“Did anything strike you as odd about our conversation with Alex Newton?” Evans asked.
“Not really. He seemed like a straightforward guy. What are you thinking?”
“I’m wondering why Newton would favour a candidate with Simeon’s limited academic achievements at a time when recruitment had dropped and the bank was laying people off.”
“He said it was an unexpected vacancy,” Marsh pointed out.
“Yes. But you’re proof that jobs at City Bank aren’t easy to come by. Good jobs are hard to find, even for the best graduates.”
“I suppose it does seem a bit odd. Should we be treating Newton as a suspect?” Marsh asked.
“I feel uneasy about him. The recruitment of Simeon seems unusual. Newton is an Oxford graduate which indicates their standards and if Simeon’s watch turns out to be a luxury he couldn’t afford on the salary of a bank trainee, it adds more concern.”
“Maxine said she didn’t know about the watch but she still seemed upset when I told her it was missing,” Marsh explained.
“All the more reason to think it might be relevant to our enquiries,” Evans concluded.
Chapter 6
Football is a game you watch with other men. For Paul, this had always been a precept set in stone and tied to an equally inflexible routine; a few pints before the match, even more after, a curry to finish off the day. That was how his Saturdays were spent when City were playing at home but today, the ritual had been shattered by a cultural shockwave. City were at home to Rovers and Carol was a Rovers fan.
This was the game everyone wanted to watch since Rovers, the local poor relations had made it to the Premier League three years earlier. Paul was a season ticket holder but two tickets for the main stand had come his way from someone with contacts amongst the playing staff which meant he and Carol could sit together.
Carol had been a Rovers fan since her father had taken her to a match on her eighth birthday. Her two sisters had also been encouraged to take an interest in the game but Carol, the eldest, had failed to shake off the football bug.
Tickets for away matches in the Championship were easy to come by but in the Premier League, they were a rarity. Being there with Paul added to the pleasure but mostly because he was a City fan and Rovers were winning one nil.
Their seats were two rows above the directors box and Paul had been very determined in persuading Carol not to wear her Rovers scarf. Carol was enjoying the game much more than Paul and with time running out in the second half, his desperation was increasing.
It was a full house of fifty thousand, nearly all supporting City. The atmosphere was subdued and with the match in added time, the small contingent of Rovers fans in the far corner of the ground were making all the noise. City had enjoyed most of the possession but numerous chances had been missed and Rovers were already adding the three points to their season’s tally when Sidebottom broke clear of the Rovers defence, pushed the ball past the keeper and was brought down in the penalty box.
The City fans suddenly came to life, the referee removed a red card and waved it at the goalkeeper who, after the briefest protest, walked very slowly to the touchline as the abuse of the crowd poured down on him.
The penalty was likely to be the last action of the match. A point was all City could hope for. Sidebottom himself placed the ball on the spot. Rovers had used all their substitutes so Jennings, the right fullback squeezed into the jersey thrown to him by the departing keeper and took his place in the centre of the goal.
Almost everyone in the crowd was on their feet. Paul and Carol were hoping for different outcomes. Sidebottom appeared composed despite the efforts of the stand-in keeper to delay the penalty. He waited patiently for Jennings to prepare himself, glanced at the referee as the whistle neared his mouth and when it blew, calmly stroked the ball into the top right hand corner of the goal.
At last the noise inside the stadium reached full volume. Paul had his arms in the air in celebration, Carol was still. She knew City had deserved at least a point but the result alone mattered. Rovers hadn’t won here in her lifetime. The final kick of the match had denied them an historic victory.
They left the ground in the midst of the slowly moving mass of City supporters, all relieved by their late salvation. Carol and Paul headed towards the side street where Carol had parked. “I can’t believe how lucky you were,” she said, breaking the silence induced by the dramatic ending.
Paul smiled. “You have to admit we should have won.”
“When you’re at the top, you get all the breaks.”
“We missed a dozen chances. On any other day, it would have been a record score. How can you say we were lucky?”
“A penalty in added time is as lucky as you can get.”
“Are you saying it wasn’t a penalty?”
“No.”
“Are you saying Sidebottom wouldn’t have scored if the keeper hadn’t brought him down?”
“No.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“That I’m pissed off about not winning. I’ve never seen us win here.”
“It might happen one day. It’s at least as likely as the grounds of Thorbury Hall becoming the scene of a murder.”
“It’s the last place you’d expect that sort of thing to happen. Didn’t the Thorbury family have a connection with City at one time?”
“Yes. The club has a long history. It was founded in the 1870’s as Thorbury FC by a bunch of former public schoolboys. I think one of them was a family member. The connection with the founders was lost when the game went professional.”
“But didn’t the Thorbury family own the land the ground was built on?”
“That’s right and just before the lease ran out about fifty years ago, the club took out a loan to buy it. I think the family were hard up. They needed the money for the upkeep of Thorbury Hall.”
“I wonder if Tom’s a City fan.”
“Who?”
“Tom Thorbury. The current Earl of Thorbury. I think his father died a few years ago but Tom doesn’t use the title. He runs a recruitment company in the city centre. I did the legal work on his lease.” Carol was a solicitor with one of the city centre firms.
