by Val McDermid
‘That’s one way of putting it. Your client tried to strangle me tonight. He’s right off my Christmas card list. But I’m always happy to listen. You’d be amazed the things you can pick up that way.’
He smiled. He was meant to. ‘I take your point, Miss Brannigan,’ he acknowledged. ‘It’s my understanding that you have been retained by one of my client’s artistes to uncover the identity of the murderer of Moira Pollock. Is that correct?’
Why do lawyers always ask questions they know the answers to? It was one of the things that made me decide I preferred being a private investigator. Maybe you don’t always come across as omniscient, but at least you get the occasional stimulating surprise. ‘Quite right,’ I reassured him.
He gave a curt nod. ‘And I understand that you made certain allegations against my client in this matter?’
‘Right again.’ Had it really been worth trekking downstairs for this?
‘My client has instructed me to pass certain information on to you, without prejudice,’ he said solemnly, as if he were handing me a gift of immense value and corresponding responsibilities. His glasses had slipped down, and he peered at me through them like a judge thirty years his senior.
‘Indeed,’ I replied. All this legalese was causing serious linguistic regression.
‘You alleged that my client had knowledge of the crime at a time when only the murderer could have known it. My client denies this strenuously, and has asked me to ascertain the source of this false information so that he can refute it,’ he said earnestly.
I should know better than to be surprised by the deviousness of lawyers. ‘It sounds like you’re looking for information rather than handing it out,’ I told him. ‘If your client is a murderer, would it not be rather irresponsible of me to identify a witness against him?’ More linguistic contagion.
‘My client is going to be charged with attempted murder,’ Berman replied tartly, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘I don’t think he’ll be in a position to pose a risk to anyone. The point is that my client strongly denies possessing the aforementioned information at the time you allege. He denies vigorously passing that information on to anyone, and believes he can produce witnesses to all his conversations up to the time when he returned to his room.’
I felt a prickle of interest. Berman’s words suggested there might be some corroboration of my fresh suspicions. Before I could reply, Bill’s voice rang through the office like a demented Sun journalist. ‘Gotcha!’ he cried.
‘Excuse me,’ I mumbled as I jumped to my feet and shot through the door. ‘Have you cracked it?’ I asked eagerly.
‘Just a matter of time now. I’ve hacked into the accounts section, and it’s just a case of working out how the files are organized and searching them,’ Bill said triumphantly.
I hugged him. People need hugs, especially when they’ve just saved your life then made your day. Then, aware of David Berman’s gaze, I returned to the outer office, this time closing the door behind me. ‘Sorry about that,’ I said. ‘Bill’s just cracked something we’ve been working on for a while now. If I can just go back to what you were saying. Has Kevin given you any account of what he said to whom?’
Berman compressed his lips, then said, ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’
‘Then it seems to me we’re at an impasse. You can’t tell me what he said, and I can’t tell you who’s making the claim.’
‘It’ll all come out eventually,’ he said persuasively. ‘You must be aware that if my client is charged, we will have to be told the names of the witnesses against him. It would surely be in everyone’s interest to clear the name of an innocent man so that the search for the guilty party can go on. If my client is charged, this thing will drag on for months, and people’s memories will start to fade. When he is eventually cleared, it may be too late to trap the real killer.’
It was a good argument. As I picked up my bag and told Bill I was going to Bootle Street with Berman, I tried to convince myself that it was the strength of his case that had persuaded me. After all, I thought sanctimoniously, even though Kevin was Mr Sleaze in my eyes, if I had wrongly accused him, I owed it to him to sort it out. Deep down, I knew otherwise. I had a theory, and I wanted to prove it to my own satisfaction.
