CHAPTER TWELVE

Sarah and Chris walked into the interview room to find Trevor, Peter and Dan Evans sitting around the central table, polystyrene cups of congealing coffee abandoned in front of them. As usual, Peter was playing with his cigars.

‘We telephoned Mr Piper’s solicitor, sir, and put the case on the court list,’ Sarah reported.

‘Alan will be remanded in custody. There’s no way he’ll get bail on a murder charge.’ Peter left his chair and paced to the window.

‘He might,’ Dan said. ‘Given the overcrowding in prisons some magistrates are prepared to give defendants the benefit of the doubt.’

‘Only brainless idiots who never travel further from their interior-designed homes in well-patrolled suburbs, to their personalised car parking space outside the courts. If they walked the streets in the inner cities or looked outside their narrow horizons once in a while, they might begin to mete out punishments that fit the crimes,’ Peter growled.

‘You can’t have it both ways. Tough on crime means tough on everyone, even the Alan Pipers of this world when they’re up on a murder charge. And, I’ve always been of the opinion that a murder charge warrants “remanded in custody”.’ Dan rose to his feet. ‘But, the Kacy Howells murder is no longer your case, Sergeant Collins. I can do with all the help I can get. As of this moment you’re seconded to the Drug War murders. I’ll update you in my office.’

It was a request Peter couldn’t refuse. ‘Yes, sir.’ He glanced at Trevor. ‘You’ll keep me informed?’

‘If Dan agrees. Off the record.’ Trevor looked to Dan.

Dan nodded agreement. ‘The pub in an hour for a quick one?’

‘If nothing turns up.’ Trevor watched Dan and Peter close the door behind them, before turning to his team. ‘Right people, I don’t want anyone sitting back and assuming this case is closed because we’ve made an arrest. We need all the hard evidence we can dig up if the charge is going to hold up in court. Chris, first thing tomorrow you and I will visit Kacy Howells’ father to check out his alibi. If necessary we’ll interview every elder in that chapel.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’ll meet you here at nine. Sarah, head down to Kacy and George Howells’ office, take as many uniformed constables as can be spared from the station with you. I want everyone who works with George and worked with Kacy Howells interviewed. I’d like you to personally interview the man Kacy Howells lived with for seventeen or eighteen years …’ Trevor searched his memory for his name.

‘John Evans, sir?’

‘That’s him. After you’ve finished there, contact the owner of the magazine again. We need to know if Alan Piper’s story about the credit card in Kacy Howells’ name pans out. After you’ve spoken to him check the bank that issued the card.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And, if you and I have any time left after we’ve interviewed the chapel elders, Chris, we’ll visit the farmer and walk the footpath that leads to the back of the Howells’ house that Mrs Walsh mentioned. I’ll be in my office for the next half hour if anyone wants me. Anything new comes in …’

‘We’ll inform you right away, sir.’ Sarah was already at her keyboard. When Trevor walked past her computer screen he saw that she was already scanning lists of George Howells’ colleagues.

‘Pint?’ Dan asked Trevor when he joined him in the bar of Platform 10.

‘Please.’ Trevor stood back and looked around. The bar was crowded with office workers from the town’s call centres, shops and offices. Dan saw him studying the room.

‘Cheaper to have one drink on the way home, than go home change and make a night of it,’ Dan commented.

‘Incidentally easing the load on the poor beat coppers who have to patrol the town centre on the graveyard shift. Cheers,’ Trevor took the pint Dan handed him. ‘Have you made plans for the evening?’

‘You have something in mind?’

‘You and Peter are welcome to visit your godson. Lyn can always cobble together a scratch meal.’

‘The godfathers have imposed on their godson’s mother’s hospitality too often since Marty’s arrival. And Lyn never cobbles anything together. It’s always a banquet. With the Kacy Howells case progressing the way it is, snatch some family time while you can. Peter and I are going for a curry after this drink. I haven’t finished updating him. Although I doubt there’s any point. That brick wall I was talking about appears to be set in six feet of solid concrete.’

