Chapter 6

Tuesday – 14 May

‘Leonard Ronald Smallwood. Nineteen. Charged last year with possession of stolen goods. First offence. One year probation.’ Tregalles dropped the sheet in front of Paget, and moved back to prop himself against the wall, careful not to spill his mug of coffee. ‘Word is that Smallwood was lucky to get off so lightly. He’s well known as a tearaway, and there’s more than a suspicion that he’s into drugs in a small way. Selling coke to kids, mostly. Nothing they can prove so far, but the locals reckon it’s only matter of time before they have him.’

Paget picked up the sheet and stared at it. His mind, usually so orderly and focused, was still preoccupied with the contents of Patrick’s letter. He forced himself to concentrate. ‘No word on his whereabouts, then?’ he said.

‘No. I shouldn’t think it will be long, though.’ Tregalles eyed Paget over the rim of the mug. ‘Problems, sir?’ he asked.

‘What?’ Paget seemed startled by the question. ‘Oh. No. Just thinking. Nothing to do with the case,’ he said brusquely. ‘What about other relatives? Any luck there?’

‘Nothing so far. Charlie’s people are in the Smallwood house this morning, and I told him we’d be along shortly.’

Paget glanced at the time. Using the dead woman’s key to gain access, he and Tregalles had taken a brief look round the cottage before leaving Farrow Lane earlier that morning, but a thorough search was best left to Charlie’s team. ‘You go ahead,’ he said. ‘I think I’ll go over to the bank to have a word with this chap, Beecham. He should have a file on Mrs Smallwood, and I’d like to know why he went round to see her last night. Has Charlie finished in the church?’

‘Just finishing up when I spoke to him this morning.’

‘Anything of consequence to report so far?’

‘He said they had more fingerprints than they knew what to do with, and it would take time to sort them out. Trouble is, they could belong to almost anyone; the church is open to the public. But he did say that one print they found on a candle under one of the pews near the body matches several found in the belfry.’

The sergeant finished his coffee. ‘I’ll be off, then,’ he said, ‘unless you have anything else in mind?’

‘No. No, you go ahead,’ Paget said absently.

‘Right.’ Tregalles paused at the door and looked back. There was a grim set to the chief inspector’s face that hadn’t been there last night, and the sergeant didn’t think it was entirely due to lack of sleep. He closed the door quietly. Best not to ask, he decided.

*   *   *

It was quicker to walk to the Northern and West Counties Bank in Font Street than it was to take the car and try to find a parking space. Besides, Paget felt he needed the air to clear his head. He’d hardly slept at all last night after reading Patrick’s letter. Even now, the words continued to echo inside his head.

It was the best move I’ve ever made, Patrick had written. Things are so much different here, and to be honest, I’ve been very lucky. In more ways than one, as you will see by the pictures. I can’t wait to see you two, and have you meet Louise. Isn’t she a smasher? I still can’t believe that I’m actually getting married at my age. Me, the confirmed bachelor.

Louise is a nurse. She and a friend came out here from Coventry a year ago. Her friend went back, but Louise liked it so much (and she met me, which clinched it) that she wants to stay here. We still have to sort things out with Immigration, but we don’t see any major difficulties.

The thing is, Louise’s parents and her four brothers and their wives are all still in England, as are all her old friends, so we are coming over there to be married in June. As you know, I don’t have any family left, but you two are as close to family as anyone could be, so I want you to be my best man, and Louise would like Jill to be a bridesmaid. Louise’s best friend, a girl she trained with, is to be her maid-of-honour. And Louise says not to worry about the dress; she’ll sort that out with Jill when she sees her.

The wedding is set for June 29th, but we will be arriving in London June 15th, so perhaps we could all get together before Louise and I leave for Coventry on the 17th. I know it’s short notice, but I would like you both to meet Louise as soon as we arrive. I know you’ll love her …

Already, Paget hated her. He knew he was being completely unreasonable, but he couldn’t help it. In fact, if the photographs were anything to go by, Louise looked like a very nice girl. Well, not a girl, exactly; she was probably close to his own age.

Paget ploughed his way across Bridge Street with a total disregard for lights on amber. In fact, he admitted grudgingly, she looked like just the right sort of woman Patrick needed. But to stand by Patrick’s side again as he had at his own wedding … Without Jill? No, he couldn’t do it. That was just too much to ask of friendship.

