‘I’ve already ordered a pot of tea, so please sit down; always glad to help our local police where we can. Janet told me what you were after but it appeared that she was unable to offer much in the way of help. . . Ah! The tea.’
A bright young thing came into the office, backwards, pushing the door with her well rounded rear. Matt watched with interest as she carefully placed the tray before them.
‘Thank you Miranda.’ Trevor Bateman was gushing. She acknowledged them with a nod and nervously left the room.
Orla rose from her chair. ‘Shall I be mother?’ Two heads nodded in unison as she carefully poured the tea.
Trevor Bateman was obviously someone who liked to be in control and before Matt was able to explain what they were after, he found himself having to listen to their host. ‘I’ve always fancied myself as a bit of a sleuth you know, and when your call came in, I pulled out Janet’s notes and had a long hard look at them. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you were looking for a Kevin Crystal, and had the idea that he may have been a pupil here in the early eighties.’ Matt nodded, but before he could speak, the Head continued . . . ‘As I understand it, this individual turned out to be a rather unsavoury character and you think that he may have had a run in with our dearly departed Dennis Parker?’
‘Well . . . yes.’
Matt’s response was brief as Trevor Bateman continued. ‘Well I got to thinking, and do you know what I came up with? If this lad was here, he might have been here under another name. It is possible that his mother remarried and the child took the surname of the new father! Well . . . then I thought, he might have changed his surname, but he certainly wouldn’t have changed his Christian name, now would he?’
‘That’s a very valid point.’ Matt was starting to get interested.
The Head continued. ‘Well I pulled out our records and in 1983, guess what I found?’ Orla and Matt were all ears, both waited for the answer. ‘Well I found that we had a pupil here by the name of Kevin Bennett. He started here in the September of that year in form 1A. He appeared to be a bright boy, or so the records show, but from the very beginning began to show some disturbing streaks. He became very confrontational with anyone who crossed him, and that included teachers as well as pupils. . . It’s all here in this report. As you well know, school personnel are trained to handle unruly pupils, it’s all part of what we do, and in those days we still had the ultimate deterrent, the cane. Our Mr. Bennett was with us for only two months and in that short time he was disciplined no fewer than four times, each time with the cane. Matters came to a head when he attacked a young girl in the cloakroom, just here, off the main corridor. It appears that the attack was fierce and of a sexual nature . . . the police were called in; but it doesn’t give any further details. It states here that he was expelled and was in fact sent to a Borstal type of institution. Borstal, as you are probably aware, ceased to operate as such some years earlier, but the same type of reform school continued to accommodate these problem children.’
‘You’ve been very busy Mr. Bateman, and I think that you’ve uncovered something that could put us on the right track.’ Matt looked across at Orla. ‘What do you think detective?’
Orla didn’t answer, but asked a question of her own. ‘Mr. Bateman, does your report indicate which master actually carried out the caning of this Bennett boy?’
‘Let me see now . . . yes it does detective. The first two canings were carried out by a Mr. Osborne, and the other two, by . . . here you are, Mr. Dennis Parker.’
The two detective’s eyes met; they had the same thought. Too much of this is coincidental. This Kevin, has to be the Kevin Crystal that they are pursuing.
‘Would you have any idea where this boy continued his schooling, presuming he was returned to mainstream schooling?’ Matt was looking for a further link that would tie in with Crystal’s background.
‘Sorry detective, we wouldn’t have any idea where he went or what became of him; unless he came back here, but we know that didn’t happen.’
Matt offered his hand. ‘Well Mr. Bateman, your amateur sleuthing has certainly given us plenty to work with. You have saved us a lot of work. We still have to make the connection, but at least we now have a name to work with. I can’t believe that the system would have had the misfortune to have had two bad apples, both with the name of Kevin, living in the same area at the same time. Here’s hoping we have struck lucky.’
Orla was swinging her bag freely as they followed the path back to the car. ‘I feel a lot more hopeful than when we arrived.’
