Trentbridge Tales Box Set

by Lee Wood

  “Thank you for your time. I’ll let you get back to your work. If you think of anything else please let me know. Diane has my details.”

  “Yes. I will.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The story had hit the front pages of every national newspaper. The DCI walked back into the incident room after giving a press conference to announce the latest updates He had been tight on not giving out too much information to the press. The victim’s name, occupation and the fact he was killed in his hotel room. What hadn’t been released so far was the relationship between the victim and the suspect and the details of how he was stabbed ten times. Of course that hadn’t stopped the reporters from finding out about his relationship with Norman by other means.

  Some of the team investigating the murder had noticed a change in Andy Stone over the past couple of weeks and were becoming more and more concerned about his behaviour.

  They had heard him use phrases such as “get that bastard” and “I’ll show him” when the subject of Norman Gentle had come up.

  At times he looked like a man on the edge of having a breakdown. But they didn’t know the cause. And the reason wasn’t something he was keen to share with them.

  He had found out his wife had been having an affair with a younger man who she worked with. Andy had known for the past two months and come to hate everything about this man, including his name. Chris ‘bloody’ Norman.

  How could she cheat on him like that? Sure, his job entailed working long hours but Sheila had known that when they got married sixteen years ago.

  His rise through the ranks had meant they had a good income and with no children they lived well. Very well indeed.

  Nice house, nice clothes, nice cars and nice holidays. What more could she want?

  This Chris ‘bloody’ Norman character was at a lower pay grade than her. If she left and they set up home together she couldn’t expect to enjoy the same level of luxury.

  And there was no way she was getting the house.

  Besides, Andy was up for promotion to the rank of Superintendent in the next month.

  The promotion would see his pay level increase by £40,000 a year plus all the perks that went with the job. But if the top brass knew his wife was about to leave him then his chances of getting the promotion were slim. They liked good steady people with a wholesome family image. If news got out he wouldn’t stand a chance. The promotion would go to his main rival Ronnie Hampton. Then he would have to bow and scrape to that prat. His life would be a misery.

  But to ensure the promotion the top brass were depending on him to get this case all neatly sewn up and the press off their backs.

  He already knew who was responsible. Norman Gentle. So why was his own DI still trying to find other suspects. Andy had even heard rumours Kevin O’Connor might be in the frame. Good God. They’d been trying to get something on that bastard for years without success. He was a cunning sod. Proving anything against him would be nigh on impossible. No. The killer was already in the frame. Norman ‘bloody’ Gentle. Anyone with a name like that had to be guilty.

  DCI Andy Stone had been convinced of Norman’s guilt all along. It all fitted.

  And after all, the evidence was strong. It was a straightforward case, like the dozens of cases he had handled in the past. The age-old tale of two lovers and then one finds out his partner was seeing someone much younger. The two had argued and the next morning his lover had been found knifed in the back. Was that because he felt betrayed?

  Most murders were committed by someone close to the victim. Yes. All his years of experience as a detective told him this was his man.

  One last swig from the whiskey in his top drawer and then he would go through to the incident room, and wrap this case up once and for all. Then they could all move on to other cases and leave the CPS to deal with it. And his promotion would be in the bag.

  Two minutes later, DCI Andy Stone stood next to the large whiteboard in the murder inquiry incident room.

  "Okay. Can I have everyone's attention please? We are about to wrap up the murder case of Peter Winston-Moore.

  As you know, Norman Gentle is currently on remand at Birmingham Prison awaiting trial.

  We’ve done our bit. This is what I have presented to the CPS.

  “Norman Gentle was the victim’s live-in lover for six years and they even talked about getting married. Then he found out his partner was cheating on him with a much younger man and discovered they were booked in the Albion hotel together. So he came all the way from London and booked into the hotel using a false name. Unfortunately for him, there was a flaw in his plan, in that one of the antique dealers staying there recognised him.

  Our search of their apartment revealed a will that had been drawn up just three weeks before the murder, and Norman is the only beneficiary and receives several million pounds plus the business and the luxury London apartment they shared.

  The victim had let his killer into the room and turned his back. You wouldn't normally do that with a stranger.

  “The coroner’s report puts the killer at between five feet two and five feet five. Norman is five feet five.

  “According to the hotel's main housekeeper and one of the house maids, Norman argued with the victim on the morning of the day he was killed.

  The doctor’s report tells us the victim was stabbed in the back ten times with an eight-inch kitchen knife. The report puts the killer at between five feet two and five feet five and possibly left-handed. Norman is five feet five but is right-handed.

  Amongst all of the suspects and staff we found four people, who are left-handed. However, it is possible Norman might have used his left hand to deliberately mislead us. It's rare but it has happened before.

  The Post Mortem puts the murder at between 11 pm. and just after midnight The hotel is locked and the ground floor is alarmed from eleven and the bar manager has told us everyone in the bar had left by eleven and all the staff left soon after. He set the alarm and locked up by eleven-ten. So unless someone was able to hide in the hotel undetected it leads us to one of the hotel guests as the prime suspects.

