Killer Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  Not yet ready for full disclosure, Mariner had prepared his response. ‘Just before Christmas I found out that when she was much younger, my mother knew Sir Geoffrey Ryland well. I was told that they were close at one time. I thought that perhaps Eleanor Ryland might have known my mother too. I went to talk to her.’

  ‘Two days before she was found dead?’

  ‘What can I say? It was just unfortunate timing,’ said Mariner. ‘I had nothing to do with her death, I promise you.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’

  ‘She was alive and well when I left her. She gave me tea, we talked for about an hour, then I left and walked back to my car.’

  ‘Only I would prefer not to have one of my senior officers arrested for murder during my last week,’ Coleman said, with feeling.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  On the surface Coleman sounded unworried, but it was a forced cheerfulness. The fact that Mariner was being called as a significant witness meant that his Thames Valley colleagues had nothing incriminating on him. All it meant was that they could place him at the scene before Eleanor died. If they’d had any stronger evidence he would be in custody already. A police officer as a suspect in a murder case would be hung out to dry. All the same Mariner couldn’t help wondering if Coleman knew something that he didn’t.

  ‘And what about the CPS?’ Coleman was asking.

  ‘Sorry, sir?’

  ‘The CPS. Isn’t that where you’ve been for the last two days?’

  Shit! In his hurry to get out of London Mariner had completely forgotten to return to the CPS for the report. ‘They’re sending something through in the morning,’ he lied. ‘It wasn’t quite ready when I left, but I gave them a kick up the backside. I think my being there in person has moved things along.’ He’d have to ring first tomorrow to ensure that it happened.

  ‘Good.’

  But Mariner rang off with a sense of foreboding. Unpacking his things he came across the envelope Flynn had given him, the proof in black and white that he was Sir Geoffrey Ryland’s son. Opening it he started at the piece of paper for a long time, so small in substance yet so significant in its content. Also in the envelope was another document. Two sheets of A4 stapled together. It was a summary of the crime scene report from Cheslyn Woods. A peace offering from Flynn, though there wasn’t much here that hadn’t already been covered by the press; a mention of the message written on the window, and a note at the bottom describing a tracking device that had been found on Ryland’s car.

  With trepidation Mariner retrieved from his own vehicle the compact piece of hardware that Carl had given him. The name and model number were identical. It increased the odds that whoever had been monitoring Sir Geoffrey Ryland was trying to do the same to Mariner. And he couldn’t help but recall who it was who’d studied electronics while in Chapel Wood prison; Rupert Foster-Young. Mariner needed to speak to a friend.

  Selina answered the phone sounding less like her usual bright self and there must have been something in that because Knox declined Mariner’s invitation. ‘We’ve got other plans tonight,’ he said enigmatically. ‘But have a pint of M&B for me, will you?’

  ‘I will, though it’ll have to be Banks’s,’ said Mariner. ‘I’m going to the Boatman.’ Forty-five minutes later Mariner looked up from his corner seat to see Knox walk into the bar.

  * * *

  Tony Knox entered the bar of the Boatman feeling as guilty as if he was bunking off school. Mariner looked rough, and his reaction confirmed what he’d surmised on the phone, that there was more to this than just a drink. The boss looked desperately relieved to see him. The feeling was mutual.

  ‘You changed your mind,’ Mariner said.

  Knox checked his watch. ‘I haven’t got long. I’ve dropped Selina off at her friend’s. She’s going to call me when she wants picking up, so I’ll need to get home.’ And he hadn’t told her he was meeting Mariner. He hadn’t dared.

  Mariner picked up on the anxiety straight away. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Just a bit tired, that’s all.’ Knox hoped that would cover it.

  It must have because Mariner backed off. ‘I’ll get you a pint. The Wadsworth’s is good tonight.’

  ‘No. I’m not drinking,’ said Knox. ‘I’ll have a tomato juice.’

  ‘What’s this, national abstinence day?’