“Really? I’m sure that would be of interest to the ‘save the hall’ brigade at the university.”
“I don’t understand why you haven’t joined them. Given your obsession with the past.”
“I’m not obsessed with the past. History is my profession and a personal interest but you know what I think about the hall. I doubt if it can be saved. It couldn’t be put to any practical use. It has no potential as a visitor attraction and it’s unlikely to be used again by the university. They don’t have any plans for it other than to keep it mothballed.”
“Tom Thorbury’s support could be a major boost to any fund raising campaign. I’ve got his office number if someone from the university wants to contact him,” Carol said as they reached the car.
They began the short drive through the heavy traffic towards Paul’s flat. Carol still had her house in the southern suburbs but buyers were in short supply and the flat they had shared for the past three months was a more convenient location.
Carol parked outside the flats and they strolled to the nearby pub, the Royal Thorn. She knew it would soon be full of City supporters but although Rovers had failed to win, the draw was more than she’d expected and the City fans had nothing to crow about.
Peter Greening was standing at the bar when Carol and Paul entered the pub. Peter was a senior English lecturer at the university and, as Paul and Carol were well aware, the leader of the campaign to save Thorbury Hall. He was well known for his interest in local history and Paul had consulted him occasionally while completing his PhD thesis. Ten years older than Paul and taller at six foot four, he commanded respect for his physical appearance as well as his intellect. He was also a City supporter and a regular patron of the Royal Thorn. Since learning that Carol was a Rovers fan he ha
d never missed an opportunity to tease her.
“Two points down the pan eh?” Peter said to Paul after greeting the couple. “No disrespect to Rovers but how on earth did we manage not to win?”
“You only got a point with a last minute penalty but you say you should have won,” Carol snapped. “Typical City arrogance,” she added, without raising her voice amidst the growing throng of boisterous City supporters.
Peter smiled. “Let me get you a drink. I suppose a draw was a fair result,” he said.
Paul and Peter were both beer drinkers and Carol saw no reason to differ. Peter bought the drinks and decided football was a subject best avoided.
“Next week should be interesting,” he said to Paul. “I’m not used to working close to the scene of a murder but I guess that wouldn’t be unusual for you.”
“No. But cops on campus isn’t what I expected when I took the job.”
“The grounds of Thorbury Hall are the last place I’d expect that to happen.”
“Murders happen in unlikely places.”
“It would have made a nice final resting place before the university came along. When it was still a country house.”
“It’s about time they pulled the place down in my opinion,” Paul said.
“It’s hardly worth saving is it?” Carol said, knowing Peter would be irked by her comment.
“Your wind-ups are becoming increasingly tedious,” Peter moaned. “I remain convinced that Thorbury Hall could be a successful visitor attraction.”
Paul shook his head. “Can’t see it myself.”
Peter took a gulp from his glass and resisted the temptation to argue. It was hard to find a credible justification for preserving the hall.
At the time of Paul’s first graduation, Thorbury Hall had been a vibrant part of university life although the business students were the ones who knew it best. When he returned to start his doctorate, the hall had been closed and the business school re-housed in its new, purpose built block. Since then, the building had become a nagging problem to the university, not only a wasting asset but also the focus of strong and divergent opinions amongst the academic staff.
First, there was the group which favoured demolition. After all, hundreds of similar houses had been reduced to rubble since the decline of the aristocracy. Then there were those determined to preserve what they regarded as a fine example of the early Victorian country house. This faction was by far the most passionate, even organising public meetings to drum up support for the campaign. The majority, like Paul, were caught between the two sides, not wanting the house to be lost but not believing it had any viable future.
“Why are you both so unenthusiastic about the hall?” Peter asked, unable to drop the subject. “You both came to the last meeting. How did we fail to inspire you?”
“It’s like I said at the time,” Paul replied. “You’ve only got the building. There’s none of the original furniture, no paintings or any other art treasures. They were all sold off when the family moved out.”
“We could get a few of the pieces back,” Peter insisted. “The less expensive stuff perhaps.”
“Just one of the paintings could cost thousands,” Paul said. “You might get some of the furniture but that wouldn’t be enough. And there’s the upkeep. You’d need a significant income stream to come close to making it viable. Realistically, the best you could hope for is to save the external structure. A developer could convert it into apartments or offices or perhaps a hotel.”
“I’m sure we can do better than that.”
“You’d need a much more effective lobby group and powerful supporters. It would help if there was something unique about the place but there’s nothing I’m aware of,” Paul said.
“There isn’t much material on Thorbury Hall,” Peter admitted. “I did a bit of research myself recently. Didn’t come up with anything useful.”
“Even the history department failed in that respect. A short history of the hall and family was published several years ago but it only covered the basic facts.”
“You could canvass the family for support,” Carol suggested.
“The Thorbury family? No one seems to know what happened to them,” Peter replied.
“The current Earl of Thorbury runs a recruitment company in the City,” Carol told him, “He doesn’t use the title. Everyone calls him Tom.”