‘But you have to keep trying.’

‘With the body count escalating daily, upstairs are piling on the pressure.’

‘More today?’

‘Three missing, seven dead. One up on yesterday,’ Dan divulged.

‘Time upstairs realised this drug war’s doing the town a favour by scrubbing out the scum.’ Peter joined them and frowned at Trevor. ‘It’s getting harder and harder to park around here. ‘You have some secret bay hidden in town that I don’t know about?’

‘This time of night, back of the library. Lyn’s mother works there part-time. The family use her space when she doesn’t need it.’

‘Some buggers always get jam on their bread.’ Peter picked up the pint Dan had bought for him. ‘Here’s to the good guys.’

‘Our friend has arrived,’ Dan warned Peter.

Trevor glanced over his shoulder. ‘The station’s favourite nark.’

‘He wasn’t mine the last time I saw him,’ Peter complained. ‘He wanted a grand for telling me that Lofty was flashing money after a Red Dragon hit.’

‘When we know the Nape brothers carried out the last four killings,’ Dan explained to Trevor. ‘Not that we can prove it.’

‘He’s making a bee-line for you, Peter,’ Trevor warned.

Peter braced himself for an “accidental” collision, but Snaggy coughed as he passed their table on his way to the door that led to the outside yard and toilets.

Dan grabbed an empty table and pulled out a chair. ‘What plans have you made for tomorrow, Trevor?’

While Trevor outlined the orders he had given his team, Peter finished his pint. ‘Another?’ he asked Dan and Trevor.

‘Not for me, I promised Lyn I’d be home for dinner.’

‘Rub in Daisy’s absence, why don’t you?’

‘I wasn’t, and you like Indian.’

‘Dan told you?’

‘You bachelors enjoy your working dinner.’ Trevor left the table.

‘Any …’

Trevor interrupted Dan. ‘I’ll keep in touch.’

‘Unlike some people I could mention, you always do.’ Dan pushed his empty glass towards Peter.

‘Drinks on me tomorrow.’

‘I’ll hold you to that, Joseph.’ Peter pulled out his wallet.

‘One more and we’ll move on to the restaurant,’ Dan warned Peter.

‘I’ll pick them up on the way back.’ Peter gave the barman his order, paid for the drinks in advance and walked outside.

‘He’s a good copper,’ Trevor observed when Peter was out of earshot.

‘If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be on my team.’ Dan moved his chair so he could watch the doors.

Peter walked into the Gents but there was no sign of Snaggy. He saw him as he left, standing in a corner of the smoking area puffing a Lambert and Butler. Peter ambled close to him and filched a cigar from the pack he kept in his shirt pocket.

‘Got a light, mate?’

Snaggy took a cheap plastic lighter from his pocket and flicked it. ‘Where’s my money?’ he hissed, bending his head close to Peter’s.

Peter deliberately blew out the flame. ‘What money?’

‘I gave you a tip-off. I want a grand.’

‘You gave me the wrong name, sunshine. The Nape brothers …’

‘Nape brothers nothing.’ Snaggy flicked the lighter again and lowered his voice as a man walked past the yard on the way to the Gents. ‘Lofty did that suburban job. And sorted it so someone else would take the rap.’

‘What suburban job?’ Like Snaggy, Peter lowered his voice to a whisper.

‘That woman who was axed. I gave you Lofty. I know he’s still on the streets because I saw him today but that’s down to you, not me. I gave you good merchandise. I want my money.’

‘How did he sort it?’ Peter thought of the forensic evidence that implicated Alan.

‘Planted evidence so you lot would find it.’

‘What sort of evidence?’

‘Lofty said something about rubbish from a bin. You want details, you pay for them.’

Peter finally lit his cigar. ‘Thanks for the light, mate.’ He glanced at two men who were leaving the Gents. They were apparently deep in conversation but it was difficult to tell whether one of them was listening in. He moved away from Snaggy but the snitch was having none of it. He waited until the men went into the bar then followed Peter across the partially tented area.

