Never Return

by Stephen Barnes

  “Twelve Grand?” Evans said. He plucked the watch from Fuller’s hand and examined it with interest.

  “Yes Boss. I took it to the jewellers shop on Church Street. The guy there said right away it was good. It’s a quality piece.”

  “Julian’s obviously a pretty good judge. Simeon wasn’t making enough at the bank to afford luxuries like this. I think we should speak to Maxine again. She might be able to give us a clue about the source of his wealth.”

  “Do you….”

  “No, it’s not your kind of job. I want you to find out where the watch came from. If it’s worth twelve grand it should be traceable. If Simeon bought it for cash the original owner may have an idea about where he got the money.”

  Evans returned the timepiece to Fuller and they crossed the office towards Marsh who was standing in front of the board with Garton.

  “Right,” Evans said. “We now know Simeon wore a twelve grand watch which he shouldn’t have been able to afford on his salary. Where did the money come from? I’ve just spoken to his brother Michael. He’s a student but he drives a BMW. The same question applies to him.”

  Fuller appeared keen to offer advice but the Inspector’s stern look deterred him.

  “Michael Gilbert could be the key to this investigation,” Evans continued. “He certainly provides us with a link between Simeon and the university. He claims he wasn’t close to his brother but it seems they were both living beyond their means. I’m sure he has something to hide but rather than go for the forced confession, I’m putting him under surveillance. Mr Hinton has approved it. There’ll be a team in place from tomorrow morning. They’ll track him around the clock. He won’t have a clue.”

  “What do we do?” Fuller asked, subdued by the preference for surveillance over his own specialism. “Apart from investigating the watch,” he added.

  “I want Marshy to talk to Simeon’s girlfriend again. If he was involved in criminal activity she would either know about it or have her suspicions. You two can visit the bank,” he said to Fuller and Garton. “We need to learn as much as we can about Simeon from everyone who knew him. There were only two of his colleagues there on Saturday. Ask for Alex Newton. He was Simeon’s boss. We need every scrap of information we can glean about Simeon. Got that?”

  “Yes Boss. See you later,” Fuller said as he headed for the door with Garton.

  “Show the watch to the staff at the bank,” Evans said as the DCs were leaving. “They may know where Simeon got it.”

  Evans turned to Marsh as Fuller and Garton departed. “Maxine may have claimed to know nothing about the watch but there’s no harm in asking about it again. She might also know more about Simeon’s friends in London than Mr Gilbert. By the way, have you still got that book?”

  “What book?” Marsh asked.

  “The one about the Thorbury family.”

  “It’s on my desk.”

  “Let’s have a look.”

  “Why the sudden interest?”

  “Did you learn any history at school?”

  “Yes. I got a grade B at A level.”

  “Only a B?”

  “It wasn’t my best subject.”

  “So who was Palmerston?”

  Marsh was puzzled by the question. “I think he was Prime Minister or Foreign Secretary. I don’t remember exactly when. Middle of the nineteenth century I think.” Marsh retrieved the book and gave it to Evans.

  “Did he have any connection with drugs?” Evans asked.

  “Drugs?”

  “Yes. His name cropped up this morning. I think opium was mentioned.”

  “That’s right. There was a war with China. They didn’t like us flooding their country with opium.”

  “We went to war in defence of drug dealing?”

  “I think we may have done. Does it matter now?”

  “Possibly not. Would you say history was about putting things in the right context?”

  “I don’t really know. Like I said, it wasn’t my best subject.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “Perhaps it means that values change with time.”

  ”I wonder,” Evans mused. “Can I borrow this?”

  “Sure,” Marsh agreed. “I’m off to see Maxine,” he said and headed for the door.

  Evans doubted whether much had really changed since Palmerston’s day. Everyone was just as interested as ever in wealth and power. Could Palmerston have known the original owner of Thorbury Hall? The thought intrigued him. He took the book into his office and sat at his untidy desk. He didn’t expect it to be of any use to the investigation but he started to read it anyway.

  Chapter 13

  Palace House was one of the old temples of commerce which dominated the city centre. It had a new facade mostly of steel and tinted glass. A short flight of steps led up to the entrance and there was a ramp at the side of the steps to provide disabled access. Paul trotted up the steps.

  The reception area was deserted. An open visitors’ book rested on the desk. Straight ahead were three lifts and a sign listing the tenants on each floor. Thorbury Recruitment shared the third floor with Bell and Crone (Chartered Accountants), Grant and Barker (Property Developers) and several others. Paul rode up to the third floor. On the door immediately opposite the lifts a plastic sign read:-

  THORBURY RECRUITMENT

  ‘WHEN ONLY THE BEST WILL DO’

  The young woman sitting behind the reception desk smiled as Paul entered. “Can I help you?” she said.

  “Hi, I’m Paul Cahill, I’m here to see Tom.”

  “Is he expecting you?”

  “Yes, at two o’clock. I’m a bit early,” Paul said after checking the time.

  “I’ll let him know you’re here. Take a seat.” The woman nodded towards the chairs in front of the desk.

