A Well-deserved Murder (Trevor Joseph Detective series) (8 page)

‘There’s more to heaven and earth than we know. This life is short, the after-life is for all eternity …’

‘Please,’ Mrs Jenkins begged, ‘No bible quotes. Not today. Our daughter is dead. Do you know what that means, Dad? Kacy is dead. We’ll never see her again. Never ever …’Mrs Jenkins gulped in air before succumbing to hysteria. Her husband slipped his arms around her shoulders.

‘Of course we’ll see her again, Mum. And when we do she will be cleansed of sin and cloaked in glory.’

George Howells rose to his feet. ‘Inspector, Sergeant. Please leave.’

Trevor retrieved the magazine and returned the photographs of the sex aids to his folder. He hadn’t had time to show them to Kacy’s parents.

‘I told you not to give that magazine to Kacy’s parents,’ George reproached them as he escorted Trevor and Peter to the front door.

‘Would you like us to stop investigating your wife’s murder, Mr Howells?’ Peter challenged.

George flushed. ‘No.’

‘Then, help us to do our job. Investigating a murder means investigating the victim’s life.’ Trevor stood back while George opened the front door.

‘That magazine has nothing to do with Kacy’s life,’ George insisted.

‘That advertisement has everything to do with Kacy’s life.’ Trevor followed Peter out into what passed for a garden. ‘Someone placed that advert, Mr Howells. Someone with access to a computer, Kacy’s photograph, and a current credit card in her name. Whoever it was – and we haven’t discounted the possibility that it was your wife – they had enough acumen to make it look as though the advert was e-mailed from abroad. If that someone wasn’t Kacy Howells we need to find out who they are and why they targeted her. If our methods distress you, please try to remember our priority is the apprehension of a murderer before he strikes again.’

‘If you need me or my parents-in-law, we will be here for the next week or two, Inspector.’ George closed the front door on them.

‘Even allowing for his wife’s murder, that bloke’s got an attitude problem. And that was a waste of a morning, Joseph,’ Peter complained.

‘Not entirely,’ Trevor countered. ‘We now know that Kacy Howells didn’t like her family visiting her in her leafy suburban paradise, probably because, as her brother believed, she was a snob who was ashamed of her origins. We also know her parents made excuses for her attitude towards them. And, my instinct tells me that we need to thoroughly check out her father’s alibi.’

‘Not much of a family man if he prefers chapel elders’ meetings and painting the chapel hall to an outing with his grandchildren.’

‘You noticed he didn’t comment on Kacy’s photograph in the magazine?’ Trevor questioned.

‘I did.’

‘He couldn’t take his eyes off it but he didn’t look shocked.’

‘Almost as if he had seen it before,’ Peter agreed. ‘I’ve never trusted people who call themselves “Mum” and “Dad” once they have kids. Or tell me that the next time they’re going to see their murdered loved ones they will be “cleansed of sin and covered in glory”.’

‘It was cloaked in glory and you’re suspicious of all religion.’

‘Too damned right, I am. And religious nuts of any denomination.’

‘Try and set religion and republicanism aside for the duration of this case,’ Trevor pleaded.

‘And look at what we’ve got? Family ties? Kacy’s “Mum” and “Dad” made excuses for her and wooden George’s snobbery towards them. And Mark Jenkins hated her with something more than your usual brotherly animosity.’ Peter glanced across the wasteland of scrap metal to next-door’s garden which was even more rubbish-strewn than the one they were standing in. A car was propped up on jacks and Mark Jenkins was fighting to remove the wheel-nuts.

CHAPTER NINE

Trevor walked down the path and out through where there might have once been a gate, given the evidence of rusting posts. There weren’t even remnants of posts separating the jungle of weeds and rusting islands of metal that was Mark Jenkins’s garden from the pavement.

Mark didn’t look up when Trevor approached but he inclined his head towards his parents’ house. ‘I suppose
he’s
staying on there.’

‘If you’re referring to your brother-in-law, George Howells, he did say we could contact him there for the next week or two,’ Trevor answered.

