A Well-deserved Murder (Trevor Joseph Detective series) (20 page)

He picked it up and tore his hand on barbed wire that had been threaded through the top of the five foot mesh fence that marked the boundary of the Walshes’ garden. Stifling a cry he wiped his hand in the sleeve of his jacket. His suit was washable but after the fall it was probably ruined. He had to forget his pain and follow the fence line until he came to the Howells’ garden. There the wire fence had been pulled down low, presumably so Kacy Howells could step over it and pursue her hobby of axing other people’s trees.

He moved gingerly forward, briefcase in hand, carefully avoiding the top of the Walshes’ fence. He reached the line of conifers that marked the boundary between the two gardens and then reeled as a blow landed on the back of his neck. He fell heavily, landing on his knees. A hand clamped over his mouth. He was lifted from his feet. He felt for his phone and hit the speed dial button. He opened his eyes wide, but all he could see was the silhouette of a dark hooded figure and an opening in the barbed wire-topped fence he had believed solid.

Pressure was exerted on the side of his neck. He knew what it meant and fought against the rising tide of numbing darkness that was engulfing him. It was hopeless. He fell headlong into a swirling mist that blotted everything – even thoughts of Lyn and Marty – from his mind.

‘The boss drove off an hour and half ago. He should be here by now.’ Chris handed out polystyrene cups of coffee before screwing the top back on the vacuum flask.

‘He’ll be here,’ Sarah snapped, failing to hide her own concern.

‘It’s dark out the back. He could have fallen. Perhaps one of us should look for him.’ Constable Harris was keen, eager and fresh out of training.

‘He wouldn’t thank us if we did. He gave us a job. We should do it,’ Sarah said abruptly.

‘We are doing it,’ Chris pointed out logically.

‘What do we do if he doesn’t come?’ Constable Baker asked the question Sarah and Chris were trying to avoid.

‘Nothing until morning,’ Sarah answered decisively. Although she and Chris were the same rank, she had been appointed detective two months before him and assumed seniority whenever they worked together. She knew the day would arrive when he’d challenge her. But so far it hadn’t. ‘The inspector wants undercover surveillance, there’s no sense in blowing our cover.’

‘And if he needs help?’ Chris asked.

‘He has his mobile. He’ll call the station.’

‘Just like you said he’d be, Mum, he was snooping around the back.’ Mick Walsh stood at the kitchen sink washing his hands.

‘You’ve put him in the pool?’

‘Like you said I was to do, after tying his wrists and ankles with plastic ties and stuffing a rag in his mouth.’

‘You taped his mouth?’ Mrs Walsh checked.

‘With parcel tape from the garage.’

‘And fastened the pool cover back on, firmly – and locked it?’

‘I did everything you asked me, Mum. Here’s what I took from his pockets.’ Mick dropped Trevor’s phone, wallet, keys, change, a pack of tissues, warrant card, pen and notebook onto the kitchen table.

Mrs Walsh picked up the phone. She unclipped the back and removed the battery before picking up the notebook and thumbing through it. ‘Good, boy. The boys can take him in the morning when they pick up the delivery. You’d better warn them it will be the last for a while. I had hoped that once Alan Piper was charged the police would stop snooping round here. But that inspector didn’t seem to have anything better to do.’

‘You got the better of him though, Mum,’ Mick smiled.

‘I did. But the sooner we get him out of our pool and garden the happier I’ll be. Tell the boys they’ll have to be more careful with this one than the last two. I don’t want him left where he can be found. The police never forget the death of one of their own. In fact it would be better if his body disappears for good.’

‘What do you think they should do with him, Mum?’

‘Weigh him down and dump him at sea. Tell the boys to give him to the couriers who bring in the next shipment. They can drop him off on their return journey across the channel. If anyone tracks the inspector’s disappearance to us, we’ll be in real trouble. It would mean life in prison – for both of us. And where you might survive to be paroled, I wouldn’t. Not with my health problems.’

