Massey opened the driver's door. “I don't know about you, but I need a bloody drink. First, though, let's ask forensics to check out that barrier. Until we have reason to reject the notion, the mill could be the access to the landfill site, which makes Mr. Charles Devlin Howard a possible suspect.”
“It's worth noting that in the shed there were several tubs of chemical treatments for the garden, weed killer, moss killer, sprays for greenfly and other assorted creepy crawlies,” said Turner. “What d'you reckon?”
“It's a possibility but I wasn't aware of that strange smell. Maybe forensics should take samples.”
They called in at headquarters to liaise with John Nuttall and the forensic team, before heading for the Barleycorn with Frank Roker.
*****
Violence in and around licensed premises had been on the increase for several years. The ‘bar room brawl’ had escalated into something far more sinister. Various bodies had conducted numerous studies to discuss actions to counter this disturbing phenomenon. These had involved the police, psychologists, members of associated trade organisations, brewers and government representatives. Many brewery companies already ran training courses and seminars that offered guidance to licensees and their staff in dealing with violent situations, drunken behaviour and the increasing contributory drugs factor.
Unfortunately, ‘fisticuffs’ had become a figment of the past. Present day confrontations often involved the use of a weapon. The carrying of knives was on the increase, but within most licensed premises, there was an array of lethal weapons readily available in addition to the glass or bottle in which the drink was served. Ashtrays, pool cues, items of furniture and general bric-a-brac were often cited as offensive weapons. The Barleycorn was no exception.
The two principal ‘villains’ amongst the clientele were Ricky Dalziel and Lennie Rourke. Both were in their late thirties and had spent most of their lives in and out of prison, serving sentences for petty crimes, short incarcerations that had no effect whatsoever on the intimidating and threatening behaviour that characterised their aggressive nature.
Sean, as the licensee, had developed his way of dealing with them, using a mix of firmness, self-confidence and diplomacy, interspersed with his innate Irish charm and humour. Individually the two men were manageable; together they spelled danger. Sometimes they would be drinking socially in their usual particularly uncouth and malevolent manner. Other times they could appear antagonistic towards each other, forcing Sean to step in and alleviate the situation or even threaten them with expulsion from the public house.
As the three detectives turned into the car park, Rourke was slowly hauling his battered body into his white Vauxhall Astra. Despite commenting on his manner and appearance, they chose to ignore him.
“He's been in a fight,” said Turner, catching sight of Rourke's bloodstained face. “Someone's given him a good whacking.”
“There are blood splashes all over the front of his car, so he's probably had a pasting right here,” added Roker. “He should be pleased as a Liverpool supporter. He's now got a free re-spray in his team's colours.”
“D'you reckon he needs an ambulance?” asked Turner.
“Let the bastard bleed to death,” replied Roker.
Massey's mind was elsewhere. “C'mon let's grab a quick drink and discuss the possible significance of the mill.”
A boisterous Ricky Dalziel greeted the detectives as they entered the bar. “Well, if it's not the three musketeers! Found the murdering bastard who knocked off that tasty looking tart, yet?”
“What have you done to Lennie out there?” asked Roker, ignoring his remarks.
“Bleedin’ typical! First sign of trouble and I get the fuckin’ blame!”
Sean intervened. “Rourke was causing trouble in the pool room. Ricky just took him out back to calm him down. There was no trouble in here.”
“The nasty little bastard's left for good,” said Dalziel. He won't be coming back. It's sorted.”
“So we noticed….all over his car,” said Roker.
“Three halves please, Sean,” said Massey, becoming impatient with the trite banter.
“And a wee scotch for me,” said Dalziel, leaning across the bar. “That's the least you can offer for services rendered to the local community, if you get my drift.” He winked and nodded towards the car park.
“Give him a half as well,” said Massey. “Anything to shut him up.” The detectives picked up their beers and headed for a quiet corner of the lounge bar.
“Your good health, Inspector,” shouted Dalziel, raising his glass.
The officers ignored him.
Sean busied himself behind the bar. Uncharacteristically, he was uncomfortable with their visit. What were they discussing so intently? Since Jimmy Moran had departed, having involved Sean in his obscure subversive activities, the regular custom of the local C.I.D. had become a threat rather than a welcome steadying influence. Whenever they glanced across towards the bar, he was conscious of their attention. He bore a guilt that was difficult to conceal. He was unusually nervous and agitated….and it was noticeable. Was it correct what Jimmy Moran had told him…that he was under constant surveillance by the local force, courtesy of Special Branch? Get a grip, he told himself.
Massey sipped his beer. “There are three aspects to this case which are currently bugging me. Firstly, there's that strange smell which seems to be predominantly associated with the girl and her belongings. Secondly, there's the mill with its access and proximity to the landfill site and thirdly, if the owner of the mill is involved, what's the connection with Lara and why would she stop off there on her way to have an abortion?”
“Maybe she was in a relationship with the guy, maybe it was his baby, maybe he was paying for the termination,” suggested Turner.
“If that was the case, why murder her and furthermore, why rape her first?” said Roker.
