Spoken Bones

by N. C. Lewis

  She would speak with Ben Griffin first thing in the morning as planned. She wondered if Ben and Ian knew each other—friends? Or did Ian sell them goods on the cheap? She made a note to check for a relationship. But if Ben had an alibi, she would drop him from the active investigation. That meant it would be mid-morning before she got around to Ian Wallace. But he wasn't going anywhere. The longer he sweated, the better.

  As Fenella continued to think, the low murmur in the room tapped at the edge of her consciousness. She wasn't really listening to the hubbub of activity at first. She still wanted to look around Maureen Brian's room. Did she have enough evidence to call in the crime scene techs to search the apartment? But then she caught sight of Jones with Dexter at his side. The way Dexter's jaw suddenly dropped, whipped up her curiosity and sent her heart thudding.

  "What is it?" She made her way across the room.

  Jones held the four photographs in his gloved hands.

  "It's these pictures, ma'am. They are not the originals. Just cheap photocopied prints."

  Chapter 55

  The following morning, Fenella and Dexter stood on the doorstep of the Seafields Bed and Breakfast. It was, even on this bright November day, cold and damp with another storm threatening to brew over the Solway Firth. They'd taken the side ramp this time, rather than the steps.

  "A few questions for your husband," Fenella said when Safiya opened the door. She'd grown bigger since the last time they spoke. No way she is only seven months, Fenella thought. That baby boy is due any moment now.

  "News?" Safiya gave an uncertain smile and remained motionless in the doorway, her short pregnant body like a blockage in a tube. "About Maureen Brian?"

  "Let's get inside where we can chat," Fenella said. "Damn cold out here."

  Without a word, Safiya turned and led them to the dining room where they'd previously spoken. The same smells of boiled vegetables and furniture polish hung in the air. There were no signs of preparation for paying guests. The place was empty. They sat at the table by the window with views of the desolate beach.

  "Coffee or tea?" The question couldn't hide Safiya's curiosity.

  "You sit yourself down, luv," Fenella replied. "I'll get it. Where's Mr Griffin?"

  As if on cue, Ben stepped into the room.

  "I heard the front door," he said, in a pleasant tone. The words hung in the air as he caught sight of the detectives. It was clear he'd expected paying guests. The friendly gleam quickly turned sour. "What the hell do you want?"

  "To ask you questions about Maureen Brian," Safiya said, and in a tone that left no doubt she was annoyed with her husband.

  "In that case, Safiya, let me help you back to our room." Ben looked at the detectives. "The doctor said she has to avoid stress." He gave his wife a weak smile. "You need rest and I don’t want you getting agitated with their damn questions."

  "No." Safiya's voice filled the room. "I'm staying right where I am."

  Ben looked at the detectives as if appealing for help.

  "Best leave her be," Fenella said. "An argument might cause her stress."

  Ben's lips curved into a professional smile, but his eyes simmered like a master whose dog disobeyed. He gave a little cough, then spoke in a honey-sweet tone.

  "Coffee or tea?"

  "I'd love a coffee," Fenella said. She sensed a difficult discussion ahead. The caffeine would keep her alert.

  "Same here," Dexter said, "black no sugar."

  Fenella knew he had the same idea and waited until the coffee was made and Ben settled himself at the table before she spoke.

  "Thank you for taking the time to see us this morning. I have a few questions which I'm sure you can clear up. Won't take long. One moment, please." Fenella rummaged around in her handbag and made a performance about taking out her notebook. She knew what she was going to ask, but wanted to make him wait. Rattle his nerves. Get under his skin. "Ah, here we are. I'd forget my own name if it wasn't so short."

  "We are rather busy, Detective Sallow." Ben poured himself a coffee, black. "What is all this about?"

  "Oh." Fenella glanced around. "Paying guests today?"

  "No… well… er… there is so much to do."

  "Claire Sutherland." Fenella spat out the name short and fast. She wanted to knock him off balance. "Did you know her?"

  "No."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely."

  "What about Ian Wallace?"

  "Everyone knows Ian."

  "Do business with him, then?"

  "Here and there." Ben rubbed a hand over his mouth. "He sells me stuff for the bed and breakfast."

