Night Fall (16 page)

‘You mean there's been
another
one?' Joan Moreland said in hushed tones. ‘Oh, my God! What is going on, Molly?'

‘I really wish I could answer that,' Molly said, ‘and that's why I'm here.' She took out a picture of Gavin Whitelaw and showed it to Joan. ‘Have you ever seen this man before? Or do you know if your husband knew him or had anything to do with him? Please take your time, it's very important.'

Joan Moreland studied the picture carefully, then shook her head as she handed it back. ‘I'm sure I've never seen him before,' she said slowly, ‘but I suppose it's possible that Dennis might have known him through work or the theatre or something like that. Sorry, Molly, but that's all I can tell you. You say he's a policeman?'

‘That's right.'

Joan looked puzzled for a moment, then stepped back a pace, eyes narrowed as she looked at Molly suspiciously, and her voice took on a harder tone. ‘I'm not sure I like the sound of this,' she said. ‘If you're suggesting that Dennis and this man were involved in something . . . I don't know . . . something illegal, it isn't true, Molly. It isn't. Dennis would never . . . he was a
good
man; he loved me, he loved the kids, he . . .' Tears bubbled to the surface and spilled over.

Molly moved to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I'm not suggesting
anything
,' she said quietly, ‘but there has to be
something
linking these three men, and we have to find out what it is, because there may be others.'

Joan raised a tear-stained face to look at Molly. ‘Well, I don't know what it is,' she said tightly. ‘In fact, the more I think about it, the more I'm sure it was a mistake. I think this madman mistook Dennis for somebody else, and I don't think there ever was a connection. I'm sorry, Molly, but you're wasting your time here, because I know very well that Dennis was never involved with this policeman or the other man who was killed.'

Joan Moreland took a deep breath. ‘I don't wish to sound unkind, Molly, but I'd like you to leave me alone now. The funeral's tomorrow and I have a lot to do, and I don't need this. So please go.' She shepherded Molly to the front door. ‘And please don't come back again,' she said as she closed the door.

‘You say he's the same one who said he knew Billy from when they were kids together?' George Travis shook his head as he looked hard at the picture again. ‘No, I'm sure I've never seen him,' he said firmly. ‘Billy used to tell me about who he'd seen that day and who he'd talked to, and I don't remember him ever talking about anybody called Whitelaw.' Travis sniffed hard then blew his nose. ‘I miss that,' he said huskily, ‘talking with Billy. He was a good lad. He didn't deserve to die like that. I miss my boy, I really do.'

It was late in the day and Molly knew she was probably wasting her time, but since Trudy Mason lived just around the corner, she decided to stop there before going home. So she was taken by surprise when Trudy took one look at Whitelaw's picture and said, ‘Oh, him. Oh, yes, I remember him all right. Why do you want to know?'

‘You know him?' Molly said. ‘How? Have you known him long?'

Trudy chuckled. ‘When I said I
know
him, I just meant I remember him from when he stopped me on the ring road. Tried to chat me up. Tell you the truth I was quite flattered, so I played along and it worked. Let me off with a caution, then rang me up the next day to ask if I'd got home all right. Cheeky sod! I told him yes, I did, and I was ever so grateful for him letting me off, and my husband was, too.' Trudy laughed. ‘I didn't catch what he said before he slammed the phone down, but I don't think it was complimentary.'

‘When was this?'

Trudy thought. ‘Seven, maybe eight months ago,' she said. ‘I don't know exactly. It was in the spring. Is it important?'

‘To be honest, I really don't know,' Molly confessed. ‘Why did he stop you?'

Trudy grimaced. ‘I was in a bit of a hurry, and I changed lanes and almost cut somebody up. The bloke blew his horn and gave me the finger, and it just happened that the cop car was behind him and this chap saw it all.' She tapped the picture. ‘Why are you asking? What's he done? Something to do with a woman, I'll bet. He's the sort.'

‘He was killed this morning,' Molly said.

‘Killed . . .?' Trudy repeated. Her eyes narrowed. ‘How?' she asked cautiously.

‘He was murdered in the same way Billy was murdered, which is why we're looking for a connection between the two. Did you tell Billy about the incident on the ring road?'

