The Mushroom Man (17 page)

‘Well done, Prof,’ I said, trying to hide the
hotchpotch
of emotions that was bubbling over inside me. ‘Well done!’

I used his phone to ring Luke’s home number. He was about to go out, as soon as he’d decided which earrings to wear.

‘Luke, how long would it take to run off copies of all my reports of interviews with Miles Dewhurst?’

‘Oh, about five minutes.’

‘Good. Any chance of you calling in at the station and doing it, please?’

‘What, now?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Er, yeah. No problem, Charlie.’

‘Thanks. Leave them on my desk, I’ll collect them in a couple of hours.’

On the way back I saw a fish and chip shop and swung into a vacant parking place. I was about to order when I remembered where my hands had been earlier in the day, and didn’t feel hungry any more.

‘Er, I’ve, er, changed my mind,’ I said to the bewildered lady, and left empty-handed.

The reports were on my desk, as arranged. I took them home to read in bed, but not before I’d had a hot shower and a bowl of cornflakes, consecutively.

Ashurst Construction have premises on a bustling new trading estate in Stockport, Greater Manchester. Mr Black, their managing director and chief designer, welcomed me into his office at nine o’clock on Tuesday morning. I’d made the appointment earlier by ringing him at home.

‘Sit down, Inspector. Can I order you a coffee?’ he said.

‘No thanks, Mr Black, I’d rather get straight on with it and I’m sure you’re very busy.’

‘Busy’s the word. Still, it’s preferable to the alternative. How can I help you?’

‘First of all, could you tell me in a sentence what you do here and how well you know a company called Eagle Electrical.’

The genial expression slipped from his face. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘The little girl. I read that you’d found her body. Dreadful. Dreadful.’

‘Eagle Electrical…’ I prompted.

‘Yes, well, to answer your question, we are in the business of renovating property. Trading estates like this one, nursing homes, blocks of flats. We do a lot of work for local authorities. Eagle Electrical have supplied us with materials, and sometimes we’ve found it more expedient to subcontract the labour to them, too. Smaller jobs, though; we have our own teams of craftsmen. We use Eagle and others in preference to losing a contract.’

‘So how well do you know Mr Dewhurst?’ I asked.

‘Miles Dewhurst?’ He pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I…know him, that’s all. He comes in here about once a month looking for business. They haven’t had a substantial order from us for quite a while. We try to put some stuff their way, to keep them floating. It’s not in our interests for them to go under.’

‘You think it might have come to that?’

‘I really don’t know. We’re OK, but a lot of
smaller firms are still failing in spite of all the talk of a recovery.’

‘Could you tell me when you last saw Miles Dewhurst, Mr Black?’ I asked.

‘Yes. The morning his daughter disappeared. I’d presumed that was why you were here.’

‘It is, but I need to hear it from your mouth. Is there any documentary proof that he was here that morning? You know what we say, sir: to eliminate him from our enquiries.’

He appeared quite eager. ‘Well, yes, there is. It just so happened that he had a puncture in our yard. Very embarrassing for him – he drives one of those macho offroad vehicles. Something had gone through one of his sidewalls; ruined the tyre. Our mechanic took it round to ATS Tyres and had a new one fitted.’

Took the wheel there or the whole vehicle?’

‘The vehicle. He put the spare on and drove it there. Miles stayed in here with me. Only took half an hour. We put it on our account, so it’s in the books, somewhere.’

‘Good. Thank you. When it’s convenient would you mind making a recorded statement in a local police station – everything you’ve just told me?’

‘No, not at all.’

I’ll fix something up, then. Now, could I possibly have a word with the mechanic who took Dewhurst’s car to the tyre depot?’

Nigel and Sparky were in deep conversation when I entered the office. Nigel was saying: ‘So why was Prince Charles wearing this ginger hat with the tail down the back?’

Sparky rolled his eyes in a so-help-me gesture.

‘Because,’ he said, emphasising with a stab of the finger, ‘because the Queen said: “Where are you going, Charles?” and he replied: “Heckmondwike,” and she said: “Wear the fox hat”.’

‘Don’t let Mr Wood hear you telling royalist jokes, David,’ I said, endeavouring to keep a straight face.

‘No, boss, it’s not a joke. It’s a true story.’

‘So what’s a fox hat got to do with Heckmondwike?’ Nigel asked.

‘Never mind that,’ I interrupted. ‘Where is Mr Wood?’

