Chapter 20 - Councillor Clandecy
Back at Southcliff Hall, life was returning to a semblance of normality. James had taken the precaution of having a recorded message play every time anyone phoned the Council, which advised them that the Council had no information about the landslip. A notice on the entrance door told a similar tale. Reporters were banned from pestering the Reception staff, and a blanket of silence about the murders was maintained. The basement was out of bounds, still taped off with the blue and white streamers that reminded everyone of the awful scene beyond, and one uniformed officer attended every day in case he was needed, but the rest of the building had been handed back to the Parish Council for the daily business of life in Pebbleton.
Imogen sat behind the Reception desk, calmly taking notes of the latest complaint from Mrs Bathgate. It seemed her allotment had been ransacked by thieves, and her precious crop of blackberries was all gone. "Ow-my s'pposed ter make me apple and blackberry jam now?" she wailed. "Yer got enuf pleecemen 'ere, get one of 'em on ter summink useful!" Imogen restrained herself from remarking that the famous crop of blackberries only existed because the allotment was overrun with brambles, and was the cause of many complaints from the adjacent plotholders.
The Inspector and Sergeant Dean, returning to interview Councillor Clandecy, made a strategic detour to avoid getting involved with this contretemps, and to escape the malodorous lady herself. They arrived upstairs and were accosted instead by Fiona Carvell, who flew out of her office and used her elbow technique on Helford, pinning him between the wall and a metal stand bearing a 'Meeting in Progress' sign.
"There has been a call for you - I made a note of the name, number and time," she announced. Her tone was peevish, as if the Inspector had become yet one more irresponsible member of staff for her to chase. Life, her attitude implied, was being made a misery by the thoughtless individuals who had the impudence to get themselves murdered in the Council building. She thrust a sheet of paper at the Inspector. "Councillor Clandecy has arrived, but he is with the Clerk and they are not to be disturbed," she announced pompously. She disappeared back into her office as suddenly as she had emerged. Clearly she was playing the martyr, and wanted revenge on Helford for numerous unspecified grievances.
Helford detached his sleeve from the sharp metal edge of the sign, and scanned the paper. "Coffee, Dean, please," was the only remark he could utter after such an assault. As they headed for the Clerk's office to offload their cases and papers, the sound of two male voices alternating in conversation came from a room along the corridor. One voice was raised in anger, the next mollifying, loud then quiet, shouting then appeasing, like a strange duet between a trumpet and a soft piano.
When Dean brought the tray of coffee and biscuits in to his boss he found him just ending a phone call to Beavon. A list of items removed from Joey's flat had actually been made, because after giving up hope that the tenant would return, the landlord had been wise enough to make such an inventory before clearing the flat out for a new occupant. The list had been lodged with the local police, and they had also been left with a letter from the landlord stating that the deposit was now forfeited in lieu of rent owed. "Poor confused Joey - look at this." Helford pointed to one item on the list he had hastily scribbled: 'Nail polish'. "A few personal items that were sent to his mother's address - we can probably get DNA from them. Let's hope she kept the lot."
"Where is all the stuff the landlord moved out?" Dean wanted to know. Helford sighed, "The local force advised him that he was within his rights to dump it - so he did, at his own expense. Can't really blame him, he thought Joey had done a moonlight."
"What else did Beavon have to say?" Dean was aware that his colleague was extremely efficient, and had worked himself out of the chance to accompany Helford by being too brilliant at the desk work. After a whole morning of Beavon's work, there would be greater results than this.
"He checked with the estate agents selling the old gent's house - you know - Mr?."
"Mr Acres?"
"Yes, him, and they confirmed that it was Mrs Wentley who put it on the market, using a Power of Attorney signed by her brother."
"I should think it would be difficult to prove that anything dodgy was happening. I didn't want to upset Imogen, but it sounds like the old guy is bonkers," Dean admitted.
"Yes, you could be right. All the same, if he was quite capable of taking care of himself....and didn't want his house sold.....anyway, for the time being, the agents are putting a note on the file to consult us before going anywhere with a possible sale."
"Sounds fair enough. That all?"
"No, the phone call to Frayminster School was traced. The one made on the day of the Council meeting, supposedly from James Goswell to Paula Rivers. It did come from here, but it could have been any phone in the building. The time was two-twenty."
"You mean it could have been James Goswell?"
"I mean it could have been anyone in the building at the time, Dean. Can you ask the inimitable Miss Carvell, she's bound to have some kind of record. Or even your favourite on Reception - don't people have to sign in and out for Fire Regulations? And I think we should have Councillor Wentley in again - just to see if we can rattle his cage a bit."