*   *   *

‘This gentleman is Detective Chief Inspector Paget, Miss Fairmont.’ The young woman who had taken him to the offices behind the counter spoke in hushed tones as if afraid of being overheard. ‘He asked to see Mr Beecham, and I didn’t know…’ She trailed off into an uneasy silence.

Rachel Fairmont looked over her glasses at Paget. A slight frown puckered her brow, and Paget couldn’t decide whether the woman was annoyed or merely puzzled by his presence there.

‘Thank you, Pauline,’ she said crisply, her eyes still on Paget. ‘I’ll take care of it.’ She waited until the girl had gone, then rose to her feet. A white cardigan hung loosely from her shoulders, and she tugged it closer to her as if for protection as she came out from behind the desk.

She was a tall woman, slim, fine-boned, neatly attired in what struck Paget as an old-fashioned way: buttoned white blouse, straight grey skirt that ended well below the knee, and neat black shoes. She wore little make-up, and her only adornment consisted of silver earrings in the shape of leaves. Her hands were long and slender, and she wore no rings.

It was hard to tell her age. Mid-thirties he guessed, and not unattractive if only she would get rid of those odd-shaped glasses and the severe hair-style.

‘I’m afraid Mr Beecham isn’t available – that is – well, actually he’s not here today,’ she said, and it seemed to Paget that she was choosing her words very carefully. ‘If you would care to tell me what you wished to see him about, perhaps I can direct you to someone else.’

Paget wondered why Beecham had chosen this particular morning to be absent, but that could wait. ‘In that case,’ he said, glancing at the brass plate on the door behind the secretary, ‘I’d like to have a word with the manager. Mr Gresham, is it?’

‘Yes, but…’ The secretary looked at her watch and frowned. ‘I’m afraid Mr Gresham isn’t here either,’ she said worriedly. ‘It’s most unusual for him to be late. He always lets me know if … Oh! Here he is now.’ There was a note of relief in her voice as a heavyset man entered the office.

‘Mr Gresham, this is Detective Chief Inspector Paget,’ she said breathlessly. ‘He wanted to see Mr Beecham, but I told him Mr Beecham wasn’t here today, so he said he’d like to talk to you.’

The manager stopped, set down his briefcase and held out his hand.

‘Arthur Gresham,’ he said, eyeing Paget speculatively. ‘Chief Inspector, you say? Perhaps you’d better come through to my office.’ His grasp was firm and brief.

Inside the office, Gresham took off his coat and waved Paget to a seat. He sat down behind his desk, took off his glasses and began to polish them. ‘Now then, Chief Inspector, how can I help you?’

But Paget answered with a question of his own. ‘Tell me, was it just my imagination or would I be right in thinking that your secretary was being somewhat evasive when I asked for Mr Beecham?’

Gresham slipped his glasses back in place and pursed his lips. ‘Harry Beecham left us yesterday,’ he said bluntly. ‘In the light of what seems to be a continuing recession, we could no longer justify his position at Northern and West Counties. It’s unfortunate, and it pains me deeply to have to resort to these measures, especially when it involves people who have been with us for so many years, but there it is. And, since that information won’t be released – officially, that is – until later this morning, I can understand Miss Fairmont’s reluctance to say more.’

‘I see.’ Was it just coincidence, he wondered, that Elizabeth Smallwood was murdered on the same day that her boss was dismissed, then later came pounding on her door? ‘You have another employee, an Elizabeth Smallwood?’ He paused, waiting for Gresham’s reaction.

The manager leaned back in his chair, folded his hands across his bulging midriff, and began to rock gently. ‘Yes,’ he said cautiously. The slight lisp Paget had detected earlier had become more pronounced. ‘Mrs Smallwood is one of our employees, but I’m afraid she is not here today either. She rang to say she’d had a bit of an accident.’

‘When was that, Mr Gresham?’

‘Last evening. She rang Miss Fairmont at home to say she wouldn’t be in today. Said she’d taken a bad tumble as she was getting off the bus.’

‘I see. So Mrs Smallwood was at work yesterday?’

