Death in Distribution

by David W Robinson

  Amy chuckled, Megan looked shocked and Kane scowled. “Thanks a lot, Joe.”

  Ignoring him, Joe went on. “Let me show you.” He smiled encouragingly at Dodd. “Can I borrow you for a minute, Terry?”

  With a disinterested shrug, Dodd ambled to the centre of the room. “Let’s imagine I was going to strike Terry in the same way Stan and Peter were struck.” With the ruler playing the role of the murder weapon, he stretched out his arm, and laid the straight edge across Dodd’s neck at an angle, running up from the shoulder to the far side of the neck. “You see that? If I were to hit Terry with a truncheon or something like that, the bruise would be at an angle. It’s because Terry is taller than me. I have to reach up.” He called up the photographs he had taken of Crowther and Cruikshank, and ranged them side by side on the netbook’s small screen. The photographs I took showed me that the bruise on Peter’s neck wasn’t at an angle, and neither was it on Stan’s.”

  “Wrong,” Burrows interjected. “One of the wounds on Crowther’s neck was angled from shoulder upwards.”

  Joe brought the image of Crowther to the fore. “The top wound, yes,” he said, pointing it out with the ruler. “But the chances are that Stan would have been either flat on the ground or at least on his knees when that was delivered. The primary injury, the first blow, which he would have suffered while he was standing, is straight across, not angled.” Again he pointed out the lower injury running across the back of Stan’s neck parallel to his shoulders.

  Burrows shrugged. “Okay. I’ll go with that.”

  “It all means that the killer was at least as tall as Peter and Stan. Amy, you knew them both well. How tall were they?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Six feet, maybe a little over or under.”

  “And, Dave, you’re five feet three. Am I right?”

  Kane ran a hand over his stubbly chin. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

  “I’m actually saving your arse, pal,” Joe insisted and then spoke to the rest of the room. “If Dave had struck either man, we would have seen a different pattern of bruising. Angled from one shoulder or the other to the base of the skull. As far as I’m concerned then, Dave did not kill them. He’d have to stand on a box to deliver those blows because he simply isn’t tall enough.”

  “So who did kill them?” Kane asked.

  “I’m just coming to that,” Joe replied. His mobile bleated and he let out a soft curse. Taking it from his pocket he read the menu window and made the connection.

  “Uncle Joe—”

  “I’ve told you once, Lee, I’m busy. I’ll call you back later.”

  “But, Uncle Joe—”

  “I said I’ll call you back.” Joe cut the connection and smiled apologetically at his audience. “Sorry about that. Nearly thirty years old, and he still can’t make decisions for himself.” He put the phone back in his pocket. “Now, where was I?”

  “You were going to tell us who killed Crowther and Cruikshank,” Burrows reminded him.

  “So I was. I worked it out this morning, and again, I have to thank my two friends for the tip off. Not that they actually knew they were tipping me off. They were just wittering.”

  “So are you,” Dodd said.

  “Yeah, I am, aren’t I?” Joe laughed. “The key to it all goes back to something that happened on Friday and other information which Dave gave me on Saturday. Something the view from Brenda and Sheila’s room reminded me of. Y’see, on Friday, while Keith, our bus driver, and I were talking to Dave in reception, a team of security men came galloping through. They were on their way to Maintenance where the apprentices were using the wheelie bins for chariot racing. To me it was just one of those crackpot things you hear about in large companies like this. But on Saturday, Dave told me that because of its location, the workshops, and particularly the workshop yard, can only be seen from two places on the entire site. You can’t even see it from ground level because other buildings block the view. The only place it can be seen is from the windows in Dave’s office and those on the third floor staircase landing.” Joe stared around the room, ensuring they were hanging on his words. “One of the guards said the report had only just come through. Which means that the incident was reported from the third floor at about the time Peter Cruikshank was fighting for his life. We know that Peter was on the third floor not long before he died, and it’s a safe bet that whoever reported it also killed Peter. And if he killed Peter, then he also killed Stan.” Joe spun on his heels and faced his adversary. “Didn’t you, Terry?”

