Kith and Kill (9 page)

“I’ve known Joseph Wilson for about 30 years, since I began my career in banking, in fact, initially just by sight but increasingly well. I started on the counters and often served him. He used to pay in cheques occasionally and draw out cash once a week.

“I had to check his account from time to time as part of bank policy, then we went over to computers and I could see on the screen each time I served him that there was always a healthy balance in the account without prying. In fact, I was the one who suggested he should also open a savings account so he could earn some interest on the surplus amount, which he did.

“But Joseph Wilson was from the old school. He kept more than he needed in the current account even though he had instant access to the savings account.”

“Presumably we’re not talking vast sums,” Amos commented.

“No, no, but a few thousand rather than hundreds. Mr and Mrs Wilson were not big spenders. Once they’d cleared their mortgage and the children were off their hands there wasn’t much coming out of the account. I’d worked my way up to assistant branch manager round about that time and I had a chat with Mr Wilson about investing – you know, stocks and suchlike – but he was too conservative with his money. He said that sort of thing was for highfliers in London. He wouldn’t be shifted.

“They just took a week’s holiday once a year, always in this country he told me, and they didn’t need any fancy investments for that.

“But I’m not sure I should be telling you all this private stuff ...” Gibson suddenly said. He hesitated.

“You’re really only confirming the picture we already have,” Amos said to calm him with a lax regard to accuracy. “But that in itself is extremely useful and you are adding aspects that we aren’t sure about and that is absolutely vital. If Mr Wilson was the type of man you describe, which I am sure he was, he would certainly have approved of the help you are giving us in investigating his son’s murder.”

A mixture of flattery and reassurance worked well with Gibson, who nodded in agreement.

“I gather, though, that things changed after Mrs Wilson’s death,” Amos prompted him.

“Yes indeed,” the bank manager continued thoughtfully. “Mr Wilson started running down the current account, then the savings account. It came to my attention one time when he accidentally overdrew the current account. Not by much, but even a few pounds in debt was completely out of character.

“I was branch manager by then and I phoned him to point out the matter and to ask him to pop in to see me. He was quite obstreperous, which again was quite unlike him. He complained bitterly about the fact that he was a longstanding customer and anyway he had money in the savings account so why hadn’t I transferred cash from one account to the other to keep him in credit?

“I tried to explain we couldn’t do that without his authority and he said he was giving me authority now. I moved some cash across and waived the bank charge – at great annoyance to regional office, I might say – on condition that he asked to see me next time he was in the branch.

“In fact, he didn’t ask to see me when he was next in and it was only by chance that I spotted him leaving the counter with his son Mark.”

“Mark?” Amos asked, trying to conceal his surprise. “Not Matthew?”

Gibson looked askance at Amos, unused to having his word challenged, but he decided that, as Amos was a similar age to himself and a man, he would regard the query as reasonable.

“I didn’t know the young man personally but I’m quite sure Mr Wilson said it was Mark, and I had no reason to doubt him. I remembered the name because my own son is called Mark so I’m absolutely sure.”

Now it was Amos’s turn to lean forward.

“You obviously spoke to them. What transpired?”

“Mr Joseph Wilson was actually not very keen to talk. He introduced Mark reluctantly, almost as an old world courtesy, and only when I barred their path to the door. Then he said he had sorted matters out and it wouldn’t happen again so there was no need for any further ado. He was quite flustered.

“Then he pushed past me and left. Mark Wilson, as I recall, was quite aggressive and I think his father was a bit embarrassed.”

“Did you ask the counter staff what they had been in for?”

“Yes indeed. Discreetly, of course.”

“Of course,” Amos repeated respectfully, leaning back a little so as not to make Gibson feel crowded in.

“He had drawn £500 cash out of his savings account. The cashier saw him hand it straight to the other man – Mark Wilson – who put it in his inside pocket.

“The branch was quiet at the time so I was able to ask the two tellers on duty if this was a regular occurrence. Apparently, it had happened before, and not always with the same man. At least one other man, possibly two, had been the recipient of Mr Joseph Wilson’s largesse in recent months.

