Gayther nodded. “I’ve got two questions and we should be able to answer them ourselves from the CCTV. Much easier than half-remembered thoughts and ideas from staff who weren’t really taking much notice at the time.”
“Who was she with?” asked Carrie.
“Yes, it would be too much to ask that she was with Challis, Halom or Burgess or another Scribbler-look-a-like, though we can but hope. Who knows?”
“And the other,” Carrie said, “would be … why was she walking alone late at night?”
Gayther replied, “Yes, although that’s all linked up with who she was with. A man who didn’t want to give her a lift home. Why? Because they’d had an argument? She’d knocked him back? I’d like to know if she was drunk … how much she had drunk … was she sober or tiddly drunk or all over the road?”
Carrie spoke up quickly. “No crime in a woman having a drink, guvnor. If she did. She could simply have met an old school friend or work colleague for a bite to eat and then walked home for some fresh air and been knocked over. As simple as that.”
“Of course, that’s more likely than not. Most probably, it’s a terrible tragedy. But we have to check out every lead and see …”
Gayther looked up and saw the male landlord coming towards him.
“Barry,” he re-introduced himself as Gayther and Carrie got to their feet. “Barry Chapman, sorry to have kept you waiting. We had someone here earlier. PCs Webb and Harris? We went through it all with them. Are you …?”
“DI Gayther, DC Carrie,” Gayther smiled, turning towards Carrie. “Karen Wiliams’ visit here last night. We just wanted to check, if we may, what you can tell us about it?”
Chapman shook his head. “Nothing much, really. It was busy – curry night – and it was just me and the wife and the chef and a couple of students in helping out, fetching and carrying. Me and the wife were behind the bar, neither of us recall seeing her. One of your PCs showed us a photo. It didn’t ring a bell. Neither of us remember serving her at the bar. It was only when we saw the CCTV footage that we recognised the woman in the photo. Clara and Zoe, the two students, may have seen more. They’d have taken the order and served the food to them. They’re not in today.”
“Them? Who was she with?” Gayther asked.
Chapman stood up. “Come and have a look at the CCTV footage for yourself.”
“You still have it?” Carrie asked.
Chapman nodded his reply. “Our licence means we have to keep data for fifty-six days. Your colleague copied it onto a USB or bluetoothed it, I’m not sure which. He told us to keep hold of the original.”
Gayther grinned at Carrie as he stood up and she followed. He looked like a child at Christmas, she thought, about to unwrap a big mysterious present, the last and biggest one left beneath the Christmas tree.
* * *
Chapman stood in front of a large black television in a back room that doubled as a rest and storage area. A settee, a coffee table and boxes, stacked here, there and everywhere, filled almost all of the space. He held the remote control in his hand as he pointed it towards the screen that sat on top of an old pine, five-drawer, chest that took up most of the far wall.
“That’s live, that is, see there, the bottom half of the screen, and it’s still recording …”
“How long have you had it?” Carrie said conversationally, standing behind the landlord and to the left, Gayther to his right.
Chapman shook his head. “It’s a new system. We put it in last month, maybe six weeks ago. We had some trouble with a new chef, Nathan, a black lad. Some of the locals were giving us, well him, a hard time. A couple of the old timers thought it would be funny to hide in the bushes and throw bananas at him as he left. It’s still a bit 1970s round here. Multiculturalism hasn’t quite reached this far.”
“Did you report it?” Carrie asked. “Hate crimes are a priority for us.”
“No, Nathan didn’t want any fuss, just wanted to keep his head down and get on with it. Do his job. He’s a good chef. I had a word with one or two of the men we thought it was and talked about barring racists and it seems to have settled down. That reminds me to have a chat with Nathan later on to check he’s all right.”
“So, you put it in to see who was racially abusing Nathan?” Carrie said as Chapman carried on talking over the top of her.
