by David Carter
She paused and smirked and carried on.
‘Carlo was very good looking, thick black greased hair, hawk-like nose, and this weird but very cute soft accent that was a mixture of Italian, Welsh, and Chester city. Put it this way, he had lots of admirers. I’ll swear to God that some of his aging lady clients were inventing cases and mysteries just to keep Carlo calling at their place, and he would never say no, and was never short of work.’
‘And this Carlo Conte bloke began following Jack?’
‘He did, morning, noon and night.’
‘With what result?’
‘Bingo, I think you’d say.’
‘He produced the evidence you required?’
‘He did, times, dates, places, and the coup de grace, photos of him parading round with Brunette Beatrice, grinning on his arm.’
‘Where was this?’
‘Not round here. He wasn’t that daft. No, he was a sales director for a machine parts firm, decent job too, on a good wage. Based down on the Wrexham Industrial Estate, and he would often travel round the country to fairs and potential big buyers, showing new products, collecting orders, greasing palms where necessary, and believe you me, there was plenty of greasing going on. Doing whatever was necessary to keep the sales figures churning, and Anglo-Welsh Machine Parts PLC in business.’
‘And?’
‘The big annual show in that trade is in Birmingham. Jack and the floosie went, booking into that swanky hotel close by as Mr and Mrs Woodhams, even signed her in as “Susan” – can you believe the brass nerve of that?’
‘And Carlo Conte attended too?’
‘He did, super camera in hand, snapping over fifty pics to prove the case. The last one showed the happy couple disappearing into their room, grinning, hand-in-hand. You have to say, Carlo did a great job, and was well worth his sizeable fee.’
‘Do you still have the photos?’
‘No! I wanted nothing in the house to remind me of him... or her.’
‘What did you do with them?’
‘I bought a shredder. Jack was good to me, financially, I wanted for nothing, except loyalty. Buying a decent shredder didn’t present a problem, and I shredded every goddamn thing with his picture or name on.’
‘You didn’t keep a single one?’
‘Nope, not one.’
‘That’s a pity.’
‘Why?’
‘It all adds to the general picture, a little hard evidence would be useful.’
‘Sorry, all gone, dumped in the bin and away to landfill years ago.’
‘What happened next?’
‘I became real angry. Started drinking too much, and I don’t mean fancy wines. Gin, mother’s ruin, that’s my tipple, still is, in a modest way.’
‘And while this binge drinking was happening, your mind leads you where?’
‘Where do you think?’
‘That’s what I’m asking.’
‘I’m thinking, he doesn’t deserve me, and he doesn’t deserve her, and she doesn’t deserve him, either. She was lucky there, broke up with Jack soon afterwards, which was no surprise because as I told you, he had a roving eye. I don’t suppose he missed her for he knew there would be another sparkly face along in a week or two.’
‘Go on.’
‘One Saturday night I went out with one of my sisters on the lash. We had a heart to heart. She’d been dumped on too by her long term boyfriend, and men were not the favourite creatures that night. Perhaps inevitably, talk turned to revenge, and getting even; and we hatched a crazy plan. I would kill Dave, her guy, and in return she’d finish off Jack. Yes, I know it looks kind of kooky now, but after ten gins it made perfect sense. We designed it to throw you guys off the scent, though in hindsight I don’t suppose it would have worked out that way.’
‘Probably not,’ said Walter. ‘How far did you get?’
Susan Woodhams sighed hard.
‘Not even to first base. The following day Jennifer, my sister, couldn’t remember a thing about our crazy plan. To be fair to her, we were both wrecked and some people don’t remember things they say when drunk. Whereas I remember every single word and phrase as if they belong in the bible.’
‘What did she say when you told her of your hatched plan?’
‘Laughed her pants off. Didn’t think for one moment we were serious, that I was serious, thought it was all a silly drunken joke, and nothing more.’
‘But she could confirm your story so far as it goes?’