‘Don’t worry, Mum. Me and the boys will make sure he’s never found,’ Mick reassured her. It was the first time his mother had trusted him with an important job. She usually called in her “boys”. Did it mean that she was preparing to allow him to manage more of the business? Perhaps even let him take over from her in a year or two and then he’d become the legendary “Red Dragon”.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Peter reached out and grabbed the telephone before it could ring a second time. He glanced at the clock on the wall. One o’clock. Daisy should be at the airport. Had something happened to her – a car accident …

‘Peter.’

‘Lyn? What’s up?’

‘Something’s happened to Trevor.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know. But it’s not good. I’m sure of it.’ Her voice trembled.

‘What makes you think something’s happened to him?’

‘I can feel it. I
know
it …’ she struggled to compose herself. ‘I got a call from his phone.’

‘When?’

‘About eleven twenty.’

‘Did he say anything?’

‘No. I heard heavy breathing, dragging sounds, bangs, voices, too faint for me to hear what was being said, then the phone went dead. I tried calling him back but all I got was “this telephone is not receiving calls”.’

Peter said the first thing that came into his head. ‘You know what an idiot Trevor is. He’s probably lost his phone or dropped it …’

‘He’s in trouble, Peter,’ Lyn contradicted him fiercely. ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘Yes,’ Peter admitted reluctantly.

‘Tell me where.’

‘You know I can’t.’

‘Peter …’

‘Trevor and Dan will have my head and various other parts of my anatomy for doing what I’m about to, but at the risk of blowing Trevor’s cover I’ll check on him.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise,’ he agreed reluctantly.

‘And you’ll phone …’

‘I’ll get him to phone you, so you can explain to him exactly why I countermanded his and Dan’s orders. Look after Marty and stop worrying, Lyn. He’ll be fine.’ He hung up the phone and tried Trevor’s number. As Lyn said, it wasn’t receiving calls.

He sent a text to Sarah Merchant’s phone. ‘
Must speak T J
.’

Thirty seconds later he received a reply.

TJ absent.

He looked the clock again, picked up the phone and called Dan.

Peter left his apartment block to see Dan parked outside.

‘That was quick,’ he climbed into the car.

‘I was still up. You?’

‘I’d showered so I had to dress.’

‘The driver said he dropped Trevor off in the lane at eleven.’

‘Even allowing for darkness he should have reached the house half an hour later.’ Peter glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

‘He’s been missing two and half hours.’ Dan didn’t need to look at the clock. ‘He could have seen something through the back windows of the Walshes’ house and decided to monitor them from the woods. Or he could have fallen, hurt himself …’

‘In which case he would have phoned.’

‘And if his phone was broken in the fall. That might explain the noises Lyn heard. The laboured breathing and dragging sounds.’ Dan stopped at a set of traffic lights and glanced across at Peter who was tapping the window with his fingertips. ‘That won’t help change the lights to green.’

‘You’re as on edge as I am.’

‘I am,’ Dan admitted. The lights finally changed and he drove off.

‘You going to the lane at the back of the house?’ Peter asked.

‘No.’

‘You’re driving up to the house?’

‘The Howells’ to roust Trevor’s team and then we’ll search the Walshes’ house. An officer is missing,’ Dan said flatly.

Sarah Merchant stared in amazement when Dan Evans and Peter Collins drew up outside the Howells’ house. Seconds later they walked into the living room.

‘Still no sign of Trevor?’ Peter asked.

‘No, sir.’

‘His phone went out in this area,’ Dan informed her. ‘You sure you haven’t seen or heard him?’

‘Absolutely, sir.’

Peter looked at Dan. ‘Want me to go and wake up next door?’

‘As we haven’t a search warrant, we’ll have to.’

Peter left his finger on the Walshes’ doorbell for a good twenty seconds. Mick Walsh stumbled down the stairs, his eyes bleary and his limbs heavy.

‘So sorry to wake you, Mr Walsh, but it is an emergency.’ Dan showed his warrant card to Mick.

