Shades of Evil

by Shirley Wells

  ‘That’s not all,’ Grace snapped. ‘Tell us about Vincent Cole. He was in the house, wasn’t he?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So what happened?’ Max demanded. ‘Where was he?’

  ‘In bed.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Grace asked. ‘Did you go into his bedroom?’

  ‘No.’ Temple drummed worried fingers on the table. ‘He heard me. He came out of his bedroom, that’s how I know.’

  ‘He threatened you?’ Max guessed.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s right. So I hit him. Self-defence.’ Temple looked delighted with the invention.

  ‘What did you hit him with?’ Grace asked.

  ‘One of them brass lamps. Like miners used to have, you know? He had a couple of them. So I belted him with one, but he was all right when I left him.’

  ‘All right?’ Max repeated. ‘What does that mean? What was he doing?’

  ‘I hit him,’ Temple said, ‘that’s all. He woke up and caught me in the act so I belted him one and scarpered. But he was all right.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Grace scoffed. ‘You killed him.’

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ she said. ‘You hit him, possibly a bit too hard, and realized you’d killed him. Then, knowing he was upset about the loss of his daughter, you had the bright idea of stringing him up and trying to make it look like a suicide. The thing is, Mr Temple, we know that he was already dead before he was tied to the beam. Now, dead men don’t—’

  ‘That’s it. I’m not saying another word until you get me a lawyer. I know my rights!’

  He swung his face round to look at the wall behind him. If he couldn’t see them, he wouldn’t have to talk to them.

  Chapter Thirty

  The following morning, Harrington was in complete chaos. Despite the heavy snowfall being forecast, no one seemed prepared for it, least of all the council. There was no sign of a plough or a gritter, and the morning rush hour was gridlocked. Max and Jill sat in the car for ten minutes without progressing so much as a yard.

  Max could have screamed with frustration. Instead of wasting his time going nowhere, he wanted to be dragging the truth from Maurice Temple.

  ‘It’ll be quicker to walk,’ Jill said.

  ‘True, but we need to find somewhere to park first.’

  They moved twenty yards in the next ten minutes. It was enough to allow him to pull into a side road.

  ‘Bloody council,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t see what the problem is. It’s winter. It happens every year.’

  ‘Not like this, it doesn’t. Come on, it’ll be lovely to walk in.’

  They abandoned the car and set off. It was hard work but, as Jill had said, it held a certain appeal. Plenty of others were doing the same. Children were being pulled on sledges and one chap had even donned a pair of skis for the morning commute.

  ‘Sensible footwear would have been a good idea,’ Jill said as they slid on their way.

  ‘Some grit on the roads would have been even better.’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  The walk was a slow one, but not unpleasant, and they finally arrived at headquarters. Judging by the lack of vehicles in the car park, a lot hadn’t.

  Jill headed off to her office and Max went to catch up with the team. The incident room was like something from a spoof horror show. Christmas decorations that Grace insisted on having about the place sat next to photos of a dead Lauren Cole. Max had put his foot down so at least the battery-driven Santa that insisted on screeching ‘Ho, ho, ho’ every time someone walked in the room had been banished.

  Today, it looked as if Christmas had come early for Grace because she was standing by Mel’s desk, punching the air in celebration.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Barry Foreman,’ Grace said. ‘You know, DaddyO? The bloke Yasmin Smith contacted on the internet? Mel’s got a name and address for him from SeeYouThere. And tell me, what sort of tosser would call himself DaddyO? Anyway, it seems Foreman is known to us.’

  Barry Foreman certainly was known. He’d been released from prison eighteen months ago after being convicted of kidnap. He’d bundled a fourteen-year-old girl into his car and been picked up ten hours later.

  ‘How likely is it that this address is current?’ he asked Mel.

  ‘About fifty-fifty, I suppose.’ She didn’t care. She’d done her bit and now it was up to them.

  ‘Nice work, Mel,’ he said. ‘Grace, someone needs to check him out. Do you fancy a trip to Blackpool?’

