Another Good Killing

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘Have you seen the news?’ Lydia said.

  ‘Cardiff is certainly making the headlines.’

  ‘One of the journalists tried to stop me this morning when I arrived.’

  ‘Just be careful.’

  She tilted her head and scolded me with a raise of her eyebrows.

  After a review of our plan for the discussion with the Dolmans and some detailed instructions for Jane and Wyn to build a complete picture of Youlden we left and headed for the bank. I was already smoking the second of my five-a-day when I reached the mobile vendor selling various e-cigarettes. I had read somewhere recently that the tobacco companies had been buying up the manufacturers of the electronic substitutes. No matter what sort of smoker you had become – traditional or electronic – your money ended up in the same place. I recognised the man behind the trolley: he was stamping his feet trying to keep warm. He was blowing into his hands as he gave me an interested look but before he started his sales pitch, I moved on. Outside a newsagent, there was an old-fashioned hoarding at street level with the words ‘Anarchists Release Second Video’ printed in bold letters.

  We skirted around The Hayes, walked down to the end of St Mary Street and then dipped through a railway arch as a train rattled overhead before we reached the headquarters of the National Bank of Wales.

  Inside two men approached me, both wearing dark suits, white shirts, and sombre ties, with an attitude straight from the boxing ring. I flashed my warrant card, Lydia did likewise and they gave us a brief nod. The girl in reception stared at my card and then spoke down the telephone. There was a tense frightened atmosphere not helped by the guards, standing, hands clasped in front of them, peering out through the revolving door.

  I heard the lift door opening and glanced over, expecting to see the assistant again but Troy Dolman stepped out. I walked over towards him.

  ‘Good morning, Inspector.’

  ‘Mr Dolman.’

  ‘We’ve seen the second video, of course. Isn’t it possible to stop this stuff being put on the internet?’

  We took the lift to the sixth floor and he led me to the same conference room that we had used on my first visit.

  ‘You know my brother and Charlotte of course,’ Troy said. ‘And this is Tony Harper, our lawyer.’

  I guessed Harper was mid-fifties. He was slim, short back-and-sides and small intense eyes. We shook hands. ‘I was Matthew Dolman’s lawyer and we did a lot of work for the bank. And I knew Alan Turner of course. Everything that has happened is just terrible. Are you any further forward in identifying who might be responsible?’

  I gave Harper a brief, noncommittal smile. ‘I need to get some background cleared up. I’d like to know what will happen to the bank after Mr Dolman’s death.’

  From the glances that were fired across the table like static electricity between Rex and Troy and Tony Harper I knew that I wasn’t going to get the truth. Charlotte focused on some paperwork on the table.

  ‘It really is quite complicated,’ Troy began.

  Rex mumbled his agreement. Having someone take me for a fool wasn’t recommended.

  ‘Your father didn’t own all the shares in the bank. A trust fund owns twenty-five per cent. I need details of how that fund operates.’

  Harper replied. ‘The fund is run as a private family trust. The dividends paid by the bank are all used for the beneficiaries of that fund.’

  ‘And they are?’

  ‘That is confidential I’m afraid.’

  I wanted to raise my voice, shout even, but I curbed my anger. ‘This is a murder inquiry. I need any relevant information. And I’ll decide what’s confidential.’

  Harper glanced at Troy and then Charlotte. ‘The trustees of the fund are Mrs Dolman and both Troy and Rex. The beneficiaries are the extended family.’

  Charlotte looked over at me and smiled.

  I had an uncomfortable feeling that it was only the barest of information and that there was far more that I needed to know. It was like fishing in a pond of deadly fish that occasionally came to the surface. ‘Perhaps you can send me a briefing memorandum. You know, spell out the situation in simple layman’s terms. I need to know the shareholding owned by your father and if it was used as security for any debts. And if so who the mortgagee might be. And more importantly who now has the controlling interest in the company?’

