‘Where’s this leading?’
‘The woman is Samantha Matthews, McIntyre’s daughter. She’s been charged with the murder of Liz Spalding. Both had been involved with Stephen Palmer who died twenty years ago. Not only that, we have Mr Armstrong out in Thornwood, two dead bodies found at McIntyre’s farm. One of the two dead is Bob Palmer, the other is Jacob Wolfenden. It’s hardly a conspiracy to lay the blame at your client’s feet.’
‘Okay, I did it,’ Armstrong blurted out.
‘Leave this to me,’ Grantham said.
‘What’s the worst that’s going to happen? A maximum-security prison, three meals a day. Hamish treated me well, but now I can’t help him, not anymore, and my lawyer will dump me soon enough, you just watch.’
‘I need time to talk to my client,’ Grantham said, his hand on Armstrong’s arm, trying to make the man shut up.
‘Forget it. I’m pleading guilty.’
‘Why did you kill the two men?’ Isaac said.
‘I did it for Samantha. I fancied her, who wouldn’t.’
‘Do you believe she’s guilty of murder?’
‘Palmer did, that was enough for me.’
‘How did you know he was looking for her?’
‘Hamish told me, not that he said for me to do anything. He wasn’t worried about it, regarded the man as an irritant, no more than an ant. He said to me, out in his conservatory, “Keep an eye out. If the man gives us any more aggravation, I’ll get someone to beat sense into him”.’
‘He said that the man would be beaten up?’
‘Yes.’
‘By whom?’
‘He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. He’d do anything for his daughter.’
‘Do you believe she killed the woman?’
‘I don’t know either way nor do I care.’
‘That’s hardly charitable,’ Wendy said. ‘A woman died, aren’t you concerned?’
‘I’ve learnt to mind my own business. I never knew her.’
‘Why murder the two men?’ Isaac asked.
Grantham sat back, only glancing at his client occasionally.
‘Hamish was wrong. A beating wasn’t going to stop Palmer. I made the decision to deal with the man; Wolfenden knew more than he should. I couldn’t trust him.’
‘Are you saying that Hamish McIntyre is not involved?’
‘I’ll sign a confession, first-degree murder for Palmer, second-degree for the other man.’
‘It’ll make no difference. You’ll be going to jail for a long time.’
‘I’ll never know freedom again, but, as I said, three meals a day, no worries about making a living. I might even get a job on the prison farm.’
‘Nowhere near the compost heap, I hope,’ Isaac said.
Armstrong laughed out loud at Isaac’s quip; Grantham did not.
***
Forensics had been given Devon Toxteth’s letter. They had scanned it, given a copy to Larry, offered a preliminary comment that it looked as though the paper had been torn out of a notebook. They didn’t expect to gain much from it. The envelope had been given to them as well, a stamp in the right-hand corner, duly franked, so the age of the letter had been clearly established.
Down in the West Country, Jim Greenwood was still basking in the pride of his first homicide arrest, even though Larry Hill had reneged on his deal to allow him to make the arrest, the possibility of having Chief in front of Inspector strong in his mind.
Mike Doherty, a minor player in the investigation, was enjoying his success in St Austell, and both he and Diane Connolly had become minor celebrities in the small town. Diane didn’t enjoy it, not on their first night out together, but she knew that he did. Or maybe it was because he was with her… Regardless, she knew she’d be seeing him again.
The death of Devon Toxteth, a long time in the past, was still a low priority at Challis Street. They weren’t there to deal with cold cases, or only if they related to recent events. Stephen Palmer’s did, although the letter by Toxteth held little value, legally that was. However, it gave the team a reason to visit McIntyre.
Isaac and Larry made the trip out to McIntyre’s mansion, only to find that the gate at the front of the property had been locked, and each side of it stood a heavily-built man. No longer the haven of a retired businessman, now it was the gangster’s compound.
Isaac could see the irony. ‘The man’s showing his true colours,’ he said.
A television crew were stationed twenty yards down the road, not surprising given the coverage that McIntyre’s family was being subjected to. Larry walked down to meet them, while Isaac dealt with the heavies.
‘We were warned off,’ Tony Cable, an athletic-looking man in his mid-thirties, said. Larry recognised him from the television, not that he was an avid watcher, although his wife was. She’d be excited that he’d met the man.
‘Not like you to be out of the studio,’ Larry said. There was a biting wind, and he had dressed accordingly, although Cable hadn’t.
‘The man’s big news now. Something’s going to break, and besides, it’s good to get out occasionally. The studio’s fine, but here’s where the action is.’
‘Not yet.’
‘Inspector Hill, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’
‘A comment?’
‘You’ll need to talk to my DCI. I’m just a beat inspector, doing my job.’
‘You underrate yourself. You were up at the farm, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, but yet again, no comment. And don’t go recording our little chat, will you?’
‘Not if you give us any breaking news first.’
‘I can’t make promises like that, and besides, why are you the only TV crew here?’
‘There are another two down the pub. We were just about to join them, that is until you and DCI Cook turned
