A Silent Truth, page 8
Jan watched while the older man chewed his lip, digesting Turpin’s words.
Eventually, some of his bluster dissipated and he let out a sigh.
‘Look, we’re just a bunch of concerned locals, that’s all. I mean, several of us have been burgled in the past, and we wanted to do something about it.’
‘Have you been burgled recently?’ Turpin looked around the study, and Jan noticed his gaze lingering on the window bolts and alarm sensors set into the corners of the ceiling. ‘I don’t recall seeing your name in our files.’
‘No, not me personally. Some others in the group.’ Bereton clasped his hands. ‘You can appreciate what it’s like, living out here in the sticks. Our nearest neighbours are half a mile away, and you saw how sheltered we are from the road. I dread to think what might happen if this place was burgled while Grace was here on her own.’
‘What does the group call itself?’
‘The White Horse Home Protection Group. You’ll find us on social media. I keep saying we ought to get a website but no one listens, and I can’t do everything for them.’
Jan glanced up at her notes in time to see Bereton giving a frustrated roll of his eyes.
‘What does the group do?’ she asked.
‘We meet once a month at the village hall in Challow, and discuss any notices that you’ve put out, anything suspicious that’s been noted in the area, and check in on each other,’ he said, warming to his subject. ‘If someone needs a hand installing new fencing, we’ll arrange to meet at that property and lend a hand. That sort of thing.’
‘Very neighbourly of you,’ Turpin murmured. ‘You’re aware, then, of the twelve burglaries in this immediate vicinity within the last three months?’
Bereton’s jaw dropped. ‘Twelve?’
‘Within a four mile radius of this house, yes.’
‘Well, I…’
‘How many people are in your group of “concerned locals”?’ said Turpin.
‘Six, at present. Myself, an ex-barrister, a chap who used to work for one of the big banks in the City…’
‘I take it all of the members are quite… affluent, then?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Bereton’s gaze moved from Turpin to Jan. ‘Well, there’s no point involving the likes of, shall we say, the less well-off types who live around here, is there? I mean, what on earth could they have that’s worth stealing?’
Turpin’s eyes narrowed, and Jan took a deep breath.
‘It’s those less well-off types who are getting burgled while you go around mending fences,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Your immediate neighbours, in other words. And now a woman who might be linked to those burglaries has been found murdered.’
Jan stopped writing as Bereton paled.
He raised his hands to his mouth as if in prayer, then exhaled.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘The security cameras you have here – do you have any facing the road?’
‘Yes, there’s one on the gatepost. I’ve recommended all our members install them, just in case.’
‘I’m going to need the names and addresses of those members.’
‘Of course, no problem. I’ll email them to you––’
‘I need them now.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
More than twenty uniformed officers and administrative staff were gathered in the incident room when Mark and Jan walked through the door the next morning.
Placing his backpack on his desk, Mark pulled out a fistful of colourful USB sticks and handed them to Tracy as he passed, winking when she gave him a tired smile.
Kennedy broke off from his briefing and wrenched his reading glasses off his nose while they took seats towards the back of the group, and Mark raised a hand in apology.
‘I take it you’ve had a productive afternoon yesterday, you two?’ said the DI. ‘Care to fill us in?’
‘Those files I just gave to Tracy are recordings from six private homes, all of which are situated close to the latest burglaries. We picked up the last of them this morning,’ said Mark, loosening his tie. ‘We spoke to the unofficial leader of a local group of residents who installed cameras at the end of their driveways in case our victim appears in any of them.’
Kennedy grunted in response. ‘Right, Tracy – best get those logged in the system after this. Nathan, can you work with Alice Fields and Sam Owen to review the recordings? Did your so-called leader recognise the victim, Mark?’
‘He says he doesn’t, and his alibi checked out. Jan spoke to his wife before we left to verify that.’
‘We’re going to run through the other group members this afternoon, guv, just to make sure their alibis are sound and that they’re not already in our system,’ Jan added.
‘Right, well you turned up just in time to hear some good news.’ Kennedy adjusted his reading glasses and peered at the pages in his hand. ‘Gillian’s expert at the John Radcliffe emailed twenty minutes ago, and he’s managed to work out our victim’s prescription from the contact lens she found during the post mortem. Pens out, people – you’re going to be busy today.’
Mark flipped open his notebook while the DI started to list the tasks.
‘Caroline – work with Alex and uniform and start phoning around local opticians. Ask them to pull out records for patients with this prescription. It’s going to take time, I know, so I’ll have a word with DCI Melrose about approving some overtime for the weekend. We need to move fast on this, because whoever her accomplice is, whoever killed her, is three days ahead of us already.’ The DI handed over Gillian’s report to her. ‘Start with the high street chains. They have centralised databases so if our victim’s on one of those it’ll save time. Once you’ve exhausted those, move on to the independent optometrists.’
Caroline nodded, and underscored her note. ‘If we have to do that, guv, then I’ll start with the ones in Wantage and Farringdon, given that those are closer to where she was found, and work my way out from there.’
