Shiver

by Andrea Frazer

  ‘Why not here and now?’

  Sugden laughed. ‘Not in this place. Not only do the walls have ears but the floor and ceiling too.’

  ‘OK, but leave until later on. This is going to be a long night for us.’

  Diane, who had been waiting impatiently just out of earshot, demanded to know who he was. As they walked back to the church, Carol explained. ‘His name’s Richard Sugden. He and I were at school together. We were in the same class, in fact.’

  ‘How come you didn’t recognize him?’

  ‘He’s completely different to the boy I remember. I used to feel so sorry for him. He was small, weedy, and had the worst case of acne I’ve ever seen, and it made him extremely timid and self-conscious. Of course, he got bullied, and teased unmercifully. His name didn’t help.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Someone cruelly gave him the nickname Spotted Dick.’

  ‘They wouldn’t if they saw him now. He’s quite a hunk, and handsome with it.’

  Carol suddenly remembered something else about Sugden, but decided not to tell Diane about the other nickname he’d been given. That one would be best kept as a secret.

  They had to wait for a considerable time until the pathologist had supervised the removal of the corpse from the crypt. ‘It seems a bit odd,’ Diane remarked as they watched the mortuary assistants carrying the remains along the graveyard.

  ‘What does?’

  ‘Removing a body from a crypt rather than putting one into it.’

  ‘I take your point. Our job is to find out who did put it in, although from the amount of blood on the floor I suspect he was killed in there.’

  ‘That may be so, Carol, but why did he go in there? How did the killer entice him into the crypt? Especially as that young lad’s just told us he’d nicked the key from the church?’

  Austin followed his assistants out of the crypt and stopped to speak to the detectives. ‘Ah, you’re back from the boozer, then.’

  ‘What can you tell us?’ Carol ignored the dig.

  ‘The victim had a wallet in his back pocket. I gave it to SOCO. They will tell you about the man. Cause of death I think you might have guessed. He’s been dead somewhere between twenty-four and thirty-six hours. At some point his wrists and ankles were bound, with what I can’t be sure yet. There’s also a strong possibility that he was sedated and, as you suspected, I also believe the murder weapon was the cricket bat. The post-mortem will be at 10 a.m. tomorrow. One of you should attend.’

  They watched him go and looked round, but the forensic team were still hard at work in the crypt. They had another lengthy wait before the leader emerged. ‘We’ll need to examine the cricket bat to find out if the killer wore gloves.’

  Both he and Benson were startled when Diane giggled. ‘Batting gloves,’ she explained.

  ‘Is she always like this?’ the officer asked.

  ‘Always,’ Carol replied.

  ‘Anyway, even if he wasn’t wearing gloves, it’s unlikely we’ll be able to get usable prints from the handle.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s covered with a rubber grip. One of the sort that has thousands of tiny raised dimples. That would prevent us getting a decent impression. Unless the killer touched the blade of the bat, all we can hope for is a DNA specimen. I have better news from the dead man’s wallet. At least we know who he is … er … was. There’s a driving licence, credit and debit cards, all in the name of Noah Blake, Anvil Cottage, Lingtoft. There was also eighty pounds in notes, so I think you can discount robbery as the motive.’

  ‘That won’t help explain how the body got into the crypt,’ Carol remarked. ‘Other than Blake was the church sexton and presumably would have a key in addition to the one the young lad nicked from the vestry. Have you anything else to tell us?’

  ‘Not really, but I assume you’ll want us to examine the dead man’s house, unfortunately, that will have to wait until tomorrow. When we finish up here we still have another job to go to.’ The forensic officer paused before adding, ‘One thing that occurred to me when I viewed the body. I’d say there was a huge level of rage and hatred in the way the victim was beaten. If you get close to the killer, be sure you have adequate back up.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning. Will you let one of us know when you are ready to go to the victim’s house?’

