by Deborah Lucy
‘Olivia was dead. Drowned in the pool. We’d been drinking, as was the norm when we stopped over there. A whole group of us, we’d get together, break out smuggled duty free booze in the room, leave the drinks in the room while we went downstairs to the pool. When they took Olivia off to hospital, they found she had alcohol in her bloodstream. As you know, alcohol is prohibited there and so, as her husband, they wanted to know how this had occurred. I told them that she had drunk on the plane on the way and that I thought she had sobered up by the time she went swimming.’
‘Was this the same story you gave to your employers?’ Temple asked.
‘Yes, it was the only way to avoid being arrested, losing my job and being incarcerated in a Saudi jail, maybe everyone else being arrested and locked up too. Security was tight at Riyadh. Our bags were searched for booze so we had to smuggle it in shampoo bottles. I remember once having the inside of a wine box under my cap. Others would fill their socks with miniatures; bottles would be strapped under the arms. They made a thorough search of bags but never of the person.’
‘So, what did you do?’
‘The next BA flight out of the region was a twelve hour wait; Jonathan knew Charlie Curtis had just set up this firm, flying wealthy Arabs and businessmen around the region on private Learjets so he contacted him and he picked us up at the airport and got us out of there. I’ll always be eternally grateful to Charlie Curtis for getting us out so quickly. There was nothing more to be done for Olivia. It was a terrible tragedy, but if I hadn’t got out of there, James would have been left without both of his parents. I’ve maintained my association with Curtis Coleman ever since.’
‘How did Olivia come to have a head injury?’
‘I’ve no idea. I’m told she was in the pool, with others. Next thing, she’s found dead.’
‘A witness tells me that she was in the pool with Jonathan.’
‘Yes, Jonathan was there, in the pool, as were a few other people.’
‘And so when Adrian Coleman refers to you being a client, it is this capacity that he means, you chartering his aircraft to see Antonia?’
‘Yes, exactly,’ replied Maxwell.
‘Tell me about the payments for £2,400 that has been coming out of your account to Curtis Coleman for the last six months.’
Maxwell shifted in his seat and Temple could tell that he was quickly trying to work out whether or not speak. Whether or not to tell the truth, thought Temple. Temple didn’t say anything, choosing to keep the silence between them. Eventually, he saw Maxwell’s shoulders visibly drop, as if a weight was coming off them.
‘I, I did something that I’m not overly proud of …’ said Maxwell hesitantly. ‘It was actually Jonathan’s suggestion. We were working out my finances, putting a figure on my wealth for the divorce. We both knew Greta, both knew of her excesses – she would go on spending sprees. I had to limit the amount kept in our joint account, siphon the rest off into savings accounts because she could whip through it in an afternoon, especially online.
‘If you’ve looked inside her wardrobe, you’ll see any number of designer handbags – Chanel, Burberry, Givenchy, Chloé – they’re all in there, at two to five thousand pounds a throw. Pairs and pairs of Jimmy Choo’s, racks of designer clothes, a lot of it not even worn. Then she’d buy more. She’d have a clear out and give it to the cleaner, the girls down the stables and suddenly, I’m buying designer bags and clothes for half the village. It wasn’t just clothes either, jewellery, cars – she had five cars at one point and then she started buying animals. I came home one day to find ten carp in the pool. She once bought a horse off the internet. This was what she could be like, during an episode.’ He was eager to justify his actions and was almost shouting.
It was the first time Temple had seen Maxwell actually lose his cool. He could see why Maxwell had got Greta professional help, although not for any concern for her, but out of concern for his bank account.
‘So Jonathan suggested that we should continue to try and negotiate as low a sum as possible by citing her adultery, but I’d need proof of it. Whilst we both knew he had slept with Greta, he also suspected her of having other relationships with a local builder, a guy called Mike Cooper, who I employed to build an extension nearly a year ago and a guy from the Porsche garage where we bought Greta’s car. He said I should employ the services of a private investigator. So, I used Curtis Coleman.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Six months ago,’ replied Maxwell, looking up at the ceiling. ‘Look, this didn’t sit comfortably with me. I’m no saint, that’s for sure, but I was never comfortable with Jonathan’s suggestion. I knew she wasn’t faithful – neither was I – but he felt we needed to go in strong.’
