A Well-deserved Murder (Trevor Joseph Detective series) (4 page)

‘So, Mr and Mrs Howells could be swingers?’ Peter looked from Sarah to Trevor.

‘It’s possible, sir.’

‘There’s something else?’ Trevor sensed.

‘You saw the sex toys forensics found in the shed, sir. We found more in unopened packages in the house. We also found chocolates and enough flowers to stock a florist.’

‘When did this ad go in?’

‘Magazine came out three days ago, sir.’

‘Which would explain all the newly stamped plain brown envelopes. Popular lady or a set-up?’ Trevor turned his chair around and threw the question at Chris and Peter as well as Sarah.

‘Could be either,’ Peter observed. ‘But the only ones who could have sent her presents are people who knew where she lived. There’s no address with the ad, and although the magazine agreed to forward messages, I doubt they’d send on gifts. Am I right?’ he asked Sarah.

‘You are, sir. I checked with the editor as soon as I heard about the sex toys.’

‘How did you find this?’ Trevor held up the magazine.

‘I asked an officer to visit the office where the Howells worked and carry out a routine search of George and Kacy Howells’ desks. She went there first thing this morning and found the magazine in a bin bag. The cleaner couldn’t remember which bin it had been in. She empties them all into one sack. The officer found over two dozen copies of the magazine in the building.’

‘Don’t tell me, they’d been sent anonymously?’ Trevor didn’t know why he’d phrased it as a question.

‘According to the magazine editor they’d been ordered and paid for along with delivery when the ad was placed. And on the same credit card,’ Sarah confirmed.

‘It has to be a set-up,’ Trevor said, ‘no outwardly respectable civil servant would advertise his wife and his services for wife-swapping in a porn magazine and send copies to the office. They’d risk losing their jobs, and that’s without the ridicule and snide remarks they’d be subjected to.’

‘The entire staff of the office could be at it, in which case it would pay to advertise.’ Peter pulled a chair out from a table and sat on it.

‘Has the husband arrived here?’ Trevor asked.

‘He was taken to his mother-in-law’s house, sir,’ Sarah informed him. ‘He wanted to see his children.’

‘Bring him in this afternoon. I’ll question him here. If he objects, tell him we’re doing it to save his blushes. In the meantime we carry on interviewing the neighbours. Starting with your cousin, Peter.’ He went to the door and turned back. ‘I thought I’d ordered you and Chris to go home and get some sleep, Sarah?’

‘You did. We decided to work through.’

Realising there was no point in trying to force them to go home, Trevor said, ‘Don’t forget to put in your overtime sheets.’

‘We won’t, sir.’

‘I’ll telephone Alan,’ Peter volunteered.

‘Ask him to come in at lunchtime. That will give us an hour to go over the information Sarah and Chris have come up with.’

‘Oh joy,’ Peter said tonelessly.

‘This would be a good one to start with, sir.’ Sarah pushed a computer print-out across the table towards Trevor and handed out copies to Peter and Chris.

Trevor read the name on the top. ‘Mrs Walsh?’

‘I talked to her again this morning. She was very helpful.’

‘She even gave us a diary, not that it proved easy to prise it away from her. I had to promise to copy it and get it back to her ASAP as well as give her a new notebook.’ Chris handed Trevor a small red book. ‘It’s a breakdown of every tradesman who comes into the cul-de-sac, the time they usually arrive, the time they actually arrive, which doors they knock on and how long they spend in every house.’

Trevor flicked through the pages. ‘This is the original?’

‘Yes, but I’ve already copied it,’ Sarah told him.

Trevor noted that the pages were dated. He turned to the day before. ‘I see the paperboy went to about half the houses in the street and NO MILKMAN is written large on every page.’

‘Mrs Walsh was upset when he retired. He used to deliver fresh vegetables and dairy products as well as milk.’

‘When did he retire?’

‘Five years ago.’

Trevor couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen a milk-float on the street. Did everyone order their milk along with their groceries on the internet these days and have it delivered as Lyn did?

‘The window-cleaner went to seven houses and stayed an hour and half at the Howells’ house?’

‘Their windows must have been very dirty,’ Peter observed.

‘The window-cleaner’s not the only one who made long visits to the Howells’ house, sir. If you look back, there’s mention of visits that range from half an hour to two hours in length from the fishmonger, postman and various delivery van drivers.’

