The Murder House (28 page)

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Authors: Simon Beaufort

BOOK: The Murder House
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‘Tell us what happened this morning,' said Sampson crisply. ‘In your own words.'

‘I arrived at work at ten to six, and was told that I'd been assigned to stand guard at Orchard Street. PC Franklin gave me a lift, and we arrived at about quarter past six.'

‘PC Franklin said it was twenty past,' pounced Kidmore pedantically.

‘Perhaps it was,' I said, trying not to sound too eager. That five minutes might see me in the clear. ‘The first thing I did was have a careful look around the garden.'

‘Why?' demanded Sampson.

‘Because there hadn't been a guard since eleven the previous night, and I thought I ought to check it over. There wasn't anything else to do, anyway. Standing outside an empty house isn't very interesting.' I spoke with a spark of defiance. I hoped they'd look at the records and ask why I'd been given so much guard duty when it should have been shared out more equally. It would scream of sexism, and wouldn't do Wright's reputation any good.

Sampson nodded approvingly. ‘That shows initiative. Did you notice anything unusual?'

My thoughts raced. Here was an opportunity to make something up, to invent a clue or a happening that would lead them away from me. But I decided against it. The less I said, the less chance there was of slipping up.

‘Nothing,' I replied. ‘After the garden I pushed on the door to make sure it was locked. You may find my fingerprints on it.'

‘We did,' confirmed Parker dourly. ‘A whole hand, actually.'

I raised it, fingers splayed, and showed them how I'd shoved at the door. ‘It was locked, and I pushed quite hard. Obviously, I couldn't check the back door, because it can only be reached from inside the house. Well, I suppose you could get to it through the neighbours' garden …'

‘Quite so,' said Parker. ‘Then what?'

‘Then I got a call from PC Jeavis, the radio operator, telling me to sort out the lorry at the end of the street because there had been a number of complaints about it.'

‘Did you go immediately?' asked Sampson.

‘I told Jeeves that I shouldn't leave the house unguarded. He said it'd been abandoned all night, so a few more minutes wouldn't hurt.'

‘We have that conversation on tape,' said Parker.

‘How long did it take to deal with the lorry?' asked Kidmore.

‘I'm not sure. Forty minutes, perhaps? It had got itself into an awful muddle. It wouldn't have taken quite so long if I hadn't had to keep stopping to let the traffic filter past.'

‘You were clearly busy,' said Sampson. ‘But did you find time to glance up the street, or to have a look at the people who'd gathered to watch you work?'

So they hoped I'd seen the killer. It
really
was tempting to make something up.

‘No,' I said after a moment of reflection. ‘I'm sorry, but the wagon was huge, and I didn't want it to damage someone's car. It took all my concentration. And anyway, the road bends slightly, and I'm not sure if the house can be seen from where I was working.'

‘It does,' agreed Kidmore crisply. ‘And it can't.'

Thank God I'd resisted the urge to fabricate! They were trying to catch me out, the ruthless bastards!

‘Sergeant Wright put you on report yesterday,' said Parker. He was the nasty one. Or perhaps he was the
openly
nasty one, and the others were just as bad, only they hid it with a veneer of pleasantness. ‘Would you like to tell us about that?'

I knew that Oakley, Davis and Jeeves had already been interviewed, so the three superintendents knew exactly what had happened. I wondered how they'd interpreted it – aggressive, sexist Wright picking on a woman yet again, or tough, decent Wright trying to make an officer out of a sow's ear.

‘I'd gone on an errand for DI Oakley,' I explained. ‘I realize now that I shouldn't have done without checking with Sergeant Wright. But I didn't think, and I set off without calling it in. Sergeant Wright recalled me and dressed me down in the briefing room in front of everyone.'

‘You must've been angry,' said Parker smoothly. ‘An inspector orders you to do something you weren't in a position to refuse, and you get into trouble for it?'

I was right. Parker
was
the nasty one. ‘Embarrassed,' I corrected. ‘He shouldn't have shouted at me in public. He should've done it in private. I would've, if I'd been in his position.'

‘Would you now,' said Parker noncommittally. ‘So you weren't angry?'