‘And what did you discover?’
‘The investigator discovered exactly what Jonathan suspected. He took photographs of Greta together with Mike Cooper and the guy from the Porsche garage. So, it vindicated my actions, but it wasn’t something I was happy with. She could easily have done the same to me over the years and would have had the same result,’ he said.
‘Who is he, this investigator?’
‘I don’t know, I never actually met him. There was no need. Once I told Adrian Coleman I wanted a PI and what for, he saw to it and then set up a safety deposit box where the photographs were left for me to collect and I left the money to pay him. We intended to use what was discovered as a lever during divorce negotiations. As I say, I’m not proud of what I did. There seemed to me to be something particularly seedy about employing someone to spy on one’s wife, even if it did produce the desired outcome.’
‘What kind of photographs did he show you?’
‘Photographs of Mike Cooper coming and going from my house and the timings. Greta in her Porsche with the guy from the garage, Hussain, I think his name is. They showed her kissing him, her arms around him. Another showed him going to and leaving the house. Nothing more, but enough, as neither Cooper or Hussain had any business being there, except to be with Greta. His notes with the photographs said that he found it a challenge to get the photographs I needed. That he’d had to wait some time. That’s why he stayed with it for nearly six months.’
‘So nothing more explicit than kissing and hugging?’ asked Temple.
‘No, but hey, I’m sure that’s not just what took place inside my house,’ said Maxwell.
‘What did you do with the photographs you were given?’
‘They’re here.’ Maxwell put his brief case on the table and opened it. ‘I brought them to you as I wanted you to know that Greta had relationships with these men and this is the proof. It was also weighing on my conscience about the private investigator. I should have told you before. It might have been pertinent to your investigation. These men might be able to help you.’
As he spoke, Maxwell put a brown envelope onto the table. Temple saw that it was the same as that found at Marcus Hussain’s house. Maxwell took the photographs out and passed them to Temple. Although similar to those he had viewed, these were tame by comparison.
‘You’re right, you should have told me this before. And these are the only photos he has sent you? It’s important that I know if there are any more.’
‘This is what he sent me, this is all I have.’
‘Given the fact that you were going to great lengths to keep your money, don’t you think that you’ve paid over the odds for what amounts to a couple of dozen photographs, Maxwell?’
‘In his report, he said that he had had to wait some time to take these. I first received those with Michael Cooper in January, then these in April with the guy at the Porsche garage. These things take time, I guess.’ Maxwell looked back at Temple. ‘You’re judging me, Inspector,’ he replied in answer to the way Temple looked at him.
‘I have to form an opinion. You’ve kept information that you should have told me from the outset. You see, it seems to me you’re sitting pretty – your wife’s murdered, there’s no expensive divorce and y
ou’ve got yourself another big insurance payout. What else are you holding back and not telling me?’
‘Nothing more. You know everything.’
‘I’ll need to find this private investigator, urgently. I want you to tell Adrian Coleman to give me full access to your client file.’
Temple ended the meeting, knowing he now had the listening device installed.
CHAPTER 31
KELLY HAD FINISHED making inquiries at Bedwyn Station. CCTV was nonexistent; they had cameras but they had broken down a few weeks before and had yet to be repaired, much to the annoyance of the Bedwyn Trains Passenger Group, the local driving force for improvements to the station. More helpfully, only one cab firm was used at Bedwyn. She went to the cab office. Those who were on duty were unable to help so she had the manager contact each of the others at home to ask them if they had picked James up on Saturday evening. The last man he contacted confirmed that he had taken a young guy, fitting James’s description from Bedwyn Station to Wedwellow House at around 11 p.m. when the last train came in, on Saturday night.
