Scene of Crime

by Jill McGown

  “So when did Leeward leave?” asked Lloyd. “Before or after Dexter?”

  “After,” said Tom. “Because if Leeward had left before Dexter, the light would have come on while Dexter was in the garage, and it didn’t.”

  “So if he didn’t leave until after Dexter, why didn’t Dexter see his car?” He tapped the piece of paper in Tom’s hands. “Leeward got there after Dexter had run away, Tom. He found the house and Estelle Bignall just as he says he did.”

  “Well …” said Tom.

  “Think about it,” said Lloyd. “Dexter says the light was on when he ran into the garage. Why? Leeward didn’t trigger it getting in—it took him by surprise when it came on as he left.”

  Tom frowned. It had.

  “So it was triggered by someone else, wasn’t it? At about seven minutes past eight someone crossed Watson’s garden in order to gain entry to the Bignalls’ garden, and it wasn’t Denis Leeward, because his car wasn’t there until after that, or Dexter would have seen it.”

  Tom didn’t want to believe it, but Lloyd was right. He nodded, then realized that if they were crossing Leeward off, they had nowhere to go. “But who was it?” he said. “We’ve got no more evidence, guv.” He stared at Lloyd’s notes as though they would send him some sort of sign.

  “Oh, I think Leeward was right. I think you were right, all along.”

  Tom looked up at him. “Ryan Chester?”

  “He and Baz were there with the van, weren’t they? They’ve both admitted that.”

  “Yes,” said Tom.

  “Ryan and Baz were going to burgle the Bignalls’ house, which they thought would be empty. Baz was parked by the bus stop, and Ryan was going to go in, gather up everything he wanted to steal, then phone Baz to bring the van and back it up to the house. But he hit problems.”

  Tom was listening, his face thoughtful, as Lloyd worked his way through what had happened.

  “Problem number one, the back gates were locked. No matter, he can still get the stuff ready, get Baz to park the van in Eliot Way, and just do a few trips through Watson’s garden. He goes in that way, but he doesn’t stick to the back wall, so he meets problem number two.”

  “The security light comes on,” said Tom.

  “He hides until it goes out again. He hears what’s going on in the garage, but he doesn’t know it’s Dexter. He waits until it goes quiet, and he’s certain no one’s about, and he breaks in. The light comes on again—there’s a bit of a commotion, but that comes to nothing, and he’s about to go to work and relieve the Bignalls of their property, when problem number three enters.”

  “Estelle Bignall.”

  “Estelle Bignall,” said Lloyd. “By this time he’s determined nothing’s going to stop him. He grabs her, keeps her quiet with his hand over her mouth, looks round for something, finds the tie and handkerchief set, and tells her that if she doesn’t make a fuss, she won’t get hurt. He gags her and ties her hands with the belt of her bathrobe. What happened then?”

  Tom thought about it for a moment. “Watson got curious and went and had a look,” he said. “Ryan hears Watson coming, so he pushes her into the kitchen and waits until Watson’s gone. That’s why she was in the kitchen.”

  Lloyd nodded. “She’s fighting for breath, desperately trying to get her hands free so she can pull off the gag. He sees the tape, tapes up her ankles so she can’t run for help, and then realizes she isn’t struggling anymore. He grabs a bag from the roll, sweeps up whatever he can from the dining room, and leaves, this time keeping as far away from Watson’s security light as he can. He gets out onto the road, gets on his mobile to Baz, and finds problem number five.”

  “Baz doesn’t answer.”

  “Then problem number six. A car is coming. He hides, and he sees Leeward get out, watches him as he goes through Watson’s garden to the house.”

  Tom was nodding. “So he knows the break-in’s just about to be discovered, and he tries to steal the car to get as far away as possible. But Leeward comes back almost immediately, so he takes off through the woods, and steals Hutchinson’s car instead, and tells Baz just to go home.” He shook his head, almost admiringly. “He told us most of that himself, crafty bugger.”

