‘I think someone’s moving around inside, Sarge. I heard a door bang. Maybe he’s climbed over the back fence and got in that way. Should we radio in?’
‘Could it just be the wind or something?’
‘I don’t see how. The boss said all the windows and doors were shut when she visited earlier.’
Blackman made a call to the control room and relayed the information to Sophie.
‘Stay where you are,’ she said. ‘We’ll get support to you directly. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
Blackman got out of the car. ‘If it’s someone who’s come in at the back, they’ll leave that way and we won’t see them. I’m going round there. You stay here.’
The young detective looked worried. ‘But we’re meant to stay here . . .’
But Blackman was already gone, crossing the road towards Armitage’s driveway. His solid bulk quickly disappeared in the shadows cast by the bungalow. He moved surprisingly quietly for someone his size. He crept to the side of the house and took a peek around the corner before tiptoeing into the rear garden. It consisted mainly of lawn, with what Blackman guessed were soft-fruit bushes beneath the high fence. He went up to the back door and found it was ajar.
What to do? He hesitated, debating with himself about the wisdom of entering a silent house with an unknown intruder inside. Did he feel brave enough? Maybe not. Maybe he’d come far enough. But the decision was made for him. The door suddenly swung open, taking him by surprise and pushing him back down the single step where he lost his footing on the damp surface and went down. Blackman stuck his leg out, causing the shadowy figure to stumble as it ran by. It kicked him in the ribs, and in his stomach. Then he heard Rae calling as she came around the house. The assailant ran towards the fence and clambered over.
‘I’m alright,’ Blackman gasped. ‘Get after him. I’ll call in and get some help.’
* * *
Rae scaled the fence, and dropped to the ground on the other side, landing in what felt like a bed of rhubarb, judging by the texture of the leaves that enveloped her. The house was partly illuminated by a well-lit rear window, but Rae could see nothing moving. She straightened up and made her way along a path that ran alongside what she guessed to be a lawn. It was difficult to make out any detail in the near darkness. She could hear no sound. Did that mean that the assailant had already left the garden or was he still lurking somewhere, watching her? She extracted a torch from her jacket pocket and swept the beam around the garden. It was largely devoid of shrubs or bushes, so there was nowhere for the man to hide. He must have fled. Rae moved along the side wall of the house to the front driveway. From here the road looped away in front of her, curving towards the river, with a path leading down to a bank covered in trees. Someone could easily hide there. Time to call in for reinforcements.
Rae went back and climbed the fence into Pete Armitage’s garden. Blackman was moving towards the open back door, and Rae joined him.
‘Backup will be here in a mo. Let’s just have a look inside.’ They moved slowly through the house, seeing no one, until they reached the spare bedroom upstairs.
Pete Armitage lay on the floor, breathing in shallow gasps. Blood oozed slowly from a deep gash at the side of his head. Rae knelt down beside him and felt for his pulse. Weak but steady. She radioed for an ambulance, then looked around her. A cashbox lay on its side a few feet from Pete's body with several bank notes on the floor beside it. Jagged chunks from a broken vase were scattered across the carpet, the largest stained with blood.
* * *
Across the rain-spattered town the police were out in force, searching for Rod Armitage who was nowhere to be found. In one of the squad cars Rose Simons and George Warrander were exploring the area around the river on the south side of town. They parked their car in the last of the riverside car parks and Rose got out for a look around.
‘Can’t see anything further than about twenty yards,’ she said. ‘Not in this darkness and drizzle. Tell you what, young George, we need to stretch our legs, especially a fit young feller like you. Let’s walk along the river bank for a bit. We’ll leave the jalopy here, stroll to the next bridge then come back. Torches at the ready and, whatever you do, don’t fall in. It would ruin my evening if I had to jump in to rescue you. I put clean undies on before I started this shift, so I’d be bloody annoyed. Okay?’
Warrander looked up at the night sky and grimaced. ‘Right, boss. I promise to be careful.’
‘Keep your walkie-talkie on. Mine’s on the blink again.’
