[DCI Neil Paget 01] - Fatal Flaw

by Frank Smith

  ‘Where were you when Penny came to tell you about the fire?’

  ‘Where the hell do you think I was?’ Lucas snapped. ‘I was here, in bed, with my wife. If you don’t believe me, you can ask her.’

  ‘And you didn’t leave the house at any time during the night?’

  Lucas jabbed a finger at Paget. ‘I don’t think I like your tone, Mr Paget,’ he said. ‘I’ll not have you come into my house and accuse me of...’

  ‘Of what, Mr Lucas?’ Paget broke in. He sat forward in his chair. ‘Someone killed Maurice Blake. Someone killed Victor Palmer. Both of them worked here, and I’m going to be asking everyone the same questions, so let’s not play games, Mr Lucas. Did you or did you not leave the house between, say, midnight and when Penny came to get you?’

  ‘No, I did not,’ said Lucas shortly.

  ‘Good. Now, perhaps you will tell me where you were last Friday night after you left the Coach and Horses?’

  Lucas’s eyes blazed. ‘I told you what I did,’ he snapped. ‘I’ll not be badgered by you or anyone else.’

  ‘I’m well aware of what you told me,’ Paget said, ‘and I’m also aware that it was a lie.’ Lucas looked thunderous, but Paget continued on. ‘Someone has been watching the entrances to the driveways leading to this house and the stables. We found tyre tracks up the bridle-path in the woods across the road. We also found cigarette butts and other evidence. Those tracks were made by tyres supplied with this year’s Mercedes, Mr Lucas, and there are not a lot of them about. I think the casts we took will match the tyres on your car, and I think that you are the one who has been watching the entrances.’

  Lucas pulled deeply on his cigarette. He sat there eyeing Paget, weighing up his options as he rocked gently back and forth in his swivel chair.

  ‘So I was watching,’ he said. ‘What does that prove?’

  ‘Nothing in itself,’ said Paget. ‘But it does make me wonder why you lied about where you were when Palmer was murdered.’

  Lucas shook his head impatiently. ‘It had nothing to do with him,’ he said. ‘In fact, it had nothing to do with any of this, and it’s none of your damned business.’

  ‘I’ll be the one to decide what is or is not my business,’ Paget told him sharply. ‘What were you doing there that night?’

  The silence between them lengthened. Finally, Lucas waved an impatient hand. ‘Watching for thieves,’ he said.

  Paget looked sceptical.

  ‘They come in after dark and take things,’ Lucas said. ‘Anything lying about that will fetch a few quid.’ He wasn’t looking at Paget now.

  ‘You reported these thefts to the police, of course?’

  Lucas shrugged. ‘What could they do?’ he countered. ‘They’re not interested in this petty pilfering. They’re not likely to send someone out to watch, are they?’

  ‘So you didn’t report the losses?’

  ‘It would have been a waste of time,’ said Lucas shortly. ‘The local man couldn’t find a bloody haystack, let alone a needle.’

  ‘What sort of things were stolen?’

  ‘I haven’t got a list,’ snapped Lucas irritably. ‘Tack, brushes, odds and ends. Small stuff but expensive when you add it up.’

  ‘Expensive enough for you to sit out there night after night in the hopes of catching someone?’

  ‘As I said, it adds up.’

  ‘Strange,’ said Paget.

  ‘What’s so strange about it?’ Lucas growled. ‘If you lot were on your toes we wouldn’t have to worry about things like that.’

  ‘I meant it strikes me as strange that you would only watch for so short a time,’ said Paget.

  ‘Eh? I don’t follow you.’

  ‘You left the Coach and Horses just after eight, so we can assume that you would be out here by eight thirty or quarter to nine at the latest. Yet you were home by eleven. It’s been my experience that most thieves wait until people have gone to bed.’

  Lucas glowered at him but said nothing. It was obvious the man was lying, but if he insisted on sticking to his story there were other ways to get at the truth.

  ‘Tell me, Mr Lucas, did you see anyone while you were watching? It could be very important.’

  The man didn’t answer immediately. Paget waited.

