Stone Dead

by Frank Smith

  ‘Sorry, Jim,’ she said to the sergeant standing behind her. ‘I think he must be new. If he’s here, I haven’t been able to find him, and I’ve tried everything I can think of.’

  Sergeant Dean swore beneath his breath. That meant there was nothing for it but to send the watchers out again. The trouble was, he didn’t have enough people to do the job properly. Neither was there a good observation post overlooking the school. No empty premises; no rooms above shops with convenient front windows; nothing.

  They’d already done a door-to-door in the area, warning people and asking them to report anyone loitering near the school. But the description was so vague. Since Olivia had said the man looked a bit like the local vicar, he and Molly had called on the vicar to get some idea of age, height, build and colouring in order to write a description at all.

  Scared the poor devil half to death, Dean recalled. He thought they were accusing him of being a child molester, and he’d gone so white they thought he was going to faint.

  Molly switched off the screen. ‘I don’t understand why Olivia wasn’t more frightened of the man,’ she said. ‘She seems to understand the danger, and yet it’s almost as if she makes an exception in this man’s case. It worries me, and I know it worries Audrey.’

  ‘It scares the hell out of me,’ Dean said flatly. ‘I’ve got kids of my own. I think you’d better have another talk with Olivia. I want her to be scared. I want her screaming her head off the moment that man comes near her.’

  Molly drew in her breath. ‘Touchy,’ she said. ‘Very touchy. We don’t want to give the kid nightmares.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Dean said grimly, ‘but give it your best shot. I don’t care how you do it, but make sure she gets the message.’

  * * *

  MIKE FREEMAN came round his desk to greet Paget and usher him to a seat.

  ‘Sorry I had to go out yesterday afternoon,’ he said. ‘I’m told you were looking for me.’ He returned to his seat behind the desk. ‘I’ll have Peggy bring coffee.’ He pressed a button on the phone. ‘How do you take yours, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Black. Thank you.’ He really didn’t want coffee, but on the other hand he didn’t want to start off the day by rejecting Freeman’s hospitality.

  Freeman relayed the information to Peggy Owen, then sat back in his seat, wincing slightly as he put his hands behind his head. He looked at Paget expectantly. His face was slightly flushed and it crossed Paget’s mind that the man was secretly excited about the prospect of being interviewed. His eyes followed Paget’s every move, anticipating the first question.

  ‘Ribs still a bit painful, are they, Mr Freeman?’ Paget asked.

  The anticipatory light in Freeman’s eyes flickered. Whatever the question the man had expected, this was not even close.

  ‘On the mend,’ he said cryptically, dismissing the question as hardly worthy of an answer.

  A brief tap on the door announced the arrival of Peggy Owen. Obviously, the coffee had been ready and waiting for Mike Freeman’s call. She set the tray on the desk between them, smiled mechanically at Paget, and retreated without a word. Mike Freeman pulled open a drawer and reached inside. ‘Like a little drop of something to liven it up?’ he asked, displaying a bottle of cognac.

  ‘It’s fine the way it is, thank you,’ said Paget.

  Freeman nodded and pursed his lips judiciously. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he conceded as he slid the bottle back into the drawer. ‘Now, then, what can I do for you, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Tell me what you thought of David Gray,’ said Paget.

  Freeman frowned. ‘In what context?’ he asked cautiously.

  ‘In any context,’ Paget said. ‘As an employee; as a prospective son-in-law; or as a friend, perhaps.’

  Mike Freeman sipped his coffee. ‘He came highly recommended,’ he said carefully, ‘and he certainly knew his job. He was one of those rare people who not only understand all of the technical aspects of the job, but the role of marketing and sales as well. In that respect, we will miss him. He was an asset to the company.’

  His voice became hard. ‘As for his treatment of Janet, the bastard deserved everything he got, and I for one won’t shed any tears for him. Not that I’m suggesting he should have been killed for what he did,’ he added hastily, ‘but how would you feel if it were your daughter? How would you feel? Here they were sending out wedding invitations, and the bastard’s off screwing this tart! Christ!’

