by Graham Ison
‘When was this?’
‘Saturday the thirteenth of July, sir.’
‘That was the date that Geoffrey Sykes had his car stolen from a car park in Arundel, guv,’ said Dave, ‘and if I remember correctly Ford is less than four miles from Arundel. I went there once to interview a prisoner.’
‘But how did he get to Arundel? He wouldn’t have walked because the screws would have been out looking for him straight away.’
‘Not necessarily, sir,’ said Creasey. ‘I’ve been doing a bit of checking and there’s quite a bit of freedom of movement there. He might just have walked out and caught a bus. I’m told there is one that goes from Ford to Arundel.’
‘How very handy,’ I said. ‘Is there any indication that Geoffrey Sykes’ car has been found, Gavin?’
‘I’ll have to check that, sir.’
‘I’d be very surprised if he’d hung on to it,’ said Dave, but my query was answered with the return of Creasey.
‘Sykes’ car was found burned out in a lay-by between Brighton and Peacehaven on Tuesday the twenty-third of July, sir.’
‘That’s the day we interviewed Sadie Brooks at Brighton, guv,’ said Dave.
‘Why do I get the feeling that Sadie Brooks has not been entirely honest with us, Dave?’ I glanced at my watch; it was now eight o’clock. ‘Well, I’m not going down there now – she’s more than likely out on the town.’
‘Or in bed with her latest toy boy,’ replied Dave. ‘So, what’s the plan?’
‘We’ll not miss anything by waiting until tomorrow morning,’ I said. ‘If he was there, he’ll be long gone by now. On the other hand, he might’ve made for that area because he knows it but didn’t pay Sadie a visit. In the meantime, Gavin, get on to the Sussex Police and ask them if they managed to lift any fingerprints from that burned-out vehicle.’
Creasey was back within ten minutes. ‘Nothing, sir. Brooks obviously did a good job of torching it.’
We arrived in Brighton at about ten o’clock on the Tuesday morning. The weather was still holding, the sun was out and all in all it promised to be another blisteringly hot day. Crowds thronged the streets, many of whom were making for the beach intent upon spending the day getting sunburned. Some had already donned swimsuits and there were children optimistically carrying buckets and spades, unaware that Brighton’s beach was all pebbles, not sand.
The area known as The Lanes was crowded, too, mainly with tourists, as had been the case the last time we visited. As before, the majority of the overseas visitors seemed intent upon photographing everything in sight.
Dave and I entered Sadie Brooks’ shop and the ringing of the bell above the door brought the woman herself from the office at the back of the premises. She was wearing an off-the-shoulder blouse and short denim shorts. Despite having good legs, her outfit would have been more suited to a teenager than to a woman fast approaching fifty, if not beyond that landmark age.
‘Oh, no, not again! What is it this time?’
Dave pulled down the blind over the shop door. ‘When did Jim Brooks come to see you, Sadie?’ he asked, as he turned to face her.
‘Jim Brooks? He hasn’t been near here since the day he ran off with my life savings.’ Sadie sounded genuinely surprised by the question and a little annoyed. ‘But the last time you were here you told me he was in the nick.’
‘He was, Sadie, but he did a runner from Ford open prison just over a fortnight ago. On Saturday the thirteenth of July to be precise.’
‘I’d be bloody surprised if that two-timing bastard had the brass neck to come anywhere near me, after what he did,’ said Sadie. ‘But even if he did chance it, there’s only two things he’d want. Well, he’s not getting any more money and he can whistle for the other. Like I said before, the only thing he’ll get from me is a kick in the nuts.’
‘Has the local law been to see you?’ I asked.
‘No, why should they?’
‘Because he was in prison for bigamously marrying you, Sadie, among other things, and that’s on his record. I thought they might’ve asked you if you’d seen him or heard from him.’
‘Believe me, Mr Brock, he’s one bloke I would quite happily grass on and he probably knows it. I reckon he’d steer well clear of me. Anyway, why are you so interested in him that you’ve come all the way down here? People are always breaking out of prison. It ain’t exactly the crime of the bleedin’ century, is it?’
