Kennedy 01 - Into the Shadows (24 page)

But when I saw that bleeding scarf ‘

‘What sort of scarf was it?’ Jill asked.

Janie Fisher sat down and, without waiting to be invited, Max and Jill followed her example.

Jill could see she was shaken and doing her best to remember everything.

‘It was a dark maroon scarf. Looked like silk to me. Of course, it might have been a flashy handkerchief or something.’

‘Did he look the type to have silk handkerchiefs?’ Jill asked.

Janie Fisher shook her head.

‘And the scarf or handkerchief, whatever it was, was in his jacket pocket? Right?’ Max asked.

‘Yes, his jacket was lying on the back seat of the car. A brown corduroy casual jacket.’ She thought for a moment.

‘He was wearing a shirt, brushed cotton probably. It was a pale colour - yellow perhaps. And he was wearing a baseball cap that kept his face in shadow. I don’t know, it was dark and I could only go by the car’s interior light.’

‘Tell us about the man himself. What did he look like?’

Jill asked.

“I don’t know because I couldn’t see much. He was big, though. Big shoulders.’

Jill knew the description wouldn’t be too reliable. If people were frightened, the person responsible was always described as being big, powerful and threatening.

‘What about the car?’ Max asked. ‘You said it was a big car, either dark blue or black. Is that right?’

‘Yes, but it was dark and, to be honest, with Christmas round the corner, I was more interested in the cash he showed me. Must have had at least a grand in his wallet.

But as soon as I saw that scarf, I lost my nerve and scarpered. Lost my bleedin’ handbag, too.’

‘This car, though, was it a big saloon or an estate?’

“I don’t know. It might have been the same as yours.’

Jill and Max both turned to look out at his car, reassuring themselves that it was still there. They didn’t have a good view, though; the wheels could easily be missing.

‘He had big hands,’ Janie said vaguely.

‘Big hands?’ Jill queried. ‘What sort of hands? Did they look soft and well cared for? Or were they work roughened? Do you think he worked at a desk or something more manual?’

“I don’t know.’

‘What about the inside of the car?’ Max asked. ‘What was that like?’

‘Dark upholstery. That coat lying on the back seat.’ She sighed. “I can’t remember anything else.’

‘Could he have had grey hair?’ Max asked. ‘Tall, early fifties, grey hair, fit-looking?’

Jill scowled at him. He’d just described Tony

Hutchinson.

“I didn’t see his hair. It was under that baseball cap,’

she explained. ‘He was younger than that, though. He sounded younger anyway.’

‘Any sort of accent?’ Jill put in.

‘Nothing I noticed.’

‘OK, humour me, will you?’ Max asked, giving her one of his coaxing smiles. ‘Tell us again exactly what happened, where you were, and where you went afterwards.’

‘Are you lot fucking thick or what?’

Gritting her teeth, Janie told them exactly what had happened from start to finish. They’d hoped her story might have changed, or that something else might have come to mind, but she told them nothing they didn’t already know.

“I found my mate quickly which was just as well because I had to borrow the taxi fare off her. She lives in Burnley, too. We both work out in Preston.’

‘And your husband thinks you have a job in a supermarket?’

Jill asked.

‘Yes, and I don’t want him knowing any different. OK?’

‘Of course.’ Max got to his feet. ‘Thanks for that. We’ll be off now. One more thing, though. Will you come out to my car and see if you can spot any differences?’

She frowned, puzzled.

‘You reckon he might have been driving a blue Ford Mondeo like mine. If I sit in it, and we pretend I’m him, it might jog your memory’

‘Sure.’ She wanted to be rid of them.

They got as far as the hall and then the dog was there, breathing on Jill’s hand and growling menacingly.

‘It’s OK, Lennox/ Max said. ‘We’re leaving now.’

‘What did you call him?’ Janie asked.

‘Ah, sorry, he’s Tyson, isn’t he? He looks more like a Lennox to me.’

Janie Fisher looked at him as if he were mad. Jill knew how she felt.

‘You’re sure you can’t remember even one letter or number from the registration plate?’ Jill asked as they walked outside.

“I didn’t even look at it.’

Max flicked the remote to unlock the car. At least the wheels were still attached.

‘OK, I’ll sit inside,’ he said. ‘This chap wound the window down to talk to you, right?’

‘Yeah.’

