Detective Sophie Allen Box Set 2

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  Marsh peered over her shoulder. ‘It might well be, but it’s difficult to be sure without cleaning the muck off. What could it mean?’

  ‘It opens everything up, doesn’t it, Barry? Let’s wait for the team to arrive. You go and talk to Alice while Rae and I have a short wander around.’

  * * *

  Sophie was sitting on a log when the forensic unit arrived, soon followed by Benny Goodall, the county’s senior forensic pathologist. She watched the team take the initial photos and set up a tent over the corpse. Benny entered the tent and Sophie stood up and followed him inside. She watched as he started his examination of the corpse.

  ‘Do you think it was the head wound that killed him?’ she asked.

  Benny was probing the victim’s head. ‘Probably. It’s certainly bad enough. That whole side of the skull is caved in, with bone fragments pushed into the brain. Something very hard hit him with a lot of force. We’ll know more when we get the body back to the lab and pick out the bits. It’s just a mess at the moment. And there could be other wounds elsewhere.’

  ‘Benny, can you clean up the cheek a bit? It looks as if there might be a scar there and if there is, it’s very significant.’

  Goodall cleared away the blood and dirt from the side of the victim’s face, depositing the cloth into an evidence bag. ‘Yes. An old scar running vertically. Why? What does it mean?’

  ‘It links this death with that of the Armitage couple. Beyond that, I really don’t have a clue. I was thinking about it just now, when you arrived. We’re more than a week into the investigation into their deaths and we’ve got nowhere. Now this.’

  Marsh stepped into the tent. Sophie looked up at him and nodded.

  ‘Who is he, ma’am? Why’s he here like this? I can’t get my head round it.’

  Sophie was frowning. ‘We were beginning to think it was something bigger than it first appeared. Now we know it is. We have a leak, Barry. I’m saying nothing else at the moment. The only people who know are you, me, Rae, Benny here and Dave Nash. I want to keep it that way. No one else must know what we suspect. Is that clear?’

  ‘Do you know who it is?’ asked Benny Goodall.

  ‘I don’t know, but I have a strong suspicion, and that’s all I’m willing to say at the moment. Barry, don’t take offence but I’m not sharing my thoughts on this with you. Trust me, will you?’

  ‘I could do the initial examination tomorrow morning, if you think it’s urgent enough. Just for you, mind,’ Goodall said, quietly.

  ‘Benny, you’re a sweetheart. But you knew that already.’

  Sophie went outside and found Rae. They stood talking for several minutes and then Rae left. Marsh watched from the doorway of the tent, looking troubled.

  * * *

  ‘He wasn’t killed here. We know that from the way the body’s lying, and the absence of bloodstains on the foliage. There are drag marks through the bushes at the back of the copse, and some tyre tracks close by. There appear to be bloodstains close to those tracks, so it looks as though he was driven here, got out of the vehicle and was struck by a hard blow to the head. Then he was dragged through the bushes and hidden. All of this is still to be confirmed by forensic checks, but I think we can work on this assumption for now.’

  Sophie was talking in low tones to the police team. They’d been joined in the clearing by a large group of police sent from headquarters, who were experienced in searching for clues. Many had been involved in combing the area a mile further north the previous week, after the discovery of the bodies in the abandoned car.

  ‘We need to examine the whole area meticulously. Look for anything that seems out of place, however insignificant it might appear to be.’

  The group fanned out and started the search. Sophie stayed near the tent, with Barry Marsh.

  ‘Where’s Rae?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve sent her back to the office. I want her to do some digging. If we have a mole, I want to find out who it is, and she’s the ideal person to do it. It’s in our remit. Her inquiries will link closely with all this.’

  ‘Shouldn’t it be me? I have the rank.’

  ‘I asked you to trust me. Rae’s still relatively unknown on the force, so she can work unobtrusively. Don’t worry, Barry. I know it’s not you.’

  ‘Are you sure there’s been a leak?’

  ‘Yes I am,’ she snapped. ‘And more than one. It’s been systematic. Now give it a rest and let’s get on with the job at hand.’

