‘But what if it wasn’t money at all? What if he owed them a lot? Maybe a gambling debt? Remember it was him that suggested Pete put in a bid for decorating the Boulevard club. He was already a regular there. Maybe the relationship goes deeper than we’ve assumed.’
‘In that case, we need to go through their stuff really carefully. It won’t be in any official accounts, not if it’s a longstanding gambling debt. It’ll be in a notebook somewhere, probably in that mass of material we lifted this morning. Let’s get started. I want to interview Woodruff and the others in a couple of hours. It would be good if we had something concrete by then.’
They joined Lydia at the pile of folders and files, and started sorting through them. Any notebooks they found were put to one side. In less than twenty minutes they’d finished, creating a small pile of eight notebooks containing handwritten notes and jottings. Sophie and Marsh scanned through these, while Lydia returned to the financial statements. It didn’t take long to find the notebook they were looking for. It was old, stained and torn at one corner, but the notes inside were gold dust. Names, dates and sums of money, all recorded in detail. They saw clearly that Rod Armitage had somehow managed to accumulate a gambling debt amounting to several thousand pounds. That debt had been cancelled four weeks previously.
‘Bring him in,’ Sophie said. ‘Meanwhile I’ll have a little chat with our man, Toffee Barber. I’m sure he won’t feel particularly loyal to an outsider. Maybe he’ll be willing to drop our young Rod in the deep stuff right away.’
Marsh tilted his head. ‘He might look for a deal, ma’am. Wouldn’t you in his situation?’
Her lip curled. ‘I have no intention of ever being in his situation.’
With a squad car behind him, Marsh drove to Rod’s flat but the supposedly disorganised young man was nowhere to be found.
* * *
Marsh phoned Sharon Giroux at her surgery but she claimed to know nothing of her brother's whereabouts. She sounded upset and angry, so Marsh asked what was bothering her. Sharon told him that she'd paid Rod's overdue rent bill before leaving for her family holiday, but had just discovered about the large sum that their mother had given to Rod, supposedly for the same purpose.
Marsh went to see his boss in her office. ‘Rod gave us a pretty convincing story, ma’am. But he’s devious, and he’s tricked his family into paying off his debts. He's always projected this image of being just self-centred and dozy. But he's been very clever at wheedling money out of them when he needs it.’
‘He did have that assault complaint made against him as a teenager, Barry. I know it was dropped, but we need to bear it in mind.’ Sophie sighed. ‘Okay, we need to step up the search for him. He obviously knows more than he's been letting on. I just wish we could find out who else was told that Sylvia might have been planning to make a large charity donation. They've all denied it, apart from Sharon. I’m just about to interview our sweet man, Toffee. I think he knows more about this whole business than he’s been telling, and he might be the weak link in the chain. I’ll probe a bit.’
‘Why would he know?’
‘It’s possible he was directly involved in at least one of the murders. Maybe all of them. He got a bit jumpy at times. It just made me wonder. He would have seen Rod fairly regularly, and Pete, when there was a decorating job on. We’ve got the evidence to nail Woodruff and Blythe, particularly with the help we got from Sue Woodruff, but maybe it’s more complex than that. I need to ask him about the storerooms at the back of his club. Rae radioed in about them, but she can’t find any keys.’
Sophie and Marsh made their way to the second interview room, where Barber was talking to his lawyer.
‘You have a couple of outhouses at the back of your club, Mr Barber. Could you tell me what’s in them?’
‘Spare furniture. You know, tables, chairs, that kind of thing.’
‘What about the smaller shed?’
‘We don’t use it,’ he replied.
‘But it’s kept locked. Why’s that?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s used by the builders and decorators who do work on the place.’
‘Like Pete Armitage?’
Barber looked wary. ‘Yeah. He has the key at the mo. They do loads of work at our place, so they use that shed to store their stuff.’
Evidently Barber was now more willing to talk about Armitage. Maybe his lawyer had made him see sense.
‘Rod or Pete?’
‘Either, depending on who’s doing most of the work at the time.’