Matt agreed. ‘Yes, me too. D’you know, although I joined the force at the same time as Kevin and we were often on the course modules together, I never knew where he went to school! Now where can we get that information without being seen to be sticking our noses where they shouldn’t be poking?’
Chapter 38
Now back in the car, the pair sat in silence; deep in thought. Did his mother remarry? Did the lad have his name changed? What school did he go to from reform school? How the hell do we move forward without attracting attention? . . . ‘Of course!’
‘What is it? What’s going on?’ Orla couldn’t resist the urge to join Matt’s merriment. ‘Where are we going?’ She laughed warily. ‘This isn’t the way back to our office!’
‘All will be revealed in due course.’ Matt was enjoying himself.
‘Oh come on Matt! Why the secrecy?’
He grinned. ‘OK OK. . . When Kevin and I joined up, one of the other rookie’s was a guy named Digby Finnemore.’
‘God, what sort of name is that?’
Matt laughed. ‘Well Digby was smarter than your average cop, and a couple of years ago decided to leave, and he set himself up as a private eye. Took him a while to get known, but he never looked back. Digby owes me a few favours and I think it’s about time I started collecting.’
‘I see . . . I hope he remembers!’
‘Oh, he’ll remember!’ . . . Matt smiled to himself, recalling some past indiscretions. ‘He’ll remember all right.’
Hampton in Arden was a little off their beaten track, but after a few twists and turns they arrived at the door of a small cottage. ‘I hope the bugger’s here!’
‘Charming!’. . . Orla was unimpressed.
‘Just wait here a sec, I’ll just see if he’s in; I think that’s his car.’
The doorbell rang a few chimes; the door opened and a cheery face appeared.
‘To what do I owe the dubious pleasure? What are you after? It’s not a social call . . . is it?’ Digby had spotted Orla in the car and thought for a moment that Matt was calling to show off his new conquest.
Matt followed his eye. ‘Oh no, that’s Orla!’
Orla, on seeing Digby, made her way towards them. Digby watched her every step.
‘Digby . . . Detective Orla Graham, my partner! . . . Orla . . . meet Digby
my ex partner!’
‘Pleased to meet you Digby.’
‘Likewise Orla. My . . . Matt! When did they start giving these out? I might have stayed on if I’d known.’ Orla tried to look amused at the banter.
‘Can we come in? . . . I need a favour.’
‘I thought as much! Come . . . Make yourselves at home.’
‘Thanks.’ . . . Matt winked at Orla and led the way inside. As they walked through the sprawling cottage, Orla’s eyes were everywhere, taking in the décor, the paintings; most were originals. The few ornaments had obviously been chosen with great deliberation. A small collection of Lladro figurines adorned a small corner table. Everything on view showed exquisite taste, and reeked of money. They approached an open door that Digby hastily closed as they passed, but not before she had given it the once over.
‘Oh by the way Matt, congratulations with that multiple murder thing; very impressive!’
‘We’ve got Orla to thank for that . . . she got us moving in the right direction on that one.’
‘ Not just a pretty face then!’ Orla squirmed at t
he comment but smiled in response.
Matt proceeded to fill Digby in on what had transpired. He whistled softly as he thought over the gravity of what was being implied. ‘So you really think that this Bennett lad was in fact Kevin Crystal and you think that he was responsible for this third murder; this Parker fellow?’ The silence that followed bore out their belief, more than any words could. ‘So let’s get this straight, Constance Bennett lived at this address in Yew Tree Lane and had the single child; Kevin. He started at Lyndon Heath in ’83, and was expelled after a few weeks. This is on police file. Went to Reform School; you don’t know where and you want me to see if this woman re-married to a fella named Crystal . . . and did he adopt Kevin, giving him a new identity, namely, Kevin Crystal?’
‘That’s about the size of it Digby, the other thing is of course, that no-one must know that we are asking these questions; that we are looking at Kevin Crystal as a prime suspect in a murder case. Can you do that for me?’
