The Flyleaf Killer (37 page)

Sensing he’d struck a chord, DI Melton sat back, expectantly.

The fear on Dyson’s face was evident. He didn’t want to answer, but couldn’t help himself. His background rumbled, the need to maintain a fake accent disappeared.

‘I can’t tell yer nothing, s’welp me. Yeah, I does a bit er drivin’ fer ’im now and again, but that’s all.’

The admission was at least a step in the right direction.

‘We know about that, but what about Steven Pearce and Janice Pearson? Look, we realise you’re terribly frightened of Robert Strudwick, and rightly so—he’s a nasty, vicious killer. But if you help us we can protect you. If not, we might release you and let it be known you’ve grassed. How do you fancy your chances with
him
at large? Your best bet is to help us catch him. Your testimony might even help to save another life. The sooner he’s behind bars, the safer you’ll be.’

The power of Melton’s logic was unassailable. Dyson cracked. Half an hour later his statement was read back to him and he signed it.

‘Make Mr Dyson comfortable, Constable.’ Melton said to the officer who had taken the statement. ‘Sort him out a decent lunch and a nice cup of tea. We’ll be back in a couple of hours. If you’re ready, Sergeant,’ he said, striding towards the door.

The pair were scarcely clear of the interview room before O’Connor asked, ‘What made you suspect Dyson aided and abetted Strudwick’s escape?’

Melton chuckled. ‘Call it a hunch if you like. I was only fishing.’

‘You could’ve fooled me,’ his assistant retorted, ‘you seemed absolutely positive.’

‘A bluff wouldn’t be worth its salt if it wasn’t believable, now would it?’

‘S’pose not, but why have half the Force looking for a white Jag if Strudwick legged it in a taxi?’

‘Half the Force won’t be, shortly,’ Melton replied. ‘They’ll be concentrating on finding Strudwick. We weren’t to know … Wait here, I won’t be a sec.’

He disappeared into the general office, to re-emerge several minutes later with a manila envelope.

‘Warrant,’ he explained. ‘Let’s go grab ourselves a couple of clues—and maybe a Jag for a bonus. But we’ll need Slade and Gibson. Pop up to the office and nobble them. It doesn’t matter what they’re doing, this is important—and make sure Slade brings coveralls and his little bag of tricks.’

Apart from the presence of a couple of reporters keeping tabs on an unmarked police car, Kenward Crescent appeared as quiet and unremarkable a residential street as any other. A stray dog paused at the driveway of number seven. He sniffed tentatively at one gatepost, hesitated, then strolled nonchalantly across to snuffle the other. Satisfied, he deposited his calling-card for the benefit of those who might follow. As he departed, a blackbird swooped from the roof and landed on the lawn. A series of scampers took him close to the hedge, where he began searching the leaf-litter for worms. A little while later, a second unmarked police car, bearing DI Melton and his team, arrived.

‘Good morning, Mr Strudwick,’ the DI said, pleasantly. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you again so soon, but there are aspects to this inquiry which centre on the whereabouts of your son’s car.’

‘Oh, it’s you again,’ Alfred grumbled. ‘This is getting beyond a joke. Two of your men are watching us, we’ve been pestered by reporters, and before you ask, we’ve neither seen nor heard from Robert since yesterday. I’m not surprised you’re back, but kindly state your business and then clear off—taking your lackeys with you. I can’t imagine what you expect to achieve by this continual harassment.’

‘As I explained earlier, your son was observed leaving premises subsequently established to be the venue of a serious crime. He was driving a white Jaguar, X434RRP, at the time. The same vehicle, we have reason to believe was secreted in your garage around 10.45 p.m. last night.’

Alfred had come to the same conclusion. He regarded DI Melton thoughtfully. The awe in which he held his son had largely evaporated and he was beginning to resent the loss of his former position as family head. Furthermore, Robert’s adult activities must often have bordered on the illegal. How else, Alfred wondered, could so large a fortune have been amassed by one so young? The police wanted Robert in connection with something serious. But his own position at the bank was his life and must never, ever become compromised. Perhaps he should distance himself while there was yet time?

‘You know, Inspector,’ he said, slowly, ‘I rather believe you may be right. It occurs to me that Robert
never
locks the garage unless his car is inside. I wonder if he’s still in the area somewhere.’

‘I very much doubt it,’ Melton replied, drily, without explaining why. ‘Are you
certain
there isn’t another key somewhere in the house?’ he asked.’

