Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7) (12 page)

‘So what was the reason for these visits?’

‘Just social calls, like. They’re not illegal now, are they?’

‘Twice in two days?’

‘I don’t know if I was there twice in two days. Can you prove I was?’

‘I’ve just explained that.’

‘Aye, but I could have been going anywhere, for all you know.’

‘And were you? Going somewhere else, I mean?’

‘I don’t remember, love.’

‘So you make a lot of social calls do you?’

‘Oh, aye. Loads. I’m a right popular bloke, me.’

‘So let’s be quite clear. Are you telling me that you had no kind of business relationship with Frankie Foster?’

Taylor took his time before answering.

‘That depends what you mean by business. It can mean a lot of things, can the word business. You know, like doing the business.’

‘Are you saying that you were having a sexual relationship with Mr. Foster?’

‘Fuck off. I mean no. What do you take me for?’

‘Let me be more specific, then. Did money ever change hands between you?’

‘In which direction?’

‘Either.’

Taylor looked at Mann and thought some more, so Mann stared him out, willing Taylor to make a mistake.

‘No. Like I said, he was just a mate.’

Jane looked down at her notes.

‘All right. Let’s talk about where you were on Tuesday of this week, from late morning until mid-afternoon.’

‘I’ve already told you. In bed, at home. We had a late one the night before. You know, love, when the cat’s away and all that.’

‘And the cat’s your wife, is that right?’

‘Aye. She went away with a couple of her mates on Saturday, so we had a bit of a do on Sunday. But it lasted until Monday night, like.’

‘And you were alone in the house on Tuesday?’

‘Aye, just me and the mess, like. I do know some right dirty bastards, love, I can tell you.’

‘Were you using your phone? Or on the internet, anything like that?’

‘Like I told you I was either in bed, or had my head down the bog. One or the other.’

‘So you don’t have an alibi for the time when Frankie Foster was murdered.’

‘I don’t need one. I didn’t do it, and I was at home until that evening. Unless you’ve got a witness who says different.’

Jane ignored the comment. ‘So what is it that you do for a living, Mr. Taylor?’

‘Self-employed.’

‘Yes, but doing what, exactly?’

‘This and that. Venture capital, mostly.’

‘Really? And what does that involve?’

‘Providing capital to people. On fair terms, like.’

‘So you’re a money lender?’

‘I wouldn’t call it that.’

‘Loan shark, then?’

The Duty Solicitor stirred briefly, and Jane held up her hands.

‘Did you loan money to Frankie Foster? As venture capital, or whatever you call it?’

‘No.’

‘Were you round at his house demanding repayment? That’s why you went there on consecutive days, isn’t it?’

‘No. I’ve already told you. Frankie was a mate, that’s all.’

‘Are you quite sure, Mr. Taylor? Because let me explain to you what happens next. If you persist in saying that you didn’t lend Frankie any money, that is. We will go through every aspect of your life and dealings in minute detail, and who knows what we’ll uncover then? But, on the other hand, if you did loan him money and tell us that you did then we’ll be a good deal less interested in you, for now at least. So, did you loan Frankie Foster money?’

‘No. I keep bloody telling you. So can I go now?’

‘Oh, yes, you can go. But expect to be back here again, when we know more. Because I’m absolutely certain that we’ll need to talk to you again, and soon.’

Keith Iredale was just going off duty when the call came in from the Duty Inspector. The body of an 83-year old woman found sea at the foot of the stairs in her house, and a young woman had been seeing fleeing the scene.

‘Shit’ said Iredale. ‘Description of the woman?’

‘Young, slim, dark haired. Thought you’d want to know. Does that sound like your thief?’

‘Close enough for jazz, aye. Anything stolen?’

‘No idea, lad. Give us a bloody chance. I’ve declared it suspicious, category two, so SOCO and the Doc are attending. Do you want to take a look? You’re acting SIO, because with the DI and Ian Mann interviewing Taylor on the Frankie Foster shooting we’re a bit short of plain clothes plod, like.’

‘Is Superintendent Hall still on site?’

‘Now that’s why you’re in CID, son. I hadn’t thought of that. Aye, as far as I know he is. You want me to give him a shout as well?’

‘Aye. He may not want to come, of course.’

The Inspector laughed. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? He’ll race you to the bloody car, you just watch.’

In fact Iredale reached reception before Hall, but only by ten seconds.