Dean was about to leave the room when Helford's mobile phone rang. He hung around, hoping it was a break in the story of Joey Fisher. Sure enough, it was the helpful personnel lady from Merringe and Sons, and the news made Helford's eyebrows go up and stay up. As the caller rang off, his lips formed a whistle.
"Sir?"
"That, Dean, was the most interesting piece of news yet. It appears Mr Joseph Fisher was taken on by Merringe on a three-month contract to try him out - they were impressed by his qualifications and knowledge, but he was given a bad reference by his previous employers - Egron Developments."
"Joey Fisher worked for Egron? Then he could have been sent here to do surveys for the Development!"
"Precisely my thoughts. Another job for you - find out who was his boss at Egron and which projects he worked on. And why they were unhappy with him."
"Right." Dean raced off to set things in motion with Fiona Carvell, Imogen Stanley and Councillor Wentley. He asked Imogen to find Egron's number for him, which she achieved with a few mouse clicks. A lady wandered vaguely into Reception, and stood waiting for Sergeant Dean to finish his enquiry. As he left, he stopped a few feet from the desk, with that familiar feeling of some part of his mission left undone. He heard the lady ask, "I wanted to know if we can have some of those W.I. machines in the Over-50's Club."
Dean smiled to himself. A vision of Women's Institute robots swum before him, mechanically serving cakes and jam, and singing 'Jerusalem' in tinny voices to an audience of retired gentlefolk.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean," Imogen replied. The vague lady waved her arms gently in the air, and attempted an explanation. "You know, the things you stand on and you have this white thing in your hand, with a strap round your wrist, and you wave it like this to hit the ball - only there isn't a real ball, it's on the screen....."
"Oh! You mean a Wii machine!" Imogen cried, relieved to have made sense of this. Dean, still within earshot, was convulsed with laughter. He fled upstairs before making a sound like a snort. Miss Carvell, just emerging from her room, gave him a look of disgust. "Here," she snapped, "the list you wanted."
"Thank you," Dean squeaked, trying to control himself. "Stupid boy," Fiona muttered under her breath. He regained the Clerk's room where Helford was writing in a notebook. There was a pregnant pause, which Dean did not dare interrupt. He knew the signs of his boss arriving at a significant deduction.
Finally Helford spoke. "A.D. - remember the note in Chewter's diary, the person he was going to meet the night he was killed? What if it wasn't someone's initials? What if it was the name of a place - like.....Angie's Den? Or......maybe two people? Sometimes my wife writes 'Pick up J C M' in her diary, and it
means Jenny, Christine and Marie, her buddies from the tennis club. See what I mean?"
"Yes, I see what you mean. A lady downstairs just asked for a W.I. machine, and she meant a Wii machine. Initials instead of a word. Could it have been 'Ad' as in 'Advert'? I'll get the Egron phone call out of the way, then I'll look up any places round here that start with AD. Oh, and Councillor Wentley had agreed to come in at half past three this afternoon. I figured you'd have dealt with the other one by then."
"Mmmmmm...." the Inspector replied, still deep in thought. Dean sat down and dialled the central London number Imogen had given him, and was directed through a lengthy call centre menu before speaking to a female in Human Resources. After explaining that he was part of the police investigation at Pebbleton, he got a frosty response. "I think you'd better speak to the Manager," he was told. After five minutes of 'on-hold' music, he gave up and rang off.
"I think I was given the bum's rush, sir," he told Helford. "Could we get the Met to send someone in there to get the information?"
His boss gazed at him, still lost in thought. Finally he spoke. "The bum's rush? You think they were refusing to assist the police in the course of their enquiries?"
"Maybe not refusing, but not helping."
The Inspector held out his hand for the phone, and the piece of paper with the number on it. He was obliged to wend his way through the menu but eventually spoke to the Human Resources department. After using the phrase 'obstructing the police' in his opening remarks, he curtly demanded to speak to Joey Fisher's former line manager, and was soon put through to a Mr Lewis Montgomery. A languid voice on the line said one word, "Montgomery?"
"Mr Montgomery, this is Inspector Keith Helford of Frayminster CID. I am making enquiries about a former employee of yours at Egron, a Mr Joseph Fisher. I have a number of questions......"
The phone interview lasted ten minutes, with the bored-sounding Montgomery becoming more agitated as the questions became more probing. "What projects did he work on?; What were your reasons for sacking him?" and so on, ended with the assurance that Helford expected Mr Fisher's personnel file to be available for collection from Egron's offices by a Metropolitan police officer within the hour. Montgomery had denied any detailed knowledge of Joey's work.
Dean was on the edge of his seat. "This is it, sir, isn't it! The motive - Joey Fisher found out that the Egron site was dangerous, and they suppressed his findings, and had him killed!"
