‘You’re sure you’re OK?’
‘I’m fine. And you’re right. I’ll go to the police.’
The baby’s cries were growing louder. Jennifer stood up and went to the door. ‘I’d better see to Jamie. Why don’t you stay for a bit? There’s no need to rush off. Stay and have another cup of tea before you go.’
‘No, thanks. I couldn’t. I’m absolutely stuffed, and I’m tired. I want to get home.’
‘You sure you’re OK? Do you want Bob to drop you back?’
‘Don’t be silly. Nothing happened. I’m fine, really.’ She looked round. Her sister had already left the room.
19
Papers
Geraldine went to bed early on Sunday and arrived at work early on Monday morning feeling invigorated. She fretted at her desk, impatient for the morning briefing to be over so she could start work in earnest. Several times she was tempted to make her way up to the canteen and see if Ian Peterson was there, but she forced herself to check her emails and scan her notes in preparation for the day. At last it was time to go through to the Incident Room for the briefing.
Kathryn Gordon’s eyes scoured the team. A subdued muttering fell silent when she spoke. Her presence dominated the room but her voice seemed to have lost its power.
‘We need to be aware of local feeling about these burglaries. Bear in mind the editor of the local paper lives on the Harchester Hill Estate. So the break-ins on the estate are all over the front page this week.’ She spoke with reserved anger. ‘Now there’s been a second fatality. We need to step up the pressure. I’ve requested more uniform to help with the door to door, and additional clerical staff to cover the phones. We can expect more calls.’ She brandished a newspaper above her head. ‘You’ve all seen this? This morning’s Harchester Herald.’
LOCAL GANG MURDER TWICE
On Thursday night a woman was murdered in her own home on the Harchester Hill Estate by a gang of burglars who are terrorising the area.
RESIDENTS PROTECT THEMSELVES
Police are advising residents to increase their home security. Detective Inspector Leslie Bennett said: ‘We are advising residents to take common sense precautions to protect their property. We are following several lines of enquiry which we expect to lead to arrests very soon.’
GANG TRIGGER GAS EXPLOSION
A local resident died in a blaze at his home in Harchester Hill in the early hours of Saturday morning.
EXPLOSION
The fire was caused by a gas explosion. The area around the fire was evacuated until late yesterday afternoon, but has now been declared safe.
BURGLARS
A police spokesman has confirmed that a gang of burglars broke into the house during the night. Police suspect they were responsible for leaving the gas on. Was this, as seems likely, the same gang that killed Evelyn Green? Detective Inspector Leslie Bennett said: ‘We are asking members of the public to help us identify the members of this dangerous gang. Any information, however small, may be vital to our investigation so please come forward if you can help.’
SAFETY MEASURES
‘We want to reassure the public that gas poses a danger only when it leaks over a period of several hours,’ a spokesman for the Fire Investigation Team said. ‘Under normal circumstances, the domestic gas supply is perfectly safe. But this tragic event emphasises the need for care within the home. Gas must be properly switched off when not in use. A suspected leak should be reported immediately.’
The DCI glared round the room, but she spoke quietly. ‘The local paper is agitating for an arrest but, as we all know, these investigations take time. I’m confident you’re being vigilant and thorough. But we have to be seen to be doing everything possible to reach a quick result. Until this case is over, all leave is cancelled. We can anticipate interesting headlines in next week’s paper.’ She tossed an irate glance in Bennett’s direction. Out of the corner of her eye Geraldine could see the top of the old detective’s lowered white head. All this action on his patch was unfortunate timing for him, just as he was winding down for retirement.
‘Who cares, what the papers say?’ Polly asked.
The DCI frowned. ‘It’s a question of public confidence,’ she answered, surprisingly gently. ‘Our best source of information is going to be the people who know these villains, the people who live with them. They don’t exist in a vacuum. The less confidence the public have in us, the less likely they are to come forward. So far we haven’t been able to find out who they are. They’re building a reputation as invincible among their associates, their neighbours, their family members. People around them may well be scared of them, or regard them as heroes.’ She paused. ‘We can’t afford to be dismissed as impotent. We need to flip that around. Once it seems inevitable they’re going to be caught, there’s less incentive for those around them to conceal their identity. That’s the message we need to send out. And the local paper isn’t helping.’
