Saxon stood up. ‘To be honest, Mr Singleton, Billy, you’ve been very helpful. We’ll leave you to it now. We very much appreciate your help.’ Saxon handed him his card. ‘We’ll need a formal statement, of course, as soon as possible. If you think of anything else that struck you, either about that man, or anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call me.’
Billy placed the card on the mantelpiece and turned to Saxon and Parker, as they were about to leave. ‘I understand the young man was a colleague of yours, Commander.’
‘Yes, he was – why do you ask?’
‘Oh, no real reason. But we do get quite a few policemen and ladies in here from time to time. Refreshing really, isn’t it? Now that it’s not a crime anymore.’
Saxon smiled and shook hands with Billy as they left.
Saxon and Parker headed back to their cars, cutting quickly through the small groups of onlookers. There were still a few stragglers out on the street, even at that time, and some had stopped to study the commotion, only to be moved on by the uniforms.
They reached Parker’s car first and paused. Parker turned to Saxon. ‘Not a bad bloke, is he, boss,’ he said.
Saxon couldn’t help but agree. ‘The description of the man Singleton reckons he saw talking to Lucas certainly sounds like Marks,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a picture later and we can show him that to confirm it, one way or the other, hopefully.’
‘But even if it turns out to be Marks, he might not know anything at all – it could all be circumstantial,’ Parker said.
‘You could well be right, Parker, but you have to admit it’s a very strange coincidence, if that’s all it was. And I’m still going to squeeze him as hard as I can. If he knows anything, he’ll be begging to talk by the time I’ve finished with him.’
They said goodnight and Saxon continued on to his car. He needed sleep. He could only recall one other night as sleepless and depressing that compared to this one. That night was back in his childhood. And that’s precisely where he would leave it.
Saxon drove home slowly, the long way, cruising the streets. He was hoping against hope that he would see the killer roaming the back streets with a dripping knife. How neat and tidy that would be. And how bloody unlikely!
He shook himself mentally and physically and pointed the car homewards. He needed some sleep. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be entertaining these thoughts in the first place. He got home without further diversion, realising that there wasn’t much of the night left. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Tuesday, May 21, Saxon’s Apartment 7.00AM
It felt as if it were only minutes later when the alarm clock was screaming at him to get up. He knocked back two cups of strong coffee as he towelled himself dry from the shower and gulped down toast with marmalade – no plate, as he couldn’t find a clean one. Must wash up tonight, and that’s a promise.
When he left his apartment, precisely fifteen minutes after he’d got out of bed, he didn’t notice the card that had been pushed under his door. As he ran down the stairs, two steps at a time, he did notice Francesca, who was on her way up. But as she spoke, he cut her off before she’d managed more than ‘Hi,’ calling back up to her, ‘Morning, Fran.’ He waved. ‘Got to rush.’
Francesca stood motionless and watched him disappear down the stairs. She heard the front door slam seconds later. She got to her door and checked to see if he’d pushed a note under it earlier. No, there was nothing there. So how am I supposed to know if you’re going to make it tonight or not?
Men were very difficult sometimes.
Parker sat in his corner of their temporary office, his eyes glued to the computer screen, barely responding when Saxon strode in.
‘Morning, sir,’ he mumbled, not looking up from the mesmerising information in front of him.
Saxon was feeling quite good, in spite of less-than-adequate sleep. ‘We have Mr Jenner later today, don’t we?’ he asked.
‘Yes, boss. Keith Jenner’s in for questions this afternoon at two o’clock.’
‘Ah, yes, should be interesting. Can’t wait.’ Saxon was aware of something he’d missed back at home. Fran’s face and the expression on it. He had seen it for a second or two but it had registered. Now it occurred to him that she had been about to speak to him, and she’d looked surprised when he rushed past her. Maybe she’d wanted to say more than just ‘Good morning.’
A criticism that Emma had made, to the effect that he often ignored her – too often, as it turned out – resurfaced from wherever he had temporarily filed it in his brain.
He found Fran’s business card in his index and dialled her number. She barely had time to say her name before he interrupted her.
‘Fran, hello, it’s Paul. Sorry I was in a screaming rush this morning.’
She started to speak but he barely paused for breath. ‘Didn’t have time to stop. Have I missed something important?’
