‘That is pleasing to hear, Mr Pemberton. But those people, the gossips, said they’d heard it on the news, on local radio.’
‘Then I had better have words with the news editor. What is happening today is that the inquest opens on Mr Browning, for identification purposes only, and if that item was broadcast along with details of the murder, as you suggest, then those people could have mistakenly linked the two stories. People do that; they do get very confuse—’
‘Don’t I know it, Mr Pemberton! In my business, you’d be amazed what widely differing interpretations people can put on a simple statement…’
‘I’ll get the news editor to be careful how the news is read, Mr Greenwood. Now that you’re here, though, I did want to have a word with you about James Browning and you are on my list of forthcoming visits. I have spoken to his father, only very recently in fact, and I did witness the accident. It means I do have a rather special interest in his background, as you can imagine. Now, if you’ve time for a chat?’
‘You witnessed his accident, you say?’
‘I did,’ and Pemberton gave a brief account of it.
‘Then of course I have time. I am dreadfully sorry we’ve lost him. He was very good at his work, Mr Pemberton. The best. Unflappable, cool, consistent, persistent, imaginative, very careful in everything he did, great attention to detail, good with administration, got along with his colleagues and clients. He was a good worker for charities, a very nice young man in every way. I’d rate him at a hundred per cent, Mr Pemberton.’
‘And away from work?’
‘He wasn’t a great socialiser, not the sort to go partying or to join a golf club. He spent a lot of time with that old car of his, polishing the thing and doing bits of maintenance, going off to rallies and gatherings of vintage car enthusiasts, all over the country, in fact. A few years ago, his colleagues teased him because a woman’s body had been found in the very village where he’d gone off to a vintage car rally for the weekend, but he would never get involved in anything like that. Much too decent a chap, Mr Pemberton.’
‘Which village was that, Mr Greenwood? Can you remember?’
‘Good God no! It was the year he bought that MG, the first time he’d taken it on a long run, so far as I remember. Everybody expected his car to break down, but he got there and back and won a rosette of some sort. It’s funny, I suppose, uncanny even, him being in the area on the occasion of two murders, eh?’
Probably three, said Pemberton to himself. There was another, the one where he’d surely been seen walking past the scene two days after discovery of the body, but he had no intention of telling Greenwood about that.
‘Coincidence is a funny thing,’ agreed Pemberton. ‘It’s something we’ve got to contend with during our investigations.’
‘I can understand how careful you must be, Mr Pemberton. Now, what happens about James’s belongings? I expect his family will take care of his personal effects but I’m thinking of his official car, for example. We shall need that back, of course, and there would be some client files in his briefcase. We need to recover those too.’
‘I didn’t realise he had an official car,’ said Pemberton. ‘I thought he used his MG all the time. He was using it for work when the accident happened.’
‘We never objected to him using the MG for business trips so long as the right image was imparted, but he did have an official car, a Rover, which he used for the majority of his business engagements.’
‘Did he really? And where did he keep it, any idea?’
‘At his flat, Mr Pemberton. There’s hard-standing beside the flat, all the tenants have their own space.’
‘I see. We had no idea, but there again, the fatality did not involve that car.’ Pemberton realised that the Rover would now have to be forensically examined. ‘His father will be given the keys to the flat in the very near future and he will accept responsibility for his son’s personal effects, except for the MG, of course. That is still undergoing tests in our care. When we have finished, all his belongings will be handed to Mr Browning senior, so I’ll make sure he contacts you about the contents of the briefcase. He’s here for a few days and I expect him to attend the Requiem Mass. I have his hotel address and phone number if you need it.’
‘Thank you, yes; that would be useful. And the Rover? When can I have access to that?’
Pemberton spoke with some caution. ‘I shall need to have it examined, Mr Greenwood, by our forensic experts.’
‘Good God, what for? I thought you said James was in the clear!’
