A Killing Resurrected

by Frank Smith

  Panic gripped her. She could feel her heart pounding hard against her ribs as she closed the door and leaned against it, fighting hard to overcome her fear. The whole house was filled with fumes. One tiny spark and the whole place would go up in flames, and she’d be lucky if she got out alive.

  She heard a sound; a sound she recognized. The hinges on the back door had been making that sound for as long as she could remember, and that meant . . .

  Oh, God! The intruder had opened the back door, and that meant he only had to step outside, light a match, toss it in . . .

  Suddenly, Claire was angry, so angry it banished fear. A weapon. She searched frantically for a weapon. Something . . . Anything! No time . . . She grabbed the first thing that came to hand, hefted it and grunted in satisfaction as she slipped into the hall. She felt the cool night air on her face. The back door was open. The light from the torch wavering as the last few drops of petrol were shaken from the can.

  From somewhere deep within her came an angry, visceral sound, rising to a howl of rage as she charged headlong down the hall to hurl the jam jar full of pennies at the figure in the doorway . . .

  ‘She has some nasty bruises and her clothes were soaked in petrol,’ the lead fireman told Paget. ‘I don’t think the bruises are all that serious, but we had to get her out of those clothes, so we wrapped her up and sent her off to hospital in an ambulance. She didn’t want to go; insisted she wanted to stay until you got here, but we finally persuaded her it was for the best. I tell you, that is one plucky lady, and if she hadn’t done what she did, she wouldn’t be alive now. That house was so full of fumes that one spark would have blown the place apart. We’ve been here over an hour, now, and we’ve only just taken off our masks.’

  ‘Did she tell you what happened?’

  ‘She said she’d spent the day cleaning, sat down for a rest and fell asleep in the conservatory at the back of the house. Woke up to hear someone in the house, looked out and saw this person backing down the hall pouring petrol on the floor as he went. Of course, it was dark, so she couldn’t see much, and she daren’t switch on the light, so she grabbed the first thing that came to hand, charged down the hall and flung it at him.

  ‘Bloody great jar full of pennies,’ the man continued with a shake of the head. ‘Probably would have killed the bastard if it had hit him, not that he didn’t deserve it. Hit the doorpost; took a chunk right out of it. Glass and pennies everywhere. Must have scared the shit out of him because he took off. Lucky for her he did, because with all that petrol on the tiles in the kitchen she slipped and fell when she threw the jar, and banged herself about a bit. She wouldn’t have stood a chance if he’d stayed long enough to set the place alight.’

  They found Claire Hammond in Casualty. Wrapped in a blanket, and with a towel wound round her head, she was curled up in a chair in a curtained-off cubicle.

  ‘No bones broken, just a few bruises,’ she told Paget when he asked after introducing Tregalles. ‘There was no need to admit me, so technically I’m an outpatient and I’m free to go. The only reason I’m still here is because I’m waiting for some fresh clothes.’ Claire grimaced. ‘Fortunately I was able to have a shower, hence the towel,’ she continued, pointing to her head, ‘but they told me it will probably take at least half-a-dozen rinses before the smell will be completely gone from my hair.’

  ‘Have you arranged for someone to bring your clothes?’ Paget asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said, ‘but I have a friend who will. It’s just that I don’t want to get her out of bed in the middle of the night, so I’m going to wait and call her about eight.’

  ‘Oh, I think we may be able to get you home before that,’ Paget told her. ‘But before we do, I would like to ask you a few questions if you feel up to it?’

  Claire gave a perfunctory nod and said, ‘I’m fine, really, but what’s happening at the house? The way that man was sloshing petrol about . . .’ She shuddered.

  It was Tregalles who answered. ‘It’s certainly not as bad as it could have been,’ he said, ‘but I’m afraid the carpets in the two downstairs rooms have to go. The fireman I spoke to said you would never get the smell out, so it would be pointless to try to save them. The same goes for the carpet at the bottom of the stairs, and the two big armchairs and sofa in the front room were soaked as well. As for the rest, he told me there are professional cleaners who specialize in this sort of thing.’

