Death at Beacon Cottage

by Betty Rowlands

  The furniture in Mrs Williams’ little sitting room had the same well-worn quality as her garments and the atmosphere had a distinctly doggy smell. Hill sat down in an armchair covered in faded cretonne and accepted a cup of milky coffee and a slice of insipid-looking cake served on a bone china plate. He waited politely while his hostess, puffing slightly, settled herself on a similarly covered sofa with the dog curled up alongside, its muzzle on her lap and its gaze fixed hopefully on the two slices of cake on her plate.

  ‘I’m not being greedy, these aren’t both for me, one’s for Bounder,’ she explained, breaking one of the slices into fragments and popping the first into the dog’s eager mouth. ‘He does love his bit of cakie, don’t you, boy?’

  ‘It’s delicious cake,’ said Hill politely. ‘Now, Mrs Williams, I understand that you feel you might be able to help us with our enquiries into the attack on the home of Donna Hoskins and Alan Crowson… and possibly Mr Crowson’s death as well. Sukey – Mrs Reynolds, our Scene of Crime Officer – said you knew them—’

  ‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’ Mrs Williams broke in. Suddenly, she appeared ill at ease. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking so hard ever since yesterday about what I said to that young woman – Sukey, you said her name is – I did tell Sukey that I had my doubts about Mr Crowson, but really, I don’t know anything to his detriment, not for certain I mean, and really it does seem wicked to speak ill of him now the poor man’s dead.’ She broke off to drink deeply and noisily from her cup of coffee.

  ‘Mrs Williams, the man was brutally murdered,’ Hill pointed out patiently. ‘It isn’t your personal opinion of him I’m after so much as information about his background, who his associates were, that kind of thing. Tell me, how long have you known him?’

  Mrs Williams fidgeted with her plate and looked uncomfortable. It was clear that she was beginning to wish she had never become involved in the enquiry. ‘Well, I didn’t really know him at all – in fact, I only ever exchanged a few words with him,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘I used to chat to Donna… or rather, she used to chat to me quite a lot. Living so far away from her mother, I suppose she saw me as a kind of aunt, someone she could confide in. She’s quite naive in a way. That’s why I was so concerned when she let that man move in with her.’

  ‘He moved in with her? You mean, the house belongs to her?’

  ‘Yes. She’s got quite a good job with a big insurance company. That’s another reason why I had my doubts about him. I once said to her, “Are you sure it isn’t your money he’s after?” but she said, “Oh no, Alan’s got plenty of money of his own, he’s got a good job with…” I can’t recall the name of the firm, they deal in wine… Spanish sounding, it was.’

  ‘Yes, we know where he worked and of course we’re making enquiries there too. Do you by any chance remember the names of any other people that Donna might have mentioned… friends of Crowson, people he worked with, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Well, Donna used to talk about a man called Jack – I don’t know his other name. I think Crowson shared a flat with him until he moved in with Donna. She didn’t like him at all, said he was a bad influence on Alan.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘She didn’t say, really. I think, once he moved in with her, she was hoping he’d see less of Jack – although of course they worked at the same place.’

  ‘Now, I believe you mentioned that Donna goes to stay with her mother from time to time.’ Hill referred to his notebook. ‘According to Sukey’s report, you actually used the words, “he used to send her away”.’

  ‘Yes, well, that was her way of putting it. I remember her saying this last time, “Alan’s working all this weekend so he’s packing me off to stay with Mam,” but, now I’ve had time to think about it, she was probably only joking. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that, I don’t want you to think I’m in the habit of speaking unkindly of people. He was probably just being considerate.’ The troubled expression returned to Mrs Williams’ weathered features. ‘Perhaps I was too quick to judge him.’

  ‘It’s really only information I’m after,’ Hill repeated, doing his best to conceal his exasperation. ‘Now, do you know if this man Jack ever came to the house while Donna was away?’