‘I’ve got officers still there, Mr Barber, and they need to get into those storage rooms. Where can they find a key? Either that or we break the doors down. Which would you prefer?’
Barber hesitated. ‘No comment.’
Sophie and Marsh went out to pass on the news to Rae, but the doors had already been forced. ‘The locks were rotten, ma’am, and fell apart easily. There’s a mix of stuff here. The bigger shed was okay, just old bits of furniture and fittings. This one didn’t have a key anywhere I could see, so we had to force the lock. I’ve just spotted a load of decorating stuff. Wait a mo.’
They heard thumps and bangs, and then Rae’s voice again. ‘Paint thinner, brushes, cleaning rags. Hang on. There’s a pile of stuff here at the back, half hidden, and it looks suspicious. Some boxes with what look like antiques in them, and other valuable-looking stuff. We may need to get forensics to take a look.’
Sophie was about to answer when Rae spoke again. ‘Whoa. There’s a couple of baseball bats in the corner. And a balaclava.’
‘Back off, Rae. We’ll get the local CID in to start fingerprinting. Stay there for the time being and don’t let anyone else in. Okay?’
‘Should we visit Pete Armitage?’ Marsh asked.
Sophie looked at the clock. ‘I think we have to, but I need to phone Kevin McGreedie first. He can deal with the stuff that Rae’s found. I wonder what those two supposed decorators have been up to?’
CHAPTER 38: Dirty Harry
Thursday Evening, Week 3
It was now mid-evening and Pete Armitage was nowhere to be found. He lived in a small semi-detached bungalow on the south side of Blandford but there was no answer at the door. According to his neighbour, a bright-eyed pensioner who had answered her door suspiciously quickly, he hadn’t been back all day. She told Sophie and Marsh that he usually came home at the same time each evening but she hadn’t seen him since he’d left that morning. Armitage’s driveway passed close to her sitting room window and her chair was positioned so that she could watch the comings and goings in the neighbourhood.
‘Is he alright? He keeps himself to himself and doesn’t chat very much. He does put my bins out for me, though, and that’s really helpful.’
Sophie and Marsh walked slowly back to their car.
‘We need someone to keep an eye on this place. I don’t know what this means,’ she said. ‘He might come back once it gets dark, to gather a few things together before making a run for it. Maybe Blackman could do it. He’s due a late shift, and he seems a bit lost without his mate Phil McCluskie to keep him company.’
* * *
Stu Blackman had been sitting with Rae Gregson for several hours in their car, keeping an eye on the row of neat properties. Each house had a small front garden, most with a low hedge and a few shrubs. CID officers hated these surveillance jobs, including the young woman officer beside him, but he didn’t mind them. Maybe they suited his temperament, he thought. Easygoing and easily amused. She was fidgeting restlessly in her seat.
‘Go for a wander for a couple of minutes,’ he said. ‘As long as you stay in sight, you’ll be alright.’
Rae climbed out of the car and walked to the end of the road, turned and came back towards the car. Blackman saw her suddenly stop and move towards the front wall of the house they were watching. She ran back to the car.
‘I think someone’s moving around inside, Sarge. I heard a door bang. Maybe he’s climbed over the back fence and got
in that way. Should we radio in?’
‘Could it just be the wind or something?’
‘I don’t see how. The boss said all the windows and doors were shut when she visited earlier.’
Blackman made a call to the control room and relayed the information to Sophie.
‘Stay where you are,’ she said. ‘We’ll get support to you directly. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
Blackman got out of the car. ‘If it’s someone who’s come in at the back, they’ll leave that way and we won’t see them. I’m going round there. You stay here.’
The young detective looked worried. ‘But we’re meant to stay here . . .’
But Blackman was already gone, crossing the road towards Armitage’s driveway. His solid bulk quickly disappeared in the shadows cast by the bungalow. He moved surprisingly quietly for someone his size. He crept to the side of the house and took a peek around the corner before tiptoeing into the rear garden. It consisted mainly of lawn, with what Blackman guessed were soft-fruit bushes beneath the high fence. He went up to the back door and found it was ajar.
