Luned smiled and thanked him before heading for the next property.
Would it help to establish a pattern to Harry Jones’s visits to Nancy Brown? She rebuked her cynicism: detective work was about building a picture, gathering information, uncovering facts.
Luned called at two other properties and both of the occupiers knew Nancy Brown. But only as some sort of recluse who rarely went out and had supermarket deliveries each week. It amazed Luned how anyone could know so little about their neighbours before deciding to try one final property.
She rang the doorbell and heard a shout from inside and then footsteps. A woman with curlers in her air who looked like an extra from a comedy drama stood on the threshold. She seemed at least fifteen years younger than the other homeowners Luned had interviewed. The woman gave her warrant card a cursory glance and waved her in.
‘I’m part of the team investigating the death of Harry Jones in Llanberis,’ Luned said as she followed the woman through the hallway.
‘That was terrible.’
In the kitchen another woman stood next to a chair; scissors, combs and brushes lay on a black cloth on the nearby table.
‘I’m having my hair done. Donna comes every fortnight.’
Donna smiled.
‘How long have you lived here?’
‘Fifteen years although it seems like yesterday when I first moved in.’
‘Do you know Nancy Brown?’
Mrs Harrison rolled her eyes. ‘She’s a strange one. Keeps herself to herself. You tell her, Donna.’
The hairdresser pitched in. ‘I called to see her, thinking she might like to have a perm at home. I could always do with new customers. She couldn’t even open the door properly – she peeked out. She was polite enough – told me she wasn’t interested.’
Luned produced a photograph of Harry Jones. ‘Did you ever see this man calling at the property?’
Harrison nodded. ‘He used to park on the drive until he had the electric garage door installed.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘About a year ago they had one of those fancy electrical doors fitted to the garage. You know, it’s all in sections, you press a button, and it opens automatically. He could drive straight in then. But tell her what you thought, Donna. Tell her you thought she had a new fancy man.’
Luned didn’t have to trouble herself with coaxing a response from Donna.
Donna continued as though they were talking about a close friend. ‘Well, I can remember it like it was yesterday. I was coming up towards her place when I saw the BMW and noticed a personalised plate. My John wants one with his initials on it. Something like JLD – John Lloyd Davis – but last time he checked they could be dead expensive – so he’s saving at the moment. He says he can get me one for my Fiesta too.’
‘Do you remember the number plate?’ Luned said.
‘The letters were K.E.V. That’s my dad’s name – Kevin, I mean. He’s dead.’
Luned frowned. ‘And do you remember the numbers?’
Donna chortled. ‘No, don’t be silly.’
‘Have you seen the vehicle there again?’
Harrison pitched in. ‘Nobody gets a chance. Because she has this electric door and the car goes straight inside the garage. Sometimes I try and look out but it’s all too quick. And I don’t want to be a busybody.’
‘Of course not.’ Luned hoped she didn’t sound sarcastic.
‘We want to know what she gets up to.’ Donna sounded titillated. ‘She must have this power over men if they can just turn up. We’ve often thought that she might be… Well, you know… on the game… getting them to pay.’
‘This is a respectable neighbourhood; we haven’t got any ladies of the night working here,’ Mrs Harrison said.
Despite being entertained by Donna and Mrs Harrison, Luned wanted a description. ‘Could you describe the man in the BMW?’
Donna paused, frowning. ‘He looked middle-aged. And he wore sunglasses. And the car had tinted glass. My John goes on about having tinted glass in his next car all the time.’
‘It’ll make him look like a drug dealer,’ Mrs Harrison said.
‘Don’t be stupid.’ Donna sounded hurt.
Luned tried again. ‘And how old was he? In his twenties?’
Donna shook her head.
‘Was he in his thirties?’
Donna took a moment before replying. ‘He was probably forties or fifties.’
‘Would you be able to recognise him again?’
Luned’s serious tone voice made both women stare at her. Donna blinked repeatedly. ‘Suppose so.’
Luned drove back to headquarters pleased with her progress – a car registration number. By the following morning, the DVLA would confirm the identity of the owner. She stopped in a supermarket, bought a sandwich and a soft drink and arrived back to an empty Incident Room. She ate her lunch in a quiet Winder-free environment. If only every day in the Incident Room could be this hassle free, she thought.
She made her notes from that morning, diligently following all the correct protocols. Then she searched through the CCTV coverage from Harry’s office, jotting down the date and time when Perdue had visited Harry Jones with his anonymous friend. It took her longer than she expected to trace the static image she needed. The memorandum from Detective Chief Superintendent Overend gave her the name of a detective constable, Jason Hardcastle, as their contact in the Midlands police. She dialled his number.
‘Hardcastle.’
‘My name’s Detective Constable Thomas, Wales Police Service, Northern Division. I was given your name as the contact dealing with the Richard Perdue inquiry. Are you able to identify the man from the image we sent you?’
‘What man?’
‘We sent an email with an image of a man we need to trace.’
‘Sorry, love. Don’t know anything about it.’
Establishing when the original had been sent and where the blame lay for the delay could wait.
‘I’ll send you another.’