‘He’s got a home all bought and paid for with his mum and dad’s graft, not his, and from the way Kacy and him used to talk about it, you’d think it was a bloody mansion, so why doesn’t he go there?’

‘Because we are still working there. Our forensic teams,’ Trevor explained in answer to Mark’s quizzical look.

‘He’s always boasting about how much money he’s got. Why doesn’t he go to a hotel?’

‘Perhaps he thinks the children will be better off with your mother for a while.’

‘Kacy’s kids are better off around Mum. Kacy never wanted either of them. God knows why she didn’t abort them; she didn’t have a single maternal bone in her body. As for George, he’ll do anything to live life on the cheap. Christ knows how much he earns but I’m betting he won’t give Mum a pound coin to help her feed him and those kids while they stay with her.’

Trevor opened the file he was carrying and removed the magazine. ‘I’d like you to look at this Mr Jenkins. I showed it to George and your parents. It upset them, but given that the magazine was published in paper and internet form three days before your sister was killed, it’s one of the leads we are following.’

George turned his head and looked at it but made no attempt to take it from Trevor. ‘Big sister finally showed her true colours.’

‘True colours?’ Peter repeated.

‘She always played the Sunday School girl around Mum and Dad. Even went to Dad’s Bible-thumping chapel with them twice every Sunday until she left home. But I knew what she was really like. Couldn’t escape it. I used to get teased about her mercilessly. Knickerless Kacy they used to call her when she was in the sixth form. In the civil service it was No knickers Kacy. Into all sorts by all accounts, but I only know what people told me in the pub. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would discuss with me or my Missus.’

‘Do you understand the reference to “Cheese on Toast”?’ Trevor asked.

‘Course. But I never heard that Kacy and George were into wife-swapping. I wouldn’t put it past her, but George?’ Mark turned back to his wheel nuts. ‘Face it; I can’t imagine any woman being thrilled with the thought of swapping her old man for him.’

‘You don’t like him?’

‘I don’t like his stinginess with money, his sponging off my parents, the way he and Kacy used to dump the kids on Mum whenever it suited them, but most of all I hate the way he echoed everything Kacy said. First time I met him I thought he was gay and wet. I couldn’t make out what he thought about anything, then I realised that before he hooked up with Kacy he was a blank slate. He didn’t have a personality. After they married he adopted hers. Kacy always was into exhibitionism, but I couldn’t tell you if George followed her down the kinky sex route.’

‘What kind of kinky sex?’ After a stint on the vice squad Peter knew people’s ideas on what was “kinky sex” varied enormously.

‘When she was in the comprehensive she often used to take on half a dozen blokes in the bandstand in the park of an evening. One of my mates, Jason White, went out with her for a while. He told me she found it a real turn on when people were watching. She’d wind him up and unzip him in all sorts of places. Trains, supermarkets, football matches, cinemas, clubs, you name it, she’d want to do it there. The more public the place, the better she liked it. He said he found it exciting at first but then he got tired of people staring and being questioned by the police. He found himself a nice quiet girl and settled down. But that’s what we all want in the end, isn’t it?’

‘A nice quiet girl,’ Peter suggested.

‘I think all blokes are the same when it comes down to it. They visit strip joints and parlours in a crowd with their mates, pay for a lap dance and make a lot of noise pretending they’re enjoying it, but sex as a spectator sport palls after a while. It’s best done in private.’

‘Do you think Kacy settled for that after she married George?’ Trevor probed.

‘She didn’t when was living with her last bloke…’

‘John Evans?’ Trevor broke in.

‘That’s him. He got on well with Mum and Dad. And Jen and me liked him a lot. Last time I bumped into John, he told me he had been trying to kick Kacy out for years. He finally resorted to paying her thousands to get her out of his house, although she never gave him a penny towards the mortgage and every month he had to fight to get her to pay anything towards the bills. He told me it was worth every penny to be rid of her because he couldn’t stand her antics any more.’

‘What exactly were her “antics”?’ Trevor checked.

‘Having sex with other blokes in their garden in full view of him and their neighbours. It was her speciality at barbecues. A couple of vodkas and she was any- and everybody’s.’

‘She built a high deck in the garden of her present house,’ Peter commented.

