The Summer Wedding Murder, page 16
part #8 of Sanford Third Age Club Mystery Series
“So what happened to this Sergeant Hancock?” Joe wanted to know.
“He went through disciplinary procedures and he was fired eventually.”
“He wasn’t prosecuted?” Sheila asked.
“No. He could have been. Falsifying evidence is a serious offence, and he could have been jailed for it, but he had a good record prior to that, and the disciplinary hearing recommended dismissal only. He had acted with the best of intentions. Naturally, that doesn’t make it any the less of an offence, and most of his colleagues, while they were annoyed with him, understood his motives.”
Joe slotted the information into the relevant compartments of his brain. “And what’s happened to him since he got fired?”
Perry frowned. “Hazy. He managed to get a job as a security man in a shopping precinct, but didn’t hold it down long. He disappeared for a while, then came back to the area, but he was unemployed. Then, suddenly, about a year ago, he left again and hasn’t been seen since.”
Joe stroked his chin thoughtfully, and took another drag on his smoke. “A year ago. Just about the time Darlene Garbutt moved up here from the same area.”
The three women concentrated on him.
“What are you suggesting, Joe?” Brenda demanded.
Relieved that she was no longer treating him with contempt, he said, “Let me paint you a picture. Just suppose Pitman is guilty of Ellen Cartwright’s murder. But he has something on Hancock. It may be women, it may be drugs, it may be, I dunno, gambling, or whatever. The trial is coming up. Pitman gets to Hancock somehow. Maybe the sergeant has to see him while he’s on remand. He presents Hancock with whatever hold he has over him. In order to keep Pitman’s mouth shut, Hancock is asked to make a change to the statement. Nothing major. Just change the time Pitman says he left the pub. Don’t make it obvious, but make sure it can be uncovered. That way Pitman gets off. Hancock gets fired, for sure, but it’s preferable to facing up to whatever Pitman has on him. Now fast forward a few years. Hancock is out of work and he’s an angry man. He tails Pitman everywhere, gets to know as much as he can about him, his work, his girlfriends, everything. Then he starts playing with mobile phones. He sends messages to Darlene, supposedly from Pitman. He sends messages to Pitman, supposedly from Darlene. His aim is to kill Pitman and use Darlene or her brothers as the patsies for the murder. Darlene comes up here. Even better for Hancock. No one knows him in the Lake District. He follows her and the text messages start again, then, joy of joy, Darlene is to be a bridesmaid for Kelly. Posing as Darlene, he sends a final text to Pitman, warning him that unless he shows up here with a large wedge of money, she’s gonna do a bit of muck spreading with what she knows about him.”
Joe fell silent for a moment and Perry picked up the thread.
“Darlene thinks it’s Pitman, and vice versa, when all along it’s Hancock. That explains the argument you overheard, Joe. The one between Pitman and Darlene’s brothers. Hancock then lures him to the boat house and brains him.” She considered the idea. “It’s possible. A bit long-winded, but it could explain a lot.”
“But how could he know that Darlene and Paul would sleep through the afternoon on Friday?” Sheila asked.
Crushing out his cigarette, Joe gestured at Perry.
“Zolpidem, Mrs Riley,” the inspector said. “The urine sample from Paul Drummond revealed traces of the drug. It’s a sleeping pill. Quite potent, too, and when mixed with alcohol, it’s almost guaranteed to knock the user out.”
“Prescription drug?” Brenda asked, and when Perry nodded, she went on, “So how did Hancock get hold of it?”
“Too easily, if you want my opinion,” Joe said. “Here’s a bloke out of work, down on his uppers, and he goes to his GP, saying, ‘I’m not sleeping, doc’. Like all the NHS crowd, the doctor is under pressure, so he writes out a prescription. ‘Take one of those every night before you go to bed’. Simple.”
Perry agreed. “I don’t necessarily go along with Joe’s opinions on the NHS, but it’s not difficult.”
Seeking to avert an argument before it could begin, Sheila said, “I’m sure Joe was referring to the pressure under which GPs work, and not criticising the NHS as an institution.” Drawing a breath, she went on, “To do that, Hancock must have been at the wedding, even if he only sneaked in.”
