An Urgent Murder

by Alex Winchester

  Alison interrupted and said with a startled cry, “Of course, a will.”

  John continued, “he would have made a will, which we haven’t found yet.”

  Jimmy, who felt aggrieved and slighted by the comment, interrupted saying he had made enquiries to try and trace one without success.

  Prodow ignoring Jimmy’s indignant hurt said, “Well you both seem to be on the same wavelength, get yourselves there first thing in the morning and see what you can find. Mr Groves I would appreciate it if you and Paul check out Munroe’s house. This could be a catalyst in our case against her.”

  24

  Tuesday 7th June 2011

  The following morning at 7.30, John sauntered into the canteen on the ground floor directly below the conference room to see Alison already there and at the servery buying her second cup of tea.

  “I need a pint of this to get me set up for the day.”

  She looked as though she had been up just long enough to get smartly dressed, as was her wont, and her makeup immaculate but not overdone. A dark trouser suit was her preferred apparel for the day as she deemed it more suitable if searching premises than a skirt. John on the other hand had been up some time, and looked, although showered and wearing clean clothes, as though he had been dragged through a hedge backwards. His hair needed further additional hand combing and his tie needed straightening, but then it always did. His eyes looked like someone had recently stuck a finger in each causing them to be slightly bloodshot.

  He had however the ability to rise quickly and move without liquid or food and keep going for several hours before needing a drink. This ability had served him well over the years, as had the fact that he needed very little sleep, to dodge unpleasant surprises and decamp prior to discovery.

  At the servery, Alison asked what he wanted.

  “Coffee please” and got a cup of tea for herself.

  John went to a table and sat with his back to a wall waiting for Alison to deliver his drink.

  She took it to the table and said, “I was at that one, (pointing to a table in the middle of the room with a dirty mug on), shame to make two tables dirty.”

  He chose to ignore the remark, saying “If we go straight to the bungalow we will probably be finished there by midday. I doubt that we will find anything of note, so this afternoon we can try and find which solicitor has his will. Have you got a car?”

  Alison who was now finishing her second cup of tea said, “Yes, but we need the keys for the bungalow first.”

  “I got them from Jimmy last night to save time so we can go straight there.”

  She realised that she would not be getting her breakfast today.

  In the yard, Alison led the way to a nearly new Ford Fiesta that ‘blinked’ at them as they approached.

  “Mine opens with the key in the lock if it’s in a good mood.”

  “Which one is yours?”

  John pointed to what Alison had thought to be a suspect vehicle of some kind that had been brought into the yard and left in a corner for a year or two where it had likely rusted and collected debris under the wheels.

  “What is it?”

  “A Vauxhall.”

  Alison could not see herself getting into that car under any circumstances: what would she be sitting on, but more importantly, it would destroy her image completely if anyone saw her getting in or out of it.

  They both got into the Fiesta and Alison drove them safely and quite swiftly to the bungalow swinging into the driveway as though it were her own and stopped a few yards short of the garage level with the side picture windows in the lounge. The PCSO (Police Community Support Officer) who had been guarding the property overnight and was waiting for his morning relief, acknowledged their arrival. He was sitting in a large marked Police land rover which was backed up against the garage. Being half asleep, he couldn’t be bothered to get out of the vehicle and let the night’s accumulated warmth escape.

  As he unlocked the kitchen door John said, “I’ll start in here if you want to do the bedrooms or the dining room and we can both do the lounge.”

  “A couple of the trained PoLSA (Police Search Advisor) team and Jimmy have already searched this place. Any clue as to what we are actually looking for?”

  “Papers. Anything out of the ordinary or in the wrong place.”

  Alison went into one of the bedrooms as John started in the kitchen. He soon arrived at the pile of papers that were no longer in such a neat order as they had been when the photographer had filmed them originally. Going through them thoroughly checking each piece of paper, John soon realised that none were what they were looking for. Most were instruction leaflets or circulars from local establishments, menus from local take away restaurants, information about taxis and trains from the local station, social services information, and some old utility bills. Folding one of the gas bills, he slipped it into his inside jacket pocket.

  He opened every drawer and cupboard, taking stock of the contents and moving everything as he checked carefully. Pausing at one of the double wall units, he examined the contained dinner service before removing each item of crockery to examine it. According to the writing on the base of each item, it had come from, or been acquired from Marks and Spencer’s. John jotted a note in his pocket book.

  Within 45 minutes, he had finished searching the kitchen and went into the main bedroom where Alison was completing her search of the room.

  “Anything?”

  “Nothing at all. I’ve checked everything. Done both the other bedrooms. All the pockets in the clothes are empty, not even a coin. I just need to lift the bed if you are feeling strong enough.”

  “I think I could manage providing you go under to have a good look.”

  “Drop it and I’ll never talk to you again.”

  “If I drop it, you’ll never talk again to anyone.”

  They checked the underside of the bed without incident.

  Then they moved through to the dining room and Alison said, “This room is what a dining room should be, simply laid out with expensive classical furniture making it so formal that to eat in here you feel you would have to dress for the occasion.”

