Suspicion Points Page 13

  ‘Did she mention anything about burning your house down?’

  ‘No,’ Bridget admitted reluctantly.

  ‘I know it’s difficult,’ I chipped in, ‘but it would be useful if you can remember the type of things she said. ‘Were her threats aimed at you or your whole family?’

  ‘Just me, I think.’

  ‘What did you do with the letter?’ I asked.

  ‘Tore it up. Sorry I did now. It’d be proof against her.’

  ‘Did you tear it up as soon as you read it?’ asked Sharon.

  Bridget shook her head. ‘Can’t remember. Oh, yes, I think I did. She said things like ‘I’ll pay you back and don’t think you can plot against me and get me made redundant and stop me from getting another job. I’ll make you suffer for what you did.’ Them sort of things she said.’

  ‘How did you stop her from getting another job?’ I asked.

  Bridget sneered. ‘She and that Margaret thought they was clever, but I knew what they’d do before they even done it. I’m not stupid. Thick as thieves them two are. Went to university together. Think they’re so smart. Even Elaine didn’t think of it, but I did. Phoebe gave Margaret’s name for references when she were looking for a job. Letters from other hospitals arrived addressed to Margaret and calling her The Medical Records Manager. I took them in the mail room, before they got to medical records. And me and Elaine opened them and rang the hospitals and gave an honest reference, not the glowing fake ones Margaret would of given.’

  ‘How did Phoebe find out?’ I asked.

  ‘She couldn’t get a job – never even got asked for a interview. Margaret said she never got no letters asking for a reference. They caught on to what me and Elaine was doing and got one of Phoebe’s relations, who worked for the council, to send a letter asking for a reference. It were bad luck Phoebe were there when I rang. Elaine were away so I done it and Phoebe recognized my voice. Wrote a letter of complaint to Human Resources, she did. But they never did nothing about it. Phoebe and Margaret was wrong to do it – that’s what Elaine and me argued and they agreed with us.’

  My loathing of Bridget increased. Even when Phoebe had been made redundant, Bridget had felt no guilt, and had gone to the trouble of making sure she couldn’t get another job.

  ‘I see,’ said Sharon. ‘Why didn’t you take the threatening letter from Phoebe to the police?’

  ‘They wouldn’t of taken no notice. And then she went and told all the neighbours horrible things about me. Lies. All lies.’

  ‘Was the letter handwritten?’ I asked.

  Bridget shook her head. ‘Typed.’

  Sharon produced the letter. ‘Phoebe printed out a copy of the letter she said she sent you.’

  Bridget flushed a dark, ugly red. She reluctantly took the letter and read it. Her hands were trembling. She whispered, ‘It’s not true . . . this one.’

  Sharon looked convinced.

  ‘Did she send you one like this . . . perhaps after she sent you the nastier one?’ I asked. ‘Perhaps she was sorry . . . ’

  Bridget, though rattled, did not fall into my trap, by taking the escape route I offered. ‘Never got this one. This isn’t what she wrote.’

  ‘It was on her computer,’ I said. ‘The date’s about two years ago – that’s when you moved to Farrier Way, isn’t it?’

  ‘I never got it. Just the nasty one. She was planning it back then. This is proof. She never sent me this one. It was another one.’

  We let a minute elapse, while Bridget composed herself.

  ‘Did your mother know you were secretly seeing your father?’ Sharon asked.

  Her flush, which had begun to fade, darkened again. ‘Who told you?’

  Sharon looked as if she was trying to remember. ‘Sorry, I’ve forgotten. Did your mother know?’

  Bridget looked at the door fearfully. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I never told her. She’ll be back soon. Please don’t tell her.’

  ‘Why not?’ I asked.

  ‘She’ll be upset.’

  ‘Did she like Declan?’ I asked.

  Tears poured down her face. ‘She’s all I’ve got now.’

  ‘What about your father?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s got a new girlfriend,’ she whispered. ‘Divorced – four kids – they like him and – ’ Bridget jumped at the instant I heard keys in the door.

  Mrs Bradley came in with two plastic carrier bags. ‘Not doing no good in catching who killed me grandson, are you?’ she said.