“Again, not difficult,” Joe ventured. “It was a busy time, there were people dancing, chatting, moving around. Anyone dressed like they were guests at a wedding, could have wandered into the marquee, and dropped the pills in Rott’s drink. Darlene’s too, if you think about it. No one would have noticed.” He turned to Perry. “Did you run a urine test on Darlene?”
The inspector shook her head. “Not yet. She’s a busy girl and we haven’t caught up with her yet. We left a message at reception, but she hasn’t got back to us.”
“Won’t it be too late now?” Brenda asked.
Perry was hazy. “Maybe, maybe not. That stuff can stay in the body for anything up to forty-eight hours.”
“There is another possibility,” Joe said. “The Cartwright family? Or what was left of it. Ellen’s mother and her brother.”
Perry smiled. “How did you know she had a brother? The newspaper reports never mentioned him.”
“One of them did, as a matter of fact,” Joe replied. “It said he was sixteen at the time, so he’d be about twenty four now.”
“Indeed he will,” Perry replied. “Orkan Cartwright was, I think, sixteen at the time Ellen was killed. When you brought all this up on the phone last night, Joe, I had my people run a check on them. He and his mother continued to live in the family home. She lost her mind when her husband committed suicide, and the boy looked after her for a while. Then he just disappeared and she was found dead. Overdose. I saw the coroner’s report.”
“How long ago?” Joe asked.
“About a year.”
“Again, just about the same time Hancock disappeared and Darlene moved north. What price Hancock killed the boy and the old woman?”
“Why would he?” Brenda asked. “They were no threat to him.”
“Not so, Mrs Jump,” Perry declared. “After Norman hanged himself, Mrs Cartwright, acting through her son and the family lawyer, campaigned to have Pitman retried, and for Hancock to face a court of law. If we accept Joe’s analysis of the situation, had that trial come about, Hancock may well have gone to prison for a long time. Especially after what was found in his flat after he went missing.”
Joe raised his eyebrows. “Drugs?”
Perry nodded. “Cocaine. A sizeable amount. Hundreds of thousands of pounds worth.”
“That’s probably what Pitman had on him,” Joe speculated. Leaning forward, he opened his tobacco tin and began rolling another cigarette under the scathing glances of the three women. “This thing looks more likely by the minute. Just a few loose ends. First off, how did he get hold of the pipe wrench and Rott’s overalls?”
“We don’t know. Right now, it’s just another strand of the investigation, and we’ve barely begun on it.”
“Okay.” Joe licked the gummed edge of the cigarette paper and completed the roll-up. Jamming it in his mouth, digging into his gilet for his Zippo, he asked, “Who was he?”
The question produced frowns from all three women. “Michael Hancock, Joe,” Brenda reminded him. “You know. A disgraced bobby, who—”
“No, no. You don’t understand. I mean who was he at the wedding? He could hardly walk in and say, I’m Michael Hancock and I’m here to incriminate your best man and chief bridesmaid. There were plenty of people taking videos at the wedding on Friday afternoon. Could the police records help us to identify him at the wedding?”
“They might,” Perry said. “Obviously, we have photographs of him on file.”
“Did he have to be posing as a guest?” Sheila asked. “Could he be a member of staff, or one of the outside caterers who dealt with the reception?”
“How old was he?” Joe asked Perry.
“Right now he would be about forty-five,” the inspector replied.
“Nelson, then,” Joe suggested. “The hotel manager.”
Perry shook her head. “Tom Nelson has been here for the last twenty years to my knowledge. Probably longer.”
“Well it rules out people like Storm and although I’d love it to be Harriet Atkinson, I have to say Hancock would have to be a master of disguise to pull that off.”
“The simple fact is, Joe, we don’t know who he might have been, or even if it is him. We’ll be looking at CCTV images for the actual wedding day to see if we can spot him.”
Joe drummed his fingers on the table. “Well, that just about sums up everything I know. Unless anyone else has any ideas, I’m stumped.”
“I never thought I’d see the day,” Sheila said with a broad smile.
“Odd name that.”
