Talisman (The Wakefield Series Book 3)

by David Evans

  “I’m sorry,” she was saying, “but Mr Chamberlain is not available today.” A pause. “No I don’t know when he’s expected back.” She put the phone down and it immediately rang again.

  Before she could answer it, Strong introduced himself. “Is Mrs Matthews in?” he enquired.

  “She is, but she’s very upset.”

  “I understand that but we do need to speak with her.”

  “Just a minute,” she said, stood and walked through the door to the main offices.

  A minute later, she reappeared, Anita Matthews following behind.

  “If you’d like to come through,” Anita said, face puffy and apparently struggling with emotion.

  She led them through to the meeting room and offered them drinks, which they refused.

  “You’ve obviously heard the sad news,” Strong began once they were seated

  Anita nodded. “It’s just awful. Belinda rang me about an hour ago. We can’t take it in. Are you absolutely sure?” She waved her hands. “I’m sorry, that was a stupid question.”

  “That’s okay, Mrs Matthews.” Strong said, “You’ve had a shock and we don’t always think logically at these times.”

  She gave a faint smile.

  “Unfortunately, we do have to ask a few questions,” he continued, “And we will have to look at a lot of things here.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  Stainmore opened her notebook as Strong began.

  “Can you tell me the last time you saw Mr Chamberlain?”

  “Yesterday …” she struggled once more and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “… Yesterday afternoon; when I left the office. That would have been around four-thirty.”

  “And was everything as normal?”

  “Yes. He said he’d be in a bit later this morning, around eleven, as he had a meeting first thing.”

  “He didn’t say who with?”

  “No, but it should be in his diary.” She stood. “Oh, I’ll have to …”

  “No, that’s fine. We’ll take care of that later,” Strong interrupted, holding up a hand.

  She sat back down.

  “And that was the last time you spoke to him? Yesterday around half past four?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, we have to ask this … but can you tell me where you were yesterday evening between, say six and nine?”

  “Was that when … Oh, God.” Another wipe of the face. “I was at home. I cooked myself something to eat as I watched the news and ate watching Emmerdale. After that, I caught up with a few emails, then watched a programme about house restoration from nine.”

  “Thanks for that. Now could you just give me an idea of who works here and what their job titles are?”

  As it turned out, the law firm was smaller than Strong had imagined. Stainmore began to write as Anita gave him a quick outline of the company’s history. Charlie and two friends from University had worked for a number of other practices until Charlie decided to go on his own and invited the other two to come in with him, albeit as junior partners. One of those friends was Bill Matthews, Anita’s late husband. She inherited his ten per cent share of the business. The other partner had left two years ago and Charlie had bought him out. He’d decided to retain ownership of the rest of the business himself and subcontract out to other practices any work he felt appropriate.

  Strong was surprised. “So all this set up,” he swept his hand around, “is no more than … a front?”

  “No, inspector. There’s nothing untoward with how we’re established here. What’s important is reputation. And Charlie’s reputation is … was, the best. That’s why his clients keep him, I mean kept him.”

  “Do you mind if we have a look in Mr Chamberlain’s office now?”

  “I’ll show you,” she said.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “It’s only next door. And in the meantime, DS Stainmore here can take a formal statement from you, if that’s okay?”

  Strong opened the door to Chamberlain’s office and paused at the threshold, taking in the details. Everything seemed neat and tidy, no paperwork left out on the desk or the meeting table. He walked round to the other side of the desk. Even the waste paper bin was empty. The desk was inlaid with leather and had three drawers on either side along with a large central one. A computer stack was positioned below and a keyboard and screen sat on the desk to one side. He would arrange for the computer to be taken away and examined shortly.

  In the meantime, he slipped on some latex gloves, opened the desk’s central drawer and pulled out a leather-bound diary. Flicking through, he stopped at today’s date. 10:00 Bernard WDC. He thought for a moment. Bernard? And then it came to him; Bernard Faulkner. Next on his visiting list then.