‘Money,’ he repeated.

‘Why would someone pay Lofty to axe a suburban housewife and finger someone else?’

‘I don’t know the why, only the who.’

‘Spit it out,’ Peter demanded.

‘The Red Dragon.’

‘Do I look as though I’ve just hatched out of the egg and I’m waiting with an open mouth to swallow anything that’s fed me?’

‘I’m risking my life here for you lot. I want my money, tomorrow at the latest.’

‘And if you don’t get it?’ Peter challenged him.

‘I know people.’

‘Put a price on me, sunshine, and it’ll not only be your business you’ll be waving goodbye to,’ Peter threatened.

Snaggy turned defensive. ‘You’re a sergeant aren’t you? I’ve given you bloody good information over the years, enough to get you promoted …’

‘And you’ve always given me time to check it out.’

‘You’ve had your time.’

‘Not enough,’ Peter snapped.

‘What am I supposed to do while you check what I’ve told you?’ Snaggy clenched his fists.

‘Crawl back into the hole you crawled out of and hide,’ Peter advised.

A woman left the bar and walked towards the Ladies. Peter caught the door before it swung shut, put out his cigar in an ashtray, pocketed the stub and called back, ‘Thanks for the light, mate.’

‘He said what?’ Dan eyed Peter over the top of the menu. As Dan had hoped the restaurant was empty apart from the waiters who were laying tables and preparing for the late-night rush.

‘“The suburban wife murder” – which I presume is Kacy Howells’, was ordered by the Red Dragon and carried out by Lofty who sorted it so someone else would take the rap by planting evidence from a bin.’

Dan raised his eyebrows. ‘You bought it?’

‘I didn’t say I bought it. I’m simply repeating what Snaggy said. He was very antsy, even for him. Nervous, looking over his shoulder every five minutes, asking for money …’

‘Money has always come first with Snaggy. The amount we’ve paid him over the years, he should be a multi-millionaire.’

‘He would be if he’d invested it in a bank, as opposed to fixes.’

‘He’s excelled himself this time.’ Dan shook his head from side to side. ‘The Red Dragon put a price on Kacy Howells’ head?’ he queried sceptically. ‘Did you ask him why?’

‘Yes, he said he didn’t know the why, only the who, then people came into the yard. But the last thing he told me to do – practically threatened me – was meet him there tomorrow with a grand.’

‘In grubby pound notes in a brown paper bag no doubt.’ Dan beckoned the waiter over. ‘Special for two do you?’

‘If you’re paying make it number four.’

‘That’s the most expensive.’

Peter flashed an insincere smile. ‘Is it?’

Trevor didn’t waste any time the following morning. At nine thirty he and Chris were sitting in the Jenkinses’ living room. Trevor took his notebook from his pocket, opened it and looked up at Kacy’s father.

‘Mr Jenkins, on the day your daughter was murdered, you left the house to go to a chapel elders’ meeting at two o’clock in the afternoon. Is that right?’

‘We’ve already been through this, Inspector,’ Sam Jenkins retorted. ‘I fail to see how you knowing my whereabouts on the day my daughter was murdered is going to help you catch her killer.’

‘Please, Mr Jenkins, humour me. Your whereabouts could be extremely important.’

‘How?’ the old man barked.

‘If you were in the habit of visiting your daughter at her home …’

‘Which I wasn’t. I last saw her over a month ago. As I’ve already told you.’

Trevor calmly continued the questioning. ‘You left this house at two o’clock. Did you walk or drive to the chapel?’

‘I walked. As my wife told you yesterday, I don’t drive. And I didn’t leave at two o’clock. The committee meeting started at two o’clock and I abhor unpunctuality. I left the house at one thirty.’

‘And arrived at the chapel when?’

‘Ten minutes later. It’s in the next street.’

‘Why so early?’

‘To put the boiler on ready for tea, and to make sure the chairs were set up around the table. I am Vice Chairman of the elders and I regard preparing the hall for meetings part of the duties that come with the position.’

