A Well-deserved Murder (Trevor Joseph Detective series) (14 page)

‘Our live shows are tasteful, I’ll arrange one down the station for you cost price so you can see for yourself. It pays to advertise where the police are concerned. None of you have visited us socially for months.’

‘Upstairs would throw a fit and me out of the force if I booked one. See you around, Susie.’

‘Not with a whistle in your hand I hope.’

‘Before you go, this is something of a wild shot but have you heard of a girl called Kacy Howells?’

‘The only Kacy I knew was a Kacy Jenkins. She did the odd bit of filming for us, years ago. Strange girl would never allow the boys to film her face, only her body but it worked She even had a cult thing going for her. She wasn’t exactly what you’d call stunning; her body was flabby in places but keep the punters guessing and they always imagine better than it is.’

‘How long since she worked for you?’

‘Seven or eight years.’

Trevor did a quick calculation and worked out that if they were talking about the same Kacy Jenkins, she had stopped working for Susie round about the time she married George Howells.

‘Do you have a list of the films she made for you?’

‘Somewhere … Trevor I have a business to run …’

‘I’d be really grateful if you could courier the DVDs over.’

‘You’re talking money …’

‘Invoice me for the DVDs and taxi.’

‘And you’ll pay?’

‘By return out of my own pocket. I’ll get it back on expenses from upstairs and take the hit on interest for the sake of justice.’

‘For a copper, Trevor Joseph, you’re not so bad. I’ll see what I can dig up. And now, I really must go.’

Matthew Clarke’s eyes were dark, reproachful. He seemed to have shrunk in the few hours that had elapsed since Trevor had last seen him.

Trevor set down the file he was holding and sat across the table from him. ‘Mr Clarke, you’ll be pleased to know that our team will have finished searching the chapel and your house today.’

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

Trevor nodded to Chris who was carrying the suitcase the search team had found on top of the wardrobe in Matthew’s house. ‘Do you recognise this case?’

‘I’ve never seen it before in my life,’ Matthew lied stoutly.

‘You’ve no idea who put it on top of the wardrobe in one of your bedrooms?’ When Matthew didn’t answer, Trevor continued. ‘I’ve never heard of someone breaking into a house to put a suitcase on top of a wardrobe but I suppose there is a first time for everything. We’ll need to take your fingerprints, Mr Clarke …’

Matthew clenched his shrunken fists. ‘All right, it’s mine.’

‘And the DVDs?’ Trevor lifted the case on to the table and snapped the locks open.

‘I bought them in a shop.’

‘You didn’t buy them in a shop.’ Trevor held up the copy of
The Three Libidos
. ‘You bought them in a massage parlour called Cleopatra’s.’

‘So? They’re not illegal.’

‘No, they’re not.’

‘But you want to tell the world they were on the top of my wardrobe …’

‘Mr Clarke, all I want to know is where you and Mr Jenkins were last Monday between the hours of four o’clock and midnight. Once you have told me, I will try and corroborate your story. If it is the truth, you may take your suitcase and go. After I have given you another warning about wasting police time.’

‘Seven of us go to Cleopatra’s after committee meetings. We go to my house first, get a take-away of fish and chips … there’s a place at the end of my street that delivers, eat while watching a film …’

‘A Cleopatra special.’ Trevor held up one of the films.

Matthew nodded, averting his eyes from the naked girl on the cover. Then we book two taxis to take us down to town.’

‘To Cleopatra’s?’

‘We get the driver to drop us off at the taxi rank around the corner and go into Cleopatra’s through the back entrance.’

‘Next to the art gallery,’ Trevor guessed.

‘There’s no law …’

‘Against a few friends having fun in Cleopatra’s,’ Trevor finished for him. ‘No, there’s not. How long do you stay in Cleopatra’s?’

‘We usually leave my house about half past six. By then the traffic is going the other way, out of town so the taxis have a clear run. We get there about a quarter past seven.’

‘And then?’

‘You know?’ Matthew mumbled.

‘No, I don’t know, Mr Clarke, that is why I am asking,’ Trevor spoke briskly.

‘We have a drink and see a show.’

‘A film or a show with girls.’

‘With live girls.’

Trevor had to suppress a smile as he recalled one of Peter’s tirades
. “Look at that. All live girls. What’s the point in putting that up over the door. Do they really believe that anyone would think the girls were dead?”

‘And afterwards?’

‘We have another drink, talk to the girls …’

‘Do any of you see them privately?’

‘Sometimes,’ Matthew admitted guardedly.

‘All of you?’

‘Not always.’

‘What time do you leave?’

‘Never later than ten o’clock. Susie – the lady who owns the club – lets us have the small theatre until then. Any later and the price doubles.’

