The Hero's Fall (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 14)

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Tricia Warburton?’

  ‘Fine by us,’ Karen Majors said. ‘I knew her from before, a magazine we both worked for. Attractive, personable, strong work ethic.’

  ‘Sexy, as well,’ Jaden said.

  Isaac looked over at Babbage, waited for him to react to the sexist comment. The man sat mute.

  ‘What Mr Jaden means,’ Karen said, ‘is that Tricia was easy on the eye, and for television, she was ideal. Angus had rugged masculinity.’

  ‘This fart-arsing around, pretending that we’re something we aren’t, is pointless,’ Jaden said. ‘The police are here to see us as we are.’ Looking over at the lawyer, ‘Bob, sorry, we can’t play this game. Karen thought Tricia was a bitch and Tom fancied her, although he’s getting it off with Alison now.’

  Isaac was pleased. Jerome Jaden was known to be a man with a quick temper, a fondness for crudity, and a bluntness in dealing with his staff and competitors.

  ‘Let me point out that I didn’t dislike Tricia,’ Karen said.

  ‘Not a bitch?’ Isaac asked.

  The conversations were getting interesting. It was what Isaac liked: plain-speaking, unchecked emotions.

  ‘She was a bitch, tried to take my job at a magazine where we both worked. I dealt with her there. To be honest, I like the woman, but all’s fair in love and war. We would go out for a drink occasionally, call each other outrageous names, have a laugh about it.’

  ‘She’s upset about being removed from the station,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Tricia? Upset? It’s hardly likely. She received severance pay, a hefty bonus to go, no bad publicity or talking out of turn.’

  ‘It’s a public relations debacle for you,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Chief Inspector,’ Jaden said, ‘you don’t seem to understand. There’s no such thing as bad publicity, only how you deal with it.’

  ‘Are you saying you knew beforehand of what she was likely to say?’

  ‘Do you want to go down this road?’ Babbage said to Jaden. ‘What you say here will become part of a criminal investigation.’

  ‘I know what I’m saying. Bob, sit back, let me deal with this.’

  ‘In your own time,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Jim Breslaw, the head of programming before we gave Tom the job, wasn’t in favour of getting rid of Tricia. That’s why I let him go.’

  ‘We still need to interview him.’

  ‘As you wish, not that he can help you, too stuck in his ways, remembers the good old days, the time before social media and YouTube. Anyway, here’s how it goes. Simmons is dead, intentional or otherwise, murder or an accident; none of that matters to us here. Sure, we can pretend to be sorry, even believe it, but business is business, and the show must go on. I’m sure you’ve heard that adage.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Good. Angus is dead, and logically we should be throwing our support behind Tricia, bolstering her, promoting her heavily as the new look, but we aren’t. Instead, we sack her and all her people, make them feel as though they’ve been dealt a savage blow, which they have.’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Not to you. Simmons is dead, Tricia’s out on her ear, the social media is going wild, the other television stations are crucifying us. But he who laughs last laughs longest.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You still don’t get it. Give it a couple of weeks, wait until the heat has died down, and then resurrect Tricia, her programme, the staff she wants, an increased budget, and she can travel the world, looking for the bizarre, the most interesting, the stories that will pull in the viewers.’

  ‘The damage’s done?’

  ‘The viewing public, I don’t think so. They’ll complain, then applaud. In the meantime, Karen’s out there, bringing in the advertising revenue. It’s a brilliant plan.’

  ‘If you say so. And what about Tom, your head of programming?’

  ‘We’ll bring in a high-flyer, put Tom alongside him, let him learn the ropes. Tom’s capable, just a little wet behind the ears. A couple of years, he’ll be able to take over the job.’

  ‘Alison Glassop?’

  ‘That’s up to Tom.’

  Taylor just smiled.

  ‘Does Tricia know about this?’ Larry asked.