‘Well it looks like I’m going to have to! OK . . . leave it with me; I’ll give you a call when I’ve got something . . . if I’ve got something! Since we are talking about
Crystal, did you know that Catherine had moved out?’
‘Yes, it has been brought to my attention; but thanks for bringing it up!’ Matt was irked by the reference to Catherine. It was something he wanted to address in his own time and in his own way.
‘She’s working in that lingerie shop in the Royal Priors Mall; the one on the upper level.’
‘I know where it is . . . but what were you doing in the lingerie shop; something you’re not telling us?’
Digby blushed as he looked over at Orla. He laughed nervously. ‘No . . . I saw her leave the coffee shop . . . Drukker’s . . . by the escalator and just happened to follow her. That’s where she went and when I came back past the shop I saw her serving. Just thought that you might be interested!’
‘Thanks Digby, I’m always interested, you know that.’ They meandered back through the house, their business now completed.
‘Next time you call, make sure you bring Orla!’ Digby watched until they were out of sight . . . ‘nice pins!’
Orla was quiet; lost in her thoughts. ‘What are you thinking?’ Matt was bothered by her silence.
‘Oh, nothing really . . . I was just thinking about Digby . . . What a creep!’
Matt burst out laughing. . . . ‘No he’s not. He was just trying to impress you. I guess he didn’t succeed!’
Orla began to laugh with him. ‘What is it about men! . . . Did you see what he had in his study?’
‘No . . .What was it?’ Matt was intrigued.
‘He had more computer monitors in that room than I’ve ever seen before, and I couldn’t see right in; and they were all on! It was like something from a Bond movie, you know, where hackers follow calls around the globe. He’s not a hacker is he?’
Matt laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. ‘I don’t know what he does in there, but I do know he gets results.’
The drive back to Wellesbourne was uneventful, their thoughts weighed down by the task that lay ahead. There were too many unanswered questions and both acknowledged that if they were to make any further headway, Digby Finnemore needed to come up with some answers.
‘Stop at the bakery, Matt; I’ll get us a couple of scones.’
‘Get them with currents in!’ He needn't have mentioned his preference; Orla had picked up on most of his foibles in the short time they had been together.
With little left to say, they sipped their tea in the solitude of their office. The silence suited them both; their minds going off in different directions, but always returning to ponder on the enigma that was Kevin Crystal. The ringing tone of Matt’s phone brought them back to their senses.
‘Digby! . . . What is it? What do you need?’
‘A thank you would do for starters!’
‘What do you mean? What have you found out? It’s only been about an hour since we left you.’
‘Well how long do you think I need? Time is money, and since I’m not getting paid, I need it sorted!’
‘What have you found out?’ His voice pitched a little high.
‘Well you were spot on with the name change. Constance Bennett became Constance Crystal in June of ’84; they got married in Warwick Registry Office. The boy went through the adoption process and took the Crystal surname in October ’85. He came back from the Reform School at Risley in time for Christmas ’86, and started at Arden School in Knowle in the New Year.
Leonard Crystal had a property in Milverton Road, Knowle, that became the new home, and they are still there today; except for Kevin of course, and you know where he is.’
‘Digby . . . I don’t know what to say! We could never have got that info without someone asking awkward questions, and never in the time that it took you.’
‘It’s what I do; you know that. But don’t worry I’ll get you back.’ . . . and he was gone. Orla had picked up the gist of the conversation, and the two of them just looked blankly at each other.
‘That concludes our case for the prosecution!’ Matt was expressionless as he mouthed the words. ‘Unfortunately we have now got to put a case together that’s got a bit more substance, something that we can actually convict the bastard on. But at least we have made the connections that links Kevin to Dennis Parker; that was a big step.
We had to make that, but now we need more . . . a lot more. Look, we’ve got the weekend ahead of us. I’ve got a few things that I need to do; I’m sure you’re the same. What say we sleep on it until Monday and then make that decision on how to move forward. We will both have given it some thought and hopefully we can hit the ground running.’
Orla was happy with that; she was looking forward to a couple of lazy days.
Lots of catching up to do.