It was nearly three when I got back to the office. After a lot of verbal ping-pong, with David Berman as the ball, I had obtained some very interesting material. As a result, I’d spent half an hour persuading Cliff Jackson that what I had to say to him was worth listening to. Credit where it’s due, once he’d explained to me in graphic detail just why I was lower than a Salford sewer, he consented to pay attention. And instead of clambering on his high horse and ignoring what I had to say, he’d not only listened but had reluctantly agreed to give my suggestion a try. ‘You get one shot,’ he’d warned me. ‘If you screw up, I’ll bang you up as well as your chum in the cells. No messing.’ I was so sure of myself I didn’t feel I’d be risking that.
I found Bill leaning back in his chair, a look of deep satisfaction on his face as he puffed away on a Sherlock Holmes pipe filled with some noxious continental tobacco. ‘Any news?’ he asked me.
I told him where we were up to, and he smiled. He looked just like the Big Bad Wolf, his lips pulled back over teeth that gripped the pipe stem. Then he showed me what he’d dug up.
We were making plans until four. This time, everything was going to go like clockwork. This time, I wasn’t going to end up with a necklace of bruises. Meanwhile, I had things to do. Unfortunately, sleep wasn’t one of them.
30
Jett was waiting for me on the steps when I arrived at half-past four. His shoulders were hunched and his face had a tight, pinched look around the mouth and nose. ‘You still going ahead with this showdown?’ he greeted me.
‘It has to be done, Jett,’ I told him as we walked into the empty hall together.
‘Why? They arrested Kevin. The word is he tried to kill you because you found out he killed Moira.’ His tone was aggressive.
‘I’m sorry, Jett. He did attack me.’
‘No need for you to be sorry. You were just doing the job, like I asked you to. I’m the one should be sorry. I trusted that man with my life. And now I find out he killed the woman I cared for more than anything in the world. So why d’you have to put us through more?’
Jett hurried ahead of me into the blue drawing room. I followed more slowly, wondering how to placate Jett without giving too much away. He was pouring himself a hefty drink when I entered. ‘Help yourself,’ he told me. With a moody scowl on his face, he moved over to the spindly-legged chair and threw himself into it again. If I’d been the man from the Pru, there’s no way I’d have insured it.
I poured myself a weak vodka and topped it up with orange juice, in the absence of my usual. I didn’t think this was a good time to demand a grapefruit juice. I positioned myself in front of the grate, where some logs were smouldering half-heartedly.
Jett took a gulp of his drink and started to say something. He was interrupted by a knock at the door, which opened before either of us could say ‘Come in’. Cliff Jackson barged in with a face like a man with a bad case of piles. Gloria followed him, saying petulantly, ‘Sorry, Jett, he wouldn’t wait till you’d finished with Kate.’
‘Never mind that,’ Jackson grunted. ‘Just what is going on here, Brannigan? You tell me last night that Kleinman was the killer, you set him up to assault you so we’ve got something to stick on him, then you leave messages all over town telling me to get up here if I want to find out the truth about Moira Pollock’s murder. What the hell are you playing at?’
Jett got to his feet and shot me an angry look. ‘You didn’t tell me he was coming,’ he protested. ‘This was supposed to be between us.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a complacent smile spreading across Gloria’s face.
‘What exactly was supposed to be between you?’ Jackson demanded, rounding on Jett.
‘Mind your own fucking business, pig,
’ Jett yelled back at him. Jackson flushed dark scarlet and opened his mouth to retaliate.
‘If we could all stop shouting at each other, I’ll happily explain,’ I interjected forcefully.
‘I’m all ears,’ Jackson snarled. ‘It better be good. I can feel an overwhelming desire to charge someone with wasting police time.’ I was impressed, I have to admit it. It made me wonder just how much of his routine bloody—mindedness was an act too.
‘I know that you’ve charged Kevin with attempted murder after what he did last night, but there are still a few loose ends to be tied up. I asked you to come because I didn’t want you to turn round and say things were being done behind your back.’ I turned to Jett. ‘I know you didn’t want him here, but things have gone too far to be kept in the family. I’m sure you don’t want Moira’s killer to get away with it just because you left it all to me and I couldn’t deliver.’
Jackson was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘You are unreal, Brannigan. I should nick you right now for this grandstanding.’
