The Scent of Death--A Sukey Reyholds British police procedural

by Betty Rowlands

  ‘Thanks, we’ll go and have a look,’ said Sukey.

  When they knocked on Bowen’s door he called, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘DS Armstrong and DC Reynolds,’ said Vicky. ‘May we come in, please? We need to speak to you.’

  ‘Just a moment.’ There was a rattle of a chain and the door opened a fraction. Bowen peered through the crack and after a moment released the chain and opened the door. He closed it behind them, replaced the chain, and then, after a moment’s thought, undid it and picked up the breakfast tray from which most of the food had been eaten. ‘I wonder – would you mind?’ he said nervously.

  ‘No problem.’ Sukey put the tray outside the door and closed it.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Bowen,’ said Vicky. ‘We’ve been checking on your replies to our previous questions and it’s perfectly obvious that you’ve been holding out on us. We warned you that any witnesses to the attack on Lance Rainbird might themselves be in danger, but you declined to say anything further. Now there’s been another death – and it’s obvious you’re scared stiff, so we think it’s time you came clean. What exactly did you see?’

  ‘I saw two men, one of whom I’m pretty sure was Lance Rainbird although as I said it was quite dark.’

  ‘What about the other man?’

  ‘He was in even deeper shadow and I could only see his outline. I really have no idea who it was.’

  ‘Was he short or tall? Fat or thin?’ asked Sukey.

  ‘Pretty tall, probably several inches taller than Rainbird, and quite well built. That really is all I can tell you. Look, it could be one of several people and I don’t want to throw suspicion on an innocent person.’

  ‘Well, as you say there are several people who might fit that description,’ said Vicky. ‘Just the same, what you have told us could be very useful. I suggest you go and join your group now. As long as you don’t go wandering off by yourself you have nothing to fear. Enjoy the music.’

  ‘All right, perhaps I will … if you’re sure.’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  As the two detectives opened the door to leave a waiter was just collecting the empty tray. He hurried along the corridor ahead of them and they exchanged glances. ‘He fits that description!’ said Vicky. ‘I’ll get his name.’ She ran after him and after a brief word returned to Sukey. ‘Mal Carter. We’ll do another check on him.’

  ‘I’ve just thought of another person who fits Bowen’s description,’ said Sukey.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘John Grayson, aka Romeo.’

  ELEVEN

  ‘We’d better bring DI Rathbone up to date,’ said Vicky. ‘No prizes for guessing where we’ll find him.’

  ‘In the lounge or the bar having coffee?’

  ‘Right.’

  They were mistaken in the location only. Rathbone, coffee mug in hand, was pacing to and fro a short distance from the place where Law’s body was found. ‘Well?’ he said as they approached.

  ‘Bowen admitted that he had been holding out on us, Guv,’ said Vicky. ‘He saw someone he thinks was probably Rainbird talking to another man who approached him out of the shadows. He said he wasn’t sure of the identity of either man and insisted he didn’t want to incriminate an innocent person. And he’s scared witless because he thinks there’s a serial killer about. We think we managed to reassure him on that point.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘We asked for a description, Guv,’ said Sukey, ‘but all he would say was that the second man was several inches taller than Rainbird and quite well built.’

  Rathbone swallowed the last of his coffee and with the empty mug indicated the area round the seat. ‘Looks like Law put up a struggle from the way the turf has been kicked about.’

  ‘We’ve noted that, Guv,’ said Vicky. ‘It’ll be in our reports.’

  ‘So get on with them then. Not much to go on from what Bowen told you but make a list of everyone – guests and staff – who fits the description he gave.’

  ‘Will do, Guv.’

  ‘There is one other thing that’s occurred to us, Guv,’ said Sukey. ‘There’s another person who fits Bowen’s description, and that’s the man whose real name we now know is actually John Grayson.’

  ‘You mean the singer who calls himself Romeo?’ Rathbone raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Yes, Guv.’

