by David Evans
Strong looked up from some paperwork on his desk. “Let me guess,” he said, leaning back. “Would one be a certain leader of a council, not far from here?”
“Got it in one. Plus his ever faithful secretary.”
Strong’s eyes widened. “Ooh, interesting.”
“Brenda Morgan, spinster of this parish.” She placed the list on his desk in front of him.
He picked it up and read.
“She also said, as far as she knew, there hadn’t been a meeting of the club for several weeks. But there again Chamberlain had been staying there since his difficulties with Mrs Chamberlain.”
“D’you know, I knew Faulkner was lying,” Strong said.
“But there again, he was moving his lips, guv. And he is a politician.”
“Cynical as ever DS Stainmore.” A thin smile appeared on Strong’s face. “Right,” he said, standing up. “I think it’s time we paid Mr Faulkner another visit.”
* * *
Grace returned to the lounge and studied her brother.
“How is Mum?” Anthony asked, without looking up.
Grace had travelled up from Southampton a couple of days ago. She bore an uncanny resemblance to her mother when she was of a similar age, except she was a couple of inches taller at five foot nine. Same shaped face with attractive cheekbones and long blond hair. She was enjoying her work with a firm of accountants in the city where she’d been for almost a year. She’d also settled in well to the flat she shared with two other girls she’d met on the course. The chances of her returning to Yorkshire were slim; until the events of this week.
“She’s asleep,” Grace replied. “Do you want something to eat?”
“I’m fine.” Anthony was slouched on the settee watching television. Grace deliberately stood in front of it. “I’m trying to watch that,” he moaned.
“What are you not telling us?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The night of the fire … where were you?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Nothing,” Grace shrugged. “But Mum’s up there worried to death that you had something to do with it.”
He sat himself up straight. “But how do we know she didn’t?”
“Anthony! How can you possibly think that?”
“Well I didn’t, all right?”
“No it’s not all right, Anthony. Dad’s dead … murdered and you’d stormed into his office a few days before with some crazy accusations that you were going to kill him.”
“They weren’t accusations. He hit Mum. You don’t know, you weren’t here. It was only me that was around to pick up the pieces. Mum was really upset.”
Grace knelt down in front of her brother and took hold of his hands. “I know. And I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” She blinked and a tear fell down her cheek. “I’m hurting too,” she said, quickly wiping it away with her sleeve “But you must see how it looks. She told me you were supposed to be at Simon’s that night.” She looked him in the eye. “But you weren’t, were you?”
He looked away. “It wasn’t me, okay.”
“So what are you hiding?”
He pulled his hands free and stood up. “I’m going out.”
“Where …” but her voice trailed away. She knew he wouldn’t say anything else unless he wanted to. And now the front door slammed and he’d avoided answering … for now.
* * *
“Apparently Faulkner’s in London today,” Strong said. “Some meeting with government, staying overnight.” He’d strolled into the CID room.
Stainmore was looking at some plastic evidence bags on Ormerod’ desk. “He and the subservient Brenda?” she wondered.
“No, on his own. He’ll be back at lunchtime so we’ll go and see what he has to say about the goings on at Leeds Road then.” He indicated the bags. “Something of interest?”
“I don’t know. It’s just …” She held up a bag containing a set of keys. “These look unusual.”
She returned to her own desk and opened a drawer with an envelope containing two bunches of keys. “These are the two sets of keys we found in Denise’s house.” Selecting one ring, she held it up. “Now we know this set, the ones we couldn’t identify at first, were for Chamberlain’s Leeds Road house. He confirmed that when we spoke to him.” She now took the other set over to Luke’s desk. And these are for Denise’s house. I meant to hand them back earlier. I remembered they looked quite unusual. You see these deep cuts at either end of the key itself. Now if I put it against these…” She held Denise’s key alongside one of those found in Chamberlain’s room. “Not only was he lying when he said he’d never heard of her originally, he was forced to admit that she cleaned for him. Then when pushed on whether he’d had a key to her place, he wondered why we would think he would have a key to her house. He knew she lived in a house. And now …” Strong could see the patterns on both keys were the same. “… We find he’d lied again, and he did have a key to her house.”
Strong looked from the evidence bag to Stainmore. “And you think …”
“It is possible he was there when she died. We can’t prove it, but why lie all the time unless he’d got something to hide.”
“And you always had a gut feel that there was something not right with the Whitaker case.”
“But the evidence wouldn’t prove anything and now he’s dead.”
42
Tuesday 21st August 2001
“Mr Faulkner,” Strong began, “last Friday, we spoke about the tragic events surrounding the death of Charles Chamberlain.”
He and Stainmore were seated opposite the Council Leader in his office in the Town Hall. Brenda had fussed around when they’d first appeared and was now elsewhere making teas and coffees for them.
“What a shock, a real shock,” Faulkner responded. “If I can help in any way …”
“I appreciate that and I think you may be able to.”
At that point, Brenda knocked and entered with a tray containing mugs of coffee for Faulkner and Stainmore, a tea for Strong, a milk jug, sugar bowl and some biscuits on a plate. She placed it on the desk, removed the items, lifted the tray and turned to leave.
