An Unsafe Pair of Hands

by Chris Dolley

  Starting from the beginning.

  Shand gathered up his notes, pulled his chair in close to the computer, and started reading. He re-read every file, highlighting anything he deemed important, taking notes as he went, constructing timelines for events and people, checking alibis and their corroboration.

  Then he read through the notes of what he’d extracted, and suddenly noticed something that he should have seen before.

  ~

  “You wanted to see me?” asked Taylor, poking his head around Shand’s door.

  Shand was still deep in thought. He’d barely moved since his epiphany. And would his plan work? It was probably the only way, short of an unexpected confession, to bring the murderer to justice.

  He filled Taylor in. The sergeant had his doubts, but grudgingly accepted the logic of Shand’s argument, if not the practicality of his plan.

  “The Chief Super will go spare,” he said.

  “Only if he finds out,” said Shand. “And if he does, I’ll take full responsibility.” He smiled. “I’ll tell him Satan told me to do it.”

  ~

  Taylor executed the first part of the plan – the release of Lee Molland. Shand arranged a venue, and then rang Marcus to collect the equipment. Everything was running smoothly. Until Shand saw Chief Superintendent Wiggins drive into the station car park.

  “Your car keys,” said Shand, holding out his hand to Taylor. “Wiggins is downstairs. I’ve got to run. Tell him you’re working in here bringing all the files up to date like he asked.”

  He grabbed the keys and ran. Along the corridor and down the back stairs. He waited for a full minute by the fire exit, trying to judge Wiggins’ progress, giving him enough time to park his car and walk to the front desk.

  Shand had barely taken three steps towards Taylor’s car when his phone rang. It was Wiggins. Shand’s first thought was to switch the mobile off, but then decided it might look suspicious.

  “Hello,” he answered, feigning a yawn.

  “Where the devil are you, Shand? The station sergeant says you’re still in the building.”

  Shand yawned again. “My car was parked out back so I left via the rear exit.”

  He added another yawn. “Do you want me to come in?”

  “No, of course not. Sorry, Shand. I shouldn’t have woken you.”

  Shand dashed across the car park, hunched low and praying the DCS wasn’t close to a window.

  The car key danced nervously in his hand, sliding off the lock three times before finding the hole. The door opened. Shand threw himself inside, glanced towards the station foyer, then gunned the engine, pulling away far faster than he’d intended and almost hitting a wall as he slued the car into a turn too tight for the speed.

  He pulled into traffic, turned left, then right, not caring where he was going as long he was putting distance between himself and the station. He left Sturton, found the smallest turn off he could find, to a village he’d never heard of and, after two miles, pulled over, parking by a farm gate.

  He leaned over the steering wheel and tried to catch his breath. If he still had a job by the end of the day it would be a miracle.

  And what was Wiggins doing checking up on him? Had he heard about the surveillance equipment requisition?

  Shand flopped back in the driver’s seat, and took several deep breaths. Was his plan compromised? He needed another person to set the trap. Someone outside CID. He’d intended to ask one of the uniformed branch to volunteer, but now…

  Could he trust anyone at Sturton? Wiggins had probably put the word out – DCI Shand’s having a nervous breakdown, inform me if he contacts you.

  Shand looked at the steering wheel. And visualised banging his head against it repeatedly. To be so close…

  And then he had another thought.

  It was a measure of Shand’s desperation that that thought centred upon a card nestling in the top pocket of his jacket.

  Saffron.

  The ‘con’ column was immense, but the single entry under ‘pro’ was telling. She’d do it. Everything else can be overlooked when you’re desperate.

  He checked the ‘con’ column again. Yes, she thought she was psychic; yes, she was slightly batty and ,yes, she couldn’t stop talking. But she had helped last night. She could have left the car outside Lee’s house and gone home. But she’d stayed. For five hours in a cold car with a neurotic dog.

  She could be trusted.

  And if he got a result, what did any of it matter? Wiggins wouldn’t care if he used a team of psychic monkeys.

  He took out the card and phoned.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Saffron volunteered with a squeal. A squeal that a less desperate Shand would have taken as a warning sign. But he pressed on and explained what she had to do.

  “We’ll run it through several times,” said Shand. “First run through, I’ll be you, and you be the murderer.”

  “Ok, Shandy, fire away.”

  “The phone is ringing, you pick up and I say, ‘I saw you.’”

  He paused to let the words sink in before continuing. “Four o’clock, Saturday morning, up at the circle, carrying that Annabel.”

  “Who is this?” said Saffron. “You sound very scary.”

  Shand closed his eyes. Doubt hovered ever watchful over his shoulder.

  “A friend,” he said. “A very good friend if you get my drift. Someone who deserves a birthday present. Ten grand will do for a start. Unless you want me to tell the police. You can write me a cheque, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Why are we asking for a cheque?” said Saffron. “That’s stupid. We should be asking for cash.”

  “Because we haven’t got time. A cheque they can write now. Cash they can stall for. I want the meeting at lunchtime, in public, and in daylight.”

