by Faith Martin
He found it after only a few tries, and carefully inched the door open. It screeched, for the front of the Riley was bent and folded a little out of shape from the impact with the tree and snow, and the sound made him flinch then freeze.
He shot a quick look around the icy, dismal yard, and heard and saw nothing. Reassured, he reached forward and shuffled awkwardly until he was crouched down in the passenger seat.
He reached in and opened the glove box.
And that was when a heavy hand descended on his shoulder and made him yelp in fear.
‘Hello, sir,’ a heavy, rather ironic voice boomed from outside the car. ‘Care to tell me what you’re doing? Because if you’re trying to steal a car, I think you could have found a better car and you most certainly could have found a safer place to pinch it from.’
*
As Geoffrey Thorpe was being arrested by a very alert – and rather amused – police constable, in the warmth and much more pleasant surroundings of the library, Vincent had just finished his task of looking through the Oxford newspaper archives that Trudy hadn’t yet had time to finish. He’d duly noted anything that seemed to relate to the victim or any of their main suspects in any way, but his pickings were meagre indeed.
They included the report of a girl who had died two years ago after crashing a sports car, but the article, naturally, had made no mention of where the unfortunate young woman had bought the MG in the first place. And since Oxford’s Cowley area was known as a motor city, the chances of it having been bought at Terry Parker’s showroom had to be remote. But Trudy had said that she wanted him to make a note of anything that might even remotely be of interest or related to their case. And although there had been other motor car deaths since the murder victim had come to live in Oxford, this one was the only one he could find that involved a sports car of the kind that Terry Parker specialised in selling.
Mrs Millicent Vander had been honoured by some local arts council for her support of the arts, and had been photographed holding some sort of cut-glass vase.
And Mr Philip Prescott had won a generous prize on the Premium Bonds that he was going to invest sensibly. The accountant had been more than happy to give the reporter covering the story – and thus the newspaper’s readers – a long list of very sound advice indeed. Especially on how you should deal with unexpected windfalls in order to ease the financial burden of your old-age pension years.
Gloomy at having wasted his time, and with nothing worthwhile to show for it, he returned to his father’s house, delighted to find that Clement and Trudy were back in residence and in the study.
He knew they had gone back to Millicent Vander’s house, hoping to get something more from their main witness – and suspect? – but one look at their faces told him they hadn’t met with much success. They quickly admitted that Millie had been pleasant, but uninformative.
‘The lady was definitely nervous about something though, I thought,’ Trudy insisted.
‘Yes,’ Clement confirmed laconically. ‘She did seem to have something weighing on her mind, apart from us. Which, when you think of it, is rather odd in itself. You’d think being questioned repeatedly over the death of one your party guests – and almost fiancé – would be a top priority with most people. But, like you, I had the feeling she was only half-listening to us.’
‘She looked pale and tired, too, I thought, under all her make-up,’ Trudy mused. ‘I don’t think she could be sleeping all that …’ But before she could continue, the telephone rang.
Clement answered it, then, with an amused smile, handed the receiver over to Trudy. ‘It’s for you, Constable,’ he said wryly. It wasn’t often he answered his own telephone and was asked to play secretary. ‘The police station.’
Trudy went a little pale. ‘Oh no! Don’t say Sergeant O’Grady wants me back in already!’
But she needn’t have worried. The moment she put the phone to her ear, she recognised PC Swinburne’s voice.
‘Trudy, that you?’
‘Yes, Walter. What’s wrong?’
‘You’re a very popular person, and no mistake,’ Walter Swinburne said, somewhat grumpily. ‘I’ve got two messages for you. First, do you know someone called Patsy Arles?’
Trudy frowned. The name sounded vaguely familiar. She covered the phone receiver with her hand and said to Clement, ‘Do we know a Patsy Arles?’
‘She’s on the guest list for the party.’ It was Vincent who spoke. Since getting detective fever, just like his old man, he’d been studying all the case files and notes in some detail. And he had a sharp memory.