  Claire nodded slowly as she absorbed the news, and said, ‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ as if what he’d told her pretty much confirmed her own mental assessment of the damage. ‘And as you say, it could have been worse – a lot worse if he’d ever struck a match. On the bright side, the carpets were old and threadbare, so I would have had to replace them at some point. As for the rest, we’ll just have to wait and see what the cleaners can do.’ She turned to face Paget. ‘Now, what is it you want to know, Chief Inspector?’

  Paget told her what they had learned from the firemen on the scene. ‘And what I would like from you is anything you can add to that,’ he said. ‘I know it was dark, but were you able to see anything of this person at all that might help us?’

  Claire shook her head. ‘The only time I saw a clear outline of him was when he was standing in the open doorway shaking the last of the petrol out of the can,’ she said, ‘but that’s all it was, an outline.

  ‘But speaking of the can, I think he dropped it when I threw the jar at him. Did he leave it behind? Can you do anything with it? Like fingerprints, perhaps?’ she ended hopefully.

  ‘It was left behind, and it will be subjected to a thorough forensic examination,’ Paget told her, ‘but I rather think he would be wearing gloves. Could you see his hands at all?’

  Once again, Claire shook her head. ‘I just wish to God I’d hit him,’ she said with feeling, ‘but my feet went out from under me just as I threw the jar, and the next thing I knew I was skidding across the floor on my backside. It was my own fault. I should have realized the floor would be slippery with all that petrol on it, but I was so angry . . .’ Her face clouded at the memory, but Paget didn’t allow her time to dwell on that.

  ‘Do you think he knew you were in the house?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m pretty sure he didn’t,’ she said. ‘There was no reason why he should. My car wasn’t out front because I rode over on my bike that morning and left it at the side of the house, and it was still light when I went to sleep, so there were no lights on. Oh, no, I don’t think he was after me. I think it was the house he wanted to destroy before you had a chance to search it.’

  ‘Which makes me wonder,’ Paget said, ‘how could he have known we were about to search the house again?’

  Claire shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ‘I’m afraid that is probably my fault,’ she confessed. ‘At least it’s the only explanation I can think of, and I’ve been sitting here for the past hour going over everything in my head. It’s not that I meant to, of course,’ she went on hastily as she saw Paget and Tregalles exchange glances, ‘it’s just that I was at Kevin and Stephanie Taylor’s house-warming party on Saturday, when I happened to mention that the police were coming in today to look for clues to Barry’s friends. I find it very hard to believe that any one of them could possibly do such a thing, but on the other hand I don’t know how else anyone would have known. Unless you told someone . . .?’ She looked hopefully from one to the other, then sighed when Paget shook his head.

  ‘In that case it looks as though I brought this on myself,’ she said, ‘except most of the people there were friends I’ve known for years, and I can’t believe that any of them could be involved in something like this.’

  Tregalles took out his notebook. ‘In that case, miss,’ he said, ‘I’m going to need to know where and when this party took place, and the names of everyone there.’

  NINE

  Monday, July 13th

  The offices of Bradshaw, Lewis and Mortimer were on the first floor of what was still known as the Corn Exc
hange on the corner of Bridge Street and King George Way. The receptionist, an attractive young woman with three gold rings in one ear, greeted Paget and Tregalles with a professional smile and said yes, Mr Taylor was expecting them, and led them down a corridor to Taylor’s office.

  Kevin Taylor looked every inch the lawyer: white shirt, striped tie, navy two-piece suit, and highly polished shoes. Acknowledging the introduction of Tregalles with a perfunctory nod as he came out from behind his desk, he turned his attention to Paget. ‘Have we met before?’ he asked, extending his hand.