‘We do need to check everything, Mr Greenwood, and my officers did not realise James ran a second car. I will have the task completed as soon as possible, the vehicle will be returned to you at the first opportunity — having been eliminated from our enquiries, I trust.’
‘Then you do suspect him?’
‘No more than any other young man who was in the area at the time, Mr Greenwood. I do stress that. It would be nice to eliminate him completely — and to finally dispel any rumours.’
‘The way you chaps operate is sometimes a mystery to me!’ Greenwood spoke softly.
‘Mr Greenwood,’ Pemberton continued, ‘in our efforts to eliminate James completely, it would be most useful if we could trace his movements in recent years. Especially during the summer months, June in particular.’
‘Well, he usually took his holidays in June. He wasn’t restricted to school holidays like our staff who have children. June was when a lot of his motor car rallies took place, he saved up his holiday allocation and took three weeks or even a month sometimes.’
‘But not this year? He was working. He’d been to see a client when he had his accident.’
‘Yes, he changed his routine this year. The wife of a member of staff was due to have a child this week, and James said he would swap his holiday so that his colleague could have time off to be with his wife during the birth. It was nice of him. He’s that kind of man, er, was that kind of man, Mr Pemberton, very thoughtful, most kind and considerate.’
‘But if one of my officers calls on you, you could supply him with details of Mr Browning’s holidays or business movements in recent years?’
‘Years, you say? How far back, for God’s sake?’
‘As far as possible, Mr Greenwood. We have enquiries to complete which date from several years ago, probably before James joined your company. All I can say is that I need to eliminate James Browning. I can’t be more specific at this stage.’
‘Yes, of course, anything to have him absolved from any possible suspicion.’
‘I’ll ask one of my colleagues from Harlow Spa to contact you in person. We shall, of course, exercise the utmost discretion with our enquiries, and I trust you will not reveal the reason for our visits to you.’
‘I’m not quite sure what you are implying, Mr Pemberton, but I will gladly co-operate. And be assured that confidentiality is our hallmark. I shall be pleased to assist, and I must say you treat murder investigations with far more care than I ever imagined.’
‘We pay great attention to detail, Mr Greenwood. That is our hallmark. That’s how murderers are traced — and suspects eliminated — from our enquiries. Now, with your consent, we will examine James’s Rover and return it to you the moment we have finished. Can you describe it? And give me the registration number?’
Pemberton was told it was a bottle-green colour and was provided with the registration details, Greenwood adding that he had no objection to the car being inspected. But from the expression on Greenwood’s face, Mark Pemberton knew that he suspected his former employee was not in the clear, a fact which might explain his arrival this morning. He had not fully accepted Pemberton’s assurances that these enquiries were purely for elimination purposes.
‘I would appreciate a call to say that James — and his car — have been totally eliminated from your enquiries, Mr Pemberton, as soon as that is feasible, and in the meantime, you can count on my complete co-operation and discre
tion.’
‘And we shall respect that, Mr Greenwood.’
Greenwood stood up to leave and laid his business card on Pemberton’s desk. ‘Goodbye, Mr Pemberton. I do hope I have not been a nuisance.’
‘Not at all,’ Pemberton said with feeling. ‘You have been of great assistance.’
The moment Greenwood left, Mark Pemberton rang Detective Inspector Holroyd at Harlow Spa and asked him to arrange for the examination of Browning’s Rover and the contents of his desk at work, as well as to enquire about his holiday periods. He also wanted to check the story of Browning’s visit to a village where a murder had occurred. The investigation into James Browning’s life had now assumed a new importance.
Pemberton’s next job was to telephone the newsrooms of the two local radio stations and question the wording of their news bulletins; after discussions with the respective news editors, both of whom were very co-operative, he realised the media had not linked Browning’s death with the prostitute’s murder. But the news of Debbie Hall’s death had been broadcast immediately preceding the item about the inquest on Browning. Pemberton was aware of a ploy adopted by some newspapers and radio stations — they would broadcast or publish two apparently unassociated items next to each other so that readers and listeners might unwittingly link them. He was assured that this had not been the case this morning and that they would separate the items in future bulletins.
