‘I think you’ve done more than that, Pierce, such as not declaring treasure trove.’
Pierce laughed in his face. Doherty pushed him away.
‘Get out of here.’
Pierce smirked as he threw his jacket over his shoulder.
‘You’ve got nothing serious on me, copper. Nothing serious at all.’
Honey’s comment about Pierce looking fearful before he’d driven into her only came back to him later. Wouldn’t it be great, he thought to himself, if I could link Pierce to Wright’s murder? But he couldn’t. As far as he knew their paths had never crossed. That was before Lindsey reported back.
‘That’s it!’
Lindsey had found the link at precisely the same time as yet another body had been found beneath the tramp and the treasure trove.
Doherty phoned to tell her.
‘It’s Patricia Pierce. No doubt about it.’
‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ said a breathless Honey, excited by what she was reading on the computer screen. ‘Patricia Pierce enrolled with a dating agency. One of the men she met was Colin Wright.’
‘But she was married.’
‘So? If you were married to Peter Pierce, a guy with a penchant for young ladies, wouldn’t you seek pastures new?’
Doherty didn’t argue. He was aching to get Pierce back into custody and any excuse would do as long as it held up, gave him enough time to look into things.
‘I’ll see you later.’
The call was disconnected.
‘Is he pleased?’ asked Lindsey who looked as though she’d expected some praise for her efforts.
‘Ecstatic,’ returned Honey, though she still wasn’t quite sure about all this. ‘So Pierce might have murdered his wife, but did he murder Colin Wright, and if he did, how did he get him out of a crowded city without being noticed?’
The revolving doors suddenly spun round like a carousel and like a prancing horse – or at least a strutting one – her mother made an entrance.
‘It’s settled,’ she said. ‘Dora left instructions that whoever offered to give Bobo a good home was the best home. I’ve found her a new home.’
Honey immediately recognized Tracey Maplin who gave a little wave with her fingers.
The terrier, which had been snoozing on a pile of clean laundry beneath the reception desk, leapt out from hiding, throwing herself into the welcoming arms of her new owner.
Honey held up a pile of disposable baby nappies. ‘Do you want these?’
Tracey Maplin shook her head. ‘No, we’re seeking the great outdoors. I’ve bought a Volkswagen Camper, one of those old sixties-style ones with a split screen and multi-coloured bodywork. Bobo and I are off on the road. First stop Glastonbury Festival.’
Honey and Lindsey said, ‘How nice.’ Gloria Cross was showing her teeth in a rictus smile.
‘That’s good.’
Honey had to agree that it was.
‘So how did he do it?’
Peter Pierce was in custody. His story was that he’d found out about his wife’s affair. She’d been telling him she was having golfing lessons when in fact she’d been meeting C.A. Wright. They’d had a row. She’d run off to the field that was now Memory Meadow. Her husband had run after her.
‘It was an accident. She slipped, fell in, and hit her head.’
So far Doherty could say nothing to contradict what Pierce was saying. It was difficult to tell for sure that it had been nothing but an accident. At the very worst Pierce would get off with manslaughter.
Doherty kept at it. ‘And you buried her. I take it Colin Wright found out.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Pierce was confident. His voice didn’t falter and he wasn’t sweating. Even his brief seemed surprised at how calm he was, slipping him little looks now and again as though checking that he was still needed.
‘Your wife met Wright through a dating agency some five years ago. I would suggest that they’d planned to run away together. When she didn’t turn up he came looking for her. Wright was the suspicious type. He knew how to needle people. He needled you. He put on the pressure and he began to blackmail you. You paid. He went away, but then he came back. He wanted more.’
Through all this Pierce said not a word. Now he smiled.
‘I’ve only two words to say to you, Mr Doherty. Prove it.’
Doherty had related all this over tea and scones while sitting at a table in Abbey Churchyard.
He folded his arms, sending the sleeves of his leather jacket into a mass of wrinkles, and narrowed his eyes, principally watching the people wandering around Abbey Churchyard, in and out of the Pump Rooms and the Abbey, or sitting at one of the many cafés drinking coffee and eating hamburgers.
