“It’s mine,” said Karen.
“And you weren’t here on Friday night evening?”
“No. I came over on Saturday morning.”
Roger and Karen both signed the short statements dictated to PC Cooper and the police officers left.
“Didn’t think they bothered with home visits,” Karen said as she returned to the kitchen. “D’you think they suspect something.”
“What could they suspect?”
“Maybe someone saw Pammy come to the house on Friday night. That nosy cow next door for example.”
“Even if she had, she wouldn’t have told the police. Why would she? No, they don’t think that Pam took the car, they just have to ask those questions to cover their arses.”
PC Baron reported to the inspector’s office as soon as he and Cooper had returned from Cardiff Road.
“Well? Anything?” Crozier asked as he came into the room.
“With regard to the car, sir, I reckon he left it unlocked,” Baron replied
Gavin looked at him with interest. “What makes you say so?”
“Two things, sir. First, he maintains that there’s only got one set of keys, which he’s got. Says he lost the second set years ago. Could have of course, but you’d have thought he’d have replaced them. No, much more likely that he left the other set in the ignition. I think he was probably drunk when he got home on Friday. He’d got a huge bruise on his face and when I commented on it, he said that he’d missed his footing and fallen downstairs on Friday night. If he was that drunk, I doubt if he remembers coming home at all.”
“Anyone there with him?” asked Gavin.
“His daughter, sir,” Baron looked at his notes, “a Miss Karen Smith.”
“Does she live there permanently?”
“No, sir, I don’t think so. She gave an address in Bedminster. She corroborated his story though. Says he slipped and fell down the stairs. It was her who noticed the car was gone in the morning.”
“But was she there when he fell? Was she in the house over Friday night?”
“No, sir. But it was her who told us that he’d fallen. I took a statement from her as well, seeing as she was the one who noticed the car was missing. She’d come round that morning.” He handed the two statement forms to the inspector. “It’s all here, sir. I hope that’s what you wanted, there’s not a lot in them.”
“Anything about his wife?” asked Gavin.
“No, sir. When I asked about her, he simply said they were separated and that she didn’t have keys to his car. I couldn’t take that any further, sir.”
“No,” agreed Gavin. “Thank you, Baron, you’ve done well.” He rested his hand on the statements. “I’ll deal with these.”
“There is one thing, sir, seeing as how you were asking about his wife…”
“Well?”
“Well, when I got to the house I remembered that I’d been there before, a couple of years ago. Called to a domestic, we were.”
Crozier looked up sharply. “To the same address?”
“Yes, sir. I think a neighbour rang, complaining about the noise in the house next door. It was Mr Smith’s house.”
“What happened?”
“We went in, but there was no sign of trouble by then.”
“Did you see his wife on that occasion?”
“Yes, sir,” Baron replied. “He said she’d gone to bed and when he called she came to the top of the stairs. She was in a dressing gown, sir.”
“And she was all right?” asked the inspector.
“She said she was fine and she looked all right.”
“But she didn’t come down?”
“No, sir. I asked about the disturbance reported by the neighbour and she said she had fallen over and dropped a tray full china of the kitchen floor.”
“Did you see the broken china?”
“There was some in the bin, sir. She said she hadn’t hurt herself, but that it had made a lot of noise, and she had screamed with fright as she fell, which must have been what the neighbour heard.”
“And did you believe her?”
“Not really sir, it all sounded a bit unlikely, but we had nothing else to go on. The husband sounded very solicitous and she spoke very calmly.”
“Did you interview the neighbour?”
“Yes, sir, we did go in to see her.”
“What did she say?”
“She told us the man was a bully, that he was always bullying his wife, but that she, the wife, was too scared to complain.”
“Do you think she was right, or was she just a nosy neighbour?”
Baron considered this for a moment and then said, “Probably a bit of both, sir. I looked back in my notebook before I came up here. The call was logged of course and I’ve checked the computer since I came back. There’s nothing else connected with that name and address until this latest car theft.”
“Well done, Baron. That’s very helpful. Notice anything else while you were in the house?”
“We went into the kitchen to do the statements. It was pretty untidy, but I did notice a box of empty bottles by the back door.”
“Wine bottles?”
“Yes, but whisky bottles as well. It was another reason that I thought he might have fallen because he was drunk. He clearly gets through a tidy amount.”
“Hhm. Thank you Baron, well done.” Crozier smiled at him. “Have you made up your notes on today’s visit?”
“Going to make them up now, sir.”
“Right. Do that straight away.”
Baron, rightly taking that as his dismissal said, “Yes, sir,” and left the office.
When the constable had gone, Gavin thought hard about what he’d heard. So there was a history of domestic violence here, even if it had been glossed over. It was clear now that Pam Smith wasn’t in the house, but where was she? He read through the brief statements carefully, but there was nothing to indicate anything more than a normal car theft. He considered again what Marilyn had told him. Perhaps she was right to be concerned; maybe he should follow it up further. He could send Baron and Cooper round again, let Roger know there had been a concerned call about his wife and see what he had to say. It could well set everyone’s minds at rest. He would think about it.