All eyes turned to Brenda. “Again?” Joe invited.
“Orkan. I was just saying it was an odd name.”
“Swedish, Danish,” Sheila told her. “Northern European, anyway. Roughly translated as hurricane.” She smiled again. “The boy was probably fast on his feet.”
Joe’s blood ran cold. “Oh, for God’s sake, now I get it.”
The voice of Lee reached him from the car park. He looked over his shoulder to where his nephew was shaking hands with Rott as the latter loaded the boot of his car. Darlene sat in the car reading a newspaper as Rott prepared to get in.
Joe got to his feet. “Look sharp or we’ll miss them.” He hurried off to the car park, followed by the three women.
“Rott,” he called out. “It’s been great seeing you again, son.” Joe offered his hand and Rott shook it. “You on your way?”
“Another few minutes, Mr Murray.”
Joe eyed Darlene. “Checking your stars are you, Darlene?”
She gave him a sickly smile. “I always do, Mr Murray.”
Joe nodded. “I wish I had that kind of guidance.” He turned to Rott. “Fancy staying for lunch? My treat. We’re not leaving until about half past three.”
Rott glanced at Darlene and raised his eyebrows.
She looked diffident. “I, er, I don’t know. I’m not, er...”
“Great,” Joe said. “Lee, I need to talk to Rott. Why don’t you and Darlene go back into the hotel and tell them there’ll be an extra two for lunch.”
“All right, Uncle Joe. Come on, Darlene.”
Suspicion haunting her eyes, Darlene climbed out of the car and followed Lee into the hotel.
“You’re well in there, Rott,” Joe commented watching Darlene’s lithe body sway along behind Lee.
“Have to see, Mr Murray.”
“Yeah. Course. You take your time, lad. Listen, Rott, I was just talking with the inspector, here, and we think we know what’s been going on. We believe it’s a former policeman, but what we can’t figure out is how he got hold of your overalls and Wes’s pipe wrench. We guess he must have nicked them from the back of your van.”
Rott shook his head and slammed down the boot of his car. “Didn’t Wes tell you, Mr Murray? We always keep it locked up.”
“Always?”
“Always. Specially when we’re working on a site. Proper thieving toe rags, those site workers.”
“Hmm.” Not for the first time Joe stroked his chin, his mind working over the facts. “We know they didn’t take them here. Wes told us they were in the van, not either of your cars. That means they had to have been taken from the back of your van, and quite recently, or you’d have missed them. Tell me, have you had any, er, strange jobs come in over the last week or two?”
Rott laughed. “They’re all strange in this part of the world. People with tons of money all wanting the job done for a pound… Oh, wait a minute. There was that gas leak on Wastwater Street last Monday. We got a call out late at night. Me and Wes went down there, and the old boy who owned the place said he didn’t know what we were talking about. We had a right argument with him, but he threatened to call the cops, so we came away.”
“You went in the van? Not your own cars?”
Rott nodded. “Wes picked me up. We had to. All the tools are in the van.”
“And the van was never out of your sight?”
“Nope… well, it was parked out front and we were round the side of the house, but it was all locked up. No one could have got in. We’d have known.”
“Oldest trick in the book,” Perry said. “Get you where they want you, and normally they would be away with your van while you were distracted with the householder. This time, they wanted something in the van. Who knows what kind of tools you keep in there?”
Rott shrugged. “We only leave the heavy duty stuff in the van. I’m telling you, they couldn’t have got in. They’d have needed a key. If they didn’t, they’d have to force the doors and we’d have noticed.”
“Who has keys to the van, Rott?” Joe asked.
“We each have our own vans and our own keys, but we also have spares for both vans. There’s spare sets at Wes’s house and another at mine. I keep ’em in a cupboard with my DVDs and stuff.”
“And that spare set is still there?” Joe demanded.
“It was the last time I looked.”
“Which was when?”
Rott shrugged. “I dunno. But I haven’t been burgled or anything. Sorry, Mr Murray, but I think you’ve got it wrong.”
