by J. E. Mayhew
“Sir, I called Nicola Norton, the psychologist who works for Pro-Vets, about Richard Ince. She was his counsellor before his suicide,” Vikki said. “She told me that Ince had been assigned a buddy from Pro-Vets. I’m waiting for her to get to me with the name of the buddy, but she hasn’t got back to me, yet.”
“Do you think Ince’s death was something other than suicide?”
“He left a note and overdosed on heroin, sir. It looks pretty conclusive. But Ince was drinking with someone the night he died. I think it might be the buddy. It could shed a different light on the case, that’s all.”
“Might be worth badgering this Norton woman a bit, Vikki. Did you mention the toy soldier?”
“No, sir. I thought we were keeping that quiet for now. Do you want me to?”
“Use your judgement. Norton might have some insight…”
“One thing she did say was that Paul and George often argued about money…”
“That’s come up before but it’s worth pursuing. Owens dismissed it but maybe we should push him on it along with where he was on the night in question,” Blake muttered. “We can’t leave him waiting for a formal interview all day. Though, to be honest, I feel like wasting his time like he’s wasting ours.”
“Want me to have a chat with him, sir?” Kath Cryer said. “A fresh face might just put him off guard…”
“Terrify him more like,” Kinnear said under his breath.
“Oi!” Kath said, elbowing Andrew in his side. “Who rattled your cage? You taking a breath between biscuits, soft lad?”
“Did you see that, boss?” Kinnear said, grinning. “That was assault, that was…”
Blake gave Kinnear a pained look but secretly he liked the fact that Kinnear and Cryer got along so well. At one time, they could easily have been enemies. “What about the baseball bat. Any indication where that came from?”
“Forensics indicated that there were no old scratches on the bat. All the impact damage done to it was associated with the attack as far as they could see,” Kinnear said. “That would suggest it was recently bought or bought a while back and not used.”
“They couldn’t determine which?”
“Sorry, boss, no. There’s no branding or logo on it, either. I checked with the major outlets and a baseball specialist in Birkenhead. Sports Direct and Argos sell wooden bats, but they’re painted. Our murder weapon is natural wood colour, never been painted as far as forensics can tell. The specialist said that the bat was probably some kind of composite rather than maple or ash. It hadn’t come from them and he suggested it was bought online.”
“Good work, Andrew, I just wish we’d been able to glean more from it,” Blake said, glancing at his watch. “Right. Let’s focus on Bobby Price and this Harley character, see if we can’t pick them up. I’ve got to talk to the Super’ but Kath, if you and Andrew could talk to George Owens, that would be great. Let’s see if we can move things forward, even if it’s just by eliminating suspects.”
*****
Superintendent Martin listened thoughtfully, as Blake listed all the things he hadn’t found out yet and then sat back in his chair. He was a tall, vigorous-looking man, having served his time as a beat officer when there was a minimum height requirement. “This is a tricky case, Will,” he said, narrowing his eyes. Martin was a fair man but his sharp features made him seem stern and unforgiving. “I’ve already had the Port Sunlight Village Trust asking me questions about what happened and the damage to the memorial. The British Legion aren’t very happy either.”
“I completely understand that, sir. A murder is bad enough but to have one in such a sensitive location. Our officers have treated the crime scene with the utmost respect…”
“You don’t have to give me the official line, Will, just tread carefully. I noticed in the report about your shenanigans up in Scotland that you managed to bring a whole valley side down…”
“I have to give the credit for that to the rain and snow, sir,” Blake said, groaning inwardly. Martin could never get past the idea that Blake was some kind of grandstander, hungry for the publicity he used to get during his days on Searchlight. “I’ll keep this low key, I promise.”
“Be sure that you do. Paul Travis was something of a local hero, by all accounts, and people will be hungry for an arrest.”
“Believe me, sir, nobody’s hungrier than me,” Blake said. “I just can’t help feeling that this is more than an act of random street violence…”
“There you go, Will,” Martin said, throwing his hands up. “Why couldn’t it be that? A young lad with a grudge after Travis humiliated him lays in wait and springs out on him. Travis is drunk, can’t defend himself and the boy gets carried away.”
