Deadly remains, p.9
Deadly Remains, page 9
She stood up eagerly, keen to be out on the trail. ‘Think these robberies could be linked to Barry Brown’s murder, sir? That neighbour thought she saw—’
‘She’s on the opposite side of the village green. She could easily have made a mistake at that distance.’ Gerry saw the disappointment on Rachel’s face as her theory was shot down in flames. ‘But we’ll bear it in mind,’ he added kindly. ‘Right then, let’s go. We’ve got villains to catch.’
Rachel was making the most of the opportunity to get out of the office. Paperwork had never been her strong point, a trait she shared with the DCI.
She’d already told her husband Nigel that she’d be late home, and he’d accepted the news with his usual resignation. Nigel was a busy man, with a farm to run, and they were both confident that their baby son Freddie was being well looked after by his doting grandparents. Even so, Rachel worried that one day soon he might begin to resent the long hours she worked during a major investigation. The possibility had nagged at the back of her mind since her return to work. But she couldn’t imagine life without her job.
Once in the station car park, she climbed into the driving seat. The DCI never drove on dry land, reserving his navigational skills for his thirty-foot yacht the Rosie May, moored on the river. Wesley had once told her that he suspected that Gerry’s late wife’s death in a hit-and-run accident had something to do with his aversion to getting behind the wheel. But Rachel didn’t mind doing the honours.
When they reached the pretty Elizabethan town of Neston, she parked on the street outside the shop, narrowly avoiding a gawping crowd of onlookers.
‘What’s that ambulance doing here?’ Gerry asked as they approached the scene.
‘Looks like someone’s been hurt this time.’ Rachel felt worried. So far the robbers had only threatened violence. The last thing they needed was an escalation.
The area around the shop had already been taped off and the CSIs had arrived. The shop window had been smashed, and two paramedics were wheeling a woman out of the premises. Her face was ashen and she was swathed in a blanket.
‘What’s happened to her?’ Gerry asked one of the uniforms after showing his ID.
‘Someone fired a gun and the assistant collapsed, sir. According to the paramedics, she wasn’t hit. They think she’s suffering from shock.’
‘What can you tell us about the raid?’ Rachel asked.
‘Sounds the same as the others. Three clowns in royal family masks burst into the shop and threatened the staff. Helped themselves to anything they could grab, then got away in a flashy car. A passer-by took a note of the number and we ran it through the system. The vehicle was reported stolen in Morbay first thing this morning. Traffic are checking their cameras as we speak. We’ll get ’em this time,’ the constable said smugly, as though he was confident of succeeding where the whole of Tradmouth CID had failed.
Rachel put on a pair of overshoes and crime-scene gloves before entering the shop to have a word with any witnesses. Gerry did likewise and followed her.
Inside, the CSIs were hard at work searching for fingerprints, and when Gerry asked where they could find the owner, they were directed to a small office behind the counter. There they found a woman being comforted by a young constable. She was in her fifties, slim, with dark hair cut in a neat bob. She was dressed simply in black, as though she was attending a fashionable funeral, and there was a Parisian elegance about her that in other circumstances Rachel would have envied.
When the DCI made the introductions, the woman looked up, and it was obvious she’d been crying.
‘What’s your name, love?’ he asked. The constable stepped back, and Gerry took a seat beside the woman while Rachel made herself comfortable on a hard dining chair opposite.
‘Emma Grey,’ she said with a slight quiver in her voice.
‘You must have had a terrible shock,’ said Rachel. ‘Do you feel up to telling us about it?’
Emma nodded. ‘I’d just told Penny – that’s my assistant – to start locking up when we heard glass smashing. It was the front window, and someone was grabbing the rings that were on display there. I pressed the panic button, but as soon as the alarm started to sound, they burst in. Three people wearing those rubber masks – the royal family. If it hadn’t been so frightening I would have laughed, because they looked rather ridiculous.’
‘Did they speak?’ Rachel asked.
