Destruction of Evidence (9 page)

Peter and Trevor waited for the Superintendent to sit behind her desk before taking two of the chairs set in front of it. Without protective clothing she looked younger. Trevor lowered her age from late forties to mid.

The laptop on the desk was connected to a photographic printer. A stack of files alongside bore a case number, the address of the crime scene and the logo of the local force. Superintendent Reggie Moore clearly wasn’t an officer who wasted time.

Reggie picked up two files and handed one to Trevor and one to Peter. Trevor opened his file and saw a floor plan.

‘The Pitcher house?’

Regina opened a third file and set the papers it contained in a neat pile in front of her. ‘Scale floor plans of all five floors of the Pitcher house and photographs taken in the immediate aftermath of the fire. If Constable Sweet has filed the photocopies in order, you’re looking at a plan of the cellar.’

‘A large open area with a staircase that climbs above a double door and a single door. Toilet and wash-hand basin to the right at the bottom of the staircase. Doors open on to a yard.’ Trevor checked.

‘Both doors are fire damaged behind recognition but one was an up and over, not double door,’ she corrected. ‘The staircase on the front wall next to the entrances is on the back wall if you are viewing the house from Main Street – that’s the street the pub is on,’ she added. ‘It leads up to a landing that opens on the ground floor. Alun Pitcher had an office suite there. Three rooms and a small conference room with a cloakroom and WC built directly above the one in the cellar. The cellar only covers about two-thirds of the floor area of the upper stories. A door leading out of the office suite connects with a hall on ground level at Main Street. As you walk in through the front door on Main Street you face a staircase that leads to the Pitchers’ living quarters on the three floors above the office suite. To date we have no idea how the killer or killers entered the Pitcher’s house. The emergency services were called by a witness who saw the fire and spotted a figure on the outside metal fire escape at attic level shortly after seeing the flames. The escape has no lock and can be accessed from ground level next to the cellar. Anyone entering the Pitcher’s yard could have walked on to it.’

‘Any sign of forced entry?’ Trevor asked.

‘None.’

‘Are there gates to the yard?’

‘No,’ Reggie looked down at the plan. ‘The entrance to the yard, which is wide enough to take an HGV vehicle, is off the lane that runs at the back of the terrace. The Pitchers used the yard to park their vehicles.’

‘Trusting souls,’ Peter commented.

‘This is a quiet Welsh market town, Sergeant Collins. Everyone knows everyone else.’

‘And everyone is totally honest?’ Peter raised his eyebrows.

She disregarded his question. ‘As you see from the sketch, the fire escape leads from ground level to attic. There are three balconies on the back of the house all accessed from landings on the fire escape and also from inside the Pitchers’ private accommodation. The photographs of the cellar that were taken after the fire are behind the plan.’

Trevor and Peter turned the pages and flicked through the dozens of photographs detailing scenes of total devastation.

‘It’s impossible to determine anything from these,’ Peter grumbled.

‘Forensic are trying,’ Reggie snapped. ‘Alan Pitcher was an antique dealer. According to the people who worked for him he stored valuable items in the cellar awaiting auction.’

‘Are you considering theft as a motive?’ Peter asked.

‘I wouldn’t rule out any motive at this stage but as Inspector Joseph is here to assume responsibility, the motives are his to determine.’

‘If it was theft, the thief or thieves would have needed a vehicle,’ Trevor observed. ‘And, please call me Trevor.’

‘Only in private senior officer situations, Trevor. As for vehicles, I have officers out interviewing the neighbours. We’re collating their reports as they come in but so far we have no sightings of any strange vehicles in the vicinity on the evening before or during the early hours of the day of the fire.’

‘Any familiar vans?’ Peter asked.

‘One of Alan Pitcher’s which hasn’t moved since he parked it in his yard around six o’clock on the evening before the fire, according to the landlord of the Angel.’

‘We’ve met him. Friendly fellow,’ Peter said.

