by Frank Smith
Molly frowned. ‘Why do you say you were worried about her ears? Would that mean there was something wrong with them?’
‘Oh, no, at least not physically, but judges don’t like prick-eared Shelties, and both of these dogs have potential in the ring.’
Mrs Johnson’s voice was soft as she went on. ‘I’ve always loved dogs,’ she explained, ‘so I take them in for friends while they’re away. I make sure they all eat the same things they eat at home, and Peggy grooms them on the weekends while she’s here; puts that old tracksuit of hers on and gets right down on the floor with them; checks their teeth and cuts their nails if they need it, and plays with them. She calls it her unwinding time. Gypsy and Sam are mine, of course, but the others are used to coming here, and they have the run of the house like they do at home, so it’s better than going into kennels.’ She leaned down to rub the cairn behind the ears. ‘Isn’t it, Misty, love,’ she said as if talking to a child.
The living quarters behind the shop were surprisingly spacious, although the living room itself was cluttered with boxes stacked on boxes, most of which were unopened. ‘New stock,’ Mrs Johnson explained. ‘Peggy usually takes care of it when she comes over, but she’s not here today. Come on through.’ She continued on down a short hall to a bright, sunlit kitchen. A large window looked out on a very long and narrow garden, bordered on both sides by a brick wall that must have been at least seven feet high.
‘Fortunately, the garden faces south and gets the sun, what little we’ve seen of it lately,’ Mrs Johnson continued, ‘and it’s a good thing, too, otherwise those walls would make it hard to grow anything back there, and I like my garden. Not that I can do much in it now I’m stuck in this thing –’ she banged the arm of the wheelchair – ‘but I can still get out there and tell Arthur what to do. Arthur’s my husband, and he doesn’t mind. At least I can tend to the pots, so I’m not completely useless.’
‘I’d say you do extremely well, what with the shop and everything,’ Molly said. ‘But tell me, is that what I think it is at the end of the garden?’
Mrs Johnson laughed. ‘You mean the van? Once seen never forgotten,’ she chuckled. ‘Yes, that’s Arthur’s van all right. That yellow is hard to miss, isn’t it? I thought he was crazy when he said he was going to have it painted egg-yolk yellow, but he was right. It makes people look, and they remember the name ‘Garage on Wheels’. In fact it’s gone over so well he can’t keep up. He’d like to put a second van on the road, but he can’t find a mechanic he can trust to take it on.’
Mrs Johnson swung her chair around. ‘Pop the kettle on,’ she said to Molly. ‘It’s over there by the stove. The water’s in; just plug it in. There’s McVities HobNobs on the counter, or there’s Bourbon Creams and Cadbury’s Chocolate Fingers. The plates and mugs are in that cupboard, and the milk is in the fridge. Take what you like, but I’ll have the fingers; I love my chocolate. Then sit yourself down; the kettle won’t take long to boil.’
Molly couldn’t escape the feeling that she should have left the shop when she had the chance, because she thought she knew what was coming. But she could hardly walk out now, so she took her seat at the table, and hoped the kettle would boil quickly.
Her instincts were right, because no sooner had she sat down than Mrs Johnson started in with: ‘I couldn’t believe it when Michelle from Susan’s shop came round with Brandy the other evening, and told us that Susan had been arrested for killing Simon. I don’t know Susan all that well, in fact the first time I met her was when she bought Brandy from me, but she seemed very nice. It’s hard to believe that someone you think you know could do a thing like that, isn’t it? But Michelle said she reckons the two of them have been having it off on the quiet for a long time, even before her sister was killed, and that did surprise me, I can tell you. Don’t think it surprised our Peg, though, when I told her, not after what she said when she came back from Mrs Holbrook’s funeral last week.’
‘Oh? What was that, then?’ asked Molly. She felt guilty about asking the question of this nice grey-haired lady who had asked her to share a cup of tea, but on the other hand they did have a murder to solve.
