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AT THE OLD BLISS BAY police station, a team of detectives settled into their new, but not entirely unfamiliar, surroundings at desks crammed wall to wall across the small space.
At the front of the room, Sam stood beside an A-board, bringing his team up to speed with the facts. “We'll need to go door to door to find out if anyone saw or heard anything—Paul and Trudy, you can get started on that. Even at that time of the morning, it's possible that someone was still awake, starting an early work shift, or coming home from a late one; we can’t assume that because it was the middle of the night, no one will have seen or heard anything.”
He tapped a finger on the photo of Des’s dish pinned to the board. “We don’t know the motive for the attack for sure, but it’s likely to have been because of this. A priceless antiquity that someone felt the need to relieve Gordon Campbell of, with the most tragic of consequences. Who was it?”
“Do we have any potential suspects?” asked Trudy.
“Ah, well that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” said Sam, scratching his head. “Considering half the country was probably watching when Mr Harper got that valuation, and probably all of Bliss Bay, we’ve got a wide pool to work with. For the time being, though, there are a number of locals who were at the pub, and who might have overheard the deceased calling his contact to let him know what time he’d be leaving Mr and Mrs Harper’s house with the dish.
“Paul, can you call in to The Duck Inn on the village green and have a word with the Manager—I seem to recall his name’s Kevin—and see if he, or any of his employees, can tell you anything? One of them may have noticed something without realising its significance. And take a look at the CCTV, will you, in case anything that’ll help us was caught on camera. In the meantime, Harvey and I will have a chat with the residents Mr Harper said Mr Campbell spoke to in the pub.”
“What about the weapon?” asked Trudy. “Any idea what we’re looking for?”
“Something that would leave a thin, horizontal, three inch long wound on the victim’s neck,” said Sam, pointing to the photo on the board. “You can see that it’s not a cut, as such, although the skin is broken in places, it’s more like a blow with something thin that caused the injury.
“SOCOs carried out a fingertip search of the crime scene and the immediate vicinity, but found nothing, so we need to make finding the weapon a priority. Unfortunately, being so close to the sea, there’s always the possibility it’s been ditched there, but we need to assume it’s still on dry land and look everywhere.” He reached his arms above his head and stretched his back. “Okay, we’ve got a lot to do, so let’s get on with it.”
ººººººº
Vince Berman opened his front door, and the aroma of chicken and herbs wafted out into the street. “Is something wrong, detectives?” he asked, with a frown.
“Good evening, Mr Berman. I’m DI Sam Cambridge, and this is DS Harvey Decker. I wonder if we could come in and have a word with you about Gordon Campbell.”
Vince’s expression darkened further. “We heard the terrible news earlier. What on earth happened? We heard he’d been murdered?”
“If we could ask about your recollections of yesterday evening?” said Sam, sidestepping the question. “Would it be convenient to come in and have a quick chat now?
“Yes, of course,” said Vince, leading the way inside. “Although I don’t know if I’ll be much help. It’s a terrible state of affairs, isn’t it? Just terrible.” He took them into the kitchen/diner where Alison was standing over a pan bubbling on the hob, Lydia was chopping a bunch of parsley, and her boyfriend, Max, was flicking through a magazine.
“Apologies if you’re about to have dinner,” said Sam. “This won’t take long.”
Alison shook her head, her brow creasing in mild concern. “We won’t be eating for about an hour. What’s going on?”
“It’s okay, love,” said Vince. “The detectives want to speak to me about Gordon Campbell.” He gestured to one of two couches for Sam and Harvey to sit on. “What exactly is it you want to know?” His mouth opened in a yawn so wide, it made his eyes water. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “I slept so deeply last night, I can’t stop yawning. Anyway, please ask whatever you need to.”
“We understand you spoke to Mr Campbell last night in The Duck Inn. Can you tell us what the conversation was about?”
“Erm, we didn’t really speak much at all, but I thought I recognised him so I went over to say hello. Gordon said he remembered me, and Alison, too.” Vince chuckled. “Well, actually, he thought her name as Andrea, but he remembered the enormous poetry book she always had with her and that she and I used to recite poems from it to each other.”
“Oh, Dad! That’s so cute!” said Lydia, dewy-eyed as she looked up from the chopping board.
“I think you mean so dorky, don’t you?” said Max, raising a brow.
