A Killing in the Family

by David W Robinson

  “All right. No chance of getting that sorted on a Sunday evening, so it’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning. Now explain your overall thinking.”

  “I think Rodney is the fatted calf. He’s admitted that Katya sought him out, and drew him into the initial scam. But he was to be the patsy. I believe a member of the family set the entire thing up with the intention of seeing the old man off and copping for the millions. He – I’m assuming it was a man and he was sleeping with Katya – and she met at the Maitland that weekend when Katya was supposed to follow Rodney to Birmingham. They were putting the finishing touches to the plan. When they came back here, she pressured Rodney into staying for his share of the will, but Rodney was never intended to get it. On the night of the attack, Katya cut the CCTV, and then shifted her car to the moors where she torched it. The plan then was for Katya to disappear, and leave behind the evidence which would expose Rodney as a fake and pin the whole thing on him. Lover boy, who I assume is one of the family or staff, met her to help torch the car, but then he strangled her, buried her body in the woods, and came back to the house where he attacked the old man.”

  “And the air horn?”

  Joe frowned. “That’s the one angle I haven’t been able to work out. Did you get the fingerprint report on the canister?”

  “Yep.” Driscoll searched through the various documents on the workstation until he found the one he was looking for. “Here y’are. A lot of them were smudged, but there were yours, the old man’s and Rodney’s.”

  “The three people we know for sure who handled it. I gave it to Sir Douglas, and Rodney picked it up off the floor. What about the button?”

  Driscoll checked the report again. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Joe smiled smugly. “Just as I figured. It was never used.”

  “Then how did everyone hear it?”

  “We didn’t,” Joe replied. “We heard a horn go off. But it wasn’t the one I gave Douglas, the one we found in the bedroom.”

  “But you heard it from the old man’s bedroom,” Driscoll reminded him.

  “Sorry, Driscoll, I haven’t worked out how it was done yet, but your dab men have demonstrated that whatever we may have heard, it didn’t come from that canister. I checked with Alistair, and he assures me there are no other such devices in the house. The old man won’t allow it.”

  The inspector drummed his fingers on the desk. “One of the cars? There’s a fair number of them out on the front, and a good few more out back.”

  Joe disagreed. “My room’s at the rear of the house, overlooking the garages. The window is open because of the heat, and I’d have heard one of those as coming from there.”

  “Those parked out front, then?”

  “Possible, but unlikely. They’re a long, long way from the old man’s bedroom. Everyone but Hermione gathered in the old man’s room just after it happened. Whoever it was would surely have been spotted coming up the stairs…” He trailed off, deep in thought for a moment. “Mind you, Alistair and his missus have their room on the other landing, and he was a bit slow getting up there.”

  Driscoll groaned. “What are you saying? The butler did it?”

  “He stands to make a pretty penny when the old boy snuffs it,” Joe said. “And he doesn’t like the rest of the family. But I don’t think—”

  “Let’s get him in here before we bring young Rodders down.” Driscoll interrupted. He snatched up his phone, barked orders into it, and a few minutes later, Sergeant Hollis led Alistair into the room.”

  The butler listened patiently to Driscoll’s ideas, then turned his attention on Joe, who remained silent.

  Concentrating once more on the inspector, he demanded, “That’s your theory is it? That I mimicked the sound of this air horn by using one of the cars outside? Then I calmly came back in here and joined everyone else in the old man’s room? And I did it so I could come into the money the old fool has left me?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Driscoll insisted.

  “Aye. It’s about as possible as you getting new brain for Christmas.” Alistair leaned forward and poked empty air with an accusing finger. “I’m slow up the stairs because I’m racked with arthritis, you bloody idiot. I have to go down one flight on the far side of the house, and then up another to get to the old man. If I’d done what you say, it’d have taken me another five minutes to get there. I’ll tell you something else, for nothing. Before I came to work for Doogie, I was in the army for ten years or more. D’yer think I wouldn’t know where to put the knife so it killed him?”