  “They’re going to think me a pretty stupid blackmailer asking for a cheque.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  ~

  They practised for twenty minutes. Shand coaching, trying to cover all possible variations. What if the murderer wanted more time, denied being at the circle, said they couldn’t make it at lunchtime?

  Saffron coped with each variation – eventually – and began to sound more natural and less like a bad B movie actress.

  It was time.

  “Are you ready?” Shand asked.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He rang off. And waited for Saffron to make the call. A tractor engine droned in the distance. Everything else was silent. Minutes passed. Hadn’t Saffron got through? Had it all gone wrong?

  He checked his watch, gave it a shake to make sure it was working. Surely more than four minutes had passed?

  Still she hadn’t rung back. He checked his phone. Had the battery gone dead?

  It rang.

  “All set,” said Saffron. “I’ll meet you at the pub.”

  ~

  At the pub, Shand went over everything again. Was there anything he’d overlooked? The surveillance camera blended into its surroundings so well it was practically invisible. The sound levels were perfect. And there was no car outside that could be recognised. He and Marcus had driven to the pub in the next village to meet Saffron and hitch a lift back with her in her car.

  They’d even been given a storeroom in the back to watch the monitor from.

  But did the restaurant look too empty?

  Shand left the storeroom and took another look. He’d chosen the pub on Taylor’s recommendation.

  “There’s a separate restaurant area that’s practically empty at lunchtimes. All the food trade’s in the evenings, but they keep the room open lunchtimes for coffee and young families.”

  It was exactly what Shand wanted. Somewhere quiet. But was it too quiet? Saffron was on her own in there. Would it look like a set up?

  He stood by the entrance to the restaurant. There were over a dozen tables, seating for forty-eight. A buffet bar along one side and a carvery in the corner. Did it l
ook closed? It certainly looked empty. Maybe he should seat Saffron more visibly? He’d agonised over that for twenty minutes, they’d changed the camera angle twice. Which is better? To tuck Saffron around the corner in the quietest part of the room, or have her visible from the foyer?

  Both had their advantages. He should have brought more people into his plan, maybe rung Langton Stacey and populated the restaurant with a few more couples.

  He checked his watch. Thirty minutes to go. He’d better leave. He was looking suspicious enough as it was.

  Thirty minutes came and went. Shand stared at the monitor willing them to arrive. Had they taken one look at Saffron and left?

  “Do you want me to check the bar?” asked Marcus, even more nervous than Shand.

  “Not yet,” said Shand.

  Saffron looked bored. Which worried Shand more than when he thought she looked nervous. Would she…

  Saffron smiled and sat up. A shape appeared on the monitor. They’d arrived.

  ~

  Shand watched intently, his face less than a foot away from the screen. Saffron was still on script. And the waitress had played her part – he’d told her to check the restaurant every five minutes from one thirty. Now she was returning with the coffees.

  “Do you have the cheque?” asked Saffron.

  “I might. If you answer me one question.”

  “What’s that?”

  “What were you doing at the stone circle at four o’clock in the morning?”

  This was one Shand had covered. He willed Saffron to remember.

  “I was walking back from the drag hunt. You know, the one the Brigadess runs?”

  “Ah, the full moon. I should have realised.”

  There was an acceptance in the voice, almost a dry amusement that on that night of all nights so many people had been abroad.

  “Who shall I make the cheque payable to?”

  They’d covered that one as well. Shand wanted her to say ‘cash,’ but Saffron insisted on a pseudonym. “It’s more in character,” she’d said.

  “Sharon Sprott.”

  “Is that two t’s?”

  “Two t’s to a tee,” said Saffron, adding a trill-like laugh.

  Shand buried his head. Then rebuked the monitor. “This is not the time to make bad jokes, Saffy.” She’d done so well up to then. Was she about to lose it?

  Saffron accepted the cheque and scrutinised it.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “Your secret’s safe with me. Though I must admit to being the teeniest bit intrigued. Why did you do it?”

  Shand couldn’t believe it. They’d agreed. No questions about the murders. It couldn’t look like a set up. Her job was to take the money, then get out.

  “Nice weather today, don’t you think?”

  They weren’t taking the bait. Shand wasn’t sure if he was relieved or worried. Did they sense that something was wrong?

  “You know,” said Saffron. “I think I’ll just go and powder my nose. Won’t be long.”

  At last, thought Shand, staring even more intently at the screen. This was when it should happen. He waited. A hand reached out across the table and hovered over Saffron’s cup. There was a bottle in the hand. It tipped. Then the other hand reached over, picked up the teaspoon and started stirring. The rattle of spoon on cup resonated through the speakers.

  “That’s all we need,” said Shand, heading for the door. “Keep the tape running. Everything else is a bonus.”

  Shand strode along the back corridor, through the foyer and into the restaurant.

  He slid into the vacant seat and grabbed Saffron’s cup. “I’ll take this, Mrs. Benson.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  The look of surprise on Helena’s face was fleeting.

  “What a pleasant surprise, chief inspector. Have you been here long?”

  “Long enough.”

  Helena looked down at her cup. “Oh,” she said, and then she looked at Shand and smiled. Which surprised him, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting – tears, an impassioned denial? But definitely not this.