  John could not agree with her but decided against saying so.

  “If you start one side I’ll start the other: choose your side.”

  Alison went to the large dresser and John went to the sideboard and the pair of them looked in every nook and cranny.

  John inquired, “Found any crockery?”

  “Yeah. There is a beautiful six-piece dinner service with an inlaid pattern of red roses.”

  They completed the rest of the search in silence until they finally met at the far wall.

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?”

  “Why the interest in crockery?”

  “I’m impressed you realised it was a relevant question.”

  “So, answer it.”

  “When I searched the kitchen, I found a basic six-piece dinner service which I believe was his day to day one. How many cups and saucers were in the sink when the photographer went round?”

  “Two cups and two saucers.”

  “Correct. Therefore there should have been four cups and saucers amongst the crockery in the cupboard. There were four saucers but only three cups.”

  “So? One may have got broken at some time. Means nothing.”

  “Not necessarily. Maybe it was taken. We need to check with other carers to see if they know how many cups there were.”

  “You have something on your mind about the cup. Are you going to fill me in?”

  “Not just yet. If you want to be a Detective, I’ve given you something to think about. Consider ABC (Assume nothing, Believe no one, Check everything). It’s quite logical. See what you can come up with.”

  25

  Tuesday 7th June 2011

  “Right, let’s do the lounge” said John and they went into the room now void of George’s body.

  At the wall units, Alison t
ook one look at all the books and thought she may as well start with them and said so. John went into the conservatory and lifted the cushions from the cane chairs and in doing so knocked the table holding the chess set. He felt under the chairs and under the table as he himself at times had kept items taped to the bottom of tables and drawers. Picking up every chess piece and checking them, he lifted the board to find an old piece of newspaper stuck underneath it, which had been there for some time to prevent the board slipping. Deftly, he peeled it from the base of the board. Examining it carefully for a few moments, he noted the date in 1980 and the story about a school trip to a varsity match at Twickenham. Judiciously he folded the paper and put it into a small clear plastic exhibits bag taken from his right jacket hip pocket before placing it back into his inside jacket pocket.

  Alison meanwhile had been removing every book, flicking all the pages and checking each cover and flyleaf and finally shaking them before putting them back from where she had taken them. As she shook a copy of an old Oxford English dictionary, several £50 notes fluttered to the floor. She flicked the pages slowly in order that she could see clearly between them and found twenty £50 notes in total.

  “John, what do you make of this?”

  He looked up to see her holding the money in her hand, “I don’t know; have you considered fingerprints?”

  “Oh, sod it” came the reply as Alison’s hand slightly uncurled from the notes as she went out of the room to find an exhibits bag from the kitchen table where she had inadvertently left them on arrival at the bungalow.

  John moved to the raised chair that was by the fireplace and thoroughly checked it before lowering it to its proper seating position before slumping down into it. As he sat there, Alison came back into the room with the money now in a sealed exhibit bag.

  “Tired all ready, you should get more sleep.”

  John said, “I have often found that if you put yourself in another person’s normal place and just look at the world from that person’s perspective you may learn more.”

  Alison said, “It reminds me of an old poem, ‘what is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.’”

  “By W. H. Davies I believe” said John as his eyes slowly scanned the part of the room that he could see from the chair without moving.

  Alison thought, ‘Knows a bit of poetry. Maybe not such a philistine as he seems.’

  He noticed that the side table with the telephone and lamp were higher than could be reached easily by him and Armstrong was several inches smaller which would have made it even harder for him. The lowest shelf of the fireplace nearest the riser recliner would have been a perfect height to place the telephone and lifeline on. John saw that the slab had no ornaments on it like the other flat surfaces. Leaning forward, he examined that side of the fireplace as Alison watched him intently wondering what on earth he was up to now.

  On top of the slab next to the chair, he noticed a black pencil mark and said to Alison, “What do you make of this?”

  She leant forward, checked it and said,” Looks like that’s where the pencil was broken by Munroe or whoever murdered him to stop him writing anymore.”

  “What if he only intended to write ‘Poisoned’ and he broke the pencil himself?”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “As a guide perhaps, he couldn’t walk, or reach the phone because he was lying on the floor, the only thing he could reach were the slabs at either end of the fireplace.”

  “Well,” said Alison “if that’s the case, I am totally confused. How can it be a guide?”

  “Because of where he was lying, he would have had to twist his body to reach this slab; there are a couple nearer to his hand. Have another look, you may notice something else.”

  Alison leant forward again and stared at the slab. Then she looked at the other slabs near it.

  John sunk back in the chair closed his eyes and said, “Look what’s not there.”

  Alison was starting to get annoyed when she suddenly realised what he meant. Around all the slabs except the relevant one, was a neat seal of cement holding them firmly in place. Although the cement was there, a well-nigh invisible hairline crack ran down the middle of it. She grasped the edge of the slab putting both her hands on one side, and pulled on it. It slid with inordinate ease from its position leaving a thin wedge of cement on the fireplace and one on the slab itself. It moved from along the whole length of the crack without disturbing any of the cement. Alison was amazed at how easily she was able to move it from its proper position.