‘Absolutely,’ Strudwick replied. ‘He cut up the spares with a hacksaw the day his new car arrived.’

‘Really? Why would he do that?’

Strudwick spread his hands, helplessly. ‘Sounds silly, when you come to consider it: to make sure nobody touched the car but himself.’

‘Your son’s car may have been used in connection with a criminal act, which entitles the law to examine it. New information also suggests the car is concealed on your property and the absence of a key means that access to the garage can lawfully be obtained by force, if need be.’

At this, Alfred Strudwick shook his head.

‘I understand what you say, but I cannot allow you to break in. Who would pay for the damage?’

‘I’m afraid you’ve no choice in the matter,’ Melton declared. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the magistrate’s warrant, displaying it for Alfred to verify its authenticity. ‘This Warrant of today’s date authorises a search of your property in any way deemed appropriate. Whilst DS O’Connor and DC Gibson are examining the garage, I propose to accompany DC Slade to your son’s bedroom in order to conduct a preliminary inspection. On conclusion, the room will be sealed pending forensic examination during the course of the next few days.

‘The seals are not intended to inconvenience, but to prevent the room being entered and valuable evidence being disturbed or destroyed. Under no circumstances must those seals be broken. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Inspector.’

Meekly acquiescent, Alfred sighed and pulled wide the door: ‘You’d better get on with it then,’ he said, resignedly. ‘I’ll wait in the lounge with Mrs Strudwick.’

‘Very well. Sergeant—you have your orders. DC Slade, come with me.’

Ascending the stairs, the DI glanced at his watch—11.30, he noted with satisfaction. As Slade began clambering into coveralls, Melton gingerly opened the suspect’s bedroom door.

‘Hang on, Guv,’ the detective warned. ‘Best leave that to me— you’re not even wearing gloves.’

‘Don’t worry, Harry, I’m not going in. I simply need to get the feel of the place.’

While Slade completed his preparations, Melton stood in the doorway and surveyed the room. Singularly ordinary. Bed, wardrobe, bedside table, telephone, writing desk, table lamp and chair. Wooden storage box—hasp, staple and padlock. No computer, no filing cabinet. No books, no pictures, no
atmosphere
. Nothing to suggest the room was used for anything other than sleeping. ‘Ready, Guv’nor,’ a voice behind him announced.

Melton turned. ‘Right, Harry, finished. But there’s a lot to be done and time is short. I’d like you to concentrate on just one thing for now, then seal up and leave the rest until Monday. OK?’

‘OK sir, you’re the boss. What d’you want me to do?’

‘Hair, Harry—we need some hair. Strudwick’s thatch is straw-coloured and he uses gel. If there’s nothing doing, you might try the bathroom, but any found here would be more conclusive.’

‘Right-ho, sir. Give me five minutes.’

Meanwhile, DS O’Connor and DC Gibson were feeling challenged. Without cutting gear, breaching the Chubb security padlock was impossible, while countersunk coach bolts with internal nuts, fitted through stout, contra-fitted hinges rendered removal of the doors without damage an impossibility.

‘OK, Graham, what now?’ a frustrated DS O’Connor wanted to know.

Gibson mused aloud: ‘The Guv’nor wants confirmation the car is here, not its removal. Garages don’t have lofts and those tiles are just plain, ordinary tiles. I reckon I could wiggle a couple out for a look inside, and just as easily wiggle ‘em back again!’

It seemed the obvious solution.

‘Nice one, Graham. I noticed a ladder behind the shed. Still there, I shouldn’t wonder.’

Gibson was right. By easing adjacent tiles, two were readily removed. Producing a penknife, he cut a flap in the underlying felt and peered downwards.

There it was. Unquestionably a car, ghostly white in the gloom. It was just possible to make out a leaping figure on the bonnet— undoubtedly a Jaguar.

Mission accomplished, Gibson was in the act of replacing the ladder when, upstairs, Slade whooped triumphantly, holding aloft a pair of tweezers.

‘Just one sir, on the underside of the pillow. Lucky, I guess. The sheets smell fresh as a daisy. Changed recently, I should think. The bed certainly doesn’t
appear
slept in, that’s for sure.’

Delicately, he placed his find in a specimen bag and sealed it. ‘Well done, Harry,’ said Melton. ‘I’ll go and check how the others are getting on.’

DS O’Connor reported the discovery of the car.

‘Nice one, Sergeant. Muster the troops. I’ll see if Strudwick senior has anything further to say.’

