Episode 22 - Loose ends

Tuesday cont.

At HQ, Nigel was still preoccupied with Henry’s accounting, but not too busy to order pizzas for himself and Gary. Romano brought them personally and a discussion of Gary's mother-in-law's shortcomings could not be avoided.

Gloria was a trial and emotionally unstable, Gary thought. Now in her early sixties, after 40 years of abstinence, she had rediscovered the joys of romantic moments, but flirted with more than one beau, much to Romano’s chagrin. He was old Italian stock, where widows wore black whatever age they were since widowhood had had status and his grandmother had definitely had it.

Gloria was gaudy and gregarious. She had been hostess at the Italian restaurant for some time and increased the profits no end since she attracted eaters who enjoyed being entertained while they ate. 

But Romano had to admit that Gloria was starting to become an embarrassment, not least because she now coached the high-kicking travesty troupe Lucky 13, that had been founded and was run by Nigel.

“She’s driving us all mad”, Romano complained.

“I’ll talk to her,” Nigel offered.

“I thought you would,” said Romano. “I’ve put extra double cheese on your pizza, and anchovies.”

Confident that Gary would get Gloria under control, Romano made his exit, fortunately not singing the Duke of Mantua’s famous aria for the whole of HQ to hear.

***

"A little bribery can work wonders, Nigel," said Gary. "He's optimistic."

“Where did he get the idea that I like anchovies,” said Nigel. “I hate anchovies.”

“I love them,” said Gary. “Hand them over!”

The repast was enjoyed in companionable silence.

***

“What time is Sloane coming?” Gary asked a bit later, sighing deeply. “I’ve eaten too much.”

“Time for a run in the park,” said Nigel.

“Not that much.”

“He’ll be here at three. I’ve ordered a patrol car to collect him.”

“Assuming he’s at the address we have.”

“I checked, Gary. He’s getting his next archaeological outing planned.”

“So he’s on course, is he? No guilty feelings or anything.”

“I don’t know. I got that nice receptionist to phone him.”

“Very wise. So he could not ask her what I want,” said Gary. “But she’s good at fictional explanations if he did.”

***

Nigel wanted to use the time before Sloane appeared in transcribing the recording Gary had made of the Brad and Connor Bailey interviews.

“It’s like getting blood out of a stone,” he remarked as he typed Bailey’s statements.

“I’m hoping that Sloane has something useful to say about Bailey. I’m going to play him the recording and watch his reaction. That should set the ball rolling.”

***

Sloane was punctual and greeted by Gary like an old friend.

The fake archaeologist was not what you’d call effusive. He shook Gary’s hand by the fingers and sat down gingerly on the chair offered to him as if he expected one of those cushions that make a rude noise to respond to his bony backside.

Gary came straight to the point since small talk was too laborious when he was faced with an almost unknown quantity.

“How long have you known Connor Bailey, Mr Sloane? He said.

“Who is that,” Sloane replied.

Nigel cleared his throat, came forward and pressed to playback button on the mini-recorder on the table. Since Nigel was cautious, he had already copied the recording onto a hard disk so that the evidence could not be destroyed by an irate listening pouring water over it, or grabbing it crushing it with a foot. Better safe than sorry.

Sloane listened poker-faced.

"What has that to do with me?" he said when the recording had finished.

"Don't you work for him?"

 Nigel went back to taking notes at a little table placed strategically in Gary’s big superintendent office so that the interviewee could not see him. 

Gary paused before saying “Let’s start again, Mr Sloane, and be truthful this time. How long have you known Mr Bailey?”

Sloane was blasé about having told a lie, but Gary was on his guard.

“I think we’ll switch the recorder on again,” he said. " Although you are not under oath, it would be better for you if you told the truth, Mr Sloane.”

Sloane looked nervous. The recording played out. 

Gary paused before asking Sloane again if he knew Bailey.

“We went to school together,” Sloane said finally.

“That’s more like it, though he’s quite a lot older, isn’t he?”

“He was in the upper sixth when I went to the school.”

“Did you have contact then, Mr Sloane?”

“Only the contact between small fry and prefects,” said Sloane. “Mr Bailey bullied us juniors. You had to pay him if you didn’t want to be knocked about. He took all our pocket money.”