“The other man or men, whoever they were, were of a similar sort of age to Mark Wilson, about 50 years old as far as I can tell, and they never seemed to put undue pressure on Mr Wilson senior but they took the money as soon as he had withdrawn it. Once or twice they had left hurriedly. It’s a bit vague because the tellers were not concerned about the individual incidents so they didn’t take particular note.

“However, added together with what other staff subsequently confirmed they had witnessed occasionally, it added up to a disturbing overall picture.”

“Did you take any further action?” Amos asked.

“I took the step of ringing Mr Wilson again,” Gibson said. “I left it a day or two to let the dust settle and because, quite frankly, I was not sure of the best course of action.

“It was at this point that I seriously considered involving the police. However, Mr Wilson was clearly quite compos mentis, both when I spoke to him on the phone and also in the bank. None of the tellers had noticed anything odd about him. And if the man he gave the money to was his son, who didn’t seem to be putting any pressure on him, I couldn’t see that any crime had been committed.

“I confess there was another reason for the slight delay in my contacting Mr Wilson. I didn’t relish another tongue lashing from the man. I needn’t have worried. He was quite charming when I rang and actually apologised for his earlier rudeness.

“He said he had withdrawn money to help his sons over a temporary cash shortage and everything was in order. I was sufficiently reassured to let the matter drop – until, that is, I heard of the sudden death of one of his sons.”

“I’m sure you acted quite properly, Mr Gibson,” Amos said. “While there were clear grounds for concern, I doubt very much that there was anything the police could have done.”

“I can tell you, inspector,” Gibson responded, “I’m very relieved to hear you say that. I would like to think that my conscience is clear.

“In any case,” he added brightly, “He had his daughter Ruth to fight his corner if any of the brothers were stepping out of line.”

“I think you mean Mary, his youngest child,” Amos corrected him. “She was the one who stayed at home and cared for her parents until they died.”

“Mary?” Gibson said in astonishment. “You mean he had another daughter? How many children did he have? I never even knew she existed. Well, you have surprised me. She certainly never came into the bank with him, as far as I am aware, and she didn’t have an account here.

“No, I mean Ruth, Mrs Denton as she now is. She, I do know. Her children were at the same primary school as my grandchildren so I had seen her at some school concerts and the like. She’s a teacher herself, you know. She does have an account here, which is no doubt how she came to pop in one day just as her father was leaving.

“From what the tellers on duty told me later, I’m sure neither Mrs Denton nor her father expected the other to be here.”

“I’ve got a feeling,” Amos said, “that you’re going to tell me the meeting was not entirely amicable. Otherwise you probably would never have known about it.”

“That it was not,” Gibson said with relish. “Voices were raised all round. It was quite a ding dong, enough for one of the tellers to summon me from my office. Thank goodness I didn’t have a client in with me at the time.

“It was hard to know quite what was being said because all three of them were talking at once – I say three because the man who had been introduced to me as Mr Wilson’s son Mark was there again.

“There were other people in the bank so I needed to get the Wilsons out pretty damn quick. Fortunately my appearance distracted Mr Wilson and his two offspring just long enough for me to bundle them out of the front door. I could see them carrying on the argument out on the pavement. Mrs Denton was very angry – and it took a lot to get her going. I’m told her patience with her pupils is legendary.”

Gibson suddenly fell back into his “I’ve said too much” mode.

“Oh dear,” he exclaimed, “do you need to tell Mrs Denton about this? It doesn’t matter about Mark Wilson because he doesn’t have an account here but Mrs Denton does. I wouldn’t want her thinking that I break client confidentiality without good reason and she may feel I’ve been intruding on a strictly family matter.”

“You say there were other customers in the bank when this happened and that they carried on arguing in the street,” Amos responded soothingly. “I’m sure if push comes to shove I could lead her to believe that a member of the public has volunteered the information. In any case, I prefer to give people I interview the opportunity to tell me themselves.

