“Tell her I’ll ring her back in a few minutes.”
The sergeant appeared nonplussed. “This is the Deputy Chief Constable, sir.”
Drake’s lip curled. “Tell her I’ll ring back in a few minutes.”
Czarniak looked to his boss for guidance, and Sam delivered the barest of nods. As Czarniak disappeared, she turned on Drake. “Antagonising the top brass won’t get you anywhere.”
“Antagonising the top brass was how you managed to secure your last promotion and land this job. You were saying you can’t exclude Rachel from your enquiries. Understandable, but it’s unlikely that she was responsible for Olivia Bradley.”
“Why? Ruth Russell told us that her police truncheon, an antique which belonged to her grandfather or someone, was stolen over the weekend. Rachel’s lodging at Ruth Russell’s, and you can see from the injuries to Olivia that the attack was carried out with an implement much shorter than a baseball bat.”
Drake was surprised. “How can you tell?”
“Observation.” Sam delivered the word in scathing tones, as if it should be obvious. “The damage to Olivia was slightly more concentrated than Barbara’s injuries. From that, I deduce that the person wielding a baseball bat four years ago, was using two hands, and overhead blows would be less accurate, leaving the damage more widespread. Last night’s attacker was using a billy club, one-handed.” She gave him a smug, self-satisfied smile. “You wait and see if I’m not right.”
“I wouldn’t want to argue with you.”
“So who are these people you need to speak to yet?”
“Oh. Er… Alex Walston and Leonard Pearson.”
“Coincidence. I need to speak to them, too. After lunch, I think, and we should start with Pearson, but I won’t be bringing them into the station. The Bellevue is at the bottom of Town Hill, so we’ll start there, and this time, you can sit in, but I must insist that you don’t interfere with the question-and-answer session. The same applies to Walston. We’ll visit his place after the Bellevue. Is that okay?”
“Fine.” Drake stood up. “How about lunch on the seafront before we hit the Bellevue?”
“Suits me. Paul Czarniak will be with us.”
Drake grinned. “Chaperone?”
“I don’t need one, but while I’m interviewing Pearson and you’re listening, I’ll need him to write the statement.”
This time, Drake laughed. “Okay. I’d better get back to the cubbyhole you call an office and speak with Iris.”
“Don’t be surprised if she fires you.”
He grinned. “You’re mistaking me for someone who gives a toss.”
Sam watched him leave, anger building inside her. You bastard. How can you make me feel for you the way I do when you treat me so casually?
***
Along the corridor, Drake settled in behind his desk, placed his notes from the session with Rachel to one side, took up his mobile and rang the DCC.
He anticipated a strong reaction. Women like Iris did not reach her level of authority by taking kindly to those beneath her – contractors and officers – dismissing her the way he had to Czarniak.
He’d known her for many years, first contact having been established via his father, and although he was one of only a number of civilian consultants, he knew he was amongst her favourites. That was a factor of his success in counselling ‘damaged’ officers, victims, and witnesses.
But he was under no illusions of his indispensability. She could do without him, but as the phone began to ring out, he decided he really didn’t care one way or the other.
His assessment was correct. The moment she answered the phone, Iris tore into him. “When I ask to speak to you, I expect you to move there and then, not tell a junior detective that you will ring me back.”
“I was in conference.”
“With Sam Feyer as I understand it. She should wait, not me. This isn’t a courtesy call. You are causing ructions, and I didn’t send you to Landshaven to start World War Three.”
“From which I assume you have heard from Neville Trentham who’s passed on Colin Ranworth’s complaint.”
“You assume correctly. Whatever happened in Landshaven overnight, was no concern of yours. I asked you to assess Rachel Jenner, not shove your nose into fresh murders. What the hell were you doing there?”
