The Armada Boy (32 page)

'Very well. We'll move on to
something a bit more serious, then ... murder."

Kevin's defiance faded. He looked at
the solicitor, genuinely worried.

'I never murdered no one,' he
stammered.

'Your grandfather was murdered last Sunday night ... about ten o'clock. Have
you got a knife, Kevin?'

'No.'

'Not even a little one?'

'No.'

'What about a bayonet - wartime
souvenir... or a sword?'

'No ... I ain't got nothing like that."

'What about the one we found in your
flat? The one in the box with the jewellery?'

'That's just an ornament... for
decoration."

'Looked pretty lethal to me. Where did you get it?'

'Told you ... I'm looking after it for a mate.'

"The mate you met on Sunday night?'

'Yeah... that's right.'

'Seen him since then?'

'No.'

Heffernan sat back, studying Kevin's
face. 'An ornamental dagger just like that one was nicked from a holiday
cottage on Tuesday night. But if this story about this mate in the pub's true you've
had it longer than that. You could have got it at the pub then went to threaten
your granddad with it... he was killed with a blade just like that.' He glanced
at the solicitor, who was leaning forward, listening intently. 'Are you going
to tell me the truth about these burglaries. Kevin, or am I going to have to
charge you with murder?'

'Really. Inspector. I must object. You've
no real evidence against my client.' The solicitor knew when she was on a
losing streak but she had to make an effort for appearance's sake.

'He's got a motive and no alibi that
he can prove and now we've found a weapon similar to that used to murder his
grandfather.'

'What motive?' She was becoming
curious.

'Money. He hoped to get some money
out of the old man. All Yanks are rich, isn't that right, Kevin. Granddad was
going to save the day. Trouble is the old man wouldn't co-operate. I'm sure we can
make a case out of that. Miss ... er...'

'Etheridge,' said the solicitor
stiffly.

'And the thing is. Miss Etheridge.
if your client was the busy little beaver who's been doing over all these
holiday homes, he'd have a cast-iron alibi for Sunday night. One was done just
outside Tradmouth ... a neighbour heard the alarm go off at quarter past
ten. Also, if he was our burglar he wouldn't have acquired that dagger till
Tuesday night. You see my dilemma. Miss Etheridge. If he denies the burglaries
then he's well and truly in the frame for Granddad's murder."

Kevin Martin put his head in his
hands. Miss Etheridge sat back, considering the best course of action.

Wesley, who had watched the proceedings
with interest, spoke. 'Come on, Kevin, you've got a record for burglary.'

Kevin looked up. 'Okay. I did the
cottages. It weren't like they were people's houses ... only rich bastards who
just use 'cm at the weekends. You should see the stuff in 'em.'

'Okay, Kevin, save us the Marxist
philosophy. You were busy doing over a cottage outside Tradmouth on the night
of the murder.'

'That's right. Anyway. I wouldn't
kill my own granddad ... who'd do a thing like that?'

'It has been known.' sighed Wesley.

After the formal charges and Kevin's
routine refusal to name his accomplices, Gerry Heffernan had one more question
to ask.

'Did you ever meet your granddad, Kevin?'

Kevin shook his head. 'I tried but...'

'What happened?'

'It was on the Sunday, the night he
was ... you know. A mate gave me a lift over to Bereton in his van. We parked
outside the hotel and I didn't know if I should go in or not. We sat outside in
the carpark for about ten minutes ... then I chickened out. We
went... you know…'

'A-burgling?'

'Yeah.'

'So you sat outside for ten minutes.
What time was this?'

'About half nine, quarter past... I don't really know.'

'Did you see anything ... anyone going in and out?'

'Er... yeah. It was boring so we watched 'em.'

'Who did you see?'

'There was this old bird ... got
into a car - hatchback, dark- coloured.'

Sally Johnson. Heffernan thought.

'Then this old guy ... tall... went
towards the beach.'

'Towards the war memorial and that
tank?'

'Yeah.'

The colonel paying his private
respects.

'And there was this old couple...
they walked out of the hotel separately, but once they thought nobody could see
them they got all lovey-dovey and linked arms. We had a laugh about that.'

'Was he tall and white-haired and
she quite small?'

Kevin nodded. Todd and Dorinda.

'Then this old guy came out. He was
wearing a baseball cap and one of them baseball jackets with a name on.'

Wesley sat forward. 'Go on. What did
he do?'

'Well, we were pissing ourselves.
Old codgers shouldn't dress like that... looked daft. He lit a fag and walked
out of the carpark up towards the village. I think.'

'Did you see the name on his
jacket?'

'Yeah .. . began with B.'

'Buffalo Bisons
?'

'Yeah... that sounds about right.
And then there was the other person ... came out after the old codger in the
daft jacket.'

