Treble Clef, page 5
part #8 of DCI Cyril Bennett Series
“Undertaker like his brother?” Owen asked whilst glancing sideways, trying to predict Cyril’s answer.
“You’d never guess. A Shooting Ground Administrator and Receptionist.”
Owen frowned. “Come again?”
“I kid you not.”
“What’s that when it’s at home?”
“A posh name for someone who looks after a clay pigeon shoot, I’m led to believe.”
“One brother kills and the other brother buries, now that’s what I call teamwork.”
Cyril quickly turned to look at Owen. “Many a true word, my friend.”
Owen drove up Mightens Bank just as they approached Leyburn before turning right. Cyril checked his watch and shook his wrist before looking again. He had always wanted a Rolex and this he had bought as a special fortieth birthday present to himself, a reward. He had always wanted the Explorer 2 model. The words, Superlative Chronometer written on the face and its rugged design had attracted him. Why he shook it was a mystery to his colleagues but it was something he always did, a bit like a nervous tic.
“It’s just along here on the right.” Cyril pointed in the general direction.
Owen turned off the road into a courtyard for the small collection of apartments and houses. He parked up.
“Number 13A. After this visit it’s the undertakers in Richmond to see a Mr Duffers. They’re expecting us this morning.”
“Duffers’ Funerals,” Owen said between giggles. “I’d have a lot of confidence in them!”
“Nature’s Call Funeral Directors. Behave, Owen.”
“If he lived here and worked in Richmond and he didn’t drive, how the hell did he get there? It has to be twelve miles and I bet the buses aren’t that frequent.”
“That’s something I suspect we’ll find out later. All in good time.”
Cyril removed a plastic bag from his pocket and looked at the set of keys the CSI had retrieved from the dead man’s room at the B&B. They had been cleared by Forensics as a matter of urgency. Fortunately, he did not need to look for the correct flat as an officer was standing outside the door to the apartment block. It had been at Cyril’s request. Once news spread of a death it was open season for petty crooks to seize the opportunity.
***
Wendy Momen walked along Cornwall Road approaching the Sun Pavilion as she did most days. Normally she would have been earlier but today was her day off and it gave her more time to walk her dog, Trixi. The lazy start also suited her. Although she was following her usual route and had a tendency to meet the same people along the way, today would be different. After walking through the park it was her habit to stroll into town, get a coffee and maybe a cake before home. Her husband, Bill, would be out all day at the fine art gallery he owned and ran.
The signs positioned on the lamp posts clearly requested dogs be kept on the lead. She complied although that was not always the case with other owners she had noticed, but then nothing seemed to be done. She was soon standing by the old Magnesia Well pump room, a small structure that seemed to bring to mind the fairy stories she had read as a child. In some ways it was one of her special places. She could imagine it made of gingerbread with its sweeping, ornate eaves and small paned, arched windows that appeared to hold hands with the door that sat equally spaced between. They were to her, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. There was something about their religious architectural design quality and their symmetry. Even though she was here most days, she always stopped to admire it, to check like a proud guardian. The dog strained at the leash, eager to continue the walk. She allowed the lead to extend and the dog disappeared into the shrubbery whilst she admired the roof. For the first time she noticed that the tiles followed a similar pattern to the front of the building. Trixi growled and barked once before returning. It was only then she saw it.
***
Both men had slipped on plastic overshoes and gloves before entering. The stairs to the first floor apartment were carpeted. Cyril slipped the key into the lock, opened the door and waited for the alarm to remind him it needed a code but there was nothing.
The entrance hall was small with just a table, a lamp and a mirror. They walked to the first door. Elegantly framed posters advertising games were hung on the walls. The room was clean, ordered and extremely tidy.
“He lives here on his own?” Owen asked as he looked along one of the glass coffee tables for dust. “A bit like my gaff!”
Cyril immediately laughed. “Chalk and cheese, Owen.”
“Being this tidy is the sign of a sick mind if you ask me. You have to have a bit of dirt in your life to keep the immune system functioning fully.” Owen’s tone suggested there was some admiration for Carruthers.
Cyril said nothing but continued to look around the room. The far wall was furnished with a number of shelves, each containing boxes of games. He tilted his head sideways and read the titles, City of Iron, Dead of Winter, Rockwell. He stopped at one, Chromosome, allowing his covered finger to rest on the shelf below. “This is the game you talked about, Owen, the last man standing. Remember?”
Owen approached and tilted his head in order to read the title. “Yes, that’s the one.”
“Photograph the shelves so that we can see immediately if there are any games here that he played whilst at the convention.”
Cyril’s phone rang again. He fumbled in his pocket but the protective gloves made it difficult to retrieve it. Once the phone was out he tried to answer but with the surgical glove it proved impossible. Owen had slipped off his glove and took the phone. He pressed for speaker.
“Thanks, Owen.”
“Bennett,” Owen said mimicking the way his boss answered the phone.
“It’s April, Owen. Is Flash there?”
“It’s on speaker.”
“Sorry! Right. We have another body.” She deliberately paused as she heard the two men speak together.