‘Oh, yes. As a matter of fact, she was promoted yesterday. She will be taking over Mr Beecham’s duties.’ Gresham unclasped his hands and leaned forward. ‘In fact,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘that might have something to do with what happened. She was quite overcome when I told her the good news. She actually broke down and cried. She wasn’t expecting it, you see.’ He sat back. ‘My fault, of course,’ he went on. ‘I should have given her more warning. Beth Smallwood is an excellent worker, but she is inclined to become emotional at times. Quite high strung. Probably still had her head in the clouds when she got off the bus and missed a step. But why do you ask? She is all right, isn’t she?’

‘I’m afraid I have to tell you that Mrs Smallwood died last night,’ Paget said quietly.

‘Died?’ The surprise in Gresham’s eyes appeared to be genuine, but it was the flicker of another emotion across the manager’s face that interested Paget. Was it panic? Fear? Or had he imagined it? ‘How? What happened? I mean, I had no idea her injuries were all that serious.’

‘She was attacked and killed during an apparent robbery,’ Paget told him.

‘Good God!’ Arthur Gresham appeared dazed. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said at last. ‘I find it hard to believe. It’s…’ He shrugged helplessly and fell silent.

‘You say that Mrs Smallwood rang your secretary at home last night. Do you happen to know what time that was?’

‘No, but I can call Miss Fairmont in and you can ask her if you think it’s important.’ Gresham reached for the phone.

Rachel Fairmont entered the room and closed the door carefully behind her. She seemed nervous, and kept glancing uncertainly at Gresham. He motioned impatiently for her to come forward. ‘Sit down,’ he told her brusquely. ‘Chief Inspector Paget would like to know what time it was when Beth Smallwood rang you last night.’

The secretary took her seat, smoothed her skirt carefully and turned sideways to face Paget.

‘It must have been about eight o’clock,’ she said. She looked anxiously from one to the other. ‘Why? Is there something wrong?’

Before Paget could reply, Gresham spoke. ‘Beth was killed last night,’ he said quickly. ‘Apparently, someone tried to rob her.’

‘Killed? Beth? Oh, no!’ Rachel pressed her hands to her face, eyes wide in disbelief. ‘What happened? Did someone break in?’

But Paget side-stepped the questions. ‘Can you recall exactly what Mrs Smallwood said when she rang?’

Rachel Fairmont closed her eyes and breathed deeply. ‘I didn’t know it was Beth at first,’ she said slowly. ‘You see, she said she’d fallen getting off the bus, and she’d bitten her tongue, and it was quite swollen. She said she wouldn’t be in this morning because she was going…’ Her voice caught in her throat and died. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just that I still can’t believe that Beth is dead.’

‘Just take your time, Miss Fairmont,’ Paget told her. ‘Perhaps a glass of water…?’

‘No, thank you. I shall be all right,’ she assured him. A wan smile touched her face. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what I was saying, Chief Inspector.’

‘You said Beth Smallwood told you she was going somewhere.’

‘Oh, yes. She said she was going to see the doctor this morning.’

‘She rang you from home?’

‘Yes.’ Rachel hesitated. ‘At least, I assumed she was at home.’

‘Did she say anything about going out?’

‘You mean last night? No.’

‘Did she say anything else?’

‘No. Well, actually she did but I’m afraid I had trouble understanding her. As I said, her tongue was swollen and it was hard for her to talk. It was all a bit muddled, I’m afraid.’

‘I see. You and she were close friends, I take it?’

Rachel seemed surprised by the question. ‘Well, no, not exactly. I mean, not close friends. We’ve worked together for several years, of course, but we rarely saw each other outside work, and to be honest, I know almost nothing of her private life.’

Paget regarded the woman quizzically. ‘I’m wondering why it was that she rang you,’ he said. ‘I should have thought she would ring Mr Gresham, especially as she had just been promoted yesterday.’

‘I expect she did try to get hold of me,’ Gresham interjected, ‘but I was out last night. I suppose she thought it best to ring Miss Fairmont, under the circumstances.’

He glanced at his watch, then turned to his secretary. ‘Which reminds me: with both Beecham and Beth gone, we will have to make some adjustments in that department.’ He pushed his moist lips out to the point of pouting and scowled. ‘I suppose there’s nothing for it but to have Ling take over pro tem.’ The words were said so grudgingly that Paget wondered what it was that ‘Ling’ had done to earn the manager’s displeasure.