  ‘You had no idea that this was going on?’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t know,’ Freeman said dismissively. ‘Do you think I’d have kept quiet if I did?’

  ‘What about Gray as a son-in-law? How did you feel about that?’

  Freeman’s face became set. ‘To be honest, I wasn’t in favour of it,’ he said, ‘and Janet and I had a few words about him. But Janet is a grown woman; I realized it had to be her decision.’

  ‘But you didn’t like the decision she made,’ Paget persisted.

  A flicker of annoyance crossed Freeman’s face. ‘I don’t see what this has to do with anything,’ he said. ‘How does this help find out who killed Gray?’

  ‘I won’t know until I hear your answer, will I?’ Paget said quietly. ‘What was your objection to Gray as a son-in-law?’

  Freeman was becoming angry. ‘Not that I think it’s any of your business,’ he said testily, ‘but Janet and I are … well, close; always have been since her mother died when she was fourteen. There’s just been the two of us. We’re a team. We work well together; we worked together to build up this business, and I could see that relationship changing. Call me selfish if you like, but it’s hard to lose a daughter, especially one like Janet.’

  ‘But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there, Mr Freeman? You didn’t like the man she was marrying, did you?’

  Freeman scowled. ‘All right, no,’ he growled. ‘I thought she could do better than Gray. Much better. But that doesn’t mean I set out to kill him.’

  ‘According to my information, you and Frank Porter followed Gray out of the office the day he disappeared,’ Paget continued. ‘Why was that, Mr Freeman?’

  Freeman eyed Paget stonily. He appeared to be having difficulty holding his temper in check. ‘We didn’t “follow him out”, as you put it,’ he said thinly. ‘It just happened that I wanted to talk to Frank in private, that’s all, and we left a few minutes after Gray. I didn’t even know he’d gone, to tell you the truth.’

  ‘Oh?’ Paget looked surprised. ‘Didn’t Mrs Owen come into your office to ask for the spare set of keys to the company car just before you left?’

  Freeman shook his head impatiently. ‘She may have done,’ he said, ‘but I was probably busy or on the phone. I don’t really remember.’

  ‘Why did you leave the office so suddenly, sir?’

  Mike Freeman bristled. ‘I don’t know where you get the idea that it was a sudden decision,’ he growled. ‘I wanted to talk to Frank privately about opening another office in Bristol, and I didn’t want it known around the office. At least, not until all the details were ironed out. So, I suggested going out in the car where we wouldn’t be overheard or interrupted.’

  ‘In the company car?’

  Freeman shook his head impatiently. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Gray had taken that. In Frank’s car.’ He looked at Paget as if he felt the chief inspector were being particularly obtuse.

  ‘I see. And have all the details been ironed out?’

  ‘No. I’ve decided not to go ahead. Though what the hell that has to do with all this, I’m damned if I know. And I’ll thank you not to mention that to anyone else in the office.’

  Unperturbed by Freeman’s truculent attitude, Paget continued. ‘Did you see David Gray in the parking area—or anywhere else, for that matter—when you left in Mr Porter’s car?’

  Freeman shook his head emphatically. ‘No. He must have been well away by the time we got there. The car was gone. I remember that.’

&n
bsp; ‘And it reappeared sometime during the weekend,’ Paget said.

  ‘That’s right. God only knows how it got there.’

  ‘How do you think it got there, Mr Freeman?’

  Freeman looked mystified. ‘Whoever murdered David must have brought it back, I suppose,’ he ventured.

  Paget remained silent for a moment. ‘That is certainly a possibility,’ he agreed. ‘Why do you think he—or she—would do that?’

  Freeman shrugged. ‘You tell me,’ he said. There was a wariness about him now that hadn’t been there when Paget first sat down.

  ‘It makes me wonder what happened to his or her—let’s stick to “his” for the moment—own transportation,’ Paget said musingly. ‘You see, if the murderer drove the car back here after killing Gray, how did he get out to Bracken Cottage in the first place? And if the killing was done by someone who was already at the cottage, how did he get back there after dropping off the car? Unless, of course, he had an accomplice.’