‘The card, did you see the card on your doormat?’ she said, with the usual laugh in her voice.
‘Uhm, no…sorry, you’d better tell me what it’s about.’
‘Well, maybe if you’re so busy, you probably haven’t the time to have dinner with me tonight,’ she teased.
It was so unexpected that Saxon was at a loss for words. ‘Well, yes, that would be great, Fran,’ he stammered. ‘But don’t expect too much of my tantalising personality, I haven’t had a lot of sleep lately.’ He paused. ‘One of our lads was murdered last night, so it’s frantic here.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Paul, it must be awful. Maybe you’d rather put it off for a while.’ Her voice was sincere and concerned. He couldn’t believe his luck. She was asking him out. Before he’d even had time to wonder if it was the right thing to do for him to ask her out. Problem solved before it happened.
‘No, don’t worry. It’s fine,’ he said quickly. ‘Even policemen need some time to relax. Could be my last chance for a while. I really enjoyed the other evening.’
‘Great. I’m glad you did. I had a great time too.’ She hesitated. ‘I can ask Gary and Neil to join us if you want a repeat,’ she offered, laughing.
‘No, no,’ he said quickly, hoping she wasn’t serious. ‘I just meant it was more fun than I’ve had in ages. I would love us to have dinner. Even without them.’
‘Okay, I know. I was kidding.’
‘Well, it’ll be hard, being deprived of their company,’ he retaliated. He loved the fact that she had a sense of humour. Emma didn’t, not really, when he thought about it, which he wasn’t about to right now.
‘You’ll give me a ring when you’re through tonight then?’ Francesca asked.
‘Of course. I look forward to it,’ he answered.
‘Unless something comes up at the last minute. I know the case comes first. Specially, when it’s one of your own.’ She was very serious again. ‘I’ll understand,’ she said.
‘I’ll see you later. I’m looking forward to it,’ he said. ‘And, Fran, thanks for asking me.’
The phone call ended and Saxon nursed the handset for a few seconds before replacing it. He sat down at his desk and glanced across the room. Parker was smiling to himself. Smirking, even.
‘That’s enough of that, Parker,’ Saxon muttered. ‘Get on with whatever it is that you’re supposed to be doing. You don’t get paid to laugh.’ In spite of the sharp words, Saxon was smiling.
Parker’s own smile turned into a grin as he rose to his feet and suggested coffee. ‘No muffin for you today, boss. I suppose you’ll be eating later.’ He retreated hastily before anything could be thrown in his direction.
When he came back with two coffees, both with extra shots of caffeine, he had an update on station news.
‘You know, boss, apparently the superintendent is in pretty bad shape this morning. Didn’t get much sleep at all, by all accounts. They’re saying he spent most of the night with Mr and Mrs Lucas,’ he reported.
Saxon raised both eyebrows as he gratefully took charge of a steaming co
ffee. ‘So, he didn’t delegate it? Maybe not such a total wanker after all then, Parker,’ he said.
‘Maybe only ninety-percent wanker, boss,’ Parker ventured.
‘Whatever,’ replied Saxon. ‘He must possess some higher-life-form genes, even if he doesn’t get to demonstrate it too often.’
Tuesday, May 21, Anvil Wood House, Sewel Mill, 12.40PM
Keith Jenner used his BMW for the trip to Sewel Mill and Brighton. He’d spent the late morning looking over the Anvil Wood House property and he wasn’t too unhappy with what he’d seen. In a rising property market, he knew he was safe in assuming it should fetch a bob or two. Of course, not everyone would be interested in a house with such a history but he didn’t exactly need to advertise that aspect, and all he needed to do was close the deal before the buyers heard about the murders. His mind was racing ahead already.
It had been such a relief to find out there was no will. Since he was her only relative, it made the whole question of her estate very straightforward. He’d been worried that she might have left all her worldly possessions to some daft horse-rescue charity or, even worse, to that Poppy cow. Thank God she didn’t get round to it. There were no complications.
He told the agent he’d be in touch as soon as the arrangements had been finalised, and got back into his car for the short drive to Brighton.