Max sat inside the car, started the engine and hit the button for the window.

Janie peered inside. ‘His car was cleaner and tidier.’

Jill also peered in and saw the passenger footwell. There were at least four empty plastic cups. The rest of the car was no better. Pens and loose change were scattered around, CDs were waiting to be put back in cases, and there was more dog hair than Tyson could boast. Jill hadn’t thought anything of it when he’d driven her out here, but it was a mess.

‘Other than that/ Janie said, ‘it might have been a car like this.’

‘What about the man himself?’ Max pushed on. ‘What was the difference between him and me?’

‘You’re better looking.’ For the first time, Jill saw a hint of a smile on her face.

‘Why, thank you/ Max said, taken aback.

‘Mind you, he was probably better looking in daylight.

You do smell better, though.’ She frowned. ‘There was a funny smell to his car. It was a mixture of dampness, something musty, and orange air freshener. Yeah, his car smelt damp.’

‘Damp?’ Jill queried.

‘Yeah.’ Janie straightened up. ‘Sorry, that’s all I can tell you.’

‘OK, Janie. Thanks for that. If we need to talk to you ‘

‘Don’t come at the weekend or in the evenings,’ she warned. “I don’t want my old man knowing about it.’

‘Don’t worry. But if you think of anything else, anything at all, give me a call, OK?’ Max took a card from his pocket.

‘That number will get straight through to me.’

She took the card from him.

‘And be careful,’ he warned as he pushed opened the car door for Jill.

Jill suspected Max was relieved to be driving out of the estate with a full set of wheels.

“I reckon you were well in there,’ she quipped. ‘With a bit of luck, you’d probably get a discount.’

‘Oh, very droll. So what did you think?’

“I think,’ Jill said carefully, ‘that Janie Fisher’s one lucky lady’

He looked at her as he slowed for a corner.

“I think she’s the first witness,’ Jill said.

‘You really think it was Valentine?’

‘Yes, I do. Who else would carry around a grand in cash?

With that sort of loose change, you don’t have to waste your time kerb-crawling. Now, why in hell’s name would his car smell damp?’ she murmured, puzzled. ‘Because it’s not used often,’ she answered her own question. ‘It spends most of its time locked away in a garage - a damp garage.

So he has two cars.’

‘You’d better mention all this to your mate Cornwall,’

Max told her.

‘Oh, great. And how do I explain how I came to be out here with you?’

He laughed. ‘You’ll think of something.’

With Christmas and the New Year celebrations over, the office was returning to normal, and Max wasn’t sorry about that. He preferred normal.

Christmas was great for the kids, but there was nothing else to recommend it. Max hated the waste. Instead of buying presents no one wanted, he wished people would donate the money to charity. It would be far simpler. It would cut down on the number of burglaries, too.

But Christmas was over, thank God.

“I sometimes think,’ he said to no one in particular, ‘that if people in this country stopped owning dogs, we’d never solve a crime.’

‘You what, guv?’ Grace looked up from the computer on her desk.

‘We’ve had a call from a woman out walking her dog,’

Max told her. ‘The dog found a shotgun.’

‘Great stuff.’

‘Indeed. It was at the bottom of a bonfire that had been built for a New Year party they were having in Kelton. The party was cancelled because of the bad weather.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Alan and Fletch were near Kelton so they should have it by now.’

No sooner had he spoken than Atkinson put his head round the door. ‘That gun, guv?’

‘Yes?’ Max knew from the smile that Atkinson was failing to hide that he didn’t want to hear this. ‘It’s not a sodding toy one, is it?’

‘The dog thinks so,’ Atkinson said, grinning. ‘They can’t get it off her. Thinks it’s a stick, they reckon.’ His grin grew broader. ‘They’ve called in for back-up.’

‘Bloody hell!’

‘We’ve got a vet and the local dog warden on their way.

And a couple of uniforms are out there.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Max muttered.

‘The dog’s owner is getting hysterical. I suppose that’s understandable if the gun’s loaded. The dog could shoot itself. Or Fletch/ he added with a guffaw of laughter. ‘Now that’d be a first. Has a copper ever been shot by a dog?’

‘God knows. But if Fido’s a good shot, he can come round here for some bloody target practice.’

‘It’s Tilly, guv. A Labrador cross puppy, by all accounts.