  Although the announcement was greeted with gasps from the room, Dodd did not appear in the least put out. “You’re losing the plot, pal.”

  “No,” Joe replied. “I only just gathered the plot. When I asked on Saturday, you told me you didn’t go the third floor. You said you were using one of the rest rooms in the Sort Centre.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  Joe held up the security log. “Then how come you reported the apprentices fooling around?” He turned the paper towards himself and read from it. “Two fifty-nine. Report from Officer T. Dodd, safety issue, Maintenance Workshops.” Joe glared defiantly. “The only way you could have seen them was from the third floor.”

  Dodd maintained his insouciant nonchalance. “All right, so I was up there. Don’t mean I killed Cruikshank … or Crowther.”

  “But you did. You tampered with Stan’s flask and got him drunk—”

  “When?” Dodd demanded. “Check the duty roster. You’ll find I was on the gate all morning.”

  “Yes, and that’s when you did it.” Joe held up the security log again. “Oh seven ten, cab search, Officer T. Dodd, driver S. Crowther. Stan would have been out of his cab and you slipped a good dose of absinthe into his flask while you were supposed to be searching it. He even complained to Dave Kane, Amy and Peter Cruikshank later in the day concerning the hold up.” Joe tossed the log sheet on the desk. “You got him drunk in the hope that he’d wipe himself out on the motorway, but when he got back, you knew you were in trouble. Dave asked you to move the truck, and you took the opportunity to steal the flask this time, and probably hid it in the gatehouse until you were ready to come to the Sort Centre for your break. Meantime, you waited for Stan to leave the building, cut across the yard to park fifteen and when he got to his car you called him. He came to the rear of the trailer, and you hit him twice. Once to put him down, a second time to make sure he was dead. Then you made your way into the building via the front entrance so no one would suspect you and went up to the third floor where you were busy planting the flask in Peter’s locker when he came in and caught you, so you hit him, too. But that locker room is a bit more public than park fifteen, so you couldn’t risk hanging around to clout him a second time. Instead, you made your way over to the staircase, and spotted the apprentices playing silly buggers in the workshop yard. Perfect for you, because if anyone asked, you were on legitimate business up there, spying on the apprentices.”

  From behind, Burrows intervened. “Hang on, Murray. Just what is he supposed to have used as a weapon?”

  “His flashlight,” Joe said pointing at the instrument hanging from Dodd’s belt. “If you check it, you’ll see it’s a heavy duty thing. Uses three or four batteries. And the body of that torch has the same cross-hatch pattern as the bruises showed. You may have to check every torch in the security stores, but you’ll find traces on one of them. Traces of him, too, I hope.”

  Dodd affected further disinterest with a fake yawn. “Shoot your mouth off, pal. You can’t prove one word of this.”

  “I think I can.” Joe addressed the whole room again. “His antics with women made Stan Crowther a troublemaker. Some years ago, he reported Dodd and Megan, here. Probably because he fancied his chances with Megan. Dodd chose to drop her because he liked his job here, but it still rankled. When Stan came back in one piece on Friday, drunk but having survived, Dodd knew how to deal with it, but the timing had to be right. He needed to know when Stan wou
ld be leaving the site so he could intercept him from park fifteen. So he asked you, Megan, to call him, didn’t he?”

  She did not speak but began to blush furiously.

  “And when it became obvious, yesterday, that the police were looking for a single killer, he rang you again, didn’t he? This time he asked you to help pin it on Dave.” Joe’s eye burned into her. “Talk to me, Megan.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she suddenly broke down. “I didn’t know he was going to kill Stan. He just said he was gonna rub it in that Stan had been fired. Then when Peter was killed, I was in a panic.”

  “And that’s why you were crying in the rest room, isn’t it?”