  ‘You said you wanted to question him about the time he arrived on Friday and found he’d scarpered before you got to the place where he’d parked his van. What possible motive could he have had for attacking Rainbird?’

  ‘We’ve absolutely no idea,’ said Vicky, ‘but taken together with the fact that he was in such a hurry to get away it would have been interesting to hear what he had to say. Unfortunately, of course, we’ll never know. Maybe the PM on Rainbird will give us at least some of the answers.’

  ‘It’ll show the cause of death, but not necessarily whether it was murder or an accident,’ Rathbone pointed out, ‘and we won’t know until Doc Hanley has been able to do the PM on Grayson whether the disconnected brake pipe caused the accident and if so how it came to be disconnected, or whether he died at the wheel of natural causes, or …’ He broke off to take a call on his phone. He listened for a moment then said, ‘That’s great, keep me posted,’ and switched off. ‘That was to say the accident investigators have finished checking the underside of the van and the next stage is to get Grayson’s body to the morgue. As soon as he’s been cleaned up his brother can go and see him. He called me earlier to say he’s already booked in at a local B & B and he’ll be staying there for as long as it takes. He’s told his father he’s been called away on business and may have to be away for a day or two. He’s arranged for a widowed aunt to stay with the old man until he gets back. As soon as we get the all clear from the morgue we’re to let him know. Sukey, you’d better update him. Here’s the number of the B & B.’

  ‘I’ll do that right away, sir.’

  ‘Any theories about the brake pipe?’ asked Vicky.

  Rathbone shook his head moodily. ‘They can’t say. It’s an old van, not been properly maintained … it could have come away any time. There’s nothing to say whether it was deliberate or not, so we’re none the wiser.’

  ‘We’ll get on with our reports, then,’ said Vicky.

  ‘And make a list of everyone you can think of who even remotely fits Bowen’s description. I’m going to have an early lunch. Morgan Ashman is coming down by the afternoon train and I have to send a car to pick him up at the station. I want you both to be present when I talk to him.’

  ‘I guess we might as well have an early lunch ourselves,’ said Vicky, ‘and then liaise with Tim and Mike about questioning the staff. Maybe we could pick up a sandwich in the bar and eat it out here – or wherever he’s not going,’ she added under her breath.

  ‘I’d better speak to Luke Grayson first and tell him about his brother,’ said Sukey. She called the number Rathbone had given her. ‘Good morning. I believe you have a Mr Grayson staying with you? Could I have a word with him please? Thank you.’ There was a short pause before she continued, ‘Mr Grayson, I’m pleased to be able to tell you that your brother’s body is on its way to the morgue. It’ll be a little while before you can see him but I’ll keep you posted … I can’t be certain but it shouldn’t be too long, so I suggest you have some lunch and … oh, that’s very kind of you, thank you very much.’ She ended the call and put her phone back in her pocket. ‘Sorry, Sarge, you’re on your own for lunch. Mr Grayson has invited me to meet him for lunch at a restaurant in Clevedon.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ said Vicky.

  The restaurant was perched on a hill a short distance from Clevedon and had sweeping views across the Bristol Channel towards the coast of Wales. The day was clear and a number of yachts and dinghies were out on the water taking advantage of the brisk breeze. Grayson was waiting for Sukey in the lounge and escorted her to a table by the window. ‘My landlady recommended this place so I rang straight away
and booked a table,’ he said. ‘I hope the food lives up to the view,’ he went on, handing her a menu. ‘What would you like to drink? A glass of wine?’

  ‘Just an orange juice please,’ said Sukey. ‘This is an unexpected treat. The bar snacks in the hotel aren’t anything to write home about, although the guests say the food they’re getting in the restaurant is first class.’

  ‘You’re doing me a favour,’ he assured her. ‘Mrs Bird who runs the guest house is very sympathetic; normally she doesn’t encourage guests to sit around after breakfast, but when I explained the situation she let me sit in the lounge and read the papers. She brought me coffee and stayed for a chat, but she’s no great conversationalist.’

  ‘And you think I might be an improvement?’