  ‘Thanks for your time,’ Sharon said to Bridget.

  Wanting to know how true the allegations about Mrs Bradley being possessive were, I decided to test her. I turned to Bridget. ‘Are you going to move back to Farrier Way when the damage is – ’

  Mrs Bradley glared at me. ‘No she’s not. She’s going to stay here with me where she’ll be safe.’

  Bridget chewed her lip. ‘I haven’t – ’

  ‘You’ll be safe here, away from that murderer Phoebe.’

  ‘When we find out who did it, you can move back,’ I said to Bridget.

  ‘No she won’t,’ snapped Mrs Bradley. ‘Them neighbours was horrible to Bridget. When the insurance has paid out we’re going to move away from here to somewhere nice. We’re going to buy a flat somewhere. We could even move back to Ireland.’

  Bridget looked horrified. She was as trapped as she’d been before her marriage.

  ‘Did you ever meet Phoebe, Mrs Bradley?’ Sharon asked.

  ‘Once. Come here for dinner, she did. Bridget were all nervous, weren’t you? Everything had to be just right, didn’t it? Anyone would think the queen were coming. She hated being here. Beneath her, she thought.’

  ‘What did she say?’ I asked.

  ‘Didn’t have to say it – writ on her face. She were . . . what’s the word, Bridget?’

  Bridget shook her head. ‘Acted as if she were doing us a favour just being here.’

  ‘Acted like the queen, she did. Pretending to enjoy herself when you could see she couldn’t wait to leave. Picked at her food like a mouse. And I’d gone to a lot of trouble because she were a vegetarian. Nervous she were of going out to the car in the dark – as if she were going to be killed by a gang. Wish she had of been – then she wouldn’t have murdered me grandson. When are you going to arrest her?’

  ‘When we’ve got sufficient evidence,’ Sharon said. ‘Thank you for your time.’

  ‘Why haven’t you got no evidence now? You should be looking for it, not coming here wasting time.’

  ‘Murder by arson is difficult because most evidence is destroyed in the fire and by the firemen,’ Sharon said. ‘Footprints, fingerprints, DNA – ’

  Mrs Bradley grunted. ‘Good excuse. That’s all you police ever do. Making excuses is all you’re good at. You should be questioning that spoilt brat Phoebe, not coming here upsetting my Bridget. And don’t say you never upset her – I can see she’s been crying.’

  It would have been futile to explain to this woman the importance of psychology and criminal profiling in cases like this.

  Sharon looked at Bridget. ‘Did you know Phoebe has seven siblings?’

  Bridget looked blank.

  ‘Brothers and sisters,’ I said with a smile to hide how appalled I was by her ignorance.

  ‘Yeah. Never stopped talking about them. All had silly names too.’

  ‘What’s this got to do with her trying to murder my Bridget?’

  ‘It’s just that you, on more than one occasion, called her a spoilt brat,’ Sharon replied.

  ‘She is a spoilt brat, that’s why,’ Mrs Bradley snapped. ‘Them brothers and sisters spoiled her.’

  Bridget nodded vigorously. ‘The reason she never wanted to wear no uniform was because she loved swanning about in all her fancy clothes. Always bragging that she had fourteen blouses and fourteen jumpers – one for every day of the fortnight. Seven skirts and seven pairs of trousers she had too – one for every day of the week. And it’s not just jumpers she had lo
ts of – she had jackets too – don’t know how many – probably seven – one for – ’

  ‘Where did she come in the family?’ I asked.

  Bridget looked confused. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Was she the oldest, the youngest?’

  ‘She were the fourth. Two boys was first, then two girls and then boy, girl, boy, girl. Never stopped going on about it, she didn’t.’

  Mrs Bradley looked furious. ‘What’s that got to do with – ’

  To my astonishment Sharon said, ‘Criminal profiling and the way someone’s mind works, Mrs Bradley. I associate the term ‘spoilt brat’ with ‘only child’. Not only was Phoebe one of eight children she was a middle child – middle children are famously unspoilt. Thank you both for your time. Oh, did you like Declan?’