Trevor reflected that it was good deal for Susie. Monday nights were traditionally the quietest. The parlour would be busy from five thirty to seven with people leaving the offices in town. There’d be a lull until eleven. The “Fishing Club”’s business would be a welcome boost. ‘And then what?’

‘We take taxis back to my place.’

‘All of you?’

‘We all chip in and I buy tea, cheese and biscuits. Everyone leaves around midnight. It’s our once a month jaunt,’ he said defensively. Repeating, ‘It’s not illegal,’ as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

‘So last Monday you and Sam Jenkins weren’t alone, you were with five other members of the elders’ committee.’

‘I was with five of them. Sam wasn’t. He had fish and chips with us, and he went into town with the rest of us, but he left us when we got there. Said he had to see someone on urgent business and he’d catch up with us later. He joined us in Cleopatra’s about half past nine, in time for a last drink. Then he got in one of the taxis and went back to my house with us.’

‘Did he tell you where he went?’

Matthew shook his shrunken head. ‘No. But he was short-tempered when he joined us. I remember thinking that his business couldn’t have gone well.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘So where were you, in the afternoon and early evening last Monday, Mr Jenkins?’ Trevor was tired. It was heading for evening on what had become the longest of long days.

‘I told you …’

‘You told me a pack of lies, Mr Jenkins,’ Trevor interrupted. ‘Mr Clarke has given us a sworn statement. He and five elders went on their usual monthly jaunt to Cleopatra’s parlour expecting you to accompany them. But last Monday you left them in town after telling Mr Clarke that you had to see to some urgent business. You rejoined the party at approximately nine thirty in Cleopatra’s. You arrived in time to have a drink with them before returning to Mr Clarke’s house in the taxis Mr Clarke and the other elders had ordered to ferry the party back to Mr Clarke’s house.’

‘I want to see my solicitor.’

‘Give Constable Brooke his name.’ Trevor went outside.

Peter was in the corridor. ‘A prospect?’

‘Prospects are the problem with this case. We have a woman axed to death on her deck and a neighbour who had a running feud with her, who has no one to verify his movements at the time she was murdered. That same neighbour admits to obtaining a fraudulent credit card in her name and using it to purchase a lewd advertisement offering the said neighbour’s sexual services in exchange for “presents” as well as copies of the magazine which he arranged to have sent to her workplace. His DNA has been found at the scene of the crime and a jacket he admits “could be his”, soaked in the victim’s blood was buried in his garden.’

‘Alan engineered the credit card and the ad because he was angry.’

‘Most people scream and shout when they’re angry, not commit fraud in order to place bogus character-assassinating adverts in obscene publications.’

‘Alan admits he was wrong. And he lied. But her father …’

‘I’ll say it before you do. He’s religious. That in itself is not a crime.’

‘If he saw the ad with Kacy’s picture, it could have tipped him over the edge.’

‘In which case, Alan would be morally in the wrong for placing it and would have to shoulder some of the blame for Kacy’s murder.’

‘Morality has nothing to do with the law.’

‘Granted, and her father may or may not have seen the advertisement in the pornographic magazine. He is also without an alibi for the time of the murder. But to confuse the issue even more we have a farmer who was furious with the victim for chopping down trees on his land – and again, I bet without someone able to substantiate his alibi at the time of Kacy Howells’ death, and …’

‘An ex-boyfriend who says that he spent the day clearing out his uncle’s house. There are no witnesses and I just checked the address.’ Sarah handed Trevor a slip of paper.

‘Park View. Just around the corner from the farm that overlooks the Howells’ house.’

‘There’s more, sir. Forensic took DNA samples from the Howells’ colleagues. They found traces of John Evans’s DNA in the Howells’ shed and on the deck.’

‘Fresh?’

‘Yes, sir. His fingerprints were on a whip and a chair and one of them was bloody.’

‘Any advance on three suspects?’ Peter asked blithely.

‘What do you want to do, sir?’ Sarah asked Trevor.

‘Bring John Evans in for questioning.’

Sarah glanced at her watch. ‘Now, sir?’

‘Now,’ Trevor answered.

Peter made a face. ‘I guess our meal’s off in your place.’

‘Haven’t you work to do?’ Trevor snapped.

‘Not at the moment, Dan’s gone to prison to interview the White Baron again to see if he can pick up a clue – any clue – as to the identity of the Red Dragon.’

‘Sir,’ one of the constables came running out of the interview room. ‘Forensic team’s on the telephone.’

‘Put it through to my office.’ Trevor walked down the corridor, Peter followed, but Trevor closed the door firmly in Peter’s face.

‘Hi, Trevor.’

‘Alison, what do you have for me?’

‘I’m calling from the Howells’ house. We’ve found traces of blood on the outside tap and the drain in the garden.’