  ‘Briefly, a few years ago when my father died,’ Paget told him. ‘Mr Bradshaw handled the estate.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I remember, now.’ Taylor returned to stand behind the desk. ‘I thought the name was familiar when my brother, David, mentioned it the other day. Please have a seat.’ He waited for the two men to sit down before settling into his own chair. ‘He told me you are reopening the file on our father’s death, and that Barry Grant was involved in some way. He said you were trying to find out who Barry’s friends were at the time, but I don’t see how I can help you. I barely knew Barry – he was several years younger than me, and I have no idea who his friends were.’

  Everyone, it seemed, was distancing themselves from Barry Grant.

  ‘But you were at university together, were you not?’

  Taylor smiled. ‘It’s a big place,’ he said. ‘Barry was taking Engineering, and I was reading Law. Our paths might never have crossed if it weren’t for the fact that he seemed to think, because he knew my brother, he had a right to attach himself to me and my friends. I felt sorry for him at first – it was his first year at uni, and he didn’t seem to have any friends – so I told him to give me a shout if he needed any help settling in. That proved to be a big mistake, because from then on he was like a limpet. No matter where I went, he was always there. I put up with it for a while, thinking the novelty would wear off, but it didn’t, and when he made a play for Steph, my fiancé at the time, and started following her about, I was forced to warn him off. Fortunately, he packed it in after the first year, and I never did see him again after that.’

  ‘Not even here in Broadminster, say during the summer months?’

  ‘If I did I don’t recall it,’ Kevin told him. ‘I don’t know how he spent his summer holidays, but I spent mine at home, helping my father in the bakery. So did David. We worked in the bakery and did rounds in the morning, and both of us had other jobs in the afternoon. We worked long hours, so there wasn’t much time for socializing.’

  ‘Do you know if it was usual for your father to go into Sam Bergman’s shop on his way down to the coffee shop at the end of the street?’

  Kevin shook his head. ‘I really couldn’t say. All I can tell you is that it was a sort of ritual for several of the local businessmen to meet for coffee most mornings. But how is this relevant, Chief Inspector? We made statements at the time, so surely they’re still on file?’

  ‘They are,’ Paget agreed, ‘but since I wasn’t here thirteen years ago, I would like to meet the people involved in order to get a better feel for how things were back then, and perhaps to jog people’s memories.

  ‘However,’ he continued, ‘let’s talk about more recent events. I’m told you had a house-warming party on Saturday, and it was there that Claire Hammond told you about the case being reopened.’

  Taylor pursed his lips and frowned into the distance. ‘As I recall, I believe it was David who told us,’ he said with some precision. ‘Claire made a remark about talking to the police, and Ed, my father-in-law, made a sort of joke about it and asked if she was in trouble and needed a good solicitor. It was David who explained what it was all about.’

  ‘And that was the first time you’d heard about our enquiries?’

  ‘Yes. And to tell you the truth, I was more than a little annoyed with my brother for not telling me before. I thought he should have told me when he first found out himself.’

  ‘According to Miss Hammond, there were a number of people gathered around the bar when she mentioned that we would be returning to the house today. Do you remember that, Mr Taylor?’

  ‘I do,’ he said cautiously. ‘But why . . .?’

  ‘Do you remember who they were? Their names?’

  ‘I might if you can give me a good reason why you’re asking these questions, Chief Inspector, because I don’t see what that has to do with your investigation.’

  ‘Oh, I believe there is a connection,’ Paget told him. ‘I suspect that someone at that party overheard what was said, and as a consequence Miss Hammond came within a whisker of being killed earlier this morning when someone tried to burn the Grant house down.’

  ‘Claire?’ Taylor’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh, my God!’ he whispered. ‘Is she all right? Was she hurt? I didn’t know she was living there?’

  It was an assumption and a question at the same time, but Paget didn’t bother to explain. Instead, he said, ‘Fortunately, due to quick thinking on her part, Miss Hammond escaped with just a few bruises, but she is lucky to be alive.’

  ‘Thank God for that!’ Kevin breathed. ‘And the house . . .?’

  ‘There is a small amount of damage, but nothing of importance was destroyed.’

  ‘And you think that someone at the party was responsible?’

