Careless Love

by Robinson, Peter

  ‘No doubt all this will be a big threat to future world order,’ Annie said, ‘but it’s really got nothing to do with what I wanted to talk to you about.’

  Hadfield ignored the sarcasm. ‘I suppose you think I did it, don’t you?’

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘Killed him.’

  ‘As far as we know, your father’s death was an accident. There are just a few oddities that require explanation.’

  ‘Like why his body was found on a bloody moor miles from anywhere with no sign of a car to be seen?’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Annie.

  Hadfield ran his hand through his hair. He was a large, jowly man, though not quite as overweight as his father had been. ‘When did it happen?’ he asked.

  ‘We don’t know for certain, but we think it was sometime last weekend. When did you last speak to him?’

  ‘I can’t remember exactly. We speak as little as possible, and then only when we have to. It must have been about a month ago. Young Roderick’s birthday. I’ll say that for him, he always remembered his grandchildren’s birthdays. Can’t fault him on that.’

  ‘You’re not in business together?’

  ‘Lord, no. It’s not a family business, not by any stretch of the imagination. I’m CFO of an international corporation. We just rape the environment. Father was basically a moneylender, though he’d have called himself an investment banker, financier and venture capitalist. As I said, there are small countries that depend on him for their economic stability. Not that he was averse to the occasional arms deal or hiring the odd band of mercenaries if some tinpot dictator got a bit bolshie.’

  ‘Where were you the weekend before last?

  Hadfield smiled a rather nasty smile. ‘I was wondering when you’d get around to asking that,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact, I was in Geneva. There’s an important merger going on, and I had to oversee a number of important meetings. I flew on from there to Tokyo.’

  ‘I suppose there are plenty of people who can verify this?’

  ‘Naturally. Though they wouldn’t appreciate being pestered by the police.’

  ‘We’ll be gentle with them, if we have to check your alibi.’

  ‘I thought you said Father’s death was an accident?’

  ‘It looks like an accident. In my experience, though, it’s not that difficult to make murder look like an accident. That’s why we need to go over the inconsistencies very carefully. Someone could easily have transported the body up to the moor and dumped it down the gully. But killers usually make a mistake somewhere along the line. It may seem like just a little one, but it’s often enough.’

  ‘A proper little fucking Miss Marple, aren’t you?’

  ‘And here’s me thinking the sight of your father’s body would stop you behaving like a complete arse.’

  He smiled the nasty smile again. ‘Are you supposed to talk like that to the bereaved son? Shouldn’t I report you?’

  ‘Do what you fucking well like,’ said Annie. ‘Just answer my questions first.’

  Hadfield smirked and inclined his head ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘And don’t call me ma’am.’

  ‘You’ve made your point.’

  ‘Did your father have any enemies?’

  ‘Hundreds, probably. Maybe thousands. He was a very unpleasant human being.’

  ‘Anyone recent? Anything personal? Someone who might want to do away with him?’

  ‘Again, probably hundreds. But if you asked me for their names, I couldn’t tell you. I wouldn’t put it past an ousted government official or two to put what’s left of their life savings together and hire an assassin. Then there’s the hundreds of suckers who invested in his crackpot ventures over the years.’

  ‘This is not very helpful,’ Annie said.

  Hadfield leaned forward and rapped on the table. ‘I can’t help that. What I’m saying is that my father made enemies quite easily. It’s unavoidable when you’re in the business he’s in. Whether any of them would actually go so far as to kill him, I can’t say. Even his enemies usually have some vested interest in his staying alive and thriving. Greed breeds greed, inspector. There’s always the hope of more. That’s what keeps even the most desperate losers going, and more than willing to throw good money after bad.’

  ‘What about on a more personal level? Did he have any business partners?’

  ‘He had employees, not partners. They depended on him for their livelihoods.’

  ‘Friends, girlfriends?’

