Six Years Too Late

by Phillip Strang

  ‘We’re concerned about Mr Palmer,’ Isaac said. ‘He received tragic news recently, someone he was fond of.’

  Wendy wasn’t sure how much Isaac was going to reveal. She imagined it wouldn’t be too much as the woman was an unknown. Although she seemed trustworthy, gossip was gossip. The street reminded her of where she lived, and Wendy knew that behind the curtains, people with keen noses and even better eyesight were watching and waiting.

  She had had trouble once with a nosy neighbour complaining about her sons. She had given the woman a piece of her mind, not that the sons didn’t need a good talking to afterwards. Sneaking girlfriends in through the back window was definitely not on, although later on, when both of them were married, they had had a good laugh about that night, over a few drinks.

  There seemed to be no reason to stay longer. Wendy backed the car out of the driveway and drove up to Palmer’s house. She knocked on the door, went around to the back, saw nothing untoward.

  ‘No need to enter,’ she said on her return. Isaac had stayed in the car, making phone calls.

  ‘I don’t give Palmer much for his chances,’ Isaac said.

  Chapter 28

  ‘If I get this straight,’ Richard Goddard said, ‘someone’s going to die.’

  Isaac was in his chief superintendent’s office following his return from Oxford, updating him on progress. ‘It’s almost inevitable. If McIntyre’s got Armstrong hanging around Palmer’s house, it can only mean one thing, the game’s up. And McIntyre, if he believes his daughter murdered Liz Spalding, or even if he doesn’t, doesn’t take kindly to people getting involved in his business, and definitely not his daughter’s.’

  ‘A family affair, is that it?’ Goddard said. ‘Two brothers for the price of one.’

  ‘Either we give Palmer protection, or McIntyre will pick him up at some stage.’

  ‘Where’s this fool now?’

  ‘We’ve checked his house, he’s not there. He must be back in London somewhere, close to where his brother used to live.’

  ‘Larry Hill, out on the street?’

  ‘He’s in the area checking with a few of his contacts.’

  ‘The best you can do, if you see this Palmer character, is to bring him into the station, put him in a cell for a few hours, let him cool his heels.’

  ‘What charge?’

  ‘Wasting police time is as good as any.’

  Goddard understood the dilemma. Hamish McIntyre had no crimes outstanding against his name, none that could be proved. And now the man was, to all intents and purposes, retired.

  ‘We’re confident that McIntyre knew that Matthews was dead in that house,’ Isaac said. ‘Not that we can prove it.’

  ‘Any suppositions as to why he would have known the body was there?’

  ‘None that we can think of. If he didn’t kill the man, which we know he didn’t, he must know who did.’

  ‘A pointless exercise on his part?’ Goddard said.

  ‘McIntyre doesn’t do anything without thinking it through first. He knows the connection and the reason why. He must think we’re absolute dullards, unable to find the proof.’

  ‘‘He wants someone convicted for the crime, is that it?’

  ‘It has to be.’

  ‘Can you bring him to the station?’

  ‘He won’t come voluntarily. And his lawyer will be protecting him.’

  ‘Grantham?’

  ‘The man’s got his feet under the table. On the one hand, he’s involved with the daughter; on the other, McIntyre relies on him for legal expertise.’

  ‘Any chance of proving the case against the daughter?’

  ‘Greenwood’s probably gone as far as he can in Cornwall.’

  Isaac’s phone rang.

  ‘A coincidence. It’s Jim Greenwood,’ Isaac said to Goddard. ‘I need to talk to him.’

  ‘Here is as good as anywhere else.’

  ‘What is it, Jim?’ Isaac said.

  ‘I’ve been following up on this car angle, trying to make sense of it. I phoned up a colleague in St Austell. It’s a thirty-minute drive from the village. Asked him to look around.’

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘I reckon so. Samantha Matthews’ car was there on the date of the murder. CCTV camera at the railway station.’

  ‘We’re getting closer. That proves we can place her in the vicinity. Can we tighten it even further?’