  “Then he realizes that Leeward is the perfect fall guy, because he obviously didn’t report what he found in the Bignalls’ house,” said Lloyd. “And so he tells us about the Saab. Then he retracts that and makes up this business about being in the traffic jam. But Leeward saw him, so we can place him at the scene, whatever he’s saying now. And he’s admitted storing and selling the proceeds, and stealing the getaway car.”

  Tom looked at his watch. “I think I’ll just take a little run into Malworth,” he said. “Pop into the magistrates’ court.”

  Lloyd frowned. “Why?”

  “Because Baz Martin’s up this morning,” said Tom. “He might get sent down—and if I know my man, Ryan’ll be there to support him.”

  Ryan had lent Baz a tie; he always wore one when he was in court. It was amazing what a difference looking smart made. Wearing a tie in the dock could knock hundreds of quid off a fine, and a couple of months off a prison sentence, in Ryan’s opinion. That, and standing up straight, looking the chairman of the bench in the eye, and speaking clearly. They liked that sort of thing.

  Christmas Eve. That might not be a bad thing—some magistrates didn’t like sending people down on Christmas Eve. But Baz had packed a bag—Stan wasn’t convinced he’d get away with a fine this time.

  It had been a while since Ryan had been in the court at all; Baz gave his name to the desk usher, who was new, so she didn’t already know it. Most of them did, like they knew Ryan’s. He sat down with Baz and nodded to a familiar face.

  He had been coming here since he was fourteen. At first it had been the youth court and the public wasn’t allowed in; his mates would have to wait out here to see how he fared. But once he graduated to adult court, they could come in and watch. He had gotten better at evading the police, and obviously he wouldn’t choose to get caught, but there had been a sort of clublike atmosphere in those days that he almost missed.

  Baz went off with Stan, and Ryan was reading a paper someone had left on a chair when he saw Sergeant Finch come in. He nodded to him, too.

  Finch came over to him and spoke quietly. “Ryan Chester, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the manslaughter of Estelle Bignall,” he said. “You do not have to say anything …”

  Stan was right. They had run out of suspects and were determined to get anyone at all so the papers couldn’t moan about them. He couldn’t prove he’d been in that traffic jam, his mother worked at the Bignalls’ house, his brother knew the house was empty on Monday nights, he had sold the proceeds of the burglary, and nicked the car that a stolen item had been found in. He didn’t stand a chance.

  Finch had just finished cautioning him when an usher Ryan did know came out of one of the courts and smiled at him in the way people did when they had decided you were a hopeless case but they quite liked you anyway.

  “Hello, Ryan. I didn’t expect to see you again this soon.”

  She had the sweetest voice he had ever heard. She was someone he knew. She was someone who had said his name many, many times, calling him into court. She was his guardian angel and his fairy godmother and Mother Christmas rolled into one.

  But better—much, much better than all of that—she was the Pink Panther.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was mid-morning now, and still no decisions had needed to be made; they’d brought him food, they allowed him exercise, and they put him back in his little room. When the hatch was opened and the key turned in his lock, it felt like an intrusion.

  “You’re free to go,” said the custody sergeant.

  Denis frowned. What did he mean? No one had interviewed him again. Lloyd had said they would be speaking to him again—advised him to get his solicitor. But that would have meant making a decision, so he hadn’t even thought about it. What d
id the man mean, he was free to go?

  “Unless you’d rather stay,” he said.

  Well, given that being free to go meant he was free to go home and face his wife and Carl Bignall, that he was free to appear before a disciplinary committee that would strike him off the medical register and end his career, that he was free to watch his life crumble into tiny, irretrievable pieces, yes. He would rather stay.

  “Come into the office,” said Hutchinson, when the less than happy Tom arrived on his doorstep. “I can explain.”

  The Pink Panther had corroborated every word Ryan had told them. He had indeed been stuck in the traffic jam for almost ten minutes. In Hutchinson’s car. Rarely had one of his boss’s theories met with such a spectacular end, and Tom had driven to Malworth, his mood growing blacker by the minute. He’d known that Hutchinson was iffy; he’d known he was worried about something. And he’d swallowed all that stuff about his looking like a heavy for a loan company, and that was why Hutchinson didn’t want him checking up on him.