“What?”
“Where?”
“There are too many similarities to Carruthers’s case for it to be a coincidence. Thought you should know immediately. The doctor and Forensics are on their way as he wasn’t discovered until 11.00.”
“Who found the body?” Cyril asked leaning closer to the phone.
“Cleaner, as in the last case. Found at The Victorian Guest House, just off East Parade, not too far from The Grey House. They believe he was also at the convention but they sounded confused.”
“Get over there and report as soon as.”
“I’m there now… Harry’s with me. We’ll close it down and follow the set procedures… Just a minute… The Doctor and CSI are here now so should know more soon.”
“Patch us in to any images and details as you get them.” Owen hung up. “Serial killer or coincidence?”
“She thinks the former from her tone but it could simply be a heart attack. Let’s not cross too many bridges until we have the facts. We need to get this checked and then on to the undertakers. What worries me is our lack of manpower. This government thinks we go about helping folk across the bloody road when we don’t have enough officers to cope with serious crime!”
“Don’t forget investigating those who upset others, the so-called hate crimes.”
Cyril’s facial expression said it all. “Do not get me bloody started, Owen, not now!”
***
Wendy tried to focus on the protruding area of the roof. Hanging from one of the triangular openings within the eaves was what looked to be an inflated rubber glove. Moving closer, Wendy could see that the fist was closed. She stretched up but it was out of reach. “Well, that’s a first, Trixi.” Her curiosity getting the better of her, she looked around and found a short stick. The dog barked optimistically hoping it would be thrown. She tugged the lead before raising the stick towards the glove. Now she could touch it, which she did, delicately at first. “It’s not a glove, well at least not a latex one.” She pushed a little harder. The dog still wanted her to throw the stick and danced at her feet offering the occasional encouraging bark. That immediately turned into a yelp as the hand dropped, striking the dog just behind the right ear. It made Wendy jump too and she dropped the stick. Trixi moved towards it and sniffed but was quickly pulled away.
“Leave it!” The dog moved back to her feet.
Wendy looked around conscious that this might be some huge prank, one that was being filmed to be added to social media. She hoped that nobody would open the door pointing a camera into her startled face. From what she could see there was only one man in the area but he was too far away to be involved. The sound of the distant traffic continued as normal. Retrieving the stick she bravely prodded the object, rotating it on the flagstone. The formed fist remained tight. It certainly looked real. She shuddered. Now she had a dilemma. Should she phone the police and report I’ve found a hand in the park and when they come it turns out to be made of rubber? She could just hear the sarcasm in some young bobby’s retort. It’s latex, madam, thanks for wasting our valuable time. Maybe it would be better to phone Bill. He could be there in ten minutes or maybe she should just walk away as if she had discovered nothing.
She decided that was the most sensible if not the most responsible action to take but then as she was leaving she saw a mother with a young child. The last thing she wanted was for a child to find it. The decision was made. She rang Bill.
***
Most things in the flat seemed in order. They found a laptop and an electronic tablet. “Hopefully the tech people will be able to get a good deal from these. Have we checked his social media pages?”
“In the process, sir.”
“Right, the undertakers and then a swift ride back.” Cyril knew that with blue lights and a siren on the unmarked car he would be the colour of grass when he finally returned to Harrogate. He took another Qwell.
***
Bill arrived more quickly than Wendy anticipated. Trixi barked on seeing him appear. He hugged his wife. “Where is it?”
“I pushed it under that shrub with the stick just in case a child or a dog appeared.”
Bill looked at her in tune with what she was thinking. “And ran off with it?”
She nodded.
“That’s good thinking.” He lifted the foliage cautiously before bending down like a man about to confront an unidentifiable poisonous snake.
Wendy stood some distance away and watched as her husband’s facial expression changed from one of intrigue and uncertainty to one of sheer horror.
“It’s real.” In one motion he put his hand to his mouth and turned away to look at Wendy. He took out his phone.
Chapter Eight
Cyril and Owen had just crossed the bridge coming into Richmond and as usual the castle attracted Cyril’s attention.
“Simply stunning, Owen. Never get tired of this town…” He did not finish his sentence as his phone rang. He let it ring a couple of times as he exhaled a long sigh. “Is nothing sacred?”
“Bennett.”
“It’s Shakti, sir. Thought you needed to know immediately. Carruthers’s hand has been located. Found by a member of the public, a Wendy Momen.”
Cyril immediately thought of his stepmother, the Wendy he had allowed back into his life after the death of his father and for a brief moment he was distracted. “Sorry, where?”
Shakti went through the details.
“If you hear anything from the lab let me know immediately. Forensics are at the scene now I take it?” He listened attentively glancing occasionally at Owen.
“One more thing, twenty-six thousand pounds was withdrawn from his account the day before his body was discovered. The transaction had been arranged two days previously.”
“Do we know why?”
“We believe it has something to do with the flat. It’s a cash withdrawal.”
Cyril pulled a face, thanked Shakti before returning the phone to his pocket.