  ‘I’m on to it, guv,’ she promised.

  ‘Take someone with you.’

  ‘I will. It says here that he’s six feet five …’

  Max hardly dared to hope. More than anything, he hoped he could give the Smiths good news for Christmas. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

  At least it was a lead and that was good news. The bad news was that Maurice Temple’s alibi checked out. Just as he claimed, he’d been at the hospital having dental work the morning Lauren Cole was murdered. Having said that, he hadn’t arrived there until just before ten-thirty. At a push, that gave him long enough to kill Lauren Cole and race back to Harrington.

  An hour later, Max and Jill set off to interview Temple once more. This time, Temple’s lawyer was sitting in the room with them.

  As defence lawyers went, Max quite liked Sam Allerton. They rarely saw eye to eye, however. Max was paid to bring criminals to justice and Sam was paid to do his damnedest to make sure that scum like Temple walked. It made for an uneasy relationship.

  The best thing about Allerton was that he liked Jill. She would get away with things that would have Sam reading the riot act to the rest of them.

  The four of them sat in that room like poker players hiding their hands.

  ‘Josh,’ Jill began amicably, ‘tell us who might have followed Lauren Cole out to Kelton Bridge the morning she was murdered.’

  ‘Now look here!’ Sam Allerton was completely taken aback by the question.

  Max wasn’t surprised. Sam had thought his client was being questioned in connection with the burglary at Vincent Cole’s house.

  ‘I’m sure Josh is willing to help, aren’t you?’ Jill continued. ‘Who would have followed her, Josh?’

  ‘I dunno. Her old man probably.’

  ‘Her father?’ Jill asked, as surprised as Max. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘He liked following her. Snooping on her.’

  ‘When did he follow her?’

  ‘Dunno. She reckoned he did.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Max asked.

  ‘So he could tell her how pathetic she was and how she couldn’t cope without her mum.’

  ‘What about you?’ Max asked him. ‘Did you follow her the morning she was killed?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Temple said in astonishment. ‘Anyway, I already told you I was at the hospital.’

  ‘Not until half past ten,’ Max said. ‘That gave you plenty of time—’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Allerton said, glaring at Max. ‘My client is more than willing to—’

  ‘OK, OK,’ Max cut him off. ‘We’ll talk about the burglary on Longman Drive and the murder of Vincent Cole. Mr Temple, how did you know that Mr Cole had refused to give his daughter money on the morning she was killed?’

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘But you told me she didn’t get any from him,’ Jill reminded him. ‘You must have known.’

  ‘I just knew he wouldn’t give her any.’

  ‘How?’ Jill asked.

  ‘For one thing, he was a tight old bastard and getting tighter. For another thing, Lauren didn’t try hard enough.’

  ‘Ah. Why was that? Because she was starting to feel guilty about it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is that why you decided to help yourself to Cole’s possessions? Because Lauren wasn’t being any use?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘My client,’ Sam Allerton reminded them, ‘has admit
ted breaking into a property on Longman Drive and stealing several items. He also admits to hitting the occupant in self-defence. He’s guilty of no more than that.’

  ‘Self-defence,’ Max murmured. ‘Hm. The thing is, Mr Cole suffered one blow to the head. Just one. And it was enough to kill him.’

  ‘My client hit him in self-defence,’ Sam said again. ‘But he didn’t hit him hard enough to kill him.’

  ‘So you’re claiming someone else went to the house, used a key to get in, killed Cole and tied him to a beam, and then locked the house again?’ Max asked. ‘I can’t see a jury falling for that one.’

  ‘My client—’

  ‘Is being very helpful,’ Jill said, giving the lawyer her sweetest smile. ‘And you don’t mind telling us about Lauren’s dog, do you, Josh?’

  Temple looked at his lawyer, then shrugged. ‘OK.’

  ‘Did you get on well with Charlie?’ Jill asked. ‘You like dogs, do you?’

  ‘Well, yeah.’ Temple was frowning, not sure what she was talking about.