‘I was embarrassed,' I repeated firmly. ‘I still am – about the fact that he went for me in public, and that he made me cry. I shouldn't have let him. Maybe I'll be angry later.'

‘Would you say he was a popular officer?' asked Kidmore.

‘A number of people liked him,' I replied cautiously.

‘Did you?' asked Parker.

‘No,' I said bluntly. ‘I didn't.'

Why was I telling them I had good reason for killing the bastard? Why couldn't I have kept my mouth shut? Unexpectedly, Parker smiled.

‘I like honesty, WPC Anderson, and to be frank, I wouldn't have believed you if you'd said otherwise. I know female officers found Wright difficult, and from what I've heard he was more difficult with you than most. Why didn't you complain?'

‘Because I wasn't sure it would achieve anything.'

‘I'm sorry to hear you think that,' said Kidmore, sounding genuine. ‘We've been working to create a force in which sexism and bullying are things of the past. I'm appalled by what's happened here. I hope you – or anyone else – won't be so reticent in the future.'

I couldn't think of anything to say, so I gave him a sort of half smile and stayed silent. The three men looked at each other, and Parker leaned across to say something in a low voice to the others. Sampson stood up.

‘I think that's all,' he said. ‘Of course, if anything else occurs to you, please contact us at once. I must ask you not to discuss this conversation with your colleagues. Unproven speculation and rumours do no one any good, and may even hamper the investigation.'

‘I know,' I said, managing to inject a note of indignation into my voice that they should consider me a gossip. ‘Of course I won't discuss it.'

Wednesday, 22 August

In the days immediately following the murder of Wright a number of facts emerged. Some became general knowledge and some were shared only by those who ‘needed to know'. Among the former was the fact that Wright had taken the Orchard Street keys from the incident room and made a copy at a local shop – the bright, shiny Yale had been in his jeans pocket. His colleagues had many ideas about why he would do this, some reflecting favourably on him, most not.

A search of Wright's house revealed things that didn't become common knowledge. One was that he had photocopies from the station's property book, including the page that contained Butterworth's Blunder. It was concluded that Wright had either approached Paxton with the information or had left it in a place where he knew the lawyer would find it, in order to cause the Noble case to fail.

‘And you don't need me to tell you his motive,' Davis had told the three superintendents. ‘It was to discredit Neel Oakley – just because Neel is half-Indian.'

Another item found in Wright's home was a crumpled prescription form. It was made out to Butterworth for a mild anti-depressant. It was concluded that the sergeant had either seen Butterworth throw it away or he had found it in a bin. Regardless, the knowledge had allowed him to start the rumour that Butterworth had committed suicide when he had stepped in front of the lorry.

Oakley burned with a cold, dark anger. If Wright had had any decency he would have told
him
that Butterworth had not collected the prescription that might have helped him keep things in perspective. He was sure he could have persuaded his friend to take the pills – and Mark might still be alive.

The station divided into two camps: those who wanted to dissociate themselves from Wright's infamous bigotry and those who wanted to remember the good things about him. Jeeves was firmly in the former, painfully aware that
he
might be tarred with Wright's brush if Oakley mentioned the episode in the radio room. Keen to ensure that Oakley knew Wright's views weren't his own – and hoping to curry favour by passing information to him before he told the superintendents from Professional Standards – Jeeves sought out the DI in the canteen.

‘I need some advice, Guv,' he said, sitting down. Oakley folded his newspaper and waited. ‘Barry Wright told me a few things the night before he was killed. I've been thinking about them, and I don't know what to do. It might be nothing, in which case I should forget about them and let him lie in peace. But it might be something …'

‘Let's hear it, then,' said Oakley, when Jeeves paused.

‘He was one of us,' said Jeeves unhappily. ‘He had his faults, but I don't want to say things when he can't speak to defend himself.'

‘Don't eulogize over him, Jeeves. He wasn't “one of us” as far as I'm concerned. He was a dinosaur, and his attitudes were dangerous and unpleasant.'

‘I'm sorry I was listening to him that day in the radio room,' blurted Jeeves, ‘when you came in. But what else could I do? I couldn't tell him to shut up, could I?'