‘The meeting went on for how long?’

‘As I’ve already told you, the meeting finished at four o’clock.’

‘Then a few of you stayed on to paint the chapel.’

‘It needed it.’

‘When did you finish?’

‘Not until ten o’clock. Then I visited another of the elders, Matthew Clarke. His wife recently died, he invited me in for a cup of tea. Knowing he was lonely I accepted.’

‘Where does Matthew Clarke live?’

‘Next door to the chapel.’

‘What time did you leave his house?’

‘Look at your notes,’ the old man snarled irritably.

‘Around midnight?’

‘About then,’ Sam Jenkins confirmed.

‘You had several cups of tea?’ Trevor looked directly into the old man’s eyes.

‘Matthew made some cheese sandwiches. We ate them and talked.’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘You must have talked about something, Mr Jenkins,’ Trevor persisted patiently.

‘Mainly chapel business.’

‘The same things you talked about in the elders’ meeting?’

‘I can’t remember.’ His voice grew shrill. ‘You should be out looking for whoever murdered my daughter …’

‘When you left Mr Clarke’s house, did you walk straight back here or call in anywhere else?’ Trevor interrupted.

‘Call in anywhere? At that time of night?’ Sam Jenkins said indignantly. ‘I came straight back here.’

‘Mrs Jenkins was asleep?’

‘As I told you.’

‘Do you have the minutes for the elders’ meeting?’

‘No. The chairman takes them from the secretary, his wife types them up and we receive a copy at the next meeting.’

‘You have a full list of the elders’ names, and contact details including addresses and telephone numbers?’

Mr Jenkins squirmed uneasily on his chair. ‘Somewhere.’

‘Not to hand?’

‘I don’t need the information.’ He tapped his head. ‘I keep it filed up here.’

‘In that case you can dictate the list to us, Mr Jenkins, so we can validate your statement.’ Trevor continued to watch the elderly man. ‘Could you begin by giving us Matthew Clarke’s address and telephone number. The man who invited you into his house for tea and cheese sandwiches.’

Matthew Clarke was a tiny, wizened man who looked like an animated garden gnome. He spoke quickly, his words tumbling out one after the other, answering Trevor’s questions before he finished asking them. Trevor suspected that Sam Jenkins had telephoned ahead to warn Matthew Clarke that he was about to be interviewed.

‘That’s right, Inspector Joseph, I invited Sam Jenkins in for tea after the meeting. It was late, but he came anyway. I made cheese sandwiches and tea and we sat talking. We’d been painting the chapel. It needed it.’

Trevor noticed that the phrase “it needed it” was the same one Sam Jenkins had used. ‘What time did you leave the chapel, Mr Clarke?’

‘It must have been quite late, around eleven o’clock. We talked a bit – and played a game of chess. Sam’s a good player. I never win against him but he humours me.’

‘And he left when?’

‘After he’d eaten the sandwiches and drunk his tea. I suppose he must have been here for about half an hour.’

‘You’d been together since the meeting started at two o’clock, is that right?’

‘It is, Inspector.’

‘And the meeting finished, when exactly?’

Matthew Clarke looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure. I wasn’t looking at my watch but it was a long meeting.’

‘Three … four … five … six o’clock?’ Trevor hazarded, hesitating between each number.

‘Probably around six o’clock.’

‘And after the meeting?’

Matthew Clarke ran his finger around the inside of his collar to loosen it although it was already hanging on his scrawny frame. ‘We painted the chapel.’

‘How many of you?’

‘Pardon?’

‘How many of you stayed behind to paint the church?’ Trevor asked.

‘Six or seven of us. I can’t be sure; we each took a different part of the chapel. One – or maybe two of the elders were working upstairs in the gallery.’

Trevor again referred to the notes he had made the first time he had interviewed Sam Jenkins. A few of us stayed behind to paint the chapel.

‘Could you give me their names?’

