A Grave Death

by Wendy Cartmell

  ‘Really? Then prove it. Make your case. Bring me evidence. Because I’m doing a pretty good job of proving his guilt.’ Crane scraped his chair back as he stood, the grating reverberating around the room, cutting through their objections. He walked out intent on going back to the Major Crimes office to make sure the search warrant for Paul’s house and Dean Engineering had been applied for and granted, leaving Walker throwing papers into his briefcase and Anderson with his head in his hands.

  28

  It wasn’t long before Anderson slammed into the office. ‘What the fuck just happened in there, Crane?’.

  ‘Derek, please calm down.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me. I’ll get angry if I want to. Just answer the bloody question.’

  ‘I’m not patronising you. Look, let’s go in your office, Holly will get the coffees in.’ Crane motioned with his head to Holly who was looking aghast at Anderson’s outburst. ‘We can talk about it calmly.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Anderson growled, but did as Crane asked. Taking off his tweed jacket and tossing it at the coat rack, he missed, and swore again as it ended up on the floor looking like a hedgehog curled into a ball in a bed of leaves. Ignoring the jacket and throwing himself into his chair, he said, ‘Alright, let’s have it. What was that bit of theatre all about in there?’

  Crane sat opposite, took a deep breath and said, ‘Look, I understand that there is little physical evidence at the moment, but that should be addressed with the search warrants, but even you have to admit that there is lots of circumstantial evidence.’

  ‘Search warrants?’

  Crane had hoped he wouldn’t have to do this. Spell it out for his friend, to make him see that this course of action was for the best. ‘Of course. Come on, Derek, I’m not a renegade here. This has all been agreed with Grimes. It was he who decided that I charge Paul with the two murders. And he’s also looking into getting the probate of Kevin and Jill’s estates frozen. After all, if Paul Dean is our murderer, then he won’t inherit their share of the company anyway.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Holly from the door as she came in with two mugs of coffee.

  Taking them from her, Crane said, ‘Under common law in the UK, there is a long-established position known as ‘the forfeiture rule’ by which a murderer cannot inherit from the deceased whom they have killed.’

  ‘Sounds fair,’ said Holly.

  ‘Of course it is,’ Crane said. ‘Otherwise we’d have people going around killing their relatives at every opportunity to get their hands on their cash and valuables.’

  ‘But it’s unlikely,’ said Anderson from behind his coffee mug.

  ‘What is, guv?’

  ‘That Paul Dean killed his sister and brother.’

  ‘Oh.’ Holly didn’t seem to know how to react to that, so Crane suggested she’d better go and get on with her work.

  Once Holly had left, Crane said, ‘That’s you as his friend speaking.’

  ‘Of course it is. I know him, and you and Grimes don’t. I just can’t imagine Paul ever doing something like that.’

  ‘But not being able to imagine it doesn’t make him innocent, Derek. You know that.’

  ‘Oh, I suppose so. Jesus, Crane, this is all so exhausting and confusing. And anyway, I can’t believe you went over my head like that. What were you thinking?’

  ‘I didn’t, Derek. Grimes came to me. He called me into his office and asked, no told me, what he wanted me to do. He is the boss, Derek. I had to do as he wanted.’

  Anderson scoffed at that little speech. ‘It’s never bothered you in the past, ignoring orders.’

  ‘Yes, but then I was the one really in charge, remember. The omnipotent Sgt Major who knew so much more than my weak, lily-livered officer commanding. I’m on much shakier ground here, being a civilian consultant, as you well know. And I’ve got Daniel to think about now.’

  ‘Alright, I see your point, I suppose. But I still think Paul Dean is innocent of any crime.’

  ‘Of course you do. And that’s exactly why Grimes didn’t want you as SIO. And precisely why Paul Dean did. What could be better than having the senior police officer on the case batting for the away team?’

  29

  The following morning the team met in Anderson’s office to discuss the forensic findings from Paul Dean’s house. Or rather the lack of them.

  ‘They really found nothing?’ said Crane, still unable to believe it. He’d taken off his jacket upon entering the office and was sat in his white shirt sleeves, but still with his dark tie on, which was just about as informal as Crane got. Derek was in his usual tweed jacket, Ciaran in his sharp slim legged trouser look and Holly in cargo pants and tee-shirt.