  ‘She does now. We kept her in the dark for a couple of days, let her blow off steam. But now, she’s got a contract in front of her. She’ll fight us for more, but Bob will hold firm, give in slowly.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Chief Inspector, you deal with facts; we create illusions. I don’t expect you to like it, but none of us had anything to do with Simmons’s death. That’s all that you need to know,’ Jaden said.

  Chapter 9

  Isaac instinctively distrusted Jaden, and if the man had made a statement that wasn’t true, it did not bode well. However, Isaac believed the man more than he did Tricia Warburton’s denial. Jerome Jaden was smart, many years in the business, known as a straight shooter. He wouldn’t have risked raising the ire of the police.

  Larry met Tricia this time, the friendly female banter with Wendy not working the last time. Either Wendy was losing her touch, or Tricia was more circumspect, more devious than first thought.

  The inspector and the celebrity met: one of them in his forties and going to seed, the other in her thirties, svelte, jogging every day, her hair coiffured, her tan embellished every week.

  Larry chose one of his favourite pubs, upmarket enough for the lovely Tricia.

  In the dim light of the pub, the woman was more attractive than the first time he had met her, and she was beguiling.

  ‘Inspector, why are we here?’ Tricia said. ‘Is this to discuss Angus’s death, or is it something more?’

  She was making him feel uncomfortable as if she was doing it on purpose. Larry didn’t like it. ‘A drink?’ he said.

  ‘A glass of wine for me.’

  Larry left the table and went over to the bar to place an order.

  ‘Is that her off the television?’ the barman said.

  Larry took out his warrant card, showed it. ‘Give me a white wine for the lady, a pint of beer for me.’

  ‘No need to have worried about me,’ the barman said as he pulled the beer. ‘See them here all the time.’

  ‘See who?’

  ‘The rich and the famous. Some are pleasant, leave a decent tip, some are miserable sods, heads up their arse, deem the plebs not worthy to lick their boots. What’s that one like?’ The barman cocked his head in Tricia’s direction.

  ‘So far, she’s delightful. Never know, not truly, not when you’re a police officer.’

  ‘Too friendly, you don’t trust them; difficult, you’re suspicious.’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Did she have anything to do with him that fell off that building?’

  Larry felt that cordiality had gone far enough. He picked up the drinks and returned to his seat.

  ‘Plenty to say?’ Tricia asked.

  ‘Fount of knowledge.’

  ‘Him or barmen in general?’

  ‘They don’t miss much, only too willing to talk if the money’s right or the conversation is convivial.’

  Larry clinked glasses with Tricia and took a sip of his beer.

  ‘He eyed me up and down, wondered what you were doing here with me, whether we were an item?’

  ‘Something along those lines.’

  ‘They assume that I’m an easy lay, sleeping around with whoever.’

  ‘Do they?’ Larry said although he knew pub conversation, not averse to taking part in it sometimes. And yes, Tricia Warburton would be regarded in that light, even more so given that her co-host had fallen to his death under mysterious circumstances, speculation about her and Angus Simmons.

  ‘You know they do, more so now. You must have heard it, a man like you, out and about, delving into humanity’s cesspit.’

  ‘Sergeant Gladstone reckoned you had been coy with her.’

  ‘We
ndy never bought me a drink.’

  ‘Tricia, if you’re trying to make me feel embarrassed, you’re succeeding. But if you’re trying to be smart, it’ll backfire on you. There’s nothing to be gained by any attempt at subterfuge and deception.’

  ‘I don’t think I was any more than open with you.’

  In front of a camera, you may be excellent, but I’m the expert here; this is my game, not yours.’

  Tricia took a drink from her glass, put it down on the table. ‘I’m not sure if you just ticked me off or if you were joking,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t joke, not when there’s a murder. Hiding facts because you believe they would prejudice you will not work, cannot work.’

  ‘Did you know that actresses were regarded as no more than prostitutes, liberal with their favours, selling their bodies for gain?’

  ‘I’ve never understood why,’ Larry said. ‘That’s what he thought, the barman.’