  ‘I’m not planning on it tomorrow either, or the next day, if I can do it.’

  ‘Christ, what’s brought this on?’

  ‘I was getting too used to it, the same way I did when Theresa first left,’ Knox said, smoothly.

  ‘You’ve always kept it under control.’

  ‘No, I just made it look that way. Selina doesn’t need that right now.’ She’d made that perfectly clear, he’d the bruises on his ribs to prove it. And he wasn’t going to take that risk.

  ‘Well, it explains the twitching,’ Mariner grinned, drawing his own conclusions. ‘Tomato juice it is.’

  Knox launched in as soon as Mariner returned with the drinks. He hadn’t much time. ‘So what’s all this about?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This isn’t just a casual drink, is it? And you look like shite.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Mariner. ‘Your copper’s intuition, eh?’

  No, thought Knox grimly, the insight of someone else who’s got something to hide. ‘You should know,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve found out who my father was,’ said Mariner.

  Knox had thought he’d already guessed what was up: that Anna was pregnant, or worse that she’d walked out. But never in a million years, that. It snatched the breath from him. ‘Fucking Nora,’ he said, eventually. ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘You remember that guy I told you about, Dave Flynn?’

  ‘The one on the Ryland investigation?’

  ‘Yes. Well, that’s what he came to tell me; that Sir Geoffrey Ryland was my father.’

  ‘Ryland?’ This was getting better and better. The boss was having delusions of some kind. Suddenly Knox didn’t know how to play it. ‘How’s that even possible?’ he asked.

  Mariner gave a sardonic laugh. ‘It’s all right, I know exactly how it sounds; my dad, the national icon. It’s like those reincarnation nutters who always turn out to have been royalty in a previous life, and never just some anonymous peasant. But it all fits. I was aware that back then my mother moved in the same social circles. And I’ve got the DNA results to substantiate it.’ Mariner sounded perfectly rational.

  Knox had no option but to believe him. ‘Christ Almighty.’

  ‘Anyway, when I found out I couldn’t help it,’ said Mariner. ‘I had to know more about why he was killed.’

  ‘Even though there are people already doing that job,’ said Knox. ‘Why does that not surprise me?’

  ‘And the more I started digging around, the less satisfied I was with the explanations being given.’

  ‘It looked pretty clear cut to me.’ Knox had read the newspaper reports. ‘The chauffeur was the intended target, Ryland and his wife got in the way.’

  ‘Because that’s what you were meant to think. But right from the start there’s been something funny going on — Dave practically admitted it to me. The Met just seem to be using the incident as an opportunity to indict one of the biggest drug operators in the area, regardless of who might really have committed the crime. At first I thought it could be the Home Office trying to suppress Ryland’s second volume of memoirs. Then I found out that he was building a case against two long-serving Met officers who would have wanted him and O’Connor out of the way. But now I think it’s more likely that Ryland’s other illegitimate son, Rupert Foster-Young, is behind the killings. He claims to be Ryland’s son, at least. He had the motive and the opportunity and now he’s disappeared off the face of the planet.’ Mariner described what had happened to him down in London. ‘Someone was after me, I know they were. And now Eleanor Ryland has been killed and it’s possible that Thames Valle
y police think I did it. Whoever it is knew that I was there on that Saturday—’ Mariner broke off. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘It’s the look you reserve for the care in the community freaks.’

  ‘What do you expect?’ Knox defended himself. He could barely take it all in. ‘You have been doing well on your own, haven’t you?’ he said. ‘Anna must be going apeshit.’

  ‘Anna doesn’t know.’

  Just lately Knox had come to consider himself a master of discretion, but the boss was something else. ‘Which bit doesn’t she know?’

  ‘Any of it.’

  The man was unbelievable. ‘Not even about your dad? That’s massive! We’ve had this conversation before. Why can’t you open your mouth and talk to people, like everyone else does?’

  ‘I had to sort it out in my own head first,’ said Mariner.

