‘Why did you take on Jerome Jaden?’ Isaac asked.
Ashley took a sip of wine. ‘It’s murder, not celebrities or reality stars dragged out from under a rock somewhere. They’re unimportant, but Simmons was an impressive individual, worthy of more respect, and there’s Jaden, up on that platform, preaching about a new world dawning with Tricia Warburton leading the singing.’
‘You don’t like her?’
‘I’ve nothing against her. It’s not her per se. Ambition’s not a crime.’
‘On the back of murder, it could be,’ Isaac said. He had liked Ashley before, still did. But then, he had liked a lot of women in his time, almost married one or two. Yet always a reason he hadn’t, the reason why he had chosen Jenny, why she had chosen him.
‘You’re after the dirt?’
‘We know some of it, nothing criminal, not yet. You have a reputation for getting under people’s skin. Have you found anything?’
‘Apart from that fiasco the other day?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not about to indulge in gossip.’
‘You’re aiming to get your old job back?’
Ashley put her cutlery down, looked across the table at Isaac. ‘I am,’ she said. ‘One way or the other.’
‘You could join the police force, put your investigating skills to good use. Sixty-five thousand pounds a year for a chief inspector.’
‘Isaac, you may be able to get by on that, but I can’t. Multiply that by two, and I might be interested.’
‘So might I,’ Isaac said.
Ignoring Isaac’s flippancy, Ashley continued, ‘I’ve not got anything. I was dangling the bait, seeing if I could get a nibble.’
‘Did you?’
‘Jaden brushed me off, treated me as a junior.’
‘A hit to your ego?’
‘You’re trying to rile me. It’s not going to work. Get me another glass of wine, assuming your sixty-five thousand can afford it, and I’ll tell you what I know.’
‘Expenses,’ Isaac said, and the two of them laughed.
Ashley drank from her second glass of wine; Isaac sipped at his first. Around them, the diners were coming and going, while outside, the weather looked gloomier by the minute.
A waiter came over. ‘Dessert?’ he said.
Isaac flashed his warrant card. He knew the waiter was trying to hurry them up, get them out, and lay the table for the next diners.
Taking the hint, the waiter said nothing, only moved away. Ashley caught his eye. ‘Ice cream, a glass of cognac.’
‘I didn’t know you were a drinker,’ Isaac said.
‘I’m not, but you’re on expenses. No point holding back.’
Isaac couldn’t remember her as a drinker back when they had dated, but then she had been idealistic, conscious of her figure, uncorrupted by life. She had changed, more than he had. If his memory was correct, he preferred the younger Ashley to the woman sitting across from him.
‘What do you know?’ Isaac asked after she had her ice cream and cognac.
‘Not sure it’s going to help your enquiries, but Bob Babbage has another job offer, just in case.’
‘Seems logical, protecting himself if the new programme doesn’t work out.’
‘It won’t.’
‘How can you be so certain?’
‘It may be everything that Jaden says, and Tricia a surprise to all of us if she makes a good job of it, the ratings shoot up, and it’s a spectacular success. But it won’t make a difference, not in the long run, not even in the short.’
‘Why?’
‘When was the last time you watched television?’
‘I never did, not even as a child.’
‘You’re the exception. It’s to do with the numbers. Fewer viewers, less advertising revenue, more money spent on promoting the programmes. Television stations are passé, the same as newspapers. Either they find a way to make a profit, or they’re dead in the water, and Jaden knows this, the last throw of the dice for a desperate man.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘A little sniffing around, contacts of mine.’
‘Tom Taylor?’
‘Smart, fancies himself and anything in a skirt. He’s currently squiring Jaden’s niece, and he’s got another on the side, not that she’d know about it. Pretty little thing, not much between the ears, although that’s not where his interest in her lies. No different to you in that respect.’
Isaac remembered their last conversation before they broke up, a phone call late at night, her accusing him of playing the field, sleeping with her friend. Much to his chagrin, she had been right. In his twenties, a young man, athletic, strong and muscular, attractive to women, he had misbehaved, the prerogative of youth.
