THIRTY SIX
SUNSHINE
“There’s nobody in sir,” Bridge said after ringing the doorbell for the fifth or sixth time.
“Listen,” Thompson said, “can you hear music coming from inside?”
Bridge put his ear to the door and listened.
“You’re right sir,” he said, “What do you want to do?”
Thompson put his hand on the door handle and slowly turned it.
“Sir,” Bridge said, “that’s technically breaking and entering.”
“We’re in a bit of a rush Bridge,” Thompson said, “and they won’t know that.”
Thompson stood in the hall way.
“Mr Paxton!” he shouted, “Police.”
The music stopped and Frank Paxton appeared from the lounge.
“I’m becoming very popular with you lot,” he sighed, “I don’t know if that is good or bad. I assume you’ve heard the message I stupidly left on New Years Eve; I’ll just get a few things together and I’ll come with you to the station.”
Thompson was confused.
“That won’t be necessary Mr Paxton,” he said, “There’s just a couple of things we still need to clear up.”
“If its ok with you,” Paxton said, “I’d rather do this at the station.”
He seemed anxious.
“Very well,” Thompson said, “where’s your girlfriend? Roxy isn’t it?”
“She just popped out for a while to fetch a few things from the shop; she’ll be back any time now. I just need to get my phone from upstairs and I’ll be right with you.”
“He doesn’t want to talk in front of his girlfriend,” Bridge whispered to Thompson when Paxton was upstairs, “I’d say he’s scared of her.”
“You should learn to whisper properly,” Paxton said as he walked down the stairs, “and scared does not even come close. At this point in time, I’m terrified to be in the same room as that woman. Shall we go then?”
Thompson’s phone rang. It was DI Chalmers.
“Where are you Thompson?” Chalmers barked.
“Just bringing Frank Paxton in sir,” Thompson replied.
“Is his girlfriend there?”
“No sir but she’s expected back soon.”
“Ok,” Chalmers said, “get here right now, Smith and Whitton have uncovered something in Tenerife. It looks like this Roxy woman in up to her neck in it.”
“Do you want us to wait for her and bring her in too sir?” Thompson asked.
“Not yet Thompson,” Chalmers said. “We’ll bring her in a bit later when we’ve heard what this Paxton has to say. Get him to write a note to say he’s been taken down to the station. Arrest him if you have to.”
“Sir?” Thompson was confused.
“I want her to start shitting her pants,” Chalmers sounded angry. “Just tell him to write a note to her saying he’s been taken in for questioning,” he said, “I’m sure you can manage that.”
He rang off.
“Something wrong?” Paxton asked.
“Just the opposite,” Thompson replied, “it looks like we might be getting somewhere. Would you mind leaving Roxy a note to let her know where you are?”
“What for?” Paxton said.
“Just do it please. Nothing fancy just tell her you’ve been taken in for questioning.”
Paxton shrugged, took the notebook from beside the telephone and wrote the note.
“I’ll drive Bridge,” Thompson said as they were ready to go, “I suddenly feel like driving.”
The sun was visible in the sky for the first time in weeks.
“Looks like the weathers changing Sir,” Bridge said as they drove, “I was starting to get depressed with all that rain. Did you know that the weather definitely has an affect on human behaviour?”
“No I didn’t,” Thompson humoured him.
His mood was definitely lighter.
“It’s been proven sir. In parts of Scandinavia, they spend half the year in darkness. People top themselves like its going out of fashion in the winter there.”
“Very interesting Bridge,” Thompson sighed, “lovely topic of conversation.”
“And I reckon,” Bridge carried on undeterred.
“I reckon,” he repeated, “if you were to look at the statistics, you would find that most of the murders too, were carried out when the weather was shit.”
“Bridge!” Thompson said, “that’s enough ok?”
“Sorry sir,” Bridge said, “I just think it’s interesting, that’s all.”
At the station, Frank Paxton was asked to take a seat in reception. Thompson and Bridge made a beeline for Chalmers’ office.
“Shut the door,” Chalmers ordered, “where’s Paxton?”
“In reception sir,” Thompson said, “what did Smith find in Tenerife?”
“Smith found Mick Hogg,” Chalmers replied, “at least Whitton did. It also seems that Paxton’s girlfriend paid a visit to Hogg and Susan Jenkins a few days ago. Smith and Whitton will be back tomorrow with Mick Hogg in tow. Seems he put up quite a struggle, tried to make a swim for it.”