  ‘No, boss,’ said Ciaran. ‘No murder weapon, no blood, no evidence of struggles, sweet FA as the saying goes.’

  ‘But there were fingerprints?’

  ‘Sure, lots of them. But Jill and Kevin were Paul’s brother and sister. It makes sense that their fingerprints would be there. That doesn’t really tell us anything.’

  Crane glanced up to see Anderson’s smug face. At least he had the decency to not articulate was what clearly written in his expression – I told you so.

  Crane thought for a moment and as he did he ran his hand over his hair and then his stubble of a beard. It was ironic that something that for him had started out as cover for a large red scar that ran across his cheek, had ended up as a fashion accessory. ‘Alright then, let Paul Dean out on police bail. But I want him to report in every day.’

  ‘Excellent idea,’ said Anderson, but said nothing further after a look from Crane, which bordered on the venomous.

  ‘So, if it isn’t him, then who?’ Holly was the one to say out loud what they were all thinking.

  ‘Come on then, let’s brainstorm. All ideas welcome, no matter how far out of the box they may seem. Ciaran do the board please,’ and Crane handed him a white board marker.

  ‘Disgruntled employee?’ suggested Anderson.

  ‘We’ve already looked at that,’ said Crane and tried not to huff out his frustration at Derek’s inability to see Paul Dean’s guilt.

  ‘Yes, but not that closely,’ insisted Anderson. ‘We’ve only looked at the employee files. We haven’t talked to the workers themselves yet.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Crane as INTERVIEW EMPLOYEES went on the board.

  Anderson said, ‘And we need to find that defibrillator.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If Kevin was killed by being zapped by a defib machine, then surely there must be one somewhere.’

  ‘That could be like finding a needle in a haystack.’ Crane had no idea where to start to find that bloody thing. There was no sign of it in Paul Dean’s house, nor in his office. Nor the offices of Jill or Kevin.

  ‘So? That’s our job isn’t it,’ Anderson snapped. ‘Put it on the board.’

  Ciaran did as he was told, writing DEFIB MACHINE.

  Then Holly said, ‘It must be someone who will eventually inherit, surely,’ and Ciaran scribbled INHERITANCE.

  ‘Sure, but who? And why?’ said Crane chewing the top of his pen. ‘Maggie or Reece? What do you think, Derek?’ Crane realised he had to get Derek back on-board and maybe a more tolerant attitude would do it. Derek needed to feel part of the investigation, not side-lined because of his belief in his friend’s innocence.

  ‘Seems a stretch to me. Maggie is clearly more focused on her charitable works and helping those less fortunate than herself. Reece, well I suppose he is more interested in money than Maggie is. He likes living it up in London, or at least so I hear from Paul.’

  ‘Does he have a job?’

  ‘Male model.’

  Holly sniggered.

  ‘Just because you don’t find him attractive, being more partial to the fairer sex, it doesn’t mean other women wouldn’t,’ snapped Ciaran.

  Crane smiled. It seemed the lack of progress in the case was getting to everyone, not just Crane and Anderson.

 
‘No, I suppose,’ said Holly. ‘I can see his attraction in an arty-farty sort of way.’

  ‘I think he does quite well for himself,’ said Derek.

  ‘Let’s look into that,’ said Crane. ‘Ciaran, how about you dig into his background, financials, speak to his agent, friends, you know the drill.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Ciaran, writing REECE on the board.

  ‘There must be other members of the family,’ said Crane.

  ‘I can look into that,’ said Holly. ‘You know, do a genealogical tree to see if the killer can be found that way.’

  ‘It’s the only thing that makes any sense, Guv,’ said Ciaran looking at Anderson, after writing FAMILY TREE on the board. ‘If we think the motive for murder is money and control of the company, there might be someone else out there apart from Paul Dean, Jill and Kevin. If it isn’t immediate family, it could be someone else thinking along those lines.’

  ‘Yes, but who?’ mused Crane, staring out of the window, but only seeing himself reflected back.

