CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘What time did the elders’ committee meeting finish?’ Trevor asked Matthew.

‘As I told you I wasn’t wearing a watch. It could have been any time between four and six o’clock.’

Trevor tried not to allow his irritation to show. ‘Let’s try another approach. Where did you go after the elders’ committee meeting finished?’

‘As I’ve already told you, I stayed in the chapel.’

‘The elders met at two o’clock; you had a meeting which lasted until?’ Trevor looked at Matthew enquiringly.

Matthew clutched his head theatrically. ‘I remember now, it was four o’clock. I recall the secretary noting the time and putting it on the report before he handed it to the chairman.’

‘And then?’

‘As I said, a few of us stayed in the chapel.’

‘Why? And please don’t tell me, “to paint it” when there’s no evidence of paint in tins or on the walls.’

‘To discuss serious chapel matters.’

‘What kind of serious matters?’

‘Do I have to answer your questions?’

‘Not if you are prepared for me to draw my own conclusions as to why you don’t want to answer them.’

Matthew slumped. ‘I feel ill …’

Trevor left his seat. ‘Escort Mr Clarke to a cell, Constable Brooke, and ask the duty officer to call the police doctor. When you return we’ll drive to the chapel and see how the search of the premises and Mr Clarke’s house is progressing.’

‘You can’t search the chapel or my house,’ Matthew protested.

‘The searches have already begun, Mr Clarke. I requested warrants when I brought you here. I can and I will do anything to further this investigation. I have already questioned Mr Jenkins and your accounts of the events of that night vary considerably. I will warn you as I have warned Mr Jenkins, wasting police time and giving false statements are serious charges.’

‘We didn’t do anything illegal.’

‘What did you do, Mr Clarke?’

The old man clamped his lips shut.

Trevor’s patience finally deserted him. ‘Take Mr Clarke to the cell and arrange for him to see a doctor. I will speak to you again, Mr Clarke, after we have visited the officers conducting the searches of the chapel and your and Mr Jenkins’s houses.’

The officer standing guard outside the Jenkinses’ house looked bored but he stood a little straighter when he saw Trevor approaching.

‘Is the search still going on?’

‘Yes, sir. I saw the sergeant walking up the stairs an hour ago.’

Trevor found the sergeant directing the four officers assigned to him in a search of the bedrooms and bathroom. ‘Have you found anything?’

‘Nothing you wouldn’t expect to see in your average house lived in by elderly people, sir. But Mrs Jenkins wasn’t very keen on allowing us in. Neither was Mr Howells. They both wanted to stay while we conducted the search but Mr Mark Jenkins persuaded them to go next door until we’d finished.’

‘Have you much more to do?’

‘After this floor, the attic and the garden, sir.’

‘Telephone me when you’ve done.’

‘Even if there’s nothing to report?’

‘Especially if there’s nothing to report.’ Trevor walked down the stairs to where Chris Brooke was talking to the duty constable. He hated wasting time. Officer man-hours were costly and the search had done nothing to further the case. He looked through the open door and saw Mark Jenkins standing in the wasteland of his parents’ “garden”, arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring belligerently at him.

‘Mr Jenkins,’ Trevor stepped through the door to meet him.

‘My mother is in a terrible state. You’ve arrested my father and you won’t say what you suspect he’s done. None of us can see how he could possibly have had anything to do with my sister’s murder. He was with the elders of the chapel all that day …’

‘Was he?’ Trevor asked.

‘Of course he was. He said he was and I’ve never known my father tell a lie in his life. You’ve sent police officers into my parents’ house to search through their private property without reason …’

‘The investigation we are carrying out into your sister’s murder is reason enough.’

‘You can’t possibly believe my father killed her?’

Given Mark Jenkins’s previous honesty Trevor was reluctant to resort to the standard police line. But given the stage of the investigation and the lies Sam Jenkins had told them about his whereabouts on the day of the murder, he had little choice. ‘I can’t say any more at the moment than your father is helping us with our enquiries, Mr Jenkins.’

‘When will he be home?’

‘I can’t tell you that either, Mr Jenkins.’

‘Look here …’

‘Mr Jenkins, I will update you and your family as soon as I am able. The team should finish in your parents’ house in the next couple of hours, then your mother will be able to return home.’

‘And what about the damage they will have done to my parents’ home in the meantime?’ Mark demanded.

‘Our search teams are trained to handle people’s property with respect. However, should there be any inadvertent damage, compensation will be paid.’ Trevor glanced at Chris.

‘Time to move on, sir?’ Chris asked perceptively, with a sideways glance at Mark who was obviously having difficulty reining in his temper.