“Thank-you, Brenda,” Faulkner said.
“Actually … Brenda.” Strong looked to the woman. “Have you made a drink for yourself?”
She appeared to be taken off her stride. “Er … yes, it’s on my desk.”
“Well bring it through and join us, if you would.”
Now Faulkner looked bewildered. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “But …”
Strong held up a hand. “Bear with me.”
Brenda returned with her mug and nervously sat on the edge of the one remaining seat.
Strong addressed Faulkner. “Could I just ask you, when was the last time you saw Mr Chamberlain?”
The man puffed out his cheeks. “Oh well, it must have been a few weeks ago now.”
“I know you told me you’d spoken to him on the phone the week before last, when you arranged Friday’s meeting.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“But you haven’t actually seen him for several weeks?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s correct.”
Strong turned to his secretary. “What about you, Brenda … is it okay to call you Brenda?”
She gave a thin smile. “Yes, that’s fine. I’m Brenda Morgan,” she offered.
“So when was the last time you may have seen Mr Chamberlain?”
She looked flushed. “I … I don’t really know Mr Chamberlain.”
“Sure?”
“Inspector, where is this leading?” Faulkner interrupted.
Strong reached in his pocket and pulled out two cards and passed one each to Faulkner and Brenda. Strong’s attention was on Faulkner whilst Stainmore studied his secretary. “You do recognise this, don’t you? Both of you, I mean.”
Brenda looked up alarmed. Faulkner looked away.
“I don’t ne
ed to remind you that this is a murder enquiry.” Strong leaned forward onto the desk. “Now last time you told me you’d never heard of the Talisman Club. New information has come to light. You might want to reconsider your answer.”
Finally, Faulkner looked at Strong. “Look, this has nothing to do with Brenda here. If we could just have a word in confidence.”
He turned to the woman. “Oh but I think it does have something to do with … Mrs Morgan?”
“Just tell them, Bernie. They obviously know.”
Back to Faulkner. “Well?”
The Council Leader leaned forward, both arms on the desk as if taking Strong into his confidence. “Look, this is only a bit of adult fun … consenting adults … not harming anyone.”
Strong leaned back and looked to Stainmore. “Now where have we heard those phrases before?”
“Can’t think, Sir.”
“So, let me ask you again, when was the last time you saw Mr Chamberlain?”
Faulkner looked to his secretary. “About ten days ago. Thursday before last. There was a meet at Leeds Road.”
Stainmore had been taking notice of the woman’s reactions. It seemed as if she was about to say something before Faulkner had jumped in. “Brenda?” she asked.
“Yes, a week past Thursday,” she confirmed.
“Sure?” Stainmore persisted.
Brenda seemed to stiffen, sitting straighter on the seat. “Of course.”
Strong looked from one to the other. “You both attended?”
“Yes,” Faulkner responded, “Brenda was with me.”
“Who else would be able to confirm that?”
“Really … I don’t know if …”
Strong was becoming irritated. “Mr Faulkner, we’ve already had most members of the club identified. We even have some photographic evidence.”
Faulkner looked to his secretary, visibly shaken. “Well, there was Anita, of course.” Strong nodded. “Bill, Bill Watson. He owns a garage out Batley way. And his friend Charlene, I think she’s called.”
“Anyone else?”
“Sam,” Brenda offered, “Sam Appleyard.”
* * *
“Anthony, I’m getting sick of this. I know you weren’t with Simon on Thursday evening,” Belinda said, raising her voice a touch.
For what seemed like the twentieth time she was trying to elicit something resembling the truth from her son. Not only had she to cope with the death of her husband and all the circumstances surrounding that, plus the recent discoveries of the secret life he seemed to have been living, but she had what she considered to be the unnecessary worry that Anthony may have had some involvement in the incident.
“Well I was and I don’t care what you think,” he responded, a defiant glare on his face.
“Hey, don’t you speak to Mum in that tone of voice,” Grace defended.
They were sitting in the lounge of their St Johns house. Belinda had stood up and switched off the television. Anthony had been engrossed.
“Funny how the police are satisfied. It’s only you who seems to be making an issue of it.”
“So not only are you committing perjury but you’ve got your mate to lie for you as well.” Grace was determined to pile on the pressure.
“You know nothing.” His face twisted into an angry expression.
Belinda put up a hand to Grace who was about to retort. “So tell me,” she said in a gentler voice.
His head dropped as he avoided eye contact.
“Please, help me understand,” his mother persisted.
He looked up at her. “I wasn’t anywhere near that house.” A tear dropped from an eye. “And I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” He stood up and walked to the door.
Grace made to stop him but Belinda impeded her. “Just leave things for now,” she said. “He’s not going to tell us any more.” They could hear the front door closing as he left the house.
Belinda sat on the settee next to her daughter and looked to the ceiling.
“Come on, Mum, he might not be involved but he’s hiding something.”
Belinda knew she had a point. “The only comfort I have is that the police are satisfied with his story.”