  Having arranged that, Diane suggested they went back to the pub to interview potential witnesses. ‘You’re joking,’ Carol gestured across the road. ‘This isn’t a town centre where the pubs are open all hours. The lights went out twenty minutes ago. I think we’re done here for the night.’

  As they were leaving the village, Carol asked, ‘Will you take the post-mortem? I’ll have to phone in a report to HQ in the morning. That means dealing with Detective Superintendent Palmer as the boss is en route to the Big Apple.’

  ‘Of course I will. Given the choice between watching Doc Austin cut up a severely battered corpse or talking to Palmer, I’d opt for the post-mortem every time.’

  Next morning, it seemed that Benson’s luck was in. When she phoned headquarters, the receptionist told her that Palmer had reported sick. ‘Flu,’ she told Carol, laconically. ‘Probably no more than a sniffle, but he’ll be off work for a week. With your boss Geoff Parker away, he’ll drag it out as long as possible.’

  ‘OK, I’ll email my report in.’

  ‘That would probably be more productive anyway.’

  Carol smiled as she put the phone down. Obviously she and Diane weren’t the only ones with a low opinion of Palmer. She spent half an hour at her computer typing up her preliminary report and had just completed it when the phone rang. It was the forensic team leader, reporting that they were about to set off for Lingtoft. ‘I’m not sure how we’ll get in to the house,’ he told her. ‘There was no key on the body, so we may have to use the enforcer.’

  ‘I’ll meet you there.’

  Carol arrived before the SOCO team, and spent a few minutes examining the outside of the property. Anvil Cottage was a small but handsome building. A clue as to the occupation of the original inhabitant came in the form of the arched windows, similar in shape to horseshoes. She got out of her car and walked up the short, stone-flagged path to the front door. It was locked, but she noticed two tubs, containing small evergreen shrubs, one either side of the door. She lifted the rim of the first, with no success, but when she turned to the second, she found a Yale key secreted beneath it. She was about to straighten up when a voice behind her said, ‘I recognize that face.’

  Carol turned swiftly, aware that her position and tight jeans had displayed her posterior to good effect. ‘Cheeky bugger,’ she said.

  Richard Sugden was standing alongside the front gate. He smiled. ‘You always did have a good figure.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I live here, remember? Over there to be precise.’ He pointed across the road to a substantial, stone-built house.

  Carol looked at the property. ‘I thought you said it was a cottage? That’s more like a young mansion.’

  ‘I agree it’s a bit ostentatious, but I bought it as an investment. I saw you arrive and thought I’d save myself a trip into Thorsby. If you want to come across the road, I can tell you what I know and make you a cup of tea. It won’t take long, because there isn’t a lot to tell.’

  ‘I can’t just yet. I have to let the forensic people in and get them started on their inspection. I could come over after that if you like.’

  ‘OK, whenever you’re free.’ He turned and walked across the road. Carol watched him go. He moved with the speed and grace of a dancer, or an athlete. She wondered again what he did for a living. The arrival of the SOCO van put an end to her musing. She watched the officers put on their protective clothing and remove their equipment from the van before handing the key to their leader. ‘It was under the plant pot,’ she explained.

  ‘That’s village life for you. OK, let’s see what awaits us inside. For all we k
now there could be a deranged killer who thinks he’s the next Michael Vaughan armed with another bat. Alternatively, we could find the bodies of the local cricket team.’

  Neither of his bloodthirsty suggestions were proved accurate. He and one of his colleagues emerged after a few moments and signalled the rest of the team to enter. ‘The cottage is empty,’ he told Carol. ‘No sign of disturbance or violence, not even a struggle. We’ll start work immediately.’

  ‘OK, if you want me, I’ll be over the road talking to a potential witness.’

  As she crossed the village street, Carol wondered about Sugden. Did he have an ulterior motive behind the seemingly innocent invitation for tea and a gossip? He had been a shy, introverted young boy, but that was long ago. The boy she had known at school would never have dared make a cheeky remark such as the one he had about her behind. However, there had been a look in his eyes that told a different tale. One of admiration – and possibly speculation.