‘Kacy Howells’ blood?’

‘Haven’t tested it yet. It’s possible the murderer washed her blood away there. We’ve also found shoes, socks, trousers, shirt and underwear in the drain, all soaked in blood. I’m taking them back to the lab, now.’

‘Make and sizes?’

‘All George – it’s an ASDA brand. Shirt’s fifteen and half collar, trousers 29 inside leg and 34 waist. Shoes are size ten. Shirt’s pale blue, trousers beige and shoes brown lace-ups. Synthetic upper and sole.’

‘Thanks Alison.’ Trevor scribbled a note on his pad.

‘You sent samples of a Sam Jenkins’s DNA and fingerprints to the lab?’

‘Yes. He’s Kacy Howells’ father.’

‘We found his fingerprints in the kitchen and all over the master bedroom.’

Trevor sank down on his chair. ‘Anything else?’

‘Isn’t that enough for you to be going on with? You got my message about the fingerprints and DNA we found on the deck planking we took back to the lab?’

‘John Evans’s DNA and prints, one bloody?’

‘That’s the one. You can’t complain about the quantity – or quality of evidence.’

‘No I can’t. Thanks, Alison.’

‘I like dark Belgian chocolates and Chardonnay.’

‘I’ll see what I can do at the end of the case.’ Trevor hung up.

There was a tap at the door, Peter opened it. ‘Dan’s back, he suggested you pack up for the day and we have that take-away … what’s the matter? Forensic definitely identified the murderer?’

‘No such luck.’

‘They can’t decide between the father and John Evans?’

‘They’re both suspects, as is your cousin,’ Trevor said firmly. ‘But it’s possible that whoever did it stripped off in the Howells’ garden and washed at their outside sink. The search team’s found traces of blood, and clothes dumped in the manhole.’

Peter picked up the notepad on Trevor’s desk. ‘Sizes are wrong for Alan.’

‘He looks bigger,’ Trevor agreed.

‘Looks nothing, he’s the same size as me, I know because I went on holiday with him and Joy and the missus before our divorce. Stupid airline lost Alan’s bag, so I loaned him clothes – but not shoes. He’s a size twelve, but we both take 17 in shirts, 33 inside leg and 38 waist in trousers.’

‘His coat was soaked in Kacy’s blood and buried in his garden.’

‘I don’t need you to remind me. But you heard him. He hadn’t seen that coat in weeks. He could have left it anywhere. That coupled with the axe …’

‘And the tissue and the gum,’ Trevor interrupted.

‘The tissue could have been in the coat pocket, or both could have been in a rubbish bag – which Snaggy suggested. It’s what I’ve said since the beginning, someone’s trying to fit him up.’

‘He fitted himself up when he applied for that credit card and took out that advertisement.’

‘I don’t want to discuss it any more.’

‘A sure sign you’re losing the argument.’ Trevor almost smiled.

‘Forget it for tonight. We’ll pick up fish and chips …’

‘I told Sarah to have John Evans brought in, remember.’ Trevor took his notes from Peter. ‘See you in the morning.’

‘You’re going to wear yourself out, Joseph. And then what use will you be to your wife and son?’

‘More than you can be to Daisy at the moment?’

‘There you go, rubbing her absence in again.’

‘You could try putting in some overtime against Daisy’s return,’ Trevor suggested.

‘I would, if I knew where to start looking for the Red Dragon. Well, if I’m not going to get my take-away, I suppose I may as well call into my favourite Indian restaurant and see what’s cooking.’

‘When’s Daisy back?’

‘The weekend. Think of me in my lonely bed tonight when you’re cuddling up to Lyn.’

Peter hung about the station, reading files until seven o’clock. When Dan didn’t return, he left the station and drove towards the High Street. He changed his mind halfway through town and manoeuvred his car in a sudden U-turn that earned him a blast of horn from an oncoming elderly driver who was travelling at half the speed limit.

Recalling Trevor’s tip about parking, he drove into the library car park, left and locked his car and walked around to Platform 10. He bought a pint and went out into the yard. It was deserted. He looked at his watch. The surroundings weren’t particularly pleasant but he had nothing planned for the evening. He pulled up a rickety plastic chair, sat down, lit a cigar and waited.

Trevor tried to shake off a sense of depression when he walked into the interview room, ahead of Sarah Merchant. The bland beige and brown décor, strong lighting, and the small window that overlooked the walls of the station car park, weren’t inspirational at the best of times but at the tail end of a long day after dealing with lying witness after lying witness, it was the last place he wanted to be.

‘Good evening, Constable Merchant.’ The clean-cut, good-looking man rose nervously from his chair.

‘Good evening, Mr Evans.’ Sarah slapped a file down on the table. She opened it. The notes she’d made that morning of her interview with John were on top.