  * * *

  The search of the surrounding area was thorough, with every stray item logged, photographed and then taken away for forensic examination. A trail of blood spots led from a small clearing to the copse where the body had been hidden, a distance of about twenty yards. Faint tyre tracks could be seen both in the clearing and across some scrubby undergrowth at the edge of the nearby forest track. The body had been dumped before the previous night’s rain had started.

  Marsh phoned several local weather stations to find out when the overnight storm had begun.

  ‘Eleven yesterday evening,’ he said to Sophie. ‘So sometime before then. It doesn’t get dark until nine or thereabouts. So what do you think, ma’am? Between nine and eleven?’

  ‘Could be a bit earlier. Whoever did it wouldn’t want to use lights to see their way out. Too easily spotted from a distance. So possibly about eight. Would there have been anyone around who might have spotted them? Birdwatchers? Ramblers?’

  ‘We could ask Alice. She’d know how likely that would be. We have to take her statement anyway.’

  The two detectives drove to the activity centre, where they found Alice Llewellyn in the rangers’ office, talking to one of the junior staff. She was pale and her eyes were red.

  ‘We need to pick your brains, Alice,’ Sophie said. ‘We’re fairly sure the body has only been there since yesterday evening, probably at dusk or thereabouts. Could anyone else have been around who might have spotted something?’

  Alice shook her head. ‘None of the staff. And we don’t have any observation projects ongoing at the moment, so none of our known volunteers would have been out. There’s a chance there could have been other visitors, maybe dog walkers and the like, but they tend to stay down at this end of the forest. We try to keep people away from the bog because it’s a designated nature reserve.’

  ‘So it’s unlikely?’

  ‘From my experience, yes.’ She looked at her colleague, who nodded. ‘We’ve sometimes had organised evening groups up there, but I don’t think we’ve ever run into strangers at that time of day. It’s too dangerous. Slipping into one of those pools could be fatal.’

  ‘Okay. We won’t do an urgent public request specific to the reserve. Instead we’ll include it in a general request for possible witnesses. We need to take your statement, Alice. So if your colleague can leave us, we can get started.’

  Alice looked grim. ‘I’ve been through it before, so let’s get it over with.’ She looked at Sophie. ‘It was all rather exciting then. It seems a lot worse this time.’

  ‘It’s what I said earlier. You didn’t see any bodies then, Alice. That’s what makes the difference.’

  CHAPTER 22: Mole Hunt

  Friday Afternoon, Week 2

  Rae got down to work immediately. She started by summarising the information that Sophie had given her, following her visit to Bournemouth that morning. Rae used mind-mapping software rather than a physical incident board, and built up a web diagram on her laptop, securely protected with a new password. The boss had been right. There were just too many suspicious events. It wasn’t only the possible leak of information from the incident board early in the week. There was now a trail of suspicious activity. Requests for information had been delayed or played down, legitimate queries sent down blind avenues or cleverly diverted.

  At least she now had a name to work with, but she would have to be careful. The diversions had all been done so cleverly that he might notice any investigation. The mole’s link to the W
oodruff family business seemed pretty logical, but were there other connections?

  The starting point must be that funeral. She thought so, and so did the boss. Something had happened there that had led to the deaths of Sylvia and Ted Armitage, who’d been present only by accident. She needed to know who had been present, apart from the Woodruff family themselves. But she couldn’t afford to set off any alarm bells. Not even a glimmer of what she was up to must get back to the mole.

  Why had the Armitage couple been there? Because they’d been early for the next funeral, the one they were planning to attend. Rae sat thinking. Wait! Maybe the two groups of mourners had intermingled, just slightly. Maybe a person at the later funeral recognised someone attending the Woodruff service as they left the crematorium. She re-examined the notes Marsh had made after his visit there, then phoned Sharon Giroux for confirmation. Rae then identified the funeral directors, and then the family member who had arranged the later funeral, that of Sylvia’s friend, Georgie Palmer. Rae was up and running.