“That's assuming it was rape,” replied Turner. “Maybe she consented, had some argument and he over-reacted.”
“Slow down,” said Massey. “There was no evidence of physical violence against her apart from the bruise to her head, which, as you know, was not the cause of death. To progress these assumptions we need to check out this Howard fellow and to delve more deeply into the private life of Lara Crawford.”
“Are we reading too much into this?” asked Roker. “Could it not simply be the case that she was simply waylaid, raped and murdered by some psycho?”
“That's the most likely scenario,” said Massey. “However, the forensic report contains no evidence of a struggle, no physical abrasions or bruises that one would normally associate with an attack of that nature. If strangulation had been the cause of death, marks on her throat and neck would have borne testimony to that and such a conclusion may have been more acceptable. She died from suffocation but, surely, she would have fought back?
We have to base our assumptions on the evidence that we have before us. I suggest that tomorrow morning you both return to the mill and talk with the housekeeper to find some way of tracking down the elusive Mr. Howard. We need to eliminate him from our enquiries or to follow up anything that could link either him or the mill to the murder scene. It may also be productive to make a more detailed inspection of Lara's room at her home. Pay Mrs. Crawford a visit and ask permission to check it out. In the meantime, I'll make a fresh start on exposing the real Lara Crawford.”
“Her friend, Fiona or her mother?” asked Roker.
Massey shook his head. “Her mother appears to have a rather biased view of her daughter. You could almost say that she perceived her as a stereotype. Her friend, Fiona Wilson, appeared to have limited knowledge of Lara, despite confessing to being her best friend and her employer, Donald Kimberley, was too besotted by her to give an objective opinion. No, I'm going to have a chat with her aunt Caroline.
It's against my normal routine to go off at a tangent, but what did Einstein once say? ‘Logic will get you from A to B, but imagi
nation will take you everywhere.’ I formed the impression that Lara was closer to her aunt than to her own mother. I think that assumption is worth exploiting. In the meantime, let's hope that forensics come up with some useful info.”
“I take it that our discussion is now over,” said Turner. “If that's the case, let's have another round.”
Massey looked at his watch. “Count me out. The chance of an early finish can score me some ‘brownie points’ with your sister. Call me tomorrow with an update following your visit to the mill.”
The inspector left, watched closely by Sean, still agonising over his own situation. What did the detective know…if anything?
*****
“Inspector, what brings you back here?” asked Caroline Finch as Massey approached the bar. “Have you some news?”
Massey shook his head and smiled courteously. “Is there somewhere less public where I can have a word?”
There were only two people drinking in the main bar, but the inspector was mindful of some privacy. The licensee nodded towards a side room, which appeared devoid of customers.
“We'll be fine over there. It's fairly quiet today after the bank holiday weekend, but I'll be able to keep an eye on the bar, just in case.”
They sat at a small dark oak table in a snug room, beyond which lay the restaurant.
“In answer to your question,” began Massey, “we're waiting for further forensic evidence and sifting through various statements. Has your sister spoken to you since she left?”
“Yes, several times. I'm now fully aware of Lara's pregnancy and the intended abortion. I already knew that she was pregnant…she had confided that in me, but not the decision to terminate. However, I can understand her reasons. She was determined to carve out a modelling career, despite her mother's apprehension. I was fully behind my niece. She had all the attributes. Her meaningless death was such a waste. I take it that it was her boyfriend's baby?”
“We're supporting that view since we have no evidence to suggest that there were other men in her life, according to statements which we have taken. However, if you know differently…”
“Lara knew that she had the pick, as it were. She was so beautiful. I believe that Andy was merely a token boyfriend to keep others at bay, but I find it difficult to understand that she would allow herself to become pregnant by him. I take it that he isn't a suspect, since Diana told me that he was on holiday in Spain at the time.”
“I think that we can eliminate him from our enquiries.”
“So, why the visit?”
Massey leaned back against the padded upholstery of the fixed seating. Set in a freestanding chimneybreast, the flames of an ornamental gas fire flickered upwards from a wrought iron basket. The room exuded an ambience of warmth and comfort. The inspector found the atmosphere extremely relaxing.
“An investigation is like a jigsaw puzzle,” he said. “Each shred of evidence represents a piece of the puzzle. Hopefully, the individual pieces come together to form the bigger picture. In most cases there are always missing pieces, which can turn up unexpectedly or can be the result of forensic studies or by following a specific line of enquiry. Occasionally, there are aspects of some investigations that gnaw away at me because something is amiss. I have to find the answer. This is one such situation.”
Caroline smiled. “My sister, Diana.”
“You're very astute.”
“Your expression said it all on your previous visit. Her lack of emotion was all too evident. Your reaction to her calm acceptance of Lara's murder was very noticeable. You are obviously here to find out why my sister was so detached.”
“I found it strange that she showed little or no distress, even during the journey back to Cheshire. She talked a great deal about her daughter. Maybe that was her way of dealing with it. I'm not so sure. You know your sister more intimately than I do. I was hoping that you may be able to enlighten me.”
