wallet and produced his card, Norman Ruddock did the same.
“I represent Mr Accrington’s lawyers,” Ruddock said as the constable examined the cards. “We are also the solicitors for the company of which he was a director. Mr Bilston is also a director of that company.”
“Alright sir. We’ve alerted the local CID, they should be here within the hour.”
“Good! In the meantime, can we have a look around?”
“Sorry sir, no sir,” the constable shook his head. “You’ll have to wait until CID and the finger print people have been down here, shouldn’t take long.”
Ruddock and Bilston looked at each other and Bilston shrugged.
“Looks as if we’re stymied for the present, Norman,” he said. “We may as well have a look at the local hostelry.”
The constable grinned.
“Sounds like a good idea, sir,” he said. “Wish we could join you. I suggest you try the Cromwell Arms, their draught beer is worth a try. Come back here in about an hour or so, or maybe two. CID should be here by then.”
They took the constable’s advice and tried the beer at the Cromwell Arms. The hostelry was a most impressive building, of Tudor appearance and from a date that they could just make out over the frontage of the building its vintage was 1564. As for the draught beer, they fully agreed with the constable’s assessment. As they stood at the bar they talked to the landlord.
“Mr Accrington?” the grizzled landlord pondered and scratched his chin. “Yes, he came in here occasionally, usually by himself, though he came in a few times with Walter Rushden. Sad business him dying like that. Are you investigating his death?”
“Who’s Walter Rushden?” asked Ruddock, ignoring the question. “Is he a local?”
“He’s almost part of the scenery,” the landlord responded with a chuckle. “He’s in here most week ends, he works on one of the farms around here. He played for the local cricket club for years, used to be a big hitter. He broke two of our windows at the back when they played on their old ground before it was sold over their heads.”
“How was he friendly with John Accrington?”
“Cricket in the main as I recall it, Walt was a member of the cricket club committee when they were looking for a new ground some sixteen years or so back. Mr Accrington offered them his western meadow and Walt was involved in the negotiations. Generous offer that, it saved the cricket club. Mr Accrington also purchased the materials for their new pavilion.”
He jerked his thumb at a chart on the wall to the right, it had a logo on the top and a list of fixtures below it.
“I’m a vice-president, I post their fixture card up there every year,” he said. “Pays me too, after the matches they come in here with the opposition and knock off a few pints.”
“Where does Walter Rushden work now?”
“Hancocks’s farm, that’s just up the road from here. He looked after Mr Accrington’s garden as well, Mr Accrington gave him an allotment on the northern end of the property where he grows his vegetables. Guess he’ll probably lose that now.”
“Do you know a Mrs Salmon?”
“Edna Salmon?” the landlord pursed his lips and screwed up his eyes. “What about Edna Salmon?”
“Wasn’t she John Accrington’s housekeeper?”
“So I’ve heard,” said the landlord. “…Yes…half a mo, Jim, with you in a minute…!” he waved his hand at another man at the far end of the bar. “She’s lived here many years.”
“What sort of a woman is she?’ asked Ruddock.
The landlord wiped an offending beer puddle from the bar, and looked up.
“She’s lived here for many a year,” he repeated and inclined his head downwards but kept his eyes focussed on them. “You’ll have to excuse me, gents. Duty calls.”
They returned to the house about two hours later, there were two cars in the driveway outside the front door. A man was talking to two women on the doorstep as they approached and he looked up quizzically. He was a thick set man, with close cropped hair and was wearing sunglasses, which he removed as the two men approached. He finished his conversation with the two women, who were dressed in white overalls, and came over to them.
“Good afternoon! Can we assist you?”
Richard Bilston patiently explained who they were, the man consulted his clip board.
“Ah yes, you’re the two gentlemen who reported a suspected break-in…right?” he extended his hand and shook hands with them both. “Detective Sergeant Eddington, I’m from the Moorfield CID. We’ve had a look around, someone has definitely been in here by the look of it. Which rooms did you enter?”
“We were in the hallway, we had a look in the study - that’s the room over there, and then we went into the back room. We noticed a television set was missing.”
“How do you know that, sir?”
“I’ve been in the house a few times, I am a fellow director of John Accrington’s,” Richard Bilston explained. ” I paid a few visits to the house after my father died, we had to discuss company policy sometimes over the weekends.”
“Your father was…?”
“Kenneth Bilston, the original founder of the company in conjunction with Mr Accrington,” explained Richard.
“And you have a key?”
“Yes he does,” Ruddock broke in at this point. “I represent Mr Accrington’s lawyers, we collected all the keys to the property and retained them in our offices. The key that Mr Bilston used is one I gave him to open the front door when we arrived. We were here to search for company papers and any personal papers of the late Mr Accrington.”
“There are some papers lying on a sofa in the study, did you remove those?”
“No, they were already there.” said Richard. “They look like company papers to me, but I haven’t had a chance to study them in full yet.”
“Perhaps you can accompany me into the study Mr Bilston, and you Mr Ruddock, and see if you can assess whether anything else is missing.” said Eddington. “But don’t touch anything.”
He led the way into the hall and then into the study and invited them to have a look around. Richard did so, and gave a minor double take as he looked at the computer.
“That should be on the desk, not over there on that small table by the door,” he said. “Somebody has moved it.”
The Detective Sergeant moved over to look at it more closely, reached out and his hand came up holding the cable and the electric plug.
“Disconnected,” he remarked. “You’re right. It seems to me that somebody is collecting stuff together ready to move it. Have you any ideas who?”
They
