narrowed against the smoke and ash falling from the cigarette in his thick, nicotine-stained fingers. Here, in this chilly cemetery forty years on, Webb realized for the first time that his lifelong dislike of smoking dated from that buried memory.

  Consigning it back into the past, he glanced at the screen that hid the open grave. Surely if anything was there they’d have found it by now? He was torn between the hope that they’d reach the coffin without incident, and the need to vindicate this exercise. If it proved a wild-goose chase, Dick’s disappearance and Sheila’s ghost would both remain a mystery.

  Then, cutting into his thoughts, Pike’s voice reached him, raised in excitement. ‘Guv, we’ve found something!’

  Webb hurried forward, his ambivalence forgotten. ‘Well done, lads. What is it?’ He peered into the dank, damp hole as Pike eagerly pointed out their find — a piece of bone shining obscenely under the arc lamps. Webb stared at it for a long minute, buffeted by conflicting emotions. ‘Right, then,’ he said. ‘Easy does it, now. See if you can ease him out in one piece.’

  The digging continued for another hour, more specialized now and requiring infinite patience, recorded systematically by the flashing camera. From time to time the tedium was relieved by lesser triumphs as the constables sifting the soil came upon first three shirt buttons then, minutes later, a tarnished metal watch.

  Those not immediately involved had withdrawn slightly, splitting naturally into twos and threes as they sipped hot coffee and watched the sun rise. Over to their left a cock was crowing; the day was about to begin. Webb turned as Tenby, who had been taking his turn with the excavation, approached him.

  ‘We’ve struck a problem, Guv. The lid of the coffin’s caved in at some stage and our lad seems to have fallen through, along with half a ton of earth. What we first saw was his foot sticking up, but it’s going to be the devil of a job sorting out t’other from which.’

  Webb felt his stomach turn. ‘They’re jumbled together?’

  ‘Depends how intact they are — we can’t tell yet because of the soil. The clothes will have disintegrated long since, so there’ll be no help from that quarter.’

  ‘You are sure there are two bodies?’ Webb demanded urgently. ‘That bone can’t have come from inside the coffin?’

  ‘No, the angle’s not right. The skeleton we can see was never in the coffin. Not intentionally, that is.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to remove the whole lot together. Get the ropes in position, would you?’

  He stood watching with the other men while the gruesome work progressed. ‘Do you reckon my theory holds water,’ he asked Stapleton, ‘and they were buried within a day or two of each other?’

  The pathologist lifted thin shoulders. ‘Since both are skeletons, I can’t possibly say until we’ve run tests.’

  Stiff-necked bastard! Webb thought in a wave of frustrated impatience; he might have known Stapleton wouldn’t give him anything. But the pathologist relented slightly. ‘Trouble is, all the small bones will have fallen together into the bottom of the coffin — wrist bones, fingers and so on. It’ll take time to separate and label them.’

  ‘I wonder what chance there is of tracing Vernon’s dental records,’ Webb mused. ‘They’d be the quickest means of identification.’

  Stapleton gave a thin-lipped smile. ‘At least you seem in no doubt who we have here, Chief Inspector,’ he said drily.

  *

  By the time the mortuary van left and the earth and turf from the grave had been parcelled up and despatched to the laboratory, it was almost lunch-time.

  The cemetery had been opened as usual but the screens remained, with a couple of uniformed constables on duty to keep sightseers at bay. The small crowd which had gathered as news of the operation spread, dispersed once the shrouded coffin had been removed, and apart from an occasional slowly moving car whose driver craned to see what was happening, Chapel Lane had reverted to its normal quietness.

  Since both the deceased had presumably been dead forty-odd years, there was not the usual urgency about post-mortems. They had therefore been fixed for the Monday morning to allow time for removal of the soil and preliminary sorting out of the two bodies. Webb did not regret the postponement.

  Jackson, who’d arrived shortly before nine o’clock, ambled over to the gate where Webb was briefing the SOCO photographer and waited till the man got into his car and set off back to Shillingham. ‘Right, Guv, what’s next on the agenda?’

  ‘I want to check with Silver Street who handled Vernon’s disappearance.’

  ‘He won’t still be around, surely?’

  ‘Someone might be. Anyway, we need to read up the notes and see if anything significant comes to light. First, though,’ he added, ‘I could do with a good wash, a cold beer and a plate of ham sandwiches.’

  ‘All available at the Narrow Boat,’ Jackson suggested with a grin.

  ‘You talked me into it,’ Webb said.

  *

  In Silver Street, representatives of the Press had taken up position outside the police station, among whom Webb recognized Bill Hardy, crime reporter of the Broadshire News. He and Jackson shouldered their way through, holding the pack at bay with promises of a Press conference later in the day.

  In his upstairs office, Inspector Charlton was also eager for their news.

  ‘Well, how did it go? Did you find what you were looking for?’

  ‘It seems so,’ Webb said a touch wearily.

  ‘You mean there really were two bodies in the grave?’

  ‘There were indeed.’

