Back at the station, Radcliffe reported to DI Castle the result of the conversation. ‘He’s coming in this morning to give us his elims.’
‘How did he react?’
‘He sounded pretty jumpy – I thought for a moment he was going to refuse, but I guess he thought better of it. It looks as if you’re on the right track, Guv.’
‘Glad you think so. I hope the Super takes the same line – I’m just off to brief him.’
Superintendent Sladden sat with his plump, well-kept hands folded over his stomach and listened gravely to DI Castle’s progress report on the robbery at Bussell Manor.
‘What makes you so sure this fellow Rodriguez is your man?’ he asked when Castle came to the end of his brief recital. ‘Yes, I know about the pattern so far,’ he went on before the DI had a chance to reply to the question. ‘Three jobs within twelve months, all the victims clients of the chap’s company, all visited by him by invitation shortly beforehand—’
‘Plus a report from the undercover agent that another job was imminent,’ Castle reminded him.
‘Yes, pity that information was incomplete. Didn’t you have him tailed?’ Sladden ran his eyes once more over the written report that Castle had given him. ‘Ah yes, and lost him in traffic on Thursday evening. That was… unfortunate.’ He managed by his tone to suggest that ill fortune was not the only factor in the failure of the surveillance operation. ‘You’ve no idea where he went after that?’
‘No, sir. I ordered the team back to his home, hoping they’d pick him up there. They waited till after midnight, but when he hadn’t shown up by then it seemed pointless to keep them there any longer and I called them in.’
‘I’d probably have taken the same decision,’ Sladden admitted graciously. ‘Well, Castle, I admit that on the face of it, it looks very much as if this could be this chap’s work – but on the other hand, the whole thing could be a series of coincidences. I understand there were other robberies during the same period at houses where he hadn’t previously paid a visit.’
‘That’s true, sir,’ Castle agreed, a trifle wearily. He had already referred to that possibility during the early part of the conversation, but it was typical of the Super to bring it up later as if it was his own idea.
‘And don’t lose sight of the fact that it could have been an inside job,’ Sladden went on. ‘I take it you’ll be checking on the other characters in the cast?’
‘Enquiries are already in hand, sir.’
‘Good show. Keep me informed.’
‘Of course.’
Feeling slightly aggrieved, as was normal after an interview with the Super, Castle withdrew. Shortly after he reached his own office, there was a knock at the door and a young uniformed constable entered with an envelope in his hand. ‘Elims from Miguel Rodriguez,’ he said.
‘Oh, thanks. Give them to Sukey Reynolds, will you?’
‘Sir.’ The man turned to go, then hesitated. ‘I don’t know if it’s relevant, sir, but something rather odd happened a few moments ago. Just as Rodriguez was about to leave, Sukey arrived in a great hurry and went to the security door to punch in the code. When Rodriguez saw her he almost jumped out of his skin and shouted, “Pepita!” She half glanced round but didn’t take much notice, just went through the door and disappeared. He stood there with his mouth open, staring after her as if he’d seen a ghost.’
‘Did he say anything else?’
‘He seemed really shaken. He grabbed me by the arm and said, “What’s she doing here?” I told him she was one of our Scene of Crime Officers and he said, “You mean she works for the police?” He seemed horrified and began muttering under his breath. It sounded like, “How could she, how could she?” He must have mistaken her for someone else and it probably has nothing to do with the case, but I thought it worth mentioning.’
‘You were absolutely right,’ Castle told him. ‘Sometimes these apparently irrelevant details turn out to be of considerable importance. His tone remained matter-of-fact, but as the door closed behind the young officer his smile of approval gave way to an uneasy frown.