  “The doctor says it would be impossible for the killer not to be covered in blood. So if we’re dealing with someone not staying at the hotel, they would have needed to have changed their clothes and walked out of the hotel covered in blood.

  “The head barman has confirmed the side entrance to the bars was locked at ten-thirty and that he stood by the front entrance from approximately ten forty-five so that no one else came into the bar. He saw everyone leave and says he didn’t see anyone suspicious or anyone with blood on their clothes. There were only a handful of people in the bar at closing time so he remembers them as he had been serving them all night and he thinks all the people that left came from the bar. Then he locked the doors. There were only two staff members besides him to clear up and they all left together as he set the night alarm.

  “With regard to the victim’s room, we found an artist’s easel where you would display a painting and we know the victim had purchased a painting on Wednesday of last week. So that appears to be missing.

  “We've managed to track down the lady Peter Winston-Moore purchased the painting from and she has given us a photograph, taken about ten years ago when she says they redecorated the house and decided it didn’t fit in with the new décor and stored it in the loft.

  “Apparently Mrs Speed and her late husband had owned the painting for more than fifty years but she needed the money to pay for some roof repairs. It was when she went up in the loft because of the leaking roof that she remembered the painting and then saw a leaflet from Peter Winston-Moore saying he was a London art dealer and would pay the highest price.

  “I'm told by those that know about such things it's a picture of Salthouse Dock in Liverpool painted in 1892 by the artist John Atkinson Grimshaw. It was in an ornate gold frame that had faded a bit. According to an expert we showed a photo of the painting to, we believe it is highly val
uable, possibly as much as £250,000.

  “Mrs Speed said in her statement that she and her husband had purchased the painting from a dealer in London's Burlington Arcade more than fifty years ago for £100. So when she was offered £3,500 she thought she was getting a good price for it. The original dealer is no longer in business as far as we can tell.

  “Mrs Speed is an old lady of eighty-seven and finds it hard to get around so I don't think we need to include her in our list of suspects. And as she lives alone and her nearest relative, a son, lives in Spain, then we just need to check he hasn't returned to the UK in the past few days. But we did speak to him on the phone yesterday and it was the first he knew about all this so it's highly unlikely, but we still need to check him out as a matter of course.

  “Now, the size of the painting is quite small. It’s in a gold frame about twenty-four inches, that's sixty centimetres for our younger members by eighteen inches, forty-six centimetres. So fairly easy to carry out unnoticed. Possibly in something like a suitcase?

  We don’t know where he’s hidden the painting but I’m sure we’ll find it in due course. I’m convinced we have the right man. He had the three things we always look for: means, motive and opportunity.

  So it just remains for me to say thanks for all your hard work.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The unmarked police Vauxhall Insignia pulled up at the front of the O’Connor house on Fen Road. Two large dogs on leads barked and moved forward as much as the chains holding them would allow.

  Eden and Tracy made their way to the front door and rang the bell. They looked around the large yard noting the various outbuildings and containers lined up across the opposite side.

  The door opened.

  “Hello, Sadie. Long time, no see. This is DS Tracy Archer. We’ve come to have a chat with your husband. Is he in?”

  “Hello, Mr Gold. Yes. He’s been expecting you.”

  Eden wasn’t sure if this was true or simply a remark to put him off guard. After all, he knew just how cunning every member of this family could be.

  “Can you take off your shoes in the hallway?”

  It was more of a command than a request.

  As they walked the long hallway and through to the kitchen, they passed an open door to the lounge, and both detectives were struck by how neat and tidy everything was. Not a single item out of place. The kitchen was the same. Everything spick and span.

  Every traveller’s home Eden Gold had ever visited was the same. No mess, nothing out of place and so clean it would put even a top five-star hotel in the shade.

  Over the years, as he had visited the homes of many people who were unemployed and at home all day he had wondered why, if they had all that time on their hands, they didn’t have time to make their homes neat and tidy. Usually the house was a complete tip.

  Travelling people had their faults but cleanliness was not one of them. Of course some would argue about the mess with fly tipping that a lot of travellers caused. But inside their homes was a different matter entirely.

  As they reached the kitchen, sitting at a table big enough to seat ten people and set in the centre of the spacious room was the portly figure of fifty-year-old Kevin O’Connor. He didn’t get up.

  “Mr Gold. Good to see you. And who’s this you’ve brought with you?”

  “Hello, Kevin. This is DS Tracy Archer.”

  “Please sit down. Sadie, offer our guests a drink.”

  “What would you like, Mr Gold?”

  “A cup of tea, milk but no sugar would be lovely.”

  “And for you, DS Archer?”

  “Yes, a cup of tea if it’s no trouble.”

  “No trouble at all.”

  “So, what can I help you with today, Mr Gold?”

  “The chief constable has asked me to come here and personally thank you.”

  “Has he now. What for?”

  “He says if we could prove all the crimes you’re responsible for he would have to make at least a dozen police officers redundant.”

  “Ha Ha. You’re a very funny man, Mr Gold. What’s the real reason?”

