Destruction of Evidence (21 page)

‘Thank you, that’s useful to know. I’ll ask one of our experts to check the computer in the warehouse. Did you put it in your statement?’

‘No, because no one asked about the safes or the stock list.’ Ken continued to feed his dog more titbits than he fed himself.

Trevor scribbled a note on the writing pad next to him. ‘What packaging materials did Alun store in the cellar?’

‘The usual. Wooden chests and containers for shipping. Packing cases and rolls of protective felt for the larger items. Newspaper for smaller items, bubble wrap for china, string, plastic sheeting…’

‘Brown paper?’ Trevor interrupted.

Ken frowned. ‘I don’t remember seeing any in the cellar.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘There wasn’t any with the packing materials and I often packed furniture and smaller items before they were transferred to the warehouse for auction.’

Trevor heard sounds of movement upstairs. Peter was unpredictable at the best of times. After last night’s episode with Carol March, he didn’t even want to try to second-guess Peter’s mood. He moved on swiftly. ‘Did Alun have any enemies that you knew of?’

Ken was emphatic. ‘None.’

‘No arguments, quarrels with anyone over an item he sold or bought?’

‘I can’t think of an instance. If there had been I would have heard of it. Gossip of that sort travels quickly around the town.’

‘So Alun Pitcher was a businessman who always satisfied his customers?’

‘Alun’s policy was simple and he drummed it into the boys and everyone who worked for him. “Happy customers spread the word; unhappy customers can send a whole town full of potential customers to another dealer.” If someone was dissatisfied with something they’d bought from Alun he’d take whatever it was back, no questions asked and give them a full refund. When it came to buying antiques he always gave the seller list price less ten per cent handling charge.’

Ken’s revelation confirmed what Trevor had already heard but he still had difficulty believing it. ‘In my experience a generous nature lends itself open to abuse.’

‘One or two customers took advantage of Alun. But he never allowed it to worry him.’

‘Can you give me an example?’

‘A certain lady in the town refurnished her house with valuable antiques when she was hosting a weekend party for some important business clients of her husband’s. She rang Alun on Monday morning after her guests left and said the furniture wasn’t suitable.’

‘He took it back?’

‘Every piece and gave her a full refund. But the story got around town. I think Alun decided that was punishment enough for the person concerned.’

‘Alun spread the story?’

‘Alun never said a word. His employees weren’t as tactful.’

The more questions Trevor asked about Alun Pitcher the more he came to the conclusion that the man had been a saint, or the entire town was in collusion to make him one, or what appeared to be most likely, Alun Pitcher had been a genuine, honest businessman admired and respected by everyone he’d had dealings with.

Peter walked in and glanced from Trevor to Ken to the baguettes. ‘Breakfast.’

‘Courtesy of our guest.’

‘May I?’ Peter didn’t wait for an answer before picking up a baguette.

‘Plates in the kitchen,’ Trevor reminded him.

‘Good point. As no one’s mentioned housekeeping we may have to do our own hoovering.’

‘Coffee’s made, so bring in a mug as well.’

Trevor waited until Peter returned before introducing him to Ken. ‘Mr Ken Lloyd, Sergeant Peter Collins.’

‘The fishermen who reported the fire.’ Peter filled his coffee mug and added milk and sugar.

Ken left the table. ‘If there’s nothing else, Inspector Joseph, I must be getting home. The wife will be up by now and wondering where I am.’

‘Thank you for the trout, the breakfast but most of all your time, Ken.’ Trevor offered him his hand and Ken shook it.

‘If there’s anything else you think I can help with…’

‘I’ll be in touch,’ Trevor broke in.

Mars rose on his haunches and trotted to the door as soon as Ken opened it. Ken turned and looked back at Trevor. ‘You will find out if anyone besides Larry Jones was involved in the murder of Alun and his family?’

‘We’ll do our best to find whoever’s responsible for the deaths of the Pitcher family, Ken,’ Trevor assured him. ‘I promise you that much. I’ll see you out.’ Trevor waited until they reached the front door before asking his last question. ‘Can you describe the figure you saw on the fire escape when the house was on fire?’

‘I was half a mile away, concerned with phoning the emergency services…’

‘Tall, thin, short, fat? Hair colour?’

Ken closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Tall,’ he declared when he opened them. ‘Tall and slim and wearing a dark hat.’

‘Thank you, Mr Lloyd, you have been most helpful. Did you put that description in your statement?’

‘No, because no one asked.’

‘Begs the question as to how they interview people here,’ Peter commented when Trevor returned to the living room.

Trevor picked up his notebook and sat at the table. ‘You heard.’

‘I did. Our fisherman gave us a few things to think about. And food. Great baguettes, great sausage and the bacon’s not too bad either.’ Peter took a large bite.

‘He gave us a couple of trout as well.’

‘Why?’

‘He said he caught too many.’

‘If he’s on your list of suspects he could be trying to poison us.’

‘He’s not on my list of suspects.’ Trevor picked up his pen and a pad of scrap paper.

‘Why?’

‘He reported the fire…’

‘Could be a blind.’

‘His dog was seen racing around the fields by the riverbank at one in the morning. And, when he turned up outside the Pitcher house he was carrying his catch in a plastic bag.’

‘Who’s to say how long it took him to hook them?’

Tired of bantering, Trevor said, ‘Give me Ken’s Lloyd’s motive?’

‘All right, seeing as how he organised breakfast I’ll leave him off the list of suspects for now. I take it you’re going to interview the nosy parker across the street from the Pitchers who reported the ruckus when Tim Pryce ejected Larry Jones from the Angel.’

Trevor referred to his notes again. ‘Mrs May Williams.’

‘How much are we delegating to the locals?’

