their brief statement they’d said that they’d been out at the time of the murder visiting friends and that they hadn’t
returned until late that evening. They’d seen and heard nothing and their only dealings with Dr Dalcott had been the exchanging
of neighbourly nods.
They hadn’t known the dead man and they hadn’t behaved at all suspiciously so checking their story was just a matter of routine
and hardly considered urgent. Syd and Brian Trenchard had seemed to be low priority.
‘What makes you think they’ve done a moonlight flit,love?’ Gerry asked. ‘They might have just gone away for a few days. Can’t be easy living next door to a murder scene, as you
know yourself.’
Ruby leaned towards Gerry as though she didn’t want to be overheard. ‘They packed a load of stuff into the car. Looked like
all their possessions if you ask me. The place is let furnished so there’d be no need for a removal van. They drove off and
I haven’t seen them since.’
Wesley caught Gerry’s eye. This hardly sounded like proof of guilt.
‘I took their car registration number, just in case.’ Ruby delved into her pocket and pulled out a neatly folded sheet of
paper. She handed it to Gerry with great ceremony. ‘There you are, Chief Inspector.’
Gerry stuffed it into his own pocket where, Wesley feared, it would probably get lost amongst all the other scraps of paper
that ended up in there.
‘Do you want me to look after that?’ he asked.
Gerry, always the first to acknowledge that Wesley was far more organised than he was, handed the sheet over.
‘How well did you know the Trenchards?’ Wesley asked, putting the paper carefully into his pocket.
Ruby licked her thin lips and Wesley suspected she was enjoying herself. ‘Said hello a couple of times but we didn’t pass
the time of day. The father – at least I presume it’s his father: you never know nowadays, do you? – always went around in
one of those track suits. Big bloke around sixty. Shaved head. The son’s in his thirties. Also bald as an egg. Tattoos on
his arms. Smaller than the dad. They certainly weren’t here when we found poor Dr Dalcott but I saw them come back in their
car around ten o’clock.’
Wesley suppressed a smile. ‘We know. They’ve already been interviewed.’
Ruby looked disappointed.
‘But you’re being very helpful,’ Wesley said quickly. He didn’t want to discourage further confidences. He stood up. ‘Excuse
me, Mrs Wetherall, I’ll just have to make a call,’ he said and left the room.
Finding the Wetheralls’ cluttered house rather claustrophobic, he felt he needed some fresh air so he let himself out of the
front door, leaving it on the latch, and wandered into the garden. As he pulled out his mobile phone he realised he was standing
in a pile of damp and rotting leaves so he stepped sideways onto the mossy grass. He could feel the cold penetrating his shoes
but as he made his call his mind was on other things. He had a feeling, just a slight uneasy hunch, that there might be something
in Ruby’s suspicions. Or maybe a murder next door and a diet of TV detective dramas were making her see assassins behind every
tree.
He stood there a while, waiting for the station to get back to him. And once he’d received the expected call he returned to
the house, careful to wipe his feet on the doormat.
Gerry Heffernan had settled himself on Ruby’s sofa but Wesley knew that his comfort would be short lived. Thanks to Ruby’s
suspicious mind he’d just discovered that the car used by Syd and Brian Trenchard had been hired in the name of William Smith.
And that there was no record of either man having lived in the Plymouth area.
Syd and Brian Trenchard had some questions to answer.
*
Neil had moved three feet of earth very carefully, examining every spadeful of soil as he worked. He had only asked Dave to
help him. If his suspicions were correct, the fewer feet that
returned until late that evening. They’d seen and heard nothing and their only dealings with Dr Dalcott had been the exchanging
of neighbourly nods.
They hadn’t known the dead man and they hadn’t behaved at all suspiciously so checking their story was just a matter of routine
and hardly considered urgent. Syd and Brian Trenchard had seemed to be low priority.
‘What makes you think they’ve done a moonlight flit,love?’ Gerry asked. ‘They might have just gone away for a few days. Can’t be easy living next door to a murder scene, as you
know yourself.’
Ruby leaned towards Gerry as though she didn’t want to be overheard. ‘They packed a load of stuff into the car. Looked like
all their possessions if you ask me. The place is let furnished so there’d be no need for a removal van. They drove off and
I haven’t seen them since.’
Wesley caught Gerry’s eye. This hardly sounded like proof of guilt.
‘I took their car registration number, just in case.’ Ruby delved into her pocket and pulled out a neatly folded sheet of
paper. She handed it to Gerry with great ceremony. ‘There you are, Chief Inspector.’
Gerry stuffed it into his own pocket where, Wesley feared, it would probably get lost amongst all the other scraps of paper
that ended up in there.
‘Do you want me to look after that?’ he asked.
Gerry, always the first to acknowledge that Wesley was far more organised than he was, handed the sheet over.
‘How well did you know the Trenchards?’ Wesley asked, putting the paper carefully into his pocket.
Ruby licked her thin lips and Wesley suspected she was enjoying herself. ‘Said hello a couple of times but we didn’t pass
the time of day. The father – at least I presume it’s his father: you never know nowadays, do you? – always went around in
one of those track suits. Big bloke around sixty. Shaved head. The son’s in his thirties. Also bald as an egg. Tattoos on
his arms. Smaller than the dad. They certainly weren’t here when we found poor Dr Dalcott but I saw them come back in their
car around ten o’clock.’
Wesley suppressed a smile. ‘We know. They’ve already been interviewed.’
Ruby looked disappointed.
‘But you’re being very helpful,’ Wesley said quickly. He didn’t want to discourage further confidences. He stood up. ‘Excuse
me, Mrs Wetherall, I’ll just have to make a call,’ he said and left the room.
Finding the Wetheralls’ cluttered house rather claustrophobic, he felt he needed some fresh air so he let himself out of the
front door, leaving it on the latch, and wandered into the garden. As he pulled out his mobile phone he realised he was standing
in a pile of damp and rotting leaves so he stepped sideways onto the mossy grass. He could feel the cold penetrating his shoes
but as he made his call his mind was on other things. He had a feeling, just a slight uneasy hunch, that there might be something
in Ruby’s suspicions. Or maybe a murder next door and a diet of TV detective dramas were making her see assassins behind every
tree.
He stood there a while, waiting for the station to get back to him. And once he’d received the expected call he returned to
the house, careful to wipe his feet on the doormat.
Gerry Heffernan had settled himself on Ruby’s sofa but Wesley knew that his comfort would be short lived. Thanks to Ruby’s
suspicious mind he’d just discovered that the car used by Syd and Brian Trenchard had been hired in the name of William Smith.
And that there was no record of either man having lived in the Plymouth area.
Syd and Brian Trenchard had some questions to answer.
*
Neil had moved three feet of earth very carefully, examining every spadeful of soil as he worked. He had only asked Dave to
help him. If his suspicions were correct, the fewer feet that
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