Suspect

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘Thanks, I understand. It’ll be nice doing something useful again.’

  After a gentle knock on the door, it opened to admit Barbara who was carrying a tray bearing two mugs of coffee and a jug of milk.

  ‘Vic, this is Barbara Meadows, secretary of the department. The place couldn’t function without her. Barbara, this is Inspector Hadley, Vic Hadley. He’s joining the department on attachment — he’ll be processing the Muriel Brown data.’

  She smiled at him and he shook her hand. Barbara knew about Hadley; Pemberton had informed his staff that he would be joining them, but few had met him personally. Barbara was a stranger to him, but she would be the one person who would have most contact with the newcomer. She was a tall, slender woman in her early thirties with long eyelashes, grey eyes, a neat figure and shoulder-length dark brown hair. Unmarried, she had been with the CID, as a secretary, for some six years and was totally familiar with the demands of the department. Pemberton had often wondered why she had never married although she did have a succession of male friends, escorts who wined and dined her. But true, everlasting romance had not come her way. It was a pity — she was a lovely woman both in appearance and in personality.

  ‘If you need any help, just shout.’ She flashed one of her lovely smiles at him. ‘My office is just round the corner, on the left.’

  ‘Aye, I will, thanks,’ he said.

  Over coffee and between telephone calls which he ignored, Mark explained the general running of the CID office with Hadley proffering little more than one-word answers or comments, but the fellow seemed keen enough to begin.

  Then followed a tour of the large CID office with introductions to the key figures like Detective Inspector Paul Larkin, Detective Sergeants Keith Duffield and Stuart Egerton, along with the other detectives, male and female. They were on duty this morning; others would be coming on duty later in the day for the back shift. Some of them nodded a greeting, one or two shook his hand, but Pemberton wondered how many associated the dour, untidy inspector with the dramatic shooting of a member of the public in Fawneswick some two years ago.

  Eventually, Mark showed him to the office currently being used for the Muriel Brown enquiry. Somewhat on the small side, it contained two desks each with a chair at either side so that four people could operate here even if it was a bit cramped when everyone was working. There were also four filing cabinets and the other requisites of an active murder investigation plus the keyboards, monitors and accoutrements of a terminal of HOLMES set upon its own custom-built stand. Pemberton then called in Detective Constable Duncan Young to explain to Hadley the mechanics of operating the computer components, the system of extracting facts from the mass of papers which comprised the Muriel Brown case file and the method of entering them into HOLMES.

  ‘I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.’ Pemberton turned to leave. ‘Don’t let him baffle you with science, Vic — ask him to speak in normal language, not computer jargon! Call me if you need anything or have words with one of the others. We’re all here to help each other, that’s how my department works. No man is an island, as somebody famous once said.’

  ‘John Donne, sir, the poet. He wrote that,’ and there was a flash of a smile from Hadley.

  ‘You learn something every day,’ grinned Pemberton. ‘It’s the sort of thing Shakespeare might have written.’

  And so for the first time in months, Inspector Victor Hadley was back at work as a policeman.

  Almost three weeks after Inspector Hadley started work with Rainesbury CID, news of a murder was received via the fax. As the machine began to spew forth its lengthy roll of paper, Detective Constable Lorraine Cashmore chanced to be passing. She halted to read the message and noticed it had originated in Langbarugh County, the murder having occurred this Saturday lunchtime.

  She waited for the fax to complete its four pages, tore off the message, scanned it and took it to Barbara’s office where she placed it in the in-tray. Barbara would set it upon its route through the system and it would reach Pemberton in due course; there seemed to be no local urgency with that murder because the crime had been committed beyond the force boundaries.

  Langbarugh CID were dealing with it and no specific enquiries had been requested from Pemberton’s team at Rainesbury. The fax was for general information, being circulated to all northern police forces, and after Pemberton had read it, copies would be circulated around the department with one being pinned to the notice-board. Pemberton’s detectives would bear it in mind during their routine enquiries, particularly as Langbarugh’s boundaries adjoined their own.

  It was around that time that Charles Moore, the Chief Constable, telephoned Pemberton from his office at Great Halverton police headquarters.

  ‘Mark.’ His voice was strong and clear on the telephone. ‘This is just a personal check call about Inspector Hadley. I’m getting your weekly reports and it seems he is coping very well.’

  Pemberton confirmed that the inspector was indeed doing well. He told the Chief that Hadley appeared to be enjoying his work and had developed a determination to find the killer of Muriel Brown. Although he worked only half-days, sometimes in the mornings and sometimes in the afternoons, he did undertake a concentrated four hours’ work, broken only by a coffee or tea break. He didn’t work weekends, however, unlike other members of the CID who operated a rota system of duties. Happily, the staff had accepted him, and he appeared to be popular with them during work hours but didn’t mix with them during his off-duty time.

  ‘He goes fishing when he’s off duty, sir,’ Pemberton told the Chief. ‘He has a motor bike and off he goes, armed with rods, nets and gaffs, dressed up like an aged biker. But it gets him into the fresh air and he can be alone if he wishes. I must say that his confidence does seem to be returning. He’s rather quiet, though, he doesn’t mix with my officers either on duty or off, preferring to work alone and not to socialise. My lads often go out for a drink before going home after duty, but Hadley never joins them, even when he works during the afternoon.’