‘Why don’t we get the paper on our side?’ another young constable asked. ‘At least tell them what to say, even if they don’t agree.’
Kathryn Gordon frowned again. ‘Because despite what some of the media suggest, we don’t live in a police state, and we do have a free press. Now check your schedules with the duty sergeant. Enough talk,’ she concluded, suddenly brusque. ‘We’ve got work to do.’
They were waiting for the day’s schedule when the DCI summoned Geraldine. She straightened her skirt and took a deep breath before knocking on the door and was relieved to discover the DCI wasn’t complaining about her sketchy report. There was no need to explain she’d had a bad day on Sunday, she would do better next time, it wouldn’t happen again, ma’am.
Gordon pushed the local newspaper across the desk at her. Geraldine frowned as she leaned over the desk and skimmed the front page.
‘The bloody newspaper knows as much as we do,’ the DCI fumed. ‘If not more. Where the hell did they pick this up? And why the hell are the fire boys talking to a reporter?’ Geraldine’s head was beginning to ache again. ‘I don’t want the papers better informed than we are,’ the DCI concluded as she dismissed Geraldine. ‘Make sure your report is thorough, Geraldine. Don’t leave anything out.’
‘We should be out there conducting door to door enquiries and questioning everyone who knew the victim, not wasting time changing our reports by adding in what we’ve read in the papers,’ she grumbled to Peterson when she passed him in the corridor. He shrugged, sharing her frustration.
‘Coffee?’ she jerked her head in the direction of the canteen and he nodded. In the bright lights of the canteen, Geraldine noticed his pallor, and unhealthy pouches under his eyes. ‘What’s up?’ she asked. ‘You look worn out.’ The sergeant’s shoulders slumped forward. Geraldine waited. She hoped he wasn’t sickening for something. A murder enquiry that threatened to consume their lives for the weeks ahead needed stamina. They had hardly started, and he looked exhausted.
‘It’s Bev,’ he mumbled. Geraldine waited. The sergeant had mentioned his girlfriend before. ‘She says she can’t take it any more. Says she wants a normal life with a normal nine-to-five partner.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Geraldine asked after a pause. She was surprised when he confided easily in her. ‘But she knew you were a police officer before you got together?’
‘She says it’s different when you live with a detective. She thought she’d be fine with it, but when it comes down to it, she isn’t.’ Geraldine thought of Craig and gave the sergeant a sympathetic smile. Peterson took a gulp of coffee and grimaced in disgust. ‘I’m sorry, gov, I shouldn’t be taking up your time like this.’
‘We should be getting back to work,’ she agreed with a worried frown. She hoped Ian Peterson wasn’t going to lose his focus on the case. Her concern wasn’t purely professional. She was fond of the sergeant and dismayed to see him looking so upset. She didn’t know what to say, aware that the phrases she would have used with a member of the public were empty cliché
s. She fell back on discussing the investigation. ‘I’m going through all the reports from the break-ins again. I suggest you do the same. We should finish by lunch time. Once we’ve got the background, we’ll speak to the Cliff family, check out what was going on between Thomas Cliff and his wife.’
‘Widow,’ Peterson corrected her. ‘Thanks for listening, gov,’ he added awkwardly as she stood up.
‘Work, that’s the best thing for you right now,’ she said briskly.
The sergeant gave her a quizzical look as he rose to his feet. ‘Work always comes first, is that it then?’
‘I mean it’ll help to take your mind off – other things.’ They exchanged a brief glance, a flicker of understanding, before they turned away.
20
Candle Sticks
Geraldine spent the rest of the morning reading through statements. In five reported break-ins the burglars had stolen just under £2,000 worth of valuables and cash. No doubt they were congratulating themselves and laughing at police incompetence. Geraldine tried to ignore her irritation with Bennett. Half-hearted officers made life more difficult for everyone.