Gresham turned back to Paget. ‘I do apologize, Chief Inspector,’ he said earnestly, ‘but I’m sure you understand. In spite of what’s happened, we still have clients to serve, and arrangements must be made.’ He shook his head sadly.

‘Have you noticed any change in Beth Smallwood’s behaviour recently?’ Paget asked him. ‘Was she worried about anything? Or had she quarrelled with anyone, for example?’

Gresham and Rachel Fairmont exchanged mystified glances, and the manager slowly shook his head. ‘Beth was such a quiet person,’ he said. ‘I can’t imagine her quarrelling with anyone.’ His voice hardened. ‘And I really do not understand why you seem to be concentrating your efforts here, Chief Inspector. I can’t see how there could possibly be a connection. You did say she was attacked and robbed, I believe?’

‘I said the attack was made to appear that way,’ Paget told him, ‘but that may or may not prove to be the case. In the meantime, we have to explore every possibility. I’m simply looking to you for background information. Tell me,’ he went on before Gresham could speak, ‘how did Mrs Smallwood seem to you when she left here yesterday?’

Gresham glanced across at his secretary. ‘Quite excited at the prospect of her new job, I’d say – wouldn’t you say so, Miss Fairmont?’

‘She was certainly excited when I saw her last,’ Rachel agreed.

‘And when was that?’

‘It would be about a quarter past five. Beth was tidying herself up in the Ladies when I left.’

‘So you didn’t see her leave?’

‘No, but I’m sure she would have left within minutes. Since Harry wasn’t there to take her home, she would have to make sure she caught the bus at five thirty. After that they only run out her way every hour, I believe.’

Paget turned back to Gresham. ‘I’d like to take a look at Mrs Smallwood’s desk and her file,’ he told him. ‘I’m told she has a teenage son, but we haven’t been able to contact him yet. Do you happen to know if she had any other relatives?’

Offhand, Gresham said he didn’t know. Neither he nor his secretary could recall hearing Beth Smallwood mention anyone. Rachel left the room and returned with a file labelled ‘Smallwood, E.’, but apart from the usual standard forms and job history, there was little in the file of interest. The original application form showed mother and father as deceased, and Leonard Smallwood was named as next of kin. No other relatives were mentioned. Beth’s annual ratings, signed by H. Beecham, had in the last two years moved from ‘Satisfactory’ to ‘Very Satisfactory’, and that was the reason, Gresham said, why he had given Beth the opportunity to prove herself as a manager.

Paget closed the file. ‘What about Mr Beecham?’ he said. ‘How did he take the news that he was to be replaced by a subordinate?’

Gresham looked down at the desk. ‘He was upset, of course, as you might expect, but on the other hand he had known for some time that someone in his department would have to go. It’s unfortunate, but I didn’t have a choice. My budget has been cut and I must take whatever steps I deem necessary to live with that. Believe me, Chief Inspector, I thought long and hard before I decided to let Harry go. Especially with his wife the way she is.’

‘And what way is that, sir?’

Gresham looked uncomfortable. ‘She’s been ill for several years, I understand. Mentally ill, that is. Harry has always insisted on looking after her at home, but now…’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose it will depend on how soon he can get another job.’

‘What do you think his chances are?’

Gresham took off his glasses and began to polish them. ‘He’s a good man,’ he said carefully. ‘Knows his job. Very reliable. I gave him a good reference.’

‘But his chances can’t be very good,’ Paget persisted.

Gresham’s fingers drummed on the desk. He wasn’t used to being challenged. ‘It all depends,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I’m sure he’ll find something.’

Paget rose to his feet and thanked the manager and his secretary. ‘And now, if I could have a look at Mrs Smallwood’s desk, I won’t take up any more of your time,’ he continued. ‘But I will need statements from your staff within the next day or two.’ He shrugged apologetically. ‘Routine stuff, of course, sir, but it has to be done. I’m sure you understand.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Gresham curtly, but he looked less than happy at the prospect as Paget and Miss Fairmont left the room.

*   *   *

The cottage was small, a reverse plan of the one next door where Paget and Tregalles had spoken to Mrs Turvey the night before. Two rooms up and two rooms down. Plus a tiny bathroom off the kitchen.