  Joe took the outburst in his stride. Driscoll was less comfortable. Alistair carried on regardless.

  “I was the only man in this house who knew what yon fella was here for.” Alistair’s jabbing finger aimed at Joe. “If I was going to bump the daft old bugger off, d’yer no think I’d have done it before Sherlock Bones showed up? I’ve been with Doogie for over twenty years, and I’ve known about the shares he’s left me for the last five. If I was that hard up for the money, I’d have killed him a long time ago.” The butler got to his feet. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I have these idle sods to cater for.”

  He marched out and closed the door behind him.

  “Well that didn’t go quite as we planned.” Driscoll sounded as if he were relieved to see the back of the butler.

  “It was always thin,” Joe said. “Why not get Rodney down here, and see what more we can get out of him.”

  Driscoll gave the order over the phone.

  “You ever come across anything as complex as this?” Joe asked as Driscoll terminated the call.

  Putting the phone down, the inspector shook his head. “I’ve done my fair share of murders, and a few of them have been well-planned, but nothing as mixed up as this.”

  “Planning,” Joe murmured. “You said it, and that’s the key. The killer has planned everything, right down to the last detail. I reckon your best hope is forensic on the woman’s body.”

  “And if he’s been that careful, there won’t be much.”

  “There’s still the credit card, although that would only prove our man met Katya and he was probably giving her one.”

  Driscoll sighed. “And that’s not against the law.”

  Rodney was clearly unhappy when he was led in. “Aren’t I supposed to have a solicitor?”

  “All in good time, lad,” Driscoll said. “For now, it’s still off the record until we can get you to the station. If we need to repeat any of the questioning, it’ll be done with a lawyer alongside you.” The inspector made a great show of studying his notes. “When did you last speak to Katya Nolan?”

  Puzzled, Rodney shrug. “I don’t know, probably dinner on Friday night. Why?”

  “You didn’t see her after that?”

  “She was ill. We were all on the terrace, and she went to bed early.” He stared at Joe. “You know that. You were with us during dinner.”

  “I also know her illness was as fake as you,” Joe replied. He nudged Driscoll. “You’d better tell him.”

  “Not yet. After everyone turned in, I think you left your room and went out to meet her again.”

  “Think what you damn well like,” Rodney retorted. “I’m telling you, I didn’t leave my room until I heard the siren.”

  Driscoll was about to ask something else, but Joe got in first. “You were pretty sharp off the mark, too. When I came out of my room, you were the only one on the corridor, so you must have moved pretty quickly.”

  “I wasn’t asleep.” Rodney waved his hands at the air. “Too hot. And if I might say so, you were even quicker than me.”

  “True, but the emergency was the very reason Sir Douglas asked me here for the weekend.” Joe considered his next move. “Clean your shoes do you?”

  “What?” The question had Rodney puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s simple enough. Have you cleaned your shoes since Friday night?”

  “No. Have you? Are you grading the possibi
lities on appearance now? Well, I’m sorry, but I won’t pass muster parade because I haven’t had the chance.”

  Driscoll picked up his phone and called Hollis. “Go to Asquith’s room and dig out every pair of shoes you can find,” he ordered. “Bag them up and send them off for analysis.” Putting the phone down, he said, “It may interest you to know, Asquith, that we found Katya’s body in the woods a few hours ago, and right now you’re in the frame for killing her as well as attacking Sir Douglas Ballantyne.”

  “She’s dead?” Rodney’s face paled a he full implications hit him. “Hang on a minute—”

  “By the time we’ve done, you’ll probably be ready to draw your pension by the time you get out.” Driscoll ticked the points off on his fingers. “Fraud, deception, attempted murder and murder. Definitely life, with a fairly long tariff. Gotta be worth twenty-five years minimum.”

  “I had nothing to do with any of it,” Rodney shouted. “All right, the scam, yeah. But I attacked no one, and I didn’t kill Katya.”

