by Graham Ison
‘We were there when it happened.’
‘When was this?’ I was beginning to wonder whether this woman had got the dates mixed up.
Michelle Taylor opened her handbag and took out a give-away diary from a bank. ‘I just want to make sure I’ve got the dates right,’ she said as she thumbed through it. ‘Yes, here we are. We went back there for our second week’s holiday from the fifteenth to the twentieth of July. To my surprise and, I have to admit, with a certain amount of apprehension, Bob Sharp was there again. I wasn’t interested in starting anything with him – frankly, he wasn’t my type – but Frank thought differently.’
‘When you were there in June, Mrs Taylor, did you tell Sharp that you’d be returning the following month?’ asked Dave.
‘No, I didn’t know we would be, not then. As a matter of fact, I didn’t think we would ever go there again, not after the showdown between Frank and Bob, but Frank had sort of calmed down and said he didn’t see why we should be deprived of going there simply because a man had tried making a play for me. Which I denied, of course.’
‘What happened when you got there?’
‘Bob stayed well away from me, which was just as well. But when Frank spotted him in the cafeteria, he dragged me back to our chalet and accused me of setting up a meeting with him. He made these wild allegations, accusing me of somehow getting Sharp’s phone number and telling him when we’d be there. There was another row and Frank started slapping me again. I was beginning to get frightened of what he might do, to me as well as to Bob.’
‘In view of what you’ve told me, Mrs Taylor, I have to ask you for your address, and I also have to ask you if you’re afraid your husband might attack you again?’
‘Yes, I think he might. He really scares me. I’ve started to wonder if he’s heading for a mental breakdown of some sort. Anyway, I’ll give you the address of the house my husband and I shared. It’s in Pinner, but I’ve moved out.’ Michelle gave me the details.
‘Perhaps you’d also tell me your husband’s date of birth, Mrs Taylor.’ Once Dave had noted Frank Taylor’s personal details, I asked, ‘Where are you living now that you’ve moved out of the marital home?’
‘With a girlfriend in Hendon. She’s an old university chum.’
‘What are you doing in Chelsea, then, if you live in Hendon?’ Dave asked.
‘I’ve got a part-time job with an estate agent not far from here. But today, I’ve been to see a divorce lawyer,’ said Michelle. ‘I honestly can’t see any future with Frank, not after the way he’s behaved.’
‘Does your husband know where you’re living at present?’ asked Dave.
‘No. And I’d prefer he didn’t find out,’ said Michelle, as a frisson of fear crossed her face.
‘You said just now that you were there when Sharp died, Mrs Taylor. Where exactly were you and your husband?’
‘I was swimming, but I’ve no idea where Frank was. The first I knew that something had happened was when I heard people shouting “Fire”. And then, within minutes, there was a message over the tannoy telling us to assemble in the car park. The next thing that happened was the arrival of the fire brigade.’
‘You’ve no idea what happened, then.’
‘No more than the next person, no.’
‘Did your husband arrive in the car park at any time?’
‘Yes, a minute of two after me. I asked him where he’d been and he said he’d been swimming. Well, I knew that was a lie because I was in the pool and he wasn’t.’
‘Have you any idea where he might’ve been, Mrs Taylor?
Michelle Taylor didn’t answer immediately, but then she said, ‘I think he was taking an interest in a rather gorgeous black girl who was staying there. I’d seen her once or twice with Bob Sharp and I think Frank rather fancied her. Ironic, isn’t it? He objected to me talking innocently to Bob, but was quite prepared to leap into the bed of any woman who asked him.’ She paused reflectively. ‘Or even if they didn’t ask.’
‘Was this black girl the only black girl staying there, Mrs Taylor?’
‘Yes,’ said Michelle quite firmly.
‘The black girl left that morning, so while your husband was missing, it wasn’t because he was talking to her.’
‘Well, in that case, it was probably some other woman. What do I owe you for the coffee and the pastry, Mr Poole?’
Dave laughed. ‘That comes courtesy of the Metropolitan Police, Mrs Taylor.’ He wasn’t joking either. I knew he’d claim the cost as an expense involved in talking to an informant.
