‘He was one of the three directors. There were four, until the founder died a couple of months ago.’
‘That would be Phil Woodruff? And the company name is Woodruff Holdings?’
Mitchell nodded.
‘Can you tell us about the company?’
‘It started here when Phil bought this pub. He expanded over the years and at the time of his death it owned five pubs, three nightclubs, three massage parlours and a casino.’
‘What does it own now, Mr Mitchell?’ Sophie gazed steadily at Mitchell.
‘Well, we’re in the process of expanding. We’re in negotiation to purchase some more commercial properties, including a couple of hotels.’
‘Would that be outright purchase or a merger of some type?’
Gordon hesitated. ‘Probably more of a merger.’
‘And can you tell us who you might be merging with? A company name maybe?’ She spoke quietly. Marsh thought she sounded quite casual.
‘I don’t have the full details. But it’s only at the negotiating stage at the moment. It isn’t a done deal. It's with a property company called Midwinter Tide.’
‘And was Mr Sorrento involved in the talks?’ she said.
‘Yes, very much so. It was his idea.’
‘So would his death put a stop to the plans?’
Mitchell shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t think so. We were broadly in favour. Our current boss is Wayne Woodruff, Phil’s son. He’s keen, but the deal has to be the right one.’
Sophie nodded and looked at Marsh.
‘We need some personal details about Mr Sorrento. His address would be a good start. We’d also like to see his office and check through his belongings. Would that be okay?’
‘Do you have a warrant?’
‘No, we don’t. But it’s a suspicious death, Mr Mitchell. Your help would be very much appreciated to avoid having to wait for a warrant.’ She gave him a thin, challenging smile. He remained silent.
* * *
They left the Rising Moon an hour later, with a minimum of personal information about Sorrento, and little else.
‘His office has been sanitised, Barry,’ Sophie said. ‘Nothing out of place, everything tidy. No suspicious letters or notes anywhere, nothing that would give us a lead. I bet that’s why our friendly and helpful Mr Mitchell was there early on a Saturday morning. He’d just been through the place.’
‘Well, at least we’ve got an address. And a key. That’s helpful.’
Sophie snorted. ‘We’ll find the same thing at his house. At the same time that Mitchell was going through Sorrento’s office, someone else will have been doing the same at his home.’
She phoned the county forensic team, passing on the address and asking for a search unit to be despatched.
The luxurious Bournemouth villa was deserted. The two detectives let themselves in and took a walk through the property, taking care not to touch anything of forensic importance. The furniture was modern and expensive-looking. Artwork lined the walls and a high-quality audio-visual system had pride of place in the lounge.
Sophie looked through a shelf dedicated to DVDs of opera. ‘Verdi and Puccini. Not quite your typical lowlife thug. Certainly different to Frimwell, if it’s his bunch they’re planning to merge with.’
‘He’s dead, ma’am. Maybe he didn’t fit in the new scheme of things. But it’s a bit odd if they bumped him off just after he’d come up with this new plan.’
‘Power struggle. With the father dying there’d be a vacuum at the top and maybe he trod on some toes while he was trying to fill it. I also wonder if he underestimated Frimwell. If he was assuming that nasty piece of lowlife was helpless in prison and was trying to cheat him, then he made a serious error. And with what Rae found out about Frimwell’s sisters, he would have been skating on thin ice.’
‘But surely he’d have known? If he was a director, wouldn’t he have found out ages ago that his boss’s wife was a Frimwell?’
‘Not necessarily. You and I investigated Frimwell a couple of years ago. Did we know about his twin sisters? No. They’ve obviously kept a low profile. Wouldn’t we if we were in their place? Sisters to an evil psychopath like him?’
Marsh was silent.
‘His company’s name was Midwinter Tide. Could you find out what happened to it after he was convicted? How come it still exists?’
They walked through the rest of the property, but found little of interest. The address books kept in a bureau cupboard had no obvious family names, nor did a calendar fixed to the kitchen wall. While Marsh waited for the forensic unit, Sophie visited the neighbours on each side. She returned after only a couple of minutes.