Clement, who hadn’t remembered the name, felt his spirits drop. Once, and not long ago, he too would have remembered that detail.
Trudy nodded her thanks, removed her hand and spoke once more into the telephone. ‘Yes, Walter. What about her?’
‘She wants to speak to you. Urgent, like. She keeps phoning and leaving messages. She says it’s important. Something to do with your dead motorist.’
Trudy’s heart leapt. ‘Really? Did she give an address?’ As she asked this, Vincent leaned over and drew a notepad and a pen closer to her so that she could use it.
Clement watched this solicitousness with a definite twinkle in his eye.
‘Got it,’ Trudy said triumphantly. Only a short while ago she’d been hoping something might break, but hadn’t believed that it would. And now it sounded as if something promising had come up after all. ‘Thanks, Walter, that’s great!’
‘Hey, hold on, there’s something else, just come in from the impound yard,’ Walter said hastily, thinking she was about to hang up on him. ‘The constable on duty there found someone breaking into the car.’
‘The car?’ Trudy repeated blankly for a moment. Then, more sharply, ‘Do you mean the car that Terry Parker died in?’
‘Yes, that car,’ Walter said testily. ‘That’s why I’m passing the message on to you. The inspector told us you and Sergeant O’Grady were handling the case, right?’
‘Yes, sorry, Walter,’ Trudy said meekly. ‘Do they know who it was?’
‘Of course they do,’ Walter said, still inclined to be somewhat tetchy. ‘The cove had papers on him. Do you know a Geoffrey Thorpe? He’s claiming that the car is his property and that he had a right to look it over.’
Trudy smiled widely. ‘Did he now? Is he still at the impound yard?’
‘Yes, but we’ll be bringing him down here.’
‘Great – it’ll be easier to speak to him if he’s brought to the station,’ Trudy said, and after saying that she’d be right over, she hung up.
Eagerly, she told Clement and Vincent what had happened. ‘Do you think he could have tampered with the car somehow before Terry left for the party? And he was trying to cover it up?’ she theorised.
‘Have the mechanics gone over it yet?’ Again, it was Vincent who spoke.
‘Afraid not,’ Trudy said with a grimace. ‘Like everyone else, the motor division is short-staffed.’
‘Which do you want to take first?’ Clement asked practically. Although he shared her enthusiasm that things seemed to be moving at last, he was too aware of how disappointing life could be to be as excited as she was.
‘Well, they’re bringing Geoffrey Thorpe to the station, so I’d better go there,’ Trudy said after a moment’s thought. ‘I don’t want to risk Inspector Jennings’s wrath any more than I can help, and if he sees you actually helping me doing police business he’ll only kick up a fuss. But this girl Patsy Arles sounds desperate. Do you think you and Vincent …?’ She looked at Clement appealingly.
‘We’d love to!’ Vincent said happily. ‘Wouldn’t we, Dad?’
Clement smiled and reached out for the address she’d written down. ‘Yes, we would,’ he agreed wryly. Vincent, aware that he’d unashamedly managed to horn in, had the grace to look slightly sheepish.
Chapter 28
Geoffrey Thorpe was not a happy man. In fact, he’d never felt more uncomfortable in his life.
He was feeling thoroughly cowed, miserable and apprehensive, and seeing his worried face cheered Sergeant Michael O’Grady up no end.
When he’d slogged his way back to the station that morning, feeling better than he had for many days, the sergeant had been greeted by a sour-faced Inspector Jennings, informing him that he was to take over a case currently being investigated by WPC Loveday and her pet coroner. (Not that Jennings would ever refer to the old vulture, Dr Clement Ryder, as anyone’s ‘pet’ should the good doctor be within hearing distance.)
But O’Grady did understand the reasons behind the inspector’s unhappy state. Ever since their sole WPC had been taken under the interfering coroner’s wing, the pair had come up with solutions to some surprising and high-profile murder cases. Which, whilst not exactly leaving egg on the inspector’s face, did tend to make him feel rather grumpy. And the fact that it was beginning to look as if they might be about to do the same thing again was definitely annoying him.