  "Like what?"

  "Cleaning products, foodstuffs. Curtains. You name it."

  "Drugs?" Fenella knew Ian Wallace was a user. Was he also a dealer?

  "I'm no fool," Ben snapped. "I never touch the stuff. Not my gig."

  "Where were you Sunday night?" Fenella directed the question to Ben, but watched Safiya.

  "At home with my wife, of course."

  Safiya shifted in her seat and looked at her hands.

  Fenella said, "All night?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh, so you didn't go out like you did on Bonfire Night?"

  "Pardon?"

  "Your wife told us you went back out on Bonfire Night. After you had given her sleeping pills and tucked her into bed."

  Ben glared at Safiya. She didn't return his gaze.

  "Oh, Bonfire Night?" Ben spoke slowly as if in deep thought. "Yes… yes. It seems so long ago, I almost forgot. I did go back out for a short while to enjoy the end of the celebrations."

  His acting didn’t convince Fenella. For the first time, she picked up her pen. "Where did you go?"

  "Here and there, nowhere in particular."

  Fenella tapped her pen on the notebook. "Can you be a little more precise?"

  "The boardwalk to the lighthouse and along the beach. There were a lot of people around and I enjoy the crowds."

  "Did you meet anyone?"

  He shook his head.

  "Oh, come on, Ben," Fenella said. "A handsome young man like you out on Bonfire Night and you didn't run into anyone you know. If this was London, I'd believe it. But this is Port Saint Giles. You can't walk down the street without bumping into a neighbour."

  The room became very still, air heavy like when a thunderstorm is about to break. Fenella sensed it and waited.

  "Darling, you told me that you met with Mike Swain." Safiya's quiet voice rolled across the empty dining room like the distant rumble of thunder. The room felt suddenly chill. "The two of you went for a drink, you said. Didn't you end up in the Sailors Arms, because it is always quiet in there?"

  Ben did not speak for several moments. His head turned down so his eyes rested on the mug until at last his hand slowly reached out and toyed with the handle. Then he looked up.

  "Yes, honey. That's quite right." He turned to Fenella. "I didn’t want to mention Mike. Thought it best to keep him out of this. Silly, I suppose. So, there you are. Any more questions?"

  Safiya began to sob. "Oh God! Oh God!"

  "What is it, luv?" Fenella kept her voice soft and waited. "I'm here for you. I'm listening."

  Safiya said, "I spoke with Mike's wife, Flo." She breathed in quick gasps. "Mike spent Bonfire Night with Flo at her mother's house in Carlisle."

  "That's enough, Safiya." Ben got to his feet. "You are tired and confused."

  But she kept talking. "And I didn't take the sleeping pills you gave me Sunday night. Where did you go? Ben what have you done?"

  Ben's face became bread-dough pale. His hand grasped the mug and tried to bring it to his mouth. It sloshed over the brim, splattering the tablecloth like drops of blackened blood.

  Fenella turned to Dexter. "Get a family liaison officer over here. Then call for a patrol car." She returned her gaze to Ben. "Mr Griffin, I think we better sort this out at the station."

  Chapter 56

  It was almost 10:00 a.m. when F
enella and Dexter got back to the station. She called Jones from his cubicle. The three detectives huddled in her office to prepare for the interviews with Ben Griffin and Ian Wallace.

  "Let's put the puzzle pieces together," Fenella said as they sat around her desk. "We have Ian Wallace's fingerprints on a bottle of scotch found on the Pig Snout. A boat he claims to have never been aboard."

  "Pretty damning proof," Dexter said.

  "What about the CCTV camera?" asked Jones. "If he shows up on the images, we've got him bang to rights."

  "Aye," Fenella said. "Make a note to call the harbour. See how far the recordings go back. Now, let's get back to Ian Wallace. Suppose he is telling the truth."

  "That he wasn't on the boat?" asked Jones.

  "Aye." Fenella hesitated for a moment, thinking. "Maybe it is like he says."

  "You don't believe that do you, Guv?" Dexter asked.