“Swim for it?” Bridge asked.
“I’ll spare you the details Bridge but it seems as though Whitton is quite the hero.”
“Heroine Sir,” Thompson corrected him.
Chalmers just glared at him.
“Anyway,” he said, “The Jenkins woman seems to have been killed in the same way as the other one, the babysitter.”
“Lauren Cowley,” Bridge said.
“She was drugged and smothered with a pillow. This Hogg character sang like a bird, admitted to killing them both.”
“I must be missing something sir,” Thompson said meekly, “but what’s Roxy Jones got to do with all of this then?”
“Apparently, she’s the one who paid Jenkins to kill the babysitter with Hogg’s help. Jenkins developed a conscience and wanted to come clean so Roxy Jones paid Hogg even more money to shut her up for good.”
“What about Paxton?” Bridge asked, “Where does he fit into all of this?”
“Apart from knocking up the babysitter, it seems Frank Paxton is guilty of nothing but having dangerous taste in women.”
“What do you want us to do with him?” Thompson asked.
“Get him to make a statement. He obviously wants to get something off his chest.”
“When are Smith and Whitton due back sir?” Bridge said.
“Tomorrow afternoon,” Chalmers replied, “go and get Paxton’s statement before he changes his mind. Thompson, can I have a word?”
“I’ll go and prepare the statement,” Bridge said.
“What’s wrong sir?” Thompson said.
“About that piece of paper from earlier,” Chalmers said.
“Tear it up sir. I’ve changed my mind.”
Frank Paxton was talking on his phone when Bridge walked back through to the Police reception. He ended the call as soon as he saw Bridge.
“Could you come this way please,” Bridge said, “I’ll show you through to one of the interview rooms. Would you like something to drink?”
“No thanks,” Paxton replied, “Let’s get this over with shall we?”
“Is anything the matter Mr Paxton?” Bridge said.
Paxton looked very pale.
“My girlfriend just phoned. She saw the note I left her. She’s on her way here with her lawyer and I have to warn you, she is fuming.”
“Let’s get this thing started then,” Bridge said.
Thompson emerged from Chalmers’ office with a smile on his face. He followed Bridge and Paxton into the interview room and closed the door behind him.
“Mr Paxton,” Thompson began, “you left a message on Detective Sergeant Smith’s phone in the early hours of New Years Day. Is that correct?”
“I did yes,” Paxton said, “I was pretty drunk but I needed to talk to someone.”
“You
said you were the father of Lauren Cowley’s baby and you mentioned there was something else.”
Frank Paxton took a deep breath.
“What the hell,” he said, “on Christmas Eve, we had the Willows over for supper. We had Pavlova.”
“Go on Mr Paxton.”
“Roxy spiked it.”
“Spiked it?” Thompson said, “With what?”
“With some of her sleeping pills. Benzo something or other. They’re very strong tranquilisers.”
“Why did she want to drug the Willows?” Bridge asked.
“It sounds crazy,” Paxton said, “but when they arrived and they had their daughter, Penny with them, Rox thought if they ate the Pavlova laced with the drugs, it would make them sleepy and they would leave early. Roxy hates kids.”
“And why are you only telling us this now, Mr Paxton?” Thompson asked.
Paxton rubbed his temples.
“It’s such a mess,” he sighed, “after what happened to Wendy and little Penny and with Martin being arrested, I feel responsible somehow.”
Paxton’s phone started to ring. It was Roxy. The ringing stopped and the door was swung open. Roxy Jones stood there in the doorway with an elderly man standing behind her.
“This interrogation is over!” Roxy screamed.
“You can’t just barge in here,” Thompson said, “we have an official interview in progress.”
“What are you holding him for?” the elderly man demanded.
“Nothing,” Thompson replied, “Mr Paxton came here of his own free will. He is free to leave at any time.”
“Come on Frank,” Roxy ordered, “let’s get out of here before you do any more damage.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible Miss Jones,” Bridge said.
“Why the hell not?” Roxy was getting angry. “You said he was free to leave.”
“He is.” Bridge emphasised the word ‘He’, “but I’m afraid we’re going to have to place you under arrest as an accessory to the murders of Lauren Cowley and Susan Jenkins.”