“So you didn’t like him then, did you?”

“No, and the feeling hasn’t changed.”

“Where were you yesterday afternoon, Mr Sloane?”

“Out. Why?”

“I have a small mystery to solve,” said Gary. “Do you go in for revenge?”

“No.”

“So your dealings with Connor Bailey are now going well, are they?”

“What dealings?”

“The payments for a little archaeological digging.”

Sloane laughed.

“Do you mean the little plots I found for burying beloved pets, Mr Hurley?”

“I suppose you could call them that. Was one of them at Monkton Priory?”

“Years ago, for a dead sheepdog, I think.”

“So you must have been expecting your assistant Alfred Medic to find animal bones if he found anything. Is that why you let him dig?”

“I always dig the holes very deep, but those human remains were near the surface.”

“So you would have put them deeper, would you?”

Sloane was catching on to what Gary was trying to find out.

“I would not touch human remains,” he said. “In fact, I have never buried anything in my life.”

“So you believed Bailey’s explanation of the holes you dug, did you?”

“Why shouldn’t I? There is no animal cemetery around here, but pets have to find a resting place.”

“Like the mummies in Egypt, Mr Sloane?”

“I don’t think pets are usually embalmed,” said Sloane.

***

“Are there two ‘m’s in embalmed, Gary?” Nigel asked. He was not sure how to assess Sloane’s coolness, but he thought the interview was going to take much too long if Gary insisted on going down every alleyway.

Gary got the hint.

***

“Where were you yesterday afternoon, Mr Sloane?”

“I’ve told you: out. Privately and that’s none of your business.”

Gary did not have time to remind Sloane that a police interview involved providing the police with the information they asked for because the phone interrupted the proceedings.

“Yes Chris. What is it? I have Mr Sloane here for a little talk.”

“Keep him there,” said Chris. “Bailey had two bullets in his shoulder, the operator at the hospital told me. They are sending them to me. Two bullets, two calibres. That means two weapons.”

“Thanks for that, Chris. I’ll call back presently.”

“What calibre does your pistol have, Mr Sloane?” he asked.

“What pistol?”

“The one in your attaché case. Weren’t you searched at reception, Mr Sloane?”

Nigel stepped forward hastily and snatched the case leaning on the side of Sloane’s chair before he had time to grab it himself. Nigel put it on the main table, opened it, and emptied it. No sign of a gun, only a bottle of water, a commercially wrapped sandwich and an ordnance survey map of the district, but Nigel was prepared for that. The case was still quite heavy. The gun was sitting nicely in a false bottom.

“Is that the pistol you used to take a pot shot at Connor Bailey yesterday?” Gary asked.

“What are you talking about?” said Sloane.

“If I’m not mistaken, you went to Bailey’s farm to kill him, looked for him, found him lying on the field at the back of his house, and thought you were finishing him off if he wasn’t already dead, Mr Sloane.”

***

To Nigel's and Gary's surprise Sloane owned up to something Gary had only thrown into the interview after Chris's phone-call.

“If I had wanted to kill him, I would have aimed at his heart,” Sloane said.

“Don’t bother explaining now, Mr Sloane. Since you have very kindly confessed, I’m arresting you for attempted murder.”

“Attempted?”

“Bailey survived, Mr Sloane. Aren’t you glad?”

***

“That was great,” said Nigel, when Sloane had been led away. “I enjoyed watching him squirm. I expect he thought Bailey was dead and just wanted to voice his hatred of the guy. Very stupid of him. Breaking and entering cemeteries is one thing; taking pot shots at would-be corpses quite another.”

“I wouldn’t have thought he could be so callous,” said Gary.

“Doesn’t Cleo say that you can’t judge a book by its cover?”

“That phone-call from Chris was a just-in-time tip-off. I guessed the rest, but Sloane gave himself away immediately. More fool him. He really thought he had killed Bailey, as Brad had before him,” said Gary.

“But we still don’t know the whole story.”

“I’m not sure we ever will.”

***

Connor Bailey died of internal bleeding after attempting to leave the hospital. A confession had not been available in so many words.

Casebook closed.