‘Because I suspect him of having murdered Robert Sharp on Saturday the twentieth of July at the Pretext Club. I mentioned the murder the last time we were here.’ I hadn’t a great deal of evidence to support this allegation, but the more I looked into Sharp’s murder the faster Brooks was rising to the top of the midden of suspects.
For several seconds Sadie Brooks stared at me before bursting into almost uncontrollable laughter. ‘Gawd bless your little cotton socks, Mr Brock. You’ve made my day,’ she said, making a partial recovery and wiping away the tears of mirth and the mascara from her face with the back of her hand. ‘It’d be a double, that’s what it’d be, if Brooks got life for topping Sharp. I think I’ll buy a lottery ticket today. I reckon I might scoop the bleedin’ jackpot. In fact, I might even go for an accumulator at Brighton races on Saturday.’
‘If you do hear from him, Sadie, let me know, eh?’ I handed her one of my cards.
‘You can put money on it, Mr Brock,’ she said, and tucked the card into the pocket of her shorts.
Dave raised the blind as we turned to leave the shop but paused with the door half open. ‘Purely out of curiosity, Sadie, whereabouts d’you come from?’
‘Hoxton, born and bred,’ said Sadie, and laughed. ‘And I wouldn’t say no to you, love.’
‘What’s the name of the officer dealing with Brooks’ escape from Ford prison, Colin?’ I asked when we’d returned to Belgravia.
‘It’s a detective sergeant at the headquarters at Lewes, sir.’ Wilberforce wrote down the details on a slip of paper and handed it to me.
I called the number, but the officer I wanted was out on an enquiry. After a lot of toing and froing, I eventually reached the sergeant’s line manager, a DCI.
I told him who I was and why I was interested in Brooks, and filled him in about our visit to Sadie Brooks before going on to tell him about the murder of Robert Sharp.
‘The car that was stolen from Arundel was used by Brooks when he stayed at the Pretext Club,’ I said, ‘but he left on the day of the murder. I’ve interviewed Geoffrey Sykes, whose credit card Brooks used to pay for his stay at the naturist club, and Sykes assumes he must have left the card in the car on the day it was stolen.’
‘Thanks for all that, Harry,’ said the Sussex DCI. ‘If I hear anything of use to you, I’ll give you a bell. And I’ll let you know if he’s knocked off on our patch. I presume you don’t want us to question him about the Sharp murder.’
‘No, just detain him and I’ll come down there to interview him, preferably before you give him back to the Prison Service.’
‘As a matter of interest, why should Brooks want to murder this guy Sharp, Harry? Is there an obvious motive that I don’t know about?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps Sharp put the arm on him for money, knowing he was on the run, or he’d shop him to the law.’
The Sussex DCI laughed. ‘Honour among thieves, eh, Harry?’
Last Friday, Ron Clark, the director of security at the credit card company that held one of Sharp’s accounts, had given me the name of the bank that had granted Sharp a mortgage. As the bank was in central London, I decided to try my luck with the manager to save going to the trouble of getting a warrant from a Crown Court judge.
The moment I mentioned to one of the staff that my enquiry concerned a murdered mortgage holder, Dave and I were ushered into the manager’s office with an almost indecent haste.
‘How can I help you, Chief Inspector?’ The manager, a woman who clearly didn’t believe in power-dressing and was weari
ng a floral summer dress, invited us to take a seat.
I explained about Robert Sharp’s murder and told her that we had learned through a credit agency that he was in arrears with his mortgage at this bank.
‘Damned right he is,’ said the manager with refreshing candour. ‘In fact, we’re about to foreclose on the property. But you know that client confidentiality prevents me from giving you any information.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘So, what d’you want to know?’ The manager smiled at Dave.
‘The address of the property would be very helpful.’
The manager consulted a docket. ‘I’m not allowed to tell you that it’s flat five, Hoedown Court, Hoedown Lane, Carshalton.’
‘Was it just Sharp living there, as far as you know?’