“It does sound quite dorky now, doesn’t it?” said Vince. “It’s no wonder people thought we were weird.”
“Speak for yourself”, said Alison, drying her hands on a tea towel and flicking Vince’s arm with the end of it as she came and sat on the arm of the chair. “I suppose it’s too early to ask if you’ve had any luck finding Gordon’s killer? I’m assuming he was killed, rather than his death being an accident? You wouldn’t be here otherwise, would you?”
“The investigation has only just begun, Mrs Berman,” said Sam. “We haven’t identified the perpetrator yet, but we have a number of lines of enquiry to chase up, so I’m sure we’ll have something positive to report before too long. So, Mr Berman, you were saying about your conversation with Mr Campbell.”
Vince shrugged, and stifled another yawn. “That’s about it. We didn’t speak about much else. I told him that Alison and I had got married and that Lydia was our daughter, and he congratulated me and said he was happily single, or words to that effect. It really was a very short conversation.”
Sam nodded. “I see. Did any of you notice anything odd, or anyone behaving suspiciously while you were in the pub?
“Towards Gordon, you mean?” said Vince. “No, nothing at all. I don’t think any of us did, did we?”
“Also, we were there with my Grandad,” said Lydia. “He’d had a funny turn at the filming of that TV show the day before, so we took him out for dinner to cheer him up a bit. I certainly didn’t notice anyone behaving suspiciously. I didn’t even notice Dad talking to Gordon Campbell until I looked up and saw this guy I didn’t know waving at us.”
“Lydia’s right,” said Alison. “We were focusing on my dad, so none of us were paying much attention to anything or anyone else.”
“I see. And did any of you happen to see or hear Mr Campbell make a telephone call during the evening? Or remember seeing anyone who might have overheard?”
They all shook their heads.
“Okay, well, thanks for your time, all of you,” said Sam, rising to his feet, and handing Vince his card. “If any of you remember anything else, please call me on this number.” He turned on his way to the door and spoke to Lydia. “By the way, is it you who’s opened up the bridal shop on the village green?”
She smiled. “Yes, guilty as charged. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. We hear things as we’re making enquiries,” said Sam. “I hear it’s doing very well. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Considering we’ve only been open a few months, it’s doing brilliantly. In fact,” said Lydia, casting a wary glance at her parents and taking a deep breath, “I’m planning on having an on-site workshop built so we can offer clients an in-house bespoke service.”
Vince and Alison looked from their daughter to each other, and then back again. “An on-site workshop?” said Alison, her eyebrows rising high. “Where, exactly?”
“In the basement, obviously,” said Lydia. “If you think about it, it’s the perfect space for one.”
“You can’t!” said Vince.
“Well you can,” said Alison, rubbing a vein at the side of her forehead, “but not yet, love. Maybe something to think about for the future?”
Vince put up a hand. “Now, just wait a minute, Lydia. Why the big rush? Wouldn’t it make better financial sense to build on your success before you start building workshops? What’s wrong with sending the dresses out to a seamstress? I thought that’s what you were planning on doing?”
“I am,” said Lydia, “but long-term, it makes sense to have people on-site who can work on them. And they’ll need somewhere to work.”
“But you’ve only just found your feet,” said Vince. “Can’t you leave it until after your first year of trading? I really think you should seriously think about taking such a big risk and landing yourself in a heap of debt you find you can’t pay back.”
“I have seriously thought about it, Dad,” said Lydia, tersely. “Which is why Max is going to do most of the building work to keep the costs down. And I’ve been through the figures a hundred times, and I know a bespoke service will potentially generate more than enough to cover the overheads.”
“Ah, well, you see, that’s the key word, isn’t it?” said Vince. “Potentially. And that’s what worries me. It’s all hypothetical, isn’t it? You have no guarantee that it’s going to work, do you?”
Lydia threw up her hands. “Oh, come on, Dad! I had no guarantee the shop was going to work, did I? But it has. I’ve been thinking about this a lot and going over and over the numbers. If I didn’t think I could manage it, I’d forget about it, but I think it’ll be great. Have a little faith in me, will you?”