  30

  Anderson was shocked at the sight of his friend, as he answered the door in response to the ringing of the bell. Once renowned for his sharp dressing, Paul Dean was now unrecognisable as that man. He had a grubby polo shirt on, which despite its fancy label, seemed to have lost any sense of style it once had. Loose jersey joggers ended at the ankle, where his feet were stuffed into carpet slippers. Both had the odd coffee stain on, implying less than steady hands.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Paul. ‘Come to gloat, have you?’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Anderson. ‘That’s unfair and you know it. I’m the one that believes in your innocence.’

  ‘Yes, well, the same can’t be said for your sidekick.’

  ‘Look, are you going to let me in and we can discuss this sensibly?’

  Paul closed his eyes and swayed a little before opening them and apologising to Anderson for his behaviour. Stepping back, he opened the door fully and then walked off. Anderson took a deep breath and after closing the front door behind him, followed his friend into the kitchen, which turned out to be every bit the designer space Anderson had been expecting. What he hadn’t expected was the mess. Dirty cups and saucers were strewn around the sink. Crumbs from toast or sandwiches were left on the chopping board. A packet of butter stood open with a knife sticking out of it.

  ‘Sorry about the mess,’ mumbled Paul, with his back to Anderson, while fiddling with the coffee machine. At last he managed to get it working and the sound of bubbling and the aroma of coffee filled the kitchen. Opening the fridge door and peering in, Paul said, ‘No milk I’m afraid,’ before slamming the door shut.

  ‘What’s happened, Paul?’ Anderson hoped Paul could hear the sympathy in his voice.

  ‘The housekeeper happened, or rather the lack of one. She walked out declaring she wouldn’t work for a suspected killer. Apparently, she has standards or some such.’ Paul managed a sarcastic laugh. ‘Anyway, the coffee’s ready.’

  Taking the glass jug out of the machine before all the water had filtered through the coffee, Paul hastily filled two cups, accompanied by much hissing and spluttering as the draining coffee hit the hotplate.

  ‘Sorry, can’t seem the get the hang of this,’ he said, handing Anderson a cup. ‘No saucer sorry, can’t seem to find any.’

  ‘Paul, for God’s sake stop saying sorry. Let’s go through and sit down, shall we?’ and Anderson led the way to the lounge.

  At least that room was clutter free, and Paul and Anderson sat in two armchairs near to each other, with a table in-between them, on which Anderson put his coffee. Paul continued to hold his, cradling it with both hands against his chest.

  ‘Dad must be turning in his grave at the thought of all this,’ said Paul, looking dazed. ‘How the hell did I get here, Derek?’

  ‘Paul, you must know that we are doing everything we can to find out who killed Jill and Kevin.’

  ‘Other than me, you mean?’

  Anderson gave a wry smile in answer.

  ‘So, what brings you here? Come to see how the mighty have fallen?’

  ‘No, I’ve come to ask for your help.’

  ‘Really?’ scoffed Paul.

  Although Derek understood Paul’s attitude, it was beginning to get up his nose. After all, if the man wouldn’t help himself, then why should Anderson? He stood abruptly, on the cusp of not caring anymore.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Back to the station. I’m wasting my time here.’

  Paul stood as well. ‘No, no, please don’t go.’ He placed a hand on Anderson’s arm. ‘I’m being an idiot. Sit down and ask me whatever you like.’

  Anderson waivered. Paul’s eyes were beseeching, pleading and he noticed a slight tremor of the hand on his arm. He blew out a breath. ‘Alright,’ he said and they both sank back into their chairs.

  Derek said, ‘I need copies of the wills of your father and mother.’

  ‘You’ve already got mine, Kevin and Jill’s which I suppose I can understand, but theirs? Why on earth would you want them?’

  ‘Let’s just say that we are exploring every angle in our quest to find the killer. Who else inherited from them? Who will inherit from you?’ Warming to his theme Anderson went on, ‘Anything is relevant until it can be proven it’s not. What other information do you have on your family?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because maybe someone felt cheated by your father, either a relative or someone from the company. They didn’t receive what he or she felt they were entitled to. Maybe their motivation is money and now with Jill and Kevin dead...’

  ‘I inherit everything,’ Paul finished Derek’s sentence. ‘So, are you saying that I could be next?’

  ‘Not necessarily, no.’ Anderson retrieved Paul’s coffee cup which was dangling perilously from his hand and placed it safely on the table. ‘At the moment we’re just brainstorming, nothing is concrete, but everything deserves consideration.’