There was a ball of lead in Roddy’s stomach and burning coals behind his eyes. He sat on the edge of his bed – that same bed where, only two days before, he and Pepita had for the first and only time made love. She had been reluctant at first – not, she had assured him with tears in her eyes, through a lack of desire, but because of a certain loyalty she felt towards a husband she no longer cared for. When at last she yielded they had shared what to him had been the most perfect night that any man could wish for, with – as he had fervently believed – the promise of many more. The memories returned to torment him – the rounded contours of her body, the warmth of her lips, her perfume, the silky softness of her hair, the satin texture of her skin and the touch of her cool fingers caressing his, lingering for a moment on the star-shaped birthmark on his private parts, as she jokingly accused him of having it tattooed. He groaned aloud and sank his face into his hands at the realisation that it had been nothing but a sham, a device to bring about his downfall.
For long, agonising minutes he sat there, remembering nothing of the call from Crowson or of the drive home after the summons to the police station – so anodyne, yet so shattering in its outcome – seeing only the image of the woman he loved as she passed unheedingly before him with all the confidence of someone who knew exactly where she was and what she was doing. The few simple words spoken by the young officer rang in his ears and made a mockery of his dreams. A dozen times he repeated aloud his own response to those words: How could she? How could she?
After a while he raised his head, fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. From it he drew a photograph of the two of them at a friend’s house, the only one of Pepita that he possessed. It had been taken without her knowledge at a party a couple of weeks or so ago and he had treasured it in secret like a schoolboy fan worshipping a picture of a favourite pop star. She had always claimed to have ‘a thing’ about being photographed and had stubbornly refused to pose for him or allow anyone else to take a shot of the two of them together. Now he knew why. He stared at it, trembling with grief and rage that spilled over into a howl of anguish. You treacherous bitch, how could you?
The ring of the telephone brought him back to his senses. A familiar voice said, ‘Wallis here. You’re late checking in. Is everything all right?’
His own voice sounded hoarse and strange as he replied, ‘No, nothing is all right.’
‘Explain.’
The single word, low-pitched with a hint of a foreign accent, had an ominous ring that sent a shiver down Roddy’s back. Already stunned by the realisation that his lover had betrayed him, he experienced a new sensation: fear. Fear at what might happen should this man, whom he had never met but who had come to play such a powerful role in his life, believe he had been tricked out of the spoils of his latest scam. His heart thudded in his chest as he recounted the events of the morning: Crowson’s threats, the call from the police and the shock of the encounter at the police station.
The silence that greeted his story lasted only a few seconds, yet it seemed an eternity before Wallis spoke. ‘We must move quickly. Stay where you are and let no one in. You will receive my instructions within the hour.’
Five
‘Had a good day, Mum?’ Sukey’s sixteen-year-old son Fergus came bounding into the sitting room of the little semi-detached house in Brockworth, where she was relaxing with the Gloucester Gazette. There was, of course, no mention of the robbery at Bussell Manor; news of that would not have broken in time for the early edition. No doubt it would be the headline story tomorrow. Fergus leaned over the back of her chair and dropped a kiss on her cheek. ‘Anything interesting?’
‘For once, yes. Come into the kitchen and we’ll have a cup of tea while I tell you about it.’
‘It sounds as if Jim’s after a really big fish,’ Fergus commented when she had finished her account of the morning’s events.
; ‘I’m pretty sure he is, but he wasn’t giving much away.’
‘Maybe there’s been some top secret international undercover operation going on.’ Fergus, whose concept of police work had a tendency to be influenced by the highly coloured imaginations of television scriptwriters, was round-eyed with excitement.
‘You could be right,’ agreed his mother with a chuckle. ‘He’s coming for supper this evening – you can have a go at quizzing him then. Not that I give much for your chances, though, he can be a real oyster when he likes.’
‘We’ll see.’ Fergus put down his empty cup, picked up his school bag and made for the door. ‘I’m going to have a shower and then I’ll give you a hand with the cooking.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Oh, by the way, Anita’s mum and dad are going down to their cottage in Devon for the weekend and they’ve invited me along. It’s OK, isn’t it?
‘Of course.’
‘I said I was sure it would be.’ He clattered upstairs. He was a good kid, Sukey thought as she began sorting out the ingredients for the steak pie she had planned for their evening meal. Not many lads of his age were as ready to give a hand with preparing food as they were to consuming it. The influence of his seventeen-year-old girlfriend, Anita, might have something to do with the phenomenon.
