David Webb 2 - A Necessary End Page 4

  ‘No one thinks you are, Mr Beddows.’ As yet. ‘But whoever finds a body is crucial to the investigation. Odd things you noticed or suddenly remember could be vital. Which is why I’ve asked one of my officers to take you to Shillingham to make a full statement.’

  ‘Now?’ Beddows’s voice rose. ‘It’s gone eleven.’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. We won’t keep you any longer than necessary. If your wife will be worrying, you can phone her when you get there.’

  He got out before Beddows could protest further. ‘Ken, get the Support car to run our friend to Carrington Street.’ He opened the passenger door and handed Beddows over to Jackson, watching as the man reluctantly climbed inside the last car in line. And as the driver reversed and started back towards the road, another car turned into it. The pathologist had arrived. The murder team was complete.

  *

  Twelve hours later, Webb reached his office and slumped into his chair. ‘Coffee, for the love of Allah!’

  Inspector Crombie grinned. ‘Been at the PM?’

  ‘Yep. Not one of my favourite pastimes.’

  ‘And what did they find?’

  ‘The only new fact was bruising on the left side of the face, hidden when she was lying down. Must have been caused before death, not as the body hit the ground. As regards time, body-cooling’s slowed down by asphyxiation but since the process had finished anyway and rigor mortis was wearing off, we’ll have to rely on stomach contents. They show she’d had a light meal four hours or so before death. Lunch, most likely, say between twelve and two.’

  ‘So she died roughly between four and six on Wednesday?’

  Webb nodded his thanks as a typist, after a brief knock, came in with a cup of coffee. ‘As near as we can tell. She was wearing an expensive watch, bracelet and wedding ring and her handbag was underneath the body. About fifty pounds in the purse, so robbery wasn’t the motive. Her bag contained the usual things.’ He consulted a piece of paper. ‘Car keys — could be a lead there — compact, a bunch of house keys, lipstick, comb, etcetera. But no cheque-book and no credit cards. She mightn’t have needed them if she’d enough cash; on the other hand, they could have been removed to delay identification.’

  ‘Sexual assault?’

  ‘No. Surprising, in the circumstances.’

  ‘And she was dumped after death?’

  ‘She’d have to be, wouldn’t she? A well-dressed, well-heeled woman like that wouldn’t be rambling in the woods. I’ve asked for the missing persons files. We’ll see if any of them fit.’

  ‘So what’s the description?’

  ‘Late thirties/early forties, height five foot two, weight eight stone. Brown curly hair, brown eyes. Appendix scar. No dentures, but some extensive bridgework. A chart’s being circulated. Her clothes have gone to the lab but they’re all quality stuff. Squirrel-fur jacket, cashmere jumper, silk underwear, lizardskin shoes and bag. Not, you’d think, a nobody who could disappear without someone getting steamed up about it.’

  But half an hour later, after a painstaking search through the files, it seemed the dead woman had not been missed. No one listed bore any resemblance to her.

  ‘The Broadshire News have been on,’ Crombie said. ‘We could ask their help.’

  ‘Yes, phone Romilly. Get him to put a full description on the front page — both the Evening News and tomorrow’s Weekly. That may bring someone forward. What did you think of Beddows?’

  ‘I doubt if he knows more than he says.’

  ‘Sorry I didn’t manage to look in. By the time I’d finished it was around one. He waited till the statement was typed?’

  ‘With bad grace, yes.’ Crombie grinned. ‘Well, he said he wasn’t in a hurry to get home!’

  ‘Four hours previously! I reckon a minor squabble would be forgotten when he did arrive. More important things to talk about. So, what have we got? Probably dumped after death but no drag marks, so her killer must have carried her. No problem there, she was small and light. He probably parked where we did. Then he tossed her handbag down and dropped her on top of it, partially concealed by the gorse bush. It was his bad luck Beddows and the dog came along. At this time of year, she could have lain for weeks without being discovered.’

  ‘No identifying tyre marks, I suppose?’