‘Summoned to Division,’ said Sparky. ‘Apparently we’ve overspent on handcuffs.’

‘So that means…’ I stretched my arms wide, ‘that I’m in charge. OK, boys and girls, gather round and Uncle Charlie will tell you a story.’

When I’d finished, there were smiles all round. I slid my diary, open at a list of phone numbers, across to Nigel and pointed at the phone. ‘C’mon, Nigel, do your stuff,’ I said.

He drummed his fingers on the handset for a moment, gathering his wits, then picked it up and dialled. After a few seconds he gave us a nod and
settled back in his chair.

‘Mr Dewhurst?’ he asked. ‘Oh, good. It’s DS Newley here, from Heckley CID. Is it convenient for you to speak? You’re not doing eighty on the motorway, are you?… Fine, fine. You’ve heard the latest developments, I presume? Yes…we’ve mixed feelings here, too.’

Nigel placed a hand over the mouthpiece. ‘He’s at home,’ he hissed. He resumed the conversation; ‘The fact is, Mr Dewhurst, we’d like to do a formal interview with you here at the station. As you know, it’s a sad fact that in a case like this the closest members of the family always fall under a certain amount of suspicion. We need a taped interview describing your movements on the weekend in question; tie up a few loose ends, so to speak… Yes… Yes, I suppose it does seem rather pointless to you… How does four thirty, here, sound?… Oh, good. We’ll see you then, Mr Dewhurst. Thank you for your cooperation. Oh, there’s just one other thing. It’s normal procedure for a solicitor to be present. Would you like me to arrange the duty solicitor or will you bring your own?’

Nigel replaced the phone and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘He’s bringing his own solicitor,’ he sighed.

Nigel had managed to squeeze all the key words into the conversation: under suspicion; taped
interview; solicitor present. I said: ‘Well done. Now, let’s go to the pub and discuss tactics over a Steinberg’s pork pie. I’m famished.’

These days we can’t afford to have anybody manning the front desk. The public are expected to ring the bell for attention. We were looking out for Dewhurst, though. He arrived fifteen minutes late, in the Toyota, accompanied by Mr Wylie, his solicitor. The arrogant sod parked in the spot marked HMI again. They were shown into interview room number one, my lucky room.

Nigel and I joined them immediately. We noticed that Dewhurst’s concession to grief was a black tie and matching cuff links. His designer stubble was as well groomed as ever, but he looked gaunt under his tan. Or was it worried?

‘Thanks for coming,’ I said briskly. ‘This shouldn’t take long.’

When we were seated, us on one side of the table, them on the other, Nigel said: ‘This is a taped interview with Mr Miles Dewhurst.’ He gave the time and date and went on: ‘Could I ask those present to identify themselves. I’m Detective Sergeant Newley…’ He pointed to each of us in turn.

‘DI Priest,’ I said.

‘Miles Dewhurst,’ in an irritated tone.

‘Oh, er, I’m Mr Wylie, senior partner with
Dean and Mason, Mr Dewhurst’s solicitor.’

I said: ‘Thank you, gentlemen. Mr Dewhurst, you are no doubt aware that you have been under a certain amount of suspicion. I have to tell you that in spite of recent developments that suspicion still exists. It is my duty to inform you that you are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but anything you do say may be put in writing and given in evidence. Do you understand what I am saying, Mr Dewhurst?’

His indignation was on the verge of boiling over. He gathered himself together, considering whether to appear affronted or cooperative. Mr Wylie’s hand reached out and fell on his arm. ‘It’s all right, Miles,’ he said. ‘Mr Priest is just doing it by the book.’

I repeated the question: ‘Do you understand the caution, sir?’

He nodded.

‘For the tape, sir.’

‘Yes. I understand.’

‘Thank you.’

Nigel took it up, as per the game plan. ‘Mr Dewhurst, could you briefly describe your movements on the Friday before Georgina’s disappearance?’

He shuffled and cleared his throat. ‘Er, I had some appointments through the day. I’d have to look in my diary to be precise.’

‘That’s good enough. And in the evening?’

‘Well, after work I picked Georgina up from the child minder’s and we went to fetch Mrs Eaglin, her grandma. She’d prepared a meal for us. Afterwards we all came back to Heckley.’

He was talking. That was what we wanted. I said: ‘And what did you do Saturday?’

He sat back in his chair, making himself more comfortable. These were easy questions; no problem.

