by Oliver Tidy
‘Just leaving.’
‘Don’t. I’m on my way. What’s the address?’
*
By the time Romney arrived quite a little crowd had gathered and parking was difficult.
‘Boudicca gone?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Marsh.
‘That’s one good thing. Maurice inside?’ Marsh nodded. ‘Right, I’m going to have a word with him.’
‘Sir.’
‘Yes.
‘Peter told me about his lunchtime appointment.’
Romney stared hard at her. ‘And?’
‘What’s going on?’
Romney made a face and then a decision. ‘Let me talk to Maurice first and then we’ll have a chat.’
Grimes was walking back towards where Romney and Marsh were standing on the pavement. Romney waited for him. ‘What’s that lot?’ he said, indicating what was occupying Grimes’ hands.
‘Feeling weird, gov. Low blood sugar, I think.’
‘A pasty, a bag of crisps, a chocolate bar and a fizzy drink.’ Romney sounded disappointed. ‘Did you hear her this morning? You need to take her seriously. Wait here. We need to talk. Sergeant, come with me.’
Someone had opened a window but it hadn’t really helped.
‘Hello, Tom. Good of you to turn up.’
‘Don’t you start, Maurice. Bloody hell. What happened to him?’ Romney was staring at the blackened features of Bernie Stark or what was left of them.
‘Plastic shoe coverings in the box by the door, although we’re really only paying lip service to forensic science. We must have had half of Dover emergency services traipsing around in here this afternoon. He wouldn’t have felt anything.’
‘Are you sure? How could he not have felt that?’
‘I suspect he was already dead. He’s made no attempt, however feeble, to put out the fire. Look at his hands. Not a mark on them.’
‘I don’t understand then,’ said Marsh. ‘If he was already dead before he caught fire, how did he catch light?’
‘We’ll know more after the post-mortem,’ said Maurice.
Marsh wasn’t to be silenced so easily. ‘Is there any way?’
‘Yes. It’s possible he could have been sitting here smoking away and sipping his favourite tipple, had a fatal heart-attack with the cigarette between his lips, which then fell into his alcohol soaked facial hair, which ignited.’
‘Is that likely? I mean, wouldn’t he have needed quite a bit of whatever the accelerant was to cause this much damage? That looks like more than a dribble in a beard to me. It’s all down his front. In fact, it looks more like a glassful would have been needed – and surely if he’d had a fatal heart attack it’s more likely that anything in a glass he’d been holding would have been spilt on the floor.’
Both Romney and Wendell were staring at Marsh: Romney with a look of perplexity at her outburst and Wendell with barely-concealed admiration for her voicing her thoughts.
‘You asked me any way, DS Marsh. That’s what I gave you. There are several that I can think of offhand. That’s why it will be best if we stop guessing and start examining.’
Marsh turned and left. The two men exchanged a look. Romney’s concerns at discovering the victim’s identity were momentarily gazumped by Marsh’s untypical bad manners.
‘Did she know him personally?’ asked Maurice.
Romney breathed in deeply through his nose and immediately wished he hadn’t. ‘Not to my knowledge. Soon as you have something to share, Maurice, I’ll be waiting. You could do me a favour and mark this one urgent if you like.’
Wendell inclined his head and went back to work. Romney took a moment for a quick sweep of the miserable living space with his gaze and went after Marsh.
He found her standing alone on the pavement. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he said.
She turned to look up at him and he could see that her eyes were red again. ‘Nothing, sir.’
He opened his mouth but he could hear Grimes calling for his attention and changed his mind. He left Marsh and wandered over to where the big man was speaking with a member of the public. ‘What is it?’
Grimes dwarfed the little man. Over his head, he made an encouraging face at Romney. ‘This is Mr Gurung, gov. He was in the Gurkhas. Tell the Detective Inspector what you just told me, please, Mr Gurung.’
The compact, fit-looking man adopted a respectful stance. ‘I live that way,’ he said, pointing towards Folkestone. ‘I run every day. I come this way and go down to the seafront. When I leave for my run today and come past here, I see five men get out of big black car, black windows, and go in here. I know one of them who live here. I don’t know the others.’