  Finally, Lucas spoke. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I did see someone, as it happens.’ He seemed preoccupied with tapping non-existent ash into the ashtray, and didn’t look at Paget. ‘Looking back, it might well have been your murderer. I didn’t think it possible at the time, which is why I didn’t mention it before, but now...’

  ‘You mean that if you’d mentioned it, you would have had to admit that you were there yourself,’ said Paget bluntly.

  Lucas shrugged. ‘Have it your way,’ he said as he crushed the cigarette. ‘But I did see a car arrive. It pulled up between the two driveways on that wide strip of grass verge. The driver got out and disappeared. So I went down the bridle-path to investigate. That’s when I heard someone running down the road. I could tell by the way she ran it was a woman, but I couldn’t see her properly. It was too dark, but I thought I might get a look at her when she got into the car. You know, the light comes on when you open the door. But she got into the car so fast I didn’t get a good look at her. She was in and had the car started all in a couple of seconds, and then she took off from there as if all the demons in hell were after her.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who she was?’

  ‘No. But the car was a light-coloured Peugeot.’ Lucas reached into an inside pocket and brought out a heavy notebook. ‘I wrote the number down when I got back to my car. Yes, here it is.’

  Andrea McMillan drove a Peugeot. Even before Lucas read it out, Paget knew the number would match the plate on Andrea’s car.

  23

  Paget’s face was bleak as he walked slowly through the stable yard and thought about what Lucas had told him. Regardless of what he thought of the man himself, Lucas couldn’t have made up the story about seeing Andrea’s car. He felt angry; angry with Andrea for lying to him, and angry with himself for believing her. He would have to bring her in; there was no getting around it. And yet...What if Blake had been the intended target all along? He was supposed to be making rounds that night when he switched with Palmer. And Blake was dead; killed by the same person, presumably.

  So what motive would Andrea have for killing Blake? None that he could think of. It was Palmer who had threatened her, not Blake. If he could only find the motive for Blake’s murder there might be a chance that Andrea was innocent. But she’d been there when Palmer was killed. At least...her car had been there, but that didn’t necessarily mean that she’d been there.

  But even he had to admit he was clutching at straws to believe that. Andrea had lied to him. There was no getting around it. And he had believed her because he had wanted to believe her.

  He reached the mobile unit and went inside. Ormside and Tregalles had their heads together, going over statements. Tregalles saw the scowl on Paget’s face.

  ‘Something wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘That man, Lucas, is beginning to get to me,’ Paget growled as he took the proffered mug of coffee from Ormside. ‘The man has lied from start to finish. And his wife skipped out of the back door with the boy while I was busy with him. Lucas explained that away by saying she had to take the boy to school.’

  ‘She does take James to school and bring him home,’ Tregalles pointed out, but Paget merely glowered over the rim of the mug, and the sergeant wisely refrained from saying more. Something had got up Paget’s nose, and it wasn’t just Lucas.

  Paget sipped his coffee. ‘He tried to give me some cock and bull story about sitting out there watching for whoever has been pilfering stuff from the stables, but I don’t believe a word of it.’ He sat down on the chair with a wheel missing, and almost toppled over, sloshing coffee all over his hand. ‘For God’s sake, Len, can’t you do something about this bloody chair?’ he burst out.

  The sergeant
exchanged glances with Tregalles. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said stiffly. ‘I’ll have it seen to.’

  Paget grunted and set the dripping mug aside and wiped his hand. ‘Now, what about this fire? Anything new on that?’

  ‘Everyone claims to have been fast asleep when Penny raised the alarm,’ said Ormside. ‘We found the empty petrol tin in the long grass at the edge of the trees, and it’s been taken in for examination. Sally Pritchard identified it as the tin missing from the barn, and she said almost anyone could have known they kept petrol there.’

  Ormside slid into his own chair. ‘I had a word with the doctor about Sylvia Gray, and he tells me there is nothing seriously wrong with her. Just nerves, was how he described it. But she was in quite a state, so he gave her something to settle her down. I’ve asked young Penny to give me a shout when she’s a bit calmer.’

  Paget nodded absently as he turned to Tregalles. The sergeant had propped himself up beside a filing cabinet, and was on his second mug of coffee. ‘What about you, Tregalles?’ he asked. ‘What did you find out yesterday?’