‘Sorry, once again, I’m not allowed to tell you that he shared the property with his wife, Mrs Emily Sharp.’
‘Thank you very much,’ I said. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic, Chief Inspector,’ said the manager, and laughed. ‘I haven’t told you a single thing. I’m not allowed to.’ She shook hands and winked. I wish she was my bank manager.
There is always a tendency to put off until tomorrow what you don’t want to do today. However, I managed to overcome the onset of this inertia and Dave drove me straight from the bank to Carshalton.
There was nothing special about Hoedown Court. It was unmistakeably a property built in the twenties to the art deco design popular at the time.
The entrance to the flat was along a solid concrete balcony on the first floor. It was some time before our knock was answered, but eventually the door was opened by a woman who I reckoned to be no more than nineteen. She had auburn hair and wore a full-length green negligée, the sort of garment that women often wear about the house during very hot weather.
‘Mrs Emily Sharp?’
‘Yes, what is it?’ She glanced suspiciously at Dave.
‘We’re police officers, Mrs Sharp.’ Seeing the look of doubt on her face, I produced my warrant card and Dave produced his. ‘May we come in?’
Emily Sharp showed us into a sitting room and invited us to sit down.
‘What’s this about?’
‘It’s about Robert Sharp,’ I said, hoping against hope that she read newspapers and already knew what I was about to tell her.
‘I’m not sure where he is at present,’ she said. ‘He’s got a very important job and travels all over the country. But what is this really about? Has something happened to him?’
Here we go again, I thought.
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that he’s dead, Mrs Sharp.’
‘Oh!’ Emily Sharp did not seem at all upset by this news. The impression I got was that the demise of Robert Sharp, at best, was a bit of a nuisance. After all the death messages I’d delivered, and there had been many over the years, it seemed that I was still capable of being surprised by the reaction of an aggrieved party. And Emily Sharp’s reaction did surprise me.
‘Did you know? I mean, did you read about it in the newspaper or see it mentioned on television?’
‘I don’t read newspapers,’ said Emily. ‘I’ve got a smartphone that lets me know when there’s anything important. Anyway, why should it have been on the telly?’
‘You don’t seem shocked by the news.’ I was struggling to get through to this woman and concluded that the death of a pop star would be more her idea of a devastating tragedy.
‘Actually, I’m not really bothered. I didn’t think it would last, but it was good fun while it did. We weren’t in love, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘Were you actually married to Robert Sharp?’
‘Good heavens, no! But he told the bank that we were because he said it would give us a better chance of a mortgage. I don’t know why because he always seemed to have plenty of money and I hadn’t got any. Anyway, you don’t have to be married to get a mortgage these days. That’s what my mum said, anyway.’
‘What’s your name, then, if it’s not Sharp?’
‘Emily Cutler.’
‘What was this important job you said Robert Sharp had, Emily?’ asked Dave.
‘I don’t know exactly. He was always a bit vague about it, but it did involve a lot of travelling and he’d be away sometimes for two or three weeks.’
‘Did he ever take you to a naturist club?’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a club where people take off all their clothes and swim and sunbathe.’
‘Oh, a nudist camp. Yeah, we first met at one. Why?’
‘Because that’s where he died, Emily,’ I said. ‘He was murdered.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to move out of here, then. I can’t afford to pay the mortgage.’ Emily didn’t seem at all put out that Sharp had been at a naturist club when he was, supposedly, away on business.
Too right you’ll have to move, I thought. Sharp was behind with payments and the bank was about to foreclose on the flat.
‘What will you do now, Emily?’ Dave asked.
‘Go home to my parents, I suppose.’ Emily Sharp née Cutler didn’t sound too pleased at the prospect.
‘Where do they live?’
‘It’s a village in Cornwall a few miles from Redruth. There’s never anything to do there and when I met Robert, he told me that he owned a place in the Caribbean and often went to the south of France for a holiday. It sounded like a different world.’
‘Did he ever show you photographs of this place in the Caribbean, Emily?’
‘Yes, he had them on his phone.’