  ‘Well, you’re really on track with that, aren’t you?’ Knox scoffed. ‘Where does Eleanor Ryland come into this?’

  ‘She was my grandmother.’

  ‘That I’d worked out for myself.’

  ‘I went to visit her a couple of times, including last weekend. Shortly afterwards she was found dead.’

  ‘That’s what most people would call a coincidence,’ said Knox.

  ‘Except that Thames Valley police have got a reporter who says he saw me arrive at the house just before the TOD,’ said Mariner.

  ‘But he didn’t?’

  ‘I didn’t see any journalists that afternoon. In fact I made that very remark to Eleanor.’

  ‘But you were there?’

  ‘Not at the time she died. I think I’m being fitted up.’

  ‘—by Sir Geoffrey Ryland’s other illegitimate son.’ Knox felt he was in the middle of a bad dream. ‘How much have you told Coleman?’

  ‘Thames Valley police contacted him, so I had to come clean about knowing Eleanor Ryland. I didn’t specify the relationship. Like I said, I wanted to try and make sense of it before telling anyone.’

  ‘And you chose me. Thanks. I’m flattered.’

  ‘At one point I thought some of Coleman’s former colleagues might somehow be involved,’ Mariner said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure now that they’re not, but there’s something going on there too. I just haven’t fully worked it out yet.’

  Knox watched Mariner rub a hand over his face, making contact with about two days’ beard growth. ‘You look terrible,’ he said. ‘When’s the last time you slept properly?’

  ‘You don’t look so great yourself,’ Mariner countered, avoiding the question.

  ‘You can rule out one conspiracy, anyway,’ Knox said, wriggling out from under that one.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The St Martin’s explosion.’ Knox was surprised that the boss hadn’t already heard. It had been the hot topic round the station all day. ‘You’ll never believe who was behind that.’

  ‘Try me.’ The tension in Mariner’s voice was palpable.

  ‘Adolf Hitler.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It was a UXB,’ said Knox.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A World War Two unexploded bomb. All the building work on the new Bullring must have disturbed it. Nothing to do with you, unless Herr Hitler was blessed with tremendous insight.’

  ‘So why all the secrecy?’

  Knox had asked the same question when the news had broken. ‘They were scared that there might be more,’ he said, passing on what he’d been told. ‘The building contractors did the mandatory searches of the new sites, but no one took responsibility for the existing public buildings. They waited to release any details until they could categorically state that everywhere else was safe.’

  ‘The grey transit vans,’ said Mariner.

  Now what was he on about?

  ‘Haven’t you noticed those grey transit vans all over the city, the last few weeks? That must be what—’

  Knox’s mobile rang and he jumped as if he’d been stung. ‘Selina,’ he said to Mariner, checking caller identity, but already on his feet. Of course it was. Shit! Listening to Mariner rabbiting on he’d completely lost track of time. Now he was going to have some explaining to do. ‘I’ve got to go.’ Knocking back the tomato juice, he grabbed his jacket.

  Mariner was regarding him curiously. ‘Don’t tell Anna any of this,’ he said, ‘or Selina.’

  ‘Anna needs to—’ Knox began.

  ‘Don’t!’

  ‘Okay,’ and his own storm clouds gathering, Knox backed out of the pub.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Left alone in the bar, Mariner felt as if the world was beginning to close in on him. He’d hoped that telling Knox would have been some kind of release, but it wasn’t. It didn’t help that Knox was so obviously infatuated with Selina. Mariner could understand him feeling some responsibility for her situation, but even so. It was unlike Knox to let a woman get to him that much.

  So the explosion was down to the Third Reich. That’s why Special Branch had treated his letter so casually. They knew full well what had caused the explosion and it had nothing to do with him. He’d been convinced at the time that it was. The feeling of being followed, the follow up letter, he was so sure it was all for him. If he could be so very wrong about that, was he wrong about Ryland too? Maybe Dave Flynn was right. Maybe it was all in his imagination, his mind fabricating a conspiracy where there was none.