“Don’t worry, Mr Gibson,” Amos added as he rose to his feet. “We shan’t give Mrs Denton cause to take her custom elsewhere.”

This remark proved to be a mistake, as Gibson was alarmed at the prospect of Mrs Denton moving her account and telling regional office why.

Seeing his face, Detective Sergeant Juliet Swift rose to her feet in one smooth movement and said curtly: “Thank you Mr Gibson, for your assistance. We can find our own way out.”

Amos took the hint and followed her out through the door of Gibson’s inner sanctum.

Chapter 18

“Do we have a motive?” Amos asked Swift as she drove them to Ruth Denton’s home. It was a toss up whether they would find her at home still on compassionate leave or back at school. They had decided to try the home in preference because it would be easier to talk freely there.

“We suspect that both Matthew and Mark were milking the old man for money but it was Mark she had the row with,” Swift replied. “So why kill Matthew and not Mark?”

“Perhaps Mark fobbed her off by telling her that his elder brother had stung the father for more, that Mark had taken only a small amount. That could have been why Mark got heated in the argument rather than rolling over when his sister confronted him.”

“If that is the case, then Mark should be shaking in his shoes,” Swift said. “If he suspects Ruth Denton at all – and he must know his own sister and what she’s capable of – then he’ll know he could be next in line. We ought to talk to him again as soon as we’ve interviewed Denton.”

By this time they were pulling up in the driveway of Ruth Denton’s home. She was still off work but she showed no sign of welcoming this further intrusion into her life.

“I suppose we’d better get this over with now,” she began ungraciously. “I’m back in school tomorrow and I’d rather appreciate it if you could stop persecuting me then. We still haven’t been told how Matthew died.”

“We still don’t know ourselves how your brother died,” Amos said brusquely. “The blood tests will take a couple more days. Your sister-in-law will be informed at the earliest opportunity.”

Ruth Denton grunted a non-committal acceptance and ushered them into her home,

“Mrs Denton, I’ll come straight to the point,” Amos said as soon as the three of them were seated. “Did you borrow, or ask for, money from your father?”

“I beg your pardon,” Ruth said indignantly. “How dare you? Do I look as if I need to beg for handouts?”

She waved her arm like royalty, her eyes also sweeping round the room. Amos, however, ignored the gesture and kept his eyes on the outraged suspect.

“Appearances can be deceptive, Mrs Denton, if you’ll pardon my saying so,” he said.

Denton stared at him coldly.

“Not in this case,” she said firmly. “Not in this case.”

“No doubt your parents helped you when you were getting on your feet,” Amos persisted. “We all need a bit of help getting started.”

“No thank you. They helped Matthew get started and what good did that do? He’s never learnt the value of money. Well it was a lesson for me all right. Once I was clear of university and in my first post I stood on my own two feet.”

“And Mark? Did he learn the same lesson? He was the second eldest, wasn’t he? Did he learn from his elder brother?”

Ruth Denton eyed Amos with suspicion.

“What are you driving at?” she asked cautiously. “It’s Matthew who’s dead, not Mark.”

Amos decided to take the bull by the horns. Finding the murderer was more important than protecting Gibson.

“But it was Mark you had your row with,” he said, “not Matthew.”

“If I find out that smarmy Gibson has been talking about us behind our back he’s for the high jump,” Denton replied emphatically.

“There was no need for Mr Gibson to say anything. There were several witnesses, I believe, both in the bank and on the pavement outside. Enough people know you, Mrs Denton. You’ve taught a lot of people’s children over the past few years.”

Ruth Denton was unconvinced.

“I don’t remember seeing anyone I knew,” she added doubtfully.

“Nonetheless,” Amos said hastily, anxious to distract her from working out immediately that it must have been Gibson who had spilled the beans, “you and Mark had a row about him sponging off your father, didn’t you? It doesn’t take much working out. It’s routine in this kind of inquiry for the police to request bank statements and your father’s account had sums disappearing from it in the weeks leading up to his death.”

“Well, apparently you know so there’s no point in denying it. I just hope this gets you off my back before I return to school.”