  Mrs Williams fed another piece of cake to the dog and thought for a moment. ‘I can’t be certain,’ she said hesitantly, ‘but I remember once when I was taking Bounder for his evening walk… this was quite a long time ago… I went past the house just as Alan and another man were coming out. I wondered at the time whether it might have been Jack, although so far as I knew I’d never actually set eyes on the man. They got into a car and drove off. I expect they were going to the pub or something. I didn’t take much notice.’

  ‘Can you remember when this was?’

  ‘Goodness, no… at least, it must have been wintertime because it was cold and dark although it was early evening… yes, I remember now, people had started to put Christmas lights in their windows so I suppose it was some time early in December.’

  ‘And you’re sure Donna was away?’

  ‘Oh yes, quite sure.’

  ‘Did you tell her when she got back?’

  Mrs Williams sighed heavily. ‘No. I thought about it, wondered if I should mention it… but I didn’t want to cause trouble between her and Alan so I kept quiet.’

  ‘And you can’t recall ever hearing or seeing anything suspicious?’

  ‘No, really, I can’t.’

  ‘Can you remember other times when Donna went away to her mother’s?’ asked Hill, reflecting ruefully that Hitchin certainly had a point. He finished the lukewarm coffee and put down his cup with some relief; it had been far too sweet and he much preferred it black.

  Mrs Williams fed the last morsel of cake to the dog and then, to Hill’s disgust, licked her fingers. ‘I can’t remember every time,’ she said after a moment’s thought, ‘but once… it was towards the end of March and Donna was a bit worried because there was some talk of a train strike and she decided to go by bus instead… it was, let me see, the weekend before Easter. The strike never happened so she could have gone by train after all, but you never know what to do for the best, do you? Would you like some more cake? Another cup of coffee?’

  ‘No thank you.’ Hill put his notebook away and stood up. ‘Thank you, Mrs Williams, you’ve been very helpful,’ he said politely.

  ‘Oh, have I?’ She beamed and gave the dog a cuddle. ‘And we thought you might be cross with us, didn’t we Bounder?’

  ‘Not at all.’ In the circumstances, Hill reflected, as he made his escape, he had been fortunate in getting one solid piece – with luck, two pieces – of verifiable information. He went back to the car, checked in at the station on his radio and set off for Meadway Industrial Estate.

  The somewhat grandly named development consisted of a line of single-storey concrete buildings on a fenced-off area adjoining a patch of wasteland. Several of the units were empty; others, identified by peeling painted boards, were occupied by a small printing works, a vehicle repair shop and a firm selling plumbing equipment. A series of speed humps had been laid at intervals along the access road, which had been heavily colonised by weeds where the tarmac had split. Apart from a few parked cars and a small builder’s van being loaded with plastic piping, there were few signs of activity.

  At the end of the line of buildings the road swung to the left and ended in a wide turning area. Tucked away round the corner, well out of sight of the entrance, was a block of six garages with metal up and-over doors. One was open, revealing a jacked-up scarlet Mini with a pair of legs protruding from beneath it. As Hill parked alongside, Hitchin wriggled out from under the car and stood up, brushing grit from his jeans. ‘Thought you’d be along,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Did you get anything useful out of the old bat?’

  ‘She was very chatty,’ said Hill non-committally. ‘Now Mr Hitchin, I can see you’re very busy and I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but if you’d be kind e
nough to show me which garage was rented by the man you think might have been Crowson…?’

  ‘The one at the far end.’ Hitchin pointed with a grease-blackened finger.

  ‘You’re sure about this?’

  ‘Course I’m sure. You want to have a look inside?’

  ‘Won’t it be locked?’

  Hitchin grinned. He wiped his hands with an oily rag, fished in his pocket and brought out a bunch of keys. ‘These locks are a doddle. The chap who rents the one next to mine forgot his one day, but with a bit of jiggling we managed…’ While he was speaking, he had made several unsuccessful attempts to open the end garage. ‘Well, I’m buggered,’ he exclaimed in disgust, banging on the metal door in frustration. ‘I do believe he’s had a new lock put on. I’ll bet old Gunning doesn’t know about that.’

  ‘Gunning?’

  ‘The owner. He’s the one with the printing business.’

  ‘And the entire block of garages belongs to him?’