  ‘Did Charlie come running up to you whenever he saw you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I thought so.’ Jill was smiling as if this was a thrilling game she’d just invented. ‘I bet I can tell you something else about Charlie. I bet his collar was loose.’

  Temple’s head flew up and his eyes were wide with surprise.

  ‘Am I right?’ she asked.

  ‘How d’you know that?’

  ‘When Lauren’s body was found,’ she explained, ‘Charlie was by her side. The thing is, he wasn’t wearing a collar. Some dogs don’t, of course, but Lauren loved that dog and she would have bought a nice shiny collar for him. I bet he had the best dog collar in Harrington.’

  ‘So?’ The puzzled frown was still there.

  ‘So whoever killed Lauren Cole followed her up the hill. But then she met up with someone so he had to keep out of the way. The dog found him, though, and ran up to him. Our killer grabbed Charlie by the collar. When Lauren and her companion split up to look for the dog, the man goes off in the opposite direction and Lauren returns to Clough’s Shelter. Charlie, seeing her, struggles free and slips his head out of the collar.’

  Sweat was pouring down Temple’s face, and he was visibly shaken. Whether that was because Jill had the scenario exactly right and he knew it, or whether he simply thought Jill was raving, Max couldn’t tell for sure.

  ‘What would that person do with Charlie’s collar, Josh?’ Jill pushed on. ‘Would he put it in his coat pocket? Or do you think he’d throw it away?’

  Every item of clothing that Temple possessed and, surprisingly, there were a lot, had been bagged up and taken to the lab. Had Charlie’s collar been taken there?

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Temple said, but his voice was struggling to function.

  Guilt? Or was he frightened of being banged up for a murder he didn’t commit?

  ‘I was at the hospital,’ Temple reminded them. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t have followed her. She was my friend.’

  ‘She was never your friend,’ Jill argued. ‘She was just someone foolish enough to trust you. Her dad had a bit of money and you did well out of that, didn’t you? But she was changing. Was she threatening to tell her dad how much the two of you had stolen? Or was she threatening to tell the police—?’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Sam Allerton cut her off. ‘My client has nothing further to add. He has admitted to breaking into a property on—’

  ‘He has,’ Max agreed pleasantly, not wanting to hear Sam’s speech yet again. ‘We’ll take a break, shall we?’

  He and Jill left Temple with his lawyer.

  ‘Oily sods,’ Jill muttered when they were in the corridor.

  ‘I quite like Sam. Don’t you?’

  ‘That’s neither here nor there, is it?’ She sighed heavily. ‘Temple’s not our man. No way did he kill Lauren Cole.’

  ‘You don’t know that. Come on, Jill, we’ve even found a hole in his alibi. He would have had time to get back to his flat, change his clothes, and still keep that appointment at the hospital.’

  ‘I know, I know, but he’s not our man.’ She gave him a weary smile. ‘As daft as it sounds, Max, you need to find that dog’s collar.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ruth Carlisle sat by her son’s bed and held his hand. No one seemed to know for sure if he could hear anything, but nurses had advised her to keep talking to him. She would have done that anyway.

  He wasn’t conscious, but she’d been told they were keeping him sedated because of his internal injuries. Maybe, one day soon, he would open his eyes, talk to her, laugh with her…

  ‘Cally’s made herself at home,’ she told him. ‘She’s taken over your dad’s chair. Not that he minds,’ she added quickly. ‘He’s gone right soft with that dog. He was even feeding her roast chicken last night.’

  It was difficult to know what to talk about, but Ruth was sticking to easy subjects. She wanted to know what had happened that morning, of course she did, but there was no point talking about that yet.

  She’d spoken to the electrician who’d found him. Ruth thanked God the lad had been impatient enough to walk round the back of the building and peer in through the windows. He said all he’d seen was a leg sticking out from behind the sofa. If he hadn’t, Steve would have been dead.

  ‘Everyone’s coming to us for Christmas,’ she said, squeezing his hand, ‘just like they always do. We’ll have a house full but it will be good.’