‘Yes. We have several more visits to make before we can finish for the day.’

* * *

‘The chapel was clean, sir. There are very few places to hide anything in a building like that,’ the sergeant overseeing the search of the chapel and Matthew Clarke’s house said in response to Trevor’s query. ‘We checked behind the wall panelling and found bare brick walls. But we did find a metal crucifix hidden in the pulpit.’ He held up a foot-long cross that bore an agonised figure of Christ.

Trevor took it from him. It was surprisingly heavy.

‘Personally, I thought it a bit odd to hide something like that in a chapel.’

‘Depends on the denomination of the chapel.’ Trevor rubbed the surface of the metal to try and determine what it was made of. ‘Most Protestants regard crucifixes as Catholic artefacts. The only Christian symbol you’ll see inside most chapels is a plain cross. Generally made of wood.’

‘We found soft porn DVDs and magazines locked in this suitcase. It was on top of a wardrobe upstairs, sir.’ The officer opened the case that had been lifted onto a table in Matthew Clarke’s living room. The covers look racy but there’s nothing illegal in them that I can see. Although I thought you might want to turn them over to the Vice Squad for closer examination.’

Trevor picked out three DVDs at random. The Three Libidos, Fly Virgin Fly, Ten In a Bed. He studied the boxes, and found what he was looking for. A seller’s sticker.

‘These could explain why Mr Clarke and Mr Jenkins won’t tell us their exact whereabouts after the meeting, sir,’ Chris suggested. ‘If it became generally known that chapel elders watched porn films after their committee meetings, it might ruin their reputations.’

‘Would, not might. And looking at where these were bought they could be into more than just watching porn films.’ Trevor returned the DVDs to the suitcase. ‘I’ll take them down the station. Have you found anything else?’

‘These in the recycling bin.’

Chris picked up one of half a dozen empty bottles of vodka.

‘How often are the bins emptied in this street?’ Trevor lifted the box from the table.

‘Every fortnight, sir,’ the sergeant replied. ‘Next collection is due in four days.’

‘So either Mr Clarke has been collecting these for a while or he drinks. Thank you, Sergeant, most helpful.’

Chris followed Trevor out to the car and unlocked it so Trevor could stow the case in the boot. ‘What about the other eleven elders on the committee, sir?’

Trevor glanced at his watch and shook his head. ‘We can’t hold Sam Jenkins and Matthew Clarke much longer without either charging them with wasting police time or releasing them with a caution. We’ll return to the station and see how much luck the team has had in contacting the other elders by phone. Sarah should be back and I want to look over her interview notes.’

‘And the farm, sir?’

‘Like Scheherazade’s head in the Arabian Knights, it will have to wait another day.’

Sarah was thumbing through her notes when Trevor arrived back in the incident room. A bright young constable had put a sheet of the elders’ telephone numbers on his desk and the responses she’d received when she’d asked if they could be interviewed the following day. Six had consented; five had stated they were too busy.

Trevor picked up the internal telephone and ordered the duty officer to move Mr Jenkins and Mr Clarke back into adjoining interview rooms. Chris was already playing one of DVDs they’d picked up in Matthew Clarke’s house on a computer.

‘It’s low-quality soft porn, sir,’ he said when he saw Trevor watching the screen over his shoulder.

‘So I see. Which reminds me. Vic,’ he called to a sergeant who was working at a desk on the other side of the room. ‘Susie still in business?’

‘Cleopatra’s going from strength to strength, sir.’

‘Did you say Cleopatra’s, sir?’ Sarah flicked through her notes until she found John Evans’s interview.

‘I did.’

‘Kacy Howells’ ex, John Evans, mentioned Susie Cleopatra. Could there be a connection?’

‘That depends on what he said.’

‘He said that when he lived with Kacy, messages were left on their answer phone by someone called Susie Cleopatra who was offering Kacy work.’

‘Did he say what kind of work?’

‘He assumed agency work and given Kacy’s interests, something to do with sex for sale. Do you want me to sit in when you re-interview Mr Clarke and Mr Jenkins, sir?’

‘In ten minutes.’ Trevor went into his office and closed the door behind him.

It didn’t take Trevor long to track down Susie’s telephone number. If the telephone rang the other end of the line it could only have rung once. A deep throaty, sexy voice echoed down the line. ‘Cleopatra’s palace. What is your pleasure?’

‘Susie, please.’

‘Who shall I say is speaking?’

‘Trevor Joseph – inspector as in police.’

