Driving Dead

by Stephen G Collier

  ‘Please yourself.’ Such an air of superiority, thought Fulborough. We’ll see about that!

  ‘I need to know what’s going on?’ Fulborough demanded.

  ‘There’s nothin’ going on.’

  ‘So, why have I spent hours with the police talking about the remains of a body found in the wood you’re clearing?’

  Fulborough could see that Philpott was caught off-guard, thinking this meeting was about something else perhaps.

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean?’

  ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? I’ve just been interrogated by a detective about a body found in my wood, which you failed to tell me about.’

  ‘I left the contractors there. This is the first I’ve heard of it!’

  ‘That’s crap and you know it! Why did they tell me that you knew all about it then, tell me that?’

  ‘They told me that they dug up an old rug and I told them to bury it.’

  ‘So, they did tell you, or were you there at the time, Frank?’

  Fulborough could see that Philpott was considering his options – lie or tell the truth. Lying came easily to Philpott, he knew that, but if his job was on the line, he might come across with the truth.

  ‘Well?’ Fulborough reiterated. ‘You tell me the truth or you’re out of a job!’

  Philpott glared at Fulborough. ‘You can’t do that! The old Lord saw to that.’

  ‘He’s dead and I can. Now tell me the truth, Frank.’

  Philpott walked over to the office window and glanced out of it, before rounding on Fulborough. ‘You wouldn’t understand, if I told you the truth. What was I to do? You’ve been banging on about the fucking place for twelve months. Any delays and you’d have been on my back for not getting the job done.’

  ‘Yes, Frank, but there are limits. I have a reputation to uphold not come right down to your level and into the gutter.’

  ‘Is that all you’re worried about? Your bloody reputation? Jesus, Barry.’

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question – did you find a body; simple answer, yes or no?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you put it back in the ground?’

  ‘Yes, we did, and I paid the contractors to do it!’

  Fulborough stood from behind the desk he had been sitting at and rubbed his hand through what hair he had left, shaking his head. He walked around the front of the desk and stood in front of Philpott. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘How the fuck should I know?’

  ‘You’ve worked on this estate for long enough to know where all the skeletons are buried, literally, it would seem, so don’t lie to me.’

  Philpott didn’t answer, but in the back of Fulborough’s mind, he was trying to recall something that had the estate buzzing years earlier, when he was a child. He just couldn’t recollect it and it worried him.

  ‘The police told me you had been arrested. Is that why you’ve not been about for a couple of days?’

  ‘They took me in, yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’ve been charged and bailed.’

  ‘With what?’

  Philpott reached into his inside pocket and withdrew a charge and bail form. He handed it roughly to Fulborough, almost throwing it at him. Fulborough read it.

  “Charged that Frank, Philpott did an act, namely to assist in the disposal and concealment of the body of an unknown female, with intent to impede the apprehension or prosecution of an unknown person, who had committed the offence of murder.”

  Fulborough looked up at Philpott. ‘Jesus, Frank, you could go down for this.’

  ‘Not a chance – got a good lawyer.’

  ‘Whom I’m paying for, no doubt.’

  ‘If you want me to keep quiet about who it is, yes.’

  ‘You know who it is?’

  ‘I have a good idea!’

  ‘And the one they found last year?’

  ‘Probably…’

  ‘I’m sorry, Frank.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘I’m not going to pay for your defence.’

  ‘You want me to go to the old bill then?’

  ‘You can please yourself. You’re in enough trouble as it is.’

  Philpott took a step closer to Fulborough, who stood his ground.

  ‘I’ll bring you and your fucking reputation down with me if I do! I’ve worked here for twenty years. You can’t just get rid of me!’

  ‘Watch me, Frank. You’re fired! Now, get off my land.’

  Philpott lunged at Fulborough, but, heavy as he was, he managed to duck out of the way of Philpott as he came at him, anticipating Philpott’s reaction. He wasn’t prepared, though, for Philpott’s quick recovery, as his elbow struck Fulborough hard on the back of his head. Fulborough went down, cracking his head on the corner of the desk. As he landed, Philpott gave him a heavy kick to the head, knocking him unconscious. Another kick in the back and head ensured that Fulborough wasn’t going to get up in a hurry.

  Philpott didn’t check to see whether he was alive or dead. He left the office, locking the door behind him. Then he got in his 4x4 and raced out of the estate.

  35

  At the Fulborough Hall estate office, the scene was in the process of being locked down by uniformed officers who had already cordoned off the office. Randall had been dispatched to the scene after it was reported by a member of staff as they got to work, that Lord Fulborough was found unconscious in the estate office. The staff had gathered themselves in the estate yard, a large square of gravel parking area bounded by box hedging on one side and what were converted stables on the opposite side. The office was directly ahead, in front of the main entrance, with a large green stable door, both halves of which stood wide open, blue police tape swaying lightly in the breeze. A couple of the female staff were openly weeping as most had worked for the Fulboroughs for many years.

  A single SOCO was going about her business, taking photographs of the scene, and the ambulance was just leaving, as Randall, Stevens and Martin arrived. Randall got out of the car that Stevens had parked next to the SOCO van. He walked over to the van, found a pair of overshoes and entered the estate office.