  He opened and closed the side drawers, one at a time, to reveal the usual stationery and accessories, notepads, stapler removers, holepunch and other similar items. Then, in the bottom right, below a pack of envelopes, he found them. He picked them up and looked at them closely. Six of them. He slipped them into a plastic evidence bag before moving on to the first of two four-drawer filing cabinets. A quick rummage through revealed files for various clients and projects that Chamberlain had been involved with; some well-known clients and one or two projects that Strong had heard of throughout Yorkshire. He’d get some uniform assistance to list them later. For now, nothing jumped out at him.

  When he walked back into the meeting room carrying Chamberlain’s diary and the evidence bag, Stainmore was completing a few details of Mrs Matthews’ statement. He slowly and deliberately placed the plastic bag on the table in front of Anita. Clearly visible were the front faces of the ‘Talisman Club’ business cards. Stainmore looked to her boss.

  “Can you explain these, Mrs Matthews?” Strong asked.

  She looked away. “I think you know what they mean,” she replied.

  “Indulge me.”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled. “The Talisman Club is … was … Charlie’s name for the … activities at Leeds Road. He thought it was a good idea to have them printed to give to … members. It was all informal, but he just liked the idea.”

  Strong remained standing and slowly phrased the next question. “So why do you think it would be when we spoke to Mr Chamberlain a couple of weeks ago, he denied all knowledge of it?”

  Anita stiffened. “You’d have to …” and then she seemed to remember, “I’ve really no idea. But it might be because he didn’t want to tell you any more about what is … a private matter.”

  “Unless it’s relevant to his death,” Strong said, before turning to Stainmore. “Are you finished?”

  “Yes, guv.”

  Anita shuffled in her seat to face them both. “Oh there is one other thing you should know about,” she said.

  “And what’s that?” Strong responded.

  “That first time you came here, asking about the photographs …” she hesitated and looked down at the table for a second. “… Anthony came storming in about ten minutes after you’d left.”

  “Go on.”

  “He was angry. It was just after his mother had been discharged from hospital. He punched his dad. He blamed him for what happened to her.”

  “Not surprising,” Stainmore threw in.

  “But he said if he went near her again, he’d kill him. In a fit of pique, he also said he didn’t consider himself Charles’s son, or Charles his dad.”

  Strong looked to Stainmore then back to Anita. “Well thank you for that,” he said and opened the door.

  Stainmore followed his lead and stood up.

  “And by the way,” Strong paused in the doorway, “we will need you to identify all the participants from those photographs. We’ll see ourselves out.”

  39

  Strong made the short walk from Chamberlain’s offices to the Town Hall. Stainmore was on her way to speak to Patrick Whitaker. With the strange find in Chamberlain’s mouth and the fact that Whitaker had remembered him as the possible benefact
or that Denise had identified, he had to be checked out. They’d compare notes before Hemingford’s briefing back at Wood Street.

  Strong strutted into the ground floor corridor of the gothic style building, his footsteps echoing off the terrazzo floor and high ceiling.

  “Hey, Colin,” a familiar voice called from behind.

  Strong turned to see the large frame of Jeremy Bullen about ten yards down the hallway.

  “Thought it was you,” he said. “What brings you in here?”

  “Take me to your leader,” Strong said with a laugh. “Hello, Jez.” He held out a hand. “No, seriously, I’m here to see Bernard Faulkner.”

  Bullen shook hands with a firm grip. “Oh, him,” he responded, raising his eyes heavenward. “He’s two floors up. He’s still not bellyaching about someone bluffing their way into his office is he?”

  “Did they? When was that?”

  “A couple of weeks ago when the big bastard was on holiday. But you don’t know?”

  “News to me. I’m here to talk to him about something else.”

  “He probably doesn’t want anyone outside to find out. Look, do me a favour will you, don’t mention it unless he does.”

  Strong grinned. “Don’t mention what?”