  ‘That’s right. He’d be able to tell you whether or not it was Crowson who rented this one.’ Hitchin put the keys back in his pocket. ‘Anything else I can do for you, mate?’

  ‘Not for the moment, thanks. I think I’ll go and have a word with Mr Gunning.’

  ‘Best of luck. Like I said, he’s a miserable old devil.’ Hitchin gave a sudden, throaty chuckle. ‘If that fellow died still owing him rent, he’ll do his nut!’

  Fifteen

  While DC Hill was trying, with limited success, to extract some useful information from Mrs Williams, DI Castle was experiencing similar frustration at the hands of a pale and subdued Donna Hoskins and the dumpy, sharp-eyed woman who answered his knock announced that she was Donna’s mother and, after scrutinising his identification card for several seconds, admitted him with considerable reluctance.

  ‘I’ll not have you upsetting the lass,’ she warned as she closed the front door behind him with exaggerated care, as if to avoid disturbing a sleeping invalid. ‘She’s still devastated by the tragedy.’

  ‘I quite understand and I’ll do my best not to upset her,’ he promised. ‘I’m sorry it’s necessary to disturb her, but we need her help if we’re to catch the people who killed Alan Crowson.’

  Mention of the name evoked something that sounded very like a sniff of contempt, but all the woman said was, ‘If it gets too much for her, you’ll have to leave.’ She led the way into the sitting room, now restored to an almost aggressive neatness and smelling strongly of furniture polish. ‘It’s the police,’ she announced and Donna, who was sitting on the sofa staring into space, a brimming cup clasped between her hands, briefly switched her gaze in Castle’s direction and gave a languid nod. ‘Drink your tea while it’s hot, lass,’ the mother went on encouragingly. ‘She’s still under sedation,’ she informed Castle in a low voice. She waved him to a chair before sitting down heavily beside her daughter and picking up her own cup of tea from a small side table. She took several mouthfuls and put it down again; her failure to offer a cup to their visitor made it quite clear that not only was he not welcome, but also that the interview was going to be brief and under her control. It was not an encouraging start.

  ‘The last thing I want to do is to cause Donna any distress, Mrs Hoskins,’ said Castle in his most conciliatory tone. ‘I know that she has suffered a terrible shock and is still grieving over the death of her friend—’

  ‘Friend!’ interrupted Mrs Hoskins with an indignant snort. ‘Friend to no one but himself, that one.’

  ‘Mam!’ Donna turned moist, reproachful eyes on her mother. ‘He’s dead. You’ve always said we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.’

  ‘I make an exception of him.’ Mrs Hoskins breathed heavily, sending her ample bosom heaving with indignation. ‘Moved into your house, never offered you anything but a load of junk furniture you wouldn’t give house room—’

  ‘He gave me lovely presents and paid for everything when he took me out,’ Donna protested. ‘I earn more than he did, I didn’t want his money.’

  ‘It’s not the way to go on, not the way you were brought up to,’ her mother insisted. ‘A man should support his wife… not that he even had the decency to offer marriage—’

  ‘Please, madam,’ Castle interposed, ‘I understand your concerns, but I’m not here to probe into your daughter’s relationship with Alan Crowson. Donna, I’m trying to find the people who killed your partner and his friend and I think you may be able to help us—’

  ‘Partner!’ the mother broke in again. ‘Partner in crime, most like!’

  This time Castle allowed the interruption. ‘Would you mind explaining what you mean by that, Mrs Hoskins?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Whenever she came up to stay with me, she used to worry in case he and that Jack Morris were up to something – oh yes you did,’ the mother insisted as Donna took a quick breath as if to contradict her.

  ‘I didn’t mean anything criminal,’ Donna protested. For the first time since Castle’s arrival, she showed a spark of animation. ‘It was just… I never trusted Jack and I never liked the idea that he and Alan saw so much of each other… that was why I was so keen for Alan to move in here with me… he used to share a flat with Jack—’

  ‘But they worked together, didn’t they. You couldn’t stop them plotting their mischief,’ her mother pointed out.