  ‘After half a dozen police cars? Even without them it was a non-starter, with all that rain. We’ve got house-to-house under way in Chedbury, but damn it, the village is on the main road. No one’s likely to notice one car unless they saw it turn off towards the woods. That’s what we’re hoping for, but I’m not holding my breath.’

  The Inspector pushed back his chair and went to the map on the wall. ‘I wonder where she came from. The killer wouldn’t drive further than he need. A dead body’s not the most comfortable of cargoes.’

  ‘That applies to where she was killed, not where she lived. She could have come from anywhere. God, Alan, what a start to the new year! January not a week old, and we’ve a murder on our hands.’

  ‘Will you be working from Chedbury?’

  ‘Not worth it. Apart from being found there, I doubt if she’d any connection with it, and we can be there in ten minutes if required. I’m going back now, actually. Want to have a look round in daylight. Scenes of Crime are still there: they did the essentials last night, then packed in until it got light. Let’s hope they’ve got some lead on who she was.’

  Minutes later, Webb and Jackson were retracing their journey of the previous night. The rain had finished, the sun was shining, and everything looked fresh. With a less jaundiced eye, Webb conceded that Chedbury was still a pretty village. Unlike many others, it had achieved a happy amalgam of old and new, the modern cottages in honey-coloured stone fitting companionably between their thatched neighbours. The central square boasted a clock tower and round this, stalls precariously balanced on the cobblestones, the Friday market was now in progress.

  Jackson slowed to a crawl to avoid the crowds spilling off the pavements, and as they negotiated a succession of barrows, pushchairs and bicycles, Webb had ample time to observe Meadow End on their left. By now, Frank Beddows would be at work in the Shillingham supermarket. Webb could imagine him the centre of attention as he related his gruesome findings of the night before.

  A uniformed policeman, recognizing the car, touched his helmet as Jackson turned down the rough road, its surface churned by the unaccustomed traffic. A small knot of people stood at the junction, staring across the fields to the hive of activity on the fringe of the wood. Webb could see screens flapping and several parked cars.

  ‘Nothing fresh, Guv,’ the senior Scenes of Crime man greeted him. ‘We’ve been over it with a fine-tooth comb. No hope of a cast of footprints. They wouldn’t show on grass, quite apart from Beddows’s prints and our own. There were traces of blood where the victim’s head lay — probably from the bitten tongue. We’ve covered a wide area round about, but for my money he parked where we did, dumped her, and drove off again. It’ll be the hell of a job to track him down. Her wearing gloves was sheer bad luck.’

  ‘No helpful diary fell out of her handbag?’

  Hodges grinned. ‘Afraid not. Any luck on the car keys?’

  ‘They’re being gone over now.’

  With Jackson following them, the two men walked over the crushed grass to the tent. Webb lifted the flap and went in, nodding to the man who, on hands and knees, was collecting samples from the indented area where the victim had lain. Out of the wind and with the sun shining on the polythene, the tent was claustrophobically warm. Webb felt the sweat start in his armpits.

  He turned and emerged. Hodges and Jackson, hands in pockets, were staring with narrowed eyes along the road. He followed the direction of their gaze. ‘Can you get back to the main road along there, or would he have to double back?’

  ‘That’s what we’re wondering, Guv. Shall we see where it goes?’

  ‘Might as well. Not much we can do here. Thanks, Dick. Look forward to the report in
due course.’

  Webb and Jackson returned to their car, but before getting in Webb walked ahead a short distance, staring intently at the surface of the road.

  ‘Damn!’ he said under his breath, then raised his voice. ‘Dick, get your lads to look along the road a bit. None of our cars went beyond here. You might find a tyre imprint, though by the look of it some ruddy great tractor’s been along and made a thorough job of destroying any evidence.’

  Hodges came up and peered at the road. ‘Will do, but I think you’re right.’

  ‘Could they have a go now? I’d like to drive along, but I don’t want to obliterate anything.’

  He leant against the car, watching as they painstakingly searched the road, camera at the ready. A hundred yards along, the surface changed to a cinder track and Hodges came back, shaking his head.

  ‘We’ve snapped what there is, but I’m not hopeful. All we can see is the tractor tread, and even that disappears on the cinders.’