  He was obviously watching for her, because he opened the front door as she was halfway up the drive. She noticed the new and quite expensive four-wheel-drive car parked in front of the garage. Admittedly the house could be mortgaged, and the car on hire-purchase, but it was obvious that whatever Sugden did for a living was quite lucrative. Much more so than the salary of a detective sergeant.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ he greeted her.

  ‘Tea, please, milk but no sugar.’

  He ushered her into the first room to the right of the large hall. Take a seat; I’ll bring your drink through in a minute.’

  Carol examined the room. It was decorated with great taste. She wondered who had picked the carpet, the furniture and the curtains. All of them looked new, or barely used. The wallpaper had obviously been selected to match the furnishings; the blend completing the pleasing effect. A couple of minutes later Sugden returned and set a mug down on the table alongside her armchair. Even the coaster he used looked expensive. ‘Who does your interior design? Is it your wife, or have you hidden talents?’

  Sugden laughed. ‘Carol, if that’s a way of asking if I’m married, you don’t need to use subtlety with me. What you see is what you get. I’m not married. You’re right though, it was a woman who picked everything. My sister Alison, to be exact.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a sister.’

  ‘You barely knew I existed, let alone any of my background.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Sorry, that wasn’t fair. You wouldn’t have known Alison. She’s eight years older than me, so she left Thorsby Grammar before we got there. She’s the head of the furniture department at Towlers in Dinsdale.’

  ‘That explains a lot. I thought the stuff looked expensive and good quality. Towlers only sell the best, but they charge for it.’

  ‘You can say that again. Even with staff discount the bill was huge.’

  ‘You said last night that you spend a lot of time away from home. What exactly do you do? It obviously pays well enough.’ Carol gestured at the room.

  Once again she noticed the minute hesitation before he replied, as if he was preparing his answer. ‘I’m a freelance advisor. A consultant, if you like. I prepare specialist reports. That’s about all I can tell you.’

  ‘If it pays well, I’m surprised you haven’t been snapped up by some female. Eligible bachelors aren’t that easy to come by these days. I suppose the travelling doesn’t make it easy to maintain a relationship, though.’

  ‘That’s true, because sometimes I’m away for months on end, but that isn’t the real reason. There have been one or two girls over the years, but nothing serious. There was only one girl I cared about and that didn’t come to anything.’

  ‘What went wrong?’

  ‘That’s a long story. How about you? I suppose you’ve a loving husband and a couple of growing kids by now.’

  Carol shook her head. ‘No way. Like you, my job doesn’t make it easy. Apart from the anti-social hours, and the fact that I could be on duty for twenty-four, thirty-six hours on end, once they find out what I do for a living most men run a mile faster than any Olympic athlete.’

  Sugden smiled. ‘More fool them; they don’t know what they’re missing.’ Although his tone was light, there was a note of sincerity in it that had Carol wondering.

  ‘I suppose the work thing makes us a bit similar. Speaking of which, how about telling me what you know about Blake?’

  ‘I did warn you that it won’t be much.’

  ‘Anything would be an improvement on what we know so far. Apart from the fact that he was the sexton, we have no clue about him whatsoever.’

  ‘OK, here goes. Blake was single, lived alone, and, from what I saw, had few visitors, if any. Someone told me that his family own a farm hereabouts, but where exactly I’ve no idea. I believe he spent a good number of years abroad, and only returned to the area about five years ago.’

  ‘Did he have a job?’

  ‘That I can’t say. He certainly didn’t go out to work in the normal sense of things, but these days a lot of people work from home, so he could have had a job. However, from what little I saw of him, I doubt that. He didn’t seem the type, somehow.’

  ‘Anything else you can tell me?’

  ‘I’m not sure about this, so don’t place too much credence on it, but Blake might have been seeing someone.’

  ‘A woman? What makes you think that?’