She double-checked the email address, finished the call and typed up a message she marked as urgent before attaching the image. She even called Hardcastle back to check her email had arrived. He promised to call her back as soon as he had any information. For the rest of the afternoon she intended to finish the background on Glyn Talbot that Drake wanted. She guessed Drake and Sara would be back by late in the day but it would be a racing certainty Winder would return before them, complaining about his workload.
She had achieved very little when the telephone rang.
‘DC Thomas.’
The voice at the other end boomed in a distinct Birmingham accent. ‘Detective Chief Superintendent Overend. Are you the officer that’s been in touch with Hardcastle?’
Luned stood up, her chair rolling away behind her.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You sent a photograph through to us.’
‘That’s correct, sir.’
‘Where the bloody hell did you get this image?’
‘We recovered CCTV coverage from the office of Harry Jones. Richard Perdue appears at least twice and on one occasion he was accompanied by this unidentified man.’ Luned prayed her voice didn’t sound too nervous. ‘We were hoping you might be able to identify him.’
Overend guffawed. ‘We can do more than that, Detective Constable. Is Inspector Drake available?’
‘He’s interviewing a person of interest.’
‘So, he’s making progress then?’
Luned wasn’t certain whether he expected a detailed reply, so she decided on a noncommittal answer. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ll send you details about your unidentified man. His name is Patrick Lennon. You’ll find his record of previous convictions interesting – top of the list is a decent stretch for armed robbery. Have Drake call me when he returns.’ Luned continued to hold the handset of the telephone for a minute after Overend had finished the call. She couldn’t remember ever speaking to a detective chie
f superintendent before. It took a couple of minutes for her pulse to return to normal.
Winder breezed in late afternoon, an enormous bottle of Diet Coke in hand, and fell into his chair, loosening his tie, and blew out a mouthful of air.
‘You wouldn’t believe the time I’ve wasted today.’
Sympathy was the last thing Luned would offer. She glanced at her monitor expecting an email from Hardcastle or Overend to appear. Winder continued.
‘I’ve been trying to find Michael, who worked for Harry Jones.’
‘Any success?’
‘He wasn’t at home, which is a crummy flat in one of those big houses converted into dingy bedsits. One of the other tenants gave me the run-around to a property in Caernarfon and then back to a place in the mountains.’
Luned half listened to Winder, concentrating mostly on glancing at the screen on her desk. She had already decided she wouldn’t share any details about Patrick Lennon with Winder until Drake and Sara arrived back.
‘It took me bloody ages to track down Michael’s mother. And guess what – when I showed her the picture of Carol she told me that Carol had been Michael’s girlfriend.’
Luned made a double-take. ‘So, he knew who she was?’
Winder nodded.
‘We need to find him.’ Luned stared over at Winder.
‘I spoke to a friend of his who hasn’t seen him for a couple of days. They go to a pub quiz together once a week – but he hasn’t heard from Michael. And apparently he can go hiking over the mountains – takes a tent with him and takes photographs.’ Winder shivered at the thought.
He reached over for the soft drink and took a large mouthful before wiping the back of his hand over his mouth and then hauling his feet onto his desk. He didn’t have a chance to get comfortable before the sound of Drake and Sara in conversation drifted in as they approached the Incident Room door.
Sara looked pasty, the sort of complexion that sitting for hours in an interview room can cause.
Drake went to stand by the board.
‘We’ve just finished with Wolfgang Muller.’
Sara shrugged off her red parka and sat down by her desk next to Luned.
‘Mrs Muller turned up with a fancy lawyer and gave her husband an alibi for the afternoon and evening that Harry Jones was killed.’
‘Does that mean he is in the clear, boss?’ Luned said.
‘We all know what alibis from spouses are like. We’ve got first-hand evidence from Emyr that Wolfgang Muller was in the village the night Harry Jones was murdered and that he has a hell of a temper. And we’ll need to speak to Frank Smith in due course. Muller has got more than enough motive to kill Harry Jones and Heulwen Beard. But we’ll hold Muller overnight and release him on bail in the morning. The search of his property might even turn up something.’
Winder was the first to contribute. ‘I haven’t been able to track down Michael, boss. But I did talk to his mother who confirmed that Carol was his girlfriend at one time.’
‘So he lied to us. He knew her all along. We need to find him.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘There’s been another development, sir.’ Luned struck a serious tone. ‘Detective Chief Superintendent Overend wants you to call him urgently. He sent the details this afternoon of our unidentified man who accompanied Richard Perdue to see Harry Jones. He’s called Patrick Lennon and he’s got a string of convictions including one for armed robbery.’
‘Jesus Christ, why the hell was Harry mixing with these people?’
‘It makes it even more important to track down Carol,’ Sara said. ‘It looks like her evidence will be crucial.’
Chapter 26
Drake parked outside Malcolm Walker Associates, Harry Jones’s financial adviser, early the following morning. The messages left on the answering service had so far been ignored and Drake was annoyed. After the interview yesterday, he still believed Muller and his wife were hiding something. Despite Muller being released on bail later, Drake still hoped that the ongoing search of his property would be fruitful.