‘James has clearly lied about not returning home, it also fits with what Felix has told us,’ said Kelly, as she updated Temple back in the incident room. As she spoke, she wrote the information on the whiteboard. ‘The train got in at 11 p.m., he gets a taxi home – what’s that, twenty minutes? The pathologist timed her death late Saturday to early hours of Sunday morning and his DNA clearly shows they’ve had sex. Then we’ve got a call going into Jonathan Silvester at 23.58. Given that he’s also taken an overdose, isn’t this tending to suggest we’ve actually got our man, or rather, boy?’
‘Well, he’s built like a man, but I’m not convinced he’s got it in him to kill Greta.’
‘He’s tried to kill himself, boss,’ said Kelly quietly, her hair swinging across her face as she turned from him to the whiteboard.
‘I’ve got to speak to him again. I’m going to go back up to Great Western Hospital to see if he’s recovered enough by now,’ Temple replied, looking at the timeline Kelly had written on the whiteboard against James’s name.
The phone rang in the office, Kelly picked it up.
‘Boss, phone call for you, Social Services.’
‘Social Services? I’m not here.’ Temple put his jacket on; Leigh’s visit to the doctors and Daisy seeing a psychiatrist must have triggered the nosy bastards wanting to get in contact, thought Temple.
Another phone rang in the office. On his way out, Temple answered it. It was the front desk telling him that Sophie Twiner, the reporter, was in the foyer.
‘I don’t remember making an appointment with her but keep her there, I’ll be down.’ Temple saw an opportunity. He needed to trace the private investigator fast and Sophie Twiner could help.
Sophie Twiner was waiting in the front foyer of the station. Temple buzzed her through and took her to a small room off a short corridor.
‘What brings you here, Sophie?’ She looked younger today, he thought, the paper must be the first she’d worked for.
‘I thought we made an appointment,’ she said.
‘I’m sure we didn’t. Anyway, you’re here. I haven’t seen you before, how long have you been with the Wiltshire Daily Record then, Sophie?’
‘A little while,’ she said vaguely, not wishing to indicate her inexperience.
Temple guessed this would be her first major inquiry. She was as green as grass. The Wiltshire Daily Record were obviously covering Harker’s job with their most experienced journalists. He didn’t like dealing with fresh faces; they were particularly dangerous when trying to make a name for themselves. The established ones didn’t fuck you about, pull stunts or turn up unannounced. At least she’d be easy to control, thought Temple.
‘I think you can help me. I think we can help each other,’ he said, which he knew was exactly what she wanted to hear.
‘Rob said much the same thing to me; you know Rob Carroll, the editor?’
Temple watched as she brushed her fingers through her shoulder length blonde hair, sweeping it to the side. A move obviously for his benefit, he thought, as she stroked it into place.
‘I know Rob,’ said Temple. ‘Although from my experience, he’s more like Lewis Carroll from some of the stuff he prints. Doesn’t let facts get in the way of a good story, old Rob. Why have annoying little things like facts when you can just make it up.’
Sophie withstood Temple’s short rant against her employer. Carroll had had a call from a crime reporter from the Daily Mail; they’d exchanged notes about the Ramsbury murder and Temple as the SIO. Carroll had looked into the news archives and sent Twiner on a mission. Carroll could smell a good angle for a story a mile off.
‘We just need to have a couple of ground rules, Sophie. No tape recorders and if you print anything I haven’t said, we won’t speak again. If you piss me off, I’ll tell all my colleagues to avoid you like the plague. For instance, I don’t want anything appearing in the paper about the boy in hospital,’ said Temple.
‘OK, it’s cool. I understand what you’re saying. It’s all a matter of trust. But in return, will you stop patronizing me?’
Undaunted by him, Sophie Twiner was already eager to add Temple to her growing list of police contacts, not least of which because she had found herself attracted to him when she saw him at the hospital. Most people dismissed her as just another blonde and underestimated her sense of determination and ability to get her story. She was keen to build this particular relationship and change his attitude towards her. She’d let him get away with talking to her like a schoolgirl this time, for the sake of what she had in mind. She liked the look of him and had already begun to speculate what he might be like in bed and had every intention of finding out.