As Pemberton debated his next course of action, his telephone rang. It was Detective Sergeant Meadows from the Scenes of Crime Department at Harlow Spa.
‘Sir,’ he began, ‘Browning’s flat. We gave it a thorough examination this morning. The only fingerprints in the place are his own — it seems he’s never had visitors, or if he had, they’ve not touched anything. We couldn’t even find a coffee mug or cup with anyone else’s prints on. There’s no sign of violence, no bloodstains washed or otherwise on the carpets or walls, and nothing that might suggest a murder or rape has happened here, no semen stains to indicate rape, no rope of the kind used for the stranglings, nothing in the waste bins, nothing to even suggest he had criminal links or tendencies. The clothes in his wardrobe and drawers are not contaminated either, there’s nothing incriminating in the pockets or on the fabric. Nothing at all in fact. The place is clean, sir. Totally and utterly clean. Bare, almost. Hardly a speck of dust or a dead fly.’
‘Thanks for all that. Now, you know we’ve discovered he had another car?’
‘Yes, sir, Mr Holroyd told me. It’s being collected shortly.’
‘I’m beginning to think this chap leads a double life, Sergeant. There’s a good deal of circumstantial evidence to link him to the crimes, and yet we can find nothing positive and nothing about his rallying or trips in the MG. But thanks for all you’ve done. I’ll await the results of the Rover’s examination.’
Pemberton replaced the handset but in his heart of hearts he knew that the official Rover would not produce any evidence. If there had been any, he was sure it would have been in the MG — and that had been almost totally destroyed by fire. If this man went on rallies around the country, then that freedom of movement could have provided him with the opportunity to commit the Sandal Strangler murders. The precise dates of the rallies were important, so when had they been held? And where? It was important that Pemberton spoke to Detective Sergeant Meadows again. He rang back. The sergeant was still in his office.
‘Sarge, something’s just occurred to me. When you searched Browning’s flat, did you come across any papers about rallies of vintage cars? Programmes? Club membership files? Documents relating to the MG in particular? Or anything at all to do with his car? Registration document, insurance, MOT certificate?’
‘No, sir. We made a careful check for that sort of thing. Mr Holroyd reminded us about the chap’s interest in the MG marque and asked us to look for those especially. But there was nothing, no leaflets, no correspondence — nothing.’
‘That’s mighty odd!’ Pemberton sighed. ‘Here we have an enthusiast and yet he kept nothing at home. I wonder if he kept those things at work?’
‘It’s possible. We haven’t been through his office desk or files yet. But at home, there was no private diary. His work diary was in his briefcase, as you know, containing his appointments and things like his father’s birthday.’
‘Yes. You know, Sarge, it seems this fellow has always been hiding something, keeping things in the dark…’
‘If his flat was anything to go by, sir, he led a very lonely and quiet life. It was sparse, even by bachelor standards.’
‘But did he really lead that kind of life, Sergeant? That’s what I want to find out. Let’s hope Greenwood’s can help us. But thanks for your efforts.’
Pemberton realised there was a lot of work to complete before he could produce a comprehensive profile of James Bowman Browning; it would be necessary to have further interviews with those who knew him — Gordon Greenwood and his landlord included. Then the phone rang. It was Detective Inspector Kirkdale.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I’m ringing from Darlington police station in County Durham. I’ve traced PC Mitford — he’s now Inspector Mitford and is stationed here. He remembers the red-haired man at the scene of the Penthorne murder.’
‘That’s great!’ Pemberton felt the tremors of excitement in his veins.
‘From the photo of Browning’s body, he’s sure it is the man he saw all those years ago.’