‘Describe the man you know who lives here,’ said Grimes.
Mr Gurung gave a good description of Bernie Stark, right down to the clothes he’d been wearing that day.
‘How long do you run for?’ said Romney.
‘An hour, mostly. I was PT instructor.’ The memory made him proud.
‘And today?’
‘An hour. I’m fifty-five next birthday. I still run hour every day. No problem for me.’
‘That’s very impressive, Mr Gurung. Was the vehicle still here when you came back from your run?’
He shook his head. ‘No. It was nice car. I would have noticed. I like big black Range Rovers. One day I have one. We not get many of those round here unless landlords visiting.’
‘Are you able to give a full statement to this officer now, Mr Gurung? We’d like to get everything down from you while it’s still fresh in your mind. It could prove very important.’
‘No problem, sir. I am retired now. Twenty-five years, I did. Lots of time to kill.’
‘Good. Thank you. One last thing, would you recognise any of the other men who were with the man you knew?’
‘Yes. I good at faces, too.’ He smiled a wide grin, his teeth bright against his brown face. Romney smiled back, nodded to Grimes and left them to it.
He walked back over to where Marsh was standing alone with her phone to her ear. Spotting Romney’s approach, she mumbled something and closed it.
‘Grimes has found someone who saw Bernie Stark arrive back home in a big black Range Rover with four others. Men with big black Range Rovers weren’t Bernie’s normal sort of company. Men with big black bin liners, maybe.’
‘Peter told me about Bernie Stark, sir.’
‘Told you what?’
‘Told me about Jimmy Savage, the claims he’s making and the fact that Peter had a drink in The Eight Bells with the dead man this morning. We shouldn’t be here, sir. If Superintendent Vine finds out, when Superintendent Vine finds out... it’s not even that. We just shouldn’t be here.’
Romney smiled at Marsh and it surprised her. ‘You are right. We should not. At least, Peter and I should not. That’s what I’ve come to tell you. I’m going straight back to the nick to speak to Boudicca about the situation. No doubt she’ll want to get in some outside help on this one. Suits me. I’ve got things on this weekend. The Whites are at home in the FA Cup. Come with me.’
Romney led them over to where Grimes and the former Gurkha were standing. ‘Mr Gurung, this is Detective Sergeant Marsh. She’s going to take your statement. I need Detective Constable Grimes to come with me.’ Grimes looked confused. ‘Come on,’ said Romney. ‘We shouldn’t be here.’
When they were sitting in Romney’s car, Romney said, ‘What’s wrong with Joy?’
‘No idea, gov. Painters and decorators?’ Romney rolled his eyes and left it. ‘So where are we going, gov?’
‘Station. We’re going to talk to Boudicca. We’re going to play this by the book. I’m not going to give the ginger ninja an inch to piss on me or my department. Now, pay attention to what I’m going to tell you and don’t contradict me in front of her. In fact, don’t speak unless spoken to. Got it?’
Marsh watched as Romney and Grimes drove away. They were laughing and they shouldn’t be. That worried her. She turne
d her attention back to the little man in front of her who was waiting patiently and expectantly. ‘Right, Mr Gurung. Where were we?’
*
After Grimes had got over Romney’s ginger ninja comment he sat in serious silence as Romney related to him the reasons why they were taking themselves off the Bernie Stark investigation. When Romney told him they were heading back towards Boudicca’s lair to tell her that Grimes had gone to see Bernie Stark that morning, the big man started to feel like a sacrificial lamb. On top of that, she would probably also want to know why Grimes had failed to volunteer to her that information along with the surprise that Stark was the charred body they’d been staring at together like neighbours appraising a failed barbeque only an hour before.