‘Nobody seemed to notice anyone carrying a large bear. How ridiculous is that? He had to carry it out of here or have a vehicle near at hand. Our best bet is that he was some kind of contractor and had a van parked here. If there was some kind of breakdown in one of these cafés or over in the Pump Rooms … Pierce had a maintenance company after all.’
His voice trailed off. They’d checked as far as they could. Abbey Churchyard was not a high security risk. There were no security cameras because the city was touchy about infringing people’s civil liberties in places where there was no need. Nobody recalled seeing a tradesman’s van in an area that was predominantly pedestrianized.
‘There has to be some other way …’ Doherty said wistfully.
Honey swallowed and licked at the jam and cream remaining on her lower lip.
‘He also owned some catering outlets. Did you know that?’
He looked surprised. ‘No. I didn’t.’
‘My feeling is that if there was no tradesman’s van to lump Teddy Devlin into, and nobody saw him carrying the bear, then he couldn’t have carried it very far.’
She’d been just about to take another bite of the second half of the scone, when the significance of what she’d said suddenly hit her.
‘That’s it.’
Doherty had also grasped its significance.
‘Somewhere around here,’ he said gravely, his head turning this way and that, searching for the right place at the right distance.
Honey twisted right round, looking behind her at the small café at the foot of the narrow building set in the shady corner behind them. The property was owned by the city. On reaching the end of his lease, the last owner had been given notice to quit even though he was willing to renew and had never missed a rent payment. Someone in the city council had thought it a good idea to let it to a more upmarket concern. The hoardings advertising its availability were still in situ. The address was familiar. The previous owner had been selling everything off.
She related all this to Doherty.
‘So who was the previous owner?’
Doherty didn’t waste any time. He got someone to check. ‘A property company in London. Absent landlords. Pierce oversaw everything.’
‘That’s why Smudger couldn’t get the salamander,’ she blurted. ‘That’s why it got delivered later.’
Doherty had never been involved in the hospitality trade, but he was becoming a little more au fait with the terminology. He recalled Honey saying something about a salamander and him thinking that her chef had become interested in reptiles.
‘This was where he was coming?’
She nodded. Their eyes met in mutual understanding.
‘Let’s go in.’
There was blood on the floor, of course. It turned out to be Colin Wright’s blood. Pierce hadn’t managed to get back there to clean it up. He confessed that he had thought about leaving the country, but he had his two boys to consider.
‘I meant to bury him in the cesspit along with everything else, but first I needed to get the loot out. Unfortunately I got drunk and chucked it in the wrong hole. By the time I discovered what I’d done …’
‘Poor old Sean O’Brian was being buried.’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘But I am,’ said Doherty.
Honey raised her eyebrows, an amused look on her face.
‘Is that so?’
‘Very.’
After dipping into his pocket, he slid a small velvet box across the bar. They were sitting at the bar of the Zodiac. The air was smoky and the hour was late, but it felt warm, it felt good, and the ambience was as juicy as smoked salmon and rare rib of beef.
She had a hollow feeling in her stomach as she opened it. The sapphire was big enough and surrounded with diamonds.
‘So! What do you think?’
‘Blue’s my favourite colour.’
‘Great. So that’s all right then.’
Honey nodded. ‘Does this make it official?’
‘Depends what you mean by official.’
‘Who do we tell?’
‘Who do you want to tell?’
Honey grinned. ‘Can we keep it between us – until the time is right.’
His eyes twinkled. ‘It’s our engagement. We’ve got all the time in the world and anyway, it’s our business. Nobody else’s.’
The Ghost of Christmas Past
It's a Dickensian Christmas in Bath; frost lays thick on the ground and a white mist drifts through the narrow alleys.
The Green River Hotel is hosting the very last office Christmas party. The employees of the firm arrive and seem shell shocked that their miserly employer, frequently referred to as Scrooge, has paid for everything.
How come the change of heart?
They never get the chance to ask because old ‘Scrooge’ doesn't turn up for the party. A deadly deed has been done, and it's up to Honey Driver and her darling Doherty to solve the Christmas caper.
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Wicked Words
A Honey Driver Mystery
Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2014
ISBN 9781909520387
Copyright © Jean G Goodhind 2014
The right of Jean G Goodhind to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN
Printed and bound in the UK
Cover design by Joelle Brindley
Wicked Words: A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries) Page 24