  Before it had moved more than six inches she could see a cavity opening up underneath. Lying in the cavity was a long brown envelope.

  Without opening his eyes John said, “What have we got?”

  “There is a brown envelope, but tell me how did you spot that slab?”

  John explained that the logical place to keep really private papers was not on the table where the phone was but on the slab next to the legs of the person who sat in the riser chair. They could then be reached easily if needed and it would explain the absence of an ornament on that slab.

  “Simple really,” said John.

  “Elementary” said Alison thinking of Holmes to Watson.

  She put on a tight pair of white latex gloves which seemed to be filled with talcum powder and picked up the envelope which was quite old and not sealed. Reading the address out as John wrote it in his notebook, ‘Peckham Hill Street, South London’. Nothing else was written on the envelope nor had it ever borne a stamp. Alison shook the envelope and two folded pieces of paper fell to the floor which when gently unfolded transpired to be two war time identity cards: one in the name of Jeffery A. Anderson and the other Jean Anderson. Alison looked into the envelope and saw a third piece of paper which she teased out between her gloved thumb and index finger of her right hand. She carefully unfolded it to reveal a birth certificate in the name of Jeffery Archibald Anderson. The Mother was shown as Molly, the Father as Edward and the registration area was Cambridge with the date of 11th April 1918.

  John said, in essence to himself, “Now what are we to make of this?”

  Alison sat on the settee leaving the envelope, I.D. cards and birth certificate on the floor between them.

  After a couple of minutes, Alison said, “Could George Armstrong really be Jeffery Anderson?”

  John said, “I don’t know, but the question that would then have to be addressed is if so, why has he been using the name George Armstrong?”

  26

  Tuesday 7th June 2011

  “It’s me. He applied a month ago. It’s been kept quiet. They may suspect something. He’s got to be persuaded to withdraw.”

  “There’s plans in motion. Don’t worry.”

  “Keep me informed and I may be able to help when I know how you’re doing.”

  “I’ve got people in the South preparing for this. I don’t envisage a problem.”

  “The Minister wants him. Interviews will not be for a few months so there’s a bit of time.”

  “I’ll be ready to go in a week or so.”

  “I’ll speak to you soon.”

  “Hello Grigoriev. I’ve sent the Lithuanian brothers to help you and Petrovski. Dimitri will be with you when he’s released in a fortnight. Are you ready yet?”

  “Another day or two should do it.”

  “Any problems?”

  “Will need some technical help”

  “OK. I’ll send it as soon as I can. Watch Dimitri. He likes the ladies. That’s why he’s locked up.”

  “Will do.”

  “Call me as soon as you’re ready.”

  “OK.”

  27

  Tuesday 7th June 2011

  They arrived back in the office about 2.30pm to find Jimmy, Paul and Doreen all busy with various bits of paper. Doreen’s fingers were whipping across her keyboard which was emitting a gentle repetitive clacking sound as she touched the keys. If she could complete all the day’s typing by
3.30pm she would have half an hour to read her latest library book which was sitting in the top drawer of the two still residing in her desk. Most days, she managed it. At 4, she would be off home taking the bus to her Mother’s, where she still lived, to be in time for her evening meal which was always taken at 5pm on the dot. Doreen, like Lavinia, her Mother, was a person of routine. Men had flitted in and out of her life but her only interest was her passion for books.

  Alison showed them the items they had found through the clear plastic bags that she had placed them in. She explained where they had been hidden before giving them to Jimmy who wrote down their details in his exhibit book. Paul asked him to take photocopies of the documents before submitting them for forensic examination, in order that he could inform both Groves and Prodow when they attended the office next. Paul stated he would have a word with the PoLSA officers on their search. He was not happy.

  John, who had left unnoticed during Alison’s quick briefing, was now being missed by Paul who wanted to discuss some further enquires that could be made about the documents.

  He said in exasperation to Alison, “Where’s ‘Black John’ gone off to now?”

  Alison hadn’t noticed John slip out of the office, but in addition, she had never before heard him referred to as ‘Black John’. Being a white Englishman, the only explanation was his seriously black hair, some saying suspiciously black, implying the use of a dye which she assumed probably explained it. But the name rankled.

  Before she could answer, John walked in carrying his nigh on thirty-year-old battered brown leather briefcase that had been repaired on at least four separate occasions and bore new metal brackets on the corners holding it together.

  Paul said, “Why don’t you buy yourself a decent new briefcase and chuck that crappy old thing away, it looks worse than you do.”

  “This case means a lot to me; a friend gave it to me and I shall have it till the day I die.”

  Paul knew that anyway, he had heard the story months before from John about how a colleague had been run over when they were together, and before he died he had given him the case. What he hadn’t been told was that they were working undercover in the Midlands and had been deliberately targeted, and that John had managed to jump out of the way of the murderer in the stolen car. The locked briefcase had contained some very important evidence required by the Home Office, and John was implored to take the case and run which he did leaving his friend to die alone under the car in a dirty, wet, Midlands street.