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

by Phillip Strang

  ‘It was because of you; he did it on purpose,’ Mike said.

  ‘I was angry, and besides, you suspected something even before I said his name.’

  ‘Maybe I was occupied, focussed on a climb.’

  ‘You were always focussed. Back then, it was mountains, setting another record; now, all I get is negativity. Does it matter if Angus did it on purpose or not? He’s dead; you’re not.’

  ‘It would have been better if I was.’

  Vindication was all that Hampton wanted, no longer to be a leper to the mountaineering community he once proudly embraced.

  As much as she could, Kate had done her duty. She phoned her sister-in-law, explained the situation, received a string of four-letter words in return, packed her case, and left. She had no intention of returning.

  In Dorset, Deb Hampton roused Jock. ‘Look after the place. I’m going up to stay with my brother for a few days.’

  ‘Uh. Alright. Whatever you say?’

  Deb had to admit he was decent and undemanding. Her age was starting to go against her, and as a father, Jock would be good, although genetically, he was a poor choice. Barely literate, he could shoe a horse, shear a sheep, tell you which crop to plant and when, and what the weather was going to be for the next few days, but ask him about the world and politics, he was a complete dunderhead.

  On her return, Mike was coming with her, whether he liked it or not; rushing up to London every time his wife did a runner or found herself another lover wasn’t sustainable.

  A registry office, that’s what she thought. ‘When I come back, we’ll get married. Alright?’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ the sleepy response.

  ‘You can live here if you want.’

  ‘Okay.’

  For some reason, she felt calm. Life had been rough, but a remote farm, a good man, even if neither was any more than mediocre, suited her fine. She had come from a privileged background, an emotionally distant father, a controlling mother. Her man would do her fine.

  At Challis Street Police Station, the photos were studied. Ashley Otway had been reminded again that withholding evidence was a crime; the newspaper’s legal department replying that they pertained to a period before Simmons’s death and they were a matter of public record, and only proved the reason for the apparent animosity of the two men.

  Isaac knew they were right, and even though enhancement of the photos showed clearly two men, a sign of anguish from one, an open mouth from another as if shouting, there was still enough blurring not to be sure as to whether it was Hampton or Simmons shouting.

  Otto McAlister enjoyed the first of the money he would fleece from the newspaper, their star reporter, an unexpected and much-appreciated bonus.

  ‘You’ve got to give me more,’ Ashley said during their cosy weekend getaway.

  ‘Next week,’ McAlister said as he drank his champagne, looked across at the bed, knowing that no was not an option from her.

  A one-night stand was not an issue; a more extended period was, and Ashley Otway knew she was trapped; her ambition thwarted by a man whose idea of foreplay was rough, his calloused hands on her skin not conducive to love. She wanted to be rid of him, but she took him by the hand and led him to where he wanted her to be.

  Another couple, romance not on their mind, listened to Otway and McAlister from an adjoining room. The squeaking of the bed didn’t interest them. ‘A waste of time, if that’s all they’re going to do,’ the man said.

  Satisfied, albeit only for a while, McAlister lay beside Ashley. He had resumed drinking his champagne.

  ‘Otto, what will you give me next?’ Ashley said, attempting to get the man to look over at her.

  ‘Proof that it wasn’t an accident. Simmons hadn’t been with his wife, that I know, not before he left for South America.’

  ‘How?

  ‘How did I get the proof, or how do I know Angus hadn’t been Kate’s lover, regardless of what she said?’

  ‘Both.’

  The man was tiresome, the lovemaking stolid and one-sided. Ashley Otway was not enjoying her time away from London.

  ‘I have a recording of them arguing at the base camp.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It was Angus, always looking for ways to make money. A documentary of the climb, a chance to sell it to a media company. I have a copy of the original, the unedited version.’

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘It reveals the level of animosity between the two men; one of them unjustly accused, the other adamant that his one-time friend had cheated with his wife.’

  ‘Do people argue when climbing?’