  * * *

  Rae drove south to Poole and spent an hour with Georgie Palmer’s son, Colin, an assistant bank manager and keen local historian — as she soon discovered. Eventually Rae came away with a long list of names, addresses and telephone numbers, with those Colin considered most reliable marked with an asterisk. Colin himself had been too preoccupied with his mother’s death to notice whether there were still people lingering from the previous service, but he was sure that at least a few of the guests would have been more observant.

  Rae returned to the office and started the long task of contacting the guests. The first eighteen calls generated nothing, the people weren’t even aware of the committal just a few minutes prior to Georgie’s funeral. It was nearly six in the evening and Rae was beginning to feel despondent when someone volunteered the first key item of information.

  This was Shirley Willis, a former work colleague of Georgie’s. ‘I saw Councillor Blythe coming out. I know him because he’s on the development committee and I’ve been to a few planning meetings.’

  ‘Did you speak to him?’ Rae asked.

  ‘No. I was still making my way from the car park and he seemed to be in a bit of a hurry.’

  ‘We may be back in touch to get the details, Mrs Willis.’

  Rae continued working through the list. A couple of people recognised a pub landlord from Bournemouth and the manager of a casino in the area. Rae thought the former could be the Woodruff from the Rising Moon pub. There were several false sightings, including one elderly woman who claimed that she’d spotted Sean Connery, still looking like the James Bond of Goldfinger days. Two people remembered a man with a scar on his face and several recalled the Armitage couple saying that they’d attended the earlier service by mistake. Finally Rae reached the end of the list. As far as she could see, the person of most interest was the councillor. She would need to discuss this with the boss before she went any further.

  She didn’t have long to wait. ‘It was a fairly small congregation, ma’am. I’ve got these three to follow up, but my guess is that there weren’t even twenty people there.’

  ‘It was a committal, Rae. The full service had already taken place elsewhere, probably in a church. This would have been for family and close friends only.’

  ‘Should I try to find out about that? We might get better information.’

  ‘Make it indirect, and don’t approach anybody yet. Just find out where it was for the time being. Meanwhile, visit these three and find out what they remember. Do a bit of digging into the background of this councillor, but keep everything low key. We can’t afford to let any of this out at the moment.’

  * * *

  Rae worked until late. The councillor was certainly a man of interest. He’d served in a variety of roles during his time on the council, stretching back several decades. Planning and development, licensing, highways and byways, Councillor Blythe had been involved with most aspects of council work over the years. Why would he have attended the committal for Phil Woodruff? The boss had said it would have been for immediate family and possibly extremely close friends. She left that line of inquiry for the time being and scanned through the online records of the local newspapers. Sure enough, just before the short service at the crematorium, there had been a church funeral for Phil Woodruff in St Bede’s RC Church. Surely the councillor would have gone to that service rather than to the committal? She checked the council website, tracking back through the planning meetings. There was the reason — the timing. It clashed with a cabinet meeting discussing future hotel development plans. The meeting was recorded as having finished at the same time as the main funeral got under way. So the councillor had gone directly to the crematorium. Rae printed everything out, including the agenda for the meeting. This was becoming very interesting.

  She then switched her attention to their suspected mole, and checked his record in the police force. There wasn’t a lot. The problem was that she couldn’t access the detailed service records without authorisation, and without the search being logged. She’d have to give up on that and think of a more subtle method. Social media? She checked his profile, using a made up one of her own. Keen on pubs and varieties of beer — no surprise there from what she’d heard. Hobbies included fish and chips, pizza and Manchester United FC. Why the latter? There’s no accounting for a person’s footballing preference, she thought, wearily. A few bigoted postings about gays and women, but she’d seen worse. Nevertheless, it was a little troubling when it was all put together. This man was a police officer, and supposedly respected by the community he served. Could she respect someone who posted such small-minded comments?

