Dead on Arrival

by Dorothy Simpson

‘Of course I bloody mind! But I suppose you’ll find out anyway, if you don’t know already … It was about Sharon, of course.’

  Thanet waited and Howells shot him a glance in which the embers of resentment against Long still smouldered. ‘Wouldn’t leave her alone, would he?’

  ‘He was pestering her?’

  ‘Kept on coming round all the time, trying to get her to go back to him. I’d had it up to here, I can tell you.’

  ‘We heard that he wasn’t particularly interested in patching things up between them.’

  ‘Huh! Don’t know who’s been feeding you that rubbish, but they were lying in their teeth. Not particularly interested …! D’you call coming round most evenings after work not particularly interested? Or bringing her presents – rings, bangles, boxes of choc’lates, bunches of bloody flowers, bottles of scent, not particularly interested?’

  Howells was working himself up into a fury at the memory.

  ‘And Sharon? How did she react to all this?’

  ‘What do you think? She was fed up to the bloody back teeth, I can tell you.’

  Remembering Sharon’s distress, Thanet wondered if this were true. Perhaps Howells’s anger was fuelled by the fear that Sharon’s reaction had been precisely the opposite, and that Long’s persistence was showing returns.

  ‘So what exactly happened, on Sunday?’

  Howells drank off the rest of his tea, set the mug down on the table with a crash that brought a frown from the woman behind the counter and sat back, folding his arms as if to contain his rage at the memory. ‘It was around five in the afternoon. Sharon and me was just having a cup of tea when there’s this knock on the door. I went to answer it and there he is, large as life, shoving past me. “Hullo Sharon,” he says. “Thanks for the card.” He’s carrying this white cardboard box, see, and he plonks it down on the table and starts to open it. “I thought you’d like a piece of my birthday cake,” he says, bold as brass. The nerve of it! I couldn’t believe my eyes, that he’d just barge in like that … And I thought, I’ll show him where to put his bloody birthday cake … I tell you, I’d just about had enough. I decided I’d really put the wind up him, this time …’ Howells shrugged. ‘That’s about all there was to it.’

  Thanet could visualise it: Sharon, in all her fragility, standing by helplessly while the two men, her husband and her lover, snarled at each other like two dogs over a bone … It seemed a miracle to him, now that he had met Howells, that it hadn’t come to blows. From the neighbours’ accounts it was, not surprisingly, Long who had gone off with his tail between his legs – and yet, he had gone back for more, two days later. The question was, had Howells known of this later visit? He should have been back from work by then but no one, as yet, had reported any kind of disturbance and surely, if he had been there when Long arrived, this time it would have ended in violence.

  No, on balance Thanet thought it more likely that Howells had heard about yesterday’s visit later, probably from some ‘friendly’ neighbour. It was unlikely, in the circumstances, that Sharon herself would have told him. And there was also the possibility that he hadn’t heard about it at all, was still unaware of it …

  ‘What time do you usually get home from work, Mr Howells?’

  ‘About a quarter past five. Why?’

  ‘And yesterday?’

  ‘No, yesterday I was …’ Howells leaned forward, eyes glittering like anthracite. ‘Here, what you getting at?’

  ‘Nothing. As yet. Merely requesting information.’

  ‘Don’t feed me that guff.’

  ‘It’s true. At the moment. But I would remind you that this is a murder enquiry, and that so far you are the only person known to have been on bad terms with Mr Long.’

  ‘The only …!’ Briefly, Howells was speechless. ‘You just have to be joking!’

  Thanet was sure the man’s astonishment was genuine. ‘You obviously know something we don’t.’

  Howells was still shaking his head in disbelief. ‘The only person known to have been on bad terms … You haven’t seen Frank, then. Or Chris.’

  ‘Not yet, no.’

  Howells jerked his head forward, thrusting his face to within a few inches of Thanet’s. ‘Then may I suggest, Inspector, that before you start making any accusations here, you go and interview Mr Long’s beloved brothers?’