‘My, that was good!’ With a sigh of satisfaction, Jim Castle laid down his knife and fork.
‘Super, Mum,’ agreed Fergus, who had already cleared his plate and had been waiting expectantly for his mother and their guest to finish.
‘Glad you enjoyed it,’ said Sukey contentedly.
‘Anyone for seconds?’ Knowing full well what the answer from her two hungry menfolk would be, she was already on her way to the kitchen.
‘More wine, Jim?’ said Fergus, handing over the bottle. ‘Help yourself, I’m only allowed one small one,’ he added with a grin.
‘Quite right too,’ said Jim as he topped up his own and Sukey’s glasses. ‘You’re lucky to have such a liberal-minded mother. I’d never have been allowed so much as a half of bitter at home till I was eighteen.’
‘Bet you had a few on the quiet, though!’
‘Well…’ The teenage boy and the forty-year-old man exchanged companionable smiles.
From the kitchen came the clash of dishes and a moment later Sukey re-entered the room bearing the remains of the pie. ‘Fetch the vegetables, will you, Gus?’ she said as she cut the crust in two. ‘I hope you can manage this between you – I’ve no room for any more.’
‘Watch us,’ said Jim, holding out his plate.
It was while Sukey was serving the fruit salad she had prepared for their dessert that Fergus fired his opening shot at Jim. ‘Mum tells me you’re on the track of a serial art thief,’ he remarked in his most casual tone.
Jim shot a questioning glance at Sukey which she made a point of not noticing. He picked up his wineglass and studied its contents for a moment without speaking, took a mouthful, replaced the glass carefully on its coaster and helped himself to cream. ‘I wondered when one of you would bring that up,’ he said quietly.
‘Fergus is convinced that whoever carried out the Bussell Manor job is a member of a ruthless international gang,’ said Sukey. Her tone was flippant, but Jim’s expression remained serious and she experienced a momentary flicker of unease. From the moment of his arrival at the house he had given the impression that something was preying on his mind. The way he had taken her face between his hands and given her a searching look before asking, ‘Is everything OK, Sook?’ made her think he expected to hear of some secret anxiety on which she needed reassurance.
Meanwhile, Fergus pursued his theory. ‘She says you know who it is, but you won’t tell. The police must have got on to him somehow – was there an undercover agent involved? I’ll bet there was,’ he went on as Jim remained silent. ‘That must be an exciting job. I’d rather like to have a go at it myself one day.’
‘You wouldn’t have been much help in this operation,’ said the detective, momentarily off his guard.
Fergus pounced. ‘You mean there was, and it was a woman! Cherchez la femme and all that? That must mean your man’s susceptible to feminine wiles. I see him as a kind of Raffles character, carrying out these robberies for kicks rather than the money,’ he rattled on. ‘Always one step ahead of the police – until he makes one fatal mistake.’ He paused for breath, his eyes fixed on Jim’s face, while Sukey watched the pair of them with mingled curiosity and amusement.
Despite his evident determination to keep his own counsel, Jim could not restrain a smile. ‘Well, we haven’t caught him out in a fatal mistake so far,’ he said ruefully. ‘We’re all working on it though, your mother included. Watch this space!’
‘His lips are sealed!’ said Sukey with a chuckle. ‘I did warn you, didn’t I, Gus?’
‘Well, it was worth a try,’ her son retorted with a resigned shrug. He got up from the table, saying, ‘Will you excuse me, I’ve got some school work to finish and then I’m going to have an early night. Have to make an early start in the morning, Mum – Anita’s dad wants to leave at six o’clock to get ahead of the traffic.’
Sukey pretended to shudder at the thought. ‘You’ll have to get yourself up,’ she said.
‘No problem. Good night, Jim, have a good weekend.’
‘You too.’
‘Good night, Mum.’
‘Good night, Gus. Give me a call before you leave in the morning.’