  ‘I’m hoping you can shed a little light on my brother’s death,’ he said earnestly. ‘Oh, I know that until I’ve done this formal identification you’re talking about you can’t say for certain that the man in the van is my brother, but—’

  ‘Look, I saw the victim and I can assure you that it is the man we know as Romeo. What we don’t yet know is what caused the accident and whether the accident was the cause of death.’

  ‘You’re suggesting he might have died at the wheel of a heart attack or something? Out of the question,’ he assured her. ‘John never had a day’s illness in his life apart from the odd childhood complaint. He was as strong as an ox.’

  Sukey nodded. ‘Yes, we do have that impression. Just the same, there will have to be a post-mortem.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Grayson stood up. ‘I’ll get our drinks. Have you chosen what you’d like to eat?’

  ‘I’d like the mixed grill, please.’

  Towards the end of their meal Sukey’s phone rang. She moved a short distance away to take the call; when she returned she said, ‘That was a call from the morgue. We can go now. Perhaps you’d like to follow me. After you’ve made the ID we’d like you to come back to HQ and answer a few questions.’

  ‘Of course.’ Grayson signalled to the waiter and paid the bill.

  At they entered the morgue Sukey shivered slightly and felt the usual contraction in her stomach at the familiar, instantly recognizable smell of death that hung in the atmosphere. She watched Grayson as he approached the corpse and stood by as the attendant lifted the sheet. They had, she thought, done an excellent job in laying the head to one side so that only part of the injury was visible. She saw the muscles round Grayson’s mouth tighten as he stared down for well over a minute before nodding and saying, ‘Yes, that’s my brother, John Grayson, God rest his soul,’ in a barely audible whisper.

  Seeing that he was on the verge of breaking down altogether, Sukey took him by the arm and led him outside. ‘Come and sit down,’ she said, half propelling him to a chair. He sank into it, covered his face with his hands and wept quietly for a few minutes.

  When he was calmer he wiped his eyes, blew his nose and said, ‘I’m sorry … I … it’s so dreadful, seeing him like that … losing him will leave a huge gap in our lives. I dread breaking it to Dad.’

  ‘I can’t tell you how sorry we all are,’ said Sukey. ‘He was very popular with the guests. My colleagues and I heard him sing and thought he gave a great performance. Look,’ she went on as he remained silent, ‘why don’t we go back to reception. There’s a snack bar there – I could get you a cup of tea or coffee.’

  Grayson shook his head. ‘No thank you. You said there are a few questions you’d like to ask me so perhaps we could do that right away. I’d like to get back home as soon as possible; I’ll talk to Mark and then I’ll go and see Dad. If only John had listened to us, or at least let us buy him a decent van, this would never have happened – but he’d have none of it. We even offered to pay to have his old banger thoroughly checked over to be sure it was roadworthy, but he insisted he had a mate who did it for him.’

  When they arrived back at headquarters, Sukey showed Grayson into an interview room and called DI Rathbone. He joined them almost immediately. ‘I won’t keep you more than a few minutes, sir,’ he said. ‘There’s just one point you might be able to help us over.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Apart from the call your brother made referring to someone – whom we now think was probably Lance Rainbird – having “bitten off more than he can chew”, has he at any other time made any particular comment about any of the other attendees at any of Justin Freeman’s courses that he’s been to?’

  ‘Not that I remember,’ said Grayson. ‘What kind of comment do you have in mind?’

  ‘Nothing in particular. Just take your time, sir.’

  Grayson thought for a moment. ‘Ah, I do remember something; he once mentioned “a couple of know-it-alls who always seem to have it in for each other” – or words to that effect.’

  ‘Can you remember when that was?’

  ‘Not offhand, I’m afraid. Dad might remember. He’s always kept a note of John’s calls and the dates and anything else he told us.’

  ‘Would you mind asking him, sir?’

  ‘Of course I will, but I may have to leave it for a day or two. He’s going to be very distressed, but naturally he’ll be anxious to find out the truth.’