When Romney had finished, Grimes said, ‘I remembered something, gov, after you’d left me with the Ghurkha.’ Grimes interrupted himself with a sharp intake of breath as Romney almost clipped a vehicle at the roundabout. ‘After I left Bernie in The Eight Bells, I walked back to my car, which I’d left outside the Roman Quay. A big black Range Rover with smoked windows came too fast round the corner and parked up in a disabled parking space. Four blokes got out and headed in the direction of The Eight Bells. I called it in to see if there was anyone around to give them a ticket. Nothing disabled about the driver that I could see.’
‘Let’s hope that one of those little Hitlers could be bothered to get off his arse and get round there. Still, since the council put them on a commission-based pay scheme, I’ve noticed they’re certainly keener, more visible. I swear I saw a parking ticket on a mobility scooter last week. Find out if they did. And if they did, find out who the car belongs to.’
‘You want me to ask in the pub whether anyone came looking for Bernie?’
‘No. Leave it to whoever Boudicca wants to get in for it. Let’s not go making our continued interest obvious.’
‘We are going to have a continued interest then? Even though we shouldn’t?’
‘According to Boudicca, Jimmy Savage’s legal counsel is going to suggest he was fitted up by us. By me. That’s not the kind of thing I’m prepared to leave to someone from Area to investigate. Half of that lot couldn’t find their own arseholes with a mirror. If I need you to ask around about anything, I will. For now, let’s see what her ladyship has to say.’
Romney swung into Ladywell across the path of a cyclist that Grimes noticed had to brake hard to avoid a collision.
As soon as they were back in CID, Romney rang up for an audience. It was getting late. He was asked by Boudicca’s secretary – a crony the new station commander had brought with her – if it was important. Romney remained restrained when he indicated that it was. After a short delay, he was put through to Superintendent Vine.
‘Where have you been all afternoon, Inspector? You were needed.’
‘Communications black spot, ma’am. A few of those around here. I turned up just as you left.’
‘Really?’ She sounded sceptical but busy. ‘What is so important now?’
‘It’s about the dead man this afternoon, ma’am. Now that a positive identification of the body has been made we can be sure of something. We know him.’
‘And why is that particularly important?’
‘His name is Bernie Stark. He’s the man claiming to have been mistaken over the identity of Jimmy Savage as the murderer of John Stafford. You’ll remember we spoke about them this morning.’
*
Five minutes later, a furious-looking Superintendent Vine, a defiant-looking Detective Inspector Romney and an extremely uncomfortable-looking Detective Constable Grimes sat around the table in CID’s meeting room. The decorators had already made a start upstairs.
Boudicca looked as though she was barely managing to suppress her feelings regarding what had brought her downstairs. Grimes had planned on giving the woman who had singled him out for his wide girth a wide berth for as long as possible. He didn’t want this. He certainly didn’t need the added attention.
‘Let me get this straight, Inspector. After our discussion this morning, during which I related to you my concerns and those of others regarding the validity of the conviction of Mr Savage, you sent an officer to the pub to speak with the man whose testimony Mr Savage’s guilt hinges upon?’
‘That’s correct, ma’am. I saw nothing wrong with having a quiet, friendly word with Bernie, so we had it from the horse’s mouth. He is, was, not unknown to us, as I said.’
‘Didn’t you consider how that might look?’ She was close to shouting. ‘The police harassing and intimidating a key witness in a case like this, with all its implications?’
‘No one was intimidating him, ma’am. I repeat, it was a quiet, friendly word. DC Grimes even bought him a pint.’
Boudicca switched her gaze to Grimes. Grimes felt scared. ‘Why didn’t you say something about the identity of the victim at the scene this afternoon? That makes me deeply suspicious.’
‘Excuse me, suspicious of what exactly, ma’am?’ said Romney.
‘I asked you a question, Detective Constable.’
‘I couldn’t be sure that it was him, ma’am. Not with his face so badly burned.’ That sounded lame. ‘And besides, at the time, I didn’t know you had any interest in Bernie Stark. I do now, of course.’ That was clever, thought Romney. Or at least it appeared to confuse her; knock Boudicca off her chariot of thought.