We returned to Belgravia at just after five o’clock that afternoon, and Dave immediately searched Metropolitan Police records to see what was known about Michelle Taylor’s estranged husband. The result did not surprise either of us.
‘Frank Taylor received a sentence of four years imprisonment when he was nineteen, guv,’ said Dave, ‘for an act of grievous bodily harm on the girl he was living with. According to his record, he beat her up quite badly and she spent several days in hospital. He was living with her at the time.’
‘Any children, Dave?’
‘Nothing in his antecedents mentions children. He was released fifteen years ago after serving half his sentence.’
‘I wonder if Michelle Taylor knew about his record of violence. I think it’s time we had words with Frank Taylor, Dave.’
‘As he’s a rep, guv, he might be difficult to track down. Could be anywhere in the country.’
‘You’re such a pessimist, Dave. For all we know, he might have got the sack and has been fooling his wife. We’ll go there this evening. I’ll put money on him being at home.’
‘Or out with a bird or taking his clothes off at the Pretext Club,’ suggested Dave pessimistically.
It was a semi-detached house in Pinner. The front garden was overgrown, but it wasn’t excessively out of control yet. Nevertheless, I suspected that the neighbours, all of whom seemed to have pristine front gardens with manicured lawns, were unimpressed, and doubtless in fear of the weeds spreading from Taylor’s garden to their own. I assumed that Frank Taylor couldn’t be bothered to get the lawn mower out or, maybe, it was one of the jobs that Michelle had always done. There was a ten-year-old Honda on the drive and washing it clearly didn’t rank high among Taylor’s priorities. The brass door knocker was in need of some metal polish, as was the letter plate.
‘Frank Taylor?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, and who the hell are you?’ Taylor’s gaze went from me to Dave and back again. ‘Are you some sort of Bible-bashing evangelists?’
‘We’re police officers, and we’d like a word with you.’
‘Well, I’m busy right now. I’ll come down to the nick when I can spare the time. But if it’s about a parking ticket, I’ve paid it.’ Taylor showed all the signs of being an aggressive individual ready to pick a fight with anyone. He had the smooth, fleshy features that are attractive to some women but which very often disguise both a lack of intelligence and a weakness of character. I imagined that he was the sort of bully who would cave in at the first sign of strong opposition.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Brock of the Murder Investigation Team at New Scotland Yard and this is Detective Sergeant Poole.’ There were windows open in the houses on either side of Taylor’s and I’d deliberately raised my voice so that any neighbours who happened to be listening would have heard me. It had the desired effect.
‘Oh, er, you’d better come in.’ As I’d predicted, Michelle’s husband surrendered.
Dave and I followed Taylor into an untidy front room and he indicated, with an unspoken gesture, that we should take a seat.
‘What’s this about, then?’
‘I understand that you and your wife were at the Pretext Club on two separate occasions recently, Mr Taylor. The first occasion was from Monday the third of June to Saturday the eighth, and the second was from Monday the fifteenth of July to Saturday the twentieth.’
‘So what? It’s not a crime, is
it?’ sneered Taylor.
‘No, but murder is a crime, Mr Taylor,’ said Dave, his educated delivery appearing to disconcert Taylor.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘On the second occasion you were there, a man named Robert Sharp was murdered.’
‘Are you suggesting that I had something to do with that?’
‘You had an argument with Sharp and were separated by other people before the pair of you were able to come to blows.’
‘Who told you that? My slut of a wife, was it?’
‘We have made extensive enquiries at the club, Mr Taylor,’ continued Dave, ‘as we are obliged to do in cases of murder. Are you saying that your wife was a witness to this argument?’ He knew very well that she was but had no intention of letting Taylor know that we had already interviewed her. ‘If that is the case, perhaps you’d tell me when she is likely to be here so that we can speak to her.’
‘My wife’s not here any more.’ Taylor made the admission tersely. ‘I threw her out. She’s been telling people that I hit her. Well, she’s a lying bitch. I’ve never hit a woman in my life.’