What to do? He hesitated, debating with himself about the wisdom of entering a silent house with an unknown intruder inside. Did he feel brave enough? Maybe not. Maybe he’d come far enough. But the decision was made for him. The door suddenly swung open, taking him by surprise and pushing him back down the single step where he lost his footing on the damp surface and went down. Blackman stuck his leg out, causing the shadowy figure to stumble as it ran by. It kicked him in the ribs, and in his stomach. Then he heard Rae calling as she came around the house. The assailant ran towards the fence and clambered over.
‘I’m alright,’ Blackman gasped. ‘Get after him. I’ll call in and get some help.’
* * *
Rae scaled the fence, and dropped to the ground on the other side, landing in what felt like a bed of rhubarb, judging by the texture of the leaves that enveloped her. The house was partly illuminated by a well-lit rear window, but Rae could see nothing moving. She straightened up and made her way along a path that ran alongside what she guessed to be a lawn. It was difficult to make out any detail in the near darkness. She could hear no sound. Did that mean that the assailant had already left the garden or was he still lurking somewhere, watching her? She extracted a torch from her jacket pocket and swept the beam around the garden. It was largely devoid of shrubs or bushes, so there was nowhere for the man to hide. He must have fled. Rae moved along the side wall of the house to the front driveway. From here the road looped away in front of her, curving towards the river, with a path leading down to a bank covered in trees. Someone could easily hide there. Time to call in for reinforcements.
Rae went back and climbed the fence into Pete Armitage’s garden. Blackman was moving towards the open back door, and Rae joined him.
‘Backup will be here in a mo. Let’s just have a look inside.’ They moved slowly through the house, seeing no one, until they reached the spare bedroom upstairs.
Pete Armitage lay on the floor, breathing in shallow gasps. Blood oozed slowly from a deep gash at the side of his head. Rae knelt down beside him and felt for his pulse. Weak but steady. She radioed for an ambulance, then looked around her. A cashbox lay on its side a few feet from Pete's body with several bank notes on the floor beside it. Jagged chunks from a broken vase were scattered across the carpet, the largest stained with blood.
* * *
Across the rain-spattered town the police were out in force, searching for Rod Armitage who was nowhere to be found. In one of the squad cars Rose Simons and George Warrander were exploring the area around the river on the south side of town. They parked their car in the last of the riverside car parks and Rose got out for a look around.
‘Can’t see anything further than about twenty yards,’ she said. ‘Not in this darkness and drizzle. Tell you what, young George, we need to stretch our legs, especially a fit young feller like you. Let’s walk along the river bank for a bit. We’ll leave the jalopy here, stroll to the next bridge then come back. Torches at the ready and, whatever you do, don’t fall in. It would ruin my evening if I had to jump in to rescue you. I put clean undies on before I started this shift, so I’d be bloody annoyed. Okay?’
Warrander looked up at the night sky and grimaced. ‘Right, boss. I promise to be careful.’
‘Keep your walkie-talkie on. Mine’s on the blink again.’
George suspected that this was untrue. She used her walkie-talkie’s supposed unpredictability as a cover for bending the operational rules whenever it was convenient. He pulled his collar up and they set off along the path. They were on the final leg of the walk, and had not yet seen anything remotely suspicious, when a tall figure appeared in the distance. He was walking slowly down a footpath towards the river, and keeping to the shadows.
‘Torches off,’ Rose hissed. They waited quietly. Warrander could just make out the shape of the next bridge. The flashing blue light of a squad car appeared and stopped beside it. Whoever it was shrank back into the shadows.
Rose whispered to Warrander. ‘Cut across the grass and get behind him. I’ll stay here. Let him know you’re there.’