‘How goes it, gov?’ Peterson asked as she emerged from her office. Geraldine pulled a face. He glanced down at the report she was holding. ‘Busy, aren’t they?’
‘Not as busy as we’re going to be.’
‘Now why don’t I like the sound of that?’ he smiled. He seemed to have regained his usual good spirits. ‘Come on, then, gov, let’s go get ‘em.’
‘If only,’ she said, looking down at the list in her hand. ‘No luck tracing any of the stolen property I suppose?’
‘Now that’s where you’re wrong.’ The sergeant had been on his way to tell her that the owner of a local junk shop had called in. ‘He saw the pictures in the paper and thinks he’s got the silver candle sticks from the first break-in. We’ve got to go and check it out.’ He grinned and Geraldine felt her bad mood lift. Keeping on top of the paperwork was vital but, like the sergeant, she was happiest when she was out and about and doing something.
The name of the High Street changed to Lower Lane as they reached the East side of town where the streets narrowed and house fronts opened straight on to the road. An occasional tree drooped over the pavement. Starbucks in the centre of town gave way to JOE’S CAFE, Marks and Spencer changed to BEE’S BOUTIQUE with a handwritten sign in the window: EVRYTHING UNDER £5.
They drew up in a narrow side street, outside ALFIE’S ANTIQUES. The dimly lit interior was crammed with junk: tall lamps, ornate carriage clocks, chipped vases and glass ornaments, lone teapots and jugs, a wooden coat stand and a large black and gold china spaniel. A white haired man emerged soundlessly from the shadows. He wore a threadbare cardigan patched at the elbows, and corduroy trousers. Shrewd eyes sized them up over the top of rimless glasses.
‘Police?’
Geraldine held out her identity card, and asked to see the candle sticks. The shopkeeper shuffled forwards, rubbing his hands together. He mumbled something incoherent about a reward. A retort about fencing stolen goods sent him scurrying to the back of the shop.
He returned with a pair of wrought silver candle sticks which he held up, turning them to catch the light. ‘Beauties,’ he said. ‘Worth a bob or two.’ He handed them over with an air of regret. ‘I get nothing for them, then? Is that right? Nothing at all? I mean, I could’ve kept them, couldn’t I? Kept shtum.’
‘Stolen property,’ Peterson reminded him and the shopkeeper sighed.
Geraldine promised the owners would learn how their property had been recovered. ‘I’m sure they’ll want to show their appreciation.’
The shopkeeper raised his shoulders in resignation. ‘Archie. Tell them to ask for Archie.’
The candle sticks secure, Geraldine quizzed the old man about how they had come into his possession. He said a man had brought them in.
‘Can you describe him?’ The sergeant squinted at his notebook in the poor light.
The junk dealer told them a young man in a grey hoodie had brought the silver candle sticks in about a week before. ‘Seemed like he was in a hurry.’ Archie paused to cough. Phlegm rattled in his throat. ‘Of course I asked him where he got them,’ the old man went on. ‘I don’t deal in stolen gear, I told him straight, but he said the candle sticks belonged to his grandmother.’ Geraldine nodded impatiently. They all knew his lies fooled no one.
Archie told them he had offered the man fifty pounds for the pair. ‘He tried to haggle. Said the candle sticks were worth more. He wanted two hundred pounds.’ The sergeant snorted. Archie ignored the interruption and described how he had laughed in the young man’s face and stood firm when the young man grew angry. ‘You can’t browbeat me, I’ve been at this game too long.’
Geraldine asked him to describe the man.
‘Tall, ugly looking bloke, wearing black gloves. He was a big guy, a real bruiser, built like a boxer. There’s many would be intimidated by a big bloke like that, but I’m no patsy. I may look like I’ve seen better days, but no one pushes me around.’ He gave a hollow laugh that degenerated into another bout of coughing. ‘It’s fifty quid or nothing,’ he resumed hoarsely. ‘I told him. Take it or leave it.’
‘So he took it?’
Archie shrugged. ‘He didn’t worry me but even so, in the end, I gave him what he wanted, he was making such a song and dance over it. He was getting impatient, I could tell. Kept looking over his shoulder like he was nervous.’ He paused to spit phlegm into a filthy handkerchief. ‘It was still a bargain. I did all right on the deal, or I would’ve done.’