Mrs Walsh’s voice, querulous, thick with sleep, wafted down the stairs. ‘Who is it, Mick?’

‘The police, Mum.’

‘They can’t come in, not at this time of night.’

Dan stepped into the small hall, and looked up the stairs. ‘I am very sorry to disturb you, Mrs Walsh, but we are concerned about one of our officers who was last seen in this area. Inspector Trevor Joseph …’

‘He was here, tonight,’ Mick broke in, eager to be of service.

‘What time did he leave?’ Dan knew the answer to his question because he had spoken to the police driver who had dropped Trevor off in the lane, but now that he was in the house he had no intention of leaving until it had been thoroughly searched. All he needed was an excuse that would hold up with “upstairs”. Peter had stepped in behind him and was already edging towards the kitchen.

‘He left just before I took Mum up to bed and I always do that around eleven o’clock.’

Peter started to cough. ‘Do you mind if I have a glass of water?’ Without waiting for Mick to reply he pushed his way into the kitchen.

‘Mick, come and get me,’ Mrs Walsh shouted down the stairs.

Mick looked helplessly after Peter.

Her voice took on an iron tone. ‘Mick?’

‘Coming, Mum.’ He ran up the stairs.

Peter appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was holding a bunch of keys.

Dan saw them and blanched. ‘Trevor’s?’ He didn’t know why he’d asked.

‘Do you know any other idiot who’d walk round with a silver teddy bear this size on his key-ring?’

Dan called the back-up team and ordered them to bring dogs. Peter fetched the surveillance team from the Howells’ house. Sarah and Chris started searching the upstairs, Constables Harris and Baker the downstairs while he and Dan ushered Mrs Walsh and her son into the living room.

‘The inspector had a small brandy and some petit fours with us and accidentally left his keys …’

‘How did he drive away, Mrs Walsh?’ Dan asked, watching Peter who was prowling back and forth in front of the back window, staring into the floodlit garden.

‘He must have had spares. We didn’t notice the keys until after he’d left. I told Mick to remind me to call the telephone number Inspector Joseph had given us in the morning …’

Peter interrupted. ‘What have you done with him?’

‘I told you. All we did was give him a small brandy …’

‘Trevor doesn’t drink on duty.’ Peter watched Mick stare out of the back window.

‘Sit down, Mick.’ His mother ordered sharply.

‘It’s still raining. Raining heavy …’

Peter followed Mick’s line of sight. It had been raining steadily for two or three hours. The first rain they’d had after a long dry spell. Water was standing on the vinyl pool cover, but one corner was drier than the rest …

Peter sprung the lock on the patio doors, slid them open and charged outside. He fought with the fastening on the cover. It was heavier than he thought it would be.

It took what felt like a lifetime to wrench back the corner and uncover the edge of the pool. When he succeeded Trevor’s face, unnaturally white in a pool of black water looked up at him, the eyes open, staring … then he blinked.

‘Another inch downwards and you’d be dead, mate,’ Peter muttered as he hauled him out. It wasn’t easy. Trevor had wrapped his fingers into the buckles that fastened the cover. Two of them hung limp – and broken.

‘I suppose it’s a small price to pay for your life.’ Peter laid him gently on the sodden lawn.

* * *

Dan and Peter sat in the back of the crematorium, not that there were many mourners. Sam and Mary Jenkins and George Howells watched the curtains close around Kacy Howells’ coffin to the accompaniment of Mozart’s Requiem. When the music died, Peter rose to his feet and walked out.

‘Think they’ll convict the Walshes of killing Kacy Howells as well as Snaggy, Lofty, the other drug war victims, and the attempted murder of Trevor?’ he asked Dan.