  ‘He had a certain circle of people he mixed with. I’m sure you’ll find them all listed in his contacts. Mostly politicians, high-ranking police officers, celebrities and so on, though I’m sure you’ll also find a sprinkling of locals – perhaps a wealthy farmer or two, if there is such a thing, a few professionals, lawyers, doctors, that sort of thing. People he played golf with. Father could be very charming when he wanted to. He liked to collect people. Mix with the crème de la crème. Especially if he thought they might prove useful down the line. As for his love life, I assume he had one. Father always had his little peccadillos, even when mother was still alive. It’s not something I care to contemplate.’

  ‘Poppy said he didn’t have anyone, not since your mother died.’

  ‘Maybe she’s right.’

  Annie had photographed the Pandora treble clef before lodging it with exhibits, and she placed the picture in front of Ronald Hadfield. ‘Do you recognise that?’ she asked.

  Hadfield frowned. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A charm from a bracelet.’

  He shook his head. ‘Afraid not.’

  She placed a copy of the photograph Adrienne Munro’s parents had given Banks in front of him. ‘Ever seen her?’

  ‘No. Is this father’s squeeze? If so, I’d say he’s done rather well for himself, though she looks a bit young.’

  ‘Her name was Adrienne Munro. She was nineteen. Has your father ever mentioned her?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. Was?’

  ‘She was found dead around the same time as your father.’

  ‘A suicide pact? Is that what you’re suggesting?’

  ‘No. But this charm was found in your father’s bathroom at Rivendell.’

  ‘Well, I’ve never seen it, or her.’

  Annie put the photographs away. ‘How about your father’s relationship with Poppy?’

  ‘You don’t mean—’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything untoward, but if you do have information we’re not aware of . . .’

  ‘No, there was nothing like that. I’m certain of it. Father may have been a bastard, but he wasn’t into incest. Poppy was the apple of his eye, that’s all.’

  ‘And she felt the same way?’

  ‘As far as I know. Definitely a daddy’s girl. As far as she’s capable of having feelings with that fucked-up brain of hers. The number of times he’s forked out to cover up scandals, blackmail, or to put her in rehab. Makes me wish I had shares in The Priory.’

  ‘You mention blackmail.’

  ‘Poppy’s indiscretions know no bounds. But in those kinds of situations you’d be looking at Father as the perpetrator of the murder, not the victim. It was always easier to pay them off.’

  ‘You never know where blackmail might lead.’

  Hadfield shrugged. ‘Well, you’re the expert.’ He slugged back the rest of his brandy. ‘Thanks for the drink. I hope you can claim it on expenses. If that’s all, I’d like to get going.’

  ‘Are you sure you should be driving?’

  ‘Certainly not. That’s why I have Mark waiting outside. My driver.’

  ‘Are you thinking of going back to Rivendell?’

  ‘No fucking way. I’m going back to Hampstead.’

  ‘Good. The house is a possible crime scene. It’s out of bounds. But your father has just died. There must be things to do, things to organise, even though it might be some time before the body is released? You said yourself his death would cause problems.�
��

  ‘Let Poppy deal with it. Like I said, she’ll probably be the one to benefit most.’

  ‘I’m not sure Poppy could organise a piss-up in a brewery.’

  Hadfield laughed. ‘You’re probably quite right about that. But she can certainly afford to hire someone to do it for her. Isn’t that what expensive lawyers are for? By the way, where is the little charmer?’

  ‘Been and gone.’

  ‘That’s our Poppy. Hope it was a pleasant visit.’

  ‘We may need to talk to you again,’ Annie said.

  ‘I’m not that hard to get hold of.’ Hadfield reached into his pocket. ‘I’ll tell you what, just because it’s you, here’s my mobile number. And don’t you dare fucking give it to anyone else.’

  Leaving a final nasty smile that faded slowly in the air, like the Cheshire Cat’s, Ronald Hadfield left The Unicorn and Annie put the card in her briefcase. Then she went to the bar and asked for a pint of Black Sheep. She had had it up to her back teeth with the bloody Hadfields.