It was when he came across Roger Smith’s name for the second time on that same day that Gavin Crozier couldn’t believe his eyes. Two of his detectives who were working on surveillance came in to report on their subjects.
“We followed Gordon Weston and his wife from their home on Friday afternoon.” DS Grant told him. “They split up, I took Weston, and Richards followed the wife. He went to a pub where he met up with two men I hadn’t seen before. He spent most of the evening in the pub, then he made a call from his mobile phone and left. The other two men stayed in the pub. I followed Weston who went down to the Centre where he met up with his wife. They then went home together. Stopped at an off licence on their way. Didn’t leave home again whilst I was on duty, sir.”
“Where did the wife go?” asked Crozier.
“I followed her,” DC Richards took up the tale. “She went to a shop in Shaftesbury Street called Attlebury Antiques. It was closed by the time she got there, but the guy must have been expecting her because he opened up the door as soon as she knocked and she went in.”
“How long did she stay?”
“About half an hour, sir, and then they left together. Trouble was, sir, they got into his car. I’d been following her on foot. She and the antiques bloke, Roger Smith’s his name…”
“What!” Crozier cried. “What did you say his name was?”
“Roger Smith, sir. When I couldn’t follow them I took the registration of the car and checked it out with the DVLA. It was owned by a Mr Roger Smith of 12 Cardiff Road, Bristol. It’s a…”
“…dark blue Peugeot, K333 DPC,” Crozier finished for him.
DC Richards looked startled. “Yes, sir. How did you know that?”
“He reported it stolen on Saturday mo
rning. So, you lost Mrs Weston when she was with him.”
“Yes, sir,” Richards looked crestfallen.
Crozier shrugged. “Can’t be helped. At least we’ve got a new lead to follow up…but with extreme care. I don’t want any of them to realise we’ve got a line on them.”
In view of this new turn of events, Crozier decided he would interview Roger Smith about his wife himself and he went to 12 Cardiff Road on his way home the next evening. He rang the bell but it was several minutes before the door was opened. A man stood in the gap, peering out at him. On his forehead was a bruise, spreading from above his right eye upwards into his receding hairline and down the side of his face.
“Mr Smith?” Crozier asked pleasantly.
“Yes?”
“Inspector Crozier, Avon and Somerset Police.” He held out his warrant card. “May I come in?”
“What do you want? Have you found my car?”
“No, I’m afraid not. I just wanted a word with you, Mr Smith.”
“I don’t believe this. Look, I told the other coppers about the car, yesterday.”
“Yes, sir, I know. But I haven’t come about the car.”
There was a flicker in Roger’s eyes…of what? Alarm? Alertness? Cunning? Crozier couldn’t say, but there was definitely something.
“So, what have you come about, then?”
“It might be easier if we spoke indoors,” Crozier suggested and with a shrug, Roger Smith stood aside and let him into the hall. He closed the door behind him and then led him into the kitchen. He made no apology for taking him there and it was clear from the state of the room that this was where Roger lived most of the time.
He didn’t ask the inspector to sit down, simply turned to face him and said, “Well?”
“It’s about your wife, sir.”
“What about her?” Roger’s tone was guarded.
“Is she at home today?”
“She doesn’t live here anymore.” Roger’s chin jutted belligerently as if daring the inspector to ask any more. Crozier was undeterred.
“Where does she live?” he asked.
Roger shrugged. “I don’t know. She left at the end of February. I haven’t seen her since.”
“No forwarding address?” Crozier sounded surprised.
“No. She just left and I haven’t seen or heard from her since. What’s it got to do with you lot then?”
“We’ve received a call from a concerned friend,” explained Crozier. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, but I thought I’d make a courtesy call, just to make sure.”
“That cow from London, I suppose, Marilyn something.”
Crozier betrayed no emotion at hearing his sister thus described, but said, “Did she phone asking about your wife?”
“Never stopped. And then she turned up on my doorstep, nosy bitch. Our affairs are nothing to do with her. Pam’s left me and that’s the long and the short of it.”
“On what date did she actually leave?” asked Crozier.
“I told you, the end of Feb sometime. I can’t remember the actual date. Does it matter?”
“Probably not, sir. What did she take with her?”
“I don’t know. Not much.” Only my five thousand pounds, but he didn’t add this aloud. “Small case, I suppose.”
“Nasty bruise you’ve got on your forehead, sir,” Crozier remarked, seemingly out of the blue. He also noticed another, peculiar, bruise on the man’s hand, but he did not mention it – merely stored it away in his mind.
“I missed my footing and fell down the stairs,” growled Roger. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Nothing at all, sir, I just noticed the bruise, that’s all. It must have been a nasty fall.” Roger made no comment to this, simply grunted his acquiescence.
“I wonder if I might have a look around the house?” suggested Crozier calmly.
“What for?” demanded Roger. “I’ve told you she’s not here.”
“I know, sir, and I believe you, but just for our records I should be able to say that I saw into all the rooms.”
“You need a warrant,” said Roger obstinately.
“And I could get one, sir,” Crozier said evenly, “but surely there is no need to a full scale search and the upheaval it would cause you. All I need to do is take a quick look around just to assure myself that everything is as it should be, just a visual search.”