‘Oh, I knew something was wrong the minute Peg walked in that Friday,’ Mrs Johnson said sadly. ‘Peg looked like death herself, she was that pale, and she kept saying, “I couldn’t believe it, Mum. You should have seen her. Susan. There she was, bold as brass, hanging on to his arm as if she owned him. Right there beside the grave, and Laura barely cold!”’
The Golden Lab sidled up to Mrs Johnson and laid his head in her lap. ‘Soft old thing,’ she said as she fondled his ears.
She looked off into the distance as if reliving the scene in her mind. ‘Like I said, I was surprised to hear it was Susan Simon had taken up with, but I wasn’t surprised about him. Not a bit! I’ve been telling Peg for years she was wasting her time working all hours and looking after him the way she did, because he was never going to change. But would she listen? Oh, no. What does her old mum know about things like that, eh? And now he’s gone, so it doesn’t much matter any more, does it?’
The kettle was boiling. Molly rose to make the tea. In her mind’s eye, she saw Peggy sitting there in Simon Holbrook’s house, white-faced and visibly shaken as she answered Paget’s questions in a monotone. ‘So, how is she taking it?’ she asked quietly.
‘A lot harder than she’s letting on,’ Mrs Johnson said forcefully. ‘But then our Peg’s always been like that. Keeps her feelings to herself. I wish she would let go; have a good cry and get it out of her system instead of holding it in. But, no, all business she was when she rang me. Said there would be a lot to do now that Simon was gone, and she would have to look after things until everything was sorted out. That’s why she isn’t here today.’
She shook her head in a bewildered fashion. ‘I can’t make heads or tails of it,’ she said, ‘because if what Michelle said is true, and the two of them were, well, you know, why would Susan want to kill Simon?’ She shot a glance at Molly. ‘Are you quite sure she did it?’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Johnson, but I really can’t discuss the case. It’s . . .’
Mrs Johnson plucked a biscuit from the packet and dipped it in her tea. ‘Took to him right from the start,’ she continued as if Molly hadn’t spoken. ‘From the time she first went to work for him at Drexler-Davies. Talked about him all the time, she did, but I warned her. I told her it’s never a good idea to take up with your boss. Leads to trouble every time, I told her. Not that it did any good. Peg’s not the sort to listen if she’s got her mind set on something, and she certainly had her mind set on him.
‘Funny, though,’ she continued, eyes focused on a distant memory that only she could see, ‘I would never have known how far it had gone if it hadn’t been for young Valerie telling me about having to move out so he could come to the flat whenever he felt like it.’
Molly hesitated. On a personal level, she felt guilty about allowing Peggy’s mother to run on about her daughter, who was one of a number of possible suspects in a murder investigation, but as a detective, she couldn’t afford not to take advantage of the opportunity to gather valuable information. ‘Valerie . . .?’ she said hesitantly as if the name were vaguely familiar to her. ‘What was her last name? Did she work for Drexler-Davies as well?’
‘Oh, no, dear. She worked in one of the big hotels in Birmingham, but she and Peg had been best friends ever since school. That’s why they went in together in the flat. Wade, that was her name. Mind you she’s probably married by now and has half-a-dozen kids. Nice girl, she was, and I felt ever so sorry when she told me she was leaving. Said she felt as if she was in the way, so she thought it would be best if she moved out. Pity, because they never got back together again after that, and I always liked her.’
Molly said, ‘It sounds as if Valerie was your friend as well as Peggy’s. Have you seen her recently?’
‘No. The girls used to come down here together, but Val never did come on her own after she
moved out.’ Mrs Johnson sighed and clucked her tongue. ‘I didn’t like the idea of them carrying on like that, but then I thought maybe he’d do the right thing by her and there’d be wedding bells one day and everything would be all right, but it wasn’t to be. I don’t know what happened, but nothing came of it, and yet they seemed to get on so well together at work.’
Mrs Johnson shook her head sadly. ‘After all the years she’s worked for that man, and the things she’s done for him – she even put all her savings into the business to help him get started – and yet somehow it never went anywhere. She knew what he was like; she knew he was seeing other women, but she’d never say a word against him, not even when he went off and married Laura. “It won’t last, Mum,” she says. “You’ll see. He only married her for the sake of the firm. He’ll come back to me. He always does.”’
