Chapter 4

Sally opened up the thin file which outlined the basic facets of the case. It was close to what they were dealing with now. The dead man was well-off, and there was a substantial life policy. He had been found hanging from a balustrade in his big house. There was a typed suicide note, with the signature also typed. The rope was over-the-counter plastic woven, in a jazzy colour pattern. The body had a large amount of alcohol in the system that matched the bottle on his desk, next to the note.

The wife had named a likely suspect, who had been a problem with her. The accused man had, she said, been harassing her. There was even an order against him. There was a fingerprint on the banister. The rope, with the cut end matching the one at the crime scene, was found in his outhouse. The knot that held the rope to the staircase, was a Buntline, with the accused man being a keen water-skier. He had pull-ropes with a Buntline attached to the triangle that he held on to. He had declared that he was no-where near the house at the time of the death but couldn’t prove it.

“This is uncanny, Ben. It’s almost a carbon copy of our case. It doesn’t say, here, if there were any other avenues that they followed.”

“I don’t think they cared, boss. I just looked up the arresting officer and he retired three months later. Perhaps he just wanted to wind it up in a neat ball and have it behind him as a good mark on his record.”

“Now that, young man, is just cynical. Lee is in the office, let’s ask him if that happens. Lee, can you help us, here, please?”

“OK Sally, what do you want to know?”

“If a detective is getting close to retirement, would he put an innocent man in jail because he was too lazy to properly chase clues?”

“Don’t make me laugh, Sally. I worked at Harborne with old DCI Nicholas. I can give you at least four cases, that I know of, where the nearest person was sent to prison, without any alternative discussed. It probably happens more than you’d think.”

Sally and Ben sat there, opened mouthed.

“You’re not having us on, are you, Lee?”

“Look, this team won’t do it, but there are many who would. Some areas have so much workload, the chance to finalise something quickly is too good to pass up. Has that been a help?”

“Thanks, Lee. That is not something we would have thought was common.”

“Thankfully, it’s not common, but it does happen. We’re only human, after all.”

“But what about juries, wouldn’t they suspect that it’s a stitch-up?”

“Juries only hear what is presented in court. If you present something that looks good, and the defence doesn’t, then – hey presto – the guy gets sentenced.”

He went back to what he had been doing and both Sally and Ben sat there saying nothing, until Sally came back to the moment.

“Ben, wait until you get the other two boxes. If they’re carbon copies of this one, we’ll take it to Sue. We may need to work with other divisions to talk to the prisoners and detectives. This one shouldn’t be a problem, though. See if you can set up a visit with the prisoner. I want to ask him a few questions that he wasn’t asked, ten years ago.”

She got up and went to see Doggy.

“Doggy, old chum. Can you see if that colourful van shows up on any other cameras. I’m told that it might have been heading for Nuneaton, with some stage stuff. That means it would have stayed on the A444 all the way. Just pick the best site and look at that.”

She then sat at her desk and called her old station, at Burton.

“Herbie, it’s Sally Brown calling from Aston. I’m asking if you can have a look at the daybook for me. I would like to know if any patrol logged a very colourful Transit van.”

She gave the date she was interested in, and the registration number of the van. Herbie, the desk sergeant, promised to ring back.

Sally then looked at the suicide note that had come with the file. It was similar, but not the same as the one that Harrison had supposedly typed. To finish up the day, she looked at the electronic record of one of the other cases that Ben had found. With this one, the dead man hadn’t been anything more than a fairly successful business owner. He had blown his head off with a shotgun that belonged to the man in jail. The problem was that the only prints on the gun belonged to the gun owner.

There had been a large insurance policy, but the insurance company held up payment, citing that they thought there were suspicions surrounding the whole case. Three months later, the wife was found, dead in her bed, a whole bottle of sleeping pills inside her. The insurance was then paid out to her only daughter.

She then looked at the other case, the one before their own. In this one, it looked open and shut. The dead man had literally fallen off a cliff. Unfortunately for the man in jail, he had been seen nearby, had a long list of harassment claims made by the wife, and owed the dead man a lot of money. The odd thing, she saw, was that there was a note to the wife, on the computer in his office, declaring his undying love for her. The jailed man swore that the dead man had rung him, asking him to meet at the top of the cliff.

Sally shut down the computer, told Ben to let her know when the other two boxes turned up, as she was interested in reading the notes that were left. She was suspicious about a man writing a love letter before falling to his death. She then told the two guys not to work too late, they needed to keep bright and observant in days to come. Ben had managed to get them into the Doncaster Prison to see Harvey Maxwell, the man in the earliest case. She went home to get some rest of her own, realising that she was getting wound up with this case. Then she thought that it was good that she was getting so involved, it showed that she cared.