“But what if they dig a bit deeper? His mate Simon might not be so solid. And then …”
“You know they took DNA samples? Me and Anthony.”
“You said.”
“What if they find traces of his at the house? How’s that going to look?”
It was Grace’s turn to calm thoughts down. “But he didn’t know about the place until, well …”
“I don’t know, Grace.” Belinda got up once more. “Anyway, I’m tired. I’m going for a lie down,” she said and walked from the room.
* * *
“Impressions, Kelly?”
“We’re still not getting the full truth. Brenda seemed to be about to say more on a few occasions.” Stainmore zipped up her jacket as they made the short walk back to the station from the Town Hall.
“He definitely pulls her strings,” Strong agreed. “I thought he was married though?”
“What’s that got to do with anything? His wife’s probably some timid creature past the menopause that helps out in a charity shop.”
Strong laughed. “You paint a vivid picture, Kelly. She’s probably at home working for a sex chat line that he knows nothing about.”
“Ha!” It was Stainmore’s turn to laugh. “We don’t know, but he’s a slippery bastard, that’s for sure.”
“Anyway, we need to track down the others. He said this Sam Appleyard was their Chief Engineer but not in today. Can you track down those other two, the garage owner and his bit of stuff?” They were back at the station; Strong tapped in the security code and held the door open.
“I’ll check it out,” she said as they walked down the corridor.
43
Wednesday 22nd August 2001
Next day, Anthony had left early for work. Grace decided she needed her hair trimmed and had gone to a little basement establishment on The Bullring. And so Belinda was alone with her thoughts in the St Johns house once more.
She drifted aimlessly from the lounge through to her bedroom. And it was her bedroom now, she considered. No longer their bedroom. It hadn’t been their bedroom for some while. Not since that day she discovered those legal papers in his bedside drawer. God, that seemed ages ago now. The piles of pennies and two pence pieces were still on top of her chest of drawers. She looked at them and felt anger. They were the instigators of this whole chain of events. She walked over to them and swept them off onto the carpet, some bouncing off the walls, landing behind the chest, some behind her bedside cabinet.
Then she sunk to the floor, tears flowing, loud sobs. She turned onto her side and hugged her legs close to her body.
She couldn’t think how long she’d been like that. She may have fallen asleep for a short while. But she suddenly snapped herself back to reality. She pulled herself straight, got to her feet and made for the bathroom. Splashing water on her face for a minute, then gently drying herself with a towel, she looked in the mirror. Somehow she would sort this. If that meant protecting her family from any more harm, then she would do whatever it took.
She opened Anthony’s bedroom door then stepped over the threshold. For a boy, the room was remarkably tidy. He’d always been orderly. Even much younger, when he collected model cars, he would always return them to their boxes and store them in shoeboxes, out of the way, under the bed when he wasn’t playing with them.
His wardrobe doors were closed, no clothes scattered around like other lads his age, bed made, drawers closed and everything put away. On his bookcase, all books were placed spine out, fiction on separate shelves from non-fiction, another for his school books. Grace was the untidy one. Even now, when she’d only been back for a few days, she had clothes strewn around her bedroom, the open suitcase on the floor.
So what had Anthony been up to when the fire took hold? She didn’t think he wo
uld ever tell her. But what if he had been as angry with his father as he had been three or four weeks ago when he’d gone round to his office and actually punched him? What if he had been angry enough to set the fire? She couldn’t let anything happen to him. He’d got his whole life in front of him. And she couldn’t let him waste that for the sake of what his father had been up to.
She returned to the lounge and searched out last night’s evening paper. Flicking through the pages and finding the number she was looking for, she picked up the phone and dialled.
44
Thursday 23rd August 2001
“Cracked it, Colin,” Hemingford said, big beaming grin on his face. He was strutting up the corridor towards Strong, Luke Ormerod in his wake.
Strong was confused and his expression said so.
“Belinda Chamberlain has just confessed to starting the fire that killed her husband,” the DCI announced as they all swept into the CID Room.
Ormerod expression showed he didn’t share the enthusiasm of his boss.
“She confessed?” Strong was in disbelief.
“DNA from the clothes, bras, knickers and blouses, all came back as a match to her. They were her clothes.”
“Doesn’t mean to say she’d taken them round to the house though?” Strong suggested.
“Popular misconception, Colin, that fire destroys all evidence. Besides, she’d received a letter from his solicitor that morning saying he wanted a divorce. So, in a fit of pique, she decided that he couldn’t have everything, so she decided to destroy the place.”
Strong’s face set hard. “With him upstairs? So how did he manage to manacle himself to that frame?”
“She lured him into thinking she was interested in that. Then locked the door on her way out,” Hemingford continued.
“And the sponge phallus?”
“Didn’t mention that.”
Behind him, Ormerod gave a slight shake of the head and looked away.
“Do you mind if I have a word with her, sir?” Strong asked.
“As long as you don’t try and talk her out of it and spoil my first case.” Hemingford grinned and walked out of the room. “Just need to report the good news to the Superintendent.”