  ‘What sort of mischief are you talking about?’ Castle was beginning to feel more optimistic, but his hopes were soon dashed.

  ‘Oh, how do I know? Women, drink, drugs—’

  ‘Alan never looked at another woman after he met me!’ Donna declared, her languor evaporating at this slur on the man she had obviously adored. ‘And he never drank a lot, not even when the three of us were out together.’

  ‘Your mother mentioned drugs—’ Castle began.

  ‘Alan would never touch drugs,’ said Donna angrily. ‘You’ve no right to suggest that, Mam!’

  ‘All right lass, I’m sorry.’ Mrs Hoskins patted her daughter’s hand.

  ‘If I could just go back to what you were saying a moment ago, Donna,’ said Castle patiently. ‘You mentioned that the three of you – Alan, Jack and yourself – sometimes used to go for a drink together—’

  ‘That was before Alan moved in here,’ asserted Mrs Hoskins. ‘She wouldn’t have anything to do with Jack after that.’

  ‘Please, madam, let your daughter speak for herself. Donna?’

  ‘It’s like Mam said – when I first met Alan, he and Jack shared a flat and, yes, we did go out together now and again, but I never enjoyed it.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘I don’t know, I just didn’t feel comfortable with Jack around.’

  ‘Can you remember what the three of you used to talk about?’

  ‘Nothing much, the usual things.’ Donna put down her untouched cup of tea and made vague gestures with her hands. ‘Mostly it was the two of them talking and me listening – it was never anything very interesting, though, just football, things that happened at work – half the time I wasn’t paying too much attention.’

  ‘Can you remember if they – or maybe just Alan when the two of you were on your own – ever referred particularly to any other person? Their boss, people they worked with, for example?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I can’t think of anyone, really.’

  Castle put aside the notebook which he had had little occasion to use so far and leaned forward. He reached out and took the young woman by the hand. ‘Donna,’ he said earnestly, ‘the police are trying very hard to catch Alan’s killer, but so far we have very little to go on. Even the tiniest piece of information could be useful. Now, I want you to think very hard and try to remember anything unusual that you heard Alan and Jack talking about when the three of you were together. Or maybe, something you might have overheard, in the pub for example? Did you ever go to the toilet and leave them alone together…?’

  There was a long silence w
hile Donna appeared deep in thought and her mother fidgeted impatiently, evidently anxious for the interview to come to an end. At last Donna spoke in a voice totally devoid of animation. ‘I do remember once… like you said, I’d been to the loo, and when I got back they had their heads really close together and I heard Alan say something about someone being “shit-scared of Wallis”. Then they saw me and Alan stood up and asked me if I wanted another drink.’

  ‘And nothing more was said about this chap Wallis?’ Donna shook her head. ‘Do you know who he is?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘What about this person who was supposed to be scared of him?’

  ‘I didn’t catch the name.’

  ‘Didn’t Alan say?’

  ‘I never thought to ask.’ Donna’s voice suddenly cracked and she sat back and covered her eyes with her hands. ‘What does it matter now?’ she gasped between racked sobs.

  ‘There, there, lass, you don’t have to answer any more questions.’ Mrs Hoskins gathered her daughter into her arms, stroking her hair and making soothing noises while indicating to Castle with a jerk of her head that the interview was at an end.

  He put away his notebook and stood up. At least he had one small crumb of information to add to the meagre store already on record. ‘Thank you, I’ll see myself out,’ he said.

  On arrival back at the station he was greeted by DS Radcliffe who enquired, in a tone that suggested he was expecting a negative reply, whether he had learned anything useful from Donna Hoskins. Castle gave a brief résumé of the interview.

  ‘Wallis, eh?’ Radcliffe mused. ‘The name doesn’t ring a bell.’

  ‘Nor with me. Have a word with Tomas Rodriguez and see if he can shed any light. There doesn’t have to be a connection, of course—’ Castle broke off with a gesture of something like despair. ‘I can’t recall a case where there’s been so little in the way of solid leads.’

  There was a knock on the door and DC Hill appeared. ‘Can you spare a moment, Guv?’