‘How reliable is your Mrs Walsh?’ Trevor asked Sarah.

‘I’d say a hundred per cent, sir. She didn’t stop writing the diary when we were with her. She keeps a stop watch on the table next to her. And it wasn’t just the routine of the Howells she timed. She watches all her neighbours and clocks them all in and out, including Alan Piper the journalist who lives the other side of the Howells. Apparently he lost his wife fairly recently, and since her death he has taken to visiting a divorcee who lives in the street several times a week.’

Trevor looked at Peter. ‘That is one you can question Alan about, Peter.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Peter walked down the corridor to Trevor’s office, knocked once and entered. ‘I left a message on Alan’s mobile but he won’t be able to pick it up for at least four hours. He’s with the Queen.’

Trevor turned from his computer where he was reading the interviews Sarah had already inputted with the Howells’ neighbours. ‘What Queen?’

‘As far as I know we have only one. She lives in Buckingham Palace, and Windsor Castle and Balmoral …’

‘I need all my energy for the case. Spare me the list of royal residences, extravagances we have to pay for and republican arguments.’ After reading an article on how many boiled eggs Prince Charles wasted at his country house every shooting season, Peter had spent hours on a calculator in an effort to prove it was equal to his yearly tax bill.

‘
Your
Queen is opening a hospital that’s been up and running for six months. Alan’s covering it for the national and local papers. In honour of the occasion our Health Trust has cancelled all outpatient appointments and non-urgent operations, which no doubt delighted everyone on the waiting lists. But we can’t have Her Majesty rubbing shoulders with inferior mortals, especially sick ones, now can we?’

‘Did you call in just to tell me that Alan can’t be contacted?’

‘No. George Howells is here. He volunteered his own and kids’ DNA when we told him we needed it for elimination purposes. We’ve also taken Kacy Howells’ parents’ and brother’s.’

‘What about George Howells’ parents?’

‘Both dead and his brother hasn’t been to the house since he married.’

‘Problems?’

Peter shrugged. ‘George said Kacy didn’t get on with him and his wife.’

‘How is George Howells?’ Trevor asked.

‘Shell-shocked. Family liaison has remained with his mother-in-law and children. Sarah is looking after him.’

‘That girl’s going to wear herself out.’

‘You know the youngsters in this department. Keener than rats downwind of a sewer. All they can think about is promotion. When I left her she was feeding George Howells sympathy, tea and biscuits in interview room 3.’

Trevor reluctantly left his desk. He always felt incompetent and inadequate whenever he had to interview the relative of a murder victim. He hadn’t needed a counsellor to tell him it was down to a misplaced sense of guilt. There was no way that he, or any other police officer, could prevent a random murder. Dan Evans and hard-learned experience had taught him to view crime scenes and corpses dispassionately. Calm analytical thinking was essential to accumulate evidence that would stand up in court, achieve conviction of the guilty and justice for the victim. Relatives brought a personal aspect to a case. A sharp, unwelcome reminder of his own and his family’s mortality. And, since the birth of his son, thoughts of death had become even more unpalatable.

Peter joined Trevor at the viewing window outside the interview room. A slightly built, nondescript, fair-haired man with watery blue eyes was sitting, hunched over the table in the centre of the room, a cup of tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits at his elbow. Sarah was sitting at his side, a sympathetic expression on her face, her hand resting on the table close to his.

‘Doesn’t look the type to have a wife who puts it about, does he?’ Peter commented.

‘We can’t be sure she did.’

‘Come on, all those sex aids? Don’t tell me she bought them to titillate him.’

‘You can’t judge a book by its cover.’

‘You do all the time,’ Peter contradicted him. ‘And he’s not the “cheese on toast” type. They’re flash Harrys with bouffant hair or toupees, fake tan, designer sunglasses …’

‘And you know this, how?’ Trevor continued to watch George Howells.

‘Experience,’ Peter continued unabashed. ‘But from what I saw of his other half, she didn’t look the type either. Not a painted fingernail, scrap of make-up or hint of French knickers in sight.’

‘It’s good to have an expert on wife-swapping on my team.’

‘He doesn’t look straight.’

‘You referring to his sexual or criminal tendencies?’

‘He’s gay,’ Peter pronounced emphatically.