‘Will do.’ At the door, Fergus turned and gave his mother a meaningful look. ‘See if you can get him to be a bit more forthcoming, Mum. Use your feminine wiles, why don’t you?’
‘Cheeky!’ Sukey picked up the empty wine bottle and pretended to aim it at him. In response, he blew her a kiss and disappeared.
There was a short silence before Jim said, ‘Shall we clear this lot away?’
‘Good idea. I’ll make some coffee.’
As they waited for the kettle to boil, Jim remarked, ‘Fergus and Anita have been an item for quite a while now, haven’t they?’
‘Just over a year. It’s done Fergus a lot of good – he’s matured no end.’
‘He still seems happy about us.’ He moved closer, his arm encircling her from behind. She put down the two coffee mugs she had just taken from a cupboard and slid round in his arms to face him. His kiss had a surprising urgency and after a while she pulled away from him, her hands on his shoulders and her eyes searching his.
‘Something’s bothering you, isn’t it? Come on, spill it,’ she urged as he hesitated. ‘I could tell when you first got here. It’s to do with this Bussell Manor case, isn’t it?’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ he admitted.
‘You were pretty cagey over dinner. Was that because Fergus was there?’
‘Partly. I hope he won’t go sharing his theories with his friends…’
‘He won’t if I ask him not to. Do I take it that he was on the right track?’
‘Yes. That isn’t the real problem though. Look, Sukey, as I think you’ve already gathered, the Bussell Manor job is just the latest in a series that we’re pretty certain Rodriguez is responsible for. We have put in an undercover agent, it is a woman and she tipped us off that he and his accomplices were planning a job for last night. The trouble is, she didn’t manage to find out where.’
‘Accomplices? We’re talking about a gang?’
‘We know he isn’t a lone operator and we’ve run checks on his friends and associates. Most of them are squeaky clean, but there are two characters called Alan Crowson and Jack Morris who have perfectly respectable day jobs in his wine importing company but who turned out to have form for handling stolen goods. We’ve no direct evidence that they’re involved, but it’s all we’ve had to go on so far. Rodriguez is a wizard with electronics and our theory is he gets past the alarm systems – pretty sophisticated ones, you’ve got to hand it to the bloke – opens the place up and is out of it before the others turn up, take what they
’re after and disappear. What happens to the stuff after that is a mystery. We’ve tried all the usual fences but drawn a complete blank. It’s pretty obvious it’s being nicked to order.’
‘Order from whom?’
‘That’s what we don’t know. Our informant says Rodriguez – Roddy, she calls him – is a shrewd businessman but in some ways quite immature, adolescent even. He reads tales of derring-do, watches films about swashbuckling heroes, Robin Hood type characters, pirates with hearts of gold, that sort of thing.’
‘You mean, when he carries out these jobs he’s acting out some kind of boyhood fantasy?’
‘More or less. His family has a substantial fortune, he lives in a fancy penthouse and it’s pretty clear he doesn’t need the money. Jo reckons he does it for kicks, like Fergus suggested.’
‘I’ll tell him that, he’ll be tickled pink. Who’s Jo, by the way?’
‘Josephine – that’s the name our informant is using for this job. Not her real one, of course.’
‘I suppose she provided the fingerprints you gave me for comparison?’
‘That’s right. She also overheard part of a phone conversation that confirmed what she already suspected – because of excuses he made not to see her – that there was something planned for Thursday night.’
‘I see.’ While he was speaking, Sukey had made coffee and poured it out. They sat down on opposite sides of the kitchen table and drank for a few moments in silence. Then she said, ‘The prints you gave me are inadmissible as evidence, of course, and that’s why you wanted him to give you some officially, so to speak. Has he been approached?’
‘Oh yes, and he’s cooperated – with some reluctance, according to Radcliffe.’ Jim put down his coffee mug, his face suddenly serious. ‘Quite by chance he was at the nick when you got back this afternoon and he spotted you as you went through reception. It caused him considerable agitation.’
Sukey frowned. ‘I wonder why?’
Death at Beacon Cottage Page 4