Mrs Johnson lowered her voice as if afraid of being overheard. ‘I know it’s an awful thing to say, but to tell you the truth I think Peg was pleased when Laura was – well, when she died. She even said it was like the old days around the office again, when it was just him and her planning and talking for hours about what they should do next to make a go of the firm. I really think she thought she was in with a chance at last, so it came as quite a shock to see Susan hanging on his arm at the funeral, and then to have Michelle tell us he’d been seeing her all along.’
Molly had intended to go straight home and get started on preparing her meals for the week, but as Mrs Johnson continued to talk, she couldn’t help wondering about the two dogs, Brandy and Gypsy. Was it possible that Forensic had made a mistake, and the hair they’d tested had actually come from Gypsy?
Probably not, she told herself as she left the shop. If anything, DNA was even more reliable than fingerprints, and all the evidence still pointed to Susan as Simon Holbrook’s killer. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to run it past Sergeant Ormside, if he happened to be in the office, and Charter Lane was only a short distance away.
But Ormside, too, had decided to take some well-deserved time off, and the incident room was deserted. According to the log, two detective constables were out taking statements from Holbrook’s neighbours in Pembroke Street; the Scenes of Crime team were in the last stages of their examination of the house and immediate surroundings, and Susan Chase was in hospital and wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.
If Sergeant Ormside had been there, she would have stayed to write up her notes and talk to him about what she had just learned. But she could write up her notes just as well at home; in fact, she was beginning to wonder why she had come in at all when the sun was shining outside and she had the weekend off. Was it because this was where her life was centred now? Whatever she’d wanted to talk over with Ormside could certainly have waited until Monday, so why had she come?
Molly got back in her car and sat there, fingers drumming on the steering wheel as she thought about that. She had no social life. That had come to a full stop when Craig had walked out three years ago, unable to understand why she would not give up her career while he continued on with his. Not that she hadn’t had offers since then, some of them from quite nice blokes, but they were usually coppers, and she didn’t want to go through that experience again.
She would have to think about that, she told herself as she started the car and headed for home. The sun was still shining, and the air was warmer than it had been for a long time, but somehow the prospect of spending the rest of the day on her own had lost its appeal.
Twenty-Seven
Monday, March 23
Ormside and Molly were talking earnestly when Paget walked in, and one glance at the whiteboards told him that something had been added since he’d last looked at them. ‘Looks as if someone has been busy,’ he remarked as he read the notes. ‘What’s all this about dogs and Peggy Goodwin?’
‘Dogs and Peggy Goodwin?’ Tregalles echoed the chief inspector’s words as he came through the door carrying a mug of steaming coffee. ‘Sounds interesting.’
‘I think Forsythe had best tell you herself,’ the sergeant said. ‘Go ahead, Molly.’
With only the occasional glance at the notes she had written up on Saturday, Molly related the conversation she’d had with Mrs Johnson almost verbatim, ending with: ‘So I stopped in at the animal clinic on Chapel Road on my way home, and I spoke to a veterinarian there who said he couldn’t be absolutely certain, but he felt that it would be possible for two dogs from the same litter to have the same DNA. They would have to be identical twins, which he says is rare, but, as with humans, it does happen occasionally.
‘Which made me wonder if it was possible that we have the wrong dog,’ she concluded. ‘It would also explain the presence of the other dog hairs found at the scene of the burglaries, and if Peggy was in love with Holbrook, as her mother said, isn’t it possible that he played on that to get her to help him rid himself of Laura, while secretly carrying on with Susan? In fact, perhaps he and Susan planned this together? She had every reason to hate her sister. But when Peggy realized how she’d been used, she turned on Simon and killed him at a time when she knew Susan would be blamed.’
‘What about the burglaries leading up to the killing of Laura?’ Tregalles asked. ‘Who did those? Somehow I can’t see Simon vandalizing houses.’