  Thanet didn’t flinch. ‘I think that perhaps you are jumping to conclusions, Mr Howells. I am not making any accusations against you or against anyone else until I have satisfied myself that they are justified. I have every intention of going to see both Frank and Chris May as soon as possible, but meanwhile I would like to point out that there is only one way for anyone – anyone, Mr Howells – to clear himself of suspicion, and that is for him to satisfy us that he could not have done the murder. To which end I shall be asking everyone involved for details of his – or her – movements between five o’clock and eleven o’clock last night. And the sooner I get that information from you, the sooner we’ll all be able to leave.’

  Howells stared at Thanet for a moment, evidently trying to decide whether or not to believe him, then leaned back in his chair and shrugged. ‘OK. What d’you want to know?’

  Thanet glanced at Lineham. Take over.

  Now that Howells was disposed to be cooperative it didn’t take long to get the information they wanted. He had left work at 4.45 as usual, but instead of going home had, as previously arranged, gone to help a friend shift some furniture into a new house. This had taken well over three hours and it was getting on for half past eight when he had arrived home. He and Sharon had had supper and then they had gone out for a drink with some friends, returning home around eleven fifteen. Lineham took down names, addresses, times, routes, and then glanced interrogatively at Thanet. Anything else you want to ask?

  There was.

  ‘Did you know that Mr Long went to see Mrs Long after work, yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, she told me. Sent him away with a flea in his ear.’

  ‘After the warning you gave him on Sunday, didn’t you feel inclined to go and see him, carry out your threat?’

  ‘What threat was that?’

  ‘To “chop” him.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never said any such thing.’

  ‘You were heard to, by one of your neighbours.’

  ‘They don’t know what they’re talking about. “Stop” him, more likely.’

  ‘Well, didn’t you? Feel inclined to go and see him again?’

  ‘No need to, was there?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The show I put on, on Sunday night – it was as much for Sharon as for him, see. She was too soft with him, always has been. She can’t help herself. So I thought, if I could put over the message that I’d really had enough of him coming round, she might be a bit tougher with him, next time.’

  ‘You wanted to frighten her?’

  ‘Not exactly, no. If she’d really wanted to go back to him, it would have been a different matter, but I knew she only put up with him coming because she felt sorry for him. And I thought it had gone on long enough. When she told me she’d refused to talk to him, last night, I knew I’d won. There was no need for me to go and see him.’

  So Sharon hadn’t been completely frank with Howells. She had told Thanet herself that Long had stayed five or ten minutes. Whether or not Howells had intended to frighten her, it sounded as though he had certainly succeeded in doing so – if he was telling the truth, that is.

  He could, of course, be lying. But there was no point in pursuing this line at present. Howells had his story and it was clear he was going to stick to it.

  ‘You say that Mr Long was on bad terms with most people. Why was that? Did he deliberately set out to rub them up the wrong way?’

  ‘Search me. I’m biased, of course, I admit that, but I could never make up my mind if it was deliberate, or if he just didn’t know he was doing it. Or even, if he did know he was doing it and
didn’t want to, but couldn’t help himself, if you see what I mean. Anyway, the end result was the same. I mean, look at Sharon. She’s a real sweet kid, very easy-going and that … It would take a lot to make her get up and leave anyone, but in the end even she couldn’t stand it any longer. Believe me, he was bad news.’

  ‘He seems to have got on all right with his twin brother.’

  ‘Ah yes, Geoff. Well. I’ve never met him, so I wouldn’t know. One of them was enough, two would be a nightmare.’

  Thanet rose. ‘Well, I think that’s all for the moment, Mr Howells. We’ll give you that lift.’

  When they had dropped Howells opposite the block of flats, Lineham said, ‘Difficult to tell whether he was anti us, personally, or anti the police in general, wasn’t it?’

  ‘A bit of both, I imagine.’

  ‘In any case, he’s a likely candidate, don’t you think, sir? I can just see him bashing someone’s head in.’