  It wouldn’t. How could it be when Steve would be lying here? She was determined to sound cheerful, though.

  She thought about Maisie as she so often did. Her granddaughter would have been twenty now and Ruth would have loved to have seen her sitting at the table for Christmas dinner. Perhaps, at twenty, she would have brought a young man with her. Or perhaps not. These days girls seemed more interested in careers than men.

  Ruth didn’t blame them for that. There would be plenty of time for marriage when they’d seen a bit of life.

  ‘Christmas will be a squash, but we’ll manage. We always do, don’t we? Joyce and Dennis are going to their son’s this year so we’ve borrowed chairs from them. They’re good neighbours.’

  Ruth was glad of this quiet time with Steve. Alison was working today and said she’d call in this evening. Frank had taken himself down to the canteen to get a sandwich.

  ‘I wish you were coming to us for Christmas,’ she said softly, and her eyes filled with tears.

  She blinked them back. There was no point crying until she knew what she had to cry about.

  The news from the hospital seemed more optimistic today. They hadn’t said anything different, not in so many words, but Ruth had gained the impression they were slightly less worried.

  Oh, she hoped she was right.

  The address Grace had for Barry Foreman turned out to be the end of a run-down terrace that backed on to an equally scruffy row of terraced houses. Wheelie bins had been left out on the pavement but there was more rubbish lying in the snow than in the bins.

  Max’s dislike of Blackpool was legendary, probably, she guessed, because his sons loved the place and it cost Max a small fortune every time he was blackmailed into bringing them. Grace would willingly give Harry and Ben a day out here. In fact, she’d suggest it to Max.

  She loved everything about Blackpool and was always first in the queue at the annual switching on of the famous illuminations. The town brought back memories of happy childhood holidays. Years later, she had often been falling out of the clubs in the early hours with a gang of friends.

  Unlike Harrington, Blackpool could only boast a couple of inches of snow. It was enough to show her and the two uniformed officers a set of footprints heading from Foreman’s front door to the road though.

  Grace hammered on that door. Getting no answer, she peered in through grimy windows. The front window looked straight into a sitting room that was littered with newspapers, empty beer ca
ns and very little furniture other than a huge plasma TV that was probably worth more than the house.

  While PC Wilde waited by the front door, Grace and PC Jones walked round the back, let themselves in through a rickety gate, walked up the path and knocked on the back door. A window here showed them a kitchen where dirty saucepans and plates were piled high in the sink. A small yellow table was just visible beneath yet more newspapers.

  She sent PCs Wilde and Jones back to their car and returned to her own.

  The property at the other end of Foreman’s street was twice the size of the others and was being used as a bed and breakfast. Grace suspected it was cheap lodgings. She also guessed that neither the bed nor the breakfast would be palatable.

  For all that, several people left or entered the building during the next couple of hours. In contrast, no one went near Foreman’s house.

  She was beginning to fidget and couldn’t decide what she needed most. Coffee, food or toilet. Probably the latter.

  What, she wondered, had made her think that a job in CID would be glamorous? She was sitting in a cold car, she was hungry and thirsty, and she really did need a pee.

  Her phone burst into life, startling her.

  ‘He’s heading your way – just turned the corner. Black coat, overlong jeans and three Asda carrier bags.’

  She slunk down in her seat and watched as Barry Foreman strode past her. He looked behind him before turning and walking smartly to his front door and letting himself in.

  ‘Right, one of you round the back and one with me,’ Grace told the uniforms. ‘And he’s a big bugger so be careful.’

  As soon as PC Wilde was at the back of the property, Grace and PC Jones walked up to the front door. There was no sound from within so Grace hammered on it. No response. She knocked again, harder.

  PC Jones pushed open the letterbox. ‘Police! Open up!’

  Nothing.

  ‘We’ll bash the bloody door in,’ Grace said, tired of this. ‘We know he’s in there.’

  She heard the sound of breaking glass and instinctively put her hands over her head. It was coming from the back of the house though.

  ‘He’s smashed a window at the back. Come on, Jonesey. Quick!’