A Well-deserved Murder (Trevor Joseph Detective series) (6 page)

‘You raised Alan yet?’ Trevor asked.

‘He’s on his way. Apparently the Queen didn’t invite him to lunch, just the opening so he missed out on the five course, taxpayer-funded, champagne-fuelled binge.’

‘Ask Sarah to make sure an interview room is empty, would you please?’ Trevor ordered Chris.

‘Yes, sir.’ Knowing he’d been dismissed, Chris left.

Peter dropped his coffee and sandwich on Trevor’s desk, sat in the visitor’s chair and propped his feet on Trevor’s waste-bin.

‘You listened in to the second half of the questioning.’ Trevor said to Peter. It wasn’t a question.

‘Yes.’

‘Any thoughts?’

‘A few. Starting with their marriage. For all George’s insistence, there’s no way it was normal. Forget the murder for a moment. Why did he marry her? Short of loneliness I can’t come up with a single reason why a bloke like him who was enjoying the bachelor life would saddle himself with an unstable mouse of a woman.’

‘Patrick came up with some information that might shed light on the unstable.’ Trevor told Peter about the call he’d received from the pathologist.

‘No – I still refuse to feel sorry for her. Even the community police officer who retrieved Alan’s gate and post and suggested Alan put up CCTV warned him to watch his property and take care of himself because she was aggressive.’

‘If she was incubating Alzheimer’s …’

‘If!’

‘Possibly George Howells wanted children.’ Trevor finished his sandwich and reached for his coffee.

‘In which case George should have picked a woman the right side of forty. They were lucky but a lot of women her age have trouble conceiving. And if it was just kids he wanted, he could have adopted, fostered or bought himself a nice little subservient Thai bride.’

‘Perhaps he’d heard that marriages to brides bought on the internet last only until the brides get UK citizenship along with half the groom’s assets in the divorce courts.’

‘Sir,’ Chris Brookes knocked again. ‘Forensic results have come in that we thought you’d want to see right away.’

Trevor took the print-out from Chris. ‘Thanks, if anything else of interest arrives you’ll bring it in?’

‘Of course, sir.’

Trevor opened the file and read the first page.

‘Talk?’ Peter demanded impatiently.

‘These are initial results from fingerprinting. Remember I said there were four sets of prints on the axe?’

‘Yes.’

‘One set belonged to Kacy Howells.’

‘Which is to be expected if the axe was hers.’

‘Two remain unidentified.’ Trevor looked up at Peter. ‘The other set belongs to your cousin.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

Alan Piper had been in the police station many times in his capacity as a journalist. He went to the front desk, gave his name and was surprised to find himself hustled into an interview room.

Trevor and Peter were waiting for him.

‘Nice meeting with the Queen?’ Peter asked.

‘Very funny. You’ve done enough duty around royals to know what their events are like. A lot of standing round waiting and watching the interminable handshakes before listening to the endless speeches.’

‘Tea?’ Peter broke in.

‘You know me.’ Alan answered.

‘I do and we have no wine, vodka or beer.’

‘In that case a coffee would be good.’

Peter opened the door and shouted down an order to the incident room.

‘Made any progress?’ Alan took a notebook and pen from his top pocket.

‘Some,’ Trevor answered guardedly, looking to Peter.

‘You can put that away,’ Peter said to his cousin. ‘I’m about to switch on the recorder.’

‘Bit formal, aren’t we?’ Alan asked.

‘You’re a material witness to a murder. And you found the body. That makes it formal.’ Peter stated the date time and case number. ‘Mr Piper, tell us exactly when you saw the body of Kacy Howells?’

Alan delivered the same story he had the night before. It didn’t deviate in any respect. Experience had taught Trevor that could be down to one of two reasons. Either Alan Piper was telling the truth because he had no reason to lie – or he did have reason to lie – and had carefully concocted and rehearsed the story until he was word perfect.

‘You mentioned the file the community police opened regarding your dispute with the Howells. Is there anything you can add to the information you gave the officer who retrieved your property from their garden?’ Peter continued.

‘Such as?’ Alan looked surprised.

‘Something you forgot to mention at the time,’ Peter suggested.

‘I kept a full diary of events. Their thieving of my property, times, dates, stalking activities of Kacy Howells …’

‘That we can get,’ Peter commented.

‘What more do you want?’ Alan looked from Peter to Trevor, who was sitting slightly away from the table, his arms folded across his chest.

‘What can you tell us about the Howells’ marriage?’

‘They were the ones spying on me and making my life hell, remember,’ Alan said flatly.

‘Were you surprised when George Howells married?’

‘Very.’

‘Why?’

‘Like everyone else in the street who had watched him grow up we assumed he was gay.’

‘Did you ever see him with another man?’

‘Many times, and before Kacy started spending weekends with him, never with a woman.’

‘What did you think of Kacy Howells when you met her?’

‘That she was a shy, quiet, mousy woman.’ Alan made a face. ‘Just shows how easily I can be taken in. I soon discovered that she was an evil, thieving, grasping, envious …’

‘Bitch?’ Peter finished for him.