And now, he had changed, changed for the better, but had she? He wasn’t so sure, but whether she had or not, it didn’t concern him. The past was where it belonged; the present was better.
‘This other woman? Important?’
‘Taylor’s got no power, too young to tie his shoelaces, let alone put one over on Jaden. The sweet Alison may be in love, but she’s not that bright, and if Jaden finds out that her boyfriend is putting it about, he’ll be for the chop.’
‘Babbage, any dirt on him?’
‘Not that I’ve heard. He’s a bastard, but then lawyers are.’
‘What about you, married, living with someone?’ Isaac asked.
‘No one serious. Don’t say you still fancy me?’
‘My days of chasing wanton females are over.’
‘And I was wanton?’
‘Ashley, you were, and you know it.’
‘It was fun. Not like now, not with murder and Jerome Jaden, newspaper editors and sleazy politicians.’
‘Welcome to the human race, warts and all,’ Isaac said.
Chapter 13
Kate Hampton’s increasingly close involvement with some of the investigation's key players warranted her being called into Challis Street Police Station. Distinctly irritated, angry that the focus was on her, she sat in the interview room, a sullen look on her face.
‘Mrs Hampton,’ Isaac said, ‘we need to know the relationship between you and your husband.’
‘Is this important? Neither of us was there when Angus died, and my husband’s hardly Mr Action Man.’
‘We’re not accusing,’ Wendy said. ‘Just trying to get to the truth, to find out who would have had a motive, nothing more.’
‘Well, it wasn’t me.’
‘We’ve not said it was. There’s no need for hostility,’ Isaac said.
‘Very well, what do you want? I don’t have all day.’
‘Where do you have to be, that’s so important?’ Wendy asked.
‘I don’t see that it’s any of your business, so why should I tell you?’
‘Mrs Hampton, this attitude of yours is counter-productive and raises suspicion,’ Isaac said.
‘We have reason to believe that your husband’s accusation that Angus Simmons was having an affair with you at the time of his accident was incorrect,’ Wendy said.
‘I’ve already stated that.’
‘And that,’ Wendy continued, ‘you were sleeping with Justin Skinner.’
‘Who said this? Justin? I wouldn’t be surprised if it were, but I wouldn’t.’
‘Wouldn’t you? Why not?’ Isaac said.
Kate Hampton was fidgeting on her seat, rubbing her right forearm with her left hand. Her body language was not right, and her eyes were moving around the room, not looking directly across the table.
‘Because I wouldn’t. Isn’t that good enough?’
‘Unfortunately, it’s not. If your husband believed it was Angus you were sleeping with, that would explain your husband’s behaviour in Patagonia, the reason he quarrelled with Simmons. Your lies could have resulted in your husband’s infirmity and Angus Simmons’s death. How do you plead? Guilty?’
‘Very well. I might have inferred I was having an affair with Angus
, although in my defence, Mike was being a bastard, accusing me of this and that. He’s a possessive man, insanely jealous.’
‘Did you know this when you married him?’
‘To some extent, but then after the honeymoon, after the period where you can’t keep your hands off each other, he changed. Wanted to know where I was going, who I was seeing, whether it was serious.’
‘Was it?’
‘No. A night out with some friends, female, by the way, and there he would be on my return, checking on how many drinks I’d had, who I’d met, what we’d spoken about, ad infinitum. After he had vented his spleen, he’d come on all amorous, expecting me to reciprocate.’
‘Did you?’
‘Stifling, more like a prison. No, I didn’t. It’s better now, our relationship, sad to say. There’s not much he can do, and he’s in a permanent state of self-pity, blaming everyone else for his woes.’
‘No physical contact, you and your husband?’ Isaac asked.
‘Not for a long time. Even before he left, we were sleeping in separate beds, him believing it was because I had a lover somewhere.’
‘Did you?’
‘Not out of choice, out of necessity. I was in my early thirties, and I didn’t sign up for celibacy.’
