The Armada Boy (13 page)

'What lighter?'

'He definitely had it...never went
anywhere without it. He said it was his good-luck charm. He swore he never
actually used it but he couldn't fool me." She snorted with derision.
'Guess he thought I couldn't smell the filthy stuff on his breath ... ate mints
to cover the stink. Must have reckoned I was dumb or something.'

'No one could reckon that, honey,'
Todd Weringer said smoothly.

'Maybe he left it behind. Have you
checked?' asked Wesley.

'Sure. The lighter was in his pocket before he went out, and a packet of
cigarettes.'

'You searched his pockets?' asked
Rachel sweetly. She could well believe it.

'I was looking for some change.'

'And you didn't mention the
cigarettes to him?'

'Why should I? He could do what the
hell he liked ... so long as he didn't do it near me.'

'Can you describe the lighter? Was
it an expensive one?'

'Sure. It was real silver . .. old,
pre-war. It had been a gift from his pop and it had his initials on ... and a
buffalo engraved on it, quite distinctive. He was real fond of that
lighter."

'Sure was.' Todd Weringer interrupted.
'He was showing it round in the bar to some of the guys the night we arrived
here. Said it had seen him through the war.'

'So a lot of people knew he had it?'

'You're not saying he was murdered
for some darned lighter?'

'People have been murdered for less.
Mrs Openheim.' Rachel said seriously. 'Just who was in the bar when he was
showing it round?'

'Look, Officer, you can't possibly
suspect any of our guys.' Todd Weringer sounded indignant.

'Oh no, Mr Weringer.' Wesley was at
his most tactful. 'But they might be valuable witnesses. Someone else in the
bar could have overheard.'

'There was no one else. Just a
minute. 'Todd Weringer frowned with concentration. "There was an English
couple .., respectable- looking, I guess, young.'

'How young?'

"Say forty-five... fifty.'

Rachel smiled to herself. 'Anyone
else?'

'The young girl behind the bar...
and Mrs Slater, the owner: she was there part of the time, I guess. She came in
to ask us if everything had been okay at dinner. And there was a lady with her.'

'What lady?'

'I don't know. I'd never seen her
before.'

'Can you describe her?'

'About my age."

'Middle-aged.' Dorinda chipped in
helpfully.

'White hair... quite an elegant lady, I guess.'

'Have you seen her since?' Weringer shook his head. 'And you don't know who she
was?'

'No idea. Is it important?'

'Probably not, Mr Weringer. But in
our line of work we've got to think of everything.' Wesley gave him a brief,
businesslike smile. 'We'll keep our eyes open for this lighter, Mrs Openheim. It'll
probably turn up. By the way, do you know that Mrs Sally
Johnson's gone missing?'

'Yeah ... we heard. Is there no news
of her yet?' Dorinda Openheim looked concerned: whether this was real or
feigned, Wesley couldn't tell.

'Not yet, I'm afraid. How well do
you know her?'

'Not that well... only saw her at
our annual reunions. Seemed like a nice girl... very English.'

'Did she know Norman?"

'I guess so. He said he remembered
her from the war ... when she was dating Ed. They had a lot of dances ... I
guess the girls round here didn't know what had hit 'em.'

'Probably not.' Rachel said with
understanding. The influx of a horde of lively, generous young men who
possessed the added glamour of coming from the land of movies and plenty must
have made quite an impact on the sheltered girls of the English countryside.

'Did she know Norman well?'

'Neither of them spoke about it if
she did. I didn't get the impression they'd had a thing going, if that's what
you're getting at. They were just friendly ... sociable.'

Rather like you and Mr Weringer?'
Wesley couldn't resist testing for a reaction. Rachel shot him a warning look.

Dorinda blushed under her thick
foundation. 'Yeah ... I guess so.

'Old comrades. Sergeant.' said Todd
Weringer earnestly.

"There's always a bond there.' He stood up to go. Dorinda looked at him
appealingly. fluttering her eyelashes in a way that Rachel considered quite
inappropriate for a woman in her mid- sixties.

'Just one more thing. Mrs Openheim."
she said. 'Do you know anyone called Marion?'

Dorinda turned to face Rachel, her
eyes wide with fear. She quickly composed herself. 'Who?'

'Marion. A local woman who was
friendly with your late husband during the war. He went to see her on the
afternoon of the day he was killed.'

' It's news to me. He told me he was
going to look at Tradmouth Castle."

'Didn't you offer to go with him?'

'He knows I hate that son of thing.'
Norman had chosen his lie carefully.

'Did you know about Marion?'

'You might as well tell them, Dorry,
or they'll think we've gotten something to hide.'

'Mr Weringer's right, Mrs Openheim.'
Rachel said gently.

