by Ford,P. F.
‘How many more are you going to find?’ asked Norman, appalled.
‘We’ve already got more than I ever wanted to have to deal with,’ said Becks, sounding grim. ‘We’ve been working the dogs as well, but they’ve not found any more sites. They’ve finished for the day, but they’ll be back tomorrow as well.’
‘Well, thanks for letting us know, Ian,’ said Slater. ‘Are you working into the night?’
‘We don’t plan to. The light’s fading already. We think we’ve maybe got another hour at best, then we’re going to call a halt until tomorrow.’
‘I’m not sure we can get there before you’ve finished,’ said Slater. ‘We’ll catch you tomorrow. Thanks for what you’re doing, Ian.’
‘I’d like to say it’s a pleasure,’ said Becks, ‘but I’ll be bloody glad to get out of here.’
‘I think we’ll all be glad when this is over,’ said Norman.
Ten minutes later, the phone was ringing again.
‘Hi, Jane,’ said Slater.
‘I thought I’d better ring,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know what time you would be back, and I didn’t want to miss you.’
‘What have you got?’
‘Maunder’s broke,’ she began. ‘He’s already received a payment from the insurance company, yet that money’s gone straight out again in cash withdrawals.’
‘How the hell did he get paid out already?’ asked Norman.
‘I guess if you’re a knight of the realm, you get special treatment. I’ve also been looking at his mobile phone records. He doesn’t use it very often, but one of the numbers he calls, and gets calls from, is another mobile phone. I’ve checked but it’s not registered to anyone. It’s a pay-as-you-go phone.’
‘A burner,’ said Norman. ‘This smells.’
‘Oh, it stinks, Norm,’ said Jolly. ‘All the calls have occurred around the time Dylan and Florence died.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘One adult and five children?’ Bob Murray looked horrified when Slater and Norman broke the news to him. ‘Who’s the adult?’
‘We believe she was the wife of Gordon Ferguson who was the gardener there at the time. He has suggested he buried her there.’
‘What do you mean, “he has suggested he buried her there”?’ asked Murray.
‘We tracked him down and went to speak to him,’ said Slater. ‘We’re sure he knows what was going on, but something, or someone, has put the wind up him.’
‘There’s also the problem he’s almost ninety years old and he’s dying,’ added Norman.
‘I don’t care about that,’ said Murray. ‘We’ve got six dead bodies. You bring him in here and find out what he knows.’
‘Yes, Guv,’ said Slater. ‘I’ll get him in here tomorrow.’
‘What about Maunder?’ asked Norman. ‘We need to question him. When’s he coming in?’
‘He’s not,’ said Murray, shifting uncomfortably. ‘We suggested it would be in his interests to come in, but he’s refused.’
‘Guvnor,’ said Norman, impatiently. ‘We’ve got six bodies buried in the gardens of an old children’s home. All the staff who used to work there seem to have very conveniently died, except for the old gardener. The only other person who may have some idea what was going on is Maunder. We have no choice. We have to question him, and you know it.’
‘On what grounds? Where’s the proof?’
‘This bogus robbery of his,’ cut in Norman. ‘He’s already had the pay-out and drawn the money out in cash. He gets weird calls from a burner phone around the time Mr Winter and his sister were killed. That looks mighty suspicious to me, and if the chief constable can’t see it, it’s only because he’s got his nose shoved so far up Maunder’s arse he can’t see anything.’
Slater winced as Norman finished his speech. Oh shit, he thought. Here we go. The Old Man isn’t going to like that. But to his great surprise, the explosion he was expecting didn’t arrive.
Murray sagged in his chair, and let out an enormous sigh. He looked thoroughly worn out and fed up.
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘But you need to understand, when the CC finds out he’s going to go berserk. I will be his first point of contact, so I need to know exactly what’s going on.’
‘Right,’ said Slater. ‘We understand what you’re doing for us, Sir. We’ll do it by the book, and we will keep you informed.’