  I was rather pleased with the look on the faces of the Dolman brothers. And even more pleased that I’d spent an hour that morning reading a simple guide of how companies operate and a lot of helpful websites about management structures.

  ‘I’m sure that’s something I can put together for you, Inspector,’ Charlotte added.

  I turned to look at Tony Harper. ‘Did you do all of Mr Dolman’s private work?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Had he made a will?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’d like to see it.’

  He glanced over at Troy and Rex who glared back at him.

  ‘Is there a problem with me seeing the will?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Harper was back into lawyer-mode. ‘He was contemplating having it changed.’

  ‘Can you tell me the changes he was considering?’

  He blinked briskly, hesitated and then cleared his throat. ‘He was going to leave more of his estate in trust for his various charities. And he was considering more generous provisions for Charles Bowen.’

  I could sense everyone staring at me deliberately as though they had no idea where else to look. I let the tension drag out. ‘Why did he want to make changes?’

  I noticed Tony Harper swallowing hard before glancing at Charlotte. ‘It was no secret that he and Mrs Dolman were having difficulties.’

  ‘You mean he wanted to disinherit his wife?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘But she wouldn’t have got as much under the new will?’

  Harper adjusted his tie a centimetre or two before replying. ‘I think that is a fair summary.’

  ‘I’ll need to see the file.’

  ‘Of course,’ Harper said.

  ‘And have you made any progress with Mr Stanway?’ Charlotte purred from the opposite side of the table.

  ‘We have spoken with Mr Stanway, of course. And at the moment he is only one line of inquiry we are pursuing. I am more concerned with investigating the anti-capitalist groups active in South Wales. I think they are more likely to be the realistic suspects.’

  Charlotte gave me another perfect-teeth smile. And yet another unreadable face. These people were good at hiding their emotions and concealing what was going on.

  ‘Before I start with the staff, I’m interested in the homeless shelter that you funded in Pontypridd.’

  Rex snorted. ‘That was a bad decision. I don’t know why my father wanted to support them. We’ve had nothing but adverse publicity.’

  Troy stared over at me but said nothing.

  ‘I understand that Alan Turner supported the shelter as well.’

  Rex again. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. He was probably roped into it.’

  ‘There is one other question. I’ll need the full details of the flat your father owned in the South of France.’

  I couldn’t look everyone in the eye simultaneously but I was certain that Rex and Charlotte were surprised. Tony Harper kept the emotionless face of an experienced poker player.

  Rex pitched in. ‘I don’t know anything about a flat in the South of France. Where the hell did you get that sort of information?’

  ‘That’s confidential.’

  They glared at me.

  ‘I’ll need to speak to the staff again. But first I need to clarify some things with Troy.’

  Harper collected his papers and Charlotte walked out with him, Rex following. Troy leant on the table and clenched his jaw. ‘This had better be quick. I’ve got an important meeting.’ He motioned self-consciously at his watch.

  Lydia opened the file of papers and scanned the first page
. ‘You were in the Welsh Guards for three years.’

  ‘What the hell has that got to do with anything?’

  She put one hand on top of another on the file and paused. ‘I understand that you had difficulties with some of the enlisted men.’

  Lydia was more diplomatic than I would have been.

  Troy sat back, and folded his arms. ‘Whatever you’ve been told it’s a load of rubbish.’

  The anger in his voice was inappropriate somehow.

  ‘One of the men in your regiment was a Paul Youlden. He’s linked to one of the anti-capitalist groups.’

  He guffawed in disbelief. ‘The army has thousands of service men.’

  ‘But he was in the same regiment. Did you know him?’

  ‘You are wasting your time on this. You should know better. I’ve a good mind to telephone the chief constable and complain.’ He stood up and towered over the table. ‘You cannot come in here and accuse me of killing my father. It’s utterly preposterous.’

  He paced over to the door and left.

  We watched him striding through the open-plan offices.

  ‘Did you see them when you mentioned the flat in Nice?’ Lydia said.