Chapter 39
Matt watched as the morning light slowly began to fill the room. It was Saturday, which was just as well. He had had a troubled night, tossing and turning, the spectre of Kevin Crystal forever in the forefront of his mind. How am I going to nail this murdering bastard to the mast? Half dressed but not yet fully awake, he began working his way through a soft boiled egg. The news channel was as depressing as always and he struggled to concentrate on the issues being aired. He needed some help to move forward. . . . of course! The one person who had the clout to give him the break that he needed. . . .Tom Dundas!
Tom Dundas and Matt’s father, Isaac, had forged a partnership way back, as young men in their twenties, both climbing to elevated positions whilst serving with the Thames Valley Policing Authority. Their friendship had survived through many turbulent times and both families were frequent house-guests. Matt in his younger years had grown up knowing Tom as Uncle Tom, much to the amusement of the close families.
“An Uncle Tom I am not” would often be Tom’s retort and by the time Matt was in his early teens, the Uncle had been long dropped. Isaac’s untimely death, to cancer, brought to an end the regular visits and jovial drinking sessions that had become standard fare between the families. The visits became strained: it was difficult to continue socialising in the same way, and eventually contact was lost.
Matt made the call; it was received enthusiastically by Tom’s wife, Mirabelle.
‘Never mind having a word with Tom, you get yourself over here for dinner tonight and I won’t take no for an answer!’
Matt enjoyed the drive into Oxfordshire, everything was so civilised; he liked that. The Cotswold villages along the route were all living picture postcards. He arrived in Woodstock, carefully obeying the speed camera warnings that littered the route, verbally cursing their presence. Although it had been some years since he had made the trip, he negotiated the lanes without a hitch before arriving at the impressive entrance to the Dundas home. Cotswold stone pillars supported two black wrought iron gates that stood guard about two car lengths back from the road. Decorative coach lamps topped the stone gateposts flooding the imm
ediate area, helping to heighten the visitors impression of the property. The gates immediately began to open, swinging away with a welcoming sweep. He drove slowly forward towards the house that lay out of sight and away from prying eyes, ensuring the privacy that the Chief Superintendent insisted on.
Matt had come prepared, a bouquet for Mirabelle and a bottle of Vintage Port for Tom. That should help break the ice. He needn’t have worried: before he reached the front door Mirabelle had flung it open and she stood there, arms out wide, a broad grin shining out to greet him.
‘Come here you! . . .Where have you been?’
Matt was overwhelmed at the welcome; his eyes were moist and he tried to blink away any evidence of the emotion he felt. The best he could manage was a hopeless, ‘It’s good to see you: it’s been too long.’
Once inside, Mirabelle set about fussing with her flowers. The chat flowed as though they were just catching up on a couple of weeks trivia; they were already comfortable with each other.
‘I speak with your Mom quite often; you must bring her with you next time you come. Tom’s in the drawing room sorting out his drinks cabinet. Why don’t you go and find him; take the port with you, he’ll like that.’ Matt wandered off and met Tom in the main corridor, two glasses in one hand, a bottle in the other. Although now in his late fifties, Tom showed little signs of ageing and his keen eyes sparkled as he espied Matt.
‘Heard you were here; grab a hold!’ and he thrust a glass towards him.
‘Oh Tom! I can’t, I’m driving!’
‘Well Mirabelle’s made a bed up for you. I wouldn’t tell her you're not staying if you know what’s good for you. Let’s go and sit down: we’ve got a bit of catching up to do. What’s that you've got in your hand?’
‘Just a little something for you; I hope you’re still partial to a nip.’
Tom took the box from Matt and gently opened the lid; his eyes widened and a look of pleasure took a hold. ‘You should come more often! I’m not going to open it you know. It's been sitting quietly for maybe twenty five years; it would be sacrilege to just drink it. I’ll need to cherish it for a while . . . which reminds me, when I heard you were coming I thought it was to tell us you were going to get married to . . . what was her name?’
A Killer's Calling: Incite to Murder 1 Page 15