  “Then suppose you start telling us the truth?” Joe suggested. “And I mean the truth, not the half-baked garbage you gave us earlier. Why did you stay on after you’d screwed a quarter of a million out of the old boy?”

  “I told you. Sir Douglas asked—”

  “I said the truth, Asquith.”

  There was a long silence which Joe recognised. Caught out, with no option but to admit whatever had really been going on, Rodney was rehearsing his words.

  He sighed. “Katya.”

  “You were sleeping with her?”

  “Hell, no.” Rodney sounded genuinely offended. “I told you the entire idea was hers. I let her rope me in, we got what we wanted. But then she came up with the idea of taking him for even more. She’d overheard him talking on the phone to his lawyers. He was writing me into his will. Five million, she reckoned. She said we had to hang on to make sure the will went through. I told her I wasn’t having anything to do with it. He could live for years and I wasn’t willing to keep visiting here until he shuffled off. That’s when she told me he wouldn’t live past his birthday.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the police?” Joe wanted to know.

  “Because the bitch had it arranged so that everything would fall on me. She had a witness willing to swear that the original scam was down to me, she had it fixed up so that I could be blamed for forcing her into going along. I assumed she meant the bag in Birmingham who posed as the phoney lawyer. Annabelle Immerman. She even had notes threatening Sir Douglas. She was willing to swear that I forced her to put them together.” As before, Rodney was on the verge of tears, and he pleaded for their understanding. “I was greedy, right? The original scam was great. I stood to make a lot of money on it. But suddenly I was in over my head. I knew the old boy would be murdered and I knew I would be blamed if I didn’t keep my mouth shut and play along. But I swear to you, I had nothing to do with the attack on him, and I had nothing to do with Katya’s murder. Find this Annabelle Immerman. She knows enough about it. If you turn the screw on her, she’ll tell you the truth.”

  Joe fiddled with his cup and saucer as he put together the information. On a sudden impulse, he asked, “Did you supply anyone in the house with prescription drugs?”

  Rodney blanched and Joe knew he had it right.

  “I, er—”

  “Doselupin and Zolpidem,” Joe interrupted. “Right?”

  “They were out of date,” Rodney pleaded. “She asked me for them. I tell a lie, she demanded them. I have a good friend who works in the pharmacy at the same hospital as me. I had a word with him and he supplied them. I passed them on to her.”

  “She being who?” Driscoll asked.

  “Katya, of course. She said she needed them, but her GP was being difficult about it. He wanted her on SSRIs. She asked, I said no, she told me she’d bubble me to Sir Douglas if I didn’t. What could I do?”

  “You could have come to us, lad,” Driscoll said and picked up his phone. He called for Hollis once more, and ordered the sergeant to read Rodney his rights, and arrest him on suspicion of both crimes.

  “When you’ve done that, call the station and arrange a cell for him.”

  “They’re still a bit short of manpower, sir.”

  “I don’t care if they have to frogmarch him to Burnley. I want him in the cells.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Once Hollis led Rodney from the room, Joe raised his eyebrows at the inspector.

  “I don’t know,” Driscoll admitted. “We’ll have to wait and see what forensics can dig up on the girl.”

  “You could do with talking to the West Midlands police, too,” Joe suggested. “See if they can track down this Immerman sort.”

  “You believe him, don’t you?”

  “Like you, I don’t know. Too much of what’s happened doesn’t fit him. He could be a patsy, or he could be a brilliant actor. If we could crack the siren business it would give us pointers, and like you say, forensics might help. How will you go about holding him for longer?”

  Driscoll grinned. “Don’t need to worry about it. He’s admitted the scam. I can hold him for as long as I like by charging him on that.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  After taking dinner with Maddy at The Coven Inn on Sunday evening, where she had nothing to report other than waiting for the working world to wake up for the coming week, it was eleven on Monday morning when she finally joined them, at the Ballantynes’ house.

