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“Brought on by what, I wonder,” said Gardener.
“Who, more like,” said Reilly.
“I don’t think it was anything to do with Corndell. He was still down in London when it all happened.”
“Doesn’t mean much,” said Reilly. “He could still have had a hand in it.”
“Well... he could, but it doesn’t seem feasible at the moment.”
“What about his mother?” Gardener asked.
“Died in 1985. Cancer.”
“Okay,” said Gardener. That tied in with what Corndell had told them. “Anything else?”
“The only thing left for me to do is follow up the London lead, find out everything I can about his life down there. If anything’s going to give, that’s where it will come from.”
“In that case, go down tomorrow. That privately owned bank must have a previous address. His father was famous enough, try the film studios, the West End. That reminds me, Sean, check with Fettle and see whether or not his mate has any information.”
“Do you two really think Corndell is our man?” Thornton asked Gardener.
“He’s at the top of the list for now.”
“Then why don’t we bring him in?” asked Anderson.
“No evidence,” said Reilly. An air of defeat circulated the room.
“Another murder should do that,” said Anderson.
“Only if we can tie him in,” said Gardener.
“Does he have alibis for the previous two?” asked Steve Fenton.
“No, but you can’t prove or disprove what he’s said because he was home alone. And let’s face it, even if he wasn’t, who’s to know with the two disguises he’s used? Quite frankly, another murder would put us bottom of the popularity stakes, and Briggs would come down so heavy on us we’d have to reach up to tie our shoelaces.”
Gardener sighed as another knock on the door came and Patrick Edwards poked his head around the frame. “Anything on that missing limo, Patrick?”
“Not a lot,” replied Edwards. “Still hasn’t turned up. It was paid for in
cash by a man called Robert Sandell, and we’ve now found out all the documents produced were false.”
“Wonderful,” replied Gardener. “Okay, I have something else for you. I want you to check all the rental companies and find out whether or not a William Henry Corndell has hired any vehicles recently using electronic transfers from a London bank as payment. Colin will give you the name of the bank.”
“Okay, sir,” replied Edwards, still standing his ground. “Sir, that number you wanted us to check, Burley in Wharfedale?”
“Oh, yes.”
“It’s not in service anymore. When the owner sold the property and moved on, the new owner had it changed.”
Gardener glanced at the sheet of paper that Edwards had passed over. The address – a side street off the main street, seemed familiar. “Who lives there now?”
“Someone called Cuthbertson... Alan Cuthbertson.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Midday had come and gone, and with early afternoon approaching, Harry Fletcher had to try to organise the next day’s supplies for the soup kitchen. He’d been at work since six o’clock and he was bushed, having prepared and served all the breakfasts, and afterwards, helping to rearrange the furniture in the room of the big house for that night’s local council meeting. But five minutes with a cup of tea and his diary wouldn’t hurt.
Mary Phillips, one of three volunteers, was cleaning the kitchen. She’d said it was fine by her if he took a break, seeing as he started two hours before anyone else. Kathy and Sarah, the other volunteers, had left early due to doctor’s appointments.