“With respect, sir, whoever killed Travis got more than carried away,” Blake said. “They knocked him out and then cut his throat while he lay defenceless…”
“All I’m saying is follow the obvious leads first before you start getting tangled up in any farfetched conspiracies, okay?”
“I’ll do my best, sir,” Blake said, through gritted teeth.
“Good,” Martin said and lowered his eyes to the paperwork on his desk, a signature move that indicated the meeting was over. “Keep me posted.”
If the door dampers hadn’t stopped it, Blake would have slammed the door on his way out. Something needed to move on this case and soon.
Chapter 15
George Owens didn’t look very happy to see DI Kath Cryer and DC Andrew Kinnear enter the room. It could have been the fact that they’d kept him waiting so long or that he expected to see Blake again, Kath couldn’t tell. The delay had given him enough time to call for a brief to sit in on the conversation.
Kath recognised Gareth Cornell, the brief, straight away. Since representing a suspect a year or so ago, he had chanced his arm at a couple of criminal cases. It made a change from conveyancing and selling mortgages, she supposed. He was a tall, slight man or a streak of piss, as Kath thought of him, but that was more down to his demeanour than his size or shape. His pale complexion and long, droopy face didn’t really inspire confidence. His light brown suit seemed a size too big for him, especially around the shoulders. His slick, mousey hair seemed to be caught between styles and it stuck out in all directions so much that Kath wondered quite what he was planning to do with it.
“Mr Owens, Mr Cornell,” Kath said, nodding to them as she entered the interview room. “I’m DI Kath Cryer, this is DC Andrew Kinnear. We’re sorry to have kept you waiting but, as you can probably appreciate, this is a complex case and it’s important that we get things right…”
“Just as long as you acknowledge that Mr Owens has done no wrong and is cooperating fully with your enquiries,” Cornell said, trying to coat his voice with a sense of gravitas and failing. Kath and Andrew sat down on the opposite side of the table.
“Well, that isn’t strictly true, is it, Mr Owens?” Kath said, by-passing Cornell and making the point that he wasn’t to interrupt again. “DCI Blake has asked you where you were on the night that Paul Travis was murdered and you declined to tell him. Are you prepared to now?”
“I just got the train,” George Owens said.
“What time train did you get, sir?” Kinnear said.
“The last train, twenty to twelve. I had to run because it took so long to get Barry in the taxi.”
“What station did you get off at? Only I looked and none of them seem even remotely convenient for your house.”
“I got off at Green Lane. It takes me twenty minutes to walk from there to my house.”
“So you would walk up Bolton Road with Paul, surely.” Kath added. “At least part of the way.”
“No, he turned right up Church Drive almost immediately after leaving the pub. I went straight on.”
“Giving you the benefit of the doubt,” Kath said, “let’s assume you didn’t walk away from the pub with Paul and murder him…”
“I didn’t…”
“Okay. You wen
t to the station to catch a train that would drop you off miles from your home. A twenty-minute walk after a skinful. That just doesn’t sound sensible…”
Owens looked down at his expanding waistline. “I’m trying to keep my weight down. Get some exercise, you know how it is.”
“What would make sense was if you were going that way to visit someone between Green Lane and your house. Tell me if I’m getting warmer, Mr Owens.”
“It’s hard to explain,” George Owens said, tangling his fingers together in front of him. He looked trapped.
Kath fixed her eye on Owens. “Harder than explaining to Mrs Travis what happened to her husband and telling her we can’t track down his killer because his so-called friend thinks his personal life is more important than the investigation?”
“That’s not fair,” George Owens snapped.
Kath gave Kinnear a sidelong glance as if sharing a derogatory thought about Owens with him. “No, Mr Owens, it isn’t fair, is it? You do realise that what you’re doing makes you look like a prime suspect?”
“I didn’t kill Paul,” Owens said, glaring at Kath.