Melton tapped the lounge door and waited for Alfred to emerge. ‘As we suspected,’ he informed him at once, ‘your son’s Jaguar
is
inside the garage. We managed to establish its presence without damaging the doors, but the lock will have to be forcibly removed sometime early next week for the car to be taken away for forensic examination.’

Alfred drew himself up in readiness to protest, but was immediately forestalled by DI Melton.

‘Mr Strudwick, I feel I must warn you. This investigation has progressed beyond one of kidnap. There is evidence—some compelling—to suggest your son’s possible involvement in two cases of murder, and we anticipate further corroborative testimony to become available shortly.

‘The Press have been asked to help in tracing your son, which means you and Mrs Strudwick will become liable to media scrutiny. I propose, therefore, to withdraw surveillance and restrict entry to your property by means of uniformed officers.’

Melton produced his card and handed it to Alfred.

‘Should your son attempt to contact you, ring this number at any time and ask to speak to me. Meanwhile, I am obliged by law to ask: “Is there’s anything further you wish to say?”’

Alfred recognised the cases to which Melton referred. He too read newspapers and watched television. Scarcely able to comprehend, he shook his head.

‘No, Inspector,’ he whispered. ‘Did—did my boy
really
do those horrible things?’

‘I’m sorry,’ the DI said, ‘but I’m afraid it very much looks that way. Like most people, I expect your son has a mobile phone. Do you happen to have the number?’

‘No, Robert does have a mobile but doesn’t care to be disturbed. If he wants anything,
he
rings us.’

‘I see. Then do you have a recent photo or snapshot we could borrow?’

Strudwick shook his head. ‘None since he was quite a small boy. You see, Robert absolutely
hates
being photographed.’

‘No matter,’ Melton said. ‘A photo would be helpful, but we have a reasonably accurate photofit. One last thing, Mr Strudwick. What do you know of your son’s financial circumstances?’

‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I’m not at liberty to say. Client confidentiality forbids it.’

Melton frowned. ‘In cases of criminal inquiry, financial institutions are legally bound to provide such information as may reasonably be required in furtherance of that inquiry. You are surely aware of that?’

‘Yes, but not without regional permission—which would hardly be granted without a warrant.’

‘That would surely depend on circumstances, if not the wisdom of the bank official concerned.’

Strudwick considered for a moment. ‘I’m not entirely convinced,’ he said, reluctantly, ‘but I’ll try to answer your questions— so far as I feel able.’

Melton’s opinion of Strudwick’s father improved. He decided to go for the jackpot.

‘Does Robert bank at the Esher branch of Midland, where you are Chief Clerk?’

‘Yes,’ Mr Strudwick replied, unhesitatingly. ‘My son maintains current and deposit accounts and also uses Barclaycard. But please don’t ask me to reveal balances; I might easily lose my job.’

Melton offered his hand.

‘Thank you, Mr Strudwick, don’t worry. Feel free to call, but I shall keep in touch in any event.’

Mrs Strudwick joined her husband at the door to watch the investigators depart. For years dour, withdrawn and unhappy, she spoke rarely unless addressed directly. But today she seemed unusually animated.

‘What did the police want, Alfred? Weren’t they here last night? And why hasn’t Robert come home?’

‘He’s landed himself in trouble, I’m afraid.’

‘What trouble? Will he be angry? Oh dear, I can’t
bear
it when he’s angry.’

‘Don’t worry. He’ll be home, but maybe not for some time. We’ll have to wait and see.’

‘Won’t he be home for dinner, then? He’ll be hungry. Has he gone off on business again?’

‘Never mind that now. I’ll explain later.’

Melton arrived back at Surbiton Police Headquarters at 12.15.

‘What now, Guv’nor?’ O’Connor asked. ‘Spot of lunch?’ Melton frowned, hesitated—and relented.

‘Oh, go on then,’ he smiled, ‘coffee and sandwiches. I guess we deserve a break!’

‘You could say that,’ his assistant remarked, wryly. ‘I fancy chicken with stuffing, OK by you?’

‘Sounds good,’ Melton responded, confirming his approval by means of the ‘thumbs up’ sign.

‘Right-ho,’ Ben said, ‘I’d better go and organise it, otherwise we’ll wait all flaming afternoon.’

‘OK, but before you go, there’s something I’d like you to do—’ Melton’s telephone rang.

‘Melton! Hello—Benjamin? Fine, thanks. Good of you to return my call. Yes, I thought so, news travels fast. Local radio
and
TV, you say? Well, any publicity is good publicity—or so they say.