An Unfinished Murder

by An Unfinished Murder (retail) (epub)

  Then they all came at once, or it seemed as if they all came at once: the fire engine and an ambulance and a police car and another car carrying Mr and Mrs Markby and Josh. The noise they all made brought her back to consciousness, and there were people all over the place in all different sorts of uniforms. There were paramedics kneeling beside her, and she tried to tell them not to bother about her, to go and see to Fred. She was all right. But her voice wouldn’t come out properly and she couldn’t make them understand.

  One of the paramedics pointed to a young woman, and told her that she was her rescuer. Apparently, after calling the emergency services, the same girl managed to get a message to Mr Markby to tell Josh what had happened – because, somehow, the girl knew Josh was working at the Markbys’ house. So Markby told his wife as well, and they all turned up.

  Josh was kneeling beside her and shouting, ‘Auntie Nina!’

  She wanted to tell him she was all right, but she couldn’t. In any case, she had no time to worry or puzzle over it further because, just after that, she passed out again and didn’t come to until she was in the hospital.

  * * *

  ‘That was some tight hold you had on old Fred,’ said Josh. ‘We couldn’t get you to let go of his wrists.’

  Nina was propped up in a hospital bed with an oxygen mask over her face. She raised a hand to scrabble at the mask and managed to lift it enough to ask, ‘Fred?’ Her voice sounded, to her own ears, like the low growl of an angry tomcat. That would never do. She must speak better than that!

  ‘He didn’t make it, Auntie Nina,’ Josh told her. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  Nina made a gesture of resignation, then scrabbled at the mask again. ‘Girl?’ she croaked. The sound was better than the growl, but not much.

  ‘Who got you out?’ Josh was good at guessing what she meant. ‘Her name is Tania Morris and she’s a newspaper reporter. She was on her way to interview you. I’d already told her she was to leave you alone. But it’s just as well she didn’t take any notice of me!’ Josh gave a wry grin. ‘She saw the smoke coming out of Fred’s door and ran over to see what it was. She could just make out the shape of your body lying in the hallway, so she pulled you out – and Fred, too. She’s a big, strong girl,’ added Josh, approvingly.

  ‘Fire?’ whispered Nina. The whisper sounded more human than either of the sounds she’d produced before.

  ‘You mustn’t try and talk, Nina,’ said a nurse, appearing by the bed.

  ‘I’ll talk to her,’ said Josh firmly. ‘She doesn’t need to talk to me. I know what she wants to ask.’ He turned his attention back to Nina. ‘Fred, the silly beggar, must have dozed off sitting in that old chair while he was smoking, and the cigarette came into contact with the horsehair stuffing. The fire people told us that horsehair stuffing in very old furniture is one of the worst things for making that kind of smoke. He was probably asleep when the fire started. Perhaps he didn’t even know. Just inhaled the smoke and… went.’

  Nina made a square shape with her hands. ‘Bottle.’

  Josh frowned. ‘What bottle?’

  ‘Whisky!’ croaked Nina.

  ‘You want me to bring you in some whisky?’ Josh was genuinely shocked. ‘I’ve never seen you drink anything but a glass of sherry at Christmas! Anyway, they wouldn’t allow it here!’

  At this Nina looked so furious that she didn’t need to try and speak. Josh got the message.

  ‘You don’t mean for you. OK, sorry! Who for, then?’

  Nina stretched out a hand for the glass of water by her bed. Josh handed it to her and she sipped it carefully, before handing it back to him. Josh replaced it and waited.

  ‘Fred,’ wheezed Nina. ‘Fred had a bottle of whisky.’

  ‘Someone must have given it to him,’ said Josh. He frowned. ‘Mickey, perhaps? I don’t know why he’d do that. Fred was a beer drinker. Always empty beer cans lying around the place. I collect… I used to go over there and collect them up when the recycling bins were due to be put out, and put them in the right one. I never saw a bottle of whisky. Well, if he had one and drank it all, no wonder he went to sleep so soundly. A blessing, I suppose, if he never knew anything about it.’

  Nina steepled her hands like a roof.