‘Give me half an hour, Inspector. Then you can throw the book at me if you’re still so minded.’
Jackson muttered something under his breath that I didn’t catch. I don’t think I was supposed to. He moved across the room to stare at an undistinguished oil landscape on the far wall.
Jett drained his glass and handed it to the hovering Gloria, who bustled over to the drinks. She threw a quick glance back at Jett as if to gauge what strength he needed, then poured. I noticed it was almost as large a measure as he’d poured for himself. Maybe I’d been underestimating Gloria.
The awkward silence was broken by Tamar and Micky, who entered together just on ten to five. Tamar ignored me and headed straight for Jett, who gave her a perfunctory kiss and steered her towards the sofa.
Micky moved to my side and touched my elbow. Through the cloud of cigarette smoke, I could see the worried look on his face. ‘When are they going to let Kevin out on bail?’ he murmured.
‘I doubt if they will. He’s already facing one serious charge, and there’s a possibility he’ll be on a murder charge by morning,’ I explained softly.
He shook his head. ‘This couldn’t have come at a worse time. We’re at a crucial stage with the album. I don’t know what we’re going to do.’
I was spared having to answer by Neil’s entrance. He was positively bouncing with bonhomie as he crossed the room and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. I was so surprised I couldn’t move out of the line of fire fast enough. Micky moved away, disgust written all over his face.
‘I know it’s tasteless to say so,’ Neil whispered in my ear, ‘but Kevin’s arrest is going to make my book a bestseller. I’ve been on to my publisher this afternoon, and we’re going to have the book ready to roll as soon as the trial finishes.’
‘Why don’t you get yourself a drink,’ I said through clenched teeth. The guy gave a whole new meaning to sleaze.
He winked at me and made his way over to the bar. The distant sound of the gate intercom buzzer caught everyone’s attention and Gloria moved automatically towards the door to the hall.
‘It’s all right, Gloria, I’ll get it,’ I said, moving swiftly across the room to head her off at the pass. I went out into the hall, closing the door behind me, and opened the gates for the final arrival.
I stood in the doorway and watched as the car slowly made its way up the drive. It pulled up at the foot of the steps, in a kind of defiance. Maggie Rossiter climbed out of the driver’s seat and made her way up the steps towards me.
I cleared my throat and said, ‘People, if I could have your attention for a moment?’ The murmur of conversation triggered off by Maggie’s arrival ended as abruptly as if I’d pushed the mute button on their remote control. Jackson turned towards me and leaned against a marble topped pier table.
‘You all know about Kevin’s arrest, and I expect that most of you think that it’s only a matter of time till he’s charged with Moira’s murder. But then, you already thought that about Maggie when she was arrested. However, I was hired to find a killer, and I suspect that most of you think that’s exactly what I’ve done. But until I’ve cleared up some loose ends that are still remaining, I’m afraid I can’t regard the case as being closed. That’s why I’ve asked you all together. There are some inconsistencies in the stories I’ve been told, and I thought the best way to deal with them was to have you all together. It’s a shame Kevin can’t be here, but we’ll just have to work around that.’ I looked around at their expressions, some hostile, some fascinated.
I took a deep breath and continued. ’I hadn’t been working the case for very long when I discovered that someone in this house had already been trying to get rid of Moira.
’Gloria, who is a diabetic, had noticed syringes going missing from her room. It was only a matter of time before she got round to telling Jett, who at the very least would have confronted Moira and accused her of returning to her old habits. But not content with that, the person who stole the syringes also purchased some heroin. According to Maggie, every few days some heroin and a syringe would appear in Moira’s room, facing her with a temptation that most people in her shoes would have found it impossible to resist.
‘But she did resist, and so the first thing I had to ask myself was if the killer was the same person who’d been trying to get rid of her earlier. But you weren’t the killer, were you, Tamar?’
Tamar was on her feet. ‘You poisonous bitch,’ she screeched at me. ‘You poisonous, lying bitch!’ Then she whirled round to face Jett, whose face was as cold as a marble statue. ‘She’s lying, Jett, I swear she’s lying.’