‘I want that old gardener brought in and questioned as well,’ said Murray. ‘I don’t want it to look as though Maunder’s being singled out for special treatment. You’ll need a search warrant.’
‘Are you going to phone the CC?’ asked Norman.
‘Of course, I am. I have my orders. I’ll call him in the morning, but I’ll wait until ten o’clock. You make sure you’re at Maunder’s by nine and you should have at least an hour. After that I’ll probably be ordered to pull you out, so make sure you find what you’re looking for.’
‘Thank you, Sir,’ said Slater. ‘We’ll get on with it now. And I’ll arrange to get Mr Ferguson brought up here tomorrow as well.’
‘Right,’ said Murray. ‘That’ll be all.’
When they got back to their office, Jolly was just getting ready to go home.
‘I’ve just left you a note,’ she said. ‘The sister from The Belmont Nursing Home called. Apparently, your retired gardener has taken a turn for the worse. He’s on the way out, but he wants to make a statement while he still can.’
‘Time to clear his conscience, I suppose,’ mused Slater. ‘I’ll arrange for a car to pick him up.’
‘No can do,’ said Jolly. ‘I suggested that, but sister says he’s too ill to make the journey, and you need to get there sooner, rather than later.’
‘He really has taken a turn for the worse, then.’
‘Maybe the news about Florence was too much for him,’ said Norman.
‘Sister says he wants to do it first thing tomorrow morning, and he says he’ll only talk to you. And it’s not negotiable.’
‘But I’m supposed to be up at Maunder’s with Norm,’ said Slater. ‘I can’t be in two places at once.’
‘The sister says he’s adamant. If you’re not going to be there, he’s not talking.’
‘We’re a team, right?’ said Norman. ‘Division of labour. You go down and interview Ferguson, and I’ll go and see Maunder. I can handle him. I owe him for causing me all that grief over the so-called break-in, remember?’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Slater.
‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ said Norman, grinning. ‘I’ll supervise the search, and then drag his sorry arse back here. I’ll wait for you to get back here and we can interview him together.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was exactly nine o’clock the next morning when Norman rang the bell on Sir Robert Maunder’s front door.
‘Oh. Good morning. It’s Sergeant Norman isn’t it?’ asked Maunder’s wife as she swung the door open.
‘Err, yes, that’s right,’ said Norman, awkwardly. ‘Good morning, ma’am.’
Her smile slowly disappeared as she took in the small posse of officers and forensic technicians gathering behind him.
‘I take it you haven’t come looking for a cup of tea, this time,’ she said, acidly.
‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ said Norman. ‘Is your husband in?’
‘I’m afraid not, Sergeant. You’ve just missed him. You’ll have to come back later.’
She made to shut the door, but before she could, Norman placed his hand against it.
‘It’s a pity he’s not here,’ said Norman. ‘But we’re going to have to come in anyway.’
‘I don’t think so,’ she snapped.
‘I have a search warrant,’ said Norman, gently pushing against the door. ‘Please, ma’am. You have no choice. Let’s not make this any more unpleasant than it already is.’
She looked as though she might burst into tears, but then she seemed to get a grip on herself. Inwardly, Norman breathed a sigh of
relief. He really didn’t want to see her in tears. He had been hoping it would be Maunder who answered the door. It would have been much easier to play bad cop with him.
She stepped back and let them in. The team had been briefed earlier. They already knew where to go and what to look for.
‘I’m disappointed with you, Sergeant,’ she said, as they trooped past. ‘My husband said you were a sneaky one.’
Norman didn’t know quite what to say to that, but in a way he was pleased to see she was ready to fight. He would much rather hear her having a go at him, than see her in tears.
‘What’s my husband ever done to anyone?’ she asked. ‘He’s a good man. I should know. I’ve been married to him for over fifty years.’
‘I’d rather not discuss this right now,’ said Norman, trying to dodge the issue.