“So you say, but where were you?”
“I got the train and walked home.”
“Did you and Paul argue, much?”
Owens looked from Kath to his brief and back. “A little. Mainly about business things…”
“Money,” Kath said.
“Yeah. Money. Paul liked to spend and was always ‘thinking big,’ as he liked to call it. The trouble was, ‘thinking big’ cost a lot of cash. Cash we didn’t always have.”
“You sound bitter, Mr Owens.”
“No. It was just annoying. You probably get annoyed by your work colleagues. It doesn’t make you a murderer.”
“It might if one of them turned up dead, I was the last person to see them and I wouldn’t account for my whereabouts when he died.”
“He didn’t annoy me so much that I’d want to kill him. All I had to do was show Paul the bank balance and he’d realise we didn’t have the funds to do whatever he’d dreamed up.”
“That must have annoyed him.”
“Yeah, I suppose it did,” Owens said.
“And how did he show his annoyance?”
“I dunno. He grumbled a bit maybe or went off in a huff,” Owens said.
“Went off in a huff,” Kath repeated, looking at Kinnear. “If his reaction was so low-key, how come it was common knowledge around the charity that you argued a lot over money?”
“Maybe I grumbled to other people. Maybe Paul did.”
“So you were bad-mouthing each other around the business? Doesn’t sound very wholesome, George…”
“You’re putting words into my client’s mouth, now, DI Cryer,” Cornell said, suddenly.
“No,” Kath said, looking at him levelly. “I’m making an observation and you aren’t in court now, Perry Mason. Another interruption and I’ll have you kicked out.”
Cornell shrank down in his seat.
Owens gave a frustrated sigh. “Look, Paul and I had our disagreements about how the charity spent its funds. That’s no secret but I didn’t kill him.”
“So you keep saying but we don’t know where you were on the night he was murdered.”
“I got the train,” Owens said through gritted teeth.
Kath sat back and folded her arms. “There’s something else, though, I can tell. Let’s assume you are telling the truth for a moment and you got the train. It’s well out of your way. I reckon the only reason you’d do that was if you were meeting someone and you’re trying to protect them for some reason. Whatever you’re hiding, I doubt it’s worse than murder. Your secret will come out one way or another, so you may as well explain to us what it was you were doing because we will find out.”
*****
Jeff Blake had spent most of the day trying to wrangle a few hundred words into coherent sentences that didn’t sound like excerpts from a particularly dull stately home tour guide. It was hard to concentrate after Gambles had mentioned Laura’s name. On one level he was annoyed with himself for letting Gambles snare him once again. Obviously, the killer had more information about where Laura was but once he’d realised that Jeff was hooked, Gambles had taken great pleasure in holding that back. Jeff was worried about Will, too.
It was possible that Will would keep it from Jeff if Laura had come home. They weren’t the most communicative of brothers but also, Will would be aware of Jeff’s link to Gambles and, therefore, to Quinlan. But what if Will didn’t know? What if Laura had come back and been taken by Quinlan?
Gambles would love it if Jeff tipped Will off because it would drive another wedge between them, adding to the little psychodrama that the serial killer liked to keep going. Gambles was always trying to insert himself into the Blake family story. If Jeff and Will were arguing, at least they were arguing about Gambles. It made him the centre of discontent even if Laura was the main concern.
On the other hand, if he said nothing and Laura was in some kind of danger, Will would never forgive him. Jeff stopped typing. He had to let Will know. “I’m damned either way,” he muttered to himself and picked up his phone. “It always goes to voice messaging anyway.”
“Jeff, I’m busy,” Will said, tersely. Jeff almost dropped the phone.
“I’m fine thanks, Will. How about you? Recovered from your jaunt up north?”
“What do you want?”
“I was talking to our mutual friend…”
“Gambles. Jeff, I’ve told you before, I don’t want to know anything about that monster. You trade off the misery and horror he’s caused in the past by all means but don’t make me an accessory…”
“He told me Laura has come home,” Jeff said. He would have skirted around the issue, but Will’s tone had annoyed him. Jeff had helped Will with his investigations in Scotland and hoped he’d cut him some slack at least. A mean part of Jeff hoped his revelation hurt Will.