George suspected that this was untrue. She used her walkie-talkie’s supposed unpredictability as a cover for bending the operational rules whenever it was convenient. He pulled his collar up and they set off along the path. They were on the final leg of the walk, and had not yet seen anything remotely suspicious, when a tall figure appeared in the distance. He was walking slowly down a footpath towards the river, and keeping to the shadows.
‘Torches off,’ Rose hissed. They waited quietly. Warrander could just make out the shape of the next bridge. The flashing blue light of a squad car appeared and stopped beside it. Whoever it was shrank back into the shadows.
Rose whispered to Warrander. ‘Cut across the grass and get behind him. I’ll stay here. Let him know you’re there.’
George moved silently across the open grassy area, getting behind their quarry on the footpath. He switched his torch back on and didn’t try to hide the sound of his footfalls. He spotted the tall figure ahead of him leave the shadowy path, and move towards the riverside, then turn towards the place where Rose Simons was waiting. George followed. He could now see the riverside with its dark bushes lining the path and the hurrying figure approaching the spot occupied by his boss. Rose moved out to block his path but the man shoved her aside. George started running but he was still some yards away when their quarry swung a punch at the sergeant. Big mistake, thought George. Rose dodged aside so that the blow glanced off her shoulder, and then she grabbed her assailant by the arm, swung him around and forced him to the ground, held in an arm lock. When George arrived the man was face down on the ground and Rose was stooping over him, her knee firmly lodged in the small of his back. It was Rod Armitage.
‘This isn’t some Wild West town, young sonny-boy. We aren’t in Dodge City and I’m not some John Wayne type of sheriff who you can shove aside if you feel like it.’ She paused and stepped back. ‘Anyway, I’m more of a Clint Eastwood fan.’ Her voice deepened to a growl. ‘Feeling lucky, punk? Go on, make my day.’ She held out her right hand, fingers shaped like a pistol.
CHAPTER 39: Greenhouse Fruit
Friday Morning, Week 3
Lydia Pillay was on her second full day on loan to the unit. ‘I think I’ve found something, ma’am. I’ve just spotted an anomaly in the accounts, but I don’t know how significant it is. And there could be others. I’ve only just started this particular check.’
Lydia had sections of the Woodruff Holdings and Boulevard club accounts open on one side of her desk, and the Armitage Decorating bank statements on the other. Her finger rested on the Woodruff figures. ‘Look. There’s a withdrawal of exactly four thousand pounds cash from the Boulevard, but there’s no record of where it went.’
‘Sure it’s cash?’
Lydia nodded. ‘And how many legitimate bills are ever conveniently rounded off like that? Exact, to a thousand? It’s a payment for something, but something that they maybe didn’t want recorded.’
Sophie looked at the figures, thinking through the possible explanations. ‘When was this?’
‘Four years ago. Up until then, everything balances. All the payments for decorating jobs come from Woodruff Holdings’ accounts, not direct from the Boulevard, and they seem to correspond to legitimate decorating jobs. But look here.’ She pointed to data from early the following year. ‘Same again. A payment of three thousand going out direct from the Boulevard. Let’s check the account details.’ She ran her eyes down the columns of figures in
the second set of papers. ‘No entry again. All the other sums coming in from Woodruff look legitimate, and about what you’d expect for commercial decorating jobs.’ She paused. ‘There’s one more, later that year, for the same amount, look. Then nothing until five weeks and three weeks ago. Two cash withdrawals, each five thousand, but this time from Woodruff Holdings. Well, would you believe it? Just around the time that the old couple were murdered. In fact, one probably just before and the other just after.’
Sophie peered. ‘Suspicious? Could we check the serial numbers of the notes? I mean, if Woodruff got them as cash direct from the bank, they may still have a record. And Rae found that empty cash box last night at Pete's house. Which means that Rod may have hidden the contents somewhere. He only had an hour or two before he was picked up and he doesn’t drive. It would be somewhere local. Maybe I’ll get Rose Simons up from her beauty sleep and pick her brains. She’s local and might have an idea where he could have gone after leaving Pete’s house.’ Sophie started to move away, then stopped. ‘Those other payments, the ones of three and four thousand. Can you give me the dates again? I might give Kevin McGreedie a ring. It’s just occurred to me that they might connect to the things Rae found in that shed. Stuff from house break-ins. He can check the dates against burglaries that occurred. Those sums came from the Boulevard rather than the Woodruff parent company. I wonder if our friend Toffee Barber is running a fencing operation for goods that Rod and Pete have been stealing.’