She met with Ben and Charlie, Tuesday morning and they headed off to Doncaster.

“What’s this prison like, boss?”

“Think about the worst place on earth and double it. They call it Doncatraz. The place is holding twice the number it was designed for and is run by Serco. Do I have to say any more.”

When they finally sat down in a room, with Hervey on the other side of the table, they all knew that the rumours were true. The man was gaunt and too thin for a man of his age. Actually, it was impossible to gauge the man’s age. Still, they were here for a reason and Sally led with the discussion.

“Hervey, we are investigating a recent murder that is very similar to the one which has you in this place. We may be able to solve it, with your help, and that could, I repeat could, see you out of here. Now, we have a few questions. When you said that a friend called you on the day of the murder, did you truly think it was him?”

“Oh, yes. He has, or should I say, had, a distinctive voice, a bit like Sean Connery, a brogue but classy.”

“Had?”

“He passed away about two years ago. He fell off a mountain in Nepal. He had been an outdoorsman all his life. Water and snow skiing, hiking, climbing. A great loss to humanity, although one doesn’t see much humanity in this place.”

Ben looked at his notes.

“The notes say that you couldn’t prove where you had been?”

“I was told to go to a lake where there was a skiing competition. When I got there, there was no competition, so I went and had a cheap meal, some twenty miles away from there, and went home again. I didn’t keep a receipt and paid cash, so there was no record of me being there. It was a busy place, and no-one remembered me.”

“What about the fingerprint on the staircase?”

“I had been in the house before, about six months, I think. The woman was very insistent that she wanted me in her bed. She then started telling the police that I was harassing her. If the print was still there, it shows what a lousy cleaner she was.”

“And the rope?”

“Terrible stuff, I wouldn’t be seen dead using cheap garbage like that!”

“You’ve had a lot of time to think about it, Hervey. What do you think happened?”

“I reckon that it was planned, well before. She set me up to take the fall, long before. She had an unbreakable alibi for that day, out with friends, who happened to go back to her place to find the body. Whoever she had organised to kill her husband had never come near her until he did the act, it stands out a mile.”

“Thank you, Hervey. We hope we can spring you, soon.”

Back in the car, Sally asked.

“Did we learn anything that we didn’t know, before?”

“That we need to widen the timeline prior to the murder.”

“That the killers play a long game. The one thing we haven’t discovered is why they did it. If it’s for money, they would have to have been paid after the act, maybe an agreed amount of the insurance.”

“Good thinking, Charlie. You had better get looking at the wife in this case and see if you can find any big transactions. It might be hard this far from the crime. One thing that it highlights, to me, is that it’s all done for the money. The second case that we’re waiting on the box has, according to the electronic record, the wife taking an overdose of sleeping pills before the insurance was paid. I wonder how much of a coincidence that was. You two go through the three cases with a fine-tooth comb, using the knowledge we have that the previous detectives didn’t.”

“Where will you be, boss, in case we need to speak to you.”

“If he’ll see me, I’m going to talk to the friend of Ridley, to find out where he could have been recorded.”

Back in the office, she rang the friend, smiling when he answered the phone. If he wasn’t dead, she could have sworn that she was listening to Richard Burton. He was happy to see her, the next day. He would be home and gave her an address, a farmhouse in the middle of the Brecon Golf Club.

She spoke to Doggy, who told her that there were no other pictures of the van, between Castle Gresley and Nuneaton. On her desk was a note to call the desk sergeant in Burton. She picked up her phone and called.

“Herbie, it’s Sally. You have news for me, I hope?”

“Yes, Sally. There wasn’t anything in the book, but I spoke to a few of the lads. That van was seen, parked in Church Street, when the patrol went down there heading for the shopping centre to get lunch. The officers said that they had a laugh about the mad paint job, but it wasn’t doing anything wrong. It had gone when they went through again. Another patrol said that they had seen it, waiting to turn out of Mount Road, onto the triple four, around half past three, while they were on their way back to the station. Again, it was the mad colour scheme that stuck in their minds.”

“Thanks, Herbie. Tell the guys that Sally will give them a kiss on the cheek when I’m next your way.”

“Will do, Sally. They’ll look forward to it, I’m sure.”

She sat back and picked up the file for the Prentice case. Hazel had stated that she had been in the salon for two hours, that day. The salon was on Church Street. It was still a long bow to draw the conclusion that whoever was in the van was waiting to see if she was following orders before going to the house to murder her husband. To Sally, though, it was all starting to gel. She spent the rest of the day finalising other paperwork, then went home.