‘No. Of course you wouldn’t,’ she said bitterly. ‘He’s an easy target, isn’t he? You should be out catching criminals not wasting your time here. Why aren’t you arresting the man who’s been calling my husband and upsetting him?’
‘I don’t know anything about that,’ said Norman. ‘Has your husband made a complaint?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He thinks he can deal with it on his own. He thinks I don’t know about it, and he won’t mention it because he doesn’t want to worry me.’
Before either of them could say another word, a PC came out from the kitchen.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said to Norman. ‘But there’s smoke coming from down the garden.’
Lady Maunder looked guilty.
‘I thought you said Sir Robert was out,’ said Norman.
‘He is,’ she said.
‘Yeah, right. He’s out in the garden. Please wait here ma’am.’
He turned to the PC.
‘You come with me.’
He led the way through the kitchen and out to the back of the house. There was a row of old stables and outbuildings across a courtyard. In the centre, an archway gave access to them. A thin trail of smoke could be seen coming from the other side of the buildings.
They hurried through the archway and into yet another courtyard. Norman knew enough about these old houses to know this would have been where the carriage and horses were kept many years ago. There was a larger building off to one side which would have been the coach house and now appeared to serve as the garage. On the opposite side was another large outbuilding. The door was open and from where they were looking it seemed to now serve as some sort of office.
Norman walked across to the office, the PC following closely in his wake. There didn’t appear to be anyone around, so he stepped inside and took a look around. It was a rather grand, well-equipped office, with old fashioned wood and leather furniture. Norman thought he would have been very happy to have an office like this.
He stepped behind the desk. A drawer was just slightly open and Norman eased it open a bit further to reveal a collection of rather expensive jewellery. He was sure he recognised a couple of the pieces from the descriptions Lady Maunder had provided after the break-in.
‘Get this jewellery bagged up for me, please,’ Norman told the PC.
As he made his way back out to the courtyard, he wondered how Slater was getting on interviewing Gordon ‘Dougal’ Ferguson. Absently he looked at his watch. It was coming up for nine-twenty.
Norman wanted to confront Sir Robert, but he also wanted to know what was on that fire. Maybe Maunder was destroying evidence from the past. It had to be just around this next corner. He crept up stealthily, half expecting to find Maunder stoking a fire, but all he found was an old, wire-cage style garden incinerator. As he approached it, it seemed as though it was just garden rubbish smouldering away.
But then, as he got closer, he could see there was a bit more to it. The garden rubbish was just being used to keep the fire going. To one side of the incinerator, he could see some photographs and what appeared to be letters. They had slid from the top of the fire, and although they were singed and charred around the edges, it looked as though they might be salvaged, if only he could get them out quickly.
Kneeling down, Norman gingerly fished the assortment of charred photographs and letters from the incinerator. As far as he could make out, the photos seemed to show Sir Robert with an assortment of scantily clad women, but there was nothing to suggest Maunder was interested in children. Suddenly, he heard footsteps and started stuffing the documents hastily into an evidence bag.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ Lady Maunder’s voice came in a shrill cry. ‘Taking rubbish from a bonfire? Is there no limit to how far you’ll go?’
‘No there isn’t,’ he said, looking up at her. ‘Not if it means I catch the bad guys.’
‘Well, you won’t catch any bad guys here. This is an outrage. You will be hearing from our solicitor, I can promise you that.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I’m sure we will,’ said Norman as he climbed slowly to his feet.
‘What have you got there?’ she demanded. ‘Let me see.’
‘I’m not sure what I’ve got yet,’ said Norman, keeping the bag well out of her reach. ‘But maybe if you come and see what we found in your husband’s office, you’ll understand why we’re here.’
‘You’ve been in his office?’ she shrieked. ‘How dare you? Even I’m not allowed in there.’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Norman, beginning to tire of her ceaseless yelling and complaining. ‘The thing is, I have a search warrant. That means nothing’s private. If you just stop yelling long enough to read it, you’ll see it gives me permission to go anywhere I want. Now just follow me.’