'I found this letter in his case. I
screwed it up and threw it away. It was from a Marion.'

'When did you find it?'

'After he was killed.'

'Why didn't you tell us about
it?"

'Pride, I guess. If he'd been
carrying on .. .'

'It was fifty years ago, Mrs
Openheim. Didn't you read the letter properly?'

'No. Why should I? I could see it was
from some broad ... I could guess what was in it'

'If you'd read it properly you'd
have discovered that they hadn't met since the war. Hardly a reason for
concern.'

Dorinda glared at Rachel, who suddenly
saw it all. Norman had provided the money and done as he was told while Dorinda
was free to spend and enjoy herself as she wished. It was the danger of the
worm turning, the faithful dog biting its mistress, which had worried Dorinda
Openheim. Marion, a shadowy love from the past, could have been a considerable
threat. If Norman had abandoned
 
his wife
for a more comfortable woman, where would Dorinda have stood financially? Would
Todd Weringer have offered her any security for her old age? They only had her
word that she'd found the letter after his death. Was the discovery of Marion's
existence worth murdering him for?

Wesley decided to leave the car at
the hotel and walk back up to the incident room. It was a beautiful day ... too
good to waste.
Rachel, who was still having pangs of conscience about what her bathroom scales
had told her so bluntly that morning, agreed.
Exercise would do both of them good.

Gerry Heffernan was wrestling with
an ever-increasing pile of paper. "Forensic reports have come back.
Nothing much found at the murder scene. Rubbish mostly .. . nothing to do with
Norman Openheim except a half-smoked fag. Probably smoking it when
he died. They say smoking kills you, don't they?'

'Did they find the packet it came
from?'

'No.' Heffernan looked interested.
'Funnily enough, they didn't.'

'Anything else?' Wesley asked.

'Empty lager cans, crisp packets,
used condoms ... lab asked us if we wanted a DNA analysis of their contents. I
said no thanks. Whatever Norman was up to in that chapel it wasn't
fornication.'

'Not this time anyway.'

Heffernan looked at his sergeant
expectantly.

'It's where he used to meet Marion
for a bit of how's your father. But that was fifty years ago.'

See, Wes, sex wasn't invented in the
1960s.'

Wesley thought it best to change the
subject. 'Any word on Mrs Johnson?'

'Car's not been sighted yet.' Heffernan
buried his head in his hands. 'Of all the places in all the world, why did
those Yanks have to come here ... specially in the middle of a crime wave. There
was another break-in last night ... weekend cottage near Tradmouth. Same MO,
usual things taken ... tellies, videos, small high-value items. There was an
ornamental dagger nicked this time ... can't think why someone'd want a thing
like that in their weekend cottage. Let's hope nobody thinks of using it ... one
murder's enough to be going on with.'

'Any news of our friend Rat?'

'No, but it's my guess he hasn't gone
far ... not if he wants to scrounge off his old gran.' Heffernan stood up. 'I
fancy having a look at the murder scene. I could do with a bit of inspiration
on this one. You coming?'

'Can we give the go-ahead to start
the dig yet?'

'Don't see why not. SOCO have been
over it ... they won't have missed much. And if your mates come across a knife,
they can hand it over like good citizens, can't they?'

They walked the short distance from
the village hall to the chantry, passing through the heart of the village with
its pretty pastel cottages.

The parish church of St John's stood
to their left, set in the spacious green of its churchyard. A long path led
between the gravestones up to its ancient porch.

'Have you been in the church, Wes?'

Wesley shook his head.

'I thought I might have a quick look
round this lunch-time. Nothing like an old church for a bit of peace and
quiet... and it's right next to the pub. Whoever planned these villages had the
right idea'

They reached the chantry, half hidden
within its copse of trees and bushes. It was much tidier there than when they
had last seen it All the litter had been taken away for examination. The blue-and-white
tape cordoning off the area still flapped in the breeze.
Heffernan strolled over to where Norman Openheim's body had been found.

'Bet this place has seen some action
in its time. Norman would have been standing here having a quiet fag remembering
his bit of it' He turned his back on Wesley. 'Come up behind me as if you're
going to stab me.'

Wesley obliged.

'How did you feel? What was going
through your mind?'

'How do you mean, sir?'

'What would be your biggest
concern?"

'That you might turn round? You
might start fighting back?"

'But if you knew I couldn't hear
you. that my hearing aid was broken, you'd feel a lot safer, wouldn't you?'

'Unless I was much younger and
stronger... and remember, I've got the knife and you haven't, and I've got the
advantage of surprise.'

'You're right, Wes. That's my theory
out of the window. Just a thought. If we could find the weapon