‘There was a van here in the early hours of yesterday morning. One of the neighbours spotted it when he took his dog out at six. It had gone when he returned twenty minutes later. I don’t think we’ll find anything directly incriminating.’
Sophie was right. ‘We’ll leave Blackman and McCluskie to run this scene. It’s been sanitised, so it’s just routine from here on.’
Marsh looked troubled. ‘But what if one of them’s the mole, ma’am? Do we want them so closely involved?’
‘Two things, Barry. Sorrento’s death is clearly murder, so it’s too major to keep under wraps. They’d know about it pretty quick whatever we did. And second, the mole probably isn’t one of them, at least I don’t think so. It’s odd in a way. They’re lazy, inept and, in McCluskie’s case, immoral. But I never thought he was bent. Anyway, they’re ruining the atmosphere in the incident room, with their gloomy faces. They’re like a couple of kids who need a trip outside every now and again to let off steam. So let’s give them this opportunity.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Post mortem in an hour. Time to get back to Dorchester.’
CHAPTER 25: Cool Smile
Late Saturday Morning, Week 2
‘What do you have for me, Benny?’ Sophie and Barry walked into the pathologist’s theatre, where the autopsy examination was already under way.
‘No surprises yet. Nothing unusual so far in the blood tests, but it’s early days. I took a sample yesterday as soon as we got back here, and put it in for checking immediately. He was healthy and fit, and there were no obvious drugs in his bloodstream. There don’t seem to be any other injuries, so it’s likely that he was killed by that single blow to the head.’ He returned his attention to the prominent head wound of the body on the bench.
‘Any idea what caused it?’
‘There are traces of grit at the sides of the wound so it could have been a lump of rock. The shape of the skull fracture fits that idea. Whatever caused it, the weapon would have been covered in blood, bone fragments and brain tissue. The assailant too. There would have been a spray of blood.’
‘He was a tall bloke, Benny.’
‘A couple of inches over six foot. The blow looks as though it came from above. Make of that what you will.’
‘Maybe he was hit while getting out of a car.’ She looked at Marsh. ‘Maybe he was lured there, and someone was waiting.’
‘I’d go with that,’ he replied. ‘I don’t think it was spur of the moment. It’s got that deliberate feel to it. And if it was a lump of rock, our chances of ever finding it are slim. That place is full of boggy pools. Whoever it was probably chucked it into one, and it’s sitting hidden in six inches of slimy ooze at the bottom.’
Sophie nodded. ‘That fits with the fact we found blood stains a few yards away, where the tyre tracks were. We need Dave Nash’s analysis of them. Maybe someone was already there, waiting.’
‘We were lucky that the ranger came across the body so quickly. It could have lain there for a lot longer, seeing how well it was hidden in the undergrowth.’
‘It’s difficult to be sure, Barry. Crows are noisy birds and their racket would have caught the attention of anyone passing by. And where he was found wasn’t that far from the road, unlike the old couple last week. Alice said that she’d been walking for some time when she came across
Sorrento’s body, but when you look at the map she’d nearly completed a circuit. She was almost out of the bog area and close to several of the footpaths that are used by ramblers and dog walkers, so my guess is that someone would have stumbled across the body within another day or two if Alice hadn’t spotted it. I don’t think whoever did it was too worried. They only needed a day, just enough time to clear anything incriminating from his office and house.’
They left when the surgical procedures got under way. For some reason that she couldn’t fathom, Sophie had a total abhorrence of scalpels, particularly seeing them cut through skin. She’d fainted at the very first autopsy she’d attended as a young detective. She hoped that her fear hadn’t been inherited by her younger daughter, Jade, presently preparing her application to study medicine at university.
‘Barry, we need to make another attempt to get Rod to remember what his parents told him about that funeral, especially now we have this new information Rae’s discovered. It would be useful to know whether they recognised anyone there, particularly this councillor. But we can’t afford to push him too hard. Can you see him again? Maybe a few gentle nudges might unlock some memories.’