  ‘During the eighteenth century, actresses’ and prostitutes’ social standing was targeted by moral reformers and satirical authors. The moral reformer targeted actresses for criticism as their actions and speech on stage were considered immodest. The satirical author was interested in publishing any related scandal that surrounded the actresses.’

  ‘That’s not the view today.’

  ‘Isn’t it? I’m not an actress, but I’m in the public eye. Your friend at the bar, he’s typical, reckons I’m easy, and I’ll have you twisted around my little finger in an instant.’

  ‘You’re denigrating yourself,’ Larry said. ‘I don’t share his views.’

  ‘You’re a police officer. You’ve seen the dregs of society, the wanton licentiousness of some, the perversions of others, but that barman – he’s seen nothing, been nowhere, experienced nothing. I’m guilty by association, convicted by the social media warriors, seduced, at least in their minds, by him and his ilk.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘I know how it appears, that Jerome Jaden had planned it and that I was a party to it.’

  ‘Your contract?’

  ‘Precisely. And believe me, once it’s general knowledge, the pundits will be out there in the ether, saying that Angus’s death was planned to get the ratings and that my contract was in the bag before he died, that I was screwing Jerome all along.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Of course I am. How much of what they splash on a magazine’s front cover about people such as me is true?’

  ‘I don’t take notice of it.’

  ‘You don’t, but others do. The perception of the actress, or in my case the television host, as a prostitute, is alive and well. I’m about to be lambasted.’

  ‘It’s happened before?’

  ‘You know it has. You would have checked my background, found old boyfriends, where I’d gone to school.’

  ‘I did. What are you going to do?’

  ‘What I’ve done in the past. I’m going to ride it out, take the flak, the slurs, the innuendos, even smile at the cameras.’

  ‘If you’re lying…’

  ‘I’m not. Once my contract is signed, Karen Majors goes into overdrive, drumming up advertising revenue. The station’s promotions team starts getting me onto the early-morning chat shows, putting me on every other radio station throughout the country, and Angus not even cold in his grave.’

  ‘Abhorrent as it may be, you embrace it,’ Larry said.

  ‘It’s seductive, the same as alcohol is to a drunk.’

  ‘I know the feeling.’

  ‘You’d be a good-looking man if you lost some weight, looked after yourself,’ Tricia said.

  ***

  The appearance of Gwyneth Simmons at Challis Street on a wet and rainy day had not been expected. After all, it had been she, stoic in Scotland, who had said that she would not come to London until her son’s body had been released for burial.

  ‘It was time,’ Angus’s mother said. She looked unfashionable and old, dressed in a heavy coat that had seen better days, the sleeve cuffs frayed, the collar askew and on her head, a yellow plastic hood. She was dry, if not warm.

  Wendy brought a heater over to where she sat, and Bridget gave her a hot drink.

  ‘Time for what?’ Wendy asked once the woman had removed the hood, taken off the coat and placed them to one side of her.

  ‘The truth.’

  Not wishing to proceed without either her DCI or her DI, Wendy messaged both.

  Larry arrived first, realised the implication of the woman’s presence, phoned Isaac and told him to get to the office pronto, no time to lose.

  Jenny, Isaac’s wife, looked over at her husband, saw him bouncing their son on his lap. She was happy, content with her lot in life, a loving husband, a healthy child. However, she knew the look on her husband’s face after receiving the phone call. He was champing at the bit, desperate to get to the station.

  Jenny took their son from Isaac, kissed him on the cheek, and said, ‘Go.’

  Isaac responded with a kiss for his wife and another gurgle for the baby, wriggling its toes as he left, eliciting a smile in return. Soon, the child would be walking, and then, the first day of school. Life was passing him by, and he hadn’t made superintendent, and the bills were coming in, the cost of living increasing, and he was feeling the financial pinch.

  Even so, as he sat in his car and turned the ignition, he had to agree that life was good and he was a lucky man.