“You have to understand not only the mother-daughter relationship, but Diana's disappointment over Lara's ambitions. My sister only wanted the best for her. Lara was not only beautiful, but also extremely intelligent and her mother could never comprehend why she was besotted by a dream, a fantasy world as opposed to a realistic career with genuine prospects To see her daughter working in a small town boutique with a below par boyfriend drove a wedge into their relationship.”
“Diana mentioned that Lara was adopted. Was that an issue?”
“Not at all. Of the two children, one would think that Michael was the adopted child. He is so quiet and withdrawn, whereas Lara was full of life and celebrated her family life like any other child. It has never been mentioned apart from when her mother told her. Even before that, Lara was closer to me than to her mother. She confided in me. There were aspects of my niece's life completely unknown to Diana. Lara was driven by her dream of superstar model. Her aspirations knew no bounds. She would explore every avenue until she could fulfil her ultimate goal in life, no matter what the cost.”
“How do you mean, ‘no matter what the cost’?” asked Massey.
The two customers in the main lounge left the bar. Caroline thanked them, bade them farewell and crossed to the bar. She turned towards Massey. “Can I offer you a drink, tea, coffee or whatever?”
“A half of bitter will be fine,” said the inspector, gravitating towards a bar stool at the empty counter.
Caroline served the beer and poured a glass of wine for herself. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said. “I have something, which may interest you.” She disappeared into the private accommodation, reappearing after a few moments with a large buff envelope.
Massey sipped his beer. Carolyn sat on an adjacent stool, placing the envelope on the bar.
“You may find some pieces of your jigsaw puzzle in here,” she said. “You asked about the cost to Lara. That sleaze ball who employed her at the boutique in the shopping centre…”
“You mean Donald Kimberley?” said Massey.
“That's the one. Occasionally he organised fashion shows. Lara, of course, was his star model. She recruited other girls to help as mannequins and, naturally, that letch loved every minute of having numerous nubile young females around. Apparently, he took every opportunity to invade their dressing facilities whilst they were hovering in their underwear between garment changes.”
“Not surprising,” said Massey, reflecting on his impressions of the man.
“Those fashion shows afforded Lara a certain amount of exposure in the local press and consequently one or two modelling agencies contacted her. She eventually compiled a portfolio, which she intended to tout around the main studios and fashion houses in the capital. You see, she was determined to explore every option…and I really do mean every option, including this one.”
Caroline opened the envelope and slid several glossy photographs of Lara towards the inspector who looked at each one in turn.
“What a waste,” commented Massey, admiring the naked beauty of the female form in seductive poses, as opposed to the lifeless corpse which he had examined during John Nuttall's post mortem.
“The address of the studio is stamped on the back of each photo,” said Caroline. “They are proof of the lengths to which Lara was prepared to go in her quest for recognition. It is an aspect of her life that you may not have uncovered. I think it's important that you should be aware of my niece's complex character. Even I, as a liberal minded person, consider these pics to reflect the more disreputable aspects of modelling. Hopefully, it may open up other avenues of your investigation.”
“I take it that your sister is unaware of the photos.”
“As I said, Lara was closer to me and confided details of her life which would have created even deeper resentment from her mother.” Caroline returned the photographs to the envelope. “Do you want to take them with you?”
Massey shook his head. “No, you keep hold of them. I would be wary of having them in my safekeeping. One whiff of the contents and they would be touted a
round headquarters and I'm sure that the media would not be far behind, creating an uncontrollable feeding frenzy.”
The inspector was aware that he would find it difficult to conceal their existence. “Let's keep this information solely between us for the time being. I'll pay a visit to the studio that produced them. If anything transpires from that line of enquiry and they become requisite to the investigation, I'll be in touch.”
“You're welcome any time, Inspector.” Caroline smiled, warming to Massey's sensitivity. “Another beer?”
“Thank you, but I need to move on. I'm grateful for your candid remarks about Lara and your sister. You've helped me considerably to understand aspects of your niece's life which may never have been accessed.”
“Oh, there was one other thing that Lara said to me which may be of interest to you.”
Massey stopped short of the doorway. “And…?”
“She told me that she would be seeing someone over the Easter period, whilst her mum was here and Andy was in Spain. Just now, during our conversation at the bar, I thought that maybe she was referring to the clinic and her abortion, but now I'm not so sure.”
“Why not?”
“She said that she would have some exciting news for me after the holidays. I felt that she was really looking forward to some life-changing event. An abortion doesn't really strike me as the sort of circumstance that would stimulate my niece to that extent. Maybe she had met someone else, after all.”
“She was certainly an intriguing young lady,” said the inspector. He shook Caroline's hand and bade her farewell.
Minutes later, Massey sat in his car outside the Beacon looking down at the slip of paper on which he had written the details of the studio used by Lara. However, in addition to Caroline's parting comments, something was bothering him. What else had he noticed? He was unable to pinpoint it and dismissed it from his mind…for the moment. He glanced at his watch and decided to return to the heart of Cheshire via Stockport Road where he could call in at Kam-AO Film and Photographic Studios at Sharston House.
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