  She nodded frantically. “I was scared. Then later, he told me to fit Dave up or he’d see to me, too. I was more than scared. I was terrified.” She turned to face Kane. “I’m sorry, Dave. I didn’t want to do it, but…”

  Kane glowered at her. He appeared ready to attack her, but before he could move, and with a speed that took everyone by surprise, Dodd pushed Joe to floor and bolted for the exit.

  The two police officers were slow to react, but kicked their heels in pursuit. Picking himself up, Joe joined everyone else at the door to the Sort Centre, in time to see Dodd crash into a pallet of flatpack furniture where he was caught and pinned down by the two policemen.

  Joe smiled triumphantly. “See. I said the killer would try to do a runner.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Joe and Amy followed the police from Dispatch through the Sort Centre. Up ahead, Dodd was handcuffed between the two CID men, and behind them, Megan walked alongside Burrows.

  Kane had been effusively grateful to Joe, shaking his hand vigorously and promising the moon and sixpence. His joy turned to a scowl of utter contempt when Burrows cautioned Megan but declined to handcuff her.

  “What’ll happen to her?” Amy asked as they passed through security and emerged into the bright sunshine.

  “Withholding evidence. It’s a serious crime … or it can be. Burrows isn’t a bad old stick and she was under duress. As long as she co-operates and is willing to testify she’ll probably get away with a suspended sentence, maybe even probation.” Joe kept his tones neutral. Soon he would have to confront Amy, but for now, he was happy to indulge in small talk. “What will Ballantynes do with her?”

  “She’ll have a criminal record, Joe. It’s one of the few things you can be fired for.” She chewed her lip. “As her union rep, however, I have to fight her corner and I do feel sorry for her. Terry Dodd has always been an arrogant bully, and that should count for something in her favour. I’ll try persuading Dave to redeploy her. After what she’s done, he won’t want her working in our department, but she’s a capable administrator. There’ll be other areas, other departments which can use her.”

  The police vehicles pulled away, making for the main gate. They crossed the roadway and followed the pedestrian footpath in the same direction.

  “Your bus is waiting.” Amy pointed beyond the gates where the STAC coach stood, Keith leaning against the rear of the vehicle, glancing occasionally at his watch.

  “He’s eager to get home,” Joe said. “Misses his wife, I think.”

  “And what about you?” Amy asked as they neared the gatehouse. “Are you in a hurry to get home?”

  “Nope, but I have to be there to open up tomorrow morning. I’m self-employed, remember. If I don’t do it, no one does.”

  “But you left it for a whole weekend.” Amy moved closer to him. “Couldn’t someone else deal with it? You could stay on for a couple of days. Catch up on the enjoyment you missed.”

  Joe did not answer immediately. Her nearness tempted him, but he could still taste the bile of her actions. He looked first at the coach, then at the Sort Centre, and finally at Blackpool Tower, striking into the cloudless sky. He fixed her eyes with his gaze. “I know, Amy.”

  She feigned puzzlement. “Know? Know what?”

  “You couldn’t join us for dinner on Saturday evening. You turned up later, slept with me, and again on Sunday, but only after you’d shown some interest in what it would take to get me to let go of The Lazy Luncheonette. Vaughan got to you, didn’t he? He was the one you rang when we were on Central Pier.”

  She sighed. “Joe—”

  “No point trying to deny it. He came up with exactly the offer you’d hinted at in the Coffee House. Fifty thousand pounds. How much did he offer you to get me to give in?”

  Another sigh. “Ten thousand. In cash.”

  Joe’s wan smile hardly faded.

  “Do you want to hear the rest of it?” Amy’s face was lined with pain.

  He shook his head.

  “I’m going to tell you anyway,” she said. “I told him where he could shove his money.”

  Shock ran through Joe. “What?”