‘Exactly.’ Mark finally managed to loosen the last nut on the wheel. He removed it and lifted the wheel from the car.

‘You think Kacy was being unfaithful to George?’ Trevor asked.

‘I don’t think, Inspector. I know.’

‘Do you know the names of any of her current lovers?’

‘Her window-cleaner is fond of bragging in the pub, as for the others; check the electoral roll for her street and yellow pages. If she carried on as she did when she was living with John Evans, it will be every male she’d been introduced to between the ages of sixteen and sixty.’

‘And Jason White?’ Trevor had filed away the name of Kacy’s early lover.

‘Went to Canada two years ago. Him and his missus are loving every minute of it. The e-mails and pictures they send us are making me and Jen think hard about moving there ourselves.’

‘So, after a long morning interviewing, we have a mother who was almost afraid of Kacy Howells, a brother who hated her …’

‘Because she slept around indiscriminately and was a snob, neither of which is sufficient grounds for murder,’ Trevor reminded Peter.

‘A father whose alibi needs checking.’

‘You volunteering?’

‘No. Ask a female to do it. You know me and male chapel elders. And before you say a word, they will all be male. Chapel elders haven’t heard of the Sex Discrimination Act. Send in Sarah and they’ll treat her like a two-year-old. But they’ll tell a two-year-old girl, things they wouldn’t tell a man.’

‘You can interview Kacy’s lovers. Make a list of them and get their alibis checked out.’

‘That should keep me busy for the next ten years,’ Peter quipped.

‘I hope not. The sooner this case is closed, the sooner I can take Lyn and Marty down to Cornwall for a break.’

‘Optimist. The sooner this case is closed the sooner we can move on to the next one,’ Peter corrected him.

‘Some forensic results are in, sir,’ Sarah greeted Trevor when he and Peter walked into the interview room. ‘DNA as well as fingerprints. I put a copy on your desk.’

Trevor sat down and took the coffee Peter had poured him. ‘Tell me?’

‘The axe handle has Kacy Howells’, Alan Piper’s, her father’s and eldest son’s fingerprints and traces of the DNA of all four.’

‘So much for the tools being locked away and the children not allowed to touch them,’ Peter observed.

‘There are also smudges overlaying all of the prints and the smears of Kacy Howells’ blood.’

Trevor gingerly picked up his polystyrene coffee cup. His fingertips had always been over sensitive to heat. ‘Gloves?’

‘The lab thinks latex.’

‘So whoever killed her could have picked up the axe wearing gloves. Wouldn’t he have left any traces of DNA?’

‘According to the lab technicians, if the murderer had gone in the way we do, which is the way it’s depicted on every TV crime drama and documentary – suited, booted and gloved, hair covered, not necessarily.’

‘Our Mrs Walsh-cum-street clarion didn’t pick up on any suited, booted, hatted and gloved murderers walking up the street, or arriving in cars,’ Peter observed.

‘Given her thoroughness, she would have noticed,’ Sarah flicked through the papers in front of her. ‘A discarded tissue was found on the decking; it had Alan Piper’s DNA and blood on it.’

Trevor looked at Peter. He had fallen suddenly and uncharacteristically silent.

‘DNA and blood,’ Trevor repeated. ‘Is there any margin for error?’

‘None, sir,’ Sarah assured him. ‘Chewing gum was found on the decking, also with Alan Piper’s DNA. And Kacy Howells’ and Alan Piper’s fingerprints were found on paving bricks under the pots on the decking and on two of the pots.’

‘Any other fingerprints found on the deck or the chest that contained the tools and the cupboard that held the sex aids?’ Trevor asked.

‘Apart from the family …’

‘When you say family, do you mean just Kacy, George and the children or her parents and brother as well,’ Peter checked.

Sarah scanned the file. Kacy’s, her husband’s, her children’s and father’s prints were all over the deck and inside the house. Only two sets of her mother’s prints were found on the chairs on the deck. And they were months old. No sets of her brother’s, his wife’s or his children’s prints.’

‘What about her father’s prints, were they old?’ Trevor finished her coffee and tossed the cup into the bin.