Susan pulled a cold face, shook her head and said, ‘Only if you plan on digging her up and asking her. She’s in Overleigh Road Cemetery if you’re interested; cancer victim last year, nasty business, and I miss her much more in death than I ever did in life.’
Walter took a moment and scratched his chin. The woman told a mean story. But where was the confirmatory evidence that proved she was telling the truth?
‘Tell me more about Carlo Conte?’
‘Well, as you perhaps gathered, we had a brief affair. I would never be his girl; that was crystal clear from day one. But I wanted to thank him. I know it sounds tacky and more than a little pathetic, but that’s what happened. Two years later I heard he’d divorced his Welsh wife and had gone on holiday to Italy with a new woman in tow, and as far as I know he never came back.’
‘Do you know whereabouts in Italy?’
‘Naples area, one of the poorer regions, so Carlo said.’
‘And you have never seen him since?’
‘Never.’
‘But you still wanted to kill Jack?’
‘More than anything. I was determined to get even, and I did.’
‘Can you describe how you murdered him?’
‘I am guilty of murder, Inspector; there is no question about that. But I didn’t fire the gun, or run him down, or poison his stew, or knife him in the back, not personally, if that’s what you mean.’
‘So how? You’re not making much sense.’
‘I got someone else to do it. Thought you’d have figured that out, being the ace detective. But that still makes me guilty of murder. If one incites someone else to murder on one’s behalf that is murder in anyone’s book. I know the law, Mr Darriteau, and I know I’ll go down for this, eventually.’
‘Carlo Conte. Before he left, you asked him to do it?’
Susan Woodhams grinned and said, ‘I did.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said he was a practising catholic and couldn’t put his soul at risk, the pompous idiot. But he wasn’t too worried to recommend someone else. Said he came across countless shifty characters in his line of business, and it was surprising how many people would do the job for not lottery bingo type money.’
That made sense, and Walter said, ‘How much?’
‘Carlo said he knew people who’d kill him for ten grand.’
Walter tilted his head to one side. That could be about right. Sad fact was he’d heard lesser numbers quoted. The price of a human life. Not even six month’s pay. What a sad and bankrupt world we lived in.
‘And you met these people?’
‘I did.’
‘Where and when?’
‘Two weeks later. Pub. South of Chester on the A41. Right hand side, car park at the back. Tuesday night. It was very quiet, almost deserted. Two blokes. Said their names were Ted and Trev, but I don’t think they were their actual names.’
‘Ted and Trev. And you paid these characters £10,000?’
‘I did, you can check my bank account to see I withdrew the money, £2,000 in advance and £8,000 on completion.’
‘And on your instruction they murdered Jack Woodhams?’
Susan nodded and muttered, ‘Yeah, they did.’
‘Did you see his dead body?’
‘Of course not!’
‘So how do you know he’s dead?’
‘He’s never come home for his tea in twenty years, that’s a fair pointer, don’t you think? Never spoken to his son since, and has never o
nce seen his grandsons. What more evidence do you want?’
‘Has he been declared dead?’
‘No. And before you say anything about that, I am collecting and spending all three of his pensions, and no doubt you will tell me that is a criminal offence too, collecting a dead man’s pension, so we might as well get it done and dusted in one go. Charge me with whatever offences you want and let’s be done with it.’
‘They’ll be no charges today, Mrs Woodhams, not until we have carried out a thorough investigation, and at the moment I’m struggling to see where any charges are likely to come from.’
‘I had my husband murdered, what more do you want?’
Walter crossed and uncrossed his legs and said, ‘Body? No. Murderers? No. Private Dick photos? No. Ted and Trev, probably false names, and no surnames. A conspiracy with your sister who was too drunk to remember anything; and even if she had, it’s too late because she’s passed on. Not a lot to go on, is there? How did they kill him?’