‘Tim Pryce’s private accommodation overlooks the Pitcher’s yard. A catering van brought supplies to the pub around seven o’clock. It was their last call of the evening and the last witnessing of a vehicle in the lane. But, as I said, we have officers making door to door enquiries. If anyone did see anything out of the ordinary that evening, it will be reported. Alun and Gillian Pitcher and their sons were popular. They had a lot of friends in this town.’

‘Any enemies?’ Trevor checked.

‘None known.’

‘Isn’t that odd for a businessman?’ Peter queried.

‘Not in this town. You won’t find anyone who’ll say a word against the Pitchers. Alun and Gillian worked tirelessly, fundraising for medical charities and the local hospice. They were also heavily involved in the community. Alun was a Freemason and chairman of the Rotary Club, Gillian was on the committee of the Amateur Dramatics Society and various Arts Clubs. Alun employed three people full-time in his business and up to a dozen part-time. Those are jobs this town can ill afford to lose. He attracted visitors from all over the country with his antique auctions. Well-heeled people who patronised the local hotels, B & Bs, pubs and restaurants. I’ve lived here two years and I’ve never heard anyone voice a complaint about Alun or the way he ran his business.’

‘Did this saint work for personal gain, or altruistic reasons?’ Peter asked.

‘As far as I and most people in this town know, Alun Pitcher was an honest hard-working businessman,’ Reggie shuffled the photographs of the cellar together and turned the page.

‘He could have had secrets,’ Peter persisted.

‘If he did, I’m not aware of them.’

‘They wouldn’t be secrets if you knew about them,’ Peter countered.

Trevor frowned at him before studying a street map of the town pinned to the wall above the superintendent’s desk. He checked it against a photograph clipped to the back cover of the case file. It was a blown-up aerial shot of Main Street and the thoroughfares in the immediate vicinity. ‘Is the lane at the back of the terrace busy?’

‘No. It’s too narrow to be a short-cut even at peak traffic times,’ Reggie explained. ‘There are passing places but for most of its length it’s barely the width of one vehicle. In my experience it’s only used by those who have reason to call at the back of one of the houses.’

‘But delivery vans use it when they visit the pub. And the furniture in Alan Pitcher’s cellar must have been brought in by van,’ Trevor mused.

‘Alan’s van. The back lane isn’t one-way or little known if that’s what you’re implying,’ Reggie interposed. ‘Everyone in town knows about it as well as tradesmen, builders, delivery van drivers, window cleaners – the list is endless.’ Reggie turned to a plan of the ground floor of the Pitcher house. ‘We’ve a lot to cover in this briefing. The next plan is of the office floor. Front door opens from the street into a small hallway. Directly opposite the front door, as you step inside, is the staircase that leads up to the Pitchers’ family living quarters. The only door other than the front leads to an inside hall, office suite and staircase that connects down to the cellar. The first firemen on the scene went around the back because that’s where the fires had been sighted.’

‘Fires?’ Trevor checked.

‘The witness reported seeing flames in the attic windows and minutes later the kitchen, two floors below. The first tender to arrive went into the yard and the officers fought the fires at the back of the house. The officers in the second fire tender axed the front door so they could get their hoses inside the house. The ground floor was full of smoke that had come up from the cellar and down from the kitchen but nothing on that level was actually burning. The office door was locked with no signs of forced entry.’

‘Can we move on to the crime scene?’ Trevor set the photographs that had been taken of the cellar and office floor aside and turned to the plan of the floor above. Peter and Reggie followed suit.

‘The Pitchers’ kitchen is at the back of the house above the office suite, the drawing room at the front above the hall. There is a windowless cloakroom off the passage that connects the two rooms and staircases that lead down to the offices and up to the bedrooms. Both kitchen and drawing room run the full forty-feet width of the house. The balcony on that floor can be accessed from a door in the kitchen.’

‘Large rooms,’ Peter checked the measurements.

‘The damage to the kitchen is comparable to that in the cellar,’ Trevor studied the photographs of the burned-out room.