Roger gave in with an extremely bad grace and Crozier moved round the house, looking into each room, making a mental note of what he could see. At the top of the stairs he saw what looked like bloodstains on the landing carpet and commented casually, “Looks like blood there, sir.”
“It is,” Roger agreed gruffly. “It’s where I fell and hit my head.”
“Head wounds often bleed very badly, don’t they?” Crozier remarked easily, glancing back at Roger’s bruise. His head certainly was bruised, but the skin did not look broken
“Nose bleed,” Roger told him.
Crozier peered into each of the bedrooms. In the main room the bed was unmade, and there were piles of clothes on a chair and on the floor. The wardrobe door had no mirror, though clearly there should have been one. Crozier crossed the room and pulled the wardrobe open. Inside were several skirts, some blouses and a couple of dresses hanging on hangers. Sweaters were folded on to shelves down one side and three pairs of ladies’ shoes were on a rack underneath. Clearly Pam Smith had not bothered to take many clothes with her.
“Mrs Smith didn’t ask you to send on her things when she left?” Crozier asked casually.
“No, inspector, she did not.” Roger struggled to control his rising anger. “And I don’t know where she is.”
“What happened to the door?” Crozier asked, indicating the wardrobe.
“The mirror was cracked, so I took the glass out so that it wasn’t dangerous.” Roger watched the inspector open a drawer. It was full of women’s underwear. Crozier made no comment, simply closed the drawer again.
By the time he left the house Crozier had noticed several things that intrigued him. Pam Smith had certainly not taken very much with her, so she must have left in a hurry. The second bedroom was, Roger told him, Karen’s room for when she came home. The third was the office. A quick glance showed him the desk and the computer. Here, too, he opened the cupboard and noticed the safe fixed to the floor in the bottom of it.
“Do you do a lot of work from home?” he asked Roger, casually.
“Not much. My wife used to do my secretarial work. Now she’s pushed off, I have to try and do it at the shop.” He sounded more aggrieved at this than at any other time he had spoken of his wife leaving.
As Crozier reached the front door, Roger Smith said, “What’s being done about finding my car? That’s what you lot ought to be doing instead of chasing after my wife on the say-so of some nosy busybody.”
“We shall do all we can to recover your car, sir,” Crozier told him mildly. “But these things do tend to take time.”
Back in his own office Crozier wrote notes on his visit, particularly of the things that had struck him as slightly odd. He had little doubt that Pam Smith had left in a hurry, but it did sound as if her husband really did not know where she was now. He had done his best for Marilyn, but what concerned him more was the connection with the Westons. Attlebury Antiques, Roger’s shop was just the sort of place Gord Weston might unload some of the things he’d nicked. There’d been several burglaries from the more prosperous houses in villages not far from Bristol; too many, and Gavin Crozier was certain they were down to Gord Weston and his mates. Proving it was another thing altogether.
Chapter 14
Justin Woods was a young and ambitious reporter on the Belcaster Chronicle. He had a nose for the unusual, and though he had to do a great deal of routine reporting, he had come up with some interesting stories over the months he’d worked for the Chronicle, and his editor was keeping a sharp eye on him. His success was due, in part, to his girlfrie
nd Emma Wilson. Emma had worked at Neighbourhood News ever since she had left school. Not particularly bright, but confident and out-going, it suited her very well. She liked meeting people and hearing all the local chat; always friendly and interested in her customers, she had a way of gathering little items of news and gossip, and these she passed on to Justin.
Justin found the chat she overheard in the shop often proved very useful. Emma had given him several interesting leads and it was these, as well as her pert smile and pert breasts, that brought him round to her flat on a regular basis.
“I know what I meant to tell you,” Emma remarked as they lay pleasantly exhausted amid the tumbled sheets of her bed one Friday evening.
“Oh yes?” Justin stretched his long legs and turned his head to look at her. “And what’s that then?”
“We had a lottery winner come in the shop beginning of last week.”
“So?” Justin sounded bored.
“So, I mean a lottery winner, like the jackpot…you know?”
Justin sat up. “You mean a jackpot winner?”
“I mean,” Emma said, putting up her hand to tweak the hair on his chest, “I mean a roll-over jackpot winner!”
Justin caught her hand to stop her distracting him and demanded, “Who? Who was it?”
Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. Some woman.”
“Well, that’s a lot of bloody use!” Justin snapped, rolling away from her. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“’Cos you didn’t come round before, did yer?” snapped Emma. “Anyway, it’s all I know.” She pulled herself up off the bed and went into the bathroom, saying over her shoulder, “and if that’s how you feel, I shan’t bother telling you things no more.”
“Oh come on Em, don’t be like that” Justin soothed. “You’re quite right, it is an interesting piece of news. Come back to bed, do, and I’ll show you how pleased I am with you.”
“In a minute,” Emma replied. “Get us a drink, will you?” and she shut the bathroom door.
“I’ll see if I can find out who she is,” she said later as, each nursing a glass of red wine, they sat back comfortably against the pillows, “She might come back in the shop. Think I’d recognise her.”
A Dish Served Cold Page 12