‘Don’t take us for fools, Mr Taylor. When you were nineteen you were sent to prison for four years for inflicting grievous bodily harm on the woman you were living with.’
‘I only served two years, so that conviction is spent.’ Taylor, his voice trembling, sounded outraged that we should have raised the question of his prison sentence. ‘You’ve no right to mention it.’
‘You were sentenced to four years and that’s what decides whether it is spent or not,’ said Dave mildly. ‘And it’s not, but perhaps you would now tell my chief inspector what this argument with Sharp was all about.’
‘He was making a play for Michelle.’
‘Who is Michelle?’ asked Dave, with feigned innocence.
‘My bloody wife.’
‘Is that why you threw her out?’
‘One of the reasons, yes. She was making up to him; believe me, I know the signs. She’s an attractive woman, especially when she’s strolling around naked giving men a come-on look.’
‘If that was a risk, Mr Taylor,’ I said, ‘why on earth did you take her to a naturist club? That, surely, was asking for trouble.’
‘Why shouldn’t I? It’s supposed to be a free country.’
‘Where were you when the fire broke out on the Saturday? That was the twentieth of July.’
‘What time was that?’
‘About half past three.’
‘I can’t remember. In the pool, I think. What’s this all about? D’you think that I set fire to Sharp? At least, the TV news said that he’d died in a fire.’
‘Did you set fire to him?’
‘Of course not.’
‘But at your first visit you had an argument with him about your wife and if other people hadn’t stepped in, there’s no telling what might have happened. The next time you were there, I suggest that you went to Sharp’s room and deliberately murdered him.’
‘For Chrissakes, man! I might have knocked my girlfriend around a bit when I was a youngster, but that’s all in the past. I don’t go around killing people.’
‘What’s your occupation, Mr Taylor?’ Dave asked.
‘I haven’t got one. I’m currently unemployed.’
‘What happened, then?’
‘I chucked the job in. Got fed up with it.’
‘We’ll very likely need to see you again, Mr Taylor,’ I said. ‘Are you thinking of moving?’
‘Can’t afford to,’ said Taylor churlishly. ‘Mind you, it’s out of my hands because the building society is getting all arsey.’
As we reached the sitting-room door, Dave paused. ‘You’d better keep your nose clean from now on, sunshine,’ he began, his voice barely above a whisper, ‘because if you don’t, it’ll give me great pleasure to drag you out of the house in handcuffs and put you into a marked police car.’ Dave had a deep loathing of men who attacked women.
‘Are you threatening me?’ demanded Taylor.
‘On the contrary,’ said Dave, ‘I’m making you a promise.’
TWELVE
‘I think he’s well in the frame, guv’nor.’ Dave accelerated away from the house in Pinner as though trying to put as much space as possible between himself and the unsavoury Frank Taylor. ‘He’d lie through his teeth, that one. He obviously got the sack, as his wife forecast, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that he’s up to some sort of villainy. If only to make ends meet.’
‘I think you’re right, Dave. However, as we’re not far away, let’s call in at the Pretext Club and see if we can find a member of staff who can give us an unbiased account of this spat between Taylor and Sharp.’
Rather than tackle either of the joint owners of the club, Dave and I made our way directly to the swimming pool where two lifeguards, a man and a woman, were on duty.
We introduced ourselves and I asked the man if he knew which of the lifeguards had been witness to an altercation with a couple of members on the fifth of June.
‘That was me, Don Rogers. And Mel Cameron.’ He pointed to a young woman who was keeping a watchful eye on the swimmers. Rogers was a muscular young man of about twenty-three and, I imagined, spent much of his time working out. There was not an ounce of fat on him and he appeared to be made entirely of muscle. I got the impression that spending all day without clothes gave him the welcome opportunity to show off his physique and I wondered, idly, how many ladies he had ‘charmed’ during their stay at the Pretext Club.
‘And you say you saw this argument between Robert Sharp and Frank Taylor.’