Tuesday, May 21, Brighton police Station, 1.05PM
Saxon called a progress meeting, but it was like no progress meeting that any of the officers had ever attended. When there is no evidence, what do you discuss? Several officers had been doing the rounds of gay pubs, asking if any strangers to the area had been spotted. No one had much to offer. A few of the people questioned said they were getting frightened at the prospect of a killer stalking gays in and around Brighton. A minute’s silence was held for Lucas, and then it was back to the daily grind.
Tuesday, May 21, Brighton police Station, 1.30PM
‘Mr Keith Jenner is in reception, boss.’ Parker passed on the news to Saxon, after a call from the front desk.
Saxon looked up. ‘Good,’ he answered, glancing at the wall clock. ‘He’s early.’ And he looked back at the papers on his desk.
Parker hesitated. ‘You want me to get him now, boss?’ he queried.
Saxon shook his head briefly, and didn’t take his eyes off what he was looking at. ‘No, I don’t think so. He can sit there and sweat for half an hour.’ Saxon wasn’t feeling merciful, and besides, it could only help the interview. From what he knew of Jenner in advance, it was not likely to be a particularly pleasant experience.
By the time Jenner was taken to the interview room, he was purple with rage. Saxon paused the moment he set eyes on Jenner. This man was a bottom feeder and a mouth breather, who possessed none of his late sister’s finer points. In fact, he was the epitome of what a South London scrap dealer would look like in the hands of a particularly savage caricaturist.
Overweight, over six feet tall, fifty-three, with greying hair and nicotine-stained fingers, Jenner wore shorts that fit snugly under his belly. His yellowing string vest could do nothing to restrain his girth. His trainers had never been subjected to the trauma of a good run, but they did show clear signs of having had both food and beer spilt on them in many a pub. He sported an identity bracelet and matching medallion, with too many rings on his fingers. This combination of attire, with not a splash – but a tidal wave of cheap aftershave, was painful to the eyes and noses of Saxon and Parker.
Before Saxon introduced himself, Jenner started to shout and prod his finger aggressively towards Saxon’s chest. ‘I’ve come here of my own free will and, I might add, in my work time, to talk to you bastards and you keep me bleedin’ waiting half a fuckin’ hour. I have got better fuckin’ things to do than sit on my bleedin’ arse in a piggery half the fuckin’ day. I’m losing income by being here. What about compensation then?’ Eyes bulging and red-faced, he stopped when he realised that he wasn’t getting the required attention.
‘I’m Commander Saxon, this is Detective Sergeant Parker.’
Jenner cut in. ‘I don’t care who the fuck you are, I’m not putting up with this sort of treatment, fuckin’ liberty-taking shitbags.’
Saxon stopped him with almost a whisper. ‘Jenner, I’m so sorry you have been so terribly inconvenienced and made to sit on your fat arse for a full half hour. You did arrive early didn’t you? But people are being murdered, your sister for instance – remember her? One of our lads was killed last night too, so if you really think that I am even mildly concerned about you, Jenner, you are very wrong, so shut the fuck up and follow me.”
Jenner’s mouth had stopped mid-sentence and hung open. It took the wind out of his sails completely. Saxon led the subdued Jenner to an interview room. He lumbered along behind them and Parker mumbled something about knuckles dragging on the ground. Saxon pretended not to hear, but couldn’t help a little chuckle to himself. He and Parker sat facing him in one of the interview rooms.
‘No need for a tape of this little chat, Mr Jenner, as you have not been charged with anything – yet. I am right, am I not, that you would like us to catch whoever killed your sister. Or maybe there is something that you would like to tell us?’ Saxon looked down at some papers on the table in front of him and appeared to ignore Jenner. Eventually what he had said sunk into Jenner’s consciousness.
‘What do you mean – are you accusing me of bumping off my own sister?’ Jenner looked genuinely astounded.
‘People do some very bad things, we see it all here, nothing surprises us. You’ll feel much better if you get it off your chest.’
‘You can fuck off, the pair of you…I’ve never done anyone in and you know it.’ Jenner started to get up, but sat down after Saxon gave him a look that left him in no doubt that he would be stopped and kept there for far longer than necessary.
‘Okay, Mr Jenner, tell me about your relationship with your sister.’
‘Never had much to do with her, and if you must know, we didn’t get on – stuck up bloody cow, she was.’
‘Why not?’ said Parker, studiously making copious notes.
