by Dave Lacey
“Well?” Smithy asked.
“She’s been sailing in the southern Mediterranean,” Jack announced, the corners of his mouth turning down.
“Well, you would at this time of year, the northern Mediterranean would be far too cold,” Smithy said with a ’Hello, everyone knows that‘ expression.
“Well, I just don’t get time to sail any more if I’m honest, what with the mountaineering and polo,” Jack mused.
“Oh, please, between your uncle’s money and mummy and daddy being wongered, don’t try to tell me you haven’t been sailing?” Smithy asked in disbelief.
“Well, not sailing as such. It was more a motor yacht, and it was no bigger than thirty or forty metres,” Jack said.
“You knob.” Smithy glared at Jack, who chuckled contentedly.
“Why didn’t you go into one of the family businesses, it sure would have beaten the shit out of this?” Smithy asked after a brief pause.
“It never interested me. Sure, I would have earned stupid amounts of money, but if I really wanted that I could just ask for some. But I like what I do, and I like my partner.” He smiled and tilted his head to one side.
“Gay,” Smithy sighed. “So, what made you so chipper this morning?”
“Guess who was waiting at the apartment gates when I got back last night?”
“No!” Smithy said exaggeratedly. “Not Selena?”
“Yes, Selena. That threw me I can tell you.”
“I’m not surprised. What a bitch! Are we still calling her a bitch?”
“No, not at the moment. She wants me back.”
“Well who wouldn’t, you’re quite a catch. ‘Tell me Selena, what was it that attracted you to the heir to the Sumner fortune, Jack Sumner?’” he asked.
“Smithy, you know that’s got nothing to do with anything. It was weird though.”
“Why weird?”
“Because I got pissed off, and I never expected to. I thought I would’ve been over the moon when and if this happened. Instead, I got shitty and told her I’d think about things.” Jack stared into the distance.
“But you will get back together?”
“I think so, yes. Oh, I don’t know,” he groaned.
“Do you love her?
“Yes.”
“Do you miss her?”
“Yes.”
“Do you miss your son?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to end up sharing a house with me when we are both old and single?”
“No.”
“Then don’t be a tit. Get over yourself, swallow your pride, and tell her to put the champers on ice.”
“I hate you,” Jack said simply.
“No, Jack, you love me, for all the right reasons. I’m always right, I’m smarter than you, better looking than you, and I am debonair.” He said the last with a flourish and walked off toward the kitchen. Jack shook his head, but had to agree.
***
Smithy pressed the button on the intercom at the Mullins’ front gate. Once again, this was an impressive house with a four hundred yard or so drive.
“Hello, Detective?”
“Yes, Mrs Mullins, its Detectives Smith and Sumner.”
The intercom clicked and the gate trundled back almost noiselessly on its runners. As they had at Sebastian Lawes’ property, they left the car at the gate and walked up the drive. Though the sun was out and the sky an unbroken blue, winter was most definitely here. A biting wind whipped across the lawns. As Smithy held out his hand to ring the doorbell, the door opened to reveal a medium height woman, in her mid-fifties it would seem. She wore her hair in a 1960’s fashion, held back from her face by a black hair band. She had green eyes, but that was as close as she got to being human, as they had a dead quality that made it seem as though she were looking right through you. Her appearance also gave off the odour of money and good breeding.
“Detectives, welcome, do come in.” She waved them into the cavernous entrance hall.
“Thanks, Mrs Mullins,” Jack offered as they stepped out of the cold.
“Please, go into the drawing room.” She pointed to the first room on the right. Smithy and Jack walked in and were immediately stunned by the grandeur of it all. The artwork on the wall was beautiful, and even to the untrained eye the landscape paintings stood out as particularly skilful. There was a Steinway grand sitting under the huge Georgian window.
“These are beautiful paintings, Mrs Mullins, just amazing.”
“Do you collect?” She asked the question already knowing full well that a policeman would not be able to afford such things. Jack had picked up on it, and answered in the best way he could.
“No, I hate all this poncey crap. But my family collect, and they often hold exhibitions for the public at one of my family’s estates. It’s considerably bigger than this place, so even when the public are there it’s not an inconvenience. They like to give a little back, you know?” He could feel Smithy attempting to stifle a laugh to his left, as Jack’s eyes bored into those of his host, until she smiled and cocked her head to one side.
“Oh, that’s very nice. How can I help you?” The shutters came down behind her eyes, and Jack realised they were in for an interesting interview.
“One of your church members was found dead last week. Susan Warwick. Do you know her?” It was a little abrupt, but he had taken an instant dislike to this woman. Her jaw fell slack as she took in the news.
“Oh, I see. That’s terrible news.” Her hand had flown to her throat, but neither of the detectives saw any real emotion behind the gesture.
“How well did you know her, Mrs Mullins?” Smithy took his turn.
“Not very well, I’m afraid. We didn’t move in the same circles. Other than the church of course,” she said quickly.
“Of course. You mean socially?” Jack asked.
“Yes, that’s correct. Poor woman, her husband must be beside himself.” She really didn’t know Susan Warwick very well.
