“That was the case with April Showers,” Rex concurred. “She was murdered within six hours.”
If Kent Police had not managed to trace a van described by two witnesses, what hope did the authorities have of finding the predator? He could be in Europe by now.
When Alistair pulled up in front of Phoebe’s house on St. Dunstan’s Terrace forty minutes later, Rex’s backside was sore, in spite of the comfortable seating. He got out of the Jaguar with an immense sense of relief.
Before he had a chance to retrieve his bag, Phoebe came through the door and down the steps and welcomed them warmly. She held out her hand to Alistair, and he drew her into an embrace.
“So terribly sorry for all you’ve been through,” he said with sincerity. Alistair could be frivolous at times, but he was also one of the most empathetic people Rex knew, along with Helen. He always had the right words to say and an appropriate gesture.
Phoebe looked touched. “Thank you, Alistair. Yes, it’s been a difficult time since Dad’s death. I don’t know what I would have done without Rex.”
She took Rex’s arm. “He’s very dashing,” she whispered. “Shame he’s the other way inclined. So, what’s the plan?” she enquired in a normal voice when they reached the hallway.
“We’re playing it a bit by ear,” Rex replied.
“I’ve prepared a buffet lunch in the dining room. I’ll show you to your rooms so you can freshen up, and then we can talk.” Phoebe led them upstairs and showed Alistair into a guest bedroom on her floor while Rex went on up to the one he had been staying in on his two previous visits.
They reconvened in the dining room shortly afterwards and helped themselves to the selection of cold meats and cheeses set out on the sideboard. A basket of bread rolls and a tin of crackers waited on the table, along with a chilled bottle of white wine and a pot of coffee. Rex opted for the caffeine while Alistair joined Phoebe in a glass of Bordeaux.
“Now then,” Phoebe said from the head of the table when they were all three installed with their lunch. “I’m thrilled you both could come. I’ve been rather anxious since Rex called me on Friday night.”
“I take it your housekeeper left for Essex yesterday morning?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s just us for the moment.”
“Does she have a car?”
“She doesn’t drive. I expect she took the train. She was gone by the time I got up.”
“Did you end up barricading yourself in your room?” Rex asked with a smile.
“I did.” Phoebe smiled apologetically at Alistair. “I’m afraid of a sixty-four-year-old woman!”
“Quite understandable under the circumstances,” Alistair said in a reassuring tone while he buttered a roll.
“I’m worried now she might poison my food. But don’t worry; I went shopping for our lunch this morning.”
“I’m sorry it can’t be more of a social visit,” Rex said, “but Alistair and I planned on driving to Brightlingsea this afternoon.”
“I quite understand. That’s what you’re here for, after all. The sooner we can get the business of the break-in and Dad’s murder resolved, the better. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am that you’ve taken my fears seriously.”
Rex refrained from telling her about the judge’s wig found in Pruitt’s attic until he could be sure it belonged to her father. He looked across at Alistair, who was obviously content to eat and let him direct the conversation.
“According to Richard Pruitt’s private investigator, Sutter took a train from Edinburgh to Victoria Station four days before your father’s death. Of course, he could have gone anywhere from London, but the timing is significant. Were you aware that Richard discussed his investigation of Dan Sutter with your father?” Rex asked. “That would be an additional motive for murder beyond being sentenced by him; if indeed we’re on the right track and Sutter committed the crime.”
“He gave updates, but Dad wasn’t interested in getting involved in reopening the case. He just wanted to enjoy his retirement as best he could.”
Rex wondered how much the housekeeper had heard of the judge’s conversations. If he was a bit deaf, he possibly spoke loudly on the phone. And Annie could have listened in on an extension, which was why Rex had taken to talking to Phoebe on her mobile.
“There is a landline phone in the kitchen, correct? It’s just that I never noticed one.”
“There’s one on every floor. Dad had one in his room. He didn’t have a mobile.”
“Does Annie?”
“I’ve never seen her use one.”
If she was in regular touch with her son, she probably had an untraceable prepaid phone. Rex could only speculate how much she knew about his activities. Had she been sending him money now that he was off unemployment benefits? He had not been receiving any since his attack on Richard Pruitt at Ramsay Garden, according to Glover.
“You’re sure her son murdered Dad?” Phoebe questioned him. “What about the pink hair clasp?”
“Annie may have planted it to mislead us and make us think it was a woman and not her son who broke in. Have you heard back from Constable Bryant?”
“Yes, he said there were no fingerprints on the clasp or piece of latex. A technician had examined them as a special favour for us.” Phoebe saw her other guest had finished eating and asked if he wanted a second helping.
“I had someone look into female offenders sentenced by your father,” Rex said while Alistair got up to refill his plate. “No one of quite the right age came up.” He helped himself to more coffee. “However, I discovered your handyman has a brother who was given a long stretch by your father, and he has a daughter of twenty-two.”
“Alan Burke never mentioned a brother. Mind you, I’m not sure I’d want to talk about a brother in prison. What did he do?”
“Robbed a jeweller’s at gunpoint.”