  Paul sat down as the receptionist picked up her phone, “Paul Cahill’s here to see you,” she said before looking up at Paul. “He’ll be a couple of minutes,” she told him.

  Twenty minutes later, the door next to the reception desk opened and a young man appeared. He was tall, blond haired and dressed casually in dark blue trousers and a yellow shirt which was open at the neck. He walked briskly up to Paul and extended his right hand. “Dr Cahill? I’m Tom. Sorry about the wait,” he said.

  Paul shook hands with Tom Thorbury. “Thanks for taking the time to see me,” he said.

  “Come through,” Tom instructed. “I’m afraid my time’s at a premium right now.”

  Tom led the way to his office which was quite a humble, square room. It was furnished with a desk and chair, two other chairs for visitors and three grey filing cabinets. There was a small table in the corner on which a full coffee maker and cups were perched. In one of the walls a large window gave a view of the main office with half a dozen desks where people were busy tapping on keyboards.

  “We moved here two months ago. Haven’t got round to smartening the place up yet. Take a seat. You said you were interested in Thorbury Hall?”

  “Yes. I’m trying to improve my knowledge of the house and its history. A group at the university have launched a campaign to save it from ruin.”

  “Yeah, I heard about them.”

  “They think your support would be invaluable.”

  Tom didn’t respond. “Would you like coffee?” he asked.

  “Yes please.”

  “How do you take it?”

  “Black please, no sugar.”

  To Paul, Tom Thorbury seemed like a normal guy. No posh accent, no air of superiority, nothing to link him to the great British aristocracy. He poured Paul’s coffee and handed him the cup before sitting at the desk. “So you’re here to represent the hall savers?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t share their enthusiasm. Restoration isn’t feasible. There’s no payback. The only viable option is to encourage a property developer to undertake a conversion. Apartments perhaps or offices.”

  “It might work. It doesn’t inspire me though.
What do you want from me?”

  “Anything you know about the house. That’s really my only interest but if there’s something which might assist the campagin, all well and good. And if you want to give it your backing, it would be greatly appreciated.”

  “You said you lectured in history?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What’s your speciality?”

  “My PhD thesis was on the impact of radical Methodism on twentieth century civil protest,” Paul told him. “But that of course requires a detailed knowledge of the nineteenth century as well.”

  Tom was silent as he absorbed the information. “I’ll take your word for that,” he said. “To be honest, I don’t have much time for history and the hall was sold before I arrived in this world. It may have belonged to my family but that doesn’t make it worth saving for the nation.”

  “The alternative may be demolition.”

  “That would be a shame. I’d get over it though.”

  “How’s business?” Paul asked. Tom’s lack of enthusiasm for saving the hall was all too clear.

  “It’s good. We specialise in the IT sector. Demand is still quite flat but we’re making inroads into the existing market. The internet is a crucial tool for the business. This is our site. Take a look.” Tom turned the monitor on his desk towards his visitor.

  Paul saw nothing but a typical website but a positive response seemed appropriate. “Looks impressive,” he said.

  “We spent a lot of money on the design. The site is easy to navigate and pleasant to the eye.”

  “You just recruit IT people?” Paul asked.

  “Mostly, but for certain positions, project management skills are equally important.”

  “How did you get into this line?”

  “I’d considered various business options while I was at Oxford University. I fixed on recruitment when I did my MBA. It’s a highly competitive sector but as I said, we’ve managed to gain a foothold. Have you ever thought about a career in business?”

  “I doubt if it would suit me. I haven’t always been an academic though. I was in the City Police for five years.”

  “Really? That’s interesting.”

  “I was a graduate recruit. After the mandatory stint in uniform I moved to the CID. Mostly homicide and drugs.”

  “What made you give it up?”

  “Disillusionment with the work and an interest in history. It wasn’t a difficult decision.”

  “And now you want to know more about Thorbury Hall?”

  “That’s right. There isn’t a lot of source material on the Thorbury family.”

  “We continue to be unremarkable.”

  “Is there anything unique about the hall?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Things are often so deeply buried in the past they escape from public knowledge. Significant discoveries are made on quite a regular basis, even about some well known country houses.”

  “What sort of discoveries?”

  “Secret passageways, hidden architectural gems, royal visits, other significant events.”

  “Well, Dr Cahill, as far as the secrets of Thorbury Hall are concerned, I share the ignorance of the general public. My parents weren’t especially keen on preserving the family history.”

  “Do you have access to any family records which might provide useful information?”

  “I do have a lot of old papers but I don’t really have time for historical research.”

  “Is there anything I could borrow?” Paul asked.

  “I’m not sure exactly what I’ve got but you’re welcome to borrow whatever I can find. Give me your contact details and I’ll get back to you.”

  Chapter 14

  The house on Hollybush Close was almost identical to all the others in the quiet cul-de-sac. There were six detached properties on either side plus two at the end where the road widened out to form a turning circle. They all had a small front garden, a short drive leading up to a double garage and a path to the front door.