‘Once of them – the one in the King mask – said something like “Don’t move”, then they started smashing the glass cabinets and shoving everything into a holdall. Penny and I were terrified, but he said that if we did what we were told, nobody would get hurt.’
‘But Penny did,’ said the DCI, impatient to know what had gone wrong.
Emma Grey sighed. ‘I always told her that if anything were to happen, nobody was to play the hero. The insurance would take care of everything and it wasn’t worth risking your life.’ She tore a tissue from the box on the table and wiped her eyes. ‘But Penny came over all gung-ho and launched herself at the man in the King mask. Then I heard a massive explosion. It was a few seconds before I realised that the one in the Queen mask had fired a gun. When Penny collapsed, I thought she’d been shot. After they ran out, I checked her over, but I couldn’t see any wounds. Then I called the police and the ambulance. How is she? Have you any news?’
‘Not yet, I’m afraid,’ said Rachel. ‘But the officer we spoke to thought she was suffering from shock.’
Emma took a deep breath. ‘That’s a relief. I’d never have been able to forgive myself if . . . ’
‘Did the robber fire the gun deliberately?’
‘Everything happened so quickly. But even if it was an accident, does it make any difference? They were armed. They might have killed us.’ Her voice was shaky, as though the potential gravity of the situation had suddenly hit her. ‘I should have done more to protect my staff.’
‘I’m sure Penny will be all right,’ said Rachel, reaching out a comforting hand.
‘DS Tracey’s right, love,’ said Gerry. ‘No need to blame yourself.’
‘But I do, Chief Inspector. If I’d installed better security . . . But you don’t expect that sort of thing in Neston. It’s just not that sort of place.’
‘You’re right, love,’ he agreed. ‘It’s a hippy paradise full of crystal healing shops and vegan cafés. It’s hardly the mean streets, but villains are mobile nowadays, and this gang like to pick on easy targets. Low-hanging fruit, they call it, don’t they?’
Rachel nodded. ‘And next time someone might get killed.’
‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’ said Gerry. ‘Anything at all?’
Emma Grey retrieved something from the pocket of her dress. ‘I was going to give this to the officers outside, but they seemed so busy.’ She passed him a colourful business card decorated with two masks – comedy and tragedy. Ancient symbols of the theatre. ‘I found this on the floor when the robbers left. I think one of them must have dropped it.’
‘Careless of them.’
He fished in his pocket for an evidence bag. He didn’t find one, but Rachel had one in her handbag, and Gerry dropped the card into it.
She held the card up to examine it. ‘The TR Theatre Company. They’ve got a website.’
‘Then we’d better have a look at it,’ said Gerry.
15
The TR Theatre Company’s website stated that TR stood for Truly Radical and that they specialised in ‘experimental, ground-breaking performances intended to rattle the establishment’. There was no information about the members of the company; only that they all came from the north-west of England.
‘Which includes my own home city, Liverpool,’ said Gerry as they drove back to Tradmouth. ‘And the jeweller from their last job said the leader had an accent like mine.’
Rachel smirked. ‘According to Inspector Peterson, he virtually accused you of being involved. Weren’t you in the shop the previous week buying a bracelet or something?’
‘It was a necklace for Alison. It’s her birthday next week. And I promise you I haven’t taken up armed robbery in my spare time.’ He smiled. ‘How’s your little lad?’
‘He’s great, thanks. Spoiled by an army of doting grandparents. Nigel can’t wait till he can help round the farm.’
‘Thought child labour was illegal.’
Rachel laughed. ‘I used to love helping with the milking and the feeding when I was little. It seems like a load of fun when you’re a kid. It’s only when you grow up and you need to do it day in, day out and get up at silly o’clock in the morning plus holding down your day job that the novelty wears off.’
Gerry thought he could detect a note of bitterness behind her words. ‘Look, Rach, if it’s getting too much for you, I can—’
‘I’m fine. Coping well,’ she said with determination.
Something told him that wasn’t the whole truth, but he knew the time wasn’t right to delve further.
