Talisman (The Wakefield Series Book 3)

by David Evans

“We will.” Stainmore closed the notebook. “Well, thanks for your time Mrs Matthews.” She stood. “That has been helpful. I’ll see myself out.”

  As Stainmore turned to close the front door behind her, Anita was still sitting at the breakfast bar staring into her coffee mug.

  * * *

  “Charlie, it’s me.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “That policewoman who came to the office last week. How did she get my home number?”

  “Not from me. Why? Has she called you?”

  “More than that … she’s just been here.”

  “What did she want?”

  “Asking about that oddball cleaner you had. The one found dead.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Just that. She was your cleaner for Leeds Road and she was an oddball.”

  Chamberlain exhaled noisily. “What else did she ask?”

  “When was the last time I’d seen her. I said about January last year but she’d let you down by not coming back.”

  There was silence for a short while before Anita spoke again. “Charlie … tell me the truth … did you have anything to do with her death?”

  “Christ, Anita, what are you saying? Of course I didn’t.”

  She looked out of the kitchen window, her eyes misting. “But you went to see her though, didn’t you. That last night after she’d called you.”

  Chamberlain said nothing. All she could hear was him breathing.

  “You said you were going to sort it.”

  “She was okay when I left.”

  A tear fell down her cheek. It was her turn to be quiet. She’d known Charlie for years. For the first time, she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She remembered his distracted state of mind the day following his visit to her house.

  “You do believe me, don’t you?”

  “Why did you call her in June?”

  “I didn’t …” Chamberlain hesitated. “Oh, right. That was how they made a connection. Phone records. I just thought … I hadn’t heard from her and … I … I just wanted to make sure that what I’d said to her had sunk in and she wouldn’t be pestering me again.”

  “But she didn’t answer.”

  “No.”

  Anita slowly put the phone down. “She was probably already dead,” she said quietly to herself.

  * * *

  “You’ve never been satisfied with what happened to Denise Whitaker from the off, have you?”

  Stainmore was sitting at a table in the canteen at Wood Street Police Station opposite Strong. She’d paid for their coffees and told her boss the gist of her earlier conversation with Anita Matthews.

  “Why lie about not knowing who she was?” she said, referring to Chamberlain. “It’s not as though he’d drop himself in it about what went on in his secret house. We already knew that thanks to his wife taking that roll of film to be processed.”

  Strong scratched his ear. “It’s more than that, though, I can tell.”

  Stainmore instinctively looked around then leaned in closer. “I had a quiet word with Dr Symonds …”

  Strong mirrored her moves. “And?”

  “Although the PM showed she’d suffered a heart attack, the cause of death was officially drowning.”

  “That’s what you said the other week. Go on.”

  “The assumption is she suffered a heart attack while sitting in the bath and that led to her head dropping forward into the water and hence, drowning.” She paused to drain her coffee cup. “What if someone held her head below the water and during that period she suffered a heart attack?”

  “But there was no sign of forced entry. She appeared to have been relaxing in her bath …”

  “So someone she knew? Someone she thought she could trust? Someone who might have had a key?”

  “Christ, Kelly, that’s a huge leap to get to that.”

  “That’s why we need to speak to Chamberlain again. Despite what he said, they knew each other. I’m wondering if that set of keys she had was for his other house, if she did indeed clean for him. If so, the question is, did he have a key for hers?”

  “You two look as if you’re plotting something.” Luke Ormerod was grinning, holding a tray with a meal and a drink.

  Strong looked up. “No, we’re just talking about … well, it doesn’t matter. Come and sit down, Luke.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Stainmore agreed. “You can tell us how the search for likely suspects at Pinderfields is coming along.”

  “Ah, well …” Ormerod placed his food plate, cutlery and mug of tea onto the table before looking round for the tray trolley. “Back in a sec.”

  Once he’d sat down, free of tray, he began, “We’ve identified five people so far who were at work at the hospital on the last occasion each of our victims attended.”

  “Have you finished the trawl?” Strong asked.

  “Not quite, but I‘m hoping to see it through today.”

  Stainmore joined in. “So who are they?”

  Ormerod finished chewing a mouthful of cottage pie before answering. “There’s a junior houseman, from Ghana, a female nurse from Rothwell, a male midwife from Huddersfield way, a services engineer from Selby and a porter from here in Wakefield.”

  “Well, no racism intended but I’m assuming the houseman is black, so we can eliminate him.” Strong looked to Stainmore then Ormerod. “I doubt any of our victims would have needed to see a midwife, and unless the nurse was in direct contact with all of them, I think we’re realistically prioritising looking at the services engineer and the porter.”

  A forkful of chips had followed the pie into Ormerod mouth. “Exactly what I was thinking, guv.”

  “You’re not really enjoying that, are you, Luke.” Strong grinned and stole a chip from his plate.

  “I’m absolutely starving,” he responded.

  “So you’ll be tracking down those two then?” Stainmore added.

  “Ah, now there’s the thing.” Ormerod pointed to Stainmore with his fork. “The porter is someone you might already know.”

  “Who?”

  “Patrick Whitaker.”

