by Keith Dixon
CHAPTER FIFTY
I DROVE NORTH, avoiding the motorway. Up through Lichfield and Rugeley and on to the A51, the fast country route taking me through Stone and Trentham and Stoke, then sweeping westward towards Crewe.
It was mid-afternoon, after the lunch-time traffic and before the evening build-up of travellers who, like me, were avoiding the M6. The roads were still quiet and easy to drive. But I saw almost none of the scenery, allowing the car to drive itself while I thought through everything I’d heard.
Eddie Hampshire was smitten by Tara. What’s more, he couldn’t stand Rory. Tara was a keen businesswoman but her judgement was faulty. Maybe her judgement was faulty in more areas than one. Maybe her impetuosity, of which I had first-hand experience, was the trait that got her in trouble. If she and Rory were virtually estranged, as Dominic Michaels had suggested, maybe she and Eddie were planning a coup of their own. But then why would he kill her? Because she was now a threat? Because she refused to return his feelings for her?
I remembered my first trip to her house, when I’d heard them arguing and saw his car vanishing down the drive. What had they been arguing about? Was it a lovers’ tiff, or was there something darker taking place, a deeper hurt that only manifested itself completely with Tara’s death?
When I got home I called Laura and explained what I’d found.
‘My God,’ she said. ‘Poor woman. What must it have been like for her?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine.’
She heard something in my voice. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.
‘I’ll get over it,’ I said.
There was a pause while she thought about this, then she went on, ‘I guess it makes sense. He spent a lot of time with Tara. They were always closeted in one of the little rooms, discussing “strategy”, or so they said. Well, maybe they were, as far as she was concerned. But maybe he was just taking the opportunity to spend time with the light of his life.’
‘You don’t sound surprised.’
‘My bosses have been murdered and I was run off the road in a car. What actually do you think could surprise me at this moment in time?’
‘Point taken. Did you know Hampshire had been in the SAS?’
‘Of course—I told you we’d had people who’d been in the forces.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘How does that fit in? He never talked about what he did, but presumably he was trained and could kill people. Is that it?’
‘Partly,’ I said.
I told her what I’d learned about the psychological theory from the book that Mal O’Donovan had given me. I sounded strange even to my own ears as I told her about Berne’s theory of Transactional Analysis, and how someone moving into their Critical Parent ego state can bring out the Critical Parent in others. ‘Maybe Hampshire is paranoid about this stuff,’ I said. ‘He took orders in the SAS, and I don’t know, maybe he enjoyed it. But maybe he was damned if he was going to take orders from a jumped up egocentric like Rory.’
‘Sounds a bit childish.’
‘Men are,’ I said. ‘Don’t let us fool you. We can harbour grudges, plot revenge, get our own back.’
‘So those messages that were left behind—’
‘Think about it—“Who’s the daddy now?” He’s saying, You’re not my parent. I don’t do what you tell me to do. And “Where’s the little girl?” Perhaps Tara acted like a child with him—needy, temperamental, impulsive, as she could be. God knows I had some of that. I think Hampshire is just playing a game, thinking he’s cleverer than the rest of us. Leaving clues that aren’t really clues, but showing that he understands this psychology stuff. He knows what he’s doing and he doesn’t care.’
Laura said nothing for a while. I presumed she was thinking back, remembering the way Hampshire and Tara had been with each other in the office, replaying scenes and incidents and seeing them all through new eyes.
‘So what do you do now?’ she said. ‘Shouldn’t you go to the police with all this?’
‘You’re forgetting he has an alibi. He was in London on the morning Rory was found dead in his office. He couldn’t be in two places at one time.’
‘Even so, there’s plenty for the police to go with, isn’t there? Let them check him out. You don’t need to be involved any more. You’ve done your work now.’ Her voice had acquired an edge of accusation. ‘Sam, I have a feeling you’re not listening to me.’
I said nothing.
‘You’ve got some kind of revenge fantasy going on in your head,’ she went on. ‘But that’s not the point. You were hired to investigate the murder and the kidnapping, not to track down and bring the villain to justice, like some kind of Western marshal. You’re not Clint Eastwood.’
‘This isn’t about revenge,’ I said.
‘Don’t fool yourself,’ she said. Her usual humour had vanished.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘It is about revenge. But not in the way you think. It’s not that I want tit for tat. This isn’t a schoolyard fight.’
‘So what is it?’
‘If Hampshire is the murderer, he needs to know it’s not acceptable to do what he did. He did it in cold blood. He’s taken two people’s lives for reasons of his own, but he doesn’t seem to have done it out of passion. He’s thought about them. And that’s what I can’t stand. Deliberate cruelty. Malicious intent. And if the police get to him first, he’ll enter the system and he’ll start feeling self-righteous. They all do. He won’t take respons-ibility for his actions.’
‘And it’s your job to teach him that?’
‘I don’t have to. But I want to. Tara deserves that, if nothing else.’
Laura’s breathing came down the phone line. ‘I can’t deal with this,’ she said. ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’
‘Are you going to be all right?’
‘What difference does it make to you?’ she said fiercely. ‘You’re going to play out this little fantasy of yours anyway, aren’t you? You don’t care what I think.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Well prove it. Stay home. Tell Howard what you know about Eddie Hampshire then have a cup of tea.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Then do what you want,’ she said.
The line went dead.