George moved silently across the open grassy area, getting behind their quarry on the footpath. He switched his torch back on and didn’t try to hide the sound of his footfalls. He spotted the tall figure ahead of him leave the shadowy path, and move towards the riverside, then turn towards the place where Rose Simons was waiting. George followed. He could now see the riverside with its dark bushes lining the path and the hurrying figure approaching the spot occupied by his boss. Rose moved out to block his path but the man shoved her aside. George started running but he was still some yards away when their quarry swung a punch at the sergeant. Big mistake, thought George. Rose dodged aside so that the blow glanced off her shoulder, and then she grabbed her assailant by the arm, swung him around and forced him to the ground, held in an arm lock. When George arrived the man was face down on the ground and Rose was stooping over him, her knee firmly lodged in the small of his back. It was Rod Armitage.
‘This isn’t some Wild West town, young sonny-boy. We aren’t in Dodge City and I’m not some John Wayne type of sheriff who you can shove aside if you feel like it.’ She paused and stepped back. ‘Anyway, I’m more of a Clint Eastwood fan.’ Her voice deepened to a growl. ‘Feeling lucky, punk? Go on, make my day.’ She held out her right hand, fingers shaped like a pistol.
CHAPTER 39: Greenhouse Fruit
Friday Morning, Week 3
Lydia Pillay was on her second full day on loan to the unit. ‘I think I’ve found something, ma’am. I’ve just spotted an anomaly in the accounts, but I don’t know how significant it is. And there could be others. I’ve only just started this particular check.’
Lydia had sections of the Woodruff Holdings and Boulevard club accounts open on one side of her desk, and the Armitage Decorating bank statements on the other. Her finger rested on the Woodruff figures. ‘Look. There’s a withdrawal of exactly four thousand pounds cash from the Boulevard, but there’s no record of where it went.’
‘Sure it’s cash?’
Lydia nodded. ‘And how many legitimate bills are ever conveniently rounded off like that? Exact, to a thousand? It’s a payment for something, but something that they maybe didn’t want recorded.’
Sophie looked at the figures, thinking through the possible explanations. ‘When was this?’
‘Four years ago. Up until then, everything balances. All the payments for decorating jobs come from Woodruff Holdings’ accounts, not direct from the Boulevard, and they seem to correspond to legitimate decorating jobs. But look here.’ She pointed to data from early the following year. ‘Same again. A payment of three thousand going out direct from the Boulevard. Let’s check the account details.’ She ran her eyes down the columns of figures in the second set of papers. ‘No entry again. All the other sums coming in from Woodruff look legitimate, and about what you’d expect for co
mmercial decorating jobs.’ She paused. ‘There’s one more, later that year, for the same amount, look. Then nothing until five weeks and three weeks ago. Two cash withdrawals, each five thousand, but this time from Woodruff Holdings. Well, would you believe it? Just around the time that the old couple were murdered. In fact, one probably just before and the other just after.’
Sophie peered. ‘Suspicious? Could we check the serial numbers of the notes? I mean, if Woodruff got them as cash direct from the bank, they may still have a record. And Rae found that empty cash box last night at Pete's house. Which means that Rod may have hidden the contents somewhere. He only had an hour or two before he was picked up and he doesn’t drive. It would be somewhere local. Maybe I’ll get Rose Simons up from her beauty sleep and pick her brains. She’s local and might have an idea where he could have gone after leaving Pete’s house.’ Sophie started to move away, then stopped. ‘Those other payments, the ones of three and four thousand. Can you give me the dates again? I might give Kevin McGreedie a ring. It’s just occurred to me that they might connect to the things Rae found in that shed. Stuff from house break-ins. He can check the dates against burglaries that occurred. Those sums came from the Boulevard rather than the Woodruff parent company. I wonder if our friend Toffee Barber is running a fencing operation for goods that Rod and Pete have been stealing.’
'There's something else a bit worrying about these decorating accounts, ma'am. When you look at them in detail, the business isn't really profitable. So where's his money coming from?' Lydia laid a hand on the records involving Blythe. ‘I’ve only had a quick look so far, but there are a couple of suspicious planning decisions here. Leave it with me for a few more hours.’
‘Lydia, you’re a star.’
* * *
It was Barry Marsh who came up with another breakthrough. When he heard about the money that Rod might have hidden, he guessed immediately.
TWISTED CRIMES a gripping detective mystery full of suspense Page 23