“We put in the system anyway, after the banana throwing, so we could monitor everyone coming in and out. Only thing is …” he added, “a young lad, Josh, the local odd-job man, did it and he put it up too far to the left. It only really covers the doorway, some tables to the side and a bit of driveway, so we can’t actually see the whole car park, which is what we wanted … so we could match people up to their cars. We’re going to get him to move it or maybe put in a second one further round. Well, hopefully. He seems to have disappeared these past few weeks.”
Chapman thought for a minute. Then called out.
“Cath, Cath?”
A moment’s pause, footsteps, and she was at the door, looking in.
“Can you remember what the times were when they came in and out?”
Gayther and Carrie looked towards her and smiled as she moved into the room, both thinking how she looked like the stereotypical barmaid: brassy, dressing younger than her age, rather too heavy with the make-up.
She paused. “They came in together at 8.00pm, just past, and she left at 9.30, give or take, and he was out at about 10.00, maybe quarter to. The PC, whatever his name was, this morning, had a good look.”
Gayther, standing to the right of Chapman, watched over the man’s shoulder as he pressed first one button and then another to bring last night’s recording onto the screen, tutting as he did so.
“Give it here,” said his wife, “I’ll do it, I found it before. When they came in.”
“What do you remember of them?” Gayther asked Chapman’s wife. “Did you speak to either of them?”
Chapman answered, “I told you. We were busy. Neither of us served them. The girls would have taken orders and delivered food and drinks and maybe got talking to them. You’ll have to come back, with your other colleagues. They’re on tomorrow at six for the quiz night.”
Mrs Chapman stopped, her finger on the button. Gayther could see the screen was about to start showing the footage from 8.00pm last night.
“Actually, Barry, what I said to the police earlier was wrong. I’ve been thinking … although I don’t remember seeing them, I do remember someone shouting out ‘cow’ at some point in quite a nasty way and there was silence for a second or two … in case there was a slanging match or something … and then everyone ignored it and carried on talking. That was a man and about that time and I think it might have been him … look, here we are, 8.00.52 … 53 … it’s exciting, isn’t it … that’s Jeremy coming in, old soldier that he is. They’re in next.”
Carrie leaned forward. Gayther did too.
They saw the unmistakable face of Karen Williams coming in, glancing up at the camera as she passed beneath it. A split second, but a full and clear shot of her face.
A second or two’s pause.
A hooded man, head down, pulling at the hood so it covered his head more fully as he passed beneath the camera.
“Damn,” said Gayther angrily.
“The photo the police showed us this morning matched the freeze-frame of that lady coming in. We had to go back and forth quite a bit to match them,” Mrs Chapman said. “We assume that was her man friend just behind her … let me find the bit where they left.”
As she pressed more buttons, Gayther reached into his jacket pocket and took out three folded-up sheets of paper, one photo on each, of Challis, Halom and a younger Burgess. He opened them and spread the three sheets out, holding them in front of Mr and Mrs Chapman. “Recognise any of these men?” he asked.
Chapman looked at the photo of Challis. “No,” he said. Next, the photo of Halom. “No,” he said again. Then the photo of the younger Burgess. He turned his he
ad this way and that. “Him, maybe. But I couldn’t say where from. And not recently. He may have been in the pub, but he’s not a regular.” He paused and then shook his head before adding, “Who are they? The Chuckle Brothers? They all look like brothers.”
His wife stopped what she was doing to take a look. She gazed for a moment or two at the photo of the younger Burgess. “I’ve not seen him before … nor him,” she added, pointing to the photo of Halom. “Although they do look similar, don’t they?” She paused as she looked at the photo of Challis. “I’ve seen him somewhere. No idea where. Who is he … who are they?”
Gayther shook his head. “We’re just trying to establish who was with Karen Williams last night.”
Mrs Chapman nodded. Her husband did too. “Come back tomorrow, show the girls. They may recognise one or other of them.”
They both looked back towards the screen. “There,” said Mrs Chapman. “We think that’s her going.”