A shock of realisation shot through Joe. A broad smile crossed his face. “No, son, you’ve got it wrong. You trusted someone and they let you down. And suddenly, I think I know who and how.” He glanced at the hotel. “Inspector, call your people and tell them to get some bodies out here. Enough to make a few arrests.” He strode away. “Come on. Let’s all get a beer.”
The inspector took out her phone, and with a frown of puzzlement as deep as anyone else’s, followed him.
Joe led them into the bar where Lee, Cheryl and Danny were seated with Darlene and her brothers. At the bar, Storm busied himself stocking the chillers, while Nelson checked spirit bottles and optics.
“Storm,” Joe said to the barman, “Drinks for the whole table, please, and add it to my bill. I have a long drive home, so I’ll just have a glass of lemonade.”
“Sure thing, Mr Murray.”
There was a short delay while Storm took the orders from everyone, and Joe, Sheila, Brenda, Rott and the inspector settled in around the table.
Eventually, Joe held court.
“Quite a puzzling affair this one, but I’ve just worked it out. I know who did it and how. I also know who helped the killer.” Joe laid a beady eye on the Garbutt brothers.
“Perhaps, then, you’d be good enough to explain it to me, Joe,” Perry invited, putting her phone away. “Before my people arrive.”
“No problem. First off, what you have to do is forget all about coincidences. It was no coincidence that Detective Sergeant Hancock disappeared at the same time as Darlene moved up here. It was no coincidence that Ellen Cartwright’s mother died at about the same time. It was all part of the plan that was probably designed to extract revenge on Adam Pitman for Ellen’s murder. Or at least, that’s how it started.”
Perry was shocked. “Hancock killed Ingrid Cartwright, too?”
“No. He didn’t. In fact, I’m willing to bet that Michael Hancock is dead. He had no hand in Ellen Cartwright’s death, but his actions in helping get Pitman off the hook led indirectly to Norman Cartwright suicide, and to Ingrid’s mental health problems.”
Storm arrived with the drinks, and began to set them on the table. Joe watched him for a moment, then asked, “Where do you live, Storm?”
“I have a flat on—”
“Wastwater Street,” Joe interrupted.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Rott just told us.” Ignoring surprised stares from Rott, Sheila, Brenda and Inspector Perry, Joe went on to ask, “And how’s your mother?”
Storm shrugged, and placing the final drink before the policewoman, said, “I’m sorry, Mr Murray, but my mother passed away.”
“I know she did, son. About a year ago. Overdose, wasn’t it?”
Storm’s colour drained. “I, er… well, yes as a matter of fact.”
Joe nodded. “The very last person alive who could confirm that your real name is Orkan Cartwright.”
Chapter Fifteen
Joe’s announcement was greeted with wide eyes and gasps from the people around them. Everyone turned on the barman and for a moment Joe thought Storm would deny it. But he did not. Instead, he placed his tray on a table nearby and sat down between Darlene and Cheryl.
He reached across and picked up Jezz’s beer. “May I?” Jezz nodded and Storm took a sip before passing it back to Darlene’s brother. He eyed Joe. “How did you know?”
Nelson had been hovering at the bar, clearly intent on listening in. Joe signalled to him. “Get him a soft drink.”
Nelson hurried behind the bar to obey.
Joe took a swallow from his glass. “I don’t like coincidences. I know they happen all the time, but when I get too many happening all at once, then it spells planning, not coincidence.” He smiled at Storm. “It was a clever set up, son, but when you’re trying to hide yourself and your identity, there are some basic essentials, one of which is keep your mouth shut.” Joe’s gaze swung on Darlene. “Both of you.”
“What are you on about, Joe?” Perry demanded.
“Storm wouldn’t tell me why he was so named. He said it was to do with his birthday and I should be able to guess it because I knew his star sign. Libra. It covers the back half of September and the first half of October. Now bear in mind that the Cartwright son was sixteen years old at the time of Ellen’s murder and the father’s suicide. What famous event did we have in October, sixteen years earlier? The hurricane. Remember it? He was born on the night of the fifteenth, sixteenth of October, the night of the hurricane, and in order to remind themselves, his parents named him Orkan: hurricane in Danish.”
“Swedish, actually,” Storm said. “My mother’s parents were from Helsingborg.”