  Fenella folded her arms. "I'm ready for anything. Every stone we've upturned in this case has led to a surprise. It's a stretch, but someone could have placed the bottle on the boat to implicate him. Only problem is, who?"

  Jones said, "Someone who had access to the harbour. Finnegan Woodstock the watchmen? Or Councillor Ron Malton?"

  They fell into a nervous silence. Fenella turned over the possibility in her mind. Councillor Malton rented the boat to Maureen. He'd know her photographs were valuable. Same for Finnegan Woodstock. They'd speak with Finnegan, again. But what to do about Councillor Malton? She felt like she was stepping into a snake's nest, blindfold. And everyone knew Malton liked to bite.

  "Okay, let's move on," she said, as her subconscious mind continued to work through the possibilities. "Ben Griffin. No alibi for Bonfire Night or the time of Claire Sutherland's murder. And we know he had a business relationship with Ian Wallace." She paused, thinking. "Let's focus on Seafields Bed and Breakfast. Jones, anything new?"

  Jones pulled out his spiral notebook and flipped through the pages. "I spoke to their bank manager this morning, off the record. He reckons the Seafields Bed and Breakfast will shut within a month or two. The bank has refused to extend more credit."

  "There is your motive in plain sight," Dexter said.

  "Aye, happen you're right about that," Fenella replied. "Jones, off you go to track down the harbour CCTV videos. Dexter, let's you and I see what Mr Griffin has to say."

  But Ron Malton's involvement niggled in the back of her mind. She had to speak with him again; the question was how?

  Chapter 57

  Ben Griffin sat slumped in a chair in the interview room. A plastic cup of tea rested on the table. His face hadn't lost the baker's-dough shade of pale. If anything, he had gone a shade paler, and his black button eyes glistened as if at any moment they might spurt.

  While Dexter fiddled with the recording system, Fenella sat down opposite Ben and looked at him for a moment.

  "You're in a lot of trouble," she said.

  Ben sat up straight as if struck by lightning. He touched the gold loop in his nose and ran a hand over his devils wisp beard. But he didn't speak.

  "Ben Griffin, I'm investigating the murder of Maureen Brian and Claire Sutherland."

  Still no reaction.

  Now Fenella didn't mince her words. "You are here under suspicion of involvement in their deaths. Where were you on Bonfire Night?"

  Ben placed his hands face down on the table, spreading his fingers wide. "I… I… Listen, you've got it all wrong."

  Fenella pressed him with another question. "Where were you the evening of Sunday the eleventh of November? The night of Claire Sutherland's murder."

  Ben raised his eyes. Terror glistened. For a long while he stared and blinked. At last, he spoke, his voice a high-pitched tremble.

  "I want a lawyer. I'm not speaking to you without a lawyer."

  Fenella said. "Do you have a solicitor you can contact?"

  Ben shook his head.

  Fenella stood. "Okay, Mr Griffin, we'll continue this interview once we've arranged legal representation."

  Chapter 58

  Outside the interview room, Fenella and Dexter watched Ben Griffin through a one-way mirror panel. He slumped over the table, head in his hands, body shaking with bitter sobs.

  "Thoughts?" Fenella asked, her own mind clicking the puzzle pieces into place.

  "Ben knew Maureen Brian, lives in her house, runs a business that is losing money and has no alibi." Dexter stared through the mirrored panel as he spoke. "Didn't his wife say they were going to buy a doughnut cart? Where'd he hope to get the money?"

  "Not from the bank," Fenella said, remembering the earlier comments from Jones. "Their bank manager expects them to fold."

  Dexter said, "He might have worked with Ian Wallace. We know they are business associates."

  "But Ian stole fake photos."

  "Ben might have got greedy and switched them."

  "Aye. No knowing what a man will do under the pressure of debt." Fenella smiled. "You might be onto something."

  Dexter said, "Any news from forensics?"

  "Lisa Levon's not come through for us this time." Fenella had called the labs first thing, but knew it took time. "Let's go have a word with Mr Ian Wallace. I expect he'll be ready to talk after a night in the cells."

  Her mobile phone rang—Jeffery.

  "News?" Once again Jeffery skipped the formalities.

  "Nothing yet, ma'am."