  Freeman remained silent, gently rocking back and forth in his swivel chair.

  ‘This business of the car has me puzzled,’ Paget went on, musing aloud. ‘The killer might well have wanted to get Gray’s car away from Bracken Cottage, but how did he know exactly where to take it? The Freeman Protronics logo was on the car, so he could have found the address by looking in the telephone book, but why return it at all? Why not just abandon it somewhere? David Gray died sometime between the late afternoon of Tuesday, March 12th, and the morning of Wednesday, March 13th. So where was the car between then and when it appeared in its regular slot during the weekend? And why the delay?’

  ‘Perhaps he thought he would be seen if he put it back before the weekend,’ Freeman offered. ‘Several of our offices overlook the car-park.’

  Paget nodded. ‘That may well have had a lot to do with it,’ he agreed. ‘And perhaps he was afraid of being recognized.’

  Freeman sat up straight. ‘Recognized?’ he repeated. ‘Are you suggesting what I think you are?’

  ‘That it might have been someone from here?’ Paget said. ‘Oh, yes, Mr Freeman. I think it’s quite possible.’

  * * *

  BEFORE RETURNING to his office, Paget went into the operations room where he stood looking at the large-scale map of the town. Gray had left the office in the company car on Tuesday, March 12th. Foster claimed it was not at Bracken Cottage when he came home on Wednesday, March 13th, and yet it had not appeared in the car-park behind Freeman Protronics until sometime after the close of business on Friday March 15th.

  So where the hell had it been? There wasn’t much mileage on it, so it hadn’t been far.

  It was while he was still trying to solve that puzzle that he noticed something else. Mike Freeman’s house was just around the corner from that of Frank Porter. Not cheek-by-jowl, exactly, but there couldn’t be more than six or seven houses separating them. And both were no more than a five-minute walk away from the office. It probably meant nothing, but now that his attention had been drawn to it, Paget checked Peggy Owen’s address.

  She lived across the river in one of the older parts of the town, and he remembered hearing her mention to one of the girls in the office that she’d had to run to catch the bus that morning.

  ‘Melrose,’ he called, still looking at the map. ‘I’ve got a job for you,’ The man had been pouring coffee from a flask, and now he came over to stand beside Paget, mug in hand.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I want you to talk to everyone in the premises overlooking the back of Freeman Protronics, and I want you to talk to all the neighbours in the immediate vicinity of these three houses.’ Paget indicated the locations on the map. ‘I want to know if they noticed anything unusual happening in the area between Tuesday March 12th and Monday March 18th. And don’t tell them the real reason you’re asking. I don’t want this getting back to the people involved, at least not for now.’

  Melrose studied the map. ‘What am I supposed to be looking for?’ he asked, not unreasonably.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Paget slowly. ‘I wish to hell I did. Unusual activity; cars parked where they shouldn’t be; noises in the night; anything at all. And make sure you read all of the interviews we did at Freeman Protronics before you go. The background might prove useful.’

  ‘When…?’ Melrose began, but Paget was ahead of him.

  ‘Now,’ he said as he made for the door. ‘You can start reading while you finish your coffee.’

  It was almost one thirty by the time Paget reached his office, and he was looking forward to lunch. Just a couple of phone calls to make, then perhaps he would nip across the road for a pint and something to eat.

  But Grace Lovett was waiting for him outside his office. He suppressed a groan, seeing the prospect of lunch fading rapidly.

  ‘What can I do for you, Grace?’ he asked as he ushered her into the office.

  ‘I had to come over here anyway,’ she said quickly as if feeling the need to explain her presence, ‘so I thought I would let you know what we have so far on that piece of silk you sent over on Friday.’

  Paget waved her to a seat. ‘You mean the one they found in the garden?’

