The drizzle turned slowly to snow as George Hennessey looked casually out of his office window and across the road to Micklegate Bar. He thought how it was that the weather made the walls of the ancient city look exceptionally cold and forbidding. He then turned to face the team assembled side by side in chairs in front of his desk forming a tight semicircle: Yellich, Webster, Ventnor and Pharoah. ‘So,’ he said as he relaxed in his chair, ‘it appears that we need to trace the mysterious Canadian gentleman. He seems to have some explaining to do.’
‘Seems so, Skipper,’ Yellich replied and then delicately sipped tea from the mug he was holding.
‘So what do we think about Mr Stanley Hemmings? Is he in the frame?’
‘He seems genuinely grief-stricken, sir.’ Carmen Pharoah sat forward cradling her mug of tea in both hands. ‘It did not sound like a blissfully happy union. He seems to have been besotted by her but. . it wasn’t. . what’s the word?’ She appealed to her colleagues.
‘Reciprocated?’ Webster suggested. ‘Is that the word you’re looking for?’
‘Yes, that’s the very word. The passion seemed very one-sided, even allowing for their neighbour embellishing her own cynical view of things; Edith Hemmings did seem to be a bit of a handful of a woman. I did take her passport details so I can contact the Canadian authorities, although Mr Hemmings didn’t indicate she had any relatives.’
‘Yes, we must find out who she is. . was. . and determine her name; was she “Julia” or “Edith” and why did she seem so frightened of the Canadian gentleman who was looking for her? Something happened in Canada. Something very serious.’
‘She was an orphan,’ Yellich said, ‘so we understand, at least according to Mr Beattie, though some relatives may exist, some extended family.’
‘Yes, we have to involve the Canadians. That’s one for you, DC Pharoah. .’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘There is nothing to report in respect of the industrial units,’ Ventnor reported. ‘I visited them yesterday, a struggling property company. The units have been empty for some time, quite isolated but also easily stumbled across. How he found them is a question we’ll likely put to the Canadian when we catch up with him. Seems he is our man, stalking Mrs Hemmings like he did, over a number of years. We really need to find him.’
Hennessey paused. ‘So, time for action. DC Pharoah, contact the Canadian Embassy as you suggested. What else have you got on?’
‘Two serious assaults, sir, both domestic, and I am helping the CPS to frame charges against a serial shoplifter, “Liz the lifter” as she is known, and prolific isn’t the word and that’s just going on what we know. What we don’t know about would probably fill Marks and Spencer’s twice over. . and she’s still only seventeen.’
‘We’ll be getting to know her very well,’ Hennessey smiled.
‘Indeed, sir. . very well indeed.’
‘Sergeant?’
‘Fatal stabbing in the city centre, sir, not far from here. . by the cholera burial pits. The felon is in custody and will be pleading guilty. His brief is trying to negotiate a reduced charge but we’ll get a result one way or the other. Other than that I have much paperwork to do.’
‘OK. Ventnor?’
‘Car thefts in the main, sir. Seems like an organized gang is behind them, they are targeting high value prestige motors, but there has been nothing for six weeks now, unless they have moved on to another city. So it’s become a waiting game.’
‘Very well. Webster?’
‘Burglaries in the main, sir, and also possibly one very well organized gang. . and again, it’s also a waiting game. They’ll slip up one day but these fellas are very clever, very thorough. They seem to be well aware that every contact leaves a trace. . so very careful. . most carefully not wanting to cut themselves it seems, so as not to leave DNA behind. . clean breaking of panes of glass has become their hallmark.’
‘Right,’ Hennessey sat forward, ‘so Webster and Yellich, I want you two to team up. Find this damned Canadian and find out more about the victim. She came from somewhere and he has gone somewhere. Pursue both lines of enquiry. At some point they will converge.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Yellich replied promptly.
‘For myself, I intend to visit a gentleman who has been helpful before. I doubt he will know the Canadian man but he might know Mrs Hemmings. If she has been stealing from her employers in the Vale for a number of years then my man will probably know her. Was the date of entry stamped on her passport?’
‘No, sir.’
‘No matter. So the other place of employment she had before she worked for Beattie. . that will have to be visited, and we also need to find the guest house he used when he was in the area.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, leave it to you two gentlemen to see what you see and to find what you find.’
‘It’s been over two years now, confess it seems like it was yesterday. Damned woman. . I feel that this house was contaminated by her.’
The address of the man who had employed Edith Hemmings nee Avrille and whose character reference Alexander Beattie described as a ‘work of convincing fiction’ revealed itself to be a large and a lovingly tended property set in its own grounds with stables adjoining the main building. Other outbuildings were visible, including a large greenhouse development. Upon halting the car on the gravel in front of the house and drawing back the metal ring pull by the front door, Yellich and Webster were greeted leisurely by an elderly butler. The man wore a dark jacket with grey pinstriped trousers and highly polished shoes. He was clearly a man with a serious attitude to his position and closely examined the IDs of both officers. He then invited Yellich and Webster into the house, showing them into a large wood panelled foyer in which a log fire crackled and burned welcomingly in a cast iron grate within a stone built fireplace. He then asked the officers to wait and excused himself. The fire seemed to speak to the officers of emotional warmth as well as of a very welcome heat. The foyer was further softened by two large, highly polished brass pots which stood either side of the door and within each of which a thriving yucca plant was established. The foyer smelled of wood smoke mingling with furniture polish.
The butler returned after an absence of about five minutes, Webster guessed, and he warmly and politely invited the officers into an anteroom softly but tastefully furnished with armchairs and a table surrounded by upright chairs. The room, Yellich and Webster noted, was smaller than the foyer but was similarly appointed with wood panelling and had an equally welcoming log fire burning in a cast iron grate. Oil paintings of rural scenes hung on the wall. The butler invited the officers to sit, saying, ‘Mr Rigall will be with you shortly.’
‘Shortly’ transpired to be very short. In fact no more than sixty seconds after Yellich and Webster were left in the room to await Mr Rigall, the man entered. He was tall, powerfully built, dressed in faded denim jeans and a blue shirt over which he wore a large, sloppy woollen cardigan. He was clean shaven, short-haired and he smelled of aftershave. Webster and Yellich stood as he entered the room and he waved them to resume their seats. Rigall apologized for keeping them waiting, explaining in a soft voice that he had been under the shower when they called. ‘I am a bit of a late riser,’ he added by means of explanation. ‘How can I help you?’
Webster explained the reason for their visit.
Rigall groaned and sank into a leather clad armchair. He then said, ‘It’s been two years now. . confess it seems like it was yesterday. Damn woman.’
‘Tell us about her. . please,’ Yellich asked, as Webster took his notebook from his jacket.
‘Where to start?’ He twisted his body and took a packet of cigarettes from his jeans pocket. ‘Sorry. . do you mind?’
‘Not at all, sir.’