Destruction of Evidence (20 page)

Trevor made his way back to the Angel via the end of the lane, turning left into Main Street and stopping beneath the archway that led into the old stable yard. He walked at normal pace and timed himself. Nine minutes. How much longer would it be for a man as drunk as Larry Jones had been?

He stood for a moment staring at the spot Tim Pryce had pointed out. Larry Jones’s disappearance from the yard entrance was one more thing to check on the timeline. Had he woken of his own accord and walked around to the Pitchers’ yard with the intention of breaking into the house? No one disputed that Larry Jones was drunk, but the question was how drunk? Had Larry been capable of walking to the Pitchers’ yard or had he been carried and dumped there?

Had the valuable pieces of jewellery been planted in his pocket? Had there been any other valuable pieces in the house? Surely a relatively wealthy man like Alun Pitcher would have bought his wife expensive jewellery. Yet there’d been no mention of any by the forensic teams.

Trevor spotted movement in an upstairs window of a house across the road. A blind moved but the room behind it was in darkness. Mrs May Williams?

One more person to interview. How much could he delegate to the locals? How far could he trust them? Bill Mulcahy wouldn’t be pleased if he contacted him less than twenty-fours hours after he’d arrived asking for more personnel. Why was Frank Howell so determined to ignore Larry Jones’s condition at the time of the murders and nail him at all costs?

Trevor’s mind worked overtime, sorting facts into compartments and formulating a list of priority interviews. He took his key from his pocket and went to the front door of the stable cottage. He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door. It slammed into Carol March who was standing in front of Peter in the passage. Her arms were wrapped around Peter’s neck, her mouth glued to his.

Peter pushed her away.

There was an embarrassing silence before Trevor said the first thing that came into his head. ‘Thought you were having an early night.’

‘I intended to,’ Peter growled.

Trevor acknowledged Carol. ‘Inspector March.’

‘Good evening, Inspector Joseph.’ She picked up her handbag from the hall table. ‘See you tomorrow, Pete.’

Peter didn’t wait for her to cross the yard. He slammed the door as soon as she was through it and turned to Trevor. ‘The last thing I need is a bloody lecture from you.’

‘I wasn’t about to give you one.’ Trevor went to the fridge and fetched his whisky.

‘One day you’ll actually drink that.’

‘I keep trying.’

Peter topped up his own glass. ‘Don’t tell Daisy?’

‘Tell Daisy what?’

‘Don’t play stupid, Joseph. About the Snow Queen.’

‘Your life is your business, but I won’t lie for you,’ Trevor warned.

‘I don’t expect you to.’

Trevor moved the conversation on to what he felt was safe ground – the case. ‘I went to the pub and saw Tim Pryce’s private quarters. There’s a good view of the back of the Pitchers’ yard and house from there.’

‘Did he see anything on the night of the murder?’

‘No.’

‘Then his view of the crime scene was wasted.’

Trevor picked up his glass. I’ll finish this upstairs. See you in the morning.’

Peter sat sullenly in his chair. Trevor didn’t press him. Experience had taught him that Peter would only talk to him on his own terms and when he was ready. Not before, no matter how hard he was pressed.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘Everything OK?’ Trevor asked Lyn.

‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ she replied, ‘Marty and me can manage without you, darling. We’re quite self sufficient.’

‘Didn’t doubt you were, not too sure about me though. Miss you,’ Trevor murmured.

‘Miss you too. Just because we manage without you, doesn’t mean we want to,’ Lyn qualified. ‘What’s wrong?’

Trevor reflected that in the comparatively short time they’d been together Lyn had learned to read him like a book. ‘Just the case,’ he lied. ‘It’s foul. Almost an entire family wiped out and we’ve virtually no leads and even less evidence.’

‘How’s Peter?’

‘Being Peter.’

‘Poor you.’

‘How’s Daisy?’

‘Starving. She’s craving everything but unable to keep anything down. I keep telling her it will be worth it but I’m not sure she believes me.’

‘You didn’t believe it when you were told the same thing.’