Trudy nodded.

‘What was Billy's reaction?'

‘We had a laugh about . . .' Trudy paused, frowning. ‘Well, I did,' she continued slowly. ‘I thought the whole thing was hilarious, but Billy didn't think it was funny at all. He got quite serious about it. Said someone like that should be reported. Went on about it for a while, but I finally jollied him out of it.' She lowered her voice as if afraid she might be overheard. ‘To tell you the truth, I thought he was jealous, and I was quite chuffed about it.'

‘Did you know Whitelaw's name at the time?'

‘Oh, yes. He told me who he was. In fact he made sure I'd remember it. Thought he was God's gift. You know the sort.'

‘And you told Billy who the man was?'

Trudy nodded once again.

‘Did the subject ever come up again? More recently, perhaps?'

‘No. After the way Billy went on, I never mentioned it again, and neither did he.'

‘What about your husband? Did you tell him about it?'

‘Gordon? No. He was away at the time, and I don't think I ever told him.' Trudy frowned, thinking back. ‘No, I'm sure I didn't. I'd forgotten all about it by the time Gordon got home, and it was only when you showed me the picture today that I remembered it again.'

I
t was Tregalles who attended the funeral of Dennis Moreland, and the same sandy-haired man was there taking pictures as discreetly as he had the Sunday before. The two sets would be compared to see if there was anyone who had attended both funerals, yet looked out of place. It was a long shot, but killers had been known to attend the funerals of their victims.

The funeral was held at the Unitarian church in Radnor Street, and Molly should have gone, but after her brush with Joan Moreland the day before, it was decided that Tregalles should go instead. The small church was almost full. Clearly, Moreland had been well liked, and Tregalles recognized several members of the SuperFair staff, including Moreland's boss, Norman Beasley. The man looked quite presentable in his somewhat dated three-piece suit, and he was almost obsequious in his approach to Joan as she and the children left the church.

Following the service, Tregalles drove out to the storage depot on Oldfield Road, where two junior DCs were loading cardboard boxes into a van to be taken back to Charter Lane. Eight boxes in all, three of which were unopened, still bound by tape, while the rest were filled with a variety of loose articles ranging from books and magazines to tools, bits of clothing, glass mugs, a toaster, and assorted mismatched plates and cups and saucers.

Tregalles took a look inside the locker. Still remaining were a chest of drawers, a small workbench, a bookshelf with one of the shelves missing, a lawn mower, garden tools, a bicycle and a rolled-up braided rug.

‘Never mind the rest of this stuff,' he told the two men. ‘Lock up and take those boxes in to DS Ormside, and if he asks you where I'll be, you can tell him that DCI Paget and I are off to look at cars.'

‘Detective Chief Inspector Paget,' Fulbright repeated as he came out from behind his desk to shake hands. ‘Didn't I see something in the paper about you a few weeks back? To do with those murders out at Bromley Manor? Surprised the hell out of me, I can tell you. Charles Bromley and his wife were clients of mine. You never know, do you?' Fulbright rubbed his hands together. ‘So, what can I do for you gentlemen? Please, have a seat.' He returned to his own chair behind his desk. ‘I suppose it's too much to hope you're here to buy a fleet of police cars?'

‘Not today,' Paget told him. ‘We're here to ask if you've had dealings with one of our officers recently. PC Gavin Whitelaw?'

Fulbright's shaggy eyebrows came down in a solemn frown. ‘I heard about what happened,' he said gravely. ‘I couldn't believe it. Gavin was here in this office last Tuesday, sitting where you are now. I know things hadn't been going all that well for him lately, what with the divorce and all, but he seemed all right when he was here. What happened? They didn't say on the news, so I wondered if it was suicide.'

‘We're treating it as a suspicious death,' Paget told him. ‘Were you a friend of his, Mr Fulbright?'

‘Mike, please,' said Fulbright expansively. ‘Nobody calls me Mr Fulbright.' He put the frown back in place. ‘I've known Gavin on and off for years,' he said, seeming to choose his words carefully, ‘but I wouldn't say we were
friends
, exactly. He bought his last car from us and he drops in from time to time, just for a look round. You know how it is with some people; they like to look at the latest models even when they know they're not ready to buy.'