  ‘That might be his natural Scots thrift!’ chuckled the Chief.

  ‘Maybe, sir, but I think he’s rather shy. He doesn’t say much, but there again, he never has; he’s always been taciturn and so I don’t read too much into his silences and lack of conversation. He’s never been one for small talk.’

  ‘And his mental condition? Any improvement there?’

  ‘It doesn’t appear to be a problem, sir. He’s never given me cause for concern, he behaves quite normally, quite rationally. I’ve not noticed any uncharacteristic behaviour. He is continuing to visit his therapist and his counsellor, I make sure he never misses those sessions, and not once has he referred to the Millgate supermarket incident. I must admit that surprises me. I thought he might want to discuss it.’

  Pemberton wondered why the Chief was ringing for this information when it was all contained in his weekly reports, but Moore’s next comment provided an answer.

  ‘It’s time for my report on his progress to the Police Committee. As you know, there comes a time when a sick officer’s future needs to be looked at, a decision reached as to whether we retain him or retire him on ill-health pension. Because of his long absence, Hadley’s now in that category, Mark. I’m sending a detailed questionnaire for you to complete, but what’s your own view on his long-term potential?’

  ‘I think he’ll make a full recovery, sir. He’s a stolid individual, very strong both mentally and physically, I’d say. Very honest and open, too honest at times, and I do know he loves police work. He’s useful to my department — I’ve spoken to DC Young, our computer wizard, and he tells me Hadley’s making a really sound job of entering the data; he has a ready grasp of the basics of the computer and his years of police experience have told him what to look for in reports and statements. He’s very useful and there’ll always be work to do, although I must remind myself that he is functioning at a level well below the rank he carries.’

  ‘I can hardl
y demote him, Mark, just to program the facts of an old case into a computer. Anyway, let me have your views and recommendations in writing.’

  ‘Understood, sir,’ and Pemberton replaced the telephone just as Barbara entered with the in-tray. As she placed it on his desk, he asked, ‘Anything of immediate interest, Barbara?’

  ‘Some letters for signature before the post goes,’ she smiled. ‘A list of last night’s crimes at divisional level — a lot of burglaries and a spate of breakings into cars with cash being taken. Druggies needing money for their regular fixes, no doubt. Normal stuff really. The only additional thing worthy of mention is a murder in Langbarugh sir, this afternoon. A shooting. A gangland assassination by the sound of it. Robbery wasn’t the motive. The cash in the victim’s till wasn’t touched. The dead man is Harry Pearle, a second-hand car dealer from Tulleypool — he was shot in his office by a crash-helmeted gunman who got away on a motor bike bearing a false registration plate.’

  ‘That’s one for Barry to sort out,’ smiled Pemberton without any real sympathy for his friend and colleague, Detective Superintendent Barry Brennon of the neighbouring force. ‘It’ll prevent his weekend becoming a bore! There’s no request for our involvement, is there? No specific enquiries to be made in our division?’

  ‘No,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s purely for information. I’ve made copies for the usual distribution.’

  ‘Good, but get Paul Larkin to check it through — ask him to see if there are any links with our area. I know Barry will call me if he wants enquiries made in our patch.’

  As Barbara went about her work, Pemberton settled down to study the fax in more detail. He knew that he had previously come across the name of the victim, Harry Pearle. But where? And in what context? It was some years ago, he was sure. Determined to find an answer, he left his office to examine the Criminal Intelligence File. This had not yet been computerised — another task for Hadley perhaps? It was simply a strip index system of the names of suspects, convicted criminals and people with shady backgrounds and criminal associates. Adjoining each name there was a file reference.

  It was the work of a moment to locate the name of Harold Edwin Pearle.

  Chapter Three

  According to this piece of intelligence, Harold Edwin Pearle, born in 1957 at Turnerville on the north-east coast of Yorkshire, had been arrested in August 1982 following a chase on foot through the streets of Fawneswick. He was suspected of breaking into an off-licence in the early hours of the morning by smashing a small rear window, climbing through and taking money from a cashbox. The sum taken, all in used notes, was reputedly £850, although the file noted that the off-licence proprietor might have over-stated the sum allegedly stolen. A check on the stock showed the sum was probably closer to £300 but the proprietor insisted that his figure of £850 was correct — he insisted he had counted the cash that evening before locking up and it was destined to be paid into his bank the following morning. It had been stolen before that transaction had taken place.

  When Pearle was caught, after a chase of some three-quarters of an hour by several officers through a network of streets, he was not in possession of any money other than a few coins totalling £3.75. He claimed he was innocent; he said he had not broken into the premises. He had gone up the alley for a pee and had run away when a policeman had suddenly appeared and shouted at him. He’d fled because he thought he might be in trouble for ‘committing a nuisance in a public place’ as the local newspaper politely put it. Male holiday-makers were regularly fined for that breach of the by-laws, having been taken short upon leaving the pubs and clubs. Pearle, who had been alone, readily admitted to being in the passage which led to the rear of Alliker’s off-licence but insisted that he had not burgled the premises.