‘I really couldn’t say.’ Matthew Clarke jumped up from his chair. ‘I am very busy I have a lot of …’ he paused, ‘letters to write,’ he said suddenly. ‘My late wife’s business affairs. You know how it is.’

‘What I do know, Mr Clarke is that you’re uncomfortable with and strangely reticent to answer my questions about what you and the other elders did the night Kacy Howells was murdered. Do you have the keys of the chapel?’

‘Yes – I mean no. Normally I would have them but the chairman …’

Trevor looked him in the eye. ‘You live next door to the chapel, Mr Clarke, surely as an elder you hold a key for emergencies.’

‘Yes, but this hardly an emergency. I can’t hand over the keys to every Tom, Dick and Harry who asks for them. The chairman and the elders would be very angry …’

‘You wouldn’t be handing them to just anyone, Mr Clarke. You would be giving them to a police officer who requested them in order to further his enquiries into a murder investigation.’

‘Kacy Howells hasn’t been in the chapel for months … years … I really don’t see how this can help you in any way …’

Trevor held out his hand wordlessly.

‘This is highly irregular,’ Matthew Clarke blustered. ‘The keys are in my safekeeping. I have to get permission from the chairman of the elders…’

‘Then get it.’ Trevor indicated the telephone.

‘He won’t be in at this time of day.’

‘He works?’

‘No. He’s retired.’

‘In which case you won’t know whether he’s in or not until you try.’ Trevor waited for a full minute during which Matthew Clarke remained silent. ‘I could go back to the station, fill out a search warrant, return here and force you to hand over the keys so we could look inside the chapel. And, if you still refused to hand over the keys, batter the door down. While I was getting the warrant I would be fully justified in keeping you in custody.’

‘There is no need for that,’ Matthew chimed peevishly.

‘Shall we go next door and open up the chapel?’

Matthew Clarke left his chair, went to a desk and opened a drawer. He withdrew a large bunch of keys of varying sizes. ‘I have to accompany you?’

‘I have no objection.’ Trevor walked to the front door and Chris followed. As they left the house, Trevor noticed that Matthew was meticulous about locking the door.

‘Burglaries a problem around here?’

‘There are vandals here the same as everywhere in Britain today.’

Trevor looked up and down the neat street of terraced houses. There was no graffiti or any other obvious signs of vandalism. ‘Seems a quiet area to me.’

‘Appearances can be deceptive, Inspector.’ Matthew Clarke’s hand shook as he tried to insert the Yale key into the lock of the church.

‘Allow me.’ Trevor took the key from him and unlocked the door. It held fast.

‘You have to unlock the main lock as well, Inspector, this is the key.’ Matthew pointed to a six-inch key on the ring.

Trevor inserted it in the main lock, turned it and unlocked the door before turning the Yale key again. The door opened. He stepped inside. The outer hall was small, no more than six feet square. He pushed the door and entered the chapel. The pulpit and organ were screened off from the congregation by sliding doors.

‘I don’t smell any paint,’ Trevor commented.

‘You can get ones that don’t smell these days. They cost a little more …’

‘And are totally invisible and useless for the purpose?’ Trevor ran his fingers over the grimy walls. Smudges greyed the paintwork. Alongside the chairs in the congregation the paint had been scuffed down to the bare plaster.

Matthew flushed. ‘We talked about it. We’re going to buy the paint – this week …’

‘Mr Clarke, I have to ask to you to accompany me to the station.’

Matthew Clarke looked as though he were about to burst into tears. ‘Are you arresting me?’

‘Not at the moment, Mr Clarke, but wasting police time and giving false statements are serious offences. If you would like a solicitor to be present while you are questioned, we can send for yours, or find you one. Constable Brooke, please escort Mr Clarke to the car.’

‘I have to lock up.’

‘I will secure the building, Mr Clarke.’

Trevor waited until Chris had left with Matthew Clarke before telephoning the station and asking the duty constable to arrange an escort to bring Sam Jenkins in for questioning.