As the sergeant had listened to the inspector’s very brief briefing on events so far, it quickly transpired that what they’d all thought had been nothing more than a fatal driving accident was starting to throw up some nasty possibilities. And apparently, it was now up to him to take over the investigation and sort it out.
Which was fine by O’Grady, even as Jennings had thundered away at him that he was going to do it strictly by the book. So far, far too many liberties had been taken – which included the old vulture acting as their ‘medical’ expert.
True, the outstanding weather conditions, coupled with so many people being off sick, had made it necessary to cut some corners. But that had only been when the case had seemed so cut and dried – and thus breaches in protocol were unlikely to raise too many eyebrows. Now, O’Grady could tell that the inspector was much more worried that, if the case did turn out to be more sinister, he would be hauled over the coals by the powers-that-be for being so lackadaisical. Which was harsh, since nobody came equipped with hindsight, not even detective inspectors – but that was life, O’Grady supposed.
Not that any of this made his own life any easier. He’d been ordered to take over the reins, which meant sending Dr Clement Ryder packing back to his office, where he belonged, and WPC Loveday back to her beat or filing paperwork, where she belonged.
Which was all very well, Mike O’Grady thought now, but he’d barely had time to start reading the files on the Terrence Parker case before he’d been called to the front desk where a suspect in that very same case had been caught attempting to tamper with evidence.
Using the time it took to book the suspect in, he’d tried to speed-read as much of WPC Loveday’s reports as possible, but even so he knew he was woefully unprepared and ill-equipped to interview the man. He hadn’t had the chance to absorb even the bare bones of the case yet.
So finding, on entering the interview room, that Mr Geoffrey Thorpe was already clearly downcast was a definite bonus. At least he didn’t look as if he had the spirit or gumption to try and run rings around a police officer. Nevertheless, the sergeant was aware of a feeling of relief when, almost as soon as they’d established Geoffrey Thorpe’s identity, address and place of work there was a tap at the door, and WPC Loveday showed her face.
She seemed, O’Grady thought with a hidden smile, slightly apprehensive as she looked at him. ‘Hello, Sergeant. I, er, heard that Mr Thorpe was here, and wondered …’
‘Come in and sit down,’ the sergeant said gruffly. Unlike the inspector, Mike had a more generous attitude towards the WPC. He found her intelligent, diligent and willing to work, which were all bonuses as far as he was concerned. And whilst he agreed with his superior officer that she was far too junior to be working an important case on her own, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth either. Right now, she knew more about what was happening than he did.
‘Mr Thorpe, you know WPC Loveday?’ he said curtly.
Geoffrey Thorpe looked at Trudy miserably, and nodded.
Trudy nodded back with a small smile as she took the seat beside her sergeant and opened her notebook.
‘Perhaps, Constable Loveday, you might like to conduct this interview?’ Mike said, totally flooring her.
He saw the flash of sheer surprise cross her face, followed by a look happiness that just as quickly flickered into one of anxiety. He understood the reasons for all of them, of course, but no expression showed on his own face. She was surprised to be given the opportunity to question a lead suspect when a sergeant was also in the room. She was happy she was being given the opportunity, but worried she might fall short on the task ahead of her. And perhaps she was wondering just why it was that she was taking the lead? She’d been in the job long enough now, he supposed a shade wearily, to become suspicious of even her work colleagues’ motives.
He could have reassured her that, because he had no idea what questions really needed asking, he had no choice but to allow her to take the lead, and that there were no hidden motives on his part. Also, that it would simply be easier for him to watch the suspect and listen, if he wasn’t the one having to do all the talking.
But, of course, he could convey none of that in front of either the suspect or the constable.
And she was such a tyro he knew that he was taking a chance, but it would be interesting to see what the inspector’s nemesis was made of!
Trudy, for her part, took a deep breath and tried to organise her thoughts. When she’d arrived at the station only to be told that the sarge was already with the witness, she’d believed that her only hope was that she might be allowed to at least sit in and observe. And take notes, of course.