Gayther and Carrie both watched as, at 9.32.32pm, what looked like Karen Williams was leaving.
“She’s in a hurry,” Carrie said. “Pushing that old man aside.”
Gayther nodded, but did not add anything. “Wait,” he said, as Mrs Chapman went to fast-forward the footage, “I want to see …”
“No one leaves straight after her,” Mr Chapman said. “We sat through it this morning. Two bikers came in, about three or four minutes later. A couple left, two minutes after that. Dan and Shirley. Locals. Live over the way. Then another of our old boys who comes in sometimes and sits at one end of the bar nursing half a Guinness for hours. He left. He lives over the road. And that was it until the man she came in with went.”
Mrs Chapman wound the footage on … by the two bikers … the middle-aged couple … the old boy … and then stopped it at 9.44.22. “There … we think that’s him.”
Gayther and Carrie watched closely.
Saw the man pulling his hood up as he came on to the screen. “Stop,” said Gayther, louder than he meant to. “Rewind and freeze it, please.”
Gayther and Carrie looked at each other. They both spoke the same word at the same instant.
“Aland.”
“That’s very interesting,” Gayther added. “Carrie, take a shot of that with your phone … Mr and Mrs Chapman, thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
* * *
“Your opinion, guvnor?” Carrie asked a distracted-in-thought Gayther as he accelerated the car back up the A12. “Are we now going to the care home again?”
He nodded his agreement and then spoke.
“I can’t help thinking this Aland has something to do with all of this. He ran from me … why did he run, really? I’m not scary. And he’s been with Karen Williams just before her death. That’s too much of a coincidence, surely? Is he The Scribbler?”
She looked as his angry face and then answered calmly.
“I don’t see how he can be. He has the look and is about the right age, but that’s all. He’s only been here, what was it, four months? He hasn’t been here thirty years. And he doesn’t have a Suffolk accent, which The Scribbler was said to have. So, it’s not him, is it, guv? It can’t possibly be.”
He shook his head. “I guess not, but … I don’t know … something doesn’t feel right to me. None of this does. It all feels wrong.”
“He ran from you because he was scared. That’s understandable given his background. And why shouldn’t he see Karen Williams if they’re both single? Maybe they had an argument of some kind – so what? People do. It doesn’t have to end in murder. Why would he run her over? It’s just a tragic coincidence. And … come on … why would The Scribbler, whoever he is, even come back and kill Karen Williams so long after the event?”
“Because Karen Williams was the only person who really saw him and talked to him when he came to check out the care home and discover which room was Lodge’s. The only clear witness who could look at a photo and say, without a shadow of a doubt, yes, that’s the man … I don’t believe she’d be on a date with this Aland anyway. She was pie-eyed about her dead husband yesterday, not looking forward to a date night.”
“For f…” Carrie stopped and composed herself. “Well it’s not Aland then, is it, guvnor? Aland can’t be … John bloody Smith … The Scribbler, can he, the man who came and met Karen Williams and said he was John Smith? The man she’d never met before. I mean The Scribbler can’t be two people, can …”
Her words tailed off as she sat back and got her phone out of her pocket.
He could sense her frustration.
Knew, deep down, that what she said was correct.
“Okay,” he answered after a few minutes’ silence, “let’s look at this rationally. There are two strands to it. First, has The Scribbler, let’s assume it’s this Smith, come back and killed Karen Williams?”
“I’d say no. I can buy that the vicar somehow saw him at the fete and he returned the next day pretending to be someone’s nephew … that’s quite clever … and then the following evening to commit murder. That’s quite risky, but if he was scared and thought he was about to be exposed somehow, well, yes, maybe I can accept that. But why would he kill Karen Williams … how would he find her … why would he wait so long?”
“Because he knows we’re investigating Lodge’s death and he’s panicked and decided to kill Karen Williams, too. And because … maybe, somehow … he has some other sort of link with the care home we don’t yet know about?”
Carrie sat there thinking as Gayther turned the car off the A12 on to the road back to the Kings Court care home.