  ‘What sort of a question is that?’

  Sharon raised her eyebrows. ‘Just a simple question, Mrs Bradley. Did you like Declan?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Sharon’s smile was sly. ‘Why wouldn’t you? Did you ever have disagreements?’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘Nothing. Just asking if you and Declan ever disagreed.’

  Mrs Bradley was looking so belligerent I said to her, ‘We’re trying to work out what Declan was like – because he might have been the target. So what was he like? Did he have any enemies that you know of?’

  ‘He were all right, I suppose,’ she said. ‘Bridget could of done better.’

  ‘Why were you staying here the night of the fire?’ I asked Bridget.

  ‘Mum had an accident.’

  ‘Nothing serious, I hope,’ said Sharon.

  ‘She fell down the stairs.’

  ‘Nasty,’ I said. ‘They’re concrete. It’s a wonder you didn’t break anything. Are you badly bruised?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Have you been to the doctor?’ asked Sharon.

  ‘No.’

  Sharon and I looked at each other.

  ‘Why not?’ I asked.

  ‘Why should I? I’m not one to make a fuss – not like some people who go to the doctor when they’ve got a sore toe or a cold.’

  ‘I would have thought that if you fell down the stairs, you would have at least needed to go to a doctor.’

  She scowled. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Several people have informed us that you didn’t like Declan. You didn’t want Bridget to marry him and you hardly ever saw your grandson. You went to Farrier Way and Bridget’s neighbours witnessed you and Declan having an argument.’

  ‘They shouldn’t of been listening. Should of minded their own business.’

  ‘According to them – ’

  ‘Are you accusing me of murdering me own grandson?’

  ‘We’re not accusing you of anything, Mrs Bradley,’ Sharon said innocently. ‘We are trying to establish if Declan was the intended target. We’ve been to your house, Bridget. Were you and Declan going to let the basement flat?’

  She looked guilty.

  Mrs Bradley glowered at her. ‘What basement flat? You never said nothing about no basement flat!’

  ‘The last owner had her daughter staying with her when she got divorced,’ babbled Bridget. ‘She were the one what made the basement into a flat. Not me and Declan.’

  ‘You and Declan told me that it were full of rubbish when I wanted to go down there.’

  ‘It were,’ said Bridget.

  ‘You never told me nothing about no flat. I could of moved in there and looked after me grandson when you and Declan was at work.’

  ‘It wasn’t ready for no one to move into,’ protested Bridget. ‘We wasn’t going to get anyone down there – we was going to turn it into . . . ’

  ‘A what?’ Mrs Bradley snarled.

  Aware that Bridget had been keeping a great deal from her mother, we left.

  I realized that Mrs Bradley called the baby ‘me grandson’ rather than Bridget’s baby or son. And she often referred to Bridget as ‘my Bridget’ not simply Bridget.

  ‘After that episode I think Mrs Bradley is more of a suspect than we thought,’ I said as we reached the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Mrs Bradley would have had to get from her flat to the car park without being seen,’ said Sharon as we walked back to the car park.

  I looked back at the flats. ‘Her flat doesn’t overlook the car park. If she left the flat quietly – ’

  ‘Very risky.’

  ‘Not if Bridget is a sound sleeper. And if her mother planned this she may have drugged her. It’s easy to get sleeping pills from the doctor. All she – ’

  ‘But she ran the risk of being seen, if not by Bridget then by someone else,’ argued Sharon.

  ‘Shapeless clothes, a jacket with a hood. No one likes her. She’s lonely.’

  ‘Would she have murdered her grandson?’

  ‘Difficult to know. She’d lost Bridget to Declan and his parents, and she was lonely and isolated. She must have known that Declan had life insurance – ’

  ‘How do you know he had life insurance?’

  ‘Because – ’ I stopped. ‘I’d assumed Mrs Bradley had meant life insurance, but she could have meant house insurance. But if he had life insurance as well, Bridget will end up very well off. Mrs Bradley has the strongest motives so far.’