‘I suppose I didn’t. But she only has to look at Marty…’

‘You’re a doting mother.’

‘And you of course are a strict, stern father.’

‘Who has to go and interview a man.’

The vista from Trevor’s window was more limited than from Tim Pryce’s private quarters but it did overlook part of the riverbank and he had spotted a man walking along the path carrying fishing gear, a black dog trotting at his heels.

‘At…’ Lyn checked the time. ‘Six fifteen in the morning.’

‘I’m in the sticks. They get up earlier here. Love you.’

‘Love to you from both of us. Don’t work too hard. What am I saying, you always work too hard.’

Trevor met Ken as he was leaving the river path for the road. He’d stopped to slip on his dog’s lead before crossing the bridge into town. His rod, fishing tackle, and a plastic carrier bag of wet fish were heaped at his feet.

‘Mr Lloyd, Ken Lloyd?’

Ken squinted up at Trevor. ‘Who’s asking?’

‘Inspector Trevor Joseph.’

‘The incomer hot-shot policeman. You’re up bright and early.’

‘I wouldn’t describe myself as a hot-shot but incomer is apt.’ Trevor crouched down and patted the collie. ‘Friendly dog.’

‘Mars is the best I’ve trained and I’ve trained a few in my time.’ Ken fastened the lead and rose to his feet.

‘I know you’re tired after fishing all night, but I was hoping to have a word.’

‘I’ve told the local police all I know and made an official statement.’

‘I haven’t had a chance to read the statements in detail and I know this is difficult for you. Superintendent Moore told me you and Alun Pitcher were close friends.’

‘We’ve been neighbours since the day I married but I knew him before. We were both in the rugby team in our younger, fitter days. Got on as kids and adults. Some people never change. Alun was the kindest, most easy-going man anyone could wish to meet. He’s going to be sorely missed by the people in this town. If anyone was in need and Alun heard of it he found a way to provide, and usually anonymously. Few discovered the identity of their benefactor.’ Ken’s eyes were suspiciously damp. ‘Even with his house burned to a shell across the road from mine I can’t believe I’ll never see him again.’

‘Can I help you carry something?’

‘You could take my rod. Don’t pick that up, not if you don’t want to stink of fish all day,’ Ken warned when Trevor reached for a plastic bag. ‘I’ve gutted them and they’re dripping. The tackle bag’s not much drier.’

‘A chat with you now could save me hours of work,’ Trevor coaxed. When he sensed Ken hesitating, he added, ‘I need all the help I can get to bring whoever killed Alun Pitcher and his family to justice. Is there anywhere I can buy you breakfast?’

‘Nothing in town will be open until nine. There are a couple of truckers’ cafes on the outskirts but they wouldn’t allow Mars inside.’

‘In that case, would you mind coming back to the cottage we’re renting in the Angel? I saw a pack of ground coffee in the cupboard and there’s a cafetiere.’

‘That depends on whether or not the wife is up. If she is, I’ll have to go in because she’ll have breakfast on the table. But I was going to call into the Angel anyway and give Tim the fish, unless you’d like a couple of trout.’

‘Can you spare them?’

‘I had a good catch. Half a dozen decent sized ones and I did well yesterday too. My freezer has more fish in it than I can eat and the wife won’t touch them. If you take two I’ll still have four for Tim.’

‘In that case, thank you.’ Trevor waited until Ken picked up all his gear and walked across the bridge with him.

Ken glanced across the road when they drew close to the Angel. Trevor noticed that all the curtains were closed in the front windows of the house he had looked at.

‘I’ll probably be able to spare you half an hour or so. It’s looks as though the wife’s still in bed.’

‘Thank you.’

‘The breakfast chef’s in and cooking,’ Ken commented when they reached the arch and smelled the extractor fan blowing out the aroma of bacon and sausages. ‘I’ll give him the fish then I’ll be with you.’ Ken knocked on the pub’s kitchen door.

‘I’ll leave our front door open and put the coffee on. It’s the last cottage on the right facing you.’