  At Challis Street, aware their senior investigating officer was on his way, Homicide waited. The peripheral staff, the evidence collators, the administrators, the others, who slackened marginally when the boss wasn’t in the office, upped their game, moved around more, filed their reports, sending them to Bridget, who would prioritise and then present them to Isaac daily.

  Twenty minutes later, Isaac sat down with Larry and Gwyneth Simmons. The room was cold for Isaac, adequate for Angus’s mother, who had come from a bracing Scottish climate.

  ‘The truth?’ Isaac said. ‘Is this what we are here for?’

  ‘Yes, the truth of what happened on Cerro Torre,’ Gwyneth Simmons said. ‘Everyone that is if you exclude Mike Hampton believes it to have been an unfortunate accident, a life-and-death situation, a split-second decision needed, played out in a dangerous environment. But Angus told me the truth.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Mike Hampton was having trouble with his wife. She had told him that she was involved with Angus, but it wasn’t true. It was another man that she was seeing.’

  ‘He accused your son?’

  ‘Mike told Angus that he would see him dead for what he had done.’

  ‘They patched it up in South America, my son and Mike, and that it was his wife making up stories. She’s like that. Have you met her?’

  ‘I have,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Did you form an opinion?’

  ‘I wasn’t looking to form an opinion, only to establish facts.’

  ‘Kate met Mike at a function in London, an awards ceremony. She was there with someone else, no idea who it was. Mike used to be a bon vivant, a lover of life and women, and Kate was his type of woman. He took her from whoever she had come with.’

  ‘That doesn’t paint a good picture of her,’ Larry said.

  ‘You never met Mike before his accident; I had. Kate became a wedge between the two men. Angus used to say that mountaineering was thirty per cent skill, seventy per cent determination. He disagreed with gifted amateurs paying for someone to nursemaid them up the highest mountains. He felt it was a distraction, so did Mike, and then there’s Kate in Mike’s ear, causing confusion, dissension between the two men, taking plenty, giving little.’

  ‘The mysterious lover?’ Isaac asked. ‘Was there one?’

  ‘It wasn’t Angus.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘Angus never told anyone, only me. He knew I would never reveal who it was, but now that my son is dead, I must tell you.’

  ‘Please do.’
>
  ‘Justin Skinner, another mountaineer, climbed Everest one year after Angus and Mike climbed it that first time. He’s as hard as nails, a brilliant climber, a sharp businessman. If you want to climb Everest and you’ve got enough money, he’ll take you, not so sure if you’ll get back.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘On his last, two of his group perished.’

  ‘Any repercussions?’

  ‘For Justin, none. On the mountain, up high, you’re a dead man walking. Every climber knows it, accepts the risk. Six died last year on the mountain, their bodies still up there. Did you know that if a person is beyond the point of no return, still breathing, but semiconscious or unable to stand, incapable of getting down before nightfall, they’re declared dead, left up there alive?’

  ‘I’ve read about it,’ Isaac said. ‘No option from what I know.’

  ‘There isn’t. Kate Hampton was sleeping with Skinner when Mike was overseas. He was the one keen on bringing Mike on board to take paying clients up Everest, his wife primed while she was in bed with Skinner, whispering in her husband’s ear later.’

  ‘Is that it?’ Isaac said.

  ‘No. On Cerro Torre, close to the summit, Mike starts up again about his wife and Angus. Angus wasn’t prepared, and on a mountain, the focus is moving one foot in front of the other. It’s not the place to discuss who’s sleeping with who.

  ‘It was Mike who lunged at Angus, made him lose his grip, held up only by Mike and a climbing anchor. Mike would have been responsible for Angus’s death, not that he probably intended that result, but it got out of hand. Angus managed to hold on, Mike fell, broke his back.’

  ‘Angus could have left him,’ Larry said.

  ‘Not Angus. He’s a purist, believed in the camaraderie of mountaineers. He secured Mike and went for help. He saved his life.’

  Chapter 10

  The one unassailable certainty in the investigation – someone was lying. Larry had his money on Simmons’s mother; Wendy was more inclined to Kate Hampton.