‘They could be in Constance Clements’ house,’ said Uckfield after noisily blowing his nose. ‘Her husband could have taken them off the dead man after killing him.’
Horton’s phone rang. ‘It’s Cantelli.’ He listened for a couple of minutes, then said, ‘OK, bring her in.’ He rang off. ‘Constance Clements has given us permission to search the house but says we won’t find the guns there because they’re in a lock-up on the industrial estate by Portsmouth Football Club.’ It was only a short distance from Milton Common.
‘She’s confessed?’ Bliss said surprised.
‘To the phoney robbery yes but not to murdering her husband. She believes her husband killed Freedman.’
‘And who does she think killed her husband?’ Uckfield said sourly.
‘She says she doesn’t know.’
Uckfield snorted to show what he thought about that. ‘Then you’d better see if you can change her mind.’
Horton joined Cantelli in the interview room. The plastic cup of tea in front of Constance Clements lay untouched with a greasy film on top of the pale brown liquid. Her hands in her lap played with her bracelet. Cantelli had said that she’d been shocked when she’d viewed the body of her husband but not upset. Outside the mortuary she’d admitted that she hadn’t really believed he was dead until she’d seen him, then she’d said quite simply, ‘I can tell the truth now, can’t I?’ And that’s when she had told Cantelli about the guns.
DC Somerfield and two uniformed officers had been despatched to the lock-up while DC Marsden was overseeing a team searching Constance Clements’ house.
‘I’m not sorry he’s dead,’ she said with an edge of defiance, her eyes flicking between him and Cantelli. She’d been cautioned and offered legal representation, which she’d waived. ‘But I didn’t kill him. I’d like to have done, many times. I imagined doing it, especially when he showed me one of his prized pistols, but he said he didn’t have any ammunition for them.’
‘Did you look for some?’
She nodded and looked forlorn. ‘I never found any, though, but I did find that gun you showed me a picture of. The one you say killed him. It was never in his collection room. It was in his study in a drawer. There wasn’t any ammunition with it or in the safe.’
But there had been some somewhere. Maybe she was just saying she hadn’t seen any. ‘When was this?’ he asked.
‘August.’
That coincided with when she’d said she’d last seen Peter Freedman, but again he wondered if it was a lie. Had Freedman told her before she’d left on the cruise that their affair was over and she’d spent the time on the ship planning how to kill him and then to kill her husband? Perhaps the phoney robbery had been her idea and used as a cover to shoot her husband. But that didn’t explain why she’d give Freedman beta blockers to kill Evelyn Lyster. Or why he should be dressed as a tramp.
Horton said, ‘Did you ask your husband about the gun?’
She looked stunned at the question. ‘Of course not. Vivian would have been furious if he’d known I’d been looking in his desk.’
‘You were afraid of him?’
She looked up and said wearily, ‘I just didn’t want another row. I was sick of them. Vivian had the art of turning most of what I said into an argument so I stopped saying anything.’
‘Living with him became like walking on eggshells,’ Horton said, knowing that abuse came in many guises.
‘Yes,’ she answered, surprised that he understood.
Cantelli said, ‘When did it become like that?’
She swivelled her gaze to him. ‘At first it was fine. I thought him knowledgeable and fascinating. Yes, that just shows how stupid I was,’ she added with bitterness. ‘Oh, I thought him a little pedantic but I considered that to be one of his charming eccentricities.’ She shook her head sorrowfully. ‘And he seemed head-over-heels in love with me. I was a fool. I didn’t see until it was too late that the only thing that Vivian was in love with, aside from himself, was my money and I had money, Sergeant. In fact, quite a lot of it by the time I met Vivian at an auction. My business was very successful and my parents had left me a house and a considerable amount. I was their only child. I bought an apartment in Chelsea. That, and my savings, meant I was worth almost two million pounds. Yes, a very tidy sum,’ she added, reading their expressions.