Trevor went in, brewed the coffee and laid out cups and saucers on the table in the living room. The french doors behind it opened on to a small patio but although the sun was shining he decided it was too cold to sit out at that time of the morning. He searched the kitchen. There was nothing in the fridge, freezer or cupboards except sugar, a carton of long life milk, salt, pepper and a bottle of brown sauce. Given the hours he and Peter worked when they were immersed in a case he made a note to pick up a couple of frozen pizzas.

‘Hello?’

‘In the living room, Mr Lloyd.’

‘Ken – no one calls me Mr Lloyd, not even the bank manager.’ Ken walked into the living room, Mars was off the lead, trotting at his heels. ‘The chef gave me half a dozen bacon and sausage baguettes in exchange for the trout.’ He set a plate of steaming rolls on the table.

‘That was good of him and you. Thank you. Help yourself to coffee, I’ll get plates.’

‘So, what would you like to know?’ Ken asked when Trevor returned with two plates and knives.

‘Superintendent Moore told me you worked for Alun Pitcher.’

‘The odd day here and there,’ Ken admitted warily. ‘I admit it was always cash in hand…’

‘I’m not a tax inspector, Ken. All I’m interested in is anything that was in Alun Pitcher’s house that might provide a motive for killing him and his family.’

‘But they caught Larry Jones with valuable antique jewellery. I assumed it was an open and shut case which is why I found it odd…’

Trevor said what Ken couldn’t bring himself to say. ‘That Superintendent Moore asked for the help of officers from outside the local force?’

‘As you’ve mentioned it, yes.’

‘Superintendent Moore decided there were a few odd aspects to the case that warranted more investigation that she had spare man hours,’ Trevor said tactfully. ‘You reported the fire at three in the morning. You saw Larry Jones at midnight when you helped Tim Pryce move him from the pavement to the archway. According to Tim he was comatose. Do you think Larry could have recovered sufficiently to have left the archway walked around to the Pitcher house and killed all four family members in three hours?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ken replied. ‘All I can tell you is that Larry Jones was certainly out of it at midnight. Do you think someone else was involved?’

‘I’m looking into the possibility, which is why I’m trying to find out what, if any, valuables, apart from the jewellery that was found on Larry was in the house. Someone mentioned the Pitchers had recently acquired the contents of an old Rectory.’

‘Llwynon Rectory. The boys bought the house. They are… were… converting it into flats.’

Trevor didn’t pursue the Pitcher sons’ purchase of the rectory. He’d already filed it away for future reference if it should prove relevant. ‘Apparently there was some antique furniture in the rectory that had been in the family for centuries.’

‘There was. I helped Alun move the pieces into his cellar.’ Ken put a baguette on the plate Trevor handed him and sliced it.

‘Do you think it’s possible the fire was lit to cover up the theft?’

‘One man couldn’t have lifted most of the pieces. It took four of us to carry some of the heavier items into that cellar. And, if they were stolen, they’d have to be loaded on to a van and driven away. Larry wasn’t in a fit state to drive. In fact I don’t know that he even has a licence. He’s been up for stealing cars…’ Ken thought for a moment. ‘So that’s why you think that Larry might have had an accomplice.’

‘Was there any single piece that might attract a thief?’

‘I’m no expert, not in the way Alun was, but he did say some of the furniture was unique and the paintings and sculptures irreplaceable.’

‘Could you make a list of the cellar’s contents?’

‘No need, Alun always kept an up-to-date stock list both for the cellar and the warehouse in his fireproof safes. He was meticulous about records. I saw him updating both ledgers when we cleared the Rectory. Although the estate was going to the Crown he needed a detailed inventory.’ Ken fed Mars a piece of sausage before heaping sugar into his coffee.

‘Where are these safes?’

‘The one for the cellar is in the house.’

‘The office is damaged and the floor burned away.’

‘The safe was sunk into the cellar floor. Under the Belfast sink in the washroom. The other one was sunk into the floor of the office in the warehouse. Look under the desk. It’s hidden by a rug. If his wife, Gill, had time she would have inputted the items on the stock list in the ledgers on to the computer.’