  Tregalles looked down at the mug in his hand. ‘I found out that Dr McMillan has a very good friend in Kate Ferris,’ he said quietly. ‘She assured me that the doctor arrived there before eleven o’clock last Friday night, which made it impossible for her to have been out here between nine and ten. Unfortunately for her, I stopped to talk to an old chap who lives down the lane - he’d given me directions on the way there - and he told me that it was well after twelve when the doctor arrived. Not only that, but she was in a state of panic when she did arrive.’

  ‘I see.’ Paget’s voice sounded oddly strained. ‘Go on,’ he said tightly.

  ‘He says he never goes to bed until close to midnight,’ Tregalles explained, ‘and even then he has trouble getting to sleep. He lives on the corner of the lane leading to the Ferris place, and the headlights of any car turning into the lane shine right into his bedroom. He’s met the doctor, and he knows the sound of her car. It’s a diesel. He said he’d know that sound anywhere.

  ‘Anyway, he heard her go down the lane, but he knew she’d find no one at home because Kate Ferris and Sarah had left that evening to go to Kate’s mother’s in Melisham. He told me that Mrs Ferris has these mini-strokes; she can tell when they’re coming on, so she phones for her daughter to come over. When that happens, Kate leaves the key with the old man and he looks after the place till she gets back. He said she’s never gone for more than a couple of days.’

  ‘So Dr McMillan arrived to find an empty house?’

  ‘Right. But she knew that Kate left the key with the old man whenever she had to leave the place, so she came back to ask him if he knew where Kate was. He says she was in a terrible state, and she didn’t calm down until he gave her the key to the Ferris place and she went back there to telephone Kate at her mother’s. See, he doesn’t have a phone himself. Anyway, a bit later, she brought the key back and drove off again. He didn’t see her or anyone else until Sunday morning when Kate and Sarah came back, and the doctor was with them. He assumed that she’d driven down to Kate’s mother’s when she left him about one thirty Saturday morning.’

  Paget stared down at the floor, not daring for the moment to lift his eyes. He felt numb. There was no getting around it. Tregalles had just driven the final nail into Andrea’s coffin.

  ‘Lucas claims to have seen the doctor’s car here Friday night,’ he said. ‘He says it was well after ten before it left.’

  ‘Did he see Dr McMillan?’

  ‘No, but he did say the driver was a woman. And he took down the number of the car. It checks out.’ Paget felt like a traitor as he uttered the words. ‘According to Lucas, the driver left the car for some time, then came running back from the direction of the stables. She had driven off before he could get a good look at her.’

  Tregalles shook his head sadly. ‘I must admit I hoped we were wrong about her,’ he said. ‘I’ve always rather liked her.’

  Paget rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. ‘You saw the little girl, Sarah?’

  ‘Yes. She’s a nice kid; looks a lot like her mother. I’d say she’s in good hands with Kate Ferris, but God knows what will happen to her if it turns out her mother did kill Palmer.’

  Paget didn’t want to think about that.

  ‘But where does Blake fit in?’ Tregalles said. ‘Who killed him? And why?’ He looked at Ormside. ‘What about the background checks? Has anything turned up to suggest that Palmer and Blake might have known each other in the past?’

  ‘Nothing so far,’ the sergeant said, ‘but I can’t help remembering what Sally Pritchard said about it being Blake’s turn to do rounds the night Palmer was killed. I’ve been thinking about that. If someone was waiting inside the barn, expecting Blake to come through the door, all they would see would be a silhouette in the doorway. Blake and Palmer were roughly the same height, and we know that Palmer couldn’t have taken more than a step inside the barn before he was struck. The killer might not have realized his mistake until too late. When he did, he had another go at Blake - and got him.’

  Ormside’s reasoning was identical to Paget’s, and the chief inspector would have liked nothing better than to embrace it. But the evidence against Andrea McMillan was overwhelming, and if it could be proved that she knew that Palmer had swapped with Blake...

  But if that were the case, why had Blake been killed?