  ‘Oh, his house is burnt out pretty much altogether,’ Josh told her. ‘Downstairs everything’s gone and upstairs isn’t safe. The house next door got a bit of damage. All the other houses are all right. But the Council’s sent people up to look at them all. We’ll have to keep an eye on that. But don’t you worry about that now.’

  Nina flapped her hands to either side of her.

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to worry about Bobby!’ exclaimed Josh. ‘He’s all right. I’m looking after him.’ He leaned forward. ‘Police and firemen said you were very brave, Auntie Nina. They said you were a heroine . . .’ Josh paused. ‘But I knew you were a heroine, anyway, before that, because you took on Dilys and me when we were kids.’ Josh reached out and took her hand in his massive paw. ‘I was really scared I’d lost you, Auntie Nina. It gave me the fright of my life when I saw you lying on the ground and the paramedics all round you.’

  Nina patted his arm with her free hand and then drew a ‘D’ in the air with her forefinger.

  ‘Yes, well,’ Josh went on, a little awkwardly. ‘I thought it best not to send a message to Dilys. Not just yet. She might, you know, freak out like she does.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Dilys’ll be out soon and she needs an address – or else they’ll put her in one of their hostels, and she doesn’t want that. So, would it be all right if she came back to Brocket’s Row for a bit?’

  At that Nina dragged down the oxygen mask and croaked indignantly, ‘Of course it is! It’s her home!’

  * * *

  By the time Meredith came to the hospital to visit her the following day, Nina Pengelly was dressed and sitting in a chair beside her bed. Meredith was glad to see she was managing without the oxygen mask Josh had described and her voice, though very hoarse, sounded human, at least.

  ‘Awful squawks I was making yesterday!’ she informed Meredith huskily. She leaned forward. ‘I wanted to go home today but they want me to stay until tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s probably a good idea,’ Meredith told her. ‘They’ve got to be sure your lungs aren’t damaged.’

  ‘They’re a bit sore, when I breathe,’ said Nina, ‘but you’d expect that, wouldn’t you? I’m not going to get better any quicker sitting here than I would at home. Hospitals are very unhealthy places.’ She frowned and took a few wheezy breaths. ‘That girl what pulled Fred and me out – they didn’t keep her in. They checked her over and let her go home. Said she should come back if she felt bad. Why couldn’t they do the same for me?’ She reached for a glass of water on the bedside cabinet and took a long drink.

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Meredith firmly, ‘that Josh would be happier knowing you’re under medical supervision for the next few hours. It won’t be long, and you’ll soon be back in Brocket’s Row.’

  ‘Josh says the Council’s looking at all the houses. There’s nothing wrong with mine!’ Nina’s voice grew louder with agitation and she was overtaken by a burst of coughing.

  ‘You see?’ said Meredith, when Nina was silent again, panting and taking swigs of water in between breaths. ‘It’s best you stay another night here. Take the opportunity for a good rest. I’m sure you need one after all your exertions yesterday. I’m very sorry about poor old Fred. Especially after you tried so hard to save him.’

  Nina leaned forward and gripped Meredith’s arm. ‘Listen, Mrs Markby, there was an empty whisky bottle by his chair. I felt it with my fingers when I was on the floor, trying to grab hold of Fred. One of those flat half-bottles with a square shape, you know?’

  ‘Yes, I know. Not surprising, then, that he fell asleep so soundly.’

  ‘No, no!’ Nina insisted in gravelly tones. ‘You don’t understand. He never had whisky. Josh took out the empties to the bins, and any other rubbish. Josh nev
er saw a whisky bottle. Fred was always a beer drinker. He had the supermarket deliver it to the door. I told him it was downright embarrassing, having booze brought to the house. But he’d just say, well, he couldn’t carry it. He used to grumble about the charge, mind you. He never had anything else delivered. I bought enough food for him as well, when I shopped for me and Josh. Fred paid me a little bit weekly to cover his share. He only had a pension. He had no money to buy something that cost as much as whisky!’ She had released Meredith’s arm. ‘Someone must’ve bought it for him.’ Nina drew a very long, wheezy breath. ‘Can’t talk any more, dear. Thanks for coming to see me.’ She waved a hand towards the door and added, ‘Tell your husband about the whisky bottle. It’s not right.’

