Six Years Too Late

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Do you trust him?’

  ‘The man knows who I am and what I can do. Find out who the other man is, put out feelers, ask around. But don’t be too obvious.’

  ‘And when I find him?’

  ‘Keep tabs on him. The police are not far behind. He may have spoken to them and told them things he shouldn’t have.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I’ll need to consider the options, but don’t let on that you know anything that can help him. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gareth said.

  Chapter 25

  Down in Cornwall, Jim Greenwood was keeping the team updated, questioning the locals, trying to find out if there had been a car in the area at the time of the woman’s death that didn’t belong to a local. But that was a needle in a haystack approach, Greenwood knew. The village was scenic; it attracted more than its fair share of tourists, some staying at the local hotel or a campsite up the road, others walking down by the harbour, taking a few pictures, and then driving on to the next tourist attraction.

  ‘I believe Charles Stanford,’ Wendy said in the office at Challis Street. ‘He was telling the truth this time.’

  ‘If he was,’ Isaac said, ‘what can we do with this information? We can’t go asking McIntyre directly if he made a phone call on a specific date to an individual about a crime at Bedford Gardens, can we?’

  ‘We have to somehow,’ Larry said.

  Isaac was pleased that the man had turned the corner. He hadn’t been sure that Larry would succeed, as alcohol is seductive to some, but so far, he had. It was in large part due to his wife’s encouragement and that of his colleagues in the department. The danger was when everyone became complacent.

  ‘We can speculate,’ Isaac said. ‘Why would McIntyre be interested in Marcus Matthews’ body being discovered? If he hadn’t killed him, which we know he hadn’t, then why did he want the body found? And how long had he known that it was there?’

  ‘It had been six years,’ Larry said. ‘Did he know that it had been there for all that time? And if he did, why hadn’t he told his daughter? We’ve got more questions than answers.’

  ‘Is there a question?’ Bridget said. ‘I couldn’t find out who made the phone call to Stanford. If Hamish McIntyre knew the body was there, then he knows the murderer. Do you have knowledge of his associates, the sort of person who could commit murder?’

  ‘McIntyre’s associates wouldn’t have gone through such a convoluted exercise. And they wouldn’t have entered into any sort of agreement with Matthews,’ Isaac said. We’ve discussed this before, we’re looking for an ethical man, a man of strong morals.’

  ‘A criminal with a conscience,’ Larry said.

  ‘Not necessarily a criminal. We know that Matthews, apart from his criminal activities, had a strong social bent, an underlying ethic.’

  ‘Doesn’t help,’ Larry said. He couldn’t see their conversation going anywhere. If McIntyre was important, then he needed to be pressured.

  ‘Hassle McIntyre, is that what you’re thinking, Larry?’ Isaac said. They had worked together for some years now. He knew instinctively what Larry would be thinking. He was a bull in a china shop type of police officer, the sort that goes in guns blazing, although Isaac knew that wasn’t the best analogy, as no police officer was armed unless they had the authority. They’d had a case a couple years back when the need to carry weapons had been agreed to. Larry had taken one for a while, so had Isaac, but he had never been comfortable with the idea. Wendy had refused. In the end, the man who had killed four came meekly, and no weapons had been necessary.

  ‘How else do you expect us to get to the bottom of this?’

  ‘Where is Stanford now? Back in his home?’

  ‘We’ve got Wally Vincent keeping tabs on him. He went around to check the other day, even got an invite in for a cup of tea. Stanford’s turned over a new leaf, although Wally’s not confident it will last.’

  ‘A clear conscience?’ Wendy said.

  ‘Stanford thought that McIntyre may be involved with the trafficking of women.’ Isaac said.

  ‘It will be almost impossible to prove,’ Larry said. ‘And besides, what would he have done? It’s usually the gangsters back in the country of origin who are responsible.’

  ‘He could have financed the transportation, ensured that the lorries they were coming in on had been modified for the transportation of human cargo. He could have dealt with the drivers, bribed them as necessary, threatened others. And once the women were in the country, he could have arranged the safe houses. Any sign of occupation at Bedford Gardens?’