  That afternoon, DS Winsome Jackman went to talk to Sarah Chen’s housemates in Leeds. They rented a big old house on Clarendon Road, around the back of the university. Set back from the street, it was a grand red-brick building, darkened by years of industrial pollution, complete with gables and bay windows. Trees grew high in the garden, winter sunlight filtering through their bare branches.

  Winsome rang the doorbell and a young fair-haired woman, probably about Sarah’s age, answered. She didn’t seem unduly surprised or distressed when Winsome showed her warrant card, but simply asked her to come in and walked ahead of her to the living room. Winsome could see immediately that the interior of the old house had been refurbished and given a more modern appearance. The students had added their own bits of colour here and there – a reprinted The Third Man film poster, a Monet reproduction, a large stereo system and plenty of second-hand or makeshift furniture, from mismatched armchairs to bookcases built of planks and bricks, probably stolen from the nearby building site.

  The young woman introduced herself as Fiona, then introduced Winsome to the other two, Fatima and Erik. They were all clearly grieving, but Fiona had the grace to offer Winsome a cup of tea, which she accepted gladly. There was some left in the large pot on the glass table, and Winsome said she’d be quite happy with that. She didn’t need milk or sugar.

  ‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ she began. ‘I don’t know if you know, but there was also a student in Eastvale who died recently, and we think the two incidents might be connected. Her name was Adrienne Munro. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘Died or murdered?’ said Erik.

  ‘We’re not sure,’ Winsome answered. ‘It looks like suicide, but someone else was definitely involved.’

  ‘Because Sarah was murdered, no doubt about it.’

  ‘I know,’ said Winsome. ‘I didn’t mean to imply any different. But the local police found a slip of paper in Sarah’s room with Adrienne’s name on it, along with a phone number we can’t trace. Do any of you know anything about it?’

  They all shook their heads. Fatima had clearly been crying, and she brought out a tissue from the folds of her clothing to pat her eyes.

  ‘The officers compared it with some of Sarah’s lecture notes, and the handwriting wasn’t hers,’ Winsome went on. ‘Did any of you write it down. Was it a phone message for her or something?’

  ‘We don’t know anything about it,’ Fiona said. She was wearing the student uniform of jeans and a chunky sweater with the sleeves pulled down to cover most of her hands. ‘We’ve never heard of Adrienne Munro.’

  ‘I understand that,’ said Winsome. ‘It was just a possibility. I had to ask. Little things like that can drive you crazy in my job, and when someone comes along later, after you’ve been banging your head against a brick wall for days, and says, “Oh, I did that. Sorry. Didn’t I mention it earlier?” it can make you kind of mad.’

  Fiona managed a grim smile and nodded. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘And I’m sorry we can’t help you.’

  ‘Did Sarah have any visitors shortly before she disappeared? Anyone who might perhaps have left the note for her?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Fatima. ‘We don’t keep an eye on one another, and we’re not always home at the same time, but I don’t remember seeing anyone. Fee?’

  Fiona shook her head, and Erik did likewise.

  ‘While she was out, perhaps?’

  ‘One of us would have noticed,’ Erik said. ‘If we’re all out, the place is locked up. But our rooms have their own locks, too, so if Sarah went out, she’d make sure she locked her bedroom door. We all would.’ He smiled. ‘Not that we don’t trust one another, of course.’

  The others nodded.

  ‘OK,’ said Winsome. ‘Someone must have given it to her somewhere else. A pub, perhaps, or a coffee shop?’

  ‘That’s more likely,’ said Fiona.

  ‘Let’s move on. Do you know of anyone who might want to harm Sarah?’

  ‘The other policeman asked us that,’ said Fatima.

  ‘I’m sure he did, but it always helps to take a fresh look.’

  ‘No,’ said Erik. ‘Sarah was hardly a saint. She never did her fair share of the dishes or cooking, and the washing machine and dryer were always full of her clothes, but you would forgive her, you know. You couldn’t . . . She was so, such . . .’ He just hung his head and stopped talking.