“Yes, he seems upset. When you say socially, do you mean she wasn’t able to afford to mix in the same circles as yourself?” Smithy winced at Jack’s question, but realised that Jack had a reason for asking.
“That seems a callous question at a time such as this.” She looked affronted.
“There’s a reason for my question, Mrs Mullins. Please answer it.”
“I suppose you could say that, yes, but it wasn’t snobbery.” She straightened her back indignantly.
“No, of course not,” Jack answered.
“Now see here, I will not have you enter my home questioning my integrity and casting doubt upon my character!”
“Mrs Mullins, I really don’t care for your chastened sensibilities right now. A woman is dead, her son is missing, and his partner died a few weeks ago. We’re trying to establish what may have driven this chain of events, and who may have had a motive to carry them out. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but–”
“No, no buts. We came here in good faith, and you made a poor attempt to belittle us. Why, I cannot begin to fathom, but I don’t care.” Jack clenched his jaw, biting down on his anger. “Now, the reason I ask about money is that since we’ve started talking to the members of your church, a pattern has developed. They all seem to be wealthy beyond the norm, even that little snot that works in the insurance company, Emmett Jones. Except Susan Warwick, who, although she lived on the outskirts of Bowden, clearly did not have the money to mix with people such as yourself and some of your ‘colleagues’.” Jack paused again, taking a deep breath before going on. “Now, I ask you, Mrs Mullins, how would she have been able to mix with such a group, and how would she have been able to remain involved with it?” Jack was pretty riled now, but stood and waited for a response. Siobhan Mullins was clearly shocked at being spoken to in such a way, but she composed herself and replied.
“I’m not sure what you’re driving at, Detective, but I’ll try to explain the situation as I see it. Susan came to the churc
h via Mary Parker. They met outside of the church and then Mary gradually introduced her to the group. She was voted in, against my own judgement, and then became a full member. She has managed to remain a full member for a number of years now and has been under my leadership the whole time. There was a time when it looked as though she might move to another group, but that was overruled.”
“Which group, and why was it overruled?” Smithy asked rapidly.
“I’m not at liberty to–”
Jack burst out laughing, and clapped a mocking round of applause. “Brilliant, I love how you people think that you’ll be able to maintain that course!” Though his eyebrows were raised in surprise, Jack still smiled.
“I beg your pardon?” Her lips pursed, Siobhan Mullins became quite still.
“Sorry, I’ll rephrase. It’s incredibly naïve of you to think you can just choose not to cooperate with the police. And that you think you’ll have some sort of immunity because you’re a part of some weird arsed cult. Now, who was the leader of the other group, and why was it overruled?” He voiced his question as if talking to a child. Mullins took another moment, and then spoke again.
“I will not tell you–”
“No, you’re clearly not listening to me! You will tell us here, now, or you’ll tell us at the station after being detained for a few hours. The choice is yours.” Jack had raised his voice again, and now Mrs Mullins sat down heavily on what Jack could only assume was a very expensive sofa. There was obviously an internal battle taking place as to whether she should tell them what they wanted to hear. Finally, the threat of detainment won the day.
“The other group,” she said reluctantly, “is led by a man called Anthony Meads. He’s a second lieutenant. Susan was not allowed to move to his group, much as I would have wanted to her to. Because…moving is not permitted.” She looked a little furtive as she pronounced this last part, and Jack had suddenly had an idea.
“Mrs Mullins, are you aware of the rumours that were circulating regarding Mrs Warwick?” Her eyes narrowed at his question, and Jack thought he had been correct in his assumption.
“What rumours are they, Detective?” She spoke his job title like an insult.
“Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Mrs Mullins. Don’t you? And I think when you gave us the reason for Mrs Warwick not being transferred across to another group within the church, you weren’t being entirely truthful, were you?” Smithy looked puzzled for a moment, then realisation dawned on him.
“Oh, surely not?” He laughed. “You must be kidding me?” Smithy looked from one to the other. The lady of the house squirmed uncomfortably on her pampered posterior. It seemed there was no way out, except for the truth.
“Oh you tawdry little men!” she hissed.
“Why does everybody keep using words that I don’t understand?” Smithy asked, his shoulders slumping in resignation.
“You’re going to make me say this, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yes ma’am, I am,” Jack responded.
“She was having an affair with Anthony Meads. There, are you happy?”
“Why would you imagine, under any circumstances, that this information would make me happy, Mrs Mullins? Do you think I relish human frailty? No, it doesn’t make me happy – catching her killer would make me happy.” Over the following ten minutes, Jack and Smithy asked a number of questions of less import. They had then obtained the contact details for Anthony Meads before being shown out of the Mullins’ house. Smithy waited until they were back in the car before speaking.
“You were quite harsh, don’t you think?” He had turned to look at his partner and friend in the seat next to him.
“Yeah, I suppose I was. But I don’t like snobs. My family have money, and they’d never treat anybody the way that woman does. And I don’t like how this whole church thing is looking. It’s strange and exclusive. These people have more money than sense, yet they’re all starting to look like creepy robots. The sooner we crack this, the better.”
“Okay, fair enough. Let’s go.”