  20

  Tuesday 31st July 2001

  “So the new man starts tomorrow.” Stainmore was making conversation as she and Strong retraced their steps of a few days ago, back to the offices of Charles Chamberlain Associates.

  “First of August, yes.”

  “Any idea what he’s like?”

  Strong shook his head. “No more than the little Flynn told me. He’s a graduate entry, thirty-six years old and comes fresh from the Cambridgeshire Force.”

  “Says it all,” Stainmore quipped.

  They walked on in silence for a few more minutes before she spoke again. “We have a definite appointment to see Chamberlain then?”

  “Called this morning just to make sure he would be there. Receptionist put me through.” He checked his watch. “Ten-thirty he said.”

  “No doubt Mrs Matthews will have filled him in on our discussion yesterday. Plenty of time to get their stories straight.”

  Strong looked at his DS, a mock surprised expression on his face. “Kelly, what are you saying? You think they may be fabricating something between them?”

  “Perish the thought, guv.”

  “Mr Chamberlain, please,” Strong addressed the receptionist he’d by-passed last week.

  “Ah, yes,” she said, and then with a hint of irony, “He is expecting you.”

  A few minutes later, Chamberlain, Strong and Stainmore were seated around the table in the meeting room next door to Chamberlain’s office. The receptionist had brought a cafetiere of coffee, milk and sugar along with cups, saucers and spoons for three.

  All smarm, Chamberlain asked, “So, how can I help you?”

  Strong had decided to let Stainmore take the lead in this morning’s questions.

  “Denise Whitaker,” she began, “have you had a chance to reconsider your answer fr
om the last time we met?”

  He leaned forward and pushed down on the handle of the cafetiere. “Well, obviously, having had a chance to think about it, of course I remember Mrs Whitaker. I just didn’t put two and two together before, that’s all.” He poured coffee into three cups and slid two across the table to the detectives. “I thought you were referring to a client.”

  “So having thought about it, what can you tell me about her?”

  He shrugged a surprised expression. “Not a lot really. She was a woman who cleaned the Leeds Road house for me.”

  Stainmore held out the set of keys she’d retained from Denise Whitaker’s house. “Can you have a look at these? Are they for your Leeds Road house?”

  Chamberlain reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his own set of keys, took hold of the ones Stainmore offered and compared them. “Yes,” he said. “These would be the set I gave to her so she could let herself in. Can I have them back?”

  “In due course,” she said, taking them back. “Mrs Whitaker, was she any good?”

  “She was a cleaner, sergeant. Not a lot to it. It wasn’t as though anyone lived there, so the workload wasn’t particularly heavy.”

  Strong leaned forward and added a spoonful of sugar and some milk to his drink.

  Stainmore’s eyes never left Chamberlain. “When was the last time you saw her?” she continued.

  Chamberlain gave a show of giving the question some thought. “Oh, it must have been … early part of last year? … maybe January, February, something like that.”

  “And where was that?”

  “At the house. I’d arranged to meet her to pay her some wages.”

  “And there would be some record of that, of course?”

  He laughed nervously. “Really, this was an informal arrangement. For all I knew she was claiming benefits or some such. I just paid her cash in an envelope. It wasn’t worth formalising things.”

  Strong had taken a drink from his cup and placed it back on its saucer. “Is that something you do often, Mr Chamberlain?” he asked. “Paying cash in hand for services.”

  He looked sharply at Strong. “Look here, she was just a cleaner. It was more for her benefit than mine. But no, inspector, it is not something I do frequently or even condone.”

  “But obviously, this arrangement came to an end. Can you tell me about that?” Stainmore resumed.

  “She just stopped coming. I mean, I left her wages in an envelope tucked below the clock on the mantelpiece, like I’d done before … and the next time I went, it was still there and it was obvious she hadn’t been to clean.”

  “Did that not concern you?”

  “No, not really. I just thought she’d had a better offer and moved on. To be honest, I began to realise I didn’t need a cleaner. So I just let it go.”

  “And how long had she cleaned for you?”

  He puffed out his cheeks. “Ooh … about a year, I think.”

  Stainmore looked surprised. “So she cleans for you for a year and then one day she fails to show and you don’t appear concerned.”

  “Well, no.”

  “And you didn’t try and call her?”

  “I honestly can’t remember.”

  “So if we said her telephone records showed that she was called from these offices on 6th June last year, that wouldn’t have been you, would it?”

  “It might have been. Yes, I remember now … I wanted to confirm she wasn’t coming back.”

  “And what response did you get.”

  Chamberlain looked puzzled. “Nothing. There was no answer.”

  “Did you know where she lived?

  “Not exactly. I think she lived in Normanton. I may have had her address when she first started but I’ve no idea where I put it.”

  “So you wouldn’t have had a key to her place?”

  “Her house?” he flustered, “No. Why would I have a key to her house?”

  “Or her flat,” Stainmore said quietly.

  “Er … yes. I mean, no.”

  Slowly she leaned forward and picked up her coffee for the first time.

  Strong picked up the initiative. “Have you heard of something known as the Talisman Club, Mr Chamberlain?”

  A flustered expression appeared on Chamberlain’s face. “Talisman? No. I can’t say I have.”