  ‘I’m sorry, Erik. Were you and Sarah—’

  His head shot up. ‘No. We weren’t a couple. Why would you assume that? That would be crazy, something like that, with someone you have to share a house with. I liked her. That’s all. She was my friend. And now she’s gone.’

  Winsome held her hand up at the vehemence of his reply. ‘OK. I get it.’

  ‘What Erik means,’ said Fiona, ‘is that Sarah was a special person. She was a bit chaotic, a bit of a free spirit, but you couldn’t help but love her.’

  ‘Do any of you know if Sarah had a boyfriend?’

  ‘She didn’t,’ said Fiona. ‘Not for any particular reason. I mean, she could go through boyfriends pretty quickly when she wanted to, but she was between right now.’

  ‘Could there be anyone in her past disturbed enough to want to take revenge on her for being dumped or humiliated?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fiona. ‘But I doubt it. Sarah wasn’t the kind of person to humiliate anybody. She was always sensitive to other people’s feelings, even if she was splitting up with them. As far as I know, she never had anyone obsessed with her or anything like that. No stalkers or voyeurs or anything. She liked a good time, and she was fun to be around, but she wasn’t promiscuous or a tease.’

  ‘Was she exclusively heterosexual?’

  ‘What a strange question?’ Fiona said, frowning. ‘But yes. I’d say she was.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important.’

  ‘This other girl who died, was she gay?’

  ‘Not as far as we know. Who was with Sarah on the Saturday you last saw her?’

  ‘I was,’ said Fiona. ‘We went in town shopping.’

  ‘And Sarah bought a red dress?’

  ‘Yes. It was lovely. Pricey, too. I asked her where she was going in something like that, but she just widened her eyes in that way she had and said, “Never you mind.” ’

  ‘And that was the last time you saw her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you travel back here together?’

  ‘No. I was heading off to visit my folks in Manchester. I went to the station and took a train. I left Sarah in the Trinity Centre. I suppose she must have gone home to change and get ready later.’

  Winsome looked towards Fatima and Erik.

  ‘We were both away that weekend,’ Erik said. ‘I was staying with some old mates in Newcastle and Fatima went to her cousin’s wedding in Hull.’

  ‘How did Sarah manage financially?’ Winsome glanced around the room. ‘I mean, this is a ni
ce place, great location. It can’t have come cheap.’

  ‘It’s two thousand two hundred and twenty quid a month,’ said Erik. ‘Four bedrooms and five bathrooms. We each pay our share. And no, it’s not easy, not with the money they demand for an education. But we manage. There are loans.’

  ‘So you all have student loans?’

  The three of them nodded.

  ‘And Sarah?’

  ‘Not this year,’ said Fiona. ‘She finally got some insurance money for her father’s death, and he left her a bit of money in his will, too.’

  Winsome made a note to follow up on that. It was interesting that both dead girls had come unexpectedly into money at the start of their second year. She knew that it could take a long time to settle insurance claims and probate estates, so maybe two years after the death wasn’t so bad. ‘But she had her mother to take care of, didn’t she?’

  ‘Her mother’s in a home,’ said Fatima. ‘I think it’s NHS.’

  ‘No. She did a deal with the house,’ Fiona said. ‘Sarah told me. You basically have to sell your house to pay for your care when you’re old and sick. But it’s a nice home. They don’t starve or beat the patients.’

  It was a fine recommendation, Winsome thought. Something to bear in mind when the time came. Avoid places where they starve and beat you. ‘I get the impression that the four of you were pretty close,’ she went on. ‘Did you hang out together? Go to gigs, dances, pubs, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Fiona said.

  ‘I don’t drink,’ Fatima answered.

  ‘But she loves to dance,’ Erik said.

  Fatima blushed. ‘Well, maybe.’

  ‘So you did hang out together?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Fiona. ‘The student pub, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Clubs?’

  ‘Sometimes. In town.’

  ‘I know what you’re going to ask next,’ Erik said. ‘The other police, they asked the same thing. Do we do drugs? That answer is yes, sometimes we smoke a little marijuana and sometimes take ecstasy, like just about everyone else on campus, but that’s all.’