‘I agreed to a joint bank account. I was in love for the first time in my life and thought I was loved back. I’d had affairs but not very successful ones. My lovers were usually married. This time, I thought, no secrets. This is it. Vivian got through all my money pretty quickly. Oh, we bought the house in Southsea for cash and it’s in our joint name, but the rest of our savings, my savings, have gone. He told you we’d both sold our apartments in London but what he didn’t tell you was that he was living in a poky one-roomed flat near Earls Court, which he was renting, and he didn’t tell me that either until after we were married. Even then I said it didn’t matter.’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘I was infatuated and I was sick of being on my own. Vivian didn’t look much but like Peter he could be very charismatic.’
‘Peter Freedman?’ asked Horton, just to be certain.
‘Yes.’
‘You had an affair with him?’
But she looked crestfallen. ‘No. I’d like to have done but I finally got the message that it wasn’t me he was interested in, it was Vivian. Oh, not in any physical or emotional sense,’ she hastily added, ‘but for Vivian’s knowledge of oriental antiquities and guns.’
Horton’s interest quickened. He wondered just why Freedman had been so interested.
She said, ‘We met in Japan. Peter said he was there to study Zen Buddhism. Peter was very easy to be with, a good listener. He made me feel that what I had to say was interesting.’
He would. After all, Freedman was an expert in those kind of techniques.
‘After we returned home I met him a few times. We’d meet in the lobby of a hotel or in a café. He seemed very keen but …’ She faltered.
‘You discovered he was using you?’
‘He asked me about my background, my knowledge of antiques, my previous clients. I told him how much I had enjoyed my business but that Vivian didn’t approve so I’d ceased trading. I’d hoped that Peter could give me the confidence to start it again. I’d come away from our meetings excited, thinking that maybe I could persuade Vivian to let me resume my career, but every time I suggested it we’d end up rowing. He was adamant that I shouldn’t.’
No, thought Horton, he wanted to keep his wife completely under his thumb.
‘I knew something about oriental art and antiques having sourced them for previous clients, but not as much as Vivian knew.’
‘You poured your heart out to Peter and by his clever questioning he got whatever information he wanted from you, including the fact that your husband was in financial difficulties and that he had bought items that were not in his collection or insured, in particular historic and antique guns with ammunition, which should have been declared to the police, like the gun that killed him.’
‘Yes.’ She looked down. Then, taking a deep breath, she put her gaze back on Horton. He could see the pain in her eyes. ‘Vivian took great pleasure in saying how could I possibly believe a man like Freedman would fancy me. He told me what an idiot I was for thinking it and for trusting him.’
And Horton could see that the scars ran deep. Vivian Clements had been a bully. Horton didn’t doubt she was telling the truth. It all fitted, except he wasn’t certain that he believed her when she said she hadn’t killed her husband, and she’d also just given herself a motive for killing Freedman.
She said, ‘You’re right about Vivian acquiring items dubiously. Not all of them were on the open market, hence the high prices he paid. It became an addiction. If there was something he coveted then he had to have it no matter what the price. Money began to get tight but he couldn’t bear to part with any of his collection. I didn’t know how tight. He took out a
mortgage on the house and then he re-mortgaged it. Yes, I did sign the papers but I was stupid enough not to read them and he told me it was just a loan until he could sell something.’
Cantelli said, ‘Do you know how much debt he had accrued?’
‘No, but I believe it to be sizeable. Part of me didn’t want to know and that’s always been my problem. I’ve stuck my head in the sand, pretending everything was OK, but I can’t do that any more.’ She looked tired and was growing more drawn as the interview progressed. On Monday, when Cantelli spoke to the bank, he’d find out just how much debt the Clements were in.
She pulled herself up with an effort. ‘Peter knew what our financial position was, or rather he knew that things were getting difficult, hence Vivian having to undertake the cruise lectures. I also told Peter how obsessive Vivian was about acquiring his precious oriental porcelain and antique pistols and that he’d go to any length to do so.’
‘Was the fake robbery Peter Freedman’s idea?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. Vivian said we needed the money. We did but I said why not sell the collection? Vivian told me I was stupid. This way he could keep his precious pistols and still get the money from the insurance company.’