Two men in smart dark suits and slicked-back hair entered the offices followed by a slim woman with high heels and a severe ponytail that swung assertively behind her head. Drake left the car.
Gold lettering stencilled on the window advertised ‘wealth management’ and ‘financial planning’ services. The pony-tailed woman looked younger and less smart now she was sitting behind the desk at reception, although her name badge – Angelique – suggested someone exotic.
‘Good morning.’ He held out his warrant card. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Ian Drake and I want to speak to Malcolm Walker.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’ The coarse Scottish accent ruined the carefully constructed appearance and the immaculate make-up.
Drake gave the girl a hard look. ‘I’m investigating a murder. I don’t think I need an appointment.’
She blinked. ‘Please take a seat.’ She regained her composure and reached for the phone.
Drake sat in a faux leather chair with floppy arms and deep cushions. Cheshire Life and Good Housekeeping magazines were stacked carefully on the table next to him. He found their neat symmetry reassuring.
Drake hadn’t been seated long when a door behind Angelique opened and a man, at least two stones overweight, wearing a navy pinstripe suit and matching waistcoat bustled over to Drake.
‘Malcolm Walker.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m sorry for not getting back to you. I have been so busy. Come through to my office. Coffee please, Ang,’ Walker said without looking at the receptionist.
Walker’s room overlooked the busy street where Drake had parked.
‘Sit down.’ Walker pointed to a chair.
‘I’ve left several messages about Harry Jones,’ Drake said.
‘As I said, things have been frantic.’
Ang appeared with coffee on a tray with a milk jug and sugar.
‘Nothing better than coming to work and having something gorgeous to look at.’ Walker winked at Drake after she left.
Drake ignored him. ‘How long were you Harry Jones’s financial adviser?’
‘A good few years. His death was tragic. Do you have a suspect?’
‘We have numerous active lines of inquiry. Several years ago, you advised Harry to create a trust.’
Walker nodded. ‘He wanted to protect his capital. Nobody wants to pay inheritance tax if they can avoid it.’
‘Of course.’
Walker helped himself to a coffee; Drake did likewise. The cheap instant didn’t go with the image Walker was cultivating.
‘Harry had sold a property and he didn’t need the money so he salted it away in a trust we established. All above board and legal. Nothing dodgy, Inspector. It wasn’t tax evasion in any way, shape or form.’ Walker adopted a serious voice. ‘I wouldn’t get involved in anything illegal.’
‘Of course not. Who are the beneficiaries of the trust?’
Walker opened a file on his desk.
‘Apart from himself and Fiona he nominated a Matthew Talbot.’
‘Did Harry explain why he wanted to nominate Matthew Talbot?’
‘No, sorry. I never asked. Harry could be secretive sometimes. I didn’t think anything of it. After all, I just give advice and act on my client’s instructions.’
‘What else can you tell me about his financial position?’
‘He had been quite a successful businessman and we managed a substantial portfolio of different investments. We also organised all the insurance for him on his various properties. Most were let long term to reliable tenants. One of the houses was held jointly with a woman called Nancy Brown.’
Drake nodded. ‘Do you know anything about her?’
‘Not really…’ Walker paused to find the right words. ‘I never knew the precise details of their relationship… but I assumed she was… how shall I put this… a girlfriend? Mistress sounds such an old-fashioned sort of word.’
‘Is that how Harry des
cribed her?’
‘I don’t think he did. I mention it because we wrote a life policy in Harry’s name where she is the sole beneficiary.’
Drake straightened in his chair. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell us about this before?’
Walker looked flustered. ‘I’m sorry… I didn’t think it was relevant.’
‘How much was the policy worth?’
‘From recollection, £300,000.’
‘How much?’ Drake couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘I’ll need all the details about this policy emailed to my office immediately. Is that clear?’ Drake stood up.
‘One more thing, Inspector. Harry recently asked me about changing the trust. He wanted to add a beneficiary. I told him he’d have to start a new trust. I warned him there would be fees involved and it might be quite expensive but he didn’t seem to mind.’
‘Did he give you a name?’
Walker shook his head. ‘Sorry.’
‘Did you ever meet Fiona Jones?’
‘I met her once when she attended a function with Harry we were sponsoring – you know, networking. It all helps our business.’
The beneficiary of Harry’s generosity wouldn’t have a motive but whoever lost out, and that included Fiona Jones, certainly would. ‘Did you make any assumptions about the identity of the beneficiary from what Harry told you?’
Walker gave a light shrug.
‘I’ll need your file of papers.’
‘I understand. I hope you catch the killer.’ Walker stood up.
‘If you think of anything else then contact me or one of my team. Don’t assume that it could be irrelevant.’
Drake left and sat in his car letting his anger at Walker dissipate. He checked his watch again for the umpteenth time that morning. The shop assistant he had forgotten about in his haste for his first date with Annie was back that afternoon for her nightshift at the supermarket. He would interview her before his second date with Annie that evening. Beard’s murder two days after the missed appointment had preyed on his mind. What if the woman had some crucial evidence that might have prevented Heulwen Beard’s death? How would he live with himself?
A Time to Kill Page 19