Kennedy’s gaze fell to Mark. ‘I want you and Jan to speak to the two pawnbrokers that Alex identified as potential places where our roadside victim and her accomplice might’ve fenced their stolen goods, so get that done and report back to me when you’re finished.’ He paused when a hand shot up from the other side of the group and turned his attention to the young constable. ‘Got a question, Sam?’
‘Guv, I just wondered, given the amount of information about online scammers and the like, you’d think the victims of these burglaries might’ve paused to think they were being conned.’
‘Speaking to the charity manager we met earlier, they’re doing as much as they can to publicise the current scams, but we’re dealing with some very shrewd operators,’ said Mark. ‘And although a lot of people are wary of phone and email scams these days, they seem to let their guard down when someone turns up on their doorstep – especially someone who says they’re trying to help them or give them money, rather than selling them something.’
‘From the statements we’ve gone through, in each instance the victim has said how polite and knowledgeable the man or woman was,’ Alex added. ‘Whoever it is we’re up against, he’s smart.’
‘More worryingly – and, given the turn of events on Tuesday night – he’s ruthless, too,’ said Kennedy. ‘So the sooner we bring him in, the better.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jan cursed as her heel turned on the uneven concrete footpath, then eyed the weary-looking façade of a shop squashed between a laundrette and a butcher’s.
A wooden sandwich board was hitched to a chain that trailed from the crumbling brickwork under the front window to one of the sign’s feet, and someone had scrawled faded chalk lettering across the blackboard paint promising the best price for gold jewellery and cash for gemstones.
Slowing beside Turpin as they approached, she took in the various electric guitars hanging in the window, their elegant shapes at odds with the dead pig dangling from a hook behind the glass next door.
‘Right, this one belongs to Brenda Stephens,’ she murmured. ‘It’s been established for nine years here in Botley – previously she was running the business from a unit off Iffley Road. Looks like she downsized at the same time. Alex said the previous set-up included a lot of furniture and garden reclamation stuff.’
‘Okay, let’s see what she knows.’
Turpin pushed the door and held it open for Jan, who immediately placed her finger under her nose to stop a sneeze erupting.
A dusty, damp smell assaulted her senses, and she blinked for a moment while looking around at the different china knick-knacks and gaudy paintings that leaned against one wall.
More guitars cluttered a corner, acoustics propped next to electrics and a couple of battered amplifiers that appeared in need of new switches.
She spotted a crate of comic books in another corner, then turned at the sound of a cigarette-induced hacking cough.
‘Help you?’ a woman rasped.
Pencilled-in eyebrows were raised above heavily made-up eyes that glared at them, deep wrinkles creasing her cheeks and forehead. Wrapped in a bright blue cardigan, she rose from a wooden bar stool beside a glass-topped counter and put down a paperback book, its pages splaying over an assortment of necklaces that had seen better times.
‘Are you Brenda Stephens?’ Jan opened her warrant card.
‘That’s me. What d’you want?’ The woman squinted through the gloom to where Turpin flicked through a row of vinyl records. ‘Unless you’re buying, sonny, don’t touch.’
He backed away, and Jan saw his mouth quirk before she turned back to the shop owner.
‘Ms Stephens, we’re investigating the death of a woman in her early twenties earlier this week. Do you recognise her?’
‘Lemme see.’ Snatching the photo from her, Brenda pulled pink plastic-framed glasses from amongst her nicotine-stained hair and peered at the woman’s face.
‘No. Don’t know this one. What happened to her?’ She thrust the photo back at Jan and collected her cardigan around her waist, hugging herself. ‘She been stealing?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, you wouldn’t be here otherwise, would you? What did you think? She came in here trying to flog stolen goods, is that it?’
‘Did she?’
‘No. I just told you. I’ve never seen her.’
‘What sort of customers do you get in here?’ Turpin said, moving to the counter and crouching to look at the jewellery on display.
‘Mostly students.’
‘Just students?’ Turpin shot her a sly grin. ‘Are you sure? We could always get uniform in here and bring the sniffer dogs along.’
Brenda rolled her eyes, one of her false eyelashes dangerously close to falling off under the weight of the layers of mascara plastered to it.
‘All right, no need to do that,’ she grumbled. ‘A few users, no dealers. I don’t get involved with them, dirty bastards that they are.’
‘Have you had anyone come in here acting suspiciously?’ said Jan.
A barking laugh preceded a vicious coughing fit, and Brenda slapped her hand against her chest, oblivious to the step backwards Jan took to avoid the explosion of spittle.
‘Oh my fucking God, woman. Of course I have,’ the shop owner cackled, wheezing while she made her way around the counter. She pushed the book aside and rested her hands on the glass, a large diamond ring sparkling on her wedding finger. ‘Everyone who comes in ’ere looks suspicious, don’t they? Nobody wants to walk into a place like this. It’s not like they’re here by choice, is it? They come in here when they’re desperate.’
‘And you’re sure you’ve never seen this woman?’ said Jan.
‘No, can’t say I have. What’d she do?’
‘We’re more interested in finding out how she ended up dead in a ditch outside Charney Bassett,’ said Turpin. ‘It’s a straight run down the A417 from here.’
‘Like I said, I never met her.’ Brenda glared at him. ‘And if that’s all, I’ve got a business to run here.’