They drove along in silence as they approached the home.
Both edgy, both tetchy. Trying to work through the ifs, buts and maybes in their heads.
“I don’t see it, guvnor, really I don’t. I mean The Scribbler took a calculated gamble going back into the care home to find Lodge. There may have been cameras up recording him coming and going. All sorts of people would have seen him. He bluffed them with the Mrs Smith’s nephew line, so they’d not link him to the vicar’s death. He got away with that. But why come back for Mrs Williams … so long after. We’re … quite honestly, guv, we’re clutching at straws.”
Gayther eventually nodded and then added, “Okay, the second strand then, Aland. Quite a coincidence that he was at the care home and acted so suspiciously and, when we look into Karen Williams’ death, he happens to be there, too, don’t you think?”
“I think Karen Williams simply had a meal with Aland – a work colleague, a would-be lover, someone maybe who was going to fix her car for her for cash, who knows – and then left and was knocked down and killed by … well, anyone really. A drink or drugs driver. Someone not paying attention. A couple arguing. Someone nodding off. It’s a dark road, it twists and turns. Maybe she’d had a drink … they’d had an argument … she stumbled off a muddy path into the road without thinking … who knows? Shit happens, guv, you know? All the time.”
He nodded as he turned the car into the care home’s car park.
Pulled up and turned and smiled at her.
“Let’s go and find out for sure then, Carrie.”
* * *
“Wait, guv.” Carrie reached out and touched Gayther’s arm as he went to open the car door. “I don’t think we should just go steaming in. Mrs Coombes said she’ll complain to the chief if we came back. We don’t want her coming down hard on us. We need to be subtle here, don’t we? We want more of a gentle touch.”
Gayther sat back in his seat. “Okay, Carrie, so what do you suggest we do?”
“What exactly do we want to achieve, guvnor?”
Gayther say quietly for a moment before he answered. “First of all, I want Sally and Jen … Miss Bright … Mrs Smith … anyone who might have seen The Scribbler on one of his two visits … to have sight of the photos of Challis, Halom and Burgess … if anyone recognises one of them, is absolutely sure, then we’ve got our man.”
“And if they don’t? Can we discard Challi
s and the others as prime suspects?”
Gayther shrugged. “A clear ID rules them, or at least one of them, in. Not recognising them still leaves them all in the frame. It means he’s been clever … or lucky … or they just weren’t very observant.”
“How about I slip in with the photos? Hope no one knows anything about PACE,” Carrie said. “Ask at the reception for Sally and Jen; chances are one or other will be working today. I can then show them the photos and, if they don’t recognise anyone, I can ask them to show the other care assistants and residents who might have seen him. I’ll leave them my mobile number.”
“Good idea.” Gayther handed her the photos. “Tear round the edges really carefully so there’s no other information on the page – I know Challis had his sons on there. Right to privacy and all that. No point in asking for trouble,” he added.
He watched as Carrie took each picture in turn and tore the edges as neatly as she could.
“Detective work, Carrie. Bet you didn’t think you’d be doing this.”
She laughed as she finished tearing around the last photo. “All part of the job, guv.”
She stopped and looked at the three torn and scruffy pages and thought they didn’t look very professional, although she kept the thought to herself.
“Very good, Carrie, very good.”
She laughed again as she opened the car door. Leaned back in after she got out.
“Wish me luck, guv. I might need it.”
Gayther sat there nodding. Then waited patiently, watching Carrie as she crossed the car park and entered the care home. He sat still a little longer to see if she came straight back out. If Mrs Coombes were on reception, or close by, he guessed that Carrie would not get as far as meeting Sally or Jen.
He thought for a while, wishing that he still smoked, could do with a cigarette now as he mulled over what to do next. He had tried chewing gum, as a replacement, but it had pulled the crown off a tooth and his dentist told him to avoid anything chewy or sticky in future. Something else to add to the lengthening list of things he could no longer eat.
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