  ‘Yes.’ A small frown creased her face. ‘Are you quite sure that’s where it was found?’ She opened her briefcase and pulled out a sheet of paper, and Paget saw it was a copy of the garden grid at Bracken Cottage.

  She leaned across the desk and turned the grid for him to see. ‘This is where they said it was found, but I find that hard to believe.’ Paget leaned forward to see better, and became aware of her perfume. It was very delicate, and he rather liked it.

  ‘So what’s the problem with it?’ he asked.

  Grace tapped the grid with a slim finger. ‘It’s out in the open,’ she said. ‘No shelter anywhere close by, and yet there is no sign of this material having been out in the weather. I checked with the meteorological people and they say that at least nine millimetres of rain fell in that area between March 12th and last Friday, yet I would swear that none of it fell on this.’ She pulled out a clear plastic envelope containing the fragment of silk.

  Paget leaned back in his seat and looked at her across the desk. Tregalles was right; Grace Lovett was a very attractive woman, and he wondered idly why he’d never noticed that before. And dedicated to her work. This was twice she’d taken the trouble to come to him personally to explain her findings.

  His stomach grumbled quietly. ‘So what are you suggesting?’ he asked.

  She sighed. ‘I don’t really know,’ she admitted. ‘Perhaps there was a mistake in reporting where it was found. Perhaps the wind carried it out of a sheltered place. Or perhaps it was put there deliberately more recently.’

  Paget thought about that for a moment. ‘Is that blood on it?’ he asked.

  ‘No, it’s rust. Which is odd, because I can’t see what caused it.’

  Paget’s stomach growled insistently, and this time he was sure she heard it for she smiled. ‘I’m keeping you from lunch,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Perhaps we can go into this some other time when you’re not quite so busy.’

  Paget pushed his chair back and stood up also. ‘Sorry about that, Grace,’ he said. ‘Didn’t mean to be rude. It’s been a long time since breakfast.’ He felt awkward. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’d like to pursue this with you because it could be important. But could we do it over lunch? I was just going across the road to the pub, but if you’d care to come, we could talk this through. On me this time,’ he added as he saw her hesitate.

  He smiled, and it seemed to Grace that he looked ten years younger.

  She returned his smile. ‘Best offer I’ve had all day,’ she told him happily. ‘And the pub sounds just fine.’

  SIXTEEN

  ‘IT’S IMPOSSIBLE to be certain, of course, but the silk is of the same quality as all of Lisa Remington’s other things. And the colour is right for her. My guess is that it’s part of a nightgown.’

  Grac
e Lovett sat back in her seat and picked up her drink.

  ‘But you think someone planted it in that bush for us to find?’

  Grace hesitated. ‘Not really,’ she said slowly. ‘I know this all sounds a bit tenuous, but take a look at the top edge of the material. When you look at the fibres under a microscope, you can see where the material has been pulled away from rusting metal. Now, look at the rest of the material. Not a fibre out of place. I went out there myself, yesterday, to check the bush itself. It’s a pyracantha, and there is no way that this material could have been caught up in that bush without there being some evidence of it. I examined the bush carefully, but I couldn’t find anything to suggest that this silk was ever on there. And, as I said before, the fibres on this piece of material are undisturbed except for where they were caught on the rusty metal. This other mark down here is where the man who found it pulled it away. Unfortunately, he had dirty hands—you can see the outline of his thumb there opposite the rust mark. But there are no other tears or pulled threads anywhere, so I’m forced to conclude that this was caught on metal, not a bush.’

  ‘That’s an old cottage,’ Paget said ruminatively. ‘Isn’t it possible that the nightgown—if it was a nightgown—could have been caught on a rusty nail or something like that? I mean, why would someone lie about where they found it? What would be the point?’

  ‘I’m not saying that someone lied. I’m just saying that I’m not sure we have all the facts, and if that is the case, then anything we conclude from the examination of this material could be misleading.’

  Paget sighed inwardly, and wondered whether any of this mattered. Grace might be right, but did it really have a bearing? It wouldn’t be the first time that a forensic technician had tried to convince him that two and two made five.