  Joe, Sheila and Brenda had spent most of their time after breakfast packing, ready to leave in the early afternoon, but they were happy to break off and enjoy morning tea in the drawing room where the TV presenter brought them up to speed.

  “Luckily, I have a lot of pull with the channel, and I managed to get one or two researchers onto the job. Trouble is, as Rodney confessed while I was in Sabden, most of it was a total waste of time.”

  “I’m sorry, Maddy,” Joe apologised. “Like I told you last night, we got overtaken by events. I’ll buy you dinner sometime next week to make up for it.”

  “Sounds good,” Maddy replied. “It wasn’t an entire waste, mind you. The team have been on it all morning and one of our girls from the Birmingham studios, checked out that office they used, just off Erdington High Street, and you were right, Joe. It is empty. A local trader told her a small firm of solicitors had moved in, but they were there less than a week before they disappeared again.”

  “Annabelle Immerman,” Joe ventured.

  “Correct. Then I remembered what you’d said about how we never ran a general web search for her, so I tried it.”

  “She doesn’t exist,” Brenda said.

  “Correct again. Only she did exist. She was murdered on June twenty-first.”

  The silence which greeted the announcement spoke for itself.

  “Oh, the poor girl,” Sheila commented.

  Joe ignored her. “Murdered?”

  “There was a brief report from the Birmingham Evening Mail on the web. When I read it, I got onto our West Midlands team again and asked them to follow it up and they got me the whole story about an hour ago.”

  “We assumed she was using a fake name,” Joe explained for the benefit of everyone else.

  “But she wasn’t.” Maddy picked up the tale again. “And, naturally, she wasn’t a solicitor, either. She was a betting shop counter assistant. Our people learned that she had been found strangled in the bushes in a layby on the A38. Police have it down as a sex crime, but no one has ever been arrested.”

  “Bit coincidental, though, isn’t it?” Brenda said. “Rodney’s only hope of an alibi and she’s dead, too.”

  Joe agreed. “I’d better let Driscoll know.”

  But when Joe got through to the inspector, he already knew.

  “We checked with West Midlands this morning, and they clued us up on her. Asquith insists he was nowhere near Birmingham on that date, and we’ll be checking his whereabouts, but from here it looks as if he’s bee
n quietly getting rid of the others. I’ll be out there later this afternoon to speak to family members. See if any of them can vouch for him. If not, I’ll be charging him with two murders: Nolan and Immerman.”

  Joe cut the connection, and sat grim-faced.

  “Problems?” Maddy asked.

  “They’re pinning it on Rodney unless anyone can clear him.”

  “Sounds right to me,” Toby said. “If you’ll both excuse me. Oh, Murray, the old man was asking if you’d stop by and see him before you go home.”

  “He’s on the mend then?” Sheila inquired.

  “Long way to go, Mrs Riley, but we’re confident he’ll recover.” Toby grinned. “And he’s handing over some of his shares to me so I can take complete control of the company.” With a nod, he left them.

  They watched him step out onto the terrace. “Is it possible?” Joe muttered.

  “Would he know exactly where to stab the old man to ensure he didn’t die?” Maddy asked.

  “That is awful, Joe,” Sheila objected. “He’s devoted to his father.”

  “He is,” Joe agreed. “All the same, it would be tempting. Just put the frighteners on Sir Douglas, persuade him to give up his connection with Ballantyne Distribution.” Joe sighed. “But then it would mean he murdered Katya and this Immerman woman, and somehow I can’t see it.”

  “He does own a helicopter,” Brenda reminded them. “He could make Birmingham in under an hour.”

  “Too obvious, and if she was killed at night, it’s a non-starter. These private pilots tend to fly on what are called visual flight rules, and you can’t have VFR after dark. Course, his E-type would be almost as fast.” Joe concentrated on Maddy. “Did your people get any details on Annabelle’s murder from the cops?”