Tregalles moved slowly through the rooms, not quite sure what he was looking for. The two people Charlie had assigned to the job, Rob North and Grace Lovett, had been through all the rooms on a preliminary search, and were now engaged in examining every scrap of paper: bills, bank-book, even notes on calendars. Oddly, there were no letters.

‘Find something?’ the sergeant asked, peering over Grace’s shoulder. The young woman was looking thoughtful as she perused a set of legal documents.

‘I think I have,’ she said slowly. Tregalles waited. He had a lot of respect for Grace’s work. Not only was she thorough, but she seemed to possess a sixth sense when it came to analysing evidence.

The sergeant, who had an eye for the ladies, thought Grace was beautiful. She was tall, slender, blonde, and her eyes were the most expressive Tregalles had ever seen. Blue – well, not exactly; perhaps more green than blue – it depended on the light, and when she looked at you …

He sighed inwardly. It was pleasant to fantasize, but that was as far as it went. Besides, if he’d read the signs correctly, she rather fancied Paget.

‘Take a look at this,’ Grace said, passing over the papers she’d been studying. ‘I think our Mrs Smallwood has been fiddling the books.’

Tregalles scanned the papers. ‘Looks like a lien against some property in Tenborough,’ he said. ‘What about it?’

‘It is,’ said Grace. ‘Now take a look at this one.’

Tregalles studied the second document. ‘They look the same to me,’ he said.

‘They are. Except for one thing. Look at the signatures.’

‘J.L. Perriton,’ Tregalles read out, then turned to the second set of papers. ‘L. R. Smallwood.’ He frowned. ‘What are you saying, Grace?’

‘The liens are against the same property, but a loan was made to two different people under two different account numbers,’ Grace explained. ‘Perriton is a small building contractor in Tenborough. I looked him up in the telephone book. He took out a loan amounting to £4300 in February of this year. A second loan of £5000 was paid out less than a month ago, using the same property as collateral. But it was paid to L. R. Smallwood.’

Tregalles scratched his head. ‘But wouldn’t the bank realize the two were the same? And Smallwood. I mean, it’s a dead giveaway.’

‘Not necessarily. Once the originals were filed away – these are copies, of course, probably brought home to practise on – they would never be looked at together. And as long as regular payments were made on both accounts, no one would be the wiser. Presumably Perriton would pay off his loan in the usual manner, so that takes care of the original loan, but the one made out to Smallwood is different. All that’s required here is that he pay the interest each month. The bank has the right to call for the principle at any time, but as long as the interest is paid and the rates don’t rise significantly, why should they? And the “bank” in this case is, or was, since she was handling the account, Beth Smallwood. As for making the loan payable to her son, the name Smallwood is not uncommon in these parts. It was a calculated risk, but a necessary one if Lenny was using his own ID. Attempting to set up an account under a false name could be done but it’s much more difficult.’

‘But even paying the interest would use up the entire amount eventually,’ Tregalles said, ‘so I don’t quite see the point.’

‘Unless Beth Smallwood intended to float yet another loan to sustain the first one, and so on,’ said Grace. ‘What she was doing is a mug’s game, but if she were desperate enough, who knows? By the look of things around here, I would say she’s been living from hand to mouth, but Lenny’s doing all right. Have you seen the load of high-tech gear he has upstairs? There must be a few thousand tied up in that. Unless, of course it fell off the back of a lorry.’

‘That wouldn’t surprise me,’ Tregalles said. ‘Which reminds me, have you come across anything that might give us a clue as to where he is?’

‘You might try his girlfriend.’

‘I would if I knew who she was,’ Tregalles told her.

‘Tania. Tania Costello,’ Grace said with a grin. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t know that, Detective Tregalles.’

Tregalles sighed. ‘Point to you,’ he conceded. ‘How did you find out?’

‘I went through his tapes upstairs. Tania loaned him some and her name’s on them.’ Her grin grew wider. ‘Dead easy, Tregalles, when you know what to look for.’

Rob North, who had been listening, came over and dropped two video cassettes on the table. ‘You should have tried these,’ he said laconically. ‘They’re empty now, but they’ve been used to hide cocaine.’