  ‘We’re working on it. We’re not sure how she would have got to the village if her car was parked some distance away. There’s a bus service, but it’s not very regular, and she would have been visible. A taxi we’d rule out for the same reason.’

  ‘How else would she have got there?’

  ‘Too far to walk.’

  ‘If she hadn’t taken public transport or a taxi it can only mean one thing, she drove,’ Isaac said.

  ‘No cars were reported stolen during the period,’ Greenwood said.

  ‘How long would she have needed to get to the village, commit the murder and get back to where her car was?’

  ‘Two hours, maximum of three.’

  ‘Any chance she could have stolen a car, committed the crime, and brought it back before it had been missed?’

  ‘People daily commute from St Austell, leave their car at the station. It’s possible.’

  ‘If you find the car she took and prove that it was in the village, we might have a case against her.’

  Isaac ended the call and looked over to Goddard. ‘The case against Samantha Matthews is looking stronger.’

  ‘Conclusive?’

  ‘Not yet, but give us time. We’ll get the woman yet.’

  ***

  After the phone call from Wolfenden, McIntyre knew he needed to act. Palmer was causing trouble, ruffling feathers, getting closer to Samantha.

  Wolfenden, not comfortable to be involved in something he knew was dangerous, followed instructions. He kept back from Bob Palmer as he walked down the street, followed him as far as the train station, and got on two carriages behind him. At each station, he got off, looking for Palmer, getting back on if he couldn’t see him. Uncomfortable as he was, given the precarious situation he was in, he had to admit to a sense of excitement, a sleuth stalking his man.

  At the third station, Palmer got off, Wolfenden in pursuit. He saw him enter a rundown, flea-bitten hotel two minutes from the station. He phoned McIntyre who phoned Armstrong.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ McIntyre said. ‘Keep a watch on that place and if Palmer comes out, follow him. And don’t lose him, not this time.’

  ‘I didn’t want to be involved,’ Wolfenden said.

  ‘You’re not. Gareth will be there soon enough, leave it to him.’

  ‘Once he’s here?’

  ‘Make yourself scarce. I’ll see you right, mark my words. I look after my friends, you know that.’

  Jacob Wolfenden knew that well enough but was he regarded as a friend or a threat. Bob Palmer had been a nuisance, but he had had to tell McIntyre about him. Even now he wasn’t sure of the truth. Had Samantha been responsible for the death of this other woman? He supposed he could check, but ignorance was safer.

  Armstrong arrived an hour later. ‘Is he still inside?’ he said.

  ‘No one’s come out, not yet.’

  ‘You’ve not been in?’

  ‘Hamish told me to stay outside. What do you intend to do?’

  ‘That’s not your problem.’

  ‘I don’t want to be involved.’

  ‘You’re involved whether you like it or not. Either you’re with me on this, or you’re not. Which is it?’

  ‘I just want to go back to the pub, have a drink, mind my own business.’

  ‘Don’t we all. Sometimes a man has got to stand up for what’s right.’

  ‘Not me,’ Wolfenden said. He no longer felt the excitement that he had experienced earlier. He knew now that he was inexorably involved and he didn’t like it. A lifetime of minding his own business down the drain,
purely because he had tried to protect his own skin.

  ‘Wait here,’ Armstrong said.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘What needs to be done. Here are the keys to the car. When I come out the front door of the hotel, make sure you’re there with it.’

  ‘I have no option, have I?’

  ‘None at all.’

  Armstrong crossed the road and went into the hotel. At the reception, a downcast woman in her fifties, a cigarette drooping out of her mouth, the ash about to fall on to the desk. She looked up. ‘You want a room?’ she said.

  ‘One of your best,’ Armstrong said.

  ‘Best, we don’t have. It’s either a view of the street, not that there’s much to see, or else a building site out the back.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Out the back, it is,’ the woman said. She continued to look at the television raised high in one corner. Not looking up again, only seeing the hand pass across the money for the room.

  ‘One flight up, second on the left. Room 14,’ she said. ‘You’ll find the light switch just inside on the right. One other thing, no women.’