  ‘I think I’ll go and see if Charlie’s people have come up with anything,’ Tregalles said. ‘And while I’m at it. I’m going to take another look round the barn.’ He waited, but there was no response from Paget.

  As he stepped out of the mobile unit, he saw Penny Wakefield coming towards him. She waved, and he stopped and waited for her. ‘Is the chief inspector in there?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. Did you want to speak to him?’

  The girl nodded. ‘But not in there. Do you think I could have a word with him in private?’

  ‘It’s about Syl,’ said Penny as she and Paget walked slowly down the driveway towards the road. ‘I don’t want somebody questioning her when she wakes up. She was fast asleep no more than three feet away from me when that fire broke out, so she can’t help you find out who it was who...’ Her voice dried up and cracked.

  ‘God! What a horrible way to die!’ she said. ‘I didn’t care much for Maurice, but to set fire to his caravan when he was in it...’ She shuddered.

  ‘But why are you so concerned about Sylvia Gray?’ asked Paget. ‘And I must warn you that I cannot promise to keep what you tell me confidential if I think it may help the investigation.’

  ‘But that’s just the point. It’s got nothing to do with it, really. It’s just that Syl...Well, I don’t know what it would do to her if she was pushed too hard.’ The girl fell silent as they came to the road. They turned as if by mutual consent, and began walking back up the drive again.

  ‘I spoke to Sally before I came to you,’ she said at last, ‘and she said she thought you would understand, once I’d explained.’

  Paget remained silent. It had to be Penny’s decision.

  ‘Oh, what the hell,’ the girl said roughly as if to herself. ‘I can’t make it any worse for her if I tell you.’ She stopped beside a gate leading into the field between the stables and the road, and Paget stopped beside her.

  ‘See, it was Syl in that shed with Maurice on Christmas Eve,’ she burst out. ‘She’d had a bit too much to drink and she’s not used to it. I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but Maurice was a randy bastard, and he got her in there. It wasn’t rape or anything like that, but it was Syl’s first time, and she’s petrified that she’s going to have a baby.’

  Paget stared at her. ‘But that was less than two weeks ago,’ he said. ‘How can she possibly...’

  But Penny was shaking her head. ‘I know,’ she said. That’s what I keep telling her, but she’s very - what do you call it? - naive, is Syl. She just won’t listen when I try
to tell her she’ll probably be all right. See, she’s Catholic, and her parents are ever so strict. She had to fight tooth and nail to get them to agree to let her come here, and I sort of promised I’d look out for her.’

  Penny leaned on the gate and stared off into the distance. ‘Poor old Syl,’ she said. ‘She kept talking about how Maurice would have to marry her. It was the only way, she said.’ Penny sighed. ‘Fat chance there was of that, but you couldn’t tell her that. Then, this morning, when she realized Maurice was inside that caravan, she just went to pieces.’

  ‘I see. Then Monica...’

  ‘...heard them at it, then made that story up to get back at Sally,’ said Penny. ‘Least, that’s what I think. It’s the sort of thing she’d do.’

  Which would account for the evidence Starkie had found, thought Paget. Monica’s own skin and blood beneath her fingernails.

  They resumed their walk up the drive toward the stables. ‘If that’s all there was to it,’ Paget said, ‘then I see no need for any of it to become public knowledge, and I’ll bear in mind what you’ve told me if it should become necessary to question her.’

  Penny heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Sal was right. She said you’d understand.’

  When Paget returned to the mobile unit, he found Charlie there.

  ‘Pillowcase,’ said Charlie, pointing an accusing finger at Paget. ‘That’s what I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.’

  Paget stared at him, mystified.

  ‘I stopped off at the school yesterday with all the stuff from the lab,’ he said. ‘You know, the stuff we took from the Shaw girl’s room. It was all there; the sheets, the blankets, and all the odds and ends, and two pillows and one pillowcase. Miss Wolsey insisted on checking everything - she told me she’d catch hell from Miss Crowther if she didn’t, or words to that effect - and she said there was a pillowcase missing. I told her we only took one pillowcase because that’s all there was. But she insisted that there were two. She said she was quite sure both pillows had pillowcases on them when she left Monica in bed on Christmas Eve.’