  Sugden shrugged. ‘It was just an impression I got. He smartened up his appearance all of a sudden. I also spotted his car in the car park behind the marketplace; there was a woman with him. It looked as if they were good friends. Very good friends, if you get my meaning. Later, I happened to be looking out of the window when he returned. He parked his car outside the front door, which was unusual. I thought he was going to unload some shopping, because he’d been out for hours, but unless he’d bought only items small enough to go in his pockets, he hadn’t done any shopping. So what was he doing with the woman? I think I can guess.’ He grinned.

  Ignoring his comment, Carol stared at him in surprise. ‘What exactly do you advise on? Your observational skills are better than a lot of detectives I’ve worked with.’

  Sugden smiled, but once again Carol noticed he failed to answer her directly. ‘I hope what I’ve told you is useful. I wouldn’t want you wasting your time because I’ve given you a red herring.’

  At that moment, Carol’s mobile rang. It was the SOCO leader. ‘Can you come back to Blake’s house? There’s something extremely strange here.’

  ‘OK, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.’ She ended the call and looked across at Sugden. ‘Sorry, Richard, duty calls.’

  She stood up and finished her tea. ‘Thanks for that – and for the information. It’s been nice to see you again, and to know you’re doing so well, even if I don’t know what you actually do.’

  Sugden reached across to the small writing desk and picked up a visiting card. ‘How about you give me a call when you’ve got this murder enquiry out of the way? We can go for a meal and I’ll tell you what I’ve been up to all these years.’

  Carol took the card and stared from it to Sugden. ‘Are you asking me out on a date?’

  ‘Yes, and as I already know what you’re job is, there’s no chance of me running a mile.’

  When she reached the gate to Anvil Cottage, Carol looked back. Sugden was still standing in his doorway. He lifted one hand in salute. Being asked out on a date was the last thing she had expected when she went to work that morning.

  ‘OK, what have you got to show me?’

  ‘Nothing,’ the forensic officer replied.

  ‘I thought you said there was something strange here?’

  ‘There is. And you’re looking at it, or part of it at least.’

  ‘You’re going to have to explain. I can’t see anything out of the ordinary.’

  ‘No, well take a closer look. Look at the wooden surfaces, then go into the kitchen and examine the worktops, the unit doors, anywhere you w
ant. You’ll find they’re all covered in fingerprint powder, but what you won’t find is a single fingerprint anywhere in this house.’

  ‘What are you suggesting? That Blake always wore gloves?’

  ‘No, because if you do look closely enough you’ll see minute traces of fibre.’

  ‘What do you think that signifies?’

  ‘I reckon someone has been through this house and wiped every surface clean so there’s no way we can lift a print from them. It matches his wallet; that was also clean.’

  ‘Well either, Blake has some weird fetish or whoever’s responsible for the clean-up would have had to dump the cleaning materials somewhere.’

  ‘That’s what we thought. We reckon they used those sanitised cloths the supermarkets sell.’

  As he was speaking, one of his colleagues entered the room. ‘Nothing, boss.’

  ‘Not even on the outside?’

  ‘No, not even there.’

  ‘The waste bins in the house have all been emptied, and the wheelie bin outside is also empty. Of course, we could be a day too late. The binmen could have collected yesterday.’

  ‘Hang on, I’ll find out.’

  Carol removed the card from her pocket and dialled Sugden’s number. When he answered, she said, ‘Richard, it’s Carol Benson.’

  ‘Blimey, that was quick.’

  ‘No, Richard, I’m not ringing about a date.’ She had forgotten that the two forensic officers were standing alongside her. ‘I need some information. When do the council collect your household waste?’

  ‘Green bin or black?’

  ‘Black, I’m not interested in the garden refuse.’

  ‘Well, it was green last week, so it’ll be black tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks, Richard, I’ll be in touch. That’s a promise.’ She hadn’t intended to say that, but it seemed right – until she turned and saw both officers grinning broadly. One nodded and winked at his colleague. ‘Something wrong?’ she asked, icily.

  They assured her that there was not, while trying to keep their faces straight.