  “When we were on Central pier on Saturday, the text I received was from my boss. Vaughan overheard my name and where I worked when I was talking to Sergeant Oldroyd at the police station. He rang my boss asking for my number. He didn’t get it, of course, but the boss promised to talk to me and ask me to ring Vaughan back. He texted me, I rang Vaughan and we met. But I’m a union woman, Joe. People are my business, not profits. I could see how much your café meant to you. When I got into bed with you, it was because I wanted to and not because that rich idiot paid me to. When I suggested you move to Blackpool, it’s because I wanted to see more of you.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “You obviously weren’t joking when you mentioned your suspicious mind the other day.”

  Joe did not believe her. He ran through the events in his mind. “You said you couldn’t see me last night. You knew Vaughan would be at the Monarch, didn’t you? And you didn’t want to be there in case it turned nasty.”

  Amy looked away. When she looked back the pain was even deeper. “I told you, I had other matters to deal with.”

  His tone of voice left no doubt of his scepticism. “Such as?”

  “Children, Joe. A grown up son and daughter. In case it’s escaped your attention, their father was murdered on Friday. I may not have loved Peter anymore, but they did, and last night they needed their mother.”

  Joe was mortified. His mind hammered the question at him. How could he have misjudged her so badly?

  His wrinkled brow creased even further. “I … er … look … Amy … oh, sh … sugar. How the hell have I got into this mess? I’m sorry. I really thought… For God’s sake, I wish Vaughan were here right now. I’d throttle him.” He sucked in his breath. “I am truly sorry. Is there anything I can I do to make amends?”

  She took a long time, but eventually, she made her decision and faced him again. “You could make sure I do see more of you.”

  “Even though I just shot myself down in flames?”

  “According to Brenda, you’re good at that, especially when it comes to reading women.”

  Joe leaned into her and kissed her cheek. “Sanford is eighty miles from Blackpool. Let’s see how things pan out.” He glanced over at Keith, who was checking his watch again and tapping his feet impatiently on the ground. “In the meantime, kiddo, I’d better get a move on.”

  “Call me,” she said as he walked quickly away.

  He turned to face her and carried on walking backwards. “Count on it.”

  Amy stood at the gatehouse and watched him all the way to the coach where an irritable Keith harangued him.

  “About bloody time. It was like watching Casablanca.” He mimicked a woman’s voice. “If you’re not on that bus, Joe, you’ll regret it.”

  “Just shut it and let’s get moving.”

  Keith climbed aboard, Joe turned and waved one last time to Amy. As he was about to step onto the bus, a familiar figure rushed up to him.

  “Hello, Mr Murray.”

  He studied the woman and searched his memory. “Paula, isn’t it? Paula Guy. Did they mend your car for you?”

  “Oh, yes. Done a smashing job on it, too.” She waved at her car
fifty yards along the road. “I saw your bus and I just wanted to thank you for helping us out on Friday.”

  “No problem, luv. Have you had a good weekend?”

  “Brilliant. The kids loved every minute of it. What about you?”

  Joe smiled thinly. “It’s been interesting.”

  With a final wave, Paula hurried off to her car and Joe climbed on the bus to a muted cheer from his members.

  “At last,” Keith complained as he operated the lever to close the door. He engaged the automatic transmission, released the parking brake, and with a check on the mirrors pulled away.

  Stowing his netbook on the overhead luggage rack above Sheila, Joe settled into the jump seat, and ignoring the safety belt, half turned to face his two closest friends.

  “So, everything’s sorted, Joe?” Brenda asked.

  “It’s been a bad weekend,” he said. “In fact, I haven’t had a weekend.”

  “You will get involved in these things.” Brenda smiled to show she was only joking.

  Sheila was more generous. “You saved an innocent man from possible proceedings, and you helped jail a killer, Joe.” She, too, smiled. “We saw the police cars carrying him away.”

  “And you look like you’ve just kissed and made up with Amy,” Brenda said.

  “Ten out of ten for observation,” Joe applauded. “The trouble is I didn’t do anything about the problems we have back home, and I didn’t get much in the way of enjoyment, did I?”

  “We saw Vaughan off,” Brenda said with a twinkle in her eye. “And I’m willing to bet you enjoyed Amy.”