“Trying to do the job you sent me to do.” Was he too apologetic? Too wheedling? He put a little more ice into his voice. “The crime is similar to the murder of Barbara Shawforth. I’ve told you before, I can’t read minds. If I could, I’d tell you in an instant whether Rachel Jenner was guilty. Instead, all I can do is assess motive and motivation, and thanks to the overnight killing of this prostitute, there are two possibilities: Rachel is a psychopath or someone else killed Olivia Bradley with the intention of pointing the finger at Rachel. Sam has just pointed out that the weapon used to kill Olivia was probably stolen from a house where both Rachel and the dead woman have rooms, which is another pointer. Trying to figure out what’s going on is the reason I was there, and if you’re going to ask what I was doing speaking to Colin Ranworth, I already explained that to Sam. Larne was shitting his pants at the thoughts of challenging the man, and Sam and Barker were shorthanded. As it turned out, it was an interesting exchange.”
Iris listened without interrupting, and now, unable to challenge his arguments, she switched tack. “He’s considered something of a VIP in Landshaven, and Neville Trentham has to work closely with him at times, yet you described him as a jobsworth.”
“Not so. I said he’s either a jobsworth or hiding something, and my inclination was to the latter. Get off your high horse, Iris. You know damn well that I won’t be intimidated by anyone. Now you either want me to do the job you sent me to do, or you don’t. Make your mind up.”
She did not respond to his demand. Instead, she asked, “You spoke to Rachel. Your opinion?”
“Too early to say. I do have some observations, but there’s not much point bringing them to your attention yet, because I have two other people to speak to. I should have a clearer understanding when I’ve dealt with them, and I’ve just arranged with Sam to see them both this afternoon.”
“In that case, for Christ’s sake treat them with some degree of respect. Hugo has already insisted that I take you off the job and take you off our list of approved consultants.”
“And Chief Constable Farrington doesn’t impress me either.” Drake removed the phone from his ear, and jabbed the button to disconnect the call.
Chapter Nineteen
With Czarniak in the rear seat giving directions, Drake took a roundabout route which brought them to the seafront, a half mile south of the harbour area. He turned left along the promenade, and plodded along with the thin traffic until they neared the Trafalgar Inn, almost opposite the harbour, where he pulled into the kerb, and parked.
Harbour Passage stood about thirty yards from them, and fifteen yards further on, was a set of traffic lights, currently on red and responsible for the spasmodic traffic flow. They climbed out of the car, and made for the Blue Dolphin Snack bar.
“This is your car, is it?”
They turned back to find a traffic warden busy writing out a ticket.
About forty years of age, a marked middle-aged spread about his midriff, the shiny peak of his cap was bent down at an extreme angle, compelling anyone looking at him to focus on his accusing eyes.
“This’ll cost you…” He trailed off as Czarniak stepped out from behind Drake. “Oh, bloody hell. What are you doing here?”
Sam fished into her pocket and took out her warrant card. “Detective Chief Inspector Feyer, Landshaven CID. Obviously, you already know Sergeant Czarniak.”
The warden’s lip curled. “It doesn’t matter who you are. You can’t just park where you like.”
“Yes we can when we’re on an investigation.”
Suspicion haunted the man’s face. “And what are you investigating?”
“That’s no
concern of yours, but I’d be grateful if you’d advise your people of this registration. It belongs to our colleague, Mr Drake, and I don’t fancy spending my time getting parking tickets cancelled on his behalf.”
“Bleeding filth. Think they own the frigging road.”
The warden tore up the ticket, and was about to continue on his beat, but Drake stopped him. “Just a minute.”
With an irritated sigh, he turned and faced them. “What now?”
“Have you been walking this beat long?”
“Seven years. Why?”
“The day Barbara Shawforth was murdered. Were you on duty?”
The question prompted another heavy sigh. “Yes, I was, and I’ll tell you what I told Paul and his pals at the time.” He pointed at Czarniak. “Rachel Jenner wasn’t parked on Town Hill while the Shawforth bag was in the Bellevue. If she had have been, I’d have booked her. But I didn’t.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” The warden marched away and Drake turned his attention back to the two police officers. “Shall we get a bite?”
Almost devoid of patrons, other than a few souls who had braved the poor weather, the snack bar was smartly decked out, but everything was plastic, including, Drake noted to his disappointment, the cheese and salad sandwich he purchased.
Eventually, they sat in the window with sandwiches and tea, and while they worked their way through their light lunch, Drake noticed Sam concentrating on the scene outside, and he followed her gaze.