‘Even if it was possible to tell whether someone is gay or not simply from looking at them, the crime that put Oscar Wilde behind bars was struck off the statute book years ago.’

‘And thank the Law Lords for it. But his penchant for the same sex must have strained a marriage where the wife had as many vibrators as his had. On second thoughts, perhaps that’s why she bought them.’

‘That’s if they were bought by her. Do you have a copy of the magazine? I left mine in my office.’

Peter produced it from his pocket. Trevor took it from him. ‘Do me a favour, go through the witness statements Chris and Sarah have taken so far and see if anything strikes you?’

‘You don’t have to keep doing that.’

‘What?’

‘Saying “Do me a favour” every time you want something. You’ve been promoted. There’s no need to pretend I’m anything but your underling.’ Peter grinned. ‘Just don’t forget I’m the one living with the doctor and you’re the one married to a nurse so our family incomes are even.’

Trevor smiled. ‘So you’re only living with Daisy for her wage packet?’

‘Absolutely. Have you any idea what that woman earns? Well, can’t stand chatting here all day, the boss has given me a job to do.’

Trevor watched Peter walk away before opening the door of the interview room. Sarah and George Howells both rose to their feet.

‘Mr George Howells, sir,’ Sarah effected the introduction. ‘Mr Howells, Detective Inspector Trevor Joseph, the senior officer in charge of the investigation.’

Trevor held out his hand. George shook it. His palm was damp, his wrist limp, his grip feeble.

‘Inspector.’

‘My condolences on the tragic loss of your wife, Mr Howells.’

George blew his nose in a tissue that he tucked up the sleeve of his camel-coloured V-necked sweater. His hands fluttered back down to the table. ‘Thank you.’ His voice was high-pitched.

‘Please, sit down.’ Trevor took the chair opposite George and Sarah.

‘I’ll get more tea. Would you like a cup, sir?’ Sarah collected the cups.

‘Would you like more tea, Mr Howells? Trevor asked.

‘No, thank you. All I seem to have done since the police arrived at our camp site early this morning is drink tea.’

‘I am sorry to have to question you at a time like this, Mr Howells, but speed is of the essence in a murder investigation.’ Trevor produced a notepad and pencil, but he also switched on the recorder. After giving details of the date, time and investigation he launched into formal questioning.

‘When did you last see your wife, Mr Howells?’

‘Yesterday morning. We breakfasted together with the children as we always do. Then I packed the car with the children’s and my own bags and drove the children to my mother-in-law’s before going on to the office where a coach was waiting to take the staff who’d been selected for the course to the Lake District.’

‘What time did you leave the house?’

‘Around seven thirty. Half an hour earlier than school time. The bus was time-tabled to leave the office car park at eight. Not that it did. There are always late-comers. Some of my colleagues are very poor time-keepers.’ He was talking quickly and, Trevor sensed automatically repeating previous comments he’d made without thought to relevance.

‘Do your children spend much time with your mother-in-law?’

‘Not usually, but I had to attend this course. It was an honour to have been chosen. Most of the others were a full grade above me. Kacy … we’re both on flexi-time at the office – we take turns to take the children on the school run. Of course, Kacy does … did … most of the journeys because she works … worked fewer hours than me. But it’s not as easy for her because she doesn’t drive. Never has. Never wanted to. Lacks the confidence needed to be a driver.’ His voice trembled every time he corrected the tense from the present to past. ‘Because it was half-term Kacy decided to put in more hours while I was away, which would give her more time with the children afterwards.’

‘Wouldn’t it have made more sense for your wife to have worked less hours when the children were off school?’ Trevor suggested.

‘She was thinking of us as a family. If we both finished work early we could spend our evenings together.’

Trevor thought back to what Mrs Walsh had told Sarah.

If anything has happened to Kacy Howells don’t expect anyone in this street to be sorry. She’s crossed everyone at some time or another and it would be good to see the kids get some proper mothering for a change. They might find one with a foster family that wouldn’t put them out on the street
with the milk bottles and take them in at night with the cat.

The most difficult aspect of an investigation, where too much information was flying around at the outset, was knowing who to believe.

‘How long was the course you were on?’

‘Four days.’

‘Were you expecting your wife to go into work yesterday?’