I thought it might have been a Rottweiler at the very least, but no, it’s an Andrex puppy.’

Unable to control his mirth any longer, Atkinson left the room.

Max was glad someone was finding something to smile about. He wasn’t. As each day passed, any clues left by the killer or killers of Alice and Jonathan Trueman were being lost. They were getting nowhere.

This shotgun had been found at the bottom of a pile of wood less than a quarter of a mile from the church.

Surely to God it had to be the one used to kill Jonathan Trueman, the same gun that had been stolen from Tony Hutchinson.

As soon as that damned Andrex puppy had finished playing with it and they could confirm it was Hutchinson’s gun, he was going to lean on that man. Heavily.

It was almost two hours later when Alan and Fletch returned.

‘Woof, woof,’ someone growled.

‘Fuck off!’ Fletch snapped back, but this merely brought forth gales of laughter.

When they had Hutchinson in the interview room, Max wondered where to start. Hutchinson was already pissing him off, simply because he was delighted to be asked to help them. The cocky bastard enjoyed being the centre of attention.

“I suppose,’ Hutchinson said as soon as they’d switched on the tape and identified themselves, ‘that now you’ve found my gun, I’m chief suspect?’

‘You are. So tell me again where you were on the evening of November twenty-ninth, the night Jonathan True man was murdered.’

“I arrived at the school at 7 p.m.,’ he explained patiently.

‘And your mistress?’ Max asked. ‘Where was she? Still in the hotel room in Manchester?’

“I dropped her off at her house,’ he said, reddening slightly. ‘We didn’t think we should arrive at the school together. You know how tongues wag.’

They didn’t wag as much as Max would have liked.

‘So I dropped her off and drove straight to the school.

That would have been seven o’clock. No, it was a few minutes before that actually. I remember wanting to hear the seven o’clock news on the radio and I was planning to sit in the car until it came on. However, a lad’s mother, Mrs Tooney - I can give you her address - arrived and parked alongside me. I thought it would look rude to ignore her so I walked into the building with her.’

Mrs Tooney had already confirmed that.

‘Have you ever slept with Mrs Tooney?’

‘Have you seen her?’

Max hadn’t, but Fletch had said that given the choice of a night with Mrs Tooney or a night with a dozen rats, he’d choose the latter. Not that there would have been much difference, Fletch reckoned.

‘Perhaps she’d like you to,’ Max said with a shrug.

‘Perhaps she’d cover for you.’

‘Perhaps she would,’ Hutchinson answered, eyes narrowed, ‘but even if she did, there were plenty of other people there who spoke to me. All those present were named in the minutes and I gave you a copy of the minutes.’

Yes, they’d seen the minutes.

‘The minutes typed by your mistress,’ Max pointed out.

‘The minutes typed by my secretary,’ Hutchinson corrected him.

‘What time did the meeting finish?’ Max asked.

‘Eight thirty-two according to the minutes/ Hutchinson said crisply. ‘As soon as it closed, we had tea and biscuits.

A few left straight after the meeting, but I was there until the bitter end.’

‘And you drove straight home?’

‘No, I gave Pam Struthers a lift home. That only took me about ten minutes out of my way’

‘So you gave your mistress a lift ‘

‘She was with me in her secretarial role.’

‘What time did you get home?’

‘Just after nine thirty’

Jonathan Trueman had been killed when Hutchinson was at his meeting conveniently surrounded by witnesses.

Max had begged and nagged, insisted everything was double-checked, but the pathologist was adamant that death couldn’t have occurred any later. Besides, Max had been there not long after nine thirty.

Whether Max liked it or not, and he didn’t, Hutchinson had watertight alibis for the afternoon Alice Trueman’s throat had been cut, and the night Jonathan Trueman had been shot in the legs before being killed at point blank range with a 12-bore shotgun.

“I had a chat with your wife,’ Max remarked.

‘So she told me. Fine. I have nothing to hide.’

“I came across a scrapbook you’ve been keeping,’ Max said casually. ‘You’re very interested in murder, aren’t you?’

‘So are you. That doesn’t make either of us killers.’

‘All I want is a safer place for my kids to grow up. I’d be delighted if no more murders were committed.’

‘I’m interested in anything that happens locally/ Hutchinson said, ‘and this serial killer makes a good story’

‘What are your views?’

Hutchinson frowned. ‘On what?’