‘To be certain, ask him to come and view Browning’s body, will you, Gregory? It’s in Rainesbury mortuary. I need to be absolutely sure about this — an opinion based on the body will be far better than one based on a photo. Can you fix that?’
‘Hang on, sir, Inspector Mitford’s here. I’ll ask him.’
There was a momentary pause then Kirkdale returned to the phone and said, ‘No problem, sir. He’ll come this evening.’
‘Excellent,’ and Pemberton replaced the handset. The proverbial net was now closing upon his suspect. It seemed that a serial killer was soon to be unmasked.
In the brief lull that followed, Pemberton checked his watch. It was four-thirty, not quite knocking-off time. But it was time for a walk and time for a long, quiet period of contemplation.
‘I’m taking a thinking break, a walk along the cliffs,’ he buzzed his secretary on the intercom. ‘I’ll be back in about an hour or so. Tell Lorraine where I’ve gone, but don’t wait for me. You go home when you’ve finished.’
Chapter Eight
Constructed upon the cliff top at Rainesbury was an intriguing network of paths and gardens. At regular intervals were wooden seats donated by the families of those who had once enjoyed the panoramic sea views and salt-laced fresh air. The names of donors and loved ones adorned the plaques that had been fixed to the backrests. Pemberton chose one of those seats. Here he could be alone, if only for half an hour or so, and consider the problem that was beginning to dominate his mind.
In the bright sunshine of that warm Thursday afternoon, he relaxed and gazed across the ocean. Today, the North Sea was blue and calm, almost Mediterranean in appearance, a welcome change from its usual greyness. In the distance, ships were steaming sedately along the horizon; in silent convoy, they were cruising past this town with its ancient harbour and castle and its ice-cream parlours. But soon his eyes began to ignore the tranquil scene before him. Instead, he was concentrating upon the dreadful crimes which presently lay unsolved; he was wondering about James Bowman Browning, an enigma, a man respected by all yet scarcely known to anyone, not even his own father. The man was a self-confessed murderer — but was he the Sandal Strangler? If he wasn’t, who was? That was the question that Pemberton must answer, and it seemed to be increasingly difficult as the hours slipped by. He did wonder whether he was concentrating too much attention upon Browning, but there were no further suspects, either for the Crayton killing or the other Sandal Strangler murders.
It was vital that he determined the Browning question because, even at this very e
arly stage, there were factors to suggest he was the serial killer. Because Browning was not alive to answer questions, however, it would be extremely difficult, although not impossible, to establish that guilt. From experience, Pemberton knew that if you talked face to face with a killer, your instincts alerted you to his guilt in spite of denials and good acting on his part. A personal interview was therefore a vital part of the detection process, but that luxury was denied him in Browning’s case.
It seemed that Browning had already left several cold trails — was that a deliberate ploy to avoid detection? His only leisure passion — if passion was the right word — was his little red MG. Work had clearly been another major part of his life, and it seemed he had been utterly absorbed in his chosen career. And, according to Mr Browning senior, he had loved his mother. But a lot of killers loved their mothers and a lot of mothers loved their killer sons. In spite of that two-way love, Browning’s family life seemed very empty. His father knew very little about his adult son. There was some contact between them, but it seemed more dutiful than desired, probably little more than cards for birthdays and at Christmas, plus an occasional telephone call or visit.
As Pemberton sat with the sea breezes ruffling his hair and brushing his cheeks, he began to see that outside the office any passion — interest was perhaps a better word — of Browning’s had been channelled into his car and his rallies. Any clues to his personality — and his movements — lay in the charred remains of that little red car. But how much had been lost in the blaze? When Pemberton had looked at the remains, it seemed the vehicle had been totally destroyed, but he knew that detailed forensic examination could produce a surprising amount of information from such a wreck. He hoped it would in this instance. It was in this car that Browning had toured the country; it was in this vehicle that he had attended rallies, met friends, called at new places…and travelled to kill prostitutes?
Confession (The Mark Pemberton Cases Book 3) Page 8