The voice became shriller and brisker. ‘I’ll see if she’s in.’ Seconds later she reconnected and said, ‘Putting you through.’

‘Trevor, darling, you warning me about a raid?’

‘Last I heard your place was legal and above board.’

‘And I’m making sure it stays that way.’

‘Of course you are.’ Trevor had known Susie for years. He’d arrested her for streetwalking when he was a rookie, only for his sergeant who’d considered her the proverbial “whore with a heart of gold” albeit a kid still in care, to let her off with a caution. When one of her “punters” died and left her enough money for a comfortable retirement – if it had been invested wisely – Susie had used it to buy and open a massage parlour-cum-brothel where young girls could ply their trade away from the street and, more importantly, the pimps who creamed off most of their “wages”.

‘If it’s not a raid, you must want a favour?’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because, despite all the social events I’ve invited you to over the years, the only time you ever ring me is when you’re conducting police business and want information.’

‘Do you know a Sam Jenkins or Matthew Clarke?’

‘Darling, where’s your discretion. We use nicknames in Cleopatra’s, remember?’

‘In their case, Zimmerman and Geriatricman might be appropriate.’

‘How unkind. You’ll be old one day.’

‘I’m getting older by the minute. These two are chapel elders,’ Trevor rattled off their addresses.

‘Means nothing to me.’

‘How about films, you still do rental?’

‘Sale not rental.’

‘And special shows for group outings?’

‘I warned you discretion is our keyword.’

‘These two old men would be extremely embarrassed if it became common knowledge they patronised your establishment.’

‘As would one hundred per cent of our happily married customers, and a fair proportion of our bachelors.’

‘I think they’re too embarrassed to admit where they were last Monday. As a result they’ve become suspects in a murder case. Suspects that are wasting police time. I’m tempted to throw the book at them. Whereas if I knew for certain they were at your place … you can fill in the dots.’

‘You’d let them go?’

‘After a dressing down for irritating and annoying me. And given the proviso that they haven’t committed any other crimes.’

‘Give me a time?’

‘As I said – last Monday, four-ish to ten-ish.’

‘You didn’t get this from me?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Swear on Peter Collins’ life, on second thoughts don’t. I don’t love him any more.’

‘What’s Peter done to you now?’ Trevor asked in amusement.

‘Arrested one of my best clients and sent him down for two years.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Receive stolen goods and screw the DSS.’

‘In which case he deserved to be sent down.’

‘He probably did but the four hundred pounds a week he spent in here isn’t easy to make up. Four-ish … old guys … Nothing at four.’

‘Try later.’

‘Six o’clock – seven o’clock –?’

‘Could be?’

Peals of laughter echoed down the line. ‘You must be talking about our fishing club.’

‘Fishing club – as in rods, lines and fish?’

‘I’ve never seen them hunched over a pier or a river bank. But seven old guys turn up in taxis once a month. They buy films, drink coffee and spirit chasers, see a live show and sometimes book girls, although according to the girls not one of them can get it up, let alone keep it up.’

‘And they book into your place as a fishing club?’

‘You don’t expect me to question punters or turn down business?’

‘Describe them?’

‘Old, grey and wrinkled and bald, what more is there to say?’

‘Names?’

‘How would you expect me to know that?’

‘Your girls would.’

‘Hang on.’

Trevor waited patiently while a hurried whispered conversation was conducted the other end. ‘We have a Sam, a Bill and a Cyril. Any use to you?’

‘Might be. Thanks, Susie, you’re a gem.’

‘Our live shows are tasteful, I’ll arrange one down the station for you cost price so you can see for yourself. It pays to advertise where the police are concerned. None of you have visited us socially for months.’

‘Upstairs would throw a fit and me out of the force if I booked one. See you around, Susie.’

‘Not with a whistle in your hand I hope.’

‘Before you go, this is something of a wild shot but have you heard of a girl called Kacy Howells?’

‘The only Kacy I knew was a Kacy Jenkins. She did the odd bit of filming for us, years ago. Strange girl would never allow the boys to film her face, only her body but it worked She even had a cult thing going for her. She wasn’t exactly what you’d call stunning; her body was flabby in places but keep the punters guessing and they always imagine better than it is.’

‘How long since she worked for you?’

‘Seven or eight years.’

Trevor did a quick calculation and worked out that if they were talking about the same Kacy Jenkins, she had stopped working for Susie round about the time she married George Howells.

‘Do you have a list of the films she made for you?’

‘Somewhere … Trevor I have a business to run …’

‘I’d be really grateful if you could courier the DVDs over.’

‘You’re talking money …’

‘Invoice me for the DVDs and taxi.’