  He also said he had not seen anyone else loitering in the area at the time — his presence in the passage had totalled some thirty seconds in all, just enough to achieve his urgent purpose. Reading the file, Pemberton saw that a uniformed constable had sighted him whereupon Pearle had fled; sensing that something illegal had occurred, the constable had radioed Fawneswick Control whereupon a patrolling police car, literally one street away at that very moment, had joined the chase. Furnished with a description of the suspect, the car’s crew joined the fun. As the Control staff leapt into action with a flurry of radio messages, other officers had converged upon the scene, and soon, three more foot patrol policemen and three night-duty detectives had joined the chase. All this had happened within five minutes of the first constable’s alarm call. This posse had scoured the streets and from time to time they had caught sight of the running man, but capture was difficult because of his use of the narrow alleys and passages which formed a maze between the streets of the older part of the seaside town. These often divided into two or three, thus making pursuit very difficult, and it was evident that their quarry was very familiar with this veritable labyrinth of alleys and passages. After a chase lasting some forty-five minutes, Pearle was caught, arrested and taken to the police station to be searched. In the meantime, the break-in at the off-licence had been confirmed. When searched, Pearle had had no cash upon him, the later theory being that he had taken the opportunity to hide it during the chase. Without the real evidence of a large sum of cash upon him, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to secure a conviction.

  A search of the route believed to have been taken by Pearle during his dash for freedom had failed to locate any hidden cash — but no one really knew the precise route he had taken. All the evening’s sightings had been but fleeting glimpses. In his statement, the constable who had surprised Pearle said he’d wanted to know why the fellow had fled and so, once the chase had attracted other officers, he had checked the rear of the shops along the passage and had discovered the broken window. That had taken only a second or two. Both the front and rear doors of Alliker’s were locked, however, the thief having apparently made his exit by dropping the Yale latch of the rear door upon departure. The proprietor had been roused from his bed, standard procedure in such cases. He lived away from the premises but within twenty minutes had attended the scene of the crime to confirm that the premises had been unlawfully entered via a rear window and that £850 in cash had been stolen. An examination of the scene by SOCO had not produced any fingerprints nor any other evidence which would link Pearle with the crime. His persistent denials, a lack of independent witnesses and a dearth of evidence at the scene had persuaded the duty inspector that Pearle could not be charged with that crime. Quite simply, he could not be linked to the burglary and he had been released without charge.

  A note attached to the file, dated 1982, said that Pearle was believed to be an active and very clever criminal in Fawneswick, specialising in break-in offences at commercial properties such as bookmakers’ premises, off-licences, public houses and shops of all kinds — all businesses that dealt in cash.

  He had been a target criminal for a year (1981) and although several premises had been attacked during that time, all using his MO, Pearle had not once admitted guilt nor had sufficient evidence ever been found for a prosecution. In spite of his known activities, Pearle had never been prosecuted.

  The break-in at Alliker’s had all the hallmarks of his work. There was a further note which suggested the proprietor might have staged the raid himself, but that was not proved either. It was known that the proprietor was deeply in debt, a good reason for staging a robbery and claiming an inflated amount from his insurance. These were recorded observations made by the police at the time.

  Pemberton had remembered the name because one facet of Pearle’s character was that he always operated alone. A friendly man with a ready smile and considerable charm, he enjoyed an active social life around the pubs and clubs, but so far as his criminal activities were concerned, no one, not even his closest friend or his current lover, knew the precise details of his criminal work. He kept his activities strictly to himself, never boasting of his successes or announcing his plans in advance. In other w
ords, Pearle was a highly professional and highly successful criminal. Nonetheless, he did associate with known criminals and a list of those was included in the file. Pemberton felt sure that a copy of this information would be beneficial to the Langbarugh enquiry.

  Sitting quietly in his office that afternoon, Pemberton studied this file with deepening interest. He was about to pick up the telephone to call Barry Brennon in Langbarugh, when he noticed the name of the arresting officer.

  On Pearle’s Refused Charge Sheet was the name and signature of Detective Constable Victor Hadley. As it was a Saturday, Hadley was not working, and so Mark was unable to discuss this with him, but he made a note in his diary to have a chat with him on Monday morning. It would be interesting to obtain Hadley’s recollection of that incident and his impressions of the guilt or otherwise of the running Pearle. Meanwhile, Mark rang Barry Brennon at the Langbarugh police headquarters.

  ‘Hi, Barry, Mark Pemberton here.’ They chatted informally for a while about their days together at the training school and at the police college, and then Pemberton told his pal of his own Criminal Intelligence Department’s records about Pearle. He outlined the contents in brief, referring to the abortive arrest, and asked if the information was of any value to Brennon’s murder enquiry teams.

  ‘Brilliant!’ enthused Brennon in his rich Irish brogue. ‘Great stuff. We’ve had our eye on Pearle for a long time, but he’s never let us catch him. He was always one jump ahead; there was never any evidence to link him with any job we suspected him of. On paper, he was a fine upstanding fellow and an ideal citizen even if we thought he was a dubious dealer in second-hand cars. We knew he was a crook.’