  ‘Right. We’ll go along then, and see where we come out.’ They did not have to go far. After a few hundred yards, the cinder track curved round and ended at a farm gateway. Beyond it, in the yard, stood the tractor.

  ‘Drive in, Ken,’ Webb instructed. ‘Might as well have a word while we’re here.’

  At the sound of their car, the farmer appeared round the side of a barn.

  ‘Good morning, sir. Webb, Shillingham CID.’

  ‘Ah. Saw your men along the track. Trouble, is there?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. A woman’s body has been found. Did you happen to see or hear anything suspicious on Wednesday evening?’

  The man thought for a moment, scratching his ear. ‘Can’t say I did. Didn’t go down that way at all Wednesday. We was working the fields back of the house.’

  ‘But the tractor’s been along recently?’

  ‘Yesterday morn, that were. Didn’t see nothing, but wasn’t looking, mind.’

  ‘You didn’t by any chance hear a car drive up, perhaps hoping to find his way back to the main road?’

  ‘What time would that be, then?’

  ‘Probably between five and seven.’

  ‘Nah. After the milking we shut up for the night and stopped indoors.’

  ‘Well, if you remember anything, we’d be glad to hear from you.’

  The farmer nodded and stood watching, his dog at his heels, as Jackson reversed and they drove back through the gate.

  ‘So the question now,’ Jackson said, ‘is did he turn left at the main road, or drive back through Chedbury?’

  ‘Back, Ken? We don’t know he came that way.’

  ‘If he came from the other direction, the nearest village is Chipping Claydon, fifteen miles away. There are plenty of woods and bushes along the road: why drive this far with her?’

  ‘You’ve got a point there. Of course, he could have killed her in the car, only seconds before he dumped her.’

  They were approaching the police cars again, and Inspector Hodges stood at the roadside with one of his officers.

  ‘Slow down a minute, Ken.’ Webb wound down his window and the Inspector came over. ‘No joy along there, Dick. It’s a dead end round that bend, a farmyard. They didn’t see or hear a thing. We’re on our own, I’m afraid.’

  The car moved on. ‘Was it manual strangulation, Guv?’ Jackson asked suddenly.

  ‘Yes, the PM confirmed that. Why?’

  The Sergeant grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘At least when we find the murder weapon, we’ll also have the bloke that did it!’

  They were coming into the village again. ‘Reckon friend Beddows comes back for lunch?’ Webb inquired.

  ‘Might do. He’s near enough.’

  ‘Let’s drop in then, since we’re almost passing his door. Number three, Meadow End — first on your right.’

  It was a short road of semi-detached houses, and No. 3 was on the left. There was no car in the driveway, but Webb nodded to Jackson and the two men got out and walked up the path.

  Their ring was answered by a small dark woman with a pointed nose and thin mouth. Jackson could understand Beddows keeping out of her way.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Beddows. I’m Webb and this is Sergeant Jackson.’

  The mouth tightened still more. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is your husband home, by any chance?’

  ‘No, he isn’t. He’s at work. Had to get up as usual, though he didn’t get much sleep, and no more did I.’ She stared at him accusingly.

  ‘We thought,’ Webb said placatingly, ‘that he might come home for lunch.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t be doing with that. It’s bad enough having to cook for the kids. I told him straight, once they go to secondary it’ll be school dinners regardless of the cost. I’ve earned a bit of time to myself.’

  ‘I’m sure you have, yes.’

  She folded her arms, determined not to ask them inside. The wind was still strong, blowing the flaps of their mackintoshes as they stood there. There’d be small comfort in this house, Jackson thought, feeling a rush of warmth for his own placid Millie.

  ‘If that’s all, then — ?’

  ‘Yes, there’s nothing important. I wanted to thank your husband for his help, and apologize for not seeing him before he left the station.’

  ‘He got over it.’

  There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a scream and some high-pitched yelling.

  ‘There! That’s what happens when I turn my back.’ Wasting no more time on the policemen, Mrs Beddows slammed the door. Behind its thin wood, they could hear her raised voice as she shouted at the children.

  ‘Wedded bliss!’ said Jackson.