‘Let’s look at what we need to do ourselves first. We’ll call in on Mrs Williams on our way to the station.’

Peter sat forward and tried to decipher Trevor’s scrawl. ‘Who else is on your list?’

‘Larry Jones.’

‘Obviously.’

‘Don’t suppose you’d like to wade through his file…’

‘I already have.’

‘When?’ Trevor asked in surprise.

‘Last night. And before you say anything about Inspector March…’

‘Your personal life and what you do in your own time is your business, not mine. We have a murder investigation to conduct.’

Peter stared at him. ‘And if I want to explain?’

‘It can wait. Did you come to any conclusions about Larry Jones?’

‘He’s what he looked like in the interview. A thug, drunkard, occasional user of illegal substances – I say occasional in the broad sense. I noted the name of the prison he’d been released from on the morning of the day before the fire. Unlike some, it has a good record of keeping drugs to a minimum. Four per cent of the prison population in the last shakedown. I’ve no doubt that on the night of the murders Larry Jones was drunk out of his skull, but I can’t see a small-time nuisance breaking into the Pitcher home to steal valuable antique jewellery. For a start how did Larry know it was there? Or where it was kept? Given what we know about Lee Pitcher I doubt he left it lying around for a casual burglar to pick up. Antique jewellery like all unique objects is difficult to dispose of.’

‘It could have been an opportunist theft. Newly released prisoners are generally broke,’ Trevor finished his baguette.

‘He had money on him.’

‘Money he said he’d been owed and collected earlier that day but he didn’t say who he’d collected it from,’ Trevor said. ‘He could have owed someone himself and needed more.’

‘I’ll grant you that if Larry had broken into the Pitcher house and seen the jewellery lying around he could have taken it to sell it on to some small dealer who’d prize the stones from their setting and melt down the gold. But break-up value on a delicate piece like the one we saw wouldn’t be more than a hundred or so to the taker. Not enough in my book to want to kill four people.’

‘So you think Larry’s innocent?’

‘I think he’s nasty, boorish and violent. But much as I hate to agree with the Snow Queen, I can’t see the drunken lout getting into the Pitcher house because I can’t see him being steady enough to pick the lock or them opening the door to him.’

‘He could have smashed his way into the cellar.’

‘And stumbled up four flights of stairs without leaving a fingerprint or any DNA?’ Peter challenged.

‘He could have wiped them off.’

‘In his state of inebriation?’

‘So you don’t think he was ever in the house?’ Trevor stacked his plate and coffee cup.

‘The jewellery could have been planted on him. As could the ashes and smuts,’

‘They could.’ Trevor wiped the grease from his hands in a tissue he took from his trouser pocket.

‘Given that there’s four witnesses including two coppers prepared to swear that the bloke couldn’t even stand three hours before the fire you don’t believe any more than I do that Larry Jones killed four healthy Pitchers, three of them strapping fit men.’

‘Something still tells me we can’t rule him out. Not yet.’

‘Because you think he could be connected to the killer or killers who set him up to take the blame?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘If he was working with someone, he’s not talking.’

‘Yet,’ Trevor glanced at his notes again.

‘So we interview nosy parker…’

‘Refer to her as Mrs May Williams or you may end up calling her Nosy Parker to her face.’

‘You want me there when you talk to her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t trust yourself to pick up everything.’

‘It helps to have another pair of eyes especially when you’re making notes or recordings.’ Trevor scanned the list he’d made.

Peter looked over Trevor’s shoulder. ‘Mrs May Williams, the two police officers who answered the call of a disturbance outside the Angel. Michael Pitcher…’ Peter raised his eyebrows. ‘You expect them to let us into the loony bin.’

‘Psychiatric hospital,’ Trevor corrected. ‘Not yet, but in time.’

‘And there’s me hoping we’d be done with this case in a week and on our way home.’

‘Do you believe in fairies as well?’

For once it was Peter who kept the conversation strictly business. ‘What about Ken Lloyd and Tim Pryce?’

‘After we’ve interviewed May Williams you can go through the statements they’ve made. But first, you telephone the duty officer in the station and get May Williams’s exact address in Main Street.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘You sure there’s someone here to open the door?’ Trevor stood next to Peter on the doorstep of the house next door to Ken Lloyd’s in Main Street.

‘Constable Paula Rees, the one with the figure…’

‘Watch those sexist remarks, you’re not on home territory now,’ Trevor warned.

‘Whatever,’ Peter dismissed airily. ‘She told me that Mrs May Williams is house bound but carers go in four times a day to bathe her, dress her and get her meals. She said the first ones call at eight. She also gave me the code for the key box.’

‘Which we can’t use without Mrs Williams’s permission.’ Trevor read at his watch. ‘If the Constable is right, the carers should have gone in ten minutes ago.’

Peter pressed the doorbell a second time, keeping his finger on it.

A sash window opened above them and an angry voice rasped down. ‘Keep your hair on. I’ll be down when I can.’

It was another five minutes before they heard the thunder of footsteps on the stairs. The door was wrenched open and a red-faced, flustered middle-aged woman glared at them.

‘Yes?’ she demanded.

‘Inspector Trevor Joseph.’ Trevor took his warrant card from his pocket and held it up, ‘and Sergeant Peter Collins. We’d like to ask Mrs May Williams a few questions about the call she made to the local police station a few hours before fire broke out in the house across the road.’

‘We’re getting her up. She’s not dressed yet and we won’t be taking her into the living room for another quarter of hour.’

‘We can wait.’ Trevor stepped inside, precluding a dismissal.

‘It’s important you speak to her?’ There was belligerence in her voice.

‘It is,’ Trevor answered.

‘Then I suppose you’d better come in,’ she conceded ungraciously. She turned and walked up the stairs.