  ‘Rex didn’t know anything about it.’

  ‘Charlotte looked astonished. Just for a moment though.’

  ‘Let’s talk to the staff.’

  Lydia organised to call various members of staff. We spoke to over a dozen personal assistants, relationship managers and account managers and each confirmed what we knew already – Matthew Dolman had been a considerate, if tough, employer. When we asked about the relationship between Matthew and his sons, we met with less cooperation. One of the senior account managers told us how Matthew Dolman had boasted about his encounter with Henson on the television. He had even treated some of the staff to a celebration lunch.

  It was late in the morning when Ann Roberts joined us round the table in the conference room. She brushed a hair out of her face and moved her lips self-consciously as she sat opposite us. I got straight to the point.

  ‘Did you know about the flat that Matthew Dolman owned in Nice?’

  Fear and surprise combined in her face. She cast a surreptitious glance through the glass partitions. ‘No. I don’t know what you mean. There must be some mistake. Where did you hear about that?’

  I paused, uncertain about her response.

  ‘It seems that he kept the property a secret.’

  She cast her gaze around the room. She was hiding something.

  ‘Tell me about your relationship with Mr Dolman?’ I sat back and smiled.

  For ten minutes she skirted around telling us what was really on her mind. Lydia gave the barest of shrugs when I glanced at her as Ann stared at her hands curled up on her lap. I nodded back and was pleased when she asked the sort of question that might get Ann talking to us.

  ‘It must have been upsetting hearing Troy and Rex argue with their father so much.’

  Ann look non-plussed for a moment but the opportunity was gone for her to deny the truth. And had I asked the direct question she would have clammed up.

  ‘I never meant to say anything.’ She paused and looked intently at Lydia. ‘Matthew was arguing a lot with Troy and Rex about the future of the business. They had endless meetings. I prepared reams of minutes.’

  ‘Do you know what’s going to happen to the bank now that he’s dead?’

  She chewed her lower lip. ‘It’s not for me to say. The business might be sold. Or taken over. It probably won’t continue as it is.’

  ‘Where is this paperwork?’

  ‘It might take me some time to find it.’

  She stood up and looked over her shoulder again but neither Troy nor Rex was in sight. I watched as she returned to her desk. I didn’t know if I was any further forward. The flat in Nice remained a mystery and I recalled the surprise on Charlotte’s face as well as Rex’s. I wondered if anyone in the National Bank of Wales was telling me the truth.

  *

  Normally I kept a clean desk. But that afternoon I had the special branch files open in front of me again. I had relegated the papers on the electrification contract to a cupboard in one corner of my room. After Jamie Henson I would start on Paul Youlden and everyone associated with him. Wyn and Jane were working on the files from the National Bank of Wales and occasionally I heard them discussing terminology with the officers from economic crime.

  I had just finished reading the Henson file when Lydia stood at my door. Through the window behind me, I could hear a deliveryman shouting instructions and then some swearing and a loud crash.

  All the paperwork in front of me was having a soporific effect. ‘I need a coffee and a doughnut.’

  Lydia followed me out of Queen Street to Mario’s around the corner. It was the end of the day and the place was quiet. I slipped into a bench and a tired-looking waitress came up to us.

  ‘What can I get you?’ She drawled.

  ‘Double espresso and a doughnut.’

  ‘Americano please,’ Lydia said.

  ‘I liked the way you got Ann Roberts to spill the beans on the Dolman family.’

  ‘She was waiting for a reason to tell us. Once she thought we knew it was dead easy. So do you think it means that Troy is involved?’

  ‘He knows Youlden. So he could have put him up to kill his father.’

  ‘But why kill Turner?’

  Sometimes Lydia could stop me mid-thought. ‘I… there must be something else.’

  ‘He’s got a temper. And we know they argued.’

  The coffee arrived with an icing-sugar clad doughnut and a knife that I ignored. I enjoyed the sensation of the sugar hit.