“Goodness. That is a strange coincidence, isn’t it? Dad having sent Alan’s brother down, I mean. But the idea of his daughter breaking into the house … I don’t know about that,” Phoebe said in a hesitant voice. “I saw her once when she dropped him off in his van. Rather a dumpy girl, not the sort you could imagine climbing a drainpipe!”
“The list of male suspects, on the other hand, is as long as my arm, including the brother. But Bruce Burke managed to persuade me, for the moment at least, that he has not been back to Kent since his release. For now I’m pursuing Dan Sutter as our most likely suspect and Annie as an accomplice.”
“Her involvement makes me very uncomfortable.” Phoebe looked temporarily dazed.
“She may have no knowledge,” Rex conceded. “But in view of the fact she took the position at your house … ”
“Premeditation,” Alistair said, returning to the table with a full plate. “I daresay she supplied fictitious references.”
Rex was glad to see him pour himself a cup of coffee. It could turn into a long day, and they had been up since dawn.
“She’s due back tonight,” Phoebe said. “What should I do?”
“We may find her before then,” Alistair said optimistically.
“If not, try and act as normal as possible,” Rex cautioned. “We should be back before you go to bed.”
A shawl was draped over the back of Phoebe’s chair. She wrapped herself in it even though the dining room was comfortably warm. Rex concentrated on eating while Alistair enquired about her “delightful” house, which he guessed correctly dated back to the late Regency period. He told her about his Georgian residence in Edinburgh’s New Town. Phoebe visibly relaxed as they chatted, and Rex regretted having to interrupt.
“The sooner we get going, the sooner we can get back,” he said. “That was a grand lunch, Phoebe.”
“Oh, don’t you want some rhubarb pie? Annie made it.”
“I don’t think so, thank you,” Alistair de
murred. “I’ve already eaten far too much.”
Rex could not be sure whether his friend was suspicious of Annie’s pie or was simply watching his waistline, but he politely declined as well.
“Perhaps we could take some fruit with us,” Alistair asked.
“Of course.” Phoebe went to the sideboard and pulled a large napkin from a drawer, which she used to bundle up some bananas and apples. “I hope the police know you’re going to Brightlingsea to look for Dan Sutter.”
“DCI Lauper didn’t seem very interested,” Rex replied. “Probably didn’t want to go on another fool’s errand after a false sighting on the island of Lewis. He said we were to call his counterpart in Colchester if we ran into trouble.”
“Which we hopefully shall,” Alistair said lightly. “That really is the whole point of our going, after all.”
This elicited a small smile from Phoebe. “Well, be careful, both of you. I’ll be on tenterhooks until you get back.”
Rex promised to ring and give her a progress report once they had a better idea of the situation. He and Alistair gathered what they needed in their search for Dan Sutter and set out for Essex without further delay.
Thirty-Three
Heading out of Canterbury towards the Dartford Tunnel and proceeding northeast on the A12, Rex and Alistair encountered little Sunday traffic.
Rex’s impression of Essex, as the Jaguar ate up the miles of carriageway bypassing several towns on the way to Colchester, was that it was flat and un-scenic and rendered all the less prepossessing that afternoon by an overcast sky.
The rest of the journey proved uneventful as he and Alistair discussed their immediate plans and entertained various scenarios; and less than two hours after leaving Phoebe’s house, they were entering Brightlingsea from Thorrington Cross on the B1029.
The road curved past an old parish church on a hill and continued past a school to their left and the Cherry Tree Pub on their right. They came to Victoria Place, the location of several banks and businesses, and took a random turn into a narrow street with cars parked alongside the two-storey, semi-detached homes in red brick standing flush on the pavement. Some had been whitewashed or otherwise given a face-lift. Others presented rough rendered façades, a few retaining their original sash windows. The overall impression was dreary in the late afternoon.
The street made a slight kink in its route leading to the waterfront. The two men stepped out of the car to the screeching of gulls wheeling in a watery blue sky. A tang of seaweed assailed Rex’s nose as he watched the greenish grey water crested with dingy foam slosh against the concrete seawall.
Set back from the promenade, a semi-circle of wooden beach huts painted in bright shades or pastels stretched around the promontory, which he guessed from the topography had originally been marshland.
A handful of dinghies skimmed across the broad river beyond that joined the sea, tacking at cross angles with tautly stretched sails. The wind was picking up and throwing Alistair’s hair into uncharacteristic disarray and stinging Rex’s eyes.
“Now that we’ve got our bearings, let’s start on the pubs,” he suggested, heading back to the car. “I’m ready for a pint and even more eager to find Dan Sutter.”
Pruitt’s investigator had said he frequented pubs. If Annie’s daughter was not here, the ex-Mrs. Sutter would have come for the purpose of visiting her son, Rex kept convincing himself. But where were they staying? If the pubs did not pan out, he and Alistair would have to start over again with the hotels, hostels, and rental accommodations, asking for guests and tenants by the name of McBride. It was almost certain neither would use the name Sutter. Adding to the daunting prospect was the inconvenience of it being a Sunday, when tourist and rental offices might be closed.
“A pub crawl with a purpose,” Alistair said, starting the throaty car engine. “How many pubs did you say?”