  Hutchinson closed the door. “Look,” he said, “you’re a man of the world, I’m sure. It’s like this. As a rule, my calls take next to no time. No one wants to chat to a debt collector. Either they’ve got the money or they haven’t. If they’ve got it, they open the door and give it to me. If they haven’t, they don’t open the door.”

  “So?”

  “So, the lady in London Road was the exception to the rule. She didn’t have the money, but she did open her door. And we got to talking. She suggested we could come to an arrangement, if you know what I mean?”

  Tom imagined he knew what he meant.

  “So every week I put down in my log that I’ve stayed a couple of minutes here and three minutes there, and by the time I get to her, my log says it’s half eight, but it isn’t. It’s only eight o’clock. That way, I can … you know … spend some time with her without my boss or my wife finding out, and I tide her over the weeks she’s short, until she can pay me back. That keeps people who look a bit like you off her back, and everyone’s happy.”

  “Except me,” said Tom. “I’m not happy, Mr. Hutchinson. A man very nearly got charged with manslaughter because of you.”

  Hutchinson blinked. “How can being a little … off … with the time a car was nicked mean that someone gets charged with manslaughter? I can’t believe that.”

  “Believe it.”

  “All right, all right,” said Hutchinson. “I’m very sorry.” He looked apprehensive. “Is it against the law to say your car was stolen at half eight when it could have been any time between eight and half past?”

  “Yes. It’s known as wasting police time. Unless of course it was part of a conspiracy to pervert the course of justice.”

  Hutchinson backed off. “Now, look—the only conspiracy here was between me and the lady in London Road. And—well, you wouldn’t do me for wasting police time, would you? I didn’t mean to waste your time. Only—you know. If you do, the wife …”

  Oh, what the hell. It was Christmas. Goodwill to all men and all that.

  Tom drove back to Stansfield wondering where you went from here. If every single one of your suspects turned out to have been doing something else altogether, what were you supposed to do? Start again, he supposed. So much for Christmas Day. His wife would go spare.

  Judy Hill was in the incident room when he got back. She’d come to invite him and Lloyd to Christmas lunch, apparently. Well, that was better than a slap in the face with a wet haddock, but Tom didn’t really feel like celebrating.

  “I’ve just been hearing about the Pink Panther,” she said with a smile.

  “I really thought he had it figured out,” said Tom. “It made sense.”

  Judy nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I don’t think I could have picked that many holes in it myself.”

  Tom grunted. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he said.

  “No. But growing your hair might. Do you know you’ve been in a bad mood since you had it cut? I’ll bet you and your wife keep having rows.”

  He stared at her. “We do,” he said, sitting down at his desk.

  “Well, there you are. Grow it back, Tom. It really, really doesn’t suit you.”

  Lloyd came in then; predictably, everyone started up with the da-dum, da-dum Pink Panther theme.

  “All right, all right,” Lloyd said. “It’s bad enough having to face the music without knowing exactly what music you have to face. It’s not my fault if even people who get their cars stolen lie to us, is it?” He noticed Judy then, and smiled, coming over to her. “What brings you here? Come to laugh at me?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And to invite you and Tom to lunch at this really good restaurant in Chandler Square,” she said, and looked apologetic. “I did think that this might all be wrapped up,” she said. “It was to be a celebration.”

  “Well, at least it’s something to look forward to,” said Lloyd. “There isn’t much of that round here at the moment.”

  Lloyd’s notes on the security light were still sitting on Tom’s desk, and Judy glanced down at them, frowning. Then she picked up his pen and started making little ticks against the times Lloyd had written down. She looked up. “You do know what the Pink Panther business means,” she said. “Don’t you?”

  Tom looked at Lloyd, and could see that whatever it meant, Lloyd knew no more about it than he did. But he nodded, smiling broadly. “She’s looking like a gun dog, Tom,” he said. “We might get to enjoy our lunch after all.”