* * *
The Armitage son was just leaving his flat. He was wearing an olive green waterproof jacket and walking boots caked in dirt.
‘Going out for a breath of air. I need to get my head straight. I was going to walk along the river bank.’
‘Can I come with you?’ Marsh asked. ‘There’s a few questions I need to ask. Nothing too serious, though. Maybe walking might help you remember. Do you often go out for walks?’
‘Not recent-like, but I used to years ago. Sometimes me and Sharon used to walk when we were kids. Down by the river, through the woods, that kind of thing.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve got to get myself together. Losing Mum and Dad shook me up, even if Sharon doesn’t think so. Maybe it didn’t show, but I felt it. Then Pete sacking me. I kind of thought, can I go on like this? It’s kind of like reaching a point where something’s gotta change, or I’m just gonna sink lower. I’ve gone all week without any junk or booze, and things ain’t so fuzzy now. Being out helps a bit.’
They reached the nearby riverside path and started to walk beside the flowing water.
‘I came to see if your parents might have mentioned anything about that funeral, Rod. You know, the one they went into by mistake. We wonder if it might be linked to their deaths, that they saw something or someone. Maybe they didn’t realise what or who it was, but someone else did. So far we just know that they told you about it that same night. While you were across having a meal with them, maybe?’
Rod looked at him. ‘Sounds as if you already know more about it than me. How d’you know I was across to eat?’
‘I don’t. It was only a suggestion. You told us that you went across most weeks, so I was just guessing.’
‘Prob’ly right. Mum used to feed me up. Said she thought I guzzled too many pizzas and burgers.’
‘If it helps, that day was really warm, Rod. For late April, I mean. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky.’
Rod’s expression cleared. ‘Oh God, yeah. I remember now. Dad moaned about all the time he’d wasted being at the funeral when he could have been in his precious garden. It really pissed me off. He was a slave to that garden. Bloody stupid. Then he moaned ’cause Mum had only done oven chips. She usually got the chip pan out and did them proper like, but she wasn’t feeling well. It was the funeral that did it. She had a bad headache. What is it? Flashing lights and stuff?’
‘A migraine?’
‘That’s it. She had a migraine, but she still had to do food for us. She was a bit of a martyr was Mum. If she’d phoned and told me, I’d have gone a few days later, or got fish and chips on my way over.’
Marsh waited.
‘She said they arrived at the funeral early and had to hang about a bit. Then a coffin arrived and they followed the people inside, but they twigged it was the wrong service. Mum got stressed over it.’
‘Anything else?’
Rod shook his head. ‘That was it. They went back out and waited. People started to arrive for the next funeral, the one they should have been at. That’s what Mum said.’
‘And they were people she recognised? The ones for Georgie Palmer’s funeral?’
Rod’s brow was furrowed in concentration. ‘They didn’t know the people for that one either. The dead woman moved away years before. They were the only people from Blandford who went, so they didn’t know anyone. Mebbe that was why they got confused. They only talked to one person there. That’s why Dad was in a mood, even later on when I saw them. He said it was a complete waste of time. Him moaning made Mum even more miserable.’
Marsh thought back to Rae’s list of people from the Palmer funeral. So the couple had talked to someone there. Who could it have been?
‘This is all very helpful, Rod. I’ve got some checking to do, but what you’ve said fits with another witness.’
Rod stopped and turned to face Marsh. ‘What? You think what happened was something to do with that funeral? Christ. That’s weird.’
‘We don’t know. We have to check everything. I’ll keep you posted.’
Marsh walked back to the police station and phoned Shirley Willis to check she was in. He then drove over to Poole.
* * *
Shirley was a bright, alert seventy-year-old. It soon became apparent that little escaped her notice.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Councillor Blythe was in a hurry coming out of the crematorium building. And he was most definitely in the previous one, not Georgie Palmer’s. He seemed to be in a bit of a mood, and didn’t apologise for nearly knocking me over when he bumped into me.’
‘Did he talk to anyone else?’ Barry asked.