‘Give me a break will you. She’s, I mean was, a fuckin’ dyke, and I don’t want to mix with dykes and poofs do I?’
Saxon sat calmly with his hands clasped on the desk. ‘Did you kill your sister?’
Jenner sprang to his feet shouting. ‘No I fuckin’ didn’t…and if you think I did then you’re fuckin’ wrong and you must be fuckin’ barmy. I can account for my movements anytime you like, you just have to ask my old woman.’
Saxon, without looking up from the piece of paper he was studying, said, ‘Yes or no will suffice, and please will you sit down, you are making my sergeant very nervous. Believe me, Jenner, we don’t want to make him nervous…he’s not a nice man when riled – are you Detective Sergeant Hard Bastard Parker?’
‘No, sir, I get nasty, stitch people up, and hurt them badly.’
Saxon cut him short. ‘That’s enough, Parker, just because we have more power than the normal police and the Inland Revenue and Customs and Excise put together, combined with the ruthlessness of the triads, we don’t want to be forced to abuse that power do we?’
‘Not really, sir, not if we can help it, it upsets our weekends – gives us extra work. Lots of explaining to do.’
Jenner returned to his seat again and began to sweat heavily. ‘All right, you bastards, I can account for my movements. I was out with the wife. We had a drink and a curry.’
‘And your wife’s name is…?’ Saxon paused. ‘…Please fill in the gap, Jenner, your wife, her name is?’
‘Okay not my wife…a friend.’ He looked down at the floor; his voice carried the tone of a man crushed.
‘A friend is it? What is the name of your friend, bearing in mind that we will be checking out this friend very thoroughly?’
Saxon didn’t want Jenner to have an alibi. Of all people, this fat loud-mouthed bastard would do nicely.
&nb
sp; ‘Lizzie, her name’s Lizzie, she’s an old friend of mine, bit of a slag but…’
‘I understand, Jenner, spare me the sordid details, you don’t need to explain.’ Saxon’s hopes flew out of the window. Shit, he has an alibi. Shit. He wouldn’t have admitted to having a meal with his slag if it wasn’t true.
Parker looked coldly at Jenner and asked, ‘What is the full name and address of your slag?’ And then threw in, ‘Are you the sole beneficiary in the event of your sister’s death?’
‘I don’t know do I…well I suppose so…haven’t really thought about it.’
Saxon stopped taking notes and looked up.
‘Come off it, Jenner, we may look a bit simple but we’re not daft. Your sister dies suddenly – and shame on me for thinking this, but she owned a very big house in the country, with stables and a fair bit of land. In fact, not a bad little earner. Dare I say this could make you a very wealthy man? You can’t blame us for thinking such things? You’ve already admitted that you couldn’t stand her. I repeat, Jenner, we are not daft, and you, I know, are a cunning bastard. For all we know you may have decided to have her topped. We know everything about you and your business and the sort of people you mix with and your entire past all the way back to ten minutes before conception. Tell me, Jenner, what’s the going rate for a hit man down the Old Kent Road these days – a hundred quid, five hundred?’
Jenner lit a cigarette, blew the smoke towards his interrogators and folded his arms, fag in mouth.
‘You two are going to look like a couple of right fuckin’ wankers – I didn’t kill my sister, but I’ll tell you what – I’m glad the bent bitch is dead. She was a cow, and if it keeps you arseholes busy for a while, all the bleedin’ better. If you want to talk to me again I want my solicitor with me.’
Saxon paused and made notes long enough to make his victim twitchy. As Jenner was about to speak, Saxon interrupted him. ‘Well, thanks for your time, you have been entertaining to say the least, and don’t worry about your solicitor, next time we will come to your home…maybe your wife could help us with a few details regarding your whereabouts on certain days and nights. Perhaps we could get your wife and your slag together to discuss some of the finer details of your business activities. Help us fill in the gaps if you know what I mean. Oh, and please correct me if I’m wrong, but of course, I know I’m not, I do believe you have been questioned in the past regarding fraud. Maybe we can take another look at that case while we are at it. Spent some time banged up for violence too: attempted murder, reduced charge not enough evidence – yeah right. We’ll be in touch – can’t wait to meet the wife. You can go now, Mr Jenner, thank you for cooperating with you friendly neighbourhood police service.’
Saxon Page 17