  Stainmore looked at her boss as she put down her coffee cup. “Is that a denial similar to the one you gave us last week when I asked you about Denise Whitaker?”

  “I’ve told you, it means nothing to me.”

  “What sort of car do you drive” Stainmore threw in.

  Chamberlain looked puzzled. “Car? Is that relevant to anything?”

  “Just curious.”

  “A BMW 5 series. Black.”

  Strong stood. “Well, thanks for your cooperation Mr Chamberlain. I hope you won’t find our visit necessary to report to ACC Wadsworth.”

  Chamberlain opened his mouth to reply but said nothing.

  Stainmore followed Strong’s lead and made for the door.

  Hand on the handle, he turned to Chamberlain once more. “By the way, how is Mrs Chamberlain? No further relapses, I hope.”

  “Er, no. She’s recovering well, thank you.

  On the short walk back to Wood Street, Strong and Stainmore assessed the responses they’d heard from Chamberlain.

  “He’s lying again, guv,” Stainmore said.

  “He wouldn’t make a very good poker player, that’s for sure. Nice touch that,” Strong replied, “throwing him off balance when he appeared to assume that Denise lived in a house.”

  “I’ll bet he’s been there. Would it be worth asking the neighbours if they’d ever seen his car outside? Would be a bit flash for there. Someone might have noticed.”

  Strong shrugged. “Not after all this time, Kelly. Even if one had been spotted, there’d be no proof it would have been his. Besides, he could have known she lived in a house from the newspaper reports of her death.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  They paused while they let some traffic pass before crossing Wood Street and heading for the Police Station.

  “But he knew what the Talisman Club was all about, though,” Stainmore added, climbing the steps to the building and holding open the main door for her boss.

  * * *

  “Have you seen Susan this morning?” Janey Clark sounded frustrated.

  “Earlier on. Why? Have you lost her?” Souter was working on a story about the political and economical effects of bumper High Street sales for July when she interrupted his thoughts.

  “She was supposed to be coming with me to the court for this afternoon’s session, that’s all.” She was noisily packing a bag at her workstation. “Waste of time, that girl,” she said under her breath. Then at normal volume, “Is she doing something for you that you’ve not mentioned?”

  “What? No … I mean, she might be researching some background material we were talking about the other day. Not sure, though.”

  Janey gave big sigh and heaved her bag over her shoulder. “Well if she does show up, tell her to meet me in Court Two at the Crown Court.”

  “Will do,” Souter said to her disappearing back. Once she’d gone, he picked up his mobile scrolled down and rang Susan’s number.

  * * *

  About ten miles away in Wakefield, Susan sheltered in a doorway opposite the Town Hall. She was on a reconnaissance mission. Totally unofficially, but she felt it had to be done. She was hoping she wouldn’t be missed back in the offices of the Yorkshire Post. With a bit of luck, Janey would think she was with Bob and vice-versa. She’d been inside the Town Hall building to check her quarry, what she looked like, and hoped she would be the sort of person who likes to leave her workplace for a break at lunchtime.

  A few minutes later, the woman emerged from the doorway and skipped down the steps onto the pavement, checked for traffic and made her way down Wood Street.

  Susan checked her watch and followed.


  Her phone rang just as she was passing the Police Station.

  “Susan, where are you? Janey’s been looking for you.”

  “There’s just something I have to do, Bob,” she answered.

  “Listen, don’t take the piss. I called a favour to get you in here. Don’t be letting me down.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Well, whatever you’re doing, it was a bit of research for me but get yourself in to Court Two at the Crown Courts as soon as you can. Janey’s expecting you.”

  She was about to say thanks, but the line had gone dead.

  * * *

  As Susan Brown answered her phone on the street below, Kelly Stainmore was in the CID Room a few yards away searching her desk drawer. She found the number she was looking for, picked up the phone and dialled.

  “Ah, Doctor Symonds,” she said when it was answered, “It’s DS Stainmore here. I was wondering, about our body in the bath, Denise Whitaker …” She paused as he greeted her. “Your initial findings were that the cause of death was drowning but there was evidence of a heart attack first?” She listened as the doctor confirmed her assessment.

  “What I was wondering was … could she have had her head held under the water and effectively been drowning and that caused her to panic and suffer a heart attack? I mean could it have been that way round?”

  Another pause as she digested the medical opinion given.

  “But it is possible?” She took a breath and listened again. “Okay, okay. But you couldn’t rule it out either? … All right, thanks doctor.” Thoughtful, she replaced the receiver.

  “Not the right answer?” Ormerod asked from the adjacent desk.

  “Not any sort of answer, Luke. It would be impossible to tell apparently, especially after the time lapse since death, which occurred first; heart attack or drowning.”

  Ormerod put his pen down, stood up and walked over to his colleague. “This one doesn’t seem right to you, does it?”

  She leaned back in her chair and looked to the window. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m seeing something that isn’t there. Or maybe it’s because I’ve taken a dislike to this Chamberlain character.”

  “The one whose wife discovered that roll of film?”

  She turned back to her colleague. “You know he assaulted her after that, don’t you?”