‘This interview is being recorded,’ Trevor reminded.

‘Have you ever visited the Howells’ garden?’

‘Not since George Howells’ mother died nine years ago. I used to cut her lawns and help her out with the heavy gardening jobs after her husband died.’

‘Why didn’t George Howells take over?’

‘Because he was useless at any kind of practical work.’

‘Did you use Mrs Howells’ tools, or yours, to do these jobs?’

Alan frowned. ‘Sometimes mine, sometimes hers. I can’t remember. For God’s sake, it was over nine years ago. What is this, Peter? Come on, do you know something I don’t?’

Peter glanced at Trevor who pretended he hadn’t noticed. ‘Your fingerprints were on the axe that killed Kacy Howells.’

Alan stared at Peter for what seemed like several minutes, although it could only have been seconds.

‘Have you any idea how they could have got there?’ Peter pressed.

‘No … no, wait a minute. You remember that pub lunch we had yesterday? I told you then that the Howells had put an axe in front of my car that morning. I had to move it before I could drive off. You said, “Why didn’t you run over it?” …’

‘And you answered “because I didn’t want to damage my tyres”. Or words to that effect.’

Trevor pulled his chair forward. ‘Is that right?’

‘It is,’ Peter and Alan confirmed in unison.

‘So what did you do with the axe?’ Trevor looked intently at Alan.

‘I moved it.’

‘To where?’

Alan thought for a moment. ‘I left it on their side of our communal drive. They leave all kinds of rubbish in front of my car. Usually I pick it up and leave it on their wall. But I remember thinking that I didn’t want the axe to fall and hurt a child and the Howells’ kids are always roaming the street.’

‘What kind of rubbish?’ Peter asked.

‘Anything they don’t want. Garden rubbish, cuttings, grass, dead leaves. If their bin bags overflow and burst they leave their tins and bottles lying in our communal drive.’

‘How did you pick up the axe?’ Trevor asked.

‘How … like you pick up an axe,’ Alan answered.

‘By the handle or the blade.’

‘Not the blade, that’s for sure, it looked sharp.’

‘Think, Alan. How did you handle the axe? It could be important,’ Peter stressed.

‘I can’t remember,’ Alan snapped impatiently. ‘I saw the axe, it annoyed me, I picked it up and set it aside. I thought out of harm’s way.’

‘We need an axe.’ Trevor switched off the recorder. ‘Go and see if there’s one in the station.’

‘Under your desk?’ Peter lifted his eyebrows.

‘Try lost property,’ Trevor replied.

Peter returned less than five minutes later with an axe. ‘This is smaller than the one that killed Kacy Howells but I thought it might do to illustrate a point.’

Trevor looked at it in amusement. ‘Where did you find it?’

‘I’d rather not say.’

Trevor continued to stare at him.

‘The canteen cook had it in the boot of his car.’

‘Why?’

‘Perhaps he uses it to chop up road kill. I’ve often wondered about the quality of the meat he serves.’

Trevor set the axe on the table in front of Alan and switched the tape back on.

Alan looked at it for a moment, then picked it up by the handle, and the top of the blade.

‘Alan Piper has picked up axe,’ Trevor said for the benefit of the recording. ‘That is how you picked it up from the road?’

‘Possibly. I didn’t realise at the time that it was going to have any significance.’ Alan set the axe down again.’

Trevor nodded to Peter. ‘Proceed with the interview, Sergeant Collins.’

‘Do you know your neighbour, Mrs Walsh, Mr Piper?’

‘Every bugger in the street knows Mary Walsh.’

Peter knew the answer to his question but mindful of the tape recorder he still asked it. ‘Why?’

‘Because she monitors the comings and goings of everyone in the street.’

‘Including yours with the divorcee who lives opposite her?’

‘Judy Mason.’

‘Is that her name?’

‘It is. She was a friend of Joy’s. She visited us every day when Joy was dying. She helped out with practical things like washing, cleaning and cooking. Now we share an occasional meal. Sometimes I provide the steaks, sometimes she does. I always provide the wine. She’s the only woman I can talk to about Joy. But my relationship with Judy Mason is based on friendship and nothing whatsoever to do with Mary Walsh or the Howells,’ Alan said firmly.

‘Does Judy Mason know about the problems you had with the Howells?’

‘She’s one of the few neighbours who do. I tried carrying Joy out on to the woodland patio a couple of times when she was dying. Judy helped me. Kacy Howells always made it her business to sit on her platform and stare at us. It made Joy uncomfortable so I erected a screen near our back door. We didn’t have the same view but at least we could sit out there in peace.’

‘What about the rest of your neighbours. Did they have any problem with the Howells?’

‘I don’t know. Judy was the only one I discussed it with, and then only after she saw Kacy Howells virtually stalking Joy and me.’

‘So you don’t know if any of your other neighbours had problems with the Howells?’

‘I hardly see them. Since Joy died I spend most of my time at work or in the pub.’

‘Or with Judy Mason,’ Trevor reminded him.

‘Once or twice a week,’ Alan agreed without rancour. ‘What happens now you’ve found my prints on the axe?’

