Peter Turnbull: Aftermath

‘Yes, sixty-one plus or minus twelve months,’ Hennessey glanced at the ever expanding file, ‘just the sort of elderly down-and-out, an old soak who would not be missed, who had probably wandered into a different part of the country to avoid the shame of being as she was where she was known; came to York to be an unknown in a strange town so we have no record of her on our mis per files.’ He tapped the desk top. ‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the sooner we get a National Missing Person’s Database the better, and I can’t see why it should not be set up in these high-tech information technology days, seems to be the easiest thing in the world if you ask me. Well, enough of my ramblings for this fine, sunny Sunday morning. So it seems that we might have a breakthrough. We still have yet to notify all the next of kin and obtain confirmation of ID of all the victims. As I understand it, the families of Paula Rees, Rosemary Arkwright, Helena Tunicliffe, Roslyn Farmfield and Denise Clay have yet to be visited. We can address that now. I don’t like making first contact in situations like this by phone, very insensitive, but it may be expedient.’

‘A simple phone call asking if their missing family member had a significant drink problem. We can follow up with a home visit later to explain the reason for our interest and obtain help to confirm identification,’ Carmen Pharoah suggested eagerly, ‘and also ask if they had any contact with the York Chapter of AA.’

‘Good. Can you get on that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘So what have you got on, Yellich?’

‘Working with the Crown Prosecution Service to frame the charges for the Askham Links manslaughter case but, unlike us, they don’t work on Sundays, so I am at your disposal for any legwork.’

‘Good. Ventnor?’

‘Theft of prestige cars, sir.’

‘Oh, yes. . any progress?’

‘Little to report, sir, but they’re getting bolder, they’ll make a mistake.’

‘Yes, so you have time as of now for this case.’ Hennessey tapped the file of the Bromyards murders.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Webster?’

‘I also have time, sir. I am working on the burglaries of wealthy homes in the area, same MO and, like Ventnor, I am waiting for them to make a mistake.’

‘All right. . you see. .’ Hennessey leaned forward and clasped his hands together, resting them on his desktop, ‘I don’t know how best to prioritize this, you see we have a code forty-one on our hands.’

‘A murder!’ Yellich sat forward in his chair. ‘As if the Bromyards case wasn’t enough.’

‘Yes. You were all committed yesterday and so I attended the murder scene. He. . the victim, was an old, well oldish. . a man in his middle years. . positively identified as one James Post. . strangled, head smashed in, found in a field just outside the city. Probably would be lying there still had not an alert member of the public put two and two together when she saw a column of flies hovering over something. I’ll explain what I mean later, but the upshot of it is we have to visit his drum, an address on the Tang Hall Estate, so not a wealthy man. His brother, who identified the body, phoned later with his brother’s address. He also has a key but I asked him to stay clear, it’s going to be a lowlife petty criminal murder, brought on by some petty quarrel. It’s nothing of the magnitude of this,’ Hennessey patted the Bromyards murders file again, ‘but it’s fresh, we’re still within the first twenty-four hours, whereas with the Bromyards case we seem to be coming in when it’s all over, no fresh evidence at all.’ Hennessey fell silent. ‘I am going to the post-mortem of James Post; Dr D’Acre is coming in today to do it, to the delight of her daughters.’ He smiled. ‘She told me that if she is at work on the weekends her daughters get to ride their horse, without having to compete with her. . more time for them you see. But I have a visit to do before then. . that name. . the couple you visited yesterday afternoon, Pharoah and Ventnor. . Malpass?’

‘Yes.’

‘That name rang bells with me and yesterday evening when I was exercising my dog I remembered. So, visit, then the post-mortem for me. Webster.’

‘Sir.’

‘I want you to go with Ventnor, collect the key from James Post’s brother and visit his flat.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘DC Phaorah, if you could address the phone calls you suggested?’

‘Yes, sir.’

The woman’s face melted into a smile when she saw that it was George Hennessey who had knocked on her door. ‘George,’ she said warmly and bent forward to kiss his cheek.

‘How are you, Tilly?’

‘Getting there. . do come in.’

‘Thanks.’ Hennessey swept off his panama and stepped over the threshold into Matilda Pakenham’s house in Holgate. He saw that she kept it in a neat and clean manner and was burning a joss stick, which filled the house with the pleasant scent of incense.

‘Are you studying?’ Hennessey noted a pile of text books in the corner of the living room as he accepted her invitation to take a seat.

‘Yes,’ she smiled proudly, ‘just as I said I would if I got the chance. . History, no firm plans as to what to do with the degree once I get it, but early days yet. I feel like an old woman when I attend lectures with all those female students who were in school uniform just a year ago.’

‘You are younger than you are old, Tilly,’ Hennessey smiled. ‘If you see what I mean.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Any news of the ex?’

‘No, he seems to be leaving me alone. He didn’t enjoy gaol, he couldn’t charm the guys in there.’

‘Well, not only am I calling on you to see how you have settled. .’

‘Settled is the word. If you hadn’t bought me that meal that day I’d still be wrapped in a blanket in a shop doorway, picking out Edelweiss on that old tin whistle for a few coins in a plastic beaker.’ She shuddered. ‘What a place to fall to. . but they say that. . they say you have to reach your gutter before you can start the long climb back to respectable living.’

‘That’s what Alcoholics Anonymous say.’

‘Yes, good people. . they helped me as much as you did.’

‘It’s actually that which I have called to ask you about.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, I want to pick your brains.’

‘I’ll make us some tea.’ She rose from the scatter cushion on which she sat. ‘My brain will make for richer pickings if I am drinking tea. Join me, George?’

‘Love to, thank you.’

Once again settled, each with a mug of herbal tea, which was not to George Hennessey’s taste, he said, ‘I recall you talking about a couple. . one Mr and Mrs Malpass.’

Tilly Pakenham shuddered. ‘Yes, I will never forget them. . oh. . will I ever.’

‘Tell me about them.’

‘Why? Have they come to your attention? I knew they would.’

‘Just tell me about them. . how you met. . why you didn’t see them again? If you recall, you told me once. I was not really interested in them then.’

‘But you are now?’

‘Well, let’s just say, let’s just say things have developed.’

‘I see. . well Ronald and Sylvia, what can I tell you? We met in an AA meeting. They were different from the others, they had confidence, self-respect. If they were alcoholics they had made a full recovery. Not just dry, but they had recovered their self-confidence, self-respect, self-worth. He was tall and handsome and she was elegant. . both well dressed. In fact, he put me in mind of my husband, the charming salesman and equally vicious wife beater. He wouldn’t have sold as many cars and kitchen units as he did if the customers knew how often he put my blood on the wall.’

‘Indeed.’ Hennessey sipped the herbal tea.