‘Brief me in the car’ said Hall, running towards the door. He tried to remember the last time that he’d done it, and couldn’t.

‘Crime scene first, boss?’

‘Yes, but just to check that uniform is on its toes. And we need a quick word with the eye witness, just for a fresh description and to see if she can think of anything small and portable that might have been stolen.’

‘Small, boss?’

‘Your thief was running, wasn’t she? So she can’t have been carrying much. Of course even if she was there to rob the place she might not have done so, but let’s see.’

‘What if this old lady just fell down the stairs?’

‘Then why run? And she’s Mrs. Pearson, Joan Pearson. Never just a victim, Keith, remember that. And it makes no real difference if she fell or was knocked on the head. If it’s your thief again then she caused Joan’s death, didn’t she? The CPS can sort out the charges, and we’ll leave the Doc to tell us whether or not force was used. All we can do is place your suspect, Tiffany, at the scene and take it from there.’

‘So I did right? Getting her picked up immediately, and the search team called in right away?’

‘You did, absolutely. You’ve got uniform watching her house until the search team arrives?’

‘I have, aye.’

‘OK, good. Now you’re in charge. I’m just here to observe and advise, but here’s how I suggest you play it.’ They stood in reception and Hall talked, while Iredale listened. The old desk Sergeant smiled and nodded slightly to himself.

Twenty minutes later Iredale had made contact with the uniformed Sergeant who was co-ordinating the house-to-house in Joan Pearson’s street, and he’d been told, quite cheerfully, to fuck off by Sandy Smith. Hall was standing outside, and smiled when he heard Sandy’s booming voice. Mrs. Maureen Wilson lived two doors down, and a glassy-eyed WPC was trying to stay awake in the hot, airless living room when Hall and Iredale arrived.

‘I’m DC Keith Iredale’ said Keith, a little too loudly for comfort, ‘and this is Superintendent Hall. Can we ask you a couple of questions, Mrs. Wilson?’

‘Of course, dear. Sit yourselves down. Now, what can I do for you, Superintendent?’

Both officers smiled, because she kept looking at Iredale.

‘Tell me about what happened when you went round to see Mrs. Pearson’ he said.

‘Well, I was just going round for a natter, really. It was my turn to go there, see. And as I was just about to reach the door this young girl came running out and came past me. Going like the clappers, she was.’

‘You were still on the pavement?’

‘Aye.’

‘And you’re sure that the woman came from Joan’s house? It couldn’t have been the house next door, number 11?’

‘No, it was from Joan’s house.’

‘All right. Now did she touch you? Brush past you, even?’

‘No dear. You’d be after fibres, I expect.’

Hall smiled again.

‘That’s right’ said Iredale. ‘And was the woman carrying anything?’

‘I don’t think so, no. Wait a minute though, maybe she was. A carrier bag, maybe. But no, I’m not certain. It all happened so fast. You can hypnotise me, if you like, to find out.’

‘Don’t worry about that, you’re doing really well. Now, how about items of value? Does Joan have much in the house. Jewellery, anything like that?’

‘She does, actually.’

‘Could you give us a description?’

‘Of what, dear?’

‘Of the jewellery. Joan’s jewellery.’

‘Not really, dear, no. I haven’t seen it in years.’

‘But she keeps it in a jewellery box, is that right?’

‘Yes. On her dressing table.’

‘Good, thanks. So what can you remember about this woman? The one who came out of the house.’

‘She was slim, and young, very young. Certainly under thirty.’

‘What colour hair?’

‘Blonde, I think, and long.’

‘And what kind of clothes? Jeans, that kind of thing?’

‘No, not jeans. Dark clothes though, definitely. Like an office worker.’

‘And what did she say?’

‘She just said to call an ambulance. That was all.’

‘And how did she sound? Like she was in a panic, or quite calm?’

‘I don’t know, I couldn’t say. She shouted it out though, if that tells you anything.’

‘How about her accent?’

‘Local, definitely local.’

‘And she ran towards town, is that right? You didn’t see her get into a car?’

‘No, nothing like that. I just wanted to get inside and see if Joan was all right. Poor Joan….’

The old woman’s lined face was wet with tears in a few seconds, and Iredale wondered if it would be too rude to just get up and go, but when he caught sight of Hall already half way out of his chair he knew that it wouldn’t. Or at least, that Hall wouldn’t think so. And that was what mattered to an ambitious young DC who could already hear a clock ticking, loud and insistent, in his head.