  ‘Phoebe had lots more reasons – ’

  ‘Mrs Bradley will get what she wants – not just Bridget back living with her, but she’s planning to move somewhere much better than a council estate. Everyone here seems to hate her, she might think it’s all their fault and people will be more friendly somewhere else. Phoebe would have gained nothing, but a lifetime of guilt.’

  ‘You’re so anxious to turn suspicion away from Phoebe.’

  ‘I’m anxious that we arrest the right person. And why are you so keen to make a case against Phoebe?’

  ‘I think Bridget could be telling the truth about the letter Phoebe wrote.’

  I felt like telling her not to be a fool, but I made an effort to sound rational. ‘To me it’s obvious she was lying. Bridget’s mother will gain not just emotionally, but she’ll share Bridget’s money too. Bridget’s a bereaved wreck and her mother thinks she’ll be easy to manipulate.’

  When we got back to the station there was an e-mail from Elaine. She had addressed it to me with a copy for Sharon. Serve her right, I thought when I saw she’d called me Inspector.

  Dear Inspector Trevelyan,

  My jaw is broken and has been wired up, so I can’t speak. One of my staff attacked me. Pity you didn’t arrive slightly earlier or you would have witnessed it. He is deranged. He wasn’t doing his job properly, and when I took him to task he punched me. The other staff are lying when they say I fell. I didn’t. He attacked me.

  His name is Leslie Hooper. He’s mad and hopeless at his job. This is an official report and I demand that he is arrested and charged with assault.

  Elaine Dunn (Medical Records Manager)

  Sharon came storming up to my desk. ‘Hello, Inspector.’

  ‘I was about to reply and, yes, I was going to tell her our correct titles.’

  ‘What’s the matter with these women? She’s a manager. Why does she assume that just because you’re a man, you’re my superior?’

  I clicked on reply and began to type. ‘I have no idea. Ask her.’

  Dear Ms Dunn,

  Your allegation regarding Leslie Hooper will be looked into. Thank you for letting us know.

  Inspector Sharon Richardson and I came to visit you at the medical records department because of the arson attack on Bridget Murphy’s house, in which her husband and baby son died. Is there anything you can tell us that might help our investigation?

  I hope you are recovering from your injuries.

  Yours sincerely,

  Sergeant Robert Trevelyan.

  Sharon was hovering by my shoulder.

  ‘Happy?’ I asked.

  ‘It�
�ll do. This Leslie Hooper must be the one that nearly knocked me over.’

  Sharon and I visited the medical records department in the morning. She rejected my suggestion that we go to casualty and ask a doctor if it was possible Elaine had fallen.

  ‘Where’s Leslie Hooper?’ she asked the nearest woman, who looked startled, as she held up her badge.

  Margaret came over holding a pile of files. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Where’s Leslie Hooper?’ Sharon repeated.

  They all looked guilty.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Margaret.

  ‘We want to question him about the attack on Elaine Dunn.’

  ‘She fell,’ said Margaret.

  The others nodded. I noticed that none of them were wearing the brown uniforms. Some wore jeans. Margaret was dressed in a navy skirt and pale blue shirt. She looked younger and much more attractive. The uniform had made her look sick.

  ‘Her injuries are consistent with being punched on the jaw,’ said Sharon. ‘Are you aware that lying to the police during an investigation is a criminal offence?’

  No one spoke.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Margaret with a touch of defiance. ‘Probably at home.’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  Margaret shook her head. The others followed her example.

  ‘We’ll find out from Human Resources. Can I remind you that this is a murder investigation.’

  Margaret looked shocked. ‘Elaine’s dead?’

  ‘No, but – ’

  ‘Pity,’ someone, I didn’t see who, muttered.

  ‘Bridget Murphy’s house was set alight,’ Sharon snapped. ‘Deliberately. Her husband and baby son burnt to death. A lot of people in this department have admitted they hated her. Leslie Hooper punched your manager in the face. He’s a suspect. A murder suspect. Remember that before you lie for him. And remember that lying to the police does not go unpunished. Come on, Sergeant.’

  We walked to the door, but before we could open it, Margaret said, ‘He wouldn’t have murdered anyone. He’s not violent.’