‘Were there any that included him in the photo?’
Emily Cutler gave that a bit of thought. ‘No, there wasn’t.’
‘Did he tell you what he was doing in Cornwall when you met him?’ I asked.
‘He just said he was down there on business and, like I said, we met at a nudist camp near there. He said I deserved better and he set me up in this flat. It was only about sex,’ Emily admitted candidly, ‘but he treated me very well.’
‘Did he ever ask to borrow money from you, Emily?’ I asked.
‘Good heavens, no! It wouldn’t have done any good if he had. As I said just now, I haven’t got any money and Bob was against me getting a job anyway. It got pretty lonely and boring, though, being here on my own for weeks on end. But he always said that he wanted me to be here when he got back from wherever he’d been.’
‘Perhaps you’d give Sergeant Poole the address of your parents, Emily,’ I said. ‘We may need to speak to you again.’ Actually, that was unlikely. She’d confirmed what I’d thought, that Sharp had set her up in this cosy flat and took her out to the bright lights of London from time to time. It was the price he paid for having a pretty girl in his bed and she was, after all, an attractive young lady. One could hardly blame him, except for the fact that he was ratting on his cash-strapped wife in Acton and defrauding people so that he could pay for it.
THIRTEEN
Dave and I eventually returned to Belgravia at half past six. As most of the team were there, I thought it was a good time to bring them up to date. But before I started, Gavin Creasey said, ‘I had a call from a Mrs Nina Harrison an hour ago, sir. She’d like to speak to you if you’d telephone her on this number. She’ll be in all evening.’ He handed me a slip of paper with a mobile phone number on it.
‘Thanks, Gavin.’ I turned back to the assembled team. ‘Robert Sharp was a womanizer and as a result he’s racked up debts all over the place, not least with the credit card companies that were daft enough to give him credit. He also swindled several women out of sums of money and, for all we know, there may be more who are too embarrassed to come forward.’
‘Can I just mention, guv’nor,’ said DI Brad Naylor, ‘that the enquiries we pushed out to Cornwall and Hampshire didn’t really help us at all. The women concerned, all single or widowed, had been done out of substantial sums. Each of them claimed that
Sharp promised marriage and they finished up in bed with him, believing they were on the brink of a romantic future.’
‘That’s what my ex-wives thought,’ said Charlie Flynn, and got a laugh.
‘It’s fairly obvious,’ I continued, when the laughter had died down, ‘that he upset somebody on the way and they topped him and then set fire to him to destroy any evidence that might’ve been useful to us. It’s my opinion that whoever murdered Sharp had been at the Pretext Club for some days and, I would suggest, that it was a premeditated killing because the murderer must’ve brought in a firearm and sufficient petrol to ignite a blaze that destroyed almost all of Sharp’s body.’
‘It’s beginning to look as though somebody didn’t like him,’ said Sheila Armitage, sounding innocent, and received another laugh. ‘But seriously, guv, doesn’t that open up the list? It means that everyone who was at the Pretext Club at the time of the murder is a suspect.’
‘That’s true, Sheila, but at the moment, James Brooks is at the top of my list. Unfortunately, he’ll be keeping a very low profile because he’s on the run from Ford open prison. It may be, however, that Brooks and Sharp have got history, given that they were both associated with Sadie Brooks at one time. Dave and I have interviewed her, but there’s nothing she can tell us. Or if she does know something, she won’t tell us. There again, it may be that Sadie wasn’t a party to whatever took place between Brooks and Sharp, if anything did.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘I think that’ll do for tonight. Go home and get some sleep and we’ll start afresh tomorrow.’
I went into my office and rang Nina Harrison. She responded almost immediately, as though she had been holding her phone in anticipation of my call.
‘Mrs Harrison, it’s Chief Inspector Brock. I understand you wished to speak to me.’
‘Thank you for calling back, Mr Brock.’ She sounded breathless. ‘I had to wait until my husband was in New York so that I could speak freely. I just wanted to tell you that I wasn’t quite honest when you were here the other day.’