  Armstrong knew that didn’t ring true. It was the sort of place where men brought women. The only issue was how much you slipped her to look the other way.

  ‘I’ve got a friend staying here, the name of Palmer. What room’s he in?’

  ‘Room 23, up one flight from you. He went for the deluxe.’

  ‘Deluxe, what’s the difference?’

  The same as yours, only the sheets are cleaned more regularly.’

  ‘Cheaper?’

  ‘They’re all the same price. And remember, no women.’

  Bypassing the first floor and the room he had just paid for, Armstrong continued up one flight. Outside Palmer’s room he paused, put his ear to the door. It was quiet. He knocked on the door.

  A voice from inside. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Room service.’

  ‘You didn’t see the sign on the door?’

  ‘I saw it, but it’s my job that’s at stake here. If I don’t check the minibar, I’m paying for the contents.’

  ‘Give me one minute.’

  The door opened; the two men stood looking at one another.

  ‘You’re not room service,’ Palmer said. ‘Not dressed in a suit.’

  ‘You and I need to have a little chat.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You’ve been asking questions.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I’ve got the answers.’

  Armstrong hesitated for a moment. Entering the hotel had been simple enough, so had finding Palmer. But now, with the man in front of him, he needed to make decisions. The man could remove the threat of Samantha, or else he could dispose of him that day.

  ‘What kind of answers?’

  ‘You’ve been looking for a woman.’

  ‘She was a friend of my brother’s.’

  ‘Liz Spalding?’ Armstrong said.

  ‘She was my brother’s girlfriend, a friend of mine.’

  ‘Do you believe the other woman murdered her?’

  ‘I need to talk to her. Maybe I’m wrong, I don’t know,’ Palmer said. The man who stood in his room looked hard and cruel. He wanted to trust him, to give him money for information in return, but why was the man standing there at his door?

  Since he had set out from the village, he had felt empowered. But now the nervousness and the fear returned. One wrong word and this man would be violent. He knew that he wanted to get away, maybe to go back to his house, to forget everything.

  ‘I can give you her name, but I’m not sure how it’s going to help you,’ Armstrong said. ‘She comes from an influential family who don’t like people interfering. You’d be better advised to leave well alone.’

  ‘That’s what Jacob said, so did the barman. Liz didn’t deserve to die. It’s up to me to make it right.’

  ‘I thought we had a police force in this country.’

  ‘If she’s as influential as you say, there’ll be no proof, will there?’

  ‘You don’t need proof. But are you capable of action?’

  In that room, two men who had never killed discussed the possibility. Of the two of them, Armstrong knew that he was the one most likely to do so.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Palmer asked again.

  ‘I need to consider the options. Either I help you, or I let this woman’s family deal with you. What’s it to me?’

  ‘I don’t need help, just a name.’

  ‘You can’t stay here. Come with me, and we’ll find somewhere quiet and out of the way. You need protection; for now, that’s all I know.’

  ‘I can’t trust you,’’ Palmer said.

  ‘I can’t blame you. I’ll make it easier for you.’ Armstrong took out a heavy stick that had been in his pocket and smashed it down on Bob Palmer’s head. The man collapsed onto his bed.

  Armstrong looked out of the window, saw the Mercedes down below. ‘Come up here, the second floor,’ he said to Wolfenden on his phone.

  Wolfenden freaked out at the sight of Palmer slowly regaining consciousness on the bed, blood on his face.

  ‘Clean him up. We don’t want blood in Mr McIntyre’s car, do we?’

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Wolfenden said.

  ‘The man’s had an accident. We need to get him to the hospital.’

  Wolfenden was almost wetting himself with fear. He did what he was told.

  As the two men, one on either side of Palmer, helped him down the stairs and out past reception, the woman looked up.

  ‘He’s not feeling well,’ Armstrong said as he passed across four fifty-pound notes. ‘Keep the room for him.’

  ‘I hope he gets better,’ she said.