“What?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No, I didn’t. What did he say?”
“He said she was back but wouldn’t give me any more details. You know what he’s like…”
Will heaved a sigh down the phone. “Yes, Jeff, I do know. So he could just be winding you up.”
“He could be, yes but there’s generally a grain of truth in what he says at least. I didn’t know what to do for the best, Will. Was I wrong to call you? Should I have just ignored it and then, God forbid if something terrible happened…”
Another sigh. “What you should do for the best, Jeff is have nothing to do with that psychopath. But, yeah, I can see your dilemma. He didn’t say anything else?”
“He went on about Romance stories. He said something about ‘a lovelorn hero, a whore with a heart of gold and a handsome bad boy…’”
“Kyle Quinlan,” Blake muttered.
“Do you think he’s been in touch with Quinlan? I mean they were friends in the past, weren’t they?”
“Anything is possible with Gambles, Jeff. If Laura is home, then I’m sure she would have got in touch. She could be in danger. Although Quinlan has been very quiet. She took off the moment she realised he was coming back, and I haven’t heard anything amongst my colleagues about him. Listen, thanks for letting me know and… I’m sorry I bit your head off. I’ll check it out.” Will hung up and Jeff sat staring at his phone for a second, hoping he hadn’t just lit a fuse for a powder keg of Gambles’ making.
Chapter 16
Blake sat at his desk, turning a biro over and over in his fingers. The news that Laura was back on the Wirral disturbed him. He hadn’t expected her to come running to him for protection but at the same time, she could have let him know. What had changed to bring her back of her own free will? Or had she? Had Quinlan caught up with her?
DCI Matty Cavanagh had been looking into the whole business of Kyle Quinlan, but Blake was sure it had all been put on the back burner now. Still, it might be worth chatting to Cavanagh in cas
e anything had come up recently.
Cavanagh had a reputation as a young DCI who cared more about his appearance and popularity than actually getting to the truth of things. He and his trusty DS Dirkin also had a knack of cutting through the crap and getting speedy arrests. There was a suspicion, too, that Dirkin had pulled Cavanagh’s fat out of the fire on many occasions. How true any of this was, Blake didn’t know. If he was honest, too, he disliked Cavanagh more for his easy manner and ability to charm almost anyone. Blake rarely felt comfortable in his own skin. Cavanagh was a scouser through and through, and he wore it like a badge of honour to the point of it becoming almost stereotypical. He loved his football and his banter, especially if he was teasing Blake about being from the Wirral.
True to form, Cavanagh was leaning back in his chair, his feet up on the desk when Blake entered his office. “All right, Blakey,” he said, not altering his relaxed position.
“Sorry, Matty, are you busy?” Blake said, maybe with a little too much edge in his voice.
Matty Cavanagh tapped the side of his head. “Thinking, Blakey, mulling stuff over. Got to have time to think, eh? How are your turnips growing over the water, eh? Good harvest? Sheep all healthy?”
Blake rolled his eyes. “Hilarious. Listen, have you heard any more about Kyle Quinlan? Last I heard you were looking into it…”
“We were, Blakey, then your Laura did a runner, didn’t she? We were chasing shadows, to be honest. I blamed that bloody Gambles character for sending us on a wild goose chase.”
“So you closed the case?”
Cavanagh stretched in his seat. “We were going to but then Kyle Quinlan showed up…”
“Showed up? What d’you mean, showed up?”
“Obviously, we knew he was around because of what Laura told you but nobody had eyeballed him. Then he bought a house up in Caldy, bold as brass. I think it belonged to that mate of yours off the telly. The one Gambles murdered.”
“Ross Armitage? Kyle Quinlan bought Ross Armitage’s house?” Blake dropped heavily into the nearest chair. “Jeez, that’s bizarre. How would he be able to afford a property in Caldy?”