‘Tiffany has short, dark hair. Is that right?’ said Hall, when they were sitting in the car.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘OK. Call the search team co-ordinator and tell them that we’re especially interested in any wigs, especially blonde, any reasonably smart clothing and any form of ID or other material that could identify someone as coming from the Council.’

‘Will do.’

‘And Joan’s jewellery box has been checked, has it?’

‘I asked Sandy. She opened it for me. There was some stuff in there, but not much.’

‘What kind of stuff?’

‘Old lady stuff. I don’t know, boss.’

‘OK. We need to know what she had to begin with. Uniform are looking for next of kin?’

‘There’s a daughter who lives up near Carlisle. She’s on her way down.’

‘Good. Right, let’s get back to the station, and get stuck in to Tiffany.’

‘Stuck in, boss?’

‘Certainly. We owe it to Joan to achieve a manslaughter conviction, if that’s justified. But only go at her hard if she denies it outright. She’s probably in a state of shock too, so take it easy at first. Give her some space, let her tell us what happened in her own time. You’ll soon get a feel for that. And you reckon that she’s been trying to go straight, anyway? Really trying, I mean.’

‘I think so, yes. Ian takes the piss, but I really believe that.’

‘It does happen. Not often, it’s true, but maybe you’re right about her. Ian’s just an old misanthrope, so don’t worry too much about him.’

‘Does that mean that he’s a grumpy old bastard, boss?’

‘Yes. As a matter of fact that’s exactly what it means.’

Tiffany Moore didn’t turn her head when DC Iredale and DS Hall came into the room, and she didn’t smile at Keith when he sat down. He was glad about that. He started the tape, and made the introductions.

‘Do you know why you’re here again, Tiffany?’

‘Something to do with an old lady who’s died, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right. Just a few hours ago. A neighbour found her at the foot of the stairs. Her neck was broken, so she died instantly.’

Hall hoped that Iredale would pause, and he did. Tiffany didn’t comment, and her expression didn’t change. But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t relieved.

‘A young woman was seen leaving the premises. Was that you, Tiffany?’

‘No. I was at home this morning. Ask my mum. She’ll tell you.’

‘We have asked your mum, and a formal statement has been taken. She confirms your story.’

‘There you are then.’

‘That’s not how it works, I’m afraid. Your mum is poorly, yes?’

Tiffany nodded.

‘I know what it’s like, looking after a parent who’s come to rely completely on you. Tough, isn’t it? On everyone, I mean.’

Tiffany nodded again, and Iredale smiled at her. It was a few more moments before he spoke again. ‘So look, let me be completely straight with you here, Tiffany. We think it’s you who’s been doing these robberies, and we think it’s you who robbed Mrs. Pearson today. I know you had a story to explain why your fingerprints were on stolen goods recovered from Frankie Foster’s house, but we don’t believe that, and we doubt that a court would either.’

‘That’s really not for you to say’ said the Duty Solicitor, sharply. Iredale ignored him and went on.

‘Maybe Mrs. Pearson just fell while you were there. Perhaps you never touched her at all. Is that how it happened?’

‘I told you. I wasn’t there. My mum told you.’

‘She did. But what happens to her if you’re convicted for this anyway? Have you thought about that? Because if we find the slightest forensic trace of your presence in that house then you will be convicted, believe me. And you know what happens to your mum then, don’t you?’

‘No.’

‘She’ll face trial for perverting the course of justice and go to prison, probably for several years. Is that a fair assessment, Mr. Samuels?’

‘That’s an entirely hypothetical question, Detective Constable, and I’m not the one being interviewed.’

‘Of course not, you’re right. But how would your mum cope inside, Tiffany? She has very complex needs, doesn’t she?’

Tiffany didn’t answer. She was thinking, hard and fast. She hadn’t drunk any of that disgusting tea, thank Christ, so there’d be no DNA on the cup. And she’d eaten both of the bloody biscuits too. Every last crumb. And for the first time she’d worn gloves too. That had been her mum’s idea. And they always tried this, the coppers. Try to make your position seem weak, hopeless. But it wasn’t. If it was they’d have charged her already. Tiffany had made her decision, and all she had to do now was to stand by it, no matter what.