'There's something else a bit worrying about these decorating accounts, ma'am. When you look at them in detail, the business isn't really profitable. So where's his money coming from?' Lydia laid a hand on the records involving Blythe. ‘I’ve only had a quick look so far, but there are a couple of suspicious planning decisions here. Leave it with me for a few more hours.’
‘Lydia, you’re a star.’
* * *
It was Barry Marsh who came up with another breakthrough. When he heard about the money that Rod might have hidden, he guessed immediately.
‘Let Rae and me have a look, ma’am, before you disturb the locals. The way he approached the river last night means he could have come from his parents’ house. There’s something else that’s been at the back of my mind for days. Every time we see Rod he goes on about how much he hated gardening and his dad’s obsession with it, particularly the greenhouse. I want to have a look. It’s only a mile or so from Pete’s house, so the timing fits with what happened last night.’
And so it was. On the far corner of the greenhouse shelving, behind a row of seed packets, was an innocuous-looking plastic bag. Inside were bundles of banknotes, most of them still with wrappers around them. And tucked in behind them at the very back? A roll of grey sticky tape, partly used. Marsh thought back to George Warrander’s discovery of the tape roll at the murder scene and the boss’s observation that it looked too new to have been used. It was all coming together.
* * *
Pete Armitage was still in hospital, suffering from concussion. The doctor treating him was fairly sure that his injuries weren’t serious, but he wanted to keep Pete in hospital for another day or two for observation. The china vase used to assault him had Rod’s fingerprints all over it and that, together with the money found in Ted’s greenhouse, gave them a starting point for their questions. A lawyer arrived, and they were finally ready to interview Rod.
Marsh took the lead. ‘What happened at your uncle’s house last night, Rod?’
Rod shrugged.
‘We have your fingerprints on a vase found on the floor beside Pete. He was unconscious from a head wound, caused by that vase. Those are the facts, Rod. We need an explanation.’
‘He owed me some dosh and wouldn’t hand it over. It was bugging me. That cash was mine.’
‘What money?’
‘Toffee had given him some cash to pass onto me. Pete was holding onto it.’
‘What was it for?’
‘A job I done recently at the club. I needed some ready dough. I was skint.’
‘How much?’
‘About five hundred.’
‘So where is it, Rod? You didn’t have that much on you when we brought you in last night. Where’s the rest?’
Rod shrugged. ‘Probably at home. Maybe I dropped some when you lot assaulted me in Pete’s garden.’
Marsh looked at him. ‘Are you alleging assault against us?’
Rod didn’t reply immediately. He was obviously thinking hard. ‘No, I s’pose it was dark and your guy couldn’t see who it was. But that’s where I could’ve lost some of the cash.’
‘So you didn’t take it away and deliberately hide it somewhere? And it was only a few hundred? Think carefully before replying, Rod. Lies have a habit of coming back to haunt you.’
Rod reverted to his habitual bemused expression. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘I don’t know, Rod. That’s why I’m asking you.’
Rod shook his head. ‘No. I ain’t hid nothink. I lost it, like I said.’
‘It’s just that your fingerprints are all over the greenhouse in your parents’ garden, and they weren’t there last week when we dusted. There were bits of mud on the floor this morning, still damp. And their shape fits the sole-pattern on your boots exactly, our forensic team have checked. There was a reel of sticky tape hidden inside the greenhouse, with your prints on. It wasn’t there when it was searched after your parents’ bodies were first found. There was a package of money tucked away, hidden at the back. It had your prints on the outside. You were there last night, weren’t you? Hiding incriminating evidence. And it was a huge amount of cash, not just the few hundred you’ve claimed it to be. Where did that cash come from, Rod? How did you earn it?’ There was no reply. ‘We know where the money came from, which bank handed it over, and who to. So the really important question, Rod, is what did you have to do for Wayne Woodruff to earn you that much? It’s probably more money than you’ve ever had before. Can you explain that to us?’