‘Not really. The people I was talking to had to step back sharpish. The husband seemed to be a bit quiet after that.’
‘Who were they, Mrs Willis?’
‘I’d never met them before the funeral. They were looking a bit lost so I just started talking to them. I think they said they knew Georgie from when she lived in Blandford.’
Marsh nodded. ‘That ties in. I just needed to double check with you. It might be a key piece of evidence.’
‘Your colleague didn’t say much when she phoned, but I’ve been wondering. Were they that couple found dead in the nature reserve?’
‘Yes, and we’re treating their deaths as suspicious. Can you keep all this to yourself, Mrs Willis? It’s a very sensitive investigation and we don’t want to release too much to the press at the moment.’
She nodded. ‘Of course. They seemed a nice enough couple. They didn’t strike me as the types who would commit suicide.’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘Mainly how we knew Georgie. The woman, I think her name was Sylvia, used to play badminton with her. She was a bit nervy, but I’m not surprised, after having just found themselves in the wrong place. I sat with them during Georgie’s service and she was much calmer when that finished. They didn’t come to the reception, though. Her husband wanted to get back to Blandford before the rush hour traffic, so we didn’t chat for long.’
* * *
Marsh drove back to Blandford, and called at Pete Armitage’s small office. He was in, checking through a pile of invoices.
‘The curse of running your own business, Sergeant,’ Pete said. ‘I sometimes think I’ll drown in paper.’
Marsh laughed. ‘It’s a curse for everyone these days, Mr Armitage. It’s unbelievable how much we have to do in the police, but prosecutions would fail if it wasn’t all done properly.’
‘How can I help you?’
‘I wonder if there’s a chance either Sylvia or Ted talked to you about a funeral they attended back in April? In Poole?’
‘No. I don’t remember it. When was this?’
‘Towards the end of the month.’
‘I was away on holiday then. Took a break in Barcelona to see the s
ights and fit in a football match. Had a great time.’
Post dropped onto the floor of the lobby, and Pete walked through to collect it. Marsh was left looking at the invoices and the computer screen. His eyes ran idly down the list, and a name jumped out at him. Woodruff Holdings. Pete must have done a decorating job at one of their properties. Marsh was about to lean forward to gain a clearer view when he heard Pete’s footsteps. He stood up, said goodbye and left.
* * *
‘I didn’t expect to see you back so soon, Chief Inspector.’ Gordon Mitchell was still in the Woodruff Holdings company offices above the Rising Moon pub. He looked warily at the two detectives standing in the doorway.
Sophie gave him a cool smile. ‘I need to see your company records, Mr Mitchell. There’s a chance that Mr Sorrento’s death may be linked to his work, so I’d like access to the records of other organisations and businesses that he’d have been in contact with. You currently own, what, twelve premises?’
Mitchell nodded.
‘And Mr Sorrento did most of the day to day management? Apart from the legal aspects, which were your own concern. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So he would be dealing with a lot of people on a regular basis?’ He nodded. ‘We need to check in more detail. We glanced at the company records this morning, but little more.’
She unlocked the door to Sorrento’s office. ‘Has anyone else been in here since we left this morning?’
‘Just the cleaner.’
‘I thought I said no one was to come in? Wasn’t that clear enough for you?’
‘Sorry,’ Mitchell mumbled.
Sophie and Marsh left him in the corridor and closed the door. Marsh switched on the computer while Sophie started looking through the large ring-binders on a shelf behind the desk. Both yielded the evidence they were looking for. Pete Armitage was obviously the main decorating contractor for all the Woodruff premises. He’d invoiced for two already this year, and three the previous year. They photographed each page.
‘They might have had time to sanitise anything that could have linked them to Sorrento’s death,’ Sophie said, ‘but this stuff wouldn’t have appeared suspicious. It’s just ordinary company records. Run of the mill stuff to them. But gold dust to us. Well, would you believe it? Could our nice, friendly Pete Armitage be a wolf in sheep’s clothing?’
TWISTED CRIMES a gripping detective mystery full of suspense Page 15