‘I’m Inspector Trevor Joseph; please sit down, Mr Evans.’

‘I know why you want to speak to me …’

‘Please wait until I’ve switched on the recorder, Mr Evans.’ Trevor forced himself to be polite although he found it hard to forget that one of the reasons that his and Sarah Merchant’s day was extending to twelve hours plus was this man’s lies.

John Evans clasped his hands together and leaned over the table. ‘You’ve found out, haven’t you?’

‘Mr Evans, I’d like you to think very carefully about where you were last Monday between the hours of midday and eleven o’clock in the evening. When you’ve remembered your movements you can tell us exactly where you were, and when.’

Sarah sat forward alongside Trevor, pen poised over her notebook. Trevor sat back in his chair and waited.

‘It’s like I told Constable Merchant. I was at my uncle’s house clearing it.’

‘The entire time?’

‘No. I must have got there about ten o’clock in the morning.’

‘Did you visit Kacy Howells that day?’

‘Isn’t that why I’m here?’

‘We are the ones asking the questions, Mr Evans, not you. Did you visit Kacy Howells at her home last Monday, or not?’

‘I hated going there.’ John hung his head and looked down at the table. ‘The last thing I wanted was for Emma – that’s my wife – to find out that I was still seeing Kacy. But it’s like I said to Constable Merchant this morning. Once Kacy gets her claws into any man it’s impossible to break away.’

‘How often have you called in on Kacy Howells at her home?’

‘A couple of times a month.’

Trevor concealed his surprise. ‘For how long?’

‘Since three weeks after she married George.’

‘And your wife doesn’t know?’

‘We have flexi-time at work. I’ve been taking Monday afternoons off to look after my uncle and do odd jobs around his house. Kacy found out about it somehow and suggested I call in on her afterwards.’

‘Can I ask a question, sir?’

‘Go ahead, Constable Merchant,’ Trevor consented.

‘You said your break-up with Kacy was acrimonious. That you didn’t want anything more to do with her, after you moved in with your wife and that was why you paid her off. So why did you agree to call and see her?’

‘Blackmail,’ John said simply.

‘For seven years?’ Trevor was incredulous.

‘When we were together Kacy had filmed us doing all sorts of things. I didn’t know she was doing it at the time. She threatened to send the tapes to my uncle and parents and work as well as publish them on the web.’

‘When you say “all sorts of things” you mean illegal things?’ Trevor probed.

‘Things I’d rather my family, colleagues and friends didn’t see me doing,’ he answered.

‘Involving other people?’

‘Sometimes. Kacy was into sado-masochism.’

‘People got hurt?’

He nodded.

‘Did they complain?’ Trevor asked.

‘One ended up in hospital.’

‘All the same you’ve been seeing her for the last seven years …’

‘My wife would leave me if ever she found out.’

‘Did George Howells know?’

‘I don’t know. But he’d have to be blind and stupid if he didn’t know that Kacy was being unfaithful to him.’

‘With you?’

‘And others. Sex was like an itch with Kacy.’ Bitterness crept into his voice. ‘She wanted it scratched all the time.’

‘So you called in on Kacy almost every other Monday afternoon to have sex?’

‘It’s like I said to Constable Merchant this morning, I didn’t want to, but it was the things Kacy would do. Things no normal woman would think of doing. She was worse than a drug. Every time I tried to end it between us and stop visiting her she threatened me with the films she’d made. I couldn’t risk her telling Emma. The last thing I wanted was to lose my wife and children …’ He finally raised his eyes and looked at Trevor, ‘although I suppose Emma will find out all about me and Kacy now you’ve arrested me.’

‘You were asked to come along and help us with our enquiries.’ Trevor rubbed the back of his neck. It was stiff with tension.

‘I am helping …’

‘Then start by answering my question,’ Trevor snapped, exhaustion making him irritable, ‘think very carefully about where you were last Monday between the hours of midday and eleven o’clock in the evening and tell us exactly where you were and when.’

The sun was sinking below the rooftops surrounding the yard of the pub when Snaggy finally appeared. He crept along in the shadow of the wall, glanced over his shoulder and pushed a cigarette in his mouth before approaching Peter who was nursing a cigar and the remains of his second pint of beer.

‘Got the money?’

‘No.’ Peter flicked his lighter and lit Snaggy’s cigarette. ‘We need to talk about Lofty and the man he fitted up for the suburban housewife murder.’

‘I need my money …’

‘My car’s behind the library. Follow me in ten minutes. The back door will be open, lie on the floor. I’ll drive us somewhere we can talk.’

‘I can’t be seen with you.’

‘You won’t be.’ Peter returned his lighter to his pocket, finished his beer and strolled out of the pub.