  Maxine let Marsh into the house and led him through a small hallway to the kitchen. She was a petite twenty-something with wild auburn hair.

  “The living room’s a bit of a mess right now,” she told Marsh. “I’ve got a lot of stock in there.”

  “Stock?” Marsh asked.

  “For the market stall.”

  “You have a market stall?”

  “Yes. Fancy goods, bric-a-brac, that sort of thing.”

  “Simeon’s father said you worked in marketing.”

  “That’s what Simeon told his parents. He wanted them to think we were a typical middle class couple. Today isn’t a market day or I’d be there now, selling my trinkets. Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.

  “No, I’ll pass. I won’t keep you long. We’re trying to find out more about Simeon. How long had you known him?”

  “We met in a bar in Covent Garden two months before we moved north.”

  “How could you afford this place on the income from a market stall and his salary as a trainee at the bank?”

  “There’s a big mortgage. I’d done well on the market stall and Simeon worked at the bank so that helped us to get the loan. Now he’s dead, I’ll probably have to sell the house.”

  It was evident to Marsh that an investigation of the couple’s finances might be necessary. “We’ve found Simeon’s watch,” he said. “It could be worth as much as twelve grand. Are you sure you don’t know where it came from?”

  “He may have bought it for cash,” Maxine suggested. “Can I have it back?”

  “No Maxine. We need it as evidence.”

  “I see.”

  “Did you know Simeon’s brother was a student at the university?”

  “Yes. I should have mentioned Michael but I was upset about Simeon.”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “Not very well. I first met him in London and he’s been here once since his course started.”

  “Did Simeon have many friends in London?”

  “He knew a lot of people but he didn’t have any close friends. He was very self-contained, the strong and silent type. That’s one of the things I liked most about him.”

  Maxine was making Marsh feel increasingly uneasy. She ran a market stall. She wasn’t a marketing professional. The doubts about the source of Simeon’s apparent wealth remained.

  “I’d like you to come with me to the police station for a more detailed discussion about Simeon,” Marsh said.

  Maxine made no objection to the Sergeant’s request. On arrival at the station, he left her in an interview room and found Evans in his office. “I’ve brought Maxine in,” he said. “I think you might be interested in talking to her.”

  Evans was reading the book about Thorbury Hall. He looked up at Marsh. “What have you got?” he asked.

  “She doesn’t work in marketing. She has a market stall selling fancy goods and bric-a-brac. We spoke in the kitchen because the living room was full of stock.”

  “I suppose it’s a form of marketing,” Evans said. “Nothing’s ever quite what it seems is it Marshy? We rarely come across anyone with any real passion for the truth.”

  “I see you’re reading up on Thorbury Hall,” Marsh observed.

  “Yes. It’s more interesting than I expected,” Evans replied as he followed Marsh to the interview room.

  “Sergeant Marsh has been telling me about your market stall,” Evans said after introducing himself to Maxine. It was his first encounter with Simeon’s girlfriend. “How’s business?” he asked.

  “I had a good first year.”

  “How much did you make?”

  “About sixty thousand net profit. It’s all properly accounted for.”

  The DI’s perennial blank expression hid is scepticism. “That’s a lot of money to make from selling bric-a-brac at the market,” he said.

  Maxine didn’t reply. She looked down at the table.

  “Tell me about Simeon’s
watch. Did he buy it himself?”

  “As far as I know,” Maxine said, looking up again at the Inspector.

  “And how could he afford such an expensive watch on a bank trainee’s salary?”

  “Simeon was very resourceful. He had all sorts of money making schemes apart from his job.”

  “What sort of money making schemes?”

  “He did a lot of buying and selling. He’d pick things up on the cheap, mostly at car boot sales and sell them at a profit. He was always coming home with cash, often quite large amounts.”

  “Simeon obviously had a real eye for a bargain,” Evans said. “What else did he do with the cash other than spend it on expensive watches?”

  Maxine was silent again. She looked across at Evans as if unsure how to answer his question. “He gave a lot of it to me,” she admitted. “It started when we rented the flat in town. I put the money through my books. He said it was the easiest way to account for the income so we could get the mortgage to buy the house. He didn’t want the bank to know he was making money on the side.”

  “So you didn’t make sixty thousand from the market stall. Simeon gave you cash which you entered in your accounts.”

  “Yes.”

  “What sort of sums are we talking about?”

  “It varied from a few hundred to several thousand.”

  “You must have seen what Simeon was buying and selling.”

  “It was all old stuff, silverware, pottery, even paintings. Simeon said the people he bought it from had no idea what it was worth.”

  “Did you ever consider the possibility that some of Simeon’s money might have come from criminal activity?”

  “Of course I didn’t.”

  “But you couldn’t be certain about the source of his money and laundering the proceeds of crime through your market stall business would be a criminal offence.”

  “Laundering?”

  “If any of the money was obtained illegally, you could be charged with money laundering. It’s a serious offence,” Evans stated.

  “Simeon was never involved in crime,” Maxine insisted. “He was buying and selling, just like me. We were in the same business. I declared the income on my last tax return.”