“Perhaps he’s got a few million to spare,” Peter speculated.
“I doubt it. Not yet anyway but his support could be useful. You never know, he might want to relocate his business there.” Carol was still trying to provoke the smug City supporter.
“That isn’t really what we had in mind,” Peter responded.
“On the other hand, he may have exclusive knowledge of Thorbury Hall. A long forgotten feature which might inspire the public,” Paul said.
“Aren’t we clutching at straws?” Peter asked.
“I don’t need to clutch at anything. I’ve no particular interest. I may be an historian but I’m not sentimental about the past.”
“Well I happen to think the building has cultural value. I’m surprised you don’t agree. There aren’t many houses from that era left in this part of the country.”
“That’s true,” Paul admitted. “Would you like me to ask Tom if he’d be willing to support the campaign?”
“Are you saying you know the guy?”
“No, but Carol did some work for him recently. I could give him a call if you like. Next week perhaps.”
“It’s worth a try,” Peter replied.
Chapter 7
Evans was at his desk on Sunday morning completing his initial report on the murder of Simeon Gilbert. He read it through with familiar trepidation knowing there was little to inspire Superintendent Hinton’s confidence.
Up to now they’d done no more than tick the easy boxes. The victim had been identified and some of the people who knew Simeon Gilbert had been interviewed. They’d searched for potential witnesses and traced vehicles with innocent owners. The initial forensic findings had provided no significant lines of enquiry but the crime scene investigation was on-going and the missing watch and shoes might be of significance to the investigation.
Unease about the lack of progress on a murder enquiry was hardly a new experience for Colin Evans but an unexpected development had provided grounds for optimism, increasing the significance of his Sergeant’s trip to London. Evans was confident that on Marsh’s return they would have a clearer picture of Simeon Gilbert’s background and a valuable insight into the reasons for his demise.
Evans picked up the phone and called Marsh’s mobile number. “Marshy, are you on the road?” he asked when the call was answered.
“Yes Boss.”
“Good. I’ve had a call from the Met. They told me Simeon had a brother, Michael. He’s a student at City University studying history. First year, same as Julian and James. I’m surprised Maxine didn’t mention him.”
“She was in shock. It may not have crossed her mind,” Marsh reasoned.
“We’ll need to ask her about that but our first priority is to find Michael. He couldn’t be traced at the university but he’s likely to be at home with his parents. If so, find out if he’s got an alibi for Friday night and check it out. Ask him what he knows about his brother and whether he can think of any reason for what happened to him. We may have to arrange a formal interview so let me know how you get on.”
“Will do.”
Evans put the phone down as Detective Constables Fuller and Garton walked through the open office door.
“Ah, Holmes and Watson. How are you this morning?” Evans asked.
“Not bad for a Sunday Boss,” Fuller replied.
“Well as I’ve got you on overtime you need to get me that watch as soon as you can. I think it will tell us something important about Simeon.”
“Those kids swore blind they knew nothing about it,” Garton said.
“But they were lying,” Fuller st
ated emphatically.
The Inspector gave Fuller his infamous piercing stare often referred to as the ‘Evans Look’. “I think you need a more creative approach,” he said.
“Right Boss,” Fuller said and grinned at Garton.
“Give me a call on my mobile later. With a bit of luck I’ll be at home with the family in an hour or so.”
“Right Boss,” Fuller repeated.
“One other thing,” Evans continued as the DCs were about to leave. “Julian and James might be able to help us locate Michael Gilbert, Simeon’s brother. He’s also a first year history student at the university. I’m surprised no one we spoke to at the bank mentioned that yesterday but perhaps they didn’t know.”
“That’s interesting news,” Fuller said. “D’you want us to find him?”
“It’s reasonable to assume he’s at home with his parents. There was no reply when I tried to call them but Sergeant Marsh is on his way to London. I expect he’ll find Michael at home but there’s no harm in you asking around. The sooner we can speak to him the better.”
“If we find him, d’you want us to bring him in?” Fuller asked.
“That depends on what he tells you. Anything you can get from him about Simeon could be of interest. Ask him what he was doing on Friday night at the time his brother was shot and let me know if you have any suspicions.”
Fuller nodded and the two DCs left knowing exactly what was required of them. The Inspector’s instinct had led him to believe that Julian had taken the watch and Fuller and Garton had the skills required to get to the truth.
As for Michael Gilbert, he was likely to know Simeon as well as anyone and could be a vital source of information. But Evans, ever sceptical, was also aware that Simeon’s brother might prove to be a complication they could have done without.
Chapter 8
Stephen Marsh glanced to his left as he reached for the gear lever. The flash of memory took him back to the Archer murder investigation, his first case with Colin Evans. Kelly, his fiancée, was wearing a skirt as short as the one she’d worn on their first meeting. David Archer had been her boss and Kelly had assisted Marsh’s examination of the victim’s finances. Kelly’s parents lived a few miles from the Gilberts and the opportunity to visit mum and dad could not be missed. She’d called the previous evening to say she was coming. Stephen would drop her off and return for lunch after completing his business.
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