‘And you’ll pay?’

‘By return out of my own pocket. I’ll get it back on expenses from upstairs and take the hit on interest for the sake of justice.’

‘For a copper, Trevor Joseph, you’re not so bad. I’ll see what I can dig up. And now, I really must go.’

Matthew Clarke’s eyes were dark, reproachful. He seemed to have shrunk in the few hours that had elapsed since Trevor had last seen him.

Trevor set down the file he was holding and sat across the table from him. ‘Mr Clarke, you’ll be pleased to know that our team will have finished searching the chapel and your house today.’

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

Trevor nodded to Chris who was carrying the suitcase the search team had found on top of the wardrobe in Matthew’s house. ‘Do you recognise this case?’

‘I’ve never seen it before in my life,’ Matthew lied stoutly.

‘You’ve no idea who put it on top of the wardrobe in one of your bedrooms?’ When Matthew didn’t answer, Trevor continued. ‘I’ve never heard of someone breaking into a house to put a suitcase on top of a wardrobe but I suppose there is a first time for everything. We’ll need to take your fingerprints, Mr Clarke …’

Matthew clenched his shrunken fists. ‘All right, it’s mine.’

‘And the DVDs?’ Trevor lifted the case on to the table and snapped the locks open.

‘I bought them in a shop.’

‘You didn’t buy them in a shop.’ Trevor held up the copy of The Three Libidos. ‘You bought them in a massage parlour called Cleopatra’s.’

‘So? They’re not illegal.’

‘No, they’re not.’

‘But you want to tell the world they were on the top of my wardrobe …’

‘Mr Clarke, all I want to know is where you and Mr Jenkins were last Monday between the hours of four o’clock and midnight. Once you have told me, I will try and corroborate your story. If it is the truth, you may take your suitcase and go. After I have given you another warning about wasting police time.’

‘Seven of us go to Cleopatra’s after committee meetings. We go to my house first, get a take-away of fish and chips … there’s a place at the end of my street that delivers, eat while watching a film …’

‘A Cleopatra special.’ Trevor held up one of the films.

Matthew nodded, averting his eyes from the naked girl on the cover. Then we book two taxis to take us down to town.’

‘To Cleopatra’s?’

‘We get the driver to drop us off at the taxi rank around the corner and go into Cleopatra’s through the back entrance.’

‘Next to the art gallery,’ Trevor guessed.

‘There’s no law …’

‘Against a few friends having fun in Cleopatra’s,’ Trevor finished for him. ‘No, there’s not. How long do you stay in Cleopatra’s?’

‘We usually leave my house about half past six. By then the traffic is going the other way, out of town so the taxis have a clear run. We get there about a quarter past seven.’

‘And then?’

‘You know?’ Matthew mumbled.

‘No, I don’t know, Mr Clarke, that is why I am asking,’ Trevor spoke briskly.

‘We have a drink and see a show.’

‘A film or a show with girls.’

‘With live girls.’

Trevor had to suppress a smile as he recalled one of Peter’s tirades. “Look at that. All live girls. What’s the point in putting that up over the door. Do they really believe that anyone would think the girls were dead?”

‘And afterwards?’

‘We have another drink, talk to the girls …’

‘Do any of you see them privately?’

‘Sometimes,’ Matthew admitted guardedly.

‘All of you?’

‘Not always.’

‘What time do you leave?’

‘Never later than ten o’clock. Susie – the lady who owns the club – lets us have the small theatre until then. Any later and the price doubles.’

Trevor reflected that it was good deal for Susie. Monday nights were traditionally the quietest. The parlour would be busy from five thirty to seven with people leaving the offices in town. There’d be a lull until eleven. The “Fishing Club”’s business would be a welcome boost. ‘And then what?’

‘We take taxis back to my place.’

‘All of you?’

‘We all chip in and I buy tea, cheese and biscuits. Everyone leaves around midnight. It’s our once a month jaunt,’ he said defensively. Repeating, ‘It’s not illegal,’ as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

‘So last Monday you and Sam Jenkins weren’t alone, you were with five other members of the elders’ committee.’

‘I was with five of them. Sam wasn’t. He had fish and chips with us, and he went into town with the rest of us, but he left us when we got there. Said he had to see someone on urgent business and he’d catch up with us later. He joined us in Cleopatra’s about half past nine, in time for a last drink. Then he got in one of the taxis and went back to my house with us.’

‘Did he tell you where he went?’

Matthew shook his shrunken head. ‘No. But he was short-tempered when he joined us. I remember thinking that his business couldn’t have gone well.’