  ‘And Youlden could have used Henson’s printer to plant evidence against him.’ Lydia added, obviously pleased with her developing theory.

  ‘But we also find out that Mrs Dolman had a gold-plated motive to kill her hubbie – he was planning on disinheriting her.’ I turned my attention to the coffee.

  Lydia paused and I could see her contemplating. ‘But how could she have killed him? She was at home.’

  ‘Do we have that verified?’

  Lydia pondered and rolled her eyes. I continued. ‘She might be in league with Youlden. Check out if he ever stayed at the hostel.’

  Lydia nodded now. ‘But Henson might have never thought we’d link the messages to his printer.’

  ‘The printer is pretty conclusive evidence.’

  Lydia didn’t look convinced. And neither was I but we had nothing else to go on so Henson stayed high on the list of suspects.

  Murderers never make it easy. I ran a napkin over my mouth. I gave the rest of the doughnut a hungry look.

  ‘And what do you make of the electrification contract?’ Lydia added.

  ‘That’s not taking us anywhere. Frost is dead and so is his company.’ Even so, the details had been playing on my mind.

  Lydia folded her hands around the cup and swilled the dregs of the coffee around the bottom. ‘I agree. There are probably lots of contracts that Dolman lost. And who would have any motive – certainly not that Harding bloke.’

  I said nothing. I dabbed a napkin to my lips and then scrunched it into a ball on the plate. My espresso was warm, just. I finished the coffee and after paying we returned to Queen Street. Jane looked up at us when we walked into the Incident Room.

  ‘How far back do you want us to go, sir?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’ve been through all the papers from the NBW and there are dozens of contracts where Dolman was working with Turner and with that lawyers’ firm where Harper works. And they know each other well. The emails between them are very matey.’

  I sat on one of the chairs in the Incident Room listening to Jane and then Wyn explaining the work they had finished that afternoon. Wyn pinned on the board a large spider chart of how everyone was involved.

  ‘Good work, Wyn,’ I said.

  He blushed before continuing. After an hour
and several unsuccessful attempts to conceal yawns, I knew it was time to leave for the day. There had been various texts during the afternoon from Tracy confirming a dinner arrangement for tomorrow evening. Then I answered a couple more from my mother about the impending holiday with Dean.

  As I shrugged on my jacket, my mobile rang.

  ‘David Turner, Inspector. I’ve found something unexpected in my father’s papers.’

  Chapter 22

  Lydia put her head around my office door the following morning to enquire what time David Turner was expected.

  ‘He was in Swindon an hour ago,’ I said.

  I couldn’t concentrate on work. I paced around the Incident Room gazing at the board and glancing at my watch. When the message came that he had arrived at Cardiff Central Station I shouted at Lydia and we headed off to Turner’s offices.

  The television crews had left Cardiff by now – we were yesterday’s news. We strode down Churchill Way and soon found ourselves outside the office building. I pressed the intercom and it buzzed open almost immediately. David Turner was waiting for us and let us into reception. Packing boxes half-empty of stationery and office accessories crowded the tabletops and small labels hung from the furniture. There was no trace of the forensic work the CSI team had completed and no sign of Hannah.

  I shivered. Lydia drew her coat lapels up to her face.

  ‘I’m going to clear as much of dad’s possessions this weekend as I can. I can then hand the keys back to the landlord.’

  ‘What did you want to show us?’ I said.

  Turner led us into his father’s office and sat down. He drew out a file from a tan leather briefcase and placed it on the desk in front of us.

  ‘My father had an apartment in Sydney.’

  Another overseas property.

  ‘And you knew nothing about it?’

  ‘Not a thing. I asked my uncle who lives in Tasmania and he was in the dark as well. I knew that my father had gone out there last year for a holiday. He met up with his brother – they never got on. But I had no inclination at all that he had bought a flat out there.’

  ‘Have you got the details?’

  He pushed the file towards me.

  ‘How much did he pay for the flat?’ Lydia asked.