  ‘What’s happened here then?’ he asked the SOCO.

  ‘Lord Fulborough was found here,’ she said, indicating the side of the manager’s desk, ‘when the staff arrived this morning. He was lying on his side with his back against the desk. How he managed to survive the night is beyond me – got a nasty gash to his head.’

  ‘Hmm, what did the paramedics have to say?’

  ‘I don’t think they were very confident about his survival, but they spoke to one of the uniformed officers.’ Click, flash.

  ‘Have you found anything of significance?’

  ‘Not yet, no.’ Click, flash.

  ‘Why are there no others SOCOs here?’

  The SOCO put her camera down on her SOC box and got down onto her knees near the desk, with a torch, as she searched underneath it. ‘It only got reported as an assault, not a possible murder scene, but I’ve updated my manager,’ she said as she surfaced from underneath the desk.

  ‘Right. I’ll give him a ring anyway. We need to treat this as such, just in case he doesn’t survive.’

  The SOCO nodded and returned to her photography. Randall left the office, removing his overshoes. He threw them in an evidence bag and sealed it up. As he was doing that, Stevens walked over to him.

  ‘Any luck with the staff?’ he asked.

  ‘No, not yet. The office manager hasn’t arrived. Apparently she starts late on a Thursday and Friday.’

  ‘Did they say anything that would help us?’

  ‘Only that Fulborough sent them all home early yesterday.’

  ‘Any reason for that?’

  ‘They don’t know.’

  Randall
rubbed the scar on his face, thinking. ‘Do you think that this may be something to do with those bodies we found in his wood?’

  ‘I’d bet my boots on it, guv.’

  ‘Let’s get the ball rolling then and treat this as a murder from the outset. I’ll speak to Freeman. You get more SOCOs in and let’s cordon the yard. Move everything and everybody away that wasn’t here last night, before we lose any more evidence.’

  Stevens turned to go.

  ‘Oh, and let’s get some more uniforms down here to stop anyone entering the estate – and find me Frank Philpott.’

  Randall was already on the phone to Freeman.

  By the time Freeman had arrived, the scene was as secure as Randall could have made it. Freeman gathered his CID and uniform officers in the mobile police station, which had been set up in the entrance to the estate.

  ‘Right, we all here?’ announced Freeman. The talking subsided and everyone turned their attention to him.

  ‘As far as we know at this point in time, Lord Fulborough is still alive. What we don’t have is a motive or any other reason why he was attacked, although we are working on some theories. We have officers at the hospital waiting for him to regain consciousness, if he does. We need to interview all the staff again, particularly those who found him. We’re looking for any bit of information. Leave nothing to chance. Our first priority is the recovery of any physical evidence, now that we have extended the cordon. Anybody got anything else?’

  Fred raised his hand and Freeman indicated for him to continue.

  ‘I’ve spoken to some of the staff,’ he said, looking in his notebook, ‘The office junior arrived first at about seven a.m., but didn’t have a key, so she had to wait for the key-holder to arrive. If she’d have looked through the window, she would have seen Fulborough lying there, but she never got out of her car until a key holder arrived. The senior estates manager was the first to pitch up.’

  Freeman nodded. ‘He was the first to find Fulborough, along with the officer junior?’

  ‘Correct.’ Fred said.

  ‘Did he say where Fulborough was?’

  ‘Just opened the door and there he was,’ pitched in Stevens.

  ‘Very funny, Clive,’ remarked Fred. ‘They saw him lying by the desk. Thought he was dead, checked for a pulse, then called the ambulance. She’s very shook up about it. I’ve had her taken home and said we’ll get a statement later. I don’t think she can add anything of significance anyway.’

  ‘Fred, thanks for that update. Inspector, any news on the whereabouts of Philpott?’

  ‘No, but we’ve put out an all-ports warning. What you would call a BOLO, I think – what does that mean anyway? Oh, and we’ve updated the Auto Number Plate Recognition database. We’ll find him, no doubt about that.’

  ‘Right, let’s all meet back at Headquarters at 18:00 and see how far we’ve got. And Randall?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘BOLO means, “Be On the Look Out”.’

  Randall smiled and nodded to the DCI. As the room dispersed, a young PC entered and went up to Randall.

  ‘Sir, I think you need to come and speak to the office manager, who’s just turned up, She has some information I think you’ll need.’

  36

  Freeman sent Randall and Stevens out with the constable and across the yard to see the office manager. She was standing with a WPC, with her back to the wall. In one hand, she had a cigarette, which she was pulling on rapidly. In the other hand was a small handkerchief, with which she kept dabbing her eyes.

  Randall wondered whether the tears were because of the cigarette smoke that swirled around her head or genuine sadness for what had happened. The WPC introduced the woman as Marjorie. She was in her late sixties, with short black hair, obviously coloured. But despite this, she wore a knee-length, floral skirt and black leggings, and a sense of up-to-date fashion.

  Randall introduced himself and Stevens and asked her what she knew. Before she answered, she dropped her cigarette stub and lightly stood on in to put it out.