‘Of course you could,' countered Oakley. ‘But don't worry, I won't tell the Three Horsemen of the Apocalypse this time. We'll just let it go, shall we?'

Jeeves nodded in relief, then began his story. ‘Barry and me went for a drink after work on Friday – not the Mucky Duck, where we usually go, but a place near Redcliffe Bridge. He said he didn't want to be with a lot of bobbies because he was upset by that Helen Anderson business.'

‘He was angry,' corrected Oakley. ‘Not upset.'

‘Whatever. Anyway, because he was off the next day, he drank a fair bit.'

‘So I gather.' The post-mortem results indicated that Wright must have been reeling from the amount of alcohol he'd consumed over the previous eight hours.

‘I left him at midnight – I had to get up early, even if he didn't. He was pretty drunk, so I took his car keys. I didn't want him driving home.'

‘And I suppose you noticed then that he had his car keys, his house keys, and another key all bright and shiny?'

Jeeves nodded. ‘The new one was with his car keys, and he made me take it off the fob and give it back. He wouldn't say what it was for, and there was no reason for me to recognize it. But yesterday I got to thinking. He went to get a sandwich at Asda on Friday lunchtime. There's a key-cutting place nearby …'

‘So, you think he took the Orchard Street keys from the incident room and went to copy them during his lunch break?'

Jeeves nodded. ‘He insisted on coming back to the station before he took the next call, which was weird, as it meant retracing his steps, but I understand now – it was to return them before they were missed.'

‘You should tell the Three Horsemen this,' said Oakley, reaching for his paper. ‘I don't see why you need me to encourage you.'

‘That's not all. When we were at the pub he talked about the anonymous note on the wall of the incident room. While he did, he was looking right at Michael Yorke and Dave Randal, who were sitting in a corner with a couple of women.'

Oakley was astonished. ‘You drink in a pub that's frequented by criminals?'

‘It was the Hole in the Wall, Guv.' Jeeves was defensive. ‘It's a classy place. It's not our fault that Michael and Randal were there that night.'

‘So, the meeting was coincidental?'

Jeeves was becoming agitated, seeing in Oakley's questions the conclusions Professional Standards might draw. ‘Of course! You don't think I'd have anything to do with the likes of the Yorke gang, do you?'

‘No,' said Oakley, after a moment. He did, however, think that Wright might. ‘Go on.'

‘After a while Randal went to the bog, and Barry followed him. When they came out, Barry showed me a betting slip. I think he'd picked Randal's pocket.'

‘What did he say when he showed it to you?'

‘He just grinned and put it in his wallet. Then he went back to slagging you off, saying that you couldn't catch the murderer, so he'd have to lend you a hand.'

‘So he stole the betting slip from Randal and was in the process of planting it when someone killed him,' mused Oakley. ‘It fits the material evidence, it sounds like something he would do, and it explains why he was there.'

‘It doesn't explain who killed him, though,' said Jeeves. ‘It wasn't Randal, because I don't think he knew what Barry had done. I doubt he or Michael even noticed us.'

‘You need to report this immediately.' Personally Oakley thought that Jeeves was a fool to have left it so long. It looked furtive, to say the least. ‘When they ask why you haven't mentioned it before you can say it's only just made sense to you. That's true, isn't it?'

‘It is clearer now I've discussed it with you. Do you think Barry was right? The Yorke clan
does
have something to do with Kovac? Yet why would they kill a foreign physicist?'

‘I don't know. But I think it's time we paid another visit to Michael and Randal.'

Before I went home that day I was pleased to hear that one of my anonymous notes was being taken seriously at last – God only knows what happened to the other one. Apparently Oakley was frustrated because there hadn't been a single strand of evidence for FSS to find. I was pleased. All my care and attention to detail had paid off. He wasn't the only one who could be meticulous.

He and Merrick were going to visit the Yorkes soon, although I overheard Superintendent Taylor telling them that they were wasting their time. Wright had believed my note, though, or he wouldn't have been planting ‘evidence' to implicate them. Jeeves told me about it, although he wasn't supposed to. Jeeves is rubbish at keeping secrets.

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