  ‘But from behind? When the man is seated? I’m not so sure. If it were a stand-up fight, then, yes, I’d agree with you. He’s obviously capable of violence. On the other hand there could be circumstances … Just suppose, for instance, that he went round to Long’s place last night determined to have a showdown. And say Long remained cool, refused to be drawn. I could imagine Howells getting more and more worked up … Long sitting there on the settee refusing to be intimidated … Howells is walking about in his agitation and suddenly his temper snaps, he grabs the nearest heavy object to hand and …’

  ‘Wham. End of Long.’

  ‘Possible, don’t you think?’

  ‘Having met him, I certainly do. You could just feel the anger simmering away underneath all the time, waiting to boil over.’

  ‘I know. We’d better get that alibi of his checked.’

  ‘A lot of it depends on Sharon’s corroboration, sir.’

  ‘Quite. Meanwhile, let’s get a move on. I want to catch Frank May at work, rather than interview him at home with that pregnant wife of his around.’

  ‘We may be too late. It’s ten past five now.’

  ‘Passmore’s doesn’t close till five thirty. We’re only a few minutes away. We’ll give it a try.’

  Lineham parked the car near the loading bays at the back of the store. A number of Passmore vans were neatly lined up, apparently abandoned for the night, and the place seemed deserted.

  ‘Looks as though the drivers have all gone home,’ said Lineham, with an ‘I told you so’ inflection.

  ‘Mm,’ said Thanet. He got out of the car and strolled across to the end loading bay, where a faint light spilled out across the tarmac from a small door inset into the larger ones.

  He pushed it open. The light was coming from a small, glassed-in office in a corner of the bay. Inside, bent over some papers, Thanet could see the top of a bald head. He walked across and tapped on the glass. ‘Excuse me …’

  The head jerked up, the man’s face a caricature of surprise and shock, eyes stretched wide, mouth a perfect O. He was in his seventies, small and bent, with arthritic hands.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  The man’s gaze switched to Lineham, who had just stepped through the door into the bay.

  Thanet held his identity card up against the glass. ‘We’d like a word with Frank May. I understand he works here.’

  The man leaned across the counter top to peer at the card. His look of apprehension faded. He slid down off his stool and came to open the door. He was tiny, not much more than five feet, twisted and bent with arthritis. A blast of hot, paraffin-laden air gushed out.

  ‘Come in, come in. It’s warmer in here. Shut the door, that’s right … About that business with his brother, is it?’

  A strange way to refer to a murder, Thanet thought. ‘What business with his brother?’ he said, warily.

  ‘About the telly …’ He was easing himself backwards up on to his stool as he spoke, his eyes bright with interest.

  He looked, Thanet thought, rather like a gnome perched on a toadstool.

  His eyes darted from Thanet to Lineham and back again. ‘No? What d’you want with Frank, then?’

  ‘Look, Mr …?’

  ‘Baines. Harry Baines.’

  ‘Well, Mr Baines, it looks as though we might be at cross purposes here. Perhaps you’d better tell us what you meant. Which brother?’

  ‘I didn’t know he had more than one. That Steve, I was talking about.’

  ‘What about Steve?’

  ‘Lost him his job, didn’t he.’

  ‘Frank doesn’t work here any more?’ asked Lineham.

  ‘Only till the end of the week.’

  ‘He’s here now, then?’

  ‘No, the drivers knock off at five. Most of the deliveries is finished by then.’

  Thanet remembered what Geoff had told him about Frank’s years on the dole, the wedding arranged on the strength of this job, the imminent birth of the baby, and realised what a crushing blow this must have been. And a motive for murder? ‘So how did Steve lose Frank his job?’