‘I have no idea. I told them I didn’t want to know the gory details. Just wanted the job done so I could get on with my life, and find someone who cherished me for what I am, rather than hankering after someone else, 24/7.’
‘And did you, find someone else?’
Susan grinned again and smoothed her skirt down.
‘I did, on and off, I’ve had my moments, and not always with the same guy. Two people can play at that game.’
‘I need more, Mrs Woodhams, or this is going to be cold-cased before it’s ever been a hot one.’
‘What if I showed you where he’s buried?’
Walter stirred and grunted.
‘You can do that?’
‘Course I can, didn’t I say?’
‘No, Mrs Woodhams, you didn’t.’
Chapter Five
Karen was leaning back in the car, eyes closed, still interested, listening and recording every word. They were getting to the nub of the issue. If Mrs Woodhams could lead them to the burial site and her husband’s remains, they had a case. If not, they had nothing.
Mrs Woodhams was talking again.
‘When do you want me to show you the place?’
‘There’s no time like the present.’
‘You mean, right now?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean.’
She scowled and glanced around the room.
‘I hadn’t planned on going out today.’
‘I think this is a matter of such importance we need to bring it to an early conclusion, don’t you?’
‘When you put it like that, I guess so. It’ll take me fifteen minutes to get ready.’
Walter looked content and said, ‘I can wait.’
‘Sure you don’t want a tea?’
It was a decent idea. Walter grinned.
‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll make it while you pop off and do the necessary,’ and without waiting for permission he stood up and headed into the compact, but well-equipped kitchen, searching for tea, safe in the knowledge it couldn’t be poisoned.
Mrs Woodhams sighed, and watched him go. The man had a bit of a cheek. But it made her smile as she turned and headed for her bedroom to use her prized en-suite.
Downstairs, in the car, Karen listened. She could hear the kettle boiling and scolding water being poured. He knew how to look after himself. A quarter of a century of doing that proved it. She would continue listening until they left the flat, and then slip the recording gear out of sight.
Walter sat down, cradling a mug of strong tea in his hand. Was she telling the truth? What could be checked to confirm her story? As she had said, they could confirm she had withdrawn £10,000, so long as she’d kept her bank statements, or the bank still possessed records going back twenty years. But weren’t all financial records destroyed after seven? Maybe, maybe not. But even if they produced the grubby statement proving the withdrawal, the money could have been spent on anything. An expensive present for herself, jewellery maybe, or a new car, even a racehorse, anything, withdrawn cash alone would never convict a murderer.
Carlo Conte had gone to Italy so he couldn’t confirm her story about fixing her up with desperate characters. Maybe they could trace him, but perhaps he was dead too, and even if they found him he would probably not talk. And who were the mysterious pair, Ted and Trev? Or were they the result of Mrs Woodhams’ over-active imagination?
Maybe the whole thing was just a drawn-out ploy to gain attention and notoriety. Walter could imagine her regaling her friends with exciting news during another gin-fuelled night out. Perhaps she might write a book about it. Fact was, the whole thing had the stench of a wild goose chase, and a dead goose at that.
As he pondered, she appeared back in the sitting room. She’d slipped on a thin black raincoat, brushed and tidied her thinning hair, refreshed the lipstick, changed her shoes, as she said, ‘Will I do?’ as if they were going off on a date to the cinema. Walter didn’t reply, but stood and nodded toward the front door.
In the car, Karen grinned and made ready to shut down receiving. The last thing she heard was Walter saying, ‘You look fine, come on, we haven’t all day,’ and the main door opened and closed, as they left the flat and headed down towards the car.
Karen reached over and slipped the gear into the glove compartment and didn’t hear Mrs Woodhams say, ‘Where did you park?’
She was enjoying herself, as if she were out with friends, relishing a casual drive in the countryside.
‘Behind the garages,’ said Walter, pointing the way, though she must have known the geography better than he.
Karen monitored the driver’s mirror, though she heard their approach before they came round the corner, the woman’s voice clacking away, saying something about it not being too far, and it wouldn’t take too long.
