Читать книгу West of the River - David Dalby - Страница 3

CHAPTER THREE

“How come you left the CID for this?” Hazel sat in a police patrol car with PC Jonathan Stanger. They were parked outside Gloria Kelsey’s home in Keys Court. The Keys was as smart and upmarket as Hazel remembered.

“Less stress.” Stanger said. “Better hours.”

Hazel nodded, as if she believed that. Stanger didn’t look like the sort to let stress get to him. He was, at twenty eight, six years younger than Hazel. A couple of centimeters taller. He looked fit and capable. Stanger was one of the few black officers on the force. Though to be fair there were not that many Afro-Caribbean people in town. Asians, however, Temple Caneston had a massive Asian community.

Stanger had a valid point about better hours in uniform, CID shifts tended to last absurd hours. So perhaps he had made the better choice.

“What happened with Gloria Kelsey?” Hazel said.

Stanger shrugged. “You might want to talk to the CID about that.”

Hazel would have to do that but she certainly didn’t want to. “You were the first on the scene.” She said, sidestepping the point, “What happened?”

“Well,” Stanger looked out of the car, “I was working the night shift and I happened to be nearby. Just up near the abbey. That’s when I got the call to come here.”

“The call? Just a general call to come here or was it specific?”

“You mean did it mention someone had been killed? No, not it didn’t then. Just that there was a suspicious character in the area. The security guard called it in, I think.”

Hazel nodded, “You remember the time?”

“Five, six minutes after two.” Stanger said. “I did write out a report.”

“Yes, just clearing up some details.” Hazel said. Such as what actually happened and why the report was so empty.

“You mean because she got away with it? I don’t understand that.” Stanger said. “Must have had a good lawyer.”

“Yes.” Hazel said, “I imagine that’s what it was.”

“They can really twist things.”

Hazel nodded, “How long did it take you to get here?”

“A couple of minutes.” Stanger said. “I was just round the corner and up the road.”

“You went blues and twos?” Hazel said, referring to lights and siren.

“At two in the morning, sergeant?” Stanger shook his head. “It was a couple of minutes to get here and you know what people are like if they get their sleep disturbed by lights and sirens.”

“Yes, I do.” said Hazel.

“At two in the morning the street was empty. It’s not like I had to tell anyone I was coming.”

“OK. So you arrive. Then what?”

“The security guard was here.” Stanger said.

“Where here?”

“Outside the house.”

“In the yard you mean?” Each house, there were sixteen of them, eight on each side, sat back from the road. They all had neat metre high walls and dark wrought iron gates. A small patch of garden and a short driveway made of tarmac. Apart from the numbers the houses all looked very similar. Cream coloured with dark roofs and exposed brick detail here and there.

“No, he was in the street.” Stanger said. “I thought all this was in my report.”

None of this was in his report. “You know how it is when someone is acquitted. We have to go over the details.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Do you know the guard?” Hazel said.

“Personally you mean?”

“In any way.” Hazel said. “The Keys is part of your patch, I just wondered how well you knew the guard here.”

“Oh. I don’t know them on a personal basis but I do know they have three guards. They rotate shifts. A week on, two weeks off. I expect they go somewhere else those other two weeks.”

“The security guard was Andrew Simpson.” Hazel said. Do you know him?”

“No, not really. No more than the other two.”

“OK so he was standing in the street, waiting for you?”

“Yes, under the street light.”

“I see.” The street lighting in the Keys was about the best anywhere in the city. There were a dozen of the Brite-White lamps which were a lot brighter than the old sodium lamps. These also had reflectors sitting on top of them to maximise the light and cut down on light pollution. “Had he been inside the house?”

“No.” Stanger said.

“You’re sure?”

“That’s what he told me.”

Hazel wrote this down. “What else did he tell you?”

“He said he’d seen Hannah McShane running from the house.”

“He mentioned her by name?”

“Yes.” Stanger sounded vaguely surprised at Hazel’s question.

“So he knew her?”

Stanger shrugged, “I expect so. I understand she was a regular visitor.”

“Did you know her?”

He shook his head.

“Who told you she was a regular visitor?” Hazel said.

“Well, I don’t know. Someone did.”

“Simpson?” Hazel said.

“He might, I don’t know.”

Hazel nodded as if she were satisfied with the answer. “You went into the house, of course.”

“I did. The door was open.”

“Wide open?”

“No, it was open, but it had been pushed back. It hadn’t latched or anything.”

Stanger said. “She must have pushed it closed when she ran out.”

“Yes.” Hazel said, “That would explain it.”

“She was in a hurry.” Stanger said.

Once more Hazel nodded, “Yes.” She said. Hannah McShane went to a house five hours before, at least, then committed a murder around two in the morning and hurried out. No doubt it made perfect sense. To someone.

“I found her dead.” Stanger said, “Ms Kelsey. She was downstairs in the living room.”

“Fully clothed?” Hazel said.

“Yes. She was slumped on the sofa.”

“Was the TV on?” Hazel said

“At two in the morning? What’s she going to watch at that time?”

Hazel said, “News channel….shopping channel…adult channel….” These days there was plenty of options. Hazel herself had watched a news channel or two during the odd sleepless night that people sometime get. “Or she could have been watching a DVD.”

“The TV wasn’t on.” Stanger said.

“How about the radio?”

Stanger shook his head.

“I see. So Gloria Kelsey was fully clothed, in her living room at two in the morning. Doing what?”

Stanger shrugged, “She had company. Hannah McShane.”

For five hours or more? Even Hazel’s sister didn’t come to stay until that time. No, this makes no sense. Hazel thought. “Good point.” Hazel said. She wasn’t sure where Stanger stood in all this. She didn’t see him covering up a killing, but she did see him, and others, covering up sloppy police work.