  ‘As we all are, sir. Thank you for your cooperation, and may I once again express our sincere sympathy. Have a safe journey home.’

  ‘Thank you. You will let us know as soon as you have more information, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course we will.’

  As soon as he had left, Rathbone said, ‘Right, back to my office.’ Vicky was already there, sitting beside a slight, bespectacled man dressed in a grey lounge suit. ‘Mr Ashman, please accept my apologies for keeping you. This is Detective Constable Reynolds, another member of the team investigating the death of your colleague Mr Lance Rainbird.’

  Ashman half rose from his seat and gravely shook hands with Sukey. ‘As I was saying, Inspector, Lance’s death has come as a great shock to me. He asked my advice when he acquired ownership of a property left jointly to him and his brother Julius by a distant relative. The property was pretty run down and Julius wanted to sell it for whatever it would fetch but Lance insisted that it could be renovated and would then fetch a much better price. They wrangled about it for months – they’d never been on very good terms anyway – but eventually Julius was offered a job in Australia so he just let Lance have it. He needed financial advice and he trusted my judgement so I arranged a bank loan for him and he had the building – quite a large Victorian house – converted into flats.’

  ‘Do I understand that you’re here as a friend rather than a professional adviser?’ said Rathbone.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘We can understand your concern, of course, sir, but why do you feel it necessary to see the actual place where your friend met his death?’

  ‘It’s because of something he said a couple of days before he came to Dallington Manor.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘As far as I remember, his actual words were, “I’ve found out that chap’s a jumped-up phoney … I’ve a good mind to have it out with him”.’

  ‘Did he say who he was talking about?’

  Ashman shook his head. ‘No, that’s the odd part. I’ve got a feeling he might find out he was barking up the wrong tree and didn’t want to put himself in a situation where he had to admit he’d made a mistake. He was like that.’

  ‘From our enquiries we’ve gained the impression that he was a … how shall I put it … a very private individual,’ said Rathbone. ‘One person suggested he might have what he described as “some form of autism”. You have obviously had quite a close relationship with him, so …’

  ‘I’m not sure I’d have used that particular expression, but as you say he didn’t seem to have any close friends. He once said I was the only person he could talk to since his parents died.’

  ‘Have you any idea what he meant by “jumped-up phoney”?’ asked Sukey.

  ‘I ask
ed him the same question, but that was the point when he clammed up.’

  Rathbone frowned. ‘And that’s the only reason you’re here?’

  ‘I’d like to have a word with the chap who organizes these events to see if he can help. I’m sure you’ve questioned everyone very thoroughly, Inspector, but I just thought that if I came down and met some of the other participants something might occur to me … something that perhaps Lance let drop … that could help you find out who killed him.’

  ‘But surely, Mr Ashman, you’ve seen the latest official statement issued by the police in which we made it clear that we’ve not yet established exactly how your friend met his death. What makes you so sure he was murdered?’

  ‘You might say it’s what is popularly known as a “gut feeling”,’ said Ashman after a momentary hesitation.

  ‘With respect, sir, we need something more substantial than that as a proof of murder. We hope the post-mortem may throw some light on the matter.’

  ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘We have asked for his case to be given priority, so with luck it shouldn’t be more than a few days. Unfortunately there was a delay because the weekend intervened.’

  ‘I see. Yes, that would delay matters.’

  ‘So what exactly are you asking of us?’

  ‘I’m not actually asking anything of you, Inspector. I’m simply letting you know, out of courtesy, that I have arranged to stay at Dallington Manor until tomorrow.’

  ‘I see.’ Rathbone stood up. ‘Well, of course I have no power to prevent you, but I should make it clear that everyone – guests and staff – have been thoroughly questioned and I think it unlikely that Mr Freeman, the organizer of the course, or Mr Chapman, the hotel manager, will welcome what they may see as any further interference with their enjoyment – such as it is – of the event.’

  ‘I assure you, Inspector, I shall be very diplomatic.’

  ‘I hope so, sir,’ said Rathbone.