  ‘What does that even mean?’

  ‘We’re exploring motives for killing Kevin and Jill.’

  ‘Which are?’

  ‘Money, or revenge.’

  ‘Revenge?’

  ‘Yes, along the lines of revenge by person or persons unknown, who should have benefited, when they didn’t.’

  ‘So, for instance, those who benefited from my father’s death were Jill, Kevin and me. But you’re saying someone else felt they should have had a share of the pie?’ asked Paul.

  ‘That’s about it.’

  ‘But who? And why?’ Paul stood and began pacing. ‘So, if I’m the only beneficiary left then my life really could be in danger! Jesus, Derek!’

  ‘Paul, please, sit down.’ Anderson stood and led his friend back to the chair, where Paul sat and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘You need to calm down. Come on, let’s be professional. Work it out methodically.’

  ‘Huh,’ snorted Paul. ‘That’s easy for you to say while I’m left as a target for someone who wants to take a pot shot at me! Maybe I shouldn’t have got bail after all! I need police protection!’ Paul leaned over and grabbed at Anderson. ‘You have to protect me!’

  ‘Paul, please,’ Anderson shouted. ‘This isn’t helping at all. Look, let’s get some more coffee,’ and Anderson led the way into the kitchen in the hope that more black coffee would calm Paul down.

  They stood sipping their drinks in the kitchen. Anderson pushed the clutter to one side and they pulled up two bar stools and sat either side of the central aisle. Finally calm, Paul asked, ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Look at your family history, I think. Holly, our data analyst, is looking into your family tree, but I was wondering if you had any personal or social history?’

  Paul frowned. ‘There’s a room at the factory dedicated to our history.’

  ‘No, that’s not really what I meant. I was looking for something more personal. Letters, photographs, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I’ve go
t loads of stuff. At one time I was going to collate it all, so I got everyone to dig around and let me have what they’d got. But in the end I never got around to it.’

  ‘Where is it now?’

  ‘In the study, come on I’ll show you.’

  With mounting interest Anderson followed Paul through the hallway to the other side of the house. Once there, he opened a tall antique cupboard. On the bottom two shelves were several boxes.

  ‘That’s them,’ Paul said and squatting down, started to pull them out. There were four banana boxes. A quick scan by Anderson saw that they contained letters, photographs, concert programmes and one even had the odd dried flower.

  ‘They’re not in any sort of order, I’m afraid. But you’re welcome to them, if it helps.’

  ‘It’s certainly worth a try,’ said Anderson, ‘and I know just the person for the job.’

  31

  Anne

  January 1950

  Dear Ada

  So, how’s life in Richmond, Virginia? I have been fascinated by your accounts of daily life there. It’s clear the general population are rather old-fashioned in the best Southern American way and that you and the other GI brides are dragging the city into the new way of things. I’m not sure how I’d cope with your climate, mind. Not coming from England. A humid sub-tropical climate, with hot and humid summers and colder winters aren’t my idea of fun. I’m glad you’ve managed to avoid the damaging storms from snow and freezing rain so far this winter. That doesn’t sound too bad, to be honest, better than the weather problems in the summer with hurricanes, tornadoes, and severe thunderstorms! Your head must be spinning with all the changes!

  You say that the Yanks are much louder and brasher than the English which suits you down to the ground. I’m glad your natural exuberance has found an outlet with the fun-loving Americans. I can’t wait to come and see you and experience diners, theatres and dance the jitterbug.

  But I’m not sure that will be anytime soon, despite the amount of money it would cost, for I’m getting married. Yes, me, really! My husband-to-be is Joshua Dean. Remember him? The one who had a crush on me all those years ago before the war and I was glad to get away from? Well it’s surprising how things change in just a few years. Mum says it’s a good match and I must be a good daughter and do as I’m told, otherwise I’ll be a spinster and left on the shelf. And anyway, why wouldn’t I want to marry him? Let’s face it there aren’t that many eligible men left. I can’t seem to summon up much energy to fight her, so I’ve decided I’ll go along with it. It’s the lesser of two evils I guess. The thought of another man touching me is horrific though. I still miss Memphis every hour of every day. But I’d like the opportunity to have a family, to finally give a child of mine all the love bottled up inside of me.