  Paget sat back and let Tregalles answer the question. ‘Miss Hammond is quite sure she said nothing to anyone else about the search,’ he said.

  Taylor tilted back in his chair. ‘On the other hand,’ he said, ‘considering the number of break-ins we’ve been experiencing lately, isn’t it also possible that it had nothing to do with your investigation? Almost anyone could have learned that the house was not being lived in, and taken advantage of the situation.’

  ‘As you say, sir, that is a possibility, but I think it’s far more likely that they would have looted the place rather than burn it down. Miss Hammond has given us the names of people she knows, but there were some at the party she didn’t know. Perhaps you can help us there?’

  Taylor looked sceptical. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to help,’ he said, ‘but you must realize that we’re talking about some of my closest friends, many of whom my wife and I have known since we were at school. And the idea that any one of them could be involved either in this incident or, by extension, in the original crime when my father died, is extremely hard to believe.’

  ‘But a possibility nevertheless,’ Tregalles persisted, ‘and one we can’t ignore. I don’t know if your brother told you what Barry Grant said about the reason for your father being killed, but Barry claimed it was because your father recognized one of the men. If that is true, then the killer could well be someone you know.’

  ‘David did tell me that,’ Taylor acknowledged, ‘but it never occurred to me that the person might be someone in our own age group. I suppose, if I thought about it at all, I assumed it was someone my father knew, rather than someone David and I might know. In fact, from what you’ve told me, that could still be the case.’

  Paget sat forward. ‘Except for three things,’ he said. ‘First, it seems unlikely that Barry Grant would be driving for a group of older men. From what we’ve learned, he was always trying to ingratiate himself with his contemporaries, as in fact you said yourself he did with you. Secondly, we have reason to believe that these robberies began more as a prank than a serious attempt to gain wealth, which again suggests young people. And thirdly, as far as we know, the only place anyone could have learned that we intended to search the Grant house was at your party on Saturday, where most of your guests were contemporaries of yours. Which is why we would like the list of those who were there that day.’

  Before Taylor could respond, there was a perfunctory tap on the door and Ed Bradshaw came in, head down, eyes on the sheaf of papers in his hand. ‘I’d like you to take a look at these, Kevin,’ he began, then stopped when he saw the two detectives. ‘Oh! I do beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realize that Kevin had so
meone with him. I do apologize.’ He began to turn away, then stopped. ‘It’s Inspector Paget, isn’t it? We handled your father’s estate some years back, as I recall.’ He turned to Kevin before Paget had a chance to reply. ‘Is this by any chance to do with what you and David were talking about on Saturday? About your father?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, it is,’ Taylor told him. ‘And it’s Chief Inspector Paget.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. Sorry, Chief Inspector. As I said, I’m sorry for the interruption, but now that I am here, may I ask how the investigation is going? It’s amazing that something new has turned up after all these years. Making progress, are you?’

  ‘It seems that Claire had a narrow escape when someone tried to set fire to the Grant house this morning,’ Taylor broke in before Paget had a chance to answer, ‘and the Chief Inspector thinks it could have been someone who overheard our conversation at the party.’ Swiftly and succinctly, he brought Bradshaw up to date.

  Ed Bradshaw looked thoughtful as he pulled up a chair and sat down facing Paget. ‘I suppose it is a possibility,’ he conceded without conviction, ‘but it doesn’t seem very likely to me. I mean we’ve known many of them for years. Are you quite sure that Claire didn’t tell someone else?’

  ‘She assures me she did not,’ Paget told him, ‘and I have no reason to doubt her.’

  ‘In that case, of course we will be only too pleased to assist you in any way we can,’ Bradshaw said.

  Paget nodded his thanks. ‘Did either of you happen to notice anyone taking a particular interest in what Miss Hammond and David had to say on Saturday?’

  Bradshaw shrugged. ‘I’d say everyone was more than interested in what was being said. I remember it became very quiet when the police were mentioned.’ A quick smile flickered across his face. ‘But then, I’m sure you know that’s not an unusual reaction.’