Now that she was actually conducting a formal interview, and on such an important case, she could feel her heart beating fast in her chest, and she felt just a little bit sick. She knew if she messed this up, it might take her years to regain the sergeant’s trust. If she ever did!
Which would simply not do! Why should she mess it up? She’d interviewed no end of witnesses since she’d been working with Dr Ryder, she reminded herself stoutly.
She gave the car salesman a thoughtful inspection, whilst giving him another small but encouraging smile. She knew there were only two ways to go about a formal interview – hard and threatening, or coaxing, and this man, she felt instinctively, would be far more forthcoming if handled gently.
‘As I understand it,’ she began mildly, ‘you were apprehended a short while ago, breaking into the car in which Mr Parker died. Is that true, sir?’
She had no idea if that was the right question – or even the first question – that the sarge would have asked, and didn’t dare look at him in case she saw disapproval in his face.
‘I didn’t break in,’ Geoffrey denied at once. ‘I had a key. It’s one of a set of master keys that we keep at the car showroom. It allows us access to all vehicles. Obviously, we have to have one.’
‘I think that’s rather splitting hairs, Mr Thorpe, don’t you?’ Trudy chided him gently. She might not be conducting the interview in the same way as the sarge would, but she had the distinct advantage of having met this man before. She’d talked to him in his own home, and had seen him in a family setting. She’d heard his grandchildren playing in the next room, and believed he was basically a good man at heart, who’d probably just been caught up in a bad situation. And she believed he wanted to confess to whatever it was he needed to confess to, if she just helped him along a bit.
‘You must have known you were entering an unauthorised police facility, Mr Thorpe,’ she insisted softly, and saw him flush guiltily.
She leaned slightly forward and laid her hand on the table not far from his own. She didn’t touch him, but it was enough of a gesture to suggest support and encouragement. ‘Don’t you think it would just be easier if you told us what you were doing? Why did you want to see the crashed car, sir? Did you want to make sure that whatever sabotages you’d committed on it had been destroyed in the accident, perhaps?’
Geoffrey
Thorpe who’d begun to feel slightly more comfortable with Trudy’s presence and her softer voice, suddenly went white and sat bolt upright.
‘What? What sabotage? What do you mean?’ he squeaked. He looked appalled – first at Trudy and then at the large sergeant, as if to silently ask the other man if he too had heard the same thing. But the sergeant, with his quiff of sandy-coloured hair and pale blue eyes merely returned his look with a blank, apparently uninterested gaze.
‘Did you tamper with your business partner’s car, sir?’ Trudy persisted gently but firmly. ‘We know that he had already stolen a significant sum from your partnership, so it’s understandable that you were angry with him.’
Beside her, O’Grady listened with acute interest. His time with the case files hadn’t been long enough for him to get to that bit yet, and he began to feel hopeful that they might just tie up this case in record time. His old training sergeant had always said that there were only ever two real motives for murder – sex and money. And here was a financial motive, right enough, staring them in the face.
‘What? No, he was paying me back. I told you that,’ Geoffrey said. ‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Yes, I remember what you told me, sir, but that might not have been the case. Perhaps he refused to pay you? Or, if he had indeed begun to do so, did you trust him to pay it all back?’ Trudy put to him. ‘After all, if he’d betrayed you once, he could do it again. Maybe you found out that he was planning to steal more money – or perhaps get an accomplice to steal the cars themselves. He could put you out of business and disappear overnight with the proceeds, couldn’t he?’
‘No, no, it wasn’t like that.’ Geoffrey, his voice rising higher in pitch as he panicked, looked from one to the other of them helplessly. ‘We’d sorted it all out. I told you!’
‘We can quite see if you decided enough was enough, sir,’ Trudy carried on, as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘By your own admission, you knew Mr Parker was going to that New Year’s Eve party. The weather was atrocious, and you knew his habit of taking one of the heavier, older cars when the weather was that bad. It wouldn’t have been hard for you to suggest that he take the Riley. Perhaps you tampered with the brakes, only wanting to frighten him, not thinking—’