‘So, if not a friend, I'm wondering why he would come to you rather than one of your sales staff,' Paget said.

‘Oh, I see. Well, that's simple enough. I
was
one of the sales staff when Gavin bought his first car from us, so he continues to come to me. If he's serious about buying, I turn him over to one of our sales people to close the deal. But why are you asking? What's this all about?'

Tregalles spoke up. ‘We're trying to trace his movements during the past few days, and we found your business card in his pocket,' he said. ‘You say he was here on Tuesday?'

‘That's right.'

‘Thinking of buying a new car, was he?' He nodded in the direction of the showroom.

Fulbright shook his head. ‘Hardly,' he said. ‘I'm sure he'd have liked to, but to be honest, I very much doubt if he could afford it, not with the divorce and all.'

‘So why did he come in, then?' asked Paget.

‘He was on a fishing trip,' Fulbright said. ‘Fishing for a price on the car he wanted to trade in. You know how it is: you're toying with the idea of trading your car in, so you try to get a feel for the market and find out what your old car might be worth. Doesn't do any good, of course, because we never make a valuation on something we haven't seen recently, so I told him the same as I tell everyone else: bring it in and we'll take a look at it.'

‘Do you recall the make and model of the car he was talking about trading in?'

‘Yes. It was a Nissan X-Trail station wagon, 2006. As I said, I sold it to him myself, back then.'

‘Was he going to bring the car in for valuation?'

Fulbright shrugged. ‘He said he would, but I suspect he was going to try other dealers as well to see if he could coax them into giving him a price. I doubt if he would have succeeded, but people like to try.'

‘Did you talk about anything else?' Paget asked. ‘Other than cars, I mean.'

Fulbright shrugged. ‘Not really. I'd heard about his divorce and we spoke briefly about that, but I can't remember anything else of consequence.' His frown deepened. ‘But I don't understand what this has got to do with Gavin's death. Why are you asking all these questions?'

Paget got to his feet. ‘As Sergeant Tregalles said earlier, we are trying to trace Whitelaw's movements in the days leading up to his death, and to establish his state of mind. Would you say he was in good spirits when he left you on Tuesday?'

Fulbright shrugged. ‘As far as I could tell, he seemed to be his usual self.'

‘Then thank you, Mr Fulbright. If you should think of anything else that you talked about, even if it seems insignificant, please give me a call.' He took out a card and handed it to Fulbright.

Tregalles stood up and Fulbright came out from behind his desk to usher them to the door, then handed each of them a card. ‘And please do keep us in mind if you should need new cars, either personal or for business. I could give you a very good deal either way.'

‘We will,' Paget assured him. He paused at the door. ‘Did Whitelaw speak to anyone else while he was here?' he asked.

‘Just my receptionist, Anita Chapman, when she showed him into the office.'

‘Right. Then thanks again, Mr Fulbright. We'll have a word with her on our way out.'

‘Not much help there,' Tregalles observed as they drove away. ‘From the receptionist, I mean. Good looking woman, though. Bet she hasn't done the business any harm.'

‘But she did call Whitelaw by his first name,' Paget pointed out, ‘and she knew about the divorce, so I suspect both she and her boss knew the man better than Fulbright led us to believe. And, since I can't think of a reason why Whitelaw would go in there to talk about trading in a car he'd sold months ago, I think Mr Fulbright's lying about the reason for Whitelaw's visit. The question is, why, and what did they talk about? I think I'll have Len do a bit of digging into that man's background.'

Paget didn't speak again until they pulled into Charter Lane. ‘What did you say they call Mike Fulbright on the rugby field?' he asked as they got out of the car. ‘The Avenger?'

‘That's right. He's—' Tregalles stopped. ‘Oh, come on, boss. Mike Fulbright?' The sergeant sounded genuinely shocked. ‘You're not thinking
he's
our killer, are you? He's the Grinders' star player.'

‘Just a thought, Tregalles,' said Paget mildly. ‘But the word “Avenger” does start with a capital A.'