Jan looked over her shoulder, taking in the empty shop and then the brief flicker of pedestrians passing the front window. ‘Doesn’t look very busy at the moment.’
‘I got house calls to make, and I’m already late. So, if you don’t have any more questions, you can bugger off.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Forty minutes later, Mark looked up at the chipped and peeling gold lettering etched onto what was once a glossy black signboard, then lowered his gaze to the bay window jutting out into the narrow cobbled alleyway.
A sorry collection of cheap furniture, tasteless china ornaments and dirty jewellery lined the display, framed by a series of faded notices listing everything from opening hours to warnings about a lack of cash on the premises.
‘I want to put on protective gloves just looking at this place,’ Jan said, frowning at the layer of dirt ingrained within the rotting window frame.
‘How long did Alex say this bloke had been here?’
‘Three years. There’s nothing on the database to suggest that there’s been any trouble. I checked with local uniform and they say they’ve never had cause for concern either – Mr Targethen drinks in one of the pubs in the Market Square on a regular basis, and tends to keep to himself, according to the bloke who owns this building. Targethen does a bit of house clearance work in between running this place, and fancies himself as an antiques dealer on the side.’
‘Don’t they all.’
Mark took one look at the smears on the door handle, then used his elbow to push his way inside.
He ducked as something brushed against his hair, a chill running across his neck before he turned to see a wisp of loose brown tape from a broken electrical junction box above the open door. It fluttered in the breeze until Jan pushed it aside.
To his left and right, shelves lined the walls, disappearing into a dusty gloom and stacked haphazardly with old china cups and saucers, copper pots and dirty silverware.
He could hear a radio station playing in the background, a tinny collection of jumbled voices with too much treble and little resonance before he spotted an ancient smartphone propped up against a stack of leather-clad books on the counter, a miniature speaker beside it.
A thin man in his fifties eyed him from behind a glass-topped counter that was as cluttered as the shelves. He leaned an arm on a till, his mouth in a zip of a line and a harshness in his gaze.
‘Well, if it isn’t the police,’ he sneered. ‘What brings you here?’
‘Are you Marcus Targethen?’ asked Mark, moving closer.
‘I am.’
Mark held out his warrant card, then the photograph, now creased in several places. ‘Do you know this woman?’
The pawnbroker leaned forward, but didn’t take the photograph and instead swivelled a desk lamp around to illuminate it.
‘Nope.’ He rocked back on his heels. ‘Why? Has she been trying to fence stolen goods or something?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out. Do you get much trouble like that in here?’
‘What did you say your name was?’
‘DS Mark Turpin.’
Targethen grinned, exposing uneven teeth blackened with rot. ‘I don’t get any trouble in here, detective. I don’t hang around with those sort of people. I run a perfectly legitimate business here.’
‘Are you busy?’ Jan asked, her tone incredulous.
‘It’s a quiet time of the day, that’s all. Gives me time to do the paperwork.’ Targethen swept his arm in the direction of a chipped mahogany sideboard behind the till, where a stack of receipts and bills wobbled beside an ancient laptop computer. ‘You interrupted me.’
‘Then we’ll keep this short,’ said Mark. ‘Where were you between half past six and ten-thirty on Tuesday night?’
Targethen poked his finger towards the door. ‘Over at the pub in the square. Watching the footy. Ask the landlord, he’ll tell you. I got there at six, and walked out at five to eleven. Then I went home.’
Mark waited while Jan took down the details, and looked past the shop owner to the spreadsheet display on the laptop. ‘Do you keep a record of everything that you buy and sell?’
‘Of course.’
‘Any cash jobs?’
‘Look, only now and again, and only if it’s a particularly crappy piece. No jewellery, mind – I’m careful with that stuff, just in case your lot do turn up. Only the odd chair or ornament here and there. But I still put it in that inventory list,’ he hastened to add. ‘The accountant sorts it all out at the end of the year and tells me what I owe the tax man.’
Mark raised an eyebrow in response.
‘Where do you find most of your stock?’ asked Jan.
‘Most times, people walk in here with bits and pieces. Stuff they’ve inherited that they don’t want to keep, or unwanted presents.’ The blackened teeth grinned again. ‘Plenty of engagement rings and unwanted reminders. They figure at least I’ll give them some money for it rather than taking it down the charity shop or handing it back to an ex.’
‘Do you have CCTV cameras?’ Mark said.
‘I’ve never had any trouble, so I don’t bother. Expensive things to run, them.’
‘I’m surprised your insurance premiums haven’t gone up if you haven’t got cameras.’
‘I’ve got good locks on the doors and windows. That helps.’ Targethen’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s this about, anyway? That woman – what’s she done?’
‘She was found on the side of the road a few miles away from here. We’re treating her death as suspicious.’
The pawnbroker’s face paled. ‘She’s dead?’
‘I thought you didn’t know her.’
‘I-I don’t. It’s just shocking, isn’t it?’ Targethen swallowed. ‘I’ve got two nieces, and I keep telling my sister she ought to pay for them to have some self-defence classes. It’s just not safe out there anymore, is it?’