  “On Wednesday of last week I understand you and your two lads were drinking at the Five Bells pub in Hopworth? There was an incident that started inside the pub. A local schoolteacher called Barry Turner walked to his car but never made it. He’s in hospital still unconscious and on life support. The doctors have informed his family that he is not expected to make a full recovery. In all probability he will be 'severely disabled' with 'significant brain injuries'. A witness tells us three men matching your description and those of Lennox and Tyson approached him from behind and the person fitting your description hit him over the head with an iron bar. Care to tell us about it?”

  “The boys and me, we might have been in the Five Bells. We had some work over that way during the day but when we left everyone was in the pub and the car park is on the side of the pub. How could anyone in there have seen us?”

  Just then, Sadie brought over the drinks and placed them in front of the two detectives and a cup of tea in front of Kevin. He reached over and picked up the sugar bowl and poured three teaspoons into his cup and stirred it.

  “Thank you, Sadie,” said Eden.

  “Thank you, Mrs O’Connor,” said Tracy.

  “Glad you asked. There was a man in the car park. He had just made a call on his mobile and was about to get out of his car when he witnessed what happened. He’s given us a clear description of the three men.”

  “Has he now. Well, it wasn’t us. It must have been three other people who look like us.”

  “Yes. We considered that. But we’ve taken statements from people who were drinking in the pub. Not the landlord. He’s had an instant bout of memory loss it appears. But people drinking with the schoolteacher have come forward.”

  Eden had made the remarks about the landlord because he knew if he had told Kevin it wouldn’t be long before the man got a visit that could result in him ending up in the same hospital as Barry Turner. Best to keep him out of it. His statement had been off the record anyway.

  “As I said. It wasn’t us. Do I need to call my lawyer?”

  “I haven’t finished yet, Kevin. There are other matters. Next we come to the subject of some fake twenty-pound notes that three people matching the description of you and the boys used to pay for a meal at the Greek Taverna. This occurred on the same night. And the three men entered the restaurant approximately thirty minutes after the previous incident. And according to our calculations the journey time from the pub to the restaurant is about twenty-five minutes and then a couple of minutes’ walking time to the restaurant from the nearest car park.”

  “Blimey. These lookalikes of ours certainly get around. I hope you catch them.”

  “Very funny, Kevin. But I haven’t finished.”

  “Now we come to another serious matter. In the restaurant and seated close to the three men who passed the fake twenty-pound notes were two other gentlemen. One in his fifties and one in his twenties. It appears the older man was boasting to the young man about a valuable painting he had recently purchased for a fraction of its true value. The younger of the two men was himself a waiter and realised from his experience that their conversation was of great interest to the older man of the three. Then lo and behold, the next night the older man is found stabbed to death and the highly valuable painting has disappeared. Our experts say it is worth around a quarter of a million. On the black market I expect you’d get, what, sixty grand for it?”

  “The black market. What would I know about such a thing, Mr Gold?”

  “What would you know? Rumour has it your ancestors invented it.”

  “Very droll. Have you considered a career change? You could do well as a comedian when you lose your job as a detective.”

  “Come on, Kevin. All these cases are linked to you, Lennox and Tyson. You know it and I know it. These events started on the same day, and we know you were at the centre.”
>
  “By the sound of it, last Wednesday wasn’t my lucky day. I’m glad I didn’t buy a lottery ticket. I’d have been wasting my money. Look, Mr Gold. You might think you know. But proving it is something different. If you had hard evidence against me I’d be at the station now.”

  “Oh you would be but I’ve asked the custody sergeant to decorate the cell and put up balloons before we bring you in. And the canteen says it’ll take a little bit of time to chill the champagne we’ll be drinking when we charge you.”

  Eden could see Sadie hovering. He picked up his empty cup and held it towards her. “Thank you, Sadie. That was a lovely cuppa as usual.”

  Tracy passed her cup as well, mouthing “thank you” as she did. Sadie walked over to the sink and thoroughly washed both cups, dried them and put them in the cupboard. The entire kitchen was spick and span again. Apart from Kevin’s cup which he had yet to finish.

  “Look, Kevin. You have a beautiful place here. All neat and tidy. I wouldn’t want to send in the PC plod gang. I could imagine Sadie would be in tears after they had been over the place with their size eleven boots.”

  “Ain’t gonna happen, Mr Gold. My lawyer would have a field day. With the compensation I’d get from you we could do the place up and afford an extension. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

  “That’s all for now Kevin. But I’ll be back.”

  “That’s good, Mr Gold. You sound like Arnold Schwarzerwatzit. Sadie, show our guests out.”

  “Bye, Kevin. Thanks again for the tea, Sadie.”

  Eden and Tracy stood by their car.

  “That was fun,” said Tracy.

  “Past experience has taught me to keep it light hearted with people like Kevin. Go in all hard or high and mighty and you get nowhere. Not that we got a lot out of him but if we leave it a day or two and come back I find he usually opens up a little. With him it’s a game of cat and mouse. He may look rough but his brain is as sharp as a razor and as cunning as a fox. Never underestimate him – or Sadie. She’s just as intelligent, even if she does a good job of hiding it.”