As soon as they arrived at the station, they climbed the stairs to the CID office and Gerry shouted out his instructions as he walked in.
‘I want to know everything there is to know about a theatre company based in the north-west. The TR Theatre Company. There’s a website, but it isn’t much help. A free pint for anyone who can bring me chapter and verse on them. Is Inspector Peterson back from the wilds of Dartmoor yet?’
‘Not yet, sir,’ DC Paul Johnson called over.
‘Trish, will you go to Morbay Hospital and have a word with a woman called Penny Pleasance. She was taken there after the latest Royal Family robbery, suffering from shock. See what you can find out. You never know, she might have noticed something Ms Grey missed.’
‘Will do, sir.’
The CID office descended into hushed activity. Half an hour later, Rob Carter knocked on Gerry’s open door.
‘Barry Brown’s phone records have come through.’ He passed a list to the DCI. ‘We’ve identified most of the numbers he’s contacted over the past couple of weeks, including Craig Parker and his cousin Bella Renolds. He spent a lot of time talking to George Melling, but the rest of the calls are to his sister, Lizzie, or his agent. He received a call from Melling at eight-thirty on the night he died, which fits with what Melling told us. There are only a couple of numbers we’ve not been able to trace. Pay-as-you-go.’
Gerry rolled his eyes. Perhaps it had been too much to hope that the phone records would hold the answer to everything.
Before Wesley left Moor Barton, he returned to Neil’s dig. Pam would never forgive him if he didn’t offer Michael a lift home to save him relying on trains. He stood behind the fence for a while watching his son, pleased to see that he looked as though he was enjoying himself working next to his new friend, Harriet. He hoped the girl wouldn’t get bored playing big sister to a thirteen-year-old.
Neil spotted him and waved him over. ‘Wes. Want to see what we’ve found?’
As Wesley walked onto the site to join Neil, Michael looked up, but this time he didn’t acknowledge his father. Perhaps, Wesley thought, the boy was afraid of appearing childish in front of Harriet. At his age parents could be a terrible embarrassment.
‘I thought you’d be helping to lift the bones.’
‘I was. But I had to come over to check on things here.’ Neil lowered his voice. ‘I must say I’m impressed with the soldiers. They’ve really taken to it.’ He glanced admiringly at them. ‘I could do with them on a few more digs.’
‘I’m sure that could be arranged.’
He nodded towards two men who were digging in the archaeological society’s trench, laughing as they worked. ‘That’s Ian and Lance. Aircraft enthusiasts and metal detectorists. I’m attempting to teach them the rudiments of archaeology, but I’m not getting my hopes up.’
‘How’s Michael doing?’
‘I think he’s enjoying himself. Between you and me, I think he’s got a bit of a schoolboy crush on Harriet.’
Wesley laughed. ‘He’s growing up, Neil. How did that happen?’
‘Don’t ask me. Doesn’t seem that long ago that he was digging in the sandpit in your garden. Let’s see how the CSIs are getting on.’
Wesley didn’t need asking twice. He walked beside Neil towards the sheep-shaped rock.
‘I don’t know whether I should be telling you this, but it looks like I’ve already got an ID for the body.’
‘Who is it?’
‘A kid called Norman – don’t know the surname yet. I’ve just been to visit Ralph Gornay at the manor house, and he told me the boy was shot accidentally by his father, who apparently confessed to the killing on his deathbed.’
‘So that explains why Gornay wasn’t happy about us digging in the area. And he never thought to tell the police?’
‘His father had dementia and was on strong medication when he confessed, so Ralph thought he was probably hallucinating. To his credit, now that the bones have turned up, he’s been quick to come clean.’ Wesley thought for a moment. ‘If you ask me, he’s been uneasy about the whole thing since his father made his confession, and now he’s glad to have got it off his chest.’
‘So maybe I’ve done him a favour.’