‘They were fresh.’

Trevor eyed Peter.

‘I’ll update Chris on the father’s alibi.’ Peter left his chair and joined Chris at his desk in the far corner of the room.

‘What about the sex aids?’ Trevor asked Sarah.

‘They had all been washed, but traces of Mrs Howells’ DNA remained and, so far, twelve sets of unidentified DNA.’

‘George Howells’ DNA?’

‘Not on any of them, sir.’

‘Call Alan Piper and ask him to come in right away. You are free to interview him?’

‘Me, sir?’ Sarah echoed.

‘I’ll be the one asking the questions.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Until he comes in you can help Peter compile a list of visitors to the house. Arrange to have all their DNA samples taken and get the lab to check them against the DNA on the sex aids. I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.’

Trevor blanched at the mountain of witness statements Sarah had printed and left on his desk. Too large for his in-tray, it was daunting, but somewhere amongst all the minutiae of daily life in the cul-de-sac Kacy Howells had lived and died in, a vital clue could be hidden. He sat behind his desk, opened his computer and started a time-line.

The farmer behind Kacy’s house had said that he had seen her working on his trees on his land at midday. He called up Patrick O’Kelly’s post-mortem report. Patrick hadn’t deviated from the initial assessment he had made at the scene around eleven forty-five, when he said that Kacy Howells had been dead for at least three to four hours, and probably earlier.

Trevor returned to the time-line page. All he knew was that Kacy Howells had been alive – and presumably clothed, because the farmer hadn’t commented – otherwise at midday and dead at eight forty-five at the latest. He was left with a window of nearly nine hours. A window that needed narrowing.

The telephone rang, he picked it up.

‘Mr Piper’s arrived, sir.’

‘Thank you, Sarah.’

‘Interview room 2 is free, sir.’

‘Show him in, I’m on my way.’

Peter was hovering outside the door that led to the interview rooms.

‘Sarah’s sitting in on this one,’ Trevor anticipated and pre-empted Peter’s request.

‘Do you mind if I observe?’

‘Because Alan’s your cousin and friend?’

‘Because I might pick up on something that you and Sarah miss.’

‘Don’t enter the room unless I invite you in,’ Trevor warned. He pushed open the door. Sarah had brought two copies of the forensic report on the findings on the deck in Kacy Howells’ garden, along with a pot of coffee and three mugs.

‘Hello again,’ Alan greeted Trevor. ‘Do you interview everyone who finds a murder victim twice, or did I draw the lucky straw?’

‘We need to clarify a few points.’ Trevor sat down, hit the record button and went through the preliminaries before opening the report. Sarah had thoughtfully highlighted all the findings relevant to Alan Piper.

‘Your fingerprints have been found on paving bricks used to raise pots on Mrs Howells’ deck. Could you explain how they got there please, Mr Piper?’

‘As I said yesterday, Kacy Howells has been stealing property from my garden for some considerable time. Including approximately two square metres of paving bricks.’

‘You say approximately. How did you arrive at two metres?’

‘Because I was two square metres short when I laid a path in my garden. I knew I’d ordered sufficient for the job. I looked around and that’s when I saw that she’d used my bricks to lift her pots.’

‘You explained how your fingerprints came to be on the axe yesterday. You also said that you hadn’t been in the Howells’ garden for several years.’

‘That’s right, not since old Mrs Howells died.’

Trevor lifted his head and looked directly into Alan Piper’s eyes. ‘A tissue and a piece of chewing gum, both impregnated with your DNA were found on the decking where Kacy Howells was murdered. Can you provide an explanation as to how they came to be there, Mr Piper?’

The silence in the room was palpable. The atmosphere tense and escalating. Trevor continued to look Alan directly in the eye.

‘I can’t explain it,’ Alan said finally.

‘Do you chew gum?’ Trevor glanced at the report to make sure he had the facts right. The gum had contained nicotine.’

‘Nicotine gum,’ Alan confirmed. ‘I was a heavy smoker for more than twenty years. When my wife was diagnosed with cancer I gave it up. Now, I only smoke the occasional cigar. In between I chew nicotine gum.’