Vince ran both hands through his floppy hair. “I know you think I’m, being over-cautious, love, but that’s just me. You know I’ve always been careful about money and I’ve never been materialistic. We live a modest life, but we have enough to live comfortably, and that’s because your mum and I started planning for the future years ago. We don’t need fancy things, just each other and enough that we don’t have to worry. I’ve never acted on impulse when it comes to financial matters, which is why your idea makes me so jittery.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you jittery,” said Lydia, with a sigh. “Maybe we can talk about it later? In any case, I’m sure the detectives aren’t interested in hearing about my plans for world domination.”
Sam grinned. “As entertaining as I’m sure they are, we need to be going. Best of luck with everything, though. And don’t forget, if any of you remember anything that might help with the investigation, we’re just a phone call away.”
ººººººº
At Martha Connery’s neat home in a quiet cul-de-sac lined with trees laden with pink cherry blossoms, William Donahue leaned against the mantel above the fireplace and swirled the drink in his glass before taking the last mouthful. “Believe me, detectives, if we could tell you anything at all that would help you catch the person who killed poor Gordon, we would, wouldn’t we, Martha?”
Martha nodded and topped up William’s drink from a bottle of whisky. “Certainly, we would, DI Cambridge. I was in utter shock when I heard the news this afternoon. There was a crowd of us talking about it in the village shop for almost two hours. You know how it is with the gossip grapevine around here.”
“So, what is it you need from us, DI Cambridge?” said William.
“I’m interested to know about the conversations you had with Mr Campbell while he was here. I understand you saw him a couple of times?”
“Only briefly, but we saw him the morning he arrived in The Cobbles, and then again yesterday evening in The Duck,” said Martha. “We barely spoke to him, though, did we, William? We only said hello. He remembered, us, though.” She cast her eyes downwards. “And Bruce. He remembered him, too. He asked after him, in fact. He said that all—”
“Er, Martha,” said William, holding out his glass. “Another ice cube, if you don’t mind.”
When she’d disappeared to the kitchen, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “I like to limit any mention of Bruce. He walked out on Martha almost fifty years ago, and it’s still a very sensitive subject for her, so I find it’s best not spoken about unless it’s unavoidable. It can upset her, you see. Bruce is obviously never coming back, so the least said about him, the better.”
Martha reappeared with the drink and, much to William’s irritation, carried on where she’d left off. “As I was saying, Gordon remembered Bruce. He reminded me that all the kids were scared of him back then. And all the dads too.” Her lips moved in a melancholy smile and she shook her head, as if bringing long-forgotten memories to the fore.
“Really, Martha,” said William, peeved that his ploy to divert the conversation hadn’t worked, his round face turning red and angry. “I’m sure the detectives aren’t interested. And as we’ve both told them, we had very little to do with Gordon in the short time he was here.”
“Did either of you happen to see or hear him make a telephone call while he was in the pub?” asked Harvey. “Or remember seeing anyone who might have?”
“I didn’t,” said William.
“Sorry, no,” said Martha. “I didn’t, either.”
William looked at his watch and downed his drink in one. “And we have a dinner reservation for eight-thirty, so if you don’t mind?”
“Right,” said Sam, taking the hint. “Well, if you do remember anything else that might be useful for us to know, you’ll get in touch, won’t you? “
ººººººº
“That’s not Mr Donahue’s permanent residence, you know,” said Harvey. “According to the list of addresses Fred gave us, he’s got his own place not far from here.”
“Well, he certainly seems at home,” said Sam. “If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d have thought he lived here and Martha Connery was the visitor.”
Harvey nodded. “Agreed. And if you ask me, the reason Bruce Connery isn’t often a topic of conversation is because William Donahue doesn’t want him to be. Martha seemed perfectly happy to talk about him.”
“I thought the same. Incidentally, did you think it was odd that Mrs Connery spoke about her husband in the past tense?”
“Not really, boss. No matter how much she might want to believe he’s coming back, I’d say it’s unlikely after almost fifty years. She possibly doesn’t even realise she’s stopped referring to him in the present tense—it’s just happened gradually over time.”
Sam nodded. “I suppose so. Mr Donahue, on the other hand, has put Bruce Connery well and truly in the past. He seems completely convinced that he’s never coming back.” He turned and looked back at the house to see William at the window. “In fact, if we weren’t up to our eyeballs with the Gordon Campbell investigation, I be champing at the bit to delve a little deeper into the disappearance of Bruce Connery.”