‘I’ll make a report as soon as I get back to the station, but the perpetrator died some years ago and Gornay’s explanation about why he failed to contact the police makes sense, so there’s nothing we can do. According to Gornay, the boy’s family left the village after he disappeared. He thinks there might have been a brother, but he’s not sure.’ There was a short silence while Wesley decided how to phrase his next question. ‘Have you found anything to suggest there was more to the air crash than a tragic accident?’
Neil shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. But people love a good conspiracy theory, don’t they.’
‘That’s exactly what I thought. Thanks for confirming it.’
They’d arrived at the spot where the CSIs were still working, and Wesley could see the small skeleton lying exposed. Ralph Gornay’s father had laid the boy out respectfully, hands crossed across his chest. Wesley stared at the bones for a few moments, suddenly feeling sad. Norman might have been a scallywag, but he hadn’t deserved his fate.
As Neil grabbed his trowel and kneeling mat, Wesley looked round. To his surprise, he could see somebody watching from some distance away, half hidden by the rock known as the Sheep: a tall, thin man wearing a bucket hat. But before he had a chance to investigate, the figure stepped back into the shadows as though he didn’t want to be seen.
16
Michael had been reluctant to accept his dad’s offer of a lift at first, but after weighing up the options, he’d decided it was preferable to public transport.
During the journey he hardly said a word. But Wesley hadn’t expected too much gratitude from a boy who’d just embarked on his teenage years. When he’d asked him how he was getting on with the students, Harriet in particular, the answer had been a non-committal ‘OK’, followed by silence.
He dropped Michael off in town, and it was almost six by the time he reached the station, where the CID office was still buzzing with activity. He entered Gerry’s domain and took a seat.
‘Have I missed anything?’
‘Not really. We’re busy following up the theatre company lead. And forensics found no sign of a bullet at the jeweller’s, so I’m wondering whether their gun was loaded with blanks.’
‘Which suggests they’re more interested in scaring people than actually inflicting injuries.’
‘If that’s the case, they’ve certainly succeeded. What about you? When you rang, you said you’d identified the killer of the child buried near Neil’s dig. That was quick work.’
Wesley told Gerry everything he’d learned from Ralph Gornay.
‘So the child was killed by Gornay’s late father,’ Gerry mused. ‘Could Brown have found out about it and Gornay killed him to cover it up?’
Wesley shook his head. ‘Once the bones were found, Ralph was only too eager to tell all, so I don’t think that theory holds water. Besides, the killer’s long dead. And it can’t be connected to the plane crash Brown was investigating, because the killing happened in the late 1950s.’
‘No hope of a prosecution then. Case closed. Pity. I don’t like the idea of someone shooting a kid and getting away with it.’
‘Ralph Gornay said his father was a bad man. But sadly, he’s beyond earthly justice now.’ Wesley sighed. ‘Colin’s promised to have a look at the child’s bones, and if everything fits with Gornay’s version of events, I think we’ll have to put that one on the back burner. Agreed?’
‘Agreed. But there’s a call I’d like to make first.’
Wesley returned to his desk, where messages and paperwork had piled up in his absence and covered the surface of his desk like an unwelcome fall of snow. He punched in George Melling’s number. He had a question to ask. Just to make sure.
Melling picked up right away. He sounded a little confused as he confirmed what Wesley had suspected. Never in his dealings with Barry Brown had a missing child been mentioned. Wesley called Craig Parker, who said the same.
Once he’d finished the calls, he let Gerry know. The DCI’s reaction was to shrug his large shoulders. ‘Looks like we can put that one to bed once relatives have been traced. One case solved.’
It was almost eight by the time Wesley arrived home. To his disappointment, they had a visitor. Pam’s mother Della had installed herself on the sofa in the living room with a bottle of wine; one of the good bottles Wesley had been keeping for him and Pam to enjoy with a nice meal one Saturday night. It was already half empty.
‘Don’t mind me,’ she said as soon as he poked his head round the door. ‘I just came to bring Pamela up to date with my publishing news. My agent’s been in touch.’
‘Let me guess. You’ve been told it’s going to be a massive bestseller.’