‘There’s something you can do for me,’ said Temple. ‘I need to find a man with a blue transit van who was seen in Ramsbury. You can print me an appeal for sightings and keep your ear to the ground in The Phoenix.’
‘Leave it to me,’ she said.
Following a text from Kelly, Temple returned upstairs to the incident room.
‘Boss, just to let you know, Jackie Newly rang. She’s says that the DNA profile of Brett Forrester is negative.’
‘OK. So, we’ve got an unidentified DNA profile, outside Greta’s immediate circle, which means I’m missing something and someone. I’ve got to know what happened that night with James, I’ve got to find out why he’s taken an overdose. I’m going to go up to the hospital to see if I can get in to see him.’
He had just driven onto the short motorway stretch to the Great Western Hospital when his mobile rang. It was Sloper.
‘You still at the hospital?’ asked Temple.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m on my way, we need to get to James and speak to him,’ said Temple.
‘That’s what I was ringing to tell you, you can slow down. He’s dead.’
CHAPTER 32
TEMPLE ARRIVED ON the ward and stood outside the room where James’s body lay. Sloper’s words left him feeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach and the fist had left its imprint in his gut.
James had been in a room on his own which was now closed to the outside world. Temple positioned himself so that he could just see into the room through a gap between the shutters at the window. Inside, Maxwell and Jonathan stood around the bed, looking down disbelievingly on the lifeless muscular body of the boy they both loved. As nurses worked quietly to remove the drip and the numerous wires from a heart monitor, a doctor explained in hushed tones the reason for James’s sudden demise. As Temple watched, Sloper nudged his elbow, holding a cup of coffee.
‘Do you know what happened? I thought he was making progress,’ asked Temple, fingering his neck.
‘So did they. I managed to speak to the doctor briefly. He said it was heart failure, the pressure on his other organs was too great apparently and his heart just gave up.’
‘Kelly found the taxi driver who picked him up at the railway station
. He was going back to see Greta the night she was killed. Looks like he was there at some point, which is why I was coming up to see him,’ said Temple, not quite able to believe James was dead.
‘Kelly told me. I suppose that’s it then. Circumstantial evidence to show that he was probably the last person to see her alive and most likely killed her, hence the overdose,’ said Sloper quietly.
‘He didn’t kill her, Si,’ said Temple, disagreeing with his theory.
‘Then how come he’s lying in there, dead? There had to be a reason for his overdose and that was his conscience. He couldn’t live with what he’d done,’ replied Sloper. ‘You saw for yourself, how he was.’
‘If I thought he’d killed her, I’d have nicked him. He wouldn’t be lying in there; he’d be in custody, being watched round the clock. We’d have his account of what happened and we’d be talking to the CPS. He didn’t kill her. What weighed on his conscience was sleeping with his father’s wife, his own stepmother, is my guess – who he then found out was pregnant and doing the sums, he worked out it could be his. He was scared shitless as to how he was going to explain it.’
They looked back at each other.
‘Suppose I better let Harker know,’ said Temple, feeling the weight of the situation and not relishing the conversation.
‘I already have. I’ve outlined the circumstances to him, about James lying about his whereabouts on the Saturday night and the DNA results. He’s asked me to start at Swindon tomorrow on his job. Says for you to ring him.’ Sloper slurped his coffee. He couldn’t wait to get up there, he needed to smooth a few ruffled feathers and see what state Gemma Harker was in.
Temple wondered how Harker had taken the news. He had heard that the Swindon case was getting messy. They were no nearer finding the girl who had been abducted and the community and family of the murdered boy were becoming increasingly hysterical at the lack of arrests. As Wiltshire surveillance officers drove through the unfamiliar streets of south London and needed the support of already stretched Met resources, Harker had had to negotiate with a number of different local Met commanders who were up to their necks with their own issues, never mind his.