  “I’ll let you get on,” Bullen said, turning away. “We’ll have a pint sometime.”

  “Look forward to it.”

  Strong made his way up to Faulkner’s office and walked into the secretarial ante-room.

  “Can I help you?” Faulkner’s secretary asked.

  Strong produced his warrant card and asked to speak with Faulkner.

  “Can I say what it’s about?” She was already picking up her telephone.

  “I’d rather discuss that with Mr Faulkner, if you don’t mind. But I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

  She seemed to colour and made the call to her boss to announce Strong’s presence.

  A few seconds later, the door to the adjacent office opened and a tall portly man wearing rimless glasses stood in the doorway. “Inspector,” he said, “Come in.”

  Strong followed him into an office that he thought had probably changed little since Victorian times, apart from the obvious telecommunications items. He sat in the chair Faulkner indicated opposite his oak desk. He wouldn’t be surprised if all the furniture was antique.

  “So how can I help you,” Faulkner enquired.

  He took out his notebook, more for effect than to consult. “Do you know a Charles Chamberlain, Mr Faulkner?”

  Faulkner looked puzzled. “Charles, of course. Why? What’s happened? He was supposed to be here for a meeting this morning but he never turned up. I’ve tried calling the office but all they tell me is, he’s not available.”

  “Did you know him well?”

  “We’d done business in the past. Yes, I think I could say we knew each other well.” The councillor leaned forward on his desk. “What’s happened?” he asked earnestly.

  “I’m afraid Mr Chamberlain was found dead last night.”

  Faulkner looked visibly shaken. “But … how?”

  “There was a fire.”

  The colour drained from his face. “Oh God. This is terrible. What about his wife and family?”

  “It didn’t occur in the family home. They’re all safe and well.” The expression on Faulkner’s face gave Strong the impression that he didn’t actually mean that. “But you said you were expecting him for a meeting this morning,” he went on, “Can you tell me what that was about?”

  “Er, yes.” He nervously rummaged through a few papers on the desk in front of him. “We were going to discuss what role, if any, he could play in connection with our Lofthouse Redevelopment.”

  “The old colliery site?”

  “Yes.”

  At that point a commotion was heard in the outer office. Faulkner’s secretary’s voice could be heard to say, “He’s with someone.”

  The door flew open and a white-haired man in his mid-fifties, just below six feet tall and markedly slimmer than Faulkner burst in. “Bernie, have you heard …”

  “Michael,” Faulkner interrupted. “Let me introduce you to Detective Inspector Strong.”

  “Oh, sorry,” the newcomer stuttered, “I didn’t … sorry.”

  Faulkner was on his feet. “Inspector, meet Michael Pitchforth, our Head of Planning.”

  Strong also got up and held out a hand.

  Pitchforth shook it limply, avoiding eye contact..

  “Were you to be involved in this morning’s meeting, Mr Pitchforth?” Strong probed. “With Mr Chamberlain?” Pitchforth was definitely distracted. “I mean, with this concerning one of the largest projects the council has dealt with and you being Head of Planning.”

  Pitchforth looked from Strong to Faulkner and back again. “Well, yes.”

  “And I’m assuming from your reaction just now you’ve heard about Mr Chamberlain?”

  Pitchforth looked to the floor and shook his head. “Only just. It’s shocking,” he said, “Absolutely shocking.”

  “Did you know Mr Chamberlain well, Mr Pitchforth?” Strong asked.

  “He’s been involved with several projects of ours over the past … I don’t know … ten years, I suppose. So professionally, I’d like to think I know … sorry, knew him, reasonably well.”

  Strong looked from one man to the other. “When was the last time you’d spoken to or seen Mr Chamberlain?” he asked them both.

  Pitchforth answered first. “I’ve not seen Charles since we dealt with that Bullring issue and that must have been back at the end of last year. I was looking forward to catching up with him this morning.”