‘Saturday morning I worked. Paperwork in the office.’

‘At the factory or an office at home?’

‘The factory. I went straight from there to the golf club. Had a sandwich and a round of golf.’

‘Where do you play, sir?’

‘Brandersthorpe.’

Best in the area. You could buy a small car with the membership fee. I said: ‘And in the evening?’

‘Watched a kids’ video with Georgina. Watched grown-up TV and had a couple of beers after she’d gone to bed.’

He was relaxing. Now it was Nigel’s turn again. ‘And on Sunday?’ he said.

Dewhurst stretched his arms forward onto the table and interlocked his fingers. He stared at his hands as he spoke: ‘Golf in the morning. Home for lunch. In the afternoon I watched sport on the box. Mrs Eaglin and Georgina went to the park to feed
the ducks. Afterwards we took Mrs Eaglin home. Georgina and I left there at about seven and went for a pizza. It’s…it was her favourite.’

‘Which brings us to Monday morning,’ I said.

Dewhurst pushed himself upright. ‘For heaven’s sake, Inspector. We’ve been through this a dozen times…’

He was getting cocky. He thought he’d survived the worst we had to offer. ‘We’d like it down on tape, if you don’t mind, sir. And you are still under caution, of course.’ No harm in reminding him.

He folded his arms and addressed the table, speaking in short sentences as if addressing an idiot. ‘I dropped Georgina off at the bus station. I bought a paper. I didn’t see Georgina onto the bus because I was double-parked. Then I did my day’s work. I came home to find you in my house.’ He looked up and our eyes met briefly. I felt like Rikki-tikki-tavi, nailing Nag the cobra.

‘Thank you. Could you expand on your movements after you left the bus station, please?’

‘If you insist, Inspector.’

I did, I most certainly did.

He went on: ‘I drove round the one-way system and headed out on the Manchester Road. I had an appointment at a company called Ashurst’s, in Stockport, at nine o’clock. It was about ten past when I arrived. I had a puncture in their yard and had to cancel my next appointment. After that I 
think I went to Heaton’s in Kidsgrove, but again I’d have to check my diary to be sure.’

‘A puncture?’ I said, raising an eyebrow like a bad thespian. ‘That was unfortunate. Were you in the Toyota?’

‘No, the Patrol.’

‘So who repaired it for you?’ I asked.

‘Really, Inspector. Is all this necessary? It’s my daughter’s murder you’re supposed to be investigating; not who repaired a puncture for me!’

‘OK, let me put it another way. Were you anywhere near Capstick Colliery on that Monday morning?’

‘No. Most certainly not!’

‘Thank you. In that case is there any way in which you can verify your whereabouts?’

He gave a big sigh and sank back in his chair, saying: ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I didn’t realise what you were getting at. The mechanic at Ashurst’s put the spare on, then took the Patrol to the local tyre depot, ATS Tyres, and had a new one fitted. Mr Black, MD at Ashurst’s, kindly offered to put it on their account. It should all be in their books, somewhere. I wasn’t given any of the paperwork.’

Wylie, the solicitor, decided to earn his fee. He smiled and said: ‘I must say, Inspector, you had me wondering where your questions were leading, but I’m sure my client has given a satisfactory account of his movements. Both Ashurst’s and the tyre depot
will have details of the transaction.’

‘No doubt,’ I agreed. ‘So let’s get this clear, and I would remind you that you are still under caution. You went to Ashurst’s and had a puncture. Their mechanic took the Patrol to ATS Tyres and had a new one fitted. When it was returned to you it had five good tyres with the spare in its proper place under the back of the vehicle. Is that what happened?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re certain of that?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘Have you or anybody else removed or touched the spare since then?’

‘No.’

‘Has the vehicle been in for a service?’

‘No.’

‘Good.’ When I’d entered the interview room I was carrying a folder. So that it didn’t cause a distraction, I’d placed it on the floor, leaning against the leg of my chair. Now I reached down and retrieved it. ‘In which case,’ I said, ‘perhaps you could explain this.’ I removed the two black and white prints that Van Rees had given me and shoved them across the table.

Wylie leant forward, interested. Dewhurst looked scared. ‘I…d-don’t understand,’ he stuttered.

‘Let me make it easier for you then, Mr Dewhurst.’ I had a pair of scissors in the folder. I
used them to cut across one of the prints, as close as possible to the jagged saw-teeth. I placed the
cut-down
print over the first one.