  ‘We’ve all seen the report from the crime scene investigation team,’ Larry said. ‘No one has lived in that house for a long time.’

  ‘Before that?’

  ‘Dust accumulates over the years, and everyone would have been looking at the period pertinent to the crime.’

  ‘Who owned it before him? Check it out, talk to them. See if there’s anything untoward.’

  ‘The locals might have seen something,’ Bridget said.

  ‘People mind their own business, you know that,’ Larry said. ‘If they had been slipping women in late at night, one or two at a time, and confining them to a room, keeping them quiet, nobody would have noticed anything. Nobody had seen Charles Stanford go in there eleven months ago.’

  ‘Larry’s right,’ Isaac said. ‘People are blind, and if it doesn’t affect them directly, they don’t get involved. What happens if people see something that makes them feel uncomfortable? Do they report it to the police, or do they walk on by?’

  ‘Walk on by most of the time,’ Wendy said. She had had a car stolen from outside her house one night. A man walking his dog later admitted that he had seen the felon, thought nothing of it, even though the man had a crowbar on the door handle. It was human nature, she knew that. Mind your own business, look out for yourself, and endeavour to have a peaceful life.

  ‘I’ll find out what I can about the house,’ Bridget said. ‘Give me a couple of hours, and I should have something for you.’

  ‘In the meantime,’ Isaac said, ‘McIntyre. We need to revisit him, but we need to be very careful.’

  ***

  Armstrong followed Hamish McIntyre’s instructions, up to a point. He wasn’t going to harm Jacob, Hamish had been clear on that, but there was no reason why he could not scare the man. Too many years in prison had made him distrustful of anyone until proven to the contrary.

  He had drawn up alongside Jacob. Hamish had described how he had remembered him, skinny, looked like a weasel.

  Armstrong leant out the window of the Mercedes. ‘Jacob, over here,’ he said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘We spoke on the phone.’

  ‘Hamish?’

  ‘The name’s Gareth, Gareth Armstrong. I work for the man. He told me you’re a good person. Someone I should talk to.’

  ‘I don’t want any trouble.’

  ‘There’s no trouble getting into the car, is there?’

  Jacob knew he didn’t want to, but the man had influence with Hamish McIntyre. To not get into the car would be pure folly, he thought.

  Pulling away from the kerb, Armstrong accelerated into the traffic and headed away from the area.

  ‘We could talk over a pint,’ Jacob said, making small talk. He regretted phoning Hamish. ‘But if you fancy a cup of coffee. I’m easy either way.’

  Armstrong could see that the man wasn’t comfortable. It was the effect he wanted.

  ‘It won’t take long. We need somewhere private. I need to know more details of what you said to Hamish.’

  ‘I told him all I could. Just that this Palmer was looking for a woman, nothing more.’

  ‘So, what’s the connection?’

  ‘What did Hamish tell you to do?’

  ‘He told me to find Palmer, find out what he was talking about, why he was interested.’

  The car was moving fast; soon, they would be in the country.
Jacob knew this was not a friendly little chat. This wasn’t what Hamish McIntyre had said would happen.

  The car came to a halt outside an old barn. Gareth got out of the car, went around to the other side, grabbed the man by his collar and pulled him roughly into the barn.

  ‘You may have told Hamish a story, but I’m looking out for him. I need to know more,’ Armstrong said.

  ‘There is no more,’ Jacob bleated as he was roughly thrown to the ground. The place smelled of animals and hay, and he suffered from allergies. ‘There’s no more to say. I told Hamish all I knew.’

  ‘Okay, let’s get back to where we were. Palmer, what does he look like?’

  ‘Nothing special, nothing like his brother. An irritating whine to his voice. Mr McIntyre won’t like you holding me here. He promised me that I would be safe.’

  ‘I needed to know you were telling the truth. Mr McIntyre looks after me well. I’m not going to let anyone, not you, not even Palmer, get in the way of that. You met Palmer in the pub, I know that much.’

  ‘In the pub, yes. He was interested in his brother and Liz Spalding. The barman called me over. He knew that I’d lived in the area for a long time and that I probably knew them.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yes, I did. Stephen was a good guy. Liz was the sort of woman men lusted over, but she was keen on Stephen. Only he was a player; he had other women on the side, couldn’t help himself.’