  ‘Usually, they’re too focussed or too tired. They shouldn’t have been climbing, not that day, but they were determined men, alike in many ways, like brothers.’

  ‘That’s been mentioned before. What else?’

  ‘That’s it for now.’

  ‘Monday?’

  ‘Five thousand pounds, cash or bank transfer. Can that be arranged?’

  ‘It can. This weekend?’

  ‘The icing on the cake,’ McAlister said.

  Resigned to her fate for the weekend, Ashley Otway realised the man wanted money more than her and that her compliance wasn’t going to make a difference. She got up from the bed, put on a pair of jeans, a top, and walking boots. ‘I’m going for a walk, be back in a couple of hours,’ she said.

  ‘When you get back,’ the reply, nodding over to her side of the bed.

  Outside, away from the reluctant love nest, she breathed out loud, said to herself, ‘That’s the last sweetness you’re getting from me. From now on, the information is in exchange for money.’

  As she walked along a scenic track nearby, she knew that she had to remain close to the man, not because she wanted to, but because it was vital. The information he had was valuable, and other people would pay for it, even more than her editor.

  She turned around and returned to the hotel room and the loving if brutish hands of Otto McAlister.

  ***

  Mike Hampton had been upset at Kate leaving, not that he would have told her. He was even more upset when his sister entered the house, going so far as to ask her to clear off, not that she was taking any notice of him. Thirty-five minutes after Deb had arrived, the knock on the door by a chief inspector and an inspector was enough to make the man blow his top.

  ‘Why don’t you—’

  ‘It’s homicide, Mr Hampton,’ Isaac said. ‘Here or at the police station, your choice.’

  ‘It’s better if you talk to them,’ the sister said.

  ‘When they leave, you can go with them.’

  ‘And leave you on your own? Kate’s taken off, back to whoever.’

  ‘It was your damn fool idea that she came back. I was better off without her.’

  Isaac wasn’t interested in family conflict, only in asking questions, getting answers. Mike Hampton wasn’t the first belligerent interviewee he’d encountered.

  ‘Mr Hampton, there appears to be some vindication for you.’

  ‘It wasn’t an accident, not down there in South America.’

  ‘Tell us about the events leading up to it.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Yes, again. There may be something you missed before.’

  ‘Before? Throwing him off the mountain before he threw me wouldn’t have been a bad idea. How would you feel if your wife was cheating on you?’

  ‘Your reaction was understandable, but it wasn’t Simmons, was it?’

  ‘It was Skinner, a snake in the grass. I always preferred someone else when we were climbing, but Skinner’s good, very thorough, checks the equipment, deals with the logistics.’

  ‘You didn’t like him?’

  ‘He was always a bit snide.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Always trying to boast about his importance. It was either Angus or me who was the team leader. It should be us discussing the climb, not one of the team, not that we didn’t treat them
well.’

  ‘Did Skinner believe he was a better climber than you?’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘Yet, he didn’t make the summit, not that first time on Everest.’

  ‘Not everyone can. He was physically the strongest, but he had trouble at height, shortness of breath, fatigue. Some people handle it better than others; you never know until you’re challenged. Besides, on Everest, it’s already known who is going to attempt the summit. It was our expedition; it was our summit. Skinner understood. I didn’t like his attitude sometimes, a surliness, but it wasn’t that important.’

  ‘Otto McAlister is feeding the newspaper information. Did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t, but I’m not surprised. He wasn’t good with money, and once the climb was over, he’d want to party on, a few drinks, a woman.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be uncommon.’

  ‘Only he went overboard, spending more than he should, looking to borrow more from whoever.’

  ‘We assume the newspaper is paying him. What did you think of the photos?’

  ‘It’s the two of us, but not that clear. Even so, as you say, vindication. I’ve received some phone calls, fellow mountaineers willing to press my case.’

  ‘You’ve accepted?’

