Saturday
…in which Nicola Williams catches the last bus and Chief Inspector Hennessey comes across a date which has personal significance.
‘It’s not on, Hennessey, it’s just not on. It’s your neck, not mine. The Chief Constable wants a reply, so what do I tell him?’
‘Excuse me, sir.’ Hennessey stood in front of the man’s desk. ‘But I was not harassing him. Yellich went to his house and spoke to his wife.’
‘That’s not what Mr Richardson’s solicitor has told the CC. If you’re harassing anybody it weakens the case, you know that, apart from it being unlawful. What have you got on Richardson, anyway?’
‘Quite a lot. Motive, possible implication with an earlier murder with a similar MO. I’ve made a case with less.’
‘And he’s in the cells now?’
‘Yes, sir. As is Sheringham, who for my money is the prime suspect, but I’m not dismissing Richardson.’
Commander Sharkey reclined in his seat. A framed photograph on the wall showed Sharkey in an army officer’s uniform, a second showed him in the uniform of an officer in the Royal Hong Kong Police, now he was a commander in the City of York Police. He’d done well for a man in his forties, younger than Hennessey, and Hennessey couldn’t take that from him.
‘Sheringham, you see, is a smug piece of work but frightened of his wife, and he has motivation to murder both Mr and Mrs Williams.’
‘He has?’
‘They were both going to blow a whistle on him. Max Williams was involved in a drug scam, he was funding a huge purchase of anabolic steroids and seemed to be getting cold feet and may have been about to turn Queen’s evidence against Sheringham. Mrs Williams was threatening to expose his marital infidelity. That’s motivation enough. The other point is that they are both known to each other, they work out at Sheringham’s Gym and are known to be drinking partners.’
‘A conspiracy, you think?’
‘I wouldn’t rule it out, sir. And apart from them both having a motivation to murder Max Williams, they are both very strong, very fit men, quite capable of digging the shallow grave within the hours of darkness. In fact, they’d make short shrift of it. Very short shrift, despite the fact that the soil is baked hard and would be as solid as if it were frozen.’
‘But you’re still lacking the vital link in the evidential chain, are you not?’
‘We’ve still to quiz both of them again, sir. But yes, the vital link is missing, which is why we haven’t charged them.’
‘Why the call on Mrs Richardson in the first place?’
‘Just to take a measure of the lady, and also following up a point made by Sergeant Yellich who felt that the sanitizing of the crime scene had a woman’s touch about it.’
Sharkey raised an eyebrow.
‘Look, sir, we’re trying to solve a murder here. No, we’re not, we’re trying to solve a double murder and I for one have no time for political correctness at a time like this. Especially as there is such a thing as a woman’s touch, more care, more attention to detail, and, as Yellich said, Williams has ruined Mrs Richardson’s livelihood too.’
‘Alibi, for her?’
‘None. Neither she nor her husband nor Sheringham have an alibi for the time of the murder, nor for the time of the likely disposal of the bodies.’
‘All right, George, that gives me something to tell the< CC.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘This is a high-profile case, George. The CC wants a result.’
‘Understood, sir.’
‘But a safe result. A secure conviction. So please proceed with caution.’
Hennessey knew he was getting old when constables looked young, but this was ridiculous. A schoolgirl, a child…still slight and frail of build, still awkward, yet she was a Mrs, a married woman. She had rings on her finger which said so and she was a solicitor. Monica Have. She announced herself to the room for the purposes of the tape recording as Monica Have of the firm Have and…
Hold, thought Hennessey, or perhaps Have-not.
But the woman said, ‘Scarborough, of York.’
Hennessey wrote ‘Have and Scarborough, solicitors, York’ on his pad.
Yellich said, ‘I am Detective Sergeant Yellich, City of York Police.’
‘Mr Richardson…’ prompted Hennessey. ‘For the tape.’
‘Michael Richardson,’ he said resentfully.
‘Right, Mr Richardson. You knew Mr Max Williams?’
Hennessey asked the questions, Yellich observed acutely.
‘Yes.’
‘In what capacity?’
‘He engaged me to build a house for him.’
‘For which he couldn’t pay you?’
‘Yes. As I said.’
‘Just to get the story straight, you didn’t ask for money upfront, nor for an agreed sum to be lodged with a firm of solicitors to be released upon satisfactory completion of the work, because you believed that he had the money.’
‘Yes. Stupid, to be sure, but yes.’
‘He had a reputation in the Vale for being a soft touch for a lot of money, is that correct?’
‘Yes. He came on the scene recently, a year or two ago, but his reputation got round the business community.’ Richardson spoke freely but Hennessey was acutely aware that the man was not giving anything away.
‘He’s ruined your business?’
‘Looks like it. The housing market is depressed at the moment, couldn’t sell that house easily anyway, too fancy for North-country tastes at the best of times. If I sold it at all, I’d have to let it go cheap. Would recover the materials and labour costs. I’ve got crews to pay, the bank won’t lend enough to see me through.’
‘A lifetime’s work down the tubes.’
‘Aye…’
‘Make anyone want to kill, wouldn’t it?’
‘Would it?’
Monica Have didn’t give any emotion but, thought Hennessey, she was clearly, utterly focused, listening to every word.
‘Well, wouldn’t it? You have a motivation, a strong one.’
‘Yes…’ Richardson nodded. ‘Yes, I confess…’
‘Careful!’ Monica Have glanced at him.
‘I confess,’ repeated Richardson. ‘I confess that I felt like killing him, I confess that I am not unhappy that someone has done so, except that now I have no chance at all of recovering my debt.’
‘It weakens the motivation,’ Monica Have said to Hennessey.
‘I would point out that my client does not have the motivation you claim he has.’
‘Mrs Have.’ Hennessey leaned forward. ‘I would point out that your purpose is to ensure that the procedures as dictated by the Police and Criminal Evidence Act are observed. You are not here to advocate on the part of your client.’
‘Accepted.’ Monica Have inclined her head.
‘But she’s right,’ Richardson smiled. ‘I don’t have the motive you claim.’
‘Only once you’ve calmed down. Hot-headed, though, are you not? An Irishman with the traditional fiery Celtic blood. You were seen and heard to threaten to kill Max Williams whilst holding a two-foot-long length of scaffolding, which our forensic pathologist said could have caused the injuries.’
‘Could have?’ Monica Have looked at Hennessey. ‘It’s an important point. If you can say would have, you would be in a stronger legal position. So would or could?’
‘Could,’ Hennessey conceded.
‘You see,’—Monica Have spoke softly yet with an authority Hennessey found annoying in one so young—‘for this interview to proceed, you have to be on stronger, firmer grounds. Motivation has evaporated, you haven’t got a murder weapon’
‘And I have to say that once again you are straying into the area of advocacy, Mrs Have.’ Hennessey spoke equally softly.
Monica Have made a slow, slicing movement through the air with an open palm. ‘Well, let’s see how far we get.’
‘We’ll leave the issue of the murder weapon on one side then. And frankly, as to the motivation, it isn’t really an issue if the perpetrator acts in a fit of rage, then tries to cover his misdeed.’