  There was a long pause. When Jeffery spoke, her voice buzzed with waspish frustration. "Mr Wallace hasn't confessed?"

  "On my way to speak to him now, ma'am."

  "Get a move on, Sallow, else we will miss the lunchtime news. Report back the moment you step from the interview room. It is imperative I have the details. If Ian Wallace confesses, I want to be the first to know. Is that clear?"

  Fenella didn't get to reply. A hand pressed her shoulder. She spun around.

  "Ma'am, I've been all over the station." The duty sergeant looked flustered. "Councillor Malton wants to speak with you."

  "What about?" Fenella's stomach fluttered with unease.

  "Maureen Brian, ma'am."

  "What was that?" The question came from the mobile phone—Jeffery.

  "Sorry, ma'am, I've got to go." Fenella hung up before Jeffery fired off another question.

  The duty sergeant said, "Mr Malton expects you at the Port Saint Giles harbour. At your earliest convenience, ma'am."

  Which meant now.

  "Come on, Dexter," Fenella said. "Let's see what this is about."

  "What about Ian Wallace?"

  "The lad's not milk. He'll not go off."

  Chapter 59

  Fenella didn't like it.

  Ron Malton sat in his wheelchair in the oval room at the Port Saint Giles harbour. His elbows rested on the glass-topped table with yellowed nautical charts beneath. There was no readable emotion on his poker face. On his left sat a plump man in a pinstripe suit with a wisp of a moustache covering his upper lip. On Malton's right sat a wiry man in his seventies, who wore a pink Hawaiian shirt with giant pineapples. They clashed with his mop of bleached white hair. The room smelled of potpourri and furniture polish with a faint trace of mint.

  "Detectives, take a seat," Malton said, waving them to the opposite side of the table. "I appreciate you taking the time to visit with me today."

  "This meeting is off the record," the plump man in the pinstripe suit said. "Detectives, we'll need your agreement on that before we begin."

  Fenella was about to protest but Malton raised his hand. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Introductions first." He placed a hand on the shoulder of the man in the Hawaiian shirt. "This is my uncle, Malcolm Buckham. I mentioned him in our last conversation."

  Fenella recalled he was a retired engineer who bought the Port Saint Giles harbour. The business ran into financial difficulties during the last recession. His wife passed away due to the stress. All this she remembered in the blink of an eye.

  "Please call me Malc. Everyone ca
lls me Malc," the man in the Hawaiian shirt said.

  He spoke in a deep soothing tone, not what Fenella expected from an engineer. She had the idea from his Hawaiian shirt that his voice would be high-pitched; scratchy like the hinge of an unoiled door. Now she remembered that Malcolm Buckham and Ron Malton were business partners. But it wasn't clear why Ron Malton invited her and Dexter to the oval room, so she remained quiet and waited.

  Ron Malton was speaking. "And this gentleman on my left is Mr Ward, my solicitor."

  Mr Ward nodded. His sharp eyes flitted between Fenella and Dexter, sizing them up. He said, "This meeting is off the record, agreed?"

  "Give me something to chew on," Fenella said. "Right now, all I got is gum with no flavour."

  "Are we off the record?"

  "No."

  Mr Ward stood up. "Then we will have to conclude this conversation."

  "Sit." The command came from Malton.

  Mr Ward sniffed as if he disapproved. But he sat down and leaned back in his chair.

  "Let's not be too hasty, Mr Ward," Malton said. "The detectives have been good enough to come when we called."

  "Nothing less than one would expect of the police," Mr Ward replied. "Nevertheless, I shall stay if that is your wish." He let out a contented sigh, arms folded across his chest. The longer he remained, the higher his legal fee. "And I shall continue to advise should your conversation become imprudent."

  Malton wheeled to the window so they could only see his back.

  "I hear you sent a detective to inquire about our CCTV surveillance videos."

  Fenella waited a moment before she replied. She wanted to see Malton's face, read between the lines. But with his back to them, all she had to go on were his words. Why the interest in the CCTV surveillance?

  Fenella said, "We need to review the video for the Maureen Brian case."

  "May I ask what you are looking for?"