Susan was surprised to see someone else in the vehicle. She stood stock still, facing the passenger door, both hands clasping her handbag down in front of her.
‘I thought I told you to come alone.’
She seemed disappointed there was another woman present.
‘I came into your flat alone, I interviewed you alone, but Sergeant Karen Greenwood is my driver, and if we are to go anywhere, Karen will drive,’ and Walter stepped forward and opened the rear door.
‘I never ride in the back,’ she said, ‘get terrible car sickness. Throw up, and all sorts. It’s front seat or no seat for me. Your choice.’
Karen said, ‘Do you want to drive, Guv, and I’ll sit in the back?’
‘No, you stay there,’ and Walter opened the front passenger door and said, ‘Get in,’ as a look came over Mrs Woodhams’ face that indicated she’d won another point in some kind of silly one-upmanship game that Walter wasn’t enjoying.
She slid in beside Karen, muttered a clipped, ‘Thank you,’ and fastened the seatbelt.
Walter eased himself into the back behind Woodhams and clipped up.
Karen said, ‘Where to?’
Mrs Woodhams sniffed and said, ‘Main highway into Wales, over the River Dee and leave the motorway at the first exit.’
‘I know it,’ said Karen, starting the Hyundai, as she glanced in the mirror to check on the Guv’s body language, and it didn’t look great.
Chapter Six
It took twenty-five minutes to reach the Dee crossing; the traffic was heavy but not jammed. The culprit slowing them, end of financial year roadworks that must be completed before the fiscal deadline.
The river was high, spring melt water thrashing down from the North Wales mountains; as the car sped on.
Karen said, ‘Next turn-off?’
‘That’s what I said,’ cooed Susan, and a minute later the turn-off came into sight, going sharply down to a huge roundabout below.
‘Which way?’ said Walter.
Mrs Woodhams extended her left arm and waved at the first exit from the roundabout, saying, ‘There’s a lay-by in fifty yards, park there.’
Karen shared a look with Walter in the
mirror. In the next minute they came to the lay-by where two cars were parked. The rear one had the hatch up, with three young guys standing around talking and glancing in the boot, as the Hyundai pulled in behind them.
Walter climbed out. One guy glanced back at the big black bloke. He knew him. He was a well-known Chester copper. Walter heard the man say, ‘I’ve got to go,’ and he hurried away to the front car, jumped in, started up, and roared away up the hill.
Walter mumbled, ‘What have we here?’ as he closed in on the second car, shouting, ‘Hang on a moment!’
Another guy slammed the hatch closed, they both jumped in, and the car zoomed away, following its mate up the hill. Walter made a mental note of vehicle make and registration number, and a decent description of all three men. Funny what one stumbles across in the middle of a spring morning.
He turned about and returned to the Hyundai, the two women standing out of the car, gawping at him.
Mrs Woodhams said, ‘Did you know those men?’ as if she were a member of the team rather than a confessed murderer.
‘Yes,’ said Walter, ‘they’re in my bowling club,’ as he shared a grin with Karen.
Woodhams said, ‘They seemed in an awful hurry to get away from you. Do you always have that effect on people?’
Walter ignored her and said, ‘Now Mrs Woodhams, you brought us here to see the place where your late husband is buried. Care to lead us to the site?’
‘Sure,’ she said, ‘Not a prob, follow me,’ and they headed back towards the roundabout, and the main road they had left minutes before.
The pavement was narrow, but as they approached the junction it widened out. Cars were flooding down off the main highway, going round in a circle, looking for their exit. Someone in a saloon wasn’t concentrating; maybe distracted while deciding which route. He changed lanes in a hurry without signalling, and was real lucky not to be rear-ended by a fast approaching white van. The van honked and a fair bit of shouting through an open window followed, as the saloon driver looked sheepish, and cut away on a different route to the van.