  The news also seemed to have hit Faulkner hard. Harder than Strong thought normal. He gave the impression his mind was on other things too. “Obviously, I spoke to him last week, Inspector,” he finally responded. “To arrange today’s meeting.”

  “And did everything seem normal to you when you spoke? Nothing troubling him? On his mind?”

  Faulkner slowly shook his head, forehead creased in thought. “No. He seemed like he always did.”

  “And there’s nothing else that’s occurred recently that you would think out of the ordinary?” Strong watched Faulkner closely.

  No mistaking a slight reaction from the man. He had the impression he was about to say something meaningful when he reacted, shaking his head, jowls wobbling. “No, I can’t think of anything,” he replied.

  Strong then took out a business card but paused as he passed it to Faulkner. “Oh, that reminds me … does the name Talisman Club mean anything to you?”

  Again, another reaction on Faulkner’s face. The eyes widened slightly and he seemed to tense. “No. Never heard of it,” he said.

  Still with his card held out to Faulkner, Strong turned his head to Pitchforth. “What about you?”

  “Means nothing to me either, Inspector,” Pitchforth said. For what it was worth, Strong thought he was telling the truth.

  “Well if you think of anything else, gentlemen, please give me a call.”

  Finally, Faulkner took the card and Strong walked to the door. “Thanks for your time,” he said.

  * * *

  Out in the street, Strong checked his watch. Almost five. Hemingford’s briefing was scheduled for six. Time for a stroll down towards the cathedral and see if there was anything left in the Baker’s Oven on Little Westgate. His stomach reminded him he’d had nothing since breakfast. On the way down, he rang Stainmore. She’d tracked down Whitaker at work at Pinderfields and spoken to him. She was on her way back to Wood Street ready for the briefing.

  “If you’re hungry, I’ll buy you something unhealthy in the bake shop and you can tell me your news,” he said.

  It was an offer she couldn’t refuse.

  He’d managed to secure the last two steak bakes and had just sat down with them on two plates and a coffee each when Stainmore walked in. The café section was quiet, a young mother and her friend and a toddle
r in a pushchair their only company. Elsewhere in the shop, the women who worked there were cleaning down empty shelves and generally tidying up for the end of the day when they closed at half-past five.

  “So, where was Whitaker during the time period yesterday then?” Strong began, stirring his coffee then taking a sip.

  “On a late shift, apparently.” Stainmore lifted her pastry up to her mouth and bit into it. “Finished at ten.” Gravy dribbled from the side and she used a finger to sweep the residue into her mouth. “These are great, but not good for the figure.”

  “Behave, you’ve got to eat.” Strong, on the other hand, used a knife and fork and cut his into bite-sized segments. “What do you think? Does it hold up? Can he prove he didn’t sneak off at some point?”

  “It’s possible, I suppose. He did seem a bit edgy when I mentioned times.”

  “Did he know about Chamberlain?”

  “Didn’t seem to, and I never told him why I was making enquiries.”

  “He’ll probably know by tonight, though.” Another forkful. “It’ll be in tonight’s papers and he should put two and two together. But he would have had a break too, wouldn’t he?”

  Stainmore nodded, flakes of pastry dropping onto her plate. “Could check out CCTV if you want? He was supposed to be in A & E for most of the evening part of his shift.”

  Strong took a drink of his coffee and washed down the last of his steak bake. “If you think it’s worth it. After all, you reckoned he thought Chamberlain could have been his mother’s target. That might be motive enough.”

  Meanwhile, the young women and the toddler had gathered all their possessions together and left. One of the staff began to mop the floor at the other end of the café, heading in their direction.

  Stainmore wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “Do we mention the Whitaker link in the briefing, guv?”

  “Throw it in the mix. It’s another avenue to explore. In the meantime …” Strong glanced at his watch. “Best get back.”

  “How did you get on, by the way?” She stood up and slipped on her jacket.

  On the way back to the station, Strong reported his encounter with the two council officials.