Wednesday, she drove down to Brecon. She knew that you could ask the questions over the phone, but it was always better to be face-to-face, so that you can gauge reactions. She found the farmhouse, at the end of a private road, with golfers on every side. She did wonder at the glazing costs, but, as she got closer to the house, she saw wire over the windows facing the course. Ringing the bell brought the man, himself, to the door.

“Detective, come on in. This must be important to you to drive this far.”

“It is, Sir Broderick. I’m investigating the murder which your friend Johnson Ridley was set up to take the rap.”

“Poor old Ridley, he’s spoken to me about it. If it wasn’t that someone didn’t know what his yacht looked like, he could be sitting in a cell, as we speak. Now, no more Sir business. I may be one but prefer to be spoken to as Broderick.”

He led her to a comfortable sitting room and offered her a drink. She said that she’d have the soda water, neat, and he poured himself a scotch, with a finger of soda water.

“Broderick, we’re now certain that whoever called Johnson was a skilled mimic. Your voice would be an easy one for him, being distinctive. I’m here to talk about where you’ve been where you could be recorded.”

“Lots of places, detective. I doubt that your murderer would have been in the House when I’ve made a speech, although, who knows? There’s a lot of strange people that that fool, Blair, elevated to the peerage. Then there’s the talks I’ve done on climbing, at various clubs and pubs. I was quite successful with some of my climbs and I’m always getting requests to give a talk. I look out at those audiences and half of them are more interested with recording me on their phones.”

“Another ‘friend’ has been mentioned, lately. I was told that he sounded like Sean Connery and died in a climbing accident, a couple of years back.”

“That would have been old Fergie. Fergus McConnaughey, to be exact. I first met him on a climb, it would have been close to twenty years ago, when I was still fit enough. He was a bit younger than me, but we hit it off. You get to know a man when you’re trapped in an ice cave for several days. He, and I, would do some talks, together, starting about fifteen years ago. When everyone was well-oiled, we’d start doing snippets from an imaginary film, me as Richard and him as Sean. That was a lot of fun. Sad day when he died, such a waste of a fine man. Bit of a danger freak though, lived on the edge, and found that one edge too many.”

“So, it would be highly likely that there are recordings of the two of you?”

“Oh, yes. Although early ones would have been on those recorders that secretaries used to use, and medical specialists still do when they make notes for the typist.”

“When was the last time you were at a talk, together?”

“That’s easy. I remember it well. The talk was for the Chester Club, and it was well booked. We were in a venue which had to be cleared by six, because they had a band there, that evening, and the roadies wanted to set up. That put a damper on any post-talk fun, but most of our audience went along to the Boardroom Climbing Centre for a bit of fun and a meal. That was about a year before he died.”

“Thank you for your help, Broderick. I’m sure that when we find the ones who tried to frame Johnson Ridley, you’ll read about it in the papers. That soda water is magnificent, by the way.”

“I import it, by the case, from Italy. Much better than the mass-produced stuff.”

“Before I go, I had expected a peer to be living in a mansion? No offence intended.”

“None taken, young lady. I did have a mansion but gave it to the National Trust when my father died. Terribly expensive things to keep going. This belonged to the family, and we gave the grounds to the golf club, with them looking after what little garden we have. I do play the odd round, and there is always a slot for me if I have visitors.”

“Thank you. I may need to talk again, but today has given me a lot to think about.”

“Always happy to help the police, with the added thing of helping a friend.”

Sally drove back to Birmingham with a lot on her mind. She arrived in time to spend most of the afternoon in the office. Ben told her that they had an appointment with the prisoner in Leeds Prison, for ten-thirty on Thursday, with another appointment with the prisoner in Manchester, the same afternoon, at two-thirty. The last two boxes had arrived, so they finished the day scanning the files. She considered that this week so far, had been fruitful, even if they didn’t know the names of any suspects. It was, though, starting to crystalise into something with an outer shell, even if the centre wasn’t firming up.

On Thursday morning, the three of them went to Leeds, to what was still called Armley Gaol. When Charlie asked if she knew what it was like, she grinned.

“Think medieval castle, without a moat, and your typical Victorian horror, inside.”

When they were sat, with a table between them and Norman Helmsley, they could see, that like Hervey in Doncaster, life wasn’t being kind to him.

“Norman, we are here to ask you about the case that saw you sent here. I can tell you that, if we are successful in solving a current case, it may, and I repeat may, have some bearing on your own situation.”

“Anything to get me out of here, lady.”