Geraldine and Peterson exchanged a disappointed glance, frustrated that Archie couldn’t describe the man in more detail.
The sergeant read out his notes as Geraldine drove them back through town.
‘Wearing a grey hoodie, like a tracksuit top, youngish, built like a tank.’ He looked up. ‘Anyone would look well built next to Archie.’
‘And young.’
Peterson continued reading. ‘Tall, ugly looking bloke, wearing black gloves. He was a big guy, built like a boxer. He seemed to be in a hurry and looked nervous. Not much to go on, is it?’
It was unlikely forensics would find anything useful on the candlesticks. The owners would be pleased to recover them, but the visit to Archie’s Antiques had brought them no closer to identifying the gang of thieves.
‘We’ll find them,’ Geraldine said, noticing Peterson’s miserable expression. ‘Sooner or later, we have to find them.’
‘Let’s hope no one else gets on the wrong side of them before we do,’ the sergeant answered, with unusual pessimism.
21
Mother-In-Law
Their next visit was to Thomas Cliff’s mother. Mrs Cliff had called the station to say she had information for them, but wasn’t prepared to speak to the police over the phone.
‘Paranoid,’ the constable who had taken the call told Geraldine. ‘Said she didn’t trust the phone.’ Geraldine didn’t mind going to see her. Statements from family members warranted close scrutiny.
Mrs Cliff senior lived in a village not far from Harchester.
‘Pretty,’ Peterson remarked as they cruised past a village green. White yellow-beaked ducks scudded among rushes at the side of a pond. Geraldine grunted, remembering a victim who had been discovered naked in a pond on a previous case.
They found Mrs Cliff’s house easily enough, a few doors along from the village shop and past Ye Olde Bakery, a modern tea shop complete with mock tudor beams. Although she had requested a visit, Mrs Cliff kept them waiting. They understood why when she finally opened the door. She could scarcely walk on thin legs encased in elastic support tights.
‘Come in,’ she quavered, without waiting to see their identity cards. ‘I’ve got information for you.’ She tottered along the hallway assisted by a crutch.
They sat down in a living room furnished with chintz covered arm chairs and a glowing gas fire and waited while Mrs Cliff settled herself.
Finally the old woman’s eyes glittered at Geraldine, sharp above raffish pink lipstick, an incongruous splash of colour in an otherwise dowdy outfit: grey skirt and cardy, brown slippers. Geraldine hoped the old woman’s information would prove worth the wait. The tape was set up, the sergeant poised, pen in hand. Geraldine had her own note book open ready. After a while she put her pen down and listened, watching Mrs Cliff’s face closely.
‘It was her, all right,’ the old woman insisted, banging her crutch on the floor. ‘I always knew she was a bad one. I told him so, but he wouldn’t listen. She’s no good, I told him. She’s a bad lot.’
‘A bad lot?’ Geraldine repeated patiently.
‘My husband used to look after things. When he died, Tom was only young, but he understood things even then. He was a clever boy. Clever about some things. He knew how to deal with the bills: the rates, the electric, the phone. It was all too much for me. I never could understand how people manage. ‘Leave it to me mum,’ he used to say. ‘I don’t want you to worry about a thing. I’m here to look after you.’ And he did look after me. He was a good boy. So it made sense to put everything in his name. We talked about it, and we agreed it was best. It made life easier for both of us. He could sort everything out. He settled all the bills and paid off the mortgage, and I didn’t have to worry about a thing. So we put it all in his name, the house, the savings, even the pension. He took care of everything. I had my allowance, like before. It was as though my husband had never gone. I never thought Tom would leave me too.’ Her voice rose to a shrill whine. ‘And he never would’ve gone, not like that, if it hadn’t been for her. And now look what’s happened. She’s an evil woman.’ Her eyes shone with malice. ‘It was wicked, what she did. Now she’ll be after evicting me from my own home, and where am I supposed to go? It was an evil thing she did.’
Road Closed Page 9