  ‘I will,’ promised Meredith.

  * * *

  ‘I suppose,’ Markby said, ‘that his pal Mickey Wallace could have bought it for him. Nobody else would. Nina Pengelly wouldn’t.’

  ‘She’s very worried about it.’

  Alan shrugged. ‘Well, I’ll mention it to Trevor Barker. But if someone was kind enough to buy the poor old devil a present…’

  ‘A present that killed him!’ said Meredith fiercely.

  ‘If he’d drunk enough beer, he’d have gone to sleep very soundly,’ Alan pointed out.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said his wife, unconvinced. ‘But Nina says to check with Josh. Josh used to carry out Fred’s household rubbish and recyclables to the bins every week. Josh never saw a whisky bottle, ever.’

  ‘Well, Nina didn’t see one, either, did she? Not in all that smoke. Her fingers touched the shape on the carpet and she judged it to be an empty whisky bottle…’ He paused. ‘Anyway, there will be a post mortem. They’ll carry out tests.’

  ‘If there was a whisky bottle,’ Meredith insisted, ‘it should still be there in the ashes and rubble from the fire. Trevor should ask the fire service investigators. The coroner likes to know all that sort of thing, doesn’t he?’

  Chapter 16

  ‘I’ve come to see you, Trevor,’ Markby told him, apologetically, ‘because my wife isn’t going to let it go. I admit that it does seem a bit odd to me, too. You don’t happen to know the result of the fire service investigation, do you? Of course, I understand that you really can’t tell me details ahead of the inquest. But if they found something suspicious, something they’d request police help with…’

  ‘Well, as it happens, I can tell you,’ Barker told him, ‘because the fire investigator has been in touch – and also the hospital path lab. Anyway, you are involved in the reinvestigation of the Hellington case and it may well impinge on that. Yes, there was a glass whisky bottle and it was recovered from the scene of the fire. Because it was a flat bottle – some people call it a flask – the side in contact with the floor was protected from the smoke, and also from water and anything used in extinguishing the fire. Fingerprints, or partial prints, have been recovered. Some are Fred’s. Some belong to a person unknown. Of course, they could belong to a till operator in the supermarket where the whisky was most likely purchased. But there are also a couple of good prints on it, and some partials, that do match prints on record.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ said Markby. ‘Mickey Wallace? Why are his prints on record?’

  ‘Yes, Wallace’s prints. They only show he handled the flask and was most probably the person who gave it to Fred. The reason his prints are on record is that Mr Wallace is one of those people – I can never understand them – who have a liking for exotic pets, reptiles mostly. He and Mrs Wallace took a cruise in the Caribbean. It stopped, among other places, at Dominica. There Mr Wallace illegally acquired an iguana. To be exact, a species called the Lesser Antillean iguana. It’s very rare, threatened, and doesn’t breed well in captivity. How he managed to hide the creature while he was on the ship, goodness only knows. But he was caught trying to smuggle it back into Britain. It wasn’t the first time he’d been nabbed. A couple of years before that, he drove back from Spain with three small tortoises hidden in a suitcase. He’d reckoned to sell them for a couple of hundred pounds apiece. We suspect he’d done it before and got away with it. So, we have Mr Wallace on record as a small-time but regular smuggler in that line of trade.’

  ‘So, he most probably bought and gave the whisky to Fred.’

  ‘There is something else…’ Barker paused. ‘You’ll have to keep this to yourself for a bit. The post-mortem tests have shown that Fred had drunk a lot of alcohol, yes. But he’d also ingested a lot of a common medication prescribed for sleeplessness. The old combination of booze and sleeping pills.’

  ‘Sleeping pills? Had he been prescribed them by a doctor?’

  ‘No, but there are a lot of them out there and if someone really wants to get hold of some, well, it wouldn’t be impossible. The main thing is …’ Barker hesitated, ‘tests are still continuing on the empty flask, not just the exterior, but also the interior. It does begin to look as if the pills were crushed up and added to the whisky in the bottle.’

  There was a silence. Then Markby broke it, asking, ‘Are we talking suicide?’