  She looked up at Randall, her eyes bloodshot where she had been crying and cleared her throat. ‘Late yesterday afternoon,’ Marjorie began, ‘Barry, Lord Fulborough, came into the estate office. He usually comes in at least once a day, not like the old Lord, who we never saw from one week to the next.’

  ‘What does he do when he visits?’ asked Stevens.

  ‘He just comes in to see how we are. Welfare check, he calls it, but sometimes he has other things he wants us to do. But he just wants to see if there are any problems on his estate. Taking an interest, you know.’

  ‘And was yesterday any different?’ asked Randall.

  ‘Well, yes, he was a bit agitated.’ She looked past Randall into the distance, eyes still watering.

  ‘Do you know why?’ Randall moved into her eye-line and asked again. He had a good idea as to why, but asked nevertheless.

  ‘He didn’t say directly. I got the impression it was something to do with the wood.’

  ‘How agitated was he?’ Stevens asked.

  ‘Very. I’ve never seen him like that. He usually takes most things in his stride. Very calm.’

  ‘So he never gave any indication?’ Randall said.

  ‘No, but what he did say was that he was unhappy with Frank and I think he wanted to get rid of him.’

  ‘What do you mean, get rid of him?’ Stevens asked.

  ‘He’s been wanting to give him the sack, I think, ever since the old Lord died. They never did get on. I think he was looking for an excuse to fire him.’

  ‘So there has been friction between Frank and Lord Fulborough?’

  ‘Yes, all the time, since he took over the estate.’

  ‘Marjorie, it’s important to our investigation for you to give us all the information you can, so we can find whoever did this, and resolve the identity of those remains in the wood. What sort of friction are we talking about?’

  ‘I don’t like to say.’

  Randall looked at Marjorie and was about to say something, when Stevens said, ‘We know there are probably some loyalty issues here, but, as DI Randall has said, we need as much information as you can give us – any little thing, even if you might think it’s not relevant.’

  Marjorie looked between Randall and Stevens and wiped her nose with the handkerchief. Nothing was said for a moment, the silence only interrupted by the twittering of a blackbird in the trees around them.

  She gazed at the floor, then said quietly, ‘Frank has said in the past that he knew where all the family skeletons were.’

  ‘What did he mean by that?’ asked Randall.

  ‘I really don’t know.’ Marjorie looked away.

  ‘How long have you worked for the estate?’

  ‘Most of my life. I started as a stable hand with the old Lord. He was much younger then, of course. A handsome man, with the world at his fingertips.’

  ‘And how did you get on with him? By all accounts he was not a man to be trifled with.’

  Marjorie looked away again, nervously tapping her foot, before answering. ‘I got on with him very well actually. It wasn’t until his first wife died that he became that grumpy old goat that everyone hated. But I didn’t hate him. I knew what he was like under that harsh exterior.’

  ‘What does that mean, Marjorie?’ asked Stevens.

  Marjorie looked directly at Stevens. ‘I wouldn’t still be here, if it weren’t for his mentoring.’

  Randall cast a knowing look at Stevens, who raised an eyebrow.

  ‘What happened yesterday, Marjorie? We need to know. What can you tell us?’

  Randall saw that Stevens was getting a little agitated himself at this interrogation, which appeared to be getting them nowhere.

  ‘After Barry had been in the office for a little while, he went outside and made a ca
ll on his mobile phone.’

  ‘Did you hear what was said?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Anything at all?’ Stevens said.

  ‘He raised his voice only once.’

  ‘And said what?’ Randall asked.

  ‘Something like, get yourself over her now or immediately.’

  ‘Do you know who he was talking to?’

  ‘No, but after the call, he came into the office and sent everyone home.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He said that he wanted a private meeting with Frank.’

  ‘And you all went home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘About four thirty.’

  ‘What time do you normally knock off work?’ Stevens asked.

  ‘Sixish – depends what’s going on.’

  Randall looked at Marjorie for a moment then said, ‘OK, Marjorie, thanks very much. We’ll get an officer to take that statement from you now if that’s OK?’

  She nodded. Randall instructed the WPC to take her to the mobile police station to get a statement from her and to make sure she was looked after. The WPC walked away with Marjorie. Randall waited until they were out of earshot.

  ‘Mentoring, my arse,’ Stevens said smiling. Randall looked at him. ‘Oh, come on boss! You didn’t believe that the old Lord would tutor a stable hand, honestly, did you?’

  ‘I suppose not, but the aristocracy have always been quirky, so I don’t know what to believe.’

  ‘Right, quirky, that’s for sure.’

  ‘No, but if I read this right, the old Lord was a bit of a Jack-the-lad. We know that these second remains had been in the ground for about fifteen years. What if there had been some liaison that went wrong and it’s nothing to do with the Tyler guy anyway?’

  ‘Possible, but the only person that we know who may have any further information is Philpott and he’s on his toes.’

  ‘I think he might just be glad to talk when we get him in. Let’s find this guy before he disappears into the woodwork for ever. I knew I should have kept him in when I had him.’

  37