‘No.’ George picked up his empty cup and stared into it. ‘She said she wanted a day to clean the house from top to bottom so it would ready for us when we came back. I’d arranged to pick up the children when I returned on Thursday evening.’ He pulled the damp tissue from his sleeve again and Trevor gave him a few minutes to compose himself.

‘How would you describe your life with your wife and family, Mr Howells?’

‘Normal. Kacy worked part-time; we have a nice house with no mortgage. I inherited half of it from my mother and bought my brother out of the other half. We have the children …’

‘Have you been married long?’ Trevor broke in.

‘Seven years.’

‘And your wife was –’ Trevor referred to the notes Sarah had made and given him. ‘Fifty years old. Nine years older than you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where did you meet?’

‘At work.’

‘You married when she was forty-three and you were thirty-four?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you live together before your marriage?’

‘For a few weeks. We’d only been seeing one another for a couple of months.’

‘Couple? Two, three?’

‘Three, I suppose,’ George answered.

‘That’s not long to go out with someone before marrying them.’

‘Kacy wasn’t getting any younger. She wanted children.’

Trevor considered Peter’s opinion. If he had met George Howells in a pub, he, like Peter would have assumed he was gay. Something of absolutely no interest unless the person concerned was involved in a crime, where his or her sexuality might have a bearing. And given the number of sex aids in the Howells’ shed, Kacy and George’s sexuality was a factor to be considered in this investigation. He only wished he knew exactly where it fitted into the scenario.

He made a mental note to check the date of the Howells’ marriage against the birth of their eldest child. Could Kacy have been having an affair with someone she didn’t want to – or couldn’t marry? And, as a result, on finding herself pregnant, targeted George as an economic option because he had a mortgage-free house?

‘Did you or your wife have any other long-term partners before your marriage?’ Trevor questioned.

‘What’s that got to do with Kacy’s murder?’ George flushed crimson.

‘So far, Mr Howells, we have a motiveless crime. Your wife was axed to death on a platform in your garden. She was naked …’

‘Naked? I don’t understand.’ George appeared bewildered.

‘Neither do we, Mr Howells. The pathologist who carried out the post-mortem found no evidence of sexual assault, which is why I asked about your wife’s previous partners. At this moment we are not discounting anything. Including an angry, possibly jealous, rage from a lover – or previous partner.’

‘I see.’ George stared down at the floor.

Trevor thought it odd that George didn’t protest that seven years was a long time to nurse jealousy. ‘Did you have a previous partner, Mr Howells?’

‘No – no – not really.’ His face went from crimson to vermilion. ‘I mean I went out with other girls and all that … but nothing serious.’

Trevor was tempted to ask him to elaborate on the “all that” but he persevered with his line of questioning.

‘And your wife?’

‘She lived with someone.’

‘For how long?’

‘Eighteen years.’

‘His name?’

‘John Evans.’

‘You know him?’

‘He works in the same department as us. In the civil service,’ George added superfluously.

‘Was the break between John Evans and your wife amicable?’

‘Not really. Kacy moved out of the house they’d lived in together. He gave her some money to cover her share. Not everything she was entitled to, but he’d made sure the house was in his name. She went to a solicitor but he said it was a difficult situation because John Evans had bought the house before they had cohabited. John even produced a rent book and tried to say that Kacy had never been more than a tenant in his house which was a blatant lie. People can be mean when it comes to making financial redress.’

Trevor thought he could detect Kacy Howells’ voice in the complaint.

‘A few weeks after Kacy moved out of John Evans’s house he married another girl from the department.’

‘He and Kacy remained friends?’

‘Hardly,’ George squeaked in indignation. ‘Kacy hasn’t spoken to him or the girl he married since. And neither have I.’

‘That must make things difficult in the office.’

George stiffened his back. ‘Kacy and I keep our heads down and do our work. Our superiors find our efforts more than satisfactory.’

Glad George Howells wasn’t on his team, Trevor held his pen, poised over his notepad. ‘Do you have John Evans’s address?’

‘You can contact him at the office. I have no idea where he is living.’

‘I thought you said his wife moved in with him.’

‘That was seven years ago. I told you, I don’t talk to him.’

‘What about your social life, Mr Howells?’

George Howells could have been reciting from his CV. ‘I enjoy sport and cycling. I attend football and rugby matches in winter and cricket in the summer. I sit on various committees at work.’