‘If there was no love at home, you looked elsewhere?’
‘Not look. I still believed in marriage, and I had loved Mike, but he had killed it in me. You can’t understand how I was suffocating, not that I’m making excuses for my behaviour.’
‘Angus, your lover?’
‘It was the day before Mike was to leave for Patagonia. We’d had a blazing row, him obsessing about this and that, driving me to despair. I was ready to move out of the house, but he was off for six weeks, a chance for both of us to cool down.’
‘I would have thought the mental preparation would have rendered your husband more tranquil, less demanding, less suspicious,’ Isaac said, willing to concede that the woman’s story was plausible.
‘Six weeks away, time to condition the mind, to go through the climb step by step, double-checking, triple-checking the equipment. That’s when the mental discipline came in, not in England, and not with me. He was looking for a farewell roll in the hay, but I wasn’t having any of it. Not that I can blame him, but he was being a prick. Apologies for my language, but there you are.’
‘You came up with this lame story about Angus?’
‘I was angry. I was wrong. I knew that as soon as I said it.’
‘Why did you?’
‘I knew how much Mike and Angus loved each other. They were brothers in spirit, inseparable as climbers, the perfect team. It was spiteful, but what could I do? I was at my wits’ end.’
‘Justin Skinner?’
‘If I had mentioned Justin’s name, Mike wouldn’t have believed me. But Angus, that had the impact. He was mortally wounded, the ultimate betrayal. And that’s what he took to Patagonia.’
‘We believe that your husband attempted to kill Angus Simmons in South America,’ Isaac said. ‘Is this possible?’
‘You’d need to ask a psychoanalyst, but he might have. Betrayal by a loved one, or in this case two, is a stronger emotion than hate, or I would have thought it was.’
‘How do you feel about yourself now?’ Wendy asked.
‘The same as I did when I first heard about the accident, sick to the stomach.’
Justin Skinner?’ Isaac asked one more time.
‘I disliked Justin from the first time I met him, an arrogant man who cared for no one, using people, discarding them when it suited. He’s the worst kind of human being.’
‘Your husband knew of your dislike?’
‘He didn’t see Justin in quite the same way. There’s a bond amongst elite climbers, a trust that exists, but Mike knew of Justin’s foibles.’
‘Were you having an affair with him?’
‘An affair infers emotion, and I wasn’t bringing that to the relationship. We had got together at an awards ceremony. Mike didn’t go, not sure why. Anyway, Justin’s there; I’m there. We’re both staying the night in the hotel on the same floor, two rooms apart. One thing led to another, and we ended up in bed together.’
‘You’ve slept with him since?’ Wendy asked.
‘I felt dirty the next morning, spent forever in the shower trying to scrub Justin from me, to rid myself of his smell, of what I’d done. Justin said it was foolish, just harmless fun, two lonely people, a night of passion. I told you what a bastard he was, and he was that morning.’
‘Yet, you continued the relationship.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have, but then Mike comes home from Patagonia, and after a couple of months, I meet with Justin. The disgust lessens with time, and no one ever knew.’
‘You’re meeting him today, the reason you’re anxious to get out of here.’
‘Yes, every few weeks. It’s sex, not love, nothing more.’
‘Mike’s sister?’
‘A terrible woman, fond of Mike, hated me.’
‘Any reason, the hate?’
‘I married her brother.’
‘Does she know about Justin Skinner, what happened in Patagonia, on that mountain?’
‘I doubt it. Deb’s not the brightest, slow on the uptake. She believes what she believes.’
‘Is Mike fond of her?’
‘It’s a complex relationship. We never spoke about it. Talk to her, but don’t expect much, and I doubt if it’ll help your investigation,’ Kate said.
‘The truth always does, and you, Mrs Hampton, have lied,’ Isaac said. ‘I hope you’ve told us the truth today. I don’t want us to meet again at this police station.’
‘I slept with Angus once. It was before I met Mike. My husband knew about it, and, as I said, a long time ago.’
‘Are you sure your husband was fine with that?’