“The hand is no longer missing, Owen. Found stuffed in a hole in the eaves of Magnesia Well in the Valley Gardens.” He saw a puzzled look appear on Owen’s face. “You know, the small building?”
“No, sir… Eaves?”
“The wooden frontage of the roof, the bit that overhangs. Obviously whoever put it there wanted to keep it off the ground away from rats and other vermin that would make short work of it. It never rains but it pours, Owen. Just think of the costs of this little lot!”
Owen had noticed over the last six months or so just how much Cyril worried over the financing of the investigations and wondered whether his regular visits to the North Yorkshire Police Headquarters and to the Chief Constable up in Northallerton were adding unacceptable pressure to his already difficult job. He made a mental note to have a word with Julie. It was not that long ago Cyril considered packing it all in after the death of Liz Graydon. He looked across at his boss realising just how lucky he was to work with someone with the dedication and professionalism that Cyril held so dear.
“Speaking of costs, Carruthers withdrew a large amount in cash prior to his death but it’s believed to have something to do with the flat.”
“Sounds reasonable. And sir, remember we can only do what we can with the resources we have available. We don’t perform miracles, not on my salary at any rate.”
Cyril said nothing but it did bring the hint of a smile.
***
The Nature’s Call undertaker’s building was situated within a small and elegant cobbled courtyard. Two large, arched doors were obviously the garages for their vehicles. It was difficult to determine the original use of the structure but they might well have been the coaching house and stables of a larger property.
They were greeted by an elderly receptionist, who, on looking at Cyril’s ID, understood the real nature of his visit. She nodded, her face sombre. “You’re expected, Detective Chief Inspector, please take a seat. Mr Duffers will be with you shortly.”
The quiet background music that seemed to drift like the scent from the diffuser on the edge of the desk was somehow more soothing than he had anticipated. Normally it would have irritated but today Cyril felt himself relax for the first time since finishing his walk to work, and that seemed like hours ago.
“It’s hard to believe, Mr Bennett, that last week he was sitting right where you are now, poor man, and next week he may well be next door in our chapel of rest. One can never take anything in this life for granted. One just never knows.” Duffers clasped his hands together inadvertently creating a steeple with his fingers.
Cyril shuffled in the dead man’s seat now feeling decidedly uncomfortable. “How long has he worked for you?”
“Five years. He came after serving an apprenticeship at the Co-op, but I can check if you want a precise answer. Very good mortician and sensitive embalmer but his true skill was in presentation. He could really transform…”
Cyril interrupted. Those details he neither wanted to hear nor needed. “What do you know about him… his social life, Mr Duffers?”
“One thing we all found strange was that he didn’t have a television, played games a lot and studied them; stickler for playing by the rules; the mechanics of the game he called them. They wouldn’t write the damn things if you then make up your own! He often said that if he’d had a frustrating evening.”
“Often you say. Was he angry when he said this or merely frustrated?”
“He often laughed as he said it, Detective Chief Inspector. He also liked to spend time at those escape rooms.”
Cyril raised his hand. “Escape rooms?”
“Yes, they are relatively new but you’re put in a room, it’s really like a stage set and you have to use clues to solve problems to find your way out. They’re themed from what I understand. The doors are sometimes concealed or there’s a combination locked gate. In some games you have to find an antidote as you have been infected. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but businesses use them for team building. He mentioned that once he was in a dungeon where there was only one barred exit visible; through solving a series of the clues, he got the numbers required to open the combination lock. You’re given a set time to escape, usually an hour. He wanted us all to go. Can you imagine an undertaker’s staff trying to escape from some kind of Egyptian tomb? Wouldn’t be good for the business or our credibility if the press got to hear about it.”
Owen chipped in. “I’ve heard of them. They’re springing up in large towns. Newcastle has one. Ideal locations are old mills and buildings. The rooms are very well designed.” He was looking at the Internet search on his phone. “Lost, Cross-contamination, The Vacuum… these are all scenarios with a description. You have sixty minutes.” He passed the phone to Cyril so that he could look through the images.
“Do you know which he attended and if he went alone?”
“I think there’s a minimum and maximum number for each booking.”
“Did he ever mention friends by name, a girlfriend perhaps?”
“Boyfriends, yes but I doubt ever a girlfriend, not in that sense. He had female friends who played the games, I’m certain of that. Usually only referred to them by their Christian name. I recall a Fred, Martin, Karl, Spot, a nickname I assume. I can ask around. They’ll be in his phone and believe me he always had that with him. Probably played games on it too.” Duffers raise an eyebrow. “His phone is where to look, Chief Inspector.”
“Owen!”
Owen understood and immediately left the room to call Control. They could check more quickly those businesses in the north east and run Carruthers’s name. He also wanted them to run any names when his phone records came through.
“Did you know why Kevin might have recently withdrawn a large sum of money?”
Duffers answered immediately. “To do with payment for something to do with the new flat, I believe, extras. He told me he had enough to pay for extras so as not to load his mortgage. However, I couldn’t be fully certain. Depends on what you call large Detective Chief Inspector.”