‘I don’t know. Mick Walsh is singing like a bird but the defence may try to make something of his mental disability and ask that his evidence be regarded as inadmissible. But even without the murder charges, I predict that Mrs Walsh is going down for a long, long time. That was quite a haul of heroin and cocaine they found in her garage. Two of the dealers we caught trying to make a pick-up are anxious to cut a deal. They’ve shopped Mick for murdering Lofty and Snaggy. I’m not sure I believe them, but it’s all out of my hands now and up to the courts. We’ve delivered the evidence and the rotten eggs. It’s the judge and jury’s job to decide who did what.’ Dan watched a man leave by the side door of the chapel and place two wreaths on a concrete plinth. Both were small. One of lilies, the other of roses. After he dropped them he pushed a slip of paper into a holder and set it in front of them.

Peter read the label. ‘
Kacy Louise Howells.
Not much to show for a life is it? But then what do any of us leave behind?’

‘Hopefully more people to miss and mourn us than she did,’ Dan commented. ‘Want to call in the hospital and see Trevor?’

‘He was hoping to go home today. How about a drink?’ Peter asked.

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘But not Platform 10, or anywhere else that narks hang out,’ Peter warned. ‘I want a nice quiet drink.’

‘Call yourself a copper?’

‘Later on I might. Not just now.’ Peter went to his car and opened the door.

Peter finished reading the article, folded the newspaper and placed it on the rack beneath the coffee table. He looked at Daisy who set a large fruit basket on the table.

‘Poor Trevor,’ she murmured. ‘I hope he’s well enough to enjoy this. Pneumonia’s not good.’

‘Lucky bugger’s got a month off work. All he has to do is play with Marty and be fussed over by Lyn.’

‘Pneumonia’s not a joke.’ She took a bottle of perfume and a teddy bear she’d bought in duty free for Lyn and Marty out of a plastic bag and set them next to the basket.

‘How many officers do you know who are stupid enough to allow someone to dump them in a swimming pool?’

‘Stop doing that.’

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Acting like what happened to Trevor is a huge joke and you don’t care about him.’

‘Daisy …’ he hesitated.

‘Yes,’ she prompted when his voice tailed.

‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Coming from you, that sounds ominous.’

‘About that house you wanted to buy …’

‘Yes,’ she prompted again.

‘I was talking to Alan …’

‘About the beauty queen who turned up fit and well in Hollywood, and who was never in a North African harem?’

‘He never wrote that article about her being sold into white slavery. And after what happened when he tried to follow her story, I didn’t think it wise to bring up the subject with him,’ Peter said impatiently. ‘He’s putting his house on the market. Both he and his lady love Judy are selling up and moving out of the cul-de-sac. They’re going to buy a penthouse together on the Marina.’

‘Sounds sensible given Alan’s lifestyle.’

‘He said being locked up in prison made him think about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.’

‘I’ve no doubt a stint in a cell will do that, although I hope I never experience it.’

‘It made me think about his house …’

‘No.’

‘You don’t know what I’m about to say.’

‘Yes I do,’ she contradicted him.

‘It’s a nice house and it has a big garden. And now that George Howells has put his on the market as well …’

‘And no doubt the Walshes’ will either be rented or put on the market.’

‘As well as Alan’s lady love’s. So many houses in one street. It’s bound to drive the price down,’ he pointed out.

‘My answer’s still the same. No, Peter, I am not moving into that cul-de sac.’

‘I never had you down as superstitious. Just because there was a murder …’

‘It’s nothing to do with the Howells murder. The houses in that cul-de-sac haven’t a view that’s a patch on Trevor and Lyn’s.’

‘They’re bigger.’

‘I’d like a sea view.’

‘Trevor and Lyn only have a courtyard.’

‘And the beach on their doorstep with a front gate that opens directly on to it. Tell me, Peter, which one of us has time for gardening?’

‘You?’ he joked.

‘Besides, I’ve bought a house. I signed the papers when I came back yesterday. I noticed it was for sale the last time we visited Trevor and Lyn. It’s two doors up from them. I thought it would suit us quite nicely. And it has three bedrooms, two more than we need – at present – but one of which we’ll be needing in about seven months or so. So,’ she smiled at the expression on his face, ‘was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about before we go sick visiting?’