There was no answer.
* * *
Sophie and Marsh called on Sharon Giroux late in the afternoon, and told her the news.
‘We’ll be charging Rod, Sharon. It might well be that he was only an onlooker when your parents were murdered, but he knew about it and helped to plan it, we’re convinced of that. Their deaths eased the pressures on several people who knew each other, but they stood to gain for different reasons. Your mum and dad were at the funeral when Woodruff slipped a bribe to Councillor Blythe, and he became paranoid about it. For Rod it was different. He got wind of your mother's idea of cutting him out of the will, possibly Pete knew as well. Pete was involved in the burglaries without a doubt, but we don't think he was in on your parents’ deaths. His business wasn't paying well and the break-ins gave him some easy money. The link between them all was Toffee Barber. He and the other murdered man, Tony Sorrento.'
Sharon was in tears. ‘Mum was starting to talk about giving a lot of her money away, like you said. I told her it was hers to do as she liked with, but wouldn’t Rod need something to help him pull himself together? She said it would just get wasted, like all the rest she’d given him. She said that maybe he needed a hard lesson, just like Dad kept saying. She swore me to silence. Rod wasn't to find out. I wonder if she somehow found out what they were up to with these burglaries. Maybe that's the real reason she was thinking of rewriting the will.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘I couldn’t. I was trying to get on better with Rod. I could see that he’d need me when Mum and Dad finally passed away, and I was trying to keep some kind of a relationship going. I decided that even if they did change the will, I’d still give half of my inheritance to him. But I didn’t tell them that, and I didn’t mention it to him.’ She gave Sophie a long look. ‘He’s my brother. Despite everything, I still loved him and I really didn’t believe for a moment that he was involved with killing them. But now? After what he’s done? He can rot in hell. And Uncle Pete?�
� She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what my life is about any more. Every time I think it can’t get any worse, it does. And those burglaries! They’ve been going on for some time, you say?’
‘Five years, we think,’ said Marsh. ‘Rod, Pete and Toffee Barber together. Barber had contacts all over the area and he got rid of the stuff they stole. They were being helped by a bent police officer.’
‘What will happen to him?’ Sharon asked.
‘He’s dead. He killed himself a few days ago.’ Marsh paused. ‘He was a friend of mine.’
CHAPTER 40: Catsuit
Saturday Evening, Week 3
The Black Swan Inn is an old, stone-floored pub, situated on Swanage High Street, a few minutes’ walk from the town centre. Barry Marsh’s engagement party was now in full swing in the function room. Buffet food was laid out on a couple of side tables alongside a large bowl of punch. He’d suggested an informal party, but had been overruled by Gwen, who’d surprised herself lately by discovering a taste for exotic fancy dress costumes. She’d come as Nell Gwyn, complete with a basket of oranges. Marsh wore a swashbuckler’s outfit, and felt decidedly self-conscious during the early part of the evening. Most of his friends, though, had put real thought into their costumes and, as they turned up in Spiderman, zombie and Ghostbuster outfits, he began to relax. The captain of his amateur football team came as a very attractive Wonder Woman and his wife was a surprisingly realistic Batman.
An hour or so into the party, Marsh looked around him. There was Rae, recognisable despite her Marilyn Monroe dress and blonde wig, chatting to her new boyfriend, Craig, dressed as a gunslinger. And Lydia, only just arrived and resplendent in regal attire. Even Jimmy Melsom had made an effort, although he was undoubtedly in danger of suffering from heatstroke inside his gorilla suit. But where was the boss?
He sidled across to Lydia, who’d been staying with the Allens for the last two nights. ‘Why hasn’t the boss arrived yet? I thought she was coming with you.’
Detective Sophie Allen Box Set 2 Page 48