  Armstrong knew he had been right. It was the sort of place where you took women, where you hit men, where anything was possible for a price.

  ‘You’re driving,’ Armstrong said.

  In the back seat, Gareth Armstrong and Bob Palmer. Palmer’s belongings were still up in the room, as were his car keys.

  Chapter 29

  Diane Connolly was shocked when two police inspectors presented themselves at the hospital out on Porthpean Road in St Austell.

  ‘I don’t usually leave my car down at the station in their car park. Well, actually never. It’s not far from where I live, and it’s expensive, but it was my friend Gale. We keep in touch, friends at school, but she’s gone her way, I’ve gone mine. I’m on nights at the hospital most of the time, but I reorganised my shifts. We said we’d meet up in London for the day. She’s off overseas, and I hadn’t seen her for a few years, so we agreed to meet up, have a few drinks, hit the shops in Oxford Street.’

  ‘It’s a long way to go just for a day,’ Inspector Mike Doherty said.

  Jim Greenwood and Doherty had known each other for a few years, occasionally meeting up for a drink, the chance to talk about crime and policing. Doherty had to admit that he was slightly envious of his friend. The man had a murder investigation, something he had hankered after for quite some time. In St Austell, nothing much happened. Just the tourists coming through, heading out to the Eden Project eco domes, three miles out of the town. A few drugs now and then, the occasional burglary.

  ‘I took the early-morning train up, first class. I thought I’d treat myself, and I was running late. I hopped on it at the last moment, left my keys in the ignition, the door unlocked. Stupid thing to do, wasn’t it?’

  ‘We’ve all done it one time or another,’ Greenwood said.

  ‘When I got back, I was surprised the parking fee wasn’t as much as I thought it would be. But now we know, don’t we?’

  ‘We sure do,’ Doherty said. At 10.05 a.m., your car was driven out of the car park. It returned at 2.16 p.m. that afternoon.’

  ‘Whoever took it had a lot of nerve,’ Diane Connolly said.

  ‘We’d agree with you on that. How was the woman to know that you wouldn’t be back until
late at night?’

  ‘I was on the last train back, didn’t get in till around nine thirty in the evening. We had a good time, the two of us. Gale and I hit the shops, spent more money than we should have, a few drinks. By the time I got on the train I was tipsy, I can tell you that. Slept most of the way back, got off the train, went home, a shower, a bite to eat and back to work. By the time I hit my bed fourteen hours later, I was out for it.’

  ‘When you left the car,’ Greenwood said, ‘did you speak to anyone or see anyone?’

  ‘I was rushing, I know that. There was a car parked next to me, red, I think it was. I said hello to the woman, she nodded back.’

  ‘We can confirm that it was the woman who took your car. Did she know that you wouldn’t be back till late?’

  ‘I might have mentioned it to her. I was excited, a day out, first-class, meeting up with an old friend. You know how it is. I could have said to her that I was off to London, coming back late.’

  ‘Would you recognise her again if you saw her?’ Doherty asked.

  ‘I doubt it. I wasn’t looking that closely and it was still dark, a bit chilly. I was wrapped up, so was she.’

  ‘It’s important.’ Greenwood said.

  ‘Why would someone take my car? What’s the point?’

  ‘The woman drove it to a village not far from here, committed a murder and then drove back to the station.’

  ‘My car! I can’t believe it.’ Diane Connolly sat down. She was visibly upset. ‘We see people dying here,’ she said after a couple of minutes, ‘but you get used to that. But now you’re telling me that my car was used in a murder.’

  ‘Unfortunately, Miss Connolly,’ Greenwood said, ‘that’s the truth. It is evidence I’m afraid. Have you cleaned it since you came back?’

  ‘I meant to, but I don’t get much time off, so the answer is no.’

  ‘It will need to be impounded. Our forensics people will go over it.’

  ‘It’s not as if it’s much of a car, probably only worth a few hundred pounds. I don’t think I could ever drive it again, not now, knowing what happened. Is it that murder down in Polperro?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one.’