  ‘The other women?’

  ‘Palmer thought one of them was involved in the death of Liz Spalding. I told Mr McIntyre this much. I never mentioned her name.’

  ‘For your own protection?’

  ‘What else could I do? I remember Hamish when he used to live in the area. Back then, he was on the way up. He had a few girls turning tricks in an old hotel up the road, buying and selling whatever, making a name for himself.’

  ‘Do you believe this woman murdered Liz Spalding?’

  The situation was calmer. Jacob got up off the ground and sat on a bale of hay. Armstrong sat across from him on another bale.

  ‘I don’t get involved. Palmer thought there was a connection and he wanted to find the woman. I wouldn’t talk to him. He knows that I know who she is.’

  ‘Who is it then?’

  ‘Did Mr McIntyre ask you to find the name of the woman?’

  ‘Not directly.’

  ‘He knows who it is. If I tell you and it gets back to Mr McIntyre, he’ll not be pleased.’

  ‘And if you don’t tell me, I’ll make sure to tell him that you were difficult.’

  Armstrong sat for a moment. He looked around at their surroundings, realised that the countryside and he did not agree. Even so, he had managed to wangle himself an easy job at the last prison, out on the prison farm.

  ‘This is not what Mr McIntyre agreed to, is it?’ Jacob said.

  ‘Not entirely, but he wants me to find Palmer. And if Palmer is looking for this woman and he makes the connection, that’s where I’ll find him. And if the woman is important to Hamish, he won’t thank me if she comes to any harm.’

  ‘I thought he’d be in the pub again. He was angry and wanted to hit me, but he couldn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘As I said, Stephen was a dynamic sort of person, a person you could look up to, but his brother had nothing going for him. He said he was fond of Liz, but I reckon it was more than that. He was the sort of man who would have been pining after his brother’s girlfriends, never getting one, feeling the frustration.’

  ‘Jacob, work with me, and we’ll find Palmer.’

  ‘Nothing criminal. Maybe I’ve been a fool all my life, but I’ve not done anything. It’s probably the reason why I never amounted to much in life, but it suits me fine now. As long as I can afford a drink and lunch out occasionally, then I’m content.’

  ‘I’m content as well,’ Armstrong said. ‘Hamish has treated me well, given me somewhere to live, a nice motor to drive, money in my pocket. I want for nothing, and I’m not going to let him down. Anything that helps me to find this Palmer, I need to know. Now, who is this mysterious woman?’

  ‘It’s his daughter,’ Jacob said reluctantly.

  ‘Samantha?’

  ‘He’s only got the one.’

  ‘Let’s go, Jacob. Do you know where he was staying?’

  ‘No idea. Each time I met him, it was either in the pub or on the street. He’s not a local, I know that.’

  Armstrong helped Jacob up from his seat, and the two men drove away. Half a mile down the road, a pub. A couple of pints later, a good feed, and all had been forgotten. Jacob was still frightened. A misinterpretation, a wrong word, and Hamish McIntyre would be after him.

  Chapter 26

  The pieces in the puzzle were coming together, Isaac could see that. Down in Cornwall, Jim Greenwood was performing well, as was Wally Vincent in Brighton. Soon enough, somebody, somewhere, would make the connection, or else one of the murderers would make a mistake.

  Hamish McIntyre was out in his mansion, Samantha at his side; Gareth Armstrong not far away.

  Gareth updated Hamish on his conversation with Jacob Wolfenden, omitting that he had roughed the man up.

  Bridget set up a phone conference, dialled in Greenwood and Vincent. The team were in the conference room at Challis Street.

  ‘I’ve not given up down here,’ Greenwood said. ‘I’ve still got some ground to cover although nobody in Polperro seems to know very much. Mrs Venter, the last person to see Liz Spalding alive, believes she did see another woman.’

  ‘Did you follow Palmer after he left the village?’ Larry asked.

  ‘As best I could. He revisited his brother’s grave, spoke to the vicar.’

  ‘Did you speak to him?’