‘I can prove what I’m saying,’ I replied coldly. ‘The pusher who sold you the heroin identified your picture. You might have tried to get rid of Moira, but I’m satisfied you didn’t kill her. There’s a big difference between offering someone the option of death and actually facing up to your victim and caving her head in.’
Tamar clutched Jett’s arm and fell to her knees in a histrionic show of supplication. He shrugged her arm off roughly and hissed, ‘Get away from me, slag.’
She collapsed on the floor and began to sob noisily. Micky moved across to her and jerked her to her feet. ‘For fuck’s sake, get a grip,’ he shouted angrily, dragging her away and thrusting her into an armchair.
‘Get on with it,’ Jett snapped.
‘Gloria wasn’t telling me the whole truth either,’ I reported. She looked startled and gazed at me with a terrified fascination.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she stammered. ‘I haven’t lied to you.’
‘You came downstairs on the night of the murder and saw someone leaving the rehearsal room. You denied it, but there’s only one person you’d lie to protect, and that’s Jett. It was Jett you saw leaving the room, and you lied about it.’
‘I never,’ she shouted, like a small child who’s been caught out lying about a broken piece of crockery. ‘I never did.’
‘What you didn’t realize was that Jett had admitted to having been in the rehearsal room earlier. But that was before Moira arrived there. So there was no point in your lie.’
Gloria collapsed into the nearest chair and buried her face in her hands. ‘Is there anything else you’ve lied to me about?’ I asked gently.
She looked up, tears streaking her cheeks and shook her head mutely. I was inclined to believe her.
‘Micky.’ As I said his name, he moved a couple of steps nearer to me, his long arms dangling at his sides like a caricature of a Western gunslinger. ‘I want to ask you about events in this room immediately after Moira died.’
‘I’ve already told you all I know,’ he said mutinously.
‘All I want is some more detail,’ I said persuasively.
‘Tell her what she wants to know,’ Jett growled.
Micky looked as if he wanted to argue, but he quickly remembered which side his bread was buttered. ‘OK, fire away,’ he complained.
‘Ca
n you tell me where you were sitting and who you were talking to?’
‘I sat down on that chair over there,’ he said, pointing to the one where Tamar was currently leaving salt stains on the silk upholstery. ‘Kevin was stood next to me, by the bar. He poured me a drink, and we talked about Moira being killed. You know, what a shock it was, that kind of thing. He was worried about the effect it would have on Jett. Whether he’d be able to finish the album, whether the bad publicity would affect sales, the usual kind of Kevin shit.’
‘Did he say anything at all about how she’d been killed?’
‘Only that nobody seemed to be telling exactly what had happened. He said it must have been a burglar, or somebody she’d brought back with her from the village.’
I hoped to hell Jackson was keeping an eye on everyone. I was concentrating too hard on what I was doing to check the reactions around me. ‘Did Kevin talk to anyone else apart from you?’
Micky’s forehead concertinaed as he thought for a moment. ‘Yeah,’ he eventually sighed. ‘Neil came over and asked what he wanted doing about the press. Kevin told him to deal with it, and to put out a story on it, just giving the bare bones of what had happened. He said he wanted it all handled in-house, and that Neil should make it clear that any other journalist who tried to get an interview would be wasting their time and his.’
I felt that warm feeling in my gut that tells me I’ve cracked it. ‘And that’s all he said?’
Micky nodded. ‘Yeah. Neil fixed himself a drink and kind of drifted off to the corner. He was sitting scribbling in a notebook. I suppose he was getting a story together.’
‘When did you and Kevin separate?’ The crucial question.
Micky looked exasperated. ‘I don’t know what this has got to do with anything,’ he stalled while he visibly cast his mind back. ‘Let me see…We came out of here together and walked up the stairs after the cops said we should all go to bed. I said good night to him outside his bedroom door. He looked as sick as a parrot. No wonder, after what he’d been up to.’