'After? You mean he was following
him?'

Kevin thought for a moment. 'Yeah
... looked like it.'

"Can you describe this person?'
the inspector asked slowly. Heffernan and Wesley sat on the edges of their
seats. Even Miss Etheridge looked at Kevin expectantly.

'He was sort of hunched... in a dark
coat. I didn't see his face. It was dark and he was all hunched over. Now that
I think about it he was definitely following the other bloke ... yeah.'

'This friend of yours, we'd like to
talk to him so that he can confirm your story ... put you in the clear for the
murder.'

Kevin was in a quandary. But he
reasoned that because his companion had been with him at 9.30 it didn't
necessarily follow that he was still with him when he broke into a cottage at
10.15. He gave the name ... a name very familiar to Gerry Heffernan: an
old and valued customer of Tradmouth CID.

'Did you realise that the bloke in
the fancy jacket was your granddad?'

Kevin looked genuinely dumbstruck.
'No, I never met him ... I never knew. Was that him? You sure? Fucking hell...
I never knew."

'That means the person who followed
him could well have been his killer.'

Kevin shook his head, unable to take
it in. 'It was just a figure... not tall, not small.'

'Man or woman?'

'Man ... well, it could have been a
woman, I suppose. I couldn't tell. It was dark. But I remember one thing.
Whoever it was wasn't young, I'm sure of that. And they wore a scarf ... a long
scarf round them covering half their face. That's all I remember.'

'And this person came out of the hotel?'

'I thought so... but I didn't
actually see them come out - they could have been waiting in the bushes. I
suppose. I don't know.' Kevin flopped back into his seat and Wesley switched
the tape off.

'You've done very well, Kevin ...
very well indeed," Heffernan assured him. 'Now we'd like to offer you some
hospitality. There's a nice warm cell waiting.'

Kevin, on his way out, escorted by a
large constable, turned to Heffernan. 'I hope you get whoever did my granddad.'

'At least there's some family feeling
there. Wes.' Heffernan said as Kevin was led away. 'Light-fingered Kevin may
be, but there's no way he'd have done in his old granddad.'

'So who do you reckon did. sir?'

This was waiting for me when I got
to the station.' Heffernan fished in his pocket and handed Wesley a crumpled
letter. Wesley read it.

'Fern Ferrars again.'

"Read what it says.'

'I have, sir. It makes no sense. "Old
sins repeat. When you find the Armada boy you'll know who killed the
soldier." She's a nutcase. We had one at the Met... always coming in the
station and...'

'I don't know, Wes. I'm keeping an
open mind. She did this before, you know. It was a case Stan Jenkins was
working on. Stan never said much about it but he did tell me once over a pint that
she'd been right about something . .. told him where to look for a body.'

Wesley still looked sceptical. 'Well,
we've had a fair amount of boys in this case, most of them villains and none
with any connection with the Armada that I know of. You don't think one of them's
got Spanish ancestors, do you? Could that be it?'

'No idea. Your guess is as good as
mine. Have you seen Rachel this afternoon?'

'No. I haven't. One thing I've been
meaning to mention, sir... I've been reading through some accounts of Bereton
during the war when the Americans were stationed here. One of them mentions a
murder. A local man was shot by one of the Americans when he was out after
rabbits. If Norman Openheim's murder's connected with the past…'

'No harm in looking. Have a word
with Bob Naseby. There's records in that basement dating back to the Domesday
Book, so I've heard. Coming for a pint?'

'I've arranged to meet Neil Watson
at the church. He's looking for a grave.'

'He's gone to the right place, then.
Off you go. I'll have a quick pint in the Tradmouth Arms then back home to a
good book."

The Tradmouth Arms was Heffernan's
local, a few yards from his waterfront home. Wesley, knowing his boss led a
lonely widower's existence, with his two children away at university and only
his beloved boat for company, spoke on impulse. Why don't you come with me to
the church, sir? Might be interesting.'

Heffernan's eyes lit up. 'Yeah.
Thanks, Wes.'

Wesley found himself yawning as he
drove towards Bereton. He parked by the church. The lights were on, illuminating
the pictures in the stained glass so that they glowed, jewel bright, in the
fading dusk.

'Does Pam know you're skiving?"
Heffernan asked, mischief in his voice, knowing he was nudging Wesley's
conscience.

'I told her I'd be late.'

'Wonderful things, wives. Mind you,
don't tell her the truth...best that she thinks you're putting villains behind
bars. Many's the time Kathy thought I was putting in a spot of overtime when I was
having a pint with the lads or taking the Rosie May out on the
river.'

At least it's better than having
another woman.'

Heffernan chuckled as they walked up the church path. 'I'm sure the vicar'd
agree that archaeology's better than adultery. Evening, Vicar.'