At length, she turned back and spoke to her sergeant. “I know you weren’t directly involved in the investigation, Paul, but you were part of the door-to-door, weren’t you?”
Czarniak swallowed a mouthful of bread and cold ham. “Door to shore, we call it.”
“And it amounted to nothing?”
“Not so you’d notice, ma’am.”
Drake encouraged her. “What’s on your mind, Sam?”
“The same as you when you spoke to the traffic warden. You mentioned it to me earlier. How did Rachel get to and from the Bellevue? Did she beam down from the Starship Enterprise? If she came back this way, she would have been caught on traffic cameras, and if she’d parked on Town Hill, she would surely have been spotted, and as everyone is so fond of pointing out, she’d have been covered in blood when she left.”
“Welcome to the alternate reality of Landshaven; the one where Rachel Jenner might really be innocent.” Drake’s thin smile turned to a grimace when he took a mouthful of the insipid tea. “If you read the case file, particularly Oxley’s summary, he skims over many points, amongst them how did Rachel get to and from the scene without being noticed. What escaped his attention, because he never even considered it, is that the same thing applies to whoever the killer was. How on earth did he get into the place and out again without being noticed? That could lead me to the conclusion that the real killer is Leonard Pearson.”
Sam raised her eyebrows in Czarniak’s direction, inviting an opinion.
“Forgive me, sir, but that’s not likely. Pearson’s a scroat. He’s frightened of his own shadow, terrified that one day, Mr Trentham will clamp down and nick him.”
“For what?” Sam asked.
“Sorry, ma’am, you obviously don’t know. His hotel is a dump, so it doesn’t get much trade, even at the height of the season. He makes his money by renting rooms out by the hour to lovers, like Mr Walston and Mrs Shawforth… He also rents them out to the harbour women.”
“The prostitutes.” The news angered Sam. “I heard about that. And he’s never been pulled for it?”
“Not to my knowledge, ma’am, and I’ve been in the service for over twenty years now.”
“Why not?”
The sergeant shrugged and finished his ham roll. “You’d have to speak to Inspector Barker about that, but privately, I think he is one of Mr Barker’s snouts. He delivers information, especially on foreign boats suspected of bringing drugs in, and in return for that, Mr Barker leaves him alone.”
“I’ll speak to Frank Barker later.” Sam swung her attention to Drake. “Well?”
He was deliberately vague. “I’ll try and form an opinion when I meet the man, but just to correct you, Sergeant, anyone is capable of killing given the right, or more precisely, the wrong circumstances.” He finished off the weak tea. “For now, assuming it wasn’t Pearson, you have to consider the possibility of forensic coveralls, which was Oxley’s explanation for the lack of positive sightings. But what happened to the coveralls? If Rachel dropped them in her car, where was the car? And if she walked the streets with them, where did she hide them? Once used, they don’t fold up very well, and they can be quite bulky.”
“On the other hand, the use of coveralls automatically points at a police officer.”
Drake immediately disagreed with Sam’s observation. “You can buy a pack of three for less than a tenner on Amazon.”
The trio sank into silence, and it was Sam who broke it.
“We can speculate from now until doomsday, it won’t get us anywhere. Let’s take a walk along Harbour Passage, before we call on Mr Pearson.”
They stepped out into the damp afternoon, turned left, ambled past the Trafalgar, and into Harbour Passage.
It was a covered alley, its concrete roof, shored up by evenly spaced crossbeams, supporting the buildings either side and above. Lighting was restricted to single, low-wattage bulbs, spaced several yards apart, and even in daylight, it was quite dark.
Czarniak gave a running commentary. “The working girls tend to congregate in the Trafalgar, and meet their punters in here, ma’am. They thrash out the deal, the price, and then, when they have an agreement – usually cash up front – they move on.”
“Risky,” Drake commented. “It’s quite dark, isn’t it? Do you get many attacks on them?”
“No more than anywhere else, sir, and the other girls in the Trafalgar know exactly where they are.”