"Whoa, there - we don't even know if he was actually working on the Pebbleton project yet. But I agree there's some motive there for getting rid of him from the company. But killing him? I wonder. We'd have trouble proving they knew about the problem. Perhaps they knew, but thought the cliff wouldn't collapse for years, and there was enough time to build, make a lot of money, and get away with the loot before anyone realised they had known all along. But would they have been stupid - or greedy - enough to risk it...."
He tailed off into silence. Then he grimly picked up the phone again and arranged with his London colleagues for the personnel file to be collected from Egron's smart address and sent to the Frayminster police station for his attention.
Dean quietly reviewed his notes, and looked at his watch. It was almost time for the elusive Councillor Clandecy to be interviewed. The Councillor was still closeted with the Parish Clerk, being grilled on his failure to declare his family's interest in the Development land sale. Dean read the list Fiona had given him, showing the Clerk's appointments for the afternoon of the suspicious phone call made in Goswell's name to Frayminster School. The first appointment was for two-thirty, with Councillor Dennis Massington. Nothing appeared to have been happening around two-twenty. Dean now remembered the other part of his mission to Imogen. He got up and went down the stairs to her desk.
Imogen was on a break, but Sue Cheam was there, on the phone. Her chubby face was creased in a frown as she struggled to understand another of the Pebbleton residents. It seemed that the oddest people had all waited until this one afternoon to lay their troubles before the Parish reception desk. "Yes....yes....I see....I'll tell Imogen. Thank you for letting us know....yes.....yes, I understand....I will....goodbye."
She put the phone down, and shook her head in wonderment. Seeing the friendly Sergeant in front of her, she smiled. "At least you are normal," she commented. Dean felt this was an inadequate compliment, but forgave her. "Having trouble with the natives?" he asked.
"That was a lady who hires the Community Hall. She says she can't get the key back to us yet because her husband was taken ill, rushed into hospital, and had emergency surgery. That part I understand, but then she starts going on about how he's very strange now, gone all religious, and she daren't leave his side in case he needs her. According to her he had an 'out-of-bed' experience - to do with the anaesthetic."
"An out-of-bed experience? I have one of those every morning, but I manage to cope!" Dean laughed.
Sue covered her face with her hands, leaned back, and groaned. "I knew she meant 'out-of-body experience', and I was trying so hard not to laugh, but she kept saying it. What have we done to deserve this mad lot, ringing up all day talking nonsense?"
"You poor thing," Dean commiserated. "I'm afraid I've come to ask a favour too, I need to see the signing-in register for the day of the big meeting, when the Development was discussed. Do you know the day I mean?"
Sue reached up to the counter and swivelled a huge book towards her. She turned the pages back until she found the correct place, and turned the book back to face Dean. "You can photocopy the page if you like, but I'll need the book back as soon as possible. We're expecting Councillor Wentley in a little later, and anyone might come in who wants to go upstairs. Only people who go upstairs sign, but I expect you know that."
"That's because of Fire Regulations, I guess?"
"Yes. If I knew what you were looking for, I could help...." Sue looked up at him with an appealing smile, hoping to be allowed to play amateur detective.
Dean smiled back, and picked up the book. "I'll bring it back immediately," he promised.
Upstairs he peeped round the door of Fiona Carvell's office and asked if he could use the photocopier. She arose in skinny outrage from her chair and snatched to book impatiently from his hands. "Don't lose the page," he warned. She turned a withering look on him, and made copies of both open leaves with an expert flourish. He picked up the A4 copies as they fell into the tray, and held out his hand for the register. She clapped it shut and smacked it into his outstretched hand.
'How I'd like to charge her with obstructing the police,' thought Dean as he returned downstairs to the Reception desk. Sue was still there, and he was tempted to have a moan to her about Fiona, or just have a chat to her. She was great fun to talk to, but training had taught him to be very careful. For all he knew Sue was a suspect, everyone was a potential suspect - how he longed for this crazy mess to be sorted out. He was getting to like some of the staff here, and couldn't bear the thought that they were all living with the knowledge that one of their number, or someone very close to that circle, was a killer. Dean replaced the book, opened it to the right page for the current day, and thanked Sue.
"All the best with Mr Grumpy," Sue grinned. She meant Councillor Clandecy, that much was obvious.
Upstairs the painful interview between James Goswell and Councillor Piers Clandecy had finished. Piers had been left in no doubt that he was expected to resign as Councillor, and was in a foul mood. If Inspector Helford had not appeared at the right instant in the corridor outside the Clerk's office, Piers Clandecy might have walked out of the building. But Helford had been waiting for the door along the corridor to open, and planted his sturdy frame in position at the psychological moment.