  “What gave me away?” she asked, her voice calm and without the slightest tremor of nerves.

  “Little things,” he said, watching her closely. “Little things I didn’t even notice until today.”

  “Such as?” asked Helena, taking a long sip of coffee.

  “Such as the two men who abducted you. It made sense at first. They drive down from London. They abduct you at 10:30, bury you at eleven, then disappear – probably back to London. But then it seems they stay in the village for Annabel’s murder. And this morning I discover that Annabel wasn’t moved to the circle until four. So what were these men doing all that time?”

  “Did it ever occur to you that Annabel might have hired the two men to abduct me?”

  It hadn’t. The merest flutter of doubt grazed his confidence. “Why would she do that?”

  “To frighten me into withdrawing from the council elections.”

  “Was she trying to frighten you?”

  Helena took another sip of coffee. “Then the two men find out my husband’s a bank manager and they get greedy. Why settle for the thousand pounds that Annabel promised when they could blackmail George into robbing his bank?”

  Shand was confused. “What are you saying?”

  “But they still have one loose end to contend with – Annabel. So they phone her from the village green and say they want their money now. When she comes out, they take her to the circle to prove they did the work. As soon as she pays them, they kill her. What do you think of that?”

  She looked at him over the rim of her cup and raised both eyebrows, challenging him.

  He didn’t know what to say. Or what Helena was doing. He’d solved the case. Helena was guilty. None of what she’d said had happened.

  Had it?

  “George was never contacted,” he said, barging away the doubt. “There never was a plan to rob his bank.”

  “No,” said Helena, wistfully. “I considered planting more clues, but George was never any good at dissembling. I thought it better to hint at the possibility and keep George’s role to a minimum.”

  “So you admit it?”

  “Chief inspector, you’re holding a cup of coffee laced with poison. I’m hardly in a position to deny anything.”

  “Then why…”

  “Professional curiosity. I’ve read crime novels since I was a little girl. I wanted to know if you’d considered the same scenarios I had. Don’t you think that Annabel would have made a splendid murderer? She was cunning, amoral, single-minded. I thought you would have at least considered her as a suspect in my abduction.”

  “I hadn’t. I–”

  Helena interrupted him with a wave of her hand. “No mind, chief inspector. You were saying about the two men…”

  Shand paused for a second to observe Helena. She seemed so in control. This was supposed to be his big moment – the denouement. Not hers.

  “So,” he said, “this morning I reassessed all the information we had and where it came from, and realised that so much of it came from you. The existence of the two men, the time of the abduction, the abduction itself, that the match book came from the car, that there was a car, that the drugged wine bottle wasn’t on your table when you left home at six.

  “All of that came from you. Even the spade that killed Annabel. And all of it was uncorroborated. Take away the abduction and suddenly two irreconcilable crimes become one – Annabel’s murder – everything else is alibi. And brilliant.”

  Helena smiled broadly. “It was, wasn’t it?”

  “And once I understood that, then everything else fell into place. You had to move Annabel’s body to the circle at four because that was the earliest George could return from Sherminster without waking his hosts. You staged the fake abduction for 10:30 to give yourself an alibi, and murdered Annabel at midnight to give George an alibi. Perfect.

  “Then at four, the two of you moved the body to the
circle, dug the hole. You climbed in, George covered you up and placed Annabel on top. The perfect alibi. How could the person buried beneath the body be the murderer?

  “But what about the spade?” said Helena, draining the last of her coffee. “How could Annabel’s blood be on the spade if it was used afterwards to dig the grave?”

  “You took two spades to the circle,” said Shand. “One to dig with and the murder weapon that you pressed soil onto to make it look like it had been used to dig with.”

  Helena nodded as he spoke and smiled like a tutor listening to her prize student.

  “We spent hours agonising over that,” she said. “George didn’t think anyone would notice. He wanted to use the same spade, but I knew we couldn’t risk Annabel’s blood being smeared or removed by the digging. The murder had to be seen as occurring after the burial, not before. Of course it meant an extra journey for George. He had to clean the other spade and take it home. But I knew it was necessary.”

  “I’m still not sure how you got Annabel to come to meet you. I imagine it was something to do with the Brigadess. Some piece of tantalising information that you promised her if she’d come to you immediately. Though how you got her to walk is beyond me.”

  “I told her I couldn’t risk anyone seeing her car outside my house. People would then know who’d given her the information.”

  “About the Brigadess?”

  “I said I’d found something too shocking for words. That I knew the Brigadess was in financial straits, but I couldn’t believe she’d stoop to fraud.”

  Shand smiled to himself. That would definitely make Annabel leave her house in the middle of night.

  “Let me guess,” said Shand. “You made sure she had the impression that if she didn’t come over straight away you might change your mind?”

  “Exactly,” said Helena, reaching over and touching Shand on the back of his hand. She looked pleased, he thought, and animated. The relief, maybe, of finally being able to talk.

  “I dithered,” she continued. “And wondered aloud if I was making a mistake talking to her. And that, perhaps, if I took the papers to the Brigadess in the morning she’d be able to explain that it was all a silly mistake.”