‘We’ve had a few results in from the forensic teams. The thick layer of ash on the floor is principally wood ash from the kitchen units and table and chairs,’ Regina revealed.

‘And the black shiny pieces scattered among them?’ Peter asked.

‘The kitchen had recently been refitted by one of the Pitcher sons with granite worktops and a black slate floor. The granite and slate splintered in the heat of the fire. Early indications suggest cooking oil was splashed around, the sink filled with it and set alight. It’s believed that’s what caused the window above the sink to blow out after the fire was set. The explosion was heard by a fisherman by the river about half a mile away.’

‘Is he the witness who called the emergency services?’ Trevor asked.

‘Yes.’

‘His name?’ Trevor took a biro from his shirt pocket.

‘Ken Lloyd. You’ll find it on the list of witness statements in the appendix to the file. We’re lucky he called when he did. Even five minutes later the fire crews would have met a very different scene. Although the kitchen, cellar and attic have been wiped out, thanks to him, we’ve been able to make the building stable enough for our teams to work in.’

Trevor flicked through the pile of “scene of crime photographs”. ‘Depending on the quantity used, the oil could explain why the kitchen was gutted and the drawing room, staircase, cloakroom and passageway were relatively untouched apart from a few “spot fires” and smoke damage. What about the fire in the cellar? Have we any idea why that was so severe?’

‘Ken Lloyd worked occasionally for Alun Pitcher. He told us Alun stored paint, paint thinner, stripper, stain and various chemicals he needed for his business down there. Most were flammable and, although we’ve no proof, it’s possible they were splashed around like the cooking oil,’ Reggie added.

‘Where were the bodies found?’ Trevor set the photographs of the first floor aside.

‘The two sons and Alun Pitcher in the attic; Gillian Pitcher on the floor of the master bedroom. The door was open. Her feet were pointing to the landing, her head inside the room.’

Trevor set the floor plan of the bedrooms and attic on top of his file. ‘The crosses are where the bodies were found?’

‘Correct.’ Reggie confirmed. ‘AP is Alun Pitcher, GP Gillian. The eldest son who slept in the attic studio is LP – Lee Pitcher, the younger son JP – James Pitcher.’

‘Four bedrooms, all en-suite, two at the front of the house, two at the back?’

‘The last plan is that of the attic floor that the eldest Pitcher son, Lee, converted into an open-plan flat and workshop.’

Peter studied the photographs of the victims. ‘I thought I’d seen it all.’

‘Now perhaps you understand why I’ve asked for your assistance. Like every town we’ve had dealings with major crimes but our murders to date have usually been domestic. There’ve been burglaries in some of the larger houses on the outskirts of town; we’ve had drug- and alcohol-fuelled violence and minor misdemeanours such as car theft, but never before have we encountered murder on this scale.’

‘Has the pathologist moved the bodies out of the house?’ Trevor didn’t look up from the photographs.

‘No, and he won’t carry out the post mortems until he does.’

‘And the forensic teams haven’t come up with any DNA or other tangible evidence?’ Trevor checked.

‘Not as yet, no.’

Peter asked the question he knew was uppermost in Trevor’s mind as well as his own. ‘Are there indications that the murderer or murderers had professional knowledge which assisted them with the destruction of evidence?’

Reggie looked him in the eye. ‘Just how many rumours did you hear in the pub, Sergeant Collins?’

‘Before Peter answers that question, I’d like you to explain exactly why you called us in so early in the investigation, Superintendent Moore.’ Trevor finally set the photographs aside.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Reggie met Trevor’s probing gaze. ‘Would you believe I called you in because I could see from the outset that this was going to be a complicated case?’

‘Why complicated?’ Trevor demanded.

‘No doubt you heard in the pub that we have someone in custody.’

‘A Larry Jones, a thug from Garth Estate. A sink estate?’ Peter suggested.

‘That description would apply to the Garth Estate,’ Reggie conceded.

‘You’ve charged him with arson,’ Trevor checked.