Clandecy was ushered in to the Clerk's room and took a seat. The Inspector sat down in the Clerk's chair, and explained that he would wait until his Sergeant returned before beginning the interview. Clandecy
raised his eyes to heaven, and settled in his chair with a huffy expression on his face. They remained in uncomfortable silence until Dean returned, which was mercifully only a couple of minutes.
Helford opened the interview by cautioning Clandecy, which surprised Dean. The soon-to-be resigning Councillor merely regarded the Inspector with a sour face, and made no comment. A flood of questions followed, and the answers were much as expected - he had never met either Steve Coulthard or Joey Fisher, he knew nothing about their deaths, and could tell the police nothing helpful. When asked his opinion of Gerald Chewter, he tilted up his chin, and glared at the officer before replying that Chewter was 'a creepy little upstart'.
"An upstart? What do you mean by that?"
"He was an inferior tail-end of a second-rate family, that's what I mean. I have no idea who killed him, but he will not be missed, and the world is a better place for his removal."
Dean almost winced. Chewter's funeral was to take place on the following day, and he had not heard that anyone at the Council offices would attend.
Helford ignored the derogatory remarks and continued: "What can you tell me about his relationships here while he was Parish Clerk?"
Clandecy shrugged. "I have very little to do with the staff here," he sniffed. "As far as I know he did his job adequately, but I understand there was some trouble over women. He went quietly and that was that. Surely you asked these details from the other Councillors? You don't need me here. If you've finished I have a great deal to do."
The Inspector narrowed his eyes. "We are far from finished, Mr Clandecy." The other man was about to jump on the use of 'Mr' instead of 'Councillor', but remembering his days as such were numbered, he restrained himself.
"We will take your fingerprints, and I have several other questions. Did you know the Development was to be built on ground that appears to be unstable? In view of your forebears, who it seems indulged in a little rearrangement of the landscape along with Mr Chewter's forebears......"
It was a shot in the dark but it hit home. Clandecy's face darkened, and he leaned across the desk toward Helford. Through clenched teeth he hissed "You cannot prosecute me for the activities of my ancestors, nor can you prove that the diversion of the river has anything to do with that landslip. I expected the Development to be a success, and my mother's land was sold in good faith. Just try proving otherwise!"
He sat back in his chair, triumphant. Helford was sure that he had known the land was practically worthless, but unless he could prove that Clandecy had been made aware of the geological situation, he could do nothing to tie him to the murder of Steve and Joey. Nor could he think of any way to pin Chewter's murder on him. A change of the line of questioning might prove fruitful.
"Tell me about your fellow Councillors, please," he continued.
Clandecy raised his eyes to heaven again, and reeled off a list of insults aimed at almost all the other Councillors. They were 'fools', 'silly women' or 'deluded in their political views'. He was less rude about Councillor Denby, but even he was dismissed as 'going senile'.
"And Councillor Massington? What do you make of him?"
There was a pause. "He's not a fool, I'll admit. Not from an old, decent family, hardly the genuine article, but at least he attempts to be civilised."
Helford made notes, then looked up again and asked "How about the new Clerk?"
Clandecy shrugged. "I suspect he's got more class than most round here, but he's weak. Doesn't keep the rebels in order at meetings, and lets the public have far too much time for their stupid questions."
Dean was thinking that this man was the worst snob he'd ever come across. He fervently hoped that he was the murderer, and itched to slap the handcuffs on him right away. He was at least going to have the pleasure of getting his fingerprints, which indignity was sure to infuriate the superior and over-privileged gentleman in the chair.
Helford asked a few more questions, which produced nothing of value. Finally Clandecy was allowed to get up and follow the Sergeant to a side desk where the fingerprinting kit was laid out. Clandecy's squirming distaste was everything Dean had hoped for.
When he had gone, the two officers looked at each other. "I wonder if we'll be able to prove anything against anyone, Dean," said Helford gloomily. "I think we've hit on some sort of motive, but these people are too clever to have done any dirty work themselves. If it was the charming Councillor Clandecy, for example, he would have got some hit man to get rid of the two geologists."
"And Chewter?"
"I reckon Chewter was in on it somehow, and allowed them to bury the bodies in the basement. Then he blackmailed the perpetrators, and got bumped off himself. I'm sure of it, it explains the money in his account, but how can we ever tie anyone to the crime?"
Dean sat thinking, but his thoughts got him no further than Helford's. The phone rang. It was Imogen to tell them that Councillor Wentley had arrived and was on his way up. They looked at their watches, and realised it was five past three already. "Coffee, quick, Dean!"