‘Who knows what goes on in the twisted mind.’
The interview concluded. Those present went to their respective corners: Kate Hampton to a hotel in Hammersmith, Wendy to visit Deborah Hampton, Isaac to his office, another report to prepare.
***
Maddox Timberley had encountered Hampton’s sister at Hampton’s house. Her opinion had been unfavourable, like Kate Hampton’s.
Wendy and Larry drove the one hundred and twenty miles to Dorset, to visit Hampton’s sister. Motorway conditions for most of the way, but eventually ending up on a narrow country lane which petered out into a muddy track, their car slipping and sliding. Finally, they drew up at a rustic farmhouse.
Larry had never had a craving for country life; he was a city boy, born and bred in London, the smell of diesel and cigarettes more enticing than manure and wet grass.
Wendy took a deep breath, sampled the smells and the animals in the field, a gaggle of geese announcing their arrival, a dog sitting on the porch, not willing to move, wagging its tail.
‘Don’t worry about Buster; he won’t hurt,’ a woman who had come out of the house said.
‘I grew up in Yorkshire, a place just like this,’ Wendy said. ‘It takes me back.’
‘You’re the police?’
‘We are. Inspector Larry Hill, Sergeant Wendy Gladstone.’
‘I’m Deb. You’d better come in, get the weight off your feet. I’ll make us all a cup of tea, coffee if you prefer.’
‘Tea will be fine,’ Larry said.
The two officers looked at the woman who had just turned her back on them and walked into the farmhouse.
‘Not what we expected,’ Wendy said.
‘The description’s accurate.’
A voice from inside. ‘Come on, haven’t got all day.’
Inside the house, the smell of burning wood from the fire and bacon from the kitchen.
‘Long drive? Bacon and eggs okay for you? Sausages, home-grown, or their provider was. Sent the animal to the slaughterhouse last week.’
Deborah Hampton had grown up in the north, the child of a successful businessman and his
lay preacher wife, as far removed from a farm as could be imagined. Wendy, who had grown up on a farm, was used to eating the livestock, willing to slaughter when needed.
‘That’ll be great,’ Larry said.
‘Likewise,’ Wendy said.
‘You’re here about Angus?’
‘We need to speak with you. So far, we’ve been drawing blanks. No motive.’
‘You’ve spoken to Kate?’
‘We have.’
‘Angus’s piece of skirt?’ Deb said.
‘She said you were impolite to her.’
Buster wandered in and sat in front of the fire. He looked old.
‘I’ve had the dog for close to ten years, inherited him from the previous owners. He’s meant to be outside doing what sheepdogs do, but he’s earned his rest. A good dog in his day, but the back legs are going, not sure how much longer he’s got.’
‘He still looks good,’ Wendy said, although she said it more out of politeness than truth. The dog was indeed old, greying around the muzzle, its breathing laboured.
‘Buster will join us for breakfast,’ Deb Hampton said. ‘Loves bacon.’
‘Why country life?’ Larry asked.
‘No doubt you’ve got a few more questions for me. Such as, how come a demure city girl, the product of northern affluence, is covered in tattoos, a shaven head, wearing men’s clothing.’
‘We do,’ Wendy said.
‘Formal or informal?’ Deb said.
‘Breakfast?’
‘Stay where you are. I’ll bring it over. No, I meant the interview. No doubt Kate’s told you what a bitch I am, not too bright.’
‘Words to that effect.’
‘She puts it about, does Kate. Not that I was a slouch in my day, but then who wasn’t?’
Saddled with a large plate each, both Wendy and Larry curtailed their questioning, instead focussing on their breakfast.
‘We’ll go in the other room when you’re finished,’ Deb said. ‘Buster’s manners are not so good after a good feed; the air tends to get a bit whiffy with him.’
Silence reigned for a while. To Larry, condemned to eating muesli and yoghurt for breakfast seven days a week, Deb Hampton’s country fare was a breath of heaven.
The Hero's Fall (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 14) Page 10