  “It means that Ryan and Leeward were both telling the truth,” she said.

  Lloyd smiled. “Well, I expect that qualifies them for the Guinness Book of World Records,” he said, “but—”

  Tom looked up at him when he stopped speaking. He seemed transfixed by something. “Are you all right, guv?” he asked.

  “Yes,” he said distantly. “Of course. Of course—it’s a logic problem, isn’t it? Leeward and Ryan are both telling the truth. Leeward saw Ryan trying to break into his car, and Ryan saw Leeward driving away. And Ryan was in the traffic jam, therefore …” He looked at Judy.

  “Therefore neither he nor Leeward could possibly have been in Eliot Way at quarter past eight,” said Judy. “Ryan must have been in London Road by—what—just after quarter past eight? It would take him two or three minutes to get into the center of Malworth plus ten minutes or so in the traffic jam.…”

  “And he said he was there about ten minutes after he tried to break into the Saab,” said Lloyd.

  “Which means he was in Eliot Way at around five past,” said Judy. “And if you look at your notes about the security light …”

  Lloyd nodded slowly. “The light that was on when Dexter ran into the garage wasn’t triggered by anyone getting in to the Bignalls’ garden through his,” he said, “it was triggered when Leeward left.”

  “At seven minutes past eight,” said Judy.

  Lloyd nodded. “So Ryan found a sack full of the proceeds of a burglary that had yet to be committed, and Leeward found the window broken, the house burgled, and Estelle Bignall dead eight minutes before anyone ever heard the window breaking.”

  Tom nodded, but he was puzzled. “Then who broke it?” he said.

  “Carl Bignall,” said Judy. “And, if I don’t miss my guess, he broke it at teatime.”

  “Why teatime, particularly?” asked Lloyd.

  “Tom knows. He reported to LINKS that kids from London Road were making a nuisance of themselves.”

  Tom knew, but its significance had entirely escaped him. Watson had said that at about teatime he’d heard kids breaking bottles or something; Tom had thought he’d said it to put them off Dexter’s scent, but he had simply been telling the truth.

  “Bignall probably broke the window while Estelle was in the shower,” said Judy. “That way she wouldn’t hear it. He did try to muffle the sound with the curtain, Lloyd. Close the door, close the curtains—no one would notice the broken pane from outside, not in the dark,
and Estelle was never going to see the broken glass, because he was going to kill her before she ever came downstairs.”

  “So what did everyone hear at quarter past eight?” Tom asked.

  “Sound effects,” said Lloyd, and looked at Judy, shaking his head. “The very first time I met the man he was handing you a tape of sound effects.” His eyes widened. “The portable stereo,” he said. “The hissing noise. Watson told the truth about that, too. What he heard was the blank tape running with the sound up full.”

  “That’s why he thought it might be his greenhouse,” said Tom. “I didn’t believe him about that, because I didn’t see how a little window like that could make that much noise. But it could make as much noise as Carl Bignall wanted it to.” And that tape must still be on the portable stereo that was even now on its way back from the lab. “We’ve got him, guv.”

  “I’d sooner have more than just that to offer the CPS,” Lloyd said. “Do we have anything more tangible to go on?”

  “There’s the bricks,” Tom said.

  “The bricks?”

  “Watson says people don’t park on the service road. But Bignall had to, because he had to leave by the back door with his sack full of goodies so he could dump it in the wood, and he wouldn’t dare do that without the excuse of going to his car, because people would have wondered what he was doing. Trouble was, his car itself would have been remarked on if he had just parked there for no reason. But he did have a reason, didn’t he? He had to park there because he couldn’t get into his driveway for the bricks.”

  Judy smiled. “You said December was a bit late for someone who wanted a wall in the summer.”

  Lloyd nodded. “So I did. Get on to it, Tom.”

  Tom rang round local builders until he found the one that had supplied the bricks, and everyone fell quiet while he spoke.

  “Do you have the driver’s instructions?” he asked.