  ‘Possibly, but at my own meeting with Stokes, I found him a tough old fellow, cantankerous and bloody-minded. I wouldn’t have judged him suicidal…’ Barker paused. ‘His life was limited by his health and mobility problems, but I don’t think he was the sort to brood on that. Mrs Pengelly brought him a hot meal every day. His mate, Mickey Wallace, took him out to the pub two or three times a week. Otherwise, he didn’t like people very much. He refused to have a carer. His lifestyle suited him fine. The only thing that was upsetting him of late was the excavation carried out in the spinney and the discovery of the remains.’

  ‘I see…’ Markby said softly. ‘So, are we talking here about Stokes being at least one of the people who buried Rebecca? For twenty years he’d got away with it, and then…’

  ‘And then we dug her up,’ said Barker.

  ‘It would answer one big question,’ Markby mused. ‘What happened to the body Josh and Dilys found? How come, when Josh returned a couple of days later, it had disappeared? Answer, Fred and possibly someone else had buried it. Dilys remembers smelling cigarette smoke in the spinney the day they found Rebecca. Fred, as we know, had always been a heavy smoker with the sad but probably inevitable results!’

  ‘Oh, but the old boy didn’t start the fire,’ Barker said immediately. ‘The horsehair-stuffed chair had starting burning, but the fire was started at the back of the house – in the area you might like to call a kitchen, although he never made more than a cup of tea there.’

  Markby stared at him. ‘Is that certain?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I dare say,’ Barker went on, ‘we were supposed to think that Fred’s smoking habit was the cause. But the fire service investigator is quite clear on this point. At the back of the house, the window into the kitchen area had recently been forced and something like a Molotov cocktail had been thrown in. You know the sort of thing, petrol in a bottle with a lighted rag stuffed into the top? It burned away for some time in the kitchen area, on the floor where it landed. The kitchen floor was covered with ceramic tiles. They’re not flammable, but some flames did reach a wooden storage cabinet. That would have burned slowly for some time before bursting into flame. Because the furnishings in the downstairs area had been stripped to the minimum, and there wasn’t any carpeting down – to facilitate Fred’s wheelchair moving around – the fire could well have been contained in the kitchen area. It did spread, but relatively slowly, along skirting boards, other paintwork and various items of rubbish, like empty boxes, lying around. It only really got going late in the day, after it had reached the front of the house where Fred had a little more furniture and his television.

  ‘Had he been alive, there would have been plenty of time for him to raise the alarm. But he was already dead, we now know. The investigator’s opinion is that the petrol bomb was tossed in around two hours before Nina Pengelly came to the front of the house with the old chap’s dinner.’

>   Markby considered this for some minutes while Barker waited, watching him closely.

  Markby said at last, softly, ‘The booze and pills should have killed him – did kill him – so why bother to set a fire? And set it so incompetently?’

  ‘If you ask me,’ said Barker, ‘whoever gave him the spiked whisky then panicked and decided to try and cover the real cause of death, hoping that the body would be burned.’

  ‘It’s got to have to do with the burial of Rebecca Hellington and the discovery of her skeleton!’ Markby said firmly. ‘There is no other reason why anyone would want to go to such lengths to kill someone like Fred Stokes. He was disagreeable but harmless! However you look at it, Trevor, the fact is that Stokes and Wallace are the prime candidates for burying the body. They thought they’d got away with it. But now Rebecca’s been found and they started to panic. Wallace is the younger man, and the way he’d see it is, he has more to lose, half a lifetime. I don’t know whether either of them killed her, but I am pretty sure they both buried her. Stokes was over eighty. You’d been to interview him at his house once already. Wallace couldn’t rely on him not to crack. If he confessed to the burial, then perhaps they would also be charged with abduction or even murder. Wallace couldn’t be sure. Fred had to be taken out of the equation.’

  Barker decided to act as devil’s advocate. ‘All right, in theory, the more you think about it, the more obvious it seems that Wallace and Stokes are the most likely pair to have buried the girl. Stokes drove a lorry. Perhaps he picked her up. Her father says she didn’t hitch-hike, but perhaps on that one occasion she did. On the other hand, Stokes told me that, around the time she disappeared, he’d given up driving due to an injury. We couldn’t reasonably expect him to produce a twenty-year-old work schedule, showing where he was on a particular day …’