Ignoring her continuing protestations, he led her round to the office.
‘Show her the jewellery, Nugent,’ he ordered the PC.
The PC held out the clear plastic bag so she could clearly see what was inside.
‘Do you recognise any of those pieces?’ asked Norman.
‘Well, yes,’ she said uncertainly, peering at the bag. ‘But I don’t understand. They were stolen. What are they doing here?’
‘Okay, you can take it over to the house, now,’ Norman said to PC Nugent.
Lady Maunder was looking genuinely confused, and Norman realised she wasn’t putting on all this indignation. She really did think her husband was some sort of saint.
‘They were in the drawer of your husband’s desk,’ he explained. ‘I’m afraid it looks as though they never were stolen, ma’am. I’m sorry.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her face screwed up. ‘But that man left his card...’
‘I’m afraid your husband staged the whole thing,’ explained Norman. ‘I’m pretty sure we’ll find he printed the card on that printer over there.’
He pointed to the printer. As he did, his sleeve slid back to reveal his watch. It was nine-thirty.
‘There must be some mistake,’ she said again.
‘I don’t think so, ma’am,’ said Norman. ‘Now. Can you tell me where your husband is?’
‘He, err, I thought he was out here,’ she said, uncertainly. ‘Or he’ll be out in his Rolls Royce somewhere. He loves that car.’
For a split second they stared at each other in silence, almost as if they were expecting something to happen.
And then it did.
The unmistakable boom of a shotgun being fired rang out from the garage on the opposite side of the courtyard.
This was followed by a stunned silence, and then the sound of running feet as the PCs in the house reacted to the sound. Norman felt his innards turning to water as his mind raced through the possibilities. But it couldn’t have been that, he thought. Could it?
‘What was that?’ cried Lady Maunder. She was still standing face to face with Norman, looking into his face.
‘Err, I’m not sure,’ said Norman, carefully. ‘Does your husband have a shotgun?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But he’s got a licence for it.’
It was almost as if she was trying to ignore the possibility, b
ut Norman’s face told her what she already knew.
‘Oh my God,’ she said, and then she was off and running and screaming. She was surprisingly sprightly for a woman in her mid-seventies.
‘Sir! Over here, Sir,’ a voice called to Norman, from the garage.
A female PC intercepted Lady Maunder before she could get to the garage, and after a brief struggle managed to cajole her into moving away from the garage and back towards the house. The PC’s face told Norman all he needed to know.
‘Are you happy now?’ Lady Maunder screamed at Norman, as she was led away. ‘This is all your fault, Sergeant Norman. You did this!’
‘Ambulance is on its way,’ said another PC as he reached the garage.
Norman rushed into the garage. As he had feared, Sir Robert was in the driver’s seat of his beloved Rolls Royce. He had even put the seat belt on. When he had pulled the trigger, the blast had spread most of his brains across the interior roof and across the back seats. Released from his grip, the shotgun had slipped down to the floor and rested between his legs.
Norman felt numb, and he clutched onto the door frame. He forced himself to look away from the awful sight. Holy crap, he thought. I have to tell Dave about this.
Chapter Thirty-Four
At nine o’clock, just as Norman was saying hello to Lady Maunder, Slater was composing himself, having spent the previous hour working his way through his full repertoire of swear words. There had been an accident on the A3 on the way down to Portsmouth and, as a result, the busy rush hour traffic had quickly become a ten-mile long queue. It had taken almost an hour of crawling along at a snail’s pace to clear the bottleneck.
He knew it was just one of those things, and nothing could be done about it, but he hated being late. Swearing didn’t get him there any earlier, of course, but it helped cope with the frustration. As he climbed from his car and made his way across the car park at The Belmont Nursing Home, he consoled himself with the thought that being late didn’t really make that much difference in the grand scheme of things. He would still get Gordon Ferguson’s statement, so it wouldn’t change anything.