  ‘Not yet, not sure I want to. Whatever the outcome, I’m still not going to climb again.’

  ‘Your reputation will be restored.’

  ‘Not important. Now, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘When did the truth dawn on you about Simmons and your wife?’

  ‘A lot of facts are becoming clearer. If I’d known back then, Simmons would be alive, and I’d still be climbing.’

  ‘That would appear to be the case. You’ve spent a long time hating a man who hadn’t wronged you.’

  ‘Then why did he try to kill me?’

  It was an interesting observation. Was there something else? Isaac thought.

  Larry had been silent so far, taking the opportunity to look at the awards framed on the wall, the cups on the mantelpiece, the sister in the kitchen.

  ‘We didn’t expect to find you here,’ Larry said.

  ‘Nor did I. Why do you keep bothering my brother?’ Deb’s reply.

  ‘You knew about Justin Skinner?’

  ‘Not at first, but I realised afterwards that something was amiss when they had returned from South America, Angus always asking after Mike, wanting to meet with him.’

  ‘You’ve seen the photos?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘I don’t believe that Angus could have done it.’

  ‘The photos indicate otherwise,’ Larry said.

  ‘Talk to McAlister. You’ll find him under a rock somewhere,’ Deb said.

  ‘You overheard?’

  ‘Hard to miss from here.’

  Isaac continued to talk with Mike Hampton; Larry stayed with the sister. One was agreeable and approachable, the other reticent, even though acknowledging that Simmons hadn’t been his wife’s lover at the time of the climb in Patagonia.

  ‘You know McAlister?’ Larry asked Deb.

  ‘McAlister’s regarded as a reliable team member.’

  ‘Did you climb?’

  ‘I told you in Dorset. When I was younger, I wasn’t as dedicated, and besides, my rebellious behaviour got in the way. Even so, we stayed close, not unusual given our upbringing.’

  ‘Rough?’

  ‘Difficult. Don’t dwell on it. It made me do what I did; made Mike climb mountains. We’re all shaped by our parents, and ours weren’t perfect, but then, whose are?’

  Larry could still remember his father’s reaction when he told him that he would join the police force.

  ‘You’re smarter than that. Go to university, study law,’ his father had said.

  A stable home life, loving parents, but to him, policing had always been what he wanted to do. As to becoming a lawyer, he knew that he wasn’t academically inclined, unable to devote the hours to study.

  ‘Tell me about McAlister,’ Larry said. ‘Is he a loose cannon or strategic in what he does?’

  ‘If you mean, does he have proof?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘He may. As I’ve said, and Mike knows him better than me, McAlister is a fatalist, takes one day at a time. If he has money, he spends it; if he doesn’t, he scrounges.’

  ‘Attractive?’

  ‘To some women, he would be.’

  ‘To you?’

  ‘He’s got an earthiness about him. Don’t expect sweet talk. He’s more likely to try it on within five minutes; make his intentions clear.’

  ‘To you?’

  ‘Once he did, in this house. Mike had a group around, Angus included. It was before they all went climbing that damn mountain. Kate’s here, arm around Mike, giving Skinner the eye, but that’s her nature. Otto McAlister’s brought a girl along with him. No idea where he picked her up, the gutter, I suppose.’

  ‘Not your style?’

  ‘Otto used to find plenty of women, some classy, some not as much. She could have been a paid escort, but I don’t think so, as halfway through the night, him pawing her, she slaps him hard and walks out, takes his car.’

  ‘Did that worry him?’

  ‘Otto’s not a worrier, not about assets and women. His philosophy, don’t sweat the small stuff.’

  ‘A car? Small?’

  ‘I’ve told you this before; Otto doesn’t care about such things. If he’s got money, great; if not, there’s someone with a car or a place to stay, and someone will feed him.’

  ‘He stayed the night?’

  ‘Mike was out of it. Drunk and a blazing row with Kate at the end of the evening. Everyone else had peeled off, thanked Mike for the night, the usual handshakes, kisses on the cheek, but Angus, not a great drinker, was embarrassed for Mike and Kate.’