‘I can see Peggy doing it though,’ Molly said, ‘and I think I know how she might have chosen the houses for each burglary.’
Suddenly, she had the full attention of all three men, and she almost wished she hadn’t spoken. Two sergeants and a DCI all waiting for her to speak? ‘It . . . it’s only a theory,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I mean I could be completely wrong, but—’
‘Go on then, Molly,’ Ormside said quietly. ‘Theory or not, let’s hear it.’
‘Well, I was thinking about it last night, and I remembered a conversation I overheard in Mrs Johnson’s shop. A woman was buying a card to take to the christening of her granddaughter, and she mentioned that she and her husband were going up to Chester next weekend. Later, I remembered that Peggy usually works in the shop on Saturdays, so she must hear similar stories from people who are buying cards or chocolates to take as gifts when they are going away. All she would have to do is encourage them to talk and she would know when the house would be empty. We could ask the people whose houses were broken into if they were in the gift shop on a Saturday before they left, and if they talked about where they were going. If it was Peggy who was doing the burglaries, it would explain the different types of dog hair in the houses, because her mother told me that Peggy helps with the grooming of the dogs when she comes round on Saturdays. We would have to check which dogs were in her mother’s care and when, of course, but that shouldn’t be too hard.’
The three men exchanged glances. It was Ormside who broke the silence. ‘It would explain how the houses were selected,’ he said. ‘But do you really think Goodwin’s got the sort of nerve it would take to break into someone’s house and do all that damage?’
‘I really don’t know,’ said Molly, ‘although I think she is a very determined woman. But I have to admit, all the rest of the evidence does point to Susan Chase, who could be just as determined.’
‘So it’s a case of take your pick,’ Tregalles said.
‘It is,’ said Paget, ‘so the sooner we start sorting it out the better. I think Forsythe’s theory is worth following up,’ he told Ormside, ‘so I want someone to start digging into Goodwin’s background. Build a profile on her; find out who her friends are, and what they have to say about her. And if this Valerie Wade is still around, let’s see what she has to say about her old school friend. However, we can’t ignore the fact that all the evidence still points to Susan Chase when it comes to the killing of Simon. Have they found anything in the flat or shop?’
Ormside shifted uncomfortably as he said, ‘Yes, well, I was coming to that, sir. We didn’t get the warrant till late in the day on Friday, and what with one thing and another, they didn’t get started until this morning.
But they are there now,’ he hastened to add.
Paget eyed Ormside narrowly. ‘What, exactly, do you mean by “one thing and another”, Len?’
‘Seems that Mr Brock phoned Charlie Friday afternoon to say he didn’t see the need for people working the weekend at double time, when the work could be done just as well on Monday.’
‘And no one thought to let me know?’ Paget said.
Ormside said, ‘I didn’t know myself until this morning, and Charlie probably thought you knew already. Oh, yes, one more thing before I forget. The super’s back today and he wants to see you in his office to bring him up to date.’
‘Right,’ said Paget. ‘I’ll go up when we’ve finished here. Anything else?’
‘We’ll need a warrant to search Peggy Goodwin’s flat,’ Ormside said, ‘and one for her mother’s place as well. And we’ll need hair samples from the dogs.’
‘Except, apart from Mrs Johnson’s own dogs, Gypsy and Sam, the dogs she’s looking after now probably aren’t the ones she had there over the time period of the burglaries,’ Molly pointed out. ‘So we’ll need to get a list of every dog Mrs Johnson has taken in over the last few months.’
But Paget was shaking his head. ‘Too early for that,’ he said flatly. ‘We don’t have enough hard evidence to apply for a warrant. Let’s find out first if any of the burglary victims did visit the gift shop when Peggy was there, and if they mentioned going away. But I want it done discreetly, because some of these people may have known Peggy and her mother for a long time, and I don’t want word of our enquiries to get back to either of them. So let’s be careful about how we ask the question. And since this is your idea, Forsythe, I think you should be the one to follow it up – that is unless Sergeant Ormside has other plans for you.’