‘Yeah, well, we both did. Mel, come over here a minute and have a word with these detectives. Mel was a junior county swimming champion,’ Rogers explained. ‘She does a great butterfly stroke and she’s into the martial arts in a big way.’
Mel Cameron was a slender young woman and obviously at the peak of physical fitness.
‘Tell me about this argument, Don. You don’t mind me calling you Don, do you?’
‘No, everyone does. Well, it took place right here by the pool. Taylor was quite a big guy and he was squaring up to Sharp and calling him names and accusing him of screwing his wife.’
‘Was his wife there at the time, Don?’
‘Oh, yeah. She’d been talking to Sharp. Mind you, I don’t blame him – she’s a good-looking bird is Taylor’s missus. She and Sharp had both been in the pool and got out at the same time. That might’ve been a coincidence because they got out at opposite ends but, there again, Sharp might have been waiting for the chance to chat her up. Anyway, they were making their way across there,’ said Rogers, pointing at the four open showers, ‘but then Sharp said something to Michelle – that’s Taylor’s wife’s name – and they both stopped and started talking.’
‘Did you hear what was being said, Don?’ asked Dave.
‘No. I think Sharp was making a joke or something because Michelle laughed.’
‘They were just having a quiet conversation,’ said Mel. ‘Nothing sexy about it at all. Just finding out where each of them lived and how often they came to the club. All that sort of thing. It sounded quite innocent to me.’
‘Did you see Sharp touch Michelle at any time?’
Mel only needed to think about that for a moment. ‘No, they were actually standing a couple of feet apart.’
‘Yes, go on.’
‘Well, there was nothing unusual about two people having a chat. This has always been a very friendly place, Mr Brock,’ continued Mel, ‘and people chat to strangers all the time but, as far as I can tell, there’s never anything in it, although you never know, do you?’
‘But Taylor seemed to think there was,’ Dave suggested. ‘Was that it?’
‘It looked very much like it,’ said Rogers, taking up the story. ‘Taylor had been lying on one of the sunbeds watching ’em, when he suddenly leaped up and stormed across to Michelle and Sharp. Straight away, he starts having a go a
t Sharp, accusing him of having taken Michelle to his chalet and then …’ The lifeguard paused. ‘I won’t repeat what he actually said, but I reckon you can guess, being coppers, like. Well, I thought to myself, “Don, old son, you’d better step in before there’s bloodshed.” So, I got in between ’em and told ’em to grow up and behave themselves because they were upsetting the other members. Taylor looked like he still wanted to have a go, so I grabbed him and moved him away from Sharp. He muttered something about having me for assault and I …’ Rogers stopped. ‘Well, I won’t tell you what I said.’
‘It was me who grabbed Sharp and pulled him back, out of harm’s way,’ said Mel. ‘Don likes taking all the glory,’ she added, and they both laughed.
‘And they then stopped arguing, presumably?’ I couldn’t imagine anyone in his right mind picking a fight with Rogers or, for that matter, with Mel Cameron.
‘Oh, yeah, they stopped.’
‘We had one report, Don, that it was other members who stopped the argument from becoming a fight.’
Rogers laughed. ‘They couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. They were quite happy to stand on the touchline and watch, but they weren’t going to get involved in the game. If there wasn’t a ban on bringing smartphones into the club, they’d all have been making a video of the action.’
We thanked Don Rogers and Mel Cameron and took our leave. But we were no further forward. As I’d predicted when I’d first met Frank Taylor, he was the sort of individual who, faced by someone of the stature of Rogers, would cave in at once.
It was half past seven by the time we got back to Belgravia after what had been a tiring and frustrating day. But it wasn’t over yet.
Gavin Creasey, the night-duty incident room manager, who had relieved Colin Wilberforce at six o’clock, followed me into my office.
‘Colin left a message for you, sir, about James Brooks.’
‘Sadie Brooks’ husband?’
‘Yes, sir, that James Brooks. Colin decided it might be a good idea to enter Sadie Brooks’ name on the Police National Computer. When he did so, James Brooks’ name came up in connection with her. He’s escaped from Ford open prison.’