  ‘Tried to pull a fast one once too often. I warned Frank, told him that if he wasn’t careful he’d be out on his ear. I know he spoke to him about it, but it didn’t make any difference, seemingly.’ Baines thrust his chin forward. ‘Sixty years I’ve worked at Passmore’s, in this very same department. Started straight from school, at fourteen, and I’ve seen an awful lot of blokes come and go. Frank’s all right, a good lad. Not too much up top, but enough to make a sensible driver, and he was a hard worker, too. And there’s that little wife of his, just going to have their first baby … Fair makes me sick, it does.’ The old man was getting so worked up that spittle was forming at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Thanet, ‘but I still don’t understand …’

  ‘First of all it were small things. Nicked straight off the vans, they were, while they were being loaded up. I couldn’t understand it – like, I’ve had the odd rotten apple before now, but a number of the drivers seemed to be involved, good lads as I’ve had for years. So we kept our eyes open, and it soon dawned on us – it were always after that Steve came round looking for Frank that things went missing. I had a word with Frank, and it seemed for a while that that were that … Until yesterday, that is.’

  The old man paused dramatically.

  Lineham fed him his cue. ‘What happened yesterday?’

  ‘It was about a quarter past three in the afternoon. I was working here in my office, quiet-like, checking over the day’s orders, when there’s this disturbance in the yard, outside. I hurries out and I finds Frank and this chap I’ve never seen before, scrapping away like their lives depended on it. Some of the men were standing around watching. I were real mad, I can tell you. Scrapping, in my yard! So I picked up this bucket of water someone’d been using to wash his van and chucked it over the pair of them.’ He rubbed his back reflectively. ‘Didn’t do my back much good, I can tell you, but it worked.’ He grinned at the memory. ‘They just stood there, dripping, for a few seconds, then they made as if to start again. But I wasn’t having any more nonsense. “Right,” I said, “into my office and we’ll get this sorted out.” It was just bad luck that Mr Passmore himself chose that very moment to come down into the yard – he looks in, from time to time, just to keep an eye on things. “What on earth is going on here, Baines?” he says. “I’m not quite sure myself, Mr Passmore,” I says. “I was just about to find out.” “Then I’ll come with you,” he says. “But I’d like to make it clear from the outset that I will not tolerate this sort of behaviour on my premises.”

  ‘So then, of course, it all come out. Apparently Frank’s brother Steve had gone to this chap, the one Frank was fighting, and said, “Look, I know you want a new colour telly, right? Well, my brother Frank works for Passmore’s and he can get a big discount, see. Just tell me what make you want, give me the money in cash, and I’ll see you get it.” Well, of course, you can’t blame the bloke for fal
ling for it, can you?’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Lineham. ‘Are you saying that the whole thing was a con trick? That Steven Long was just after the money and had no intention of asking Frank to get the TV set for this chap?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I am saying. Over three hundred quid this bloke gave to Steve, a week ago, and he’s been expecting Frank to roll up with the telly every day since.’

  ‘And Frank knew nothing about it?’

  ‘Not a whisper.’

  ‘So what happened, after you’d got all this sorted out?’

  ‘Well, Frank finally managed to convince him that he didn’t know a thing about it and hadn’t seen a penny of his money and he went off breathing fire and brimstone. But the worst of it was, Frank got the push. Mr Passmore said he simply couldn’t risk this sort of thing happening again. Well, you can’t blame him, I suppose, he’s got the reputation of the store to think of … No, the one I blame is that danged brother of Frank’s, that Steve.’

  ‘So how did Frank react, to losing his job?’

  ‘How d’you think? Real mad, he was.’

  They thanked the old man and left.

  ‘I’d have been mad too, in the circumstances,’ said Lineham as they walked back to the car.

  ‘Ditto. Anyway, now we know why Frank went to see Long last night. The question is, just how angry was he?’

  ‘And it’s quite likely that one of Long’s other visitors was this character he’d swindled. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out who he is. I must say our Steven seems to have had a real talent for stirring things up.’

  ‘Yes, he does, doesn’t he?’

  ‘I presume we’re now going to see Frank.’

  Thanet grinned. ‘Full marks for deduction.’

  NINE

  Frank May lived on a small, relatively new council estate. The gardens were trim, the houses well-maintained, and it was obvious from the rash of sun-porches that some of the tenants had taken advantage of the generous schemes available to those who wished to buy.

  Thanet was surprised to find that number 6 was one of the larger houses. He wondered how the as-yet-childless Mays had managed to qualify. Perhaps the young couple was living with her parents.