‘We check out your story. Look at the other forensic results. Try to build a case.’

‘And me?’ Alan looked from Peter to Trevor.

‘We warn you that you may be called in for further questioning at any time.’ Peter formally closed the interview and stopped the recording.

‘And ask you not to leave town,’ Trevor added when the tape stopped.

Peter glanced at his watch as Trevor finished the early evening team briefing. ‘Half past nine. It’s been a long day, children.’

‘Let’s hope forensic come up with something tomorrow that we can use.’ Trevor watched Chris and Sarah pick up their jackets from the backs of their chairs. ‘There’s no need for you two to come in before nine. I won’t be in until after I’ve seen the victim’s parents. You did schedule that interview for half past nine, Sarah?’

‘I did, sir. At their home. And the brother will be there.’

‘Thank you.’

As the room emptied, Peter sat back in his chair and propped his feet on the edge of a table. ‘Something must have cropped up for Dan to give the briefing a miss after he said he’d be here.’

‘It could be the breakthrough he’s been waiting for.’ Trevor opened his briefcase and pushed a couple of files into it.

‘In the middle of a drugs war?’ Peter asked sceptically. ‘Dealers are too petrified to talk, in case they’re the next to end up at the bottom of the bay wearing concrete boots.’

‘Let’s hope it’s not more murders.’

‘Drink?’ Peter asked hopefully.

‘I have a wife, baby and home to go to. Don’t tell me you’ve quarrelled with Daisy again.’ Peter’s relationship with the woman he insisted was “the love of his life” was at best tempestuous.

‘She went to New York, remember. Could this be old age eating your brain cells? She told you last night. I mentioned it at lunchtime …’

‘Sorry, I’ve a lot on my mind.’ Trevor smiled at the forlorn expression on Peter’s face. ‘I remember her saying something about a medical conference. But it could be an excuse. If I lived with you I’d need to take a break now and again.’

‘Very funny.’

‘And, because you’ve been forced to return to the bachelor life, you want me to suffer too.’ Trevor snapped his briefcase shut.

‘The single life was good – wasn’t it – while it lasted?’

Trevor laughed. ‘You make it sound as though you’re heading for the morgue.’

‘I’ve all the shackles of a married man and none of the benefits.’

‘You talking about your unmarried state or Daisy being away?’

‘Daisy being away. And don’t you dare mock.’

‘Who’s mocking? Hate being home alone.’

‘How do you know?’ Peter demanded suspiciously.

‘Because I feel the same way whenever Lyn stays overnight at her parents, not that she does very often. Since we moved in together I hate walking into an empty house, even though I lived alone for years.’

‘I thought it was just me. The thought of going back to the flat and opening the door on absolute silence makes me …’

‘Want to stay in the pub all night.’ Dan joined them, shook off his jacket, ran his hand over his balding head and pulled up a chair.

‘So that’s where you spend your evenings,’ Peter gibed.

‘Not me. But I know you and your habits.’

‘I’m a new man since I moved in with Daisy.’

‘We’ve seen the difference, although I’m still trying to work out how you hypnotized her.’

‘With my charm.’

‘We’ve never seen any sign of it,’ Trevor commented.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Dan apologised to Trevor.

‘You look as though you could do with a week’s sleep. Tough day?’

‘I wasted it exploring false leads. And, every single one ended in a solid brick wall.’ Dan lowered his massive bulk onto a chair. ‘All we’ve established is general evidence that won’t hold up in court on its own. We know, but can’t prove, that the White Baron is employing hit men from his cosy prison cell. We also know but can’t prove that the Red Dragon is doing the same, which makes it bloody hard to investigate the murders. The professional hitmen know what they’re doing and thanks to TV documentaries and crime shows they also know how we collect forensic evidence. We have a fair idea who the hitmen are. But there the information ends. I’ve tried everything – putting on the squeeze – bribery – rewards – threats – immunity and I haven’t come up with a single piece of hard evidence that I can use. The White Baron remains tucked up in his cell, and word has him getting conjugal visits and privileges way above what’s permissible by the prison system but again, we can’t prove a thing. The Red Dragon is elusive as ever, not that we’ve a clue as to his identity. The streets are awash with drugs, even more so than when the White Baron was trading and every villain we pull in for questioning pleads the fifth amendment even after we tell them the fifth amendment doesn’t apply in Britain only American TV crime shows.’

‘Interesting case.’ Peter lifted his feet down from the table. ‘Glad it’s not mine.’

‘Two more corpses were found floating in the river an hour ago. Both shot in the back of the head.’

‘Professional executions,’ Trevor murmured.

‘That makes six dead and three still missing. The drug war’s out of control. After the White Baron was convicted I thought things would calm down but it’s worse because his lieutenants and the Red Dragon are fighting to take over his empire, which as far as anyone can make out the White Baron is still ruling from his cell.’

‘Anyone contact you claiming knowledge of the identity of the Red Dragon?’ Trevor knew that Dan had put out word of a substantial reward to the first “nark” to shop the Dragon.

‘Not a one,’ Dan answered shortly. ‘For all the evidence and information we have on the bastard he could be a ghost.’