She continued, “You found the body and called for backup. Did you search the house?”

He seemed genuinely puzzled. “Why? The girl had already left.”

“Yes of course.” Hazel gave a weak smile. “Silly of me.” The girl, Hannah McShane, whom the security guard appeared to know, had run off. According to the security guard. Whom Stanger didn’t really know.

Maybe Stanger left the CID because he took too much on trust.

“Did Simpson come into the house with you?”

“No, he waited outside.”

Hazel nodded, “Did you stay in the house until backup arrived?”

“No, I went back outside.” Stanger said. “The dead body, you know.”

Hazel nodded, she had some sympathy for that view. Though not much for his lack of professionalism.

“Who was the backup?”

“Charlie White….Detective Sergeant White.” Stanger said. “We don’t have a big CID squad out here. Never needed it. It’s not like we get major crimes happening.”

Not unless you counted the seemingly endless severe beatings and occasional killings that used to happen in Riverside when Benny Jackson and Tony Usher were at each other’s throats.

“You know Charlie White well?”

“Well yes, we’re….” Stanger stopped and shrugged, “I know the Freemasons aren’t as popular as they used to be. But we do go to the same lodge.”

Hazel said, “That’s fine, so long as you’ve declared you’re a Freemason there’s no problem with that.” Hazel considered the Freemasons rather archaic and absurd, but membership was legal so long as it was openly stated.

“He was the only person that was sent?”

“Well at first. The forensic people came later. Charlie just took statements and waited until all the technical people arrived.”

“Did he go into the house?”

“Yes.”

“Did you go with him?”

“He told me to wait outside and make sure no one came in.”

“At what? Half past two in the morning?”

“The press monitor the police waveband, Sergeant Vernon.”

“True.” Hazel said, though at that time of day even the gutter press reporters are tucked up in someone’s bed. “How long did it take until the scene of crime people arrived?”

“They were here by about three…and we had to wait for the doctor too.”

“Doctor West?”

“That’s right. She got here just after three.”

“Did you know Gloria Kelsey?” Hazel said.

Stanger shook his head.

“Did Sergeant White?”

“I shouldn’t think so. No. Why?”

Hazel didn’t bother to answer that question. “Thanks for the help. That’s cleared up a lot.” At least it had given her a lot of questions to answer. She opened the car door and got out. “If you think of anything, can you call me on this number?” She passed him a card.

“Will do, but I think I covered everything in the report.”

Hazel said, “You never know, you might think of something.”

She closed the door. Stanger started his engine and drove away.

 * *

“She’s interviewing the eye witnesses.” Stanger said. “She spent some time talking to me. I told her what I knew. Which isn’t much.” He paused, “She wasn’t impressed.”

Stanger was talking to two women. Well, really, just one. The Japanese woman, who could both understand and speak English flawlessly, remained in the red Range Rover. She sat behind the wheel and smoked continuously, being very careful to, apparently, pay no attention at all to anything anyone said.

Stanger didn’t really like the two women. They worked for the gangster, Victor Monk. Stanger had never met Monk but, in his own small way, was also employed by Victor Monk.

The very English woman had silver hair which was probably dyed. She looked smart and elegant in dark jeans and a navy windbreaker jacket. Round neck sweater. She reminded Stanger of Hazel Vernon. Though probably a much more ruthless version if she worked for Monk. She said her name was Karen Creed. Stanger didn’t believe this for a moment. The Japanese woman was called Etsumi Mitsoko. Which may have been true.

“You two have been following her around.” Stanger said. “You probably know as much as I do.”

“How reliable are those two witnesses?” Creed or whatever her real name might be, asked. They were parked up in Riverside, well away from Hazel and her investigation. Stanger had driven over to meet them.

“The McShane girl was acquitted.” He said. “They can’t have been all that reliable.”

Creed nodded. “A couple of retired people. Late at night, not great eyesight. I’m betting Raeburn and his people fixed the line-up so they’d pick her out.”

“You don’t think she’s guilty?” Stanger was interested, despite the two of them making him uncomfortable. It was a lot of things. The way they moved, stood, sat. They could be creepily silent and still whatever they were doing. They had a near open contempt for him that went beyond race, gender or occupation. Also, he knew they worked for Monk and, while there was no sign, Stanger knew they would have guns readily to hand.

“I think George Raeburn and his people are a bunch of incompetent half-wits. The idea they could find the person who did this is laughable.” Creed didn’t laugh. Neither did Mitsoko. “Let’s say there’s considerable doubt about her guilt. I have read the court transcripts. I wouldn’t have voted guilty on the evidence produced.”

Creed looked at Stanger sharply, “Oh you can smile away, Mr Stanger. But we require proof to do anything. Gloria Kelsey was important to a lot of people. Not just Mr Monk. We want to see her killer punished. But it must be the right person. In that respect, right now, at this moment, we have the same aim as Detective Sergeant Vernon.”

“That’s all very nice.” Stanger said. “But it’s got to be Hannah McShane. Who else is even likely to be?”

“Why would this McShane girl murder Gloria?”

“Why would anyone?” Stanger said. “People only really kill for money or sex.”

“Her daughter inherits.” Creed said. “There’s a second suspect.”

“I’ve met her daughter. I can’t see her killing anyone.”

Creed shrugged, “My point was there are two suspects now. For all you or I know there could be several more. Keep an eye out and report back if you have anything you think might be helpful. You’ve got the phone number?”

Stanger patted his pocket. “Yes.”

Creed climbed aboard the Range Rover.