Romney continued quickly: ‘As soon as everything became clear, ma’am, I instructed DC Grimes to leave the scene with me and come and report back to you for further instruction. Obviously, now we’re sure of the victim’s identity we shouldn’t be anywhere near the investigation.’
‘Who is there?’
‘DS Marsh, ma’am. I said she should maintain a CID presence until you make a decision about a way forward.’ Romney thought he was doing quite well and it made him feel just a little smug.
‘Well, at least that’s one thing you’ve done right. Serious complaints could be lodged about police procedure and intimidation tactics over this.’
‘By whom, ma’am?’ said Romney. ‘Bernie Stark is dead. Even if he had found time to drag himself away from the pub to inform anyone he’d had a visit from the local police about the Jimmy Savage case, nothing could be admissible anywhere because it would all just be hearsay.’
‘Detective Inspector, that might be the way you have seen fit to operate in the past but that is not the way we are going to be doing things from now on. I had hoped to have made myself perfectly clear about that this morning.’ She heaved out a deep breath.
Romney thought it prudent to let her have the last word. He felt sure enough they had avoided serious repercussions.
‘You’ve done the right thing in coming to see me about this now,’ she repeated. ‘You are right, of course. Dover CID should not be involved. Is the death being considered suspicious by the pathologist who attended?’
‘It was too early and too messy to tell, apparently, ma’am.’
Superintendent Vine drummed her fingers on the table in thought. Finally, she said all she could say, ‘Leave it with me. DC Grimes, give us a moment would you, please.’
Grimes looked only too happy to escape.
When the door was shut, Superintendent Vine said, ‘Where were you this afternoon?’
Romney bridled. ‘I had to see an informant about something I’m working on.’
Boudicca did not look convinced. ‘You must be contactable at all times. What if we have an emergency situation? What if I need to speak to you urgently? You are the senior officer in CID and that means you must be reachable every minute of every day.’
‘As I said to you on the phone, ma’am, there are a number of communications black spots in the town. Something to do with the cliffs, I understand. Until the phone companies sort out their network coverage there’s not a lot I can do about it. Sorry.’
Boudicca wiped the smile off his face. ‘Do I need to spell it out for you, Inspector? Bernard Stark is dead. Bernard S
tark was preparing to make allegations of corruption and coercion against Dover CID. Against you. Very serious, career-threatening, custodial sentence kinds of allegations. Some people might think that with those sorts of stakes a desperate officer might be tempted to resort to desperate measures.’
Romney was incredulous. ‘You’re accusing me of killing him?’
‘Of course not, man,’ said Boudicca. ‘I’m merely pointing out to you that you may have to satisfactorily account for your movements this afternoon.’
Romney stared back at her in silence before finally saying, ‘I’ve told you what I was doing. Anyone who wants to question me over involvement in the death of Bernie Stark had better bring their lawyers with them.’
She couldn’t say much more without risking accusations and, maybe because it was Friday afternoon, she didn’t want to.
With Boudicca gone, Romney stepped out of the meeting room. Grimes let out a deep breath. ‘That could have gone worse, gov.’
Romney was still smiling. Like the schoolboy who got away with something. ‘Couldn’t it just.’
Encouraged by his senior’s obvious good spirits, Grimes felt emboldened to say, ‘The builders got in touch about timescales for the work they’ve got to do.’
‘Oh yeah. Soon be finished will they?’
*
When Marsh returned to CID Grimes was at his desk and Romney was shut away in his office.
‘You all right, now, Sarge?’
‘Is it that obvious?’ Grimes nodded and smiled sympathetically. She slumped down in her chair. ‘No. Not really.’
‘Want to talk about it?’
Marsh gave Grimes the raised eyebrows look and then said wearily, ‘My mum’s not well. That’s all. I only found out today. Got a call from my sister. It threw me for a bit. She had a heart attack.’
‘What the hell are you still doing here then? You should go to her.’
Marsh blew out her cheeks. ‘After the new super’s little chat this morning about absenteeism, and workforce reduction?’
‘She’s your mum. How bad is it?’