‘And you went along with it?’
‘I didn’t have much choice.’
No, thought Horton, and if it was Freedman’s idea then Freedman had something that he could use to blackmail Clements with. But why should he resort to blackmail when his business seemed to be doing very well? He considered again the thought that had occurred to him earlier: was blackmail Evelyn Lyster’s racket and she’d got Freedman involved?
‘Do you know a woman called Evelyn Lyster?’ Horton asked.
‘No.’
‘Or Dennis Lyster?’
She shook her head and looked confused.
Cantelli put a picture of Evelyn Lyster in front of her. ‘Do you recognize her?’
‘No. What has she got to do with this?’
Horton thought her bafflement genuine.
‘You said earlier that your husband went out on Tuesday night?’
‘Yes. At about six thirty and he came home round about nine o’clock.’
‘Did he say where he had been?’
‘No. I think it was to the lock-up to check that the stolen guns were there.’
‘Did he contact Peter Freedman?’
‘I don’t know. He might have done.’
‘Did he arrange to meet Freedman and have it out with him?’
‘He didn’t say. I don’t know. He was in a foul mood, like I told you, and then the next day, Wednesday, was worse. That’s when I went out for a walk at tea time and he never came home.’
Horton held her troubled, tired gaze for a moment then rose. He nodded at Cantelli, who switched off the tape.
‘What happens now?’ she asked.
‘We take a break.’
‘You think I killed them both, don’t you? Well, I didn’t.’
But still, Horton wondered.
NINETEEN
He reported back to Uckfield who then sent Bliss in to re-interview her with Horton on the grounds that it took a woman to know if a woman was lying. His remark hadn’t gone down too well with Bliss, probably because she had construed it as being sexist but Horton knew there was an element of truth in it.
Bliss had let him lead the interview while she had observed. Horton had gone over the same ground and had got the same answers.
‘Is she telling the truth?’ asked Uckfield two hours later. They were all in the incident suite with takeaway pizzas which Walters was demolishing with vigour. Somerfield had reported that Vivian Clements had booked in at the lock-up at seven p.m. on Tuesday night and had logged out again at seven forty-five. Plenty of time for him to drive to Ferry Road and kill Freedman with the Robert Adams pistol he’d taken from his collection and hadn’t declared, then return home and put away the gun for his wife to find later. And time enough for him to try and compose himself before returning home at nine p.m., if Constance Clements could be believed. DC Marsden had bagged up the clothes Vivian Clements had been wearing on Tuesday night but the coat and shoes were the same ones he’d been wearing when he’d been killed. They would both be examined for any traces of Freedman’s blood.
Bliss answered Uckfield. ‘She has a motive for both murders. She hated her husband, who was a bully and spent all her money, and she hated Freedman for rejecting her. She had access to the gun and she had the opportunity to kill them both. But without a confession we’ve got no evidence that she did it. Even if her prints are found on the gun a lawyer could claim that they would be there because she’d handled the weapon in her house on a previous occasion, as she freely admits. And we can’t find any witnesses who can place her at either scene.’
Trueman said, ‘The Clements’ car will be forensically examined tomorrow but even if we find traces that it was parked close to the shore where Freedman was shot and evidence of her being inside the car it doesn’t mean that she was there then or at Milton Common when her husband was shot.’
‘That’s right, cheer me up.’ Uckfield sat back with a scowl and scratched his armpit. ‘What about her clothes?’
Bliss replied, ‘She’s told us what she was wearing on Tuesday and Wednesday night and they’ve been bagged up. But she’s put them through the washing machine.’
‘Bloody convenient,’ growled Uckfield. ‘Anything at the scene of Clements’ death that could tie her in with being there?’
Trueman shook his head. ‘No footwear marks – certainly not enough to identify the type of shoes worn, just a muddy mess.’
‘And before you ask,’ Horton interjected, ‘she also says she’d cleaned the shoes she was wearing on Wednesday night.’