Chapter 27
Clarence sat in his favourite armchair, pondering his next move. Although he had considered killing all four lieutenants of this northern arm of the church, now he didn’t think it was such a good idea. One, it would be messy. And the more hits you tried to make in one go, the more you raised the odds of success. Two, his latest intel suggested that the other members of the church were not privy to the same information that the head of the church and Anthony Meads were. Three, it would be much easier to pick off Edward Warwick after he had discovered the body of the man who was shagging his wife, than it would be if Warwick discovered the four bodies.
If he discovered four bodies, he would almost certainly call the police. If Warwick found the dead body of Anthony Meads, likely as not, he would hightail it and head home. Where Clarence would be waiting for him. Then it was just a simple matter of faking his suicide, which would tidy things up very nicely. And another thing: it would be intensely boring to just shoot five people; there are much more enjoyable ways of doing things. So that was pretty much Clarence’s decision made; he would figure out where Anthony Meads was likely to be tomorrow night, then he would go there and shoot him.
He would empty the gun, and throw in a few misses to make it look like the shooting had been carried out by a man who was not used to firing a gun. Before doing so, he would telephone Edward Warwick to fill him in on the sordid details of his wife’s relationship with the man, then tell him where he could be found. The two would probably cross paths as they headed in different directions, which was funny really. Clarence would wait for Warwick to come home, where he would make him sit in the chair, then blow his brains out. The gun would be placed in his hand, obviously, followed by the other bits of evidence linking him to the other deaths.
Sitting here going through it over and again, Clarence couldn’t see any pitfalls. That didn’t mean there weren’t any, so he would think about it over and over until he was as certain as he could be. The weak spot, if you could call it that, was the expectation that Warwick would indeed go home after finding the body. It was possible that he could call the police, more than possible he supposed. Then his mind alighted on an idea: what if Clarence called Warwick on his mobile when he arrived at the scene and frightened him into running away? He could tell him exactly what was happening: that he was being set up, that he should run before the police got there. Clarence could call Edward Warwick from his son’s phone, that way when the police went through his phone records, it would look like Warwick Jr had called him.
As yet, the police had no evidence that the boy was dead, which worked out quite nicely. Yes, that’s how he would handle it. That just left the remaining links in the chain: Caleb Thomas and his brother. Clarence wasn’t certain that he would get the go ahead for either of them, but he had his fingers crossed. For the job at hand, Clarence had a belter of a handgun, pretty much untraceable and with tape round the grip so it looked even more dated and careworn. He didn’t know how the police would explain how Warwick came by the weapon. But then again, who cared? They would be too glad to have the case wrapped up in a neat little bundle to give it much thought. Now he had made up his mind, he was as giddy as a schoolboy, but he would have to control himself until tomorrow came.
***
Using the details that Siobhan Mullins had supplied, Jack and Smithy called Anthony Meads to set up a meeting. He was not at his office, but eventually they reached him on his mobile.
“Anthony Meads speaking.” His voice was authoritative and crisp.
“Mr Meads, this is Detective Sumner from Greater Manchester CID. I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes?” Jack knew it was a redundant question – the man couldn’t genuinely expect to say no to the police.
“Oh, I see.” He was clearly taken aback. “Can I ask what this is about?” He was immediately defensive.
“Can I take it, then, that nobody has contacted you rega
rding Susan Warwick?” Jack asked, waiting for the telltale sign of guilt. He was not disappointed.
“I…, well…, what, er, in what sense?” Meads said.
“Mr Meads, I’m afraid Susan was found dead at her home last week,” Jack told him. Shock did not do it justice, the man audibly crumpled at the other end of the phone. It was just under half a minute before Jack spoke again.
“Mr Meads, are you okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” There was a definite sniffle. “How… how did she die?” Meads asked.
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss that, Mr Meads, not over the phone anyway. I’ll be able to tell you more when we meet,” Jack said firmly.
“Meet, oh yes, that’s why you called. I’m sorry, I’m a little shocked. She was such a nice person. I can’t believe it. I spoke to her just a week and a half ago, and she was fine.” He was starting to regain some composure now.
“Mr Meads, did you know her son at all?” Jack asked.
“Oh, er, I met him once. Very nice boy, very nice. It wasn’t anything to do with him was it?” he asked sharply.
“No, not at all, I just wondered if you might have been in contact with him?”
“No, as I said, we only met once. Why?”
“Nothing major, we just don’t know where he is at the moment. But I’m sure he’s just upset about his mother. Did you ever meet Paul’s partner?”
“No, but I understand why you’re asking me now. You know don’t you?”
“If you’re talking about your having conducted an affair with Mrs Warwick, then, yes, we know.”
“I see. And her husband, does he know?”
“I have no idea, sir, and frankly it’s none of our concern. So you definitely did not know Paul Warwick’s partner?” Jack asked again.
“No, I didn’t, Detective. I’m sorry I can’t help you there.”
“When will you be back in the North West, Mr Meads?”
“Tomorrow, I’m back tomorrow. Would you like to come and see me, or would you like me to come and see you, downtown as they say?”