  ‘Did Simmons bring a woman?’

  ‘He came with someone, not sure if it was Maddox Timberley.’

  ‘After they left, you hooked up with McAlister.’

  ‘It’s a big enough house, and both Otto and I had had a few drinks. It just happened, no big deal, no protestations of love. The next morning, I dropped him off at the train station, let him find his way home.’

  ‘You could have done that the night before,’ Larry said.

  ‘I could have, but you know.’

  Larry did.

  ***

  Tom Taylor met with Ashley Otway, ostensibly to discuss the negative publicity she was bringing to the television station.

  ‘Sending a boy to do a man’s job,’ Ashley said. Not that she didn’t find the man attractive, she did, but she had dealt with politicians, devious and underhanded, not all that they seemed to be. She was suspicious.

  ‘Your assistant set this up,’ Ashley continued. ‘Is this official, or are you fishing?’

  ‘I thought we should talk,’ Tom said.

  Alison had chosen the location, a pub in Chelsea, loud enough to drown their conversation, seductive enough if that was where it was heading.

  Ashley Otway looked Tom up and down, liked what she saw, but she wasn’t in the mood for love, and certainly not after the mauling she had received at the hands of McAlister. She detested the man; he represented everything she disliked: rough and inconsiderate, as crude in his manner as in his behaviour. Jerome Jaden’s head of programming was more her style, even if he was younger than her, and Jaden’s puppet.

  ‘Who’s speaking? You or your company?’

  ‘I am. But yes, they’re concerned, felt that we should make contact.’

  ‘They could have sent Bob Babbage or Karen Majors, even Jaden himself. Why do they send a boy?’

  ‘Not a boy, but the head of programming.’

  ‘Was it Alison Glassop who phoned me? And by the way, mine’s red wine. You may as well get a bottle and two glasses.’

  Taylor picked up the menu and let the woman choose. As he had expected, she chose the most expensive. He went and pa
id, asked them to send over food as well.

  ‘Alison, yes it was,’ Taylor said on his return and at Ashley’s insistence.

  ‘Your girlfriend?’

  ‘We spend time together, but we’re not exclusive.’

  ‘You are to her. Does she agree with you meeting me here?’

  ‘She does.’

  You know who’s giving me the information?’

  ‘I have a name.’

  ‘Good in bed, are you? Alison, appreciates your technique?’ Ashley said. She knew why he was in the pub with her. Either he’d become embarrassed and leave, or he’d admit to it.

  Flustered, not sure what to say, Taylor knew he had been called out. ‘We’re here to discuss the photos, what you hope to achieve.’

  ‘Jaden put you up to this, didn’t he? Don’t be bashful. I’m not about to run off, and I’ll not deny that I’m interested.’

  ‘In me?’

  ‘Not here, not today, and not while I’m finding out about Angus Simmons.’

  ‘And destroying Mr Jaden and the station.’

  ‘It’s not personal, but I’ve got a job to do, and until it’s finished, my source is not going anywhere.’

  ‘Not even if you don’t fancy him? Good weekend, was it?’

  ‘You’ve got people watching me?’

  ‘No, but we know some of it.’

  ‘My source?’

  ‘Let’s come back to what you have.’ As he picked up his glass, Taylor grabbed hold of a couple of soggy chips that had come over with the bottle of wine. ‘A better meal than this?’ he said.

  ‘Smarter than you look, young Tom. You’ve fielded me off better than I thought you would. Jaden trained you well.’

  Taylor didn’t say that it wasn’t Jerome Jaden, but Alison who had practised with him. That time, the seduction had gone through to completion; he was sure it wouldn’t this time. Ashley Otway was no pushover, even if her seduction of McAlister had been swift.

  Grabbing their glasses and a bottle of wine, the two walked through the bar and to the adjoining restaurant, Ashley choosing a corner setting.