  ‘And it’s that man who disappeared yonks ago?’

  ‘Seems likely.’

  Charlton considered for a moment. ‘What I don’t understand, sir, is what put you on to it? Does it tie in with the Makepeace case?’

  Webb was loath to embark on Sheila’s ghost story, but the man deserved some explanation. ‘Basically, I believe Makepeace overheard something which made him suspect what had happened. We know that before he set off for the Farmers’ Club he tried to phone the vicar, who was out. We also know he was late arriving at the club, which could indicate that he called on someone on the way.’

  ‘And confided his suspicions?’

  ‘That’s the most likely explanation.’

  ‘And it was the w
rong person to confide in?’

  ‘Almost certainly. My guess is that whoever it was pressed secrecy on him, let him go on to the club while he decided what to do, and then lay in wait for him on his way home.’

  ‘And have you any idea who this might be, sir?’

  Webb sighed. ‘Regrettably, not a clue. But leaving Makepeace for the moment, Inspector, I need the files on Vernon’s disappearance. I presume they’re at HQ?’

  ‘Bound to be, sir. I’ve never come across them here, though the case is still talked about. George Harvey was in charge; he might be able to help you.’

  Webb brightened. ‘He’s still around?’

  ‘Very much so. Bit creaky in the joints, but a great old feller. Must be eighty if he’s a day, but his memory’s still sound, especially on the Vernon case. It was his one regret when he retired that he’d never been able to tie it up.’

  ‘Could we make an appointment to see him?’

  ‘Certainly, I’ll do it now. When would you like to go?’

  ‘As soon as convenient.’

  They waited while Charlton put through the call and, without going into details, relaid their request.

  ‘Three o’clock?’ he repeated, raising his eyebrows at Webb, who nodded. ‘Right, Guv, they’ll be along then. Cheers.

  ‘He and his missus live in sheltered accommodation,’ Charlton went on as he replaced the phone. ‘Glebe Court, it is, just up the hill from St Gabriel’s.’

  ‘Thanks very much, Inspector, we’ll find it. Now, how many dental practices are there in town?’

  ‘Let’s see: four that I can think of.’

  ‘Old-established, or new?’

  ‘I’d say they’ve all changed hands over the years. There was a lot of upheaval over National Health charges and so on. Lake and Gregson in Bridge Street take only private patients now.’

  ‘Could you arrange for a back-up team to visit them all, with a view to tracing Dick Vernon’s records?’

  The Inspector looked dubious. ‘I’ll send them, certainly, but it’s asking rather a lot after — what? — forty years?’

  With which Webb had gloomily to agree.

  *

  The day whose clear dawn he had witnessed from the cemetery had clouded over, trapping the hot air with claustrophobic heaviness. The shoppers on the pavements moved slowly, fractious children dragging on their mothers’ hands. As they rounded the corner by the vicarage, Webb caught sight of the child Luke in the garden. In the four days of the investigation, he reflected, it was surprising what a wide sweep of the community had been involved in his questions. As yet, none of them had provided the right answers.

  An old man was waiting for them as they turned into Glebe Court — doubtless ex-DCI George Harvey. He came forward eagerly as Webb extracted himself from the car, and held out his hand.

  ‘DCI Webb? A pleasure, my boy. I remember you in short trousers!’

  ‘Please, sir,’ Webb protested, ‘don’t give my sergeant here the impression I’ve a criminal record!’ He introduced Jackson, who also had his hand warmly shaken.

  ‘No, no, I knew you only as John Webb’s boy — you and your little sister. I still see her about the town. Come in, come in.’

  He led the way with quiet pride into the spick and span little house from which he’d emerged and where an elderly woman smilingly awaited them. ‘My wife, Mildred. I’m sure you could do with a cup of tea and one of Mildred’s scones?’

  ‘That sounds very welcome,’ Webb answered, knowing that to refuse would upset the old couple, not to mention Jackson, though for himself, his ham sandwiches still sufficed.

  The room in which they settled themselves was neat and bright, its window open to the airless afternoon. There was a pipe rack on the mantel, but to Webb’s relief the old man did not approach it. For the rest, a scattering of books and magazines, the ubiquitous television, deep easy chairs, made a comfortable environment.

  ‘All on one floor,’ Harvey said with satisfaction, ‘and alarm bells in every room, should we need them. There are a lot worse places to end one’s days.’

  ‘It seems ideal,’ Webb said, politically but sincerely.

  The requisite small talk over, the old man leant forward, resting his arms on his knees. ‘Now, what’s this all about? I know you’ve been working on the Makepeace case, but if you’ve come to me, it must concern Dick Vernon.’

  ‘That’s right, sir, we’re told you’re the authority on him.’

  ‘Up to a point,’ the old man agreed. ‘I can tell you everything about him down to the number of teeth he had, but for all that I never fathomed what happened to him.’

  ‘Teeth?’ Webb interrupted sharply.

  ‘Yes, lad, teeth. I thought that would interest you. I took the precaution, right at the beginning, of getting a copy of his dental records in case they were needed. You’ll find them in the files.’