“Now, it was your gun that was used on the victim. Have you any idea how it came to be in his house?”

“I think it was stolen. I had entertained his wife, at my home, some two months or more before he died. We had made love, and then I went to sleep. When I woke up, she had gone. It wasn’t long after that when a copper came around and told me not to harass her. I was only calling to see if we could repeat the coupling. She was very good, that once.”

“Do you think that she could have made an impression of your keys?”

“It’s the only time that they were not in my total control.”

“Had you ever met her husband?”

“Just the once, I think. They were at a party that I had been invited to. I hardly knew anyone there, so was totally surprised when she handed me a folded note with a time and a place to meet her.”

“What about the day he was killed, it seems that you didn’t have an alibi?”

“She had called me and told me that we could have another fling. It was to be in a hotel in Blackpool, an overnight stay. I was given a key, on the way in, without needing to sign, stayed until the morning and when I went to check out, was told that the bill had been taken care of. By the time the police went there to check my story, the staff didn’t remember me and there was no paper record of my stay. With my fingerprints on the gun, they considered that I was obviously lying. She, of course, denied everything.”

“I suppose you heard that she was found, a couple of months later, dead from an overdose of sleeping pills?”

“Yes, a friend told me on a visit. Can’t say I felt sorry for her, but she was the best, and last, woman I had slept with. Likely there won’t be another, now.”

They went to Manchester and had lunch before going to Strangeways, a prison built to look like the gatehouse of a Tudor Estate. Once again, they found themselves sitting opposite a prisoner, this time not looking quite as cowed, but he had only been there less than four years.

“Oliver, we are here to talk about your case, with the hope that it will shine a light on one we are working on, now. It may, and I repeat may, lead to your release, but I can’t promise anything.”

“You have already promised me some hope, officer. Ask away.”

“Your case is different from the other that we are looking at, but it does have one similarity, and that’s that the wife had taken out an order against you, for harassment. Can you tell us why?”

“We had a fling. I knew them both, did a lot of trade with him. It was all business, until I met her at a dance, without him by her side. We danced and hit it off. She came home with me and left around midnight. We repeated that a couple of times until she went crazy and started putting the police onto me.”

“What about the money you owed him?”

“That was a business deal. He was good with me going a week or two over, as it was my customer that was holding me up. Never do business with big car companies, they squeeze the life out of you.”

“Tell me about the day he died. You, so far, have been the only one who had actually been seen near the death.”

“He had called me, the day before. He wanted to meet me somewhere remote, so we could talk. I wondered if it was that he had found out about me and his wife, or else he was in some other trouble. I’m a hiker, so wanting to meet me at the top of one of his climbs, wasn’t too farfetched.”

“Was it a long way up to the top of the cliff?”

“About three miles walk, easy when you’re fit. I doubt that I would make a hundred yards, now.”

“So, what happened?”

“I got to the place that he had told me to be at. There was a 4X4 there, with a pile of coiled ropes beside it. I couldn’t see anyone around, so I sat on the rope to rest. The top of the climb was on a lower ledge, out of sight. I was there a while, and then a guy came up from the ledge and told me to get off his rope. I asked him about my friend, and he told me that he had already got to the top and was rappelling down again. So, I walked back to where I left my car and went home. Obviously, what he had wanted to speak to me about could wait for another day.”

“This other man, can you describe him?”

“Big guy, with a beard. His name should be on the court records. He claimed that I must have messed around with the rope. It was a poorly tied knot that slipped loose and killed my friend. Look, officers, I was set up, but the case sounded so right, I’ve ended up in here. If you can help me, I’ll pray for you, every night.”

“Tell me. Why didn’t you go to the ledge and see if your friend was there?”

“I’m scared of heights, always have been. He had tried to get me to go along to the socials at his climbing club. He told me that there was an indoor place in Chester that they went to, but I never could pluck up enough courage.”

“Thank you, Oliver. You have been very helpful. We will try to unravel the real facts behind your case, as we move further forward with ours.”

On the way back to Birmingham, Sally started the discussion.

“What have we learned today that we didn’t know, before.”

“The wives have been integral in the deaths.”

“The guy at the top of the hill is shaping up as a prime suspect, with what else we know. If he is a climber, he’d know about the knots, and you have to admit it, this is a knotty problem.”

“That’s enough with the droll for now, Charlie. I was told, yesterday, that two of the imaginary friends had spoken to the Chester climbers at their socials. Head for home when we get back to the station. Tomorrow, we need to talk to the daughter who ended up inheriting the lot.”

Marianne Gregory © 2023