  Unable to face Anna, he went back to his place and spent a restless night. He was up early, showered and shaved and in a clean suit. Then he drove down the motorway to be questioned in a murder enquiry.

  * * *

  The police station was a 1970s square, cinderblock, soulless and featureless. It felt strange being on the ‘wrong’ side of the table, though it wasn’t for the first time in Mariner’s life. In his late teens it had been a regular occurrence, though he’d always walked. So far this morning everyone seemed friendly enough. ‘Could you tell us what time on January twenty-fourth you visited Mrs Eleanor Ryland at her home in Oxfordshire?’ His interrogator was DC Anil Singh. His colleague, young, blond and ruddy-faced sat silently beside him.

  ‘It was about two in the afternoon,’ said Mariner.

  ‘You walked there from the Lygon Arms,’ Singh consulted his notes.

  ‘That’s right. Along the Oxfordshire Way.’

  ‘What time did you leave the pub?’

  ‘About one o’clock.’

  ‘It’s a five-and-a-half-mile walk,’ said Singh. ‘You got there pretty fast.’

  ‘I walk pretty fast.’

  ‘How long did you stay?’

  ‘I’m not sure. About an hour.’

  ‘Not long then,’ Singh observed.

  ‘I wanted to get back to my car before it got dark.’

  ‘And what did you talk about with Mrs Ryland?’

  ‘Personal stuff,’ said Mariner. ‘I was asking her about Sir Geoffrey Ryland.’

  ‘Who you recently learned was your father.’ Flynn had told them. ‘So you got there at about two. You can be certain about that timing?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘One of our two witnesses says you didn’t leave the pub until nearly two.’

  ‘What witness?’

  ‘One of the regulars at the Lygon Arms.’ The man at the bar. ‘Said you had a conversation with him.’

  ‘If you can call it that. And the other witness?’

  ‘A journalist. According to him you called out a greeting as you arrived.’ He consulted his notes. ‘You were seen to turn and wave and call out “Don’t get excited, I’m only family.” This was at about four.’

  ‘Well, he’s mistaken. It wasn’t me.’

  ‘He saw you go into the house, but didn’t see you come out again. Of course it would have been dark by then, so he could easily have missed you.’

  ‘I told you, nobody saw me go in or out. There was no one there. In fact I remark
ed on that very thing to Eleanor Ryland — the reporters weren’t there. She said they were probably in the pub and that they’d be back later.’

  ‘Really?’ Singh’s voice dripped cynicism. ‘What were you wearing that day?’

  It was a standard question and Mariner was prepared. ‘A dark blue Berghaus jacket, black gloves, dark grey trousers, dark brown walking boots.’

  ‘It was a cold day. Nothing to keep your ears warm?’

  ‘I had a hat with me but it was in my pocket.’

  ‘This is the description we have.’ He pushed a piece of paper towards Mariner. It was word for word, but for the make of jacket and the hat, which he was apparently seen to have been wearing.

  ‘I didn’t even go in through the main gate. I walked to the house from the village along the public footpath. It takes you onto the property from the side, over a stile.’

  ‘At last there’s something we’re agreed on,’ said Singh. ‘That’s what the journalist says too. And as you walked across in front of the house you turned by the door, waved and called out.’

  ‘I’d have been thirty metres away. How can they be so sure it was me?’

  ‘That’s why long lens cameras are helpful.’

  ‘How precise is your TOD?’

  ‘We’ll ask the questions if it’s all right with you.’

  ‘I’ve been told she wasn’t found until Monday morning, so it can’t be that accurate.’

  ‘But you’re the only person known to have visited the house during the weekend.’

  ‘There must have been plenty of time when the house was unobserved.’

  ‘There was no sign of forced entry either, implying that the killer had a key.’ Singh raised an eyebrow.

  ‘We only met a couple of weeks ago,’ said Mariner.