  ‘God bless you, sir!’ Webb said devoutly. ‘That’s the best news I’ve had today!’

  The old man stared at him. ‘You’re never saying you have found him?’

  ‘Almost definitely.’

  Mrs Harvey had returned with a tea-tray complete with lace doilies and paper napkins, and was proceeding to lay out cups and saucers on the low table.

  ‘But — where, man? Where the hell was he?’

  ‘In his sister’s grave, if we’re on the right track.’

  ‘Just fancy!’ said Mrs Harvey, handing him a cup of tea.

  ‘Bless my soul!’ The old man sat back in his chair, his eyes inward-looking, recalling his own investigations. ‘The cemetery. That’s about the only place we didn’t look for him.’

  ‘Well, there was nothing to indicate he was dead, was there? I gather you had the usual sightings all over the country?’

  Harvey brushed that impatiently aside. ‘Crank calls, most of them. And he was in there with Joan all the time. His twin sister.’ He shook his head, adding with ghoulish relish, ‘A shared womb and a shared tomb. Who’d have thought it?’

  ‘Really, George!’ Mrs Harvey admonished gently. ‘Not at the tea-table, dear!’

  ‘We’ll collect the files from HQ when we get back,’ Webb went on, biting into a buttery scone and adroitly catching the crumbs on his plate. ‘It’ll mean going back over it all again, checking everything he did during his last week of life. And what those around him did, too.’ He looked across at the old man. ‘Did you ever suspect murder, sir?’

  ‘It’s always on the cards, with a disappearance like that, but there was damn-all to go on.’

  ‘Any motives emerge?’

  ‘Nary a one. Dick was a popular man, as you’ll see from the various testimonies. Mind, I was conscious all along of some holding back.’ Harvey shot Webb a look under his bushy grey eyebrows, and he wondered uneasily if the old man was referring to his mother. She was unlikely to have admitted meeting Dick that night.

  ‘And old Makepeace might have known a thing or two,’ Harvey was continuing, ‘but he’s beyond our reach now.’

  He paused. ‘Are you going to tell me what put you on to the cemetery?’

  This time Webb did not dodge the question. As matter-of-factly as he could, he related Sheila’s conversation with her friends in the café, Billy’s apparent interest, and his subsequent phone-call.

  ‘If Sheila had been in that evening,’ he ended heavily, ‘Billy might still be alive today.’

  George Harvey had listened attentively to the account, his old eyes alert and interested.

  ‘You reckon what your sister saw was the murderer concealing the body?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure of it, but it was quick of Billy to spot it. The key factor would have been Sheila’s saying it was forty years ago. Anyway, when he couldn’t get hold of her he tried phoning the vicar but he was out, too. According to Mrs Makepeace he made only the two calls, but he might well have visited someone on his way to the club, since he was late getting there.’

  ‘Who could that have been?’

&
nbsp; ‘Presumably,’ Webb said wryly, ‘someone he thought of as a friend. From the church, perhaps, or a fellow magistrate. I imagine he wanted advice on what he should do.’

  ‘Instead of which he walked straight into the murderer’s clutches?’

  ‘That’s the only conclusion I can draw.’

  Harvey slapped his thigh suddenly, making them all jump. ‘By heaven, I wish I was young again! This case was my baby; I’d love to be in at the end of it.’

  Webb smiled, draining his cup. ‘We might well be glad of your help, sir, since you’re so familiar with the background. We’ll keep in touch.’

  The old man was clearly gratified, and insisted on shaking both their hands again as they left. ‘Anything at all I can do,’ he assured them, ‘just let me know.’

  Jackson eased the car out of the courtyard and turned left towards the High Street. ‘Where to now, Guv?’

  Webb yawned and glanced at his watch. ‘Better make it Silver Street — there’s barely half an hour before the Press conference. Once that’s over, though, we’ll head straight back to Stonebridge. I want to get my hands on those files and extract the dental records for Stapleton. Once we know beyond all doubt we have Dick Vernon, we can really get cracking.’

  CHAPTER 9

  Force Headquarters was situated in the countryside some ten miles south of Shillingham. There was no village nearby, but an old stone bridge that crossed the river further down the road had given its name to the area.

  After signing the requisite forms, Webb and Jackson were escorted down to the basement where the archives were stored and spent some time sifting through the shelves of old and dusty files before they found what they were looking for.

  ‘I’ll drive, Ken,’ Webb said as, the bulky files under his arm, they walked back to the car. ‘I’ll drop you off and then look in at the station for a while. Once I’ve got the dental records off to Stapleton, I want a quick look at these papers to familiarize myself with the case.’

  In fact, he worked in his office for a couple of hours, making out his reports and going through the forty-year-old papers with their painstaking details. Not unnaturally, those who had been most systematically questioned after the disappearance were his father and Billy Makepeace, seemingly the only two people in the district with whom Dick Vernon had been on bad terms. Webb read his father’s testimony with grim admiration for its deception.