Uckfield groaned and sneezed loudly. Horton noticed everyone – except Walters, who was too absorbed in eating – eased back.
Bliss said, ‘She claims no knowledge of Evelyn Lyster.’
With his mouth full, Walters said, ‘There’s a sighting of Evelyn Lyster walking along the platform at the railway station towards the exit on Monday morning but no one approaches her or stops her. We don’t have any CCTV footage of her outside the station as she heads for the taxi, so someone could have met her there but the taxi driver would probably have seen that.’
Horton said, ‘He had his nose in a crime novel when I tapped on his window on Wednesday night. Maybe he was engrossed in the latest Art Marvik when Evelyn Lyster approached him.’
Bliss picked up on this. ‘Constance Clements has a motive for killing Evelyn Lyster – jealousy. Perhaps Freedman ditched Constance to take up with Evelyn.’
Horton said, ‘OK, so he bought the beta blockers online and he killed Evelyn for her money. But why suggest the phoney robbery to Vivian Clements and why dress up as a tramp to meet him?’
Bliss answered, ‘Maybe he thought it would make him invisible. People don’t like looking at tramps – it makes them feel uncomfortable. Freedman would know that. He thought no one would notice him.’
It was a point and a good one. Freedman would know all about the public’s reactions to vagrants. Most people would, as Bliss said, look away, except for one young, smartly-dressed woman who had changed Glyn Ashmead’s life because she hadn’t. He said, ‘And why would Constance Clements want Dennis Lyster dead?’
Uckfield said, ‘We’ve no evidence Dennis Lyster was killed.’
‘But we have to consider it,’ Horton insisted.
Uckfield grunted dubiously.
Horton continued, ‘If we believe Constance’s version of Peter Freedman then he sounds predatory and calculating but that’s not the picture we get of him from Glyn Ashmead and Martha Wiley and it doesn’t fit with a man who gave his time freely to the charity and donated ten per cent of his income to them.’
Cantelli said, ‘Perhaps his weakness is women.’
No one looked at Uckfield.
Horton said, ‘So he meets Evelyn Lyster—’
&n
bsp; ‘When?’ interrupted Bliss.
Trueman answered, ‘It has to be in the last four years since he was released from prison, but no one at the property on the Isle of Wight remembers seeing him so we can’t get a date from there. Freedman bought his flat in Portsmouth seventeen months ago from Ivor Randall.’
‘Who dropped down dead of a heart attack in the hall,’ mimicked Uckfield, quoting Stella Nugent – the resident who had told him and Horton that.
Trueman continued, ‘Before that Freedman was living in rented accommodation for six months in Southsea and prior to that in Brighton after he was released from prison. While out on licence he did voluntary work for a homeless charity and obtained a grant from a charitable trust to start his business. He got a training contract from the council and from a couple of companies in Sussex and gradually built up his business from there.’
‘Why did he move to Portsmouth?’ asked Horton.
‘Don’t know. He was born in Devon and his business – he owned three garages in and around Exeter – got into difficulties. He over-extended himself, took out loans but spent the money on cars and a bigger house. Finally he had to call in the receivers. He turned to drink. His wife left him. We’ve traced her. She’s living in Great Yarmouth, Norfolk. An officer is going around tonight to show her a picture of her husband and break the news.’
Horton wondered how she’d take it.
Trueman continued, ‘We’ve spoken to Freedman’s accountant and have managed to speak to a couple of his corporate clients. No one has anything but praise for him. He was hardworking, personable, professional and, it seems, honest.’
Uckfield looked doubtful. He wiped his mouth with a serviette and then blew his nose with another before speaking. ‘Maybe he was just a clever bastard and good at deceiving people, especially women who had money. He could have been at it for years only none of the women in Brighton want to come forward and admit they were conned because they’re ashamed and afraid of looking foolish. It could be how he amassed enough money to put down a whacking great deposit on that apartment and get a small mortgage for the rest.’
Lethal Waves Page 21