  Webb grunted, turning back down the path, and the Sergeant regretted his remark. The Governor’s marriage had ended in divorce. It didn’t do to be flippant. To change the subject, and at the same time introduce one close to his heart, he said casually, ‘Nice little pub they’ve got here. Happened to notice, as we came through.’

  Webb grinned. ‘Pint of bitter and a plateful of cottage pie? Why not? And who knows, by the time we get back, we might have a positive ID.’

  CHAPTER 4

  ‘Chief Inspector Webb? Sergeant Fenton, sir, on the desk. Gentleman here worried about his wife. She didn’t show up when expected.’

  Webb straightened, suddenly alert. ‘Thank you, Sergeant. Tell him I’ll be right down.’ He replaced the receiver and looked at Crombie. ‘Bloke looking for his wife. Perhaps things are moving at last.’

  ‘Want me to make myself scarce?’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind, Alan. I’ll need Ken here, and we don’t want to crowd him.’

  He ran down the stairs and the man at the duty desk turned to face him. Webb assessed him rapidly: late forties, thick red-brown hair, deep-set grey eyes and a bump on the bridge of his nose.

  He went forward and introduced himself. The man took his outstretched hand.

  ‘Oliver Pendrick. I’ve come for some advice, actually.’

  ‘I see, sir. If you’ll come up to my office — ?’

  Webb led the way, slightly puzzled. Advice? The man certainly wasn’t frantic, yet their victim had been dead three days. Perhaps after all this was a different matter.

  ‘Sergeant Jackson, Mr Pendrick. Now, perhaps you’ll sit down and tell us what we can do for you.’

  Pendrick took the proffered chair and crossed his legs, completely at ease. There was an air of authority about him which suggested he was more used to conducting interviews than being subjected to them. Perhaps in his view he was conducting this one.

  ‘It’s a little embarrassing, really, which is why I preferred to explain in person rather than on the phone. The point is my wife’s been in London all week and was due home last night. She didn’t arrive, and there’s been no word from her. I was particularly annoyed as we were dining with friends.’

  Annoyed, not worried. ‘You had to cancel it?’

  Oliver Pendrick shifted in his chair. �
�Well, no. I went alone.’ Webb made no comment, but he apparently felt the need for an explanation. ‘For one thing, it was very short notice, and for another — well, unfortunately my wife and I didn’t part on the best of terms, and I felt she was trying to embarrass me.’

  ‘What did you tell your hosts?’

  ‘That she’d been delayed but would try to get along later. Actually, that’s what I thought would happen. When she didn’t come, I was sure I’d find her at home.’

  ‘But there was no sign of her?’

  ‘No. So this morning I phoned her London flat, but she wasn’t there either. I was a little concerned, and wondered if I should contact the police in London. That’s what I wanted to ask you.’

  ‘You’re afraid something might have happened to her?’

  ‘Not really; Nancy’s more than capable of looking after herself. But it’s unlike her not to be in touch if she’s changed her plans. She runs a catering company, but as they’re not open on Saturdays and I don’t know the staff’s private numbers, that’s no help. I’m probably wasting your time; she might well have arrived by now.’

  ‘Could you give me a description of your wife, sir?’

  Pencil poised, Sergeant Jackson held his breath.

  ‘She’s small, slim build, curly brown hair. That’s about all.’

  ‘And what makes you so sure she’s in London?’

  Pendrick looked at him in surprise. ‘Because she was hell-bent on getting back there; that was the cause of the unpleasantness. We had guests in the house, and I thought it discourteous as well as unnecessary to insist on leaving.’

  ‘So when was the last time you saw her?’

  ‘First thing on Tuesday morning. I own The Gables Hotel in Frecklemarsh. I went over there just before eight, and Nancy was on the point of leaving then.’

  The telephone interrupted him. Murmuring an apology, Webb reached for it.

  ‘Alan here, Guv. Thought you’d like to know we’ve traced the Scirocco that was towed in yesterday. Belongs to a Mrs Nancy Pendrick, Six Belsize Gardens, NW3. And guess what? The keys from the handbag fit it a treat.’