“At least six. We’ll start at the Rosebud and work our way back.”
The only downside to the Jaguar was that it was conspicuous. The trip from Edinburgh had muted some of its silvery gleam, and flying insects had found their final resting place on the smeared windscreen, but the car’s elongated lines drew many a glance as they drove to the first pub on Rex’s list.
The Rosebud did not turn up anyone who had seen Sutter. Nor did the second pub. Admittedly, the photo from the police flyer was grainy.
Each equipped with a copy, Rex and Alistair then made the rounds of the Brewer’s Arms, enquiring of every customer and member of staff whether they had seen the man in the picture. A local resident said he looked familiar, before realizing it was because his ex-brother-in-law had the same sort of bland face, although it couldn’t be him because he had died in a motorcycle accident two years ago.
“He’s a criminal, right?” another customer asked, studying Sutter’s face. “It’s in the eyes if you look closely enough. Is he wanted for something?” Rex had removed the “wanted” part of the flyer before showing it around.
“Attempting to murder a man in Edinburgh,” Rex vaguely divulged. He requested that he not say anything to anyone until the subject of their search had been found. The customer, by all appearances a reasonable sort enjoying a pint before he went home to dinner, obligingly agreed.
“What’s left?” Alistair asked when they were back on the street in the damp grey evening, the air heavy with the promise of rain.
Rex consulted the list. “Let’s try the Masthead, down by the water.”
“I’m assuming this used to be a fishing village,” Alistair remarked on the drive to the pub.
“From what I’ve read, Brightlingsea used to have an oyster industry. And shipbuilding. It’s situated at the mouth of a tidal river. I imagine it’s a dormitory town for Colchester now, judging by the number of newer homes back there.” By newer, Rex meant post-war.
They parked near the centre of town and continued by foot. The co-op they passed was closed, or Rex would have asked inside about Dan Sutter. Presumably he had to shop somewhere if he was in town.
Rex did not want to admit to Alistair that he was beginning to lose hope, especially when his friend remained ebulliently positive. Brightlingsea was bigger than he had thought it would be. And yet only that morning he had felt deep in his bones that it was the place to look. He put his discouragement down to the two days of travel following a busy week. After all, they had barely begun looking.
The Masthead appeared more rundown than the other pubs. The windows within the weathered frames were so encrusted with salt and grime that Rex was unable to see clearly into the gloomy interior.
They went in and ordered drinks as they casually glanced around at the patrons, many of them engrossed in a rowdy game of darts taking place at the far end of the bar by an empty, charred fireplace. Rex showed the barman the photo, expecting the usual response.
He nodded and said, “He comes in here from time to time. What’s he done?”
“What makes you say that?”
The barman skewed his jaw. “Can’t say exactly, but somefing’s a bit off about him, know what I mean?”
“He came into some money and we were assigned the task of finding him.” Alistair made it sound like an unenviable chore.
“Did he win the pools?”
“No,” Alistair replied. “He was left it by a distant relative. We represent the estate.”
Rex knew they had to find Sutter before someone told him they were searching for him. He came from a family without money and would be highly suspicious if he heard the flimsy story they had concocted. However, greed was a great motivator and the barman already had pound signs in his eyes.
“He’s a mate of mine is Danny Boy. You tell him to say hello to Ray at the Masthead when you find him. Hasn’t been round here since Thursday night, I think it was.”
An old man in a flat cap sitting on a barstool raised his tankard of beer
to the two men as they took up their drinks. Rex cheerfully returned the gesture. They finally had proof Sutter was in Brightlingsea, or had been here recently!
Rex turned back to the barman, whose hair was thinning at the temples, age lines grooved into his face, and tried to gauge how far he could be trusted. “If you could maybe point us in the right direction, you’d be doing Danny a service, and us. It’s been a long day. As soon as we can have him sign the letter informing him of his inheritance, we can be on our way.”
“Is it much, you know, of an inheritance?” Ray asked, leaning forward and placing his bare forearms upon the sticky bar.
Rex smiled conspiratorially. “We’re not really at liberty to say, but I’d consider it a windfall if I were the lucky recipient.”
“It’d be one for him an’ all, judging by his clothes. I can’t swear to it, but I think he’s staying at the campsite out yonder.” Ray pointed through the impenetrable window.
“Who’s that then?” asked a beer-bellied customer approaching the bar from the direction of the dartboard.
“That bloke Danny what drinks McEwan’s was in here Thursday.”
“I seen him earlier in the week at the campsite. I’m always over there fixing the drains. What about him?”
“These gentlemen come from … Where’d you say you come from again?” the barman asked.
“London,” Alistair replied.
“Just wondered ‘cos your colleague sounds like he’s Scottish, same as Danny.”
“Originally from Edinburgh.”
“That’s where he’s from an’ all.”
Definitely our man, Rex congratulated himself. “Any idea what he drives?”
Ray shook his head. “No idea. What about you, Ken?”
The globular eyes in the plumber’s shiny red face took on a vacant stare. “Can’t say that I do, but you won’t find many cars at the campsite now the season’s over.”
Judgment of Murder Page 14