  ‘Not directly. I spoke to the man’s wife. He was at a seminary for a couple of days.’

  ‘Then it may be a good idea to go back,’ Isaac said. ‘Have a chat with the man, see what Palmer told him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t write him off,’ Greenwood said. ‘He’s not going to leave this alone.’

  ‘We’ve got another one down in Brighton. Wally Vincent is looking after him.’

  ‘Since his return, the man’s been a model citizen,’ Vincent said. ‘Almost affable.’

  ‘What do you reckon, Wally?’ Wendy said. ‘Is he holding something in reserve?’

  ‘You’d never know with Stanford, a smart man, deep, thinks things through.’

  ‘If Hamish McIntyre hears of these two, their lives won’t be worth living,’ Larry said.

  ‘We still need to go visit the man,’ Isaac said. ‘How do you confront a man and accuse him of making a phone call to Stanford when we have no proof?’

  ‘A dangerous customer,’ Greenwood said, ‘from what Larry was telling me.’

  ‘He is. We’re Palmer’s best protection. If he knows something that we don’t, he’d better tell us, leave it to us.’

  ‘Coming back to Stanford,’ Larry said. ‘He told us that he believed that McIntyre was the person who phoned him. Wally, any reason to think he knows more?’

  ‘I don’t think so. The man’s talkative enough at the present moment. I don’t want him to clam up, just keeping it friendly for now.’

  ‘No complaints to your superintendent about harassing him? Wendy asked.

  ‘None at all, and the superintendent even patted me on the back the other day, told me what a good job I was doing and to keep him updated.’

  ‘Promotion in the offing?’ Larry said.

  ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Let’s get back to a plan of action,’ Isaac said. ‘We need to find Palmer and fast. Jim, stay with Stanford, maintain a cordial relationship with him. Although he did manage to get up to the third floor in Bedford Gardens on his last visit.’

  ‘You don’t suspect him, do you?’

  ‘Not at this time. Jim, get back to the vicar, find out what Palmer may have told him.’

  ‘I’ll make a trip up to Oxford, meet with
Palmer again,’ Larry said.

  ‘Normally I would agree with you,’ Isaac said. ‘But this time you’d better focus on Palmer, see if he’s in the area.’

  ‘I’ll check out Palmer’s house,’ Wendy said.

  ‘I could do with a few hours out of the office,’ Isaac said. ‘I’ll go with you.’

  ***

  Jim Greenwood was the first to act. Even though it was midday and it was a long drive, he was in the car and out to where Stephen Palmer was buried. He found the vicar tending to his vegetables in the small garden at the back of the vicarage. The vicar’s wife was in the kitchen.

  ‘How can I help you, Inspector?’ the vicar said.

  Greenwood had not met the man before. ‘I spoke to your wife the last time. She said that Bob Palmer had been up here.’

  ‘I found him by the grave, trying to tidy up around it. It’s dreadful how people neglect their loved ones after a few years. I try to do my best, pick up the occasional weed here and there, but I can’t do it all, not any more.’

  ‘I’m sure those in your care understand,’ Greenwood said. He wasn’t much of a churchgoer, and when his time came, it would be a cremation, his ashes thrown into the river and those mourning him down to the pub, a few drinks on him.

  ‘I like to think they do,’ the vicar said. ‘But how can I help you? What more can I tell you that my wife hasn’t?’

  ‘The minor details can be crucial. The man may have said something, asked you something seemingly obscure; but to us, it may be significant.’

  The two men sat down on garden chairs.

  The vicar’s wife, a comely woman, round and short with rosy cheeks and a pleasant smile, put a couple of cups of tea on the table, a plate of home-made scones with jam and cream. ‘They're freshly baked,’ she said. ‘As good as you get anywhere in the West Country.’

  Greenwood, partial to a scone, applied the jam and cream generously; so did the vicar. The two men sat quietly for a couple of minutes. A robin flew by, a thrush gave its melodious song.

  ‘We get deer at the bottom of the garden in winter,’ the vicar said. ‘They’ve got used to us now, and we always try to give them something to eat. Never get too close to them, though, no chance of hand feeding.’