Five yards in, the alley bent to the left, and they found wooden doors on either side, all of which were locked. A little further along, they came across commercial sized wheelie bins, and Drake realised that the doors they had passed were the rear entrances for the businesses either side of the alley.
Sam realised it too. “The doors, Paul?”
Czarniak pointed to those on the left, first. “Rear entrances, ma’am. The Trafalgar, and the amusement arcade next door, the Blue Dolphin, where we’ve just had a brew and a butty, and,” he swung to the right and pointed to the final door on the left, “Tony’s Chippy and the Rock Shop on Town Hill.” He spun completely round, concentrated on the two doors on the right of the alley. “First one is the souvenir shop on the promenade, which stretches all the way to the corner of Town Hill, and the second one is the Bellevue Hotel. Once you get through this door, it’s a closed yard, part of his property.”
Sam plotted the location of the rear yards in her mind. “Do you know if these bins were checked on the day of Barbara Shawforth’s murder?”
Czarniak nodded. “One of Mr Jenner’s first orders, ma’am. The moment everyone turned up, he ordered three of us to get into these bins.” His nose wrinkled at the memory. “Came out of ’em stinking to high heaven, but we found nothing.”
Sam could not fault Jenner’s instructions, but Drake made the effort. “Quick off the mark, wasn’t he?”
“He had to be, sir. The bins are emptied every night. There’s waste food in them, and the bin wagon turns up between two and three in the morning.”
Drake wondered whether Sam felt a sense of disappointment at not being able to pick at Jenner’s organisation.
If so she suppressed the professional spite. “All right, let’s talk to Pearson.”
Twenty yards on from the first bend, Harbour Passage turned again, and this time they were confronted with a flight of stone steps, and once negotiated, they were at the bottom end of Town Hill, about thirty yards from the sharp bend which would lead back to the seafront.
The Bellevue
Hotel stood alongside the alley, adjacent to the large souvenir shop Czarniak had mentioned, which took up the spread down Town Hill, and then around the corner and onto the promenade. The hotel was, as Czarniak promised, in a state of decay. An Edwardian or maybe Victorian building consisting of four upper floors, from its blackened redbrick walls to the flaked and faded paintwork of its sash windows, the place was in need of refurbishment and redecoration.
The entrance was unimpressive. A single, glass door, framed in dull aluminium, a dark sign raised above it spelled out the legend, Bellevue, in faded gold lettering. When Drake tried the door, it was locked, but there was an entry call system on the wall alongside it.
Czarniak was reaching for it when Sam stayed him.
“Instructions. Paul, you will act as secretary. Take note of everything Pearson tells us. Wes, as I explained, you can observe, but you mustn’t stick your oar in. You know what to look for. Leave the questioning to me, unless I miss something obvious.”
He agreed, and Czarniak pressed the entry call.
There was a momentary delay before Pearson’s voice came over the circuit. “Yes who is it?”
“Leonard, it’s Sergeant Czarniak. We need to speak to you.”
“What, er, what about?”
Sam took over. “Mr Pearson, this is Detective Chief Inspector Feyer, Landshaven CID. Open the door, please. We’ll explain everything when we’re face-to-face.”
There was a buzz, the lock clicked open, and Sam pushed her way in, followed by Czarniak with Drake bringing up the rear.
Chapter Twenty
The first thing Sam noticed as she stepped into the small, dimly lit and untidy reception was a CCTV camera situated high on the wall behind the desk and above the key racks.
She spoke to Czarniak. “Did we get any video from that camera?”
“I really can’t say, ma’am.”
“Check on it when we get back to the station. If so, I’ll need to view it.”
The desk itself was tiny, bearing only the register and a telephone, and the most striking thing about it was the damage to the black, Formica surface, which was pitted with what looked like cigarette burns, and pieces chipped out. A narrow corridor ran off away from them, and to the right of it was a flight of stairs leading to the upper floors. The place looked as if it had not been redecorated in at least a decade, and up by the flaking ceiling, the wallpaper was beginning to peel in places.
The Frame - from the author of the Sanford Third Age Club (STAC) series (A Feyer and Drake Mystery Book 2) Page 11