  Rae sat back and thought, then connected to the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages, selecting the historical marriage category. She keyed in “Blythe, Thomas. Married between 1970 and 1990 in Dorset.” And there it was. In 1989 the councillor had married Carol Frimwell. A feeling of dread came over Rae. She knew what that name meant to the DCI. Marsh had told her about it soon after she’d begun. He’d warned Rae never to mention the names Frimwell or Duff to the boss without good reason. And now the name had cropped up. What was his name? Ricky? He’d be somewhere in the prison system now. Out of curiosity she entered the name Woodruff into the same set of records. Bingo! Up came an entry for the same district, along with something unbelievable. Wayne Woodruff had married a Susan Frimwell six months later. Could that be right? She kept searching, and there it was. Susan and Carol Frimwell, twin girls born in 1964. She looked at the clock. After nine in the evening. Time to go. She had plenty of leads to follow up the next day.

  CHAPTER 23: Barbecue

  Friday Evening, Week 2

  The Mitchells had been invited to a barbecue party at Wayne Woodruff’s luxurious home, a villa in an upmarket district of Poole. A local catering company had set up a large barbecue unit on the rear patio, and dishes of salads, cheeses and cold meats lined a long trestle table. A smartly dressed waiter manned a bar, handing out glasses of champagne and chilled wine.

  ‘Is there a reason for this party?’ Marilyn asked. ‘It was a bit short notice, wasn’t it?’

  Gordon shrugged. ‘We’re about to expand, apparently. The preliminary deal’s been agreed, so by next month we should own twice the number of premises we do at the moment. It’s a celebration party.’

  ‘I always feel uneasy with these people, Gordon,’ she whispered. ‘You know that. Why did we have to come?’

  ‘They’ve offered me better terms. I’m thinking of accepting.’

  She turned to face him. ‘What? I thought we’d agreed that you were going to get out?’

  ‘It’s been very quick, everything’s happened in the last couple of days. And we’re moving into total legitimacy. Everything completely above board. I insisted on it and Wayne’s agreed. I’ll have a new role. I won’t be Tony’s dogsbody, not any more. It’s a better opportunity, Marilyn. And my earnings will double.’

  ‘Double?’

 
; ‘Exactly. I couldn’t turn it down, not under those terms. The money’s more than we ever dreamed of.’

  Marilyn still looked troubled. ‘It was never the money, Gordon. I told you that. I just thought you deserved better than having to run around after that Tony Sorrento.’ She looked around. ‘Where is he, by the way?’

  ‘No idea. I expected him to be here. He hasn’t been in since yesterday.’

  She sniffed. ‘Well, maybe I can relax and enjoy the evening after all. He always seems to be watching people, calculating how to manipulate them, working out how to get the upper hand. I can’t say that I particularly like Wayne either. He seems a bit moody and unpredictable. I always feel that his eyes are all over me. But Justin’s okay.’ She looked across at Griffiths, standing by himself on the lawn. ‘Don’t you think he looks a bit worried? He seems on edge. Let’s have a chat.’

  Close to, Griffith’s face was pinched with worry. ‘Are you okay, Justin?’ she asked.

  He appeared to shake himself. ‘Yes, fine. Sorry, just worried about a few things at home. Nothing important.’

  ‘I was saying to Gordon, I’m surprised Tony’s not here. Not that I miss him.’ Marilyn had never hidden her dislike of Sorrento, even to the man himself.

  ‘I haven’t seen him all day,’ Griffiths replied. ‘It’s not like him. He’s always at work, rain or shine. And he always gets a message to you if he’s elsewhere, doesn’t he, Gordy?’

  ‘I haven’t heard anything from him either,’ Gordon said. ‘I wouldn’t worry though. He can look after himself. He might seem a bit abrasive but he’s a good bloke underneath. He’s never let me down.’

  ‘Gordon’s just been telling me about his new job offer. I don’t know whether to offer congratulations or hit him,’ Marilyn added.

  The effect on Griffiths was unexpected. He looked at Marilyn as if she’d just spoken in a foreign language, then switched his gaze to Gordon. ‘Jesus,’ he muttered, and walked away.